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Loose ends, tied up with tomato vines

It was not actually my intention to wander away for most of a week, leaving you considering whether or not I had managed to get through that treatment planning meeting without vomiting. Whoops. Sorry! I suck.

In my defense, now that the Great Zucchini Invasion of 2012 is winding down, it’s gone all Attack of the Yummy Tomatoes ’round these parts. And although we all know I’ve been a little weird about my garden pretty much forever, the whole ZOMG-there-is-so-much-I-cannot-control-right-now-and-it-makes-my-tender-pink-middle-feel-uncomfy thing means that I am committed to my stupid garden in a way that borders on pathological. Because things GROW and DAMMIT, we are going to EAT THEM. I will not waste a single item! I will process tomatoes until the kitchen looks like a crime scene! If everything needs to get put on hold while I make tomato sauce, SO BE IT. Make the sauce, save the world. Or something.

I know. (It’s really, really good sauce, though!)

Anyway. Allow me to elucidate on various and sundry: (more…)

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Comments { 75 }

It’s a melon

It’s depressing me to have that last post be on top of the page, here. Instead let’s all admire the latest arrival at Casa Mir:

I’ve been trying to grow melons in my garden for years, and this year—the year my garden surely should be dead of neglect—is of course the year that they took. We’ve had a lot of rain, you see. (Also: irony.) I have trellised the sugar baby vines and dutifully constructed pantyhose slings for my budding fruits, and although my reading told me all about how fruits should reach at least eight pounds and sound hollow and blah blah blah, this morning this melon had made an executive decision and broken free of both its vine and sling.

At six and a half pounds even, it may be a little premature. But it sounds hollow, so who knows. My boys arrive home tonight after being away for a week; I’ll save it for them. We’ll cut it open tomorrow and see if it’s any good. And if it’s not, well, I’ll try not to take it personally. (If it is, I won’t take that personally, either.) It’s just a melon.

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Comments { 33 }

Hurry, Monkey!

When we last left off, poor Licorice was trying to adjust to being used as a chew toy by Zoey. Truly, the dogs had very nearly reached an amicable understanding—and here by “amicable” we mean that Zoey learned to knock it off whenever Licorice snarled at her—so of course we packed everything up and moved on to the in-laws. Zoey is now a distant memory, so far as Licorice is concerned. (She’s in for a rude awakening next week when we head back to my parents’ house. Ha!)

The good news is that here at Nearly Nickless’ house there is no exuberant puppy trying to eat Licorice’s head. The bad news is that my nephews are MIGHTILY DISPLEASED that we showed up without our kids.

Specifically, they would like Monkey here RIGHT NOW PLEASE. (Sorry, Chickie.) We are not sure whether to look forward to this or be very afraid. (more…)

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Comments { 9 }

I totally want a second dog now

So the first day we were here, Zoey peed ALL THE TIME. Talk to her nicely? Pee. Speak to her sternly? Pee. Ignore her? PEE! And along with the incessant piddling, we had her leaping atop Licorice at every possible opportunity, and Licorice spending a lot of time making adorable little cranky-snarly sounds to try to tell Zoey to back off.

The second day, I guess my dad found a little cork and Zoey stopped peeing everywhere. She only spent half the day pouncing all over Licorice, and much time was spent with both dogs lazing in front of the stove, roasting their tender underbellies. Eventually there was some running around and bouncing of balls and the dogs were VERY NEARLY playing together, and then Licorice apparently tried to kill Zoey’s Most Favoritist Toy—a very flat raccoon—and ZOEY snarled at LICORICE. Most surprising. And hilarious.

This morning, Zoey was put outside while Licorice ate her breakfast. And then Licorice went and laid down by the door to wait for Zoey to come back in. I suspect we’ve reached a truce. So I made Otto get out the camera. (more…)

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Comments { 23 }

My many first-world problems

Sometimes I sit down to write something and I feel like such a colossal douche I consider just skipping the blog entry and ridiculing myself internally, instead. But then I realize that’s no fun at all, and I share it all with you.

YOU ARE WELCOME.

Here at Casa Mir I am fraught with THE BUSY, because time is running out, school vacation and The Big Trek North are almost upon us, and there are a million things I have not done, cannot do, must accomplish, blah blah blahbbity blahhhhhh and all of it is unimportant, I mean mostly, and yet it’s eating up my head space. I’m forever exhorting my children to USE ALL THAT BRAIN POWER FOR GOOD RATHER THAN EVIL, and perhaps I should take my own advice. Except in my case I should probably use that brain power for the betterment of humanity instead of for middle-class minutiae. And I will. As soon as I take care of this other stuff. (more…)

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Comments { 29 }

Twang-a twang TWANG twang

I had noble intentions of putting together a deeply meaningful—but also hilarious, natch—post for your enjoyment, yesterday, but my day was derailed by a multitude of more pressing matters.

True, probably the least of my worries was the subcontractor who is out on the deck painting (did I mention that we replaced our siding while redoing the deck? because we did, because why not spend every last penny all at once!) and BLARING country music all freakin’ day long.

Part of me feels like: Hey, this is my house, and not only that, this is my OFFICE, and I am trying to work, and therefore I am well within my rights to ask him to please turn his music down (or off).

But the other part of me feels like: Dude is probably being paid minimum wage by the contractor, let him listen to some music while he spends hours and hours moving a paint brush back and forth, and P.S. don’t be a dick. (more…)

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Comments { 34 }

This is preferable

What I really, really want to do right now is go on a long and indignant rant about a particular teacher at the middle school. BUT I AM A GROWN UP. So I merely complained about it on Facebook, instead, and here I am going to talk about oatmeal. As adults do.

See how MATURE and RESTRAINED I am? Don’t be envious, it took me YEARS to become this refined.

Instead I am going to tell you about how this week Hippie School had a Medieval Festival, and we parents were treated to various delights including a swordplay tournament, dance demonstrations, and various other medieval things. And of course, we were tasked with providing various medieval foods. I agreed to bring “porridge,” which meant I brought a huge crock pot filled with steel-cut oats. Which no one ate. It turns out that—while porridge is medieval—so is roast chicken and apple pie, so, um, yeah. (more…)

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Comments { 20 }

Riveting soup update!

I got you some rivets! All kinds!


Because… you know… rivets… riveting…? Oh, nevermind.

The soup was delicious. And I made naan! Recipes after the jump, if you care. If you don’t care, enjoy your rivets. I Googled them just for you. (more…)

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Comments { 16 }

On the seventh day, we pigged out

So, um, I never quite know what to say after a post where I’ve worry-vomited all over the keyboard and the majority of you are so sweet and kind about it, holding back my hair and assuring me that it’s okay. I want to follow it up with OH HEY FALSE ALARM, IT’S ALL GOOD! but that isn’t really how it goes.

On Saturday morning, Otto left at the crack of dawn for a work thing, I packed the children off with their dad for the weekend, and then I spent the entire day being responsible to no one and not talking about anything. Not solving any problems! Not discussing my feelings! Just being silent. Blessedly silent. And possibly shopping for shoes and watching bad television.

So Saturday was kind of a break from being “on” and it was just what I needed. Eventually the dog and I crawled into bed and when we woke up on Sunday morning, Otto was back! Hooray! (more…)

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Comments { 32 }

This is why it’s good I don’t have a uterus

Yesterday we had some friends come over for brunch, and that was exciting because I generally just hide in my cave, all alone, coming out briefly for food and laundry and to comment that the light, it buuuuuurns.

In preparation for this event, we dusted and vacuumed (because we do those things once a year, whether the house needs it or not!), and made some brunchy foods, and tried to prepare the children. You see, Chris and Karen have three children—a 4-year-old son and 3-year-old twin daughters.

To Chickadee, we said: We expect you to help with the little kids. To Monkey, we said: If there’s anything you don’t want the little kids touching, you need to put it up high or close it in your room. Just telling them “no” may not work, and you can’t get mad about that. Also, they may be loud. It’s okay to take a break if you need to. To Licorice, we said: Good luck, pup.

This turned out to be just the right amount of prep. (more…)

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Comments { 19 }
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