Um, yeah…
I’m having a bit of difficulty figuring out a situation when this child’s shirt might be appropriate. Should it come with the Child Protective Services number on speed dial?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
I’m having a bit of difficulty figuring out a situation when this child’s shirt might be appropriate. Should it come with the Child Protective Services number on speed dial?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
We had a weekend with no kid where we had totally nothing planned. It was fun.
We took the Porsche for a ride on curvy roads. I don’t have proper appreciation. In deference to my delicate sensibilities he kept the top speed down to 96 mph. I countered this need for speed by pointing out all the deer I saw. That made him slow down.
There was nuzzling going on. Riley felt a need to walk up to Freckles and rub against her face instead of smacking her nose which was his previous MO. This confused her too. At first she was using the tried and true excuse of “I think I hear Mom calling. Gotta go. See you later!” Eventually she stopped running from his displays of affection and put up with it, even when he lay down on her feet.
I tried a new circuit routine that intersperses weightlifting with 6-8 minute rounds of cardio. I tried to take Freckles with me but after the second time we headed out for three minutes then turned around and came right back she declared the whole thing stupid and refused to go with me anymore. I can’t believe I got dumped by my workout buddy.
Other than that we managed to do nothing else of significance. I ignored my plans to sew and just sat around and read books. It was nice.
The SO, Z, and I are going on vacation. We are going to a place where we will be riding the subway. Z is excited about this. She was even more excited when I explained that we weren’t refering to the restaurant chain. We live in the Midwest, what can I say?
She likes to talk. She particularly likes to go up to total strangers and tell them her life story. Since the story always includes, “…and this is Heather. She’s not my mom. She’s my dad’s friend…” I would like her to stop. I really don’t want her sharing her whole life story with everyone on the subway as she would be wont to do. New people get on at every stop. She’d have to tell it again… The SO wholeheartedly agreed that we need to stop this behavior before the trip.
We decided to do some preemptive training. This weekend we were checking out at Walmart. She started in as soon as the clerk looked at us. “Hi, I’m Z! I like to play the claw machine game but my daddy said that he doesn’t have money.” I stopped her right there.
“We don’t have to tell everyone everything. We can leave her alone to do her job without interruption.” That was a fine explanation and Z readily accepted it. All would have been fine but at the same time I was hearing this:
“It isn’t that I don’t have any money but I don’t have any change, you see.”
I swiveled to look at the SO prattling away to the clerk who was so not interested in what either one had to say. Come to think of it I’ve never been in a checkout line where he hasn’t chatted up the cashier. It must be genetic!
Z looked at him and said, “Daddy? I think we are just supposed to talk to each other in line.”
I had an interesting morning. A big dog got bit in the ear by a housemate. It split her ear right at the tip. Blood everywhere.
She was in the exam room and it wasn’t bleeding. We were getting ready to admit her for sutures when she shook her head. The floor, the walls, her owner, and I got covered in blood.
So at lunch time I head to Walmart to get new pants. I had to still be wearing my blood-splattered pants since they frown on nakedness at WalMart. I was counting on the indifference of strangers to not get arrested on suspicion of murder. One of the local cops used to work at the clinic before police school and another is a client so at least they would believe my bleeding dog story if someone called.
I got to the clothes area without anyone looking at me. But as I was browsing for something in my size I noticed a woman out of the corner of my eye. I saw her look me up and down. Her eyes got huge. Then she turned and took off. She must not have cared enough to report it though. I don’t know if it is good or not that you can go to Walmart looking like an ax murderer and no one cares!
Z gets up at the crack of dawn. After much work we have her trained not to bother us until 7 AM. This wasn’t a good solution. She wanted up earlier and we wanted to sleep later on weekends.
The last time we had her she mentioned in passing that she isn’t allowed to bother her mother until 8. I’m not sure if that’s true since we tend to be stricter but we decided to run with it.
Saturday night we discussed the new plan. She agreed but we knew she wasn’t paying attention. So Sunday morning when she appeared at 6:30 AM we knew this was going to be a test. I reminded her about the 8:00 plan. She appealed to her father who was playing dead. I got up and said, “Let me help you.” I escorted her out and shut the door. Let the stomping and crying ensue. I went back to bed.
Of course we weren’t sleeping through the temper tantrum in the hall. I don’t know if it is part of her disorder or not but she can’t be awake without having us awake too. The idea of playing in her room while we are sleeping is abhorrent to her. Then she started appealing to her dad again. “Daddy. Daddy. Daaaaadeeeeeeeeee!” He ignored her. We were talking to each other. She informed us that she could hear us talking so we might as well be talking to her. We ignored her. The “Daddy, Daddy” started again. She was inventive with varying the tone and rhythm. At one point she was chanting. I hope that it brought her inner peace.
After about 20 minutes of DaddyDaddyDaddy he reminded her of the 8:00 rule. She got to stomping again. By now her protests were background noise. I did hear her say, “I’m going to say this one more time and you have to answer.” I told him that it was a good thing for her that we were ignoring her or else she’d be in trouble for copping the attitude.
By now it was 7:30.
The SO: I have to go to the bathroom but she’s right outside the door.
Me: Go ahead and go out. Then come back to bed. Tell her it isn’t 8:00 yet and you’ll see her then.
Z yells some smart ass comment that I don’t remember
The SO raises his voice so Z can hear him: Are you needing a whupping?
Z, ever so sweetly: What was that Daddy? I couldn’t hear you!
The SO gets up to go to the bathroom. He opens the door and says, “Let me show you.”
She screamed. “Nooooooooo! Daddy, nooooo!” Like he was coming after her with a chain saw with murder on his mind. She ran into her room. I heard him say, “I knew you heard me.” He went to the bathroom and came back. He never even looked at her. She stayed in her room.
We didn’t hear another peep out of her. When we got up at 8 she was coloring in her room. She was content by herself. That’s good for her. We’ll see if she can do it again on her next weekend.
I went to the bank yesterday to make a deposit. The teller asked me if I was a vet.
Inside my brain: “How did he know that? Am I wearing vet jewelry or clothes? No. I don’t actually own anything like that. Do I have my nametag still on? Am I covered in cat hair? No and No. Wow, he must be psychic!”
Then I realized that I had just handed him a check from a local veterinarian that was made out to Dr. Me. Apparently he isn’t psychic.
And maybe I’m a moron.
I have been saving a particular pattern for a baby quilt for a long time. It is sort of involved so I wasn’t going to take making it lightly. It has *gasp* applique so it has to be a special occasion.
My brother and sister-in-law are making a baby. So now that I know it is a girl I pulled out the pattern yesterday.
First of all I have one page of the pattern that I saved from a magazine. It has a picture of the quilt. Normally that’s enough for me but this has the applique pieces that it would be nice to have a pattern.
The date of the magazine is November 1996. That perplexed me. I didn’t own a sewing machine until January 1997. I didn’t know I was reading quilt magazines that early.
I found the magazines I needed (it was a series) on Etsy. I had to get 12 magazines in the set. I’ll have all kinds of new-old ideas!
I wanted to make a quick dessert today and I didn’t have anything special in the house so I decided to make a cake that my mom used to make all the time. I hadn’t had it in forever.
Chocolate Oil Cake
Combine:
1T vinegar
1 cup cold water
1/3 cup oil
1 t vanilla
1.5 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
1/4 cup cocoa
Pour into a greased and floured 8×8 pan. Bake for 25 minutes at 375.
I immediately ran into trouble. Vinegar – would you like varieties of balsamic or perhaps some tarragon? This recipe calls for white vinegar. At the time this was written that didn’t need to be specified. I didn’t have any. Oil – I can supply olive oils that were probably pressed between the thighs of vestal virgins on the slopes of Mt. Vesuvius on a sunny day in May but don’t have any plain vegetable oil.
I had to go to the store. While I was there I got good old vanilla icing in a tub. I was sort of embarrassed to be seen with all this “plain” stuff. Yep, I’m a food snob.
It hurt not to try to decrease the oil in the cake by substituting half of it for applesauce. But I decided to try it as written so I could remember what it was supposed to taste like before I started messing around with the recipe. Anyway, back in the day cakes were supposed to be fattening. That was the point!
Look at what I wore today!
Running shoes! There has been so much snow here that trail running is right out of the question. We’ve been walking on the sidewalks but that requires boots and the maximum speed is a walk. But we have been thawing for the last few days so that any of the sidewalks that had been shoveled were now clear.
I was going to go by myself because Freckles had already been to the dog park today. That hadn’t happened in a long time because of feet of snow. That involves going In The Car which I knew she had been missing since every time we went on a walk she’d try to get in the car to get us to take her on a car ride. She was pretty tired so I figured I’d let her stay home. But as soon as she saw the running shoes come out of the closet she got excited. I think she knew that I was going to leave without her since she lay down across my shoes so I had no option but to involve her in my plans. When I grabbed the leash she started jumping and spinning in circles.
I was right though. She was tired. There were actually times that I was pulling her along instead of the other way around. We only went about a mile total and we didn’t run the whole way. We are totally out of practice. When I’m convinced that we are going to be able run consistently again I’m going to do the last few weeks of couch to 5K again in order to get back into running shape.
I’m self employed so doing my taxes is taxing. I go through my online bank statements to make sure that I get every possible thing that I paid for that might be deductible. I noticed something odd when I did that this year.
The majority of the times that I used my debit card it was for food. And I use my debit card for everything.
These weren’t big charges. A few dollars each time on average. Stopping for coffee or a snack. But it added up. It occurred to me that if I stopped doing that I’d be richer and probably skinnier too.
Immediately my brain rebelled. As soon as I thought, “No more stopping for food. Make it a challenge or something. Do it for a week,” my brain went nuts. It was screaming for me to stop somewhere, anywhere, please!!!!! It didn’t realize how much I had become accustomed to doing that.
So for the past week I’ve been conscious of what I’m spending on food. I’ve been making meals at home. The SO is even eating them. He swings both ways – carnivore to vegetarian – and he’s on the vegetarian side of the pendulum right now.
I haven’t been perfect. There have been some huge exceptions to my foodie financial freeze but I’ve been better. What’s scary is how unconscious it was. If you’d have asked me I would have said that I didn’t buy extra food that often. Guess I was wrong.
I found a great site today to help with dinners. Healthy Slow Cooking is a vegetarian site that has recipes that cook for a long time. A lot of veggie slow cooker sites cook things for 4 hours which doesn’t help when you work long days. This site also breaks a recipe down to what you do the night before to get ready so you just have to throw it all in the cooker in the morning.
Tonight we are having Santa Fe Spaghetti Squash Casserole and vegan tapioca pudding from my old standby FatFreeVegan.com.
The new toy was found online so we had to take a road trip to go get it. It was 2.5 hours away. Friday night I told the SO that I was taking a book so when we got there I’d have something to do while he looked at the car. I know nothing about cars except that when they are being well-behaved they go where you want them to. He loves cars and is horribly offended when I talk about machines being well-behaved or not. Or tired and needing a rest. For some reason that makes him crazy too.
Him: No, I need you to be another set of eyes. It will be on a lift when we get there so we can check the underside. Tell me if you see anything wrong.
Hysterical laughter follows. When I’m able to speak again I say, “I can count the tires for you to see if there are four.” I get a look that says that I am Not Taking This Seriously. He says that he’s been teaching me about cars and I know things now. Unfortunately, I haven’t noticed that I’ve been taught anything.
We get up there and have to use the restroom. On the way there my purse smacks a car. Hard. I’m glad the alarm doesn’t go off or something. Later I realize that the car is listed for $132,000. I start maintaining my distance.
We go inspect the car on the lift. He peer into crannies. When he surfaces and asks what I think I reply, “Yep, four tires.” I get a Look again.
We go for a test drive. It is a tiny car. My butt fits in the seat fine but if I don’t keep my hands solidly in my lap he can’t shift. It is quieter than my car. I observed these things in the first mile. So I made a phone call I had to make since my test drive was over. When I was done he said, “You aren’t having fun, are you?” Again I explain that it is a car. It goes. I’m satisfied and at the end of my comprehension.
Back at the dealership I was looking at another car because I was bored. The dealer offered to sell it to me. I explained that at $70,000 used car was totally wasted on me. That was polite. I didn’t use the word rip-off. He explained that you learn the difference and illustrated with a story about teaching his daughter to drive in a Porsche. I asked if she was ruined for life now. He said yes.
When we were alone the SO asked me if I’d pay $114,000 for a particular new car. I asked if he thought I’d spend that on anything. “A house?” he asked. I allowed that it might happen but I’d be cranky about it.
Finally it was time to go home. I drove my little Honda. There was a detour. I lost him. He called me halfway home to figure out a stopping place for lunch. I was 30 miles ahead of him. I petted the Honda. We met for lunch and then started out together again. I got home 20 minutes before him. Let it be known that the Honda totally smoked the Porsche. That may have something to do with the temperaments of the drivers.
At lunch I told him that I got souvenirs from the dealership. They had a coffee station. They had a Keurig coffee machine like we have. It makes single cups of coffee or tea using special little disposable containers of grounds. They had some flavors I hadn’t tried like hot chocolate and mango tea. So I collected a few. I would have collected more if I had a bigger purse. I figure if it was ok for me to drink them there then it was ok for me to drink them at home. That’s proof that I’m turning into one of those little old ladies who collects sugar packets in her purse and that you really can’t take me anywhere fancy and expect me to behave right.
I can’t read the picture well on the last post on my phone. It says:
“I’m always in pain! My earrings are heavy, and my heels are hurting-they hurt all the time. But you know you have to sacrifice for beauty. You just get kind of numb after a while.”
The picture is of a Beyonce quote in people magazine. I don’t know quite what to say. At least she’s honest about it? I’ve never understood why we put up with it. Would men ever consider it normal behavior to have to cover their entire heel with bandaids to be able to wear dress shoes without tearing your skin off? My dream job would be to design gorgeous comfortable shoes. Why should those things be mutually exclusive?
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In the immortal words of Dr. Peter Venkman – “This city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions… Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together… mass hysteria!”
To recap, my cat Powder has been on the dresser since 12/1/09 about 0.2 miliseconds after meeting Freckles for the first time. She comes down to eat and to use the litterbox if the dog is downstairs and/or asleep. But if the dog is awake she is on the dresser.
Saturday she ventured downstairs. The SO picked her up. Then she saw the dog. She panicked and tore up the SO. I haven’t been able to trim her nails since she exiled herself.
Yesterday I went upstairs without the dog. Powder was on the floor so I grabbed her and went in the bathroom to do her nails. The front went fine. By the time I got to the back the dog was outside the door. The cat started acting stupid. I got mad.
I put her in the bathtub. Then I let the dog in and locked the door. I told them that I had a new magazine and I was going to sit on the floor and read it while they worked it out. I realized that I might be setting up a situation entitled “How I Got This Scar.”
The cat Looked at the dog. I don’t know what it was about that Look but it reduced Freckles to a crying, quivering mass on the floor. Repeatedly.
Eventually they moved on to Freckles looking over the edge of the tub and Powder would smack her senseless. Repeatedly. When that calmed down I sat on the tub and petted them both. They worked up to sitting by the door together and staring at Riley’s paw reaching under the door. He was wondering why everyone was in the bathroom and he wasn’t invited.
I opened the door and let Powder out. I kept Freckles in for a minute so she didn’t ruin all the goodwill by trying to chase the cat.
Now the cat is still on the dresser. But hopefully she learned that the dog is not a formidable enemy so she will start to come around again
If this works I’m going to apply for a job as Middle East Envoy. That will be easy in comparison.
In all the years I’ve owned my camera I’ve never taken a video. I knew it was an option but just never did it. Today is our third snowstorm in a week. Normal temperatures for this time of year is 41F. If we get snow it leaves in a few days. Freckles was out playing in the snow so I tried to get video. I did it and figured out how to upload it. I was so proud. Then I decided to get her to do something to make a more interesting video. From her position on a big pillow on the couch, she declined.
Me: But this video is short. Go run around more
Her: Tired. Already jumped in snow drifts. Hard work for a dog. Feet frozen.
Me: Come on. You love snow.
Her: ***snore***
The sad part is that she wasn’t in a drift there. That’s just the unshoveled portion of the yard.
From The Horse:
National competitive trail mileage record holder Elmer Bandit, 38, passed away Sunday evening at 6:30 p.m. in the pasture of his longtime boarding stable, Misty River Equestrian Center, in Independence, Mo.
…..
In September 2009 Wood and Elmer completed the Stephens Forest Competitive Trail event near Lucas, Iowa, which pushed Elmer’s lifetime mileage to 20,780 miles, surpassing the previous record held by Wing Tempo. Elmer won numerous National Championships over his 34-year career.
I judged Elmer (and Tempo) many times. He was amazing. At vet check in he always looked his age. (He was 36 the last time I judged him.) This would lead to fervent prayers to any and all deities – Please don’t let him die on my watch!!!!!
But then he would go out on the trail. He would get stronger and stronger over the weekend. By the end of the 60 miles he was bouncing along like a young ‘un. He would give you an extended trot at the end of the ride that would make you forget that he had just gone 60 miles or that he was older than me.
The last time I judged him he had the highest score of any horse in the entire ride. I kept thinking to myself that I must be doing something wrong if an elderly horse was outscoring everyone else. But then he’d go bounding by totally sound and energized and looking better than anyone else and I realized that he was just that good.
I spent the weekend going back and forth in Z’s mind from being wonderful to being the meanest person ever on the face of the earth. That takes talent.
Good Heather:
1. Lets her help make cookies. We won’t mention that besides my chocolate cravings this satisfied my picture needs. I’ve been practicing my digital scrapbook so often that I’m out of pictures that I want to use. I had to make more. Pathetic but I’m addicted. So she had to pose at opportune times for photos.
2. Lets her take the dog for a walk to the playground. We need to work on looking both ways when crossing streets. Z has it down but hasn’t realized that Freckles is five feet ahead of her so she’s in the middle of the street before Z looks for traffic.
3. Lets her watch Project Runway on the computer and pick out the good dresses. Also goes along with her “make me look fancy like that” fantasy and curls her hair for her.
Evil Heather:
1. Won’t let her watch iCarly on TV. I pointed out that this isn’t out of meanness but because we don’t have TV. Child silently points to the TV while giving me a look that shows that she is concerned for my mental state. Explain again that ou TV doesn’t get a signal. It is a movie and wii playing machine only. Child runs off to confirm this with her father since I’m obviously being mean. Has she never noticed that in 5 years she’s never watched TV at that house?
2. Won’t take her to be a child model on the next episode of Project Runway.
3. Won’t make her a dress like on Project Runway. She came back to this one at least hourly all weekend. Explaining that I don’t know how to make clothes had no effect. She said she’d teach me if I just let her loose in the sewing room. This was so not true that it had to be ignored. Much anger and screaming followed every hour when I would again say no. Apparently I was just being mean and wanting to not let her have any fun. She’s all ready for teenage temper tantrums!
I’m reading a book called Shelter Me by Juliette Fay. One of the traditions of the characters is Pology Cake. If you are bad you are required to apologize via baked good.
I wasn’t bad but I was slightly irrational and weepy last night and the SO was very good about it. Even when I told him that I had a combination of Ebola virus and the plague, he hugged me. When I was crying enough that I made my nose bleed a little and I whimpered, “I TOLD you that I had Ebola and you mocked me!” he did not run away screaming like a logical person would have done. So he deserves baked goods.
This gets tricky. I think he needs chocolate no-bake cookies but he’d complain about the sugar. (We have Z this weekend and I think we’ll be making cookies for Valentine’s Day – sugar cookies and no-bakes. Z and I like sugar a lot.) Since Pology baked goods have to be something the recipient likes I’m making a fruit and berry streusel pie. It is based on a recipe from Cooking Light but my end product is barely related to the original any more.
1.25 cups water
1/2 cup sugar
2 T cornstarch
Mix these together and bring to a boil. Cook for one minute stirring constantly. It will turn into a gel. Remove from heat and mix in as much fruit (fresh, frozen, dried) as the gel can hold. Today I had craisins, raisins, frozen cherries, and dried apricots. I just clean out the cupboards for this. No combination has ever tasted bad.
Put in a prepared pie shell of whatever flavor you like. I like shortbread.
Top with streusel. I’ve never gotten the hang of a pastry mixer so I just combine 1/4 cup of flour, 1/4 cup of brown sugar, and cinnamon and spread it over the pie and then dot with 2 T of butter cut into small pieces. Bake at 400 for 30 minutes. This must be served with ice cream to be truly complete.
I’m also making him french onion soup. He was a good boy.
Honestly, this one is fun and it even made me a little sore. Only three minutes so there is no excuse not to do ab work (and you know that I can find any excuse).
