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Archive for the ‘the Casa’ Category

and I don’t…ordinarily.

But, I have to tell y’all that on my Sunday/Monday off I have done something that makes me candidate one for MOTHER OF THE YEAR…

Well, okay, only onething.  I made a bigass 9 x 13 plus some homemade CHICKEN FREAKIN’ POT PIE.

Now, I’m not one to toot my own horn, but good gawd…TOOT TOOT…I can make a freakin’ chicken pot pie…but apparently not ENOUGH of it to feed anyone twice…because one serving is not enough for ANYONE.

My recipe…in case you are interested…well, it can be found in the Betty Crocker cookbook. 

Google it…make it…and become THE BEST MOTHER IN THE WORLD.

And I don’t say that lightly, and I don’t out the fact that one of my kids’ favorite recipes doesn’t come from me, necessarily, but instead…a regular cookbook that anyone can Google.  Lemme tell ya, it won’t matter if you are the one who came up with this or Betty. freakin. Crocker. 

Fact of the matter is, if you make this Chicken Pot Pie you may very well be voted Mother of the Freakin’ Year.

I’m just saying that the (doubled recipe) chicken pot pie was DEVOURED by the five of us, with only enough leftover to send the Sub with something to eat for lunch today. 

Completely away from cooking, the other thing I am tooting my horn about is the fact that I have finally gotten my bedroom completely FREAKIN’ clean.  Clean sheets, made bed…and all the random clothes in the pile GONE…either in the washer, on the way to the washer, or thrown the hell away because no one has worn it for a decade. 

Yeah, I don’t have a problem with chunking shit. 

Old faded used-to-be-black turtleneck…you are OUT. 

Garbage bags in the hall to attest to my ease in getting rid of shit that no one is EVER going to miss.  I strongly endorce throwing some shit away if it is just sitting there, mocking your housekeeping. 

I’m glad to say that I have completely cleaned my bedroom…I have placed strategically a receptable for dirty clothes…so that maybe the FLOOR isn’t the go-to dirty clothes hamper.  Shut up.  I can hope.

After all, I have busted my ass while cleaninig my room today…so I can hope.

Don’t dash my hope just yet.

Save it for the day after tomorrow…

When all the socks and underwears and jeans and t-shirts are once again strewn all over the floor.

**EDIT** This was from the weekend, after I was high on pot pie…I don’t want to deprive ya’ll from the best pot pie ever, so I am resurrecting this from the draft pile and putting it out there.  Enjoy.

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The Dane Story

Here are the Danes.  The one on the left, that’s the Dark one…the one that runs around this place.  The one on the right, the Light one…he belongs to my friend The Teacher and runs around on the other side of the tracks.  The guys have been best buds since they were in diapers.  One of my favorite pictures is of the Light one sitting in a Little Tykes car while the Dark one pumped his gas. 

It just makes me laugh.

The are the night and day of Danes…the head and tails…the polar opposites…as far as looks go anyway.

The way our families met is just so crazy that we love to tell it.

See back when I was baking the Dark one, it was tantamount to me to find a name unique and perfectly fitting what was sure to be a gorgeous child.  Rob and I poured over baby name books and while I leaned toward names like Riley and Colin (to this day he tells the boy I wanted to name him after a body part) he would throw out bizarro names like Galahad (joking of course, but still). 

The middle name was all but chosen, just a boyed up version of the girl name I was going to name him when I thought he was a girl…which happened to be until I was 7 months pregnant. 

Anyway, one day Rob calls up and says “What about Dane.”

Dane.

I ran down the checklist in my mind.

Interesting.  Not overly used.  Not spelled weird.  Sounded good with the middle and last.  Didn’t make his initials spell something stupid.

We loved it.  It was decided.  Dane Alexander he would be.

So, fast forward.  Time to go to the hospital.  Beautiful baby boy is born looking worried from the second he hit the atmosphere…presumably about when dinner was going to be.  When the nurses asked what his name was and we told them, one of them said, “Well, isn’t that funny.  The girl down the hall, her baby’s middle name is Dane, but I think spelled DAYNE.”

I looked at her like, you have got to be shitting me.

She wasn’t.

Fast forward.

When he was about a week old I ran into HEB to pick up some pictures and ran into a friend of mine.  When she asked what we named him and I went through the whole spiel about how we’d labored over picking a name that no one else was going to have blah blah the chick down the hall named her girl kid something Dayne blah blah..

She got this look.  Then she said…

The guy who works in produce and his wife just had a baby yesterday and named him Dane.

I looked at her like, you have got to be shitting me.

Two Danes.  Two Danes with ‘A’ middle names.  Two Danes with older siblings in the same grade.  Two Danes with mothers who found themselves at 37 happily surprised when there was two lines.  Two Danes with mothers who were…seasoned.  Two Danes born exactly one week apart.

And lest there be a question, the Dark one never lets the Light one forget that he is a week older than he is.

For the longest time we knew of the other but never met.  Then one day at an early morning award ceremony that the girls hadn’t told me about so i was sitting there with ganky hair and yesterday’s mascara schmeared around, the not yet 1-year-old Danes met and their mothers became fast friends.

It’s been such fun watching these two grow up and challenge the other.  The Dark one has always been the more cautious of the two, but when the Light one showed up one evening with a bike sans training wheels, it took about 1.57 seconds before the Dark one demanded his be off too, and then about 5 minutes before it was like a BMX rally in the backyard. 

When I look at this picture it hits me.

The Danes aren’t little boys anymore.

Damn, where does the time go?

 

 

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  • Woke up feeling like I was about to cough up a ginormous hairball.  It seems that the crud that has gone from one spawn to another finally found me.  Gee, thanks, spawn.
  • Because I didn’t really feel like spreading my germs to the sweet old folks we sit by at church, I opted to just drop the boy off for Sunday school and skipping church this morning.  I didn’t want to give them my germs and i didn’t want any of theirs, either.
  • Used my sexy new dishwasher…and found out that due to water pressure and/or water temperature, that it isn’t going to be the end-all, do-all to my getting clean dishes.  I’m okay with it, really…if all the damn thing does is do the silverware, I’ll be happy.  I still love it and want to make out with it…the dishwasher, that is.
  • Washed the walls behind the garbage can and ‘coffee maker table,’ which is really just a wine rack where we have the coffee makers. 
  • Easy-offed the stovetop grates and cleaned the stovetop.  It sort of makes me never want to cook on it ever again.  It’s so pretty and shiny and clean. 
  • Scrubbed cabinets where the Mr. has made marinades and what not and sloshed crap all over the damn place.  It is amazing how pretty it looks and how clean it is now.  More to come.  Clean much?  I will.
  • Done loads and loads of laundry. 
  • Washed blankets and sheets and couch covers, some of which I got to hang out to dry outside, which means they smell like a little bit of heaven.  Really, is there anything that smells better than laundry that is dried on the line?  Right answer?  No.
  • Mopped and shined the kitchen floor.  Granted, it is gross, poop-brown, 60-year-old flooring, but by gosh, it is clean and it is now a shiny poop brown. 
  • Made abondegas, which is a tasty meatball and potato soup.  The Boy deemed it “awesome.”  I’ll take that. 
  • Realized that Zantac gets rid of that hacky cough I’ve had for months now.  Granted, I exchanged the hacky acid reflex cough with a real-life upper respiratory infection cough, but at least I know, hope anyway, that the hacky cough isn’t esophageal cancer. 
  • Manually torn in pieces about 16 bazillion pieces of junk mail/credit card applications/old bills that have never been opened.
  • I found the land-line phone and plugged it back in because my phone table is now perfectly clean and pretty and needs a phone on it

And now, the next thing I am going to do is go give this nasty ass dachsund a bath.  Wish me luck.

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okay. so it was origihnally supposed to be here LAST Thursday.

then the delivery truck was in a wreck and i rescheduled it for Friday.

but they really meant we’ll bring it Tuesday.

so, the call came last night that it would be here between 7 and 11 a.m. today.

it is not here.

rat bastards have 15 minutes or heads are going to ROLL

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Tomorrow…

sometime between 9 and 1, some nice folks from Home Depot will come to my place of residence and deliver to the Casa my shiny, brand new Maytag Tall Tub 24-inch dishwasher with not one, not two, but THREE wash arms.  Also in the magical Home Depot package will be a shiny new Ventahood.  I just ask you send prayers to the Mr. when he tries to figure out how the Man Who Lived Here Before who Fancied himself an Electrician wired all this stuff up. 

Trust me when I tell y’all that the electrical system in this house is…challenging to say the least.  Let’s just put it this way…every important thing…every microwave and computer and washer and dryer and refrigerator…basically every damn thing plugged into an outside wall…well, it’s on ONE BREAKER. 

Yes, folks, I can blow THE breaker if I decide to toast something and make coffee and microwave something at the same time.  It’s a challenge living here in the Casa, but once I trained everyone to check if the dryer or washer was running before they microwaved tasty leftovers, things got better.  Now, we’ll just have to factor in the shiny new dishwasher. 

One cool feature the new dishwasher has is a delayed start thingie, which means we can program that muthah to kick on when none of the other electrical appliances are doing their things.  Let’s just hope that that 300 sound package is for real or we’ll all be listening to the thing bump and grind for an hour in the middle of the night. 

In other news, am I the only one who just doesn’t get what’s so fantastic about the Foo Fighters.  I watch the lead singer guy sing and all I want to do is get his damn hair out of his face.  Perhaps, Michael Buble’ is the way for me to go at this juncture. 

In yet other tomorrow news, my Longhorn down in Austin will be shlepping for CNN while they cover the Democratic Debate.  She will be one of four with a high level of clearance to go about her duties.  Theoretically, if Senator Obama needs himself a cool drink, she may be the one to deliver it.  She is, to say the least, a little excited. 

 She just finally “came out” to her dad. 

Yep, she told the dad she may be a Democrat.

Oddly enough, she says the Dad didn’t drop the phone and go into convulsions…he just said “I’m praying for you.”

Yes, let’s pray for the kid who has taken the risk of being banished at Dad’s house because she has chosen hope, shall we?

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What I Did Today

Meez 3D avatar avatars games

 Yes, today I made a Meez.  For the record, that is exactly what the kitchen at Casa de Yub might look like on any given Sunday.  Because…I’m on strike.  When the new dishwasher comes on Thursday, I think some of those dishes might be taken care of.  Not sure, but maybe…okay, hopefully.

But, that’s not all I did.  Noooooo.  Today I also made the hall bathroom usable.  See, Max the Big Ass Cat Photobucket

well, besides taking up 95% of the work space on my desk at any given point in time, he also eats and takes care of his bathroom things in the hall bathroom.  I have oft referred to Max’s amazing invisible poop, in that I am the only one who can see it, which must also mean that I have super powers.  I must be PooperWoman.  I must admit that I am not the most attentive litter box keeper, especially since I avoid that place like the plague. 

It doesn’t help that the same bathroom happens to be the one where The Boy does his bidness.  Let’s just say that, never having a boy child before this one, boys’ bathrooms are gross.  Well, let’s just say that the Boy’s future wife has a long row to hoe when it comes to bathroom issues.  So, mostly, I venture in on the occasion to gather The Boy’s dirty clothes and to sometimes deal with the litter box.  If you’re getting the picture that it isn’t pretty in there, you are very correct.  The gross 10,000-year-old pink tile and 10,000-year-old linoleum doesn’t really help the aesthetics of the room…forget the cat shit and boy pee that ensconces every bit of the toilet area. 

So, simply put, if you ever come to the Casa, please, please go to the bathroom at the EZ Mart before you get here.  And if I give you sweetea to drink while you are here, feel free to run down to the EZ Mart to go potty rather than venturing into the hall bathroom and shaming me endlessly.

Which leads me to why today I decided that maybe it was time to tackle the Boy/Cat bathroom and just get that shit cleaned the hell up…

Because last night Not the Boyfriend had to potty and The Sub did indeed direct him to the EZ Mart on the corner.

Mortified much?

Yes I was.

So, today, armed with many different cleansers and scrubbers and new litter box liners where you load up 11 liners with holes in them so that you basically don’t have to scoop and get all hands on, you just lift out the first liner and sift the crap out, I got in there and cleaned that muthah.  So now, the grossness has been replaced with the fresh scent of Mr. Clean and Ajax and Bam and Lime-Away (works great for lyme stains in the toilet).  It’s now a bathroom I would be proud for you to come and potty in, just in case you are in the neighborhood and feel the need. 

The thing is…no one ever, EVER comes over when it is potty worthy.  Go figure.

Before donning my HAZMAT suit and taking care of that little job, I managed to get some laundry done and making a totally awesome chicken spaghetti for Not the Boyfriend and The Sub…well, we ate it, too, so it wasn’t just for them.  We have Not the Boyfriend for a few weeks before he goes to Japan for 730 days, so I plan on feeding him as many times as possible all the yummy food he likes in the meantime.  He is, after all, the potential father to my future jarhead babies, so it’s the least I can do for the cause.

So, it was a full day and I’m a tired gal.  I’ll catch you folks on the flipside…OH…thanks to the Room Mother Lady, I will be hauling The Boy to the doctor’s office tomorrow in this height of flu season.  If you see some crazy bitch with Lysol wipes and Lysol spray sitting in the waiting room tomorrow (just in case we are dealing with a simple sinus infection and NOT the flu), well, that will be me. 

I need to order some face masks…OVERNIGHT delivery please.

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ACHOOOOOO

I have a cold for the first time in FOREVER.  I remember why I don’t like to have a cold.  My poor nose is sore, my lips are chapped, my right eye is all watery and droopy.  Nice soft Kleenexes…my kingdom for some nice soft Kleenex. 

On a happier note, I cybershopped like a muthah yesterday and knocked out all the big ticket items.  Mostly.  And it isn’t even December 1.  BOOYAH.  The monumentalness of this feat is HUUUUGE, considering you can usually find me at the SuperTarget 3 days before Christmas, running around like a sweaty madman. 

Oh, an addendum to the last post.  That should really read HEARD in my backyard on a Friday night, as said conversation had to practically be yelled to be heard over ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’  Just in case you had me pictured in your head leaning against the fence with a glass pressed to my ear 😉

It’s great having a backyard that is R rated.  Bring the kids, we’ll roast marshmallows.

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