The Debate That Mary Sparked

Once again the boys showed just how different they are. And yeah, it's painfully obvious that our parenting is severely lacking. Read on. I'd like to pull what my friend Erin calls the "Indian card" and just say hey, I'm Indian, what do I know about Jesus?

While listening to Christmas music on the radio, Bird was asking why all the songs were about Jesus. Gulp. If I said that on Twitter I'm betting I'd lose most of my followers. That song about "Mary's boy child, Jesus Christ" did him in. I was beaming with pride right about then. Yeah, oodles of it. I emphatically explained that the whole point of celebrating Christmas was the birth of Jesus Christ. I further covered my bases and explained that some people believe this, but we just respect their beliefs and embrace them. I babbled. And babbled.

Deal chimed in right about here as I was fiercely backpedaling, which is pretty difficult considering I don't even know how to ride a bike.

Deal: (flabbergasted) "Yeah Bird, Christmas is for Jesus! It's Jesus' birthday! Christmas is about Jesus!!!"

Bird: (very calmly) "No Deal, Christmas is about SANTA."

Sigh. Parenting fail.

5:00 Fridays

Don't be fooled by my shoddy photography. That's no regular barber shop candy cane you see there. I have something way better in store.

Some of you regulars out there already know that I am the only Indian in the world who is bad at math and science. What you might not know is that I also have the world's worst sweet tooth. The. World's. Worst. One time Mac Daddy and I tried the South Beach Diet, and I'd hide in the pantry scarfing down packets of Splenda just to taste sugar (fake or otherwise). It's an illness. I'm telling you, it's hard to satiate this sugar crush I have.

I have been delighted to work with a new store in town called The Lollipop Shop. Can you imagine a more fitting gig?! All the cliches about being a kid in a candy shop would not be lost here. I went there to load up on lots of old skool treats before my brother came for a visit. Bottlecaps. Zotz. Those wax bottles filled with sugar syrup. Pixie Stix. Mallo Cups. Bird and Deal tagged along and filled their bags with the rainbow mix n' match smorgasbord of Jelly Bellys and M&Ms. Our dentist just might retire to Bora Bora if we keep this up.

Today's cocktail was inspired by perhaps the greatest marriage known to we non-teetotalers. Candy meets Cocktail.

The candy geniuses at Hammond's created the cocktail candy stick. The stick looks like a run-of-the-mill candy stick that used to cost a nickle at the Hickory Farms store at the mall and came in flavors like Horehound and Sassafras. Wow, those sounds pretty hoochie when coupled like that, eh? The cocktail stick not only makes for a lovely garnish (and you know how I feel about the importance of appearances), it flavors your drink.

The candy comes in a variety of flavors that I am totally going to try. I swear there's a perfect one for each season.

Fresh mint: This will be great in Hendrick's gin on the rocks when the first dogwood buds start poking out their weary little heads this spring.

Lemon Lime: Oh, this just might make it very difficult to leave the hammock come summer when paired with an ice filled Tervis Tumbler of Rain Organics Cucumber Lime vodka.

Sour apple: Luscious in a caramel martini by a fall fire.

Pomegranate: Hint...read on...


This makes for a fetching Christmas drink can that you can totally repurpose for Valentine's Day. And if you want to add these delightful candy cocktail stirrers to your bar, just contact The Lollipop Shop on their Facebook page. You can order some for way cheaper than I found them online. And for the record, just because the FCC cares about bloggers these days, this is a totally unpaid endorsement. I'm just sharing my amazing find with you, my cadre of happy hour pals.

With no further ado...drum roll please...


Ra Pa Pom Pom

Pomegranate juice
Lambrusco
Hammond's pomegranate cocktail stick

Pour about 1/2 ounce of cold pomegranate juice into a champagne flute. Top off with chilled Lambrusco. Add pomegranate cocktail stick.

The stick will flavor your drink, cutting the tartness of the pomegranate juice with a tish of sweetness. The natural air bubbles in the sticks make for a fine straw. Beware the danger of sucking these down.

Wordless Wednesday: Freedom. Within Reach

On a Lark

Meet Lark.

He is one and every bit a toddler.

He is more affectionate and sweet than any pet I have ever known. Truly.

He is an 18 pound beagle/corgi mix. This means that we are part Charlie Brown, part Queen of England.

We got him on a lark.

The SPCA had given him his moniker.

He is aptly named.

Did you see that face? Those ears? The ever-so-slight cock of his head?

While Deal is the self proclaimed animal lover, Bird has turned out to be the real Dr. Doolittle. All he wants to do is sit next to Lark with his hand or head in contact with his new pup. Deal loves when he gets Lark time, but I'm afraid he is feeling pangs of jealousy when we are all home together cooing over him.

Lark is still getting used to us. He is the consummate lap dog who revels in our presence. He is sweet, affectionate, peaceful, and gentle. All the things we want our companions to be yet rarely are at one time. Lark is humble, grateful, pensive. My friend Lisa noted that those eyes are filled with a dollop of trepidation and a dose of mischief. He is not a banshee who insists on hopping from lap to lap. Lark is much too loyal for that.

The boys are having a grand time taking turns walking Lark, though Deal has some leash skills to hone. He's only four so I'm not being hard on him. In the two days Lark has been a part of our family, we have already spent even more time together, gabbing on walks, frolicking in the yard, snuggling on the couch. I'm certain the novelty won't wear off. This kind of love, while novel, doesn't get stale.

I remember Skip and Toto and Sambeau and Adam from my childhood. Dogs who graced our home when I was a kid. Each one mysteriously disappeared, and all these years later I have no idea the fate they met. We weren't dog people. We weren't pet people. Hell, we were barely kid people. I am thrilled to share the joy of a pet with my boys.

They are too young to really remember my beloved Casey and Capote, the cats I had for 16 years. Bird and Deal remember that they used to hide under foot when a storm blew in, and that they were our meteorologists foretelling wind gusts and thunder before we even heard a thing. The boys know I get weepy time to time, and that reading "Cat Heaven" is cathartic. I never even blogged about finding Casey in the guest bathroom, curled up as if she were napping from a tuna juice hangover. I'm still numb from saying goodbye to Capote, his liver failing, his weight dropping. It's still too painful to conjure up the words to do them justice.

And now, more than a year since Casey's passing, I am filled with love again. I am admittedly facing Guilt just a tad. I don't want my Casey and Capote thinking they are replaced, for that is impossible. All this time my heart gaped a tish, pulled at the corners from losing my sweet kitties. Bird and Deal are painfully aware of that. They know how much I loved having a pet. They know that Mac Daddy grew up with dogs. They know that pets graced our lives once upon a time.

What they don't know is how our house was filled with love when pets shared our walls. I knew unconditional love from my pets. And I'm hoping Lark will in turn teach Bird and Deal that lovely lesson.

"The dog was created specially for children. He is the god of frolic." ~Henry Ward Beecher

PS
We adopted Lark from the SPCA. I urge you to save a pet's life too. Your home and your heart are the best gifts in the world. And your home and your heart aren't full until you let a pet share a piece.

5:00 Fridays

Before the din of Christmas falls upon us like the anvil from Road Runner and Wiley Coyote cartoons, I'd like to pay one last homage to fall. I'm feeling a tish lachrymose about bidding adieu to the season that is upstaged by Christmas even before the last leaf has met its acorn match in the mulch.

Fall is my favorite season, with its bounty of gourds and roots that roast into succulence, apples so sweet and fragrant that they leave you wondering what happened to the 5 pound basket you just bought, sweaters and fleece enveloping you on a crisp afternoon watching the kids rake and jump into leaf piles, tall boots that give way to flip flops. Fall brings us Halloween and Thanksgiving, my personal favorite.

As my last toast to fall, I'm conjuring up some spiked cider. I get the natural kind from the farmer's market that is ruddy and more golden brown than yellow. The grocery aisle jug that looks like a day's worth of urine samples is not the way to go here.



Spiked Cider
1 mug of good quality, fresh apple cider
shot of whiskey or bourbon
shot of cinnamon schnapps (optional)
cinnamon stick for garnish

Pour a shot of your favorite whiskey or bourbon into a heat proof mug. Add heated apple cider. Garnish with a cinnamon stick. For those who are not faint of heart, toss in a shot of cinnamon schnapps. And for the record, Mac Daddy spikes his cider with Maker's Mark.

Now light a fire (whether inside with a remote control as ours works in these uberly modern times, or outside with wood and kindling gathered by neighborhood kids) nestle into a toasty fluffy wrap, shawl, or blanket, sip on a mug or two of this spiked cider, and take time to chat. Turn on some music but turn off your cellular devices. This is a sipping drink that is meant for chatter and conversation.

No one needs to be texting or blipping or tweeting or gaming while they could (should) be relishing each other's company. Christmas will hurl us into a frenzy soon enough. Let's just take one more moment to enjoy the crunch of leaves underfoot, the glisten of the night sky, the culinary treats that fuel our souls.

Cheers to Fall, may we not take you for granted, may we revel in your memory when winter bares her frigid snare.

Thanks. Giving.

At the risk of ringing the cliche bell and sounding treacly mushy, I'm going to tell you that today I am feeling particularly blessed. I am thankful for Mac Daddy and my family. I am most thankful for my Bird and Deal. I cannot imagine what I was thankful for before I had them. I am thankful that they gave me the kind of family I longed for.

On this day of pies, crumbles, brown bettys, cakes, dressings, gravies, turkeys, hams, taters, casseroles, and elastic waistbands, I want to just say that I am most thankful for the little things.

Those little things that are actually quite grand.

I am hugging my family a tish tighter.
I am counting my blessings a bit slower.
I am saying my prayers a pinch louder.

This Thanksgiving my heart is full. My belly is full. My life is fulfilled.

And in my prayers are my dear friend Jen who is battling stage 2 breast cancer, Anissa, 35-year old mother of three who suffered a massive stroke one week ago, my nieces who are desperately missing their mother, Mac Daddy's sister, who passed away eight years ago, and my father-in-law, the grandest of grandpas, whose gracious gravely laugh and 'Sconsin accent I still hear.

Let's take today to show Thanks for those who have touched us. And to be Giving of our hearts, our tolerance, our grace, our goodness, our selves.

Happy Thanks.Giving.

Getting Down with Pink Gloves