In my area, there’s a giant, statewide yard sale going on all down one of our major highways. As is typical with yard sales, you never know what you’re going to find.
And as is typical with me – you never know what’s going to happen.
I’ll let the pictures tell the story:
With school having started back up now, I am determined to cook more meals for my family. It sounds great, but half the time I’m running around like a crazy person and then I realize it’s time for dinner and I dint have a plan for it.
Yesterday I decided to make my chicken pasta – one of the girls’ faves and there’s aways leftovers to heat up for lunch the next day. I was excited. I went to the store, got my ingredients, came home, and got busy. I’m frying bacon to crumble, I’m cooking chicken, I’m even chopping veggies up to make the Mr. his own meal since he’s diabetic and can’t have all the carbs pasta brings to the table. As soon as my chicken gets done I throw my pasta in to boil while I crumble bacon and shred chicken. I make my sauce and toss is the whole shebang in a pan and sprinkle on parmesian cheese so it can bake for a bit and all the flavors mix together.
Twenty minutes later, the small wafting through my apartment has me drooling. I’m done waiting. So I throw open the oven, grab my potholders, grab onto my pan…and proceed to slip and flip the pan upside down as I pull it out. I now have pasta all over the bottom of my oven, all over the oven door, and trailing onto my kitchen floor.
The Mr. hears all of the commotion and comes running, worried I injured myself, and finds me staring blankly at this disaster and trying not to cry. I see him, panick for some weird reason, and reach down to grab my pan. I immediately throw it back down because, of course, it’s still blazing hot from being in the freaking oven.
I am the reason we can’t have nice things. Also, our pizza last night was delicious, thanks.
The big kid turned 11 a few weeks back, and for various reasons we didn’t have her birthday party until today. She’s obsessed with all things Once Upon a Time right now and requested that as her theme this year…not an easy thing to pull off. Walmart sure doesn’t carry those kinds of decorations and as seen in previous posts, I am so not a crafty lady! But I am determined and creative. I can usually throw something together and make it work out alright.
I chose gold, black, and navy blue, and white for the colors since that’s what’s on the posters that I’ve seen.
I used apples as some of the decorations and as snacks for people, threw some fake rose petals down (Beauty and the Beast shout-out), and put out some chocolate chip cookies and store bought brownies for more snackage.
Some of the kiddo’s stuff became decorations as well as more of the apples.
The coffee table with the wicked witch’s apples.
My unbiological sister helping me put together the cupcakes.
I’m super proud of how these turned out…caramel apple cupcakes with roses on top! These tested me so much. When my first batch was in the oven, I went to pull open the door to see if they were done yet and I’ll be damned if the oven handle didn’t come off in my hand! The Mr. had to be my hero and fix it for me while I hyperventilated and wondered how in the hell I was going to fix the rest of my cupcakes! And you ever made caramel icing? It is surprisingly frustrating to unwrap all those caramels and takes forever to melt them down.
This was my absolute favorite part of putting together the party! The hearts in a box, ala Snow White and the Huntsman. The evil queen wants Snow White dead so she hires a hunter to kill her and bring her the heart as proof of Snow White’s death. So I came up with these little numbers – heart stress balls (for squeezability when you want to crush your enemies’ hearts) and filled the rest of the box with gold coins as a nod to the payment the hunter received for his dark deed. Thank you Amazon for having the perfect item readily available and shipped in two days! Lol.
All in all, the party was a big hit for the kiddos and I am so so happy it’s all over and done with until next year.
Who else likes to sit around in their jammies late at night and settle in for a Netflix or Amazon Prime marathon while they drift into (ahem…postpone) sleep? I’m sure I’m not the only one. Lately I’ve gotten into Sex and the City, which my fiance is still making fun of me for. “It’s just all about sex,” he says, “there isn’t anything else to it.”
But he’s completely wrong when it comes to this show. Yes, it features sex sometimes, but that isn’t the focal point. The focal point is Carrie learning about herself through her relationships. She’s continually questioning everything and in a very public forum – a weekly column in a New York newspaper – and judging by the popularity of that column and her ensuing book deal, her curiosity and explorations resonate with her readers.
Personally, it isn’t just the show I love but also my memories of watching the show in bit and pieces as it was being aired years ago. I was in high school and in the beginning stages of my own explorations. It was exciting to me. Inspiring. It was the first time I considered the possibility of being a writer and I took steps toward my interest in journalism to try it on for size. I took a year of journalism in high school writing for the school paper and even went away for a week one summer to a journalism camp at Ball State University (shout out to my Indiana homefolk!). It wasn’t the right fit for me. It turns out, I only like writing about things when I’m actually interested in them.
It was also the first time I realized that adults don’t always have their shit together either. They each go through their own set of problems that is reminiscent of the real world asskicking that happens when your expectations don’t live up to what actually pans out in your life – and it all works out ok in the end anyway. You make it work, one way or another.
And the main thread through the whole storyline is the girls’ friendship with each other. They may fuss and they may fall out over some pretty big issues at times, but they are always there for each other and always make time to be together. Wouldn’t it be nice if real life was like that?
Instead, it’s more like the end of How I Met Your Mother – all the closeness fades away as some have kids, some pursue their dreams at the detriment of everything else, and some just plain don’t change but your opinion of them does. That’s just life. It boils down to “being there for the big moments” and the next thing you know…you’re missing those too. In the end, everyone is just trying to survive their own lives while hanging onto the bits of the people they’ve been throughout the years.
I think that’s one of the many reasons audiences are drawn into tv shows the way they are. You get pulled into the lives of a core group of people. You evolve with them through their struggles, you grieve the loss of some and celebrate the joys of others. It reminds you of times in your life when you were those people on the screen. The adventures. The laughter. The heartaches. The friendships. The family you make for yourself.
So yeah, I’m gonna keep watching the same old tv shows in my pajamas and wax nostalgic about the way things used to be.
There are some damned good people back in those times.
Last night, Darrick wasn’t feeling well enough to go to my mama’s with me to pick up the eldest and bring her home.
No biggie.
It was a gorgeous day and I wanted to get the kids outside to play. I left around five thirty, nabbed some pizza on the way (always a big hit!) we stuffed our faces and headed out into the big world.
First, swordfights. It’s a must. Everybody grabbed their sticks, made obligatory karate noises, and the chase was on.
You’d think having two girls would mean I’d never have to break up fights about whose stick is bigger. You’d be wrong.
During the swordfights we notice Mamaw’s gutter extensions had blown off due to the massive wind we got the day before. Search and rescue mission underway! After spying it trapped against the back fence, Anya and I trot off to drag it back.
It’s about a six, seven foot black tube with ridges. Not real heavy. She grabbed one end, I grabbed the other, and we started pulling it back to the house.
Then we got distracted yelling into it like it was a giant empty paper towel roll.
A couple minutes later, Sophie was doing something much more interesting than I was. Anya threw her end down and started running. Of course, I couldn’t let her get away with that! So I flipped the gutter around and pretended it was a giant snake chasing after her.
It was hilarious, especially when everyone else picked up their ‘swords’ and beat on it until my hand went numb from the vibrations.
Playing hide and seek inside the house, my mama remembered she had some alligator hats she’d come across at the dollar tree a while back, so we threw those on and roared at each other while we put on our shoes and sweatshirts to go home.
Along the way, I made sure to stop at a gas station so we could go in and show off our hats. Sophie refused to wear hers and was embarrassed Anya and I did, but she’s ten and will survive.
Coming through the door to the house, Darrick sees us, hops up, and asks what in the world we’re wearing. We model them just for him, he shakes his head, and then calls us weirdos.
Deep down, I think he’s just jealous I didn’t bring him one too.
Winter finally hit here in my tiny town. Freezing temps, snow in the inches, car doors frozen shut…Jack Frost in all his glory.
I am not a fan.
However, it does give me the opportunity to entertain myself in ways I normally can’t.
This morning I was finished getting ready for the day before Mr. Darrick. I thought I would head on down and start the car to warm it up.
It takes forever when it’s this cold, so I start revving the engine a little to warm it up quicker. Darrick found me five minutes later clutching into the steering wheel, revving in short spurts, and yelling, “Put food into my belly! Feed me!”
“Um…I take it you want to do and get a breakfast sandwich on your way into work?”
“No. I was talking for the car. Gas light came on.”
I have to admit that the man has a great facepalm.
After a long process and weighing many options, we decided to take our dog back and let him go to a new home.
And it sucks. So bad.
We love him, plain and simple. He is sweet, funny, loyal. He is the best snuggler and proved to me that yes, dogs really can give hugs.
But he’s got some bad habits we just couldn’t change, no matter what we tried. You know how dogs refuse to relieve themselves whereever they lay down and sleep? Apparently ours never got that memo. That’s precisely what he would do. We could take him out twelve times a day and the moment we were in the other room, he would find a way to pee on the back of a chair, somewhere on thee floor, and a few times, on our bed. Not cool. We would take him out for a walk before putting him in his crate, and within ten minutes, he would pee in there, too.
As you can imagine, it caused a lot of stress and lord, have I gone through the cleaning products.
He also seemed to hate it when I cleaned the carpets. When I did, within a few hours he peed on it. It’s like the smell was comforting to him.
We ruled out any physical issues with him; this is a behavior issue. And it’s beyond us.
We’re heartbroken. We constantly go back and forth over whether we did the right thing. We explained the situation to the people we took him back to and told them he’s a great dog, but needs a home where he has constant access to the outdoors. I’m positive that would be a better situation for him and would go a long way toward working through his issues.
It hurts. It hurts to think of him sad and scared. Crying and whimpering and missing his family.
It hurts to think of him with a heavy heart, too.
I’m alive, I swear! It has been a bit, I know. I’ve sat down a million times to write posts, but then this thing called exhaustion kicks in and I suddenly fall asleep. At nine o’clock. I’m like an old person and I’m barely thirty.
I got a job, sort of. It’s a temp job that started in the beginning of December and was supposed to last two weeks, but it’s still going. Of course, it was also supposed to be a data entry job….it isn’t. I literally wait around for someone to hand me stickers to put on boxes. Sometimes I do cycle counts and try to match serial numbers we actually have to those the fancy sheets of paper say we’re supposed to have.
It’s as exciting as it sounds. Lately, they’ve even let me scan boxes to help out the shipping people.
Guess I’m moving up in the world.
It isn’t a terrible job. I get paid well, especially for around my tiny hometown. I don’t stress out about it, and people generally leave me alone to do my own thing. It pays the bills.
I guess the problem is my old job. I miss it. I had a family there. We cared about each other. I felt like I mattered. Yes, I was technically replaceable, but I would be missed. Where I’m at now, it isn’t like that. I only talk to two or three guys there sporadically. Nobody really cares what I do as long as I get most of what I’m supposed to do done. It’s a little soul-crushing, to be honest. But it’s a job. It helps to support my family, which is what it’s all about. That’s the important thing.
Right?
Domestically Dippy 