5:00 Fridays

You might imagine that I am difficult to live with. I'm testy, persnickety, hyper, emotional, opinionated, oh, the list goes on. Not many people can put up with me. I get that. I owe Mac Daddy a lot for putting up with me. He's a gem, that one. I might be foolish but I'm no fool. I know a good thing when I see it. Mac Daddy is the Mac Daddy of husbands. If I had fewer student loans and more dough he'd get more than a blog post for our anniversary.

Mac Daddy and I are celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary on Sunday, March 14.

That's 10 freaking years. Married. Happily. More than happily.

4 cities.
2 apartments.
4 houses.
3 home renovations.
2 kids.
2 cats.
1 dog.
7 jobs.
1 true love.

It's so cliche to say this, but really, where has the time gone? We met at work. We were friends. I used to set him up with my girlfriends. Wiley E. Coyote came around and dropped an anvil on my head to get me to see the light. We easily transitioned from friendship to relationship because, well, we were friends. Real friends. We celebrated our 30th birthdays together (Mac Daddy threw me a surprise party worthy of a blog post all its own). We traveled to some amazing cities, dined in dives and hoity toity venues, and gotten our groove on in juke joints all over creation.

I first fell in love with Mac Daddy when he unabashedly hopped onto the dance floor and rocked out to the likes of Andy Kim, Earth Wind & Fire, and The Gap Band. We have always laughed so easily together, though he doesn't think I'm nearly as funny as I do (rather, am). I like to say he has Funny Envy. Mac Daddy is more sarcastic than funny; the two are indeed mutually exclusive. Mostly we can laugh at each other's expense without getting our britches in a bundle. And when we do get our britches in a bundle...well, that's another story...

Mac Daddy and I got married in Key West on somewhat of a whim. That kind of no frills fun affair suited us perfectly. Our simple wedding was more about us, less about fuss. We were under the glorious banyan trees in the gardens of the Audubon House. Those trees are magnificent, seeming to defy gravity and the very assertions you had about nature. The limbs climb every which way, sweeping up, across, down, and back up again. Intertwining along the way, peppered with leaves so hearty you can carve your initials in them (As tradition goes at the Audubon House, we did just that, with our wedding date too). The banyan tree's trunk is sturdy and thick, elegant in its rugged simplicity. The kind of tree that beckons you to climb its branches in a fit of frolic, have a seat to chill in a comfortable silence, lean against it for unfailing support.

In typical laid back Mac Daddy and Key West fashion, today's drink would be best imbibed from a tin cup chalice.

Which incidentally, was our first dance.

And tin is the traditional 10th anniversary gift.


The Mac Daddy

2 ounces Hendricks' Gin
Juice from 2 key limes (Fresh! You can't possibly use imitation juice in Mac Daddy's signature cocktail!)
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Few sprigs of fresh mint
Key lime wedge for muddling and garnish

Muddle a couple limes wedges with the simple syrup and mint. Add to martini glass. Shake gin in cocktail shaker filled with ice. Pour over simple syrup, lime, and mint. Garnish with a key lime wedge. Have a sip with someone you love. And remember, the things worth toasting are the ones keeping you toasty every night.

Chalk this one up there with things that make you go hmmmm.

Happy Anniversary to Mac Daddy! You make my world bright and have given me the life I've always dreamed of. I love you.

5:00 Fridays

Mac Daddy and I got married in Key West. Almost 10 years ago. That means we should be buying each other tin or aluminum to commemorate the big milestone. Clearly a cheapskate SOB groom came up with that addition to the anniversary gift list. I am pretty well stocked on Reynolds aluminum foil so I'm going to go with the modern interpretation and insist on diamonds instead.

A tennis bracelet would be lovely. A belly button ring would be...um, tacky. And not so lovely, not to mention extraordinarily painful since my belly button is not pierced. and nor will it ever be, regardless how closely I teeter to a midlife crisis or anything resembling such lapse in judgment. If you knew me in college you'd know that I already spent my lifetime of judgment lapses back then. I hear they're not reprinting that currency these days.

I recall hearing a quote from my idol Audrey Hepburn that women under age 40 shouldn't wear diamonds. I was about 22 when I heard that. 20 years ago. I'm well into my diamond years. Present the diamond jewelry in a tin box if you must keep the foolish tradition alive.

Mac Daddy and I used to travel to Key West every year with our dear friends Chris and Shan (@turn_design). Since we all acquired mortgages, student loans, and well, children (though they were more than a mere acquisition), we have not been back. We used to all live in the frozen tundra somewhere between Minneapolis and Chicago. We'd be enduring winter's wretched blast right about now, with no sign of spring in sight and the damn department store merchandising teasing our inner sunbathing beauty. Chris, Shan, Mac Daddy, and I at least had Key West tucked into the back pockets of our flannel lined jeans. We all wore Birkenstocks on the plane in anticipation of feeling the sun bring some pinkness back to our frigid digits.

While it's not "Minnesota cold" here in North Carolina, it has been a pretty cruel winter for those of us who burned our furry hooded parkas and Moon boots upon registering to vote in this state. As a nod to Key West and the warmth it burnished in our psyches, I bring you:

Key West Breezes

(Note: Much like my cooking, I never measure precisely so just go with what suits your palate.)
3/4 cup coffee (good quality, dark roast)
dash+ of Kahlua
dash+ of Frangelico
dash+ of Grand Marnier
dash+ of Baileys

Add all the liqueurs to hot coffee. Top with whipped cream and a quick grate of nutmeg or cinnamon.

Here's to whatever warms you on a cold winter's night. Other than a mug of this tucked into my cold shivering hands, I have Mac Daddy to thank. He lets me put my cold feet on him; he endures flannel sheets long after we've done the spring cleaning; he warms my chilly disposition; he heats me up in all the right places. Va va vavoom!

5:00 Fridays

Today's 5:00 Fridays post is lovingly dedicated to Mac Daddy, my husband of nine years. Well, tomorrow will be nine years. We got married in Key West. It was kind of on a whim.

You see, we had been living together, taking turns going to graduate school. We had just turned 30. Being a woman whose eggs were 30 years old at the time, we started doing the math. Well, Mac Daddy did the math as I am the only Indian in the world who is bad at math. Anyway, we figured that we wanted to be married a while before having kids. Considering we weren't even engaged at the time, we thought that it made sense to get married while Mac Daddy was in graduate school. That was just in conversation mode though, not planning stage.

Well we awoke one morning and, Mac Daddy having had the epiphany sometime in the middle of the night, jolted out of bed. He exclaimed, "Let's get married in Key West!" I rolled over and laughed. Hardy har har har. Mac Daddy promptly logged on (dial up, mind you) and printed out a wedding planner's contact information in Key West. And so our engagement was official.

We had already planned our annual Key West vacay with our dear friends Chris and Shan. And so we called them up. I believe Mac Daddy's words were, "Um, do you guys mind if we get married while on vacation?" And so Chris and Shan were our best man and matron of honor.

Six week countdown to our wedding, and I didn't even have a dress. In typical Mac Daddy fashion, he got married in a black suit. His logic was that if a simple black suit was good enough for JFK Jr., it was good enough for him. Do you now understand the many reasons I love this guy?

We had a fantastic ceremony in the gardens of the Audubon House. We wrote our own vows. We all sobbed. Chris wiped streams of sweat from his brow, but I still contend that some of that runoff was comprised of tears. We had our ritual sunset margaritas at Mallory Square before heading to dinner at Louie's Backyard. In fact, our wedding night menu is signed by the chef and framed in our kitchen right now.

If you haven't been to Key West, you should know that the margarita is the signature cocktail. Consumption is appropriate at all times of day. On the rocks, with salt. The frozen crap is for sorority girl prisspots who come get wasted under age and flash their boobs to the dozens of gay men who don't give a hoot for hooters. Our favorite margarita joint is Willie T's. One night after a few of those libations, Chris took the mike and sang Sinatra to the spring break denizens, girls in short shorts and tube tops swooning. Good times.

And so today, I toast my husband, the amazingly patient, kind, funny, optimistic, supportive, brainiac Mac Daddy. And I toast him not with champagne, but with a Key West margarita.


Margarita (makes a pitcher)
2 cups sweet and sour mix
1 cup triple sec
1 1/2 cups Jose Cuervo
1/3 cup Grand Marnier
splash of Sprite (just a splash!)
2 limes, quartered

Salt the rims of 8 margarita glasses. Never salted a rim? Just pour coarse sea salt onto a small plate, rub the rims of the glasses with lime, and press them into the salt. Fill the glasses with ice. In a blender, combine sweet and sour mix, triple sec, tequila and Grand Marnier. Blend until mixed thoroughly. Pour into glasses, squeeze a quarter lime into each glass, and serve.

Now you know how I feel about garnish. Today's drink has a special garnish created by my dear friend Shan, who is a kicky designer and overall creative spirit. She made a Conch Republic flag that could be yours for free. Just click here on her Freebie Fridays post to download the flags, print them on labels, wrap 'em around a toothpick, and voila! You'll be chilling with your feet up on the docks of Mallory Square too.

Cheers to nine years and counting! I love you, Mac Daddy.

Addendum: If you really want to party like a mom star, check this out on May 5. Nothing says Cinco de Mayo like a cold margarita! Oh, chips and guac are a requisite munchie at my table.

http://www.twittermoms.com/events/twittermoms-cinco-de-mama

Happily Ever After

The best we can give our children is a happy marriage. Mac Daddy and I, together, are the blocks that built this family. We are its foundation, which is apt since we can both be stubborn as bricks. I think we would both say that the family we are nurturing is far different from the families we grew up in.

I grew up wanting for nothing. Well, nothing but an emotional connection, some affection, a belly laughing good time, and a little less tension swirling around the atmosphere. All of my physical needs were met but few of my emotional ones. My family's "emotional intelligence" would have been off the charts, as in below the starting point. My home was not filled with laughter and silliness. Whimsy was not a word I understood until I had children of my own. We were simply four silos sharing a last name living amongst each other in the same field. And then we were three, one silo having moved away, changing its name.

Perhaps I am overcompensating now that I have a family of my own. But is there such a thing as over doing it when we're talking about building a strong, healthy, happy family? Can a mother overdo her love (well, aside from the helicopter mom syndrome)?

Mac Daddy and I spend loads of time with Bird and Deal. We rarely miss dinner together at the table (TV off, natch). We all truly enjoy each other's company. Whether it's on the tennis court or traipsing the aisles of the grocery store, we spend our time together. We are a very affectionate family, giving each other drive by kisses for no reason. Bird used to do this as a toddler, and I can still picture him tossing his arms around my neck and then scampering off in a blink. The thing is, all the time we have amounts to a cosmic blink.

And so in that time, I want my sons to grow up and remember their childhood fondly. I want their memories to be filled with kitchen delights, stolen kisses between Mommy and Daddy, tickle fests, games of baseball in the backyard, family slumber parties, Dance Party USA. I want them to want to emulate the foundation Mac Daddy and I have built. I want to give them a sense of HOME - belonging, security, unconditional love, trust, warmth, fun, connection.

I have no connection to my family's roots and heritage, giving me no sense of belonging. Despite my many years of prodding (13 to be exact), I have little to no information about my family to share with Bird and Deal. I don't even know my grandparents' names. I have no family lore to share. No tales to weave about their Indian heritage. No tools to celebrate 50% of their ethnicity. Luckily Mac Daddy has a wonderfully detailed tome about his family roots so we can share that with the boys to enrich their sense of family ties. It goes back several generations to the first settlers in America. It does make for a great read, especially because the old fashioned names like Muttes crack us up.

We will no doubt embarrass our boys, tormenting them throughout their adolescence. You should hear the whooping and groaning when I kiss Mac Daddy goodbye every morning. The decibel is exponentially louder when we kiss for no reason at all. You would be hard pressed on at any given time of day to find someone in the family not touching someone else - bestowing a hug, grasping a finger, climbing atop a shoulder, perching on a lap. I know that deep down inside, we are showing our boys what it is to be loved. Mac Daddy and I have a great marriage, not without its pockmarks as every relationship bears. But we are best friends, cheesy as it sounds. He lifts me up, bails me out, cracks me up. There is, however, an ongoing argument about who's funnier. I have contended it's me since the day we met. He says that being my own best audience doesn't count. The boys say it's Ms. Kris, Deal's teacher whom Bird also had.

Mac Daddy and I are among the fortunate few who don't have to pretend the happily ever after. We live it. And love it.

His Future's Not Bright, Take Off the Blinders

I do not wish for a future like Levi Johnston's for my sons. The Republicans are saying "Life happens." In my world, Levi's situation feels more like "shit happens."

Take a look at Levi's MySpace page. He sounds like a typical uneducated, smart ass, punk, jock of a guy. Not the kind of gracious souled gentlemen I want my boys to become. I realize boys will be boys. The saying does not proclaim, however, that boys will be heathens. And if I had a daughter, hell if I'd want her to marry a guy like Levi. Take a look for yourself.

Excerpted from his MySpace page, Johnston boasts, "I'm a fuckin' redneck" who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes.

"But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some shit and just fuckiin' chillin' I guess."

"Ya fuck with me I'll kick [your] ass," he added.

He also claims to be "in a relationship," but states, "I don't want kids."

His folks must be whiz bang proud. Yeah, I'm hip like the cool kids saying things like "whiz bang." I'm just happenin' like that, ya know.

I happen to know a few 18-year old boys. They are gracious, ambitious, polite, witty, and charming (not in an Eddie Haskell way). They have bright futures. The boys I knew when I was an 18-year old myself were as randy as the rest, but none would have sounded as egotistical, rude, and plain neanderthal as Levi Johnston. Nope, not son in law material for my girl (Granted, I don't have one.).

I'm simply saying that as a mother, I am appalled. Granted, perhaps naive too. When I read that MySpace page my heart jumped with a tinge of shame, worry, embarrassment, and even empathy for Mrs. Johnston. I am certain that she envisioned a different future for her son, as I do for mine. I am just struck my his seeming lack of empathy, brute ruggedness, and gross display of testosterone. What insecurity lurks behind all that machismo? I do not think those statements necessarily make the boy, but they sure lay one hell of a foundation.

Oh, and so much for not wanting kids. Is this guy really ready for fatherhood? I find it so unfair that we don't choose our parents. This child will come to the world with many strikes against him/her. Love is critical, yes. But what life lessons can a teenage mother and father impart when they have yet to experience life themselves? Cliche, perhaps. True, indeed. I write this without political motivation. I write this as a mother. As a 35-year old first time mother who still found herself floundering, hormonal, overwhelmed, awestruck, confused, excitable, moved, and impressionable.

Teaching abstinence in schools is plain irresponsible. The people who believe that teaching abstinence equates to taking the moral high ground might as well move to the lush savannahs of Africa and put their heads in the ground among a flock of ostriches.

Bronzed

Happy 8th Anniversary to Mac Daddy!

Eight years ago today we were wed among the orchids and banyan trees at the Audubon House in Key West. Accompanied by our dear friends, Chris and Shan, we had the perfect, relaxed day (unlike the hubbub and frenzy of most wedding days!). We set off for a sunset sail, toasted margaritas, and devoured a fabulous dinner at Louie's Backyard.

The talented chef and gracious owner of Louie's Backyard gave us a personalized menu as a wedding day token. It was unfortunately damaged in a flooded storage unit with much of our wedding memories (but not photos thankfully!). The fine folks at Louie's Backyard promptly sent us a new one that now hangs framed in our kitchen. If you ever go to Key West, and you must, you will miss out on the supreme island experience if you forgo dinner and drinks at Louie's Backyard. It's unlike any backyard you'll ever experience.

So after eight very happy years of marriage, all I can say is that I am lucky, lucky, lucky. If scientists were to start cloning human beings, the unanimous vote among all who know know Mac Daddy, would be to start with him. I might not strike envy into the hearts of those who know me, but the fact that I have a husband as awesome as Mac Daddy makes everyone just a wee bit jealous. He is a genuine guy who is more tolerant and witty than anyone I know. He's the best dad, which makes me love him even more. And he's hot, hot, hot...even as he's teetering on the cusp of 40.

Every night before I fall asleep I say my prayers and say thanks to the Powers that Be that Mac Daddy chose me. I joke that he married his trophy wife on the first try. That's really just a defense mechanism because I also pray that he doesn't wake up one day and realize that he has married way, way down. Let's keep that a secret just between us, OK?