Sunday, September 27, 2009


Yes, I realize I haven't posted the (halfway) after photo of my (not quite complete) living room... but really? We have important things to discuss right now.


Why? Really, is there a good answer to that besides "my lack of impulse control"?

Last fall I found this totally darling hat on etsy and it came in all these fabulous colors (so of course, I wanted several of them) but they were about $30 each. Last month, I went to the shop to swoon and consider making a purchase for the 50,000th time, when I discovered the seller now offered PATTERNS for the low, low price of $5.

The bargain hunter in me said, "sweet! I'll just make my own!" Before I knew it, I had the pattern in my inbox and I was making a list of all the supplies I needed so that I could learn to crochet. A hat. (I don't believe in starting with simple things like scarves -- dive right into crocheting in the round, that's my philosophy! Well, about crochet anyway.)

I really don't want to say anything more on the subject because I have a headache, my fingers are cramping and I want to gouge somebody's eyes out with my Susan Bates Crystalites Crochet Hook (available at a Michael's near you!)... so I'll just leave you with this:

Friends don't let friends who really aren't crafty at all, make impulse decisions when it comes to dumb domestic stuff. They'll just end up with an old tupperware full of half used stickers, googly eyes, unopened bags of batting, half empty boxes of glycerine soap, shell-shaped soap molds, and untouched styofoam wreath foms. (This is all purely hypothetical, by the way. All those were totally random examples my incredibly creative brain came up with.... really.)

Just SAY NO.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Don't be jealous

Behold, the living room of our new house:

Don't be jealous, y'all. I am sure you are all thinking how great it would be to have this room -- complete with the giant wood stove that takes up most of the usable floor space (hope you don't have a lot of furniture!) and real knotty pine paneling. Classy, no? You can even see the lovely yellow ceilings and broken lamp; it was a free gift with purchase when we bought the house.

Well, I hate to disappoint all of you, but that's the 'before'. On to the 'after'.................!!

Oh wait. I never took an 'after' photo. Maybe I should go do that.

But not right now... I'm a big fan of suspense.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

ham hell

Today I had two people (count 'em, TWO!) tell me that they think I should be blogging here more often.

Yeah. Well. You and me both, sisters. Problem is, I am having a really hard time... finding... time. So many important things fill my days... like stepping around whining and/or crying children while cleaning up puppy messes (oh didn't I mention? We got a puppy. She's sweet, adorable, and the biggest pain in the butt ever. What was I thinking, getting a puppy with two small children? OY!)

I also have a hole in my front door. I've had it for a couple weeks now... it needs to be patched, but I haven't gotten around to doing it yet. The hole is from the old doorknob. There were separate holes for the deadbolt and the knob, like normal, but there was also an extra hole where they put another deadbolt-esque contraption... that turned the lock for the regular doorknob. So apparently we should all count our blessings that we live in a more civilized time now, where the locks are part of the doorknob.

And today? Was dumb. I tried to make a ham, and it was one of the ones that you need to cook before serving because up here in Idaho people don't buy meat at the grocery store -- they go to the state fair and buy animals. Everyone has a side of beef in their (extra) freezer. My sister was kind enough to give me this ham that was part of a giant meat explosion her animal-buying boss gave her.

Anyway... I needed to actually cook it. Which means I needed to weigh it, because when I tried to insert our probe thermometer into the cold straight-from-the-fridge ham it read 211 degrees which I gathered to mean that meat thermometer #3 was now broken (Mike had learned the hard way not to wash the probe in the dishwasher or use it on a flaming hot grill). This bummed me out, because I'm a big fan of being lazy when I cook meat and just setting the thermometer to beep at a certain temperature and then going to drink mojitos while playing croquet or whatever it is that we do around here.

So I carried the cold, damp hunk of meat to the basement where we keep the scale -- I was not about to estimate the weight of a piece of raw pig and give everyone in my family trichnosis. Then I carried it back upstairs, placed it in the roasting pan, yanked the nasty raw-ham plastic wrap out of the puppy's mouth, (seriously? Dogs and garbage cans? I don't get it.) changed my now ham-juice speckled t-shirt, washed my hands and went downstairs to weigh MYSELF so I could do the necessary math. Then I cried. OHHH, how I cried. I was really starting to resent this ham.

Then I popped it into the preheated oven, set the timer for 3 hours, and walked away. One hour and forty minutes later, I checked on it and realized I had somehow turned the oven OFF when setting its timer. So I turned the oven back on, set the timer on the microwave for 3 more hours, and said a few choice words to myself.

Two hours later, I prepared a glaze. I used the veeeeery last of our sugar, some orange juice, dry mustard, and cornstarch. Only it wasn't cornstarch. It was baking powder that I had grabbed. Oops. So I set the foaming science experiment into the sink and called my mother, at this point totally and completely defeated by a stupid ham.

Long story short (hahaha!) I whipped a new glaze up on the advice of my mom, who graciously hadn't laughed too hard at me, finished cooking the ham, sliced it up, and served it to my two darling boys. Who didn't eat a single bite of it!

This ham and I... we have a problem.

Did I mention I've had a hole in my door for two weeks? Can someone bring me some wine?