Happy Birthday Baby Boy!

Two years ago today, you were born. It really doesn’t seem like it’s been two years—the time has just flown by. I remember that nervous excitement as we drove to the hospital on that cold, snowy morning.

You are such an amazing, sweet little boy. Your father and I could not be more proud of you or more delighted that you are our son. We truly feel like we’ve been so blessed with you and your sister.

You have become quite the little comedian as of late—never wasting any opportunity to make us laugh. I think that will be your calling in life—making people laugh. You seem to have a knack for it, that’s for sure. Sometimes we have to separate you and your sister at the dinner table because you delight in getting her to laugh with your silly antics.

Right now, you have a passion for all things that move—cars, trucks, trains, etc. Your favorite thing is the Cars movie and all the cool Cars vehicles you received for Christmas. You can spend hours on the floor running your cars around.

Your next favorite pastime is torturing your sister. I know you only just want to play with her, but she doesn’t see it that way. It’s almost funny watching you two interact—reminds me a lot of how me and your uncle used to be when we were small. Also reminiscent of our relationship is the strong, loving bond you share. Your sister is as fiercely protective of you as I was of my little brother, and you idolize your sister in every way, similar to how my brother was with me.

It’s a wonderful thing to see. I hope you always remain close.

Happy Birthday, Little Man. Just remember that your family is your greatest wealth in this world, so cherish all that you have. We will always be in your corner, no matter what.

The Boy and His Box

Christmas morning 2006 was a blast. The best gift of all was that the kids decided to sleep until 10 a.m. ;-) That, after being up VERY VERY late the night before, was a great gift.

The kids made out like bandits. Bandits actually doesn't even really fully describe how they made out. They truly made the leap from overprivileged to utterly ridiculous that morning. Special thanks to Santa and our very generous family and friends for lifting their toy inventory to the stratosphere.

So, after all was said and done, and the gifts were opened and painfully assembled utilizing various tools and a few choice words of frustration, this is the toy The Boy decides he MUST play with . . .

Shocked? No. I was not even remotely surprised. Amused? Yes, of course. Family legend states that my sister and I did something similar on Christmas morning many moons ago . . .

Fried Baloney

Growing up in a single parent household, my mom was broke — often — ok, not just often — more like all the time. Cheap cuts of meat and processed meats were often the main course. The king of them, of course, was ground beef. My mother could make it taste good six ways from Sunday and back again. Then you have your hot dogs, then the old standby, baloney — or bologna, depending on how uppity you feel like being at the moment. Where I come from, we call it baloney (buh-lone-ee).

Now baloney is a being in and of itself. It can take on all sorts of properties. Back in Missouri where I grew up, the baloney usually came either prepackaged or, if we were especially fortunate, sliced at the deli counter or lunchmeat counter. Up here in the Philadelphia area, they have this stuff called Lebanon baloney. That’s some good eats. It has more characteristics of salami than baloney. But I digress. . .

Oh yeah, the baloney . . . so if we got a few extra bucks and were able to afford the “good” baloney, it was usually sliced fresh and thick with the rind on. If we were really good, we got some German baloney. That was some good stuff. Speaking of baloney sliced with the rind on, they don’t do that up here in Philly. They peel it back and then slice it paper thin. While I’ve grown to like my baloney really thin, I’ve found that in order to prepare the true delicacy that is a fried baloney sandwich, the baloney has to be thick — well, not like half an inch or anything — but certainly much thicker than how it is generally sliced in these parts. So, it must be thick — anything else just won’t work.

Growing up we ate fried baloney sandwiches — a LOT. Baloney, after all, was one of the staple meats in our household. We ate so much of it that I swore when I had my own house and a ton of money, I would NEVER make my kids eat baloney. NEVER EVER. By the time I was 12, I had adopted the attitude that I certainly wouldn’t be upset if I never ate another fried baloney sandwich ever again in my life.

But, as life often does, we come to eat our words. In the instant case, literally. So I grew up, got the house, but am still waiting for the money. As such, baloney is also one of those family staples that often finds its way into my grocery cart during those extra frugal shopping trips that occur usually right before payday.

My kids can eat some baloney. If given the choice of steak, lobster or baloney, they’d take the baloney. Especially Katie. She loves her some baloney. It’s not her all time favorite thing at the moment, but she does seem to prefer it over other luncheon meats. The other day I happened to grab a package of baloney. Hell, it was .99 cents; with our trip to Missouri next week and Christmas the following week, things are kinda tight.

So today after school, I offered to make her a sandwich (or sammich) for lunch today. She had the choice of turkey ham or baloney. “Baloney!!!” she said with great enthusiasm. So I’m fixing her up a good old-fashioned baloney and cheese — on wheat ;0) (hey, gotta throw something healthy in there; maybe the whole grains could counterbalance all the stuff-that-I-really-don’t-want-to-know-about-that-baloney-is-made-of). So I hook her up.

Then a bizarre thing happened: I got a hankering for a fried baloney sandwich. Now I’ve craved some weird shit in my life — the most bizarre being liver and fried onions with a side of pickled beets when I was pregnant with both children. But, never in a million did I think I would ever want a fried baloney sandwich. Never-ever. So I thought what the hell, it’s a special day with Dad getting out, why not wax nostaligic?

So I got the skillet out, got it nice and hot. Slapped two honkin slices of good ol’ chock-full-a-nitrates and Lord knows what else baloney in that skillet. With the first sizzle, I went right back to childhood. The aroma of fried baloney is something that illicits such fond memories of that time. I went right back to that summer of ‘84, when my 9 year old brother, always the adventurer, caught himself a big huge catfish about 5 inches long, then brought it home in an ice cream bucket, fully expecting to keep it as a pet (yeah, that flew with Mom like a ton of lead turds).

But, again, I digress . . . remember now, I have ADD, so this may happen from time to time . . . try to keep up with my erratic thought patterns ;0)

So I fried up my baloney and slapped a slice of prepackaged American cheese on it. Oops, sorry: pasteurized pre-processed cheese FOOD. YUMMY! Schmeared a little mayo (mmm, more cholesterol) and a little dribble of mustard on the bread, then delicately placed my baloney/melted cheese lasagna on the bread and dug on in.

OH. MY. LAWD.

I had forgotten how good those sumbitches are!!! Holy HELL! I enjoyed that sammich. Boy did I ever. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the delicate combination of melted pasteurized processed cheese food combined with melted saturated chicken/pork/beef fat and Lord-knows-what-else, but the memories that it illicited. It’s funny how something so seemingly insignificant can take us right back to a specific time in our lives. It’s a wonderful thing.

But, now that I’m old and all that shit, I know I won’t be able to scarf them down like I used to as a kid. But, every once in awhile, I’m gonna have me a fried baloney sammich. Hell, I might even have to break out the cherry Kool-Aid and have Dad ship up a bag of KAS barbecue potato chips (if they still make them) to complete the whole trip down memory lane. ;0)

So this is it. . .

The blog . . . a place where I can ramble on about my insane life.

I'm 33, mother of two crazy chillruns, ages 4 and 2. I work full time (in the evening) and I go to school full time. Yup, it's nuts. I have a great hubby who's still rockin my world after 14 years. ;0)

Why AmazonMama? Well, I'm 6'1 and have two kiddos. I think that pretty much explains the title. Any questions?