There's big doings afoot here today---maybe---well, it's complicated, and I hope that tomorrow it will make a good story, but today I have to go do other things for a little bit. Plus I think it's a D&D day, which means soon my house will be filled with nerdlings and dice and lots of words I don't understand. While I'm away, why not make your family a big pot of chili? I'm pretty sure I've linked to all of these recipes here before, but now you can go over to Alpha Mom and find all of my favorites in one handy spot, just in case you're not sure what to have for dinner. We're having Karen's...
This is where I tell you all of the fascinating things I've been doing lately which have kept me from writing here. If only I'd been leaping tall buildings in a single bound or rescuing kittens and babies from flaming buildings, or something. In truth I find the days have been slipping away from me. Not in a bad way; after months of feeling like time was creeping by while I hated everyone and everything, I'm feeling better. Yay! And when I'm feeling better I cook and bake and volunteer at school and clean things and take the dog for walks. Good for living, not so interesting for writing,...
So before I forget, allow me to direct you to my latest recipe over at Alpha Mom, the perfect option if you kind of secretly love old-fashioned chicken casserole type things but are 1) gluten-free, 2) a fan of spices other than salt, and 3) religiously opposed to recipes that involve canned soup. This one is our alternative to chicken pot pie, but it's topped with (gluten-free) cornbread. If you're not gluten-free, make the cornbread with regular flour; I don't judge. Also, have you ever noticed that sometimes you ask me questions, or say "hey, can we see a picture of that?" and I don't...
"DUDE I AM, LIKE, SO DRUNK." Here we have a sentence that I'm pretty sure I've never actually said in 40+ years of life, mostly because I can count the times when I've truly been inebriated on one hand with fingers left over. I don't actually like being drunk. I like occasionally being a degree or two more cheerful than I can manage on my own, but thanks to being a relatively small person and infrequent imbiber, one drink is all that takes. Perfect. I know no one wants to hear me continue to bitch and moan about The Tragedy Of Stupid Medication, but I have been off the supposed Wonder Drug...
I have never actually been an addict of any kind (uhhhh... eating all the chocolate in the house so that there's not any chocolate in the house to tempt me doesn't count on that score, right?), so this may be completely off base, but I think the process of going off this stupid medication that never actually worked for me has been a lot like withdrawal. (Maybe. I have no idea, like I said, but hey, I'm a squeaky-clean, middle-aged, middle-class woman who saw Trainspotting once. Or something.) Basically, you know, I'm fine, and it's no big deal. Except that while I was taking this med, I was...
Otto and I have a quaint little Monday morning routine, and it goes like this: My alarm goes off, and I commence slapping my clock in sleepy annoyance, and Otto says, "Why does Monday morning always come so EARLY?" I grunt in response, and thus our love carries us through another week. Oh, wait. Actually it's COFFEE that carries us through another week. That charming exchange we have every Monday morning is just that precious little reminder that when you truly love someone, you forgive them for trying to have a conversation with you before you've had your coffee. And then you pack a lunch...
"Our life is boring," I told Otto after dinner last night. "I have nothing to blog about!" "We should go on more adventures," he replied. That Otto, he's a problem solver. Though he seemed a little miffed when I declined his offer to leave the dirty dishes on the table, the children in their rooms, and grab the dog and drive off into the sunset. I'm not saying it wasn't tempting, just that I was afraid the kids might eventually track us down. (Also, I hadn't finished my laundry, and you should never run away without a sizable stash of clean undies.) I just want to make it clear that I know I...
My toenails; more specifically, my inability to paint them properly. I believe in painted toenails. I don't know why, because I almost never paint my fingernails and rarely wear makeup. I'm not exactly a get-dolled-up-regularly type, is my point. And yet, to me, summer = painted toenails. And given that I am far too cheap/lazy to get professional pedicures---hey, I have polish and passable eye/hand coordination---I do my own feet here at home. I am never either drunk or blind before I set out to prettify my feet, AND YET! What the heck is my problem? I manage to BOTH slop polish all over my...
I am cranky. [I am going to spare you a thousand-odd words about said crankiness, because really, the only thing worse than someone cranky is that cranky person trying to justify said crankiness. I HAVE MANY FEELS. Mostly they feel like throwing tantrums. Being a grownup often sucks, it turns out.] Know what's good for an advanced case of poormeitis? Baking. Yay! Here, I made you some healthy cookies you can eat for breakfast. You could make some for yourself/your kids and say thank you, if you wanted. Or if you wanted to pretend to be one of my kids, you could just eat them while glowering...
