R.I.P Underoos

Well, it's official. My eight year old has outgrown his underoos.

Let us have a moment of silence.

I can't believe it. You would have to know my sweet sweet boy, but he came to me saying that his 'friends' make fun of him for having 'stuff' on his underwear, and he just wants plain white Hanes. *sigh* How sad that kids start making fun and teasing so soon. This sweet little boy would still wear the tight fitting pj's from Gap and never think anything of it. He will wear any shirt, any color, and anything that I put on him. He's kind, innocent and amazing.

So I guess I'll hit up Target tomorrow for some regular 'ole Hanes. If you see a dark haired woman in the kids underwear section quietly sobbing, you'll know who it is.

Ode to Newman-O's

It was only a matter of time before I had to blog about food. Most people close to me know that I love me some oreos. I should be in FA (Food Addicts Anonymous) for my problem. Hello, my name is Mary Frances. I am addicted to Oreos. Hi Mary Frances.

That being said, oreos are bad. BAD BAD BAD. Partially Hydrogenated Coconut Oil. Check. Loaded with Sugar. Check. Making my ass larger with each bite. Check.

But.....I've found a loophole. Newman-O's. NO Partially Hydrogenated Oil. Check. Organic. Check. Low on butt fat producing sugar and carbs. Check.

Now, I realize these are not a new thing. In fact, I've been eating them for a few years. But, it wasn't until tonight that I noticed a poem on the back of the bag.

Ode to Newman-O's

You might, m'lady
tweak my nose.
You could, m'lord
step on my toes.
But Heaven help
those poor bozos,
who try to filch
my Newman-O's.

Finally, someone gets it. Touch my food, and you WILL loose a hand. Thank you Paul Newman.

Kit the Klepto

(Kit is my mom)

Setting: We are sitting on the sofa flipping through a Southern Living, when Kit announces:

Kit: "Um, Mary Frances, I just found a spoon in my purse."

Me: "I'm sorry, did you just say a spoon?"

Kit: "Yes, and it's not mine."

(She is now reaching into her purse and taking out a spoon. And not just any spoon. It's one of those collectors spoons.)

Me: "Well, I don't know what's worse, that you found a spoon in your purse, or that it doesn't belong to you."

Kit: "Actually, I didn't just find it. I saw it in my purse when we were at Lovely Nails, and I didn't want to say anything. I was afraid you would make fun of me."

NOTE: (Lovely Nails will be an entirely different story. Needless to say, only in Breckenridge do you have to bring your own file, pumice and clippers to get a pedicure)

Me: "Oh, gosh no mom. I wouldn't dare make fun of you for having a random miniature Indian collectors spoon in your purse......THAT YOU DON'T OWN...AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU GOT IT. I would NEVER make fun of you for that."

Kit: "Shut up."

Me: "Ok, seriously. Where did you get the spoon?"

Kit: "I DON'T KNOW!"

Me: "So let me get this straight. You have a miniature spoon in your purse. You have no idea who it belongs to or where it came from. I can't wait to tell dad!"

(Just about the time I say this, in walks dad.....)

Me: "Dad. Um yea, so mom stole a spoon."

Dad: "WHAT?!?!"

Me: "Yea, check it out. Mom "found" this spoon in her purse when we were getting our nails done. She has no idea where it came from. I think she's turning into a klepto."

(This must be where my youngest son gets it. He's been known to "borrow" stuff)

Kit:' Now wait just a minute. I did NOT steal this spoon. I think maybe someone put in in my purse."

Me: "Oh really...and who might THAT be?"

Kit: "I don't know. Maybe you. Maybe your dad. Maybe Meme."

Me:"Ohhhhh Meme. Right! Why didn't I think of that. My dead great-grandmother. It's all beginning to make sense now. Have you been drinking before noon again?"

Dad: "I've got it! I bet she stole it from the nail place. Maybe that's the spoon they use to scoop the shit they throw in the water."

(The SHIT my dad is referring to is salt scrub)

PAUSE. I'm now sitting here with my parents...who are about to move to Dallas...having a 'discussion' about a stolen/borrowed/missing/dead great-grandmother/nail place SPOON! Living through a week of construction back home isn't looking so bad.

Me: "Ok, forget the spoon. Ya'll are both nuts. I should put you in a home and take all your money. Let's go to Ernie's and eat some queso."

The above photo was taken at Ernie's. The origination of the spoon is still unknown. If you are the owner of a miniature Indian collectors spoon, please call my mother. It's still in her purse!

Home Sweet Home

Yes, that is a mailbox. A giant fish mailbox. I took this pic while mom was giving me the town tour. I couldn't resist snapping a photo. I figured it would give all my Dallas friends a good laugh. I mean, it's not everyday that you see Big Mouth Billy Bass waiting to gulp up your phone bill. Only in Breckenridge.......

Beautiful isn't it....

Free Ranging...in Dallas!

Peeps on the loose!!

While I worked on planting my garden, the chicks got their first taste of backyard heaven. They loved it...minus the gale force winds that kept knocking them on their butts. And, seeing as how a hawk didn't swoop one out of the yard, I think it was a successful first trip out of the brood.

Aqua wishes and Le Creuset Dreams...

If you cook as much as I do, then you KNOW you would sell your baby on the black market in exchange for Le Creuset. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then read carefully....this will be the most important information of your life. Ok, that was a bit dramatic, but when I'm talking about Le Creuset, I tend to black out and get into the zone.

If you don't know...I DREAM in turquoise. Seriously, I'm a woman with a problem. So when Le Creuset came out with this amazing aqua, I had to say: Yes Please!

This cookware will change your life. I recently discovered a Le Creuset outlet. May God be with me.....and my checkbook:)

This is the EASIEST cookware to clean. I'm telling you...I have done some serious braising..not to mention a good 3 hour simmer...and it wipes clean. Everytime. Now, this is not throw-it-in-the-dishwasher stuff. In fact, if you DO toss it in the dishwasher, I will personally come over and shoot you. I've been known to kill for less. Just ask any waiter that tries to take my plate before I'm done. Also, I have never encountered anything that can control heat as well as Le Creuset. That's because it's cast iron. The stuff our grandmothers cooked with. Plus, could it be prettier. It makes me smile.

Before I bore you any longer...and get anymore carried away...I'll leave by saying that I think cooking at home is a lost art. My mother cooked AT LEAST 6 nights a week. She may not have realized it at the time....but she was helping mold me into a better woman...and a better mom. So here's to all the chef moms out there....while they may not famous faces on the Food Network...they are famous to the people that matter most....the little ones standing on their toes, lickin' the mixing bowls.

Houston, we have a swimsuit!

This is an oldie but goodie. Back before I stated blogging, I would periodically send out emails when entertaining stories arose. This is one of the best....enjoy!

Spring 2008

To all those women, who are desperately looking for the perfect swimsuit, I have the answers to all your prayers. Enter.....the greatest swimsuit ever made.

If you don't know by now, I've been on the hunt for a swimsuit for our upcoming trip to Florida. Actually, I don't know HOW you wouldn't know this, because I've complained to every woman I know about how pathetic the suit choices are these days. But, fear no more....I have the suit for you.

Let's start back in January. I begin talking to my friend Andrea about our upcoming trip. Of course, our main obsession is finding a swimsuit. Now, let's get one thing straight. I am NOT trying to look like Giselle. Heck, I'd settle for Marie Osmond....have you SEEN her lately...she's twice my age and HOT! The suit I'm looking for needs to fulfill the following:

1. Hold up "the girls".
Ladies, when you are a 34D, and have had 2 kids, your breasts now resemble crook neck squash. While delicious to eat, this is NOT a good look on the beach. Therefore, an under-wire is a must. You would THINK this would be easy to find (in a one-piece of course), but NOOOOOOOO! All the under-wire suits are bikinis made for teenagers who don't even NEED the under-wire, because their breasts are still perky. It's like watching all those anti-aging ads on TV with Jessica Alba. I mean, what the hell?

2. The rear of the suit must NOT expose the "biscuits".
If you don't know what biscuits are....please, allow me to share. This is the bottom of, well, YOUR BOTTOM. A BIG white bottom, hanging on the lower end of the suit is NOT flattering...or, necessary. Can't these manufacturers quit making one pieces that are an 6 on top and 2 on bottom? People please!

3. It must NOT be a halter.
With 34D boobs, a halter is only good for about 1 hour, then your neck begins to feel like it has a 40 lb. necklace made of two kids hanging from it. This leads to headaches, and a not so happy momma. And if momma ain't happy....well, you get the picture.

4. The design must not resemble an old lady, Hawaiian pattern in the following colors: purple, teal and black.
What is WITH these horrible prints. They think, well, she's buying a one-piece, she must be an ugly, fat, non-married, non-hip, non-stylish person. Let's find the ugliest print we can, and slap it on the fat girl suit. Ohhhhh joy.

So, those are my requirements. I'm not asking for a miracle, just a freaking swimsuit that I can play on the beach, and not have people yelling, "Shamu"!

Now, let's get to the meat of this letter. The suits.

Day 1

I trek off to Northpark to hit Swim-n-Sport and Nordstrom. I'm bound to find a suit here...or so I think.

Swim-n-Sport, entering the store....

Me: "Oh, hi, I'm looking for a one-piece"

Salesgirl (weighing in at 45 lbs): "Ohhhh we have tons"

Me: "Well, I need an under-wire"

Salesgirl: "Ummmm yeah, the only under-wires are in the two-pieces. (Looks me up and down) Sorry, guess you are out of luck.

I say nothing, walk out of the store, and into Corner Bakery for a lemon bar. Any problem in the world can be solved with a lemon bar.

Nordstrom, entering the swim section.....

Their a no sales women to be found. I'm actually glad for this after my last run in. I look through all the suits. All the one pieces are halters. Great, juuuust great. And, the halters are so low in the front, you can almost see what I used to call my bellybutton. I'm leaving. I think I need a lemon bar for the road......

Day 2

I get online to cyberswim.com This site claims to have the suits that "slim 10 lbs in 10 seconds". Perfect! I know I'll have luck.

Suit #1

The suit arrives in the mail. I rush to try it on. My mother is visiting. Jonathan has just arrived home from work. Mom is playing with the boys in their room, while I'm suiting up....or trying too. Jonathan walks in the bedroom just in time to see me wincing in the corner and screaming for someone to help my hoist the suit up. Mom comes around the corner, just as Jonathan has the suit around each hip, trying desperately to get the thing on. She may have wet her pants from laughing so hard. Now I know WHY they call this a miraclesuit. It's a MIRACLE if anyone can get the thing on.

Suit #2

The suit arrives from UPS....again. I'm sure this guy is wondering about me. Oh well. After reading more about the "miracle suit" online, I realized that you must order one size up from your normal size. I do this. I get the suit out of the box. Let's just say that by the time I got the thing on, I resembled a sausage about to be thrown on the fire. Mmmmmmm, this is SUCH a good look.

I'm now DONE with cyberswim. These people are Satan.

Suit #3

Andrea suggests I give Landsend a try. At this point, my choice is the sausage suit, or cut offs and a tank top, so I give it a whirl.

Wow, the website is great. Tons of suits, and UNDER-WIRE. Thank you God for landsend.com.

Suit #4

This suit arrives via UPS. The UPS man and I are now BFF's. I put, hoist, this suit on. NOT GOOD! I look like a fat member of the Olympic Swim Team. Go USA!

AUGHHHHHH!

Suit #5

UPS is here again. This time, I invite him in, we have a cup of coffee and compare pics of our kids. I thinking of having he and his wife over for dinner...since we are on a first name basis now. Suit #5 is an improvement, but doesn't meet requirement #1.....this suit causes my breasts to hang to my bellybutton. I'm hopeless.

Andrea suggests I give it ONE MORE TRY. After all, I don't think SanDestin likes cut-offs and wife beaters.

Enter Suit #6

As Paul, my UPS BFF arrives, I say a quick prayer and I'm off to the bedroom. Houston, we have a winner. This is the greatest suit I've ever owned. If you would like to own this suit, please click on the link below, and have a great day! I love you all!

http://www.landsend.com/pp/SolidSlenderConvertibleSwimDress~176297_593.html?bcc=y&action=order_more&sku_0=::BLA&CM_MERCH=IDX_00006__0000000651&origin=index

Mary Frances :)

Duck Diving

On Saturday, March 13th, at approximately 4pm, I witnessed ducks getting busy in my pool. It was awesome! I've never seen anything like it. Kudos to the female for not drowning. I mean, they come flying in..already poised in position, and he SLAMS her into the water like a torpedo, then he proceeds to push her head into the water while giving it to her. I started thinking that ducks may be into that whole affixiation thing....al la, David Carradine. Anyway, it was pretty spectacular. Moments later, Greta, the attack schnauzer, chased them over the fence......I guess he got what he wanted and flew on down the road.

Half as cool?

Ok, so in the past year I've taken up running marathons. And by running, I mean jogging. And by marathons, I mean half marathons. Someone, who will remain anonymous, is threatening to place a 26.2 sticker on my car...that has been torn in half. This same person will be poisoned in his sleep.

Tomorrow I'm set to run the Dallas Rock-n-Roll half marathon. I ran...ok, jogged...the White Rock Half back in December, finishing in 2:30:00. Not bad, considering the last three miles were an out of body experience (and not in a blissful way), and I almost hailed a cab on mile eight! I've heard people say that you never see a runner smiling. That is me. I am not smiling. I am not talking. I'm just trying to figure out how the girl in front of me that out weighs me by a good 80lbs is blazing past me.

So if you are in Dallas tomorrow, stop by Fair Park around 10:15am and maybe you'll catch a glimpse, and a whiff, of the Fowl Housewife crossing the finish line.

What the cluck?

I live in Dallas. I have a chicken coop in my backyard. I dare you to tell me this isn't normal. Ok, ok, so the coop isn't finished and the neighbors don't know, but I'll soon win them over with eggs of green and turquoise and heirloom fresh tomatoes so juicy they will be begging for more. Or, they will call the city code compliance and turn me in, either way. FYI, in the city limits of Dallas you can have up to twelve hens and zero roosters...so cluck on that! And, I only have four hens: Henrietta, Violet, Rose and Petunia. (pics to follow soon) More on the chickens in a minute.

When we moved to Dallas three years ago and people asked where I was from, I answered Breckenridge. The response was always the same: "Wow, Breckenridge, Colorado. It's gorgeous!" Then, I would say, "No, not Breckenridge, Colorado. Breckenridge, Texas". Blank stares always follow. I quickly say it's a small town of 5,000 west of Fort Worth. WEST OF FORT WORTH? Most of my Dallas friends think that the world comes to a screeching halt west of Fort Worth. But, knowing I'm from Breckenridge explains the chickens..sort of.

Rewind to a few weeks ago.

The Place: Carmines Pizza.

The Setting: Parents and kids celebrating the end of a 2nd grade basketball season. (on a side note, I'm pretty sure most of the celebrating was by the parents that the season was OVER, judging by the amount of Shiner Bock being consumed)

The Conversation: I'm sitting with my good friend A, talking about the garden I'm currently planting. I casually throw out that I'm so excited to have chicken poop to add to my compost pile because it should really make my tomatoes thrive. SCREECH!!! That is when my friend M throws her blonde head around and says, "Did you just say CHICKEN POOP"? Yes, yes I did. I then spend the next hour explaining to her, and 5 other parents that I am in fact getting chickens..building a coop in the backyard..and will be getting solar on the house to go off the grid. More blank stares. I seem to be getting a lot of these lately. I find myself quickly telling them that if they would pick up the latest issue of The Advocate, that they could read about backyard coops popping up all over Lakewood. This earns me some mild street cred, however, most of the parents still have looks on their faces ranging from mild shock, to total fear. I assure them I'm only raising the chickens for eggs, not meat. I can't tell if this makes them feel better knowing I'm not slaughtering chickens in our backyard, or scares them that I might know how:)