organized chaos

Usually care packages are reserved for kids away from home. My Man is an only child and his parents have never really accepted that he is a grown man and since they live two states away, technically he is a kid away from home.

So we’ve always received care packages full of goodies the likes you’ve never seen. I thought you’d like to share in the bi-monthly excitement that is “The Box From Grandma Diana.” But a disclaimer from My Man: We don’t ask for the box. We never have. It’s a free will offering that only a mother can provide, lest you think him a spoiled child. Which he is not.

Join me.

First we have the usual shipment of office supplies. As you all know, I need these desperately. Sometimes I ask for specific things like three ring binders, but mostly she just has closets full of this stuff and it’s luck of the draw. That glue stick in the front? It’s about as thick as the fat end of a carrot. I’m still not sure what I’ll use it for. Maybe I can glue Jackelope to his chair at dinner so he’ll stop getting up and performing Jedi moves all helter skelter in the middle of devotions.

I can’t remember the last time I bought toothpaste. It’s one of her favorite things to send. And heck, I’m not picky, so it works out fine. Unless it’s sandpaper flavor. I’ve found that to be a bit–grating.

Oh, and that allergy medicine is supposed to be for My Man who sneezes 15 times in a row at times, but according to him, medicines are all placebos. That actually might come from the fact that his parents still buy their medicines across the river (Rio Grande River) and use out of date penicillin for colds and viruses. I’ve told them it’s not really effective for that, but you can’t buck tradition.

And The Box would not be The Box without the necessary snackage for the gremlins. She also thinks I use a lot of splenda because there was this one time when I did, but I’m out of that phase now. I just didn’t have the heart to tell her, so I keep getting sandwich baggies filled with splenda packets. And coffee mate that My Man and I would rather gag than use in our coffee. I’m all about the coconut cream people. Don’t judge me.

Then there’s my special sack inside the big box. The photo’s a bit blurred from my excitement over all that loot. Usually I get beef jerky, a special notepad just for me, some cash!, and a pain reliever of some sort to rid the gremlin induced headache. And apparently The Cuteness does not get his own sack yet, because all his baby junk was in my sack also. It was a bit of a let down, to say the least, when I opened my goody sack and pulled out baby plates and cutlery. But again–I got cash, so I’ll stop my moaning. And that blue comb?

Who knows where she found this jewel, but do you guys know I have always wanted a fancy blue comb with my very own name on it? Well I have! Don’t judge me.

Now here’s where I broke the rules a little.

This is officially Charlie’s bag o’ goodies, but I peeked in to give you nice folks the first look and the vast difference between the golden boy’s goody bag and my own. Notice the George Strait CD circa 1980’s. I think the puffy vinyl coat gives it away. And yes, Charlie was very excited about this goody. What a nerd. He also got some cool pencil leads and a Coleman watch for all his OCD treks out to the backyard.

And then there’s his second goody bag.

Now, I’m not much for chocolate. I’m weird like that. But she could of sent me a big bag of avocados or nachos supreme. I suppose that would get messy. Even so.

Ten chocolate bars for mom’s little sweetie. I think I’m tearing up. With tears. Actually I might need some of that pain reliever now that I think of it. For the throbbing headache of injustice.

Still. I’m grateful for the cash. Did I mention that? I am.

It’s been quite a weekend around here, and it’s only Saturday morning.  You know, Saturday in the park, I think it was the fourth of July. Only, there’s no man selling ice cream. And it’s not the fourth of July.

But I digress. Before I go off on a weirdo tangent let me just take this moment to refer you to one of my favorite East Texas posts. That is, if you’re looking for something to read. If not, why have you even read this far, hmmm?

Recycling makes the world go round, no? Click here to read.

It’s been one of those days. Those days.

I woke up to find my wireless router not working. But hey, without mobile access to the web, maybe I’d get a few things done around here.

Me and the gremlins went a round during school about their attitudes. Again. But hey, it sunk in for the time being and we finished our work without incident.

I’ve chewed most of my nails down to the nubs because my file is pretty much worthless and I just can’t shake the nerves and doomsday feeling that’s plagued me all day. Thank you, hormones. You’re the BEST!

But true to my motto that there’s something to laugh at everyday, I give you this.

He’s looking very dapper today, no? That’s what I thought when Socrates brought him downstairs after his first nap. I asked, “Why did you get his hair wet, cute as it is?”

Socrates gave me a bashful sideglance. “It’s my spit.”

I examined the wet, shiny hair of The Cuteness and mumbled something unintelligible towards Socrates about never desecrating the head of The Cuteness again or I would take exactly $5.37 out of his money jar as punishment.

That doesn’t seem unintelligible when I write it or when you read it, but trust me. I was running for the camera when I said it. Because even with his hair slicked down with Big Brother’s Spittle (available now at your local Hair Port!) The Cuteness couldn’t be more dapper.

I started taking Mondays off from school to utilize at least one day a week to catch up on the myriad of nonsense that apparently needs to be done around here. But I’ll be honest. I’ve been lax in the Getting Things Done Around The House category. Stuff above and beyond everyday needs.

Now, if you want to talk to me about the Writing category, the Personal Hygiene category, the Meet-Your-Personal-Yell-Quota category, or Eating Three Squares A Day category, then I’m good. I take care o’ me.

Then there’s the issue all moms deal with. Why even bother? It will never last, it will look like a tornado again 5 seconds later, and I’ll feel like I never even did a thing. And some days are such a blur, I feel like I didn’t get a thing accomplished.

So for the sake of posterity, I did a little photo journaling of a few of the various self imposed tasks of the day. And if you must know, I almost decided against this post because I just knew someone would exhale a big gust of exasperation and think,

“What in the freakin’ heck is this woman trying to do to the inhabitants of the internet? Kill us slowly with the mind numbing mediocrity of a house wife? We have our own chores to obsess over daily! Enough!”

And to that person, I’d like to say. Point and click, Friend. Point and click.

I started the day with this catastophe. There’s the jerk in the midst of the laundry maze, making himself right at home. Never lifting a paw. Jerk.

8 loads and 12 hours later…

Washing and drying I can usually handle. It’s that dadgum folding thing that chaps my hide. Maybe I accidentally took an extra ritalin today. Hmm….

Now, this is one thing I’m really good at putting off. I usually make one of the older gremlins take The Cuteness to bed and such, so I don’t have to experience the spike in blood pressure when I come up the stairs and see this room. Jackelope just doesn’t possess a whole lot of domestic skills. It’s not for lack of trying.

He’s just better at being Black Spiderman.

But it’s been worse. Trust me. I didn’t even have to turn into the Tasmanian Devil to get it done in a timely manner.

Then the whining commenced. Because the hair had grown long enough.

You’d think after 10 years of haircuts, he’d quit looking at me like this when I break out the shears.

But Jackelope. Oh man. He’s the reason I put this chore off as long as possible. But in the end, he endured with the promise of gum when we finished, and was a happy chap.

And then there are all the interruptions to deal with. I know you all are most definitely tired of seeing spiders around here, but they are infiltrating my house. After meeting Arachnid King, I’m just not freaked out by the likes of this little peon anymore.

Nothing but cake.

And this image just brings peace and joy to my soul. There’s nothing quite as soothing as walking into a clean kitchen. It’s a rare gem, that.

Just don’t look too close.

You’ll see I don’t demand perfection. Just the appearance of. From a distance.

looking for this?

I feel a little badly about those of you who I scared the crap out of yesterday with this post. It was never my intention to give you nightmares.

Or to force you to swat at your legs in paranoia all day.

Or to break out the poisonous gases in an attempt to rid your own house of anything similarly heinous and evil.

Really, I didn’t. I just figured if I was going to have a full blown ugly cry panic attack over the whole ordeal of finding that hairy thing, it would be better to have the company of other like-minded folk. You know, Us against Him.

I won’t go into the whole long tale of woe, but just rest assured that I did not have to kill it. After a long battery of tests when I found him in the light fixture during a routine maintenance of light bulb changing, I did confirm him to be dead.

Dead, with a very spooky face. And a hairy body, and very thick legs.

So as an apology of sorts, I give you the cutest thing known to mankind.

The Cuteness. Because #1, I figured it had been awhile and some of you might be having withdraw.

#2, wrapped in a fluffy towel just out of the tub, he is at his most cute and cuddly

#3, if there’s anything that can erase this image, it’s that one up there.

This is The Cuteness’ laundry basket. I have one basket per gremlin for their clean clothes. It’s helped cut down on laundry room disorganization. A little. The floor is now covered with 4 of these white baskets, a rectangular yellow basket and a round blue one, respectively.

It’s a maze of epic laundry proportions.

And they sit there because I have a hard and fast rule about putting other people’s clothes away. When the gremlins were all smaller, excepting The Cuteness, I put away their gremlinly clothing. But since I hate laundry so much, I’ve insisted that their domestic training begin, and as a result most of their baskets sit with folded clothing on the laundry room floor until I remember to tell them to come get it.

Which happens, oh about once a month or so.

Now, the other day I asked The Cuteness if he would just put away his laundry already! It had been sitting there for weeks! But he was very engrossed in creating the next big hit.

Yes, that’s me sitting down with him. I have some major focus issues, if you must know. I promptly forgot about my request of clothing care. And I couldn’t resist the creative kinship of a gremlin who actually wanted to learn piano. I think we’re really going to mesh creatively.

Suffice it to say, his laundry did not get put away.

And this particular basket of clothing
has had the same clothes in it for longer than I care to admit to you.

Ok fine.

About two months.

Give or take.

Because for me to actually climb the stairs into the abyss that is Gremlin Central in order to put clothing away that will then force me to yet again climb the stairs into Gremlin Central every time I want to change the baby’s clothes?

Lunacy, I tell you, pure lunacy. Dressers are way overrated.

Sarah tagged me. But I’m going to break the rules and resist the urge to tag-on. I know that may come as a shock to you all, since I am such a fine upstanding citizen and all. The meme is to list 3 things you enjoy doing other than blogging. Is there anything left? I’m not sure. But she asked, and deep down I am a people pleaser, so here it goes.

And there’s a lot of things I’ve enjoyed in the past, that I still enjoy, but just don’t have time for right now. I’m in a very transitional phase in my life and so I like to keep my ME time simple and easy.

1. I do a lot of writing. NON-BLOG writing. (It does count, Tag Police!) I’ve actually written one fiction book that nobody wanted to publish, started another that I’ve set aside for the moment, and started a memoir about my time in East Texas as a kid. I just love to write. It amuses me.
2. When I am inspired, there’s nothing that I love more than to sit at the piano and write songs. There’s just something euphoric about the words and melody and chords all coming together into something that expresses worship to my Creator. I wish it happened more often. You can hear one here.
3. I love to watch good movies. Since the birth of The Cuteness, I’ve noticed some ugly ADD rearing it’s ugly head inside of my head. It’s very difficult for me to sit still very long, so anything I watch has got to be good from the start. The last great flick I watched was The Illusionist. I watched it three times.

So there’s my three things. Not very exciting, but now you know.

Don’t forget to scroll down if you haven’t heard about the Fall Drawing Giveaway or click on the button over on the sidebar!

I’m heading off to gather specimens for The Friendly Cashier. It’s only night #2, and boy have I already got some doozies!

Maybe you’re thinking I’ve run out of ideas for clever and funny posts. You might be right. At least I always think so when I have a day like today and my swiss cheese brain shuts down for a time. During these times and times of other creative pursuits, I always feel like it’s the end of the line for me.

I’ll never write another song.

I’ll never be able to draw another face.

I’ll never have another funny blog post.

I’ll never feel like playing the piano again.

I’m such an extremist. When time has proven to me again and again that if I have some off days, it’s not the end. It’s just an off day. Does anyone have any idea what I’m talking about??

Now that I got that off my chest, allow me to be a proud mama for a minute. I snapped all these yesterday. None of them are worthy of a whole hysterical post by themselves, but my heart does swell with pride at the genius of this:

You should probably know that I’ve never let him watch The Silence of the Lambs. That’s what it reminds me of. Am I right? He lost the other two Spidey masks and cried for days until I finally gave in and cut up his stocking cap. He had already started to behind my back, so I thought, “Oh well. It’s better than listening to him scream.”

The tape came into play when I had cut a hole for his nose to breathe out of and he didn’t approve. Now Charlie and I can’t look at him without laughing. And that’s not really advised since he gets really offended when people poke fun at his very serious outfit.

Now I give you the In-House Criminal:

Thank you Dollar General for being so cheap that Socrates could afford the most annoying toy on the face of the earth. A cap gun. I did take him down just to remind him that I will always possess more ninja skills than he will ever dream of. Just picture my face on top of Elektra’s body.

And can I just say that I love this age:

And while I was referring to the 7 month age of The Cuteness, I will admit that 30 has been very good to me also. I love this kid. He’s such a squishy ball of happiness and joy, how could I not?

He’s crawling like a fiend, wearing apple-blueberry baby food like creepy lipstick and trying to vocalize with a throatful of milk, therefore gurgling it through the air. I love it!

I have to restrain myself from biting his arms every day. I loved when my other gremlins were babies, but really I was pretty stressed out back then. It’s a whole other ballgame when the baby is a good 6 years from the last one you had.

So, if you made it this far, you must be a good friend indeed to read my rambling. And I’m going to work tonight to collect more weirdo accounts for the Friendly Cashier.

Stay Tuned.

I know this confession might deem me a bad mother in your eyes, but confess I must.

The mere thought of playing board games with my gremlins is about as exciting to me as watching golf on tv. Or sitting in a waiting room with only Bait and Tackle magazines to read. I tried very early on to be the fun mom who broke out the board games every so often, so as to enrich my family with the kind of bonding that those commercials for “make it a family night” always portrayed.

Everyone always looks so happy and well adjusted in those.

But at the time, I had toddler gremlins. The most challenging kind. Breaking out the board games whipped them into a frenzy of excitement, but always crashed into mayhem once someone lost, or knocked the board across the room by rolling the dice too hard, or one of them yelling at the other for not knowing how to read the card by age 4.

And then there was always the issue of my boredom. Candyland? Oh yeah! Let’s frolick up and down the path aimlessly in a world of fake candy we’ll never get to eat. The gremlins usually would swipe the pieces when I wasn’t looking and use them for their psuedo-dramas in their bedrooms.

Now that at least two of them are old enough to control their spastic natures somewhat, I still have a hard time forcing myself to break out a big helping of family bonding time. Let me illustrate with some well timed photography.

Socrates initiated the game of Monopoly Jr. I figured, he asked nicely and I was just sitting on the internet anyway. Well, not actually sitting on the internet. You know what I mean. Everything started out swimmingly. It’s a cute game, I guess. Except luck of the dice awarded me with the good fortune of landing on all the rides and buying them for my property. See all those red houses. Mine. That means Socrates and Zoe had to pay me often. That didn’t go so well.

See this?

Socrates was no doubt thinking of an argument to swindle me out of my money. But right after this Jackelope came up and wanted to play. Poor Jackelope. He may be six, but he couldn’t even pull a chair up to the table without knocking half my money on the floor. Then when I let him roll the dice, he knocked half the ticket booths off the board.

All the while Socrates let his inner gremlin out and started snarking all over Jackelope because he didn’t want him to play. So it turned into a three way yelling match.

Socrates yells at Jackelope. I yell at Socrates to stop treating his brother like dirt. Jackelope yells into the air at his rights being wronged.

So then Jackelope finally gave up and went away. On his own. I did feel bad, but the game was a little more pleasant after that.

Until Zoe started to lose money.

This may look like a good humor kind of tantrum, but I assure you, it’s only for the camera. And as the game wore on, and she lost more money, the fangs of injustice came out. As they always do with her.

Then we had a car accident in the nice amusement park of Monopoly Jr.

Too many chance cards will do that, I think.

Then I looked up across the table and noticed Jackelope had found something else to entertain himself.

He really is a loner.
And stop staring at my dirty mirror. My gremlins may not be toddlers, but occasionally they still lick the mirrors and windows.

In the end, I won. And I didn’t really care, like some people. It’s not like it’s real money. I wish.

Then Zoe wanted to play Cadoo. Which I highly recommend. But you really have to know how to read. Here she demonstrates a combo play by molding the clay really fast.

Any guesses, yet?

Wait for it!

Not to worry. I didn’t guess right either. It’s a snowman. The Fast Mold Challenge isn’t really my forte. In the end, I won this game too. Purely luck! I am not a cheater!

But Zoe really never gets a break at these things and for the rest of the afternoon we were all subjected to listening to her whine, “I never get to win!!!”

The usual.

It will probably be another six months before I’m ready to listen to that again.

and feel free to leave your game recommendations in the comments. I need all the help I can get.

Mandy at Just A Girl tagged me for a middle name meme. Just the mention of my middle name floods my mind with a couple memories that I’d rather forget. But here are the rules shmules.

Post the rules. (Why?) Write a post using each letter of your middle name describing something relevant to your life. Tag the same amount of people as you have letters in your name. Or something like that.

L is for Lou, as in Carrie Lou, the name my second grade teacher asked my mother if that was ok to call me since there was already one Carrie in my class. The whole time I was there, one semester, I got to listen to second grade children slur my name all over the playground,”Hey, Carrie Looooouuuuu!” Like I was some character on Hee Haw come to visit their school for a time.

I moved at the end of the year, but ended up returning to that very same school in the 7th grade. And guess what? They remembered me. And my middle name.

O is for Obviously Odd. Maybe that’s no surprise to you. But I have always felt a little odd. Being 6 ft tall tends to do that. Or maybe that I laugh at really inappropriate times. Or maybe that sometimes I think in a British accent. Or maybe that I think about my hair color way too much. Either way you slice it, I’m odd. But oddly, I’ve finally accepted this about myself and can find peace.

U is for Ubiquitous. At this time in my life, I feel like everyone I live with expects me to be everywhere at once. I guess having five arms isn’t enough for them. They expect omnipresence and nothing less. Well hey! I’m not ubiquitous and the very thought of multitasking makes me yell strange things and want to hide under the covers with a big plate of nachos.

I is for Isolation. I have a very bad isolation tendencies. I could hole up in my house for a very long time and never talk to anyone. So friendly, right? I have to force myself to go out with even my very good friends, and when I do, I’m so glad and I beat myself up for ever doubting that I should go. I’ve over analyzed this hermit trait of mine, and have yet to come up with any deep seated childhood issues to blame it on.

S is for Soap Scum. My Man uses bar soap. With a vengeance. He’s a bar soap fiend. Mostly because he has that OCD thing that forces him to clean himself in excess. Therefore we have soap scum issues in our shower and I’m losing the battle daily.

E is for Eccentric. I deem being eccentric as one of my very best character traits. If you were to meet me in person, you would likely have no clue that I enjoy many of the odd things that I do, and would walk away saying, “Now there’s a nice gal if I ever met one. Tall, but nice.” And it doesn’t stop with me. Every one of my gremlins hold some promise  with the eccentricity factor, except The Cuteness, but he’s a young one. And so does My Man. However would he get along with me otherwise? Nothing makes me more proud as a mother than when Jackelope says something like, “I think eating eyeballs would be delectable.” My, how my heart swells.

Now I have to tag 6 people. I hate this part. Because say someone just wants to write about the proper way to clip fingernails or all the benefits of using SOS pads on non-stick cooking ware, but they love you to pieces and don’t want to hurt your feelings by not doing the tag? If I tag you and you’d rather write about the odd shape of your knee bones, you won’t hurt my feelings at all!

1.TC 2. Actual Unretouched Photo 3. Hallie 4. In a Foreign Land 5. Coffee Mom

6.Will Blog for Shoes

And if you haven’t been here for a few days, don’t miss the next volume of Letters From Your Friendly Cashier. Just scroll on down. Or click here.

Look, I may be reaching the bottom of the barrel of ideas here, but upon looking at some new photos that I took, I realized that just because something looks gross, does not mean that it is gross.

Here are some illustrations.

And remember, as always, you have the option of point and click to exit this insanity at your earliest convenience.

First I give you The Fried Green Tomato.

When I was a kid down in East Texas, someone made these occasionally. At the time, I felt that my 10 year old self just might barf if someone ever got me within 2 feet of any sort of tomato. Oh, I was a good kid and tried it, red and fried green, but I thought nothing had ever tasted so disgusting. With the exception of hominy. My mother made this occasionally and I gagged that all the way down.

It’s true that your taste buds mature as you do. For instance, I never thought I’d wear jeans that weren’t tight rolled, but surprise! surprise! the bottoms of all my pants are a-flappin’ in the wind these days.

So now, not only do I grow tomatoes, I actually eat them. And one day, I saw another blog yappin’ about Fried Green Tomatoes, and I got a hankerin’ and rushed out to pick some and make the old Southern Favorite.

I just about passed out right there. I ate three tomato’s worth. By myself.

And as you can see, I tried my hand at the ever-so-popular food photography, and I’m not sure it translates the utter euphoria that I experienced when I took that bite on the fork.

But I assure you, it was not gross.

Speaking of tomatoes, here’s another shot.

It’s a little blurry. Ever so sorry. But you can see that gross, oozing split, right? But I’m sure that past all that, it tastes fine. Personally, I’m not eating that one. So that’s where the analogy breaks up. Except that when I saw this poor little guy, I felt we had something in common.

Do you ever have days when you feel split with all your ooze seeping out along with some seeds? I sure do.

And perhaps one of the grossest things in my possession.

I’ve mentioned it before. Me and my hair have not had a good go of it. From about third grade to 7th, this was the standard for my school pictures.

Thank you Big Yellow School Bus With All The Blessed Windows Down.

It pains me to show you this. But in the interest of illustrating a universal truth, I realized I had to break out the big guns.

True, to look at this image may make you a little yellow and green and unable to finish your lunch, but the girl inside was not gross. True, I had some gross habits, that for the most part I have grown out of. But deep down I was charming and innocent, zany and thoughtful, and occasionally had a good hair day.

I just don’t have the pictures to prove it.

So let this be a lesson to all you First Impressions Count Judges. Don’t judge a tomato by it’s cover.

Cleaning their rooms is one thing my gremlins are required to do on their own. Although it takes every blessed ounce of self control on my part to not go up there and rant and rave and fling barbie’s around and chuck happy animals in the trash, I have learned (somewhat) to force them to learn the art of cleaning their own living space. I have the jacket for that club, but fortunately am no longer a member. I am, in fact, a recovering perfectionist.

Their rooms are upstairs. My room is downstairs. Therefore I can, thank the Lord, avoid seeing their caves most of the time. Especially since my oldest has acquired the mad skill of taking The Cuteness to bed for his many naps and I let him. Because I am lazy.

And the laziness doesn’t end there folks. I am going to air my filthy knickers for all of blogland and maybe some members of my own family to witness. When it comes to cleaning their own rooms, of course, understandably, the gremlins are proud of their work. And in the past, I would haul my tired body up those stairs, cringing all the while at the messy state of the stairs themselves, to see their beloved cleaning skills.

My mother always said she made us kids do our own work growing up. For the value of learning it. Did she ever have to turn a blind eye to the likes of this:

Some of you may be tempted to berate me for picking at the job accomplished here. And unfortunately I don’t have a before shot, because to see that would cause all your molecules to combust much like beans in a microwave.

When I see this, I see the various pieces of whatever sticking out from under the bed and the overall lack of crispness, as My Man would say.

But Jackelope was indeed proud of his work. And Gosh Darn It, I should be too.

And by the way, he took this photo himself.

Yes, that’s the lazy part. Ever since I got the little digital that’s ever so easy to use, I’ve sent the gremlins upstairs to document their work, so lazy old mom didn’t have to come ALL THE WAY UPSTAIRS to gush over it.

Then they come back down and show me through the LCD monitor. And I proclaim them to be cleaning geniuses. So really, it works out for everyone.

Here’s Zoe’s work. I cringe a little looking at it, but she’s making progress.

You won’t find this room in a spiffy gremlin’s decorator magazine, but at least the girl will have some cleaning experience.

And it doesn’t stop at cleaning exercises. Socrates is always building stuff when the thought of it doesn’t make him want to puke.

So, to save his poor mother the honest to goodness aerobics of climbing stairs, he whisks my digital upstairs and shows me this:

And everyone’s happy.

Except my blubbery body that never gets the workout it obviously needs.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed any of my links over on the sidebar. It matters not. Because I’m about to tell you about one of my passions.

Dove.

Or more specifically, what Dove is doing. Well, maybe I’ll leave that to the nice chaps over at the Dove website. I’m just excited because my other shampoo finally ran out, and I could justify running out and purchasing some campaign-for-beauty goodness. And then I thought I’d snap a photo and show you that I mean business.

Now, we have nary a penny for expensive toiletry products and such, but I pushed down the little bit of whatever was coming up my throat when I compared the price of Dove to the Suave that I usually buy. We’re talking the difference of $2 for Suave per bottle to $4 per bottle for Dove. But you get more Dove for your money in the end, it turns out. So ok. It’s a GOOD CAUSE! I feel like such a philanthropist.

So, you’re probably wondering all about my flavor choices. That perty blue bottle is all about calming the night, and it’s a body wash. Not that I need any calming at night; quite the opposite. I could use a little more of the night.  No, it hooked me with it’s promise of “a hint of sandalwood” since I’m enough of a hippie/beatnik to really cherish any hint of essential oils and incense smells.

Don’t envy the beatnik. Be one.

And that shampoo/conditioner combo, well that was a tough choice. All the selections seemed to smell similar to one another and I am all about the aroma my hair leaves in my wake as I walk by you. So I chose that green one with the cucumber because it said ‘cool moisture.’

And I wanted to embody the coolness of moisture whilst doing the dishes. I wanted to embody the cool moisture while whipping up some homemade pizza tonight. Gosh darn it, I wanted to be Cool Moisture while ringing up the 28 pound box of cat litter at work tonight!

And I don’t know that it will work any better than the cheap ol’ Suave I’m used to using. But I’m trying to help out any way I can.

So Dear Mr. Dove Chaps,

Be a love. Lower your prices a tad for poor shmoe’s like me. I’m a working girl. (get your mind out of that gutter Mr. Dove Chaps!) and I’m doing my level best to support your campaign for real women. Although my husband says you that if you’re really trying to be “real” you could use some really robust women on your ads. But I told him to hush it up because he knows nothing about advertising like you do.

I’m on your side, Mr. Dove Chaps. And I’ll keep buying as much of your goodies as I can. Just remember it’s women like me who’ll be buying your stuff. Keep sending me those coupons!

Cooly Yours,

Your Newest Fan

Ok, so maybe that’s not the most clever title I’ve ever come up with, but my brain is frying in this heat like so much egg on a hot sidewalk.

We’ve just returned from our second trip to the dentist for Zoe, who had 4 cavities on her molars. The self-same ones her older brother Socrates has in his mouth.

We’re none too thrilled. To say the least.

So they broke up her visits to two different days, which meant two different days of the torment of sitting in a teeny tiny dental office waiting area with the three boys while Zoe got herself all fixed up.

An hour before we left, both times, I ever so lovingly reminded Jackelope and Socrates to bring something to read or draw, for heaven’s sake, because we would be there an hour. And most of the time an hour is nothing to me, but in a teeny tiny dental waiting room with a baby and two potentially ADD boys? It’s an H——–o———u——-r….

So they both brought their spiderman action guys.

And Jackelope whined, almost the whole time, that he wanted the one Socrates had. While The Cuteness finally fell asleep on my chest, a miracle I assure you, since he’s mostly a MY OWN BED IS THE BEST, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, kind of guy. I happened to glance over at Jackelope just in time to see Spidey hanging from the arm of the nice leather chair.

From a long blue string of Jackelope’s gum. Ingenious? Creative? Resourceful?

Yes, I’m sure using chewing gum for Spidey’s web might be an indication of Jackelope’s eccentricities, but suffice it to say the web was never to be seen again by all mankind.

And that was just the first appointment. Today we went back, like the good kids we are. This time the boys brought a piece of paper. Each. And made paper airplanes. Which were exciting for about 3 minutes and 23 seconds.

Then they discovered that the cut glass on the windows made prisms on their faces. Of course I had my camera! Need you ever doubt?

Forget all other forms of expensive childhood novelty entertainment! Cancel your cable! Throw out the ps2’s! Melt your Wii down and ship it to China! Prisms! It’s the new rollercoaster.

I wish. It only lasted for 3 minutes and 43 seconds.

Then another family came in; about 5 of them and squeezed into the already cramped waiting room. But they weren’t little kids.

They were teenagers. And they freaked Jackelope out a little. Because while I know quite a few really nice, intelligent teens, these were not so nice. They were downright surly; as in brooding and the like. But The Cuteness gurgled and dropped about a liter of drool all over my shirt and they were almost charmed.

For the next hour, Socrates and Jackelope finally found some periodicals to pass the time, Sports Illustrated and Family Fun, respectively, and I talked to The Cuteness with a low voice. Because you know those other people were trying to listen to every word I said.

That’s what I hate about small waiting rooms. You just can’t say anything without wondering if the other people are judging you. Or if your Socrates wants to show you something in the mag, and your Jackelope rockets out of his seat because he HAS to see TOO! And your Socrates HATES for his little brother to see anything he wants to show his mother.

And this goes on for the next thirty minutes while the waiting room onlookers judge my gremlin’s behavior. Or maybe they didn’t care and I’m just paranoid.

Either way, Socrates is next in line for dental fun. But it won’t be for at least 6 months when we have the money. So next time I’ll be dealing with a crawling Cuteness.

That might not be so cute.

Oh–and don’t forget the latest Letters From Your Friendly Cashier! Scroll on down…

Batman comes to my house sometimes. I’m pretty tight with several superheros.

The thing I like about Batman, is that he’s always so cool and mysterious.

But I didn’t know that he was into capri pants. It’s cool Batman, I won’t tell anyone.

And if you really dig superheros, you might like these clips.

this one’s funny too.

And if you like the Green Goblin, check this one out.

So funny. It’s just like when they come to my house. If you liked those, there are tons at youtube. But not everyone goes for the superhero thing.

Yeah, I like change. You’ve probably noticed. I need change. I crave it. I rearrange my furniture several times a year.  I try different hair colors and eye shadows.  I grow my nails out occasionally.  Sue me.

I thought my old blog template was a bit dark. And I liked that about it, cause I’m a bit dark at times.  But I thought the type was too small and hard to read since it was, you know, gray on black.  And there needed to be some more white space.

Sometimes I just feel the need to lighten up, if you must know.   So I’ll try this blue one for awhile.  But don’t get too attached.

If there’s anything consistent about me, it’s change?

All my gremlins were born with full heads of hair. It’s the hispanic gene, I assure you. They don’t get it from me. My hair’s so thin, you can see part of my scalp when my head’s tilted at just the right angle. But lucky for you, I’m 6 ft tall, and you’ll never catch me taking a picture of that!

And when I say they were born with a full head of hair, don’t be fooled into thinking I could braid it or anything. Which reminds me of a nice lady I work with who swore to me one night that one of her sons was born with so much hair that the nurse put a little ponytail in it and they all had a good laugh.

Me and My Man had a good laugh at that too.

So, despite everyone’s claims that my gremlins would lose their nice hair as most babies do, two of them kept their locks. But then poor Jackelope lost all of his in a horrifying patchy pattern that scared the beetles out of everyone at church causing mayhem and end-of-the-world-riots throughout the city.

Joking. Only joking. And it grew back in within the month. Now The Cuteness has lost most of his birth hair and beyond all weirdness it might be growing in blond. I’ve never had a gremlin with blond hair. That would be strange indeed.

But for some sick reason, his scalp is holding on to a few sections for dear life. Making me obsess more than what is healthy over my 6 month old’s appearance. And while we were at the park the other day, some other well meaning mother said,

“Oh look at the cute baby! He has a comb over!”

This is what I envisioned at her words:

And that first one? I tried to get it larger, cause it’s scary. So maybe it’s better small.

So I knew I had me some style practice to work on. This was new territory for me.

But first, I gazed at this picture of a mere couple months ago and wept at what the passing of time can do.

Goodbye nice chestnut hair. You made my Cuteness look like such a little man.

Hello Comb Over Hair. I’m about to whip you into shape.

This is what I have to work with. As you can see, like most men, he is clueless about the state of his hair.

First, I tried to comb it to the right. My right.

Then I tried combing it to the right. His right.

Apparently he found that shocking.

Then I got a little funky with my bad self.

It’s a madness, you cannot stop it.

Then he got some kind of clue and lifted up on his arms very high as if to say:

Hey! You want a piece of this drool?

Then he gave up

Cause really, he’s a lover, not a fighter. And that fuzzy dinosaur needed SOME LOVIN’.

In the end, after looking at all these pictures, I realized that nothing will diminish the charming wiles of The Cuteness.

Have you seen that Ice Cream in a Bag recipe? I got one in my email and I saw one on another blog. I don’t usually do these types of things.

A. I don’t have what I need to do it.

B. I don’t have the cold hard cash to get what I need to do it.

C. I have an eccentric breed of gremlins.

Allow me to demonstrate with some caught-in-the-act photography.

I actually had a little cash, so we high tailed it to Walmart for the few ingredients it takes to make ice cream in a bag. The trip in and out was quick. I don’t mess around with shopping. I hate it. I hate it so much that I forgot the ice.

I tried to bribe Socrates the almost 10 yr old to go back in and get the ice, but he wouldn’t have it. “Not at Walmart!”

“Ok. How about the gas station?” Apparently that was worth $1.

By the time we made it home, we were burnin’ up from the Kansas heat, but we proceeded with the madness of novelty snack experiments.

‘A happy start!’ you might be tempted to think. There’s my girl with all the stuff you need, and a printed off recipe, and some empty bags. You can’t make novelty snacks without total disorganization all around.

Then they started the ice cream shake exercise. Because if you have no idea what this snack is all about, the short version is you put ice and rock salt in a big bag and the ice cream stuff in a little bag, seal them both up and shake for 5 minutes. Jackelope looks skeptical that this will work.

At first he thought you put the half & half right in there with the ice and rock salt and he was really skeptical then. But I was too busy dropping every blessed piece of ice on the floor and trying really hard not to say naughty words to take a picture.

After exactly 47 seconds of shaking her bag, Zoe looked like this:

And then the whining commenced.

“How much longer?” “Is is done YET?” “Can’t you shake it for me?”

I lost track of time, whining throws me into a worm hole usually. So when I got back from wherever the worm hole took me, I told them to stop shaking and open their bags. It wasn’t Blue Bell, but they liked it.

I had made a bag for myself, and I took my turn to shake. Man, was I going to show those gremlins how to REALLY shake that bag and make some KILLER ice cream.

About 47 seconds into the shake fest, my hands were so cold, I wondered if that worm hole had taken me to the North Pole. I gained some perspective on the gremlin’s plight.

But I shook it for the required five minutes. With vigor.

And I opened my bag and found soup.

And that’s why I don’t do fun things.

My Man has this friend who is so eccentric that when you take his picture, he doesn’t show up on film. We’ve tried. He’s lived with his father up to this point in his life, which is somewhere between 40 and 70 years of age. He also has that ageless quality that makes it hard to pinpoint. And we’ve asked, but he’s not tellin’.

So his father is moving somewhere, I’m sure My Man told me, and I wasn’t listening or something. And his friend, whom we’ll call Mark is rifling through thirty plus years of junk they’ve accumulated in their house. Stuff like magazines from 1976, and old videos of Star Trek episodes on tv from 1996, with the commercials! which are really the best part. There were some old paintings and a whole lot of other eccentricities.

And the best part is, he wasn’t giving any of it away! Yep, he put a price tag on everything in that house. Whatever, dude. Whatever thickens your gravy.

My Man being the vintage hound that he is, did manage to nab one item for free. And what a find.

Meet the Traveler Tumbler. It’s groovy, it’s fun, and man does it smell like the 80’s. At least that’s what My Man claims. He brought this bad boy home and all kinds of nostalgia washed right over me. I could actually hear Hall and Oats singing in my ear as I inspected the box.

So you’re probably wondering, “What exactly does the 80’s smell like?” Or maybe you’re wondering, “Why in God’s green earth is that girl smelling the inside of old coffee mugs?”

Or maybe you’re just wondering, “What in the name of Mike am I even doing on this blog?”

My Man and I are real smell oriented. We can watch an old 70’s or 80’s movie and one of us will always make a comment on how we can just smell the Bud on that guy, or I bet the lady smells like Windsong.

So of course one of the first things he said to me when I was drooling over those happy 80’s inhabitants on the box was, “IT EVEN SMELLS LIKE THE 80′S!”

Ok, maybe he didn’t yell it, but I could tell he was brimming with excitement.

So I smelled inside.

Because this thing was brand spankin’ new, relatively speaking, mint in the box, there was no coffee odor to interrupt my sniffing in the scent of my childhood.

And really, there’s just no way to describe to you what the 80’s smelled like via this cup. It was musty and stale, with a distinct flavor of groove. The kind of smell that reminds you of polyester bell bottoms on the way out of fashion because hey! it’s the 80’s.

And as an added bonus, here’s the bottom of the box. It’s Spillproof! and it only releases liquids when you’re ready to drink. All the qualities one needs for a really groovy cup of joe. And who wouldn’t want to sip their java from plaid cup. My Man can’t wait! to take it to work.

So I couldn’t really come up with a cohesive theme for this post, but I am all over The Random. It’s what I do best.

I’ve mentioned Cooper, our microcephalic dog. For those of you that refuse to look up the word, microcephalic, let me finally tell you it means someone with a head too small for the body it’s attached to. I’m sure Webster would have a slightly different version, but you refuse to look it up yourself and now you’re stuck with my version. So stop complaining. You know who you are.

So, I got a couple shots of Cooper. Hyena Extraordinaire.

The first time Commando Demando saw him lay like this, she said he looked like a raw chicken.

I love making bread. I don’t really make anything fancy, like 50 grain whole wheat berry nut loaf. I stick with the basic white bread. In this day and age of Atkins and South Beach diets, I feel alone in my pursuit of really good white bread. I suppose it’s the Swedish blood coursing through my veins that creates such an urge to bake breads and sweets and to drink my coffee with real sugar and tons of chocolate raspberry coffe-mate. But, if you were here at my house and could smell the aroma of homemade bread and got a peek at this

you’d probably eat it too. Carbs? What carbs? You would be in heaven.

My Man showed me this spray this morning

It’s a little blurry, but if you look closely at that print, it says: “…and a long lasting fragrance designed to seduce the ladies. If you spray it, they will come.” He says it doesn’t work. Which begs the question, is this why he says he’s so busy at work when I call? Just kidding, hon! I know you’re very busy crunching those numbers.

A friend of mine from church has been cleaning out her basement. Her youngest child is 17 or 18, I don’t know. She brought me some stuff and upon closer inspection, I realized, with glee, that some of it was quite vintage. Like this:

I felt all nostalgic when I saw Mr. Play Doh Kid’s head at the top right corner of the box. I’m not sure if he’s even on the new ones. I stopped buying this stuff awhile back since everyone here thinks it’s stupid. Not sure why. But what really gave me a kick was the Surprise Inside! that is mentioned on the box. As you can see at the top of the box, there’s “surpise mold in every can!”. I don’t know about you, but anytime I find mold, it’s a surprise. A bad one. Mold on the last package of cheese. Mold on the last package of hamburger buns. Mold in the NEW package of pudding cups. All surprises. All bad.

And after a bad surprise, I like to retreat to my little piece of heaven. My ornamental pond.

This was here when we bought the house, but it needed much work. I’m obsessed with this thing. I had fish, that even survived the winter, but in my haste to get them back into the clean water, I shocked every one of them. To death. Oops.

Here’s what’s growing in my pond right now.

Just gazing at my beauties fills me with peace.

Until someone lets the hyena outside

and he barks incessantly at the neighbor kids he sees every freakin’ day of his life or decides to pee on the stroller I accidentally left in the yard.