tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44917790786793383432024-03-13T08:55:15.961-07:00cinco de estosAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-78825706976727375052012-08-03T11:44:00.001-07:002012-08-03T11:44:38.119-07:00<a href="http://cincodeestos.wordpress.com/">http://cincodeestos.wordpress.com/</a>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-397816336139390292010-08-08T21:22:00.000-07:002010-08-08T21:22:54.003-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cincodeestos.com/"><span style="color: #073763; font-size: x-large;">www.cincodeestos.com</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TYSpI6CaSr9mg0b_RIk9QMmk4IFhXe7uVtKEQlz1tbsPfDp0YACygCyGUb851cL33dlbQwqHcjqitWIr9G5RT_4FSXhcS3d0ypCUMbgFesPHTM4KA3cgp2DtJGYavKUz9qMpWXhz4DZf/s1600/moving-box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6TYSpI6CaSr9mg0b_RIk9QMmk4IFhXe7uVtKEQlz1tbsPfDp0YACygCyGUb851cL33dlbQwqHcjqitWIr9G5RT_4FSXhcS3d0ypCUMbgFesPHTM4KA3cgp2DtJGYavKUz9qMpWXhz4DZf/s400/moving-box.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-74671310761475176192010-08-05T22:29:00.000-07:002010-08-06T07:14:21.990-07:00Up And RunningAfter calling go-daddy tech support at least 3 times, speaking to one guy who audibly rolls his eyes somehow at people who call themselves "not very techy"... to another guy who <em>NICELY</em> goes, "Oh! You purchased your domain thru google.apps - that's not something I can access - let me transfer you now to google" - back again to bad music on hold.<br />
<br />
And then *swoon* - very geeky voiced <em>JEREMY</em> gets on the line. I explain in my newly found techiness, I "want my DNS" to "map" to wordpress, but also have the "forwarding" "mask" my wordpress URL with my domain - because this is how techy you get in 24 hours after reading and reading troubleshoots and racking brains silly. Ahhh... and so. He "maps". But then I had to call back, spoke to a very nice girl in Scottsdale - who assured me we all have to get our techiness start somewhere - and then I was connected back to <em>JEREMY</em> to have him "mask" the URL. Ya follow?<br />
<br />
And after proposing marriage, offering a make-out session in the back for fixing the mess I made in the first place - we agreed a. we were both already married b. miles and miles away and c. had Brent 10 feet away feeding the Bunny some veggies... I hung up, felt a load off and we can now sing our lovely Mr Rogers song. Zip your sweater up too far and then back down just right. Toss your sneaker from one hand to the next and SAVE THIS TO YOUR FAVORITES!<br />
<br />
It's official like a referee with a whistle baby! I'm my own lady. I march to the beat of my own drum for $10 a year. How ya like them apples! You can subscribe to email alerts when I ever write a dad-blasted note. You can look on there however much you want. And it makes me feel all sophisticated and stuff.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cincodeestos.com/"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: x-large;">www.cincodeestos.com</span></a></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-71858146028777876182010-08-04T23:17:00.000-07:002010-08-04T23:24:13.605-07:00New AddressTalk about a holy headache. This domain techy bizz is rather complicated and irritating - especially when I'm a fixater, yet not <em>that</em> techy, and neglect my children's needs. Only their board game-needs, okay? I'm not starving anybody.<br />
<br />
SO. I'm finding I genuinely like wordpress as a "hosting" agent for my blog address. Lots of reasons. But here's that address below. Until I figure out the actual cincodeestos.com situation on-hold with tech-support with kids yelling in the background, I might as well send you there. Save it. Erase it. Use it to wipe - I don't care. But here it is.<br />
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<a href="http://cincodeestos.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #38761d;">http://cincodeestos.wordpress.com/</span></a><br />
<br />
Really. The same deal with wordpress instead of blogspot in that place.<br />
<br />
However, if you'll notice at the top of the new site - all the lovely linkies you can click the "About Me" - About Brent - or even about the dog, Andy, and such... it has taken way too much of my time, so if I never write again, don't email me privately, Jeni. But you can sign up for email alert when and if I ever do think of something I need to put to paper... err... keyboard.<br />
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PS: <a href="http://thestuffmykidssay.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #38761d;">Verbatim</span></a>'s there too on the right. So is the <a href="http://forthoseabouttocook.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #38761d;">Cook's Club</span></a> at the top. All in one-stop-shopping ease (for me). So, until next time. Won't you please. Won't you please. Please won't you be my neighbor... Goodbye, neighbor.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-24996566128675038922010-08-03T13:07:00.000-07:002010-08-03T20:53:02.234-07:00To Polish a TurdDo you know what would be nice? Winning the lottery. That's what. I'd even share some with you. But I'm not going to hold my breath. You go right ahead, though. In fact, I'm not even going to buy a ticket. So, how this is going to happen for me, I don't actually know. But, I'd still love to win. I can't imagine I wouldn't love a fun find even if I had all the money in the world to spend. I'm talking about a bargain here, people.<br />
<br />
I recently saw this picture and immediately wanted a gumball machine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrm2Pz6bK8334cNPtsDUTHucUH7l9cn5UsCwM5b0sEjr5Y0IyMzpKLpEOuIFxCRn1polNOz_LOrmc7yuc7TQqNr5fMFj6SlBlXBNSgzWSNn4h26dCy68w0baUrFYi8HSdiS1mFCweEPsV/s1600/kitchen+idea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrm2Pz6bK8334cNPtsDUTHucUH7l9cn5UsCwM5b0sEjr5Y0IyMzpKLpEOuIFxCRn1polNOz_LOrmc7yuc7TQqNr5fMFj6SlBlXBNSgzWSNn4h26dCy68w0baUrFYi8HSdiS1mFCweEPsV/s400/kitchen+idea.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>So, to ebay I went. I found loads - and fell in love with a particular yellow antique machine listed for $130. Yeah. My eyes fell out of my head too. I contacted the seller via email and asked a few questions about it. I mean, it said feel free to contact the seller with any questions. I wasn't actually thinking I was going to get away with spending that much on a gumball machine without being at least resented for approximately 4 years. <br />
<br />
I'm not some vintage vending enthusiast, after all, and neither are any of my friends. I'm not going to have someone over who is going to gasp and fly across my kitchen to closely examine the authenticity of the original color, glass and key. Because of course... those features are to be expected when acquiring such a specimen. No need to have those be the biggest selling points, Dear Ebay Seller. And I realize maybe asking Ebay Seller a few questions about it when I had no intention of really buying it might have been a little annoying, perhaps a waste of their time. <br />
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It could be why after an email or two the tone went from "Thanks for asking; I'm taking offers." to "Maybe you should shop more often at The Dollar Store if you're going to be so insulting!" after having made the comment I was only interested in spending $30 tops [an unofficial, off-the-record thought, not an actual low-ball offer over ebay]. And maybe it was unnecessary to smart off with "$130. Good luck with that." and "Oh, for the gumballs! Thanks for the tip!" in response to the Dollar Store suggestion.<br />
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And so... I went on with life. I called a few local places. No real luck. Then, I called one last place. The lady had two. She agreed she would put my name on BOTH until I could make it<span style="background-color: white;"> out there</span> after the baby's nap as it would be at least a 20 minute drive without traffic. I got all geared up. I headed over. I walk in and low and behold! A gumball machine in the shape of a mallard duck with a giant glass globe coming out of its hind end as if the thing farts gumballs. Hmm... can we see the other one? She lead us around, up a step, down a step, stroller barely fitting thru the place. And then - I could hear a crescendo of angels in glorious harmony as we happen upon The. GUM. BALL. MACHINE.<br />
<br />
It's yellow.<br />
<br />
It's... old.<br />
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It works.<br />
<br />
And.<br />
<br />
Guess how much it was.<br />
<br />
Go ahead. Guess.<br />
<br />
Thirty bucks.<br />
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And all I have to say to Ebay Seller? La Dee Frickin' Daw!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLR9XkK5uzaEUKW985Fyna4-vBYqWeulFHfe6dRyPefNMd58u17of0aZLGeRC5-4JQaCUOO5cJovS5P43dyak5yXGlUBSmWh7MF_iSbGhAmBww6iHIlhOIYdiRhUHRHnIO8FOp-tw8UsL/s1600/IMG_2209c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieLR9XkK5uzaEUKW985Fyna4-vBYqWeulFHfe6dRyPefNMd58u17of0aZLGeRC5-4JQaCUOO5cJovS5P43dyak5yXGlUBSmWh7MF_iSbGhAmBww6iHIlhOIYdiRhUHRHnIO8FOp-tw8UsL/s400/IMG_2209c.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've also decided the dealy bop in our room I got from my mom's might be better used in the living room for the dad-blasted toy situation I've got going on. We'll see, but I did already go back to the same gumball machine place to find a fantastic dresser for under $100! It needed a little dust-down, but otherwise I LOVE it and it's going to either be in addition or just instead of the other thingy. See, design has to change with the needs of the client like that. Pictures later.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-39414205057312123182010-07-31T09:19:00.000-07:002010-07-31T18:55:27.310-07:00It Rolls Around So Quickly<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqNjOR30ccUzfuw93Emyjn_7b9JBhDp6OEO1z1anvzqaZI0wdfpVtki0HVAyp6xi52RARhn3x-pjHfgGm5JEZB5VAfSa3LmcOiXq_kpD-arN8l73B-IyewTJKtWP8cO-fa7vwmWw0CIGO/s1600/IMG_2203c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 312px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500179422562925010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqNjOR30ccUzfuw93Emyjn_7b9JBhDp6OEO1z1anvzqaZI0wdfpVtki0HVAyp6xi52RARhn3x-pjHfgGm5JEZB5VAfSa3LmcOiXq_kpD-arN8l73B-IyewTJKtWP8cO-fa7vwmWw0CIGO/s400/IMG_2203c.jpg" /></a>So that plan? The one where I scheduled fun things to do tucked in there around baby naps and grocery trips and, ya know, the random "quality" attention devoted to the other two children that were HERE FIRST? Yeah. That didn't quite go as scrupulously as I'd intended. In fact, the actual lay out of calendar events might have helped had I done one.<br /><br />But, so here we are. Two and one-half weeks away from the beginning of the school year. Eighteen days to be exact until we have our informal "Meet & Greet" come-and-go. <a href="http://simmandco.blogspot.com/2009/08/did-you-say-deaths-daughter.html"><span style="color:#cc0000;">This day</span> </a>last year was here and gone in a flash - it really doesn't seem very long ago at all, certainly not a whole year.<br /><br />But my gosh, could these people look any younger in that old post pic? I miss those two front teeth missing on the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jingleheimer</span> - and the stick-legs on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span> in his little "skinny jeans" make me miss his little self. They have both gotten rather large. Not like we need to go to fat camp, just growing up. Gone are the days of skinned knees with a swift scoop-up of the injured to supply the TLC. There are injuries - but typically, communally inflicted between the male minors - making me less T L or C. But those instances I am needed for a "Dang! That smarts!" - the picking up is more of a lugging toward - and the cuddle time is more like a back-breaking stunt.<br /><br />And well, summer is almost over. Lame as it may have been, it was nice to have the breather. 3rd and 1st and carpool and routine here we come. But first... haircuts.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-63766191060305944302010-07-27T21:13:00.001-07:002010-07-27T21:39:32.718-07:00Fraction ThingiesTurns out, our favorite "Cheryl Show" hostess is a bit of a semi-professional photographer with a knack for making people feel okay about calling <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shutter_speed"><span style="color:#cc0000;">shutter speed</span> </a>"fraction thingies" when asking for help. I am also aware that these aren't anything to submit to a famous gallery of photographic art, but I played a little today with a spastic, moving target, and here's what happened. Or at least what's recognizable:<br /><br />In this one I hear "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">COOOOOKKIIIIEEEEE</span></span>" super <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">grunty</span></span> my head. It's the lens cap that dangles from the camera <em>not </em>the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">antenna</span> connected to the button that bombs North Korea. Thank you, Jesus. We'd have a real problem.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46Qe2IuzaETvAFrXbFsMnj8rQPnP37ywaPlkFzRanRc9_rzE683X5VoZ9uR_VaXS4R4YK2BTNQa8uPdWo9iK6MM14ZpILbM00zETNFT2epU-ckdbWObLP_M4gc72f4D0pKmpTpGZQAcL5/s1600/IMG_2115c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498807934149004626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46Qe2IuzaETvAFrXbFsMnj8rQPnP37ywaPlkFzRanRc9_rzE683X5VoZ9uR_VaXS4R4YK2BTNQa8uPdWo9iK6MM14ZpILbM00zETNFT2epU-ckdbWObLP_M4gc72f4D0pKmpTpGZQAcL5/s400/IMG_2115c.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxO9vQD1DRjef9OxOIjCWCiP9VoZU8hgBAGKSZ5Rk392gYqhpPe1RQEayAG4pEWp-xT0lnjJs_6KbUbIvu7mNq8DpW52gQB2f9SrhPe6VVvKROMk589SB4xrVNIV_6o-T9SjrFs2-BLA_/s1600/IMG_2132c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 292px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498807606684006482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxO9vQD1DRjef9OxOIjCWCiP9VoZU8hgBAGKSZ5Rk392gYqhpPe1RQEayAG4pEWp-xT0lnjJs_6KbUbIvu7mNq8DpW52gQB2f9SrhPe6VVvKROMk589SB4xrVNIV_6o-T9SjrFs2-BLA_/s400/IMG_2132c.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhMiUQITD9RVRVT4M7dXDwbgmnxMlncNryagVSeinfguwfujoGxgB80Ji_nNc3hOw_q1-7vzpfIHvDxf7LWXmgQBSXFXeraz3RR0v2qdlCm2m_K3Sc2perPTWqHjxMZUQT5w_XH0J53K1/s1600/IMG_2129.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498807599798319282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhMiUQITD9RVRVT4M7dXDwbgmnxMlncNryagVSeinfguwfujoGxgB80Ji_nNc3hOw_q1-7vzpfIHvDxf7LWXmgQBSXFXeraz3RR0v2qdlCm2m_K3Sc2perPTWqHjxMZUQT5w_XH0J53K1/s400/IMG_2129.JPG" /></a>I just love the back of this kid's neck. It's so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">foldy</span></span> in all the right places and scrumptious too.<br /><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8duzuEHhUYjBZSQjgUxld1reqY1Drq8m3AIXJkd2hVr9ePPQWrpsa9NEZMD4ULC-g02CPqMUDCB6bRSvuxY0oo-xKvN2btL3a7rvFo2fqhsnqCaYjV5kLvotDB7aGaoWOulz6hDY1-HdT/s1600/IMG_2139c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498807590723715378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8duzuEHhUYjBZSQjgUxld1reqY1Drq8m3AIXJkd2hVr9ePPQWrpsa9NEZMD4ULC-g02CPqMUDCB6bRSvuxY0oo-xKvN2btL3a7rvFo2fqhsnqCaYjV5kLvotDB7aGaoWOulz6hDY1-HdT/s400/IMG_2139c.jpg" /></a>And then I took this one a week or two ago with my phone - it's grainy, I know. But I think she's so pretty.<br /><br /></div><div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRc4eLzYA_rDpowSMblStlzMGFv5641jt-kmWYUrAS18lbaOcH8y9YCJLrvXM-5U5VWIGibHVej-OBDsk5Wy1B_aN7NIkxlznDWavtR3NpZj5eZmYRkBu6vZ3CMr0BFrTaSDZERYm447E/s1600/Ruby7.9.10.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498807943875666914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRc4eLzYA_rDpowSMblStlzMGFv5641jt-kmWYUrAS18lbaOcH8y9YCJLrvXM-5U5VWIGibHVej-OBDsk5Wy1B_aN7NIkxlznDWavtR3NpZj5eZmYRkBu6vZ3CMr0BFrTaSDZERYm447E/s400/Ruby7.9.10.jpg" /></a></div></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-17314051223340396662010-07-23T06:59:00.000-07:002010-07-26T12:14:13.662-07:00A Little Production<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTziLhmlZYOevS5AxAy-4rY3Urj70Skh0qZ3wmkeDTSSzEdudDuTnhntzwTBT901UOXJDW25JGAhohookvk4ocYymefabQuF9i-07g8yxa755qog3KAD8RSJWXnNWqE9Sy0iJD5JM6YUT/s1600/goat+cheese+sandwich.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498046874693448898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTziLhmlZYOevS5AxAy-4rY3Urj70Skh0qZ3wmkeDTSSzEdudDuTnhntzwTBT901UOXJDW25JGAhohookvk4ocYymefabQuF9i-07g8yxa755qog3KAD8RSJWXnNWqE9Sy0iJD5JM6YUT/s400/goat+cheese+sandwich.jpg" /></a><br />Do me a favor. Somebody. Fast. Get a thumbtack. A sharp object. Something. My ego is a tad inflated. Much. Inflated. Friday night was the premiere of the very first "Live Cooking Show"... which ... I wish we could somehow call "The Cheryl Show" for reasons beyond my control - it rolls right off the tongue, for one. But it's just really a cook's club now - or - well... is in the making. Could I have gathered my thoughts before composing this? Apparently not. I think maybe my head is still spinning from all the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">whilry</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">girly</span> <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Oooo</span></em> and <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ahhh</span></em> and dotes and spankings. Well, there were no spankings. But still. Might as well have been - the kind you get from teammates after a home run. 'Cause that's what this was. A homer on a bed of greens.<br /><br />The idea I might like doing this all got started a really long time ago when - at a friend's house - I watched her heat and eat what looked like a particle board chicken patty with spray-paint grill marks. And look, if you have to make things work with what you have, I am not about to snub that. She was a single mom at the time, had to maintain a heart-rate, ya know, and the mitochondria of her 6 year old son. It just made me want to help the situation with a few ideas. So... I [not at <em>all</em> controlling and take-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">overish</span>] decided to show up with ingredients and tools in-hand to give her a what's what on a simple, delicious meal or two.<br /><br />[and... time lapse]<br /><br />Then, it seemed I became a tiny bit of a go-to on what to make for this or that. I'm not talking about masses here, people, just a few friends. One in particular was in charge of lunch with her family at a reunion - and apparently the mother-in-law is a bit of an intimidating cook, only because her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">everythings</span> are flawless, I hear. So, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Reunioner</span> wanted an idea on how to wow her peeps. Snazzy mayo on some nice sandwiches and the crowd went wild. So, ya know - that sort of thing - an idea, not necessarily full on culinary school on the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">DL</span> in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">someone's</span> home kitchen.<br /><br />[cut to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">facebook</span> a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">monthish</span> ago]<br /><br />Someone claims to need serious tutoring on the cooking front on her "page". I guess she can cook all sorts of Paula <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Deeny</span> blankets on weenies, but needed to know how <em>not</em> to drown vegetables in butter - inspired by her experience at <a href="http://www.mycoolgreens.com/"><span style="color:#cc0000;">Cool Greens</span></a>. I offered to come over. Lots of people chimed in. One gal shot her tons of recipes on email. And then silence. No reply. But then I get a personal "Were you serious about coming over?" message from an entirely different gal. And there you have it. The ball <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">rolleth</span>.<br /><br />So, in front of 8 gals, in the hostess' unbelievably fantastical kitchen, I demonstrated [<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">ie</span> prepared, showed, talked about, served] three items plus one cheesecake already done ahead of time - by me - don't be getting any ideas I showed up with some picked-up cheesecake, you guys. I'm all about the baked goods. It was a blast. It was a trip. We laughed and then laughed some more. I made a <a href="http://thecooksclub.blogspot.com/2010/07/goat-cheese-pepper-sandwich.html"><span style="color:#cc0000;">warm goat-cheese and red pepper sandwich</span></a>, a<span style="color:#cc0000;"> </span><a href="http://thecooksclub.blogspot.com/2010/07/panzanella-green-salad-with-chicken.html"><span style="color:#cc0000;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">panzanella</span> green salad with chicken</span></a>, and <a href="http://thecooksclub.blogspot.com/2010/07/orzo-with-lemon-parsley.html"><span style="color:#cc0000;">orzo with lemon and parsley</span></a>. Everyone raved. Everyone overate. And now I hope nobody catches on I'm trying to make them all fat as hell.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-33010335810201060482010-07-20T13:14:00.001-07:002010-07-22T13:20:07.985-07:00Gap Dot ComI ... really might be super smart. Not even kidding you right now. I am so excited. About being a possible genius. And about being finished. Completely finished. Done. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I'm yours - full-on finished shopping for the boys' school clothes. I did it all online apart from the shoes we got yesterday buy-one-get-one half off plus a friendly swipe of a $30 coupon the check-out gal had. I told her I'd tackle and kiss all over her face for giving us the random coupon if it weren't weird. And believe you me, she looked like she might have been okay with that. I don't mean she looked gay. Just affectionate. Since you can tell both simply by looking at someone. Or at least I can. I have <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">gaydar</span> and affectionate. Dar.<br /><br />The school clothes part's true. Probably the genius part. Maybe the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">affectionatedar</span> part. But the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">gaydar</span> part is a misnomer presumably. It's still a funny word [funny ha ha] and funny [funny weird] when people claim to have a legitimately flawless set of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">gaydar</span> skills. I'm not talking about pointing out the chubby dude dressed in a rainbow flag-turned-strapless-dress at the gay pride parade. I'm talking about hanging up from a political campaigning <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">robocall</span> convinced the automated voice's owner is gay. Like you can just tell these things.<br /><br />I don't even know how I got here. I usually can't tell you how I get most places. But I was going to say how wonderful this is having thought to save myself the migraine and days recovering from several shopping trips with these people. THESE PEOPLE! Dear Lord these people. They are <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">iiiiiin</span> to the way they dress - something I'm sure I've addressed here before.<br /><br />But this morning, I hear them talking at length about something. Then, they stormed downstairs with a firm plan in place to change <em>into </em>pajamas to wait for the UPS truck delivery as the tracking info predicts today the day of the school stuff arrival. I dashed those dreams with a quick reminder - the UPS truck usually arrives around 5pm when it arrives. And I have things to do. Places to go. People to see. And <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">pjs</span> are just all wrong for that sort of thing. So, they got dressed for real.<br /><br />30 minutes later, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">JHeimer</span> started changing his clothes. Why? Why!? Please tell me WHY you change clothes at least once a day! <em>Because these BRAND NEW JEANS aren't comfortable</em>. Were they uncomfortable when you tried them on? <em>Yes</em>. Then why didn't I return them before you 1. liked them 2. agreed to wear them 3. pulled the tags 4. said nothing about their comfort being on the dreadful? <em>Don't know</em>. Well, tell me what's wrong with them - are they too tight, scratchy, too stiff, what. <em>They are too "boot cut" and not "straight cut" enough in the leg</em>. Um. You don't get to change your clothes today - I guess until we have to try on the new stuff if it comes.<br /><br />I'm still excited I don't have to shop for backpacks. Or lunch boxes. Or socks. Or anything. Let's all pray these things fit flawlessly. And not too boot-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">cutty</span>.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-90791479802674470252010-07-20T08:04:00.000-07:002010-07-20T08:29:31.285-07:00Alright! Fine!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwiwfnUSAB3aLkQD3bGH4IYpYFb9M3kHktsU9Ng78A7w6LBWzNCIGDv28GePoch1UxjuDynj6EDv0Ww1ubVhPOPtCXWOSenwuerjh5T8ZxGOppFnijZu0J-DpRSdXZnTPOB3YccLM_-Df/s1600/dressforbunny.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496004636813554434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwiwfnUSAB3aLkQD3bGH4IYpYFb9M3kHktsU9Ng78A7w6LBWzNCIGDv28GePoch1UxjuDynj6EDv0Ww1ubVhPOPtCXWOSenwuerjh5T8ZxGOppFnijZu0J-DpRSdXZnTPOB3YccLM_-Df/s400/dressforbunny.jpg" /></a>I admit it! I found this dress for Bunny so marked down I ordered it in a size 4! It was the only one left. Sue me.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-37865222136314543042010-07-19T09:24:00.000-07:002010-07-19T13:32:31.658-07:00Like The Sun's FaceI would completely understand if every last one of you were to collectively, unanimously and in unison flip me the bird. I realize declaring this summer not as hot as last may not have thrown the whole universe into a tailspin straight for the gates of hell. But it may have. I'm tight with the Lord like that. And He likes to show me who's boss. So, probably. This is out of control. This kind of hot makes swimming really miserable. Might as well take a hot bath outside in this weather with broken salivary glands in a wool coat. Careful. Don't drown.<br /><br />Wanna know what else is out of control? Shopping for girl things. Look at these. Could you just fall over? They're in the mail headed for Bunny's feet.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_y-iZsauSuqTdIWkZbQmn5_MZt-s9RmVHZEIwhZ865DiTUzbOhG4GY4_eJYSQHWrmcoTQXKsoMmDvYHmBBoDvrmMdpzvU2mzg_KJ787VaHw9SXJb3aOjEXW_74CigBqOe1DSdXOCSvSM/s1600/shoesforbunny.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 203px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 194px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495708113957603682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_y-iZsauSuqTdIWkZbQmn5_MZt-s9RmVHZEIwhZ865DiTUzbOhG4GY4_eJYSQHWrmcoTQXKsoMmDvYHmBBoDvrmMdpzvU2mzg_KJ787VaHw9SXJb3aOjEXW_74CigBqOe1DSdXOCSvSM/s400/shoesforbunny.jpg" /></a><br />And speaking of Bunny. She said her first full sentence the other day. It was "Could you pass the ketchup, please?"<br />Not really. She didn't say "please". Uh... hello. Rude.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-50980921582183444002010-07-16T07:40:00.000-07:002010-07-16T08:11:54.312-07:00Fun With AdjectivesI'd be more than happy to spend a day in the life of an 8-month old baby. Maybe that way I could gain a little perspective on what on EARTH the freakin' deal is with the sleep situation. I'd definitely get just as much accomplished being an 8-month old baby for a day as I am right now. You should see my house. Wait. No. You really shouldn't. It's a wreck. <br /><br />And maybe I'm spoiled, but the first two people I ever had were both pretty good sleepers. I followed a rather Hitlerish book's advice and had them both sleeping through the night by like 8 or 10 weeks. No lie. I mean, of course there were little windows of time there where they'd either be teething or growth-spurting, and wake up at 3am for a week until I laid down the law and got them back on track... because teeth and growing aren't reasons to throw our whole system out of whack.<br /><br />But this time around I'm admittedly less rigid. I've just kind of let things revolve around whatever naps are needed. On one hand that's been a lot less stressful. But on the other, it has made me rather non-committal about quite a lot of goings-on. If I'm to be at the mercy of a baby, it makes being planned at all pretty unrealistic - which - has made for a rather hermitish, anti-social kind of me that I don't really like. And that might make me start getting a little resenty except for the fact that the boys were both on lots of baby foods by now. It has only been a new thing to have the Bunny unclench her jaw and open wide like a starving chipmunk for the spoon. And with breast-feeding, there's no way of knowing how much she's actually getting. So, making sleep-allowances for a hungry baby has been just fine so far.<br /><br />Until we go to bed with a tummy full of sweet potatoes, blueberry-pear and two boobs-worth of milk. I'm kind of at my wits end. And kind of should not be around actual people. I think maybe this child knows what she's doing.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-48286022935073333202010-07-13T09:07:00.000-07:002010-07-13T13:26:17.652-07:00This One Has A Soundtrack<object width="200" height="180"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LQZLPV6xcHI&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LQZLPV6xcHI&hl=en_US&fs=1?color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="200" height="180"></embed></object><br /><br />So, Murph is a bit of a major blood phobe. I guess my med-school dreams are lost on him. It's too bad for him, too, because I really had myself backed into a corner the other night when I told him I'd get him a puppy if he let me pull his dangly tooth. I never said I was normal, okay? So you can wipe that look off your face.<br /><br />I was at his complete mercy, though, because I would have been in SO MUCH TROUBLE with Brent for promising a LIVE ANIMAL as he's typically the one who ends up with pet duties - just by default. He's who wants the dog to point, retrieve, and ya know... obey. But lucky for me, it only barely tempted Murph. The idea of blood at all was just way too powerful.<br /><br />But I DON'T GET IT! Why is he not even tempted one bit to wiggle the hell out of it himself? I'm a picker. I'm a puller. I yank. I tweeze. I shave. I trim. I wrangle. I floss. If I were ever in one of these<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Gq33velJHdLY9Bc4xUFLKwSuhyphenhyphenNFYUvST8_ferybMsJhdLRJWpOCnDBuq6tantr6Ovjqr1HD-OJvJJiIMMFlJzDgQLNdYLKVzaswwVQgexeo4Uwo7LH2_R7VSkFsB1Xx0rKyXfKnBxW/s1600/full+body+cast.jpg"> </a><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 230px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493406100373741474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Gq33velJHdLY9Bc4xUFLKwSuhyphenhyphenNFYUvST8_ferybMsJhdLRJWpOCnDBuq6tantr6Ovjqr1HD-OJvJJiIMMFlJzDgQLNdYLKVzaswwVQgexeo4Uwo7LH2_R7VSkFsB1Xx0rKyXfKnBxW/s320/full+body+cast.jpg" /></p><p>I would figure out a way to use my teeth, inevitably and definitely needing one of these around my neck.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEDhU25fXLBtTfj3MaZi2nBhLq7RkyPXp9-QJ-5gpVKAwIA7K6DH2s-cyxCw5Uihr80vGrV-gtJVbXI8_pwEgUTeYgVVClE8E1-X_v4qy8R-pNtM2OHei0cqOAvGbdRmgTVIdR65RVvt3/s1600/dog+cone.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 204px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493407535969755090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEDhU25fXLBtTfj3MaZi2nBhLq7RkyPXp9-QJ-5gpVKAwIA7K6DH2s-cyxCw5Uihr80vGrV-gtJVbXI8_pwEgUTeYgVVClE8E1-X_v4qy8R-pNtM2OHei0cqOAvGbdRmgTVIdR65RVvt3/s320/dog+cone.jpg" /></a>More than the blood phobia, I probably need to worry more about why in the world I don't seem to be able to just let it go - let the dangly tooth fall out in his sleep or on a deep breath because <em>that's </em>how far he'll go to save himself from the risk of blood. I don't know why it drives me INSANE. And I'm the resident physchologist, so you'd think I'd be able to figure it out. But also being the resident dentist, esthetician, barber, chef, baby-toenail-polisher, bather, dish-doer, bus-boy, tidier, lactation consultant (ie *<a href="http://www.hollow-hill.com/sabina/images/wonder-woman.jpg"><span style="color:#ff0000;">her</span></a> pretty much) - it just ends up being a total conflict of interest. However. <em>She</em> would put away her laundry. Maybe this is the problem. I'll go put some away and see if it helps.</p><p><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>*a reference I realize I've made <a href="http://simmandco.blogspot.com/2009/10/double-u-o-m-n.html"><span style="color:#ff0000;">before</span></a>. But, I mean I bet <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lynda_Carter"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Lynda Carter</span> </a>puts her laundry away... </em></span></p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-30538426569643662002010-07-12T12:32:00.000-07:002010-07-13T07:34:16.853-07:00The Master Plan StanI haven't decided on window coverings - and still looking for a thing or ten.<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb93-YVpbH24zlYnOPtbidknouz3ThtB1l8Q-_EcG76-fFZ7m4Rg9IEzE8tejmp0rbPnJJ2y_oAVXPITxpjHJfwouAJWcTMGlW89AMdPGvboYhuJSsUdYXxOUxvxBQrUw4ae8OhuF81b-A/s1600/IMG_2079c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493122194125592082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb93-YVpbH24zlYnOPtbidknouz3ThtB1l8Q-_EcG76-fFZ7m4Rg9IEzE8tejmp0rbPnJJ2y_oAVXPITxpjHJfwouAJWcTMGlW89AMdPGvboYhuJSsUdYXxOUxvxBQrUw4ae8OhuF81b-A/s400/IMG_2079c.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevWPFB_cEVhXaX2fBrkZhJ0Z_fLtXx_EKyos5RL9mHrjeoJjgfe6bM827KdG4JPlmGJF6PONmdvIB0iIBsG-ilUe_G3vg1t101dwwiVQQN7NzISwvxpAbqQxxbIbBucucrmVBKjCsLB0A/s1600/cIMG_2053.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 292px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493127277935143202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgevWPFB_cEVhXaX2fBrkZhJ0Z_fLtXx_EKyos5RL9mHrjeoJjgfe6bM827KdG4JPlmGJF6PONmdvIB0iIBsG-ilUe_G3vg1t101dwwiVQQN7NzISwvxpAbqQxxbIbBucucrmVBKjCsLB0A/s320/cIMG_2053.jpg" /></a> </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiq9ykxn6aPakgISF9MXGDXmGRUW42-TJYvIMwAZ7qb0KfbxuBbd3uH49MnpFA-UK6qGDFsSvMR8Faj_XAp1oqaQqwbWKbj4CdgONbGhR_j1WW2jyn0RTWqYbJeTYovqbLo8CEz7vd-Kfb/s1600/cIMG_2057.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 109px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493112029663231298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiq9ykxn6aPakgISF9MXGDXmGRUW42-TJYvIMwAZ7qb0KfbxuBbd3uH49MnpFA-UK6qGDFsSvMR8Faj_XAp1oqaQqwbWKbj4CdgONbGhR_j1WW2jyn0RTWqYbJeTYovqbLo8CEz7vd-Kfb/s200/cIMG_2057.jpg" /></a>I had [<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">e'hem</span></span>... Brent had] to majorly secure this cabinet thing I confiscated from my mother. It was as secure as the piece of gum Dennis The Menace used to plug the leak in his fish tank. I painted and scuffed the inside, found baskets the exact dimensions needed for all the yoga pants, and stuck a few other random things inside. It's not exactly finished. It needs the latch I found online, and maybe another fun find or three. Maybe a picture or two inside. Something else on top.<br /><br />Ideas:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FTnqyjJ226UKtSY13zmy5mQxrYlsmVheR0RT82Fq1DOqJ1YdQ0USPGv0kmGppZa5Z5GuiBle9mCw2dl4cvADpSjUcOOwAB33FHK-nvEnXCSbZyXZ9nvOuX7hAx2ypreQfQZmifroVbX8/s1600/jugs.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 153px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493130627621998322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FTnqyjJ226UKtSY13zmy5mQxrYlsmVheR0RT82Fq1DOqJ1YdQ0USPGv0kmGppZa5Z5GuiBle9mCw2dl4cvADpSjUcOOwAB33FHK-nvEnXCSbZyXZ9nvOuX7hAx2ypreQfQZmifroVbX8/s320/jugs.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uLe_-u9FOnPX5Q-Pkzfl2HuHxg63x9zmc2Rmz6WGLTE4ITXHmLp5PdRSe0DzuND-8o7vG1dhsTubMQJAbfrcAt-fG_TT33QkLdiDfrsC75-AVczxEfOHEKLI_MSnraPtJBof5N38wKb2/s1600/vase.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 186px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493131103259318754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uLe_-u9FOnPX5Q-Pkzfl2HuHxg63x9zmc2Rmz6WGLTE4ITXHmLp5PdRSe0DzuND-8o7vG1dhsTubMQJAbfrcAt-fG_TT33QkLdiDfrsC75-AVczxEfOHEKLI_MSnraPtJBof5N38wKb2/s200/vase.jpg" /></a> </p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWd0hjMPYvcz2C1OahnYfO0NSl8f6YdSRjgCuva_cKWG22uz7W2bqE5zmKs0l962MT3dS5p8mJU7Oh-0emNzA_90RDOj5SHCVVOnZy2BeR4VUbovExEHaSiq2x9AME5zR2Tpxt6NYTE2Ak/s1600/frame.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 195px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493131087000006242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWd0hjMPYvcz2C1OahnYfO0NSl8f6YdSRjgCuva_cKWG22uz7W2bqE5zmKs0l962MT3dS5p8mJU7Oh-0emNzA_90RDOj5SHCVVOnZy2BeR4VUbovExEHaSiq2x9AME5zR2Tpxt6NYTE2Ak/s200/frame.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmUKEef_MWNf0ogJxWIn28gRL2bNuW3iZrbijYFfd_EqcrriHT4pKpEK0Q3uDp8zamshZIwSQajuuhDokF14NHPBYRdTwCM9RNvD5N-Wol62JyFQ9ztAcwhCFKUk1eXzWwuRipLk1XrRu/s1600/bells.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493131059365380658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMmUKEef_MWNf0ogJxWIn28gRL2bNuW3iZrbijYFfd_EqcrriHT4pKpEK0Q3uDp8zamshZIwSQajuuhDokF14NHPBYRdTwCM9RNvD5N-Wol62JyFQ9ztAcwhCFKUk1eXzWwuRipLk1XrRu/s200/bells.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><br /><br /></p><p></p><p></p><p>These are two of the pieces of art hanging. I painted the 5 pair of shoes. The other was a gift from Brent. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFc3kJhLOuVGRu9nLhUv1iC62FR8OJccd1xW4NxmM_ElsWPUebeKTc4zahu8XBR7PkjQPNPbKuFPlJusAyqQywiRSKJUyKDr2f_70sK_YEhmNb2X8hHSQxVo-pgofbyhwezf7e-hfbUdn8/s1600/cIMG_2046.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 338px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493106540480851042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFc3kJhLOuVGRu9nLhUv1iC62FR8OJccd1xW4NxmM_ElsWPUebeKTc4zahu8XBR7PkjQPNPbKuFPlJusAyqQywiRSKJUyKDr2f_70sK_YEhmNb2X8hHSQxVo-pgofbyhwezf7e-hfbUdn8/s400/cIMG_2046.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLsa03KBO8eOTyfGN1dImaz09-RJu_YKQS0HHsKSIu1RtTP7oZOWk5xCK0KQuPHtxXI7V35vtAlm0056t-JxXf3HB9du4PVr0zvfRRLs9_p3GeERXaJWixQ3ooiq83tu38NCiAjfTDaVj/s1600/cIMG_2045.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 228px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493106538045773666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLsa03KBO8eOTyfGN1dImaz09-RJu_YKQS0HHsKSIu1RtTP7oZOWk5xCK0KQuPHtxXI7V35vtAlm0056t-JxXf3HB9du4PVr0zvfRRLs9_p3GeERXaJWixQ3ooiq83tu38NCiAjfTDaVj/s400/cIMG_2045.jpg" /></a> <em>"You're the strangest person I ever met, she said & I said you too & we decided we'd know each other a long time."</em><br /><br />Framed and hanging:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMeC5ikuwgdv3efa6amo2GehxYUo_ArWPJ9vfsrSChgUi50de0m4p2fxu1Oyl319uwI7Ry8d1hpzADrP6zpXhZQ2OB_KGk3VCJEeaX3nPwyghyWNvfeRRKLb1twL58FT2Yw1C_81GT2aE/s1600/IMG_1348cc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 129px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493110636385368994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMeC5ikuwgdv3efa6amo2GehxYUo_ArWPJ9vfsrSChgUi50de0m4p2fxu1Oyl319uwI7Ry8d1hpzADrP6zpXhZQ2OB_KGk3VCJEeaX3nPwyghyWNvfeRRKLb1twL58FT2Yw1C_81GT2aE/s200/IMG_1348cc.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFxefNiUVgtnENizsdEs2PO8kX5YDcArBL_2s5mAU08ge2dhmx_2XMs2N-g_FIuG-SB2eYAjo7myCpiWzda1SORd7xcRKuZ4cgal4-AJmSybxA2Utc1xu6F3OdnVz4w8Jbi8Rv5uEWm78/s1600/IMG_1365cc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 163px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493110631425618514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFxefNiUVgtnENizsdEs2PO8kX5YDcArBL_2s5mAU08ge2dhmx_2XMs2N-g_FIuG-SB2eYAjo7myCpiWzda1SORd7xcRKuZ4cgal4-AJmSybxA2Utc1xu6F3OdnVz4w8Jbi8Rv5uEWm78/s200/IMG_1365cc.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHh5c3e4261VE0SW-fvWWxSV-La0vlAxMDJUckRy_jFNbZAwelPZ0l2T3PoPpj2ZGTy_Rh2VtNiqsGshwqjzmP8i9R8FaTPYhV7U7qvLX1hCvJiIkUzb9khsJt3Iy4VFbExSx3oB2o6qj3/s1600/IMG_1240cc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493110624383771474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHh5c3e4261VE0SW-fvWWxSV-La0vlAxMDJUckRy_jFNbZAwelPZ0l2T3PoPpj2ZGTy_Rh2VtNiqsGshwqjzmP8i9R8FaTPYhV7U7qvLX1hCvJiIkUzb9khsJt3Iy4VFbExSx3oB2o6qj3/s200/IMG_1240cc.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7KvkVzNgCcKPOCwL2XoUVXmCIjiqFiy2prRsq-tqLc-SUGuzZjliuCWvtEDiLjQQ0HLeCKunW_IsNh7hkdTcqvl6JNWPjhKbOUrCRmTxKdeieBlyoICwzmez15PFCG0yMNg87EFbIaTp/s1600/almond+paste.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493108844441722754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7KvkVzNgCcKPOCwL2XoUVXmCIjiqFiy2prRsq-tqLc-SUGuzZjliuCWvtEDiLjQQ0HLeCKunW_IsNh7hkdTcqvl6JNWPjhKbOUrCRmTxKdeieBlyoICwzmez15PFCG0yMNg87EFbIaTp/s200/almond+paste.jpg" /></a><br />I used Olympic Zero <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volatile_organic_compound"><span style="color:#ff0000;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">VOC</span></span></a> paint from Lowe's in Almond Paste. </p><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p><br /><br /></p><p></p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And I'm looking for a chair to re-cover and something else to throw random stuff on - like keys - loose change... ya know, your usual space-taking suspects. Something like this.<br /><br /></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3_Fnvo26htoodeXvDiAYWv9kqH3sCeB9H8G8sLoY8gsmqI9l32ViHL_mlanq6jSdQsOOjZMLKefcjO1JUgdydkm8zsptOfem1YKvlyxNVEuxypeUenxDPyueSusAc1vXxGqwj3BWl5gE/s1600/chair.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 194px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493139815972033330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3_Fnvo26htoodeXvDiAYWv9kqH3sCeB9H8G8sLoY8gsmqI9l32ViHL_mlanq6jSdQsOOjZMLKefcjO1JUgdydkm8zsptOfem1YKvlyxNVEuxypeUenxDPyueSusAc1vXxGqwj3BWl5gE/s320/chair.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJ3Nj35dvHIbooFxj7fUuqOXPo75SmYN2vL0aLR-NdyQi3SS6stEM-jQA-F933MlNWNEesZON_U3S2z455GZntUWipBa0C2it3lCxUxmG4aFbt33UfSr7O0-WYncKsWg0BIq_r8iC7hxz/s1600/pillow.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 124px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 125px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493145577683352146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuJ3Nj35dvHIbooFxj7fUuqOXPo75SmYN2vL0aLR-NdyQi3SS6stEM-jQA-F933MlNWNEesZON_U3S2z455GZntUWipBa0C2it3lCxUxmG4aFbt33UfSr7O0-WYncKsWg0BIq_r8iC7hxz/s200/pillow.jpg" /></a><br />Covered in maybe a wide brown and white stripe or something geometric... a pillow like this on the seat. When I get around to it in my free time. In like. 2 years.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-19450970926834553832010-07-10T11:56:00.001-07:002010-07-12T08:20:30.799-07:00Hard KnocksSitting in front of a fan is not my idea of a great way to lower energy costs. Nobody suggested I do this. I just wanted to share that. It does somehow seem less hot this summer than last. That may be the case, or I may just not be toting a carry-on in my uterus. I did think, however, last summer I'd be just as hot pregnant as not pregnant. I may not have needed to pass out after 15 minutes laying in the sun on my stomach had the womb been empty, but a gal's gotta get an even tan somehow. And if that meant cutting off the circulation to the upper portion of my body for a quarter-hour, que sera sera. amen. goodnight.<br /><br />Really though, I truly may never lay in the sun on purpose again now that I have a daughter. How can I ever ground her for life for setting foot in a tanning bed if I'm saturated in vegetable oil during peak burn-risk hours? I seriously used to do that when I was 16 in the backyard. My brother too. No joke. My brother would tan in the backyard covered in Wesson.<br /><br />Dear blonde-haired, non-Italian, Bible-beating <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guido_(slang)"><span style="color:#ff0000;">guido</span></a>... how I don't miss the old days. We get along so much better now. I'd even venture to say I could room with him again and not get in scissor-wielding fights yelling, "I'm going to cut you with these!" tears streaming down my face after being punched in the stomach. I swear I'd only trimmed the long fringe from my cut-offs and threw it in my brother's floor to deserve the punch. He swears I'd kicked him in the nuts.<br /><br />We may never know. I guess unless we contact all the macho guys that were in his room in the first place I was showing off for by being the little sassy sister. Surely that'd make them <em>ALL</em> want to be my boyfriend. Uh'huh. Yep. I knew what I was doing at an early age. Or at least I knew to fly down the stairs crying to tell my mom the whole story, even including the part about calling him an a-hole before he could tattle. That way she'd understand he provoked the whole thing, and it was obviously his fault I had a filthy mouth.<br /><br />God help us all. I have one of these now. Let's hope she's got a lower setting on the drama dial. So far so good.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB6XVnraK7JDiB0VQJgyIHL4JkUqSABANyV8RCLVz3i_V5QPs2ecmRZ9pjbmrXomJmXCcGC9c_EYZMKrK0uwwpcFPDqMIGrGc_cMRvgVXhyphenhyphen0Is_qXqGiSdx-_h8_IqniEvhnXnYe_3oW3/s1600/IMG_2014c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492359689618519106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwB6XVnraK7JDiB0VQJgyIHL4JkUqSABANyV8RCLVz3i_V5QPs2ecmRZ9pjbmrXomJmXCcGC9c_EYZMKrK0uwwpcFPDqMIGrGc_cMRvgVXhyphenhyphen0Is_qXqGiSdx-_h8_IqniEvhnXnYe_3oW3/s400/IMG_2014c.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIzYWonJsPpczsJ7MOx2T8aAsi7DhlLpz1p7lUBj5BUX_tyEuOP92DgUVMCjINmUskGasbkmrO8XbX0ah_j_hvVtQ0I0wf9b_lFYrb4uhHVzD2noJKMNs_IszfPKVLigKlWCllEW8kzCP/s1600/IMG_2013c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492359683649369218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIzYWonJsPpczsJ7MOx2T8aAsi7DhlLpz1p7lUBj5BUX_tyEuOP92DgUVMCjINmUskGasbkmrO8XbX0ah_j_hvVtQ0I0wf9b_lFYrb4uhHVzD2noJKMNs_IszfPKVLigKlWCllEW8kzCP/s400/IMG_2013c.jpg" /></a>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-45361005758428985922010-07-07T08:31:00.001-07:002010-07-07T21:14:39.529-07:00Have I Got News For You<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIO4nGgC0nWguzVx99OlqP1j0yboPAkNw_NG0bM7HpSPcj-7VH26qGKOmujtD2V3CXwR5LhPqeyWGf3-UqlHgjpHp_0qhc1jXR-IpXqCHIQweWfDfbCMbbu32LKbWSyiDvSsCHgOXRXaiR/s1600/ointment.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491381338004188482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIO4nGgC0nWguzVx99OlqP1j0yboPAkNw_NG0bM7HpSPcj-7VH26qGKOmujtD2V3CXwR5LhPqeyWGf3-UqlHgjpHp_0qhc1jXR-IpXqCHIQweWfDfbCMbbu32LKbWSyiDvSsCHgOXRXaiR/s400/ointment.jpg" /></a>Working with bananas is officially tricky. Diagnosing what's going on with my face is too, but for different reasons. The banana issue is a bit more case-specific than the face rash, because I can follow the same recipe every time. I can't recall if I drank something new a week and a half ago, touched a strange plant, ate a new something or switched a toiletry. But when a recipe calls for 4 over-ripe bananas and you've pealed, chopped and frozen your over-ripe bananas, there's no telling how many frozen banana pieces would be the equivalent of 4 over-ripe bananas - unless of course you remember how many bananas you cut in the first place. So, come to find out, too many bananas doesn't make your muffins better. More banana-y maybe, but it also makes them more dense and sticky to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">wrappery</span></span></span>.<br /><br />I can adjust the banana situation. I can't adjust the weird rash I've had misdiagnosed as poison ivy. No change with the round of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">roids</span></span></span>... steroid "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">roids</span></span>"</span>, not <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">hemorrhoid </span>"<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">rhoids</span></span>"</span>. Have to clarify. Apparently if this were bacterial, it would have responded to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">steroid</span>. It doesn't look viral. And fungal things make shapes. Like rings. So, we're talking about an allergic reaction, most probably. And the heavy-duty antihistamine stuff is working, finally. But I still don't want to run into you by the bananas at Target.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-83301759321329751612010-07-02T15:25:00.000-07:002010-07-12T08:21:49.903-07:00Happy 4th!"But I need the floor to be picked up more than I need you to pretend to be a penguin," I said. I'm trying to vacuum here. I've completed the kitchen floor with a baby on my hip and now I'm too pooped to care about the dog-hair on the carpet. And before I can even start caring again, I need two <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">jedi</span> knights to put down their sabers and PICK THIS PLACE UP! There are three tennis <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">racquets</span></span>, table tennis paddles, a tennis ball, plastic practice-baseball, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">nerf</span></span> guns, Oprah's voice saying, "Jessica Simpson is ready to open up. About... The mom jeans. Next Oprah." in the most serious voice ever... and some other stuff going on behind me.<br /><br />Plus, I've got a case of poison ivy on my FACE. This day would seem unable to get much worse, but I wouldn't say that. It really could. It's just taxing trying not to itch while I wait on the nurse to call me the heck back for an okay or no-way on taking the series of steroids I've been prescribed by the PA at the after-hours who refused to give me a shot on the spot last night as I'm nursing a baby and can't send my milk to a Nazi human lab to be sure The Bun won't get sick.<br /><br />Turns out, breast-feeders can take steroids for their miserable rashes and other funny bumps. Or. Well. I guess it matters what kind of funny bump we're dealing with, but anyway... probably not if your funny bump is going to be a boy. *wink wink* Or a result from touching your bottom to a public restroom toilet seat.<br /><br />But, we're on to a better weekend ahead. I love the 4<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span></span> of July! It's not even so much that I'm some fancy patriot. I just love to be festive and dress my family in red, white and blue head to toe once a year. Except I forgot to get the boys anything. So, they'll more than likely be in skinny jeans and flat-billed hats I've had to get over and just accept; a hat is not a ticket straight to rehab. The skater look is alive and well at our house. And I just hope it fades. But it's not looking too promising.<br /><br />Oh, I found an old cotton SEWN American flag. It's in really great shape and came in the original box! No telling how old it is, but it looks at least my age. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Eh'hem</span></span>... which is kinda young unless you're 18 thinking of being this old - then you think I'm lame and mommy-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish</span></span>. At least I did pick up a cute dress for myself. So, yoga pants are losing their tight grip. Oh, and I went from Jerry Garcia, got a little tangled with Carol Brady and then ended up somewhere between <a href="http://www.curly-hair-styles-magazine.com/images/sarah-jessica-parker-hair-curly-short-13.jpg"><span style="color:#ff0000;">this</span></a><span style="color:#ff0000;"> </span>and <a href="http://www.bestcelebrityhairstyles.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/Kirsten-Dunst-Hair-51.jpg"><span style="color:#ff0000;">this</span></a>. By that I mean I took scissors to my own head. I've done this sort of thing since high school. It's kind of a compulsion. And, if I do say so myself, I'm not that bad at it. Trial and error tends to be my M.O. for most things.<br /><br />If I'm sick of the length <em>and</em> have no patience to wait on a stylist to get me in - it's out with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">skeezers</span></span> and lop lop lop. Or in this case... after having been given a cut a bit different than the one I thought I was super clear about - ending up about 3 feet to the left of THE BOAT - my bathroom mirror and I got super acquainted and I ended up with a cut I like. It's surprisingly curly. Thank you, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">RunBun</span></span> - and I'm not having to fight it anymore with an insanely hot, professional flat iron. I'll keep it handy, ya know, if ever I want to look all... straight and such.<br /><br />And we're due some pictures, I know. After the weekend, I promise. That project - the master bedroom - it was never photoed. Sorry about that.<br /><br />*scratchy scratch*Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-75504727458970723272010-06-30T14:59:00.000-07:002010-06-30T20:18:16.558-07:00Bunny Like<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ftEH5ropTzjUQMnVRAJ12NG6TRHYxdZXqqXS7ubITdMBydbI9M_OkMcsO3vv4LdoCrX5a9oJn_dXm6YG2t75Q5R1sw8fa2d-_x6ECs8XQnQfov7ggpa5Pom6ROiBRAl6PAoZtjHRq4Bc/s1600/rsweetpotat.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488689891279530914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ftEH5ropTzjUQMnVRAJ12NG6TRHYxdZXqqXS7ubITdMBydbI9M_OkMcsO3vv4LdoCrX5a9oJn_dXm6YG2t75Q5R1sw8fa2d-_x6ECs8XQnQfov7ggpa5Pom6ROiBRAl6PAoZtjHRq4Bc/s400/rsweetpotat.jpg" /></a> Just. Ya know. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Havin</span>' some sweet potats.<br /><div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-13932543339928433072010-06-29T00:00:00.000-07:002010-06-29T11:03:27.266-07:00Grand Ole Times<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZW0QLVdZ6WoIS9Ba_mr0Y3NQOIQEibbHgikIWlCCcCBOvpjoWHGbM1QiRdDaUx3QGY-i3pOM95fAHMGkBPZvgzakG78aDn__nLtYEQQA_XlRJea5ZUfDaD9JQz1T3ElJxTtDmOC9mWVZ/s1600/IMG_2005c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 295px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487873532179324210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTZW0QLVdZ6WoIS9Ba_mr0Y3NQOIQEibbHgikIWlCCcCBOvpjoWHGbM1QiRdDaUx3QGY-i3pOM95fAHMGkBPZvgzakG78aDn__nLtYEQQA_XlRJea5ZUfDaD9JQz1T3ElJxTtDmOC9mWVZ/s400/IMG_2005c.jpg" /></a>Sunday we spent our afternoon with Brent's parents. Just about every other hour all morning, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span></span> asked when Grandma and Grandpa were going to be here. And with a few minutes before their ETA, he sat by the window and lit up right when they pulled up. Brent's mom brings these windmill cookies for the boys every time. They're <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph's</span></span> fave. And I could certainly pick them up myself at the store, but that's "her thing". M will remember her bringing those for the rest of his life.<br /><br />It makes me think of all sorts of favorite things about grandparents. My grandpa would say “<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Poiple</span></span>” is Grandma’s favorite color… Brent and his granny's chicken fried steak [which, I found out was not, in fact, fried in bacon drippings - Thank heaven]. But Brent would have me believe other absurd stories about his childhood because I'm gullible enough to call and ask his mom.<br /><br />Nevertheless, I have such fond memories with my grandparents or even my elderly neighbor, Francis - going next door to eat all of her red-hots... or Kaye <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tankevich</span></span> - where Bunny's middle name came from. She was this tiny Greek lady with a "larger than life" personality - transcending her lot in life to deal with a horribly painful, diseased body - always such a beacon of joy and spunk. We used to pen-pal. And after she died, one afternoon I got a 2"-thick manila envelope from her husband. It was every last letter I'd ever written her. Good Lord, the content. It was incredibly 11-year-oldish.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LC6nYDra4e__rxkRjJndbjW3s8ClvU-7V6CB4Bfh5cPhW4hwYT40MltuxBl5r3Ka5idDGoqB6lOhlmmEg75aScuvlugS3I62UIxEu1VXPEMHj5rAh1Qe7jI82OF6IZP3DfQhPqRLbxI3/s1600/strawberry.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487870293392980018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LC6nYDra4e__rxkRjJndbjW3s8ClvU-7V6CB4Bfh5cPhW4hwYT40MltuxBl5r3Ka5idDGoqB6lOhlmmEg75aScuvlugS3I62UIxEu1VXPEMHj5rAh1Qe7jI82OF6IZP3DfQhPqRLbxI3/s400/strawberry.jpg" /></a><br />I recently found this sugar bowl. It wasn't "cheap" as sugar bowls go but it was the only one, and I had to have it because it reminds me of my Grandma's ceramic pie plate with a lid shaped and painted like a cherry pie with a big red cherry knob on top. And while this is a strawberry, it's also tied in to the strawberry percale bed sheets on the bed I would sleep in at her house if my parents were away. I loved those sheets. I would pretend I was Strawberry Shortcake sleeping on them.<br /><br />And something about <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">GranMary's</span></span> house - it smells like Tulsa. Fresh and clean and even something about the water there tastes better than anything bottled. We had 4<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span></span> of July parades on the bikes she kept for us at her house. Mine had a giant pink daisy print on the vinyl banana seat. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">GranMary's</span></span> mom, Nana, lived in Oklahoma City. So, we would go over quite a bit when she was alive. You could find me upstairs giving Barbie a ride down the laundry chute to the dark, creepy basement [very "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Good-Dog-Carl-Classic-Board/dp/0689807481"><span style="color:#999900;">Good Dog Carl</span></a>"]. Since she lived close, we would pick her up on our way to Tulsa for Christmases - where - Nana would invariably eat far too many Russell <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Stover's</span></span> chocolates and then barf all over the guest room duvet. This may be the missing link to my ultra-sensitive gag-reflex. I hadn't thought of that. I have, however, developed an iron stomach against tooth-paste spit. So, that's good.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-80903606360732406652010-06-24T14:40:00.000-07:002010-06-27T22:01:46.983-07:00Total Frump<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZZlKPGqYiRita-ItgNiMFtdOfoBmwIl2qJuApGWqg7If_y6Yu_lx-tB5Qn6rx_UrFpepkMWinPdSGfe9VyZLvaSFOU4Vfe6xS81TU9w0ZdIwBFnjxeqXRKMEbrrKmKpP8TyYAZq-wkPV/s1600/tshirt.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487482281541653426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZZlKPGqYiRita-ItgNiMFtdOfoBmwIl2qJuApGWqg7If_y6Yu_lx-tB5Qn6rx_UrFpepkMWinPdSGfe9VyZLvaSFOU4Vfe6xS81TU9w0ZdIwBFnjxeqXRKMEbrrKmKpP8TyYAZq-wkPV/s400/tshirt.jpg" /></a><br />I know this may be a real shocker, but black yoga pants, tanks and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">t's</span></span> are a firm foundational staple of my wardrobe. I like comfort. I like ease. And I like having a reason to STAY HOME even though I'm not really home all the time. But, it is probably high time I learn to be more social after hibernating under a rock with my new baby for as long as she's been alive.<br /><br />I haven't turned in to some recluse or anything. I'm running around getting things done. I'm just not having lunch or dinner out or going to see a movie here or there. Yesterday I spent my morning with a favorite pal for the first time in... well, 7 months, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">kidless</span></span>. Sure, summer's a slow season for lunch out anyway. Taking 3 extras along sounds more fun than a root canal, but not by much. They at least give you drugs for that and sometimes just knock you right out. I'm for being knocked out.<br /><br />It does start making me wonder - maybe what I have on puts a kink in my willingness to be seen more often by people I like when <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span></span> asked me one evening... did I just stay in my pj's all day or what.<br />Me: "These aren't pj's."<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span></span>: "Oh."<br />Or when I came back out into the living room after getting ready<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span></span>: "I thought you said you were taking a shower."<br />Me: "I did."<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Murph</span></span>: "Oh."<br /><br />Yoga pants, tanks and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">t's</span></span> are the new mom's black. And I admit I don't mind looking like a mom as long as my pants don't go over my belly-button. Criteria, people. It's all in the belly-button. And since a belly-button is relatively small, it can't contain much of anything - certainly not a lot of criteria. I can always sleep in what I have on... that's a two-for. And people might think I worked out. That's a three-point buzzer beater.<br /><br />However, here in lies the problem: Getting ready for church with a wide array of yoga pants and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">t's</span></span> to choose from makes a gal want to stay home. Or being asked... or volunteered... or more like my feet held to the fire when I say I'd be glad to start a cooking club - where I'm the one coming up with and demonstrating the items to cook, showing people they don't have to rotate spaghetti and meatballs, chicken and green beans, casseroles or take-out every night for 365 days straight is - well - making me lose sleep. Apart from taking on an idea I should feel more confident about, I'm kind of realizing I can't wear yoga pants every time. Or at least, I'm not going to want to.<br /><br />Yes, the most famous <a href="http://simmandco.blogspot.com/2010/02/pu.html"><span style="color:#999900;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">GranMary</span></span> took me shopping, remember</span></a>? But I can't wear a darling ruffly Ann Taylor top with yoga pants! I won't! I just won't do it! So, I guess I'm going to have to put more thought into it. I <em>am</em> on my way with a new hair-cut, though. I wanted something I could wear wavy. And well, I'm having to get used to channeling <a href="http://www.humblepress.com/Concert/graphics/gallery/garcia.jpg"><span style="color:#999900;">Jerry Garcia</span> </a>curly or <a href="http://www.contactmusic.com/pics/m/classic_rock_arrivals_061107/joan_jett_1650055.jpg"><span style="color:#999900;">Joan <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jett</span></span></span></a> straight. So, a return to cuteness by rounding out the new me minus the old duds may be a boost for my hair's inner psyche. Or it may exhaust me to no end. I'll let you know.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-21302354998546535282010-06-22T12:37:00.000-07:002010-06-22T13:08:44.198-07:00That Lady No Nice<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuKA3QD5uORT7KjMkBvW5XVrxVM89mTYxqwZfFgZZuSqd0R-_a6pL0LoaRHmWtv8Ywrq-jSDngeGxb462EWlqm_x0ZlKzgl_dNg9eL_kdoMsE1NcT5Ysl8LjhcLLXU-CrR18r_ITGP-UI/s1600/syringe.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 302px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485689211902386946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuKA3QD5uORT7KjMkBvW5XVrxVM89mTYxqwZfFgZZuSqd0R-_a6pL0LoaRHmWtv8Ywrq-jSDngeGxb462EWlqm_x0ZlKzgl_dNg9eL_kdoMsE1NcT5Ysl8LjhcLLXU-CrR18r_ITGP-UI/s400/syringe.jpg" /></a>Do you even know how much I hate having to take the baby for immunizations? They really ought to provide strong medication for mothers at the door. However, strong meds usually require a stamped warning not to operate heavy machinery and that would be where I'd "fold" because that's like my favorite thing ever. Tractors and skid steers. They're not my passion... operating them is.<br /><br />We had to have three shots, and yes, I know, she's 7 months. I'm a month late. But I was super tardy for the shot party with Murph, rounding out the final 3 or 4 just days before Kindergarten, and he is as healthy as an ox. I don't know. I <em>guess</em> it's nice to avoid Polio and chicken-pox. But still. I'm rightly sad when that lady slow-pokes my baby and NO SHE DID NOT JUST SQUEEZE R's FAT THIGH WITH A LOOK ON HER FACE LIKE SHE'S HAVING CUPCAKES FOR DINNER claiming they'll feel fine with thighs like that! And then she told me RunnyBun "Did great!" and "Barely cried!" Uh... she wasn't making any sound because she WASN'T BREATHING! But when she finally did take a breath - oh honey. That's not what I'd call "barely".<br /><br />But we'll survive.<br /><br />It seems I've got reason to believe my niece will be over in about 5 minutes. Well, my brother called and asked if I could keep her at my house while he works out. So, it more than seems I have good reason, I guess. But that means I need to click "publish" and go on with life.<br /><br />Hugs not drugs.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-47448364964951935092010-06-20T13:41:00.000-07:002010-06-21T07:20:36.924-07:00Peas Please<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja95TgKCY1rcxQdN6X4ymVo61jwWT4vAEJAfeYg9e_xETKcqYf1aYC9yXQMdhF2mp-VxPTIAnvvvrR1B5Mb43yiOAPjG5AxGzwZRu7iAoyrq9aB0RTaMGgWA9W0VtwGIp18kKQpiBj0l8p/s1600/IMG_1974c.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484959988605085378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja95TgKCY1rcxQdN6X4ymVo61jwWT4vAEJAfeYg9e_xETKcqYf1aYC9yXQMdhF2mp-VxPTIAnvvvrR1B5Mb43yiOAPjG5AxGzwZRu7iAoyrq9aB0RTaMGgWA9W0VtwGIp18kKQpiBj0l8p/s400/IMG_1974c.jpg" /></a>She's a much bigger fan of my peas vs Gerber's. I'm not sure who wouldn't be. Have you tried Gerber's? Our's are the color of actual peas. Gerber's are of what comes after eating them.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-27108405697032700122010-06-18T06:07:00.001-07:002010-06-18T11:18:59.113-07:00A Head Case<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqzLisapd3gDJbP_IzYReDqMzHKEbjQF2mHShMJOz-6gQaKHnYaJVQm-VN74jnU7Fp0RwNd_8ki7PEm0zez4eVNGludbjHggypbUqCRCCxj81nEAaMSYhFp3KUSUr4psx6PsPkhfHLl41/s1600/phrenology.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 227px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 351px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484131510554950738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqzLisapd3gDJbP_IzYReDqMzHKEbjQF2mHShMJOz-6gQaKHnYaJVQm-VN74jnU7Fp0RwNd_8ki7PEm0zez4eVNGludbjHggypbUqCRCCxj81nEAaMSYhFp3KUSUr4psx6PsPkhfHLl41/s400/phrenology.jpg" /></a>In an [extended] family this size, there are bound to be a few nuts. I say that in the nicest way - as I know in the world of psychology, the word "crazy" is like dropping a smutty "F Bomb" on Mother Teresa's grave. So, I'm not making fun of private struggles with addiction, eating disorders, depression or otherwise obvious vices you might be in denial about. I'm just intending to demystify the neuroses we really all have, history or no family history - big family, no big family. We're all stark raving mad. So, unless you harm children, murder people or puppies, go ahead and embrace it. Hug it. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Smoosh</span> your nose in its fat, whiskery face. There is no such thing as normal.<br /><div></div><br /><div>So, of course at least one of my children is out of his ever-loving mind. Or as it seems the case - unable to be reasonable, calmed, bargained with or TALKED DOWN OFF THE LEDGE when it comes to having his hair cut. It would make sense to me - after the hundreds of trims I've performed - there would be evidence supporting the idea we should hold it together. Crying causes tears. Tears attract little cut pieces of poky hair. The nose starts to run. The compulsion to sniffle only vacuums those hairs straight into the face... which begs the question... Where's a straight jacket when you need one!?<br /><br />How we get from needing to hold still so I don't cut huge clumps of unwanted hair to believing I maliciously ram the electric trimmer into his head so he's left to deal with the ridiculous "new look" is where I have not figured out my escape from the trip to Crazy Town. He seriously thinks I'm out to get him, trick him, or just screw up whatever he wants from me. I think it's a lose-lose. But we'll see. Maybe I'll just start him a separate savings for the professional help he's gonna need.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-58769250635835326102010-06-17T10:47:00.000-07:002010-06-17T18:59:41.543-07:00Yum Yum<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflN_nvTzr5yb0wrlGMXKFR5WtqvpoMyTbPul4I0qTsKNU7ohdhE4i7VLi4fFPle9iNgsduvMKw6rxE1rls3MhfFlWgtnr_jUr3_mLMXSu4qwgy9uDNCNJI-6hVXLR0azTiSr-DGK1n4qV/s1600/garam-masala.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 389px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483810438376213314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflN_nvTzr5yb0wrlGMXKFR5WtqvpoMyTbPul4I0qTsKNU7ohdhE4i7VLi4fFPle9iNgsduvMKw6rxE1rls3MhfFlWgtnr_jUr3_mLMXSu4qwgy9uDNCNJI-6hVXLR0azTiSr-DGK1n4qV/s400/garam-masala.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I've officially been inspired to try cooking things I've never cooked before. Indian. Chinese. Mediterranean. Persian... But I'm talking about real, authentic [as authentic as a white girl from Oklahoma can be] - not drowning in fatty sauces and MSG. But fresh, flavorful, full of spices <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">yadda</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">yadda</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Yadda</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">yadda's</span> not really anything you make, just whatever you want to fill in the blank - except for Turkish Delight - I will not be making any Turkish Delight. I hate Turkish Delight.<br /><br />But I am really hoping to introduce Bunny to foods at an early age my boys would otherwise snub. I suppose if they get hungry enough, they'll try new things. So, my approach will be through starvation of ordinary fare. I'm not a big huge fan of pork and beef anyway, but lamb is certainly something these folks haven't had a lot of. Chicken is favored around here, but it's not as if I'm having to completely rearrange their diets as I'm not referring to dinosaur shaped chicken byproduct.<br /><br />I've had several cookbooks - one of my favorite being <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1933823402/ref=s9_simh_gw_p14_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1EE5WVC3JXN2G20MMG9S&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=470938631&pf_rd_i=507846"><span style="color:#999900;">Silk Road Cooking</span> </a>- but half of what is in there either sounds weird, is very hard to find, or I've had NO IDEA what ingredients were or where to begin looking for them.</div><br /><div></div><div>But thanks again to the <a href="http://www.cookingchanneltv.com/"><span style="color:#999900;">Cooking Channel</span> </a>I can see these things being used and can finally know what I'm even looking for. But, Lord help me find some curry leaves, please, 'cause I guess they are just "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">pertty</span> rare around these here parts" [said filthy-woman-in-a-stained-wife-beater-barefoot-and-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">spittin</span>'-her-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">chewin</span>'-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">tobaccy</span>-style]. We have a pretty awesome Asian Market I found TONS of 99 cent spices today - Indian and Asian. Not sure why anyone would buy spices anywhere else. I'm told there's a pretty great Indian grocer I need to check out. Oh, and I finally found Semolina flour! Hallelujah! Aren't you thrilled for me!!? Now I need a pasta cranker thingy.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4491779078679338343.post-638696627892259642010-06-15T12:30:00.000-07:002010-06-17T15:03:45.980-07:00Feeling Thorta Thilly<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaEt3eyCwTEp6BfpOkF00u_KciJ8WxINNSVGEVk1yfTOuFB9vGBzLZxIBO_UQDUTEhjewLBTJjJ-YT3_Ad_cFjwhduggo46xgnLHTazpZELAeK5o3sKZdjxvWltjBX0CkzAK0dXioOc4F/s1600/at+the+dentist.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483157577287459986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaEt3eyCwTEp6BfpOkF00u_KciJ8WxINNSVGEVk1yfTOuFB9vGBzLZxIBO_UQDUTEhjewLBTJjJ-YT3_Ad_cFjwhduggo46xgnLHTazpZELAeK5o3sKZdjxvWltjBX0CkzAK0dXioOc4F/s400/at+the+dentist.jpg" /></a>I think I may have bitten through my tongue a little on the side, but it's still sort of numb, so I can't tell you for sure. But when I find out, you'll be the first to know. Or maybe you won't be if we're realistic here, because you'd all have to be present the very moment my mouth wakes up. So, probably not. But I had a cavity filled this morning. I can't recall the last time I had a cavity. I did crack a tooth about a year and a half ago, maybe two - but the cavity issue had been a thing of the past until I became pregnant this time around. Apparently it's fairly common to have dental problems while pregnant.<br /><br />The things nobody talks about. The boob growth, the water retention, sciatica, poop issues prior, during and after child-birth. We can call it a movement malady if you want, sometimes requiring surgical solving. I'd really rather be in a fiery crash. No, I take that back. But I'd rather be cleaning up the oil spill while listening to death metal.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06409690241282150212noreply@blogger.com0