You know, sometimes I think we sort of have our crap together around here. Sometimes I think we’re Not That Weird. Or rather, if we’re weird, we’re weird like Everyone Else now. We have our quirks. We have our adorable dysfunctions. We try to love each other well, and we succeed and fail and succeed and fail, but we keep practicing. So I look around these days, and I figure we’re Normal. ...
I mentioned recently that I cleaned my room and rewarded myself by soaking in diarrhea water. It’s just one of the blessed realities of being a busy mom.
FORTUNATELY, before said cleaning, my friend Rachel came over to take some photos for me.
See, I’ve wanted to do a REALISTIC photo shoot for quite some time. You know, like, wearing the things I usually wear. Without cleaning or decluttering my house. Without avoiding the angles full of dirty dishes. I’ve wanted to do an AS IS photo shoot. What You See Is What You Get. Partially for you because EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW THEY’RE NOT ALONE in their lack-of-pristine living. And partially for me because I actually want to remember how life really was. Not a beautified version of it, but the nitty, gritty, grimy truth with its laughter AND dust bunnies, its joy AND dried ketchup, its camaraderie AND moldy flower stems, because this life is lovely. This life is wonderful. This life is gorgeous in its own muddy way, no covering up required. ...
Alright. I don’t know if this is advice or anti-advice, but it’s something, and now you’ll know it, too, instead of me just carrying it around in my head all by myself where it should probably stay locked up forever.
Here’s the sitch: We bought a stunning farm in Oregon. And we’re working on the farm — a LOT these days — hoping to open early summer as a private park. ...
I had Frosted Mini Wheats with a sprinkle of brown sugar and a dusting of garlic salt today which I initially decided was fine.
It was the usual situation. Four hours after waking up, I decided I ought to feed myself. Some people make themselves and their physical needs a priority, understanding that providing their own bodies with nourishment upon waking allows them to better care for others. I imagine they set their alarms for early in the morning, rise cheerfully before their children, make themselves multi-grain avocado toast or a two-egg omelette, and eat it from an actual plate while sitting at the kitchen table with a dare-I-say hot cup of coffee or bright lemon tea. I can only assume people like that are generally rational and well-adjusted with an appropriate balance of self-care… and that they don’t wake up in a high-strung panic after hitting snooze thirteen times, thinking of all the tasks they must accomplish immediately, or yesterday, or last year, and itemizing the ever-expanding list of people they’ve let down with their lack of follow-through on their Very Good Intentions. ...
We got our dog a pet bunny. Not on purpose. It was very much an accident. Still, that’s what happened, and now here we are.
This is my lap at home.
ALL THE TIME.
Someone please bring me coffee and a bedpan. I’m not moving anytime soon.
So what happened, you ask? Fine; I shall tell you. Here’s the long version.
My kid has a friend, and the friend’s name is Rowan. ...
In a grand fit of laziness or misguided frugality this morning, I decided I could rebrew my coffee grounds from yesterday. I figured tea leaves are good for more than one cup (although I feel certain there are Tea Afficionados out there who will set me straight), therefore, why not coffee?
IMPORTANT: You cannot brew coffee grounds twice.
You can’t.
Truly. ...
Folks, if you have a partner to flirt with, might I recommend you take a page out of Greg’s book and gift your significant other a personalized trophy?
Look, no one on Planet Earth doesn’t want to be recognized for their fine work. Or, without the double negative, All the People want to know they’re doing a good job. Yes? Yes. Of course, yes. Which is why a trophy is the perfect medium for appreciation. It’s an award. It’s a forever keepsake. And, personalized appropriately, it shows how well the giver knows you. How deeply you’re seen. How well you’re understood and valued. ...
