Blessed are the "Shopper's Club" specials: for they shall fill thy freezer and pantry. Blessed is the glorious crockpot: for it shall prepare delicious meals with minimal effort. Blessed are the children who will refuse to eat the bounty of the crockpot: for they are cute and therefore shall not be slain. Blessed are the toaster pastries: for they shall sustain The Child That Never Eats. Blessed are the hurricane-ravaged groves of Florida: for they shall raise the price of orange juice and vex the nations. Blessed are the multigrain rice cakes: for they are cheap and give the illusion of...
I am still chuckling after reading Jay's confessions for the week. He has invited fellow bloggers to step up to the confessional as well, so here goes. I have recently sinned, both in action and in my heart. This past week alone, I: Told Chickadee the atomic fireballs are all gone. They aren't; they are in my nightstand drawer and I have been eating them steadily while watching TV before I go to bed. Avoided several friends when they called and told them later that I was out, hoping that they would then believe I truly am busy and not sitting around wallowing. Scanned multiple items at...
You'd better be at the polls, my friends. (If you'd like to skip that, the only acceptable alternative is giving me large sums of money, you know.) Just a friendly little Public Service Announcement, courtesy of my favorite civic-minded hussy: The U.S. presidential election is EXACTLY six weeks from today. Are you registered to vote yet? If not, then why not? FOUR sites to get you to register to vote, and to get your friends to register, too: Just Vote. Federal Election Commission. Rock the Vote. Declare Yourself - Register to Vote. They're trying to get 1 million signatures, and so far are...
Blogrolling appears to have woken from its stuporous slumber. Praise be. Chickadee did indeed survive the day, and I got my kiss... after she told me she didn't want to come home with me. Hmph. Since when is playing with three neighbor girls more fun than hanging out with me? What? Always? Fine. Hmph. I walked back home from the bus stop, alone, to the calls of "Nice backpack!" from the neighbors who were putting blacktop on the driveway. The thing I do for that little ingrate. I'm off to pick up the child who loves me....
It was a particularly rough evening 'round these parts. If you happen to be a rather emotional, precocious 6-year-old, Friday nights are not your time to shine. In that case, Friday nights would hallmark the end of an entire week of being your most wonderful and obedient self for the school community, and starting about when the bus drops off on Friday afternoon would be a good time to unleash a week's worth of angst and votriol upon your unsuspecting family. The result? Four hours that feel like forty. You can understand, perhaps, how relieved I was to finally tuck the children into bed....
I'm feeling pulled in a hundred directions today. Maybe it's because I need to sit down and pay bills (and I would rather do almost anything else). Maybe it's because the lawn needs to be mowed but it looks like rain. Maybe it's because I have a whole list of things I should be doing and I can't decided which one to do first. Maybe it's because Blogrolling seems to be having a freak-out and I can't sit here and read blogs and get my daily fix. Then again, maybe it's just because I'm nearly out of clean panties. Thongs... nature's little reminder that you shouldn't wait until all your comfy...
Three years ago today, I forgot to do a "first day of school" picture of Chickadee before taking her in to meet her new teacher. She bounced off to her first day of preschool with hardly a backwards glance. Monkey had to be peeled off my leg amidst snuffling and whining, and embarked upon his first day of daycare. I returned home, heady with the possibilities of this day: my first day without children or an office job. My first day to start my new career, to really try to make a go of writing. The phone was ringing when I walked back into the empty house. My husband told me to turn on the...
Hold me. There is a swarm of little girls playing out a very complicated scenario at the dollhouse. There is giggling, and sometimes whining, and often yelling. Fortunately, I am deterred from intervening much by this 38-pound weight that has attached itself to my leg. Monkey gave up trying to get through the cloud of estrogen about 10 minutes into the playdate, and is now contenting himself with trying to break my ankle. So, while I'm trying to go to my happy place, and thinking of fluffy bunnies and Godiva chocolate and true love and all that, I remembered that quite a few of you had asked...
I've still got... ummm... at least fifteen pounds of apples. Fresh, juicy, orchard-ripe apples. We'd demolished the Labor Day apple crisp at the barbeque, so I decided to make another one. I swear to you, I finished filling the dish and got it into the oven, and the bag of apples was just as full as it had been before I started. Freaky. If I were a better person, I'd see this as my opportunity to feed the starving masses. But I'm not, and so mostly I see it as me having way more apples than necessary. The recipe I used tonight was a new variation, using crushed ginger snaps in lieu of flour...
