Shirt-Monster

Something is eating my shirts.

I know, I know, we have a cheap washer and dryer and you're thinking that the *something* is likely time, the washer, the dryer, or some bad laundry detergent. But listen: this little bastard Shirt Monster is eating my shirts and MrSomething's shirts but not the kids' shirts. And the Shirt Monster isn't just eating any part of my shirts. It's noshing the same spot: 3" up from the bottom, center or center left.

At first, I thought I'd developed such a drinking problem that my popping open a Rolling Rock at the end of the day was affecting the lifespan of my knits, as every one of the Shirt Monster's holes seem to appear at the bottom front of our t-shirts. But MrSomething is a whiskey guy and whiskey doesn't require the ridiculously sexy bunching of the shirt over the screwtop cap. Besides, Mr. Something pointed out to me that I generally drink Pacifico, which requires a bottle opener or , in classier homes, teeth.

We decided then it must be our belt buckles. After all, the children don't wear belts (God help us all were they ever armed with a 3 foot piece of leather capped off with a piece of metal, especially The Budge with his penchant for swinging). But, let me be honest and fashion-backward here: I do not often wear belts. Typically speaking, the time it takes to run a belt through 4-6 loops is just more time than I have when getting dressed in the morning, so unless I had a lot of extra time or I'm wearing jeans from another day when I had a lot of extra time, I'm beltless, and it's MY SHIRTS that suffer the brunt of this shirt-chomping behavior.

I'm at a loss, friends. If you have any ideas, please let me know, because Fashion is suffering. And Fashion's a catty bitch who's about to put on her over-sized sunglasses and leave me with Target 75% off rack clothing (which even the Shirt Monster seems to avoid).

A year later and

I am making Red Beans and Rice after a nice long day with my son where we planted a half-dozen varieties of seeds (hot peppers and tomatoes and corn and basil and three different flowers and cucumbers and I know it's early but I don't care) and talked about making things grow (all of our plans for the garden this summer - they are grand plans and I don't care because we WILL sprout sunflowers next to the house in that patch on the hill that never grows even grass) and I barely thought about *it* until he said, and remember, he is three, but when he said I hope one day you can make a baby grow and survive (in what world should "survive" hold residence in a three year old's vocabulary?) a grief washed over me and I remembered the poems about black holes I've left unfinished in these past few weeks, afraid to put into words what I have felt this year, but it was repelled, in a way, water off a duck's back or a waxed apple or something with a smile that refused to fade on this gray day because dammit these seeds will sprout and this house will grow things and things will survive and we will move forward, but not on.

Work, work, and more work.

Thinking of some new projects. Lots of stash yarn burning a hole in my knitting bag. . . must get to work on something.

I will update when I can.

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too (NOT!)

It's Wednesday and it's BEAUTIFUL and my mother is getting on a plane soon to fly here to Denver. That's fantastic. It's about time we had sweet shiny days filled with joy and expectation!

Oh, and cleaning.

I came to realize, oh, about an hour or so ago, that our house is TRASHED. I cannot have my mom here like this, so it's time. Additionally, I've decided to surprise her with a little late birthday party (we're only 2 weeks or so behind the times. That's NOTHING).

So to put off cleaning (so that I can do it frantically with only 40 minutes to spare while simultaneously watching Big Bang Theory AND cooking dinner, DUH), I decided to make a gigantic Bake and Fill cake with my son. What boy doesn't love sliding on a too-big apron, rolling up his sleeves, and digging in to two cake mixes, 6 eggs, and *fantastically* messy stuff?

But here's the racket: The Bake and Fill takes One-and-a-HALF cake mixes to make the cake we needed, so Betty Crocker shamelessly said "Oh, just make a dozen cupcakes with the leftovers." Which is great, right, because who doesn't love 12 Cherry Chip cupcakes hanging out on their counter top. Unfrosted.

The absence of frosting is important, of course, because when you walk by said cupcakes and one JUMPS into your mouth, on its way it will scream Don't worry, I'm not covered in *frosting* or anything, as if cupcakes somehow shed their calories when unadorned.

So about an hour ago, there I was, on my hands and knees scrubbing the bathroom floor by the toilet with a cherry chip cupcake hanging out of my mouth thinking This is rock bottom for sugar addicts.

What a way to kiss my wheat-free low-sugar week goodbye. I can tell you though, without a doubt, my mother is worth it.

(Spellcheck tells me "unfrosted" is not a word. And while I agree, dear spellcheck, that it shouldn't be, unfortunately it is.)

So today, after science club,

I was standing around in my beautiful Blowfish booties

Which I love. Look at the curve on those heels! It's just the best. Anyway, I was feeling a little schlumpy in my tight brown sweater, red shirt, and boot cut jeans, but I had the cute boots on. The boots that make up for almost any outfit.

So anyhow, I'm standing there in my fantastic Blowfish booties (the color's different than the ones pictured. Mine are . . . more brownish/greyish colored). . . and I realize that while I'm in my cute Blowfish booties (did I mention I love them?) every other woman there is wearing the dreaded but common Colorado footwear: CLOGS.

And seeing so many ladies in clogs reminded me I really needed to give a shout-out to this blog which has swiftly taken up residence in my heart. I wish that these ladies lived close. I have a bottle of wine with their name on it: http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/

Check them out. They rock. :)

Edited to add: These are the boots I got. These. And while, for a brief moment, I thought "Gee, those look a little like clogs" they totally aren't clog-like. Though, shout-out to my Colorado peeps, I personally am inclined to wear clogs. It's my deep anti-fashion nature. I fight it every day.