In case you didn't know it, that's the title of a Christmas Song. I think I sang it at least a million times when I was a kid. It somehow made the program list every single year during Holiday Season, which did not make me happy at all -- the song that is. It wasn't my favorite.
I was singing it today though, at the end of July, and it didn't have anything to do with winter holidays. It's because of this . . . .
I LOVE tomato season. There are few things better than a BLT on homemade bread with a home grown tomato. It's the best part of summer.
I like them with a hint of Gorgonzola or goat cheese, and a pinch of Basil. Double Yum. You should try it that way.
Sadly, the Topsy Turvey was not as miraculous as it appeared on television. But ended up not mattering because my insanely talented gardening friends the Barbours gave me some of their harvest; thee most beautiful tomatoes I have ever seen or tasted for that matter.
I am not joking when I tell you that Scott Barbour planted 100 TOMATO PLANTS. One hundred! No wonder they are giving away tomatoes!
I haven't been in their back yard yet, but I'm imagining Little Shop of Horrors.
Come to think of it, I haven't seen them since they gave me the tomatoes . . . . I better send Matt over to check on them.
It began as I was standing at the sink in the women's restroom at Walmart; a loud wail coming from a small human that I guessed to be around the age of two. I dried my hands and walked back to my cart as the sound progressed to a noise not unlike an animal caught in a trap; ear-piercing screaming, the kind that brings on a headache.
I meandered to the back of the store where the fabric section is located. It used to be a lovely large area with stools that sat under a table full of pattern catalogues. Somewhere between now and the last time I paid a visit to this particular store, it was reduced to one isle with a pittiful shelf of fabric. I'm pretty sad about that, let me tell you. Super Walmarts aren't that super if you ask me.
As I continued my way around the store, I heard several people commenting about the loud shreeks and sobs that had not ceased since I had left the sink in the bathroom.
"It must be naptime" said one redhaired woman in short, shorts with a colored tatoo of a snake crawling down her leg. "Yeah, definately naptime", responded her companion with a half pixie half mohawk hairdo.
I was thinking that very thing myself as I tossed three cans of hair spray into my cart. I commented to no one in particular, "Boy, I'm so glad those days are over" as I added two rolls of paper towels to my booty.
The Fit-Thrower came into view just as I pulled into the checkout stand. Cute as a button with curly blonde hair, she was red faced, sweaty, and still kicking as her poor mother tried to push her out the double doors with two gray haired women in pursuit.
As I watched my purchases travel down the runway, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that those gray haired ladies were giving the Fit-Thrower's mother a piece of their mind. I know because I remember getting those same lectures from annoyed senior shoppers; the rolled-eyes and the "huff" that followed a curt "I never would have let my children get away with that!"
I felt so sorry for Mother Fit-Thrower. I really did.
I will never understand how old people suddenly become alert when they hear the scream of a naughty child; they usually don't hear high pitched sounds. Why do they find it necessary to chastise the parent, when it's obvious it's embarassing, and difficult to shop with tired children . . . and children who know they can get away with murder in public places.
Don't they remember that sometimes, Moms do what they have to do, especially when they are out of the essentials like diapers, or diet coke, or fruit snacks?
I think someone needs to invent a little warning sign that parents toting children can attach to their shopping cart. Sort of like the one you put in the rear window of your car that says "Baby on Board."
But this one would say "Stay Back!!! Frustrated Mother Who Already Knows Her Children Are Annoying You."
Maybe then, shoppers suffering from memory loss would get a clue.
And it just might remind me, when I am gray-haired, tired, and ready for a nap, not to throw a fit in a public place by giving a frustrated mother a piece of my mind. You have my permission to pinch me, just in case I forget.
Post Script written October 1st, 2011 - Wishes do come true. Guess what's back at my local Walmart -- the fabric department!!!
My inner time clock is all messed up. Night Owl me is secretly a little put out about it, but the Early Bird in my house is ecstatic.
Since I've been home from France, I automatically wake up at 5:00 a.m. I hop right out of bed without lying there for 30 minutes thinking about it. Elphie and I have been taking early, early walks; instead of late, late walks. I might even get a tan on this new schedule -- if I stay out long enough.
Do you know that I've been so crazy busy with I don't even know what, that I haven't even been to the beach yet! That is just sad. Sad, sad sad.
After my walk, I showered, did laundry and cleaned the house. All before 9:30. That rarely happens in my life -- getting so much done before 9:30 a.m. I think I need to go to France once a year just so I can stay on this schedule.
At 10:00 a.m., I went to Home Depo with an idea in my head. I spent about two hours wandering around trying to figure out how I was going to make it happen. I bought drill bits, PVC pipe, eye screws, cement, drop cloths, cotton cord, empty paint cans. Whew, I was sweating when I got in the car.
I came home and dumped it all in the back yard. I've been cutting and drilling, and Mod Podging, and mixing cement all afternoon. I've enlisted Eden who's been sanding all day to pay of the debt he accrued shopping in Tolousse.
I spilled Mod Podge on my pants, and cement on my new Espadrilles. What was I thinking!
I had to go inside and change into something more suitable for construction projects.
I think I'll be outside until it get's dark. This is more involved that I thought it would be.
I think I'm going to take a short break and head over to the Asian market to see if I can find a Chinese newspaper.
Kind of random huh?
I'll show you what was inside my little head in a few days. (But only if it turns out cool.)
We are home. I almost kissed the ground of the L.A. airport at 12:00 p.m. Not because I was thrilled to be there, I was just thrilled to get off the plane. Flying 10 hours through the night is brutal. You don't notice it much when you are going somewhere fun, but on the way home you do. I truly would have lied down in the isle of the airplane to get a few hours of sleep, but the flight attendants wouldn't allow it -- they were to busy serving coffee, and it probably would have started a trend.
I don't know how people who travel for business do it. I really don't. My hat goes off to you, including Matt, who has to fly two days to get to India on a regular basis. Brutal.
Once we waited 30 mintues for our bags, and took a 30 minute shuttle through every single parking lot to get to our car, we still had a two hour drive ahead which was a horrible thought when all you want to do is sleep.
When we finally pulled into our driveway at 3:00 a.m, I shut off the car and headed went straight for the front door -- which was locked. We somehow forgot that we had given my house key to our realtor.
Matt, the problem solver that he is, went into the garage and started pulling out sleeping bags. That's when I almost had a breakdown.
A miracle happened a few minutes later when Eden found managed to climb through a window and open the front door. Voila! We were home at last.
That little adventure marked the end of a great vacation.
***
Today it's back to business.
I'm tripping over the laundry piles, and downloading pictures.
Claire took off to see friends.
Eden is at the ranch riding horses.
And Matt . . . . he's upstairs watching the television shows he recorded while we were away, specifically -- So You Think You Can Dance.
P.S. I have be fair and report that Matt spend the morning doing lots of work. I just found it amusing that I can hear Kat Deely's voice coming from upstairs as I write this post.
The wait in line to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower was over two hours. Two hours! It wound all over the place, just like waiting for a ride at Disneyland. I was not looking forward to it one bit.
I had just flown 10 hours on a plane, and walked 6 miles in the rain to find our friends, Clarence, Kris, and Tabethya Hofheins. I was sooooo tired, and a little grumpy. But we only had a few hours to spend together, so we had to make the most of it and pack in as much as we could . . . which included the Eiffel tower.
I got in line with Kris, while the rest of our group took off for a crepe stand across the street. Sort of a jip if you ask me. Why do the mom's always get the "wait in line" job and everyone else in the family gets the "go for treats" job?
I hadn't even been in line 10 minutes when I saw several French army guys come walking through the crowd with machine guns. That was not the hilarious part -- seeing men with real machine guns wandering around. That was unsettling. It was a vivid reminder that there are places around the world who see violence in the form of bombs and shootings at public places.
Not long after, Matt came up behind me and handed me a crepe dusted with powdered sugar and a splash of lemon. Pure heaven. It made up for the 6 mile walk. I felt renewed.
An hour passed and we were still winding around in line. But it was ok, because it gave us time to catch up with the Hofhiens, and shop for Eiffel Tower key chain souvenirs that were being peddled by young men sitting on tablecloths around the line.
As we were chatting away, I noticed a group of about 15 people -- they looked like family, all standing next to the line, but not in line. I happen to make eye contact with one of them, a smiling woman with short brown hair. She walked towards me, and her entire group followed right behind her.
As the woman approached, she started muttering zyah, zyah, zyah with this happy look on her face, like we were friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time. I thought what in the world is she doing? So I said No French in my best French accent. (Which, as I have mentioned in prior posts, my family mocks all the time.)
The woman raised her eyebrows and made this "just go with it" face, and continued gesturing and talking away with her muttering zyah . . . zyah . . . zyah. Eden leaned over and in a laughing whisper said I think she's trying to pretend you are buddies, and you saved her a place in line.
He hadn't even finished the sentence and sure enough, that entire group was in line directly behind us, and they were all laughing and nodding at me. I think it meant "Hello relative who is saving our place in line." Then Eden and I started laughing too because it was funny. That took guts, 15 people all butting in line together. I had to let them. Any mom in a foreign country willing to mutter to a perfect stranger just to get that many people in a line deserved a break.
Eden leaned over and whispered in my ear: They have a devil may care attitude. We should have thought of that! Mom, why don't you just go up to someone and start mumbling in your weird pirate/French accent and see if you can get us to the front of the line!
I whispered back: Because I would be pulled out of line by an army guy, and we would suddenly be in an I Love Lucy episode!
Then, one of the teenage Line Butters handed me a package full of pretzel/biscuit looking things covered in poppy seeds, and the entire group of Line-Butters smiled at me again. Claire said: Oh look, they just gave you a "thank you for letting us butt in line" treat!
I had to reciprocate, so I reached in my back pack, pulled out a giant box of Skittles, and handed it to the girl as good will gesture. She looked pleased.
Eden was not pleased. He whispered Oh that is so ..... not a fair trade! Butting in line AND Skittles, for a pack of Russian pretzels!
I said What makes you think they are from Russia? That muttering didn't sound Russian at all! And by the way, you just had a Nuttella Crepe, the last thing you need is a box of Skittles.
Still whispering, he responded: The writing on the package is Russian! Man, if this is their special treat, I never want to visit there, they don't look very tasty to me. Who covers pretzels in poppy seeds! Those Line Butters are going to go nuts over Skittles.
And I whispered back Why are we whispering, they can't understand a word we are saying!
And then we laughed our heads off.
Once we had composed ourselves, Eden and I broke open the Russian treat and had took out a pretzel. We both made a face at the very same time -- the "these are delicious" look. But as we chewed, I could tell that Eden was thinking the very same thing I was thinking, because the minute the Russians weren't looking we both mouthed "dog biscuits" and then burst out laughing again. I was so tired I could not stop, which sort of embarrassed a certain girl in my family. I think she tried to butt in line with the group ahead of her just to get away from her pirate/French speaking mother.
It was the most fun time I've ever spent waiting in line -- lemon crepes; new Russian friends, with whom we could not communicate; eating bad pretzels, and laughing.
Our wait ended with this conversation -- Eden, declaring that the French would like us more if we all pretended we were Canadian.
Backing up a week to the first day we arrived in Paris. It was a looooong day. A 10 hour flight, and a full day wandering the streets. We went met up with our friends, the Hofheins, and went to the Eiffel Tower.
The line to go to the top was about 2 hours long, but we waited, because it was a once in a lifetime chance to see all of Paris from a birds-eye view.
Then we walked over to the Louvre, which had already closed. We walked around the grounds and watched the lights of the city turn on as the sun began to go down.
Right near the Louvre is a little amusement park. The lights, and the hope of gelato beckoned us, so we went over to see what we could see.
Not only did we find gelato, we found a park, with a fountain.
It was a great day, and we were happy to spend it with dear friends.
Lying there on the grass with my eyes closed, it felt like the days at Liberty Park with my grandparents.
The air felt the same, cool and breezy.
But instead of geese and a pond . . . .
there were spotted deer,
and a house that I wished I could live in.
There was a beautiful boat house,
And beautiful boats.
And instead of grandparents, there were two children, who mocked their mother.
Fortunately for the two children, their mother thought it was amusing.
P.S. As I write this, there is more mocking, this time about the post, and the possible comments that will follow. Those of you with toddlers, this is what you have to look forward to.
I have never had such amazing food in all my life. How do the French survive all the processed chain food when they visit the United States? Wonderbread and Twinkies must be such a huge let down when you've lived with baguettes and Eclaire's your entire life.
Why is listening to little children whine in French so cute, and listening to little children whine in English so annoying?
I feel so out of place that I don't have a pair of Genie pants here in France. EVERYONE is wearing them, including senior citizens.
I'm wishing that I had a baby just so I can buy French baby cloths.
I would swear that dogs in France bark differently than American dogs.
I don't know how the Tour de France guys ride over all those cobblestones for miles and miles. My feet are killing me.
How can I get my home owner's association to approve real French shutters so I can put them on all my windows.
Pulling a huge suit case 4 miles in the rain is no fun, especially when you have to climb stairs in the subway.
I wonder if U.S. customs will notice if I try to sneak a wheel of cheese in my suitcase?
I never thought I would be lost on the streets of Paris at 1:00 a.m. on a street full of hookers. Note to self, take away Matt's I-Pad and buy a map.
The view from the Eiffel Tower is incredible, even when the sky is gray.
Who knew that French crepes with lemon and sugar would taste so good after a 10 hour plane ride and a half a day of wandering the streets of Paris.
I never thought I would cry when I saw the work of Vincent Van Gogh up close and personal.
Boy, those pyramids at the Louvre are way smaller than I imagined. (Just kidding, they were huge).
From a woman's point of view, the morning of a family trip is always the worst. Tensions are high, and there's a lot to do. Drop off dog, fill the car with gas, clean out refrigerator, empty trash, finish packing, turn off the iron . . . . you know. Time seems to move in slow motion as we all try to get it all done and just get ourselves out the door. There's a lot of yelling and vacuuming going on -- mostly coming from one person. (I won't mention who, because you've probably already figured out it's the matriarch :)
In spite of the pre-vacation Matrix, we made it to the airport -- without traffic, long security lines, or baggage check-in. Miraculous around these parts.
And now, everyone is back to normal enjoying the selection of cheeses in the Air France lounge at LAX.
Awesome.
Lot's of conversation in here about cheese, let me tell you. It's so funny to listen to all the different tables discussing their favorites as they break into their mini packats of Le Brie and Baby Bel. I'm glad to be among peeps who appreciate the good stuff.
