New word for the day:  Horrification.

What is it?

The feeling that consumes you when your father-in-law, who has gargantuan hands, holds up one of said hands to give perspective to the size of the freaking banana spider in his yard.

What is a Banana Spider, you ask?   Go here for specifics.  First, and most importantly, they are NOT venomous (except for the Brazilian kind.)

Secondly, the female’s legs can exceed 5″ in length.  Oh dear God.

Thirdly, they tend to put their webs (very pretty, which gives them their secondary name of “Golden Orb Spider”) at human eyelevel, which is fantastic for catching flying critters like bees and moths.  It’s also fantastic for encompassing your whole face when you’re walking around, just minding your own business.  When this happens, you will know you’ve been slated by the God’s to be punished for some reason.

When we took this picture, there were four males surrounding this particular female spider.   In case that one enormous insect wasn’t enough to give you complete and utter horrification.

Which brings us back to our word of the day.

Horrification:  The desire to run away hysterically while yelling unintelligible words and possibly peeing yourself a little bit.   Synonym:  the Willies.

To conclude:  Mama doesn’t like Banana Spiders.

My friend Bonnie and her daughter Megan took me to brunch today.  Bonnie and her family are so much fun to hang with.   I bust a gut just about every time we’re together.  And at my girth, that’s saying something.

Bonnie is practically family.  She’s My Captain’s best friend’s sister, which makes her technically my sister twice removed. Or something like that.   I love her to death.  She was Critter and Varmint’s 3rd grade teacher.  They like her a lot more now that she doesn’t give them homework.

They took me to a restaurant called The Buzz, in Monrovia-where-the-hell-is-that-Maryland.  “You’ve GOT to try this!” was all she said about the place.

Friends, she was right.  I had a sandwich called The Zookeeper’s Grilled Cheesus Ole, and it lived up to its name.  Check this out:

This crazy concoction has goat cheese, cheddar cheese, and Provolone cheese, guacamole, bacon, and ‘ghetto lettuce’, which turned out to be Doritos.  I’m not kidding.  DORITOS nestled right up on in there.

Doritos IN my freaking sandwhich.

I ate every stinkin’ crumb.

(Please don’t tell my doctor.)

Buzz by The Buzz.  You can find directions and the menu HERE.

Love,

Mama

So My Captain and I spent last week visiting his parents, Goggy and Papa, in Southport, North Carolina, and one of the things we did was collect gifts to bring back to Varmint and Critter.  Other than the obvious, obligatory ‘stupid t-shirts,’ we went to Varmint’s favorite bakeries and bought her favorite sweets.   In the process, we came upon a new bakery, and decided to see if there might be something in it she might find new and interesting.

Understand, Varmint is a cupcake aficionado…. One does not simply ‘eat’ cupcakes with Varmint.  One has divine EXERIENCES with cupcakes with Varmint.

So when we came upon the bakery Bella Mae, in Southport, and found something called ‘Cracker Jack Cupcakes’, I knew we had hit a winner.

This mother/daughter bakery was sponsoring a fundraiser for a local baseball team, and whenever they sold these particular cupcakes, donated funds toward those kids’ baseball experience.  They incorporated ‘Cracker Jacks’ in the motif as a nod to the favorite American pastime of baseball! As wonderful as that concept is, you have to see this cupcake for all that it is:

Vanilla cake, salted caramel butter cream icing, Cracker Jack toppings, and caramel drizzle.   What a fantastic combination, and so creative!

(But I’m awfully glad they didn’t go with a hot dog cupcake motif instead!)

Bella Mae also specializes in all kinds of nut brittle, but since Varmint is still sporting braces on her choppers, that was a big, “No.” Maybe next year, sweetheart!

Bella Mae’s in Southport, North Carolina….nestled cozily behind The Smokehouse Barbeque Restaurant.  If you’re in Southport, be sure to hit it!

Now, before you jump on me for getting SUGAR for my kids as gifts, I have to tell you that I expect my kids to GRAB life, LIVE life, and EXPERIENCE as many new things as possible as they grow up.  And if that means the occasional Cracker Jack Cupcake, then I’m ALL IN.   I love my punks to death, and promise I cram a fair share of broccoli and avocado down their throats.  But if something like this special treat comes their way, you can be darn sure I’ll give them that, too.

Life is meant to be LIVED.  There is always a time for discipline, or moderation, and restraint.

This is not one of those times!

Love,

Mama

We were driving down the road to the Cape Fear River, bathed in the golden early morning light, and I was so groggy in my pre-caffeinated mind, that I could barely think in a straight line.

Until I saw this sign.

I sat bolt upright with the adrenaline of a toddler who’d been given espresso, my eyes sparkled with the excitement of a hardened crack addict about to get their fix, and my toes started to cramp.

(I can’t really explain the cramping toe part.)

Papa parked the car, and I tripped over myself to get out.

As soon as Papa’s car door opened, the scent of fresh baked pastries hit me in a punch of buttery, vanilla-y, sugary goodness.  We hadn’t even gone into the store yet, and already my Fat-Senses were tingling. (Fat-Senses?  They’re like Spider-Senses on Spiderman, or Bat-Senses on Batman.  We all have our own super powers.  Don’t judge.)

As soon as we walked in, we could feel the benevolence and nurturing that is Burney’s Bakery.  The hot coffee fumes in the air mingled with the deep fryer’s oil.   Papa and I felt the waves of love wash over us. I whimpered with the exuberant joy of a puppy as I pressed my nose up against the glass and shook with excitement.  I did everything but pee on the floor.

Our eyes were filled with the glorious artery-cloggers before us.

The tarts and cakes and pies!

The cupcakes!

And the spanking fresh doughnuts!

But then, through the corner of our eyes, we spied the Holy Grail of carbohydratic delight, and everything else faded into the background.

There, dancing and frolicking in the deep-fryer, were the true treasures of this bakery.

They were not doughnuts frying.  They weren’t hushpuppies, or French fries, or fish sticks.

No, my beloved friends, your eyes are not deceiving you.  That wonderous magician of a baker is flipping her deep-fried butter CROISSANTS.  I’ll say it again:  Deep. Fried. Buttery. Croissants.

Which she then lifted out to drain, and then washed in a gushing waterfall of pure sugary glaze.  I fainted.

After Papa gallantly and lovingly scooped me off the floor, we watched as the glaze slowly hardened.  Then the gentle, sweet, nurturing baker violently crammed them with fillings ranging from Boston Crème, Chocolate, Raspberry, Strawberry, Cherry, Blueberry, Lemon, and Apple, to plain white frosting,

and had the gall to ask us which ones we wanted.  AS IF we would not be taking some of every single flavor.

We were, after all, taking these back to Maryland specifically for Varmint and Critter.

And yes, those are only two children, but we didn’t know exactly what flavor they would want, and feared we’d miss the mark.  Papa is, if nothing else, anxious to spoil, as any good grandfather is.  So we got one of every deep fried stuffed butter croissant they had to offer.  And a few other things, for good measure.

Including one of Varmint’s favorite all-time flavors of doughnuts and cakes: Red-Velvet.

Is this love, or what?

Or maybe gluttony.  I’m not sure what the difference is, frankly.

We thanked the lovely bakers profusely, and left with our three big boxes of artery-busting, renal system crushing, pants-seam punishing gifts of edible love.

Burney’s Bakery in Southport, North Carolina……Do. Not. Miss. It.

(And bring us back a box!)