Happy Birthday MaMa...this Blog's for You

In honor of my MaMa's "fifty-something" birthday I would like to share a few interesting facts about our dear KitKat...

1974

In the late 70's she could pass for the actress Linda Carter. The tv show "Wonder Woman" was a hit back then and people often commented on how much she resembled the golden lasso'd super heroine. I remember being little bitty and shopping in TG&Y. I heard a man's voice..."excuse me ma'am but are you Linda Carter?" (because you know Linda Carter hung out in discount stores in Shreveport, La. all the time. I'm sure she just ran in for some TaB and Freshen Up gum).  At that point in my life that was the coolest thing that ever happened to me "my MaMa looks like Wonder Woman" I crawled into our big blue van and imagined we were hopping in the invisible plane and blasting off to catch the bad guys.

My Mother spells all curse words. Her three children are fast approaching 40 years old yet she still spells swear words in our presence. It's not that she doesn't recognize a "cuss worthy" situation. For instance she will whisper "see that little blond over there at the bar with that older gentleman. Well she's twenty years younger than him, she spends all his money (looks around to make sure no one's listening) and I hear she's a real "b-i-t-c-h".  She has to be livid, I mean beyond
"p-i-double-s'd" to use the real word. In fact I have heard her drop the "F bomb" exactly two times in my lifetime...both times directed at me. The first time I had just got my driver's license (barely) and I took her Pontiac Bonneville down JuJu road (a scary, desolate, supposedly haunted road in Bossier parish-every town has a JuJu Road don't they?)...anyway I'm barrelling down JuJu and proceeded to pop two tires...if that wasn't bad enough I didn't pull over (it was JuJu Road I wasn't stopping) instead I drove on the rims. I drove on those rims until I finally found a driveway. The home owner came outside (thankfully without a shotgun) and allowed my friend to call her Dad. Her Dad picked us up and took us home.

The ghost of JuJu awaits those who steal their parents' cars

I snuck back in the house and stayed awake until the next morning when my Mother went outside to get the paper and noticed her car was missing. "Kandace, where is my car?" I explained that her car was sitting in some dude's driveway....without tires...or functional rims...and promptly blamed it on my friends because if your friends dare you to "go down JuJu" then you "go down JuJu!  My Mother's response "what the *F* (but she didn't spell it) am I supposed to do with you?!!!" Her punishment was to buy me my very own car. She left the house that day and exclaimed "I am going out and buying you a piece of S-H-I-T car! I am sick and tired of you tearing up my vehicles"! You see, I had already put a little dent in our second car, a Suburban, earlier that week.  I sorta, accidentally, backed the Bonneville into the side of it.  So she came home later that day with a cute little five year old Ford.  It had electric windows (which broke soon after) and even a tape deck! I smiled to myself and thought "huh, some punishment" well little did I know it really was a piece of s-h-i-t,  I mean if there was ever a lemon that car was it but I drove the "h-e-double-l" out of that '85 Ford Tempo!  My MaMa's cars have been safe from me and JuJu road to this day.

Here's 15 year old me and the Blues Brothers car.
Just pretend it's an '85 Ford Tempo until I can find the correct photo.

My MaMa mixes a great Margarita.  She doesn't use mix.  She disappears around the corner to her bar and enters a zen like state. She's like a Margarita guru. She uses top shelf tequila. She squeezes the limes herself. When she and my step-dad remodeled their home she made sure there was a dedicated ice maker under the bar so she never runs out of fresh, pretty ice. She's right, it does makes the prettiest ice. She adds a few cubes and shakes it into the most refreshing, tangy, salty libation.  For Christmas I had all natural prickly pear syrup sent to her from Arizona. She turned this cactus nectar into the most beautiful, delicious, pink hued cocktail I've ever had. She didn't become a mixologist overnight though. When the boys and I were little MaMa saved all the box tops from our Jello instant pudding boxes and sent them off for a free Jello Pudding shaker. This thing was AMAZING. First you added milk then the powdered pudding mix and then you put the lid on and you shook shook shook for what seemed like forever. I would stand behind the kitchen island and pretend I was James Bond. "I prefer my Chocolate pudding shaken not stirred". Well,  I guess MaMa got real innovative because soon the boys and I would hear some shaking coming from the kitchen. "Yay! Pudding", but it was some kind of cruel joke for there was no chocolate goodness in that plastic shaker. Instead there was my MaMa in the kitchen, the radio blaring Robert Palmer and her shaking up a margarita in our Jello pudding shaker.  Bill Cosby would be mortified! She used a mix back then and the brand of tequila she added came with a tiny sombrero that sat perched atop the lid. I may have lost my Jello pudding shaker but my Barbies gained a sweet selection of miniature sombreros.

Shake-A-Pudding...add tequila

My MaMa gets an idea in her head and she just does it. In fifth grade I was horrified to learn she wanted to go to work "What?! You're abandoning your children so you can hang out with adults and have grown up conversations?! But we are supposed to be your WORLD!!! Alas, she did go to work and I survived. I even learned how to load the dishwasher and fold my own clothes. She earned her real estate license and was even Century 21's "Rookie of the Year".  She stopped selling houses a few years later and went back to school. She was actually in some of my friends' classes. It was kind of weird to have my friends calling up my Mom with Math questions. She earned a degree in Criminal Justice. She was too soft hearted for our nitty gritty justice system so she decided to become a Licensed Massage Therapist. She gained quite a following based on her deep tissue massages alone. She's pretty much retired from the world of massage therapy and her latest venture is moving supplies. Yep. Moving supplies. She has the Shreveport distributorship. Boxes, packing tape, dollies, etc.  so if you or someone you know needs moving supplies check out www.shreveportmovingboxes.com FREE SHIPPING NATIONWIDE. Seriously. This is a real thing. She even had t-shirts made.

Cutie Pie gets all her moving and storage supplies from
www.shreveportmovingboxes.com 

My MaMa can dance. I mean like really dance.  Kit Kat can break it down! We have danced at weddings, birthday parties, fundraisers, Mardi Gras parades, patios, backyards, and a bar in the French Quarter called the "Fatted Calf" not exactly sure how we stumbled into to that one, I think she thought it was a hamburger joint.

MaMa and Daddy getting ready to boogie down
August 16, 1978

My MaMa is beautiful. Not just kind of pretty, I mean gorgeous.  Or to quote my guy friends in high school "DAY-UM! Your Momma is FINE"! 

My hot MaMa. My senior year. My Puerto Rican hooker dress. 

My MaMa has the greatest or most horrendous laugh you've ever heard.  Either way it's memorable. If you ever go to a funny movie with her be prepared to switch seats and pretend like you've never seen that woman before in your life.

Pop Pop takes her to a movie every week...even the funny ones. 

There's so much more, but I will close with an image of my MaMa that has been burned into my mind for over twenty years now.

We lost my my Daddy as the result of a car accident the summer of 1988. He was thirty-two years old. I was 13 my brothers were 10. My Mother suddenly found herself a thirty-one year old widow to three children. A week or so after the funeral we were sitting on the floor of the guest room at my MawMaw's house. MaMa had held up so well. I honestly do not know how she didn't have a nervous breakdown. We were living in South La. at the time about six hours away from all our family. We had to go home soon. School was starting back. We had to get back to "normal".....whatever that was.  My brothers were starting band that year. They both decided to play the trumpet. Daddy had played the trumpet all through school. He was looking forward to taking the boys to buy their first instrument. The amount of details, paperwork, etc. my Mother had to tend to during that time makes my head spin, you would think procuring fifth grade band instruments would be the farthest thing from her mind. At that moment on the floor of my MawMaw's guest room she dissolved into tears. I remember her words so clearly, though she was sobbing as she spoke them  "he was going to take the boys to buy their trumpets. I don't know anything about buying trumpets. Ken played the trumpet. He was supposed to take them".  To this day, when I recall that scene it hurts to breathe.

1988

But she did buy the boys' their trumpets.  They were pretty good little trumpeters too. They alternated between first and second chair all year.  Not only did she buy them their first trumpets but she bought them their first John Boat, their first truck (a baby blue Bronco), she even bought them a used limousine when they were 17 in the hopes they would start a Limo business and become little entrepreneurs (they didn't, but that's a blog for another time) She let them catch creepy crawly things and keep them in buckets and aquariums around the house. She took them to football practice. She was the loudest in the stands at their wrestling matches. She packed them off to college. She talked to them about girls and how to treat a lady. She sat across from the District Attorney and tearfully pleaded with him to drop my little brother's curfew violation ticket because "he was a good boy" (it worked).  In fact that's the most trouble my brothers were ever in. If there was ever an excuse to be an uninvolved parent she had one, but she was involved. Why wouldn't she be?

She's Wonder Woman.

2011 

My Super Special Blog of the Week

Hey y'all! It's a special week in our little family.  Friday our first grader bounced off the bus proudly boasting a button pinned to her shirt. This button announced that my child was her class's "Star Student of the Week".  She's so excited. All the kids who were granted student of the week were invited to a special party outside of class. While their classmates were stuck in their stuffy classrooms memorizing their vocab (To or Too? Their or there?) and trying their damndest to color inside the lines the "special" kids were frolicking on the playground and munching on popcorn. Their principal put the popcorn popper over there. Kenley took some to her friend, because her friend was special too.  Anyway Friday kicked off the super special student week.  The popcorn party and special button wasn't enough. There were two sheets with instructions on what was expected of the special students' parents this week. The parents! We were asked to send in no less than SIX photos capturing the "special-ness" of our child. Baby pictures, vacation photos, images depicting her favorite food, hobbies, sports, friends, etc. On Tuesday her teacher will open a sealed envelope which contains a letter that we are supposed to write detailing why our child is super special. On Wednesday I am expected to surprise the class with a reading of Kenley's favorite picture book. On Thursday I am invited to join my super special student at lunch. If I would like, I can bring Kenley a special lunch from an off campus establishment. If I choose to bring something we can dine in the super special gazebo which is reserved for super special lunches.

You just said this in the Church Lady voice didn't you?

Are y'all getting that my child is special? She is also super.....but just for the one week. Listen, I get the whole special student thing. Even I was a "special student" way back in olden times. I was a "Cougar of the Week" or maybe it was just a day I can't remember that far back. I do remember wearing a special button and I think I got to lead the lunch line and maybe I was the first out of the door for recess. I can assure you my parents were not writing letters to my class touting my super special-ness.  If they had it would have probably gone something like this...

"Dear Teacher, Thank you for making Kandy Cougar of the Week.  We think she's an alright kid, although it would be nice if she picked up all those clothes and books and toys scattered all over her bedroom floor. If we step on one more Light Bright peg or trip over another Strawberry Shortcake doll then she will not be watching "Silver Spoons" for two weeks".


I think maybe just maybe all this rigmarole is just a teeny tiny bit ridiculous. My kids know they are special. We tell them they're special. We praise them when they are well-behaved. We make a big deal out of Kenley's perfect spelling tests "Great job! Too and To? That's a tough one! Wow you even distinguished "their" from "there"!  You have an excellent grasp of the English language!"  Is it possible parents can over praise their children?

I see affirmation boards on Pinterest all the time.  Pinterest gives me anxiety and makes me feel like the laziestmotherinthewholewideworld, but that's a blog for another day. Anyway, there are all these adorable crafts on how to recognize "star students" "special students" etc. Here is another one that's grown in popularity. The quote from Kathryn Stockett's blockbuster novel "The Help"...

You is using bad grammar. 

“You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”  If you have read the book or seen the movie you know this is an integral exchange between a main character and her precious young charge.  It is a beautiful message from a woman to a little girl who is neglected by her Mother.  Sadly, there are children who do not hear this enough. I am so thankful for educators who stay up all night and work weekends creating and planning and helping our children feel special. I couldn't do it. I thought I could. I ran screaming from a middle school classroom during college and never looked back. I love teachers. LOVE them. My children have had incredible teachers and I try to make myself available for whatever they need. I am at these educators' service, but I have to address this. “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”  This is encouraging bad grammar. I don't pretend to be a grammar expert but I think there is a difference between a high school student who understands the context in which the character, Abileen uses this beautiful simple affirmation, and an elementary student who is just grasping the basics of good grammar. Not only that, but so many of these cute pinterest crafts don't even credit the author. Ms. Stockett created that exchange. She imagined these characters and crafted every paragraph in the novel. I am sure she grew to love these characters just as I did when I stayed up all night reading her words.  At the very least credit her character, Abileen Clark. Really though, these moments between Abi and Mae Mobley are some of my favorite parts of the book. I get all teary-eyed thinking about it *sniffle*

Anyway, my super special child is even extra super special this week. Her Daddy and I are going to play along with the two pages of instructions. Ben is writing the letter. He is going to write about how Kenley is his favorite hiking buddy. He is going to recount their adventures hiking the McDowell Mountains in the Sonoran Desert. He will talk about the dormant volcano they visited at Sunset Crater National Monument. Maybe he'll describe the waterfalls they happened upon while hiking in Northern Arizona. He will describe how brave she was when she climbed that big rock at Joshua Tree and then descended like a pro.

Super special hikers at Joshua Tree

 I will read one of her favorite picture books to the class. Either Knuffle Bunny or Ladybug Girl. I don't think I am going to bring McDonald's to lunch though.  I think I am going to surprise her in the cafeteria instead. I kind of like standing in line with the tiny little people. I feel like Gulliver hanging out in Lilliput. Teeny little trays, tiny cartons of milk and such. I like having my tray handed to me by the sweet, smiling, hair-netted lunch lady. "You want spinach or green beans? Here you go baby".  I like sitting on the little bench at the little tables and listening to the kids chitter chatter. I like the smells. Man, nothing beats the smell of fresh cafeteria rolls.  I love that the top of the roll is a little hard but the inside is warm and pillow soft. You better believe I will I try to trade my little carton of chocolate milk for an extra roll! Yes, I think I will stand outside the cafeteria and wait until Kenley's class files down the breezeway with their little fingers over their lips (Shhhh! Quiet!) and my Cutie Pie at the front of the line leading the way.....because she's special.

You are kind. You are smart. You are important. 

My GPS lady hates me and wants me to die

Hey y'all! Do y'all have a GPS on your car? GPS is the abbreviation for Global Positioning System. I'm sure y'all already know that. I have very smart friends.  Many cars come standard with GPS now and if your vehicle wasn't lucky enough to have this wonder of modern navigation factory installed then you can run on down to your local Best Mart or Wal-Buy and pick one up for around five bucks. Well maybe not a fiver but they are way more affordable than they were back in "olden times" about 6 or 7 years ago.  Boy people do love their navigation devices. Some folks even give theirs a little nickname. My Grandpa calls his "Gar-main" and my friend's Mother-in-law refers to hers as "Ma'am". That's pretty cute. "Gar-main" brought me right here. No detours or anything." "Oh sure I can find it. I'll just put in the address and Ma'am will tell me where to go". I've named mine too. I affectionately call her "my GPS Lady Hates Me and Wants Me to Die".  

You know it's not just my current GPS it's all of them. My first experience with this modern marvel was about 4 or 5 years ago. My husband traveled every week with work. He had a new rental car every week. Me being an incrediblyawesomethoughtfulsuperwife  purchased him a cool little GPS. It was so compact and cute and came with it's own little carrying case. He who claimed to know how to get anywhere any way without a map or directions or compass or anything really took to this GPS thingy.  So when I was planning a trip to meet my BFFsincesecondgrade in New Orleans for a much needed Mommy weekend he enthusiastically took the GPS out of its cute little case *zip* stuck the little suction cup to the windshield "pop" and plugged the cord into the cigarette lighter (I don't know what sound that made. In olden times it made a "ssssssss" sound as your friend lit her Marlboro Light and then promptly burned the seat of your '85 Ford Tempo). So there I was headed South ready for a weekend of good food, wine, conversation and rest. It was around seven pm when I exited off I-10.  Oh did I mention my husband had his GPS lady programmed to speak in a British accent? She sounded very very proper as she instructed me to "carry on the motorway" and "enter the round about".  Ha Ha very funny Ben Mathis. So I exited off I-10 but it didn't look right.  This GPS lady had me driving near the Superdome. I should have known something was up because there were barricades everywhere and cops blowing whistles and yelling at everyone and by "everyone" I mean me. Well whaddaya know there's a Hornets basketball game that night and I am trying to wind myself around the Superdome right at kick off... err I mean "tip off" (sorry y'all I don't watch a lot of basketball). So the very angry police man is yelling at little old me and this electronic British lady won't shut her mouth for one dang second. The very large, intimidating  police officer is yelling at me to "move your vehicle NOW'! I guess I had stopped right in the middle of the crosswalk as my very proper and evil GPS was ordering me to "enter the round about". 

 I finally unplugged the lady and thought back to olden times and how I knew if I kept driving and passed "O'Henry's" where I left my purse in 1994 then I would drive around Lee Circle and end up on St. Charles where I would pass the Avenue Hotel where Ben and I stayed on our first trip to New Orleans, then I could get to Canal. If I got to Canal I would pass Palace Cafe' which is the first "fancy" restaurant Ben took me to. From Canal I could find the street I was looking for. I just knew it.  Guess what? I did find it and all without the help of the evil electronic British lady.  I was shaking as I handed my keys to the valet.  I burst into tears just as my BFFsincesecondgrade met me on the curb with open arms and the promise of cocktails and fine New Orleans cuisine. When I arrived home to Shreveport  rested, full, and with maybe just the tiniest hangover I gave my husband his precious GPS and told him "your GPS lady hates me and wants me to die".

We took a cab here

Fast forward a few years and a new "Mommy Vehicle" this thing is tricked out. DVD for the kids, heated seats, remote AC, power door lift thingy, and a Global Positioning System.  "OK fine" I think. "I'll give it another shot". I mean surely technology has come a long way in the few years since I tried to drive my vehicle through the Superdome. We were living in Scottsdale, Az. at the time. Scottsdale is beautiful and clean and nice and orderly. Imagine my surprise when my new GPS successfully led me to the fancy schmancy mall! I got the kids out of the car just long enough to cash in my Gymbucks at Gymboree and got back in the car prepared to be home by 5:00 to start supper. Well wouldn't you know it? My GPS lady hates me and wants me to die. Instead of putting me on the 101 headed back home. I ended up in the opposite direction. About thirty miles in the opposite direction. The scenery changed a bit. In place of cactus and beautiful agave there were billboards for "the Adult Castle" and all you can eat buffets and casinos. We actually drove by that "castle". Thankfully Kenley couldn't read yet and exclaimed "Look Mommy a castle! I wonder which Princess lives there" I was tempted to reply oh Princess "Destiny" or "Tawny" or "Mercedes"....at that point it was nearly 6:00 pm and my palms were so sweaty I was afraid I would lose my grip on the steering wheel. I was going to pull over, but I was not sure of the area or where I was exactly and quite frankly I was afraid that some drug kingpin was going to kidnap us and hold me and my children for ransom. What can I say? I had never lived anywhere but Louisiana and all I knew about Arizona up until our move I had learned from Dateline. I pull over to call Ben and get back on the 101 going East. Finally I'm home. The kids have fallen asleep and I have burned about $75 in gas just to save a couple of bucks on leggings and onesies.

Sleeping Booty's Castle

There were many other instances where that GPS lady led me astray but the worst thing she ever did to me was just the other day. She made me miss my baby's first soccer practice. I put the address of the park in the GPS. I had a general idea of where I was going but my GPS lady directed me a different way. She had me winding through a neighborhood. Ooops dead end. Ooops some body's driveway. Oooops ditch.  I know by now my GPS lady hates me and wants me to die so I think I'll pull over and call Ben.  No answer. He is probably on his way to the soccer field from work with his British lady telling him exactly where to go.  I imagine they're all chatty talking about tea and crumpets and such. So I find my way to the main road and think I can figure out how to get to the field. Nope. I ended up on the interstate about 20 miles from where I needed to be. Also it started raining. I try to console myself "Well at least practice will probably be canceled". Eighteen wheelers are passing me at about 90 mph....in the rain. I am white knuckling it to the Slidell exit. Finally I get turned around. The kids are fast asleep and Nate couldn't care less about missing his practice. Me on the other hand? I'm a wreck. I feel stupid and terrible and irresponsible and like theworstmommyinthewholeentireworld. Ben arrives home and is flabbergasted "You ended up where? I don't understand. The park is five miles from our house"! I explain..."It's simple. My GPS lady hates me and wants me to die".

This morning Nate had his first soccer game.  My baby was the tiniest player on the field but boy did he hustle!  I was so proud of him. He has practice Wednesday.  I'm leaving the house an hour early.

Shelter from the storm

Hey y'all. Welcome to Day 3 of our Hurricane Isaac Evacu-cation. We thought about riding out the storm but this being our first hurricane and with two small children we decided better safe than sorry. We hit the road late Monday night and are safe and dry at my Mother and Step dad's in Shreveport. The kids have been swimming, playing with the dogs, staying up too late and just being spoiled by their Kit Kt and Pop Pop. My husband has set up his "Command Central" in the back bedroom and thankfully has been able to work remotely. I have been glued to the Weather Channel and I check the Cleco Power outage site obsessively.  Most of Mandeville is without power and many houses are flooded. At this point our street has not flooded and for that I am very thankful. We are hopefully just going home to a couple of stinky refrigerators and some disgusting trash cans stored in the garage. I better pick up some of those little masks before we open that garage door. I can only imagine what it smells like in there *shudder*  OK I mustn't think about all that right now instead I will focus on something unexpected that has come out of this little adventure....my MaMa is cooking for us. Now, when I was little my Mother cooked all the time. I mean homemade everything. She was a young Mother of twin boys and me. She said it was too much trouble to load us all in the van (not a minivan but one of those big great 70's vans a REAL van. Man I loved that van) Anyway rather than load three little ones into the giant van she just stayed home and cooked. I remember homemade brownies, cookies, pork chops, mashed potatoes, meatloaf etc. I remember the FryDaddy sitting on the counter spitting hot oil and her warning us to "Stand back! This grease will get you"!  She would dip that slotted spatula into the hot oil and I never knew what it was going to come up with.  Was it fresh cut french fried potatoes? Fried shrimp? Maybe homemade donuts? She put that FryDaddy to good use....but that was another time. An era before we knew about trans fats, worried about carbs, calories, cholesterol etc. Childhood obesity was not an epidemic. The boys and I ran around outside all day, we didn't have video games and there were only a few channels to watch on tv. Besides after Sesame Street and the Electric Company went off MaMa watched All My Children so we were banished to the backyard. We worked off those donuts while MaMa folded clothes and caught up with Erica Kane.

MaMa doesn't really cook like she used to.  She's all healthy now. The FryDaddy has long been retired. Now she makes beautiful salads with baby greens and fresh tomatoes, blueberries, almonds and wonderful light dressings.  She lays out beautiful pink salmon and garnishes it with capers and fresh rosemary from her herb garden. Sometimes there's a sushi lunch complete with chopsticks and little dishes filled with wasabi and ginger. There's still great care put into the meals she serves but it's more preparation than cooking.  When we come home to visit we have our list of local restaurants we must visit so we don't cook much anyway. Maybe hotdogs on the grill while the kids swim but no real cooking. That's why the first night of our evacuation I was surprised to walk into the kitchen and smell cooking smells. Seasonings, and meat sizzling. There was actual heat coming off the stove.  The smell of "real food" wafted down the hall and interrupted my husband's work. I expected his toes to flutter off the ground and his nose lead him to the smell of "real food" like it does in those old cartoons. MaMa was cooking ribs. She had chicken on the grill smothered in sweet sticky bbq sauce. She made her potato salad. Her potato salad is the best in the whole world.  My brother likens it to the inside of deviled eggs with some potatoes mixed in. It is amazing. There were baked beans and fresh bread out of the oven. She uncorked a beautiful Tempranillo just for me. It was a deep deep red almost purple, plum-y (I know that's probably not a word but I'm not winesnobby enough to produce the proper description) so it was "plum-y" and lush and wonderful. There was cold beer waiting for Ben. It was pale, golden, and um "beer-y". The kids gobbled up their chicken legs and ribs, licking bbq sauce off their little fingers. After driving home in the middle of the night to escape Isaac this meal of simple bbq and sides was so comforting. Just the right kind of  "hit the spot" "stick to your ribs" goodness. Our bellies were full and our souls were soothed. 

I thought that would be all the cooking MaMa would do this trip. In fact I thought we would be going to one of our regular restaurants for dinner last night. I spent all day glued to the Weather Channel, checking FaceBook and texting with neighbors who stayed home. I didn't shower and dress until late afternoon and that was only because I had to go to Target and buy the baby some underwear. In our hurry to leave I forgot to pack Thomas the Train undies. Kit Kat suggested he just wear a pair of his sister's underwear to tide him over until we got his one pair in the wash but he was very adamant "I NOT A GIRL! I A BOY! I NOT WEARING BARBIE UNDERWEARS"!!!! Ok so off to Target we go. When Ben and I got back there were more strange smells coming from the kitchen. It was an ancient familiar smell. I was taken back to our old wood paneled kitchen. The big table set with mine and the boys Crayola Melamine plates. On that plate was? It was? What was it??? Ok it started coming back to me... *sniff* *sniff*.....MEATLOAF!!!  Meatloaf....and what's this??? Mashed potatoes! REAL mashed potatoes with REAL butter! But wait there's more! Le Sueur Peas! Ben and my brothers call them "Booger peas" but I don't care. That silver can is full of mushy baby pea goodness.  I look out at the table and I see my baby happily chewing away and pushing his peas around on his plate....on a green melamine crayola plate.  

Nate and THE  plate

Today we had leftovers for lunch. A big smorgabord of ribs and chicken, potato salad and mashed potatoes, oh and some ripe red tomatoes with salt and pepper. It doesn't get any better than this. But wait! It does! There it is my childhood in a faded red Pyrex 8x8 pan. Brownies. Not just any brownie but "Hershey's Best Brownies" from a dogeared Hershey's Cocoa Cookbook . Do y'all remember those tin Hershey cocoa containers? They're plastic now. MaMa used to save those tins. Our Sunday school class made them into coin banks once. She saved tadpoles for Sunday school too They didn't quite make it, but that's another story. Anyway...brownies. When I was little she rarely made the icing that went with it. She thought it made them too sweet. That icing is nothing but butter, cocoa,  powdered sugar and I think a little milk. You have to beat the heck out of it for what feels like an hour to get the perfect consistency. We only had the icing on special occasions or maybe if I had a bad day and pleaded for it. I look over at the counter and there they sit....with icing. 

Heaven in a Pyrex pan

I know we won't eat like this for some time. Lord Ben and I have probably gained 10 lbs. We're finally seeing the end of the storm and all this yummy food too. I noticed salmon in the fridge and MaMa's already making plans to do something with goat cheese and figs. That's good too. Nice and light. We will need it after the Isaac 24-7 buffet. I've noticed on FaceBook friends in the storm's path are huddled up with their friends, family and neighbors. If they're lucky enough to have power or gas I've seen that folks are making pots of jambalaya, gumbo, soup etc. Even those without power have said they've been snacking nonstop. I guess when we get home along with our yard, fridge and neighborhoods we will be cleaning up our diets.  Is there something your family cooks during a crisis? After the birth of a child? A funeral? Illness? Y'all know here in the South we've got the Comfort Food thing down to an art! I would love to hear what y'all cook! I think I need just maybe the tiniest lick of an icing bowl right now. Y'all stay dry friends.