Wednesday, September 30, 2009

wordless wednesday: and also no purchasing from bastards wednesday

Monday, September 28, 2009

that's just great.

I was being all clever and having a grand old time writing a post about all of the ninetyeleven mundane things I've been doing for the past week when I wasn't blogging, as if you care. Because really? You don't know me. If I had to guess, I'd venture that most of you come here for... what do you come here for anyway?

So I was being all clever and working out some funny lines about homeschooling, and how everyone in my house seems to overflow the beds at the same time, and hundreds of quarts of canned goods, and Miss O got out of bed.

(insert whiny voice here) I'm hungry!!!!

Me: It's after 10. Go upstairs and get in bed.

O, still whining: meh meh meh meh me me me, meh me, meh, me whine moan cry.

Me (insert annoyed mama voice here) Do you hear the sound of my voice? Does it sound like I have stress in me? The whining is what puts the stress in me. I will not get you food. Go to bed. I want to do what I want to do.

She did eventually find her nice voice, and I did eventually manage to choke back the sarcasm that was dripping from every orifice, and I followed her upstairs.

It crept back, the stress and sarcasm; my heart started to pound just. a. little. bit. harder. with every crabby word she uttered. Every whiny statement, even the request to please cuddle her makes my muscles tighten.

I want to be alone.

My child wants to be near me. It's storming outside, the wind is blowing the leaves off the trees and the rain is pounding down. Of course she wants me to stay. I wouldn't want to be alone, in the dark, waiting to fall asleep if I were her.

So I sit, barely on the edge of the bed, with my right palm resting on her soft cheek, her left arm wrapped around my arm. I watch the little red numbers click on her clock, 10, 11, 12, 13, counting the increments of guilt I am earning for wishing this moment away.

Not that I'm wishing this moment away altogether, but the thought of something else beckons me away from being entirely present. It is in this moment that I experience my greatest failure as a parent. The time when my patience and ability to give expire. My selflessness has a limit, and that limit crushes my heart, and the heart of my dearest ones.

Stay! She cries as I stand to leave. And so I sit.

The clock ticks and she slips farther away from me.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

so here's the thing.

I've been canning. Because that's what you do in the month of September when you feed your family on as much local produce as humanly possible.

Blanch the tomatoes, let the cool a little, peel, core, rinse, repeat.

Or something like that.

Also? The homeschooling. And that is all I have to say about homeschooling right now. Also? The chickens. And that is all I have to say about chickens right now.

And finally, I have been beaten over the head with messages of forgiveness lately. Not people telling me they forgive me for being a jerk or anything (yes. I am a jerk.), but I am just being bombarded with books and the last few sermons and my kids and....

So yeah.

I'm beat. I'm taking the rest of the week off, to maybe clean my house and can more tomatoes. And also jam. And plums. And whatever else pours into my house.

I'll see you.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

hey, do me a favor

All of you who have a blogger profile?

Please go to EDIT PROFILE and check the box that says SHOW EMAIL ADDRESS.

I'd reallyreallyreally like to reply to each and every comment I receive, but I think I can't because you won't let me.

Please. Let me love you all proper-like.


Friday, September 18, 2009

friday movie night

The short people and I rocked it party style tonight.

Pizza. Cheese, pepperoni, mushroom. But I made the mistake of calling the place that puts fresh mushrooms on the pizza because I forgot they did that and I really hate fresh mushrooms on pizza, and no, I can't tell you why, but it's just wrong, that's all. Mushrooms on pizza must be from a can.


Ice cream. The super cute cups of Ben and Jerry's, and no, I'm not boycotting them because HELLO!!! Mint Chocolate Cookie and Coffee Heath Bar Crunch is all I'm saying here. Except I did not have any ice cream. But the super cute little cups had super cute tiny little spoons in the lids. The short people thought that was The Big Fun.

Also, juice for dinner. That is a Very Big Deal and also The Big Fun in our house. We have worked the shorties off their former juice addiction, and now we pretty much drink milk and water. And also bourbon, naturally, but nobody shorter than me is allowed bourbon in my house. That does eliminate lots of people, as I'm about five feet sevenish inches tall but it's more a budgetary decision than midget discrimination. What? We know a lot of short drunks.

Robin Hood. The one where he's a fox, and luckily Maid Marian is a vixen, and Prince John is a lion and cries for his mama and sucks his thumb. Guess who was most entertained by Prince John, and called him a baby throughout the entire movie? Wee Man. You know, the one who sucks his thumb and cries for his mama. Go figure.

And *THEN* because I'm clearly an addict the coolest mom ever, we watched Ice Age: The Meltdown. Guess who begged for that? HB. The one who pretends to throw fire on me because I'm mean, and then has great. BIG HUMONGO MELTDOWNS and no! don't touch him! and NO! don't do anyFING!!! YOU ARE MEAN AND I JUST WANT MY DADDY!!!!!!!!

They passed out at 10:47. All of them.

And now, it's my turn.

Two point five bushels of tomatoes and two ginormous bags of corn on the cob and a bushel of green peppers will do battle with my santoku knife in the morning. And probably in the afternoon, as well.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

remember that one time when i tried to be responsible and called about the goat?

No? Are you kidding? That post was hilarious. Click here. Read it again. I'll wait.

Funny, right?

Want to know what's really funny?

When you finally get the chickens. And there are two. And they are nice, and quiet, and eat your icky compost.

Then you get three more. And two are leghorns, and please, for the love of all things poutlry, say LEGGERNS, not leg horns.

And the first day you have five chickens including two stupid leghorns, one of the stupid leghorns gets out. By OUT, I mean in my neighbor's yard. And on the sidewalk. And in front of my house. And in the bushes.

Quite possibly I was seen weilding my yellow broom all lacrosse style and whatnot, reaching out to head The Stupid Chicken off, my mad agility-ish skills betraying me for the klutz I truly am. It is also quite possible that The Mister was seen removing his hat to throw ahead of The Stupid Chicken to cause her to run in the opposite direction.

But I'm not entirely sure, because I was laughing so hard at the sight of us running all willy-nilly around our yard that I can't really remember.

I do remember that our neighbors' sons, who are older than us by at least the fingers on two hands, were TOTALLY THRILLED that one of our The Stupid Chicken got out. And I am not being sarcastic. They enthusiastically joined in the fray, running around like a couple of giddy schoolgirls.

I also remember calling my BFF, K, and telling her I was really glad that The Stupid Chicken got out in broad daylight, and was thankful it wasn't nighttime, because that would seriously cramp our chicken-chasing style.

I called her again last night, and said, Remember how I said that chasing The Stupid Chicken in the dark would be no fun? Well, it's not.

Because that same Stupid Chicken got out. Again. In the dark.

Fortunately, The Mister is a Stupid Chicken catching ninja, and apprehended The Stupid Chicken very quickly. The Stupid Chicken was not very excited about being chased and caught this time. She squawked and hollered all the way back to the pen and thank the good Lord no PETA people were in the vicinity, they'd have poured red paint on us and cut up our leather belts to teach us a lesson.

Or something.

So the score? Humans 2, Stupid Chicken 0.

Next time, the score will be Humans full belly, Stupid Chicken deceased.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

out to lunch

I KNOW!!! It's not even lunchtime (unless it actually IS lunchtime, and then you'll just have to forgive me that one tiny little thing, because, for real, people, most of the day is not lunchtime)...

Where was I going with that?

Right. I was going over to The Cheek of God to read my hi-freaking-larious guest post about the craziest thing I've ever done. I call it crazy is as crazy does.

And you should go, too. Really you should.

Unless you are one of my brothers. If that is the case, I humbly suggest you leave a comment saying Thanks for the warning, big sis! and go about your business.

Also, if you are one of my neighbors who stalk my blog (hi, girls!), I apologize in advance if you were privy to the, ummm, goings-on.

And if you are my mom? The part about the bowl of special dried botanical items is TOTALLY FICTITIOUS. Actually? THE WHOLE POST IS TOTALLY FICTITIOUS. I NEVER DID ANY OF THAT. I SWEAR.

Everyone else should go read my post, crazy is as crazy does, at The Cheek of God.

That is all.

Friday, September 11, 2009

more drumrolling, yo.

I really need to figure out the whole screen shot thing so I can show you all my random integer generator results. But, seeing as how I need to go can salsa and stuff so we can eat real good stuff this winter, I'm not going to do that in the next three months.


Winner Number One is Comment Number TWO... JD! This gal is freaky lucky, yo, if you're keeping score you'll notice that she won last week's custom greeting card giveaway. I highly recommend rubbing her belly or elbows or something. (That is not me suggesting that you in any way resemble Buddha, JD, I swear.)

Winner Number Two is Comment Number Eighteen...Manda!!! Manda's freaky lucky, too, but I can personally attest to her being SUPER NICE. And she makes amazing chocolate chip cookies. Really, really amazing, soft, chewy, vanillaish, chocolate-chippy goodness. And she has good hair. So if you must hate on Manda, hate her for her good hair, not for her winning. But don't really hate on Manda, because that would be silly.

The contest folks will be getting in touch with you, ladies.

Thanks for playing!

because i never want to forget this picture

Thursday, September 10, 2009

another instance in which 'because i said so' is the answer

Miss O walked into my bedroom tonight whilst I was lounging around in my silkies eating bonbons nursing the baby before bed. She presented me with this lovely picture:

That's her, and Maxwell, and Maxwell is walking a dog, and she's playing soccer, and admiring Maxwell's dog.

This is not the first picture I've received from her with supercute dogs, mind you. There seems to be a doggie picture campaign going on here. In one, she drew herself with a talking bubble that says, "Sweet PUPPY!!!!!"

A little persistence, a little wearing down of the mama. As if that's possible.

So I mentioned to Miss O that I noticed dogs have been showing up frequently in her drawings. I asked if this meant she would like a dog.

Now maybe I'm thick, maybe I'm a mean mommy, call it what you will, but if this was the case, we needed to nip it in it's dirty little butt-licking mouth the bud. This whole Dog Wanting Thing needed to be addressed.

Miss O: Yes, I want a dog.

Me: Well, see, we have six people and three cats in our house, and that is enough living beings.

Miss O: But I really want a dog.

Me: We are not getting a dog.

Miss O: But I really want a dog.

Me: When the cats die, maybe we will talk about a dog.


Me: Not forever, just 12-14 years.

Miss O: *NON-DISCERNIBLE WORDS AND HOWLING* (gnashing of teeth)

Me: Really, throwing a tantrum will not get you what you want. Especially in this situation.


Me: When has this method worked for you? Have you learned NOTHING in the past six and a half years with us?


Me: This is really not a responsible way to behave when we are talking about something that takes a great deal of responsibility. You are not showing me that you are a big enough girl to have a dog. Which doesn't really matter, I guess, because we're. NOT. GETTING. A. DOG.

She shouted something unintelligible, and stomped out the door, back to her room, where she tore her clothes, donned the sack-cloth, and poured ashes on her head.

And there she sits, with no dog.

Because we are not. Under. Any. Circumstances. Getting. A. Dog. The. End.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

open letter to the allergens in my head

Dear Allergens:

You are cordially invited to leave. I am quite sure you were not cordially invited to attend the colossal party in my ears, eyes, nose, throat, lungs and sinus cavity. In fact, my head was not a throbbing discotheque before you got here. Things had been mostly calm in the region around my brain since the advent of The Crazy Meds, and I was able to do things. For example, I could make dinner, talk to my short people, drink coffee, change diapers, bend over. I was Teh Usefuls.

Now I am reduced to a sniffling, slobbery, mouth-breathing slug. I cannot bend over for fear that my head will explode and all the snot will fall with a SPLAT to the floor. And how, pray tell, would I clean that up? Hmmm????

Thank God I have a Neti-Pot. It does help rinse you all away. Except, darling allergens, it took TWO ENTIRE POTS-WORTH to be able to get the saline solution through my sinuses. TWO! And the solution didn't even run out of the lower dripped. I'm seriously considering adding some sort of pressure-washing apparatus to the Neti-Pot. Sure, I might give myself a frontal lobotomy, but maybe then I wouldn't care that I couldn't breathe. I'd be a peaceful, happy, non-sniffling, non-slobbery, drouling, mouth-breathing slug.

Some might be thrilled by that.

Seriously, allergens, the first hard frost is a long, long way off. You'd be doing me, and a whole bunch of other people (have you seen my short people? they're terribly cute, and they need me to wipe their asses and feed them and stuff) a huge favor by staying out of my nose, my house, and out of my yard.

If you're looking for a place to go, I have a few suggestions. Let me know if I can help you find another residence, I will assist you in any way possible.

But please. Go. Go now. For the love of Puff's.


Friday, September 4, 2009

because it was so much fun the first time, a SECOND GIVEAWAY!!!

Dudes, I have an Etsy shop. Did I tell you that? What? No? And you didn't notice the pretty pictures on the right-hand side of my little blogitzerella that shows you the supersweet babywearing items I handcraft right here in Le Maison Dayton?

Oh. You have me in a reader. Well click through, for the love of Mike. Or whoever it is that you love. Seriously. I get, like, four one-hundredths of a cent when you do.

Anyway. I have this Etsy shop, called Revel Baby. It is called Revel Baby because I believe that children are a precious gift (what? don't believe everything you hear!), and The Mister and I have found that babywearing enhances our level of revel.


Digital Room is offering my supersweet readers a set of 500 superslick business cards. And also, they're offering little old me a set of 500 superslick business cards if I hostess this here giveaway. They don't even put their logo on the cards like some other companies do. Because they're classy.

I need business cards to promote my business because everywhere I go, I wear my little boys. Sometimes I wear HB and Sweets at the same time, Sweets on the front, and HB on my back. And because the baby carriers I make are SO. STINKING. FANTASTIC. everybody asks where do I get them, and where can they get one for themselves or their sister, or this girl from work who's having a baby, and I need to give them my card (that I don't really have), so that I can capitalize on my coolness.

It's all about me, you know.

And making a little extra cash, to save up for Christmas, and maybe a vacation, or something. Because it's actually about the short people. You know.

Here's how the giveaway works:
  1. Leave me a comment telling me why you need business cards. Even if you're a hooker.
  2. Leave me another comment if you're a follower of my blog.
  3. Leave me another comment if you get me in a reader.
  4. And of course, the whole dark chocolate thing still applies. I'll leave a comment for you when I get it.
This giveaway is only open to US residents, sorry about all the rest of you people. Also? The TWO winners pay shipping. In exchange for shipping, the winners get to make all kinds of choices about their business cards, size, colors, matte or glossy, and the kind of paper. There are many, many business card sizes... they even offer die cut business cards with tons of superfunky, original shapes that will really set your business card apart from all the rest.

Comments close September 10, 2009, around 9 p.m.ish.

drumroll, please:

The winners of 250 custom greeting cards from Digital Room are:

Comment 4: JD from Unraveling

Comment 1: Ree, The Hotfessional

I really and truly wish I was smart enough to be able to capture a screen shot to show you, but you pretty much have to take my word for it!

The winners should email me so that I have your preferred addy so that you can get your prize. Thanks for playing, everybody!

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

ten o'clock

He flew out of bed with a start, a tiny little man with tears pouring from his serious grey eyes. Sobbing, he called for his mama. He called for his daddy.

I don't know where you are.

I can't find you.

Where are you?


I sprinted up the stairs, caught him in my arms at the top step. I wrapped my arms around my hysterical boy; I buried him in my embrace.

What is the matter, lovey boy? Why are you crying?

I thought you were dead. Where is Daddy? Is he dead? I want my Daddy.

No, baby, we're not dead. We're right here. See? Daddy's right behind me.

He reached for The Mister, as if the only way to confirm that his Daddy was actually there was to wrap his little arms around his Daddy's neck. Seeing just wasn't believing.

The Mister whispered words of reassurance to Wee Man as he carried our babe to his bedroom, and tucked him back in bed.

I stood, frozen, at the top step. Panic gripped me as I remembered the days when Wee Man was a tiny baby, our brand new addition. Those days, when everything I did was clouded by the fear that something was going to happen to Wee Man. Clouded is an understatement...Fear chased me home from the grocery store. It woke me up in the middle of the night. It tormented my dreams.

Fear operated me.

And at ten o'clock at night, I tasted that same fear all over again. I knew exactly how my sweet boy was feeling, and it made my stomach turn into knots.

Hush, now, love. Mama's here.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

scorecard. read all the way to the end. you're welcome.

Baby slept from 11 pm to 8 am... SCORE!

A$$#0l& kids held a hootenanny outside our bedroom window at 3 am... FAIL. Also? FAILity FAILFAILFAIL.

Didn't hear The Mister get out of bed to go to work... SCORE!!

HB crawled into bed with me to cuddle... SCORE!

HB wanted me to cuddle with his all-night-long nasty diaper in my face...FAIL.

Wee Man woke up and promptly barfed in his bed... FAILFAILFAILFAILFAIL.

Wee Man went down to the couch and barfed some more...FAILFAILFAILFAILFAIL.

Wee Man took a three hour nap...SCORE!!!

Made lemon cheese...SCORE.

Made yogurt...SCORE.

Made coffee and drank it whilst it was still hot...SCORE!!!

Milk delivery...SCORE.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese for dinner...SCORE.

Godiva delivery scheduled for tomorrow...MAJOR.FREAKING.SCORE!!!!!!

Stove was recalled because heating elements randomly turn on, might burn my house down...FAIL.

Learning that my stove is recalled after three years of having the heating elements randomly turn on and the man from the appliance store think I'm some kind of moron or unqualified stove operator...SCORE.

Dora the Explore...FAILityFailFailFAIL failfailfailfailfailfail....FAIL!!!!

Dinner at the Valley Inn, in Warsaw, New York, for continuation of Sunday's birthday celebration...Well, let's just say the tiramisu alone was enough to outweigh the barf, and the bastard kids in the middle of the night, and the stove that might burn the house down. I could have eaten four. Or ten. Who knows the damage I could do if left unchecked with a pan of that tiramisu. If I'm ever on death row, I want a pan of that before they strap me down. THAT!!! is how good the food is at the Valley Inn.

Actually, I think the tiramisu is so good that if I ate it before I headed to the chair, or the shooting gallery or however it is that they off people in jails these days, THE TIRAMISU WOULD SAVE MY LIFE. I really and truly believe that.

You think I'm exaggerating.

Except I'm not.

See? It's so good I completely forgot I was doing a scorecard for today and went off on an espresso soaked ladyfinger tangent. And you should thank me, really and truly, because this post SUCKED before I got all excited about the tiramisu. I should probably go back and delete the crappy part, but I want you to know about how life gets so much better when you eat tiramisu from the Valley Inn, so I'm leaving my crappy, boring part of the post with no tiramisu references in as COLD HARD PROOFY FACTS that tiramisu will totally alter your consciousness.

Or something.

Good night.