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!

Settling Into Summer Routines -- Or A Lack Thereof. With Ribs.

School's out.

Not, as Alice Cooper eventually proclaimed, "forever," but at least "for summer."

I know this, first, because there are two additional, oversized bodies bumping around the house, each dividing his or her time equally between foraging for food; dwindling the charge on my MacBook; carpeting the floors with soggy towels and P.E. clothes which haven't seen the inside of a washing machine since before Christmas; misplacing my MacBook after the draining the battery; planning, scrapping, then re-planning social outings; and finally, in the ongoing quest for sustenance, begging to be taken off-premises -- to Harris Teeter, Smoothie King or Chick-Fil-A -- for still more food.

Second, I know school's out because both of my beloved and believed-to-be-bright children has already had the audacity to whine, "I'm bored." Silly them. As if there isn't always dog poop to be scooped and kitty litter boxes to be sifted.

Even more audacious, each of them, separately, has protested indignantly, "What difference does it make if I leave my wet towels (dirty laundry, Jolly Rancher wrappers, backpack contents, fill-in-the-blank) on the floor? It's summer! Why do you care so much?"

Well. I've got gracious plenty responses for that, but before I make a list, did you really think that tone of voice would change my mind?

Honestly, though, I see their point. Wouldn't it be delightful if life actually worked that way? If school let out for summer, the temp soared to 90, and no one had to do laundry or take out trash or clean toilets? If the pantry were endlessly stocked with Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the fridge with Minute Maid Limeade and the freezer with filet mignon? (No kidding about that last one. It would be difficult to overstate the number of times, in this week alone, that my 14-year-old-son has asked, "Do we have any steak?" -- as if we routinely snack on $20-a-pound, medium rare, grilled meat.)

Some things do slack up, of course. Dress codes are abandoned. Bedtimes slide. Breakfast becomes every-man-for-himself. I even have a friend who, for years, got away with telling her young children that, "Yes, church is closed during the summer. Just like school."

In truth, when I was a kid, it felt as if all routines did come to a halt during the summer. Every morning, we'd get on our bikes and go -- ride trails, build forts, catch fiddler crabs and dine on Lowcountry delicacies like blackberries, wild plums, honeysuckle and sourgrass (that last, despite our parents telling us it was only sour because dogs peed on it).

We could go shoeless for days. To break any monotony that might creep in about mid-July, we'd shove someone off a boat -- in three feet of water or 30. Life jacket, life schmacket.

What a life.

So OK. No more pencils, no more books. School is out for my kids. I can't abolish all routines, but provided they can keep my MacBook on the charger, I reckon I can let a few other things slide. It's summer. We may as well enjoy it -- starting with these savory ribs inspired by a recipe I found in Bon Appetit magazine.

Babyback Ribs With Asian Flavors

Note that preparation for these ribs must begin hours in advance, or even better, the day before.

1, 3-3 1/2 lb. rack babyback ribs

1 tablespoon ginger paste (or 1 tablespoon fresh grated ginger)

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 tablespoon asian fish sauce

3 cloves garlic, minced to a paste with 1 tablespoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

Prepare ribs. Rinse in cold water. Using a small thin knife, peel white membrane from underside of ribs. (Tough to do, but worth it.) Pat dry with paper towels.

Combine remaining ingredients in a small bowl (or better, a small food processor or blender). Rub both sides of rack with mixture, wrap tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least four hours, or overnight.

Preheat oven to 250. After refrigerating ribs, cut into several (single-serving) sections. Put in a large baking dish, cover tightly with foil, and bake for two hours at 250 degrees.

Remove ribs from oven, check for tenderness. Ribs should be fully cooked and tender. Baste with pan juices and grill over indirect medium heat, until browned and crusty on both sides -- 10-15 minutes per side.

Life Is Good. Do I Need To Know Why?

(For Jamey.)

Suspicious happenings are afoot Chez Wiles.

Earlier today, Darling Daughter sought permission to embark on yet another all-important, can't-miss, everyone's-going social event. To which I responded, as I have the past 851 times such occasions have arisen (this week alone), "I'm not even considering it until your room's picked up and the cat litter boxes are cleaned out."

To which she replied, without a dram of facetiousness, "You're right. I'll take care of it."

You bet you will, I thought, satisfied. Having won the battle, I gave a smug nod, saying, "OK. Well, be sure to let me know when it's done." I turned crisply on my heel to get back to sorting laundry. But then, thought, What was that all about?

Come to think of it, Darling Daughter has been exceptionally accommodating these past few days. Beyond accommodating, in fact -- she's been pleasant, easygoing, and dare I say it, delightful.

My parental radar could not possibly be at a higher level of alert.

Think about it another way. Earlier today, regarding North Korea's ongoing and persistent nuclear tests and missile launches, President Barack Obama issued a warning, saying, "We are not intending to continue a policy of rewarding provocation."

That's all well and good. But what if, in response, sickly, scrawny, teeny, tiny, pompadoured and platformed Kim Jon-il, dictator-beyond-Conan-O'Brian's-wildest-dreams, had stretched up to his full five-foot-three-inches and had the mendacity to say -- "Okey dokey"?

I know, right? Plainly, something unusually nefarious would be afoot.

Same thing Chez Wiles. Somebody's up to no good.

But who?

Is is possible that Darling Daughter has achieved a new level of brain maturation, allowing her to be reasonable, respectful and rational? Nah. She's plenty clever, but her frontal lobe isn't scheduled to mature for another 10 years. Indeed, based on how things are progressing for her 14-year-old brother, maybe longer.

Is it possible that, despite 12-year-old brain development, my personal responsibility mantra has been sufficiently drummed into her head, and she's prepared to embrace my carefully-considered and all-knowing lessons? Nah. I won't kid myself -- I'm not that good.

Is it possible that I'm being played?

Ding, ding, ding! Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner!

Darling Daughter had said, "You're right. I'll take care of it"? What, exactly, did she mean by that? Did she think I wouldn't call her on that? Did she think she could just soothe me into complacency? Did she think ... ?

Wait a minute. Is is possible that I'm the one up to no good?

Maybe I'm too suspicious. She is, after all, Darling. Why wouldn't she be agreeable? Why wouldn't she be accommodating?

And really, who needs a reason? Regardless of how cunning and conniving either of us might be, maybe it's best just to embrace the situation. Whatever the circumstances, I'll take "accommodating" and "delightful" over "snarky" and "eye-spinning" any day of the week.

In fact, to promote such behavior, contrived or not, I may have to start her day tomorrow with a little something special -- like these always good, always light, always better-than-from-any-mix pancakes.

If only they worked on her 14-year-old brother.

Buttermilk Pancakes

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

3 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 large egg, beaten

1 1/3 cup buttermilk

1/2 stick (real) butter, melted

Using a fork or whisk, mix together dry ingredients in a bowl. When well combined, quickly stir in remaining ingredients with a few strokes of wooden spoon. Do not over-stir. Cook on a hot, prepared griddle, turning only once. Serve with syrup, or, at our house, powdered sugar and strawberries.