18 June 2011

Blessed, bitter, bacon and bellies.

I can't think when my house is dirty. And my house is dirrrrr-ty, like four-letter word dirty. Filth, I tell you. My floors need mopped and my bathrooms are gross. It would be the kind of thing that would keep me awake at night, if I weren't already awake at night with a screeching, wailing, teething baby. In fact, there have been moments that I've considered mopping or scrubbing at 4:23 in the blessed morning - since I'm already awake and all. But then Zachary starts in again and I get all sidetracked trying to remember if he had Motrin or Tylenol most recently and swearing at the company that made teething tablets that is no longer making teething tablets that I'm just too busy to mop or scrub.

Busy at 4:23 in the (blessed) morning doing anything other than sleeping ought to be illegal. In fact, it is illegal in about 19 states, Iowa not being one of them. Son of a bitch.

Just another reason we need to move.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. Do you know where your Dad is? I'm pretty sure mine is out to pasture, not like, "gone to the farm" like Misty's dog Freddy, but like, living on the farm. Not that I'd know for sure - I haven't talked to him in months. Does that sound bitter? Eh, I guess it shouldn't. My phone dials out, too. It's a conscious choice that I'm making but it still stings a little every now and then.

I'm over it.

We went to the Farmer's Market this morning. I think the boys were a little overwhelmed; lots of people, lots of dogs, lots of radishes. (Radishes can be scary in large numbers, man.) However, Nick and I were too busy consuming massive amounts of chocolate covered bacon to notice. No, not entirely true - we were taking turns, eating bacon and paying attention to the boys.

That was some good bacon.

Anyway, I've decided that the Farmer's Market is kind of like the State Fair, but almost better. Really crowded, super hot, and best for people watching. But instead of paying $8 for a cup of beer, you can wander from wine vendor to wine vendor and "sample" for free. Nice. Some of those vendors "sample" with a heavy hand. More than once I've left the Farmer's Market with a serious buzz. (That actually makes for a pretty crappy day, drunk by 9am with a wine hangover at noon. Sucky.) My little brother claims that the best time to visit the farmer's market is dawn, but that's only because he and his clan haven't been to bed yet and they're walking off their massive alcohol consumption. He may be on to something, though. It was so packed today, there were people everywhere - you couldn't really see anything, at least that you wanted to see.

Speaking of things we didn't want to see... I don't know if we were fortunate or unfortunate enough to see a local belly dancing troupe. Don't get excited there, children. These were literally bellies dancing - big, fat, stretch-marked, naked jiggly bellies wiggling and gyrating. Thankfully Brodie was paying more attention to the dogs otherwise I would have covered his eyes. And don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking big, fat, stretch-marked covered bellies - I've got one myself. (Boo.) I'm knocking jiggly naked bellies wiggling in public. Because that was gross.

But I'm over that too.

But I'm still not hungry.

15 June 2011

Cookies, 1. Homework, 0.

Shit, what isn't better than homework? Nick asked me why I was making cookies today and the only thing I could come up with was that cookies are better than homework. Which is to say that I have a lot of homework to do and I have zero motivation to do it. Tomorrow night, at about 1130, I'll be kicking myself for wasting the day today. However, I'll be kicking myself as I enjoy some homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I haven't blogged for a while. If you used to be a regular reader, you're probably aware of this. I don't have anything specifically entertaining or purposeful to write this evening. But blogging, even about nothing, is better than homework. At least for me. Maybe not for you.

I'm just checking in. Nothing fun to say. Maybe tomorrow.

20 April 2011

Completely uninspired

We're going to look at houses this afternoon. Do you know how hard it is to find a house for four people and a dog? Most of the time, finding housing for the people isn't the problem - although, I did speak with a man today who told me that four people was just way too many for the THREE bedroom home he was advertising. Um, okay. The majority of the issue is the dog. People just aren't that excited to meet Kingsley. And I can't understand why. Who doesn't like a big, lazy, barking, licking, kissing, slobbering, drooly mess of a dog? He doesn't chew things up (unless you count that entire purse that he ate one time), he doesn't bite (hard), he doesn't make a lot of noise (unless barking counts) and he's not hard on anything (unless you're looking at the yard). Really, people, must you all be dog haters?

Poor Pootie.
His feelings are hurt.

I'm making buffalo chicken nachos for dinner and I have the chicken and the buffalo sauce in the crock pot. It's making my eyes water; it literally smells like gasoline to me. But that's how the hubs likes it, so that's how I'll make it.

Today is the end of my first class in my third attempt at grad school. It's also the final day for all assignments, of which I have a few to complete, and instead of homework, I'm blogging. I could teach Procrastination 101 but....


19 April 2011

How to not win

I'm like the Charlie Sheen of the blogging world. Out of nowhere, in your face, with a big ass rant. Except my rant isn't about million dollar contracts or the producer of my television show. So really, I can't be Charlie Sheen. Plus, I'd use the word "winning" but if I use it in a Charlie Sheen-esque context I'm pretty sure he'd send me a bill for at least $17. That and the only one "winning" around here is my damn landlord.

(Here comes the rant...)
I knew she was flaky. I knew she was flaky the first time I met her. Flaky and unstable. But when she called yesterday to give us the news that we need to move, pretty much, right now, I had no idea she was a lunatic, too. She said, and I quote, "I have to give you a 30-day notice because [insert fiancee's name] gave me a 30-day notice." She followed that up with, "I waited as long as I could to tell you."

I waited as long as I could to tell you?! How is that helpful? If you're going to kick us out, damn it, a little advance notice is appreciated. And so it begins. We're now in search of a place to live, ASAP. Did we have any intention of moving prior to her notice? Nope. Are we at all prepared to move? Nope. Do we even have any idea where to look? Nope.

Awesome. This is not winning, right here.

24 January 2011

You're killing your father, Larry.

Except my child is not named Larry and I am not Larry's, er, well, Zachary's, father.

I could also title this, "Damnit, child, for the love of all things holy, please, just take a nap!"

I have never known a child more fickle when it comes to napping (and eating and playing and enjoying the company of others besides that of his momma, but for the purpose of this post, we're only going to be discussing napping) than my Baby Z. He has days where he naps like a champ. Clockwork - you could nearly set a watch by it. But those days are few and very, very far between. Because Baby Z., for all intents and purposes, is a catnapper. I don't know where he picked up this trait; I don't know if it's a genetic thing (and if it is, I am tracking down the developer of this particular gene and we are going to have words) or if it's a learned thing, but I can tell you it's a super freaking annoying thing.

Baby Z's catnaps last about 14 minutes. And it just so happens that 14 minutes is how long it takes to shower but not dry off, prepare a lunch but not eat it, complete the warm-up portion of a workout but not the workout itself. Do you see where I'm going with this? I get nothing done.

Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. From start to end, my day is a laundry list of unfinished tasks, showers, lunches, workouts, blog posts and chores. However, I do get a lot of Baby Z time.

(I'd tell you more about it but I'm on minute 12 right now and he's starting to stir. Not even kidding. I knew I should have eaten while I had the chance.)

01 January 2011

The obligatory resolutions post

I've spent all day thinking about resolutions and what I'm going to write here. It began as a short list, manageable, both in writing and in life, and then like most things, I started to overthink it. It began to grow and soon I was giving it categories and planning a multi-day post about how this year was going to be my year. It dawned on me that I'd probably spend the entire month of January writing about how I was going to change my life and I wouldn't actually be starting until February.

Oh dear.

I want the same things most people want: I want to be a better mom, wife, daughter, friend, person. I want to cook more and eat in restaurants less. I want to put my new stand-up mixer to good use. I want to be more patient, more organized, less forgetful, less stressed. I want to spend less, save more, and still have the things we need on a daily basis. I want to lose weight. I'd like to read more, watch better movies (but still watch Twilight two or three times a week for my Robert Pattinson fix), hear new music, hear live music, get out of the house regularly, grow out my hair (or maybe cut it even shorter, I'm undecided on this one), take more (and better) pictures, clip my toenails more often, clip my boys' toenails more often, clean more but have to do it less often, win the lottery...

Wait, this is resolutions not wishes. Sorry.

But you can see where I'm going with this. So this year, I resolve to make no official resolutions. I'm just going to be me, only better.

As if that's even possible. (Heheheh...)