The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same

Despite the fact that my dad is no longer a member of the Stampede Committee, we managed to conduct our weekend in much the same manner as we always have; yes, it cost a bit more, but, I can honestly say that the kids lacked none of the traditional experience.

Actually, in addition to all the usual activities; The Teenager got to experience some new things, like, the concert and meet-and-greet with Hunter Hayes...

...and her first Stampede dance, which she attended with Reese's daughter. Reese, Phoebe and I were in attendance as well and it was somewhat entertaining to watch the girls interact with one another, and, with the locals; while sipping drinks in the beer garden.

Wait, that sounded all sorts of wrong; what I meant to say was: Reese, Phoebe, and I were sipping drinks in the beer garden while watching the girls practice their avoidance techniques on randy teenage boys. And, by "avoidance techniques", I mostly mean that each girl, upon being approached by an undesirable suitor, would whip out her cell phone and proceed to text an S.O.S. to either myself or Reese, after which they simply waited to be rescued.

We were actually pretty busy with those rescues, and, on a couple of occasions, enlisted Phoebe to ride to the rescue in our place; an act we rationalized by claiming that it was good practice for when her own eight-year-old daughter is old enough to hit the dance floor (ten bucks says Phoebe just threw up in her mouth a little).

In yet another first, The Teenager wore her first pair of cowboy boots; I'm not even going to tell you how ridiculous the search for that particular pair of footwear was; suffice it to say: in the future I will check the Girls Shoe Department before paying twice as much money for a pair of identical shoes in the Ladies Shoe Department. Also, a little girl's size 5 is the same as a ladies size 6.5 and that shit's just wrong.

And, I digress; I know.

So, anyway; Stampede, the Usual: Saturday's parade was quite well attended. In addition to the usual crowd on my parent's front lawn, we got to meet fifty or so of my mother's high school classmates, who were in town to celebrate their 50th class reunion. Phoebe, Reese, and I made many, many jokes about how we were looking at our future, as one does. We also just enjoyed being together and watching the kids play, as usual.

And, as usual, Smokin' Charlie sent shivers up my spine with his maniacal cackle, flashing eyes, and, tendency to stare directly at me with murderous intent (cue the usual nightmares; fucking Charlie).

After the parade, the kids hit the carnival midway where The Teenager rode approximately two rides before becoming nauseous while the Man-Cub outlasted us all on ride after ride after ride.

After the carnival, we went to the rodeo and then out to dinner and on to the dance I mentioned earlier.

Today, we capped off our weekend with one last rodeo performance and by indulging in our once-a-year treat...

FUNNEL CAKE!

Tomorrow, The Teenager and I will head back home. The Cub will be staying with my parents until Friday, when they will bring him home just in time for Petticoat Junction's annual Corn Festival. And, while the corn festival will be fun, in it's own way; it doesn't compare to the fun that we always have at Stampede, and, I can say that now, just as truthfully as I said it when my dad offered a free ride to all the events.

Some things are just worth the price of admission.

Less Stampeding and More Meandering

With the exception of Thursday night's concert, it has been a pretty low-key Stampede for us. Yesterday, we watched the morning parade and then met Reese and her family for a family picture session. The weather was less than cooperative, but, we managed a few good photos. Of course, with a family this gorgeous, how could we not?

After the photo session, the kids and I went back to Mom and Dad's. We had every intention of going to the carnival but, the rain kind of put a dent in that plan, so, I took a nap. It was lovely.

Then, Reese picked me up for cocktail hour, during which time the kids did go to the carnival before we regrouped and headed out to Phoebe's house to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics which we all deemed....odd? Confusing? Overwhelmingly British? I don't know, it was equal parts cool and bizarre. Entertaining enough, though.

Unless you were thirteen or under, in which case you found the ceremony "booorrrring" and opted to chase the younger kids around the backyard, playing Hide and Seek and generally being kids. That was ok, too.

The teenagers, however, stuck it out with the adults and, in the course of the four-hour ceremony, learned far more about our college antics than they probably ever needed to know. They were also equal parts amused and horrified when I likened the podium microphone to a set of testicles and we all watched in horrified awe as the dignitaries appeared to perform an unnamed sexual act on stage.

Also, my sense of humor might have more in common with that of a pubescent boys than I care to admit.

Anyway, today we are watching yet another parade, attending the afternoon rodeo, walking the carnival with the kids and going to the dance. Or, you know; Stampede business as usual.

It's a good life.

It's Not Every Day That You Get to be a Hero to Your Children

While driving down that dirt road yesterday, The Teenager and I had a discussion about country music; she likes it, I don't. Oh, I don't hate it and, there are a few cross-over artists whose songs I like very much, but, as a general rule, I don't listen to country music.

Since we were on that dirt road, however, and, since we were headed home for Stampede-the most "country" thing I do all year; The Teenager decreed that we had to listen to country artists. One artist in particular is a favorite of hers, a young kid by the name of Hunter Hayes.

Hunter Hayes is apparently the Justin Beiber of country music and both The Teenager and her BFF, Smiley McSmilerson (not her real name, like obviously) have huge crushes on the kid. So, you can imagine the child's delight when, her grandfather casually mentioned that the opening act for the Craig Morgan concert at this year's Stampede was none other than...Hunter Hayes.

The child didn't even have to ask; I drove straight to the ticket office and purchased two general admission tickets for the concert. Then, because I am just that cool; I finagled a backstage pass and a personal meet and greet session for her. My dad's old contacts on the Stampede committee were happy to help me out, which; I chalked up to their appreciation of Dad's twenty years of service to the committee or to the fact that I was wearing a ridiculously low-cut shirt.

Either way, I've never seen my kid more excited. Or, happier. Or, more willing to worship at my feet than ever before. And, speaking of feet; Hunter Hayes totally autographed my daughter's cowboy  boot. For realz.

It was a great night.

Wasn't even kidding about the low-cut shirt, obviously.

It's Not the Destination, It's the Journey

This morning, the kids and I loaded up the car with three suitcases, two overnight bags, two camera bags, a tripod, a small snack cooler, two laptops, approximately five dozen pairs of shoes, and two large coolers containing eighty-four ears of sweet corn; all we were missing was a large Mayberry or Bust! sign. Despite that omission, our annual trek to Mayberry was well under way.

An hour into the trip, I decided to shake things up a bit by taking a cut-off route that would lead us into Mayberry from a new direction. The cut-off included thirty miles of dirt road that was, as The Teenager put it; a bit sketchy.

And, if, by sketchy, she meant unpopulated, remote, and eerily quiet (in a The Hills Have Eyes kind of way), then, yes; it was a little sketchy. Not so sketchy that I hesitated to pull over and make the kids get out of the car to pose for pictures, though, I mean, of course.

If some mutated axe-murdering inbred rapist comes bounding down those hills and drags us off to our untimely death, you'll have no one to blame but yourself, Mother. Good luck explaining that to Dad.

 Besides, the road, while reminiscent of a horror movie, was also breathtakingly beautiful.

And, once we embraced both the beauty and the eeriness; we actually really enjoyed the stretch of road. In fact, The Teenager scrolled through her tunes on her iPod until she found Dirt Road Anthem by Jason Aldean and we rocked that song hard before, in a serendipitous turn of events, it ended just as we rejoined the pavement of the highway, leaving our dirt road behind us.

Then, since we were on no time table and wanted to stretch out the adventure; we stopped at a scenic overlook to view a waterfall. The waterfall was lovely and in no way reminded us of any horror movie that we could readily recall.

The remainder of the drive passed too quickly, and, while we may not take that route again, I can honestly say that we all enjoyed the change. Also, it's really nice to be back in Mayberry, where people welcome you with open arms.

Probably because you come bearing eighty-four ears of sweet corn, but, whatever.

And This is Why I Am Not a Vet

Remember how, a while back, I declared Finnigan's eye gunk to be the result of Guinness kicking him in the face? Yeah...not so much.

When the redness, irritation and general gunkiness of his eye did not improve after a few days of warm eye washes and cold compresses, I finally took Finn to the vet. Or, as Finn would tell you; straight to the Bowels of Hell, where he was unceremoniously poked and prodded by The Devil, herself. At least, that's what I took him to mean, what with the hissing, spitting and charging the door of his carrier every time someone in the clinic so much as looked at him, anyway.

And, getting him out of the cage for an examination? Yeah, again...not so much.

The hissing, spitting and charging was just a warm-up; biting, clawing and head spinning followed until the vet was so unnerved, she suggested sedation. I said thanks, but, no thanks, I was there to support my cat and didn't really feel like I should take the easy way out. Then she specified that she meant sedation for the cat and, still...no. If you will recall, this is the vet who almost killed Finn with anesthesia during his neutering; no way I was letting her anywhere near him with her poisoned apple sedatives.

Instead, we agreed to start a course of antibiotics, based on the assumption that there was an injury to the eye and that it had become infected. When the eye was no better three days later, and, the other eye started to exhibit the same symptoms, it became obvious that an injury was not the culprit but that the cat had conjunctivitis. Again.

And, yes, you would think that I would have learned by now, despite never having gone to veterinary school, but, yeah....not so much.

Luckily, when I called the vet to report on the latest developments, she suggested that I merely come to the office and pick up a prescription for the pink eye, no need to bring the demon hell-spawn who hates her poor baby in, which would further stress him. No need, at all. No, siree.

So, that is what I did, and, a day and a half later, we are already seeing improvement in both eyes.

So, please, in the future, when I start freaking out over gunkiness in the cat's eye; remind me that he is a delicate flower who develops pink eye at the drop of a hat so that I may save us all a trip to the vet, because, hand to heaven, I don't think I (nor the vet) can take watching another real-live episode of Cats From Hell as it plays out in living color.

I don't care if the cat does have a reason to carry a grudge, see above: The vet almost killed him while removing his testicles.

Which, come to think of it, gives him two reasons to carry said grudge.

Recipes From the Garden: Chocolate Chip Zucchini Bread

This post brought to you by the enormous zucchini that grew in my garden; you may remember it from such performances as The Zucchini That Ate Toledo and Ginormous Zucchinis from Mars. Or, you know, from the picture of it with the Man-Cub, whatever.

Well, it does weigh almost as much as a newborn...

And, I digress...

So,

Chocolate Chip Zucchini Bread

1 c. All-Purpose Flour
1 c. Whole Wheat Flour
1/2 c. Brown Sugar (not packed)
1 1/8 tsp Baking Soda
1 tsp. Vanilla
1/2 c. Chocolate Chips (or more, your call)
1 Large Egg, beaten
2 Tbsp. Butter, melted
1 c. Unsweetened Apple Sauce
1 1/2 c. Zucchini, shredded

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly spray a loaf pan with cooking spray. Combine flours, sugar, baking soda, and salt in large bowl, mix well. Add chocolate chips and stir gently to coat. In a medium bowl, mix egg, vanilla, butter, apple sauce, and zucchini. Add to flour mixture and stir until just blended. Pour into loaf pan and bake for 55-60 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center of loaf comes out clean. Remove from loaf pan and allow to cool before slicing.

Not only is the bread delicious but, it's nutritious, and, if you have a picky eater who turns his nose up at the very thought of eating zucchini (which he will cradle in his arms like a baby yet refuses to eat); you'll have the added satisfaction of knowing that you pulled one over on him. Just call it chocolate chip snack bread and you're good to go.

Sometimes You Have to Look Behind the Milk

Despite spending at least half an hour in the garden each day, I somehow managed to miss a number of very interesting developments. The first would be the sudden appearance of a zucchini larger than the Man-Cub's arm. I'm not even kidding.

As an aside, while I may be able to grow zucchini, I cannot spell it to save my life. Thank you, for your patience, SpellCheck.

Moving on...

Next, there was the abundance of green beans that grew pretty much overnight. Literally over night; I just checked the bushes yesterday and didn't see more than a handful of beans worth picking, yet, today...

...bumper crop.

While zucchini and green beans growing that quickly are fairly standard for the garden, my next discovery was anything but standard. Or, expected. Or, welcome, really.

What. The. Hell.

Fungi. In my jalapeno pepper planter.  I barely like mushrooms when they are hidden in recipes; I certainly don't need them suddenly popping up in my garden. I mean; are they even edible? Professor Google was all, "Well, mayyybeee...or...maybe not". Who knows? One thing I do know is that the whole crop is now festering away in my composter where they will possibly be good for something.

Possibly.

Once again, Professor Google was all, "Well, mayyybee...or...maybe not". I am rapidly losing faith in Professor Google.

Anyhoodle, we are having green beans for dinner tonight. For dessert, we are having chocolate chip zucchini bread, because; I may not be able to utilize the mystery-mushrooms from my garden but I'll be damned if we don't take advantage of everything else.

Also, It probably wouldn't kill me to do a more thorough search of the garden in the future.