It's my yearly tradition to make up a list of mental New Year's Resolutions that I know I will ultimately fail at. I use them as a source for inspiration and hope - and then I laugh when I realize I make nearly the same ones every year but never follow through. But this year will be different, I will succeed! Yeah right. I'm just gonna make easier resolutions to stick by. Here's my Top 10 List, feel free to share yours'.
1. Start on my MS degree. Yuck, more homework and bitchiness but it will be so worth it when I have that little piece of paper in my hand.
2. Lose 20 lbs. Ok, maybe 10 lbs. Alright, just keep the 5 lbs. off I lost due to that nasty intestinal thing from a month ago.
3. Work on my photography and make my first $1! Momma needs a new camera! Well, Momma doesn't really need a new camera but she would sure like a beefier one. I'd also like to shoot my first wedding but I am a huge chicken - bock, bock.
4. Get out of debt. I'm working with the California State Lottery on this one.
5. Stay healthy! No more intestinal traveler's yuckiness and certainly no more poison oak. The occasional head cold is ok, but absolutely no stomach flu. Got that God?
6. Strongly consider the idea of my fourth and last little heathen.
7. Pay it forward - at least quarterly. I will find something good to do, for the benefit of my community and not just myself. But in a way, it is just for myself since it makes me feel really good - a true win-win situation in my book.
8. Work on being a better mom. I'm going to make myself play Barbies with Tater (other than taking naughty Boudoir pictures which she still doesn't about nor did she see). I'm going to allow the boys to keep using my good pillows and rug as ramps for their Hotwheels and not be angry when the occasional Hotwheels gets thrown down the toilet or shower drain. I promise to complain less and love more.
9. Work on being a better wife. I will attempt to look past his inability to throw things in the trash and his unwillingness to pick up after himself. I will ignore his morning phlegm sessions and his routine evening bathroom trips where the lighting of a match ends a successful event. I promise to love, honor, and cherish him for the great man he is. Notice I did not say obey. That word wasn't in my vows and surely isn't a word I recognize in a marriage.
10. I'm going to work on my trucker tongue. Taters says I have a mouth that would make a sailor blush, so I need to change that. Gunny learned "Gawd Damwit" somewhere and I'm not so sure I can blame his Grandma.
That's all I can think of now. Here are some celebrity resolutions that I find quite entertaining:
I took this picture today after trying to soak up the 60 degree sun Mother Nature decided to share with us. Do you know where it is? I'll give you some hints to this beautiful spot:
* For several months of the year, you really can't access it.
* You can sometimes see Union soliders hiding behind the logs.
* If you walk far enough, you might find the purrfect present.
So I probably just made this way too easy, but we'll see.
Yuck. I whined a few days ago about the current battle of the poison oak rash I was involved in. Several of you gave some great advice and I tried everything including some of the old standards I normally do when afflicted with the beast (although Kym's orgasmic hot shower was a very nice, albeit temporary relief). My normal willingness to just "ride it out" changed when I woke up this morning and discovered the creature had overtaken my inner thighs and made no promises of not migrating into inappropriate places; places good girls do not itch or scratch in public.
I decided it was time to call the doc. I knew it meant a shot but I didn't care; the oozing, itching, skin cracking and weeping was driving me nuts and the prospect of getting it there, just didn't sit well with me (literally). Thankfully, the doctor's office was willing to take me in between patients and they even agreed to see me after I told them I'd have the three kids with me. The receptionist laughed - clearly thinking I was joking - and I again repeated that I'd have three little mongrels all hyped up on Christmas cookies and candy, riding the high that winter break can bring. She finally got a little quiet, understanding the seriousness of my tone. I thought the warning was more than fair.
Prior to going to my appointment, Taterbug had a follow-up visit with her pediatrician. The poor little gal has been dealing with what we thought was acid reflux. When an upper GI showed her innards to be in tip top shape, we shifted gears and started exploring a food allergy. So far, we think she might have a Gluten allergy but I wanted to confirm my suspicions with someone who went to school much longer than me.
When we got to the Ped's office, I immediately noticed the clock was missing from the room. This office is notorious for running late so I guess the absence of the clock means out of sight, out of mind. If you can't see that they're running late, then you really aren't - works for me. Thankfully, our waiting was relatively short and I was able to herd the animals on into the examination room. Gunny promptly turned into a kitteh kat, and proceeded to crawl around the room, meowing and at one point, licking the floor. As I pulled out my hand sanitizer, I thought better against making him gargle with it, but it was so very tempting.
As the Ped knocked on the door, Gunny heard her, and threw himself to the ground. Gunny doesn't like the doctor's office so much, and even being armed with the knowledge that it wasn't a trip for him, he wasn't so convinced. As he looked up at the doctor, I heard him utter the words I'd hoped he'd previously forgotten:
Gawd damwit!
I thought I was going to curl up right then and there, slammed forever into a fetal position preventing me from ever having to deal with my almost three year old trucker son, who had a mouth that could make a sailor blush. I corrected him the best that I could without totally going nutso and I honestly don't even think the Ped noticed.
Our appointment went quick, which I was very thankful for, since I was starting to sweat and itch in places that good girls normally do not touch - at least in public. Taters kept a stiff upper lip even when told she'd need to supply a blood sample at the hospital lab. She has my fear of needles and nothing you can say or do makes the sampling process go any easier. The Ped also told her she'd have to provide a stool sample. I was surprised when Taters started laughing because I didn't realize she knew what that meant. She then looked at me, still laughing, and said I'd have to collect it. It's so great being a mom sometimes...not. The ped mentioned Celiac Disease which in all seriousness, really scared me. I know it's an Autoimmune disease but other than that, I just don't know enough about it to not be freaked out. Ultimately, I know she'll be fine but I hate when any of my kids are sick.
After her visit, we rushed over to my doctor's office because the swooshing of the cool air combined with the way my Levi's rubbed my legs, felt surprisingly good. As we walked in, Gunny started to complain that "he was bowwinnggg" (boring but he meant bored) and wanted to "weave." The nurses took pity on me and quickly placed us in the examination room. Through the door, I could hear the doctor quietly asking how many people I had brought with me, as Gunny once again was channeling his inner kitteh kat.
After a quick exam and a couple of questions, he left the room and the nurse came back in, complete with a huge syringe loaded with murky goo guaranteed to ease my need to scratch and itch. I started to unbutton my pants while the kids watched through grimy, finger covered faces. The three little heathens were all belly laughing at the thought that Momma was going to have to get a shot in her butt. The nurse saw me do this and said they normally gave the shot of hell in the arm so my cheeks would be safe.
She told me to relax as I got the injection but as soon as I felt the initial pang of pain, I instantly tensed up. Big mistake. Getting the shot really didn't bother me, but afterwards I thought I had been injected with snake venom because it hurt so bad. Here I was telling Taters to not be a wuss about giving a blood sample, and I couldn't even use my right arm. I looked like a stroke victim when I left the office, my right arm sadly dragging behind me. I moaned and yelped the entire way home. I instantly felt bad for making light of my kids when they had their normal vaccines. Paybacks are a bitch and I really got mine.
We are now home and I'm slowly able to use my arm again. I haven't told the kids yet, because they are still somewhat babying me and leaving me alone to watch grown-up TV. I figure I can milk it at least another hour and then I'll need to fess up and do the mom thing again.
'Cuz I need to borrow some. I'm talking like a whole bath full of chunky goodness. Hubby didn't think I got enough for Christmas so he gave me a batch of poison oak as a bonus. The beautiful and sexy red crusty rash has taken over my legs, arms and is contemplating moving onto my voluptous chest as it promises to make a welcoming home. No stick, ruler, hairbrush, or other wise non-sharp instrument is safe from my itchy madness. I linger in doorways, itching franticly like a mama grizzyly bear trying to shed her winter coat. Yeah, it's just not pretty.
I know it's still kinda the holidays, but I certainly don't have visions of sugarplums dancing in my head; rather, I'm dreaming of fat shots of cortisone paired with a round of muscle boosting prednisone. Poison oak is not my friend and when I get it, I get it really good. I'm an overachiever when it comes to nasty rashes - we all have something to be proud of and this is it for me.
I'm currently working on a tube of Benadryl cream and just to be a biotch, I hid it from Hubby when he asked if we had any. Serves him right - I'm hoarding that liquid gold until my skin returns to it's normal shade of pink. It's his fault, afterall, and nothing's fair in love and war.
Got any home remedies? Can you soothe this savage beast? Help an itchy gal out!
Nine years ago today, I was inducted into the secret life of motherhood. My baby girl, queen of our castle, and boss of her brothers came silently into the world at 1:41 PM on 12-26-99. I had been laboring since midnight the night before and was unpleasantly surprised at how painful the whole process was. When it was time to push, I vehemently denied wanting to participate and rather asked the midwife to hook up a chain and pull her on out. After all, I had done my part and was physically and emotionally exhausted.
I did end up pushing and after an hour, she was finally delivered; a silent, beautiful, purple little baby doll. She was not breathing and did not have a heartbeat. Hubby was videotaping the whole process, unknowing that our little girl was on the verge of something terrible. The nurses feverishly revived her as the rest of us were oblivous to what was going on. You can actually see her start to pink up in the video and her first kitten-like cry makes me bawl everytime I watch it. A few minutes of resuscitation brought us a screaming little girl and she hasn't shut up since.
Happy birthday Taterbug, Shalimar Keisha, Ms. Fashionista, Tea, Butthead, T-Bug, Bubba and whatever other name fits her at the time. We love you!
Why's she smiling so big? Does someone have a secret? Is someone's left hand being weighted down by a large piece of carbon?
Aunt D is gettin' hitched!!!
The best present our family could have received came on Christmas Eve during the present exchange at my in-laws. During a lull in the frantic present opening, Aunt D's longtime boyfriend, Uncle S, whipped out a pretty little sparkler and asked her to be his wife! I was in shock and started crying, Aunt D was bawling, and Taters was evening wiping away the tears. It was such a neat and very surreal moment.
And guess what? My camera was at home. Oh well, the wonderful feelings will forever be recorded in my heart. I'm so happy for them. No date yet - but we're super excited for the upcoming shindig!
Almost twenty years ago yesterday, my Grandma Joe passed away. I had just turned 13 and it was the first real death and funeral I actually remembered. Each year on the 23rd, I remember her by saying a little prayer for both Grandma and my dad, since it was his mom. It's my own way of letting her know I remember and good way for my kids to have some neat memories of a family member they've never met.
Or so I thought.
Gunny has a new friend and I was introduced to her yesterday. Her name is Mrs. Grumpy and she's an "owed yady." She likes to sit on the couch and enjoys watching the kitties play. Her preferred resting spot is on Gunny's Spiderman blankie, either on the couch or just next to it. She loves C-dub and Taters but isn't so sure about Mom and Dad.
She's Gunny's first imaginary friend and it's seriously freaking me out.
I thought Gunny had just thought of a new name for the kittens but he was adamant that it was a "yady." He'd walk over and pat the couch where he said that Mrs. Grumpy was sitting. A few minutes later, he'd tell me that Mrs. Grumpy was "yaffing" or "goin' outta da room," and then point to a certain area. It was so strange to see him act like that; as if he thought there was a real person there.
Taters is freaked out and wants me to buy a Oujia board so that she can "talk" to Mrs. Grumpy. I vetoed that plan. She swears she's feeling temperature changes and has a tingly back of the neck feeling whenever she sits on the couch. No more "Goosebumps" books for her and certainly no more "Ghost Hunters."
Is it coincidental that he discovered an imaginary old lady friend named after my Grandma's personality on the anniversary of her death? That was a mouthful but my nerves are as frazzled as that last sentence sounded.
What do you think? Is it Grandma Joe? Or could it be just the active imagination of an almost three year old? I'm not sure what I believe but I don't think anyone can have too many angels looking after them.
This year has been a real struggle for me to get into the Christmas mood. I've baked cookies, prepared candies, and wrapped countless amount of gifts for my friends and family. I even hosted a blog contest that brought out some wonderful people with great ideas on how to make the season come alive for both myself and my family. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't be feelin' a little bit of that Christmasy spirit and this makes me have a pity party - with only one invite unless you'd care to join. I can send you an e-vite since the big day is almost here.
It seems as though with the economy in the toilet and the negative effects hitting my pocketbook everyday, it's really done a number on my mood and put an emphasis on the material aspects of Christmas. I hate that. I know Christmas is not about what you get or what you give but I don't feel like I'm doing a good job in promoting that to my own kiddos. I wonder to myself when the kids see the gifts under the tree if they really understand the joy meant behind the season and not just the buttload of presents that Santa Claus normally brings them? Do they get it? Would they be happy with less? I hesitate to even think about that and possibly jinx myself for next year's festivities. Yes, I am a little paranoid but it works for me.
I know I am to blame and I fully accept that. But how do you change? How do you get off the materialist track that is so easy to follow? When I was a little kid, my parents always made sure that us kids had a wonderful Christmas. We'd get oranges, homemade deer jerky, cookies, and whatever else Mom - err - Santa could find laying around the house. On Christmas morning, we'd be thrilled with our treasures and my parents looked equally happy. We had so much less but so much more on Christmas morning. How did I get so off-track?
I saw an opportunity to try and change my evil ways today, and I selfishly took it. I wanted to some how, some way, demonstrate to my kids that by giving back you get so much more in return. I know they've participated in class gift exchanges and with their own little buddies, but it was a square deal; they gave and got. It was the unselfish present game I wanted to find and when I saw that a local family was in need, I told my kids that we were going to play Santa for the day.
After a trunkload of toys, towels, household goods, and best wishes for this family's future, the kids and I drove to a neighboring town and made our delivery to the Fire Department. While I unloaded the items, the kids watched quietly as their Momma dropped off things that might have otherwise landed on their side of the Christmas tree. And you know the cool part? They thought it was really neat. The idea that we might have brought some happy times to a family dealing with tragedy, made them feel good and in turn, made me so proud. I felt, for just a moment, I was actually making some headway both on my Christmas spirit and their understanding of the gift of unselfishness.
It was fun playing Secret Santa and the whole process truly made me appreciate the little things that I normally take so much for granted. We didn't change the ways of the world by our one act of kindess, but it certainly brought about some interesting conversation and life's lessons to my little ones. Most importantly, it just felt good and I like that.
My challenge to you is to now "pay it forward." I'm tagging each and everyone one of you to go out and do one thing today, tomorrow, or in the distant future, and make someone happy. I promise you, you're guaranteed to see the world as a better place when you're done.
Here's a variety of different poems I found for the original, "Twas The Night Before Christmas" poem (I don't think that's actually the original title, come to think of it). I'm feeling so rundown for the holidays and these perked me up a bit. Make sure you watch the video at the end. It's just wrong but ever so right.
The original version by Clement Clarke Moore:
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
For the Mom:
It was the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie, flipped through their heads.
The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, "Now what's the matter?"
With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug.
"Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the rug."
"Ho-ho-ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake."
"Your gift was especially difficult to make."
"Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone."
"Exactly!" he chuckled, "I've made you a clone."
"A clone?" she asked, "What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit-chat."
The mother's twin. Same hair, same eyes,
Same double chin.
"She'll cook, she'll dust," She'll mop every mess.
You'll relax, take it easy, Watch The Young & the Restless." "Fantastic!" the mom cheered. "My dream come true!
"I'll shop. I'll read., I'll sleep a whole night through! "
From the room above, the youngest began to fret.
"Mommy?! I scared... and I am wet."
The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
"Hey," the mom smiled, "She knows her part."
The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune,
as she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon.
"You the best mommy ever. " I really love you."
The clone smiled and sighed, "I love you, too."
The mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal. "
That's my child's love, she's trying to steal."
Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear, "
Only one loving mother, is needed here."
The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed.
"Thank you, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won't be very long,
When they'll be too old, for my cradle-song."
The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time."
With the clone by his side Santa said, "Goodnight. Merry Christmas, Mom, You'll be all right."
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the trailer
Not a creature was stirrin' 'cept a redneck named Taylor.
His first name was Bubba, Joe was his middle,
And a-runnin' down his chin was a trickle of spittle.
His socks, they were hung by the chimney with care,
And therefore there was a foul stench in the air.
That Bubba got scared and rousted the boys.
There was Rufus, 12 Jim Bob was 11
Dud goin' on 10 Otis was 7.
John, George and Chucky Were 5,4, and 3:
The twins were both girls so they let them be.
They jumped in their overalls, no need for a shirt,
Threw a hat on each head, then turned with a jerk.
They ran to the gun rack that hung on the wall.
There were 17 shotguns they grabbed them all.
Bubba said to the young'uns, "now hesh up ya'll!
The last thing we wanna do is wake up yer Maw."
Maw was expecting and needed her sleep,
So out they crept out the door without making a peep.
They all looked around, and then they all spit.
The young'uns asked Bubba, "Paw, what is it?"
Bubba just stared he could not say a word.
This was just like all of The stories he'd heard.
It was Santy Claus on the roof, darn tootin'
But the boys didn't know they was about to start shootin'!
They aimed their shotguns and nearly made a mistake
That would have resulted in venison steak.
Bubba hollered out, "don't shoot, boys!"
That's Santy Claus And he's brought us some toys.
The dogs were a-barkin' and a-raisin' cain,
And Bubba whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
"Down, Spot! shut up Bullet! quiet, Roscoe and Enos!
Git, Turnip and Tater and Sam and Bosco!"
"Git down from that porch! git down off that wall!
Quit shakin the trailer, or you'll make Santy fall!"
The dogs kept a-barkin' and wouldn't shut up,
And they trampled poor Pete Who was only a pup.
Santy opened his bag, And threw out some toys.
Bubba got most, but left a few for the boys.
Since the guns had been dropped he just might not die.
He jumped in his sleigh, told his reindeer to hurry.
The trailer started to wobble santa started to worry.
Just as the reindeer got into the air,
The trailer collapsed, but Bubba didn't care.
He was busy lookin' at all his new toys.
Then a thought hit him, and he said to the boys:
"Go check on yer Maw, make sure she's all right.
That roof fallin' on her could-a hurt just a might."
But Maw was OK, and the girls were too.
They fixed up the trailer it looked good as new.
And as for Bubba, he liked Old St. Nick,
But Santa thought Bubba was a pure-in-tee hick!
Bubba had a nice Christmas, and the boys did, too.
And the Taylors wish a Yee Haw Merry Christmas to you!!!
For the Dieter:
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
Were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear
A marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I’d wind up sick.
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
A Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly,
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
Gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry–
If temptation’s removed I’ll get thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
In the morning I’ll starve… ’til I take that first bite!
I love Dickies clothes and was super excited to see that they have an awesome clearance section here. They have a great variety of clothing items and their stuff is well made. Plus, they are currently offering free shipping with any order. You just can't beat that!
Don't forget to go through Ebates for an extra 5% off!
Each year, I receive at least one Christmas letter from either a family member or a friend and it always throws me for a greedy loop. My initial excitement of realizing there is something stuffed into a Christmas card quickly disperses once I realize it's "one of those" letters and not a gift card or cash.
I must admit that I almost always read the letters I get. I do so mainly because I'm nosy but also because I've come to enjoy the pretentious June Cleaver voice that emanates through my head as I read along. She's quite entertaining and puts a wonderful little closet alcoholic spin on the words I read - even if I could care less about the content.
If you haven't guessed it, I'm not a huge fan of the Christmas letter phenomenon. The people I know and love keep in contact with me, so a letter really isn't needed. With most of my friends and family, we already e-mail and make phone calls, so a letter on top of that is a bit, well, weird. More oftentimes than not, the letters I receive mention people I don't even know - people I don't even have a vested interest in and really could care less about.
I'm not knockin' you if you enjoy creating an annual Christmas letter or like receiving them. Just remember, should a copy be sent my way, June will receive it. I can guarantee you that she'll be sipping on a dirty Martini and wrapping her bright red lips around a Virginia Slim, alternating her puffs with a husky voice, reading your family's Christmas letter.
Here are some June Cleaver approved Christmas letters I found on the 'Net:
Martha Stewart's Christmas Letter to Erma Bombeck
Hi Erma,
This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself to tell you what I have been up to. Since it snowed last night, I got up early and made a sled with old barn wood and a glue gun. I hand painted it in gold leaf, got out my loom and made a blanket in peaches and mauves.
Then, to make the sled complete, I made a white horse to pull it from DNA that I had just sitting around in my craft room. By then, it was time to start making the place mats and napkins for my 20 breakfast guests. I'm serving the old standard Stewart twelve-course breakfast, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I didn't have time to make the tables and chairs this morning, so I used the ones I had on hand.
Before I moved the table into the dining room I decided to add just a touch of the holidays. So I repainted the room in pinks and stenciled gold stars on the ceiling.
While the homemade bread was rising, I took antique candle molds and made the dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to use for breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay, which you can get at almost any Hungarian craft store.
Well, I must run. I need to finish the hand-sewn buttonholes on the dress I'm wearing for breakfast. I'll get out the sled and drive this note to the post office as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I'll be making.
Hope my breakfast guests don't stay too long. I have 40,000 cranberries to string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon. It's a goodthing.
Love, Martha
P.S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold gauze. I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes and blackberries which I grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun.
Response from Erma Bombeck
Dear Martha:
I'm writing this on the back of an old shopping list. Pay no attention to the coffee and jelly stains. I'm 20 minutes late getting my daughter off for school, packing a lunch with one hand-on the phone with the dog pound, seems old Ruff needs bailing out again. Burnt my arm on the curling iron when I was trying to make those cute curly fries, how DO they do that? Still can't find the scissors to cut out some snowflakes, tried using an old disposable razor . . . trashed the tablecloth. Tried that cranberry thing; frozen cranberries mushed up after I defrosted them in the microwave. Oh, and don't use Fruity Pebbles as a substitute in that Rice Krispies snowball recipe unless you like food that resembles puke! Smoke alarm is going off, talk to ya later.
Your daughter refers to them as your brown truck boyfriends and your two year old calls them the "present guys." Another way to tell? When your children yell to you on the front porch to say "hi" to their new Daddy whenever a different face delivers a Christmas package. Taterbug swears that it's terrible of me to cheat so much on my other boyfriends - Schwans and Fed Ex - and even my girlfriend - the mail lady. I guess I truly know the reason behind the phrase, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" at least in reference to my galvanting around.
Earlier this week, Hubby and I finally succumbed to the flu bug that had infiltrated our household last weekend. Since the munchkins had already partaken amongst this lovely round of "da boffs," they were perfectly healthy and raring to go to school. I managed to suck it up for 10 minutes in order to drop off the older two and then hurry back home to protect my place as queen of the latrine. Hubby also stayed home from work and he and I spent our day either in the bed or my favorite, the couch. For some reason, the coolness of the leather made my nausea swells a little easier to handle.
The hardest part of the day wasn't the nausea and it wasn't the feeling of not being able to trust your own farts - it was the fact that Gunny felt perfectly healthy. Even on a normal day, I'm typically exhausted after playing, chasing, and tormenting the little fellow. You'd think that a set of sick parents would still be able to keep up with the little hellion - well, Gunny sensed our weakness and took full advantage in reminding us why he'd be an only child if I would have had him first.
Because he was feeling better, Gun-Gun was very hungry - in fact, he was hungry all day long. As I lay moaning on the couch and praying to the porcelain goddess, he kept bringing me a variety of different stinky snacks he wanted to have opened up. Crackers, bananas, cookies, cheese, Popsicles, and I think at one point, even a cold Pepsi - which received a firm denial. He'd eat and then offer me some, usually in a pre-chewed form or at least pre-licked. When he was done eating, I could hear him throwing his wrapper in the sink, which was absolutely fine because at least there was one universal place for his trash. I could also hear him crunching up paper and talking softly, which I ignored as he sounded happy and not too naughty (which obviously was a mistake because a quiet Gunny is a troubled Gunny).
In and out of my comatose state on the couch, I revolved the TV from Noggin to Nickolodeon, with the occasional Cartoon Network inter dispersed for his viewing pleasure. Every so often I'd hear the occasional theme song to "Go Diego Go!" or "Yo Gabba Gabba" emit from his little lips, and I'd close my eyes for just a bit longer knowing that he was safe, fed and happy. I was even the benefactor of a spit bath during "Yo Gabba Gabba" as their guest singer was a rap star who taught the kids how to rap and do beatboxing. What a great thing to teach a two year old who already likes to spit just for recreational fun.
Towards the end of the day, Hubby arose from the bedroom dungeon and announced that he was feeling better and had unleashed his tether from the toilet. As he walked through the kitchen, surveying the damage done by a rambunctious Gun-Gun, he noticed a pile of crumpled wrapping paper underneath the kitchen table. Just adjacent to the pile lay a stack of presents, previously wrapped during one of my Christmas frenzies.
Hubby: Gunny! What the heck did you do? Why'd you open the presents? Gun-Gun: Oh! Sawree bout dat Daddeee. I open dah up dah merry cwistmas! Hubby: But it's not Christmas yet. You can't touch those, dude. Gun-Gun:Giving his best forelorn look... I'm weally sawree I open dah up dah pwesents. I wuv you Daddeee. He does know how to deflect anger and cause spontaneous hugging and kissing sessions with his Daddeee. His power is impressive.
So yes, I should have paid better attention when I heard the crumpling papers and quiet whispering. And maybe, just maybe, I should have gotten my sour butt and stomach off the couch to investigate his wicked ways. However, in my own defense, I thought I had done well enough by at least putting up the sharp instruments and prescription medications. Who would have thought the Christmas presents would have been the victim of a Christmas Monster right in my own living room?
I Channeled Martha Stewart And I Liked It. No Cherry Chapstick Involved.
Martha Freakin' Stewart entered my body today and possessed not only my heart and soul, but every stinkin' clean and freshly licked bowl in my house. Martha decided to get with the big "S" (Santa) and challenged me to a dessert feast that would make a chubby man, such as Santa Clause, blush. I'm sure the Safeway gal thought I was buying enough sugar, flour, milk, and cream to start my own bakery or at least prepare for the next nuclear war - but no, I was just stockpiling the necessary goodies to embark upon my wild trip into candy and cookie making ecstasy.
Let's just say I'm known. Yeah, that's right, I've gotta rep and I proudly live up to it every year. You heard it, I'm known as the divalicious goddess of the kitchen. People love being around me during the holidays. They have lustful, fanciful thoughts about what I can do for them with a little chocolate and caramel. Hmmm....yeah, my goodies are that tasty. Whether it be Sandi's Secret Caramel, Christmas Crack, homemade gooey Marshmallows, chewy Rice Crispie Treats or melt in your mouth World's Best Chocolate Chip Cookies - you are sure to be satisfied when we part company during the holidays.
Who knows what I was thinking today when I decided to tackle five different recipes with a helpful two year old and anxious six year old hot on my June Cleaver heels, but I didn't care. Maybe it was rum extract or perhaps it was the pure Madagascar vanilla I chugged periodically out of a silver plated pocket cask; I threw caution to the wind and flour on my face as I embarked upon a whirlwind of baking and boiling. I enlisted C-dub as my official "dumper" (he who dumps the ingredients in the bowl) and Gun-Gun was the Queen's taster (preventing the poisoning of our royal crew). When I dared to tread on C-dub's carefully manicured toes by dumping in some dry ingredients during one of his many bathroom trips, his reply to me was:
"Don't pour that stuff in without me. Cuz, I, uh, just wouldn't like you berry much if you did. 'K, Mom?" 'Nuff said. I did not even contemplate trying to sneak that one past him again. God forbid he didn't like me anymore.
When all was said and done, and the flour and butter had settled, only magnificence remained:
The happiest person of the day? The Queen's Taster, of course. And guess what? The little monster is still awake, and still rarin' to go at 11PM. No more cookies, Gunnah. Be sure to read his shirt - it's entirely fitting for today.
I've recently had the pleasure of photographing several different families. I'd like to think they allowed me to do their photos because of my awesome talent, experience and dazzling smile, but in all seriousness, I know it's because I don't charge. That's right; nada, zilch, nunca. My self-confidence, or lack thereof, has prevented me from even considering it.
I've spent the past year working hard on my photography and learning the basics by reading books and taking a photography class. I've networked with some really good photographers and I've discovered what I'm good at and not so good at. I really want to be a strong photographer not just a MWAC (Mom With A Camera), which is a term coined by professionals for people like me :-).
After much discussion and the purchase of a new editing program and new lens, I've decided that 2009 will be bringing about some changes. I'm gonna, *gulp*, start charging. No, it won't be much and I'm still taking it in the end as far as the time I'll spend shooting, editing and doing final preparations, but at least it will slowly help to pay for the initial investment I've made.
I have to remember that this is my hobby and will never be my business. I like the steady paycheck, health bennies, and retirement that a normal job provides and I know that I'll never make enough on photography to pay for my mortgage or clean diapers. As long as I can support my habit, I'll be happy.
Anyhoo, not really sure what the point of this posting is other than to solidify to myself that I'm going to do this and that I can do this *insert the Little Engine That Could* and that I need to stop being a chicken schat when it comes to constructive criticism and confidence levels. I feel so much better now - maybe that's the Immodium talking.
Here are some shots from some recent photo shoots I did...
A handsome little Christmas miracle:
A beautiful little princess to make your ovaries ache:
He's Gonna Ho, Ho, Ho It, Before You Know, Know, Know It!
It's been a lot of fun this Christmas trying to teach the older two kids that by giving gifts sometimes you can get the most joy. It seems for the most part, they're starting to understand how much fun it is to trick, tease, and outright lie - all in the name of the Christmas spirit.
Their school has really helped me in showing them how to be "givers" rather than just "receivers," during this holiday season. They host a little store where the kids are allowed to go in and make small purchases of donated items. I sent Taters and C-dub each with $6 last week and they were both very excited to be "rich." Six one dollar bills can turn a kid into a high roller. Just ask Taters.
Before they left the house, C-dub and I had a brief conversation about the holiday store.
C-dub: Mom, how'd dey get a store in da office? Mommazilla: Well, they didn't actually bring a store in. They just use your library and fill up the tables with lots of good stuff. C-dub: I weally hope they have Hotwheels. I need sum new ones. Mommazilla: C-dub, you don't buy for yourself, you buy for me or daddy, or even Taters and Gunny. This is your special shopping trip for the family.
He looks a little perplexed, pissed off even. For a six year old, in the book of fairness, this just doesn't sit well. After a couple of processing minutes, he finally simmers down into the idea that he'd have to shop for us.
C-dub: You still like takin' pictures, Mom? Mommazilla: I do. It's my hobby. C-dub: Oh, do you need any camera caps? You said Gun-Gun stole some of 'em. I rack my brain to figure out what a "camera cap" is. Mommazilla: Do you mean lens caps? C-dub: Yeah, dat's what I said. Camera caps.
I dropped the kiddos off at school and returned home to take a long "Calgon Take Me Away" bath - wuth Gun-Gun of course. When it was time for pick-up. C-dub was happily waiting on the sidewalk in front of his classroom, clutching a fat paperbag he had obviously decorated himself. As he got into the car, he informed me the store was out of camera caps but he had found the next best thing.
C-dub: You wanna open your present, Mom? Mommazilla: Nope, not until Christmas. I'm really excited to see what it is! C-dub: Are ya sure you don't weally wanna open it? I won't tell Dad or the elf. Mommazilla: No thanks, dude. Let's just get home. C-dub: But I weally think you should open it. You could use it at yer work. Mommazilla: But C-dub, you are supposed to wait until Christmas. C-dub: You could dest wrap it back up again. Just take a wittle peak.
After his strong argument of it just taking a little peak and his promise not to rat me out to Dad or the elf, I carefully unwrapped the gift. He watched my face as I opened up my third identical school mug. I smiled and gave him a big hug.
C-dub: It's dest what you wanted, huh Mom. Now you can dwink all da coffee ya want! Mommazilla: It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you very much. C-dub: Don't worry 'bout those camera caps. I'll tell the elf you still need'em. Mommazilla: That would be great.
One kid down, two to go - on the joys of gift giving this Christmas.
I had the opportunity to drive Hwy 101 this morning at about 7:30 AM. I was heading southbound from Eureka and never made it over 50 mph. There was rain/snow/hail all over the roadway and I can't tell you the number of times I felt my car start to react to the slick surfaces. It was like someone poured a lemonade icee all over the roadway. Before I even got home, I saw five different cars off of the roadway including one that was entirely flipped onto it's hood. Thankfully, no one was hurt in any of the accidents I saw.
Please, please, please slow down. It's Humboldt County, folks, most of us just aren't used to driving in such quick, icy conditions. People were flying by me this morning, oblivious to the impending danger they were placing themselves into. Please give yourself some extra time or better yet, just stay in and enjoy a Hot Buttered Rum with someone that you love.
I'd like to help you with your Christmas shopping by practically dropping the purrfect thing for a Christmas present into your awaiting lap. Actually, these little critters would probably be more than happy to jump up into your awaiting arms for either a little scratch or some heavy petting if you were to offer a friendly hand (I probably would too, come to think of it).
The first two gifts I'd like to introduce you to were born about four months ago in Freshwater. These two lovely ladies and their two tiny siblings were found alongside the road near the Three Corners Store. They were only three or four weeks old at the time and not even weaned from their momma's milk. Each of the babies had severe upper respiratory infections with crusty eyes and icky noses. Thankfully, they were quickly rescued by Jennifer of the Humboldt Spay and Neuter Network, and immediately placed on a bottle feeding schedule of every four hours plus medication. It took a deworming and three different rounds of antibiotics until the babies were finally given a clean bill of health.
Now, at the ripe old age of four months, they run Jennifer's house, thundering through the living room and playing more like kittens than adolescents. I can personally attest to their fluffy, satiny softness and loving personalities. It's not hard to get a purr out of either one and they even put up with the original Hell on wheels, Gunny.
Jennifer would love to have these little ladies adopted out together:
Lovely Lady #1:
Lovely Lady #2:
My last purrfect gift suggestion was born as the runt of a litter of six kittens, coldly dumped in the mountains outside of Orick. Jennifer was able to rescue him as well as the momma and his siblings and give them some well deserved love and attention. He's the last of the litter to be adopted and just a handsome little fellow. Jennifer calls him a flame point Siamese; I just call him adorable. He'll be ready for a Christmas adoption:
'Old Blue Eyes:
If you'd like to help out this fabulous organization or perhaps even adopt your own furbaby (who comes already wormed,with shots, and spayed or neutered - all for a very reasonable fee), you can call Jennifer at (707) 442-1426. Your generous tax deductible donations can be mailed to the following:
Humboldt Spay/Neuter Network
P.O. Box 7236
Eureka, CA 95502
The rain is supposed to start this weekend and the snow level will be creeping down. Although it was a little chilly today, it was still so beautiful and crisp. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be stuck indoors yet; but it doesn't quite feel like Christmas with so much sun.
My fellow camera geek friends and I have an informal club where we set a theme, take photos, and then meet once a month or so over dinner. It's a fun time to be had and we normally learn a lot from each other. This month's theme was "Boudoir" and I was none to happy about it. For one thing, I didn't have a willing model. Hubby refused to do any sort of portrait involving lace, feathers, and come hither looks. And, I really don't enjoy being in front of the camera so the idea of any of my lovely lady lumps being part of a photoshoot was never going to happen.
What's a girl to do? I really wanted to give a shot that represented my style but still had some of the theme which I hated. While I stewed on the issue, I noticed Tater's Barbies lying in a heap in the playroom. Seeing how they were all nekkid, the idea of "Barbie Boudoir" practically smacked me in the head.
So I did it. I sequestered myself to the dining nook where I placed a few nekkid Barbies on some fuzzy material and then some red satin. With bright natural light shining in, I created a beautiful moment in time for Ken and Barbie. They both seemed so happy about it.
I should mention that neither Barbie nor Ken were harmed in the making of this photoshoot. Also, I was sure to keep Skipper and Kelly away from the shoot so as not to impress any suspicious nekkidness activity on their impressionable brains.
The beloved germs of grammar school followed my children home and gave C-dub and Gun-Gun "the boffs" - at least this is what Gun-Gun named it. He informed me last night at 1:30 AM he had "boffed" on his bed and this morning he had "boffed" on the floor. Poor little guy. He kept apologizing for his boffs. This blessed little flu bug hit our family last year just around the same time; I'm starting to think our candy canes might be laced with ickiness.
While C-dub was much better today and managed to drag his little Kindergarten butt to school, Gun-Gun was not faring so well. He was acting a little lethargic but still gave me some goofy giggles. His little glazed eyes revealed how bad his tummy actually felt and the projectile vomit was a clue as well. Thanks goodness this happened after Taterbug left for school. She tends to be a sympathetic barfer and I didn't need another load of laundry. The ten I did today were enough.
The one thing that perks Gunny up when he's feeling bad is laughter especially laughter caused by goofy cartoon characters playing obnxious videos or busting insanely loud grumpies. I knew exactly where to go to cheer him up; Youtube. Here is our selection of videos for your viewing enjoyment:
For the best "busted grumpies" I offer you these family favorites:
Gunny's favorite splashed with a little chubby gummy bear butt nudity:
The song makes this one a keeper:
And you can't help but love the song "Axel F" even if this creepy little dude is singing it:
I have now given you some tools to put in your parental toolbox, the next time you need some cheap entertainment for your sick or bored child.
I'm addicted to reality television. I ain't gonna lie; I never miss an episode of "Charmed School," "Rock/Flavor of Love," or any of the bitchy MTV "My Super Sweet 16," shows. Recently, I've dabbled in a bit of "The Pick-up Artist 2" and I 'd have to say, I do not like it. I do not like it one bit. Yeah, I feel bad for the goobs on the show, they all seem likeable enough in a geeky sort of asexual way. But seriously, have you seen the host and offical guide of the show? He goes by the name Mystery. Ooh, so scary and complex. Not so much when you look at him unless you count the mixing of aviator glasses with stocking caps:
OK, maybe a feathery Pamela Anderson hat, licorice colored nail polish, and Playboy eyeliner are more your style. Any better?
Didn't think so.
They are using this guy and his metrosexual Deuce Bigalow buddies (who have great stripper names like J-Dog, Matador, The Don, Cajun, Tenmagnet, Mr. M, Sheriff, etc.) to train, fresh from the street, virginal men to pick up women. It's quite entertaining albeit a little disturbing to see these poor guys trying to use pick-up lines at clubs and grocery stores. I just wanted to reach through the television screen and yell at these goobs to just be themselves! For chriminy sakes, you shouldn't have to memorize lines, stalk your prey, or perform routines in order to get a little game. I finally stopped watching just before they picked their winner, because I honestly couldn't take it anymore.
I find it especially hard to believe that most women would even find "Mystery" (real name: Erik von Markovik) as the sexy beast he pretty much proclaims himself to be on the show. Maybe I'm missing something? Maybe women really dig a faux goth pierced aviator in need of a tan and haircut? Does it scream "HAWT!" to you? I dunno, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want him training any of my single guy friends on the art of seduction. I also think he's foolish to believe that a smart woman couldn't figure out she was played by some of his cheeseball lines within the first five minutes of conversation with one of his proteges. Give us a little credit, Mystery.
I suggest they take lessons from the original Pick-up artist (of course, pre-cocaine and alcohol days) and I just might watch it again:
Gosh, my title sounds like either a really good sci-fi story or perhaps a bottle of super cleaner. Maybe even a new chant for the PMS warrior. It's actually in reference to Piper and Gracie, who had their girlie parts removed today. They are currently curled up into little orange and black balls, in a semi-comatose state due to the good stuff they received from Dr. Bob. They don't seem any worse for wear, and in fact, their quietness is a welcome change to their usual spastic attacks on our toes, Christmas tree, and leather couches. Peace has landed - although it's only temporary.
Now don't get me wrong, I love kittehs, especially baby kittehs with their soft fuzzy bellies and little pink noses. And, I'm so thankful we found Piper and Gracie because they've brought so much fun and messy chaos into our lives. However, I'm not an advocate of making your own baby kittehs. For every kitteh adopted into a loving home, there are equally many, if no more, without such luck. Millions of kittehs are euthanized each year and this makes me so sad, especially when a good percentage of those little fellas could have been avoided by just spaying and neutering your pet.
When we got Piper and Gracie, it was never even discussed whether or not we'd have them spayed. It's just the right thing to do. I found an interesting article here that talks about the issue of spaying your critter. Here's some highlights:
Reasons To Spay your Cat
When a cat enters her heat cycle she is very annoying, loud, and messy. Spaying ends the heat cycle.
Spayed cats tend to wander less.
Reduces chances of cat developing mammary cancer, especially if spayed before their first heat cycle.
Prevents a common uterine infection, called pyrometra.
Prevents many cancers, such as uterine, and ovarian cancer, since these parts are removed.
May result in a friendlier, less aloof, cat.
A cat who is not breeding will not catch any feline sexually transmitted diseases. Oh my! Gracie does seem to be a bit on the "friendly" side.
In some areas that require licensing of cats, the fees are lower if a cat is spayed.
Spayed cats have longer lifespans.
No risk of complications during pregnancy, or delivery, such as a costly Caesarian section.
In some areas, pregnant cats are sought after for the purposes of sale for euthanasia to be used for veterinary students for dissection.
The cat will not contribute to the large number of unwanted kittens.
Reasons Not To Spay your Cat
There is a small risk of complication or death during surgery, usually due to reaction to the anesthetic. Veterinarians can test cats for allergies prior to surgery.
A purebred, registered cat, who is an excellent example of the breed, and has attended shows to prove such, may be a good cat for breeding purposes.
Obviously, the pros out way the cons and I hope people will do the right thing by having their kitteh's boy and girlie parts removed. I know it's not cheap (it was a little over $200 for my two to be spayed and then given shots) but there should be resources in your community that can help you out. Just call your local vet or even community pet rescues, and they can give you some ideas.
In the words of Bob Barker, "Help control the pet population. Have your pet spayed or neutered."
I was feeling rather industrious (i.e. I had major PMS and needed chocolate therapy) the other day, and baked about four dozen chocolate and chocolate chocolate chip cookies for my little munchkins. I only ate five or six or the little lumpy mounds of goodness, just enough to ensure my children's safety - I wouldn't want an errant egg shell or bit of coagulated brown sugar to hinder their digestive processes.
When I tell you that these are the world's best chocolate chip cookies, it's the absolute truth. These cookies are so good that they're sinful. One bite into these little pieces of ooey, gooey, goodness, and you'll be hooked forever on his recipe. I consider myself to be a cookie snob when it comes to chocolate chip cookies. They must be chewy and soft, with just the right amount of dough to chip ratio. These cookies fit the bill. Not only will I provide to you this secret recipe of cookie magic, but I'll also give you a few tips on how to ensure success. First, here's the recipe:
2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
2 eggs
1/4 cup white sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar (make sure and pack that brown goodness down)
1 small box of instant vanilla pudding (you can use chocolate pudding instead)
1 cup unsalted butter (don't be cheap - use real unsalted butter - and leave the two cubes on the counter to soften. I use unsalted butter so I can control the amount of salt in my recipes.)
1 tsp. real vanilla (yes, use the stuff you can also drink to get a buzz while baking)
1 package of semi-sweet chocolate chips (milk chocolate is o.k., but the semi offers a nicer contrast)
1 cup of walnuts (I only like female cookies, but should you prefer male cookies, you can add the nuts)
Preheat your oven to 375 degress. You must preheat or your first batch of cookies will not cook perfectly and I'll be sad. In a bowl, combine the flour, salt and baking soda, and set it aside. Walk away from this bowl. You did not need it now. It's OK. In a mixing bowl (using a hand or stand mixer - don't prove your worth and get carpal tunnel using your own power - no one to impress here), combine the mushy but not melted butter (melted butter will give you flat, uninteresting cookies) with the sugars and dry pudding mix. Do not cook the pudding in advance. This will make for cookie yuckiness and defile the recipe.
After this is sufficiently mixed into a gritty, peanut buttery texture, add the eggs in, one by one. And then the vanilla can go in as well. Be generous with the vanilla. We like vanilla. Take a swig of the vanilla so that you can appreciate its wholesome goodness. Mix until combined and then slowly add in the flour combination, about a half a cup at a time. Once this is all mixed in, you can add your chocolate chips and boy parts if you'd like. Make sure to sample at least a quarter cup. Again, eggshell control and chocolate chip evaluation is an imperative part of chocolate chip cookie making. Screw salmonella, I can take a little diarrhea with my cookies.
On a greased baking sheet, drop by rounded teaspoons giving each cookie about an inch and half space. Don't crowd your cookies. They don't like having other cookies all up in their grill. That's how they roll, yo.
Bake for about eight minutes. Do not leave the kitchen while they are baking lest you allow them to overcook and turn an improper shade of brown. When the cookies are somewhat flattened and look like they are not quite done, remove them from the oven and allow them to rest. Do not try to wake them by prematurely by removing them from their resting place. They just worked very hard and deserve to get some beauty sleep.
And beautiful they will be, when you do eventually place them on a sheet of waxed paper or plate. Repeat the process of baking and cooling, until you have approximately 1/2 cup of cookie dough left in the bowl. This is what I like to call the "bottom of the barrel" dough and should be consumed by the baker. Again, this is for quality control only. You're looking to make sure that your dough was consistently good throughout.
If you try this recipe, do me a favor and let me know what you think. I assure you that it's worth the time and energy.
Here's a delicious re-post just in time for your holiday candy and cookie making. It's one of my all time favorite recipes.
Now that I have your attention, I'd like to teach you how to make this highly addictive and every so delicious simple candy recipe. No, you will not need to go buy fourteen boxes of Sudaphed and a gallon of Acetone; just get the following ingredients:
1 cup butter (do not use margarine - this is not a healthy recipe)
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 bag semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 1/2 sleeves Saltine crackers
1 cup of chopped nuts (in this recipe, I prefer male candy)
Preheat over to 350 degrees. Line a bar pan or cookie sheet (the pan/sheet should have a rim so that it can hold the goodness in) with aluminum foil. I also spray the foil with cooking spray, just to prevent any delectable bits from sticking. Next, line foil with rows of Saltine crackers. Yes, I said Saltines. Hang with me here, you won't be disapointed.
Next, melt the butter and combine it with brown sugar in a small sauce pan. Bring to boil and boil for two minutes. This now caramel syrup will be very hot so be careful. Several blisters and a melted plastic spoon serve as a good reminder of candy syrup safety. Pour the caramel evenly over Saltines and bake for 10 minutes.
Immediately after removing from the oven, pour the chocolate chips over the crackers. Let stand for two minutes or until chips are soft. Spread the chocolate as evenly as possible over the crackers and then top with the nuts. Refrigerate until hard.
To make it offical "Crack," just break the goodness into pieces, sampling for quality control of course, eat and enjoy.
This "Crack" also goes by the name of "Christmas Crack." If you find the below "Crack" appetizing, you can buy the calendar of "Cracks" here.
And another re-post - perfect for that cookie platter:
Gooey Butter Bars, that is. Not to be confused with Geoducks (pronounced like "gooey ducks") which are extremely large saltwater clams. If you don't know what a Geoduck is, consider yourself lucky. Thanks to the show, "Dirty Jobs," I am now an expert on this clam and I think everyone should at least be exposed to their pictorial magnificence. I'll let you figure out what it resembles...
Now that I've got you all hot and bothered, let's talk about Easter. Since it's right around the corner, here is an easy and scrumptious recipe guaranteed to make your dessert table ever so much more delectable. I found this recipe years ago in the book, Cake Mix Doctor. The woman who wrote this series is a freakin' genius and can practically make anything out of cake mix. She's like the McGuyver of the baking world. Anyhoo, here's the recipe:
Gooey Butter Bars
2 sticks of butter (real butter - no margarine)
3 eggs
1 pkg. yellow cake mix
1 tsp. vanilla
8 oz. cream cheese
4 c. powdered sugar (one pound box)
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9X13 inch pan. Mix one of the cubes of butter, an egg, and the cake mix in a bowl until it forms a soft dough similar to cookie dough. Press this dough into the bottom of the greased 9X13 pan as this will be the yummy crust. Don't bother cleaning the beaters of your mixer. You may have OCD and be compelled to do so, but it's really not necessary. Go ahead and then beat the cream cheese and other cube of butter in the same deliciously dirty bowl. Once they are mixed well, add the vanilla and two eggs. When you have a nice creamy mess, slowly add the sugar in. You might want to sift it as you go or you could have little bits of sweet lumps. I'm lazy and already slightly lumpy, so I forego any sifting. Once you have everything combined, pour your batter onto the crust and then bake it in the oven for 30-40 minutes. You know they're done when the crust is slightly browned and the center is still jiggly like Fat Bastard's tummy (sorry, I love Austin Powers). If you cook it too long, it will dry the bars out and you will shame this recipe.
After the bars are fully cooled, cut into squares, triangles, rectangles, hexagons, or just eat it by the spoonful. It's really that good. If you want to SCREAM fancy, sprinkle a little powdered sugar over the top. I've made different versions of this recipe using a chocolate cake crust and sprinkling chocolate chips in the batter. And, if you like boy bars, you can always add nuts. The options are limitless but the outcome will always be delicious!
Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy 30th Birthday dear Grandma DeeeeeEEEEE! Happy Birthday to you!
I thought his poem was fitting since my mom and I never see each other anymore (even though we live less than 10 minutes away) and correspond via e-mail.
The Computer Swallowed Grandma
The computer swallowed grandma.
Yes, honestly its true!
She pressed ‘control’ and ‘enter’
And disappeared from view.
It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.
I’ve searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I’ve even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.
In desperation, I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found ‘online.’
So, if inside your ‘Inbox,’
My Grandma you should see,
Please ‘Copy,”Scan’ and ‘Paste’ her
And send her back to me.
We celebrated a wonderful Turkey Day last week - plenty of marinated cajun turkey breast, spiral cut ham, homemade mac-n-cheese, mashed buttery spuds, and a plethora of fattening desserts. It was a nice evening filled with lots of family bonding, good times, and eventual belt loosening.
Aunt D was able to make it up for the holidays and throughout the evening we exchanged nervous glances in the anticipation that 4AM was coming up quick - Black Friday. Sure, Thanksgiving is nice and all but Black Friday is considered to be a National Holiday, at least in our book. We politely hurried our family through the motions of gluttony in the hopes that we each could turn in early so that the dreary morning hour wouldn't hit us too hard.
Plus, like last year, Taterbug had insisted on tagging along. She had $20 burning a hole in her pocket and she knew that some place was going to have her beloved Webkinz critters on sale. We tried to explain to her that Black Friday was about shopping for others but she argued very successfully that it would be "lame" not to also take advantage of sales that might benefit her limited cash. Gosh, sometims she makes me so proud.
When dinner was finally over and final hugs were given, Hubby and I drove the kiddos home and I started making mental preparations of what I might need. What items were driving me to get up at the butt crack of dawn with Visa card in hand? I made a couple of lists, cut out a few coupons, and then hit the sack.
I fell asleep from about 9PM to 12AM and then woke up. Had I overslept? Were my ten other buddies shopping without me? I was sweaty and frantic until the cable box reminded me that I was stupid and had plenty of time to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about goodie bags, clearance racks, and Christmas lists. As I did, I suddenly realized I had warm, puppy dog breath, beating down on my temple. I opened my eyes to see Taterbug standing over me. She was too excited to sleep as well so she crawled in next to me, to try and catch a few winks. Hubby had been previously chased out of our marital chamber by two angry kittehs beggin' for some lovin'.
I drifted off for a little bit and then woke up again to check the time. 1AM. Good grief - this was the longest night EVER. I glanced over at my sleeping laptop and thought I'd take a quick peak at Amazon.com. I remembered they were going to have some great DVD deals just after midnight. Sure enough, the low prices caused me to make a not-so-quick order and I shut it down just after 2AM. I rolled over to see Tater staring at me and letting me know that she too, had not yet slept and was too flippin' excited to calm herself down. I told her to try and we both shut our eyes.
I just started to relax around 3AM when Taters started asking me what sort of deals I was looking for. Had I thought about presents for the boys? What about Hubby? And most importantly, what about her? We chatted and giggled for a few minutes about how tired we were going to be and around 3:30AM, she got quiet and I did too, finally drifting off to sleep...for thirty minutes.
The BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! of my alarm clock assaulted my ear drums and caused Tater to run excitedly out of my room. We both brushed our teeth and tossed on warm clothes, and then waited for Aunt D to pick us up.
Once we picked everyone up, including the Harlot Jen - the Redneck Romance Writer ;-), we made our way to Eureka. I did score some deals but dang it, Bayshore Mall, you sorely sucked this year. What's up with the no goodie bags? That was the only reason we started at the mall - thinking we were gonna get $10 worth of coupons and maybe even free coffee. The whole text and possibly win a prize thing was LAME! They did try to do something. It appeared as though they replaced their goodie bag offer with some sort of "speak on camera for a sucky Christmas survey and get $5 sorta deal." After pimping out the Dynamic Dendus and Taters, we made $15 ($5 a gal) so I guess it wasn't too bad.
Our day came to an end around noonish. I admit that I did have to throw a few elbows and at one point, I made Taters fake an injury and the puppy dog face in order to snag a discount at Mervyns (j/k). Towards the conclusion of madness, Taters eyes were glazed over and she kept falling asleep between stores, but other than that we had a great time. It wasn't the shopping that made it fun; it was the goofy bonding that eleven ladies getting up at the butt crack of dawn created. A BIG thanks to: Taters, Aunt D, Dynamic Dendus, Jen, Jen's niece and Sis-in-Law, Laura, Linda, Liz, and Gale, for making my early morning a ton of fun. See you next year!
Several times a year, my kids bring home book orders. I'm a mean mom and rarely order from them because I know I can get the books or other items a lot cheaper. However, I recently stumbled upon the Scholastic Store which is one of the places that these orders originate from. And guess what? I ordered from them - several times in fact. Why, you ask? Why take away the thrill of allowing my kids to participate in the book order? Because of this:
COUPON CODES!!!
Currently, you can get 25% off your purchase and free shipping when you use this code at checkout: FSN25. Also, don't forget about Ebates! You can earn a whopping 10% back for your purchases! Don't have Ebates yet? Sign up and if you're super duper nice, you can use me as a referral and we'll both get more money back :-).
I placed an order this morning at the Scholastic Store and was so surprised to see they had a great selection of books, toys, reading kits, Nintendo DS games, and so much more. They have a great clearance section that the 25% also applies to.
Step 2 has the Tower of Doom castle in a two-pack for $199.99. Use coupon code TOWERBOGO at checkout, and get $100 off plus free shipping. You are essentially getting one for free!
Want a pony for your kidlet but don't have the barn? Get a FurReal Butterscotch or Smores Pony at a Amazon.com. They are currently running a promotion that offers an additional $100 off of the steep $179.99/$199.99 price. It does not show up checkout, but many people are calling and successfully getting customer service to knock the $100 off the price bringing it down accordingly. The c/s number is 1-866-216-1072 .
My friend, Becky, sent me this joke the other day. It brought about an instant chuckle that almost made me spit out my coffee, so I thought I'd pass it on. Please take heed of the title because the joke is about S-E-X (spelled that way in order to avoid the porn bots). If you are against sex, never had sex, are under the age of understanding what sex is, or just a prude, don't go any further so as to not offend your virgin ears.
$7 Sex
A Florida couple, both well into their 80s, go to a sex therapist's office. The doctor asks, "What can I do for you?"
The man says, "Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?"
The doctor raises both eyebrows, but he is so amazed that such an elderly couple is asking for sexual advice that he agrees.
When the couple finishes, the doctor says, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse." He thanks them for coming (!), he wishes them good luck, he charges them $50 and he says good bye.
The next week, the same couple returns and asks the sex therapist to watch again. The sex therapist is a bit puzzled, but agrees. This happens several weeks in a row. The couple makes an appointment, has intercourse with no problems, pays the doctor, then leave. Finally, after 3 months of this routine, the doctor says, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Just what are you trying to find out?"
The man says, "We're not trying to find out anything. She's married so we can't go to her house. I'm married and we can't go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $98. The Hilton charges $139. We do it here for $50, and I get $43 back from Medicare."
Last night, right in the middle of Little Bill and a wild online shopping session at Nickelodeon.com, the dang power decided to go out. It was a little bit after 6PM and of course, the house went pitch black. I immediately had three antsy little bodies demanding that I call PG&E and instruct them to turn their TV back on, or at least call Grandpa D and have him come "fix things." When I declined both requests, I felt as though I had a minor mutiny to contend with as none of the savages were happy.
After lighting every candle in our house (which was absolutely disgusting since it was a mixture of different burning fruit and cinnamon smells) and tracking down batteries and flashlights, we settled into a "pioneer" evening. Let me just say, the children and I don't do pioneer. At least not very well. You'd think they'd enjoy the peace and quiet, the beautiful solitude a lack of electricity could bring - oh wait, we are talking about kids and not my own feelings. Definitely not the same sentiment.
The first issue we tackled had to do with the bathroom. The absence of power to our well pump means no water and sets the tone for required lackadaisical toilet flushing. The two oldest suddenly decided they had to pee and an argument ensued over who would get to go first. Taterbug questioned C-dub's aim and C-dub questioned Taterbug's hygiene. It was settled that they'd both just hold it as long as possible. I just told them to stay out of my bathroom.
Once the bathroom issue was settled, C-dub decided that we needed a roaring fire in the fireplace to help light up the living room. While he was stacking kindling, I could hear him muttering, "I weally need some light and fiyer. Don't panic, don't panic...." He was sucking his little lip in and out and sputtering as he struggled to stack the wood just right. I don't know if he understands what it means to panic but it looked liked he was on the verge of something.
Meanwhile, Taterbug decided that the undue stress of no power and no internet was causing her acid reflux to kick in. She lay moaning on the coach, whining that the lack of power was "like totally freaking her out."
Gunny was the calmest of the brood. He relished in the fact that he could do practically whatever he wanted as good 'old Mommazilla couldn't quite see his evil doings in the shadows. I watched him run around the room, casually blowing out the candles I had previously lit, chanting, "Happy berfday Gunnah!"
I was already going crazy after only ten minutes into the outage when Taters came up with the idea that we could read a book. After breezing through chapter one of "Captain Underpants: Attack of the Talking Toilets," Gunny and C-dub decided that their Monster Truck book would be a better read. Rather than listen to the impending argument, we switched gears and played charades.
Charades is not a game I normally enjoy but I thought between the four of us, it might be fun. Taterbug did a great job while C-dub took it as the opportunity to run around the living room, leaping over furniture and tackling cardboard boxes - obviously, he didn't quite catch onto the idea of charades. Gunny, seeing how cool his older brother was, then mimicked his moves and added in the "Gunnah scream." And so was the end of charades.
I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden someone started channeling the Village People and charades turned into a homemade singing version of YMCA. It was hysterical watching Gunny try to raise his chubby little T-rex arms over his head in an effort to make the letters.
After singing the song five or six times, boredom set in again, causing me to ponder just giving in and letting them open all their Christmas presents. Surely this would take us through the power outage and help me regain my sanity. Plus, all the excess wrapping paper and bows would make for an excellent propellant for our fireplace. I'd be the world's best Mommy - at least until Christmas morning when there was nothing left under the tree and they couldn't understand why Santa Claus skipped their house. On second thought, I vetoed my idea although it did have it's pros.
Finally, the fire building, whining, book reading, charades, singing and weak present pondering and saving face of Santa Claus paid off and our power was restored. C-dub ran through the livingroom screaming, "Momma! The technowlogy's back! The technowlogy's back!"
Yes C-dub, thank goodness for technowlogy. At least all my flashlights have batteries now.
I love my kittehs, I really do. I thought that getting them before Christmas and watching them experience the ornaments and Christmas decorations would be a blast - and don't get me wrong, it is. But this is what I found the other morning when I woke up:
Over an eight hour period, they successfully undecorated half of my Christmas tree, broke two ornaments, chomped on several bows, unplugged the Christmas angel, tore up all the red garland (guess that isn't their color), and the worst part? They removed most of the tags from the wrapped presents. Unlike last year where every family member had their own specific wrapping paper, this year was done on a budget and everyone was wrapped the same. Guess what I'll be doing tomorrow? That's right, unwrapping and re wrapping gifts, all the while trying to keep Gunny from "helping" me.
And speaking of Gunny, this year is the first year he's actually realizing what those fantastically wrapped boxes are for. We caught him with a gift, hiding in the corner, quietly telling himself, "I dest gonna wook at it. I dest gonna see wut it is." We were able to prevent him from defiling this gift but the big kids have caught on to his curiosity and are quietly plotting on how to get him or the kittehs to "accidentally" unwrap their presents.
Starbucks finally listed to my whiny plea of reinstating the mocha peppermint coffee that I love so much. To show my gratitude, I ordered myself up a 20 oz. cup of nonfat, hold the whip, false happiness and ethereal feeling drink. While waiting for my freshly brewed cup of dew of the Gods, the gal at the window offered me a free sample of their new Gingerbread Chai drink. I'm not really a chai type of gal but when faced with a bargain or a freebie, a girl's gotta do what a girls gotta do.
I casually sipped my freebie, enjoying the initial burst of whipped cream and sprinkles. Not so bad. What was it about chai I didn't like? Was it to spicy taste? Different texture on my tongue? I couldn't remember at that point because I was thinking I might be an actual convert and decide to switch over to the dark side (or would that be the light side) of chai. I continued to sip away, thinking about how sophisticated I looked drinking up that yummy chai.
As I drank through the frothy layer of love I suddenly realized I was sucking down a hellish liquid that demonstrated to me what the floor of a lumber mill would probably taste like; turpentine, dirt, redwood shavings, and some man sweat. It was a total assault to my taste buds. I knew I didn't like chai - Hell, I don't even like gingerbread but still, I took that dang drink. I drank the whole mini-cup thinking that maybe, just maybe, the bottom of the drink might hold a secret taste of deliciousness. No such luck, it was pure ickiness the whole way down and surprisingly, back up due to the heinous heartburn it caused.
Did I learn my lesson? Did I learn that even a bargain costs something (like repeated memories of lumber mills caused by unrelenting burps)? Sure, maybe just a little - but the bargain high was sorta good while it lasted.
Well, after perusing the 25 wonderful entries - and all of them were absolutely unique and interesting - I let Random.org choose my winner. There was no way I could have chosen by myself because they were all so great. I appreciate the time and energy all of you spent helping me to reclaim my Christmas spirit.
Thanks to everyone who participated and gave me some spirit :-). Jen, shoot me an e-mail at rockyweeds at yahoo dot com, to let me know if you want the Photo Program or the PMS Package. Merry Christmas everyone!
