some items for your consideration

1. New Sewing Machine. I love her. A whole freaking lot. Her name is Nina Bernina.

2. Another Busted Disc. This time, it’s mine. Same one The Mister had surgery on. Some people wear matching shirts or share a hobby, but not us! We get matching boo-boos.

3. Narcotics. See item #2.

4. There is a super nice New York State Park near our house, and we got a season pass, so we go to the beach a whole lot. Last week, one of the lifeguards had to rescue a little boy. I was frightening and awesome at the same time, and I have never seen anybody move as fast as that guard did. Major thumbs up to the New York State Parks for hiring good people, training them well, and for keeping the parks open when many other states are not.

5. Fowl. We own ducks. And I’m sure this statement is going to result in more effbook mockery from that one guy who mocks us for having chickens and thinking about other unconventional pets, but whatever.

6. New Babies And Pregnancies. Four darling babies were born this month, and in the past two days I have learned that two of my friends will be having babies next spring. And before you get all crazy and start suggesting that we make us another wee Dayton, let me remind you that the likelihood that I even get to have a practice run at baby making is… Well… Dude just had surgery and My back is messed and there ain’t gonna be no getting some ’round these parts.

7. Swimming Lessons. My town has a wonderful summer rec program with sports and crafty things and swimming lessons for the short people. On Wednesday, the woman who runs the pool approached me and said that more thN six people had complained to her the previous day because I had breastfed Elliott while the other kids were having their lesson. She handled the situation beautifully, and told the complainers that in NY, women have the right to breastfeed their children anywhere they want, and that she wasn’t going to ask me to stop or to leave. How awesome is that? It’s so rare to hear a story about breastfeeding in public where people know the law and do the right thing. And as an added bonus, I met a lovely mama who is just finishing her Lactation Consultant training. Super cool.

i am really tired

The past three days have been insane.  So nutso-whack-job-crazy that I am having a hard time remembering specifics from these days, and they’re starting to all roll into one, and combine with last Monday.  Which, may I point out, was NOT THREE DAYS AGO.
Two things, and then I’m going to go outside and get the box of little chicklets and bring them to the porch, and then I’m going to bed, to sleep for approximately three days.  
Thing Number One:  I am giving away a $25 gift card to Wendy’s.  I was going to close comments on Friday (I think, but remember what I said up there about being confused and blendy-ish.).  I haven’t closed comments or chosen a winner yet, so if you’re a slacker busy person like me who has a life outside of The Interwebs, go ahead and leave a comment.  
Thing Number Two:  I can’t remember.
It’s hard to be *this* awesome. 

some items for your consideration: the i’m too lazy to see which edition, edition

  1. The Flats Challenge.  Y’all, I really like using the flats.  They are trim, and they fit under my covers super nicely, and they are not at all a pain in the keister (for me, anyway) to use. However…
  2. The Flats Challenge.  Handwashing is not fun.  Well, the first time I did it, it was kind of fun. Fun-ish.  But today I washed the diapers and I think I sprained myself. I used Tide Free and Clear to wash, not the homemade concoction I used the other day, and I put too much in, and had a terrible time rinsing the stupid things clean, and wasted a ton of water and WHINE WHINE WHINE WHINE.  And I hung them up on my drying rack instead of my line, because the weather people say there is a 70% chance of spontaneous, thunderous downpours of epic proportions.  So now the drying rack is sitting in my sewing room, not actually drying.
  3. Big fun tomorrow, people.  Wendy’s and The Motherhood are taking the short people and me, and a bunch of other mama bloggas out to lunch.  The mamas get to try the new salad that Wendy’s is adding to the menu, and the kids get to eat burgers and fries and breaded faux chicken pieces.  I am only a teensy bit sad they’re not feeding us burgers.  Because I loves me a double stack.  (I’ll be giving away a $25 gift card to Wendy’s next week when I compile my thoughts about said salad.)
  4. Quick vote on this one.  I have a post in draft entitled 26 reasons why i’m not fit to be the mother of chickens, and I can’t decide whether or not to post it.  
  5. Shame.  Two weeks ago I had a mad craving for jelly beans, and so The Mister picked me up some.  I ate a few that day, but today I am killing them.  Also? They taste terrible, but I just.can’t.stop.
  6. Teh Funnies.  Kim from It’s A Beautiful Wreck posted THIS HERE LINK to the effbooks the other day.  A little heads up:  put your drink down.
  7. Size matters.  I got a new hairdo, and let me tell you, people, it’s fantastic (hi, Heather, I love you long time) but it really enjoys getting its ‘fro on.  Especially when it’s humid, like, for example, RIGHT NOW.  The curls are about five inches away from my scalp.  I’m entering into Wonder of The World territory.
  8. And finally, because I can, my list of things I’m currently knitting.  The Hourglass Sweater in Universal Yarn’s Turkish Coffee, the Herringbone Poncho in a turquoisey colored bamboo-wool blend that was superty cheap at Michael’s (both patterns by Joelle Hoverson), and the Vergennes Pullover by Amy Christoffers.  And, you know, some socks and some dishcloths, and a pretty purple hemp-cotton scarf that is knit with the same pattern as the Vergennes Pullover.  
  9. Wait.  One more thing.  There’s a sweet baby I know who had open heart surgery today.  Her name is Fabienne, and her mama blogs here.  Fabienne is seven months old, and was put on this earth to bring joy; I can’t tell you how I know that, I just do.  Please keep this family in your prayers (or whatever you non-pray-ers do) as Fabienne recovers.  One heart had an operation today, but three hearts wear the scar.

some items for your consideration, version IX

  1. There are 18 peeping chicks in a plastic tote on my front porch.  They drink a lot of water and they poop a lot.  And their poop smells.  Bad.  However, none of these things will keep me from eating most of them.  
  2. Wee Man has learned to read, and really, I am happy about this.  Green Eggs and Ham is just not as thrilling the nine millionth consecutive time it’s been read to you, that’s all.  And also, sometimes I receive text messages that are not entirely appropriate for my children to read.  Mostly because it’s just none of their stinking business, but sometimes, well, you can imagine, I’m sure.  
  3. I actually lost followers after my happy effing Mother’s Day post.  Hmmm.
  4. The Mister took matters into his own hands and called the doctor’s office and got me an appointment on Saturday.  I’m taking LOTS! MORE! and DIFFERENT! drugs so hopefully my head will stop hurting and I will stop praying for death or decapitation.
  5. Just to be clear, I’m not actually praying for death or decapitation. 
  6. I built a compost bin using only metal stakes, pallets, and my own brute strength.  I also pulled several abdominal muscles and cried like a little girl.
  7. My birthday is on Friday.  Yes, FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH.  As it happens, I was born on Friday the thirteenth as well.  And my thirteenth birthday was on Friday the thirteenth.  That’s why I’m so FREAKISHLY AWESOME.
  8. I spent all of Friday the Fifth photographing the piles of items for my Etsy shop.  And I have spent hours and hours since then, except for when I was ruining my six-pack abs making a compost pile, sifting through photos and editing and listing items.  You should totally check out my shop and buy everything so I can finish buying my new sewing machine.   I even put up two photographs because I was feeling bold.
  9. Cute photo.

so that happened.

I had the mother of all migraines yesterday.  I woke up with it, which is worse than if I get a migraine when I’m awake, not sure why, but that’s just how my brain rolls.  I couldn’t sit up, couldn’t open my eyes, couldn’t do anything that would facilitate getting drugs in my bloodstream.  Fortunately, Miss O came into my bedroom when she woke up, and gladly fetched me a glass of water and my drugs.  The f!or!nal wasn’t as effective as normal, but it took enough of the edge off that I could go downstairs and clean up the three broken eggs and one shattered glass from my kitchen floor.
Because nothing says THROW MAMA A BONE, HERE, PEOPLE, like dropping eggs on the floor.
It was just a day.  
I had an appointment to meet with my doctor to discuss how I’ve been having non-stop brain pain for almost 20 days.  Because really?  That’s a bit much.  Except when you take a full-on dose of the happy pills, and then another full-on dose four hours later because the first dose didn’t actually work, you have WAY TOO MUCH narcotic-ish stuff in your blood to operate a motor vehicle.  And also, you’re probably not real good with conducting a conversation, either, so what’s the point.  
They can see me next Friday.  As in TEN DAYS FROM TODAY.  By that time, I’ll have had a headache for a full month, and have been alone with my children about 93% of that time.  Not that the two are related.  Maybe they are.  I think the children are more of an exacerbator than a cause, if you want my professional opinion.
In other news, it’s still cold and rainy in my neck of the woods.  So much so, that I’m seriously considering breaking the neck of my woods and finding another a) neck or b) woods.
Exacerbator sounds dirty.


I was watching the news tonight, as I’m sure many of you were, waiting to hear President Obama declare Osama bin Laden’s death.  I listened to the diplomatic analysis, the future safety of Americans analysis, the what-the-Pakistanis-think analysis, and I was surprised that I didn’t feel a little more excited.  
Because really, bin Laden was a murderous bastard and shouldn’t I be glad, at least a little bit, that he is dead?  
Miss O came downstairs, because nothing says “I don’t respect your boundaries for bedtime” like nineteen trips down the stairs to fetch nineteen different things, but I digress.  She wrinkled her nose and asked what was on the television. 
There was a terrorist, a man who crashed four airplanes into buildings, because he wanted to hurt people…
Mom, I know what a terrorist is.
It was kind of like a punch in the stomach.  I know my short people are superty smart, and I shouldn’t be surprised that she knows what a terrorist is.  We don’t watch the news, we don’t discuss war or murderous bastards or related subjects.  I try to keep that stuff off my people’s radars.  (People’s radar??? Where are the grammar police when I need them!)
We talked about the events of 11 September, 2001; I told her about the planes and the people who died.  I told her about the heroic efforts of the passengers of Flight 93 who prevented more death and destruction by giving their own lives.  I told her that bin Laden was proud of what he had orchestrated that day, and that he boldly took ownership of the carnage.
He pretty much had it coming, huh, mama?
Yep, kid, he sure did.
And yet I wonder: does anybody really feel better now that he’s dead?  Or are victims’ families going to wake up tomorrow and find that the news of his death leaves them with an odd sort of emptiness?  Their loved ones are still dead.  Al Qaeda is still there; al Quaeda still hates everybody.  
There is no safety that comes from this murder, justified as it may have been, and I say may have been justified because in my deepest spirit, I am not entirely sure where I stand on the issue.  My instincts hate that we kill people.  I hate the execution in the same way I hate the reason for the execution, and I cannot compare the costs of either.
My kid knows about terrorists.  I hate that most of all.

i got an afternoon off and then my car died. it was awesome.

Right.  So I got time off for good behaviour, or to ensure future good behaviour, or because I’m going bat-shit crazy being in my house for the last month with those charming people who sprang from my loins.
That was a terrible sentence.  You have my most sincere apologies.
I got some coffee, and went to the yarn shop, and visited an amazing art gallery that consigns all kinds of amazing handmade things… and the art gallery is interested in some of my sewing and knitting, which is very cool and very odd all at the same time.
On the way home, I noticed that the gas pedal didn’t seem to be playing nice with the engine, which made me remember that the gas gauge had been fluctuating like crazy the entire day, and oh yes, by the way, the service engine idiot light was blaring.  So naturally the minicoopervan conked out whilst driving uphill where there was no actual place to pull off.
But fortunately, God really wanted me to enjoy my day, so He pushed the car about a quarter mile up the hill after it stalled and then further on down the road to a place where I could pull far away from the road and not die.  True story.
We had the stupid vehicle towed to the local repair shop, who told me that my fuel pump had died and it would be in the neighborhood of $600 to get it fixed… half for parts and half for three hours of labour.  So I called my girl Heather’s husband, Nate the Hot Mechanic, and asked him what he thought about that, because he has been taking care of the vehicle for a while.
Nate said that there was no way it takes three hours to change a fuel pump in my van, and also that it is his experience as a Chevrolet mechanic that fuel pumps in Venture vans just do not ever get replaced.  He told me about this little thing that is a part of the fuel system that sometimes does need to be replaced, and suggested I ask the garage if they had checked that.
Now, I had already told the garage people that the gas gauge had been bonkers all day, and that I suspected the thing was out of gas.  OH NO!!!! they protested vigorously, and told me there was no way on earth my car was out of gas and that the little thingy was not a problem and that it was most assuredly the fuel pump and also pay.up.sucka.
Nate the Hot Mechanic had given me his price for fixing the fuel pump, if in fact it was the fuel pump, and his price was over $200 better than the garage.  So I told the garage they could suck it that we’d come pick up the van and tow it to Nate’s garage.  They offered to come down on the price of the labour, but I was not having any of that tomfoolery.
Nate pulled the little thingy from out of the fuel system, and sure enough, the little thingy had MAJOR bad stuff happening to it.  There are technical terms for the situation, but major bad stuff will have to do for now.  And also?  Not a drop of gas in the tank.
So for CONSIDERABLY LESS than the thieving or incompetent, or incompetently thieving people at the Automotive Center on Market Street in Attica suggested, Nate the Hot Mechanic fixed my car.  And he SHOWED THEM.  
The Mister says I shouldn’t call them and tell them off, but I still kind of want to.
Also, they were snippy and rude, and it was a good thing I had put my big girl pants on.
I bought Nate a bag of peanut butter cups because he’s totally a peanut butter cup junkie, and because he’s awesome.  And my girl Heather knows that he is Nate the Hot Mechanic, and she knows that we all know he’s Nate the Hot Mechanic, and she is okay with it.  In fact, she’s more than okay with it.  She likes it a lot.  And so does Nate.
Me?  I just like that I have good friends who can keep me away from people who are incompetent and out to screw us.  Anybody else have that kind of awesomesauce in their lives?