We are mostly moved in to our new house. There are mismatched pictures on the wall and lots of empty places, that I just don't know what to do with. I decided, because I read all of these crazy thrifty decorating blogs, that I need to get off my butt and make something, anything. I leave the girls with the husband and head to Hobby Lobby, the mecca for pretty much everything. I grab a cart and take out my list. I need fabric for the ragamuffin garlands, a capital letter L and some moss to cover it. Not sure why I need a cart, but something is bound to jump out at me that requires an extra pair of hands that I just don't have.
Hobby Lobby is amazing! They have everything you need and alot you don't. I find all kinds of things that I MUST have. My palms begin to sweat and my heart races. Wow, stuff is 50% off in every department. I nearly have to call my husband to rescue me from the towering shelves of stuff that I want. I need a professional intervention. Calling my mom would have been useless. She would have jumped in the car and started stuffing the stuff into my cart. I WANT everything, but cannot for the life of me, figure out what to do with most of it. I read about how all of these thrifty women spray paint everything. Man, if I had a can of paint, I would be painting everything too, metal candlesticks, frames, the kids, I don't care at this time, I am motivated and want to get busy!
I grab what I need and some that I don't. You just really never know when you will need a $24.99 doodad, that was marked down to $2.50. Maybe with a little paint...
Ok, so I didn't buy paint but am going to Walmart today and may pick up a can(or 6). Not sure what I am going to paint yet, but it is coming. I have this brass chandelier that is in for a big shock!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Move in ready
So, we have a new house. It "used" to have a turret and be on a quiet, tree lined street. Now, it is rather big, has no fence and sits facing a major busy street. What happened, you ask? Well, we put a contract on one, we were outbid. We looked at a few more. One had columns, lots of space and only one bathroom. My lovely husband hates it, "Has columns, don't like it." What? More looking ensues, when in fact, we aren't even selling our current home.
I see a house online. It is listed as having 3 bedrooms with a main floor entertainment room. I say I want to see it, we meet our realtor there. It is spacious and has all pedestal sinks, don't ask. It has so, so, so many things that I love, LOVE, hear me? A big kitchen, a big master bedroom with bath. It also has a nice screened in porch and a lovely terrace off my bedroom. Closet space is fine, with ample room to store my massive collection of shoes. That sold it for me right then. Hubby wasn't quite as convinced. "Blah, blah," I hear him say. Ok, I'm done.
His mind changes and we go for it. There is that nasty back and forth that occurs in the real estate world. It is finally agreed upon and we have a house. Wish I could move there.
I see a house online. It is listed as having 3 bedrooms with a main floor entertainment room. I say I want to see it, we meet our realtor there. It is spacious and has all pedestal sinks, don't ask. It has so, so, so many things that I love, LOVE, hear me? A big kitchen, a big master bedroom with bath. It also has a nice screened in porch and a lovely terrace off my bedroom. Closet space is fine, with ample room to store my massive collection of shoes. That sold it for me right then. Hubby wasn't quite as convinced. "Blah, blah," I hear him say. Ok, I'm done.
His mind changes and we go for it. There is that nasty back and forth that occurs in the real estate world. It is finally agreed upon and we have a house. Wish I could move there.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Get over it!
I am on a couple of mommy boards. One, in particular, seems to be rife with irritation so much that I have read that it might be shut down. The reason is really incredible and really stupid. It seems there is quite a bit of bashing of certain members, so much that it has driven a couple of the women to actually quit participating. I understand the reasoning. One mom was attacked because of how she disciplined her son. It didn't seem all that unreasonable, the way she handled the situation. But, as usual, things got out of hand and she was personally attacked in a way that I would describe as petty and ignorant. Another member, one who jokingly admits she has a beer and a Xanax, was also recently attacked by her so called "friends." Someone questioned her role as a mom and wondered how her kids would grow up with a crazy, alcoholic mama. I mean, really? There are so many other things in this world that demand our attention. The board calls these people trolls because they interject things that are meant to stir the pot, piss people off and cause the moderators to have to moderate. We are supposed to be friends, to support each as friends and women. Creating havoc doesn't create happy people. I don't think that many from the board in question read my blog, but if they do, if you are a petty betty, step off!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Wild Kingdom
As if Larry the Lizard wasn't enough, darling husband came home the other day and told me to have a look out the kitchen window. What I saw was a bird, a hawk, eating something. Turns out, he was dismantling another bird! There were feathers everywhere. That makes 2 days of animal behavior at my house. What in the world is happening here?
Jurassic Basement
We have company coming, so I decided to take my shower curtains down to the laundry for a washing. I use alot of bleach on the liners and am always afraid that it will get all over me while I try to get them out. When I heard the washing machine stop, I went down and started taking off my clothes. Nice visual, huh? Anyway, I was down to my bra and had the belt of my jeans unbuckled, when I saw something walk past the dryer. It was, are you ready for this, a LIZARD! WTH? It looked alot like this.
See how he is mocking me, daring me to come closer so he can eat me? Or, maybe he is saying, "Na, na, na, na na, I'm in your basement! You can't touch me!" Yeah, laugh it up big guy, laugh it up. So, my reaction to finding this little bit of the herpetarium in my basement is to scream like I am being cut with a samurai sword. The neighbor probably heard. All of them.
I call my husband to have him come home to remove the beast from the basement. He cannot understand me through all of the screaming. At the exact same time that I am screaming at him, a friend calls on my cellphone. She never calls, so while I was concerned, I was a bit more concerned for what was stalking me in the basement. I scream at her too, telling her their is a large reptile in my basement. She, not surprisingly, couldn't understand me and hangs up, texting me to find out what was them matter. I text her back and she just laughs, no offer to come over with a lizard trap. Hubby says he has to go to a meeting and I am left to fight off the beast in the basement. I call my parents. My mom puts my dad on the phone and I tell him to come over immediately to put this thing out of my misery. He says let it be, it eats the bugs. I scream that I don't care and get over here. He does.
We go into the basement. I point out the location of the offender and he grabs a flashlight and step stool. We have weapons but he chooses to go at it unarmed. He pokes and prods things, nothing happens. By now, the thing is probably wandering around the house. The useless cat doesn't even seem interested in what I am telling her. My dad reassures me that at least it isn't a snake. How freakin' reassuring is that? He then goes on to say, that it has probably been in the basement for quite some time, grown up there, so to speak. Freakin' great. I tell my dad to get out because I don't want anymore of his opinions.
I post on my mommy boards. I explain the entire story and my responses are interesting. Most say that I am lucky it isn't a huge spider. While this is true, I could kill a spider and that would be it. Now, I basically have a pet in my basement, and an unwanted one at that. Most laugh at my underwear clad self screaming at the top of my lungs about something I may never see again. Whatever, I am never going into the basement unarmed again.
Larry the Lizard, as I call him now, wasn't really that big. I am figuring about 9-10 inches. That is pretty long though, I think, especially for someone that doesn't like things living in her house that don't make any kind of contribution, other than scaring the crap out of me.
This is probably a more accurate representation of the visitor.
You know, the smiling, happy go lucky lizard that just wants to hang out and be friends. Larry was brown, but you get the idea.
I have yet to see Larry the Lizard again, and I am totally fine with that. I carry a broom and make alot of noise to scare him away. I am not feeding him or setting out water for him, I want him go away, far away. I am still faced with the fear of him crawling into my clean laundry and making his move upstairs. I may need therapy.
See how he is mocking me, daring me to come closer so he can eat me? Or, maybe he is saying, "Na, na, na, na na, I'm in your basement! You can't touch me!" Yeah, laugh it up big guy, laugh it up. So, my reaction to finding this little bit of the herpetarium in my basement is to scream like I am being cut with a samurai sword. The neighbor probably heard. All of them.
I call my husband to have him come home to remove the beast from the basement. He cannot understand me through all of the screaming. At the exact same time that I am screaming at him, a friend calls on my cellphone. She never calls, so while I was concerned, I was a bit more concerned for what was stalking me in the basement. I scream at her too, telling her their is a large reptile in my basement. She, not surprisingly, couldn't understand me and hangs up, texting me to find out what was them matter. I text her back and she just laughs, no offer to come over with a lizard trap. Hubby says he has to go to a meeting and I am left to fight off the beast in the basement. I call my parents. My mom puts my dad on the phone and I tell him to come over immediately to put this thing out of my misery. He says let it be, it eats the bugs. I scream that I don't care and get over here. He does.
We go into the basement. I point out the location of the offender and he grabs a flashlight and step stool. We have weapons but he chooses to go at it unarmed. He pokes and prods things, nothing happens. By now, the thing is probably wandering around the house. The useless cat doesn't even seem interested in what I am telling her. My dad reassures me that at least it isn't a snake. How freakin' reassuring is that? He then goes on to say, that it has probably been in the basement for quite some time, grown up there, so to speak. Freakin' great. I tell my dad to get out because I don't want anymore of his opinions.
I post on my mommy boards. I explain the entire story and my responses are interesting. Most say that I am lucky it isn't a huge spider. While this is true, I could kill a spider and that would be it. Now, I basically have a pet in my basement, and an unwanted one at that. Most laugh at my underwear clad self screaming at the top of my lungs about something I may never see again. Whatever, I am never going into the basement unarmed again.
Larry the Lizard, as I call him now, wasn't really that big. I am figuring about 9-10 inches. That is pretty long though, I think, especially for someone that doesn't like things living in her house that don't make any kind of contribution, other than scaring the crap out of me.
This is probably a more accurate representation of the visitor.
You know, the smiling, happy go lucky lizard that just wants to hang out and be friends. Larry was brown, but you get the idea.
I have yet to see Larry the Lizard again, and I am totally fine with that. I carry a broom and make alot of noise to scare him away. I am not feeding him or setting out water for him, I want him go away, far away. I am still faced with the fear of him crawling into my clean laundry and making his move upstairs. I may need therapy.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Today
Ivy woke up at about 430, so my day started early. It usually starts around then, and sometimes I go back to sleep, sometimes I don't. On Tuesday and Thursday, Mia has school, so I have to be dressed fashionably and well coiffed, in order to fit in with all of the other stuck up moms. See the next post regarding the well coiffed part, very sad. Anyway, Ivy went back to sleep so I showered, had coffee etc and decided at 530 that I should get dinner going. Not that we are going to eat prior to 6pm, but hey, why not get a jump on things? I am making chicken and that always takes awhile to bake. If I have a late nap, it could be 7pm before we eat and by then I will have eaten everything in the kitchen. So, I get the cookbook and start assembling the ingredients for this new recipe. The last one I made from this book, SUCKED, so am hoping for better results this time. I mix the Ranch dressing and flour together to dredge my breasts in, just a little early morning humor there. I get the chicken out of the fridge and see these aren't just chicken breasts, they are chicken BREASTS! Mammoth, gargantuan, Dolly Parton sized pieces. They aren't going to bake in 25 minutes, like the recipe says. I will be lucky to get them done in 25 days with my oven. The darn thing isn't even 3 years old yet. I have to bang them down to even fit in the pan, let alone cook. I grab the meat mallet and think about where I can beat them down. It is 530, no one wants to hear me beating the meat, so to speak. I decide the basement is the place. Lots of yucky things happen in basements, so why not a little breast beating? I whack them hard so they flatten enough to be manageable. I can't get them that thin, so guess I will add about an hour to the cooking time. I bring the bags of chicken upstairs to dredge. I HATE, HATE touching chicken! It has a cold, sticky/snotty feeling, and is just gross. I mix the flour and dressing together, by now I can tell this is going to be another sucky dinner, and prepare to plunge my chicken covered hands into cold, sticky Ranch/flour mixture. My teeth are starting to sweat now. You know, that sick feeling you get before you hurl. I have already turned on the faucet because I know the second I am done, I will have to sterilize my hands. I put the first piece in and smoosh it around to get it covered. I am literally, gagging. There is always that squeeby little piece of whatever that comes off the breast, sometimes it hangs on for dear life, but I always remove it because it is totally disgusting. I use a spatula to get better coverage of the dressing/gloppy mixture. You would think that using a spatula would cut some of the hand mess, wrong. There is way too much touching of gross stuff in this recipe, so I will not be making it again, no matter how good it tastes. I get all of the chicken into the pan and set the timer. I rinse all of the dishes/utensils involved and then go about sterilizing my hands. I use the hottest water that will come out and lots of dishsoap. My cuticles will look like hell but I don't want any remnants of the chicken goo I call our dinner to be on me. Then, there is the cleanup of the prep area. Oh, no, there are squeeby particles and the dressing mess on the table. I have no papertowels. I get a clean hand towel and proceed to spray the entire area, twice, for best results, with a mixture of chemicals that I'm sure could send me to the hospital. There is no trace of the yuck that I was cooking so I am happy. However, the sink has the yucky dredge bowl in it and the mixture isn't coming out. I kick up the hot water and try to rinse it out without touching it. Finally it comes clean, but the gack is now stuck in the sink. Nice. I run some more hot water and turn up the faucet to a more concentrated stream. It seems to do the trick. I have to wash my hands again, just in case something gross got on them. I don't even have an OCD but chicken is so gross that I must wash, must wash, must wash. By now, I am angry that I have made something that is probably going to suck, my family won't eat it and I have to be sterilized after making it. I get it into the oven, it actually smells pretty good. By 630, it is done. I have cut into it, just to make sure that we won't get some squeeby chicken disease if we eat it. All I can say, is that dinner is done and it will probably suck. So, I have been up since 430, my hair looks like crap, my cuticles look like crap and I have created and cooked some crap. Have a nice day!
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