Birthday Bouquet

So today's my birthday. It's true!


Dave: "I thought about buying you flowers for your birthday...but then I didn't. Does thinking about it count?"

Me: "Totally. And, anyway, I'd much rather go out to eat than have flowers any day."


They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but that's absolutely goes for me, too. I think I hear some veggie enchiladas calling my name!


Here's to the start of another trip around the sun!!!

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Tricky Chicks

My chickens, they're jokesters.


"Gasp! She's dead!" I go through the gate with sadness filling my heart and walk over to check on my chicken who is on her side, legs splayed, eyes closed...surely dead as dead can be.


And every time they jump up and scamper off.

Who knew chickens played possum?

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Shedding a Little Light on Things

I've been the guinea pig for a lot of my husband's photography lately. He's really quite amazing and carries about a million kazillion facts around in his head. He also has the habit of talking to himself while he's working on something which makes it so I'm privy to said facts.

Today the facts were all about photographic lighting, f-stops, and other such things.

The thing is, I have absolutely positively no idea what he's talking about. And as he goes on and on spewing out brilliance all I'm hearing is the teacher voice from "Peanuts", so I burst out laughing.

You know what happened next?


Dave: "OK, now I need to tell you about it all over again."


And he did!

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Feelin' Fabulous

It all started with that foul smelling mac-n-cheese that had been fermenting in our fridge for about a month. Out it went. And then I saw the guys' left-over ribs from a day too long ago for me to have a specific memory. Out. Then the moldy cheese...the salad dressing that expired in 2013...the tomato sauce with ghastly floaters. Out, out, OUT!

And then I couldn't stop.

I hit the shelves under the hanging pots. I dug into the cupboards over the microwave. I even delved into the stash of all our baking supplies. And two trash bags later I declared us clear of all out of date, unwanted, and disgusting food items.


If it's wrong for this to make me so deliriously blissed out and feelin' all fabulous, then I don't wanna be right.

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What Kitty Cat Wants, Kitty Cat Gets

Our cats want in. Then they want out. Then they want in. Then they want out. And on and on and on....

So my brilliant husband installed a cat door. It should all be fine and dandy now. The cats should be totally independent. Right?

Well, perhaps someday, but for now here's how it goes.

The cats want in. We go outside and shove them in the cat door. The cats want out. We shove them out the cat door. And on and on and on....


Our cats sure have well trained humans.

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Baby's got Back?

I was driving the kid to a friend's house today so they could do a school project together and he had control of the radio. 


Song:  "...but your booty don't need explaining."

Me:  "Gee, does my booty need explaining?  This song has me thinking."

Little guy:  "Mom, it's not a thought provoking song."


I'm soooo glad he knows that.

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Going Goth

When the kid got his mohawk the other day, it seemed to release my inner goth chick...who had remained dormant for almost thirty years.

Did I go overboard?  Did I dye my hair black?  Did I dig out my old black trench coat?  Nope, my inner goth chick did battle with my inner minimalist and they settled on black fingernail polish.  And I'm lovin' it! 

Except for the ridiculous number of times I've seen my nails out of the corner of my eye and have been convinced that there's a cockroach or some such unwanted thing on my hand. 

Gadzooks!

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Looking...not good

My sweet husband has been taking a photography class.  Each week he comes home with an assignment.  This week's was titled something like "change the lighting and perspective dramatically" or something like that.  But what it was in reality was "make your wife look her very worst"...yup.

Now the whole family posed.  We got to be the subject of an attractive photo and the subject of an, um, er, different perspective photo.  We all looked like ourselves in the former, but the latter, that was a different story.

Dave made himself look like he had a teeny, tiny head, but fine.

He made my big guy look like he had the longest eyelashes ever.

He made my little guy look spooky.

And me...he made me look like I'm dripping skin off of my neck. 


So, as I'll be in California for Halloween and I can't really take an elaborate costume in my carry on, I've decided that my costume is a super high lumens flashlight, strapped to my torso, aimed upward.  That's all I'll need to be super scary.

Boo!

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Happy Bird

My wonderful husband, David, has asked me to go with him to two different art supply stores in the past week.  And I must say that is seriously HOT!

The first store was uneventful.  Totally wonderful and amazing, but uneventful in the BIG EVENT kind of way.  But the second one we went to today WAS eventful.

As we walked in, there was a sweet and very frightened grackle gauging how to get the heck out of the store.  It was bumping into the windows, jumping and flying up and down, up and down.  Dave and I didn't even say anything to each other, but we both totally felt, "We got this."  We went to the open shelving where the grackle was basically freaking out.  Dave blocked on the right and I used my canvas bag on the left to block it on that side.  And then I reached in and cradled it around the back. 

That little grackle was so happy when I walked out the door, placed it on my finger, and it took off. 


...and thus our obsessive art supply store treks were completely validated.  I wonder where we're going tomorrow!

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Phyllis

So we have this chicken.

Phyllis is her name...and flying her freak flag like Phyllis Diller is her game.  Her feathers are poofed out all over her head in the most chickeny 'fro ever.   She is awesome!


On top of having the best chicken look ever, Phyllis is the sweetest chicken you ever could meet.  When you walk through the gate into their part of the back yard, Phyllis is the first one to come a runnin'.  That sweet girl wants you to pick her up and put her on your lap.  And then if you'd just spend a good long time scratching her back and smoothing her feathers everything will be just perfect.

And then there's this thing where when she gets startled she runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction of said startle until she runs smack dab into something.

So she's a little heavy on the sweets and a little light on the smarts.  I say that makes for the perfect chicken.

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I've Got a New Job

Yup, I've got a new job.

And considering how imperative my boss made it sound, it must be terribly important.  Here's how the hiring went down.


Little guy:  "Come hang out with me while I work."  He was in the back yard working on building our new chicken coop.

Me:  "You're sawing.  I don't want to be in a cloud of saw dust."

Little guy:  "OK, then.  Hang out with me while I'm putting in screws."

Me:  "OK."

Little guy:  "And there's a job I need you to do.  I really, really need you to do this.  You're my mosquito swatter."

Me:  "How about if I just spray you with poison?"  (Yup, mom of the year, I am.)

Little guy:  "They don't care about poison.  You have to be my mosquito swatter!"


So how about that?  I'm a Mosquito Swatter.  I think I need a badge.

...and a monogrammed swatter.

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Officially "Vintage"

Spent a lovely day celebrating birthdays with my mom today.  We ate good grub and then we went shopping at a vintage store.  I went through rack after rack finding tons of amazing things that were way too high maintenance for little old me (i.e. required dry cleaning and/or ironing), but happily, I did find a few must-haves.  At one point we were chatting it up with one of the owners and she mentioned that they're getting stuff from the 80s and earlier because they are a "vintage" store, after all.

Um...80s, eh?  So the clothes I wore in high school are now considered "vintage"?  What?  And then I looked at my mom and thought, "No, clothes from when she was in high school are 'vintage'.  That's how it's always been."  But I kept my pursed "vintage" mouth shut and figured that, hey, I've got some stuff in my closet that's officially worth something.

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Egg on Your Face

Found myself pondering that expression this morning...as I had egg on my face.

My favorite breakfast these days is two poached eggs and a heapin' gob-o-veggies.  Yum.  And this morning as I was eating said breakfast, some runny yolk ran right down my chin.  (Maybe that's why they call them runny!)

Anyway, the saying means you've made a mistake, that you're left feeling foolish or some such thing.  Well, it didn't feel like a mistake, really.  I didn't feel foolish.  I just felt a little slimy, something a quick swipe of my napkin solved.

So my new interpretation of that saying is, "You're clearly eating a fabulous breakfast!"

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Rockin' the Spots

Gave our elderly dog a buzz cut today.  She's not a fan, but she puts up with it.  Now I knew she was blind in one eye, a bit hard of hearing in both ears, a little slow with her stride, and slow to get up when she's been down a while.  But this time I was surprised by the crazy increase in the number of freckles all over her back.  And as I held the clipper and exposed more and more of them I saw her spots mirrored on the back of my own hand.

Yup, she and I are aging...and we're seriously rockin' the spots.

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P.S.  Just a reminder...all of my original paintings are 50% off to celebrate my 1000 paintings in 1000 days! Through 4/21 (my birthday)!  Message me the ones you'd like and I'll adjust the price (I can't do a blanket markdown on the site, unfortunately). Thanks!!! http://www.dailypaintworks.com/Artists/kali-parsons-3935

Texting...Leaf Blower Style

When it comes to texting, I'm like that nutty guy with the leaf blower.  There's that one leaf that just won't comply and go where the dude wants it to.  Does he just lean over and pick up the errant leaf?  Nope.  No way.  He blows it this way and that and this way again.  I get it.  He wants to use the tool he's got available, right?

When it comes to texting I'm so like that nutty leaf blower guy.  You know there's that really cool little microphone feature there so you can just say what you want to have in your text.  I use it all the time.  And it's far from perfect.  I wanted to tell someone to get bean and cheese burritos, and even though I said it as clearly as I could muster, it kept on coming up, "being burritos".  Did I just take a second and manually type in "bean and"?  Nope.  No way.  I tried recording it over and over and over again.  I had the tool available and I wanted to use it.

Me?  I get that nutty leaf blower guy.  Yup.


P.S.  Yes, I did eventually manually type in "bean and".  But I didn't like it.

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Not Going There Again

Took my boys shopping today because they needed shorts.  And me, well, I needed nothing.  But I looked anyway just in case I needed to be impulsive or anything like that.  And, by golly, I found the cutest T-shirt.  It wasn't with other shirts that looked like it, so somebody must've just set it there as an unwanted.  But I dug it.

I strolled around while I waited for my guys and I stumbled upon a pile of shirts just like the one I had on.  And, oh yay, it was on sale.  I held it close as I was already in love, my eyes tracked upward, and there was a mannequin wearing the very shirt I was holding.  A pregnant mannequin.

Oh...

And I delicately set the shirt down on the pile and walked away.  Nope, not going there again.

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Stick a Fork in It

And by "it" I mean my husband.

Here's how it goes when we're out to eat and we actually get a dessert to share after the meal.


Me:  "I only want one bite."

Dave:  "Sure, 'only one bite'."


I take my fork and pull off the teeniest, tiniest, what can only be called a mere taste morsel.  Then after I decide I do, in fact, like it, I take my fork and reach toward the tiny cake plate...and Dave pulls the plate just out of my reach.  And then I stab him in the chest with my empty fork.  OK, perhaps "lightly poke" is the more appropriate term.

This happens over and over and over again.  And the amazing thing is, David still manages to eat pretty much the entire piece of the cake whilst steadfastly protecting his treasured treat.

Lucky for us he's just as protective of his family (excepting of our sweet tooth appetites, that is).

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Cat Tale

We're pretty darn sure our kitten has a broken tail.  Instead of doing its usual salute to the sun it's all downward dog.  And if we even think about touching that tail, our kitty is all, "Do it and you'll draw back a bloody nub."  And now, for about the millionth time in my life, I find myself wishing that cats could talk...because I'd so totally love to hear his cat tale.

All I know is that his beautiful glaring eyes are totally saying, "Yeah, but you should see the other guy."

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Talking to Strangers can be Quite Delicious

It's what our parents all warned us about, but I find it rather delightful.  And, guess what, sometimes it has the nicest consequences.

A month or so ago I was standing in line to check out my groceries.  I could overhear a conversation at the next register.  The cashier was asking the customer how his day was going so far and the customer had a lovely story about volunteering at a school park doing landscaping.  And then he mentioned my school.

So I'm standing there thinking, "I should go tell him I work there and tell him how thankful I was for his kindness."  But then I lost my gumption as I passed him and kept walking out to my car.  Full of regret.  Kicking myself in the shin.

As I put my bags in my car I figured I'd look around to see if I could possibly have a second chance at it.  But no, no sign of him at all.  I hung my head, took my cart to the cart return, turned around, and there he was.  So I went up to that young fella, told him I'd overheard him (stalker, crazy lady that I am), told him my connection, and proceeded to thank him every so much.

And guess what...he was doing the volunteer work as part of his employer's mission to help the community.  And then he gave me a card with a code on it and said when I put the code in, something wonderful would show up in the mail.  And today it did!  I'm three nutritious bars richer, and I feel super warm in my heart.

So go talk to a stranger.  Turns out it can be quite delicious.

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Patience with a Point

Know how you get your fifteen-year-old son to very patiently go with you to the shoe store while you try on oodle gobs of ballet flats only to end up choosing canvas flats with a leopard print instead?

Well, turns out if you've just taken him to a different store and bought him a really cool Swiss Army knife with tons of different tools he'll prove himself to be a very patient teen.

Your welcome.

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