Low blood sugar, you know. In addition to the crazy prednisone. So that's what I'm going to blame the following random thoughts on, if pressed. But don't press me; I prefer to be gently squeezed. (Also blaming that last statement on the lack of food, because it reads a lot dirtier than I intended, but I am too lazy to rephrase or delete it.) Chickadee fell asleep on me while we were reading in my room before bed tonight. That hasn't happened in... ummm... I couldn't even say. Years. She grinds her teeth in her sleep. She is six-and-a-half years old and she grinds her teeth in her sleep. I...
Another fine excursion to the dump, today. My car was packed to the gills with recycling; I've cut another path through the basement and expanded the walking room in the garage with the number of cardboard boxes I removed. The stack of discarded Boston Globes no longer threatens to topple out of the garbage cabinet and knock me senseless every time I go to throw something away. The "Still Good" shed offered up some bakeware (I defy anyone with children under the age of 12 to say there is such a thing as too many mini-muffin tins) and a few comparable plastic pieces for the kids' kitchen. I...
Look! Up in the sky! What is that? It's a bird! It's a plane! It's-- Oh, wait. Did I say up in the sky? I lied. Look down there on the floor. Do you see it? Do you?? Yeah. That's right! It's... my ankle! Still puffy, in fact covered with black and blue marks (apparently the next time I really want to hurt someone? I should scratch them), but fairly readily identifiable as an ankle. And there was much rejoicing! Even though the crazy prednisone caused me to wake up every hour last night. No matter. (And, side note to RC: I do know better than to call the doctor's office and complain that the...
Pre-dough preparation: Spend the day tending to whiny children, and scratching your leg. And telling whiny children to please stop telling you to stop scratching your leg. And wishing you had something yummy to eat. Read Joshilyn's account of her so-called Virtue Cookies and think to yourself, "Self, that is a tragedy. Those things are an insult to all that is cookie-like." (Joshilyn rocks, for real; but flax seed? In cookies?? Oh sweetie, NO.) Get kids to bed, and be thrilled to be able to scratch your leg in peace. Look again for yummy things to eat in the pantry. Find none. Decide to make...
I cleaned the bathrooms tonight. I guess I was needing a little boost, a little reassurance that I do actually take care of things around here once in a while. Also they were starting to smell weird. I'd told myself that the toilets were merely victims of hard water. Those blooming science experiments sprang up overnight, really. It's not like I'd neglected to clean for weeks or anything. That would really be gross, don't you think? Yes it would. So it must be the hard water. I have no idea what the Culligan man is doing here. Perhaps we have wild monkey sex in the basement in front of those...
I feel like I am filching from Bakerina, in using this title (and you must read her Tale of the Accidental Pie if you haven't), but I guarantee my tale will be much less intricate, interesting, or gastronomically delightful. And with an intro like that, how could you not read on? I'm a whiz with a story hook, no? So. The sad, lonely challah bread I found at the store. I made it promises of greatness and brought it home. Little did I realize that, oh yeah, there are other ingredients involved in bread pudding, many of which I neither thought to purchase or had on hand here at home. So I...
I would love to tell you that I haven't blogged yet today because I've been busy getting a job, or being pampered at a spa, or winning the lottery, or being wooed by the man of my dreams. Alas. None of these are true. I haven't blogged yet today because I have been very busy with, um, boring stuff. When we got up this morning it was 40 degrees outside. But the forecast claimed it was going to be 70, later on. I managed to talk the shivering children out of their sweaters and snowsuits, but the originally planned t-shirts and jeans weren't thrilling them. By the time we made it out the door,...
I've just finished crawling out from under six (6!!) loads of laundry. Ahhh, my soft comfy cotton bikinis! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! You are cheap; you cover my bottom; you do not wedgify me (yes, that is a word, because I made it one); you are soft and stretchy and do not cut off my circulation. I love you, and you love me; and I promise not to let the laundry go so long, next time. There is something gratifying about cleaning and folding and putting away what feels like every piece of clothing in the house. But still, it's not really a festive way to spend Saturday night....
Well, okay. They're not particularly murderous. Nor did they go away, say, on a short jaunt to the beach or something, and then unexpectedly return. Basically, there's just been a huge honkin' sack of apples sitting on my counter ever since we went apple picking on Labor Day. And like the loaves and the fishes, no matter how many apples I take out of the bag, it remains full. I knew we'd reached code red when I was packing lunches this morning. My hand reached towards the bag and immediate, stereo harmony blared from the kitchen table: "I don't want an apple in my lunch!" Okay, okay. I get...
