shoutingforha

Sunday Links

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Autumn Wreaths | Sweet Life in the Valley Blog

How to Cook and Carve a Turkey | The Art of Manliness

Sharpie Pen Tie Dying | Happy Things
She got the idea from Steve Spangler Science.

OneLook Dictionary Search | Courtesy of Rocks In My Dryer

Rotten Tomatoes | New Movie Reviews and Previews

Sew Easy

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

All of you longtime readers are aware of the fact that I am vertically challenged. While I don't mind being short, it does pose a few challenges. One of which is my inability to find pants that are the proper length.

Pants that are labeled "petite" are always at least an inch too short. Those designed for the average woman are usually one to six inches too long. Some pants are so long it looks like I mistakenly tried on a pair intended for Shaquille O'Neal.

The only solution is to have all of my pants hemmed. While that sounds like a great idea, I suffer from a genetic defect that restricts my ability to pay for something that I could easily do myself. By easily, I mean completing the task without harming myself or others.

I am by no means a skilled seamstress. My "it's good enough" attitude gives the illusion that I have a wide range of talents. The reality is that I am a dabbler and I don't worry about doing things perfectly.

That said, I always insist on altering clothing myself. The majority of my pants get hemmed eventually, but there are those that are less fortunate and spend their entire lives dragging the ground.

Take my favorite old pair for instance. Years of walking around has reduced the back edge of my jeans to a frayed and tattered mess.

I know you are probably thinking that I should just throw these jeans away before the fashion police come and arrest me. Simply, I can't part with them... they are far too comfortable. I save them for special occasions like cleaning my house, doing yard work or fishing.

As I was reading another blog yesterday, I stumbled upon a link, which led to another link, which lead to yet another link... You get the idea. Before I knew it, I found myself at Barefoot in the Kitchen. I don't even remember what post I was reading, but I happened to notice a little button on the left side that said, "how to hem jeans in 3 easy steps."

I said to myself, "I have jeans that need to be hemmed in three easy steps." I immediately clicked on the button and realized that Barefoot Stephanie is a genius. She has single-handedly changed the way I hem pants. The process is so easy that, in the words of Geico, "A caveman could do it."

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I hemmed four pairs of jeans in a half an hour. Four pairs. In thirty minutes. It was a hemming miracle.

If you follow the instructions on Stephanie's blog, you will notice that she opted to tack the extra fabric in place. Because my hem was several inches longer than the one pictured, I opted to cut off the excess and finish it with a zigzag stitch.

Behold the finished product...

I couldn't be happier with how my jeans turned out. I especially like how this method leaves the original hem and stitching intact, giving the pants a professionally altered appearance. No one can tell they were actually hemmed by a hack.

Bed Head

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I am crazy about this boy and his wild hair.

The Lazy Painter

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I have been systematically working my way though some projects here at the old Ha house. You know, those things that get put off until a spare hour or ten can be located.

Many of these projects involve repainting some of the rooms in our house. While I am pretty good about touching up the occasional scuff or scrape, the majority of these walls haven't been painted in years. It looks like a mob of wild banshees tore though the house leaving no wall unmarred.

To some degree that is an accurate assessment. Although, instead of wild banshees, it was a crazed red head.

I had about four hours burning a hole in my pocket today and decided to put them to good use by painting the hallway. Halfway through the project I came to the realization that I am a lazy painter.

Before I elaborate, I should tell you a little bit about my painting style. First, I am insanely fast. You would be hard pressed to find someone who could paint a room faster. If painting were an Olympic sport, I would win the gold medal.

Second, I never tape off. I have an incredibly steady hand and have found that the tedious job of taping around the ceilings and woodwork only slows me down. In retrospect I should have become a surgeon and put these hands to good use.

Third, I never use a drop cloth. You may consider that reckless, but I beg to differ. In all the years that I have been painting, I have never spilled a drop.

Quick, steady and neat.. I'm an ideal painter. Well, except for the lazy part.

My Mom called while I was painting today. As we were talking, she asked about my progress and commented that I was zipping along. It was then that I realized the truth. I am lazy. Here's why...

Not only do I not tape off or use a drop cloth, I no longer use a paint rolling tray. Before you run me out of town, allow me to explain.

How did I stoop to such lows? I blame it all on my boy's bedroom. In the summer of 2008, I gave my boy's room a complete makeover. After months of negotiation, we came to an understanding that I would paint three of his walls a light tan and the fourth a bold orange color.

It was the five coats of orange paint (two coats of primer followed by an additional three coats of paint) that did me in. Imagine cutting in around all four edges of the wall and window, wrapping the brush in saran wrap so it doesn't dry out, filling the paint tray with paint and rolling the middle. Then imagine putting the paint tray and roller into a trash bag to prevent drying, unwrapping the paintbrush and starting the second coat.

After repeating this process three times, I decided that there had to be a better system. I rummaged through my painting supplies and came up with what I believe is a brilliant solution. You be the judge.

Once I had painted the edges, I took a mini paint roller, the kind that is perfect for small jobs or hard to reach places. Instead of breaking out the cumbersome paint tray, I dipped the mini roller directly into my can of pain, wiped the excess on the edge of the can and rolled away.

The wall was finished in record time thus solidifying my resolve to never use a paint tray again.

Over the years, I have simplified the process even further. Today I switched back-and-forth between the brush and roller, painting one small section of the hallway before moving on to the next.

I know that the majority of you out there in internet land religiously adhere to the proper painting techniques. Many of you are probably thinking, "That's great, but what do your walls look like?"

I can honestly tell you that my walls look perfect. Even under the highest scrutiny, it is impossible to tell that they were painted by a crazy... I mean lazy woman.

The Homework Blues

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 18:01:00 +0000

My boy is fortunate to have a teacher that doesn't believe in bogging his students down with homework. Dr. M.'s philosophy is to utilize class time to get the majority of their work completed. He's my kind of man.

On the rare occasions that the boy has homework, it is because they are working on a project, preparing for a test, or if there wasn't sufficient time during the day. This leaves ample time to play and unwind after school.

So far this year, it has been feast or famine in the homework department. Either the boy has nothing to do, or he has a mountainous pile. His assignments usually include a page or two of multiplication problems, writing twenty spelling sentences, and reading/summarizing a chapter from his social studies and science textbooks.

Most days, the boy takes his workload in stride. After a little downtime, he stations himself at the table and gets to work, knocking out his homework in short order.

Sometimes, however, the thought of having to answer even one math problem sends the boy spiraling into the depths of despair. A simple assignment that would normally take him less than ten minutes to complete can stretch into an hour-long ordeal.

Those are the days that make me wish I could run away and hide for a few hours and return when the evil homework is safely locked away in the boy's backpack.

There was a time, sadly not so long ago, that a homework meltdown would send me over the edge. My patience would run thin and I would find myself acting like a child instead of an adult. I was contributing far more to the problem than I would have cared to admit.

I have come to the realization that a case of the homework blues really isn't a big deal. If the boy decides to freak out and take hours to finish his homework, that's fine with me. All that wasted time is punishment enough.

The only demand that I've made is that the boy must remain respectful and kind to those who happen to be nearby, despite how he feels. Otherwise, I just let it go. Tears, broken pencils, papers crumpled in frustration... they don't phase me.

My new attitude has done wonders for the boy. Take last night for example... His backpack was stuffed to the max, but he didn't get upset. He sat down, cranked out his work and was absolutely chipper the entire time.

I guess you can teach old moms new tricks.

Dragon Park

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

The weather here in Tennessee was beautiful on Sunday. The boys and I decided to take advantage of the rain-free day and visit Dragon Park. The park, which gets it's nickname from a giant mosaic sea serpent, is rarely referred to by it's real name, Fannie Mae Dees Park.

In an effort to keep things honest around here, I would like to confess that I didn't know the name either. I had to do a quick Google search of "dragon park nashville" to get the correct name.

The sea serpent was created by Pedro Silva in 1980. His first work of this kind were the mosaic benches at Grant's Tomb in New York City. Silva's has created other large-scale mosaic sculptures in Chicago, Edinburgh, Scotland and various cities around the world.

After the sculpture fell into disrepair, a group of neighborhood volunteers did a makeover in 1999, restoring the serpent to is original glory. The detail work is incredible. A person could literally spend hours looking at all the different designs and never see them all.

The sculpture serves double-duty in the park, both as an amazing work of art and a playground for children. My boy loves nothing more than to scale the serpents slithering body. It is fun way for adults and children alike to spend the day.

If you live in the Nashville area, or are just in town for a visit, head over to Dragon Park. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Of a Cricked Neck, Storm Troopers and Mountains of Candy

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:30:00 +0000

It is no secret that I adore Fall. I love everything about it... the cooler temperatures, spectacular colors, pumpkins, Halloween, the sound of leaves crunching under my feet, and most importantly Pumpkin Fest. Of the many festivals that take place in our quaint southern town, it is my favorite.

For weeks I had been looking forward to October 31. As luck would have it, Pumpkin Fest, which always takes place the last Saturday in October, was scheduled to take place on Halloween. Two ridiculously fun events in one day... I was practically bursting with excitement.

Sadly, some things are just not meant to be.

Halloween morning I awoke with the most terrible crick in my neck. As I staggered out of bed, I gently tried to massage my neck in an effort to release the kink. Within five minutes, the once seemingly small crick had escalated into a three alarm headache.

I immediately went to the medicine cabinet and downed five Advil. While my liver took a hardy punch, my head only felt worse. Admitting defeat, I crawled back into the bed and pulled the covers over my head.

While I was lying there in agony, my boys headed off to Downtown Franklin WITHOUT ME. They had a great time enjoying all of the festivities. They snacked on healthy fair food including a tin mug of Bayou Billy's Cream Soda, shopped for the perfect rubber band gun, and romped around in the kid zone. As has been the case for the past two years, members of the 501st Legion were there as well.

After the boys returned home, I climbed out of bed, and at first felt significantly better. My excitement, however, was short lived. The kink in my neck was still holding strong and my headache returned with a vengeance. The only logical thing to do was pop another handful of Advil and climb back in bed.

I am not ashamed to admit that by this point I was incredibly pitiful. Not only was I stuck in bed, felling pretty darn crappy, but I had missed Pumpkin Fest and was now in danger of missing out on Halloween in it's entirety. I drifted off to sleep with hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

My nap must have done the trick, because when I finally woke up at 4:45 (yes, I slept almost the entire day), I felt like a million bucks. Halloween was saved.

The boy decided to reprise his role as "an army guy" for Halloween this year. After the day I had, I was honestly thrilled that his costume required minimal effort on my part. I painted the boy's face a lovely shade of camouflage green and he added his own special touch... numerous wounds from the battle he had just fought.

As we headed out in search of candy, the hubby and I were surprised by the lack of kids trick-or-treating this year. On a normal year, the number of costume clad children is so great that, at times, it makes walking quite difficult. This year, the streets were practically empty.

I wondered if many of the local churches decided to hold their annual fall festivals on Halloween night. In many parts of the country this would make a negligible difference, but in our town, a church can be found on almost every corner.

Whatever the reason, the boy used it to his advantage. Families who had mountains of sweet treats repeatedly asked the boy, "would you like some more?" While quite burdensome, he agreed to take the extra candy off their hands.

I, for one, will be glad when the boy has consumed the last peanut butter cup from his stockpile. They are like kryptonite to my feeble attempts at willpower. Until then, I am going to eat them in even numbers. That way, any adverse effects will be evenly distributed around my 5 foot 1 inch frame.

A girl can always dream.

Happy Halloween!

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 04:20:00 +0000

Hope you all had a Happy Halloween.

More on how we spent the day later...

The Gentry Farm

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Fall has officially arrived in Middle Tennessee and I couldn't be happier. Blue skies, crisp cool air, the trees aflame with gorgeous colors... I am in heaven.

Every October, the boys and I take a trip to the Gentry Farm, a 7th generation farm located just west of Franklin, TN. If you live in the area, chances are a visit to the farm is on your October to-do list. It is something my family looks forward to each year.

We decided to invite some friends and their three children (ages four, two, and a newborn) to join us this year. Despite the age difference, the boy always enjoys our time spent with this family, except when the four-year-old little girl asks him to play "getting married."

The kids had a great time exploring the barn maze, log cabin (with it's own tiny outhouse), tire swings, and various other hands-on activities.

The boy seemed especially fascinated by the chickens. Perhaps I should consider getting some chickens for the boy to raise. Farm fresh eggs, right in my own backyard... I'm sure my city-loving hubby would be thrilled about that.

While on the hayride, we caught a glimpse of this baby calf born the night before. The mama cow stood protectively over her new little one as we drove past. In all, there were twenty-three new calves on the farm.

A highlight for the boy is a walk through the four acre cornfield maze. This year, the hubby decided to run ahead, hide, and then wait for the boy and I to find him. We had a great time wandering through the rows of dried corn.

While my boy still loves visiting the Gentry Farm, I know it won't be long before he loses interest in all of the activities geared towards the younger crowd. The thought makes me a little sad (cue a heartbreaking rendition of "Sunrise, Sunset").

For now, I am going to cherish these moments while they last.

Sunday Links

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

A few more Halloween crafts...

Paper Bag Luminaries | Craftzine.com

Sock Skeleton | Junior Society
Scroll down for a how-to video courtesy of Martha Stewart

Candy Corn Sachets | Chica and Jo

Trick-or-Treat Bags | Alpha Mom

Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:45:00 +0000

A Good Report

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 16:48:00 +0000

My boy came home from school the other day with his report card. Based on the schoolwork that he had been bringing home, the hubby and I were expecting to see some excellent grades. We were not disappointed.

Our main concern was the section of the report card dedicated to behavior. As I mentioned previously, the boy was having a few issues at the beginning of the year. Chatting issues, that is.

After a little encouragement on our part, and some creative ideas from the boy's teacher, things have completely turned around. Our son is now well behaved and enthusiastic about school. Miracles can happen.

While the hubby and I are incredibly pleased with the boy's stellar grades and improved behavior, the thing that we are most proud of is his work ethic. He gives 110% on each and every assignment.

I guess the child really was listening all of those times we told him to, "Just do your best." As his parents, what more could we ask for?

Clear(er) Vision

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 21:20:00 +0000

My hubby is one of those people who has been gifted with better than 20/20 vision. I, on the other hand, have worn contacts since the age of thirteen. I was apparently complaining that I couldn't read the chalkboard and a quick eye exam discovered that I was slightly nearsighted. Both my parents wear glasses, bifocals to be specific, so it wasn't a big surprise.

I can still remember driving home, new contact lenses in my eyes, and thinking, "Wow. The leaves on the trees are actually pointed." The change in my vision had been so gradual that I didn't notice as things began to blur.

I have been fortunate that over the past twenty-three years, my vision has hardly changed. In fact, I have had the same prescription for twelve years.

Over the past few months, I began to notice that something was a little off, especially with my right eye. I was sure that this change marked the beginning of my downward spiral into bifocal land.

Well, today was my annual eye exam. I truly expected the doctor to tell me that he was upping the strength of one or maybe both my lenses. Imagine my shock when he told me that my vision hadn't worsened. On the contrary, it had actually improved.

At this rate, I should be glasses and contact lens free by the time I am sixty.

The only new development is that I seem to have a very slight astigmatism in my right eye. The defect is so small that it is of virtually no consequence. With the help of contact lenses, my left eye can see better than 20/20. Because of the astigmatism, my right eye can only be corrected to a perfect 20/20.

The only way that I can tell the difference is if I use one eye at a time. Since I have no plans to become a pirate or turn into a crazy winking lady, I don't foresee it causing any problems.

Our vision insurance has always covered the cost of glasses. Since my script hadn't changed in over a decade, I had a hard time justifying the need for a new pair each year. I currently have five pairs, each one unique, but all with the same prescription.

My newly improved eyesight has me thinking that I might enjoy a new pair of spectacles. The hard part will be finding something different than the ones I already own. Any suggestions?

Here Comes the Sun

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:31:00 +0000

Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun
And I say it's alright

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun,
And I say it's alright

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Sunday Links

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

First, some tasty pumpkin treats...

Pumpkin Pie Bites | Bakerella

Pepitos and Pumpkin Muffins | The Pioneer Woman

Ultimate Pumpkin Waffles | Pumpkin Waffles Blog

Pumpkin Chip Cupcakes with Brown Sugar Buttercream |
Love and Olive Oil

And now, for some Halloween craftiness...

How to Make Pom Pom Pumpkins |Domstifluff

9 Painted Pumpkin Ideas | Parents Magazine

Spooky Packing Tape Transfers | How About Orange

Toilet Paper Tube Halloween Craft | Matsutake
I love Max and the Wild Thing.

Paper Strip Jack-o-Lanterns | Let's Explore

The Bottomless Pit of Hunger

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 12:57:00 +0000

The boy has reached an important landmark in his growth. You know... the one where he consistently eats more than I do. I swear the child has hollow legs.

For breakfast this morning he ate a large bowl of oatmeal, a scrambled egg, half a bagel, some mixed fruit and a glass of milk. Yikes! The oatmeal alone would have been more than I could handle.

Most days, the boy returns from school and proclaims that he was just starving by the time lunch rolled around. I think he is trying to garner sympathy for his plight.

When the feeding frenzy first started, I was a little concerned by the amount of food the boy was eating. I didn't want him to become overweight. That is definitely not the case. His appearance can be described in one word... lanky.

This phenomenon seems to be fueled by the fact that my boy is growing at an alarming rate. We have a spot in the house where we mark his height on one of the door jams. It appears that the child has grown almost two inches in the past six months.

The height advantage I have over my eight-year-old has been reduced to a mere six inches. It won't be long until my neck is constantly cricked from having to look up into his freckled face. Sigh.

I recently read this post over on another blog where a mother was asking for advise about how to keep her three sons fed without breaking the bank. It made me glad that I only have one bottomless pit of hunger to feed.

It also made me aware that I need to keep the refrigerator and pantry well stocked for say, the next ten years.

Multiplication Wrap

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:35:00 +0000

My boy is experiencing the joy of memorizing multiplication facts. Do you remember learning those too?

A good friend, who is a teacher, recommended that I get the Multiplication Wrap Up CD. She said that the rhythm would really help with his memorization. I was able to locate it at my local Parent-Teacher store.

The boy was a little skeptical at first, but the CD really seems to be helping. It is a great way to make use of all the time spent in the car driving from one activity to the next. He only becomes slightly embarrassed when I start grooving to the music.

Because the multiplication facts are set to a rhythm, it provides a time challenge. The boy firmly believes that this will help him prepare for his tests.

While I love that my boy is learning his times tables, the "Wraps" have become slightly annoying. Maybe that's because we have listened to the thing ten thousand times. The simple act of typing this post will ensure that the catchy Wrap Up song will be embedded in my brain for the remainder of the day.

"Wrappings the thing, gonna' learn your math with a wrap up string. Wrap up!... 4X8 is 32..."

In related news, a friend recently pointed out that I am prone to exaggeration on this blog. I have absolutely no idea what she is talking about. My use of big, fancy words like "gazillion" must be throwing her off.

In all seriousness, I am certain that I have listened to the Wrap Up CD no less than a million times. Tennessee in July and the surface of the sun are also the exact same temperature.

There's A Whole Lot of Shedding Going On

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 12:15:00 +0000

We've been having some interesting weather here in Nashvegas. In addition to the endless rain, the temperature has been fluctuating wildly. One day it's a balmy eighty-three degrees, the next it's a crisp fifty-two. I don't know how much more of this my poor inflamed sinuses can handle.

Our dog, Brick, seems to be living in a constant state of confusion. When the temperature drops, it's as if his body says, "Ooh, it feels so chilly outside. I better hurry and start packing on a nice thick undercoat so that I can survive the long, cold winter."

Unfortunately, the next day will be so hot that Brick begins to dump all of the new fur in an effort to keep cool. He is trapped in a never ending cycle of shedding and regrowing hair. As the chief vacuum operator here at the Ha house, I may lose my mind.

I have seriously considered giving old Brick a nice bath in a vat of Nair or other hair removing tonic. Only one thing has prevented such an event... If I remove the dog's hair, it will significantly cut down on that warm and fuzzy feeling I get when I look at his furry face.

Plus, there's the part where I would have to slather sunscreen on his naked body every time he wanted to go outside. I'm starting to creeping myself out.

One benefit of this crazy weather is that this is shaping up to be a spectacular fall. The leaves are finally beginning to change color. In another week or two, the hills will be clothed in a rainbow of colors. It is going to be gorgeous.

I love Fall.

As Heard Tonight...

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 02:27:00 +0000

"Belly buttons are confusing. You never know where you've
checked for lint in all the cracks and crevices."

- The boy, after climbing into bed for the night.

Between the Sheets

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 06:22:00 +0000

If you have been hanging around this old piece of the internet for any length of time, you will be familiar with my love of a good bargain. Like most people, I have an appreciation for the finer things in life. The problem is that my extremely frugal side is always beating up my frivolous side.

Lucky for me, I have the patience of Job and am willing to put off a purchase until I can find an exceptionally good deal. For the most part, the hubby appreciates my fiscally conservative ways, although sometimes I think he wishes I would just buy whatever I want and be done with it.

Case and point... I have been on the lookout for some new sheets for our bed. Our old sets were past their prime and needed to be replaced. Most women would just buy the first set of sheets they saw.

Need I remind you that I am not just any woman? I prefer to take a more I'll-just-keep-my-eyes-peeled-until-the-right-thing-comes-along kind-of approach.

As I wandered up and down the isles of my local TJ Maxx last week, something caught my eye. It was as if a beam of golden sunlight was illuminating one specific item on the shelf. I picked it up to examine the item more closely.

Imagine my delight when I realized that I was holding a set of 700 thread count 100% Pima cotton sheets for a mere $29.99. 700 thread count sheets... for under $30.00... in a color that matched my bedroom perfectly...

A choir of heavenly angels sang Hallelujah as I hugged the sheets to my chest and then placed into the shopping cart. I also found an incredibly soft and cozy blanket to go with it.

I hurried home so that I would have time to get the bedding washed, dryed an onto my bed before nightfall. Never have I been so excited to hit the hay. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that sheets were softer than I even imagined. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

The hubby, who rarely has an opinion about this sorf of thing, seemed unimpressed. When I asked him if he liked the new sheets, his reply was, "They're fine." He then rolled over and went to sleep.

It wasn't until the next morning that I discovered his true feelings about the new bedding. Simply put, he hated it. He actually insisted that I get him an old pillowcase to use the next night.

My hubby is convinced that the sheets are made from polyester. The reason? They are simply too soft and luxurious and therefore must be synthetic. He apparently prefers the soothing feeling of sandpaper against his skin.

I could have gone to WalMart and purchased a set of 150 thread count sheets for under $10.00 and the man would have been thrilled. It's like I'm living with an animal.

For now, the hubby will continue to be tortured by the new sheets. I, on the other hand, will endure his nightly grumblings about the sleeping conditions here at the Ha house. It's a small price to pay for sleeping in such comfort.

Sunday Links

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Rethinking What Makes a House a Home | On Simplicity

22 Tools You Should Keep in Your Car | Marc and Angel Hack Life

TasteSpotting | A Community Driven Visual Potluck
A wonderful resource for recipes.

Make a Gift Bow From A Magazine | How About Orange

Just Peachy Fruit Leather | Berlin's Whimsey

The Burglar Did It

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 02:53:00 +0000

It has come to our attention that the boy has been having a few organizational difficulties at school. Specifically, the child keeps losing his classwork prior to handing it in. Today he lost his language paper.

When his teacher, Dr. M., asked what happened, the boy hypothesized that "maybe someone stole it." At least he didn't blame it on the dog.

Not deterred, Dr. M. questioned whether it was really possible that someone would steal his work. The boy, who took the question literally, replied that it was indeed possible. His punishment for this troublesome line of thinking can be read below.

Why a burglar would not steal a language paper.
by, The Boy

1. If a burglar came into our classroom, he would not want to steal papers from children.
2. The burglar would also not steal a paper by digging through our *seat sacks.
3. Stealing a language paper is not worth going to jail for.
4. Somebody would have called the police before they could take a paper.
5. A burglar already knows how to do third grade work.

* Seat sacks are little pouches that hang on the back of their chairs and provide additional storage space.

After my laughter subsided, I had a little chat with the boy about things being possible but not probable. I think he got the message.

This weekend promises to be quite exciting. The boy will be bringing home all of his folders so that he can devote himself to coming up with a brilliant plan to keep them all organized. There may be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Lucky for me, Dr. M. has forbidden any parents from assisting in said organizing. He has managed to convince the kids that the grownups will "mess it up."

Have I mentioned how much I love the boy's teacher?

Root Beer + The Boy = A Crazed Lunatic

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 11:00:00 +0000

I am one of those weird people that never drink soda. My drinks of choice, in addition to my morning cup of coffee, are either water, unsweetened tea, or the occasional glass of milk. I also like to enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or a bottle of my favorite beer.

This lack of soda in my life wasn't always the case.

Many years ago, the hubby decided to cut back on his soda intake. In an effort to be supportive, I opted to do the same. For approximately three months, no Coke or Pepsi products crossed our lips.

For me, the soda fast was a breeze. The hubby, however, grew to miss his old friend and was soon back on the bottle, although in significantly less quantities than before.

I tried to renew my love affair with soda, but after one sip it became apparent that going back to my soda drinking days was simply not an option. The stuff was so sickeningly sweet that it made me feel nauseous. Ten years later, I still can't stomach a sip.

When the boy came along, it never crossed my mind to offer him soda. In an effort to keep things honest around here, I can admit that I'm a little anal when it comes to feeding my one and only son.

The poor boy has never tasted a Twinkie, consumed a tube of Gogurt or had Coco Puffs. I try to feed him tasty, nutritious and natural foods whenever possible. Don't get me wrong, he get's his fair share of junk food, but that tends to be the exception and not the rule.

For years the boy proclaimed that soda was "spicy" (referring to the fizz) whenever someone would offer him a drink. He refused to even take a sip until about three years ago. That's when he discovered Root Beer and Dr. Pepper.

The child loves the stuff. He is constantly begging for "just one glass" whenever we are out at a restaurant. On the rare occasions that the hubby and I agree, we always regret it. A perfect example was yesterday.

The boys and I stopped off at Puckett's Grocery on our way to the lake. The hubby and I let the boy buy a bottle of Root Beer to enjoy while we fished. Fishing and soda... the child was in heaven.

By the time we loaded the car and headed for home, the high fructose corn syrup had taken full effect. The boy talked incessantly, gesturing wildly (picture flailing arms attached to a squirming body), for the entire ride home. He even began making up words like "frictionated" to add a little pizazz to his monologues about speeding motorcycles, farting and dead skunks.

While incredibly comical, it was exhausting.

For the first time in my life, I regretted the fact that I wasn't carrying a role of duct tape in my purse. Some people believe that next to the wheel and the hammer, duct tape is the greatest thing man has ever invented. I am starting to think they are right.

The soda fast is back in full swing here at the Ha house, at least as far as the boy is concerned. For now, my boy will be mourning the loss of his beloved Root Beer. Poor child.

I, however, will be enjoying the peace and tranquility that a corn syrup-free child provides.

Sun Day

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 13:48:00 +0000

The sun is shining here in Tennessee and I couldn't be happier. Two solid weeks of rain had managed to put me in a bit of a funk. The earth had become soggy and I was tired of the air smelling like a pond.

Growing up in Colorado, I came to associate rain with this amazing smell... clean, fresh, and delicious. Here in the south, any precipitation adds to the already muggy air creating a slightly fishy aroma. It is rather unpleasant.

Mercifully, the last drops of rain evaporated Saturday night. As I type, the temperature is a delightful 68 degrees. A gentle breeze blowing. The weather is perfect, if I do say so myself.

Speaking of fishy... After a lazy Sunday, the boys and I decided to make a late afternoon fishing trip. We have a regular fishing spot at Whippoorwill, but decided to cast our lines in the opposite side of the lake for something different.

Let's just say that we have a new favorite spot.

In the span of about an hour, we caught twenty-one catfish. It was like shooting fish in a barrel... except no guns were involved and there wasn't a barrel.

As luck would have it, the majority of the catfish opted not to swallow the worms and were caught by the edge of their mouths. I was able to remove the hooks, leaving the worms in tact. I'm sure you all recall how much I love baiting hooks.

The catfish were all a little too small to keep, much to the boy's disappointment. For me, however, it was perfect. I was able to enjoy the drive home knowing that all the fish were back where they belong, in the lake and not on my plate.

It was a great day.

Quite Possibly the Most Boring Post Ever

noreply@blogger.com (shoutingforha) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 20:13:00 +0000

Things have been quiet here on the old blog because, frankly, I've had nothing to say. Life has been incredibly uneventful here at the Ha house.

I've decided to proceed with this painfully boring post in an effort to give my three loyal readers what they crave... more mundane details of my life. What can I say, I aim to please.

I have been rising uncharacteristically early this week, something that I normally don't enjoy. However on two separate mornings, I was able to catch a glimpse of the glowing orange ball of fire, formerly known around these parts as the sun. It was a rare treat to see it rise in the east before quickly disappearing behind a large bank of rainclouds.

We could really use a few days of good old fashioned sunshine here in Tennessee. The near two straight weeks of rain have caused my boy's skin to look even whiter than usual. To be honest, I didn't think that it was possible.

Thankfully, I had enough sense to call our favorite lawn guy to come mow this week. It was much more pleasant to watch him zip around the yard in the rain than it would have been to do it myself. I consider it money well spent.

Since the lawn didn't require my attention, I had sufficient time to do a literal mountain of laundry, steam clean the carpets and paint the laundry room. I am officially the most boring person on earth.

In other news, I spent a fun-filled hour at the local laundromat washing the dog's bedding. I absolutely refuse to wash the thing in my machine at home. I have no doubt that all the hair would clog the drain and I would end up having to call a plumber to come clean it out. I prefer to clog the laundromat's drain as opposed to my own.

The facility is fairly nice, as far as laundromats go, and was virtually empty. I was able to use the quiet time to finish one of the three books that I was in the process of reading. The only drawback was having to touch all of the grimy buttons and knobs.

As I mentioned previously, I am on a bit of a hand sanitizing kick. With an exciting life like this, I simply can't afford to catch the flu. My days are filled with dozens of activities that once seemed so simple. Now, because of my neurosis, I am having to apply sanitizer to my hands constantly throughout the day.

Make a deposit at the bank... sanitize. Run a few copies... sanitize. Go to the grocery store... sanitize. Volunteer in the office at the boy's school... sanitize, sanitize, sanitize.

At this rate, the skin on my hands will have all fallen off by next Tuesday. Does that mean I can stop using hand sanitizer?