it is exasperating.

We have this dvd player/iPod dock/surround sound MACHINE THINGY on top of our television.  It is a colossal waste of atoms.  Someone purchased it refurbished from a snake oil salesman SleezeBay and you have to push more than one button to make the effing thing work.

Me? NOT INTERESTED IN PUSHING MORE THAN ONE EFFING BUTTON.  Turn on? One push. One click.  And then it should work.

Not this thing.  And, if you should happen to desire some televisional entertainment other than PBS?  The machine thingy must be employed.  PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH.  Thing requires more effort than I put into birthing all four of my babies.  

Also? THE DISPLAY SCREEN DOES NOT WORK.  Think you are watching a movie? THINK AGAIN, SUCKA. You're really listening to NPR.  Har-dee-har-har.  Want to sip a glass of wine and listen to Joshua Bell, Yo-Yo Ma and Edgar Meyer?  Sucks to be you, lady.  Does your kid want to watch Rescue Heroes REALLYREALLYREALLY BADLY EVERY DANG DAY AT 4 PM?!?!?   EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE ONLY SIX EPISODES EVER MADE AND HE'S SEEN EACH AND EVERY EPISODE AT LEAST NINETYELEVEN TIMES???

That's right.  Your life will be SuckitySuckSuckSucksville until he develops the patience to wait the fourteen and a half seconds it takes for the machine to switch gears and move to the next Input Thingy Source Path.  And when the fourteen point five seconds passes and NOTHING HAPPENS!!!!! Then he will have to press the button AGAIN and WAIT ANOTHER BLOODY 14.5 SECONDS.  And in the meantime, his head will explode from the colossal temper tantrum he is throwing because the stupid machine does not work, and yes, I do allow the short people to refer to this as the Stupid Machine because it is, in fact, a Stupid Machine With A Display Screen That Does Not Display.  

And after twenty-nine seconds has passed, and the soundtrack from Barbie and The Mouseketeers starts blasting through the surround sound speakers, and his head RE-EXPLODES because, oh my good LORD!!!! RESCUE HEROES NOT BARBIE!!!!! 

I am THISCLOSE to throwing that thing through the window.  

the tuesday scoop

The Mister is working second shift this week because of PAINTING!!! and BUSY!!! and DEADLINES!!! And it's kind of nice, because he gets to be around during the time of day when the short people are nicest, and because today I got to sleep in superty-late, and because the house is mostly clean and because I haven't done laundry.  And it's kind of not nice because, ummm, normal routine, where are you? Except cereal for dinner because I'm lazy is sort of refreshing.

Do you see the little roller coaster I have going on here?  Except it's driving all over my head and making me tired.  Not as tired, or the same brand of tired as I was last night after taking all of the short people to Family Night at Ye Old Pool, where we swam hard and played like a bunch of crazies for an hour and a half whilst wearing Elliott in a makeshift pool sling.  

I lost about fifty pounds last night and also I am a cripple from BOUNCING!!!! AROUND!!!! IN THE POOL!!! WITH A BABY TIED TO ME!!!! AND BOYS JUMPING ON MY HEAD!!!   I stand up with the grunting of an old, constipated granny, and my walking is more reprehensible than when I was ten point nine months pregnant with Wee Man.  

And I was reading blogs because eighty percent of my people are not home and the other twenty percent is sleeping, (and I hurt too much to anything else but lay around like a slug) and everybody's writing about babies turning one and measuring years in heartbeats, or having a complete wanker for an ex-husband and all sorts of other things that are causing my little brain roller coaster to slide around the tracks in a melancholy sort of way. 

In other news, I promised HB spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and I'm going to admit something entirely and completely horrifying to you:  I am going to purchase fake, chemical-filled meatball-ish things from the store.  And sauce, too, which is the hugest rip-off EVER and doesn't actually taste good no matter which brand you choose or how much money you pay for it.  Also, while we are at the store, I am going to purchase some of that garlic bread that comes in the foil bag and is laced with crack.  Because if you're going there, go ALL THE WAY.  

Send help.  Immediately.

haiku for u

raspberries sunscreen
bug spray bike rides swimming pool
eight o'clock bedtime

conversation with hb

My boy really wants his mama lately.  

NO!!! MAMA DO IT!!! NOOOOO!!!!! MAMA PUSH THE STROLLER!!!! I!!!! WANT!!!! MY!!!! MAAAAAAMAAAAAA!!!!

Et cetera.

Tonight, as I was tucking him into (my) bed, I asked, "Why do you want me so much lately?"

His answer?  Because I like you.

foodish friday: week 3

Important announcement:  There is a new bakery at the Farmers' Market that sells gluten-free breads and treats, vegan items, and dairy-free items.  I sampled some of the cookies and they were pretty good compared to many of the GF things I've tried.  I told the guy at the table to bring more GF/vegan/dairy-free/soy-free stuff, and I hope he takes me seriously.  I know this does not apply to most of you, but we seem to have  a lot of people locally who have celiac, allergies/intolerance to wheat and gluten.  It is pretty difficult to find specialty products (like GF and vegan) in this area.

Moving on.

The first two weeks of the CSA, I forgot to bring the short people.  Well, not really forgot forgot, it just worked out better to not take them.  And this week?  Brought the short people, forgot the camera.

Because I'm awesome, that's why.  And being this awesome is a burden, it truly is.

Miss O picked out two bags of spinach and a huge bag of potatoes, Wee Man snatched up a bunch of beets, asparagus, and a head of red lettuce, HB wandered around asking everybody where the chickens were located, and The Mister followed HB and tried to convince him (unsuccessfully) that this was not the Sort Of Farm To Have Chickens.

We got a fresh garlic, green top and all, and some herbs and SWISS CHARD!!!!!!  I love swiss chard.  And bonus! It was the rainbow kind, not just the white stem kind, and it's just prettier.  It doesn't really taste any different, but it's nice to eat pretty colors.

See?  Purty.

And eating lots of different colors is good for you.

Let me clarify:  NATURALLY OCCURRING COLORS are good for you.  Any color that has a number after it?  Not so much.

Last week I gave you a cheese and spinach dish, and this week I'll give you another!  Because I like cheese and spinach, and, well, it's my blog and I can do whatever I want.  Maybe I'll start a food blog and call it Cheese and Spinach.  Or not.

Palak Paneer ala Pamela

for those of you who are into alliteration

Loosely based on this here recipe.

Heat a half gallon of milk to 200 degrees.  Be sure to become distracted so the milk boils all over your stove.  Stir in 1/2 cup of lemon juice.  Pour through cheesecloth, and press with a can of soup and cast iron skillet weight.  Let the cheese sit under the weight for a few hours.  Yes, this does take advance planning.  And yes, you can do this the night before.  When the cheese is all flat and brickish, cut it into cubes.

Saute about four chopped garlic cloves in about 4 Tablespoons of olive oil.  Throw in a chopped onion, 1/2 teaspoon cayenne, 2 Tablespoons ground cumin, 2 Tablespoons ground ginger,  a heaping teaspoon of ground coriander, and a healthy Tablespoon of turmeric.

Please note: We like the flavours.  If you are not as flavour-loving as those of us in le Maison Dayton, hold back a little.  Also? Does anybody else think coriander makes food taste a little bit like dirt?  No?  It's just me?  Awesome.

Add 1 cup plain yogurt (sour cream works too, that's what the original recipe called for), and 1 can diced tomatoes.  The can that's about 16 ounces. 

Roughly chop at least a pound of fresh spinach or any other greens you have on hand, and gradually add them to the mix.

This is the palak.

Not exactly sure what that means, but it is freaking tasty.

In a separate fry pan, heat 2 Tablespoons olive oil, and brown your paneer cubes.  The paneer is the cheese.  That you cubed.  With me?  Fabulous.

When the paneer is all happy and golden brown, add it to the palak. 

Serve with brown rice and naan.  Like this:

Yep. You guessed it. I'm too lazy to crop my photos. 

But I did make the naan. And it was amazing.

brace yourself for the adorable

windowsill

pretties in my window

my grandma's tiny tea set

snips of thyme and a stem of sweet pea

soaking up the sunlight in my

hand-thrown pottery wildflower vase 

(i will gladly tell you where to purchase one... 

if you come to visit we can take a stroll to the potter's home)

fairy tale

Once upon a time, in a land faraway, lived the Good King Mister, and his lovely wife, The Fair Queen Boss of Things.  They had been quite successful in, ummm, providing a number of qualified heirs to the throne.

One day, Princess Smarty-Pants came down with a Vile Sickness that caused her skull to become full of the Vile Boogers and her royal glands were visibly swollen.  The Fair Queen could not decide if the Vile Sickness was actually Vile Sickness or Annoying Allergies, and because the Fair Queen is a wait-and-see sort of girl, she waited for a number of days to see how the Vile Sickness was progressing.

Finally Princess Smarty-Pants had not improved at all and was really quite ill, so The Fair Queen decided to telephone the Kindly On-Call Physician, who was quite alarmed at the report of Princess Smarty-Pants's health, and offered a very early appointment the next morning.  The Fair Queen weighed the options, and politely declined the crazy early appointment because Princess Smarty-Pants is the opposite of a morning person.

The next morning, much to the surprise of The Fair Queen, Princess Smarty-Pants got up two hours earlier than usual.  The Fair Queen made an executive decision to go to the super early appointment, because she thought it was highly probable that an appointment had not been scheduled for super early o'clock in the past 12 hours.

The Fair Queen and Princess Smarty-Pants scrambled, and walked into the Kindly Physician's office one minute after the open appointment was supposed to begin.  The Kindly Secretary was not so kindly, and was obviously displeased that The Fair Queen had chosen to drive Princess Smarty-Pants to the office with no appointment.

Princess Smarty-Pants and The Fair Queen sat quietly and patiently in the waiting room like a pair of commoners.

FOR 34 MINUTES.

Suddenly the Kindly Physician burst through the door and addressed The Fair Queen by A SHORTENED VERSION OF HER FIRST NAME.   Then the Kindly Physician used a very snippy tone with The Fair Queen and said that there had been an super-crazy-early appointment, but now it was very much later than super-crazy-early, and The Fair Queen would just have to suck it up and leave despite the fact that all the Kindly Physician had to do to Princess Smarty-Pants was jam a Q-tip down her throat and give it a good swish-swish to collect some of the streptococcus that was growing down there.

The Fair Queen managed to bite her tongue and not schedule a trip to the Royal Dungeon for the Kindly Physician, because every other time The Fair Queen has visited with this specific Physician has been a truly wonderful experience, and The Royal Heirs all very much love the Usually Kindly Physician.  When her eyes stopped bugging out of her face, The Fair Queen made an actual appointment for right smack-dab in the middle of The Royal Napping, because that was the only time available, even though The Fair Queen and Princess Smarty-Pants were actually there in the office at the same time as an open appointment.

The Fair Queen purchased an exorbitantly priced smoothie for Princess Smarty-Pants, and drove home with as much smoke pouring from her ears as the Royal Dragon.  Because really?  A simple, We can't take you, would have done the trick.

Upon her arrival at the Royal Homestead, The Fair Queen and The Royal Heirs went out to the garden to pick an emormous bouquet of flowers for the Formerly Kindly Physician, in the hopes that her former kindliness would be restored by an act of kindness.  Because really?  The Fair Queen would love it if everybody she ever offended would swing by with an enormous bouquet of flowers because turning something ugly into something beautiful is a way to help everyone live happily ever after.

my baby daddy

Thanks for this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

And for showing them that men can do this:

(actually washing dishes, he is!)

And thanks for wearing our babies,

and not minding when the boys vacuum the house...

in dresses...

And thanks for seeing me like this:

...and capturing it so I can see me like this.

But most of all, thanks for being a daddy who does this.

::kiss::

foodish friday: week 2

Two pounds of spinach.  Five pounds of red jacket potatoes.  One pound of asparagus.  Two heads of lettuce, one red, one green.  Two pounds of baby beets and greens, and a pot of rosemary.  (I may have purchased an additional flat of herbs, which may have included lavendar, oregano, and thyme.  And also more thyme and lavendar.  And also more tarragon.)

So what do you do when bags and bags of freshly washed greens come into your house?  You fluff them in a colander and wrap them gently in clean kitchen towels.  Then you softly and respectfully stuff them into a dry zippy bag, and get as much of the air out as possible.

Yes, I know that this process is sort of a pain, but it is WAY MORE PREFERABLE to stinkyrotten spinach.  Way. More.

Side note:  The only time I ever barfed when I was pregnant with Miss O was when I discovered a bag of stinkyrotten spinach hiding in the back of my fridge.  Because I'm ten kinds of clever, I ran out the front door and threw up in the shrubs.  You're welcome.

Dry greens do better in the fridge than wet ones.   And greens that haven't had the crap beaten out of them last longer than ones that have had their stems handed to them.  Do you like how I make the funny greens jokes?  Hmmm???

I'm not the kind of Nicey Mama who disguises vegetables by pureeing the vitamins out of them and cramming them into brownies.  Because really?  DO NOT SCREW AROUND WITH MY DESSERTS.  And also?  Learn to eat your freaking vegetables already.  I know there are real, live, actual fussy eaters out there, and I'm probably going to get yelled at by somebody, but I will suggest that a vast majority of those fussy eaters are fussy because fussy eating can be a learned behavior.   (I am not talking about you.)

You want your short people to eat vegetables?  Then start eating them yourself.   And contrary to what most people believe, vegetables are tasty enough to be a stand-alone food.  If it's a root vegetable? Roast it in the oven at 350 degrees with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt, and thyme, until you can easily pierce it with a fork.  If it's green? Steam or blanche, and watch closely.  When it turns the brightest, most vibrant shade of green, it's done.   Don't like to cut winter squash before you boil the snot out of it?  Stab it with a fork or knife a few times, and bake it until it smells like pie.

You don't need to bathe it in cheese, or cover them with canned cream soup.  And please, please, please stop cooking them into mashed slop.  Veggies have character.  Put your big girl panties on and pretend you like it, and you'll probably surprise yourself by discovering that you actually do.

That said, here's my recipe for spinach lasagna.

Pour one gallon of milk in a big ol' pan and heat to 200 degrees.  The last 15 degrees go very quickly, so pay attention.  When milk comes to temperature, remove from heat and pour 1 cup of vinegar into the pot.  Give that milky mess a stir, and pour the whole business through a colander lined with cheesecloth.  Let this drip until it drips no more.

Voy-oh-lah, you have ricotta cheese.

While the ricotta is drying out, whisk together a 28 ounce can of plain tomato sauce and a can of tomato paste.  Add a little salt and pepper, and a teaspoon or so of either rosemary or thyme.  Next, chop a pound of fresh spinach, and a whole bunch of garlic cloves.  Do two if you're afraid of garlic, or four if you're not. 

When ricotta is cool enough to handle, transfer to a large bowl, and add spinach, garlic, 6 eggs, and a pound of shredded mozzarella cheese.  Mix with your hands.  Because it's easier, that's why.

In the lasagna-making pan of your choice (I prefer bread pans), layer 1/2 cup of sauce, a no-precooking-necessary lasagna noodle, a big handful or two of the ricotta-spinach mixture. Repeat until your pan is happily full.

Bake covered at 350 for about 45 minutes, then let it rest, uncovered for at least 15 minutes.  The resting part is important because spinach is very wet, and the liquid needs a minute to be absorbed.  In fact, make it a day ahead and you'll be quite pleased with yourself.

I'd have taken a picture of the beauty that is this pasta dish, but it disappeared too quickly.

wordless wednesday: because who needs them, really?

berry picking

if you love your baby then you put a sling on (him)

foodish friday

This year we are participating in Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA.  The idea is behind a CSA is pretty simple:  at the beginning of the growing season, you can purchased a share of a local farm (ours was $395) and for the duration of the growing season, you get a grocery bag of fresh, local produce grown by a man with a face (and if you're lucky, his wife, too... Hi, Gail!).

There are two CSA options (that I know of, if you are a local and know of something else, please say so!) in my area: Porter Farms, a certified organic farm, and Fenton's Produce (not certified organic).  Fenton's CSA is brand-spanking new this year, and we opted for them because they offer a market experience, where members are able to decide the contents of their bag.  (However, too bad for you if you want in on Fenton's... they're not accepting any new members at this time.  Hop on the waiting list for next year, and tell them I sent you, or call Porters.  And tell them I sent you, too.)

So, each week my children will choose all (or the majority) of our veggies for the week, and then each of them will plan a meal around the vegetable they choose.

Except this week.  I went by myself, because I can't resist taking me out on a hot date to the farm.  

I chose two bags of spinach, and a bundle of asparagus.  Have I ever told you that when I was pregnant with HB I would eat approximately 10 pounds of spinach a week?  No?  Well, I did.  I guess that was a little weird.  But at least I wasn't eating chalk.

Garlic scapes are like green onions, or scallions, but instead of tasting like onions, they taste like... wait for it... garlic.  I know.  This whole Learning New Things About Vegetables Business is superty complicated.  We ate garlic scapes in salad, and last night I made a baked potato with some sharp cheddar cheese and snipped up a garlic scape to top it off.  So. Yummy.

And did you know that POTATO + CHEESE = PROTEIN?  It does.  And you're welcome.

I also picked up a bag of potatoes, two huge heads of lettuce, and some potted herbs.  Thyme, of course, because it is my most favoritest herb of all, and lavendar and rosemary.  

On the menu this week: 

~Grilled pork chops, brown rice, spinach

~Bean burritos with spinach, tomato, cheese, and avocado

~Spinach lasagna with homemade ricotta cheese and roasted red peppers and locally raised beef, green salad

~Eggs, fried potatoes with onions, garlic scapes, roasted poblano peppers (from the freezer), strawberry-rhubarb pie

~French toast with maple syrup, scrambled eggs, asparagus

Where does your food come from?

emailing it in: it works for the bloggess

So I got an email with this in the subject line:
hey there, nice blog =).
And you can imagine how excited I was. Or wasn't.

Hi there blogger!

Just visited your "the dayton time" blog and I was super impressed by its design and content. We just opened up our site ????ville for beta testing. It's a place for people to have discussions, share tips, and ask questions about fashion. Currently, memberships are by invitation only and I would love to have you on it! Use this invitation link to sign up if you're interested: http://blahblahblah... (totally not sending you there, btw).

And we would love to hear your feedback.

Ciao!

- Chelsea M.

Fashion? Really? So I emailed her back:

Hi there PR girl!

I am pretty sure you didn't actually take much of a look around my blog or you would have noticed that I don't ever, ever, ever talk about fashion. In fact, at this very minute I'm wearing a pair of slightly cut-off cargo pants covered in random bits of schmuckus from a variety of sources including, but not limited to, the bread I baked this morning, ice cream, and the dust from the cracked corn I fed my chickens. Also, I am wearing a men's zip-front hooded sweatshirt that is completely the wrong size, and I think I showered two days ago, but I can't be sure.  Also?  Completely nappy hair.

I'm super flattered that you're super impressed by my design (which I got for free from Blogger, minus the header, which I made all! by! myself!!!) and content (which I did make all by myself, for realz).

If you're ever marketing a product or website that is actually relevant to me and my readers, be sure to let me know.

Best,

Pamela

i'm just going to go ahead and tell you that my panties are in a bunch.

The darling baby-child in my house woke up at 5:30.  For the day.  I have a splitting headache.  I had to make yogurt, cheese, and ice cream to use up a gallon and a half of milk so that I can get my milk share this week, because if I don't give them empty jars, I don't get full jars, and Tuesday is my day, so there you go. The ice cream took 45 minutes to thicken, and when it was finally ready, I poured it out of the pan into the tupperware to refrigerate it, I poured it all over the floor, chair, table, The Mister's new shorts, my new nursing tanks, everywhere.

It's hard to be this awesome.

The walking boy-children are ornery.

Someone stole three of my chickens.  I called the Sheriff's office to report my mysteriously missing poultry, and I felt like a colossal ass.  Ummm, I'm calling to report, ummm, stolen chickens.  Yes, that's correct, stolen chickens.  No, they were not eaten by an animal.  There is absolutely no sign of forced entry.  Yes, I said Forced Entry.  No, I do not expect you to be able to solve The Rapture of The Poultry, but I wanted to put this on record just in case there are any further incidences of Chicken Rapture.  No, I don't actually believe Jesus was involved in the disappearane of the chickens.


So yeah.

I poured more milk all over the table and floor and down (up?) my sleeve.  Again.  Fortunately, this milk was not full of eggs and sugar and boiling hot.

Also? The F key on my laptop does not make an F unless I pound the crap out of it.

Uck. Today.

Oh... And Rabbi Schmuley?  I'll address this bit o'bullshit later.

a rabbi walks into a la leche league meeting...

Rabbi Schmuley, self-proclaimed 'America's Rabbi' and star of the reality TV show Shalom in the Home, wrote an article for Beliefnet called Moms, Don't Forget To Feed Your Marriages.  In this article, he says all kinds of misogynistic, chauvenistic, and otherwise charming things.

Here are some of the gems:

"Furthermore, I said, her obsession [breastfeeding] had turned one of her most attractive body parts into a feeding station, an attractive cafeteria rather than a scintillating piece of flesh."

"Similarly, with the example of breast-feeding, a wife who spends a year giving all her emotional and physical affection to the baby has left her marriage a barren wasteland, bereft of romance and affection."

"Obviously, breast-feeding is not the same as carrying on an extramarital affair. But when a mother gives her breasts to her son and takes them away from her husband, the effect on the marriage can feel the same."

"In the end, there are two effects of breast-feeding that we often refuse to acknowledge. One is the de-eroticization of a woman's body, as her husband witnesses one of the most attractive parts of her body serving a utilitarian rather than romantic purpose. This is not to say that breast-feeding isn't sexy. Indeed, the maternal dimension is a central part of womanliness. But public breast-feeding is profoundly de-eroticizing, and I believe that wives should cover up, even when they nurse their babies in their husband's presence."

" That is just too erotic a part of a wife's anatomy for it to become a mere birth canal." [regarding whether or not fathers should watch the birth of their children]

 "When a husband ceases to see his wife as a woman, and begins to see her as "the mother of his children," a negative trend has begun in his mind that can only subvert his erotic interest."

Where to begin.  Rabbi's comments speak very loudly about the pervasive sexualization of breastfeeding in our society.  Blogger tells me sexualization is not a real word, but I beg to differ. 

Rabbi refers to himself as a marriage expert, and crusading against the rising divorce rates in this country.  Here's the thing:  if a man views his wife as nothing but a sexual object?  THAT IS A PROBLEM FOR THE MARRIAGE.  It would be a problem if a woman viewed her husband as a sexual object, too, don't misunderstand me.  How is it less erotic for a man to view a woman as "the mother of his children"?  Wouldn't that whole situation further endear the woman to the man?  (In normal circumstances... I know that there's not always love for the baby mama.)

I get that sex is vital to a marriage.  But to suggest that breastfeeding a child past 11 months will diminish a marriage is a total cop out.  I'll tell you what breastfeeding a child past 11 months diminishes... it can diminish a mama's energy.  It can diminish the number of things that get done in a day.  It can diminish a mama's capacity for feeling sexy about herself; it can diminish her ability to put out on a moment's notice.

And to refer to a vagina as a mere birth canal?  Seriously?  There is nothing MERE about birth, and I find it hard to believe that someone who has witnessed so many births could refer to it as such.  Also as difficult to believe?  That someone who has made so many babies and has (what can only be assumed as being) a super active sex life, could refer to a vagina as a mere birth canal.  That demonstrates a CLEAR lack of imagination.  Anne Shirley would shake her little red head at you, Rabbi.

A while after publishing the superbrilliant article, Rabbi published a second essay on his website in defense of himself.  It was more of the same Preserve The Erotic Nature of The Breast Campaign that was laid out in his first piece.  Because apparently that is what this society needs is more erotic images.  More sex, less nurture.  More graphic representations of women to put us on a higher pedestal so y'all can stare up our skirts at our "mere birth canals".  More visual images that cause our little girls to grow up with unrealistic expectations.   Brilliant.

A marriage does not fall apart because of breastfeeding.  Anybody who tells you that is lying.  Because honestly, people?  I'd be divorced by now if that was the case.  I have been breastfeeding for more than half of my marriage, and I don't plan on quitting either any time soon.

is it just special for me?

Freaking awesome decision making got me where I am today.  Aww-haww-suh-hummm.

First, we went to the playground, the Bouncy Playground, which has an actual name, but who cares what that is because the Bouncy Playground has LOTS!!!! of BOUNCY!!!!! THINGS!!!! to BOUNCE!!!!! ON!!!!  Which, of course, is all very different from the sort of bouncing that has been going on at this local park.

Please.  Have a click and then come back.  It's a story that is fascinating the media.  I'll wait.

Classy, no?

Anyway, back to me.  I needed to get heavy cream and toilet paper, not to be used together, well, one as a result of the.... never mind.  So we had to go to Target.  Of course.  And we had to check the shoe section, because Miss O has no puddle boots, and it is a vast conspiracy to keep her from having puddle boots, and she is ESPECIALLY irked with the man at Tractor Supply who would not even look at her when she asked if he would order a pair of boots in her size, and blah blah blah every store we go in we have to LOOK FOR THE PUDDLE BOOTS!!!!!!!  And as it happened, God was smiling on us and lo, there were puddle boots, and BEHOLD! they were pretty light appley green with daisies on them and they WERE! THE! RIGHT! SIZE!

And also Elliott has no t-shirts.  I have no explanation for this, because the preceding boy-children all had actual shirts, but now there are none.  So I got two or four t-shirts for that guy.

And the trip. Went on, and on, and on.

I paid for our stuff.  I put the short people in the car.  I put the stuff in the car.  I put myself in the car.  I looked out the passenger window just as two cars stopped for pedestrians in the crosswalk.  And the man driving the second car PULLED OUT HIS NASAL ROTO-ROOTER AND WENT TO TOWN IN HIS RIGHT NOSTRIL.  At a stop sign.

The first car drove on, Mr. Rooter pulled up to the stop sign and took care of business in the other nostril.

It was worse than deja-vu.

things unsaid

My Friend K From Up The Street came down last night to bring me chocolate chip cookies and chat about The Things and The Stuff.  She told me what she'd been up to that day, and I told her about what had kept me busy all day.

I told her about a guy I know who fell in love with a girl who has some adorable children, and how he just loves her so much and her children love him and he loves them and it's all just so stinking adorable and I was getting all animated telling this story of how it warms my heart.

What I didn't say, was that I appreciate seeing that story because I live that story in my house.  I have a guy who fell in love with me, and we had us some babies and he loves them and they love him and it's all just so stinking adorable and the living of this story warms my heart.

stalker thursday, irony edition

I have it on good authority that this person stalks me regularly.***

***Not in the creepy, illegal, stalkerish way.  

Just wanted to clarify.

wordless wednesday: for nydia