Falling down. The love story that wasn't.

Once upon a time, there was a cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady, who happened to have a crush on a garbage man.

True story.  He was a really cute garbage man, and he only smelled like a garbage truck sometimes was also very polite and respectful.

This cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady would often see the garbage man in her place of employment, and would admire him from afar.

You see, she had to admire him from afar.

Because every time she came within 15 yards of him, she fell down.

Like those fainting goats, but not really.

For some reason, being in the near vicinity of this particular garbage man would make the  cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady trip.

Every. Single. Time.

And fall down.  All the way down.

Every. Single. Time.

The first time it happened, the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady was walking up to talk to the handsome garbage man.  You know, just a "Hey, how's it going?" kind of walk-by thing.  Very casual.

The cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady found it difficult to pull off casual while lying prone on the floor.

After the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady scrambled up and away, making sure to keep her skirt pulled down and most of her dignity intact, she successfully avoided the handsome garbage man for several weeks, even though he frequented her place of employment regularly.

Finally, the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady worked up the courage to approach the handsome garbage man again.  As she was walking toward him, casual smile at the ready, the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady tripped and fell down.  Again.

The cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady found once again that casual smiles and lying tangled in her own feet did not go well together.

The cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady decided that - ALAS - it was not meant to be and managed to avoid the handsome garbage man for a really, really long time.

Until one day, the handsome garbage man asked someone else about the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady. As the third party was relaying the information to the cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady, her heart began to flutter.  Maybe it was meant to be!  Until cute, single, hard-working, fun-loving lady heard what the handsome garbage man had asked.  He said, "Whatever happened to that girl that falls down all the time?  I haven't seen her here in a long time."

The end.  No, really.  The end.


This post is inspired my Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  And the cute, married, hard-working, fun-loving lady wrote this post from a completely upright position.  Which just goes to show, she ended up with the right handsome car salesman  prince after all.

Thankful.

Me:  Zj, do you know what Thursday is?

ZJ: It's tomorrow. Right?

Me: Well, yes, but do you know what holiday is tomorrow?

ZJ:  It's Turkey Day!

Me: Well, yes, it's Thanksgiving.  Do you know what Thanksgiving is all about?

ZJ: Umm... Turkeys and stuff?

Me: Well, not exactly.  Thanksgiving is a time to celebrate all the things you are thankful for.  (Insert inane chatter about pilgrims here). 

ZJ:  Oh. What's thankful?

Me: It means you are glad to have something in your life.  Like your family.  Most people are very thankful for their family.  Can you think of something you are thankful for?

ZJ: Well, I am thankful for tomatoes.  You know, the  little kind that are round and red but not round like balls.  More like eggs.  You know, the ones that look like little red eggs.  I'm thankful for those.

Me: And you're thankful for your family, too, right?

ZJ: Well, yeah, but mostly I'm thankful for tomatoes.

This post is brought to you by Mama Kat's Writing Workshop and tomatoes.  You know, the little egg-shaped ones.

Chess pie. Because it's Pie Week.

I KNOW this isn't a picture of chess pie.  There are exactly two reasons I did not put a picture of pie here. 1. I forgot to take one. 2. I forgot to take one.  Also, chess pie is pretty ugly.  But it tastes good.  Really.  I guess that's three.  Whatever.  Stop being so judgey.

The Pioneer Woman is hosting Pie Week.  Really, there's nothing bad about that.  If I would have been married in any sort of traditional wedding (either time), and if I would have had a traditional type marriage reception, I would have had a wedding pie.  Because I don't really like cake.  Anyway, back to me.  This is a really easy recipe for chess pie that I have used a dozen times, and it is delightful.  It's RJ's favorite, and that's saying a lot.  

WHAT YOU NEED:

1 prepared unbaked pie crust - now you could go all crazy domestic here and make your own, but that's just sort of insane.  The ones that come in the freezer section are perfectly fine.  

2 cups white sugar - this is NOT a low calorie recipe

5 eggs - it ain't low in cholesterol, either

2/3 cup buttermilk - it's best if you just stop thinking about nutritional value at this point

1/2 cup melted butter - oh, for goodness sake, I KNOW.

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

WHAT YOU DO:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  Mix together the sugar and flour, then beat in the eggs and buttermilk until it's blended. Last, mix in the melted butter and vanilla.  Pour it into the pie crust, and bake it for approximately 45 minutes.  The top will be a golden brown color, and it should feel firm and slightly spongey to the touch.  

Eat it all, with a fork, in one sitting and then spend the next 47 days on the treadmill to make up for it.

Superhero Tuesday.

Crazy ocd Mama likes to keep the superhero figures sorted in the following manner: Three inch Marvel figures in a red bucket.  Oversized Marvel figures also in a different red bucket, and DC figures in a blue bucket.  And if that makes any sense at all to you you are just as crazy as I am.

The one where I try to out-redneck a redneck.

I read a great post last week over at The Jammie Girl about how her family is more redneck than yours.  Well, it may be more redneck than yours, but I beg to differ that it's more redneck than mine ;-)

She mentioned that her competitive spirit kicked in whenever someone mentioned a redneck tale.

Did someone say competition?

Oh, girl, I'm in.  Here goes nothing.

Back in the nineties when Jeff Foxworthy was at his prime, I remember I didn't really get his humor. There was one particular instance when he had a special on tv that my then-boyfriend was dying to see.  He drove his 1967 Chevelle (primered, no hood) to the country store up the road for some Hot Fries and Mountain Dew and arrived at my house promptly at eight.

As we were watching, Mr. Foxworthy would make statements like "You might be a redneck if directions to your house include 'turn off the paved road.'" Umm... that's not funny, that's true.   I lived on a farm for the first twelve years of my life that was approximately one mile from anything paved.  Also, it was not only a gravel road, it was a one-lane gravel road.  So, say someone was coming and someone was going at the same time, then one person or the other would have to back up.  A mile.  Also, on this gravel road, there was a cattle guard and a gate that had to be opened in order to pass.  In cold or rainy weather, negotiations about who would have to get out and open the gate would begin soon after turning off the pavement.  I don't remember if there was a really a system, but I seem to remember my Sis B doing more than her fair share of gate opening.  Martyr, that one.  Always has been, always will be.  Anyway, moving on...

Mr. Foxworthy would also make statements like "If your family tree doesn't branch, you might be a redneck."  Ok, I'm not going to go into all the sordid family history here because a) it's mortifying and b) it's mortifying, but here's what I can tell you.  I  have a first cousin who is also my second cousin.  And that's just the one I'm willing to talk about on the internet...

More from Mr. Foxworthy: "You might be a redneck if going to the bathroom at night involves shoes and a flashlight."   Again, not funny, true...  The house I grew up in did not have running water for quite some time, and we used, you guessed it, an outhouse.

Ok, here's the last one, even though I have a true life story for most of Mr. Foxworthy's one-liners.  "If you've ever had to postpone the family reunion until after the parole hearing, you might be a redneck."  I went to a very small elementary school (K-8 in 5 classrooms, about 100 kids total) and one of the highlights of eighth grade year was usually a trip to the local courthouse and jail.  The year I was in eighth grade, however, the trip was cancelled because it was determined it might be embarrassing to me and another classmate of mine, since we both had MULTIPLE family members who were currently incarcerated in the local jail.

Ok, that's all I'm willing to admit to at this point.

Hi, I'm MJ, and I'm a redneck.

Sarcasm: apparently, it's hereditary.

"Too bad I don't have a tomato to throw at your head."

"Mama, let's pretend you are on fire."

"Where's a Japanese restaurant when you need one?"

"For dinner I want those, you know, chicken arms."

"Hypothetically speaking, you are not the ONLY boss of me, you know."

Superhero Tuesday - The Basket of Doom.

The Basket of Doom - where all broken superheroes go to die.  Or maybe someday get glued back together, if Mama can get off Twitter long enough to find the superglue.

A Cause.

I don't do causes.

Bandwagons - not my thing.

I have fallen off a wagon or two in my day - you know, I'm a farmgirl, but that's neither here nor there.

I'm not much of a joiner.

I'm always a season or two behind on what the hippest new cause is.

But one day I opened my email and saw a link from Huggies about it's Every Little Bottom campaign.

I read every word on the site.

I Googled it and read every word I could find about it.

In typical me fashion, I walked away from it, thinking "Oh, how sad" but knowing that other things would soon consume my oh-so-important thoughts.

But...

They didn't.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I had read.

About how one in three women in America - America, for goodness sake - struggles with providing enough diapers for her baby.

About how women have to keep their kids home from daycare, thus missing work, because they don't have enough diapers to send.

About how one in twenty - this is someone you or I know, people - clean and reuse dirty diapers because they don't have enough money to buy new ones.

I could not stop thinking about it.

And I still can't.

My kids have, and always have had plenty.  Sometimes I think it's probably too much, but what a problem to have.

I am thankful for that.

And I am thankful that the fine people at Huggies have taken up this cause.

It's really easy to help.

If you use Huggies Diapers, and you are an Enjoy the Ride Rewards Member (and why wouldn't you be?), you can donate points toward the Every Little Bottom Campaign.  Two points = one diaper.  Sixteen points = one baby diapered for one day.  It's easy, and it's free.

I donated all my points, and have been scavenging for new ones.  If you have some stuffed in a drawer somewhere, send 'em to me and I'll even enter them for you.

You can also donate diapers directly through Amazon's Every Little Bottom Wishlist. Not free, of course, but still easy.

The Every Little Bottom website also lets you enter your zip code and shows you local diaper banks you can make a donation to.  And God forbid you are in need yourself, you can also find out where to get help.

So, I guess I now have a cause.

Help me out, would you?  I'm kinda new at this.


This is not a sponsored, or endorsed, or in any way compensated post.  The nice people at Huggies do not know who I am.  Although really they should, considering how many of their diapers and wipes and Pull-Ups I buy in any given month.