Whatever the case may be, I’m just enjoying our one-on-one time.  Daddy doesn’t get home till Friday, but don’t try to come rob me because a) you’ll still have a lot of boxes to sort through to find any good stuff, and b) I sleep with a knife when he’s gone.  True story.  D thinks it would be pretty ineffective against an assailant, but I argue it’s much MORE effective than a gun I don’t know how to use.

(Before you jump all over me, NO, the knife is not in the bed where my kid is.)

Speaking of boys and relative naughtiness… 

 The furry one on the left got away from me this morning when he spotted a neighbor out for a run.  So I had to chase him, in heels, while my neighbor followed behind screaming “I’ll help you!!!” 

A runner, I am not.  Add in a dress and 120 pound dog and you’ve got yourself one cranky girl.  Someone isn’t getting a pig ear tonight.

 I bought this picture at an antique store recently. 

On the back in faded writing it says “Dutch Farmer ’19″.  I like it a lot, but then I watched an episode of Paranormal State and this family was being harrassed by the ghost of a mean old railroad worker, of whom they dug up an old photo and the girl was all “OMG, that’s totally him!” (cut to amateur drawing of ghost that looks exactly like a stick figure).  But it caused me to wonder if those things work in reverse.  Maybe this farmer’s ghost really liked this picture of himself and I just attached him to my wall.  THEN I started worrying about the buffalo skulls we have in the basement and what their spirits might thing about being a decoration.  It’s not like we’re using them as goblets, drinking wine out of them ala Lestat, but still… I’d be fighting mad if it were my dome.  Unless you bejeweled it first.

Long story to basically tell you that is the first and only piece of art we have hung in the house.  We don’t want to get too crazy till the walls are painted.  To date, we have one half of one room painted.  I’m thinking of leaving the rest as D’s welcome home gift.

What are you doing for Mother’s Day?  I plan to not paint.

I even called my mom last night to inform her that “I literally cannot fathom why people would intentionally do this more than once.”

But when I think back on our weekend, my brain does a funny thing.  It skips over all the tantrums, yelling, and limp noodle episodes.  It focuses on the little old lady who coo’d over my little guy and asked his name.

Junior: “Poop, booger, cow.”

And I giggle and decide everything will be all right.

That is, I’m sure, until I get home tonight. 

D, aka: The Enforcer, is away on bid-ness and I’m going to have to field the demands for “ocleet (chocolate) milk” and “nandy” (candy) for breakfast solo. 

Two year olds aren’t exactly interested in your opinion regarding public nudity and why he can’t just pull his britches down in front of the waitress at T-Rex Cafe.

I have my suspicions that this eye lid twitch is an omen to my impending doom.

If you haven’t heard from me in 48 hours, send help.

We’ve been shopping, yo.

And things look a little different around here.  But it feels juuuuust right.

In other news, I am too tall for maxi dresses and that makes me sad because I don’t like to shave my legs.

In further and more salacious news, remember the 90′s when everyone had their bellybuttons pierced?  Well.  I found a ring in my jewelry box and am sporting some naval bling as I type this.  D was just this side of horrified so I think I’ll leave it a few more days just for enjoyment’s sake.

I’m listening to this song right now.

So what’s up?  Are you a style waffler too?  This could get expensive.

Fingers crossed this one sticks.

The surprising thing is, of all the moves, I was looking forward to this one the least.  All the others were because we were moving towards a goal.  Sold my house, sold his house, rental, parents house (~shakes fist at that worthless builder~), until it was finally livable enough to move into…. and then surprise!  We’re off again.  Even more surprising, and at less than three weeks at the new place, I love it.  I love the house in all it’s honey-oak, white-walled, sunshiny glory, I love the neighborhood and all the friendly neighbors, I love the safety of the town when we take Bill on his walks…. I love the shopping…  I love it.

I have some suspicions I’m nearing an early mid-life crisis as I bug D about a new ride and ponder the necessity of a haircut, or maybe a new tattoo.

Instead, we got a table for our breakfast nook and my blue chairs found a new home.  We can fight the never ending battle of getting Junior to sit still through a meal.  I can put pretty flowers on it.

We can be together in the evenings, at least.

There is this book, I think you should look into it.  ”In Darkness, a Light Still Shines” by Barry Feaker who directs the homeless shelter in my home town.  It is 52 short stories, so you can read through it quickly, or more like a weekly devotion.  It’ll churn your guts up.  In a good way. <– I get no compensation – I just thought you should know about it.

We went to San Francisco last week.  We mid-westerners were not used to ascending hills nor the lack of modesty displayed by those who got warm and  just peeled off shirts or tights.  ~scandalized gasps~

C’est moi in California.  Ahem.  D pretty much wore jeans and t-shirts so imagine the consternation of the poor concierge when we asked for recommendations for delicious eateries.

“Umm… there is a place around the corner that doesn’t require reservations.  And it is….. affordable.”

What he meant was: There is no dress code, you dumb hillbillies.

Live and learn, and drink merlot…

You don’t want to hear about my unpacking of boxes, we’re going out of town this week, and I’ve got nothing.

So fire away.  I know you’ve got to be just burning with questions like, Which school of thought do you belong to regarding creation vs. evolution?  Was there a second shooter on the grassy knoll?  What IS your natural hair color?

I’ll enlighten when I get back.  In the meantime, here’s a picture of my kid riding a plunger.

We love you more than you will ever, ever know.

First things first: Hey, Mother Nature!  You punk-butt string of expletives!  You and your snow made me cancel my kid’s birthday party! 

He was largely unaffected, but still.  How could you??  I have two dozen cupcakes to try not to eat before Saturday.

We’re having a barnyard themed party this year and guess what his grandparents got him?

Those are baby ducks, you guys.  An alive present.  They are adorable.

Speaking of houses… (not that we were – but I want to now).  Apparently “at” closing and “toward” closing mean two very different things.  Unfortunately for us, that detail lay dormant for the past 5 1/2 weeks.  We are supposed to close on Thursday; I have my doubts that will be happening.  Hence my shaky emotional state and the title of this post.

Which brings me to comfort food.  I made a roast.

A roast that bathes in an entire stick of butter.  You should make it too.  It’ll improve your emotional state, whatever it may be.

(definitely used that picture without permission.)  (Hiiiiiii, Pete!)

Back in October, she posted about some art work she had made for her bedroom.  And it spoke to me.  And I needed one for myself.  I emailed her and pitifully begged and offered her dollars for one of my own.  Sweet girl graciously agreed to make me one, but would NOT accept any form of payment.  So I said fine!  Imma send you something back (which I still have not done) (though I do have a plan) (and good intentions).

And that’s where this comedy of errors begins.  She sent me a message letting me know that my priceless piece was on it’s way!  She double checked my mailing address since she knew we were moving.  We lived in small town America, so we had a PO Box.  One we planned to keep until the dust had settled at the new place.  I confirmed and waited.  And got a message that a ne’er-do-well with good intentions had taped the package for her…. right over all her stamps…. so it was returned.

I got another message that the package was on it’s way again.  I sent a virtual high five, checked the mail, and waited.  Got a slip in the box telling me a package had arrived and I needed to claim it.  Arrived at post office during business hours to gather my prize.  And learned that there are definite down sides to living in small town America!  The post office marm happened to live across the street from us.  She’d noticed that we’d moved out, and TOOK THE LIBERTY OF CLOSING OUR PO BOX AND RETURNING ALL OUR MAIL TO THE SENDERS.  No biggie.  I was only waiting on final bills and important loan documents.  Whatev.

Poor Gabbi.  I regretfully informed her it was on it’s way back to New Jersey again.  To which she responded “NOOOOOOO”!!!

Finally, finally, my package arrived.  I was walking in the front door of my parents house informing my mom I’d worn a pair of her shoes that day when I saw it sitting on the table and screamed.  And straight murdered that package.

It was wrapped in a bow and had the sweetest note attached to it. 

I may or may not have teared up a little.

Isn’t that great?!  I love the sentiment, the stain, and the placement.  It was everything I’d ever hoped it would be!  And look – it’s husband approved!

It’s the first thing we have gotten just especially for the new house, and It’s already really special to me.  You guys, if you’re going to beg a gift off someone, might I suggest Gabbi?  She won’t accept any payment – not even in the form of stamps after multiple mailing attempts – she obviously does great work, AND this beaut came with hanging dealie attachments already on the back.

Girl’s got class.

Thanks, Gabs. 

(via)

Gimme.  And also this.

(via)

And this.

(via)

And this.

(via)

I like to be really intentional with my birthday gift requests, and only ask for things that are essential to the operation of my daily life.  Thus, everything you see above.

Does your birthday land on any thunder stealing deities, leprechauns, or turkeys holidays?