I Like To Think God Giggled. (With Sangria.)

Lord knows, I love making plans.

In the 44 months after David proposed, we planned aplenty. We planned to take dance lessons. We planned to choreograph a wedding dance with all four kids. We planned a wedding video of the two of us – belting out Love Is An Open Door -- on a boat, of course.

We planned to serve a whole roast pig at the reception – with bushels of oysters. Since our first date was on a boat, and we were engaged on a boat, we’d be married on a boat. We’d have receptions in Charlotte and Charleston. We’d process down the aisle as a gospel choir sang, To Make You Feel My Love. Maroon 5 would surprise everyone by showing up to perform the altogether adorable Sugar. And we’d toast each other with a drink concocted specially for our big day.

Hey -- it could’ve happened like that. We had years to think it through. But in the end, on a whim and a wing and prayer, we pulled together a wedding – our wedding -- in something like six weeks. No choreography. No boats. No videos. No Maroon 5. And oysters in April? We know better.

So planners that we are, we came up with another plan. We’d get married here at home.

Fortunately, there isn’t much rain here in Charlotte in April. So we chose to be married in the backyard. By the Lake. We planned like crazy. We planted flowers. We cleaned the decks and patio and gazebo. We installed new outdoor speakers. I bought cunning little sandalwood fans to cool overheated guests.

And then it rained.

Hey -- you know what they say: As we plan, God laughs.

And as He laughed, we moved everything inside. So much for the music. So much for the garden party. So much for decks and flowers and outdoor speakers and cunning little sandalwood fans.

Our hastily planned outdoor wedding turns into something far more cozy, far more intimate, and far more precious. A forever friend performed the ceremony by our fireplace, and our guests could hear every thoughtful, inspiring word. The kids’ toasts got everyone’s tears flowing. David and I could take the advice of another friend, pausing to regard in awe the exceptional gathering of friends and family who have supported and loved us these many years.

It was perfect. 

I like to think God laughed. I know we did. Praise the Lord.

Anyone in the market for 70 cunning little sandalwood fans?

Bonner4Real Sangria

With no time to "concoct" a special wedding cocktail, we relied on a reliable favorite -- cranked up a notch. This has to be the most requested recipe I've ever developed. Be sure to give yourself a week or two in advance to spice the rum. Cheers!

4 bottles of dry, light red wine, chilled

4 cups orange juice

4 bottles or cans of ginger ale (the spicier, the better)

for garnish, fresh sliced limes, lemons and oranges

Super Spiced Rum

1 liter spiced rum (give or take)

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon whole peppercorns

1 stick cinnamon

1 teaspoon whole cloves

1 teaspoon whole allspice

1 orange, sliced thinly

1 lemon, sliced thinly

1 lime, sliced thinly

As much as one month in advance, combine "Super Spiced Rum" ingredients in a large, covered pitcher, stirring well until sugar is completely dissolved. Store in a cool, dark area, stirring every few days, until needed.

On the day of your event, strain the spiced rum through a fine sieve, discarding the spieces and fruit. Then, make sangria one pitcher at a time, combining one bottle of wine, one cup of orange juice, one bottle of ginger ale, and one cup of Super Spiced Rum. Stir well, and serve over ice, with citrus garnish.

On A Roll -- And You Can Help.

It’s a wonder I ever get on a plane.

It’s not that I have a fear of flying. Well, at least not a travel-altering fear of flying.  I can endure a little knuckle-whitening to arrive at a destination where a single layer of clothing -- or less --  is the only one required and the only salt on the road is spilled by the Morton Salt Umbrella Girl.  And it’s not those ubiquitous Cinnabon shops. I adore cinnamon -- adore it --  but the gooey over-sized yeast rolls have never held much allure for me.

What stops me in my tracks -- every single time -- is those danged “Find A Word” books in airport bookshops. Even though I've never actually bought one, I can't walk past one, either. Because believe me, I can flat out find a word. What I can’t do is not find a word. And while I’ll resist actually picking up the book (which would almost surely result in a missed flight), I can’t stop myself from finding and mentally circling every word or close-to-word on the front cover.

For a while, The Charlotte Observer ran an amusing little series featuring two seemingly identical pictures, side-by-side. The reader’s challenge was to find the maddeningly slight, doctored-up differences between the two. Let’s just say it was a good thing the series didn’t run when the kids were babies requiring every-other-hour-feedings, or at least one of them might still be suffering from malnutrition.

Which is all to say that you know there’s no way I could pass up this challenge:  To raise awareness of breast cancer and the importance of mammograms, Charlotte Radiology has placed pink tires in front of businesses around Charlotte. Our mission? To find the tires and post pictures on Facebook. For every photo posted, a dollar will be donated to Ann’s Fund, which helps underprivileged women get mammograms.

Are you kidding me?

Who would even have to think about this?  What could be easier?  Smarter?  Or more fun?

I spotted one of the tires before I even knew what this was all about.  And let me tell you, those tires are some kind of pink.  And, thanks to modern technology, every single one of us has a camera with us at all times.  Although I'll be the first to admit that it's my kids who remind me, "Mom, why don't you just use your phone to take a picture?"

What a great cause.  Won't you help?  C'mon.  Pull out that iPhone. 

I wish I had a "pink" recipe to share, but since I'm well over the age of eight, those recipes are in short supply.

What I do have, though, is Darling Daughter's "Blueberry Lemonade."  It's a repeat of a recipe I used over a year ago, when DD wanted to make Pink Lemonade.

In fact, I think I'll dedicate this post to DD -- and the many other young women who will work to make sure that every woman in need gets the mammogram she deserves.

DD’s Blueberry Lemonade

(serves two)

2 large lemons, juiced

1/ 1/2 cups water

1/3 cup sugar

a dozen blueberries, pressed through a fine sieve

additional blueberries for garnish

Pour the lemon juice, water and sugar into a pitcher. Stir, vigorously, until sugar is dissolved. Stir in strained blueberries. Pour over ice. Garnish with whole blueberries. Drink while dancing.

Where Would We Be Without God, Spiderman Underwear and Bacon Bloody Marys?

Some 12 years ago, when Snarky Son (SS) was merely Sweet Son, his preschool class made a Thanksgiving “tree.”  Each child came home clutching a six-inch green felt leaf and was given the assignment of decorating it with a picture of something for which the child felt grateful.  SS didn’t hesitate.  His thankfulness was both sincere and well-placed.  For God.  And Spiderman underpants. 

I think – and laugh – about that every November.  Make no mistake, there are many blessings in my life and I am thankful beyond words for my family and friends, my health and happiness, my faith and freedom, and my country and the honorable men and women who make it a safe home for me and mine.  I can’t even begin to express my gratitude for these life-altering blessings, despite the many times our family has attempted the “write down what you’re thankful for” game at Thanksgiving dinner.

Even so, at this time of year, I can’t help but think of the other blessings in my life, including:

•  My mother and the scales in her guest bathroom.  Mom’s scales are consistently set back about five pounds.  What a gift to any guest silly enough to step on before a holiday meal.  These scales are practically a signed permission slip to head back to the buffet for more mashed potatoes and gravy.  Or just gravy.  And maybe some macaroni and cheese.  For this, I am grateful.

•  Folly River oysters.  OMG.  Salty.  Succulent.  Slurp-worthy.  Dang.  Does anyone know how to clean drool off a keyboard?  For that, I would also be grateful.

•  Christmas music.  For 47 years now, I’ve practically made a career of mangling lyrics.  It was 25 years before I realized that, in Dream On, Steven Tyler of Aerosmith was not crooning “sing women,” but instead “sing with me."  And it turns out that Jimmy Buffett stepped on a poptop in Margaritaville.  Not a Poptart.  Christmas music, mercifully, inundates our eardrums 24/7 for some 45-60 consecutive days of the year.  We begin chanting it before we begin kindergarten.  And we never have to learn new songs or lyrics.  It’s the same.  Every.  Single.  Year.  Perfect for a lyric-impaired-learner (LPL) like me.  For this, I am grateful.

•  Turkey roasted in a brown paper bag.  For details, see “Folly River oysters” above.

•  Krispy Kreme doughnuts.  But I digress.

•  Cell phones.  The only reason this might not make my children’s top five list is because I’m constantly marveling at the ways I can use my cell phone and pointing out to the kids that “back in the day” (not when dinosaurs roamed the earth, but perhaps, sabertoothed tigers), we didn’t even have cordless phones.  We were tethered to the wall – usually in the most popular room in the house – which made those tearful “I know, but WHY are you breaking up with me?” calls all the more painful.  Nowadays, I don’t know how to complete a shopping trip without someone calling me to ask, “Are you still at the store?  Well, can you go back and get some whole cloves/limeade/shoe insole inserts?”  For technology, I am grateful.

•  Food.  I know, it sounds as if I’m about to revisit that whole oyster, turkey, doughnut thing, but my point here is different.  It’s variety I’m talking about.  I still marvel over the fact that there are now some three dozen options in my local Harris Teeter for salad greens.  And you no longer have to purchase parsley in dessicated little flakes, fluttering in a jar suitable for a urine sample.  Fresh is available year-round.  And does anyone else remember the days when there were three types of peas, and all were canned?  Green Giant.  Le Sueur.  And the tragically labeled Generic.

Yep.  I’m plenty grateful.  And grateful to have so many things to be grateful for.  Like this crazy good Bacon Bloody Mary.  Not as giggle-worthy as Spiderman underwear, perhaps, but still, I am grateful.

Bacon Bloody Mary
Note that you have to begin this a couple of weeks in advance – but it’s worth it!  Would make a great holiday hostess gift, too.

Pepper Bacon Vodka
4 cups good quality vodka
1 teaspoon peppercorns
12 strips of bacon, cooked ‘til crisp and drained
1/4 teaspoon Liquid Smoke

Combine all ingredients in a glass pitcher.  Cover and keep in a dark, cool place, allowing it to steep for two to four weeks.  Strain through cheesecloth (or a coffee filter) before serving.  (Discard peppercorns and bacon.)

Bloody Mary Mix
46-ounce bottle V8 juice, chilled
2 cups Pepper Bacon Vodka
Juice of six limes
¼ cup prepared horseradish
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
½ teaspoon celery seeds

Garnish
Crisp strips of bacon
Lime wedges
Celery sticks

Combine all ingredients in a large pitcher.  Stir well, and serve over ice, garnishing with bacon, etc.

The Power of the Network. And Darling Daughter. And Scotch.

Yesterday afternoon, I made one of those absolutely necessary, but embarrassingly-infrequent circuits of the house, checking the exterior paint, security lights, gutters, etc.  (Really, which kid do you suppose penciled in a monster face on the wood siding?  And when?)

As my inspection reached that side of the house least seen (and every house has one, right?), I saw that a towering pyracanthas bush against the fence had been tethered to our home by a ropey, six-foot strand of spider silk.  It tickled me to think that this favorite shrub, which I rely on year 'round for foliage cuttings, floral filler and seasonally decorative berries, had been assimilated into our actual home.  The bush was now, officially, Chez Wiles.

That night, hours after my completed inspection, I was on the phone with a Charleston friend who likes to be referred to as Cougar Bait (CB).  (Honest.  He's 23 days younger than me.  This is just the beginning of things not fabricated in this blog post.) As I babbled about my day, Darling Daughter (DD), who'd been upstairs getting ready for bed, came down to notify me that the lights were on in my car.  It was 9:30 at night and raining.  I was irritated that I had to go outside and see which door was ajar, so I could get the lights off.

Long story short, I disrupted a car break-in in progress.

First, no worries.  We are fine.

Second, it turns out that 12-year-old girls are pretty darn powerful because what happened next was like a scene from a horror movie.  Still on the phone, I went outside, opened the driver's side door and was ticked off to see the glove compartment door gaping wide.  At the same time, DD, who is home with the flu, was watching me from an upstairs window and saw a man ("no hair, about 30, red shirt, red umbrella, about as tall as my mom," as she later told the police) crouching on the other side of the car.  Despite being nearly voice-less a few hours earlier, DD summoned the energy to frantically and loudly alert me, scaring off the perpetrator.

Terrifying?  Well, let's say I may have found yet another target market for Depends adult diapers.  And not just 47-year-old female crime victims.  Thirty-something-year-old crime suspects, as well.  In the words of Mr. T, "I pity the fool" who crosses a pre-teen who thinks her mom is in danger.  DD's siren-like warning penetrated that second-story, double-paned glass and sent the would-be burglar scrambling.

That's when the strands of my network began revealing themselves.  I quickly hung up on CB to call 911.  Unbeknownst to me, CB -- who'd heard DD's shrieks over the phone (did I mention she was loud?) -- quickly called Dear Friends (DF) who live nearby.  At my request, DD called CB to assure him that we were OK.  DF pulled into the driveway minutes later.  Two police cruisers followed shortly thereafter.  DD and I each gave our statements.  With police escorts, we inspected the property -- just as I had earlier in the day.  And then, a mere 35 minutes after the break-in, DD and I were on our way to DF's for a sleepover.

Thirty-five minutes.  No fabrication.

As news spread over the next 12 hours, my network continued to emerge. Friends, family and neighbors supported us -- offering advice, cell phone numbers, resources for improved security, unrelenting love and lavish praise for DD's quick thinking.

Our network turned into a virtual "net"  -- a comfy hammock holding, supporting, comforting and cradling us -- something we very much needed, even though we were perfectly fine.

DD took a five-hour nap this afternoon, recuperating, I think, as much from the flu, as the night before.  I've answered countless e-mails and phone calls and even shed a few tears out of sheer gratefulness.  I've also offered my undying gratitude and assorted favors to Cougar Bait and Dear Friends -- the starter strands of last night's network.

I can't say I've got much in the way of a recipe right now.  Between the flu and the napping and the network, DD and I haven't broken bread together today.  The most memorable thing I had last night was a stiff Scotch while unwinding at DF's last night.  Talk about an easy recipe.

But first, how lucky am I?  Yep.  The answer is "amazingly" -- thanks to DD and our powerful network.

Scotch On The Rocks

As served by DF and as consumed while on a late night call to CB.

One hefty, cut-crystal double-old-fashioned glass

An abundance of crushed ice

Lovely, fragrant, smooth, calming 15-year-old single-malt Scotch (I prefer Dalwhinnie, which, serendipitously, can be found in DF's liquor cabinet)

Water

Fill glass to rim with crushed ice.  Pour Dalwhinnie over ice until glass is 1/2 full.  (Really, it's not that much when you think about it. Remember, ice is frozen water, which makes it an ingredient.  When you think of it that way, Scotch is only the second of three ingredients.)  Splash some non-frozen water (the third ingredient) on top.  Sip slowly as you recount the tale of your evening.  Decline, when offered, a second Scotch (and Dear Friends always offer a second).  Sleep well, knowing your network is stronger than any spider's web.

When Life Makes You Happy, Make Blueberry Lemonade.

Last time I clicked, the so-called viral video, JK Wedding Entrance had racked up an astounding five million hits. Not bad, considering that, basically, it's a wedding video -- covering one of the 2.3 million U.S. weddings to be celebrated this year.

This one's special, though. JK Wedding Entrance (and really, you've got to see it -- http://tiny.cc/pkIy6) features the atypically exuberant wedding processional of Minnesota couple Jill and Kevin, who, along with their attendants, boogied, strutted, hip-hopped, hustled, jived and, in one instance hand-walked, down the aisle to the infectious “Forever,” as recorded by Chris Brown.

I’ll be honest. Here at home, Darling Daughter (DD) and I can’t stop watching it.

Neither, apparently, can the rest of America. The darling -- and daring -- newlyweds appeared on The Today Show and Good Morning America yesterday, and then, the entire dance -- complete with attendants -- was recreated this morning on The Today Show (you've got to see this one, too -- http://tiny.cc/xrL6f. There is some disagreement between DD and me as to which is more watchable.) Not surprisingly, the compulsively danceable, but year-old recording of “Forever” catapulted into the iTunes Top 10 today.

Within the very first few seconds, this simple home video brings a smile to the face, a tear to the eye, and then, an extra beat or two to the heart.

It didn’t take long, of course, for cynics to voice their critical opinions. In their minds, the video is self-indulgent, disrespectful, unoriginal, overwrought and destined to be imitated (not in a good way).

To them, I’ve got four words: Don’t be a hater.

C’mon. Really – how can you not be inspired and uplifted watching these folks?

And here's what I love -- the joy and the willingness of all the participants, regardless of ability. I can't see any evidence that anyone evoked the "I can't dance" mantra. They all dance. They dance as if no one is watching. They dance as if everyone is watching. What a generous wedding gift.

Just look at the unabashed joy and uninhibited spirit of the ushers, groomsmen and bridesmaids. Look at the cool confidence of the groom. Try to peel your eyes off the bride, nearly overcome with giddiness and delight.

How can you feel anything other than happy for them?

Indeed, maybe more of life’s celebrations should veer from the expected path. Imagine what would happen if more of us departed from the pre-ordained, what-we're-supposed-to-do scripts and etiquette books.

Why not cha-cha to Pomp and Circumstance? Why not accept a job offer with a salsa?

Why not do The Cupid Shuffle across the threshold of that first apartment? Why not do The Electric Slide after the birth of a child? (I don’t dare suggest a “conception” dance. I suspect it’s already been done. More than once.)

Why should we be afraid to show – and share – our joy?

Yesterday, DD was inspired to make strawberry lemonade – a recipe she perfected last summer, despite my ongoing complaints about sticky countertops and stained hardwoods. This time, though, there were no strawberries in the fridge. Just blueberries.

Since DD's 12, though, and not entirely tainted by the cynicism of teen and adult years, the solution was simple: blueberries we had, and blueberries would work.

So she came up with something new. And unexpected. And joyful.

Kind of like JK Wedding Entrance -- a lesson to all of us.

Cheers!

DD’s Blueberry Lemonade

(serves two)

2 large lemons, juiced

1/ 1/2 cups water

1/3 cup sugar

a dozen blueberries, pressed through a fine sieve

additional blueberries for garnish

Pour the lemon juice, water and sugar into a pitcher. Stir, vigorously, until sugar is dissolved. Stir in strained blueberries. Pour over ice. Garnish with whole blueberries. Drink while dancing.

What's Left Behind (Day Nine)

Yesterday was Day Nine of the Kids-At-Camp-Mom-Not program. Ideal day to chill some white wine. It was, after all, a Monday.

Don't judge me.

So I swing by The Wine Shop (truly, that’s the name of the business -- The Wine Shop) for a bottle of my fave sauvignon blanc. So far, so good.

Once home, I open the fridge to realize that there is zero room for wine. I can't jam in a single sprightly bottle of New Zealand’s finest. (Since I’m the type to plan ahead, I’d been hoping to chill two.) I’m dumbfounded. What gives?

Well, even though Darling Daughter and Snarky Son have been away for over a week, it appears they left mementoes, including such oddities as a one-gallon 1% organic milk jug holding nothing but the dried film of 1% organic milk, a space-hogging plastic gallon container encapsulating less than half a gallon of Gatorade, a two-liter bottle of Cherry Sprite holding two liters of Cherry Sprite less two sips, a two-quart Rubbermaid bowl of two-week-old Sausage Pasta (click here for recipe), four jars of assorted jams and jellies (notable because my kids don’t like jams or jellies), and inexplicably, two packages of Oscar Mayer Steakhouse Beef and Pepper Jack Deli Creations.

Say what?

Being the thoughtful kids they are, they wouldn’t dream of confining the treasured reminders of their existence to the fridge alone. Nope. After they left for camp, dirty laundry paved their bedroom floors, candy wrappers cluttered the dressers and plastic cups of Coke sludge could be found on the windowsills. “Sludge” of course, is what remains after the popular soft drink has roasted in a windowsill for 10 days. The resulting residue has the "stickability" factor of day-old chewing gum combined with Super Glue served to a patient with lockjaw. Never mind that neither kid is allowed to have food or drink in their rooms. Whatevs.

I’ve also found countless random price tags – ripped from items such as wind pants, sunglasses and other essential items that they just “had to have” before heading to camp, unopened bottles of sunscreen which were cast aside as unnecessary, as well as the flotsam and jetsam dislodged from their lockers at the end of the school year.

Hmm. Time to make good use of some 13-gallon plastic kitchen garbage bags. Because even now, as the kids are at camp, they are sending reinforcements home. But this time, I’m not complaining, because the reinforcements are in the form of envelopes containing the most precious items of all – letters home.

Sigh. I love these kids.

I can't even begin to pretend to be annoyed by their mail. In fact, it was fortuitous that I wasn't home when Mike The Mailman came by with the precious papers. I likely would've kissed him square on the lips.

What I learn from the kids' letters is that each of them is fabulous, fine and funny. Snarky Son, inexplicably, has been re-named “Brad” by his cabinmates. In the event that “Brad” doesn’t take, “Drake” is the name-in-waiting. Darling Daughter, who’s never been to a camp like this, declares that everything is fabulous, -- the activities, the friends, the counselors, the sleep and most shocking of all – the FOOD. She would, however, like me to send her a Crazy Creek chair. Whatever that is.

On the other hand -- fabulous food? Sign me up.

But first, I want to make room in the fridge here at home. I trash the empty milk jug, the outdated Gatorade, the unloved Cherry Sprite and two of the jam jars. Perfect. I now have ample space to chill three bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and some seedless watermelon. Which is just what I'll need to get started on some Watermelon Sangria for the Independence Day weekend.

Watermelon Sangria

2 cups of seedless watermelon puree (just toss chunks of watermelon in a blender or food processor)

1/2 cup vodka

1/2 cup watermelon schnappes

1/2 cup sugar

10 peppercorns, lightly crushed

1 knob fresh ginger, thinly sliced

1 lime, thinly sliced

1 cup ginger ale, chilled

1 bottle sauvignon blanc, chilled

kosher salt

Combine watermelon puree, vodka, schnappes, sugar, peppercorns, ginger and lime in a lidded container. Shake or stir to dissolve sugar, and chill -- at least four hours, or better still, overnight. After flavors have melded, stir in chilled ginger ale and wine, strain into stemmed glasses with ice. Sprinkle with salt and garnish -- either with lime wheels, watermelon wedges or (for Independence Day) blueberries. Cheers!

Making A List, Then Making White Sangria.

I am a list-making kind of girl. (One thing on The List, BTW, is deciding how much longer I can refer to myself as a girl.)

I make grocery lists, packing lists, to-do lists, to-call lists, to-read lists, to-write lists and long-range planning lists.

Some lists are temporary, scribbled on Post-Its, cash register receipts, gas company envelopes, and 5" x 5" notes with my name printed across the top in a brown font peculiarly similar to my own handwriting.

Other lists are longer lasting -- team rosters, upcoming home repairs (ranked according to priority), and the kids' "Before You Even Ask" chore lists -- all of which I keep on the Mac. Every summer, we also maintain, on my iPhone, a list of the state license plates (including Canadian plates, because, well, you know ...) we come across. In alphabetical order, of course. Vanity plates don't count. When we're really road-weary, we track inappropriate bumper stickers, too.

The need to note appears to be genetic -- or at least contagious. I find bullet points scrawled on bits of notebook paper and old test papers on the bedside table of one of my beloved children. I won't say which one. I wouldn't want to embarrass him.

When I was married, I kept two other mental lists -- things I knew how to do, such as cooking, managing the family finances and getting the gutters cleaned, and things I didn't need to know how to do, such as taking out the trash, buying car tires and deciding how much to contribute to a 401K.

Now, of course, I do it all. And, as the mom of the house, I've got an entire lineup of things that only I know how to do. Just a few items on that capacious list include:

• Load into the dishwasher dishes other than my own plate and utensils. Need I elaborate? "I didn't even use that spoon. That was his knife! Grody!"

• Turn a blind eye -- for longer than 30 seconds -- to an incoming text message. Sorry. Was that your phone? Or mine?

• Remember that wet towels hang on the rack, dirty clothes go in the hamper, and clean clothes should -- gratefully -- be put away. This is a toughie, but we're working on it. And have been for over 10 years.

• Re-fill toilet paper and paper towel holders. Both kids know where to find the necessary paper products, but only seem able to perch said products on top of said holders. I know, right? Unwrap. Slide on. Tah. Dah.

• Use the garbage disposal. This one's a mystery. The people who live here seem to understand the concept (putting uneaten scraps of food, i.e., garbage, into the sink), but somehow, there's a disconnect that prevents them from actually turning on the disposal, thus disposing of the remains. I really have nothing more to say about it. Nothing, that is, that doesn't involve me biting the inside of my lower lip. And sighing. And rolling my eyes.

• Clean up -- or even cover up -- any sort of pet "accident." No need for a adjectives here, right?

• Take a telephone message. If you've called me -- ever -- and I wasn't the one to answer the phone, I apologize. Sincerely. Rest assured. I didn't get the message.

On my Summer List is coming up with a recipe for White Sangria. It's no secret that I'm a big fan of my Red Sangria recipe, but summer cries out for something lighter. Or, at the very least, something else. And poor me, since summer offers such an abundance of flavors, I've got two versions in the works. Here's the first.

White Sangria #1

1/2 cup peach schnappes

1/2 cup white rum

1/2 cup sugar

1 cup sliced strawberries (plus additional for garnish)

1 cup diced pineapple (plus additional for garnish)

1/2 cup fresh mint leaves, sliced in thin ribbons.

5 peppercorns, lightly crushed

1 bottle sauvignon blanc, chilled (Note: If you choose a less "tart" wine, like a pinot grigio, you'll need to add 1/2 a sliced lemon and 1/2 a sliced lime to the fruit listed above.)

1 cup ginger ale, chilled

In a refrigerator container (with lid), mix rum, schnappes and sugar. Stir in fruit, mint and peppercorns. Chill in refrigerator several hours, or even better, up to three days.

When ready to serve, pour chilled wine and Sprite into a large pitcher. Stir in fruit and rum mixture.

Strain and serve over ice, garnishing with additional fresh fruit.

Cheers!

"What Do You Do All Day?"

I'm a stay-at-home mom.

It happened haphazardly.  Fourteen years ago, when Son was born, we quickly realized that someone would have to stay home and tend to him.  (Like most first-time parents, we considered our child to be unusually advanced, but would he be able to change his own diaper at six weeks? Iffy.)  Since I was self-employed at the time -- and therefore available and cheap -- I was as likely a candidate as anyone.  Indeed, when you consider that I'm roundly-acknowledged to be a wee bit of a control freak,  I may have been the only candidate.

When Darling Daughter was born two years later -- and refused to be held by anyone other than, well, me -- the "self-employed" facade came crashing down.  In no time at all, I was 0% bringing home the bacon and 100% frying it up in the pan.

Well-meaning friends would sometimes ask, "When are you going back to work?" but when it became plain I had no immediate intention of turning a bedroom into an office, much less returning to a world of artlessly-written job reviews, mind-numbing meetings, and incomprehensible healthcare plans served with a cup of burnt coffee, they'd then ask, "What do you do all day?"

The brave ones still do.

The honest answer?  I do what has to be done.  I wish it included eating bonbons and lifting my feet as the "help" runs the vacuum.  Instead, a huge chunk of my day is spent in the car -- chauffeuring, eating, doing homework, running errands, getting to doctors' appointment and after school activities, and commiserating with the kids about their day.  During soccer and baseball seasons, our all-but-abandoned house functions more like an over-priced closet than a home.  It is simply the place where we stash our clothes and Christmas decorations and dishes.  As the car floormats attest, most of the "real" living and dining is done in our Honda Pilot.

I also volunteer at the kids' school a lot -- as in, "a lot" more than the kids would like.  Bummer for them, but I enjoy it.  Eighth graders -- so cool and charming -- are quick to greet me, only slightly averting their eyes to ensure I understand my place.  Sixth graders aren't able to fake it.  They all but shield their eyes and moonwalk backward to avoid having to say, "Hello, Ms. Wiles."

Now that the kids are older and so preoccupied, a return to the workforce wouldn't be out of the question -- except when you consider that the current N.C. unemployment rate is about 11%.   My time will come.  So for now -- I'm sticking with my bonbon-less life.  I'll keep doing whatever has to be done and enjoy this gift of spending time with the kids and their friends.  Every now and again, I'll throw a party to celebrate the many blessings in my life.  And when I do, I'll be serving this amazing sangria.  Cheers.

Sangria

Although you can mix this up on the day of your party, it's even better if you give the fruit and spices a couple of days -- even a week -- to macerate in the rum.

5 lemons, sliced into thin rounds

5 limes, sliced into thin rounds

5 oranges, sliced into thin rounds

5 peppercorns

1 stick cinnamon

5 whole, dried allspice berries

5 whole, dried cloves

5 cups spiced rum

2 1/2 cups sugar

5 (750 milliliter) bottles dry red wine, chilled

5 cups orange juice, chilled

In a very large pitcher, combine sliced rounds of three lemons, limes and oranges (reserving remaining fruit for when sangria is served), spices, rum and sugar.  Stir and mash until sugar is dissolved.  Chill for at least two hours, or even better, up to a week.

When ready to serve, crush fruit lightly, and strain into punch bowl or serving canister.  Add fruit that had been set aside.  Stir in wine and orange juice.  Serve over ice, garnished with a lime wedge.

Note:  Leftover sangria keeps well, chilled, for about a week.