Lime Daiquiri Ice Pops, Dance Parties and Facebook Assholery

September 16, 2015

This past week, on the way home from school pick-up, the girls and I noticed the first flickers of red appearing on a few trees in the neighborhood.

“Hey, look!” I said, pointing out the window. “The trees are starting to change.”

“Thank God,” Miss D. said. “I can’t wait for Fall, and cooler weather, and Halloween.”

“You’ve been talking about Halloween since the beginning of summer,” Miss M. piped up from the backseat. “Weirdo.”

D. turned around and stuck her tongue out at her sister. “That’s because Halloween is the best thing ever, and Fall is the best season ever. So there.”

“Yeah, Fall is the best,” M. said. “You know why? Because the most awesome person ever has a birthday in October…ME!!” She did a little shimmy and fist-pump.

“Whatever,” D. said, but she was smiling a little.  Who can be annoyed when trees begin to change?

ZZRRP!! Not so fast, caterpillars.

This weekend, the weather still blazed well into the mid-80’s. Fall may be gearing up for world domination, and football season may have started but we’re still having some steamy days in my neck of the woods. We’re keeping those sweaters tucked away for at least another month, at least.

That’s okay, though. It just gives me a few more weeks to gorge on sweet corn and tomatoes.

And lime daiquiri ice pops, which definitely deserve a space in your life, but I’ll get to those later.

We spent a lively evening at the Longmont Oktoberfest, although the Minxes didn’t understand why “Oktoberfest” is in September, and they sort of have a point. I’m grateful for it, though, because we have so many birthdays in the month of October that it’s nuts; dang near every weekend in October, we’ve got something going on. September Oktoberfest is dandy with me.

The littlest Minx immediately set her sights on these enormous, clear balls set in water that you can climb into and walk/tumble around in…you know, like clumsy human hamsters. I was pretty sure that me + giant hamster thingy + tumbling = a trip to the ER, so my husband took charge of that one while Miss D. and I headed to the lawn and the music tent. All of the geezers my age were far back on the lawn, sitting like civilized people on blankets and portable chairs, drinking beer and munching sausages. Miss D. loves music more than anything, though, and said, “Mom, can we go hang out in front of the stage? Please?”

You know who was hanging out in front of the stage? Young people. Young people who dance and jump up and down and pump fists and shake boot-ay and sing at the top of their lungs. My 46-year old ass was gonna look dang ridiculous doing all that.

But you know what?

My teenage daughter wanted to do all that, and most important, she wanted to do it with me. Her *gasp* mother.

I know the day will come–and it will probably come soon–where the idea of even being seen with me will fill D. with mortification and dread, but this weekend, I realized that she’s not there yet. She still thinks I’m an okay human being to be around.

That, my friends, is such a full-blown, unbelievable, hot-damn gift.

No way was I going to squander that gift. So dang straight I boogied and hooted and hollered and fist-pumped. There was 80’s rock (yay!) and punk and funk and Maroon 5 and Bruno Mars and Walk the Moon we did it all, full-throttle. And yes, I am sure I looked like a complete loser goon doing it but I gave zero fucks. Zero.

About halfway through the set, I hollered at D., “I left my phone in the car. Do you have yours? Dad and M. are probably frantic to find us.”

D. shook her head. “I left mine in the car, too.”

Whoops. There was no way they were going to find us in that crowd of revelers. I thought about cutting out early but…nah. As far as I knew, it could be my last ever dance party with my 13-year old. Responsibility could wait another half hour. When the band finished, my throat was on fire from screaming, I was drenched with sweat, I could barely breathe and I think I’d peed a little from “raising the roof” a few too many times. This old crone was woofed.

It was awesome.

I high-fived D. and said, “Let’s go try to find your dad and sister. I suspect if we head towards the beer section, we’ll find them.”

Luckily, Miss D.’s eyes are a lot sharper than mine, because she spotted them fairly quickly.

“Sorry!” I said to my husband. “We forgot our phones so we couldn’t text you and we were way up at the front.”

“Whaa?!” my husband burst out laughing. “You were way up there? In the mosh pit?” He winked at Miss M. “We didn’t even think to look there, did we, baby?”

“Hmph,” I said tartly. “Shows how much you know.”

“So how was it?”

“I’m exhausted and disgustingly sweaty but it was so much fun. Right, D?”

She grinned. “Totally fun”  Then she wrinkled her nose, “Man, you are sweaty. I’m not at all.”

“Shut up,  smart-aleck Spring Chicken,” I said. “Let’s go find you a sno-cone and me a well-deserved beer.”

After all of that exercise, this old lady had two.

And later, she had a homemade Lime Daiquiri Ice pop, just for thrills. She was in such a good mood that she even shared.




Lime Daiquiri Ice Pops

makes 5-6

from Bon Appetit magazine


3/4 cup fresh lime juice

3/4 cup sugar

1 1/2 cups water

1/4 cup white rum



Combine 3/4 cup sugar with 1 1/2 cups water in a small saucepan. Heat over medium high heat until sugar dissolves. Cool. Combine the cooled mixture with lime juice and rum.  Pour mixture into the ice pop molds.

Freeze ice pops one hour; insert sticks and freeze until ice pops are solid, at least 4 hours.

To serve, dip the molds briefly in hot water to release.



As some of you know, I use an alternate name on Facebook. I did this years ago because of a pretty uncomfortable troll/stalking situation. I got a notification recently that Facebook plans to pull my account because they suspect that I am not a “real” person. This is a total pain in the ass and a ridiculous hassle, but if they do pull my FB account, you can now find me under simply “Dana Talusani.” Since I am using my real name, I am going to be hyper vigilant about managing/adding friends, so I ask that readers who want to follow me on FB please send me a personal friend request. I won’t be adding any friends automatically from my old account.

It also might be more efficient to follow this blog via email, as there may be some growing pains with the new account. So if you wish, just click on the email icon on the front of the blog.

I realize this is a hassle on both sides, and I’m sorry! But as we know, assholery exists, and we just have to keep truckin’ along. I love y’all and hope to keep in touch!

{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Arnebya September 16, 2015 at 6:47 am

Not a hassle at all. People will come. As for the dancing, my teen will roll her eyes, but still kind of enjoy me and my 80s love. We were at an outdoor festival over the summer and I kind of lost her in the crowd. Whoops. If you recall, I am not the cooler weather lover. I am rather enjoying this year’s transition, though, because we “made it” this year without a/c and as my age will tell it, it’s the last damn time. (I am, reluctantly admittedly, looking forward for delving into the sweater box.)


Lisa @ The Meaning of Me September 16, 2015 at 11:20 am

Can’t say I’ve been trolled or stalked (yet, knocks wood), but I’m going through a real Facebook struggle myself. I’m seriously considering quitting the social media thing altogether. But. There are some very good friends and connections I’ve made that I don’t want to give up. But I do want to tighten up my profile…just can’t bring myself to “unfriend” you know? A dilemma.

Still very summer here, too, and I for one am quite ready for fall. But I wouldn’t say no to a few more ice pops and such. I’d really like another round of green tomatoes, but can’t seem to find any. Sad.


Barbara September 21, 2015 at 5:33 pm

Fun for all! Even though she’s 57, my daughter still likes to spend time with me! Having a girl is a smart move, kiddo…and you’ve got two! There are stages, I know, but fortunately, mine didn’t go through them like so many others.
Re Facebook….if Barbara asks to be friends, that’s me!


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