Boy's Joke 2

So a pirate walks into a bar.  He has a steering wheel attached to the front of his pants. 
The bartender says "hey man, did ya know ya gotta steering wheel on yer pants."
And the pirate says "RRRRRrrrr, it's drivin' me nuts."

Again -- I apoligize, it's Boy humour.  You either get it or you don't.  Creates a mental image though....

Boy's joke

Did you know diarhea is genetic?
It runs in jeans (genes)!

I don't encourage -- I just laugh and pass along!

Canning. Nesting?

When I was pregnant with Boy I had the undeniable urge to can stuff.  I'd never canned anything before in my life, but I really, really, needed to make my own salsa, relish, chili sauce (there, you know my hormones were making me wack, 'cause who even knows what to do with chili sauce?) and jams.  I made it all. 

There in lay the difficulty for all future summer harvests.  DH loved all that I made.  So, for 12 summers now I spend a day or two in July making jams and many days in August doing something with tomatoes and cucumbers and zucchini.  This year I made rhubarb jam for the first time.  Yummy.  I also did 2 double batches of salsa, cucumber relish and canned the rest of the tomatoes to use for soup and stews in the winter.

I don't pretend to be any kind of cook or baker.  I make some stuff that people like, but I will never win any awards.  So, even though the kitchen gets humid, sticky, and smelly like peppers and vinegar I will continue to can (even though the desire to "nest" lost it's compulsion about 12 years ago) because when my peeps open a jar of something they ALWAYS  say it's the best.  E.D. Smith has nothing on Momma in their eyes....

Also, as Boy pointed out, if we are ever trapped in the basement during a tornado we would never starve -- we could eat jam and salsa for weeks!

H2O

I've had difficulties with water this week.

On Monday, after my run (when was in my sweaty-smelly mode) I tried to take a shower.  I say tried 'cause I could only get scalding hot water from the tap.  I tried all the usual jiggling of the knob, turning off, waiting patiently (well, not so patiently, but there was definitely a pause).  Nothing worked.  I hollered for DH.  Said a cuss word (promised I'd put a loonie in the swear jar) and then nearly cried when DH said the valve in the thingy that controls the whatsit must be broken. 

I trekked downstairs to our never-used-shower-cause-now-it's-a-broom-closet.  Emptied the shower/broom closet and had my shower there.  It's not the same.  It's small.  I didn't have my favourite soap.  I banged my elbow ('nother buck for the jar...)

When I got out of my shower I had calmed somewhat and decided a cup of tea would soothe the spirit.  When I walked into the kitchen I discovered a very large, and growing, puddle on the floor.  Seems the water cooler was leaking.  'Nother buck gone.  I hollered for DH.  Seems the whojee on the whatchamacallit might be corroded. I took the cooler apart.  Soaked all  parts in vinegar and put it back together.  Leaked again.  'Nother buck in the jar.  Took it apart again, vowed to be patient (or pause longer) while the vinegar worked it's magic. 

They say say bad things come in threes....

Girl spilled the Brita pitcher (the big gallon one) all  over the table and onto the floor on Tuesday.

I think someone is trying to tell me to wash my kitchen floor....

Declaration

I am making a declaration.  I am making it loudly (hence the capital letters).  I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY DISLIKE (even DESPISE) MAKING LUNCHES.

This is the second evening I have made lunches this school year, and I figure if Boy can declare today that he is "sick of sandwiches" then I can declare my displeasure at making and packing lunches.

There are too many rules to lunches.  Some are school imposed -- no nuts (as an aside, I find those newletter notices and signs on the doors "Nut Free Zone" pretty funny.  In my experience there are plenty of nuts, students and teachers alike, in most schools....), litter free, healthy foods first, enough for 2 nutrition breaks, etc.  The kid imposed rules add to my stress, "I don't like mustard on my ham, only butter."  "I only like mustard with summer sausage."  "I had an apple yesterday." yadda yadda yadda.

I get why some parents at my school pack horrific-ly unhealthy lunches.  You can just grab a handful of pre-wrapped crap and throw it in a bag.  I carry too much guilt.  I try really hard to cover the food groups and meet the requests, but dang-it I don't enjoy one minute of the process.

There, declaration made.\
No relief in sight, but I've sent my issue to the universe.  Now I shall wait for the lunch-making fairy to appear and make me happy.

The porch

I love this back porch (I love the fence too, but that's another post).  It's not my porch.  It belongs to a house I drove by everyday when I went to my old school in Big Town.  I don't know who lives there.  I never once saw any people out on this porch.  That's a shame.  If this was my porch, I might live on it.

I took the picture, not as a peeping Tom (well kinda, 'cause I didn't have permission) but as a designer.  DH and I are looking at renovating the Estate.  I have a picture in my mind of exactly how things should look when they are done.  DH, thinks in blue prints, measurements and angles.  Our "visions" are different languages.  This is the porch I see on my addition.  Here I will sit and look out over the gardens and pool.  Here I will drink lemonade, or wine, or both, in the evenings, or in the afternoons, or both.  DH likes the porch too, though he still looks at structural stuff like roof line.  That doesn't mean anything to me.  I want an old fashioned porch, that fits with our house, that holds a rocking chair and a small antique wicker table  (to hold the lemonade and wine).

I think I love this porch because it's timeless.   Here it is in sepia -- looks like my Gran's porch (minus the wine....)

It says "Come in neighbour, and BYOB." 

Yep.  I'm all for back porch living.

there's a tongue in my ear

Wake up. 3:37am -- there's a tongue licking my ear -- it's not DH's....

The kids are away at Grandpa and Grandma's farm for the week.  Rocky misses their attention.  He constantly looks to me to entertain him when I'm home.  Unfortunately he's okay with both positive AND negative attention....

He's woken me up twice this week between 3:30 and 4am with his wet nose and wee tongue in my ear.  Can you imagine being woken from a sound sleep with a tiny wet willy?  I generally brush him away, but that is only the signal that I'm awake and want to play.  I find it's best to play dead but Rocky nibbles my eye brows, purrs softly in to my neck, does the ear thing repeatedly.  When he's satisfied I'm not into playing he'll curl his soft body around my head and go to sleep with a loud purr that might actually be a snore.  Then I lie awake (still pretending to sleep) for an hour or so...

Rocky is so lonely this week he follows me every where, even to the shower.  Which creeps me out a wee bit.  I keep wondering if maybe he's some 1920s playboy reincarnated.....
That puts a different spin on the tongue in the ear, doesn't it?