tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45610391989763908632024-03-19T04:20:37.836-07:00Better Than FictionUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-5512159508581263132013-03-06T14:09:00.001-08:002013-03-06T14:19:33.584-08:00file this under "Things I never wish I knew"Castoreum is the exudate from the castor sacs of the mature North American Beaver. Yes, that is exactly what you think it is, no need to run for the dictionary. Why am I telling you about castoreum? To share the pain. You see, it is used as both a perfume additive (color me not surprised) and (gag) a food additive. All those "natural flavorings," particularly strawberry, raspberry, and vanilla? Yeah. I'm not going to spell it out for you. Those freaks over at the FDA, clearly having spent a few too many conferences whoopin' it up in Denver, shooting back Rocky Mountain Oysters and beer, deemed it "safe for consumption." <br />
<br />
I'd like to blame the Scandinavians for this particular one. After all, they came up with Bäverhojt and Bäversnaps.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-10885378283961679162013-03-04T16:50:00.000-08:002013-03-04T16:54:07.793-08:00Monday, MondayI have a new smart phone and now my ass chirps every time something comes across one of the many apps I loaded onto it, but that's not the point of today's post.<br />
<br />
My children attend an Arts elementary school. That means there is singing and dancing and drama, and that's just home room. Seriously, what it means to me is attending a continuous stream of plays, orchestra performances and art shows, all announced with little notice and a lot of urgency. These events are often double as fundraisers for a school which relies on parent-raised money to pay the salaries of the Arts members of their crazy cast. The district is currently trying to un-fund things they are supposed to pay for and these line items were never on the table. Way to up the guilt factor, guys!<br />
<br />
Friday, my oldest mentioned off-hand that he would be in a dance number, which he had learned that day, instead of just standing along the wall as a statue. And that he needed to bring in a sheet to use as a toga. The guidance from the school consisted of the following - "All students will need to provide their own costume which will consist of a sheet and accessories for a toga." Medieval Nerf weaponry was transported via my silver chariot, carried in by my faithful knights and delivered to the castle. I assumed my work here was done, at least insofar as accessories. Along with the dance update, Thing One told me he "just need[ed] to bring in a sheet." That actually matched what I had seen on paper so I handed him one out of the linen closet and thought no more of it.<br />
<br />
Until today. Monday. When he comes back and tells me that everyone had brought in clothing bags (I was the only one who secured the costume in a hanging bag last go around...nice to see the idea catching on). I pressed. And pressed. And grilled. And quizzed. Ferreting out information from the deep recesses of my son's brain until I had wrung it dry.<br />
<br />
So now, the sheet will be joined by sandals, white shorts (yeah, I'm gonna find those somewhere), white shirt and possibly something to function as a belt...or at least safety pins. And the Dancing Greek Statue? He has learned to tie a very simple toga. Thank God for YouTube.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-52640641052527495462012-06-23T16:12:00.001-07:002012-06-23T16:12:02.172-07:00oooh that smell. can't you smell that smell?Did a rapid fire clean out of the refrigerator, sniffing the dog's food and other items suspiciously before a final 11th hour identification of the source...mushrooms. Really? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-10712739049427483082012-06-22T16:07:00.002-07:002012-06-23T06:25:35.112-07:00N'awlinsAs we pulled into Louisiana, my hair went to hell in a handbag. I began to get what I refer to as Dred Head - long, ropey locks of hair with a texture not seen in the dry and high of Colorado. It took us forever to get there and involved calling our friends to reschedule dinner to breakfast but eventually we arrived to our pet-friendly, grass-less hotel and ate a very late dinner at the most excellent diner right out front. The "sans grass" is an issue only because the dog cannot fathom peeing on mulch. She is walked about, and is mildly electrocuted on an open wire near the ground for her troubles, before she gives up and pees while looking accusingly at my husband.<br />
<br />
Breakfast is as lovely as we'd hoped; catching up with friends always makes the food taste better. A quick walk around Jackson Square with the boys, purchasing some pralines for the road, and we head for Pensacola.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-85312032111113836782012-06-14T10:09:00.001-07:002012-06-14T10:09:26.301-07:00Sniffy, Snuffy and SnortyThe boys and I were allergic to all of New Mexico and West Texas. We choked and gagged our way to Abilene, where we met up with Lesley and had a fabulous dinner of take out bbq she'd cleverly replated so it looked like her own. She could have claimed it...I'd have believed!<br />
<br />
The next day was Dallas, where Susan offered me a couch, a blanket, and made me hot tea so I could revive some of my voice. Rain all night in Dallas, and I do mean Rain with capital R, put a damper of sorts on the pollen count so driving to New Orleans involved a pound or so fewer tissues. By the Louisiana border, though, I officially had humidity hair, or what I like to call, Dred Head.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, my beloved husband was tooling along with the UHaul and the cat. Aside from trying to follow me through construction in Dallas - I had the garmin - and it being a bit loud, I suspect he had the more peaceful trip!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-35067624877258944922012-06-12T07:58:00.000-07:002012-06-12T08:05:50.471-07:00getting out of dodgeSaturday was a bit of blur, clearing the garage to a hastily-acquired UHaul and making sure the house was rent ready. I returned a borrowed item from a neighbor and dropped off goodies from my 'fridge before the cleaners tossed it all. <i>(What do you mean, you don't want to see me walking up your driveway with a toilet plunger and a half dozen eggs???) </i><br />
<br />
Of course, the paint in the basement was mislabeled so two rooms of spackle and paint did not perfectly match, but aside from that? Our house cleaned up pretty darned well! The new tenants were pleased, keys and checks were exchanged, and off we went.<br />
<br />
Sunday was the promotion ceremony of a good friend. I was able to test run the outfits we would be wearing to the change of command in a week and came up short only one belt! Kohls was on the way. Once at the ceremony, I realized I'd not shaved before putting on this sleeveless dress and had also failed to use deodorant. Fortunately, the ladies' room in the hanger was well-stocked with Bath and Bodyworks soaps, so I could at least make myself presentable...as long as my arms stayed by my sides! I was, days later, both comforted and amused to find a friend had attended a similar ceremony with only one leg shaved. Thanks for sharing, Deb! You made me feel normal!<br />
<br />
Monday was drive out day, which always takes longer because by then, you
have entrenched into the hotel, with belongings scattered everywhere,
but drive away we did, only an hour later than I'd planned. We were
making good time to Albuquerque when, at our first gas stop, my beloved
and somewhat paranoid husband proved once again that triple checking
saves lives. A nail in the sidewall of our tire gave us the chance to
enjoy the Big O Tires lobby in Trinidad Colorado for a little over an
hour. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierAPpgrcYMN38ot8yIMNMhgXNacqcXzVvXRZubqgngUzEsZ4C0VjPpAXyS_Bf5Tv0LFqT14RXeBUw4E3z5VTcwEteQZ7PAEIKGV1ighz8aZ1webnIdhAclv6QZ9fxuRdort29tcfEnQMm/s1600/IMG_0219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierAPpgrcYMN38ot8yIMNMhgXNacqcXzVvXRZubqgngUzEsZ4C0VjPpAXyS_Bf5Tv0LFqT14RXeBUw4E3z5VTcwEteQZ7PAEIKGV1ighz8aZ1webnIdhAclv6QZ9fxuRdort29tcfEnQMm/s320/IMG_0219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">some of us did not enjoy it nearly so much</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-pRXzOvaNzft5qyF7iM_4dx-THCe3p2C-Qn1XdVHSVHR6SO8UgS-lAMeJJuBHguUUTc51LojhZzDU_QBl0odUzGG9yefx_s1ceEpzZ8kTHxobcZCJRzX36mzdCPlaB248jWFyGxEXGWE/s1600/IMG_0220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-pRXzOvaNzft5qyF7iM_4dx-THCe3p2C-Qn1XdVHSVHR6SO8UgS-lAMeJJuBHguUUTc51LojhZzDU_QBl0odUzGG9yefx_s1ceEpzZ8kTHxobcZCJRzX36mzdCPlaB248jWFyGxEXGWE/s320/IMG_0220.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this was a lovely time to eat leftovers from the night before!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At long last, we arrived in Albuquerque, threw the cat in the room and took off to see friends who greeted us with pasta and wine. Tuesday to Abilene loomed ahead!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-18812555524796977132012-06-11T05:47:00.000-07:002012-06-11T05:50:39.835-07:00bubble wrappedT-5 Days to Move, the moving company called. It seemed everyone in their brother needed to be packed up and transported elsewhere the week after Memorial Day, so could we, would we, pretty please, let them pack early?<br />
<br />
Uh, no.<br />
<br />
The A Team for a two day pack was promised, providing me with an extra day to get myself ready, with all the things we'd need for the trip set to one side so I could serenely read a book whilst the pros wrapped and boxed all my belongings. <br />
<br />
What really happened?<br />
<br />
One amazingly efficient and motivated woman did the majority of my pack up. One. They are paid not by the hour but by percentage of the job. Like I said, motivated. I raced around ahead of her, organizing things so that, for example, all my canning supplies are in a single box and labeled "canning supplies." I have dreams of whipping that stuff out to make up something yummy in a jar once we get into our house in July.<br />
<br />
On the second day, she brought a friend, who packed the garage and basement. By the end of day two, her hands were like claws. My kitchen was impassible with dish packs. My kids wanted to make permanent home with the neighbors. I'd had peanut butter crackers and Dr Pepper for lunch. Oh, and my husband was due home from Florida.<br />
<br />
Normally, I am competing with his old job for time during a move, as they squeeze out the last ounce of blood prior to his departure. This time, however, his new job already had him and he'd been gone the middle of the past two weeks.<br />
<br />
He missed his flight back. Something about early flight out of Orlando, printers not working to provide him with receipts and long lines of truckers at the tolls, but the end result was that he was exhausted (overnight shift at his new job with that missed morning flight) and not with me. It was 1230am before he stumbled back through the front door and crashed into bed next to me.<br />
<br />
The trucker arrived early the next morning as I was slinging kids in the shower and ripping the sheets off the beds to stuff into the bedding boxes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my youngest wandering down the street, back pack over one shoulder, looking at the truck as he headed to his friend's house. "Too early," I thought, and then promptly forgot about it.<br />
<br />
My wonderful neighbor made too much breakfast - eggs benedict with a home made hollandaise and a side of fruit - and sent her son over to deliver. Heaven on a plate, it more than made up for the fact that my husband, still reeling with sleep deprivation, had not picked me up anything at McDonalds when he found our son's on the sidewalk and brought them out for a quick breakfast.<br />
<br />
<i>But you never eat McDonalds, honey!</i><br />
<i>I've been eating leftover bacon and spoonfuls of jelly for two days straight!</i><br />
<br />
Another wonderful neighbor also overcooked - fried rice and egg rolls - which we wolfed down at the counter. The boys were, once again, eating at a friend's house. What is it with folks and their surprise excess food? You'd think they'd plan better :)<br />
<br />
At 1030pm, our crap - it's amazing how your love of your possessions decreases the more you have to deal with them - drove away into the night and we collected pets and kids and loaded into our hotel for the night.<br />
<br />
Husband had to drive back to the house to get allergy meds left in the garage for Snuffy and Sniffy. The kids were asleep by the time he came back.<br />
<br />
<i>many thanks to Christine, Argie, AnnaMarie and countless others I am still too tired to remember LOL. Your "pay it forward" attitudes make life so much nicer!</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-18057990146280537532012-03-21T08:14:00.001-07:002012-03-21T08:14:14.161-07:00to make kitten britchesI found a wad of felted clean cat fur in the dryer when I was taking out a load of whites. Huh. Guess that really was a fur ball the cat hacked up the other day!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-68441701569179598282012-03-05T12:41:00.003-08:002012-03-05T12:41:33.398-08:00make rain while the sun shines...In Colorado, we have to water our lawns on those inevitable 70F days during the winter or our trees and grass will not just go dormant, they will die. Winters like this one, where there has been little snow to speak of unless you are in the mountains, it is especially important.<br /><br />All this means to me is that I must break out my summer nemesis, the spike sprinkler, as our in-ground system has been put to bed for the other inevitable days where the temps hover around zero.<br />
<br />
The spike sprinkler looks harmless enough, with its handy push-into-the-ground metal base and hose hook up. It's when you start looking at all those settings that the user becomes, well, wet. <br />
<br />
If there are arrows on the damn thing, I have yet to see how they line up to anything resembling how I want the water to spray out. The spray range markers work great, once you determine on which side they are meant. I am not entirely sure it ever came with directions and the whole affair is one of trial and error until you have the coverage you want. Even then, there is more sidewalk and truck watering than I would prefer and I remain unconvinced my future greenery is benefiting. <br />
<br />
Well, at least my glasses are cleaner!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-25929285698744364512011-12-30T10:16:00.000-08:002011-12-30T10:17:15.822-08:00so how is it...that when I am putting clothes away in my husband's dresser, I find myself muttering half-said expletives as I refold t-shirts inexplicably balled up, re-arrange shirts and socks so appropriate colors can be found in pre-dawn darkness, and slam my fingers into overstuffed drawers that will not close but somehow did not contain clean socks this morning.<br />
<br />
For the record, I am quite sure he has similar comments about my actions when they stray to his domain!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-72997959220247439252011-10-19T12:20:00.000-07:002011-10-19T12:20:52.271-07:00the sad life of a suburban soccer momI love my job. A lot. It is full of days like this. Beautiful fall days, crisp air, dog dozing in the sunny spot that I have just moved her bed to so she can relax after a grueling week at the kennel in our absence...Until the silence is broken by the blood curdling screams of my mother-in-law's latest holiday-themed gifts to my children. There they are, only two feet away from the dog, laying on a stool. You can stomp past them, drop something large right next to them, accidentally kick the stool. Nothing. That poor spotted puppy stretches in her sleep or dares to roll over and, honey, let the Fun House begin!<br />
<br />
Am I the only one who looks at a pile of shredded paper pulled from the lint filter in the dryer and thinks, "Hope that wasn't important"?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4561039198976390863.post-52375339493366793672011-08-11T13:36:00.000-07:002011-08-11T19:05:31.229-07:00sleep, overThat's life after having children. First, there are the obvious infant/toddler years of sleeplessness, where you are the provider of milk and clean diapers (and sheets and jammies), and the safe shelter in the storm of bad dreams. As you come to the tween years, every possible mistake you may be making haunts your slumber. And, while I am not there yet, I have been led to believe by my own parents that teenage years are fraught with worry about the safety of your offspring - a condition that apparently never ends so long as you both shall live...great, that last phrase will now make me gasp in the face of the sandman this evening.<br />
<br />
But I digress. I am talking about that rite of passage of childhood - having your friends spend the night so you can all stay up late, play video games, eat junk food, and pass out in a puppy pile of exhausted boys. I have resisted attempts on the part of my sons to host such an event for quite a while, but with the start of the new school year looming and reciprocal invites outstanding, I relented. Poor timing on my part - my husband was to be going to work several hours earlier than normal this morning, but he okayed it, insisting on all the frills and spills associated with a sleep over, like the good sport he is.<br />
<br />
And the boys were fabulous. They played Wii until 1am, stopping for snacks laid out for them on the table - I included wasabi peanuts because I cannot remember when the "dare you to eat that" age comes about - before heading off to bed down in my sons' room. <i>They brushed their teeth before settling in!</i> I am reasonably sure my spouse's 5 hours of snooze time were unaffected by the presence of 3 boys between 8 and 10.<br />
<br />
Nope, it was the cat that kept us up. Our wretched 16 yr old Himalayan, who has been nothing but trouble since the day I got her as a kitten. The furry monster who has been the demise of many a comforter, couch and mattress. The beast actually peed on the bed <i>while I was in it.</i> I almost managed to change the sheets without waking the bed's other occupant. And of course, she had left some other prizes in the loft, fortunately discovered and disposed of by me and not the dog.<br />
<br />
I'd like to say this was the first time we've had late night sheet changes courtesy of the cat. She spent the night in the laundry room with her handiwork. She is staring at me from behind the baby gate right now. And she is not coming out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0