The Liebster Award

This little blog was awarded the Liebster from the wonderful Erin at the beautiful, funny, and touching blog, "from Prada to Payless".  I can’t tell you how honored I am to win an award. Thank you so much, Erin!

Here's a Little more about the award from Erin: 

Liebster means "dearest" in German. The Liebster award is given to up and coming bloggers, who have fewer than 200 followers. 

There is no evaluation committee or formal award process (darn!) for the Liebster, but it is better than that. It is recognition that a peer has noticed and appreciated your hard work. 

There are just a few rules that come along with the Liebster Award. They are as follows:

* Thank your Liebster Award presenter on your blog.

* Link back to the blogger who awarded you.

*Reveal your top five blog picks, who fit within the award parameters.

* Inform them that you have chosen them by leaving a comment on their blog.

* Post the award on your blog.

Here are my TOP FIVE. I look forward to reading each of these blogs and I feel the bloggers that run them are among the best in the world! Allow me to get my Oprah on as I screeeeaammmm, " You get a LIEBSTER!"

LMAO with wendy (liebman)   Stand-up comic-Wendy Liebman is one of my idols. Her blog is smart, smart-ass, and informative. It's a wonderful mix of info about healthy living and pie in the face funny. I love this blog. Well, go join it---NOW!

The Sassy Piehole  A hysterical look at motherhood. It's funny and sassy and it even bakes you a hot apple pie! 

Blogged Down At The Moment This blog is a great humor site run by Mariann Simms. Beautiful pictures razor- sharp insights. This lady is funny as hell. I'm also kinda partial because she's from Alabama!

Captain Canard Run by humorist, contributor to Stupid Ass Questions, and Twitterererer Extraordinaire, Dan Burt. Pretty much a one stop shop for funny and off beat stories and one-liners. Dan is an AMAZING comedy writer. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up as a head writer for a TV show.

Life on (De) Mars This Mississippi Mama does it all! This is my go to blog for great recipes, cute kid pictures, and money saving tips! I love this blog. Now that Paula Deen has had to cop to giving herself "The Diabetes," I expect Margaret to slip right in, and take her place, y'all.

How to Live in a 320 Square Foot Home I love this blog. I'm breaking protocol by honoring this blog. I'm gonna do it anyway.  Anyone who can live in a 320 Square Foot House with this much beauty and charm deserves this award! A really fascinating look at style, function, and sustainability. I'm mesmerized by this blog.http://www.320squarefoothome.com/

There you have it! Congratulations to the winners of the Liebster Award! Now get out there and pay it forward!

~ Tange ( Tangela Ekhoff, Award-Winning Blogger!)

Bay-Z 2012/Doomsday/ Aretha's Engaged

I have tuned out the real news, especially politics, because, well, in December the world is gonna end. If you've seen any good disaster movie, you already know what's up. All good disaster movies have a BLACK PRESIDENT( because, hell, it’s science  fiction and what are the chances of a black dude running this country?) an asteroid hits the EARTH, and we are all doomed...unless you're like Tom Cruise, Will Smith, or some really drunk conspiracy theorist who actually has an ARC hidden out on your farm in Idaho. I am not handy or smart enough to build an arc...so, sweet baby Oprah in the manger, I’M GONNA GET BURNED UP LIKE A MARSHMALLOW AT A GIRL SCOUT CAMP OUT! DAMN. DAMN. DAMN.

These days, I tick off my Mayan calendar (ok, I bought myself a sweet Justin Bieber calendar) and I only watch news that doesn't scare me: ENTERTAINMENT NEWS. Yeah, all you smart asses will say I am being dumbed down by Hollywood. You damn right, slick. Look around, fool, the only people who can get a little taste of the American Dream are the ones who have a killer sex tape.  Sex tape is the new HARVARD, peeps.

Back in the day, I used to be all about politics. I used to fold and stuff in the name of the future. I used to plant-gate, yard sign, and petition like it was my job. It took quite a few years of actually hanging out with politicians to realize true believers were pawns in the man's game. I was a true believer. I'm still going to vote in the general election, but it's gonna take all I got not to write in Mary Hart, the Matron Saint of Mindless, Blathering, Bronzed, Capped-Tooth Perfection...and self promo. I. Miss. Her.

I can't be bothered with North Korea or China. They are going to sell us flammable clothes and then set us on Nuclear FIRE! Stock market? I ain't got no money. Gold? Sold it all. I did keep my teeth a.k.a.  fronts in case I get a wild hair and decide to hitch my wagon to Lil' Wayne's crew and freestlye with my bad self. You ain't know I had rhymes? Don't make me...

These days the most important new is my life is the manufactured Hollywood goo that high-paid publicists crank out to justify their Prada passion. These days, I get my hard hitting news from TMZ and Perez Hilton. It would be un-American to deny these anorexic, iPhone-addicted prophets of tabloid-land my time. See, I am a true patriot. Yesterday, Aretha Franklin announced she is engaged and not preggo. But, I think Dionne Warwick may be sprouting a baby bump. I wonder who the daddy is? I am not one to just make stuff up.

Back in the day I would have been caught up in the swaggerfest known as the Iowa Caucus. These days, I am on Maternity Watch. My Beyonce/ Jay-Z Birth Watch 2012 is a full time job... in between looking for a real job, raising the McBrothas, and writing a totally original book about vampires. I can't wait until Bay-Z, the richest, most bootylicious, gangsta cooing young 'un in Hip-History, makes an appearance. Why? Because the Iowa Caucus is boring the dog snot out of me. See, the future of the country doesn't depend on what lackluster candidate we elect. It depends on the first Red Carpet outfit Bay-Z will be wearing. It will set the tone for the  future. If Bay-Z is wearing a one-of-a-kind piece sewn by Donatella Versace...with her own two French mani'ed hands: The Earth will not be destroyed by an asteroid or nuclear weapon, and the markets will rebound. If Bay-Z is wearing some outfit from Target, we are in big trouble. Expect more economic doom, political upheaval, and the Kardashians to be a continuing puss-filled boil on the American ass for the next decade.

The future of country, and yes, our planet depends on the birth of Bay-Z. I hate to get all Matrix on y'all, but I have read the tea leaves in my sippy cup of boxed wine. If America is to be saved, a child will do it. I wanted to believe that Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon's twins, Monroe and Moroccan, could do it. #DemBabies have huge TwitterLove, and cuteness, but they just don't have the Messiah Factor. I just don't believe #DemBabies are willing to give up their $1,500 pacifiers to save us. Mariah is not know for being humble, and I suspect #DemBabies are selfish as hell. I just think Bay-Z will be a kinder, gentler kid...even though Bay-Z's daddy was a gun-slinging drug dealer who would shoot first, rhyme later...which never made in his Oprah special.....

Anywhooo, I mark the days off my Justin Bieber Mayan Doomsday Calendar with a purple Sharpie (JB's fav color, I know, right!) and wait for Bay-Z to come into this broken ass world of ours. Bay-Z 2012 is more exciting than Iowa and less terrifying than thinking of N. Korea. And Aretha getting engaged at 69 years old should give hope to all the single ladies. Now put yo hands up!

P.S. What if, Jessica Simpson and Beyonce' went into labor the SAME DAY...who would get more coverage? Or would it be like the Farrah Fawcett/ Michael Jackson Going Home to Glory the Same Damn Time, So How the Hell Do We Get Mary Hart in Front Of Both Morgues At the Same Time? situation we had on June 25, 2009. I'm just sayin...

P.S.S. What kind of ghetto ass name is Bay-Z gonna get? Or, is she going to let her BFF and bad baby name giver Gwyneth Paltrow help her? Mary, mother of Oprah…is that Oprah’s Mama’s name?

For Harriet Guest Post

http://www.forharriet.com/2012/01/birthday-letter-to-my-children.html

New Year's Eve Ball Drop on the Prairie

We had a great time on NYE! Looking forward to a great new year! There is nothing like the feeling of having a clean slate and a fresh start!

We did the McBrotha's 4th Annual NYE Ball Drop at our house. It's always fun for me. This year, both the boys were old enough to really enjoy it.


I wish you all a healthy, happy, prosperous NEW YEAR.

The Showstopper!!!

The McBrothas Christmas 2011

We had an amazing Christmas, thanks to lots of people we know, and more that we've never even met. We are thankful for the generosity. We got the Greatest ShowStopper on Earth! My husband got a real job offer in his old field with full health benefits. This is a really wonderful blessing because our youngest son has Type 1 (Insulin dependent, no fault of his own, no pill will fix it, shots for the rest of his life... Juvenile) Diabetes.

Thank you to all who sent me kind words, told me your stories, shared your prayers, and sent gifts. It was more than we could have ever done, and our boys are grateful. My husband and I are, too.

As we move into a new year, I continue to pray and hope and work hard to turn things around for our family.

Happy New Year,

Tange

Merry Christmas, Yall!

Wishing you love and light!

Domesticated Mermaid

I’ve always been secretly jealous of mermaids. Their grace, beauty and agility became a constant source of envy and fantasy when I was a girl. Mermaids glide under the weight of the ocean and transport themselves effortlessly from shore to shore, ocean to ocean, and continent to continent the way I go from room to room cutting off lights in my house.

I’m jealous of mermaids because they can swim. I can’t swim. Neither could my mother or my grandmother. Like them, I am also afraid of big bodies of water.  As a girl, I deduced our inability to swim and fear of water  was some sort of evolutionary hold-over from our ancestors' first encounter with the ocean.

I am jealous of mermaids because they have freedom. Mermaids only emerge from the ocean if they want to sun themselves or enjoy the smell of testosterone when their “mer-dar” signals the approach of a naval ship filled with ab-rocking sailors. Mermaids are badass enough to swim with sharks and humble enough to blow kisses at starfish. Mermaids can do whatever the hell they want—except walk.

As a girl, I would write fantastic (not good fantastic, just “out there” fantastic) stories about myself as a mermaid. I had long, bouncy, onyx Donna Summer hair that would sweep my lower back in aquatic slow motion. As a 13-year-old writer, my  Donna Summer “mer-mane” would hide the injustice that was the set of DD boobs that were a constant source of unkind words by the girls in my class, and a constant source of inappropriate words by teenage boys and predatory old men in my neighborhood, as well. It would take nursing three children and turning forty to realize how glorious those boobs were. In my mermaid stories, I was confident and sure of my place in the world. I still haven’t quite figured this out, but turning forty sure helped me to figure out where I didn’t belong. In my stories, I belonged to the ocean and the ocean belonged to me. In my stories, I was the woman I wanted to be with a fin instead of feet.

These days, I only feel like a mermaid when I write. Words are my ocean. I have the same relationship with writing that I have with big bodies of water. I fear the water, but I love the beach. There is no sand, if there is no violent crashing of water against the sediment.  I fear the loneliness and rejection that comes with writing, but I love when I finish. I hate the process, the nakedness of baring your innermost thoughts (even if under the thinly veiled guise of fiction or as part of a series of jokes for a comedy performance), and I hate wondering if I’m doing it right. I do love if someone, anyone reads something I wrote or laughs at a joke. The validation is priceless. I find myself blowing mermaid kisses in my head as a sign of gratitude.

Sometimes, I will write one good sentence that makes me feel proud and satisfied; and I long to keep pushing against the current of words to come up with just one more. 

Then, my “mer-dar” goes off, and I have to come up from the ocean. I don’t come up to ogle a ship filled with shirtless, tanned merchant marines. I come up because I am a domesticated mermaid. I bob to the surface when I hear, “Mama, I need some juice” or “Baby, what’s for dinner.” My perfectly sausage-curled, wet, Donna Summer hair disappears, and the graying, wind-blown crinkles re-appear. I grudgingly throw my faded, fuzzy lavender robe over my PERFECT 13-year-old boobs covered by my mother-of-pearl bikini top, and the mama boobs flop back down to my ankles. I retract my eel-slapping fin (as a mermaid, I am a straight-up badass) and my glimmery, shimmery, pastel scales give way to skin that thirsts for a good moisturizer against the Oklahoma wind.

I am a domesticated mermaid. I am landlocked by geography and circumstance. At night I swim from shore to shore, ocean to ocean, continent to continent, while my family sleeps. The agony and the ecstasy of writing the perfect sentence, or one just good enough keeps me alive. The words in my head echo and call out to me as waves crashing against the beach call to a real mermaid. The words wear me down into fine, soft sand. I search for a more perfect union of writing and family life. I long for the day when I can swim freely, gracefully from shore to shore, ocean to ocean, continent to continent as the sun shines over my head like a real mermaid. Until then, I will remain a nocturnal, domesticated mermaid.

I realize mermaids are not real, neither was Donna Summer’s hair, but that doesn’t stop me from being jealous.