Chronicle of a Homemaker

I would call it "Chronicles of a Homemaker" but I'm too relaxed (lazy) to write more than one.

It's totally stressful to get my to-do list (DVR list) completed during nap time, but, don't doubt my commitment to getting it done.  I'm watching The Bachelorette like a maniac right now.

Let me just say that Juan Pablo speaks wisdom.  He's just a simple guy looking for someone to share "the little things" with, in his words.  Thank you, ABC, you made me stop and think about appreciating the small things (like Juan Pablo's....nice.....accent).

Let me point out that the to-do list does include dishes and laundry but I added eating peach cobbler just because I'm an overachiever.  You're welcome.  Or, actually, I'm welcome.

I still need to detail the makings of said cobbler, but the eating of the cobbler has made me sleepy and lazy so I'll leave you on the edge of you seat.  OR I'll just use short phrases to re-cap.  (I forgot what this is called and Google seems to have eaten the same amount of cobbler I did because it was of no help AT ALL when I googled "writing with verb phrases", which I'm not even sure these are called.  (I just solved the mystery of the missing cobbler.  I blamed my husband but it turns out Google is a sneaky biotch.))

Knife slipping.  Peach juice dripping.  Pie crust crumbling.  Toddler playing.  Toddler running.  Pans piling.  Toddler clinging.  Time slowing.  Peaches baking.  Mommy eating.  A Lot.

I made myself leave just the tiniest bit of cobbler for my husband.  It's addictive, so that was a feat.

Back to the to-do.

Cheers.

PS-I hope you aren't looking for actual substance on this blog.  You have to read my book to get that.
PPS-I don't have a book.  JOKE'S ON YOU!

10 Year, 10 Schmear

My last post occurred right before the tornadoes hit Oklahoma.  I blogged about nonsense, closed my computer and then turned on the TV to watch as the huge, destructive tornado destroyed Moore.

Ironic.

You know what else is ironic?  Attending one's high school reunion.  (and also that high school is two words.)  I felt like I was getting ready for the first day of school.  I had a panic attack over what to wear like nothing I've seen for at least 12 years, well, since the first day of 7th grade.  (I'm exaggerating.  I wasn't that worried over my outfit, but I had no idea what to expect.  First day of 7th, on the other hand.  THAT is no exaggeration my friend.  7th grade is no joke, either; talk about anxiety.)  The good news is that I survived and even enjoyed the event.  I had no awkward encounters, which stems solely from the fact that I dated people in the grade ahead.  As discussing this fact with an old friend, I added this piece of important advice to the list handed down from my mom, to be handed down to baby girl: Don't date in your own class so as to make the class reunions less awkward.

This advice follows "Don't forget it's really slick right after it starts raining" and also "If you get kidnapped, let your kidnapper shoot you before getting into the car with them."  Terrifying, right?

I ended up posting nonsense again.  I hope posting nonsense doesn't always lead to horrific natural disasters.

I'm scared to turn on the TV now.

I'm being forced to read.

i.e. eat cobbler (which, in itself is another post, as far as how this cobbler came into being)

Cheers

Nothing Says Midlife Crisis like a Light Blue, Speeding PT Cruiser

I'm experiencing a small adjustment period from moving from a town that contains a major university with 50,000 students to a town with a small community college with roughly 2,500 students.

What happened to perpetual happy hour?  Why are there people at the nearest Lowe's shopping at normal daytime hours making purchases for things like lawn mowers and landscaping tools instead of shopping for beer pong table and beer bong supplies?  Where did my value movie prices go?  Most importantly, who is tailgating me now?  Not young 20 somethings learning to drive outside of Houston for the first time on roads with less than 6 lanes.  No, no.  Now that I have migrated north I'm still getting tailgated, but, instead, it's by middle aged men going 10 over in PT cruisers.

I used to be the one tailgating, but it seems that my husband has worn off on me and I act as a "traffic calming device" at least 60% of the time.  I will admit that as I have become more wise with old age my eyes have been opened to the importance of driving just slow enough to irritate those behind me.  Patience is a virtue.

(Just trying to keep it safe...)

Nap time hours don't last forever so I'm off to read (watch daytime television).

Cheers!

My Heart Aches

Last week left me with an overwhelming unsettled feeling.  The Boston Marathon bombings brought questions about humanity, the West exploding fertilizer plant added more questions about God and finally the horrible news of our best friends' adoption falling through really had me wondering why.

And I still am.

I know in my head that hardships create an opportunity to develop character; to get to know yourself, God and your loved ones in a way you never have before.  But my heart feels like its going to explode.

I feel humbled.  Beyond any feeling of humble I have felt before.  I take every single good thing I have for granted.  I cannot let one more day go by that I don't look at the man I married and count my lucky stars for his goodness and strength of character, I can't let days go by without squeezing my baby girl tight and appreciating everything that she is and does.  I can't forget that I am one of few in the world with a roof over my head, more clothes I could ever need and plenty of food to eat.  My family lives in peace on a daily basis and I don't have to worry for their well being.

We live in a world in which basically anything could happen, not just to bad people but to genuinely good people.  This is a hard realization.  My heart aches.  I have prayed for West, Boston and my friends more than I ever thought I could pray.

Sunday, I run the Memorial Half Marathon.  I will run for Boston.  I will run for West.  And I will run for my sweet friends.  The world can be atrocious.  But at least we have each other.

The Accidental Twelve

Sounds like a movie, right?  (One about a woman who obviously doesn't understand birth control) or perhaps and inspirational one about a rag tag team who overcomes obstacles in order to be the next winning champs. 

I wish it were the name of the muffins I didn't just cook.

Let me tell you, The Accidental Twelve is none of these things.  What it is; however, is the number of miles I ran on Sunday.  Accidentally.

I only missed one important step during the run.  I went right instead of left and didn't figure out that I was with the twenty mile running group for a little while.  No, no.  I will never be with that group on purpose.  It was a complete and total accident during which I almost made a few people hate me by complaining so much.

It's difficult to keep going when your ear buds are telling you that your goal has been met, two miles ago.

Last words to my awesome training partner:  "I'm not running a step past 10."  Boy, was I completely wrong about that.

Cosmos: 12   Rachel: 0

 Cheers to long runs, and even longer accidental ones.

'til next time!

I miss you

I've seen you a few times since you left.

Once at Taco Bell.  You came over and smiled at my sweet daughter.  You looked just the same.  I half expected you to hook your thumbs in your over-alls and smile to yourself before heading out the door with your quiet strength.

A few times I've dreamed of you.  You grinned your approval when I told you I was pregnant.  You responded, "Well." with a twinkle in your eye.  You always could tell a story with one word or just a look.  You were proud.  Excited; telling me good job with just a word.  "Well."

Last week.  You drove by me in your old, blue farm truck that you had when I was a little girl.  I looked over and waved my sadness away in that moment, because you were there saying "hi" with a one finger wave.

Every time I hear Amazing Grace.

We all miss you.

Life Lesson Learned

Life lesson: Don't take your breakable, un lid-able beverage holders with you in the car.  I've learned this lesson before but not in the same way.  It was more in the way of spilled beverages.

One of my favorite coffee mugs met it's demise early Sunday morning.  I tried in vain to save the little guy but was unwilling to sacrifice my piping hot breakfast tacos in the endeavor.  I know in my head that it was just a ceramic tool used to house coffee but in my heart it stood as a symbol of my life in Texas; my carefree years of young.

All good things come to an end (Life lesson?).  Even something as simple as a fantastic taco (oh, and, they were!).

Goodbye, Beckman-Coulter Mug.  You were loved.

Cheers.