Second Blooming

My New Boyfriend

I have a new boyfriend.

I love him deeply.

He's sleek, and handsome, and powerful. And he gets really hot.

He inspires me, excites me and brings out the best in me.

And Jimmy is all for it.

The more time I spend with my boyfriend, the happier Jimmy is. And...

Jimmy likes to watch.

Here he is...

 

Isn't he handsome?

On sale at Target.

Last night?

Grilled Shrimp Scampi Style

1/4 cup soy sauce

2 tbsp. sesame oil

2 limes, juiced

2 tsp. honey

2 inch piece fresh ginger, grated

4 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1/4 cup canola oil

1 stick butter, softened

1 1/4 lbs. large shrimp, peeled and deveined

Whisk together soy sauce, sesame oil, lime juice, honey, ginger, garlic and canola oil in a bowl, and add it to a food processor. Add the softened butter and pulse until combined.

Brush the mixture onto the shrimp. Place on preheated grill and cook in a single layer for 1 to 2 minutes per side.

Heat rest of sauce and serve alongside.

Y.U.M.

Tonight?

Ribs. Oh yeah.

First, rubbed with the magic formula. Grub Rub.

 

Which, by the way, I'm almost out of and I can't buy out here in Los Angeles. Anybody in Texas feel like sending me some? I'd be forever grateful!

Anyway, Grub Rub + grill = Seared in yumminess.

Then, I put the ribs in a pan, smother them with the precious fluid, cover them with foil, and keep them in the grill until they melt in your mouth.

What is the precious fluid?

Mr. Sneed's Barbecue Sauce

(Mr. Sneed was my best friend Kaysie's sweet daddy, God rest his soul. In addition to being a brilliant lawyer, this man knew a thing or two about barbecue! Mr. Sneed, by the way, only gave me this recipe after my parents had both passed away, and I think he was feeling sorry for me, and a certain amount of paternal responsibility)

1 bottle ketchup

1 cup molasses

1 stick butter, melted

Worcestershire sauce to taste

lemon juice to taste

Tabasco to taste

onion powder to taste

garlic powder to taste

salt to taste

Mix all ingredients. As you can see, there's a considerable amount of tasting involved in this recipe. Have at it.

(Kaysie's brother, Jerry, always throws in a healthy handful of chopped fresh jalepenos, but I'm cooking for my Yankee husband, so I leave them out.)

I feel certain that my boyfriend and I will have a long and productive relationship.

Aren't you jealous?

 

Spin Cycle: The Vibe

Jimmy has opinions.

Damn him.

Most husbands have the sense to defer to their wives in all matters involving design, decorating and aesthetics. When it comes time to redecorate, the couple may discuss their mutual needs, and the wife might offer fabric swatches or paint chips, just so the husband feels slightly involved, but for the most part, the wife makes all the choices. Most husbands are happy with this arrangement.

But not Jimmy.

Now, this would not be a problem if Jimmy's taste was...mmm...good. But unfortunately, Jimmy's taste is...how shall I put this? Well, to put it nicely, Jimmy's taste is...unusual. One-of-a-kind. To put it more accurately, it's...tacky. Okay, I said it. Tacky. Jimmy's decorating style lies somewhere between Good Fellas glam...

 

...and hippie dreck...

 

For Jimmy, it's all about..."the vibe". He has to get a "good vibe" from a place, for him to live in it.

Now to his credit, Jimmy tends to have accurate "vibes".  So if he has a "bad vibe" about about something or some place, I usually listen to him. When we were house hunting, many a decision came down to whether Jimmy got a "good vibe" or a "bad vibe" from a place. We actually have some friends in New York who bought a summer home based almost entirely on the fact that Jimmy had a "good vibe" when he drove past it.

But unfortunately, Jimmy's vibes don't take into consideration things such as style, sophistication or good taste.  In fact, Jimmy seems to believe that anything thought to be stylish and tasteful is in fact boring, bourgeois and "white bread". He feels that any attempt on my part to get him to conform to the tastes and norms of society is in fact an effort by society at large to stifle his personal creativity and joie de vivre. He believes himself to be a free-spirit, and his personal style to have a certain "je ne sais quoi".

And I'm afraid that over the years, people have fostered this belief by saying things to him like "Wow, Jimmy, only you could pull off that outfit." Which he takes to mean "Wow, Jimmy, I am amazed by your unique and passionate display of individuality and creativity. You are HOT." But in fact means, "Wow, Jimmy, that is one freaky weirdo outfit you're wearing, but I appreciate your display of personality and lack of caring what anyone thinks about how you look."

I have learned over the years, to involve Jimmy as little as possible in regard to home decorating. And for the most part, I'm able to get away with it. Luckily for Jimmy, my own personal taste tends to be slightly on the quirky side. My friend Brian once described my taste as "Parisian Flea Market", which I think is fairly accurate. So I guess he can usually handle my choices.

But occasionally, he takes things into his own hands. Once, Jude and I came home from New York to find that he had rearranged all the pictures in the living room. Not one picture was hung in a place that fit the size of its frame, nor was any attention paid to things such as spacing or style. I guess I can't blame him, as he learned such things from Mommy, who is responsible for these...

 
 

When I saw his handiwork, I'm afraid I freaked out a little, which caused Jimmy to accuse me of the whole "white bread", bourgeois thing. I managed to slowly put the pictures back in their original places, sneakily rehanging one picture every few weeks. It was a pain in the butt.

So when I decided it was time to FINALLY redecorate our bedroom, I paused. How much to involve him? I realize now that I should have not involved him at ALL. But unfortunately, I must have been feeling kindly toward him that week, and decided to give him some limited choices.

Gretchen: What kind of "feel" would you like the bedroom to have?

Jimmy: Warm. I want it warm.

Gretchen: Really? Because I was thinking that since it's the bedroom, it should be soothing, and peaceful.

Jimmy: No. I want warm.

Gretchen: Hmmm. Okay. What about color"? Is there any particular color that you're "vibing"?

Jimmy decided to think about it. A few days later, he handed me this tube of cream...

 

Jimmy: This color. I think the room should be this color.

Gretchen: Well. That's certainly warm.

Yes, Jimmy wanted to room to be...orange. Not just orange, but DAY GLO orange.

God help me.

Luckily, I had a secret weapon. My friend Maralee is an interior decorator and set decorator. She's been the set decorator many, many tv shows including "Dirty Sexy Money" and that new show "Hot in Cleveland". And she knows Jimmy, and what a pain in the butt he is. And for some unknown reason, Jimmy trusts her taste. So I told her my predicament.

Clever Maralee, managed to choose a color that was "warm" and in the orange color family, but wouldn't have made my eyes bleed every time I entered the room. The best part was that the name of the color was "Harem", which of course, sold it to Jimmy.

So here you have our new bedroom...

 
 
 

Not bad? Right? The color's sort of terracotta. And it's very warm. And luckily, fairly soothing as well. As always, I apologize for my horrible photographic skills. The duvet's from Pottery Barn, the coverlet thingy's from Bed, Bath and Beyond, and the rug and the lampshades from good old Target. The curtains were leftover from our old apartment. So it was all pretty cheap.

I still haven't hung anything over our bed. I have a typical Southern California fear of hanging any large glass items over the bed, in case of earthquake. Any ideas?

The best part? Jimmy immediately got a "good vibe" from it. For a couple of weeks he kept walking in there, looking around and muttering things like "good vibe" and "warm". Whew.

But NOW? Jimmy has decided that he thinks I should carry the whole "harem" theme further, by hanging fabric from the ceiling. I have told him that under no circumstances will I turn our bedroom into the Moroccan theme room at the Madonna Inn. Please back me up on this.

In a couple of weeks, I'm going to paint the kitchen.

I am asking Jimmy NOTHING.

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Please visit Sprite's Keeper for more spins on the topic - Decorating.

 

Easter Recap

When last we heard from "The Adventures of Gretchen Mother/Choir Geek"...

Gretchen had foolishly decided to redecorate the bedroom during the week of Catholic terror better known as...Holy Week.

Did Gretchen's church choir manage to pull off all that Handel?

Was Jimmy capable of caring for their child for three nights in one week while Gretchen was off singing her butt off?

Was Gretchen able to finish all that painting without painting herself into a corner? Both literally and figuratively?

Will she finish all this home-improvement before the invasion of the in-laws?

And what about that pesky cold Gretchen felt was on the way?

This and many more questions will be answered if you stay tuned...

WHEW!

Easter has been survived.

I will bring you a recap with bullet points. I love bullet points. It's a bullet point kind of day.

• Wednesday = 5 hours of painting + 3 hours of choir rehearsal.
• Thursday = 2 hours of painting + early dismissal at Jude's school + 2 hour 8-year old's roller skating birthday party + 2 hour Holy Thursday/Washing of the Feet Mass.
• Friday. The day of the big Good Friday Tre Ore at church. Theodore Dubois' "Seven Last Words of Christ". Since I just couldn't force my child to sit through 3 hours of tragic sacred choral music, Jude was sent off with my friend Cathleen and her daughter, Kiyomi, to an egg hunt. Yes, he was playing with a...girl. A bit of an issue when first discussed, but ended up being totally fun, of course. My choir? FABULOUS. If I do say so myself. And looky...you may check us out too. This is a live, unmixed recording, but I think we sound pretty danged good...

  BSC First Word

• Bad news re: Friday was that I totally forgot to book out with my agents, and they called me with a last minute audition right when the big sing was going to start. They were NOT HAPPY with me that I couldn't make the audition.
• So my penance (as though a 3 hour Good Friday service was not enough penance) was TWO auditions on Saturday. Both kind of stupid. Argh. Poor Jude was dragged around with me from audition to audition. I guess it was better than playing with girls.
• We did get to go to another egg hunt on Saturday, at the house of some old friends of ours who have a little 3-year old girl. Once again, it was Jude and a bunch of girls. At one point, Jude was playing with this toy, this long tunnel thing like this...
• He put the thing over his body and stood up so the tunnel was vertical. He then proceeded to chase the girls around and try to whack them with the top of the tunnel, which he could whip around by bending at the waist. Get the visual?  At which point my friend Brian, who never misses a phallic symbol if he can help it, pointed out that Jude had turned himself into a giant plastic penis, and was chasing the girls around and attacking them. I'm afraid this was true.
• So Saturday night, Jimmy had one of his many ailments, and took to bed. I was thus forced to do the Easter bunnying all by myself. All that damned egg filling, and basket stuffing, followed by furtively wandering around the yard late at night with a flashlight. Gang dudes kept cruising past our house and checking me out. It was rather unnerving.
• Easter morning, Jimmy was still laid up, so I went outside in my bathrobe, clutching my coffee while Jude scampered around egg hunting. In the middle of filling his basket, Jude suddenly looked up, shook his head seriously and said "The Easter Bunny is SO kind." I love my child. I also took this as a personal compliment.

 
                       

• I'm taking this bullet point to vent a bit. Doesn't the Easter Bunny seem a little confusing to you? I mean, Santa makes sense, you know. He's a man, and he's got a sleigh and magic reindeer and a vast workforce of elves. But the bunny? He's just one little mammal. Where does he carry those eggs? Does he carry a magic basket clutched in his teeth? Does he have a little magic burrow with a bunch of...squirrels or deer or... you know, wildlife type creatures who stuff plastic eggs from the Target with Hershey's kisses? The whole mythology of the bunny is a bit vague. Somebody should work on this.
• After the egg hunt, Jude and I got gussied up and went to church for yet more singing. The one good thing about Jimmy not feeling up to going to church with is is that I got to dress the child the way I wanted. In his little suit and tie. Last year, Jimmy brought him with him to church (I had to go early to practice with the choir) and had ignored the nice little outfit I had laid out for the kid, in favor of dressing him Jimmystyle - this weird scarf/ascot around his neck in lieu of a tie, and a fedora!
• Hats!

 

Okay, Isabella looks like a demon child there. This is better...

 

• The bedroom is painted. I moved all of the furniture BY MYSELF. That includes two dressers and a king-sized bed with bed frame. Don't ask where Jimmy was. I will write more about this process, and provide pictures later this week.
• Jude's Spring Break has officially started. The activities for Monday, his first big day of holiday were - watching Mom paint, going with Mom to a dental appointment, and cleaning his room. I have promised him that his holiday will improve.
• The cold went away.

That is all the bullet points I've got.

RTT: Excuses, Seaweed, and Bunny Ears

I'm afraid you're not going to get much out of me this week. For several reasons:

1. It's Holy Week. Which means that once again, I am spending a crazy amount of time down at the church with my choir, rehearsing for all the Easter hullabaloo. We Catholics specialize in hullaballoo. And this Joe, our new choir director is a TASKMASTER. And he has whipped us into shape, I'm telling you. We're sounding damned good, if I do say so myself. On Good Friday, we're singing a Tre Ore, which means "three hours" for you non-Latin speakers. We're singing a cantata - "The Seven Last Words of Christ" by Theodore Dubois. It's big and dramatic, and we get to sing stuff like "Crucifige eum!" (crucify him) really loud. After the seventh and final word of Christ ("Consummatum est!" - It is finished!), the organist goes wild, recreating an earthquake with the organ. Apparently, for an organist, this is great fun, and they've been known to throw their entire bodies on the keys. Then on Easter, we're singing a whole butt-load of Handel, my personal favorite composer to sing - "Worthy is the Lamb/Amen" from the Messiah, and "Sing Unto God" from Judas Maccabaeus. It's all very excellent, but a lot of work.
2. I've foolishly chosen this week to redecorate our bedroom. The first step is painting.  Pray for me. More on this as events unfold.
3. I have a cold. It's not a raging, rotten, crippling cold, but it is still a bummer, and I keep having sudden and passionate sneezing fits.

So while I struggle through this week, I will give you a few...

 

...still hosted by the lovely Stacy, Keely still playing hooky.

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I hate it when my younger, sluttier life catches up with me. There is this guy who I went out with a few times long, long ago. It was not a deep or meaningful relationship. Well...he has turned up in my life again. He lives in our neighborhood. And as huge as Los Angeles is, it can also be something of a small town. I run into this man EVERYWHERE. It's become a bit of a joke to me. And it can be awkward. We always chat cordially and make silly small talk and that's it. So the other day, I ran into him for the FOURTH time in a week, this time at the grocery store. I was cringing at the sight of him, because I looked SO bad - wearing the worst possible version of my "uniform" with no make up and my hair up on top of my head a la Pebbles Flintstone. We chatted and made awkward jokes as usual. But he seemed particularly uncomfortable, and we parted quickly. When I got back to my car, I looked into the rear view mirror, and realized that I had an enormous piece of the Trader Joe's Seaweed Snack I had been eating earlier stuck to my front tooth. Sad.

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Have y'all heard of Uncombable Hair Syndrome? It's a real condition, I kid you not. I heard about it on NPR, and I looked it up on Wikipedia, so it must be true. According to the folks at Wiki, Uncombable Hair Syndrom "is a rare structural anomaly of the hair" and "the underlying structural anomaly is longitudinal grooving of the hair shaft, which appears triangular in cross section. There usually is no family history, though the characteristic hair shaft anomaly can be demonstrated in asymptomatic family members by scanning electron microscopy." Whatever the hell that means. But the result is...

 

EEK! I had been worrying a lot about the state of Jude's hair in the morning, but this makes me feel much better. I fear that the only treatment for Uncombable Hair Syndrome is a hat.

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I am LOVING my new Sunday night TV shows. First, is the new AMC drama, "The Killing". Dang it's good. Excellent acting, excellent writing. Creepy mystery/whodonit but heavily character driven. And it has that dark, dreary, murky supposed-to-be-Seattle-but-it's-shot-in-Vancouver look. I HIGHLY recommend it.

And then the new "Upstairs, Downstairs"! Oh, how I loved the original "Upstairs, Downstairs". Mama and I obsessed over it! We would banish Daddy from the room and huddle together and watch every minute of it. And the new one has not disappointed me at all. Still produced by the wonderful Jean Marsh, the story has progressed to the 1930s, the same period as "The King's Speech". The Bellamy's are gone, and 165 Eaton Place has been purchased by a young and ambitious couple. Housemaid Rose is drawn back in as housekeeper. So British upper-crusty yummy. Just what I need as a lead in to the bit royal wedding next week.

 

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Here's a little something to get you in the mood for Easter...

 

 Okay, I am off to tend my cold. I can't believe I've given up the NyQuil. Dang. Go visit Stacy!

RTT: Heeby Jeebies, Fergie and Jambalaya

I am particularly scattered and uninspired here. I'm afraid that a few...

...are all I'm capable of.

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Our house is a disaster. Two guys named Tony and Hoover showed up today and started work on fixing up our attic, a MUCH needed home improvement. We're not doing anything fancy, just turning it into a usable storage space, but nonetheless, the hallway is covered with plastic and all the furniture is moved around, and they've torn a hole in the ceiling of the hallway, through which musty, warm air is pouring. It's creepy up there too.  They let me poke my head up and look around. Lots of ancient insulation. Seems like the perfect place for mice. Or bats. Or black widows. Eeeeeeeeeeeek. Okay, I'm giving myself the heeby jeebies. Something about that big gaping hole in the ceiling...Tony and Hoover better finish this up quickly. Then I'll only get the heeby jeebies every time I haul out the Christmas decorations.

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Did y'all watch the Super Bowl? Of course I'm not talking about the actual football game, I'm talking about the important stuff - the entertainment and the commercials. It seems like this year was a bit of an anomaly. The football game was actually really excellent, and the rest of it was dreadful. And I mean really dreadful. Christina Aguilera? What the hell was she doing? I'm not even talking about the botched the lyrics. It was just terrible singing. All flash and no substance. Someone told me that there were actually Vegas odds on how long she'd make the National Anthem last, and now I see why. She was all over the place, all those unnecessary runs, warbling on and on. Just sing the song, damn it! And then the Black-Eyed Peas! Egad! I was in a room of friends who were all huge Pea fans, really looking forward to seeing them. But we were left stunned by their pathetic performance! I had a real sense that they had simply never rehearsed. All those white clad folks with the boxes on their heads had probably been rehearsing all week, but the Peas flew in that afternoon and just winged it. Or would that be wung it? And the big surprise guest were...Slash and Usher? Huh? Did anyone care? The only positive I have for the whole thing is that they clearly weren't lip-syncing, as Fergie was off-key for the vast majority of the performance. Bring back the geriatric rockers of yesteryear!

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I have recently identified what would be, for me, the worst job on the planet Earth. On a street near us is a business called Liberty Tax Services. Every day, of late, a man has been standing on the sidewalk in front of the office, wearing a large Statue of Liberty costume, making silly faces and waving a sign that says "Liberty Tax". He is a grown man. It's extremely undignified. I fear that he may have had to explain this get up to his wife, or friends. I sincerely hope that they are paying him very well, but...mmm...doubt it. I realize that for most people, the worst job on the planet Earth would involve something like...scraping roadkill, or cleaning bathrooms in a porn theater. But for me, standing on the street in a Statue of Liberty costume would be utter humiliation. Not sure what this says about me...

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My friend Ronda and I have to teach Jude's Cub Scout den about recycling. It's some sort of requirement thingy, and we seem to have become the parent volunteers. It's our job as Akela. I think we'll bring a bunch of trash, and teach them how to sort it, only all of our bottles and cans are booze. Maybe not appropriate. We'd like to come up with some sort of craft they can make out of old junk - the "reuse" part of the whole "reduce, reuse and recycle" bit. But all the crafts we can think of seem too girly. Turning old tin cans into pencil holders? Really? Does anybody have any great ideas? Please?

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This is pretty damned cute...

 

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I have nothing else to say. I'm going to go stand in the hall and stare up into the hole in the ceiling at the gaping abyss and worry. And then I'm probably going to go in and comfort myself by dishing up another bowl of this really excellent Weight Watchers Jambalaya I made tonight. Here's the recipe so you can too!

Shrimp and Sausage Jambalaya

(7 WW points per 1 1/2 cup serving, for those of you who care)

1 tbsp. butter

1 large onion, chopped

1 green bell pepper, seeded and chopped

2 celery stalks, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

6 oz. turkey kielbasa, cut into 1/4 inch slices (I used 8 oz. because that's the way it comes. Sue me.)

1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice

1 (28-oz) can whole peeled tomatoes, broken up

1 (14 1/2) can reduced-sodium, fat-free chicken broth

3/4 tsp. dried thyme

1/4 tsp. cayenne

1 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined

1. Melt the butter in a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion, bell pepper, celery and garlic. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened. Add the kielbasa and cook, stirring, 3 minutes longer.

2. Add the rice and cook, stirring frequently, until lightly toasted, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and their liquid, the broth, thyme and cayenne; bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, until the rice is tender, about 30 minutes.

3. Add the shrimp to the mixture and cook until just opaque in the center and all the liquid has been absorbed, 5 to 7 minutes longer. 

Gracified

Aunt Grace has arrived for her annual Thanksgiving visit.

Which, of course, means I've spent the past week working on the Gracification of our house. Or as I've referred to it in the past "The Biannual Boil". Which basically means that every inch of our home must be boiled, bleached, scrubbed, steam cleaned, ironed and straightened in preparation for the visit. You see, Jimmy's family, and Aunt Grace in particular, are freakishly, obsessively, whackadoo clean. Dare I say obsessive compulsive? Yes, I dare.

And because of my basic pathetic insecurity, I am always struggling to maintain the fiction to the family that I too am very, very clean. Which is...mmm...not true. Over the summer, when I stayed at Aunt Grace's apartment while I was attending BlogHer, I was afraid to touch anything. I actually took pictures with my iPhone so I'd remember how to put everything in the bathroom back the way I found it. I was gratified afterward to hear that Grace had told Mary "You'd never even know she'd been there." The ULTIMATE compliment on Grace's part.

So all last week I went room by room, and did all of those "deep cleaning" chores that I'd been putting off -

1. I sorted and dealt with the ginormous pile of crap that had accumulated on the floor next to my desk. (NOTE: the pile of crap did not actually consist of...crap, but of old bills, catalogues, letters, Jude's art, flyers, books and 436 things that had been sent home from Jude's school. In other words...crap).
2. I climbed up and cleaned off the 1/4 inch of dust that had accumulated on the top of the ceiling fan in Jude's room, which made the normally white fan blades look as though they were made out of charcoal gray felt. And which I had stared at every night for months while I was reading to Jude, but never did anything about.
3. I washed and ironed all the curtains. Jimmy actually walked into the kitchen, gasped and said "Oh my God! Will you look at that!" when he saw the kitchen curtains. Guess I should do this more often.
4. I took out the refrigerator drawers and scrubbed out the science experiment that was growing underneath, thusly finally uncovering the peculiar odor emanating from the fridge. Ewww.
5. I finally pulled out the wood glue, and repaired the two wiggly dining room chairs. The two chairs that for the past two years we've been warning people not to sit in. "NO! Not that one!!!"

But despite all of this preparation, I had saved all of the real boiling - the dusting, Windexing, bleaching, vacuuming, scrubbing, sweeping and mopping - for Saturday, the day before Grace's arrival. I wanted everything to be perfect when she got here. My plan was to clean the house all Saturday afternoon, then wrap Jimmy and Jude in plastic, and stand them on newspaper in the corner until just before Grace's plane arrived.

But then, of course, God bit me in the ass. On Friday night, at about 2:00 a.m., I was awakened. Hmmm. I feel...funny...like I'm going to...and I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I then spent the next two hours vomiting. Or, more colorfully stated, "bowing down to the porcelain goddess".

I was feeling only moderately better when the alarm clock rang at 6:45 a.m. Why 6:45 a.m. on a Saturday, you ask? Because it was time for Jude's Cub Scouts annual Raingutter Regatta. Now, I realize that having spent the night "doing the Technicolor yawn" was an excellent excuse to not take the child to his boat race. But...I am his Akela. And we'd worked so damned hard making that damned boat for the damned race. And because I'm an idiot. And Jimmy had a coaching client coming at 9:00.

So we went to the damned boat race. And his little boat came in Second Place, thank you very much. So proud. The saddest thing about the morning was that I absolutely looked like holy hell, and not one person mentioned it. No one said "Are you okay? You look a bit frail and pallid." Which leads me to fear that they just thought "Well, she's old, I guess this is how she looks in the morning."

And immediately following the Raingutter Regatta, Jude had a soccer game. In the rain. Yes. I know. This was foolish. "Driving the porcelain bus". Yes. But again, Jimmy had a coaching client. And Jude had missed his game last week because he had a cough, and he really, really wanted to go, and...well, his coach is rather attractive.

After all this, I got home and proceeded to clean. And clean. And clean. And dust and vacuum and scrub and Windex and bleach and mop. When Jimmy came in and I finally confessed that I'd spent the night "tossing my cookies", he got kind of mad at me for doing all this stuff. Though, I must add didn't offer to do it himself! He did say that we should "call somebody to do it". Who this miracle cleaning lady is who will show up at the last minute on a Saturday, I DON'T KNOW (do people still say "cleaning lady" or is that an obsolete Texanism?). Anyway, he did take Jude for lunch and a haircut, thus enabling me to finish all my work and finally GO TO BED. So I guess that's something.

Then on Sunday morning, I woke up, felt somewhat better, and started to get ready for church. The plan was for Jimmy and Jude to pick Grace up at the airport at 11:00, and I'd meet them after mass. As I was making Jude's breakfast I suddenly heard...Jimmy throwing up! Yep. It was his turn. "Blowing beets". "Yodeling groceries". Poor, poor thing.

So Grace has arrived. So far she's been forced by Jude to play two games of Candyland and one game of Sorry and to watch two episodes of Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated. Neither of them have thrown up. So far so good.

I am FINALLY relaxing. In our really very clean, thoroughly Gracified house. I need to remember this. How much nicer our home is when it's really very clean. I should very much try to keep it this way. But alas, something always gets in the way. Like..."calling Ralph on the big, white phone". Sigh... 

Camp Mama 2010 Week Four: Child Labor

Week Four? Could that be right? Four weeks of summer, and we haven't done ANYTHING? Well, there was the camping, but other than that? Squat.

I blame the weather. I know that those of you sweltering in the heat and humidity on the East Coast don't want to hear this, but it's been downright nippy. When I got in the car today at about 1:30 pm, the external thermostat said it was 64 degrees. That means it's dropping into the low 50s at night! Tomorrow we're supposed to go to the beach, but I'm afraid it's just going to be too chilly. Nothing worse than having to wear your parka to the beach. So we haven't done any of the usual summer fun stuff - no swimming, no beach.

I have therefore spent the last two weeks "reclaiming our home", so to speak. I have been spring cleaning like crazy. I pulled everything out of every cabinet and closet in the house, cleaned it and put it back neatly. I've cleared out bags and bags of junk. It's finally starting to have the feeling that we are what my mother would have considered "good people" again. People who live in a well-kempt and well-cared for home.

So Tuesday morning, after a long weekend of patriotic revelry, I announced to Jude that our plan for the day was to really clean his room.

He stared at me.

"Clean it really well" I said enthusiastically "We're gonna take everything apart and clean it all."

He stared at me again, and seemed to be sizing me up and considering his options.

"Maybe we can make a deal." he suggested.

"Okay, what's your offer?" I countered.

He screwed up his face.

"How about, I help you clean my room for five hours. Then I get to play the Wii for half an hour."

A beat of silence until I said "Sounds fair."

I'm afraid he has yet to grasp the art of negotiation.

So for the next five hours, we emptied every drawer, every toy bin, every shelf, sorted through all his toys, his books, his toys, until the entire room was ship shape. Then he played the Wii. I'm afraid I let him cheat and play for 45 minutes.

The next morning I announced cheerily "I've decided what we're going to do today!"

Jude looked at me sideways. "It's not something lame like cleaning my room, is it?"

"No!" I said, " We're going to clean the back yard!"

Do any of you remember the "pool"? From last summer?

Well I'm afraid...

Yes, yes, I know. I was supposed to have cleaned it out and put it away about...October. But I just never did. Like I said, things had gotten a little out of hand around here. 

So we had a little bit of work to do. And by we, I mean he.

I have to say, the kid did a good job.

 

I set him to work, then went in and did laundry. He scrubbed it out, filled it and chlorinated it. Of course, it's not warm enough to actually swim in it yet, but we're hopeful.

I have now taught my son the value of a job well done.

If you do your job well...you get to play the Wii. 

At Least Somebody's Working

Our house booked another gig.

When last you heard of our home's television career, it was playing the role of "Pittsburgh Row House in the Fall" on the tv show "Three Rivers".

This time, it will be appearing as "Richard Dreyfuss' Character's Porch in Michigan" on "Weeds", which happens to be one of my VERY most FAVORITE shows, so I was terribly excited.

Our house seems to be making a career of what I like to think of as "character roles". Which I think is a good thing. I mean, there are always lots of pretty faces out there, but to be able to play a gritty, troubled kind of part really takes talent.

From what I have gathered from the location people, Nancy et al are on the run from the Mexicans, in kind of a cross-country odyssey.

(I realize that for those of you who don't watch the show, this means nothing. So you should watch the show.)

Nancy, Andy, Silas, Shane and Doug seem to be driving around in this bus...

...the Praisewagon. Though I don't know why.

And they seem to have met a character played by Richard Dreyfuss. Though I don't know who he is, or what they're doing with him. I do know, that he doesn't live in a very nice house, 'cause they took away all of my sort of cute white wicker, and the porch swing, and replaced it with all of this crap...

I tried to take some pictures for y'all, but I was trying to look like I wasn't taking pictures for y'all, so...

Here's Richard Dreyfuss...

 
  
See him? Look harder. Way in the back, with the hat, between all those people. Here, this will help...

See? Clearly Richard Dreyfuss. And here's Mary Louise Parker...
 

Okay, unfortunately, some dude had his coffee cup in front of her face. But clearly, those are her legs.

And here's Kevin Nealon...

I DID get a very clear picture of this woman...

...who is, unfortunately NOT Mary Louise Parker, but her stand in. Hence the similar hair.

Interestingly, while I was being terribly respectful, and giving the tv folks their "space", my family was behaving otherwise.

Jude engaged the director in about a 15 minute dissertation on his favorite tv show, Wipeout. He kept showing the poor man bits of it he had TiVoed the night before. In fact, the child is so completely unimpressed by everything Hollywood, that he didn't even seem to notice that there was an entire film crew in our living room...

...notice Jude in the chair watching TV and Fancy sleeping peacefully on the sofa while all hell has broken loose around them.

Then, when they actually started rolling the camera, I took Jude and Fancy into the back of the house to hide quietly and not disturb anyone. Suddenly, I heard Jimmy call my name. I ventured out to the living room, and found Jimmy standing there talking to Richard and Mary Louise, and showing them a documentary on the actor John Cazale, which Dreyfuss was in, but had never seen. They all seemed like old pals. This is very Jimmylike. They both seemed very nice and friendly.

According to this article, Dreyfuss will be shooting at least 4 episodes, so let's all think positive thoughts that our house will recur as well. So far, he's paid his own mortgage this month, it would be nice if he could also pay his own property taxes. Cross your fingers!
 

RTT: Drills, Studs, Screws and Bunny Ears

It's Random Tuesday Thoughts, and I'm in a "mood". What has brought on this "mood"? Home improvement. Argh. I'm finally doing something with our stupid closet. Our stupid, tiny, awkward, over-crowded closet. I decided that this morning I would finally get going on this MUCH needed project that has been hanging over my head for years. Why I've decided to do this during Holy Week, when I'm going to be down at that damned church for hours every day, I don't know. Isn't my attitude really...you know...Christian? Argh again.

So this morning, I pulled everything out of the closet, which is now all over our house. I then whacked out the old shelf and clothes bar and made room for the new "Closet Organization System" which I have purchased. Now comes the "mood" part. I went next door to borrow a drill from our neighbor Nick. Nick is one of those "tool dudes", and I asked him yesterday if I could borrow his drill and he said "Sure, just come by in the morning." So I go by this morning, and guess what? He forgot to charge the drill. "It should be charged by about 1:00" he says. 1:00! I have to pick Jude up at 2:40!! Nick then suggested that I use the time locating the studs and marking where I need to drill.  Which leads me to my first random thought...

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Does anybody know how to locate a stud? And before anyone makes an off-color joke about that, I'm talking about a stud inside a wall. I keep tap, tap, tapping and finding where I think the stupid thing is, but they say ("they" being the home improvement gods) that studs are supposed to be located every 16" or 24", but what I think are studs based on my tap, tap, tapping seem to be located kind of randomly. Could this be because my house was built in 1915 and the builders weren't listening to "they" back then? Or is my tap, tap, tapping finding things like, oh, electrical wires or something else I would really rather not drill into? Which leads me to...

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WHY THE HELL DID I THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO MARRY A MAN WHO DOESN'T KNOW A MONKEY WRENCH FROM MONKEY BREAD?

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So now, it's 1:00 and...you guessed it. NO NICK. Day ruined. A whole day wasted. Argh! (third argh, if anyone's counting. No Nick, no drill. Which leads me to...

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Why are all construction/building terms sexual? Drill. Stud. Screw. Hammer. It's true, right?

Let's move on to things that don't make me say "Argh". I know, I'll put on my bunny ears which I just unearthed from my Easter Decorations Box. Nothing like bunny ears to raise your spirits.

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I saw this the other day on the Internet - Women Taking Birth Control Pill Live Longer. For those of you too lazy to click on the link: After one of the world's largest studies of the contraceptive pill, British researchers have found that "women who used oral contraception had a significantly lower rate of death from any cause, including heart disease and all cancers, compared with women who had never taken it." To which I say "WOOHOO!!" Because I was on that damned pill for AGES (please don't tell the Catholic Church!). Of course, little did I know that I was practically BARREN, and would eventually need intense fertility treatment to get pregnant (mmmm...don't tell the Catholic Church again).

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Talking about my fertility issues always makes me think of that line from Raising Arizona "Her womb was a rocky place, where my seed could find no purchase."

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I found these gorgeous, hand-painted eggs at church yesterday...

Can you see them? Here too...

I'm sorry my photography skills are so poor. But let me tell you, they are incredibly special. They're real eggs, blown-out and hand-painted by some nuns somewhere (the woman selling them wasn't really clear about where) and they only cost $2 each! I went crazy and bought 10 of them. I'll probably end up giving one of them to Jimmy's teacher. I always put up an egg tree for Easter, and these are a perfect addition! Most of my ornaments were made by Mama, and many of them are cracked and falling apart. I know that Mama would have LOVED these - she was a great supporter of all things nun.

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Right now, I have something going in the Crock that is driving me out of my mind with its good-smelliness. It's so good I'm compelled to share the recipe. And the best thing? It's...you may have to sit down for this...a Weight Watchers recipe!! 6 Points a serving, yeah, Baby!

Country-Style Beef Short Ribs

1 1/4 lbs. boneless beef short ribs, trimmed of all visible fat

salt and pepper

2 onions, sliced into wedges

1 lb. small whole white potatoes

1 1/2 cups whole baby carrots

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 cup low-sodium beef broth

2 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

3 tbsp. flour

3 tbsp. cold water

1 tbsp. chopped flat-leaf parsley

Sprinkle the ribs with salt and pepper. Spray a skillet with nonstick spray and set over medium heat. Add the ribs and cook, turning once, until browned, about 8 minutes.

Transfer the ribs to a slow cooker. Add the onions, potatoes, carrots, garlic and bay leaf. Pour the broth and Worcestershire sauce over the meat and vegetables. Cover and cook until the meat and vegetables are fork-tender, 4 -5 hours on high or 8-10 hours on low.

About 20 minutes before the cooking time is up, combine the flour and water in a small bowl until smooth; stir in about 1/4 cup of the hot liquid from the slow cooker until blended. Stir the flour mixture into the slow cooker. Cover and cook on high, until the mixture simmers and thickens, about 15 minutes. Discard the bay leaf. Stir in the parsley just before serving.

I can't wait!

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To kick off Holy Week, here's a little fabulous something from my choir. Recorded in the church on Palm Sunday.

Kyrie by Hans Leo Hassler.

Kyrie - Hassler

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Check out my new widget thingymahoochy on the right. You can now not only do the "Join This Site" thing (which I highly encourage), but you can now be my Facebook friend! Just like if we went to high school together, but you kind of ignored me all the time, or we were in a play together, 15 years ago, and I don't remember anything about you except your name and that you weren't very nice. Only better than that. So do it!

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So finally, Nick has shown up, charged drill in hand. It is 2:00! Day wasted. Ar...no, I was going to say argh again, but actually something so wonderful happened with Nick's arrival that it almost makes up for the wasted day. When I answered the door to Nick, and was standing there talking to him, and trying not to let on how really pissed off I was that the day was wasted, I realized that he kept staring at me rather strangely. Finally he said "I like the...uh..." and pointed to my head. Yes, I had forgotten to remove my bunny ears before opening the door! Now, how do you explain that? A 40-something woman hanging out at home in the middle of the day wearing bunny ears? I didn't even try, just smiled and said "thank you".

You know he's going to be thinking about this for weeks.

 Please visit the beautiful Keely at The Unmom for more random Tuesdays!!

RTT: Ma, My Brilliant Child and Pork

Random, random, random....

Last week I put up a post about my pathetic attempt to keep our house in order with a plan wherein I assign a different household drudgery to every day of the week, but it wasn't until about a day after I posted it that I remembered where I got this idea (don't you HATE that!). Ma Ingalls. Remember in Little House in the Big Woods how Ma divvied up her household tasks by days of the week? Except instead of "Dust and Vacuum" Day, poor old Ma probably had things like "Butcher the Bear" Day, and "Scrub Out the Outhouse" Day. I should definitely remember her the next time I start complaining about not having a maid.

Since Christmas, Jude has become completely obsessed with that "Super Mario Galaxy" Wii game (damn that Santa Claus), and talks about it incessantly. Actually, he talks incessantly in general (can't IMAGINE where he gets this!), but lately his favorite topic is that "Super Mario Galaxy" Wii game. I spend a great deal of time smiling and nodding and saying things like "Ah, the Loopdeloop Galaxy...how very interesting" and "Really? Fire Mario AND Ghost Mario. I didn't know that" while he goes on and on and on and on about Mario and Bowser Junior and Peach and some kind of thing about some stars and domes...(it's at this point that my eyes start to roll back in my head...). But the other day, he said something I thought was amazingly astute. If you have been spared the silliness of this game, you should understand that it's basic premise is that someone named Princess Peach has been kidnapped by the evil villain Bowser, and our hero Mario must make his way across the galaxy, fighting evil-doers along the way until he finally rescues his lady love, Peach.  "Mama?" "Yes, Jude." "I don't think Mario really loves Peach." "No?" "No. I think he just likes to kiss her." Which I thought was a rather mature understanding of the difference between love and lust for a six-year-old. We'll see if he can remember this distinction once his hormones have been taken possession of by puberty.

And while we're talking about my brilliant child...(I feel you all collectively cringing), on Martin Luther King Day, we were reading a book about MLK and talking about what he did for America and how is legacy has lived on. Jude, interestingly, has almost no concept of race. He recognizes differences in appearance, that some people have skin that's a different shade from his, or eyes that are a different shape, and he understands that some people are from different countries, and speak different languages, but he doesn't have any concept of race. All this talk about civil rights and water fountains and who could sit where on the bus were totally baffling and unimaginable to him. When we were talking about all this, he asked me "Mama? Who was the first brown-skinned man?" "Gee, honey, I don't know, it would have been a very, very long time ago, back at the beginning of people." "Maybe it was Adam! You never know. Only Eve would know for sure." Which I thought was interesting since historians place Eden somewhere in Northern Africa. But I'd love to see the reaction to this declaration from certain redneck bible-thumpers I grew up with!

Many of you may have seen this in the news this week, but I think it's definitely worth repeating. Argentine President Cristina Kirchner has recommended pork as an alternative to Viagra to improve your sex life. "Pork consumption improves sexual activity," President Kirchner told a gathering of business people at the Presidential Palace. "Besides, some nice grilled pork is much more gratifying than taking Viagra." She then said that she and her husband recently ate pork and "we were in high spirits the whole weekend." After this rather TMI proclamation, someone named Juan Uccelli, the president of the Argentine Association of Pork Producers backed the President's claims. He stated that people in Denmark and Japan, where pork consumption is high "have much more harmonious sexual lives than us Argentines have." Wow. I don't know about you, but this is the best news I've heard in a really long time. I'll take any excuse to eat more bacon.

And speaking of bacon...we have this new favorite brunch place here in LA, Grub, which is owned by Betty from Top Chef. Remember Betty?...

...the one who got all in Marcel the jackass's face? Well, they make this bacon at her restaurant that is outrageously good. They call it Sweet and Sassy Thick-Cut Bacon, but I call it The Orgasm. I don't know what they do to it, but it involves some kind of coating made from brown sugar and cumin and something spicy. I would just sit and eat an entire plate of it, but I'd humiliate myself with the crazed moaning noises I'd make. If you ever get to LA, check it out.

Okay, I'm all randomed out. Head on over toThe Unmom for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.