Southern-Fried and Sanctified

So, it's Mother's Day and I'm sitting here too bloated to leave the house. I'm not a mom, per se, although I do have a handsome stepson, 34, who lives in Georgia. I married his father far too late in life to be considered Mikey's stepmother; I'm his dad's wife, and that's fine. We love each other and life is way too short to get hung up on labels.

Back to the bloat. After church we went to the new diner about 4 miles away, in the country. THEY HAD PANCAKES. Made-from-scratch, griddle-cooked PANCAKES. I ate four with butter and syrup. When we got home I did laundry, watered the roses, fed the chickens and made two tomato pies. There is now just one tomato pie. Also, I may or may not have baked two-dozen paleo chocolate chip cookies and the platter may or may not be missing, say, eight cookies.

Thank goodness this day comes only once a year! Happy Mother's Day to my wonderful mommy friends!

Hello there!
I'm Julie and I'm just like you, but crazier. Actually, I'm your crazy sister after four mojitos. For 27 years I've been writing weekly newspaper columns, now collected in a book called "Southern-Fried and Sanctified." I've been through hard times and good, and my nutty family puts the "funk" in dysfunctional. I've been divorced (I got the dog and the house) and remarried. Now I live in a teeny town in South Carolina with farm animals, wacky neighbors and a husband who finds me hilarious instead of weird, thank God. I hope you--and your BFFs, bridesmaids, ex-roommates and sorority sisters--will enjoy SF&S. And I swear every word is true. Mostly. Kind of. OK, we'll talk about that later.