Summer, Summer, Summertime....

Summer is officially upon us! It's time to hit the beach, neighborhood pool or fire hydrant. It's also a time that is loaded with Nostalgia. Yes, I am talking about it with a capital 'N'.

As I type this I'm coincidentally wearing a t-shirt from my home state of Rhode Island. Nothing says summer to me quite like the shores of Rhode Island. Land of the oldest carousel, clam cakes, Del's Lemonade and salt ponds with the scent of beach plums in the air. The beaches there are simple. There are not a lot of snack bars or distractions. It is just stretches of soft, golden sand, cold Atlantic ocean and views that put the movie Jaws never far from your mind. It's one of the reasons why I watch that masterful movie at the start of every summer. It completely gets me in the mood for these warmer months.

Just a short ferry ride away was East Hampton, a place that E and I spent a magical summer. We danced on the beach at dawn, drove through winding roads all night long and had more freedom than either of us ever knew before. We saw couples having Hollywood kisses on sidewalks and dined on pasta primavera for the first time. We felt quite continental.


And of course, there is always the music. After food, music is what evokes memories of summer unlike anything else.







What music and food remind you of summertime?

Where's Mummy?

This week I am all about giving away pizza, discussing my burning desire to review cars and more-

Did you enter to win some pizza? There is still time.  Go!

New at MPR this week-

Company Kid's bathing suits,
I'm spending my 'Summer with Toshiba'
Giving a fellow Rhode Islander and author Christine Carr some love
How to whiten your teeth and freshen your breath- naturally with EvoraPlus.

While honest baby lets me mull over eating my own placenta.  Weigh in!

Last week it was noted at DC Metro Moms that H has a point about Father's Day.

$2 Underpants and an Early Bird Special

I'm wearing $2 Walmart underwear with a plastic peace sign hanging on them. Can you say teeny bopperesque? Yup. I'm going to admit it is the first time I've bought the big W underwear and I can only describe a lot of it as eye-searing tricktastic looking. The 3 a.m. hookers in the District might think it is too loud.

At 3:59 p.m. yesterday I realized that both my parents had whole dinner plates full of food in front of them and they were eating...um, dinner. I had dinner at 4 o'clock people! Isn't that earlier than the early bird special?

It is day four of intense clouds, rain and low temps. For my probable last trip up to the New England area it is kind of a bust. I'm missing the beach but the idea of dragging a baby and toddler to the cloudy sea is not an idea that is going to make a Parenting magazine vacation column any time soon.

The upshot? Country road runs with the classic New England stone walls and falling down barns. It is like a scene from Yankee magazine. Some ridiculously tasty food and the RI end cap at the local Stop n Shop was literally one stop shopping the other day when I picked up Autocrat and clam cake mix in one seconds time.

Notes from the Road

Queue the ridiculously bad and entirely inappropriate except for the song title Barry Manilow song, 'Looks Like We Made It'

The girls and I had hit the road yesterday around 4:30 a.m. Typical of TD to stay awake for the whole drive and consume her weight in goldfish crackers while watching 'Bolt' two times in a row before screaming, "I just cannot watch Bolt again!"

To the woman at the Woodrow Wilson rest stop with the white fluffball of a dog: Thanks for telling me my kids are so well cute and well-behaved and all. However? So not cool to then dash into the bathroom ahead of us and take the only handicap stall. Thus leaving me, one antsy toddler and The Comedian in a baby carrier car seat to squish ourselves into a Jersey Turnpike single person bathroom stall. I like being close to my family and all but not ass in your face close.

To the people of Teaneck, NY sorry for the yelling. It was right at that point that TD had her meltdown screeching at the top of her lungs, "The cow isn't doing what it's supposed to in my book!!!! I can't get the yellow marker!!!" I'm sure you heard me scream out, "Don't make me turn this car around TD!" At which point I then burst out laughing at the insanity of it all.

Also, it seems I just drove eight plus hours to hit up a Walmart for some underpants. I forgot to pack them. Somehow though I did remember to pack every single nursing bra I own.

We've arrived. I've already ingested a few cups of tea and heard TD say, "I'm really glad we're here. I'm having a really good time." That makes the eight hour drive worth it.

What Part of Vacation Do I Not Understand?

Holy Melting Hell.

I'm in New England for a bit of a breather. TD and I did the solo flight up here yesterday and can I just say that if a plane full of kids can be fab then we had it? Yes, Virginia it really is possible to soar through the air with the greatest of ease and actually have a kid who thinks even the bumpy parts of the plane ride are fun. "More bumps," TD exclaimed and "Faster! More Faster!" I think I fell in love with her a bit more, if that is possible, in those moments.

Now for the holy melting hell part. I'm up here chillin', maxin', wishin' I was at a pool or ocean but no, indeed I am glued to my hot box of a laptop working. Le Sigh.

I am swelling and pissy.

Not a good combo in even the non-pregnant.

Thank goodness for grandparents who actually go on solo excursions with the child and take full control while I spin out of it.

Later, Internets I'm off to the trenches. Hi, ho, Hi ho....


P.S. Please check out MPR today. Good reviews and I'm giving away a copy of Meet the Sight Words.

Breaking Curfew and Seeing R-rated Films

There are claymation penguins eating cake with seals in party hats. The main topic of conversation/argument in the house is the ever changing temperature reading off the side of my parents house.

My Father: Ooh! It's 38! Look at the sky!

My Mother: 38?! (utter disbelief that it could be 38 degrees rings in her voice) Why that is ten degrees colder than yesterday!

My parents are fascinated by weather. My father's dream is to have some sort of Wizard of Oz like capability or machine on the premises that would tell him the weather every five minutes or so down to the last centigrade, jet stream and barometric pressure. If my father had to live in a climate like sunny So Cal where seasons are hard to differentiate he wouldn't know what to do with himself. He is the Oz of weather. He and my mother confer on the temperature every half hour or so as if the each degree change is a prophecy of some sort. The amount of birds by the bird feeder by the hour are also a constant source of discussion.

Despite being in my 30's, being married, having a mortgage, dog and kid I come home to my parents house and feel like a teen again. My mother feeds me, I do the same chores I did as a kid, and my father controls the remote to the television. For the most part I don't really mind it. It's oddly comforting yet strangling at the same time. See just like being 15 again!

At some point last night after a rousing viewing of Antiques Roadshow Savannah embellished with carrot cake I found myself engrossed in a PBS special about the life of a lobsters. To be fair it was actually, 'The Realm of the Lobster'. Sounds more enticing, no? It was at this moment that I felt like I was about nine years old again and I should be sitting on the floor of the living room watching TV. My myopic self would sit incredibly close to the set and watch hours of National Geographic and public television specials with my parents. It's no wonder I turned out the way I did when a good night at home was watching a three foot long lobsta duke it out with another lobsta of lesser size and claw width. I could have sat there entranced all night as baby lobstas were hatched into the wild into the Bay of Fundy and tried to survive, but H nudged me that it was time to get a move on if we were going to take advantage of free baby-sitting and head to the movies.

As H and I headed out in the sleeting rain (a 9:30 show! We are giddy like teenagers about to miss curfew) my father yelled out the front door that the current temp was 32. My Mom warned us to watch out for deer and to remember to use our high beams. Thanks Mom!

It's good to be home. If nothing else being made to feel like a teenager again by your parents does indeed make you feel like, well, a teenager again. This time though I feel like H is the cool boyfriend I always wanted in high school but never had. He has a better car too.


I've been somewhat productive while here as proof in this.

Ryan Gosling Hates Trans Fats

Another night and another dream with a celeb sharing advice with me. What gives? Is it the fresh New England air making me hallucinate enough to see Ryan Gosling berating passerbys?

Or Dick Cheney playing slots at Mohegan Sun? Yes, folks. He's not in an underground bunker. He's playing slots and keno at Mohegan Sun. Run for your lives.

Don Imus was watching street performers on the roof too right before the fireworks last night. It's a crazy world I tell you when you are living it New England style.

So my dream. A young Ryan (think 'Remember the Titans Ryan) is standing on the side of a country road with a bunch of friends. They are yelling eco-world information at passing cars while hurling used plastic water bottles at them. I come upon this whole mess of a scene and say, "Boys! What are you doing?" Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that I'm about 55 in the dream? Ryan lights into me about "this whole stinkin' state is into clogging their arteries and it's no wonder that other countries hate us, because we are a bunch of slow, fatties. We're sweat pant lovin' no style havin', trans fat eatin', egotistical monsters". Wow. He's really upset about it the whole state of the well, state. He started crying about trans fats. It was a tough sight to behold I tell you. I told him that I hate trans fats too and he hugged me and cried some more.

I'm thinking that the migraine I had last night is the culprit. It's certainly not the three trans fat free oreos I consumed (yes, I caved and I loved it!) hours before.

Consumed!

To date on this version of "Mummy Cruises Home Turf" the following has been consumed.

1. No oreos. I'm holding out people. I am resisting the fat!

2. Five clamcakes. Deep-fried goodness oh and with clams.

3. Sand. Beach day!

4. Screams of Terror as H nearly rear-ended a car much smaller than the Pathfinder as he gaped at yet ANOTHER Dunkin Donuts in the New England area. While not a total fan of 'the Nut' Tim Horton's can kiss my now sunburned tookas.

5. Screams of Indignation as my father pointed out my no longer "I've never carried a baby" stomach. Flat most days, not yesterday. Two plates of pasta and meatballs bloated me. Probably that feedbag of popcorn the night before as well.

6. Magazines, books- two.

7. The Bourne Ultimatum. Can I just say I might have a Jason Bourne thing now? Not to be confused with a Matt Damon thing. THAT is just not appealing. Mummy LOVES the fight scenes. As Fogle would say, "Tight!"

8. Superbad. Dig the dance sequence in the beginning and George Michael getting his own flick. The extended version of the Cops? Not so much. Maybe the DVD will have less cops. More Fogle.

9. Time with spouse sans kid. Countless. We watched a full episode of vintage 90210 in the middle of the day snorting ourselves silly with the moussed 90's hair of Dylan McKay (dudes got a HUGE melon!), "bros", and bad outfits. Poor, poor Brian Austen Green. He was such a choade.

10. Sadly no Simon and Simon episodes, but I did make T.D. dance to the Magnum P.I. theme song about 250 times so far. WHY IS THAT ALWAYS ON?!

Overheards

Standing back a bit in my parents kitchen, I watch my father carve a turkey.

My Mother: Do you want more room than that? Here's a plate. (Mom takes shows him the serving platter)

My Father: No. I'm fine.

M: (Gets out cutting board and places next to platter) Turn around. I have set up a carving place. Would that be easier for you?

F: No. (Sighs heavily as the electric carving knife hits the roasting pan.)

M: (Moves platter next to roasting pan.) I have a cutting board set up behind you. Here is the platter. Why don't you just carve it up on this. It would be easier. Wouldn't it?

F: No. (Hits the inside of the roasting pan again with the knife. The noise makes my teeth tickle)

M: Silently moves platter closer to roasting pan.

F: Slaps turkey slices onto pan and then... "I can't freakin' carve this thing with all this stuff around!" He moves aside a few misc. items on the counter that seem to be of no consequence.

M: Well... if you had moved the turkey to the cutting board...

I leave the kitchen. It is at this point that I realize both these conflicting traits reside in me and it is just too scary to watch.


LATER THAT NIGHT

H and I sit on the couch in my parents living room watching PBS. I simply can't help myself, I'm a PBS freak.

A commercial for the disabled comes on the TV. It is insipidly banal. While the screen depicts a man in a wheelchair climbing aboard a dump truck, the narrator slowly (as if we have some sort of audio visual impairment or are suddenly the age of two) says, "This...(wait a beat)is a dump.... truck. Do you... see a dump.........truck?" I am already laughing as is H. When the commercial is over after depicting that the disabled can drive a dump.....truck I am almost on the floor with laughter. The commercial is incredibly rude to me. So what we all need to process the information that the disabled can work 100% effectively even in dump..... trucks slowly?!

My Father pipes up, "Hey! Remember Mr. So and So?" No. "Well, he used to drive a dump truck and he was disabled." My mother chimes in from another room. "Oh yeah he did, he did own a dump truck." This conversation goes on with the words dump...truck being used over and over again. H and I are by now sadly hysterical and talking about the Yak conversation of last Christmas. The word yak is screamed repeatedly through tears of laughter while my parents look at us sternly as if we are somehow making fun of the disabled and them in the same sentence. This just makes us laugh harder.

I'm hear all week people and I don't know how much longer I can hold out against the bowls of Andies Mints and Oreo cookies, brie, and blasted cheddar goldfish that are stocked in my parents pantry...

What We're Not Going To Talk About

Are we going to talk about the delayed flight home yesterday? Nope.

The jerk who made snide comments to my MiL on the flight home and then proceeded to yell at the flights staff, captain, and random airport workers as we deboarded the plane? No.

How about the fact that we sat on the tarmac for an hour after sitting at the gate both in departure and deboarding? Sorry, no.

We'll also not be discussing overzealous diaper changing grandparents who succeed in going through a whole box of diapers and wipes in four days. Poor T.D. but we're not talking about that either.

Nor will we discuss the sheer exhaustion I now feel from only one day of traveling with a toddler even though I had help.

I will only say that I adored having a TV back in my room and the Sleuth channel on Direct TV rocks! There is never enough Simon & Simon, Quincy, and Buried Alive I &II. Having three grandparents under one roof is the new holy trinity and eating dessert everyday plus fried goodies like grilled cheese, bacon, clamcakes, eggs, french fries and potato chips is all fine and good but I fear a gunt might appear at any given moment. My Mom can still get me drunk with one drink and having DOUBLE STUFFED mint oreos at my beck and call is one of life's greatest pleasures.

I can safely say that my trip home was truly a vacation.



*Photo by Karen Cooke, East Beach, RI

Because I'm still in RI

and lazy...




Thanks Liz.

Ovaherds, ahem... Overheards Rhode Island Style

"Keep my NAME outta ya mouf!" I said, "Keep my NAME outta ya mouf!"

"You know just because something's been buried, doesn't mean it stays buried."

"It's the BIG DUH sale!"

"Just Remember, it's CHOWDAH and Lobstah, Lobstah and Chowdah and you'll be fine. Welcome to Rhode Island."


I'm stewing in massive amounts of fried food. I've ingested grilled cheese, french fries, too many clamcakes to count, and a lot of caffiene. The horseflies are biting and I'm catching up on tunes with VH-1 Classics. Limelight by Rush anyone? I had forgotten how oddly rural and uh charming this place can be. Especially when that first overheard was as I walked onto a tranquil beach. Gotta love Rhody.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

I am a New Englander at heart. While I love DC and call it home, there is something about the old N.E. that makes me proud to hail from there and hold it close to my heart always.

It is particularly at this time of year that I miss the RI beaches, Del's (featured on unwrapped again this weekend!) and clamcakes from the Hitching Post the most. I sort of even miss the tourists that clog up Newport from Memorial day to Labor day.

I think back to summers spent at Burlingame State Park swimming in my own underwater world. Back roads traversed on my pink and grey ten-speed bike with my best friend, E. and actually being able to see fireflies at night. I know that each state and part of the country holds its own charm, but for me, Rhode Island, New England and all it's quirkiness resides in my soul and makes up a large part of who I am and how I relate to life and other people.

So it's with great interest that I noticed a rather large spike in my site's traffic hailing from that very state and area's nearby. How did you get here? It cannot be that my mother has started shouting from her front porch for you all to read the blog. I sincerely doubt that my father is going to work everyday passing out blog cards to fellow coworkers. Somehow I just can't see middle age men who work in defense being all that interested in this here blog. Then again...there was that week back in January... My family isn't that large either.

So speak up, tell me who you are, and how you came to find this site, introduce yourself. Lastly, Welcome.