Scrapbooking Your Baby's First Year (giveaway)

Update: Random.org picked commenters #7 and #2 as the winners! Keli (#7) and Delaina (#2), e-mail me for the FREE class info!

My goal was to finish the scrapbook about Annalyn’s first year by her first birthday party. I wanted to put the scrapbook on display, so people could enjoy photos of her and remember how tiny she used to be.

That didn’t happen.

I did end up finishing the album the next month, though, and I am so glad. It’s not just about how cute the layouts are {although, they are}. It’s because it’s no longer sitting on my to-do list, mocking me.

{What? Your to-do list doesn’t mock you? Because mine is a snarky little punk!}

However, you know what IS on my to-do list? Besides file old bills, write to my Compassion child and for the love, clean the bathtub? Finish Annalyn’s albums.

See, I have scrapbooks for each of Annalyn’s first two years. And they’re both semi-finished. For her first year, I slapped the gajillions of pictures I took onto pages like scrapbooking was going out of style (and don’t you even tell me that!), not taking time to journal or add embellishments or, honestly, even make sure all the page protectors were the same size (they’re not).

And so these projects that I so badly wanted to have finished by now are not.

It’s too late for me (I’m kidding. It’s never too late to start or finish a scrapbooking project.), but perhaps we can save YOU.

Do you have boxes of photos, waiting to be organized and enjoyed? Do they mock you? Are you overwhelmed by the thought of finding time or knowing where to start? My friend Jessica has the perfect solution for you.

As a new mom who works full-time, writes The Mom Creative blog and loves to scrapbook, Jessica Turner's life is a constant juggling act. After not finding any baby scrapbooking resources she loved and with a commitment to completing her son's first-year album while he was still a baby, she developed Don't Blink: Scrapbooking Your Baby's First Year.

Finding time to scrapbook amidst milestones and diaper changes can be a challenge, but it is possible! In the self-paced class Don't Blink: Scrapbooking Your Baby's First Year, you'll receive tips, tricks and inspiration to complete your baby's first year album – while he or she is still a baby. And don't worry; if your baby is walking and talking, Don't Blink will still inspire you to complete his album before he graduates from high school.

After taking Don't Blink, I know you'll be inspired to create dozens of layouts for your baby's scrapbook. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the amount of pictures you have taken and the layouts you could make, you'll have the tools needed to create a scrapbook that will be cherished for years by your child. AND, you will be able to get it done during naptimes, at night and whenever else you can squeeze in 15 to 30 minutes to scrapbook!

Here’s my favorite part: Jessica has been sweet enough to give us a coupon code for the class AND two free classes for me to give away!

Coupon Code: For a 20% discount for Don’t Blink, use the code blogblink at checkout.

Giveaway: To enter the giveaway for one of two free classes (in other words, two people will win this class), tell me in the comments if you like to scrapbook and what’s kept you from finishing your albums.

For additional entries, subscribe to Giving Up on Perfect, follow me on Twitter or join my Facebook page – and then tell me about it in a separate comment. I’ll draw a winner after midnight (CST) on Friday, July 2.

This post will be linked to We Are THAT Family's Works for Me Wednesday, because scrapbooking my baby's first year works for me. 

Disclaimer: The coupon code only applies to the Don’t Blink self-paced class; coupon does not apply towards other self-paced projects, workshops or gift certificates. Good for one time use, per student. Expires December 20, 2010, at 10 p.m. PST. Cannot be combined with any other offer. Coupon must be entered in the “Promo Code” box during checkout and press “apply” button; discount will be applied immediately. Not applicable towards previous purchases. Other terms and restrictions may apply.

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It was just an experience.

Five years ago, I started a new church.

Not by myself, of course. My husband and I were one of six couples that were part of the “core” group, the leadership team. We left our home church, with the blessing of the pastoral team, and stepped out in faith. Excited. Committed. Passionate.

And less than a year later, we left that church plant. Broken. Defeated. Devastated.

Since then, I’ve tried to bury the pain of that experience and ignore the confusion that wreaked havoc on my faith. Mark and I only dared talk about what happened with the church plant with our friends who left the new church just as scarred and weary, and even then, rehashing old wounds became redundant and pointless.

Recently, though, a new friend asked me what happened. And so Mark and I told our story, our interpretation of what happened between the hope of a new adventure and the disappointment of a failed experiment. The telling brought back suppressed emotions and forgotten details. But it also revealed a new perspective.

Ever since that evening – where my friends learned, I’m sure, way more than they wanted – my mind and my heart have been dancing around this topic. And slowly, finally, I think I’m gaining some traction in my path toward recovery.

It’s a slow journey, though, and one filled with difficult lessons and painful revelations. Like when I realized just how much of the situation was my fault.

So I wasn’t surprised when this weekend’s sermon pricked my still-tender, church-planting heart. I heard the pastor say the words, I felt the sting as they hit their target, and I tried to shake it off. Brushing at the tears seeping out of my eye. Flipping through the bulletin for something else, anything else to catch my attention.

But I couldn’t avoid the words: Sometimes we worship the experience, instead of the GOD of the experience.

Over the past 4+ years, I’ve held onto the hurt, wishing I could just get over it, but unable to figure out exactly how. And as time has passed, my memories of that experience have taken more prominence in my heart and my head than what God did during that time.

I think part of the reason – though not an excuse – is that as we stood among the ruins of ministries, friendships and dreams, I couldn’t help but wonder:

Why did God let this happen?
Didn’t he know we were doing this for Him?
Did we misinterpret God’s will?
Maybe He didn’t want us to do this . . .
When I couldn’t figure out what God had been saying, what He was saying right then, what He intended for us to do, what He wanted me to do now – I stopped thinking about it. Or, more accurately, I stopped thinking about Him.

And all I focused on – really, all I worshipped – was that experience. The excitement of starting something new, the high of following God’s will and building His kingdom, the satisfaction of working hard and accomplishing even just a few great things. Those were the things I remembered.

I also recalled the frustration of disagreements, the betrayals, the disappointments. But I forgot to remember the WHY and the HOW.

Because both those questions, whether revolving around the highs or the lows of planting a church, lead me straight back to God.

After warning the missions team to point their worship toward God and not just the experience of their trip, our youth pastor told the congregation how we can avoid this kind of misplaced devotion. He said that if we can just go back and find God in the experience, then we’ll be able to start worshipping the One who created the experience in the first place.

My time as a church planter was short-lived (for now). But I let that brief period become a sort of idol and worshipped it instead of learning and growing. Today, when I look back, I can find God in the experience.

I see Him in the way we chose our church and the way we found our Sunday school class.
I see Him in the way we developed friendships and learned to do life with a few couples.
I see Him in the day that our teacher – and soon-to-be pastor – told us about his plans.
I see Him in the fire we felt as we embarked on our journey.

And it’s hard, but I see Him in the way things didn’t go according to those plans and the slow-but-sure disillusion we felt – and the deep hurts we’ve nursed since then.

The interesting thing is that as I rip my eyes from the experience and begin to turn them back toward God, the experience loses its grip on me. It hurts a little bit less. It doesn’t seem quite so overwhelming and insurmountable.

Worshipping God – and not just the experiences He creates for us – puts everything back into perspective. It helps me see that He is big, and I am small. And that one experience isn’t the whole world – or the end of the world, in my case. It’s just an experience.

Have you ever struggled to focus on God instead of what He gives us? How have you learned to put experiences in proper perspective?

Image by shaferlens.

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Worshipping the experience vs. worshipping God

Yesterday was our nursery day. We serve once a month, wiping noses and rolling balls with an occasionally rowdy and always cute group of 12-18 month olds.

I don’t love doing it, but I don’t mind. Mark is not nearly as fond of it, but that could be partly because I usually put him on Kleenex duty. (Hey, as the lead teacher, I’m on diaper duty. So he really shouldn’t complain.)

This week, though, we lucked out. Well, I say “we,” but I really mean ME. Mark was down and out with the flu for a couple days (although after literally [yes, literally] sleeping for 24 hours, he seems to be on the mend), so I was on my own.

And we had NO kids in the nursery. It was weird. I had everything ready; I even got there early. The sign-up sheet was outside the door, the attendance sheet was ready, the Kleenex box was full. I even had pieces of masking tape torn off for labeling bags and sippy cups.

But no kids. So after waiting for about 20 minutes, I got to sneak into church. I’m so glad I did.

Our youth group went to the Philippines for a mission trip, and they talked to our congregation this Sunday about what they saw and what they learned.

Two high school kids talked about what God taught them during the trip, they showed a video of their time in Manila (including some pretty good dancing for Baptist kids), and then the youth pastor spoke.

He said he wanted to address the elephant in the room.

The kids and adult leaders had just walked across the platform up front, holding what they called cardboard testimonies. One side of their posters said things like “Eyes closed” and “God provides some things,” while the flip side said, “Eyes opened” and “God provides everything.”

Our pastor said he knew what we were thinking: How long will this last? How long until they go back to normal?

He said he was concerned for all of them, himself included, that the passion they felt would fade. And he said after reading in Deuteronomy (I don’t know where; I didn’t have my Bible on hand since I had planned to be in the nursery.), he realized the reason we all have trouble sustaining the fire we feel during a mountaintop experience.

We worship the experience, instead of the GOD of the experience.

Wow.

The testimonies of the kids and the video and the cardboard made me cry. I couldn’t seem to stop my right eye from leaking the whole morning. But that statement right there?

Well, it just about did me in. Because it applies to a very specific part of my life, and I hadn’t realized until that moment that as I’ve tried to process and deal with and recover from what happened, I've been worshipping the experience.

I’ll talk more about that tomorrow. But for now, I’m wondering if you’ve had this happen in your life. Have you ever had an amazing experience with God, really heard from Him or seen Him work – only to realize later that you had begun worshipping the experience and not God?

Have you worshipped the experience instead of the God of the experience?

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More Than Defined: 10 reasons I consider myself Southern

I was born in Kansas. When I was four years old, my family moved to Missouri. After graduating from high school, I branched out on my own for college. In Missouri. Then I briefly moved to Kansas for graduate school. And then moved back to Missouri.

Clearly, I’m from the Midwest.

And yet, in my heart of hearts, I consider myself a Southern girl.

I know, I know! It doesn’t make sense, and my truly Southern friends are no doubt rolling their eyes and blessing my heart right now.

But here’s the thing: half my family is from the South! And I’m not talking about a 1/32 type of ancestry. My mom was born in southern Georgia (and I am well aware that’s “suth’n Jawjah,” for the record) and only moved north because my granddad was stationed at Fort Leavenworth.

So between my own mother, my grandparents and all oour extended family, I feel well-versed and immersed enough in Southern culture to claim it as my own. Just a little. Can you all (AHEM. Y’all?) give me that?

No? You want more evidence? Fine. Twist my arm. Here are 10 reasons I consider myself Southern:

1. Grits: I not only know what grits are, I like them. And I’ll take it a step further: I’m even particular about how I take them. (Lots of butter and salt, please! And believe it or not, keep your cheese to yourself.)
2. Talkin’: Phrases like “conniption fit,” “catty-wampus,” “bless her heart,” “come sit a spell,” “gooder’n snuff,” “ornery” and “her people” don’t confuse or amuse me. I simply know exactly what they mean.
3. Good times: I have been known a time or twenty to shout, “Don’t look, Ethel!” or “He’s everywhere! He’s everywhere!” Furthermore, I don’t think it’s weird at all to sing about sitting up with the dead, and I know exactly which Mississippi church had a squirrel go berserk. Because in my family, we do love our Ray Stevens. I have two VHS tapes to prove it.
4. Good food: While I may never (and I mean NEVER) enjoy the taste of fried okra, collard greens and pecan (“pee-kan,” of course) pie, I am well aware of their many virtues and wouldn’t dream of actually turning up my nose at these delicacies.
5. Funeral food: When someone dies, I immediately pull a casserole dish out of the cupboard. Because if there’s something worse than grieving, it’s doing it on an empty stomach.
6. The sweeter, the better: As I have mentioned, I like sweet tea – and I like it reallll sweet.
7. Suppertime: If you invite me over for dinner, I might ask you to clarify. Because in my world, that could mean lunch or supper, and I want to make sure I’m there for the right meal. (Because if you haven’t noticed, half of this list seems to be about food in one way or another. And I’m afraid that’s just about right.)
8. Timberrr! One of my favorite things about my job – and I’m not exaggerating – is the group of pine trees surrounding the back door of our building. Unless someone’s sitting on the back porch smoking, I get a whiff of those pines and am immediately transported to the many vacations we took to see “our people” in Georgia.
9. Yes, ma’am: I might be sarcastic, I might be forthright, and I might be snarky. But I know how to mind my manners, thankyouverymuch. Now, northern friends, please do not get upset with me. I’m not saying you’re rude. I’m just saying that I was directed more than once as a child to say “yes, sir” and write another thank you note. 
10. Pop culture (and I don’t mean Coke): I’m a big fan of Designing Women, Steel Magnolias, Alabama (the band) and the Savannah series by Denise Hildreth.

What? That last one doesn’t mean anything? Well, I could tell you about how easily I slip into a Southern drawl when crossing the Mason-Dixie line. Or how I am familiar with Piggly Wiggly stores or often hear my family refer to Driving Miss Daisy. I guess I could mention how, as a freshman, I impressed the drama teacher with my flawless (if I do say so myself) reading of a play’s dialogue filled with Southern dialect.

But really, what it comes down to is this: My family is from the South. And I love them. They are all sorts of crazy, but the truth is, I’m just like them. If that makes me crazy, so be it. If that makes me Southern, well then, I guess that just proves my point.

Where are you {and your people} from? What region do you most identify with?

For more posts about being Southern, check out these fine ladies:

• The Other Mama – Top 5 Reasons I Love Alabama
• Robin at Pensieve – Song of the South
• We Are THAT Family – My Guide to Country Vernacular
• Ronda Rich – How to Know You Have Southern Blood
• Sweet & Southern Life – You Know You’re From North Carolina If…

And for more Southern fun, here are two more sites:

• A Yankee Test (I scored “45% Dixie. Barely a Yankee.”)
• Southern Slang from About.com

P.S. I'm linking up to OhAmanda's Top Ten Tuesday.

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I’m melting…!

Seriously. This heat is ridiculous. And I live in the middle of the country. I’m not in the actual South. I’m not gasping for air in the dry heat of the desert or the sopping wet humidity of the coast.

No. I’m just a girl in Missouri who’s dying of heat!

I told Mark today that this heat makes me mad. He said that’s dumb. Why get mad about something you can’t change? As one who just might have an issue with road rage, I’m not sure HE is the one who should be dispensing that advice.

But when he asked why I would be mad about the weather, I informed him that there is No. Reason. why I should be sweating at 7:45 in the morning. Or on the short walk from my car to my office. Or sitting in my chair at my desk.

I mean, really.

I didn’t think today’s post should only include my whining complaints about the day’s temperature, so I did a quick search for songs about heat. I don’t know what I thought that would add to the conversation.

Aside from Nelly’s logic that a warm room necessarily means one should shed her clothes, the song best fitting my state of mind was Glenn Frey’s The Heat is On.


Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it.

No, really. Tell me that you can feel this heat. Don’t be like my co-worker who said she wasn’t warm at all yesterday. For just a moment, I considered throwing my [sweaty] shoe at her.

Then I realized that was just the heat rage speaking.

Here’s the crazy part: it’s just June! It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

And I know it can be worse. The hottest I’ve been is a toss-up between Disney World in August (family vacation) and Las Vegas in July (convention for work). Oh yeah, there was also Tampa in July (convention for work).

How hot is it where you live? What’s the hottest you’ve ever been?

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Wordless Wednesday: Sunbathing Baby

For more Wordless Wednesday, visit 5 Minutes for Mom.

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Rolling with the changes

Annalyn enjoying her daddy at dinnertime!

Life at my house is a little different these days. Mark has a new job, and we’re doing things differently than before.

From the time I was pregnant until just a couple months ago, Mark has worked evenings. And when I say “evenings,” I mean that he was gone from early afternoon to late at night, sometimes not getting home until after midnight.

In other words, for Annalyn’s entire life, we have never had family time during the week. She had time with her daddy, she had time with her mommy, and we all met up on the weekend.

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, although it did drive me to blog. Then again, I hope you’d agree that my blogging isn’t a bad result, either!

A couple months ago, though, Mark changed jobs and now works (mostly) nights. So now, we have our whole evenings together. We also moved Annalyn’s bedtime back to 7:30, giving us even more time to play and eat and be together.

All this change has spurred more change. It’s all good, but change still takes some getting used to. The first two nights that Mark was home, I thought I was going to lose my mind.

He was just so . . . THERE! In my space! Sitting on my couch! Watching my TV! Looking at me!

Thankfully, I realized quickly that I was being a jerk. I apologized, and we adjusted. Ahem. We’re still adjusting. As a matter of fact, I came up with 10 ways (as in Top Ten Tuesday, of course) that we’re adjusting to change right now:

1. Family time: As I mentioned, we have a lot more time together now. Or, as Annalyn says, “all of us.” If we want, we can go to the store together or play in the backyard together. Granted, it is summer, and the backyard is ridiculously humid. So I should say that it allows Annalyn to play in the yard with Mark while I sneak inside to the house. With the air conditioning.
2. Cooking dinner: But that does bring me to my second point: I have more opportunity to cook dinner now. A real dinner. Not a plain cheese quesadilla and canned fruit for Annalyn, while I eat chips and salsa until she goes to bed. But a real, cooked on the stove, featuring at least three of the four food groups dinner. Sometimes (like last night), Mark does the cooking and I do the playing. Either way, we get the chance to cook for our family, and that’s something we both enjoy but didn’t get to do often when we spent our evenings apart.
3. Family dinner: With Mark’s previous schedule, our only chance to eat meals as a family was on the weekend. And weekends are usually busy, leaving us little time to plan or cook or eat nice meals together. That left lunch on the days I came home from work, but it’s hard to enjoy much together-ness in 30 rushed minutes, with a 2-year-old. So being able to eat dinner – all of us, at the same time, with manners! – feels like a small miracle.
4. Bathtime and bedtime: For the first two and a half years of Annalyn’s life, I was the only person here (during the week) to give her a bath and put her to bed. You know what that means, right? Poor girl did NOT get a bath every night – or, sometimes, even every other night! Seriously, she’s a good girl and there’s only one of her, so it’s not like bedtime was always such a hardship. But having Mark here to help with the nighttime routine is so nice! And I think it’s really good for Annalyn, too.
5. Gas money: Okay, this one has nothing to do with being a family and everything to do with money. Mark’s new job is way closer to our house than the old one. So he buys gas half as often as he used to – saving us more than $100 a month!
6. Mo’ money: On top of the gas savings, he’s also making more money, which means we're finally going to get out of debt. And that makes him feel really good. Not in a money-is-the-most-important-thing sort of way. But he worked really hard to get this job – and he persevered even though that’s not normally his MO, and now he’s proud of the fact that he’s providing so well for his family. And I’m proud of him, too.
7. Flexibility: This might surprise you, but I’m not the most flexible person out there. I like rules and schedules and structure and lines around my colors. But Mark’s new job, at least for now, has none of that. He works a different shift every night, and we don’t know what that different shift will be until the day it happens. When I first realized this (after he’d signed paperwork but before he started the new job), I may have had a complete meltdown. Okay, let’s be honest. I did. But since then, I’ve managed to adjust to this new way of life and can see that it’s not a bad trade-off for the family time we’re gaining and the debt we’re starting to pay off. {Not to say I didn’t freak out a little bit on the night he didn’t get called in to work at all. But c’mon! That would frustrate any budget-creating and bill-paying wife, right?}
8. TV watching: Having Mark home in the evenings was a wake-up call. His presence was like a mirror, held up to my lazy habits. I didn’t like it. Seriously, I’m pretty sure my husband was appalled to realize just how much of my evenings have been spent sitting on the couch. He understands how it happened (newborn + unemployment and then underemployment + too much alone time = a LOT of time spent on the Internet, watching TV and generally not moving around). But he still wasn’t impressed. Thankfully, it’s summer, so TV isn’t a big draw anyway. But we may have some more adjusting to do come fall.
9. Blogging time: Just like it seems that I watch too much TV (and I do), it also seems to Mark that I spend too much time on the computer. And…I do. I haven’t had to be a good manager of my time, because it’s been all my time. Nobody was here to care if I spent three hours in front of my two favorite screens and then stayed up late to change laundry, pick up the house and clean up the kitchen. But now that Mark is here to point out (gently, of course. Ha!) how ridiculous that is? I’m trying to figure out how to be more efficient.
10. My bed: For nine years, Mark and I shared a full-size bed. Not long ago, we finally upgraded to a queen, and we’re not quite sure how we lasted those nine years. Now that we’re sleeping – for the most part – during two completely different parts of the day, though? We are in slumber heaven. Neither one of us has someone snoring in our ears or rolling over too far or breathing in my face. It’s just me, my pillow and nothing but space. Having the bed to myself is a definite change – but I have to say it’s kind of nice. {Weird disclaimer: Please don’t bother being concerned about the state of our marriage based on this situation. Of course I miss my husband at night, and yes, we do sleep in the same bed at the same time on the weekends. So, really, it’s all good.}

Those are the main ways we’ve been adjusting to all the changes going on. Does everyone in your family work, eat and sleep on the same schedule? Have you had to adjust to any changes lately?

This post will be linked to OhAmanda’s Top Ten Tuesday.

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Who cares what it’s called as long as it tastes good?

Image by Joefoodie. I think his ronza stromboli has spinach in it.

In the town where I went to college, a pizza place on the downtown square served these things called ronzas. I’d never heard of a ronza before then . . . and I haven’t heard of one since then.

Apparently, in the outside world, they’re called calzones. Or stromboli. Or runzas. But a ronza? No. Nobody’s ever heard of that.

When I tried to find evidence of this long-remembered snack from my college days, I came up pretty empty. However, I did find a review of the restaurant (Pagliai’s, and that’s pronounced “polly-eyes,” just so you know.) on Yelp.com.

I had to laugh when I read it and realized it was actually written by my friend, Tim! He said, among other things: “In my opinion, [pizza’s] not the reason to go to Pagliai's – it’s the Ronza. That's right. A capital R because it deserves it.”

And that’s why even now, a few years later, Mark and I still crave the pizza snack every once in a while.

Because I’m a nerd (Go ahead. Try and debate that.), I looked up the terms with my favorite research tool. And according to Wikipedia, stromboli is a type of turnover filled with various cheeses, Italian meats or vegetables. The dough is Italian bread dough, and it originated near Philadelphia.

Calzones, on the other hand, are turnovers that originate from Italy and are basically described as a pizza turned inside out. And a runza is completely different: a yeast dough bread pocket with a filling consisting of beef, pork, cabbage or sauerkraut (yuck!) and onions, baked in various shapes.

And then there’s the Hot Pocket, of course:

Jokes.com
Jim Gaffigan - Hot Pocket!
comedians.comedycentral.com
Futurama New Episodes Ugly Americans Funny TV Comedy Blog

Anyway. While I don’t actually mind a Hot Pocket now and then, sometimes only an actual ronza will do. But since Pagliai’s is about a three-hour drive away, we’ve had to figure out how to make them ourselves.

Last week, I mentioned to Mark that I wanted to make one and said I’d probably do it the following night. But the next night, I forgot about that and said I was going to make tacos, and he said, “But…but…I thought you were going to make a ronza!”

Once I brought it up, he couldn’t wait to have one. So…he made it! And while I would have done things a little differently, it was still really good, so I thought I’d share the recipe.

Mark’s Ronza

1 lb. hamburger, browned
1 cup barbecue sauce
1-2 cups shredded mozzarella
4 slices bacon, fried and crumbled
1 can refrigerated pizza dough

Mix the barbecue sauce with the browned (and drained) hamburger and bacon. Unroll pizza dough on baking sheet sprayed with baking spray (or, as I say, on a cookie sheet sprayed with Pam). Spread meat mixture and then sprinkle cheese on top. Fold over dough and press edges closed.

Now, I would have sprayed the whole outside of the ronza (or brushed with olive oil, if I was real fayncee) and then seasoned with garlic and maybe a little basil.

But Mark just put a little extra cheese on the outside. To each his own, I suppose. (And believe me, it didn’t stop me from eating it!)

Cook according to pizza dough instructions. Slice and serve.

Mmmm....!

What do you call this type of food? And do you have any favorite foods from somewhere you lived before?

This post will be linked to Mouthwatering Monday, Tasty Tuesday, Tuesdays at the Table, Tempt My Tummy Tuesday, What's Cooking Wednesday, Friday Food, Foodie Friday and Food on Fridays.

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Saturday Review: Date Night

Short version:
Great movie. Really funny. Highly recommend.

Long version:
From the second I saw that Steve Carell and Tina Fey were starring in a movie together, I’ve been determined to see Date Night. The premise looked funny – boring married couple stumbles into crazy adventure – but it probably wouldn’t have mattered.

Teaming up the lead characters from The Office and 30 Rock was a comedy dream come true.

Of course, I can identify with a boring married couple struggling to maintain a regular date night. I had a hankering to see a movie for a few months before we managed to get this outing on the calendar.

But I never expected to identify with the unexpected adventure part of the movie.

So excited for our upcoming date (and a bit of a control freak planner, if you haven’t heard), I looked online for movie times early in the week. I had free movie passes for the new theater/restaurant combo, but just in case we decided to do something different, I wrote down the showing times for three different theaters.

After hearing a friend’s review of the theater/restaurant and realizing that this date would serve as our anniversary celebration, we decided to eat dinner at Bravo and then go to the movie (instead of eating at the theater while eating).

Side note: I’ve been to Bravo maybe three other times, and I think I’ve gotten the chicken marsala every time. And loved it. But this time, I didn’t love it nearly as much – I only ate about half of it! Next time, I will definitely be ordering myself some pasta.

We enjoyed our dinner, eating and chatting and generally taking our time. Afterwards, we (okay, I) did a little shopping, because the movie didn’t start for another hour. Then, we headed to the theater.

When we got there, though, we found out that the theater wasn’t showing our movie! According to the cashier at the ticket counter, they’d never shown the movie. You’re telling me The Internet was WRONG? WHAT?

Okay. New plan.

The movie we’d planned to see started at 7:35, while the movie at the new theater (right across from Bravo, incidentally) started at 7:10. It was now 7:02. And even though they’re just a mile apart, the traffic between the two theaters is always ridiculous – and even more so on Saturday night.

But Mark thought we could make it. So we ran (fast walked) back to the car and hit the road. Mark dropped me off at the door, and when I ran (fast walked) into the theater, their clock read 7:12.

“Are you still seating for Date Night?” I asked.

No. They were not. Because the movie was sold out. And the next showing wasn’t until 9:25. “Ugh, that’s SO LATE!” I whined to the cashier, sounding like half of a boring married couple on their date night.

Okay. New plan.

Theater #3 had a 9:10 showing, and somehow that seemed infinitely better than the 9:25. We got back in the car and headed downtown. This time I was driving, so I dropped Mark off at the door while I headed to the parking garage.

And then my cell phone rang. It was Mark. The movie was sold out. Already. And had been for hours.

Seriously? What the heck? It’s not like we were trying to see Harry Potter 14 or something! But apparently I was not the only person whose Facebook friends had been raving about Date Night.

Okay. New plan. Again.

We drove BACK to the theater/restaurant, bought tickets for the oh-so-late 9:25 movie. Then we spent the next hour walking around Marshall’s like a regular boring married couple.

Finally we got to see the movie. And while we didn’t like the new theater/restaurant and their logistics/seating/etc. (and did I mention that I left our free passes at home, because we’d decided to go to the other theater?), we loved the movie. It might have been past our bedtime, but we laughed through the whole thing!

Only a few times did it seem like we were watching Michael Scott and Liz Lemon. And only one scene – in a strip club of sorts – was annoyingly inappropriate for this boring married couple’s viewing. But married or not, if you’ve ever been bored with your life and longed for some excitement, you’ll identify with these funny characters.

Overall, Date Night (and our date night) was so funny and so worth our driving all around town to get tickets!

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More Than Defined: Generation Gap

Shortly after I transferred to the copywriting department, the ad agency hired another writer. He disappeared for hours at a time to nap on the downstairs couch, and he once convinced me to drive him to the hospital. Because he’d broken a needle in his arm.

I mean, he fell on the stairs and cut his arm open. Whatever.

He was a weird person to sit next to, but aside from the hospital road trip, my most vivid memory of him is the day he decided to debate whether or not I was a part of Generation X.

He did not know who he was messing with. (Although to be fair, I did not know how irrational a strung-out creative could be.)

Since getting engaged at age 19, I’d been fighting for an older image. I did everything I could to seem mature and wise. Because getting told, “But you’re so young!” gets old well before you do.

Besides, I actually was a little bit mature. Some might say boring. But we’re going to say mature.

I blame my cousins. Five, six and eight years older than me, they were my role models, the older siblings I didn’t have – and the reason I have always felt comfortable with people a few years older than me.

So when my co-worker thought it would be funny to call me “Generation Y,” I was having no part of it.

I double-checked my facts, since it’s now been a few years since I researched this topic. And the consensus is still that Generation X consists of anyone born between 1965 and 1980.

Yes, some people say the cutoff is 1976, but I’m not buying it. [Because I was born in 1978. Okay? I’m not going to beat around the bush here.]

But we don’t have to go strictly by the numbers. Let’s take a look at some of the characteristics of my generation.

Talking ‘bout my generation . . .

It’s interesting. After an extensive round of searching on Swagbucks, the most common kind of sites that popped up were management sites (“How to manage different generations” or “How can Baby Boomers work with Gen X and Gen Y?”) and marketing sites (“How to sell stuff to Generation X”). But I think the information still applies here.

Generation X is the first generation of “latchkey kids.” One site described the typical family structure like this: “Mom, Dad and 2.47 kids. Three bedroom, two bathroom home with double garage and a dog. Your parents were divorced by the time you were fifteen. Then it was mom and your new dad, your real dad, his girlfriend and her two kids.”

Well, my parents aren’t divorced, but we did dive headfirst into some dysfunction about halfway through my childhood. And I was definitely a latchkey kid for a few years, doing extra chores and taking care of my little brother and cousin. So this one is pretty spot-on for me.

However, the same site says Generation X views their parents as absent workaholics who were too permissive. No, no and no.

Generation X created independent individuals who disdain authority and dislike bossiness. Hmmm. Am I independent? Yes. Do I disdain authority? Well, okay, sometimes. Sometimes I have an attitude. It’s not pretty, but it happens. I think I know everything – or at least more – than whoever is trying to boss me around.

Grrr. I don’t like this one. On the upside, the description goes on to say Generation Xers are generally pragmatic (as in practical? I’ll take it.) and risk-takers (I’d like to be. And maybe I was once or twice.).

Generation X likes sharing, spending time with friends and hanging out. They also like “activities where you can die doing it, like bungee jumping and white water rafting.” Wellll . . . we’re batting about 500 on this thing. Do I like “chilling,” as one definition put it? Sure. I’m more of a doer, but I enjoy my sit on the couch and watch a movie time. But life-threatening leisure activities (and that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one)? No thanks.

Generation X is likely to have several careers during a lifetime, and a work/life balance is important. Clearly, I’m all over this one. Several careers? Check. Quit a job after getting completely burned out? Check.

Several different sites credit this attitude to growing up in the 80s, when they saw their parents remain loyal to companies that didn’t return the favor when the economy tanked.

I don’t know if that’s where my own tendencies came from, but I definitely fit this part of the description.

Generation X has diverse musical tastes. Ah yes, the statement that started me down this path. Kansas City’s new “Gen X Radio” says it plays music that Gen Xers love: retro, grunge, hip hop and hair bands. And they say it in a British accent. As I do love those genres and the music the station plays – and a British accent – I must be Generation X.

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Almost every one of the sites that described Generation X ended with a disclaimer that we shouldn’t stereotype anyone in any generation. So apparently I’m not the only one who doesn’t fit perfectly into the box!

Given all this, it seems that the only reason I have clung to my Generation X card is because I was desperate to be seen as older – or at least wiser, more responsible and to be taken very seriously.

Of course, since turning 30, that doesn’t seem quite as important. Or is it since having a baby? Either way, I’m feeling my age more every day and might not balk so much if someone considered me a part of “the younger generation.”

But the numbers don’t lie. And 1978 falls smack dab in the tail end of the generation span. So no matter how much older my cousin, my college advisor, my friend’s husband, my brother-in-law, my cousin and my weirdo co-workers are than me, I’m still a part of their generation.

Am I an angry slacker who wears flannel shirts and pants on the ground? Nope. But I am cynical enough (of, you know, “The Man”) to disregard some of the definitions I read while researching my fellow Gen Xers – and independent enough to create my own definitions.

What generation do you identify with? Do you attribute negative or positive connotations to any generation?

For a thorough – and somewhat humorous – look at several different generations and their characteristics, check out this chart. And don’t miss the disclaimer at the bottom!

Sources:
http://www.sustainable-employee-motivation.com/generation-X.html
http://www.demandmade.com/terminology.html
http://legalcareers.about.com/od/practicetips/a/GenerationX.htm

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Things I Love Thursday: Photo Gifts

Is it arrogant to give a photo of yourself as a gift? Or maybe self-absorbed?

{Please say no, please say no, please say no…}

I’d like to say my habit of giving photos [of me] started when I had a child. But I’m pretty sure it goes back further than that. I distinctly remember framing the best picture Mark and I have ever had taken a few years ago (thank you, Christelle!) and giving it to everyone on our Christmas list.

And before that? There were wedding pictures and senior pictures in high school. (The wedding was not in high school. Just to clarify.)

Oh, and then there’s the collage I gave to Smitty for high school graduation. A collage of photos of the two of us. It’s a big collage…

As much as I generally dislike photos of myself, though, I just can’t believe that it’s conceited to share the few good ones. Especially considering how much I love, love, LOVE getting photos of other people as gifts!

I’ll never get rid of the picture of my freshman family group (Bible study small group) in a plastic frame. With puff paint on it.

And my fridge is covered in pictures of friends and family. It’s just important – and meaningful – to surround myself with visual reminders of the people I love.

Of course, lately my focus has been on pictures of my kiddo. I can’t help it. She’s just so darned cute! So when a former co-worker offered to make a picture I’d posted on Facebook into a canvas, I was really excited.

And when I got the canvas? Well, I really couldn’t believe how great it looked. The image is crystal clear, and just look at that face. That’s why I’m excited to share this offer with you.

CanvasPeople.com is offering a $25 coupon off ANY size canvas, plus FREE shipping & handling! This coupon can be applied toward a larger size canvas, creative effects or beautiful frames. I think I’m going to have to buy another one for Mark for Father’s Day! (Considering he didn’t get me anything, not that I’m complaining, for Mother’s Day, I think he’ll be okay with a late gift!)



Do you like giving photos as gifts? Or receiving them? Have you ever made a photo into a canvas?

This post contains affiliate links. And it will be linked up to Things I Love Thursdays at The Diaper Diaries.

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Killing the fridge monster

Sometimes I make the mistake of skating by on a big or late lunch until it’s almost time to leave work and go home.

I can gulp some water and chew gum to make it through the last hour of the day and the drive home. But once I get home?

I turn into a fridge monster.

Standing in front of the fridge – or the pantry, though I’m not sure that has the same sort of ring to it – I grab anything that looks good. I nibble, I graze, I snarf until I snap out of my starving state. The crumbs and wrappers are more evidence than I need; all of a sudden, I realize what I’ve done.

That’s when I remember: This is why I have to make sure to keep my desk stocked with healthy, filling snacks. It’s the only thing that keeps the monster away.

So when I was contacted by One2One Network about Ritz Crackerfuls, a possible solution for this afternoon snack dilemma, I was all over it.

Ritz Crackerfuls are individually wrapped cheese and cracker sandwiches made with whole grains and real cheese. They come in four varieties: Garlic Herb, Four Cheese, Classic Cheddar and Cheddar Cheese & Bacon.

For those wondering, each Crackerful is three Weight Watchers points.

One2One Network sent me a box of the cheese and bacon and the classic cheddar Crackerfuls. I took the classic box to work to share with my co-workers, and left the bacon box at home for Mark. Because he thinks that everything is better with bacon.

This one time, I have to disagree. I tried both kinds, and I definitely liked the classic cheddar better. My co-workers liked them, too. They laughed about me using them as my own focus group, but they had some great feedback. (So how could I not share it?)

Angela said it had the perfect amount of salt, and she liked that she could taste real cheese. She’s the friend I’ve gone to Weight Watchers meetings with for the past nine months, and while I haven’t lost squat, she’s lost 50 pounds. And after eating her Crackerful, she said, “Let me put it this way: if it wasn’t portioned out like this, I’d eat the hell out of ‘em.”

Michelle said it was awesome. “I loved it. Do you have another one?” After we laughed (and I failed to mention that no, I didn’t have another because I’d eaten them all), she said she would definitely buy a box for herself.

I thought the classic cheddar Crackerful was great. It was salty (which I like), but also slightly sweet (which I also like). The bacon version was good, too, although maybe a little too salty for me.

The only real problem I had with the Crackerful was the mess. When I ate one (okay fine, two) at work, I got crumbs all over my desk. And when I gave one to Annalyn, she opened it up like an Oreo, smeared cheese all over herself and my couch, and showered the entire living (or so it seemed) with crumbs.

Then again, that might be more of a toddler problem than a snack problem.

Will I buy these for myself? Good question! Thanks for asking. I probably will. For me, the aforementioned fridge monster, I’ll probably pair it with a piece of fruit. Otherwise, I’ll find myself eating two Crackerfuls – and that’s 6 points and a whole lot of crumbs.

If you’d like to try Ritz Crackerfuls, you can get a coupon for $1 off Cheddar Cheese & Bacon Crackerfuls on the Ritz Crackers Facebook page. The coupon is good through August 31, 2010.

What do you eat for an afternoon snack? Have you ever turned into a fridge monster?

One2One Network provided me free product samples. Posting this review makes me eligible for a gift card drawing. However, this review – just like everything on this blog – reflects my honest, personal opinion.

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Under attack!

My college roommate had some weird habits. Among those strange behaviors was one I never understood, mainly because I've never seen the movie Mars Attacks.

Apparently, it's funny [to some people] and her impression of one of the movie's characters was spot-on. To me, not having seen the movie, it was just weird.

And, yeah, funny. But still, weird.

I don't know why I'm telling you that, except that naming this post "Under attack" made me think "Mars attacks."

Mars did not, in fact, attack me. Or my laptop. But a stupid virus attacked my laptop. It attacked it good.

Thankfully, my friend Jeremy is a computer whiz and super generous with his time and skills, and he saved my computer, my photos, my iTunes and my brain. (Because I keep my brain in My Documents. Don't you?)

I'm not sure how much help he'd be in case of an actual Martian attack. But when ironically attacked by a fake antivirus virus, because I failed to renew our antivirus software, he was awesome.

And that's why I don't have an actual blog post this morning.

How was your weekend?

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Weekend Links, 6.13.10

It’s been a couple weeks since I shared some good links with you. Here’s what I’ve been reading lately:

• What He Sees (by me at (in)courage) – Okay, so I haven’t so much been reading this one as writing it. But I’d still like to share it with you.
• Second Guessing, Identity and Self Reflection (by Alli-n-Son) – I think we might be on the same wavelength with our identity issues!
• I Want to Be Wilder: An Intro (by Oh Amanda) – This is a new series I am really looking forward to reading. Although I have a feeling it’s going to make me think. A lot.
• How to Make Real Life Friends with Your Favorite Blogger (by Mama Kat’s Losin’ It) – Hilarious! And kind of helpful, too.
• Librarians Do Gaga (YouTube video) – As a nerd and former library employee, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love this.
• The Scarlett App? (by Jesus Needs New PR) – At least with Stuff Christians Like, I know to expect a serious post every week. But this guy? He’s funny, sarcastic and then boom! Out of nowhere, he gets all serious and makes me think.
• Tequila Lime Chicken with All the Fixins (by The Pioneer Woman Cooks) – Oh, I will be making this one.
• Before You Hit Publish (by Vanderbilt Wife) – If you write, you need to be reading this series. I’ve admitted to my obsession with grammar and mechanics before, and Jessie is the same way. But she’s actually doing something about it by teaching us all to write better.
• BLOGGING 101: Media Kits & One Sheets (by Mom Spark) – Do you have a media kit for your blog? This is something I need to do!

For more great links, visit Saturday Stumbles at It’s Come 2 This. What’s the best thing you’ve read lately?

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You Say Goodbye; I Say Hello

It hit me on Monday night. The regular TV season is over.

Many tears were cried. Teeth were gnashed. Hulu was searched.

I’m kidding, of course. Hulu was searched (and a re-watching of Veronica Mars was considered), but I certainly didn’t cry over the lack of TV to waste my time. I was actually a little bit excited to turn off the TV and be able to focus on something without one eye remaining fixed to the tube.

But my new-found dedication to spending my evenings cleaning house and organizing drawers won’t last for long. Partly because those things are boring, of course, but also because just as the spring season of television comes to a close, the summer season comes calling.

“Hello! Remember me? I’m So You Think You Can Dance [Dance, Dance]! Your old pal from summers past? Yeah, that’s the one. I’ll be on twice a week now!”

Oh yes, that’s right. Summer TV! While we just said goodbye (or, for most of my favorites, goodbye for now) to our regular programming, there’s still much good viewing to be had.

And the best part – for me – about the summer shows is that the ones I watch, Mark enjoys, too. (Minus SYTYCD, despite my many efforts to point out the sport of dancing and the athleticism of the dancers.) And that means, I tape them http://www.givinguponperfect.com/2009/02/carnival-week-things-i-love-thursday.html and we watch them over the weekend, still leaving my weeknights blessedly free to fold laundry and balance the checkbook.

Before I dive in [ha! As if writing 250 words before getting to my point is diving in!] to what I’m watching this summer, I thought I’d take a quick moment to say a formal farewell to the shows I’ll no longer be watching this fall.

• Better Off Ted – Sadly, this smart and funny show was canceled. ABC did not know a good thing (read: Office Space meets Arrested Development funny) when it had one. (Don’t talk to me about Lost. I’m in the mood for sweeping generalizations right now.)
• Ugly Betty – As I mentioned before, this show finished up its season and series in style. And while I didn’t watch it regularly for long, I had a great time when I did watch.
• 10 Things I Hate About You – What? You didn’t see the urgent news bulletin canceling this ABC Family show? It was silly, but for some reason (please don’t offer explanations), I liked it.
• NCIS:LA – Blech. I just didn’t love this, Chris O’Donnell or no Chris O’Donnell.
• Life Unexpected – I started off really liking this show, but my love didn’t last long. I wish it would have been canceled, but really, for me, it might as well have. I won’t be watching anymore.

Now, on to the summer shows!

• So You Think You Can Dance (5/27) – This is probably going to shock you, but I haven’t watched SYTYCD yet. They’ve been in the audition stage, and honestly, the season snuck up on me. Although, given the proliferation of commercials on Fox, I can’t really blame my lack of viewing on that, can I? No, I think – unfortunately – that I’m still a little burned out by the unfortunate fall season. I’m sure I’ll rally by the time they pick the top 10, though.
• Burn Notice (6/3) – Mark was literally counting down the days until this show came back on – for six weeks! Michael Westen will never replace Chuck Bartowski as my favorite spy. For one thing, I can’t imagine choosing sticky hot (and half naked) Miami over sunny, mild (and pocket protector wearing) southern California. But despite my penchant for nerds (and a dry heat), Burn Notice is still a darned good spy show.
• Royal Pains (6/3) – Okay, this is my least favorite of the USA shows I watch. But it comes on after Burn Notice this year, and it’s funny and fluffy enough that I enjoy watching when I have time – but don’t worry if I miss it.
• White Collar (7/13) – I love this show. Mark lost interest pretty fast, but he’ll still watch it with me. Could it be that he’s not quite as enamored with Matthew Bomer’s blue eyes as I am?
• Covert Affairs (7/13) – Apparently the USA Network could just sense an emptiness in my life, as I longed for yet another TV show about spies. Or they noticed that I – and, it seems, much of America – will watch just about anything about spies. Either way, this new show looks good. Also, I wish they’d make another Bourne movie.
• Psych (7/21) – Shawn and Gus can’t return soon enough for me. I love this show, and it cracks me up every single week. I don’t know what’s funnier – the commercials and out-takes or the actual show!
• My Boys (7/25) – What? I thought they canceled this show! Seriously, I did. And, actually, I think they have. I’m pretty sure whatever episodes they air this summer will be the end of my friends in Chicago. I’m a little bit sad about that, but I’m pretty sure I’ll survive. Though I loved the characters and their dialogue, the last season (whenever that was?) lost my interest a bit. I’m hoping this final chapter wraps everything up nicely for the four of us still watching.

What are you watching this summer?

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More Than Defined

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I consider myself a part of Generation X. Since I suggested my dear readers not question that belief, of course one particular friend did just that.

While she probably thinks I’ve been ignoring her, I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot. Why do I consider myself part of one generation but not another? Why am I willing to accept certain labels, while others are seen as judgmental, rude or just plain wrong?

Why do I consider myself a lot of things? After all, you might be surprised to learn some of the ways I describe myself. For example, I was born in Kansas and have lived in Missouri for 27 years. But I actually consider myself Southern. And even though the results of both Myers-Briggs personality tests I’ve taken put me firmly in the ENFJ camp – and the description of that type could not be closer to the truth – I consider myself an introvert.

That’s weird, right?

All of this got me thinking about how we describe ourselves. How we classify ourselves and label ourselves. And then I started keeping a list of all the things I consider myself to be. It’s an interesting list, and this summer, I’m going to share some of those labels, as well as the stories behind them.

I’m going to write my way to becoming More Than Defined.

I guess I could have called this “More Than Labeled.” And I tossed around “For Your Consideration.” But honestly, I liked the way this little button looked:

My original intention was to start this project two weeks ago, but it’s been harder than I expected to put my thoughts about labels, classifications and definitions into words.

Shortly after Annalyn was born, I worked part-time at a scrapbooking store. I’d been laid off from my full-time job, I needed to pay the bills somehow, and my sweet friend (and store manager) was kind enough to give me a few hours a week.

One day, as I was putting away cardstock or stacking boxes of adhesives, I heard a familiar voice. I looked up and saw him: my high school guidance counselor. Now, he may not have been much as a guidance counselor, but he was also my coach on the academic team.

Go ahead – call it the “nerd bowl” if you want, but that’s where he knew me best. That team of smart kids who were destined to go far and do great things.

And there I was, running a cash register and stocking shelves with beads and stamps.

I considered hiding, ducking behind a display of page protectors and albums, but I summoned the courage to, you know, act like a grown-up. I walked up to him and said, “Hi, Mr. Rafferty,” and said my maiden name.

The second I saw a flicker of recognition, I dove right in, the words rushing from my mouth: “I just had a baby, and I’m working here part-time. See, I’m in public relations now, but I got laid off, so I’m looking for a job. And just working here until I find one.”

We made awkward small talk and then I rang up his wife’s purchases. He left the store, and I released the breath I’d been holding for several minutes.

Later, I thought about how his voice sounded the same as it did back in high school. In an instant, I could hear him lecturing us about Romeo & Juliet. (I lived in a small town; he was also my freshman English teacher.)

I started wondering, Did my voice sound the same as it had 10 years before? And then, Do I seem to be the same person I was 10 years earlier?

That was the moment I realized that I might be going through an identity crisis. Losing your “dream job” in the same month you deliver an unplanned baby seven weeks early does that to you!

Even though it’s been more than two years, I’m still figuring out exactly who I am today. So over the next 12 weeks, I’m going to look at some of the labels I’ve given myself, some of the ways I’ve defined myself. Maybe they won’t stick after some hard examination; maybe they will.

In the final week of this series, I’ll include a link-up. So if you’d like to write along with me, you can share with us then. Maybe I’m not the only one who hesitates when faced with the question: “Who am I?”

Have you ever had trouble describing yourself? What are some of the labels you give yourself?

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How do you take your tea?

One summer my cousins babysat my brother and me while we were out of school. I don’t remember the details, like if it was every day, where my parents were working at the time or even how old we were. And actually, the memories I have associated with that time may, in fact, be from summers stretched across a few years.

What I do remember are walks uptown to the drugstore, climbing the fence in the backyard to walk to the drive-in, listening to the great music of the 80s – and cooking disasters.

There for a while, the family had a grand old time laughing at our mistakes in the kitchen. I remember a broken garbage disposal, something baked without sugar, monster cookies (which most certainly were NOT a mistake – mmmm!) and a loaf of bread catching on fire in the microwave.

Now that I think about it, though, I’m pretty sure my brother and I were on our own when the microwave burst into flames. My mom never asked about the burnt spot in the door. And we never brought it up.

The cooking story from those summers that still cracks me up is about the time we made tea.

First of all, you need to know that my family is from the South. If you know nothing else about tea, I’m just sure you know that tea is – according to Miss Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias – the house wine of the South. And my Granny (and my cousins’ Granny) made the best sweet tea you’ve ever had. The tea at our house wasn’t quite so sweet, but it was still our drink of choice. (Still is, although my mom has gotten fancy with some sort of raspberry flavoring.)

One day, my mom told my cousin to make a gallon of tea while she was watching us. And while she told her to put ¾ cup sugar in the tea, my cousin thought she said three or four cups of sugar.

Well, I won’t lie. I thought that tea was just perfect. After all, to me it tasted just like Granny’s tea! My mom was not so impressed. And to this day, we laugh about making tea with three or four cups of sugar.

I ran across a calendar of random holidays a couple weeks ago, and it turns out that today is National Iced Tea Day. And because I’m a dork (or, as Smitty put it recently, I “like researching everything under the sun”), I decided to look into the issue of tea.

According to Wikipedia (and who would know better), “the oldest printed recipes for iced tea date back to the 1870s. It is not unusual to read that iced tea was popularized, perhaps even created, at the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis by Richard Blechynden, but this appears to be an urban legend.”

So don’t go perpetuating that World’s Fair myth, because Wikipedia says it’s just not true.

I’m not sure it really matters when iced tea was invented, because, as John Egerton said, “Iced tea is too pure and natural a creation not to have been invented as soon as tea, ice, and hot weather crossed paths.”

When it comes to sweet tea (or, I suppose we can say iced tea in general, but really, who needs dirty water, as my friend Hillary calls it?), some people really do go crazy.

There’s Kristen with We Are THAT Family, who blogged, Tweeted and vlogged herself into a cow costume for free sweet tea at Chick-fil-A.

And there’s my husband, who has recently gone on a city-wide search for Lipton PureLeaf Iced Tea. You can get the individual bottles of the magical stuff (Seriously, it’s good. It does not taste like bottled or pre-made tea at all.) at the gas station, but we really need a gallon of the stuff for that man. He is, after all, the one my mom makes an extra gallon of tea for at family dinners – setting the carafe (yes, we’re fayncee) next to his plate so she doesn’t have to get up and refill his glass half a dozen times while we eat.

And then there’s this: Anita Renfroe, singing an ode to sweet tea.



If you can’t view the embedded video, click here to watch Big Ol’ Sweet Ice Tea.

As C.S. Lewis said himself, “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” [And yes, I am going to let myself believe he’s talking about sweet iced tea, not that nasty hot stuff in the tiny porcelain cups.]

So, tell me, how do you take your iced tea? Sweet? Southern sweet? In a Mason jar? In a wine glass? Do you make sun tea on the back porch? Do you nuke your tea bags in the microwave? Do you add fruit like my mom, or drink it straight up (don’t even get my husband started on how much he detests lemon in his tea)?

Image by House of Sims

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