For the Record, Crow Doesn't Taste That Great

So I had big plans to devote today's post to a big Patriots Super Bowl win.

So, well . . . that Betty White commercial for "The Voice" was great, huh? And how about Madonna?

Anyway, since I was so super confident about what I was going to post, I didn't really plan anything else for today. I did do some other stuff over the weekend, though . . .

On Saturday, we went to a wedding reception for hubby's beautiful niece and her new husband (Congrats Sylvie & Andy!). They eloped in Jamaica last month (lucky ducks, escaping Maine to the sunny Caribbean in January) and had a nice party this past weekend for all of their well-wishers.

Of course, I forgot my camera. My sister-in-law, the bride's mother, is one of the most creative and talented people I know (although she'll never admit it) and did a beautiful job with the party and creating keepsakes for the happy couple.

One idea that I absolutely loved was the "Shell Wishes" jar. While in Jamaica, she and Sylvie collected shells from the beach and brought them home. Guests were asked to write their wishes for the bride and groom on the shells, which were then placed in a large glass vase. Great idea for a trip memento, and a nice replacement for the typical boring guestbook. I wish I had been able to take a picture of it!

Before the game on Sunday, I took the mini-me down to South Portland for some shopping. We hit A.C. Moore to get some supplies for a couple Pinterest products I wanted to try. I hate to say it, but I'm pretty much over A.C. Moore. They hardly ever update their stock -- I've been looking at the same scrapbook papers and stickers literally for YEARS -- and they had hardly anything different. They also had nothing that I was looking for. Really? No chalkboard paint?

Maybe it's just our store that has some issues, but I really think that A.C. Moore needs to up their game a bit. Thankfully, we're taking a trip out to Ohio next month, and I can get a Hobby Lobby fix. I'm making my list now.

Anyway, that's my rant. Anyone else have a problem with their local craft stores? I know I can go online, but I just hate paying for shipping.

I've got some good stuff coming up this week . . . a yummy Pinterest recipe, some book reviews, and hopefully, an inspiring organizational makeover. So until later . . .

My Obsessions This Week

Since I'm a "real" housewife and all, I thought I'd take a page out of Mr. Andy Cohen's book and do my own version of "Three Things I'm Obsessed With." So without further ado . . .

I love this Sephora glitter nail polish. I've tried other glitter polishes, but the chunky glitter never comes out, you know? You get one or two lonely little sparkles -- not full on bling. This stuff is different. It actually has glitter. I've got it on my toes, over olive green polish and it looks super cute.

How cute is this jacket? I need another jacket like I need a hole in the head, and I can't justify the $100 right now (and I'm also not 7 feet tall like the model), but I love it.

Are you watching Revenge? If not, why? Seriously, this show rocks -- and new episodes return this week. We're finally going to find out who was shot on the beach in the pilot, a mystery that's been building for months. If you haven't been watching, you can catch up here. It's addictive -- and the clothes and houses are to die for.

Pinned Down: Cinnamon French Toast Bake

So, like just about everyone in the world it seems, I'm obsessed with Pinterest. If you don't know what Pinterest is, you're missing out. Big time.

Anyway, since this is the "launch" week of this blog, I'm introducing another to-be-regular feature: Pinned Down.

See, here's the thing. A lot of people pin like crazy, with hundreds or even thousands of ideas on their boards. But how many people actually DO the stuff they pin?

I figure that if I'm going to spend THAT much time on Pinterest each week, I should spend at least some time trying out the great ideas I find. And I'll share the results here. At least once a week, I'll post one of the ideas that I've tried . .. good, bad, or ugly.

So here is the first one . . .

Cinnamon French Toast Bake from Oh My Sugar High.

So I saw this pin and thought "Yum!" I'm all about breakfast casseroles in general, and as soon as I saw this pin, I thought it would be perfect for Christmas morning.

Usually, when I make a recipe for the first time, I follow the directions to the letter, and then take notes for adjustments the next time. Well, in a case of poor planning, I only had 4 eggs on hand, instead of the 5 that the recipe called for. Turns out that was a good thing, 'cause I think one more egg would have made this too "eggy." I don't like anything too "eggy."

Anyway, this smelled incredible while it was baking, and when I took it out of the oven, it drew the kids away from their Christmas toys. Here's how it looked:

Yum-O. It tasted as delicious as it looked. The kids loved it, probably because it was super sweet.

It's not something that I would make every day, but it's perfect for brunch or a special occasion. In fact, I made it again for a girl's night at my house, and there were almost no leftovers. And the leftovers were still good. The little one gobbled them up for breakfast the next day.

The best part (or maybe the worst?) is that thanks to this pin, I've discovered Oh My Sugar High and I've already saved a bunch more recipes to try.

Until the next time . . .

Book Review Friday: The Girl Who Chased the Moon: A Novel

So as part of my blog revamp (or vamp, since I never really had much to start with) I’m going to have some new features. The first is “Book Review Fridays” . . . hopefully I’ll have a book each week to review here. Here’s the first:

Amazon.com: The Girl Who Chased the Moon: A Novel (9780553385595): Sarah Addison Allen: Books

I’m a big fan of Sarah Addison Allen’s books. I loved “Garden Spells” and “The Sugar Queen.” I love how she brings her characters and their stories to life, and how the small North Carolina towns where the stories are set are characters as much as the people are. She’s a master of magical realism, making you believe that these amazing things –books appearing right when you need them, friendly ghosts in the closet – are totally normal.
So I wanted to love “The Girl Who Chased the Moon.” I really did. I bought the book a little over a year ago, and then I got a Kindle and was so enthralled with my new toy that I forgot about all the unread books in the pile next to my bed. But I just finished reading this epic 500-something page book for my book club, and wanted something a little lighter. And like the mysterious happenings in one of her fictional towns, this book just spoke to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t love it.
“The Girl Who Chased the Moon” is the story of two women in the town of Mullaby, North Carolina. Emily Benedict is a 16-year-old, recently orphaned who has come from Boston to live with her maternal grandfather, the 8-foot giant Vance. Julia Winterson, Vance’s next door neighbor, is also a recent arrival in Mullaby, having returned after an 18-year absence to take over her deceased father’s BBQ joint. Julia has no intention of staying in Mullaby; she’s saving money to return to Baltimore and open a bakery.
Mullaby is a town of secrets, though, and as Emily gets to know Julia, she learns more about her mother, Dulcie, who left town after she was blamed for the death of one of her classmates. Dulcie was a queen bee in town, who tortured Julia throughout their high school days. Julia responded to the bullying by cutting herself, and the night before she was to leave for reform school, she shared one night with Sawyer, the most popular boy in school that altered the course of her life forever.
As Emily digs into her mother’s past, she’s fascinated with glowing lights that appear in the woods behind her grandfather’s house every night – even though everyone tells her to ignore them. Her mother’s past haunts her as well, when she starts to have feelings for a boy in town, Win Coffey, against the wishes of her grandfather and Win’s family.
Like Allen’s other books, the story is gentle and sweet, and the characters are quirky and likeable. But the story felt predictable, and the ending was just a little too tidy for my taste. Food plays a role in all of Allen’s books, and she does an amazing job of incorporating all of the senses into her descriptions – I defy you to not crave some barbecue and hummingbird cake after reading this book. But unlike her previous books, I just didn’t feel satisfied with this one. It felt rushed and incomplete, like an underbaked cake.

Been Awhile

It's been a while since I last posted here. I guess life got in the way. But . . . I will be posting more. I have some ideas, and starting next week, there will be a whole new look to this space.
So until then . . .

One Big Playroom

Today I learned that I saved $20,000.

Yup, that’s right. Twenty big ones. Of course, my penny pinching ways might keep my daughter might from getting into an Ivy League college, but only time will tell, I guess.

I’m referring to the woman in New York City who spent $19,000 to send her daughter to a school that promised to prepare the kidlet for the ERB, the standardized test that many elite schools use when determining whether to admit kids. Supposedly this school, which the mother claims promised great things, was—wait for it—one big playroom.

Did I mention that the kid is two?

Maybe it’s just because I live in the wilds of Maine, where anything that costs $20,000 better have a motor or indoor plumbing (or both), but this lady needs to get a grip. I’m all for quality education and child care, but getting pissed off because you spend all that money to prepare your toddler for college and all she learns is her colors and shapes seems a little bit like spending money to take your dog to obedience class, and getting mad because all he’ll do is sit and roll over.

As far as I’m concerned, two year olds should be in a big playroom. They should have blocks, crayons, dolls and fingerpaint. Being two is all about exploring the world and learning what happens when this crashes into that. And not to brag, but my daughter just turned two, and knows her numbers, shapes, colors and about half of the alphabet. She learned them through books, and playing with me and her dad—not at some fancy preschool that costs as much as a year of state college. Since she also puts bowls on her head and sticks French fries up her nose, I’ve held off on calling Mensa for now.

I realize things are different in different parts of the world, but I just cannot understand this push to make kids achieve so soon. To repeat the cliché, why can’t kids be kids? I’ve heard my approach to parenting referred to as “free-range parenting” but for one thing, it makes my kids sound like livestock, and secondly, it doesn’t need a name. If anything, it should be called “Happy Childhood” parenting. There is plenty of time to learn quadratic equations and Mandarin Chinese. Let the two year old go to the big playroom, and stop worrying so much about whether she’ll get into elementary school or high school or Harvard or Yale. I figure that growing up in a happy, secure, loving environment where she can explore and make discoveries on her own is far better than pushing her to memorize flashcards and fill in bubbles on a test.

My advice to the woman in New York, and the others like her, is to take that money you’re spending on preschool tuition, and to hire lawyers in your frivolous lawsuit, and put it in a college fund for the little Einstein. That’s probably going to do more good than paying someone else to teach her stuff she’s going to learn anyway.
Then again, my kid’s got French fries up her nose, so what do I know?

Just Stay Home, Will You?

There’s a war going on, folks. And no, I’m not talking about the Middle East, Camille vs. Kyle, or Charlie Sheen vs. sanity.

No, I’m referring to the battle between those with kids, and those without.

I love to read funny blogs, and one of my favorites is STFU Parents, which basically makes fun of parents who do stupid stuff on Facebook. You know, the ones that post EVERY detail, including photos, of their kids potty training. Nothing is off limits to some people on Facebook, and those people deserve to be called out on their stupidity.

And naturally, a blog like that is going to attract a certain segment of the population who has nothing for disdain for “breeders”. Not just the obnoxious people who give their kids weird names and behave as if the world should fall at their feet because they gave birth to the most-precious-and-amazing person EVER. No, they hate all people who procreate. To these people, if someone’s sperm happened to meet your egg, or vice versa, you are automatically stupid, unable to make good decisions, arrogant, annoying, self-entitled and selfish.

‘Cause we all know that’s the case.

A few months ago, I had a firsthand encounter with these fine folks during one of my favorite pastimes, arguing with faceless internet people I don’t know. The owner of the blog, who seems like a reasonable person, posted a status update from a woman who had the flight from hell. This poor woman had a screaming child and got sick on the plane, and posted a status update about it. The blog proceeded to trash this girl for having the audacity to share her experience on Facebook—and most of the commenters on the blog not only trashed her for posting that update, but made the inevitable comments about how kids shouldn’t be on planes, people with kids should stay home, blah blah blah.

I made the fatal mistake of jumping in and commenting that I thought they were being harsh, that I saw nothing wrong with the original post, and that people needed to accept that babies would be traveling on planes. I was soundly—and I mean soundly—rebuked. Forget the fact that my family lives 1,000 miles away. Doesn’t matter. I should not, under any circumstances get on an airplane with my kid. Oh, and if I could avoid restaurants, stores, doctor’s offices, libraries, post offices, banks, and, oh, anywhere that isn’t my home while I’m at it? That’s be great.

My response was somewhere along the lines of screw you.

I’m seeing more and more of a divide lately between those with kids and those without, and not just on blogs like STFU Parents. I’m seeing it in response to news stories, blog posts and Twitter feeds. And honestly? I’m tired of it. Kids are loud, they’re messy and have a complete inability to control themselves. And there are some parents out there who are unwilling or unable to control their children. They annoy everyone. They probably annoy those of us with kids even more, since most parents that I know turn themselves inside out to control their children and prevent them from being a nuisance in public.

But this trend of lumping all parents into one category, and acting like we have no right to be anywhere because we have little ones is disturbing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t we as a society been fighting against that sort of thing for hundreds of years? And it’s not just that. The assumption that just because we chose to become parents, we have no right to complain about anything is absurd. I chose a career as a writer. Does that mean I’m not allowed to complain about editors and deadlines? If we make choice the barometer for deciding what’s worth complaining about, then no one would ever have the right to express anything other than delight with the whole world. I mean, isn’t life nothing more than a series of choices? Just because I mention that I’m getting tired of telling my kids to stop jumping on the furniture, or that I would love to have an uninterrupted dinner alone with my husband doesn’t give you the right to attack me for choosing to have kids. If I post a picture of my placenta or my daughter’s poopy diaper on Facebook? Well attack away. I deserve it.

Oh, and Charlie Sheen? Reality’s gonna kick your ass pretty soon.