I thought there was nothing I like better than when a reader so totally gets my family, they feel the need to call my attention to something that would make us happy.
Alert reader Jamie did just that: She emailed me earlier this week with this link to say she was thinking about me. In case you don’t feel like clicking, that leads to this little DIY gem:
Awesome, right? (more…)
I always get a little twitchy when someone asks me for a recipe. I am not one of those “This is my secret recipe and if I tell you then I have to kill you” sorts, not by a long shot. I’m the person who brings a dish somewhere and if someone says, “Oh my gosh, this is amazing!” I’ve barely said “thank you” before I’m telling them how easy it is to make, let me tell you. So it’s not a secrecy thing.
It’s a… slob thing. I am not an exacting person when it comes to cooking. I love to cook; I love to eat; I can follow a recipe with no problem. But the reality is that once I’ve made something two or three times, I’ve internalized the nuts and bolts and then I cook it by feel. So when you wanted the veggie chili recipe, yesterday, it struck terror into my heart. Because… I’m pretty sure I had a recipe for it? Once upon a time? But now it’s just… whatever. I just make it. And it’s good.
But because I love you, I will attempt to give you the recipe, and also explain what food looks like around here. IT WILL BE THRILLING. (more…)
Yesterday I read Liz’s post about her step-grandfather and it got me thinking about MY step-grandfather. So today you get to read about him over at Off Our Chests, if you’re so inclined. He was a character.
Unrelated, here’s an actual, unretouched conversation that happened here yesterday:
Me: Honey, I love you SO MUCH.
Otto: I… love you, too…?
Chickadee: She wants something.
Me: No! I just LOVE YOU!
Otto: I know what she wants.
Me: You do?
Otto: You want me to stop at the store and pick up sweet potatoes.
Me: See? THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOU! You’re the GREATEST!
(I always said a big part of the reason I wanted to remarry was so that my children could grow up seeing what a healthy, loving marriage looks like. Now they can see that when two people really love each other, their love magically produces veggie chili EVEN WHEN they are unexpectedly out of sweet potatoes.)
The children are home! The children are home! This is what Paul Revere ran through the town yelling about to strike fear into the hearts of the British. Or possibly Otto. But as for me, I was positively giddy yesterday, because no matter how much of a pain in the butt they can sometimes be, two weeks is a LONG TIME for my babies to be gone.
Mind you, sometimes it was like they weren’t even gone at all. After an unfortunate incident earlier this year when Chickadee took the sometimes-her-cell-phone to a school event and proceeded to spend the entire time texting with a friend sitting a few seats away (the hell?)—resulting in a $40 overage on our texting allowance—after some negotiation we decided the sometimes-her-cell-phone could now become the really-her-cell-phone (with all the rights and privileges therein, such as us taking it away when she’s rotten), and we went to unlimited texting on our family plan (half of which she’s paying for, because we are mean and terrible parents). This meant that at random times throughout their absence, my cell phone would go BINGBING! and upon review I would discover that Chickadee had sent me a Very Important Text.
Of course, the 13-year-old version of Very Important is… somewhat different than the adult version. A typical conversation with my darling daughter via text message looks something like this: (more…)
This morning as the fence guys banged away outside, I wrote out the final check. Then I took it upstairs to Otto’s office and handed it over. “I’m not talking to them, I’m not looking at them, I’m not discussing anything with anyone. When it’s done and you’re happy, give it to them. But I’m not here.” Otto chuckled and agreed, because he’s known me a very long time, and he knows that when I voluntarily remove myself from a situation like that, it means it’s really best for everyone concerned.
An hour later, it was done. DONE. Today is day 34, by the way—just in case you were keeping track. (Not that we were. OH HA HA HA! I crack myself up. Hee.)
It looks great. There were only a few times with this last crew that I wanted to rip someone’s eyebrows off. Plus they’ll be back next month to seal it for us for free (just a little bonus you get when your fence job is totally botched and takes over a month). And most importantly—let’s not forget—it’s DONE. Thank God. Oh, did you want to see it? (more…)
Listen, it’s kind of been a whirlwind around here for the last few weeks: There was getting the kids ready for their trip, and then we went camping, and then Kira was here, and then Otto came back, and then another old friend of mine came by for a quick visit; and you know all of this is a bit much for my delicate system—all of these comings and goings—and really all I want at this point is to sit on the couch with some popcorn and something terrible on television and not have to talk to anyone for a while.
Of course, that is simply not how my life goes… um, ever. Which is fine. Really, IT’S FINE. WHY AM I YELLING? Ahem. No. It’s totally fine. There’s always things to be done and stuff to take care of no matter how slug-like I’m feeling. And at least Otto being home again means that when I get up in the morning and regard the coffeemaker with a mournful expression and a plaintive, “There isn’t any coffee in here,” Otto is willing to swoop in and fix my life, or at least my coffee.
There may not be enough coffee in the universe to get me through this week, though. (more…)
I’m over at Off Our Chests, today, talking about what I learned from my long-ago stints as a waitress. I’m guessing there are worse jobs to have, but waitressing was definitely the worst job I, personally, have ever had.
Like anything else that doesn’t kill you, though, it probably made me stronger. Or at least cognizant of the fact that sometimes the best choice is to just be nice, no matter what.
The weekend quickly disappeared in a fast-forward WHOOSH of chatting and talking and discussing and many other synonyms for flapping our gums endlessly at one another. True, Kira and I speak several times a week on the computer, anyway, but something about being together, in person, for that one weekend a year makes it suddenly VERY IMPORTANT that we discuss everything from the Good Old Days That Really Were Kind Of Sucky back when we were both single moms and despaired of life ever getting better to how we can possible arrange for her Max to marry my Chickadee and the kids to think it was all their idea and we had nothing to do with it.
Inbetween all of that talking, and also sometimes DURING it, we figured that another benefit of our time together with NO CHILDREN OR SPOUSES was that we could partake of some movies we otherwise might not see. This would’ve been fine if we’d been hitting up our local movie store, but instead, we settled in with my Netflix account to see what was available via livestreaming.
I have a bit of a mental block when it comes to Netflix, it turns out. (more…)
Otto and I packed up from camping, came home, removed everything from the camper and shoved it into the washing machine, and then he promptly left me to go race cars… somewhere. Up north. I forget where. I wasn’t really paying attention, on account of I took this opportunity when 1) my kids are gone and 2) Otto is off to play cars to 3) demand that my bestie come spend the weekend with me.
We are positively INEBRIATED with the sheer joy of having no one to answer to and no real plans (other than some fancy dinner plans Otto made for us for tomorrow night because he is awesome), and so far have managed to throw the ball for the dog a few times, talk each others’ ears off, and shop for nutritious dinner food like a hunk of brie and crackers. We have also spent some quality time combing through the Netflix available streaming movies to make sure tonight we have something truly terrible to watch while we flick popcorn at the dog.
[I know that now that I'm all grown up I'm not supposed to get all giddy over what is essentially the 40-year-old version of a slumber party, but screw that. Moms need play dates, too, man.]
It seems ridiculous to claim we’re out communing with nature when, in reality, our camper has a microwave and the campground has free wifi. I know. But we’re parked in a forest where emerging takes you right to the ocean’s shore, and more to the point, this is The Land Of A Million Squirrels.
When you sign in at the campground, they give you all sorts of information materials (maps and such), and everything carries prominent warnings that you should not feed the squirrels. This baffles me. First of all, these squirrels swagger around like the damn rodent mafia, which to me is SO CREEPY that I cannot imagine anyone thinking, “Wow, this giant rat with a fluffy tail just walked up and drank out of the dog’s water dish while she was sitting right there, I think I’ll offer him a Cheeto in the hopes that he takes out a tiny switchblade and carves up my face for good measure.” Second… well, there really isn’t a second. I just pretty much hate squirrels.
Licorice, however, is having the time of her life. Because no sooner does the squirrel she’s chasing scamper up a tree than another emerges nearby to taunt her and take its place. (more…)
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