Dude!

Watch this, totally - beware, though, it's Youtube crack, you won't be able to stop once you start.

Totally kid safe, except for a randy sheep named Frederick (he's not in this episode, I think it's episode 5). You'll have to decide for yourself if it's a conversation you're prepared to have with your five year old. I told mine Frederick was in love. That's all I'll say.

Enjoy! Then go kiss your washing machine. And hug your refrigerator. Amen.

I'll think of something.

Do you remember high school journalism and creative writing classes?

In the early days of learning to express one's thoughts and feelings and develop them into story, remember the instructions the teacher always gave that made you want to fling your pencil in his/her general direction?

"Just keep writing - even if you only write "I can't think of anything to write", just write that down."

Okay, Mr. Warren/Ms. Moore/Mrs. Hastedt - et al - here's what I thought of:

"Sheddup, yous. You're not helping. In fact, you're increasing my teenage existential angst to the point of diagnosable anxiety. How's that for incorporating dialogue into my work?"

Actually, that's what I think to myself now when I can't think of anything to write. I was very sweet in high school and would never have said such things, even to myself. Mostly.

Now when I can't think of anything to write, the stakes are higher. Not because I'm being graded, but because my "pencil" is an over-priced whiz bang laptop that I cannot afford to replace after flinging it.

And who would I fling it at, myself?

Oh, well...tomorrow is another day.

How not to move.

Do not attempt to have your children help you pack. View this as your opportunity to divest your household of it's vast assortment of broken Breyer horses and Playmobil pirates. This is best done without witnesses.

Don't move things you don't like. It's not going to have a place in your new place any more than it does in your current place. Bless* someone else with it.

*I always love how home ec gurus use this word, as if giving your ugly plastic placemats to your unsuspecting sister-in-law is really a blessing...bwahahahaha....


Don't buy 4 or 12 gallons of mismixed paint just before your husband comes back from a trip and leave them where he can see them and has the opportunity to ask "why in the !@#$% are we buying that just so we can move it?". I'm just sayin'.

Don't go to Costco and spend $50 or $200 just before your husband comes back from a trip and leave the stuff where he can see it and has the opportunity to ask "why in the !@#$%$ are we buying that just so we can move it?". I'm just sayin'.

Do not plan your move to a vacation destination over the Fourth of July holiday weekend, unless you have superhuman strength and can carry your china cabinet yourself.

Do not tell your dog you are moving, unless you want her to come down with a cold and an ear hematoma and need a trip to the vet, but you only have one car and your husband has it out of town, because you did not want to move two cars so you sold yours prematurely.

Do not count on fellow bloggers to help you choose your house. They can't decide either.

Do not count on fellow bloggers to reliably choose the appropriate cocktail to medicate your stressed nerves during your move.

Do count on fellow bloggers to post disturbing pictures of unnatural (?) acts that distract you from what you're supposed to be doing.


but most importantly....

Do count on fellow bloggers to help you keep your perspective, your religion, and your sense of humor, if not your sanity.

Amens.

A high class problem to have....

So, I need hep. Your hep, specifically.

We have found two incredibly cute 1940's cottages in our new cute little town. Both are tiny, both are essentially amenity-less (unless you count the roof and walls), but both I have to say are darling and idyllic and are in the same darling and idyllic neighborhood, where many of the original owners still inhabit the habitat.

I'm in to that original owner of 70 year old properties thing.

Both properties have hardwood floors, (kind of) updated kitchens, large backyards with actual trees -

You know, builders, them tall leafy things that stick up out of the ground? -

....try and keep up.

Anyway...here's the decision I'm faced with:

Behind door number one, I have cheap rent, the caveat being only one bathroom for the five of us, window units and virtually no office space. But loads of cuteness, including the owner, and a nice chunk of savings.

Behind door number two we have 25% higher rent, two bathrooms, slightly larger living areas, central hvac, and loads of cuteness, including the owner, who is including her refurbished O'Keefe 6 burner stove with the property. And a two car garage. More cool, more comfort, comfort, less savings.

What would you do? Live like no one else, so later you can live like no one else? What's realistic with 5 kids, and 10 pounds of brownies in a 5 pound bag?

We can't really buy not knowing a thing about the area, nor how long husband will be working there, so both ideas are appealing, and I HAVE to get some work done regardless...

Forsake me not, fair maidens - what is a girl to do?

Ask All the Girls, volume one.

I'm bringing a question to the table that affects only me. It has no bearing on what starving children will eat for dinner, what you might wear to church tomorrow, or whether or not you have eye-boogers.

In general, it's a selfish, marginally relevant poll.

I had a manicure and pedicure yesterday that HURT. I mean my cuticles are sore, my feet sting (sting, not stink, at least as far as I can tell). My usual French polish, which is my one indulgent beautification, looks like it was performed by my five year old with Liquid Paper - possibly after he had sniffed Liquid Paper. I am not entirely sure the lady (not my usual lady, although it was my usual salon) had ever done a manicure and pedicure before.

So - the question is - would you have said anything? I did, and got some serious attitude for it. The manager offered to do it over again, but only right then, I couldn't reschedule, which I objected to as politely as I could because I didn't have time to do it all over again right then. She acquiesced, finally, realizing I'm there regularly. I'm still irritated. Would you be?

I'm in what might be considered the over-reaction zone at this particular phase of my existence so you can tell me. That you agree with me. Or not.


And for realz, Happy Mother's Day! Peace out.