hmph:

A sound, usually made with a closed mouth, indicating annoyance, indignation, or sighing.*

Apparently my last post with "My Secret To Happiness" in the title hasn't done so well in the virtual world. I am somewhat of a stat watcher- my biggest fan base is overseas, go figure.** Oh well. I'm sure people are just busy with other things like laundry and work and spring weather. Besides, I tend to skim over anyone else's cure for happiness myself. As long as my mom keeps reading, I'm good.

Back to the business at hand.

Thank God The Tomb Is Empty!

Strangely enough, my house is also about to be empty. We had plans for Easter dinner, but our intended guests came down with a stomach virus of some sort. When that fell through, I graciously offered one kid the opportunity to do as he pleased today and the word spread like wildfire. I've now got two sons spending the day with the families of the girlfriends and a daughter embarking on an Easter egg hunt with a friend. That leaves me, the husband, and our good Sunday clothes. This will be the first year ever that there hasn't been a ham baking in the oven.

I think I'll let someone else do the cooking today.

My mom always told me that once the kids grew up, things would be different. They're by no means grown and out of the house (well, one pretty much does as he pleases), but things are certainly different. Some things know no age limits, though... there were three chocolate bunnies lined up and standing at attention on the mantle this morning. Every kid I saw smiled as they walked by and plucked away their prize. I don't know if that crazy big bunny will every get to retire.

Happy Easter, Everyone!


*(en.wiktionary.org/wiki/hmph)
**sarcasm; not true; an inside joke

I'm A Big Believer In Cake Pops

They're cute. They're tasty. And they're just the right size.






I like to think I'm pretty much a simple girl. I don't get too excited about a whole lot with the exception of Atlanta football,  Kentucky basketball, and old-school country singers in cowboy hats. I'm in love with Jesus, my parents, my husband and kids, and my country. I like to cook with real butter. I despise sorting socks. I've got a quick temper when I feel threatened. I'm not a fan of the mall. I'm very much the frugal shopper unless faced with a Starbucks sign or a pedicure in the spring and summer months. I don't like to spend money, but sometimes... I like to spend it very much.

I come from a small town. The words crime scene and racism and Mercedes Benz didn't mean much to me. I don't know that I could have really correctly defined any of those words at any point in my young life. It wasn't that we were ignorant; I just don't think we were faced with any of it. Life was safe. People were people. Everyone I knew drove a Ford or Chevy. My parents worked hard. They didn't cuss or drink or smoke or teach me anything other than respect and values and love. Family life may not have been perfect, but it was always stable. I didn't know how much I would appreciate all that until I got older.

I've been on quite the learning curve since we made the change from a one-stoplight town to a central six-county region of around 710,000 people. I don't care how long I live here... that number will always be about 705,000 too many people for me. I realize those numbers don't even come close to the big city numbers out there; but when I hear people refer to this area as a small town, I think to myself  you have no idea and for that experience, I am thankful.

But too be honest, I am more than spoiled with the many amenities that now surround me. I've developed quite the Starbucks habit. I've been to more movies in the last five years than I had been in my entire life. As much as I hate the mall, I appreciate the fact that going there doesn't become an entire day event with the time it takes to drive there and back. I love restaurants. I like hearing about all the concerts available (even if I can't afford 95% of them). I get a kick out of the abundance of nail salons and Chinese buffets. Things are certainly never dull.

And that's what I miss, if that makes any sense. I suppose that's why I am so addicted to my front-porch swing. I don't keep a quilt and pillows out there for no good reason. I'm a big believer in lazy days and afternoon naps and a cup of decaf as the sun goes down. I may get angry at the non-signal-using fools in morning traffic and become extremely agitated when the old lady in the smart car steals my parking spot... but it doesn't take much to unwind me and take me back to a simpler time.

The promise of eternity.
The adoration of my parents.
The love of a good man.

The sight of three kids at the dinner table.

And cake pops. Definitely the cake pop. Starbuck's Salted Caramel version pictured above. Combine that with George Strait on the radio and my Friday afternoon just got a little sweeter.

No small town needed.

Happy It Stinks To Be Single Day!

At least that's what I've heard it called this week by no less than four women, two men, and one rather sarcastic cartoon character.

Ahhh... Valentine's Day. Another day/holiday/event for women to shamelessly try to out do one another on "what a great man" they've got. Bleck. If you've got to facebook it, instagram it, tweet it, text it, or otherwise... maybe that man ain't so great every other day of the year.

There was a time I was into all that. There was also a time when I was young, immature, and seventeen. Now all I see is stores bathed in pepto-bismal colors four days after Christmas and endless commercials for flowers, cards, teddy bears, and cake. Yes, cake. I saw one local ad the other day informing me that if I really loved that special someone in my life, I would show it with their signature strawberry-layered cake. Of course, that cake will set you back about forty bucks, but hey... that's just three-quarters of a tank of gas anymore, right?

Anyway.

Maybe I'm jealous at the core.

(deep soul searching at the moment)

No. I really don't think I am. I know the husband loves me with or without that five-dollar Hallmark card. He loves me with oil changes and new tires and a little pond with a trickling fountain outside my kitchen window. He loves me by filling a bubbling-massaging thing for my tired feet when I complain that they hurt. He loves me by fixing fluffy omelets filled with cheese and extra pepper because he knows I can never fold one on my own and keep it whole. He knows I love him by the dresser drawer filled with clean, rolled socks and neatly tri-folded underwear.

I aim to please.

I watch my kids encounter their own dilemmas with this heart-shaped, drippingly sweet, lace-trimmed day. One wants to pull off the perfect surprise. One wants to find money hiding in the couch. One wants to sleep through the day. I can relate on all three accounts, Valentine's Day or not. I just hope they can see through all the fluff to know that love and tenderness and putting someone else first should be a priority on any day, not just the day that Wal-Mart tells us it should happen.

How in the world this turned into a ramble about Valentine's Day, I have no idea. That was really not my intent. I suppose I was just thinking on the way home that even if I wanted to get something, I could not. The five dollars in my purse is destined for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread, not Valentine chocolates. Even so, I can do better with a container of Hershey's cocoa powder in my cabinet than anything I could find on a shelf at Walgreens. The family will be treated tomorrow, regardless of my feelings surrounding another over-commercialized day on the calendar.

Any day's a good day for chocolate.

Chocolate Perks Me Up (with a postscript added)

Clear across the country at this very moment a ceremony is taking place. If I were there, I would be wearing a black cap and gown, a cream-colored tassel for my degree program, and a gold honor cord representing my grade point average. Instead of all that (which I would totally love), I am wearing my standard white t-shirt, stretchy pants, and random pieces of lint courtesy of the dryer. I've been fighting the pity-party invitation all day and I gotta admit, grocery shopping and laundry piles don't do much to ward off such a formidable foe.

Ho-hum.

To make myself feel better, I've done a few random job searches and verified with my university that my transcript now confirms the completed degree. I should feel pretty good, right? I do and I'm happy and all that... I am just ready for something to give. The husband is having a down day himself, looking at job sites, looking out the window, looking for anything. If we don't perk ourselves up by the time the kids get home, they are gonna be in for one depressing night. We've kept busy all week working out in the yard and sprucing up everything. I guess we've officially run out of steam.

I think I'll go bake myself a cake.

Chocolate. Hershey's Chocolate.

We'll turn this day around yet.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two Hours Later.

Pssst! The cake did the trick! Is that bad? I mean, Jesus makes me happy, the cat makes me happy, writing makes me happy... but chocolate? Oh, good grief, that practically makes me deliriously happy (okay, slight exaggeration on my part). The crazy thing is that I haven't even eaten any of it yet.

The husband went to get the kids from school and they all walked in to find me licking the frosting spoon. I got teased about my apron, teased about my lack of kitchen etiquette (as in the licking part), but did I ever have a captive audience! I am satisfied enough right now to sit down with a cup of coffee while two out of three kids are enjoying their own slice of cocoa-dusted heaven.

Miracles never cease.