doorknobs, they hate me

This is accidentally a two part post.  Accidenally because the first part of the post occured in 2011 and therefore predates this blog, barely.

So I am c&ping this from the old blog, so you know the back story.  Part two will come tomorrow:

What is she talking about?

You know the phrase "when life hands you lemons ..."?  I prefer the ever more practical variant which mentions salt and tequila because when did lemonade ever make anyone feel better?  But I found a new application for this phrase over the weekend.

For the last couple of weeks both of my bathroom door knobs have been biting the dust.  Both of them.  Seem fair? No.  Not fair, because the bathroom is about the only place I can hope for alone time anymore and its not even a full guarantee.  Anyhoo, door knobs sent a little memo to each other and agreed to simultaneously have the little sticky-outy-part (I know there is probably a name for this part, but who cares) stay stucky-inny.  So the doors can close but not latch, much less lock.

So on Saturday St. Paul of Bunyan and I were furiously cleaning, storing, throwing out and swearing at stuff.  As we were wrapping it up I needed to "powder my nose" so to speak.  Go into the bathroom and do my business and was about to leave when it happened.

The sticky-outy-part that has been stucky-inny for like 3 weeks?  Popped out.

But could it pop out in a miraculous door-is-healed sort of way?  Hello, this is me we are talking about!  What are the odds that the exploding smurf, plastic wrap warrior will have the good luck to have something work in my favor like that?! {Editor's note: I will transfer those posts over too so you have a better idea of how lucky I actually am.}

So the thingy pops out and I can't open the door.

I try turning the knob.  Turning it fast, turning it slow, pulling on the door, pushing on the door, speaking to the door nicely, calling the door a few names, smacked the knob a few times (not advisable, hurts you more than the knob) ... no change.  Finally I take a deep breath, try once more and I hear a strange clicking snapping type noise then feel the knob go slack.  I can now turn it in either direction with no resistance or effect.  Yeah, not good.  Fortunately, I wasn't home alone, or home with just the baby.  More fortunately I happened to have my cell phone in my pocket so I didn't have to yell myself horse until I was heard.

Paul came back, starts running through the procedures I already did from one side of the door.  Then goes and gets tools. Lots of loud noises come through the door.  I sigh and realize I am not going anywhere for a little bit when the hubs has to go back to the tool box for some new tools.

And it hit me.

I am locked in a bathroom, alone.  As in by myself.  Just me.

And the shower.

And the clouds parted and the rays of sunlight shown down while the angelic chorus of "hallelujah" blasted through my brain.

That elusive beast that evades all moms, especially those of younger children, is mine for the taking.

I took a long, hot shower ... by myself.  Uninterrupted, if you don't count the loud noises resulting from St Paul eventually breaking the door down.  After 20 minutes I emerge from the steamy bathroom with my hair clean, skin scrubbed pink and moisturized, all relaxed and calm to a frazzled husband and crying baby.

So the next time you hear that tired old phrase about life handing you lemons just remember, when life hands you a bad door knob you can have yourself a somewhat peaceful shower.

I offer photgraphic evidence of the aftermath:

Stay tuned, part two is coming tomorrow ...

magic cubes

The call them "the terrible twos."

Need I say more?

Beans has discovered that he has a tremendous ability and even gift at driving people insane.

And by people, I mean me.

We really start melting down about 4:30ish each night.  Hungry, sleepy (especially since he is willfully missing his nap 50% of the time) , and just grouchy, makes for an unpleasant evening.

So I have started trying to come up with things I can do that throw him for a loop and knock the grumpies out of him before we hit the full tantrum, from which there is no return.

Brilliant brain child number one: Magic Cubes.

Because it is warming up this one works pretty well, Beans doesn't mind a cool bath at the start.  I think we will also do this in his little play pool, though I will have to make more of them so that they last a bit longer.

What are Magic Cubes?  They are ice cubes, with food coloring.  Cheap, simple, and effective?  Love it!

You can see the patient Beans waiting in the background here

I have also tested this on my kid a few times and can tell you that I have not yet turned him into a smurf, though I still worry every time the water gets all dark ...

Once they go in the water they immediately begin melting and releasing the magic.  Once Beans is older we will use this as more of a color lesson, now its just a fun mess.

Since I use all the colors it makes the water a dark teal when they are completely melt.  Just pull the plug, drain the tub, and we usually fill the tub and take a real bath at that point. 

I also let Beans play with the tray in the tub, which gets it clean.  Yay!

Neither my bathtub nor my child have been dyed in the process of making these or using them.  I will warn you that you need to be careful when making them, however.  You will smurf up your hands if you aren't careful.

Figures, if someone was going to get tattooed in the process it was bound to be me.

Pintercrack & frozen grease

Ever heard this story?

Wife is preparing the ham for cooking when husband sees she cuts the ends off.  Shocked, because he paid a lot for that ham, he asks why on earth she did that.  Wife replies, "huh, I don't know, my mom always did so I just thought that was how you do it."  So they call mom, ask why do you cut the ends of the ham.  Mom says "I have no idea, my mother always did it, so I just assumed that was how you cook a ham!"  They now go and cal grandma, certain they are about to hear the magical important reason as to why you hack up the ham before you cook it only to have grandma laugh hysterically and say "well I don't know why you guys cut your hams up, but I had to because my pan was too short!"

Sometimes we just do things, without thinking, because it was how it was done when we were growing up.

Marriage and living with someone makes you question some of those things.  Like how you fold towels, or whether or not you refrigerate your peanut butter.

At any rate, my mom always had a can in the freezer in which she poured hot grease or oil in so that she could freeze it then toss it on garbage day.  So I did too.  Paul Bunyan's mom did this too, so naturally we both thought this was HOW you do it.

Enter Pintercrack and it's ability to make me doubt everything I have ever known.

I went ahead and took pictures of the incredibly complicated steps associated with this one:

1. Line a regular bowl (that is both freezer safe and can handle heat) with aluminum foil.  Apparently I forgot a picture for this step, but it is pretty easy, I promise.

2.  Pour the hot grease or oil you want to toss in the foil-lined bowl.

3.  Stick it in the freezer.

Note the "Whole Black Beans" can? Yes, that is my old grease can.

4.  When it is hard, take a picture to put on your blog (you can skip this step as it is optional).

5. Toss the disk of frozen nasties in the garbage with minimal waste and leaving no icky can in your freezer.

6.  Call your mom and share this with her.

The end.

P.S. I'd recommend calling your mother and not mine, that would be kinda weird.

Allergy-free Easter

Easter.  I know, it was like forever ago, but I am also ridiculously behind so hang with me!

So, the whole may be deathly allergic to eggs and all the candy worth eating (*sob* Reese's Eggs, I miss you!) totally altered our approach to Easter baskets this year. We wound up wanting to do the eggs hunt and all that jazz  but craving a way to do it sans Epi.

So we needed to keep it allergy free.

This means, because our family is uber speeeshul, that we had to pack plastic eggs (the irony isn't lost) without any traces of real eggs, dairy, nuts, honey, latex, food dyes, soy, and wheat.

So basically, food wasn't happening because I'm pretty sure I'd have had a mutiny on my hands had we put grapes and radish bits in baskets.

Sooo, here is a list if ideas, completely worthless for this year as it is long over but that may be of some use to someone later.

How To Stuff Plastic Eggs Without Killing Anyone I Love, Myself Included:

1.) toy cars
2.) silly putty (dude, it's already in an egg!) *note: Play Doh is cool but be careful with wheat allergies!*
3.) sponge capsules that get slimy and might expand in the water
4.) magnetic letters or numbers
5.) Legos
6.) beads and string for a bracelet
7.) spare change
8.) fun shoe laces
9.) tattoos (do I need to say temporary?)
10.) stickers
11.) little bubble bottles
12.) small figurines, action figures, transformers
13.) tokens or tickets to a fun place (allergens may be present, depending)
14.) glow bracelet (make your hunt glow in the dark!)
15.) notes leading kids on a scavenger hunt

If I had children that liked that sort of thing, I'd have looked into things like hair clips, little nail polish bottles, jewelry, nail stickers, etc. As it is, I really didn't think my dogs deserved that kind if torture.

Ultimately, we didn't use all those ideas. The dollar store is a great resource all things considered here. The point isn't to spend a fortune in the name if bunnies (or even the Resurrection), rather I wanted to not make my kiddos feel like they had to miss out on yet another thing because our genes are a tad whack.

I can attest to this much, it worked. Kids had a blast, no one died. Yay parents!

I am that good

Okay I have totally sucked donkey bits at blogging lately, I will give excuses later.  But I wanted to share with y'all what I am clearly not doing in my bloggy absence.

Being any good at anything that resembles "domesticisty."

As an example for you this fine day I offer this pictoral piece of evidence:

Now while you are wondering what you are looking at, and why you are looking at that random assortment of crap I would like to blow your mind.

It was in the couch.

Not just under the cushons, I am not that bad.  Shit, I have needed spare change plenty of times in the last decade of that couche's existance to have lifted the cushions in hopes of a Dr. Pepper from Circle K.

No, my couch eats things.  It once tried to eat my Great Dane's leg, no joke.

This was all in the frame of it.

In case you are not yet impressed with my complete bad-ass-ness yet, please direct your attention to the top leftish of the picture.

See the pacifier?

That was Meatball's.

He is eleven.

Boom!

its a passing phase

Productivity comes in cycles for me.  Sometimes I have like zero ambition, and that can even be an ambitious estimate, while others I seem to be a bit obsessed.

I have to make the most out of the obsessed times because they are usually short lived and often followed by stretches of lazy lostness.  Yes, I make one fabulous housewife.

At any rate, I've been more productive than usual.  I am referring to my in-person-life here because my blogging alter ego has been pretty much worthless lately.  In so doing, I have also developed an abnormally large sense of self confidence, which I figure will either translate to shit getting done or a whole lot of writing material.  I call it a win-win either way.

I have heard that in order to be really truly accountable you have to tell people what your goals are.  If you don't share them, then you never really need to admit you failed.  I usually have no problem castigating myself over my own failures, but what the heck, lets make a list here and see how I do with the public thing:

I have birthdays, summer, and in-law visits on my horizon ... I gotta get crap done ...

(in no particular order)

1. Clean ceiling fans, because I rarely have them off and notice how dirty they are
2. Organize the growing box pathetically labeled "pictures and keepsakes"
3. Finish the 11 year old's baby book *hangs head in shame*
4. Clean house thoroughly closer to visits, not halfsies clean
5. Finish the "measure the kids" ruler thingy that has been half-done for like a year and a half
6. Clean out Meatball's closet
7. Clean out the Bean's closet
8. Clean out toys ... purge the hell outta toys ...
9. Make a Goodwill and/or consignment shop run to ditch some crap
10. Make my kitchen cabinets look less blah
11. Make my/our bedroom not be the one with the door always closed in shame
12. Do something with the bathroom walls, b-o-r-i-n-g!
13. What are we doing for the Beans' birthday?
14. Hair cut, its pathetic and been like a year since I did that
15. Garage -- make the parts that are my problem look less like a bomb test site
16. Garage -- urge and support Paul Bunyan to deal with the rest of the garage
17. The backyard will only be a livable space for a couple months, make it look nice for them
18. Make my Command Center wall so I can at least appear organized!
19. Shave the dog.  Yes, I said that.
20. Come up with an item # 20 because you can't have a list of 19 things!!!

There, that is a start.  I have no real hope of accomplishing all of that in the ridiculously short time frame I am giving myself ... which is like 2 weeks ... but let's see what we can do, eh?

Insanity will commence in 5, 4, 3, 2 ... aren't you glad you don't live here? ... and 1 ...

They're getting to me!

I've made no secret about my being out numbered by males in my clan. Usually it's a source of bemusement, annoyance, and occasional disgust or frustration. Today? No, today it was something much darker, more horrific.

You see, they're getting to me. Like some kind of gross-boy-cooties-water-boarding, they're wearing me down.

I was gonna tell you the whole story with a bunch of justifying and pleading, but the truth of the matter is that I just can't. There's no defense ... beyond, perhaps, understanding the psychological need for developing coping mechanisms.

To the point, today I actually said the following. Don't judge, you can't know my pain.

Oh my gawd, after the last three days 

I could squat and shit on the kitchen table 

and I'd still be doing better than you!

All I will offer up in my defense is this: no child heard me and Paul Bunyan nearly peed his pants laughing at how the mighty (me) have fallen.

Maybe there is still hope for me?

Damn, guess not.