Sandi's cookbook

Acme Publishing
123 Penny Lane
Jackson MS 39201

Aug. 31, 2007

For immediate release:

Acme Publishing releases "Complex & Crappy," a cookbook
from MississippMoms.com blogger Sandi P. Beason

JACKSON, Miss — Local blogger and self-professed "lousy cook" Sandi P. Beason has compiled a witty, yet honest, collection of recipes guaranteed to leave a bad taste in your mouth.

"Complex & Crappy," a 365-page meal planner, provides a year-long daily guide of proven failures for wives and mothers looking for new ideas for dinner. Per the title, each recipe involves at least 45 minutes of prep time, and at least that long to cook.

"Each one of the meal plans in 'Complex & Crappy' has been tested in my kitchen, with lackluster results," Beason said. "In six years of marriage, I've stumbled across some real gems, let me just tell you. They all looked so good, so delicious, in the magazines and cookbooks where I found them, yet, somehow they've all been crappy when prepared."

Some looked so promising, in fact, Beason tried them more than once just to make sure she'd followed the directions. Her family's response to these disasters has ranged from placating half-truths to colorful adjectives.

"After one particularly rancid casserole, I was struck with a spirit of capitalism," Beason said. "I thought, 'Maybe I can provide a resource for really great — and even mediocre — cooks who want to share this sort of experience with their own families.' And voila: 'Complex & Crappy' was born!"

Indexed along with each horrible menu plan is quick and easy ideas for "rescue" meals, such as frozen pizzas, fish sticks and Hamburger Helper. Beason said she also plans to accept meal ideas from readers for future editions of "Complex & Crappy."

Early reviews of the cookbook have been varied. Said hydration diet guru T.B. Wetmore: "It's definitely a unique idea, I'll give her that, but this is absurd. Who in their right mind wants to serve this tripe to her family?"

Goddess of the hearth Martha Stewart, however, gave it a much warmer reception: "I think this is terriffic. One week of serving the food on these menus and women will flock to my books and magazines. I hope she sells a million copies."

Advance copies of "Complex & Crappy" are now available for review. The tome will hit bookstores nationwide later this month.

-30-

FREE STUFF!!!

I've got a $10 ticket here for "Boomers at the Ballpark, Gershwin Grand Slam!," a production of the Mississippi Symphony Orchestra, which will be held at 7:30 p.m. Sept. 8 at Smith-Wills Stadium.

E-mail me if you want it: sandi.beason@jackson.gannett.com.
The 10th response gets the ticket.

•••

Here's a list of the books. If you want one, leave a comment on this blog.

• Super Mom Saves the World by Melanie Lynne Hauser (a novel)
• The Three-Martini Family Vacation, a field guide to intrepid parenting, by Christine Mellor
• Nursing Mother, Working Mother, the essential guide to breastfeeding your baby before and after you return to work, by Gayle Pryor and Kathleen Huggins
• Death by Sudoku by Kaye Morgan
• Raising Girls, why girls are different — and how to help them grow up happy and strong, by Gisela Preuschoff
• Puberty Girl, a guidebook for tween girls, by Shushann Movsessian
• The Nursing Mother's Guide to Weaning, how to bring breastfeeding to a gentle close, and how to decide when the time is right, by Kathleen Huggins and Linda Ziedrich
• Yiddishe Mamas, the truth about the Jewish mother, by Marnie Winston-Macauley
• What to Expect When Your Wife Is Expanding by Thomas Hill
• Fit Mama, a real-life fitness guide for the new mom, by Stacy Denney and Kate Hodson

Let me know if you're interested in any of these.

real stinkers

Wow. Talk about bombing out.
After about 45 minutes of prep time and 30 minutes of cooking time, the dish that came out of the oven was beyond mediocre; in my daughter's words: "that stuff is awful."



It's a recipe I pulled from a cooking magazine, and it's one I've made before. It was bad the first time, but I thought I'd just done it wrong. This time, I followed that recipe to the letter, and I swear it tasted worse.

[sigh]

Oh, well. Can't win every time. Because this one's a stinker, I won't reprint the recipe here. Needless to say, she didn't want it in her lunch the next day!

When all else fails, there's always the Crock-Pot. I'll see if I can pull together a passable pot roast tonight. Wish me luck!

bathroom etiquette

Grr...

Please accept this apology in advance if I step on anyone's toes. This blog is not aimed at any one offender, but is just a note to remind you that you're not alone in this great big world (nor alone in most multi-stall public restrooms), so be mindful of others around you!

Here's my short list of peeves:

• If you want to have a conversation on your cell phone, don't wait till you get in the public restroom to do it. Obviously, it's rude to the person you're talking to, but it's rude to everyone else in the bathroom, too. Think about it.

• WASH YOUR HANDS when you're done. People, it's just gross not to.

• Don't leave the water running/dripping in the sink after you've washed up. It's not nice to the environment to waste water.

• Keep your hands and feet to yourself. Don't want to end up like this guy in Idaho. (It's a pot shot, I know... couldn't resist).

• Keep your children under control. This one's a little more difficult to do, but please try. There's nothing worse than seeing little eyes peeking under the stall, or little hands on that nasty, nasty floor.


Getting off my soapbox now...

fiberglass, fried

My husband was cleaning out his vehicle the other day, and pulled this out of the back. You probably can't tell from this photo, but it's got fishing line cooked into it, and a few bits of metal.

No, this is not an Elvira wig on a stick. (That was my guess.)

He told me he'd been out fishing a couple of weeks ago, and propped his pole against a tree when he went to lunch. A thunderhead came up while he was gone and lightning struck the tree where his pole was propped.

The result? Fried fiberglass. That's right. This is what happens to a fishing pole in a lightning storm. Here's more of a close-up, so you can see the fibers. It looked like clumps of black, stringy hair:

I'm just glad he wasn't on the golf course. LOL

open letter

Dear husband,

It amazes me, every day, to see the magic between you and our daughter.

It started when she was a baby. She looked so small there, against your chest, as you rocked her, calming her after a nightmare. In those early years, you would get up with her at night, letting me sleep a little more.

Then, as she learned to walk and talk, you were there to throw her into the air, to tickle her, to help her take her first steps. And now, she's started school. Our baby isn't a baby now. She comes to us now with real fears — no more monsters in the closet; now it's bullies and trying to make good grades.

And I watch you. You correct her when she does wrong, it's true, but you also teach her to be strong, to stand up for herself and to be confident. You teach her how to hit a baseball and how to fish. These things are nice, but what I see — what I love — is what's inherent in them.

You give her what so many fathers fail to give their daughters: time. I'm the one who gets her ready for school, fixes her lunch, keeps her bathed and pretty and up to speed on her homework. And she does still come to me when she needs something. But you lend a presence to this household that I could never provide on my own. You are her strength. Her rock.

You see, all these little things that you and she do together now will be just the seeds she needs to grow into a beautiful, self-confident woman. She won't realize for a long, long time just what you mean to her, but know that I see it. I appreciate you — for all you're doing for our daughter, and all you mean to us both.

Love,
Your wife

Bingo!

This morning was so much fun! My company is in the middle of its United Way campaign and today was our Day of Caring. A group of my co-workers met at the Clinton Community Christian Corporation to play bingo with the seniors. How cool is that?

Here's me and Ms. Easter:


She had a blast. All the seniors there were playing with two cards each, and Ms. Easter bingo-ed about five times. She left with a bagful of prizes.

The 4C's (as it's called locally) is a United Way agency that offers programs for senior citizens, a food pantry, school supplies for children and it operates a thrift store. It's a tremendous benefit to Clinton, as explained to me by Ruth Ingram of The Clinton News. (She came this morning, too, and called bingo numbers). It's just one of many agencies United Way of the Capital Area funds every year.

Companies around the metro area are either doing their United Way campaigns now, or are preparing to. Money raised from these campaigns goes to help people in a variety of ways. Our local agency, for instance, focuses on:
• Affordable Housing
• Affordable Healthcare
• Childcare and Youth Services
• Meeting basic needs.

I'm encouraging all my co-workers to give, and many of them are. Here are some more shots from this morning:



If you've never volunteered at a United Way agency, give it a thought. And wish us luck on our campaign!

fun homework

One of the best things about my daughter being in kindergarten is that homework is so much fun. She brings home all sorts of stuff to do, like guide sheets to help her write her name, flash cards to learn sight words and — my favorite — coloring sheets.

Last night, we sat down and did an "all about me" booklet where she colored each page and drew pictures of the people in her family (including Mimi and Papaw), what she enjoys (hitting a baseball) and what she wants to be when she grows up (a nurse). She did the drawing and coloring; I cut out family pictures and pictures of her to tape in the book. I don't know which one of us had more fun.

Yes, it's "big school," but that doesn't mean homework has to be a drag. I'm looking forward to third and fourth grade, when she gets to do reading fairs (but not looking forward to algebra!).

M-O-M

You know, "mom" sounds like a harmless little pronoun, doesn't it? Don't be fooled; I'm finding out more and more each day that it's really not a pronoun at all. It's an acronym. It stands for "Made Of Money."

So, when your child says, "Hey, mom..." what they're really saying is, "hey, money tree..."

Let me clarify that. It's not just your child who'll call you that. It's everyone and every thing your child is associated with. As the Beason household's "Made Of Money," or "mom," it's my job to make sure all workbooks are paid for. And activity fees. And snack cards. And uniforms/outfits are purchased. And emergency envelopes are full, just in case.



And that's not all. It's also my job to seek out other "Made Of Money" types for school fundraisers. You know the ones. Help your school and/or daycare sell chocolate, gift wrap, magazines, Christmas gifts, cookies, etc., etc. to build a playground or renovate the cafeteria or make school life in general better for your children.

So share the wealth, ladies. School's back in session, so that mean's it's harvest time in the moneytree orchard. If you see me coming with a large, very conspicuous envelope, brace yourself for the sales pitch!

Lolcats of my own

We've got a new source of entertainment at the Beason house. For the past week or so, another cat (the neighborhood tough, really) has started coming to our kitchen windowsill every morning to watch us eat breakfast. I think she's got the hots for our cat, Haley. She'll come and sit on the window, taunting him, and he'll jump on the inside windowsill, taunting her. They slap at each other through the glass and she tries to bite his tail (which is hilarious...all you can see are her teeth hitting the glass).

My daughter thinks this is amusing to no end. We sit there, eating our Cheerio's, the cats trying to get each other through the glass, the drunken hummingbirds flitting around above them. And my daughter just laughs and laughs and laughs.

Here they are, my two lolcats, in a peaceful moment.

We call this temptress at the window "Sassy," a name given her by our neighbor. No one's sure who she belongs to, but several people feed her. She's tough as nails, too, roaming the neighborhood killing birds and such. She has no tail. She's not a special breed, she just has no tail. Haley's not ready to face her without that glass between them, and I think he knows it. He's about half grown, and would be no match for her.

She may be a troublemaker, but it's quite a show.

Score!

It's just hard to please a 5-year-old sometimes when it comes to food. But y'all, I nailed it the other day, and with a salad!

Here's the recipe, which I pulled from a back issue of Simple & Delicious magazine:

Tortellini Shrimp Ceasar Salad

8 cups Romaine lettuce, shredded
1 medium tomato, diced
16 ounces popcorn shrimp, frozen
9 ounces cheese tortellini (in the cheese section at the grocery store)
1/2 cup Ceasar salad dressing
Grated Parmesan cheese, optional

Prepare shrimp and toretllini according to package directions. Combine lettuce and tomato, then toss with the dressing. Drain the tortellini, and add it and the cooked shrimp to the salad. Sprinkle with cheese.


Y'all, she made a "happy plate" (kidspeak for a cleaned plate), and then asked me to pack more for her lunch the next day at school. Incredible. I don't even get this response from chicken nuggets or pizza.

Score!!!

Rewards ... it works, y'all

The good folks at my daughter's school have worked out the most wonderful system to keep the kids in line. I'm sure hers isn't the only school that does this.

At the beginning of each day, all the children are on green. If they break a rule, they get put on yellow. If they misbehave again, they go on red, and if it's severe they land on blue. The penalty matches the crime. Kids on yellow get limited time at recess; kids on red get no play time; and kids on blue (*gasp*) have to go to the principal's office!

But each day they're on green they get a ticket, which can be redeemed at the end of the week by a selection from the treasure box.

My daughter had been on green every day (Yay!), but got in trouble this week and had to go on yellow. She was just mortified. She almost cried when she was telling us about it. She and another child were playing around in the bathroom when they were supposed to be heading back to class. She was glad to be back on green the next morning!




What a fantastic system. And, y'all, it works. The teachers keep those kids in line.

'It won't stop beeping!'

There are lots of good things about becoming a big girl. You get your first salon hair cut, you get to start kindergarten. But there's a downside. You have to, you know, grow up a little, too.

My daughter decided she wanted her own alarm clock, so she could wake herself up in the mornings.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"I want an alarm clock," she said. "I want to do it."

OK. So off to the store we went, and got her a Disney princess alarm clock. I set the time, set the alarm at 6:30 a.m. and put it by her bed. At 6:40 the next morning I went in her room and the thing was going off like crazy, and she'd stuck her head under the pillow.

I heard a muffled, frustrated voice: "It won't stop beeping!"
"It's supposed to do that," I said, laughing. "You're supposed to turn it off and get out of bed."

She wasn't happy about that (who is?), so as I was helping her get dressed, I tried to change the subject.

"What'd you dream about?" I asked.
"I couldn't dream anything," she said. "I was thinking about stuff but that beeping got in my head!"

Needless to day, I've been waking her up lately. LOL

snobby monkey (to me, anyway...)

What's up with Oliver, the Tupelo monkey?

That little quick escape artist has his own myspace page, and I thought, "hey, I spent six years in Tupelo, I'll send him a friend request." A handful of my co-workers sent him friend requests, too.

That was yesterday morning. That little snot still has not added me to his friend list.

At first I thought he just hadn't had time to check his myspace account, or his e-mail. He had been quite busy, after all. But then two of my co-workers told me he'd added them. What's up with that? Do I smell bad or something?
(that's a rhetorical question)

Oliver, why are you being snobby to me? I've got the Tupelo connection!

Acid trip

Smart man that he is, my husband the other day asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I'd mentioned Heelys, a new apron and some other things before, but had finally decided on a trip to the spa. A chemical peel and microderm abrasion would be nice at the end of summer.

I tried to explain to him how, with the microderm, they take this paste full of sharp little granules and grind it into your skin — to exfoliate it. Then, with the chemical peel, they slather acid all over your face, let it eat away at you for a while then wash it off — all to expose the radiant, youthful glow underneath.

"Are you sure you don't want shoes?" He asked.
"No, I'm serious. I want acid dumped on my face," I said.
[pause]
"Why do women do that?" He asked.
Duh, I thought.
"Why do women do anything at the spa? We want to look pretty," I said.

Looks like I'm going to the spa. LOL
Hapy birthday to me...

Awakenings

Just as I was finally drifting off the other night, my daughter woke up. In my semi-conscious state, I thought I heard her crying in her room. Our door opened, and she came in. I felt her touch my leg, toward the foot of the bed, but she didn't crawl in with us. I don't know how long she stayed in our room (or what she did exactly), but she left our door open when she went out. Her bathroom light was on when I woke up this morning, so she must have gotten up to go potty in the night.

She used to have trouble sleeping, but in the past two years, she's been good about sleeping all night. If she does wake up, it's usually to potty, and she's big enough now to just go to the bathroom and go right back to bed.

This time was strange, though. I don't know if she had a nightmare (because I think I heard her cry), just couldn't sleep or what. It's the first time she's come in our room like that and not gotten in bed with us.

It was kind of weird, but maybe it's just one more way she's growing up. Maybe she's realizing that a dream is just a dream, and is nothing to be afraid of. (Maybe I need to realize that my baby's not a baby anymore!)

Like the angels

That little mouth. It's amazing what comes out of it sometimes, and I'm just mortified.

We walked next door to visit our neighbor, a grandmother and soon-to-be great-grandmother. During this visit, my daughter discovered the "wings" on my neighbor's upper arms, and spent the next few minutes swatting at them and making them wiggle.

"My Mamaw Mae has wings," my daughter said. "But hers are bigger than yours."
(she asked me once if Mamaw Mae could fly. LOL)
My neighbor laughed.
"I'm like an angel," she said, waving her arms.
"This is what you get when you get old," my daughter said, slapping at my neighbor's arms. "I'm glad my mama's not too old, like you are."

!!!

I was trying to apologize (wanting to crawl out the door), but my neighbor just roared with laughter. My daughter was starting to squirm. Then, looking my daughter square in the eyes, she said:
"You don't have to apologize for being honest."

She didn't seem offended, but I may still make her a casserole or something.

Diary of the momsicle

Monday

It started this morning as soon as I woke up. I pulled the cover back, and my warm spot evaporated instantly. My feet hit the cool floor, and I crossed my arms over my chest and walked in to the bathroom. At least the shower was hot. That held me over through breakfast and on the drive to work, but I could feel my bones getting cold again, slowly. I knew it would be a long day when I opened the door at work and the icy blast hit me, full in the face. The goosebumps didn't go away until I left for the day, back into the 100-plus degree weather outside for a reprieve until I returned to the meat locker that is my home.
I can't feel my toes.

Tuesday

It's still much the same as yesterday, although somehow it feels colder this morning. A quick check of the thermostat shows I was correct; he must have gotten warm in the night and lowered the temperature. Am I allowed to call him insensitive?! At the office, I hunch, shivering, over my keyboard, willing my fingers to thaw so I can work today. I brought in a light jacket, but like a fool I wore a skirt today (why, I wonder, did I even bother to shave this morning?). Maybe I can leave early today and sit in the heat of my car for a few minutes before leaving to get my daughter to school.
I can't feel my legs.

Wednesday

Horror of horrors! I have to go to the grocery store today! I may die. Just, catch my death of cold right there in the frozen pizza section. Some hapless bag boy will stumble upon me, shoo away the other customers making off with the contents of my purse, pull out his walkie-talkie and say: "Sir, we've got another one. Ha ha. I guess 'cleanup on aisle 10.' Ha ha. 'And bring a spatula.'" Maybe if I wear long underwear and high socks it won't be so bad. Will it?
I can't feel my hands and arms.

Thursday

Why do my co-workers laugh at me? There's a reason I'm wearing this fur-lined coat, even if it is the hottest part of August. Can't they see the icicles hanging off the tip of my nose and earlobes? I complained to management, but apparently I'm outnumbered. The thermostat will remain on 30 below. I think they're all in league with my husband.
All my appendages are numb. My eyes are freezing.

Friday

Oh, glorious day! Glorious, glorious happy day! I will be released from the torturers at last! For three magnificient days, I'll be free from the pain for a long happy weekend at the beach! I still have a few weeks to go, but thoughts of my upcoming trip will sustain me! Agh! How anyone stands August in Mississippi is beyond me. I can't feel my body now. Is it possible to get total-body frostbite? I may start navigating around the office with a team of huskies and a sled. Mush! Mush! (I'm so glad now I never packed up my winter clothing). I have a feeling it's going to be a long, cold evening too. Thank you, Lord, for the heat outside, and the interior of my burning hot car.

Saturday

Like a lizard on a rock, I spent the entire day pulling up weeds and replanting my little garden. I wish I were a solar panel and could soak up the sun's rays, saving them for all my indoor time this weekend and next week. I'm starting to wonder if I'm alone in this great big world. If I've got some sort of rare disorder. Oh, the stares I get! Maybe I should gain some weight. Standing over the stove tonight my hands were warmer, but that @#$ vent blows right down on my head and shoulders. It's counterpart in the dining room blasted us, too, as we ate, and the one in the bathroom was waiting for me as I stepped out of the tub.
The countdown is on, though. ... A few more weeks and I'm beach-bound!

Sunday

And all God's people said "Freeze Out!" I was prepared for the sub-zero sanctuary this week, though. Tights instead of sheer nylon, long pants, long-sleeve blouse and coat. If not for my cold nose, toes and fingers, it would have been perfect, temperature-wise. Maybe I can talk my family into a picnic at the park. I need all the heat I can absorb.
It's night now, cold dark night. This time I felt him get up to adjust the temperature. I wait. Finally his breathing gets slow and even, and I creep out of bed and into the hall. How does he bear it this cold? I just can't wake up frozen, again. This is going to be a long, long week anyway, and I don't want to start it off numb on Monday morning.
The beach. The beach. The beach. It will all be forgotten, at least for a little while, at the beach...

Feelin' the draft

We only had one problem on the first day of school. Amidst the flurry of packing all her school supplies, I forgot to pack a blanket for naptime. She had to "sleep cold," she told me, and she was not happy about that. For some reason, "sleep cold," as she put it, made me laugh, and she wasn't happy about me laughing, either.

I have a terrible sense of humor sometimes; I pictured her lying on a block of ice in the Tundra or something. I made sure to pack her favorite blue blanket the next day, so she'd be snuggly warm at naptime.

The Big Day

It's official. ... she's a kindergartner. An elementary school student. And she did fine on her first day, practically bouncing down the hall on the way to class, all smiles.

I, on the other hand, was a different story. Glad I didn't wear mascara.




Here's a poem her teacher gave us, titled Kindergarten Wonder:

I wonder what you're doing right now and if everyone is treating you kind. I hope there is a special person, a nice friend that you can find.

I wonder if the teacher knows just how special you are to me. And if the brightness of your heart is something she can see.

I wonder if you are thinking about me and if you need a hug. I already miss the sound of your voice and how you give my leg a tug.

I wonder if you could possibly understand how hard it is for me to let you grow. On this day know that my heart breaks, for this is the first step in letting my baby go.

Like Spanish gold, the missing link ...

My hunt for school supplies was a wild, tiring adventure. Some things, like Crayola crayons, Elmer's glue and No. 2 pencils, were readily available locally. Others, though, were unbelievably hard to find. You know, the rare commodities like construction paper and pencil erasers, we had to go on a real treasure hunt around the greater Jackson area to find.
(This is what I get for procrastinating)


I probably should have just sucked it up and gone straight to Wal-Mart, but I avoid that place like the plague (if I can help it). Instead I searched Fred's, Kroger, Family Dollar, Target. Probably the last pack of construction paper in the metro area was found, finally, lurking on the shelves at Walgreens. I nabbed it, along with a pack of manilla paper, a few more odds and ends, then headed home.

We dumped it all out on the living room floor, scrawled her name on each thing with a Sharpie, then shoe-horned it into her new backpack. It didn't all fit, of course, so we'll be carting in supplies by the armload on the first day of school.

Crazy.

Add to that her new fall wardrobe (she's outgrown nearly everything we bought at the beginning of summer, the little weed!) and it's been shopping mania at the Beason house. Thank goodness we only have one child!

Because it rocks

Walking into my daughter's school for meet the teacher night, a wave of what was to come washed over me. We walked through the doors and that smell — like the floors had been mopped with dirty mop water — immediately brought back memories of my own elementary school experience. The painted cinderblock walls, the occasional colored tile in the floors.

We found her name on the class rosters, and were directed to her new classroom. That smile that greeted us! Her teacher seems very nice, and we could tell she was ready for school. Her room was so bright and colorful, and well, just looked fun. And it's a classroom that overlooks the playground. :)

While my husband and I filled out all the paperwork (riding the bus or pickup? eating school lunches or bringing from home? wanna join the PTO? have you paid for your child's workbook?), my daughter was scoping out every book on the shelf, deciding on where she wanted to sit, coloring and playing with other kids as they came in.

Then, it really started to sink in. She's about to start kindergarten.

And, you know, she's been in daycare/preschool since she was a baby. It isn't like this is the first time I've left her in someone else's care. But I almost started crying, sitting there stuffing emergency lunch money into an envelope.

When we left, I asked her what she thought about it all.

"Mama, big school rocks like Elvis," she said.

Yes, indeed.

What a big girl!!

I must have the bravest child in America. First, she handles snakes no problem. Now, she's not even wincing when she has to have a shot. She told me she'd be a big girl and not cry, and she didn't.

We went to a new pediatrician, so I had to fill out all sorts of paperwork and they gave her a mini-physical when we got there. They pricked her finger to do a blood test, and she just sat there and watched the lady do it.

"Look, mama, it's a little straw," she said.
The nurse laughed.
"But we can't drink out of that straw," my daughter said. "It's gross."

She just sat there, watching her blood fill up the little tube. She got a Band-Aid when it was over with, and picked up her book and started reading again.

But the most fun came in acquiring a new skill: peeing in a cup. She did fine and, um, hit the mark, but didn't quite understand the purpose. When she was finished, she dumped the cup into the toilet and looked at me.

"Oh, no!" I said. "You're supposed to take the cup to the nurse!"
"Why does she want that?" My daughter asked, horrified.
LOL. Good question.
"Mama, why are you laughing?"

Fortunately, she'd had enough to drink before we left that within 10 minutes she had to go again. This time, she got it right and the nurse got a sample to test.

When she got her immunizations, the nurse told her to hang on to me, look the other way and hold her breath. One, two, three ... every shot she needed and not a single tear. Three more Band-Aids, a row of stickers and a sucker later, and we were on our way, back to preschool. When I walked her inside, she ran through the classroom, hugged her teacher and said: "I peed in a cup!"

Kindergarten, here she comes.

:)

Homesick?

After nearly a year in the metro Jackson area, we've had time to get settled into our jobs, our home and our church. And we do like it here.

But there are things we gave up when we moved, things I miss terribly. Some of them I expected, some I did not. This is not necessarily a comparison of Jackson to Tupelo, but more of a general laundry list:

• These horrible, horrible roads. The city of Jackson and Hinds County cannot seem to take care of themselves where this is concerned. Some stretches of my commute just have their way with my car, doing violence to my shocks and alignment with every pothole. I seriously considered camping out at every meeting of the Board of Supervisors and/or City Council, complaining until something was done about it, but I doubt it would do any good. If there's no money, there's no money.

• Sheer driving time. I expected a commute to and from work — we did buy a house in the suburbs, after all — but not to every single other thing. For example, I took my daughter for a haircut today, and it was 25 minutes one way. A jaunt to Old Navy takes at least as long. We don't even try to go to Northpark Mall and/or Krispy Kreme anymore.
The downside to this, of course, is HORRENDOUS GAS PRICES. The upside? I can get through a book on tape in no time.

• Morals here are, in general, a little more loose. Don't get me wrong, people. I'm no prude. But, yo, I was shocked at some of the sights at the St. Patrick's Day Parade. I wished I hadn't brought my 4-year-old daughter. And that's all I'm going to say about that. Beer is openly advertised and the bars stay open all night. Sex shops advertise on the radio with these catchy little tunes.
One more disclaimer, for good measure: This blog is a list of things that are different here from where I used to live. It's just an explainer of my culture shock. This is one of the reasons I miss living in a more "family-friendly" city.

• Sheer terror. I'm liable to get raped/mugged/pillaged or get my head shot off if I walk from my office to the parking lot alone after dark, and I work right across the street from the police department. Downtown Jackson is a scary place, y'all.

• White flight. This isn't peculiar to Jackson; it happened throughout the state and the South after integration. I just hate it, that general acceptance that you have to send your kids to a private school if you want to live in the city.
This is one of the biggest reasons I miss Tupelo! The balance in city schools there is right at 50/50 now. And the whole community supports the city's public schools. That's an amazing thing. Imagine if it were like that in Jackson. Just imagine that.

•••

But probably the biggest reason I'm homesick is something I can't quite put my finger on. It's hard to describe exactly. Maybe it's just a collection of several things working together, leaving one big, uncomfortable feeling?

It has to do with moving into the middle of a very fluid population. A good many of the young couples and families I've met aren't "from here." This is, career-wise, a stepping stone to something bigger and better.
It has to do with losing that sense of a regional community. People in Rankin County are very much "in Rankin County," and they're proud of it. People in Madison County (and Madison the city especially) feel the same way. Other parts of the metro area, like Byram, Terry and Clinton, are looked down on.
I don’t like this. We’re all dependent on Jackson. I wish people would acknowledge that, and live like they acknowledge that.

And, of course, I miss my friends and my church family we left behind.

•••

All this said, let me repeat that we do like it here. I love working on this Web site every day, and it's been great interacting with other moms through our forums and galleries. This site has a lot of potential, and, well, it's just fun being part of it.

Perhaps it's just taking me longer to adjust than I thought it would. I don't know. I'll get used to it here, eventually.