R.O.U.S.

i have an unwanted guest.  i haven't actually seen my guest but i know he's there. he leaves me presents.  not the kind you would want to open.  i am only guessing it is a "he", actually i am praying my guest is a he.  before i tell you who my guest is, i should start with how i got my guest.

it is that time of year where i rearrange my small living room to accommodate a tree.  i actually really enjoy having a tree in my house.  they smell good.  when they are all lit up i can leave the rest of the lights off and enjoy the ambiance.  i admire the ornaments i have and reminisce.  yes i love having a Christmas tree. 

we were in the second week of december and i still hadn't gotten a tree.  i couldn't even seem to find a day on my calendar that had an extra hour to go search for one.  last year the kids and i cut our tree down, and we had planned on doing that again, but single motherhood plus busy schedules complicated our plans. 

this year, i agreed to host Christmas morning, which is my sis, my mom the kids and myself.  since mom wasn't going to host, she decided to not even decorate. i've got to admit that i am kind of bummed my mom isn't decorating, there is something about going to your parents house and seeing all the holiday stuff from your childhood that i just love.  this turn of events did present an artificial tree not in use, my moms. 

the tree has been living in mom's barn for the last year, but i didn't think anything of it there is tons of storage in the barn.  mom helps me load the tree into the back of my car and off we go.  the kids help drag this enormous monstrosity into our living room.  around the same time my ex shows up to get the kids, he generously asks if i want help.  i tell him no but he starts anyway.  i open the box and gasp! a critter has been living in the tree box.  my ex picks up the tree and droppings start falling out of the tree.  "Get it out! Get it out!" i shriek at him.  he takes it outside and shakes it free of rodent presents.  i tell him, "i don't want that box here."  he puts in the back of his truck and takes it with him.

i call my mom to tell her all about our adventure with the tree.  she gets a good giggle out of it.  i think this is where my story ends.  i am SO wrong.

the next morning i go to warm up my car.  when i open my door there are rodent prezzies on the floor mat of my front seat.  WTF?!?  i look at the passenger side...there is more there!  i look in the back seat..yep you guessed it more prezzies!  OH MY WORD, IT IS IN MY CAR!!  now some of you may have closed the door and your life would have ceased.  maybe you would have called an exterminator?  maybe you would have sent your vehicle to a detail shop and got a rental?  well seeing as how i am a po divoced woman none of these are really options for me.  so i went back inside grabbed my giant, from costco, container of clorox wipes and wiped down every hard surface, shook out the rugs and called it good for now.  "come on kids, we're late for school." 

i dropped the kids off at school swearing them to secrecy about our stow away.  for some reason the idea of having a rodent, at this point i am not sure if it a rat or a mouse, but i am leaning towards rat because his prezzies are rather large, was ultra embarrassing.  for those of you who know where i live, it is kind of ghetto, especially if you knew where i used to live.  i drove to work peering over my shoulder expecting to see my guest with a giant grin on his face and a speech bubble saying, "ooh a car ride.  where are we going?" 

after several days of emptying my car, endless vacuuming, constant disinfecting, and arming the front and back with poison, i was still finding prezzies in the morning.  my guest joined our family on a tuesday afternoon.  i death trapped my car with poison on thursday afternoon.  saturday morning i am still finding prezzies.  on saturday afternoon a guy friend came over to set snap traps.  my thought was my guest has been eating poison for a couple of days, yet i still hadn't seen him.  i didn't want him to die wherever he had decided to take residence in my car.

sunday morning.  i am prepared for a critter to be dead in the trap.  i am actually hoping that he is dead in the trap.  what i found i was not prepared for.  i peered in the front passenger seat, this has been where he has been most active, and there he was.  OH MY WORD!!  he is huge.  i open the door and he turns his head to look at me.  as you can guess i am now screaming.  i shut the door and go back inside. 

what happens next may horrify some of you.  i came back to the car armed with latex gloves (thanks to my thoughtful trap setter friend), a plastic grocery bag and my phone so i can take a picture of the culprit.  it looks up at me again while i take his picture, but does not scurry away.  he is very sick.  who wouldn't be after 3 days of eating poison?  i don my gloves and carefully place the bag over him.  i hesitate on what to do next.  since he is still alive i don't want to touch him, he might bite and then i will have rabies or some other horrible rodent disease that might cause me to grow extreme amounts of fur and a tail.  for some reason there is an old checkbook in the passenger door, i grab it and fling him into the bag, dropping the checkbook in too.  i tie the bag up and throw him away. 

i didn't kill him first.  i just couldn't bring myself to whack him on something.  i chose instead death by suffocation.  in fact the bag was breathing  while i was carrying it to the garbage can.  i understand this is a horrible way to die and i do feel bad, but i am not violent and whacking him seemed so harsh.  this was really i could manage.

so my rat tale ends.  i have not found any other prezzies in my car.  i still don't know where it was nesting, but i am really hoping i don't have a troop of baby rats suddenly leaving me prezzies.  i am still cleaning my car every time i get in it.  i am so grossed out!  my rat mobile is still armed with poison just in case. 

the tree is pretty and i am grateful to have it on loan for the holidays.  however, i am thinking i would've rather had the spiders that come with a live tree over the rat that came with the artificial tree.



what do i do with all these nude oranges?

i am not a baker.  baking is a science.  to be an exceptional baker one needs a scale, top notch ingredients, really good tools and patience.  i have a couple of these the scale isn't one of them.  you give me a chicken and i can do just about anything; grill it, roast it, stuff it, and of course eat it.  you ask me to create a masterpiece from flour, butter and eggs and i'm shaking in my slippers.

a good baker uses unsalted butter at room temperature.  i don't ever buy unsalted butter and i don't have the patience to let it come to room temperature.  instead i zap it in the microwave which i am sure changes it's chemical make up somehow.  eggs should be at room temperature, never cold straight from the fridge, and you should crack into a separate bowl first just to make sure the egg is fresh and there are no stray shells. 

don't over mix

don't over bake

plan ahead

sift

measure, measure and measure again

this is all too tedious for me.  when i am in the mood to bake, which usually coincides with my monthly cycle, must be that motherly nesting instinct, i want to do it right then before the mood passes. 

for some silly reason, once a year i agree to participate in a cookie exchange, hosted by one of the moms at my kid's school.  this is not your average cookie exchange.  there are rules...

~ must be homemade.  this is an all out bake-off.  time to bring your A game

~ main ingredient must be flour and butter.  these cookies are not part of any diet. 

~ must make 11 dozen.  1 dozen to share, 10 dozen to exchange

~ must turn in your recipe entry to the hostess by a certain date.  the hostess prints a cookbook of all the entries every year.

there are also prizes to be won.  possibilities to win fall into a few different categories; best display, best tasting, most unique and overall best damn cookie.   i have a slight competitive edge and have always wanted to win the grand champion prize, but i have never even received a special recognition in any category.  this is not a huge surprise i suck at baking.

i typically spend at least a week, sometimes two, searching for the perfect holiday cookie recipe.  i look for something different, something easy, and a batch that makes a lot.  seeing as how i don't have the patience for baking, a batch that makes a lot at one time is right up my alley.

this year i went with an orange creamsicle cookie.  i found the recipe on pinterest, my latest obsession.  citrus in a cookie always seems holiday-ish to me.  i don't particularly care for citrus in my cookies, but this isn't about my taste this about winning.  the ingredient list was simple.  this recipe made 4 dozen cookies in one batch.  this cookie didn't involve rolling into balls, using my rolling pin to cut dough into cutesy shapes, or smooshing them down with a fork or bottom of a glass.  this is a drop cookie, hallelujah!  i did embellish my cookie with orange sugar crystals, which was a little labor intensive, but again this is about winning. 

so the big taste test.  my tasters are always my kids.  ash, who doesn't like anything didn't like these either.  he took one bite, crinkled up his face and said, "i don't like them."  i really wasn't too surprised he hasn't liked any of the cookies i have made of late (banana peanut butter cup cookies, molasses cookies, or the sugar cookie with almond joy pieces in them) he is a basic cookie lover...chocolate chip.  P on the other hand thought they were great.  she wanted another.  i took this as a good sign. 

my opinion, i had ash's leftover, i thought they were good.  straight out of the oven, the white chocolate chips (the cream part) was all melty and gooey.  there was just enough orange zest to get a good orange flavor but not overpowering, and there is enough butter in them that any butter fan would drool.  i think the most remarkable thing was they tasted just like an orange creamsicle. 

i have just one question.  i had to zest 6 oranges.  what in the world do i do with 6 nude navel oranges? 

http://www.the-girl-who-ate-everything.com/2010/04/creamsicle-cookies.html

loving you....or not...

i am single.

you are going to have to be amazing to change that.

being a single gal who doesn't want to be single means that you have to date.  i have found myself on a handful of first dates, but rarely do they lead to a second date.  i recently went on a ridiculous first date that had disaster written all over it. 

i am guilty of derailing this date from the get go.  i made a crass remark, that didn't really come out the way i had intended.  i was unaware that he was bald.  for the record, i have no problem with the follically challenged, there are some men who pull this off beautifully.  he was one of those men.  i was just unaware.  so in the first few exchanges i derailed the date with...

me: i wasn't aware that you are bald. 

him: oh i'm not bald

me: so you just choose to not wear your hair?

him: speechless with a did you really just say that look on his face

there are times that i just shouldn't open my mouth.  this was definitely one of those times.  as the words made their way past my lips my inner voice said seriously heather you are an ass.  besides the fact that i opened my big mouth without weighing my words first, he had absolutely no sense of humor.  a sense of humor is a must for me.  what in the world do you have if you can't find humor in everyday mundane things?

there were many ridiculous awkward pauses in the conversation.  i am pretty good at carrying on a conversation, but i am not tom hanks from castaway, i can't carry the whole thing.  a conversation is traditionally an exchange of words between two or more people.  please, please contribute.

after many awkward pauses and disagreements in opinion our time together was coming to an end.  the next thing that happened was strange.  how many times have you been out to eat with a person of the opposite sex?  me...tons (my ex-husband, my ex-boyfriend, , the handful of first dates, and male friends in general).  how many times has the wait staff person come to your table and asked "will this be on one or separate checks?"  me...if this has happened before i just don't remember.  this happens frequently when i am with the ladies, but i really can't remember it happening when i am out with a man.  anyway, he hesitated in answering and looked at me, which i quickly said, "i got mine." 

maybe i am a little old fashioned, but i do expect the person who asked the other one out, to pay.  he asked me out to dinner but i picked up my own tab.  clearly it wasn't going well, but this was the clincher.  then he asked if i wanted to go do something else.  really?  ummm...no, but thank you for an awkward evening and good luck in your search.

needless to say, i haven't heard from his since.  i drove home singing in my car thinking man this is hard.  i guess i am getting a better idea of what i am NOT looking for. 

my ice cream fell...

crestfallen...

adjective

dejected; dispirited; discouraged.

compliments of dictionary.com

there are times when i get my hopes up.  look forward to something.  get psyched about a new endeavor.  i have a skip in my step.  i am excited to get out of bed.  i have an extra big cheesy smile on my face.  i dress different (a little more spiffy, a little less drab).  i take extra time doing my hair and make up.  i sing more to music that has a quicker beat.  i have more patience with my kids.  my laugh seems to be a little louder, if that can even be possible.  my presence has just a smidge more joy to it.

sometimes it, whatever it may be, doesn't pan out.  doesn't come to fruition.  fizzles out.  fades to nothing.  those times leave me crestfallen.  this may seem dramatic.  realistically it probably is, but nonetheless i still have the moment.  big cheesy smile curls down at the corners.  my posture droops, so even if i have on a spiffy outfit it no longer looks spiffy because i am slumping like the hunchback of notre dame.  my inner glow is dimmed for a spell.  i might celebrate the discourage with a "break up" cd or two. 

i have a hard time hiding my disappointment which will most likely mean that my interactions will be short, curt, abrupt.  unfortunately my frankness will not be reserved for whomever or whatever caused the mood swing.  just ask my kids, they will give you a first hands account of my mood shifts.  i am that person who wears their heart on their sleeve.  for better or worse (there is that darn wedding mumbo jumbo again...it's still with me), i am an open book. 

like most of my blog posts there is a story that initiates the topic.  this feeling of dejection is stemming from one specific thing.  for the past couple of months the plans have fallen through.  maybe it is because the plan was never supposed to happen in the first place.  if it was, it would just happen easy peasy with no hang ups.  i wonder if the other end of the plan is feeling the same thing, crestfallen?  probably not, the other end of the plan isn't as emotionally charged as i am.

i have tried to adopt this idea of letting things happen and not forcing it, but i don't always succeed.  i don't think i am that different from others around me, when i want something to happen i genuinely want it.  maybe where i differ is that i daydream and fantasize about that something.  so when it fails to occur it is like my ice cream has just fallen off the cone and landed on the ground. 

i guess i am at that point of switching gears... instead of making the same plan that keeps falling through i need to try a different plan?  hmmm....

dear santa....

i have the wedding march lingering in my head.  i catch myself humming the tune.  i know i am humming audibly and wonder if those around me think i am getting married?  because really why would any woman randomly hum the wedding march if she wasn't planning on sashaying down the aisle?  well i am not getting married, i don't even have a beau in my life, but the tune keeps escaping my mouth.

so random....or is it?

we have entered that time of year that encourages coupling.  cold nights meant to be spent cozied up with that special someone by a fire, on the couch, in your bed or all of them in no particular order.  this time of year is very romantic, way more so than valentine's day.  you know that ridiculous holiday that oozes manufactured love?  anyway, hollywood has put many dreamy, sappy, romantic moments in my head that happen during this time of year.  for instance, sleepless in seattle...oh my word, love.  falling in love with a voice, taking a giant leap of faith and meeting at the top of the empire state building.  completely ridiculous but uber romantic. 

i am pretty sure my children have asked santa to bring me a man for Christmas.  why you ask?  well let me tell you.  i am smothering them in hugs and kisses.  pretty much mauling them every second i can.  i adopt this super annoying high pitched nasally voice and say, "give your mommy a kiss."  both of my kids cringe when i do this, but they tolerate me.  ash always wipes me affections off.  i tell him he is just rubbing them in, but he hasn't bought into that concept yet.  peyton is a trooper and most of the time loves the attention as much as i love giving it, but sometimes she needs to appear "cool" and can't have her mother draped all over her. 

on these quiet chilly nights when the lights are low, the kids have gone to bed and i am sitting alone my mind wanders.  i am pretty much doomed.  there is a slight chance that my fantasy life will come to fruition, but i am hopeful.  i am guessing there won't be a man to unwrap on christmas morning but maybe there will be a man to unwrap christmas night...just kidding.

feeling schmuckish....

in the past couple of weeks i have felt like a schmuck.  there have been several instances that i have had to turn away or been reminded of my weakness as a human.  i am probably being a little hard on myself, maybe just a smidge, but we are historically our own worst enemy. 

a few weeks ago there was a gentleman who gave his testimonial at church.  his story is a savory life riddled with crime, drugs, hard time, rehab and recovery.  it was a moving account and made me cry. the part of his story that spoke to me the most was that during his repeated failures he had a wife who stood by him raising their family.  to my knowledge i have never met her, but i am in complete and utter awe of her.  how did she find the strength to continually forgive? 

my friend in spokane, who i will from now on refer to as spokane, and i were talking the other day.  he was watching the show intervention.  he asked if i had ever seen it.  i told him i had, but that it was really hard to watch because it hits too close to home.  spokane did not understand what i meant because i had not shared this part of my life.  after giving him the abbreviated version he asked did you try to make it work? 

i was a little irritated and upset by the question.  my initial reaction was are you kidding?  of course i tried.  the question made me feel insensitive, uncaring, and unforgiving.  all characteristics that i don't associate with myself.  it was a reasonable question but my reaction was not.  the question reminded me of the lady from church, how did she do it?  and the bigger question, why couldn't i?

recently i introduced you to my confidant. this past week i asked the question would you have stayed?  the answer was no. the answer came quickly, no contemplation, just an answer.  this quick unthought out answer is usually a gut reaction and one that should be trusted.  this brought on another question do you ever feel weak because you wouldn't have stuck it out?  again the answer was no.  wow!  i was surprised that like myself this human would have left, would have removed themselves from the equation. 

what makes the lady from church so different from me? so different from my confidant?  am i weak?  is my faith not strong enough?  do i place more value on my own happiness and well being than she does?  i don't have answers for any of these questions, but they have been swirling around in my head begging to be answered.

on the tail of those two in depth conversations (with spokane and my confidant) i received a phone call.  i always hesitate when this number appears on my phone.  i never know what the call will bring, what kind of emotions it will stir, and i still don't know how to end the conversation.  i answer because it is my duty.  this time the call made me catch my breath.  i had to say that i couldn't help directly.  i felt terrible, uncaring and insensitive. 

after days of mulling, my emotions are still muddled.  my hope is that with time those emotions will wane and not swing so far on the pendulum consuming the moment and occupying my every thought.

handbag whore...

leather, canvas, pleather, satin, suede, vinyl, wool....not underwear

zippers, snaps, drawstring, buckles, magnetic....not jacket closures

quilted, embossed, embroidered, stamped, shiny, matte....not shoes

black, brown, red, green, blue, yellow, white, multi colored....not nail polish

 purses, satchels, handbags....topic of discussion today.

the obsession with handbags is baffling to me.  they can cost thousands of dollars or just a few dollars.  they are big, small and every size in between.  some women match them to their outfit creating an ensemble of perfection to nth degree.  other women schlep the same bag everyday not caring if it matches.  but they all have the same function..a vehicle to carry stuff. 

i swapped handbags the other day.  this may not seem monumental or blog worthy, but it reminded me of some funny stories of a particular handbag.  i typically carry a handbag that could qualify for checked luggage.  being the mother of two means that i get handed lots of random things to "hold", which really means i put the things in my bag only to get swallowed up in the abyss of crap.

i used to have a red leather bag with a satin leopard lining.  i loved this handbag.  she had simple lines, was the perfect size and best of all it was a gift.  my very first day taking her out for a spin catastrophe struck.  i met my neighbor for coffee after dropping kids off at school.  i set red on the ground next to my chair.  my friend and i are both "hand talkers", no we are not sign language experts, but we both use our hands to help describe our comments.  as our expressive conversation ensued a sweep of my friends hand launched a coffee cup across the table landing inside of red.  red proved to be a superior bag not leaking a drop of coffee anywhere.

a couple of years later red proved her worth again but met her match.  the mammas and i were on an adventure, we went to see grease when it came to seattle.  this was an opportunity for a night out, to get all gussied up, eat a meal together that none of us had to prepare and see a show.  this is equivalent to foreplay for a mom.  i wore a black and white polka dot dress and red heels.  a last minute decision to throw my summer bag into red (to match my outfit better) was a life saver and a life killer all in one. 

a little back story so the rest of the story makes sense.  being a mom means that you live with walking petri dishes.  at any given moment your immune system can fail striking you with the plague.  well one of our mommies had had the flu claiming it's victims throughout her home, but so far she had been fine.

back to red's demise.  we have dinner and have watched the show.  during the encore, the mommy mentioned above slumps over in her seat.  after a little coaxing we get her to sit up and realize that she is going to throw up.  shreddie frantically starts emptying her bag.  without thinking i pull my summer bag out of red and pass her down the aisle.  just as she found her destination she was filled with a regurgitated fish dinner.  we made our way out of the hall and red found her final resting place in a random garbage can in downtown seattle.  red was a good bag.

i am not a handbag whore, i only have a couple and they aren't top quality.  i'm not concerned about carrying the best brand because i use and abuse my bags.  i toss them across the seat in my car, set them on the ground in the bathroom (if there is no hook) on the floor of a restaurant, under my desk at work and at school, and shove them full of everything and anything except for the kitchen sink.