The sun is so hot today and the grass in the front lawn is so brown and crunchy that I've pulled out the popup pool and filled it partway. I'm in need of water, all sparkly, and we're going to have dinner by/in the pool tonight. My sneaky thought? Wear out the Toddler through fun and games. She's spent almost all of today in her crib; the first two hours trying hard to convince me that she really wasn't tired (yawn, stretch, giggle, burrow head sleepily in my shoulder when I tried to play with her) and then the past four hours napping. I think she woke up once to roll over.

My take on this? She's tired despite what she tries to tell me. Yesterday we went to costco and ran around town doing errands, and there was no nap. She refused to go to bed on time; although she did play quietly for about three hours before finally falling asleep. Those of you who disagree with my habit of crib-restriction until sleeping occurs? Bite me. I've tried letting her up and around, it leads to nonstop screaming and very hysterical toddler. The crib-restriction method is what works for us with this child. Next time around we will do what works for that child. And if Tiff can prove to me with active playing and trying to interact with me while on restriction that she really doesn't need the nap? I do let her up. Like most parenting tricks this is all about listening to what your kid needs instead of what they want.

It's going to be so much harder in another couple of months. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she'll grow into a sweetly biddable happy girl, and not be pigheadedly stubborn anymore. And maybe pigs will fly.

Today's the day to panfry an apple. With sugar.

It's something I saw on the food network at one point last week. Why? Because that's one of my tv addictions. There are days when I'm glued to HGTV and FOOD. Don't know why. I have spent the last two years pinned to A&E daytime, which focused mostly on crime reality and crime drama. Now I'm getting all domesticated in my viewing habits. Perhaps it's a phase, perhaps it has something to do with Tiffany and her growing interest in what's happening on the screen. I still turn it off whenever she starts getting glued to it, but even in the background it's not good to expose her to so much violence. Let's expose her to tasteful decorating, pretty flowers, and good food. An unexpected blessing of her internal focus is that I can do/say fairly anything around her and she's not going to take notice of it. We're trying to work out way out of that, and slowly I feel progress is being made. She knows I exist now; more than a pair of hands and a voice in the middle of the night soothing her back to sleep.

Makes my heart melt when she recognizes me. She's been able to recognize me now for a year or so, and it still makes me melt. I guess that's because she firmly ignored me for months; and because to this day she still pretends I don't exist from time to time.

Tiffany loves apples. It was one of her first words used in communicating with us. APPLE. She comes to the baby gate while I'm working in the kitchen and demands APPLE. This is where I found a lot of use in getting the big bag of dried apple wedges. Tuck them in the fridge and she's got an instant apple slice. Today we have no more apple wedges and so I'm going to cut and core an apple and cook it on the stovetop instead of baking it. Do I want to heat up the whole oven and house for one apple? No. It's quicker on the stove. Let's just hope it works out, m'kay?

This morning in church I felt odd to be sitting there with nothing in my hands. Usually I bring my knitting and that's cool; I can tuck it into my lap and since I don't have to look down at it much it's very discreet and almost nobody knows I have it. Not this morning. I felt almost naked. Not a good thing, in church. Like that nightmare where you show up for school and suddenly realize you're in your underwear. Once I went to school and found that I had put on my clothes over my PJs. Not a dream. Did I take that opportunity to start getting up on time? I did not. I'm SO not a morning person. I ended up birthing one, though, which is freaky. I'm just starting to get my eyes open and she wants me to function perfectly. Good thing she's two.

Even better that she's not comparing me to other moms yet. While overall I'm sure I would win in her eyes, I'm not sure about the smaller parts of that contest. Insecure, much?

An article in today's Washington Post claims that the average gas price is $3.05 a gallon. Really? Where can I find this averagely priced gas? The stations around here have just hit the 3.40 mark and are still climbing. The article goes on to say that this is creating hardship for a number of families. Really? You think? While many people have not changed their habits, it's worth looking into how these habits are able to be changed.

This family has not changed it's habits. The Boy has to go to work. He's not allowed to take a day off here or there to help save gas. We live 22 miles from his place of employment. While he's attempting to get his license this is hampered by the part where we can't currently afford the gas to have him drive out in town every night to practice so that he will pass the test. We need him to drive but can't afford the means by which he can get the license to drive. Right now it's at least one tank of gas per week at $37+ a fillup.

We're spoiled in america. We are so spread out and so used to just hopping in the car for road trips here and there- we forget that it's a struggle for others until this struggle starts parking outside our front doors. I didn't care about this three years ago. I didn't care about any of this. It didn't really touch me.

I'm ready for something to change. Or I could just win the lottery. Anybody got a winning ticket they aren't using?

Is there anything sweeter than being able to push off an entire day's quota of housework and sit back, rocking your little girl in your arms, and watching her fall asleep? Or creeping into the nursery to replace a blanket that she's kicked off? Offhand I can't think of anything.

Pita. It's not just a pain in the ass around here. I may have finally figured out the optimal baking procedure for pita bread in this oven. Which is, as all bakers know, different for every oven, baker, set of ingredients... inspiring me to mutter evil thoughts under my breath every time I set out to make a batch.

No more. My secret? Butter. I have designated one butter stick as the greasing stick. I keep it in a baggie in the fridge and pull it out only for greasing the hot baking sheet between rounds. It sizzles. It gives off a nice buttery aroma. It makes the dough no longer stick to the sheet. I gave up on trying to mist the sheet with water- I couldn't get the mist right and the water didn't sizzle. Who am I to argue with results? Especially such yummy ones.

Dinner tonight is yet to be decided. Want to cast your vote? The choices tonight are:

steak and wild rice
beefy taco pockets
broiled pork chops and saffron rice with buttered carrots

Have you heard the one about the fish, the feed, and the poisoning of pet food? Are you sick of hearing these sorts of things and wondering whether or not the next thing you buy for home use and consumption is going to poison your family? I am. I'm tired of having to wonder; pesticides are bad, germicides are bad, organics are supposed to be some of the safest foods around but who knows how safe they really are? Are they grown under sterile conditions? These days no one can vouch for the soil, air, or water. All three are likely to be just as poisoned as the stuff we're trying to get away from. The substance we're most recently hearing about is melamine, used as a component of plastics and pesticides.

Personally I've got nothing against either industry. Do I feel that we waste too much plastic in the course of daily life? Yup. Do I agree with the commercials that plastics are necessary in some industries and that they've saved literally millions of lives and that the use of plastics and technology makes society as a whole better? Yup. Where's the balance? Where can we say that we want some from column A and some from B, and skip the side order of pollution? We can't; they go hand in hand. There should be something else in the middle, something that allows us to maximize the benefits while minimizing the harm. I guess that it's not good business practice just yet... The time and cost in reworking all those factories and procedures would cut down on the availability of all those neat little widgets that we just gotta have the second we want them.

I heard that the hard plastic packaging that's been the bane of so many people is on the way out; that by next Christmas we'll once again be able to open them without a jaws-of-life. I'm looking forward to that. I'd also like to look forward to a time when we'll be able to send a bottle of shampoo cross-country without jumping through special postal regulations. Did you know that it is an 11,000 fine per instance of shipping liquids/hazards without going through those hoops? If they caught you. That is, it was 11,000 a few years ago when I last was current with US Postage rates. I was going through my issue of Leadership in Action (melaleuca) this week and one of the featured profiles really caught my eye. The lady joined for the products- she liked them, they worked for her and her family- and since she didn't want any of the old stuff around anymore she boxed it all up and set it out for the trashman. We're talking windex, lysol, bath/body stuff; nothing seriously out of normal range. And come trash pickup time, the box was refused because everything in it was classified as a hazardous substance. OSHA regulations require that cleaners in most companies have to use protective gear against what's in these bottles, and housewives/househusbands are using it every day without a second thought.

I'm tired of wondering where the next poisoning news is going to come from. Everything's bad for us; growth hormones in the meat, pesticides in the produce, salmonella in the dairy, nasty stuff in partially thawed and refrozen foods of any sort. Mercury in our fish, poison in the water, greenhouse warming from commuting to our jobs which may or may not be fulfilling- I'll keep a wide open mind on that one because for as many jobs suck the life out of you there are those that are equally soul-enriching.

We've become so dependant on all of this stuff. I can't help ranting about it sometimes. People have forgotten how to fix up what they have to make it last longer, how to stretch things. Lose a button or rip a sleeve? No need to mend it, no need to at the minimum tear it up for cleaning rags. Just toss it. Buy a new shirt and a bundle of brand new rags at Stuffmart for a low, low price. Then go and bitch about how the cost of everything just builds up, and why does the city need to find a new landfill, and why don't the trashtrucks allow unlimited garbage every pickup day anymore?

It's official. Caffeine my body no function well without. Example the first: after nearly a week of no caffeine, I came home yesterday and started screaming at my family for no discernable reason. This was bad. Then I put Tiff to bed, sat on the couch, and cried quietly on the Boy for the next two hours. Then we all went to sleep and stayed there for 12 hours.

Today I went out and bought more caffeine tablets. My headache is finally gone. My body is ...slowly... returning to normalcy, or what passes for that. I'm getting some of the straightening up and clearing surfaces done. I even unpacked my faux tiffany lamp and set it up in the living room! Look, more lighting! I can do my needlework out there again! Even though it stays broad daylight out lots longer than it did last week, and the outside temp is starting to push the mid-nineties, and I'm so glad that this sentence is starting to end because it's become a runaway thing with a mind of it's own.

And while I've been cleaning out, here's a knickknack that I've been thinking about getting rid of for a while. It's too good to throw out, it has no purpose here, and maybe somebody out there wants it. The Ebay listing can be found here.

Swiss Steak is on the menu tonight. I was looking through all my cookbooks last night, trawling for inspiration, and I happened across a nifty version of it in the Fix It and Forget It Lightly book. Even better, I had everything on hand to make it. I was able to throw it in there quickly, with a minimum of fuss, and now there's nothing more to deal with.

This is good because I have to clean again today. It feels like all I do is tread water in that department. Everything I do today I'll be doing again tomorrow, the next day, the day after that, to infinity. And still it never really feels fully clean. To combat this? I've come to the conclusion that flat surfaces are the bane of our existance.

My family loves flat surfaces. They start out clean, flat, full of promise. Within a few hours they begin to attract clutter. And the clutter breeds. I've got a few civilizations lost under the stuff on the counter beside the stove. Whenever we make an effort to clean up it always feels as though we're conducting an excavation. Carefully go in, liberate unknown artifacts, identify, and then figure out whether all this could have been easily avoided by simply taking a leaf blower to it all and dumping it straight into the trash.

Pack Rats? Not really... yes. We are pack rats. We hate throwing stuff out until we have to; we acknowledge the worthlessness of the stuff. We are powerless over it. We have to nearly throw a revival meeting to get ourselves psyched up enough to get nasty with our own habits. Isn't knowing the problem one step closer to kicking the habit?

Saturday, folks! Get out and enjoy it! What are you doing sitting here reading this today? Oh, wait, that's right... mustn't discourage my readers. Okay, you can sit and read as long as the weather or other things prevent you from enjoying it.

I've got a busy afternoon and evening lined up; my little girl wants to dance. How did I ever get along without her?

It occurred to me while driving this morning that while Bill Engvall says he's just about 15degrees off "cool", I could call myself about 15 degrees off "sane". Most of the time this is in the good, fun, and kooky way. I'll admit my sense of humor is warped. My observations and the way I like to stick out those little one-liner quips with the sole purpose of making the listener choke on their beverage- that's all fun and wonderful. Great. Then there are the lower moments.

I've been trying very hard to keep my emotional wackiness in the kooky but fun range and away from the kooky but this woman needs to be locked up range. With fairly good success. There's no way to explain why I've been overly hormonal this week. PMSing again? Dare I hope? Didn't I just do this? All I know is that I'm still getting all choked up at odd moments. I'm still feeling from time to time as though my body is going to bump into something and break into a million tiny pieces. It won't be loud, it won't be messy. I'll probably just sit down and cry whereever it happens, with no idea why I'm crying or how I got there. One good thing about my brand of nuts- it's rarely of a degree to end up on the news. I never turn on the people I love, I just implode fairly quietly. This is the sort of thing the Boy lives in "concern" for. He's not afraid. Never afraid, just like he never worries. He just gets concerned.

Faugh. Enough of this sort of talk. Let's talk about something more exciting and fun. Like pizza. Tonight I'm making my french bread pizza. I am particularly fond of french bread pizza. Look for the recipe over on the recipe/thrift/whathaveyou blog (located just below dooce on my sidebar) But don't look for about five minutes because I need to go find the toddler from whereever she's gotten into. It's been way too quiet for about 3 minutes now.

This morning I learned that I live just about smack-dab in the center of california. Wow. That is, like, totally amazing. And yes, valley-speak does rot the brain. Fortunately for us we live around so many of those happy california cows. I've yet to hear them talking and having one of those commercial moments.

I need to drink more water again. We got so far away from drinking enough liquids when we moved up here. I haven't hit total dehydration yet, which is good, but I fear that Tiff might start getting that way soon. The Boy is fighting it every day in his office; his department recently lost their AC and I don't know when, if ever, it's getting fixed.

The heat outside is nice and dry this week. I luuuve it. Really. While the temp is the same as it is where I grew up, the humidity is about a third of that. A nice, even, dry heat. I still feel like my skin is baking when I leave the house, but at least I can breathe. Oxygen, my friends, is a good thing.

Let's whore the blog! Won't it be fun? Let's all take a moment to give in to the regularly scheduled "click-a-link" plea. Momma needs to replenish the goldfish cracker fund. She most definately needs to get some spare change back in her wallet and reclaim the coins that so many people are just throwing away these days.

Oh, we can pay rent this month, this pay period, if we don't eat. We can do it all, if we don't go anywhere or do anything. But me? I'd kinda like to eat, get the Boy to work, and not have to face yet another black hole of an overdraft.

Seriously, though. click-a-link. It doesn't take long, it won't cost any more of your time than it took to read one post to this site, and it will really help us out.

On the list of things to do today:

laundry
dishes
straighten up the kitchen counter -again. Where does all this stuff come from? Why is it so hard to keep the surface uncluttered?
untangle the ball of yarn Tiff was playing with this morning

I do need to get some of my ufo's set up to start working towards finishing them. UFO: unfinished object. The downside to having umpteen things going on at once is the swarm of UFOs it creates in it's wake. The upside? There's always something started somewhere that I can pick up, work a little on, and keep my hands busy with.

oh, and did I mention that today's sandwich log is made with honey ham and parmesan/romano cheese blend?

Flour is dusted over my nose and forehead in a way that brings back to mind all those frazzled housewife commercials. Today's mission is to do weekend baking and clean the bathroom(s). I'll settle for one of the two, although both should really be cleaned.

so I'll do baking. Maybe I'll be able to get another handful of weeds out of the front flowerbed. I don't hold out much hope of that though. It's possible that the only way to really make progress on that is to pull two weeds everytime I go past it. One weed, two weeds, three weeds, BREAKOUT! The climate is right for grass fleas here, to which I am allergic, and the creeper-weeds in the front bed are also things spawning allergy-causing things in me. I touch them, I itch. After ten minutes or so I really itch. Whenever I try to do intensive work I have to give up at the 12.5 minute mark or so and throw myself in the shower. A COLD shower. And scrub with antibacterial soap and scrub and scrub. Then I lay down on a couple of towels and apply antiseptic-type creams over my hands and arms and other bits.

What am I baking today? I made a tray of sandwich rolls and a sandwich log. A sandwich log, in case you forget, is a loaf of bread that's been patted out flat after the first rising and spread with cheese, shredded lunchmeat, and rolled up into a log for the second rise and bake. Turns out looking like french bread, until you slice it. When warm, the meat and cheese is all runny. When cold, it's back to the solid form. Either way it's an instant sandwich. Slice and eat- unless you want mayo or mustard spread lightly on it. And that's very yummy. I'm sure there are other names for it, I'm sure that there are a hundred ways to do it. But this is mine. I can use it with leftover shredded pork and it's savory, I can use it with honey ham and swiss. I can even slice it thin and broil it lightly to toast the top.

Damn, I'm making myself hungry right now.

Today's mission is to continue identifying some of the vintage pyrex and corelle I picked up the other week. Apparantly ReplacementsLtd can't figure out what they are; I did manage to get one ID off of similar items on another site. Here's hoping for some more. And yes, the one that I ID'd? Over on Ebay. I don't have the pic of it on this machine though, so I couldn't post that one up. The drawbacks of having a naked toddler running around. I swear, we've gone through three sheets today, and a lot of duct tape, and now 3.5 hours after starting this nap she's finally asleep. Damned if I'm gonna wake her up before either she gets herself up or we have to leave.

Today's picture has been censored for the benefit of my nerves. Yes, that's duct tape in her hair.

Can this day possibly get worse? It seems that the bank held off on clearing one of the billpays until today, because then it could clear it retroactively before the dozen little things that the Boy has set up to recur at the end of the month, and thus cause each of the little things to require a $35 overdraft fee.

I have no issue with paying the overdrafts, I just wish to hell that they'd clear things in the order which they are paid out/incurred. The difference being that they'd only get the one overdraft fee instead of ten. Which is money we can ill afford.

That's one of my rants for today. The other one is that the Boy failed his second attempt at the driving test. His turns still suck. And this is news how? I knew he needed to work on them and get more time intown. He knew. I told him that he needed to get somebody else to work with him. He shrugged and either didn't bother pursuing it or thought that he'd suddenly get it without practicing. He's in such a damn hurry to pass the damn thing that he scheduled it yesterday for today, no practicing, no road time, and then got all angry and pissy that he failed "because it's obviously my fault for being a stupid and incompetant man." Uh, hello? If you were this thing I would not still be married to you, much less contemplating having another child with you. Now I'm starving because I couldn't stop at any point this whole morning for food, because the damn bank is overdrawn "suddenly" despite having more than enough money last night and I could have sworn I had seen that check clear already... starving in the sense that I wanted to drive through and grab a burger. Not in the sense that the pantry is empty. I'm too paranoid to ever let the pantry get empty.

Gift bags are finished and loaded up to Etsy.com! You can reach them through my sidebar.

I'm super happy because I just sold another item this morning. Thank you, Internet Person, for really brightening my day. It may be a small thing to you, but believe me it was a Major Thing for me.

I'm still finding it a daily struggle to get my daughter to acknowledge me. She is real good at ignoring my presence at all, except for now and then when she wants to be picked up and carried around. I thought that the tantrums would calm down further, that she would make eye contact with me.

All in all, she really doesn't have tantrums in the traditional sense. She is annoyed, yes, and she expresses her annoyance, but she hardly ever screams. She gets all into the wailing for a minute about how her heart is breaking and it's soooo sadddd, and then she crawls off like we don't exist. Which is fine as it goes, but the part where she totally tunes me out? Not so cool. Any attempt I make to try and get eye contact, or a response to her acknowledgment that I exist, or anything like that? More crying and wailing and trying to get away from me. There are days that this can bring me to tears. Or I'm just pms-ing again.

I just listed this nice little potholder (and it's twin) over on Etsy.

The HGTVnetwork is evil.

Okay, so maybe not "evil" in the classical sense. "Evil" in the sense that I'm sitting before it, transfixed, as completely engrossed in it as the Toddler is in Teletubbies or Barney. Not that I let her watch Barney. I'm supposed to be doing laundry today. Am I doing laundry? No. I'm playing with pretty paper, and not so pretty yet paper. And sewing up reversible gift bags to try and sell in the next couple of weeks.

Mother's Day is just around the corner, you know.

I'll post some pics of all this stuff when it's done. I would have been in lots more stuff today (non-laundry stuff) except that somebody waltzed into Joanns yesterday just before I got there and bought out their entire supply of clear sealant. She must have been watching the same shows as I was, that's all I can say.

Sew there.

I've been working on a jumper-type dress for a couple of weeks now. The first incarnation of this was taken from a knit jumper that I've worn out. Tried it on- the new one doesn't fit. Obviously because the original was knit and worn thin.. the new one is neither. So I opened a seam and installed a zipper, which only solved the problem a bit, and resulted in my serious consideration of cutting the damn thing off rather than try to wriggle my way out of it.

Now? I'm blending the original concept with another one of my favorite lounging around styles. Add the skirt portion to a coordinating tshirt. So far this is almost proven to work just fine. Would be easier if I had full use of my limbs today- the recent windstorms plus dampness plus a slight chill in the night have rendered me all stiff and achy.

The creative process would be faster if I got out my machine, but I'm enjoying being able to sit down and do this slowly by hand. It keeps my fingers nimble and I've really got to consider the placement of each seam -this has proven highly effective at preventing the ripping out of bad seams, which is something I personally hate doing. Another plus is that the light in the living room is only good enough to really do this for a couple hours a day. This is a plus because it makes me have to put the thing down and think about it some more.

If the current incarnation works out, I may have acheived a wonderful housedress pattern, one that is "up to date" and easy to wear and doesn't look like I've spent the whole day in curlers.

My idea of a lost weekend is something about 180 degrees off what I ended up with. I was hoping for a leisurely couple of days in bed, or on the couch, in a boneless and painless position. What I ended up with was a couple of days on my knees praying that my hair wasn't going to end up in the stream of spew.

On the bright side, that's all over now. The massive muscle relaxers seemed to have accomplished nothing at the large dose except make me incredibly sick. I got completely off them, and now I'm gingerly starting back up again at the mini-teeny-tiny dose. So far no sick. Let's go with that.

Yesterday I felt all nostalgic and cooked up a pot of chicken corn soup. To the old recipe, although I did improvise a bit by adding a bunch of chopped up carrots. That was good. Today's variation on the leftovers from this? I'm gonna thicken it up into a nice gravy/stew and serve it over fresh bread. Makes me hungry just thinking about it.

My crazy daisy dishes should get here soon, replacing their broken mates in my life and in my cupboard. I'm sitting here, waiting around, and it's amazing... of course, how much of that is due to the muscle relaxants recently prescribed my the amazing doctor who unstuck my shoulder?

It's like Bill Engvall said in regards to acupuncture: if you're going to get it done, go to an oriental person to do it. I know that it's a stereotype, and it's racial profiling, but seeing as my shoulder is now completely unknotted by his application of acupressure points, I don't care. The pain went away for today. I can move my shoulder up and down and back and forth without having to use the other arm to manipulate it.

Tomorrow the dosage is going to be higher; tonight he started me on a smaller dose to ease into it and because I had to drive a bit this afternoon. Tomorrow and Sunday I'm on the major dose four times a day, and I'm not to operate heavy machinery or my food processor. Talk about your lost weekends. Most people my age accomplish it through partying, drinking, or recreational pharmaceuticals. Me? I just strain/pull my muscles and when it is determined that I didn't do it in a stupid fashion (toting a toddler is not stupid, it's practical AND fun) I get Nice Things.

I wonder if this means that my Boy will give me flowers on Mother's Day this year. Or, like, acknowledge it in some way. Last year it slipped his mind completely. In his defense (and I consider it a perfectly good reason for forgetting) he was in the middle of the ocean and the reason why he should be giving me an extra card and hug (the two year old that this minute is in her crib playing with the Noisy Elephant that her grandma gave her) was not in view.

This year he will be changing her diapers.

Momma lost her basket today. I don't remember where I first heard this phrase. It sounds so delightfully southern, much better than Momma went freaking insane for a couple of hours. My husband wants to blame the episode on the hormone pills that the GYN put me on the other week. Me? Not the hormones. They didn't help, but I suspect that this is his method of coping. It's so much easier for some to deal with "female hormonal shit" than "my wife is mentally unstable and home with our child".

In an odd way, the Toddler is providing most of my emotional babysitting lately. I can't lose my gourd while she's watching because she gives me this Look. I remember that look. I used to give it to my Mama when she would sit in a chair and try to hold the sobs in. Our situations? Possibly a result of the same biochemical cocktail. Our environment? Worlds of difference in that. My husband comes home and tries to make my life better. He gets up with our daughter whenever I need him to, he is willing to take over all bedtime and dinner responsibilities, he happily does whatever, whenever. Well, maybe not always happily, but he doesn't drag his feet and try to weasle out of it. As opposed to my mother's husband, who may have had biological input in my creation, but who has absolutely no claim on anything I turned out to be today. Sorta. (shrug)

So in the meantime what do I do? Just keep breathing. Just keep getting up in the morning. Just keep going on. Because if I don't that's just one more mark against me in the harsh backbrain, and they've got too much to work with back there already. I'm not feeling the need to make any more problems for myself.

I went to the thrift store in search of vintage corelle today. I found a piece that was really nice, the only drawback to it was that it was not my pattern. But for less than 50 cents I got a bread and butter plate, in another vintage pattern, and if I had to choose a vintage pattern to replace my current one this would be it. Ribbon Bouquet.

It took me about four times as long to identify the pattern as it did to find the piece.

I also found and bought 3 stoneware kitchen jars. Minimal crazing, two minor chips on one of them, and it's a real pretty delft-blue pattern on the front. Very pretty. Happily, all of it was on an even further discount than the already low prices. Four pieces, $3.50 total.

I can definately live with that.

Now that I've slept I feel a bit calmer. I just have to remember not to think about the commissary ever again.

Last night while I was at the store that WAS OPEN buying my milk and cheese I was able to get at the same time, packets of basil and parsley seeds. I thought about starting some dill as well, but lets face reality folks. I just am not using dill right now. This makes the starting of dill seeds a bit silly.

What's not silly? I broke a bowl. Now we're down to 6 bowls of the original 8 corelle handmedowns that we started housekeeping with. This... causes some mixed feelings. It makes me want to go out and start picking out a new pattern of corelle for everyday. It makes me want to cherish the remaining bowls. It makes me want to run right out to a thrift shop and try to find replacements for these items. In this age of 'Net shopping, it would be easier than ever. Just scoot right on over to ebay and take a look around...

If I replaced the bowls it would be cheaper than buying new everyday dishes. I don't even have to replace them- I hardly ever have more than 2 and a half people sitting down to meals in this house. I don't need it. I want it. The difference is right in my face. I can't ignore it. I can't pretend it will go away. Need or Want. Honestly? It's a want. It's an awfully big want. But if I put off the expense until later, it will no doubt mean more to me.

An Open Letter to the Idiots who run the Commissary:

I've heard many fabulous things about you. Supposedly I could save oodles of money if I shopped for all my household needs in your aisles. I could get my tires rotated. Happy, smiling people in pristine white shirts will bag my groceries and personally take them out to my car when I'm done shopping. I've heard that I could swoon from the savings on my final bill.

However. I call the Big Bullshit flag on you.

True, your prices are a smidgen lower than the Walmart Supercenter down the road, which is almost the same prices as the FoodCo and the local non-chain markets. This might tempt me to shop in your hallowed store. If not for the fact that you are closed on Mondays.

All I wanted was some cheese and a gallon of milk. It was on my way to fetch the Boy. It would have taken me exactly the ten minutes I had budgeted into my afternoon trip, thus letting the Toddler out of the car for a bit of moving around. And helping keep the sun out of her eyes since she still refuses to wear either sunglasses or a hat.

Could I shop for my needs? No. Because you were closed. It's not like Monday is even a religious holy day. I can see the wisdom of the shortened hours on Sunday, and that you close for holidays. WTF is Monday? Is it a new holy day? Is it a holiday sanctioned by the federal government? Is the convenience of closing on Monday part of your dastardly plan to drive me nuts?

Also, let me take a moment to let you know why I do not like you in the first place. I greatly detest the part of "employing" baggers who work solely for tips. This means that the baggers who happily take my groceries to my car demand cash for the service. It may, in your official wisdom, mean that I should give them a "tip" amount. I have never seen it happen or heard of it happening, and you'd better believe the wife network is pretty damn big. Forcing tips negates the whole point of my savings in your Big Ol' Party Palace.

In short, I am returning to my policy of not patronizing your facility. Even if I bag my own groceries, I am forced to hand over a tip in the guise of "appreciation". If Monday afternoons are the only day of the week I can get my family and schedule slotted into a ten minute run into the store for milk, I'm damn well going to shop at a store that will be open during NORMAL business hours. Note, I'm not asking that you suddenly start opening your doors for customers before 9 AM, when most markets open at 7. I'm not asking that you stay open late. I just want a frigging gallon of milk for my little girl, without fuss, without having to schlep my tired body out to the store at 5:30 when EVERYONE else is doing the same thing.

Above all, I do not want to be a victim of legalized mugging. These days nobody has much extra to spend. A two or three dollar tip to your bagger is ludicrous. Especially in that parking lot. If I try to hold to my principles, I'm given at a minimum dirty looks and cursed at in a foreign language. If I give in, there goes my husband's lunch money for the next day. So fuck you, Mr Commissary Running Idiots. I'm not believing any more of your hype.

How is it possible that I'm sitting here drinking my tea and idly watching the birds out the window? There's a ton of stuff to do today. In addition to the normal chores, I want to clean out the mudroom area. And put away some laundry from the dryer.

Laundry may quickly become the bane of this week. There's just so darn much of it. I did a bunch this weekend, then another two loads yesterday, and then the Boy cleaned up his corner of the bedroom and came up with another two loads. Wow. That's all I have to say, just, Wow.

The fritatta I threw together on Friday turned out spectacularly better than I had hoped. I was hoping for something at least edible for one meal. I turned out with a pan full of quiche consistency, savory, FOOD. Not just edible, but Food Quality edible. I blame the Food Network for this. I fell asleep on the couch once while they were running a marathon session of egg and cheese dishes, and this is what happens. They brainwash unsuspecting women while they're worn out by wifely duties.

Please note: wifely duties no longer means what it used to mean in a biblical sense. These days it's more about making sure the oil is changed regularly, there's always milk and bread in the fridge, and clean underwear for all every day. If I ever ran for office I'd get so much done. Any housewife would kick butt in office- especially if they've ever been a housewife. Toddlers are much more unforgiving and intolerant than reporters. For one thing, they're armed with poop, pee, and strained carrots.

Wait, wait, don't tell me.

For some strange reason people are starting to read this site. Or else one person is out there hitting the refresh button obsessively. Does this mean that I've got readers? Or does this mean I should start looking over my shoulder whenever I leave the house.

Yesterday I went down to the Kings County Swap Meet. It was fun. A bit disconcerting, especially when I was signing in as a seller and the guy running the booth said that yeah, he knew I was coming, because "friends" of mine had told him to watch for me.

Friends? I have friends? When did this happen? I was so used to being an anonymous member of a community- in Maryland, in San Diego, I was fairly anonymous. Just a face in the crowd. Easy to hide. Easier not to make waves or attract notice. This is what small town america is really like.

I mentioned my intent to do the swap meet to two or three people. It seems that these people have Connections. Is this like the rural mafia? Is there a committee of like minded women out there building a file on me? Young wife, child, affectionate husband, dresses appropriately. She still hasn't planted her garden, but her trash is out on the curb every Friday and she hauls her recycling over to the trailer so she can reclaim the CRV on every redeemable container. Plus: no yappy dogs, no loud music, her garden is a mess but the family is neat and she tends to pay cash.

The scary part to this is that I grew up with the mennonite mafia. Same sort of file, same sort of informal "know everything about everyone and never forget it". So far the only difference I'm seeing is that I'm not being asked "Are you related to...?" every time I walk out the front door.

Hmmph.
Should have moved here sooner.

Another stress-filled and hair ripping day. Her Ladyship only went to sleep two hours ago. She's now sleeping. She had better stay sleeping until Mommy has some sleep. If not, I foresee nothing but nasty things for my future.

Stress only rises higher when you haven't slept. Hormones are raging because of the meds my doc put me on last week, and they are not expected to return to sanity any time in the next three weeks. Also, the Boy had a pretty tough day as well. This adds up.

Not to anything neat, either. Our sanities were both in the tail end of rational this evening, we had an almost fight ending with the Boy going out to get a beer. When he got back he told me that the thing he was most upset over now was that he finds it impossible to be an asshole. He presented me with a cherry garcia ice cream novelty. I presented him with a shoulder full of tears and some long hugs.

There are days when I wonder what century we inhabit emotionally. For another couple our "age" what we would expect to see would be a screaming match ending up with him drunk and me crying and then giving him the cold shoulder. Concluding with hurt feelings and resentment all around. What are we waking up to in the morning? Perfect harmony and understanding following our before-bed hashing out of the problem and negotiating a fair solution that doesn't trample on either of our feelings.

Feelings. Nothing but..... feeeeeelllllings.

I'm a bit punchy at the moment. I haven't slept. The nap I sorta promised myself this morning was preempted by Cranky Toddler and PoopFest '07. Then we had to run out to the DMV. Typical government rationale- because he showed up two -TWO- minutes past the time (due to the time spent parking the car and standing in line) the driver's test had to be canceled and we were told to come back another time.

Hence our double mad moods. Because that was just the last straw for both of us. We are, however, very proud that we did not take it out verbally on each other until we were ready for the settlement of the issue. Also, we both kept the hot buttons out of it. When we were hashing out relationship ground rules many moons ago we agreed to keep a disagreement on topic. Don't bring in the minor or side issues. It doesn't have anything to do with the topic, the fight, and has no purpose other than to hurt the other.

And for some crazy reason we respect ourselves and each other too much to screw this up.

And now we are possessed... just in time for the full moon. Which obviously has been in effect today.

It seems that the phone line, without even being within ten feet of the cord that would connect it to a phone capable of dialing, has been making 911 calls all morning. This perturbs me.

Not as perturbed as I was when I was rudely jolted out of my almost-nap this morning. I am pleased to report the local cops are very nice, kinda laid-back in this particular situation, and are all-around nice individuals. They believed me when I told them I had no knowledge of how this happened. They also did not issue me a citation.

If they had, I would have cried.

Calling the phone company was an exercise in frustration. What happened to having the call centers staffed by local people who both knew the area, could connect with you on a human level, and didn't make you jump through touchtone menus and interactive ones. The touch tone menus I can cope with. I even like them, in a wierd way. They are the creepy cousin that you run into about once every ten years; harmless but creepy and they're still Family. Interactive menus that fake being humans? That just raises my blood pressure and makes me want to have sharp words with the human that I eventually insist on being connected to.

I do appreciate these things in some ways. When I actually have the sort of simple problem that they are made to handle. But they are NOT made to handle the complicated problem of a demonically possessed phone line. I was routed through all sorts of strange and unknown tele-systems to finally be connect back to the local office and repair facility, which I knew was the one I had to talk to in any case (so why can't I just be able to call them direct to deal with the problem? Why do I have to wade through a tele-spiel of menus and buttons and fake people that takes at least twice as long as talking to the local human who can fix the problem?)

End result: I made her laugh. Demonically possessed equipment of this magnitude is a whole brand new problem that she has not seen in more than twenty years of working that desk. She understands my problem. We both laughed and swapped funny quips and short anecdotes. My blood pressure went down and I felt listened to and taken care of.

People. I'd be willing to pay the extra nickel on my bill to get rid of the stupid runaround. And you know what? It would cost the companies less in hate mail, provide jobs that pay a living wage, and keep those jobs in the communities that need them. It's a simple concept, but I know it will never catch on.

Four loads of laundry and it's still not all done. When did the laundry start multiplying in the corner? I was sure it was all under control... Then the Toddler (again) started getting naked at random moments. This morning she did it twice; both times necessitating the complete changeout of bedding. I gave in to the need to run her pillows through the washer as well; no sense in letting her sleep on them after she's peed on them, right?

Duct tape. Even with the duct tape, she can sometimes wiggle her way to freedom. We're really focusing on keep the diaper on, since she still shows about as much interest in the potty as she does in the bathtub. As in, none at all. Negative none. Count my blessings; she hasn't started screaming at the potty's approach like she does with the bathtub.

I'm still getting things in order for this weekend. I think we're going to try out the local swap meet/ flea market. Set up a blanket, it will get more foot traffic then a pathetic attempt at yard saling. I just know deep down that if I try to have a yard sale it will end up like most of my attempts at throwing a party or gettogether. Me, alone, all cleaned up and with plates of food but with no one to share them with.

I'm trying to fold a basket of laundry this afternoon and my inner tightwad is fighting my inner sensibility. The question is: do I keep some toddler outfits that are getting too small, since they are not that badly worn and Tiff can still fit into them? Or do I set them aside for the rummage sale [for the same reasons as previous]. Which way am I going to leap? She has other outfits, pretty and newer ones that are big enough to a) fit her now and b) fit her next week. It's not that she doesn't have decent clothes.

Inevitably this question will come up more and more often in the next years. I think that for today, for this load, I'm coming down on the side of the tightwad. No, the sensibility. No, the tightwad.

Or maybe I'll just challenge myself to a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors.

Could I use an extra couple hundred dollars? Sure. Who can't these days? According to my spam-box I could name my price on an instant cash loan.

The key word here being "loan". Do they also advertise the interest rates on these things in big letters? Do they tell you about the penalties in as big type as the offered cash amount? Nope. As much as from time to time we feel a hard crunch, I am not desparate enough to contact these people. The delete key is my friend.

Along with other items of interest, yesterday was Palm Sunday. Lots of palms, lots of singing. It begins Holy Week, culminating in Easter. Where the Large Bunny comes to resurrect spring, Jesus, and high gas rates. Also, afterwards it will be okay to use a white purse and shoes again.

Words heard upon leaving bible study this evening... "Ooh! Dinner!" as a churchmember raced to scoop up a dead pigeon in the gutter.

Now, to put this into perspective, she meant it was to be dinner for the small herd of feral kitties that live out her way. Non-diseased, freshly deceased, and the like. It still sounded wrong when it hit my ears.

Another moment that was just wrong was when I walked into the house to have the Boy look up at me brightly and say, "I know that she didn't electrocute herself, because she's still alive."

Statements like that... payback. Payback for all the times I throw out those sort of comments at others just to get a sick thrill out of watching them go "huh?" Payback for the warped sense of humor that I delight in every day of my life. I gave him full marks for that.

In the meantime it's been another weekend accomplished. When I get offline tonight I'm going to hang up my knitting needles and snuggle down into bed. I'm also going to work on that elusive thrill, Sleep. Tomorrow is another day, another week, another chance to work on expanding my social life (such as it's not) and maybe, just maybe, leave the house a bit. I'd leave the house more except for two things. One, the lack of self-confidence in my own worth and personality to go out and join other like-minded individuals. Two, the intermittant strange health problems I experience. The second part may or may not be in my head, but it's real enough to make me literally pass out cold for several seconds if I overdo things. And no, I haven't seen a doctor about it yet. Maybe next week I'll be brave enough to make an appointment.

After a long week of chores and not-wanting to do them, and procrastination, is there anything sweeter than giving in to the desire to bring home a big bucket of chicken and eat damn near the whole thing? Too much that should be done. Not nearly enough motivation to do it. Story of our times.

Has this really changed all that much since our grandparents’ day? Doubtful. Chores are one of the inevitable events of our lives along with death and taxes. One would think that the available resources to cope with this had come around in order to compensate. Not so. We’re stuck with the same challenges, and the techonology that was supposed to come up to help us deal with it has only moved the time crunch around.

The doctor says that no it’s not just in my head, but that the female shit that’s been keeping me all hormonal and weepy and non-cycling doesn’t sound that serious. He’s jumpstarting my hormones again. Of course, NOW the damn medical professionals have decided to listen to me about this. We compromised. Since there are no complications at this time, we’re just going to do the course of provera and leave it at that.

I REALLY hate my feminity at times. The rest of the time? Love it.

Fun in the tub, also known as the Wet Toddler Contest.

When you are a passenger in the car there are so many things that never catch your eye otherwise. Occassionally this is in the category of "strange, but wierd". One day we were driving past the goat dairy and I happened to look over. There was a huge pile of what looked like shit. Or some other organic shit-colored substance. This was not a small pile. Nothing delicate about it. Nothing discreet. Just a large pile of the stuff smack dab in the middle of the pen.

Still, I reminded myself, this was a dairy. A goat dairy, which implies goats in large numbers and by extension the inevitable product of all goats.

The part that really caught me though, was that every goat in the herd was gathered around it with heads up and tails perked. Attention riveted to the pile. Were they waiting for some sort of sign? Was a diety manifesting from the pile? Had they suddenly realized why indoor plumbing was such a hot commodity amongst their two-legged keepers? I was waiting for the Second Coming to announce itself right there in a goat pen.

Then we drove past it. My mind still boggled at the sight of all those goats with full attention at the pile. Out of sight, out of mind.

Traffic court went well, despite the angry face Tiff gave the judge when we took our places before the bench. She glared at him over the top of her hash brown patty as though she was ready to fight anyone who dared take it away from her.

All in all, the entire thing went better than I had any right to expect. I now am the proud owner of 4 points on my base driving record. In real terms this doesn't mean much. It's not reported back to the state, it has no impact on my insurance rates, and only if I rack up 12 points within 12 months do any penalties accrue. Basically it's a slap on the wrist and an instruction to watch the happy feet.

Does anyone know if it's bad to mix yeast with the salt and sugar and flour as a bread-mix? I want to make a few baggies of premeasured bread stuff to store in the fridge so that my baking days will go more smoothly. I have to admit that I haven't baked any bread since moving in. Bad Mommy. Bad, Bad, Mommy for neglecting her family and buying bread from the store. (I am writing this sarcastically, so don't flame me for being too self-righteous here) Also bad mommy for trying to eliminate a nap today until the toddler is actually ready to lay down and sleep without the fussing and whining. My excuse is that I want to try moving it back and maybe cutting it out altogether until we reach the happy place of sleeping through the night. That will be a happy, happy day around here. I'll dance around in my underwear, that's how happy I'll be.

It’s hard to comprehend the logic that makes me apologize for buying a pair of shoes. While I felt bad about those, I didn’t think about returning them as much as I thought I should return the shirt that leaped into my shopping cart on the way to the checkout. When I told this to the Boy, he started laughing. Then he instituted a new rule: every time I feel guilty about buying something for myself, I have to buy him a beer.

So I’m not returning it. And tomorrow? I am *so* buying that length of fabric that I was thinking about buying for myself last night. Or… I’ll just go ahead and finally place that Big Order at Keepsake Quilting.

Tonight we all traipsed out to the Superior Dairy Company, which has got to be one of the coolest places that I’ve found since moving here. It looks like a big old-fashioned soda parlor from the street, all big windows and bright white walls. When we were handed our ice cream I was bouncing the Toddler on my lap. The first thing she did was to reach out both chubby hands and grab at the whipped cream on top. It wouldn’t come up in her hands so well, and neither would the ice cream underneath. This was problematic, but then she figured out how to get mommy to feed her spoon after spoon of runny, sweet, high-calorie goodness.

Thank goodness for wet wipes. And for beautiful early summer-like days when we can go out and do this. It’s a wonderful time.

Foundation piecing is pretty cool. It helps to focus my mind, to clear my brain, to create a lot of tiny little pinpricks over my fingers where the needle nicks it. But... it makes me feel so good to be able to create a neat little pieced block, with lots of little triangles, and the finished product looks a lot harder than it was to create.

Now. If only laundry and dishes were this much fun.

It seems the pain of the temperate climate has caught up with me once again. This would be the horrid pain that specialists have told me is all in my head, cause I'm an addict, I'm not to be trusted, and of course I've got to be making the whole thing up because there doesn't seem to be an explanation for why the whole of my body aches so badly it's hard to move.

Tonight for example, let's throw this out there so that internet strangers can all make fun of my delusions. Tonight I didn't get up and swap seats with the Boy when I picked him up from work. I couldn't let him drive home because I was not sure that if I got up I could fold myself back into the car. We get home, I manage the initial bedtime routine. I end up with a mega dose of motrin and damn near pass out after taking a Very Hot shower. Heat sometimes helps. Then I sat down to watch CSI with my husband; only made it part of the way into the episode before I fell asleep on him.

It's 10 at night, I can't sleep anymore because the initial exhaustion has worn off and I'm still in agony. I don't want to lay in bed tossing and whimpering. So what am I doing? Housework, in small enough movements and motions that I look like some sort of fricking robot with a rusty gear. But hey, at least I may go to sleep tonight with a clean kitchen. Less work to look at tomorrow, when I'm probably going to wake up with the same problem again.

money, money, money. It makes the world go round. It buys shoes. It fills my spam folder with hundreds and thousands of offers- get rich now, make thousands every day, increase your attractiveness to the opposite sex. Personally, I think I'm attractive enough to the opposite sex. At least I'm not getting any complaints.

How tempting is it to fall into the money trap these days. Instant credit is out there, personal bankruptcies are multiplying at every new pay period. All those check and cash advance stores at the local minimall. It's hard to keep up. It's also very tempting. Instant gratification. A concept that comes easy to my generation. I know people whose parents never taught them the hard and fast way of living solely within their means. Those people are skating disaster. Even me, I fell into the trap when I got out on my own. Easier to order out than to live on ramen and spam at home. Easier to go to the movies to escape poverty than to sit around thinking up cheap ways to entertain myself. And now I'm a housewife without any sort of big paycheck. What can I do to feel productive? How do I make myself feel that I'm contributing in a meaningful way when this society seems only to value our productivity as it relates to the bottom line of the tax return?

So I'm doing the melaleuca, and that has a small return in hard cash every month. It would be more if I could enroll more people (hint, hint) and those people in turn could help enhance their bottom line. Trading stores, that's all it is. Get your household supplies and such through them instead of target or walmart- it's cheaper, works better, and is not chock full of poisons for my family and myself. I also run ads on my blog, and Adbrite actually does pay me every month unlike the Adsense program which drops a large random portion of it's participants without a viable system or actual proof of misdoing. And then there's the online craft store, Etsy. That is a help too; it's led me to several small commissions.

In the end it all comes back to money. I want money to make our lives easier. I want to be able to have everything I've ever dreamed of, I want to be a two income family on one paycheck. That's not an easy goal. I'll settle for living a decent lifestyle on the one income; it means I can enjoy my daughter while she's young and still thinks I'm all-powerful. It means that I can enjoy a life that a lot of other mothers would love to have. I'm not coming down on working moms by saying this because I truly believe that we're all working moms. If I had a wonderful career I wouldn't hesitate to put the Toddler into a good daycare program and go back to work tomorrow. But this is what my husband and I wanted for me to do, this is what we're happy doing, and more power to us for making it work. In the end all anyone can do is to find something that works for them and go with it.

mommy guilt. Always the mommy guilt. I should do more, I should have the immaculate house and scrubbed, happy child. I should have freshly baked cookies on a plate with a doily every afternoon. I should have my hair perfectly coifed... What a load of baloney.

Am I being brainwashed by the image of a perfect world or what? I focus on the short list every day; the stuff that must get done. When I sit down in the morning to make the list, I put the top priorities, the nice things, the chores that I've got to work into the day. This way I stand a chance of getting my butt off the couch and getting something accomplished. This is a good thing. This keeps me from blog-whining about how my house is a mess, my life is a bigger mess, wah wah me.

In the spirit of sharing EVERYTHING I'll share today's list. Fold laundry. Put away clean dishes. Vacuum. Alterations as needed to Toddler's Clothing. Clean off the table. Pick up floors in bedrooms, dust. Shower. Wash hair.

Seems simple enough, right? It is. Up until the Toddler decides she needs to be in the middle of the whole thing. That's generally when I fall apart on things. Fortunately for me she's decided to play in her room today.

Tonight's menu: brats with potatoes. I've got most of it already made, but last night we were heavy on the brats. Today I'll fry up a few more potatoes to put in it, and it'll come out just fine. Lunch is fruit and tuna salad. And somebody... meaning the Toddler... is going to be unpleasantly surprised by a nap real soon now.

There are days which pass too quickly, and days that don't seem to pass at all. Which is this going to turn out to be? I had intended to try and shorten Her Ladyship's nap today; given that she doesn't like them, it took her most of the day to take one last week, and it was just a hassle. And then she comes to me this morning saying "sleepy". Who am I to tell her that she's not sleepy?

So I tucked her up in her crib with a blankie and her stuffed animals. She's not sleeping. I hear her happy babbling. But if I try to remove her from the crib she's going to have a meltdown. I am convinced that she only does this to confuse me. Isn't that the purpose of small children? Confound and confuse their mothers. It doesn't matter when I go in there, I'll find a naked child proudly smiling over the top rail, her sheet soaked through and her diaper and wet clothing thrown over the side.

There's a reason I haven't taught her how to make knots yet... she'd use that knowledge to tie the clothes to the sheets and break out. Better save that skill for later. Say, when she's eighteen and Daddy takes the car privilege away?

One of the things that you do not want to see first thing in the morning is a set of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view mirror. It tends to wipe the cobwebs out of your brain immediately. Heartrate jumps up, brain goes into panic mode: What did I do just now? Why wasn't I paying attention? How long have these lights been following me?

It could have been worse. Apparantly if I had been going just a bit faster I would have been "reckless" and taken to jail. (The part about how I was going no faster than everybody in the evening hours goes can be left out, as it doesn't apply). My number came up this morning, I was the "lucky" winner of being the example to all the other drivers on base. A lesson to me. I'll take the lumps, pay the fine, attend whatever disciplinary measures come my way.

But will it change my behavior in any great form? Probably not. Not in the long run, when I get tailgated by irritated people for going only five miles above the limit. When I get honked at for failing to pull off on the shoulder and make a right turn on red at every legal -and not so legal- opportunity.

it seems that yesterday my average readership tripled. Thank you! May I also take this small opportunity to remind you to support this site? And the Goldfish Cracker Fund?

Have you ever wondered what goes through the mind of a small child? She was being put to bed last night when she looked straight up at her Daddy and interrupted his song. Of all the songs he sings to her, she chose one word out of one verse to respond to.

"Goat?" she says, hopefully. "Goat?"

Of all the things that an unsuspecting person runs across in lullaby singing, of all the objects that are bought for a sleepy child if only she doesn't cry but hushes and goes to sleep. She picks a goat. Obviously I'm instilling the farm values into her. Or she spent too much time hanging out down by the pier and listening to sailors bitch about their commands.

Either way, she's obviously inherited her parents' twisted sense of humor and fixation on the oddest possible thing in random sentences. This is the sort of behavior we've modeled for her. She may be destined to be a stand up comedian. Or a politician. Or even, in our darker thoughts, a fundamentalist.

When I don't know what to cook I like to throw stuff at the pot and see what happens. Last night I started with a pack of saffron rice, added about half a pack of cooked, crumbled bacon, and a couple pieces of swiss cheese. It was a success.

I hate having to open a partial pack of bacon and then have it sitting in the fridge for days staring at me. Accusing me of wastefulness when I just don't feel like dealing with the cooking, the draining, the pan full of hot fat that I can't reuse for anything we'll eat. My solution? A sharp scissors. Now, I realize that this doesn't sound like much of a solution yet so bear with me.

I open the package, separate the slices, and cut them up into pieces. About five or six pieces per slice. Half goes into the pan to fry as is, half goes into a freezer bag. The scissors is easier than using a knife to cut the bacon cause of all the fat that makes fingers slippery. Plus if the bacon's any good it has the sort of fat that doesn't want to cut easily. I fry up the pieces, then I drain them into a colander under cold running water. The water helps the fat go down the drain, without clogging everything up all to pieces. It also rinses excess fat off the bacon. The bacon remains crisp and nicely juicy, but not swimming around with lots of extra stuff.

The Toddler remains, as always, against this whole "nap" concept. She wants me to be sure and mention that mommy is mean, making her take naps and not letting her run around naked in the dirt all day.

Today I became a great-aunt for the first time. My niece just had her baby, and I'm feeling kinda on the fence about it. I'm glad that she's okay, I'm glad that the baby is born into a family that loves him. I'm a bit sad that she didn't get to experience all of this after high school, after college, after marriage. It wasn't my decision though, so I'm going to smile and wish them sincerely well, and go on with my life.

I'm enjoying my day off. It's been a long time since last week. I didn't know how long it had been. Right now I'm struggling against taking a nap. I don't want to waste a moment of this time.

I'm being silly. And nutty. Kind of like a fluffernutter.

what happened to this week? no, really. What happened to it? My last post here was Tuesday, it's Friday now, and there's a toddler eating dirt out of the planters on the back patio. gotta run and corral her again. toodles.

A yummy meal

We had this for dinner last night and it bears repeating.

1 head of cauliflower, 2.22 at Walmart, cut into florets and boiled [bring water to a rolling boil, add florets, cook about 5 minutes]

add 2 cans of ham -I used the hormel stuff, comes in the same size can as tuna fish. So I'd say it was about a cup and a half. It was on sale for a dollar a can. Works for me.

toss with a jar of classico alfredo sauce. That's it. We had bread and butter on the side, and it was yummy, and it did not involve pasta. The whole pot cost about $6, which is a pretty good thing. It comes out to maybe 6 or 7 good sized bowls.

Saving.

Saving energy, saving water, saving money. It seems that everything these days costs all three; there's no real solution that would make everybody happy. We don't live in a magical fairy world where everything comes free and easy, despite how it may appear. Flip a switch and you've got light. Turn on the tap and there's unlimited water. If the water doesn't appear, or if it's other than crystal clear, odorless, flavorless, and plentiful- call your congressman and utility company and raise holy hell that your rights as an American have been screwed.

Truth is, it's not actually a right. The utility company supplies water, for a fee, and the water comes from somewhere. It does not magically appear in the faucet. Every municipality has their own supply, the plants are all different in how the water is treated. Sometimes quality depends on quantity, sometimes on the geography of the surrounding country, and sometimes the water just plain comes from an undesirable source although it's drinkable.

Case in point. The town I grew up in, Telford, had "good" water. It came clear and tasteless. Or maybe it's just that I was raised to believe that's how water tastes. Whenever we had to go into the city, or to an area where the water came from a city source, it tasted metallic. Still drinkable, but it tasted absolutely foul. I've moved several times since then. Water tastes different no matter where you go. Now we've moved into a rural area where the water smells of sulfer. It comes out of the tap with a slight sediment- when it's hot it's all cloudy for a few minutes, then it settles and turns clear again. The sulfer smell is significant. I don't spend as long in the shower as I used to, because of this. But... it's clean. It's not going to hurt anyone, it just smells bad, tastes funky, and not even the brita filter we use can remove the taste. We've taken to flavoring big pitchers of water with lemonade mix, or some drink mix. The Boy has brought up the idea of just buying all our drinking water in big gallons. I'd rather just flavor it all.

Energy bills are going to be higher than they were. I had gotten used to living in a place where we didn't have heat or central air- because it was unnecessary except for a few days in the winter or summer. Consequently, our electric/gas bill was about 30 bucks a month. Now we're back in the temperate zone where we can expect the hundred or so we used to pay back east. Plus, we've got a house now, which will run to more; and a toddler... it all adds up.

How to economize? How to lower the bills and save water which will be in short supply every summer? I don't know. I suspect that the answers lay in my childhood, in the lessons my mother taught me that she learned from experience and from her own mother. Waste not, want not. Use it up, wear it out, or do without. Shun the disposable economy that lives on credit and sells easy living. Yes, it may be easier, but you'll feel better and appreciate it more if you work harder for it.

I read an article yesterday about dish detergents being forced to reevaluate their formulas. It's the phosphates. Apparantly, the phosphates are getting in the water and killing stuff, or something. Which makes me reflect on yet another happy thing about melaleuca: no phosphates.

I don't have to feel bad about cleaning my kitchen or doing dishes, or anything in my house because not only are the products non toxic but they're non-toxic for the stuff around me too. And so I get to pat myself on the back and rack up those Good Mommy points that are more precious than gold.

The sucky part of today was the inability for me to rest at all. I've been awake now for a long time, and I've promised some date time to the Boy for when the Toddler falls asleep, and I'm starting to feel a drag. Of course it could also be due to the Chill Pill I had to take after her Ladyship's bathtime this evening.

O.M.G... tried a thought that had been raised by my mama group, I put her in the toddler tub inside of the big tub, on the hope that her resistance was due to feeling too overwhelmed by the big tub. Well, it didn't help. The screaming was worse. Again, with the screaming. And the clawing. And the scratching and pulling and the screaming. And did I mention the screaming?

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow there will be less screaming. This will pass into history as just another developmental stage and that will be a better memory. And in the meantime maybe I'll just have a lot of cups of tea, and count to a hundred in my head.

I sometimes feel all lonely and upset and depressed that I'm the only mama I know, and that I haven't made any friends here, or that I don't even know anybody except the lady at the realty who rented us this house... then I start thinking about the good stuff I've gotten done since moving here. Let's face it, I've had worse problems than not being completely unpacked and not knowing anyone.

So here's a short list of the Good Stuff:

the Boy is having a good experience in his new post. 'Nuff said.

the rent is paid, the utilities are being sorted out and on schedule to be all caught up and on a payment schedule (x, y and z on the midmonth, a, b, and c on the end of month)

I know where all the major shopping spots are that I need to know: the walmart, target, three grocery stores to suit my budgetary needs, the NEX gas -yay for gas that's nearly 20cents below the in-town average-, the Costco, the postoffice, and the bank.

We have on demand digital cable. This is a first for us, and I'm enjoying being able to get CSI fixes without having to attempt to remember that a) it's on tonight and b) find a blank tape and set the vcr, and then try to remember to watch it later. Instant gratification is not always good, but here it's crucial.

We have a washer and a dryer. In the house. Not coin operated, does not require me to leave the house lugging baby and laundry. Again, 'Nuff said.

Actually, the washer/dryer thing would be a reason to rejoice all by itself.

Tiff is sleeping through the night again. I'm sleeping better again, without the help of modern chemistry. The Boy is sleeping better, although he still has this weird idea of getting up before the rooster in order to play his games. He is also on the verge of once more getting scolded for expecting that his desires and plans for the day can overrule Tiff's plans for the day. I have to cope with it, and I'm not allowed to melt down, have a smoke break, or otherwise do other than deal with her needs and desires, so why does he get to do it? All this, and he gets to go to work during the day. Real work. Out of the house. Bah.

I still have it better than him, no matter how much I get jealous of his out-of-home experiences. We'll work it out. I'll be more understanding, he'll be more accomodating. Could be a hell of a lot worse.

Finally! My spring sale is going on over at Etsy.com (here) and I (finally) got the time and light to take pictures, measurements, and upload the listings. I'm hoping for a clean sweep of my shop from this, because that will give me a bigger incentive to craft for the next Big Sale. Ideally, I'd be doing a sale every three months or so.

I'm so psyched to be having a day off again. Now that we've gotten mostly unpacked and moved in, the Boy has told me that today I've got to take the time off. So here I am, sitting on the bed, with several screens open as I'm trying to surf between four sites and watch sitcoms. It really makes me feel good since we woke up this morning to find a naked unhappy child in the nursery.

It seems that some time during the night she got hot. Being the child of both her parents, she worked her way out of her nightie. Then pulled off her panties. Then she pulled off the diaper. And then, not to be confined anymore by the strictures of society, she tossed her blankets out of the crib. She also did what normal biological things do. Luckily for all of us, she decided not to smear her poop all over her body. I'm not so surprised, her daddy likes to shed his clothing at night because his body turns into a small furnace. Good for the winter when it's colder, not so good for apartment living where the washing of bedding is a problem. Yeah, we end up washing the blankets about every other week, or we should... and now that we have a washer in the house I'll likely start doing that.

Any case, go check out my sale. And then curl up with a book or hobby and enjoy the day. It's been a long, hard winter for everybody. Let's make it a bit more bearable.

There I was, minding my own business as I motored down the highway this afternoon. I had just picked up the Boy and he was making googly eyes at Tiff in the backseat. We were all just sitting there and I was a little tired when I noticed something a little odd about the car that was behind us. It looked awfully familiar.

Now I've smiled fondly whenever I see a car that's the same color as my old car. You know, the one that was stolen twice and broken into god only knows how much before I finally let the insurance man total it out last spring? It was a deep cherry color, not the bright young red but more the red of a fruit or a wine when the sunlight shines through it. I slowed down a little to let the car pass me, because that's the kind of gal I am.

As it passed I saw the carmax sticker on the left bumper. Hmm, thought I, that is the same placement as the sticker was on my old car. Hmm, thought I, this car has the same peculiar roof arrangement.

It can't be, I told myself. I sped up to pass it, just to convince myself. Along the right side were the same scrape marks and unique lack of paint on the passenger side. It struck me as insanely funny and I couldn't stop giggling.

What are the odds that several hours away from where I signed over the papers on this car, it shows up on the same stretch of highway at the same time as I did? The mind boggles.

Another day, another sink full of dirty dishes. As I sprayed hot water over the sugar ant convention in our sink I supressed an urge to giggle maniacally.

How, exactly, does one giggle maniacally? It's really quite easy. Imagine that you're a goddess, looking down from on high and smiting the ungodly heathens below. Or that you're smiting the infidel enemy invaders. Either way, it can be both fun and mildly alarming to your loved ones. My husband is used to my little insanities by now. Just as well, because I am tired of coming up with new and unique ways to hide it.

One of the things common to those who live with borderline personality disorder is that they view life as a non-stop drama. We script out soap opera-ish fantasies in our heads that cast us in the role of whatever psychologically damaged hero/heroine catches our fancy. We'll watch tv and movies and rewrite the whole thing in our head to accomodate our fantasies. This can seem at times more real than the world we're moving through. A constant temptation is to try to bridge the gap by taking as much of the inner dialogue into our real life relationships as we can get away with. I think this is why so many of us are alone- we burn out the ones who care for us, we overload our friendships and destroy our romances because nobody can ever live up to the constant drama and playacting that goes on.

Not that I'm saying this is deliberate. Far from it. Most of us don't realize what we're doing or how much we're doing it until it's too late. It took me 10 years of therapy to both realize it and to learn how to avoid doing it. It took almost losing the Boy I love and it took breaking my heart to give me the incentive to learn. Now that I know how, it's still hard sometimes to avoid the drama. I crave it almost as much as I crave the addiction of self-injury. As much as I crave control over my body and food intake. I look at my husband, I look at my daughter, it lets me find the strength to keep it together. I will not bring my daughter into my dramas. I have that much pride. I won't let things get bad enough that I have to give her up, even temporarily.

I've chosen to be a grownup. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I love it.

Monday. I had a decent day today. I cooked a real dinner for my family, one in which real Fresh Veggies were used. And leftovers from the fridge. It was cool, it was frugal, it was delicious.

Now if I could only transform this ability to the rest of the house... to the unpacking of boxes. The putting away of clutter. The disposal of trash.

Unpacking has hit a wall; I got so far before I got sick, and that was it. Nothing more has really been done to date, although I do have nifty new appliances to show for it. We've got sugar ants in the kitchen (those little black ones) and twice a day I'm out there scrubbing and spraying to get them gone from my sight. I don't know where they're coming from. Maybe the drains? In any case this is a normal bug thing that I can deal with. We're living out in the country now, and sugar ants are a normal thing to have in the spring and summer when the ground wakes up. Tomorrow I'm going to get some ant traps and see if that helps the problem any.

I'm almost finished knitting the thistle shawl. It's lovely and warm and soft, and I think it's going to sell pretty quickly. I'll post pics here when I'm all done.

Bath night is becoming one of my more dreaded weekly events. Tiffany does not like baths any more. She used to like them. She used to love playing with her toys and the washcloth in the water, splashing around and exploring how things feel and taste and all of the usual things. One day a few months ago she woke up and apparantly decided to not like baths anymore.

One day her bath was fun and exciting. The next day she screamed at the sight of the tub and tried to climb into my shirt. Now her baths are once a week at most, because it seems so traumatic to her. I hate doing this, even though I know I have to. She needs her bath, I need to help her through this, and even though I'm sure it's just another developmental thing the screaming is starting to get to me.

So I'm treating myself to a super-long internet session tonight to make up for it. I finally caught up on some of my message boards. I've caught up on the online survey sites I belong to. I've spent some time talking to the Boy. I'm going to log off soon and kick back on the couch with my knitting and some tv.

I just wish. Oh, how I wish. That the Toddler would stop screaming at bathtime and return to the happy bright child that I know she is.

Thursday. Is it a Thursday? I've lost track of the days of the week again; this has happened more and more since I started staying home with Tiff, but I thought once she started her schooling stuff that it would get easier.

I'm nuts, you know, referring to it as "schooling stuff". She's 22 months old, for goodness sake. Not even two. Not even potty trained, although I want to start thinking about it and the Boy says that we've got to wait until she's talking and walking on her own. A little voice in the backbrain says that if we wait for that she may decide to never talk or walk. And what happens if she does have speech or physical delays relating back to her early start in the world? What happens if she decides to not talk until Kindergarten? I'd really like to have this done by then.

My cold/sinus issue/allergy problem continues unabated. Today we've gone from yellow snot to green snot to bloody snot to aching pressure back to yellow again. This means, in short, that whatever the heck is going on in there is draining nicely and that I'm on the road to recovery. Disgusting as it is.

I hereby nominate the Boy for sainthood, as he has listened politely to all my nonstop babbling about the quality of my bodily fluids and constant low-level ickiness without complaint. He has willingly shouldered all Toddler care as I have asked him to over the past week. He has hugged me when I've been feeling particularly fat and ugly, and offered his clean spare pair of sweatpants so that I can feel non-bloated and un-ugly for the evening. Despite his unwillingness to flout hospital regs and provide me with a cheeseburger and strawberry milkshake during the day and night leading up to Tiff's birth (when I wasn't allowed anything more than ice chips, cause they were expecting an emergency c-section at any moment) I will stand by the love and admiration I feel for his love for me.

This counts WAY more than flowers and candy ever could.

Still sick, unfortunately. I'm almost to the point where the meds have worn off long enough for me to grab a nap, but I don't know if the Toddler is going to extend her own nap long enough for me to grab a nap. Could that sentence have been more of a runon? The answer, of course, is YES. Let's be glad that I'm fully medicated today.

Another couple of boxes have made it out of the family room and over to the unpacking area. This time I concentrated on the Toddler's stuff- toys, clothes, bedding, the odd assortment of my sandals and flipflops that she's made off with and hidden in the closet or under her crib... do I want to know how some of these have made it there? No. I have some semblance of sanity regarding this. Especially as this is one more thing that whispers to me, "puppy." I have given birth to a small puppy, she's obviously not human because she's been eating off the floor, loves being chased around by a barking Mommy, and chews on the furniture. And shoes. If she can't get a good piece of furniture to gnaw on, she goes straight for the shoes. It makes me shudder a little; I know where most of these shoes have been, and it's not hygienic.

On the other hand, she might still be part monkey. The hairless spider monkey she resembled at birth is making a comeback appearance. This week she's started climbing up on the chairs and couch by herself. Last night she gave up trying to convince me to put down everything I was doing and grabbed her blanket and bottle. She made a nest in the recliner, and glared at me over the top of her bottle. This kid has quite the Tude. It would be a full blown Attitude, if she could use enough of her words to make her point. Right now she's continuing to settle for meaningful glares and facial expressions.

It's awfully cute, though. *sigh*. I have to remind myself that we shouldn't have another baby. I try to remember how bad the last pregnancy was, how much I want to settle in the new house before I'm landed on bedrest for most of a year. Cause if the docs don't put me on it, you can bet your binky that the Boy will insist. Remember, girl. Remember how bad it was at the end. Be happy that you've got a healthy daughter and settle all your energy on accepting that the family should now be complete.

I can't seem to get my gut to agree, though. Still. It leads me to wonder how much in denial I am about my health issues. How much I am starting to feel that as long as the Boy loves me and the Toddler reaches out her arms for Mommy I will be immortal and immune from all disaster. Pretty big words for someone who's sniffling, snuffling, and who can't seem to shake the sinus headache beginning to build up behind my eyes.

It's been a while since I've been so fired up about cleaning my house. Maybe it's the mint-scented soap. Maybe it's the tub'n'tile stuff and the tough'n'tender stuff that makes it such an easy proposition- no more lugging big buckets of splashy and dirty water from room to room. Now I can just spray, wipe, and maybe if I feel like it go through one more time with a damp rag just to wipe one more time. Heaven. Anything that makes my job easier and safe to do while the Toddler is awake and running around.

So today has been declared laze-about day. We're all in various stages of sickness again. There is something about moving that makes everyone here sick- the week before and the two weeks following are generally spent in a state of stuffiness and ickiness. Tempered with the appropriate cold medications. The Boy is recovering and almost on the far end of his germs, the Toddler is one day past the hump of congestion (that magical point where the stuffy can't breathe feeling is transformed for a few hours into a searing pressure pain in the sinuses, and then begins that slow leak of thick yellow discharge). And me? I'm beginning the slow road to that sinus pain. However, I'm still on my feet and my hands smell all minty. That solves a lot of my issues.

It's hard to unpack and settle into a new routine this time. Harder than before in some ways, easier in others. Making the move from apartment living to a house is... interesting. Not bad-interesting, just interesting. There aren't any dumpsters now to stuff with the debris of unpacking -and refill three times a week- so we're rationing out how much can go out front on our one day of trash pickup. There are the settling in growing pains- a drawer that fell apart when I tried to open it. Knowing that I can fix it any way I damn well please instead of going back and back to the leasing office and try to get them to fix it properly on a timetable that suits me. Knowing that hey, for the minor and major repairs I can just call in a pro on my own, and even though we'd have to pay for it at least it would be done "right" and the way we need it to be done for our own sakes. All in all I like living in a rented house instead of an apartment. And not just because I can park in my own driveway and walk barefoot in my own yard without having to check it for broken glass, used condoms, and cigarette butts.

Operation House Hunt 2007 was a resounding success. Now we face the unpacking, and the boxes of stuff, and sorting out all the stuff that we meant to throw away before we packed but never got around to from the stuff that we actually use and want to keep. It says something about me that I’d rather throw out the stuff now than do it before the move. Maybe because now it’s all sorted into manageable hunks, sealed away in little mini-capsules of crapola? Maybe because now every last thing must be gone through and dealt with. There’s literally nowhere for it to hide.

The Toddler is enthralled with her new backyard. Mommy lets her go outside and play, and doesn’t hover over her taking things away just as they begin the long journey of exploration and tasting. I wait until she tries to come in and then take it away. Yesterday I pried from her mouth a rock, a piece of old candle, and the crumbs of stucco that came off the side of the house where she had started to lick it.

Don’t look at me like that. I don’t encourage her to eat the house. But the stucco is all in very good repair, it’s relatively clean, and it can’t fall on her. And as far as that goes, if I let her taste the house freely in the beginning, she’ll lose interest a helluva lot quicker than if I play keepaway. The main advantage to having a fenced in yard that I’m using now is that I can let her out, check on her every three minutes or so, and then go back inside without interrupting her.

The Boy rolls his eyes and calls me farmgirl these days. He’s asked how I like moving here from the “big city”. (I love it, btw) He tells them that I’m planting a vegetable garden. Heh, I haven’t started it yet. I’ve started the seeds in little cups and planters, but I haven’t dug up the beds yet, and I haven’t christened my new gardening gloves. These things will come. I choose to believe that deep down he’s really enjoying having me play in the dirt and do these things. We’re gonna make this house a home. I plan on leaving my stamp on it. Wonderful freedom.

What a week. No, really. We've now finally got moving dates, and moving in dates, and driving dates, and make out dates, and flaming dates, and dates with honey... no, wait, that's something different. As much as I'd like to be able to link the food thing to the moving thing, I can't make it work.

Next week will be equally insane for me, although I won't be able to do it near a computer. Here's hoping that there's something else to keep me busy. Like, say, working on the stuff for my show in March. So hugs to all the frazzled people today. Hugs to sick mamas and tired tots everywhere. I'm going to curl up in bed with pizza tonight and take some more sinus medication. My goal? To be able to breathe laying down tonight.

It's been quite a full holiday season. This morning my mom went home again to PA, and the three of us left here are settling back into a sort of uneasy truce before the Great Move of '07. The timeline for this is tightening up. We may be doing it as soon as this friday or as late as next week. I just want this done. ASAP. So that I can start settling in all happy and cozy in a nice house for the next four years.

ooh. I can just taste that. Being able to stay in a house that long. I'm already feeling spoiled by having been at this address so long.

We've finally got some words worked into the Toddler's vocab. "walk" is one of them. So is "me". She also seems to have grasped the concept of "no", as she loves shaking her head back and forth vigorously while laughing at me.

I love her to pieces. She's so happy that it hurts, but it's a good hurt for me. I like seeing it, and I like making her laugh. However I still hate the idea of moving. I really hate the deal of packing and unpacking and leasing and getting our application approved... I wish it were over already.

So to compensate for this I'm knitting more socks. And a baby blanket. And a grownup bedspread. And I'm designing a dress, which I may just go out and buy the yarn for this afternoon. Crafthappy? Possibly.

Ever start a project that turned into something with a life of it's own? I could blame this entirely on that I am reading knitting books and websites right now. I could attempt to blame it on my love of soft and sparkly and shiny and all the brilliant colors that yarn comes in. That would be just wrong... I started out to make a hooded towel, but then it acquired heathered grape-purple stripes, and the next step in my head is to pick up a border of cream and maybe a real thin edge of blue when it's all done.

And that's cool. So I'm knitting and lusting after fibers and dreaming of some lacey and cobweby creation of lace and fluffyness, silk yarn and mohair and smooth alpaca, with some teeny glass beads and a bit of gold sparkle. I'd hang it on the wall and call it art.