I Wanted to be with You Alone and Talk About the Weather

Autumn is here and in full swing.

I'm wearing socks, that's how I can tell.


I have lots to do outside, but I'm enjoying the process of just watching. There's plenty of time to do stuff. I just want to watch for now.






We're busy with soccer, homework, making lots and lots of soups and someone traveling his ass off. And a new obsession of baking gluten-free chocolate snack cakes. Nom nom.

I'd Get a Thousand Hugs From Ten Thousand Lightening Bugs as They Tried to Teach Me How to Dance

On Sunday, after "church" (yes, I know, quotation marks, been going for two years and will forever likely put quotation marks around it, SHUT UP) I went to a friend's house to learn how to can.

Oh yes, you heard me right. I am now prepared for armageddon. Between canning and learning all my mad skillz on FarmVille I'm ready for anything.

So I got together with some friends and made a bazillion pounds of salsa.


I got a wonderful lesson in saving every last drop of juice (the look on my friend's face when I wasted about five drops was astonishing), slicing hot peppers with gloves on don't do shit in regards to making your fingers not burn and that when squeezing a tomato that shit is gonna go everywhere.

My OCD nervous tick came out with rage when I begged to stop for a moment to wipe things down. "But we're not done yet, we'll wipe when we're done." Good Lord, these people tortured me.


We ended up "processing" (look at me! canning terminology!) slightly over 100 pounds of tomatoes into salsa and leftover juice.

And my goddamn fingernails are still stained. Pretty, pretty princess is not happy about that.

Takes Me to My Limits

The other night I was taking the Kylie on our evening walk and she kept jerking ahead. Someone needs to teach that damn dog how to heel.

After about five minutes of her shit and being tired of it, I decided to run for a bit.

Now's about as good a time as any to mention I don't run. Like, at all. I jiggle enough as-is, running is like Santa's wiggly laugh on steroids and bringing new meaning to "I don't think you're ready for this jelly."

So I decide, just 20 steps. I'll run for 20 steps. That will be enough to make the dog mind.

On step 18 I decided, hey! This is fun! Let's go for another 20!

On step 37 I decided, easy peasy! Let's go some more!

On step 60 I decided, okay, we're good here. Let's walk.

The puppy? She didn't mind. She enjoyed the running. Of course she did, damn dog.

After walking a minute or two, I decided to run another 60 steps. After two more minutes, I did it again. Then rinse, repeat, and do again for 30 minutes.

By then, I was dragging that damn dog.

The next day I was amazingly euphoric. My chest, legs, hips and arms (arms? WTF?) fucking huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrttttt.

I'm Walking in the Spiderwebs

Last Friday I was emailing with Michelle and she was telling me about the projects she was working on and what have I been working on lately?

Um.... breathing?

Maybe?

To which she replied maybe I'd feel better (not that I'm depressed, I just feel like I'm under 20 feet of water trying to thread to who-know's-where) if I worked on a little somethin' somethin'.

Little did she know I spent three hours (duuuuuuuuuuuuude) the previous weekend just uncovering my goddamn sewing machine.

After eradicating 500 spiders (how I wish I was embellishing that ), I sat down and fixed a pillowcase.

DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, SMALL STEPS PEOPLE.

And then after that, I tore up another pillowcase (with hole! because I have boys! and a dog! and they're rough on things!) (Get it? GET IT? ROUGH ON THINGS! Like ruff? Like a dog barking? Oh, nevermind) and made it bigger and fixed up the torn back.


Yes, I know. You've seen it before. But hot damn, I sewed something.

And, of course, the whole damn house knew I was sewing because I left the basement door open because Aaron was mowing and the boys were watching cartoons and I was screaming at my machine "WHO'S YOUR DADDY NOW?!" and, um, other things when all of the sudden I look up and there's Darwin.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, Dar?"

"Do you like sewing?"

"Yes, I do. I really do."

"Then why did you call it a dirty little bitch?"

::crickets::

"May I have an apple?"

"ABSOLUTELY."

Now I have all sorts of grandiose ideas like working on my quilt and making a new bag and not feeling like I'm drowning in my life.

Everytime I Think of You I Always Catch My Breath

Autumn is here. More than a month early. It's really fucking with my brain. A lot.


The trees are turning colors, pinecones are everywhere, I'm sipping hot cocoa and it's early September. In Kansas. This is so very, very wrong. And yet, so totally kick-ass.

I'm listening to Journey, hoping the music will drown out the boys' bickering. C'mon guys, autumn is here!

Would You Always, Maybe Sometimes, Make it Easy

The weather is beautiful here, gorgeous actually, and I've been walking the dog to get the boys from school daily.

Oh, did you forget we have a dog? We do. I struggle not to kill her every damn day.

Today she pooped in her crate, rolled in it then dug four - FOUR - motherfucking holes in the backyard while she waited for a bath.

I'm gonna plant crocuses in those holes.

Or her body.

I'll let you guess which I choose.

Anyway, so Kylie The Damn Dog loves walking to get the boys from school because she gets a shitload of attention. Everyone wants to pet her. When it's time to go she whimpers, no, wait, that person over there hasn't pet me yet! The little slut.

Today we got down to the school and Darwin's class was already out - normally they're a good five, ten, 86 minutes late after the bell so this was a pleasant surprise.

Until Darwin burst into a glob of sob-y gooey tears.

"You" choke, choke, sob "FORGOT MEeeeeeeeee!" choke, choke, sob, rinse, repeat.

"No, I didn't sweetie."

"YES YOU DIDddddddddddddd." Insert wiping snotty nose down the sleeve of his hoodie.

His teacher (who's so goddamn perfect and chipper you can't decide if you want to punch her or put her in your pocket and carry her around for the rest of your life for personal affirmations) tried to explain to him that they were early but he wasn't having any of that. So he proceeded to have a full complete meltdown in the front of the school, with the goddamn principal watching a few feet away.

I'm pretty good with the boys when they lose their shit, and there's good reason for that: they are stellar shit losers. I don't know where they get that from.

So I talked to him, I picked him up (he's getting fucking heavy), carried him around, tried to calm him down. And then decided to tell him a story.

"Did I ever tell you about that time, I was probably eight or so, when my step-monster (insert her name here), she's not in our lives now, forgot me? She REALLY forgot me."

::shakes his head no::

"Well, I was at the skating rink for a school party. She was suppose to come pick me up after the party. An hour later, after they were already closed, the manager had me come in and call her. So I called her. She said she was on her way. She didn't come for another two hours."

"Two hours?"

"Yes. It was three hours total. And then I got yelled at. Darwin, I know what it feels like to be forgotten, and I promise I will never, ever forget you, Griffin or Daddy. I promise."

::sob, sob:: "Okay. But Mommy?"

"Yes, Darwin?"

"This was way worse than that."

Sigh.

I Tremble, They're Gonna Eat Me Alive

Yesterday I had the opportunity to go to a friend's house and check out her garden. Actually, it's not just her garden - she and a mutual friend tend to it. It's humongous.

And when I say "garden" I mean garden, as in nearly enough to feed two families -- which consist of 11 people total.


I'm totally stealing her tomato staking ideas.


Or, at least, I'm gonna make Aaron do it. After all, he is in charge of the veggies.







She also has teenagers, lot of 'em. Like, over two million. Or five. You pick. This one was exhausted from making gluten-free banana bread and a gluten-free blueberry cake.

Which? I can say? YUM.

After the garden tour, my friend's oldest (he's 14) decided to "entertain" us which was really horrible jokes and stories of his antics, like getting kicked out of his girlfriend's house and trying to insinuate I am old enough to have been in Grease (am NOT, by the way) and jumping on the back of my van and holding on while I drove around his neighborhood. Little does he know, I'm moving from teaching the three and four year-olds at "church" (which, by the way, all my friends now call their own churches church-with-out-quotation-marks, as well they should with all their Jesus love) to teaching his class of 12 to 14 year-olds.

And let the torture begin.

Hey, They Say That a Stitch in Time Saves Nine

"So, guess what I did today."

"What?"

"Dude, guess."

"I don't know. What?"

"I cleaned up downtown."

"You cleaned up downtown?"

"Yes."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Because I have my annual vajayjay on Thursday."

"Wait a minute.. you cleaned up for your doctor?"

"Duh. I can't be going in there with her thinkin' I'm majoring in Forestry or something."

::blink::

"What?"

"It's just... but it's for me too, right?"

"NO. Not for you."

"Stupid OB, stealing all my thunder."

And You Get in Your Car and You Drive Real Far

Griffin started back at school, this week. Second grade. Have mercy.


He went two half days, which were more like let's fuck up your days, parents, because the public school system isn't asshole enough. So two half days were enough for Griffin to beg to drop out and go to blacksmithing school.

I had to point out that they probably won't teach String Theory.

Griffin said second grade wouldn't either.

I was SERVED by a seven year old.

Darwin went to Kindergarten Orientation.


"Kindergarten Orientation" is code for parents to fill out paperwork and kids to play with Legos. That gave him a stupendous false sense of reality. "Kindergarten is awesome! I get to play with Legos ALL THE TIME!"

On his first day of school, he was a wee bit shy until her met this little lady five minutes after arriving.


"I'm the Mack Daddy and the Daddy Mack."

I am, and will continue to be, SO ROYALLY FUCKED in regards to these boys and their charms.

So now both boys are in school all day. All day. ALL DAY. This means seven hours a day of pure, unadulterated FREEDOM for me. FOR SEVEN HOURS A DAY, FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Obviously, you may not get it, but this means I can have a phone conversation uninterrupted, I can go to the bathroom and not have an audience, I can buy groceries without whining, CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SING?!

It Seems I Don't Get Time Out Anymore

"Darwin? What are you doing?"


"I'm shielding Griffin's eyes from the sun. It's called TEAMWORK, Mom. GET THAT BATTLE DROID, GRIFF!"