Over the Christmas holidays we got together with family, as people are prone to to during that time of year, for a meal at an area restaurant after church. It was Chris's family, and I can safely say that they are louder than my family which is a near impossible task as my family will laugh riotously for hours on end at fart jokes. I have video for blackmail, even. Yes, myself included, whatever. I have two young boys: if you can't beat them, join them.

Anyway, the restaurant that was chosen by the majority is one that allows smoking inside. It seems weird to me that people can still smoke inside. As this restaurant wasn't particularly big a "non-smoking section" was futile, as are many. You were going to be exposed to smoke nonetheless, regardless whether you were the one creating it. Our party was a large one and the thought was that we'd fill the place up, which we did, save for one table that was later occupied by a small party with children.

Despite having smoked a short time in my younger, childless days (I stopped when I saw what my grandfather underwent when he had a lung removed due to smoking-induced cancer) I am one of those ridiculously annoying nags when it comes to cigarette smoke because hi, my 7-year-old has asthma and someone else's cigarette smoke could provoke in him an asthma attack which ends up costing us $75 in emergency room fees, costs for both the inhaled and oral steroid medication he has to take to help with his recovery, plus doctor's bills. It's happened before. That's what the pro-smoking-in-public people don't tell you about when they talk about their "freedom" to smoke wherever they want; it's free for them, it costs people like us.

So we're all in this restaurant, the only one convenient for everyone that could take us at that time, we're eating our lunch and as I go to take a bite of my chicken sandwich the flavor is marred by the horrid stench of burnt ass emanating from the table next to us - the party with small kids. The smell was even more offensive than the word I just used. I glanced at Liam who was sitting across the room with his cousins; the smoke hadn't become so bad so as to cloud the room ... yet. I stood up, took out his rescue inhaler, and shook it furiously while dramatically fanning the air all around me because I figured that doing so was more polite than cramming the cancer stick down the guy's throat. As he sat next to his toddler. Seriously - WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT, who smokes right around a toddler? While eating? It's like eating a turd with your meal.

Chris's cousin also noticed the smoke and began fanning the air around her toddler and preschooler. Both of our tables were right by the smoker's table. As soon as the smokers got a load of my crazy they politely extinguished their cigarettes and went back to eating. I stopped windmilling my arms and slipped Liam's inhaler back into my purse.

I know some people will think I'm beyond rude for doing what I just told you but seriously - it's thrice as rude to light up a carcinogen and force the people around you to share the habit. Sure, we could leave, but so could they. And as we weren't the ones polluting perfectly good air with a substance that is illegal for minors to purchase but apparently not illegal for them to unwillingly imbibe secondhand, I think the smoking party should leave. I'm also a bit aggravated that I can't do things like take my kid bowling (he's never been) because of cigarette smoke and I shouldn't have to drive nearly an hour out of my way to find a rare smoke-free type of establishment.

There is a movement here in St. Louis to make establishments smoke-free, which I whole-heartedly support. A person has every right to pollute their own home, their own air, their own health; their right ends when their activity encroaches on the health and well-being of others. To simply say that the issue is about individual freedom is both intellectually dishonest and ignores the plethora of evidence proving the dangers of secondhand smoke (not to mention the increase in insurance costs for all) and rights of other individuals. If they want the liability for the health problems that arise - like paying for a little kid's hospital bill, medicine, and suffering as a result of a health issue brought on by their actions - then we can have that discussion.

No one is telling a smoker that they can't smoke, just that they can't compromise the health of others with their smoking.  

I just feel that if you're unable to limit your habit's damage to just yourself, then you maybe should keep it in private. Don't you?
 

We're getting back into our daily lesson routine after a two week break. Ewan, at his request, started his kindergarten curriculum today. It's a giant game to him; he wants to see how many games he can play and worksheets he can complete in one sitting and I'm all "Dude, that's not the point."

I always feel slightly depressed right around New Year's, mostly because that which I left unresolved in the previous year nags at me. I felt less like that this year because 2008 was a totally heinous year punctuated with bits of goodness. I happily plunged into 2009. I'm not one of those people who makes resolutions (I've an ever-evolving list of things I'd like to accomplish. I just try to not get overwhelmed and do my best each day. Aw. How very NBC "The More You Know" of me) but I jotted down a few to break with tradition:

- Refuse to tolerate people who are intolerable.
- Realize that it's OK to be cynical sometimes.
- Make my Williams Sonoma Peppermint Bark last until February.
- Be selective about those I let into my life.
- Be unashamed about watching Rock of Love: the Tranny-Clown Trainwreck Tour Edition.
- Make my kids fold and put away their own clothes no matter how awful they are at it.
- Resist the urge to go through their drawers while they are outside playing to refold everything they just put away.
- Use desire, not obligation, as motivation.
- Drink my first bottle of Ski.

Thank you to everyone who contributed positivity this year, be it via comments, emails, show calls, friendship, etc. xo

P.S. The holiday greeting from Momversation. The boys are hysterical and I feel a little like Steve Martin from his SNL Christmas skit:

Last week we packed up the boys, packed up the van, and drove south, far south, to visit family for the holidays. The area to where we drove is an area where the gas stations look less like luxury marts and more like straight-up filling stations with a bait shop attached to the side. It's a place where motels are a straight line of small rooms with big picture windows, the sorts of motels that inspire horror movies. The roads are narrow, the shoulders even more so, but the coffee is black and the radio stations are quirky and good.


We came across one such peculiar little station that played nothing but old Hank Williams, Sr., and only the good covers of his songs. I would take that station out for a date if it was possible. Sit back and let this tune play in a separate window while enjoying the drive down south with us.
 

One of my favorite things about driving down south is the difference in the scenery - more specifically, the idiosyncrasies or other things which underscore the differences between your environment and the one in which you're entering. I sometimes poke fun my experiences from spending weekends and entire summers down south, but really, I adore them. I love the more primitive, no BS stick-and-barbed-wire fence above.
 

The further south in Missouri you go, the more Baptist and Pentecost churches you come across. If you're anything other than those two denominations, you're SOL. The town in which most of my family lives is tiny but boasts more churches per square mile than any other town I've seen. Sometimes I laugh because it seems like they all compete for parishioners with their roadside Vegas-y light-up signs, all of them trying to out-motto each other. Many of these churches don't have a baptistery per say; all of my aunts and a couple cousins were dunked in the big creek at the other end of town. The fire-and-brimstone preacher from my youth redeemed himself to me somewhat by holding my grandmother's hand and praying for her on the morning she passed away.
  

This photo was of poor quality so I Photoshopped the tar out of it. The barn pictured was a few miles before the lone super Wal-Mart, which sits on a hill overlooking the highway and empty plains surrounding it. A few miles on down the road is a white, pitched-roof building with a handmade sign marking it as simply "Gregory's." Chris was all "Gregory's WHAT?" The proprietor, my aunt told us, is a large man called Tiny Gregory who worked on stock cars or something and his place used to be a garage. When he shut the garage down he took part of the sign with it, leaving "Gregory's." Chris wants a sign on our house that says "Chris's." Sadly, I couldn't get a decent photo of it because of the torrential downpour.
 

Another aunt of mine lived in a house just like this in the middle of town behind the railroad tracks. My cousins and I used to sit on her porch swing with sticky Fourth-of-July pops and motion for the conductor to pull the whistle for us. The last time I saw her alive I'd taken Liam (who was a toddler at the time) out to walk on the tracks and throw pebbles while the others kept a vigil inside. That was his first glimpse of death. She passed away several years ago and I haven't seen the house since. I'll never forget her homemade red velvet cake.


I have a large family, but we're scattered and segregated due to the storms brought on by some after my grandparents passed away. I've written about it here before; it's in my extensive archives, spanning five years, which I still plan to restore at some point. Because of this, southern Missouri doesn't look the same to me. That united, happy family still lives in my memories, though my celebrations with them are limited to the time loops of earlier livin'.
 

The sister to whom my mother is the closest, my favorite aunt and uncle, live down a long gravel road. I have no idea what would draw someone to build a house so far from the town lights, away from any and everything, but then again, there are times when I'm so fed up with people that I'm moved to march through the wood as far as I can and scratch out a home in the hills. It's romantic to think that on some days the only conversation you'd get is that of the wind whispering between the branches.


The view from my aunt's front porch. During past visits my uncle paraded the kids down to the river's banks and they skipped stones; this visit it poured nearly the entire time (which is why most of the photos are taken from the car) and they would sink up to their knees in mud, so they didn't go. I love the way the branches are gnarled and curled every which way. It's my favorite part of the photo.

This was one of the best visits to date. It's good to tend to your roots. (Even better when your aunt sends you home with a tin of homemade chocolate truffles, cookies, and bon-bons.)
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