Saturday, August 3, 2013

Helicopter Parenting 101- Things You Need to Know Before Sending YOUR Poopsidoodle off to College!



 I was standing in a parking lot an hour and a half away from my home crying as my daughter walked away from me.  Now I don’t cry often, but when I do, I cry like a babbling idiot, and this was one of those days.  My husband shuffled me into the car, handing me a xanex and a bottle of water for the ride home.  I was inconsolable for approximately six weeks after dropping my baby girl off at college.  At some point I even began searching the internet for College Mom Support Groups.  But then something happened…I began to have fun.  I stopped worrying over having dinner ready on time, hell, I nearly stopped cooking altogether.  Gone were the days of ironing tee shirts and washing the last pair of clean jeans she owned.  Instead I took to the pool, instituted five o’clock cocktail hour and bought lots of things to make sandwiches with.  I had a full dental done, my hair is highlighted and my toes and fingernails shine with an entirely new gloss.  Oh and my husband?  Whew!  All of a sudden that man is smoking hot again!
If I’d had someone to tell me, prepare me, it might have saved me six weeks of dehydration.  Hence, I’m here for ya babe!  Of course now I’m preparing to send my poopsidoodle baby boy to the College of Charleston (my own alma mater) and am reminded of how much I needed advice two years ago.  So let’s get started.  Anywhere on the internet you can find a list of things they need to take with them.  That’s not what I’m here for; I’m going to tell you the stuff they need on top of that car load.

1)      Condoms-I don’t care a hill of beans whether you want to buy them or not, do it.  Consider this, can you really afford their college AND their child support?
2)      Microwavable food-Popular are macaroni and cheese, Uncle Ben’s Rice packets, Nacho cheese dip, oatmeal, cheese grits, and Chef Boyardee (can opener!)
3)      Laundry Detergents-It astounds me how many parents forget that your babies will be doing their own laundry.  Do yourself a favor and include a packet of Ritz color remover for when all their clothes come out pink.
4)      Refrigerated foods-Alright, don’t go crazy here.  A half gallon of ORGANIC milk is what they need.  Why organic?  Because the expiration date is longer!  We need to remember that other kids may be sharing this fridge so let’s keep what’s in it to a minimum.
5)      Ziploc bags-All sizes.  They’ll go through them like water for everything from rubber bands and paperclips to the rest of their granola bar.
6)      Dry foods- Aforementioned granola bars, cereal, chips, dried fruits, poptarts, small can’s of Dole fruits, popcorn (Good Lord don’t forget that!) and so on.  You’ll waste money by purchasing too much.  Besides having them run out of food is a good way to get them to come home for a weekend.
7)      Fans-I think they tell you to bring one, bring two.  Those dorm rooms are saunas.
8)      Paper Supplies-Besides their regular school supplies they’ll need plastic forks, spoons, knives, cups, plates and bowls.  Along with that toilet paper and paper towels.  If you think they’re going to wash a dish…oh hang on I can’t stop laughing.  My daughter and all of her roommates didn’t brush their teeth for three days because their sink was overloaded with dirty dishes.
9)      Flip flops-Buy four or five solid rubber pairs from the Dollar Tree.  They’ll need them and they’ll lose them at an amazingly fast pace.  Used for nasty dorm room floors and showers.  Buy Tinactin anyway, they’ll need it.
10)  Finally they are going to need a bank account that’s joined to yours.  That is unless you enjoy making midnight runs into town to make a deposit into their account.  This step is absolutely crucial for providing them spending cash but also for monitoring what they’re doing.  You can SEE where they use their debit card and at what times of day!  Trust me it’s easier to walk to your computer and click transfer funds than it is to run to the bank every time they need money…which is a LOT.

All that being said there are other tips I have that will help you monitor their behavior as well as keep yourself sane.  Some of them seem ‘Big Brotherish’ but these are my damn kids after all!

1)      Swipe their cell phones secretly when they’re home and read through their texts.  Anything mentioning adderall, drinking or sex should be discussed openly with them.  Adderall is HUGE, I mean gigantic in college.  Your kid WILL try it.  It’s best to monitor that as best as you can and in every way possible.
2)      Be their friend on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and wherever else they hang out on social media.  If they block you they can sit at home instead of going to college at all.  This is serious; kids away from home for the first time tend to get severely depressed.  You have to listen to them when they call but also watch how they interact with their peers online.  That is usually a more telling source.  Just because they are at college does not mean they are equipped to handle this monolithic change in their lives.  The best way to keep them from blocking you from these pages is to only stalk them, don’t post cutesy Mommy misses you crap.  (Wow! that a do as I say, not as I do comment if I’ve ever heard one!)
3)      Set them up on an allowance.  We chose $30 a week for our daughter but our son will need $50 a week because he’s going to school in a more expensive area.  It gives most of them their first budget ever.  Also if they suddenly start needing more you can start nosing further into their business to find out why.  Adderall is around $15 per pill, cigarettes around $4.50 a pack and a bottle of vodka is about $18.
4)      Give them three $10 gas cards.  It’ll take all of about an hour for them to find someone with a car.  Most colleges don’t allow freshmen to take their vehicles so they quickly learn to get around with friends.  They’ll need to pitch in for gas.  Handing a friend a $10 gas card is a sure way to ensure that they won’t have trouble catching a ride to Walmart for anything they desperately need.
5)      Make sure you text them every single day.  Kids don’t always like to call so texting them and having them text you back is sometimes the only way to communicate.  If you don’t text then learn, now.  I text things like “So how was your day?” or “Did you see Katherine had the baby!”  All things that require a quick answer but don’t demand too much of their valuable study time.  (I say that sarcastically, read on.)
6)      Expect the worst.  These kids are acclimating themselves to college, expect at least a ten point drop in their overall GPA.  I know some kids who breeze right through; mine didn’t and ended up on academic probation.  She spent last year busting her behind to bring it back up.
7)      Sorority/Fraternity?  I say yes.  Although they do entail drinking and other things no matter what they say.  But these groups are expensive; my daughter’s sorority had a $500 start up cost.  The monthly dues are $70 thereafter until graduation, what happens after that I don’t know.  Nevertheless, I don’t know how she would have gotten through the past two years without her sisters.  If you can afford it and they want to join, research the group first and ask millions of questions.  Personally I think they’re all about the same.  Beware, if your child signs up for a Fundraiser and doesn’t do anything to raise funds…the sorority/fraternity will bill YOU the entire amount he/she committed to raise!  Betcha didn’t know that tidbit!  Those t-shirts?  Yeah you’re getting that bill too.
8)      If they aren’t too far away then go get them and bring them home one weekend a month at the least.  Cook their favorite meals, do their laundry and when they go to the store go through all of their stuff.  Again looking for anything unusual that you need to know to keep them alive through their first year.  I may get a lot of bashing on this but I’m a big believer in snooping.  I can’t tackle a problem I don’t know about and these are my babies no matter how grown they look.  Just don’t be a fool and wait for them at the front door with a pack of ‘found’ condoms in your hand.  Bring it up later as a different subject.  Letting them know you’re all in their business is a sure way to never see them again.
9)      Send them mail.  My daughter was the only girl in her dorm room that ever got mail.  She LOVED it.  I sent her magazines that we’d enjoyed together (after I’d read them first of course.)  And whatever mail she got here at the house, or pictures that I scanned and printed that I knew she’d like on her bulletin board.  Simple things.  Usually I’d stuff a $20 into the magazine for play money.  It's a nice way for Mom to send an 'I love you' message!
10)  Don’t be hysterical.  Things are going to happen.  My daughter was the most perfect teenager you can imagine… but she’s tried everything there is to try now.  Do not criticize them; these are choices they’ve made-good or awful, instead encourage them.  Momma used to say you catch more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar, live by that rule.  Talk to them openly, be the ‘cool’ parent.  You find out more that way, plus your kids begin to realize that you see them as an adult now and that boosts their confidence.

As I contemplate buying my last set of plastic drawer units on rollers, I give you my final piece of unsolicited advice, enjoy yourself!  Renew your relationship with your partner or find a new one, read (preferably my books,) take long bubble baths and fix yourself up.  You aren’t the Mom covered in spaghetti sauce anymore shave those legs ladies this is YOUR time to party!
Carlton Michaud would like to invite you to join him FREE of obligation. Read more about this English born, sexy New York attorney by clicking here ==> https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/325664

Lowcountry Erotic Romance

So let's talk about my irritation level.  Take note of photo on right.  Now I could've just as easily posted a picture of Candy Crush which is at the top of my list as well but I've chosen the delightfully frustrating Chris Cooper today.  This man ====>
can not make a decision to save his soul.  Therefore, I've ( with the help of Sea Island Publishing) decided to take the high road here and make some necessary changes.

99% of the new independent writers out there are concerned with one thing, promoting their own books.  Do tell me why they think spreading the word about their books to other writers is going to do anything profitable?  Writers don't have the time or inclination to boost anyone else's fame.  I sure don't.  If you are a genuine erotic writer then feel free to send me coupon codes, I'll be happy to read your books and post a review for you.  But keep in mind that I'm a professional writer, twenty pages of your unedited sex tale from last night isn't going to hold my attention.  I'm a woman who needs substance. 

Now, let's be clear, just because I publish 'Mommy Porn' does not mean my husband is anxious to let me go around sleeping with other people.  He can barely share his french fries for the Lord's sake.  So your messages ( and I'm talking to you Abbaba, Lu and Kimberly) are falling on deaf ears.  How'd you like someone to interrupt your work day with sexual innuendo's?  And if you think I'm handing over my bank account information to you then you are dumber than a room full of rocks.  You have been blocked permanently and reported as a spammer to Facebook.

On a brighter note, I'd like to take a moment to thank my step son's mother for this, her consistent name calling has helped me draw the conclusion that I should be branded.  ( And we're not talking about Chris's monogram on my upper right thigh here) Hence, the subtitle's LowCountry Erotic Romance. While I've tried writing that doesn't include my deeply Southern heritage, it's useless.  Biscuits, sweet tea and grits are impaled in my soul as well as my tattooed thigh.  Therefore, I've decided to embrace it.  In the upcoming books you will find more of me in the pages.  We've formally released our photos now, because hiding behind avatars is vague and impersonal, not at all how I feel a Southern woman should behave herself.  Certainly not a writer who is proud of her work.

What is Lowcountry Erotic Romance?  Well it's a Southern woman's view of sex, romance and quirky situations that promise you leave you with a warm fuzzy, damp panties and maybe even a laugh or two.  My mission here isn't to make you feel like you need a shower, my mission is to offer quality, respectable, romances that inspire you in the bedroom.  Every relationship must evolve, I'm only here to push that along a tad.  I WANT happy readers.  I WANT you to read my books then go to your partner and kiss him/her on the lips and tell them you love them after reading my books.  For my single readers, I WANT you to go out and find your Logan and to believe that those partners do exist.  I found one ( man in upper right hand corner.) 

 Lastly, I want to thank my loyal readers.  I am so excited about the books that we have in the works here.  The Laura Cooper Fan Page will have a list of release dates for the remainder of The Seven Deadly Sin's Series as well as Rock Solid!  I think you're really going to like where we're headed!  Please head on over and LIKE us!  Read what we're up to and buy some books!  Love you all and HAPPY READING!- L



Monday, July 29, 2013

ROCK SOLID~ In the works! Please VOTE in the new POLL on my blog! Click to read more!

This is what's in the works folks.  A steamy LowCountry Erotic Romance that traces the lives of Kim and Marshall Simmons as they struggle with leaving the home where they've raised their children.  The home where they've created a life that's already full and promising.  But the new house comes with some interesting characters.  Neighbors who don't always leave parties hand in hand with their own husbands and Bar-be-ques that seem more like orgies. 
But the thought of sharing Marshall with another woman makes Kim want to scrape the sheet rock off the walls with her fingernails.  In light of her previous drunken indiscretion with bouncy neighbor Calla Rhinequist, Kim just may have to let him play a little to even the score, it's either that or tell him what she's done.  Cheating is cheating after all and she doubts her marriage, even as strong as it is, can withstand that.  But if she can get him to blur the lines of marital monogamy himself then perhaps her afternoon 'affair' won't seem quite as devastating. There are plenty of new neighbors licking their chops to get their hands on both of them, making it happen would be a breeze...
Will Kim and Marshall run back to their previous home with their tails between their legs like the previous owners of their new house did?

Laura Cooper is taking a POLL!  Give your two cents to the question, What would it take to convince you to try Swinging? on the poll at the top right of your screen!

Food of the Future.



Okay so I've been asked this strange question.  If you had a visitor, a time traveling visitor, from the times of Pilgrims and Indian's what would you feed them?  What would you feed someone from the year 2099?

So here it is;
Well I'd want to be polite and serve the Pilgrims and Indians something they recognize after all.  But if I were to take them to dinner I'd take them to;
Because their recipes are old school versions of American standards.  Their link is https://www.facebook.com/82queen if you feel like heading down there now you may want to make a reservation.

Now if I were going to take someone from the future out to dinner I'd take them to Husk.  http://www.huskrestaurant.com/  Because of this;
They'd need to drink to keep from bashing us all in the head and unceremoniously murdering us in our sleep.  I imagine they won't be too happy that we've ruined the planet and given them cause to move to Mars where they have to wear sunscreen 24/7 and all smell like coconuts.
Now if I were to sully the kitchen and prepare a meal for them myself then only the BEST shrimp and grits recipe will do.  Okay, I call Uncle here, everyone has their own family recipe that they swear is the best but this one is identical to mine.

Here it is, shrimp it's what's for dinner!
From The Lee Bros. Charleston Kitchen
Shrimp and Grits
Serves: 4
Time: 1 hour
These days everyone’s got his or her own riff on shrimp and grits, and our own formula seems always to be evolving. This recipe represents our latest take on the dish, influenced by (1) our desire to keep the tomato inflection from the Charleston Receipts recipe in the dish, and (2) a technique that a local restaurant of recent vintage, The Glass Onion, introduced to us: the chefs there slice the shrimp in half lengthwise so that when they hit the sauté pan, they twist into corkscrew-like curls. Each shrimp piece is easier to eat in one bite, the twisted shape grabs more sauce and gives the overall impression of a lighter dish. Especially if jumbo shrimp are the only ones available in your area, you’ll find this an appealing way to cook shrimp and grits.
1¼ pounds headless large (21 to 25 count) shell-on shrimp
1 bay leaf
Kosher salt
¾ tsp. sugar
1 pinch of cayenne
1 lb. vine-ripened tomatoes, cored and quartered
1 tsp. red wine vinegar, plus more to taste
4 oz. slab bacon, cut into large dice
1 lemon, halved
1 tbsp. all-purpose flour
2 garlic cloves, minced
Freshly ground black pepper
Charleston Hominy (recipe follows)
Preparation
1. Peel and devein the shrimp, reserving the shrimp in a bowl and the shells in a small saucepan. Add 2 cups of water, the bay leaf, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, ¼ teaspoon of the sugar, and the cayenne to the saucepan with the shells. With a spoon, tamp the shells down beneath the surface of the water, cover, and bring to a simmer over high heat. Uncover, turn the heat to medium low, and let the shrimp stock simmer until reduced by half, about 10 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, with a sharp knife, slice the shrimp in half lengthwise.
3. Put the tomatoes in a blender or food processor and add the vinegar, ½ teaspoon salt, and the remaining ½ teaspoon sugar. Process to a smooth purée, then strain through a fine sieve, pressing the skin and seeds to extract as much juice as possible. Discard the skin and seeds. You should have 1½ cups of tomato purée.
4. Scatter the bacon in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until the bacon is alluringly browned and has rendered its fat, about 8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the bacon to a small paper-towel-lined plate and cook the shrimp in the bacon fat in batches, taking care not to crowd the pan, and stirring occasionally, just until they’ve curled into corkscrews and turned pink, about 2 minutes; reserve on a plate. Squeeze half the lemon over the shrimp and sprinkle with 2 pinches of salt.
5. Strain the shrimp stock into the sauté pan, discarding the solids, and stir with a wooden spoon to pick up the tasty browned bits from the bottom of the pan. When the stock simmers, spoon off 2 tablespoons and then whisk them into the flour with a fork in a small bowl to make a paste. Add the tomato purée and the garlic to the pan, stir to combine, and then whisk the flour paste into the sauce. Cook until the mixture thickly coats the back of a spoon.
6. Cut the heat, and fold the shrimp in just to warm through. Season to taste with salt, black pepper, and red wine vinegar. Cut the remaining lemon half into 4 wedges. Serve the shrimp over hot Charleston Hominy, and garnish with the reserved bacon and the lemon wedges.

Charleston Hominy
Makes: 3 cups
Time: 45 minutes
Charleston breakfast hominy, like Charleston Rice, is an exercise in simplicity; the dish isn’t intended to dazzle, but to be honed to a fine polish by years of intensive use—hominy grits, as some call it, is as familiar as water and salt, but rarely taken for granted.
2 cups whole milk
1 cup stone-ground coarse grits
2 tbsp. unsalted butter
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. Pour the milk and 2 cups of water into a 2-quart saucepan, cover, and turn the heat to medium high. When the liquid simmers, add the grits, butter, and ½ teaspoon salt, and reduce the heat to medium. Stir every couple of minutes until the grits have become fragrant, and are the consistency of thick soup, about 8 minutes.
2. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, stirring often and ever more frequently, for about 20 minutes, by which time the bubbles will emerge infrequently as the grits have stiffened and fall lazily from the end of a spoon. Add ½ teaspoon black pepper and cook for about 10 minutes more, stirring constantly to prevent the thickened grits from scorching on the bottom of the pan (appoint someone to the stirring task if you have to step away—a scorched pot of grits is bitter and a total loss). If your grits thicken too quickly, or if they are too gritty for your taste, add water by the half cup, stirring to incorporate, and continue cooking until tender.
3. When the grits are stiff and stick well to the spoon, turn off the heat and stir. Season with salt and black pepper to taste and serve immediately.

This is taken from Garden and Gun.  I highly recommend their site! http://gardenandgun.com/article/ultimate-charleston-shrimp-and-grits

Now that all your tummies are full.  Keep on asking the questions!  I'm game!





The Little Dog who couldn't walk.



I suppose by now more than a few of you are wondering why, how and when I dropped off the face of the planet.  Well, except facebook, because that’s an entirely different matter.  You see like most writers, I live two very different lives.  One, the glamorous Laura who flirts around seducing men (give me a little latitude here!) and the other ‘me’ usually called so and so’s Mom.  I use the anonymous term ‘so and so’ because my (nearly adult) children fully support my writing unless it comes to reading it, talking about it or admitting that it is what it is altogether.  Now I do have ‘children’ who aren’t quite as snide.  The four legged variety.  I highly recommend having as many as you can take care of.  They aren’t as expensive as human children, they rarely talk back to you and they act as if you’ve been gone a year when you get back from the corner store. They’re a win all around.

Now for many years I’ve been begged to write a book on animal rescue.  I can’t seem to write that all down without 1) basically passing out medical advice.  And I’m far from being a veterinarian.  2) getting thoroughly pissed with the state of homeless animals nationwide  and  3) making myself look like the spay/neuter lunatic that I am.  I think in another blogpost…What Beach?  I chronicled my world class paranoia, if you think not allowing my children to ride the bus because it doesn’t have seatbelts is crazy, you should see me with my dogs.  Our entire lives revolve around these furry kids.  Even our home is so specifically designed to their needs that the only person we could sell it to is a rescuer or someone with hunting or show dogs at least. 
 
But I will indulge you beggars a little and give you one free hint.  Since I’ve mostly had pooches of the long hair variety I had to learn to groom my dogs myself.  Do the math, $40 times 15, no way am I spending that amount once a month!  It was a live and learn experience, grooming.  So I’m going to spare you the $900 extra you will spend, buying clippers from Walmart.  I own a pair of every kind they sell.  Just don’t bother, head on over to a website like revivalanimalhealth.com and spend the $120 (more or less) for the Andis clippers.  Now over the years I’ve had my issues with Andis, which they’ve duly heard about.  And a lot of professional groomers like the Oster brand, whatever your preference, buy the good ones right from the start.  Oh and those ceramic blades?  They dull really fast.  Buy the less expensive, basic metal ones and oh, oh, oh don’t forget the CoolCare, you’ll need it.

So there, you’ve had today’s lesson in basic dog grooming.  Now back to why I’ve fallen off the planet.  We lost our baby last week.  We rescued her when she was two days old, woke hourly during her first months to force feed her liquids and carried her literally everywhere we went.  She did have a few good years, which she spent with a fantastic woman on her farm (picture Norman Rockwell here) in North Carolina, but then she came home to us when her tiny legs could no longer chase chickens.  You see she’d been born without a small bone in her neck that most humans and animals have.  In human diagnosis it’s Muscular Dystrophy.

Her condition gradually became worse as we doted on her every whim and let her rule our home.  She didn’t even seem to mind her all too frequent vet visits, as long as we held her.  Then when the human kids roamed our way for the summer they began to just tote her around with them as well.  There were rare moments when she wasn’t physically touching one of us.  Even at this point I can’t tell you whether our constant pampering quickened her demise or if we extended her life.  I still haven’t sorted it all out yet.

None of us really want to talk about it.  We are in a serious funk without her.   You’d think that with as many dogs as we helped throughout the years that one tiny little 10 pound dog couldn’t have this much of an impact.  But she did and now we’re trying to put it all together again the best that we can.  So if we don’t answer your calls or messages or texts it’s because we’re all too absorbed in trying to go on without her.   It’s not that we don’t love you.   We just can barely talk right now for the giant lumps in our throats still.  But if you’re lifting a glass of something this coming week please make a small toast for the little dog who couldn’t walk.  Because she was one of a kind.

Friday, July 26, 2013

What beach?



“So what beach is good when I’m in Charleston?”

Now that’s the absolute last question anyone should ever ask me!  First of all, contrary to anyone under the age of thirty, I’m not impressed with sand.  When my children were small I had a few tons brought in to our backyard so that the kids could build sand castles.  That’s about all it’s good for in my book.  Even the giant sandbox in my backyard didn’t thrill me.  I only had it there out of a deep sense of guilt for never taking my children to the beach.  The kids were always dragging in sand from that dirty pit.  It got to the point that I had to make them strip on the back deck then spray them down with cold water from the hose to attempt to keep this much hated sand from my hardwood floors.

Was I always this way?  Seemingly horrified by the least grain of sand?  I suppose the answer is yes.  If you’ve read my bio you know that I grew up on Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina.  Of course the towering mansions weren’t there at that time, and the zip code was far from being the wealthiest East of the Cooper much less the entire United States.  Sullivan’s back then was more of a quaint community, one with too many quirks.  As far as laws and rules went, there were only two, don’t speed and don’t build a fire on the beach.  I did both, a lot.

Today, the kid who drove the school bus is the police chief and his sister is promoting my erotic romance novels at her office.  My, my how times have changed.  So let’s chat about simpler times, what the hell were our parents thinking letting us ride that bus driven by a seventeen year old?  Now that I’ve had a seventeen year old, two of them actually, I sincerely think my parents were lunatics.  Hell the single reason I woke up at six in the morning when my own kids were in school was because the school buses don’t have seatbelts.  A seventeen year old driving a billion pound yellow missile with no seat belts and my Angels on board?  I think not.  How on God’s green earth have I become so paranoid?  I’ve laid claim to the title, “World’s Most Paranoid Parent” for nearly twenty one years now and firmly believe myself an expert on the subject.  I actually have a swimming pool, in ground, which I had installed… that’s five feet deep.  Sand on my kids’ skin?  Pish Posh!  Absolutely no bleeping way!  Not on the tender skin of MY precious Angels.

So you ask me what beach to take your toddlers to visit?  I think that’s absurd!  Why in the world would you take a small child to the beach?  But before I offend all of you, let’s get to the driving force of my paranoia.  I made my own narrow escape from the jaws of Breech Inlet when I was thirteen.  Barely made it to the shore and I was swimming closer to Carolina Boulevard (Isle of Palms) than the Devil’s Snare (Breech Inlet.)  But I’ve stolen my life back from the Heaven’s a few times at this point so that’s only a small chunk of my fight with the beach.  (For the record, if you’re a sister paranoid parent visiting Charleston, just stay a mile or two away from Breech Inlet altogether and you’ll be fine.)

The real problem is the sand itself.  Until you’ve spent an entire day, your breakfast eggs with sand in them, your bologna lunch sandwich with a coating of sand and your chicken dinner sparkling with a nice grainy covering you won’t understand.  After a day filled with sand you go to rest your weary head only to find that the dog has been playing in the (read: nothing but sand and stickers) yard then used your bed to dry off, you really won’t grasp my hatred for this stuff.  That’s REAL life on the beach, where I grew up.

It wasn’t just my house either, a particular family, I’ll call them the Kennedy’s of Sullivan’s (because of recurrent family tragedies and sheer number of family members) had sand everywhere too.  That’s just how it was back then.  Living on the island wasn’t the status symbol it is today.  Oh hell no, as a matter of fact it was just the opposite.  We all had to try harder to fit into school on the mainland (Mt. Pleasant) because we were from the “island.”  I don’t think I’ve ever placed our specific societal niche in actual words before but it’s fair to say that we were different.  Most likely because our parents were dumb enough to let a seventeen year old drive the bus.  In retrospect the other parents must have thought we were un-cared for hoodlums.  I take pride in the fact that at least our outfits are still in style, we sported surfing t-shirts, shorts and flip flops, still my personal fashion statement.  Whereas those kids wore bell bottoms and shirts with rhinestones and no doubt have had to update their wardrobes more often than us “Island” kids.  We were somehow different from the other kids in too many ways, now I wonder if that wasn’t the intimidating factor?  Perhaps that’s why it was hard to invite other kids to spend the night?  No I think it was the sand.  I will admit that we never had a bunch of kids trying to steal our lunchboxes.

In my mother’s honor, and by the way no matter how many times I’ve killed her off in my books she’s alive and well in the Old Village, she kept a pretty organized ship back then on the island.  I still question her choices, for instance the straw carpeting, but all in all, my three brothers and I survived.  As a matter of fact the four of us have become rather normal, well adjusted humans.  I write Mommy Porn, the youngest is an injured, out of work EMT, another is a Charleston attorney and another married so well he hasn’t worked another day since college.  That’s normal right?  Probably not but if it isn’t I’m blaming it on the sand.

Now this tirade isn’t coming from nowhere.  My son is heading up to Spartanburg today with his sister to help her move apartments.  Apparently three sorority sisters in one apartment isn’t enough and they need an additional bedroom for another sister’s pink and green tchotchke’s.  So, childless for a few days I began to think of grabbing Chris and taking a mini vacation.  We’ve done everything there is to do within a two hundred mile radius, except the beach.  My mind rolled with it, we could take Ariel (our water baby-merle cocker) and a cooler and spend the day on the Island!  

 But you see that no longer works, because I’m not frigging thirty anymore!  To go to the beach I’d need to dig through the file cabinet and find Ariel’s shot records, then stop by Sullivan’s Island Town Hall and visit my old bus driver for a $35 license so she could be on the beach at all.  I’m not the rule breaker I used to be.  The cooler we’d need would have to be filled with about a case of Sam’s purified water, we’d need an umbrella –Chris burns.  We’d need towels, a blanket, and an ipod with speakers…which I don’t have so that means stopping at Best Buy for some speakers…as you can see it would take me a week to gather what I need to just endure one afternoon at the beach. 
   
But for poopies and giggles let’s assume I’ve done all these things and we’ve carried all this…crap… to the beach.  The day is over and the sun has drained what little energy we had in the first place out of us, we head back to the car dragging all of this...crap…through the sand.  Yes, to my Mommy wagon.  This is a replacement Mommy Wagon that I bought last year after the kids had all but turned the last one into a cheeto.  This one is pristine.  So without a garden hose how am I supposed to get Ariel and Chris back into the car?  Oh snap and that blanket?  Nope, I’ll be washing sand out of my house and car for the next six months, ain’t gonna happen.  I start fantasizing about yet another day trip to Biltmore instead.

I think by now you have the message that all of life’s wrong doings can be attributed to sand.  Yet still you pursue me, what beach?  Well since you insist, let me suggest Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina.  But as you rejoice in all that sand remember that there’s not a grain of it that I haven’t digested, slept with or violated in some unfashionable ( and possibly illegal) manner.