OhMyNoodness

2011-03-09T07:39:00.000-08:00

If Nakia's WTM thread and my face had a child....

The Midnight Raid of Mom the Cook

2011-01-27T09:29:00.000-08:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Listen, children and you shall hear
Of the midnight plunder your mother dear
Made upon your Frigidaire
And the cold-cuts lurking there.

Her eyes scoured the inside
She flung open the doors wide
And there she captured first the butter
Then the cookies, too of Nutter.

The apples, oh their eyes she spied
And laid the butter on it’s side
Then eggs, they too she then a-took
And laid it all down for a book.

That book of Julia, writ so well
Tales of beef and fish do tell
Expertly cooked and poached and such
Those dishes that she cooked so much.

The stories stopped her in her tracks
Of boning fish, of stewing backs
For stock so good her family ate
Pre-packaged stuff they came to hate.

And so this story ends so nice
She stopped, she studies, then used some spice
Her family ate, they learned the good
When food gets cooked just as it should.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is it just me?

2010-11-03T08:33:00.000-07:00

Or does the "alleged furniture" in this picture look like something from a Witness Relocation Program?

Is the chair ashamed? Shy? Has it been captured by insurgents and will only be released if the captor's demands have been met?

http://oklahomacity.craigslist.org/fuo/2037791570.html
It's not his fault, though, the guy has a phone that doesn't take "well pictures". (his pictures are sick, see, THAT'S the problem!

The Cheap Plastic Pony of Knitting

2010-11-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

As we now sneak up on my first anniversary of my acquisition of Knitting Knowledge I have realized something.

I don't really know much about knitting after all.

I told Laura the other day that I think of her every time I cast on and knit in the round with double pointed needles (DPN's) since she was the one who taught me the whole Circular Knitting Lore.

She sniffed and said,"Heh. Using DPN's (double pointed needles for all of you knit neophytes) is so last century. I use Magic Loop now. It's so much easier!" I know what's gonna happen, though. I'll finally learn to use this mysterious contraption they call "Magic Loop" then the Knitting Socialites I hang with will have moved on to something even MORE cool and amazing. It will be all, "Oh, we knit with Space Needles now. All we have to do is just THINK about what we want to knit and there it is!"

You see, as usual, I'm friends with people who are WA-A-A-A-AY cooler than I am. Laura is riding the Knitting Stallion while I sit perched atop one of those cheap plastic ponies on huge springs. Ya know, the kind that make you so giddy that you keep bouncing like an idiot and then you pitch forward and chip a tooth? Yeah, that one. (I'd like to point out that I have only had ONE knitting injury thus far, thankyouverymuch!)

She is knitting beaded scarves, the sort of thing that is so lovely and exquisite and doesn't look warm at all. (the kind of fine knitwear I'd spill hot chocolate on, to be honest!) I knit the sort of scarves that induce exclamations of, "Oh, it must be homemade......uhm,....it looks very warm!"

I look at her knitting.....then look down at the yarn mess in my own lap and steal myself for the inevitable inner monologue. "It's okay, Cyndi....what you're making looks nice, too. Someone will love it, even if it doesn't have any beads."

Curtains, Coffee and Midnight Murderous Rampages

2010-10-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

So, today is Day Two of the Drop Cloth Curtain Project. I have just been made privy to The Secret That is Drop Cloth Curtains which means that the fad is probably about to go the way of pet rocks and zoot suits, but, alas, I'm doing it anyway.

Yesterday I bought the drop cloths then went home and fell asleep. Today I plan to make coffe (lots of it) and use the coffee to dye the cloths. (On second thought, I drink way more Diet Dr. Pepper than coffee. I wonder if soda dyes fabric just the same as coffee?) I may do some sort of border on them,but, knowing me, they will be trimmed with paperclips and dog hair.

Don’t get your hopes up.

Of course, none of this will happen if Kirk and I end up in jail. You see, we have been on a Murderous Rampage of sorts lately.

A killing spree.

It started with a possum who just refused to get out of my way as I drove home from work in the dark.

Swerve.

Thud.

Then Kirk arrived home to tell me that he killed a squirrel on my behalf by plowing it down with his car. He told me that he was defending the honour of my garden.

Uhm....thanks?

So, I apologize for the inadvertant killing spree. We didn't mean it. Well, I didn't mean it. Kirk? Oh, he has Wildlife Murder in his soul for sure, bless his heart.

Coffee: Now

2010-09-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

Today I remembered that I learned how to do embroidery about well,...let's just say MANY years ago. I decided to make this tea towel as practice before I move on to stitching for others:

Her name is Lola....

2010-09-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

Now, before you read the next part please quietly hum Barry Manilow's Copacabana song:

"Her name is Lola, she is a dauchsund.
With soft flowing hair of red and a cool pink doggie bed..."

My heart is completely overwhelmed with love and awe and that freshly-fallen-in-love-smitten feeling. You see, this weekend our family adopted Lola, the World’s Sweetest Weiner Dog Ever To Exist In Known History.
We watch her sleep.
We take pictures of her sleeping.
We hold her while she sleeps so she will know that she is loved.
We touch her little paws and whisper sweetly into her ear.
We pet her so much that I’m amazed we haven’t worn tracks into her fur.

She has us completely and I mean COMPETELY AND TOTALLY wrapped around her paw.

And we wouldn’t have it any other way!

Puh-Harmacy Phun

2010-08-13T21:24:00.001-07:00

I picked up a prescription for MYSELF recently. (in a minute you will understand why I had to yell “MYSELF”.)

On the bottle was a label that read, and I quote,

Give “Cyndi” one tablet each day

Now, this was different for two reasons. For one thing I have never been referred to in the third person on my very own prescription label and, for another thing, my name has never appeared on it in quotes like that. Only two possibilities exist here:

1) I am a persnickety feline who requires human involvement to take a pill, most likely by hiding it in a chunk of tuna or…

2) I am not real.

Last time I checked I was a 30-mumble year old woman who picks up her own prescriptions. I wonder if my long-suffering husband is supposed to rescue me from my perch atop the dining room drapery rod, gently stroke my back and shove the tuna covered pill down my gullet while singing Soft Kitty to me?

In other news Jake can’t believe that the PH combo in words sounds like the letter F so every word he sees with the mysterious PH combo is pronounced separately. Phillips is Puh-Hillups and Physics is Puh-Hissicks. So, of course, Pharmacy became Puh-Harmacy.

Sounds about right.

Mmmm! Hot Fudge Pudding Cake!

2010-07-21T18:19:00.000-07:00

Hot Fudge Pudding Cake

1 c. unsifted all-purpose flour
2/3 c. sugar
¼ c. cocoa
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. salt

½ c. milk
¼ c. vegetable oil
1 tsp. vanilla

¾ c. packed brown sugar
¼ c . cocoa

1 ¾ c. hot water

Preheat oven to 350. Spray 9X9 square pan with Pam. Mix first 5 ingredients in bowl; add milk, vegetable oil and vanilla. Spread in pan. Combine brown sugar and cocoa, sprinkle this mixture over stuff in pan. Now pour hot water over the whole mess and lament the fact that you probably just ruined it, but…..YOU DIDN’T! Do not stir. Bake for 45 minutes. Serve hot, cut into squares inverted onto serving plates or dishes. Spoon sauce over each serving. Serve with whipped crème or vanilla ice cream. Yields 2 servings or 8-10 for more polite individuals.

A morning of kayaking

2010-06-12T11:18:00.000-07:00

OH.MY.NOODness!!! Katy and I went kayaking this morning and now I wonder, "why did I EVER wait so long to try this?!"

Even though the instructor said that "this is not a race" I was still pretty excited that I was the first to arrive at the first destination. I was paddling as fast as I could at times, then realized that I may want to conserve some energy for the return trip. (I pictured a future me, too exhausted to lift my own paddle....weeping pathetically as someone else has to tow me back to shore.)

I woke up this morning, eyes wide with terror with one thought on my mind,"OHMYGODWHATABOUT ALLIGATORS?!" I am happy to report that I saw zero alligators in Lake Hefner today. It was just a beautiful morning to be out on the water.

We went with the wonderful folks at OKC Kayak.

I'm off to try to figure out how soon I can get my hands on my very own kayak. Lucky for me OKC Kayak has Demo Days where you can try a bunch of different kayaks out before you buy it!

If you have ever thought about trying out kayaking.....JUST DO IT!

Here is their website:
http://www.okckayak.com

Nice Nutella....nice, nice Nutella

2010-05-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

While at the Commissary yesterday I spied what you now see before you. That's right: 53 ounces of Hazelnut and Cocoa-y goodness. Despite whining preschoolers........it turned out to be a good day after all!

Textbook Temptress

2010-03-13T20:54:00.000-08:00

My friend Ann, bless her heart, is a Bad Influence. And yes, BAD INFLUENCE in caps. When I met her I had no idea how she would lead me down this dark path, and yet, here I find myself. (I should have known what was in store for me. The day I met her she was wearing a trench coat that was loaded down with teacher’s manuals.)

Even though we found Wheelock’s Latin for cheap at the Library Book sale she suggested that we use Cambridge instead.

I took the bait. She’s my pusher on the corner just offering me my first hit for free.

Last night found me bleary-eyed feverishly scribbling a tentative schedule for our ~~victims~~ students in which I could get them through not only Latin, but French next school year. As the hours ticked on and my spiral notebook groaned under the weight of my frantic scribblings I toiled on, absolutely intoxicated by what I knew was coming next…..

The curriculum shopping. I swoon before thee as I tell you that I shopped, I researched and I loaded down my shopping cart on Amazon until it damn near groaned under the weight of it’s travails.

I get nervous around her when she starts talking curriculum. It’s like I’m the alcoholic and she’s telling me about her favourite new wine.

I’m the bank robber wannabe and she’s telling me “put on this ski mask and hold this gun, we’re gonna just pop into the bank real quick”.

When she talks about curriculum (which is frequently! She's a total addict while me,...oh, I could stop at any time.) I try to act all disinterested, aloof. She's all "Biology this,....Logic that" while I am over there trying to appear casual sayin things like,"who, me? Oh, yeah, I never really got into that sorta thing. I mean, if other people wanna do it, that's fine, but.....not really interested."

She is my Textbook Temptress. And I love her.

I love her like a crackhead loves a crackpipe.

I love her like a fat kid loves cake.

She’s better than a Chocodile, but she costs me more money in the long run!

Chicken Pot Pie!

2010-03-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

I was recently asked for this recipe, so I thought I'd post it here:

Chicken Pot Pie

1 chicken (you know, a whole one!)

4 carrots

6 small potatoes or 4 medium ones….or 2 large ones….or 1 huge one
use your best judgment on the spud thing

2 cans crème of chicken soup

1 can peas

Salt & pepper to taste

4 pie crusts

Bake chicken in roaster pan with butter and Herbs de Provence on top. (I don’t know where you get Herbs de Provence. I get it from My Friend Sharon’s house because her husband buys herbs in bulk and he is my supplier, so unless you know My Friend Sharon you may have to do some research for this part……or come over to my house and get some. You only need about 2 teaspoons.)

After the bird is MOSTLY cooked take it out of the oven, throw it into a big stockpot and cover with water. Boil until it’s falling apart. Remove the bird and shred the meat. Set aside.

Now, while the bird was boiling I HOPE you were peeling and dicing the carrots and potatoes (putting the potato pieces into cold water so they don’t turn all brown and evil on ya!). Strain the chicken water to make sure any weird stuff is outta there and throw the carrots in. After about a5-6 minutes add the potatoes. (carrots take longer, as you probably know!) When carrots and potatoes are done (fork ‘almost-tender’. ....you don’t want them done all the way as they will continue cooking once inside their cozy little pastry blanket)

Now it’s time to assemble your Chicken Pie. Lay one pie crust into the pie tin. (Yes, I use store-bought pie crusts. You can all just collectively tsktsk right now. Life is short. I buy pie crusts. We move on.) In a BIG BOWL put the chopped chicken and crème of chicken soup and stir. Now…..gently people, GENTLY fold in the drained carrots and potatoes. When they are fully incorporated you can GENTLY stir in the peas. A gentle hand is called for or you will create baby food here. You really don’t want to mash it all together, but gently and lovingly introduce the various ingredients to each other, as in a culinary meet n’ greet. Now, turn this mixture into the pie crusts. (I told you to put ONE pie crust into a pan, but we are making two, no? So, do it TWICE!)

Put the top crust on and pinch together. I tend to just sorta’ fold the top over the bottom as I go around. It makes for a nice Wallace & Grommit type crust, very homey looking, not Martha Stewart at all, but that’s how I roll, you must find your own way, grasshoppa’.

Oh, and for the love of all that is good in a pot pie,……PUT SOME SLITS IN THE TOP or the whole thing will blow up and try to explode in your oven.

…..ask me how I know?

Since this recipe makes two you can save the other one by freezing it or give it to a friend who just had a baby!

Bake at 400 for 30 minutes or so. I have a temperamental oven so I never know how long something is going to take. Keep an eye on it. You may need to cover it with foil during the last half.

Enjoy! I made ours yesterday with a blueberry pie. There is nothing quite like seeing my little man shoving my freshly baked blueberry pie into his mouth with great gusto and a huge smile! It warmed the cockles of my heart.....whatever the heck a 'cockle' is,....mine were warm yesterday!

Snow Day pics!

2010-01-29T15:47:00.000-08:00

So, here at Chez Ohmynoodness we are experiencing snow, glorious snow!! We are on Day Two of jammies, popcorn and movies.

Our intrepid staff photographer is pictured above thanking one of her lovely models for posing. Isn't she sweet? Sweet AND talented!

Mitten Knittin'

2009-12-22T18:16:00.001-08:00

So, yesterday I reigned triumphant when I successfully completed my first knitted mitten. ("I was knittin' her mitten"!!)

Some say it looks like a cloven hoof, some say Vulcan Salute mitten.

I say "I came, I saw, I knitted a mitten without a pattern and figured out my own way." If my kid can't be a team player and shape her little hand into the Vulcan Salute then, well,....you just can't please some folks.

And I think it goes without saying that if you are a Mitten Hater, then avert your gaze. Oh, and why yes, that IS my sultry yet meaty hamhock upon which the mitten in question rests. Thanks for asking!

Knit Poetic

2009-12-18T14:18:00.001-08:00

So....I've learned to knit. I have been inducted into the Knitting Cult that is an off-shoot of the homeschooling co-op of which we are a part. I resisted for a few weeks, but it was inevitable. I think they use some sort of backward masking in the anthems we sing at the opening session. (I should have known when the words included "all hail knit and purl".)

Anyhoo, I am now knitting one and purling two with the best of 'em. So far I have knit 8 scarves and one chapstick(TM) sweater.

Eggnog Creme Cupcakes

2009-12-02T17:45:00.000-08:00

OhmyNOODness!! I have had this idea for Eggnog Creme Cupcakes floating around in my head for awhile now and decided to finally give them a shot. (hehe! With a 60cc syringe!) I loaded up the syringe with eggnog-spiked pudding and shoved it into eggnog-flavoured cupcakey goodness. YUM!

Open Apology to Jack Elliot

2009-11-15T18:10:00.000-08:00

As I drove home Saturday morning after a miserable night at work spent coughing and hacking and, in general, being miserable, I decided that buying a paper would take my mind off of my troubles. Now, a few years back my aunt introduced me to the sheer wonder that is “The Saturday Edition of the Sunday Paper”. Do you all know about this? She was visiting at the time and said that we should buy a Sunday paper…..on a Saturday. I looked at her like she had two heads. I said, “how would we buy tomorrow’s paper today? Today hasn’t gotten finished yet, let alone tomorrow!” She laughed and said that you could buy the Saturday edition of the Sunday paper. Thoughts swirled in my head. How would this be possible?

I am now a convert to the ‘day-early’ newspaper. It makes me feel like I’m living in a time warp.

So, I went to the convenience store near my house and who should I see but Jack ‘Darn’ Elliot. (this is a family-friendly blog!) I just glanced at him, but I was too intent on making sure that the comics and TV guide were inside the paper that I wasn’t paying much attention to our local celebrity. Then…..he kept talking and it hit me. I muttered, in his general direction, that it was “like hearing radio in person’. I told him about how when I lived in Panama I wrote a column for the Tropic Times (I’m sure you’ve heard of it) and it would NEVER FAIL that the only time someone would recognize me in the store was when I had no make-up on, hair askew and my arms were stuffed full of Ding-Dongs and Doritos. (and I wrote a cooking column, for goodness sake! I should have been seen buying capers and wine!)

As we stood there talking about where I came from in Illinois and it’s proximity to the town of Cairo it hit me again….that fatigue, the general funk that had kept me down all night at work and I knew I just needed to get home and get to bed. I thought that nothing would cure this illness like curling up with the newspaper. I bid Jack adieu and headed out.

Hours later at home, my body wracked by what can now only be described as The Flu of Epic Proportion I was terrified by the thought that I had infected Jack and would be met with the wrath of his fanbase if I got their beloved leader ill. (And not in any taboid-worthy way, either, just by standing close to him in a convenience store!)
As I was busy hacking up the lower lobe of my left lung I pictured angry villagers chasing me with torches and pitchforks like I was some kind of Typhoid Cyndi.

So, let me just say to you publicly, Jack: I am sorry if you became ill after our encounter. I didn’t realize just how sick I was and how bad I would feel later in the day. In the wee hours of the night I thought about you and hoped that your health was intact. I’m sorry if I got any funk on you or near you.

Halloween 2009

2009-11-01T20:56:00.000-08:00

Jake & Katy went as Calvin & Hobbes and Claire, though dressed as an angel, was a 'princess' according to young C. oookay. Too bad you can't see Claire's pink Chuck Taylor's under her 'princess costume'. (angel suit!)

Cricket Mom, what thinketh thee?

2009-09-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

I received the following email from one of the moms in the new co-op we recently formed:

“Can't we buy crickets at the pet store to give the kids with their Chinese Cricket cages in week 10? I thought that might be fun.

What thinketh you?”

She thought that might be fun.

Fun she thought.

Uh-huh. Fun.

Fun is dancing through a sprinkler.

Fun is eating watermelon on a hot day.

What is fully apparent to me is that Cricket Mom has not experienced the unmitigated JOY that is “tearing around the house at 2am on a Sunday morning trying desperately to find that d@mn cricket!!!”

What thinketh you?

What thinketh me, indeed!

What I THINKETH, Cricket Mom, is that with two pre-schoolers in my house, we are currently exceeding the maximum allowable decibel level on our street.

What I THINKETH is that my sanity is not likely to last through a cricket permanently residing in our home.

Please remember, Cricket Mom, that we live semi-in-the-country and a late-night Big Mac run was recently averted abruptly due to a skunk on my front porch. A skunk whose very presence held me hostage in my own home.

I’m just telling you right now that if you give my kid a cricket, said bug will soon end up “going to live with a nice family on a big farm where he has plenty of room to run”. Or, to put it in adult vernacular, buried next to the hamster.

Oh, and I’ll give you three guesses as to what YOUR kid is getting from my family for Christmas:

1. Drum set

2. Kazoo

3. Ant farm with a crack in it.

Happy Holidays!

Fresh from the conference

2009-09-10T18:59:00.000-07:00

This was in the powerpoint slide from the last lecture today. So True!

Words Cannot Describe

2009-09-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

That moment we first feel them move.

Those agonizing minutes, fretful hours as we labor them here.

Those tear-filled nights when we worry and wish over their sleeping forms.

That moment when you get the call, that news, those words that tell you hope is gone.

That golden time spent holding a tiny hand, still warm, but not for long.

Feeling his life slip away as he lets go of your hand and takes the hand of God.

There is no levity in this world this week, little joy. This blogger fails to find any funny thing anywhere in the world right now.

I'm so sorry, Nicole! Words just can't describe how we feel for what you and your family are going through right now! You have my cell phone number. Use it ANYtime!

http://www.nelson-funeralhome.com/index.cfm

Armondo Sciacca

The Chickens and the Bees

2009-08-25T15:37:00.000-07:00

I had no idea how much a person could learn just by teaching their kid about sex.

Friends were appalled that I just TOLD my kids about it.

"What if they ask questions?"

Answer them.

"What is they ask, you know, personal questions."

Tell them that the answer is “Nunya” Nunya Business. Next Question.

"What if they want to know about your past?"
See above answer. Repeat as necessary.

Just don’t do what my mom did and give your kid James Dobson’s book Preparing For Adolescence. The way he described sex made it sound like the man has to pivot on his toes. I had no idea at that time that legs could move around at all, despite my brief flirtation with gymnastics. I just knew that if his most masculine part was sticking out at a right angle and my Orifice to all Things Feminine was parallel to my feet, well, it doesn’t take a degree in Engineering to know that that sort of arrangement just isn’t meant to be.

I told my boss Kenny that I wanted to get chickens. He told me to keep the rooster out of there. I asked why.

He blinked and looked as if he had been thoroughly stunned by my apparent stupidity. It seems Kenny grew up knowing farm stuff. I stop short of calling his knowledge Animal Husbandry as that term makes me feel vaguely icky. I think that animals should just stick to marrying each other and humans can do the same.

So, Kenny grew up with this country grandma who, according to his recollections, would strangle the errant rooster when he was “making trouble”. I asked why she would do that. He replied, “because they wouldn’t leave the chickens alone”. I asked why they were hanging out with the chickens in the first place.

He said, “once the roosters have sex with the chickens they always want back into the coop!”

I said, completely incredulous and probably WAY too loud for the interior of a Blockbuster store, “OHMYGOD!!! ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT ROOSTERS HAVE SEX WITH CHICKENS?!?!”

I don’t think I have ever seen that man laugh that hard.

Or that loud.

Or, for the matter, that long. I always thought of roosters and chickens as competing groups, not so much as fodder for dating each other. I kinda’ pictured a West Side Story of the chicken coop going on. I just didn’t realize that in that scenario the roosters are wearing the black leather jackets and the chickens are wearing the twirly dresses.

Kids who grow up in the suburbs are clearly at a disadvantage when it comes to this kind of knowledge. I was in middle school before I learned what a cowlick was. I had been told for years that my hair “had a cowlick in it”. I thought that it meant that just when my hair was coming in (as my people are born pale and bald) a cow licked my head just in that spot over my right eye and that is why my hair lies funny and why that Dorothy Hammill haircut never looked quite right on me.

High School Reunion

2009-08-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

Saturday night was the reunion. It was, in a word....surreal. For one thing, I kept thinking, "Can you guys believe we are old enough to DRINK?! Shouldn't somebody be running up to SA with a fake ID to buy Purple Passion and Bartles & James wine coolers?!" (Bonus points if you actually remember SA before it turned into whatevertheheckit'scallednow!)

I noted quickly that time tends to sharpen the edges. I noticed a LOT less clique-adge. More people were moving with great fluidity between social groups.

I also noticed that people only knew me in the context of "being Amy's friend". As soon as I said, "I was friends with Amy R." I would see the flash of recognition. I suspect that if I had spent the reunion sitting alone at a table on the periphery of the room with my face buried in a notebook writing my sad poetry....they would have said, "OhYEAH, now I know who she is!"

I spent much of my high school career as Amy's sidekick, the person whose job it was to make her dates laugh while she went to the bathroom and put on make-up.

If I had a dime for every. single. time I heard, "Amy, your friend Cyndi has such a great personality" (which, as we all know is code for "nice to talk to, not exactly Date Material") I would be a rich woman indeed.

I still can't believe that the people I went to high school with are this old.

Unbelievable.

Prior to the reunion I had lunch with my brother Dennis. I told him that I was starting to feel a little nervous about going to the reunion. He said,"well, as long as you don't go with your hair looking like that it should be fine." I explained to him that I had already "done my hair". (If you can call washing and putting gel in hair "doing your hair".) He said,"but it looks like it's just wet. It looks like you have gel in it, like it's "fake wet".

sigh....

I attempted to explain to Dear Brother that my hair currently has two settings:

1. Dry and frizzy

OR

2. Fake wet gel from hell

That's it. I understand that while we were growing up I had that silky baby-fine straight hair, but after Baby Number Three my hair became curly and rebellious.

I know not why.

All I know is that when I don't put gel on it young children run screaming and villagers end up chasing me with torches and pitchforks.

I didn't want to ruin the reunion.

I had to use the gel.

I AM the rainmaker

2009-08-05T11:32:00.001-07:00

If you are in central Oklahoma and you were wishing for rain today then...

You are welcome.

I was feverishly working to get ready for our trip tomorrow and decided that putting the comforter and pillowcases on the line for that "sunshine fresh smell" would be a grand idea.

Which, of course, means that it will rain.

Always.

In the morning Katy and I will be travelling to Illinois for my 20th High School reunion. (Yeah, I can't believe it either!)

Twenty years?! That can't be right. Hold on, I'm gonna go do the math.

Yeah, apparently, it really HAS been twenty years.

Two decades.

One-fifth of a century.

Holy Guacamole. I really don't feel old enough for this. I think I must be lying and maybe it is my TEN year high school reunion. Yeah, that's it.

Facebook Song

2009-07-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

...courtesy of the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppets. I LOVE them. If I ever go to a concert I'll have a lighter in my hand. (which could be bad, now that I think about it as the singers themselves are highly flammable.)

A Wing and a Prayer

2009-07-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

Ken Hoffman, I have a Wing to pick with you!

I read your absolutely gushing review of Wendy’s new boneless Asian wings.

found here:

http://articles.lancasteronline.com/local/4/239599

REALLY?

Ken, I have but one question for you. Have you ever actually EATEN CHINESE FOOD? One can’t help but wonder if perhaps you have only heard tales of Chinese food, but have never consumed it yourself.

Did you eat the same Americanized lumps of poultry that I did? With one bite I knew I had been had. I sat there looking forlornly at the deceptive chunks and thought, “these are McNuggets in sauce”. And a BLAND sauce at that.

Now I will admit, just for the sake of literary and culinary transparency, that I cook with SPICE AND FLAVOUR, so that may have been my downfall. I use curry, cumin and herbs of all sort. So, I may be a bit biased in the flavor department as I demand that my food, you know, has some.

Mr. Hoffman, the only recommendation I can make at this point is the rapid ingestion of some P.F. Chang’s Kung Pao Chicken.

It’s the only thing that can save you.

Netflix: Netflix Movie Viewer

2009-07-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

Netflix: Netflix Movie Viewer

Bellydancing. It's harder than it looks.

That is all.

Scooter: the E! True Hollywood Story

2009-07-02T18:02:00.000-07:00

I keep wondering if maybe Scooter had issues.

This is coming as a last-born, attention loving baby of the family. I can’t help but wonder if Scooter hated that the other muppets got all the attention and accolades. Maybe Scooter, forever jealous of the attention given to his much cuter twin sister Skeeter, born into his polyester and fiberfill family at a time when his parents, worn out from caring for their other Muppet Children, were not as available to give Scooter the attention he so craved.

Perhaps Scooter became all too accustomed to allowing others to steal the spotlight that he truly deserved. Truth be told, Scooter was likely the least physically attractive of the bunch, although his genius and intellect cannot be ignored. We could assume, from the physical and intellectual attributes that are obvious on the show, that Scooter likely placed top in his class at Muppet High. I am thinking ‘member of the chess club’ and possibly a nearly silent member of the debate team, always allowing others to have the last word. He certainly kow-towed to Kermit’s incessant demands.

After years of drug abuse, most of which was hidden by the success of the muppet show, Scooter ends up in a back alley just off Hollywood and Vine, an embriodery needle sticking out of his arm, his felt all nappy and worn. What has become of this once-well-known member of the Muppet Show crew? Will Scooter agree to treatment at the Betty Felt Clinic for Severely Disturbed Puppets or will he continue down this dangerous path?

NOTE: The preceding rant is just a general 'wondering-ment' and is not intended as actual reporting. Don't sue me, I'm just speculating here!

Rainbow Resource

2009-07-02T15:47:00.001-07:00

I placed our curriculum order for next year. I am SOOO excited! Here's what we are getting:

For Katy:
French for Kids (add-on for French)
My First French ABC Picture Coloring Book (fun add-on for existing Learnables French curriculum)
Chemistry Laboratory Worksheets
Chemistry Student Text (Real Science 4 Kids)
Chemistry Teacher’s Manual
Vocabulary From Classical Roots A
Little French ABC Coloring Book (another add-on)
Analogies (for the whole co-op class to review)
Wordsmith (writing)
Editor in Chief Book A1 (editing and revising)
Thumb Thing For Reading Large
Classical Latin Alphabet Bookmark
Life of Fred: Decimals & Precents
Life of Fred: Fractions

For Jake and Claire:

Get Ready for the Code Book A
Mudpies to Magnets (pre-school science curriculum)
Songschool Latin Student Text and Song CD
Songschool Latin Teacher’s Edition

I just realized that I didn't order Jake's Funtastic Frogs math book, but I can pick it up locally.

We already have Before Five in a Row for Jake and Claire as well as Prima Latina Latin for use after Song School Latin. Also, I am going to see how Jake does with following along on Katy's French lessons.

As far as lesson PLANS?! Well, I think that it is something that only an afternoon with Ann and a few rounds of margaritas will accomplish.

A Scofro, Gravy Shoes and the night at work

2009-06-13T01:14:00.000-07:00

Katy and I have been doing some research for the upcoming Geography Fair. We decided to present Scotland this year because we have some heritage there.

‘some’ is what I thought. As it turns out we are completely Scottish, from the butterscotch chips in my pantry to the dreadful state of my hair these days. My hair started getting more and more curly with each subsequent child I birthed. I told Kirk that I was going to keep having babies 'til I had an afro. It was then that I realized that, being Scottish, I wouldn’t have an Afro, I’d have a Scofro.

When I got home from work tonight I told Kirk that, if I were to comb my hair out and take a brush to the unruly mass I’d look like Bozo on a bender. “Hey, boys and girls, wanna assess risk with me?”

Anyhoo, tonight was not without it’s highlights. I got to work with the new girl, who is, get this, named ThatCyndiGirl, too!! Same spelling and everything. I told her that I was going to drag her to tap class so we can work out a Me and My Shadow number. I think she’s game. (And her new nickname shall henceforth be “Cyndi: The Sequel”)

I ran to the place where we get dinner these days and promptly dumped about 4 gallons of mashed potatoes and 17 gallons of brown gravy on my ugly sandals. Yes, the ones that Kirk has despised for twelve years straight. I think he put out a hit on my sandals. He’s been giving them the stink-eye for years. Looking back on the event’s of the evening I now see all this foreshadowing. Kirk’s furtive glace around the room as I donned the horrid footwear, the man who loaded the food into the van at PlaceWhereWeGetDinnerTheseDays who was a little too nice about the whole thing and a little too insistent that HE load the trays.

Hmmm. The more I think about it, the more I think Kirk DID put a hit out on my shoes.

I have a t-shirt he has been trying to get rid of for years. "Don’t go into the laundry, Dear One, I’m comin’ for ya!!"

Carole in the kitchen

2009-06-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

As I was working with dear Carole the other day, the subject of juicers came up. She piped up, "Oh, I have one of those! I just LOVE it! Why, I was even able to make powdered sugar with it!"

At that moment I heard it-Jack Lalane had a cow.

What I would like to know is how a person looked at that machine, the contraption that, just down the street from my doughnut-swilling family, creates spinach smoothies which are consumed for breakfast.....and said,"I'll bet I could juice SUGAR!"

What's next? French Fry Frappes? Cheeseburger Shakes?

That Carole's a culinary genius, I tell ya! (Leave it to a diabetic to figure out a way to juice sugar!)

Denzel at the Walgreens

2009-06-02T12:21:00.000-07:00

Prior to coming in for a twelve hour shift I took a quick shower with the associated shampooing of the mane. A full fourteen hours later, as I was driving home, I reached up to my head and realized that my hair was still wet.

Fourteen hours later.

Before climbing into bed I wondered what would happen if I ran my fingers through the curls and waves to get the remaining gel out of it. My hair was quickly transformed from semi-normal/borderline Good Hair Day to a cross between Don King and Ronald McDonald. A stacked red afro. And, if you must know, an ANGRY red afro that shook each time I moved my head, like a stacked, layered, orange jello wedge of attitude.

Fast forward to later in the day. I was informed that we were out of feminine hygeine products and they were needed NOW as opposed to later. Off to Walgreens I go, thinking that I will get errands out of the way before jumping in the shower and leaving for work.

As the saying goes, "famous last words".

Off I go to Walgreens in running pants, my power t-shirt (from ThinkGeek, it glows in the dark!) and the aforementioned angry red afro.

I picked up the feminine product, and, since ingesting twelve thousand grams of fibre per day has failed to make my 'earth move' of late, some prune juice. Redbox is running a promo right now with Engangered Species candy bars. If you buy a candy bar you get a free one night movie rental. Who am I to pass up such an offer? Buying that $2 candy bar just saved me one dollar in movie rental fees! So, there I am with the pads, prune juice and candy bar and,.....Glamour magazine.

I approach the counter and only because I have the luck that has followed me throughout my lifetime, Denzel Washington's twin is checking me out at. And, of course, by 'checking me out, I can only mean 'completing my transaction'. No one was 'checking me out' last night, save for the very large sweaty man who looked at me in the snack aisle. The look on Denzel, Jr's face screamed, "oh, honey, there's nothing in that magazine that can help YOU. Those magazines are reserved for the Pretty People. You put that back and grab yourself a bible and a pocket protector!"

Geeze, why didn't I just round out my purchase with some Monistat and a tube of Ben Gay?!

Not in London

2009-05-26T08:52:00.000-07:00

As I was rushing around yesterday trying to do a quick "get-ready" so we could go swimsuit shopping (an endeavor that I should REALLY only undertake fully drunk on Malibu Rum!) I received a phone call from Friend Kara informing me that someone had hacked my Facebook page and was asking my friends for money so I could "get home from London where I'm stranded"!!

So, let me officially set the record straight. I am not in London. I am here, where I live, in Oklahoma City and have never actually BEEN to London, except in my dreams and while getting lost in a good book. I was not mugged in the park in London and my cell phone was not stolen. I do not require monies sent to a paypal account so I can get home.

I am here. Still here.

I would LIKE to go to London, but it's not looking likely at the moment. I'm too busy getting my ego crushed by swimsuit shopping. It is REALLY disheartening to lose 50 pounds and STILL not fit into any suits.

What would any self-respecting chubby girl do after realizing that no swimsuits fit? That's right, I went directly to the market and bought ice cream.

I really had no other choice.

As I was feeling sorry for myself what with the ill-fitting swimwear and the hacking of my facebook page I thought about how it was Memorial Day, after all and others have sacrificed their very lives for my freedom.

Really, when you put it that way, what do I have to complain about?! I'll bet you anything that the servicemembers who have died on our behalf, so we could experience freedom, would gladly deal with a bad clothes-shopping experience or a facebook hack just to be alive.

When you think about it that way.........my day wasn't that bad after all.

Mr. Morton is the subject of the sentence......

2009-05-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

And what the predicate says he does!

I awoke this morning to my children watching SchoolHouse Rock. When this song came on Kirk said, "oh, I LOVE Mr. Morton!" so I started singing the song to Jake as if HE were the subject of the song:

"Oh, Jake is the subject of the sentence

And what the predicate says he does!"

Then we started coming up with all sorts of things that Jake DOES on a daily basis. I printed the words up on sentence strip paper (found at Lakeshore Learning Store....LOVE that place!) and had Jake cut them out. It was Jake's first day practicing his scissor skills and I had completely forgotten just how much skill and effort is required in using scissors! That boy is a real whiz with the scissors!

I just LOVE SchoolHouse Rock!

MRI Results

2009-05-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

The pulsatile tinnitus thing is still from some unknown source, but he said that the memory loss was most likely due to insomnia and the insomnia most likely due to anxiety. He asked, "what could be causing your anxiety?"

I told him, "My husband's mother-in-law lives with us".

I believe that is in the category of 'Nuff Said.

I love Kirk and I knew that his mother-in-law was part of the deal. So, where does that leave me but where I currently reside: setting up a standing date with Xanax?

The MRI

2009-05-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

Preliminary MRI reports indicate that I still have a brain in my head. (Some may have been wondering after my recent run-in with a brick wall, drowning my cell phone and plopping my less-than-graceful self down into a pile of PlayDough.)

And, then there is always the fashion disaster that I call my wardrobe.

After spending almost an hour inside that magnetic tunnel I can truly say that I understand, no, REALLY understand the meaning of the word, “boredom”. It would have been much more manageable if they had let me take my laptop in with me. I entertained myself by trying to think of the names of

Every

Single

Person

I

Know.

Then, when I got tired of that I went back and alphabetized everybody’s names in my head. When I got to Z (thank you, Zonya!) I tried to think of a spice for every letter of the alphabet.

After awhile I found myself lying there thinking, “what’s the point? They aren’t going to find anything, anyway and I will spend the rest of my life being lost and not knowing why".

Lately, I tell Kirk the same thing over and over and over again. I told him that I hope don't end up like Drew Barrymore's character on 50 First Dates.

Results tomorrow.

Open Letter to My Boss

2009-05-07T20:48:00.000-07:00

Open Letter to My Boss:

Dear A,
There is something you should know. I should have disclosed this information during the interview, the background check, the second interview, the week-long employee training or even the new hire orientation. Since I did not divulge this information then I can only beg forgiveness and come clean now.

It seems that I have a Genetic Fashion Deficit (GFD) and I have known for some time. I apologize now for not confessing earlier. In truth, I hoped that my disability could live in blessed obscurity. With an ill-timed Ebay purchase, however, obscurity was not to be mine. While searching Ebay, and drunk on the power of a newly acquired paycheck, I clicked “bid on this item” before truly considering how such a purchase could affect family members, friends, clients and coworkers. The tears of laughter coming from clients as they viewed my hideous footwear is evidence that I can no longer keep my fashion dysfunction quiet any longer.

Up above you can view the horror I have described here. One can only hope that now, as sandal season approaches I can darken the doorstep of our office in more fashion-forward choices.

One can only hope.

I should let you know that a co-worker snapped her head backward while laughing at one of my outfits and may have suffered whiplash. Is this the sort of thing that is covered under Worker's Compensation?

Again, I apologize for not coming clean before now. I was hoping you would never find out, but.....as we don't wear uniforms, it was just a matter of time, really.

Sincerely,
~Cyndi

P.S. I have attached a picture of the shoe in question. Please have mercy on me. Leniency is appreciated! I know now that the only thing that could possibly appropriately accompany these shoes would be a full-length rainbow-coloured fur coat and a hat with a feather protruding from it, but still I beg for mercy.

Svengali Jessica

2009-04-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had that friend who just had to say the word and you thought, “GREAT idea!?” Well, that friend is Jessica. Or, since I know a few Jessica’s in my life, as she is called at home, “Jessica
Who-is-about-to-graduate-from-UCO-with-a-Master’s-in-Psychology”. It’s a long last name. I think it’s German.

Anyway, I talked her into a 5K and she has repaid the favour by talking me into a triathlon. Now, far be it from me to besmirch the character of such a fine individual, but I just gotta say that I hope she is aware of her powers over me and that she doesn’t try to talk me into bank robbery or trying to start up a home meth lab.

Or smoking crack. I have an inhaler now, and I have a feeling that using an inhaler while toking on a crack pipe probably isn’t considered cool amongst the drug crowd.

But, I could be wrong.

I’m still trying to figure out how to swim 400 meters in Lake Arcadia without being seen in a swimming suit, but I haven’t come to any brilliant conclusions on that one. While the thought of my nearly naked body being seen by all and sundry troubles me, I also don’t relish the idea of swimming in a sweat suit, so we shall see if modesty and shame outweigh my need for streamlined swimming.

the Mouse and the Burrito

2009-04-25T10:55:00.000-07:00

I babysat for Janice, a co-worker of my mother while I was a teenager and too young to procure the required work permit that would have allowed me to secure a real job.

Instead I watched her children.

I was warned that Janice had, and I do quote for your edification, “not the cleanest house in the world”.
In the world of understatements there are your tiny hyperbole and your whoppers. This was in the category of unmitigated ‘whopper’. As I entered the house my equilibrium was immediately called into question as not only was the floor sloping at dangerously funhouse angles, but every open area (and I use the word “open” loosely in this context) was crammed full of crap. Not just crap, but also junk and ‘stuff’ as well.

As she let me in Janice stated, rather apologetically, ‘sorry about the mess’. As I spent the two hours in Janice’s filthy home with her equally filthy children I made a mental not to never require the use of a bathroom while there. As was my habit in those days I would stop by 7-11 on my way to Janice’s house, fresh from my volunteer job of teaching little kids to swim at the Y (which, of course, left me freshly chlorinated and, I hoped, immune to any ick present in the home), pick up a beef and bean burrito, put it in my backpack and cook it upon my arrival at The Home That Had Not Seen Soap. I liked to think that the act of cooking it at her house would heat up and kill any bacteria that had attached themselves to the burrito wrapper upon entering the home.

One could hope.

So, on that particular day, the day that could also arguably be called Cyndi’s Last Day in Janice’s Employ, I entered the home, burrito in hand, and heated it in the microwave oven. I sat on the couch, the only place left in the entire residence upon which one could rest buttocks, (safely or otherwise) and attempted to take a bite. As soon as the first bite was fully inside the confines of my mouth, I saw it.

Because it was looking at me.

Kinda.

On the floor, not even two feet in front of me was either a large mouse or a small rat who had, it seems, met with an untimely demise. Not only was said rodent crushed at or about the area just above his or her torso and just below what would have been the location of an Adam’s apple had the victim been a human male, but the ocular areas were protruding. Yeah, his or her eyes were bugging out in a perpetual look of surprise. I mused as to whether the rodent had been startled to death by the state of ruin in the home or if something heavy had fallen upon it. My shriek brought the filthy children running from their respective polluted rooms. Upon their arrival they said,”oh yeah, the mouse is dead. We are waiting for the cat to take it out.”

Waiting for the cat, indeed.

I looked around for something with which to remove the body, but could find no container suitable for the transportation of a dead rodent. And, honestly, I thought that if the cat was too lazy to pick it up, perhaps so was I. I would like to report to you that I didn’t leave those poor children with a dead rodent on their living room floor and that I am the sort of person who goes above and beyond both the call of duty, but also any moral or ethical obligations.

I would like to.

However, any potential guilt was assuaged by the knowledge that I was leaving the children in the incapable hands of their father, a person with conceivably more upper body strength with which to transport animals, dead or alive and with even MORE obligation, moral, ethical and legal than myself. That is what I told myself. Now that it has been 23 years since this incident I can’t help but wonder if that rodent has been worn into the carpet like indoor roadkill.

Upon the arrival of Janice I informed her that, sadly, this would be my last day. I barely made it out of the house without gagging. I hopped on my bike and pedaled just as fast as my puny little 15-year-old legs could carry me. My decision that my gastronomical health trumped my desire for spending money was one I have never regretted.

Man of my dreams

2009-04-15T14:25:00.000-07:00

You know how some people just hope and pray to someday meet that special guy who will take one look at them and say, “Baby, when I look at you, I see the future”? Well, I have found that guy.

Unfortunately, he is my dentist. And what he sees when he looks in my mouth is his future.
His future car,
his future boat,
his future beach house. It seems that when I hit that magic age of 34 years, 5 months, 4 days, 11 hours and 14 minutes my teeth decided to all turn into Chiclets and start giving me trouble.

It all started with a pistachio. I decided a few years ago that my new year’s resolution was to try new things.

Aren’t those just some famous last words that usually end up in a last minute trip to Mexico in the trunk of someone’s car and a desperate attempt at rounding up bail money from across the border?

But, maybe your Senior Year was different.

That fateful time, a few years ago I decided that I would try all sorts of new things: rock climbing, bellydancing, running even if no one was chasing me and…… eating pistachios. I read a book when I was a kid about this girl who loved pistachios so I thought, now that it has been over twenty years since I read that book, it’s my turn, too!

They should come with a warning label.

I had no idea you had to take them out of the shell first.
I tried to eat it, but it was too hard and when I tried to bite down on it, it hurt my tooth. I bravely tried to throw it out the sunroof, but it came back in, landing in my hair.

Must be divine providence. Tried to throw it out again. Again it returned to me. Must be meant to be. Tried to eat it again. That was the fateful move, I believe. There was my dental downfall.

CRACK goes the tooth. Cha-ching goes the dentist.

So, here we are, three crowns and two root canals later.

Do you see where being adventurous gets you?

I had an appt with "Dr. Joe" yesterday to get fitted for a new crown, being royalty and all. I told him that next time we get together I am just going to take an order of nitrous, hold the pain. When you suck in enough of that stuff you believe that you can do anything, like text message while lying flat on your back and stoned. All I remember was some poorly spelled text message and the fact that my cell phone fell on my face. More than once.

A friend commented that she was surprised that they "let" me text message while on nitrous. I don't think that there are any laws about drunk dialing, or, in this case, nitrous texting.

I was still on cloud nine from my near-victory the night before in a Jerkey Belching Contest. Thank you, Friend Jason for feeding me weird jerky. Despite my near-Olympic worthy flossing skills I was still picking kangaroo out of my teeth the next morning.

Another Diet, another day

2009-04-10T12:54:00.001-07:00

On the John Tesh show last night he spotlighted a new diet book. I hear those word and think, "here we go again!"

More diet advice from someone who thinks she has The Answer.

This new author tells us that all we have to do is approach our food intake like a bank account. If you have a carb rich breakfast of, say, pancakes and syrup, don't have pasta for lunch and dinner. Focus on getting protein, etc. in to balance it all out.

Well, isn't that just logical? Additionally, she says that you should eat food as close to it's beginnings as possible. In other words, apples are better than apple juice and apple juice is better than apple drink, which is "apple-like" in name only. She says that "you are what you eat".

In other words, Be The Broccoli.

Again, all logic and rational thinking here. I'm not disputing that. What seems apparent, though is that this author lacks any of the, shall we say FOOD ISSUES that Yours Truly carts around in her soul on a daily basis.

Obviously this woman eats only to stop hunger.
Obviously she has never bitten her own finger because it looked like food.
Never looked at her own husband like he was a porkchop.
Never wondered, while someone was talking to her about some "major life crisis" how long it would take to heat up the oven for pizza rolls.
Never inhaled a bag of Dale and Thomas Kettle Korn so fast that she scarcely tasted it.

And it is completely obvious to me that this woman has never, not once in her life, been so desperate for a snack that she ate cherry flavoured Chapstick in the hopes that it would taste just like Twizzlers. (it does not, for your information.)

Open Letter to the Weird Guy Who Knocked on My Door Today:

2009-04-09T22:56:00.001-07:00

Dear Weird Guy,
Word on the street is that the reason you were walking up and down my block today knocking on every single door is that you were casing the houses for future activity. Let me put you on notice right now. We are not in need of any thievery today. Probably not tomorrow, either.

If, however, in that brief moment betwixt when I lost my mind enough to open my door to you in the first place and the nanosecond later,..... you happened to peer into my home, I hope that you had Spring Cleaning on your mind and not larceny in your heart. If you know of any home organization tips or gardening help you could throw my way, I would be most obliged.

However, if you were fiendishly devising ways of stealing our stuff, you should know the following:

1) The piano is really heavy and needs to be tuned and, it should be noted, does not fit into a Honda Civic. Ask me how I know this.

2) We don't own a stereo any longer. Well, that's not true. We still do have an 80's era boombox, but the CD player is broken, so if you steal it you may need to have that repaired.

3) Our can opener doesn't work either, but we hold onto it anyway because we keep thinking that the next time we pull it out of the cabinet it WILL work and our faith in the Appliance Repair Fairy will have been restored. The manual can opener we use is really hard on the hands so if you have any "pre-arthritic changes" going on in YOUR phalanges you may just wanna pass on the can opener.

4) I don't know what that funk is in the microwave. I have been told that you can boil lemon juice in there, but, as you can smell, it hasn't helped. The whiff reminds me of Dead Hamster, but I can't be too sure. And, if you are just gonna steal it anyway I may not bother. The Brillo pads are under the sink. As you can tell from the state of the microwave, they havn't been used much.

5) If you take the dog you may wish to know that she is struggling with some incontinence issues and has to take the brown pills twice a day; they are in the front closet. Oh, and she pees in the car, but only if she gets startled, or loses her balance, or if someone from a neighboring vehicle looks at her cross-eyed. Oh, and she drags her butt on the carpet, so if you are gonna take the dog, you may as well pick up the carpet cleaner we have in the garage. Don't forget to put water in the tank or you will ruin the motor.

I think that's about it. Next time you visit our neighborhood please remember to call first so we can put out the good stuff.

Fondly,
ThatCyndiGirl

She Gets an A for Effort

2009-04-06T15:16:00.000-07:00

About two months ago I asked Co-Worker Jessica if she wanted to do the Couch to 5K with me. She enthusiastically agreed to it. Shortly after the start of training our entire household came down with some horrible stomach virus, which I promptly used as an excuse to never train at all. Jessica sent me encouraging emails about how much she was "just loving this" while I was busy puking up a pancreas.

So, race day approached and, initially I told Jessica I just wasn't going to do the 5K. The race we were training for was the Red Bud Classic. Now, I ran the Red Bud about six years ago, also with no training base (I'm seeing a pattern here) and finished in at an embarrassing 46 minutes. I will tell you now that the ONLY reason I finished that one at all was because I don't know the Oklahoma City area that well, and particularly not the neighborhood in which the race is held and I had no idea how to get home. I knew that the only way I would ever see my loved ones again was to make it to the finish line and take the shuttle back to my car.

Yesterday morning as I lay in bed attempting to WILL myself to get up my frantic mind came up with all kinds of reasons not to go:

1) I am tired because I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night. I would have to go to work straight from the race and I would get there tired, worn out, exhausted.

2) I didn’t train, even though I promised Jessica I would.

3) It is really windy and cold outside.

4) I just plain don’t feel like it.

All of these were good reasons, all of them valid, but in a desperate attempt to be a better person than I currently am……I went. I had reasons to go, sure, but I could only think of one at the moment: I really didn’t want to be the sort of person who asks someone to accompany her on an adventure and then ditches the adventurous friend at the last minute. When the only exercise you get is jumping to conclusions, it may be a good idea to postpone the 5K, but nooooo. I had made a promise and I was about to keep it.

First of all I learned that when those healthy types talk about carbo loading they probably don’t mean “eat an entire package of chocolate mousse flavoured Peeps just moments before running”. They stuck in my gut, but the aftertaste was worth it.

It was so windy that at times I felt like I was standing still when I was actually, theoretically, anyway, going forward. I kept looking down at my feet and it appeared that they were moving, but I felt no forward motion because the wind was pushing me back.

They give you this goodie bag when you register, but you really only need a few items from it:

Bib number

Safety pins with which to pin on your bib number

Timing chip

T-shirt

Everything else is swag and most if it is rubbish. I saved the mint and threw everything else away as, ‘HELLO! I’m about to run, walk, meander or otherwise saunter for 5 kilometers, or 3.2 miles, I am not a pack mule, some of this has GOT TO GO!’

With nowhere else to put my t-shirt I had the brilliant idea of shoving it down the front of my pants. Yeah, why not shove a mass of material into the part of my body that already has too much bulk?!

As usual, a brilliant idea.

So, there I am, closing in on the finish line, just one more stinkin’ kilometer to go when I strike up a conversation with these two kindly (I thought!) older ladies. They talked about their kids, I talked about mine, then the one closest to me says, “and I see you’re workin’ on another one right now!” glancing at my gut.

Thanks.

I said, “no, I just couldn’t think of anywhere else to put the t-shirt they gave me!” Then she says, “Oh, I was about to give you credit for something you didn’t deserve credit for!”

Okay, despite the fact that you ended that insult with a preposition....

Well, nothing makes a fat girl run like a put-down, so I took that as my cue to pick up the pace. After all, the finish line was looming and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna WALK over the finish line!

Here is a list of some of the people who passed me during the race:

1) Small children
2) Little old ladies with perfectly coiffed hair and handbags
3) All of the wheelchair race participants
4) The guy with 1 ½ legs and the cool prosthetic
5) Visually impaired runners with service dogs

I finished in an unimpressive and snail-worthy 55 minutes. I glanced behind me just as I crossed the finish line and saw Molasses closing in.

Things I Have Learned this Week

2009-04-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

1) When discussing sippy cup logistics with friend’s daughter while exiting friend’s driveway, absence of attention can lead to an unsightly union of Honda and brick. Ultimately, hilarity will NOT ensue.

2) While bathing a wiggly 2 year old remember to put your brand new cell phone (that you were too cheap to buy insurance for!) in a clean, safe, DRY place. The right side of your jacket pocket is NOT a safe place. As it turns out nice warm Mr. Bubble bubble baths are not recommended for the Samsung T-819.

3) When doing laundry, it is always important to check pockets. (I hear the “I told you so” coming from my mother already!) Brown crayon, which his shockingly similar to fecal matter and not nearly similar enough to chocolate chips, smears inside a dryer like snot on a doorknob, but adheres with the tenacity of Teflon on steel.

4) When sitting down to write a blog post in which you complain about the crayon inside your dryer, check the chair first. Playdough is not a recommended accessory for pajama pants.

5) When a friend recommends that the crayon can be removed with a credit card, she does not mean to replace the dryer, but to scrape out the crayon streaks.

I assure you that this is not an exhaustive list, though living it has been.

Built Like a Brick FriendsHouse

2009-04-01T15:40:00.000-07:00

Today I accidentally became a homewrecker when I crashed into my friend's decorative brick wall thing at the end of her driveway. I was attempting not to hit the part on the LEFT of the driveway and ended up hitting the chunk on the RIGHT.

There I was, innocently conversing with her daughter about how we leave sippy cups in our wake wherever we go when BAM!! the unthinkable occurs.

I feel awful. I jumped out of the car and assessed the damage and knew that it was too late to play dumb about the whole situation. I told her what happened. I started out with, "First of all, you should know that I am VERY, VERY sorry and will fix it, pay to have it fixed, whatever it takes!" She was very kind.

She called later to tell me that she had made the call to her husband to let him know. I don't know her husband that well and fear that they may take our dog Trixie as collateral until the wall is fixed.

What do you do to make this sort of thing up to a friend? Rake their yard? Clean their gutters? Pumice their feet? Bathe their dog? (and their dog has more hair than three Rastafarian llamas.) Ooh, maybe I could give their dog some dreadlocks? Make them some black bean soup?

I was so distraught over how I am going to make restitution (besides fixing the wall) that I accidentally dropped my cell phone in the bathtub while bathing Claire tonight. So, if you are in my phonebook and received calls from me, but heard nothing.....sorry. My numbers are all messed up in my phone and I am drying it out. (which is why I can't call you to tell you why I'm not calling you!)

Tomorrow HAS to be better, right?

.......right????

The irony here is that just the night before all of this happened, said friend had asked me, "Do you ever blog about me?" I told her, "Not unless you do something stupid!"

Well, Ann, I took care of the stupid for you!

Boogie Woogie

2009-03-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

So, today after I ran back to the dentists office to pay the bill Kirk and I made a video. CLICK on it!

Katy had six teeth pulled today. That girl is a real trooper! It appears that one tooth, that had an exceptionally long root structure, did not exit her mouth willingly. She wrote in my journal, "That one hurt".

Poor kid! Just remember Katy, "Short term difficulty for long term solution!" (Thank you, Jessica!)

Top Secret Dental Investigation

2009-03-30T09:30:00.000-07:00

THIS JUST IN!!!!!

ThatCyndiGirl, your intrepid reporter of all things necessary to know in life has just returned from a month-long research sabbatical in which I plan to explode wide open the secret clandestine world of dental hygiene education.

It has come to my attention that dental hygiene schools are setting us up for failure! Dental hygiene schools are actually teaching their students to rot our teeth! Read on for more details about my shocking findings.

I, of course cannot reveal my sources as the world of dental hygiene is fraught with as much danger and intrigue as any international espionage organization. What I have discovered has both shocked and horrified me at the same time. Here is a taste:

I have come to realize that my earlier suspicions about a certain dental hygienist at a certain dental office in the Metro really IS manufacturing confections in her very own kitchen. It seems that the only thing this heretic is NOT guilty of is operating a food service without a license. She is fully licensed,my friends, I believe because she went into this venture knowing full well that candy and other confections would be her literal bread and butter for years to come.

Even more shocking than her extracurricular endeavors, though is that THESE COURSES ARE ACTUALLY BEING TAUGHT IN DENTAL HYGEINE SCHOOL! Yes, folks, they are completely setting us up for failure. Ever wonder why they have a bowl of Tootsie Rolls by the check-out? It’s because those aren’t Tootsie Rolls, folks, for fear of copyright infringement, they are Rootsie Tolls and they know just what they are doing. Why do I keep getting cavities?! Some could say it is because of my kettle corn addiction, but that would just be blaming the victim, now wouldn’t it? I think it’s because there is no way I can say no to a “Rootsie Toll”. Who can? It’s chewy, it’s chocolate-y. They know what they are doing, folks and they are good at it.

I, for one will not stand for it. I challenge all of you to take a stand against this travesty.

Floss!

Brush!

Listen to Nancy Reagan and Just Say No to their devious dessert offerings!

Brush your teeth while you drive!

Floss in the movie theatre!!

I have taken it upon myself to let people know up front where my dental leanings lie, so I have made it a point of late to floss at bars.

I have it on good authority that guys find if absolutely irresistible to see a woman flossing her teeth while guzzling a Guiness.

A Morning Meeting gets Refreshed

2009-03-28T23:38:00.000-07:00

We had a mandatory meeting at work the other day. It was a mandatory “training” that they called an “opportunity session” for an “opportunity” to be sold insurance. This company, which is popular for using a particular bird to help get its point across, offered disability, vision, dental and cancer insurance. Sadly, they don’t offer the kind of insurance I could really use. They did not offer, for instance, Put Your Foot in Your Mouth Insurance nor do they offer OhMyGodYouActuallyWoreTHAT Out of the House?! Coverage.

First of all, I got there a few minutes early and they wanted to make small talk. I despise small talk, but particularly first thing in the morning. I don’t like it because at best it seems disinenguous and I really don’t like making small talk with someone who is here to sell me something. It is infuriating. I feel like it attacks and insults my intelligence. Let’s just be honest with each other: You are here to make as much money as possible. I am here to spend as little money as possible. Our very missions are at odds; we must deal with that fact. How’s about we don’t dilly around with each other, eh?

I declined the accidental insurance. After he was done with the sales pitch I kindly asked for the declination form.

Then it started.

I guess he didn’t see the swagger in my step or the sleep in my eyes, but he went for it anyway.

Apparently, Mr. Insurance Guy woke up with a deathwish. Apparently, Mr. Insurance Guy decided that today would make a lovely day for an arse-whoopin’ from a chubby redhead.

This is what he said to me, “Well, if you have decided that one hour’s pay per month is too much to spend for your family’s peace of mind…..”

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!

DID YOU WAKE UP TODAY AND DECIDE THAT TODAY WAS A PERFECT DAY FOR A BEAT-DOWN? IS THAT IT?! ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT I MUST NOT GIVE TWO WHITS ABOUT MY CHILDREN because I’m not buying your dumb duck insurance? IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME? ARE YOU CALLING ME STUPID OR UNCARING?

WOULD YOU CARE TO CLARIFY?!

LOOK, Barney, I wasn’t the one who was named after a dancing dinosaur, so lemme just tell you straight up right here, right now: cancel my subscription. I’m tired of your issues.

And get the message out to the other insurance guys:

I am putting you all on notice. ThatCyndiGirl is not to be trifled with, especially in the morning when she hasn’t had enough sleep and has had about two carafes of caffeine less than is required for her personality to be fully functional."

I had spent the better portion of the previous night, a time when I should have been knee-deep in a dream about Mike Rowe of Dirty Jobs fame, attempting in vain to achieve blessed slumber. I knew that if I fell asleep at midnight I could actually get a full 8 hours sleep and still make it out of bed in time to get ready and be at the meeting on time.

By 1 am rolled around I knew that I could still get a good 7 hours in if I could just fall asleep at that very moment. Yet, sleep eluded me.

At 3am I thought about how only getting 5 hours of sleep would leave me feeling groggy and irritable, but I soldiered on, anyway trying to fall asleep.

As the clock hit 4:30 am I wondered if just staying up might be a better option, but the thought of driving then trying to sound semi-coherent on zero sleep dissuaded me from that option.

Sometime after 4:30 I fell asleep which left me precious little time for actual slumber. This lack of sleep may explain my menacing mental meanderings.

The upside to the meeting was sitting next to Kristina. I don’t believe I have ever met someone so perpetually perky........ but in a good way.

She brought this tea from Starbucks (and they are a whole other rant altogether!) called Refresh. She admonished me to try her tea because, as she pointed out, she “doesn’t have cooties”. Kristina really needs a tea named after her called Perky Peco. I saw her one time when she was ticked off about something. It was hard not to laugh. It was like looking at a pissed off poodle. She somehow musters the courage to be a nice person even when she is in a bad mood. Truly, a better person than Yours Truly. Which, is why we asked her to babysit our chitlins. We don’t trust them with just anybody. Or, rather, I should say, “We don’t trust just anybody with our children”. That sounds better, makes them sound less like tiny criminal masterminds and more like the valued offspring that they are.

TAGGED! 12 Things About Me

2009-03-26T10:19:00.000-07:00

I think it was about a year ago when Alana tagged me. I might take forever about it, but I don't forget, so here is my list:

12 Things About Me:

1) Cottage Cheese gives me the willies. I find that it's lumpy albino appearance leaves me feeling vaguely violated and like I can't trust it. Especially when it is plopped unceremoniosly atop a lettuce leaf.

2) Being in the water is so calming that, if I could, I would live in the water and never, ever come out. (hence Claire's waterbirth) If I had it my way I would have waterbirths, waterconceptions, waterteethcleanings and watersleep.

3) I learned to drive on a stick shift because my brothers told me I couldn't. The words, "it is virtually impossible to pass a driving test in a stick-shift in Illinois" sounded like a challenge to me.

4) I am not athletically gifted, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

5) Sitting still for too long feels like torture.

6) I LOVE to have my hair brushed.

7) I am a vegetarian, except for chicken. Well, and fish.....and steak, I LOVE STEAK!

8) In a tragic genetic mishap I was born without a fashion sense.

9) No amount of dance classes will ever be sufficient to cure me of my CKS (Chronic Klutz Syndrome). My hips and shoulders remain perpetually bruised from my frequent run-ins with doorframes.

10) I have a deep-seated loathing for belly buttons. Yours, mine and everybody else's. It is just a whole lotta' grossness in one puckered little valley.

Yuck. My dream guy is that dude on Kyle XY who is without naval. AAAAAhhh!!! I think I could love him forever!

11) I have written many a haiku about my hatred for the belly button. I realize that this is a continuation of Point Ten, but until I work through my Naval Issues with a therapist and puppets I just can't let it go.

12) I adore alliteration, love limericks and am positively perky about poetry.

Miss Linda and the Chocoguacolate Moose

2009-03-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

My neighbor Linda asked me if I wanted to go to a Women’s Luncheon with her. I only agreed to go because:

A) I really like Linda and any chance to talk to her is worth any thing else that might happen that day and

B) I am eternally curious about what normal people think is fun. Particularly, I am fascinated by the luncheon crowd. They are a different breed and, since Linda seems like she is ‘not so much the Luncheon Type’ I thought we could have fun making fun of the food.

Big mistake. Linda picked me up because it was at some local country club. I had no idea a country club even existed in my area. I said this to Linda and she agreed. She is a very down-to-earth, no-make-up kinda’ person who I am VERY comfortable with. She was very comfortable that day. As we were walking in she confessed, “Oh, no, I still have my barn shoes on!” I looked down and, sure enough, there was mud caked on her shoes. Ah, a woman after my own heart as I was carrying a 4-month old Claire and still sporting maternity clothes. I should note here that I was nursing Claire at the time and, as nursing requires extra calories and all, I was perpetually as hungry as a famished farm animal. I thought about grabbing a snack before we left, but though, “hey, it is, after all, a luncheon, I’m sure they will feed us!”

Famous last words.

First they brought out a salad that was actually VERY good and for me to rave about salad is truly a culinary achievement. It had some sort of sauce that defies description. It was almost like tomato based gravy. Then they fed us some other vegetable dish that was okay. What I did not realize going into this affair was that this particular seminar was based around one central theme. I had mistakenly agreed to go thinking that the central theme was, "eating lunch".

Oh, how wrong I was.

The central theme was "Eating Raw Food and Leaving Cyndi Famished".

At some point near the middle they brought out this super-expensive fancy blender that costs more than my first car. Everyone ooh'd and aah'd and planned how they were going to spend a chunk of their kids' college fund on this Vitamix blender.

I'm a heretic because I was sitting there thinking that deep fryers don't put you nearly in the hole like a fancy blender and fried food just tastes better than spinach smoothies.

Then the coup de grace: what they called chocolate mousse. After eating it I think I would have preferred chocolate moose. As it was passing by my nose I could smell a vegetable in there. THEY PUT A FREAKIN VEGETABLE IN CHOCOLATE!!!

Chocolate mousse: it was made with cocoa powder, not actual chocolate. I am told that the healthy types do this because it saves fat and calories. WHO EATS SOMETHING CHOCOLATE TO SAVE FAT AND CALORIES?!

The chipper lady leading this discussion asked, with no hint of irony I might add, “can anyone guess the special ingredient?” I had already leaned over to Linda and whispered, “It has avocado in it”.

My pudgy hand shot up, and Veggie Lady asked me, “Can you guess the secret ingredient?” I replied, with flat affect, full confidence and monotone voice, “its avocado”.

Veggie Lady’s face was suddenly crestfallen. “How did you know?” she gasped.

Sigh

How do I tell her that when you mess with a fat girl’s junk food WE ARE GONNA KNOW!! How do I tell her HEY LADY, WHEN YOU TRY TO SNEAK VEGETABLES INTO MY CHOCOLATE I WILL FIGURE IT OUT?” What am I? 2 years old?

I just replied, “Good guess”

The worst part was that for the entire luncheon, during the introduction, during each speech and particularly during the salad course I could smell steak. Not just steak, but possibly the most delicious steak ever smelled by a human. The aroma of this specific cut of meat had been hand-cut, delicately seasoned and cooked to perfection.

All while I was busy eating vegetables. Here I sat, just a stone’s throw away from high-quality beef and I was eating like a rabbit. Linda is REALLY into health food, so I thought it would be uncouth for me to ask her to stop at McDonald’s on the way home. I knew that I was really WAY too hungry when the wildflowers on the side of the road started to look appetizing.

But, hear me now, Linda: if you ever invite me to one of those seminars again I WILL GO, but only because I like the ride in the car with you so much. I’m making my new list of questions for you as we speak! And, really, after a few dozen health-food-type seminars and I am bound to start changing my ways! I would ask you my questions now, but I have some Ranch dressing covered Twinkies calling my name.

Workbox number configuration

2009-03-22T12:51:00.000-07:00

Now, this will mean nothing to you if you havn't completely consumed the Workbox System Kool-Aid, but here is what I meant on the boards about the number config.

The kid takes the velcro number off of the workbox when it is completed, mind you! and puts the number on the chart.

The numbers have a lower right hand configuration on the chart and when the velcro'd number is put on it is more of a center config so that it is easy to see, .....from a distance......by a mom who may or may not need bifocals......that the chart is

1. completed

2. not completed

3. in some sort of limbo betwixt the two.

In this image three boxes have been completed, which is quite a feat considering that Katy had to do them all while cocking her head to the left!

A dentist in my hula hoop

2009-03-20T00:15:00.000-07:00

I went to the dentist on Monday and was pleasantly surprised that the dental hygeinist that I previously described as having the “warmth of a snake with a belly ache” is actually a wonderful person. At second glance she has the warmth of a freshly baked muffin. She applauded my fine flossing technique.

Hey, you jam a metal pick into my gums and you definetely get my attention and I become a flossin' fiend forever more! As usual, they keep the temperature somewhere around Frigid and when I mentioned the icicles forming on my fingers they offered me a blanket.

Not JUST a blanket, it was like a twin-sized swatch of fluffy heaven. The underside was as soft as a puppy’s ear and less likely to pee on my lap or nibble my baseboards. I fell in love with that blanket so completely that I thought, “toothbrush goodie bag be damned, I’m leaving with this blanket!” I tried to walk out casually with it thrown around my shoulders. When questioned I informed the office staff that I came in with it and it was part of my superhero costume, my cape of Great Hope. They weren’t buying it. As I tried to beat a hasty retreat they stood on the hem, snapping me back into the office.

"You almost forgot to make your follow-up appointment!" said they.

Super Haiku Girl is foiled again! But, I’ll be back!

And, for your edification and enjoyment:

A Dental Haiku:

Plaque be damned, I floss
Not even popcorn can hide
I love that mint Glide!

I find it interesting that the dental hygenist has a name that is frequently shortened to the moniker, “Candy”. It makes me wonder if she is secretly at home crafting taffeys and caramels-all a part of our dental downfall, just to ensure her job security.

Speaking of names, they call the Dentist Dr.Joe, a tradition I will continue here unless he wants a free plug for his gig. Every. Single. Time I hear them call him "Dr. Joe" it makes me think of Dr. Ruth, so I have to think of it like this:

"Dr. Joe, who is taller, more masculine and less German than Dr. Ruth. Oh, and whose speciality seems to be teeth, not bedroom antics" which makes it so much more mental work than just calling him Dr. Lastname.

But, what do I know?!

And, speaking of people who are all up in my grille of late, I went to Wal-Mart tonight, that bastion of all that makes me balk, to stock up on shaving crème.

It’s just like Alanis Morisette said, I had a cabinet full of razors and a simple smattering of shaving crème. So, off to the evil empire. As I stood in the aisle, perusing my potential purchase I was accosted by this woman who kept moving closer and closer with each breath.

She stood to my right and moved right into my personal space. She kept peering closer and closer as she gazed into my chest. I looked into her face and was met with the gaping maw that, in better days, probably hosted her teeth, but now held only the memories of dentin past. I nervously thought, “Look, lady, you can have the last can of Flirty Mango with Olive Butter (WTF is olive butter, anyway?!) Skintimate shave crème, I’ll let it go if you will just GET UP OFF OF ME!”

Instead I kept moving my torso backward, although my feet remained planted firmly within aisle five. As she continued to advance I realized that I was getting dangerously close to doing a backbend and I had yet to put my arms up to catch myself in graceful backward descent. She was, firmly and without apology, within my hula hoop. Now, for those of you who don't know about your own hula hoops, it is a technique we use with clients/children of clients to teach them about their personal space and how they can safeguard it. In short, people are only allowed "inside your hula hoop" if you give them permission. I am most certain that my perusal of shaving products did not constitute an endorsement of her advances.

Suddenly she blurted out, “Is that necklace of yours supposed to be apart like that?” I told her that, indeed it was and she scuttled off, no doubt to help other customers who required a Wal-Mart employee peering into their breasts.

In other news, Kirk Cameron owes me two dollars and sixteen cents.

I take paypal.

I was schnuckered into watching that stupid FireProof movie. OhmyNOODness! That right there is two hours of my life that I will never get back. First of all, I wasn't able to suspend disbelief long enough to buy Kirk Cameron as a manly firefighter. If they had cast him in a role of telemarketer perhaps, or the guy who dresses up like a hotdog for some restaurant, okay, but a FIREMAN?!?! No, not happening.

Here is a man who clearly does not wrinkle the sheets, ifyouknowwhatImean.

Ode to a Laminator

2009-03-13T20:35:00.000-07:00

So, I got a laminator for Christmas. I'm thinking that right about now only my homeschooling mom-peeps can truly understand what a momentous occasion this is. Today I used it for the first time. (yeah, I had to kinda' warm up to the idea. I generally fear technology.)

I laminated the kiddo's workbox charts.

OhmyNOODness! I am swooning. I am deep in hot plastic-coated love. I am going to laminate everything I own tonight and if Kirk sits still too long he, too will be encased within hot plastic. I'm gonna laminate recipes, pictures and my social security card. RULES BE DAMNED!!! I am woman, hear me laminate! When I worked at Blockbuster, back we still heat-laminated the new membership cards we laminated everything we could find that would fit into those tiny pouches. Bugs? DONE Paperclips? DONE Junior Mints? DONE to a cholate-y goodness. It smelled like hot chocolately love in there when we laminated the Junior Mints.

YUM.

In other news I finally got my haircut today. It was a mess. As Hillary waded through it with a comb and a prayer she kept asking, "So, HOW LONG has it been?" I told her, "so long that I can't remember how long ago it was......."

I DO remember that my last trim was sometime before Election Day, so it was last year. I really do need to remember to get my hair cut more often. They deserve some sort of humanitarian award for not smacking me in the back of the head after dealing with my mane.

Thank you, Hillary. I do appreciate your efforts. I look sorta' like a redheaded Tinay Fey. I'm just about to run for Governor of Alaska because, as you know.....

"I can see Russia from my house!"

Workbox Kool-Aid

2009-03-11T22:42:00.000-07:00

Just go along, Cyndi, all the cool moms are doing it.

I have consumed the Kool-Aid. I couldn’t help myself. One moment I was innocently reading a thread about some crazy Workbox system and the next moment I was transported down some rabbit hole and being handed a shoebox full of sugary liquid and told to “chug-a-lug, Cyndi, chug-a-LUG!”

So, I did. Because for the past, oh, 33 years or so I have been searching for some sort of system that will help me get organized.

Sidetracked Home Executives was ‘too many details’.

Flylady made me want to curl up in the fetal position in the corner while sucking my thumb. (I still have nightmares about all of those emails! In these horrible dreams I am being attacked by a huge housefly with coiffed hair and sweatpants and she is killing me with spam, both of the inbox variety as well as the unknown meat-in-a-can sort.)

Then I heard about Workboxes.

::::sigh:::::

I can’t help it. They said it was a good idea, so I went for it. When I told my mom about it I heard that sudden intake of air in which I knew that her next words were gonna be, “and if all of the Five in a Row moms robbed a bank would you do it, too?!”

Well, yes, Mom, I WOULD. These are my peeps, after all. It’s not like we are out smoking behind the science building. We are organizing our children’s school day and what could be more important than that?! And, really, MOM, I would love to continue to explain all of this to you, but I gotta’ go. The other homeschooling Moms are picking me up. We are headed out for a joyride then we’re gonna go jump off of a bridge.

I’m not sure why. They told me it was a “Physics Experiment”.

Jake's haircut

2009-03-11T22:18:00.000-07:00

In an ongoing effort to save money I decided to cut Jake's hair. He doens't care as long as there is ice cream at the end.

I forgot just how much he moves while "sitting still". I will just say now that the end result is not really what I was going for, but here is how it turned out. Here are the before and after shots:

Workbox pics

2009-03-10T21:13:00.001-07:00

These aren't laminated yet and the pages aren't cropped or anything, but here they are:

Physics of Fear.....or Trixie the Brave

2009-03-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

I held down the fort quite nicely while Kirk was on his TDY to Turkey. All was well and I made the mistake of thinking, “this is going okay, after all!” Then it happened. That fateful night I took Trixie out for her last nightly constitutional of the day. As I looked back to the front porch I saw IT.

And it was staring at me.

Now, everytime I tell this story this spider gets bigger, but suffice to say it was at least as big as a bear paw (the pastry) or a really big quarter. And the look on his tiny face was menacing. His look said, “I can take you. Fear me”.

So, surveying my options I quickly realized that the other two doors leading into the house were locked and my only option was climbing into a window. The window on our front porch leads to the bathroom and it is a tiny window. I feared that I would be ensnared in a Winnie the Pooh in the honey tree siutation, so I opted out of that one. But, I remembered that Katy and Claire’s room is not far from the front yard. I reasoned that I could go to Katy’s window, knock just lightly enough to wake her, but not hard enough to wake Claire, (shyeah, right!) have Katy open the window, hand the pooch up and over the windowsill and shimmy in myself. Forgetting, of course, that the window is too high for me to climb into unassisted and maybe Katy could hand me her trash can and I could invert it and use it as a step-stool.

Perfect plan.

Except for one thing.

I don’t dust the outsides of the windows. (Oh,yeah, you can all just gasp now in shock and horror. Good for you, if you go around dusting the outside of your house……in a stated that popularized the term “duststorm”.)
I now realized that it was likely that I would be forced to pass through a spider web, possibly FULL of spiders just to aviod the one on the porch.

Plan B. We will RUN AS FAST AS WE CAN to get back inside and I will leap over the spider. I explained to Trixie how we would have to get a good running start and leap over the spider at just the right time to clear his nasty little body to get ourselves to safety. We discussed the velocity necessary to jump over the spider, but not crash into the front door. We argued about arc and just how high the arc needed to be to complete our plan safely. I explained our plan, complete with sign language and some translations into Spanish. (Trixie, is, after all, from Panama and I can never tell how much English she has picked up. Spanish is her first language.) So, sure that Trixie understood we now attempted some practice jumps.

There we were, leaping all over the front yard like a chubby sprite and her faithful canine companion. Confident that we were ready to execute the jump of a lifetime, one that would undoubtedly deliver us from fear, we began our run. We ran full-out to the porch and, as Trixie approached, it was obvious we spent too much time in negotiating the physics of the jump and not enough time in practice. That intrepid pup ran right past the spider. She never even attempted to become airborn! As she passed the spider it jumped onto her right rear paw. I saw it and gasped. My first thought was, “oh, Trixie!” but my brave pup just shook the spider off and went inside. Brave indeed. I knew now that just being in her presence was going to make ME braver still just by virtue of proximity.

I had the courage to jump. I knew I could do it. I ran, I leapt into the air, completing my arc with as much grace and fine form that one would assume of a chubby woman in her 30’s. I landed a little too close to the front door, with the door handle in my grasp and quickly retreated inside.

To keep this from happening in the future I decided to keep a supply of coffee cups on our front porch. Kirk came home three weeks later to find 5 mugs, each trapping a scary spider within.

the Great Potato Race

2009-02-11T17:13:00.000-08:00

I distinctly remember our first microwave. Its size rivaled the console televisions of the 1970’s, its dimensions imbuing it with the ability to cook within it’s depths an adult turkey. When I told my brother’s wife that we could now bake a potato in only six minutes in the new contraption she asked me, full of incredulity and, I’ll admit this to you now, a concentrated air of superiority, “why would I bake a potato in six minutes in a microwave oven when I can so easily bake it in only an hour in the conventional oven?”

Why, indeed.

I mentally envisioned both of us on a culinary countdown, me in front of our new microwave oven, she in front of a conventional oven, a contraption she was only casually acquainted with in the first place, glaring at each other as we raced to the potato-cooking finish. I would laugh triumphant as my tuber emerged, fully baked, from the microwave in only 6 short minutes, while she stared pitifully into her oven and awaited her potato's slowly-heated conclusion.

She had, until this point, only made the Noodles of Ramen and various incarnations of Some Beef Dish. What she did was create a concoction of hamburger, one egg, and a generous helping of Lawrey’s Seasoned Salt. If it was a meatloaf she as crafting, she put it in a loaf pan. If it was Salisbury Steak, she put it in the shape of a patty. It was culinary craft of a whole new form. I feared that if I ever were to eat breakfast in her home I would awaken to that meat in the outward appearance of bacon strips.

Quite possibly the scariest thing about her kitchen, though was that from the time she married my brother in 1984 to the time of this writing in 2008 she has had the same bottle of dish soap in her kitchen window. I never figured out if it was a decoration or if she simply forgot to use it. Every dish I retrieved from her cabinet had a film of grease on it at least a millimeter thick. It was like being on a tiny and terrifying roller coaster just attempting to keep the dish within my grasp as I hoisted it from cabinet to countertop. She once returned from a trip with my brother after I had house and kid-sat for them. She rushed to the kitchen window, noting the reduced quantity of detergent in the Dawn bottle and shrieked, “what have you done?!” I had taken every dish out of the cabinet and washed it with soap.

She holds a grudge to this day.

Our New Menu

2009-02-08T19:34:00.000-08:00

Usually I just scrawl the menu on the back of a junk mail envelope, but today I decided to actually type it into Word, with accompanying grocery list. Here is what's cookin' at our house:

Family Menu February 9-22, 2009

Monday Asian flank steak, jasmine rice, stir-fried vegetables

Tuesday Oven fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, peas, bread

Wednesday Braised sirloin tips, sliced onion potatoes, green beans

Thursday Grilled pork tenderloin, sweet potato casserole, crunchy parsnip cakes

Friday Black bean soup, sweet potato fries ***Family Game Night!!!

Saturday Egg rolls, fried rice, chocolate cake (Happy Valentine's Day!)
Sunday Dinner: the Sequel (leftovers)

Monday Beef kebabs, sweet potato casserole, green peas

Tuesday Cheesy pasta and broccoli

Wednesday Indian grilled chicken, basmati rice, aloo gobi

Thursday Beef brisket, herbed potato wedges, green beans

Friday Beans and kielbasa, cornbread ***Family Game Night!!!

Saturday Crockpot chicken alfredo, broccoli

Sunday Dinner: the Sequel

Okay, here's the silly:

2009-02-06T02:42:00.000-08:00

And it makes me smile EVERY SINGLE TIME I see it

Snowbunny Pics and more

2009-02-06T02:39:00.000-08:00

Claire as snowbunny, Claire as silly.....you decide:

Stoichiometry of a Pea

2009-02-06T02:09:00.000-08:00

So, Sunday night I was at work when my mother called to tell me that Claire was throwing up.....and had been for awhile now. We started the count at 3 rounds of vomitting. I came home and found her still upchucking. I freshed up her pj's and threw her in the car, along with everything that could possibly fit in my backpack. In it I shoved: another pair of her pajamas (unmatched, but who cares), a package of baby wipe refills, unopened. A ziploc bag for when I open the baby wipe refill, an extra pair of her socks (more than likely similarly unmatched) and the biggest handfull of fresh diapers my small hand can grab in an urgent hurry. I strapped her into her sweet flowery carseat, tucked bathtowels all around, under and over her so she could barf on something more easily laundered. (I'm planning ahead. I'm not careless!)

We spent mere moments inside the ER before being seen. I apologized for coming in "just for a kid vommitting" and said that I "knew it wasn't an emergency." The Dr cut me off right there. He said, "she only weighs 26 pounds. 26 pound people can deydrate really fast, it IS an emergency." So, that made me feel a little better. It made me feel like I didn't have to keep apologizing to them, because, really, who would you rather see at 1am this cute snow-bunny looking kid or some whiny-ass crybaby with a gunshot wound?!

exactly.

So, he gave her some Phenergan, which didn't work. Next, he gave her some Zofran, which she promptly refused to take. They crushed it into a powder and I tipped her head back and he said,"you need to let us put this in your mouth". The only word I heard from her all night was right at that moment, "okay". She took it and threw that up, too. I had half a backpack full of clean bathtowels for her to throw up in. The nurse who was helping us watched me dodge Claire's projectile stomach contents with our fine linens and I explained, "by your third kid you no longer think letting them puke all over you is the sign of a noble mother." By the end of our little excursion she had vomitted over 11 times in 3 hours. I'm glad we went.

They decided to send her home anyway with a script for Phenergan suppositories. And this is where our stoichiometric nightmare began.

Wouldn't you know that they were not going to work effectively for this particular bug becuase that part of her anatomy was currently under attack as well. So, I called in a Rx for Phenergan gel.

Evil stuff, that is. Apparently they put the ENTIRE PRESCRIPTION (SIX DOSES!!) in one syringe. Do you know how to do THIS sort of stiochiometry inside your head?

Claire weighs 26 lbs (which is how much in kg?) and her dose is 1/2 of a 12.5 mg suppository. Now, her Phenergan gel Rx is for 0.025 ml of gel, or, as the Pharmacist told me, "a pea sized amount". Have you ever tried to visualize a pea sized amount of a liquid? I am trying to imagine,......if a pea were to ever want to be a liquid, how far and how fast would it spread and would it still occupy the same mass in space? (As I tried to figure this out in my head I chanted to myself, "BE the liquid pea, Cyndi, BE the liquid pea!")

So, the next day Jake comes down with it and I am told to use Claire's suppositories, as her dose was half of a whole suppository and Jake's dosage would be one whole one.

Big Mistake: Jake is now facing Montezuma's revenge as well, so suppositories are out of the question. As I drive back to the pharmacy to pick up his Phenergan gel I wonder how 12.5 mg of the solid suppository translates to 0.50 ml and how to compare this in a more "apples to apples" way. I mean, if someone could show me the diameter of a average pea and then I could convert that to the mass of gel in ml.....maybe.

So, I challenge all of you science geeks to ponder me this:

What is the mass of an average green pea and how would half of it's mass end up as
.025 ml. I am arguing with no one, it's just that us enquiring minds would like to know. Oh, and that I accidentally gave him DOUBLE THE DOSE as I was trying to squeeze the tiny syringe and read it (upside down, mind you!) at the same time. I panicked and wiped it off, while calling poison control. She was all, "Dude, you, like, totally did what I was going to tell you to do. I mean, he is gonna' be like totally fine. Wake him up every 15 minutes or so and if you are stressed out about, like, anything, just totally call us back." She also explained that Jake could start having hallucinations. I had a feeling that my friend at Poison Control had beat us to 'em.

DUDE. She like totally helped and I think we are totally going to be like the best of friends now.

Totally.

New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-11T16:07:00.000-08:00

This year I resolve to get in worse shape than I was in last year.

This year I resolve to drive to the bathroom and, in other words, get even less physical activity in my day than ever before.

This year I resolve to do one push-up and/or crunch.

This year I will increase my intake of dark chocolate and decrease my intake of dark, leafy greens.

This year I will drink more hot chocolate and less skim milk.

This year I will have more sex, more leisure and less work. One must balance ones’ life after all.

This year I resolve to never wear pantyhose or anything tight or constricting. I have one life to live and I do not intend to meet death with a tightly cinched waistband.

This year if I want to play hooky from the homeschooling moms get-together and stay home and tap dance on my back patio I will and if anyone wants to say anything about it I will quickly transfer that phone call to my dial tone.

This year I will not waste my time with snooty stuck up know-it-all’s. If I don’t enjoy your company then I won’t spend time with you. (except for my friends that I really WANT to see, but don’t have time for: good luck figuring out which group you belong to!)

This year I will not freak out if my kindergarten-aged son doesn’t read Shakespeare and diagram sentences. I will remember this year that childhood is fleeting and stopping to watch a possum eat your cat’s dinner on the back porch is a joy to behold and should NOT be rushed!

This year I will take a moment to record my two-year old pointing to her brother’s screwdriver and shouting, “snoospida!” That voice, this moment,…..my heart!

More Holiday pics

2008-12-25T18:47:00.000-08:00

Wii had a lovely Holiday

2008-12-25T18:43:00.001-08:00

Yep, we got a Wii, because thankfully someone noticed that my prohibition on all things plug-inable can be overidden only by a Wii. Now I get to see just how uncoordinated I am in 3D.

Claire saw her rooster sitting on the sofa just waiting for her this morning and said,"ooh! a chicken!" When Jake saw his darn-near-lifesized Elmo (of freakish proportion, really!) he said,"Elmo's butt is stinkin!" Classy, huh?

Here are some pics:

Mother of the Year Hatches a Plan

2008-12-12T13:13:00.000-08:00

I had a brilliant idea, that of acquiring puppets for the two youngest kids. A perfect Christmas present, I thought, since they are at that adorable make-believe age in which a puppet can quickly become one of your closest friends. So, onto Amazon.com I go in search of puppet perfection. I found a T-Rex for Jake whose name, inexplicably, is Sniffles “because, due to his short forearms, he can’t wipe his nose.”

O-Kay. For Claire I chose a rooster. To this very day I cannot explain to you my reasoning except that the very thought of my baby with a rooster on her hand, making it talk, pleased me.

I was not content, however, to simply acquire the rooster puppet. I thought that the perfect coup de grace would be to dress the rooster in a get-up like Claire wears around the house on a daily basis. Her current favourite, one that has been near and dear to her heart for months now is a pink tutu. So, I thought that a pink tutu and maybe some false eyelashes would set off the rooster ensemble like nobody’s business.

Yeah, you probably figured it out before I did. That night I was trying in vain to achive slumber and I thought that it just wasn’t enough to have the rooster wearing a tutu and false eyelashes and that what this fancy foul really needed was a jaunty hat, perhaps with a feather boa for the finishing touch. As I was considering the rooster’s attire, I thought about how I never saw roosters dressed up on the Muppet Show, although I saw plenty of fancy chickens.

THAT was when it hit me.

I had inadvertantly dressed Claire’s rooster in drag. I didn’t know where to go from here. Do I now dress Sniffles in an overtly masculine costume to compensate? Do I put that poor dinosaur in work boots and chino’s?

We had reconciled ourselves years ago that, realistically, our children’s “college fund” could be more aptly named, “the Therapy Fund” as we are certain to inflict some sort of emotional toll on their psyches, but where exactly does “my mom dressed my rooster puppet in drag” fit in the DSM-IV?

What I do NOT want for Christmas

2008-12-12T12:04:00.000-08:00

What I Don’t Want for Christmas (with a nod to Laurie Notaro)

Make-up or anything “cosmetic”. I don’t care if Ulta has the Bare Minerals starter set on special, if it involves the implication that I would look better if I would spackle my visage with goop and/or powders, please back away quickly. And, for the record, I got a good deal on Bare Minerals and apparently I am not girly enough to know how to put powder on my face with a brush. Because, I think a more “girly” girl would have known that you don’t put powder all over your face right after you put a thick layer of Carmex all over your lips. Wanna know what happens? Big fuzzy Muppet Lips is what happens.

Never again.

A portable clothes dryer. I kid you not. Now, I have great empathy for the ladies who hawk useless crap on the Home Shopping Network (as well as the other one whose name escapes me at the moment). How they can look perpetually excited about that junk is beyond me, but they manage to do it. Day. After. Day. After Day. Good for them, really, but on the rare occasion that something has looked like a good purchase I stop myself, the words of Mr. Potato Head swimming in my head, “it’s next year’s yard sale fodder, for sure!” I saw this item and was desperately trying to think of an instance in which one might need a portable clothes dryer AND have the means to carry it with ‘one’. You are on the run from an assailant and, as you attempt to hop over the puddle, you stumble and your trousers become soggy with puddle water. Who is going to have time to stop, slip off one’s trousers, find an outlet into which you could plug the damn thing in and then wait for dry clothing? Who is buying this?

A purse in the shape of a denim ass. Again, I am compelled to tell you that I “kid you not”. I only include this particular item because I have received it in the past and, since about twenty years have passed since that particular Christmas, it could be making the rounds once again. I distinctly remember opening the box and thinking, as I inhaled in horror and shock, “ohmygod, it’s a butt with a shoulder strap!” I couldn’t figure out what it was until the giver gushed, “It’s a PURSE! Shaped like blue jeans,…..you know, because you WEAR jeans!”

I said ‘thank you’ before the words spinning sardonically in my head could pour fourth. “Yeah, I wear a bra, too, but I don’t need a purse in the shape of THAT, either!”

I mean, “thank you! Thank you so much!”

I recently saw coin purses in the shape of socks at Bed, Bath and Beyond and I thought of her. I’ll bet she picked up a few as stocking stuffers.

Anything that plugs in. The only exception to this is the year Kirk bought me a KitchenAid mixer for Christmas, but it is because he knows I love to bake, not because he thinks that I should be in the kitchen, barefoot and gestating. I already have a paraffin warmer, so I don’t need anything else that needs to be plugged in. I can’t explain how satisfying it is to dip my hands into hot wax, it just is. Some things can’t be understood. (I am willing to make an exception for a Wii, but only because I really, really like you.)

Any cookie with nuts, raisins or fluorescent “fruit” in it. By the time I pick out all the nuts, raisins and “fruit” I forget what I was going in there for. Hey, Ritalin only does so much during the Holidays. The girls at work make fun of my Christmas Binder, but I gotta’ stay organized and I just have not been able to schedule in any time to pick out undesirable ingredients.

A Hilary Clinton nutcracker. I understand that there are people in this world who think these sort of things are cute and/or campy, but I really have no use for a nutcracker that involves placing a walnut near anyone’s crotch, real or otherwise. This is not a political rant. I don’t want an Obama nutcracker, a McCain nutcracker, or any other person shaped nutcracker if it involves them cracking nuts with their thighs, thankyouverymuch.

A gold glitter purse with mirrors attached. This was seen at a family gathering a couple of years ago. The owner said, “my husband gave it to me for Christmas”. (I am withholding the names to protect both the giver of this hideous gift as well as the receiver who was so inexplicably pleased with it.) Just as I was about to empathize and set her up with resources and the name of a good divorce lawyer she gushed, “isn’t it GREAT?! It’s JUST THE ONE I WANTED!” I looked on, stunned not only by the mirrors that were all simultaneously catching the light and making me feel like I had somehow entered an interrogation suite at a police station, but also by the fact that she was so incredibly happy about it. It was truly one of the few times in my life that I have ever been stunned speechless. (Which, if you knew all the snarky comments flying furiously around in my head, the loss of speech was a godsend!) The rest of the visit I tried to look away, but I kept sneaking glances over at the purse just so I could relay the details to my husband, who was out of the country at the time. If ever there was a lady of the evening searching for a handy way to tote around a gross of prophylactics with a convenient shoulder strap, this was just the conveyance for her!

Halloween 2008

2008-11-01T12:42:00.001-07:00

Claire went as a Ballerina Turtle.

Jake dressed as Link from the Legend of Zelda.

And Katy dressed as Irma from the W.I.T.C.H book series.

Don't Stand so, Don't stand so close to me.....

2008-10-21T02:13:00.000-07:00

So, we have this woman at work. You know the type? Beautiful, smart and then, the other day I learned something about her that just takes the cake. Apparently, she can dance, too. I have been rounding up my co-worker posse to go back to bellydancing classes. I told "L" about it. (yeah, she is so cool she just has an initial.) She told me how she used to do bellydancing, tap dancing, African dance, etc.

I gulped.

I sighed.

I shifted about uncomfortably on my two uncoordinated feet. I only have this to say:

Please, please, please, L, if you join us for bellydancing at Aalim, PLEASE don't stand next to me!! For not only are you stunningly beautiful, but you actually KNOW how to dance! I fear that the drastic contrast of our respective dance abilities will be made glaringly obvious to all observers.

Additionally, it is possible that, were one to partake of your amazing gyrational talents and then be subjected to my uncoordinated procedure they could be compelled to summon Emergency Medical Professionals for fear that I might be currently suffering from a seizure.

Please, L, don't let it be like 4th Grade all over again when my Dorothy Hamill haircut grew out into a shaggy bob and my two front teeth grew into a mouth not quite big enough for them. If you add in the peasant shirt my mom made me wear for picture day and you could say that the theme of my 4th Grade Year was something along the lines of "Cyndi Gets Chased Around the Playground By Kids Who Have Better Teeth and Hair".

So, can we just agree on this right here, right now, L? Can we?

Please, L,.....I'm beggin' ya!

Why You Should NOT do drugs...

2008-10-16T00:19:00.000-07:00

I wrote something awhile ago that was a two paragrah rant about my hair. It was fine as it was written. THEN I took an Ambien, which take forever to work for me. Two hours later I was getting sleepy and decided to stumble my way down the hall, crashing into doorways in the process and write a blog entry.

Sounds like a dandy idea, no?

Here is what it was supposed to look like:

My hair behaves as if it is having a perpetual temper tantrum. The worst part is that I sense a definite passive-aggressive quality to it. If I try to encourage the curl I get these freaky (AND FRIZZY) straight parts.

BUT-if I try to straighten my hair, these waves and curls come popping through like weeds in an otherwise passable garden.

Is that hostility or passive-aggression?
GREAT, now my hair has me questioning my knowledge of psychology, too.

So much for crowning glory, huh?

Much better than the Ambien-induced drivel you can read below:

(And, no, for the record, I have no idea how one little Ambien turned me into a drunken Irish pirate with a lisp.)

Hair Tantrums

2008-09-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

Here I sit, just moments away from unleashing the truth of just how diabolical their litle schemes have been of late and what happens? My Ambien begins to kick in. Smart lil' buggers, I'm sure they have figured out a way to keep me eyelids from remainin' open, they have. They think that they can silence me, but they can't, I tell you.

My follicles, the whispery bits that lie atop me head, they are turnin' against me, AGAINST ME, I tell you!!!

You see, that it does seem as if perhaps my hair is having a bit of a perpetual temper tantrum. (and we blasphemously use the term lightly). I walk about as if I had glued orange hay to me head and attempted a cruel perm.

The worst part is that I sense a definite passive-aggressive quality to it. If I try to encourage the curl then I get these freaky (AND FRIZZY, I'M DAMNED TO HAVE YOU KNOW!!!)straight parts. What sense am I to make so such a thing?

BUT,-If I try to straighten these wicked tresses, to bring 'em into some sort of line or order I am met with such a fierce resistance, the sort to make me wonder if that is what the Capt'n felt on that blustery even'n on the Titanic's last list. I pick up me resolve, I do and, holding onto the bravery of those who have gone before, why Rosie and her Riveter, there, such images, they shall soldier us on another day, no?

This is what I do, I tell ya'. I try to straighten me waves and cruls, the wretched things and these damn waves and curves, straight from the hellish pit of fire, I tell you, they enter my hair straight up through the bottom, as if coming straight out of me. They are like weeds, I tell you, weeds in an otherwise perfectly respectable garden.

I, for one, have had my fill with the lot of them. Show me a cancer patient who is losing her hair and I will gladly give her mine and just draw a smiley face on my bald scalp. I'm sick of these shenanigans. Guess what, HairOfMine? I could get rid of you!!!! For Good!!!! Whaddya thinka' that?!

Goodnight! You'd better be behavin' by mornin!!

A Blog Disclaimer

2008-09-03T13:55:00.000-07:00

I just spent the past ten minutes reading a blog written by a woman I will never live up to. She spends her life creating such beautiful things for her home and family. I'm not even going to give you the link for fear you will defect to her blog and I will lose you forever.

I just gotta tell you, in the spirit of fairness and full disclosure: If you are reading this blog for some fabulous ideas on how to creatively decorate your home? Move on. If you are reading this blog for some sort of educational inspiration? Move on.

If, on the other hand, you want to read rants, hallucinations, the odd haiku about my preference for Twizzlers to turnips, and the general mental meanderings of an exhausted and perpetually irritated mom, then stick with me. There are so many people exasperating me at the moment that I scarcely know where to begin.

Cakewrecks Blog

2008-09-03T13:29:00.000-07:00

OhMyNOODness! You must check out the Cakewrecks blog! Some pictures are NSFK, so be aware. Too funny and make sure you scroll down through all 3 or 4 pages. Some of them made me laugh so hard my gut hurt.

Enjoy.

www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com

Haiku of necessity

2008-09-01T22:29:00.000-07:00

Toddlers loud in here

Headache-splitting, dontcha' know?

But I still like them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The spider scares me

Scampering across my floor

You: Under the mug!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mosquitos love me

My pale flesh is so tasty

And so now I itch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, Bluegrass Music

Makes me want to hurl, it does

Too twangy for me.

Inebriated Dental Rant

2008-09-01T22:08:00.001-07:00

I went to the dentist recently for a routine cleaning. He has a new hygienist with the warmth of a snake with a bellyache. She 'accidentally' jammed the metal pick into my tender gumflesh. After I pleaded with her to be more careful with my pitiful bleat of a "hey!" she sidled off, other patients to torture, other gums to pick.

The dentist came in and the first thing he said was, "so, do you still want to move back to Illinois?" I was stunned. I didn't even realize that he knew that I was from Illinois, let alone have been longing to return. As I spoke to a friend on the phone, musing as to how the dentist could have come across such personal information, she asked,"the last time you saw him......were you on drugs?"

Thank you, Becky, for pointing out that it was probably just another one of my inebriated rants that gave him a clue. I'm none too sure, but I suspect that it played out like this:

"Hi, Dr., yes, I am getting pretty numb. What did I have for breakfast? Oh, just the Valium you prescribed. No, I don't feel much of anything. By the way, I wanna move back to Illinois, some days I don't floss and in 6th Grade I let Jessica cheat off my paper in History class and in high school when I told my mom that I was spending the night at Amy's house we were really on the Freeburg Bridge drinking Bartles and James wine coolers and eating Doritos. Oh, and one more thing: I let the dogs out. It was me."

The Word of the Month

2008-09-01T10:20:00.000-07:00

The word of the month is "HA". I will tell you this: I may veer from this path. I don't feel very "ha" on some days. I read on Carol S.'s blog that her husband is using P90X. I sent her a message asking if he likes it. It looks like a good program, but I'm sure it will make me cry at some point.

Last night I finished French Lessons by Alice Kaplan. Wow. I can't explain it. I wouldn't be able to do it justice. Just, please: read it. Especially if you are attempting to learn a foreign language. READ IT.

Bluegrass Rebellion

2008-08-28T09:44:00.000-07:00

Kirk and I went to a Back-to-School Vendor Expo recently in which businesses that cater to homeschoolers gathered so families could see them all at once in one tidy location. Great idea! The zoo was there and various clubs and they all had information for families to take home. So, there we are, rounding the corner and it was one of those times when your feet move faster than your brain.

It was just beginning to register what this particular table was offering, but it was too late, my feel were still moving toward them. How do I describe this? An entire family that has devoted itself to playing (and teaching others to play) one particular type of music. Bluegrass, to be specific. Now, far be it from me to be indelicate, but let's just say that I am not a fan. Also, let's just say that when your family takes you to Silver Dollar City during your pre-adolescent years and you are forced to listen to Bluegrass for an entire weekend AND you are hot, sick and upchucking that perhaps, just perhaps it can leave a lasting impression. Aversion therapy, if you will.
So, just as we approach the table and my brain now absorbs the full shock of what is to come I realize that my feet will not move in the opposite direction and that I am heading full-steam into the Bluegrass Abyss. I tried, in vain to get my feet to skeedaddle away just as Bluegrass Homeschooling Mom lunges toward me, clutching a brochure in her hand and asked me, with breathless exhilaration, "Do you like bluegrass music?".

It was, at that very moment, that my most sarcastic and sardonic and not-at-all-appropriate mind started a running list of What Could I Possibly Like MORE Than Bluegrass Music?

1. Root canals
2. That gristly part of an otherwise good steak
3. Stepping in freshly excreted......anyway.

What else could I do? Does my desire to tell the truth trump her feelings? Would my capri pants suddenly ignite if I said, "Why I just LOVE Bluegrass!"? Ever the giver, I smiled, with what I hoped was a touch of warmth and replied, "sure, I LOVE bluegrass!". (Kirk quickly hopped two feet to his immediate left as he was sure I was about to be a victim of a lightening strike.)

Upon hearing this, Bluegrass Homeschool Mom makes the palms-up, strike-up-the-band motion with her right hand and bellows,"hit it, kids!" I attempted a look of delight and, really, what else could I do?

Yeah, I clutched the pearls. I did it, so what? I said,"Oh, what a TREAT! We are just going to listen from over there" as I gestured toward the exit. I knew I had to get outta' there before I began an involuntary skip-to-muh-loo.

"So, if you've a date in Constantinople she'll be waiting in Istanbul...."

2008-08-21T18:42:00.001-07:00

You know how you get a song stuck in your head and you just can't get it back out again?! Well, since I can't go to sleep without hearing this song I'm letting you in on the misery. By the way, Kirk goes TDY to Turkey (not anywhere near Istanbul, for the record), in September.

Pictures of the pizza roll prep

2008-08-21T18:33:00.001-07:00

As Jake was rolling out the dough he said,"My life is kinda' busy bight now!" (right now)

Pizza Rolls!

2008-08-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

Today we are making pizza rolls in the following flavours: (mix and match)

Pepperoni (we use turkey pepperoni. All the flavour, but a lot less greasy!)

Italian Sausage

Green Peppers

Sauteed white onions

Hamburger and Black Olive (Kirk's favourite!)

The dough is rising as I write this and the kitchen smells so good! Yum! I have been filling the freezer lately with chicken pot pies (I roasted four chickens over Saturday night and got up Sunday and made the pies.) Jake calls them "chickenpies". We had plenty of shredded chicken leftover for quesadillas/tacos, etc.

We are gearing up for the new school year. Even though we school year-round it seems like September just feels like the beginning. (And it is when all the clubs start.) This year Katy is in a weekly Book Club and a Writing Club and a Monthly Book Club as well. She is considering archery and 4-H.

Tomorrow we make chocolate chip cookie dough balls, pumpkin bread and Oreo Truffles. (yum!) It's gonna smell a lot like Christmas in our kitchen tomorrow!

Henna!

2008-08-08T21:02:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I can't rotate pictures very well. Oops. I put the henna on yesterday morning and left it on for 4.5 hours. When they say, "it looks exactly like goose poop", people, they aren't kiddin'! I rinsed it out in the backyard because I was worried about clogging up the tub drain. Here you see what (may be) the final colour. I think that the final oxidation should take place tomorrow.

So far, I LOVE it!! (Though I can just hear Sharon now, "Cyndi, havn't we talked about you doing your own hair?!")

The Latest

2008-05-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

So, lately mom has been saying that Jake needs a gym class of some sort, some outlet for his energy. But, with my many root canals, surgery costs, upcoming trip to Missouri, I just can't see spending money on anything else. This morning I had the brilliant idea to advertise for a gym class......in our backyard......for a bunch of pre-schoolers. I think that this liquid diet has finally gone to my head! I thought that if we could get a few other pre-school kiddos and kick some balls around the backyard, play in the sandbox, etc. it would be a fun time and FREE!

Now, just as long as I can find some other interested families who won't see me as their free drop-off babysitter! then this can work!

Maybe I'll use that sign that our pediatrician has in her office,"All children left unattended will be given an espresso and a free puppy!"

Something is probably terribly wrong when........

2008-03-02T07:25:00.000-08:00

......you realize that you have no use for the fancy butter knife because you use a regular one like an uncouth caveman. (GEICO commercial, here we come!)

......you think to yourself, “why is that lampshade so dusty? I could swear that I dusted it not even three months ago”.

...... you sweep out under the couch and loveseat and find more toys than the ones that are in the toybox!

...... your dog eats Cheerios out of the swept up junk under the couch and comes away with dustbunnies in her whiskers.

......you have to sweep your ceiling because it is so dusty. (Whose big idea was the popcorn ceiling, anyway? Now I know that walking into a house with a backpack full of gunk that you are gonna shoot onto a ceiling must feel like BIG FUN, but the result is gross, especially when a mom is trying to demonstrate centrifugal force with a bottle of hot fudge sauce and the cap may have not been on just as tight as it could have been and perhaps hot fudge sauce released in a perfect and beautiful arc as it exited the bottle, covering the ceiling, cabinets, children and canine in brown blobs of chocolatey goodness. I mean, IF that were to happen it could cause a person to have a deep seated loathing for popcorn ceilings. And I’m just guessing here that cleaning something like that up could be frustrating because the chocolate would get stuck in all the little popcorn grooves and perhaps could entice the mother into filling an old syrup bottle with soapy water and shooting it at the ceiling and maybe she would rinse it by pointing the sink sprayer heavenward while the water was running full force, thereby being a bad influence on her own children. )

But, of course, this is all pure speculation.

Content Move

2008-03-01T09:18:00.000-08:00

I started a new blog for my brother. It will be a place for me to drop off all of the journal entries, blog posts and assorted whatnot that I have been writing since he became ill. It is located here:

http://letterstoabrotherdying.blogspot.com/

I have been feeling bad that his illness and death seemed to overtake our family blog and I couldn't figure out how to get it back without invalidating that part of our lives at the same time. So, my solution is linked above. Read it if you want to or stay away from it if you don't want to. Either way it will be there. I want his son (age 2) to have something to read later on when he grows up. He needs to know all the funny, quirky things about his dad that he never got to experience on his own.

Please forgive previous post

2008-02-13T14:35:00.000-08:00

Somehow I had enabled "transliteration to Malayalam". ???

Anyhoo. I realized the other day that it has been nearly two months since I posted and I have been avoiding it like the proverbial plague. Jim died on January 11, 2008. It is still totally unbelievable. I still can't quite wrap my brain around it and it doesn't seem real. My best friend from high school was visitting last weekend and when I was telling her about how it all happened it seemed as if I was talking about it happening to someone else's brother. At one point I even started feeling sorry for her because I think I tried to talk myself into believing that it was her brother who got sick and died, not mine. I know that I'm not handling this right, but what else do you do? Crawl into a hole and cry?

I have Sociology class tonight which is such a relief! I can just sit and listen and take notes and not have to think about anything else.

Oh, and the retreat is coming up. I cannot TELL you how excited I am to be going!

In other news, Katy asked if she and I could have weekly meetings to discuss things and, so far, we have come up with Barnes & Noble, Just 4 Keeps and Namaste as our meeting spots.

Perfect.

Also, Jake adopted a frog last week. Jake can't quite say his "F"'s just yet, so his name is "Trog".

നോ വോര്‍ദ്സ് ടോ ടെസ്ക്രിബെ

2008-02-13T14:27:00.000-08:00

ഫോര്‍ സോമേ റീസണ്‍ മൈ ബ്ലോഗ് ഈസ് പോസ്റ്റിങ്ങ്‌ ഇന്‍ മലയാളം ദിസ് വീക്ക്‌. ഐ ടൈപ്പ് ഇന്‍ ഇംഗ്ലീഷ് ആന്‍ഡ്‌ ഇറ്റ്‌ ഇമ്മെത്യറെലി ട്രന്സ്ലാറെസ് ഇറ്റ്‌ ടോ മലയാളം. പ്ലീസ് ഫോര്‍ഗിവേ മി ഇഫ്‌ ഐ അം നോട്ട് സ്പീകിന്ഗ് ഓര്‍ വ്രിതിംഗ് ഇറ്റ്‌ കര്രെക്ട്ലി!

One feeling: PAIN

2007-12-22T23:34:00.000-08:00

I realized today that I vacillate between complete numbness and exquisite pain. At times the pain is so real that it feels physical, not just emotional. It seems like a movie is playing over and over in my head. Mom has told me countless times that when I was born Jim was so excited and that he used to come home from school and ask, excitedly, "Is Cyndi awake? Can I wake her up?" In some ways I think that his excitement never waned. He was always so eager to give me advice, even if,.....ahem.......some of it was unwanted. A couple of weeks ago I said to my husband,"who is going to give me all that advice now?!"

I realize that none of this is articulate. I think I have lost that ability at the moment. It seems like all I can say is that this hurts, it's wrong and I'm sad. In real life, I say nothing. I have no desire to engage in conversation. I keep hoping against hope that, sometime soon, someone will come and wake me up and say,"I'm so sorry, we were just playing a joke on you, Jim is fine!" Please, God, make that true! Please make him okay again. Please make him the argumentative, conspiracy-theory-loving, cynical Jim we know and love.

PLEASE!!!

Because, God, I can't breathe while he is dying.

Denial is a stupid word

2007-12-14T06:53:00.000-08:00

I now hate, loathe and despise this word.

My brother was diagnosed this week with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease. He has 3-6 months to live. If you knew my brother at all you know that he is so strong and works harder than some men who are half his age. (he is 47, by the way) He is a Certified Arborist and threw trees that were over 200 pounds. Now he can barely walk. His speech is hard to understand.

This disease has robbed us of our Jim so quickly. He knew he was getting sick, but we didn't know exactly what the illness was. Multiple Sclerosis? Lou Gherig's Disease? Parkinson's?

So, back to this word I hate. Every single moment of my day I find myself thinking,"This can't be true, he is so strong" or "I don't think I heard the Dr. correctly, this must be wrong." I told Katy's Girl Scout leader last night about the diagnosis and thought to myself,"Now, why did you just tell her that? I don't think it is true!" And, yes, I've taken Psychology, too, I know that it is denial, but this week it sounds like such a stupid word!!

The moments we don't photograph

2007-10-06T14:00:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking all week long of all of those moments that we never seem to photograph. We take pictures of weddings and other celebrations, but we never seem to get the ones that spell out our regular, everyday lives.

This afternoon I was making lunch and throwing together a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I looked up to see Jake's sweet face perched on the edge of the counter. He was saying, "cookie. cookie. Mommy baking". It just about melted my heart. When he wakes up from his nap it is always a toss-up. Is he going to be really sweet and cute and ready to take on the world or just really ticked off and in a bad mood? We never know til we get there. Claire dances every single time she hears music. It is these little things we can never fully capture in a picture.

I came home Thursday night eager to tell Kirk and Mom that I got a good grade (much better than I expected!) on my Chemistry test. Before I could get the words out she told me that my brother is back in the hospital and couldn't walk. It was one of those surreal moments that takes your breath away and makes you forget whatever it is you thought was important just moments ago.

It was one of those times we never photograph. That look of horror on someone's face when they get bad news, that tearful sigh when we realize we don't know what is to come. It is those moments that hurt so deeply, but those are the ones that our memories are made of. It's too bad we can't capture all of it, the good AND the bad.

I was lied to. (Don't let this happen to YOU!)

2007-09-30T15:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Sunsweet Growers, Inc.,
You lied to me. I believed you. Why shouldn’t I? I have never known you to lie to me in the past, so when I saw your commercial on television proclaiming that your individually packaged prunes tasted “just like candy” I got sucked in. I believed you. I bought a cylinder full of your lies. I brought it home hopeful that I could like this fruit that had eluded my love in the past. With one bite my faith in you was shattered. I believe that what you meant to say in your advertisement was, “it’s a prune. It doesn’t taste like candy at all, but we hope that you’ll buy it anyway”. Is that what you meant?

I have news for you. All of you at Sunsweet Growers in Yuba City, California, please take note: Your prunes do not taste like candy at all. They do, in fact, taste rather similar to very large raisins. Please do not mistake them for candy in the future.
And, for the record, I consider your ill-placed “75 cents off coupon” inside the container to be a very cruel joke indeed. Of course I would like to save money, but not if it means buying any more of these so-called “candies” of yours.

Thank you for your time,
~Cyndi

P.S. Your website proclaims that your prunes are “irresistibly delicious”. Please……stop the deception.

Roasted Green Chilis....Mmmmm!

2007-09-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

This morning Claire and I went to the Farmer's Market. They have all sorts of wonderful stuff there-fresh produce, homegrown herbs and potpourri, homemade soaps and lotions, mums, etc. Oh, and freshly baked breads, pies and cookies. I like looking at the baked goods, but I don't buy them. It just makes me want to go home and bake them myself, ya know?

So, for the second time I bought these roasted green chilis from Wayne Whitmore at Whitmore Farms. He roasts the BEST green chilis in the whole world!! I bought three bags of them today because the ONE I bought a couple a weeks ago only lasted about 24 hours. Here are some pics.

This is Wayne actually roasting the chilis in front of God and everyone. Don't they look good? I wish you could smell 'em, they are just amazing!

Here's another one:

I'm using this pepper as an air freshener in the car. It makes it smell like a Mexican restaurant in there!

I came home and made Chicken Fajitas. Oh,yum! Tomorrow I am going to make a baked potato and green chili with cheese concoction.

You can find Wayne's Awesome Chilis at Whitmore Farms, 10320 W. 140th, Coyle, OK (I have no idea where that is!), 73027 or call them at (405) 466-2279. The business card reads, "call late" under the phone number, so.....a word to the wise is sufficient, as Mrs. Wingfield used to say.

Bedtime Betrayal

2007-09-22T11:31:00.000-07:00

Our Claire is a social sort who absolutely LOATHES bedtime. Here is a picture of her despair. Every single night it is that look on her face that just screams, "how could you?!"

That is her sweet older sister Katy taking her off to bed. She's gonna remember this, Katy.

What is a life worth, anyway?

2007-09-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

I went to the Dr. Tuesday for a routine follow-up appointment because he had changed my blood pressure medication yet again. After all the pleasantries and finding out that my blood pressure is now down to normal, I mentioned that I still had that sound of blood pounding in my right ear. He got me an appointment with a Neurologist that same day.

I went to the Neurologist and after a thorough examination that included having me saunter down the hallway twice, he concluded that I needed an MRI with MRA and MRV. (MRI with angiogram and venogram) His secretary, Ashley called Aetna to get pre-authorization prior to making the appointment for me. While Ashley was talking to the representative for Aetna a very strange yet meaningful conversation took place. Ashley stated that she was calling to get pre-authorization for an MRI, MRV and MRA, with and without contrast. I heard the following statements being uttered by Ashley, “Well, Dr. Smith is wanting these tests because she has high blood pressure.” And “She has been having headaches, too” then later “She has been experiencing dizziness” then still later, “Well, her brother had two strokes in June and her father died of a stroke”.

It felt as if Ashley was being asked to justify why *I* was worthy (or rather, my symptoms were worthy) of these medical tests. It felt as if she was being asked to put a value on my life. I halfway expected to hear, “well, I don’t know how she makes her cookies”…. “Ma’am, when you bake chocolate chip cookies, do you make them chewy or crispy?......She said chewy,….Okay, you get the MRI.” OR “Her hair looks good, but she has pores you could drive a truck through. Okay, I understand, I’ll tell her she can’t have the MRI.” I kept wondering why the insurance company requires an order from a specialist if they second-guess the specialist's assessment that these tests are necessary?

It made me start thinking about what I have done with my life and what I have accomplished. I wondered if it all came down to one phone call with a stranger, how would I describe my life? What would I be proud of and what regrets would I have? Just a little pensive, way-too-introspective food for thought for this week.

Metro OKC Knitters Guild

2007-09-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

Katy and I joined the Metro OKC Knitters Guild at the library today and actually learned to knit! This group is awesome! They will teach newbies how to knit and they knit hats and (other things....more to come) for the babies at a local hospital. One of the leaders taught me how to knit and her mother taught Katy. By the time we left we had each knitted a few rows. I still can't believe it!

In other news, the Bench Knife has returned! I, apparently, had looked everywhere except the back of the top shelf of the baking cabinet. I know I didn't put it up there. Must be the kitchen elves. It was excellent timing as earlier that day we went to Kohl's to pick up some new clothes for me. (I've lost a bit and my clothes didn't fit anymore.) As we walked out to the car I looked over and it looked like this:

Katy was holding Jake's hand. Jake was holding Kirk's hand. Kirk was holding Claire's hand. Claire was holding my hand. I took it all in and thought,"We are just so blessed!

My Bench Knife is Missing

2007-09-12T16:21:00.000-07:00

We are now on Day 17 of the Missing Bench Knife. I'm beginning to worry. We have been together since Kirk and I got married. I have made bread with this bench knife for almost 14 years. We have history.

If you don't know of which I speak, look here:

http://http://www.bridgekitchenware.com/moreinfo.cfm?Product_ID=717&CFID=17294607&CFTOKEN=2448317

I have wanted to bake bread twice in the past week, but it feels bittersweet, ya know? I don't even have a picture of it. I can only offer a verbal description.

LOST: One shiny metal bench knife that holds memories of nearly fourteen years of marraige. A bench knife that has been in every home we have lived in, a bench knife that has served us well. A bench knife that likely has the flavor of every loaf of bread, batch of bagels and bits of soft pretzels rubbed right into it. Please come home. Reward offered, no questions asked.

And, the poetry cookies went over well, but I have to say, I was really upset with the finished product. I didn't even bother to take their pictures so ashamed was I. Kids didn't seem to mind though!

In other news, since the Geography Fair is coming up in November I packed the kids up and headed to Hobby Lobby to look for a stamp for the kids' passports. As we were at the checkout I grabbed a small bag of M&M's (don't judge me). Did I say M&M's? I meant broccoli. Anyway, I asked the clerk if they sold water. She told me that they didn't, but they did have a water fountain. Unfortunately, I didn't think I could take it home. I could just imagine her explaining THAT to her manager.

The Co-Op That Has No Name went well today. I am continually amazed at how the work at co-cop keeps blending in with what we are doing at home. Case in point? They talked today about Thomas Edison, which, if you will recall, is the book we are rowing currently. How cool is that?

I'm off to burn dinner.

Iron Jawed Angels (say it again, now!)

2007-09-10T19:42:00.000-07:00

We have been studying this movie for the past week and a half. Today we watched Mary Poppins for the historical references of the British Suffrage Movement as well as to kickstart a discussion on the differences between the British and American governments, especially as they were in 1910-1920. There is a part in Mary Poppins in which Mrs. Banks sings,"Take heart for Mrs. Pankhurst has been clapped in irons again!" so we looked up Emmeline Pankhurst, British Suffragist. http://www.time.com/time/time100/heroes/profile/pankhurst01.html

We have been spending considerable time on the time.com website. They have great student and teacher resources on the movie Iron Jawed Angels.

We took a virtual tour of Susan B. Anthony's home at http://www.susanbanthonyhouse.org/

which was really cool. (Was I the only person who didn't realize that the jump rope song "The Lady With the Alligator Purse" was about Susan B. Anthony?!)

Oh, and before bed we watched the SchoolHouse Rock video about the 19th Amendment.

I think I'm going to tell Kirk that, as a go-along with Mary Poppins I need to hire two cooks, a nanny and a chimney sweep! ( ::::sigh::::: The things I won't do to educate my children! It's all about the kids, ya know.)

On to the Unit Study. I didn't realize when I started this project that THIS particular rabbit trail was going to lead to more and more and more and more. This all started from the last chapter of Homer Price (Volume 1, Beyond Five in a Row). The word "suffragist" was used and we took off from there. We are currently rowing Thomas Edison, but he has taken a backseat to the rabbit trail at the moment. They are studying inventors at The Co-op That Has No Name, so we will be back to Mr. Edison later this week.

Also at co-op, they are planning a Geography Fair, date undetermined at this point. Katy is planning on presenting Panama. I think I'll make empanadas (pastry pockets filled with meat) for her to share. I told her that if she isn't good I'll make ceviche. (raw fish marinated in garlic, onion and peppers.) I'm thinking about either Ireleand or Scotland to research just for fun, if for no other reason than to learn a little bit more about our ancestors. Potatoes and Shortbread for everyone!

Also, we are looking for some eggs to hatch for the Thomas Edison project. I have been told that the County Extension office may have some to borrow. We shall see.

Poetry Cookies

2007-09-10T14:36:00.001-07:00

So, I am helping out in an English class in Katy's Co-op That Has No Name. My assignment? To fill the kids with a love of poetry. This week we will be discussing rhyming patterns. I baked these cookies to illustrate the rhyming patterns in Shel Silverstein's poem,"Bear In There" . I will ask the kids to pair up by their rhyme scheme, which is spelled out on the cookies. They are MASSIVE, by the way, since my icing handwriting is not great, I had to make them big to give me plenty of room to work with. (One of the words is "Fridgitydaire" I may need a whole cake for that one!)

**** Incidentally, if YOU are in the Co-Op That Has No Name and you are reading this blog, kindly act surprised on Wednesday when I hand out the cookies, mmmkay?

In other news, we are doing a Unit Study on Iron Jawed Angels. I highly recommend this movie! (especially if you have daughters.) I am writing a unit study to go with it. I will post it when I am closer to it being done. (I am on seven pages as of now, lots of vocabulary words and points of interest!)

And,...........I had a patient the other night who is 105 years old! We are researching what has happened in her lifetime.

When Watermelons Go Bad

2007-09-10T12:37:00.001-07:00

I bought this watermelon on Saturday at the Farmer's Market. Two days later it looked like this. Those aren't soap suds, people, that is whatever evil is inside......coming out.

Now, at first I thought I might still give it a chance, but my husband is still reeling from some fruit-induced trauma from his youth. Apparently, his whole family got a hold of a bad watermelon and they hold a grudge to this day. Not a one of 'em will touch a watermelon. (Which, consequently, means MORE FOR ME!)

My husband, by the way, holds fruit grudges like nobody I have ever seen! He won't eat bananas because they made the roof of his mouth tingle one time. (That's an added bonus that you get for no additional charge, I say!) and he won't eat grapes. Grapes! I don't know how someone could have bad feelings about a grape. I mean, if it goes bad you pour it into a bottle and call it wine. I froze some grapes for a treat when we went to the Zoo lately and the kids and I were loving them on the ride home, after hours in the hot hot sun. He would have nothing to do with them. Apparently, he and fruit broke up a looooong time ago.