What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?

Accidental parenting. Apparently this is what I was doing before I discovered I was an overcooker. Who knew that my good intentions were going to come back and haunt me? I thought my valiant efforts to wrap my daughter like a mummy and keep her stain-free was heroic… After all, she might want her own daughter to wear these treasures from K-Mart one day.
 
I do not know why this tradition was important to me. I was too busy to ponder stuff like that back then. Maybe it had something to do with my mother selling my Barbie dolls when we moved from Illinois to Texas.
 
Dot to dot.
 
Going through old storage boxes, I found Marissa’s baby clothes. I squealed, “Look! I found all her baby stuff with no stains!” I proudly waved a yellow bunny dress.
 
No quicker had I waved this trophy, Marissa ran to our driveway in a gigantic tizzy. Now 14. Tizzy’s are not so cute.
 
“Mommmm!” She pointed to a teensy orange something on her t-shirt. “Kyle flung the orange juice thinking it was funny and it splattered everywhere. Now it’s ruined. You’re going to have to buy me a new shirt.”
 
Huh? Buy her a new one? Where did she get that silly idea? Oops! More dot to dots.
 
(I tell you this. Finding a bunny dress stained with blue chalk and brownies would have probably been more fun than finding one without.)

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Faire du cafe (environ 1 tasse), le mettre dans une assiette creuse.

I sampled an awesome no-bake miracle in St. Tropez. The chef autographed a copy of his prized French recipe for me. I wanted to share it with you. So I googled a freebie translation from French to English website. To my surprise, the translation said that I needed to “broadcast a refrigerator”. Hmmm… I have never heard of that before. What else does it say to do? Hmmm. It says that I should “ascend the blank eggs at snow with a clamp. To salt all right farms, and there pay him sugar and soften him butter”… 
 
Granted, I have seen crazier recipes than this, so I figured what the heck. I begin with a broadcast from my personal refrigerator. Mommm! Bring me a bottle of water! I toss an Aquafina to my thirsty son. He points to the UNO deck. Dabbrie! It’s your turn!
 
Hah! Dabbrie? Is that my new name?
 
“Mommmm… Dabbrie…  Debbie… just go! It’s your turn!”
 
“Dabbrie…..” Ken quicky breaks out his Yoda voice, Kyle instantly knows that his father’s whacky impersonation of grandpa is going to be better than my freebie cake translation. 

“So you want to know how we named your mother Dabbrie young Kyle? Well your grandmother was in labor in the back seat of my old Chevy. And she was screaming ‘drive faster, faster!’ But the road was blocked with all sorts of debris. Brown eggs, biscuits, stinky pink Kleenexes… This very nice astronaut in the vehicle next to ours flew out of his car. He floated in his bubble helmet across the road and moved everything with his long hose so that we could get to the hospital. I tried to pay him in sugar but he softened like butter saying, ‘there you go sir. I have cleared the debris so that you can have your baby.’ Well young Kyle, after your mama was born she was a little stinky pinky herself, so we named her Dabbris in honor of that kind astronaut. Now go. It’s your turn. Debbie? What’s for dessert?”
 
Ummm,,, no-bake cake, I think.

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What were we thinking when we weren’t thinking?

Me. My daughter. Us. Together. Apart. Two hard-headed women that sometimes you just want to ERGH at! Such was the case in Monaco. Marissa and I arrived in this country as if we had just pulled up to a small, one-story strip mall. Eager to get out of the car, view a palace, purchase a couple souvenirs, then hop back in and head to Eze Village for lunch. Only this wasn’t going to be how it went down…

Don’t take pictures of that! Or waste video on that either! Marissa was dictating every photo and clip I tried to take. And I tell you this, I was tired of hearing it. My hair was in a pony tail, my jeans were sticking to my thighs — it wasn’t supposed to be sunny and I was hot. So I took another picture and another picture and another one, too… Mommmm! You are impossible! We don’t have many pictures left! Stop wasting our digital camera on buildings!

Buildings? These aren’t buildings! They are ideas! I might want to grow zillions of purples flowers and cascade them down our roof one day.

Mommmm! Marissa snapped the picture then walked ahead of me. Dad is not going to grow flowers off our roof. I said, fine, you go that way. I’ll go this way.

For two hours, the two of us silly nuts walked around a foreign country without cell phones or any way whatsoever to find the other. Finally, I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. Just like they did thousands of years ago — lead me to my father in a tent across the desert. And wouldn’t you know it? I walked into a store that I did not know had an entrance from the other road. Marissa had entered from that other side.

Oh my gosh! Marissa grabbed her forehead. I cannot believe you are here! I spent two hours looking for you then I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed to God to lead me to you and here we are meeting in the middle. Wow — as old as time, huh?

Meeting in the middle is always a good idea, anywhere — especially when you are lost.

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Parlez-Vous Francais?
 

Some of the best things I took home from France were not even tangible. They were, and continue to be, the giggles. Perhaps it is because I never wear a dress. Taking me anywhere remotely fancy is at your own risk… I  am either going to klutz over a crack in the sidewalk, or bust up laughing over something dumb like smelling a candle and burning my nose hairs.
 
Ahh… you look handsome. My cousin Pascale tells me to look in ze mirrror. She has just finished doing my make-up with rouge that strippers paint onto their nipples. Ze colorize them. Colorize? Yeah, you know, to make zem pink.
 
No I don’t know, but French women are beautiful so I am game for trying ze ztuff on my cheeks. Pascale points to ze baztub. Tells me to  zet down. She has a needle between her lips with a long string attached to it so I quickly plop. She is zewing my brazierre to my blouze so zat my top stay in place. Yeah?
 
With Pascale on her knees between my thighs, I tell her about the rain in the Spain but she has no idea what I am saying. Ze rain in Zpain? Whatch you mean? It’s no rain here tonight… we go to St. Tropez not Zpain…
 
Yeah, well, it might as well have been Spain. Because Pascale’s talented eye for turning even dorks like me into Cinderella’s, was something I brought back to Texas with me. As Pascale would say, I went from being a “duck to a swamp.”  Ze zay zat in America? Yeah? No. Ze zay from a duck to a swan. Thanks, cousin. I zwim away now. 
 

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What was she thinking when she wasn’t  thinking?
Pizza Lady of Rome.

You know how it is… Being 23… traveling with mom… A young adult, but let’s face it, you are still momma’s baby. And momma is still going to ask, “are you sure that’s what you want to order?” 

Poor Marissa… all she wants while in Italy, is to be independent and to order an authentic pepperoni pizza. But nowhere on any menu in Rome has she seen a word that looks even remotely close. Even so, she points to one that she thinks might say pepperoni in Italian.

Pizza Lady nods. Pepperonnnni? 

Yes, round red things, like sausage.

Oh! Sausage!  Pizza lady scribbles but as quick as her pen moves, Marissa yelps. No! Not sausage! Pepperoni!

No! Pepperonnnni! Pizza lady swats an invisible fly then walks off. Ten minutes later Pizza lady returns with (drum roll please…….) Eggplant pizza. Marissa freaks, “are these anchovies?” Our new friend Stephen from Miami switches plates with Marissa but Pizza Lady slams his plate down. No! Pepperonnnni! Apparently while in Rome, you, well….. snap pictures of moments that people back home couldn’t possibly believe unless they saw it for themselves.

Here is another food funny for you from Rome…

Marissa tries ordering again. This time fried mozzarella at a different restaurant. So I ask her – “are you sure that’s what you want?” to which she rolls her eyes, “yes, muther, I am sure… I am adult, you know.” Does Marissa receive fried cheese? Or a happy meal and french fries? (Sometimes it is pure heck showing your muther that you are all grown up!)

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Now that I finally have enough brain cells to convert grams to cups, I thought I would share some of my favorite food-finds from France. I will demonstrate other recipes on my webcast in July. But these are blog exclusive. Let me know what you think about these “Mardis Gras” pancakes.
 
“If you want your wheat to stay free from black rot, you must eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.” Being the kind of gal who definitely likes her wheat free from rot, (hah!), I definitely had to try these.
 
1-1/2 cups flour
pinch salt
1 jumbo egg; beaten
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup milk (more or less; to batter consistency creamy)
6 teaspoons of unsalted melted butter plus 1/2 teaspoon
1 TBSP rum
 
This batter does not require making a well with the flour. Just whisk the flour and salt. Then add the beaten egg, sugar and just enough milk to make the batter creamy. Stir in the melted butter and rum. Let set for 20 minutes before cooking. Just before cooking, if the batter looks too thick, then stir in a little more milk. (These are thin pancakes) Lightly grease a hot griddle (over medium heat). Spoon 3 tablespoons of batter per pancake. Cook one minute per side. Dust with powder sugar. Serve with chopped apples and pecans or walnuts. A pinch of cinnamon along the plates rim is a nice touch, too!
 

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“What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?”

 I’m having such an amazing time in France with my daughter Marissa.

 But, before I left, I had a “What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?” Packing clothes for my trip out of the country was very important, or so I thought.

What sandals will go with this sundress? Is this too dressy? Is this not dressy enough? Wait a minute- do I wear dresses?

And what happens the minute I get to France.  We find out our luggage is lost! Hmmm…… The important things in life……. not my suitcases full of clothes….. But the priceless moments I’m sharing with my daughter Marissa.

Can’t wait to share them with you!

Debbie

What special experience have you shared with your child?

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Just when I thought blogging from France would be easy, I saw my cousin’s keyboard! LOL!

Marissa and I are enjoying nougat and profiterrolles…..protiferwhats?

I will be back soon with pictures and recipes…… with love from the top of a mountain in the Gassin Village.

Debbie

What new or funny things have you experienced on vacation?

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“What was he thinking when he wasn’t thinking?”

He. Kyle. My son. Fourteen years old. Weeks away from having braces removed. Today he asked if he could drive to Wal-Mart. In the rain. I looked at him like he was nuts.
 
Brrrriiing… Brrrriiing… Brrrriiing… Brrrriiing…
 
If it doesn’t text, take pictures or navigate, my kids won’t answer it.
 
The phone is sitting two inches from Kyle’s elbow. Who called?
 
Huh?
 
The phone. It rang. Who was it?
 
No one.
 
No one?
 
Yeah.
 
Did you answer it?
 
Nuh.
 
Then how do you know it was no one?
 
To prove my point, he checks the caller ID. The only cool feature on this prehistoric land-line-thing. It was grandma he tells me.
 
Grandma? Grandma’s not no one.
 
I know but if she really wants something she usually calls my cell phone so I didn’t answer it.
 
Sometimes — (and this is one of those times), I simply do not know what to say other than the kid has metal in his mouth and it is raining outside.

What funny things have your kids said or done?

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Yes! We have no bananas!

Marissa and I will be arriving in St. Tropez mid-afternoon on May 26th. We are meeting cousin, Johnny whom I have not seen since (1972?) I will be sharing pieces of that super cool reconnection here in my blog. I will also be sharing great food-finds from Italy and France, too.
 
Friends have asked me if I speak French. Hah! I bust out laughing. Ooh! La! La! I know two words: Legumes and la salle de bain. (Vegetables and bathroom.)
 
Just when you think those two combined words mean absolutely nothing, along comes a veggie-bladder diddy… The last time Marissa and I traveled anywhere of distance, we were in Manhattan… crawling to a restroom on the other side of the Marriott Marquis. We had purchased new shoes at some funky store near Central Park… Had the hair-brain idea of shopping in them all day. We hobbled to a swanky cafe upstairs in our hotel; ordered salad then asked where the restroom was. Our waitress pointed to the other side of the continent. (At least that’s what it looked like to our feet which refused to go back into our shoes.)

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