A Few of My Favorite Things.

Okay really only one thing.

Fried rice!!!

At this point I'm sure you are scratching your head and thinking I was going to talk about Christmas stuff. You know, egg nog, carols, teapots, whiskers on kittens (that's what Julie Andrews was really talking about). By now you should know that nothing here leads where you think it's going to.

What's with the creepy matching outfits?

I love the South. I might have mentioned this once or twice.

It's not perfect though. There are some things lacking here that I might have taken for granted while I was living in NJ. I was just about to list a bunch of cultural stuff but lets be honest, who cares about any of that?

Food. I miss the food.

So lets go back to the beginning of this confusing story.

At thanksgiving the preschool where I work had a breakfast, each classroom was responsible for a portion of the aforementioned breakfast. My kids had to bring breakfast meat. Suggestions included, sausage, bacon, liver mush(if you don't know what this is it's apparently because you don't live in NC). I tried to steer everyone towards bacon. Sadly there weren't all hearing my subtle pushing.

Everything is better with bacon and funnier with googly eyes.

One of the wonderful parents asked if it was okay to bring fried rice. She is not from here (by here I mean the US.) originally and fried rice is something she regularly enjoys for breakfast. I encouraged her. It would be nice to have something slightly non traditional and it wasn't like she was bringing monkey brains of fried snails.

You know this is what you were all thinking.

The breakfast went great and everyone enjoyed the ridiculous amount of food.



If you're still reading. Good for you. I'm about to tie all this together.

The rice was awesome. I got seconds. I raved and raved and raved to her the week after the breakfast. It was better than any rice I had eaten since we moved south. Seriously, this lady could have a restaurant with just that rice and I would be there at least once a week.

He English is good but it isn't perfect, and she's very soft spoken so I wondered if she understood just how sincere my love of her rice was until this week.

The little ones started bringing Christmas presents. Some gift cards, candles, lotions. The stuff you would usually expect until the Friday before break when this wonderful mom arrived with a tray of rice for me.

A WHOLE TRAY!

So yummy in my tummy.

I jumped up and down. I hugged her. I giggled like a school girl. (okay maybe that last one is a bit of an exaggeration)

I went home and immediately had a bowl. It was just as good as I remembered it. Maybe a tiny bit better.

So in conclusion fried rice has been my favorite gift so far this Christmas season.

Anyone want to make me Moussaka?


PS I just realized I already have a post with a similar title. Do I secretly love Julie Andrews?

Who am I kidding? Of course I love her. Have you ever seen Victor Victoria?

Holiday Spirit

I have two unrelated stories today because I like to keep you guys guessing as to what will come next.

Story number 1:

Today was a busy day. There was a long list of stuff I was supposed to get done and it was going to be one thing after another. At some point I realized I was starving so I popped into Subway (so I get paid for product placement?) to grab a quick bite.

I was all set to get some chicken and veggie, healthy, Jarrod approved sandwich when the guy in front of me ordered three 6 inch meatball subs. As the subway lady put them together I was seduced by the red sauce. When it came time to order I got one.

Side note: No judging! I normally make my own sauce from scratch and never buy frozen meatballs. NEVER. But it looked so good and I was so hungry!

Anyway, I ordered the sandwich and moved down the counter towards the register. When the gentleman in front of me got there he paid for his and then added to cashier that he would pay for mine too.

It was such a nice surprise. I thanked him profusely and wandered out of Subway with just a tiny bit less cynicism in my heart.

In a "pay it forward" moment there was a salvation army bell ringer out front so I shoved the cash I had pulled out to pay for my sandwich into the kettle.

So thanks nice guy for giving me a dose of holiday cheer and thank you to my awesome obnoxious facebook friends that proceeded to belittle the gesture by implying I might have somehow traded or threatened the man into paying. I would expect nothing less from a group of degenerates.

Story number 2

Walking out of a large department store I held the door while an elderly couple came in. The following is their conversation.

Husband: Okay so I am heading to the boys department to get 3 collared shirts and two pairs of pants for Tom and Mike and you are going to the ladies department to get perfume and gloves for Jessica and Sarah.

Wife: I'll see you in an hour.

Then I watched the husband check his watch. I though for sure he was going to tell her to move out. Or take the beach. I wasn't surprised at all to see the Semper Fi hat perched on his head.

Once a marine always a marine. I guess that applies to Christmas shopping as well as warfare.

Triple S Would Make a Horrible Spy

Not because he has a bad poker face or because he can't be sneaky.

He has a great poker face and he can be very sneaky. This comes in handy because like a 6 year old I will search for my Christmas presents. It's not that I don't like surprises.

I do. I just have no self control. (I'll pause while you gasp dramatically.)

Triple S can't be a spy because he answers questions in his sleep.

Tug Timmy, Triple S's home away from home.

Scott works on a tugboat. He works a 2 and 2 schedule. For you non boat people that means he works for 2 weeks on the boat (yes, he even sleeps there), then he is home for 2 weeks. That is 2 whole weeks where he has nothing to do. Well nothing except my honey do list. It usually isn't that long since I'm handy.

You would think this would mean I would make him do all kinds of stuff so I could take a break but because I am so freaking awesome I don't do that. Also it's just easier to do most things myself. (And it's possible that I'm a eansy weensie, tiny bit of a control freak.)

To say Triple S isn't a morning person is what some might call an understatement. I would rather try and put mittens on honey badgers than have to wake him up before 10. 

Why so angry cutie pie?

This means our routine doesn't change even when he is home. I still get up and get the kids ready for school.

You know dressed, breakfast, teeth brushed. All the regular stuff.

(Crazy people put their pants on one leg at a time just like the "normals")

Along with this we also take our neighbors son with us. He's a good kid and it's not like I'm not already going there.

The poor guy has been sick, some horrible stomach bug that is plaguing our school.

So instead of waiting for a knock at our door I left for school with just my two monsters.

When I got home I walked into my bedroom and curled up next to my hubby to snuggle. Okay it was really to steal his warmth. The man is a human furnace and since the car doesn't even have time to warm up before I am already back home I was freezing.

What? I love him for more than just his body heat. Stop judging me!

Now comes the part where I point out that he isn't spy material.

3S- Luke knocked at the door, why did you leave without him?

Me- His mom texted me he wasn't going to school again. Did you answer the door?

3S- No.

Me- Then how do you know it was them?

3S- Who else would be knocking on the door this early? (this was sound logic so I stopped questioning him)


Two hours later when the bear emerged from the cave I asked him if Luke had come by again while I was out.

3S- Why would Luke come by?

Me- You said he knocked on the door this morning.

3S- When did I say this?

He forgot all of it. The entire conversation. I'm not even sure if anyone actually knocked on the door.

Even after being reminded of the details he insisted that it never happened.

Needless to say I don't think this is a great quality for a spy. I didn't check with the CIA but I do watch Burn Notice and Covert Affairs.

My GIANT tree

This is not a complaint. (Triple S has pointed out that just by saying this I am already complaining.)

I wanted to start with that since this is going to sound a lot like a complaint.

My living room. It has a ridiculous double ceiling.

When the children are running around the echo is deafening. No amount of pictures or carpets seems to deaden the sound.I thought about pretending we live in a castle and cover the walls with tapestries but it turns out they aren't cheap. Or attractive. Or available at Target.

So for eleven months out of the year I'm not a fan of the ridiculous waste of space that is the double ceiling.

But it's not those eleven anymore. It's December!

The one month when I love the stupid thing.

Seriously joyful!

It's Christmas! And the number one thing that Christmas brings besides joy and children singing in harmony, and world peace, and wishes and family outings and .... Sorry I got sidetracked there for a moment.

TREES!

Colin and Natalie picking out the "biggest"

 

A GIANT 13 FOOT TREE.

Yeah I said 13. That's how big the monster fir in my living room measures.

Natalie on my shoulders next to the beast.

Large enough to ensure I will be able to continue my ornament addiction for years to come.

So no complaining. At least not until January when everything is packed away and the echo returns.

All decked out with no where to go. It's so pretty!

I'm Thankful I'm Handy

Yeah it's two weeks after Thanksgiving but I'm going to post about things I'm thankful for anyway.

I'm thankful my pops, the big RECCO, fixed everything. We never called a plumber or an electrician unless they were related to us.

When I was little he had only blue collar jobs. He would come home covered in mud and blood, but even when he got himself a fancy office his hands still betrayed his handiness. Massive with thick callouses, they always had a few cuts because although dad was handy he was also impatient. He would jam that giant mitt into the tiniest places because it would take longer to get the extension for the wrench.

 

He once sawed a socket wrench in half because it wouldn't fit in between my engine block and the radiator. Of course he couldn't be bothered to file the edge so the radiator fluid and his blood mixed into a horribly macabre Christmas decoration all over the driveway.

Not that he noticed. We always needed to point out to him when he was bleeding.

One of many things I get from him is this same lack of self preservation.

Sorry I got sidetracked.

When I came home yesterday I walked down to my mailbox and tried to get the mail out only for the box to fall off the post.

It appears that someone knocked the whole thing down. I'd love to accuse hooligans but I find it unlikely that after knocking it down they suddenly had a crisis of conscience and tried to fix the thing.

"Stop, I just can't live with myself. What did that mailbox ever do to me? I think I'm just trying to compensate because my dad never told me he was proud of me."

That is my third choice drill, the only one that was charged.

First I cursed loudly. (The kids were still in school so no judging.)

Then I marched back up the driveway with the mailbox tucked under my arm and got all the tools I would need to fix it.

I didn't grab a hammer and just try and bang it back on. I didn't call Triple S on the tugboat somewhere in the gulf.I didn't call my nice neighbor and ask for help.

I fixed the dam thing. 

So thanks Dad for being the crazy man who made me change my own oil in my first car. For making me learn to change the tires even though we had triple A. For teaching me how to use power tools and the importance of a fuse box and a thousand other things.

Good as new!