Etiquette questions

I have etiquette questions. Not necessarily Emily Post questions, since I don't think she covered Twitter or what's the best way to tell someone to shut up. But questions nonetheless. Feel free to leave me all the assvice you can muster in the comments.

1. Is it rude to simply copy someone's Tweet and not retweet it properly? Like word for word?
2. Is it rude to DM someone on Twitter if you don't follow them? So you can't DM them back?
3. Is there a way to politely let someone know they are constantly spamming you with Facebook and Twitter DM's? I'm assuming I can't start off with, "Hey, stupid."
4. Non computer related, what do you do when someone constantly pummels your toddler with questions that he can't answer? Over and over and over? Like, "What did you do today? Huh? Huh? What did you do? Did you go to school? Did you play? Huh? Huh? What did you do today?" Not that said toddler would have had time to answer even if he could, but do you step in and answer for him?
5. On the dairy aisle, where you can't pass other people, what do you do when some dude is coming at you full on with his cart and doesn't cross over when he has the chance? Do you back up and let him through? Stare him down?
6. What do you say to the person who keeps referring to all the colds your child has had, even though he hasn't had colds, he's just been teething? And you've told him this numerous times?
7. Is it rude to tell the old man from up the street that if he is going to wander through the construction in your home, that you prefer him to knock first? Since sometimes you like to walk through the completely exposed kitchen in your freaking underwear?

You see, my hormones are out of control and I'm a little sensitive lately. So go ahead, coach me.

Thank you

Today is the day I always think, "I'm lucky to be here." Not just in North Carolina or the United States of America, but here as in existing.

From what I understand, my daddy wanted to be a chaplain in the Army. Then came Vietnam. Then came the Battle of Ong Thanh. After that, Daddy decided to become a lawyer. Took the LSAT in Saigon and came home to go to Ole Miss.

Any connection I'm making to those things is all my own. He has not said that they are related.

So in addition to thanking him for serving, I also always thank him for stopping. I much prefer him being around for Veteran's Day instead of being remembered on Memorial Day.

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If you want to know more about the ambush that happened in October, 1967 - the one that the news reported as an American victory - check out They Marched Into Sunlight by David Maraniss. It parallels the story of the Battle of Ong Thanh and a protest at the University of Wisconsin-Madison that happened a day apart. Universal is set to release a movie based on the book in 2010.

Honest crap. I mean, scrap.

Another thing I have time for in the month of blog everyday is award memes. I had stopped doing them not because I'm completely ungrateful, but because I had become a lazy, time restricted blogger. I should have taken up Stimey's lead and just made up my own catch all award and written something funny and self deprecating, but I was too lazy to even do that.

Never fear, though, blog everyday this month, month, is here.

My across the street neighbor is also a blogger. When Kevin and I were thinking of moving, I tried really hard not to get to know her because I knew I was going to like her so much, and it would suck moving away. Ha ha on me - we got to stay put, meaning I wasted a bunch of time not hanging out with her and becoming cooler via osmosis.

She graciously bestowed upon me the Honest Scrap award. Instead of being an ungracious slob, I'm supposed to do these things:

1) Say thanks and give a link to the presenter of the award.
Thanks, Cyndi! I'm hoping lots of people (you know, all 13 who read this) go on over and pay you a well deserved visit. they will be glad they did.

2) Share "10 Honest Things" about myself.
I'll get to that in a minute.

3) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs I find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged me. That's hard, because I'm going to leave someone out which is another reason I have been slack on responding. Guilt. But here goes:

• Fertile Mertile ~ She's BAAAAAACK!
• Stimey ~ Because she's the most hilarious ever, I love her, and I could possibly receive one of her handmade buttons about not posting buttons.
• Abby ~ For giving me things to do with my toddler and being a great friend.
• JC and Tara ~ my preggo buddies
• Momma ~ Why not? She's my momma, and my momma rocks.
• Amo ~ Because she's the world's greatest commenter and has an adorable kiddo. Go see.

4) Tell those 7 people they've been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving. I hope they are checking their stats for links, because I'm not sure I have the stamina to do much more. Again with the lazy.

Alrighty then. Ten honest things. As if I haven't spilled enough into this space over the past three years as it is. I'll try not to repeat myself, but remember, you're getting what you pay for.

1. The construction at my home is driving me batshit crazy. I've tried not to let it, but as of today, I'm admitting defeat.
2. Some days I let Little Bird watch a little more TV just because he's sitting with me on the couch in a perfect snuggle position.
3. I don't like vegetables when I'm pregnant.
4. I have drank more Diet Coke than I should have this pregnancy. Fountain ones from McDonald's. They are the best, you know.
5. I'm almost 200 pounds and still have 10 weeks to go. Oy.
6. I don't practice anymore. Or rarely.
7. I hate musicals.
8. Most of my dreams lately have had me starring in them as a tall, skinny, shiny haired brunette with much smaller boobs. Not hard to read into that one.
9. Right now I'm glad this is my last pregnancy.
10. I miss my Daddy. The way he used to be.

So there you have it. It's only day 10 too. Aren't you loving the month of November?

Granddaddy's cornbread

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year. In my previous life, I always hosted an Orphans' Thanksgiving at our house. I would buy the biggest bird I could find, gather all of our friends who were stuck in town with no family, and we would throw down for the day and into the next.

I started cooking days in advance. There were no fewer than four dozen biscuits coming out of my oven. I made a giant pitcher of cajun bloody mary's that we started in on first thing in the morning. Sometimes people would bring their favorite family dish to share, but most of the time, I cooked all of it - because that was the way I liked it.

By midnight, the leftovers had been put away, pulled out and perused, and put away all over again. There was a stock pot with the turkey carcass simmering away on the stove so that my freezer would be well stocked with stock. The pies sat out on the table tempting those who had any sliver of room left, and no one cared if they were using their same wine glass that they started with earlier in the day.

I have a stash of recipes that I used every year with the exception of the turkey. I always looked for a new turkey recipe to try. Kept things a little fresh each year.

Now we have a more traditional family Thanksgiving that we share every year with our good friends Boo and Tom. Sometimes her family comes up from Florida as well. This year, we will have four children at our table, three grandparents, and three couples. Boo will have bird duty, and I think she's leaning towards a brine. Yummy.

Blogging everyday in November gives me a chance to share some of my favorite recipes for Thanksgiving. I'm starting with this recipe that I need to laminate at some point. It is in my granddaddy's hand writing and is the first step in recreating my grandmomma's dressing.

Editorial note for all y'all non-Southerners reading: Dressing is what you would call stuffing, except you don't put it in the bird's butthole, and it's way more moist and tasty.

Cornbread

1 Cup flour
1 Cup yellow cornmeal*
2-4 Tbsp sugar (I use only 2)
1 Tbsp Baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/4 cup cooking oil or shortening**

In one bowl, stir and blend flour, cornmeal, sugar, salt, and baking powder. In another bowl, beat together eggs, milk, and oil. Mix meal mix with egg mix, and stir until batter is smooth. Do not over beat.
Bake at 425 in well greased 9x9x2 pan*** for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.

* If you can get locally ground, it really does make a difference, and Granddaddy actually says you can use yellow, white, or blue
** I use canola oil, and a little less than called for because I melt about 2 Tbsp of butter in the iron skillet that I've heated up before pouring in the batter.
***I never cook cornbread in anything but cast iron. This recipe calls for your biggest skillet most likely.

You'll need to make this a few days before you plan to put your dressing together because you have to let it sit out and get stale.

Next, we'll talk about my grandmomma's dressing which my brother and I have tried tirelessly to recreate. We've both come up with yummy dressing, but I don't think either of us have hit it spot on yet.

Jackson. It is what it is.

I finally got a chance to read The Help this week. Kathryn is my big brother's age. They went to school together from kindergarten until the 12th grade. So many of us in Jackson did. First Presbyterian Day School followed by Prep. I swear, Jackson, Mississippi could put out it's own version of the game Life.

The book was great, I thought. What struck me the most though, was the very end, where Kathryn talks about why she wrote the book. She talked about the woman who helped raise her - her family's own help.

It makes sense. I don't know anyone who didn't have a maid growing up, or at least not that I can remember. And when First Presbyterian Day School arranged for the kids who lived out further in the new part of town to ride the city bus to the Colonial Country Club to be picked up by our moms? We shared those buses with the domestic help. The women who spent their days in the homes of Northeast Jackson taking care of white families and their evenings on the other side of Woodrow Wilson taking care of their own families.

But Kathryn set the book in the 1960's. Not in the 1980's, when we were growing up in Jackson.

I'm certainly not saying that it was the same in the '80's as it was in the '60's. But it wasn't as different as someone who didn't grow up there would imagine it would be. It was the same enough for me to be caught blushing with shame at identifying too well at times throughout the book.

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There is something else that I associate with Jackson. It's probably not inherent to the place, but having been gone from there for over a decade now, it seems unique to the local to me. I have so much more confidence here in Raleigh. The mean girls just seemed meaner there.

The way the circles of friendships revolved around who your parents were and the Junior League made it impossible for lines to be crossed. I know I've mentioned before how I derailed my own track to debutante when I found out my best friend wasn't even allowed to utter the word because she was Jewish.

My father has never looked so relieved and yet altogether disappointed in the same expression as when I told him that I didn't want him to pursue it further. I think it was the moment he realized that I had no intentions of staying in Jackson.

Like Kathryn said though, I'm allowed to say whatever I want to about it. It's backwards, it bears bitter bitter fruit. It will never be as important as it thinks it is. I can talk some smack about Jackson, but don't you dare try. It's wonderful and quirky and full of surprises.

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I've received multiple suggestions lately that I friend a woman named Mary Katherine on Facebook. I will do no such thing. Kevin can't believe that I can hold a grudge for 23 years. I disagree that it's a grudge.

In seventh grade, I was one of the last girls to figure out that you didn't get to just be nice to everyone, regardless of what they wore, what they looked like, or who they hung out with. As a result, after being burned a few times, and having the world's meanest carpool (seriously, Facebook, don't even think of recommending those girls), I just started being generally harsh on the outside. Protection measures, you know.

Anyway, one day before the Great Wall of Teenagedom went up, I passed Mary Katherine in the hallway. She was tall and gangly. Her hair was brillo pad curly, and I don't think I have ever seen her smile without sneering. She was on my ironic list of kids I felt sorry for. Ironic because I was so far down on the food chain, pity from me inspired ire in people.

"Hi, Kacky!" I smiled as she approached.

"My name is Mary Katherine," she hissed, cutting her eyes to see if anyone was watching her speak to me.

"Oh. I thought your friends called you 'Kacky,' I'm sorry." I thought I had made a mistake. We hadn't gone to elementary school together, so I didn't know her well.

"My friends do." she tossed over her shoulder at me.

I couldn't tell anyone why I hated her so much because it was too humiliating. I just made sure never to sit near her or hang with any of her friends and generally avoided any situation where I would have to be in her presence. Not an easy task in a school our size.

It's not like that one incident gave me reason to hold a grudge for 23 years really. She just never changed towards me. She never gave me any reason not to feel differently about her. For six years, all I saw was that sneer, and her walking in the back of her crowd most of the time. Like she was just following along. Like the moms were orchestrating the friendships and her mom just had the right clout to make sure she had the right friends.

In all honesty, I continued to feel sorry for her. But I would be damned if I ever put myself out there for her to spit on ever again.

So it's not really a grudge, it's just that old protection mechanism that's urging me to not only not friend her on Facebook, but to just block her and continue to pretend like it's a happy slappy world without people as mean as she was in it. Besides, I can guarantee that she doesn't care about being Facebook friends with me.

Of course, the grown up in me knows that is ridiculous. I'm sure she is a nice person, and I just never got the chance to see it. I don't imagine I ever will either because I'm not willing to try. That's really kind of sad.

I'm so crafty

Today's post, which will be yesterday's post by the time anyone reads this was on Specraftular. Just a little something about some zippered pouches that I see myself making quite a few of in the future.

Tomorrow's post, which will be today's post by the time anyone reads this will be insightful and inspiring, I'm sure.

Wonder Pets. Yes, the Wonder Pets.

Seeing as how I'm posting every day in November, I now can feel justified in wasting, I mean, writing a post about the Wonder Pets. Not just about the Wonder Pets, but about how much I freaking love the Wonder Pets. Which apparently, is a very odd thing amongst parents.

I can't help myself though. Ever since Noggin changed their schedule to put Yo Gabba Gabba on right in the MIDDLE of Little Bird's naptime (for which I will never forgive them and will remain bitter forever), the only thing we have watched on TV is Wonder Pets (and the occasional Sesame Street). Bird loves it so much, and he knows that it comes on at the end of our day. When we've finished our afternoon errands, or if he sees me starting dinner, he starts asking for "Pets! Pets! Pets!" And I don't mind letting him watch it.

The music is wonderful. The three Wonder Pets, a guinea pig, a duckling, and a turtle, are voiced by children who sing, like children. While that might sound like a stupid statement, just take a step back and think about all the kids you hear singing on Disney or even on the Backyardigans (granted, I've only heard two songs from that show, but the two I heard were enough). The kids singing on those show are not using their pure voices. It sells, but it's not natural, and it's not good for their voices in the long run.

There is no pitch correction or auto tuning. They don't scoop or sing through their noses. It's just lovely little kid voices who sing in tune most of the time.

They sing a lot. Most of the show is sung, and is in the style of an opera. A good bit of the dialogue is done in recitative, and the music is recorded by a live orchestra. As in real people playing real instruments. As in, no midi. Hoorah.

Even though the style of the show is modeled after opera, the different adventures the Wonder Pets have leads to different styles of music. Today, Bird and I heard the blues and Broadway in two episodes. We've heard reggae and jazz, and my favorite was the dinosaur episode when they used chant like music with lots of open fifths. It was brilliant.

Finally, there is plenty of repetition for learning. But even though the Pets sing mostly the same thing at the beginning of every episode, there are usually subtle changes within the songs. Maybe the duck will sing what the turtle usually sings. Maybe they will change a word at the end of a phrase. Maybe they will sing things a little bit out of order.

These subtle changes are training Bird's ears. He can sing most of the Wonder Pets main theme song with me, but if you watch him closely while the show is on, you'll see him actively listening for the changes. It's pretty cool, and it works too. If you have ever learned music with a toddler, you know that the first thing they give back to you is the last word of the phrase. They also start picking up on the rhythm. By subtly changing these elements, Bird's ears are being challenged, and he is learning to recognize musical patterns. If you simply tap out the rhythm to their mantra, "What's gonna work?" without words or pitches, he knows to call out "Teamwork!" That is cool.

Of course, the fact that Bird and I have been going to Music Together classes since he was seven weeks old has something to do with how quickly he picks up on the musical aspects of the Wonder Pets. Our time in the car is spent listening to those Music Together CD's, practicing rhythm patterns, pitch patterns, and speech patterns. That, and just having a good time singing. I really do believe that the best thing I can do to be developing that little brain of his is to be teaching him through music and reading.

Yeah, I'm a little obsessed with exposing my children to music. I don't play Mozart at bedtime (or anytime actually), and I don't put on Bach during dinner. But at 21 months, Bird can identify a piano, a violin, a guitar, and drums by sound alone. He can keep a steady beat for about two measures. He can match pitch. He knows several songs, and the last words of phrases for dozens more. I think he's doing great.

So I confess, I love the Wonder Pets. What can I say? I'm also just a sucker for a cute guinea pig.

Just in case you were wondering, which I highly doubt you were, I received no compensation for this sappy love letter to the Wonder Pets. However, if Nickelodeon were to feel enough gratitude to send us a flyboat with the bobble head Wonder Pets in it, I wouldn't turn it down. Bird's crocodile tears when we left Target without it today were almost too much to resist.