Archive | March, 2010

A New Age

31 Mar


This is my mom.

This is my mom on drugs.

Any questions?

I am giving my mom a hard time, because today is her birthday.  She DOES NOT use drugs.  She only pretends for pictures.

This past weekend we had the chance to spend some time together and a moment on Sunday morning turned into an impromptu photo shoot.  You see, I had just added blush and lipstick and had to snap a picture.  Besides, she had her hair done and I thought it looked great.

The only problem is that my mom never keeps her eyes open for a picture.  If all you knew of my mom was from pictures in an album, you would think she was blind.

Thankfully she can still see.  She also still has her own teeth…just in case you were wondering.

My mom likes to cling to the age of twenty-nine, but when the grandkid’s stop buying your story, drastic measures must be taken.  So this year mom, you’re going to need to age.

Forget the botox!  This year you are turning 40.

AGAIN

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

You are smart and beautiful, nothing short of an amazing woman.  You charge through life with a CAN-DO spirit, getting things done.  You’ve taken the trials of the last year and worked them into something wonderful.  And of course, you still have your own teeth. ;-)

So make it a another great year.

Love Ya!

Let’s give my mom a great birthday in blogland, leave her a comment!

A Need To Remember

30 Mar

Sometimes I just need to remember a time when the sky was blue and flowers bloomed, because…

As God as my witness, I will wear flip-flops again!

Wild Dogs, The Nile River, & Other Oddities

29 Mar

*  My son mastered Hark The Herald Angels Sing on his kazoo at 7am.

*  My daughter says we live near the Nile River.  Let’s just hope I don’t find a baby in the bulrushes.

*  Either I am getting old or walking too much, because suddenly comfort trumps cute.  I need a hybrid of a sandal and a sneaker, good for walking miles.  Any suggestions?

*  Very squirrely colorless hairs are taking over my head.

*  Speaking of gray hair, my mother’s birthday is on Wednesday and I will be revealing her new hair color and pictures from an impromptu photo shoot this weekend.  Brace yourself mom!

*  My mother and I sat through How To Train Your Dragon without eating pop-corn.  I feel like we should get a medal of willpower.

*  My dog definitely has ADHD.  She also knows how to open the back door.  My neighbors may band together and kick me out of the neighborhood.

Have a HAPPY MONDAY!

In other news…find out how many women are letting it all hang out.  Click HERE.

If you would like an Easter cake recipe complete with grass and peeps, click HERE.

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Child Style by Heather Hill

26 Mar

Today I want to introduce you to Heather Hill, a truly unique boutique.

Heather designs clothing that is fun, funky, and fabulous, but shoppers aren’t limited to her creations alone.

From a variety of beautiful fabrics, you and your daughter can create a personalized wardrobe.

Is there anything cuter than a little girl wrapped in happy colors and playful patterns?

Heather is actually family, but I’ve not been privileged to meet her.  Yet.

Our grandmother’s were sisters.

It’s shocking I can share the same blood line with someone so talented.

Obviously she got all the creative genes in the family.

I’m so happy to have been introduced to her fabulous shop.

I can’t wait to order my daughter some clothes!

Go visit Heather Hill by clicking HERE.

Tell her you were referred by the domestic fringe.

Have fun shopping!

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Tuesday’s Nonsense

24 Mar

On Tuesday I began my day by filling out a form that required both my height and weight, so I pulled up my big-girl panties (different from granny panties by at least 3 yards of fabric) and noted my weight.  My last run-in with a scale wasn’t long ago, so I felt like I was telling the truth; however, by late afternoon guilt started to creep into my head and eat at my heart.  Guilt is never good, especially when associated with weight, so I marched upstairs and stepped onto the scale.  After all, the truth will set you free…it even says that in the Bible.

The surprise of all time came when I realized that I actually overestimated my weight by two pounds.  That is most likely the stupidest thing a woman could do.  At any rate, I owe every ounce of my two pounds of weight loss to my new jump rope.  I read on someone’s blog that 15 minutes of jumping rope burns more calories than 15 minutes of jogging.  Now I can’t remember where I read that information, so if it was on your blog, do remind me in the comments.  Thanks.

Don’t bother making any memory loss comments, because then I will stop liking you.

Not really.  I’ll just forget it was you anyway.

Back to my two dollar and thirty-seven cent jump rope…

Jumping rope is much easier when you are ten.  Remember I told you that.  I can only imagine how much weight I would have lost if I had sprung for the six-dollar and eighty-three cent weighted jump rope.  Then there was the twenty dollar rope…the possibilities are exciting.  Now I just have to get past forty-three jumps without messing up.

Around lunchtime my mother called and asked what I was doing.

“Watching someone get arrested.”  I said nonchalantly.

Although I’m hard on Mrs. Kravitz, I identify with her; however, by the time someone gets to the place of  being handcuffed and a riding downtown in a police car with its bubble lights flashing, you no longer need to hide your snooping.  Throw caution to the wind and gawk.  While you’re at it, stand around with complete strangers and theorize as to the details of his arrest.  It is nearly as much fun as watching a rerun of Matlock.

I didn’t think anything could top the arrest, it was quite drawn out, but I underestimated the power of a Tuesday afternoon.  You see Tuesday is the night we put out the trash in my neighborhood.  I had just returned from the post-office when I spotted the teenage boy across the street piling junk high at the curb.  Sitting casually out in front was the bestest lawn chair ever.

I ran right over.

“You’re not really throwing that chair out are you?”  I asked.

“You mean the ugly one.”  He responded with a scrunched up look on his face.

“Of course the ugly one!  You see I have this disease and it’s called bad taste.  Have you seen my new shoes?”

You get the point.

I got the lawn chair.

Now the big question is where to put it?

In the words of my cousin, “How about the lawn?”

Duh!

She’s so simple.

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Electrify My Bed

22 Mar

A few days of sunshine and my face is so speckled I don’t recognize myself in the mirror; however, the effects of the sun reach deep, changing more than my skin’s surface.  I suddenly find myself doing silly things like jumping rope and leaving unsigned notes on the front seat of a certain man’s Jeep.

With the pockets of my sweatshirt stuffed with tissues, an asthma inhaler, and cell phone, I searched the kitchen for Oriana’s leash.  My eyes lighted on the silver links just as an image of FringeMan filtered through my mind.  He was working on a house in our town and I knew the road.  Without much thought I grabbed a pen and snatched a piece of loose-leaf paper my daughter uses to practice her spelling words.  I then scribbled a little message, folded up the paper, and added it to the growing pile of junk in my pocket.  I grabbed the dog, took a deep breath, and headed out for a walk.

That sounds simple, but in reality it’s kinda like one of those cartoons where you see the leashed dog running wildly down the road with a harried woman floating in the air a few feet behind, terrified to release the leash.  I am that woman.

As soon as I rounded the corner onto the street where FringeMan was working, I noticed his vehicle.  I couldn’t miss it, because it’s plastered with a few of those signs that nearly landed him in jail.  Ironically, the signs still hang in various locations around our town.  The local officers haven’t complained, so as long as we are all happy, they add beauty to our local landscape.  Really, they do.

Stealthily I opened the driver’s side front door and the dog jumped in and wouldn’t come out.  This is partly because she’s now worn out from our psychotic run, but mostly because I walked into the road and she’s terrified of moving traffic ever since her near death experience on the side of a van.

Finally I coax her out, unfold the note, and lay it out on the seat. Slamming the creaking door, we took off at a run.  I’m sure the Mrs. Cravitz’s of the neighborhood were certain I just stole toll change from the cupholder, but as long FringeMan didn’t see us, we were good.

My note said something like…

I am looking for an electrician to put an outlet in my living room,

hang a chandelier  in my dining room,

and electrify my bed.

Now, we’ve been married for twelve years and I’ve left him thousands of notes.  They usually have words like “pick up milk”, “please stop for bread on your way home,” and “don’t forget the kitchen pipe burst and flooded the first floor.”  But still, he should recognize the handwriting.  Shouldn’t he?

Apparently not.  He skimmed the first two lines of the note, saw ‘outlets’ and ‘chandelier’, immediately stopped reading and searched for a phone number.  When he couldn’t locate a number, he stopped to reread and began having heart palpitations.

Self-consciously he looked over his shoulder, up and down the street, and panicked.  He said he felt like Joseph working in Potipher’s house and thought, “I’d better tell Tricia before she kills me.”

So he hopped in the car and swung by the house.  Only I wasn’t there and the dog was missing too.  Realization dawned and my phone began to ring.  He’s so easy to fool!

My recommendation for you this week…

Leave your husband an unsigned note and make sure he doesn’t recognize your handwriting.  He’ll get a kick out of it and you may get some fringe benefits too.

Thank me later. ;-)

If you’d like to read about my dog’s brush with death, click HERE.

If you’d like to read about FringeMan’s brush with the law, click HERE.

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Chocolate Balls with M&M’s of Course

20 Mar

This recipe came from my mom, so there’s no telling where it originated.  I just know that I love these little chocolate balls more than I love being thin.  They should definitely come with a warning, because there’s no way to keep them out of your mouth.  Before you know it they are all resting happily in your hips; however, they are worth ever last mile you will need to run in order to compensate for their calories.

You know, I think that also makes them good for your heart.  Yes, these chocolate balls get you moving…Good for the Hips, Good for the Heart!

Fancy Huh?

Here’s what you need:

1 stick butter, 2/3c. milk, 1 box brownie mix, 3c. quick cooking oats, 1tsp. vanilla extract, 1c. peanut butter, 1c. mini m&m’s, (coconut or powdered sugar or sprinkles – optional)

Here’s what you do:

In a saucepan melt the butter and add the milk. stir continuously until hot.  Add the brownie mix and quick cooking oats.  Stir for about 2 minutes.  The pot will be full and this won’t be the easy thing to mix, but you can count it as a workout for your biceps/triceps.

In a large bowl, mix in the vanilla, peanut butter, and the saucepan combination.  Mix thoroughly.  Now add your M&M’s and stir until mixed.

Put in the fridge overnight.  The next day, take your mix and roll spoonfuls into little bite-sized balls.  If you’d like, you can roll these balls in coconut, powdered sugar, or sprinkles.  Try not to eat too many, but they can take over life in a second, so be careful.

Store these goodies in the fridge or the freezer and consume whenever the urge strikes.  When my son was a toddler, I’d keep a container of these in the large chest freezer and I’d always find him trying to get the freezer open.  Luckily he wasn’t tall enough or strong enough, but he knew where I kept the goods.

As a bonus, I have a little organizational tip for you.

I know…now close your mouth.

Get over the shock.

I realize this is like a man giving you a tip on pregnancy (what can they possibly know about growing a baby for 9 months), but I managed to gleam some organizational nuggets through the years and because I love you, I want to share.

I give full credit for this tip to my friend and former neighbor Jeannie.  If I didn’t spend so much time lounging at her counter flipping through her books and magazines while she cooked, my recipe cards may still be in a jumble; however, one day I happened upon her little notebook.  She took all those recipes that you clip out of magazines and lose in your junk drawer and she taped them into a notebook.  It’s genius!  All your clipping confined to a notebook make it easy to answer the question “What’s for dinner?”

I need a manicure before I start modeling my fingers...sorry.

Now if you’re OCD or a complete organizational nut, you can create categories and so on.  I’m just lucky I got all my cards and clippings together in one book.

If you’d like to meet Jeannie (otherwise known as the ‘mail order bride’), click HERE.

If you’d like to learn more about my mom (and who wouldn’t), click HERE.

Have a happy weekend and if you get fat, don’t blame me.

This post is linked to MyCup2Yours. Go visit for more great recipes. Click HERE.

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A Grown Up Heart

19 Mar

About two years ago, my doctor thought he heard a murmur in my heart.  I wasn’t surprised, because on a bad day, I can murmur and complain enough to cause Moses himself heartache; however, my doctor wanted me to see a cardiologist.  In the past I had a couple of incidences with irregular heartbeats when I was running on the treadmill, and it is imperially important that a heart beat, murmuring and complaining or not.

My one little visit to the heart doctor turned into a series of tests that caused my wallet to tremble.  I got to see my heart pumping away on a monitor and I even had my aorta checked.  They thought it was enlarged.  I fear my bottom has become enlarged, but thankfully nobody’s ever suggested photo imaging of my backside.

Then I took the test where they try to kill you on a treadmill.  Don’t ever let the technician in charge of all the wires coming off your chest know that you do any form of regular exercise.  In fact, pretend you can’t walk on one leg for this test.  If they see even the tiniest hint that you’ve used a treadmill in your lifetime, they defy gravity with the incline and up your speed until you are running faster than the traffic speeding outside the window.  They make you stay on until your heart explodes or they decide you’ll live for another six months.

They nearly killed me, but left me with just enough spark to come back two days later and do it all over again.  Only this time they decided to inject me with nuclear waste.  It was my first time dripping drops of glowing sweat.

The best part is when they decided I was done.  Instead of dropping the incline and decreasing the speed, they just pressed stop and I nearly fell over the front of the treadmill and flew out the window.  The nurse caught me just short of breaking glass and threw me onto a table to see how my heart would react.  I am convinced if you don’t die during one of those tests, you’ll live until you’re ninety.

Me as Madonna sometime in the 80's

It was during my last appointment that the doctor was to give me a prognosis and tell me whether I had a happy heart or murmuring heart.  My husband was a little nervous and decided to come along, but he only came as far as the parking lot.  I think he was scared that they’d put him on a treadmill.

By the time I came out to the car, my husband thought I was about to undergo the knife or worse.  After the routine waiting room stint, I spent about forty minutes in the doctor’s office, ten of which we discussed my heart.  We talked about Burt’s Bees, make-up, and Maine for the other thirty minutes.  I walked out wishing he, his wife, and kids would come over for dinner.

On that cool Spring day, I realized that I was growing up.  No longer are my doctors old men in scary white lab coats; they are people with whom I would choose to spend time.  It finally dawned on me that my friends are doctors, lawyers, teachers, bankers, police officers, writers, clergy, and business owners.  We are running our communities.  We are the grown-ups.

My heart is fine.  It just beats to an unusual rhythm, but I am still mystified with adulthood.  It sneaked up me unawares.  I can’t define a time when I transitioned from carefree youth into responsible adult, but it happened.  I am all grown-up.

I just hope old age doesn’t sneak up on me as quickly.  I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find myself using a cane, eating all bran cereal, and holding my teeth while I brush them.

When did you realize that you were all grown up?

This post is linked to Flashback Friday hosted by Mylestones and Friday Photo hosted by More Than Words.  Go visit by clicking on the photos below and read more stories with the theme ALL GROWN UP and see some great old photos.

Friday Photo Flashback

Tongues Gone Wild

18 Mar

You know that feeling you get when you’ve just said what you are thinking and realize the last word lands like a bomb that implodes the hour of great conversation beforehand?

I know it too.

Sometimes the thought of pulling out my tongue and cutting it off with a pair of scissors seems like the best thing for my future.  I would consider a brain transplant if I were guaranteed the brain I was getting came from a woman who always knew just what to say.  Unfortunately there are so few of those women in the world.

I know this because people tend to say stupid things to me all the time.  The apex of insults came to me straight from a woman’s lips in the church nursery.  Lest anyone who has worked in the church nursery with me for the past five years start sweating in fear of me mentioning them, it’s not YOU!

Ever notice how many disclaimers I include in my posts?  I really need to print a disclaimer and wear it on my back to keep me out of trouble.

Back to the nursery – As I crawled around the floor wiping runny noses and building block castles, I chatted with a woman I barely knew.  Until the moment of the ill-fated question, it was a great morning.  I hadn’t been covered in baby regurgitation and there were no diaper blow-outs.  I glanced at the clock and realized that with only ten minutes to go, I would probably survive this morning with no visible signs of baby fluid battles.  I had hope in my heart and wore a smile on my face.

Then the perky college-age girl with the clear blue eyes and toned thighs looked at me and asked me about my pregnancy.  In confusion, I stammered for an answer.  The question sounded like I was currently with child, but my baby was in the two year-old room across the hall.

In shock, I asked, “Do you think I’m pregnant now?”

I slumped through the rest of day in a combination of disbelief and horror.  You see, there has never been any question as to whether I am pregnant or not.  When I am pregnant, people don’t just say that it looks like I swallowed a basketball, they say it looks like I swallowed the whole court, bleachers and all!  And unless this naive girl thought I was carrying a baby in my backside, it was hard to explain the misconception.

I would be fine if she told me that I needed to amp up my time in the gym, or that I should really lay off the bagels, or that the local chapter of Weight Watchers was accepting applications; however, the thought that I might resemble my pregnant self was unbearable.

Like I said, people aren’t usually shy about throwing insults my way and typically, I don’t take them to heart.  Have I told you about the time a house-guest called me a “long-tongued heifer?”

My Former Self

No?  I guess I’ll save it for another day.

Thankfully my spoken blunder was nothing personal, but related to a geographic location.

Lesson learned:  Quit saying things like “That’s the armpit of NY!” or “Ya, it’s a great place if you’re an Eskimo.”  I could continue to elaborate, but will shut-up before I insult anyone else.

Like me, do you ever wish you could send your tongue to obedience school?

What’s the most outlandish thing anyone has said to you?

Please share…misery loves company.  It does.

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Alive Again

17 Mar

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

I breezed through the living room pulling back the curtains without much interest in the view; however, a small fluttering movement caught my eye.  I stopped, peering into the morning light.    A little bird sat perched on the porch railing waiting to wish me a good morning.  Its greeting better than any tweet on Twitter.

With a little sunshine and 54 degree temperatures our entire town came to life.  Winter’s hibernation is officially over and I couldn’t be happier.  I hope you are absorbing as much sunlight as I am.

Looking for the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow,

** Find out how many people are letting it all hang loose…click HERE**

If you are new to the fringe and need a laugh, click HERE.

To learn more about me, click HERE.

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