Tick tock, turkey.

I LOVE THANKSGIVING. I took it upon myself to teach ONE about the holiday by bringing home pilgrim and Mayflower stickers from Target and explaining to him what a cornucopia is. A big horn full of stuff, that’s what. And … that was the extent of our learning. Then we made leaf-shaped cookies and he ate a good portion of raw dough.

Two things have made me feel especially thankful today. First, I have decided to embrace the switch. As in, a thin branch to swat legs with. Because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is working to effectively discipline my three-year-old … and I am unwilling to allow him to continue to throw ridiculous, out of control temper tantrums.

Embracing the switch isn’t what is making me feel thankful. It’s the fact that I haven’t had to use it yet. I dread it. I know it’s going to sting like hell. But if it works, then it will be worth it. ONE keeps nervously talking about it. He seems to instinctively know that that little branch is about to turn the tide.

Second, I am so very thankful that my parents are coming to town tomorrow afternoon. They are lovely people. I miss them terribly. It was actually my dad’s idea to implement the switch. He sent me an email today that read, Become one with the switch. May the force be with you.

Thank you, Dad. I need something to be with me. Currently, it’s this. I keep it on my person at all times. And I’m not afraid to use it.

I kept wanting to write something about my father on Father’s Day but I was too busy bitching because our a/c was out.

Here is my Daddy. He doesn’t have long hair like this anymore, although he rocked it for several decades. People say I look like my mother, but in this picture, I think I look just like him.

I read recently (okay, fine, it was in Tina Fey’s book which I am completely obsessed with) that one of the main ingredients in raising a not-slutty, responsible, drug-free daughter is a strong father figure. 

I have that. My father marches to the beat of his own drum, which taught me it’s okay to be an individual. He also commanded respect, which made me afraid to disappoint him. Because my Daddy treats my mother the way that he does, I demand the same treatment from my husband.

It’s hard to be a good parent. Mine did just fine.

1. A balanced meal always contains a protein, a starch, and a carb.

2. Presentation is everything.

3. The size of a Christmas tree doesn’t matter; it’s how you decorate it that counts.

4. Trust your instincts.

5. Let God lead your life and everything will fall into place.

6. Pray every day.

7. Nothing good can come from being too hard on yourself. Or spending your time doing something you don’t enjoy.

8. How to wrap a gift with flair.

9. Treating the man in your life like a man will ensure he treats you like a lady.

10. How to be a mother.

(source)

Today is mine and Husband’s favorite holiday.

No … really.

When we were in our early twenties, we started the tradition of going to a local Mexican restaurant that was within walking distance of the house he shared with another guy, and getting completely and totally drunk.

They had great margaritas.

We are simple people and simple things make us happy: cheap food, good salsa, hot chips and a strong margarita on the rocks. I’m a little sad that this year I won’t be able to partake, although I do plan to hit up some chips and salsa at the house.

I cooked on Tuesday, so I’m not feeling any pressure to cook again. It’s Thursday, after all.

Cinco de Mayo 2012, I look forward to you. We’ll get a sitter and go out to dinner … I’ll start planning it now.

I can’t stop thinking about the people in Japan.

They aren’t looting. That fact alone floors me. It makes me ashamed, because just 6 years ago I witnessed firsthand how crazy and out of control people can be in the face of disaster when Hurricane Katrina hit. I worked in a hotel in Baton Rouge — 60 miles from New Orleans — and the crazy behavior reached me. I saw it happen in the hotel lobby day after day. I can’t even imagine what it was like in the middle of the mess.

The Japanese way makes me feel even more worried for them. They believe in order and honor. That makes them even more deserving of aid, in my opinion.

Last night, ignoring ONE’s persistent and loud comments that he did not want to watch the news (“No news, Mommy. No news!) I sat glued to Diane Sawyer’s report from Tokyo. Is two-and-a-half too young for a kid to learn about tragedy? I half-wondered about how the images of death and destruction were affecting ONE … not to mention the fact that I was bawling my eyes out.

Thankfully, he didn’t ask any questions. After 30 minutes, I changed the channel to NickJr and pulled myself together. I can’t shelter my child from real life; life outside of the safe cocoon we’ve woven for him. If anything else, I want to teach him why we need to thank God every day for what we have, and ask Him to help us never take it for granted.

Fact: I have woken up with a new pimple somewhere on my person, every single morning, for the past 15 weeks.

Fact: Living in Alabama has caused me to develop a pronounced southern twang that has become quite noticeable.

Fact: We have lived here for almost 6 years now.

Fact: I have cellulite in strange very places. Luckily I know that it will go away eventually. Most likely sometime in 2012.

Fact: Simple things entertain me. See my friend and co-worker’s blog post about nicknames. This topic alone has kept us busy for many, many hours. There really is a lady who works in my building who has Flock of Seagull hair. I don’t even understand how that happens.

Sometimes, I just need a venti mocha frappucino. Yes, I’m aware of the caffiene content — don’t get all preachy. I’m balancing it out with several liters of water.

Once again, I was caught in the act of photographing my food/drink for the sake of blogging. The guy parked next to me watched the entire time. Freak.