Car shopping is/makes me feel stupid

The lease on my husband's Trailblazer is up in April, which to those illiterate in car-speak (me) means we have 4 months to look for a car. Except my mailbox/voicemail tells me different. With the amount of "reminders" I get weekly, you'd think if we didn't turn that damn truck in tomorrow it would explode mid-drive.

So Justin and I had a little car shopping date - which proved to be a great idea and a terrible idea at the same time. It was a great idea because what we thought would be "just a few minutes" in the Honda dealership turned into 2 hours, 2 test drives and lots of standing around (not exactly Houston's idea of fun-- or mine for that matter). It was a terrible idea because it turned into 2 hours, 2 test drives, lots of standing around, and honestly, more anxiety and pressure than I bargained for.

The insane thing is, after 2 hours, we still have NO confirmed lease prices. Even more insane? The damn CR-V is in my garage for an "overnight test." Like if I just go into the garage and see it in there long enough, I'll magically decide it's my car. It's kinda working...

Justin and I had a little pre-dealership pep talk on the way from parking lot to sales desk. We're not confirming anything. Just getting prices. But those bastards are so convincing! Ugh. I almost got duped. "We can trade your truck in now, work it in to the price, get you a price..." and then he walks away and leaves you sitting there thinking, okay, maybe we WILL get a car today.

But there was one little fault to his "pitch." There was this room where the almighty Honda "money man" sits. You know, when you want to know how much a car is, and they say, "Hold on, let me go ask." I want to be the guy who sits behind a desk and chooses random numbers and tries to screw people all day. No I don't. I just want that kind of power. Anyway, it annoyed me because Justin and I could see into that stupid room where like 5 Honda salesmen were just sitting around in comfy leather chairs shooting the shit. They weren't talking about money. They weren't even talking about cars. They were just in there, pretending to be "running numbers." Just trying to make naive car buyers like me sweat. Well eff you, I have enough to sweat about in my life, thank you very much. Eventually our guy comes back out and says, "The lease would be somewhere in the 300s." Uh... it took you ten minutes to come up with that little gem?

I kinda liked our sales guy - he was okay, for a car salesman. But then he introduced us to his "manager" AKA: money guy. He practically had slime oozing from his pores, or maybe that was hair gel. Either way, he was the one who granted us permission for a one-night stand with the car. He was gross. Unfortunately for him, on my way to moving my car seat into my borrowed CR-V, I imagined his fat sweaty hand shaking mine again and thought, this is not going to happen. I may take your car for a late-night ride, but your big salesy face is not what I want to associate this cute car with.

I'm not sure how we got from "let's not commit" to this CR-V in our garage, having a sleepover with my sweet little Jetta. But alas, it's there. 4 months early. But then again, what do I know about cars? Maybe the "overnight" trick will actually work... I'll let you know.

Merry Christmas!

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday with loved ones... I sure did. And thankfully those antibiotics kicked in JUST in the nick of time! Houston had an amazing day (amazingly overwhelming?), and has loved playing with his abundance of new toys. 2010 has been a great year for the Smith family, and here's hoping 2011 is ever better... and hopefully healthier!

Happy Holidays!

Supervirus Be Gone!

Went backkk to the doctor today to figure out why I've had a temperature for the past 4 days, chills, body aches, and oh yeah - those really disgusting white spots in the back of my throat. Found those delicious little wonders with my book light. Over the weekend, the "walk in" doctor told me he saw an ulcer in my throat, which really freaked me out. So I was bound and determined to see it myself... I used my toothbrush to hold my tongue down, but the light in the bathroom just wasn't quite strong enough to see anything. Wah lah! Book light. Had to practically swallow the thing, but there it was, no-- no ulcer, just white gross things all over my throat. I threw down the booklight and put my hands over my throat. I'd had enough. This damn supervirus has to GO!

The doctor told me my throat looked "suspicious." Like it had committed a crime and had some smug look on its face. But no, doctor. It's a throat. That adjective doesn't work for me. She must have sensed my confusion, because she took ANOTHER rapid strep test. Nada. Fortunately, she sent the culture to the lab to find out why my throat was being so sneaky.

She also sent ME to the lab.

Anyone who knows me know that my personal hell is a lab. I have such a blood phobia. I sneakily requested that the receptionist give me a room where I could lay down. She wasn't so sneaky. She found a hot pink post-it that said, "PATIENT WANTS TO LIE DOWN" and stuck it onto my paperwork. Ugh.

A massive man with goggles came out to the waiting room. Not me. Not me. Not me. "Danielle?" EFF! Why is he wearing those goggles? In case my blood spurts out all over his face? I could feel myself getting woozy already. But I laid in the chair and survived. I credit Goggles for telling some pretty hilarious stories that included ugly people and flasks. I survived.

I later when to Target to pick up me new prescription for antibiotics... only need 5 of them, but my insurance company is only paying for 3 at a time. Can't wait to pick up my refill on CHRISTMAS EVE. UGH. Can't blame Target - the sweetest lady worked so hard while I stood there, probably looking like crap in my baggy sweatshirt, and ruffled hair (still matted from laying down for the blood work). She tried calling every connection she had, but alas, I walked out with my 3 pills.

Hopefully this darn disease is on its way out... I should know more tomorrow. Here's to a healthy Christmas for everyone!

Ah Yah Vue!

Houston is by far, the best form of entertainment a tired mother could ask for after a long day in the classroom. He's always been animated with his little facial expressions since his first week of life (he even used to be compared to Bruce Willis... judge for yourself:)

Now that he can talk, he's even more entertaining. While watching hockey with his daddy, it's not uncommon to hear him yell, "GOALLLL" or "Nice HIT!" He cracks us up with jolly, animated, "Meh-hee Kissmasssss" wishes, and every time someone says, "Happy Birthday," he finishes their sentence with a "to YOU!" He knows the names of every color of the rainbow, although the only color name he can actually match to a color is "peenk." I just don't know where he picks up all these new phrases and ideas. His little brain is developing before our eyes, and it's just crazy to think that he is learning in spite of us... well, because of us, AND in spite of us. It really is wild.

But by far the BEST new expression he has is "Ah yah VUE!" Tonight when I was laying Houston down in his crib he looked me in the eye, gave me a "ah yah vue" followed by "Buh bye." Just like he'd been saying it all his life... and also like he wanted me to put him to bed already. Have I mentioned how much I love this kid?

Sweet Dreams... Maybe.

It's 3:17 am. I bet all you guys are snug in your cozy beds. Well, except for you in the UK who are probably cursing all of us who are supposed to be snug in our cozy beds. (P.S. Thanks for reading, UK-er!) Yet, here I am, criss-cross like a 7-year old on the couch, tea in hand (between sentences), sound of the dryer tossing my clothes and scraping the buttons of my jeans.

When I had a baby, I learned two things about sleep. A) It's precious. B) I can get by on a lot less than I thought. In the first months of Houston's life, I probably would have done crimes for extra hours of sleep. Perhaps the thought of a private jail cell was appealing. As I've mentioned before, I'm just a rotten girl when I get woken up. I'm a pretty great mom from 6am to 10pm. After that, all bets are off. But there's a difference between "unnatural" woken sleep and natural woken sleep. Now, a veteran at this sleep-deprivation, the clock says 3:17 and I think, welp, at least I got 6 uninterrupted hours. What I wouldn't have done for that amount of time 18 short months ago.

I woke up thinking about my classroom. About changes I wanted to make, grades I had to post, desks I wanted to move. Once the thoughts turn to school, I usually know I'm doomed. Work thoughts are tough. Unless you work at home, you can't just get up and fix the things you need to. You just have to dwell and stress for 6 more hours until you can actually do something, and then when you actually get to work, you're too tired to do anything more than survive... stress cycle continues.

When I can't sleep, I have to get up. I have to feel like I did at least one productive thing to lighten the load (ew, hate the expression) for tomorrow. Hence, laundry. Hence, blog. Usually, after awhile, the feeling that my brain has been infused with crack subsides. I don't really feel like folding that stuff in the dryer anymore. The amazing point I had to make in my blog has sorta faded. It's almost time to head back upstairs.

What do you do when you're too stressed to sleep? Or your mind's alarm clock went off prematurely?(My mind's in the gutter.) I'd love to know how to take better advantage of this time, or alternatively, go back to sleep. Truth is, after babies, sometimes it's nice to have some uninterrupted thinking time. A few minutes to mentally prepare for the days to come. Although I say that now, and if that monitor starts blaring in 15 minutes, I'll be back later swearing...

Sweet dreams!

Praise the Lord for Science

In the past 6 days, I've been to my doctor's office 3 times. Twice for me, once for Hew. I'd been fighting a losing battle with laryngitis - Houston had, for lack of a better word, an extreme case of "bitchassness". That's what I call Houston's condition that kind mothers call crankiness. There was some kind of shmutz being spread amongst the Smith family, and I was bound and determined to find out what it was.

I bet you know what our problem was.

The dreaded... virus. I think that doctors use that diagnosis when they just have no clue what the heck is the matter with you. Thank GOD for science. We Smiths experienced the wonders of science in different ways this week.

My irritable little monkey of a son had a miraculous recovery in just 24 hours. His body just needed a little sleep, a little extra water, and some lovin' from a more patient daddy. His amazing little body healed itself. My body required a different kind of science. We call that type of science "drugs." I tried my damndest to avoid the doctor, but after 3 days of being out of work (hard to teach with zero voice), I was forced to go in to get a doctor's note... one day after I'd been in with Hew. Of course, a virus. Well the laryngitis started to go away after about 5 days, had one great day of normalcy, then had a BLASTING earache that night.

I tried to be a tough girl. So I called mom. She said ear infections heal themselves and you just have to put up with it. That logic worked about 24 hours. Now, let me remind you... I had a baby. An 8 pound baby. An 8 pound baby with strong shoulders.

I was back at the doctor the next morning. I finally got the antibiotics I probably should have had a week ago. And now, 30 hours later, I'm vertical. Off the couch and FINALLY back at work.

I hate pills. They make me anxious. But there are times when your body needs a little "kick" out of bitchassness. Thank God for science... in all forms.

Holiday Memories

Now that it's December, I can accept the fact that Christmas is rapidly approaching. Now that Houston is almost --- er, 21 months (I can't quite get myself to round up to that second year yet), he is starting to understand that something exciting is happening. He's learned how to say, "San-sah" and "Ho ho ho" and "Mehhhhh Kissmas." And although he's pretty apprehensive about the big guy, he's quick to point out each and every "San-sah" he sees... even the black Santas at Burlington Coat Factory that I thought would confuse him. Hell, they confused me.

This weekend we went to cut down our Christmas tree. Justin and I thought Houston would be pumped to run around the farm and pick out a tree for our house. Well, for one, it was freezing. And if there is one thing this mini Justin inherited from him momma, it's our hatred for an environment below 68 degrees. So he was cranky. Annnd we forgot to bring cash. While Justin hightailed it to an ATM, Mr. Misery and I tried spotting a tree on our own. I pointed out a few of the hundreds of possibilities, limited down to about 30 because we weren't smart enough to tag something ahead of time (probably those damn pre-Halloween Christmas decorators...bastards). Houston, through freezing tears, whimpered, "Over there," and distinctly pointed to a little piece of perfection I had missed. That tree is now standing in our living room.

...much to Houston's dismay. Justin found us, with cash and a saw. He started cutting as Houston tried climbing up his back. Maybe it was a maneuver to distract. Regardless, as the tree hit the ground, Houston's whimpers turned into a full-fledged bawl. "ALL DONNNNNE," he yelled. "Oh NOOOO, all DONE!" He sobbed as Justin dragged it to the car, and only let up when the little old sales lady (Mrs. Claus?) gave him a gingerbread cookie. Okay, I guess we have two common genes: a distaste for cold weather, and a strong taste for cookies.

Here's hoping Houston isn't traumatized or need meds for seasonal depression.

I Make My Own Fashion Shows

Stayed home from school today and already called out for tomorrow due to a little thing called lack of voice. I considered doing all my lessons in sign language then remembered a) I don't know sign language and b) my class needs plenty of "voice intervention."

Too many cups of honey-infused tea has me jittery and sleepless... and oh yeah, still voiceless, thus I was able to enjoy the Victoria's Secret fashion show which was on an hour past my usual bed time. Watching all those glittery "outfits?", listening to the catchy beats, and catching glimpses of so many celebrities had me pretty captivated. I felt like Houston watching his morning episode of Thomas the Tank Engine: colors, music and British accents.

I imagined how much greater my life would be if I too, was a VS model. Except for my small boobs which I happen to like. And the fact that I can't walk in a heel over 1/4 inch. And the fact that I could probably never eat a cheeseburger EVER again. Or my Friday chocolate glazed doughnut. Or take cream in my coffee. And I could never just chill out in granny panties because even when you feel like crud, you'd probably have to don something glittery and floss-like. I'm not cut out to be a model.

I'm not going to lie, sometimes when I'm walking down the halls at school, I feel the need to strut it a little. Those hallways are long. And if you don't look too long in the mirrors along the hallway, you can trick your brain into thinking you're hot stuff. And sometimes my mom's words come into my brain, "Danielle, what if you were in an accident and they had to cut off your pants?" There's about 3% natural model running through my veins. But it's a all a bit too much maintenance for this girl. And I really like my Friday doughnuts. Those poor models don't know what they're missing.

Simple Pleasures

Let me tell you about today... first day back to school after a delicious four days off, lost my voice with a class of kids that you just can't lose it with, picked up my little man feeling exhausted and irritable, came home craving chinese food leftover that my brother in law ate ALL of, fed the baby, scrounged up some turkey (for the 5th night in a row), watched as the baby picked up my glass of diet coke and dumped the contents on the hardwood floors, proceeded to watch as the baby smashed said glass on said hardwood floors, got aggravated, changed diaper, put baby to bed...

and then, this moment of bliss.

As I was getting ready to hoist my rapidly chunking toddler into his crib, I asked, "Do you want mommy to rock you for a while?" To which he responded, "Okay."

It's been months, maybe even a YEAR, since I rocked a lively baby into complete submission.

We talked for a couple minutes, we sang multiple rounds of "You are my Sunshine" (our personal favorite) to which Houston continually asked after my raspy rendition, "More?"

And then he was asleep. It took all of 7 minutes. But it was bliss at the end of an otherwise disaster of a day. God, I need to figure out how to get more of this in my life...

What simple pleasures do you have in your life that prevent mental breakdowns? Chocolate? Wine? Baby loving? Do share!

I need to get some of these Etsy prints in my life.

Thanksgiving in Pictures

Houston chills out (with his last bub EVER) watching the parade

Thanksgiving centerpiece... a little ribbon, and some Hannaford flowers go a long way :)

Turkey's in the oven! 6 hours of total cook time...

5 minutes later... Hew decides he needs an early nap.

Dad doing dishes in my Vera apron

Ross rockin' out to Beatles rockband

Trapped between Gigi and Meemaw...

Houston busts loose, ditches the sweater and dances off his turkey

You know it's Thanksgiving when... (a look back)

So obviously once people started showing up at my house, it became rude to log on to update my "You know" list.

So here is a belated update: You know it's Thanksgiving when...

- You're forced to come up with some creative centerpiece, only to be one-upped by your sister who hand-made turkey-shaped candle holders.

- Everyone is ready to eat, but can't, because gram (who happens to have all the pies, AND multiple dishes that need to be re-heated) decided to take an extra long shower and show up one hour late.

- Despite dozens of combined hours of cooking, your son's Thanksgiving dinner consists of one bite of turkey and one Oreo.

- Your father dons your Vera Bradley apron in order to finish washing dishes.

 - Everyone in the family is included in a round of Wii Beatles rockband.

 - The pies are toothpick-labeled with individual names.

- Too much ice cream from doting family = baby running laps in the living room... for 45 minutes.

- Despite the hours, the stress, the anxiousness, the chaos, you look back with a little sigh and say, "Now that was fun."


... pictures coming soon :)

You know it's Thanksgiving when...

You're forced to eat a lean cuisine because you've been up since 5am, and although you've tried your darndest to wait until 2 to eat lunch, you find yourself with a case of the hypoglycemic shakes.

You know it's Thanksgiving when...

Your mom hears you swear for the first time, because for the second time in 20 minutes:

You know it's Thanksgiving when...

as a good, Christian girl, you find yourself elbow-deep in a cavity of any sort.

It's HERE!

Throughout the day I will be updating on the status of my first EVER hosted family holiday, which just so happens to coincidentally be the holiday in which people expect lots of delicious food, which as you know just so happens to be my arch nemesis.

This is me, in my dream world, in about 5 hours.

Prepping for D-Day, err... T-Day.

T-4 days until Thanksgiving. Did I mention that we're hosting this year? First time ever? Yeah, about that. We are having 11 adults and Houston eating at our house, which my husband and I learned, is about one adult too many to fit in our dining room. Aside from hoping someone cancels, we reluctantly re-set the dining table and realized it just wasn't going to work in our small little room. Currently there are two 8-foot tables set up side by side in our kitchen. And abouuut that... I just returned my mega tablecloth to target to get two little ones to fit the folding tables. Justin said the tables were 6-feet each. Now I need to go back to Target to re-buy the big one I just returned, and pray to God that it has a match tablecloth to buy too. I can't help but wonder, if setting up is taking this much effort, how is actually FEEDING these people going to turn out? Namaste.

Gross/Gorgeous

I'm on day 4 of what has turned into a progressively disgusting cold. I'm at that stage of "coldness" where a face transplant is something I might actually consider (especially if Dr. Alex Karev were performing it, right?). Regardless, writing = too much time with my hands off of tissues. Thus, I leave you with this:

Hello, I'm here for your face transplant.

Oh Hey There, Soapbox.

I was at a workshop today that turned out to actually be worth my time, a rare gem lately. The presenter was talking about the "diversity" of kids in the classroom today. Aside from race, and language, and ethnicity, more babies are being prematurely now than ever before. More babies are born with drugs in their veins than ever before. And more children are being diagnosed with ADHD, autism, depression and anxiety disorders than ever before. Today's children come to school over-tired, poorly nourished (if at all), and from "print-free" homes. Some homes have more televisions than books - which would be absolutely shocking to me if I weren't reminded of this daily by children's reactions to being allowed to take my books home with them. I'll never forget at open house when a child in my class this year proudly showed his father his desk, including his school library book, to which his father responded, "This ain't a real book. It ain't got no pictures." Motivating, isn't it?

I thought of my own little munchkin at home, and how much he absolutely loves reading. And it's not just one book he's into... it's dozens. I should know, they are currently scattered all over the living room floor. He loves his "Daddy book" - a lift the flap book that's love is shown by it's haphazard flaps hanging precariously on each page. He loves Puff the Magic Dragon so much, he bawled when he accidentally ripped a page, crying "Oh noooo. Oh NO!" He loves books with textures and books with bright pictures. We go to the library almost every week - in fact, Houston's first real conversational sentence was in reference to me asking if he wanted to go to the library: "YESH! More books. Please?"On top of gazing at his favorite pictures, Houston has even started recognizing letters in print, excitedly scanning those little black letters in his favorite stories for "O"s. At one and a half years old, my son has had more exposure to literature than some students in my class who are 8 years old. It's no wonder our schools are failing.

As much as we say, "kids these days," kids these days really are different. And as much as I may feel like a "dunce" at home, there are certain times in life when I have to stop belittling myself and instead give myself a hearty slap on the back. Our kids are our responsibility. Not their teachers'. I can only hope that Houston's love for books always outweighs his love for "Sprout TV."

What Would You Do...

...if you could do anything and not fail?

This was a question on a recent health form I was asked to complete. Such a deep question for a standard health form, right? I have this issue with forms in that as soon as I see an empty form, I need to complete it immediately. Some deep-rooted OCD issue or something. So when I came to this question, it frustrated me that I had to stop and think.

What would you do if you could do anything and not fail?

A flurry of answers swirled in my mind. I could be a writer. No. You don't have the time. You're not good enough. You'd lose interest. I could start that business I've always thought about. No. You don't have the money. You don't have the experience. You'd lose interest.

But wait... you would not fail.

What would you NOT do if there was no risk of failing? You could literally do or try anything, and have a positive result. I would sit down and finally write that book. Because I wouldn't run out of money ahead of time. We would not have a health-related issue that demanded health insurance. I would not be denied by that major publisher and lose all self-confidence. I would not lose interest because it would be such a riveting topic, and there wouldn't be those "you should really be doing something more practical, like laundry" thoughts going through my mind. And I really could open my business for toddlers and parents because I'd have a booming business and loads of start-up money. I could bring my son to work with me and finally balance every aspect of my life that is important to me. Successful thoughts are exciting... but are they realistic?

Someone "professional" told me recently that I spend too much time conjuring up worst-case scenarios, and then dwelling upon them. But isn't that easy? Isn't it easy to think of all the things that could go wrong, and instead living in a state of comfortable "stability?" In real life, failure IS an option. A scary one. Especially for type-A perfectionists with a flair for OCD.

But the question remains, in black and white, what would you do if you could do anything and not fail?

What's your fantasy?

I bet it doesn't involve agonizing over professional football players' weekly capabilities. I bet it doesn't involve scrutinizing the waiver wire to find the best hidden gem to replace your injured wide receiver. I bet it doesn't involve hours in front of "StatTracker" on Sunday afternoons, evenings and Monday nights to keep updated on your players' progress minute by minute. I bet it doesn't involve wishing a concussion or broken limbs on your enemies...

unless you're a boy. Or me.

I have become OBSESSED with fantasy football. I can't help that I am a competitive girl by nature, but there is something about playing a "boy's game" that somehow makes it more intense. My current league is comprised of 14 teams, 11 of which belong to boys. I'm proud to say that my hours of dedication have landed me in the top 3 of my league consistently, and even allowed me a one-week debut at first place.

I think it stems back to 7th grade gym class... I was playing co-ed floor hockey and managed to score THREE times on a boy-goalie. It was perhaps the best day of my physically semi-active life. It lit some sort of crazy competitive spark inside my brain. Watching that boy cry, yes, cry, felt really REALLY good. Playing fantasy football is kind of like that. Beating boys feels really REALLY good. When your quiet, it feels good to trash talk sometimes AND to have the skills to back it up. We don't get those chances very often, do we?

And thus, weekly, you will find me hunched over my Mac, making line-up changes, picking up new players, scrutinizing stats, and analyzing performances. And please don't be surprised or offended if you stop by my house on a Sunday afternoon and hear phrases like, "I hope that jackass gets knocked unconscious." Because my 13-year-old self still relishes the day that I made a boy cry.

Christmas...already?

Did someone forget to tell me that Christmas is December 1st this year? I guess I missed the memo.

Is it me, or is Christmas making an appearance earlier this year? Obviously the malls are decorated with music blaring insanely early per usual, but Santa already? Really? Shouldn't he be busy with the elves this month? (Wow, that's a lot of questions.) My mailbox has become bombarded with advertisements, lights are popping up all over my tiny neighborhood, and friends are updating their statuses with their latest holiday preparations - your Christmas tree is up and decorated? What?!

As I stroll the aisles of Target, I can't help but feel bad for the fall decorations, ruined with red clearance stickers an entire month before they should be. But I smirk a little too as I gently place them in my cart. Don't worry little accessory, there's a place for you at my house. And I love your cheapness.

I have always made a mental goal of ignoring Christmas until Black Friday, but this year I can't help feeling just a teensy bit of pressure to start cheating on Thanksgiving.

What about you? When's an acceptable time to start your decorating/shopping/holiday panic attacks? Let me know below!

Whoopsie.

Everybody has those pet peeves... little things that drive you absolutely crazy. And that's usually what they are, little things. My pet peeve is when people chew with their mouths open. Seeing as I have lunch duty at school right now, I am confronted with my pet peeve on a daily basis. Of course there are other things too, but that really is right up there in my top 5. One of my friends can't stand when the timer on the microwave isn't cleared out. Mine says :08 right now. If she were here she'd probably be twitching.

It's very easy to list everyday annoyances, but have you ever thought about what YOU do that annoys other people? My husband and I have had this conversation, carefully, in the past. It's kind of a touchy thing, to tell someone that their habits really piss you off. Honestly, I've been blessed with a very neat, laid-back man to call my husband. Maybe it's time, or maybe he just knows me all too well, but there are really very few things I could think of that irritate me. And also I don't want to blast him on blogger. Love ya, Smit!

But I had to laugh as I was thinking about what to write about this afternoon. As I sit at the kitchen counter, his pet peeve is glaring me directly in the face:

Justin's Major Pet Peeve... wuh wuh.

Open cabinet doors. 4 of them. Of course after taking this picture I had to rush over and close them before he noticed my delinquency. It's hard to be told or "reminded" of your faults. But if you are going to live so closely with someone for presumably, the rest of your life, I guess it's important to be conscientious of those little nagging things that drive each other crazy.

Although I totally blame this one on genetics. Hang out with my dad for a few hours and you'll think there are no cabinet doors in the kitchen at all, because they're all permanently left open. Sorry for blasting you on blogger, Dad.

Babies are fun

So apparently Houston finds the word "gentleman" hilarious. Therefore, I've trained him to kiss my hand every time I call him gentleman. 

The past 10 minutes have consisted of the following:

Me: "Oh Houston, you are such a gentleman!"

Hew: giggle giggle, kisses the back of my hand, "More?"

Me: "Oh Houston, you are SUCH a gentleman!"

Hew: giggle. kiss. "More?"

Repeat x 212.

Ahhhh... babies can make you feel so good about yourself.

Oh, Nate.

I have always been a big fan of Nate Berkus, but have to say I'm not so much a fan of his new talk show. He's really, really, really boring... and sometimes awkward.

BUT, he did recently have a really good segment on clutter - my biggest nemesis. You can watch the video  here on clutter personality types. There are 5 types: distracted, procrastinator, bargain shopper, sentimentalist, and perfectionists. He doesn't really go into detail though on what happens if you happen to have all five types. Errr... shit. I mean, namaste.

It's that time of year again...

You know, the time of year when you go from waving pedestrians across the street with a friendly smile, to wanting to break their legs with the front bumper of your car?

Harsh, much? I know, I know. It is. But it happens to me every year - usually not this early. You go from doing your regular errands, to flicking people off in Target parking lots. Holiday shopping is in full force, and it's already starting to stress me out.

The difference is that this year, I am going to have a little buddy in the backseat who not only is fully conscious of what's going on, but has turned into a little parrot. For example, while attempting to buy bath towels at Bed Bath and Beyond (which by the way, who DOES during holiday shopping?) I found myself whisper yelling, "WALK you IDIOT." Upon which I heard a resounding, "WALK 'IT'!"from the back seat.

It's time to chill. While the "ITS" of the world are out like crazy people shopping in NOVEMBER (idiots), I need to remember to relax. Take a sip of your coffee, put on a fake smile, and relax. As Houston's baby yoga DVD says, "Namaste."The madness has begun, but it doesn't have to be mine... until December 20.

May you all find your own "namaste" this holiday season. The "IT" attitude can be contagious (even for babies).

Eenie, Meenie, Miney...

This was my night: a wonderful, glorious HOUR of uninterrupted sleep, followed by multiple episodes of Super Why, bottles, and baby snuggles. Houston had decided he just was not going to sleep last night. He'd pass out in his crib and just as I would drift out of consciousness, I'd hear, "Mommmmma. Dada. Dada? WAHHHHH" in the monitor. Every half hour. To the minute. Now, at 2:00 am, I lose my normal, cordial personality and turn into something like the Incredible Hulk with turrets. Covers fly. There are groans. Swears. Tears. I'm not proud, but that's me. Sometimes hours later, in the rationality of daylight, I think back upon something that came out of my mouth and feel embarrassed or even like I was dreaming - that awful person could not be me... right? But you know the feeling. Watching the clock, feeling exhausted and realizing that you have 6 more hours, 5, 4, 3, 2 hours left? That's about when I fall into the inevitable stage of sleep that involves war dreams and cold sweat. The best sleep ever. For 2 hours.

Now here is where I have an issue. Most people can roll out of bed, drive to work, and sit in front of a computer or do some kind of "pretend" work for a portion of the day. You know what I'm talking about... you can make it through the day without a whole lot of mental effort then come home and take a nap or go to bed early. OR, an even better alternative, just call in sick. In some jobs, if you're sick, there's no replacement. Life goes on without you. In other jobs, a substitute is called in - another nurse, another cashier. Someone who's trained to do the exact same job you do - someone who might be pissed off that they are getting called on their day off, but at least someone who has some indication of what to do on the job.

And then there's teachers.

I could have called my assistant principal for a sub today. But then that would require writing sub plans. Imagine trying to tell someone you've NEVER met, who may or may not have ANY teaching experience how to do your job, with your kids whom they have also NEVER met. When you're sick, or your kids are sick, and you're not planning for a day off, writing sub plans SUCK. I'm not the kind of teacher who can leave a schedule that looks like: 9:00 - Math, 10:00 - Science, etc... (and there are those teachers out there!). I'm the type of teacher who writes things like: 8:20, walk to the white board in the front of the room, resting on the chalkboard, and use a black dry-erase marker to write the date at the top in large letters - the long date AND the short date. Do not write in cursive.

And the real lesson description hasn't even started yet. Then I have to add things like, "Joe won't do any work in math, but don't call him on it because then he will throw his pencil box at you and run out of the classroom." You know, little tidbits like that. Or, "Jessica might look like she's not listening to you, but if you say her name in class she'll start crying, and don't worry anyway, because just when you think she's not going to do a SINGLE thing, she'll race through the page and get them all right." Try to imagine describing how to do your job to someone who's never met you or your co-workers, has never stepped in your office, and has no experience doing your line of work. And do that while you're sick. At 5:30 in the morning. And try to remember where you left all your teacher manuals from the day before, because they're probably NOT on your desk. In fact, they're probably in your bag... on your kitchen counter. Eff.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE subs. They have saved me on my roughest days. BUT, it's kind of interesting to me that anyone off the street is qualified to "be me" for the day. People who have never stepped foot in my school, never mind my classroom can come chill with my kids. It creeps me out a little. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. But tired teacher moms can. Annnnd I choose sucking it up and lots of "silent reading time" vs. explaining my life, minute by minute between episodes of Super Why at 4 in the morning.

Cooking Zen

It's taken me 27 years to realize my cooking zen. I think part of my cooking anxieties come from feeling rushed, cluttered and inexperienced. And aside from the inexperience part, I have realized that I can control my cooking environment to make the process a lot less stressful.

First of all, I need solace. My best meals have come on weekends with Justin around to entertain the babe, or with Houston fully occupied in an episode of Super Why. I cannot cook with someone weaving cars between my legs, whining, or reaching for pots from the stove top.

Second of all, I need time. I cannot cook under pressure. Ever. I have to start dinner at 4 in order to have any sort of accuracy or creativity. I am too ADD to feel rushed.

Thirdly, I need peace. Wine + Music = peace. Lately, I've been simmering to Adele or Ingrid Michaelson.

We're waiting for this barbecue chicken recipe to come out of the oven now. Although disclaimer: Houston woke up from a nap mid-preparation, crying. So if some ingredient is missing and dinner turns out to be a wash, blame the mishap on my meditation interruption.

Are you an anxious cooker? Have you found your "zen"? What's your favorite cooking music? I need an expanded playlist... so leave suggestions below!

Hurricane Houston... and Danielle. And sometimes Justin.

I was blessed with a husband who cleans. Honestly, if Houston and I were left alone with each other, I don't know how long it would take for our house to look like someone from "Hoarders." But sometimes the house gets to a point, even with my cleaning husband, where it is much easier to blog about its disastrousness then to actually do anything about it.

From where I sit at my kitchen counter, I can see Houston's jams from last night, strewn around the living room. There's a suitcase in my dining room from the time, last month, when we went to visit my sister in Burlington. Houston figured out how to work the zipper, so there are even more clothes heaped in a pile around his kitchen set. That damn kitchen set. There are plastic potatoes, and spatulas, and hot dog buns all over the place, and a sleeve of Ritz crackers, mostly gone, sitting in his kitchen sink. I don't want to know what I'd find if I opened his fridge.

There are dishes in the real sink. Toys all over the kitchen floor. Random bits of tupperware littered everywhere. Bills on my counter (ugh). Bananas in the fruit bowl that I keep telling myself I'll use for banana bread, but not sure if they're really still edible or not. And that's just what I can see. Here. Without moving.

I keep telling myself I just need to look up ONE more thing on the computer before I start. Facebook statuses, my Fantasy Football team, my email, my blog stats. But in the back of my mind the question remains, what if your mother-in-law stops by RIGHT now?

Time to chug the rest of my dunks, turn on Itunes, and just start... sigh. What's your motivation for cleaning when your living space becomes too cluttered to go on living? What inspires you? Leave love below!

If I was a single woman and liked animals... maybe?

Just some big, expensive shoes. Sigh.

I think it's funny sometimes when I go shopping and scan clearance racks and sale shelves to find the cutest yet cheapest item I can buy that "mostly" fits, but yet don't think twice when buying clothing for my son who will likely outgrow his wardrobe in 3 to 6 months. Last week I spend $24.99 on a pair of brown shoes I desperately needed for fall, while spending double on my son's shoes last night. $50. Now granted, Houston's walking needs are a little different then mine - I don't want to permanently stunt his growth by skimping on shoes, but $50. Eeks. This is when I'm glad I have a little boy who can get away with one pair of shoes (gasp!) and not a little girl who needs dressy black shoes, brown shoes, casual shoes, sneakers, etc. Our income could not withstand TWO women buying shoes. Even if one DOES shop clearance.

Justin and I took Houston to Stride Rite last night to get some new sneakers and couldn't believe he was a size SEVEN. And guess which category that puts him in at the shoe store... PRESCHOOL!! Now, I know my kid has always had bigger feet than his playgroup pals, but PRESCHOOL-sized feet!? He's not even 2! yet. Ugh. Poor kid... looks like he's inheriting ONE of mommy's traits. And clearly not my finest.

Hew's new kicks

And can I also say, saleswoman at Stride Rite, when I am obviously and outwardly shocked after you measure my son's foot, can you at least pretend to smile or reassure me? I know your boyfriend is in the store waiting for you to get off work, but c'mon, please pretend to be amused by annoying mothers with big feet.

What Should I Do With My Life?

is the title of the book on the bookshelf that's glaring at me. I've had it since college, and kinda hoped that there would be some secret answer in there somewhere. A sentence that said, "Danielle, you should be a _____." Well, I guess it might as well have said that, because at that time in my life the book had relatively no insight.

I dug it out again recently, as I sullenly passed by dozens of pregnancy and baby books that Houston and I had developmentally outgrown. Lately, there have been situations in life that have me asking that question again: What should I do with my life?

I love this quote by Po Bronson:

"Your calling isn't something you inherently "know," some kind of destiny. Far from it. Almost all of the people I interviewed found their calling after great difficulty. They had made mistakes before getting it right. For instance, the catfish farmer used to be an investment banker, the truck driver had been an entertainment lawyer, a chef had been an academic, and the police officer was a Harvard MBA. Everyone discovered latent talents that weren't in their skill sets at age 25. Most of us don't get epiphanies. We only get a whisper -- a faint urge. That's it. That's the call. It's up to you to do the work of discovery, to connect it to an answer. Of course, there's never a single right answer. At some point, it feels right enough that you choose, and the energy formerly spent casting about is now devoted to making your choice fruitful."

I tried to imagine a life in which money had no bearing and health insurance was a moot point. What WOULD I do if I had true freedom? I wish I was the kind of mom who would say that I'd just stay home with my kid all day. Truth is, as much as I love my son, I don't think he or I would fare well with that scenario. I DO want to be home more with Houston, so that is a factor, but I definitely need my creative space and adult time. I think my dream life would be snuggling with Houston in the morning until about 9, dropping him at Meemaw's for lunch and naptime, and picking him back up again at around 2. From 10-2, I could go to Borders, have a coffee and a danish and just write. I wonder if it means I'm a fatty that two important elements of my job involve food? Food, flexibility, baby time, jammy time, creativity and maybe a little fame... too much to ask for? I don't think so. Well, maybe the jammy time.

So... the question begs to be asked: What should YOU do with your dream life? Leave comments below! :)

Need help deciding? Check out this link for ideas... it's now bookmarked on my comp.

Who's the Dunce Now?

Nothing makes you feel smarter than working with kids. I mean, it's awful that part of the joy in my life comes from using children to boost my own ego, but it's the truth. Especially since my knowledge of sex ed came from a children's book my mom handed to me when I was 7 that said babies come after mommy and daddy "do a special cuddle in bed." Talk about confusing, right?

So you can imagine my joy at hearing other kids' takes on baby making. Especially now that, 20 years later, I can proudly say that I know what "cuddle" reallllly means.

I was trying to review a math problem today with my kids that had to do with averages... the problem said, "If a new student joined the class how many brothers and sisters would you expect him to have? Explain." I heard a few random answers then got this little gem: "I would expect the new student would have 3 brothers and sisters because their mom probably took 3 pills and then, poof, 3 babies!"

Someone's going to be traumatized when they get their first headache...

If there's one thing to be smart about...

it's voting.

Now I admit, when I was 18 and stoked to vote for the first time, I picked all the females on the ballot and colored in their ovals painstakingly. Since then, I'm pleased to report that I've grown up a bit (although if worse comes to worse and I have absolutely no clue, I have to admit that I resort to the "girls go to college to get more knowledge, boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider" approach). I did some research and was ready to vote with confidence.

Without getting into a political rant, because let's face it - it's November 2nd and we're all a BIT tired of that, I can't overstate the importance of making time in the day to hit the polls. And it's even more important to me to show my son how vital it is to vote. I was fortunate enough to have the day off from school today, so Houston and I hit our voting ward early.

Houston, all 19 months of him, is not a novice to voting. He's been traipsed into the claustrophobic booth with me, and juggled from hip to hip for as many elections as there have been. Although he's definitely becoming astutely aware of how bizarre the whole process is. After being removed from his car seat prematurely, with chocolate munchkin still in hand, he reached up for my hand with a chocolate-glaze smile, always a good sport for whatever adventure awaits. We walked down the long wheelchair ramp into the musty smelling church, and before we had even made it inside were interrupted by a creaky, "Who arrre youuuu voting for, little boyyyyy?"

That's when Houston dropped my hand, and smile, and looked urgently at me saying, "Up, up?"

From car to booth, back to car, there was no shortage of little old lady eager to ask Houston who he had voted for. Which to me is a) inappropriate to ask, and b) aggressive interaction with a toddler. We eventually made it into the booth (okay, now I know I'm no chunk, but seriously - does anyone consider that people may need more than 1 square foot of room to vote comfortably?), and juggled Houston over to my right hip so I could write freely with my left hand. He looked anxious, so I said, "Okay Hew... time for momma to color." To which I heard from the booth on my right, "Well that's a fun way to look at it. She told him she was going to color."

Okay old lady, as I tell my 7-year-old students, MYOB. And also, who else was in HER booth? Kinky.

We made our way out of the booth to deposit our ballots, only to be faced with (you guessed it) another old lady. Houston knew the routine at this point though, and hid behind my legs, gently pushing me out the door.

As I strapped him back into his car seat, he looked at me with those green eyes and asked, "All done?" I said, "Yes. All done!" He said, "Okayyyy! More munka?" Poor kid.... all that work for another chocolate munchkin.

Love that kid.

"Who are youuuu voting for, sonnnny?"

....back!?

So about the past 7 months (and yes, I did, despite knowing better from my 2nd grade reprimands, count those months on my fingers)... yeah. About them. As Houston would say, "Ummmm..." It's a bad habit that I've passed on to my newly-verbal little man. I have no explanation, except to say, "life." And we'll leave it at that. Kay? Kay.

So I've been stressing out because November has been approaching and last year I participated in my first ever Nanowrimo (national novel writing month). It was great to get back into writing but also kind of a huge time commitment. At that time, Houston was just a little nugget I could stick in the corner somewhere and he's bat around at mobiles and springy toys precariously suctioned to a nearby wall. Now, he's older. And way more fun. And way more work. And not to mention, Justin's working way more hours. So like I said, I've been stressing. The thing is, I WANT to continue writing, but the problem is at this point in my life, I just don't have time. Hence, here I am! :) I'm back and ready to continue sharing my adventures in cooking, organizing, creating, and well... life.

Don't worry. I'm still a dunce. There will be lots to read about my cooking adventures. But a lot of things have changed in my life forcing me to make some pretty drastic alterations to my lifestyle. Please join me, again, my loyal friends, as I share some of these new and exciting elements of my life with YOU... dunce to dunce. No offense.

Oh HEY THERE fancy cooking :)

So perhaps my dunce-ities have come from cooking recipes that are too easy, because, not to toot my own horn, but when it comes to preparing meals with special sauces I'm a pretty damn good chef if I do say so myself. This past week I've made things with the titles "Pan Seared Green Peppercorn Filet," "Chicken and Asparagus in White Wine Sauce," and "Herb Crusted Pork Loin." Normally I would look at these titles and say, "Psh, yeah," and turn the page. BUT, I've found that going to the grocery store and stocking up on a few common ingredients has made my life so much easier! I picked up a couple of good cooking wines, beef and chicken stock, and a few fresh veggies, and my cooking world has been turned upside down! I suddenly have a myriad of recipes at my fingertips and can cook without a dreaded last minute trip to Hannaford! I feel like I am cooking gourmet meals - and they TASTE like gourmet meals (note: my definition of gourmet being something I would order in a restaurant). I've been reinspired and I'm leaving the baking to my sister from now on! :)

Make Love to Jamie Oliver, Anyone?

Sorry for the lapse in writing... there's no excuse for my adult onset ADHD, except well, my self-diagnosed adult ADHD.

Has anyone watched Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution? I credit him for refocusing my mind on healthy eating. How about that Huntington, WV (America's unhealthiest city)? I felt sorry for the mother whose "home cooking" was literally killing her family... I was impressed with those donuts she made though. But when they stacked all the fried food she made for her family in one week, I have to say, the donuts suddenly lost their appeal.

And the elementary school? Those little kids hit so close to home - especially now that I'm on "lunch duty" at my school. Our school seems to do a decent job of making healthy lunches, but like Jamie said, the amount of food that gets tossed is sickening - poor fruits and veggies. I feel like the old school lunch duty teacher I was afraid of in elementary school, but taking Jamie's cue, I have been sending some kids back to take "just one bite" of a veggie. The thing is, most kids will do it. Of course there are stubborn ones - but the majority of them just don't eat them because in their mind, that's okay. There's no mom in the lunch room making sure they eat - until nowww. Wuh wuhhhhh.

There are times when I just don't feel like fighting with Houston about eating vegetables. But I don't want him to think when he goes to school some day that he can eliminate them altogether from his diet. Guess whose little baby plate had a heaping lump of vegetables last night?

Thank you Jamie for refocusing my brain on my mission of building a healthy family. And PS, your adorable British accent doesn't hurt either.

Check out Jamie's site and sign his petition for healthy eating:
http://www.jamieoliver.com/campaigns/jamies-food-revolution

Birthday Fun!

Hard times at the post office?

Call me a domestic dunce - but get me out of my house and yes, I am one savvy shopper. Take the post office for example - one wouldn't think you'd have to barter with a mailman for postage. But believe you me, apparently it's a new thing.

You see I brought my cute little birthday invites to the post office to mail yesterday, and decided to double check with the mail man that they were indeed worthy of just one stamp. Let me lay out the scene in the form of a play:

Mailman (hastely and rudely): Oooh, no. That's gonna be 60 cents.

(And here's the thing that caught him totally off guard)

Me: Why?

Cue the stuttering, the sweating, and fumbling of papers.

Mailman: Oh...w-well-well. It's the rigidity.

Me: What's that mean?

Mailman: Well (taking the envelope from my hands...finally), let's see. Measures the envelope, practices sliding it through a makeshift "slot". Yup. It's just one stamp.

So there. Hmph. Rigidity my ass. What does that even mean? He didn't know... obvi. Moral of the story: the post office is desperate. Don't try to distract me with compliments of how cute my baby is. I may be a domestic dunce, but I am a cheapskate, frugal, savvy shopper. And I know my damn envelope dimensions. I'd call that a birthday party planning success so far, wouldn't you?

This you are not, you crazy mail swindler.

Brrr...

Well, I just came home with Hew from his first visit to Chuck E. Cheese - not sure if I created a monster by bringing him there so early in life, but my school was having a fundraiser there, and he really did have a blast! I learned that my son is the reason why they have buckles on rides... he LOVED riding the coin-operated cars and horses while standing. He also had his first slide trip, and loved that too - even though he had a tough time taking turns with his girlfriend :)

Anyway, we walked into the house and Hew literally shivered. I didn't realize how cold it really was for a good 20 minutes. I scoped out the thermostat and all it said was "Lo Batt" - apparently it runs on a battery? Well, when I looked at our other indoor/outdoor thermometer, I realized why Hew had the chills! It was 59 degrees in our house!

I replaced the battery (thank you very much), and the heat instantly kicked on. But seriously? I wouldn't have had heat otherwise? Pretty crazy to think that 2 AA batteries control the heat in my entire house.

Hew and I are currently huddling over the heat vents right now, warming our hands! Ugh!

Stay warm!

Birthday Madness!

Maybe I'm just a nerdy teacher - but I decided that Houston's first birthday will be an Eric Carle theme (aka: the Very Hungry Caterpillar). I just LOVE his bright colors, and Houston really likes the few board books we have illustrated by Eric.

So I've been scouring the web for some party ideas and came across these SUPER CUTE cupcakes! Check them out and let me know what you think! I'm thinking of foregoing a traditional cake and using these instead. They seem do-able, right? Right?

And when I make the cupcakes, I'll make sure I don't have the oven mitt on backwards like the last time I cooked, thus burning my entire palm... ugh.

Test ONE!

My baby boy is turning ONE - so before I have another 10-month-delayed postpartum incident, let me get to the point.

I had been trying to decide whether to host Houston's party at our house, or go somewhere cool like Kaleidoscope. The pros of somewhere else: NOT CLEANING. The pros of staying home: not spending money to rent a facility (although it may be THE coolest place for a newly-budding toddler), letting Houston relax in his own environment (I don't know WHERE he gets his shyness from... cough, cough), and not being limited to certain dates and times.

Soooo... obviously the pros for staying home outweigh the negatives - especially in these times when we're trying to save as much money as possible. So the Domestic Dunce's FIRST test is Houston's big birthday BASH! I am hoping to clean, cook and hostess my first major event (other than ones for friends who already know me and don't really care) for friends and family on March 6!

That means I have a little over ONE month to get this house in tip top shape, my recipes in order, and my prettiest outfit ironed. It may sound minor, but this is the first test to help me turn from Domestic Dunce to DOMESTIC DIVA! 

I was psyched to find two last slices of bread for my sandwich this morning. I was NOT psyched that they were the heels. I thought I was the queen of ranting... but I think this guy hates bread heels more than me:

Week 1 - success!

As I slid the pork roast into the oven tonight, I thought back, one week ago to my pork attempt/fiasco last week, and realized amidst all my struggles, that I had been successful in my cooking debut. I cooked meals 4 out of 5 weekdays last week (and one well-deserved Panera break with my favorite neighbor!), which is a huge step up from ONE per week.

It's the start of a new week, which means I'll probably need another trip to the grocery store this week. Any suggestions? Comment or email me!

And PS - thanks for the HUGE support since the start of this blog! Keep reading for what's sure to be new and exciting, and probably dangerous, experiments in the house! :)

Even the best cooks were dunces once

Justin and I shared a delicious dinner at my grandmother's house last night - she is an amazing cook. Nothing gourmet or fancy... just great home cooking. 

Yet she told me a story of when she first got married and started cooking for my grandfather, and decided to make him a pie. She had heard that, when in doubt, add an egg. So she whipped up an apple pie and threw in an egg for good measure. She set the pie on the windowsill to cool (old school, right?) and when my grandfather came home from work, sliced into it. And there, amidst the apple filling, were scrambled eggs.

...and he ate it anyway.

I guess there's still hope for me yet - maybe when I'm 70 I'll finally have my act together!

Ode to....YOU?

You can have an "Ode to" too! Send me your favorite recipe and let my try my hand at it! Remember, I'm a recovering dunce, so leave the Julia Child stuff to Julia... I need the basics for now. Or, if you're aiming for a humorous read, send the Julia stuff too.

Ode to Sarah Smith

So dinner started out a bit tragic... but ended up decent!

I found two things that make me a better chef - confidence and pinot noir, and believe it or not, the pinot helps the ol' confidence factor and it works in a happy cycle - the better I feel, the more I drink, the more I drink, the more confident I feel.

So it started at Hannaford yesterday when I bought the ol' pork tenderloin. I kinda thought it would be like the roasts that are tied up with string? Big and loggish? But this thing, labelled "whole pork tenderloin" looked more like an elephant's penis. Long, skinny, pink. I brought it home and thought about it for a while more while searching for a home in my fridge for the thing... it felt too dirty to mix in with the rest of the food in my meat drawer. I wondered how it would look when it was done. It had to change form in the oven or something, right?

I had a recipe that sounded delicious from my college friend, Sarah Smith (not related, unless you trace our lineage back to John Smith... lover of Pocohantas). But when I unwrapped the penis, I started doubting myself. I had Justin run back to the grocery store and buy some thick piece of meat, but after confirming with Sarah that it SHOULD look like a penis (really?) I felt a bit better. (Side note: anyone have a recipe for pork end roast?) Here's the recipe: one pork penis (j/k... it's funny in my own mind only because I'm still drunk), a bag of baby carrots, two cut up potatoes, two jars of sweet and sour sauce. Put all the ingredients in a glass baking dish and dump the sauce over the whole thing. Bake in the oven for an hour, covered, at 375 for an hour.

EASY!

Except apparently, my oven sees tinfoil and just shuts off.

WTF?! Every time I cook something covered with tin foil, it just doesn't cook. Sure enough, I took the loin out an hour later, unwrapped it, and the whole thing looked exactly the same as it had an hour earlier. I texted Sarah in a panic, and she told me to try uncovering and cooking for a half hour.

Sure enough, 30 minutes later the tenderloin was cooked PERFECTLY. It was amazing! The veggies were still a little crunchy, but my crowd liked them better that way anyway.

Oh, did I tell you I was cooking for GUESTS? Like I said, I was drunk. And everything worked out fine. Self-confidence and wine. The perfect recipe.

TenderLOIN?

Does the LOIN part of tenderloin mean penis shaped? Because I bought a pork tenderloin at Hannaford for a recipe for dinner tonight and was slightly embarrassed to check out at the register. I swear my face turned red just taking it out of the package... just wondering.

Check back later for an update on penis dinner tonight :)

I'm gonna make MILLIONS...

...when I invent the BEST accessory EVER for other "Domestic Dunces" like myself.

You know when you find a really great recipe in a cookbook, but you read the list of ingredients and go, "Shallots, what the eff are shallots? Welp, I'll figure it out when I get to the grocery store." Then you get to the grocery store and realize that no, you will never ever find that mystery ingredient...?

GPS FOR GROCERY CARTS! Type in the ingredient, and it navigates your cart STRAIGHT to the necessary food product. How friggen awesome would that be?

I spent 20 minutes looking for FOOD COLORING Wednesday morning, only to realize they had NONE! I knew where it was supposed to be, but if I'd had a GPS on my grocery cart, I would have realized earlier that they were sold out, instead of scouring through the beer aisle wondering if maybe they had some special food dye end cap or something.

Welp, see you poor suckers later - I'm off to get a patent, head off to Shark Tank, and make enough money to HIRE myself a gourmet chef.

THE recipe

Sooo... it's been awhile. You can blame Justin for that. He thought he did the impossible - catch a virus on a Mac! We were really kicking ourselves about NOT installing anti-virus software, but turns out the ol' girl's fine. Phew. It was really rough not being able to use Facebook for 24 hours.

So about that cooking thing. It's been a while there too. I've enjoyed my old friends, Domino and Spaghetti-o lately. Oh well, I'll be back at it after the weekend. I promise. Kinda.

In the meantime, chew on this fabulous family recipe, called "The Recipe"

1 serving = 1 cup cooked elbow noodles, 1 slice of American cheese broken into 4s and jammed into the noodley concoction, 1 mini can of spicy V-8 poured lovingly over the top. Mmm. Poor man's spaghetti, and 1 whole serving of veggies. God knows we don't get many of those in this household!

Oh! And so psyched to start reading my new cooking for babies book - we'll see. So far he's the only one getting square meals, a la Gerber, Earth's Best and Beech Nut. Phew.

Oh, F*#@!

Typically the Gap isn't the place where you're dropping F bombs...

unless you find your baby dangling from the bottom of his stroller, looking up at you with his head on the seat and his feet dangling on the hardwood floor. Apparently "dunce" moments don't just happen at home. Really, this is something that would only happen to me.

Justin and I were shopping at the mall and he decided to try on some jeans. I had been holding Houston because he was a bit antsy (my baby? nahhh) and Justin had been pushing his stroller. Naturally, it's nearly impossible to hold a wiggle worm and push a stroller, so I bribed him back into his seat with some puffs (God and Gerber's greatest contribution to baby food). Justin would only be in the changing room for a few minutes, I figured, and Houston was so squirmy and agitated, I consciously decided NOT to buckle him in to his stroller. It's not like I forgot, I just was lazy and irritated.

So we were browsing in a little nook, waiting for Justin, when I looked down and saw Houston sink, quickly, out through the bottom of his highchair. I literally threw the shirt I was looking at, and dropped a rather loud F bomb in the process, running around the stroller like it was a game of duck, duck goose. He was at such an awkward angle (kind of like a backwards L?) that I couldn't lift him by the armpits. I had to find his chunky butt and push him back up through the stroller into a sitting position. He never cried or anything, just looked at me like, wtf, mom?

I'm pretty confident that no one else witnessed my 10 seconds of public humiliation/bad parenting, but I learned my lesson - no matter what, buckle in the baby.

"This was back in the day, when my mom cared about me and my safety."  ~Houston

SUCCESS! Royalties to be split this way: 40% Me, 30% Him, 30% Crock Pot

YES!!!!!

I made a meal that Justin said, without prompting, "This is a 10! I'm going back to get more after the baby goes to bed." YES YES YES!!

Okay, so he made it.

But I found it on the internet, and it was just a crock pot recipe, so yeah I guess he made it, but all he had to do was throw 4 ingredients in the pot and push "on" right? Finding it took way longgger. Psh.

So here it is: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Slow-Cooker-Dump-and-Go-Cheesy-Chicken/Detail.aspx

Slow cooker dump and go cheesy chicken - which really doesn't make it out to the gloriousness it is. I have a problem with the word "dump" in title of a recipe, but regardless, it was sooo good. Even Houston was diving into my lap for another bite. And I almost forgot that the rice I cooked when I got home as a side dish was just a little bit too watery. Why is rice, water and a stove top so IMPOSSIBLE to perfect? Anyone have a clue here? I'd love to be enlightened.

But I can't let something as small and bland as rice deter me from my success, and fine, his success too.

Shredding Meat aka: Shredding Any Ounce of Dignity You've Ever Had

DAY ONE! Time to do some cooking! I decided to devote January and February to improving my cooking skills - so last night I created my first, reformed meal.

So I climbed up on top of my counters (really) while my son Houston sat on the floor, thumping tupperware with a wooden spoon, casually glancing up at me as if saying to himself, what the hell is she doing now? I hauled the ol' crock pot down from the top shelf of the corner cupboard and nearly fell backwards onto the hardwood floor trying to get my post-baby-body ass back onto the ground. (Side note: any other mommies out there lose all sense of grace and poise when they had their babies? I STILL feel like a bumbling idiot sometimes!). Houston startled as I nearly came crashing down beside him... then went back to banging. Crisis averted.

I flipped my laptop around to face me and carefully followed the two whopping directions for "Slow Cooker Barbeque" from allrecipes.com:

Directions

1. Place roast into slow cooker. Sprinkle with garlic powder and onion powder, and season with salt and pepper. Pour barbeque sauce over meat. Cook on Low for 6 to 8 hours.
2. Remove meat from slow cooker, shred, and return to slow cooker. Cook for 1 more hour. Serve hot.

I thumped the roast in the pot, wondering what those strings were for that were tied around my meat. So I typed, "Do you cut off the strings on a roast?" into google, and welp, what do you know? You leave 'em on there! Things were going great - I sprinkled the spices onto the roast with the nonchalance of Rachel Ray, and dumped the barbeque sauce on with the finesse of Julia Child.... cooking isn't so hard after all! 

... then 6 hours later passed.

After texting my mother in law, I realized that my next task of shredding may be a bit more involved that I thought. She told me to use two forks and just pull the meat apart, but my meat had so much fat, that I had to really PULL the forks apart with all my graceful strength. Obviously it eventually ripped apart, with such a sudden unexpected tear that the two pieces sloshed to the edges of the pot and barbeque and meat juices and liquid fat went flying across the counter and my apron-less shirt! Note to self: invest in an apron. I was literally SWEATING by the time I was done shredding the meat and cutting fat out of the meat. But finally, I was done. The meat cooked for another hour and we ate it over cheap Target hamburger buns. Not bad for a first meal - we both gave it a 6.5 out of 10, and Justin even said he'd eat it again some day. 

The crock pot is still sitting in the sink, as I type, a layer of Dial and juices floating for the past 24 hours. But hey, I don't want to shock the system too early. My cleaning focus will be in March or something. Try the recipe yourself and let me know how YOU do: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Slow-Cooker-Barbeque/Detail.aspx