The new Object of My Affection

There I stood, unaware that my life was about to change. There I stood chewing my gum down to a nub in a futile attempt to transfer the pain from my head to my teeth as 3 smallish tired children circled around me in the checkout line at the Big Y Market where the slogan is "Welcome to World Class Shopping". I feel their tag line should be: "Welcome to a place where we'll place many toys and candy items at eye level for your children so that they might torture you into spending more money while you wait in unreasonably long lines behind people who buy things that your children yearn for like Honey Combs and snacks containing red dye#6:" but I guess that's a little wordy.
Just when I was about to bark out another command to one of the tired small people, a light shown down from high and Angels sang sweetly o'er the plains as my eyes came into focus on a publication in the land of misfit magazines over the black conveyor belt. I nearly knocked over aforementioned shoppers purple bug juice to get to it! With little more to go on than a crisp cover, I knew with every fiber in my muffin top that this magazine was JUST RIGHT. And Just Right is called "Blueprint... Design your life" by Martha Stewart. Her brand spanking new publication aimed at today's modern (who me?) multi-tasking (uh huh) women aged 25-45 (Just right).
Real Simple has had my true and utter devotion for the last few years but there has always been a little something missing. A little something Martha. And while "Living" is a little too sophisticated for a simple girl like me, currently starring in the the role of "Country Girl", this new magazine "Blueprint...Design your life" is my perfect match.

Preview of articles on Blueprints premier issue cover:
423 SOLUTIONS for better rooms, meals, hair and sleep.
(OK Martha, you had me at 423. 423 solutions! Me, but better in 423 ways! Marvelous!)

SEXY DRESSES that work over time
(I hope overtime means the dress will survive a nite in bed when I'm too tired to snake out of it. A nite that will surely involve 3 small drooling people using aforementioned overtime dress as a pulley system to haul their 20-40 lb bodies into bed with us at 3am. And have I mentioned I don't believe in dry-cleaning?)

THE MACHINE WASHABLE
Living Room
(Please!)

QUICK-PREP dinner party
(And by that I hope they mean 30 minutes or less!)

BONUS BUYING GUIDE - The Sofa Handbook
(I just love the word Bonus... Something that makes the magazine seem worth so much more than the $4.95 I paid for it!)

Gotta run - the new object of my affection calls...

Farewell Real Simple.

YARD-SALE-A-PA-LOOZA

Days come and go... Diapers are changed, mouths are fed, games are played, baby girls cry while hair clips are secured, but for one glorious day in May each year, I'm "Yard Sale Girl" and people want MY stuff! After all, I've spent my life meandering the planet wanting stuff, it's as delicious as a rhubarb pie to have people paying top penny for my goods and services! Goods like illuminated ceramic angels; services like a a smile and a bag for your products.
I'm talking about YARD-SALE-A-PA-LOOZA!
The night before Yardsaleapalooza I'm like a child on Christmas Eve, I hardly get a lick of sleep, which, frankly, contributes to my sales. My formula for selling success = sleep deptivation + 3 cups of high octane coffee + no breakfast + (1) strong mimosa during the event to combat any electrolyte imbalances. I need a clear head for negotiating after all.
This really is the only morning of the year when I wake up at 6 A.M. raring to go. I have to be ready for an 8am open down at my sister in laws where we participate in a community yard sale every year. I spend from 6-7:30 am packing the van full off stuff, then at 7:30 am I start panicking that I dont' have enough products to sell, so I start racing around the house looking for any loose objects that someone might way to purchase from me. And as I race around I sing what I call, the YARD-SALE-A-PALOOZA song and it goes something like this: "What can I sell (hands up to eyes in the formation of binoculars) What can I sell? What can I sell, sell SELL?!!!" As soon as Dave hears me singing this song (I really do it as a bit of a warning to him, which I feel is only fair) he goes into mode red, racing around mumbling obscenities while he secures and hides all products and services (ie: his coin collection and Flowbee) while I float joyfully in his wake singing my song. He knows I'll sell anything that isn't cast in gold and if its cast in gold, I'll sell it on Ebay for more money. He's really far more sentimental about objects than I am. I guess I'm a little sentimental about my Real Simple Magazines, but to boost sales I'm willing to put them out on the table for .75 cents apiece.
I digress. Once packed up, off I go to meet my fabulous sister in law and her sassy friend Missy with whom I will join forces, drink mimosa's and merchandise product for the people. Most enjoyable items for sale this year at Yard-Sale-A-Pa-Looza':
- Bathroom sink featured in photo. Sold!
- Rusty "in line" bike, called so because you can only go straight - steering wheel is stuck. SOLD (Does free count? There was a fair exchange of a product with intent to sell!)
-Selection of crappy books, including "License to Serve" about good hospitality techniques and "Sustainable Development of Island Communities" Both SOLD. 50cents each to a curious gent. Perhaps he's looking to open up a new hotel in Figi?
-Baby swing with a ½" thick coat of cat hair that I didn't have the time to remove. SOLD - $5.00

Techniques we employ for selling success at YARD-SALE-A-PA-LOOZA:
- Price products about 25% above what you want. For example, when I'm selling a product that I want to get 25 cents for, I'll price the item at 30 cents. I anticipate people will try and talk me down, so with the markup at least I've got some wiggle room.
- Greet shoppers with a smile and if they look hungry, try and sell them a donut.
- If customers are buying multiple items provide them with a plastic bag to take their items away.
- Use professional stickers with prices, including "make offer" as displayed on sink.
- Undergo a careful study study on the manipulation of price point. I just like the way that sounds.

This year, YARD-SALE-A-PA-LOOZA raked in a cool $202.50

Mad props to ma' ladeez.
The ladies of YARD-SALE-A-PA-LOOZA

www.endofworld.net

Warning this video is PG13 plus, so if expletives, nukes and having a laugh over the end of the world as we know it gets you down skip this post. The LAST thing I want to do is bring you down.

Feeling the Love

While driving by police station the other day

Max says: "I'm going to be a Policeman when I grow up! I wanted to be an Army Guy before but I'd get killed."

Silence.

then Max (who really is sweet) says: "Hey Clara, why don't you be an army guy?"

Toothless Wonder!

Max loses first tooth and feels he
needs to open his eyes as widely
as his mouth in order for me to
capture it on film!

Raw poultry wranglin, Dementia and me

I wonder sometimes if anyone else out there slips into Dementia when cooking chicken and while I generally think my parents did a bang up job of raising me without hang-ups, my mom did spark a couple of neurosis and they are as follows:
1. The daily struggle I have with Mom's advice to allow my children to "have their emotions" when really what I want to do is allow someone to perform an exorcism, especially now that Clara is given to multiple emotional assertions per day.
2. Fear of CROSS CONTAMINATION when cooking poultry

Really number two is the biggie, the biggie that has caused me to consider becoming a born again vegetarian or admitting myself to a mental institution for treatment so that I can come back to my family whole and sane and able to cook Dave's favorite dish, Chicken Parmesan.

In case you are wondering how bad this could really be, consider that what I am about to describe is what I go through when simply sautéing chicken - nothing fancy like breading or marinating - there's not enough memory in cyberspace for me to document what runs through my mind with more complicated poultry procedures.

So here is my story, and I title it: "Raw poultry wranglin, Dementia and me":

First I inspect the packaging, triple checking the "sell by" date for month and year. Then I look for any puffing of the external wrapping that would indicate to me that "gassing" has occurred that would indicate to me that the poultry had gone bad that would indicate to me that my family won't make it through the night if this chicken is what's for dinner. Once I have determined that no gassing has occurred, I score the wrapping with a knife and immediately toss this knife into the dishwasher with my right hand. With my left hand I stab the chicken with a fork and move it to the skillet, careful to not spill any chicken precipitation on the countertop as I make the transfer. (I used to wash the chicken before cooking it, but then I heard some of the roommates on America's Next Top Model saying that this could cause CROSS CONTAMINATION so I stopped that toot sweet!)
Once I have come into direct contact with the raw poultry, I begin to have the distinct sensation that salmonella from the chicken is beginning its single file, migratory path for the space under my fingernails where "they" will dwell and copulate until the skin under my nails turns yellow and falls off. And that's just the beginning of the havoc that I imagine "they" will wreak on my vulnerable body.
Trying to cut the little devils at the pass, I quickly "grab" the dishwashing soap with my uncontaminated forearms, jostle the open nozzle toward my hands and pump the liquid toward my fingers. Next I turn the hot water on with my toe because there's no way the salmonella have crawled down to my toes yet. I proceed to wash my hands under scalding hot water while I sing Happy Birthday to Me two times just like the Nurse on the show "E.R." says to do.

One might think I would relax a little at this point, the point when the meat is now safely in the skillet, in oil, on medium high heat and on its way to a good solid scalding. But no, this is when it really gets tricky. Now I must test and test and test the meat until I see that it's cooked through and wouldn't you know cooked meat even looks a little pink, especially when you are examing it under a bright overhead light! I usually conduct 9-10 tests along the way and each time I do, I send the fork and knife used DIRECTLY to the dishwasher to avoid CROSS CONTAMINATION! God forbid one little salmonella critter escapes onto the test utensils. If I used that same fork/knife to check the chicken later when its actually done, I might re introduce the salmonella and wouldn't that be unfortunate! So I go through about 10 forks and 10 knives in this process which is why God made 10 piece place settings.

So that's it in a nutshell. Gotta run. I forgot to turn the knob on and off 50 times before leaving the kitchen.

My Wee Three, A Collage...

Top left: Max, 6 months
Top right: Clara, 6 months
Bottom left: Guess who, 3 months
Bottom right: Wee three one year ago...

Mothers Day Wishes from MAX

So Max takes a running leap into our bed this morning and tells me has something to tell me. A secret.

Max: "Mom, I love you 10 million, one hundred ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen and two thousand!!!"
Me: "OOOOOHHHHH how exciting! I love you too!"
Max: (trying to outdo his previous statement, he utters with some hesitancy in his voice): "Mom I love you MORE than TV!"
Me: Speechless. I know the strength he had to muster up to make this statement, how can I show him I get it?"
"Max, I love you MORE than Hello Kitty laminated in good packaging!"
Max: "WOW"

We look at each other in this knowing way, nodding our heads as if we've really said all that there is to say on a day like Mothers Day...


My secret? The biggest Mothers Day Present I received today was Max NOT saying what he really wanted to say... that he loves me MORE than TV but LESS than guns.
Guns that he fashions out of anything consisting of solid matter.

For Cheer click here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMH0bHeiRNg&eurl

Hello Kitty starring in new role... "Clothesline Girl"

I'm starting to think perhaps I should have pursued a career in acting. I frequently find myself spinning daily tasks, convincing myself I'm just playing a role in an Oprah approved movie re-run featured on the Lifetime Channel Network. Mostly to take the focus away from the truly mundane nature of the tasks I engage in on a daily basis.
Some of my prior experience includes performing in the following roles:
- Vegan (played for 2 years)
- Lacto-Ovo Vegetarian (following year)
- Asian Vegetarian (Not sure what that even means, but I recall playing the role enthusiastically)
- Raw vegetarian (6 months)
- Carnivore with vegetarian leanings (presently)
- Professional Whole Foods Market Shopper (I've been blowing paychecks here for 10 years and counting)
- Environmentalist
- Rower (10 years)
- Yogi (14 years and counting. This one has staying power!)
- German Language enthusiast (3 months in College German 101 and it sure went poorly, didn't it mom!)
- Post mature Gardener (Second summer in this role and still enjoying it although this year I plan on getting plants in the ground before July)
- Jack Daniels enthusiast (No presently, but I don't recall how long that performance went on)
- Mamma (5 years and counting)
I'd love to give the role of Recreational Drug User a shot, but I really shouldn't so I won't. You know, that girl who keep sedatives on hand for a rough day. Thankfully for my children I'm presently too straight laced for this, but perhaps you'll see me take on the role of Mommy Dearest if Clara continues with her frequent and unrelenting emotional assertions.
- Blogger (I'm probably good for another month of this)
And now Introducing... (Drum roll please...)

Clothesline Girl!

I just tried out and awarded my self this role one week ago today when my dryer bit it. I know she doesn't sound exciting, but SHE IS! Quite exciting! Not only because she is environmentally friendly, but she also requires LOTS of great props like cute aprons with cherry prints that gather at the waist and have smallish pockets to hold clothespins. And a beautiful wicker basket and undergarments worthy of display are a must! It really was HIGH time for actress currently playing Clothesline Girl to get new non-maternity, post-partum undergarments. She has happily departed from a time when the only bra's she could sensibly purchase were created to facilitate nursing and had straps wide enough to accommodate an incoming Boeing 737. (Not to mention a cup size that's far enough along in the alphabet that Clara hasn't quite gotten to that letter yet!)
I digress. Clothesline Girl isn't a role I've considered before, having habitated in suburbia or cities where, while still environmentally friendly, underwear dangling from lines looks more like debris than a charming display. But now that I've relocated to the West Side of Nowhere colorful garments and cute little socks suspended from a crisp white line on a 5 acre parcel makes my heart SING!

So now I wake up each morning and quickly slip into my new role as "Clothesline girl"!

Camera... lights... action:

It's 7A.M. and Clothesline Girl rises, stretches and ambles to the kitchen following the scent of freshly husband-brewed coffee. She stops, gracefully draws hair back from her face and takes a sip of coffee, light and sweet. Mmmmmm. Clothesline girl places mug down, winks at her husband and saunters over to the washer where freshly spun clothes await. She opens washer and pulls out white crisp 100% Egyptian cotton sheets and colorful new undergarments and places them in wicker basket. Our leading lady then secures kerchief to hold back disheveled tresses, slips on cute apron and makes her way to the front door listing toward the basket perched on the upper left quadrant of her diminishing muffin top. Door opens, (D.J. pipes in "The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music). Cool morning breeze wafts in, shepherding Clothesline girl into a more wakeful state. Clothesline girl shakes her hair out and takes in a deep breath of lilac laden air. She hesitates while the wind playfully flips up loose strands. Several cars pass by at this time admiring Clothesline Girl from afar. They think to themselves... "Oh look, it's Clothesline Girl!" and just a glimpse is enough to get them through their day. She moves on, unaware of admirers, (yeah right) floating down to the clothesline located just behind the house. Remote enough to afford passers by just a glimpse of the line...

Camera fades out
Clothesline Girl goes through the mundane task of actually hanging the sopping wet clothes that soak the front of her cute apron. She inevitably drops clean wet clothes in the dirt as she always tries to pick up too many clothes at once, hurrying through the mundane part to get back to the show.

Camera starts rolling 10 minutes later as she saunters back to her front door, light empty basket on hip, stopping for a minute to let the wind play with her hair again on the front step as several cars pass by.

Door closes... music fades...
Clothesline girl has completed morning task and now prepares for other roles including but not limited to Lead Project manager at Waste Processing Plant, Chauffer, Dance Instructor, Storyteller, Domestic Goddess and at 5:45 pm Wine Enthusiast....

PS. Appliance guy, Clothesline Girl will be calling you to fix the dryer this fall when cool temps set in and she morphs into "Dryer Girl."

Clara O'Hara

"After all... tomorrow is another day".
Scarlett O'Hara, Gone with the Wind







Clara practicing her look for her future roll as Scarlett ...







Baby, you just need to furrow your brow a wee bit more... and to bring on the tears, just draw on all the tragedies you have experience in your young life... like when I had the audacity to put sauce on your pasta, or that time I wouldn't let you hook the dogs leash on Zoe's earlobe.

"I Bink, Therefore I Am".

Spam award

I don't even know why I opened this spamish looking email but I did and there was a sweet reward! A pharmaceutical advertisement with a poem to boot!The email simply read:

****
Levitra
Valium
Xanax
Ambien
Cialis
Prozac
Viagra

Where the kine and oxen feed!
Back to gardens on the hills
Where the berry swells and fills
Under sunlight, under day!
South away! and South away!
Down the swift dark stream you go

*******

Is this poem meant to lure me into popping these pills so I can slip away down the "swift dark stream to where the kine and oxen feed?" I don't think so! Keep your pharmaceuticals to yourself! That's all we need here in Bedlam… Mamma treading water in some narcotic stream whilst the wee three are cavorting! I'll stick to my simple 5pm Pinot Noir treatments

thank you very much.