Friday, September 28, 2012

Rabbit, Rabbit.

I awoke to the sound of little voices outside my door and it was really quite a pleasant way to start the day. Lydia was in the pack 'n play in our room, snoozing away, while I put my feet on the floor, stretched with a yawn, and stood up to meander out of our bedroom and greet our kids with a smile.

Upon cracking open our door, my direct view of the front door showed me that it was wide open. I rolled my eyes as this is an issue in our house with the kids (DO NOT OPEN THE FRONT DOOR WITHOUT ASKING) and as I stepped out of my room to call their names, I noticed in my peripheral a red stain on the carpet in our dining room.

Sigh. And the day begins. As I walked to the aforementioned stain, I noticed another stain, and another. And ... some red stains smeared on the baseboards WHAT THE HECK?! I looked up to the see the back door open as well, and when I turned to look down again at the red stains at my feet, I saw it.

A dead rabbit.

Wedged under our fish tank.

And a very, very proud George the Cat, sitting by the front door, licking his paws.

My mouth gaped open as the kids, who had been playing outside on our walkway, came bounding inside. I fumbled around trying to shoo them into the other room and all I could say was "GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW DEAD RABBIT!!!" as the plea for my husband to get out of bed. Sure enough he sprang out of bed and upon taking his first glance at the bludgeoned bunny, promptly dry-heaved into his hand.

Apparently, the kids had opened both doors (DO NOT OPEN DOORS CHILDREN, RABBITS COULD COME IN AND DIE) and George, who had been playfully chasing a rabbit in our backyard, chased the rabbit inside, took a swipe at him in our kitchen (hence the blood stain I later discovered on our tile) and completed the annihilation of said rabbit in our dining room.

On my carpet.

My husband began the discarding-of-the-bunny process while I herded the kids into the van and drove haphazardly to our weekly breakfast date at PawPaw's house (PawPaw is the kiddos' great grandfather). And after telling him of that morning's events, I followed him upstairs to his attic and sat next to him as he handed me the Spot Bot carpet cleaner he used to remove the fecal matter his dogs left behind when they had lost control of their bowel movements, back when they were alive.

I took the Spot Bot and loaded it into the van, queasily.

What's worse is that the rabbit wasn't actually dead yet. Apparently, one can still be alive, even if the stomach is outside of the body.

I won't tell you how it ended, but I will tell you that today?

My coffee is well-deserved.

Have a lovely weekend, friends.


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Worldess Wednesday: Somebody's Been Sleeping In Brother's Bed.

(I went to check on the kids and Nomi wasn't in her bed! I knew where to look ... I love that these two are such buddies. Sorry the picture is blurry--it was pitch black in there!)

Monday, September 24, 2012

Goings-on. Goings-ons?

It's safe to say it's been a bit of a busy few weeks in our little corner of the world. More recently, this past weekend was spent cooped up with three sick little children, the littlest of which had/has a sad double ear infection while the older two kiddos are functioning as faucets of dripping snot, courtesy of the wind sweeping down the plains in the lovely land that is Oklahoma.

Allergy capital of the world, huzzah.

So, here is a sneaky-sneak at a tiny bit of the goings-on in our casa. Some big, some little, all true goings-ons.


Firstly: Orla Kiely. Pears. At our Target. Love me some Orla. Did I need hand soap? Was I lacking in dish soap? No, no I was not. Did I buy these? Yes, yes I sure did.

Secondly: Hey there, flannel and flats! This is my uniform for the fall. You know how trendy style blogs note where they purchased each item? I can make this one really easy for you! Flannel: Target. Tank: Target. Watch: Target. Skinnies: Target. Flats: Target. The background, however, is not Target, but is that of the bathroom in our church's children's wing. They had a big mirror and I couldn't help myself. Big mirrors beg for Instagram self-portraits.

Thirdly: My hubby and his bro are starting their own business. Yes I just typed that and yes my caloric consumption has slightly sky-rocketed because, let's face it, I eat my feelings and I HAVE BEEN FEELING ANXIOUS. But it's all good and we are very excited AND check out that awesome banner the kids helped me make. I hosted a family BBQ and deemed it the company's first picnic. First of many, y'all.

Fourthly: In lieu of recent events (see above), I am cracking down on our budgetary decisions and for us, cash is the best and quickest way for us to reformat things. Because, let's face it: Spreadsheets make me want to break out in hives. Since I didn't have an official cash-budget-wallet on hand (a wallet that contains envelopes for each expense category, like food, clothing, medical, etc.), I took a friend's advice and made my own! Using a bank drive-thru envelope as my template, I created several little envelopes with scrapbook paper that fit snugly in my wallet. Voila! Easy-peasy and, I think, quite cute.

There you have it!

Have a lovely day!

Friday, September 14, 2012

Love: Sister Photo Shoot.

While big brother was at school, the girlies and I took advantage of an overcast day to do a little photo shoot by an old shed on our land. The older sister refused to look at the camera and the little sister ate grass. 

Love it.


Have a lovely weekend!

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Moon Marshmallows.

I'm sitting here with a frosty blended coffee, a baby in my lap, smudged mascara in the corner of my eyes, and a house that looks like crafts and toys went to war and the remnants are scattered from the kitchen to the garage. The kids were up extra early today. I don't really know why, but for some reason I found them in the hallway at 5:45 playing with Cub's camping equipment, telling me that they were going to go camping on the moon and they needed to roast some marshmallows. I had stumbled out of bed at the sound of the (fake) marshmallow roasting and after coming upon this scene, I rubbed my eyes, pointed to their rooms, and said, "BED."

I crawled back under the covers and at 6:06 the baby started to jabber. Oy. I slithered out of bed, down the kids' hallway (tripping over some fake sticks and marshmallows haphazardly strewn about), and scooped the baby up to feed her. The kids trickled out of their rooms as she finished, and I yawned and stretched as I slinked into the kitchen to start breakfast. Cub sneezed and needed a tissue. Naomi fell out of her chair. The baby threw up twice. All while my head was still foggy and the sun was still sleeping.

Sometimes it can seem just REALLY HARD to salvage a day. Especially when it feels like that day hasn't technically begun. These mornings are the exception rather than the rule, but still, sometimes the day just seems to begin tumbling forward while I'm still trying to figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. What day is it? Where are the kids? Head count! NOW!

So, for me, day salvaging requires a to-do list. Because that's what boggles me the most when my day starts with chaos. All I need is two seconds to have a coherent thought born on its own, a thought that isn't just a response to what is going on around me. Call it "offensive thinking" as opposed to "defensive thinking". Because chaos breeds chaos. If I feel like my day is falling apart then everything around me begins to feel overwhelming. That small pile of laundry becomes a MOUNTAIN and that cluttered kitchen table becomes a HUGE MESS and the toys on the floor become an IMPASSABLE JUNGLE. It can be easy to lose perspective when the morning gets away from you. Or, for me it can be.

I remember having a similar conversation with my boss when I worked a few years ago. I was having one of those overwhelmed moments where the things that needed to be done were burying me and I didn't know where to begin. My boss had a pile of magazines on his desk and he ushered me to them and explained that this was an example of the stuff I needed to do. And then, with a grand gesture, he removed the top magazine from the pile and said, "Just one magazine at a time. Don't look at the whole pile, just look at the next magazine." Super cheesy analogy that I still think about today. Because he's right. One thing at a time. And before you know it, the pile will be gone.

So, here I am, attempting to salvage my day. I'm starting my list and putting the day in perspective. I still don't think I'm fully awake ... but I'm working on it. Yawn.

So. What are your best ways to re-start your days? Do you ever have mornings like this?

Friday, September 7, 2012

What Do You Do With a Drunken Pork Roast..?

One of our favorite meals at my house is Pioneer Woman's Shredded Pulled Pork. There's nothing simpler than dumping some Dr. Pepper and Adobo Peppers (or BBQ sauce, which is what we use) on a pork butt and letting it cook all day. Easy and delicious. It's especially handy when company is coming because it produces quite a few servings and everyone likes it. Win-win!

On Thursday evenings, we've started a tradition of eating with some friends of ours. The kids play while we chat and it's great. I had decided to make the Pulled Pork of Awesomeness for the meal, but when I checked our pantry, I couldn't find any Dr. Pepper.

Sneaky husband.

I scoured the cupboards for any sort of soda-pop-ish beverage that could serve as a sweet meat tenderizer, but, alas, the only drinks I keep stocked in our house are milk and water. Oh, and pink lemonade. I stood in the kitchen, fretting, until I remembered that we had a bottle of whiskey in our top cabinet.

Now, before you start thinking that my husband and I survive our wonderfully chaotic little life by being closet alcoholics, let me clarify that the whiskey was only in my possession because of another PW recipe that called for it. I cocked my head and pondered whether or not whiskey could serve the same purpose as DP. Surely. Right?

So, I unscrewed the lid, shuddered at the stench, and poured a little on top of the roast. I peeked into the pot and thought that the liquid content seemed a little low, so I poured a little more. It still didn't seem like enough, so I drenched the roast, screwed the lid back on the (significantly lighter) bottle and stashed it back in the top cabinet. I then dumped BBQ sauce on top of it, turned on the heat, and walked away to let the roast cook. Or brew. Whichever.

After a few hours, the house began to smell a little sour, but I ignored it because you really can't judge the idiocy of a decision until that decision has come to complete fruition, which, in this case, required a fully cooked roast. So I waited until the allotted cooking time had passed and only a few minutes before our friends were to arrive, I tested the roast.

I lifted the lid and despite the intolerably rancid and bitter smell, I held my breath, grabbed a fork, and proceeded to attempt to shred my shredded pulled pork.

Only it didn't shred. In fact, it didn't move. That dang roast was as solid as though it were still in the fridge.

Not one to give up so easily, I grabbed my butcher knife, shoved it down into the roast, and scraped a piece of meat onto my fork. I steeled my nerves, opened my mouth, and placed the Roast Fail on my tongue.

As quickly as the roast entered my mouth it also exited it, as I gagged and threw up in the kitchen sink.

The taste of the whiskey was so undeniably prominent that I might as well have left the pork and BBQ sauce out of the pot and written "Hot Liquor" under the Thursday slot on our menu board. It was so sour, SO sour, and I hung my head in shame as I mentally added this to the long list of domesticity fails that have occurred in my married life. Poor husband. Poor friends that were on their way over. Poor pork roast. Poor trash can that would have to endure the wretchedness of the poor pork roast.

Thankfully, Pizza Hut delivers to my house.

Have a lovely day.