Code Name: Klutz

You ever hear stories of how in the old days dads would put a pair of boxing gloves on their squabbling kids and let them duke it out for themselves? Tonight I was going to videotape for you the modern day equivalent: Wii Sword Fighting. I was going to write about how I think it's a great outlet for my kids to stab and hit each other over the head with long and heavy weapons without all the blood and trauma. (Plus, I was going to point out how cute J is when he wiggles his caboose all over the place in his quest to knock out the bad guys).

However, I got a whole 'nother post out of it. Watch and see for yourself:

Untitled from Tacy Cauthron on Vimeo.

I think laughing mercilessly at people who fall is in my genes. I remember being in the car with my mom and watching a pedestrian fall off the curb. My mom laughed so hard that she was barely able to ask the person if they were okay. (The person was, but I think he felt much like PG... humiliated and annoyed). We can't help it, and I like to think that if we were ever in a situation where we saw that a person was seriously injured, the urge to laugh would cease.

Here's to hoping.

Anyway, it occured to me while I was watching this (and rewatching, laughing, rewinding, rewatching, etc) that I don't know why I even bother calling the kids by code names when I write for this blog. You all know what my kids' names are. And if you didn't, you'd just have to look at the back of J's shirt, where the name JAKE is clearly spelled out for you.

And poor PG. It's going to be hard for me to look her in the eyes and call her "Grace" for a while.

You think she'll object to Princess Klutz?

Fourth

Food.

Floating.

Fun.

Friends.

Freaks.

Fatigue.

Freedom.

Hope your Fourth was fabulous!

xo,

Meanie Mom

Cosmic Ponderings of Finger Foods, Overalls, and Puff

Sorry guys. No Finger Food Friday this week. I had good intentions of doing a post on tacos, but then 9 and PG had some friends over to spend the night and things got a little crazy (read- LOUD). You all have seen my photography skills. I can barely take a good picture with relative silence, let alone doing it while shouting things like "Oh, Oh! Please don't sit on the couch in your wet bathing suit!" and "Boys! No squirting water guns at the dogs. No, they don't like it. Because I know! Please don't argue!"

Let's just say I'm appreciating the quiet today. I even put the kids to bed at 7 so that I could enjoy more of it.

I just wanted to jot down a couple of words tonight about coincidences. I've written before that I believe the universe sometimes talks to me through random messages. That's been happening these last couple of days, though to be honest, I'm not sure if it's saying anything really profound or meaningful. If it is, it better speak louder and more clearly. Subtle is not going to work with the little amount of sleep this mama's had lately.

Anyway, the first coincidence is that one of my fav mommy bloggers that I've mentioned tons of times on here titled her last post "Fashion Sunday on Saturday." Remind you of anything? That seems like a HUGE coincidence and its made me wonder if maybe? perhaps? she's swung by here on Meanie Mom and seen my FFF on Saturday post and it stuck in her subconscious somewhere.

OR, perhaps it is just a plain old coincidence- which is probably the better of the choices considering the long, dark, road my mind took while wondering/obsessing why she wouldn't comment or follow. It's a sick little neighborhood, my mind.

The second coincidence came when I was reading another blogger that I love. Remember how my last post mentioned 90's fashion? Well, I wrote that on Tuesday and published it on Thursday night. On Friday, Big Mama wrote here about cleaning out closets and 90's overalls. Can you believe it? I started thinking about "The Truman Show" and asking myself if there was in fact, a possibility that life could really be all about me, just as I'd so often wished.

Then the final doozy came when my family and I went to see Toy Story 3 today. Remember how I wrote on Thursday that "Puff The Magic Dragon" just tears me up inside? (I know it sounds stupid, but you're hearing this from a girl who would listen outside her bedroom door until age 12, convinced that her toys were moving around and talking as soon as she left the room.) Toy Story 3 turned out to be a 1 hour 49 minute looooong chorus of Puff the Magic Dragon. The whole time I had a lump in my throat the size of a boulder and halfway through I pulled J out of his chair and onto my lap, just so I could hold him and nuzzle into his little neck while he's still small and willing to let me do it. Because, you know it won't be long before he'll be all grown and boxing up his own super hero toys and stuffed dog and...... sniff, sniff, sob, wah!

So, to sum it up, I've got a message this week about finger foods, overalls, and Puff the Magic Dragon. Maybe I'm wanting to revert back to childhood, when finger foods, overalls, and stuffed animals are part of an everyday existence?

Or it could just mean that I'm way too into blogging right now.

You all have a good night!

Nostalgia

A couple of weeks ago I was going through some huge bags of clothes that had collected dust up in our garage. I was sorting them into two piles- one pile to donate to the Salvation Army, and one pile to burn because not even homeless people would want thrice handed down maternity clothing.

Is thrice even a real word?

Anyway, I came upon this that you see in the picture up above there.

It was my old flannel left over from the grunge era- circa 1993/4/and 5. Remember when Kurt Cobain inadvertently started a fashion revolution that was almost as big as his music? I jumped on that bandwagon faster than you could say "mosh pit." Being that I hadn't worn it in at least 15 years, I threw it in the Salvation Army pile. But then I started thinking.......

That flannel was so good to me. I wore it all the time with my Doc Martins and jeans. (I think I also may have worn it a few times over overalls and an occasional body suit, but we won't talk about that here. Or anywhere.)

Anyway, seeing that old flannel got me all nostalgic. That whole time era was really the best time of my life, not just because of the music or because I was still young and skinny. (bah- I know I'm fooling no one here- of course it was partly because I was young and skinny.) But it was also because I was so..... free.

I lived at home. I waitressed at a coffee shop in Palm Springs and pocketed hundreds of dollars in tips every week during the tourist season. I had my little red Mazda Mx3 hatchback to take me to work and school- and those two places were really where my responsibilities ended.

If my friends and I finished our shifts at the coffee shop at 10 p.m. and decided that the senior citizens had sucked the life force out of us (which they often did), we'd take off and drive 2 hours to Huntington Beach, where we'd walk around and soak up young people energy for a while. Then we'd drive home and maybe do it all over again the next night.

Or, sometimes we'd just finish our shifts and go down the street to the 24 hour coffee shop and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee, cuz we thought we were cool like that.

The soundtrack to Reality Bites was in my tape deck almost always. I was one of those dorks that liked to sing along to "My Sharona". If it helps to redeem myself in your eyes, you should know that I also liked Stone Temple Pilots, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden.

Don't forgive me yet, cuz I also have to confess that "Now That's What I Call Music! Vol.3", also got equal playtime. This was mostly because I needed to have Sir Mix a Lot and KC & JoJo on hand for road trip sing a longs.

I am a very complicated girl, musically speaking.

Zima's, wine coolers, and Boone's Hill were what Chardonnay, Merlot, and Patron are to me now.

I was in love for the first time, and my then-boyfriend and I used to go to car shows and street races. He taught me the difference between a big block and small block engine, and while this information has never proven useful to me, I still can recognize the difference.

My L.A. friends would tape record "Love Line w/Dr. Drew and Adam Corrolla" and send it to me so that my deprived ears could listen to it way out in the desert.

My flannel was there for all of it.

Being that I hadn't worn it in at least 15 years, I ended up throwing it into the Salvation Army pile. But then I started thinking.......and as I looked down at it, sitting all sad and dusty on top of the give-away pile, a couple of chorus' of Puff the Magic Dragon started playing in my head. (If you know me well, you'd know that that song always turns me into a sentimental sappy pile of mush. I can't handle the verse where Little Jackie Paper stops coming around and Puff ceases to roar his mighty roar. Seriously. As I type this, I'm choking back tears.) I realized that that soft and fuzzy little piece of clothing symbolizes a time in my life when I pretty much didn't have a clue what I was doing. I was basically wandering around with a fuzzy idea of what my goals in life were, knowing that I would get there, but not too concerned with getting it done anytime soon. I love that I had that time. I want my own kids to have that time.

So, I'm sure you all can guess what I did. I reached down, snatched the flannel up, hugged it to me for a moment, and gently carried it to my closet where it will sit on a shelf for the next 15 years.

And then I went to look in the mirror and cry at all the wrinkles that are wrecking havoc upon my face.

You all have a good night!

Finger Food Friday on Monday

Actually, if you want to nitpick, this would really be "Finger Food Saturday on Monday". Last Friday was just me and Lils, so we took off and had Subway Sandwiches for dinner with my grandparents. And while yes, Subway would qualify as Finger Food, I didn't want to go through the hassle of explaining to my grammy what a blog is and why I'm taking pictures of her eating a sandwich. So I waited until Mr. C brought our crew home from their week-long camping trip and made them all welcome-home-potato skins.

Let's just jump right in, shall we?

First you wash the potatoes and poke 'em all over with a fork. (That part feels really good on a day when you have a lot of pent up anger). Then you throw em in your oven and cook them for an hour at 400 degrees.

An hour, folks.

Go paint your nails or something. Take a nap. Play some Bejeweled.

Okay. Are you back?

Go ahead and take the potatoes out of the oven and let them cool.

While they're cooling, do some chopping.

Chop up 3 scallions:

Save half for the skins toppings, and throw the other half in 1 cup of Greek Yogurt. Toss in a 'lil teaspoon of salt and stir it up till it looks like this:

Only whiter and with not as many shadows.

Then, don't do what I did and set your backyard on fire while cooking

bacon on the grill. (I am serious- we were this close to calling the fire department. I think if Mr. C has anything to say about it, I'm forever banned from using the grill ever again)

This was all I saved from the bacon massacre of 2010:

Who needs it anyway?

Um, actually, I totally do. Thankfully, I had reserved half the package of bacon and was able to cook the rest of it inside. My house smelled up, which is what I was trying to avoid, but my back wall is still standing, so I'm calling it allllll good in the hood.

So, to get back on track.

By now the potatoes have cooled, so you can cut them in half lengthwise. Scoop out most of their insides, leaving about a 1/2 inch of potato (meat? flesh?) around the sides.

If this was winter, I'd say to take those insides and cook up a pot of Loaded Bake Potato Soup. Alas, it's summer and who wants to eat soup? Do what I did and turn it into a yummy potato salad for the next night's din-din.

Okay. We're almost done. Take a bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil and lightly pour it over the skins (about twice around). With your fingers, rub the olive oil into the skins and then salt it all up. Don't be shy with the salt- keep in mind how good potato chips taste with lots of salt. Then add a little bit of pepper.

It'll look like this:

Throw those back into the oven at 400 for 10 minutes.

Now, at this point, I had to leave. I had a date with some other mommies. so the rest of this FFF is documented courtesy of Mr. C. He forgot to take a pic of what the naked skins looked like when you take 'em out of the oven- but the rest of it, he managed okay.

Here's PG putting her toppings on. I left a tray of a few types of grated cheeses, crumbled bacon, and green onions, but you can fancy it up with almost anything your heart desires in your household:

Here's J. I'm a little surprised by how serious he's taking this:

Here's 9:

Also serious.

And here's Baby Roo.

She's all "Yo, daddy. Gimme some skins."

Sorry.

Also, just need to let you know that I am not responsible for the barrette in the center of her forehead. That little fashion disaster must've happened after I left the premises.

Anyway, this is getting a little long and I'd really like to wrap it up and watch Last Comic Standing with Mr. C. So, here's what the skins look like when you take 'em out:

Yummy. I highly recommend the bacon, pepper jack cheese, and scallion combination. Top it with the Greek Yogurt dip that you mixed up earlier.

Fun and yum for the whole family.

I'll leave you with this image:

My first thumbs up from Baby Roo! Her expression is a little wonky, but I'll take the compliment.

You all have a good night!

How Hollywood Used and Abused Me: Meanie Mom's Story

Okay all. I give up.

I can't write it. It's been almost 2 weeks since my friends and I met up with the most absurd blue collar members of the E! staff at a taping of "Chelsea Lately" and I can't find a clever way to write it. I tried writing this as a "Dear Miss Handler" letter, a tongue in cheek narrative, a spiteful thank you note-nothing was working. What I really needed to convey to you guys was not coming through: the fact that these guys together were possibly the most ridiculous characters I've ever met, and that I actually liked how dumb they were.

To give you an idea: Think Lenny and Squiggy, if Lenny was a gay narcissist and Squiggy was a 5'4 black man with a 12 foot tall ego.

So, since I've been unsuccessful at writing anything worthy, I'm going to resort to what I've read is every bloggers answer to Writer's Block: a list. Maybe when you're done reading you'll feel as used and abused as I did:

Let's start with Squiggy:

1. While standing in line outside for 2 hours waiting to go in, Squiggy would walk up and down the line and tell us that we were "clustering up". Then he would make us all face forward and stand single file like we were in grade school.

2. You know how Bruce Willis can deliver these scary threatening lines in a super soft calm voice and it makes him seem really bad ass? Security Guard Squiggy thought he possessed that same ability. "If you get inside.....(he's looking straight into your eyes and talking so low that you have to lean into hear what he's saying)....and I make the decision.... (he likes to talk slow too because he believes that we're all dumber than him).... that your purse is too big to fit adequately under your chair..... then you WILL have to leave the studio."

3. After he continued to talk down to us about the proper way to go through a metal detector, he scanned me with the little bar, tsk-tsked, and said, "You have an awful lot of metal in that pocket." Without breaking eye contact, I pulled out my single little tiny lipstick tube and held it up for him. "Sorry." I deadpan. He waves me through.

Who's the badass, now? Huh? HUH? Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah, that's what I thought, Officer Squiggy.

4. Just inside the doors and right outside the stage, he gathers us together and in that same, stupid, soft voice tells us the rules of the show. Basically the rules were sit down and shut up, but the Officer Squiggy version was much longer and entailed him describing to us all the power and authority he had over us. For example, "These mikes are hot, they WILL pick up on even whispering, so if you're talking to your friend and the hot mikes pick it up, I WILL come and escort you out."

I also noticed that he really liked to use the term "hot mike", which I understand. It's a fun couple of words to say. If I had his job, I'd want to say as often as I possibly could too, just so I could make myself feel smart and savvy like Squigs.

5. Our last encounter with Officer Squiggy was when Chelsea came around to sign our books. Squigs had already informed us that Chelsea signing our books was a privilege, not a right. After we had all performed our "Yes, master. Whatever you say, Master." routine for him, he gave us little yellow sticky pads upon which to write the name of the person to whom Chelsea was supposed to inscribe the book to. I wrote "Matt", cuz I'm an awesome wife, and Amy b wrote "sugartits", cuz she's hilarious. Officer Squiggy, however, didn't like that she took initiative to do something fun under his watch and told her that he wasn't sure if Miss Handler would sign it. "I'll take my chances." was my b's brave response and sho nuff, Mrs. Handler wrote her autograph out to Sugartits.

I did think that she looked a little confused about it though.

Now, for Lenny. Don't worry. I'm not going to go on and on about him. Most of our day was spent with Squigs, so it's him that I feel more intimate with and that's why I dedicated more than 500 words to him (are you still with me?). About Lenny, the audience-warmer-upper-guy, I'm have 3 things to tell you:

1. He came running out, waving his hands above his head, clapping, and talk-ing-to-us-to-the-beat-ofthe-muuuuuuuusic. He-never-stopped-talking-this-way! He-just-kept-clapping-and chaaaan-ting! Like-a-preschooler-making-up-songs-about-nonsense. (See what I'm doing here? I'm trying to write the way he was talking/chanting? Are you getting that?)

By the end of the taping he had HUGE sweat stains around his neck, pits, and back.

He was gross. And stupid.

2. He chanted at least 50 times that he was in The Hangover, the number one movie in america last year, and that he was on Chelsea, the number one cable show. Being number one was very big for him.

3. Lenny was serious about his clapping. More, specifically, he was serious about our clapping. He made us practice soft clapping and loud clapping. He told us to laugh, even if we didn't think the jokes were funny. He'd stand in front of us and wildly wave his hands, trying to squeeze more, more, more enthusiasm out of all of us, and if we didn't give it to him, he'd silently mouth "You people are killing me." I was a little bit scared.

To be honest, I think the entire audience was kind of scared. Officer Squigs had intimidated us all afternoon with his hot mike talk and threats of removal for making noise. Now we had this crazy, sweaty, yahoo yelling at us to be more excited! Make more noise! And for god's sake, laugh!

The whole thing reminded me of that Twilight Zone episode about the little boy who rules the town, and if the townspeople didn't do exactly what he wanted, he'd put them in the cornfield. Are you familiar with that one? If you roll tape of Chelsea's audience on Monday, June 14th, what you would see is every single one of us clapping and laughing manaically, like little puppet on a string trying to please Lenny. And we're all watching Officer Squigs out of the corner of one worried eye.

The whole thing was nuts. But fun. In a weird, sadistic way.

And that's how things roll in Dreamtown, baby. I just feel lucky that I made it outta there.

(Kidding. That's me just trying to put a cheesy Hollywood ending on this extra long post.)

Thanks for reading and have a good day!

Finger Food Friday on Monday

Hey!

How'd it get to be Monday already? Wasn't it just last Monday, and now it's today Monday? In the words of my son J, "What the heck???"

So here's my second (late) installment of my Finger Food Fridays series. Are you ready for it?

Ta- Daaaaaaa!

It's Lettuce Chicken Wraps! Ceptin' this picture isn't' showing the lettuce- just the filling. Be patient, though. I'll get you there.

So here's a pic of all the necessary ingredients:

You got your lettuce, shredded cabbage, diced cucumber, garlic, red pepper flakes, 2 diced chicken breasts, water chestnuts, ginger, plum sauce, cooking oil, seasoning blend, and if you're cool like me, you have scallions and basil fresh picked from your garden.

I feel just like Pioneer Woman, what with my fresh picked herbs and all.

So, first thing you do is to get your oil nice and hot so you can throw in your chicken.

Season it well with whatever seasoning you like. I love Cajun seasoning. I think I was a Louisiana belle in another life.

Next, throw in your red pepper flakes.

Don't worry. The chicken does not look that grey in real life. Just my amazing photography skills that wash all the appetizing appeal away.

Add 4 cloves of diced garlic, 1 cup of shredded cabbage, water chestnuts and scallions and stir fry it all together for about 2 minutes:

Don't be a dummy like me and leave a metal spoon in a hot wok for any length of time. Ouch.

I'm going to chalk that up to a blonde moment.

At this point I took a little bit out and reserved some on a plate for J. You'll need to do this too if you have someone at your table with an allergy to soy or msg, because the next step is to add Plum Sauce. That's found in the Asian Isle. It's yummy, but a nightmare to people with allergies like the ones I mentioned.

By the way, it's a cup of plum sauce that you'd need. (Just in case you're one of those who need exact measurements. I personally, usually like to "feel" a recipe. It's been disastrous on occasion, but I like to live on the edge. Call me nutty.)

Okay, last thing you do is wilt about 2 cups of fresh basil into the dish. Quarter the lettuce and separate the leaves. Then ring the dinner bell.

Or, like me, just holler "DINNER!!!" down the hallways as loud as you can.

Okay. Entering the next part of FFF: The fam's reaction.

When the kids got to the table, they looked a little suspiciously at the dish. I tried the old "it's not gross, it's fun" mom trick by telling them that we were having lettuce tacos with chicken filling.

J bought it:

9 said he liked it, but I caught this expression on film:

I think it speaks for itself.

You can see the family resemblance between him and Roo in this next shot:

C'mon Roo! At least eat your broccoli!

Princess Picky fought us on even trying it. We had to get all stern with her and I believe the words "Fine! You do NOT get to go on my blog!" came out of my mouth.

Humph! Showed her.

I did try to fun it up in a real way by giving every one chopsticks and stir frying some rice noodles with broccoli. That obviously didn't work, but I did enjoy watching my kids struggle with their chopsticks.

This pic should be titled, "A Passive Aggressive Mother's Revenge".

Mr. C did like it though, and as always, he's a great model at the table for manners:

Thanks babe. That's great.

Anyway, so it looks like Chinese Chicken Lettuce Wraps are not a hit in this meanie mom's household. But it'd be a good dish for Mr. C and I on those nights when I give the kids chicken nuggets and we eat after they go to bed. In other words, it's good date food.

Oh yeah. One last thing. J decided to change his mind on his opinion of dinner. He wanted me to take a picture of him doing this:

What a (cute) copy cat.

You all have a good night!