The Toxic Housewife

(a pin given to Mr. C) First, a moment of irony:

I got this lovely book for free, and it has provided me with hours of shuddering enjoyment.

http://etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun I am the consummate American, in that it is in my blood to be a consumer.  This does not blend well with my Irish-German roots, which advocate practicality and thrift.  So I am greedy whilst concurrently being miserly: to qualities that are ever at-odds with each other.

I was always a dog person growing up.  Probably because my best friend was a rat-terrier named D’Artagnon.  Despite his penchant for killing kittens, peeing on purses, and sneaking into other people’s luggage to eat entire boxes of their expensive chocolates, he was still – in my eyes – the most perfect dog in the world.

Last summer was probably the first time Mr. C and I had a truly in-depth discussion about sex. “How do babies get inside their mommy’s belly?” Mr. C asked one day as I was making cookies.

Because he’s so advanced in every single way, Mr. C has already lost his two front teeth.  Which makes it easy, because now I know what to get him for Christmas.

Ahhh, what a glorious week to be a neurotic, overly-obsessed Toxic Housewife!  Thanks to the impending arrival of the Greatest Chocoholic Holiday Ever, I had so much to be dramatic about! As promised, here’s what I spent the last few weeks obsessing about:

old bandsaw blades and a lovely white pumpkin Because I have been too lazy busy to update this blog with a worthwhile post, I will just give you a teaser for now:

Preparing For The Apocalypse Pop Quiz: Left to my own devices for a few days, I will feed my child daily doses of junk food and subject him to frivolous activities because:

photo by Mr. C And in yet-another situation I never, EVER expected to find myself in . . . until I had kids:

To recap: Time spent on The Great Macaroni-Starry Night Project:   * 2 hours in the classroom   * 5 hours at home prepping the night before; 1 hour sealing the project once done   * 8 days of gloriously self-involved bitching before, during and after project completion

So this last Sunday I decided to have another one of my Dessert Extravaganzas.  Having learned from last year, I worked ahead and started making and freezing cakes about 2 weeks ago.  This means I was much less-bitchy on the actual day of the party; hence, Bee wasn't nearly as ready to divorce me.

#1

While studying for my Elementary Education degree, I was a student teacher in a third grade classroom.  My mentor, an involved but disillusioned veteran teacher, did a wonderful job of creating fun projects and a cozy classroom for her students . . . while concurrently making them tense with her inconsistent moods: you just never knew what would set her off, and if that thing was really your fault or just her whim-of-the-moment.

(there was one vote for every answer but "B" and "F") And the answer to last week's poll is:

Kindergarten supply list Tomorrow is Mr. C's first day of Kindergarten.  So please note the poll to the right. I think we are as ready as we will be. Here is his ridiculously-huge backpack:

newly-made honey dippers in front of one of our hives It was a buzzzzzy week for us. Last Friday, Bee and I got our first call ever to remove an active wild beehive.   A tree   had partially blown down in a wind storm the night before, tearing open the hollow limb in which the colony had built their hive.   Half the hive was in a branch on the ground, and the other half was still about 25 feet up in the tree.

So I threw on some shoes to go to the park with Mr. C.  At which point my darling husband said, "Uuummmmm, I don't think those shoes really go with that dress." And I believed him . . . for about two seconds.  Then I remembered that I was taking fashion advice from a man wearing this :

 My stargazer lily; grown from a bulb, and one of the few triumphs of my garden.

Poor Bee.  I realized after my last online snitty-rant that I’m doing him a disservice.  Why is it easier to complain about the ones we love than publicly praise them?  (At least, it is for me.)

I am mentally-exhausted this week, due, in large part, to the bipolar nature of several activities:

Gourmet dinner? mmmm . . . carb-a-licious! Check.

Alright, here's a recap of the 'knight' birthday party:

#1: I begin a movie well after 9 p.m., concurrently employing Ben and Jerry to keep me company. They do so. A little too well:

I'm a little neurotic this week. I mean, more-so than I usually am.

So we had sort of an interesting week here, chicken-wise:

feeding fish Mr. C has appointed himself the Official Neighborhood Greeter.  This means that he has taken it upon himself to charge out of our home/yard any time he hears a car pull into a neighboring driveway.  Or a car start  in a neighboring driveway.  Or someone quietly tiptoe-ing across a neighboring driveway.  Yes, as soon as he hears (or thinks he hears) any of these sounds, Mr. C charges out of our yard, screaming "Hell- O ?!" at the top of his lungs in a desperate attempt to stop the neighbor before they've left the area. It's either very endearing or very annoying; I can't figure out which.  Of course, I'm not the one being charged at.

(The first time I hosted a party, I had two guests.  And now . . .) This last weekend saw us hosting yet-another potluck.  And it was Awesome.  And I'm not being immodest by saying I hosted an Awesome party; after all, it's not immodest if it's a fact.  Actually, it would now be nearly impossible for me not to host an Awesome potluck, seeing as how I've hosted quite a few over the years (due to my neurotic needs for both attention and acceptance).  Having hosted so many, I've naturally picked up a few tips on how to host an Awesome potluck.  Some of these tips I will now share with you, not only because I want to give back to the world with this selfless information-donation, but because I just like to hear myself talk.

. . . and then after I titled my last blog post , I thought of a much better one:

I just got back from having my hair cut.  The deal I'd found online included a lip or brow waxing.  After staring at me for a few minutes, the hairdresser decided I could use both.

1) Just have to show you a picture of our newest additions:

at least I am STILL disturbingly attracted to my own feet . . . Dear Body, I noticed another gray hair today.  It has made me, again, contemplate how I will age.  I suspect it will not be graceful.

When I told Bee the title of my last post , he said, "I think you need to work on being more . . . positive . . . . with your posts." Which probably explains why I haven't posted in so long. So -- in a mostly-un-negative fashion -- here's a quick update on the awesome goings-on of the Toxic Household:

Last week –  evilly egged-on by the sight of my spinach seeds actually starting to look like spinach plants – I suddenly came to two very dangerous conclusions: 1) that I enjoyed gardening, and 2) that I was actually capable of keeping plants alive. This heady feeling lasted approximately 48 hours; and what a dangerous 48 hours they were.

And, after my most recent tragedy in Accidental Homesteading, the score is: Modern Technology: 1 Toxic Housewife: 0 Here's the story:

Yesterday was a tough one for this sentimental, stubborn Toxic Housewife.  All because it was time to get Mr. C a Big Boy bed.  And that wasn't even what was upsetting me.

running through Zion National Park We just got back from a fabulous vacation in exotic Tucson.  Once again, our knack for setting our sights really low so things can only go up from there paid off, and we really enjoyed ourselves.

I'd like to formally announce the newest soon-to-be-addition to the Toxic Household . . .

A completely homemade, omnivorous pizza To She Who Shall Not Be Named, who suggested I read The Omnivore’s Dilemma for my IntelliQuest:

The book Bee thoughtfully left out for me to read: The book in which I am instead engrossed:

See that? I did that. That’s right: the Toxic Houseife, Herself, actually managed to grow something.

Last week we registered Mr. C for Kindergarten.  As you can imagine, this was a very big deal for me.  Well, OK . . . and for Mr. C, too. Because this was such a special occasion, I took great care to dress Mr. C in his sweetest sweater, made sure he had a fresh haircut, and was looking his absolute-cutest.  Alas, my careful physical preparations were all for naught: Mr. C decided he was "itchy", so here's all he did -- and all anyone noticed -- for the entire walk to school:

This photo has absolutely nothing to do with this post; I just kind of thought the dyed batters were pretty, and wanted to post it SOMEWHERE) Today is a day for celebration: this marks my 200th post !!  I'm sure you're as excited as I am!! Now, as I said before in marking the grand occasion of my 100th post , this would normally be the time where all my celebrity friends would come out and we'd recap our favorite posts and pat ourselves on the back for being a part of such a culturally-important project.  But -- for some odd reason -- all my celebrity friends were out of town / enforcing their restraining orders, so I decided to do the recap on my own.

Knock-Off Oreos I just can't seem to get things right lately.  This week, for instance,

Sad news in our neck of suburbia:

What Bee gave me for Valentine's Day: yay! What I gave him:

Chocolate Almond Kisses The photo above shows the cookies I was trying to make this week for The Sugarbee Cookie Company. The photo below depicts my actual product:

Last Friday was Bee's birthday.  I hope this next year will be better, because this last year was kind of crappy for him.  All the stress he's had has caused him to grind his teeth, get some some sort of ear infection, and now have that infection travel down to his throat.  Since he is very much a victim of Man Colds , it's been a little hard around here.

It has been a little snowy over here.  Because we are good parents, we did the typical winter activities, such as taking Mr. C sledding four times in a week and building fabulous snowmen (OK, Mr. C started rolling the snowballs, then lost interest and forced me to finish rolling, stacking and decorating).

Pickles, peaches, and jams.   (We are so proud!)

Everyone just looooves to perpetuate the rumor that the champagne coupe was moulded after Marie Antoinette's left breast.

I'm starting to set a dangerous precedent with all my awesomeness.

Last Saturday, due in large part to 1) a heady sense of freedom brought about by S.B.’s agreement to watch Mr. C AND 2) the knowledge that it was only an hour and sixteen minutes long . . . I imprudently agreed to accompany Bee on a last-minute “date” to see the documentary Chasing Ice . Stupid, self-imposed IntelliQuest ; now look what you’ve done.

I'm in another one of my Moods.  Last night found me prone on the couch, whining at Bee.  I was filled with such intelligent conversation-starters as, "I can't lift my arms!", "There's absolutely  nothing I want to do!", and "Why are you asking me?  I'm so BLAH that I don't even know why I'm BLAH!!" I would have felt sorry for Bee, except that, as referenced above, I was too BLAH to feel anything other than BLAH.

How To Entertain A Dumbass The last time I visited my parents, my father asked me if I planned to go back to school once Mr. C started kindergarten.  Because I am intelligent and able to quickly and diplomatically vocalize my inner thoughts, I immediately snorted at him.