Thanksgiving. Just Sayin’.

So… how was your Thanksgiving?


Just sayin

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The tub. Just Sayin’.

Dear Husband,
When I say “I’ll be in the tub,” and I have 2 tablets, 3 new magazines, a packet of hair mask, and 3/4 of a bottle of wine with me as I go upstairs; what I mean is “I’ll be in the tub until kingdom come, chief. Don’t wait up.”


Just Sayin’.

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November 19, 2015 · 6:00 pm

Modern Pressures. Just Sayin’

Some days social media responsibility is just too much for me to handle… Like being the one to drop the pin on the Swarm map for the new Dunkin Donuts?  Or entering all of the information about a new beer into Untappd.

I mean, seriously…  what if you jack that shit up?

It’s too much pressure.

I need a doughnut and a beer.  (A beer that already exists on Untappd.  Near a well established location of Dunkin Donuts.)

Just Sayin’.

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Zen Pear

In our house, the difference between “man” and “woman” can be easily demonstrated with a pear.

NO, I am not about to launch into a diatribe about how my is body shaped, and no there isn’t a standoff over who has to put in this year’s Harry and David orders.

It is this pear. This oversized, decorative, perfect (in my opinion,) pear.

The Mr, as it turns out, does not “get” the pear.

“What’s that?” Is that a big pear?” He inquired the night I brought it home and awarded it the spot under the family room TV (a high honor – we stare in that direction A LOT in this family.)

He continued, “what is that pear for? Does it hold stuff? Is it hiding something?”   (Do you mean like I am hiding my judgement about your lack of pear understanding, dude?)

No, my dear husband, it does not hold anything, or hide anything or really do anything. Why is it there?

Because, pretty.

Portly, perfect, pretty, pretty pear.

The Mr is baffled by the reasoning behind many things in our home, I have learned.

This sign for instance:

Or this one:

These branches seem to confound him:

Andplusalso my friend the owl:

Actually that last one isn’t totally true – The Mr is weirdly obsessed with owls. At a later date I have to show you the owl décor he recently brought into my life; but I don’t want to digress, (too late,) and I am not totally sure that the shock has subsided quite enough to bring myself to take a picture of it.

The bare, plain truth of it is, these items aren’t functional. I mean yes TECHNICALLY, dry goods and provisions are kept in the pantry, and if one of the dreaded yard bunnies ever breached the threshold MAYBE the white owl would scare it back out the door. (I’m grasping here, people. Work with me.)

The thing is – “because pretty” is just not The Mr’s idea of why something ends up in a living space. I get that. I respect that. I don’t disagree with that – you can totally use the fancy soap and towels in our bathrooms, yo. (Actually, there are no fancy soap and towels in our bathrooms, because that shit is even too extreme for me.)Through eleven years of marriage I have tried to ease him into the idea that some items’ sole function can actually just be looking pretty.

I know it is hard dude, but come on. I see you side-eyeing my pear.

You don’t have to “get” the pear.

Just let the pear be.

Zen pear.



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Yesterday was Jr’s first official school field trip. Like with permission slips and busses and “completely disposable packed lunch required.” Like for REAL field trip.
Also, with chaperones. EXCEPT, since it was the first field trip, half the kiddos’ in his kindy-prep class had parents who wanted to chaperone, and the teacher didn’t want to deny any of the parents the opportunity to witness this momentous occasion, so she let everyone who volunteered join.
I was one of those parents. And I lived to drink tell about it.
At 9:00 a.m. sharp under cloudy skies, 28 little energy-balls loaded on to two tiny busses, and off they bumped down the road with a line of carpooling parents convoying behind. 20 minutes later the whole kit-and-caboodle rolled up at a pumpkin patch located on the edge of the suburbs where sprawl gives way to wide open farms. What kind of hilarity/insanity ensued on those busses I will never know – Jr was tight-lipped about his first bus rides. I guess the Preschool code deems that what happens on the bus stays on the bus, yo.
With the abundance of parents, I had kind of pictured in my mind a paparazzi-style pack of us following the class around snapping pictures and looking conspicuous. But OH NO NO – if we were going to go, we were climbing in to the trenches with the teachers!! We each got two kids, our own and one other. I referred to them as my “accountabilabuddies,” amusing myself (and exactly not one other person,) to no end with the South Park reference.
Jr was so pumped – even in the chilly wind of a Colorado plains Autumn morning, he was way too excited to notice the cold. Accountabilabuddy numero dos was less impressed and talked mainly about when lunch would be, even as we lumbered through the field on a wagon pulled by a tractor and Jr squee’ed and squirmed with glee on the other side of him. (Honestly, it was pretty dang cold until the sun finally poked through, but come on dude, FIELD TRIP!!)
Each “friend” (as they call kids in preschool world,) got to pick out his or her own pumpkin with only one rule: it had to be small enough that the child could carry it without help. 15 minutes later a pack of empty-handed kids loaded back on to the wagon with 14 parents carrying an armload of kid-selected pumpkins, because four year olds? Not so much with the listening.
At lunch my formerly hungry accountabilabuddy suddenly swore off solid food, pounding his Capri Sun while side-eyeing the rest of his bag’s contents. Jr snubbed the Lunchable that was his special treat, opting instead for my pumpkin seeds and prosciutto and leaving me with slightly gummy crackers and ham. (He was happy to take the cookie off my hands though.)
Then there was goat feeding (no shit,) followed by handwashing and me pouring an amazing amount of hand sanitizer on to both of my accountabilabuddies up to their elbows (because seriously guys, do you even know your hands can go places that AREN’T on your face!?)
Which brings us to the pinnacle of the pre-k pumpkin-patch-apolooza. The one thing that every kid probably told their parents about when asked about the whole deal; AND the one thing that made accountabilabuddy number two grin and giggle and shout.
The “mine car ride.”
As it turns out, the mine car ride is actually a train of mini hay-ride-style wagons pulled by a tractor out into the fields and around a course designed to make Keri cry. (No? Well that is my story and I am sticking to it.)
It was FAST – way faster than I thought it would be – and I swear I heard the lady driving the tractor cackling maniacally she snaked us over built-up bumps and around crazy sharp corners. I froze my smile in place, reaching behind wooping accountabilabuddy B to clutch Jr’s arm because in my addled mind CLEARLY one of those kids was going to be thrown from that contraption, and dangit if it was going to be mine. Thankfully the cackling driver returned us to our place of origin (the barn, NOT the throne of Our Father, though I really thought it was going to go down that way for a minute,) and we disembarked.
The majority of Jr’s class is still firmly ensconced in the ritual of the afternoon nap, so some pretty significant cracks were starting to show in the behavioral foundation of the group as a whole. There was a fair amount of whining, dragging, hanging, and shouted refusals at this point. Must be group picture time! The parents tried in vain to position worn-out kids on and around an old-timey pickup truck and get everyone to hold still(ish) for a pic. It was like telling a nest full of hornets to smile and say “cheese.” ( I can’t wait to see if any of the parents there actually got a good shot – mine are a hilarious stop-motion series of the chaos.)
One more potty break, and back to the busses/cars for the return trip to school.
An hour later I was daydrinking chardonnay with a plateful of not-diet-approved chicken wings, because that ill conceived dare mine car ride left me with an acute sense of YOLO that could only be quieted with cheat food.
So we survived the first field trip.
Pretty sure I have a conference call the day of the next one… whenever that might be.

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