Ouiser

oopsy daisy.

2012-02-13T10:10:00.002-06:00

I've been fussed at lately. For not blogging. I just haven't really had much to say, and I've been using all my available spare time to read the entertainingly not great Game of Thrones series of books. The books? I started with the first one (obviously) after Mellie Mellie picked up a used copy during Granddaddy's hospital sojourn. She told me it was entertaining. It was okay. Then, once I'd gotten into it a bit, I had to watch the entire first season of the HBO series. That hooked me. I'm now reading the fourth book in the series, and these books are looooonnnnngggg. So, lots of spare time that might've been spent blogging has been spent reading questionable literature.

Anyway, the only other thing of interest around here is that I've actually been cooking some new things, so that's what we're going to talk about today. If you shoot over to my Life List, you'll see at the bottom that I want to try 1000 new recipes. I made that goal in October, I think. I've been keeping a list of all the new recipes I've tried since then.

These have been my favorites.

Crockpot Pulled Pork.
Tagliarelle with Truffle Butter.
Red Beans and Rice.
Baked Pancakes.
Buttermilk Chicken.
Vietnamese Noodles with Pork (from Clean Eating magazine).

Tonight, we'll be trying Pork and Carrot Curry. I've got the pork marinating already, and it smells divine. I will say that M wasn't the hugest fan of the buttermilk chicken, but S, T, and I loved it. Also, S refused to eat the Vietnamese Noodles, but I think that's mostly because she's a brat. I liked them much. The Ginger-Lime flavor combo was tasty, and it was very unlike what we normally eat during the week.

There have been a couple of epic failures on this 1000 recipe quest. Crockpot Cranberry Chicken and Caramelized Onion Quiche come to mind. Lots of other things were just so-so, leading me to ditch the recipes forevermore.

There you have it, folks. A blog post. And, for the record, I've tried 24 total new recipes.

five alive.

2012-01-25T09:21:00.001-06:00

And so it goes. Happy Birthday to my beautiful girl.

eve.

2012-01-24T06:51:00.003-06:00

It is the eve of my girl's 5th birthday. I don't know how we ended up here. The Be Good Tanyas have a song called "It's Not Happening," and that one line keeps repeating itself in my head. Over and over and over and over again. I'm writing this post today because I am not entirely sure I'll be able to write it tomorrow. There's a part of me that anticipates needing a sedative and a bottle of Pinot Noir when the clock strikes midnight. I know that's not true because her excitement tomorrow will be intoxicating. I know that I'll put a candle on her banana bread in the morning, and we'll celebrate my girl all day, but I might need that bottle when 8pm comes and she's in bed and I realize that her fifth birthday actually happened whether I wanted it to or not. That's the thing about birthdays. They happen whether you want them to or not.

My almost five year old girl. What can I say about her?

I suppose I could start with: she's absolutely perfect even though she absolutely isn't. That's the thing about motherhood. You know how awful your kids are but think they're perfect anyway. I might want to strangle her a thousand times a day, but when I look at her, my heart is so full of love that it aches. When I watched her faceplant over and over last night at gymnastics, I just thought, "I love her. She's just perfect." I was able to think that she's perfect despite the fact that she is a spastic mess on a tumbling mat. And a balance beam. And uneven bars.

In reality, this girl of mine is wonderful. She is sensitive. She's got an absolutely huge heart. While I treasure this about her, I simultaneously want to help her grow a thicker skin because she's going to need one.

She's funny in a way that almost-five-year-olds are.

She's beautiful. Her naked eyelashes could be used in mascara ads, and when those dark eyelashes frame those big, blue eyes, I can look at her and know that those eyes will break hearts.

She is stubborn. We've finally convinced her that she may not marry her brother when they grow up. It's taken nine months, but she's finally realized that we may not be joking about the legality of it. She holds fast, however, to the assertion that even when she does get married, she's going to live here. When asked where her children will stay, she roundly informs us that she won't be having any. (I've heard that one before, Baby Girl, and I wouldn't be writing this post if I hadn't changed my tune.)

She is smart, and though I think she's positively brilliant, I don't have any expectation or desire for her to actually be brilliant. I want her to be smart, of course, but I want her to be happy first and foremost. I don't want her to be as hard on herself as her father and I are on ourselves.

She is a girl. A girly girl. I feared that God would give me a girly girl when I was pregnant with her, and that's just what He did. I can't really relate to that part of her, and that's fine. She, however, cannot comprehend why I don't want to play with dolls 24/7. When I told her that I've never liked playing with dolls (even as a child), I might as well have told her that we live on the moon. It didn't compute for her. It won't be the last time that we don't understand each other, and that's fine, too.

It's been an adventure these past five years, and I wouldn't trade a second of it because even the bad seconds are necessary. However, her brother and I made a deal yesterday whereby he will never do this to me. He's going to stay a baby forever.

Happy almost Birthday to my darling, perfectly imperfect angel/demon girl.

so many thoughts, so little time.

2012-01-11T10:04:00.003-06:00

M commented this morning about my recent lack of blogging, which I already knew about. I'm the blogger that's not been blogging after all. I told him, "I don't really have much to say right now." He told me that the mundane posts are the good ones. (For him at least as they act as little windows into home in the middle of his days...they are likely just mundane to the rest of you.)

Anyway.

Since that time (approximately 545am), I've had half a dozen things to blog about pop into my head. Here's one.

S's birthday is coming up soon. She'll be five, which is mind blowing. Five seems so much older than four. Four is a little kid. Five is a kid that goes to elementary school. I am simultaneously SOOO ready for S to go to kindergarten and so nowhere near ready for my precious angel baby girl to be gone from me five days a week. Before I ship her off to kindergarten, though, she has to have a birthday party.

She wants a snowflake party. Fine with me. Her requests are usually funny. Like when she tells me she wants a surprise party and goes on to plan it in minute detail. The requests that are constant and real and not to be ignored are simple. Chocolate cake, white frosting, silver sprinkles. Sandwiches. Bell peppers. Apple juice in silver cups. A snowflake pinata. Balloons.

When she decided on the snowflake-themed party, I did what all reasonable mamas of our age do. I got on the internet and started looking for ideas. Lots of ideas. Decor. Food. Favors. Activities. You name it.

Then I stopped myself. Why was I doing this? There are some things about parties that are amazing and memorable, but those things are rarely born of copious amounts of internet research. They tend to be more organic. They tend to be things your children actually ask for. You know what S has asked for? A pinata and balloons. So, that's what she's getting.

When did a child's birthday become a reason to stress out beyond all reason and spend a mortgage payment?

When S and her friends have birthday parties, I don't think the children have ever noticed the decor or lack thereof. They want to play, and they want to eat cake. S and her friends also want to swing sticks at pinatas, which is fine with me. I think parents go hog wild on the parties for themselves and to impress other people. Don't get me wrong, I love to throw a party, and I love to do cute stuff (especially involving my little peanuts), and it's totally cool to go hog wild if you want to, but I'm making an effort this year to just have a nice, relaxed time with my girl for her birthday. I'm going to have the food she's asked for. I'm going to work on making her day about her, not about making marshmallow snowmen with a bunch of kids that are all jacked up on sugar.

What do you think? Were your birthday parties memorable as a child? What made them memorable?

storage wars.

2012-01-06T15:22:00.004-06:00

Do you have kids? Do you? Do you have lots of microscopic pieces of plastic and wood all over the place? Because I do. Now that the wee one has his own toys out to play with, I feel like I'm staring at toys 99.9% of the time. T got his fair share of trucks and balls and books for Christmas, and he lugs them around and gnaws on them constantly, but they are everywhere, and S's basket isn't big enough for everything. Thus, M said to me the other day, "I think it's time we talk about a toy box."

Kill me.

My head was instantly filled with an image of a plastic toy box by Little Tikes that my brother's babysitter had when he was little. Then I started thinking about wooden toy boxes with heinous jungle scenes lovingly painted on them. Or large boxes meant to look like John Deere tractors. I wanted to cry.

Naturally, I got on the internet.

I was coocoo for Cocoa Puffs when I saw these, but M said no. He's right of course, it would take many of these baskets, and then there would be multiple baskets littering the family room.

He suggested a box with a lid so that we could shut the lid on the chaos, but, we're Ouisers, so the box needed safety hinges and it needed to be made of actual wood. Also, I had to be able to bear looking at it in my family room for the next several years. For a few hundred bucks, I could solve all of our problems. But I wasn't happy with the options. I just wasn't. I know that old adage about not having anything in your house that you don't find beautiful or useful, and all of the toy box options were useful. They were just not something I wanted to look at. At all. I had a couple of small anxiety attacks worrying about this. Then I'd laugh at myself for being so monumentally silly.

I decided on these. I think we'll be really happy. They are not hideous. When I started the search, I thought that some sort of chest would be great because we could repurpose it later. Blanket storage in the guest room or something. Then I realized that meant I was looking for two different things really. When I chose these, I knew I was choosing something to contain our children's toys. They might someday hold sports equipment in the garage or some random stuff in the garage, but I think, in this instance, I was making a simple choice based on our actual needs and that felt good.

How have you dealt with having children's toys in communal spaces?

to market, to market.

2012-01-04T15:11:00.003-06:00

I'll begin with this: Happy New Year.

Then this: I know I've got a lot of catching up to do: Advent-ures, Christmas, that kind of stuff. I've been busy with a sick Granddaddy, though, so that must wait.

For now: S decided this morning that she needs a new American Girl doll. She decided this whilst looking through one of her Kirsten books. When she said she wanted Molly, I told her that Molly cost a lot of money, and she took her money pouch off the fridge and asked me to count how much she had.

****

Me: You have ten dollars.

S: How much does Molly cost?

Me: One hundred dollars, but if you'll save half the money, Daddy and I will pay for the rest.

S: Okay. I need to make some money.

Me: How are you going to do that?

S: I'm going to sell some of my baby stuff.

Me: Like what?

S: Probably that Little Bo Peep rhyming book. (A seriously tattered board book.)

Me (giggling in my head): Really? How much do you think that book will sell for?

S (without hesitation): Seven dollars.

Me: (guffawing in my head): That's a start.

****

Inevitably, the new American Girl catalog came this afternoon. I had been thrilled to know that Kanani, last year's Girl of the Year doll, would be gone from my life forever. Hopefully, with all mention of S's desire to have Kanani's Shaved Ice Stand gone with her. Alas, I should be careful what I wish for. This year's Girl of the Year is McKenna, a gymnast. As S takes gymnastics, she feels that the new American Girl doll is sent from Heaven to be hers. Shoot me. She's in the other room poring over the catalog, dreaming of McKenna and matching leotards and uneven bars. I hate American Girl. It is the root of all evil. Not really, but it's close behind Disney and exercising. Those are really the co-roots of evil.

q and a.

2011-12-19T15:13:00.002-06:00

S had some friends over today for a little holiday frivolity. I made a little book for each of them. The books had fill-in-the-blank questions. The following are S's answers. Please note that each page is illustrated in detail.

****

This is me. (Self portrait.) My name is S. I am 4 years old.

This is my family. (She labeled us all, and we are surrounded by birds, which means she drew my own personal Hell. Also, M appears to be wearing a beret.)

This is my house. (I asked her about her details, and she pointed out the gate into the courtyard, the bushes in the backyard, and "the mess of leaves over by the pine trees.")

My favorite book is The Bible.

My favorite toy is Froggy.

My favorite animal is a cat.

My favorite food is spaghetti. (Then why, pray tell, do you never eat it?)

The coolest place I've ever been is home. (That's my little recluse.)

If I could go anywhere, it would be the pond across the street at night to look at the stars. (What?)

If I could meet anyone, it would be Jesus. (She even drew him some Birkenstocks. I swear to you.)

When I grow up, I want to be a princess.

The best thing about Christmas is giving presents. (She drew a gift with a set of hands giving and another receiving, and an arrow to indicate what was happening. I love this girl.)

The best gift I've ever gotten is clothes for my dolls.

The grossest food I've ever eaten is corn.

The best thing about being a kid is playing in the snow.

The worst thing about being a kid is having to pull your own grapes off the stems.

My mom's favorite thing to do is cook.

My dad's favorite thing to do is decorate the Christmas tree.

My brother's favorite thing to do is be with mom.

This book is about my family. (The page read this book is blank.)

***

This little activity is one of my most favorite things she's ever done, and I fully intend to keep it forever. I may even put it in the fireproof box that holds our passports.

mind blowing. outlook altering.

2011-12-16T07:02:00.002-06:00

It's taken me days to get around to this post. One: because our internet keeps crapping out. Two: because I don't know where or how to begin.

Apparently, my OCD tendencies are worse than I thought. I'm not blind, I know I'm a little crazy. I just didn't realize how crazy. Apparently. I really, honest-to-goodness thought I was doing humanity this tremendous favor by exposing the truth behind the great internet organization monster. I guess not. M said it best when I was telling him how horrified I was by my idea gone awry. He said, "Yeah, if you'd shown me those pictures ahead of time, I would have told you it wasn't going to work." Or something along those lines. Of course, he then proceeded to tell me all the things in the photos that he knew that I saw as a mess from Hell. The man knows me well. Then he reminded me, while those photos were, in fact, photos of my mess, they would be most people's organized.

So. New tactic.

I still truly, honestly believe in my heart of hearts that the internet just plies us with unrealistic expectations. Someday soon I will take staged photos of my kitchen and meticulously point out the areas that I changed because it might not be obvious to anyone but me. And my husband.

What I've realized is that there's also a perspective aspect to this monster. I found the Ouiser porn link to be unrealistic. Perhaps you find my pictures to be unrealistic. Maybe you find the kitchens on Hoarders unrealistic. The point is that with so much media showing us gazillions of photographs of what we should be doing, we're inundated with images that tell us what we're doing isn't enough. And I believe that you can always do more. You can always improve, but I think the images on the internet and in Martha Stewart don't inspire us, they intimidate us. They give us a "keeping up with the Joneses'" complex.

Does that even make sense? Am I speaking in Greek?

Also, unrelated to the internet, this little experiment has forced me to really, really embrace my crazy. I already had, but I spent a couple of days this week feeling guilty and sad and embarrassed about it, mostly because I really didn't realize the level of it. Now that I have, I've decided that I really, really don't care if I seem crazy. It's who I am, and being hyper aware of my mess and wanting to be organized makes me happy. Really happy, so I'm just going to embrace it with open arms. And I'm going to talk about it to make people laugh, because, frankly, most people already do laugh at me for my crazy. It's like my party trick.

There you have it. Now, my toilet has been soaking in vinegar while I wrote this post, and I need to get it properly scrubbed before the children wake up and my time is consumed with helping T chase his favorite toy around the family room and helping S decorate her gingerbread house.

Have a fabulous weekend, my peeps.

the kitchen.

2011-12-12T06:18:00.015-06:00

Okay, here they are. The untouched, hideous real photos. I didn't even crop them. That's how real I'm being here people. Totally real. Like Taxi Cab Confessions real. (I don't even know what that means. I thought maybe it would give me some street cred? I don't know what that means either.)

So, here's the kitchen on a random afternoon. It is NOT pretty. It is, however, excruciatingly honest. It's so honest that it is really, really hurting my soul to put these photographs on the internet. Of course I'm trying to lend some real integrity to my argument that the internet is a big, fat lie.

Without further ado, I present my kitchen cabinets.

Drinkware.

Dishes. Serving bowls. Pitchers.

Coffee stuff. Salad spinner. Vases. Huge platter.

Mixing bowls. Water bottles. Plastic crap.

Above the microwave.

Miscellany.

Flatware. And the rolling pin and knife sharpener.

Spices.

Food storage stuff and bottles.

Baking pans.

Cooking utensils.

Cookware.

The junk drawer.

Under the sink.

The pantry.

The fridge.

The refrigerator door.

The top freezer drawer.

The bottom freezer drawer.

Some very old china that I use every single day and stuff we don't use a lot.

The baking sheets and whatnot.

There you have it. Now I'm going to go organize that kitchen like it's my job. Wait, that kind of is my job. I should get fired.

Now it's your turn. Please. For the love of Pete.

the internet is a big, fat lie.

2011-12-08T15:36:00.002-06:00

Recently, Scarlet Lily sent me an email. The subject line of the email was Ouiser Porn. You all know that I'm the world's biggest prude, right? I am. I was also curious about the email. It contained a link to this.

It really was like porn. Just for me. If Bella is Edward's personal brand of heroin, then organizing might be mine. As I scrolled through the blog post, I ooh'ed and aah'ed a lot. Then I ooh'ed less. Then I just got angry.

Want to know why?

Because the internet is a big, fat lie.

The photographs of that kitchen aren't realistic. I mean, they're real. In fact, that's what my kitchen looks like after I clean it, and if I was planning to photograph my kitchen and slap those photos on the internet, that's probably what it would look like. But then I'd cook dinner. Or grab something from the back of the cabinet and not replace whatever was in front of it as carefully. I might not turn all the labels the same way. I might not stack the peanut butter crackers as neatly. Do you get what I'm saying?

I'm saying that by virtue of living in a space, you cannot maintain perfection in that space.

Let that soak into your brains for a minute. It took me a minute to really grasp what I was saying myself.

No matter what organizing tool you buy. No matter how tidy you are. No matter if you have a housekeeper. Your life and your home can't be perfect all the time. It's just not realistic.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't aim high. I aim for perfection all the time, but it's a goal that I never actually intend to meet. It just makes me do my best. Keeping my kitchen as organized as I can whilst still using it. Keeping my toilet as clean as possible whilst not sending my family to the woods to "eliminate."

I've decided that the internet and magazines shouldn't be lying to us. It's like they exist just to make us feel bad about ourselves. To make us feel like we're bad mothers. Bad housekeepers. Bad cooks. Bad, bad, bad. And you know what? We're not. So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to start photographing real life a little. I photographed my whole kitchen yesterday. Everything. Every cabinet. Every drawer. Even the inside of the fridge. Only I didn't do any merchandising at all. It took all my willpower not to stage things perfectly, not to turn the spouts on the milks and the juices all the same way. Not to make sure the forks and spoons were perfectly aligned. But I didn't. I just clicked away. Next, I'm going to merchandise the crap out of the kitchen. I'm going to get it "my house is on the market" ready. And I'm going to photograph* that. And then we're going to see the difference in reality and internet reality and we're all going to feel like champions of domesticity. Right? Right.

Who's with me? I mean, am I the only person alive who feels like the internet and magazines are taunting me? Telling me that I'm not good enough unless my life is in perfect order? Perfectly designed, perfectly rigid order? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Is this thing on?

*My card reader has just crapped out. The photos will have to wait. Technical difficulties and all.

little ouiserisms.

2011-12-07T18:31:00.002-06:00

In the past hour, Miss Priss has been on a roll.

For starters, as I was putting the red pepper flakes away after spiking M's dinner with them, I smashed my finger in the spice drawer. I've done this before. You'd think I'd learn, but no, I continue to injure myself. Anyway, it was not pleasant. It was one of those things that makes you think you are instantly going to puke, and I literally fell to the floor, rocking back and forth in an effort to not string together every curse word I know. (For the record, no improper words escaped my lips.) M and S ran over to see what was the matter, and when M realized I was okay, he told S to stay back and just give me a minute. And she did. One minute. Then she said, "Dad, don't try to stop me," and came right over to me to pat me on the shoulder. She gave me a kiss, and then she told me I might need to be more careful.

Then after dinner, she asked if M or I was going to take T upstairs to bed. She wanted M to do it, but I told her if he did that I was going to go to the grocery store. She said, "and leave me down here all alone?" I said, "Yes, for the six minutes it'll take your dad to feed your brother." She replied, "Oh, Mommy, I would shiver with fright."

Then there was another one, and I can't remember it for the life of me, but it was funny enough that I came in here to blog about it. I'm so geriatric that I can't remember something my daughter said for five minutes. Wow. Looks like Santa needs to bring me Brain Age.

the books.

2011-12-06T06:44:00.002-06:00

The Sleepy Time Gal posted about Christmas traditions today, and in the post she talked about Christmas books that her family enjoys. Seasonal books are one of my favorite things around here.

Most of the kids' books are upstairs on a shelf outside of the calm place. However, I keep a crate of books in the family room, too. I rotate them every month or so, and I try to keep them out according to seasons and holidays. So, I put away the Thanksgiving books last week, and got out the winter books. I realized later that I had two separate stashes (winter books v. Christmas books), but having shown S the winter books, I couldn't very well take them away in an attempt to refresh the stash on December 26th, so the book crate is overflowing right now, and that's okay.

Here's what's occupying the book box now:

The Twelve Days of Christmas
Caillou's Merry Christmas
The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear
Emily and the Snowflake
Sleep, Black Bear, Sleep
The Night Before Christmas
The Care Bears Night Before Christmas
Christmas is Coming
The Snowy Day
The Tomten
The Tomten and the Fox
Christmas Time to Me: From A to Z
Baby Jesus is Here
The Very Snowy Christmas
Amazing Peace
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
The Christmas Story
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Shines Again
Merry Christmas, Mouse
The Story of the Snow Children
Fancy Nancy: Splendiferous Christmas
Winnie the Pooh's Christmas
Christmas in the Barn
Polar Express
The Animals' Christmas
The Animals' Christmas Eve
Frederick
The Tennessee Night Before Christmas
Madeline's Christmas
The First Christmas
The Littlest Angel
The Sea Mice and the Stars
I Love Snow
Owl Moon
The Velveteen Rabbit

It's a hefty list, but most of the titles are great. Even the Caillou book is okay. The lone exception to that statement is Emily and the Snowflake. If you ever come across this book, run, don't walk, in the other direction. S loves it. Like, loves it, and it's awful. She also loves the Winnie the Pooh book, which I don't really understand since she's never cared a thing for the inhabitants of the Hundred-Acre Wood previously. I think she just likes it because it's long.

I've posted links to my favorite titles from the list. That way, if you're in the market for a holiday or seasonal book for your kiddos, you can get one that's a little more parent friendly. Meaning, if you have to read it over and over and over, you might not want to tear your eyes out...it is the holiday season after all. And I'm a good friend like that.

I will say that The Tomten is actually one of my favorite children's books. Period. I love it so much. The Story of the Snow Children is also lovely. It's rather magical, really. I also love anything that has to do with Madeline, but S is currently rejecting anything to do with my little French heroine. Leo Lionni is always brilliant, and Frederick is no exception to his genius. Lastly, The Tennessee Night Before Christmas just makes me smile. It talks about Moon Pies for crying out loud, and one of the kids in the story is sleeping in a University of Tennessee Peyton Manning Jersey. It's pretty awesome...even if it doesn't really rhyme.

We've also got some grown up holiday books, but my favorite is a collection of poetry that my SIL gave me last year. I adore reading poetry. Also, this is an absolute gem.

Do you feel Christmas literate now? You're welcome.

What about you? Do you keep a stash of holiday books? What are your favorites?

let the advent-ures begin.

2011-12-01T09:34:00.003-06:00

We busted out the Advent calendar this morning for the season of festivity is upon us. Like last year, we aimed for a daily activity that will allow either S and I or our entire family to do something together. A chance to spend at least five minutes of each of the next 25 days enjoying the holiday season. Without further ado, I present the 2011 list of Advent-ures:

Decorate the small tree in S's room.
Spend the night with T & Grandma (Mr. Ouiser and I are going to his office holiday party.)
Buy and decorate the family Christmas tree.
Watch Charlie Brown Christmas.
Watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on TV.
Make a Christmas banner.
Make Peppermint Bark and remember to send Toddler Tamer the world's most gracious thank you note for the bag of crushed peppermint.
Make salt dough ornaments.
Watch Santa Claus is Coming to Town on TV with cookies and cocoa.
Spend the night with Mellie (Mr. Ouiser and I have plans.)
See The Muppets.
Feed the birds.
Make Daddy's favorite cookies (Chocolate Mint).
Make treats to take to school.
See Santa Clause.
Make a gingerbread house or gingerbread nativity.
Choate family Christmas at Aunt O's.
See the Nashville Ballet performance of The Nutcracker (this is strictly a date for S and Mr. Ouiser. I love the idea of a fancy daddy/daughter date during the holidays.)
Have a Christmas playdate.
See the trees at Cheekwood.
Christmas with the Suters.
Watch Polar Express.
Make and decorate butter cookies.
Read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
CHRISTMAS!!

Granted, this list doesn't much take into account what the wee-est Ouiser wants to do, but he's just along for the ride for now. Besides, as long as he has something to gnaw on and can stare in wonder at his big sister, he's happy.

I will say that our list will likely have to change a bit, but this is the general plan. Sometimes weather or sickness or last minute plans with friends just have to take precedence, and I'm happy with that because the point is to enjoy the season, not for me to fly my crazy flag. I mean, the elaborate calendar I've created with all the baked goodies and lists of people to give cookies and holiday movies that must be watched coupled with the Christmas spreadsheet that indicates exactly what stage of gifting each gift recipient's present is in (ordered, wrapped, packed to ship or shipped) is evidence enough of my crazy. You know how big car dealerships have those giant American flags that look like they could cover your entire house? That's how large my crazy flag is. I own the crazy. I like to think it makes me charming. That's totally how it comes across, right? No? You just sit at home reading this babble, laughing because you know a person who could probably land her own show on TLC called Crazy Toilet Scrubbing Lady does Stupid Human Tricks? Oh. Okay.

Just the same, I hope you've gotten your own Advent-ures kicked off with a bang. What are your plans for Advent?

the classics. my list.

2011-11-30T07:13:00.005-06:00

I feel like this classic fashion mess has consumed me. I've really, really enjoyed all the hypothetical shopping, but it's been a little daunting. Just the same, I've managed to come up with a list. A list of the items that I think could get you through the rest of your life. Seriously. I think if I had each of the items on this list, I'd never need another thing. Maybe. Here it is:

Underwear that fits. I really do love the cotton bikinis from Gap Body. They lay flat, and you're not yanking on your panties all the livelong day.
Bras that fit. Never, ever underestimate what a bra that fits can do for you. A bra that fits doesn't ride up in the back. The straps don't fall down. The material hugs and supports you. And, trust me, I've had a lot of bras. I spent the majority of my adulthood with big boobs. Then I nursed two babies, and now I think S could wear my bras. I've got a collection of bras from A-cups to D-cups. And, honestly, because Gap can't be reliably counted upon, I've found that I actually like bras by Maidenform. Particularly this one. It's a great everyday bra.
Socks. How many times am I going to have to tell you to get some SmartWools? I know they're pricey, but they are worth every penny.
Slippers. I live in slippers. I take off my shoes almost immediately when I get home and put on slippers. I'm like Mr. Rogers in that I'm so predictable. I linked to those cute ones yesterday, but I saw these this morning, and they look pretty dang warm.
Heels. Classic pumps. Nothing flashy. Something that you can wear with jeans or with trousers or with a dress. I'm sticking with the Dolly.
Boots. I have a pair of tall brown suede boots by Sofft that I love. If they ever die, I will cry big tears because they don't make them anymore. They are a very classic silhouette, like a riding boot, but as they're suede they're a little more casual, which suits me well.
Ballet slippers. I swear, since I got my Bloch slippers at the end of the summer, I've been one of the happiest people on the planet. I fully intend to get a pair in black in the next year or so.
Handbag. I spent more time than I'd care to admit looking for "classic" handbags over the past week. I like the idea of a classic handbag. I like the concept of having a bag that will last, one that doesn't look like you just picked up the latest trend. In the end, I settled on loving this one and this one. Also, I love a classic bag because if you need to add a pop of color, you can just tie a vintage scarf to the handle and look all Parisian awesome. If you don't have a vintage scarf, use a new one and tell everyone it's vintage.
Jeans. I bought a pair of slim leg jeans earlier in the fall because I thought I should be a little more on trend and tuck my jeans into my boots. But you know what? That's not a great look for me. When I sent my dad to pick me up a smaller pair of jeans yesterday, I made extra sure that I didn't question myself. Dark wash, bootcut. I can wear those jeans with boots and sweaters, with cardigans and flats, with heels and something sparkly. Versatile and classic.
Cardigans. I really cannot say enough about cardigan sweaters. They are my life.
Tanks. I don't like actual matchy-matchy twinsets much. I like cardigans over tanks or sleeveless knits. I told you yesterday that I love these tanks, and I do, but this would also be nice under a cardigan.
Sundresses. I don't wear shorts. Ever. I even wear pants to the gym. God did not intend for my legs to be seen in shorts. It's not flattering. I don't do it. In the past, I've been pretty well dedicated to skirts and tops in the summer, but from now on, I think I'd rather do dresses. Dresses are so, so easy, and you look a lot more polished in a dress. This was my go-to dress this summer. It was great with sandals for everyday or wedges if I needed to be a teensy bit dressier.
Day dresses. I'm trying to extend my dress wearing to year round. I picked this up a couple of months ago, and it's been worn lots already. (It is much more flattering than the picture indicates, which is odd since they are attempting to sell the dress.) It remains to be seen whether I'll be able to stomach dresses throughout the long dark of Moria. I mean the winter.
LBD. Everyone needs a dress that they can immediately pull out of their closet and throw on for a wedding. Or the opera. Or a fancy date night. My favorite one? It's from Ann Taylor. I got it in 2001. It's a great fabric, it fits like a dream, and it has yet to go out of style at all because it is completely classic. It's almost exactly this dress.
Something festive. Right along with the LBD, you need something with some pizzazz. Something to wear to holiday parties. Something that you can mix with jeans or trousers or a black skirt. I keep three things along these lines tucked away. A midnight blue silk sleeveless cowl neck top that I think I got before I got Mr. Ouiser, which was eleven years ago. I've also got a cranberry silk surplice sleeveless top that I think I bought two years before S was born. A black lace tank from around the same time. None of these pieces are worn often, but they've all paid for themselves dozens of times over. In fact, I'm wearing the blue silk to M's office Christmas party this Friday. Something along these lines.
Wraps and scarves. I couldn't live without wraps and scarves. Mostly I wear wraps as scarves because they can double as blankets when I'm cold, and I'm always cold. While I'd love to be rocking these, this is one area where I tend to go cheap. You can always find wraps at Marshalls or Target. Also, if you don't spend a ton of money on them, you don't mind when your daughter plays dress up with them outside.
A trench coat. I want one. That's all.
An umbrella. I'm not talking about a golf umbrella or the tiny fold up number in your driver's side door. Those have their places, but I'm talking about an umbrella you'd walk around Paris with. I've got a couple of stick umbrellas that I inherited from M's mother. I love them.
Wellies. I'm getting tired of talking about Hunter Boots.
A belt. Again, I swoon.
Tee shirts. You just have to have them. As a grown up, however, they shouldn't say anything. You're not a billboard. This, of course, only applies if you're going for a classic look. There will always be a time and a place for your favorite Chicago Cubs tee shirt.
Trousers or skirts. I told you yesterday about how trousers aren't always good to me. Skirts, however, are all mine. Everyone needs something nice. Something for fancy brunches, parties, funerals, impromptu meetings with the President. Whatever. I stand by these pants from yesterday, but this skirt is what I'd really wear.
Pearls. I'm fortunate enough to have joint custody of my grandmother's double strand with a sapphire clasp. They are beautiful. I actually wore them as a bracelet over my elbow length gloves at our wedding to remind me of my Grandma as she passed away a week and a half before the big day. I also wear pearl studs pretty much daily. I'm wearing them right now. If I didn't have Grandma's pearls, I'd want these. I kind of want them anyway because real pearls are one of the greatest things ever. The weight and the texture and everything about them screams luxury and elegance, and I love them unapologetically.
A vest. The Ouisers really do love vests.
A fancy coat. I'm not talking about a fur or anything, I'm just talking about something to wear when you want to look nice. I've got a traditional wool camel coat that works well, but I've also got a brown tweed with a faux-fur collar that I bought a few years ago that I adore. I'd probably go with something along these lines if I were replacing mine.
An everyday coat. You might live in a reality where a fancy schmancy looking coat can go with you from day-to-day. I do not live in that world. I live in a world where one must jump in leaf piles and make snow angels and traipse around on the farm occasionally. I wear something almost identical to this (in black) to do it.
Sweaters. V-Neck or crewneck or turtleneck or cowlneck. Pick your poison, but everyone needs sweaters.
Knit tops. You know...shirts to live in. Since I don't wear button downs...
Sandals. It's kind of weird to follow coats and sweaters with sandals, but they're a necessity. I don't wear things between my toes, and I don't wear things that flop when I walk, so that limits what I'd wear. And I know these have a kind of geriatric Jesus vibe, but you cannot deny that they are classic. And every time I see a pair, I kind of want them.
Loungewear and sleepwear. While I'd love to look like this, reality is somewhere less glamorous. Just the same, you need something for Sundays on the couch with coffee and the paper. Or Sundays on the couch, covered in spit up and crayons, clutching your coffee like a life raft, trying to keep your infant from eating the Life and Style section.
An apron. I spend way too much time covered in flour to not include an apron on my list of classic items. I wear mine daily to keep my clothes a little less ratty looking. It doesn't protect me from my infant, though. I keep a nicer hostess apron like this for company.
A bathing suit and sunhat. I wear almost this exact suit, which might be a smidge too retro for some. I also love this hat.
A smile. Really, you can pull off anything if you're doing it with a smile, with your shoulders held back, and your chin held high. Everyone looks better when they look confident, when they look like they want to be exactly where they are at that exact moment. And if you don't want to be where you are, fake it 'til you make it.

So that's it. Really. I defy you to think of a situation in which you couldn't combine these 33 items and be appropriately attired for anything. Anything!

the classics. ouiserfied.

2011-11-29T10:50:00.008-06:00

I don't think Ouiserfied is a word, but we're going to go with it anyway.

Up next on this crazy fashion classics adventure: if I had to purchase the 32 items on the Real Simple list, what would I buy? Let's be clear, I wouldn't necessarily choose these 32 items, and that will be abundantly clear. In the next post, I'll choose the 32 items that I would buy if I got to make the list from scratch. Here goes nothing, folks...

White Cotton Button Down. I have a couple of issues with button down shirts. One: they are too boxy for me unless they are very fitted or tailored. They just swallow me up. Two: If they are fitted or tailored, all that fabric around my neck (read: the collar) makes me claustrophobic. I own one button down and it's a very relaxed, banded collar number from J.Jill. It is worn almost exclusively with boyfriend jeans and flats in a very, very relaxed, I-could-totally-live-in-a-loft way. If I had to buy another one, it would likely be similar. Maybe this one.
Twinset. My need for easy washability makes this option a good one. Of course, I love all cardigans. Love. As in, love love. If I hadn't already married Mr. Ouiser, I might just marry a cardigan.
Long sleeved tees. I used to have a couple of the Gap long sleeved favorite tees, but they changed the fabric and now I do not love them as much. I have, however, always been pleased with knit purchases from J.Jill, so this one is what I'd get. For the record, the J.Jill knits don't shrink terribly, the cotton is thick enough that you don't feel like your underthings are on display, and they hold their shape. I really do love their knits.
Pashmina. Really, I love all scarves and wraps. All of them. Since this is my list, I'll throw this one out there...as a dream. I'd never actually pay for it.
Handbag. For the totally classic vibe, I like the Cole Haan Chrystie Street Ava bag in black.
Rain hat. I can't really imagine wearing a rain hat, so I'll just act like I would wear the one I linked to last week. Really, though. Get a pretty stick umbrella.
Barbour jacket. The original article claims that chic Milanese women wear these everywhere "from the market to the opera." If they say so. There's really not an alternative to these, so let's just act like I'd wear the original.
Wellies. Stick with Hunter Boots.
Short sleeve tees. I have to be careful with tees. Probably everyone should. Not many people can pull off the classic crew neck tee shirt without looking like a boy or a person with no style. Some really thin people can, but I am not one of those people. I need a significant scoop neck or a v-neck always. Also, I'm awfully particular about sleeves. I had a tee from Old Navy this summer that I loved. When it fell apart, I decided that I loved it so much I didn't care, and I ordered three more. One of them has a big, fat hole in it already, but I swear I'll order it again anyway. It fits like a dream. But the white is a little too thin.
Cords. I love J.Jill's authentic fit jeans so much, that I'm already considering getting a pair of their cords.
Belt. I've been telling myself "thou shalt not covet the belt on the internet," but I'm still practically drooling over the belt from the original list.
Driving loafers. I don't wear loafers, so I don't care. Want to know why? They make my legs look shorter than they are, and that's a rather monumental feat. I wear ballet slippers instead. Just the same, I'd never pay for a pair of Tod's. I'd get the knock offs from LL Bean.
Watch. I'm not likely to ever wear a watch again. Just the same, there was an article in my aunt's Real Simple (again with the Real Simple magazine!!) about watches making a comeback. I saw one that made me swoon. This one right here. Go figure it's from Tiffany.
Crewneck sweater. Crewneck sweaters are just like crewneck tees for me. They have no place on my body. However, I have an older version of this sweater that I love. It's warm and it has held up to life in the Ouiser household nicely.
Trousers. Here's the problem with trousers and me. I'm short, and I've got what I'll lovingly call curves. Neither short girls nor curvy girls should wear wide leg pants. It's a fact. They make us look stumpy, and no short girl wants to look stumpy. We'd all rather be adorably petite. Alas, we're not all Audrey Hepburn, are we? No, we are not. Anyway, nothing wide legged for me. That wouldn't be a problem if I didn't have thighs like tree trunks and a small waist. People don't want to dress me in trousers. It's not a good look for me. I am a girl who was made to wear dresses. That being said, I had good luck once with a pair of curvy pants from Ann Taylor, and these are lovely enough that I'd almost be willing to try them.
Pumps. Whilst I would love a pair of Cole Haan's, that's not in the budget for me for a pair of shoes that I'd rarely wear. I did attempt to get these earlier in the week, but when they arrived today, they didn't fit and they don't have the smaller size in stock. They were, however, lovely.
Nightgown. I've actually taken to wearing gowns in the summer. It makes me feel like a little bit of a grown up. I like these.
Robe. What's the purpose of the robe? To lay around and be warm or to wear from the shower to the closet? Who cares? I'll take this one.
Slippers. I love slippers. Love them. I made Mr. Ouiser a convert about a year ago when I got him a pair of Sorels. I have worn through two pair from LL Bean in the past three years, so I think I just might go for cute ones the next time around...since I'm wearing them out anyway.
Tanks. I fully intend to buy several of these after Christmas. You see, I love to wear a tank under my clothes, but I like these because they aren't underwear, which means I can wear them alone under a cardigan. I couldn't do that with an actual undershirt. Also, they lay flat unlike those wretched, ubiquitous ribbed tanks.
Kneesocks. SmartWools. That is all.
Pajamas. I can't imagine wearing men's pajamas. I don't like collars on my regular clothes, wearing a collar to bed sounds like unnecessary torture. However, I love Gap Body's pajama pants. And maybe a shirt that matches would be nice.
Cotton bikinis. Again, I'm like an ad for Gap Body.
Black turtleneck. I explained previously that I don't wear turtlenecks. Since you now know that I also don't like collared shirts, you can see that I have a fabric-touching-my-neck-unless-it's-a-scarf-aversion. You can pretend I'd wear this if you want.
Jeans. I swear by these. Swear by them. So much so that I need to go buy another pair because all these stupid vegetables have left me falling out of my pants. I look like a hobo. That is decidedly not within the classic aesthetic wheelhouse I'm going for.
Brown boots. Seriously, I wouldn't be caught dead in the boots from the original list. It goes back to that "playing touch football at Turkey Hill" thing I talked about earlier. It's preppy overkill for me. However, I think a classic riding boot silhouette can never go wrong.
Boat and Tote. Do you have a boat and tote? I don't. I used to, and I loved it. It was so handy that it was almost absurd. Alas, I left it at the dry cleaners once with my dry cleaning, and that was the end of that. I should replace it.
Winter cap. I know it's not a winter cap like the list means, but I saw this when I was looking for a rain hat that was tolerable, and I fell in love. I will never own it, but it's so pretty. It looks so soft. I want to pet it. I feel a little like Lennie Small.
Sweatshirt. I own exactly one sweatshirt. I have had it since 1996 when I went to visit the U of M. It is in bad shape. The neck is toast. Alas, I still have it. Recently, I've taken to wearing cardigans exclusively around the house because when I'm in sweats, I act like I'm in sweats, which roughly translates to "I act like a sloth." The cardigans don't tend to keep me as warm as a toasty sweatshirt, though. I can't snake one from Mr. Ouiser because all of his are hooded and there's all that fabric around my neck plus they're size ginormous, and I'd be wearing a sweatdress instead of a sweatshirt. I need a compromise. Something cuter than my decrepit Memphis sweatshirt but toasty and comfortable. Perhaps this.
Vest. I'll stick with the Synchilla.
Trench coat. Really the London Fog is about as classic as they come, but who wouldn't want this?
Diamond studs. Now I love a diamond as much as the next girl, but I'm more of a pearls girl at heart. I wear pearl studs almost everyday. It adds to my perception of myself as Donna Reed. Oh, how I long to be Donna Reed. However, if I must channel Marilyn, I'll wear these.

So there you have it. Now, let's be perfectly clear, these are pretty much the items I'd buy if my bank account was suddenly switched with Warren Buffett's. I suppose I could've been more practical in some of my choices, but it's my party, and I'll cry if I want to.

You know what I mean.

the classics. found.

2011-11-22T14:40:00.004-06:00

Image from Everyday Minerals.

So the classics list. Because I have the original article, I at least have a picture of each of the items that they cited as being timeless, and they all do have a very classic aesthetic. Here's how I'm going to tackle this little classic style issue. Today, for the items that I couldn't find, I'm going to give you the best alternatives that I can find that are the most like the ones in the original article. They might not be my choices, but they'll be the truest to the article. Next I'll give you the list with my choices based on the 32 items on the list. If I'm feeling really nice, I'll give you a splurge option and a realistic option. Lastly, I'll make a list of the 32 items I'd choose as the best choice for your wardrobe if I were making the list from scratch. Are you ready?

I thought so.

Ralph Lauren Twinset. I can't find the silk cashmere blend set the article references, and the best alternative that I can see is the J. Crew Crewneck Cashmere Cardigan and Cashmere Shell. Someday my son will stop gnawing on my shoulders and puking all over me and I'll be able to wear cashmere. I'll be running around singing to the hills like Julie Andrews.

Maltesta Olimpia Stole. This was just a pashmina. Go forth and buy one. I think this particular one in Bordeaux is lovely. The Malatesta version apparently came in loads of colors.

The Coach Legacy Crescent Handbag. Looking at the picture, I fell in love. So much so that I thought I might bite the bullet and buy it. Alas, it's no longer in existence. This is the only photograph I can even find. You'll notice that the bag has simple, classic lines. It is large enough to get you through life without being so big that you're tempted to put things like dogs or laptops or gallons of milk inside. It also has one strap, and I love a purse with one strap. That way the other strap isn't constantly falling off your shoulder causing you to fidget. If there's one lesson I learned from watching Pretty Woman, it's that you're always more beautiful when you're not all fidgety. I can't find a great Coach alternative, but I feel like in the spirit of the list, I should. The Coach legacy Zip is closest in appearance. Alas, the strap is considerably longer because cross body is apparently the new black. However, I don't think that the cross body look is true to the classic aesthetic we're shooting for here. (By the way, if anyone ever told me I'd type this many words about a purse, I'd swear they were nuts.)

I forgot to include diamond studs on the original list, but these are on there.

The A.P.C. nylon rain hat. A rain hat? Really? This one is almost identical.

Barbour's Flyweight Quilt Jacket. The exact jacket in the article is gone, but with Barbour of England, you're always getting the same look. Here's a pretty close alternate jacket. The Barbour look? Essentially you could throw on some Wellies and stomp around Balmoral. I could live that life. Totally.

Speaking of Wellington boots, the article referenced a pair by Smith and Hawken, but who are we kidding? Hunter Boots are the way to go. I adore mine. I do kind of wish I'd opted for a more subtle color than orange, but I don't care. I still love them.

Petit Bateau tee shirts. I can't find the crew neck version of these tees that the article references. It's a crew neck tee shirt, though. The article says that the Petit Bateau tee is soft, snug, and carefree. It also claims it's sophisticated enough to wear with a ballroom skirt. Since I can't find this exact shirt, here's a link to J.Crew's perfect fit tee. I chose it over their vintage cotton tee because the fabric is a little heavier. Slub cotton is not classic. It also doesn't hold up terribly well in my experience.

Ralph Lauren's Saturday Corduroys. I actually had a couple of pair of RL's Saturday cut jeans in grad school. I loved them. They were, miraculously, the exact right length for me, which had never happened before and hasn't happened since. They no longer make them, but they were a relaxed fit without being slouchy. Because we're going for classic, I'm ruling out slim leg or boyfriend styles as an alternative. I'm settling for these. Garnet Hill's Fine-Wale Corduroy Trousers.

Tod's Driving Loafers. They don't make the exact shoe in the article anymore, but it's Tod's, they make loads of driving loafers. These are pretty classic.

Swiss Army watch. Nobody wears watches anymore, do they? We've all got mobile phones with clocks. Here's a nice alternative, though.

Benetton's wool crewneck. This is just a basic sweater. The article calls it effortlessly stylish. It says to pair it with a crisp collared shirt, jeans, and worn loafers. That's cool. If you want to look like you summer in the Hamptons and you're hanging out at Turkey Hill for Thanksgiving and this is your outfit for the annual backyard game of touch football. The picture they painted with that description is just too vivid...and too dowdy for my taste. Alas, here's an alternative sweater from Lands' End.

The Drina Pump by Cole Haan is a thing of the past, but it was a lovely shoe. A squared off pointed toe, but not the extreme pointed toe that was all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips about seven years ago. I found a pair of my black pumps in the attic the other day, and the toe was so pointed that it looked like a joke. At the time, the shoe was totally basic, so it just shows that even seemingly basic pieces can date you. Acid wash, anyone? Anyway, for a classic pump, here's the Cole Haan Air Talia Pump.

I can't find a Laura Ashley nightgown, but here's an alternative by Eileen West. I mean, it's pretty and all, but if I put it on, Mr. Ouiser would laugh me out of the bedroom.

I can't find the Izod Cotton Waffle Robe, but Real Simple says it was great because it wasn't all bulky. It looked a little man-ish for my taste. Here's the Pure Jill Jersey Knit Robe from J.Jill instead.

The Jockey Round-Neck Tank was touted as being "as soft and delicate as gossamer and as warm as Grandpa's thermal underwear." Here's their Naturals Seam-Free v-neck tank. I will say that I read a few years ago that we should wear tanks or camis under our clothes for a couple of reasons. One: warmth. Two: it protects your clothes. If you're wearing an undershirt, all the lovely oils and things from your body get on the undershirt, not your actual clothes, which enables you to take your real clothes off, air them out a bit, then put them away without having to wash them. I pulled that off for a couple of years, but my new status of "constantly covered in puke and drool" means every article of clothing must be washed every time I wear it. Just the same, I love having an extra layer.

Lauren by Ralph Lauren kneesocks. Apparently, these stayed put pretty well. Here's a link to some SmartWool kneesocks, and if you're not on the SmartWool bandwagon, get there. Now.

Banana Republic Black Turtleneck. I don't wear turtlenecks. I haven't been able to tolerate them since S was born. I also cannot tolerate anything remotely scratchy. Eek. Here's a knit turtleneck from Gap. If that's your kind of thing.

Echo no longer makes their cashmere blend cable knit hat, but here's one on Etsy.

That's everything as close as I can get to the original intent of the article. Next time, I'll take the 32 items and choose the ones I'd buy if I were buying them for myself. That'll be loads of fun, won't it?

the classics.

2011-11-21T08:59:00.005-06:00

Yesterday I was cleaning out a cabinet in the office when I ran across a couple of old notebooks. They were the notebooks that I'd filled over the years with magazine articles and pictures and things that I wanted to keep for inspiration and ideas. The notebooks that Pinterest has rendered practically obsolete. There was some good stuff in there, though. Old stuff. I cleaned out a lot of it, but I couldn't let some of it go, which I'm fine with.

One thing I ran across was an article from Real Simple from a zillion years ago that was entitled "Classic Style." It was a list of 32 perfect, timeless pieces that you should have and keep forever. Here's the list:

Brooks Brothers White Cotton Shirt / Ralph Lauren Twinset / Gap Long Sleeved Favorite Tee / Malatesta Olimpia Stole / Coach Legacy Crescent Handbag / APC nylon rain hat / Barbour Flyweight Quilt Jacket / Wellington Boots / Petit Bateau tees / Saturday Cords by Ralph Lauren / Jutta Neumann ring closure belt / Tod's Driving Loafers / Swiss Army Cavalry II XS Watch / Benetton wool crewneck / J.Crew charcoal gray wool flannel trousers / Cole Haan Drina Pumps / Laura Ashley nightgown / Izod Cotton Waffle Robe / Pearl River Satin Slippers / Jockey Round Neck Tank / Lauren by Ralph Lauren Kneesocks / Brooks Brothers Men's Pajamas / Gap Cotton Bikinis / Banana Republic Black Turtleneck / Levi's Men's 501s / Blundstone Stout brown boots / LL Bean Boat and Tote / Echo Cashmere Blend winter cap / Russell Athletic Sweatshirt / Patagonia Synchilla Vest / Trench Coat.

I find it absolutely hysterical that so many of these pieces have been discontinued. In the event that the exact piece is still available, I've linked it. However, it doesn't do anyone any good at all to have a list of pieces that are completely unavailable, so I'm going to spend the next couple of days finding alternative pieces. Just for you because it's almost Christmas and maybe you still need to think of the perfect gift for someone.

You should be warned, however, this list will apply only to those with a more minimalist, classic approach to fashion. An Audrey or Kate Hepburn lover. A Grace Kelly follower. A Jackie O admirer. If you're after the latest and greatest from Beyonce or Jessica Simpson, you're going to need another list. You might also be interested in another blog.

Stay tuned for the updated list...

Images from Cashmere Jeans.

veggie tales.

2011-11-18T10:38:00.002-06:00

So here's the vegetable scoop. I've gotten Yum and Die Frau on board and I randomly hear from them how they're doing with the idea of eating more colors. Here's what I've got.

I've found (what I find to be) a good way to get my veggies for lunch aside from salads, which I never make. I mix a can of pseudo-drained black beans with a can of refried beans and a cup of pureed sweet potato. Then I slather that stuff on a tortilla with a ton of baby spinach and salsa. The bean/sweet potato mixture lasts awhile in the fridge, so I can eat it for several days. Lunchtime veggie crisis solved...until I can't stomach another burrito. That'll take a few weeks at least, so I'm not worrying about it.

I've also been snacking a lot on apples and pears and raw carrots, and I get totally full on all that wonderful soluble fiber, just like I expected. The result is that I think I actually have dropped weight this week. That's excellent and all, but now my pants don't fit.

Also, the fullness doesn't last. I'm not sure if you all know this, but raw veggies have just next to ZERO calories. You already knew that? Okay.

So, I guess even though I am still feeling like my stomach is full, my body needs more. The burrito lunch works fine because there is protein, but my breakfasts of a banana and either Cheerios, oatmeal, or yogurt is not cutting it. I can tell my blood sugar is all wonky during the day.

More veggies at dinner has been great. I just roast some broccoli or carrots and it's so easy that I can't understand why I haven't always served pasta with a side of roasted vegetables. I guess because I didn't grow up with it. Anyway...

I've got mixed feelings. I feel better about eating better, but I don't actually feel better. I am walking around feeling hungry despite not feeling hungry.

I'll let you know how the experiment continues...or if I just finally get so hungry that I eat a wild dog or something. (I've been rereading The Hunger Games this week. I guess that's where the wild dog reference is coming from because I've never even seen a wild dog, so I doubt the opportunity to eat one will arise. Just so you know.)

my newest crazy.

2011-11-11T12:43:00.002-06:00

I think I might actually be crazy. I'm just saying.

The latest evidence? I've decided that for the 30 days of November, I will declutter/organize one space per day. As I didn't start until yesterday, I had to do ten spaces yesterday, but it was pretty easy since most of those spaces were spaces that I clean pretty regularly. Yesterday I tackled the pantry, the kitchen cabinets and drawers, my half of the closet, M's half of the closet, S's closet, the playroom, S's play basket in the family room, the linen closet, the bathroom, and our dressers. Today I did the refrigerator.

I let M handle his own half of the closet and his own dressers (he has two). The linen closet was the only space that really took any time yesterday. I'm donating several cosmetic/toiletry bags that never get used, and I cleaned out the cold medicines. I also reorganized all the linens and the extra bath supplies. In the pantry I vamanos-ed some leftover tapioca from a failed recipe, a box of nonfat dry milk from an old recipe, and a bottle of Karo syrup that was crazy sticky. The fridge yielded only one thing: a tube of wasabi paste from God-knows-when.

That's all.

The remainder of the month looks like this:

12th: TV cabinet

13th: Filing cabinet

14th: my craft supplies

15th: my fabric stash

16th: bath toys (read: toss all bath toys, buy new ones)

17th: laundry area in the basement

18th: S's dresser

19th: S's jewelry hoard

20th: S's art supplies

21st: Amelia (my car)

22nd: CHRISTMAS BOXES

23rd: CHRISTMAS BOXES

24th: CHRISTMAS BOXES

25th: coat closet

26th: desk

27th: ATTIC

28th: ATTIC

29th: ATTIC

30th: ATTIC

The attic needs some major attention, so it gets four days, and we've got to really take a long, hard look at our Christmas stuff since things from M's dad's came here. I need to sort stuff, and I need to toss broken stuff and duplicates.

In this insane endeavor, I reserve the right to tackle more than one area a day if I need a day off. I also reserve the right to rearrange the days that I do each task. The bottom line is that all of these spaces will be cleared out by December 1st.

Also, I've eaten a banana, a half of a bell pepper, and a cup of roasted broccoli today. I'm about to grab an apple, and I'm making etouffee for dinner. I feel confident that I'll eat enough tomatoes, celery, peppers, and onions to qualify as several veggie servings, so I'm good for today. I know you were all worried. Also, thanks to Yum, I have a veggie-eating partner in crime :)

my son, the contortionist.

2011-11-11T08:50:00.002-06:00

The wee man has a gift for wiggling. He is almost literally never still. He keeps moving in his sleep. Sometimes he is still for ten or so seconds when he realizes the TV is on.

Up until a month ago, he slept in a baby bag (more appropriately known as a wearable blanket, but it's really a bag for your baby with arm holes and a neck hole), but we had to stop using it because he tried to wiggle out of it like a snake wriggles out of its skin. We'd go upstairs and find the thing around his elbows, trapping his hands. Since that prevented him from rolling over, it was not particularly safe, so we 86'ed the baby bag.

His next trick was what we affectionately referred to as The Tarzan. We have found that he can get one arm completely out of any outfit that is not footie pajamas by Carters. Footie pajamas by Gymboree? Arm out. Footie pajamas from Target? Arm out. Any version of a onesie? Arm out. What I mean by "arm out" is that he would get one arm out of the neck hole, so his outfit was always around his torso ala Tarzan. We invested in more Carters pajamas. Problem solved.

And life was relatively peaceful. Until last night.

Last night he managed to get both of his legs into one leg opening, so he was flopping around like a merman. For the life of me, I cannot comprehend the mechanics of that one. He is gifted. I swear.

I don't know what we'll do about this one...other than pray it was a one time deal.

eat it up.

2011-11-10T10:20:00.003-06:00

Image from Squidoo.

Yesterday I was thinking about what I had eaten over the course of the day.

At the end of the day, the contents of my stomach were as follows: two cups of coffee with peppermint mocha creamer; an apple; a bowl of cheerios with skim milk; leftover pasta with bechamel, sun-dried tomatoes, and roasted chicken; another cup of coffee with hazelnut creamer; a box of Halloween milk duds; another piece of Halloween candy that I don't remember; a cup of decaf with peppermint mocha creamer; a bowl of homemade chicken soup with extra carrots and celery; a handful of crackers; a multivitamin; and about six glasses of water.

Notice the glaring omission of anything? Aside from the apple and the vegetables in the soup (there were also onions and garlic), there weren't a lot of fruits or veggies consumed.

And, for the record, I don't normally drink that much coffee. It was just one of those days.

Then I started thinking about it, and most of my days look like that. I'm making a concerted effort to always, always serve some vegetable at dinner, and S snacks on bell peppers a lot, but I find my diet curiously devoid of produce most of the time. I should be getting 2 servings of fruit and 3 of vegetables daily. Even with the extra veggies in the soup, I probably only got one serving, and one apple is one apple.

So I'm going to try harder. I'm going to try to incorporate veggies into my lunch and dinner, and I'm going to eat fruit with breakfast. I'll also try to snack on fruits and vegetables more. My major issue with that is that S eats so much of the produce that I buy, that by the end of the week I worry about eating the last apple/pear/carrot/bell pepper. I can remedy that pretty easily by buying more produce.

What about you? Think about everything you ate yesterday. Did you get enough produce? Will you jump on the bandwagon with me and try, for the next two weeks, to get all the servings of fruits and vegetables that you're supposed to be getting?

I'm hoping that this increase in fruit and veggie consumption will help my immune system. It certainly can't hurt...and if I'm all filled up on fruits and veggies and decide not to snake two pieces of Halloween candy from Sadie's stash (I'm not even stealing my own child's candy, people. I am a rotten person.)...and if that happens to help me drop a few pounds....that's okay, too.

Seriously, who's with me? We can form a club. It can have a snazzy name.

home again, home again.

2011-11-08T13:19:00.009-06:00

The Ouisers are home, and to make up for all the recent activity, I'm pretty sure we won't leave the house for a week or so.

We had the best trip ever. Chicago has been our only trip so far as a family of four, and this trip was so, so much better. We just relaxed, and M and I both needed it. M's aunt and uncle made the whole thing so amazing. I didn't have to do anything or decide anything (other than what to order for dinner) for five days. For someone who is a control freak, thinking that I would hand over the reins was daunting, but I loved it more than I ever would've imagined.

We swam. We went to Disney on Friday. We went to a local butterfly garden on Saturday. We swam again on Sunday. We sat and talked and ate and enjoyed being in the company of family. I sincerely couldn't have asked for a better trip.

M with Aunt S.

S literally squealed with excitement when we saw a show in front of Cinderella's castle. M literally teared up from the pain of having a squirming, 60 pound girl on his shoulders for 15 minutes.

On the carousel. I rode sidesaddle as I was wearing a dress. It was pretty impressive.

Polka Dot the butterfly.

The little man loved the water.

70/2

2011-11-02T07:04:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday to my main squeeze.

I love you everyday and twice on Sundays.

be a man.

2011-11-01T11:11:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine posted an excerpt from a Dockers ad today on Facebook. I promptly reposted it, as it was essentially a call for men to be men. I've since looked up the actual ad, and the Facebook post wasn't quite the whole shebang, but still.

I've posted before about the things I want to teach my children, and this remains one of my favorite things I've ever pinned. The Dockers ad/Facebook status this morning got me thinking a little more formally about something I've actually been pondering lately.

Men.

I am grateful every single day to be married to a gentleman. To be married to a man who is a man. A man who takes care of his family and who actually wants to do that. A man who takes care of all of the people that he loves. A man who takes care of his home and his lawn. A man who knows how to use a chainsaw and isn't afraid to use power tools (even if he chooses to pay people to do the work sometimes...someone has to stimulate the economy.) A man who loves football, but won't sacrifice his time with his kids for it. A man who looks good in a tie and wishes the men in his office would wear them everyday. A man who has a deep, commanding voice. A man who polishes his shoes and always polishes mine, too. A man who opens doors and always shovels the driveway when it snows. A man who idolizes his grandfather and his daddy. A man who respects my granddaddy almost as much as I do. A man who makes people laugh, but never at the expense of other people. A man who rarely raises his voice, but whom you will listen to when he does. A man who reminds me of leading men. Jimmy Stewart. Cary Grant.

My man.

I hope that someday someone will love all of these things about my son. I plan to spend every day until then training him to be that man. A man. A gentleman. Nothing else will do.

late nights.

2011-10-31T14:51:00.009-05:00

The ballet was a blast.

On our fancy Wendy's date.

The fall festival was great. The hayride was cold, so I sent my girl out with my sisters, and I stayed inside with the ladies.

My sisters, who were medieval outlaws.

The spooky halloween princess.

The football.

Bundled up for the hayride.

The football game was a disaster, and M used his free rally towel to wipe his tears. Midway through the game, I got a text that read, "Curtis Painter is horrible...even worse in person."

Today, in lieu of carving pumpkins, we finger painted pumpkins. S's pumpkin looks a bit like a tranny hooker, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow to see it since I haven't taken a picture of the final product yet, and I'm too lazy to do it now. Just trust me.

Stella's pumpkin.

Liam's work.

coming soon.

2011-10-28T09:52:00.002-05:00

The Ouisers have a lot coming up. A lot. It's going to seem like we are people who actually leave our home to do things. Don't worry. We'll go back to being slightly agoraphobic soon. Here's what's on the calendar for the next week or so.

Tonight: I'm taking my girl to the ballet. It's Cinderella. I asked her what she wanted for dinner tonight. I told her that I'd take her anywhere. She wants to go to Wendy's for chickenandfriesandasprite.

Tomorrow: We're heading over to Columbia for the fall festival at my parents' church. There will be a hayride, and she gets to wear her costume.

Sunday: The kids and I are hanging out with my stepmom and sisters while my dad and Mr. Ouiser watch the worst NFL matchup of the weekend. Poor Colts. Poor Titans. There is so much awful.

Monday: Um, Halloween.

Tuesday: Preschool.

Wednesday: Mr. Ouiser's birthday.

Thursday: Hop on a plane to Florida to visit M's aunt and uncle.

Friday: Disney.

Saturday/Sunday: Swim. Swim. Swim. Try not to get sunburned within an inch of my life.

Monday: Fly home.

Do you have any idea how much activity this is for the Ouisers? So much. I'm surprised that the universe is even allowing it. And you're not going to believe me when I tell you this, but it's true. I haven't even started my lists for what to pack. That's how laid back I'm pretending to be.

Of course, when I went to the grocery last night, I went ahead and bought the stuff to make Crockpot Freezer Cranberry Chicken, and I totally already chopped everything and put it into it's Zip-Lock bag. I may not have packed, but I've got dinner all lined up for the day we get home.

You didn't really think I'd become laid back, did you? If you believed that, I've got a bridge to sell you.

some things i've learned.

2011-10-27T10:19:00.002-05:00

I should never, ever say that I'm going to do something. Well, something involved.

Examples: I should never say I'm going to read every book on the bookshelf in my room. I should never say I am going to bake every bread recipe in The Bread Bible. I should never say that I am going to do at least ten minutes of yoga everyday.

Know why?

I never do it. Ever.

The books? I've read several, but when I got to one that I didn't enjoy, I remembered that I couldn't read it the first time because it was so God-awful-boring, so I sat it aside. So now I've cleared the first shelf of the books that I will never read, and I donated them. I decided that I read for pleasure, not as a chore, so I'm not going to waste my time reading unenjoyable crap, even if it would make me smarter or better informed. I think that's a good decision, but I feel bad about not meeting that lofty goal I set.

The bread recipes? I now refuse to make anything with sesame, and I don't make anything with molasses. I also refuse to buy specialty ingredients if I know there is nothing else that they can be used for in the foreseeable future. It's just wasteful. Again, I stand by the decision, but there's another goal down the crapper.

The yoga? Sometimes I just don't want to do it. Usually it's because I'm wearing jeans and I don't want to change clothes, and I know how lazy that sounds. I can't really get behind this lack of goal attainment, but at least I'm honest. Right?

So now I catch myself saying that I'm going to do things, and I tell myself to chill out and not be so hard on myself and just enjoy life more, but that doesn't sound at all like me. Then I mop something.

I've found that setting more easily attainable goals is better. Meaning, I can set goals in steps. Then I feel more accomplished. The end goal may still be huge and lofty, but each step is more manageable. I'm also trying to remind myself that at the end of every day, the only things that matter are my family and friends and our collective health. It doesn't matter if I've baked a new bread recipe or cleaned out my closets.

What about you? Do you achieve your lofty goals? Or do you set more manageable ones?

love that girl.

2011-10-25T10:08:00.003-05:00

There are many things to love about my sweet girl...even if she isn't always so sweet. Here are a few:

Words that she mispronounces: M&M's ("Nem Nems"), restaurant ("rest-ry-ant"), picnic ("pic-uh-nic"), onesie ("wum-sie"), popcorn ("pah-corn").
Despite recognizing the letter "H" and clearly identifying it as such when she sees it, she always says "kay-tch" when reciting the alphabet. Every time.
The fourth toe on each of her feet is crooked.
She has freckles. Two on her right cheek. One on the back of her right ear. I love them. They are like bulls eyes for kisses.
She likes to create elaborate dates for me and M. She sets tables, folds napkins, puts out flowers, and makes menus. Then she is our server. And we never have to pay.
She snuggles.
She sincerely has the cutest butt of any person ever. She's getting old enough that I should probably stop squeezing it all the time, but I just can't resist.

Then there are conversations like this one. She will be studying the infamous letter "H" this week at school, so this morning we talked about some things that started with the letter. Happy, Halloween, Hat, Horse, Hippo. On the drive to school, I asked if she remembered some of the things we talked about. She said, "Yep."

"Really? What were they," I asked.

"Happy and Halloween and hat," she replied.

"Do you remember the animals we talked about?"

"Yes. Horse and Rhino."

"Not quite. Horse and Hippo."

"Same thing."

Not really, baby girl, but I love you anyway.

so long, chicken.

2011-10-21T09:32:00.003-05:00

So here it is.

I DON'T LIKE ROAST CHICKEN.

After all that hullabaloo last month, I've finally just decided that I don't like the stuff. Here's what happened. I think the day after I made the roast chicken that I blogged about two whole times, I was walking through the grocery store and the front of Cook's Illustrated sat there, mocking me.

"WEEKNIGHT ROAST CHICKEN: Great Flavor, No fuss," it said.

So I bought it, and I read it, and I decided that I was an absolute genius because I figured out that I should roast the chicken in a skillet before anyone ever told me to. Then I decided that I'd need to make another roast chicken. Last night, I did.

And I realized that I don't like roast chicken. In fact, I don't really like chicken unless it's in something like chicken tacos or chicken and dumplings. It's really sad, too, because roast chicken is just about the most economical meal with meat that I can think of. Plus it smells great. I just don't like it. In fact, I've pretty much known this for years.

I had this realization about all things with sesame not too long ago. I decided that I wasn't going to make any new bread recipes that had sesame oil or sesame seeds, so I haven't, but then I went and made Ina's Asian Salmon, and remembered that I don't like sesame and my dinner was effectively ruined.

So I'm done making roast chickens I think. And things with sesame. And butternut squash. And mustard. And I'm done with thinking that I like coffee without a hundred tons of flavored creamer. I am a grown up person, I can eat and drink what I want, right? That argument doesn't hold for Mr. Ouiser, though. He still has to eat at least one bite of whatever vegetable I fix with dinner. Poor Mr. Ouiser. I have to convince him to try things almost more often than S. It's a tough life he leads, I tell you.

What about you? Are there things that you continually make that you don't actually like? Are you, like me, ready to just say, "I do not like them, Sam I Am."

the one in which i ramble.

2011-10-19T07:14:00.003-05:00

I'm not all that capable of coherent thought right now. Maybe it's the sleep thing. T woke up at 1:30 this morning to eat, and I had the toughest time falling back to sleep. I stared at the clock for over an hour. I had a blog post in my head. It was about even numbers. It was witty and clever. I don't remember anything about it other than it was about even numbers. A lack of sleep will do that to you.

So you're stuck with this.

Let's see...what to blog about.

Yesterday, I did a little internet research into "my colors." They are not blush and bashful. Shockingly. Have you ever done this? Analyzed what colors you should and shouldn't wear based on your coloring? I had not. Anyway, it was kind of fascinating. I am apparently a Cool Winter, which I never, ever would have guessed just based on the name, but it fits. Me, Brooke Shields, Jennifer Connelly, and the late great Elizabeth Taylor could all totally share clothes because we're all Cool Winters. After this little experiment, I looked at my 33 articles of clothing, and I realized I'm not terribly far off track. My wardrobe revolves around blues and grays and purples, so I'm pretty good there. Apparently I need to adios my green cardigan and my gold sweater, but I'll wait until I find what I want to replace the green sweater, and the gold sweater needs to stick around for Vandy games.

Speaking of replacing clothes, I am currently fascinated by this and this. Sometimes I enjoy reading things that sound like someone wrote down my inner thought process. Alas, I can't get on board with Rachel's list of stores, but that's just me. I'm currently pretty loyal to Garnet Hill for sweaters and dresses and J.Jill for jeans (the butt never sags!! ladies, you know what I'm talking about!) I also hit LL Bean for sweaters and pieces to layer. They tend to wash and wear well, though I've had a couple of pieces that the neckline gets all discombobulated. Besides, walking into Gap or Banana Republic or J. Crew sounds like walking into Hell for the most part.

What about you? Where do you shop? Do you go trendy or more classic? Do you know your colors and go by the rules? Do you think Kate Middleton can really bring hose back into fashion? Do you think someone will take a pot shot at her if she does? There are so many questions.

um, yes.

2011-10-18T10:12:00.001-05:00

a doozy.

2011-10-17T06:54:00.005-05:00

Sorry I was MIA last week. Luckily, Scarlet Lily picked up the slack in the blogosphere, and we all know that she's a more interesting blogger than I.

Last week was a doozy. There was a leaky dishwasher, electrical work, the shrimpiest of shrimpy babies got shots (and weighed in as the shrimpiest of shrimpy babies), Fall Break for S, a dog with diarrhea, Mr. Ouiser went out of town, I had a massive panic attack, and we made the rather heartbreaking choice to wean T (which is the right choice, just a tough one). There was a lot going on.

Luckily, we ended the week rather nicely with a belated anniversary date with the Nashville Opera.

M and I saw La Traviata on Saturday evening at TPAC. We had loads of fun. I will say that a very dark theater, a performance in Italian, and an 8pm start time were a tough combination for the overtired parents of a six month old, but we managed. It was very, very good. We were intrigued by the "subtitles." TPAC has a digital screen above the stage where they essentially run ads and trivia prior to performances. For the opera, they used it for subtitles. We were very curious about how much we would've understood without them. Would the performance seemed more powerful? Would it have seemed more like a musical performance than a theatrical performance? We'll never know because even if we saw this particular opera again we'd know the story. Either way, I loved it. M either loved it or faked it really well.

Now I can cross "Go to the Opera" off my Life List.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, La Traviata is totally the opera that Edward Lewis takes Vivian Ward to in Pretty Woman, so that was cool.

Another bonus to going to the Opera? Your daughter running around the entire next day in your heels.

six.

2011-10-07T13:14:00.004-05:00

I'm not entirely sure how this is possible. It seems like only yesterday that I was aghast at his being two weeks old, and now? Now my little man is six months old.

Six months.

Really.

I'm not even lying.

My little shrimp toast is halfway to his first birthday. As in: six months from now he'll be smashing his face into a cake and sporting some homemade garment advertising his age. Pureed sweet potatoes will be a thing of the past by then, but for now he thinks they are the absolute penultimate of human experience.

So, here's to my little sweet potato eating string bean of a boy. I hope he always, always loves simple things like sweet potatoes and the big blue sky and his mama smiling at him. I'm pretty sure I'll always love smiling at him, and I'm absolutely sure I'll always melt when he smiles back at me.

the cycle.

2011-10-05T08:40:00.004-05:00

My house? It's pretty tidy. But it probably isn't as tidy as all my maniacal cleaning posts would indicate. I desperately want it to be, but life gets in the way sometimes. And I get in the way a lot of times.

Some examples:

Pots and pans. I have a lower cabinet that houses my cookware. My new set of stainless cookware. My cast iron skillet. My crepe pan. My double boiler. Those are the entire contents of the cabinet. Sometimes this cabinet is organized. Things are neatly nested. But those times are few and far between. The cycle goes like this: I grab the 3 qt saucepan that is nested neatly between the chef's pan and the 1 qt saucepan. I do not neatly renest. I set the 1 qt saucepan to the side. Then when the 3 qt saucepan goes back into the cabinet, it just gets shoved somewhere that it won't fall and make a great big crashtastic noise. Then the same thing happens with the skillets. Then the lids get out of hand. Then it's a wasteland of cookware. Then I'm fed up, and I reorganize. Then I need the 3 qt saucepan and the whole thing is gone to Hell in a hand basket.
My underwear drawer. I routinely organize this drawer, essentially compartmentalizing it: white socks, wool socks, cute socks, underwear, bras. It looks so nice and neat. Then I do the laundry and just throw it all in willy-nilly. I am incapable of keeping this drawer neat. The same thing happens with my tee shirt drawer. There are three stacks. Short sleeved tees, long sleeved tees, tanks. Well, there are supposed to be three stacks. Normally, there are three stacks that are covered in a pile of the most commonly worn items.
The dishtowels. I think the major drawback to my otherwise perfect-for-me kitchen is that I don't have a good place for dishtowels and rags. One drawer is kind of a junk drawer. It holds the week's issue of Newsweek, scissors, tape, crap like that. The next drawer holds cooking utensils and potholders. The third drawer is the spice drawer. The fourth drawer is the flatware drawer. We have two super deep drawers beneath the spice drawer. One holds jars and pyrex. The other holds pie plates, loaf pans, cake pans. Neither of those comes close to being filled vertically, so I think if I were redesigning, I'd have one super deep drawer and two drawers that were a little more regularly sized in the depth department. Then I'd have a place for dishtowels. As it currently stands, they are piled under the kitchen sink. This is how the cabinet should be organized.

Let's just say the drawer isn't this neat. Those towel/rag piles are all over the place, and half the time I get the corners of towels caught in the lid of the compost bucket, which means they are dirty and a little smelly before they even get taken out for use. It's a wildly imperfect system. I hate it, but every time I try to organize/fix the problem, I make it worse. Too much sugar for a dime. (That's for you, Mellie.)

Those are the three biggest problem areas. The linen closet would probably be next on the list. Because I'm totally perfect other than those four areas of my life. Ha. Anyone believe that? Me neither.

What about you? What are your biggest challenges when it comes to staying organized?

a day of very little.

2011-10-03T13:49:00.002-05:00

I can't really call it a day of nothing. I've washed, folded, and put away three loads of laundry. And baked three loaves of bread. Other than that, though, this is a day for doing nothing. Or just next to nothing.

Along those lines, I am barely capable of making my brain turn on today. I turned it on for a few minutes as I worked on M's best birthday present ever. Then I turned it back off and sat in the sunshine with the kiddos until Kiddo #2 needed a nap and then Kiddo #1 fell off her horse* and went kersplat onto the aggregate patio, thus requiring the couch, some apple juice, and It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

*Little Ouiser has a horse.? Um, yeah. Her horse's name is Lightning. She's imaginary, but she is currently an integral part of our lives. S rides her everywhere until it gets late enough in the day that I can't stand to hear any more galloping and I tell her it's time to put Lightning in the stable for the night. Then she ties the old girl up somewhere, feeds her some apples, and moves on. Then we repeat the whole process the next day.

In case you were wondering, M and I have horses, too. His horse is Fire Dash, and mine is Hearts. We were not allowed to name our own horses, clearly (though I doubt M could've come up with a better name for his gallant steed). Drew and Kaitlin were here yesterday, and they got horses, too. Kaitlin's horse is Lightning Thunder Dash. Drew got the short end of the stick. His horse's name is Grapefruit Juice.

This is the crap that goes on in my life. Daily.

seven year itch.

2011-10-02T18:03:00.009-05:00

Seven years ago today, I got hitched. Happy Anniversary, Mr. Ouiser. I know that there is no one Earth who could make me laugh more than you. You make me happy every single day. Unless you're being an idiot. I love you.

October 2, 2004.

May 2006. Vegas, baby.

September 2006.

July 2007.

September 2008.

September 2009.

April 2010.

June 2011.

a month of meals.

2011-09-29T06:59:00.003-05:00

Apparently last week was the week of clothing. This week is the week of food.

For some reason, I've decided it's a good idea to tell you what the Ouisers have eaten for the entire month of September. In case you need a lot of dinner ideas. Or because I was bored and crazy enough to actually write it down. You be the judge.

For the record, these aren't actually in order. They are mostly in order. But not completely.

Also, I have linked to recipes where available.

Ordered pizza.
Ate at Casa de Reid. Steak and Blueberry Cobbler.
Ate at my family's house while M and Daddy went to the UConn/Vandy game. There were potatoes, roasted broccoli, and a braised brisket.
Spaghetti al Limone. I made this on Holly's recommendation. It was quite tasty.
Fruit salad and homemade bread (Whole Wheat Basil Bread).
Homemade pizza (using the dough and sauce recipes from The Bread Bible)
Okinawan Takoraisu. This was good, but I've already scrapped the recipe because it wasn't that good. However, I'd totally eat it if I was in Okinawa.
Barbecued Chicken
Spaghetti with Sausage and Bell Peppers
Eli's Asian Salmon (I've made this before, and I don't know why I bothered to make it again. I cannot stand sesame oil, and the sesame flavor hits me over the head in this dish.)
Homemade pizza (again)
Pasta with marinara
Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup (this time around, I got all brilliant and prepped everything early in the day and used the veggie scraps and chicken bones to make the stock)
Rosemary Polenta (one of our favorites!)
Quesadillas (I ate Ina's Tuscan White Beans since I'm still not really doing dairy)
Pierogi with roasted carrots and broccoli
Steak and Italian Fries
Petit Pains au Lait with apples and cheddar
Chicken tacos (I started with Smitten Kitchen's recipe, but I was really disappointed by how flavorless the chicken was, so I doctored it by making a sauce with a lot of spices)
Pasta with olive oil and sea salt
Pork tenderloin with Raspberry Balsamic Preserves, roasted potatoes, and green beans
Aglio e Olio (I could eat this every single day. Forever.)
Turkey Chili (M could eat this every single day. Forever.)
Pancakes
Cornmeal Brioche with Cinnamon Honey Butter, cheddar, and baked apples
Roast Chicken with carrots and onions and roasted green beans
Pasta with leftover chicken, garlic, and white wine
Cajun Chicken Pasta (I left out the cayenne this time in hopes that S would eat it. She did not, so it's going back in next time.)
Chicken Tortilla Soup
Homemade Pizza

The Chicken Tortilla Soup is happening tonight, and I'm defrosting the pizza sauce for tomorrow night. I've also made a lot of bread this month. The Whole Wheat Basil Bread, lots of pizza dough, petit pains au lait, cornmeal brioche, orange-carrot bread, orange-cinnamon swirl, chocolate Babka, and Kolache. If I can ever lay my hands on some canned pumpkin, I am desperate to make a Pumpkin Brioche, and I'm making American Chocolate Bread this weekend.

Then I'm going to wallow in my fatness.

Now, I've got some embroidery to see to.

yum.

2011-09-28T09:05:00.002-05:00

I know you have all been checking for the roast chicken update constantly. You probably thought I had utterly forsaken you. Alas, here I am.

The roast chicken was very, very good. The jus was a little salty, but I think that I allowed it to reduce too much, overly concentrating the flavors. Also, I used bought stock instead of my homemade unsalted stuff, which I didn't account for when salting the bird. I was not deterred, however, from eating it with gusto! I don't think that using Octoberfest to deglaze the pan really added anything, so I will try it with wine next time, and if that doesn't seem to seal the deal, I'll just use straight stock.

Besides, I don't want to waste perfectly delicious beer and wine if I don't need to.

I'll also make mashed potatoes next time. I had planned to this go-round, but I needed to cook the green beans in the fridge, and having carrots, green beans, and mashed potatoes seemed a little extravagant for a Tuesday night. Don't you think?

The croutons were nice. The texture added a nice juxtaposition. I'm calling it a success.

I also promptly used the old girl's carcass and all the peelings from the carrots, onions, and garlic to make stock for tomorrow night's Chicken Tortilla Soup. I am so old school, aren't I? Next thing you know I'll be all Little-House-on-the-Prairie...making quilts and rags out of our old clothes. Wait, I already do that.

I'm amazed that I have any friends at all.

gezundheit.

2011-09-27T14:10:00.002-05:00

I have a cold.

T is not all about the sleeping. Or the pooping, which may explain the sleeping since he's been knocking us out with the gas.

He has been up three times each of the last three nights. Finally, last night at the 4am wake-up call, he had unloaded the poop of the century. I'm hoping that means that he'll snooze hard tonight because I doubt I'll kick my little cold quickly on the amount of fractured sleep I'm currently getting.

To make myself feel better I am making a roast chicken. I am slightly obsessed with roast chicken. Not so much the actual dish as the concept of it. I think it's because Ina writes about and talks about roast chicken like it's the second coming...and also because the concept is so soothingly and simply French. And I love few things better than the concept of France.

Anyway, I'm doing a little improvising. I've made Ina's roast chicken several times, and while it's always good, it's never goooood. The delicious aroma is always more intoxicating than the taste. I've made it according to the gospel of Alice Waters. I've winged it.

Today? Today I am going to conquer it. I am determined to make it taste as fabulous as it smells.

I started by washing and drying the bird; stuffing the cavity with salt, pepper, a halved lemon, a tablespoon or so of dried thyme, and five cloves of garlic that I smashed to smithereens; and lovingly rubbing the old girl down with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Then I browned a couple of halved onions in a very, very hot skillet in an olive oil/butter combo. When they were nice and brown and smelled like heaven, I 86ed them from the pan and tossed them in a bowl with a quartered lemon and a drizzle of olive oil. Then I browned some carrots in the super hot skillet. After I removed the carrots I browned the skin on half the chicken. I didn't really think that one through, though, and gave up before browning the other half for fear of catching my kitchen on fire with splattering oil/butter.

Now the whole concoction is in the giant skillet, waiting to go into the oven. And when it's all roasted, I think I'm going to deglaze the pan with a little Octoberfest and chicken broth to make a nice au jus. (I can't call it a pan gravy because no one in my house would eat something called gravy, including me.)

I'm also going to roast some green beans and make croutons from the weekend's leftover cornmeal brioche. (The brioche and accompanying Cinnamon Honey Butter are a whole different post. Because that butter? Dang.)

If roast chicken with carrots and onions, green beans, and cornmeal brioche croutons can't make me feel better, I might as well hang it up folks.

I'll report back on the fabulousity or the epic failure tomorrow. I know you'll wait with bated breath.

the great outdoors.

2011-09-26T06:59:00.008-05:00

Have you ever noticed that your kids never do what you want them to do, when you want them to do it? Is that just my stubborn darling girl? I doubt it, but just the same...

Her life has been filled with my longing for her to want to do things, love things. The greatest example: I worked diligently when she was younger to make her love being outside, digging in the dirt. For the better part of the past 4-1/2 years, she couldn't have cared less. But suddenly, that girl is outside all the time. In fact we had our first experience last week of M having to tell her she had to come inside because it was getting dark. It was one of my proudest moments as a mother. Right up there with the first time she wrote her name unaided.

She spent most of yesterday outside with her daddy. He's still working his tail off to remove all the insane overgrowth at the side of the house where our garden will live next Spring. (For the record, I walked outside at one point and the smell of freshly dug soil hit me immediately. It's a glorious smell. It's right up there with baking bread and my babies after baths.) S had been digging in the areas he'd overturned, and she discovered all kinds of bugs. She tried to "rescue" a caterpillar by putting him in a tree, but it apparently didn't work out.

We're also working to create her "clubhouse" beneath some very low hanging branches in the front yard. She and I raked all the old leaves out Friday, and now we're collecting rocks to make walls ala Roxaboxen. We've got some furniture to put into the clubhouse, too, but we need to slap a coat of Rustoleum on first.

She's also started collecting things from the great outdoors, and we talk about them, and I love every second of it. I've read about creating Nature Tables for kids, and I always thought it utterly ridiculous to have a space in one's house dedicated to crunchy leaves and rocks and acorn caps and other seasonal detritus, but then I looked around the other day and realized that my whole house is a big nature table. A significant percentage of our horizontal surfaces are currently housing all sorts of things. We've actually forbidden her to bring branches in the house for fear that she'll put her brother's eye out, so there's a stick collection just outside the door. You never know when you'll need a pointer, a sword, a magic wand, or a digging tool the second you walk outside. Luckily, we're covered for all stick related emergencies.

This weekend's coolest find was a magnolia tree seed pod whose seeds are exposed. They are bright red and lovely. We've also talked extensively about acorns holding the seeds for oak trees, the concept of which largely more understandable because of this book, and we found a ton of hickory nuts that were in various states of decomposition, so I was able to show her how the seeds get out of their tough shells.

We're very scientific around here. And our nails are all dirty.

Do your kids collect things from outside? Do you even want them to?

24.

2011-09-23T11:53:00.002-05:00

A breakdown of the past 24 hours.

1130am (Thursday): Puked on. Changed from sweater jacket to gray cardigan.

1230pm: Post Office. Puked on. Can't do anything about it because I have to pick S up from preschool.

130pm: Home from preschool pick-up. Changed from cardigan and jeans, which were also puked on. Gave up on the whole concept of being actually dressed. Put on yoga pants.

230pm: Yoga. I was wearing the pants after all.

330pm: Made dinner. We are phasing out T's third nap, which means he is awake and cranky when it's actually time to make dinner, and he requires being in the Baby Bjorn. I tried to make pasta the other night with him attached to me, and I burned myself draining the pasta water. Lesson learned.

430pm: Thad wakes up from his nap.

530pm: Realize that M is going to be later than he expected. Subsequently, devastatingly realize that I'm on my own for the next hour of upset baby. Feed S. Feed me.

630pm: T to bed. Want to fall into bed myself.

730pm: Supposed to be at House Blend helping Holly paint, but M still isn't home.

830pm: Painting at House Blend.

930pm: Headed home from House Blend...sit down and sketch a dozen more ideas for their tables.

1030pm: Bed.

1130pm: T is screaming bloody murder. Trudge upstairs. Nurse the little booger.

1230pm: asleep

130am: asleep

230am: asleep

330am: Nurse screaming, hysterical baby.

430am: Wonder if that dying animal sound outside is indeed a dying animal. Contemplate finding animal and ensuring his swift demise.

530am: In the shower.

630am: Say goodbye to husband. Take photograph of daily outfit. Laundry. Scrub toilet.

730am: Fix S's breakfast. Pay bills. Balance checkbook.

830am: Play with baby. Fold laundry.

930am: T napping. Dust the furniture downstairs. Start chili.

1030am: Send S to her room for an hour because she had a fit about wiping her bottom. Realize how quiet life is with one sleeping baby and one four-year-old that is sent to her room and threatened with her life if she continues her hysterics and wakes her brother.

1130am: Write dumbest blog post ever. Realize by looking at it that I need to sleep more. I already knew that, though.

Riveting, eh?

Here's today's outfit. Gray v-neck dress. I put on my rainboots this morning for the picture because it was pouring buckets. The sun is now shining, though, so if I leave my house it will be in the greatest ballet flats ever. I'm also sporting another Betsy Carr necklace, but you can't see it in the picture. And that's an awesome vintage umbrella. Just so you know. It's impossible not to feel awesome holding a vintage stick umbrella. Don't you agree?

another day.

2011-09-22T09:22:00.003-05:00

It's Thursday, but my brain is pretty well convinced that it's Friday because we inexplicably ran out of groceries a day early this week, so I had to go to the market* last night instead of tonight. I desperately wish today was Friday. Alas...I'll have to wait another day.

As I have virtually nothing interesting to say today, I'll just get to the outfit, then get offline.

Today I'm sporting bootcut jeans and my wheat sweater/jacket thing. I've got a pink tank underneath. I'm also rocking my new ballet flats. The hunt for the perfect ballet flat was a massive undertaking. I looked at Tieks on Scarlet Lily's suggestion, but I wanted brown. Just brown. Not faux-crocodile brown or leopard, which meant I was out of luck. I looked at French Sole, but I was again thwarted by a lack of brown leather. I tried Corso Como on Vintage Darling's suggestion, going so far as to order them and send them back when they were uncomfortable.

Finally, after a ridiculous amount of research, I decided I wanted the Bloch Arabian Ballerina III, only to find that they cannot be found anywhere in my size. I did try a size that I thought might fit, but I had to send them back because they were so, so small. I settled for the Bloch Giselle Roll-up, and I'm happy. The right shoe feels like it was actually MADE for my foot, but the left heel digs a bit. I'm hoping this little problem will fix itself after I've worn them a bit.

Wow. That might have just bored you to death. I hope not.

Have you ever gone to so much trouble for a pair of shoes? I nearly drove myself and Mr. Ouiser and half the people I know insane on this quest.

*I am trying to bring out of fashion words back into the popular lexicon. Market is one such word. I'd also like to start saying "I believe" in lieu of "I think." My Granddaddy does, and I find it charming as all get out. Just so you know.

sew awesome.

2011-09-20T14:35:00.007-05:00

Are you following me on Pinterest? If you are, perhaps you saw this.

I had to make it. How could I deprive my darling girl of this level of cuteness? I couldn't possibly. So once I finished my little embroidery project to send overseas, I dove into the pile of fabric in my attic and started cutting.

And since it was so cute and was all over Pinterest as an item for sale in an Etsy shop but nowhere to be found as a DIY project, I even planned a tutorial. Shocking, I know. I took a couple of pictures at the beginning. A picture of a pile of fabrics. A picture of some scraps and my pinking shears. A picture of all the pieces lined up in the order I wanted to attach them. A picture of a 1/2" seam.

Then I realized that I am not cut out for making tutorials*. I have neither the patience nor the photography skills. (Also, I don't think tutorials with glasses of wine in the background are as popular.) There were no other photographs taken until I snapped one of S in the finished product.

I love how it turned out, but I think I'd like it better a couple of inches shorter. When S is a couple of inches taller, I'll let you know because I am now done with the project.

Now...today's outfit. There will be no photograph because the photos that M took were all terribly unflattering. As in, I know the outfit is rough, but it doesn't look as bad as the lighting and angles would indicate, and I have rules. I do NOT share photographs of myself that are bad. Clearly I've shared "not so good" photographs for the past three days, but these are bad, and I will not have truly wretched photographs around on the internet as long as T's disposable diapers are in landfills. But I will tell you that I am wearing a light gray v-neck tee and a brown knit skirt. The photos made me so depressed that I may actually go change and then burn the skirt. Then I'll have space for one more article of clothing!!

*Should you have any interest in making one of these, I'll gladly send instructions, but there will be no pictures. Also, I think a monkey could make this. It was so deliciously easy.

in my dotage.

2011-09-20T06:58:00.003-05:00

I'm not getting any younger. Are you?

I don't actually want to get any younger since I like myself so much better than I did ten years ago. Just the same, I am constantly noticing that I am getting older.

Examples of my aging:

Copious amounts of gray hair that I don't care to color because I'd rather spend that time baking something,
I am inexplicably, voluntarily getting up before the sun to have coffee with my husband*,
I have started keeping dried beans and ham hocks in my pantry in case I need to make a pot of beans,
I don't need to consult a recipe to make chocolate chip cookies anymore,
I clean my house often,
I need Ibuprofen more than I should,
My feet are always cold...actually, I am almost always cold,
I think people should be hanged by their thumbs for shooting off fireworks after 8pm,
I catch myself using phrases that only old people use,
I almost yelled at some middle schoolers who were playing in my yard with water guns the other day, and
I eat prunes, and I like them.

I am practically geriatric. Wow.

Here's the ensemble du jour. Boyfriend jeans, white layering tank, green cardigan, and one of my favorite necklaces. Have I told you about my darling Besty Carr??

A note regarding today's photo. Mr. Ouiser called me out on his making me look shorter yesterday, so at 530 this morning, he plopped his tail in the floor for today's photo. Whilst I do look taller (hence the "Ouiser Attacks" pose), my arse looks as wide as the broad side of a barn. I suppose a girl can't have everything. Perhaps I should use a Fun House mirror tomorrow. Anybody got one handy??

*This makes me think of my grandparents. When I would spend the night there growing up, I would sometimes wake up when I heard my Grandma making Granddaddy's breakfast. I was always aghast at the fact that it was still dark outside when he headed out onto the farm. I could never understand why they were up so early. Now look at me...

weekend update.

2011-09-19T07:00:00.007-05:00

My girl, walking into her first collegiate stadium. Look at her holding that ticket just so. Also, observe her scouting the concession stands.

My girl went to her first college football game this Saturday, and I am proud to say it was an all SEC affair. Vanderbilt vs. Ole Miss. It was her first exposure to the Mississippi Swoop, though I don't think she noticed it, and I'm hoping that by her first game being between these two schools, she will grow up knowing that you're supposed to dress for football games like you dress for church. No one told me that growing up, and I didn't know it until college. Of course, I went to high school games covered in paint half the time, so it doesn't matter. I digress.

M and my dad took her. My dad (and stepmom) took me to my first collegiate game, too. I was eleven. Fifth grade. Neyland Stadium. Whilst I was seven years her senior, my first game was like a pilgrimage to Mecca, and I avow that she will be old enough to understand and appreciate football and its traditions before she experiences the Vol Walk or Running through the T. But experience it she shall, and I'll be there for that one.

For the record, she loved it. She loved the popcorn, hot dog, and cotton candy. She loved her new shaker. And she apparently yelled for all she was worth at all the appropriate times. That's my girl.

As for yesterday, I was a waste of space. I had a wicked headache, so I didn't do a whole lot. Though I did make a delicious Orange Cinnamon Swirl bread for breakfast, a fresh batch of lactation cookies, and a pan of Petits Pains au Lait for dinner. Other than all that, I didn't do much. I showered and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved tee. I sat in the big chair and read a bit of Wuthering Heights. I watched Life as We Know It. The bread was successful. The book is captivating (Kris, you're right!!). The movie was disappointing. The day, however, was sufficiently restful that I don't feel like a zombie today. Unfortunately, I slept on my arm all wonky because I cannot lift it today without wanting to burst into fits of tears. (Washing my face and hair was a comedy of errors this morning...as was putting on a clean shirt.) I've hit the Ibuprofen like an addict this morning, though, so I am confident that all will be well.

Outfit updates: I did not photograph myself in sweat pants. It goes against my rules. If you'd like a photo of the outfit in the laundry pile, I'm happy to oblige. This is today's ensemble. Boot cut jeans, dark gray v-neck. It's raining, and we're not leaving the house, so this is as good as it gets. I think I deserve bonus points anyway for being showered and dressed and capable of looking so darned chipper at 530am. You read that right. I am a sadist apparently.

A note regarding this photograph. M took it. While taking it, he said, I am going to make you look as tall as possible, and I had no idea what he meant. I think he meant that he thought it would make me look taller if my whole body was in the photograph. I don't know. What I do know is that I look shorter than I actually am because there are thirty-six feet of atmosphere above my head in the photo. Goofy tall husband...making everybody else look like little people all the time.

Lastly, and unrelated to this entire post...S just got out of bed on her own for the first time in her entire life. I am beside myself with shock. Like, this is me...and this is the other me...way over here beside myself with shock. Who came up with that goofy phrase anyway?

33v2

2011-09-17T13:18:00.004-05:00

We are in the glorious season that is fall. Sort of. I realize it doesn't technically begin until next Friday, but we're pretty much there.

There is cider for crying out loud.

The problem with fall in the South is that it's kind of teasing. In the course of three days it can be hot/sunny/85 degrees, rainy/windy/55 degrees, and cloudy/70 degrees. I realize those don't seem like great variations, but 85 degrees in the sun is definitely warm, and 55 degrees in the rain is definitely cool, and it makes dressing a challenge. Especially when you're rocking a wardrobe with 33 articles of clothing.

So yesterday I revamped. I swapped out a couple of dresses, put away a couple of skirts, and hung up a few tanks for layering under sweaters.

The new 33:

Long camel cardigan sweater,
Long gray cardigan sweater,
Blue v-neck knit dress,
Gray v-neck knit dress,
Brown 3/4 sleeve knit dress,
Purple 3/4 sleeve knit dress,
Dark gray v-neck tee,
Light gray v-neck tee,
Gray cardigan*,
Gray sweater,
Gray layering tank,
White layering tank,
White button down,
White v-neck tee,
Pink v-neck long sleeve tee,
Pink assymetrical cardigan,
Gold v-neck sweater,
Green layering tank,
Green cardigan,
Green print cardigan,
Navy v-neck long sleeved tee,
Teal ruffled henley,
Blue cardigan,
Navy sweater jacket,
Purple v-neck long sleeved tee,
Maroon cardigan,
Wheat sweater jacket,
Black knit skirt,
Brown knit skirt,
Cream skirt,
Boot cut jeans,
Boyfriend jeans,
Slim ankle jeans**.

*Technically, there are still three. I still only wear one in public.

**I had to exchange the pair previously on order, so these aren't actually in my possession. Still.

So there you have it. This is probably what will be in my closet all winter, though I may put away a couple of dresses at the end of the fall and pick up another pair of jeans. The glory of the cardigan is layers. You can throw one on to be warm in the cool mornings and evenings, but take it off in the heat. Cardigans. I love thee.

Also, regarding this Project 333 insanity. I talked to my dear friend J about it last night upon mistakenly hearing that he didn't believe I only had 33 articles of clothing.

"So, I hear you don't believe that there are really only 33 things in my closet," I accused him.

"Oh, no. I believe you, I just think you're crazy. Why would anyone want to do that?"

I explained to him that if you have limited choices of clothing, you won't spend much time at all deciding what to wear, and you'll be absolutely certain to genuinely like every article of clothing you have. He thought it sounded good in theory but admitted that his hatred for doing laundry makes it necessary to continue owning 14 pairs of jeans. To each his own. He also asked if I didn't get sick of wearing the same things over and over and remarked that he didn't really notice that I was always in the same things. I will say that no, I don't get sick of wearing the same things, but honestly, even when there were more things hanging in my closet, I still only wore a small percentage. This little endeavor just removed all the things I owned but didn't wear. It physically removed the clutter. It's been great really.

I've decided that starting today, I am going to photograph what I wear every day for a week so you can get an idea of how it comes together.

I know you'll eagerly await the week's worth of pictures...try not to lose sleep in the excitement.

In the interest of showing my boots, which I love, I cut off my head.

Don't say anything.

It's not supposed to be a picture of my head anyway, right?

Today's outfit: maroon cardigan, blue v-neck knit dress, woven leather belt, brown boots, whitest ever flesh tights. Wait...you mean my actual legs are so white that they're blue? Yep. I do not do sun. I am part vampire.

a word of advice.

2011-09-16T13:09:00.003-05:00

I try to steer clear of any and all popular gossip here. I try not to let the entire world know that I am a slave to celebrity gossip, but I am. Some of you aren't though, and I try to please the masses (aka the nine people who read this blog).

Not today.

Today I'm going all Perez Hilton on you.

So Scarlett Johansson has herself a little nude photo scandal going on. And the FBI is investigating. I'm pretty sure the Federal Bureau of Investigation wouldn't be helping me out if there were nude photos of me leaked into the ether. Nope. Of course no one would be looking without screaming, "My eyes, my eyes!!" because I've had two babies, people, and I am not a supermodel. But enough about me and my issues.

Back to ScarJo's issues.

Here's a word of advice to all you celebrities*that have been victims of nude photo scandals and sex tape scandals. If you don't want to be involved in one of these scandals, don't let anyone take your picture naked. And don't let anyone make a video of you doing something you wouldn't show your grandmother. Also, wear panties**.

It doesn't seem like rocket science.

*I know you're reading this, celebrities.

**Clean ones in good repair in case you have to go to the emergency room. This is a lesson taught to all southern daughters, I believe. You really wouldn't want to be in a car accident that requires you to go to the ER and have them see you in grundy undies, would you? Of course not. Then again, if I need emergency medical attention, I might not be thinking about the state of my panties. Who are we kidding, I am Ouiser. Of course I'll be worried about it. I'll also be worried about whether or not my toilet is adequately scrubbed. A leopard cannot change its spots.

on oatmeal and boredom.

2011-09-14T06:36:00.003-05:00

A couple of weeks ago my milk supply suddenly dropped. I had thought perhaps it had dwindled, but then T wasn't feeling well and when I took him to the doctor, the proof was in the proverbial pudding...meaning he hasn't been gaining weight. Needless to say, I began a quest to bring up the milk supply. It's an unfamiliar quest for me. Me, the milk maker. I assume the drop was a combination of my having been sick, being a little dehydrated, and stress. I've been taking better care of myself, and I think it's helping, but I've also started eating oatmeal. So much oatmeal.

I've made lactation cookies, which are glorified oatmeal cookies.

I've eaten steel-cut oats.

And I've jumped on the OOIAJ bandwagon, though I have no idea what a black Chia seed is, so I don't use them.

This morning, as I started eating my oatmeal, I instantly realized that I am over it. Eating one more bite of oatmeal sounds wretched. Wretched, people. So instead of oatmeal, I'm going to start drinking more beer. Sam Adams Octoberfest is out right now. It'll be great.

Moving on...

I saw this on Pinterest the other day, and I was instantly captivated. Of course, they absurdly named their creation a Boredom Jar, which is insane because alliteration is so lovely. Thus, our Boredom Bowl was born. (In the interest of alliteration, one could also create a Boredom Bucket, but bucket is one of my least favorite words.)

The concept is simple enough. When S says, "Mommy, I'm bored," she has to pull an activity from the bowl. Some are good, some are not so good. Here's a list of all the activities that I added to the bowl:

Map your heart.
Take a nap.
Jump up and down 100 times.
Draw a self portrait.
Rainbow Scavenger Hunt.
Rhyme Time.
Have a snack.
Draw a picture of someone you love.
Count your blessings.
Look at picture albums.
Play a game.
Make a papier mache bowl.
Pick up sticks in the yard.
Draw a Cutie Mark on mom.
Look at your atlas.
Play with play dough.
Choose a toy to donate.
Make popcorn.
Make cards.
Write a letter.
Clean the playroom.
Clean your bedroom.
Build with blocks.
Dust the furniture upstairs.
Dust the windowsills.
Make a collage.
Color a picture.
Sweep the kitchen.
Paint with watercolors.
Write a story.
Read a book.
Watch a movie.
Do yoga.
Play outside.
Dance to Beyonce (one of S's favorite songs is All the Single Ladies)
Go Gaga for Gaga (one of her other favorites is Bad Romance, though she clearly has no idea what either song is about; she is also a huge fan of Walking on Sunshineand Everybody, so not everything she hears is inappropriate. Just so you know.)

That's it for now. You can see that there's a pretty decent mix of fun things to do and not so fun things to do. My hope is that even with the not so fun activities, she'll find something to do in the process. Maybe she'll come across something she'd like to do. It's kind of brilliant...and maybe it'll keep me from having to dust.

Do you have any go-to boredom busters? If you say anything that has to do with oatmeal, I will hunt you down.

another conversation with the little man.

2011-09-13T10:22:00.008-05:00

T had rice cereal for the first time this morning. He wasn't crazy about it. I'll let him tell you...

Mom, what's that?

You want me to do what with that glop? I thought maybe it was glue for papier mache. I'm not really supposed to ingest that, am I?

It doesn't look so good. Really, I'm happy with the boobs. There is no need for this little experiment.

Is something supposed to be happening? Because I'm not understanding. Maybe it's above my pay grade, but I am thinking this stuff is just kind of funk-y.

Woman, you have stripped me of my dignity.

that was awesome.

2011-09-13T10:06:00.007-05:00

In case you can't imagine how awesome jumping out of an airplane was, allow me to show you.

the road to hell.

2011-09-12T13:09:00.004-05:00

Good intentions, peeps. I've got them by the bucket load. My current good intention is to really get my house in order. When S was a baby, there was only one way I could do that. I had to schedule it. Once she got older, the need for rigidity passed, but with a wee one in the house again, I find myself lost.

When was the last time I cleaned that mirror? It is so dirty.

Questions and comments like that make up a lot of my inner monologue. A lot. It doesn't help that we've brought so much new stuff into the house from Mr. P's condo. Lately, it's just been hard to stay on top of things. Especially when there is still so much to do with this house and its lovely, overwhelming lawn.

Image from Life as Mom.

I've been working on creating a schedule. I've made lists of things that I need to do daily, bi-weekly, weekly, and monthly. Eventually, there will be quarterly and semi-annual lists, but I need to start somewhere. Luckily, there are many places for inspiration online...especially on Pinterest.

Here's what I've got so far. For my daily lists, I have a list of goals and a to-do list. The goals are to shower and get dressed, read, create/bake, exercise, RELAX, play with the kids, and go outside for fifteen minutes. The daily to-dos are to make the beds, pick up the common areas of the house, clean the kitchen counters and sink, wipe down the bathroom, tidy our bedroom and closet, sort/wash/put away laundry, and wipe down S's table and the kitchen table.

I realize that this seems absurd on many levels. Level one of absurdity: writing down that you need to relax. This is a tough one for me. My natural mode is go-mode, and I wear myself out on a daily basis. Some days I feel like I am going to fall asleep in my dinner plate because I can't keep going. I have to make myself slow down, and being the Type-A freak that I am, the best way to achieve that goal is to put it on a list. Level two: writing down that I need to play with my kids. You might be thinking, "You're a stay at home mom, that's kind of your job," and you'd be right, but sometimes the laundry or dinner seems so important that I forget that my main priority is to raise happy, healthy kids and that playing with them is part of the gig. Level three crazy: the outside thing. We are a much happier bunch when we get to go outside, and we need to do it more. Besides, the more time S spends out of doors, the more confident she is that she can go outside to play, and I want my children to play outside. I want them to play with sticks and rocks and make mudpies. I want them to explore. Getting my tail out there with them seems like a logical way to make it happen. Level four: it's a little nuts that I have to tell myself to do any of this. I know.

Moving right along...

The bi-weekly list includes: sweeping the floors, dusting the furniture, washing the towels, and scrubbing the toilets. The weekly list includes: sweeping the courtyard and front porch, tidying all the closets/dressers, vacuuming the carpets, mopping the cork floors and bathroom floors, cleaning out the fridge, wiping down the appliances, tidying the art cabinet/pantry/medicine cabinet, changing the sheets, paying bills, and balancing the checkbook. Monthly, I need to mop the wood floors*, clean the windows and mirrors, and seriously scrub the shower**.

My plan is to create a schedule from these lists that works for me. I imagine my Tuesdays and Thursdays will be pretty chore-heavy since those are the mornings that S is at school, which makes everything a little easier. I'll try to schedule chores that she helps with (like dusting and sweeping the porch) for days she's home.

This is a work in progress, people, but I feel good about trying to really make it work. How do you stay on top of your life? Do you schedule?? Do you let things slide?? Are you, unlike me, able to just remember what you're supposed to do and do it while maintaining your sanity?? Let's have some feedback, folks.

*This may seem gross to you, but the wood floors are mainly in areas of the house that we don't spend a lot of time in, so I don't feel the need to mop them a lot, especially since I keep them swept. Besides, I'm working on making us a shoes-free household.

**Again, only scrubbing the shower once a month may sound abhorrent, but since I spray the shower daily, I'm good with it. Before I sprayed the shower regularly, I scrubbed it weekly. This is a much sweeter deal. Much.

laissez les bons temps roulet

2011-09-08T10:25:00.007-05:00

Monday we finally tried marble painting, and I am so glad we did. It was fun for the whole family really. Throughout the process, S kept saying, "Let the good times roll." I don't know where she heard that phrase but she's using it as much as her other current favorite, "I need to get it out of my system." Mr. Ouiser doesn't get to participate in our brilliant art making much, and he was very hands-on (hands-in?) for this one.

Prep work.

To paint or to play, that is the question.

Hands-on/in.

A work in progress.

We made two paintings. One is hanging in her calm place. The other is a late birthday gift for her Uncle Drew.

Now we're collecting acorns to make these. We are making extra sure to leave plenty for the wildlife. We're friendly like that. Besides, we stopped feeding the squirrels birdseed, and they're not used to foraging anymore. They need to get with the program because winter's coming.

In other craftastic news, we did this with friends yesterday, and I'm hoarding toilet paper rolls for this.

What's on your craft agenda? You don't have one? For shame.

Unrelated to our overconsumption of paint, more examples of T's stellar communication skills. This look pretty clearly conveys, "What the heck is wrong with her?"

the subtle art of nonverbal communication.

2011-09-06T07:53:00.024-05:00

My son, the one who can't talk...he sure can say a lot. His looks are highly nuanced. Let me show you.

What's up, Mom?

Pictures? Oh, smashing. You have been utterly remiss in documenting my existence you know. I am such a second child.

You need to adjust your camera settings?

It's cool. I'll wait right here.

Ready now?

I'm going to grin now. I'd say it'll charm your pants off, but I'd rather charm your top off. I'm a boob man.

I've got some drool on my chin?

Seriously?

You think I should wipe it off or just go with it?

Did I get it?

Let's just keep going.

What?? There's a pig over my shoulder?? Holy cow. I mean pig.

Wait. What's a pig?

Is it gone?

Are we done here?

No? Not done?

I'm getting sick of this. I'd rather be eating my fingers.

One more? Okay, I'll do one more.

Really, mom. I'm done.

Go away. I am over this.

Seriously, why aren't you listening to me?

The boy is brilliant.

danger?

2011-09-04T17:23:00.003-05:00

I laugh in the face of danger.

I'll have the good pics from my in-flight photographer/videographer soon...

under the gun.

2011-09-01T09:43:00.003-05:00

Here's the list of what is in my closet (not counting the cocktail dresses, LBD, and funeral skirt). I actually came in under 33 since I am not counting shoes, scarves, or jewelry.

printed maxi dress,
gray sleeveless v-neck dress
blue sleeveless v-neck dress
madras sleeveless dress*
green Patagonia knit dress*
gray sleeveless linen dress*
black tee
gray cardigan**
dark gray v-neck tee
light gray v-neck tee
white v-neck tee
white sleeveless v-neck tee
white tissue 3/4 sleeve tee
white button down
pink sweater set
green print cardigan
green print button down
green cardigan
light blue cardigan
navy sweater jacket
maroon cardigan
wheat sweater jacket
black knit skirt
brown knit skirt
purple knit skirt
blue knit skirt
blue Prana skirt
black and white Patagonia skirt/dress
cream skirt
boyfriend jeans
bootcut jeans
slim ankle jeans***

So, I've got one to spare. I will say that this is likely the final season for the green cardigan because it's seen better days and needs to be replaced. The black tee and white sleeveless tee are not terribly flattering, but I can't get rid of them until I replace them because, frankly, I need things to wear. What I'm noticing from my list, and what I've known all summer is that I am not great with things to throw on in the blazing heat. The tee shirts with knit skirts or jeans have been my go-to this summer, and now that I have the two Garnet Hill knit dresses, I've got enough outfits to easily dress myself for five days. The problem is that it takes about five days for us to accumulate an entire load of "good clothes" laundry, which means that everything is on the drying rack on the sixth morning, and I'm standing around in my underwear. I think replacing the black tee and the white sleeveless tee with pieces that I like more will solve that issue. It is also quite obvious from this list that I love a cardigan. Scarlet Lily and I have had conversations about this. Unfortunately, cardigans are impractical in the Southern Summer unless you're in an office building, a movie theater, or a restaurant, all three of which are always cold.

Also, for accountability's sake, this is the list of shoes in the closet:

Brown tall wedges
Black tall wedges
Brown short, casual wedges
Tevas
Black patent Birkenstocks (pretty much on my feet constantly...fancy, huh?)
Running shoes
Black Chuck Taylors
Mions
Slingback heels (for weddings, you know)
Green dress sandals

When the weather officially cools off, I'll pull out a few sweaters and swap out the tees for tanks that layer nicely under cardigans. (You know how tees under cardigans make those little bulgy lines under the cardigan sleeves? I cannot tolerate that.) I'll also put away all the knit skirts and trade out the Summer dresses for a few Fall dresses. I'll put away sandals and bring out the Danskos and the boots, and when I find the greatest-ballet-flats-ever-that-don't-cost-as-much-as-a-Cusinart, I'll have those, too.

*These are hanging in the closet but are currently unwearable as they are not nursing friendly.

**Technically, there are three gray cardigans, but two of them only get worn in the house as one of them is ragged as all get-out and the other was M's dad's and is therefore too big...but it's soft and warm.

***These aren't actually in my possession yet, but they are on their way from J. Jill.

In case anyone is wondering, Mr. Ouiser has 15 button downs/dress shirts, ten golf shirts, three Columbia casual shirts, 12 sweaters, four pullovers, two long-sleeved polos, a work shirt, and a couple of thermal tees hanging in the closet...plus a couple of suits and blazers, six pairs of chinos, three pairs of dress pants, two pair of corduroy pants, five pairs of shorts, one pair of causal khaki pants, and six pair of jeans****. Granted, he doesn't put things away seasonally as I do, but it's safe to say that we know who's got the larger wardrobe in our house.

****In his defense, three pair of these are work-jeans, and I must hereby admit that I have two pair of cropped pants that are only for working in the yard because I hate them otherwise.

You now all know way too much about my closet, and I realize how boring and bizarre that is.

the wardrobe, an overhaul.

2011-09-01T07:00:00.004-05:00

I'm hoping I'm not the only person prone to this: hanging onto clothes that I don't like/don't fit. I'm not actually bad about it because I hate clutter like I hate the Baltimore Ravens, but I still do it. Maybe it's a skirt that I loved years ago but doesn't really fit anymore. Maybe it's something that I want to love, something that looks adorable on the hanger, but that doesn't suit me. Then there are those articles of clothing that only look good on you once in a blue moon but that you normally don't find flattering.

Any of this ringing a bell?

Anyone else regularly want to jump out of a window when you realize that you've tried on almost everything in your closet and you have nothing to wear that doesn't make you want to cry?

It can't just be me. It can't.

I am done with it.

As of yesterday, I'm going through it all. Every article of clothing I own. If it doesn't fit, it's gone. Sayonara, trouser jeans that are 34 inches too long. Ciao, tee shirt that makes me feel like the broad side of a barn. Arrivederci, skirt that wouldn't stretch across my two-baby-having hips on my best day. Adieu, suits that I haven't worn in five years. You get the idea.

I'm through. By the end of this day, everything in my closet and on my shelves and in my drawers will fit, and it will all be something that I can wear any day, anytime*. Do you have any idea how liberating this feels? To know that (barring monthly bloating, ugh) I can walk into my closet anytime and get dressed? Without trauma. Without wanting to run screaming into the hills? It's kind of glorious.

I started yesterday. I will say, this has been coming for awhile. There are plenty of examples of bloggers existing with 33 articles of clothing**. 33 articles of clothing isn't actually that extreme for me, but the 33 is supposed to include shoes and accessories, and that just aintgonnahappen. Because here's the thing. Take jeans and a white tee shirt. I can throw that on with sandals and head to preschool drop off, or I can put it on with a cute scarf, dangly earrings, and wedges and head to dinner with Mr. Ouiser. Honestly, most of my wardrobe is like that. Casual but dress-up-able. And that's practical for me because I am a stay at home mama. I need everything I own to be washable, and I need things to be versatile.

Anyway, I will see how close I can get to the magic number, and I'll report back to you to hold myself accountable. I also pledge to be pretty hardcore about what I bring into my wardrobe from this point forward. For years now I have held fast to the belief that I would rather have fewer pieces that are better than more pieces that are cheaper, and I will continue that. I will also be honest with myself. I may love the slouchy boho look on a model, but a girl like me, a girl with her fair share of curves cannot pull that look off. I need pieces that fit, lest I look like a whale. A bloated whale nonetheless.

So here's to paring down the wardrobe. Wish me luck.

*I reserve the right to keep my two favorite cocktail dresses, my most versatile LBD, and at least one outfit suitable for funerals. These will not count toward my total.

**Gym clothes don't count, but you're not supposed to wear your gym clothes for anything other than their intended purpose. Meaning, you're not supposed to wear your yoga pants instead of jeans unless you're willing to count them in your total. Does that make any sense at all?***

***Yum, I hope you are one of those people who find impersonation the sincerest form of flattery because I can no longer live without adding these notes to my posts.

drewser bruiser

2011-08-30T14:52:00.003-05:00

Today is my little brother's 26th birthday. In honor of his big day, here's a list of 26 things I love about him.

His undying love for the Chicago Cubs. Next year is our year, buddy.
His ability to just do stuff like our Granddaddy does. I mean sometimes you just learn by doing...even if you are making gates out of old headboards.
The fact that I'm almost as tall as him, which might not be something he loves.
He could crush a person with one of his hugs. It hurts, but you know he means his hugs.
The fact that I can always freak him out by mentioning my boobs.
He once told me that his favorite smell was his baseball glove.
He's great with my kids. In fact, he's pretty awesome with all kids.
He loves football and still has his Peyton Manning UT jersey from when he was ten.
His girlfriend is lovely, and I'm grateful he found her.
He loves to cut grass.
He'll eat almost anything...but not tomatoes, which is actually a strike against him.
He is the loudest clapper on the planet. It's a strange talent that I don't actually love at all because it's humiliating if you're next to him when he starts clapping.
He's fast. Always has been.
He's really cute. Always has been (except when our parents had him sporting a mullet when he was four...maybe even then.)
He's is always willing to help anyone.
He is growing up into a pretty great man. I have high hopes for him.
He could drink milk anytime, anywhere.
He is consistent. He has always loved Snickerdoodles, cereal, cinnamon twists from Taco Bell, the aforementioned milk.
He probably still wishes he was a Ninja Turtle.
He actually plays vinyl records.
He grows a wicked beard. Not a Powers-beard, but it's pretty rocking nonetheless.
He finally got rid of the pillows he'd had since childhood. Those things were rank.
He is not afraid to order seriously girly coffee drinks.
He knows how to use a chainsaw.
I think he'd do just about anything to take care of the people he loves.
He's my little brother.

32,11

2011-08-29T10:41:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I turned 32. I'm pretty stoked. My thirties have been awesome thus far, and I have no reason to expect a downward trend. In fact, things are looking good. I look forward to T sleeping better, meaning that I'll get more sleep. Before I turn 33 my daughter will go to Kindergarten. We're going to visit CCM soon in Asheville. There are so many things to look forward to.

In addition to the birthday, it was the 11th anniversary of meeting Mr. Ouiser. Thinking about it now, I can't believe what an amazing time it's been. I have more fun with my husband than I can imagine having with anyone else. Add the kids and our friends and families to the mix, and I can't fathom a better cast of characters for my little life.

I am so, so thankful.

a rather monumental disappointment.

2011-08-27T12:23:00.003-05:00

I was supposed to jump out of an airplane this morning. It didn't happen. When we got there, we were informed that the plane was broken down in Georgia. It's a huge bummer, but I'll live. I'm rescheduled for next Saturday.

Life goes on...even though only one item got crossed off the Life List in August. The silver lining is that I know I'll have something to cross off in September. Besides, I probably shouldn't be all jacked up on adrenaline when there are so many friends that are in the path of Irene.

it's almost go time.

2011-08-26T15:48:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, I'll be crossing an item off my Life List. I'm very excited. It means that I'll have crossed two items off the list in a month (the first was learning to braid garlic). I know that not all months can be like that, but it makes me happy nonetheless. I think once it's all over and done, I'll chill on the list for a bit. I've got several projects to finish before Christmas, and I have to finish S's reading nook/calm place/place for peace, which she is trying hard to turn into a three-ring-circus. For the record, I have painted the space and hung the Happy Holland Bunting. If she'd stop trying to put everything she owns or has ever seen into the space, it would be quite nice really.

Anyway, here's a list...

Other projects in the works:

My last Pay-It-Forward piece of the year, which I need to finish already. It has to make it all the way to the UK.
Coffee sack table runners. (Luckily, I am pretty tight with our local coffee shop owners, so procuring the coffee bean sacks wasn't an issue.)
I'm going to paint a couple more floor mats...
A Christmas surprise for Mr. Ouiser that I'm so excited about I can hardly stand it.
Several other Christmas gifts (so much embroidery, so little time).
New chair cushions for our patio set. (It was M's grandparents. We painted it recently, and now the lemon-lime vinyl has to go.)

Now, I must tend to the daughter that's trying to make me insane today. She almost literally has not stopped talking since she woke up, and I'm trying to decide if using earplugs to drown out my child is bad parenting. It probably is. *Shrug*

cleaning it out.

2011-08-25T10:55:00.005-05:00

"Monster Bugs"

An S creation from yesterday, ink and watercolors.

Ohdeedoh is helping clear the kiddie clutter this week. It's Day Three of the Seven Day Toy Cure*. Days One and Two were dedicated to sorting through toys and putting things in an "outbox." This pseudo-staging area for getting rid of things isn't my style, but I can completely see how it works for other people. I'm more visceral in my decluttering. I either want it or I don't. And that's that. And that's all.

Today is dedicated to art supplies. The author indicated that she tends to neglect her kids' supplies. That does not happen around here. I may have mentioned this before, but I believe in art. I believe in art like I believe in God. It's always there, and it's always important to me. (I also believe in baking and Sunday afternoon naps. Mr. Ouiser believes in juice. To each his own.) I think my attitude toward S's art cabinet is much like my approach to cleaning the bathroom. If you stay on top of things, it's never out of hand. So, if S and I are drawing and a marker is dried out, that marker has colored it's last picture. If a glue stick is used up except for the teeniest smidgen of glue that no one will ever use, it's going to the great art bin in the sky. I'm like this with everything. Also, I organize the cabinet regularly. S does a good job of putting things away...she knows that stickers go on a particular shelf, but she just doesn't care if they're all jumbled up, so mama organizes every week or so and everyone's happy. Here are some photos of how our art supplies look.

This seems like a silly post, but it's not. At least I don't think so, since I have declared my allegiance to art. As I was taking these photos, I realized that I regularly, actively encourage S to make stuff, paint stuff, draw stuff. Sometimes to the extreme detriment of my nerves. (Like when she created a "bug machine" the other day with tape, bendy straws, old paper bags, and a toilet paper roll. She has declared that we must keep it forever to keep bugs away. God help me.)

I think it's important for kids to "do" art. When kids are really young, I don't know what it means in terms of expressing themselves, but I know it teaches them things. It teaches them that they can improve by practicing. It teaches them how to manipulate materials, which is both artistic and scientific. It teaches them focus. It's a win-win, folks. Really.

I read somewhere, possibly from SouleMama, that leaving materials out for children to use will encourage them to create. Having everything put away all the time...it's out of sight, out of mind. As much as I want things tidy always, there is always at least one art supply out at our house. It's usually just paper and markers, but sometimes it's not. Sometimes, I'll have a watercolor set, watercolor paper, a jar of water, and a washcloth on the table when S comes downstairs. It becomes her default activity for the day. Sometimes I'll leave out her "jewels" and glue. The other day, I handed her a box that I'd forgotten about. Years ago, I stashed some old ribbon spools, toilet paper rolls, paper sacks, and rinsed paper coffee cups in a box. It got stashed behind something when I unloaded the art cabinet when we moved, but I found it and handed it over. Not only did she create the "bug machine," but she also made a bunch of hand puppets that day and a sculpture (I use the term loosely) of a lighthouse for her daddy and she has played with the ribbon spools daily. Kids are itching to do stuff. Shouldn't we encourage that?

Anyway, this is a long and rather disjointed post, but there it is. Clean out your kids' markers, get out some paper, and make some stuff. Today, S and I will be gluing/making collages when she gets home from school...

Supplies for later.

*In high school, I was taught that you should spell numbers 1-10, and use numerals for all numbers above 11. So I do. I also learned not to start sentences with conjunctions or form incomplete sentences. I chose to ignore those lessons. Most of the time.

next up...

2011-08-23T16:14:00.008-05:00

You know I love a project, and I've got a bunch coming up, but for some reason this one must happen now. Probably because S is involved, and she is one of the few humans that has less patience than I. (I was hoping she would not inherit that trait. Oh, well. I'll take the good with the bad.) Anyway...

Last week, I got this book. It is uhhh-mazing. Love it. I've already read it twice. It speaks to me. It's like Ina, but not food. One of the things it discusses is having a "Place of Peace" in your home. Somewhere you or your children can go to relax. It recommends you also use this space for conflict resolution, but that's beyond my pay grade. When you combine this whole peaceful place idea with my recent desire to create a reading nook for the kiddos, something had to happen, and happen it will.

As I said, I let S in on the idea and the planning. We've drawn ideas for our space, and I let her choose the color that we'll paint the space. I narrowed the choices down to three, and she chose the one that I liked the least, but I have to let some things go. Sometimes. (Rarely.)

So, here are some of the shots I'm using for inspiration. I'll keep you all updated as (what S calls) the calm place comes to fruition.

Images 1-3 are from Ohdeedoh. Image 4 is from the Playful Learning website.

preschool, year two.

2011-08-16T10:44:00.007-05:00

If S were Harry Potter this would be the Chamber of Secrets year. She's not, though. It's just the second year of preschool. I'm hoping she learns her numbers a little better this year...and maybe stops writing her S's backwards. Anyway, let's compare.

First Day of Mother's Day Out, August 2009.

First Day of Preschool, August 2010.

Today.

a painterly weekend.

2011-08-15T15:41:00.007-05:00

This weekend saw a lot of paint around these parts.

First up: Ladies' Night. Some friends gathered at my house to paint canvas floor mats. CCM made one for us when we got married, but after six years, it's pretty much toast. Thus, a new mat needed to be made. Here are some photos of our efforts.

From the top, the visual stylings of Andrea, me, and Ashley. Laura and Holly will have to forgive me for not having photos of their work.

Next up: Magnet board. S has been lamenting her lack of a corkboard since spending a day at her friend A's house recently. Also, I've been lamenting the fact that she's taping things to our walls. I decided to make her a magnet board for her room out of a cookie sheet. Despite my wanting to make it perfect ("Hi, I'm Ouiser, and it's usually my way or the highway), I let her help. She is thrilled with the end product, and I am, too. However, I fear she loves it too much and will refuse to use it as a magnet board and will still tape stuff to our walls. You win some, you lose some.

The finished product.

i am no bird, and no net ensnares me.

2011-08-09T07:25:00.004-05:00

I was planning to blog today. I even put it on my to-do list. Alas, I am utterly engrossed in Jane Eyre and cannot be bothered to do more than tell you that I'm very busy with all the reading. I am sure you'll forgive me. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.

Image from Movie Scribes.

practically perfect in every way.

2011-08-08T10:11:00.004-05:00

Have I ever mentioned that Mary Poppins is my hero? Because she is. For real. If I ever meet Julie Andrews, I will be tongue tied for sure. It would be like Mr. Ouiser meeting Peyton Manning. Only who are we kidding? Mr. Ouiser would shake Peyton's hand and look him in the eye (because they are totally the same height) and say the perfect amount of whatever it is that men say to each other. I would drool on Mary Poppins and she might think that I was a mute in the end. Oh, well. It would be worth it.

Anyway, as I was defacing my wall with what follows, Mr. Ouiser and I realized that not many people would do this to their wall. Alas, like Mary Poppins, I am not most people. Also, this was done with tongue firmly planted in cheek. It's awesome, though.

I am going to make pieces for the kids that will stick to the wall that say "Rather inclined to giggle; doesn't put things away" and "Extremely stubborn and suspicious." I want to keep those phrases with their current heights, but I want to use the "measuring tape" to mark their heights each year. S is currently coming in at a whopping 45-1/2 inches, which makes her the height of an average six-year-old. T has his four month check-up tomorrow, and I will report his current stats then. I measured him very unscientifically last week and he was 24 inches. Also, I'm betting he weighs 16-1, but M thinks he's 15-something. We shall see. If he stays in Kentucky all week like he currently thinks he might have to despite the fact that he is supposed to be home on Wednesday I might not tell him how big our son is. That'll show him. I am also wondering what he's planning to do for an extra two days of clothes.

it'll change your life.

2011-08-04T16:02:00.002-05:00

Any of you who actually know me, know that I like things nice and neat. Tidy is my thing. It sincerely hurts my heart to look around my house and see the mess that comes along with children.

Making my kids pick up after themselves? Good parenting.

Making my kids conform to my rigid sense of tidiness? Not so much.

So I live with it (gladly, I wouldn't trade my kids and their mess for anything), and I fantastize about the day that there will be no plastic toys or baby swings in my family room.

However, I recently discovered a little trick that makes my life a little better every single day.

I pseudo-clean my bathroom daily. It sounds kind of absurd, but if you clean a little everyday, you rarely have to do any hardcore cleaning. Here's the routine:

Wipe down the sink/countertop/faucet. In my reality, this must be done after M puts in his contacts and S brushes her teeth. Otherwise, there will be a mess of salt from the saline solution crusted on one side of the countertop and a blob of toothpaste in the sink. I don't leave a mess in or around the sink because I am practically perfect. Not really.
Wipe down the toilet. I wipe down the seat and under the seat and all around the tank daily. I scrub the toilet a couple of times a week.
I spray the shower every single time I use it. I came across a recipe for homemade daily shower cleaner last week when I ran out of the Method stuff (1C white vinegar, 1 TBSP dishwashing liquid, 1/4C dishwasher rinse agent). I like it. M doesn't. He turns his nose up at the vinegar smell, but the smell goes away after a few minutes. The shower gets a deep cleaning every couple of weeks.

On a day-to-day basis, that's it. But here's the other thing that makes this work: every time you empty the garbage can in your kitchen, empty your bathroom trashcan. Even if there's only two things in it. If you do it, you'll never end up trying to smoosh an empty toilet paper roll into an overflowing garbage can in the middle of the night. It'll change your life. I swear.

Now, I just have to clean the mirror and scrub the toilet a couple of times a week. The floor gets cleaned when I do the rest of the floors once a week. It's a pretty sweet gig.

Oh, and keep your toilet lid closed. Did you know that every time you flush, water from the toilet splatters? You know what's in your toilet? Keep the lid closed. Seriously. Plus it keeps babies and dogs from drinking toilet water, and the toilet lid is nicer to look at than the inside of the toilet bowl. Think about it.

One last bit of insight into our bathroom: when you buy a new pack of toilet paper and stash it under the sink, take all the rolls out. And always replace the roll if you use the last of the tp. It's just nicer that way.

That's the end of my bathroom gospel. Changed your life, didn't it?

what a difference a day makes.

2011-08-03T11:11:00.005-05:00

Last week, our lovely trees were trimmed. They are still lovely, and they are enormously tall. The house is getting more sun now, which means I'm going to need to put some curtains in places I hadn't anticipated needing them, but that's okay. We no longer have to fear being smooshed by trees falling on our roof.

Bonuses to having trees trimmed (aside from a lack of fear):

Enough sunlight that I can actually have a kitchen garden, a potager if you will. And things will grow in it.
I think I can squeeze in a couple of dwarf apple trees.
I can grow flowers, and I still have enough shaded lawn for a shade garden.
We can now see the sky from the house. Before, the canopy was so dense that you had to go outside to see if it was sunny or not. You couldn't really tell from inside.
Bugs cannot use tree limbs as bridges to our windows. Hooray!!
You can see our house from the street.

Drawbacks to having the trees trimmed:

We'll have to move several of the shade-loving plants that we'd installed a few weeks ago...lest they bake.
The formal room is getting enough sun now that it's a little toasty in the morning.
We're going to have to mow the lawn.
I miss the shade from the tree in our courtyard. I'll get over it.
You can see our house from the street, which means you can see the atrocious state of the siding on the second floor. You can also see quite clearly the turquoise shutters and iron trim. I have someone lined up to rectify the turquoise issue.

Here are some before and after pics. And a random bullet that I can't seem to get rid of.

The front yard.

The front yard, looking toward the street. See the big tree in the right foreground? It's in the before picture, you can just barely see it because of all the branches and brush.

The big tree in the courtyard. See the sky in the after picture??

a new goal.

2011-08-01T12:02:00.004-05:00

A girl needs goals, and I have a new one. We have a lot of books. My books, M's books, the kids' books. I'm going to read them. All of them. There are some books that I've tried to read and couldn't get through, some that belong to M that I've never tried, and some that I don't know where they came from. I'm starting with the shelf in our bedroom. The contents of Shelf One are as follows (The ones that I've read are bolded):

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Open by Andre Agassi

For One More Day by Mitch Albom

This I Believe II edited by Jay Allison

Pride and Prejudice

Sense and Sensibility

Emma

Northanger Abbey

Mansfield Park

Persuasion

Lady Susan by Jane Austen

Gourmet Rhapsody

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barberry

The Templar Legacy by Steve Berry*

Bringing It to the Table

The Art of the Commonplace by Wendell Berry

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

The DaVinci Code

Angels and Demons by Dan Brown

A Walk in the Woods**

I'm a Stranger Here Myself**

In a Sunburned Country

A Short History of Nearly Everything**

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid

At Home

The Lost Continent**

Neither Here Nor There

Notes from a Small Island**

The Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson

Girl with the Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier

My Life in France by Julia Child

The Green Hour by Todd Christopher

Don't Know Much about History by Kenneth Davis

Geek Dad by Ken Denmead***

The Bluegrass Conspiracy by Sally Denton

Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond

Black Heels to Tractor Wheels by Ree Drummond (Pioneer Woman)

Three Musketeers

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

Tennessee by Wilma Dykeman

*I tried this one last week, but it opened with a pretty graphic torture scene, and I put it away. In the interest of attaining my goal, I almost moved it to another shelf, but I decided that was silly. Instead, I feel obligated to disclose that I am not going to read this book.

**Bill Bryson is easily one of my favorite writers. I want to have a beer with him. Also, all of the starred Bill Bryson books are on loan to others. Some of them have been gone so long that I don't know who has them. If you've got one or more of them, please bring them home. I miss them.

***I'm not going to read this one either.

Once I've finished off shelf number one, I'll move on to the second shelf. I started this insanity last week and read For One More Day. And I re-read The Great Gatsby, which is on Shelf Two. It was amazing. In fact, I'd forgotten how good that book is. I can't wait to see Carey Mulligan play Daisy because I adore her. Did you see An Education? Oh, Carey Mulligan. Oh, Peter Sarsgaard. I swoon.

Other things I can tell you based solely on Shelf One...aside from proclaiming my undying love for Bill Bryson? Muriel Barberry is kind of incredible. The Elegance of the Hedgehog was one of my favorite books that I read last year. I love Alexandre Dumas. And Victor Hugo...though Les Miserables is also Shelf Two.

Basically, I love books. Now, I am going to pursue some less electronic things like playing My Little Pony with S, reading (Jane Eyre today), and a little sewing.

Happy Monday, peeps. And Happy August!!

wisdom.

2011-07-28T12:52:00.003-05:00

I was talking to die frau today, and we briefly discussed our hatred of anyone's having a sense of entitlement. I think I may have expressed my disgust with the whole idea previously. Maybe not. Who cares. I'll tell you now.

One of my least favorite things in the world is people feeling like they are owed something just by virtue of being alive. I think it's important for everyone to value the idea of working for what they want.

Thinking about it made me start making a mental list of all the things I want to teach my kids and the rules they must follow on the road to adulthood. I will share with you now...

Working hard is important. In fact anything worth having is worth working for.
You should never expect anyone to hand you anything, but don't miss an opportunity.
Always, always respect your fellow humans. They can be your teachers, your parents, your friends, or your friends' parents. Respect them. Even if they are idiots. Human beings deserve respect, and I will expect you to dish out heavy helpings of it.
No one gets anywhere by being a jerk. Even when you're mad, be nice. Don't yell. Don't make obscene hand gestures. Do not use swear words to try to express anger. You'll look like an idiot, and you won't get anything accomplished.
But you have to stand up for yourself. Because I won't always do it for you. If you have a problem with a friend or a teacher or a coach, I will expect you to try to work it out for yourself first. But I'll always back you up because I'm your mama.
Do as I say, not as I do. (If I have to stand up for you, I might not observe all the aforementioned rules. You will be instructed to cover your ears.)
T, you must always go to the door when picking up a girl for a date. And you will shake her daddy's hand and be nice to her mama. You will have her home on time, and you will walk her to her door. Otherwise, you will answer to me.
S, you will not be allowed to go out with boys who do not observe those rules.
S, your panties and bra will never be allowed to hang out. You will not go out of my house looking like a skank. In addition to respecting others, you will respect yourself.
You should always be honest, but you shouldn't be mean. Sometimes bending the truth is okay if it keeps you from hurting someone.
You will not backtalk. (I know someone who has created a concoction called "sassy juice." It is some abhorrent combination of spices and liquid that she keeps in a squirt bottle, and if her kids backtalk, she makes them open up and she hits them with the nasty stuff. I think it is brilliant parenting.)
When you break rules, there will be consequences. You will learn this from me because I don't want you to learn it from a court of law.
You will be grateful for gifts, and you will write thank you notes. (Utterly tasteless and tacky joke: Why don't southern girls have orgies? Too many thank you notes to write. Bada-bing.)

That's all for now because S is wanting to make more aliens from play dough, and I can no longer resist her.

What do you want to teach your kids?

trusting your gut.

2011-07-26T07:45:00.002-05:00

I think this might be my final post on the intangibles that get you through having a baby. I know you're saddened. Tremendously.

The thing you've got to do is trust your gut. You have to have confidence in what you're doing. Babies are like dogs. They smell fear. I'm not saying that you have to know everything about everything when it comes to babies because you can't, I'm saying that you just need to believe in yourself. Really, I think that's true of life. Period. I truly believe that if I make a choice and have to hem and haw over it, it's not the right decision. A good decision is a good decision, and 99% of the time, you'll know it in your bones. If you'll just listen to your bones.

You need that with kids. There are so many people who will tell you so many things, and lots of those things are good and helpful. But so many of those things might not work for you or your family, and you have to be able to realize that and go with it. Frankly, there are very few things in life that you can't do over, so it's okay to be wrong. Just be willing and able to keep moving forward.

It's like our sleep insanity right now. When I posted on Facebook that I needed opinions on Babywise and Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, I think I got more comments than I did about T's birth. Everyone who has kids has an opinion, and they all want to help. I ended up picking up a copy of Babywise, and all it did was confirm what I already knew...that I am going to have to let my baby cry. I'm okay with needing that book to give me a nudge, but I've generally found that all parenting resources are like that. Reading them doesn't tell you how to be a parent, reading them shows you that you already know how.

Here's to trusting your gut.

laugh and the world laughs with you.

2011-07-20T15:53:00.002-05:00

Number three on the newborn survival list? A seriously healthy sense of humor/ability to laugh at yourself.

Image from Flickr.

When your child pees on you, you have to be able to laugh.

When your child vomits in your mouth, you really have to be able to laugh after you gag.

When you change your newborn's diaper and they immediately poop, you have to laugh, and then you have to laugh harder when they do it again. Forty-three seconds later.

You have to laugh because if you don't, you'll cry buckets. And really, it is all pretty comical. Living with a newborn is a bit like living in a sitcom...without makeup and wardrobe and craft service.

For the record, your sense of humor will carry you nicely through the toddler/preschool years, too. Trust me, if I didn't laugh regularly at S, I'd have to lock her in a dungeon.

i get by with a little help from my friends.

2011-07-14T08:13:00.002-05:00

The next intangible for getting through the newborn days? It's significantly more important than yoga, but I had yoga on the brain yesterday and thus wrote about it instead of this one. Can you guess?

Image from Amber Dawn Photography

It's friends. Real friends. The kind of friends who bring you a half gallon jug of apple juice when you've consumed every drop of juice that the hospital has available. The kind of friends who bring you food. The kind of friends who check on you regularly but understand that you've got a baby and might not be available to answer the phone or emails for awhile. The kind of friends who will hold your baby while you nap or shower or get a cup of coffee or just sit still.

When the baby gets older, these same friends will continue to be invaluable. They will listen to your inquiries about sleep issues. They will try to help you just by listening. And they'll still hold your baby while you get a cup of coffee/nectar of the gods.

They'll also reassure you a lot. Like when you're afraid you're going to strangle your older child because she's pushed you to your limit and you think you might be the world's worst parent...they'll remind you that you aren't. They'll let you know that it's completely normal and that no one will be the worse for wear.

They will also remain your friends despite the fact that you will talk about poop all the time. And naps. And nursing. And how huge your butt is. You should thank them for it.

The point is that you need a support system. At least I do. I need it for my sanity. I highly recommend it.

walk the plank.

2011-07-13T09:25:00.003-05:00

The other day, Heather posted a list of her favorite baby things. I started making my own list, but it got a little extensive, so I temporarily gave it up. Instead I'm going to start talking about some of the intangible things that are getting me through newborn land.

Today, it's the plank.

One of the things that was hardest for me to deal with when S was a baby and now that T is a baby is the blob that is a postpartum body. Granted, a lack of sleep and hormonal insanity is more difficult to deal with, but that's a whole different issue. The blob is bothersome to me. When I was pregnant and my body looked like it was inhabited by aliens, I was understanding because it kind of was inhabited by an alien. I understand all too well that your body is different after giving birth, and it should be, but the blob makes me feel wretched.

I am never going to be a person who exercises excessively. It's not in my DNA. And I'm not horribly vain, though I am slightly. I just can't feel good about myself if I look like I ate another human. It affects every part of my life when I feel bad about myself physically. I get stressed when I have to get dressed and nothing fits properly. I want to cry when I look into a mirror and see a lot of extra fluff. I want to barf when I curl up on the couch and my body doesn't curl up properly because there's too much stomach.

Are you grossed out yet? I am. I was.

Enter the plank. Someone mentioned to me once that the only way to get your midsection back after you've had a baby is yoga, and I believe it. I'm still carrying around a few more pounds than I'd like, but yoga is helping a lot. As my muscles, especially my core muscles, get stronger, I can feel things changing. I feel leaner even if I'm not. And my arms are looking better from all that hanging out in plank position, too. Beyond the core and arm benefits, forward folds and wide leg forward bends release a lot of tension that I apparently store up in my hamstrings, and focusing my attention on my breath helps me calm down. Basically, it's a win-win situation for me.

Yoga allows me to fit in a little exercise throughout the day, and even small amounts of breathing and stretching make a big difference in how I feel.

So there it is. One of the things that's helping me feel human in my sleep-deprived state. An added bonus: yoga pants. Swoon.

and miles to go before i sleep.

2011-07-12T07:41:00.003-05:00

Oh, my child. My youngest child, that is. He is all over the map. All over it. Allow me to explain...

I am one of those parents that believes with every fiber of my being that kids need lots of sleep. Lots of it. They need lots of time for their little brains to catalog all the new information they're exposed to daily. S was always amenable to that belief. And T agrees with it, but he can't seem to agree with it in any sort of organized, predictable way.

He generally takes two good, long naps during the day. Somewhere between 2-3 hours. Only there is no way to know what time those naps are going to happen. The first one always happens about an hour and 45 minutes after he wakes up in the morning, but sometimes he wakes up at 530, and sometimes he wakes up at 730. Then sometimes, after the morning nap, he can stay awake for a little over 2 hours, but usually it's another hour and 45 before he needs another nap. Most days he even takes a third little catnap in the late afternoon. And he's fussy by 6pm.

So back this all up with me. If he wakes up at 530, he's ready for a nap before 730 in the morning. That's ridiculous, and needing a nap that early tells me one thing: that he needed to sleep longer before he woke up in the first place. But sometimes he just can't get himself to stay asleep. And that's what I don't get.

Let's continue our exploration of a 530 start time. If he takes a nap by 730, then he's usually ready for the second nap by noon. And that nap is over by 3. The child is apparently incapable of being awake for longer than 2 hours, so that makes him fussy by 5 at the latest. Then what do you do?? Do you let him take a third nap at 5, or do you sacrifice your sanity by keeping him awake until at least 6?

Then there's his inability to self-soothe. So some nights we're upstairs with him a half-dozen times, but other nights, he's blissfully calm for about 6 hours. His issue is that if he's unswaddled he body jerks himself awake and/or smacks himself in the face and wakes up. He tries constantly to get his hands to his mouth, but he can't keep them there, which makes him mad. So, we keep him swaddled and he fights. I ordered a Halo Swaddler, and I am hoping that helps...but maybe he needs to be unswaddled and get used to it.

I am quite beside myself honestly. He sleeps enough. I can wrap my head around a 6am-6pm evening from him until he gets older and we are comfortable moving his bedtime back to 7...then 8. (Please note that we will be utterly incapable of any sense of a social life as long as T has to be in bed at 6pm. We'll have to divide-and-conquer.) I just need a little consistency. Maybe I'm expecting too much.

Someone, please, give me some advice. Or a valium. Or a nanny.

overachieve.

2011-07-09T10:03:00.003-05:00

When did it become necessary to be the penultimate at everything? When did "good enough" become not good enough? Maybe I'm the only one who feels pressure to do more/be better, and that is an odd statement when I've commented before on not wanting to lower my standards. My standards are pretty high. I expect to cook for my family. I expect to keep my house clean enough for company at all times. I expect to fulfill all my creative needs and grow children who are thoughtful, polite, and creative in their own right. But sometimes I feel that there is more that I need to learn and accomplish, and yesterday, I asked myself why.

For example:

I constantly think that I should raise chickens. I've got more than enough space, and I love fresh eggs. Love. There is no comparison between really fresh eggs and grocery store eggs. It is not apples-to-apples. However, I am afraid of birds, and these are birds that are guaranteed to try to peck my fingers. Also, I have a perfectly wonderful granddaddy who has perfectly fine chickens, and he is perfectly happy to share their eggs. Somehow, though, I expect myself to raise chickens. It makes no sense whatsoever.
I have spent hours obsessing over my camera manual this week. Mr. Ouiser bought me a really nice camera a few years ago, and I've never bothered to learn how to take it out of it's automatic mode. The other day, I ran across this tutorial on Pinterest, and I decided that enough was enough...that I was too smart and too artistic to settle for automatic photos. But, why? When I was growing up, just having a photograph that was in focus was good, but now? Now I feel the need to take really, truly excellent photos. Why?

Stop the insanity! There are so many other examples of there being too much pressure on people to live up to unattainable standards, and I believe wholeheartedly in many of them. I believe in breastfeeding and homemade baby food. I believe in composting and gardening and ditching disposable products and so many other things. And I am grateful that I am able to do all of those things because I am fortunate enough to be a stay-at-home mom. But there is pressure for working moms, too.

When will it end? Does anyone have the answer? Can we just be good enough and be happy? I really don't know.

overachieve.

2011-07-09T10:03:00.002-05:00

For example:

I constantly think that I should raise chickens. I've got more than enough space, and I love fresh eggs. Love. There is no comparison between really fresh eggs and grocery store eggs. It is not apples-to-apples. However, I am afraid of birds, and these are birds that are guaranteed to try to peck my fingers. Also, I have a perfectly wonderful granddaddy who has perfectly fine chickens, and he is perfectly happy to share their eggs. Somehow, though, I expect myself to raise chickens. It makes no sense whatsoever.
I have spent hours obsessing over my camera manual this week. Mr. Ouiser bought me a really nice camera a few years ago, and I've never bothered to learn how to take it out of it's automatic mode. The other day, I ran across this tutorial on Pinterest, and I decided that enough was enough...that I was too smart and too artistic to settle for automatic photos. But, why? When I was growing up, just having a photograph that was in focus was good, but now? Now I feel the need to take really, truly excellent photos. Why?

When will it end? Does anyone have the answer? Can we just be good enough and be happy? I really don't know.

to pixie or not to pixie?

2011-07-08T11:18:00.002-05:00

Oh, Scarlet Lily, why do you do these things to me? Why must you encourage my habitual chopping of the locks? Because, it's pretty easy to convince me that the time has come to relieve myself of all but an inch of my hair. It really is. Thank goodness my husband likes me with short hair.

Of course, I'm old and wise now.

I've been thinking about a new pixie cut for a few weeks, but I told myself I'd give it a month. If I still wanted to cut my hair, I'd do it then, but time has told me that once I get an idea in my head, the only way to stop thinking about it is to do it. Then I just deal with the consequences. In this case, the consequence is spending a year growing my hair out, but I'm used to it.

So, I think I'll chop my hair off next week. In fact, I know I will because I already made an appointment, and I know myself well enough to know that when I sit in that chair, I'll say, "chop it all off."

It'll be my ode to Emma Watson since my appointment is for the opening night of Harry Potter. I'm absolutely giddy just thinking about it. The "it" being both the haircut and the movie.

tea time.

2011-07-07T15:19:00.010-05:00

It should be noted that this post has nothing to do with my son, but I like to remind you that he exists. He just doesn't do much. Also, he's three months old today. That's 25% of a year, but I am still not acknowledging his age. He was just born. I'm sure of it. Anyway, here he is in all his adorable chubby cuteness. Oh, I do love him.
This post is really about tea. After S and I went to tea at American Girl Place, she requested that we have a tea party with some friends. Today was the day. S wore lots of jewelry and a hat, and she requested that I also wear lots of cheap plastic jewelry because...it's fancy. So, we got all decked out, busted out some old china, and had us a tea party.

S made menus and demanded that they grace the table. I was not all that pleased, but it was her party.

The Menu

First course

Banana Bread Bruschetta

Fruit Skewers

Second course

Chicken Salad on Pita Points

PB&J tea sandwiches

Dessert

Dark Chocolate Marshmallows

Strawberry Shortcake

There was also pink lemonade, not tea. Little girls don't actually like hot tea.

We (the girls and the mamas) discussed our favorite books, our favorite places to play, and where we'd like to visit. All in all, it was a pretty good morning.

This photo pretty accurately captures the personalities of these three wonderful girls. I'd like to squeeze them all. The Ouiser ladies. Check out the fancy jewels. No boobs were shown to earn the Mardi Gras beads...unless you count the eight times a day I whip out a boob for all in my vicinity to see as I feed my son. But that's another story.

Chicago, Day Three. Fin.

2011-07-06T07:35:00.008-05:00

After S's Friday evening meltdown and subsequent hibernation, M and I made one of our better decisions ever. We were planning to stay in Chicago Saturday night and drive all the way home on Sunday. We decided that was not a great plan...we realized that S would be crazy tired again Saturday afternoon, so we abbreviated our Saturday plans and checked out of the hotel a day early.

Of course, we couldn't check out until we had recovered baby Mary.

I had intended to hit the Children's Museum at Navy Pier Saturday, cruise Lake Michigan aboard The Windy, and ride the Ferris Wheel with my girl. We skipped the museum and climbed aboard the tall ship. Clearly you know that I believe in karma. Good and bad. And our experience on the boat leads me to believe that there are a handful of people out there who would've earned it if their wallets had leaped from their pockets into the water of Lake Michigan.

The boat was scheduled, according to the internet, to sail at 1030. I went to the ticket window at 10 where I was told they were sailing this morning at 10 if we wanted to climb aboard. So we did. Only when we got onto the deck there weren't many places to sit. There was a completely empty bench at the edge of the boat, so we hauled the kids to it. We were promptly told by 78% of the passengers that we couldn't sit there. The bench wasn't secured to the deck. Okay. Then we saw what was essentially a large box behind the wheel. Easily room for three Ouiser family butts. We went to sit upon it and were again thwarted by our fellow passengers. This left zero space for a family of four...except that the one long bench under the sail was occupied by four people. There was space for two in the middle and a seat for one on each end. And all four of those people were twerps. One of them even said, "There's room for one right here," as he pointed to his right, "and there's room for two here," as he pointed to his left. I wanted to scream, "Hey, genius! If you and your lady friend moved over, we could sit down right where you are."

I really do hope his wallet got lost. Maybe not his whole wallet. Maybe just his cash. And I hope the cash got picked up by some deserving soul with good karma.

We ended up having to squeeze all three of us into the space for two, and S ended up getting those people to move down a bit by wiggling and being a four-year-old. Normally, I would be very careful to keep her contained, but they earned a couple of pink Keen kicks to the thigh.

We arrrrghhh pirates!

Once we were seated, the boat ride was great. There was a totally inappropriate pirate song. S laughed uproariously despite not knowing that the song was about a drunken sailor's man parts. There were people dressed as pirates, and they gave little mini presentations on sea/lake exploration and piracy. The best part of that was when they asked if anyone knew the names of any explorers. S whispered to me, "Mom, I know one. Dora." It was classic.

T was awake for nine seconds of the trip, and we got photographic evidence.

The water was lovely, the sky was blue, and I didn't get seasick. I did, however, get the mother of all sunburns. I'm talking about an embarrassing sunburn. One that makes you realize that not only were you an idiot for not applying sunscreen, but also you're advertising the fact that you're an idiot. Amazingly, no one else in my family got scorched. Pink cheeks, yes. Sunburned, no. I'm the one who is still molting. They're back to normal.

This face pretty much sums it up.

Also, S helped fire the cannon, and we didn't take a picture.

After the boat ride, S and I rode the Ferris Wheel and the carousel. She completely lost it because the horse she chose to ride didn't go up and down.

Right before she realized she wasn't moving vertically.

We went to a cafe on the pier for lunch, and she continued her display of whining because I'd told her that she could NOT have shaved ice for lunch.

I decided to let her have a shaved ice after lunch, and things were looking up. There were smiles. Then she dumped the entire thing. There were more tears as M scrambled back to the shaved ice stand to replace it. When she was so loaded up on sugar and artificial coloring that we thought she'd explode, we threw both of the kids into the car and left Chicago in our dust.

That's it. The whole story. Pretty exciting, eh? Now we can all move on.

Chicago, Day Two.

2011-07-05T07:27:00.007-05:00

So it took me an entire week to sit down to write this post. Eye infection. Sinus infection. U2 concert. Husband with food poisoning. 4th of July. It's been busy. I know you're itching to hear more about Chi-town, though. Aren't you? Yeah, you are.

Day Two.

Day two started with breakfast in the hotel. Again, I'm going to recommend the Omni Hotel on Michigan Avenue because they have a parking and breakfast package. Parking at most of the hotels in Chicago runs about 50 bucks a day. And breakfast...well, all meals stressed me the heck out in Chicago, so not having to leave the hotel room was golden. Plus, when the waiter rolled our table in and made a fuss over S, it made everything that much better.

Day Two was Field Museum Day. And you already know about the insanity that was in terms of losing all of our stuff in the cab. What you don't know is that a taxi is magical to a four-year-old. Magical. Take your kid somewhere in a taxi. They will love it. They will also constantly ask you what all the pictures/bulletins/fliers on the plexiglass are. You will see the taxi driver smirk in the mirror when he realizes that your child may never, ever shut up and you're stuck with her, but he gets to drop all of your crazy off in a few minutes where you will mingle with lots of other crazies. He will continue to drink his Starbucks.

But...onto the Field.

S had already met Sue the T-Rex. She's currently on exhibit at the Space and Rocket Center, and M took her a few weeks ago because she's really into both dinosaurs and outer space right now. (I breathe a sigh of relief every time I realize she's capable of interest in something other than princesses.) Still, we saw a replica of Sue. And her actual skull because it's separate from the rest of her. It weighs SIX HUNDRED POUNDS. That's 3.25 Mr. Ouisers. About 48 of my son. And approximately 10.5 of S. Whoa. We also saw lots of other dinosaurs, and we sang the hungry, hungry herbivore song.

That wasn't the cool part, though. There were two things that utterly blew my mind.

Thing one: do you know how big a moose is?? Do you? Because, those suckers are huge. I always imagined them smaller than a horse...maybe a tall-ish cow. Wrong. They're like passenger vans. M is 6'5", and he was dwarfed. I know that moose aren't supposed to be aggressive, but just stumbling across one in the wild would cause me to drop dead of a heart attack. At minimum I would pass out...where I'd likely then be mauled by a grizzly bear. Either way, running into a moose would be a bad situation for me.

Thing two: ever seen the skeleton of a giant tree sloth? Giant is definitely an appropriate word. I mean, I know all about megafauna, but I underestimated.

Oddly, I overestimated the size of dinosaurs. I was thinking of Godzilla.

After the Field, M rested at the hotel with the kids so I could walk around Michigan Avenue a bit. While I did love my first Crate and Barrel experience, and I was overjoyed to go to the Cubs store, I did not enjoy it. I don't know why I thought I might. I am not a shopper, and I wasn't really tempted to think about shopping because I had a baby recently. I am holding fast to the belief that my body is continuing to change, and I'm not buying clothes for this mass of flesh. Also, I felt like a head of cattle being pushed down the shoot. I hated the feeling so much that when I walked back to the hotel, I walked up Rush Street just to avoid the people/cattle. Plus, it was kind of lonely.

Dinner was a disaster that night because S was flat worn out*. She cried as we walked to dinner. M had to carry her and that's no easy task as she's the giant tree sloth of four-year-olds. We bribed her to be good with a sundae from the Ghirardelli cafe, but she even ate that with tears in her eyes.

We went back to the hotel about 630, and S tried to go to bed in her clothes. The poor child literally crawled into bed fully dressed and pulled up the covers. I convinced her to potty and put on some pjs, but the child was dead to the world by 7pm. She slept for 13 hours, and I don't think she moved once.

There you have it, peeps. Day Two. It was kind of a debacle, but the Field Museum was so great that it was totally worth it.

*We came to this realization later: Usually, when a preschooler gets worn out you can pop her into a stroller with a bottle of water and a snack and things are fine. The child can recover. Unfortunately, they don't really make strollers for seven-year-olds, and that's what size my sweet girl is. So, she has to hoof it. Also, her legs are shorter than an adults, so she has to work harder to go the same distance. Of course she was exhausted after a couple of days of walking around Chicago. We should've known better. The rest of you are hereby warned. If your child is still a stroller appropriate age, use one. If your stroller-appropriate-aged child won't fit in a stroller, go to the beach instead of Chicago.

Chicago, Day One

2011-06-28T11:05:00.002-05:00

For the record, the first day of our trip went like this: Mr. Ouiser and I went to the dentist. Mr. Ouiser got the good hygienist. I got the sadist. Mr. Ouiser got a haircut. Then we hit the road. We stopped to eat in Bowling Green, and I made the monumental mistake of getting a latte at Starbucks. In case you're wondering, T is not over his aversion to dairy. He blew chunks. We drove to Lebanon, Indiana that day. While we didn't eat dinner there, I wish we had. The cutest little restaurant ever was there. I passed it when I ventured out to buy goggles for S. How I remembered her kickboard and forgot her goggles I'll never know. The whole downtown was cute, and the geographer in me desperately wanted to tool around the town square. I did not. Goggles are paramount. Seriously.

The next morning we made it to Chicago and were blessed with an early check-in. We walked to Pizzeria Uno where I continued the assault on my son's digestive system by partaking of the scrumptious deep dish.

Then we headed to American Girl Place. Part of the reason that we chose to visit Chicago was a desire to take S to this store. It's like Disney. She was in heaven from the second we walked through the revolving doors. Of course, nineteen seconds in, the camera battery died. M dutifully found an outlet and proceeded to sit down with T for two hours while we stole power from American Girl. I think we paid them back, though. S got a new doll. She shocked me by choosing one of the My American Girl dolls instead of Kanani, who she has been obsessed with via catalog. What seemed like a hundred years later, she and I went to tea. It is one of my favorite memories of vacation. Her new doll, Skating Mahoney*, and her Bitty Baby doll, Mary*, were seated on either side of her. She had pink lemonade in a tea cup. I had forty-three cups of coffee. We had lots of goodies. Scones. Fruit. Tea sandwiches. Strawberry Mousse. Chocolate and sprinkle covered marshmallows. And we played "Table Topics." I wouldn't trade that tea date with my girl for anything. I think I'll remember it forever, and I hope that she will.

After that we headed back to the hotel. S showed off her wicked swimming moves. T froze. Then we went to bed. It was a very good day.

*Skating Mahoney is truly what my daughter named her doll. Originally, she called her Skating Melissa. Then she called her Sarah. Then Skating Mahoney stuck like glue. Mahoney is the name of Natalie Portman's character in Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. The "Skating" part is because she chose an ice skating outfit for the doll. Mary is named after the mother of Jesus. She got her at Christmas and was mildly obsessed with the Virgin Mary at the time. You cannot make this stuff up, people. My life is an absolute riot.

an argument for karma.

2011-06-27T09:48:00.002-05:00

The Ouisers just spent a few days in the Windy City. Let's start with that. Why I thought a few days in a large city with an overly dramatic four-year-old and an eleven week old was a good idea for a mini holiday, I'll never know. It was a little crazy, but all-in-all, there were some great memories made. I'll likely use the next several days to tell the full story, but I'll start with how our trip proved that there is such a thing as good karma.

I'd like to think that I stack the karma deck in our favor on a regular basis. I let people in the grocery line go ahead of me if they've got a handful of things and I've got enough fruit to feed a small army. I let people out in traffic. I tell people when the tag is sticking out of their shirt or when their baby drops something. Little things, you know.

It was all worth it in Chicago.

Friday, we went to the Field Museum. We grabbed a taxi at our hotel, threw the stroller in the trunk, and started on our adventure. I'm not going to lie. Putting S and T into a cab on a busy street was a little frantic. Getting out of the taxi was more frantic as we didn't want S straying into oncoming traffic. While I paid the bill, M grabbed the stroller and tried to get the kids situated. Here's where karma took care of us.

I got cash for the trip...for little things like cab rides or snacks or coffee. However, for some unknown reason, I chose to pay with a card for this particular ride. Also, I almost never request a receipt because it's a waste of paper in most cases. But I asked for a receipt this time. Then, the credit card thing was acting wonky and taking forever, but I waited instead of saying, "no big deal," and moving on.

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the museum, ready to explore, and Mr. Ouiser made a pit stop. While I waited with the kids, T started fussing, so I decided to put him in the Baby Bjorn, which was packed in the basket under the stroller. Only it wasn't there anymore. Nor were M's or S's raincoats. Or my emergency bag of tylenol/bandaids/benadryl/hand sanitizer. Or diapers. Or wipes. The only thing there was my raincoat.

Please note the obviously empty stroller basket. Oops.

I very quickly realized that everything had fallen out of the stroller when it was put into the trunk of the taxi, and in our craziness, we hadn't noticed.

Hello, karma. I had a receipt with the cab company's name and the cab number we'd just ridden in. I called, and the very nice taxi driver returned our stuff to the museum within twenty minutes. Normally, I wouldn't have had the receipt with all that glorious information. And our stuff would've been long gone.

To restock the karma deck, I promptly offered to take a family photo for some people standing outside the museum who were doing the mom-and-kid then dad-and-kid photo rotation that we know all too well.

Later that night, when we were headed to dinner, we decided not to take the stroller...to just carry the baby. M took the stroller back to our room, where he found the door hadn't closed all the way, so all of our stuff was just there, waiting to be stolen. Karma knew that door was open, and she sent M the brainwave that said, "You don't want to push the stroller right now, take it back to room 1204."

On Saturday, karma saved our tails again. S had slept with her baby doll, Mary*, on Thursday evening. Things were so nuts on Friday that she never wanted to play with Mary, but when I got ready to pack things up on Saturday morning, I realized that Mary was missing. She wasn't in any of the drawers or the closet. She wasn't in a bag or a box. She was nowhere. I asked S if she'd seen her, but she answered, "No. She's probably playing hide and seek."

Crap.

I called the front desk, and they transferred me to housekeeping. Mary had been carried away with the laundry, and the glorious staff of the Omni Hotel put her aside, waiting for a sad little girl to realize her doll was missing. When the concierge brought her to us, he even played along with the idea that Mary was playing hide and seek.

So, seriously. Stack the karma deck. Do it regularly.

happy father's day.

2011-06-18T15:46:00.010-05:00

To celebrate Father's Day, we hosted a little event last night. We had friends over for what I'll now call The Amazing-It's-Not-A-Race Father's Day Scavenger Hunt Thing. Confused? Don't be. It was just a scavenger hunt where you had to both find things and do things. And it wasn't a race. Because races have winners, and subsequently, they have losers. And two of the four children involved are more than somewhat dramatic and competitive. One of those children belongs to me, and the other is S's BFF. Those two...wow.

Anyway, it was loads of fun. Each of the kids got to choose their team name and team colors. There were shirts. The kids got to decorate trophies for their dads. Really, if it hadn't been for the staggering display of tears by S, the night would've been perfect.

We grilled steak and chicken, and neither were overcooked. So, that's a win.

Here are some photos. I can only hope that all you dads out there have as much fun as Mr. Ouiser had this Father's Day...and that all you dads are good enough sports that if your daughter ever chooses to make your team name "Unicorn Princesses" and your team color pink, that you'll play along.

All the teams...ready to roll.

Task: find a stick as long as your arm. Or a stick as long as your child. Whatever.

Task: take a picture of a duck. Or a fake duck.

Task: Eat a french fry. Or an entire order of french fries that had to come from Wendy's despite the fact that it is across town.

Task: Sing a song on a stage. Otherwise titled: Convince your daughter that the playground counts as a stage because the stage she wanted to go to is occupied and the stage your wife suggested is somehow inadequate in the eyes of said daughter.

Task: Run or Walk a Lap. Pouting optional.

The men with their trophies.

ick continues.

2011-06-09T12:38:00.002-05:00

After the oat bran debacle this morning, my toast and turkey sausage seemed like heaven.

Then I had lunch.

Unfortunately, when I made a batch of balsamic vinaigrette* last week, I clearly added too much dijon. I didn't notice it when I used the dressing when it was brand spankin' new, but man (!) that stuff is mustard-y today. And I don't like mustard. This of course begs the question: Why, Ouiser, do you add dijon to your vinaigrette if you don't like mustard?

Because you're supposed to. At least that's what I'm told.

So, if you're keeping score, I'm 0-for-2 today in the meals department. And frankly, I'm going to be batting .000 for the day because Mr. Ouiser won't be home from Ohio at dinnertime, so S will be eating the leftover ravioli that I made her last night, and there is nothing else in the fridge because it's grocery night. I suppose I can throw something together with eggs. I do have some of those.

I also have a screaming baby.

*If you make your own dressings, (why wouldn't you?) you really should get one of these. It actually emulsifies your concoctions. It's fabulous. It'll change your life. Also get a cherry pitter. It'll change your life even more. I couldn't live without either of them. In case you were wondering.

ick.

2011-06-09T07:57:00.002-05:00

The low sugar experiment continues. Honestly, I feel good. But this morning's breakfast is not so good. Heather had some oat bran cooked with blueberries the other day, and I was intrigued, so this morning, I made some oat bran and stirred in a handful of blueberries. Of course, Heather had also mentioned said oat bran in a post about lemon-blueberry stuff, so naturally, I squeezed some lemon juice into the blueberry lemon oatmeal. And I put a teaspoon of soy-free vegan butter in there for good measure. Sounds pretty good.

Alas, it is not.

Thus, despite the fact that I'm ravenous, I am blogging instead of eating my breakfast. I think I overdid it on the lemon, and I think I'll attempt blueberry oat bran another day, but maybe with butter and cinnamon next time. Maybe.

For now, I am going to nuke some frozen turkey sausage and make a piece of whole wheat toast because there is no way I am going to force myself to eat what's in the bowl in front of me.

three things.

2011-06-07T11:48:00.004-05:00

Thing one: I love insurance. I do. It enables me to be sick and not broke. However, it is a pain in the rear. I'm currently on the phone trying to sort out a claim from T's initial well-child visit. It's hard to get answers from an automaton.

Thing two: If you eat protein at every meal (even just a little) you will almost never be hungry. I have learned this from my no/low-sugar diet. Amazingly when I'm not craving sugar, I'm not craving anything. I have to remind myself to eat because I have to eat to make milk, and T needs the super milk. Try it out. Today I had some leftover chicken (about 1.5 ounces) on a whole wheat tortilla with corn, roasted red pepper, and spinach. And I'm happily full...and I doubt I'll even think about food (other than to blog about it) for hours.

Thing three: I am getting old. Want to know how I know? The people around me are getting older. Take, for example, the junior bridesmaids and flower girl from our wedding. I was going to post a picture, but my scanner is dead as a doornail. So trust me. The oldest was 14 when M and I tied the knot. Two others were 12, one was 11, and the youngest was seven.

But now? Now Hillary, the oldest, is 20. She just finished her second year of college. Sarah and Abbe are both 18 and have now graduated from high school. Susannah turned 17 yesterday, and she's gearing up for her senior year of high school. And Olivia, my youngest sister, is 14 and starting high school in the fall. So, while simple math can enlighten me to their ages (and to my own, you'd think), it takes seeing these girls all growing up before my eyes to make me feel like a geriatric. I believe I shall get my wish of being an old southern lady sooner than I think. That's how I feel at least. Maybe I'll go by some supportive undergarments to help the transition into my golden years.

I'll leave you with a picture from Sarah's graduation on Saturday. I may be old, but I do not have to act like it.

Please note that Susannah (aka The Short One*, S3, Little Fairy) was very ill. She might want me to explain why this isn't her best photograph. There is no excuse for me.

*Funny how I call her the short one, eh? In comparison, I'd be the tall one, and I'm not quite 5'4". I'm 5'3-3/4". My family is not blessed with immense height. Thank goodness my children seem to take after their father. They may never have to climb grocery shelves for dry goods.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changing.

2011-06-03T16:22:00.002-05:00

A few ways my life has changed since April 7th.

Obviously, I've cut out refined sugars. (in the interest of full disclosure, I ate a TBSP of semisweet mini chocolate chips on my oat bran this morning. it's the first treat-like sugar I've had in over a week. there was also melted almond butter on the oat bran.)
I only use my towel once before washing it. Yeast thrives in warm, damp places like towels, and I'm not going through all this diflucan/low sugar mess just to wipe yeast back on my body. I will get you, yeast. Fear me!!!
I don't sleep that much.
I use all of the available baby nap time to get things done. Since I have an older child, which means that I can't nap when T does, I use my time. Laundry. Cleaning. And...
My kitchen prep work gets done early in the day. While T sleeps, I do all the chopping and measuring for dinner ahead of time. I also put water in pots (salted and oiled, if need be) for pasta or rice or quinoa or whatever. I get out plates. I try to get the table set.* There is no way I can get this stuff done when he's awake because he's rotten and wants to be held always.
Yoga. It's happening a lot around these parts, and I feel pretty good.
I shower at night. Three reasons: my hair looks better "slept on," the baby's sleep is erratic and I can't relax in the shower if I think he might be screaming and S might be smothering him with a pillow, and it helps me relax at the end of the evening.
I run the dishwasher immediately after dinner, and I empty it before I go to bed. Not having to do it in the morning makes my mornings significantly better. Significantly.
I shop for groceries at night. I am not brave enough yet to take two children to the grocery store. Especially when one is an unpredictable wee one and the other is whiny and asks for one of everything she sees. I wait until they're asleep, and I go alone. It is magical. If you regularly shop with a kid in tow, I highly recommend trying it out.
I don't blog very much. Like I said, I have to use all the minutes in the day to keep this place running smoothly because I do not want to lower my standards unless I have to.

*I was unable to set the table yesterday because S had set up a fruit stand. There is still a sign taped to the table. Also, she asked me today if the cherries I gave her came from the farm where we get produce when we can. Then she asked me if they were in season. She picks up on a lot. I heart her. So, so much. Even though I want to strangle her with a spaghetti noodle sometimes. Most of the time. Whatever.

an exchange between the Ouiser women.

2011-06-01T15:15:00.002-05:00

S got in trouble for not listening this morning. It wasn't anything big at all. I went into the basement to start some laundry, and she asked to come with me. I told her no...that I would be right back and that she could come with me when I put the laundry into the dryer. She came downstairs anyway. When I asked her what the consequence should be for disobeying, she said, "maybe I can never come back into the basement ever, ever again." I said no to that one because she might remember it when she's 15 and I want her to help with the laundry. I told her that the consequence would be that she couldn't have any sweet treats today. Usually she gets one sweet thing per day. Graham crackers. A popsicle. Ice cream. A piece of chocolate for dessert.

Fast forward to five minutes ago. It's rest time, so she's hanging out in the big chair watching Clifford.

Little Ouiser: "Mom, can I have a popsicle?"

Ouiser (while eating a banana): "No. Remember when you didn't listen to me this morning? No sweet treats today."

Little Ouiser: "Oh, yeah. Well, can I have a banana? It's not a treat."

Ouiser: "All food is a treat.*"

Little Ouiser: "Not tomatoes."

End Scene.

I guess the girl doesn't like tomatoes.

*This was a pathetic attempt to teach her that food, while a necessity, shouldn't be taken for granted. Especially not the super good stuff that she gets. There are people all over the world who would think that getting a fresh banana everyday was the absolute bee's knees. No lesson was taught, however, because she threw me for a loop with the tomato comment. All I wanted to do was laugh.

excellent.

2011-05-31T15:33:00.002-05:00

Remember that Barbie City that S and I made out of cardboard last week? Well, it's turned out to be a pretty awesome idea. Here's why. For starters, (after I drew the parts of the city that she requested...a road, a palace, a playground, a church, and houses) we had to color it. And that took awhile. Then she played with her Barbies on the city. Between the coloring and the playing, a whole afternoon was taken care of. Also, the city is almost exactly the length of our sofa, so when she's not playing with it, I can slide it between the sofa and the table that sits behind it. She can get it out again on her own when she wants to play with it. Being able to get it out and play with it has eaten up loads of half-hour increments since we made it.

Then I had an idea the other day when T was fussy and I needed to make dinner and wanted S out from under my feet for half an hour. I grabbed the empty Cheerios (regular, not Honey Nut!) box and cut it into a few pieces. I drew a dog house and a tree with a swing on one piece, a car on another, and a school bus on another. I gave them to S, and she sat down for my much-needed half an hour and colored them. Then she taped them to the city because tape is her life right now. She tapes everything. Now I know that I can add to the city with box board anytime we want.

Today, I grabbed the animal pictures that I've been cutting out since she was born*, and she sat down and added animals and a zoo to the city. Boom. Another half an hour gone, and the girl was happy.

The whole point is this: if you're the mama of a small child, give that kid some cardboard and make a city. It can be a Barbie city or a Princess city or GI Joe's base or Gotham City. It doesn't matter. It will occupy children. Go forth and draw and thank me later.

*Before I recycle our magazines, I regularly cut out interesting pictures of people, animals, places, plants, and foods. Then I sort them because I'm me, and I stash them in plastic bags. When S needs something to do, I can break out a bag and a glue stick, and she has something to do. Viola. Again, you can thank me later. Apparently, I'm a mom genius today. Not really.

_____

Unrelated to kiddo craft time. I went back to the doctor today. I woke up so hot I couldn't stand it, and the scanning thermometer that we have wouldn't even work on me because I was sweating profusely. (Sexy, no?) I called Mr. Ouiser, who wasn't out of town yet on his morning commute (it was 545am by the way). I felt way, way wrong. He came home. By the time he arrived about eight minutes later, I was so cold that I was shivering. I went back to bed. While I never got so hot as to cause concern again, my body temp was fluctuating like crazy, so I just decided to go to the doctor. It could've been sugar withdrawals. It could've been hormones. It could've been something related to yeast that I know nothing about. It could've been something else entirely, and I decided that the time to consult Dr. Google was over and that I should talk to an actual medical professional. Now, I've got a couple of doses of Diflucan, and I'm hoping that it'll knock this out. I'll keep up with the ultra-low sugar thing, but I feel like I can relax about it a little bit. As in, I don't have to freak out completely when I read that a banana has 12 grams of sugar. You're welcome for the update.

hooked.

2011-05-29T15:36:00.002-05:00

TJ Hooker.

Hook 'em, Horns.

Hooked on Phonics.

Hooked.

Really, hooked on sugar. Oy.

All you mamas out there are probably familiar with thrush. I only ever knew about it in babies, but apparently mamas can get it, too. This mama got it. I got it bad*. If mama gets it, it's referred to as a yeast overgrowth, not as thrush. I prefer to call it thrush, though, because saying I have a yeast overgrowth makes me think of horrid Vagisil commercials, and that is emphatically not a problem that I've got.

Anyway, I was having some pain nursing since just after T was born, but it took awhile for the discomfort to be bad enough for me to start paying attention to it. Then it became actually painful. Then I started having pains really deep inside my chest. Then I started feeling like my breasts were filled with broken glass every time we nursed. Then I took to Google. I'd heard the phrase "broken glass" in reference to nursing before, and it's one of those things that Google automatically figures out for you. The blessed internet told me I had a yeast overgrowth.

Of course I figured that out when I was in quite a state of discomfort, which was, inevitably, a Sunday. Luckily, Drew's girlfriend works at an Urgent Care Clinic, and she was working that day, so I went a-visitin'. Most internet sites will tell you that you need Diflucan, but you don't need the same dosage that you need if your yeast problem is the typical "lady variety." You need a stronger loading dose, then 13 days of the regular dose (the regular dose is one dose, one time). I walked away with a prescription for the regular dose, but I didn't realize it until I picked up the prescription. I took it anyway, and I called my OBGYN the next morning. He thought the one dose should take care of me, but I was to call him back if I needed another dose. Which I did. He called me in another dose on Wednesday, and between the two rounds of Diflucan, copious amounts of Vitamin C, and loads of acidophilus, I seemed to be better. But it came back, which is apparently the reason most people need to keep up the Diflucan for two weeks. Yeast is a beast. You can fight it back, but it keeps growing. Like yeast.

I don't want more Diflucan if I can help it. Especially since it's not nearly as bad this time, so I'm hoping the yeast isn't so prolific. I'm trying a more natural approach. This has included a lot of research.

Yeast feeds on sugar, which as a bread baker extraordinaire, I know. That means that the yeast in my body (and your body) feeds on any sugar consumed. Therefore, I am now trying to eliminate most sugar from my diet. I say most because really eliminating sugar from my diet is rather impossible right now. I can't eliminate carbs and all fruits while I'm also eliminating dairy, soy, peanuts, and "gassy" vegetables. I'd be walking around gnawing on chicken legs and hunks of meat all the time. I am, however, trying harder than usual to stick to whole foods, and I'm steering clear of things that clearly have added sugar.

This isn't so bad. Really. But I've been doing this since Thursday, and I've had a couple of moments wherein I would've murdered a person for one sip of Coke. One sip.

What I have figured out, however, is that I have a little sugar problem, and frankly, you probably do, too. I'm hooked, and I didn't even realize it. I knew I craved fountain drinks sometimes, and I've always loved carbs, but wow.

Did you know that the RDA for sugar for a woman is 25 grams (about 6 teaspoons)? Did you know that one TBSP of French Vanilla creamer has SIX GRAMS? Did you know that if you, like me, use at least 2-1/2 TSBP of creamer in your morning cup that you've already had over half of that allowance before you even lift a fork to your lips? Forget about a second cup. Now I'm measuring my coffee creamer.

It's ridiculous really. The amount of sugar that we eat/drink. It's in everything. Granted, some of those sugars are naturally occurring. Like the sugar in fruits and vegetables. Or the sugar in milk. But, those Special K fruit crisps? Those suckers have added sugar. Seven grams of it. A little under 1/3 of your RDA. Honey Nut Cheerios have 9 grams in a 3/4 cup serving. Basically, you can take care of your daily sugar intake easily before you step out your front door. Check it out.

I've always been pretty maniacal about the things we eat, but I've always just glanced at nutrition labels. Now that I'm looking, I realize that S must walk around in a sugar coma most of the time. M probably does, too, because he believes in juice (to the tune of at least double his RDA.)

The amazing thing about this sugar revelation is that I'm a person who already thinks about stuff like this. My family eats a comparatively small amount of processed stuff. I cook a lot. With real ingredients. If we lived on things like fruit crisps, I can't imagine how high our sugar intake would be.

Seriously, look into it. Spend ten minutes looking into how much sugar you consume and what it can do to your body. It'll blow your mind. And I'm not really advocating that everyone run out and try to eliminate sugar from their diets, but even trying to stay within your RDA is probably cutting back for most people. If you drink French Vanilla creamer, that is.

Now, I'm getting off my soap box...or my sugar canister. I need to go marinate some chicken for dinner because there's meat in our lives these days.

*It's common in mothers who were given antibiotics in the hospital, which I was because we didn't have the results from my group b strep test...if you find yourself in this situation, take some probiotics to keep all the lovely flora in your intestines from being annihilated and causing this problem.

trucking along.

2011-05-25T14:58:00.012-05:00

I'd love to say that I've been too busy to blog, but I don't know if you can qualify my recent activity as busy. We don't ever seem to stop, but nothing really gets done, and that's alright. I think.

I don't really have time to post right now because my darling four-year-old and I are working on a project, and I probably have about twelve seconds before she realizes that I've stolen away. I'm just here to share a few pictures...

I'm sure I'll be able to use my words again someday...maybe about the time that T starts using his.

S...ready for the last day of preschool...BEACH PARTY!!

T and Uncle Drew at preschool graduation.
Ms. 'retta gives S her diploma. Please note the dress she is wearing was mid-calf last July when she got it.
S and T with Great Grandma.
My sweet Abbe Grace (the tall one) graduated Friday night from DCHS. I cried.
The men in my life. I'm sure you see the resemblance.
This is what S and I are up to this afternoon. I saved all the cardboard from our new storm doors. This piece has become a city for Barbies. Complete with pool.

The aerial shot.

some observations

2011-05-10T10:17:00.002-05:00

Observations about baby T:

He's growing like a weed. He looks chubby...compared to how he looked a month ago. I might have to stop calling him the following nicknames: The Shrimp, Shrimp Toast, Shrimp Biscuit, Mommy's Little Shrimp Cocktail. To prove that he's growing, we weighed him at the coffee shop last Wednesday. To see pictures you'll have to get on Facebook and like House Blend. I could post the picture, but I want HB to have loads of Facebook fans.
His tummy seems to be doing better. I think it's more a combination of milk overload and my having a little thrush issue. Yikes. However, I don't think that I'll have to eat nothing but plain potatoes for the rest of my natural life. Hooray!
He's sleeping in his bouncy seat now, and he seems to be sleeping better. Or maybe I'm just sleeping better.
I adore him. Adore. Like, I want to lick the kid like a popsicle.

Observations about S:

She is still an awesome kid, but she gets on my nerves like nobody's business these days. Seriously, was she always so loud?
She has become the world's most prolific artist. We've got a stack of new art that's an inch and a half tall.
I caught her "reading" Charlie The Ranch Dog to T yesterday. It was precious. Totally worth all the trouble...
She is obsessed with these books. We read several chapters every night.

Observations about me:

There are janitors who don't clean toilets as much as I. Sincerely, I have a problem.
I might kill a person for cheese. Beware.
I haven't baked anything in five days, and it's killing me.