Christmas Potatoes

If you’ve been a Suburban Diva reader over the years, you know that it wouldn’t be the holidays without a transcript of the Christmas decoration discussion between my husband and I. If you’re new to this subject, let me enlighten. 

When it comes to holiday decorating, I am inspired more by House Beautiful, he, Animal House. I’m Lord and Taylor, he’s more Lord of the Flies. I’m all about It’s a Wonderful Life, he’s a Lifetime Original movie. Potato, potahto.

So this year we gathered as we do every first Saturday in December to discuss the decorating plan. Now that the kids are older, we have allowed them to be on the planning committee, but they do yet realize they are non-voting members.

Him: What’ll it be this year, kids? Tacky or classy?

Five voices in unison: Classy!

Him: Tacky it is! Great choice.

Me: Honey, we’re still kind of new to this neighborhood, don’t you think we should ease off just a bit?

Him: Ease off??? This is the perfect time to strike! Establish who we are as a light entity.

Me: Um, I think Middle Tennessee Electric Company has that title. And the sun.

Him: Exactly. I want others to be drawn into our orbit.

Me: (Mumbling) And I kind of want our house to be hit by a meteor, so I guess that works out for both of us.

Him: What was that, dear?

Me: I said that sounds stellar, darling. Let’s get started.

A few hours later...

Son: Dad, I saw these new poles they have in the store now that are made especially to hang Christmas lights. They come with little plastic hooks that attach to the gutter so you don’t need to climb on the roof anymore.

Him: Where’d you see those? In the ladies skirt department?

Son: No, but it might work better than the golf club and kitchen tongs we’re using now.

Him: You know, back in my day, we didn’t have fancy things like poles and “grounding wire” and “ladders with all their rungs.” We hung lights with frayed cords and asbestos bulbs. My Dad would take me out in 4 feet of snow and a lightning storm and have me string lights on a rusted weather vane 8 stories high on a pitched roof. Barefoot.

Son: How was there lightning in a snow storm?

Him: Because that’s how things were back then--TOUGH. But we liked it because that’s what Christmas is all about.

Son: Mom! Dad’s turning into a villian from Scooby-Doo again.

Me: It’s Christmas. This is what it does to him. (Noticing progress.) Um, honey? Not to be critical, but do you think that manger you’re constructing is rather....tall? And shiny?

Him: Not in the least bit. If the original had been to this scale, perhaps it wouldn’t have taken the Wise Men until January 6th to find Him.

Me: He was born unto a Virgin, not under a Virgin Mobile tower.

Him: Potato, potahto.

Much later that night, after I slather sunscreen on the kids and we all go outside to admire the finished product.

Me: Please don’t look directly at the lights, guys. View it through this piece of cardboard with a pin prick through it.

Kids: That’s so cool!

I look over at my husband who is standing on the sidewalk with a tear in his eye that I don’t believe resulted from the glare of the LED lights on the team of reindeer.

Me: Oh honey, it’s beautiful. What’s wrong?

Him: Nothing. I was just thinking that the kids are growing up so fast and soon they will be doing this with their own children someday soon.

Me: Not if I don’t get those lead capes across their torsos while we’re standing here.

Him: (Ignoring me.) It seems like just yesterday I was standing on the sidewalk with my Dad admiring our illuminated masterpiece. (Glances over at smiling children.) And I’m so proud of all of them.

Me:   Aw, because of their cat-like reflexes when you drop hammers and staple guns from the roof?

Him: (Wiping the tear away.) No, because already at their young ages they’ve learned to ignore the neighbors slowing down in front of the house and threatening to call the Homeowner’s Association. 

Me: The milestone we as parents dream of.

Maybe it’s more Ground Control and Major Tom thing. Potato, potahto.

At least it’s merry and bright.

©2012 Tracey Henry

Theme Park Tips--Holidays or otherwise

Our typical Thanksgiving is spent at home with me cooking way too much, squeezing more chairs around a crowded table in between home hockey games. This year (and all other lockout years) we had the opportunity to travel so we did. To Disney World.

The happiest place on earth is also a very crowded one during major holidays, but we were able to hit everything we wanted to, including the newly-expanded Fantasyland.

It can be done, my friends. And here are my quick tips on how to enjoy the Magic Kingdom with 100,000 other people.

1.) Use Fast Passes. EVERY RIDE THEY ARE OFFERED. Standby lines are for rookies.

2.) One of the longest lines we waited in all day was to get on the monorail before we even got to the park. Check the hours because they vary, but if it's a later close, think of shifting your day up by an hour or two. It cleared out around dinner time, and we could have avoided that first wait by leaving the hotel later.

3.) Do the park in a logical order. It astounds me that people crisscross hitting attractions out of order. This just adds needless time, especially if you're navigating large crowds that hate strollers. I once read that most people go to left when starting the park, but I don't think that's true if Space Mountain is to the right.

4.) Send your fastest runner ahead to collect Fast Passes. This saves you oodles of time.

5.) Did I mention Fast Passes? Because often if you are getting them for one ride, you may have the nice surprise of receiving more to another attraction. This happened for us while getting ours for Peter Pan--we got bonus passes for the new Dumbo ride.

6.) Focus on your must-see rides, but don't overlook others that may have a shorter line. Carousel of Progress might seem lame, but it sure is a cool spot to land while you wait for Buzz Lightyear. I'm looking at you, Swiss Family Robinson Tree House, Hall of Presidents and Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor.

7.) There was not a single reservation available the entirety of Thanksgiving Day inside the park (or at surrounding hotels for that matter) so if you have to settle for counter service, eat at off-times. before 11:30 or after 2:30 for lunch, early or late dinners.

8.) We are not parade people and if you aren't either, still make a note of when they are to avoid Main Street like...Main Street during a parade.

9.) Speaking of Fast Passes, they will give you an hour window in which to return. Try not to hit it at the exact return time, go about 20 minutes after the start time.

10.) Individual events like Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween and Mickey's Very Merry Christmas parties are great if they are offered during your stay. While it seems that a 7:00 pm start time may not be enough time, tickets are less expensive than a full-day admission and you get more bang for your buck with less crowds and wait times.

Get your ears on this Christmas.

The new attractions in FantasyLand had just opened to the public earlier that week, and while we didn't get to go to the new Be Our Guest Restaurant which sounds like a Don't Miss, we enjoyed the new Ariel ride and the new Under the Big Top attractions that used to be Toon Town. Definitely worth the hype and it still has a lot to go including a new roller coaster for us big kids.

So don't be put off by the crowds this holiday season, it's about making memories. While I'm cynical about a lot of things, Disney is still one of the places my whole family enjoys together, and for that I am thankful.

And for Fast Passes.

Fakesgiving

While many of you gear up for Thanksgiving, we here in the Diva household are preparing for Fakesgiving festivities.

Fakesgiving is my favorite holiday. Born from those many, many, many Thanksgivings that didn’t exactly go the way I had planned, Fakesgiving was a perfect pre-cursor, do-over or post-apocalyptic event which is now often more highly anticipated than the real thing.

Let me explain.

Let’s just hypothetically say that your childhood traditional Thanksgiving dinners were often assembled along plastic tablecloth-lined banquet tables in a second cousin’s thrice-removed basement in which marshmallows (in either the salad, sweet potatoes, stuffing and gravy) were the main entree. In exchange for sitting quietly in tights and too-small Mary Jane’s, your mother would cook a second Thanksgiving meal later that evening so that leftovers would be more than an empty Jello mold and your Dad could have a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes, why, that would be reason for Fakesgiving.

Or let’s just say--for argument’s sake--that one year your crazy aunt took a Japanese cooking class at the Y and made everyone sit on pillows on the floor while she served hand-rolled sushi and tofurkey stir fry. Again, a second, more traditional meal would be prepared the day after so your Dad could have a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

Or how about that year when your Dad scored Lion’s tickets and your Mom thought maybe you should eat before the game so you wouldn’t need to eat that crappy stadium food, so at 8:00 Thursday morning you ate cranberry waffles and turkey bacon? After the inevitable loss sitting in traffic, your Mom would pretend that your car was a float in the Macy’s Day parade in the parking lot of the Silverdome, and promise a feast with all the trimmings that weekend so your Dad could have his goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

Or, again, let’s just pretend that maybe later in your life you found yourself at the table of your possible future in-laws for the first time, and realized, in horror, that creamed onions, turnips, and the giblets were their Thanksgiving staples and as you wondered if this relationship had any chance whatsoever with these huge cultural differences glaring between you like the sheen from an unmolded can of cranberry sauce, you appeased yourself with a second, more familiar dinner later that week so maybe you could ponder your future over a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes. 

Or who can forget the year that you and your husband decided to do something different that year, and booked a family trip at Disney? You may have realized soon after arriving that you were not the first person to think of this particular activity, and not a single restaurant on property had availability until Groundhog’s Day. With an exhausted and whiny toddler you finally pushed the stroller up to Sonny’s Star Cafe at 10:40 at night for a cheeseburger since even the turkey leg stand in Frontierland ran out before noon, you then spun tales of lumpless gravy and pumpkin pie as soon as you got home and yes, your husband can get a goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes that doesn’t cost $24 and shaped in mouse ears.

As you can see, there are many reasons why Fakesgiving should be an important date on everyone’s calendar. It’s the day you, as the host and guest, get to decide mashed or scalloped, dressing or stuffing, canned or homemade, and best of all, who to invite without guilt or obligation.

So Happy Fakesgiving, friends. I am as grateful for you as my Dad is for that goddamned turkey sandwich for Crissakes.

This is also being cross-posted at SuburbanDiva.com as I attempt to breathe some life back into the column. Please feel free to sign up for newsletters over there so you won't miss a thing.

I've never been thankful for a glue gun

The extent of my Thanksgiving crafting abilities has been limited to a rather racy bunch of burlesque pine cone turkeys and some dried bean studded napkin rings that resulted in a broken vacuum cleaner and two cracked fillings. Fortunately, I have found some other ideas that don't look so dangerous or PG-13.

Here are a  few from my friends at the National Wildlife Foundation. I particularly like the pumpkin vase and leaf display.

And the folks at Spoonful.com know me too well know and sent me some more themed-meal addiction fodder with these Thanksgiving treats.

Spoonful.com

Spoonful.com

I'll make sure Jessie washes her hands before we trace it.

Check out more here, including that Tiny Thanksgiving Dinner of which is not even fair to tempt me with.

The most wonderful time of the year

My favorite holiday of the year just passed this weekend.

It’s better than any Halloween treat. More exciting than Fourth of July fireworks. It’s got the New Year’s Eve magic without the New Year’s Day hangover. It’s like Christmas without all of the shopping, wrapping, baking, decorating and obligatory parties. It is the perfect gift of a day for an exhausted and overwhelmed mother like me.

It’s Daylight Savings Day.

Although it has no official anthem, I find myself humming “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” weeks before its arrival. I decorate by fluffing my pillows and wearing footed pajamas. My children and I reverse roles. They send me to bed on Saturday night with a wink and a warning that the clocks won’t turn back if I’m awake to watch it. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to sleep as I listen for tell-tale signs like hooves on the roof or incessant winding.

If I were to personify Daylight Savings Day, I would mascot it with a benevolent Mother Nature character. She is warm and nurturing, and every autumn, she turns our clocks back while she tucks us in snugly. She tandems with Mr. Sandman and together, they grant the wish most uttered amongst worn-out folks like myself: “Just one more hour of sleep…PLEASE!” as we hurl the alarm clocks and baby monitors across the room.

The Daylight Savings Fairy must be the patron saint of parents or something. Because Daylight Savings doesn’t occur at 11 a.m. when you could get an extra hour of time at work or on the treadmill. It doesn’t commence at 3 in the afternoon for an extra hour of carline. And it most definitely doesn’t start during the airing of “High School Musical” 1 or 2. No, we are given our additional hour at drowsy 2 am, when you are either sleeping, or doing something that would require an added hour to post bail. Blessedly, all dry cleaners, Toys R Us stores and restaurants with crayons and paper placements are closed.

And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that the holiday was to commemorate two ancient Greek gods, the lovely nymph, Fallbackius and her horrible ogre of a sister Springforwardusa. The latter is the most evil creature in history, torturing parents with cruel sleep deprivation. Her feast day has all the celebratory spirit as April 15th. I hate Springforwardusa. I will never speak of her again.

And please do not rain on my Easter parade and give me some perfectly reasonable explanation that Daylight Savings wasn’t even practiced until World War I, and even then it wasn’t really uniform until the mid ‘70’s when Congress passed a law blah blah blah. Don’t start yammering to me about energy issues. Because it’s the same as my Chicken Picatta; I’d rather not know where it comes from, just that it goes nicely on a bed a fettuccine. Or in this case, on a bed of high thread count Egyptian cotton.

This holiday requires no phone calls, no mailing of cards or good wishes. It’s the one day of the year that living on borrowed time is a good thing. The more silent, the better. So on Sunday, please just count a sheep for me or two. I’ll sign your name to the card to Fallbackius next to her plate of Unisom cookies and warm milk.

And when I awake on Sunday morning to that beautiful, innocent joy of knowing that it is really 7:00 a.m. instead of 8:00 and rolling back over wrapping up tightly in my blanket, I’ll not know for a blessed moment if it is just another day in November or Christmas morning.

But for my worn out maternal body that lately has been falling asleep during AC/DC concerts and ringside space shuttle launches, it’ll be a day of Thanksgiving.

(©2007 Tracey Henry. Originally a Suburban Diva post way back then, but still holds true today.)

Halloween lessons

Our second Halloween in this 'hood and the lessons I've learned:

1.) I need to buy double the amount of doubled-amount of candy that I bought twice as much as last year.

2.) People love Halloween here. There aren't enough aisles of inflatable ghosts, cats and other general spooks at Lowe's to fulfill the demand in Middle Tennessee.

3.) Trick-or-Treating at large, stately, popular country music singing stars homes doesn't suck.

4.) I need to seek professional help for the lengths I go to theme this meal.

Halloween was a little hollow in 1979

More and more frequently, I'll recall a warm childhood memory and as I'm regarding now it in my parental mind's eye, I can't help but stop and think, "What the hell?"

We didn't grow up in a bad area of town. On the contrary--it was a nice suburban Michigan home in a subdivision filled with large sprawling yards and growing families. It was a particularly good neighborhood to Trick-Or-Treat in because there was always a porch light on at every house, and easy- to-navigate streets.

I remember going out with my Dad and sister and we'd hit as many houses as possible in our unknown costumes buried under a parka since October in Michigan meant it was 3 degrees outside. My Mom would stay at home passing out the candy and when we returned we'd dump out our pillowcases filled with sugar treasures, and the mad sorting would begin.

Or should I say, my mother would begin the 3 day long inspection process and clinical drug trials.

You must put into context that the idyllic neighborhood I described was set in the late seventies which is when all urban legends were born. I have no idea if there was any concrete evidence or actual events to support the extraordinary means my mother would go through to make sure our candy wasn't tainted, but I imagine some fuzzy-screened news anchor with a wide tie informing the good citizens of Oakland County that Charles Manson was on the loose in the Hershey factory inserting razor blades and Tylenol laced with cyanide into fun size Snickers bars.

Even before one M got stuffed into my mouth, she'd immediately start the torture.

All apples (yeah, that lady lived in my hood, too) were tossed into the trash. "Hello, ever hear of Snow White?" Popcorn balls or anything homemade? "I'm not sure if it's poisoned but you don't know what kind of kitchen that came from. You could get trichinosis."

All loose candy was pitched. Anything in a wrapper that was torn, wrinkled or compromised in any way was an immediate discard. And all Milky Ways were automatically confiscated, but I think it was just because she liked those.

We were then allowed to choose one piece of candy from our bags, but only after Mom chopped it up like a sushi chef to make sure there was nothing hidden inside or any powdery residue on the blade of the cleaver.

After the intense visual inspection and biopsy, you'd think you were in the clear, but you were obviously not aware of the cornucopia of dangers lurking in a Bit o' Honey in 1979. No, then all of the level 1 cleared candy was bundled back up into the pillowcase with the firm declaration, "You can have this back in a few days after your Uncle has had a chance to X-ray it."

Yes. X-Ray.

This was an annual ritual that I thought was just our curse having an Uncle as a radiologist, but one year we had to take it to the local McDonald's for a mobile screening so this must have been a widespread concern in our zip code. I guess irradiation was deemed less dangerous than the possible lockjaw we'd get from biting down on a rusty nail.

By the time the candy would come back well into November, it lost much of its appeal. Still wearing its hospital bracelet and reeking of antiseptic, the bag sat on the kitchen table looking a little lighter and glowing unnaturally. I couldn't help but lose my confectionary appetite a little.

And again, looking back at it through my parental mind's eye, maybe it was all by design.

Trick on my Treats after all.

A cry for help with my mouth full

At least I can admit I have a problem.

And I fully acknowledge that I am the Queen of the Theme cooking.

I will take any holiday, sporting event, television program, news item, or even an overheard sentence uttered by a stranger in the grocery store and turn it into a themed meal.

It's just kind of what I do--an inside culinary joke I have with myself four nights a week.

This month alone we've had paella and burgers for Columbus Day, Nathan's hot dogs for the playoffs and apple pie for the presidential debates. But the creme de la creme of my kooky cookery, my celebratory savories, festive foodstuffs, and motif meals is Halloween.

Our usual dinner is a pot of chili and the obligatory mummy dogs and cupcakes, but I think I've found a new freakish fare for the table: Mummy Meatloaf.

Spoonful.com

Use this guide from Spoonful.com and this 1770 House meatloaf recipe from Food Network Magazine (which is by far the best meatloaf I've ever eaten, family confirms) and you'll become a permanent member of my themed cook support group.

P.S. Our next meeting is November 1st for All Saint's Day.  Bring divinity, angel food cake, and St. Louis style ribs.


P.S.S. Imagine pairing this with graveyard ghost mashed potatoes? Ok, I'll stop now.

Ottomans don't make good stocking stuffers

Every time I hear the phrase, “Christmas in July,” I want to punch someone in the throat. I apologize to all the furniture and mattress salesman for my violent outburst, but it must be said.

If we set aside all of the obvious and significant religious, cultural and historical differences, Christmas and the 4th of July have absolutely nothing in common so I’m not sure why retailers insist on linking the two. With the exception of the freshest corn on the cob and best-looking steaks in the case, there is no buying frenzy on the Fourth. And while “Crazy Louie” at the fireworks stand may strike a resemblance to Santa, I’m pretty sure that his big white beard is mange and that’s a prison jumpsuit. (And you don’t even want to know what’s in that sack.)

It’s not that I don’t love Christmas, I do. A reindeer tattoo on my left ankle almost proved that before I realized that “Blitzen” might be construed as overindulgence on egg nog rather than my affinity for yuletide woodland animals. Nevertheless, I do love Christmastime. I just have a finite fondness that lasts for the month of December and don’t appreciate being reminded of it during the lazy days of summer. The only trees I want to see decorated are with tire swings and fireflies and fruitcake should only refer to cherry pie.

Christmas is also one of the most obligated-laden days of the year. There are so many “have-tos” it’s kind of nice to have a holiday where the only must is watching a parade. No one ever says, “I really must get my Independence Day cards out earlier this year,” because the only reason to ever take an awkward family picture in July is for your passport photo to Barbados.

So while I appreciate the need to stimulate the economy prior to Black Friday, let’s lay off the yuletide references on this Red, White and Blue Monday. Just because I still have my Christmas lights up doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ready to buy a mattress. A ladder and a case of egg nog, perhaps, but not a mattress.

(But now I know what to ask for from Santa this year...)


©2011 Tracey Henry

You can Divamail me those Independence Day cards if you want to....

Our first country Christmas

Relatively speaking, we didn't have any relatives over Christmas, so it was a fairly quiet one for us. Either that, or I'm just used to our family's noise...

Christmas Eve started with 4:00 Mass with the rest of the greater Nashville area. Although we managed to get 6 seats together, we did have to watch and hear the news of our dear Savior's birth via closed-circuit television.

Afterward, we headed over to P.F. Chang's because as Matty said, "Nothing says Christmas like Chinese food." but in Tennessee on Christmas Eve, you're not getting a whole lot of open dining choices. But it turned out to be a beautiful and delicious meal, and absolutely perfect to be all together enjoying our first Christmas in our new town.

As we were leaving, the rain turned into the most beautiful snow--the frosty beginnings of Nashville's first white Christmas in 17 years.

By this time, Norad (the best website EVER) reported that Santa was in North AMerica and we had just enough time to get cookies ready, The Night Before Christmas read, and the little ones in bed. Not that they stayed there--the girls stayed up after midnight which made it a particularly late evening for the elves. (The upside is that I got Sean addicted to my new television guilty pleasure: Clean House.)

We got up a few minutes later as the kids rustled up at 6, and then the next few hours we leisurely tore open our gifts and enjoyed our day in our p.j.'s. Santa was very good to us--even bringing us a "golf cart," which will have to be renamed since we won't be playing golf in it. Naps by the fire followed by dinner of prime rib, Yorkshire pudding and my first homemade Yule log finished off the day. It snowed and was a perfect Christmas.

It's a good thing we got all of that quiet out of the way, because starting tomorrow, 50 of our Florida friends invade the Volunteer State for some New Year's celebrations.

I can't wait.

My To Do List:

1.) Wrap eleventy five hundred gifts.

2.) Enjoy the holiday.

Both of which I intend to over the next few days.

The kids are bouncing off of the walls--in that good Christmas-y way, and you just can't help but want to put on an ugly Christmas sweater and join them. It's about to get really messy, noisy and happy around here, and I can't wait.

Enjoy yours!

Our family's secret recipe: German Twists

I wouldn’t have believed this unless site meter told me it was so, but many people stumble upon my blog/site from the search words, “German Twist Cookies.” Until this digital confirmation, I would have thought my immediate family was the only humans on earth familiar with this delicacy since I’ve never seen them anywhere except my family Christmases.

If you’re not familiar with them, I wrote about the process of epic baking them here a couple of years ago, but I never wrote out the recipe. Something I intend to correct today.

Great Grandma’s (Rick’s?) German Twists

1 package of yeast dissolved in ¼ cup of warm water with a teaspoon of sugar

At least 3 ½ cups of flour (You’ll need closer to 5)

1 tsp. salt

1 cup of Crisco (seriously)

1 cup sour cream (full fat version, it’s Christmas)

3 eggs-- 1 whole, 2 yolks


1 cup brown sugar, 1 cup white sugar, 1 tablespoon cinnamon
(Actually, I have no idea if these are the measurements, you have to just eyeball it, and I don’t think you can screw it up)


Clear your calendar for the day. Take a deep breath and begin.

Mix the flour, salt and Crisco in the mixer on low until it is dry and crumbly. Add the sour cream, eggs--one at a time until blended. Stir in yeast mixture gently to combine.

You will notice at this point that the dough is more bread-y than cookie-y. That’s what you want. If it seems too wet, add a little more flour, but it should be moist, not dry.

Place the whole bowl into a warm (heated but off) oven with a pastry cloth tucking it in. Sing the dough a lullaby. Let it rise and breathe in the oven for two hours.

After it has doubled in size, knead it gently and return it to the oven to rise another hour. Wonder why you didn’t just make Snickerdoodles.

Now comes the fun part. And by “fun” I mean “not really.” Divide the dough in half. Take your working half and roll it out on long sheets of plastic wrap lining your work surface. (You need a lot of room for this.) Roll it out into a long rectangle. The bigger the better. Sprinkle half of the rolled out dough with the sugar mixture--then using the plastic wrap to help you, fold the dough over onto itself. Roll out again, repeat the sprinkle on the opposite side, 3 more times until you finally get a long log-like thing of dough-y goodness.



If you have made it this far, congratulate yourself with a glass of wine or seven. I think a nice Malbec goes nicely with Crisco.

Okay, cut the log into ¾-1 inch strips. Give the middle a little twist as you place onto your Silpat-lined cookie sheets. Or if you recently burned your Silpat in a freak broiler accident--just use parchment paper. Trust me--these things become molten cinnamon sugar lava when hot--you need something to help get them off.

Bake in a 350 oven for 15-17 minutes. Watch them--they suck if you burn them. And don’t forget you’ve got the other half of your dough in the oven before you bake that in the bowl. That that I’ve done that before or anything. I’ve just heard...

Let them cool on the cookie sheet for a minute before transferring them to cooling racks, because you should use as many dishes as possible for this recipe.

Realize you now have to repeat the process with that other half of the dough and alternately weep and rejoice.

With any stroke of luck, they should look like this:



This recipe makes between 3 and 5 dozen depending on your rolling pin skillz, but feeds the soul of all who taste it.

Random Updates

Collectiong my thoughts around the Interweb this morning...

My Hallmark giveaway is up at Whoa Momma.

My letter to Santa on Suburban Diva.com

And a great local event to attend on Saturday--Snowfest!

Whew. It's been a busy morning....

O Christmas Tree?

Usually when we pick out our Christmas tree, it pretty much follows the same pattern. Sean picks out one way too big, I pick out one way too small, and we repeat this game of extremes through six tree lot tents until the kids feel like impaling themselves on a pine bough just to go home.

Not this year.

Today, as I was looking at the juniper bush size trees checking needle pressure and trunk straightness, Sean and the kids all went for the single largest tree in the tent. It was a mammoth tree--so ridiculously large that Rockefeller Center probably rejected it because it was just too big. Stevie stood next to it and could only reach the bottom tier of branches. I thought I can hear the Swiss Family Robinson yodeling somewhere near the top.

It was pricey too, this here tree. Double what I thought was expensive. But instead of traveling 4.6 miles to the next identical tent with the identical over-priced over-sized trees, we just did it. Bought the biggest, baddest, most crooked, expensive tree in the county and put it in our living room. And bedroom and kitchen, but sometimes you just need a little a whole heaping lot of Christmas right this very minute.



Even though we don't have even a fraction of ornaments or lights to decorate this Yule Log hopped up on Miracle Gro, the house whole--as well as the whole block--smells of pine and the unexpected.

And Santa can not only leave a whole lot of presents, he can park his sleigh underneath, string up a hammock from the lowest boughs and take a siesta on Christmas night.

Why our December electric bill is $4,083.52

Today was decorating day.



We went with the more festive lighting options this year.

Turkey Day Tips

I've written an entire list of step-by-step instructions on Thanksgiving preparations here, but here are a few more:

1.) Save your money on the white truffle butter. Matty claims it was the best turkey he's ever eaten, but I still think it was funky and not in a good, wholesome Thanksgiving sort of way. More like I want to eat Funyons and Mountain Dew after noshing on a turkey leg slathered in peyote buttons.

2.) Deep-fry your cranberry sauce. But eat it hot, right away and sprinkle powdered sugar on it like you were at the county fair instead of a formal dinner. Delish.

3.) Pick the exact opposite of my football picks.

4.) Not really a tip, more of a general question: If your kid gets sick on Thanksgiving, can it be considered swine, or are we back to the bird flu? Or maybe Stevie just is allergic to peyote.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Just made the Jell-o for the oozing brains exhibit, should have saved some for shots

In a few hours, I will be knee deep in All Hallows Eve Eve. Which for this gal, means our annual Trunk n' Treat event at school.

If you look back over the years, you'll see that I love this event, I really do. You will also see that I have skated any responsibility for this party which is probably why I like it so much.

That changes this year. They put me in charge of the whole thing because they are crazy. Or they don't read my blog to know that I am crazy. And unorganized and not fit for planning anything except how I can skirt more planning. It's pretty much a survival skill.

So tomorrow will be interesting. It will either be fine (because really, there isn't a whole lot of stuff you can do beforehand for this) or I will have screwed it up so horribly that they will lock me into a trunk and push me over a cliff.

But if I don't die in a flaming "accident" (Please forward this to law enforcement officials upon my untimely demise) I can always rely on my pumpkin-carving skills when we have to go on the lamb.

As long as that lamb is in Sleepy Hollow or something.

(Dang, don't forward that clue to my soon-to-be assassins.)

A funny thing happened on the way to the volleyball courts

Well, hello. Looking for a post-holiday wrap-up, are you? Well, okie dokie.
Settle back, this one might take a while.

When last we left my pre-vacation self, I was standing in line at Fresh Market waiting for my butterflied leg of lamb with the rest of central Florida. That Easter Eve, I managed to get the house cleaned, food prepared, (including homemade bread, mind you) get to the wine store and fill some baskets in time for our Easter feast. But these four looked so tasty that I could have gobbled them up.



After church on Sunday, we shared our meal with some great friends and most of the wine I purchased the day before. We played Kingers, and Danny somehow ended up winning even though I do not remember him coloring any of the eggs...I think this one might end up with an asterisk in the record books.

After vacuuming up the eggshells on Monday morning, we high-tailed it over to Orlando to spend some quality time with one of my all-time favorite hotels, the J.W. Marriott. Oh, how I love this hotel.

We spent Monday afternoon becoming reacquainted with its lazy river and poolside lounge chairs. Which ended up to be a good thing, because Tropical Storm Fun-Killer rolled in on Tuesday and we were quarantined to our high thread-count beds watching movies in between wandering the hotel. At one point, I was staring at the typhoon coming down and noticed it had even started to hail.

Not missing a beat, Amy exclaimed, "That means we're in hail??"

Yes, actually. Orlando in the rain can be described as exactly that.

Wednesday was much better. The sun appeared early and so did we. Camped out on the lazy river, we spent the day swimming, laughing, and playing.



We waded. We floated.



We racked up a mean tab from the waiter because who wants to leave this?



Amy declared that we should "stay here forever" as she gobbled up the chocolate on her pillow, and I really, really, really agreed.

And perhaps we would have if Sean hadn't got all jiggy on the volleyball court and broke two toes and three bones in his foot.

But it was an amazing shot, and that girl who he kicked going down was 10, not 8, thank you very much.

Winners

Okay you crazy readers, I've got the envelope right here to announce our Valentine's Day winners...

First, our generous friends at Hallmark are giving the five recordable cards to Jodi, Kathy T., Kirsten, Chris and Natalie. If you don't live within a 10 mile radius from my house, please email me your address and I'll send you some recordable love!

Next, chocolate...The See's Valentine's chocolate heart will go to Marcy S, from Michigan. Marcy, the entire divaverse is soooo jealous right now.

Happy Valentine's Day to all!

Chocolate....

How about some chocolate to go with those Valentine's? My favorite chocolate supplier has some Valentine's Day chocolates for you!

See's Candies is going to give one random reader a pound of their yummy goodness if I don't rifle through the box before we draw a winner on on Wednesday.



Divamail me or leave a comment and you'll be entered to win.

I heart you, See's.