All the Taco Trucks

Alternate Title: Defying the law of diminishing returns

I received the most amazing assignment ever--rank all of the taco trucks in Memphis. Since I can only eat so many tacos, I enlisted the help of my firstborn. He had to be bribed with a promise to visit the Apple Store along the way, but then he was totally on board. It was actually quite amazing to pick him up from his dad's house on Saturday and not only have him be dressed and ready to go, but to also seem excited.

I explained the law of diminishing returns to him and we discussed different criteria we might use to rank the trucks and it was all quite civilized.

I don't want to ruin my upcoming Thrillist piece, but I will say a few things about our FIVE HOUR TACO EATING ADVENTURE just to build some anticipation.



I love the El Burrito truck on Jackson. It was our first stop, so you know the whole diminishing returns might come into play, but they had a great selection and the owner was a doll.



He had the best salsa of the day too--it was a creamy avocado based sauce. And I now know that a taco is not complete without a pickled carrot.



Satchel Snapchatted along the way. I have no idea what he said.



Across from El Burrito is Jalapeno's, which may or may not be affiliated with this little place just a few feet away.



I was tempted to try it, but worried about not having enough room for all of the other tacos in my future.

On Summer Avenue, we discovered this RV Pupuseria. Tacos are more of an afterthought here, but still tasty. We need to go back and eat a pupusa.



The Los Jarochos truck was closed due to the owner being on vacation, so we were forced to go into the ice cream side. It's like a little La Michoacana. Great pops and ice cream, and my favorite--chocolate covered bananas. With sprinkles!



Next, we came across this truck on White Station, but it had started raining and no one was inside despite the "Open" sign being lit up.



And then we searched and searched, but the famed Chili Verde with the strawberry salsa was nowhere to be found. (Anyone know where it is now?)

We headed toward Hickory Hill and that's where we found the Los Compadres truck. I don't *think* it's affiliated with the restaurant. (I asked but didn't get a straight answer due to my inability to speak Spanish.) At first I thought it might be filling up it's tank, but it is fully operational right between the BP pumps.



There was a cooler full of jumbo Mexican Cokes and I couldn't resist. I think it was my first Coke in three years, maybe?



Yep frozen treats, a Coke, and more tacos than I could count all in one day! Decadence!

One of the coolest parts of our adventure was collecting all of the different salsas. As far as I could tell they were all homemade.



After eating at seven taco trucks and one ice cream place, we spent a grand total of $25. Satchel insisted on a $5 order of tamales at La Guadalupana, otherwise I never would have broken my second $20 bill.

We were both full, but not dying--though I didn't eat again until Sunday. When I emerged from my room Sunday morning, Satchel said, "I want more tacos."

Of course by then, I'd had numerous people mention trucks we never found, so I seriously considered it...for a minute. They'll have to wait for the update or part 2. I definitely think it was one of my funnest assignments ever. I'm so glad Satchel was with me.

Memphis Monologues

Last night I participated in the second annual Memphis Monologues. It's a local take on Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues to raise funds for Planned Parenthood. Warren and I learned about the production when we attended a "Condoms & Cocktails" mixer a few months back. He said he thought I should sign up. I said he was crazy. Then I told my friend, Aimee, who happens to be the Development Director at Planned Parenthood, how crazy Warren was and she said, "You should totally do it!"

It was two against one, so I agreed. We were told that we could discuss anything we wanted related to womanhood. I was stumped for awhile and then remembered an essay I wrote a couple of years back called "Hysteria" that never found a home. I showed it to the Memphis Monologues producer, Elizabeth Cawein, and she loved it. I was golden.

I practiced reading it over and over and made some minor edits to make it more monologue friendly. Then I did a test run on Aimee and a few other friends. I felt pretty good by the time showtime arrived, although speaking in public does make me pretty nervous. Luckily I didn't have to wear high heels and everyone was enjoying a few glasses of wine, so I kept my cool.


There were eight of us total, and I had my own cheering section. I was the seventh person to go, and felt pretty relaxed by then. I prepped the audience by telling them I was going to be a downer and that I was going to talk about "my stuff." (Most of the women before me spoke on more general matters.) But then oddly enough, I got laughs at almost everything I said. It was pretty awesome. After a minute or so I dare say I even started to enjoy myself!

For those of you who missed it, I am pasting my monologue below. If you don't like hearing about blood, you may want to stop reading now!

Hysteria
Stacey Greenberg

At 37, I felt ridiculous going to the doctor about my heavy periods. I could already hear the nurse practitioner telling me to just take an iron pill. Changing my giant, winged maxi-pad every thirty minutes wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, right? I could time my bathroom breaks so that the huge gush of blood that came out when I stood up from my desk didn’t stain my pants.

However, this deluge of blood oysters became increasingly more complicated, especially when I wasn’t sitting safely at work. For instance, I volunteered at my then five- and seven-year-old sons’ school one day in February and felt pretty self-conscious going to the office to use the adult bathroom every half hour. On my third trip, I wanted to say, “I’m not snorting coke; I’m just freshening up!”

Despite these precautions, by lunchtime I had bled all over my khakis. My junior high nightmare was now a reality, only in my kids’ Montessori school. I snuck out, drove home, put on dark colored pants, and came back hoping no one would notice my absence, much less my wardrobe change.

In March, I was roller-skating around Patriot Lake in Shelby Farms Park while the boys fed the ducks and played along the banks. Half way around the one mile track, I felt a massive rush of blood. The public bathrooms had already closed, so I was screwed. By the time I made it to my car I had no choice but to stuff my sport skort with the stash of emergency clothes I kept in the car for the kids.

“Why are you putting my surfer shirt in your skirt?” asked my oldest son, Satchel. “I had an accident,” I explained as I hurried him and his younger brother, Jiro, into their car seats. Jiro, who was normally the one in need of an outfit change, smiled understandingly as he buckled himself in.

I could feel the blood pouring out of my uterus and crashing on the waves of Satchel’s bunched up t-shirt as I buckled my own seatbelt. I quickly passed from embarrassment and inconvenience into fear. The mother in me hid my increasing panic, and although I convinced myself that it didn’t seem bad enough to stop at the Baptist ER, I found myself quite uncharacteristically praying all the way home. Please don’t let me die in front of my kids, please don’t let me wreck the car and kill my kids, please, please, please.

The next day I went to see the doctor. When I told her what had been happening she looked very serious, which made me feel both better and worse. “That’s what we call hemorrhaging,” she explained before sending me off for a battery of tests and referring me to an obstetrician. “Call today,” she added gravely.

Having not found anything unusually wrong with me except for the heavy bleeding, the first thing the O.B. simply asked me was if I was done having kids. “Absolutely,” I said, nodding my head. Then, I found myself adding the obligatory, “I’ve got my hands full with two.” My husband’s hands weren’t full enough for him to consider a vasectomy, but you know...

The doctor described a new, out-patient procedure called uterine ablation that uses radio waves to permanently remove the uterine lining, while leaving the uterus intact—a “hysterectomy-light” She called it. Thirty years ago, when my mother wasn’t much older than I was then, she had her uterus and her ovaries removed “just to be sure” after the doctor found a (benign) tumor in her uterus. My sisters and I had since nicknamed her “Hormonal,” or “Mo,” for short, since she always had hot flashes from her now required hormone pills. I definitely didn’t want that.

“I’m not going to remove your ovaries or do anything unnecessary like those male doctors used to do,” the doctor said soothingly as she handed me a brochure. The procedure had a confidence boosting brand name, Novasure. On the cover was a smiling woman in her forties walking along a beach in white pants. I couldn’t imagine ever wearing white pants.

Then the doctor and I had a carefully worded conversation about the risks of uterine ablation. The procedure all but eliminates menstruation, but it doesn’t cause infertility. A woman can still get pregnant, but she can’t safely carry the baby to term. I mulled this over.

“So, should I get my tubes tied too?” I asked. If I was going to be on the beach in white pants, why not have the option of ripping them off for some wild, unprotected sex (with my husband, of course)?

I scheduled the surgery for early May and went home to tell Warren the news. This is what he heard: “You never have to wear a condom again.”

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, however, I was still fertile. When Warren asked why he still had to wear a condom, I not-so-patiently explained to him how a woman’s body works and how I could still get pregnant.

“So?” he said with that survival-of-the-fittest look in his eye.

“What? Do you want to have another baby?” I asked, imaginary clock ticking in the background. “I thought we were sure? Novasure.”

Our family of four fit neatly into our two bedroom house and our four-seater car and we could pretty much do whatever we wanted now. I mean, we were talking about hiking the freaking Appalachian Trail!

He put on the condom and we didn’t talk about it again.

But then I started fantasizing about having another baby. I knew that I would have to take a pregnancy test on the day of the procedure as a formality. I imagined what it would be like to have the nurse say, “You’re not having your uterus ablated today. You’re having a baby!” It would be an unplanned, surprise, miracle baby like on television or in the movies.

I like surprises and miracles just as much as the next girl, but Warren’s sperm would have to make its way through a little latex if we were “meant” to have a third child.

When it came time for me to go to the hospital, I needed to focus on addressing more practical matters with the boys—like why I wouldn’t be able to pick them up from school, and why I might be in bed for a few days. I certainly couldn't use the blunt, no nonsense description I’d been using in emails to my girlfriends. They are going to fry my uterus with radio waves and then tie my tubes, I typed, hoping to sound cavalier.

I broached the topic over breakfast. “You know how Mommy bleeds a lot sometimes and has to wear a band-aid in her underwear?” I started, suddenly imagining myself explaining (quite poorly) the birds and the bees to them one day.

They nodded.

“I’m going to the hospital to have that fixed, but I’ll be home for dinner,” I said. “Gigi will pick you up from school.”

I actually had happy memories from my mom’s hysterectomy thanks to the person who sent a giant box of every flavor ever made of Jelly Bellies to her hospital room. I hoped someone would think to send me junk food during my convalescence.

On the big day, Warren and I dropped the boys off at school and then drove to the hospital. The pregnancy test came back negative like I knew it would, but it still made me a little sad. There would be no miracles that day…but I still worried about surprises.

I started fixating on the mechanics of what I’d signed up for and my sadness was soon eclipsed by terror. I did my best to avoid hospitals and I’d never had an elective surgery. I gave birth to Satchel and Jiro at home, where everything felt safe.

Warren was terrified too. He looked at me and asked, “What if you die?” I didn’t know what to do other than try not to cry and wait for it to be over.

And a few hours later, it was.

After school the boys ran into my bedroom to see me. They were fascinated by the small scar in my bellybutton and the giant purple bruises surrounding it. I explained how the doctor did everything with a tiny camera and completely blew their minds. They thought uterine ablation and tubal ligation were AWESOME!

I couldn't pick the boys up or carry them for a few weeks, but other than that, they were unaffected by my delicate condition. It was almost annoying how fast I healed and how quickly I was back at my desk. The doctor said I could take up to three weeks off, but I felt guilty even taking one.

I felt so good so fast, I was ready to be the uterine ablation spokeswoman!

Then the “having one more” conversation came up at a party. I was talking to some other two-kid moms and one of them asked if I ever thought about having a third—maybe a girl. I’d had this conversation a hundred times before, but…“I can’t,” I blurted out. It was the first time I’d said it out loud, and it hit me. It didn’t matter if I wanted a third. I couldn’t have one.

The words strangled me. I watched as my friend’s smile turned to concern, and then the other moms stopped looking me in the eye. I had a few friends who’d happily gotten IUDs, and there was a sprinkling of vasectomies among the husbands, but I was the first mother to voluntarily and irrevocably shut my uterus down.

Just a few days later the conversation came up again, this time with a father of two little girls. When he asked me if I ever thought about having a third, I just shook my head. I couldn’t even speak. While I consciously tried to stop my face from flushing and my eyes from watering, I let my friend enthusiastically go on (and on) about how he really wanted a third. His wife was probably already pregnant!

What an asshole!

Even my own children were conspiring against me. At school they started helping out with the director’s newborn twins—playing with them, holding them, and even changing diapers. It was like they were unconsciously trying to punish me. Satchel started saying, “I want you to have another baby.” When I told him that wasn’t going to happen, he looked at me like I was the biggest liar ever and said, “But how do you know?”

“I just know,” I said and walked away.

I couldn’t even find solace at roller derby practice. Usually I spent the two hours getting a good workout and looking forward to drinks afterwards with the Z-girls. Suddenly I found myself staring at a baby that had started attending practice with his mom, a skater we called Blown Fuse. While she was busy learning how to do a T-stop, this adorable, rough and tumble, eight month old little boy was busy exploring our nasty, concrete floor. I wanted to scoop him up (clean his hands off) and take him home with me.

Instead I watched as Fuse picked him up and he snuggled into the space between her chest and her neck and wrapped his chubby arms around her. What was left of my uterus actually quivered.

I imagined I could smell his sweet, lavender scented curls from across the big, empty warehouse. He reminded me of Satchel and Jiro so much.

At that moment the baby hunger I had finally made sense. I didn’t really want a new baby. I just missed my babies actually being babies. By choosing to have my uterus ablated and therefore greatly improving my day-to-day quality of life, I had prematurely joined the ranks of the post-menopausal women in the grocery stores who stop new moms just to say, “Enjoy it while you can. They grow up so fast.”

But really, at five and seven my babies still had an awful lot of growing up to do. I definitely wasn’t anywhere near ready to start roaming the cereal aisle in my white pants. It was time to get my head back in the game.

And maybe plan a beach trip.

Doing It All

Things have been really hard lately. It seems that I start most conversations, or end them with, "I'm tired."

There are three people in my house very tired of hearing me say that. As I look ahead, I only see more reasons to be tired. The kids now have three soccer practices a week (On top of Taekwondo twice a week), I am doing the Leadership Memphis Fall fast Track program which meets once a week, I signed up to be on the grant review committee for Give 365 which means more after hours meetings, we have four more Rock-n-Romps this year, and I will most likely keep my post as PTA president. Oh, and I told Satchel & Jiro I'd help them plan a giant Nerf Gun War in Overton Park.

So something's gotta give. But what? Sadly, I think it is my column in the CA. After three? four? years of coming up with something witty, insightful, mildly interesting, or "good enough" every other week it has become a struggle to come up with new ideas. Sure, the kids provide a constant source of material, but as they get older and the more vocal my commenters (read: haters) get, the less I want to share. I'm hard enough on myself, I don't need to read the nasty things from people who don't even know me on a regular basis.

I'll still share here, of course, and I'll still be writing for the CA, just not from a personal perspective.

So, now back to business. Warren's dad, who we call Oji, was in town last week and it was fun assimilating him into our culture. He is a reader of mine, so he took the whole "don't eat that before I take a picture of it" rule in stride, among others. Like Warren, he enjoys cooking. He treated us to his famous cinnamon rolls last week.



Oji likes to going out to eat in Asian restaurants so that is a bonus, since that's mainly what we do when not cooking. At Shanghai, he taught Satchel how to eat egg drop soup through a straw.



He also enjoys grocery shopping, which is really nice since we seem to make some kind of trip to some kind of grocery store several times a week. If we didn't how would we know that Viet Hoa has giant jackfruits in stock?



Among Oji's skills are making Ramen, which totally came in handy on Thursday and Friday of last week when Satchel stayed home sick. It was really nice that neither Warren or I had to miss work, and it gave them some bonding time. (Had Satchel been seriously ill, I would have gladly stayed home and nursed him, just so you know.)

Oji took a side trip to Branson this week to see his sister and should return tomorrow for another few days with us before heading home. I'm looking forward to taking him to the downtown farmer's market, a Mexican place on Summer or Macon Rd, La Michoacana, maybe the JCC and Rock-n-Romp. Maybe if he has enough fun, he'll never want to leave!

Week 6 Camp Report

This week the monkeys have been at Rhodes for Soccer Camp. Neither of them has really ever played soccer, but I did for oh, fifteen years, so I wanted them to give it a fair shake.

For what we spent on equipment and apparel, I probably could have sent a third camper, but I have to say the sight of them (especially my Jiro) in shin guards and cleats was worth the money alone.



In the afternoon they got to go swimming at the Rhodes pool, which was awesome, but I felt bad for the amount of stuff they had to haul around each day. Inside their (taekwondo) bags they had: a soccer ball, a lunch bag, a bag full of swim stuff, pool shoes, indoor shoes and/or cleats, and a giant water bottle. Their bags were heavy! Luckily once inside the gym they didn't have to do much hauling.

We also forgot sunscreen on Monday, and only partially got the right areas on Tuesday, so they are way tanner (and Satchel is slightly burnt) than in the photo above.

They've been pretty quiet about what they've been learning, but it is clear that they are having fun. They have made even more new friends and are also getting to know other kids that they met at other camps over the summer who just happen to be doing soccer camp too. Satchel was most thrilled to find his best buddy from Lego Camp at the pool in the afternoons.

The funniest part of this camp was that I totally forgot it ended today. Oops! So tomorrow the boys will attend a special one day session of Camp Daddy.

Next week is our final week of camp--Comic Book and Reading Camp. If you really want to hear even more about our summer camp action, check out my column today. (Comments were accidentally disabled this morning so my biggest fans--Pookie and Bogey--didn't get to weigh in at 5am with their witty comments. I feel cheated.)

Olive

Today's column is about the passing of our cat, Olive.

I've had her longer than I've had Warren or the boys! But at 15, she had a good, long life. Up until a few weeks ago, she was pretty active. Not nearly as active as she used to be, but she certainly wasn't suffering. It was just her time.

Although I have thousands of pictures of the boys, I couldn't find very many of Olive. I always liked this shot that Amie Vanderford took of us. You can see Olive peeking over the table. That's how she was--always in the middle of things.


Over the weekend, we had several visitors and they almost all asked, "Where's Olive?" She was extremely affectionate to everyone who ever came over.

This picture is another favorite, even though it makes her look a little sinister. (She definitely wasn't.) She was always finding new spots in which to hang out. I don't think I'll miss seeing her footprints on the dining room table!



The boys were really sweet with her during her last few days and they did a good job helping with the burial. We picked flowers from around the yard and filled her grave with them.



There was a small discussion about Jiro finally getting a parrot, but I am holding strong on that front. We definitely do NOT need a bird. We may need to do a few additional viewings of Rio.

Things are definitely much quieter without Olive around. I keep expecting to find her curled up on a chair or in the closet. She definitely left a hole in Team Oster.

TGIF

Warren has been archaeologying outside of Nashville all week, so the monkeys and I have been fending for ourselves. My column yesterday broached our struggles with phone etiquette. While Warren has been away, we've been practicing the much trickier FaceTime etiquette. When the monkeys see a video camera they immediately think that they should perform rather than say, sit still and speak clearly.

We've had a pretty good week though, thanks to a little help from my mom and the local restaurants that have opened their doors to us! The monkeys gave me a giggle this morning when it was time for school. Satchel often attempts to sit in the front seat, but this is the first time Jiro has decided he wanted to drive.



But seriously--one day these kids are going to be driving!

I drove them to school, then rode my bike to work for Bike to Work Day. (So Memphis!) I inadvertently met up with three St. Jude employees in Overton Park and was able to ride most of the way downtown with them. I have to say that shadowing experienced riders was very eye-opening. I really have been riding like a sissy.

One of the highlights of riding through downtown was getting to see the filming of Food Network's Great Food Truck Race in Court Square.



Unfortunately today was a challenge day, so they were not serving the public. They should all be out and about this weekend, so hopefully Facebook and Twitter will be alive with info as to their whereabouts. HodgePodge has been especially networky and has talked to every food blogger in town it seems, so their whereabouts should be well known. They have partnered with the Lime Truck and last I heard they were going to be downtown near the Majestic Saturday and maybe by the midtown YoLo on Sunday. I really want to try Korilla's Korean BBQ, so hopefully I'll get some info on them soon.



At the Bike to Work Expo in front of City Hall, the highlight was Live from Memphis' make your own smoothie bar. The blender was attached to a bike and you had to pedal to blend up your smoothie. I couldn't resist.



Yes, it appears that Larry Smith and Sarah Fleming are spiking my smoothie behind my back!

I was also glad to run into Sam Dunn again, of Drag'n Frozen Treats fame. Today he had orange sorbetto in addition to the lemon. It was the perfect treat after hanging out in the heat for three hours.



Lastly, I leave you with a picture of me and my bike. It was my birthday present to myself, and I love it. There will be a quick 1 minute movie about me & my bike at tonight's Bikesploitation Film Fest at the Warehouse. Hope to see you there!

Random

Satchel has poison ivy, again. Sadly, it gets worse every time he gets it. Poor kid had to go in for some prescription cream.



Since our doctor's office is on Harbor Town it provided the perfect excuse for Warren to take the kids down to see the flooding Mississippi. My column this week addressed my uncertainty as to what to tell them about the impending doom. The river is scheduled to crest next Tuesday or Wednesday and evacuations of Harbor Town and parts of North Memphis have begun. While I think that the City is doing a fine of preparing, the unknown is a bit stressful.

In the meantime, the ever expanding river has definitely become a serious gawker attraction.



In the happy gawking department, Guillaume Alby, a visiting French artist who was sponsored by the Urban Arts Commission, completed the most beautiful mural I have ever seen just a couple of blocks from our front door. I love it.



Seriously awesome, right?

The Fire

With our lives getting more and more hectic and with Warren back as a traveling archaeologist, I started researching when it is okay for the monkeys to stay home alone. In my column today, Leaving kids home alone a matter of responsibility, I mentioned the time, at age 9, that I started a fire in our house. I mentioned it not to say that starting a fire made me responsible, but that yes things might happen, but that they aren't always the end of the world. That if we raise our kids to be independent, they can handle tricky situations.

Anyways, I thought I'd give you the full scoop on the fire, because though I've always accepted blame, I don't think it was technically my fault!

My mom was out of town, so my dad and I were making dinner. We'd been on a French fry kick--a deep fried French fry kick. Things are a bit fuzzy, but at some point we covered the hot grease so that my dad could run to the store and get some more French fries. I suppose I was standing guard.

Well, the hot grease burst into flames. I called for my older sister to come downstairs and she thankfully stopped me from pouring water on the fire.

My mom used to store old grease in Folgers cans and then stack them in the cabinets above the stove. Wanna guess what happened next? Yep, the flames made it to the cabinet and all hell broke loose.

We didn't have a fire extinguisher and it was clear that it had gone beyond the level where we might get it out. I called the fire station (although my mom says my older sister claims to have done this). I CLEARLY remember that call. I was terrified. I think my dad got home before the firemen came, but I'm not sure.

I grabbed my school books, I have no idea why, and went outside. I probably hadn't done my homework yet! I wanted to get my teddy bear but he was upstairs and I was too scared to go up there. (I felt guilty about this for years, even though he was fine!)

We all stood in the front yard and waited for the firemen. I remember crying and the neighbors comforting me, so maybe my dad wasn't back?

Anyway, most of the damage came from the firemen hacking at the walls to make sure the fire was out, and the smoke. I felt awful and blamed myself, but it wasn't all my fault. Clearly my dad leaving while the grease was hot was mistake number one. My mom's storage of the grease was number two. The lack of a fire extinguisher number 3.

Now, I will say that everything turned out fine in the end. We got to eat in restaurants for three weeks while they fixed the kitchen. We got a major kitchen upgrade which helped us get more money when we eventually sold the house. We also got all new carpet and paint downstairs. It's for these reasons that I probably took credit/blame for the fire!

For the record, when and if I leave the monkeys home alone, there will be a no cooking rule.

Ed. note: My sister, after reading this, insists that we were 12 and that no one ever blamed me. She remembers it only as the "French fry incident" and says the fire started when my dad pulled the lid off of the pot. Ha! Guilty, much? Jeez.

TKD

Last week, my column focused on taekwondo--Hold snow, son would trade it for taekwondo--and how it's taken hold of Satchel. I suppose it's taken hold of the whole family. We're spending about 8-10 hours at the studio per week!

It's been really great for Satchel. Now that he's got his sparring gear and gear bag, he feels like a "big kid." He's been really great at home, helping me with small tasks and even helping Jiro. Little things that he used always want help with, he does on his own. My baby is growing up! It's bittersweet, but I love the boy he is becoming.

Jiro had a major meltdown last week after he tried, and failed, to get his meaning stripe. (Each belt has a corresponding meaning that must be memorized.) He was worried he'd never get it right and decided he never wanted to go to class. After a few days off, he got it together though and was right back in there yesterday. He earned his meaning stripe and his pattern stripe. I was really proud of him for persevering.

Now that I've completed Angry Birds, I plan to use my wait time at the studio more effectively. I may actually read a book, something I rarely do these days.

Happy New Year!

Prior to our feast at the Trolley Stop Market, we had a family photo shoot on the trolley. My good & talented friend, Chip Chockley took the pictures. They came out so well, we had a hard time choosing one for our New Year's card. Below you can see the full set. Thank you, Chip!



Our year is off to a pretty slow start. We've been lounging and visiting with friends and eating most of the weekend. But we have big plans! (See my column from Thursday.) We're still getting everything sorted out for our 365 projects, but I'll keep you posted.

I just wanted to pop in and say THANK YOU to those who follow along here. It means a lot to me.

Updatey-like

While I was busy talking about healthy choices last week (both here and in my column), I was also busy procrastinating on a writing assignment I accepted--on donuts.

Yes, donuts.

My procrastination translated into the unhealthiest "choice" ever. Team Oster visited seven donut shops in three days, and four of them were in one day. I do not recommend doing this ever!

Look, even Jiro is sick of donuts.


But I will say that after visiting all of these shops, tasting, and listening to Warren give me the 411 on donut making, I can say that I am now officially a donut expert. And I can also say that I may never eat another donut again!

On Sunday, after our third donut shop, we made a quick stop at the skatepark behind Houston High School. (Warren keeps his long board in the car to ride around campus.) We only had a few minutes before it started raining on us, but I did capture Jiro making sparks, which we all thought was awesome.


Yes, we are easily entertained.

And since this post seems to be devoted to Jiro, I'll add that after a morning of eating donuts we had to separate the children. I took Jiro with me to set up for the school auction and dinner at the Balinese Ballroom Sunday night and Warren took Satchel to the University library to make copies. Having just Jiro was great. He was the best helper ever. I think Warren and I may need to separate him and Satchel more often!

Anyways, since Jiro helped set up, he got to see all of the things in the silent auction. He gave me very specific directions to win the Webkins dragon at all costs, so of course, I did.

This sparked a renewed interest in all of his other stuffed animals. Last night they had a summit while we watched a scary movie.


(They were probably discussing my questionable parenting choices.)

Jewcy

Some of you may recall that I was asked to judge the ASBEE Kosher BBQ contest a few years ago. Well, this year I was asked to write about it by the Jewish Daily Forward, a national Jewish newspaper.

It was my first ever national assignment, so I was pretty stoked (and nervous). They asked for a print article and a blog post. Oh, and I had about 24 hours to get it done! Not at all the way I usually operate. (The stories you see locally usually result after weeks of procrastination.) It was challenging to get everything done, but well worth the effort.

The amazing Justin Fox Burks was my photographer. We had a good time talking to people and attempting to learn everything we could in just a few hours. He's a vegetarian so he didn't partake of the food, but I did! (I also entered the adult pickle eating competition!)

I want to give a special shout out to my new best friends, Stuart Lazarov and Alan Harkavay. Had they not disclosed their email addresses to me and subsequently returned the 100s of emails I sent, I probably never would have finished this assignment. Thanks, guys!

The Kosher BBQ Contest really is a fun event. Had I not been working, I would have brought the kids and made a day of it. Next year, it's ON.

I've almost convinced Warren to start a team next year. Anyone interested in helping? There's judging in brisket, beef ribs, and beans. Entry is just $125. Come on, you know you wanna. If you don't, then read my stories linked above and see if you don't change your mind.

Photo by Justin Fox Burks, compliments of the Forward

Broke

On Monday when Satchel was still asking for Motrin, I decided to take him to get an X-ray. It's the subject of this week's column, Broken arm can be pain, but a lot of fun for a kid.

Seriously, I don't know what to do about these titles!

Anyways, back to Satchel. I took a few pictures. Here he is happy to be out of school, hanging with his mom.


He was very excited about the X-ray. Look how tiny he looks!


He was truly devastated by the news that he was going to need a cast. It may have been the first time the nurse had ever seen a kid NOT be happy about getting a cast!


Eventually, some Huey's and some YoLo (and of course his awesome mom) cheered him up.


We did have a little drama this morning when he realized that his hoodies do not fit over his cast. PLEASE let me know if you see short-sleeved hoodies anywhere that I can buy.

Sheltered

This week's column, Return to school is different this year, probably isn't news to my faithful blog readers and Facebook friends. However, had I filed my story a few days later, I might have written about my shocking realization that my children are maybe a bit too sheltered.

This week they've been going to camp at the Y. Other than their week of Junkyard Camp, they've never been to a camp outside of their school. They fretted about it all last week and we had plenty of drama over the fear of the unknown. Luckily by Monday, they were ready for a new adventure. And I am happy to report that they have been having a great time with their new friends in their new environment. It's been really good for them and has convinced me to sign them up for more camps next summer.


Thinking back on my own experiences at their age, I remembered that I met one of my very best friends when I was six years old at Y camp. (Hi Hope!) The fact that we later ended up on the same soccer team, and eventually the same school, also helped. So I started thinking about after school activities. The monkeys love doing Taekwondo at school with the instructors from Midtown Taekwondo and Satchel mentioned in the past that he wanted to take classes at the studio. Now that Warren's schedule is flexible and Jiro is done with speech therapy, they could actually start doing afterschool activities outside their school.

I took them last night for a trial class to see how they would like it. Again they worried about not knowing anybody and people watching them. (Jiro thought he was going to be performing on a stage!) After seeing how large the class was, they were very undecided when it was over. "We don't know anybody," Satchel moaned. I reminded them of their fears about Y camp and how they easily made friends and told them to sleep on it. (Jiro's main beef was that he'd have to earn a green belt--the level when you can start fighting--rather than just purchasing one.)

This morning they were both leaning towards going to the studio, much to my delight.

Badges

I wrapped up the vacation talk with Thursday's column, Badges? We merit 'em for epic summer excursion.

And I did actually get us all some badges, from the oh so appropriate Demeritwear site.

Mamas Gone Wild

My column this week revealed the secrets--well some of them--of my all mama canoe trip last Sunday. Please read Moms only trip: peace, quiet, no responsibility.



One thing I didn't mention, that definitely deserves mentioning, is how awesome the Go Girl is. Naomi and Ashley were 100% jealous that Amy & I could pee standing up.

Cyclin'

This week's column is all about riding bikes. Please read Here's to riding for a bike friendly Memphis.

Free Range Kids

Yes, those are my kids running through the forest with BB Guns. I wrote my column Loosening reins can be invigorating for kids and mom about my attempt to raise "free range kids." Check it out.


As an aside, I'll say that sometimes free range kids get poison ivy on their face. Oh, and even if they aren't scared to hike down a waterfall and 1/2 mile back to camp alone, they may still be scared of the zombies that apparently live in the dark corners of our house.

Spiderlings

Today's column is about our pet spider's hundred babies. Please read Pet spiders get proper send-off.

Fun!

This week I wrote about how fun it is to be the mother of monkeys. It's called New friend, coffee table forts build memories, which is not what I would have titled it, but okay. (And I'm too lazy to look, but I'm pretty sure this "build memories" part has been used on me before.)

Here they are pictured sitting in a box for no apparent reason. (Maybe the chair wasn't big enough?)


And because I really am human, I'll admit that sometimes their antics aren't all that cute and funny. Especially at 10pm when I am super tired and desperately trying to read them the last three pages of Pippi Longstocking.