LET’S PLAY FAIRIES!

My niece Double A.

My niece Double A.

When I was a little girl, my favorite thing to do on the 4th of July was play fairies.

You don’t know how to play 4th of July Fairies? What is wrong with you!?

You light up sparklers for each hand and you “fly” around the field yelling “I’m a fairy!” I taught Double A this game last night, and we spread our fairy sparkle far and wide at the compound. I’m pretty sure it’s still glowing out there.photo 3(7)

Ian and Ben and my brother Mike bought ALL THE LOUD FIREWORKS KNOWN TO MAN and we blew shit up for hours. Well, they did. I lasted about 30 minutes. The skeeters like my sweet blood way too much. They apparently don’t even care if I bath in Off or Skin So Soft or Gasoline. It doesn’t matter. The want to suck me dry.  photo 1(9)

For a while, the entire county sounded like we were at war. I thought maybe the British were actually returning…and Paul Revere fell down on his job. But by 11:00, the bang, bang, booms had stopped and the world was quiet again.

I think everyone was excited we weren’t under a burn ban. I can’t remember the last time it sounded like that. I bet it’s been since I was a kid.

OMG. we used to have the best 4th of July celebrations when I was younger. Bonfires, roasted weenies, s’mores and lots of booms and bangs. This would have been the perfect year (weather wise, especially) to have brought back the Compound Celebrations, but with Jefe still down with the plague, it just wouldn’t have been the same. (you know he doesn’t feel well when he didn’t even come outside to blow anything up!)

Today, the kids are coming back to test out the waterproof fireworks in the pond and to blow up old toys. Good grief. We have created monsters! (Monsters of awesome)

I still have some sparklers left, so I shall play fairies one more time.

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Have a fantabulous weekend, bitches. I will be sparkling and fairying all weekend long. If you need some extra awesome, just stop by the compound. I have plenty to spare!

 

 

‘merica!

americaThe prodigal teen-almost-grown-ass-man and his friend have returned to the house. Just passing through, I’m sure. They have too many video games to play elsewhere to stick around too long.

I’ve heard from Rader and he’s have a grand ol’ time. He’s gonna be plum worn out when he gets home on Sunday. He better send me some pictures!

My grumpy bear is still down with the lurgy, so we are just having a very chill day at the house. I will do the John Deere thing (a girl should always have a back up date for a holiday, just in case her #1 choice catches the plague) John Deere always treats me right.

Since the big boy is home, I’m going to send him out to buy me some fireworks because we are not under a burn ban for the first time in years, and I’m gonna light some shit on fire. blow shit up. make things go boom.

Also, there will be sparklers, because I’m a girl and I love them.

Hope you guys are getting your 4th on in style. Let the gluttony and explosions begin!

Team America! Fuck. Yeah.

Independence Day…

Tomorrow is Independence Day in the US. And many of us will celebrate by eating too much, drinking too much, and blowing stuff up. Very American!

My kiddo is traveling with his friend to the lake where I hope he’ll have a great time. This is our first year sans lakehouse, since my parents sold their place in the winter. It sucks because I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at the lake celebrating the holiday.

Maybe I’ll buy a kiddie pool and just hang out in the sun. I could also jump on the trampoline. And then blow stuff up.

I was chatting with the mom of Rader’s friend this morning and she was giving me all the details of the trip, where they’re gonna be, and that there will be 2 pediatric doctors with them so I don’t have to worry. And I laughed and replied that I’m not a big worrier.

It’s funny, because you would think I would be a worrier, given the fact that child has broken his nose 6 times since he was 18 months old…And because he doesn’t seem to have any real fear. He’ll try just about anything– once.

But I don’t worry. He’s really a good kid. He’s one of the most respectful and smart boys his age and I’m so happy to know that I’ve done my job right. I get constant compliments on him. His manners, his charm, his sincerity. He is kind. (He is smart. He is important.) I don’t have to lecture him to feel like I’m parenting. I don’t have to demand things from him, and rarely do I have to yell at him. El Jefe and I were talking about it the other day, how awesome it is that both of the boys rarely need a lecture. We figure we have to “get on to them” about twice a year. And that’s usually because they slack off on their chores around the house.

Twice a year. heh.

It’s so nice not to have to yell about everything or threaten them. I love a drama-free life.

I have great kids.

School's OUT FOR SUMMER

It’s obvious I am being rewarded for being even more awesome in another life.

Now…who has a pool and wants to invite Jefe and I over tomorrow? We’ll bring things to blow up! And beer. We’ll definitely bring beer.

Happy 4th! Celebrate your freedoms. Even if you’re a woman, and your freedoms are slowly being taken away from you. Celebrate what you have while you have it!

flaggirl

friend and foe.

Mimosas. This mimosa is my friend.

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This mimosa?

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Taken at UALR

Not. So. Much.

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Coleman Creek, UALR

I forget that I have Mimosa Tree allergy. I love them. They’re beautiful and fragrant…and they make my eyes cry all the cries!

Years ago, when we bought our first house in Little Rock, our yard was filled with mimosa trees. And they were lovely. And I couldn’t see for almost 6 weeks. We thought I had developed an allergy to my contacts, so I stopped wearing them. My eyes were so light sensitive I actually had to wear those grandpa sunglasses that cover their glasses, even inside.

sexy.

sexy.

Yes. These. Except mine were a hideous dark green.

My eyes are so sensitive this week, I’m thinking about bringing sexy back with those bad boys.

And it’s my own freaking fault. I was checking out the sneaky snakes in Coleman Creek yesterday, enjoying the ambiance…inhaling the wonderful scent of the…OH SHIT. Mimosa tree that I was standing inches away from. Stupid Melf. You done lost your damn mind.

Oh well. It’ll clear up in a few days and if it doesn’t, I guess I’ll be getting me some prescription eye drops. Conjunctivitis is sexy. It makes my makeup run all down my face, like I was jilted on Prom Night.

Good thing I’m a natural beauty. haha

This weekend is Father’s Day and we’re having a cookout on Sunday.  El Jefe is Papa Bear and he’s fantastic with the boys, but they will be with their dad this Sunday. However, Stacey Jay and her fam will be hanging out with us! Because I cannot get enough of her. EVER. So we’ll be celebrating Big Daddy Mike Day. It’ll be awesome.

And I know there will be much laughter. Because that’s how we do at The Compound.

 

 

 

When Thin was In…

This is not a “bagging on the skinny chicks” post, so please, don’t take it that way. If you do, then you probably ought to do a little self examination of your own. Everyone needs love themselves for who they are…and to help myself with that,  I’m endeavoring to write more honestly, to use my blog in a way that will help me on my path to physical health. And part of good physical health is emotional health, and writing is very good for me emotionally.

And I need to explore my past to improve my future. Please excuse me while I slice open a vein…

I am an 80s girl through and through. And, if you were an 80s kid with me, you know that decade was not made for curvy people.

Every pant was high-waisted and tapered. No hips allowed. And for those of us with an hour-glass figure, we had to buy pants a size too big and then have our MeMa dart the waist by at least an inch. (what? Only me?) No wonder everyone thought I was fat. I was relegated to Chic and Lee Jeans. UGH. The horror.

il_fullxfull.452142843_dewy il_224xN.447391093_jv5g

Yes, I was told weekly by my basketball coach that I was fat and needed to get to a goal weight of 118-125. I weighed 135-140, was 5’6 and played 2 hours + of basketball a day.

But I was “fat” because I had tits, hips and thighs.

Mel 8th Grade BBall

Please ignore the mullet.

Look at “Fat Mel” from 8th grade. Yeah. I know. Ridiculous.

But think about what kind of damage hearing how fat you are when you weigh 135-140 lbs when you’re 14 years old. That number is always my “fat” number, mentally. So imagine how bad I felt about myself several years ago when I was 100 lbs over my “fat” number? Talk about self-esteem issues!

The other problem with the 80s’ idea of the perfect physical shape was the clothing.

I wanted to be the girl who could wear the White Patch Levis. You know the ones I’m talking about, right? The ones only the hot girls could wear? (At least, in my mind those were the only girls who could wear them. The skinny girls with no hips.)

il_fullxfull.297862858And I wanted to be in the club. I wanted to be a broomstick, not a brick house. Because in those days, girls were shamed into believing they needed to change their bodies to fit in. Coaches snatched our candy bars from our hands and told us we needed to eat more salads–NO DRESSING. Daddies told us we’d never find a boy if we didn’t lose weight and compared us to our friends. “Why can’t you be more like them?” It didn’t matter if the friend they were comparing you to was having sex, doing drugs, boozing it up, smoking cigarettes, or failing school… it mattered that they looked good in their basketball, softball, cheerleader, you name it Uniform. And of course, in their White Patch Levis.

I spent a lot of time covering myself up, trying to hide my body. I wore sweat pants and t-shirts almost everyday. I used the excuse of having only 5 minutes between the end of school and the beginning of basketball practice to change, but the reality was, my clothes became my wall. I developed a witty sense of humor and had friends from every walk of life (which I’m grateful for, to this day) and I pretended to not care what anyone thought about me. I got good at feigning confidence. But at night, when I was alone, I would flip through the Spiegel and Esprit  catalogs and pray that my hips would go away. Those magazine pages (especially the swimsuit ones) were tear-stained and ruined by the end of the 80s.

What a horrible thing to do to a child. To put such unrealistic ideals in their heads and to make them ashamed of their body shape. To try to force them into being just like everyone else. Those expectations are hard to overcome, even as an adult.

I’m 44 years old. I’m 60 lbs over my current ideal weight and I have never loved myself more, nor have I ever felt sexier.

But it has taken a LONG time for me to get here, and trust me when I tell you, I still struggle everyday with loving myself for who I am. Not because I’m not awesome (I’m totally awesome) but because in the back of my mind, I’m still the 14 year old girl who just wants to be skinny so people will approve of her.

I think we have come a long way in the fat-shaming world, BUT we’re not fully there yet. If we were, things like Mike Jeffries saying “fat chicks” can’t be one of the “cool kids” wouldn’t happen. Shaming children in any way is wrong. One of the things I swore I’d do as a parent was to build my kids up for who they are and teach them to celebrate their individuality and revel in the differences of others. And they both do that, rather well, thankfully.

I tell you all of this to let you know the reason I still struggle with my weight. Not because I’m worried about being “fat” because I’m not. I’m sexy. The dudes dig me (and the chicks, too, tyvm) and frankly, I dig myself. I struggle with my weight because ultimately, I want to be healthier. I’m a very fit fat girl. What I want to be is just fit. There’s always going to be someone who thinks of me as the “fat girl” and that’s okay. They can label me however they want, that’s their problem, not mine. I’ve spent 30 years overcoming trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations, but I’ve finally given up trying to please anyone but myself. That is so freeing.

Welcome to my world, folks. I’m a little damaged, but I’m not broken. My extra padding has protected me.

Hey USA! Happy Holiday Weekend!

Memorial-Day

Don’t forget to thank a veteran for the freedoms he or she fought for us to have.

 

 

 

 

Also. Happy Freaking Friday! Yay for the three-day weekend!

Last night at the Compound, we fired up Big Bertha for the first time since fall. Not because we don’t  grill year ’round usually, but because we had to use our porch as a storage shed, and poor Big Bertha was inaccessible until we finally got the boxes moved to the actual storage unit. Which we did a few weeks ago, and now, not only can we enjoy our Screened-in-Porch again, but we can enjoy grilled meat again as well.

Mmmmm. Meat.

Mmmmm. Meat.

I melted some butter and added an equal amount of balsamic vinegar and some garlic and I put the chicken and the marinade into a ziploc. I refrigerated the chicken for about 40 minutes. Then I basted the chicken in the leftover marinade while grilling.

OMG. It was seriously so juicy and tender!  I also grilled some green beans and black-eyed peas in foil with a smidge of bacon fat.  We ate well last night.

Congratulations to the Boy Scouts for kinda sorta not being homophobic. *rolling eyes* So what’s going to happen when your gay boy scout members grow up and want to be boy scout leaders? It’s okay to be a gay member (heheh she said gay member) but not a leader who is gay? Really? So isn’t that kinda like Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell? (which really didn’t work out very well, yanno). Or is it the modern version of Separate but Equal? No. It’s not that either. I guess I’m proud you tried to take a step forward. It’s more like a half-a-step and you twisted your ankle, but it is slight progress.

Today is a wonderful day. It started out swell, I’m full of sparkle and awesome, I’m having Sushi with my bestie from high school for lunch, and tonight, there will be wine. Tomorrow we may go canoeing. I’m pretty sure I’ll be shaking my bootay at some point this weekend. (When you have a bootay like mine, you need to shake it well, and often.) And I’m thinking there will be a trip to the farmer’s market in our future as well.

YAY SUMMER!

Hey Ho! It’s Monday!

I don’t know about y’all, but I had a pretty fantastic weekend.

First off, we had driving lessons #2 and #3 this weekend. Rader did great! He’s becoming a pro!

We’re practicing at Burns Park, so we took a moment to appreciate one of my favorite places while we were there:

Rader ran the Rocket 5K Saturday morning, so after our driving lesson, we came home and he seriously fell flat asleep at 4:30 and didn’t move until the middle of the night. Poor kid. He was beat up. Probably he was worn out from all his awesome. (he gets that from his mother…)

He didn’t run wearing the horse head, that belonged to a friend. He did, however, run wearing that awesome shirt.

Sunday I found myself itching to be outside and get dirty…so I planted stuff. Welcome to my salsa garden!

In the pots we have tomatoes and peppers. In the herb planter, we have sweet basil, dill, rosemary and cilantro.

My handsome domestic partner (heehee) helped me repair the herb planter… I like having a man who’s good with his hands at my disposal…

I saw my first snake of the season, too. It was a wee-itty-bitty thing. And it was magical…it disappeared right before my eyes! I hope it was a king snake and not a copperhead!

And just because, here’s your gratuitous Ruby pic. Isn’t she a gorgeous little hot mess?

Tomorrow we are heading to see the Travelers play! I love Dickey-Stephens park and this will be Jefe’s first experience with Traveler baseball! I can’t wait!

Hope y’all have a great week. Happy Monday!

things that make me…

Sad:

George Jones died today.

This song still makes me tear up. RIP George. If there’s a heaven, I hope you’re partying your ass off like the rock star you are! (and like you used to do…without remorse!)

THIS is being taught as SCIENCE.

It’s okay to believe what you choose to believe, but you should not teach your personal beliefs as scientific FACT when there is actual SCIENTIFIC PROOF that you are wrong is just plain ignorant. UGH. I fear for the future of these kids who are being taught this as science.

Things that make me HAPPY:

A CAT. IN A SHARK SUIT. RIDING A ROOMBA. CHASING A DUCK. It just doesn’t get more awesome than that.

Well, THIS might be more awesome. But only slightly.

Things that make me AWESOME:

Sassy pants. Sparkle. Humility. (LMAO) and a bag of Gardetto’s for Breakfast. (Hey, I almost chose the Chili Cheese Fritos. I think I made the better choice.)

I need a beach. Until I have this in real life, I’ll have to stick to imagining this is me and Jefe on our private island somewhere.