Happy 40th Birthday

Happy birthday, Bob. Over eighteen years ago you stole my heart.

You are the best daddy our children could hope for. You provide strength, love, gentleness, laughter, and mark a trail for them to follow. You are our safe haven, our soft landing and our protector. Our son says it all when he tells me he wants to go to work at the "hostibauble" just like Daddy.

I have grown up in your arms, and I will grow old in them, too.

What a lucky, lucky woman I am.

Philanthropy Thursday

My best friend has a problem really likes shoes. So when her birthday rolled around last week, I was thrilled to find this website.

This year she got shoes, and they're sturdy ones that are on the feet of a young girl in rural Africa so that she may go to school. CAMFED is the campaign for Female Education, dedicated to fighting poverty and AIDS in rural communities in Africa by educating girls. It is an amazing organization. You can shop directly on the site, although I found my way to CAMFED by shopping here, where you can choose from an array of amazing gifts to buy. Not all of the goods and services on the Hunger Site benefit CAMFED, although it is also a charitable site, benefiting people all over the world.

At the Hunger Site store you can buy an actual good (fair trade of course) to give to someone, or you can choose to buy something such as shoes, or a goat, or a month of school tuition, or clothes for refugee children and do it it your name or a friend's. With the purchase of the shoes in my friend's name, 100% of the proceeds went to CAMFED. Some of the gifts on the Hunger Site benefit other, worthy, charities. If you'd prefer, you can also shop on the CAMFED site, although all the pricing is in pounds sterling, so get an exchange calculator.

Even more amazing? It only cost me $14 and 100% of the proceeds went to CAMFED. Truly fabulous. Christmas is fast approaching, and why not stock up on gifts that make a fantastic difference and also make you stand out as a unique gift giver? Who needs another scented candle?

Wordless Wednesday: An Ode to Bill Maher

Ryka Shoes Make Me Feel Like a Supah Star!

The good people at Parent Bloggers have included me in their Ryka Athletic Shoe campaign and I couldn't be happier! The shoe is fantastic, and if you want your own, the folks at Ryka are giving away fifty pairs of shoes and shirts each day! So head on over to their site for your chance to win!
In the meantime, get comfortable, grab your Diet Coke, or sippy cup, or that gin and tonic you really should be sharing with me and watch my Ryka review!

Harvest

A roasting chicken gives off her perfume of rosemary, garlic cloves and thyme from the cozy boudoir of the oven. Jacob sits at the counter whisking the eggs brought over to us by a friend. The yolks are nearly fluorescent; such is the difference between the sad little ovals we buy at the store in their styrofoam packages and those given to us from hens that scratch for bugs all day in a sunny back field. I measure the ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and allspice. I set them aside in the ramekin while I scoop out the pureed pumpkin into the mixing bowl. Chloe walks by and inhales deeply. Mmmm. Pumpkin bread for dessert.

The door slams, and I notice that our dog has slunk in to hide under the kitchen table on her sleeping pad. The storm has kicked up, and the flashes of lightening are more apparent as the day comes to an end.

We are all hungry. It has been an active day. Jacob had his first soccer game, and we watched with joy as the first child in our family took to the the playing field, gleefully running after the ball full speed, sometimes in the wrong direction, but always with a smile on his face. For twelve years we have been a family that adjusts the ballet tights, or watches as our daughters clap gymnastic chalk from their hands. Sitting on the grassy field with an umbrella and plenty of shouts of "Go Tigers!" just feels right. I'm actually excited about bringing the snacks for next week's game.

I take my time with the food preparation. There is no rush. It's the end of the weekend, and we are all knowingly or unknowingly savoring the last flavors of a day less structured. I slowly roll the basil leaves tight, each slice of the knife releasing fragrant green ribbons to be draped over the tomatoes. My fingers smell of basil for the rest of the night.

We eat late. I watch my kids tuck into their acorn squash with brown sugar and butter, filling their bodies with food that will give them energy for the long Monday ahead. One by one, the kids find their way to bed, and there are no complaints this evening. Each one is showered or bathed, and tucked clean into their blankets with a good book and a soft light to aid the process which doesn't take as long as usual tonight.

After the dishes are done, I sit at the counter with Bob, the candles still lit, the air still fragrant with spicy bread, my wine rewarding my muscles in a way the best massage cannot.

It's a good day.

Philanthropy Thursday and Bling! Bloggy Blingalicious

So what, exactly, would the punishment be for letting your child drive at the age of twelve? Would I really even do any jail time? She knows the way. It's automatic transmission. How freakin' hard can it be? She could take herself and her siblings to school, baby Jack could go along for the ride and be show and tell for his brother, all while I kick back with a nice margarita and an entire day of WE television network.

This is what I've become.

Back in the cold world that doesn't allow social drinking and driving with the kids, I think I'll go do something nice today and pretend I'm on the couch. My Philanthropy Thursday is going to be as follows: I am going to rake the rocks off the play lawn at my kids' school. The kids kick up the landscaping rocks that border this area and they need to be swept off periodically. Also, and this may or may not count as "philanthropic," I am going to be super duper nice and smiley with a huge hello to that bitchy lady at my club that just stares at me when I see her. She's been doing this for three stinking years. We even had kids in the same class at school at one point and all I get is the stare. Oooh, the bitchiness - prepare to be killed with kindness.

And I am just dripping with buttons now. Dripping I tell you. Yes, some of you fancy pants bloggers have pages devoted to your bling, but I have that simple, classic look that says "I have just a few buttons but wear them with aplomb."

Sonia Sunshine hosted that celebrity look-alike contest and I won! (see sidebar for awesome Marilyn Monroe button).

She also bestowed upon some blogs a button that just kills me:

I am a cat's ass. I love it -

And Painted Maypole gave me this:









And Tabba and Mary Alice gave me this...




Sooo...I am allowed to pass on the nice matters award, and although I haven't kept track, so many of the blogs I read have this already. I think the guys need a fair shake, so I am going to pass it on to Ron, because he really is nice, and to Mr. Fab, because at first I thought he'd never put up an award like this, until I saw that fifty other bloggers gave him one of these, too. Ah, what the heck.

Have a wonderful day and I'd love to know if you plan on paying it forward!

Cajones? Bologna!

It was the perfect moment. I was in traffic today when suddenly a truck pulled in front of me on the off ramp of the interstate. It was my Big Daddy. The elusive fish that every fisherman sees once in his or her life, but can never catch. Or, has caught and it got away, with no proof of its existence.


My Big Daddy happens to be the most obnoxious truck in town. This is saying quite a bit, as I live in a town resplendent with large quad-cab, V-8, dualie trucks. Bumper stickers in the form of boys peeing on things, or instructing me to continue honking, as they're reloading their firearms abound. I am reminded that these drivers do not like Fat Chicks, and that their buddies should "Ditch the Bitch and Go Huntin.'" Because huntin' is far more virile a sport than simply hunting, you know.

I have often observed to my husband that men drive these things to compensate for various (ahem) shortcomings. He argues differently. He explains that we live in the mountains, people have livestock out here, you can't haul hay in a Saab, Jen. Uh, huh.


But today, God was smiling down at me, because I happened to have a camera in my car and was able to access it while behind the evidence of a certain species I would like to call phallus tinius automotivi. Yes, God was smiling, and boy does she have a great sense of humor.


Notice, if you will, the appendages hanging below the bumper. Do you see them? The scrotum? Perhaps the website, affixed to the window of the truck, might aid you some more. It is http://www.bullsballs.com/

Ladies, I am taking up a collection. I would like to manufacture a resyn or latex prototype for a set of mudflaps I would like to sell. They come in the shape of labia, and are excellent at keeping debris from your tires. If you act now and are one of the first twenty buyers? I will throw in a bush floor mat for free.