My dear, we are having The Breakfast of Champions today. Because I am the iconic mother. I am serving up a meal you will delight over, and brag to your friends about. Because I am Just That Way.

Breakfast today is:
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Oreos and coffee. Because I can. God Bless America. God Bless the inventor of Summer Vacation.

Ok, the biggest mistake the uninitiated make with grits is to use too little seasoning. Grits alone are BLAND, and require alot of salt, pepper, tabasco, etc, to be palatable. It’s also possible to use too little water, and to not stir enough, resulting in lumpy grits. “Life is too short to eat lumpy grits” is one of Sweet Daddio’s isms. The ratio of grits to water is 1:4, and then a little more. Water, that is. Since I like to long-cook my grits (even quick grits. Don’t even consider instant grits. If you are thinking instant grits, I recommend you use them to sprinkle on fire ant beds instead), I add a bit more water- say, 1/2 cup to 1 cup in a recipe calling for 4 cups water and 1 cup grits.

Now, here’s cheese grits.
1 can evaporated milk (I think they’re 12 oz)
however much water it takes to make 4-1/2 cups liquid.
1 heaping teaspoon salt
Put this in a pot and bring it to a boil. Gently stir in
1 cup hominy grits
and turn the heat down low, so the grits just simmer. Stir frequently and often, use a whisk to break up any lumps.
Sometime while it’s cooking, add
a bit of garlic powder- maybe 1/2 teaspoon (I just go ’shake shake shake’)
generous cracked black pepper
several shots of tabasco sauce, depending on your tolerance for heat
a 1/2 teaspoon or so of paprika, or cayenne, or chili pepper, depending on your taste
As it nears done-ness (30 minutes or so, STIR OFTEN!!VERY IMPORTANT!) add
a generous handful of shredded sharp cheddar, or that fiesta blend stuff in a bag. American cheese is good and gives an added creaminess to the texture. Likewise with Co-jack.
Take it off the heat, put a lid on it, and let it sit for 10 minutes or so. Taste it for salt, you’ll probably need to add more because grits take twice as much salt as anything else. Any seasonings and cheese you want to increase can be added any time.

If your grits are getting too thick, add a little boiling water. Too thick= a spoon will stand up in them. You want them thick enough to dip easily with a spoon, but not so thick they’re like one big lump. If you have a steam table for keeping stuff warm, put the grits in when they are just a teensy bit undercooked, with dab of extra water stirred in, cover and forget until time to serve. Once they’re on a steam table they are unbelievably forgiving, and in fact improve with time as they sit there and get creamier and creamier.

Cheese grits make an amazing foundation for grilled shrimp or spicy crawdads. Just cook them up, pile them on top of the grits, and add a sprig of something green, and it looks all gourmet and stuff instead of something humble for Yankees to turn their noses up at.

I am a mistress of self-flagellation. And you know what? The burgers really do come out looking like that. The fries are piping hot with salt and pepper, and the onion rings are REAL slices of onion, battered and fried and very hot.

With a big mason jar of coke. a cola.

grrrrrr….

So, I asked my 15 yr old how he thought sex ed should be taught. He said “By some really hot chicks with German accents.”
*groan*
Then I said “would you want to be taught what happens, how to, or what?”
He said “first, teach the bad stuff,like diseases and stuff. Show the really nasty pictures. Then teach the good stuff”
“Like technique?” I asked.
“OH! No!” he said, “there’s books for that!”

It’s good, keeping the lines of communication open. He also commented that he wouldn’t want to be taught too much, because everything’s better with a little mystery.

In other news, I weeded. Wanna know the truth? Oxalis sucks. Sure, it has pretty clover shaped leaves, and beautiful, long stemmed pink flowers just right for the sticky hands of an 8 yr old to pick. But the way it grows, with long, weak stems and this chunky bulb 6 inches down, you can’t just pull it up. You have to dig down to the bulb. Pain in the ass to weed. My mint had to be aggressively corralled, because it dearly loves this loose sandy soil, and sends out thick runners all OVER the place. Does anyone want some mint? I could send you roots wrapped in wet towels, that you can just stick in the ground, water a couple of times, and let ‘er rip.

I *was* going to grill hamburgers tonight. Thanks to certain people who mention burgers and onions, I craved. However, #2 is at a friends house until tomorrow, #3 is going to be at church (because we’re heathens and he’s not), SD *might* have to have dinner with an out of towner, which leaves me all alone by myself, and I refuse to cook a burger for myself alone. So, I’m thinking maybe something else. Sushi, perhaps, or potstickers. Maybe I’ll call the Southern Palace and and get an order of cashew chicken. Maybe I’ll just make a peanut butter sandwich. Sadly, there is *no* good burger place in this town. Get this, there’s not a catfish place either. NO CATFISH! That’s like, really UnAmerican, or at the very least, decidedly UnSouthern.

mmm fried catfish. There’s this place in L.A. (that would be “Lower Alabama”) called David’s. They have their own ponds, and feed their fish something special that makes it especially sweet and delicious, not a bit of fishy or that bottom-feeder flavor you get from river cat. They fry it in peanut oil, changed 3x/week, and serve it with these cheese grits that Oh My Stars…SO Good. Perfect hushpuppies, and cole slaw with the perfect blend of mayonnaise and vinegar. Sweet tea, lemon icebox pie. I believe David’s caused me more angst about moving that changing churches did. Their cheese grits- they made them with evaporated milk (not the sweetened stuff), extra sharp cheddar, chili pepper. So, so good. (pardon whilst I briefly indulge in a fantasy)
mmmm…………………………………………..
They also did this baked catfish, and gave me the recipe before we moved:
David’s Continental Catfish
4 catfish fillets (It would probably work with any mild freshwater fish)
4 tablespoons melted butter
juice of 2 lemons (about 1/4 cup, I guess)
cajun seasoning blend
Put the melted butter and lemon juice in a baking dish.
Put the fillet’s on top
Sprinkle the cajun seasoning on the fish, be as generous as you like.
Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes or so, until the fish is done and flakes easily.

This thinking about places I’ve eaten, it’s a form of self-flagellation. We don’t have much here. There’s plenty in Savannah, but that’s an hour away and difficult to do spontaneously.

CheeburgerCheeburger in Auburn and Montgomery, Ala. Best cheeseburgers EVER. Sloppy, topped with your choice of 40 items, kaiser roll, buncah beers to pick from. Available in sizes from 1/4 pound kids burger to 1 pound Frat Boy’s Delite.

Auburn City Limits in Auburn, Al. Delicious, fine dining, best to go there on someone elses expense account. The things they can do with a risotto are almost miraculous, but it’s hard for 2 people to get out of there for less than $100. Great wine list and well trained staff.

That’s it. I will not do this anymore. I will be cheerful and grateful that I live in the same town as the rest of my family, and the food I cook in mine own kitchen rivals anything from a restaurant.

I’m thinking so hard there’s smoke coming from my ears. I am formulating a Controversial Topic, just to see what happens. It hasn’t gelled yet, but you be certain that someone will be offended. In the mean time, I smoked a brisket, made too much cole slaw, and am frying too much okra. Today’s menu is not lo-cal. And I don’t care because it tastes wonderful. All of it. Sweet Daddio will be home from work soon, and we will have a beer. Then dinner, then probably another beer with dinner. Because we’re like that. Beer lovers.

#3 is watching Monster Truck Jam on tv. I swear, he would be watching the Life and Hard Times of Pamela Anderson, complete with jiggling anatomy, but no. He prefers Dennis Anderson and the Grave Digger. #2 is at work, #4 is 8 hours away eating Grandmother’s good cooking. I wonder how long he was there before she baked him a Hound Cake.

#3 had a friend over most of the afternoon. She’s on the golf team, which practices on the course behind our house. Nice girl, healthy looking. Her teeth were good, too. And she looked fit to bear children. I wonder what her parents would take for her. Oh wait…no it’s the woman who comes with a dowry. She’s probably a 1 cow, 1 goat gal, because she seems to be worth alot in her own right, and extra isn’t needed.

there…how’s that for controversial and offensive?

My kids, there is this heated, shouting argument, soon to come to blows, over what? You stole my money? I said you’re girlfriend’s a toad? No.

Over how fast a plane is going and the optimal way for the parachute to deploy to keep the pilot from getting whiplash when he ejects.. I mean, shouting, getting really hostile about the trajectory and stuff.

Boyz R Stoo Pid.

Where’s my nail polish?

1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
That’s hard to say. I’m feeling pertty good about it at the moment. I’ll let you nkow if I think of something before I finish.

2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
Rules based religion. “If you do this, this, and this, then you’ll be saved” Like it’s some kind of magic incantation that will bring you to God.

3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
My husband’s boss, who made everyone work all weekend and yesterday but didn’t show up for work himself because his wife had plans. The tempation to key his escalade is strong.

4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
Jerseychick, and her amazing ability to not fall to pieces. Plus she helped me pick a Spanish course for SD.

5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I am an excellent driver.

6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
Richard Petty’s Driving Course. The 3 day one, where you get to go 175 mph, 40 laps. In Talladega. YEAH BABY!

My friend, Jerseychick and I spent the weekend together. leaving the children with a grownup and doing things like eating lettuce wraps (without having to share or explain why we weren’t eating a cheeseburger n fries), holding other people’s completely adorable 3 month old babies, and just catching up, commiserating, and all that. I needed it, and I’m pretty sure she did to. 1/2 way home, I met up with SD’s parents, and handed #4 off to them for 2 weeks. Then I put in the music I wanted to listen to, put the top down, and turned the volume up. Now I have a headache from all that volume, but it was worth it.

Have you ever gone off, and harbored the hope that some sort of house-fairy would appear and magically clean everything? I know when SD reads this he’s going to take it as some sort of indictment against him because he didn’t clean up everything…but I’m not doing that. If he’d cleaned I’d be mad because Sunday was all he had and there were 2 races on and anyone that works as much as he does should be given the race and not expected to do chores.

But still. I walked in the back door and looked to the right, at the suffed up half wall between the dining room and the kitchen, with it’s black marks from chairs and brown splash from and over-enthusiatic can of coke, and a dead (I am thankful it was dead, no complaints there) roach on the floor. I looked, and I sighed.

It’s been ridiculously dry. Farmers don’t normally start irrigating until July. The dry has the roaches coming in looking for water. We have this barrier spray, completely and utterly enviromentally unfriendly, that we put on all the doors and windows, so anything that comes in dies in short order. So, unfortunately we have roaches in the house, but fortunately they are all dead roaches. I can live with that.

LAst night SD came home with 2 quarts of strawberries a friend picked for me. They were magnificent, sweet, perfectly ripe, and I made pig of myself with them. No sugar, no whipped cream, just my tongue and those luscious, luscious berries. Straight from the hand of God (and Ele.)

And this morning? My gut says “WHAT were you THINKING?!” Oh yes, ominous rumblings and unladylike odors are questioning the wisdom of a 3 hour drive. But you know, I’ll go to Walmart and buy a pack of depends before I decide to not go. Yes indeed. I’ll repack, replacing the white linen with dark denim, or a skirt. I’ll throw back a handful of Imodium and wash it down with Pepto before I decide to stay home.

Wild horses and intestinal discomposure cannot keep me from my appointed rounds this fine day.

For I am going to spend the weekend with the intrepid JerseyChick. I am taking gifts to her and her children because adorable children they are, and most of them girls whom enjoy aromatic liquids and violently colored nail polish. (I found a bottle of pearlescent purple with hot pink flakes. It looks like something you’d paint a 1963 Chevy Impala LowRider with). Since SD has to work the whole entire weekend even MONDAY I’m just going away. To pout, and to see mah frein’.

I admit to feeling some shame over my departure. Because SD’s parents are coming down, to be here this evening, and (gosh) I won’t be here. I told someone yesterday, I feel like I’m skipping school to go swimming in the river. But, my feelings of shame aren’t enough to override the thrill of a 3 day escape. So I made a pot of soup, a pot of spaghetti sauce, and a breakfast casserole, to assuage the guilt and let me continue to believe I am indeed relatively responsible.

What I cannot muster, no matter how hard I try, is guilt at not being here when SD’s parents are here. I’m trying, but it just ain’t happening. Oh well. No one’s ever accused me of being the perfect daughter-in-law. At least there’s another daughter-in-law who will always and consistantly make me look good. Thanks, A.!

…just what *is* my position on sex education? I know how I was educated. I won’t go into it because I am closely related to some readers of this site, and I don’t wish to cause undue trauma.

So. It’s something I haven’t really had to handle, having all boys and no experience at all with nocturnal emmissions, beyond the *EEEWWW* they elicit. SD’s done all the educating about sex around here. Mind you, I have explained carefully all about menstrual cycles, and how it’s of vital importance to treat a woman gently during that time of the month, how critical chocolate is, and how it’s best for everyone that you put down the cheetoes and back slowly away. One day, their wives will thank me. I’ve told them about how some women do not wish to be touched or even looked at at a certain time in their cycle, and that it’s best for them to cultivate a hobby that will keep them out of the way. After they’ve cleaned up the kitchen and fetched chocolate.

As for the Real Thing, Doin’ the Nasty, The Tube Steak Boogie…well. I don’t know. Experience and Conviction don’t always tie together in a neat little pink-ribboned bundle. Through conversations with people onnline, I’ve learned of perspectives that are vastly different from mine. There are lifestyles that appear to conflict tremendously with mine, and yet, their voices, perspectives, whatever, they have as much validity as mine, and must be considered.

There are people in this world who believe the earlier a person is exposed to sex, the better. Even to the point of pedophilia.

There are folk who believe that sex is only acceptable within the boundaries of a Church sanctioned marriage, with a spouse of the opposite gender.

Some folk approach sex with the same enthusiasm and dedication as a professional athlete.

Some see it as a chore, to be endured on occasion just to make him shut up and leave her alone for another couple of months.

Some of us are very private about it. Others are quite public. Some like hearts and flowers, others prefer leather and whips.

What makes one wrong, and another right? The Bible? What if you’re not a Jew or a Christian? Do you still have to approach it from a Biblical perspective?

It’s complex, if you try to look at everyone’s angle. I mean, *my* personal approach to sex is very simple. Him and me, in the privacy of our bedroom, and anything else is no one’s business. Does that mean I think everyone should approach it that way? I’d certainly have an easier time understanding it if they did. But they don’t, so I am forced to consider all the options, each one no less worthy of consideration than another. Some, I will chew over. Others, I will discard with contempt (pedophilia…sorry folks, that’s just not acceptable in any way). But consider I will, and also write a post about it I will. On june 4. I leave you with a word from The Dr.