As my friend Darcie has so eloquently commented today on my last blog post,”tap, tap, is this thing on?”  Her funny way of saying that I have been MIA on my blog.  And she’s absolutely right…I disappeared on December 16th and just now got my house and mind cleared enough to blog again.  Christmas, while my favorite holiday, takes a lot out of me and frankly I don’t think that I have sat down long enough to blog until now.   My daughter is actually home sick, but DVR recordings of Spongebob Squarepants will keep her occupied long enough for me to write.

I know everyone is doing “happy new year” posts, but before I get to the new year I have to make sure Christmas is over and it’s still lingering in my house.  I am still finding bits and pieces of Christmas lying around the house that I’ve forgotten to put away.  The Christmas tree is still on the curb.  A few toys are still out because they haven’t found a home yet.  And the pine needle, oh the pine needles!  I’m sure that I’ll be finding pine needles until at least Easter.

Everyone in my house had a good Christmas because my kids mostly care about spending time together and we did plenty of that.  Christmas Eve was our big celebration because we traveled to my aunt’s house on Christmas Day; I cooked a big dinner and we decorated cookies and a gingerbread house like we do every year.  I’m trying to use Whrrl more, so I did a Whrrl story on Christmas Eve.  So, while I haven’t been blogging, I have been on Twitter because it’s a fast one-two punch and it takes me much longer to blog.  You need to follow me if you don’t already.  I protect my updates to keep out the crazies, but if you’re not one of them, I’ll follow you back.

The surprise of the season was Chili Dawg.  I thought for sure that he would try to steal the ornaments off the Christmas tree or take down the tree itself.   I was prepared to build a gate around the tree, but to my surprise it wasn’t even needed.   Chili’s only offense was drinking water from the tree and stealing one soft football ornament that was hanging really low and I really couldn’t blame him on that one because it looked like one of his toys.  He actually found a space behind the tree to be a nice spot for napping.

My favorite memory from Christmas morning was that my daughter wanted the family to open the gifts that she had made for us in sewing class–before she opened the gifts that Santa had left her.  She was more excited to give than receive!  That was really sweet and special.  My son too was excited for us to open his gifts as he went shopping all alone with his own money and was very proud of what he picked out.   He did a great job getting just the right present for everyone.  The kids got everything that they wanted for Christmas and even though we don’t normally exchange gifts, my husband surprised me with a new pair of my favorite jeans (he said since I worked my butt off making Christmas special for the family, he bought something for my butt ).

He also did something funny:  he bought me this card along with my gift.  The inside says “that would be nuts.”  When I got it I thought, um, okay, weird/inappropriate card to give your wife, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful so I didn’t say anything and displayed it on our dresser.  A few days later my husband came to me to apologize because he finally noticed how crass the card really was.   When he picked it out, he thought it was funny because we always have squirrels in our attic wrecking havoc…he didn’t notice the, uh, enhanced anatomy on the squirrel.   My son and I had a good laugh at his mistake and my daughter kept asking, “what’s so funny?”

Something else my husband did was not so funny, but really annoying.  We had decided as a family to treat ourselves to an after-Christmas gift, a panini press.  We had seen the one we wanted in Williams-Sonoma and went to the mall specifically for that purpose, to buy the Breville Ikon Panini Press; isn’t it lovely?

However, while in the store my husband tweeted out a question about what brand of panini press to buy and he got a response from a few people to get a George Forman Grill instead.   Somehow he talked me into it.  I know; what was I thinking?  I won’t go into the arguing that ensued, but it turned out to be a big mistake and you know I let him know it!    I ended up going back to Williams-Sonoma the next day and getting the panini press that we were originally supposed to buy.  Peace was once again restored in our household and we have been making gloriously yummy paninis ever since.

Oh, but that peace was disrupted by a simple family game of Monopoly.   I knew better, I really did, than to play Monopoly with my husband.  We’re all competitive in this family, but something comes over my husband particularly when he is playing Monopoly that only can be described as manic.  He loses all sense of decorum and tries to win at all costs.  No life is spared.   I know this because no game of Monopoly that I have ever played with him has gone well or can even be described as being fun; torture is more like it.   This is how bad it gets: before we got married we played Monopoly and he was as tyrannical as he usually is, but I won that game.  Slaughtered him, is more like it.  I never wanted him to forget that defeat, so I wrote it on the top of the Monopoly box.  We have bought many new games over the years, but I cut out the box top and always transfer it to the newest game.  My son read the box top aloud before our latest game:

On May 7, 1993 Sherrelle and James played.  In the beginning James talked much “yang” and bought up all the properties except the yellow and green (he even owned Boardwalk).  However, Sherrelle had all the $ and all the railroads and utilities.  That was James’ downfall because he never passed “Go” and always land on railroads ($200 each time)!  Slowly he had to sell all of his many properties.  By this time Sherrelle had bought 3 hotels on her yellow property and the climax (and end) of the game came when James landed on a hotel property–he then owed Sherrelle $1150!  He was broke and Sherrelle won (he still owes her $680)!  Sherrelle also left the game with $5,700 in cash, property and hotels.  What a victory!  James called himself the “Monopoly King”, but who’s ruling now??  The rightful ruler, now and always, is SHERRELLE.  No matter what happens in future games, this will always go down in history as the night that Sherrelle let James know who was BOSS!!!

I don’t think my husband as ever forgotten that defeat and won’t rest until he reclaims his “Monopoly King” crown.  Needless to say, “family game night” didn’t end well….blood was shed, tears were spilled, voices were raised (okay, not blood, but the rest is true).  The game is retired to the top shelf of our laundry room and if we are smart, it will never be taken down again.  I think we will be safer playing Candyland or Hi Ho Cheerio…..maybe.

So there you have the highlights of my holiday season.  And we look so normal, don’t we?

It’s Halloween and while I am not a big fan of the holiday (I don’t do spooky), I love the CANDY that trick-or-treating brings.  I’m not one of those mothers who restrict candy; I mean, that would be very hypocritical saying “No candy!” through a mouthful of Swedish Fish.   On Halloween I’m all for dressing up my kids and using them to bring home the loot; it’s one of the perks of having kids because for some reason people frown upon grown adults begging for candy door-to-door.  Now that they are older my kids are hip to the ole “mommy has to check the candy” trick, but still they mostly share with me (or I steal it when they go to school, same difference).  Over the years I have found that cute costumes bring in more candy.  Look at these 3 martial arts experts; wouldn’t you hand over a full-sized candy bar if they rang your doorbell?

This is the secret weapon; Chili Dawg is sure to guarantee 2 fistfuls of candy at each stop.

My daughter has been sick this week, so she might no be able to go trick-or-treating if it’s raining or really cold.  If that is the case, then I have to keep the candy that I bought for myself (Starbusts and Skittles) and turn out the porch light like I’m not home.  I’m sure there’s plenty more candy out there for those neighborhood kids.

One of my favorite children’s books is Jerry Seinfeld’s Halloween–now that’s a man who understands the beauty of Halloween candy.  The book is hilarious; when I read it my daughter I can barely get the words out because I’m laughing so hard.   We just listened to the audio cd and even though Jerry’s delivery is much better than mine, still my daughter doesn’t laugh much.  She likes the book, but doesn’t think it is hysterical like I do.  I think that’s because although Halloween is a children’s book, the humor is so nostalgic of the trick-or-treating days of yore, back when I was a kid, that she just can’t relate.  I remember those flimsy costumes and plastic masks!  And well, it’s Jerry Seinfeld and you’ve got to like his brand of humor to think it’s funny; I’m a big fan.  My daughter thinks Captain Underpants is funny; do you see a disconnect here?

If you get a chance, pick up a copy of Jerry’s Seinfeld’s Halloween and have a good laugh–preferably while holding a Snickers bar in one hand and Gummy Bears in the other.   Mmmm…..candy.

There was a man in my neighborhood who walked his pug everyday down my street, past my window.  Twice a day, at the same times, without fail, rain or shine, warm weather or cold.  This man had to be at least 80 years old and the pug looked as old as the man.  Both gray-haired and stout, they walked at the same pace, shuffling slowly along, the old man using a cane.  The kids and I used to call each other to the window whenever they walked by, “Hey, come look; it’s the Old Man and The Pug!”   We were in awe of the old man’s obvious affection for his dog and determination to exercise him each day, despite the physical exertion.  We decided that they were best friends.

When we got Chili Dawg this past spring we felt a greater kinship with the old man and his pug and looked for them on the street.   After actively looking for a few days it dawned on us that in fact we hadn’t seen them for a long time.   In the chaos that comes with getting a new puppy, we hadn’t noticed their absence.   Perhaps they had learned a new walking route, but we didn’t think so; we feared that something had happened to one or both of them.    Upon talking to neighbors, we learned that yes, it was true; the pug had died and the old man is now in a nursing home, alive in body but mentally incapacitated.   I do not know for sure, but perhaps there is a connection between the passing of his best friend and the old man’s willingness to stay lucid and actively engaged in the world.   Perhaps those daily walks gave him a reason to keep going, to get up and to get out.

I did not know the old man or his pug; I never had 2 words with them.  But I miss them walking by my window, a daily reminder of the importance of fresh air and a good walk with a friend.

*This is a repost of well-received blog post that I wrote in October of 2008.  I can add that we have had more peculiar Southern moments since then, most notably driving to Royston, Georgia where we got our puppy, Chili Dawg.  We were deep in the country and out of our element for sure.  When we turned onto the dirt road and wild turkeys crossed our path, my husband stopped the car and refused to drive anymore until I called the breeder to make sure that we were going the right way.   Turns out that we were headed in the right direction, but I understood my husband’s concern; trespassing on someone’s property on a Southern country road was not something that we wanted to do!  

Every region has its stereotypes. West Coasters are hippies, flighty and materialistic.  Mid-westerners are frumpy, stodgy and practical-minded.  Northeasterners are chic, in-your-face and matter-of-fact.  I have lived in all of these places and must say that the stereotypes are true to some degree.  Each region has its own particular flavor that makes it unique.   The blessing about living so many places in my short life is that I can roll anywhere and feel comfortable with anybody. 

The South?  Well, that’s whole other world.  Southerners truly love the South and wouldn’t possibly think of living anywhere else.   And if they happen to find themselves moving out of the South, it is only their body that moves, not their heart.   I actually admire that about Southerners, their fierce loyalty and complete surrender to their beloved roots.   And that steel magnolia thing that the Southern women have?  So true; these women are smart, beautiful and savvy.  Never underestimate a Southern woman.

I am not unfamiliar with the South; while growing up in the Mid-West I spent almost every summer in Alabama with my grandparents.  But living here is another thing.  When I first moved to Atlanta, there was no Ikea, no Trader Joe’s and Bloomingdale’s and Nordstrom had just opened.  My first thought was,WHERE THE HELL AM I??  But soon I was able to appreciate the particular charms of living here.  And of course it helps that they eventually got an Ikea and Trader Joe’s.

Things I like about The South:

• sweet tea
• grits: they can be ordered almost anywhere
• trees
• warm weather
• the word “y’all” (much more charming than “yous guys” up in New Jersey)

Things I hate about The South:

• the confederate flag
• “yes ma’am”
• palmetto bugs:  huge mutant cockroaches that fly

Atlanta is a big city and mostly it feels like any other city.  I live in the city, not the suburbs, not the country, so many people I encounter are like city people everywhere.  But sometimes I have one of those“Hello!–You’re in the south!” moments.  Two incidents in particular come to mind. 

The first one happened last spring at my son’s basketball game.  We were outside the city limits at a small private school.  It was 4:00 p.m. on a workday, so usually at these games we just see the parents of the players.  Well, this school gym was packed with all the local folks.   Apparently 8th grade basketball was the entertainment highlight of the week.  Their team was killing us and clearly they were going to win the game.  Still this lady (rooting for the other team) sitting behind my husband, daughter and I screamed in our ear the entire game:

“Git ‘em, Tyler!”

“Here he come!”

“You know what he gonna do!”

“Git ‘em!”

Oh. My. God.  My daughter was frightened and it was all my husband and I could do to keep a straight face.  We were all dang near deaf by the end of the game.

See, that is another casualty of living here; you start using words like “dang” and “mighty” in your everyday conversation.

The other incident happened this past weekend at the Ritz Carlton Reynolds Plantation resort at Lake Oconee, about 1 ½ hours drive from Atlanta.  Since my kids were on fall break we went there for a few days.   We had been there before and loved it (hence our return) and over-all had another fabulous vacation.   But this time we were more heightened to the Southern-ness of the other guests and that we were in Greensboro, Georgia. 

Maybe it was the gaggle of Sarah Palin button-wearers converging at breakfast.  Rolling through the lobby with our Barack Obama shirts and dreadlocks, I’m sure that we looked like straight up gangsters.  

Or perhaps it was the men in their orange University of Tennessee Dockers; UGA whipped their butts that day in Athens and a huge crowd decided to nurse their wounds in the luxury of the Ritz.    Only loyal Southern football fans would wear those pants. 

Maybe it because every kid at the resort was called by their first and middle names: Riley Jean, Emma Ray, Bass Lee.  All the above is indeed more Southern-ness that we have ever encountered in our eclectic Atlanta neighborhood.

But, really the clincher was when we were at the pool with the other resort children (the Riley Jeans and Emma Rays) and they asked my daughter “why is your hair like that?”  Lord help them, these children clearly hadn’t been around any little black girls before.  Not only were they ignorant, they were also bad-assed kids rude (not very Southern, I might add; Southerners are usually big on manners); the same children were doing cannonballs into the hot tub and later loudly commenting on a lady’s red hair.

For sure, this incident is not a Southern thing per se; it could have happened anywhere in America where kids do not ever see people that look differently than they do, but when you are at a place with plantationin its name, you can’t help but to make some connection.

So, it is with a jaundiced eye that I view my new home.  I love the drawl, rocking chairs and iced tea, but not the horrific history that is still quite visible in celebrated landmarks and icons.  I must say, living here feels mighty peculiar.  ;-)

I bet you thought The Tooth Fairy was passe; au contraire, mon ami!  She’s hip, she’s happening, she’s part of the social media revolution!   (And apparently she’s French too.)  The Tooth Fairy paid a call to our house last night, but not before she got a little advice from friends on Facebook: