Yep, that's right. The Earth has finally reached its expiration date. We're all gonna wake up tomorrow just long enough to have everything implode around us.
On a good note, I won't have to do any laundry. Or dishes. Or take out the trash.
Am I the only one who hears about these "it's all over now!" dates and then when we're right on the cusp of what should be elaborate and frightening and awe-inspiring events, it's all just kinda... "That's it? Really? Sheesh, and after I changed into clean underwear and everything."
I keep seeing all these shows about the legends of the end of the world, and the origins of the Mayans, and science behind their calendars, and how they worked out their cycles. And every single show they always end with the question of "Why did the calendar stop on that date?"
I figure the guy doing the carving just got distracted. I'm betting it was by kids. Or cats. Or maybe his wife finally said "You've been doing that long enough. Quit stalling and get your butt down here and take out the trash already!"
....just a guess.
I don't have a whole lot to babble about so far today (in case it wasn't already obvious). The girls are currently playing a computer game trying to convince a virtual dog that he really doesn't look like a complete freak in the getup they're creating for him. Given that the dog is being dressed up in clothes best described as a cross between a peacock and one of those 1960s psychadelic velvet posters, I'm gonna side with the computerized mutt.
Hunter has been watching Avenger movies all morning and is now down for a nap. I'm hoping for sleep soon, but I can still hear him acting out each of the heroes in what I can only guess he thinks is quiet whispering. Can I just point out that Hulk doesn't smash anything quietly?
The cats have been remarkably well-behaved so far. At least the indoor cats have been. I had to go break up a catfight in the backyard earlier though. There's a big gray tomcat that likes to try to move into our yard in hopes of claiming Pandora (my muted tortoiseshell) for himself. The resident tomcat we have, solid black Shadow, invariably fends him off in the same manner each and every time.
...He races to the tip top branches of a skinny little dogwood tree that looks like a squirrel could snap its limbs and screams his fool head off until one of us stomps outside and chases off the gray who is way too big and stocky to risk chasing Shadow up there.
Once big bad gray has panicked and nearly brained himself on each of the chain link fences between that tree and the other end of the neighborhood, Shadow wraps himself around each branch like he's hugging a teddy bear as he literally shimmies down the tree. Once he manages to make it to the ground he shakes himself and stalks away as if he single-handedly faced down Cujo.
Meanwhile, Pandora sits on the top of the BBQ grill watching the two of them with an expression that just screams out, "You two are idiots." Which makes sense, honestly, since she's not remotely interested in either of them. After Pandora brought us her first litter of kittens (born April 9th), we let her inside enough to get used to us. Eventually I was able to cage her and get her spayed and vaccinated before turning her loose again. It took her just over a week to forgive me enough to let me feed her again. Trying to catch her next summer for her annual rabies shot should be a trip...
*twitch*
Hrmm..... I may actually get some stitching done today. The girls seem content. The Hulk in the other room has begun slurring with sleep. The two big cats are curled up and snoring. And the two kittens are ...
... wait. Why is Jack dragging my tree skirt down the hallway?
Where is Zippy?
Did my Christmas tree just fall over????
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Once more... with FEELING!!
Okay, let's try this blogging thing again. I'm told that taking a year off is frowned upon by blog followers.
Really, people. Have we no patience?
*cough*
I know, I know. Back to my corner. I'm going...
Actually, right now I'm supposed to be working on a cross stitch project that had been intended to be a Christmas gift.
Last year's Christmas gift.
Yup! Right on schedule! And I'd be down there stitching right now if it weren't for certain distractions. A whole collection of distractions, to be precise.
I still stitch on my bed with all my stuff scattered across the blanket, every pillow we own behind my back, the television ready to go with forensic and history channel shows that have been recording for weeks on end, and a mug of hot chocolate beside me. This kind of prep work generally takes 30 minutes or so. The problem with this is that 30 minutes is more than enough time to draw the attention of every other living creature in the house.
This is the point where Hunter suddenly realizes that he needs to go potty RIGHT NOW and he can't get his belt off fast enough.
This is the point where Lea suddenly realizes that there is a chart infringing on her sleeping space and must be totally eradicated immediately.
This is the point where Cali suddenly realizes that there is a spot on my project that is sorely lacking in cat hair.
This is the point where Zippy suddenly realizes that I will be sitting in one spot and she has been neglecting her contortionism routines which are only effective when practiced in my lap.
This is the point where Jack suddenly realizes that I will be sitting in one spot with his sister flopped in my lap indefinitely...and the Christmas decorations are now undefended.
*sigh*
Okay, so no stitching for the moment. Oh well, I did promise I'd post on my blog anyway. Upstairs to my computer I go then.
Hunter is now wearing a blanket knotted around his shoulders as a cape and running laps around the furniture while swinging an empty wrapping paper roll at vicious..and apparently agile.. imaginary monsters. The back of my head is simply collateral damage.
What he's actually accomplishing is far more deadly. The dust bunnies are being disturbed and have begun to emerge from their cavernous lairs of doom. Three or four more laps and I suspect they're going to attack en masse like a rabid herd of tribbles.
Lea is now standing guard on the foot of my bed looking thoroughly pleased with herself after having obviously intimidated the invading cross stitch chart so badly it retreated back into it's protective plastic shell. But she's watching it. It has to come out to breathe sometime. And she'll be waiting...
Cali is now sprawled across my lap, desk, arm, and keyboard. Yes, she's one of those cats that has the uncanny ability to lay down and spread out to fill whatever space she's in, especially if such spreading out inconveniences her person and ensures she remains at the forefront of her person's thoughts. Even if said thoughts involve calico fur lined mittens and matching slippers.
Zippy is now draped across my chest and over my shoulder with her back legs dangling across Cali's back end. She is perfecting her "boneless" look while somehow managing to defy gravity.
Jack is now sitting at attention next to my computer chair with eyes the size of golf balls, waiting for the perfect moment to make his presence known to everyone...
...by leaping up into the middle of my lap to attack one or the other of the twitching tails that keep smacking me in the face.
Sooner or later, life insurance companies are going to add "Cat Owner" to their list of pre-existing conditions and high risk clients.
Really, people. Have we no patience?
*cough*
I know, I know. Back to my corner. I'm going...
Actually, right now I'm supposed to be working on a cross stitch project that had been intended to be a Christmas gift.
Last year's Christmas gift.
Yup! Right on schedule! And I'd be down there stitching right now if it weren't for certain distractions. A whole collection of distractions, to be precise.
I still stitch on my bed with all my stuff scattered across the blanket, every pillow we own behind my back, the television ready to go with forensic and history channel shows that have been recording for weeks on end, and a mug of hot chocolate beside me. This kind of prep work generally takes 30 minutes or so. The problem with this is that 30 minutes is more than enough time to draw the attention of every other living creature in the house.
This is the point where Hunter suddenly realizes that he needs to go potty RIGHT NOW and he can't get his belt off fast enough.
This is the point where Lea suddenly realizes that there is a chart infringing on her sleeping space and must be totally eradicated immediately.
This is the point where Cali suddenly realizes that there is a spot on my project that is sorely lacking in cat hair.
This is the point where Zippy suddenly realizes that I will be sitting in one spot and she has been neglecting her contortionism routines which are only effective when practiced in my lap.
This is the point where Jack suddenly realizes that I will be sitting in one spot with his sister flopped in my lap indefinitely...and the Christmas decorations are now undefended.
*sigh*
Okay, so no stitching for the moment. Oh well, I did promise I'd post on my blog anyway. Upstairs to my computer I go then.
Hunter is now wearing a blanket knotted around his shoulders as a cape and running laps around the furniture while swinging an empty wrapping paper roll at vicious..and apparently agile.. imaginary monsters. The back of my head is simply collateral damage.
What he's actually accomplishing is far more deadly. The dust bunnies are being disturbed and have begun to emerge from their cavernous lairs of doom. Three or four more laps and I suspect they're going to attack en masse like a rabid herd of tribbles.
Lea is now standing guard on the foot of my bed looking thoroughly pleased with herself after having obviously intimidated the invading cross stitch chart so badly it retreated back into it's protective plastic shell. But she's watching it. It has to come out to breathe sometime. And she'll be waiting...
Cali is now sprawled across my lap, desk, arm, and keyboard. Yes, she's one of those cats that has the uncanny ability to lay down and spread out to fill whatever space she's in, especially if such spreading out inconveniences her person and ensures she remains at the forefront of her person's thoughts. Even if said thoughts involve calico fur lined mittens and matching slippers.
Zippy is now draped across my chest and over my shoulder with her back legs dangling across Cali's back end. She is perfecting her "boneless" look while somehow managing to defy gravity.
Jack is now sitting at attention next to my computer chair with eyes the size of golf balls, waiting for the perfect moment to make his presence known to everyone...
...by leaping up into the middle of my lap to attack one or the other of the twitching tails that keep smacking me in the face.
Sooner or later, life insurance companies are going to add "Cat Owner" to their list of pre-existing conditions and high risk clients.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Taxes are boring, huh?
Yes. I still live. Mostly. Sorta. In a manner of speaking.
Over the last 9 or 10 months, I've gotten dozens upon dozens of emails asking what happened to my blog and why wasn't I posting to it anymore. Gradually those emails evolved into a few begging for me to post something new, and even a few threatening that they know where I live and if I don't post something new they WILL come and get me.
So I explained that I took a job with a tax preparation company that involved a ton of courses to learn the industry, training to learn the position I was put into, and then the surprise of learning that I will be working throughout half the summer rather than being let go at the end of tax season as expected with the seasonal position.
The response I got from just about everyone...
"No wonder you don't blog anymore. Taxes are so boring!"
Ermm... sure. Tedious and boring as all get out. Nothing even remotely exciting EVER happens. Nope, never. Nuh uh. I swear.
*dodges a lightning bolt*
Told you I was getting good at avoiding those.
I started taking the courses at the end of August of last year and was offered a management position at the end of October. The tax season officially began January 3rd and "ended" April 17th. In those 3 and a half months, I am confident that we could garner enough material to keep Jerry Springer on the air for a decade.
We had clients who came into the office so drunk that our tax professionals had to sober up after the interview. I tried to explain to one such gentleman that he was not legally permitted to file as single as long as he was married. He then argued what I assume was his version of the tax law for 8 or 10 minutes before settling on filing married filing seperately. All was well. Until I asked for his social security number so we could get started. Did you know that a man who can barely remember what his full name is can be exceptionally eloquent about his invasion of privacy? I was particularly impressed by the way he fit every vulgarity known to man into the now very loud tirade about his personal and financial information being none of my business and why should I need to know that to do his taxes, anyway?
*twitch*
Of course, there are ALWAYS those clients who are convinced that we have no idea what we're doing and will argue each and every entry. One client was so certain we were unable to round up four braincells collectively that he took it upon himself to call the IRS and ask them why his wife couldn't file Head of Household just because he refused to file his own taxes for several previous years. I still try to picture the expression on the face of the IRS operator who was listening to this guy confessing to year after year after year of tax fraud.
Imagine the shock on the client's face when he had an entire STACK of IRS audit letters within a week.
I must say though that my personal favorite so far would be the couple who needed 8 or 9 years of taxes completed because they were trying to get things straightened out before the IRS noticed. Kudos to them for wanting to make things right without actually having been threatened yet!
The problems arose when the wife brought in a box that was supposed to be full of tax documents and financial records. It wasn't. When we called to alert them to the error, the husband brought us the correct paperwork and reached for the box we shouldn't have been given. Our first indication something was wrong was hubby opening a love letter and going apoplectic in the middle of our office. "WHO THE *BLEEP BLEEP BLEEPITY BLEEP BLOP BLOOP BLIPPITY BLEEP* IS.....?!?!"
~~~~~~~~
My kids are still trying to be supportive through it all.
Sarah volunteered to help me study for some more courses. At least until she saw the three stacks of paperwork that are a foot tall each.
"I thought you only had to study for the first level of certification."
"That is the first level of certification."
"How many levels are there?"
"Eight."
"Hey, I see my friend outside in her yard. I'll see you later. Good luck with your certification, Mom!"
*sigh*
Heather and Hunter are helpful too! They especially enjoyed helping me close up the office I was assigned to during tax season.
"No, we can't take that home."
"Put the files back in the boxes!"
"Leave the computer plugged in; it belongs here."
"Hunter, stop unpacking the supplies. No, we don't want to set up the desks again!"
"Heather, get off the phone."
"Did you just fax something to Japan?!?!"
*twitch*
Oh yeah. Taxes are boring all right.
Anyone spare some Prozac?
Over the last 9 or 10 months, I've gotten dozens upon dozens of emails asking what happened to my blog and why wasn't I posting to it anymore. Gradually those emails evolved into a few begging for me to post something new, and even a few threatening that they know where I live and if I don't post something new they WILL come and get me.
So I explained that I took a job with a tax preparation company that involved a ton of courses to learn the industry, training to learn the position I was put into, and then the surprise of learning that I will be working throughout half the summer rather than being let go at the end of tax season as expected with the seasonal position.
The response I got from just about everyone...
"No wonder you don't blog anymore. Taxes are so boring!"
Ermm... sure. Tedious and boring as all get out. Nothing even remotely exciting EVER happens. Nope, never. Nuh uh. I swear.
*dodges a lightning bolt*
Told you I was getting good at avoiding those.
I started taking the courses at the end of August of last year and was offered a management position at the end of October. The tax season officially began January 3rd and "ended" April 17th. In those 3 and a half months, I am confident that we could garner enough material to keep Jerry Springer on the air for a decade.
We had clients who came into the office so drunk that our tax professionals had to sober up after the interview. I tried to explain to one such gentleman that he was not legally permitted to file as single as long as he was married. He then argued what I assume was his version of the tax law for 8 or 10 minutes before settling on filing married filing seperately. All was well. Until I asked for his social security number so we could get started. Did you know that a man who can barely remember what his full name is can be exceptionally eloquent about his invasion of privacy? I was particularly impressed by the way he fit every vulgarity known to man into the now very loud tirade about his personal and financial information being none of my business and why should I need to know that to do his taxes, anyway?
*twitch*
Of course, there are ALWAYS those clients who are convinced that we have no idea what we're doing and will argue each and every entry. One client was so certain we were unable to round up four braincells collectively that he took it upon himself to call the IRS and ask them why his wife couldn't file Head of Household just because he refused to file his own taxes for several previous years. I still try to picture the expression on the face of the IRS operator who was listening to this guy confessing to year after year after year of tax fraud.
Imagine the shock on the client's face when he had an entire STACK of IRS audit letters within a week.
I must say though that my personal favorite so far would be the couple who needed 8 or 9 years of taxes completed because they were trying to get things straightened out before the IRS noticed. Kudos to them for wanting to make things right without actually having been threatened yet!
The problems arose when the wife brought in a box that was supposed to be full of tax documents and financial records. It wasn't. When we called to alert them to the error, the husband brought us the correct paperwork and reached for the box we shouldn't have been given. Our first indication something was wrong was hubby opening a love letter and going apoplectic in the middle of our office. "WHO THE *BLEEP BLEEP BLEEPITY BLEEP BLOP BLOOP BLIPPITY BLEEP* IS.....?!?!"
~~~~~~~~
My kids are still trying to be supportive through it all.
Sarah volunteered to help me study for some more courses. At least until she saw the three stacks of paperwork that are a foot tall each.
"I thought you only had to study for the first level of certification."
"That is the first level of certification."
"How many levels are there?"
"Eight."
"Hey, I see my friend outside in her yard. I'll see you later. Good luck with your certification, Mom!"
*sigh*
Heather and Hunter are helpful too! They especially enjoyed helping me close up the office I was assigned to during tax season.
"No, we can't take that home."
"Put the files back in the boxes!"
"Leave the computer plugged in; it belongs here."
"Hunter, stop unpacking the supplies. No, we don't want to set up the desks again!"
"Heather, get off the phone."
"Did you just fax something to Japan?!?!"
*twitch*
Oh yeah. Taxes are boring all right.
Anyone spare some Prozac?
Monday, September 19, 2011
I'm SUPPOSED to be stitching...
I really am. I keep telling myself I'm going to spend all day stitching while Steve is at work so I can actually make some visible progress on each of the projects I've been plodding away at.
I did have four going. Then I completed one and got down to three. Then I found an awesome image that just screamed "Gift me to this person! It was meant to be!". The image got charted into a pattern and the WIP count went right back up to four. I showed off my discovery to a friend who mentioned another cartoon character her husband is just nuts over and within two days I had another chart waiting to be stitched.
WIP count: five.
Of course, I can't do one for the hubby and ignore the wifle-type person, so her gift got tacked onto the back of the list as well.
WIP count: six.
Steve calmly listened to me ramble on and on to myself about the materials that I'm gonna need to round up from their various hiding places in my craft storage corner. He managed to stifle a snicker when my monologue to myself stumbled into the recollection that another close friend just announced her engagement and will need a sampler before the wedding date they've already set. He settled in a little too comfortably and watched quietly while I ran myself in tight little circles trying to figure out how in the world I'm ever going to manage to get any of this stuff done before I stress myself into a local asylum.
Eventually I ran out of steam and glanced suspiciously in his direction.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Bullpuckey. What?"
"Oh I was just wondering when you thought you were going to get around to doing that wedding sampler for us. Or that haunted house chart you just got. Or that "really cute" baby sampler you were going on and on about for a newborn that's about to turn four. Or the Christmas pattern you wanted to design and stitch up. Or that new collection of seasonal roses. Or the calendar snowmen that were gonna go on an afghan. Or the-"
"When do you have to be back at work again?"
I did have four going. Then I completed one and got down to three. Then I found an awesome image that just screamed "Gift me to this person! It was meant to be!". The image got charted into a pattern and the WIP count went right back up to four. I showed off my discovery to a friend who mentioned another cartoon character her husband is just nuts over and within two days I had another chart waiting to be stitched.
WIP count: five.
Of course, I can't do one for the hubby and ignore the wifle-type person, so her gift got tacked onto the back of the list as well.
WIP count: six.
Steve calmly listened to me ramble on and on to myself about the materials that I'm gonna need to round up from their various hiding places in my craft storage corner. He managed to stifle a snicker when my monologue to myself stumbled into the recollection that another close friend just announced her engagement and will need a sampler before the wedding date they've already set. He settled in a little too comfortably and watched quietly while I ran myself in tight little circles trying to figure out how in the world I'm ever going to manage to get any of this stuff done before I stress myself into a local asylum.
Eventually I ran out of steam and glanced suspiciously in his direction.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Bullpuckey. What?"
"Oh I was just wondering when you thought you were going to get around to doing that wedding sampler for us. Or that haunted house chart you just got. Or that "really cute" baby sampler you were going on and on about for a newborn that's about to turn four. Or the Christmas pattern you wanted to design and stitch up. Or that new collection of seasonal roses. Or the calendar snowmen that were gonna go on an afghan. Or the-"
"When do you have to be back at work again?"
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
"Remember, as far as anyone knows we are a nice normal family."
That was printed on a little wall hanging gift a couple at our church gave us a few months ago and it almost applies to our family.
I say 'almost' because it takes less than 15 mins for us to completely shatter any illusions of normalcy. Even our cats seem determined to guarantee we make prime candidates for a Jerry Springer show. But they're no competition for my offspring.
Let's see. Sarah's in 7th grade now. She's acutely aware of boys and of the fact that they look at her. This, of course, means that the natural course of teen evolution known as 'puberty' had to choose this point in her life to attack in all its oily, patchy skin tone glory. She, predictably, thinks the world has officially ended because her complexion is no longer clear and it's up to me to snap my fingers and fix things.
Sorry kid. If I was able to survive my freshman year of high school looking like Mother Nature had slapped me across the face with a terminal case of chicken pox and a side of the facial measles, you'll manage to get through one grade of middle school with a minor constellation tucked safely under your bangs.
My advice to her has always been "scrub your face twice a day with these facial cleansers and let your skin breathe for awhile." Apparently, when this is entered into the Parent to Teen translator, it comes out as "Slather three inches of makeup over every pore in your face and suffocate the breakouts to death."
"Mom! It's not working! I just found four more zits! OMG!! Kill me now!"
*twitch*
The other day my two little ones started arguing over what to watch that evening. Sarah suggested "Bambi 2" and was met with "Yeah! Let's watch that!" Okay, normal enough right?
A few minutes later, Heather and Sarah were parked on the couch snuffling back tears as the movie rehashed why Bambi suddenly finds himself raised by his father instead of his mother. Hunter was rather agitated as well.
Hunter: "I don't want to watch THIS. I wanna watch 'Bambi'!"
Me: "This is 'Bambi', it's just the second movie."
Hunter: "No! Not cartoon! 'BAMBI'!! Daaaaaaaaad!!!"
Not a cartoon? There's a live action 'Bambi' movie? When did this happen?
Steve came into the room to investigate the ruckus and listened for a minute before this devious little grin snuck across his face and he reached for Hunter's hand.
Steve: "You want to watch 'Bambi', huh? Alright, Buddy. Let's go watch 'Bambi'."
Then they headed toward our bedroom. Ermm... We don't have a DVD player in our room. Confused, I followed along behind them and watched as they settled comfortably on the bed and turned on the TV.
The DVR fired up.
Steve flipped through a myriad of shows that had been recorded while I was lost in my homework these past few weeks.
TV: "Welcome to the latest adventure of Whitetail Hunters of America! Join us as we go in search of our biggest trophy since we started filming our hunting trips!"
Hunter: "Yay! BAMBI!!!"
*faint*
I say 'almost' because it takes less than 15 mins for us to completely shatter any illusions of normalcy. Even our cats seem determined to guarantee we make prime candidates for a Jerry Springer show. But they're no competition for my offspring.
Let's see. Sarah's in 7th grade now. She's acutely aware of boys and of the fact that they look at her. This, of course, means that the natural course of teen evolution known as 'puberty' had to choose this point in her life to attack in all its oily, patchy skin tone glory. She, predictably, thinks the world has officially ended because her complexion is no longer clear and it's up to me to snap my fingers and fix things.
Sorry kid. If I was able to survive my freshman year of high school looking like Mother Nature had slapped me across the face with a terminal case of chicken pox and a side of the facial measles, you'll manage to get through one grade of middle school with a minor constellation tucked safely under your bangs.
My advice to her has always been "scrub your face twice a day with these facial cleansers and let your skin breathe for awhile." Apparently, when this is entered into the Parent to Teen translator, it comes out as "Slather three inches of makeup over every pore in your face and suffocate the breakouts to death."
"Mom! It's not working! I just found four more zits! OMG!! Kill me now!"
*twitch*
The other day my two little ones started arguing over what to watch that evening. Sarah suggested "Bambi 2" and was met with "Yeah! Let's watch that!" Okay, normal enough right?
A few minutes later, Heather and Sarah were parked on the couch snuffling back tears as the movie rehashed why Bambi suddenly finds himself raised by his father instead of his mother. Hunter was rather agitated as well.
Hunter: "I don't want to watch THIS. I wanna watch 'Bambi'!"
Me: "This is 'Bambi', it's just the second movie."
Hunter: "No! Not cartoon! 'BAMBI'!! Daaaaaaaaad!!!"
Not a cartoon? There's a live action 'Bambi' movie? When did this happen?
Steve came into the room to investigate the ruckus and listened for a minute before this devious little grin snuck across his face and he reached for Hunter's hand.
Steve: "You want to watch 'Bambi', huh? Alright, Buddy. Let's go watch 'Bambi'."
Then they headed toward our bedroom. Ermm... We don't have a DVD player in our room. Confused, I followed along behind them and watched as they settled comfortably on the bed and turned on the TV.
The DVR fired up.
Steve flipped through a myriad of shows that had been recorded while I was lost in my homework these past few weeks.
TV: "Welcome to the latest adventure of Whitetail Hunters of America! Join us as we go in search of our biggest trophy since we started filming our hunting trips!"
Hunter: "Yay! BAMBI!!!"
*faint*
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Bappy Hirfday, Studly!
Yep! It's Steve's birthday today! He's thrilled. I think his big plans involve coming home and collapsing with the remote and a pack of hunting shows that were DVRed all week.
At least until I drag him out to softball practice.
He only had one birthday request. He wants a Tres Leche birthday cake. Awesome!!
...
What's a tres leche cake?
Look, by now it's no secret that I'm about as domestic as a bulldozer. So anything that requires more work than upending a premade mix into a bowl and tossing an egg or two in is waaaaay out of my realm of expertise.
No problem. I can figure this out!
*cough*
I headed off to Wallyworld yesterday to round up ingredients. The first sign that I'm probably in trouble? My 4 yr old was holding the computer printout of the recipe and "reading" things off the list.
Would you believe that tres leche cakes apparently have M&Ms, Oreos, and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in them? Heather was absolutely insistant that they were all included in the recipe.
"See, Mom? It says right there! 'M and Ms'!"
"Hmmm... are you sure that doesn't say 'milk'?"
"Of course not! I read it! Look right here. 'M' and there's another 'M' over here. M&Ms!"
And once that was announced Hunter was all over it. "The M&Ms are over here, Mom! Let's go get them!"
*twitch*
Eventually I found myself standing in front of the dairy section with the recipe in front of my nose and a thoroughly confused expression plastered all over my face. The recipe calls for "whipping cream" in one part and "heavy cream" in another part. Could I find "whipping cream" or "heavy cream"? Not a chance. All I saw was 4 or 5 different brands of "Heavy Whipping Cream". No problem. I'll call my friends who have all successfully raised full households without any food poisoning incidents.
Hey, I've only had a couple... and my family still lets me cook. Once in awhile. When they're desperate.
*cough*
Would you believe that not a single one of the people I tried to call was available right that second? I mean, really. Just because they have jobs and it was right smack in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday... that was no reason to not be waiting with bated breath for me to suddenly have a completely unimportant crisis to drop in their laps. Honestly. Some people.
Errr...
So, I guessed and grabbed some stuff and we'll just wait and see what happens when Steve tries a piece of his cake this evening.
Of course a few hours later, when the work day ended, all those friends I'd pestered were finally able to get a breather and call back. All at the same time.
My sister on one line, a friend on the other line, someone else called in and got routed directly to voicemail, Steve sent a text, and every one of them suddenly got hung up on when I had a typical Kiri moment and hit the wrong button which made my phone vomit and curl up in the fetal position.
Yeah.
Now it's time to get started on the cake experiment. I'm assured it will all turn out just fine.
Although I'm still a little confused about how the ice cream and M&Ms are gonna handle being baked for 40 mins.
At least until I drag him out to softball practice.
He only had one birthday request. He wants a Tres Leche birthday cake. Awesome!!
...
What's a tres leche cake?
Look, by now it's no secret that I'm about as domestic as a bulldozer. So anything that requires more work than upending a premade mix into a bowl and tossing an egg or two in is waaaaay out of my realm of expertise.
No problem. I can figure this out!
*cough*
I headed off to Wallyworld yesterday to round up ingredients. The first sign that I'm probably in trouble? My 4 yr old was holding the computer printout of the recipe and "reading" things off the list.
Would you believe that tres leche cakes apparently have M&Ms, Oreos, and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in them? Heather was absolutely insistant that they were all included in the recipe.
"See, Mom? It says right there! 'M and Ms'!"
"Hmmm... are you sure that doesn't say 'milk'?"
"Of course not! I read it! Look right here. 'M' and there's another 'M' over here. M&Ms!"
And once that was announced Hunter was all over it. "The M&Ms are over here, Mom! Let's go get them!"
*twitch*
Eventually I found myself standing in front of the dairy section with the recipe in front of my nose and a thoroughly confused expression plastered all over my face. The recipe calls for "whipping cream" in one part and "heavy cream" in another part. Could I find "whipping cream" or "heavy cream"? Not a chance. All I saw was 4 or 5 different brands of "Heavy Whipping Cream". No problem. I'll call my friends who have all successfully raised full households without any food poisoning incidents.
Hey, I've only had a couple... and my family still lets me cook. Once in awhile. When they're desperate.
*cough*
Would you believe that not a single one of the people I tried to call was available right that second? I mean, really. Just because they have jobs and it was right smack in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday... that was no reason to not be waiting with bated breath for me to suddenly have a completely unimportant crisis to drop in their laps. Honestly. Some people.
Errr...
So, I guessed and grabbed some stuff and we'll just wait and see what happens when Steve tries a piece of his cake this evening.
Of course a few hours later, when the work day ended, all those friends I'd pestered were finally able to get a breather and call back. All at the same time.
My sister on one line, a friend on the other line, someone else called in and got routed directly to voicemail, Steve sent a text, and every one of them suddenly got hung up on when I had a typical Kiri moment and hit the wrong button which made my phone vomit and curl up in the fetal position.
Yeah.
Now it's time to get started on the cake experiment. I'm assured it will all turn out just fine.
Although I'm still a little confused about how the ice cream and M&Ms are gonna handle being baked for 40 mins.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Is the sky leaking?!?
Yeah, it's been that long since we've gotten rained on. There were even times when they promised we were gonna get rain and we saw the storm clouds coming but then, for some odd reason, the clouds just kinda went around us. I think we've gotten dribbled on three or maybe four times since June.
So the other night while I was trying to finish up the last of my homework before midnight and Steve was watching his shows featuring the mass slaughter of anything with antlers, there was a bright flash outside followed a few seconds later by this strange noise rumbling around and throughout the house.
Steve: Did you hear that?
Me: Uh huh.
Steve: Could it be?
Me: More than likely. Hunter did skip lunch and refuse to eat dinner tonight. He's probably starving.
Well last night found us in our usual places on the bed:
Me on my side with tax books and charts spread all over the place and a few forms across my lap as I filled them out.
Steve on his side eyeing the clock and wondering if he should take sedatives to help him sleep with the lights on.
He ended up playing games with his phone and at some random point got a weather alert saying we were under a flash flood watch. Riiight. At this point, any water dropping onto the ground vanishes instantly as every root system in the county senses moisture two time zones away and attacks.
I bet if you stood in my yard with a drink and the glass sweated, you'd hear a slurping sound start before the condensation even hit the ground. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you looked down and saw little root ends staring pitifully up at you out of the soil in their best imitation of baby birds expecting a worm.
Anyway...
I got rolled out of bed this morning in the usual fashion, stumbled upstairs in the dark to chase the two littles off the computers and downstairs for breakfast, and squawked in a most unladylike manner when I spotted three HUGE rats sitting in a line outside my patio door staring inside at my two cats who were sitting on this side of the door staring right back at them.
I brought my pulse back down to a rate somewhere in the triple digits and started toward the bedroom to roust Steve out of bed so he could shoot the economy sized rodents when it slowly dawned on me that I could hear pounding rain outside.
Oh no. The poor things.
Upon returning to the patio door to take a closer look it became painfully clear that the "rats" were actually three of my ferals sitting in the downpour waiting for me to feed them.
With a perfectly dry shelter lined with warm towels and blankets sitting unoccupied next to them.
Survival instinct my fuzzy patookus.
So the other night while I was trying to finish up the last of my homework before midnight and Steve was watching his shows featuring the mass slaughter of anything with antlers, there was a bright flash outside followed a few seconds later by this strange noise rumbling around and throughout the house.
Steve: Did you hear that?
Me: Uh huh.
Steve: Could it be?
Me: More than likely. Hunter did skip lunch and refuse to eat dinner tonight. He's probably starving.
Well last night found us in our usual places on the bed:
Me on my side with tax books and charts spread all over the place and a few forms across my lap as I filled them out.
Steve on his side eyeing the clock and wondering if he should take sedatives to help him sleep with the lights on.
He ended up playing games with his phone and at some random point got a weather alert saying we were under a flash flood watch. Riiight. At this point, any water dropping onto the ground vanishes instantly as every root system in the county senses moisture two time zones away and attacks.
I bet if you stood in my yard with a drink and the glass sweated, you'd hear a slurping sound start before the condensation even hit the ground. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you looked down and saw little root ends staring pitifully up at you out of the soil in their best imitation of baby birds expecting a worm.
Anyway...
I got rolled out of bed this morning in the usual fashion, stumbled upstairs in the dark to chase the two littles off the computers and downstairs for breakfast, and squawked in a most unladylike manner when I spotted three HUGE rats sitting in a line outside my patio door staring inside at my two cats who were sitting on this side of the door staring right back at them.
I brought my pulse back down to a rate somewhere in the triple digits and started toward the bedroom to roust Steve out of bed so he could shoot the economy sized rodents when it slowly dawned on me that I could hear pounding rain outside.
Oh no. The poor things.
Upon returning to the patio door to take a closer look it became painfully clear that the "rats" were actually three of my ferals sitting in the downpour waiting for me to feed them.
With a perfectly dry shelter lined with warm towels and blankets sitting unoccupied next to them.
Survival instinct my fuzzy patookus.
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