This is your child on eggs.

This is your child on eggs and crack.

Any questions?

So, tomorrow morning Southern Living magazine will be featuring me as their southern blogger of the week and my delusional mind has been working in overdrive thinking of all the fabulous accolades that will be coming my way.

Matt Lauer. Oprah. Katie Couric. Perez Hilton.

Yeah, I know. I have issues.

But even on the home front these delusions persist…

I will be awoken around 11 to breakfast in bed by my beautiful, perfectly coiffed children who will present me with a bouquet of pink lilies. They will kiss me and then each other and say out loud, “We are so lucky to have a mother like you!”

Rachel will put on a bra without being threatened with duct tape.

She will brush her teeth with water AND toothpaste….and be happy about it.

She will not argue with me as to why I won’t let her get on My Space and say all her friends are stupid for being on there.

She will announce that she’s tired of her room being a pig sty and promise it will always be clean.

Ella will have slept all night in her own bed.

She will announce that she is done with bologna….forever.

She will apologize for all the MAC lipstick she has ruined using it to write her name on her chalkboard and vow to never do it again.

Todd will not ask where his shirt, pants, shoes, boxers, socks or belt is located but will be all ready dressed when he serves me breakfast.

He will tell me that it really doesn’t matter how long the laundry stays in the basket but that he’s so grateful it’s clean.

And to top it off, a newly hired house cleaner will arrive and tackle this domestic hell-hole we call home.

I will then read them my acceptance speech with the grace and dramatic effect of Scarlett O’Hara. Nobody will roll their eyes…or hit their sister…or spill something on the floor.

By then, I will have awoken in the psych ward doing the Thorazine shuffle.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find duct tape for Rachel’s bra.

Rico flew the coop tonight.

Why? Because he can and because he’s smart enough to come up with some excuse that seems plausible.

Me. I’m not that smart.

Yet.

So, when Rico leaves town for the night it becomes a free for all for the girls and me and mayhem ensues. Movies that don’t included shooting, big busty women or any form of hand to hand combat are obtained. Popcorn is eaten right in the bed (GASP!!!) and no one dies from sleeping in popcorn hulls.

Then the most amazing thing happens.

The girls get quiet. They behave and say things like, “Yes, Mother” and “You’re the Bestest!!” or maybe they say things like, “Get me some more Kool-Aid Woman” and “Stop eating all the dang popcorn Mom!”. Either way, it’s said with a warm inflection and that’s all that really matters.

But sooner or later, I beat them into submission and they go to sleep. Plus there are no witness to prove it.

I am then alone to eat the Oreos I’ve been hiding in the pantry all night.

And I don’t have to share with anyone.

(The following post includes a look into my trouble psyche. There will be proof that I suffer from delusions of granduer, boredom and love of all things southern. Thank you ahead of time for not calling the authorities as you surely will gather I am not sane enough to care for my children.)

Tonight I recieved this message in my email…

Hi, dejoniconley.

Southern Living (livehealthyblog) is now following your tweets on Twitter.

Lawd, have mercy.

I got the vapors.

Where’s a brown paper bag when you need one?

I had to place the back of my hand on my forehead and swoon.

Does anyone hand out brown paper bags anymore????

Southern Living is the epitome of all that is well and good in the southern world. The southern woman’s bible and best friend. The holy grail.

(Insert pipe organ music)

I have read Southern Living since I was knee high to a grasshopper. It’s still a staple in my house and my kids love looking at all the recipes.

Suddenly my mind was filled with dreams of being showcased in Southern Living. I would be famous and adored and worshipped by every man, woman and child south of the Mason-Dixon line.

(Insert bluegrass music)

I also had a sudden urge to tease my hair really big.

 I told my husband he better have sex with me now so he could brag to everyone abouting sleeping with someone famous. He laughed so hard he fell off the bed.

Troll.

Seeing as I’ve already been featured as one cover girl, I didn’t see Southern Living as that much of a stretch.

Anyway, a girl can dream.

In the bizarre instance that Southern Living ever checks me out, I am including my recipe for Seafood Gumbo. The only reason I’m giving it out is that soon you will be reading my recipes in the magazine and I won’t have to include it in my impending cookbook.

(Again, insert pipe organ music)

This recipe seems difficult but it’s not. A large number of ingredients are required and I recommend getting everything ready before you start. If you live in a rural area as I do, it’s not always easy to find fresh herbs. You can substitute dried but be sure to cut the measurements down to a 1/3.

Seafood Gumbo

Roux- 1/2 cup flour

            1/2 cup oil

Soup- 1/2 cup chopped onions

           1/4 cup chopped green onion

           1/2 Tbsp salt

           1 can whole tomatoes

          1 Tbsp minced shallots

          1/2 lb diced grouper or sea bass

          1/2-1 tsp hot pepper sauce

          1 Tbsp fresh basil 

          1 tsp fresh oregano

          1 tsp fresh thyme

          2 tsp Creole seasoning (more to taste for your preference)

          1/2 lb fresh peeled shrimp

          1/2 lb crab meat

          4 cups cooked, warm rice

          1/4 cup chopped celery

          1/4 cup chopped red peppers

         1/8 tsp black pepper

         2 Tbsp minced garlic

         2 qts chicken stock

         1 tsp Worchestshire sauce

         6 bay leaves

         1 lb Andouille sausage

First, you need to make the roux. Take a medium size cast iron skillet and heat oil on high until almost smoking. This is essential. Get it hot. Add flour and whisk continuously until it achieves a dark, mahogany color. This will take anywhere from 6 to 12 minutes depending on temperature.

Once desired color develops, add onions, celery and red/green peppers. Saute 1 minute. Add salt and pepper, tomatoes, garlic and shallots. Saute 4 minutes. Add stock, fish, Worchestershire sauce, hot pepper sauce, bay leaves, basil, oregano and thyme.

Bring to a boil and cook on high heat for 8 minutes. Stir occasionally. Reduce heat to medium and add Creole seasoning. After a few minutes, reduce heat to low and simmer at least 15 minutes.

Turn heat back to high adding shrimp, crab and Andouille sausage. Cook for 5 minutes.

Lower heat and simmer until ready to serve over warm rice.

I don’t understand it.

Michelle Dugger just had her umpteenth baby on some sex filled mission to populate the earth with her babies. Between holding up her hair while using the toilet, home schooling her 900 kids, cooking enough food to feed all of the homeless people in NYC and keeping her vagina from falling out on the floor, how does she find the time for sex?

And really, why hasn’t her uterus become road kill yet?

I have two children. Ages 3 and 11. They are all consuming and messy and sassy. Although I love them more than my luggage, I wouldn’t want to do it over and over and over…even if it did mean my husband would think I’m sexy enough that I didn’t need a haircut, makeup or style.

And how do they financially support all these children? I know they have that reality show and all but seriously, that’s ALOT of bologna to be buying and believe me, I know all about buying bologna. I have that market cornered.

Don’t think if I had all those kids that I couldn’t get my own reality show. Hell, I could get one with the two kids I got ’cause they are wild and they make me mental. Who wouldn’t want to see that hot mess on TV?

I know it’s the new year and I’m supposed to evaluate my life and make resolutions of all the things I want to accomplish over the next 365 days. But we all know how that’s gonna end. I won’t do any of it. I’ll feel guilty about it and it will make me more grumpier than I already am. And I don’t need any help in the grumpy area. Just ask Rico.

So, I thought I would figure out all the bone headed things I did last year and vow not to repeat them.

1. I will not dye my hair red. Nor, will I cut it all off when the “oh crap, I look like a corpse with red hair” shock kicks in. I will not bleach it back and turn my hair into a bad scarecrow wig. I will not ignore my friends who say, “Don’t do it dumb ass.”

2. I will not get my feelings hurt when mentally challenged kids take one look at me and declare I am “one hot mess.” 

3. I will not miss out on the Waffle House Romantic Redneck Valentine’s dinner. Yes, I will be partaking in some scattered, smothered, covered, diced, capped hash brown ambrosia. Nothing says love like eating enough grease to cause a coronary.

4. I will not be sasshaying across the floor during a construction job and almost cut my coochie off. Because I really need my coochie. Enough said.

5. I will not lease another vehicle this year or as long as I live. Especially when the vehicle gives me delusions of grandeur of being a sheik. Besides, all that sand has to eventually end up in your shorts.

6. I will not let my husband buy work vehicles without me and risk us all dying of tetanus.

7. I will not forget to take some Valium before I go to church with the kids on Easter Sunday.

8. I will not be boastful about my lawn mower.

9. I will not get road rage in Alabama.

10. I will not be a “bitch.”

Thanks for a great year peeps!

Yesterday my mom picked up my two girls and left me home alone. And then Rico worked late and left me home alone. Then I ran around the house jumping up and down, yelling and screaming until I fell in a heap of exhaustion on my dirty floor.

For all you parents out there that wonder what they will do with yourselves after your children are grown and out of the house, I can’t relate to you. I will have no problem entertaining myself come 15 years from now. My life will be full and fun and rested.

Here is a rundown of the things I did over the last 24 hours…

1. Started a load of laundry in both washers yesterday at noon. They are still sitting there and will continue to stay there until I am forced to become responsible again.

2. Gotten bedsores on my backside from lying in bed watching Everyone Loves Raymond reruns. And Housewives of Orange County. And Antiques Roadshow. And all sorts of gossip filled news shows outing the latest Tiger Ho.

3. Didn’t act as a short order cook for dinner but fixed bacon and egg sandwiches for dinner because that’s what I wanted. No macaroni and cheese. No Hamburger Helper. No bologna sandwiches.

4. Never poured a single glass of Kool Aid. No hunting the house over for someones lost sippy cup. No cleaning up spilt tea off the floor. Only drinking highly caffeinated sugar filled soft drinks that make me pee all night long.

5. Never wiped anyone’s butt. Wait a minute, I wiped my own but that doesn’t count.

6. Took a shower by myself. Soaked in the garden tub by myself. Didn’t step or sit on toys in either instance. Took a shower with my husband without the threat of prying eyes. In case you didn’t notice, I like to be clean and to conserve water by bathing together. It’s not easy being green.

7. Slept until 9:30 this morning without interruption. Need I say more?

8. Slept naked in bed without someone asking why I don’t have clothes on. Funny how Rico never asks that question.

9. Ate a whole bowl of homemade fudge without sharing and NOT feeling guilty.

10. Thinking I could get used to this way of life but admitting to myself that it was a little lonely.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours!!

Today we ventured out of Hooterville to enjoy a little culture. 

The Kentucky Repertory Theatre has provided quality, professional theatre, particularly for the citizens of Southern Kentucky, by presenting a repertory of works from the best of our theatrical heritage and by developing plays by Kentucky playwrights since 1978. It’s such a wonderful addition to our community.

Robert Brock, their theatre director, was my college theatre professor and has one of the most enjoyable classes on campus. (Holla Mr. Brock!!!)

Anyhoo, today was special in the fact that it was Ella’s first theatrical experience and I was very nervous on how she would do. Thankfully it was a comedy, Christmas Belles.

The first half of the play was wonderful. Ella sat mesmerized by the actors, the lights, the comedy. Other than a few squirmy moments, she was fantastic.

Shortly after intermission, she got up in my lap, cuddled close, and hugged my neck so sweetly. Ahhh, my sweet baby girl.

Next thing I know, she started blowing the ass trumpet like Louis Armstrong. I’m not talking about a squeaker. I’m talking about one of those farts that rival a quarry blast.

To top it off, it was during one of those quiet moments of the play.

God is funny like that.

And because I wasn’t embarrassed enough, she starts asking loudly, “Momma, you smell something? MOMMA…MOMMA…YOU SMELL SOMETHING???”

I’m raising such a classy girl.

Once upon a time, I was a picky eater. I would snub my nose at all kinds of food and talk myself into not liking them. I was so young, so dumb and so worried about the size of my buttocks.

Why does that word always remind me of Forrest Gump?

Anyhoo, how things have changed.

Many Christmases ago, I worked with a lady who had moved to our small little town from New York and she was always baking wonderful, sinful things and bringing them into work for us all to enjoy. One day, she brought cheesecake. I didn’t like cheesecake. I had convinced myself that cheesecake was yucky and nasty and evil. But she made me try it and my buttocks has never been the same.

Ella and I have been making a few to share with friends for the holidays. She is the official egg breaker.

Because it’s the holidays, I will share with you her recipe. It is wonderful and great and full of calories.

The best things in life are always full of calories.

NEW YORK CHEESECAKE

Crust:

1 7/8 cups of ground graham cracker crumbs (about 1 1/2 packages)

1 stick of butter, melted

4 1/2 Tbsp sugar

In a food processor, crumble graham crackers. Add melted butter and sugar and mix well. Pat into sides and bottom of spring pan. Place in freezer to chill.

Cake:

5 8oz. cream cheese, softened

1 tsp vanilla

2 tsp lemon juice

1 1/3 cup sugar

3 Tbsp flour

1/4 tsp salt

6 eggs

1/2 cup heavy cream

In stand mixer, beat cream cheese about 5 minutes. Add vanilla and lemon and mix until fluffy. In a separate bowl, combine flour, sugar and salt. Combine. Turn mixer on low and gradually blend flour mixture into cream cheese. Add eggs one at a time, mixing each well.

Remove bowl from mixer and add heavy cream, mixing gently by hand.

Pour into crust.

Bake 5 to 8 minutes at 500 degrees or until edges are golden brown. Turn down oven to 350 degrees and continue to bake for 1 hour. Be sure not to open the oven as cheesecake will collapse.

Cool in spring pan for an hour or more and then remove sides.

Enjoy and eat the whole thing yourself.

I am the laid back parent.

The one who lets things slide.

The fun parent.

The one who lets the kids pick out their own hideous outfits and lets them wear them in public. The one who raps Flo-rida in the grocery store to embarrass her kids. And sings Andrea Bocelli at the top of her lungs while dropping the oldest off at school.

She loves when I do that…

Fifth graders don’t appreciate opera.

My husband is the disciplinarian.

He makes the kids tow the line. Makes them dress appropriately.

The one who is always saying to me, “Why did you let them do that?”

So it ’twas with much delight that my husband made a bone headed move. A move that required sirens. And hot firemen. And lots of hysterical laughing from me.

While at the beach, my “I was on the National Problem Solving Team” husband decided we should take the girls out for a ride. We dressed appropriately and packed all necessary items (cause he’s anal like that) and took off.

First stop, the condo elevator.

Once inside, he got the bright idea to start jumping. In the elevator. With me and the kids.

Duh.

And then it stopped….in between floors.

Big Duh.

And the doors wouldn’t open and he had to push this little red button.

Super Duh.

And the firemen of the Gulf Shores Fire Department had to come rescue us…

in…

a…

FIRETRUCK.

Super Duper Duh.

And as the nice fireman were getting us out, my eleven year old says to Rico…

“You’re not supposed to jump in elevators. They’ll get stuck.”

Gas to Gulf Shores:   $200

Blackberry with camera to capture the evidence:     $400

Having your husband finally make a stupid parent move:    PRICELESS!