Dealing with a lot of, uh, stuff

THEY SAY IMITATION IS THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY and that’s what I choose to believe as I embark on what my pal Foolery calls NO PUNCTUATION WEDNESDAY except that today is Monday but I have a LOT to share and I can’t wait two whole days so why don’t we begin with a few things that I just can’t seem to get beyond?

First of which is the fact that IT’S REALLY REALLY HARD NOT TO PUNCTUATE and I really wanted to put a period after that but I can’t and whose idea was this anyway?

Oh right it was Foolery’s and she’s freakin’ brilliant so I’ll just resist the urge and tell you first that I have one kid who seems to be fixated on visiting naughty websites and another kid whose Sunny Personality is what he’ll have to rely upon for his Ivy League admissions because his grades probably aren’t getting him there and yet another kid who won’t poop without medical interventionand I’ll leave it to you to guess which one’s which and if you have kids you can probably identify with the challenge and the heartache and all that and if that isn’t enough to keep me awake at night–

(sorry are em dashes punctuation oops my bad)

I looked around on Saturday and realized that there is STUFF sitting on EVERY SINGLE HORIZONTAL SURFACE IN MY HOME and after my left eye finished twitching I sorted piles of little toy-thingies into these bins

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and you might think WOW WELL DONE SOUP except that what you don’t know is that I ran out of time to tackle these

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and address THIS

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and THAT’S ONLY THE BEGINNING because I could sort drawers every day until Good Friday and probably wouldn’t be done but nevertheless I did get rid of two giant trash bags of broken toys and another box of stuff we hope to give to a Very Nice Person with a Lovely Little Boy and that certainly helps to minimize the clutter but does absolutely nothing towards addressing THIS

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and YES THANKS FOR ASKING that IS a photo of my wee tot snuggled onto a couple of SLEEPING BAGS on a drafty hardwood floor in our FAMILY ROOM which remains devoid of real furniture because the reconstruction has yet to begin but hopefully will start later this week at least that’s what I’m crossing my fingers for because watching basketball on a tiny TV while perched on lawn chairs is not my cup of tea

[DEEP BREATH]

But none of this is really the biggest problem that I’m dealing with right now and if you’re still with me more than 400 words into this diatribe then God bless you because I need to share something rather personal that rhymes with Cee Lo and this seems like a good place for a PERIOD

And another DEEP BREATH

Because I thought the first time was a fluke attributable to the new “deodorant” I purchased that did NOT have an aluminum-tinged antiperspirant in it because I read somewhere that that can give you breast cancer or herpes or the Clap or some reeeeeeally bad affliction and so I quit using it because the easy rule-out just makes sense y’all except that one day at work I was like EEEW WHOSE ARMPITS SMELL and then I realized MINE DID and what an unexpected realization that was for a 40-something lady who hasn’t had occasion to sniff at her pits since the Mesozoic Era mid-1980s and so I quit using that organic stuff and went back to the cancer-causing aluminum-tinged formula and I was quite happy with that until TODAY when I realized that MY PITS SMELLED BAD AGAIN and I was all WTF WTF WTF?????

You can’t deny me those question marks because you’d be asking yourself the same thing given the same circumstances and so now I am going to have to compulsively wash my clothes after one wearing and shower daily which is going to give me dry scaly skin but at least that doesn’t stink and if this is some kind of pre-menopausal thing that Nobody Tells You About y’all who were born before me had better come clean to me FAST because I’m walking the streets of DC smellin’ like some pubescent teenager except with saggier boobs and stretch marks and a C-section scar and I normally wear these badges of my age with pride but if B.O. comes with it then I need to talk to somebody about this because I am NOT TRYIN’ TO HEAR that I’m gonna smell bad during The Change.

PERIOD.

WORD.

 

Cookin’

IT'S BEEN A WHILE since I posted here, and it's not that I don't love you, but frankly, there's not much going on  'round here. We've settled the reconstruction claim but it's been 10 days since we've heard from anyone at the general contractor. Expect me to jump ugly beginning tomorrow.

Till then, I've been cookin', or thinkin' about it, and writing about both over at My Grandmas' Recipes. Which lately is more about my own recipes than anything my grandmas ever made. But still. Check out my posts about stromboli, which is in heavy rotation around here, as well as my taco seasoning mix, which the kids don't know is in heavy rotation but must assuredly is a required item in my spice cabinet. And it looks like this

Tacoseas2 

…so there's that.

More soon, hungry readers.

Match Game

THERE ARE TWO THINGS YOU COULD INFER when I tell you that I discovered one orange and black Halloween-themed sock in our giant, overflowing basket o’ socks last night.  The first is- obviously – why is she wearing Halloween socks in March?

What, that isn’t what you were thinking? Oh, I see. Now you’re counting on your fingers to figure out how many months it been since I had made time to conduct the tedious, semi-annual exercise we call “Matching the Socks.”  And yes, you’re right – it has been That Long.

I’d blame it on the fire, but honestly, your first hunch was correct. I haven’t worn Halloween socks since December October.

After three hours thirty minutes, I came up with approximately 72 pairs of socks for Peezer, almost that many for Soup Husband Curt, 12 for The Boss, and four for me. Because I try to match mine as I go, rather than waiting for pigs to fly the socks to match themselves. And Seth? I came up with an impressive array of orphaned socks, whose mates I suspect are under his bed or commingled with the mountain of clothing (clean? dirty? who knows? who cares?) that covers his bedroom floor.

The real score, though, was that I found my favorite umbrella at the bottom of the basket! Sure could have used it Sunday when it was raining buckets. But now, at least I’ll be ready for tomorrow’s rain.

Did someone say RAIN? Here’s an old favorite – this song sticks in my head every time it rains. Sing along!