I killed the apple corer

It ends here.

No Martha Stewart am I.

A local radio station had a call-in contest to come up with a new Olympic sport just for housewives.

Yeah yeah, I'm well aware that I work outside of the home. But I'm a wife, and I live in a house, so I think I should qualify for this game.

Someone mentioned "speed-cleaning the house for company that calls and says they will be there in 10 minutes." I would most definitely lose that one. There is no such thing as speed-cleaning with me. First, I need to mix up my chemical-free cleanser made from baking soda, lemon juice, and flaxseeds. Just kidding on the flaxseeds. But I'm looking into it.

Then I need to sort through mail, school papers, and paper bags of junk cute little heart-themed trinkets from Valentine's Day that the kids brought home from school.

And vacuum? Why, certainly not. I received two robot vacuums for Christmas. Best. Christmas. present. ever. Ugh, why did I resort to using that "put a period after every word to sound more intelligent than I am" faddish tactic? My past English professors would have surely frowned upon that.

So what I'm trying to say here is that I am an OCD cleaner (meaning that I spend tons of time picking through specific areas but not looking at the whole of the mess), and I would definitely take last place.

Instead, I propose that the first Olympic event for housewives should be apple-coring. No wives who have been successful at creating issue-free meals are allowed to participate.

The rules are that you have to use an old, blunt, slippery-handled corer like I did today. You have to make a clean cut through the apple and get the seeds on the first try. You must wear abdominal padding just in case the corer unexpectedly turns against you.

Here are today's results:

Apple #1: Couldn't get corer out of apple. Placed apple on floor with foot as a brace to remove. Success. Apple moved to compost pile.

Apple #2: Corer in with a heave and a hernia. Only half the seeds removed. Secondary gadget (knife) introduced to competition. Two points deducted.

Apple #3: Corer once again stuck in apple. No amount of twisting and turning would pull it out. Corer turned upside down and pounded on the cutting board with the apple suspended in air. No give. Right side up apple again and handle yanked repeatedly. "Ping" sound heard as I was left with the wooden handle in my hand and the impaled apple on the floor rolling in cat hair. Where was the robot vacuum when I needed it?

I lost the corer, but I did manage to make four tasty Granny Smith baked apples, all while endangering life and limb. But well worth it.

A clean core=a broken corer. Success? Yes! I get to invest in a new one that actually works!

And for another cheap laugh on my blog, I will now explore the intricacies of how spellcheck has tried to screw-up my writing (I can already hear the echoes of "You're blaming spellcheck? Woman, you do that very well by yourself!" I guess I've been reading too many angry blog comments on other blogs lately.).

We'll call this "spellcheck madlibs," a new feature. Woohoo, exciting.

Spellcheck for flaxseeds came up with:

flambeed

flatbeds

hayseeds

Let's fill those words into the sentence for today:

1. First, I need to mix up my chemical-free cleanser made from baking soda, lemon juice, and flambeed. And what, you ask, is flambeed? It means "(of food) served in flaming liquor, esp. brandy." House cleaning paste served in flaming liquor? Hmmm...that might make the chores a little exciting, if I don't burn the house down.

2. First, I need to mix up my chemical-free cleanser made from baking soda, lemon juice, and flatbeds. i.e. flatbeds to cart the rampant crap out.

3. First, I need to mix up my chemical-free cleanser made from baking soda, lemon juice, and hayseeds. "Clean and grow food for your domestic beasts simultaneously."

I love words. Aren't they great?

searching for summer camp bliss

Today we braved the mall (on a Saturday, no less!) for the annual summer camp fair.

To keep my kids occupied while we strolled around, I let them take some goodies from each stand: candy, t-shirts, shopping bags, pencils, stickers, magnifying glasses, and little furry happy doo-hickeys.

The spoils

Oh sure, everything was free. But then there were the hopeful college students and stern women with reading glasses staring down their noses toward the "Would you like more information?" form.

Of course I'll fill that out. Just yank my arm off first.

(When I get spammed by every campground from here to Maine, I will have only myself to blame.)

I drew the line at the John Casablancas modeling agency and faked my number.

Some of the men at the sports camp tables resembled college recruiters. Way too serious for me and a first-grader!

The highlights for my kids?

1. The monkey who wore a diaper and contentedly perched on Nature Camp Lady's shoulder.

2. The red, life-size letter "Y." My 3-year-old waved at it apprehensively while I tried to figure out how the person inside had to painfully contort his or her body to get into the costume. It was a capital Y, which would've made it a little easier. I hope.

3. The Lego camp. My son was drawn to the huge boxes of deluxe kits immediately. I asked the representative, what's this all about? Well, she replied enthusiastically, they get to spend the week playing with over 150 different Lego sets. How much? I asked. 200 dollars, she said nonchalantly.

I called my husband to ask what he thought about this. One whole week of Lego fun in the summer! Could be great!

He reminded me that he had recently found a 60-gallon trash bag of miscellaneous Lego pieces in the back of the garage. So there you have it--our summer activity, free of charge. Three cheers for cleaning out the garage!



(This post was written courtesy of the theme from Jurassic Park playing in the background)

letting go of old things made from cotton, polyester, and plastic

Breaking out the Bailey's and Kahlua and listening to "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?" today. This is hard.

I recently read an article in our local newspaper describing the difference between a hoarder and a packrat. Not wanting to be either, but realizing that I have, perhaps, maybe just a little bit, saved more than my fair share of old stuff, I've resolved to get it all out of here before the summer hits. Slowly.

I know that I can't stop time by holding onto my kids' old clothes (would I really want to? Maybe just visit the past now and then, but buttloads of diaper changes don't really appeal to me). And it feels wrong to keep things that could benefit another person by storing them in a box under my stairs--until my kids find them someday--after they've become hopelessly outdated and useful to no one.

Generosity is the direct result of frugality, but hoarding is another form of wastefulness. When you have less stuff, your mind is free to wander and relax. To be able to look around and see a clutter-free home is a gift to oneself. I have a beautiful sunroom that could be used for hydroponic gardening and year-round plants, but it is like condemning them to death to put them out there now. I'll spare you the photos of what happened to my houseplants since October when it got chilly out there. Shriveled carcasses, I tell you.

I've decided to skip the garage sale idea and go for consigning everything, and what can't be done away with there will be donated to local charities. Consignment sales are wonderful because you get to keep about 70% of the sales, and the rest goes to a charity or cause designated by the group running the sale. There is some work involved though, with pressing and tagging clothes, but if you plan ahead and know the sale dates, you can spread the tasks out over time.

For those interested in consignment sales in the Middle Tennessee area, here is a website that lists many of them, including links to their websites:

http://www.kidsconsignmentsales.com/tn.htm

And now, before I resume my clothes-sorting activities, here are some of the donated items that didn't make the consignment sale cut:

I bought three of these hats in a moment of gardening zeal, but never ever wore them. I'm an old soul, but seriously?

Many good times were had with this Polaroid instant camera. Ahem.

Anybody who grew up in the 80's will know what this is--the propane-powered curling iron dubbed "The Clicker." We all carried them in our purses in junior high for emergency situations. I think some of the boys might have too.

A 90's Gap original. Yes, those are ducks. This in the era of grunge, go figure.

My army canteen. Plastic-flavored water. I hope the army is doing better for our soldiers now.

We loved the "Bloomin' Onion" from Outback Steakhouse and wanted to make our own, so we excitedly bought this guy at a garage sale. Beware of those "As Seen on TV" ads; either that or the problem was just me in the kitchen with a deep-fryer.


70's Tupperware coasters. What were they drinking back then?

Hey, there's little Olivia from The Cosby Show. How did she grow up so fast? This, coupled with my daughter's Backstreet Boys collection, makes for a great thrift store music donation.

Although we mustn't forget the Abba cassette. Includes the smash hit "Dancing Queen!"

These shorts are clearly having identity issues.

Great brand--Osh Kosh b'gosh--but the bugs and colors don't match up. I was always confused as to who to put these on--my son or my daughter. It didn't look right on either of them.


May God have mercy on the soul of the person who designed these. Swim trunks or not, there's no excuse for this. It looks like the "U" has strangled, or even worse, decapitated the poor blond girl!


I hope that stirrup pants stay in hell where they belong.


I'm feeling groovy. Enough of the procrastinating. Back to work I go, hi ho.

the "unsubscribe" bitchfest heard 'round the homeschool listserv

A close friend of mine signed up for a Nashville homeschooling listserv about two years ago, but ultimately decided not to homeschool her kids. The emails from the listserv were clogging up her inbox, and since she wasn't using the information, she wanted to unsubscribe.

This was nothing against the group or the people in it. Because she never read the emails, she was unfamiliar with the proper way to unsubscribe, other than what some other people had done, which was to send an "unsubscribe" email to the entire list. Unbenownst to her, this would create an online unsubscriber-bashing meleé.

Friend: Unsubscribe. Thanks!

Jacki (list manager, who ends all her posts with "peace within, peace between, peace among"): Unsubscribing info is in the footer of each and every email you receive from the list, just follow the directions. I've copied and pasted them here for you.
Jacki
List mom (but not list slave)

T.H.F.: Wow. How rude. I will now unsubscribe as well.

D.L.: If you thought that was rude, you should unsubscribe. What is rude is signing yourself up for an email list and then not taking the 5 seconds it requires to unsub yourself, but rather asking the list owner to do it for you because obviously they have way more time than you do!

Jacki: Each and every email from the list _has the unsubbing information in the
footer. Also, please note : I just posted this information on Jan 21. Sorry, but, IMO, FWIW, the rude person is not me --the list mom (who is not the list slave) but folks expecting others to perform tasks for them that they are or should be (particularly if they are or are thinking about homeschooling their own children) capable of performing for themselves, now that's rude in my book.

Peace within. peace between. peace among,
Jacki

Friend: For crying out loud, you people are way too emotional! Honest mistake--get over it!

Jen: I think we should all put a 30 minute hold on angry postings. It is really unpleasant to read these tirades and it reflects badly on us all.
Yes, I waited 30 minutes to send this.
P.S. I am going offline the rest of the day, just in case this provokes angry tirades (just joking....mostly).

D.L.: No, it isn't a mistake. It is a blatant act of NOT following simple instructions, which are listed at the end of EVERY email sent to this list.

D.L.: Sorry, Jen, I didn't wait 30 minutes. Mainly because I know Jacki has several other things going on today and simply doesn't need to deal with these petty "unsubscribe" posts. After 12+ years of helping her with these lists, I do tend to get a little aggravated with people who can't/won't do things for themselves.

Friend: Perhaps it's time for you to retire then, before your blood pressure gets the best of you over something so unimportant, in the grand scheme of things, as a listserve.

D.L.: I would if others were willing to step up to the plate, instead of telling us how to do things!

Traci: Looks like we have weeded out the crazies now! LOL

David: Well in the grand scheme of things not much in our lives is important. That just goes to show that the grand scheme of things is of limited usefulness in judging what is important in our everyday lives. I think having your time wasted by inconsiderate people is quite reasonably a matter of some personal importance. And of course if it was the first time it had ever happened it would be easy to let it pass. But when it has been pretty regularly repeated for years, it gets old, very old.

Friend: It's unfortunate that you feel that your reaction to everyday inconveniences is not important in the grand scheme of things. It's also unfortunate that you are a group that does not forgive mistakes. I'm sorry, but not all of us are perfect in every detail of everything we do in life, as you would claim to be.

Amanda: Ok. How about we just unsubscribe from this thread? ;)

That was the best idea someone thought up all day. And that finally ended it.

I think it's time for Jacki to rewrite her goal statement from peace all around and instead try for something a little more attainable, or at least find a new catch phrase that meshes more with her online personality. Also, learning correct punctuation would be beneficial, especially since you are your children's teacher (I corrected a few of the errors so that you don't come off as a complete idiot).

D.L., you should probably schedule yourself for an upper GI to check for an ulcer.

Traci, way to promote your group!

And David, I sincerely hope you find a purpose for living (other than insulting people, whom you don't know, on listservs).

the mini greenhouse I ordered from ebay arrived! (and this is a bad sign)

new year's workout session with exercise guru Denise Austin

I've been working out to Denise Austin videos for several years now. I absolutely love her. The same three routines have endlessly rotated through my DVD machine.

I find them tossed around on the shelves of the entertainment center and replaced by Clone Wars movies all the time. Needless to say, they've acquired their fair share of scratches.

Today the disc kept skipping forward. I went from 15:12 to 16:43 to 17:36 in less than 20 seconds. I didn't complain, of course. I just improvised with a couple of off-beat side steps and chassés.

My exercise mat was stuffed behind the TV where I couldn't reach it, so I stopped the movie to figure out what to do. I could hear Brandon cracking up. He was laughing at the paused face of Denise Austin. Scary and hilarious at the same time!


We decided to make a montage that combines her intense workout expressions with my thoughts while exercising to her videos (when I'm out of shape). Enjoy, and know that you're not alone in the funky faces department.

I'm ready to take-on the weights now. Yes. Yes I am. Here I go. Now.

B, please get off the TV. I can't see what she's doing. You're breaking my concentration. Hey, can you grab the remote off the shelf? I need to run downstairs a minute. What do I need? Just some energy food. Old Christmas candy or something. Or something.

See, this isn't so bad. Really it isn't. If I don't stop trying to smile like Denise, though, I'm going to end up choking on the candy goo that's still in my mouth.

This doesn't seem so fun anymore.



All children and animals need to leave the room immediately.

I think I may be stroking out. Call your father!

I can't believe what you're asking me to do here. This thing was supposed to be low impact. Where do you get off.....??? The nerve!



Forget the Queen...God save me!

Who am I? Where am I?



You've got to be f#&*ing kidding me. I'm done. Done done done! Until tomorrow.