Don't Fence Me In

The East Texas sun was high in the sky when he stepped out of the house. Noah had been sleeping well past any respectable time to wake up and when he finally rolled out of bed, he found the house empty. He decided to investigate further and stepped out the front door into the blinding sunlight and heat that sucked the very breath right out of him. He blinked several times, looked around and finally spotted his father and uncle working on the tractor. He panned the property and spotted his mother cleaning out the van with his sister happily supervising the process.

After a few moments, he walked over to his father and his uncle, sighed and said, "I'm bored." They looked at him incredulously. "There is a pool, endless toys, a sister, a cousin, a trampoline, and a wide expanse of pasture. GO PLAY! ", replied his father.

"BOY! If you want something to do... get to work..." replied his uncle, "...there is plenty to do around here. Feed the chickens, feed the ducks, feed the dogs, help with the tractor..."

"Can someone take me for a ride in the golf cart?"

At this point, his father told him he would have to wait until later when the adults were done working but his uncle said, "You are big enough to drive that golf cart yourself. There's nothing you can hurt around here, get on it and get gone!"

And so he did. He took off in the golf cart down the road that divides the property into two pastures.

His mother got nervous and walked to the end of the driveway to watch him. Just as he was instructed, when he got to the end of the pasture, he turned around to come back. His mother observed as he then did what can only be described as an eighteen point turn and started back up the road toward the house. She sighed with relief. The eighteen point turn was funny and bordered on ridiculous, but at least he was being cautious.

His little sister then called for their mother's attention and his mother reluctantly- but partially confident that he was on his way back up the straight road- went to see what the little girl needed. As soon as she reached his sister, there was a loud bang followed by the sound of the boy crying in the distance.

She yelled for the boy's dad as she was sprinting down the driveway and then down the road. She arrived first to find Noah standing in the middle of the road crying. The golf cart was straddling the pasture fence. She did a quick assessment and discovered that Noah was crying more because he was afraid of getting into trouble than because he was in pain and she then calmly got on the golf cart and backed it off the fence to assess the damage.

By that time, his father and uncle had arrived. Noah was dubbed the "fence wrecker" and they began discussing repairing the fence and that it would have to wait until later in the day when it was cooler since the fence was in the direct sunlight.

Luckily, there was a spare fence post in the garage and all of the supplies needed to repair the fence were lying around the property so Noah didn't have to contribute any money from his savings. His mother did, however, require that he be present for and help with the repair.

We are thankful Noah was not hurt, that our family was such a good sport about the destruction of their fence and a mental note has been made by all not to let Noah get a driver's license until he is AT LEAST 21.

I still have no idea how he fell off of a completely straight road.

{the battle scar}

Coming Soon

I have just spent the last two weeks on-the-go, in Texas visiting family and have pretty much been without my computer the whole time. I have been quickly checking email and Facebook with my phone, but have not had the time to get the laptop out. We head out in the morning, on our trek back to New Jersey and when we get back and get settled in, I have plenty to talk about.

In the last two weeks, we have gone on little outings, attended a fabulous family reunion, visited with family and friends and taken loads of pictures! My son has: acquired three hermit crabs (much to my horror), neglected three hermit crabs, buried three hermit crabs and was deemed proficient enough in golf cart driving to drive my sister-in-law's golf cart all around the property by himself. And, by the way, that didn't end well. There is a story there. There are also photos.

See you soon.

Deep in the Heart (Corner) of Texas

The kids are in Texas with family and DJ and I are back in New Jersey, kid-free and not entirely sure what to do with ourselves. We are currently camping at the Jersey shore in our pop-up camper. It sure is quiet, and peaceful without the kids to contend with.

Last night, we spoke to Noah and Zoe on the phone. So far, everything seems fine, I have not heard of anyone crying for home, but Zoe does make it a point to mention during every conversation, "I want to stay with you guys." I keep reminding her that we will be there in a few weeks, and she lets it go.

Noah, on the other hand, has slipped right into life in the Lone Star State. Or perhaps not so much.

It becomes more and more apparent to us as the years go by that Noah is a Jersey boy through and through. Yesterday, he told his MeMaw he wanted some "water ice". She looked blankly at him and after some confusion and clarification, she took him to a sno cone stand. It was here that Noah gave the man working there a lesson in water ice and how it was made. And then proceeded to inform him that he had no idea why the product this man was pedaling was called a "sno cone" because it did not resemble snow in the least. He asked the man had he ever seen real snow and assured him it was nothing like this shaved ice he was placing in a paper cone for Noah.

What is "water ice" you ask? First you must learn to pronounce it properly- /wooder ice/. Now that you have the proper pronunciation down, you can educate yourself here and here. It is a regional name (Philadelphia area which includes South Jersey) for Italian Ice. It is like a slush or a sno cone, but smoother and with more liquid. Whereas with a slush or sno cone, you tend to suck all the juice out, leaving ice, this doesn't happen with a water ice.

So, if you are in the great state of Texas and you run into a small, scrawny boy, about 4' tall looking lost and confused and demanding his "wooder ice", please tell him his mother says hello.

And that she's eating a Rita's water ice as you speak.

Carnal Instincts

Have you ever had a moment ( or half hour or so) where all rational thought and self control completely desert you and you are overtaken by your primal instincts?

No, I'm not talking about THAT.

I'm talking about something even more basic to our needs, the very core of our survival.

I'm talking about food.

You see, I'm a bit of a picky eater. I have entire food categories I won't eat because of their texture, but this post is not about that, it's about one food group in particular. Meat.

I don't eat seafood of any kind. I only eat turkey if it is smoked. I don't like pork, except for bacon which I don't like to fry, so unless someone else is frying it for me (which is never) then I don't eat that either. So, it's safe to say that I don't eat pork. I also have a tumultuous relationship with red meat. I mean, for the sake of variety and sanity of my husband, I will eat red meat on occasion. Otherwise we would be eating nothing but chicken. But, I never just sit around and think, " You know what I really want? A nice juicy steak." It's just not something I crave.

In fact, I often think I could become a vegetarian without much loss.

Until I encounter barbecue. I mean, I was born and raised in Texas. Barbecue is in my blood- literally. The maternal side of my family was obsessed with barbecue and had their own family recipe for sauce. We had frequent barbecues growing up, complete with a pit made from a hollowed-out drum. Only charcoal was used for cooking. None of that propane stuff! It's pretty serious business to a Texan, and this former-Texan can tear up a brisket and pick a rib clean enough for presentation in a museum when prepared properly (i.e. smoked, tender and covered in a yummy barbecue sauce).

So, yeah. I don't encounter much barbecue in the northeast, thus I am fooled into believing I live this almost-vegetarian lifestyle. That is until the occasion presents itself (as it did yesterday) that we stop in at a Famous Dave's restaurant.

We were on our way home from the shore and stopped in for a late lunch. Upon walking through the front door, the smell of smoked meat and barbecue sauce overcame me. I felt weak in the knees. The primal instincts were kicking in. I swear I felt my incisors lengthen and sharpen in preparation for me to get my carnivore on. I don't remember much after that. The plate of food was set before me and I went into a frenzy. A little later ( I have no concept as to how much time had passed) I came out of my trance and looked around. My husband and children were staring at me horrified. I had meat in my teeth and barbecue sauce all over my hands and face. But I was sated, so, ignoring the stares of the rest of my party, I smiled and opened my moist towelette and began cleaning my hands and face. And fingernails. And a little out of my hair. And maybe a smidge that was in my ear.

Now, feeling completely in control of myself again, I began small talk regarding the flavor of the brisket, comparison and contrast of the different sauces and inquired wether or not my husband was going to eat his cornbread muffin. I was slightly embarrassed at the thought of what my husband and children might have witnessed previously, but decided it best not to mention it.

Everything seemed so normal. Perhaps it was a gross over-exaggeration on my part and it hadn't been quite so bad after all. Yes, I had quite convinced myself that what I had actually just experienced was a lovely meal with my family and nothing else.

I voiced just that opinion of the state of things as I was packing my leftovers into the container. Zoe reached her tiny little arm over mine into my styrofoam container and suddenly I snapped at her like a dog defending his bone. " STAY OUT OF MY FOOD, ZOE! YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE THE MEAT ANYWAY!" Two wide little eyes stared up at me and then she squeaked, "I want fry fry, Mommy."

" Oh, french fries. Alright. You can have one of those."