She's Here, There and Everywhere

I have a good reason for not having posted for so long. Last week we started cleaning out our computer room which was conveniently located down the hall from my bedroom to make way for kid #2. It was either put the computer or the kid in the basement and I hope we made the right choice. Currently, I just don't get to the basement that much and when I do, it's not fun to spend much time there. Although, I have to give it to Chris - he did a wonderful job finishing a bedroom and it really does feel quite homey.

So... to my point. Lately, I have been feeling like I can't go a day without having Rachael Ray pop up in some place that grates my nerves. Don't get me wrong - I don't mind her cooking show every so often. It's just that now she has like six shows on food network and another on network TV in addition to her magazine and books and now her face is jumping out at me at the grocery store and even at one of my favorite havens - Bed Bath and Beyond.

She seems to have closed her eyes, pointed to a spinning wheel of products and said "Hmmm... I think I'll make that. What's a great name for a dog food intended to be eaten at the dinner table? I know - Nutrish!"




"And how can I advise people to throw their vegetable peelings into a regular mixing bowl? That's just gross. We should make a garbage bowl and sell it for $17.95 to young mothers who are already swimming in credit card debt".










"What about those people who are dumb enough to think I'm talking about a completely new ingredient when I refer to extra virgin olive oil as evoo? I know. Let's buy up Bertolli's leftover olive oil, slap a label on that says "EVOO", bank on the fact that it's extra cute and hope that someone will buy it!"





"And to top it all off, why would someone want to use a kitchen towel, when they can use a Moppine?"
Am I the only one who's had enough Rachael Ray? I guess I must be because the rest of the country seems to be loving her quirky, fun, girl-next-door wit and wisdom and they can't get enough of her strange mother/child relationship with her dog.

The End of a Very Long Week

This past week I have been a full time student. I was never keen on taking compressed courses in college, and time hasn't altered that opinion. That aside I feel very blessed to have had the opportunity. I don't have to worry about continuing education credits again until my yet to be born child is a toddler.

This week was the first time I put Emily in day care. It was traumatic for us both (although I tend to think it was more traumatic for me). She had a great time while I was in class, fingerpainting, playing with playdoh and making shaving cream sculptures. She was with friends of mine whom she has known all all her life. I knew she was in good hands. Still, it was great picking her up on Friday afternoon knowing that we were going back to life as we knew it.

While I was in class, my house stayed so much cleaner without Emily to mess it up. I didn't have to tell her to leave things alone a thousand times a day and I never asked myself my favorite question: Did she eat enough of this (fill in the blank) that I should call poison control? Something tells me that Monday morning, when I don't have to drop her off for the day, I won't mind those things so much.

And the results are...

Inconclusive. I was hoping to have the same experience I had with Emily, where I came out of the ultrasound room and went straight to the home improvement store to buy Tinkerbell wallpaper. Instead I came away with the knowledge that it was "more likely than not" a girl. But only slightly more likely. We didn't even get any good pictures. The baby was all scrunched up the whole time and so all we got were bits and pieces.

I am sort of relieved and only a little worried that there are a couple minor issues that need checking back on so maybe that day I can get a better answer. On the bright side, if it is a boy we can still go shopping and if it is a girl, we haven't lost any money thanks to the 12 square feet in the basement dedicated to boxes of Emily's former wardrobes.

Gripe Warning

This is how I feel today. I am the cat and the puppy is the power drunk drafting instructor at our local community college

I hereby rescind my apology to drafters. I am still willing to extend the hand of friendship to those drafters who are willing to be reasonable, but I realize I was quite mistaken in thinking that if I assumed an attitude of humility, they would be willing to work with me.

Allow me to explain: After a great deal of research I have decided the best, quickest, and cheapest way to get my continuing education credit is to take a drafting course at the community college. Unfortunately, the only course that works out time-wise is a beginning course in software that I am already proficient in. I still decided to go for it. Why? Because I can get enough credits for three years in a week's worth of classes for under $200. I was told today by the instructor that I can't take the course. Why? Because he doesn't believe that an engineer can be proficient enough with the software to qualify to take a beginning course. This is a classic case of a drafter with a gripe against engineers.

So my question is: What do you do when you run into a jerk like this? I am open to suggestions and please be creative. So far the voodoo doll isn't working (unless the reason why this guy isn't returning my calls is because his leg fell off and shoved itself into his mouth).

The Craftiness of Women

It's amazing how a room full of ladies with glue guns, scrapbooking pages, iron on transfers or mod podge can make me feel like I'm back in seventh grade gym class not getting picked for a volleyball team. I would rather spend the afternoon having a root canal than crafting.

When I craft I feel as if I am trying to diffuse a bomb while wearing boxing gloves. I was once told, "You know, you could be a much better crafter if you if you just tried". This statement presupposes two things 1) That I really would be better at it if I tried (which I might not), and 2) That I care enough to try to improve my skills (which I don't).

I just don't care. I feel a huge weight being lifted as I admit this and yet I also feel as if I'm offending 3/4 of my friends. You know - the ones who have hand crafted signs in their entryways that say something like "Bless this Mess" or "Friends Welcome Here" or "NO Stairway to Heaven". But what's the point in having friends who don't love you for who you are?

This brings me to last night. This year, some of my friends had put together a team for Race for the Cure. I thought as long as I was going, I may as well join their team, which honors their grandmother who passed away from breast cancer. Last night I got a call saying we would be meeting to make shirts to be worn on race day in conjunction with this effort to honor their Grandma Ruby. Now, I am all for honoring this great lady, but I wasn't thrilled that it required a crafting effort on my part. The shirts were to say "Ruby Racers" and be studded with red rhinestones. Here's where I let the finished shirt do the talking for me:

Sorry, Grandma Ruby. I plan on making a new one this afternoon.

The most tragic part of this story is that I was just called as Enrichment Counselor in my ward's Relief Society (for those of you who don't know what this is, one of my duties is to oversee enriching activities for the ladies and I will be lynched if a great many crafts are not included). I plan on counting on the Enrichment Leader to take care of the details and the appliquéing. Maybe now's the time to finally start making my effort. Or maybe it's time the ladies of our ward put away their bedazzlers and learned how to program macros.

The Box

Today I knew the time had finally come that I needed to venture into the recesses of the basement and seek out the box I had packed away two years ago. I reluctantly looked, almost hoping I wouldn't find it. But after a few minutes of halfhearted searching, I found what I was looking for.



It's always hard to admit to yourself that you have become too oddly shaped to fit into clothing created for normal human beings, but it has to happen at some point. It's kind of like taking out the fat pants after Christmas... and knowing you're going to have to wear them until Easter.

When I opened the box, they were even worse than I remembered. But I took comfort in the fact that by New Year's they will be carefully packed away again... into the garbage.

What I did with my $1.61

For those of you who are unaware of my recent pennies from heaven experience, read here.

I have mused long and hard about how to spent it. Finally, today, as I was buying thread to fix a stuffed sea lion who had been horribly wounded by the washing machine I saw the perfect use for my $1.61. I purchased (drum roll please) a seam ripper. It may not sound like that exciting of a purchase, but I figure that I use my existing seam ripper about once a day and I spend a third of my life looking for it. Since I had the extra cash, I bought a dedicated one for my sewing machine. In the past, I have had to go so far as to try to rip out mistakes with a safety pin because my seam ripper was lost. This will ensure that I have one on hand every time I make a mistake sewing and will free up my other one for more exciting uses such as:

Getting that last bit of grime out from under my fingernails.

Busting into difficult to penetrate shrink wrap.

Taking itchy tags out of shirts.

Splitting crab leg shells.

Not to mention all the time I will save not having to constantly search for a seam ripper. With all that free time, who knows? I might even solve the fuel crisis. $1.61 to break our dependence on foreign oil - now that's a steal.