Monday, January 31, 2011

The Creeping Crud...

...I haz it. 
It's probably just a chest cold, but a really horribly mean one. I woke up Wednesday morning and actually visualized my little lung thingies filled with play-doh. Because that's what it felt like. And kind of what it looked like, when I was able to cough some up on Thursday. I took a decongestant, which turned out to be a bad move because then it all drained back down and I threw it back up. It was chewy.
Aren't you glad you stopped by my blog today?

Anyway, I'm back at work and self-medicating with a bucket o' vanilla coke with extra vanilla shots. It helps, but I'm still miserable from the giant pointy dagger stuck in my neck- Saturday night I took a cold pill and fell into a comatose state for many many hours with my head resting at an awkward angle on my own shoulder. So today I wore a turtleneck and stuffed it with alternating hot and ice packs. Turns out I picked the perfect day to come to work as a mucus-spewing hunchback since my new manager is moving my desk next to her office on the third floor. Way to make a first impression.
I should probably stop singing the theme song to The Jeffersons before I get up there...

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

My Little Ballerina

Like most female children under the age of 7, Carly wants to be a ballerina. I'm fine with that, especially since right now her ballet shoes only cost $6.99 at the local Target instead of [insert price of authentic toe shoes here] at the not-so-local [insert name of obscure dance supply shop here]. Also, her costume is pretty simple so far:
She already had a little leotard and tutu from Target, but it was worn out after only a few weeks. We practically had to tear it off her at bedtime! I'll be surprised if this one lasts much longer, because it was made by me. I am terrible at sewing! Picture an orangutan standing on the sewing machine table, slapping its hands and feet on anything and everything in a hysterical attempt to make a 3D wearable object out of a misshapen pile of hacked up fabric.

But she sure liked it! At Joann's, I let her pick out the colors. Big mistake. My eyeballs were practically burned through by the time I got done with the neon leotard. I used a pattern, but I could have saved myself $5 by just using one of Carly's undershirts as a stencil. It ended up being roomy, but maybe it will hold up long enough for her to grow into it!

I made a short pink-and-purple tutu also, but she refuses to wear it because she loves the long one so much. So I tied it around Daddy's waist instead so he could dance with her. It was a big hit with Carly, but not so much with Daddy. Unfortunately he wouldn't let me get the camera out! Let me assure you though, it was just as hilarious as you're imagining :)

Monday, January 24, 2011

Chickens Can't Grow Chickens Because They Come From Chickens.

Or alternately but slightly less amusingly titled, I Had A Weird Dream Last Night.

My Grandparents

First off, anyone who knows me knows how madly adoringly in love I am with my grandparents. I think they're the best, wisest, most wonderful people on the planet. So if my Papaw said something was true, there would be no questions of its validity. I suspect my dream stems partly from that, partly because I ate an alarming amount of pizza before I fell asleep, and partly because of what Malarie did to me yesterday.
Ooh, I just thought of another appropriate post title: What Malarie Did To Me. Because my life will never be the same. I was on my twitter pulpit, preaching about being balanced with childrens nutrition and not demonizing a particular food, but instead giving certain foods as special treats in moderation. Malarie shut me down with a link to an article about chicken nuggets, and I can't even bring myself to steal the photo from the article to post here because it is just too gross. Maybe later I'll find some photos of ring aversion to pirate, because I promise you'll feel much more comfortable with visions of mutilated phalanges dancing in your head at night than you will with these chicken paste photos. So, if you do not mind omitting chicken nuggets from your diet for the rest of your life and you have a strong stomach or a morbid curiosity, by all means CLICK HERE. I'll wait.

Intermission music....

See? The stuff nightmares are made of.
Ok, so last night I dreamed that I was at my grandparents' house, having a lovely time when my Papaw comes home from the grocery store with a giant crate full of raw chicken meat. He says he knows a great way to save money on food by planting your own garden. I'm like ok, but what's the chicken meat for? He pulls out a giant tub of melted butter and tells me that I have to dip these raw chicken parts into the butter and then bury them in the yard. Horrified, I'm like .... Why?? He says they will grow new chicken. I'm like but won't they rot and be infested with maggots? And he's like yes, but we will wash them in ammonia and cook them so it's fine. And I'm like, but chicken can't grow chicken!  And then I woke up. The end.

PS. Sorry Grandparents that you have been introduced to my readers via a post about mechanically separated chicken parts. I didn't plan it this way.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Melissa FAIL

Have you ever seen Over The Hedge? It's an adorable animated movie that came out a few years ago, what am I saying of course you've seen it if you have a child under the age of 5. Which I suspect many of you do, or you would not have stuck with me this long as I drone on and on about my own precious offspring.
Ok so in the movie, there's a squirrel. A zooming, manic little creature who zips through the whole movie at top speed, and then near the end he drinks a can of energy shot with extra caffeine.
Today, I am that squirrel.

No, I don't sound exactly like Steve Carrell, but I did leap out of bed this morning, actually leap, I did the whole tossing back of the covers thing and all. Then I bounded to the kitchen, more like galloped. A pot of coffee, and she's off!
My brain actually woke me up with creativity. I suspect this has something to do with going to bed at 8pm last night and eating an entire half of a large pizza. This is bizarre because for the last few weeks I've been able to eat nothing but soup, yogurt, and oatmeal. I've been drinking tea instead of coffee. Tea, for gosh sakes!!! This is not voluntary, you all know how I'm usually a food incinerator. I scoff at the tea drinkers at work. I like tea too, but only to put me to sleep. Those ninnies. 

Well lately I've been a little down, which is not like me at all. You got a problem, yo I'll solve it, check out the something while the something something something... That's usually me, muttering the wrong lyrics to Ice Ice Baby while I conquer the world with no mercy. But this last month, I've been a complete wreck. I think it was the little vacation from work that did it, which makes  no sense because aren't vacations supposed to leave you feeling refreshed and rested? Well that week away from work at the end of December just teased me with a taste of lots of sleep and crafting time. It would have been better not to have been teased I think, because when I got back to work I fell apart. Totally embarrassing. And when I'm sad, I can't eat. And when I can't eat, I can't be productive. And when I can't be productive, well...It's not pretty.

Here's an example. Carly's room. It's generally messy. I don't like it,  but previously I'd just close the door and pretend I didn't see it, accepting the fact that there are some things that just don't warrant my attention on the hierarchy of the Crap To Deal With scale. Or in a rare fit of responsibility, I'd force her to clean it herself and then start throwing away anything she didn't put away. No mercy, people.
But lately, these little things have especially been bothering me. I get home from work. I know my shop is dying, I know I have emails waiting, I know my leg hair has reached truly horrifying lengths. But on my way to cleaning the bathroom, I pass Carly's room and notice that the toy-to-carpet ratio has reached epic proportions. Ok, no big deal, just put down the bathroom supplies for a second and tidy this up a little.
Fast forward to midnight. Douglas gets home from work and Carly's room is even worse. She and I are practically trapped behind the wall of scattered books, toys, and clothing. Carly is curled in a ball and whimpering that she just wants Mommy to go to bed. It seems that instead of picking up the toys, I dumped all of them out and insisted that the My Little Ponies be clearly segregated from the Brier Ponies. They go in the same basket, but clearly must be separate from the Barbie basket. Except for the one that's big enough for Barbie to ride on. She gets to go in the Barbie basket, but her accessories may not, because they....
To which he replies, like any reasonable person, who cares? Just put them all in the basket and go to bed, it's like 2am. Then I lock myself in the bathroom and cry until my eyelids get all gooey and stuck shut and my face looks like it's been stung by a hundred jelly fish.

The next day, I wake up ashamed and embarrassed, completely aware of how neurotic that behavior was, and so I vow to never let it happen again. I'll just try extra hard today to be even more productive. I will not worry about small things, like the basket of ironing that has piled up in the closet. Oh my good gravy just LOOK at that ironing! When can I do it? Tomorrow? No, not tomorrow, I've already scheduled every single half hour on a special chart, in permanent ink so that I can't back out. Maybe I'll just do it now, no matter that it's already 1am and I have to get up at 6 for work....And the vicious cycle starts all over.

So what's changed? I stopped making things for my shop. I stopped worrying about making things for my shop. I made things that I wanted to make. I didn't shave my legs. I stopped worrying about shaving my legs. It's winter, you know, and leg hair will insulate body heat. Purely logical.
Also, I passed on a shiny, glittery, sparkly opportunity. One that promised to change my life forever, but also destroy it in the process.
Wait, did I just get that dramatic. lol that was lame. What actually happened was that a lovely lady I met a few years ago published a beautiful book. Lovely Lady offered to help me write a proposal for my own Lovely Book which Lovely Lady would present to her editors because guess what folks, Lovely Lady works for the publishing company!!!
Oh crap I'm getting all excited again. Ok I cannot do this. I can't even return the poor woman's Lovely Lady's emails in a timely manner without having a hysterical breakdown. It's just not going to happen. I will have no book, I will have no Martha Stewart interview, after which I will have no tv show of my own that puts Martha Stewart right out of work. 
And that's a good thing.

It's good because I'll be putting the most important things first- My family and God. They definitely will not be coming first if I'm putting all my time into a book when I get home from work. Maybe someday things will be different, maybe I won't be working and I will have time for a book. But right now I have to realize that I am not Sandra Bullock in that movie The Proposal. I am not Renee Zellwhatever in that movie New In Town. (I like these movies because they feature strong female leads that make everyone around them do exactly what they want. Netflix told me so. Oh, and because they're filmed in very cold places. We are big fans of very cold places.) I'm not them because I don't wear a size 2 and I can't pull off 4-inch stilettos all day at work while I beat everything and everyone around me into submission so that I can be the most productive woman on the planet, majoring in Things That Nobody Cares About. Who cares if my house is like a museum and my car never has mummified chicken nugget parts all over it? Who cares if I write a book and commandeer my own cable network? Well, my adoring fans. But that's besides the point. If I spend time with my daughter, if I am kind and patient with my husband, if I do the best I can in the Bible ministry, at least a dozen people I can think of right now will be very happy. And they're the ones who matter most. Sorry adoring fans, you'll just have to watch Martha fold paper doilies into snowflakes. Again.

Well if you made it to the end of this rambling, I applaud you. And wonder if you have a life haha. Kidding, thanks for listening to me talk about myself. It's what I do best. But seriously I feel much better, and every time I get the itch to plan my Golden Globes outfit, to which I will surely be invited once I'm famous, I'll just re-read this post. And get the ironing done.