I’m making Walter Reeves’ recipe for homemade suet for my winged friends. Don’t want them going hungry in the snow, and i love the variety of birds a suet feeder gives me.
He also has a neat idea for making your own feeder. Not going to undertake that today. . . .
Things are a little crazy in DogwoodWorld today. Fun stuff like oil change, kid drop off and pickup, dry cleaning, canvassing the n’hood while getting a “run” in (it felt like some kind of Survivor challenge, where you had to put the flyer in each mailbox in the fastest time. Lots of run, stop, run, stop. People gave me some strange looks.
So, posting might be sporadic this week with all the things i have going on (Dekalb education cuts, school newsletter, parents needing help moving big stuff around, Valentine’s day parties. You know. Life.)
In the meantime, think Mardi Gras. Think of wearing the fun Mardi Gras hat. It makes everything feel festive.
Love,
Dogwood Girl
I’m attending a community planning meeting this morning to help save programs at my child’s school. Then helping my parents move some stuff at the new house. Then? Then, Todd and I get to go to our friend Lucy’s Mardi Gras party. Lucy is a Mobile native and they have a party every year. This is our first chance to attend, so we are very excited. Anyone have a great Mardi Gras-themed appetizer or side dish recipe?
And in honor of Lucy’s Mobile Mardi Gras party, i thought I’d post a link to information on the Library of Congress’ American Folklife Center’s website about Mardi Gras in Mobile.
I could seriously spend two weeks straight going through all the awesome stuff digitized at The Library of Congress’ site.
I’ve written about Bunco, already. I was skeptical at first about a bunch of suburban women sitting around throwing dice and drinking wine, visions of 1950s Bridge Clubs, cucumber sandwiches and petit-fours in my head, but I love my Bunco group.
We had Bunco last night. It is usually on a Thursday, but this month, we had it on Friday. I think we all knew that would be both a good and bad thing, in the vein of “it seemed like a good idea at the time to finish off the bottle.” There is something scary about 20 women getting together without husbands or kids for drinking on a Friday night, with few Saturday obligations. (Jenn and Megan, i am so sorry about those ill-timed birthday parties and Math Bowls!) It is even scarier when half of them are dressed in 1980s workout gear.
Tara wins for creativity. Quite a feat to show up pregnant with twins, unable to drink, but wearing a Lakers outfit with matching high-heeled Converse kicks. The Converse, found for $3.99 at Value Village, were the hit of the party, and I am not sure who they ended up going home with after we all tried them on, but somewhere in my neighborhood, there is a husband (or a Kathy, perhaps?) who last night probably thought, “Aw, yeah! What do we have here?” and then quickly found him or herself clutching the covers, sucking a thumb, wondering when, oh when, it would be over.
Our hostess, Stacy H., managed to dig her original 80s dance clothes out of her attic, including some crazy knit bodysuit, and even more amazingly fit into them. I would be terrified if anyone tried to fit me into something, anything, i wore in high school. Shiny headbands, leg warmers, and off-the-shoulder Flashdance sweatshirts were de rigueur.
And then there were those of us who just showed up in our sweats and tees, there for the booze and the dice.
The wine was flowing freely (and I am thanking god today that I chose to bring beer last night), and we got started rolling late, so by the time we were done with three rounds, we were well in our cups. I know that everyone thinks i mean tipsy, but people who are a little tipsy don’t accidentally lock themselves in their neighbor’s bathroom, unable to get out. Twice. Wine glasses were smashed, and music was cranked up. Of course, I am kind of a music snob, and I had never heard half of the songs because I don’t listen to 95.5 The Beat (Lisa, you would be in your element, here), but it really doesn’t matter, because I am missing the dancing gene anyways. The one that makes women get tipsy and dance with each other? It just doesn’t come naturally to me. These girls? They got the gene.
So, instead, i enjoyed watching them do the Beyonce dances, while drinking beer with Lauren (she danced a bit, but evidently does not quite have the gene either) and Stacy’s husband Mike, who oddly enough, went to my high school. Mike had hit the mother lode, as he had a bunch of drunk women dancing for him in his living room. We ladies also may or may not have broken things and then made Mike clean them up, taking pictures of him when he bent over to sweep up the glass, but that part is a little fuzzy.
A good time was had by all, and i rolled into bed at almost 3.
Did i mention the food was great? Lots of great Weight Watcher’s choices. I managed to stay within my extra points for the week, which is a bit of a miracle. I just can’t eat anything else until Monday morning. But I will have no trouble abstaining, now that I know there is a chance I could really work hard and take care of my body, and do a lot of that “She’s a Maniac” dance step, and someday get a slot in the lineup of the Bunco Hos Solid Gold Dance Revue. . . someday.
A girl can dream.
I attended the Dekalb County schools budget meeting with Tonna, the parent of one of Rollie’s classmates. We got there and were amazed at the number of police and news crews. Parents, dressed in red to show their support for their kids’ educational programs, were everywhere. Most of the teachers were wearing black to protest the budget cuts. We went in and sat down, started talking to other parents. It was sad to hear how far-reaching these cuts would be, how it would affect Montessori programs, magnet programs, pre-k programs, special Ed, the Arts, music, and P.E., and it was heartening to see how many parents actually care.
We sat with some other parents from our own school. Before the meeting, people were allowed to sign up for a chance to speak for two minutes, with 30 people getting slots for a total of one hour. The hour went by quickly, though, with parents, teachers, and citizens concerned over their property values carefully and respectfully laying out their arguments against cutting schoolhouse programs. There were some tears, and there were some sharp points made concerning the size and cost of the central office, but i was amazed at everyone’s civility. (Needless to say, I did not speak.)
Some Arguments for not cutting educational programs:
This last point seemed to me the most salient: We should not throw away the future of our county to make stopgap budget cuts; there are other ways to make budgetary cuts that will not negatively impact education and property values in Dekalb County for so many years in the future.
Across the board, parents and teachers alike seemed to agree that the Board needs to look to the central office for their budget cuts. I have been looking for specific numbers on what the central office administration costs are and have had trouble finding those numbers. I have been told by word of mouth, though, that there are hundreds of administrators at this level making over $100,000. It seems ludicrous to be paying salaries like this when we have a budget shortfall.
I know one area they can certainly make cuts with little effect to our childrens’ education: The Magnet Office. I have had the opportunity to interact with them on an issue with getting my son into the Magnet program, along with following up with the director of that program on improving the processes and procedures for Magnet lottery in the future. Please believe me when I say that one Magnet official cannot screw up the lottery process any more significantly than two have managed to do already. These folks are inept and are not earning whatever salary it is they make already. I am sure that this ineptitude is spread throughout the central office in many different scenarios.
One final note: After the meeting last night, a group of four Evansdale parents (myself included) went up to Paul Womack, our Board of Education representative. We wanted to introduce ourselves, and let him know that Evansdale parents are concerned about our programs being cut. Mr. Womack was polite and took the time to speak with us. Other parents voiced their concerns. He listened. I asked him to please, “just do the right thing for our kids.”
His reply? “No, I will not do ‘the right thing.’ I will do what is right. There’s a difference, you know. You think about it.”
Are you kidding me? That is the most bullsh*t politician-speak i have ever heard!
He then proceeded to tell me and the three other women i was with that we were coming at this from “an emotional standpoint.” Sir, why don’t you just come out and call us hysterical women? Really? Really, Mr. Womack? I am sorry if I am getting a little emotional about threats to my child’s educational opportunities, and my property values. I am sorry if I get a little emotional when I think of folks making over a $100,000/year, while I see the programs in my child’s school possibly being cut.
I told him that we wanted to see the top-heavy central office experience cuts before they cut out our kids’ programs. I told him that we understood that in hard times, hard decisions had to be made, but that cuts they make to our school programs would be much more palatable if we also saw that central office was giving up plenty too. He assured me that we would see large central office cuts. I will be watching for those. And if I don’t see them, Mr. Womack? Don’t worry. I will do my darnedest to stay unemotional when I go to the polls in 2012.
Videos from last night’s meeting:
I took a few photos on Tuesday when we attended the Tucker tree lighting. Todd was working late, so the kids and I hit Matthews Cafeteria. It was great and if you haven’t had it, you should check it out. Old school southern cooking, kid-friendly, and very time-warpy. We know I love a good time warp.
Todd met us and ate the kids leftover dinners (Too much excitement! Christmas Trees! Other kids from School! Santa! Can’t eat anything, but will suck down a lemonade like nobody’s business!) and then we headed up main street, across the railroad tracks, and into the roped off section of downtown Tucker. Kids were running around willy nilly in the glow of Christmas lights. Shop owners were giving out hot chocolate and coffee and candy canes, and the Tucker Lodge (Masons, i guess?) had a tent and fires set up for roasting marshmallows. The Tucker tree was beautiful and lit in colored lights.
The kids roasted their marshmallows and went back to have smores made, and then we ate them across the street on the curb and people-watched. I ran into the new consignment furniture store run by the Tucker Arts Guild, Regroup Furniture. Pretty good selection. I came back out and the kids were running in circles, chasing each other and generally looking wild-eyed, while Todd was talking to our old East Atlanta neighbor, Howard, who is a cop and his beat is our new neighborhood. We see him at least every couple of months, which is nice.
We sat and looked at the tree lights, and then Tiller had a meltdown and we headed back for home, skipping the Santa they had set up in the frame shop. The kids didn’t even notice, thank goodness, as we would never have gotten home.
It was fun to see my friends and neighbors, and for the kids to know people walking down the street. I love that small-town community feel that we get here. The whole thing reminded me very much of the Christmas Tree they had in downtown Alpharetta when I was a little girl, all magical to my little eyes.
I just wish that Tucker had some carolers and maybe, just maybe, a bar. Or at least a liquor license. Or a glass of wine with my din din. It’s like the worst of both worlds – No Christmas Carols, no nativity scene, no menorah, and no booze. Bah humbug, Tucker, but i love ya, anyway.
Things are so different now than they were when I was a kid, but then i am always surprised that some things stay the same.
Rollie’s class went on a field trip to a farm. They did a hayride, and made corn husk dolls, and Rollie got off the bus wearing an Indian feather headband, and carrying a pumpkin. (Or Punk King, as he called them when he was little.) And, instant timewarp, it was like Alpharetta First United Methodist Kindergarten, 1978, all over again.
I am bummed I can’t find the picture of me in my indian headress and with paint on my face. I know I have it here somewhere. . . Mom?
I have to admit that I was surprised that they still do this. I would have thought that someone would have complained about how offensive it is for 6 year olds to dress up like Indians. Me? I remember that i just thought it was the most awesome thing ever. Hope Rollie felt it too.
I love a good time warp.
Last night, we took the kids trick or treating, despite the misty rain, and the mud, and the fact that the Gators were still in the midst of kicking Georgia’s ass. Sometimes, it is better to just walk away and eat candy and drink beer.
Rollie was a mummy (Not that fun a costume to put together, and even worse to remove! Like the old school costume ideas, though.) and Tills was a cheerleader. We went to meet neighbors a couple of streets over for a neighborhood tradition. A family has always done a pinata before trick or treating. It started with just a family or two, but over the years, has ballooned to tons of neighborhood kids showing up to take a shot at the pinata. I think they even have two pinatas, one for the big kids and one for the little ones. So many people show up that I dropped candy off the day before to help out. The whole thing is a ball of candy frenzy, but so much fun. It gives the parents a chance to group, pour themselves a drink (everyone has a cup or a rolling cooler with them), chat while the kids wait in line for their turn to whack the pinata, and to check out all the costumes in the floodlights of the driveway. When the pinata finally cracks open, candy rains from the sky, and the scramble for booty begins. One mother in my neighborhood aptly referred to it as “like a scene out of Lord of the Flies.” I loved that book! Perhaps not for everyone, though.
After that, we all give our thanks and head around the loop to trick or treat. The bigger kids race from door to door, their parents yelling, “slow down! It isn’t a race! Wait for your sister! You’re going to trip over something cutting through a dark yard like that! Don’t ring that doorbell! Porch light off means they aren’t giving out candy!” The shrieks and yells carry through the night, echoing off the houses. The parents walk down the middle of the street, then weave to one side or the other, depending on which house the kids are going to. Occasionally, the kids stop at the parents to yell excitedly that a certain house gave a certain something awesome. Some houses have scary stuff – motion-activated sound machines or mummies and vampires that pop up when the kids approach the steps. One got Tiller so bad that she turned around and ran back across the yard, to the sound of myself and todd roaring in laughter. Parents drag coolers or wagons or push strollers (they make great drink transportation!) The little ones get tired about 3/4 of the way and start dragging and wanting up to be carried or in the wagon. (“Baby, Mama’s cooler’s in the wagon. You better keep walking.”) We finally finish the loop and head home, the kids wild-eyed and digging into their candy before we get there. We visit the old folks around us, which we should have done before going to the pinata, but damn it, Mummies are hard to wrap. The old folks make over the kids and the kids stumble over their words trying to explain everything that they saw, and who was dressed up as what.
Then you get home, and you let the kids have some candy. (Yes, we are terrible and limited their intake right before bed. We wash off mummy makeup and take off saddle oxfords and tights and tuck them into bed, visions of pumpkins and candy dancing in their heads.
Then we rummage through their candy, and pour ourselves a drink. Finally, we walk out into the carport to blow out the candles in the pumpkin and step on a pile of muddy shoes, twisting our ankle and bumping our head on the brick wall, our screams of agony resonating throughout the neighborhood under a Waxing Gibbous moon. We limp back to the couch with the help of our husband, who brings us a water, Ibuprofen, a bag of frozen fruit, and a beer. We prop our foot up, icing it and watching The Night of the Living Dead.
I did my time at the inflatable slide. I had to be the bad cop, yelling at kids to go one at a time, and feet first, and stop pushing and all that jazz. Things that came out of my mouth: “I see you back there.” “No wedgies.” “It’s not nice to roll your eyes at the slide master.” “No, I don’t own this slide. I wish!”
I also had the pleasure of working the slide with beta club students from the local high school. I really don’t talk to a lot of high school kids, so it was interesting. They even confirmed a suspicion that Todd and I have had for a while: Hobos are so in.
Rollie had come home from school recently and was constantly talking about hobos. He had learned about them from a kid on the bus. We discussed hobos, and what they were. Rollie thought they were people who were poor and who steal. I tried to explain to him that his idea of hobos was not really accurate. Mostly I tried to understand how the hell these kids had learned about hobos in the first place! Since then, i have heard other kids down the street talk about hobos, and it’s come up a few other times. Todd and I started wondering why they are all talking about them, other than the obvious answer that they talk about it on the bus.
So, the high school kids and I were talking about costumes, because the kids at the festival wear their costumes, and i asked them if they still dress up and trick or treat, or go to parties, or whatever. One girl said her friend bailed on her, because the friend thought it was stupid. I asked her what she was going to be and she said “a fairy who had lost her wings.” Her costume sounded v. subversive. And the boy? He was going to be a hobo.
I was like, “what is the deal with hobos?” And the girl said, “They’re just kind of in.” So strange. I think i need to be a hobo zombie pirate tomorrow.
After I got off duty, I headed to the cafeteria for a dinner of bbq sandwiches, baked beans, and squash casserole with the fam. Not bad.
Highlights of the evening included doing the cakewalk with Rollie and i won and he got to pick the cake and he picked homemade chocolate cupcakes and we did high fives and it was awesome. I also enjoyed it when Tiller’s balloon animal (a dog she creatively named “woofie”) came unwound and turned into just a long balloon. She cried and cried, wearing her pigtails, and her saddle oxfords and white tights and cheer leading outfit. I held her and then told her we would find the clown and see if he could fix Woofie up. We did find the clown, but the line was so long that i just went up and watched him make a balloon dog and tried to mimic his actions. After three balloon dogs, I had it down, and it was one of those perfect parenting moments where you know that your kid thinks you can fix absolutely any problem that comes down the pike. She looked at me with her eyes big and tears still wet on her cheeks and i said, “Betcha didn’t know that Mama can make balloon animals, did ya?” And she shook her head side to side, and looked at me with awe, then i handed her Woofie. She hugged him to her chest and laid her cheek on him and then put her arm around my leg, and said, “I love woofie.” We walked back to the car in the dark mist, just me and her, hand in hand, her clutching Woofie. The whole way home, she held Woofie, and petted Woofie, and told him it was okay, he was going home with us.
When we got home, Woofie sat with us as she and I had a cupcake together at the kitchen table that belonged to my Grandfather. We sat in only the light of the fixture over the table, just like Pop would have done at 9 pm on a Friday night. (At least until Friday night fights came on.) Woofie sat on the sink while Tiller had her bath, and then she hugged Woofie while I read SkippyJon Jones to her. I had to convince her that Woofie would be better off on the bedside table than in her arms while she slept. She loves Woofie so.
I decided not to tell her that Woofie is deflating as we speak, and that he probably wouldn’t be around come Monday.
My Mom came to my house yesterday and last night, she took us to dinner at S&S. If you don’t know what S&S is, it is just like Morrison’s, except they don’t have the same lemon pie that Morrison’s had every Sunday after church when I was growing up. I got the usual, a veggie plate. It is awesome, and when you go at 6 pm, it is you and all the blue hairs, which i love. Sure enough, I saw my neighbors there. It love that where i live, I often run into my neighbors – makes me feel like I live in a small town in the city.
Afterwards I drove over to the liquor store, because darn it, my basement flooded and Mama needed a beer. Since Mom was there, I was able to leave her and the kids in the car while I went in. This is good, because nothing says classy like dragging your three and six-year-old into the liquor store with you, except maybe doing so with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of your mouth.
When i got back to the car, my mom was cracking up. I asked her what she was laughing at, and she proceeded to tell me about the discussion she and the kids had while I was inside.
Tiller: “What is Mama getting?”
Rollie: “She’s buying beer. And Wine. And Spirits.”
Yes, Rollie can read now and had read the signs on the buildings. Luckily, I was at a nice liquor store, otherwise, it would have been, “Mama’s buying beer, wine, nails, pagers, wings, lottery tickets.”
Hmm. I say “Liquor Store.” What do you call it? “Package Store?”