I love this idea. A wine cork board, the possibilities are really almost endless in the design or pattern you could use to create this. Combine it with some super cute pins from Etsy and you’d be good to go.

I have a large cork board in the upstairs hall for the kids and each kid has their own dry erase board as well. Downstairs I have a dry erase calendar with a cork board on the bottom and it sits just above my mail organizer. Everyone is constantly using all of these boards whether it’s to leave funny notes, birthday wishes, countdowns to important dates (like my Blake Shelton countdown up there? Kate was stoked, she’ll probably put one up on her site!) or general reminders.

I’ve also discovered (not sure what took me so long) that dry erase markers work great on mirrors! One night before Christmas while the kids were asleep I decorated the big mirror in their bathroom with a funny Christmas mural and lyrics from Christmas songs.

It saves on post-it notes and it’s easy to write a quick reminder too. “Don’t forget this…” “Wipe down the counter!” Throw in a funny face and most of the time the kids don’t even mind being reminded to do stuff they don’t like doing anyway.

My kids have grown up around a wide variety of music. Everything from old standards to jazz and big band to rockabilly, country and Bob Marley. I’m a die-hard Harry Connick Jr. fan and I love Frank Sinatra. My husband is an old school metal head and it’s no secret that the whole family loves Queen and Zeppelin. But, I was born and raised in Bako and my grandparents listened to Willie Nelson, my grandpa was a big Vince Gill fan so I have an affinity for country music. I think unless you are hell-bent on resisting it, that country kind of gets into your blood around here, just a bit.

Over the last year my Kate has gotten into country music and not only is she diggin’ current cutie pies like Blake Shelton (especially Blake, she’s been on a die-hard crusade to get Blake’s attention on Twitter for months), Keith Urban, Billy Currington and Brad Paisley, but she’s even pulled out a few of her mama’s favorites too. Nothing cooler than seeing your daughter singing along to Lorrie Morgan or kicking back listening to David Lee Murphy. Even better is to find out that songs she loves by current performers were written by guys I loved back then. And, she loves George Strait… the really old stuff. She’s also a big fan of Willie Nelson and I think her great grandpa would be pretty proud of that.

We spent most of the summer with the stereo blaring over our home made Bocce Ball court the playlist hopping from Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard, stuff my grandpa loved to Jason Aldean, Zac Brown Band, Kenny Chesney and tons of Blake Shelton.

I wasn’t too surprised when Katie begged for tickets to see Blake in concert this March at our local concert venue, Rabobank Arena. Santa bought Katie and mom tickets and for Katie, a membership in the fan club… that’s right, my girl is an official BS’er.

In case you are interested, these songs are topping our play list currently:

Honeybee

People Are Crazy

Take a Back Road

Chicken Fried

Out Last Night

Dirt Road Anthem

That Ain’t My Truck

Party Crowd

Alternate post title: He Did It To Me Again.

The butterfly bush (or as my husband refers to it… “that butterfly monster”) turned out to be the fastest growing, most furiously blooming plant I have ever encountered. It smells wonderful, attracts butterflies by the hundreds through the spring/summer but has to be trimmed back several times a year. Emphasis on “several times a year.”

We’ve had an unusually warm January with some beautiful sunny days and since we had a new lilac tree to plant we spent last Saturday in the yard.

We cleaned up anything dead-ish, dug up an old rosemary plant that had died, cleaned out weeds that were trying to poke up and trimmed some trees and bushes. Then my husband said, “Oh, I trimmed up the butterfly bush…” I don’t recall anything he said after that because I took one look at my butterfly bush and made this face:

My butterfly bush should look like this (not now, it’s winter, but when it’s not winter it should):

Remember the last time he did this to me?

“YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL HER!!!!!!” I might have said a little too loudly, I think I could hear the neighbor’s curiosity pique from two, possibly more, yards away.

“I am not trying to kill it.” He said in a that stop-being-so-dramatic tone. “Your butterfly bush was trying to eat my redwoods… again.”

Admittedly, the first time those redwoods were still a little on the scrawny side and I could see why Mike was being overly ridiculous, dramatic and a complete sissy la la concerned about my beautiful butterfly bush appearing to attempt to dwarf his beloved redwoods.

This time? Those redwoods are HUGE. They are easily as tall as a two-story house and my precious butterfly bush?

NOT SO MUCH.

I stopped talking to him. I might have muttered something about doing a little pruning of my own on his precious sago palm which looks like this:

Compared to my butterfly bush, which for reference, looks LIKE THIS:

A little while later my husband said, “I put fertilizer on all the plants. I fertilized the butterfly bush too, I just wanted to make sure you know that I am NOT trying to kill your plant.”

I can’t say the same for the plant, Mike. I suggest you start sleeping with one eye open.

I turned 36 last week. Seriously, 36… and I’m just not vain enough to lie about my age. Mostly because I’m not noticing any new wrinkles or crow’s feet and I’m okay that the reason for this is simply because my face is just pudgy enough to fill them out.

Gray hairs… nope. None of those, thankfully. Although, who could tell, considering my stylist talked me into a platinum blonde streak (just one, bold and up front) and a few, ahem, teal peek-a-boo chunks hidden underneath here and there.

I’m happy, it’s cheaper than a sports car, boob lift, younger boyfriend and far more exciting than a rest home. ( Elder Care Portland )

I’m thinner this year than I have been in probably oh… 4 years at least. In fact, all my jeans are my skinny jeans even if skinny is in the eye of the beholder.

What did I do for this momentous occasion?

Earlier this month my husband gifted me with an early present, a Kindle Fire. One of my dearest friends, Chickie, sent me a box full of the most delicious smelling bath bombs on the planet just barely outdoing the shotglass/necklace and dancing chicken card from last year!

On my birthday my husband made me dinner and I was presented with a gift that almost got me a little teary. Non-plant people probably won’t get this… but through the years I’ve always had “dream plants” my husband always smiles and usually goes along with whatever I want to grow at the time. I’ve had beautiful hydrangeas, roses, butterfly bushes and crepe myrtles all gifts for my birthday, Mother’s Day or Easter.

But the Holy Grail, for me anyway, has always been a lilac tree. Holy Grail, indeed, I even found an old post mentioning my desire for a lilac tree:

My great grandmother used to say that the best cure for a headache was putting your hands in the dirt. She was absolutely right. What I would give to have the lilac tree that my grandmother transplanted to her backyard from my great grandmother’s yard!

My grandmother had a lilac tree in the backyard and it was easily one of my favorites of her plants. I knew she had grown it as a cutting from her mother and I believe it was from an original tree in Oklahoma. I had never really seen them around here or available at nurseries and so had given up on ever having one of my own.

Until a few weekends ago when a sunny day sent me perusing the garden section at Lowe’s. They had a huge selection of bare root lilacs. I sort of looked like Agnes in that scene from Despicable Me with the unicorn, there was all sorts of gasping and ooo’ing and ahh’ing and “I MUST HAVE THIS!!!!!!”

Mike grumbled, began asking questions like, where was I going to plant it? How big would it get? Was it going to be like that butterfly bush that has to be fought back from eating his redwoods 200 times a year?

My husband deserves a Golden Globe or Oscar or something because I barely spoke to him for the rest of the day for “dashing my dreams” and his follow up to the act at Lowe’s was to pretend he didn’t notice how annoyed I was with him.

Fast forward to my birthday when I was presented with what Maggie described as “an AMAZING CARD!!!!” which was a giant pop-up card with all sorts of cute, cartoon animals on it. I was later told it took her almost 45 minutes to pick out my birthday card (she took her assignment VERY seriously) and she probably molested every card with a puppy, kitty or other cute animal on it in the stands before selecting this card for it’s unique “pop up” feature.

After much time spent ooo’ing and aaah’ing (I do a ridiculous amount of this, no?) my TRULY AMAZING CARD (just in case Maggie reads this) I was presented with a lilac tree. Not just any lilac, but one my husband and daughter spent about as much time as Maggie with the birthday card, selecting just for me.

I’m really proud of it, but I’m going to spare you a full length picture because it’s only about 18″ tall and is essentially some sticks on a very short, skinny trunk. BUT… check out this beauty of a bud!!!!

I might have some LEAVES this year!!!!!!!

I used to spend hours happily plopped next to my grandmother while she sewed. She taught me to sew with needle and thread and always gave instructions on how to use the sewing machine. I never really got to use the sewing machine because I was too little, but I did get a decent idea of how it all worked.

The truth is, while my grandmother made her own patterns and could whip up just about anything in an afternoon, I’m just not a huge fan of sewing. My sewing is kept to mending jeans, stuffed animals and replacing lost buttons. Although there are times when I see machine embroidery designs that I really wish I were more into it.

Now, knitting, that’s another thing altogether. I love knitting. I’m not super great at it, but I can whip out a decent baby cap. Check it out:

Jennifer, an incredibly talented photographer and owner of Naturally Beautiful Photography requested that hat for a photo shoot and I have to say… WOW. Is that a little cutie or what?

Are there cheap electricity companies in Texas? Do people in Texas have a choice over their electric companies?

Do you have a choice in electric companies where you live?

I don’t know why this interests me or piques my curiosity. I can only say that it is a completely new thought for me because here in Cali we have always lived under the PG&E regime, that would be Pacific Gas and Electric. If you want those light bulbs to light, those Christmas lights to twinkle, that electric stove to boil your pasta… you gotta have yourself chained to the all-seeing-all-knowing-creator-of-questionable-meters.

Well, unless you are one of those lucky hippies living off the grid. Got yourself a windmill? Maybe a little dam whipping up your hydro-electricity thing-a-ma-bob? Solar panels, anyone?

I think eventually I might like to disappear out into the foresty-mountain-ey sort of place and live off the grid. I think that sounds awesome. I’d like to go all Ed Begley and make Mike pedal his buns off on a bicycle to power my toaster. Yes, I think I might like that very much.

I cannot stand clicking on a video of a PREVIEW of an upcoming episode of a show I watch only to find a commercial before the preview. A PREVIEW is a COMMERCIAL. So now, we have commercials FOR commercials? This sends me into whirlwinds of pissed off that I can’t even begin to describe.

For what it’s worth? TV Squad used to be one of my favorite sites to visit daily. I loved the reviews and recaps of my favorite shows. Then, Huffington Post took over and ruined it. It’s a mess. I can’t find anything I like and it looks just like the rest of Huffington Post, which is to say, an ADD sufferers DREAM.

TV Squad isn’t that big of a loss considering it routinely did something else that is a pet peeve of mine… auto loading video clips. If I WANT to watch the video, I know where to find the play button. I don’t need you to play it automatically so it competes with the current Blake Shelton or Billy Currington song I’m playing.

On a mostly unrelated note, ne of the most tedious, boring tasks is photo scanning. I don’t have the patience to screw around with a scanner and wait for it to go back and forth over my picture, document or whatever. I have even been known to just take a picture of a picture just to save myself hassling with that stupid scanner.

No joke.

This brought to you by Friday nothingness. I doubt this will be a regular occurrence around here but… you never know.

It’s taken many years, but I think the girls have finally beaten Mike down almost completely. Three of us in very different life stages makes for a constant, demanding, eye rolling, “if looks could kill”, screaming, “who took my gray eye liner?”, hot mess kind of life.

More than once someone has joked that if Maggie is bad now, no one wants to imagine her with PMS. Kate is probably the most easy going out of the three of us but that is no invitation to cross her. And, let’s just be honest, when the time comes I have a feeling I won’t be the only one in the house searching for menopause relief. (Amberen on twitter. Amberen on Facebook)

It was never more clear than last night. Kate was on her way to a friend’s house and I noticed Mike silently navigating traffic as Kate and I discussed pictures from formal on facebook. We were debating dress lengths and you could actually feel the testosterone draining from the vehicle. I expected to look over at my husband and find a withered husk driving the car any second.

Surrounded by women, Mike always seems to have a grin on his face either from sheer enjoyment or the “never let them see you afraid” strategy. Which, for the record, almost never works because women can smell fear in men and the bead of sweat on his upper lip is always a dead giveaway. In this house he might not always be wrong but he’s certainly never right.

I’ve observed Mike taking great comfort in “A Christmas Story” as the Old Man blusters through the house, making everyone quake in his wake, and proudly displaying a leg lamp in the center of the picture window declaring it, “a MAJOR AWARD!” Mike has no leg lamp. Mike does not bluster through the house, although he has been known to yell at the neighbor’s dogs who are more Bumpus like than Mike can tolerate.

I had a moment of sympathy while we were cleaning the kitchen. I said something about how it must be a difficult life for him, Mike replied, “I don’t even argue anymore…”

The arrival of Mike’s Harley seemed to provide some sort of testosterone boost. He strode about the house with a renewed sense of manliness, we were amused until this new invigoration took on an air of cockiness. We don’t play fair, it was a game of cat and mouse that the girls enjoyed until they got bored. Now the displays of manliness are kept to the garage and an occasional tirade on facebook.

Not that we have him beaten completely. He’s just become sneakier about it, he knows better than to fight the women on open ground. He admits, he’s no match for us. His strategies are subversive and almost ninja-like. The rare moments of defiance are often subtle, like finding a new project in the middle of a current project where his help his needed or fiddling around in the backyard “waiting for the grill to warm up” when we are all starving. Oh! Lest I forget one of his favorites; after quietly waiting for us to be ready to leave the house he leaves us all assembled at the front door to do some last minute chore or to find that one hat that he just has to wear.

More often than not his silent protests are usually performed in the most absurd way possible. Like insisting on leaving the house in cargo shorts, a t-shirt, sandals and a Harley-Davidson beanie… in January.

There was also that moment after Christmas while we took down outdoor decorations and barked orders for Mike to “check this bulb” and “take this apart” when he clearly couldn’t stand it a moment longer. I looked up just long enough to see our car going down the street dragging the Christmas tree behind it. We stopped and stared as he rounded the corner, our 9 foot tall tree bobbing and weaving behind the car silently, Mike behind the wheel, window rolled down and arm hanging out nonchalantly as if degrading the last vestige of our holiday season was just another errand he had been sent on.

In this house, passive aggressive isn’t just a character flaw, it’s become a survival tactic.

Maggie is 8 years old now. I cannot believe it. In fact, I am in denial so deeply that it has taken me over a week to write this post when her birthday is actually on New Year’s Day.

She fell asleep early and didn’t make midnight on New Year’s Eve. The next morning we made breakfast, loaded up in the car and drove up to Glenville, CA to go hiking, eat pizza and watch Maggie enjoy a ginormous piece of home made banana cream pie. I will tell you that no banana cream pie I have ever had comes close to the pie up at Hassano’s in Glenville.

Maggie is a unique combination of Mike and I. Mike likes to say that she has his sense of humor and my temper which = laugh at my jokes or I’ll kill you. It’s mostly true, although my temper really isn’t that bad and rarely do you have to threaten anyone to laugh at one of Mike’s jokes.

Maggie is mostly just her own unique self. While her parents wage a facebook debate on whether or not right or left socks exist (Mike believes in them religiously, Kate and I find it ridiculous and our friends seem to be split down the middle), Maggie hates to wear socks at all and can often be found jamming her feet into her Ugg boots barefoot.

Like her sister, she hates asparagus but loves broccoli. Unlike her sister, she isn’t fond of sushi but will threaten to cut anyone trying to take a bite of her shrimp fried rice. She insists on “salad” (usually fresh spinach) on every sandwich, but isn’t a fan of salads on their own unless we’re out at a restaurant. She’s not a big fan of peanut butter and jelly. She considers it a tragedy not to have a bowl of chicken noodle soup (even in the dead heat of summer) with her sandwiches. And, almost without fail, she insists on a doggy bag every time we go out to eat because “it’s so good I want to have it for breakfast or maybe later tonight for a snack!”

Maggie is the animal activist of the house. When her scorpion died a few months ago she sobbed for most of the day. Weeks and even months later she will tear up remembering Luke. Almost every night of summer vacation was spent chasing her turtle, Joe, around and fishing him out of our pond. Cut to this winter when a field mouse managed to find its way into the house and I discovered a different side of Maggie.

Maggie was very interested in the mouse traps. I was concerned that perhaps she didn’t realize what a mouse trap would really do to the intruder. Maggie overheard me voicing my concern to Mike (who was getting ready to show Maggie how a trap is set and how it works) she flew around the corner and said, “MOM! I’ve watched EVERY FREAKIN’ EPISODE of Billy the Exterminator! I KNOW how a mouse trap works!”

Later that night… “MOM!!! We caught him! He’s dead… he was so cute, I almost feel bad. They are dirty creatures…”

Not too long ago Maggie gave me a nickname, Mother Kadam (KUH-dam) Pooskie, no clue where or how she came up with it, but it cracks me up. She told Katie once, “If you call mom, Mother Kadam Pooskie, she almost always says yes.” Maggie isn’t really manipulative as much as she just calls a spade a spade and works the system to her advantage whenever possible.

Today my little 8 year old is still on Christmas break and managed to come down with a nasty cold to finish off her winter vacation. She has spent her day tucked in quilts on the couch, dozing, sipping hot cider and watching cartoons. Every once in a while I’ll hear, “Mother Kadam Pooskie…” followed by a request of the usual sick child variety. As usual, she’s working the system to her advantage, it’s an enviable life, that’s for sure.

I spent much of 2011 going through various transitions. I guess every year has transitions and changes but 2011 was fairly significant for me. I’ve struggled with blogging for the past few years and it seems like every time I think I’m finally done something pulls me back here. I’m just not quite willing to give up my little spot on the ‘net yet.

For so long I’ve kept things very quiet and private around here (and Facebook has not helped this either ) because there are people that are no longer in my life and I don’t want them having the privilege of this tiny window to peep through. The problem is that I’m me and what made blogging so much fun from the start was being me. When I felt the need to circle the wagons and close the blinds I didn’t know how to keep blogging when my blogging has always been based in the off-beat antics of my family.

I was discussing this with Katie the other day and now that she runs her own website she has a better idea of where I’m coming from. I’m finally reaching a point where I realize that my children are who they are, in part, because of who I am and it’s okay to take credit for that. My daughter is absolutely amazing and is wise beyond her years sometimes. She also has this incredible backbone and deeply rooted ethics that I really respect. It was no surprise when her thoughts were very simple, “Screw what anyone else thinks, either get back to doing what you do or shut it down.” I’m not sure what else I could have expected from the girl whose email signature reads:

“There’s so much good in the worst of us,
so much bad in the best of us,
it never makes sense for any of us,
to criticize the rest of us” -Amy Grant

I think I still have a few more posts percolating in the back of my mind, I just have to figure out how to get them out. It seems I’ve been shut down for so long that it’s harder to find the words than it used to be. No worries… my husband would be the first to tell you that I’m never at a loss for words for very long.

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