my husband really must love me

My parents were together 35 years, and I awaken much like my mother did. Just don't talk to me. You can give a grunt or single word greeting, but silence is preferred. Maybe I'll tell you the story of my father greeting me in the mornings during the Christmas visit to the in-laws in another blog. For now, I'll tell you about my whoville hair.
I don't quite have great hair. Any salon person will tell me that my hair is healthy, and I won't argue with that. I don't do much to my hair. I just brush it, wash it, condition it, and pull it back into ponytails or clips or buns of some kind. Several mornings of late, I have seen the blog fodder in the bathroom mirror. After 16 years of waking up to a woman that regularly looks like THIS:

or this:

he REALLY must love her.

Yes, this is the "whoville hair" of which I speak. Why do I have my hand over my face? It serves several purposes. First, these pictures really were taken right after I crawled out of bed (and yes the timestamps are most likely correct). It's summer and I have few deadlines or timeclocks to meet. I really am NOT a morning person regardless of what time I drag my blessed assurance out of the land of dreams and drool. Having just crawled away from my husband's sleep apnea laden snores, I am not pretty either. So for YOUR protection, I spare you the horror that is me in the morning - blotchy, puffy, and scowling. Plus I'm not awake enough to tolerate self induced camera flash. But being the professional that I am, I encounter the stuff to post in blogs at all hours just for you. The amazing thing is that I find this stuff without the first drop of coffee even. Now how's that for being on-the-job for you?

an email I felt a need to share

A friend sent me this email and it's hilarious. This is not original material, I'm not THAT witty when I truly need to be so.

A man boarded a plane with 6 kids. After they got settled in their seats a woman sitting across the aisle from him leaned over to him and asked, 'Are all of those kids yours?' He replied, 'No. I work for a condom company. These are customer complaints.'

Can I staple them to the wall?

I took the kids to Staples for the "loss leaders" specials they had advertised. As usual, my son drove me and his sister nuts with his typical antics. He ran me over with the cart, thankfully it was buffered by his sister on the back end of it. He took off with the cart down an aisle as I was trying to put something in it. I had to make an ATM run (forgot to do it on the way TO the store - duuuh me). When I got back, he was riding the cart - that he gets in trouble for doing constantly and almost got kicked out of Hobby Lobby one time for doing that crap. Then he didn't like the idea of doing multiple transactions so we could get the supplies (they limit quantities on those loss leaders ya know.) and said it was illegal. Well it's not, but he somehow had a bout of conscience over it. I asked him "You have reservations about buying merchandise separately, but you have NO PROBLEM aggravating your sister and your mother???" I simply got a sheepish smile and a shrug from him. At that point, I was ready to grab the biggest capacity stapler they had and attach him to the nearest free space on a wall to be used as decoration.

Idiot Clause

I have been finding blog fodder cropping up in the mornings here lately. Today was prime example. Everyone in my household drinks coffee, and we use plenty of creamer. I stopped to get more creamer yesterday after work. I almost got the small plastic bottle of 32 ounces for $2.50 when I discovered 3 shelves down and to the left, this nice big 64 ounce carton for $3.99. No need to explain ALLLL the bonus points for that one...ok I will. To buy two plastic bottles derived from petroleum = $5, plus 2 bottles sent to recycling and it's ultimately a dollar more expensive, unless you use that $.55 coupon in that handy dispenser then it's only $.45 more for the same amount of liquid inside the container. Plus I would have only bought ONE at that point, and would have had to return in a few days to get more = using more ga$$$$ also derived from petroleum. Ok, math, economics and environment lesson complete here. Oh, and do not harangue me for giving my kids coffee either. I've seen that spider video and I don't care to be honest with you. Coffee is cheaper and with fewer long term side effects, such as the hereditary liver problems on my maternal side of the family, than any ADD/ADHD medication (caffeine addiction notwithstanding, but that's less heinous than other addictions I assure you). Anyway back to my bloggy morning. As I opened this new container of creamer, I saw it. The proverbial "Idiot Clause" companies have had to resort to including on packaging simply because Darwin's waiting room runneth over with great abundance. Some plumbing fixtures aside, it's generally common sense that "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when opening round things that twist. Apparently there are more stupid people on this earth than I originally thought. The food packagers now have to give their smart customers a chuckle and a blog to read and give their stupid customers directions on how to open the package. Due to poor quality photo taking equipment, small print on the package and bad fluorescent lighting, this picture will not get any clearer. For you reasonably intelligible readers, you pretty much know what it says.

For those who need a translation:
"Twist to Open -->"

A.D.D. Lawn Service

My middle child has lately been tasked with cutting the grass, because well...he's a teenager and that's what one procreates for anyway - so the spawn can do the parents' bidding. It also has something to do with my husband working in a retail arena and generally either tired, working heinous hours, or I also suspect feeling lazy. In all this the mower's health has also been failing, and we may end up replacing it - again! We've been here 4 years, and this is currently our THIRD mower. It's not me people, I swear. I know how to take care of things for the most part. In any case, the boy started mowing...like a toddler with a new vacuum toy or mower toy. In short, he was not in any particular pattern, path or process. He was all over the place. He didn't get far before it started raining, so half my yard is mowed, and the half that is mowed...doesn't even look like a major league baseball field pattern. It's pure A.D.D. I might post a picture once it's done leaking from the sky so I can collect an image or two of his erm...handiwork.

So then I called my friend Persnickety to chat and we discussed a visit. It's preferred that my son not visit because he's done things that offended the FCB and he's broken things at her house. He's the bull in their china shop. Since he also was mowing today, I'm sure he smells game-y at best. I haven't gotten close enough to make a sound assessment, and I don't care to either. I'm pretty sure he smells like a wildebeast on a fresh cut lawn.

Crocked Potter

I have found yet another neat place on the web....I found it on Ravelry, on the Crockpot Love board. This lady posts a daily crockpot recipe and her family's verdict on it. Some of these recipes look really good. Plus she's appearing on Rachael Ray July 9th. I don't normally watch Food Network till really late at night when it's too late to make all those cool concoctions Alton and Paula well...concoct. If nothing else, I can expand the repertoire of meals around here and get my wagon wheel up out of that muddy rut it's gotten into again. We'll see how it works, I have a few more sites to add to my blogroll but should get pesky things like permission first from the bloggers before I do that. Some people get bent out of shape when their stuff gets a huge influx of readers and stuff. If it wasn't good, no one would show up right?

procrastination complicates things

Not directed to anyone in particular about anything specific. This is a general observation of late. I'm just sayin........

dancing is subjective

My daughter has taken a strange, VERY STRANGE, liking to some sort of self-concocted dance move that very much resembles an immature version of the old Roger Rabbit. She heard a song, started doing this new hat trick of hers and brief conversation ensued.

Me: What are you doing?

Her: Dancing!

Me: Are you SURE?

Her: Uh Huh!

Me: *blink* *blink*


Thankfully she saw a duck somewhere and left the room...at least I was no longer subjected to her dancing.

Mail Call!!!

My husband rounded a trip to the grockery store (it's how I jokingly pronounce it, so hush) and purchased food that kids and bachelors would consume. Persnickety, I may be raiding your fridge and pantry, he got no vegetables. In any case, I got up to see what he acquired, craftily breezing past on my way to the laundry room to fold my laundry. Meanwhile, the smelly teenager (whose boxers are trying to escape the top of his pants again today....wth is up with that??) retrieved the mail and decidedly plopped it on my desk. ON my keyboard grr. It might not normally aggrivate me but the husband took a streak of someone-peed-in-my-shoes attitude with me just to be a contrarian for no other reason but to be contrary. He's uncomfortable (translate: in pain) after helping a friend of mine move. He basically did almost all the heavy lifting because I'm useless and the other muscle-borne male was a no-show. So as a result he's making others miserable in his misery. Well at the bottom of my pile of plunked on my keyboard mail was a package, decidedly not a letter, advert, bill or bank statement. It was a book by Megan DiMaria called Searching for Spice. So, I have a new book to read now. We'll see how it goes and I'll post my two pennies on it later.
And the cranky husband continues....so it was his wheaties someone peed in, not his shoes. He's just madder because I blogged about him and said I was raiding Persnickety's fridge. Pbbbt....