Friday, December 30, 2011
Today and yesterday have been purging days. What are we purging? We are purging Christmas from the house. It has been a bittersweet process, since it is always sad to see the sparkly and shine go down, but since this year just did not feel like Christmas to me, it wasn't too bad. And it was nice to be able to see the living room again, now that the seven trees are down (yeah, you read that right, we had 7 Christmas trees).
And in the midst of taking down my tree and packing up my decorations, I also started throwing out the Christmas goodies that have been picked over and left to go stale. We got a good haul, everything from fudge to some kind of relish to sugar cookies to a box of fancy nuts. A good portion of the stuff eaten (and thrown away) was stuff I made, since December seems to signal to my inner baker that it's time to have fun. So I did. Ho boy, did I have a billion calories worth of fun.
First up were chocolate cake batter cookies, my first attempt and it was a glorious success. Fabulous. I added in Andes mint chocolate chips to make them festive, and those cookies were polished off in no time. I didn't even have to take any to work, I was so impressed.
Next up were molasses cookies. Easy peasy, no odd instructions or anything. About halfway through sifting together the dry ingredients, I realized something . . . We didn't have molasses. *Facepalm* I KNOW I bought molasses, at least within the past couple years, and honestly, how many recipes call for molasses? But not a drop was to be found anywhere, so I substituted what Google told me to substitute. And bought molasses on my next trip to the grocery store.
On that same trip to the store, I remembered that I had several recipes that called for chocolate chips, and recently had noticed that we were out of chocolate chips (that was a bad day). Normally I always have a stash of two bags of chocolate chips in one fridge or the other, so being out was incredibly disturbing to me. So I bought four bags to compensate.
Upon arriving home, I put groceries away, and when I opened the drawer in the fridge to toss in the chocolate chips, I burst out laughing. Apparently on my trips to the store that I had taken in the week or two before that, I had remembered to buy chocolate chips then as well. With my new addition of chocolate chips, I had a total of nine bags of chocolate chips in my fridge, 6 Hershey's, 2 Nestle, and one Andes mint. Suffice it to say, we are set on chocolate chips.
Upon acquiring my precious chocolate chips, I also added to my cart that day rice Chex and powdered sugar. Oh yes, my friends. Muddy Buddies. The reason Chex cereal is still in business, in my opinion. Sure, Chex Mix is good, but Muddy Buddies . . . heaven. I made three batches this year, and probably consumed at least one full batch all on my own. I love those things. And my shirt loved them too, because by the time I was done, my nice black shirt had powdered sugar streaked and puffed all over it, with a really nice chocolate peanut butter smudge all over my stomach. I need to stop leaning over the bowl.
With the list of clothing I dirtied up while baking, we can also add another shirt generously sprinkled with oatmeal bits from making No-Bake cookies. And a pair of pants dripped with batter from maple bars (too dry, couldn't figure out why). And I got the toe of one of my white tennies when I dropped a little chunk of warm, gooey, and green colored Rice Krispie treat mix on them.
Like I said, I went a little bonkers. I think the most popular were the Muddy Buddies (duh, I mean really) and the chocolate mint cake batter cookies. For some reason, the maple bars didn't get touched except by me, and the green Rice Krispies ended up in the garbage because they dried out too fast. It was a shame, really. But all in all, I made a whole lot of delumptious holiday treats, and I've got the chocolate still under my fingernails to prove it. And the powdered sugar all over the counter. And the Pam spray on the floor. And the flour in my hair. And the chocolate chips under the edge of the cupboards on the floor.
Now it's New Years, and despite still being in an insane sugar coma from all the treat-bingeing I've been doing over Christmas, I can't wait to tackle the traditional New Years food. Little smokies in their special sauce. A cheese ball with crackers. Shrimp cocktails in that sharp red sauce. The classic vegetable tray. Who knows what else! All I know is my holidays are planned around food, and in a whole lot of ways, dishes and mess notwithstanding, that often makes it feel the most festive of anything.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
All of us have those traits, those absolutely idiotic quirks or habits that drive our near and dear completely insane. And here is a list of mine that annoy Pete, although thankfully he can usually find something endearing about the situation to make him not want to kill me.
#1 - Shoes. I am a shoe girl. I love shoes, I think they are fabulous and wonderful and no matter how fat I get, my shoes still fit. Same thing with purses and jewelry. I still fit the earrings that I wore in junior high! Anyway, yeah. I have easily 30 pairs of shoes, scattered all over in our closet and on the floor in front of the closet. Basically anywhere near the closet is a shoe deathtrap. However, I think Pete kinda likes the little squeal I make when I see a new pair of shoes I must have. Until he realizes he has to pay for them.
#2 - My side vs. His side. Of the bed, that is. See, when he's on the road, I can think of no valid reason that I can't just shove all the crap on the bed over on his side at the end of the night when my eyes fuzz over so bad I can't see. That is, until he comes home. And has a mountain-sized mound of crap all over his side of the bed. But don't worry, he gets even. Because he just shoves it all back over on my side.
#3 - Hobbies. I have . . . a lot of hobbies. I do crafts like crazy, including everything from sewing to coloring. Yes, coloring. With princess coloring books and colored pencils. And these hobbies of mine take up a LOT of space. I could fill a room with all of the crafting/hobby crap I have. I have a guitar, a box of items to be used when I someday have the vineyard kitchen I want, boxes of movie ticket stubs and Sammy's old nursery drawings she brought home from church, scads of scrapbooking stuff. It is truly insane. And yet . . . I honestly use all of it. I don't think Pete has found a good side to this yet.
#4 - Freak out at electronics. This happens a lot. I do something to my computer or phone that I didn't want to do, and I immediately throw a whiny tantrum that potentially escalates to sulking, stressing, and even the silent treatment. It doesn't annoy him to have to fix it, usually. It bugs him when I throw a fit at the problem. But then he gets to call me a dork.
#5 - Making him render an opinion. "What color should I do?" "Which shoes look better with this?" "How should I do my hair?" "Does that match?" "What should I make for dinner?" His answer? "I don't know." "I don't care." Do I let him get away with that? Psh. Nope. I bug and nag and pester and annoy until he heaves an annoyed sigh and I get an answer. Drives him nuts!
#6 - When I randomly wander off at the grocery store. We're walking down an aisle, I see something shiny, or cheap, or tasty, or whatever, and without a word I just suddenly start veering off in a different direction to beeline at what I just saw. And right after I disappear, Pete realizes I'm gone and has to go find me. It happens ALL THE TIME. He's taken to standing behind me while I push the cart with an arm on either side of me and holding on to the cart as well. People probably think he's being really cute with me. Nope. He's keeping me from wandering off. I'm like a psycho bunny.
Now . . . there are also a few things about me that he finds endearing. I'm putting these mostly because I can't think of any more things I do that consistently annoy him (and he's denying 3 out of 6 of the above things). I would ask him, but he's half asleep. And I would be fulfilling #5 if I woke him up and asked him.
#1 - I ask questions about video games. I've discussed before my absolute lack of ability when it comes to video and computer games. I have not improved. But for some reason it really tickles his fancy when I ask questions about something he is an expert at. It's the same with Star Wars and Star Trek. Now, I'm a total Star Wars Fangirl, but Pete is a bit more knowledgeable about the stuff that happened before, after, and in between the movies. And he's kinda a Trekkie too. And I think he really digs being the source of knowledge for me.
#2 - I am a klutz. No, really. I can list 3 spectacular face plants right off the top of my head, and I can even tell you which shoes were at fault each time. And two of those were in public! I also injure myself on a fairly regular basis, especially when in proximity to the stove. I have a wicked awesome steam burn scar on my wrist from one of those escapades. But rather than finding me a hazard, Pete just finds it slightly adorable at how accident prone I am. Especially since that means he often gets to roll his eyes at my shoes.
#3 - I talk to myself and lip-sync with my headphones in. I think the rockstar lip-syncing makes him laugh the most. Oftentimes when I make dinner I do so with my MP3 player blasted and wearing my noise-cancelling SkullCandy headphones, and I can't resist that. So I lip-sync along quite enthusiastically, and apparently that is a really funny thing to walk in on. And yeah, I talk to myself. More often than not calling myself an idiot for doing a stupid. He likes to listen to me argue with myself.
#4 - My giggle. Apparently I have a signature giggle. The kind that even when I text *giggling* on my phone, Pete says he can hear it. I know I giggle all the time, I have structured my life so that I have plenty of opportunity for kicks and giggles at every opportunity, and I guess it has paid off. Because I have a Pete-approved giggle, and he gets a dorky little smile on his face every time he hears it.
Next time I think I'm going to have to make a list of the things Pete does that I find annoying/endearing . . . this could be so fun . . .
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
It's that time of year. With a wonderful smoky chill in the air, the snap of coming snow making you shiver, dry leaves crunching under your feet or tires as you go about your daily business. Autumn is a gorgeous season, the heat of summer finally easing and the excitement of winter quick approaching.
That also means that the main trifecta of holidays has us right in its grip. Three major holidays in three months, quite evenly spaced, and all of them carrying with it an excess of everything from fun to stress. It is simultaneously exciting and exhausting, and it is debatable that Christmas is the biggest of the three. It is for me, anyway.
Halloween is past, and carried off without too much of a hitch this year. Little Tinkerbell's costume went great, didn't look too stupid, and I got to wear 3 of my different costumes this year. And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which isn't really stressful for me at all. Because I am not hosting or cooking. I'm sure if I was, I'd be catatonic right about now like my poor mom who is doing both of those things.
Oh no, so far the holidays of Autumn and Winter have been fantastic. It is the one looming up in December that has me panicking today. Yes. Christmas. In four and a half weeks is my favorite holiday, which is incredibly exciting since I've been waiting for it since about, oh, last February. I'm totally ready for the music, the movies, the decorations, the trees, the lights, the wonderfully fattening food, all of it.
However, there is one aspect for which I am so not prepared. Presents. OMG. I am freaking out. I have presents for my little family, my husband's family, and my family to figure out, and probably presents for some of my friends too! Holy crap! I'm gonna die! Now don't get me wrong, I've been throwing around ideas for presents since about September, but nothing concrete. Shoulda started sooner and poured some quick-dry cement into my thought process. Because now I'm totally having a fit because Christmas is FOUR AND A HALF WEEKS AWAY and I have PRACTICALLY NOTHING DONE!!!!
*Has a seizure*
See? I'm panicking. So today, while dinner is simmering in the crock pot because I actually managed the foresight to prepare for that, I am gathering my scattered brain from wherever it has all wandered off to and forcing myself to get right down to business! I have so much to do! I have so much to prepare! Why did I wait so long?!
I dragged out a handful of my craft items to work on at least 2 presents, and so far we've had nothing catastrophic to cause problems. Of course this is only 2 out of 7-13 presents I'm going to have to do, but still. I guess it's headway. Now I just need to figure out what in the world to do for everyone else and get right to work on it! Don't get me wrong, I still have little snippets of ideas at work here, but nothing actually viable in an "I can do this today" sense. I'm beating myself over the head about it right now, with a Christmas stocking filled with rocks. You'd think I'd learn, but noooooo.
*Sighs* Anyway, I'm pretty sure the paint is almost dried on Phase 2 of today's present concocting, so I'm gonna get back to that now. Wish me luck, and next year please remind me in August that I need to get my brain together so Christmas doesn't sneak up and attack me like it did this year!
Thursday, October 13, 2011
See that picture? See how cute and trustworthy that darling spider is? Couldn't you just needlepoint that on a pillow and display it proudly on your couch for Halloween? Precious, isn't it? Well I'll tell you what.
Fricking. False. Advertising.
You want to know the truth about spiders? Oh, I'll tell you. But first, a story. A couple weeks ago I went into the bathroom with a sense of peace about me, one with the universe, doing just fine. As I pass the toilet on the way to the mirror, something on the floor next to toilet catches my eye. I glance down, figuring that it's a clump of dog hair or one of my hair elastics. No. It's a FREAKING GINORMOUS SPIDER. Just sitting there, cozied up against the wall, not even moving.
I froze, so as not to startle the cute little thing before I could call for help and kill the darling. One problem: It was at least after 10 at night, and Sammy was asleep. And Pete was in our room with the door closed. That's two closed doors and half the hall between me and him, and one wall between me and the sleeping child.
Dilemma. Because, as everyone knows, Standard Spider Protocol, or SSP, states that once you spot an unwelcome eight-legged guest on your premises, you DO NOT LOOK AWAY. Seriously. Because the second you do, that sucker will disappear. Sure, you might find it again in a minute, but that is not the nightmare that keeps you up late at night freaking out because you've got a case of the creepy-crawlies and a bug loose in your room. So, rule of thumb in the SSP, DO NOT LOOK AWAY once you find the spider.
Well, guess what. I looked away.
What was I supposed to do?! I couldn't yell for help, I didn't have my phone, and I was barefoot (AKA, no way to kill the freakishly large arachnid). I did try kind of quietly screeching for help, but that didn't work out and the spider twitched. We weren't doing that again. So yeah, upon close scrutiny and making sure the spider was not moving, I opened the door, poked my head out into the hall, and yelled for the John McClane of the spider world, my husband (ask me about his other Die Hard spider moment. It ROCKS!). I went back across the bathroom to where I'd been before, checked on the immobile spider, and guess what.
It was gone.
Poof, disappeared. I had been looking away for maybe 3 seconds, tops. Well, spider didn't need that long. So I'm standing there in my robe and bare feet, checking the floor and my feet and legs and robe and trying to find that &%$@$!& spider. Pete arrived in the doorway, armed with a shoe like the knight in shining armor stud that he is. So I, in my damsel in distress way that I have, pointed at the floor where the creepy thing had been hiding and said, "He was right there, but he moved."
There was a good deal of shoe action around the toilet (apparently spider had hidden behind the toilet where it was nice and dark and hard to get to), but the shoe was too big to get back there (Pete has quite large feet) so then there was toilet plunger action.
After a minute during which I just huddled in the corner and stayed out of the way, Pete stood up and I peeked over his shoulder hoping to see the squished remains of an epic battle on the floor.
"Did you get him?" "He's trapped under the plunger, and if the smell doesn't kill him, nothing will."
I was a little touchy about leaving it at that (what if he escaped?), but left it at that. No way he was going to get out from under the plunger (please don't get out from under the plunger), and either way he'd suffocate eventually. So I put it out of my mind.
May I remind the assembled that this was two weeks ago. Ok? Two weeks. During that time, once or twice I have toyed with the idea of lifting up the plunger just for the satisfaction of seeing a curled up spider carcass on the floor under it. But I didn't. Just in case. Because on the off chance that it was still alive (*shudder*), there was no way I was getting anywhere in the path of a spider that hadn't eaten anything in that long.
Today was the first time the plunger was needed (Sammy did it. Do not ask me how that girl plugged up the toilet because the scientific measurements of that just blow my mind), and I belatedly realized that the plunger was in use. So I checked the floor where it sits, and . . . nothing. I brushed it off, figuring that, seriously, two weeks. The thing was dead. It had probably just died trying to gasp a breath of air from under the edge of the plunger and stuck to the rubber.
So I'm vacuuming after dinner, making my way down the line of rooms, and I get into the bathroom. I'm vacuuming up all the dog hair off the floor, I go into the room to get the corner by the tub really good AND ON THE WALL RIGHT THERE ACROSS FROM THE TOILET IS A FRICKING HUGE SPIDER!!!
I did not panic. I was armed, and I sucked that puppy into my vacuum hose with a slightly maniacal smile of satisfaction. I also did not turn the vacuum off for a good 15 minutes. Good thing I still had Sammy's room and the rest of the hall to vacuum.
Which brings me back to the truth about spiders. Here it is: those buggers are immortal. There is no way, in a similar circumstance, that a human could survive in a big rubber dome for two weeks without food or water and likely no air. No way.
I'm sure some of you are rolling your eyes right now, thinking, "There's no proof that was the same spider." WELL YOU CAN JUST SUCK MY TOE, DUDE! It was totally the same spider! No dead spider carcass + spider sighting within two hours of previous trapping spot being opened = SAME FRICKING SPIDER.
It's a conspiracy. All you aracniphobics out there, listen up, because this is important. The spider population of the world that probably outnumbers us humans about a billion to one is breeding a new kind of super power spider. And they are planning on taking over the world, one bathroom at a time. Think I'm wrong? Exhibit A: Immortal Plunger Spider. I don't feel that I need more evidence to support this.
Now, I am going to distract myself for awhile. Listen to soothing music and do some relaxing breathing. While wearing shoes. With a fly swatter and a can of Raid in my hands. And a shotgun in easy reach. *Shivers with creepy-crawly sensation skittering all over my legs, keeps eyes peeled watching the perimeter*
Come to mama, freakies. Come to mama.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
No, really, I can't believe it. I am pimping myself out/advertising on my blog. Ok, so technically I've wondered about this for quite awhile now, and this is me pulling my balls together and finally doing it.
So, I have created another blog, under my same profile and all that jazz (at least, I think so, I'm still pretty much new at this whole blog thing). But on that one . . . *starts to blush and fidget* I am going to start putting up different selections of the writing I've done. *Mumbling to self that this looks extremely, shall we say, CAN I GET ANY MORE EGOTISTICAL THAN THIS?!?!*
In all actuality, I'm quite insecure about my writing, and if anyone is getting a different impression, it's just the other 85% of my online personality that is all fake swaggering bravado and a whole bunch of arrogant fluff that I like to imagine makes a more endearing picture of myself. At least, more endearing that the somewhat cute fat girl sitting on her bed with her jeans unbuttoned and her bedroom in shambles around her because she's spent all day doing what she loves (writing) instead of doing what she hates (cleaning).
Anyway, I'm going to shut up this fountain of verbal diarrhea before I embarrass myself further (it is actually possible). And just leave you with the address to my other blog (http://smilingmuse.blogspot.com/) and say good night!
*Slaps self for being a retard and wanders off while muttering to self about what to do about the collective idiocy in this brain*
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
There is something magical about the French Fry. A potato, one of the world's most wonderful foods, from such is brought magic things like the chip, mashed potatoes, au gratin potatoes, and a whole host of other delicious things, can also be manipulated by a thread of genius and turned into a french fry. Slice that puppy up, deep fry it in oil, sprinkle with salt, and you have a food so glorious that you just know God loves us if He gave us such a miraculous edible.
There is really just one problem with this perfect food. And it is that, after about 15 minutes, a fry transforms from a hot, crispy, salty, mealy, wonderful snack . . . to a limp, soggy, cold, pasty mouthful of yuck. In a matter of minutes. It is astounding how fast this happens. Good to evil, just like that. And once they go evil, there is no bringing them back. You can't microwave cold fries and bring back their fabulousness, and why would you bother sticking them in the oven and hovering around it for up to 15 minutes trying not to burn them but trying to get them warm enough to tolerate? It's just not worth it. Not when you can just go back to McDonald's and get a whole 'nother box for less than two bucks.
Seriously, dogs won't even eat that stuff. I know, I have two of them living with me. Today, twice now, I have come to my room to find the contents of my garbage can spread all over the floor. The empty soda cups from Dairy Queen and McD's were licked clean, a couple tissues were ripped apart, the empty box which at some point last week encased a paper wrapped burger was torn apart and licked clean. But the bright red carton half full of cold McDonald's fries? It wasn't touched. The thing was not even tipped over!
Ok, we are talking two Labradors right now, these dogs routinely swipe food off the counters, Sammy's plate, and the garbage when they believe they are hungry enough (they really aren't), but they didn't touch half a carton of cold fries! I was a little astounded (when we say astounded, I mean I sat there with a handful of damp dog-chewed tissues for a solid ten seconds with my mouth hanging open) until I remembered the occasions when I have been silly enough to give cold fries a try. Gag me.
It is fascinating to me the shocking difference that only five minutes of room temperature can make on fries. Such manna from heaven, turned vomitious. It's so sad. I mean, chocolate doesn't go bad. You can unearth a bag of Hershey's Kisses form your cupboard left over from last Halloween (or even the one before that) and eat them with a smile on your face. It's so bizarre.
Anyway, thank you for reading tonight's episode of "Junk Food Theater". We hope you join us next time, best wishes and good night.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
So, last week I had a little round toddler living in my house with a softball shaped face (barely discernible chin)and little fat legs and baby feet and sparse hair that liked to get snarled while said toddler was asleep.
This week, I all of a sudden have a tall, almost gangly little girl, with a thinner face, long lean legs and the kind of feet that love to walk on tippy-toes and pose, and hair that still gets tangled and snarled in a mess, whether she is asleep or awake. Um, where did the time go? It was like when she was a baby, and the most adorable thing about her was her big toothless cheeser smile, then suddenly she had teeth and she wasn't a baby anymore, she was a toddler. The new phase was fun, in a lot of ways much funner than the baby stage, but the baby was gone.
Now the toddler is gone, and in place there is a little girl that will be turning four in a couple months and going to preschool. A mouthy and stubborn little girl, to top it off (yes, Mom, your curse worked and she's just like me).
A little girl that loves cartoons and Disney movies, mainlines Nesquik chocolate milk, string cheese, and hot dogs. A little girl that has, over the last year, become the dog's little master and best friend. A little girl that is so smart she can play games on Bumpa's old laptop on the internet and work the buttons on the remote control. A little girl that loves to play outside, rain or shine, and has no problem whatsoever with becoming absolutely filthy in the process. A little girl that loves to hand out hugs and kisses and high fives to everybody, who has inserted her bossy little self into all the lives around her and nestled in permanently.
It is amazing, considering the scope of change a little bitty baby has on a person's life, that they don't require background checks at the hospital after you have one. Competence testing. A whole slew of ability and aptitude tests to see if a person is actually prepared and capable of handling the cute soft thing wrapped in the blanket in the corner making cooing noises. You'd think they'd make sure you can handle it before just handing it over and sending you on your merry way!
Also, on a side note . . . I just cut Sammy's hair. Yeah, me, with no hair experience at all aside from the odd hack job on an unfortunate other person or myself, I cut my daughter's hair. I think it looks ok . . . at the moment it looks a little uneven, but I'm pretty sure that's just the way her hair lays. That, or I just destroyed her hair and this is going to be a horrible phase in her life where we don't take pictures for a few months and never speak of it again.
Well, the little girl is currently eating all of my coveted cheddar and sour cream Ruffles potato chips and watching Fantasia and tossing around her new short hair, so I think I'm going to join her.
Keep a sharp eye on your kids . . . next week they aren't going to be like they used to anymore.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Sammy has discovered, through the magic of the internet (yes, my 3 year old plays around on the internet), computer games. So far, she has discovered a Winnie the Pooh game and a Tangled game. Now, see, this is a problem for me. Because I am not a video/computer game girl. Like, at all. Want to know what computer games I play? Solitaire. Mahjong. Spider Solitaire. Purble Place if I'm feeling really crazy. The last time I played a video game, it was Halo. I spent the whole whopping half hour I played looking at the pretty scenery after getting lost and not being able to figure out where the crap I was. And the time before that? I spun around in circles firing my big gun before one of my team members shot me out of pure annoyance. And before that, let's see, there was a failed attempt at Super Mario Bros and before that . . . Battleship on Super Nintendo. Yeah.
Now Pete, on the other hand, he is a video/computer game guru. He plays Halo like he was the one that created the game, he's got almost as many computer and Xbox games as he does movies, and I don't think the guy could live if he didn't know that he had the option to play some kind of violent, shoot-em-up game somehow. I'm sure if he were home, we could figure this out.
You see, this is the point we keep getting stuck at: Pooh gets stuck on a cliff, and Flynn gets stuck on a rock. I don't know how to make the stupid things jump! The last time I played a computer game on a regular basis, I was six! Our game involved blocky boy and girl characters that roamed around collecting alphabet letters and buckets of pink goo to dump on the monsters that were after the book worm. And it took me a long time to master the jumping technique, which was pushing the up and right arrow buttons at the same time. I used to make my dad do that part. For a long time. We're talking years.
Anyway, if only Pete were here, he would not only get Flynn Rider to jump, but he would also find him a jet pack, win a lasso of Rapunzel's hair, earn 5 extra lives, and get a coupon for Starbucks. I kid you not! Winnie the Pooh would end up living in a honey tree with bees for servants, an all-you-can-eat honey buffet, and a Lamborghini. And I don't care if all of those things are available in the game or not, but Pete could probably do it.
This is such a problem. Because Sammy gets so frustrated and insistent when I tell her I can't do the game. She looks at me like I'm so stupid. Hey, kid, I could talk your ear off about a million things on this planet, most of which I know how to do, but I cannot do computer or video games. It's just not in my genetic makeup. I can do archery on the Wii, that's about it. And I recently figured out how to make the Xbox do Netflix, which I consider a major accomplishment. Other than that? You're SOL.
Now . . . if I could just figure out how to make Flynn Rider jump . . .
Monday, June 13, 2011
I realized something a little disturbing a minute ago. While I was listening to a country song about a trucker. You see, country music is pretty much the staple music for rednecks, and I have always been a country music fan. More so the stuff from the 90's to now, but still. So, I'm listening to this song about a trucker, and my husband is a trucker, and I'm thinking to myself, "Ha, kinda makes us a little redneck-ish."
And then I considered something.
Here's some info I know about rednecks. They live in the country, you know, rural areas. They own horses, and the smell of manure in the morning is like a breath of fresh air. Hand-me-downs are almost as good as shopping at Walmart, which is the mecca of a redneck when there is one in the area. Rednecks love country music, play guitars, drive pickup trucks, and eat fried chicken. A lot of rednecks are truckers. Sometimes their family tree is a little bit . . . skewompus.
So . . . for a good portion of my life I lived in an apartment building next to a field, in which there lived horses, in a smallish town that always seemed really Mayberry to me. I even rode one of the horses once when the neighbor kids and I jumped the fence. The smell of manure, to this day, is still a bit homey to me. I'm very careful when walking through tall grass to avoid cowpies and other treasures that might be hiding in the grass.
I love hand-me-downs, and my mom and sisters and I play the pass-along game very well. My daughter, for her whole life, has been wearing some of the same outfits I wore when I as a baby and toddler, and I always pass on my nice clothes that don't fit me anymore to my sisters who are all smaller than me.
I also love shopping at Walmart, that is like my favorite store ever. I am hard on clothes, especially shirts and jeans, so I can't afford to spend half a paycheck on a new pair of pants every six months. $20 jeans at Walmart, come to mama! And $4 t-shirts? I'm so there! I also know where to find all the food stuff at Walmart, especially the snack aisle.
I LOVE country music, it is by far my favorite music genre ever. I love most kinds of music, with the exception of rap, most hip-hop, most jazz, and soul and stuff (I never grew up with it), but country is my music. Love it, love it, love it. I also play guitar, and someday I want to have my own pickup truck that makes the other little four door sedans on the road look little and scared. I also want a nice little car with amazing gas mileage, but my heart's desire is a really big pickup truck. And I love fried chicken, KFC is one of my favorite restaurants.
This is practically irrelevant, but I have a cowboy hat too. It's my favorite hat. And I recently bought cowboy boots that match it.
My husband became a trucker at the beginning of this year, completely with the insane facial hair and one arm tan, the other not. It took a lot of self-control not to pin him down, sit on his chest, and take a razor to his face and scalp. It was long enough that you could almost pull it into a ponytail in the back.
And as far as my family tree goes, my psycho uncle was once married to my sister-in-law (big disaster, don't ask), meaning my uncle was my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law was my aunt, my mom was my sister-in-law's sister-in-law, and my husband was his sister's nephew-in-law.
Now, I've always considered myself a country girl at heart, but holy cheese balls.
I'M A FREAKING REDNECK!!!!
Saturday, June 11, 2011
You know what one of the best things in the world is? When you can go back and read something you've written and and still find it funny. Bonus points if you actually laugh, which I did. If nothing else, I have the consolation that I can occasionally be a funny person, and luckily I get it in writing sometimes.
So . . . guess what. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't have a present for you. No, you cannot have my candy bar. Any more guesses? Anyone? Ok, so . . . I got a new phone. And I am unsure how I'm feeling about it. Because it's an Android, a Samsung Continuum, if we're being specific, and I've never had an Android before. I've never had the desire for one, because the things always looked WAY too complicated. I need a phone that calls, texts, and takes pictures. Yeah, that's pretty much it. I don't need it to be able to transform into any kind of gadget you can imagine, send lasers to the moon, or predict my mood. I'm fairly sure the first two are pretty useless and the third one I'm starting to get really good at doing all by myself.
So why did I get one? Well, I didn't want to. It was a battle, and Pete's been trying to talk me into getting one for at least a month. I was steadfastly refusing. The only reason I got one is because the selection for normal phones is pisspoor now that Androids have hit the scene. Beware old people, normal phones are phasing out. And sadly, I'd rather have to figure out this contraption in my pocket than deal with a crappy phone for the next 22 months. Or however long I have until I can upgrade.
I now have a phone that can predict my mood based on a scan of my thumb, has a selection of at least 4 different flashlights, pretends to be a pad of sticky notes, and makes a beeping sounds just like the Wii when I get a text message. I think I'm getting the hang of the texting, and I do have a few apps I really enjoy. One is jokes. The other is music. Another one is wallpapers that I collect like a homeless man collects spare change. All in all, I think I'm getting used to it, and bonus points because I'm getting a really awesome cover for it! PURPLE HARRY POTTER STYLE CHECKS, OMG!!!
Anywho, how's life? I haven't posted anything for like a month, I feel bad. I could have jotted down all manner of Sammy shenanigans, I'm sure. But I've been busy and never have anything to talk about when I actually remember I have a blog. Bearing in mind the danger that I might be repeating myself, it's like every time I've tried to keep a diary. I do great . . . for two days. And then cast the poor thing aside for up to a year or more and then when I need to have a massive venting session, guess who gets hired for the occasion? Long lost diary! Don't worry, though. Blog is not diary, will not vent on blog. Unless there is a really funny punchline.
Ooh, ooh, I have one other thing to tell about. StumbleUpon. It is amazing. It is a website you go to (www.stumbleupon.com) and you sign up for free, and you select the categories that interest you. And then, you click the Stumble button, and it takes you to a random page of the internet based on what categories you like!!! IT'S FRICKING AWESOME!!! Never has it been so easy to waste an hour doing something completely useless! You just keep clicking, and you thumb the page up or down according to if you like it or not, then Stumble again! It's so cool! You should try it, just for kicks. I've found an enormous crapload of stuff I've loved, pictures I've saved, and projects I want to do. I've been having a ball! So, there's my advertising for the day, everyone get off my blog and scurry off to go check it out now!
. . .
You're still here. What are you waiting for?! Go!!!
Monday, May 2, 2011
My dear darling daughter brought something to my attention today that I hadn't noticed before, and it's significant enough to be worth pointing out. The child is extremely talented at creating disasters. I'm not talking your everyday, run-of-the-mill child disasters, like coloring on the wall with a crayon. I'm talking the big whoppers. Like coloring on the wall, the chairs, the cabinets, the table, and their own bodies with a marker. Of the non-washable variety. These disasters happen fairly frequently, such as the ketchup-smearing party. The great toilet paper caper. The bathtub tidal wave predicament. The chocolate-milk-spitting occurrence. The water-and-dog-food-mixerama. The juice puddle oops. The deliberately-peeing-on-the-floor-instead-of-the-toilet incident. The apple and orange throwing game. The dance-on-the-crackers-on-the-carpet day. The popcorn-is-confetti misunderstanding. The doggies-like-to-eat-a-whole-box-of-vanilla-wafers problem. And, sad to say, and we had another one today.
To qualify as a disaster, the act done by the child must have one or more of the following requirements: significant (definitely more than normal) cost, cleanup of site and/or child, aftereffects, side effects, and mental and/or emotional damage to parent. Please, if any of you have stories you'd like to share, do tell. I'd love to hear about kids that are either better or worse than mine. Because both kinds carry some kind of status for me. "My kid is better than yours, ha ha." "My kid is worse than yours, pity me."
Anyway, about the incident today. I like to call it the soap-is-not-a-plaything experiment. You see, Sammy is fascinated with soap. She loves to play with the stuff, the bubbles in the tub, the hand soap when she washes her hands, shampoo. Well, shampoo she recently became less enamored with because she discovered that it tends to hurt when it gets in the eyes. But bubble bath and hand soap are very dear toys for her.
Today she learned why that may not be the wisest of choices. You see, apparently she decided to empty half the bottle of hand soap onto the sink, spread it around and all the way down the cupboards, and smooth it up her arms as well. And didn't wash it off. I hear her start her "hurt cry", and go running to find out what she got stuck in, under, on top of, or out of. I go in to my room and see her standing on the bed with white streaky stuff on her face while she's screaming and crying. I realized it's soap, she's covered with it and it's in her eyes, and pick her up and take her to the bathroom to rinse her off. She didn't appreciate it, and by the time we were done with that part, her whole face was red and splotchy like it gets when she cries hard. Then we had to rinse her off in the tub because her clothes were covered in soap and her arms were too. And then, since in my haste I hadn't really had time to survey the damage except for the top of the sink, I found the copious amounts of soap and water running down the cabinet under the sink.
I had to take a few deep breaths. We got Sammy dressed again, did her hair again, and set out to clean up the soap. Yes, she helped. No, she did not want to. Yes, we had a discussion about why playing with the soap is a bad thing. Yes, she cried again. No, I did not feel bad AT ALL for making her listen to why playing with soap is a bad thing and making her help clean it up, even with her red eyes.
Now, I was in a bad mood anyway. Pete went back to work today, I work every single day this week, and my room is a mess. I really did not need this today. Nor did I need to buy soap again so soon. Or toilet paper, since Sammy is still under the impression that toilet paper is a toy. But now I have half an hour until I need to leave for work, I need to change my clothes because now I'm covered in soap, I have to clean up lunch because Sammy HAD to have mac and cheese AGAIN, and thanks to the clean up in the bathroom, I have an extra load of laundry to do before I go to bed tonight. Joy.
Garfield, I'm so there with you buddy. I hate Mondays.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
You know, I usually try to have some idea of what I'm going to write about when I shimmy on over to my cute little corner of the internet here, but tonight I don't. Not the foggiest idea. I was showing my hubby, Pete, the grand chopstick caper from last week and figured since I was already here . . . Yeah. Got nothin'.
Although, may I just mention how annoying it is to have a song stuck in your head when you don't know all the music or the words? Wanna know what's worse? To have a whole musical stuck in your head when you don't know all the music or words. I have had the soundtrack to Sweeney Todd (creepifying movie) stuck in my head ALL DAY LONG. The same lines, over and over again. It's been driving me bonkers. I tried to distract myself with Cats, and it just didn't take. I lip-synced through an abbreviated version of at least half the musical today at work (yes, I did get weird looks), and I STILL had Sweeney Todd stuck in my head like he'd taken up shop there and had no plans to vacate. *Annoyed expression* See, I LOVE the music, it's just . . . oh, gorgeous, I love it. But the story is about fourteen different kinds of creepy. And I will never watch that movie again, unless I suddenly find myself nursing a really kinky blood/gore/slitting throats fetish. But the music . . . Now, if only I could remember the freaking words.
Ooh, ooh, I have another funny Sammy story. This one is the Panty/Diaper argument we had tonight for a good fifteen minutes at bedtime. I also have a story about her banzai leap off the furniture yesterday, but I kinda already told that one on Facebook. The punchline is, she shorted it. But anyway, Panty/Diaper Debate. You see . . . I forgot to go to shopping today . . . and we're out of diapers. Completely. Panties work great when the child is conscious and is being told to go pee every hour, but at night? Yeah, right. Not happening, waterproof mattress protector aside.
Well . . . we had no choice, we had no diapers. So I, thinking that she wouldn't care that she got to wear panties to bed, indeed, might even be excited about it, held them out to her while she was running around her room with her bare bum hanging out. Her answer? No. Mommy was not amused. So I tried again, explaining that the diapers were all gone and she needed to wear panties tonight. No. *Annoyed expression* We tried bodily lifting her into the things and she threw a fit, crawling onto her pillow, facing the corner, burying her head in the mattress, and sticking her butt up in the air as a defensive position.
We tried to talk her into it. "Look, this pair has pretty flowers all over it! Do you want to wear the princess panties? Oh, cute, bows! Don't you want to wear some panties with bows?" She was not convinced nor swayed in the slightest, merely hurling the pair of flower panties back at Daddy and possibly shouting an obscenity in whatever language it is that she speaks. It's certainly not English.
At this point I'm torn between laughing hysterically and letting her go to bed naked. We were ransacking the house trying to find a diaper lying around somewhere. There is ALWAYS at least two diapers running around the house stuffed down the side of a mattress, tangled in the covers on a bed, sitting under a small collection of dog hair on the floor, tossed in a basket of laundry to be folded, stashed in her "going to Grammy's house" bag. Tonight? NOTHING. Not a diaper to be found ANYWHERE. We tore our rooms apart trying to find one, just one little diaper that the girl could wear to bed because she was finding her panties offensive. Nothing.
I had to go relieve myself at this point before I giggled and needed my own diaper, and by the time I got back, Pete had found one blessed diaper tucked in the sheets on his parents bed. Hallelujah. We were saved. Child: diapered. Panties: exiled to drawer. Bedtime: hour late, but accomplished.
So, I guess you could say that Sammy won the debate tonight. If I had remembered to go to the store and actually get diapers since I knew we were out, this whole fiasco would have been avoided, but then I wouldn't have a funny story to tell you, now would I? Life's funny that way, if not a tad cruel. But anyway, I'm going to see about either reading some of my fantastic book that I'm obsessed with, or going to bed a titch early . . . honestly, it's a toss up. There's a sleeping man in my bed, and he's a lot more exciting than a book . . . but he is asleep. *Shrugs* I'll let you know. Ciao!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Today . . . has been an epic day. It's the Saturday before Easter, which means that all that fun holiday stuff that you can't really do on the Sabbath, happens today. You know, shopping for all that stuff you forgot to buy at the grocery store on the four previous trips you made. Making the house all pretty and shiny for Sunday. For my family, that means boiling and dyeing the Easter eggs, so they're all ready to be skinned and eaten alive the next day. Oh, and getting started on all the food that the ravenous children will be eating tomorrow.
Of course, I'm talking about my mother. I am not cool enough to clean my house (well, rooms that I live in at my in-law's house) for special occasions. Or every day. Or at all, really. Have I mentioned I hate cleaning? Yeah. But my mom, who is pretty much the Supermom that other moms try to emulate and usually fail at, is awesome like that. House: clean. Brand new Easter clothes (half of them handmade): done and ironed. Food: ingredients gotten (after 17 trips to the grocery store). I am not this cool. I would go to the grocery store once . . . and if I forgot to grab the French fried onions for the green bean casserole, well, dehydrated onions work too, right? And how crucial are the apples in the Snickers n' Apple Salad? Cut up Snickers smothered in Cool Whip (I remembered to buy that, right?) works just as well. Right?
Well, anyway, my Mom's amazingness aside, here is what else we did today: We went out for lunch and a movie. The movie was Hop, and it was cute and funny and a keeper! I love James Marsden. But the real highlight of this outing . . . was lunch. We went to the Beijing Buffet, all 8 of us, and systematically consumed half the food in the place. And my little brother . . . found the chopsticks. Now, see, normally this is not a problem, since 7 of us are over the age of eight and therefore quite adept at using chopsticks. However . . . my daughter . . . is 3. We gave CHOPSTICKS to a THREE YEAR OLD. Yes, at the time, I knew this was a supremely stupid idea. I knew I would regret it. I was not, however, prepared for how . . . epic of a fail it turned out to be.
First of all, she tried to eat salmon with the chopsticks. And promptly ditched one of the chopsticks out of sheer annoyance. So, three year old, piece of salmon, single chopstick. And next to the plate, a cup of Egg Drop Soup. Want to know what happens when you semi-violently attack a helpless piece of salmon with a chopstick? That's right. A piece of it goes flying hari-kari to commit suicide in the cup of soup, and it may or not have had help from the semi-violent three year old brandishing a chopstick like a Japanese samurai sword.
Most of the salmon (that didn't end up lying peacefully in the soup) ended up scattered all over the floor. Then . . . we moved on to the Jell-O. My sister, with the greatest of intentions, got my daughter some Jell-O cubes to eat for desert, along side the ice cream (just for the record, Sammy ate more of the ice cream than she did of the actual food for lunch). Still using her single chopstick, my daughter decided that the easiest way to make use of these strange, squishy, rubbery-lookin' orange things would be to spear the sucker, raise it in the air, and try to navigate it to her mouth. Didn't work. *Plop* Orange Jell-O jiggler is back on the plate, somewhat holey, and three year old is surveying it with a look of confusion.
So, we moved on to a different tactic, holding the Jell-O in place with a finger while sticking with chopstick and again raising into air and maneuvering to mouth. *Squish* Jell-O, meet table. At this point, it occurred to my daughter that Jell-O seemed way more like a toy and less and less like something to try eating. So she proceeded to chase the gelatin cube around the table, giggling as it bounced off the edges of plates. And then, apparently offended and outraged that it had the nerve to split in half, she then started to beat the Jell-O into submission (that phrase courtesy of my hysterical Dad), and once subdued, sweep it all onto the floor.
It was around this point that I figured I should stop laughing and take the chopstick away. I wrapped it and the masticated Jell-O up in a napkin, keeping it out of her reach. So, Sammy just stole my sister's chopsticks, dropped one a plate, and in the process of smacking it with the other stick as punishment, sent the one on the plate flying over our heads, to bounce off of the table behind us and roll to a stop under a chair.
By now, I was crawling under our table in embarrassment and shame as my daughter shrieked with laughter and kept trying to find the missing chopstick. And then started whacking my sister with the other one, prompting me to get out from under the table and remove all chopsticks from within her reach and hide them. We managed to get out of the restaurant without too much incident (leaving a $12.50 tip for the poor person who had to clean up the smooshed Jell-O, bits of noodle and rice, and flakes of salmon ground into the carpet. Oh, and the chopstick under the chair at the other end of the room).
Apparently her exertions at trying to tame the wild Jell-O jiggler had just worn my poor daughter out, and she slept through most of the movie. Which left her all kinds of chipper and perky at Walmart, which was just so . . . fun. Really. Yeah. The next adventure on the docket was dyeing Easter eggs, and after getting the six dozen eggs boiled (yes, six dozen) and ready to go, my mom and I shared a nostalgic moment together, grinning like little kids as we plopped the little color dye tablets into the mugs, to fizz and bubble in the vinegar at the bottom. The smell of vinegar has always reminded me of Easter, for this exact reason. We watched the little tablets scoot around the edge of the cups as they bubbled, sending the dye swirling up in their wake.
And then . . . my little brother and sister got ahold of the stuff. A nine and eleven year old, 2 dozen eggs, and 12 mugs of pretty darn permanent multicolored dye, and these really nifty "dye pens" we found at Walmart that consisted of thin tubes of dye with a Q-tip fluff on each end. You break the seal on one end, and all the ink rushes to the cotton at the other end. Voila, Easter egg dye pen! Let me just say that it is a good thing my mom's Easter tablecloth is vinyl.
And now, I'm sitting at the table amidst the aftermath of a whirlwind evening of dyeing Easter eggs. We even have a set of eggs decorated as Gru and his minions from Despicable Me, I kid you not. Those were my brothers invention. Oh, and by the way, if you do not know how to juggle, attempting to learn how with hard-boiled eggs is . . . well, hysterically funny, but maybe not advisable.
So now, I'm going to see what I can do about cleaning up the disaster that once used to be the kitchen table, stick the 6 dozen eggs back in the fridge in preparation for tomorrow, and pour 12 cups of dye down the sink (best part of dyeing eggs). I hope everyone else has as . . . memorable an Easter as I did. Ta!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
So, tonight was a pretty sketchy food night, all in all. Dinner was a slapdash performance, and the recipe I used was called something like Chicken and Broccoli with Garlic and Parmesan. Not bad, right? That's what I thought, plus it was really simple and didn't require any freaky ingredients. There was just one problem . . . I have a chicken phobia. Well, sort of. I have a problem with handling raw chicken. I think it is nasty. I don't like seeing it, touching it, or knowing I have to deal with it. It just makes me want to throw up a little. Or a lot. Depending on the day.
Anyway, I decided that the chicken was not happening today. So I did ground beef instead (for anyone interested . . . no, I have no problem with raw beef. I know. I'm weird). Not that big of a deal, beef substituted for chicken, this is not a big deal for the most part. Yeah, some dishes don't cooperate well if you swap out the meat, but this is not one of them. Potatoes, broccoli, and the other ingredients work just as nicely with chicken or beef. So yeah, I followed the recipe (if anyone has cooked with me, you know what kind of a loose term that is for me. I don't use measuring utensils oftentimes), and it turned out fine. Just not . . . great. Out of the 5 people that ate it, Krissy was the only one that really liked it, I think. I was kinda on the fence, it was ok but not really good. Sammy liked the broccoli.
Well, when I was at the store earlier today I saw some graham cracker pie crusts and recalled that I've been in the mood for a chocolate cream pie for some time. So I got a pie crust, and performed some impressive chef skills by getting the pie ingredients ready to go at the same time as making dinner (no, I did not screw anything up. I was very meticulous). The only thing I changed was instead of unsweetened chocolate pieces (which I didn't have) I did the substitution thingy it said on the side of the cocoa powder container. And did know that if you heat up flour, sugar, milk, cocoa powder, and shortening that it thickens up? Who knew? And do you wanna know what a freaking !@#$% it is to separate egg yolks?! Holy crap! It would have been easier to just throw in the whole egg and take the consequences!
Egg yolks were separated (finally), shortening was melted (fun to watch), chocolate mix was thickening (O_o), managed to accost my sister in law on her way out of the laundry to assist in the grand "mix some of the bubbling chocolate mixture into the egg yolks and beat to prevent the eggs from cooking" attempt. It did work, I was pleased. So, I got everything all mixed together, got the vanilla and butter in, tasted the completely project, AND . . . meh. Didn't do it for me. I was very disappointed. It was too dark chocolatey, and I'm a milk chocolate girl. So I added in the rest of a bag of Hershey's chocolate chips and a handful of marshmallows, but they didn't really do much, sadly.
That lovely pie crust, all wasted now. Of course, I will eat the pie, and I will make everyone else help me, but it just wasn't fantastic. What a let down. I should have done the chocolate pudding recipe I had instead. You just can't fail with chocolate pudding. You also have a lesser chance of getting very small lumps with chocolate pudding . . . (the lumps were my fault . . . yes, you do have to start stirring the chocolate mixture when it starts to heat up. You don't wait for a minute, assuming it won't heat up that fast. *Rolling eyes at self*).
So yeah. There's my unstellar night of cheffing. I did much better a couple weeks ago, I made manicotti! Well, it was manicotti, but in giant shells instead of giant tube pasta. It was fabulous, and it was my first ever time using ricotta cheese! My mother is a die-hard ricotta hater, but I'm going to make her something tasty with it and change her mind.
Ok, this little cook is going to go check on her failtacular chocolate cream pie now . . . I should have gotten the heavy whipping cream at the store, I could have made whipped cream to pretty up the pie. Ah, well. Silly me. Happy cooking to all y'all out there, and good luck with any chocolate cream pie endeavors you take on!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
*Oozes onto the blog, peers around sleepy-eyed* Helloooooo. *Blinks* You want to know what happens when sleep deprivations meets a surprise long shift and dizzy spells. Ooze. That's what happens. A complete melty kind of conglomeration of all the exhausted body parts of a person that moves very slowly and thinks even slower. And ooze like this is extremely reluctant to separate itself from surfaces. It's like fast drying glue, and it takes a significant amount of effort to pry one's oozed self off a surface once you're all oozy and comfy on it.
Another side effect of this ooziness is that your funniness perception skyrockets. EVERYTHING is funny. Especially the looks people give you when you kinda collapse on the nearest piece of furniture laughing your head off at something that really was not that funny in the first place. *Whispering* I did this a lot at work today.
An additional symptom to this ooze is a delayed response in your mental processes. All of them. Attention span, forming words (sentences are pretty much a joke), there's a time delay between when someone talks to you and you actually register the fact. And by the time you "come to", half the conversation is over and while you're sitting there looking kinda loopy and dumb everyone gets a giggle or an eye roll out of it.
So, to wrap up this exhibition of ooze, heed this warning: Don't let the ooze get you. It is reluctant to let go. I would know. I'm oozy-glued to the couch right now, my reaction time to any kind of conversation is right around amoeba level, and there is a good chance that by the time I quit giggling at the most retarded things, I'll have confused and frightened every person in the house. So I think I'm going to get right on that. Good night darlings, I hope you have better luck escaping the ooze. Good luck.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Why, hello blogger.com. I've missed you. How have you been? I've been good, although I have something interesting happening right now. I sort of have a stalker! Cool, huh?! Or at the very least, an extremely persistent man with a really big crush on me. Yeah. It's been an interesting week. Also, on a happy note, Pete's been home this week! I now know, for darn sure, that he is the messy one in this relationship. I'm not a neat freak, psh, no way, but when you look in our bedroom, basically everything on the floor is Pete's. Yeah. Really. Pajamas, pants, towel, robe, shoes, everything. My messes tend to be in the places where I put the things that don't have a place to be put away. My nightstand, the shelf my jewelry box sits on, the end of the bed when I don't wanna clean it off. But the stuff all over the place like it was dropped there by a kid on his way in the house . . . yep. That's my husband.
In other news, I've been playing with ribbon, getting to know a new vacuum, buying movies, and laughing hysterically with my mom and sister! They pretty much totally rock. And the vacuum cost about $1600. And Disney's Beauty and the Beast is officially one of my very, very favorite cartoons. It's top 3 for sure. Another is Little Mermaid. Yes, I'm a Disney freak, thanks for asking! And as for the ribbon, I spent a very irresponsible amount of money at Michael's on it, and some fake flowers. Going to Michael's with my sister in law or cousin is a very bad idea.
I wish to put to everyone's attention that it is a great injustice that people can't reach their own backs. I mean, really. I've never taken any massage classes or whatever, but I've been told I have magic hands so I must not be too terrible. And I have one of those backs that is just stupid and whines constantly for attention. But can I reach it to appease it and therefore make my day a little better? Noooooo. INJUSTICE, I SAY!!! *Pouts*
Ok, so does anyone recall the last time I sprained my ankle like several months ago and it took weeks and weeks to heal? Yeah. *Sigh* We're going on over a month now this time around. I also have a wicked bruise still on my knee and a scar on my shin that still has nerve damage around it! I have some of the coolest injuries EVER! My steam burn scar on my wrist and my trampoline spring scar on my finger are pretty awesome. I wish I could remember how I got some of the others.
Random thought of the night: My laptop bag is boring. Awhile ago, I accidentally dripped purple nail polish on it, and it kinda looks cool! I'm thinking of adding more "accidental" drips to it. Thoughts, comments, suggestions? I could always do some kind of pattern, or keep it random. It's been on my do to list for awhile now, I just need to actually have the free time to do it. The whole ribbon fest had me busy all last week and cleaning up after another child *snicker* had me busy this week. I have a goal! Maybe I'll do it Sunday. Sounds like a soothing Sunday afternoon project.
I could keep rambling on about random subjects, and believe me I could go on for hours, but I have to make my bed. *Makes a face* My bed hates me, and so does my crappy mattress pad. It's a good thing it was cheap, or I'd be seriously distressed. And so, off I go to tackle a bed. Goodbye darlings, have a lovely night!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Today I sort of feel like a butterfly. And here's how: This morning I was sleeping (I know, weird). Getting my beauty sleep, all snuggled up in my blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon, preparing to turn into a butterfly. It was going wonderfully, I was dead to the world, restoring my depleted stores of energy from staying up until four in the morning trying to return a sense of balance to my soul . . . Ok, so I was up screwing around on Facebook and trying to find my bed under the mess, but still. It was good for my chi, chakra, karma, whatever.
Anyway, so I'm sleeping . . . turning into a beautiful butterfly when very suddenly the gentle sounds of my daughter yelling for Grandma and banging at the door dumped me out of my cocoon too early. And what came out was something less than a beautiful butterfly. What came stumbling out was an ornery, sleep-deprived girl that had bloodshot eyes, hair that resembled a haystack, and the collective tolerance and IQ of a really ticked off amoeba. Yes. It was that bad. My metamorphosis, needless to say, did not really go as well as planned. *Sigh*
So now this little butterfly feels a bit like it's been smooshed into the grille of a speeding semi, but at least it gave me something fun to write about! Fun may be the wrong word . . . but we'll go with it anyway. And right now we're watching The Incredibles, for the first time out of at least three today, I'm sure. Possibly more. And on that subject, why is it that in that movie, the daughter Violet has black hair? Mr. Incredible is blonde, Elastigirl is a redhead, the other two boys are blonde, and then there's Violet. How very odd. Just sayin'.
On an altogether different and completely random note, I'm wondering what my poor husband will say when he comes home in a week or two and sees a few girly elements in our bedroom that weren't there before. No, I didn't paint the walls pink or anything. But there are big sparkly daisies clipped onto the curtains, and big Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow poster on the door, and two pretty floral garland things looped along the wall. And there is a plan to put a poster of a young and hot Elvis on the closet. I should probably feel bad about this, huh? I sorta justify it by saying that he'll have a whole truck to himself to decorate soon! So, for now . . . Jack Sparrow is staying.
And sadly, this blog is going to be a short one. Comparatively. My meek and quiet little child of mine has been whining about wanting cocoa for the last five minutes, and after telling her she could only have one piece of chocolate this morning (man, what a tantrum!) I figure cocoa is a doable alternative. She sounds more irritated every time she asks, and I sound more irritated every time I tell her to be patient. This whole patience thing is not our strong suit.
And so, everybody, ta ta. And guess what, I can actually say that you're not a pretend audience anymore!!! I have 5 followers!!! *Happy Dance* Hi guys!!! *Waggles fingers at you* I feel all sorts of special, let me tell ya. I guess this is what happens when I pimp myself out on Facebook (I stole that line . . . it was too great not to). Ok, I'm off to get cocoa, I'll chat at y'all later. Bye!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
What does it mean when your three year old jumps up on the bed, scootches down and gets all comfy, then grabs your romance novel sitting next to her and opens it up to read? I'm just curious . . . Also, what does it mean when she develops and attitude roughly the size of Asia? Don't get me wrong, I have quite enough attitude to match her any day, but I worry for the poor preschool teacher that is going to have to deal with it soon. The poor person. And have I mentioned she's stubborn? Yeah, she got that from me too. I seemed to have passed on a lot of traits that may have been better off staying in the gene pool. At least she got my eyes. And her daddy's butt. That is certainly a wonderful asset to have.
In other news, my new obsession of the week has moved on from very hot fictional characters and on to Captain Jack Sparrow! I watched the Pirates trilogy last week, and just enjoyed it thoroughly, wallowing in the wonderfulness. I love the second and third ones, but the first one is just . . . magic. Utter perfection. I've been quoting it in my head ever since, although not to many other people. Just because I'm crazy enough without sharing all the details with the world. I'm conscientious that way.
So, I believe I've shared the information already about my husband doing trucking and all that, and I have sort of an update. He's been gone since January 8th, and in that time I have seen him once for about 20 minutes when he was passing through. But there maybe an end in sight. He's only got about twenty or so hours left for his training, which means that hopefully in a few days he's all done. The catch to this is that before he can come home, he has to do at least one run solo. And he has to get his truck first, which we're hoping will be really quick. But there's no telling if he'll have to wait for it or not. So, *crossing fingers* we're thinking another two weeks just to be safe. And that puts us around March 11th, which will be 9 weeks that he'll have been gone . . . as opposed to the 4-6 that we were told it would be. This irritates me to no end, let me tell ya. But there's nothing we can do about it, so I'm just hoping the days go by fast and that things don't feel weird when he finally comes home. We're going to run away for a couple days and just hide out in a hotel somewhere, so that will be wonderful.
Ooh, ooh, I have a funny book recommendation for you, and a movie recommendation. The book is a kid's picture book called Tadpole's Promise by Jeanne Willis. It's a really cute book, but has a surprise ending that is on one hand distressing and disturbing, and on the other FREAKING HYSTERICAL!!! I kinda fell over laughing, and I showed it to my mother in law and sister in law. They leaned a little more to the disturbed side, but still laughed. As for the movie recommendation, I saw Must Love Dogs recently, with Diane Lane (this is actually the first movie I've ever seen her in), and John Cusack who is an actor I really love. The movie was so cute, and just funny and I loved it! I have my friend Lindsie to thank for that, she pestered me for a week until I finally got if from Netflix (love them too, by the way)and fell in love. Oh, while we're on the subject of movies, another one I saw recently and LOVED was When Harry Met Sally. Oh my gosh, I ADORED Billy Crystal!!! It's really awkward/painful to watch a main character as sweet and wonderful as that and have your significant other away from home and not there for snuggling. But anyway, loved those!!!
Oh, and while I'm here, I wanna send a shout out to the person that decided to put clean up stations at intervals in the Petsmart stores. BRILLIANT idea. And not for the reason you would think. Oh no, this doesn't even have anything to do with pets. It has to do with coughing children that just ate dinner and spent 15 minutes running around the pet store like there was no tomorrow. And promptly coughed hard, gagged, and barfed all over the floor by the Purina One. Heaven bless the wise, wonderful person that decided a cleaning station should go the next aisle over, not ten steps away. Bless you, brilliant person.
And right now said daughter is undressing herself to slather on some lotion, so before I end up running through the house trying to force a greased 3 year old into a pair of pants, I'm gonna go tackle her now. Hope everyone has a lovely, tantrum free day and doesn't get muddy paw prints all over their clean sheets like I just did. Bye!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
I have a funny story for you. So today, just a few minutes ago in fact, my three year old was sent to go potty. She can do it by herself, but you have to tell her to go or she won't. So after some persuading and a little bit of raised voices and turning the TV off, she went to go potty. It all went well, she was all done, then suddenly she started crying. With real tears and everything.
So I go in to see what's the matter, and she's got her face in her hands and everything, and I'm thinking she got hurt. So I ask her, "Did you get an owie?" She says no. I ask her, "Did something scare you?" She says no. So I ask her one more time if she got hurt, because sometimes she's too busy being upset to remember she did get an owie, but she said no again, in a very annoyed fashion, like Geez, mom, I already answered that.
I'm completely puzzled as I kneel on the floor hugging her and rubbing her back, and ask if she's ready to go watch her movie again, and she perks up and stops crying. But then she looks at the toilet and almost starts to cry again, and I finally get what she's upset about when she keeps pointing to the toilet paper and her butt. The child forgot to wipe.
So I ask her if she forgot to wipe her bum, and she sniffles and says, "Yeah." Ok, I'm totally ready to fall over laughing at this point, but I help her get her pants and panties down again so she can wipe and flush the toilet, and she goes running off to watch her movie in complete three year old bliss. I started laughing really hard, we're talking I almost did fall over into the wall, and had to share. I mean, really. That's too awesome that the worst thing in her life is that she forgot to wipe after she went potty. She was seriously very upset.
As you can tell, at this point, we're doing potty-training right now. Well, we have for almost two months now, but we've hit a snag on getting her to go on her own. That, and she's afraid of the big potty. No joke. She will not even approach the thing without her panties securely in place, and there is no way she'll use public restrooms because they have big potties. I think she's afraid she'll fall in or something. It's a challenge because who really takes the cute little red training potty with them wherever they go? I certainly don't. How do you explain that? "Hi, I'm the weird mom with a willful child and I have to take her own personal potty everywhere we go."
So, if any of y'all out there have suggestions for this mommy's potty-training conundrum, be sure to let me know! I have no idea how to conquer the big potty phobia. And how to you explain to a three year old what it feels like when they need to pee? "Well, sweetie, it's when you feel an odd sensation down in your nether regions . . . " Yeah. That's what I thought. Anyway, I'll chat atcha later, hope you all have a good day. Or night. Or week. Or whatever. Ta!
Monday, January 10, 2011
I'm doing a themed blog today, just cuz I thought of if in the car on the way to my mom's house today. And that theme is "Ception". It will make sense in a minute, just stay with me.
The first "ception" on our list are reception sticks. (Do you see the theme now?) Today, at the same time while I was in the car having the idea for this blog, I was eating lemon reception sticks. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, reception sticks are really skinny candy sticks of various flavors (think candy canes, but different flavors and just straight sticks) dipped in chocolate. They are actually quite fabulous, in my opinion. I greatly enjoyed them, and I also discovered that I don't care too much for the mint ones. So there's our first "ception".
Our second "ception" is the movie Inception that just came out last year. (Any confusion about this theme?) Now, I actually really love this movie. I've only seen it twice, I believe, but I loved it both times. If you haven't seen it, you should give it a shot. It's like a really awesome James Bond kind of thing, almost. And I am kind of a Leonardo DiCaprio fan, I admit it. I think he's adorable, and he's still adorable as he gets older, and that's hard to do. Sometimes I just really enjoy mind-bending movies like this one.
Next on our list of "ceptions" is exception. I'm actually not sure where I'm going with this, let's look up the definition. *Wanders over to Google Dictionary* Ok, the best one is: the one that is excepted, or the on to whom the rules do not apply. Alrighty, so let's think of an exception here . . . ok, and] exception to the rule that children are always adorable. Currently, it is 2:30ish in the morning right now, and my three year old keeps waking up and doing her whining cry that is very loud, extremely annoying, and really starting to get on my nerves. I admit it, I have Bad Mommy tendencies on occasion, and they include ignoring tantrums, throwing toys back when she throws them when she's mad, and refusing to give her full strength chocolate milk at any occasion. Anyway, so right now I'm being exceptionally irritated at her, and I think she needs to quit doing her whiny cry and go to sleep, the little booger. See, Bad Mommy.
Ok, another "ception" is related to the first one, but totally different. Wedding receptions. We just had one last week for my sister in law, she got married and if you don't know any Mormons, let me give you a quick overview of how Utah Mormons do weddings. We do everything ourselves, or we have friends and ward members help. For example, for my wedding, the reception was in our backyard. My mom's friend did the cake. My mom and my mom's friend did my hair. It was a community effort from my family and my husband's family for the decorations. The food was made by my aunt, my mom, my mother in law, and my sister. We made the bridesmaid's skirts. And it all turned out gorgeous, by the way, and if we hadn't all been such rookies at doing weddings, the whole day would have been perfect.
Ooh, I found another "ception"! Deception. As in, to deceive, bluff, beguile, mystify, also subterfuge. For some reason, this reminds me of my newest favorite musical EVER, Cats. Last year the high school put on a production of Cats, and while I thought it was totally odd, I still liked it. And then I found the DVD at the library and completely fell in love. I don't remember if I've mentioned this before, but I have a ferocious and rampant crush on the Rum Tum Tugger (and also the actor that played him in the movie). So how does this all relate to deception? Well, one of the cats in the musical, Macavity, is basically the big bad nasty cat that is responsible for all the mischief and naughty stuff that happens, and he's sneaky and a master of disguise and all that. See, he's deceptive. Ha ha, this game is fun. The three year old is really starting to tick me off.
Ok, one more and then I'm going to put in earplugs and go to sleep, whiny three year old or not. Our last "ception" is perception. Basically, intuition. I was going to avoid this story, but what the hey? No one reads this anyway, so who's going to care? So, several months ago my husband's friend decided that he was going to become a trucker. Like, long-haul, semi-driving trucker. And he talked my husband into doing it too. I knew the second I got wind of this that it was not going to be fun. And boy howdy, was I right. My husband left Friday night for orientation and 4-6 weeks of training to become a long-haul trucker. Meaning, I will not be seeing him until at least the middle of February. I won't antagonize you by listing all of the many ways that this SUCKS. And after all of that, he will be on the following schedule of one week out gets him one day at home. Yeah. You wanna know the percentage of the time he'll be home? It's right around %14. Of the 365 days of the year, I will see my husband for 52 of them. And for half of those, we'll be sleeping.
I have a very good idea right now what the 7th circle of hell is like, and let me tell ya, it's just a frigging hoot and a half. (I am using much stronger, sailor-worthy language in my head, believe me.) Anyway, so my perception of this trucking idea is about the same now as it was back in September. It sucks. It will continue to suck. I'll have to get back to you on how something like this affects a marriage that was silently suffering anyway. Don't tell anybody, that's supposed to be my own little secret.
Okeydokey, I think I've pretty much angst-ed out everyone for the night, and between this and the three year old I'm now in a mood black enough to put a whole lot of villains to shame. I'm going to try and find something to cheer me up now, and until we meet again, ciao.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Hello darlings! How was everyone's Christmas and New Year's? Both of mine were fabulous and fun and all that jazz, and I got awesome presents and some great hangout time with my families, so I enjoyed it immensely. And, this is quite a shocker to me, but all of the Christmas decorations are down. *Big eyes* Yeah, I know, how weird is that? We actually took it all down last week so there was more room for wedding crap all over (I am so ready for this freakin' wedding to be over, by the way) and that's the first time in, like, ever, that Christmas stuff has come down before New Year's.
I am now going to do . . . something. I thought about tellin y'all about my presents, but that would be supremely boring for you. Hmm . . . well, I'm reading a book series, well, skimming a book series is more accurate, but I like it. It's the Black Dagger Brotherhood by J.R. Ward and I'm enjoying it. The way she writes is bleeding into my vocabulary and I think I might be permanently altered now. I'm not really into vampires, never have been, and I think I might have mentioned my resistance to reading the Twilight series, but this series puts a different twist on it that just works for me. I have the two remaining books in the series on hold at work, but there are 9 people ahead of me for both of them, and there are only single copies of each one available. *Rolls eyes* Yeah, I can expect to get them sometime around September. How very annoying.
I'm going to be sacriligeous, are we ready for this?! I kinda like Britney Spears. Well, pre-bald, pre-divorce, pre-bad rap Britney Spears. I have her first album that I love to death and then a few songs from her second album, and then 3 in there from the early 2000's that were on the radio all the time in high school. Let me tell you, listening to all that music that was on when I was in school is just the awesomest blast from the past. Most of my playlists on itunes have a LOT of songs from when I was in high school. Best years of my life, right there. Ah, I miss them.
Ok, this is sad, but my well of chatter has run dry so I'm gonna go run away and find something to do. I have several books to read, which I just might do, or catching up on watching NCIS or Big Bang online. And dinner is probably in an hour, twice baked potatoes and roast! Yummy! Yeah, I'm leaving now, see ya!