Shoved to Them
Just a random assortment of stuff that I’ve had on my mind for the last couple of days. None of them were important enough for their own post, but I’m sharing them anyway.
My grandmother is a genius. She’s a master gardener who somehow happened to have a grand-daughter who kills plants. It’s true, I have a serious brown thumb.
Every year I try and have a garden and every year my plants wither in the summer sun without producing anything edible. But not this year! This year I was smart enough to call her and ask her advice on my poor tomato plants which were growing alright but hadn’t produced a single bud much less a tomato.
Know what she said? Give them each a cup of apple juice every three weeks. Know what else? She was right. My plants are sagging under the weight of all their fruit. Hooray for smart grandmas! She also gave me her recipe for a beautiful lawn: Coke and dishwashing detergent. I’m spraying it on there tomorrow and will keep you posted.
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I’m living in a pickle jar. #1’s dog has reached “manhood” and is marking his territory all over the house. The only thing I’ve found that gets rid of the pee smell for good is straight vinegar. I shampooed the carpets with it last night and again this morning. The pee smell is gone, but now it smells like a pickle factory in here. On the plus side, my sinuses are clear.
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#3 peed on the floor in his bedroom this morning to prove a point to his brother. His room smells like pickles, too. I think the fact that he is still breathing is further proof of my cause for sainthood. I told a priest friend of ours about it when he called and he said, “oh, they got in a pissing contest did they?”
Great, a funny priest, just what I needed.
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All of my military friends are moving this week. I was raised in a Navy family and know what it is to move all the time. I miss it.
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Thought of my dad on Father’s Day and how he took care of me when I had the chicken pox when I was 5. My mom was taking finals, so dad took two weeks off to take care of me. He ran out of fun things to do with a sick five-year-old by the third day. He spent the next week and a half teaching me bar tricks like playing quarters and tying a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, and how to cheat at poker. They are all valuable skills that I look forward to passing on to my own children someday soon.
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I’m learning to crochet from a book. I’m teaching myself. I’m slow and plodding at it now, but I look at my hands and remember watching my grandmother’s gnarled hands fly when she would crochet. I think I’ll send her my first afghan.
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I’m tired of being pregnant, but keep thinking that what I really need to do is look for the blessing in the discomfort. So, I have begun reading the blogs of people who are struggling with infertility. Reading about their heartbreak makes me feel bad about whining about heartburn. It puts things into a better perspective, as an added bonus I’m picking up a whole new vocabulary relating to the reproductive system. I only thought NFP’ers knew it all.
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I want Mexican food. The real kind with the homemade tortillas and the orange grease. My husband is going to Dallas this weekend, what I wouldn’t give to go with him just so I could eat.
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Once upon a time, we lived in a neighborhood with lots of rabbits. My children desperately wanted a bunny for a pet and so my brilliant Computer Guy told them that if they could catch one they could keep it. He laughed every time they chased after the poor things. Then a cat left a baby bunny on our porch, frightened but unharmed. The children broke into a happy dance while I called their father and said, “Okay, they caught one, now what do I do with it?”
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