...open your eyes while submerged in chocolate pudding, or accidentally knee yourself in the nose while dancing 'the white boy?'
...realize once you get home that the offensive odor you smelled in public was actually emanating from you, or realize once you get into public that you forgot to brush your teeth?
the deep questions of life.
it's monday, you guys. a fresh start. it's almost april, the forecast is beautiful, the kids are as healthy as can reasonably be expected, and i'm not going to complain. shocker, i know, but there you have it. i'm turning over a new, glass-half-full kind of leaf.
in other news, i discovered recently that the houseplant i just got at aldi like a month ago is home and habitat to a veritable ecosystem of wildlife. earthworms, centipedes, nasty little larvae, mormon flies, fruit flies, you name it. all apparently hitched a ride into my house in the soil of my new plant. which i could count as a grievance, but i won't, for three reasons: 1. i just said i'm not going to complain, 2. i bought it from aldi and i refuse to say a single ill word about anything aldi does because i love that place more than i love a couple people i could name (don't worry, they're both tv characters), and 3. the plant has pink leaves....PINK LEAVES. no wonder all the bugs are attracted to it, it's like a fluorescent night club and they're all like 'haaaayyyyyyy.' and who can blame a bug for just wanting to dance somewhere trendy for once, and finally fit in with the popular bugs? no one, that's who. at least they're starting to care what people think, which is a step in the right direction, if you ask me.
anyway, because it's pink and it's almost april, the plant didn't go directly into the compost pile. it's a cordyline (as if that means something to anyone) and is, according to the tag, hardy down to 32 degrees. i'm playing it fast and loose by counting on global warming to keep it alive outside this early in the spring (because, hey, who are we kidding? global warming has also apparently been responsible for making things colder at times, so who really knows what the crap is up with the climate anyway?). but out there it is, and has been for exactly two days, and is still as pink as it was before. so here's to finger crossing that it lives, and that the birds figure out that there are little beasties in there to snack on so i don't have to fill the bird feeder. getting bugs out of my house AND doing something good for bird-kind? BOOM, that's what i call a double rainbow on this delightful monday morning.
now is around the time of year when i'm usually chomping at the bit to get outside and get some stuff growing. i've usually got baby seedlings doing their newborn thing around here. i've usually got diagrams of garden rotations and where stuff grew last year, and where it will grow this year. i've usually gotten seeds ordered. this year, all i have to show for the upcoming spring is a bunch of empty milk jugs lining my hallway and a nagging feeling that i should be realistic and just throw them out, instead of pretending like i'm still going to 'winter sow' in them. (because, hello, it's not even winter anymore.)
but i'm holding out hope that something will stir in my cold, dead heart and i will soon get the gumption i usually get in spring. otherwise, come august, i will have no still-warm-from-the-sun tomatoes to eat, and no cucumbers to complain about and then throw in the compost. and that's barely a life, amiright?
plus, i've promised myself that at some point i'm going to become a doomsday prepper, and i feel like i would just be faking it to fill my cold-storage room (which i actually have, btw) with store bought cans of green beans and the like. that's just asking for status as a C-string prepper, and it shames my cold storage room to no end. so i really need to get my hiney in gear if i plan on trophying in surviving the apocalypse, which is really why i garden in the first place.
anybody else getting ready to get planting?
so, you know how there's always that one task that is the bane of your existence? like unloading the dishwasher. WHY, OH WHY, do we even use dishes?! if we just ate raw food, with our hands, directly off the table at each meal, i would buy back like an hour of my life every day. (if you count both loading and unloading, twice a day.) every time i walk into the kitchen, it's like i'm being led to my death. i swear even sad music starts playing.
but lately a dark horse has been vying for the place of #1 Worst Job of the Day: prepping lunch. i really don't know why i hate it so much. it's the easiest meal of the day. i don't heat anything, i don't use pots and pans, it takes no advance planning. i basically just plunk some carrots, lettuce, almonds, fruit and probiotic sauerkraut/pickles on everyone's plate and call it good. (sometimes if they've been really good they get olives or cheese, which they don't love because i buy the aged stuff, so it doesn't feel like a reward to them, but still.) if we're out of soaked almonds, they get peanut butter. if we're out of peanut butter, they get nut thins. that is the extent to which i vary our lunchtime meal. easy peasy, right?
but OH. MY. WORD. i just hate it right now! first world problem, i know, but still. i wish i could just send them out to forage now that it's nice outside, but dandelions aren't in season yet, and they'd probably just end up eating stuff they found in the compost pile. or spit-roasting the neighbor's shih tzu. maybe a better option would be to teach them to prep lunch for me...
that sounds like a better plan, actually. 'give a man a shih tzu, and you'll feed him for a day; teach him to open the box of lettuce by himself, and you feed him for a lifetime.' okay, it's settled. today is Day One of the rest of my lunch-prep-free life.
what's your most hated task these days?
i will be turning twenty-nine on the 26th of this month. i am planning on dedicating my twenty-ninth year to learning the dance moves to this entire music video. but here's the thing: i need three friends to do it with me, so we can all dance in a line with our hands on each other's butts, because it's apparently more legit that way. also, i'm going to need one of you to carry a child on your shoulders for no obvious reason.
who's in?!? don't everyone throw down at once. if i have too many applicants, there will definitely be a dance audition at some point. and probably an essay question involved, since i like to make sure that my dancers know how to wax a chump like a candle.
and on an unrelated note, can you tell whose bed is whose? i do not currently have an enforced bed-making policy in this house. one child makes the bed anyway. the other child runs rampant with the grace given her and lives life in the fast, unmade-bed lane. this photo basically sums up their entire personalities in one fell swoop.
sorry i was out of commission toward the end of last week. i came down with some kind of stomach bug and was pretty useless (unless you count winning infinity games of one-handed solitaire useful). which also means that i have no news to share, unless you want me to fill you in on the plot of season eight of 'friends' (and season nine, too, if i'm being honest - there was a lot of TV going on
in this neck of the woods on this end of the couch).
so, basically, rachel gets pregnant with ross' baby. also, chandler quits his job after having to live in tulsa for a while, and joey falls in love with rachel. phoebe starts dating this guy named mike. monica does whatever anal retentive thing she normally does, but she's recently had her teeth veneered and her forehead botoxed, so she's starting to look a little crazy. chandler's hair is REALLY bad for a while - whoever was on hair duty at the time must've been sleeping on the job. while simultaneously wielding a hot iron and whatever god-forsaken pomade they used.
anyway, you know how it goes from there: the baby is born, joey doesn't propose to rachel, monica and chandler interrogate this co-worker of chandler's to see if his sperm is top-shelf. pretty much the plot to every sitcom ever, amiright?
anyway, i'll not give away the rest. you'll have to watch it yourself on netflix if you're feeling that titillated. (is the guy's sperm up-to-snuff?!?!?!?! like i'd give that cliff-hanger away.)
in other TV news, todd and i watched 'unbreakable kimmy schmidt' on netflix, and it was hilarious, guys. tina fey is a goldmine. we also recently started re-watching 'lost,' and as much as i'm LOVING it, i'm already dreading the terrible, terrible letdown that is the series finale. that show's ending is the definition of unsatisfying.
anyway, now that i have bored you all to death (and alarmed you) with the rundown of the extensive amount of television i've watched lately, i will gracefully bid thee adieu. because i'm off to watch more TV. adieu.
well, me hearties. finn is officially three years old now. and three -year-olds require pirate parties involving hook hands, mustaches and eye patches. also, cheesy pringles. because, yo ho ho and some pringles.
laur was not on
she pouted about it for a long time.
the big kids built finneas some presents out of legos, all on their own. it was so sweet.
laur finally tolerated a bit of the pirate life.
and when it came time for the bomb squad to diffuse the candles, finneas mostly had it under control...
...but i figured i'd offer my crazy-faced aid. not that he ended up needing it - check out how under control he has this thing.
and that is the briny tale of salty, three-year-old captain finn.
i've missed you guys! i feel like a lot of life has passed since the last time i checked in here... like, how long my toenail has gotten. i've spent the entirety of the past week trying to decide what my next move should be regarding said toenail.
i realize i could just cut it, sure. but that would involve rousing myself from a comfy position on the couch to fetch the clippers, so that option is obviously out. i could just pick at it until it disintegrates into a shorter toenail, like i usually do, but the thing is that my fingernails have also grown a lot over the last week. it's taken me a long time to get them to this point after a nail-biting stint a couple of weeks ago, and i can't risk damaging my fingernails by picking incessantly at my toenail. logic: it just makes sense.
so you see what a pickle i'm in. but i think i've settled on a third option: just letting it grow and grow and grow until that one toenail - it's the middle one, by the way, so i'm not risking any level of phalangial asymmetry by letting it do its thang - until that one toenail turns into a witch's claw and i become the butt of neighborhood children's lore. they'll tell stories around the campfire about an old lady who stalks the block at night, wearing a bathrobe and smelling like a person who sits on the couch a lot, looking for children's milk mustaches to clean off with her be-spittled thumb. you must have deft ears to avoid her, for the only sound she makes as she comes up behind you is the 'scratch-click' her singular long toenail makes on the pavement as she walks... oooOOOOOOOooooohhh.
that actually sounds like a decent plan to me. so it's decided.
that actually sounds like a decent plan to me. so it's decided.