Sunday, January 30, 2011

I promise tonight not to do you no harm

You know how in movies the hero is always getting the crap kicked out of him, and he just carries on trying to foil the villain's sinister plot? He's all bloody and waking up from being beaten senseless and left for dead, but he sort of shakes it off and jumps from a bridge onto a departing garbage scow? Well, brothers and sisters, I can tell you with certainty that that little scenario is a load of horse poop. Here's how I know:

I spent Thursday in an assortment of supine positions, due to having what my brother-in-law phone-diagnosed as Influenza A, but what I think was probably actually Kuru. In the middle of the night I got up to go take some ibuprofen, and maybe go to the bathroom--I didn't want to overschedule myself. I laboriously made my way to the kitchen and took the pills, but was feeling so woozy that I decided walking down the stairs to use the bathroom was a little ambitious. I started back to bed and grabbed the door frame leading from the kitchen to the dining room and held onto it for a minute, just to get my bearings. Then I woke up and John was kneeling over me, asking if I was dead. So I have a brother-in-law phone-diagnosed mild concussion due to the loss of consciousness, giant SMACK of head on hardwood, and a sizable bump to go along with it and new in-skull tenants Spinal Tap, who are always rehearsing. And you guys, it has laid me out. I hope I didn't give myself MS. And that's how I know that in real life, Jason Bourne and James Bond and all the rest of them would maybe do okay the first day after their pounding, would maybe be able to go to IKEA and buy some picture frames and a shelf for the bathroom, but the day after that they would be in serious pain and would be unable to foil anyone's sinister plot. They'd be lucky to read a train schedule.

I used to look askance at the the Pioneer Woman's website when she'd make excuses for using shortcut ingredients by saying her grocery store didn't carry the fancy stuff. But then I went to Morgan and saw what she was talking about. I feel bad for assuming that everyone has access to oxtail.

John and the boys went ice fishing yesterday, and they caught some fish. We ate them today, except Emmett, because he hates everything.
Look at all the butter in the bottom of that pan and just try to tell me that fish wouldn't taste good.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

why can't the english learn to speak?

Well, you guys know that we abide by the Law of the Harvest around here, and you can't get a funny video without an accompanying lecture. Sometimes. So, because I posted that video yesterday I have to remind everyone that I really do believe in that cause, and think that it's important--if perhaps not taken to the Portlandia extreme. Not because it's what the cool kids are doing right now, not to appease trendy goobers, not because it's a way to be Crunchier than Thou, but because it is our moral and ethical responsibility. Because it's better for the physical and spiritual health of everyone involved. I believe that we are accountable for the way we treat the people and animals racketing around on this crazy rock with us, and that we reap what we sow; cruelty and disregard, or compassion and care. Hey, surprise! The conversation has ended up once again on the Law of the Harvest! Sorry.

I watched part of the State of the Union address this morning while I was moseying on the treadmill. I say this for a few reasons:
1. I want you to think I'm smart.
2. I want you to realize that I am trying to exercise, even though I hate it and my butt just keeps getting bigger and bigger anyway. Curse you, sedentary lifestyle and hybrid vigor of my pear-shaped genes!
3. Wouldn't it be cool if we actually did the things he talked about? I got all fired up and wanted to start inventing stuff like cars that run on goat poop. Don't steal my idea. Also I want those solar roof shingles he mentioned.
4. It was not as interesting as watching my stories, so it made it hard to be motivated. So I'm not smart after all.

I wished that people would stop interrupting him to stand up and clap (I realize that he pauses for this, but still). When I was in high school my choir did a Sunday program at the Victory Assembly of God church, and I loved hearing people vocally agree with the sermon. Why can't the State of the Union be more like that, with people just saying "amen" and "that's right" if they're grooving on a particular bullet point? That way the speech won't feel disjointed, and it won't take nearly so long, and we can all get to bed. I'll be honest, after some of the long ovations I had to think for a minute to remind myself what he was even talking about before the clapping started. And this is shallow of me, but Michelle Obama is a really beautiful woman. Strikingly beautiful. I like pretty people who don't look like plastic. Good for her.

In closing, I think we own a new washer and dryer now, but I think I'll check for wasp nests in the vent before we install them.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

a good-natured laugh at my own expense

Because I love you.

didn't want no one to hold you what does that mean

Last night we were at Costco, Source of All Things Good, and while we were loading our hundreds of dollars of groceries into the car a woman and her 14ish daughter came running through the parking lot, racing each other to the car. The mom got to the car first, and the daughter shouted out, while laughing, "You stupid whore!"

Come again?

Then the dad came out and pounded on the window of the car and snarled, "Open the door!"

I don't know, it just seemed weird to me, like maybe I would really hate to be related to them. I wonder if people think the same thing about our family. Like, I wonder if they saw Grant in the dress we made him wear because he missed a shot at basketball on Saturday, or Emmett with his gooey barf bowl upended on his head to punish him for being sickly, or Ike with the sign we taped to his shirt that said "I'm a Stupid Baby," because he still gets b and d confused, or Willa with her head shaved bald because she was getting too vain, and maybe they thought mean things about our family too. It takes all kinds to make the world go 'round, I guess.

We talked to the tire center people about our exploded tire, and the guy said, "Well, even if you weren't over the life expectancy of the tire, you wouldn't have any warranty coverage anyway, because you haven't had your tires checked since August of 2009. He seemed unimpressed with our tire husbandry.

We got some ice cream at Farr's Fresh, which is like Mecca for children, and Grant and Ike made the most disgusting bowl of ice cream you ever did see, with root beer, unsweetened lime, cake batter, orange, pineapple, and strawberry ice creams topped with caramel, vanilla wafers, gummy bears, sour gummy worms, M&Ms, bubble gum, and Butterfinger. It looked like barf. The guy told us that Nielsen's frozen custard is actually made from Farr's custard mix, but the Nielsen's people have a handmade machine that freezes the custard harder and colder. I love knowledge! I want one of those machines.

Currently our dryer takes four and a half hours to dry a load of laundry. Does this seem excessive?

Monday, January 24, 2011

though tonight she's made me sad I still love her

I just do not get the Chilewich hype. I put placemats next to napkin rings and can't understand why someone would spend money on them. Chargers are there, too. They do not make a table look nicer, only crowded and busy. I think the busy-ness should come from food and people, not dishes and accessories. I'm sorry, that's just the way I was raised.

I checked out a book about dairy goats from the library to see if it talks about good plants for hay. I had an idea, and probably somebody with more farming experience than me can set me straight, but here it is: I think I'll go out and spread some seed of various different grains on the alfalfa field before the next snowfall, and then in the spring they'll sprout and add a little variety to the hay, and hopefully make for a better-balanced diet for the goats. The alfalfa hasn't been replanted for about twenty-five years, so it's getting really sparse in places, and leaving room for more and more June grass to grow (and go to seed and get stuck in Traci's neck and cause cool goiters). And as long as I use plants from different species to overseed, we shouldn't have problems with autotoxicity, correct? Hopefully All8's husband Ambrose will weigh in here.

I am now in the process of having a third set of tile samples sent to me, since the source I was going to use wants to charge ninety dollars to ship the tile to me. Not sure why this is, since the other company I looked at only charges ten dollars for anywhere in the continental U.S. Probably they are just evil. And liquid nails, say my sources, is not an appropriate adhesive for the glass tile.

Yesterday was a watershed moment at dinner. We were all sitting there, eating our chevon, because we are fancy, and my kids said, "This is like Thanksgiving dinner! It's like Grandma's house, because whenever lots of people come over for dinner she cooks a big meal that's basically like Thanksgiving, and it's sooo delicious!" Every one of them liked everything on the table, and then we had molten chocolate cakes for dessert, and they were actually grateful for all of it. It was amazing. And I did it all without a theme! Yesterday the Relief Society president came in to Young Women to tell us about a lady who came and did a workshop--something about dinner? saving money on groceries? I don't know. Anyway, there are special calendars and grocery lists, and every night of the week has a theme; Monday is Mexican food, Tuesday is chicken, Wednesday is Italian, and so on. Supposedly if you plan two weeks of meals and shop for them all at once then you'll save 40 something, either percent or dollars (was tuning out a little bit), on your grocery bill. I'm sure that's true, and I do need to do a better job of meal planning, but that whole King-of-the-Hill-Tuesdays-are-Pork-Chops thing would CRUSH MY SOUL. I write down what we eat for dinner every night on my calendar, and then I can refer back to it if I'm feeling uninspired some night when it's already 4:00 and I haven't decided on a meal yet. Because you know how John gets if he comes home and isn't greeted by a newspaper, a pipe, and the smell of dinner cooking! UNRULY.

You know that's a lie, right? He just leaves and doesn't come home until the next day to punish me for shirking.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

I can do it quicker, and get even sicker

I have a couple of eyelashes in each eye that grow all cattywampus. I don't know if an eyelash curler would help with this, but I'm betting not. They're more like heavy-gauge wire than eyelashes, and they are resistant to tampering. So every few months I have to yank them out with the tweezers. It hurts more than eyebrow hair, but less than some other kinds of hair.

We had a guest stay here last night, but I didn't find out he was coming until eleven o'clock, so the shame hiding was minimal. I did vacuum the parlor rug, and the cats sleep outside at night now, so neither of them ate his face. So there's that.

Have you ever forgotten to brush your teeth? I don't think I could. I've forgotten to put on deodorant literally tens of times, but I obsess about my teeth (hence the gum graft) and could never neglect them. When I was dating John it was a real struggle for me to get over the fact that he has a filling in every tooth (his dentist was a crook), and that he'd had to correct his terrible buck teeth with braces. In the eighteenth century we would have been star-crossed lovers and our romance would never have worked, but in this day and age of available, affordable orthodontia I was willing to settle. And luckily John was willing to settle for me and all my flaws (gluttony, greed, sloth, envy, wrath, pride and lust--they are not a big deal). That, children, is the secret to our undying love: we settled! It also helps that John is tall and funny and I am a good cook.

I hear from a reputable source that Liquid Nails is like the Windex of building, so I want someone to explain to me in simple, elementary concepts why I couldn't attach my tile to the cement board with Liquid Nails. Wouldn't that make it more pliable and less likely to crack if the tub is super full of water and person? I want to try it, but I don't want to spend the money to find out it's a stupid idea.

For some reason (climate change all will die) our snow has all melted away already, which makes me feel anxious about the summer. The life of a farmer, even a gentleman farmer, is fraught with worry and stress about feast or famine conditions. The happiest farmers--those who don't end up in the hospital with hypertension or worse--are those who are incurably obtuse, and those who are able to stoically adapt to ruinous setbacks.

Have you heard of Clearwater disease? It's super scary and affects mainly sheep. Sheep ranchers have to make sure there's no standing clear water on their range, or the sheep will bend down to drink and see their reflections, realize they're sheep, and die. HA HA HA HA HAAAAA.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

love and honor, yes, but not obey

I was a big fat dynamo at my house yesterday, so I didn't get back here in time for the yelling. Before we get started, there are a few matters of maintenance to address.

1. I am long past tired of my children having special blog names. It annoys me to type them. So from now on I'm just going to call them by their real names, but if any of you steal their identities to sell nuclear weapons to hostile governments I am going to be super t.o.'d. Their real names are Grant, Emmett, Ike and Willa.
2. I realized today that the best part of my day is the few minutes after the boys get on the bus and before Willa wakes up. I wondered if I should feel bad about this, but decided that just because I love them doesn't meant that I can't be glad when the unrelenting noise is absent for a few precious moments. Also, my next favorite part of the day is when they get home (not a lie), so I think that means that I just need a break for a little while during the day.
3. It makes me sad when people say that puffy Cheetos don't need to exist. I agree that crunchy Cheetos are superior, but puffy Cheetos have a totally different flavor, and they do have a purpose.

Now, I know everyone is waiting with bated breath for my reaction to that Salon piece on "Mormon mommy bloggers," which . . . the term "mommy blogger" is a topic all its own, but anyway. Let's start with the first paragraph.

"At first glance, Naomi and Stacie and Stephanie and Liz appear to be members of the species known as the "Hipster Mommy Blogger," though perhaps a bit more cheerful and wholesome than most. They have bangs like Zooey Deschanel and closets full of cool vintage dresses. Their houses look like Anthropologie catalogs. Their kids look like Baby Gap models. Their husbands look like young graphic designers, all cute lumberjack shirts and square-framed glasses. They spend their days doing fun craft projects (vintage-y owl throw pillow! Recycled button earrings! Hand-stamped linen napkins!). They spend their weekends throwing big, whimsical dinner parties for their friends, all of whom have equally adorable kids and husbands."

Now, if you were to put this paragraph into the "Off-Putter 2000" (patent pending), it couldn't possibly generate a more repulsive concept for me. I read Nie Nie every once in a great while, and it is sweet and often provokes much-needed self-examination. It's a little precious for my taste, but that's because I am a pessimistic grump, and because I am secretly jealous of her well-organized, colorful home. Her story is inspiring. But that paragraph makes those four women and their families sound vacuous, self-absorbed, self-aware, and hateful.

The article gets better and nicer after that, for a little while, anyway. It's clever and funny and I think it describes the phenomenon, if that is the correct term for this, of non-Mormons reading Mormon blogs fairly well. It's nice that she says the blogs are uplifting, and that they present family life in an attractive light. But then you get this:

"Indeed, Mormon bloggers like Holbrook make marriage and motherhood seem, well, fun. Easy. Joyful. These women seem relaxed and untouched by cynicism. They throw elaborate astronaut-themed birthday parties for their kids and go on Sunday family drives to see the fall leaves change and get mani-pedis with their friends. They often have close, large extended families; moms and sisters are always dropping in to watch the kids or help out with cake decorating. Their lives seem adorable and old-fashioned and comforting."

Is there anyone out there who thinks that to describe a grown woman as "adorable" is a compliment? And I don't know of an easier way to make someone appear utterly disposable than to say that they get "mani-pedis"--by which I mean that they use that term unironically.

I think what really bothers me most about this article is that it's such a lean-and-slap. She starts out by saying how much she enjoys reading the Mormon blogs, but spends most of the piece portraying Mormon women as brainless Stepford wives. Another excerpt:

"This focus on the positive is especially alluring when your own life seems anything but easy. As my friend G. says, of her fascination with Mormon lifestyle blogs, "I'm just jealous. I want to arrange flowers all day too!" She doesn't, really. She's just tired from long days spent in the lab, from a decade of living in a tiny apartment because she's too poor from student loans to buy a house, from constant negotiations about breadwinning status with her artist husband. It's not that she or I want to quit our jobs to bake brownies or sew kiddie Halloween costumes. It's just that for G., Mormon blogs are an escapist fantasy, a way to imagine a sweeter, simpler life."

How nice for us. How nice that we are sweet and simple. How nice that we don't have any of those grownup concerns of higher education and financial obligations. How nice that our lives are so easy. How nice to be a homogeneous group of dunces.

Is there really anyone who arranges flowers all day, unless it's their job?

Then she wonders if maybe things aren't as perfect as they seem, and that's probably true in many cases. People usually do pretty up their lives before they put them on display. But what if they're not on anti-depressants? Do they just not know any better? Or could they possibly be actually happy?

Hmmph. I guess I'm not really qualified to respond to this, because though I may be a Mormon, and a mom, and write a blog, I'm certainly not "untouched by cynicism." And I get so tired of people who say, in effect, "I'm so impressed by your ability to cook and clean, but I require more intellectual stimulation." This is not exclusive to Mormons, of course. Anyone involved in the "domestic arts" deals with this dismissive nonsense.

Ugh. For anyone who wondered, there are certainly similarities among Mormon women, as there are among all women. But we are still a very diverse group of people, as one will discover after spending the time to get to know us as human beings, instead of apron-wearing automatons.

To sum up: I hope that none of my non-Mormon readers think of me in the way that this author thinks about these women. I hope you respect me a little more than that. Who else is going to tell you the truth about Monsanto AND terminators AND bandeau swimming tops?

Monday, January 17, 2011

home from vacation, and this is what greets me

You guys know I'm about to yell about this, right? I hope I can get through it without swallowing my tongue while my eyes roll into the back of my head. See you tomorrow!

Thursday, January 13, 2011

back to the lab again

Whew. I've been so busy, probably busier than anyone else ever, is why it took me so long to get back here to my memo from last night. And even if I were less busy than someone else, my stuff was more important, I bet. Mapping genomes, I was.

Real quick-like, here's where the bathroom is:
*toilet in my bedroom
*tub in the dining room
*vinyl and subfloor gone
*nails pulled (most) or pounded back in (a few recalcitrant ones)
*wallpaper gone
*paint scraped off ceiling
*what my plumber calls masonite paneling painted green
*tile samples ordered
*neighbor who wants to sneak in and put in large ceramic tile during our absence threatened with extreme bodily harm--I'm serious, Cameron

But back to the reminder list from yesterday.

Item the first: I went to the Honey Jar to get another bucket of honey, and Peggy said that the price had gone up because they had to go so far to find it this year. Her cousin's bees died, and another of their suppliers only had 18 of her 100 hives survive because of insecticide drift from neighboring farms. So awesome. I can understand the farmer's plight. Bugs are crappy and they eat your crops, and your yield plummets and you go broke and your family starves. I get it. And as my dad so heatedly points out every time I try to broach with him the subject of sustainable farming without complete dependence on hybrids and chemicals, we are feeding the world with hybrids and chemicals. But the voice inside my head that likes to mind other people's business wonders why are we feeding the world? And is it really food we're giving them? Why aren't we teaching them how to farm their own crops--crops that would do well in their area--rather than flooding them with GM corn and Ring Dings? And how is any of it going to get turned into food of any kind when all the pollinators are dead? And while I'm at it, why are we building monstrous houses on all the arable land when existing houses are languishing empty everywhere?

Item the second:
We taught our Beehives how to make a real chocolate cake last night (Amy's Perfect Chocolate Cake, coincidentally--Amy being the same girl at whose house we ate stir-fry last week). We way overfilled the pans and they erupted like four little volcanoes all over the floor of the oven, so we poured some batter out of each of them and microwaved it and ate it with spoons while the cakes finished cooking with big divots in the center, hate, and then we put the oven on self-clean and there was so much batter that it CAUGHT FIRE and FLAMES WERE LICKING THE GLASS FROM INSIDE THE OVEN and the church kitchen FILLED WITH SMOKE and we all smelled like jerky and John said, "Well, that's why they say not to cook in the church kitchens," and I said, "Well, they need to stop building kitchens in the churches, then," and it was a TOTAL, IRRETRIEVABLE DISASTER. Except the cakes tasted great, and the frosting did too. But still. Not a high point in my cooking career.

Item the third:
I do not support viewing of Beavis and Butthead, obviously, because what kind of an example would I be for my children if I did? Answer: probably about like I am right now. But I fell among evil companions who were always offering me sucker bets and it is what it is. And I will tell you that the episode where Beavis and Butthead try to grow beards and then cut their hair and glue it all over their faces makes me laugh so very, very hard. Just the memory of Beavis with bald patches of skin showing where Butthead totally mowed his hair is enough to make me giggle right now.

I'm sorry about Item the first. I'm sorry that I get like this. But I can't exorcise it, and it just pops out every once in a while. I think I have something like a second uterus inside me, but for anger instead of eggs. And it just keeps making little anger sacs, and I have to use them somewhere, don't I?

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

so I won't forget

Remind me for tomorrow:
1. Bees dying, farmers all "Duh, what pesticide?"
2. Whoops, I set the church's oven on fire.
3. Beavis and Butthead beard episode.

you are so dumb you are really dumb for real

I realize now that I have been way overthinking stir-fry. We had dinner with some friends last Friday, something we have been trying to do for oh, probably a year now, so I could taste this stir-fry that Brian makes. And it is terrific! I feel like such a tool for messing around with all those silly, gloppy sauces. Oh, if I could turn back time. If I could find a way.

Boy, this Tiger Mother stuff is a sack of bobcats, is it not? I'm quite enjoying the conversation it has sparked. I'll tell you what, my kids are going to spend a lot more time practicing their instruments from now on. But I think that the wishy-washy American parents she's talking about are not the ones I've met. From what I've seen there are Those Parents everywhere, the ones who are putting their children on a waiting list for just the right Montessori (or similar) preschool before they're even born, so they can spend those formative years from three to five eating only The Very Best Paste. Eh, no matter what we do, our kids are going to grow up to denounce us for the abundance/lack of love, the abundance/lack of discipline, the abundance/lack of high expectations, the abundance/lack of privileges, the abundance/lack of culturally enriching experiences, the abundance/lack of junk food, the abundance/lack of home cooking . . . I could go on ad nauseam. They're going to be smarter and better parents than we are, just like we're smarter and better than our parents. We're all such geniuses.

And now I'm off to the shower. The DOWNSTAIRS shower, which is a better shower in every respect except its location.

I feel hostile.

Monday, January 10, 2011

more about the tile

I called my mom a minute ago and was fretting and stewing about the Greek key pattern, and how to size it so it will run around the corners evenly, and she said, "Um, I think you could save the Greek key pattern for when you build a castle? And right now maybe you could just do stripes or something." See how wise she is? Because as beautiful as it would be, I can't really justify the amount of time it's going to take to figure it out, meanwhile the toilet is still out of commission and I'm getting mighty sick of walking all the way downstairs.

So, stripes it is, fears about themed decorating be damned. I voiced my concerns about being one of those "My house is all done in bears" kind of people, and my mom said, "Oh, you don't have anywhere close to a theme." Wrong! Craigslist/Grandma is our theme!

On another note, John was saying last night that forty (which he will be turning this year) isn't that old, but I told him that depends on which generation he's talking about. For our generation, sure, forty is still a pup. But for Generation Twinkie? Forty is, like, on hospice already. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fruit pies they eat for lunch.

product may stay: haagen dazs five lemon

I just got off the phone with Haagen-Dazs. Have you had this ice cream?
It is heavenly. It is transporting. It is sublime. It is the best lemon ice cream I have ever eaten, including Aggie Lemon Custard, which is delicious, but tastes the teensiest bit like Joy dishwashing liquid after a while. My one quibble: it has little chunks of zest instead of thin, ethereal ribbons. You'd think Haagen-Dazs could afford a Microplane! So I called to compliment them and talk about the zest issue. I tried very hard to hit all the buzzwords, telling them how controlling I am of the food we eat, and how grateful I am that they make ice cream with no monster ingredients. I think it's important to tell people when they're doing something right. They were gracious and appreciative and promised coupons. I hope they fix the zest.

I think I want a Greek key border for the bathroom tile, but I am having the wiggins about how to make it so there aren't weird seams or jumps in the pattern. Other than trial and error, how do I do this? I'm going to go visit the bathrooms in all the old buildings I can find to see if I can get some ideas for old-tymey patterns.

Friday, January 7, 2011

they're always throwin' goodness at you, but with a little bit of luck a man can duck

Well, I'm remodeling the bathroom now. I like to have projects to do in January, because it gives me something to look forward to after Christmas. Otherwise I'd get so bored in this interminable winter that you'd find me rocking back and forth in the corner, mumbling Latin plant names and eating my hair. WHY DO JANUARY AND FEBRUARY EXIST?

I was going to do a pressed tin ceiling, but I realized that I'd have to put up a wooden substrate to nail the tin panels to, and that's a can of worms I want no part of. So I'll just scrape and paint the ceiling--I wonder if I could put tin paneling on the walls? Anyway, the wallpaper is all off, and now I'm ripping out the vinyl and subfloor, which is on top of the same beautiful quarter-sawn oak that's everywhere else in the house, and no tarpaper this time! We'll have to take out the toilet, and then get five or six strapping men to heft the tub out of the way so we can get the subfloor out from under it. My neighbor says the best way to get an old cast-iron tub out of a bathroom is with a sledgehammer, but those of you who have seen my tub (blue swan decoration notwithstanding) will understand why that's not an option for me. Not when I've already bought the paint to refinish it!

So we arrive at the problem. There's that gorgeous wood floor just waiting to be uncovered, but it's in the bathroom, which seems . . . a little icky, quite frankly. It just seems like it might act like a sponge for all the leakage and splashing, and we're bound to have a mess on our hands, aren't we? So I think I'll put in glass mosaic tile. It looks like candy, which is always a good choice.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

the way I feel about you baby can't explain it

Have you ever noticed that animals do a terrible job of holding still for pictures? I don't know how the lolcats people do it, because my cats refuse to cooperate. Just now I wanted to take a picture of Groceries, because he was looking especially soft, and right at the wrong moment he wandered off, like he was some autonomous being with things of his own to do!

There is a family of ten to twenty deer living behind our haystack. 'Scuse me, I meant a family of rats with horns. They've rubbed most of the bark off of our honeylocust, which is already a pale little weakling. I figured that the hay would be a good trade for my trees, but it seems that they're not content with either/or, no, the greedy monsters have to take it all and leave me with nothing! I'm going to get an attack lion.

Yesterday our left rear tire exploded while I was driving to pick up Superman from school. It was thrilling and added much excitement to my day. I left it in the parking lot of the Buddhist church, where they used to have a bazaar once a year that my parents would attend and bring home sushi and those disappointing dome-shaped dumplings.

I have a new app called My Fitness Pal, which I am enjoying. I hear thin is the new pretty.

Think it's time to take down the Christmas tree yet? Probably so, if only so I can start remodeling the bathroom--as my brother-in-law Nate would say, you have to have your punishment before you have your reward--he was talking about vegetables before dessert. But he also says that he eats his reward first, because that's what's best for him.

Monday, January 3, 2011

my bubbles

You guys.

So much has happened! How is your New Year going so far? Mine is great, because my only resolution was to maintain or improve my current level of awesomeness.

We learned how to make aebleskivers at the table (portable butane stove) and devised new toppings and inclusions for same, we drove all over creation going to various family and friend events, I made Pommes Anna for Christmas dinner and it was good, and we had a delightful New Year's Eve party. But the most exciting thing is this:
Hazel is here! Eeee! Does she remind you of anyone? Say, perhaps, this one?
Welcome differences include a quieter voice, less insistent yelling, less yelling overall, and being alive. Very exciting! We clipped her hooves and when we were leaving the pen we said, "Thanks for coming to live with us, Hazel." She responded with, "Yeah, like I had a choice. You probably don't even have Calf-Manna." She's right, we don't!

Also Superman got a fish and two frogs for Christmas from his Oma and Opa.
They are engrossing! You might ask why we didn't start with something small like fish, instead of chickens, then cats, then goats. If you start with fish and work your way up, people will think that your animal habit is getting out of hand and they need to have an intervention. If, on the other hand, you start with the big stuff and add little things afterward, then it's no big deal because you're already crazy. You decide how you want to handle it. Either way your family will look down on you, sorry to say.