Crawfish Boil

Some friends of ours had a crawfish boil last night. I guess you're not a real Texan until you've gobbled up some of these critters.



As I stared at these mini reptiles I wondered why someone ever considered scooping these things up outta the lake and then boilin' them in cajun spices. Throw in some potatoes and corn and you're set.



It's a lot of work to eat them crawfish. There is a fine art to cracking open the shells. The real Texans at the party had to demonstrate for us uneducated folk. Once you've got the shell off, all you're left with a piece of meat the size of a caterpillar. An anorexic one.



But, if you don't like crawfish, you can always settle for a hot dog.


Once everyone had cracked enough shells to get carpel tunnel, we watched the kids play tug of war. By this time of the night, my lips were on fire from all the cajun spices. It most definitely hampered my cheering.

We've cracked and we've eaten now. Does that make us Texans? I'm fixin' to think about it....

The Good Life

The girls made these sugar eggs with Andi, the Hawaiin Goddess. They're delightful. I was staring at them and the little chickies inside and it dawned on me that I think I want to be that wee little, pink chick. Wouldn't it be a great life to live in a house made of sugar? You could lick a wall at any given moment. Sounds rather heavenly.

This week I have reached a pinnacle with my mothering skills. I have a particular kindergartner that has been soooo naughty at school, that I have simply surrendered. I am unable to process how to handle this child--and the other two for that matter. So, as I looked at this sugar egg, I longed to live in there. I could hide away inside a sugar cave. It would be quiet and I could sit on green coconut grass. No one would whine, yell, ignore or talk back to me. How could they when their beaks are made from a pipe cleaner? Sounds pretty good, wanna join me? Maybe I can have a little village of sugar homes and I will rent them out to my most special friends. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone where you are. Or that you are licking the walls clean.

A Mystery

For quite some time, I've been perplexed about something. It's a mystery that has simmered in my brain for at least a year or two. I just can't find an answer to my question, so I'm going to have to vocalize it: why are the people at Walmart so...Walmart? Seriously. I need to know because it's driving me crazy. Ca-Ra-Zee!

For starters, let me say that I shop at 'the Walmart'. I don't shop there because I want to. I shop there because of the prices. I have many friends who shop there also and they are (relatively) normal. With that said, let me just point out a few of the things I have noticed--

Number 1--Until I started shopping at Walmart, I had never, I repeat never, seen a grown man wear denim overalls without a shirt. And don't you even think this was a one time sighting. I had to stop my cart and shield my eyes. I'm not kidding!

Number 2--80% of the checkers are missing teeth. And not just one. Those who do have all of their dental work are sporting a few gold caps. Why is that? Is there a check box on the employment form that asks for a listing of the teeth that are still imbedded in your mouth? I'm thinkin' that if you check that box you are guaranteed a job. For reals.

Number 3--Where exactly do the people who shop there come from? Granted, I'm there. Yes, I know. And roughly 28 other people in the store look normal. And they've combed their hair. Everyone else in the store is probably looking at me thinking, 'why in the who-haw do your clothes match'?

It doesn't matter what Walmart you go to or in which state. The mystery still remains. I walk in, and the same people are there. Maybe they're following me. Even the checkers. Could be possible. But yet, I walk into Target and it feels like I've entered heaven. I feel at peace. And I look around, and everyone is wearing a shirt and has all of their teeth. Maybe that's the answer to my mystery. Shopping should only be done at Target. It's a possibility....

World Peace

Don't you think that the world would be a better place if everyone had a mother who was willing to give you polka-dot toenails? Think about it. Can you be mean and evil while sporting stylish toes? Highly unlikely. I may just have to take my painting skills across the lands to help promote world peace one fashion statement at a time.

They're Talkin' Like Texans!

I love the way people talk here. Especially the women. And more especially, the women who grew up here. I really luuuvvv them. They just ooze when they talk. The first time the lady at the toll booth told me, "May the Lord bless your day", I almost squeezed her. She was a pretty big gal, lots to squish. Then there are the Texas moms who call their kids 'baby'--said with Texas flair. I've even walked into a room and had a friend say, "hey mama!" Again, said like a Texan. I've tried saying a few things, whispered to myself of course, but I just look like a type A, bossy mom. So totally far from the truth.

Lately, I've noticed that my girls are talking more and more like the natives. "Yes mam" has to be my ALL TIME favorite words the girls have picked up. They say it at school, and they love saying it so much that they say it at home too. Now when I yell at them (in my most heavenly voice), they just look at me once I'm finished and reply, "yes mam". That's what I'm talkin' about! If you don't already live in Texas, you should move here. Just for that.

Sometimes the girls will slip in a "ya'll". Sam actually uses it a lot. I have yet to have the courage to bust out with it. I don't ooze when I talk like the Texas moms. There is no slight drawl to my words, so I don't feel worthy of the "ya'll". The other night Makell and Sam were wrestling on the kitchen floor, one was kidney punching the other. As I stepped around them I heard Sam exclaim, "Get 'r done!" That's when I stopped short. That one gave me pause. I realized that you really live in Texas when your kids start saying "Get 'r done". Maybe in the future I'll have enough Texas in my blood to throw a 'fixin' into a conversation. Who knows, I may just start calling my girls, "baby"....or, maybe not.

Git 'R Done.

Happy Patrick's

Addie Hearts George

Yesterday Addie started a campaign to teach the lesson for family home evening. As soon as I agreed, she gave me a list of supplies to buy for her. So tonight, we made George Washington's log cabin out of stick pretzels. It was a glue fest. She could not have been more excited.

As we all glued and colored (and she told us we were all doing it wrong), she told us endless tidbits about old George: his axe was red and he cut down a tree, "One time when they didn't have food, George Washington killed a turkey, but then he cried and he never, never killed a turkey again. They cut that turkey in half and ate it." George had brown hair, and "they didn't have any bricks, so they had to use trees to build their houses."



Addie's rendering--at close inspection, George isn't wearing a shirt. Maybe he was hot and sweaty after killing the turkey:



Sam made George look like a stick and made sure to point out that he has fake teeth:



Makell just kept on gluein'. She glued right over all the windows, the door and the sidewalk. She did tell us that she ate several pretzels covered in glue and it was "no big deal":


Thanks for a great family home evening George. Your log cabin was tasty.