Breakfast for Supper

Growing up, every once in a while we'd go crazy and have 'Breakfast' for supper at night.  Pancakes, sausage, eggs.... we were wild like that.  Wesley's family did that too.  Maybe its what lots of folks with little kids do just to shake things up in their own feeble attempts to be cool.  I dunno.  This is totally not my point.  Breakfast for supper just became something special over the years, a real treat to help brighten up a week.



We've been busy around our place.  Wes has been getting up and leaving before 6 each morning to start his feeding in the dark and get a jump start on the day.  Kenyon and I have been spending our evenings at the j-o-b and not getting home till at least nine in the evenings when W is asleep in his recliner.  Not so great for a 6 month old, fyi.  Although I think the kid is going to have some mad parliamentary procedure skills when he grows up.  Again, totally not my point. 

Wes and I talk on the phone each morning and evening as I'm driving, and he's seen baby K some this week.  Some means that he's seen him 1 hour total since 8pm Sunday evening.

It is Wednesday and we're all starting to feel wiped out.  We're getting so good at trying to make a living that we're starting to forget to live our lives.  My 82 year old friend Clint looked at me cross-eyed this morning when I explained our situation to him.  (He jokingly said, "Don't you ever talk to your husband?"  To which I replied, "Of course.  Every day on the phone because we really haven't seen each other since Sunday.")  He very bluntly told me that I needed to get my priorities straight. 

So tonight we're going crazy.  Wes, Kenyon and I are all planning on being home this evening.  We're all going to kick our feet up and relax (and do 1,000 loads of laundry).

We will be having breakfast for supper. 

Bookworm

Flower Bed

Hubs let me borrow his skid steer/bobcat this afternoon and have a little outdoor therapy.  I moved rocks (not rocks, folks, but ROCKS) and a little bit of dirt.  I finally had to turn off the machine and take a bit of time to strategize my next move.  He came out of the house to find me pacing back and forth, staring at a corner of our yard. 

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.

"Well, I think I'd like to put a flower bed in right here, but there have to be certain provisions."

"Like what?"

"In order to have a flower bed in this corner of the yard, I'm going to need plants that are pretty hardy.  The wind blows pretty hard here.  And they have to be draught tolerant.  I don't want to haul water this far."

"Yep, that would suck for you."  (Notice he didn't offer to help.)

 "And I'd have to create a design where I'd be okay with constantly having cow tracks run through it.... and horse tracks..... and have the dogs and armadillos dig holes..."

"Let me know what you come up with."  (Notice again that he didn't to help out with anything...)




Suggestions, anyone?

Good news/Bad news

Good news:
Baby K is getting old enough now that he can entertain himself, especially at night in his crib.  He talks to himself, presumably telling jokes, and then makes himself laugh.  He can carry on for up to 45 minutes of cuteness overload with only slight pauses for a moment or two where he regroups and then resumes the giggle fest. 

Bad news:
We live in a very tiny, 1 bedroom house.  3am cutefest takes place 10 feet from should-be-sleeping parents. 

The End.

Baby it's cold outside!

Pot, meet kettle.

Acorn and apple, meet tree.

What's the phone number for that show?

I think I'm going to apply to be on that show, Hoarders.  Actually, I think that once upon a time I printed out the application, but now I just can't seem to find it.  Perhaps I misplaced it somewhere in my normally spotless house.  I'm guessing every applicant for that show has said something very similar.

I like to collect things sometimes.  Hoard, if you will.  One thing that I like to collect, apparently, are cardboard boxes. 

And why, might you ask?  Well, if I were still a seven year old girl, I would answer 'Barbie furniture' but seeing as how that ship has sailed I will reply with something much more boring, although every bit as practical.  Gift boxes.

Apparently, every single time I receive anything and it comes packaged in a cardboard box, I feel it is my duty, no, my OBLIGATION, to store that box until such time when I am wrapping a gift and won't be able to rest until I have found the absolutely perfect sized box to put it in.

How many times did I encounter that particular situation this year?

None.

I would rather place a gift in a gift bag (of which I also have hundreds, but that's another story for another episode of Hoarders).

I finally tackled the cardboard mountain yesterday during K's nap time and found out that we actually have a ton of space in the shelf at the top of our closet.  Who knew?  Besides my know-it-all husband. 

Please pray that this cold spell breaks soon and we can get out of the house and restore our sanity again....