HampoLand

Do Senators Make Sissy Presidents?

From this moment on, we need to make sure our Presidents have been the  Governor of a State. That’s the one quality all my POTUS must have in the future. My reasons are  emotional and irrational but I’m going to stand my ground.

Governors tend to be overly possessive. They understand  they must protect their piece of turf. Good Governors are always focused on putting the needs of their state, no matter how small or poor, first.  I want a President who does that. I want a President who says, “Screw everybody else I’m protecting and fighting for this piece of land and the people who live here.”

I don’t really like Bobby Jindal, he’s got a weird face and I think he seems a little shady, but during the BP disaster he was one pissed off Indian guy and rightly so. He didn’t try to be gracious or understanding or politically correct. He was mad and demanding, he wanted everyone to know the truth and he wanted to take care of his state. His reaction was perfect.

I don’t know if it accomplished anything, but I bet it made folks in Louisiana feel better, as though their Governor understood their torment and was furious about it.

I want President to act like that. But he doesn’t. During the Gulf Disaster he was calm, analytical and composed.

When a flood killed 20 campers in an remote Arkansas camp ground this summer our Governor, Mike Bebee,  rounded up the troops,  the Departments, the man power and in just a few hours had a plan and boots on the ground.  The situation was tragic but at least I could take some comfort in the fact that my Governor knew how to boss people around and get things done. He could give orders and get results. 

He was in charge.

Senators rarely find themselves in these black and white situations. And they always, always have to play politics, they have to negotiate and coddle.

Of course there have been some great Senator/Presidents…John Quincey Adams, JFK,  Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon and President Obama.

Now, look at the Governor/President list. Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton even George W.  Those were some men I’d like to eat dinner with. Those are some men who can inspire passion (good or bad).

I’m a Democrat on most days, so this isn’t a partisan issue. And, obviously, other factors come into play, but I’m looking for a leader with passion and power. I need a President who can make some noise, break some dishes  and defend America, right or wrong.

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Warrior Moms Are Such A Pain In The Butt

Warrior Moms. That sounds like a good thing right? But I’m not so sure. I see Warrior Moms all the time. In fact I am one, but I try to control myself.

Generally, I see Warrior Moms at the YMCA with their children. Warrior Mom wants her off-spring to work out with her. But the kiddos are bored, annoyed, embarassed and they only want to text.

Warrior Mom gets on the treadmill and bounds gracefully like a doe, her bob or short pony tail bouncing in rhythm with her New Balance running shoes. Sweat glistens on her freshly tanned and toned shoulders. She convices her pale and squishy child to get on the treadmill or elliptical next to her’s. But the child only wants to play with his new I-pod and refuses to do anything more than stroll. Nooooo running.

Warrior Mom can bench more than her 14 year old son, run faster than her 16 year old daughter and do more girl push ups than her trainer. But her kid doesn’t care and really doesn’t want to work out with her. Much less be her “fitness buddy” or “5K Partner”.

Ok, here’s what the Warrior Mom is thinking. We are desprate to stay in shape because old age is right around the corner and it’s freaking awful. If we can work out enough maybe we can hang on to middle-aged hotness for a little while longer. And working out feels good. We are so so sad we didn’t start exercising when we were younger and the wasted years make us sad. We are always thinking “imagine what we could have been”. And we don’t want our children to face the same middle aged regret.

And, we are frustrated because our children “don’t get it” . They don’t understand or care that right now they are at their prime, they could be physical works of art if they just put a little effort into it. And we really really want our children to feel and look wonderful. We desperately want whats best for them and that includes health. Basically we don’t ever want our kids to get fat, hate their own reflections, be weak or unhealthy.

Here’s what the kids are thinking. They know they will never get old…like Warrior Mom. And the kids really wish she’d find another old person to work out with. The kids don’t think fitness is important and it feels weird and kind of creepy to be the youngest and puniest person in the gym. The kid knows everybody is looking at them and they are probably right. So, to avoid making eye contact they look at their phones and pretend someone just texted them or stare at their I-Pods.

“Example”14 year old stops completely on the treadmill and says, “I have to find a good song to run to I can’t run without music,” then they spend ten minutes poking and punching while Warrior Mom sighs.

But kids, if you read this far, here’s the deal. We love you, that’s why we want you to exercise with us. It’s not because you’re not perfect, it’s simply because we love you more than anything else on the planet. So don’t be too harsh with your Warrior Moms.  Be proud and let her open jars for you.

So what’s the secret to getting your kid to work out? Well, for me, I think it’s money. I’ll never be cool enough for Lexie to work out with again. But I think, if I offer her $100 dollars to run the next 5K with me, she might consider.

Anyone who says bribing a child is wrong….never had children.

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Halloween Feeding Frenzies…Stop Making Out In My Yard

It’s almost Halloween and I’m trying to untangle a rope full of plastic skeletons. And I’m thinking about the various Halloween parties my kids have had over the years.

When you are an “older mom” with lots of kids you get this weird sense of legacy, kind of like Bill Clinton with a lunch box.

I have Jack who is 22, Mary 21, Lexie 14 and Sandor 7. Yeah, I know they are spread out and people always think Sandor is my grandson. But it allows me an expansive perspective and I’ve been through some whacked out parties.

So, our first historic Halloween party took place when Jack and Mary were in 4th and 5th grade. Lexie was a three year old in a frog costume. Because Jack invited all the big kids on his bus we ended up with dozens of teen-aged strangers in our house. Eventually, the police actually showed up at our middle school party. Lexie, the three year old frog, was so freaked she sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and cried.

The next year things got really interesting with parties and Jack’s crew. He ran with a bunch of 6th grade “players” ….I’m talking about the girls. There was eating, groping and a whole lot of making out. Goldilocks was kissing the werewolf, the cheerleader had her hands all over Dracula. It was very disturbing. Every “Jack Party” party turned into a feeding frenzy with too much tongue. The girls wanted “some” and the boys were excited and  as freaked out as Lexie the frog. Eventually, the boys ran to the house to eat pizza and catch their breaths I think, before returning to the hard core hungry girls.

Mary had Halloween parties full of drama. Her girl friends were constantly in a  different kind of feeding frenzy.  Much to Mary’s dismay, she was caught in the “mean girl” black hole  and somebody was always crying, make- up was running and costumes abandoned.  Inevitably, a pack of girls would end up in the bathroom or out in the yard comforting some crying child who said things like, “You all think I’m fat, he’s going to break up with me, he likes you, not me, I can’t believe I wore this stupid costume”.  And the rest of Mary’s group partied on happily. Then of course the “drama girls” in the yard would get mad at the happy girls for being happy.

At the end of the night Mary would ask if a couple of girls could spend the night and I’d say, “Hell No!” I’m exhausted and we’re out of Kleenex.

And then there is Lexie’s crew. They dance and eat and laugh. If I put on the Macarana, a 1-2- Step or Cha Cha Slide they tear it up. They boys end up playing football in the dark and deadly yard while the girls work on new dance steps. Then they all join ranks around the pizza and make fun of each other.

So, every year I hang the same old worn out decorations but the parties and the kids are all so different. Why? After all this time, do I still think I know what’s going to happen or how they will act?

And Sandor? Well, he’s never had a party here, at the house….I guess well see. Will the police show up, will they all be making out or will they simply eat pizza and party the night away?

I’ll keep you posted. But remember this.  Jack, with all his player girls, graduated from an Honors College last spring.  Mary with her crew of drama queens is now pre-med and Lexie is still dancing.  So, eventually…they all find their way. Just remember to blow out all the candles in the pumpkins before you go to bed.

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Texas Still Smells Like Money And Boys Open Doors There Too

A couple of weeks ago,  Lex and I went to a Taekwondo tournament (yes, we are deadly martial arts geeks) in Plano, Texas. We live in a community outside Hot Springs, Arkansas.

I’ve got to say, it was a shock traveling from one of the poorest states in the country to a city with velvety interstates, cat hospitals, gymnastic day schools and a community sporting facility with 15 indoor basket ball courts. Do you know how large a building it takes to hold 15 basketball courts, plus an indoor ice skating rink and roller skating rink?

Hot Springs is much prettier than Plano, we have mountains and trees and lakes, they have shopping centers, but boy, every time I took a breath I thought, “Now this is what money smells like, and it’s good!” Plano, Texas smells like hundred dollar bills fanned infront of your face.

Now, I understand how folks get seduced by cities with money, even if they are ugly.  I immediately felt like a bad mom because I don’t have a place to take my kids for golf, ice skating, basketball, and equestrian lessons. Are the kids in Plano better off? They sure do have more stuff and activities and coaches.

I was going to write about the smell of money but I realize what’s eating  at my brain is this question.  “Does money make you a better parent?”  If so, my kids are screwed because we are one block from destitute.

Still, during the Taekwondo Tournament, I realized those Texas kids, with all their “Facilities , Play Structures,  Superior Schools Districts, Cat Hospitals and Coaches” were, for the most part, just like Arkansas kids.  Some of them were talented and some of them were spoiled,  cry-baby losers.  Some were gracious and shook hands with the judges and some had  linguini hand shakes and couldn’t make eye contact with adults.  Some won, then hugged their opponent others lost and made excuses. Some of the parents were kind and some complained about everything.   Arkansas kids and Texas kids…they are pretty much the same. Maybe money isn’t a major factor when it comes to parenting.

I do want to point out one great thing about Texas. Driving back Lex and I stopped at gas stations, Taco Bell and truck stops, and we noticed, TEXAS MEN ARE BETTER AT OPEING DOORS. That’s right, Arkansas guys, you need to step up because even the thugs, possible muggers and losers were great about opening doors for women, and most of them did it with a grand sweeping motion that made it even better. When we smiled and said “thank you” they said Rhett Butler stuff like, “my pleasure, mam”.

So kids, you are apparently all pretty much the same weather you play base ball on a perfectly groomed field or a weedy lot. But guys, the Texans win. When it come to being gentlemen Arkansas boys need to go old school and open the door. And in return…well, you never know.

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What the Hell Is Going on In The Library?

That’s what I said. What the hell is going on at the library? It’s now a loud and happy place full of cool people. When I was a child the library was dark, dank and nearly death-like. My mom forced us to spend an hour in the library ever Saturday and I was miserable.

Now the library has crazy weird stuff like fishing poles, lap tops and books on MP3 players. My library, The Garland County Library, has gaming tournaments that bring in flocks of teen-aged boys and geeky men, dance classes (I’m going to learn to do the Michael Jackson Thriller dance with my daughter Lexie this month) and they show sweet movies on a giant screen. November is Ice Cube Month. Movies like Anaconda and Three Kings staring Ice Cube (the rapper) are being shown…for free.

And I noticed this today. Lots and lots of minorities use the free computers, which have internet access (no porn though). Most middle-aged, middle-class white people (like me) assume everybody has a computer at home. Guess what, they don’t. So, folks go to the library. I think those are well spent tax dollars.

And guess who works in the library now? The same sort of people who hand you a cup of coffee for $7 at Starbucks. That’s right, hipsters and cool kids work there rather than the razor-thin widow woman with the gray bun, gray skin and bony finger to shush you with.

So this is my endorsment for the library cause I love it. If you love your library make sure you let them know. Take your family, friends and neighbors, vote to give them more money and be nice to the good looking guy with the Harry Potter tattoo when he checks your books out.

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Miley Cyrus Now Managed By BP Oil

I’m watching the Miley Cyrus “Who Owns My Heart” video.

Yikes, I’m thinking BP Oil is in charge of this girl’s career.. And that’s why it’s become so nasty, slippery and plagued by disastrous decisions.

Mily is seventeen but her video opens with her lying in bed wearing a bustier and blindfold. Then she dances and writhes and kind of sings.

I’m not bothered so much by that all that, but it’s killing me that Disney is letting her continue to be Hannah Montana and Wal-Mart is pushing her clothes line to little bitty girls. Do they get the blind fold with the be-dazzled Hanna Montana tank top?

Wait, it gets better, half way through the video an ad pops up that says, “Do You Want To Be A Disney Star’?

And then there’s the “Cant Be Tamed’ video. It’s pathetic and horrible in an entirely different way. What’s so sad is Miley, with all her worldly experience, doesn’t actually get it. In the video she’s introduced as the “rarest creature on earth”…..But there are millions of Mileys, desperate to move from tween/teen to adulthood. They try to prove  they are adults by acting sleazy. American high schools are over run with these girls. In an attempt to prove to the American public that she’s different, special, unique and grownup Miley Cyrus has simply transformed herself into “predictable”.

Maybe Lindsey and Brittney will let Miley join their “Disney Gone Skank” support group.

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Do Not Marry A Chef…And Take Off That Big White Hat

Do not marry a chef, man or woman. And don’t ever ever consider being a chef.  I say this knowing full well if you are in love with a chef, it’s too late. You’ll follow your stupid heart and marry him. If you have a passion for food and flavor, your life is over because you will follow your heart into the kitchen and then the walk-in.

Still I feel it is my duty to write these words. Do not become a chef because at fifty you will not look like Gordon Ramsey.

Here’s what happens when you become a chef. I know becasue I’ve been married to a brilliant one for twenty years.

You will work 10-14 hours a day, six days a week. Chances are you will miss most major holidays because those are huge food service days. Your children will have to hunt for Easter eggs in the late afternoon, after Sunday Brunch. You will celebrate New Year’s Eve with your honey at 2:00am, after you’ve cleaned up kitchen. And after feeding hundreds of patrons on Thanksgiving you’ll come home (around 4pm) to a smiling family and a table covered with a traditional Thanksgiving feast. But the last thing you’ll want is turkey and dressing because you just finished cooking and serving fifteen twenty pound turkeys, you prepared forty pounds of stuffing, three gallons of gravy, twenty pumpkin pies and thirty five pounds of mashed potatoes.

Still, you will sit down with your family, your feet and back aching, and you will try to choke down dinner  as though it’s the finest meal you’ve ever had when all you want is a beer and a peanut butter sandwich.

If you marry a chef the first question everyone will as is, “Does he cook for you at home”? Hellll no.  The last thing a chef wants to do at night is cook. Maybe he’ll mow, he’ll vacuum, he’ll help with homework but for the most part chefs do not want to cook at night.  If I bring home a really lovely piece of meat, or salmon he’ll take over. And sometimes,  he’ll thrill me with a sauce, a Bordelaise or Wild Mushroom and Sherry Sauce and it’s all worth while.

Escoffier was the king of chefs and the chef of kings. He was the man who, theoretically, got chefs out of the dungeon like basements of Europe.  but things really haven’t changed much for these impassioned artists.

Most chefs, no matter how extraordinary, don’t have a 401K, they don’t have a retirement plan and they have crappy insurance.

If you are already in love with a chef or with being a chef, good luck. Things will work out and there are positive aspects to the chef life. Alex actually wooed me by making apple birds for Mary’s kindergartenclass. Now that’s love and that’s sexy. Anytime we go out waitresses, dishwasher and kitchen staff treat us like royalty and he can always figure the food cost on any meal. And when there’s absolutely nothing to eat, Alex can make dinner with some kind of crazy chef/McGyver skills.

So…buy some new knives, a new cookbook, put on an apron and clogs, but try not to walk into a professional kitchen, you may never get out alive.

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Dead Food For Lunch…yum

Last Thursday I had a bag of Cheetos for lunch and it was awful. Generally, I love Cheetos, hate the orange Cheeto dust, but love crunchy Cheetos.

So, I ate a bag for lunch, but all I could think was, “This is really really dead food”. As I finished off the ninety nine cent bag I thought about the actual nutritional content. I had eaten 440 calories worth of “food” but my poor body didn’t get a damn thing except chemicals, salt and orange food coloring. No protein, no vitamins, nada. And I felt sorry for my body. It was hungry so I dumped a bag of orange, man made, crunchy chemical sticks into my stomach. Then, I expected my brain and body to perform well.

An hour later I was hungry, exhausted and really thirsty. So Cheetos really are “dangerously cheesey”.

Later that day I googled “dead food”. Wow, there’s a whole world of folks out there with serious thoughts about living and dead food, they make lists and eat everything raw.To my surprise, Beef Jerky made the dead list, I was pretty sad about that one.

Chef Craig Koketsu of the Park Avenue Autumn  Restaurant in New York has created a a very popular Broccolli and Cheeto dish that sounds surprisingly wonderful,  but I think it kind of shoots down the whole purpose of eating veggies.

So, back to dead food. I think it might be bad for us. I think our bodies need more than chemicals. And I think we are seeing more and more young girls with surprisingly flabby bellies because we are all eating too much “dead food”. We are filling out bodies with preservatives and weird trans fats and our bodies just don’t know where to put it, so they turn it into fat than hangs over the top of our low rise jeans.  I think we are all tired because we aren’t giving our body the stuff it need to run… meats, vegetables and fruits. It’s like asking a car to run on scotch or shampoo.

The truth is I’ll keep on eating some “dead food” because  it tastes really good and I like yummy stuff. But I think we all need to avoid  Cheetos for lunch, unless you have a big rib-eye steak and a salad on the side.

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Everybody Has A Dad That Says *%$# About Fat Girls

*%$#* my dad said.

Yeah, William Shatner has a new show and he’s a pain in the *$% father who says messed up &!)* But I think we all have fathers with ridiculous ideas.

My dad, I Granger McDaniel, was a genius, a visionary, a war hero, but he said some *^@% up stuff.

I remember when I was a little girl, sitting at the table with my mom, dad and brothers. I started picking at my food, pushing the peas under the bread, because I was full and didn’t want to eat anymore. My mother told me I had to eat the rest of my dinner and Dad interrupted her , “Don’t make the girls clean their plates, the fat ones are hard to get married off”.  Serisoulsy…he sadi that out loud.

When I was four, I sat on his lap, played with his massive mustache and told him an epic story about bears and trolls and the fairies who lived in my underwear drawer. He laughed, shook his head and said, “Little girls, as soon as they can open their eyes they can flirt, as soon as they can open their mouths they can lie”. This was during the sixties when sexism was pretty white bread.

I Granger said some other absurd and brilliant things too, but maybe the two most important were a lot easier to follow. My two favorites were, “On any given day, anything can happen”. Think about it. That one is as right as rain. Miricles do happen, unbeatable teams loose, sometimes losers and long shots win. Anything is possible on any given day.

And finally, he would sit on the edge of my bed every night and remind me, “When your imagination accepts it as reality, it will inevitably become the truth”. For crazy people and little girls that’s a power mantra. It makes you brave no matter how enormous the enemy it allows you to dream and believe the best can and will happen. That phrase allowed me to keep faith and hope alive, no matter how disasterous the situation. Obviously, those are re-phrased biblical ideas. My father wanted me to believe, to have faith and to see  that everything is possible.

I hang on to my father’s words, all of them, the good and the bad, and too this day, I never ever clean my plate.

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When Your Beautiful Daughter Goes To Jail In Four Inch Heels

Does this happen to every parent? I’m not sure.

I’m rolling through a work day morning when I get seven phone calls and two texts…from Mary, my beautiful, shiny, brilliant, pre-med daughter. The text reads, “THEY PUT ME IN JAIL! CALL NOW”

When I call her back I get a moderatly hysterical Mary who went to court to tell the judge she didn’t finish all her community service. She had to do community service because three months ago she got a speeding ticket and couldn’t pay the $300 dollar fine.

I think Mary expected the judge to be a kindly man, kind of like a college professor,  who might scold her gently and granted her a two week extension. Instead he threw her in jail until she could come up with $500.

Her phone calls went like this.
“Mom, I’m in jail and I’m supposed to be in microbiology, I’m in jail Mom, I have to call my professor and tell him I’m in jail.”

“Mom, I’m in jail and I’m wearing my light pink Nine West heels (I know these heels are easly 3 or 4 inches…what an image).

“Mom, I have to pee and the toilet is so disgusting and it’s connected to the frickin’ water fountain. That’s so not right. I not peeing here.”

I still don’t understand how Mary got to keep her phone while she was in jail but that stuff happens in “Mary Land”.

And finally there was the $500 she needed to be released. Her cousin Faith, who from now on will be addressed as “Faith the Amazing” had $500…and….was willing to bail Mary out. Mary’s brother, Jack, who is generally her ATM, was out of state.

My questions for Mary went like this?  “Did you pull a Lindsey Lohan and write something bad on your fingernails?”  and “Do you think they will kick you out of the soriority becasue you’ve done jail time?”  I was just kidding but she didn’t think I was very funny.

After a three hour stay “Faith the Amazing” freed  Mary and her light pink Nine West heels.

So, the moral of the story…I’m not sure. For high school and college students I think the moral may be don’t assume good looks, nice shoes and a giant ACT score will keep you out of jail.

For the rest of us, make sure you got to the restroom before going to court cause you never really know what’s going to happen.

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