the longstanding difference between me and my sister.

this is a cruel post, but i found these pictures the other day and they made me laugh. if anyone knows my sister, you know she is an absolute, scatterbrained nut. when she finally procreated, people had to warn her to not drive off with the baby on top of the car. and they were completely serious and more than slightly worried. several $500 cameras and honey caramel lattes had met such a fate. but don’t worry, so far so good with the young lestat.

as for me, i am about the most lethargic, staid piece of humanity on the planet. i’ve visited the whole of 4 states while my sister has bumped capriciously around all of the continents (minus africa and the really cold one that doesn’t count). and disaster has met her at every turn. although, lately she’s been cornered into matrimony, so all the disasters have been centralized and mostly focused on her husband’s truck. hooray for the rest of the world, right? and don’t you love in this picture, how she’s tangled up in her own pants?

anyways, below is an excerpt from a writing exercise in college. my sister and i used to bunk together, in a midget airstream. it was very cozy and sometimes even death defying. that being how she couldn’t park, without driving into the front of it, trying to send it off the retaining wall in the back. it gave me bad dreams. especially when it was 11:00, snowing, and her and the thunderchicken still weren’t home.

I walk home to the trailer around nine-thirty. I had to stay at school working in the computer lab. Besides I don’t like going home that much, an 18 foot trailer isn’t all that roomy. I step over the sidewalk chalk drawings on the way to the front door. I sort of hope Sarah is not home yet. It is not exactly therapeutic to be stuck in close confines with someone who is neurotic. I walk inside and check for notes on the table. Written on the back of some of my Greek homework is a message in purple gel pen; “I went out with a boy tonight. I will be late. I left you some new clothes on the bed so you don’t always look like a bum. Luv Sarah.”
“Oh what a sweety.” I say to myself. I wonder what kind of moron she’s leading on this time. She just dumped the last one two days ago. Of course she can only stand them for a week at a time so it never amounts to anything serious. I walk over to the bed and pick up a pink summer dress with hearts on it. Next to it is a blue sack dress that I pull on to wear for pajamas, while contemplating myself ever in pink hearts. I flip on the porch light and crawl in bed, grabbing my stuffed ostrich named Duck, and fall asleep.

All the lights come on along with the radio in one swift blast. Suddenly the trailer is filled with cold air and noise, the nemesis is home.
“Oh Miranda! I had so much fun. I went to a movie and he bought me coffee and ice cream . . . I can’t stand those guys who don’t pay for anything. And I really couldn’t stand that one guy at all. I don’t know why you guys kept on telling me I should be nice to him. No use in doing things you don’t want to,” she tells me. I hope she is not expecting me to be conversational at this hour of the night, or for that matter, conscious. She throws on her pajamas and begins washing her feet in the sink, which is an act I consider absolutely revolting. I roll over, pulling the blankets around my face.
“Well don’t you want to know his name? Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?”
“Sure.” I mumble.
“Why are you never glad to see me, why do you never want to talk to me? No one ever wants to talk to me, you all just think I’m some kind of freak,” she whines.
“Just tell me what you did,” I say with as much forbearance as I can manage.
“Well we rode around on his Harley…”
“He has a Harley! What kind of guy is it this time?” I sit up staring at her. “I suppose he is thirty and has children like that other guy you went out with?”
“No, he’s twenty three. He’s really nice and wears wranglers and sunglasses and looks all tough, but you can tell that he is just a softy.”
“Any guy that rides a Harley is a nidgit,” I retort.
“No he’s not. . .OOW!” she screams and starts holding her eye, “He’s an entomologist.”
“What did you do?” I lean over the bed and peer into the bathroom. Sarah is holding her eye and blubbering.
“I tried to take out my contacts and forgot they weren’t in. I almost poked my eye out.”
“Hahhhh! Sarah, I swear you are retarded. Go to sleep, I set the alarm for 7:00, don’t mess it up.” I curl up in a ball and pull Duck against my chest. All of the sudden Sarah’s elbow caves into my lung as she climbs over me to get on her favorite side of the bed.
“Crying hell Sarah! You could be a little more careful! I gasp for air and pull back the covers that she had just tried to steal. “Get your cold feet off me!” I yell.
“Well get your hairy legs away from me you sicko!” she says, yanking the covers back.
We lay there quietly for a while, fresh air coming in through all the open windows and I can smell her toxic Green Tea perfume and Burt’s Bees herbal deodorant sifting into the breeze. “Why do you always stink?” I ask.
“I don’t stink! Why does everyone always say I stink?” she complains, almost in tears.
“Well you don’t really stink, you just smell strongly. It’s not necessarily bad. . . How did you meet your boy?” I ask, as a means of condolence.
Her face lights up and she turns over on her elbow, “At the greenhouse. I really like this one Miranda.”
“Sure you do,” I mumble, already dozing off, somehow believing that maybe she does. Well, he’ll sure have his hands full if that’s the case, I chuckle to myself and snuggle against her back. Sarah immediately kicks me in the knee and yells, “Why don’t you shave you retard! Get your legs away from me!”
“My legs weren’t touching you, you freak!” I holler back, grabbing the blankets and turning on my back. “For crying out loud.”

aren’t we a happy couple?

why mavis will never have any money again.

cuz we’re movin’ to the ghetto, to a house with special needs. even though it is pink (small condolence).

hubby and i have been looking for two years for a house in boise. and actually in boise, not the strip mall, “no through street”, wasteland that surrounds it. but so far, our price range has only offered us (and that on generous days) a whopping 850 square feet. then yesterday, this foreclosed home fell out of the sky, with enough procreation room to last me a good eight years. 1554, whoa nelly.

i try to overlook the fact that it needs gutted and just think about how i can detect no slopage whatsoever. can’t abide slopage. and it was on sale. i’d buy anything if it was on sale, just ask my husband.

so here we have three bedrooms, a laundry/craft room, a home office, family room, and two bathrooms. all it needs is a little bit of me. just like the rest of the world.

this is my kitchen, missing all appliances. but that’s okay, because if they had left me some nasty, rancid refrigerator i’m sure my husband would have had me clean it out and use it. and i do have a weak stomach.

the only downside is the street, which is busy. but at least i have a huge back yard to throw the babies in, so i suppose we’ll be all right. we had to buck it up sometime, and figured this was as good as it was going to get. if you want to see more gritty photos, you can check my picasa. i’m going to be soliciting some of you ladies for advice anyways. we’re closing in march, so that gives you plenty of time to get your color swatches together. you can come paint it while i’m in labor.

“that’s one manly tool belt.”

my friend sharla made this little crayon apron for jehu. it’s made out of a small tea towel, with segments sewn in to hold crayons and paper.

jehu’s came with “j” shaped post-it-notes too. he was excited. that, and it’s always fun to have new crayons to peel the paper off of. (that’s the best part, don’t you know?)

mostly, i just like watching him run around with that cute bow on his butt. daddy thought it was a little girly. but then again, daddy is the one who bikes to work every day in a pink beanie complete with giant pink pom pom, so it’s hard to take his complaints seriously.

the fact of the matter

the scroms were saying goodbye to boy after lunch today, “daddy, why do you have to go back to work?” daddy’s sage response, “because mommy spends all my money, son.” this made gideon rather indignant. he walked over to me, “mommy! why do you spend all daddy’s money?”

you’d think they’d be a little more appreciative.

happy birthday to me

tuesday was my birthday. and this was my celebratory, birthday smoothie, “strawberry ginger,” very perky. on the right, is my chenille bathrobe from my mother-in-law. she took me to dillard’s to pick it out. the sales lady was very protective of it however, “now now, leave that one alone, it is much to old for you.” au contraire, it’s just right.

and this is me opening my new, pink, old-navy jammies from my sister-in-law (“gideon and jehu opening,” i mean).

and what do you know, even more pinkness. my ice cube fast is over (i’ve been holding out for these for two years now). what a good husband. and on my fridge is my super cool, hologram, birthday card from my aunt dawny bugs. she sent me money, honey, and now i am going to buy mixing bowls (and maybe something else exciting, like a can opener).

hubby also got me pink knives ( so i would stop sending his henckel’s through the dishwasher). and dearest, aunt megan got me more salt (it’s the little jars on the bottom right). mmm.

which leads me on a salt tangent (i am still trying to win you over). this is my “australian flake salt.” it is delicious, and yes, i do eat it straight. and it’s so funny to read the backs of the jars, “this salt delivers a subtle, fleeting crunch that adds a wonderful dimension to any dish.” it makes you just want to lick it.

i think they were pushing it a little with the “trapani sea salt” though, “harvested from the sicilian sea, this excellent quality salt is farmed using a natural process that is hundreds of years old. ancient windmills power the stone wheels that grind the salt dried from the sicilian sun…” well, it is still yummy, even if a little dramatic.

and this is “celtic sea salt”. it says it “retains the ocean’s true essence.” i’m just not sure that’s a good thing.

and here is “dead sea salt,” for anyone who ever needs any convincing that salt tastes. the name says it all, baby.

lastly, my himalayan salt from christmas. it’s become my standby. i just don’t know if i’ll be able to afford to revamp when i run out. and by then, i’ll be quite addicted. it’s a cruel, delicious world.

…in which my husband did prove that he loved me, by taking me to sushi and (according to him) a “foods that should not be eaten tour” of the co-op. my, not so subtle, taste buds seem to demand all kinds of nasty. favorite things on my list are stinky cheeses, marinated olives, black licorice, lime desserts, pickled ginger and cow licks.

and the cheese was stinky, mind you. i checked both the kids’ butts when we got home and out of the car. clean as a whistle… it must have been a pretty “aged goat,” to smell like that.

what you can make with a snake gourd

and it was all right. the chayote, on the other hand, was much yummier. i will try him again. very tasty. but it was not as yummy as the masala beans poriyal we made. i uploaded that recipe in case anyone wanted to brave it.

so those were our food adventures i had hinted about. i’m making the chocolate torte today, because it’s “happy birthday” to me.

fair warning

the complete jane austen is showing every sunday night on pbs. so far you’ve only missed one, “persuasion”, so do try to redeem yourself by not missing any more. this sunday it is “northanger abbey.”

in the end i will give you my final judgment as to who is hottest, and knowing me, it will probably be one of the antagonists. my sympathies in the past have always been with henry crawford. though not as much as with the poor villian in ivanhoe who got the shaft by the self-righteous jewess. i still can’t stand her.

friends and finger foods

we had a family of 8 over for dinner last night, so we fed them finger foods and dispersed them over the house. it worked great, since my table only seats 6 (and that’s if you’re being demanding).

we had veggies and spinach dip, crackers, a cheese tray, rachel ray’s guacamole, bacon cream cheese rolls, homemade almond joys, cranberry orange punch and a fruit tray. it turned out to be more than enough and i didn’t have to dirty any pots or wash any silverware. it must be the only way to fly when you are cooking for 12 people in under 900 square feet.

gideon and jehu loved all the kids. especially the older girls who doted on them. seth and tami are the same age as marc and i, so apparently we are way behind schedule (as far as production goes). marc kept a nice fire going the whole time and it was a very cozy evening. today, the grandparents are coming. and it’s off to the “train store” to spoil some very expectant ottoscroms.

now my children can play with outlets

my mom got this for the boys for christmas. it’s a little antique ironing board with a toy iron that plugs in and heats up.

yesterday, i finally got around to making a cover for the ironing board. (as for the pink hamper, i ran out of staples so i couldn’t finish upholstering the lid. you will have to wait. and what kind of sick freak upholsters a hamper?)

maybe someday, the ironing board will go in the laundry room, next to mine. but now, there’s no room. the boys don’t seem to take to ironing with much relish anyways. they play with it and then get distracted by a tow truck. perhaps the future otto girls will be more appreciative.

my first nude model

some things are hard to anticipate.