Archive for March, 2013

Chocolate and Bunnies and Eggs, Oh My.

March 25, 2013 8 comments

Easter Sunday is NEXT WEEK!!!  I am telling you this just in case it has snuck up on you the same way it has me, and I want to spare you that moment of panic when you look at Hubs and screech, “It’s next WEEK!” and he calmly looks back and says, “I know,” then you feel like a hysterical moron.

We are not a church-going family, so I don’t need to go buy a bunch of fancy-schmancy clothes or bonnets or the like.  (I may, at some point, disclose more about my feelings on church, but since it is highly personal, complicated and a real hot-button topic, I may not.  Suffice it to say that we have faith, we believe in God and we are well-schooled in the Bible and organized religion.  We just don’t go to church.)  We do, however, have other Easter traditions that I need to organize in ONE WEEK.

Now, my kids are too old for the Easter bunny.  I have reached a point in my mommy-life where I should be able to drop this charade.  Sadly (for me), my youngest will not have it.  He will not fess up to knowing the truth about Santa, the Easter Bunny, or any of the other lies we tell our kids when they’re little and it’s cute.  Hubs has strictly forbidden me from saying the words, “…so and so is not real.”  I have to wait until I am approached.  I am totally convinced that this will never, ever happen and I will be forced to stay up late every damn Christmas and Easter eve until this child moves out of my house so I can pretend some mythical being has left gifts.  I don’t know why he carries on with this.  He lost a tooth last week.  When the “tooth fairy” came to visit, he woke up.  He watched me walk into his bedroom, leave money lying on his night stand, then walk back out.  The next day he mentioned something that he wanted to buy with the money the tooth fairy left.  OMG, son!  Please just give it up!!  I am so tired of this!  I have been doing this for more than a decade, I need a break and, for the love, I need to ask you what you want for Easter because you are an eleven year old boy and I have no clue what to buy you unless you specifically tell me.  I have a feeling I’m going to need to have his sister talk to him about this (since I am not allowed), and explain that the gifts will keep coming, even after we all know the deal.



So, even though these kids are too old for the Easter bunny, and would probably be quite happy with cash instead of piles of candy, I have to be cute.  I have to find little gifts  and clever bunny candy and a bunch of other crap that will kind of fit in a basket.  And, shit.  I also need to find their baskets.  I am quite sure that there is a troll living in my attic with an impressive collection of Easter baskets hidden away, because I lose those suckers on a regular basis.  I can’t even explain it.  I know the exact location of my high school yearbooks, which I have not touched in twenty years, but I can’t find two brightly colored baskets that I carefully stored away just under a year ago.

There is one tradition that I am pleased that they haven’t outgrown yet.  Coloring eggs, of course.  We have dyed eggs on Easter eve every year, and I’m not willing to give it up.   So you can imagine my delight when I asked my grumpy teenager if she is too cool to color eggs with her family and she said, “No, of course I want to color eggs!”  Haven’t lost her quite yet, friends.  So I’ll boil approximately four hundred thirty-two eggs, we’ll have a delightful evening dyeing them all, then I will find have to find many uses for hard-boiled eggs in the week to come.  Some will be pickled, some will be saladed, some may even be deviled.  Many others will be thrown away when I realize how very long they have been sitting in my fridge.  The casualties of Easter.

And, naturally, if you know anything at all about me, you know that Easter dinner is a big deal.  Because there’s ham.  I cook ham twice a year, and, by God, I will have ham on Easter.  Hubs has been making some noise about lamb, but I’m ignoring him for the moment.  He did this to my Christmas ham a couple of years ago and I’m ignoring that, too.  He decided we should have prime rib roast on Christmas.  Fine.  Fine.  He cooks a prime rib.  I cook a ham.  Eat what the hell you want, but I am having ham.  I suspect he’s just messing with me about the lamb, but it matters not.  I’ll still have ham, mac and cheese, maybe some broccoli salad and a big-ass banana pudding.  If he doesn’t eat ham, that just means that I don’t have to make stinky potato salad.  Winning.

The clock is ticking, and my biggest obstacle remains… my son and his Easter basket.  You know what?  I think he’ll get clothes.  Maybe a basket full of shirts and socks will cause him to rethink his stance on the matter.  Never let it be said my children didn’t come by their skills of manipulation honestly.




From the Mouth of My Babe

March 18, 2013 12 comments

I’ve always taken pride in the fact that I can talk to my kids about anything.  I have tackled every difficult and/or embarrassing topic life has to throw at us.  It’s not always easy and it’s never fun, but I do it, because it’s my job.

Until tonight.

Allow me to set the stage.  The boy and I were making dinner.  He was in charge of putting the pork meatballs onto a wonton wrapper, then I would fold it.  We had a nice little operation going.  Then he started getting bored and silly and he said the following:

“Eat my meat.”

GASP!! Remember the scene from A Christmas Story when the mom called Ralphie’s friend’s mom?  “He said WHAT?  WHATWHATWHAT??!!”



Now, seriously.  He just turned eleven.  He thinks fart jokes are the height of humor and laughs if someone says “balls”, but he’s not yet so vulgar as all that.  I know he was talking about the actual meat that we were actually going to cook and eat.  But still.  I couldn’t let that pass.

Me:  Don’t say that.

Boy: Don’t say what?

Me: Eat my meat.

Boy:  Why not?

Me: It’s vulgar.

Boy: What are you talking about?

Me:  HUBS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Please come talk to your son!!!!

Boy: Can I say eat THE meat?  Is that better?

Me:  NO!  That is NOT better.

Hubs:  Look, if you say that and there’s no meat around, people think you’re saying something dirty.

Me:  So just don’t say it.

Boy:  Oh.  Okay.

We carry on making dumplings.  Then I hear the ghost of a whisper….

“Eat THIS meat.”

Give me strength.

How to Shut Your Teenager Up (for a minute)

March 18, 2013 14 comments

I don’t know how much of this will apply to teenage boys, since that experience is still ahead of me… however, I do know that when my daughter turned thirteen, a switch got flipped in her previously sweet and gentle little heart.

I have since spent much less time with her, since she has told me that the time of her enjoying her parents has passed.  Those times that I do get to spend with her, though, are usually filled with her nonstop chatter, generally trying to convince me of something.  I am, apparently, bad about interrupting, because she tends to preface these with statements such as, “Now just hear me out,” or “Keep an open mind.”  My open mind generally lasts about thirty seconds, but she will not stop talking.  There are ways to deal with this, but since many of them end in anger and high volume, I have been forced to find other options.  I don’t enjoy yelling at my kid, and she doesn’t enjoy listening to her mother, at any volume.  Therefore, I’ve experimented and found all of these techniques to be useful.  As in her toddlerhood, distraction is the key.  I just have to be creative in the distraction.

  1. Pet her face.  Nothing shuts her up faster than me running my hand gently across her face.  It’s also effective in making her lose her train of thought.
  2. Throw a pop culture reference at her.  One night she was delivering an impassioned speech to her father and I about why she doesn’t need a babysitter.  She stated, “I’m old enough.  I’m smart enough.”  I absolutely could not resist adding “And doggone it, people like you!”  Trust me, the five minutes of her parents snorting and hysterically laughing prompted a new topic.
  3. Get extremely serious, look straight into her eyes and say, “SHHHHHHH.”  It works surprisingly often.
  4. Twist her words.  Take something that she says and pretend to be offended and outraged by it.  The conversation will immediately turn to her assuring you that she meant no harm.
  5. Start dancing.  Bonus points if you’re in public.  No one wants to talk to a dancing fool.
  6. The mocking game.  Remember when your little ones would annoy each other by parroting every. single. word. the other said?  Time to turn the tables.  (warning, this one is likely to result in her stomping out of the room.  It’s very fun if you can deal with that.)
  7. Find a chore.  Nothing ends a conversation faster than a statement like, “Hey, while we’re talking about this, you can help me fold this laundry.”
  8. Start asking questions.  A lot of questions.  Start with relevant questions, then wander off onto random tangents.  It’s likely that she will forget what she was on about in the first place.
  9. About the time she says, “Keep an open mind,” reply with “Okay, but I had a really bad day and I’m really crabby right now.  What can I do for you?”  She will vanish.
  10. Duct tape.

disclaimer.  I haven’t actually used the duct tape.  Yet.



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Taking Back the Glory

March 18, 2013 10 comments

For the past couple of years, Hubs’ work schedule has allowed him to get home about an hour earlier than me.  This is completely wonderful, because it means that he cooks dinner.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind cooking at all, but there’s something delightful about walking into the house at the end of the day to find dinner ready, or at least mostly ready.  Also, he’s an excellent cook, so everything is invariably delicious.

This practice, however, has had an unexpected result.  Because he cooks most often, and because it is so good, my children have developed a belief that he is a better cook than I am.  My son often says that dad is the cook and mom is the baker.  This is WRONG.  I can cook my ass off and I take great offense at these people accusing me of being the second best cook in this house.  Not only am I a good cook, but I can walk into this house at 5:30 and have a meal on the table, dishwasher loaded, help a kid study and wash a load of laundry by 6pm.  Unlike my sweet husband, who is completely incapable of preparing a meal without totally trashing the kitchen in the process.

Now, though, circumstances are conspiring to put me back on top.  Hubs has recently announced that he will be working late until further notice, and I will now be responsible for dinner.  Oh, dude.  I have so got this.  My time has come.  Time to put an end to all the silly jokes (that are not funny) about my cooking shortcomings.

Last night we were scheduled to have fried rice and pot stickers.  Sadly, I had a giant lapse and forgot to take the ground pork out of the freezer.  That pushed pot stickers to a Monday meal.  This is an issue because, generally, this is a family activity.  It takes a long time to make a pile of dumplings, therefore, we make the kids help us assemble them.  We have a tiny little dumpling sweatshop, if you will.  Pushing this meal to Monday means that (dumdumDUM)  I am on my own.  Also, I don’t believe I have ever actually make fried rice.  The thing about having two cooks in the house is that you both develop your own specialties.  He makes fried rice.  I don’t make it, because I’ve never had to.  I know how to make it, but the pressure is on.  Believe you me, if it is not as good or better than Hubs’ fried rice, I will hear about it.

The other issue is that this meal requires a lot of things to happen all at the same time.  My sweet little son assured me that he will likely not have homework tonight, and he will be happy to help me.  That’s super generous of him, and I will absolutely take him up on it, but he’s too short to effectively manage the wok and the actual cooking of pot stickers is not for amateurs.  My daughter, who has much more experience in the kitchen, and is significantly taller, would undoubtedly be a huge help.  She, however, did not volunteer her services, preferring to lock herself in her bedroom to watch youtube videos and catalog all the ways in which her father and I are lame and unfair.  As her mother, and queen ruler of everything in her life, I could require her to help, but then she would just get that look on her face that makes me get all irritable and start quoting Dazed and Confused at her. (“Get that face off your head!”)  Sometimes it just easier to roll on and be thankful that at least one of your children still likes you.

So, off I go to prep everything I possibly can early in the day and try to develop a workable timeline, or possibly create a clone.  I also need to come up with a list of ways in which my good child can assist.  (oh relax, it’s a joke!  Neither one of mine are that good.  hahahaha!)  If I can get through tonight, tomorrow is Greek chicken pitas.  That’s the easy stuff.  If I play my cards right, I’ll claim my rightful place at the top of the cooking pyramid by the end of the week.

Damn it, Alton Brown!

March 17, 2013 15 comments

I have a particular problem with Alton Brown.  I mean, besides the problem of wanting to kidnap him and keep him in my attic and love him forever.  I want to eat everything he cooks.  All of it!  He makes all of it look good, even the stuff I don’t like.  Eggplant?  Why yes, I’ll try it.  I mean, I’ve never like it before, but I probably wasn’t cooking it right.

Well, maybe I wasn’t cooking it right, that’s debatable, but eggplant is still disgusting.  I’m reminded of a coworker who tried to pick a fight about venison, insisting that I don’t like it because I don’t cook it right.  Bullhockey, my friend.  I don’t like it because IT DOESN’T TASTE GOOD.

Anyway, this problem I have makes watching Good Eats a dangerous proposition because I start thinking I need to cook whatever AB is cooking.  There are issues with this:

  1. I’m a pretty good cook, but I am not at Alton Brown level.
  2. I do not typically keep bricks, terra-cotta planters, or spare coolers around for my culinary adventures.
  3. I am not an adventurous eater.

Add to all my own issues the fact that I can get my children to eat ANYDAMNTHING if I tell them it’s an AB recipe.  After all, Alton has brought us our Thanksgiving turkey, our indoor steak cooking method, curry chicken pot pie, the proper coffee ratio  and, most recently, donuts.  A lot of my go-to recipes are from Good Eats.  There’s no denying his brilliance, even if he sometimes complicates things for no apparent good reason.  (Surely I am not the only one who saw the episode when he smoked a salmon in a hotel room with a hot plate and a cardboard box??  Jeezy peasy, you order takeout in a hotel.  That is what takeout is FOR.)



Anyway.  The other night Hubs and I saw the oatmeal episode.  Now, I am not a fan of oatmeal.  When I was a child, I was not a breakfast eater, yet my mother routinely force fed served oatmeal for breakfast and required that I eat some.  I won’t say that’s the reason I eschew oatmeal in my adulthood, but it probably is.  (Love ya, Mom!)  Although I don’t eat it, I do like to serve it to my son.  It’s healthful, it’s an easy breakfast and it’s filling enough that I don’t have to listen to a whole damn soliloquy about how he starved all morning at school.  (I’m not neglecting my daughter.  She’s not a breakfast eater, either.  I don’t fight it.  If you can’t figure out when you should eat by the time you’re thirteen, then maybe you deserve to get hungry.)

So, naturally, I was intrigued by the prospect of AB’s overnight crock pot oatmeal.  I decided to make it last night and have a nice warm breakfast for this morning, and hopefully enough leftovers to get me through the week with the boy, because apparently you can’t eat Cheerios if you have an extremely loose tooth.  Let me just say first, I KNOW it was my fault.  I accept full responsibility.  Well, not full.  I do blame Wal-Mart a little.  I botched the recipe.  Completely.  Here’s the issue.  The recipe clearly called for steel-cut oats.  I know for a fact that my local Food Lion carries steel-cut oats, so I just assumed that Wal-Mart would, also.  Well, you know what happens when you assume, right?  That’s right, you end up standing in Wal-Mart muttering curses so fierce that the employee stocking shelves starts blushing.

Important note.  Steel cut oats and rolled oats ARE NOT interchangeable.  A smart girl wouldn’t have tried it, but I carried boldly on.  It’s just oatmeal, right?  Nah, it’s really oatmeal soup now.  Oatmeal soup stuck to the sides of my crock pot with all those expensive dried blueberries completely WASTED.  Apparently steel-cut oats require a whole lot more cooking liquid than rolled oats.  And to add insult to injury, I check the cooking directions on the side of the oatmeal to see if I could manage to produce some kind of breakfast today.  You know how long it takes to cook oatmeal on the stove top?  Five minutes.  I just slow cooked a five-minute product for eight hours.  And ruined some perfectly good blueberries in the process.

I give up.  They can have bananas for breakfast.


March 11, 2013 8 comments

I’ve been on a bit of a quest lately to start cooking new things and I’m dragging Hubs along with me.  This has been good in that we’ve expanded our “we can make that” options, and also kind of bad because I find myself eating like a fat girl far more often than I find myself working out like a fit girl.

Anyway, I considered maybe starting a new blog to highlight our adventures in cooking new things, then I decided that since I barely have time to maintain this blog in a proper way, the best solution is just to mix in my cooking stories with my kid stories and general rants and raves and keep it eclectic.  So here’s our new recipe of the week.  Donuts.

It all started when Hubs turned on Good Eats.  Donuts?  And on the boy’s birthday weekend when I can justify cooking special occasion things?  Why yes, I think we will.  I said to Hubs, “We should make donuts Sunday.”  I was completely prepared for rejection.  He isn’t a huge fan of giant projects of any kind early on Sunday morning.  So, I was floored when he said, “I’ll make the donuts if you make the glaze.”  What?!  You’re going to make the dough that has to rise twice and has yeast in it if I mix milk and powdered sugar in a bowl?  Hells yeah.

I should mention here that I do not play well with yeast.  I am a notorious yeast serial killer.  I have issues with water temperature that are so severe that Fleischmann’s has taken out a restraining order.  Therefore anything made with yeast must be done by Hubs while I serve as his lovely assistant.

It started badly because of the Daylight Saving Time godforsaken theft of my hour.  In addition, we were up late Saturday night with two Mountain Dew-fueled boys determined to party like it’s 1999 in celebration of the old one-one.  So, we didn’t even get out of bed until almost eight am.  Bad news when you’re making a breakfast that’s going to take something like two hours just to prep.  Lucky for us, those boys were up far later than we were, so we shifted breakfast to brunch with one fell swoop.

We decided to double the batch.  First wrong decision.  But look, we already know that this is something that we’ll cook maybe once or twice a year, so we may as well go big.  Too many donuts?  Not a real thing, my friends.  The problem is that while too many donuts isn’t a thing, too much dough in the KitchenAid is absolutely a thing.  So the mixing process was harder than it needed to be, but we prevailed.  Gummed up every moving part of my mixer, but, by God, we made the dough.

Rise number one – wait one hour.  We wisely used this time to watch the last, then first episodes of Friends while arguing discussing who should go to Walmart to correct the horrifying toilet paper shortage (one roll.  two bathrooms.  you can see the issue.) and whether it’s acceptable to leave someone else’s child in the care of our thirteen year old.  In case you’re curious, we made do with the one roll until we could all go to Walmart, because it is, in fact, not okay to let your barely-teenage daughter babysit someone else’s kid without their express written permission, and 3/5 of the population in our home were males anyway, who require toilet paper only in very specific circumstances.

Time to roll and cut them out.  Interesting note.  I do not have a donut cutter or the correct sizes of plain round cutters to make my own donut cutter.  Happily, I do have a cocktail shaker with parts of the correct sizes.  I am certain that Alton Brown would applaud my multi-tasking creativity.  So we got so many donuts cut out and all set for the bench proof.  In the meantime we started heating a truly alarming amount of oil in the dutch oven.  Another interesting note.  If you fiddle around with the candy thermometer too much while it’s clipped to the pot, there’s a high likelihood that it will eventually fall into a pot of hot oil.  When this happens, there is a certainty that Hubs will freak the eff out about the candy thermometer that is deep-frying.  Stay calm and don’t even think about touching that hot ass thing for a good fifteen minutes.  Just fish it out with some tongs and set it aside.  All will be well.

Things got a little crazy for a while.  Hubs was frying (they go fast) and, as per our agreement, I was glazing.  Yet another note.  The amount of glaze called for on this episode of Good Eats is an outright lie.  I must have made fifteen batches of glaze, all while trying to keep pace with donuts that fry for exactly two minutes.  I felt a little like Lucy at the candy factory, but there are only so many donuts you can cram in your mouth.  (Less than one, in fact.)

All said and done, it was a success.  They were eerily similar to Krispy Kreme donuts, and really, not as much trouble as they seemed.  Now we know the pitfalls.  Single batches only, make extra glaze and try to avoid deep-frying your kitchen tools.  And buy some extra toilet paper ahead of time.

For the recipe, check out Good Eat yeast donuts.  Trust me, it’s totally worth it, all thirty-eight hours of it.


The Weekend of the Liebster

March 11, 2013 16 comments

In the past, I have not always participated in blogging “awards.”  However, two of my fellow bloggers were kind enough to nominate me for a Liebster recently and I feel a mere (genuine though it may be) “thank you” doesn’t suffice.


So, what is a Liebster?  Well, it’s not a trophy that I can put on my mantle, unlike the cookie contest and 5K trophies that sit with pride under my TV.  (Ironic, yes?)  However, trophy or no, this one is an awfully big honor.  Let’s face it, it’s no great accomplishment to bring home 2nd in your age division for the 5K when there are, um, two women in your age division running.  But the Liebster is recognition from my fellow bloggers and, in this great big blogging world, it really is something to be noticed.  And so I am truly honored and I offer my most heartfelt thanks for the nominations.  Please check out the following blogs from my nominators, you’ll be glad you did.

Not Pretending (To Be Sane) and Postcards From My Guilt Trip

Now, the way this works is this.  I have 11 questions to answer, so you can all learn a little more about me.  (As if I don’t ramble on enough.)  In turn, I will provide 11 new questions for my nominees and notify them that they’ve been nominated.  Easy peasy!  You will notice that I’m answering two sets of eleven questions, that is because I am lazy and accepting this award twice in one post.  Please don’t think that lessens my appreciation, I’m just naturally a multi-tasker.

Questions from Amy at Postcards:

1)      If you had to pick one song to play on a continuous loop in your casket for all of eternity, what would it be?

Well, presuming that I am dead, it won’t matter much to me.  For the benefit of those visiting my grave, I would choose Dead by They Might be Giants.  For irony’s sake.

2)      Favorite food?

All of it.  I love all food, but if I really, truly have to choose, it would be my husband’s beef chimichangas.  I mean the ones he makes, not that I’m stealing them off his plate.  I would steal them off his plate, though.

3)      Best vacation ever?

Last summer at a tiny little island town that reminded me of Jaws, with fewer man-eating, vengeful sharks.  It was peaceful and quiet and it charmed the hell out of me.

4)      Screw, Marry, Kill… Gilbert Godfrey, Weird Al Yankovic, and Mike Tyson

I might consider marrying Weird Al.  He’s funny and I’m sure he’s loaded, so it could work.  As for the other two, I’d kill them both and take a vow of celibacy.

5)      What is your favorite swear word?

Ass.  It’s so versatile.  Dumbass, smartass, ass clown, ass hat, ass face, kick your ass, kiss my ass…well, you get the picture.

6)      What famous character in a book, movie, or tv show is most similar to you?

Clark Griswold.  I tend to get a little intense, especially where vacations and holidays are concerned.

7)      Any tattoos?

Flowers on my back, SpongeBob on my stomach, Green Bay Packers on my shoulder and a duplication of the engraving on my engagement ring on my ankle.  This is how I break my parents’ hearts.

8)      Hall pass or celebrity crush that you would totally sleep with if the opportunity presented itself?

Scott Conant.  TOTALLY.

9)      Most embarrassing moment?

I don’t know about most embarrassing, but the most recent was when I tore a big ol’ hole in the seat of my pants (right across the ass cheek) at work.  Yay, me.

10)   Last meal?

Just give me a buffet of everything and I’ll eat until I throw up.  It’s the last one, why the heck not?

11)   Why do you write?

I frequently tell my children that everyone has a specific skill set and it’s important to use it and develop it.  Writing is what I have.  I am happier and more at peace when I can get all the crazy out of my head by writing it down.

Questions from Jodi Lea at Not Pretending:

1. How old were you when you had your first romantic kiss?

I was twelve when I had my first kiss, but I would not call it “romantic” per se.  A boy kissed me when we went outside to clean the erasers at school.  Not the stuff of movies, I’ll tell you.

2. What was your favorite TV show – at age 12 and now?

I may have been a little younger than 12, but I had a mad obsession with L.A. Law.  Today it’s a toss-up between Parks and Rec, Psych and any competition show the Food Network has to offer.

3. Ever hit a skunk on the road? Tell us about it (or a comparable experience).

I’ve never hit one, but I do have a skunk story.  One weekend when we were out of town, my redneck neighbor saw a skunk run under our storage building.  He chased it, shot it and threw the corpse in the woods across the street from our houses.  I’ll let your imagination run wild with the aroma our neighborhood took on in the warm days that followed.  To this day I can’t fathom his thought process.

4. Your best vacation, ever – Describe it.

As I mentioned before, it was our beach vacation at a quiet island.  I can’t stand busy vacations and I adore the beach.  A quiet beach, local ice cream shops and quaint downtown shops in walking distance.  It was awesome.

5. Football, Basketball or Baseball? Why?

Football.  I don’t really know why, I just don’t like the other ones.  I think maybe football appeals to my violent nature.

6. Describe something you do better than everyone you know.

This is hard.  I do a lot of things well, but better than everyone?  I don’t know.  I can make a mean chocolate chip cookie.

7. Do you agree with the Academy’s Oscar choices?  Which movie would you choose for Best Picture?

I have no idea.  The last time I watched a movie, it was Back to the Future, because my kids had never seen it.  I rarely watch movies.  I can’t get invested into many things for that length of time, and it’s hard for me to sit still.  Seeing movies in theaters is a special kind of torture for me.  So for Best Picture?  Back to the Future.

8. Hairy chested men or smooth? (For the guy’s – blondes or brunettes?)

If I can’t choose any middle ground, I’d lean toward smooth.  I like my men to not look like they’re wearing a sweater when they take their shirts off.

9. Are you a lover or a fighter?

Fighter.  I’m contrary, irritable and have incredibly high standards that no one can actually meet.  I try to temper my temper (ha) with humor so the people can bear to be around me.

10. Name something you had to learn the hard way.

How to relax.  I’m uptight and I spent most of my life taking things too seriously.  There was no defining moment, but as I get older, I realize more and more that I just need to relax and laugh a lot more.  Hubs and the kids keep me grounded and remind me to reign in the crazy.

11. Name a good book you’ve read recently.

To Kill a Mockingbird.  Somehow this one slipped through all the education required reading (controversial, yes, I know) and I just never got to it.  Thanks to my dad for suggesting it to me because it was so, so good.

Now, I shall choose my nominees, ever so slightly drunk with power.  I think I read somewhere that the Liebster is actually meant for bloggers with under a certain number of followers, but I’m disregarding that and just choosing blogs that I enjoy and want to share with my readers.  (If I have previously nominated any of your for an award, there’s no pressure.  It’s just that I love you.)

The Chatter Blog

Travel. Garden. Eat.

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Grandma Says..


Motherhood Is An Art

It’s Been A Slice!

This is the Corner We Pee In

Woman Gone Mad

Poop On My Hands

Ah Dad…

Questions for My Nominees:
1. Beef or chicken.  Why?

2. What is the thing that you’re the most proud of accomplishing?

3. Where’s the most interesting place you’ve ever visited, or the place you’d most like to visit?

4. Do you cook?  Why or why not?

5. What is your favorite thing you’ve ever written?  Was is received the way you expect and/or hoped?

6. Your very favorite pick-me-up song?

7. Do you opt for convenience or sustainability?  Aka: paper plates or extra dishes to wash?  (ps, there are no wrong answers, cause I do both)

8. What is one word that you always misspell?

9. What is your stance on raisins?  Healthy treat or unwelcome chewy devil?

10. Do you find spontaneity exciting or unsettling?

11. What is your favorite beverage?

And there we go.  The single longest post I have ever written, even counting my outraged rant at my crappy home health company.  Also, I screwed up ever single link I put in this post and had to do them all over again.  Because I’m an idiot.  Anyway.  One more big round of thanks for Amy and Jodi Lea for giving me the opportunity.  Now, go read these awesome blogs!

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