"Honesty"... is such a lonely word

Is there such thing as complete honesty between people? Between husband and wife? Between friends? How honest a person are you?

I can truly say that I am very honest with Snark. Actually, I do fib a bit on the price of my handbags and clothing. Really, just the handbags. I don't buy outrageous clothing so he doesn't care. The handbags are a different story. By a little fibbing I mean by reducing the price by a $100.00...........or so. Okay, I can't even be honest on this blog.

Snark believes in honesty. When I was pregnant with the eldest, I made the mistake of asking him how I looked in jeans(As a newbie pregnant person, who knew you did not do that.). He made the mistake of telling me that my butt looked big. But that is how our relationship works. There is really nothing we hold back. That is a good and a bad thing. I can tell him anything but that also provides fodder for "do you remember when you did................."

How about your friends? Do you tell them they look horrendous in their outfits? Do you tell them that they are a little too blonde?? That their kids are rude little midgets? I don't. I would rather seethe than tell people what I really think. In my opinion, honesty is not always the best policy. I find my female friends would rather not hear the truth. It hurts their ears.

The biggest mistake I made with this blog was letting my friends know who wrote it. Now I get e-mails asking "Is that me??" So I am stating now. It may or may not be you. Just enjoy. Am I being honest when I say that it isn't you? Like I said before honesty isn't always the way to go.

Year in Review

January: Post holiday letdown. Hosted brother-in-law and family of six for Christmas. Mentally exhausted and needed several drinks to reinvigorate myself. Found out due to non-vigilance on yearly PAP(more like the five yearly PAP) had precancerous cells that needed to be lasered off. Spent January freaked out, writing will and telling Snark that he could remarry.

February: Mardi Gras was early. Went to annual Spanishtown parade and spent the day trying to get beads without flashing boobs. It worked, but for how long? Took the kids to New Orleans Mardi Gras and tried to explain that the human condom man was actually the "Boy in the Bubble". Got hit in the face with bags of beads. Needed a beer after that.

Had laser surgery on Valentines day. Best hospital experience ever. But then I always wanted to be knocked out while someone is cauterizing my insides. Wish all PAPs came with optional anesthesia. Cruelest blow of all: Had to cancel reservations at French Laundry in Napa. That was a kick in the pants.

March: Snark informs me that being self-employed stinks. I agree and the job hunt begins. Options are unemployment, Indiana (rather have unemployment), or staying in Baton Rouge and hunting nutria for dinner.

April/May: April is one of those months that passes in a blur. Why? I have no clue but nothing exciting happens and that is just fine with me. May on the other hand is great. My birthday is the 10th. I went to Canton, MS for a huge outdoor bazaar and came back with plenty of goodies. Enjoyable trip barring the moment that someone tried to enter hotel room and my girlfriend turned into Japanese anime heroine. Jumped out of bed screaming "no,no,no!" In spite of fright I fell on the nasty pseudo-carpet laughing. The intruder changed his mind after hearing us in the room.

Had Chicken on a Stick. Highly recommend it.

For Mother's Day I visited my friend in Orlando, Fl. Little did she know that Snark interviewed in Orlando area. Very hard time keeping my mouth shut that weekend seeing as she is one of my closest friends. Kept surreptisiously looking at houses for sale. Snark got the job and I told her. Very nice to have her close by.

June/July: Cleaned out house for showings. Hate that. I like to shove everything in closets, but had to clean those too. Had to pretend that the dog and cat did not exist. They were not thrilled. Cat got revenge by puking right before a showing. Almost told them I'd give her to them if they bought the house. Flew to Orlando for a house hunt. Friend came with Snark and I house-hunting. Realtor was snotty and the housing was horrendous. Wanted to go back and hug my stove in BR. Snark put his foot down and chose the house. He did the right thing but the shock still has not worn off.

August: Mom comes to visit. Gets me off my butt to decorate the house and prods me to do some much needed landscaping. Good will between us lasts about two weeks then we settle down to comfortable bickering until she leaves. I go to visit her in NYC and spend most of my time drooling in windows and seeking out places to eat. Last day there I make my cousin do a food tour with us. List of places:

Beard Papa-cream puffs and only that
Joe's Shanghai- crabmeat soup dumplings
Chinatown--dim sum at some corner and lychees and mangos at the market. Pretty sticky but tasty
Payard--Everyone gets a pastry and we go to Central Park to share. Last mouthful is settled by a verbal abuse contest between my cousin and I. Too bad while we were talking someone else ate it.
Coffee at a truck somewhere I read about.
Prune for dinner--had salmon, ginger spiked vodka lemonade called a ladybug. While cousin's wife was in bathroom drank half of her melon drink with rum and lychee. Denied all knowledge of how it disappeared.

I get blamed for weight gain at the end of it but I know they loved it.

September: School is in full swing. Time for myself. Spend days talking about how great being alone is and twiddling thumbs. Go back to doc and find out the nasty cells are back. I get to go back and get plumbing fixed. I ask innocently if we can just yank all non usuable parts out. Get a strange look from doctor. Spend rest of month revising will and telling Snark that he has to learn how to braid the girls' hair. He gives me strange look also.

October: Gear up for Halloween. Get word that single neighbor is keeping track of my going and coming. No he is not FBI, just nosy. What is worse, single neighbor is not goodlooking. What does that say about me? Low point that month.

November: Had my ten-minute surgery again. Margins come back clear so I am okay for now. Have to go back in six months. Fly to Michigan for Thanksgiving. Gave thanks that I did not live there anymore. Too much snow for me. Had to hear Snark moaning about prefab turkey and nasty stuffing. Gave him Hungry Howie's as compensation for missed turkey dinner. Drank plenty. Had to. Go to brother-in-law's and ply myself with spicy Bloody Marys. It was a good visit after the drinks.

December: Went to Baton Rouge to visit girlfriend. Was hoping I could kick those people out of my house. Was the first time back since Katrina. Traffic everywhere. City is booming. Louisiana people are tough. New Orleans will come back. Went to Whole Foods and cursed that everytime I am leaving they go and build a beautiful Whole Foods in the city I leave. Spent an hour wandering around fondling the cheese and chocolate like a pervert.
Did shopping for Christmas online. Snark and I bought each other books and beer. It's the little things that make us happy.

December 31st--Going to friend's house and drinking.

Brisket

There is a grocery chain in St Louis called Dierbergs. They put out recipes every month. They are great because they are easy and delicious. This recipe is big favorite. I keep losing the recipe so I am lucky I have friends that also like this. I serve it with mashed cauliflower or potatoes and slow cooked green beans.

1 Beef Brisket (3-4 lbs) Use a flat cut.

1 cup ketchup

1/2 cup of strong brewed coffee

1/4 cup of firmly packed brown sugar

3 Tbsp. lemon juice

1 Tbsp. worcestershire sauce

Trim fat. Place brisket in a 9X13 baking dish. In bowl combine all the remaining ingredients. Pour mixture over meat. Cover tightly. Roast in oven at 325 for 3 hours or until tender. Let stand for 30 minutes before serving.

Holiday Highlights

I am back to semi-normal. The day after Christmas I took down all the holiday gee-gaws and put my house back together. That is my tradition. When Christmas is over, it is really over in the Lavacakes household. The 26th finds me throwing everything in a box and snapping my bullwhip on Snark to take it to the attic. Oddly, he finds that whole bullwhip very exciting. But I digress...

The girls have time off till Jan. 4th. This means that I have to entertain them till they or I fall asleep exhausted from family togetherness.

This holiday we saw approx. 30 minutes of "Narnia" before my nine year old ran screaming out of the theater. Snark followed, screaming about the 40 bucks he just lost and the seven year old called us all "losers".

We went to Disney exactly two times. We saw the beautiful light display at MGM. They had snow falling also and it was the best kind...because it was fake. Loved it!

The next time, we went to EPCOT to see the candlelight processional and see my second husband Jim Caviezel tell the story of Christmas. Seeing him decided a few issues. One, my digital sucks and I need a new one. Two, get to EPCOT early next year so I can sit close enough to throw myself at him. Three, lose the kids and the husband that day in order to throw myself at him. If you squint at the above picture you can see him.

We ate at Chefs D' France after. Snark ordered cod en croute and I ordered Beef Tenderloin. Our dishes were delish. Our enjoyment was aided by a mouth-puckering house wine. The waitress, Florie, was a newbie(first day on the job). She did great, meaning she kept the wine flowing and spoke kindly to the kiddies. The little one was fascinated by her accent and asked if she was from China. I think we need to work on languages with her.

We went over to friend's house for Christmas. This is a girlfriend I knew in St Louis, who moved here six months before me. Talk about good fortune. She is what I imagine my sister would be like...if I had one. It was tasty and Snark partook of some green ginger wine from Jamaica. Except he was supposed to dilute and he took it straight. Guess who drove home??

So far we have enjoyed the holiday. It was a bit harried at times but we are thankful for the roof over our heads and the food on our table. I hope that all of you have been as blessed as we have been.

Snark's cookie list

Every year we sit down and hash out the cookie list. This requires taking out 10 years of food magazines and debating recipients and time constraints. Now the kids are old enough to have a vote the cookie decisions take a bit longer.

We keep some old favorites like Jam thumbprints and try new recipes like Bittersweet Mocha Cookies. So here is the list and I will say that they all turned out well this year.

Caramel and chocolate dipped pretzel rods
Bittersweet Mocha Cookies
Dark chocolate wafers
pecan shortbread
Caramel corn
Jam Thumbprints

This takes most of the day because I make the caramel for the corn and pretzels. Snark makes the cookies. We passed most of it out this year to friends since making them makes me lose the taste for anything sweet for a while.

"The Letter"

I have started to receive my Christmas cards this year. Inevitably, I also receive a few of "letter updates." They are wonderful for updating people on your situation........and for bragging about your whole freaking family. So far a few I have received have said.

"Now that S has finished his MBA and is comtemplating whether he should get his Phd..." To me that translates to S had better get a job and stop being a professional student.

"Our little M won an artistic competition and his works are hanging in a local store..." That means Gymboree had a coloring contest and whoever colored in the lines won.

So I wrote a little update and the translations meaning the truth.

"Our family is doing well. After our move to the sunny state of Fl we found a sweet bungalow with friendly neighbors." Translation: The move sucked and we found a shack that needs work and the neighbors asked us to swing with them.

Our little one is active and we enjoy the time we spend with her. Her teacher has said she is creative and very unique. Translation: The kid is driving me crazy,I spend way too much time with her. Her teacher freaked out when she wrote on the word "damn" on the wall.

The older one is quiet and studious. She has a sensitive soul and loves to dance. Translation: She cries at the drop of a hat and she break dances in the store while I am trying to grocery shop.

Snark is ecstatic about his work as he continually moves up the corporate ladder. Translation: Snark is happy he has received his paycheck this week and due to all the layoffs he is "young enough" to take on more responsibilty now that all the people two years older have chosen to "retire."

Lavagirl is euphoric being at home. It gives her great pleasure to cook meals that are pleasing and she volunteers at school all the time. Translation: Lavagirl wishes Prozac was an OTC drug. Kraft Mac and cheese is what garners applause in her house. She is shleping up to school because she keeps hearing rumors that they might start teaching there instead of running the kids around to "clubs" like ceramics and drama. What is the point of "clubs" when your kid doesn't speak proper English? But that is another story.

In all the Lavacakes family is "perfect". Hope your family is doing just as well and look for our upcoming novella on how great we are around the same time next year.

Cranberry Brie Bites

I made these one year and they were a hit. I have made them every year since.

1 1/2 cups cranberry sauce (use homemade or store-bought cranberry sauce)
1 puff pastry sheet
1 brie triangle, chilled

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Thaw puffy pastry sheet flat. Cut puff pastry sheet into approximately 3-inch squares and place them into mini muffin tins, pressing them into the shape of the muffin hole. Place a 1-inch slice of brie in the center of each puff pastry and then top it with approximately 1 tablespoon of cranberry sauce.
Bake 10 minutes or until puff pastry corners are toasted light brown. Let cool 5 minutes before serving.

E-mail from a friend

I don't know who came up with this, but this is brilliant! So true.


As the holidays approach, my heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over the past 12 months.

Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed, and wealthy.
Extra thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat crap in the glue on envelopes 'cause I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope.

Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.
I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.
I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be
pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone might drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from nor send packages by UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number,for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer eat KFC because their "chickens" are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer have to buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

I no longer worry about my soul because at last count I have 363,214 angels looking out for me.

Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl who is
about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).

I no longer have any money at all - but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special email program.

Yes, I want to thank you so much for looking out for me that I will now return the favor!

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 7
minutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM (CDT) tomorrow afternoon.

I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next-door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.

> > Happy Holidays in advance.

Definition of Ma'am--@#$%

Being raised primarily in the South, I was taught that anyone old enough to be your mom was addressed with a Ms. or Mr. preceding their name or if they were hanging out at your house all the time Aunt or Uncle. It was all about courtesy. To this day I address my parent's friends the same way and anyone I meet that is older than me. I feel very uncomfortable with saying an older person's name without the courtesy title.

I have noticed since I've moved around that you can tell a Southerner by the way they automatically add Ma'am or Sir. You can tell the other's by the violent reaction to being Ma'amed. Especially with women. It is as if you called them the other four letter word.

Apparently, ma'am denotes decrepitness. That was never the case when I or the rest of the South said it. It was said out of respect for your elders. I read somewhere where a fifteen year old bagger called a 34 year old woman Ma'am and she was mortally offended. Well guess what, you are older honey. Face it. Quite frankly, Ma'am is preferable to "Yo bitch." Because you are more likely to be called that.

A friend came over and when my eldest added the Ms. to her name she cringed and then said.

"No you call me M."

My daughter raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, she will add the Ms. I don't allow my children to call adults by their first name." I replied.

"Well that makes me feel old."

I shrugged. What I wanted to say was "You are 40, she is 8. She is not an adult and she will not be allowed to treat you as an equal because she is not."

Snark and I do not allow our friends kids to call us by our first names. I think there needs to be a line drawn regarding overfamiliarity with your elders. If you are taught not to have a certain amount of courtesy or manners from young, you won't have it as an adult. It boils down to the fact that all people are not created equal, especially children and adults. I have lived longer than you and know a bit more. You can say "ma'am or Ms". I earned it.

Double Chocolate Cookies

Snark makes these for me every year. And every year I curse him for adding 10 lbs on me as I am stuffing them in my mouth, and hiding them from the kids. He uses Callebaut or another good-quality chocolate. It makes a difference.


1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 pound fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened)
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
1/2 cup sugar
3 large eggs

Preheat oven to 350°F. and line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.

Into a bowl sift together flour, cocoa and baking powders, and salt. Coarsely chop chocolate. In a double boiler or a large metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water melt butter with three fourths chocolate, stirring until smooth.

Remove chocolate mixture from heat and stir in sugar. Stir in eggs 1 at a time until combined well and stir in flour mixture until just combined. Chill dough, covered, at least 10 minutes and up to 1 hour.

Drop rounded tablespoon measures of dough about 1‚ inches apart onto baking sheet and stud each cookie with a few pieces remaining chocolate. Bake in middle of oven 10 minutes, or until just set. Cool cookies on sheet on rack 5 minutes and transfer with a spatula to rack to cool completely. Make more cookies with remaining dough in same manner. Cookies may be kept in an airtight container at room temperature 3 days.

Makes about 36 cookies.
Gourmet

Unattended parents will be sold!

I just read an article on the wire about a cafe owner in Chicago banning kids from his restaurant. Okay, I have kids. Am I outraged like a lot of parents out there? No! I admire him for having the cajones to stand up to those parents that allow their kids to throw things, break stuff and treat other people's property with absolute disdain.

Since when did it become the norm to not discipline your kids? I hate to make this comparison but I was reading a anecdote the other day where a vet was having a problem with a dog that was mean. He said the dog as a pup and young adult was spoiled. The owners never corrected it and lavished it with treats even when it misbehaved. He concluded the dog didn't have boundaries set and being a pack animal couldn't distinguish the leader of the pack, so it established itself as the dictator.

I think the same about children. There are parents that just don't care to discipline their children and I don't know if it is because it is other people's property they are destroying or they are just too lax. Either way, they stink. Maybe I am the other extreme, but I expect my kids to treat someone else's belongings the same way I want mine treated.

The same goes for screaming and tantrums in public places. Mine have done it and they get taken out, sometimes at the expense of my enjoyment.

We give a lot more leeway to our kids these days. They tend the run the household and because we are busy we give in to get some peace. If they are like little dictators at this young an age, what are they going to be like at 16 and bigger than you?

My wish list

I have a list of mundane items but I might as well publish them for you to know how boring I really am. I am not wishing for world peace because that is something that should happen throughout the year and in Miss America pageants. I thought about wishing for a new supersize-me chest, but Snark vetoed that also. These items are not listed in the order of importance:

* A new Kate Spade purse.
* A vanilla-orange flower candle from Bath and Body (Tahitian Vanilla Company).
* Wine (Sokol-Blosser, Joseph Phelps Pastiche,Rionda Prosecco. I could go on and on but I won't).
*Andrea Immer Robinson's 2006 wine buying guide.
* Dinner at the French Laundry in Yountville, Calif., (Had a reservation this year but had to cancel).
*Being invited to dinner at someone's house.
*Finding as great a book group as I had in Baton Rouge
*Every single book that Gerald Durrell wrote.
* The recipe for banana black bottom pie that I had at Palace Cafe (actually I just want the pie, who cares about the recipe).
* I want my chest to miraculously inflate itself to pre-breastfeeding days. Barring that, I want saggy boobs to be "in."
* Tickets to a Barry Manilow concert
*A girls trip(mine disintegrated) where the girls don't make excuses about why they can't go.
*A babysitter at my disposal (Mary Poppins preferred)
* Trip alone with Snark, preferably to the French Laundry
*I wish for my kids to realize that when I make you "real" macaroni and cheese you should shout for joy not turn your nose up and ask for the blue box.
*My neighbor to stop watching me drink my coffee in the morning and then comment that he has not seen me out there lately. Just creepy!
*I wish J.K. Rowling would hurry up and finish Book 7.
*I wish Robert Redford would offer me a million bucks because I sure as hell would not be going back to Woody Harrelson.
*Pants that actually fit your waist and don't show my bum when I bend over. Nobody needs to see it.

Yes I realize that some of these wishes are unattainable but that is why they are wishes.

All I want for Christmas is a vacuum!

You ever notice how after you get married your present expectations drop and then when you have kids they are at an all time low. I went from wanting rings and assorted geegaws to telling Snark to wait till after Christmas because that is when Yankee Candle has their "Buy one get one free" sale. I can get more then.

Yet I am hunting the aisles for "Fairytopia Barbie" and "Doodle Bears." But I think the young enjoy the material things the most. The older I get the more I appreciate the season itself. I like Snark making the cookie list, and I love it when he starts the baking. The girls are excited when I put up the tree and I even let them put the ornaments on. (Of course, they are all put on one branch and I sneak by later in the night to rearrange them). I get excited seeing lights the neighbors put up. I would rather not risk my neck to do that, but I surely appreciate when others do it.

Snark has asked for baseball books this year. He does research off them. He says he enjoys them, but isn't that like a doctor asking for medical reference books. Or maybe it is like when my mom asked for a new vacuum cleaner.

I always promised myself that I would not ask for a mixer or a washing machine, and I never did until one Christmas there was an expensive stove I wanted. It was beautiful and I hemmed and hawwed until I finally said "Look, get this thing as a Christmas gift." That sealed the deal. But it also led to what I always dreaded. The "I'll get her new pots and pans" for Christmas or "don't you want this knife" for birthdays. This actually happens to Snark more than myself. For our anniversary he received, from your's truly, an ice-cream maker. For his birthday he got a subscription to his favorite magazine and chocolate.

I fret over this, but as he says "It makes me happy, and it's the fact you thought to do it." And so I am going to try and not worry about what it is, but rather the happiness it brings. Just like Yankee Candle providing me the opportunity to stock up for the year on candles. And this year granite countertops for the kitchen would really excite me.

Li'l Smokies

The best thing I got out of a particular friendship was this recipe. We are no longer friends but the recipe lives on. This a great holiday dish.

1 pkg lil smokies
1 pkg bacon cut into thirds
brown sugar to cover all the smokies

Pre-heat oven to 350. Wrap each smokie in a piece of bacon and put into 13x9 dish. After all smokies have been wrapped cover them with brown sugar. Pop into oven and bake until sugar has caramelized and bacon is cooked. I watch it carefully and think it is 20 min.

Dad

We lost my father-in-law in August 2004. Snark was very close to his dad so there is a small piece of his heart that shriveled up. It hurt me more than I thought it would. I have known my father-in-law my whole life. Snark's parents and my grandparents were close, so as a child I was always hearing about Snark's family and vice versa.

To someone who did not know my father-in-law, their first impression would have been "elegant." He was a gentleman in the truest sense. Elegantly dressed, well-read and a renowned physician. He was an imposing figure. He didn't believe in wasted words. If you listened carefully, you would have caught flashes of humor interspersed in his thoughts.

My sister-in-law and I would feel a little quake when we were alone with him. He was introverted, and we had no clue what to say around him. He looked stern. Did he approve of us???

As time went on we saw glimpses of the man he really was. My first peek was when Snark told his parents we were engaged. His mother blustered about being young and foolish. Later in life, I heard that his dad kneeled down and said a prayer, crying for joy that we had found each other.

When the grandchildren were born, he held everyone of them like the professional he was. And when he visited, he always had a baby dangling off a knee. When he was ill, the grandchildren would throw themselves at him. He had a painful tumor in his stomach. He never told them to stop or pushed them away. I saw him wince numerous times, but he always held them close and kissed them. When they ran around the house yelling like banshees, he would quietly disappear into his room(Snark always snuck in with him) leaving them to scream the house down.

He never mentioned things he did. Only after he passed we found out he had put various cousins through college or supported family members.

He and my mother-in-law were an arranged marriage. They were just an old married couple. She has suffered since he passed. I never knew the extent of her longing for him until this past weekend.

I was clearing out his office and found a stack of letters he had kept. Most of them were from him to my mother-in-law when she was pregnant with Snark's older brother (When you are Indian, it was, and is, a given that you go to your mother's house to give birth. You stay there for a month). He was in the U.K., finishing his education and starting his career, and she was in India. The letters were moth-eaten and the writing had faded. I did not want to pry, but I couldn't help reading one. He spoke of his love for her. He asked about their beautiful son, and if he looked like her. He couldn't wait for his family to come home because he missed them. The feelings he expressed made me understand the quiet man I grew to love as a father. I couldn't read anymore, tears were staining the page.

I put them away in a place my mother-in-law would find. If anything, I miss him more after I read those letters.

Air Travails

If there is one thing worse than going to get cavities filled, it is traveling with small children on a plane.

I always tell myself that this is the year that they settle down and chill out on a flight. It is bound to get better. I pack umpteen things to fiddle with and food to cram down their throats. It wasn't any better.

We got to the airport just fine and that was when the fun started. We had the carry-on fight, which consists of two girls wrestling over who gets to roll it along while they are running. The winner is the one that runs over the most feet while I am running after her. The loser is the one screaming hysterically that her sister gets all the fun.

Choose a seat is the next game. I tell them to pick a number between one and ten. The one closest to my number gets to choose the seat. My oldest gets it this time. She graciously gives the window to her sister. She then adds that she prefers the aisle because she gets drinks first and she can visit the restroom at will. "Besides, that way your window trip is over and done with and I can look forward to having the window on the way home." she throws that in for good measure. Can you guess what happened after those comments?

Security check was fun. I tell them to take off shoes and keep quiet. It was going well until the youngest piped up to the security guard. "Do you think we have a bomb and we'll crash?". I almost disowned her. Luckily, the guard was benevolent and explained procedure to her.

Getting on the flight was the easiest part. The highlight of the flight for the youngest was the stewardess gave her a can of Pepsi. Within ten minutes the oldest was done with reading three books and was bored of her GameBoy. I apologized for not realizing she was a genius. I then wanted to talk about the books. She pretended to be asleep.

The bathroom was fascinating. The first time the youngest went in she couldn't figure out how to get out and banged on the door till the stewardess unlocked it for her. She fell into my arms, wild-eyed and trembling.

"That is one dangerous bathroom. I thought the toilet was going to suck me away. I was thinking you would leave the plane without me." The rest of the trip she was quiet. I think she was concentrating on holding it till she could get to a "normal" bathroom.

My oldest had springs in her rear end. She bounced up and down and kept grabbing the back of the seat in front of her. I correct that, she kept grabbing the bald man's head in front of her. I would give her the evil eye and she would stop, only to start a few minutes later. It did not help that her sister whispered loudly.

"That man's head is really shiny. Do you think he waxes it?" The man was not amused.

Nobody lynched us on the flight and the kids survived to visit their grandmother. Next flight I am taking a Benadryl and/or knocking myself out.

Snark, during all this, was snoring in another seat away from us. To get my revenge I put him with the girls on the trip home.

Thanks for giving

To everyone that celebrates Thanksgiving here are a few of my reasons to be thankful this holiday.

I am thankful...

*For a healthy, happy family.
*For being an employed family( so far).
*For friends that love me, even to the extent that they would feed my cat(and they don't like cats).
* For the kiss Snark gives me every night when I go to bed.
*That I can write whatever I want on this blog.

The Lavacakes are off to Michigan for the holiday. Have a safe and happy holiday.

Here is my Friday recipe early:

Corn Casserole

1 box Jiffy corn muffin mix
2 eggs
8 oz sour cream
1 can(14 oz) creamed corn
1 can(14 oz) sweet corn, drained
1 stick butter, melted

Pre-heat oven to 350

Mix all ingredients together. Pour into casserole dish(I use an oblong 2 qt). Bake for 45 minutes. Casserole should be golden and slightly firm on top.

I remember when I was in Nepal with the Yeti..........

Do you remember Commander McBragg? He was the the blow-hard on the Rocky and Bullwinkle Hour. If you are asking who they are, stop reading. You are too young to read this blog. The reason I am making this analogy is because women who have given birth are like Commander McBragg. They are into one-upmanship with birthing stories.

Give us a labor story and there is always one better. The most mild-mannered woman who considers nursing a horror(the whole exposure thing plus deflated breasts) will gleefully recount the agony, and all the goriness in minute detail. We have been through the birthing wars, it is our moment to shine. We want other women to wish they hadn't gotten the epidural so early.

I admit, I like to tell people how I lost 20 lbs with each pregnancy(not fun but makes for appropriate ooohs and ahhhs) and then told the doctor during my first delivery that I was too tired to push. I was lazy. Only after he threatened me with a c-section the kid popped out. I take a stab at Snark whenever I recount the second delivery. He was holding up the wall talking baseball with the doctor. They both didn't notice that my walk consisted of a one step circle till I fell on the bed with dizziness. I then informed them that the kid was arriving and the doctor told me that he wasn't dressed for it. At the time I wanted to brain him, but I now have my revenge by laughing about him to everyone.


My all time favorite is my sister-in-law. This is the one woman I know who delivers 9-10 lb preemies. I promise you, all her kids were born ahead of schedule. With her second my brother-in-law went in the drive-through to the ATM for some money. While he was getting money he noticed that she was pulling her pants off. Thinking that she was "in the mood", he leaned over and she told him that the baby was coming out. They slid into the ER entrance with moments to spare and she gave birth in the waiting room of the ER, on a gurney. It was quite the story in the hospital for weeks.

Much to my chagrin, that story tops mine so she gets the privilege of telling it first when we all get together. It's a great thing when we can laugh about possibly what is the most humiliating moment of our lives.

So I leave you with what one friend told the nurse who was insisting she look in the mirror during delivery.

"Just look so you can see your beautiful baby."

"All I can see is a hemorrhoid, so put the damn thing away."

Pom-o-arigato

Snark whipped this drink up last night. He was grasping at straws on this since I had finished the last of his beer. It turned out tasty. You be the judge. I, personally, like the name he gave it.

1-2 fl. oz. clear liquor--light rum or gin (depending on your desire to have floral/herbal/Christmas tree notes)

3-4 fl. ozs. pomegranate juice

vanilla syrup to taste (I use a dash)

Serve over the rocks or use a shaker. Please feel free to adjust quantities as desired, personally, I like 'em a notch or two weaker than sulphuric acid, for a three-strikes/sips-yer-out effect.

Squash gratin

This is sad, but I make this casserole almost every week. It is delicious, even for people who hate squash and this is the only way my kids will eat the squash. I don't bother coring the tomatoes and the squash gets cut how I feel like cutting them. In a pinch I use dried thyme or oregano and I use whatever hard cheese is available. Make sure that the casserole is fully cooked to get the caramelization that is integral to the flavor.

FOR THE ONIONS:

2 Tbs. olive oil

2 medium onions (14 oz. total), thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

TO ASSEMBLE THE GRATIN:

1-1/4 lb. ripe red tomatoes, cored and cut into 1/4-inch slices

3/4 lb. (about 2 small) zucchini or other green summer squash, cut into 1/4-inch slices on the bias

3/4 lb. (about 2 small) yellow summer squash or golden zucchini, cut into 1/4-inch slices on the bias

3 Tbs. olive oil

1/4 cup fresh thyme leaves

1 tsp. coarse salt

1-1/4 cups freshly grated parmigiano reggiano

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

To cook the onions -- In a medium skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté, stirring frequently, until limp and golden brown, about 20 min. Reduce the heat to medium-low if they're browning too quickly. Add the garlic and sauté until soft and fragrant, 1 to 2 min. Spread the onions and garlic evenly in the bottom of an oiled 2-qt. shallow gratin dish (preferably oval). Let cool.

To assemble the gratin. -- Heat the oven to 375°F. Put the tomato slices on a shallow plate to drain for a few minutes and then discard the collected juices. In a medium bowl, toss the zucchini and squash slices with 1-1/2 Tbs. of the olive oil, 2 Tbs. of the thyme, and 1/2 tsp. of the salt. Reserve half of the cheese for the top of the gratin. Sprinkle 1 Tbs. of the thyme over the onions in the gratin. Starting at one end of the baking dish, lay a row of slightly overlapping tomato slices across the width of the dish and sprinkle with a little of the cheese. Next, lay a row of zucchini, overlapping the tomatoes by two-thirds, and sprinkle with cheese. Repeat with a row of squash, and then repeat rows, sprinkling each with cheese, until the gratin is full.

Season lightly with pepper and the remaining 1/2 tsp. salt. Drizzle the remaining 1-1/2 Tbs. olive oil over all. Combine the reserved cheese with the remaining 1 Tbs. thyme and sprinkle this over the whole gratin. Cook until well-browned all over and the juices have bubbled for a while and reduced considerably, 65 to 70 min. Let cool for at least 15 min. before serving.

recipe courtesy of Fine Cooking magazine.

Coffee-nated

I adore coffee. I was addicted when my mother would pour me a glass of cold milk, add a few drops of coffee and plenty of sugar. Coffee milk. That was a treat in my house. She would then plunk down her banana fritters and we knew it was a perfect day. But this is not an ode to her banana fritters. Actually they were little pancakes that were thin and crispy-edged with nuggets of melting banana. Okay, I just had to get that out. This post is really about coffee.

The first time I realized the power of caffeine was in college. No, I wasn't doing something as sensible as pulling an all-night study session. I was on a date, and we just kept talking till the wee hours. So I kept my coffee cup full. I was a novice then. I added plenty of milk and sugar.

My husband fell in love with me when I took one sip of a coffee, deemed it unacceptable and pitched it in the trash. He knew then I was a woman of discriminating taste.

I had two dry seasons. It was ugly. It was a sign I was pregnant when all coffee tasted off. I couldn't drink it for 10 months (Those in the know are aware that pregnancies last 38-40 weeks, not "nine months."). Needless to say, Snark is a saint after being with me after that withdrawal period. After delivery, in my dazed state I grabbed him and whispered "Get me a Caribou latte now!" The nurse was not pleased that I wouldn't eat anything until he came back with the elixir. It says a lot when a man goes into a blizzard for a latte.

I try not to drink coffee at people's houses. If I like them, I don't want their bad coffee to be a strike against them. There is far more bad coffee out there than good. I went to someone's house one Christmas. I didn't think much of her, in fact, leaning towards dislike. Then she served us coffee. To this day I will remember her fondly. I have never had a cup of coffee like her's since. I've tried to duplicate it right down to the bean.

I bought a machine that sounds like an airplane taking off but makes a heavenly cup of coffee. I swear by the Capresso CoffeeTeam Luxe. It measures, grinds and brews a great pot of coffee. My only complaint is that it does not have an insulated thermos. Snark's only complaint is that it isn't self-cleaning. The funny thing is my sister-in-law who is a coffee addict, but can't brew a decent cup to save her life, hooked me on this nifty machine. She still brews a bad cup because she doesn't know how to use the machine. But since she showed me the light, I will swallow the swill she puts in front of me with a smile.

I know it's a sign of Christmas when Starbucks puts Peppermint Mocha on the board. I know my coffee tastes best early in the morning sitting with Snark out on my patio. The company has a lot to do with it. I know it's love when for the past twelve years my morning coffee has been creamed, sugared and waiting for me to drink.

Princess for a Day

One birthday down, one more to go. For the youngest's birthday treat her sister and I took her to a Princess lunch at the Akershus in Norway. I mean the Norway in Epcot. If I am unwilling to pay for a resort stay, I surely am not flying the kid to Norway. But I digress.

First off, Epcot was jam-packed. Everywhere we turned there were lines. Mexico, which is a two-snore ride, even had a line. When all else fails go on the Mexico ride, but today they had a line. We fortified ourselves with chicken quesadillas. The saving grace is that the Food and Wine fest is going on so there is plenty of food. After all, the only timing they had for the Princess lunch was 3 pm.

I was naughty. I felt like a margarita and my friend was a good girl. She wasn't going to have one, but I got her one anyway. Anything not to look like a lush. Another good thing was the cute guy in front of me was talking to me until my children came running over. Never heard a peep out of him after that. In fact, I think he switched lines.

I checked in for the lunch at 2:35. They told me to hang out and wait to be called and I was 10th on the list of people who had checked in. It annoyed me. So chances were I wasn't going to get called in at 3 pm either. It was a good thing I checked in, but what was the point of making a 3 pm reservation only to be seated later?

The kids were restless, and my friend's youngest threatened to beat up a mini Snow White who was invading his space. My youngest was run over by a motorized granny, in a hurry to make the FastPass line for Maelstrom. I had to tell her to reverse off the kid's foot.

At 3:30, the Royal Table called our name. By this time, we were all planning to rush the door and tackle Ariel and Belle (they were in view). We were ushered into a picturesque setting and trod on Aurora's gown to grab our seats. No sooner had we sat down, a parade of princesses came to our table. They were in a hurry to get our pictures and autographs taken care of. The girls were enchanted. So enchanted, they did not notice Jasmine had smokers cough and a pierced belly button.

We then hit the appetizer buffet. I was impressed by the selection. Smoked salmon, several other varieties of smoked fish, cheeses, and salads. Who needed the entree? My children stuck to the safety of cheese, bread and a piece of smoked salmon. I offered my oldest a taste of beet salad. She wrinkled her nose.

"It's red?"

"It's beet root."

"Yeah, didn't you roast those things before and try and make us eat it?"

"Yup, have some."

"No thank-you. It looks like a slab of blood."

After that comment, I didn't feel like eating it.

The meal went okay. We managed to get through lunch without any incidents. Dessert was family style. A big bowl of rice cream with strawberries, a dab of chocolate mousse and lingonberry bars. It was attacked and there were no survivors. It was like nobody had ever had dessert before. I was spooning rice cream on a plate and looked up. The only thing left of the mousse was a pathetic chocolate flake.

They gave the youngest a cookie in the shape of a viking hat and a birthday card signed by the princesses, even missing Snow White (whose only previous presence was on the side of a milk carton). What pleased my daughter the most was the other girls didn't have Snow White's signature. Highlight of her evening.

We staggered to our car and prayed everyone would fall asleep.

"Hey, my birthday is in two weeks, can I do this also?"

Sigh.

Castellane with Mascarpone and Grape Tomatoes

The only reason I subscribe to Gourmet is for the "Five Ingredients" feature. This recipe is a staple in my house. Feel free to make substitutions if you can't find the ingredients. The mascarpone should not be hard to find anymore. Even Walmart has started to carry it. Just remember to eat this right away. It doesn't re-heat too well. But I don't think you'll have leftovers.


2 pints grape tomatoes or cherry tomatoes, halved lengthwise
1 lb castellane pasta or medium (regular) shells
1 1/4 cups mascarpone cheese (from a 1-lb container)
2 oz finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (1 cup)
1/4 cup minced fresh chives

Put oven rack in upper third of oven and preheat oven to 400°F. Line a large shallow baking pan with foil and butter foil.

Arrange tomatoes, cut sides up, in pan and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon black pepper. Roast until slightly plumped, 15 to 20 minutes.

Cook pasta in a 6- to 8-quart pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente, about 12 minutes. Reserve 1 1/2 cups pasta cooking water, then drain pasta well and transfer to a large bowl. Add mascarpone and stir until melted. Add reserved cooking water, tomatoes, half of parmesan, 3 tablespoons chives, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper and toss well, then cool to warm.

Butter a 3-quart (13- by 9-inch) gratin or other shallow baking dish. Toss pasta mixture again, then spoon into gratin dish. Sprinkle remaining parmesan over top. Bake pasta until golden and bubbly, 18 to 20 minutes. Sprinkle with remaining tablespoon chives.

Recipe courtesy of Gourmet magazine.

Ode to FleaBiscuit

Happy Birthday to the youngest member of my household. She is three today. It feels like yesterday when I held her trembling body close to me. The only time she trembles now is when I threaten her with no Scooby snacks for misbehavior. We can't imagine life without her even when she is tormenting the cat, stealing trash, and chasing lizards into the house. For her birthday treats: she got to sleep in, had breakfast on time, was let out out before she rang the bell and I looked the other way when she nosed the toast out of the trash. Only the best for her.

A Day in the Strife

I like to think that I don't overschedule myself. In my perfect world I have taken the girls to all the extracurriculars that they excel at, and I come home to the dinner I prepared in the afternoon. I then leisurely bathe them and cuddle with them as I read a chapter from "The Secret Garden." We then say prayers and they fall asleep like the angels they are.

HA! Sounds great and I actually know women who do this. They are called Stepford Wives.

Welcome to Tuesday afternoon in my household. I am chatting on my cell phone as I walk half-way up the street to meet the girls. They don't walk off the bus, they explode out and are yelling something that sounds like an obscenity to each other. I think I hear it and I threaten their backsides if I ever hear that again. All this time my friend is on the other line, but you know what? She doesn't care because she's doing the same thing with her kids. We mutter how much we need a beer and hang up.

I run to catch up with the kids and trip over the shoes scattered all over the entrance of the homestead. But wait, there are only three socks. Oh yes, Sophie(the hound) is doing the boody shake with one in her mouth.

I then put out a "stinkin" snack. It's "stinkin" because it doesn't involve the two C's. Candy and Coke. Then half-hour to relax. Relaxation consists of staring dumbly at the t.v. or listening to my two yell at each other. Loving sisters.

Homework! I love that I get to go back to third grade. No place else I want to be transported back to. I quiz, cajole and push them to finish so we can get out the door. As I stuff them into shorts and t-shirts, I hear a voice say.

"My book report is due tomorrow."

My teeth are worn down because I grind them to stop the scream in the back of my throat.

"Well, I guess we are staying up tonight." I speak extra loudly.

"It has to be non-fiction."

"Well, we can do it on my life story."

I push them into the car. I run back into the house because the dog thinks the house is her personal toilet. I shove her in the crate and yell at the girls to quit playing in the front seat.

I drive a mile not realizing the emergency brake is on. I drop one off at dance and listen to the "beauty pageant" moms talk about how tall my kid is and "How are they going to do the lines?"

"Um, when you signed her up did you know we have a recital in December?" one of the sharks ask.

"Yes." I really want to scream "For goodness sake, just let the poor kid dance. That is all she wants to do. Screw your lines." What the hell is a line anyway?

I then jet to drop the other at Girl Scouts. The Girl Scout leader really needs help but I wave her away as I drive to pick the dancer up. Of course, dance runs late because the "moms" are trying to improve the line with their suggestions. My little girl is looking happy and oblivious to her tallness or ruining the line. And it had better stay that way because if someone says anything to wipe the smile off her face, well they just better not. I don't have time to rough them up in the parking lot.

Back to Girl Scouts. As penance I clean up and tote out the Leader's supplies to her car. On the way home I remember that we have not had dinner. Protests from the back seat as I go to Chick-Fil-A. I love it, they don't. Who's the parent?

Home again and back to homework. The little one gets Mom's famous 30 second shower. She is tired and only comes out of her room three times for me to "scratch her back". Okay, this is where I get selfish. I have a book-report to help with, but "The Amazing Race" is on. So, I install the older one next to me. She writes and watches "The Amazing Race" out of the corner of her eye. I give her a stern look, but Phil is on.

Off to bed. No book read, no laying down because I have laundry to fold. I throw the blanket on her and kiss her. I think I will wait for Snark to get home and then fold laundry. You know that doesn't happen. I fall asleep, and the laundry is laying there as it has been for the past week.

You should hear about my Mondays.

Busy month

As you have noticed, I have been letting Snarkboy post recently. He seems to have more to say this month. I have been concentrating on birthdays. I have the blessing (if I don't say blessing , God will probably strike me) of having my children's birthdays exactly 23 months 2 weeks and 1 day apart from each other. I have one on the 10th and one on the 25th of November. One child was supposed to be a December baby, and the other I swore was coming at the end of October. She ended up being coaxed out three days after her due date. Free housing was over.

So this month, needless to say, is a frenzy and way too short for all the activities I need to plan.
Notice how I said need to plan. ... Well that is a shortcoming of mine. I don't plan my children's parties till the last minute. Now wait a sec! This is not my entirely my fault. First off, they dither over what they want. They always seem to want things when I am not willing to buy them, yet when this time of year rolls around, they can't decide or want outrageous things.

The youngest takes the cake this year. Since we live so close to Disney she tried to opt for a resort stay for one night. The condition was it had to be the Grand Floridian or the Polynesian. Her pampered self needed the monorail to drop her at the door. Now I decide to consider this (stupid me.). I logged on and saw that a room was $304-$400 a night. Yes, that is dollars not pesos.

Now for some parents that is not a big deal. In this household it is. And if I need to go into why a $300 dollar hotel room 10 minutes from my house is not a feasible idea, please e-mail me, then adopt me.

I told her what any sane parent would tell their child. All the rooms were booked. She went online and found a room. I then had to explain that $300 is a lot of money.

She didn't get it. She is only just learning the concept of money. She enjoys seeing the ATM spew out cash. It's magic.

It's not just her though. Birthdays are more elaborate and gifts are plentiful. If you have ever read "Harry Potter," children are becoming like Dudley Dursley("But this is only 36 gifts.").

We encourage it. Last year, I took 12 kids to a farm to pet a goat, ride a nag and feed cows. The cost was the downpayment on a car including the gift bags. Since when are gift bags necessary at a birthday party?

"Thank-you for bringing a gift. Here, take a token of my gratitude that is way more expensive than what you brought."

We have been to catered birthdays, birthdays that have themes and birthdays that resembled coming-out balls. Children don't have the capacity to appreciate these events. But they do have the capacity to expect something grand and want more. I guess these elaborate gestures make parents feel better. They don't make my wallet feel good, though. The presents they got last year were discarded by this year. The dog ate half of them, and the other half the kids lost or broke.

This year I am scaling back. I got to thinking about my birthdays. We received a couple of presents or money, something we really wanted. The best part was the birthday person chose the restaurant where we ate. That was the highlight, because my dad would make sure to get home early from work, and my mother would bake us whatever we wanted. I never wanted birthday cake. I always requested trifle, with layers of pound cake, custard and fruit crowned by a cloud of whipped cream.

I did have birthday parties, but they were not the fireworks displays that they are now. They were quiet affairs spent enjoying the few good friends you had, and the family that loved you. So this year, we are spending the the little one's birthday with a couple of good friends and a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. The older one is a Thanksgiving child, and she will be with her family, and have a vanilla cake with chocolate icing. I will be giving thanks that I have two pretty great kids and the fact I am able to afford Christmas(which is just around the corner).

Chocolate lava muffins

This recipe is courtesy of Snarkboy's idol, Alton Brown.

Chocolate Lava Muffins

8 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1 stick butter
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 eggs
Butter, to coat muffin tin
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
1 cup vanilla ice cream
1 teaspoon espresso powderPreheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Place a small metal bowl over a saucepan with simmering water. Melt the chocolate and butter in the bowl. Stir in vanilla.

In a large mixing bowl, combine sugar, flour and salt. Sift these into the chocolate and mix well with electric hand mixer. Add eggs one at time, fully incorporating each egg before adding the next. Beat at high until batter is creamy and lightens in color, approximately 4 minutes. Chill mixture.

Coat the top and each cup of the muffin tin with butter. Dust with the cocoa powder and shake out excess. Spoon mixture into pan using a 4-ounce scoop or ladle. Bake for 10 to 11 minutes. Outsides should be cake-like and centers should be gooey.

While muffins are in oven, melt the ice cream in a small saucepan. Stir in the espresso powder. Serve over warm muffins.

A-maized

We try to do one outing a weekend. The other day, we rest or fold laundry. We all have different ideas on where to go. We have the luxury of living near Orlando, so Snarkboy loves going to Disney. He says it makes him happy. The other place that makes him happy is Costco.

I prefer running around town and eating. The kids are easy as long as it doesn't involve grocery shopping or going to Costco. I admit, I use that weekend outing to bribe my kids to behave. Bad mother!

This weekend, the youngest asked when we were going to a corn maze. We went last year, and I guess the torture of it stuck with her. I jumped on that idea and after convincing Snarkboy I'd take him to Magic Kingdom the next week, I got on the "net" to find one.

I found one in Zellwood. It was a six-acre maze cut into the shape of an American soldier. We got directions and off we went.

Cars were already lined up to go in. From there you went to the ticket desk and got wristbands. I plopped down $28.00 for the four of us to lose ourselves. About 30 strangers crowded together to see a short video on maze etiquette. NO cursing, no running and no cutting through the corn. Stay on the path. If you got lost, you hoisted your flag pole and shouted "For the love of God and country get me out."

I added the last bit. You were supposed to yell "Help me."

We were given questionnaires with 18 questions and 12 rubbings to seek out throughout the maze. All the questions were pertaining to U.S. military history. Snarkboy loved that, being a patriotic kinda guy. The girls weren't so thrilled. They were hoping for a questionnaire on Disney.

For the record we never hoisted the flag. It took us two hours to find all the stations in the maze. In the process we all learned some military history. We had a great time, and there is nothing like getting lost that makes you extra friendly to strangers. We all gave directions and giggled when we passed each other several times. If you would like to try a maze here is a website to see if there is one in your area.

Pursenal Problem

I know this will shock many of you, but I am a frivolous person. After the Chinese food post, Snarkboy suggested that I reveal that I too am human and not queen of the world. So in order to keep the three people that read this blog from leaving, I have to admit I have an expensive handbag fetish.

Now, wait. This is definitely not like people with a foot fetish. They are indiscriminate. I think their only criteria is that the feet be clean and corn-free.

No, my fetish is worse. Feet-watching is free, purse-buying is not. I have a taste for Kate, Tods and Gucci. For everyday, Kate or Tods is the choice. I have ten shades of black and five shades of brown. I do not buy pink, blue or lilac. I might be convinced to buy a light tan, but I have not graduated to red yet.

I am a purse snob. I can afford the above-mentioned. I have not upgraded to anything more expensive ... yet. It's affecting gift giving, also. My mother bought me a perfectly beautiful Coach once. It is still sitting in my closet with the tags on. I might put it on eBay when she isn't looking.

You might wonder, "isn't a purse a purse?"
Oh no, it is so much more. You might get the occasional woman who might not know (shudder) or might not care what they are seen toting. They are few and far between (and not worth knowing). But it is pure joy when you meet a fellow addict who strokes the leather of your Tods media bag and murmurs that she always loved that color, and, "where did you get it?"

I went to a luncheon at a country club a few months ago. I noticed that the standard mode of greeting was catching someone by their ring finger to see if they were worth sitting by. The next step was to save your seat by plunking down your purse on the table so your tablemates could glance over and make sure you were up to date. I have seen a few bags surreptitiously moved aside to make way for this year's model.

I did not perform this particular dance because I was someone's guest, so I hung my purse (Kate Spade) on the back of my seat. I did get to sit with the in-crowd because my hostess brought her Gucci leather hobo which is always in style.

As anyone knows, The holy grail is the Hermes Birkin bag. I am not in the realm of such a bag, I just dream of the day when Snarkboy strikes it rich and puts my name on the waiting list. He informs me that this will happen with Husband No. 2. If a man buys me a Birkin, I am prepared to move to Utah and be a bigamist. Why not divorce Snarkboy, you ask? Because you can't divorce someone who cooks like a dream.

Yes, you may look at my feet ... if and when you buy me that expensive purse.

You picked a fine wine to cheese me, Lucille

This recipe was given to me by a former neighbor. It's rich and definitely not low-cal. But if you wanted that you would not be reading me.

Missouri Wine and Brie Cheese Soup(4 servings)
1 tsp. minced garlic
4 Tb. butter
1/2 lb. mushrooms sliced
1 small onion chopped
4 Tb. flour
2 c. beef broth
1 c. white wine
8 oz. brie(rind removed, cut into chunks)
1 c. cream or half and half
salt and pepper to taste

Saute mushrooms, onion and garlic in butter over med-low heat until soft.
Add flour and stir for 1 min.
Add broth and wine, bring to a boil.
Reduce heat and simmer 10 min.
Add cream and chunks of brie and stir until brie is melted.
Take off heat and season to taste.
serve immediately

With this bling

It all started with that word. I generally am trendy after trends have passed. I am still trying to figure out if I look attractive in a poncho. I know, Oprah featured that about two years ago. When the casual blazer thing has passed, I'll probably pick one up at the outlet. Anyway, I digress.

My mother who is in her early fifties went with me to the mall the other day. A woman dripping in diamonds passed us and my mother said, "look at the bling."

My jaw dropped, not from the "bling," but from my mother's use of it.

"Huh. How do you know that word?"

"Everyone says it."

"Not you. You would have smacked me if I used slang."

"Oh, you are so stuffy. Get with it girl."

My mother laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear.

I pointed in horror: "You double-pierced your ear."

Was the end near?

I needed the comfort of a "tall mocha, light on the mocha with whipped cream, no foam" from Starbucks. I staggered to the line and collapsed on a bench after getting the coffee (can you call a mocha "coffee"?).

What the hell was she going to do next, say "schizzle ma fizzle" or whatever Snoop Dogg says. Snarkboy told me to point out I'm not fo-schizzle how to spell fizzle.

My mother was experiencing a renewal. A few years ago my parents divorced. First of all, Indian couples don't divorce. You may live apart, you may not speak, and you are even allowed to see others, but you must maintain the facade of a marriage. For appearances, and so you would look good at the Indian Association dinners.

My parents decided they were too different and so they split. They did what any sane couple would do: take the remaining years of their lives and do what they wanted without the strictures of familial expectations.

My mother, as mentioned before, double-pierced her ear and learned a couple of new words. My father, to my surprise, took salsa lessons. If the "bling" comment surprised me, the thought of my staid engineer father learning something as seductive as Latin dance caused shivers. I try not to think too much about it.

I am very proud of my parents for making a marriage work in order to raise two semi-productive members of society. I am also proud that they knew when to say "this is enough," with no regard to what others think.

To many, marriage is so disposable. I recently read an article on starter marriages, marrying young, making mistakes, then gracefully exiting. Why don't you just throw a party and forgo the heartache? It took my parents years of existing in a marriage to come to the realization that it did not work for them. Even then, it was not sordid. It was a natural end to a relationship. My friend, whose parents had also divorced earlier that year, said his mother compared her marriage to a full garage. When the kids left the house as adults, taking all their clutter with them, the garage was bare -- there had been no husband and wife in the last 20 years of the marriage, just mother and father.

To me, the divorce of my parents didn't traumatize me, it helped me realize that two very different individuals were able to make a life for their family, then have enough self-awareness to go their separate ways after they had raised their children. They have grown since their divorce, and I am closer to them, but the fact remains that unlike the cliche of today's selfish parent, my mom and dad set aside their hopes and desires to take care of familial obligations: meshizzle and my bro-dizzle.

Peace, Lavagirl out.

In like Wilma out like a lamb

I spent all night hearing winds whip around the corner of the house and woke up this morning to very cold temperatures and constant rain that at times blew horizontal. Other than that we came through Wilma just fine. The power stayed on and the children did not go to school. It is very breezy and sunny in the aftermath and other than the temperature being at an all time low for this time of year(60 degrees) the dog and I are enjoying this fall weather.

David's job had no sympathy. It has the U.S. Mail motto, nothing stops it from being delivered. So he trotted in to work and only passed one downed tree.

Unfortunately, South Florida did not fare as well as the AP reports here.


so you can read about the problems down there. We consider ourselves very blessed that nothing happened to us and we can't wait for the end of hurricane season.

Rin Tin Tin-Can Margaritas

This is dedicated to the Margarita queen of Prairieville,LA. My friend T. who can put them down as fast as Snarkboy can make them. Wish I were there to drink one with her.

2 limes, one cut into wedges, the other to add squeeze into blender
Coarse salt, for glasses
1 large can frozen limeade
1 full can good-quality tequila
1/2 can triple-sec
Ice

Blend all ingredients together and pour into pitcher. Enjoy!

Just like Heaven

No I am not talking about my sex life.
Talk about false advertising. This movie was a clinker. It reminded me of the Sandy Bullock flick "While you were sleeping". At least I think that is the name. Reese Witherspoon is a doctor. As much as I want to pinch her cheeks when I see her, I do not think she can play a doctor. It just seemed too far a stretch.
She is in a coma and comes back as a ghost to Mark Ruffalo(made my movie experience enjoyable). If I came back as a spirit, luck would have it that I would haunt my old high school chem teacher Mr. Heurtin. And then I would prefer the coma.
Anyway, Mark Ruffalo lost his wife and has been pining for two years. From then on it is a magical quest to find Reese's identity and then you know....... Don't want to spoil it for people who are dying to see the movie. But if you rented Sandy's film, you get the gist and you don't spend the ten bucks.

The good things that came from this outing were:

No children present(mine or any others)
No husband present(hates movies, so would snort inelegantly throughout film causing me to pinch him)
Alcohol (I should have put alcohol first because I needed it for the movie)

Blog beginning

I am in a parenting-life crisis. Let me clarify this and say I am not running off to be the Unibrow lady at the circus nor have the urge to elope with the school bus driver.

I am in the state of flux that no mom tells you about. The full-time school years. We look foward to them. We talk longingly of the days when we pack the little beasts onto the bus and skip home to drink a hot cup of coffee or go the bathroom and not have it be a town hall session.

My state of bliss lasted approximately a month. I am bored and don't want to enter the workforce. I have six uninterrupted hours to myself, yet I am mildly depressed. There is no sound except for the dog tooting the mountain of laundry.

What happened to my massages, manicures, hair appts? Well I just don't feel like it damn it! I just moved to this sunny little burg in central Florida and between getting kids ready for school and cleaning the house(where does the laundry come from?) I am pooped. When I do feel like going to get a manicure. I inevitably smear a finger two seconds out the door and I go home to take the polish all off. It isn't worth it.

There is a small sect of us that stayed home to be with our babies and now they are in school we feel lost. I haven't found any of them yet but I can feel they are out there. I wish I could meet them. Maybe I'll put on my tin foil hat and beam them in. I meet the ladies that have little ones still at home or the ladies that have too many friends that they can't afford to add one more to the group. Where are the mothers that are free from 8-2? Did they abandon me to get jobs?

I thought about getting a job and then the more I thought about it the more hives appeared on my body. I could just imagine the questions.

What do you like to do?
Read and drink wine. In fact if you have a position that involves telecommuting and reading while I am sitting on my porch with a glass of wine, I am highly qualified.

Your resume says you taught. Why not teach again?
Because I don't like children. Well I don't like other people's children.

I feel like I am obsolete. The term "housewife" is a dirty word. I see pity in other womens' eyes before they throw me the bone "Well, you do work. You do the hardest job of all." They must teach that saying in seminars. Everyone says it. It is so trite.

I would rather somebody say"That sucks. Hate to be you." More refreshing.

So lavacakes is about being refreshing. The names have been changed to protect the not so innocent. You may shake your fist at me in anger or agree. But keep reading. If you feel like posting please e-mail me and I will let you. But if you feel like yelling at me keep it to yourself. I have family members who already do that.

I will try post a recipe. I will talk about "drinks". No, that does not mean I am an alcoholic. I will write bad film and book reviews. As my friends know I have an opinion, I just have to figure out how to phrase it elegantly. Please check out my links. Most important of all,if you enjoy it please pass the blog address on. One day Oprah will invite me on her "Favorite things" show and I want to thank all the little people as I am receiving my mega-bucks digital camera. Or I would just settle for someone e-mailing me and saying "Keep writing because I am reading."