Category: Daily

Why do our clothes smell good, you ask?
It’s a combination of the new washer and dryer and this:

(My fingers look like hot dogs.)

It’s crazy cold outside and I love it, but I’m cranky and will probably be spending the evening trying to figure out what book to read next. (I haven’t yet finished “Not That Kind of Girl” but it’s due at the library, so I’ll reserve it again when less people are interested. I don’t believe it’s the kind of book that demands to be read all at once.)

Tomorrow is the Last Quarter Moon. It’s also my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary.

Reverend Run of Run DMC was born on November 14, 1964 right around the time that my parents were walking down the aisle.

Reverend Run has a son named Diggy.
When I was seven, we had a dog named Digger.
And the world keeps on turning. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It doesn’t matter where I was going, but please know that as I drove from our house to a place this morning, a bald eagle flew directly over my car and I flipped out in a really good way.

As soon as I reached my destination (Okay, it was Weight Watchers. I have to go once each month if I want to keep not paying them, and I definitely want to keep not paying them.), I texted Jeff.

Me: A bald eagle just flew over me during the drive to Weight Watchers. What does it mean?

Jeff: Freedom.

Me: I bet Jay Nixon had something to do with it.

And because I made a weak joke about our governor instead of singing a song about America and maybe ripping the sleeves off of all my t-shirts, my brakes started making a weird noise on the way home. (I believe in tragic levels of karma when it comes to eagles and brakes. Also, pigeons and standardized test scores.) When I left to pick Meredith up from school? The weird noise joined a bunch of other weird noises and it started to sound like an airplane was about to land on my car, so I had to make an emergency “Please pick Meredith up!” call to Jeff and he had to cancel a meeting and HEY, JAY NIXON!!! I VOTED FOR YOU!!!

Quick note to Elsiroomom: I’ve tried to respond to your questions, but both e-mails were returned as undeliverable! The Answers: “Not That Kind of Girl” by Lena Dunham, and Manos del Uruguay Clasica. (Their colors are amazing, and the yarn is a worsted single ply. It’s one of my favorites.)

Meredith came home from school yesterday and said some magical words.

Meredith: One of your dreams came true today.

Me: Stephen Colbert really DOES want to make out with me?

Meredith: No. A girl in Geography told me that my clothes smell really good.

Angels are singing. Bald eagles are flying. Airplanes are landing on my car. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A few people have asked how I feed my family when they’re eating meat and I’m not eating meat.

One of the few things I can make that stirs up zero complaints is something we call crazy bowls. Picture this: a big bowl of rice, a big bowl of corn, a big bowl of tomatoes, some cheese, some ground beef, and some roasted vegetables.

Less than an hour ago, this was happening on my stove:

On the left you see ground beef. I don’t eat ground beef, but I *do* season it with cumin, sage, garlic salt, and pepper. On the right you see roasted veggies. Specifically, a sweet potato, some carrots, an onion, a squash, and some mushrooms. I toss everything in a bit of olive oil and season it with salt and pepper before throwing it into the oven.

When it’s time to eat, everyone builds their bowl with the ingredients listed above. Harp tends to go with rice, beef, and corn. Meredith does the same combination, but heavier on the rice plus tomatoes. Jeff piles everything on except for the roasted vegetables, which he eats afterwards. Tonight I went with only the vegetables, and I’m about to smoosh some avocado and some apple slices together for a snack.

All of this to say, I’ve got nothing for you today. I spent the entire morning and afternoon working on my project, and in a few minutes Jeff has volunteered to head to the store because I’m out of coffee. I’m not one of those people who acts like it’s a disaster to run out of coffee, but I will admit that my mood will be better in the morning knowing that I’m covered. Jeff? He’s a gem, that one.

Here’s hoping your Tuesday was good. I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The temperatures are dropping, so today I started a pair of fingerless mitts as I waited for Meredith to get out of school.

If I had less stuff on my plate and in my head, I would knit 100 of these and just leave them around town.

I’m currently listening to Amy Poehler’s “Yes Please“.

I’m currently reading Lena Dunham’s “Not That Kind of Girl“.

I have no idea why my quotation marks are going the wrong way, and I will now exercise self-forgiveness by leaving them as is, although it’s making me very twitchy. (I’ve already tried to correct them twice. No luck.)

I have 14 more chapters of freelance, and they have to be finished by Friday. They will get done! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A few people have asked to see some photos of the house. Please know that we moved in on August 15th, and we’re unpacking as needed. It’s sort of a nice feeling to not have a lot of extras sitting around in need of dusting. It’s much easier to clean. BUT, as I look at these photos, I’m already starting to notice clutter. Clutter is entirely too easy for us. Why am I so nervous right now? It’s almost like you’re actually HERE here. (I hate that I’m such an awkward host.) Anyway. Onward.

When you walk into the house and look to the left, this is the room you see. It’s officially called Dining Room, but right now it’s the place where I blocked my cardigan and the place where I’ll eventually be sewing my cardigan together. (Right now I’m still too scared to sew my cardigan together.)

Straight across the hall is the library/office/dogs’ room/Harper’s Wonderful Room of Happiness, Dreams, and Peace. (Really. She made a sign and everything.) It has a closet devoted to my yarn and fiber. Bookshelves are slowly coming together. We do family breathing sessions in this room. Care for a closer look?

(Please know that the desk is going to be moved to the basement and I know this is a terrible photo. BUT, Henry was very pleased with his hair and waggy tail in this one, so I left it in.)

When you walk through the front door and take about five steps (with the dining room to the left and the library to the right), this is what you’ll see. It’s a staircase, a bathroom door, Scout, and a well-lit family room. The thing I love the most about this house is the natural light. Big windows. Not a lot of furniture which creates the illusion of space. Let’s take a look into that family room.

Here is the love seat. The dogs love it because the sun pours onto them during the afternoon which makes for the perfect nap scene. I can’t wait to sit on the love seat in my robe with my eyes on the snow and my hands on a mug of hot something or other.

To the right of the love seat is the fireplace. Sitting on the mantle is a ceramic vase made by Harper, a cardboard box full of Sidney’s ashes (I still need to find a good urn), a candle, a blue vase, an oil burner, a snow globe, and a concrete owl named Herbert (after my freshman year piano performance professor).

To the other side of the bathroom door that we saw earlier is the kitchen. It has an island, which seems to be a magnet for birthday gifts, mail, electronics, and cookie cakes.

Sometimes I’ll have something like this roasting in the oven.

Leading from the kitchen to the back yard are some doors, obviously. When you open them, this is what you see.

Now, if you hear your car alarm going off and you need to haul it back toward the front door, you’ll be presented with this.

It’s one of my very favorite things about the house. Again, so much light.

I’ll keep the upstairs upstairs for a bit, because I have no problem with showing you videos of me shoving marshmallows into my face, but I’m not so keen about showing where I sleep. (And in case you’re wondering? Yes. I’m once again sleeping. Sometimes for five to six hours at a time, which almost feels gluttonous.) Thanks for looking around with me. Honestly? I really don’t feel like I deserve to live in a house that’s this nice on a street with kind neighbors and a five minute drive to Target. BUT, the girls now have their own rooms, the dogs have lots of space to run around, and we’re far enough removed that we can see stars. I’m definitely not complaining. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

A little bit of mouth exercise, a little bit of reading a book that is STIRRING UP SO MUCH TROUBLE, some freelance that is somehow laced with Ambien, knitting, eating Rice Krispies treats, tap dancing (I HAVE SO MANY HIDDEN TALENTS!!!), and finally? Scout love.

Thanks for sticking with me. (I’m sorry about the weird pop-up ad. It was not intentional, and I cannot figure out how to remove it. Oh, YouTube.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

When Harper and I walked out to the bus stop this morning, we were excited to see frost.

After she boarded the bus, I grabbed some breakfast and headed to the mall so that Tempe and I could do our annual Sharing of the Lip Gloss Bundle. (Pictured here are the ones I’ve now added to my collection, along with an eyebrow liner which I will surely apply incorrectly, a tinted moisturizer that I was told to wear OVER my current moisturizer, and a weird powder thing that will set my face. Heh. (???) (!!!))

And, right now this is happening in our back yard. The sun is making everything look fiery, and I really do love this time of year.

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So, this morning I did my yearly mammogram gig. Because of the weird scare last year, I decided to go to an actual hospital this time around. I thought I would leave with my results, but apparently I have to wait until at least the middle of next week to receive my letter in the mail. (I was told that the letter would say something to the effect of, “All Clear!” or “Whoops! We see something strange, so we’re waiting on the strip mall x-ray center to send your images from last year.” or “You should probably drop what you’re doing right now and call to make another appointment.”)

(Public Service Announcement: If you’ve never had a mammogram and you’re spooked by the thought, I explain the procedure over here.)

Anyway, after I went topless and opened my robe to the front, I sat in the waiting room with four other women. I heard a rumor that this particular hospital has only one 3-D mammogram machine and that for now, they’re reporting it to insurance companies as a 2-D. (Insurance will nearly always cover a 2-D. 3-D? Not so much.) None of us knew which room had the 3-D machine, which made the waiting room feel ELECTRIC–like potentially being chosen to “Come on down!” during a taping of The Price is Right. (Disclaimer: Supposedly, 2-D machines are JUST AS GOOD as 3-D machines. Ah, but if they’re REALLY just as good, why would a hospital invest in a super-expensive machine that insurance companies may not cover? I’m the first to admit that I have no idea what I’m talking about half of the time, but to me? 3-D seems to one up 2-D. Finally, I’m really (really) hoping that eventually the 3-D machines start using holography to laser beam my chest onto the wall. (Bonus points if my chesty hologram is able to speak to me. WELCOME TO THE FUTURE!))

When my name was called, the mammogram technician took me into a room and said, “My name is Judy, and I’ll be doing your mammogram today on the 3-D machine.”

Me: YES!

Judy: Actually the 2-D machines are just as effective as the 3-D machines. Buying a 3-D machine is just the hospital’s way of keeping with the times. For now, we’re coding it as a 2-D machine, but eventually you’ll have to ask your insurance company if they’ll approve a 3-D mammogram.

Me (to myself, while taking my left arm out of the robe): I’m walking on sunshine, WHOA-OH!

After four images, she told me that she needed me to sign a paper so they could get last year’s images. And I’m sure that’s a standard thing, but it flooded me with horrible memories from last year. SO, I signed the paper, got dressed, and headed straight to a coffee dump where I grabbed a caramel latte. (Because I tend to control my emotions with coffee and/or too much pie.)

I’ll keep you updated.

Until then, watch this. It’s the first time a dance has choked me.

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I’ve spent pretty much all of my life going to dentists who make me feel uncomfortable.

Dentist #1: My childhood dentist who died. He was a good guy, but I had to stop seeing him because he died. (Continuing our relationship would have been creepy. Illegal, even.)

Dentist #2: The dentist who set up an appointment for a check-up, and then talked me into letting him sedate me and remove two wisdom teeth. When I woke up, he asked if I had a driver. When I said, “No. This was originally scheduled as a check-up.”, he said, “Well, be REALLY careful on your way home.” (I should not have been driving. I realized that when I was about halfway home. This will tell you how loopy I was: I drove past my apartment and straight to McDonald’s, where I tried to order a vanilla shake with my mouth full of bloody gauze. I ended up having to pull up to the window to place my order, and I’m sure I rattled the drive-thru employee with my bloody gauze, swollen face, and inability to speak.)

Dentist #3: The guy in Nashville who told me that he had a friend who could remove six of my teeth and then slap some braces on me to help me lose my migraines forever. That was fine (I had the teeth removed and I had the braces, but I continued to get migraines. Damnit to hell!) until he said, “But be aware that you’re not going to have those pretty fat lips when your braces come off.” Dear Lord, Nashville dentist. Pretty fat lips?!

Dentist #4: The guy who was recommended by a friend and I really really liked him, but he retired less than two months after seeing me for the first time. Argh!

Dentist #5 and #6: The married couple who took over #4’s practice. They were nice enough (although their political opinions are vastly different than mine. Please know that they made their opinions VERY well known, and they assumed I agreed with them. I’ve learned to act like I’m cool with whatever you’re saying if you’re holding a drill and pointing it at my mouth.), but they were highly impatient if you raised your hand because you were feeling pain and needed a break. The final straw came around when #6 didn’t wait until I was numb before he started drilling, and when I raised my hand and said, “I’m not numb.” he slammed the drill down and yelled for the receptionist to schedule more time for me. He then told the assistant that he really didn’t have time for this. And then, because my teeth aren’t the only things that are sensitive, a lonely tear ran out of my eye and dripped off of my ear and I know he saw it, but he remained all cold and weird. And that’s when I started apologizing over and over again. (I KNOW everyone occasionally (or often, even) has a bad day, but I don’t need your bad day to make MY day bad!)

Dentist #7: I used a Groupon. Need I say more? Actually, I do need to say more. This experience was so terrible that after the appointment, I sat in my car outside of a family-owned deli (and a cat clinic) and cried for nearly 15 minutes before I drove home. (I AM EMOTIONAL SOMETIMES!)

Dentist #8: Feeling desperate, I returned to #6. Still the same nice guy with very little patience. (When I asked about whitening, he said, “Why don’t you go to Walgreens and get yourself some strips? You’ll quickly learn that they don’t work and that your teeth just change colors as you age.” OUR PERSONALITIES ARE VERY DIFFERENT, NO-NONSENSE DENTIST!)

Dentist #9: Jeff’s boss’s boss recommended this dentist, and I’m very pleased to say that he will be my Forever Dentist. Broadway artwork on the walls. Vacation photography slideshows in the exam rooms. Hygienists who listen and compliment my hair. An office manager who is super friendly and kind.

Anyway, I went to #9 yesterday morning, and as soon as I walked in the door, the office manager said, “I have something to tell you.”

Me: What is it?

Office Manager (I’m not providing her real name because: Anonymity!): Are you a blogger?

Me (very reluctantly, because I don’t really identify myself as a blogger): Yes.

Office Manger: My daughter in New York knows your blog.

From there, we had a five minute conversation about a website that watches nannies and reports negligent behavior, parenting blogs with questionable commenters, and what it’s like to grow up in the city as opposed to the suburbs. I then went back and had my teeth cleaned and checked out, and was given the Free to Fly for six months. No yelling. No tears. No sedation, no driving drunk, and best of all? No Slingblade-esque comments about my mouth.

Anyway, Yes. It always makes my day when someone else brings up my website. It’s rare, but smiley. Like “I’ve finally found a nice dentist” smiley.

Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday.

NaBloPoMo is tough. Let me know if you need/want anything from me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is the avocado sandwich I made for Jeff this evening.

This is the festive holiday cardigan I tried on at the mall a few hours ago.

(The scarf is the result of CGI. I wouldn’t wear the cardigan without a scarf.) Anyway, I sent a photo of the sweater to Jeff with a note that said, “Honesty. Is this tacky?”

Jeff: There’s a lot going on.

Me: Are you talking about the dancing girls and the dog and the piano?

Jeff: There are dogs in there?

Me: There’s a dog sitting on the piano.

Anyway, I didn’t purchase the sweater, but I came home with its little cousin–a scarf with the same pattern. Dancing girls and dogs on pianos are best in small doses, don’t you think? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>