Momnesia

Augusta, Ga. - I'm driving down Gordon Highway, gossiping on the phone with a girlfriend. Just as I'm about to merge lanes, a big white F-150 muscles in and cuts me off.

"Hey! Get off your cell phone, you big jerk!" I exclaim.

Amber bursts into laughter: "Umm... Aren't YOU on YOUR cell phone?"

"Yeah, but I'm not driving like it," I grouse.

"Whatever,"she guffaws. "That was the funniest thing you've ever said!"

Oh, shut your pie hole.

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Augusta, Ga. - We're feeding the fish at the grist mill in Stone Mountain Park, when Emmie points to a build-up of silt at the point where the stream and lake meet.

"Loot, Mama! Ders a ISLAND!"

"Oooh, maybe it's a TREASURE island," I say.

"Nooo," she shakes her head. "Ders no X der."

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Augusta, Ga. - I spent yesterday getting my butt kicked by a virus, so I'm making up for it today.

I have completed:
- The grocery shopping
- A load of dishes
- A cherry pie w/ lattice top crust
- A pot of chili
- A pot of spaghetti sauce
- A pot of curry sauce
- Dressing a chicken for roasting
- Directing Emmie in cleaning windows and baseboards, and organizing the giant pile of movies and video games that had accumulated on the floor by the television
- Cleaning the bathroom
- Cleaning the leather couch and ottoman
- Put down Febreze powder and vaccuumed the floors
- Dusted all reachable surfaces

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Augusta, Ga. - I make a lot of mistakes. But on days when they seem to pile up until I can't see the people around me, I can still say that I'm not an incompetent as these infomercial stars.

Augusta, Ga - In raising her to never accept the status quo, I forgot that the first status she'd test is the one at home.

"Emmie, you need a bath before school. Let's go, chica."

"But! But! Daddee say I not hab to take a baff."

"I can smell your bootie from over here!" I tease. "Daddy said that because he didn't smell you."

"Oh, yeah? Do he not hab a nose, mama?"

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Augusta, Ga. - Emmie is in the bath, but even that does not stop her from conversing with the entire neighborhood. And, as usual, she carries on a stimulating conversation, indeed...

"MAMA!" She hollers.

"Yes, Doodle?" I call.

"Lithen, carefully," she commands, lisping through her missing tooth. "Whenebber you see a T. Rex, you gotta stop."

(snicker...)

"Okay, good to know."

"Yeth! Iss BERRY important! So the T.Rex won't see you. When a T.Rex tries to see you, a T.Rex is very huge. But Phineas and Ferb said DON'T. MOVE. A. BIT. Den he won't eat you."

"Okay, well, if cartoon characters say it, it must be true."

"Das wut I'm telleend you."

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Augusta, Ga. - My sister-in-law, Allie, is in labor RIGHT THIS MINUTE. Emerson is beside herself: "I'm so ett-CITED, Mama! My very own cousin!" she said this morning.

Actually, Emmie has two other cousins of her very own, but they have always been older than her. And they're boys. Smelly, dirty boys. :-)

Allie was the most patient pregnant woman you ever saw - and maybe the most adorable. I don't know where she found her maternity clothes (certainly not on the clearance rack at Target, like I did), but she always looked great. She's not a trendy, spendy kind of woman. She always looked professional. But if she'd wanted to flaunt it, I could see her in this tank top or this dress.


I came across them on a site called Kiki's Fashions. And then I spent an hour looking at clothes that I would wear now, and I'm not even pregnant. They have cute, trendy maternity clothes, a total break from the sailor suits and muumuus that we're usually forced into once we have a bun in the oven. But even without the word "maternity" stuck out in front of the phrase like a giant hood ornament, their clothes are adorable. And they're super reasonable. Kicky party dresses for around $30. Summery, short-sleeved blouses for about $20. Cute, NON-MOM JEANS for between $20-$30.

If you buy something from them, use the code "blogfriends" for a 20% off coupon.

Augusta, Ga. -

Me: "Hey, what does a hot dog run at the GreenJackets Baseball Game?"
Rep: "I think about $3? $3.50? I'm not 100% positive?"
Me: "That's okay. I was just looking for a ballpark number."

Do you think he hears that a lot? Maybe that's good. I don't wanna come at him out of left field... Oh! Somebody stop me!

Augusta, Ga. - So I developed this recipe for our family. I hope you like it. Total prep time: About 10 minutes, if you don't count the brining process. And since it's a passive process, I really don't. Cooking time: 45-60 minutes.

Ingredients

• One whole chicken, fresh or completely thawed
• extra virgin olive oil
• two-three lemons
• 1/4 cup Zahtar spice mix (available locally at Aladdin's Grocery on Columbia Rd)
• powdered garlic
• black pepper
• sea salt
• onion
• potatoes
• carrots

Preparation and Cooking

1. Trim the chicken if needed, and remove the little package of gross that they include with it, in case someone is literally starving and has some weird intention of eating the gizzard, which is the part of the chicken that digests things. Rinse the chicken well, and then place into a large pot and cover it with water. Shake about a 1/4-1/3 cup of sea salt into the water. Cover, and place in the refrigerator overnight.

Note: This would also work with a chicken that has been cut up already, or a package of leg quarters, but the flavoring process will be a tiny bit more difficult as you'll have to work with each piece of chicken. Also, whole chickens are cheaper.

2. When you're ready to get dinner started, drain the pot, remove the chicken, and pat dry. Start the oven, to temp out at 350. Then, gently, but firmly, slide your hands between the skin and the meat, all the way down into the legs, in order to create room for the spice mixture to set into the meat.  

Note: Rubbing spices or flavoring into the skin of poultry before baking doesn't flavor anything but the skin.

3. Stir together about a 1/4 cup of olive oil with almost as much Zahtar. It's a mild, thyme-and-seseme based mixture. Add about a 1/2 tsp of powdered garlic and a liberal dose of sea salt and black pepper. You should have a runny, pastey kind of mixture. If it freaks you out, add a little more olive oil.

Note: You can use butter for this, too, but it's not as authentic and gives it a completely different flavor. Still... butter. Yum.

4. Rub the olive oil mixture under the skin of the bird, massaging into the meat - and, again, getting down into the legs, too. If you have any remaining mixture, reserve it for the veggies. You should be taking the skin off your chicken for healthier eating.

Note: This is totally gross the first time you do it. But I don't care what anyone says: basting is a waste of time. Baste not, waste not! This is how you get the most flavorful roast poultry.

5. Quarter the onion and place inside the chicken's body cavity. Chop the potatoes and carrots into slightly-larger-than-bite-sized pieces. Arrange the chicken in a roasting pan, on top of the rack, and dump the carrots and potatoes in around it. Pour the remaining Zahtar over the veggies, or just drizzle them with olive oil, sea salt (or seasoning salt), and black pepper. Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil, turn veggies, do not replace foil, and continue baking until juice runs clear when thighs and drumsticks are pricked with a fork or knife.

6. Remove from oven. Let sit for 10 minutes so that juices will distribute. Remove veggies from pan, and add to a serving platter. Carve chicken, remove skin from pieces, and douse liberally with fresh-squeezed lemon juice.

Note: You can mix the lemon juice in with the olive oil mixture before rubbing it into the chicken, but I don't think you get the full flavor. I like waiting until after the chicken is on the serving platter to add the lemon.


7. Serve and enjoy! Try pairing it with a microwavable whole-grain side dish, like Kashi's 7 whole-grain rice pilaf, flavored with Moroccan curry. It's easy, healthy, and goes well with these flavors!

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie has acquired a SpongeBob watch from a kids meal. At her request, I set the time and hand it back to her.

"There. Now you'll always know what time it is."

"Danks! What do it say?"
I haven't even begun to teach her how to tell time yet. I'm no fool. This way, bedtime is whenever I say it is.

"It says 1:31," I answer.

"Ohhh..."

Just then, it switches to 1:32.

"So, what time is it?"

She frowns at her watch, then at the chicken nuggets in front of her. Her face brightens: "Iss LUNCH time!"

Gotta give her that one.

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Augusta. Ga. - Emmie's learning to read, so she's really into guessing the letters that start each word. She also likes for me to spell out words for her to practice writing on her portable drawing board.



We're doing this in the car when she requests "restaurant" and "people." I spell them out, and then she frowns.

"Der's not a O in 'people,'" she says.

"I know it doesn't sound like it, the way we pronounce it, but there's an O right after the E," I say, amused.

She considers this for a nanosecond before disagreeing.

"I sorry, mama, but... Das not da troof."

She is so sure of herself - and I am so gullible - that for a moment I rethink it. Wait - what am I doing? I'm the 198-something spelling bee champion of C.J. Hicks Elementary!

"Dude," I start - because that's how all the classy moms address their children these days - "I know how to do one thing above average, and that's spell. Everything else... I'm pretty much just faking it. So can you listen to me on this one thing, please?"

"... if you say so, Mom."

Gee. Thanks.


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Augusta, Ga. - Emmie and I are in the middle of a showing of "How to Train Your Dragon," when she turns to me.

"Mama?" she manages in the World's Loudest Whisper. "Where do Jesus lib?"

Uh-oh...

I'll admit it: I'm utterly unprepared for religious questions from my child - primarily because I still have so many myself. How do I explain to her that Jesus died? Or do I try to explain the concept of a soul? Or do I fall back on generally accepted but utterly inadequate cultural shorthand?

She's five, I reason. She's not looking for me to give her the nature of the universe in a compact pill with an easy-swallow coating (or maybe she is?). She believes in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and that "Play Fair" and "Share" were two of the ten commandments. I think she's just looking for pieces of a puzzle that looks a lot like a map of the hierarchy of parenting. In short, what every kid wants is the location and general job description of Who's in Charge.

"Well, where do YOU think he lives?" I counter, using my well-worn technique for simultaneously deflecting a question and learning more about my daughter.

"MOOOooom..." she rolled her eyes so hard I could hear them rattle around in her skull.

(sigh)

"I don't know," I acquiesce. Because it's the most honest answer I can give her. And because I think kids also need to hear that phrase from their parents, as much as they need spiritual guidance.

"You DO know, mama!" she tells me. "Jesus libs in your heart."

I suppose I did assume a rather literal intent in her question, like maybe she wanted his mailing address to make sure he filled out his Census form. But questions like that throw me into a panic. What should I have done? What kinds of questions do your kids ask that stump you? What answers would you have liked to hear from your parents?

I want to guide her to feel a connection with mankind, the planet, the universe. What's the best way to do that?


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Augusta, Ga - We're sitting in my mom's recliner at my parents' house.

"Mama?" Emmie says. "Did you know dat some fings take change?"

I've raised this girl for five years, and I suspect something is on her mind.

"What do you mean, Doodle?" I ask.

"Wull, like wood is trees. An' moms are gran'mas," she explains. "Do you seee?"

"So, some things are different?" I ask.

"Yeth! Like kids are big kids. An' big kids are grown-ups. Fings change a lot. But all da change doesn't matter. It doesn't matter when fings change."

"Why not?"

"Because da people are da same people. An' dey lub you."

And that's something to remember.

Of course, this also the girl who thinks that "Boo" is pronounced "Moo."

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Augusta, Ga. - Kelli and I are making conversation in the car on the way to Helen.

"Did you see 'Zombieland?'" she asks.

"Yeah, that movie cracked me up."

"I liked it, but it scared me," she says.

"What scared you?" I asked. It made me laugh... until the clown.

"Um, maybe the fact that there were ZOMBIES in it?!"

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Augusta, Ga. - We're driving through Milstead, the old mill town in Rockdale County.
"Wow," Emmie says. "Dis a lubblee place where old houses lib."
If that isn't right on the money...

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Augusta, Ga. - We're in the Wal-Mart bathroom in Conyers, Ga. It's not a pretty place to be. I'd like to spend as little time as possible in here, but Emmie's taking her sweet time.

"Emmie, what's going on in that stall?" I ask.

"Um... I love you!"

Cover me. I'm going in.

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Augusta, Ga. - I'm trying to get Emerson to bed before dawn so that we can get up and take a day trip to Helen tomorrow. She is understandably resistant, surrounded - as she is - by relatives just WAITING to play with her. I should charge money for this, Jeez. Nonetheless, I try to explain it to her.

"So we go to dah mountain tomorrow wif Jacob an' Jackson an' Aunt Jessica?" she asks.

"Right. And I want you to get plenty of sleep so we can have a good time."

"So... You want me to go to sleep so dat I can wate up? Dat not mate sense to me, mama."

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Augusta, Ga. - My sister, Kelli, and I are having a "don'tcha hate it when" conversation.

"I - ooh! I know!" she says, as we lounge on the bed. "How about the new 'who' when people mean 'what'?"

"I don't know that one," I admit.

"Yeah, like someone called the restaurant to ask what was on the menu that night. I was rattling off the specials: 'lobster and polenta sticks,' and he goes 'who?'"

"What?!" I laugh.

"Exactly. And I didn't know what he meant. Who? I wasn't talking about anyone. So it was all 'Who's on First,' with him saying 'Who?' and me saying 'What?'"

I'm laughing so hard right now. I know the challenges of customer service.

"So finally, I go through the specials one more time, I get to the lobster-polenta sticks, and again he goes, 'Who?' I was like, 'That's MISTER Lobster-Polenta Sticks to you, sir.'"

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Augusta, Ga. - We're sitting around on the front porch, watching the kids run around the yard and ride bikes after Easter dinner.

"Lord, the carpenter bees are going crazy this year," mama noted, as they dive-bombed our heads.

"Tell 'em to head over to my house and build me a back deck," I joked.

"I thought those were bumble bees," said my sister, Kelli.

"No, they're looking for a place to drill under the eaves. We'll find little piles of shavings later," mom said.

"Do they sting?" Kelli asked.

"No," mama said. "But they drive me nuts with all that hammering."

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Augusta, Ga. - Erin and I are giving donating at Shepeard Community Blood Center. She's done with her blood donation, and I'm waiting for my plasma to finish.

"Your blood is darker than mine," she notes.

"Yes, like a fine wine," I joke.

"I have kind of a headache," she says, as she examines the Rube Goldberg machine-looking contraption that processes the plasma donations.

"Me, too."

"Well, I guess so. You got all your guts in this machine!"

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Augusta, Ga. - A new restaurant on Washington Rd has great food - Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, American, and Middle Eastern, all under one roof. And the creamy chicken with olives is to die.

But the service is a little over-attentive. After at least 10 table checks by our server - not to mention several from the rest of the serving team, I feeling a little frazzled. Every story someone tried to tell went unfinished. Not to mention that they couldn't answer our questions about the food.

Still, at the end of our meal, I gave it one more try and asked the server what the chicken-and-olive dish was called.

"Um... where'd you get it?" She asked.

I couldn't resist, and pointed out the window at the doughnut shop. "Next door," I answered.

I'll be back to eat there when I return from vacation. The food - channa masala, kebabs, naan, lentil soup, and some other stuff I didn't get to try - was really good. But I think I'll specify with the server how frequently she need check on me. And I'll just Google my questions later.


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Augusta, Ga. - Emmie made friends with the boy next door about 28 seconds after we moved into this house. She was so delighted to have someone her age to play with, that it almost made up for the selfish mean dog owners on the other side.

We've lived here for 5 months, now, and Emmie and her friend have been getting along great. A couple of days ago, though, as they were playing, she was calling his name and trying to get him to catch a ball. He looked at me, with a smirk beyond his kindergarten age: "My name not Jose," he said.

LOL! We've been calling this poor kid Jose for the whole time. Turns out Emmie didn't understand his name, Zaquan (Zah-kwan), when she first met him, and we've all been calling him the wrong name ever since. Poor guy.

So we've been working on getting her to use his correct name, but you know how it is when you meet someone. Your brain attaches a name and your reasoning self is pretty much left out of it. Heck, I worked at a newspaper in Athens for two years, during which time the publisher never once called me by my name. She called me Katherine every day, and I never had the heart to correct her.

This, too, might be a losing battle. Because what Emerson has in recall - seriously, do not play Memory with her; you will be horribly embarrassed - she has equally in stubbornness.

Augusta, Ga. - Walking back from lunch at Blue Sky Kitchen, we passed a new thrift store called Once Again on the 800 Block of Broad Street. I spied a neatly organized children's section and found four or five well-cared-for pieces for Emerson.

"Look, Doodle," I said to Emerson when I picked her up, and held up a T-shirt. She gasped and screamed.

"Iss YOGABBAGABBA!" She danced around in a circle.

Dude. It's a $1 T-shirt.

"I goeend ta wear dis EBRY DAY," she declared, clutching it to her chest. "An EBRY morneen you goeend put it on da chair, an' if I don't see it, I goeend say, 'Mommmeeeee!' An' den you goeend get da T-shirt an' I goeend wear it. I goeend ta wear it EBRY DAY, Mama! I'm SERIOUS."

"Um... Okay," I agree. "Unless it's dirty, and then we have to wash it."

"YES," she agreed. "But - OOOOOH, I'm so ett-SITED!"

Um... It's a shirt?

"And dank you SO MUCH, Mama. You berry sweet to buy dis Yo Gabba Gabba shirt for me."

(Laughing silently) "You're very welcome, darling. Mommy loves you, and I'm very glad you like the shirt."

She squeals and laughs, but suddenly her brow furrows.

"Mama?" She asks quietly. "Was it berry 'spensable?"

I grin: "No, darling."

"But... how many dollars and moneys was it?"

"Just one."

"What?! Das AWESOME! Can we go to dis store all da time?!"

"Yep. I think we can manage that."

Side note: We also got a Paas Easter Egg-making kit for 50 cents!

Augusta, Ga. - The radio's playing "Breathe," by Faith Hill. Emmie cocks her head, then turns to me: "Mama? Why can't she breeve? Do she need a doctor?"

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Augusta, Ga. - We're rushing around, getting ready for Babypalooza, and I can't figure out what happened to my driver's license after the accident yesterday.

"Mommy needs to clean out her car," I mutter.

"Yeah," Emmie chimes in from the backseat. "You gotta lotta stuff in here. You gotta a box, an' sum trash, an' sum toys, an' some books, an' sum shoes, an' a sweater..."

"I get it," I laugh, but she continues.

"An' a DBD, an' some old yucky snacks, an'... an'... A DOODLE!" she laughs.

"Yep, she's in the backseat," I laugh.

"But don' frow ME out!"

Augusta, Ga. - Emerson's in a mood. She dances as I read her a story. She rapidly zips and unzips her footie pajamas. She bounces her forehead off the couch when I have her sound out a word (yes, you read that right). And she's flat-out getting on my nerves.

It's bedtime, and nothing I do calms her down. Finally, I just tell her that it's time to go on to her bed. Her eyes well up, and she runs away, wailing.

Uh... What?

"Emmie, come here, please," I call.
She runs back in, still wailing, and buries her face in my chest.

"Honey, what's going on?" I ask. More tears.

Ah. Okay. She's disappointed about something. I know she won't be able to tell me, because she can hardly define disappointed. So, instead, we rock, and snuggle, and slowly she calms down. When she seems back to her usual self - minus the forehead bouncing - I remind her that it's still time for bed. She smiles and toddles off after "more mooches."

Soon after, as I'm engrossed in the lives of the Miss Dashwoods, I hear what sounds like a duck quacking. And we don't have any ducks... yet.

"Emerson, bring that here," I call.

"Aw, MAN!" she exclaims, and trots out the kazoo she'd been playing with.

"Thank you," I say, give her "anudder mooch, and wave her to bed.

Five minutes later, another small sound catches my attention. But I can't identify it. Whrrrrrrrrrrzzzzz! Whrrrrrrrrrrzzzzz!

I sigh and put down the book. Elinor isn't going to get Edward tonight.

"Emerson -" I begin, but she pounds out of her bedroom with a wry grin before I can continue.

"Here ya go!" she grins, places the noisemaker beside the kazoo, and trots back off to bed.

I try to contain my laughter as my stash grows. Mr. Tamborine and a pair of maracas join in. Finally, I go in and take away the wooden box of musical instruments.

"Sleep. Now." I command, but only half-heartedly. She is endlessly amusing.

She yawns and nods, and snuggles down into her comforter. Her eyes close, and I can see that she's down for the night.

Dang.

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Augusta, Ga. - My co-worker was putting her 4-year-old in her car seat to take her to school, when she heard the spring birds chattering away in the surrounding trees.

"Oh, Hannah, do you hear the birds?" she asked. "Listen to what they're saying!"

Hannah gasped and whirled around to stare at her mother: "Mama! You speak bird?!"

Augusta, GA - I'm at the Augusta State University Communications Festival as a guest professional. Some people I've fooled - former professors of mine - have asked me here to help current students get a handle on what they need to have my ultra-fabulous career.

One of the speakers is introducing the newest members of Lambda Pi Eta, the communications honor society. She talks a little about the name being derived from Artistotle's Logos, Pathos, and Ethos.

"What was that?" I ask, oblivious. "The Three Muskateers?"

The students at my table look at me, incredulous. "Logos, Pathos, and Ethos," they repeat, with trepidation. They couldn't tell if I was serious, or if I was testing them.

Unfortunately, I was serious. I know I must have taken a speech class, because it was required. I also won some public speaking awards in college. But, I swear, though I have heard those terms, I have never heard them in conjunction with a communications class.

Oops.

Visiting my alma mater made me wonder how much I "learned" and then forgot. All the media law, the genetic disorders, algebra, how to find the standard deviation without referring back to the textbook I never sold back (side note: I'm pretty sure "The 39 Steps" is a cinematic metaphor for that formula; but more on that later).

I've done little since graduating to expand my knowledge base, other than the practical, hands-on things I've learned as a professional. So what am I to do? Grad school is not within my current reach. Time. Distance. Money. And every time I pick up an old textbook or a new educational tome, I lament the absence of vampires, zombies, Dashwoods and Bennets. And, yes, I've read Pride & Prejudice & Zombies. It wasn't that great.

What I think someone should compile is a list called "Books That Are Both Educational and Fun to Read and Were Not Written By James Mitchener." If anyone knows where I can get my hands on that last, please let me know.

Augusta, Ga. - I called home to chortle with Scott over my dress being inside-out at the doctor's office. And he said, "Oh, you'll love this."

Scott does a lot of recording out of our little "home studio" (an iMac and a mixing board, essentially), and sometimes, when he's on a tight deadline, he has to do an interview over the phone. For that purpose, he has rigged this combination of cordless hand set, digital recorder, tiny ear phones, and tape in order to capture the sound. It was very McGuyver of him, and it's done okay for him for the past couple of months.

But he scoffs at himself: "If I had bothered to actually look at the handset, however, I would have seen the big yellow speakerphone button."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I left Emmie with Scott for the afternoon, so that I could go do that thing called work. I called home to see if there was anything I needed to pick up on the way home.

"No, but let me tell you what I did today."

Uh oh.

"I gave Emmie a bowl of ice cream, but she didn't eat it. So I picked up the bowl, which was all melty, and slurped down a huge mouthful... only to have my throat start burning."

"What happened?!"

Emmie is what happened. She had won a "prize" of air freshener at a giveaway earlier that day. I don't know what it's supposed to freshen, since it smells like strawberry-freaking-beer. But anyway. She had decided not to eat the ice cream. She had decided, instead, to "freshen" it.

"I swallowed a whole mouthful!" Scott exclaimed, and I burst into laughter. "I had to call poison control!"

Poison control had to research the brand to make sure it wasn't going to kill him. Ultimately, he's fine. But if you get a whiff of strawberries-and-beer over the next few days, you know where to look.

Augusta, Ga - Sleep-deprived, we show up at the clinic for treatment of an apparent ear infection that kept Emmie up all night (and me with her).

Of course, right now she feels just fine.

"Dis is a plie (insert accent mark)," she says, and demonstrates. "An' watch DIS!"

She spins around, then folds her arms with a look of intense self-satisfaction: "How 'bout DAT!"

"So, anyway, uh... She was sick all night. Crying from ear pain, and we're exhausted."

I glance over at her, practicing a tendu against the wall, in the hodge-podge of mismatched clothing that culminates with a shiny, quilted, pink, fur-lined vest.

"Okay, I'M exhausted. And mommy let her dress herself."

The Physician's Assistant grins and glances sideways at me: "Mommy's dress is on inside-out."

I look down. Dang.

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Augusta, GA. - We're starting our morning with gossip.

"You guys, Corey Haim died," KJ says.

"Which one was he?" I ask.

"He was a 'Lost Boy,'" BO answers.

"Yeah, but which?" I ask.

"The cute one," KJ answers.

"Umm...." (neither were particularly attractive to me)

"The blonde one," she clarifies.

"He was a total methhead, wasn't he?"

"Oh, he was a horrible drug addict," she answers.

"Well, that'll getcha," I answer. Drugs bad.

"Yeah, they're saying accidental overdose," BO says. "But I guess almost anytime you die, it's accidental."

"Nice, B."

Augusta, GA. - Emmie's just out of the bath tub, running around in her "Memo" towel.

"Mama? Do you wanna smell me?"

"Sure, honey," I laugh, and inhale at her neck. "Mmmmm. You smell like flowers and rainbows and unicorns."

"Do you wanna smell my bootie?"

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Come on."

"No, thank you."

"Come on."

"No, sweetie."

"I promise you it won't be stinky."

"I believe you."

"Just smell it."

"No."

"Come on. Just one time."

"Emmie, I do not want to smell your bootie. I'm sure it smells like flowers, but no thanks."

"Maybe Daddy will give you some candy," she sings.

"No, I don't need any candy."

"Mama, I promise. It won't be stinky. And you get candy. Really."

"No, ma'am."

"Please."

"No."

"PRETTY please."

"NO. Emmie. I do not want to smell your bootie. That's it."

She begins to walk away, dramatically dejected, when an idea occurs to me: "Actually, why don't you go ask Daddy?"

AUGUSTA, GA. - Out of only six entries submitted to the national competition, Metro Augusta Parent Magazine won four awards this year from Parenting Publications of America (PPA).

"I am extremely proud of the award winners. To take home four national awards out of six entered is phenomenal. It truly proves their talent level and dedication is second to none," said Bryan Osborn, group publisher for the company that produces Metro Augusta Parent Magazine, The Metro Spirit, and Bites & Sights.

The award underscores the talent and hard work that goes into each issue. Without the passion that drives the staff and contributors, the 40,000 women who depend on us each month to bring them the most honest and entertaining information about parenting in Augusta would be left wanting. The magazine has won a gold award every year for the past five years.


Editor's Letter
Silver: Amy Christian, editor
The judges said: "This column takes an interesting stance and then explains it to readers as a way of starting the conversation. This is a strong voice driving the publication."

Amy Christian is a perennial winner in this competition. Last year she won a silver award for her story about Richmond County School Superintendent Dr. Dana Bedden. Read some of her recent columns here:

* Managing the transition
* No longer little

Inside Illustration
Silver: Leonard Zimmerman, illustrator
The judges said: "An unusual drawing style and an interesting vantage point bring the reader into this illustration and successfully reflect the lighthearted tone of the text. The colors of the children's shirts contrast nicely with the background color."

Leonard Zimmerman is a talented painter, graphic designer, and illustrator. While this is his first PPA win, he was part of the Wierhouse creative team that took home more than 30 ADDY Awards at this year's ceremony. Take a look at his work below:

* Robots' meaning is in the eye of the beholder
* Nominated for Metro's Best Visual Artist
* Joint effort



Profile Writing
Silver: "Year-long Learning ... and Then Some," Eric Johnson, staff writer; Amy Christian, editor
The judges said: "An effective and efficient (column-length) look at a remarkable private school that perseveres by sticking to educational priorities and human principles, with a compelling figure at the center of the tale. Convincingly demonstrates that "alternative education" doesn't necessarily mean something way out of the mainstream."

Eric Johnson is a solid and enthusiastic news and education reporter, whose profile of C.H. Terrell Academy is just a single drop in an ocean of quality work. This is a first PPA award for this writer, who studied fiction writing with Pulitzer Prize winner Richard Russo.


General Feature Writing
Gold: "Intensive Care, " Stacey Hudson; publisher; Amy Christian, editor
The judges said: "From the beginning, readers are drawn in to the story about a family in the midst of crisis with a father's life in the balance. The writer openly talks about the choices she made with her own family in dealing with the situation and uses professionals to explain how children respond in such situations. This is a great combination of memoir writing and service journalism all wrapped into one touching story."

Stacey has previously won for her pregnancy memoir, "Rabbit Done Died"; and for a look at the irrational suspicions that plague parents those first days of day care called "Miss Rachel Must Die." She doesn't know why all of her award-winning pieces mention death in some way.

"Are those Reese's Peanut Butter eggs, or just chocolate?" a pregnant M.L. asked.
"They're some of each. But we're not telling you which is which," I grinned.
"That's okay. I'll just eat them all."

Augusta, Ga. - Emerson attended a school-wide sock hop at her elementary school recently. Emmie and her friends were having a blast when I arrived.

At 4 and 5 years old, these kids are still at the point when all they desire is love and attention. So those who recognized me ran up for hugs and exclamations over their hair, their clothes, their accessories, their general fabulousness, while Emmie jumped up and down beside me, shouting, "Das MY mommy! She's goeend dance wif us!" Uh, no, she's not.

And then a little girl walked up with something in her hand.

"Miss Emerson's Mama?" she asked. "I couldn't come to Emerson's birfday party."

"Oh, that's okay," I assured her. "You can come next time."

"Wull, I bring her a present," she said, and handed Emmie a cellophane bag. Inside was a giant pickle that she had purchased from the concession stand with her last two snack tickets.

"Ohh, DANK you!" Emmie exclaimed, and gave her friend a hug. She looked at me uncertainly. She really doesn't like pickles. But she gave it a cautious nibble before trying to hand it back with a frown. Oh, I don't think so.

I leaned down and murmured in her ear: "Your friend gave you that pickle as a gift. You will not hurt her feelings. You will take four bites with a smile on your face, and then you may give to me to hold for you."

And she did! She took those bites, put the pickle back in the bag, handed it to me to hold, took her friend by the hand, and lead her back to the dance floor.

And three days later, when I pulled the bag out of the fridge and tried to toss the pickle in the trash, Emmie took my hand and put me in my place.

"My fren' gib dat to me as a present. You don't frow presents away, mama."

So we put it back. And it stayed there until two days ago. Then Scott ate it.


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Augusta, Ga. - Scott has been working all day, and I'm not sure he's eaten a thing. He's really tearing into dinner that I cooked (asian pork with edamame and baby carrots). Emmie's sitting at the table with him, and suddenly she exclaims:

"Good God, Daddy! You really eatin' da CRAP out of dat food!"

Whoa. There is a moment of shocked silence as Scott and I lock eyes, and then I do the worst thing possible. I burst into laughter. I laugh so hard that I send myself into a coughing fit.

"Mama, why you laffeend?!" Emmie says.

"Good God, did you hear that?" I ask Scott with a chuckle, and then stop. Oh. So THAT's where she got it from.

Aw, crap.

We're just a small family, the three of us, and we've always had a close, attachment kind of parenting style. We're not slack on the discipline, but we focus on helping Emmie make the best choices, as opposed to requiring that she do what we say. (Of course, at the end of the day, the best choices are the ones we'd have made FOR her, but it's all in the presentation. I hope...)

We have always involved Emmie in everything, having her tag along wherever we may go - work, friends' visits, community events - desiring to expose her to as much as possible, within reason.
We want her to be knowledgeable, comfortable, and confident. We don't want to expose her to things that will confuse her. That's one of the reasons I rolled up the car windows today, despite her protests, when some dude pulled up next to us on Wheeler Rd. His car stereo was crooning, "Ah, birthday sex... Yeahyeahyeah, birthday sex," and he bought the car stereo system THAT GOES TO ELEVEN. (Thanks A LOT, dude)

But maybe we still aren't being the role models that we could be. Because I remember when saying "crap" got me a pop on the bottom. I didn't understand it then, but I am within reach of comprehension now.

So, for Lent, I'm giving up a few of my favorite words and phrases: "crap," "good god," and "mother of god." I'll consider giving up "son of a biscuit," but I haven't made up my mind on that phrase, yet. I'm definitely keeping "for crying out loud."

I'm sure I've forgotten some things that I should stop saying. Mother of God, I'm sure there are other aspects of our crappy parenting that can be improved, for crying out loud. Like our constant sarcasm, and our inability to take things seriously.

But happy Lent, everyone. Here's to all of our efforts to change the bad habits we've fallen into. Good God, I hope you beat the CRAP out of them!

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Augusta, Ga. - Scott's talking about Tiger Woods' press conference, which is scheduled for later today.

The speculation - especially in this home of the Masters Tournament - is really over the top.

"I know how we could get rich," Scott says. "Start a Tiger Woods channel."

"Nah. You wouldn't have any sponsors," I reply.

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Augusta, Ga. - My husband has psoriasis like you wouldn't believe. I've bought him a multitude of creams and lotions over the last five years that I hoped would give him some relief. But a couple of months ago, I got an idea that finally paid off.

Super Skin Softener / Psoriasis Stuff

1. Buy a bottle of oil. We used Neutrogena's unscented seseme oil, but you can use just about anything that won't make you smell like a roast turkey. I know a woman who uses straight olive oil on her hands, elbows, feet, and hair. It works, but it's not for me.

2. Buy a tall container of coarse sea salt. The brand doesn't matter, but the texture does.

3. Buy a small transparent or translucent container with a covered spout and an attached lid. I picked up a small plastic measuring pitcher for $1 in the kitchen section at Wal-Mart, but anything will do. Just make sure the lid is attached so that you don't have it slipping around all over your tub; and it has to be translucent so that you can see whether the salt is mixed properly.

4. Fill the container halfway with salt.

5. Finish with oil, leaving an inch open at the top.

6. Shake well.

Voila! Just a few drops make enough to use everywhere - except your face - and a supply of moisturizing exfoliant that will last for months. One use, and my ashy winter skin turned these tree trunks I've been scratching back into real, live, lady legs. Just remember to shake well before each use.

Total cost: $7


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Augusta, Ga. - Emerson has pneumonia, and has been instructed to eat only light foods - like saltines and chicken soup. But by Day Four, this child would take down a buffalo and eat it raw if we'd let her out of the house... in South Dakota. Anyway.

So we let her "choose her choices," within reason, for dinner. She chose French Toast from 3 Squares. But I didn't know that it came with a packet of butter and a side of fatty bacon.

"Sorry, Doodle, but the doctor said to stay away from oily foods."

She let me take the butter. But I was getting that bacon over her tiny, 5-year-old, dead body. I could swear that she took a chomp at me. Ooookay, then.

"Fine. But later, when you're frowing up, I'm going to do this..."

I danced around and shook my bootie, singing "Nyah-nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah-nyah!"

She grinned and giggled: "Dass not nice, Mama. Den I'm goeend punch you in da belly!"

"What?! I don't think so, young lady," I said. But I knew she was going along with my humor.

Not 20 minutes later, she went into a torrent of deep, growling coughs. At the end of the spasms, she clutched her stomach and made a mournful face: "I ammost frow up, Mama!"

I jumped up and shook my bootie, dancing in a circle: "Nyah-nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah-OOOOOFF!"

Well, she warned me.

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Augusta, Ga. - With Emerson sick with pneumonia, I'm not in a cooking mood. We had frozen pizza for lunch, if that tells you anything. Hint: we don't much care for frozen pizza around here.

But tonight, I was in need of a healthy meal. Enter fast food - no, not THAT kind. I'm talking even FASTER than that.

Here's my recipe, and it may be the shortest thing you've ever seen:

• 1 box Near East Couscous with pine nuts and olive oil (you can sub a flavored rice, if you want, or even orzo).  Cost: $1.49
• 2 boxes Gorton's grilled lemon butter salmon fillets (or any kind of fish fillet, heck, I don't care). Cost: 2 for $3.
• Half-a-bag of leftover bag salad (mixed greens, spring greens, Mediterranean, spinach, or something else dark green and leafy. Iceburg and romaine will not do). Cost: Maybe $2.50 a bag, divided into two separate meals. We had the first half on Sunday.

1. Chuck the frozen fish filets into a skillet on medium heat, with a drizzle of olive oil to keep them from sticking
2. While they're cooking, start the directions on the back of the couscous box. Put the water on to boil, dump in the spice packet, and add some chicken bouillon and a dash of garlic to the water.
3. Divide the leftover bag salad onto the plates, drizzle with a tiny bit of vinaigrette (I used honey mustard vinaigrette, but you can use anything not too sweet or too strong. If you're wearing your fancy pants, and you have Meyer lemon vinaigrette, that would be amazing).
4. The water should be boiling, so pour in the couscous. Give the couscous mixture a good stir, then take it off the burner, cover the saucepan with a lid (or a plate, if you're like me and couldn't find the dadgum lid). Let sit - AND DON'T TOUCH IT - for five minutes.
5.  Finish cooking the salmon.
6. Fluff the couscous with a fork, all the way through, then divide on top of the salad on the plates.
7. Chuck a salmon fillet on top, and voila!

Total prep time: However long it took me to open two boxes and a bag.
Total cook time: 10 minutes, give or take
Verdict: Emmie had never had couscous before, and she ate every bite.

Emmie knocked off my boss's Phillies bobbleheads off his desk the other day and broke them. I was SO PROUD that I was able to seamlessly Super Glue them back together, until I brought them back today.

"You messed 'em all up," Bryan said.

"Nuh-uh! They look great!" I argued.

He laughed: "You glued a bat onto the pitcher's hand!"

We've been working on The Pledge, since the first time Emmie told us she was learning. Now Emmie says:

"We pludge jaleegabence
To da flags
Ub da uninnah stays subamerica
And toodarepuggic
For witches dance
One nation
Under God
Inndebissabull
For libercheesus for all"

I don't know where libercheesus is, but I want to go to there. Right now.

Alice says her sweater is from Japan.

Augusta, Ga. - We're all excited about the snow. It's been 8 years since we've really seen accumulation. So far, we've been disappointed. Reports from North Augusta, Evans, and Hephzibah have all included snow. We're surrounded by the white stuff, but get none of it.

"No, there! It's snowing," insists Jason.
We peer out the bank of windows at the front of the building.

"Huh... Is that what that is?" Alice muses.
"Yeah. That's called 'snow,'" Jason grins.

"Oh, shut up," she retorts, and jokes around, trying to catch some snowflakes on her tongue.

"That one was pigeon poo," Jason grins.

She goes back inside.

Emmie says:

I plujaleegence
To da flag
Ub da uninestaysubamerica
And toodarepuggic
For witches dance
One nation
Under God
Inndebissabull
Wif ladies in just a bra

 "Mama, why da witches dancing? Do dey lub America, too?"

*snicker* "Yes, honey, I think they do."

"Oh. Das cool... Why you laffeend?!" she yelled, angry that I would even dare.

"Um..." *snicker*

"Stop laffeend, mama!"

"I'm sorry, honey."

"Seriullsly, mama. Why you laffeend?"

"I was just surprised that you didn't ask about the ladies in just a bra."

"Maybe dey getting dressed for da witches' dance... MAMA! WHY YOU LAFFEEND AT ME?!?!"

Hoo, boy. I can't wait to hear what she makes of "o'er the ramparts we watch were so gallantly streaming."

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Augusta, Ga. - The ballet teacher is going around the class having all the tiny dancers introduce themselves with a clapping game.

"My name is Julia," clap-clap. "And I want candy for Valentine's Day."

The teacher is Tammy Westofer, and her husband, Benji, used to dance with my husband.

"My name is EmersonReneeMcGowenHudson," Emmie says, setting off giggles from the observing parents. "An' I want candy AN' chocolate for Valentine's Day."

"I know your family," Miss Tammy says.

"Uh-huh!" Emmie answers. It's Augusta, after all. She's had this happen hundreds of times.

"I know your daddy," Miss Tammy says. "Did you know that?"

Emmie nods enthusiastically: "Yeah! 'Cause he's SCOTT HUDSON WGAC!"

Oh, my lord...

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie had her first ballet class today at the Augusta School of Ballet. One five-year-old, and four adult relatives to watch her spin around, act out various animals, and run around bumping into the other girls in her class. It was awesome. But it was very little ballet.

"This is your dance bubble," Miss Tammy explained, demonstrating the space around each dancer, into which other dancers are not supposed to cross.

Emmie chased the other girls around while bursting their dance bubbles. "Pop! Pop! Pop!" she shrieked, happily.

"Let's try our battement tendu," Miss Tammy said, demonstrating the graceful pointed-toe motion.

"Watch dis!" Emmie cried, and did a spinning leap, nearly smacking her elegant young classmate, Julia, in the head.

"Let's listen, and dance to the music," Miss Tammy said, playing a CD of music cues for various movements.

Emmie squished her face against the mirrored wall and made silly expressions to make the other girls laugh.

"Dat was fun!" Emmie said, when class was over. "I'm a ballet girl! I'm goeend ta come back nex' time!"

Yes. We'll definitely be back. And maybe Emmie will actually take a break from clowning around, and try a few dance moves. If not, well, at least she is getting over her crippling stage fright. O_o

Augusta, Ga. - Emmie and I were making dinner, and I wouldn't let her cut a potato with a "real" knife.

"I'll be very careful," she pleaded.
"No, ma'am," I said, firmly. "It's too dangerous."

She sighed, wearily: "Mama, I so tired of you telleend me wut ta do."

I couldn't help but laugh. I remember that feeling. It's like a world full of no. But I tried to explain.

"I know, Doodlebug. But that's my job. It's a mommy and daddy's job to tell you what to do, until you get old enough to tell yourself what to do, the right way," I said.

She looked hard at me: "But who gib you that job?"

What a great question! I answered with a simplified concept I knew she'd understand, as opposed to a long monologue about social contracts and primal instincts: "God gave me that job."

She furrowed her brow and shook her head in obvious disapproval: "Hmph. I goeend talk to God about dis."

Augusta, Ga. - I got home on time last night (for once). Emmie and I cooked a curry (see previous entry), and she was just SO sweet. She pulled her chair up beside me as I was cubing chicken, and climbed up beside me with her little plastic knife.

"Whatcha doing, Em?"
"I'm helping!" she answered, happily, and then she attacked and mangled a red potato.

We chopped (and mangled) all the vegetables. And then, under supervision, she browned the chicken, poured in the ingredients for and stirred and simmered the sauce, and set the table.

We poured orange juice for everyone, then she served our plates at the table with delicate little scoops of curry. She served herself chicken - AND BROCCOLI with no prompting!

She beamed, proud that - except for chopping - she cooked dinner and served it. Of course, cleaning fell mostly to me. But she helped with that, too... a little. And before I put the leftovers in the fridge, she just had to have two more bites.

Then we took a bath, read books, and snuggled until she fell asleep. It wasn't a big, special day; but it was a little, special day, with lots of wonderful, sweet moments with my newly-turned five-year-old. I am so proud to be her mom!


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Augusta, Ga. - I came home to find that my husband was about to do something horrible: He was about to fry chicken!

Okay, I love fried chicken. But I've been SO good lately, that I asked him if I could cook instead. He said yes - like he was really gonna argue. But then I realized that I had no idea what to do with two thawed chicken breasts and some random odds and ends of vegetables, not one of which measured up to a full serving of jack squash. (hee... see what I did just there? hee?)

Stew, I thought... no, that's boring. Stir fry? Too predictable. And we just had rice last night. And then I saw the box of jodhpur lentils that have been sitting in the cabinet for about six months.
 
They issued a challenge, and Emmie and I answered by whooping bootay.

Here's the recipe I made up, accompanied by my usual meticulous attention to measurement and detail. Please note the complete absence of salt, most fats, and the ability to go completely low-carb. You won't need any of that stuff:

Ingredients

• Some chicken, thawed and cut into cubes
• Some vegetables, cut into bite-sized pieces. We used broccoli, potatoes, and carrots; but I can imagine black-eyes peas tasting amazing in this. Also consider: onions, turnips, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, zucchini, squash, green beans, lima beans, butter beans, and sweet potatoes
• One regular sized can of tomato sauce
• One 8-oz can of evaporated milk (note: NOT sweetened condensed milk; but if you're wearing your fancy pants, you can substitute coconut milk, or similar)
• Light butter/margarine/Promise/I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, olive oil, or something else that will keep the chicken from sticking to the pan
• Yellow curry powder, cumin, garlic powder

Cooking Instructions

• Melt butter and brown chicken cubes, while microwaving any vegetables that are particularly long-cooking (potatoes, carrots, etc.) for about 5 minutes
• When chicken is mostly brown, add about a tablespoon of curry powder, two teaspoons of cumin, and a teaspoon of garlic
• Finish cooking chicken, microwaving veggies longer if necessary. You want them a little underdone. They'll finish cooking when they simmer in the sauce.
• Pour the cans tomato sauce and evaporated milk over the chicken and stir well
• Simmer for a few minutes, then taste to see if you want more curry, cumin, or garlic. Think about black pepper, but you don't have to use it
• Pour in vegetables that were microwaving, and any that weren't
• Simmer for 10-15 minutes
• Think about throwing in something that will add some crunch, because it is kind of a stewy mess - maybe peanuts, almonds, water chestnuts, raw celery or other cruciferous vegetables. We didn't do that, but that's what was missing from the dish. Next time, I'll add water chestnuts. 
• Serve over instant brown rice, on a bed of spinach leaves, or by itself (which is what we did, with the lentils on the side)

Total prep time: Maybe 10 minutes - it would have gone faster, but Emmie was "helping"
Total cook time: Maybe 20 minutes, 'cause I had everything going at once
Total satisfaction level: High - and I mean Emmie even ate the broccoli! That's saying a lot. Heck, she tried to lick the sauce off her plate!

So try this healthy, veggie-and-fruit-packed low-carb, low-fat, high-flavor dish with your family. It's definitely one we'll be revisiting!