que sara sara

Two Tips For Your Thursday

2012-01-26T08:42:00.005-05:00

I don't claim to be an organizing guru. Shoot. I don't really claim to be organized. But I thought I'd share a couple of ideas that have worked for me. One is something I've done for a couple of years and one is something I found on Pinterest and had one of those slap-my-forehead-why-didn't-I-think-of-that moments.

A few years ago, my very talented Daddy made me an absolutely stunning jewelry box. The problem is, my very talented Daddy had no idea how much jewelry his ~~hoarding~~ jewelry-loving daughter owns. Hint: It's a lot. Because rings and necklaces and earrings don't care if my booty gets bigger or smaller. So while many of my treasures would fit in the beautiful box he made, many would not. Enter Target. Oh, Target! Have I told you lately how much I love you? I love you more than every grain of sand on every beach on every ocean in the universe. (Have you seen that video? If so, are you cringing with me? If not, sorry to do that to you. Poor kid. If someone had made a video like that for me when I was a teenager, when I was through vomiting, I would have been a very single girl the next day. Teenagers with their raging hormones and poor decision making skills should never be let alone with video making capabilities.) I digress. Ahem. Enter Target and it's Dollar Spot. I found these belt hangers there several years ago and had a light bulb moment. I thought that they would solve my jewelry box dilemma and they did!

Now I hang my more costume-y and less precious necklaces and bracelets on them and they are right next to my clothes where I can see them. My precious and sentimental jewelry goes in the beautiful box my daddy made. Problem solved.

The second idea I found on Pinterest. I found a couple of cardboard magazine holders in the Target Dollar Spot (oh how I heart you, Dollar Spot!) and used them to corral the wraps and baggies under my sink.

No more digging through the pile for the wrap I want, and it leaves me space I never had. Genius!

So, there you go. Two tips for you because you are looking especially pretty on this rainy, cold Thursday.

The Ride Home

2012-01-24T08:26:00.004-05:00

"I WANTS TO GO HOME. I DOES NOT WANTS TO DO IT IN THIS BIG WHITE THING."

"I DOES NOT WANTS TO LOOK. I WILL JUST LOOKS THIS WAY. I DOES NOT WANTS TO BARF."

"I WILL JUST SITS THIS WAY. THEN I WILL PRETENDS TO SLEEP AND I WILL NOTS BARF."

"OKAY. MAYBE I WILL JUST LOOKS A LITTLE. BECAUSE I AM BRAVES"

"I WILL SITS AND LEANS. BECAUSE I AM BRAVES"

"I WILL SITS AND LEANS AND SLEEPS. I AMS A BRAVE DOG."

"I AM BRAVES. ALSO, I AMS SLEEPY. AND SLIDE-Y."

"OH NOES! I CANNOTS LOOK! I AMS SCARED! I MUSTS HIDES MY HEAD!"

"PERHAPS I WILL SITS DOWN AGAIN. I WILL NOTS BARF...I WILL NOTS BARF...I WILL NOTS BARF..."

"OH BOYS! THAT IS MY HOMES! I SMELL IT! I SEE IT! I AMS STILL SCARED! BUT IN A MINUTE I WILL WAGS MY TAIL AND MY BODY AND I WILL BE HAPPYHAPPYHAPPY! HOMES!!!"

The Weekend

2012-01-23T08:26:00.006-05:00

If you are looking for me today you will find me in the laundry room. It is my penance for being gone this weekend. It is the price I must pay for having too much fun and laughing until tears streamed down my face and my cheeks ached.

I spent the weekend with some of my dearest girlfriends at a lake house, you see, and now I shall pay. I shall pay in dirty underwear and stinky socks. I shall pay in ketchup stained tee shirts and inside out jeans. Oh yes! Payment shall be dear.

But worth every last sock.

One of my sweet friends has a lake house not too far away, but just far enough to feel as if you have left your real life behind. And she is sweet and generous with her lakeside retreat. So it was that five of us gathered there--the original four plus another dear one. There were more invited, but because of various reasons, they couldn't come. They were missed. That's a certainty. Because all of our laughing and joy would have increased with each that wasn't there. But for the ones who were, time went by much too quickly--even after a half day's delay from being iced in. What a place to be iced in! I would have stayed much longer.

My own family spent a whirlwind Friday night and Saturday in Illinois, celebrating my sweet mother-in-law's 88th birthday. They stayed with my folks on Friday and feted my mother-in-law on Saturday and were home late Saturday night. I missed out on that. Truly, I did.

But the reunion I had with them all as I came in looking like a pack mule with all the stuff I carried with me to the lake was a sweet one. It was good to be away. It was good to laugh and cry and eat and pray and rejoice and praise and snort and giggle and scrape ice and see eagles and scream about seeing eagles and play games and watch movies and drink wine and miss our friends. But gosh, it sure is good to come home to sweet faces and sweeter embraces.

I leave you with pictures I took of three of The Original Four. They will all be angry with me for posting these, because they are too harsh on themselves. But they are truly some of the most inwardly and outwardly beautiful women I have ever had the pleasure of calling friend. (Julie, I want to take your picture. I just figured that you wanted to be showered and not looking like you had just spent a morning scraping ice. Next time, dear friend. Next time!)

Kimlarie--the sweetest, gentlest spirit I've ever known. She is the wonderful mother to two handsome boys and wife of a very lucky man. Her voice is like spun sugar.

Margie--her eyes and heart are always focused on Jesus. It's humbling. She is the mother of 5, grandmother of 4, and heart mother of so many more. She is a model of hospitality. Her husband is a lucky man as well. (He is also my match for sarcasm. Love it.)

Linda--the owner of the lake house. My three youngest are the same ages and genders as hers and have been forced friends since birth. Her young pup of a husband must know how blessed he is to have her. She makes me laugh harder and louder than anyone else I know. She also is my best reminder to get on my knees and take myself before the Lord. She is a gracious and generous host and an even more gracious and generous friend.

This girl?

She's the lucky and blessed fourth of the Original Four. She will spend much of this week with a big, dopey grin on her face thanks to the girls she spent the weekend with. Even if she is spending most of this week in the laundry room.

Quirks

2012-01-10T00:01:00.000-05:00

If you have spent any time at all with me--or reading my rantings on this here blog--then you know that I have my share of quirks. "Quirks" sounds much nicer than "BatPoo Crazy," don't you think?

Well, today I thought I would share a few with you. Because, um, well, frankly I have nothing better to write about. But let's just call it "creativity," shall we? Because that sounds much better than "laziness."

Quirk the first: When I go grocery shopping, I don't just toss my groceries into the cart willy nilly. (I am totally bringing back that word. And shenanigans, too. Oh! And monkeyshines! There aren't nearly enough monkeyshines these days!) I place them in the cart in an orderly fashion, like with like. And then I place them on the checkout counter the same way. In the misguided hope that the bagger will bag them the way I have arranged them. But if the bagger doesn't--and they usually don't--I never say anything. Because that would be confrontational and I am a wussy. That's right. I am an anal retentive control freak about how I put my groceries in the cart and on the counter, but a scaredy cat when it come to making sure they are bagged the way I want. Perhaps it's because I have a million billion things that cost a million billion dollars and I'm just grateful that someone is actually going to bag them for me that I don't want to make waves.

2. If there is a song on the radio that I love and I turn it up to listen and people (read: usually my children) talk through it, it makes me crazy. "Really? I want to screech? This story about who walked with who during passing period/dubstepping/video games/what your friend did during bathroom break can't wait 2 minutes? Three at the most? REALLY? Sweet Mother of Pearl? Did you not get the hint when I turned the radio up again that you could stick yourself on pause and give me 2-3 minutes of silence whereby I might derive the merest hint of pleasure from something besides your voice?" But I don't say that. In fact, I rarely ask the offender to quit talking. And I suffer in martyred silence because I am a non-confrontational wussy. Okay. There might actually be some heavy sighing on my part.

3. I cannot sleep in pajama pants. If you ever get me pajamas (But really, unless you're my mother, why would you? That would be weird. And slightly creepy.) you should know I will not use the pants. Well, I might use them when I'm not actually in bed, but I will not sleep in them. They make me claustrophobic. And do not get me started on nightgowns/nightshirts. Whoever invented them is the spawn of Satan. All nightgowns do is creep their way up your body until you are essentially clothed in a tee shirt, so you may as well wear a tee shirt--which is what I wear--an oversized tee shirt. (Me so sexy.) And they get all twisty around your legs so that if you ever need to leap like a Ninja from your bed because an assassin has crept into your room in the dark of night, you will lose. You will be dead before you leave the sheets, my friend. Nightgowns are an assassin's best friend.

4. Using the wrong word like "weary" for "leery" or, God forbid, "volumptuous" for "voluptuous". It's like fingernails on a chalkboard. But I will never correct you. I will just suffer in silence. Unless you are in my family. Then I will make fun of you mercilessly.

5. I am a top-sheet-tucker-inner. I like to have my top sheet tucked in nice and snug when I go to bed. This is only really a problem if you are sharing a bed with a top-sheet-un-tucker. Guess which kind I am married to? We leave his half untucked and my half tucked. The problem here is that my side invariably comes untucked because of my beloved's need to make sure his toes don't curl over. Sheesh. Some people! Anyway. When he is out of town, one of the first things I do is go and tuck in the sheet all the way around. And then I throw my head back and laugh the laugh of the maniacally evil. BWAHAHAHAHAHA! It's awesome knowing that I'll have 2 or 3 nights of fully tucked bliss.

6. Jello is the worst food ever created. I can't stand the smell or God help me, the creepy jiggly-ness of it. I am shuddering just thinking about it. If you love Jello, that's fine. But keep it to yourself or we can't be friends.

7. I can't abide stepping on a wet bath rug. I will just about knock people over to get to the shower first so that I don't have to step on their cold, soggy footprints on the bath rug. I don't understand why my family doesn't understand that it is possible to dry off--and I mean completely dry off--before stepping onto the bath rug, but they just don't get it. And worse than that is stepping on a sopping bath rug in sock feet! Urgh! It both squicks me out and enrages me at the same time.

8. I have a near pathological fear of driving into a body of water. I'm sure I have mentioned this before. But whenever I drive I go through the scenarios in my head and imagine what I would do should such a situation arise. It doesn't make me change my route or anything--I mean, I don't avoid driving near water--but it does enter my head every single time I get into the car.

Okay. So now that you have a crush on me because yo, I am so normal, it's your turn. What quirks do you have? Hate wooden spoons? Love to bite through popsicle sticks? Wear the underwear of the opposite sex? Do share! (Okay, maybe not that last one. I mean, we're friends and all, but that might be over sharing.) Please make me feel normal and share. I promise, I won't tell.

The Picture I Didn't Take

2012-01-09T00:01:00.001-05:00

He was standing in line in front of me and was going to offer to let me go ahead of him, but we both had only a few items. We laughed together. He was dressed for chillier weather, his white hair under a cap and his weathered face breaking into a smile for each pair of eyes he met. He spoke to me of white things--snow and coconut milk and snowy owls. He talked to me through his transaction and my own and then walked with me out into the parking lot. His enthusiasm was contagious.

'Have a wonderful day!' he said.

It wasn't a trite ending to a conversation. He meant it.

So I did as I was bid. I had a wonderful day.

At Least I'll Be Noticed

2012-01-03T09:18:00.002-05:00

A while back my beloved came down from his office with the news that our family is going to have an adventure over spring break. We are going to Lake Tahoe and, if all goes well, we are going to ski. This news was met with several different responses: James was excited, Sean thought it was cool, Mary thought it would be fun, if scary, I was elated, although I haven't skied in well over 20 years, and Maggie thought it was ridiculously stoopid because, God, didn't we know that you are supposed to go someplace warm over spring break?!! Oh, the torture!

My first response was to want to smack her upside the head, because, um...spoiled brat, much? My next response was to remind her that there would be plenty of dudes on snowboards and skis to make her trip down the mountain more scenic. Her response: *eyeroll* They're going to be covered with ski gear! How will I even know what they look like? DUH! My response to her response: It is wrong to eat your offspring....it is wrong to eat your offspring...it is wrong to eat your offspring.

So. We will be heading west in late March and I am right this minute praying for fierce snowstorms out there because I understand that they are having the sort of winter that we in Indy are--mild temperatures and very little snow. I will not complain about that type of winter when I have to live through it, but when you are hoping to ski, well, skiing without snow is a bit extreme.

Now, the children have snow gear because they go out and build snowmen and snow forts and have snowball fights and just basically roll around in the white stuff as if they are polar bear cubs. I, on the other hand, am sorely lacking in the winter gear department. I haven't owned a lot of snow stuff since living in Minneapolis some 13 years ago. And so my beloved and I found ourselves at the mall shopping for snow gear for me. I was willing to wait a bit for prices to come down, but my beloved insisted that I have something now because the early bird gets the snowsuit and all that.

The first coat I looked at was a lovely turquoise. It fit well and had all the necessary bells and whistles. I modeled it and I am sure that people in the store mistook me for Heidi Klum. My beloved thought that perhaps the hot pink coat in the same style would be better. I shook my head, raised my hand to stop him in mid-sentence and put the kibosh on that. I am not really a hot pink kind of girl. I was satisfied and told him I could find some snow pants online. He, however, is a member of The Church of Our Lady of the North Face and would not be denied the chance convert me. (I am a member of The Church of I Don't Want To Pay A King's Ransom For A Coat.) I threw my head back and groaned and then I sighed in resignation (Hey look! I can act like a martyr and a teenager at the same time! I am so talented!) and reluctantly followed behind him to the North Face section.

After looking through the ladies coats for a few minutes, I quickly came to realize that they were pretty well picked over and the only styles they had in my size were a wild lime green on neon green plaid and a white coat with red and blue accents. The green one was about 20 years too young for me to even contemplate, so I tried on the white, red, and blue number. It fit me fine. Which then meant that instead of black snow pants, which might have the oddest chance of slimming my backside, I had to find white ones, which have no chance in hell of slimming my backside and every chance of making me look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I found some pants in quick order and schlepped everything to the fitting room to try it all on. Meanwhile, I left my beloved with my purse as punishment. Why should I be the only one humiliated?

After trying the gear on and deeming the fit acceptable, I donned my own clothes and brought the snow gear out. I shook my head at my beloved.

"Doesn't it fit?" he asked.

"Oh, no. It fits," I replied. "It's just that I have the feeling that people out on the slopes are going to be expecting a lot from me."

"Really? Why?" queried my beloved.

"Because I have a feeling that in this get-up I am either going to be mistaken for a retired and possibly disgraced former member of a U.S. Olympic ski team or Evel Kneivel's daughter. Yep. You can just call me She-vel Kneivel."

It has a nice ring to it. I think the name might stick. I'm hoping to find a ski helmet with red and blue stars or flames on it. And possibly a stars and stripes cape.

I don't know if I'll be any good on the slopes, but at least I'll be noticed.

Hi There.

2012-01-02T09:54:00.003-05:00

Well helloooo there! I hope you all had wonderful holidays. We had a great time here at Chez Ganey. It was full of family and friends and feasting. And guess what I did yesterday for the New Year? If you guessed absolutely nothing, then you are the winner! I sat on my well-padded backside and read and played games with my kids and watched movies, only getting up to fix some grub for the family. It was wondrous.

Here it is, January 2nd and real life is back and staring me in the face. There's laundry to be done (well, isn't there always?) and groceries to be bought (and hopefully the list doesn't include cream cheese. I've eaten more than my share of cream cheese laden goodies this season.) and blogs to write. My mom asked me last week if I was going to get back to it. It's just, well, I don't really have anything to share (actually, I have one story and you'll get it tomorrow) because other than eat and open gifts and drink wine and run to the grocery for food that I only eat during the holiday season, I haven't been out of the house. It's been delightful. But for blogging purposes, that's not so great. And I've grown comfortable not sitting at the keyboard. I had to make myself get here today. And look at what you get to read because of it! Wow, are you ever lucky!

And now, because that laundry has proven time and time again that it just will not do itself, I shall stop. But, because you have stuck with me this far through this horrible post, I will share something with you: We took the kids bowling on Friday. It was fun, but I am the worst bowler on the planet. I scored a 46. There. Now you can go about your day feeling successful in some small way; if you and I bowled together, you would, without a doubt, beat me. Next time I'm getting gutter guards and I'm not ashamed to say it.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-23T00:01:00.000-05:00

...But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people...

Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord."

Merry Christmas!

Oh Bokeh Tree, Oh Bokeh Tree...

2011-12-20T11:33:00.003-05:00

...how lovely is thy bokeh.

Downtown

2011-12-12T07:06:00.004-05:00

Indianapolis, like most cities and towns, glitters and glams it up for Christmas time. The big attraction is the Tree of Lights--thousands of lights strung from the top of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument to form the shape of the tree. They hold a big lighting celebration every year right after Thanksgiving. We have never been to the lighting because we are always out of town. I'm pretty sure we would never go because it attracts thousands of people and I'm not much for people. Well, I guess individually and in small groups some of them are okay, but en masse? Nope. I don't like people that much. Why yes, I am the Grinch! Why do you ask?

Anyway! We used to try to go downtown to see the tree every year--not that it changes from year to year, but it's festive and fun and we don't go downtown much. But as the kids got older we got busier and just couldn't weave it into our schedules. This year, however, I discovered that the last time we were down there, Mary was a toddler. That's just wrong! She didn't even remember it--couldn't even fathom a tree made of lights! She kept asking me things like "So is it a giant Christmas tree? Where did they find such a big tree?" and after further explanation, "What do you mean there aren't any branches? How can it be a tree without any branches?"

We made the decision that it was time to head downtown to see the tree and take a carriage ride around the Circle. Unfortunately, because of a perfect storm of forgetfulness, seat placement, and cold, of all the pictures I took only two of them are any good. The other I'm posting is the one the carriage people took with my camera. I forgot to change the settings so it's dark. I lightened it up, but it's still dark and quite grainy, but it's what we have.

I predicted to my mother that Mary's reaction would be something along the lines of "that doesn't look like a tree at all!" but that she would still like it. I was dead on. Even down to the wording. But she did like it-- and our carriage ride. And our Clydesdale horse named Chase that was gracious enough to pull us. And the hot chocolate she drank afterwards.

It was a good night. We made some memories and that's one of the best gifts ever.

Instagramming

2011-12-07T07:14:00.003-05:00

If you are friends with me on Facebook, then you've already seen these pictures. (Sorry. Suffer!) If you aren't, then these will be new to you.

I took this picture out the window as we were traveling home from Thanksgiving in my hometown. I had posted another picture, and then my brother--who has lived in TX for over 20 years--replied with a snarky (What? Snarky? One of my relatives? Unbelievable!) comment about my picture having no silos. So while this was meant to be a "There! Are you happy now?" sort of picture, it wound up making me really happy. When I was younger, I hated living in the Midwest; couldn't wait to live somewhere else. But now that I'm older, I appreciate it for what it is. There is beauty in those farm fields.

Mary drew this for me at school. When I first read it, I thought it said "...my happiness lives inside of meth..." It both startled and amused me. Because I am twisted. But the drawing and the sentiment have made me happy each time I see it.

Apparently these folks don't realize they are supposed to be living in our cul-de-sac. They live about a mile down the road. I call them the Griswolds. I kid you not, every bit of the house that you can't see in the photo looks like the part that you can see. It's awesome in a Griswold sort of way. Their neighbors, by the way, have greenery and a string of lights over their door and that's it. They are the us of their neighborhood.

This house is from our old neighborhood. We used to call it the "Devil House." Everything is in red lights--even the bulbs in the chandelier in the foyer. I think that red glow would throw me into a seizure. Or drive me crazy like Kramer on Seinfeld in the Kenny Rogers chicken episode. This homeowner really likes red. Or Satan.

I spent all of yesterday cleaning the dung heaps that ~~are~~ were my children's bedrooms. We got news that we will be having some company on Thursday and we are delighted. But this meant that the cleaning I was planning on doing next week had to be moved up. I picked up, straightened, sorted, purged, organized, dusted, vacuumed, bent, stooped, knelt, stretched, cursed, shook my head, and muttered. Their rooms were disgusting. Slobs--all of them! Their closets were the despairing depths of hell. But they are finished. I left all of them notes when I was done. They are all variations of this one, which I left on James' chalkboard wall. (Mary's had good old fashioned threats of Santa watching.) My methods may be twisted, but nobody left their dirty clothes on the floor last night.

Plain Jane

2011-12-05T08:29:00.004-05:00

Here is our "Peoria Showgirl."

She may be the Plain Jane of our street, but I like her just the same.

Photo taken during "the blue hour." Canon Rebel xti ISO 100, f/3.5, shutter 1.6

It Has Begun

2011-11-29T06:42:00.005-05:00

I know I said I was done showing you glittery things. I lied. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Electric Bethlehem!!!

Friends, that isn't even the half of it because I am standing in my cul-de-sac taking the picture so you are missing the five houses there. My house with its candle lights in the windows and the two bushes by the front door with white lights looks like a showgirl from Peoria. You get the analogy, right? Peoria doesn't have showgirls. I had to explain this to my children. I don't know. Maybe it's not such a great example. Whatever. You get the idea. When you drive through our cul-de-sac--which by the way is the only one in our neighborhood that looks like this--we look like non-participants by comparison.

Anyway. If you want to stop by and visit, you'll recognize my house right away. Just put on your sunglasses before you turn into the neighborhood.

I'm Thankful

2011-11-22T08:24:00.006-05:00

I'm thankful for many things. But these faces are right at the top of the list.

Happy Thanksgiving! Count your blessings. What are you thankful for?

I'll Drink To That!

2011-11-17T00:01:00.001-05:00

You know me. Give me an excuse and I'll drink to something. New job? Cheers! It's a holiday? Bottoms up! Getting married? Here's to you! It's sunny? Slainte! I'm wearing real clothes instead of sweats? Salut!

And what better way to toast to something than in these beauties?

I found these on Pinterest, but they originated here. I would love to say that they were really complicated and involved, but if you have read here for any length of time, you would know that that was a big, fat lie. I don't do complicated and involved because I have the attention span of a hamster with A.D.D. Oh look! Something shiny!

Basically, you just sponge the glitter paint on the glass, wait an hour, do some more, wait another hour, and do some more and so on and so on, until you are satisfied with the end results. Easypeasylemonsqueezy!

The best part is that once these paints cure for 21 days, they are safe for the dishwasher. Nope. I'm not even kidding you! How awesome is that? You get to drink yummy stuff from a pretty, glittery glass and then you can just throw that baby in the dishwasher and ~~sleep it off~~ not worry about it.

I think these would make great wedding or anniversary gifts and even hostess gifts for those people that you know would enjoy a beverage in a glittery glass. And who wouldn't enjoy that? Elliot Ness, maybe. But everyone else would love them!

Now if you will excuse me, I have a few more crafty things to do around here and then I'm going to enjoy a glass of something of which Elliot Ness would disapprove. And I'll probably do it in a sparkly glass.

Here's mud in your eye!

Little Birdies--Take Two

2011-11-16T15:15:00.000-05:00

Remember the glitter birds? As fun as it was to have glitter in unmentionable places, sometimes I just don't feel like rockin' the glitter. So I wondered what might happen if I used a different clay and a different finish.

I had intended to use Crayola Model Magic to make these:

I found them on Pinterest, but they originated here. Model Magic is super lightweight and very easy to work with. So easy that my youngest made her own ornaments using some of my left-overs. I used a Wilton cookie cutter to cut out these snowflakes after I rolled out the Model Magic. After letting them dry (they air dry, so no oven needed) I used some of the glitter paints in Martha Stewart's new line of paints to glam up a few. These paints are really easy to use and come in a wide range of colors and finishes.

I used a stencil sponge to sponge the glitter paint on one side, let it dry, and did the other. Others I didn't do a thing to except hang them with some ribbon. And when I was finished, there wasn't glitter anywhere except on the ornament and the stencil sponge. And God was in His heaven and all was right with the world. Yahoo!

Voila! Easy, inexpensive, and pretty.

Now--back to those birdies.

I used the Model Magic to make the birds the same way I made them last time. But this time, instead of putting them in the oven, I simply sat them aside on some parchment paper to air dry for at least 24 hours. (By the way, I had an ingenious idea to form the hangers on the little birdies' backs--I snipped the curved ends off paper clips and inserted them before leaving them to dry. Much less frustrating than twisting wire.) Then, I used wood stain--I chose walnut stain--and stained the birds, wiping off the excess. I gave them at least two coats of stain. Then after the stain was dry, I brushed on a little polyurethane. Easy. And I think they sort of look like they were carved from wood. I like them and think they go in the complete opposite direction of their glam and glittery cousins.

Back tomorrow with yet another glitter project that involves glassware. Stay tuned!

Because Apparently 5 Straight Days Of Posting Has Rendered Me Boring And Stupid

2011-11-16T00:01:00.000-05:00

I remember way back when when I first started blogging and I wrote every day--and sometimes even on the weekend. That hasn't happened for a very long time. Mostly because I don't have all kinds of stories to tell. Mainly because the dumb dog has seemed to find her equilibrium and doesn't leave me with a whole lot of blog fodder. And even though some of you have been kind enough to say that you would read my grocery list, I'm not brave enough to actually find out if that is true. Trust me, I'm not nearly as entertaining on my grocery list. Mostly because grocery shopping makes me want to punch someone in the throat.

I have some more Christmas related things to show you, but because November is trying to slowly kill me with its gray days, I haven't shown you. And not just because the lack of sunlight makes me want to crawl in a hole, curl up in a fetal position, and hum myself to sleep like some inmate in The Snake Pit. Mostly it's because the lack of sunlight makes taking good pictures really hard. I mean, I suppose I could take some inside, but that would mean an excruciating photo session, because have I mentioned that the previous owners of this house had four fluorescent light boxes installed for the kitchen lighting? No? Well, they did. Instead of opting for can lights or pendants or even some butt-ugly chandelier like they installed in the dining room, they had the genius idea of putting fluorescent boxes all framed out with crown moulding. The are the nicest framed fluorescent lights you ever did see. Too bad they suck. Especially when you are trying to take decent pictures. Oh, and just so you can see the special brand of crazy that happened when they built this house, there are two can lights over the planning desk where I am typing this. What the....? I just don't get it. Don't even get me started on the Circus Tent bathroom.

Ahem. Sorry. Tangent and rant over. Somehow I started writing about Christmas projects and my lack of blog fodder and wound up telling you the tale of our kitchen lighting. Scintillating!

I guess I would have been better off making the post that pops up here the one with the cute but dumb dog. Anyway. Barring more clouds (Please, Lord, part them like the Red Sea! This girl needs some sunlight!) and children coming down with strep (Please, Lord, may that particular scourge pass over us this home!) I should be back tomorrow with a variation on the glitter birds that I posted last week. And maybe some other stuff. Rest assured I will not give you a detailed description of the lighting plan in the rest of the house.

Unless I really can't think of something to write about.

The Dumb Dog, Some Peanut Butter, And A Camera

2011-11-11T00:01:00.003-05:00

"May I please have some peanut butter? Pretty please with kibble on top?"

"C'mon! You know I really love it! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepuuuhhllleeeezzzz! I'll be good! I'll come when you call me! I won't drop Spitty Ball on your lap for like, a week!"

"Gee, thanks. Now what do I do?"

"Oh, yeah! I've got a tongue! I can lick it off!"

"Oh my--...Holy--...Oh this is so good! Nom nom nom!"

"Hey! Wanna see how my tongue works? EXTREME CLOSE UP!! Gotcha! Bwahahahaha!"

"Did I mention that this tastes, like, reeeeallly good?"

"Oh, didn't you get any peanut butter? Gee, I'm sorry! NOT!!! Tbhtbthbhthbhthtttt!!"

"Why is everyone looking at me?"

"I have made a fool of myself all in the name of peanut butter. I am so ashamed."

Letting Them Fall

2011-11-10T08:41:00.003-05:00

Anyone who says parenting is easy is a liar. A big, fat, lying liar who wears big, fat, lying liar pants. And those pants? They are on fire. They are ablaze, such is the magnitude of the lying! Parenting is hard. Harder than math, even. It's the hardest job you'll ever love. Or love to hate. Or hate so much that you'll want to consume vast quantities of alcohol so that you can forget that you hate it. Or something.

My point is, that parenting, while awesome and worthwhile and amazing, is sometimes a damned if you do, damned if you don't proposition.

This week has given me a couple of parenting dilemmas that leave me feeling anxious and angry and guilty and inept. (Wow! Would you like some coffee with that angst?) On the one hand, I want what's best for my children. I want to hand them all that is good on a velvety pillow stuffed with the fluff of a thousand blessings. I want them to have more than I did. And while I didn't grow up with everything, I had plenty--less than some, more than others, just right for me. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

On the other hand, I want them to understand that if I really did hand them all that good stuff on the fluffy stuffed pillow, life wouldn't really be all that great. Sometimes the sweat and toil and tears from the battering that life gives make you more appreciative of the final result. So, yes, I guess what I'm saying is that I want my kids--on occasion, and please God, not in big, horrifying, hard to handle ways--to fail.

But sweet cracker sandwiches! Letting them take that fall is hard. Watching them stroll toward the edge of the cliff is tough. Warning them that the edge of the cliff is there and having them disregard your warnings is anxiety producing. Seeing them teeter on the edge brings panic. You want to throw out your arms to catch them. You want to throw out every safety net in your personal arsenal of Parental Safety Gear. And seeing them finally plunge over the side, makes you want to take a running leap over the side as well so that you will gain enough velocity to hit the ground first so that they might find you waiting at the bottom, giving them a softer landing.

Unfortunately, as parents, we can't always do this. There are times when letting them take the fall is the better, but agonizingly harder, option. Harder than going through 1,000 hours of labor with no drugs, harder. Harder than receiving millions of paper cuts all over one's body and then being forced to do 100 laps in an Olympic sized pool filled with lemon juice harder. Harder than having to listen to Kenny G while getting one's teeth drilled with no Novocaine, harder. It's the kind of hard that makes you wish you could trade places with them and take on whatever is coming to them.

It hurts. Watching your child endure pain is difficult. Watching them endure pain that they could have avoided is really difficult.

But sometimes, you have to let them take that fall. You have to let them teeter on that edge and make their own decisions. You have to watch them plunge over the edge and wait for the sickening thud. And you pray. You pray, and you pray, and you pray. And you know that the recovery will be tough. You know that your child's anguish at their decision will be grueling for you both. But you also hope that in the end, the fall will be a lesson. You hope that in allowing your child to make the decision, that in letting them stagger, flailing over the edge, they will find those places in their lives that need extra caution. You hope that they will discover those paths that they don't really want to proceed down again. You hope that they will get up, dust themselves off, and that the injuries will be minor enough to leave only small scars that prompt them to choose the right course the next time.

Parenting is a hard. I'm told that even when your children are grown, sometimes it's still tough. And even though I sometimes dream of living on a tropical island where my only problem would be deciding which cocktail to choose, I would never, ever willingly give up this job. And that's the truth.

A Bird In The Hand Is Worth One On The Tree

2011-11-09T00:01:00.000-05:00

That title doesn't even make sense. But I don't really care, because I want to show you this:

I knew after seeing it here, after first seeing it on Pinterest, that I wanted to give it a try. It was not hard. Even if some of my birds do look a little like sea lions. I don't care--glitter makes everything better! Even flying sea lions.

I used Sculpey and followed the instructions on the package for baking. I stamped some of them, and some I didn't. Then I painted the little birds and glittered them while they were wet.

I may experiment with some others that are made with a different clay (Crayola Model Magic) that air dries and is a little easier to work. I've already used it on a different project--which I'll be showing you tomorrow.

If you decide to make these sweet little bird ornaments, let me know if you have any questions. Also I'd love to see them. But if yours are cuter than mine and don't look like flying sea lions, then we can't be friends anymore.

You Could Have A Double Letter Triple Word Score Hanging On Your Tree

2011-11-08T09:29:00.006-05:00

I promised that I'd be back with something much better than the last post. I hope this counts as better. Well, it involves Christmas, making stuff, and it's inexpensive, so I guess that's lots better than yesterday's post.

While sucked into the black hole that is Pinterest, I began searching for Christmas related things and found something that made me squee with delight. I repinned it but I think it originated with Martha Stewart.

Anyway! You know that I am a sucker for words and letters and typeface--well, maybe you didn't, but if you didn't, now you do. Perhaps you remember this little dealio that I made with Scrabble tiles? The idea I saw pinned was for Christmas ornaments using Scrabble tiles. The original post had Christmas-y words like "snow" and "joy", but I decided to do it with last names. See?

Don't tell, but this will be going in the teacher gift for my youngest two children. I mean, come on! Who doesn't like their own last name? Okay, maybe somebody with the last name of Butz or Pigg or Hogg. But then again, maybe they do. Family pride is a strong thing, you know.

It was easy enough. I just hot glued the tiles together and then hot glued the ribbon on the back. And I didn't even burn myself! Shazam! I happened to have LOTS of tiles, because when I was doing our family Scrabble tile craft, I shopped Goodwill and bought a couple of games just for the tiles. I think I paid about $4.oo for both games. I made about 10 of these last night in under an hour. And some of that time was picking hot glue boogers off of the tiles. So, it's quick, is what I'm sayin'.

That's my kind of craft: simple, cheap, and quick but looks great when you're done.

Stay tuned tomorrow as I'll have another ornament I want to show you. Hint: it involves glitter. Who doesn't love glitter? A cotton headed ninny muggins, that's who! (Name that movie!)

Oh. My. Bob!*

2011-11-07T08:25:00.007-05:00

Boy am I ever glad it's a new week! Last week was one of the longest weeks ever in the history of like, ever.

Something has been going around Mary's classroom and we discovered on Halloween night after all the candy was sorted, much to our horror and chagrin, that Mary caught it.

What was it? It was--*shudder*--lice

Sorry if you were eating breakfast. I know how squicked out you may be. Trust me. I reached a level of squickitude that I didn't know was possible. This is a problem our family has never had to deal with, but one, which after to speaking to people and doing some research, I've discovered is unbelievably common. Still, there is a stigma and a stereotype associated with lice that makes people (me too!) uncomfortable. But let me assure you, as much as I talk about our house being demolition worthy and dirty and as much as I lament doing laundry, we are not living in squalor or hoarding conditions. The health department would not have issues with the cleanliness here. My children shower daily (or very near--those with dry skin in the winter go every other day--just in case you were madly interested in our personal hygiene) and despite their issues with locating the laundry basket, they wear clean clothes. What I'm saying is, we ain't dirty, folks.

Lice happens. And this time it happened to us.

So I spent Halloween night administering Lice MD to Mary's hair and going over it with a nit comb. Then, I stripped her bedding and washed everything in hot and dried it on the highest heat setting. Then I bagged up her stuffed animals and any pillows that couldn't be laundered. And because she had "slept over" in Sean's room over fall break, I did the same to his room.

The next day, much to Sean's amusement and Mary's chagrin, I slathered their heads with mayonnaise and covered their heads with shower caps. And, because I am often in head-to-head contact through snuggles and such with Mary, I did it to myself too, just in case. Again, me so sexy! We left that mess on all day.

Then I washed more bedding, vacuumed floors and mattresses, and basically tried to wear out my washer and dryer.

After a day of having a head that smelled like turkey sandwich gone rogue, it was off to the tub to wash the mayo out of the kids' hair and give a rinse with vinegar. Mmm! Smells like pickles! With the added benefit of being sting-y! Delightful! (Particularly fun with my youngest, who is more sensitive in the sensory areas than the rest of us.) And then I got to go through every one's hair again. Good times.

Lather, rinse, repeat the nit-picking for the rest of the week. Hence, the rather busy life with no time for blogging.

So far, (and believe me, I am knocking on every piece of wood in range, throwing salt over my shoulder, crossing my fingers, and anything else that may spare us a repeat performance) Mary's head has been clear and the rest of us have remained louse-free. (Oh my Bob, I never thought I'd be saying those words!) It was a lot of work and I don't feel free and clear just yet. We are going to do one last treatment tonight or tomorrow just in case I missed anything. Good times.

I guess my point in this post is two-fold: 1. I wanted to share our story so that in some small way, on some little corner of the innerwebs, someone else who has a child with an itchy head might find this post and he or she won't feel like the world's worst parent. And 2: This should explain my absence to anybody that was keeping track. (What am I? In junior high? Do I have to explain my absences? I am a huge dork!)

So there you go.

Stay tuned because later this week I will have some lice-free posts. God willing and the creek don't rise, every post for the rest of my life will be lice-free!! In fact, those posts may or may not have something to do with a holiday that is less than 2 months away.

Okay. They totally have something to do with that holiday. Believe me, I won't be rushing through Thanksgiving, as it's one of my very favorite holidays, but I'm sharing, in case you, like me like to ~~steal~~ copy ideas (while of course giving credit to the originator) and have plenty of time to implement them before the crush of December busyness is upon us.

Here's to the rest of the week! (Oh please, Lord, may it be lice free!)

* That's the phrase we've adopted around here so that we don't use God's name offhandedly.

If The Witch Hat Fits...

2011-11-01T00:01:00.000-04:00

It suits her personality right now more than I can tell you. The upside is, she gave me a mini Milky Way, so I guess my Monday morning ranting was forgiven and/or forgotten.

Seriously, though. Watch out. She's kinda scary.

P.S. She is not cyanotic. We had no green face paint, so we went with some of Maggie's blue eyeshadow on her face. She could've gone back as Smurfette and bagged a whole bunch more treats.

P.P.S. She'd make one damn scary Smurfette.

It's Monday And...

2011-10-31T08:17:00.004-04:00

It's Monday, and I woke up earlier than usual so that I could help James get ready for Dictionary Day at school. He was dressing as "cantankerous" and he needed help putting corn starch in his hair so that it would be gray to aid in his grumpy old man costume. What happened though, was that the corn starch looked less like gray than a severe case of dandruff and it went everywhere, so I spent the next ten minutes trying to get it out of his hair and out of the grooves in our hardwood floors.

You young whippersnappers don't know anything! Why in my day, we walked 5 miles to school. Uphill both ways! Barefoot! In blizzards! And we wore wool underwear!

You kids get off my lawn!

It's Monday, so naturally Mary didn't feel good. Jeezo-beezo, if I had a nickel for every time that girl told me she doesn't feel well or something hurts I could hire a nanny to watch over my children and I could sit on my ever-expanding backside and read trash magazines and drink wine and talk with the other mums about how my nanny was doing a crap job raising my children. Instead, I just get to look over whatever complaint or ailment it is this time, reassure her that she's going to make it to her 8th birthday (maybe. grrr.) and send a prayer up thanking God for my mother, who I am certain, fielded the exact same complaints from me when I was young, as I'm told I was a wee bit of a hypochondriac.

It's Monday, and because Mary refused to get out of bed, I went on an hysterical tirade, ranting and raving about how she is going to bed early tonight come hell or high water. I stormed and muttered and vented and whined. I made sure she knew just how inconvenienced we all were because of her refusal to get up on time.

It's Monday, and it's also Halloween, so of course the threat about the early bedtime will be suspended. Because I am a sucker.

It's Monday, so along with my morning raving came a heaping dose of mother-guilt about what such raving will do to Mary's tender heart.

It's Monday, and my eldest did her own laundry last night so that she might have something to wear this morning. And by "did her own laundry" I mean that she washed her clothes, threw them in the dryer and pawed through the dried clothes this morning to get at what she wanted to wear and left the rest of the clothes hanging out of the dryer and onto the floor. It looks like my dryer barfed.

It's Monday, and I want a Diet Coke but I'm not drinking them, so I'll just drink water. And resent it with every gulp.

It's Monday, and it's Halloween. I hate Halloween. When did it become such a huge holiday? When did my neighbors start decorating for it like they do for Christmas? Wait. Just kidding. I live in a crazy cul-de-sac. They've done it since we moved in--probably before we moved in, I guess. It's like the Halloween aisle at several superstores exploded up in this 'hood. Except for our house. I have mums. I have two pumpkins (which, if I play my cards right, my kids will forget about wanting to carve in their eagerness to begin trick-or-treating). I have a fall wreath on the door. That's it. I'm done, dammit. But I do pass out good candy and I'm generous with it, so I guess the true spirit of the Great Pumpkin abides within me.

It's Monday, and you would never know that I had the downstairs clean on Thursday. Stupid dog. Messy children.

It's Monday, and if I were participating in Dictionary Day, I'm fairly certain my word would be "irascible." Hmph.

If you had to choose a word for yourself today, what would it be?

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do? Whatcha Gonna Do When She Comes For You?!

2011-10-27T00:01:00.001-04:00

It was career day in Mary's classroom yesterday. Mary surprised us by saying she wanted to be a police officer when she grows up. I've heard her say she wants to be lots of things--singer, teacher, architect, vet, dancer--but police officer was never on the radar. And she didn't want to be just any old police officer, either. She wanted to be a K-9 officer.

So, we got her costume all ready, complete with a working flashlight and handcuffs. She was quite proud. And disarmingly cute if I do say so myself.

Unfortunately her stuffed animal collection is a bit on the jungle-y side and leans more toward elephants and giraffes and penguins and such. She only has one other stuffed dog besides her beloved Wilson. She pondered which dog to make her police dog. I steered her away from using Wilson, fearing dire consequences should something happen to him at school. So she used her other dog.

And so my daughter went to school as a K-9 cop.

Complete with pink Chihuahua police dog. I'm sure that criminals everywhere are terrified.