Please don't make me gag.

So, I heard today that Rachel Uchitel, Tiger Wood's 'alleged' mistess, has said that she is guilty of being "addicted to love".










Oh, AND prescription drugs.








But, whatevs.

Confession time...

It's 8:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving 'eve', and I really haven't gotten much done yet.

The shopping is finished (yay!), and there is a pumpkin pie in the oven, but other than that...


1. The house is still a complete and total wreck.


2. I still have orders to enter for a Thirty-One party.


3. Laundry? Don't even get me started.


4. The floor needs to be mopped, the bathrooms need to be cleaned, and I need to prep my brussel sprouts casserole (shut up. It's delicious.)


On the plus side?


Well...




um...



Give me a minute....




Hmmm.




Let me think...





Oh yeah! I took a really cute picture of the kids today. Here it is...




Proof positive that I actually accomplished something that is normally next-to-impossible.


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I'm not entirely sure...

I’m not entirely sure…


1. …if my son actually did his multiplication homework, or if he bribed his older cousin who is in the 4th grade to do it for him… “It will go so much faster, and we can play the Wii sooner!”

I’m sad to say that at this point, I’m cool with it, as long as it’s finished. Whatevs.


2. … when Thanksgiving became such a major holiday that people need an entire week off. At the risk of sounding old, and all ‘I walked to school barefoot in the snow’ …when I was a kid, we got out of school for Thanksgiving and the following day. Now it is Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. And quite a few school districts are closed for the entire week! Well, I guess we need the extra time for all that ‘family togetherness’.

Oh, and horking down our turkey dinner to Get. To. The. Mall.


3. … that I ever realized how difficult it is to have a child with a birthday that is so close to Christmas. I mean, *I* always knew that it kind of bit the big one to get your birthday presents wrapped in Santa paper. My parents never did that, and always really tried to make sure I had a ‘birthday, birthday’, but I never really gave them the credit for what a challenge it is to balance birthday vs. Christmas, and making sure that the December birthday kid (me! And now… Libs!) does not get shortchanged. It’s hard, yo.


4. …why Sarah Palin has her own reality show.


5. … if the language from yesterday’s blog was offensive to you. If so, my apologies. But it was hella-funny, y’all, and everytime I think about it, I get a little chuckle at the sweet innocence of my baby girl who was trying to love on some cute little squirrels.

I just hope she didn’t share her weekend experiences in her kindergarten class today.


6. … if I should actually open that e-mail I just got from her teacher. ;)

Say what??

Okay, I’m not even going to go into why I’ve been in absentia for over a week. All’s well around here, it’s just been BUSY. Blah, blah.


And this weekend? Ah, this weekend… CAMPING.

Camping with a bunch of adorable Cub Scouts who are missing their front teeth, look so precious in their little uniforms, who beg for S’mores in the most adorable way…


oh, and who happen to be pyromaniacs.

Every damn one of them was obsessed with the campfire, and more specifically, throwing things directly into the fire at every opportunity. Well, every opportunity where there was not a vigilant adult watching them like a hawk. I thought it was just MY kid, but turns out that all little boys will sit inappropriately close to a firepit, with their eyes glazed over, taking turns ripping apart a cardboard box, and saying things like, “Burn! Burn!!” I can definitely say they each earned their “Firestarter” badge this weekend.

The weather was beautiful, the company was great, and Inks Lake never fails to be just an amazing place to go camping. Bee stings, falls off the playscape, and the occasional vagrant squirrel climbing into a trash bag notwithstanding, it was a great weekend. Burned hot dogs, burned marshmallows, burned eggs (oh, excuse me: “Campfire eggs”) …it’s what camping is all about.

We headed home this morning, after closing ceremonies, and after the obligatory stop at Sonic for a Diet Coke (for ‘She-who-shall-not-be-named’), we were on our way, with the kids yammering the whole time about the best parts of the weekend.

Kid #1: Making s’mores!”


Kid #2: “Building the fire!” (of course)


Kid #1: “Playing with our friends!”


Kid #2: “Climbing the trees!”


Kid #3: “Chasing the big, fat, pu**y squirrels!”


SCRREEEEEECH!!!




Well, you’d have to slam on the brakes, too, if someone (‘She-who-shall-not-be-named’) had just spewed Diet Coke all over the inside of the windshield, in a coughing fit brought on by equal parts terror, surprise and sheer hilarity.



Me: “Ummm… WHAT kind of squirrels?” (I’ll give you a hint… she didn’t say ‘puffy’.)



Kid #3 : “Big, fat pu**y squirrels. You know, like pussycats!”

Oh, thoooose.

Three for Thursday:

(because I’m an alliterative geek.)

1. I don’t want to startle you, but there are only… SIX. MORE. WEEKS. UNTIL. CHRISTMAS.



Forget startled. That actually scares the crap outta me.





2. Everyone knows about my diet Coke addiction, but did you know that I don’t like getting Diet Coke in restaurants? Shocking, yes?

I only like getting iced tea. And only unsweetened because sweet tea is gross. Yes, I know that makes me lose my ‘Texas card’ just a little bit. I still SAY it the right way, though… FYI: it’s not Sweeeet tea (with the long e sound), it’s actually pronounced “Swayt tea” (Go ahead… say it. It’s right.)

Anyway, I can drink unsweet iced tea by the gallon. Which explains why I am familiar with the restroom interior and ambience of every restaurant we frequent.

2. My kindergartener brought home a note today that she had won an Award of Excellence for her PTA ‘Reflections’ entry, and she would receive her award at the ceremony next Tuesday night. Both her older siblings have won an award in the past for their entries, and have taken home trophies and/ or medals. So when I told her that she had won, she simply asked, “Will I get a trophy??!” Priorities, people… priorities.


I’m just hoping its not a “Major Award” because I really have no place to put a new lamp.




And if you got *that* reference, I won’t need to remind you that there are only… SIX. MORE. WEEKS. UNTIL. CHRISTMAS.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

And when I say 'frightful', I mean that there is a nip in the air. A damn frightful nip. Which officially makes it hot chocolate weather!!


I have to tell you... I love hot chocolate. And I love hot chocolate, while I'm sitting on my couch, wrapped in my robe, wearing my huggly socks (oh, surely you haven't forgotten *those*??)

I can't have coffee (makes my stomach hurt). Hot tea is okay. I'm really trying to develop a love for hot tea. Especially green tea because I read somewhere that it curbs your appetite, and can help you lose a couple of pounds. I also read that it increases your fertility. Which is kind of ironic, overall, I think. So, I can be skinny and incredibly fertile. Which is how I got into the position to need said green tea for weight loss. It's a conundrum. Anyway, right now, I don't have a full-blown 'love' for hot tea. Consider it more of a passing affection.

Hot chocolate is another story entirely. A rich, decadent story. It's the 'chick flick' of hot winter drinks, I think. And much like everything I drink, I have a few requirements:

It must:

1. Not EVER be made with generic hot cocoa mix. I will accept the store brand on a lot of things... Cream of mushroom soup/ Q-Tips/ Frosted Mini-Wheats (aka Frosted Mini-Spooners), but I simply can't compromise on hot cocoa. Swiss Miss, you sweet little chick, you. No one else can compare.

2. It must be served in a ceramic mug. Unlike my husband, who likes to drink it out of a PLASTIC CUP (he's crazy, I know), I have to have my steaming hot cocoa out of a mug... preferably my special Longhorn National Championship mug (made all the more special because with the way this season is shaping up, who knows when I'll get another one??)

3. It should have a mini candy-cane crushed up in it. (you know the ones... the teeny little ones that Santa gives you when you visit him at the mall?? Fortunately they also sell them at H.E.B., so I don't have to stalk jolly, old St. Nick.) And it should be crushed up into its little package BEFORE you open it. And it should be added to the cocoa mix in the bottom of the mug BEFORE you pour the hot water in.

4. And if you happen to have one, it can then be stirred with a bigger candy cane. (this is not entirely necessary, but it *is* a nice touch... ahem.)

Why all the detail? Do I expect you to come over and make hot cocoa for me, to my exact (albeit somewhat demanding) specifications??

Of course not.




















Unless you happen to be married to me. ;)

(*fortunately the someone that happens to be married to me finds me completely charming, and not at all demanding, and is currently at H.E.B., buying me some hot cocoa mix and candy canes after reading this blog :)

Thank you for your concern.

My youngest: "Momma, are you ALL better now?" (referring to my recovery from a recent hernia surgery)

Me: "Yep. I’m pretty much all better!"




My youngest: "So now can you pick up heavy stuff?"

Me: "Well, I’m still supposed to wait a couple more weeks before I lift anything that is super heavy."




My youngest: "How long until I can give you a really tight squeeze on your tummy?"

Me: "Um… you can give me a hug, just like you always do, but maybe no *really* tight squeezes around my middle for just a little bit longer."





My youngest: "Well, how long until you drive better?"

Thank you, 311 Operator. You’ve been less than helpful.

You tell me… what is one to do when a random dog runs into your yard and begins attacking your neighbor’s cat, causing your children to run, sobbing and screaming into the house like they’ve just seen the four horsemen of the apocalypse?

Step 1: Grab the dog. Or better yet, have the teenage neighbor boy grab the dog by the collar.

Step 2: Take note… there *is* a collar. And a tag! This should be easy…

Step 3: Hmmm… no tag listing the owner’s phone number or address. So, call the number on the Rabies vaccination tag, which dials up the veterinary office.

Step 4: Follow the prompts on the vet office’s answering service.

Step 5: Push *3 as directed, having “Found an animal wearing one of our vaccination tags.”

Step 6: Curse under your breath at the following recording: “Please be aware that the doctor on duty does not have access to records. They will be unable to give any information. Please call back during business hours.”

Wow. Really?? Okay… now I’m at a loss.

Step 7: Call 311 (since it is not ‘technically’ an emergency, and the cat has 'technically' made its escape into the tree…) to be connected to Animal Control to find out what our options are.

Step 8: Resist the urge to curse out loud when the 311 operator tells you that Animal Control is closed, and is there any way that you could keep the stray dog in your backyard until Monday?

The stray dog that just attacked a cat, and is still yearning to make calico mincemeat of the little fella? The dog that could be part pit bull, and could potentially be on "America's Most Wanted: Pet Edition"? In the backyard where my children play (or more specifically, the place I make them go when they’re driving me a teensy bit loco?).
Ummm…No? Sorry. Call me an animal-hater (which I’m not), but there is a REASON I don’t have a dog.

Step 9: Put the dog on a leash, and walk him down the street, hoping to find his owners, out looking for him.

Step 10: Resist the urge to pummel the owner when he spots the dog forty five minutes later, and simply shouts “Thanks!” over his shoulder as he jogs home with his little escapee.

Bottom line: I was really surprised at the lack of options for dealing with a stray animal on the weekend. If the best option really is just putting some random, potentially vicious dog in my backyard for two days, that’s insanity. So, all I have to say is… People, if you care about the welfare of your animals, and want people to be able to contact you… for the love of Pete (and Petey, and Rover, and Spot, and Fido), put your phone number on your pet’s freakin’ collar!

Okay. Rant over ;)

I saved the black wigs for next year's 'Cher' costume

Zombies may totally freak me out, but apparently I find vampires cute and cuddly.





Especially when they collect their weight in fun-size Twix bars.







(and the little Army guy is pretty adorable, too. Especially with his two front teeth missing. He's so patriotic... he can even sing the "Th-tar Th-pangled Banner" ;)

Hope everyone had a wonderful, safe Halloween!

I did *not* know that...

I think I’ve mentioned this before. My husband is an incredible person. I might even go so far as to call him… “Mr. Incredible”. ;)

But he likes to watch weird shows on television. I *might* have mentioned that before, too. Or blogged incessantly about it. Whatevs.

Occasionally he gets me hooked on the weirdness, too. I admit… I *have* watched an episode or two of ‘Swamp People’ (Remember those ‘you know you’re a Redneck’ jokes? Well, ‘you know you’re a Swamp person’ when the show’s producers have to run subtitles across the bottom of the screen when you talk. And you’re from Lousiana, and are supposedly speaking English.)

Oh, and ‘Warehouse 13’? Good call there, hon.

But the new show that I found him watching a few nights ago? A show about zombies. To be perfectly correct, it’s not just a SHOW about zombies… it’s an entire series about zombies.

It’s called ‘The Walking Dead’, and according to AMC’s website, it’s all about the dwindling number of human survivors in a world overrun by conservative Republicans.

Um... oops. I meant ZOMBIES. (oh, come on, y'all... simmer down. it was a joke ;)

Do you want to know more about the zombies?? I just KNEW you did, so I found this for you on Wikipedia. Because I’m a giver, and all.

“In the beginning of the series, Rick and partner Shane are in a firefight and Rick is shot and enters a coma. Upon waking in a hospital, he discovers the undead are in the building and town. Rick returns home and shortly decides to go to Atlanta, where the survivors were told to await help, to find his wife and son. He discovers the city is crowded with zombies.”

Here’s even more Zombie 411 for you:

“To date in the series, every deceased human being has risen as a zombie, as long as they still have a working nervous system. Zombie body fluids getting on a human will not infect them. It is not the bite itself that zombifies a person, all the bite does is cause a serious infection, which kills within days. Promptly removing the limb of a person bitten will ensure survival.”

Turns out, Phil was trying to tell me all of this the other night. In a very long-winded, roundabout way.

I guess he didn’t notice me saying, “Mmhm… oh yeah? Hmmm,” while simultaneously becoming glassy-eyed. And maybe nodding off. Just a little.




Uh-oh. Weirdness overload…

Even better than magic beans...

I’ve been doing it all wrong.

According to an Ethan Allen commercial that I saw while I was watching ‘The Dish’ (which by the way, I’ve discovered I should NOT watch ‘The Dish’ or ‘The Soup’ and then immediately tune into CNN Headline News. I keep expecting snarky commentary to accompany it. And I’m not always as witty as Danielle Fishel in my own head.)

Anyway… according to Ethan Allen, all I need is, (and I quote): “that PERFECT piece of furniture… and the rest of the room will just fall into place…”

So, wait just a tic… are you telling me that ALL I have to do is buy a new piece of furniture? A new couch? Or a new coffee table? And the rest of the room will just take care of itself??

What about that giant stain on the family room carpet where Libby poured an entire bottle of maple syrup? Gone?

What about the cracked tile in front of the fireplace where a stocking hanger fell two Christmases ago? Gone?

What about the pictures of my kids from 5 years ago? Those are in serious need of an update.

How about the lumpy pillows I haven’t bothered replacing, and the window valances that I hung up, decided I hated, and have been too lazy to take down??

Maybe that’s why Ethan Allen is so expensive. Because, hello?? Clearly, they sell magical furniture.

Does it dust itself, as well?

If so, I’d better figure out how to explain the $147,000 worth of new furniture I’ll be charging.