In Kind

The man stood in the Target parking lot, a sign in his hands saying he lost his job and needed help feeding his family. They were there, too—a thin young woman holding a beautiful infant daughter, an orange flower blossoming from her halo of black curls. Because I'm cheap, I only gave them a dollar. Because I'm kind, I then drove to Starbucks and asked for two cups of ice water to take back to them. The barista gave me the water, grudgingly, but not without tossing in a tip: "You know, you're just feeding stray cats."

The family stuck with me as I headed up Cantrell toward home. I thought about how one unlucky break could be the difference between pulling up my nice curved driveway and holding up a sign in a sweltering parking lot. We aren't so different, his family and mine. Our luck could run out, too. I was thinking about this as I drove past The Toggery, an ultra fancy children's boutique a few minutes from home. They had a sign, too—big colorful letters promising their affluent clientele huge summer savings. What could it hurt to ask? I went in and told the saleswoman about the family. "Is there any chance you could donate anything for their baby?" The saleswoman asked me to wait while she disappeared into the back. When she returned, she was gently folding three complete outfits—dresses, bloomers, hats. Before she could slip them into the bag, another saleswoman walked up and handed her a gorgeous smocked dress to add to the gift. I expected to be shown the door. Instead, I was shown amazing kindness.

I'll probably never be the kind of person who shops at The Toggery, but I hope I never stop finding ways to share their spirit of generosity and kindness to people.



And maybe even a few stray cats.

Land of Opportunity

My first two nephews were born in another state. I had to travel to be with them. I didn't mind. I liked them. A lot.

Eventually, they moved back to New York and we were able to spend more time together.

They liked me a lot, too.

But then I had to go and meet some sweet talking Southern man. For years, I'd harbored secret dreams of living in the South, where Spanish Moss drapes the trees instead of snow. I wasn't leaving for him so much as seizing my opportunity to get south of winter. Moving was bittersweet, but I knew my new life would be exciting.

Right after that part where it sucked.

My Going Away Party. Doesn't it look fun!?

Love looks like that sometimes.

But sometimes, it looks like this.  

Now it's his turn. My nephew just moved to Arkansas, not to be with me so much as to seize the opportunity to spread his wings and fly. I'm just a nice, soft safety net stretched out beneath him. 

Welcome to Arkansas, Will. I hope your adventure is everything you want it to be, and that the part where it sucks for those you left behind is very, very brief.

Please Pass the Sugar

If your child's a picky eater like mine, I have a recipe for Thanksgiving turkey that is guaranteed to be a big hit at the kids' table. And it only requires one ingredient: sugar.


Thanksgiving Turkey Pops

Ingredients



Lollipop-shaped Sugar




Barrel-shaped Sugar




Fruit Slice-shaped Sugar




Worm-shaped Sugar



Mix all ingredients well.




Sweet!


They'll gobble them up.

Changing of the Guard

Today is the last day of summer vacation.

More to the point, today is the last day I get to share all my time with my boy. He's been my shadow all summer long—like a puppy, following close on my heels. It's been indescribably sweet, and I'm savoring the last hours.



Good puppy. Sit. Stay!


I could get good and sad about this special time coming to an end, if it weren't for the fact that all my days are filled with special time just like this. Only the faces change.








Who says teachers aren't paid well? I'm rich, I say, rich!

A Penny $32.60 Saved

Author Kyran Pittman isn't just a talented writer, she's also a genius couponer. And what's more, she's generous enough to share her secrets. After every major score, she rushes to Facebook and shows us all exactly how to join her in the game. Sometimes, if you're really lucky, she even comes to your house and hand delivers a detailed game plan.



a detailed game plan


Like a good straight A student, I followed her instructions obediently. As directed in Step #1, I went to Walgreens and purchased four of the six specially marked items.









Already, I'm doing pretty well, since cereal is up to about $20.00 a box these days. Scoring my favorite brand for $2.50 is a great way to start. But it's only the start, because Walgreens then gave me back $5.00 in a lovely little thing called Register Rewards.

Following Step #2 in the plan, I combined a handful of store coupons, graciously supplied by my mentor, with my Register Rewards to buy this—









Yes, you are reading that right—all those school supplies cost me .47 cents. Which is especially awesome, because I would have paid $47.00 for that KISS notebook. But wait! There's more! They gave me back another $2.00 in Register Rewards, which I used to buy these treats for my boy—





That smile was my best Reward of all.


(What are you just sitting there for? Get thee to Walgreens!)

Big Love

I thought you should be the first to know.

I have a new boyfriend. And it's serious.

Don't worry. My husband knows all about us. In fact, he introduced us. And he completely understands my attraction.

Meet Paulo.





He's beautiful, no?

You must understand, this is no casual affair. It's destiny. Our new house has forty pairs of shutters, you see.

FORTY!

I spent three weeks painting the first pair by hand one day.



muthashuttas


At that rate, it was painfully clear that the house would be finished just in time for us to move into assisted living. So my husband invited Paulo home for a threesome.

It was love at first spray.



Me and Paulo, getting it on


It didn't surprise me much to discover that Paulo, in the end, turned out to be quite high maintenance. All the great beauties are.





But I don't mind taking good care of him. He's totally worth it. I have a feeling we're going to be very happy together.




Den, before



Den, happily ever after

The Office

With the exception of the kitchen and dining room, which fell victim to the tragic wallpaper plague of the '70s, every wall in our new house is white. And not hip, modern white, either. Dingy, old lady white.

Like this—




We've lived here nine months. While some women piss away nine months making people, I used my time to make something really important—my first paint decision.



Morning Fog—Blue and Gray's Beautiful Love Child

I was so happy to finally have a can of paint in my hand that I sprinted to the checkout before that temptress Martha Stewart could lure me back down the aisle with her siren song of samples. I was halfway home before I realized that I might need some way to actually apply my beautiful new color to the walls. Details. I figured I must have some crusty old brush lying around a closet floor somewhere, maybe a roller that didn't have too many chunky bits.

And then I found this—


♫ Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah! ♫

I'd forgotten all about it. My husband's sweet nephew drew my name for the Christmas gift exchange. He knows me well enough to understand what my idea of a perfect present is. He also knows me well enough to anticipate that I'd be too cheap and/or flaky to remember to buy this kind of stuff myself.

Thanks for a great present, Joe. I love my new office. And now that the old lady white is gone, I swear my husband looks ten years younger in there.

. . . and justice for all.

Even though my HUGE teacher paychecks just keep rolling in all summer long, I still like to supplement with a little extra income when I can. Summer nanny gigs are the perfect solution, mainly because I'm way too lazy to get a real job, but also because it keeps my only child out of my ass for a few hours a day. (I mean that in the nicest way possible.) For me, it's a part-time job; for him, it's a part-time brother.

Because I'm such a quick study, it's only taken me two weeks to get to the heart of the strange dynamic between my child and my charge. They aren't so much acting like friends; they're acting, well, like brothers. After two solid weeks of bickering and pissing contests, I've got them figured out. They don't give a hot damn about happiness or fun. They are completely unimpressed by even the most ambitious attempts at entertainment. The ONLY thing they are interested in, in fact, are obsessed with, is justice. I could lock them in a room full of snakes and rotting meat and all they'd care about is that they each got equally poisonous snakes and exactly the same portion of rotting meat.

"His meat is stinkier than mine!" I can hear them complain.

"He got more maggots than me! No fair!"

But now, I've got their number. I know where it's at. Screw fun, they just want fair. So today, we baked cookies. And not just any cookies—peanut butter cookies. We made chocolate chips last week, and it didn't go well. The randomness of the chips led to anarchy and near mutiny. But with peanut butter, I had some control. I explained to the boys that each and every one of these cookies belonged to both of them. They were going to work together, side by side, equally. They took equal turns with the beater, and got equal licking rights.


Notice my son, reaching for the other child's beater. Punk.


Next, I rolled the balls and handed them to the boys, one at a time, to roll in sugar. Even Steven. I had one boy press in all the vertical fork prints and the other, the horizontal. What could be more fair? There was only a brief uprising when vertical boy yelled, "Hey, he's smashing MY cookies!" Old habits die hard.





They'll probably continue to fight like brothers for the rest of the day, but who cares. I intend to eat the entire batch of cookies and be drunk by supper.