Cold Spaghetti

What could say ‘I love you’ more than that?

(holding for smart-ass answers)

Happy Birthday, Paul!

About two weeks ago, my friend Magpie posted a recipe for “Eggs in Hiding,” which she had come across while nostalgically flipping through old cookbooks.

EGGS IN HIDING

1 T. butter
1 can condensed tomato soup
½ pound American cheese, diced
6 hard-cooked eggs
1 cup cereal flakes, crushed

Heat butter and soup in top of double boiler. Add cheese and cook until melted, stirring constantly. Arrange halves of hard-cooked eggs (cut lengthwise) in buttered baking dish. Pour cheese mixture over eggs. Sprinkle with cereal flakes. Brown under broiler. Serves 6.

I know.  Awesome right?

Mag challenged folks to make it.  A few jumped to the challenge in an instant.  Me, well, fast is relative during Jazz Fest season but I managed to think ahead and make preparations over the weekend.  Tonight’s experiment almost failed between the kids stealing cheese while I’m trying to peel eggs, Kate’s diaper explosion and necessary immediate shower, Will coming in covered in mud, and Paul coming in covered in mud AND insulation… all while I’m suppose to be stirring continuously and/or watching a broiler.  But, I pulled it off!

I even took pictures.  (These were taken with one of the point-and-shoot cameras from the Photovoice project — I’m trying to get more familiar with them and the more I use it, the more fantastic a camera I think this is for the price.  But I digress.)

The recipe calls for American, but I used a domestic Cheddar (sounds fancy, huh?)  Also, I used two cans of tomato soup.

I didn’t want leftovers, so I only used 4 eggs.

Here’s the soup and cereal on top.  Will ate the box of corn flakes before I had a chance to make it, so we actually had to go and buy a second box for the recipe.

It’s under the broiler now.  Considering all the running around I did while it was cooking in there, I was surprised it didn’t burn.  Also, the eggs were made Saturday and had been in the fridge since then — but everything was warm through when it came out of the oven.

The finished product!  It had started to brown a tiny bit in the top center.

FINAL REPORT: They loved it!

No, really, they did.  And this is really saying something, as my kids make a point to try to starve themselves at dinner time.  But you don’t have to take my word for it…

We’ve lived here for 5 years now and we’ve just figured out Jazz Fest.

Here’s how it works.  You hang out.  You somewhat randomly wander around, meeting up with friends, checking out crafts and tents, getting food, and (of course) hearing music.  If you LET the magic happen, it will.

Here are a few random highlights that show a little of what we saw… I apologize that I did not capture in photographs more of what we did.  I was very busy dancing, listening, talking, eating, laughing… you know, doing.

Here’s Washboard Chaz.

Here’s Beausoliel avec Michael Doucet.  This is a few hours before Paul realized Mr. Doucet was standing directly behind me in the plantain and spinach food line. (You can click here to go and hear “Alligator Purse.”)

Gospel Tent… with typical Jazz Fest magic.  That’s Paul Sanchez in the back (see his black jacket and hat?) and Trombone Shorty.  The tuba?  He’s from Rebirth.  Apparently, they are buddies of the singer and came over to back him up on this bit.  We just happened to be walking by the tent when this started and a random photographer walked up to us to tell us that folks from Rebirth were backing up the singer and it was awesome.  We walked in and were thrilled to… “wait, is that Paul Sanchez?!” … before settling in for awhile.

By the way, if you haven’t heard it, I love Paul Sanchez’s song Sedation…

Friends Ecoee and Melody shared their brass pass… and we enjoyed the refreshing WWOZ tent, impressive fruit spread, and clean bathrooms.

Doc Watson and family.  Yup, THE Doc Watson.

And yes, they did Tennessee Stud.

The tent was PACKED.

We had to get the kids by 5 and with our regular tickets could not be re-admitted.  Instead, we picked up the kids and went back to Ecoee and Melody’s, where we watched Tony Bennett from their front porch.

We tried to impress upon Will the Tony Bennett coolness factor…

This is our view — that’s our white car on the street and a jazz fest flag flying from their porch to the top right.  See the stage, upper right?  That’s Tony in the yellow jacket.

The porch is fantastic for sound.  Things are a little loud when you’re in the field… but right outside?  Perfect, just right.

No, really, it’s him!

There he is, taking his bow.  The show was all standards and it was awesome.  He dedicated “The Good Life” to Britney Spears, which made me feel a little badly for Britney because I thought we were sort of over picking on her.  Ah, well, I guess when you’re Tony Bennett, you decide what’s in and what’s out.

By the way, it’s humid and well into the 80s and the dude was out there for over an hour belting out note after note, sounding JUST like he did 40 years ago.  Amazing.

Once everyone got back from the Fest, we had a great night hanging in the pool and talking while the kids played… without meltdown or fuss… until 10pm.  I can’t think of any stronger magic than that.

I’ve crossed into a new realm of parenting.

It was there, but I didn’t recognize it until now.

I’m in the midst of planning how to celebrate Kate’s 3rd birthday, which is Saturday.  Kate wants a birthday party and that simple request has melted me into a puddle of whine (no question now where Will gets it from).

But now I get it.  Will’s parties are SO DIFFERENT now.  When he goes to parties, it’s just kids.  Sometimes parents aren’t even there.  Just a bunch of kids.  It’s a real party for kids.

Kate’s age is different.  A party for her is a playdate where parents gather to party.  It’s a very different beast.  With a 3-year old birthday, you’re entertaining two age groups — plus, you’re more likely to have mixed ages of children as other siblings attend.  I’m realizing that it is hard to be simple when you’re worried about making everyone feel welcome and have a good time.

This is putting everything in perspective for me.  I think I would just invite one or two families over for cake, but Kate has been to a lot of birthday parties now and she knows the drill.  She has been asking EVERYDAY if her friends can come over, have cake, and “sing me Happy Birthday”.

Hi, this is my blog! It’s where I whine about annoying things.

Donna Reed would have never been this ridiculous.

(Photo by Will)

I am a woman with many irrational fears.  And three times as many pet peeves.

A few of the things I am irrationally afraid of:

— Driving off of a bridge and into a body of water with the kids in the car.

— Intestinal parasites that enter through the feet (oddly, I am not afraid of any other intestinal parasites).

— Kate falling off the slide/swing set/stairs/ladder or whatever else she has climbed up despite being half the size and a quarter of the age requirement.

— A child running into the street.

— The attachments to bicycles where kids ride? They are so low that I worry a car won’t see them.

— Someone breaking in the front of the house and I can’t the kids out of the back of the house fast enough.

A few things I am irrationally irritated or preoccupied by:

— Yard chemicals being tracked through the house on shoes.

— Mud on shoes or clothes getting on bed linens or furniture.

— Whether or not my pillowcase is causing me to break out.

— That I’m not diligent enough about the kids’ teeth.

— Dirty hands.

Lucky for me, the people in my life tolerate my craziness.  This means that they generally abide by my crazy rules.

— No sitting on furniture when you’ve been working outside, until you’ve bathed/changed clothes.

— No walking around barefoot outside, especially in rural areas.

— I have to brush everyone’s teeth.

— Unlocking the doors when we go over a bridge (one less thing to do if the car flies off).  When I’m feeling particularly crazy, I also get out the glass punch from the glove compartment and put it down my shirt or in my pocket until we’re off the bridge.

— Sleeping with one of the kids (sometimes both) when Paul is not around.

— Strict handwashing.

I try really hard to not be as crazy as I am.  In general, I consider myself pretty laid back.  I’m not afraid of getting dirty, I like mud pies, and have absolutely no problem with getting stains on things (I’m a master remover.)

Also?  I love walking in the rain.

Paul and I have limited Jazz Fest experience, all of which has so far been tremendously excellent.

So why would we want to bring the kids and ruin a perfectly good record?

At least, this is what we thought.

But last Saturday, the first weekend of this year’s Fest, we couldn’t help but want to have the kids there.  The Imagination Movers were the first act up on the Acura Stage and a huge masse of their friends (read: our friends) were going to be there, too. 

We sucked it up and shelled out the extra $5 to bring them.

Thank goodness. It was awesome.

The awesomeness was not in small part to our incredible friends. No really, these people can do all sorts of mind-boggling things like have crew passes so that they can sneak in boxes of juice drinks and get in birthday cakes with their booth exhibition materials and simply just be so cool that they know all the local celebrities and yet aren’t embarrassed by us when we show up with our flies down. Because we are just that kind of classy.

We hung out before the gates opened with friends who live right outside the race tracks.  (Yet another example of cool.) Fate took over and somehow we all met at the stage perfectly, a huge hodge-podge of families and friends taking over with strollers. We wore the kids on our shoulders and danced around as if none of us had ever experienced back problems. (Probably because we managed to send someone out for frozen cafe au lait and rosemint tea before the music started).

We love Imagination Movers.

Message to parents who are suffering from a household full of The Wiggles or Ralph (or, heavens to Betsy, Barney!)… CHECK OUT THE IMAGINATION MOVERS.  You will thank me.

We hung out with an Imagination Mover spouse.  (A friend of our friend Kathryn, whose husband was the original “Warehouse Mouse” in early videos and who now does crew stuff for the band… the Movers gave a shout out birthday wish to her son during the performance… see what I mean about the coolness?) Years ago, Kathryn introduced me to her at a music performance at Tulane (a girls’ night from long, long ago).  Can you guess which Mover she’s married to?

I love people who understand the importance of accessories.

But I’m not giving anything away.

Nina, one of the cast members on their Playhouse Disney TV show, came by to say “hi.”

(I know.  I didn’t realize we were that cool, either.)

The kids loved it.  Despite the strong morning sun, Kate played a rattle and dutifully performed all moves as instructed.  Us parents had a few head scratching moments when they busted into “She Sells Sanctuary.” (Um… did they just play “The Cult?”)  And we all sang along to “In a Big Country,” their finale.

But Jazz Fest is about so much more than music.  The food.  Oh… the food.

Kate clearly understands that one should not delve into snowballs until so much mango freeze has been ingested that the skin starts to turn orange.

Her Jazz Fest food of choice was cochon du lait po’boy.  With the spicy coleslaw.  As if there would be any other.  (I promise I will get food pictures next time.)

We visited our friend Mark’s booth.

Mark made the tiles in our bathroom.  Each are handmade and exquiste in detail.

We spent the majority of the day in the kids’ area, meeting up with other families and taking turns watching kids to go on food runs and bathroom trips.  There is a children’s music tent and a variety of activity and craft tents — staffed by the nicest, warmest people.  The kids decorated fabric squares…

…and added them to the children’s Jazz Fest quilt.

We chilled in the kids’ tent for a few hours during the heat of the day (even spread out a blanket to lay down for a bit), and saw a variety of performances (puppets, drum band from Malawi, kids’ high school dance group).  Then, a washboard performer came up and got the kids involved.  Will not only got a washboard, but was deemed “Earl of Crawfish” (or something) for the story.

He was so into the washboard that he almost missed the second line going around the tent.

After the big dance around the room, the story kept going.  Kate is up posing with Will.  She played the tin can and then traded for a parasol for the parade.

Both kids passed out on the way to James Taylor.

Our friend Georgia graciously invited us to crash in their lawn space to listen to JT.  I was too antsy to sit (back was tired and sore) — even to one of my favorite vocalists.  So we took in a few songs and moved on.

In moving on, we caught part of Erykah Badu (sans Elmo) and Wilco.  We headed out about a half-hour before the official end of Jazz Fest and had no problems with traffic or crowds… successfully spending the entire day at Jazz Fest with the kids.  Wow.

But next time, we’re totally going solo.

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For more of my photohunt, go here.
For more information about photohunt and links to many more, go here.

I have a friend who is a single mother of 4 school-age children.  She cleans houses for a living and has no formal education.  For more than a decade, she has been overweight.  The kind of overweight where knees hurt and it’s hard to get around.  She had never made chicken that wasn’t fried and knew nothing about starches and carbs and calories.  And then last fall, she was watching The Biggest Loser and decided that she could do it, too.  Just like that.  She bought the show’s cookbook and workout DVD.  Now, 9 months later, she is half of her initial size.  She finds a way to workout each day — between running 4 children back and forth to 3 schools and traveling all over the city to clean whatever she can get hired to clean — and manages to get a dinner on the table each night that is healthy and contributes to her continued weight loss.  In losing her weight, she re-learned how to cook, she tried dozens of new fruits and vegetables, and she stuck to her goals.  I am in complete and utter amazement of her; she is an absolute inspiration.

There is absolutely no reason in the world for me to not have better behaviors when it comes to taking care of myself.  Everything from how often I get a haircut or pedicure to when I can take a yoga class.

Yes, it’s true I do a lot and have a lot going on.  But I schedule everything and manage to make time for anyone who asks me for it.

Except me.

I’ve gone over and over about this for as long as I can remember.  I get angry at the people around me for not thinking about me — after all, I think about them and anticipate their needs all day long.  I know that the bottom line is that I have to be the one to make it happen.  And I’ve tried a hundred thousand times in seventy billion ways.  It doesn’t work.  Whatever connection has to be made, I can’t make it.  Whenever something needs to give, it’s always me.

When the kids are in school, I want to spend every moment of it working.  When they are home, I want to be with them — AND this is when I do the house stuff (laundry, cleaning).  In order for Paul to work his job and work on the house, I have to cover all the bases to allow him to focus on those tasks.  He gets great exercise and creative challenge from his projects on the house and does a good job of fitting in other hobbies, like juggling with the kids in the park.  I don’t know how or where to fit in anything for myself.  It makes me feel guilty for even thinking about it.  An hour to take a walk?  To do my hair?  Indulgent.  Wasteful.  I feel like a mess all the time and I don’t know what to do about it.  I don’t know how anyone else does it, either.

So I’m asking.  Officially, asking.  How does a mother juggling a bazillion things manage her own needs?  I’m very very serious, because it has to get better.  How do you do it?

If I completely lose my marbles in the next few days, it’s not because of the three part-time jobs, the conference submissions (one more tomorrow and then today, an invite to apply for this one), the dissertation writing (hah!), the ongoing home renovation, the husband and his penchant for putting t-shirts in the laundry inside-out, or the number of times I have to say “LEAVE YOUR SISTER/BROTHER ALONE” in a day.

It’s because this song will not let me rest:

According to all those guides of readiness, Kate has been ready to potty train for a few years.  Unfortunately, she is not on board with that assessment.

Which means that any attempt (as seen below) is only a flirtation with disaster.

MY REFRAIN: I will not force the issue.  She will do it on her own.

THE PART THAT MAKES THIS CHOICE OKAY: If you don’t force it, it will be easy when it happens.

ALSO: Go out and buy a ton of diapers.  That will ensure she potty trains as quickly as possible.

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In other news, it’s Gwen‘s birthday!  She’s 21 in hex, too.  And I can prove it.  See this picture of us, taken last week?  Young vixens.