Wednesday, July 21, 2010
When Good Sons Do Bad Things
I love it when I can steal projects from other sites. I found my latest project Ihere. I’ll let you know how it goes later today. My guess is the results will be similar. Besides, teasing the dog is way more fun and interesting than accomplishing what I need to accomplish today. And I have 37 months to finish Beav’s scrapbook which is still in the visualization stage because As God as my witness: my younger child will have an actual baby book and not a bound volume with crap stuffed into like I had. And it’s only 75 or so today versus the triple digits on my last day off. And it’s not like I can accomplish anything until I actually put things away and clean things up because right now it looks like a crazy person on their way to being featured on “Horders” works down there! Because there are still a few DNA strands from my father’s good solid hard working Quaker ancestors: I have made a deal with the studio: I will clean you if it rains today. Which is a step towards the whole scrap booking thing. A step much like Tom Kelly’s when he thought to himself: “I’m gonna make a car for the moon!” The back porch and the back yard at this point are much more seductive.
I did complete a project lurking in the basement today. A couple of weeks ago I started infusing olive oil with some of our herbs and drying a mix of herbs to be grr-ed by the food processor. I had to laugh because the herb mix looked more like pot than it did culinary herbs before I attacked it. While growing marijuana would be easy in my garden, I‘m not Nancy Botwin and prefer my life to be led on this side of the law. The olive oil thing is a lot less glamorous than it sounds. It’s mostly messy. So messy, it takes longer to clean up after myself than it does to triple strain the olive oil and make the labels. The more accurate name for this project is Cleaning The Kitchen. Cleaning the kitchen is on my chore list in Hell.
After I finished patting myself on the back for finishing something on this beautiful lazy day, I remembered the cup of peach yogurt I had put in the frig freezer and this would be the time to reward myself for a Job Well Done. So I sang my little tra-la-la song (like Pooh’s honey song only pitiful because I’m a middle-aged woman and not a cute, ageless, cartoon stuffed bear) and opened up the freezer and reached to the place I had put it.
Nothing. Not there. Just a bag full of vegetables, a bowl of ice, hot dog buns and dinner rolls. I looked on the door: nope, not under the little bags of lime juice, lemon juice or egg whites…I looked again, repeating the steps several times, my heart sinking to my toes. I did find the top secret mango sorbet but there was only enough for a wee bit and I was saving that for The Girl. I was incredulous!! Who ate my yogurt? My yogurt that I put in the freezer specifically for my own enjoyment. I know it wasn’t TG because she doesn’t like peach yogurt. And I know it wasn’t Kipper because if he had access to the freezer the only left would have been empty bags; and I checked him this morning and he still hasn’t--much to his chagrin--grown opposable thumbs.
Jesus wants me to say I didn’t have revenge in my heart as I thought of my two “Little Angels” asleep in their beds; all cozy and peaceful in their boy smell…sleeping the morning away…ONE OF THEM WITH A BELLY FULL OF FROZEN YOGURT. But I resisted the temptation to awaken either of them for two reasons: even I’m not that psychotic and --most importantly--chances were great I would then have to drive someone somewhere and I really couldn’t muster up the energy to actually put on something other than my pajamas, brush my hair and leave the house before afternoon. And damn! I thought I had it hidden better than that, too. I was counting on the blight they share with every man I’ve ever known. The dreaded “Male Pattern Blindness” means I can pretty much count on things like ice cream, sorbet, or chocolate chips to be under the peas or behind the mixed veg packs because why the hell would you pick up anything or move anything to find something. It must not exist if it isn’t in your immediate line of vision, right? Hah! We fooled them for two weeks and they didn’t discover the caramel ice cream in the back. I had it so well hidden that they would have only discovered it if one of them had made themselves vegetables to eat and boy howdy that ice cream would have been satisfying on that particularly cold day in Hell.
I must refine my hunting and gathering skills. The enemy has breached my food stores. In the meantime it’s time to see just how retarded Kip is while I’m waiting for my strawberry yogurt to freeze.