I have fallen in love with Etsy. Everything on there is just so damn cool, and I love that it’s pretty much all handmade stuff. Support the individual’s small business and all. I actually got all of my sister’s birthday presents on there this year.
But woe is me, I have nary a creative bone in my body. I can’t sew, I’m not crafty, I can’t draw, I can’t bake. Too bad they don’t have a shop for witty, biting sarcasm, because I think I could make a killing in that one. 😉
So anybody else want to start an Etsy shop who actually has talent? I can manage all your sales and books for you. I’m wicked smaht and would love to have a little business, but just don’t have the tangible object-making chops. Boo.
So Saturday verged on a waking nightmare for me. It all started out innocently enough – D woke up around 7 so I got up and took care of her while R slept in. After a little breakfast I gave her a bath, and it was the first time I cracked out a bag of bath toys. Oh my lord was she in heaven! I’d gotten them out a few days prior for her to play with while sitting in her bathtub dry as I got ready in the bathroom, but she hadn’t had them in the water yet. It was a whole assortment of sea creature squirties, and she had a ball.
Hey, I've got a duckie in my mouth!
How you doin'?
After her bath it was nap time, which was my cue to go run errands. Saturday was my mulch day, since it was the first semi-nice day in forever and the forecast after that appeared to be crap (turns out they were wrong – shocker! – but i wasn’t taking any chances and wanted to get this stuff in). Last year it did a fantastic job preventing weeds, which was another reason why I wanted to get it in before those little fuckers took over the gardens (i get the Preen kind with fertilizer in it. i’m sure it’s not the most eco-friendly, but extremely SM-friendly since i don’t have to spend hours all summer pulling weeds, which i loathe). So off I headed to Stein to load up on this season’s mulch.
Now here’s where the fun really began. We have two vehicles – a Toyota Highlander and a big Chevy pickup truck. Which would be better for hauling mulch? The truck with it’s big open bed, perfect for dirty jobs, duh. Which did I take? The Highlander with it’s much smaller fabric-covered cargo area, good for groceries and luggage but horrible for dirty jobs, duh. I must admit it did occur to me, albeit very fleetingly, to take the truck since I knew it would be infinitely better to use for such a trip. But I paid that thought no attention, unfortunately, and took the other one since I hate driving the truck and figured I was just “running errands” anyway.
BIG mistake. 12 30-lb. bags of rain-soaked mulch later, and the back of the Highlander was a wet, brown, mulchy disaster. And not just brown because it was mulch and hence full of dirt. I mean brown because it was colored chestnut brown. Hooray. Sure I had sheet upon sheet of Stein’s complimentary plastic down and over it all to try and spare the car, but I may as well have been lining it with tissue paper for all the good it did. Why I thought this was going to be easy, I have no idea. Not only was the shit heavy as hell (especially since my plan to get back into shape and regain a modicum of muscle strength has continuously failed so far), but I was not dressed to ruin my clothes so was trying very hard not to smear this crap along my jeans and jacket as I flung the bags around or stand in the river of brown dye that was pouring out the back of the car as it got increasingly weighed down with each bag. I’m sure I looked like a complete idiot – first I had to lug these dozen bags down off the pile in the store’s outdoor yard and onto my orange wheeled cart while trying to figure out what to do with my purse without ruining it, then I had to use all my strength to haul the cart up to the checkout window, then I had to return to said window twice to get more plastic sheets since it was so much messier than I expected, then I spent who knows how long trying to lift each bag back up off the cart and place it in the back of the car so that it didn’t splatter mulchy crap water too far up the sides and backs of the seats in the middle row. Ugh. SO not happy driving home, just knowing the monster clean-up job that awaited me upon removal of all 360 lbs. of mulch when I dumped the bags into the driveway.
Once I had all the mulch unloaded and the mat from the cargo area laid out to be scrubbed and dried in the sun that was still shining at that point, I went inside to see how D had been for Daddy. Guess what awaited me in there? Another mess, yippee! R has begun his latest hobby of charcuterie, and this was his weekend to try his hand at homemade sausages and bacon. I have sung his praises over and over for being such a great cook, but bless his heart, he is not the best cleaner-upper. Especially when it comes to raw meat, I don’t take any chances. I like knowing that everything has been thoroughly cleaned and sanitized so as not to leave any salmonella or e. coli running around the kitchen, where D loves to scoot around and put everything she can find into her mouth. So I fed D some lunch (not fun since she was being a pill and was cranky all weekend, which added to my mess-induced anxiety) while (not-so-)patiently waiting for him to stuff the last casing and take everything down to the big freezer, then proceeded to scrub down the counters, sink, faucet, and floor to remove every last bit of raw sausage and grease that I could find.
Ok, now at least a good hour later and D down for another nap, back out to my mulch. I got the floor mat scrubbed with soap and thoroughly rinsed, but you could totally still see where the brown puddles had been. Great. Too bad, that was just going to have to wait until Sunday to be rewashed. I had more pressing issues, like actually getting all this mulch into the gardens before the threatening rain clouds that had now blanketed the area unleashed their fury on me. 2 hours, 4 gardens, 12 empty mulch bags, and one very tired back later, I was done! And I think they turned out pretty well, ifidosaysomyself.
Front lamppost (those are the hostas I transplanted from my Mom's house)
Front garden (tulips and hyacinth in front, hostas in back, 2 different lilac bushes)
Driveway garden along neighbor's garage (day lilies, hostas, bleeding hearts, lilies of the valley)
New peonies garden along other neighbor's garage in the back yard (pardon the mismatched bricks. i need to work on that)
Back garden (tulips and bleeding heart in back, crocuses and some other little ground cover plants in front)
And just in case you’re interested, here’s what R was working on to create the mess mentioned above:
He turned these 2 pork shoulders...
...into this plate of sage, garlic, and red wine sausages...
...and this plate of bratwurst
D wanted in on the Rausages action
And he turned this pork belly...
...into this batch of bacon, curing and waiting to be sliced as we speak
I really hate messes, but I always do feel great once they’re cleaned up and the world is right again. On Sunday I mopped the living room, dining room, and kitchen floors, then went outside to mow and rake the lawns and admire my mulch. 🙂
Osama Bin Laden is dead. For those of you who went to bed before the report came out last night and haven’t yet tuned into the media this morning because you like to use my blog as the supreme source of all things newsworthy ( 😉 ), let me repeat – the motherfucker is DEAD!! (sorry, i do use curse words, and in this instance i think it’s highly appropriate) The mastermind behind the 9/11 terror attacks has finally been killed, nearly a decade later, and I, for one, could not be more pleased. I will never forget where I was when I heard the news that gave me goosebumps last night – standing in my bedroom, getting ready for bed after D had one of the worst screaming nights of her life so far. I will also never forget what I was doing on 9/11, because I was there that day.
I came out of the subway in the World Trade Center right as the first plane struck the building.
I was 5 blocks away when the second plane struck the other tower.
I wandered my way through the streets of lower Manhattan in total confusion about what was actually happening as the subways and ferries shut down, stranding me on the island.
I looked up and saw the flames and smoke pouring from the majestic buildings.
I watched in utter disbelief as the first tower came crashing down in a mountain of crumpled steel and ash (and, horrifyingly enough, thousands of bodies).
I ran in sheer terror as the cloud of noxious smoke, dust, ash, and who knows what else from that building charged through the narrow streets on which we were already amassed, trying to avoid being smothered and trampled.
I felt elation when the mother of my friend at whose apartment a couple of us camped out for the afternoon finally got a call through on his land line and I was able to give her my dad’s phone number to call him and tell him I was ok.
I felt immense guilt and sadness when my dad told me they found my youngest sister in an empty study hall classroom in high school that morning after hearing the news of the attacks, silently crying because she was afraid I was dead (that thought still does and probably always will make my cry when i picture her there).
I walked miles through the deserted streets that evening trying desperately to find a subway train that was running back to my home in Jersey City, across the Hudson River from Manhattan.
I was so incredibly fortunate to have been spared that day and make it back to my apartment that night, exhausted and delusional with fear.
I smelled the odor of the smoldering pit where the towers once stood for months and months and months after that day, a gruesome and constant reminder of what happened there.
That man stole so many lives that beautiful Tuesday morning and burned a permanent hole in the history of this country. I will never, ever forget the magnificent sense of American pride I witnessed after those attacks as the nation banded together in an effort to remember those who were lost and vow to get the villain who did this. And now we finally have. Am I naive enough to believe that now terrorism will just magically end? Of course not, duh. But this is definitely one victory for the good guys.
Welcome to Hell, Bin Laden. I’m pretty sure there’s a huge and extremely fiery seat waiting to cook your ass for all eternity.
I don’t know how many times I’ve said this to R in response to his frequent complaint of “I just wish I was really good at one thing.”
Um, hello? You’re great at everything! Let’s see, where should I begin the list? I know, sports:Â football, basketball, baseball, track. Throw in pretty much any other sport that involves throwing, catching, or running, and he’s good at that too. Up next, things at home:Â only ANYTHING, seeing as he has now single-handedly rebuilt and remodeled almost our entire house – structure, wiring, plumbing, duct work, appliances. He can even sew! He also shovels snow in winter, helps mow the lawn in summer, and takes out/brings in the garbage cans. What else? Cooking:Â duh – we all know he’s amazing at this and does all of it for our household. Additionally, all things mechanic or electronic:Â he’s changed the brakes on our vehicles, given them oil changes, helped replace a heater core (what? don’t ask – it was a miserable project), fixed window motors, replaced radios, and he is famous for his knowledge of every gadget from cell phones to computers to TVs and everything in between. And don’t forget all of his hobbies:Â home brewing, charcuterie (and basically anything meat-related), motorcycles, music, kites, model rockets, photography. That list is pretty much endless. Is there anything this kid can’t do? In a word – nope.
Now me, on the other hand. I am really good at one thing. Swimming. I swam all through high school and college. I was a State Champion in high school, All-American in college, Academic All-Big Ten in college, and I held a school record at UW-Madison (that has long since been broken, but still. it was up there for a little while. :)). I’ve also been a US Masters National Champion in my years since college. Wow, SM, you’re a stud. Yes, yes, thank you, please hold your applause (modest, much? ;)). But, please notice how short that list is – ONE thing. See R’s up there? He has like a million. Sure I can kick your ass up and down a pool, but when it comes to being good, even moderately good, at a whole host of things, I fall far short.
This conversation always makes me curious, too – does everyone want to be really good at one thing? Like really, really, good, as I am with swimming (i’m sorry, i’m not usually so blatantly cocky, but i’ve learned to look back on my swimming career and be really proud of my accolades after downplaying them for many years)? Or would most people prefer to be good at a lot of things, as in R’s case? I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be able to do pretty much anything I ever need for myself instead of having to ask for help all the time over being able to swim fast. Unfortunately, I swim fast.
Oh! How could I forget the most important thing R is good at? He’s the most fantastic, wonderful father – D is a very lucky little girl.
Daddy and D getting ready to hunt for eggs
He let her put all the eggs in the basket - so cute!
One thing you may not know about me is that I love gardening (or did I already tell you that?). I never would’ve thought it would be something that tickled my fancy, seeing how most things domestically-oriented don’t. But once we moved into our house and I started digging around in the existing gardens and transplanting things and planting new things and experimenting with what works and what looks good where, I found I really have a knack for it.
And I absolutely love seeing my gardens bloom each year and look pretty. I’m big on bulbs too, since they come up each year without me having to do any more work. 😉 I’m super excited about the new row of peonies this year that I mentioned before – I checked last night and all 6 are sprouting. Hooray!
This weekend my mom sent home some hosta plants for me, and last night I planted them around our lamppost in the front yard. A few years ago I dug up a little circle around the base of it to make room for some color in the yard, and I usually plant dahlias around there. But last year they didn’t do as well as they have in years past, and it never fails that they get nicked with the lawn mower at some point during the season.
I was thinking about putting daffodil bulbs in there this year because I love them and they’re one of the few spring flowers I don’t have anywhere, but then I got these hostas and figured it’d be just as easy to put them there instead. I’ve already filled a lot of space in our other gardens with hostas that I transplanted from under a bush in the back yard, so I was running out of spots for these new ones and I didn’t want them to go to waste. I think they turned out pretty well.
Lovely weather we're having.... AGAINUp close and personal
I didn’t dig a super deep hole for these guys, so I really hope they thrive here. I’m hopeful, though, since they were already sprouting when my mom dug them up for me.
We received an awesome surprise on the doorstep yesterday, too. My great aunt J and my mom’s cousin J sent a beautiful quilt for D. That’s nice, but what’s so special about a quilt, you wonder? It was my great-great-grandmother D’s (so D’s great-great-great-grandmother D), and she was the one after whom our D was named.
I had no idea this quilt was coming, or even existed, so I was very excited to get such a wonderful heirloom. And it is even more special for D since it came from her namesake. The note with it said my great aunt J remembered seeing it in her grandma D’s house when she was younger, and it was probably made in the 1910s-1920s.
How cool! I had R take a picture of it on my phone this morning, but it turned out really blurry. I’ll take a better one tonight, but at least you can get the idea.
D will be the 6th generation to have this quilt. Awesome!
I absolutely love family tradition, so getting this quilt for D means a lot to me. It will be the perfect cover when she transitions to a big girl bed from her crib. Her great-great-great grandma D will be watching over her each night and blessing her with sweet, sweet dreams.
Last night R grilled porterhouse steaks and Texas toast and made smashed red potatoes for dinner. I am so lucky. And we paired another delicious bottle of wine with the meal:
I’ve never understood that phrase. Who wins something and gets a chicken dinner? What kind of contest do you enter that carries that prize? It’s never sounded very enticing to me either. Like oo yay, you won whatever you were doing, so here’s a big pile of chicken. I picture a heaping plate of fried chicken, of which I am not a fan. Maybe that’s why the whole saying is a bit perplexing to me. If I win, I want something good – cash money, bling bling, trophies along those lines. Not a plate of greasy chicken bits. Ew.
But anyway, it is a fitting title for this post because R made teriyaki chicken sliders for dinner last night, the second invention with his new meat grinder. Um, holy awesome!! These were some of the best mini-sandwiches I’ve ever had. They were made of ground chicken breasts, green onions, garlic, ginger, and real soy sauce, topped with cherry horseradish mustard, and served on pretzel dinner rolls.
I’ll just let the picture speak for itself. And yes, I had 3 of them.
