Hot c-c-cocoa

It has been getting progressively colder here in the the northeast. Not Arctic Circle cold, but cold enough. I have not been able to feel my finger tips since October. I really dislike being cold. Add to that the fact that we have oil heat and at $3.03 a gallon we are subscribing to the put more clothes on line of reasoning. It's fine for my boys, because they are part reptile, but I am a delicate flower. I walk around the house in no less than 3 layers of clothing, and will frequently put the hood of my sweatshirt up to conserve more body heat.

This afternoon was especially frigid. We had rain and then snow followed by a ferocious breeze out of the north. It was cold. Fer realz cold.


We all needed a pick me up, and this did the trick. Hot cocoa in a snowman mug. Who wouldn't be warmed by that?

Please don't let the outward condition of that red potholder be a commentary on my culinary abilities or lack thereof. This house has an electric stove, and I inadvertently tossed the potholder on the hot stove top after grabbing the food from the oven. The odor of burning cotton cued me into the fact that something was wrong. Thankfully I grabbed it before a full on fire consumed the kitchen.

How are you keeping warm?

Is that mop following me?

This is a video of my family singing to me on my 40th birthday. I watched it for the first time the other day and I had to keep rewinding it to look at the mop. That mop has had a prominent place in the majority of our photos.




Note John's 8th grade graduation. (Please disregard the wardrobe malfunction.) This is our old house. You can see in this photo the full extent of my kitchen cabinets, hence the mop living front and center there in next to the fridge.


Christmas. Always a joyous occasion. And. What's that? The mop again. It mocks, silently, from its haughty little bucket.


I truly believed that once we had a larger home, the mop would no longer make its way into our family photos. So much for logic.


Have you heard Foster? I bought the whole album from iTunes and downloaded it onto my iPod. The entire album is awesome, not just this one song.



How cute is Mark Foster at 1:08? It feels wrong to sing and dance around the house to a song about running away from bullets, but I like it. I think the message is this: even if you are being shot at, nice shoes are important. (Oh, I kid!)

Death by Landline

So Verizon has been trying to kill me, or drive me straight to the booby hatch. We moved a little over a month ago and attempted to move our service but Verizon was on strike. We were told that they could disconnect our service, but could not schedule an install date due to the strike. Oh, by all means, sign me up for no internet for an indefinite amount of time. We told them that we would go with another provider. We kept all of the service on, however, because we wanted to keep our current phone number and the service has to remain open for them to port the line. Big mistake. We should have just changed our phone number.

We are still waiting for our line to be ported. Verizon blames Comcast. Comcast blames Verizon. I have called Verizon maybe 20 times. Each time I call I get a different person who gives me a different story. One guy even hung up on me. Granted, I yelled at him, but I was beyond frustrated because of Verizon's put you on hold and the disconnect you trick. (It happened 4 times last night.) I know that they most likely pull that stunt to get you to give up. Not me.

Oh, no.

I am like a bad penny, I just keep showing up. Verizon will rue the day that they refused to port my line!! As God as my witness, I will never use Verizon again!

Last night, out of complete frustration, I was tempted to cancel the service altogether and just get a new number, but purely on principle I won't do it. I have invested too much time in this undertaking to just roll over and die.


The thing that has kept me from a full on nervous breakdown of mythical proportions is Mumford and Sons. Watch for yourself. Fine Irish lads, they are.

Runaway Jury

My husband was selected for jury duty. You would think that he won the lottery, the way he is strutting around all proud of himself. He came home and said, "If it doesn't fit you must acquit." OK, Johnny Cochran. I am going to have to break it to him at some point that he is a juror, not an attorney. It is my fear that he is going to get put in jail for being in contempt of court for some crazy thing like standing up in the juror box and yelling, "I OBJECT!" Then I will have to bail him out with my birthday money, and he will lose his job for doing time in the big house. (He just read this post, before I posted it, and he said that in all actuality I would be the one to do something crazy. If I am being honest, my brotha has a point.) Oh! Also, the judge told him that they are allowed to call a sidebar. How awesome is that? I would be all over the Sidebar.

Sidebar!
When is lunch?

Sidebar!
Can I go to the bathroom?

Sidebar!
Will Kato Kaelin be testifying?

Have you ever googled funny court questions? People say crazy stuff during trails. How much would you love to have been a juror on this case?

• Lawyer: "Trooper, when you stopped the defendant, were your red and blue lights flashing?"
• Witness: "Yes."
• Lawyer: "Did the defendant say anything when she got out of her car?"
• Witness: "Yes, sir."
• Lawyer: "What did she say?"
• Witness: "'What disco am I at?'"

****************
Joe is taking piano lessons. We bought a small Yamaha keyboard from Craig's list. It is the perfect starter instrument, and came loaded with a myriad of preloaded sounds including a freight train and a gorilla. So far all anyone has played is the Jaws theme song. That is not irritating at all. Kevin pressed one of the preloaded beats and began hitting random keys, all ending with the gorilla's grunt. Also not irritating. Tomorrow I am going Tiger mom on all of them. No child of mine will make imitation gorilla sounds at the piano recital.

In the horrors no more

It was one year ago this month that I made myself sick as a junk yard dog. We were preparing to leave for Lake George but had planned on visiting some out of town friends, who were back in town, before we went. We agreed to meet them for a little while just to catch up. So we headed down to our town's famed Portuguese restaurant, the Ria Mar, where everyone was waiting. On their dinner table was the cutest little pitcher of sangria. I really wanted a glass and since we had eaten dinner beforehand, decided to get a cute little pitcher for myself.

**Let me just pause here for a 12 step disclaimer. I am not a big drinker. I will not have drinking contests with you, have never played quarters and yes, you could drink me under the table. I have maybe 2 glasses of wine a year and an occasional sangria at Jose Tejas. That's it.**

After ordering sodas for the kids and the sangria for me at the bar, I brought the pitcher to the table, poured a glass and downed it. Gosh and golly, if that sangria was not the sweetest, yummiest nectar of the gods! So fruity! So cold! So delicious! I was miffed that the glasses were so small because I had to keep refilling them. I had one. And then two. And then three. I jokingly said to Kevin, "I should put a straw in the pitcher, it would be easier." I had all of those glasses and I was fine.

And then I wasn't.

One minute I was sitting upright enjoying a conversation with a friend and the next thing I knew I could not feel my face or recall the names of my offspring.

Oh.No.

Kevin could see that the sangria was sending me for a loop, and he began to wrap up our visit. I was barely able to walk out of the restaurant. I was determined to get out of there on my own two feet, because really? How embarrassing!

We returned home where my parents were waiting for us as they were to depart with us in the morning.

What did you do to yourself? They wanted to know. Slurring my speech, I filled them in on what happened thus far.

"The Portuguese sangria?" My dad asked. "That is filled with hard liquor. You have never drank hard liquor."

It was at that point that I began to feel sick. To say that I was feeling nauseous is an understatement of epic proportions. I will spare you the gory details, but let's just say that having your dad hold your hair back while you sell Buuuicks and drive the porcelain bus is beyond humiliating. Bless his heart, he was so kind and sympathetic. The truth is, if I had been 17 and pulled this stunt he probably would not have been so benevolent, which is why I waited until I was 39 to do it.

Some days later, when we were all settled in on our respective campsites, my parents came to ask if I would like some sangria of the non hard liqour kind, something more along the lines of the fruit punch with a kick that I was previously used to. My stomach lurched as memories of my distressing inebriation came flooding back.

"No." I replied firmly. "I am on the wagon." And I have been ever since. I laughingly said to my mom one day when we were in Florida, "Hey! I have been sober for six months."

Tomorrow we leave for Lake George. Tonight the hardest drink I will have is coffee with cream. I may even live it up and add a small teaspoon of sugar. I am all about hard core living.

What about CPR?

Last week Kevin was going over some Boy Scout requirements with Jeremy. One of the items that was slated for review was CPR. Kevin was lying on the floor with Jeremy kneeling next to him. He was explaining the minutiae of the process and how you need to use pressure, but not too much pressure. Feeling the need to interject with a helpful recommendation, I suggested Jeremy use more knee.



How could you not reference What About Bob?

Cold as Ice

Last night I was freezing. In the middle of a New Jersey heatwave. Kevin had the ceiling fan in the bedroom turned on and I was scurrying to get under the down comforter.

"What is the thermostat set on?" I asked. "Meat locker? Morgue?"

"I don't know." He replied. "But it feels fine to me."

"Well, I am freezing."

At this point Kevin told me that he would help to get me warm. He snuggled in close to me and began singing-

You're as cold as ice.
You're willing to sacrifice our love
You never take advice
Someday you'll pay the price, I know

I refrained from elbowing him in the nose. Of all the songs that I would like to have sung to me as a bedtime lullaby, Foreigner's Cold as Ice does not remotely place on the list.



We caught the middle to end of Forgetting Sarah Marshall. If you have not seen it, take a peek at this clip. Russell Brand is hee-larious in this movie.

"It's like this one's fellow."

Did you ever

see video of yourself walking and think, "Wow. Clydesdales have nothing on me. I walk like a horse."

Of course, I made my husband look at the video 56 bajillion times. It was the best hour of his life.

"SEE!"

"Look at it again!"

Kevin said that I am a "strong walker." It is like a Seinfeld episode. I have been reduced to a derogatory handle like "man hands" or "high talker."

Scenes from a weekend

1. This past weekend was a flurry of activity. It began with our dog, Sami. She is a Lhasa, and little dogs like her are notorious for having eye issues. She developed this blue film on her right eye that was seriously freaking us out. It looked like she was getting glaucoma, or going blind, neither of which was a good thing. I took her to the vet. She has a scratched retina that requires us to administer eye drops and pain meds. The vet asked about her pooping and if she is regular. I told her that I try to never watch the dog go potty. I think it is humiliating for a pet to have an audience while doing its bidness. Plus, ew.

2. Sitting at dinner last night we were discussing career options after college. We encouraged the boys, as we always do, to seriously consider working with their hands, and following in Kevin's footsteps in working for PSEG. We also told them to work hard, save as much money as possible and then get married. John saw the logic in this line of reasoning, and remarked that he was going to buy a small house on a big piece of property. Jeremy said he was not going to do that. I asked him where he planned on living, and he said, "In a cardboard box." Way to aim for the stars, kid.

3. Dexter. Kevin's co-worker told us about this show and we added it to our Netflix cue. This begs the question, why have we not watched this show until now? It is so darkly funny and witty. Love! We watched a total of 4 episodes this weekend.



"Needless to say I have some unusual habits, yet all these socially acceptable people can't wait to pick up hammers and smash their food to bits. Normal people are so hostile."


4. Kevin came up behind me as I was washing dishes and began to breathe on my neck.

"STOP!" I screamed.

He thought that I was liking it and kept doing it. Apparently blood curdling screams and moving as far away as humanly possible while trapped within his grasp did not register with him as being displeasureable.

"STOP!" I yelled again.

"I didn't know that it bothered you like that." He said.

"No, not in a good way."

"Like what way?"

"Like in a Dexter serial killer way."

It is very important that I did not kill this plant

Yesterday I was grumbling to my husband about the price of food, specifically fresh produce.

"On the one hand," I began "We can purchase fresh fruits and vegetables, or on the other hand we can purchase meat, but we can't have both. It is quite possible that by fall we could all be suffering from scurvy, or beriberi." Kevin, completely used to my love of exaggeration, said nothing.

"I think that we should start a garden. We can grow strawberries and peppers and maybe plant an orange tree."

For the next part of the story to make any sense you have to have seen the movie 28 Days with Sandra Bullock. In the movie there is a scene where the addicts in the rehab ask the counselor when they can begin to date again. The counselor, played by the always wonderful Steve Buscemi says, "Get a plant. If the plant is still alive in a year, get a dog. If they are both alive in another year, you can begin to think about dating."

At this point in the conversation Kevin turns to me with extended arms and says, "Here is a plant, keep it alive for a year and then we can think about a garden."

I knew what that meant. I don't have a reputation as the plant killer for nothing.

Spring chicken

I woke up this morning to the sound of sleet hitting my bedroom window. Oh, no. Yesterday was the first official day of spring, and we set the clocks ahead, and Friday's high temp was 77 degrees. All of those things signal that warm weather is a-comin'. I am so over being cold. I have officially turned into the cranky old lady who complains about the constant cold and what it does to her joints, and bemoans the cost of toilet paper.

On Saturday, after I got out of the shower, I caught a sideways glance at my neck and what I saw was alarming. The skin that was once tight and firm is now looking more and more like a plucked chicken. When I tilt my head forward, and touch the skin under my bottom jaw, it is loose and hangy, for lack of a better word. I had to share this oh-so-important information with m husband who responded by staring at me.

Look at it, I said.

To shut me up, and stop the conversation in its tracks, he called me chicken neck, to which I responded, I do not have a chicken neck! After all of these years he has finally learned how to use reverse psychology effectively. Well played, dear.

Tuesday Hodge Podge

My middle child refuses to sing Christmas carols, not even the funny ones like Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer. I told him that I was going to have to use the North Pole Hotline to call Santa. My threat did not garner the reaction I had hoped for. He simply glanced at me with a look that said, "Bring it, sucka."

Well, I told him that Santa said refusal to sing Christmas carols is not severe enough a penalty for a stay on the naughty list, but it did earn him a spot on the "People of special interest" list. Santa is watching, dude.

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Last night we all cozied up on the couch and watched a movie called Silent Night. It based on a true story, and well worth the spot on your Netflix cue. The boys enjoyed it and commented on the fact that it was a war movie with no cursing or gore which prompted me to seriously reconsider cancelling cable.

--------------------------------------

Kevin and I watched two episodes of Hoarders. I am not proud of this, but I have come away with some information that you might want to put in the 'con' column if you are considering becoming a hoarder.

1) Animal poo. 'Nuff said

2) Of the 4 people featured in the 2 episodes, 3 of them were missing their top front teeth. It begged the question, Did they lose them in the hoard? I can't say what for sure, but something about hoarding does not sit well with secondary dentition.

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Lastly, I can't stop eating. Something about the cold that makes me ravenous. Anyone else putting on their winter layer?

A rodent by any other name is still just a mouse

Last night I had a horrible, and I mean horrible thing happen to me as I was driving home from dropping my oldest off at my sister's house to babysit. Her children were not even awake, he was there to make sure the house did not burn down and to play on the computer without interruption from his mother.

My sister and I live exactly 1 mile apart, and yet we text all day long. My phone is completely antiquated and I could get in the truck and drive to her house in the time that it takes me to text her. She has a Blackberry and types like a 15 year old girl. I have no idea what the point of that paragraph was.

So anyway! The Horrible.

I was about halfway home when all of a sudden I saw something scampering about on the front of the truck where the windshield wipers lay. I looked closer and saw that it was a...what?...it can't be...a mouse! A tiny, terrifying mouse. I panicked. I turned on the wipers in the hopes that they would fling the little sucker on to the road. No such luck. It retreated back under the hood! Then I used the wiper fluid hoping to poison it, or at least turn it blue so that when it came into the truck to eat me, I would at least have the visual upper hand.

Oh.my.gosh!

I was, quite literally, stricken still with fear. I could not figure out where it went or from whence it came. I was so afraid that it was somehow going to crawl into the truck and harass me causing me to have an accident. I could envision the headline.

Woman crashes into oncoming traffic while fleeing from mouse in her vehicle. Woman survives. Mouse perishes. PETA suspects foul play.

I lifted my feet off of the floor, but quickly realized that was a poor idea. I had to keep one foot down on the gas. I could not wait to get home. I knew that if I spied its beady little eyes peering at me, or worse, felt its fur rub up on me that I would throw the car into park and run away screaming, "MOUSE IN THE CAR! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!" Exaggeration? I think not. When was the last time that you were held hostage by a rodent. Substitute the word house for car and it was like being in the Dr.Seuss book In a People House.

"Come inside, Mr.Bird." said the mouse. "I'll show you what there is in a people house."

In the people car there is a woman who is about to lose her mind. Her imagination is playing tricks on her and she can feel the patter of little feet on her back and shoulders. She can sense another presence around her, one not human, but mammal-like.

She does not like this mouse at all,
does not like it furry and small.
She wants to scream and flee and cry,
she wants this mouse dead. Die, mouse, die!

When I arrived back home and told my husband, he laughed. Then he said something even more terrifying than I could have ever imagined. He said that there might be a nest in the engine. I can't remember anything after that because I fainted.

In a little while I have to get into the truck and go teach yoga. I will be armed with pepper spray and a mini air horn.

I am not kidding.

In which I beg time to slow down so I can blog

I cannot believe it is Friday! I have been so diligent to blog regularly and now- only one post this week?

Eeeeeeee. Deplorable.

We have been finishing up that big 'ol tree. That big 'ol tree is trying to kill us. It keeps eating Kevin's chainsaw blades costing us more money, which in turn makes me eat copious amounts of Mallomars. Their marshmallowy goodness soothes my frustration.

I have been trying in vain to decorate for fall. All I have accomplished so far is hanging a wreath on the front door. Too bad leaves and acorns strewn about the yard do not constitute proper fall decorating because I am so rocking that look. I am also rocking the inside have not cleaned my house or done laundry in a week look. Nice.

Here is what is making me kinda not care- I am going to see Wicked on Sunday with my mom and sister. We are uber excited! Have you been? Is it amazing? Dish, people!

Fall schedule and larceny, what a combination

I have decided that I am not decorating for fall until September 15th. I know you were all on the edges of your seats waiting for that announcement, so now you can move on with your lives. You're welcome.

I told my husband the other day that I was feeling very pressured to decorate for fall.

Pressured by whom he asked.

The internet, I mumbled.

He looked at me quizzically.

I explained to him that on the blogs I frequent people are already ushering in fall. They have begun decorating for fall and making crafts and reveling in the cool weather. I am not ready for this. I am holding, very tightly, to the last days of summer. Oh, I know what I said last week. Am I not allowed to change my mind? Please, I just don't want to be cold.

I had all good intentions of writing up a new Transformation Thursday post featuring the green ottoman that I recovered, but my plan was thwarted by the town thief. My oldest son's bicycle was stolen last night. In truth, he and his cousin had their bikes stolen. They left them out in front of the WaWa. We have told them before not to do this, as they are simply borrowing trouble. Last night they borrowed and bought trouble. He called us to ask for help and we told him to call the police. I drove down to meet them and my husband began trolling the streets for two BMX bikes. Two very expensive BMX bikes.

As the kids were entering the store, they noticed a group of kids loitering on the sidewalk, and my niece recognized one of the boys from school. When they came out of the store the kids were gone and so were the bikes. It was easy to deduce what had happened.

The police came, took all of our information and told us that they would be on the lookout and would contact us if they found anything. They then headed down to the home of the boy that my niece knows. I wanted to follow them and see if the kicked the door in or used tear gas, but they didn't. They calmly talked to the boy's parents. That could have been so exciting.

We all continued to search in different directions around town. I drove slowly up and down all of the neighborhood streets peering into driveways and behind parked cars. I asked everyone I saw if they had seen some kids riding two bikes, and then proceeded to describe them. No one had. I said- well if you do please call the police because they are stolen. It was like a scene from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, and I was large Marge. (In case you are not a fan of the classic movie, Pee-Wee's bike is stolen.)

I knew that we were probably not going to find the bike, and I went through the full range of emotions. I vacillated between wanting to throttle my son and buy him a new bike. Between utter compassion and total frustration.

We all arrived home about the same time, and as we were discussing our plan of action for tomorrow, my cell phone rang. It was the police, and they had found John's bike. We could not believe it!

Two boys rode it to the park, sat with it for a while and then got up and left. A man who was shooting some hoops all by himself saw all of this transpire and thought something was fishy so he called the police. Something was fishy because I had circled that park twice and there was no sign of the bike, or the boys.

The police brought the bike to our home. It had a flat tire, but other than that it was in perfect condition. I asked if the man had gotten a description of the boys and the police officers said that he had not because it was so dark. I wanted the bike dusted for latent prints so we could find the perp. And then I remembered that I am a housewife, not an investigator on CSI. And also, the police think I am nuts.

The police seemed to think that the boy whose house they had gone to put the word out to get rid of the bike. I don't know about that. What seems more plausible to me is word got out that some crazy housewife in a Tahoe was combing the streets in search of the bike and threatening people with jail time. I would be scared of me, too.

Beach baby with a pillow

Yesterday the weather was absolutely beautiful! It was the kind of weather that screamed, "GO TO THE BEACH!" Apparently I was the only one who heard it because when I suggested that we all hop into the truck and head to the beach, my family looked at me as if I had just suggested we dance naked on hot coals. They wanted to go to the skate park.

My husband, sensing my disappointment, suggested that I go to the beach alone. Oh, I could not possibly do that.

Shyeah, right!

Fifteen minutes later I was sitting in the truck with my little bag and cooler. In my bag was my phone, money, new book Blue Like Jazz, baseball hat and towel. In my cooler was water bottles and a few snacky type things. In total it weighed about 6 pounds. What a far cry from when I go with the boys and I end up carrying half my body weight in beach paraphernalia. I forgot how easy it is to get just myself out of the house.

When I arrived at the beach I meandered around on the sand a bit, searching for the perfect isolated spot. I plopped myself on a deserted patch of beach and lay baking in the sun. After about an hour and a half I decided to take a walk around the lovely beach town of Ocean Grove. It was so nice to just walk in silence and take in the sights and sounds of a lazy holiday afternoon.

I went into a store called Cottage Home Interiors, and I wanted to buy one of everything in the store. I wept silently as I turned over price tags. I could make (and have made) the majority of the items in the store for a fraction of the cost that they were being sold for. I spotted a lovely lamp that I plan on reproducing. I decided against taking pictures of the lamp with my camera phone. Tacky.

I headed back to the beach. When I arrived back at my spot, I saw that it was no longer isolated, or quiet. A large group of people with an even larger group of children had convened right next to me. I thought about it for 3 seconds and then I picked up my stuff and moved. I don't feel badly about this choice either. Moments of absolute peace and quiet are so far and few between that I was not chancing this one. I moved right next to a group of senior citizens. I knew that they would not be throwing sand or whining that Hunter took the shovel that they were using. I realize this revelation probably makes me sound like a curmudgeon, but the loudest that it got over with the seniors was when Marge screamed to Harry to stop fumbling with the umbrella, just sit down and read your magazine for pete's sake!

It was bliss.

Also this weekend I also recovered a bolster pillow that I bought it at a garage sale for a dollar. The bolster pillow forms cost more than that. I have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to use the pillow and I found it in my newly recovered chair.

Pillow before:


Pillow after:


Lovely. (Just don't turn it over. I am still working on the finish details.)

AWOL

I know that all 3 of you who read this blog with some regularity have been wondering where I am. Well, I have been busy with house guests. Days seem to fly by in a blur, and before I know it almost a week has gone by with nary a post.

Regular blogging resumes tomorrow, but I leave you with a quote from my 6 year old.

"Mommy," he said the other morning as I was helping him get dressed (yes, I know that he is fully capable of dressing himself, don't judge) "You are such a funny lady." See? It is official. I am funny.
If only it were as easy to make adults laugh as it is children. I just have to blow raspberries on his belly and say the word "poopie."

In which I jump from topic to topic without rhyme or reason

Last night I went to bed at 2:38. Why did I do that?

I was sitting in the family room, reading my book, thinking, "I am going to pay for this in the morning."

It is the morning. I am paying. I am hoping that the coffee kicks in soon. I am considering eating the actual coffee beans if it does not.

Tomorrow my older boys leave for scout camp. This will be the first time for Jeremy, and I am a little nervous. He is almost 11, and quite independent for his age, but he is still my baby. I said to him earlier this morning, "You are leaving tomorrow. I am going to miss you."

He casually answered back, "I am going to miss my new scooter, Sami, and you, too, mom."

Scuse me? An inanimate object and a dog who eats her own pooh outrank your mother who cooks for you and cleans for you and does all manner of things that make your life happy and fulfilled. Not to mention I bought the new scooter with my secret Paypal slush fund. He laughed and tried to back peddle, but it was too late. The pooh eating dog wins out over me.

Whatev.

Last night, before he went to work, Kevin shared this with me. We are seriously considering going. Does that make us lame? Mmmmbop?

I can't wait to hit some garage sales this weekend. With no rain in the forecast it promises to be a thriftingpalooza. And then I am going to start work on my couch. I am jumping into the slip covering fray. I am both nervous and excited. I chose this fabric to cover the couch.

Of course the color appears distorted from the in real life color, the computer monitor does not do it justice. The background color is khaki, and I am going to slip cover the ottoman and the oversized chair in a khaki cotton duck because I am afraid the toile will overpower the room. One toile piece, I think, will be just perfect. I was inspired by Nester to go for it.

I have to go now and get ready to head out for the gym. This is my last class for the week, I can't wait for it to be over. I am so feeling my age lately, and I am not that old. Eight years ago, I would teach between 7 and 10 group fitness classes per week and still be raring to go.

Now?

Oh, dear. I ache. My hiney is screaming and my biceps are ready to revolt. But I am thankful for the work and the extra money that it provides for garage sales, and fabric, and strawberry frosted Dunkin' Donuts.

Later gators!

It's a secret no one knows

Upon returning home Saturday from some errands, I found Kevin in the garage. He was on a major cleaning/organizing kick, and there was music playing.

Strange music.

I stopped and took a listen.

...Ba du bop, Ba du dop...

"Are you...are you listening to Hansen? The Mmmbop song?" I asked him.

He looked at me sheepishly and replied, "Yes. They are really good. They are the love children of Jerry Garcia. (pause) I have the CD."

"Oh, you have really sunk to a new low here." I said as I prepared to take my leave from the teeny bopperpalooza that was once my garage.

"Do you want me to copy it onto your iPod for when you run?" he yelled.

"You know it."

We are closet Hansen fans. They really can sing and they are talented. I have respect for anyone who can pick up an instrument and make actual music instead of just playing an air guitar like I do.



You knew that was coming right?


In exactly one week from today my mother arrives for a visit. I cannot wait. I miss her. Plus, I have a lot of projects for her. hehehe.

Also, I think that I have an ingrown toe nail. If you have ever had one, can you please tell me so that I can properly diagnose myself. I can't decide if it is worth a trip to the doctor or just suck it up.

A few things

1. I am going to make up shirts that say, "(blank child that is going to prematurely age me) please use wisdom. I do not want to go to the ER today."

2. I officially have Hobby Lobby envy. It is just not right that there are no Hobby Lobby stores in New Jersey. We have the highest per capita taxes, and terrible air quality. The least the powers that be could do is get me a Hobby Lobby to make up for all that is wrong.

3. We found a couch on Craig's List and are going to get it today. This may not seem like earth shattering news to you, but this is a big deal. Our current set has...issues. It is a couch that has recliners. When you pull the side cord, the foot rest pops out which is a lovely feature. Except for the fact that one of the recliners is busted beyond repair and the foot rest part flies up on its own at the most inconvenient times, like when you are standing in front of it and it takes out your shins. Ow. Also, the pull cords to lift the footrests are deep in the sides of the couch which, again, is lovely because the hardware is hidden, but the pouches collect unwanted items. In the years since having this set I have found a wide assortment of food stuffs, legos, toothpicks, fingernails, matchbox cars, money, socks, utensils, Playmobile, and various and sundry items that were not meant to be there. To this couch I say, good riddance!

4. I am having weird food cravings. Like I want to eat a stick of butter. That's new.

5. Poison ivy update, because I know that everyone is living for moment that my poison ivy runs its course. A lot of clearing up. So far no scarring, because I thought there would be after The Great Scratching Fiasco of Wednesday.

6. I am looking for suggestions for books on gardening. What book has revolutionized your outside living?


I am off to find some butter.