Aw, nuts!

There I was, minding my own business at the playground, when WHOMP!  I rubbed my head as I looked down...then up.

(Um, why do we always rub our heads when they get bumped?  

Never really helps, right?) 

Two large nuts on the ground, squirrel in the tree above.  And I'm quite sure I heard him laughing.  I took a step back to get out from directly underneath him and more nuts came cascading down, this time partially chewed.  I moved again, more nuts.  I moved again, more nuts!

I'm quite sure that squirrel was out to get me...and wondering just a little bit if he knew the scorpion I smashed the other day, and was looking for vengeance. 

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The Excitement of Bran Muffins

I think I have to chalk it up to age that Dave and I are both super excited about this new bran muffin recipe I just found.  We seriously love them!  And what's even better is that I make them in my mini-muffin tin so they're yummy and cute!

And what made it more exciting was that the recipe amounts were all metric, so a conversion calculator was my best friend.  And it called for buttermilk, which I never, ever have, but I figured out I could make a substitute myself with milk and vinegar.  And I changed the recipe to substitute a banana for the sugar.  And there are raisins and apples in them, too!!

These are exciting times, people!  Math, science, and regularity all from one particularly delicious food item.

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These Boots were Made for Stomping

...and I'm feeling so guilty about it.

The thing is, I was at another amazing rocketry event.  I always embrace my inner cowgirl at the events (boots, jeans, cowgirl hat).  It's really all about safety.


hat:  safety from the sun

boots and jeans:  safety from the plants and critters I come across as I fetch rockets

entire ensemble:  hopefully safety from ranchers with guns who catch me trespassing on their property on my quest to find the rocket.


So far, so good.

Well, today I had the urge, shall we say, to use the port-a-potty on the site.  I went in, began to do what I'd gone in there to do, and a scorpion skittered across the floor around my left boot.

I thought about what I should do...for about two seconds...and then I stomped on it.

OK, sure I could've opened the door and kicked it out, but like I said, I was in the middle of doing what I'd gone in there to do.

If I hadn't stomped it it could very well have run right up my leg...again, middle of doing, yikes!

And, gee, it could've scurried away and then stung the next person who came in.  Talk about guilt.  It'd be even worse than what I'm feeling right now.

Anyway, I sure hope he comes back as a butterfly in his next life.  I promise I'll do him no further harm.

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Lemonade Love

My yard without a lemonade stand looks nekkid!  I think this is the first time in about ten years that there's not a lemonade stand in front of my house during the Austin City Limits Festival.  Apparently being almost fifteen is too old.  And being eighteen is WAY too old.

But...when it all started, and the little guy was four and the big guy was eight, they'd hold up signs and enthusiastically shout to passers by.

"Ice cold lemonade!!!!"

My little guy would run down a house or two and try to talk folks walking down the street into making a purchase from his big brother.  My big guy would hold down the fort managing the money and distributing the bev's.

It's funny when a tradition finally goes by the way-side.  Funny, nostalgic, and totally appropriate.  Those little salesmen will be missed this year, I'm sure.  Feeling super glad that I still have one of their signs from the first lemonade stand ever.

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Zombified and Desensitized

With the new season of "Walking Dead" available on Netflix....


Me:  "Are you going to watch the new season of 'Walking Dead'?"

Little guy:  "No, I haven't watched the second season yet.  Are you?"

Me:  "Yup."

Little guy:  "Isn't that the show you couldn't watch at night because it would give you nightmares?"

Me: "Sure was.  It's scary!"

Little guy:  "It's not scary, it's just a drama."

Me:  "Ya, a drama about zombies that want to eat people...SCARY!"

Little guy:  "You're a wimp, mom."


So, yes, I'll be watching it.  No, not at night.

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Upholstery...the "do"s and the "don't"s

I was reminded today (you don't want to know how) of something Dave taught me many, many years ago.  So long ago that it was actually when we were dating...perhaps about twenty-three-ish years to be exact-ish. 

I'm pretty sure we were in Sears and we were looking for the first of many Archie Bunker-type chairs that we'd have in our house.  We sat on them.  We leaned them back...we're all about recliners, you see.  We debated their durability.  And we considered the most important thing of all, their resistance to flatulence.

And, my friends, let me share the tidbit of wisdom my boyfriend at the time taught me.


Dave:  "Cloth upholstery absorbs fart smells.  Leather doesn't."


So...If you've ever wondered why this non-cow-eating chick swears by her family's leather couch...well, now you know.

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"In a Minute" is Subjective at Best

I've finally figured out why my little guy seems to think that "In a minute" actually means, well, up to an hour...at least!

You know how when you're a kid time seems to take for-e-ver.  It's an eternity to do a three-minute empty the dishwasher job.  It takes a million years for the school year to go by.  And the time between birthdays, Christmases, whatever is somewhere in the gazillions of hours/days/years.

So, I suppose it's no wonder that this is how our daily conversation seems to go.


Me:  "Do you have any homework?"

Little guy:  "I dunno."

Me:  "When will you know?"

Little guy:  "In a minute."

Me:  "As in sixty seconds?"

Little guy:  "I dunno, probably longer."


And he makes no move to move an inch...for at least the fifteen minutes until I got around to writing this.

I think if I'm patient and wait a thousand years he'll get over it.  But for now, I think I'm gonna go give him a "minute" long hug.

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