Monthly Archives: April 2013

On our way home from our Work Weekend at Pop-Pop’s Cottage, My Captain and I made our traditional stop at Holly’s Restaurant on Kent Island.

Why is this place, around since the mid ’50’s, our traditional stop?  Three very good reasons:

1) Potty.  Always Potty before the bridge.  I learned this before I was 5 years old, and it is still excellent advice to this day.

2) Fried Catfish.

3) Fried Green Tomatoes.

Every time we come home, we stop and address all three points at Holly’s.  My Captain adds one other tradition.  It’s kind of an imperative for him.

Every time…Every. Stinkin. Time…we stop at Holly’s (which is SEVERAL times a year, mind you) he has to play their ”Find All Fifty States” game on the place mat.

It’s the same ding dang game.

It never changes.

And he plays it every time.

He takes it very seriously, and cracks me up entirely.

If I could get past how cute it is that this middle-aged, heroic, quietly unassuming manly-man plays this over and over and over, I might realize that he is doing it to get out of having to make inane small talk with me.

Fortunately I can’t get past how cute he is, so it’s all good.

He has a little race with himself to see how many states he can find before the ‘maters get to the table.   How cute is that?  Once he and I raced eachother to see who could find the most states before our ‘maters arrived.  Talk about competitive!  He killed me.  I think I found Ohio, and that was it.

On a different note, do you have any idea how difficult it is to make fried green ‘maters look palatable with your husband’s phone’s camera?

You’ll just have to believe me that Holly’s fries them up JUST right.  I like to put a little salt and fat laden Ranch Dressing on ’em, you know, just to round ’em out.

They are seriously worth the stop if you find yourself going Westbound on Route 50 in Maryland near the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.

And whatever you do, make sure you leave enough time to play the place mat State game…..

Our little town has a Facebook page, and it’s a fantastic way for people to take the pulse of our community. We find out who lost a dog, whose kid won a sports event, whose husband was seen dangerously speeding down the road…that kind of thing.

It’s also a venue for our local businesses to hock their wares.  Why, I’ve even been known to shamelessly post a Mamaboe article from time to time.

It’s no holds barred, evidently.

There have been numerous postings about signing up for fitness classes or weight-loss programs; which, in and of themselves would not be egregious. Even I work out at the local gym. But to my chubby mind it seems they’ve been rather aggressive about it lately.   They aren’t,  “Come lose weight if you feel like it!” kinds of messages.  They are more like, “Hey, you fat slob! I can’t believe you haven’t stuck to your New Year’s resolution!  Aren’t you ashamed of yourself!?!  How can you stand to look at yourself?!” kinds of messages.

At least, that is the way I read them, which, you have to admit, might be slightly different than the way normal-linear-thinking people might read ’em.

Now, hold up a second, while I drag my soapbox on over here…..

I wish there were posts that read, “Hey You!  You are BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE!”  or  “YOU! YES, YOU!  Go out and be your awesome and amazing individual self today!”

That would be so much more beneficial to a society whose teens and pre-teens are over-burdened with the daunting task of trying to keep up with an artificially thin, media-supported, rather impractical female form.    Wouldn’t it be better if someone soft and squishy like me were plastered on the cover of Vogue with the message, “I double-dog dare you to find a more loving or comfortable lap!”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the Aunt Bee’s of the world were lifted up for our teens to aspire to and emulate?  Wouldn’t the concept of nurturing and selflessness and love be a more positive influence than to focus on what we LOOK like, or how our clothes fit, or what our resting heart rate is??

I’d like to think so.

I have a go-to phrase …  it’s kind of corny… but I learned it from my dad.  Whenever anyone asks me “How are you, today?”  I always reply, “Fat and Happy!”

Because honestly, true happiness lies in accepting who you already are, not who you wish you were.

And it certainly can’t be found in someone else’s definition of who they say you should be.

How am I today?

Fat and Happy, Baby!  Fat and Happy!

My Captain and I had a bit of  work  scheduled at Pop-Pop’s Beach Cottage this weekend.  It was wonderful to have a breath of fresh air and a change of venue.  It totally recharged our batteries, even if we were working!

I won’t bore you with the particular details of it, but instead will gloss it over with pictures of the sand and surf!

It’s ironic how keenly opposites attract.  Some people are of a naturally serious disposition.

These are the do-ers in life.

The ones who get things done.

These are the people who fix all the woes on this earth.

And then there is the other kind of people.  The ones who are rarely serious.  The ones who tend to, er, CAUSE, the woes on this earth.

But 9 times out of 10 these two completely different kinds of people find each other and mate.  Why?  Why does this happen so regularly?

Obviously because God has a very twisted and warped sense of humor.

God bless him!

God bless God?

Go with it, I’m on a roll.

I really and truly am not vain.  I promise.

It’s just that I have a couple of chin hairs that crop up from time to time.  I started with one when I was 30, and thought the world would end.  By 35 I had a couple more, and now at the ripe age of 45 I’ve lost count.  I tried electrolysis.  I tried laser.  But due to a lack of inexhaustible funding, I’m back to good ol’ fashioned plucking.

I don’t delude myself into thinking I’m the only middle-aged mom with chin hair.  And I certainly am wise enough not to base my self-worth on my looks.  But, there comes a time in a woman’s life when she just doesn’t want to worry that her husband will get a rug burn when he kisses her, ya know?

So every now and then I’ll feel my chin and if there is any prickiness there at all, out comes those tweezers.  I don’t care if I’m in the privacy of my own bathroom, or in a very public grocery store parking lot.  I’m getting that prickly bastard if it’s the last thing I do.

You never see men worrying about that kind of thing, do you?  Even My Captain has a freak runaway ear hair that he finds amusing, but you never see him dashing off to pluck it or pull it out.  (OW!) Men just don’t care.  And they will SAY they don’t care if it’s on their wife, either.

But let me ask you this, have you ever seen a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model with a couple of long, black chin hairs, or maybe a Fu-Manchu in the making?

I think not.

And believe you me, no soccer mom wants to be seen with a Fu Manchu, either.

But like I said, it’s not about vanity for me.   I don’t plan on applying to Sports Illustrated any time soon.

It’s just that I don’t like giving rug burns.

Because I’m thoughtful like that.

It was during one of the softball games in my Varmint’s double header today, that I found myself in a discussion on the bleachers with a parent who was quoting Shakespeare.  Only it turned out not to be Shakespeare, but rather from The Lord Of The Rings, which, when you think about it, is very like Shakespeare.  That is, unless you are actually familiar with Shakespeare, which I’m not.

What I’m trying to say is, how often do you get into discussions that even remotely revolve around long dead playwrites?  Not often enough, I say!  But don’t listen to me, I make my kids listen to Big Band music from the 40’s.

We were talking about my Varmint’s demeanor during the game, in that she was being very hard on herself, but extremely supportive and encouraging to all of her teammates.  She’d give her friends pats on the backs for their positive efforts, and then turn around and kick herself for missing a pitch.   The mother I was talking to was nodding as I described what I saw in Varmint and said,  “It’s like Shakespeare’s “I give hope to men; I keep none for myself.””

I liked that.

“I give hope to men; I keep none for myself.”

Which Shakespearian play was that in? I wondered aloud.  Several smart phone googles later turned up that it wasn’t Shakespeare at all, but rather Elrond and Arragon in The Lord Of The Rings.

Close enough.

That’s my Varmint for you.  A Shakespearian drama, wrapped up in a pre-pubescent contemporary fantasy, wearing eye-black and last year’s cleats.

I wouldn’t change a thing.