Not after Sunday's Reign of Puke.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
It's just an old wive's tale...
I heard, not once but TWICE over this New Years holiday, that what you spend your time doing New Years Day is what you'll be doing for the rest of the year. It's possible I've been told this before, but after raising children and birds you learn to tune a lot of stuff out and just listen for keywords like fire, x-rays, accidentally, etc. This feels like the first time I really listened and heard it.
Homegirl told me that's why she was going to finish getting her house work done New Years Eve so she wouldn't be cleaning New Years Day, therefore selling herself into indentured servant status and cleaning for 365 days straight. That's what her mama always told her and then I saw someone else mention it on Facebook.
Hmmm...I thought about it when I woke up at a very late 10:00 a.m. and made coffee New Years Day. I can't remember the last time we slept that late on a Saturday morning. Usually by 7:30 Junior is standing over the husband's side of the bed saying "Can I please have a bowl of cereal? Dad, are you wearing your pajamas?" (Yes, about two months ago Junior joined, and has been assigned as Detective for the Pajama Police. Those are some funny conversations to hear about and or eavesdrop in on.) Junior spent the night with my brother's family. The cousins had a great time playing together.
I couldn't just sit there and do nothing on New Years Day, even after I worked pretty hard NYE day and played hard NYE night (fireworks, tons of sparkler smoke, jerk neighbor and cops, hors d'oeuvres, dessert, dominoes - girls lost, Dick Clark, more fireworks) I could have sat around and done nothing. I did want to get some work done so I mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, washed everyone's bedding, cleaned the master bathroom, watched Aliens vs Predator: Requiem, goaded the husband into running the vacuum cleaner*, worked the organizational side of the Blackberry, and messed around with my Cozi calendar.
*Brother Dear called Saturday evening to let me know that one by one, their household was erupting with pukers and wanted to know if Junior was ok. At that time, he was just fine.
I feel like I worked pretty hard, but-cha know what?? If I can spend 2011 actually getting my money's worth out of my Netflix account, learn to effectively use my Blackberry for more than just Facebook, keep my calendar planned out and organized, and not just keep the house clean but have help doing it, I'm okay with that. I welcome it!
And I'm so thankful that Junior waited until January 2nd to get sick and puke-y. I certainly do NOT want to spend my 2011 chasing him around and catching his vomit in the trash can. (It certainly beats having to drag out the carpet cleaner though. It was a pretty sweet mom maneuver if I do say so myself. I totally say so.)
I know when he recounts the horror of his evening and is telling me about his story tomorrow, hand motions and all, I KNOW he's going to say when he puked it came out of him "like a ball-cane-o" and then I will laugh really hard because 1) How funny is "ball-cane-o"!? 2) his puke was mostly red, the color of hot lava and 3) volcanoes hit me where I live and I have the same thought Every. Single. Time. I hear the word volcano.
My first memory of being sick and staying home from school is of my mom serving me some red fruity jello as a Sorry You Feel Bad Snack. Seems logical, jello is easy on the tummy and fruit is supposed to be good for you, right? After eating the snack, I curled up on the three cushioned gold couch and watched a TV show about volcanoes. When the volcanoes started erupting and the red-hot lava spewed up and out, raining its ooze down the mountains, my fruity jello began to erupt up and out of me, down my blue night gown and as I ran for the bathroom, I left a chunky red trail across the living room floor, down the hallway and to the bathroom.
And that is why I hate red fruity jello.
And maybe volcanoes too.
Homegirl told me that's why she was going to finish getting her house work done New Years Eve so she wouldn't be cleaning New Years Day, therefore selling herself into indentured servant status and cleaning for 365 days straight. That's what her mama always told her and then I saw someone else mention it on Facebook.
Hmmm...I thought about it when I woke up at a very late 10:00 a.m. and made coffee New Years Day. I can't remember the last time we slept that late on a Saturday morning. Usually by 7:30 Junior is standing over the husband's side of the bed saying "Can I please have a bowl of cereal? Dad, are you wearing your pajamas?" (Yes, about two months ago Junior joined, and has been assigned as Detective for the Pajama Police. Those are some funny conversations to hear about and or eavesdrop in on.) Junior spent the night with my brother's family. The cousins had a great time playing together.
I couldn't just sit there and do nothing on New Years Day, even after I worked pretty hard NYE day and played hard NYE night (fireworks, tons of sparkler smoke, jerk neighbor and cops, hors d'oeuvres, dessert, dominoes - girls lost, Dick Clark, more fireworks) I could have sat around and done nothing. I did want to get some work done so I mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, washed everyone's bedding, cleaned the master bathroom, watched Aliens vs Predator: Requiem, goaded the husband into running the vacuum cleaner*, worked the organizational side of the Blackberry, and messed around with my Cozi calendar.
*Brother Dear called Saturday evening to let me know that one by one, their household was erupting with pukers and wanted to know if Junior was ok. At that time, he was just fine.
I feel like I worked pretty hard, but-cha know what?? If I can spend 2011 actually getting my money's worth out of my Netflix account, learn to effectively use my Blackberry for more than just Facebook, keep my calendar planned out and organized, and not just keep the house clean but have help doing it, I'm okay with that. I welcome it!
And I'm so thankful that Junior waited until January 2nd to get sick and puke-y. I certainly do NOT want to spend my 2011 chasing him around and catching his vomit in the trash can. (It certainly beats having to drag out the carpet cleaner though. It was a pretty sweet mom maneuver if I do say so myself. I totally say so.)
I know when he recounts the horror of his evening and is telling me about his story tomorrow, hand motions and all, I KNOW he's going to say when he puked it came out of him "like a ball-cane-o" and then I will laugh really hard because 1) How funny is "ball-cane-o"!? 2) his puke was mostly red, the color of hot lava and 3) volcanoes hit me where I live and I have the same thought Every. Single. Time. I hear the word volcano.
My first memory of being sick and staying home from school is of my mom serving me some red fruity jello as a Sorry You Feel Bad Snack. Seems logical, jello is easy on the tummy and fruit is supposed to be good for you, right? After eating the snack, I curled up on the three cushioned gold couch and watched a TV show about volcanoes. When the volcanoes started erupting and the red-hot lava spewed up and out, raining its ooze down the mountains, my fruity jello began to erupt up and out of me, down my blue night gown and as I ran for the bathroom, I left a chunky red trail across the living room floor, down the hallway and to the bathroom.
And that is why I hate red fruity jello.
And maybe volcanoes too.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Gettin' paid
What I did on my paid day off:
- Washed 3 loads of mandatory pre-weekend laundry: towels, jeans, colors.
- Cleaned my bedroom proving the bed is surrounded on three sides by actual floor space.
- Discovered closet floor, threw out 4 pair of shoes - an act proving I deserved that manicure this week.
- Made sweet, sweet love to my Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer: 2 loaves of delicious banana nut bread, 1 strawberry pie. Gave 1 loaf of bread to Homegirl who stopped by for a visit, devoured other loaf and pie at New Year's Eve celebration.
- Enslaved the new crockpot to heat lil' smokies and bbq sauce to a bubbly goodness.
- Celebrated my Wolfgang Puck pots and pans first birthday by whipping up a batch of black eyed peas.
- Cleaned massive war field of a kitchen.
- Paid bills, balanced checkbook.
These are the days I love my job the most.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Victory: Take it where you can get it!
I ran office errands today. I usually do that on Wednesdays but the tree service was there and I was going to have to move the truck anyways....
I parked at the garden center entrance to Walmart. I went in all renegade-style without a cart. I picked up hand soap (only a few isles over), salt and pepper (cross majority of store, taking the scenic route through the small appliances to ogle the crock pots), lunch (frozen, almost to the farthest wall of the store) and a pack of toilet paper (apocalypse '72' size). Then walked aaaaall the way back across the store to the garden center check out.
I am SO counting that as exercise.
Even though getting in to The Walmart via the garden center is a piece of cake, getting out is always interesting. Due to my shortness, and the underwhelming desire to stand on the brake pedal with one foot, lift/stand with the other leg and contort around in a 360 degree "Is it safe? Can I move this truck without hitting anything?" view, I will go out of my way to park alone and take a long walk to the store. I did that today, pulling through into the top parking spot so my big, black pintle hitch hangs into the bottom spot. Alone. If I knew it would work, I'd pee on the tires so no one would park around me and my Giant Company Pickup Truck of Paranoia.
Of course, 79% of the time (estimated*) some small car will park next to me making it IMPOSSIBLE for me to pull out of my space the direction I prefer to exit (varies by location). Today's friendly small car parked on the right side, exactly in the direction I wanted to leave. Paranoia truck runs away from danger, just like the elephant and mouse. I exit to the left and I didn't want to make a tight turn into the next isle over so I opt for the next one.
Holy crap, it's the LAST isle. The access road, the way to the freedom of Main Street is guarded by a long, grassy island. The island comes to a sharp, pointy end that looks like it has just enough evil in it to take strike out and leave a nasty rub on the tire. I squinted hard to concentrate, hell I might have even closed one eye but I did it. A little to the left and a hard swing right, I cleared the pointy island end, even without molesting the space in the empty oncoming traffic lane. Too badly. OK. The lane was empty so of course, I drove the hell all over it.
I'm SO counting that as kick-ass pickup truck driving.
*No math was harmed, or performed, in this post.
I parked at the garden center entrance to Walmart. I went in all renegade-style without a cart. I picked up hand soap (only a few isles over), salt and pepper (cross majority of store, taking the scenic route through the small appliances to ogle the crock pots), lunch (frozen, almost to the farthest wall of the store) and a pack of toilet paper (apocalypse '72' size). Then walked aaaaall the way back across the store to the garden center check out.
I am SO counting that as exercise.
Even though getting in to The Walmart via the garden center is a piece of cake, getting out is always interesting. Due to my shortness, and the underwhelming desire to stand on the brake pedal with one foot, lift/stand with the other leg and contort around in a 360 degree "Is it safe? Can I move this truck without hitting anything?" view, I will go out of my way to park alone and take a long walk to the store. I did that today, pulling through into the top parking spot so my big, black pintle hitch hangs into the bottom spot. Alone. If I knew it would work, I'd pee on the tires so no one would park around me and my Giant Company Pickup Truck of Paranoia.
Of course, 79% of the time (estimated*) some small car will park next to me making it IMPOSSIBLE for me to pull out of my space the direction I prefer to exit (varies by location). Today's friendly small car parked on the right side, exactly in the direction I wanted to leave. Paranoia truck runs away from danger, just like the elephant and mouse. I exit to the left and I didn't want to make a tight turn into the next isle over so I opt for the next one.
Holy crap, it's the LAST isle. The access road, the way to the freedom of Main Street is guarded by a long, grassy island. The island comes to a sharp, pointy end that looks like it has just enough evil in it to take strike out and leave a nasty rub on the tire. I squinted hard to concentrate, hell I might have even closed one eye but I did it. A little to the left and a hard swing right, I cleared the pointy island end, even without molesting the space in the empty oncoming traffic lane. Too badly. OK. The lane was empty so of course, I drove the hell all over it.
I'm SO counting that as kick-ass pickup truck driving.
*No math was harmed, or performed, in this post.
Is this what it feels like?
To be a grown up, I mean.
There's been a tree crew clearing up around the power lines outside my office all day and not one single time have I had a daydream / fantasy about that lovely wood chipper they're using!
There's been a tree crew clearing up around the power lines outside my office all day and not one single time have I had a daydream / fantasy about that lovely wood chipper they're using!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Breakin' the Law
Murphy's Law isn't always right.
Sometimes the toast does not land butter side down.
Once in a great while, you will actually catch the toast as it's falling.
With your left hand.
Sure it rained crumbs in a pretty sweet arc pattern.
But you caught the toast.
Sometimes the toast does not land butter side down.
Once in a great while, you will actually catch the toast as it's falling.
With your left hand.
Sure it rained crumbs in a pretty sweet arc pattern.
But you caught the toast.
WINNER!!
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