tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12276027251307074042024-03-04T20:24:57.865-08:00FanGirl. SuperHero.The Shakespearian efforts of trying to hide a “Fangirl: The Extreme Edition” personality from the PTA that will likely be in vain and eventually a blog post. These are the failures and pop-cultured musings from a fangirl/housewife's brainAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-89456389305075182452016-09-08T10:47:00.000-07:002016-09-08T10:48:41.875-07:00The Ezio Challenge: Intro<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been awhile since I wrote a blog and I really need to get back in the swing of things so what better way to keep myself honest with all the stuff I’ve been putting off and avoiding than a blog challenge?? Yay!!!! It feels like good timing too. My husband’s out of town for a few days and I just dropped Wally off at school after he threw up in the bathroom sink as we were walking out the door. I should actually get 17 mom points for that because I had already put on pants. And if you’ve made me put on pants and you don’t have a fever, you’re washing your face off and you’re going to school. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The ladies of yesteryear who were able to keep house and keep it well, were not bogged down with the latest conspiracy theory going around the internet. They had no time to ponder the inner workings of One Direction or what on earth that Kanye thing at NYFW was and if anyone died because of it. No, they got down to business. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well since one of the things I need to finish is an Assassin’s Creed costume for a family member, that’s what I’m going to blog about, EVERYDAY until I finish it. Because I have so many things happening and it keeps getting pushed back, so if I have to blog my process to keep it the main goal, then that’s what I plan to do. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A little backstory I had no idea what Assassin’s Creed even was until I got a text from my aunt asking if I could make her son a costume so if I mess it up, don't come after me with a pitchfork, Assassin's Creed fandom. I am so down for this project. My oldest son, Wally Cleaver, went through a multi-year costume change and he's very specific in his "look". Back when I began sewing, I LOVED trying to sort out the details of each costume he demanded. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">First it was Elvis. Jailhouse Rock Elvis. So I went to Salvation Army, got a black suit jacket for $5 and got busy. It turned out amazing! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="576" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6LITMPdC9YxJ8ZAkQnn8onPAi2_et9IUGgLTAZUHl5MS_R5kKEQldRNB9C9Pl_MqtL9HdTBvkGqZBHAlolrvcmAsFtOLsqXcqU1CmDW7RoKUoXZd0_ZI_Fp-Zag0tCKVlKhZA0t" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="432" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the way, his room looks like it should be in one of those Pottery Barn: Kids catalogues in that picture compared to what it looks like right now as I type this </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="832" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/TTnHxQA65TWy3xKh-0gcqqjN9TjMCNSzeF3D6p0LaqHNNVvuD6pWSvMOJnLuY7WhnU_8o3n1cAcVg26Th0W76RATupqs9ijbvV6Ot9SnY-LY2FyeVPdOqxXtbp22K_jfbgNbSVSv" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Embarrassing. That will be its own blog challenge. Back to the costumes. So we had Elvis, then he wanted to be a old-timey detective </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="832" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/NuK2Kjki_MRcio27sk2AhRdBh2Fp9t01jRsBlCrBcM2N6g8HJEiZgoOE2G6bWn_s9mRSRovmM0Mcgd7iBeiBoHFQxUwKMhpEPRVrONXk1YLH48QNLVlZ0vHjjJ7SeQI2BAHszjdd" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wanted to be a knight </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="832" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/3JwbbHyxpehZTnwR2B1GIzzro1FT2yruguPB6pEvDf6QothwfD6b19GN8pofd2Cdp6v5ItMphAGdfGOI2_YHp9p2oby4ljDfQqcxj_KW3zrgSBaCStP5HpS1_zsUmeTpNh0do_AX" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wanted to wear a kilt for International Day at school. So I made him a kilt.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="624" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/HGgh46YvOLvvvV7Sy_OsWbgPFE9ud2RZfsDxB9yXoqgc38X79jFIZY0lTsei6PY8uCwsB99T9L3DOX99vfDFi4iYlCVG5pfDE_94Fw6PB2JYTXoBuieyBHoUc-3pVWsBlvd-0rJC" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="624" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-tAyI-_kBAtRUoX3beFvD4vvYZzmVhsplGtQh42t91SBf7uXgQl_niLurwBOsplMlQ8VNTmvmIWfdzdjZiY6xO8nGI5B8ShX5zV2l7FD2-54WubMc-nNzbhZLkUQ4m9mjXfKUszW" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In 2nd grade, he had to choose a historical figure to represent. He chose Susan B Anthony. Susan B Anthony he became.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="624" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ynWDZpViI5jRPwUhycPwuloa3cmnNIRcC4Hqr6LL9IW8bJiAGUug55bA--oOBXFGYpwLy1zK-Avtbpju4T3xbTsD380myxg1dCPg7v-w53EU-ZD9VSDzSkTObbHYtAxcEYP5XGcm" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="576" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/9NJ9NhnnZz3G240eb1jpso8wWKu1agwyjHPPTY_uu49aYCZh9aWBoL6cYgWbmODUZLfWnmwrDc-bhyLrpfz81HVmoycbesb4owpc-PkLOqhD5dIJkQMftXbgZFjJTCEtYNJ44KjF" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="432" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="682" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/VgwBw02P6OndPgL20oB-EUjRSD2XRCJDp8wBXuSQxIUCx_jSq1TlscWYSksiJxdFfPYv1K5bj1QU3kMpsYlVbV-Hn3wLltN-LSn-NqEX2DqimGoih8Tm4EDZiBo3iFZh3Ja9fH_V" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="384" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So now I get to try my hand at this dude. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="832" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Z_tVoJEXPj0fZBb5uBz1_f9trqiAzbxFE6_eLaU8_76p-mrz5zdabPtq0aXWGrnqwFVEQPACMPafUiydsmmkDBRKP-leuqetUbE4QY8AXDXtH6g3USEIujuQ8NHCMsVOt0_xTGaD" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="624" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stay tuned.</span></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-64161242898912568162015-12-23T09:21:00.002-08:002015-12-23T22:30:17.445-08:00The Elf on the Shelf(Bono voice) It's Christmastiiiime (sorry) and that means that houses around the nation are flooded with all these naughty little elf faces doing all these naughty little elf things while reporting back to Santa on whether you washed your hands after you peed or not. The elf knows. He was watching you while he left mint poops in the toilet. And now <i>we</i> all know because your mom posted a picture of it on Facebook.<br />
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Now if you know anything about me, you know that setting up tableaux of espionage and wicked tomfoolery to mimic something I saw on Pinterest and then posting it on the Instagram for status elevation is right up in my wheelhouse, and yet there is something about those cherry-cheeked little rats and their clandestine operations that sets my alarms to "Nope".<br />
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When my oldest child, or Wally as I like to refer to him on the web because it subconsciously plants the "Amy's like Donna Reed and totally has her life together!" seed in all your minds, well when Wally was around 2 years old, everyone kept asking me when I was going to hop on the Elf Express and invite one of these smiley spies into my home for the month of December. Intrigued, I did the natural thing and hit up my local Pinterest to check what these little rascals were about. Oh my eyes how they twinkled at all the glittery laughs and innocent fun!<br />
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"I'll do it!" I exclaimed to no one with a wink and one of those jaunty cross-body punches the kids do.<br />
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All that drunken Pinterest spirit fizzled, though when I saw that Target was selling those things for like $40 a pop. Forty dollars. For a stuffed elf. Plus those elves are kind of creepy looking. I don't need that thing going all Chucky on me and slicing my achilles tendon as I step out of bed one morning. I'm not spending $40 to invite a demon into my home when I'm fairly certain I can do that for free with some red paint and carefully placed candles. Plus I don't think that real demons can even hold knives so, cheaper AND safer.<br />
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Needless to say, the elf remained on the Target shelf and I lived vicariously through my Facebook friends and their ever increasing elf scenery that showed up on my tiny iphone screen.<br />
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Still, the need to over-do everything still nags at me to this very day and every year I wonder if I should either just break down and buy an elf, pose some dinosaurs in festive ways, OR just give in full stop and dress as the elf myself. The only problem with this plan is I'm out a photographer. My husband not only doesn't take photos but also stays far away from my grand schemes and nonsense so he's out. Then there's Wally who only takes selfies or really close up, arty shots of action figures doing strange things.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg41NpCUdagr4WJfXkCxb5P9h5SMvhN_r_XbiswLYU6PyZ7rG23Mqk-cvfCpkeT1g2nx9L92iYXuyrHy5tbWNrCfogEL6hDD3xVRJJYuUrS84PH-4upSs7bp_dTa8AqldTDF9jhx4xzKU-/s640/blogger-image-603950898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg41NpCUdagr4WJfXkCxb5P9h5SMvhN_r_XbiswLYU6PyZ7rG23Mqk-cvfCpkeT1g2nx9L92iYXuyrHy5tbWNrCfogEL6hDD3xVRJJYuUrS84PH-4upSs7bp_dTa8AqldTDF9jhx4xzKU-/s640/blogger-image-603950898.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: my son</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfkFV6mrs3IwiFD5oVEB8epzeOD9SSgrXfddp0pkWTXFeg0K87ufDCWreyIxQ6zWF-Z-q0OOvSPvzvbhRXkMbprt3S7hfBPuziF1nSASO-lbEpxCjiVVD5aR5NKZUFmGJsmcvGBvyyWcj/s640/blogger-image-110016946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfkFV6mrs3IwiFD5oVEB8epzeOD9SSgrXfddp0pkWTXFeg0K87ufDCWreyIxQ6zWF-Z-q0OOvSPvzvbhRXkMbprt3S7hfBPuziF1nSASO-lbEpxCjiVVD5aR5NKZUFmGJsmcvGBvyyWcj/s640/blogger-image-110016946.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sourec: my son</td></tr>
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And that just leaves The Beav and he's 4. He'll just take my phone, walk away and start playing Bubble Witch with it.<br />
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Also, the manipulation of this elf stunt is a whole different matter in that Wally, while incredibly imaginative is also very scientifically biased; if he can't see, touch, hear, or smell it, it doesn't exist. For example, Wally informs me one Easter that "haha, the kids at school think the Easter Bunny is real, Mom! When it's clearly just a man in a suit that comes into our house. Hahah fools" and two years after that it was "Fairies don't exist! Mom, please. It's a man in a pink dress that comes in my room in the middle of the night and takes my tooth and leaves me money. Hahahah tooth fairies. Please." Because apparently a man in various costumes breaking into the house in the middle of the night isn't the weird part. I wonder if he thinks they're all the same guy.<br />
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So no matter how elaborate my lies about the elf menagerie become, he's still going to know they're not REALLY spying on him and his brother and reporting back to Santa and I don't really need my kid being THAT kid that spoils it for the rest of the 2nd grade.<br />
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He would appreciate a James Bond themed elf set-up.... hmm...still no.<br />
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The more I think about these elves, the more I feel like sad, lonely business man Michael Douglas who's just signed his life away by cashing in a gift certificate that my drifter brother Sean Penn gave me for a birthday gift but I don't know that anything's weird yet until the creepy clown (elf) I almost run over in my fancy, rich people driveway (Target) and decide to bring into the living room with me for some reason (Pinterest and Facebook likes) starts to talk through the tv and vandalize my house while Jefferson Airplane blasts in the background as depicted in David Fincher's 1997 film The Game that nobody wants to talk about with me anymore because "Amy, that movie is like 20 years old. We've seen it. Let it go." Totally rude.<br />
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Quite obviously, my desire to "The Game" everything is still in tact AND I'm creeped out by inanimate things smiling at me. Put your smug face away, elf and tell me what you think you know. And don't kill me please. Or tattle on me to Santa. Just you know what? I'm just going to watch you ratting out all the other families this year on Facebook from the comfy position of not wearing pants and slouching on my couch.<br />
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Happy Holidays.<br />
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<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-30258627219596587002015-11-11T12:20:00.000-08:002015-11-11T13:10:29.812-08:00Jared, the Coca-Cola Truck, and How I May Have Been a Middle-School Catfish. Or a Ghost Summoner. When I was 13 I developed body odor and an obsession with the Ouija Board. I think in that order and at the same overnight visit to Lauren's house.<br />
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Sara, Lauren, and I met in middle school art class and in between drawing circle people and perspective city-scapes, the two of them spent every class, willingly or no, listening to my unverified theories that perhaps all of Def Leppard are deaf and like super Beethovens that are way into cats and either bad spellers or the cool kids that are smart but pretend they can't spell. I also spoke loudly on my conviction that N.W.A. was named after an airline. I'm pretty sure they had some bet going over who could stand my idiot stories the longest without laughing. Maybe there was a Dr. Pepper on the line. Whatever it was, I eventually infiltrated their clique of friends like Ebola, spreading my ignorance and lies to the furthest reach. Miraculously, I was never beaten up. </div>
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The year was 1989 - please don't sue me Taylor Swift, I cannot erase that year of my embarrassment as much as we would both like for me to. We ALL would like for me to, but alas. So, 1989, possibly 1988 but we're not going to squabble because when I start doing the math on my age I begin to sweat and grow even older. It's like that merry-go-round in Something Wicked This Way Comes, all fun and games until your skin wrinkles and dusts off of your skeleton in a pile of ash and sadness. </div>
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Where was I? Oh, 1989. Sleep-over at Lauren's house. We had just finished watching a rented vhs copy of The Exorcist which even at the time we all knew was a bad idea but none of us wanted to admit it to the others. Or maybe that was my projection of the psychological terror and superb level of uncool little kid that I was feeling because I was scared. And if I'm scared, you all better be equally scared and ready to gossip or we can't be friends. Well, we can still be friends 'cause I like to feel popular, but I swear to god you keep your macabre to yourself because if you decide to "hahah" "tee hee" scare me I will not be the cool, calm, fun-loving Amy character I obsessively try to portray. I will take you down violently and by the crotch if I am able.<br />
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What I'm saying is, don't scare me. I have a brand I'm trying to sell. Jesus.<br />
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So anyway, we get done watching The Exorcist and decide to dress up in Lauren's new dresses from San Francisco which is the precise moment I realized that I officially needed to start wearing deodorant. I'm convinced it was fear manifesting itself into physical form, like Freddie Krueger shredding up the pits of Lauren's new dress with my onion-like stench. I'm a true friend and said nothing about it. We also decided at this time, because I think a Magic 8 ball told us it was destined, to pull out the Ouija board and talk to dead people. This would not be my last Ouija board experience nor my last attempt to talk to dead people as I just tried last night to convince my neighbors that my ghost hunting app was top notch. It didn't work. It may have also gotten me the coveted classification of Neighborhood Witch. Kids will flee from me for years, my legacy has been written. </div>
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"Only use two fingers, like lightly put them them on. Actually, they shouldn't even really touch it, just like hover."<br />
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"But it needs our energies to work or something doesn't it? How's it going to work if we're not touching it? We need to touch it."<br />
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"Yeah, like if we didn't need to touch it, it'd be channeling ghosts all the time!"<br />
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"What if it's channeling ghosts right now? I don't think I want to do this. You saw what happened in Exorcist. Even the smoking priest couldn't handle the demons that came from the Ouija board."<br />
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"He smoked. That's what the demons were mad about. The smoking. He was probably faking the whole thing anyway. He was a stunt priest."<br />
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"Can we get on with this? Okay. Two fingers, touching the pointy thing, but lightly. And don't push it. I'll know if you're pushing it."<br />
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Will you know though, Lauren and Sara, I thought to myself as I sat oozing B.O. into a dress that wasn't mine. Don't test my will to trickily deceive and story-tell.<br />
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Now, to be honest, I probably pushed it but I don't remember doing so. I remember being spooked and engrossed in the story playing out before us letter by letter of a boy named Jared who was killed - hit by a Coca-Cola truck on his way home from the mall or something equally as teenager and forced into an afterlife of parlor tricks and fortune telling. I still think fondly of Jared. What's that little ghost dude up to these days? Did he get tired of stinky teenage girls putting words in his planchette? Did he move on to the Magic 8 Ball? Or better, did he find his own Long Island Medium to do his bidding, occasionally having to take fall for an ill-timed fart?<br />
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Or are you a truck driver, Jared? Driving up and down a lonely country road waiting for your chance to pick up a hitchhiker to pass on your tales of untimely death? "Just tell 'em Large Marge sent ya"? Only "Large Jared" unless maybe you now <i>do</i> go by Marge, I don't really know, you never call me.<br />
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Or do you????<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnq49PTwoRy0XFkb72jAv40MJ3SwtTDFoZqfjGHN-kqJlSwXFmrSyowDOG-weHsoDXc7pr2LBEIJ-KUzeTB0G4BA4zUA5nNYOF5g17tiCA1o1HHafXpI9yKHwl6OnwPCU-srlG808wrx3/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnq49PTwoRy0XFkb72jAv40MJ3SwtTDFoZqfjGHN-kqJlSwXFmrSyowDOG-weHsoDXc7pr2LBEIJ-KUzeTB0G4BA4zUA5nNYOF5g17tiCA1o1HHafXpI9yKHwl6OnwPCU-srlG808wrx3/s320/FullSizeRender+%25284%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Excuse me, I have a ghost hunting app to update. <br />
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-16886746407388584662015-04-14T18:25:00.002-07:002015-04-14T18:44:31.252-07:00Pulling Teeth and Oil I drink a lot of coffee and tea (and red wine) and my teeth have no issue rattling their teeth mouths off on these truths of my vices very loudly and yellowy at your face when you're forced into having an in-person conversation with me. It didn't used to be so bad but then I apparently began channeling my Scottish great-grandma and my tea cravings have become a bit of a problem.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i4.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article1461774.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/Subo" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i4.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article1461774.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/Subo" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://i4.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article1461774.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/Subo" target="_blank">dailyrecord.co.uk</a></td></tr>
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And now my teeth are a problem. It's because of the tea. The tea set my teeth over the edge from an ivory to cabin witch brown. I also apparently have a cavity in one of my wisdom teeth that the dentist won't even touch unless I let him yank it out which nope. I'll go ahead and deal with that on my own by never going to the dentist ever again and then in a couple of years when the pain gets too much, I'll bang it out with an ice skate and a rock like Tom Hanks did in Cast Away. By the way, if anyone is looking for a life coach, shoot me an email. I take PayPal.<br />
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Anyway, my sister-in-law just had her wisdom teeth removed a couple of weeks ago and in talking to her, it honestly sounds like my plan of ignoring my dental needs is the right way to do things. As we were talking about her dental bravery and my cowardice, she mentioned some kind of "<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?rs=ac&len=2&q=oil+pulling&term_meta%5B%5D=oil%7Cautocomplete%7C0&term_meta%5B%5D=pulling%7Cautocomplete%7C0" target="_blank">oil pulling</a>" or whatever it's called that she had seen on <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/fangrlsuperhero/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>. Oh <a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2013/05/pinterest-otherwise-known-as-highway-to.html" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>, you evil temptress. She tried this oil business which is basically swishing coconut oil around in your mouth everyday for some minutes and it's supposed to heal cavities and whiten teeth. "Sign me up!" is of course my immediate reaction. How gross can it be? Also, I only have two kinds of oils in the house of which I'll be using the olive oil because I don't have coconut oil and I'm pretty sure that olive oil won't kill me or make me blind, unlike the really old bottle of make-up remover I found under the bathroom sink.<br />
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And hold up just a minute! Can we rewind and talk about Cast Away Tom Hanks again?? Wasn't he <i>only</i> eating coconuts? And wasn't he eating a coconut when his tooth started bugging him??? The tooth he had to beat out of his face with a rock and an ice skate??? So what's the truth? This isn't boding well for the all mighty coconut. Do I believe Oscar Winner Tom Hanks or some hipster science on the Pinterest?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.giphy.com/NORFfJzhC6iPe.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i.giphy.com/NORFfJzhC6iPe.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://giphy.com/gifs/justin-bieber-oprah-mycalvins-NORFfJzhC6iPe" target="_blank">giphy</a></td></tr>
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Well, to be fair I'm always up for a Pinterest duel and more importantly, olive oil never did anyone wrong, did it? I mean, it's delicious on a plate with red wine vinegar and ground pepper to dip my artisan bread in. Would anyone even fault me if that's where I end up in this oil pulling experiment? 'Cause we all know that's where I'll end up. Let's be real.<br />
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God, now I'm hungry.<br />
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Okay, intermission. I'm going to try this and report back, fully expecting to be typing with the shiniest, whitest teeth you've seen. And hopefully I don't just forget about this whole experiment because I gave up and ate and then spent the rest of the day scrolling tumblr. Wish me luck and white teeth.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8229393567_dcf2091686_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8229393567_dcf2091686_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source: <a href="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8347/8229393567_dcf2091686_o.jpg" target="_blank">flickr</a></td></tr>
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Alright, everyone. Return to your seats. The results are in.<br />
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I started off with good old store brand extra-virgin olive oil. Shot glassed it up and swished. Now, I can't remember all of what the sis-in-law told me as far as the details are concerned, but I figure she swished everyday for about 2 minutes. I swished for as long as it took me to get my phone and erase a bunch of incriminating evidence to make enough megabyte room for this instagram worthy picture of my olive oil.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2NPqQNKW5fxAq_jwmeROlzXh95yxy69njojW_HIlngbf9-BszCu34PH7F5aurI4-xLOGI3tbpsCZjbicOFbQeCexf4eVxtUxu7TcZpIPo41xSQZJI0BcNL8leP0l3938ijzoZXVgm2Py/s640/blogger-image--1780337106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2NPqQNKW5fxAq_jwmeROlzXh95yxy69njojW_HIlngbf9-BszCu34PH7F5aurI4-xLOGI3tbpsCZjbicOFbQeCexf4eVxtUxu7TcZpIPo41xSQZJI0BcNL8leP0l3938ijzoZXVgm2Py/s640/blogger-image--1780337106.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source: me</td></tr>
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My teeth are pretty much the same color and I'm very disappointed about it. My mouth did feel like it had indulged in a big Italian meal that needed more garlic, though and I don't feel like I have bad<br />
coffee-infused morning breath anymore and my lips feel nice and lubricated. I also brushed with baking soda right after and my mouth feels very clean and delightful, especially my tongue. Maybe I'll keep this up for a bit, or as long as I can remember to do it. <br />
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Don't worry, my friends, I am not anywhere close to giving up my deodorant or shampoo yet, though.<br />
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So because I for the life of me, don't understand how this works, I went and looked it up. <a href="http://wellnessmama.com/7866/oil-pulling-for-oral-health/" target="_blank">This blog</a> was first on my google search and it seems legit. However, it also says that I'm 18 minutes short in my swishing. How is a person expected to swish for 20 minutes?!????<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.giphy.com/CLoI8A9oblqlW.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i.giphy.com/CLoI8A9oblqlW.gif" height="147" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://giphy.com/gifs/movie-truth-quote-CLoI8A9oblqlW" target="_blank">giphy</a></td></tr>
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Should this experiment further itself, expect an update. In the meantime, I think I'm due for a loaf of garlic bread. And red wine. </div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-43647197518394213032015-01-11T13:24:00.000-08:002018-01-01T20:45:30.642-08:00My Mariah Carey Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">On December 31 I promised my 2014 self that my 2015 self would be a better self. I've become maybe a worse self. </span></div>
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New Year's Eve was wraught with potential. I was serious about it, too. </div>
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"One more day of wasting hours on tumblr then it's serious business and a new you!" I exclaimed with gusto, only silently and to myself. I did come up with this plan while scrolling tumblr, though so I should've known it was going to fail. But! I was serious. My neighbor came over that evening with champagne and I joked that 2015 was my diva year! Then I thought about divas and champagne which naturally brought me to Mariah Carey and I came to an epiphany. I might be entering my embarrassing Mariah Carey years. As the night wore on and drinks were drunk my tv started playing One Direction performing on New Year's Rocking Eve or whichever one it was and I embarked on a one woman mission to make sure everyone knew that Harry Styles is handsome and beautiful. And charming! (And possibly gay.) And funny. And I wouldn't shut up about it. The rest of the night. </div>
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Seriously.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8yHyEKJZARuhzAtXZQGNC2X52b2WROE2XSHLDx8pAF-W-BeVoOJb2rTBKF3MsnmbgdulrB8QwByWSz4s_kOODcHQKOpX_iFPt4t_fvb2YAHmXTUCAnpiixFpTljRS3alqggoGY-icWmL/s640/blogger-image-118472033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8yHyEKJZARuhzAtXZQGNC2X52b2WROE2XSHLDx8pAF-W-BeVoOJb2rTBKF3MsnmbgdulrB8QwByWSz4s_kOODcHQKOpX_iFPt4t_fvb2YAHmXTUCAnpiixFpTljRS3alqggoGY-icWmL/s640/blogger-image-118472033.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: dailymail.com.uk</td></tr>
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Seriously though, right????<br />
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Mariah Carey: Level 2</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevB3QlbVWgJWHtnM_IgR2wMNj5AsBXnnvqKASswHNH4aJuNmFV3asFmiwBUta2SLS6B7DIMWX1_3uNxiL2j0434RBjxcFixEtv7HY75E3jlM4n1gX32-2UIce0XIF2SHx8LywRlOoj0KV/s640/blogger-image--1465036561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevB3QlbVWgJWHtnM_IgR2wMNj5AsBXnnvqKASswHNH4aJuNmFV3asFmiwBUta2SLS6B7DIMWX1_3uNxiL2j0434RBjxcFixEtv7HY75E3jlM4n1gX32-2UIce0XIF2SHx8LywRlOoj0KV/s640/blogger-image--1465036561.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: tumblr</td></tr>
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Guys, I've been in a rut. Like an unmotivated, crabby, diva-like rut. Maybe I'm overwhelmed with it all. Or maybe I'm bored. Maybe it's because I've been waiting an eternity for Mad Men to return. And Bates Motel is not back yet either. And LOST has been over for 4 and a half years and no one wants to go back to the island with me. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejx8soucE_6bRIUeuOdSJSZz7hk0Lu0mb5vTzrobCp7RLtUXIRrQDR3XbBb0LcJqCP6YsJ45tcQNFB6b2ifo_sSzR_ac2IsOXTuFw2n1QaANXFHApY9XQR5IEeE3wjx4RnDPN3RMQ5U65/s640/blogger-image-525981107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejx8soucE_6bRIUeuOdSJSZz7hk0Lu0mb5vTzrobCp7RLtUXIRrQDR3XbBb0LcJqCP6YsJ45tcQNFB6b2ifo_sSzR_ac2IsOXTuFw2n1QaANXFHApY9XQR5IEeE3wjx4RnDPN3RMQ5U65/s640/blogger-image-525981107.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: reddit</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I came to this post trying compare my year with Mariah Carey but I think I'm actually just Jack Sheppard, Season 3. Both involve drinking so, whatever, I'll continue on.</span><br />
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This Season 3 Jack Sheppard rut is kind of ruining my plans. I'm not sewing, I'm not writing, I'm not cleaning my house- though to be fair, that has little to do with a rut and more to do with that I would like a maid please. And a nanny. I <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">would like to sit around in kicky little outfits cracking bad jokes and singing to no one in particular while someone else does all the washing and sandwich making. I </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">need an Alice to my Carol Brady is what I'm getting at. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-spQVxFiRdp_rTKs8yURTUs08_zv1PjpzUSPRxJ43dP5yB6QRlIIKPrsvhiNtIhk2jamYDfxYI5YRGSBKnel_nj0d57zT0S2VQ5NrwMavFX-uLA3ccxtkhrK6CFxTg7r6Gy9D9i91VnA/s640/blogger-image-785062784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-spQVxFiRdp_rTKs8yURTUs08_zv1PjpzUSPRxJ43dP5yB6QRlIIKPrsvhiNtIhk2jamYDfxYI5YRGSBKnel_nj0d57zT0S2VQ5NrwMavFX-uLA3ccxtkhrK6CFxTg7r6Gy9D9i91VnA/s640/blogger-image-785062784.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: fanpix.famousfix.com</td></tr>
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So that's where I've been; sitting on my couch and avoiding facebook except when I think of something funny, scrolling tumblr and twitter, and thinking about how I should do something and then getting mad when someone (the husband) suggests that I get up and do something. I've also been busy breaking up fisticuffs between the children. This also makes me crabby. And diva-like. And wishing for an Alice. </div>
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Alright I need to wrap this up because I'm supposed to be writing a PTA fundraising letter and I don't think they'd dig any Harry Styles or Carol Brady references in it so, I kind of have to buckle down on this even though we all know that Harry Styles sells. I'm just saying. Think it over, PTA. </div>
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-39831071557619645422014-11-14T10:03:00.001-08:002014-11-14T12:46:27.280-08:00Of Being a FangirlIf there is one thing about me that will forever hold true it is that I am a fangirl. If I decide that I like something, I go big, I go hard, and sometimes it makes me pee my pants. But there is no shame in this game. <div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwNsDfbhFhs5PwsyogESP0Qfaf49Ln1RolWCo1C0TclLsD1IKLiCE09Y6LYMFoYt_7Zq1y9BVlcSZ2bdIV1YdzGpzzyfJZ7xTFRfiBwDsvFYca1MNEh445pCXdyp3bGLQ2w7kKQK1Q2PL/s640/blogger-image-1203487508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwNsDfbhFhs5PwsyogESP0Qfaf49Ln1RolWCo1C0TclLsD1IKLiCE09Y6LYMFoYt_7Zq1y9BVlcSZ2bdIV1YdzGpzzyfJZ7xTFRfiBwDsvFYca1MNEh445pCXdyp3bGLQ2w7kKQK1Q2PL/s640/blogger-image-1203487508.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Lately there's been a little shame. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R6gBe-4iPruB3wQ0ox6nfT4we813zUXW78q2URirtpLjdtPQrguNvi-LbLDBGmRLGDU8A-s_jLPZpm_AyfzjS2SKfk87dUWSUibqUn5ztuYvyPoQbL1Gojkp13epKdgyemVmAEzt_Yat/s640/blogger-image-1722129851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0R6gBe-4iPruB3wQ0ox6nfT4we813zUXW78q2URirtpLjdtPQrguNvi-LbLDBGmRLGDU8A-s_jLPZpm_AyfzjS2SKfk87dUWSUibqUn5ztuYvyPoQbL1Gojkp13epKdgyemVmAEzt_Yat/s640/blogger-image-1722129851.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But we'll get back to Mr. Styles in a minute. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Anyone who's had a 5 minute conversation with me has had to discuss my favorite Beatle, my favorite Beatle's son, my favorite Monkee, my theory on Mad Men, Harry Styles' hair, my favorite character on I Love Lucy, baseball, and has seen me cry at the mere mention of LOST. I am an insufferable bore and I don't know how I still have friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Speaking of friends, I will also gladly discuss F•R•I•E•N•D•S and how horrible I think Monica's hair was and how I hate chunky 90's shoes and oh my god I took a facebook "Which Friend are you?" quiz and I'm Chandler but I think I'm probably Ross, if anyone is interested in that subject. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yet each one of these topics is a tree in the bigger, much more interesting and complex forest that houses them. And that forest of obsession is well-kept and coveted by the fangirls and fanboys that sow it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now me being obsessed is nothing new. Me being obsessed with One Direction, that's pretty new. I am currently completely wrapped up in the soap opera that is the Harry Styles/ Louis Tomlinson possible hidden love story as depicted through the symbolism of Harry Styles' instagram posts and possible PR seeding. No seriously, it's a thing. A very, very fascinating thing. And whether it ends up being real or a very elaborate head cannon created and built upon by fans, doesn't matter to me in the same way it doesn't matter if reality TV is scripted. You have me. I'm hooked. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIo3BkcyL5EQUMmVF6WwBG5oFI4_w1KAtLRdKUHoSPyR6n8MAK_hCPXYTYsJW8ZzMADBScUbBj5QkCAFSMc910k_FMe2NHAemWmQg_xBJTuAJYqyISvGvSu3QaXGAVxkooSoOucD3m0Yg/s640/blogger-image-1923646977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIo3BkcyL5EQUMmVF6WwBG5oFI4_w1KAtLRdKUHoSPyR6n8MAK_hCPXYTYsJW8ZzMADBScUbBj5QkCAFSMc910k_FMe2NHAemWmQg_xBJTuAJYqyISvGvSu3QaXGAVxkooSoOucD3m0Yg/s640/blogger-image-1923646977.jpg"></a></div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now, just spending a few minutes on tumblr in any fandom, you will inevitably come across the most realistic photoshopped pictures you have ever seen, the cutest drawings you've ever seen, the most amazing sketches and art, a lot of it is kind of smutty but it's amazing. And the well edited videos, the sense of humor and comradreie. And then there's the fanfiction which gets all kinds of eye rolls and shade from the outside world but it might hold the greatest admiration in my heart. I've only ever read Beatles fan fiction because it's the only fanfiction that has held my interest, however the very fact that it is a thing that people are so passionate about makes my English Majored heart want to burst. And going back to the One Direction fandom, there are a lot of teenagers coming up with this stuff, writing, photoshopping, creating, studying entertainment law and marketing and body language analysis, tattoo symbolism, fashion and probably the most beautiful part in any of this, these kids are fighting for equal rights and getting very involved in the LGBTQ+ community and embracing their fellow fandom on whatever choices and hardships the others are going through. It's really quite beautiful. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love the fangirls and fanboys. They are my people. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now excuse me while I go find out what shoes Louis Tomlinson is wearing today. It might be another clue. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1aSxCLH4EKGr5a4JlxPrAf21jBQTbGptaARoniZxys-__hskKfroDyVwLUw9IPOSrG29DaiB2XG_BhPF0Sqq2hO7GzdquFl68QEM8rJepFZE3Q8lT7s9IqcQHgS982q9OWHuK3flX7Qn/s640/blogger-image--1854536527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1aSxCLH4EKGr5a4JlxPrAf21jBQTbGptaARoniZxys-__hskKfroDyVwLUw9IPOSrG29DaiB2XG_BhPF0Sqq2hO7GzdquFl68QEM8rJepFZE3Q8lT7s9IqcQHgS982q9OWHuK3flX7Qn/s640/blogger-image--1854536527.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-18184264649934406112014-09-25T10:07:00.001-07:002014-09-25T18:15:01.872-07:00September 25th and my Current State of Busy Not BusyIt's September 25th. Today is my Friday the 13th. Examples; in first grade, I was stung by a bee and had to ride the entire bus ride home with a bee butt in my finger. It swelled up so bad, my mom had to call the doctor and wrap it in baking soda and gauze and I've never been able to remain cool around those little evildoers again. In 7th grade, I left my locker wide open and when I got back from class, expecting my stuff to be stolen or strewn about I found nothing. Someone must have just walked by and closed it but it could've been seriously embarrassing so it still counts. And then on this day in 8th grade U.S. History, a boy sitting next to me chewed up a bunch of sunflower seeds and machine gunned them from his mouth all over my face and hair.<br>
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It's also my mom's birthday. Happy Birthday Mom. Sorry you had to pull a bee butt from my finger. </div>
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I realize that you're thinking "Geez, Amy this all sounds pretty ridiculous and 8th grade was a long time ago. You really need to let some stuff go." Well to that I say, "You need let your judgy aggression go". Real nice. I thought we were friends. </div>
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All that being said, I'm not 100% confident I won't be spit on today, I'm kind of not confident about that any day if we're honest, but today of all the days. I'm also bound to sew my finger into these purses I've been making.</div>
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Yay purses. I have 12 of them that I'm making from The Charming Bag pattern from<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fabric---Fabric-One-Yard-Wonders-Projects/dp/1603425861/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1411664522&sr=8-2&keywords=one-yard+wonder" target="_blank"> One Yard Wonders</a>. </div>
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Nine of the bags are custom orders so I just rounded it out to make an even number. I do now realize that 10 is also an even number and much more attainable. No matter! I'm trudging on (is trudging a word and am I using it correctly?). I figured that since cutting the pattern out is the absolute worst, I would do that first. To all of them.</div>
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Bruised my fingers. </div>
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And this is what I've been doing and also not doing. You see, assembly line style sewing is kind of boring sewing so I haven't been working as efficiently as I could be. Also, I keep looking at this and laughing. </div>
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Is that a robot butt?? </div>
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I have everything cut out and am now just sewing it all together </div>
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And one to itself. </div>
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This is why I don't have high hopes that today, September 25 is going to work out in my favor. This topstitching the handle to the back of the bag business happened yesterday. </div>
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I also have helpers.</div>
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Wish me luck. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">EDITED TO ANNOUNCE: I was stung in the neck by a bee today. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The curse is real, my friends. The curse is real.</div>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-55445374412455994202014-08-23T21:22:00.001-07:002014-08-23T22:06:29.455-07:00The Instagram kid.You know that kid, the impossibly perfectly dressed kid who is the same age as my Wally? The kid we all wish our sons would dress like? Or our husbands? <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzt5UN2iNOu3CupvgALMhGOqq9myU2iVV4shIpdTQXYh2UuDuJhKM3JL4f_ZuBGhi8-8dgycVh20984vL2DGH2XvpnthpIlo0Nmt4Bq6IxKQTOxtzPUS-MPpPyS0o26x_DXxzxuDPUkfh8/s640/blogger-image-1338656441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzt5UN2iNOu3CupvgALMhGOqq9myU2iVV4shIpdTQXYh2UuDuJhKM3JL4f_ZuBGhi8-8dgycVh20984vL2DGH2XvpnthpIlo0Nmt4Bq6IxKQTOxtzPUS-MPpPyS0o26x_DXxzxuDPUkfh8/s640/blogger-image-1338656441.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>Well I can't even get my kids to wear clothes half the time and when they do, they insist on dressing themselves which, although character and self esteem building, means that they are often dressed like Ace Ventura. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKRwMtbk1ruCnWO48jGXY6zN2EHXGKrIjxPqKK18vuUn9ARY4SAjTb6_ygdE_NHk27Jt51F65zUwxQix1-lsv0OkHp74aPddKraG9fzekfX8rwdIJYU2z3w8JsxmtodgLXCc6gXqtGi-Z/s640/blogger-image--99573775.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKRwMtbk1ruCnWO48jGXY6zN2EHXGKrIjxPqKK18vuUn9ARY4SAjTb6_ygdE_NHk27Jt51F65zUwxQix1-lsv0OkHp74aPddKraG9fzekfX8rwdIJYU2z3w8JsxmtodgLXCc6gXqtGi-Z/s640/blogger-image--99573775.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div></div><div>Like a lot of the time.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGw4Jcm9PUq0fN3nptZkIAL0DmPxVe2T1XOcsfsB64tFhOb11B4lwlyJnoGn70a3bS2jtJzhtYlqiukOhXNLQWMvNkhg7tdV50n5P9EWB7G6SprCsUOjvgYC07121-fE0mL-yz6-RrgSFQ/s640/blogger-image--1959674397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGw4Jcm9PUq0fN3nptZkIAL0DmPxVe2T1XOcsfsB64tFhOb11B4lwlyJnoGn70a3bS2jtJzhtYlqiukOhXNLQWMvNkhg7tdV50n5P9EWB7G6SprCsUOjvgYC07121-fE0mL-yz6-RrgSFQ/s640/blogger-image--1959674397.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>So back to this Instagram kid. He's adorable. He has impeccable style and he's inspired others(' parents). </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hH0c0MmK-a-zKw-AMDbc-TB-EQUSLPRhjO-elkXdjcu7RGY1CtOu44ynYKJT6UPhnCz7LdnAK4OcjFRvfZ-ITBnsflPifxh82JC9LTfIiPmyVlTUF8k16eFa9U2pmCuwYD9XHjxNswZo/s640/blogger-image--1827276159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hH0c0MmK-a-zKw-AMDbc-TB-EQUSLPRhjO-elkXdjcu7RGY1CtOu44ynYKJT6UPhnCz7LdnAK4OcjFRvfZ-ITBnsflPifxh82JC9LTfIiPmyVlTUF8k16eFa9U2pmCuwYD9XHjxNswZo/s640/blogger-image--1827276159.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div>And there in lies my problem with this. Either those kids are not able to be normal kids or they are ripping the crap out of their Stella McCartney pants as soon as the photographer (or mom) turns her back. </div><div><br></div><div>What impossible egos are these kids growing into? It's like American Psycho, the prequel. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7fur7N7LsHqOluBFxQ6CJT6dAGA3vKelZfKSXMEXwYVFQ3lhJF6GCGvzc-v1DnGxgrkm3iLFm-fWXwoVI1Em_HqMbV2Wl1iQD19l1yERwA0iiWHsZS5MYpJxTGxsI6XyCO9q7SrWPIjy/s640/blogger-image--1124977799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7fur7N7LsHqOluBFxQ6CJT6dAGA3vKelZfKSXMEXwYVFQ3lhJF6GCGvzc-v1DnGxgrkm3iLFm-fWXwoVI1Em_HqMbV2Wl1iQD19l1yERwA0iiWHsZS5MYpJxTGxsI6XyCO9q7SrWPIjy/s640/blogger-image--1124977799.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div><br></div><div>I sound like a jealous monster. Maybe I am. I mean, I am in that I wish my boys were these polished, perfect Instagram kids but then I think of the reality of the situation; my kids could find dirt and mud in the most sterile of environments. They're like Rambo of dirt. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFc1eZKSFXsZ3GWaGCzKLDb9MqBjg3LstG6MMQGyVj0kw4ZsAhonHw0HvUprUHWPavOAMH883mdpe8v93ih6t8hZ_21uwJpEsV9H-OShC-nUtfTMpSyWV5ArmnyJfDKQNgD9YMabaeHWO/s640/blogger-image--396967677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFc1eZKSFXsZ3GWaGCzKLDb9MqBjg3LstG6MMQGyVj0kw4ZsAhonHw0HvUprUHWPavOAMH883mdpe8v93ih6t8hZ_21uwJpEsV9H-OShC-nUtfTMpSyWV5ArmnyJfDKQNgD9YMabaeHWO/s640/blogger-image--396967677.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>And possibly these Instagram boys are more like my boys than their pictures would have you know. </div><div><br></div><div>It's like Toddlers and Tiaras for boys. </div><div><br></div><div>Oh my god, TLC! Get on that, I would so watch that show. </div><div><br></div><div>Here if you want to read more about the Instagram kid. </div><div><a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/06/five-year-old-boy-whos-become-a-style-icon.html">http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/06/five-year-old-boy-whos-become-a-style-icon.html</a></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-77490337218760541902014-08-19T20:37:00.000-07:002014-08-19T20:37:06.755-07:00John Lennon ghost wants me to keep the internet and you don't argue with John Lennon ghost. <div>
Pop Quiz! <br />
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What do you get when the most disorganized person in the world tries to take on PTA fundraising responsibilities, run an <a href="http://www.fangirlsuperhero.etsy.com/" target="_blank">etsy shop</a>, agrees to attempt to write a comic strip, agrees to attempt to write a book, and tries to write jokes in her kid's lunch box everyday because she saw it on Pinterest?</div>
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Me. You get me, the disorganized fool spending the rest of the day slagging off all of everything, watching the kids play outside for hours and sipping on wine.<br />
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And now as I type this, feet kicked up in defiance of THE MAN, very much Ferris Bueller to be honest, I'm listening to my kids kill each other in the other room and I'm going to have to go investigate this, aren't I? </div>
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Oh, nevermind, here they come yelling at me. Apparently there's been an attempted murder by "slapping and a cardboard brick to the eye and even the nose!"</div>
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This is why I feel like I'm opting out today. Because I feel like I'm on the verge of drowning and so, going gently into that goodnight, I just stop swimming. </div>
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(I have dreams like this, by the way. Where I'm holding on the outside edge of a hot air balloon, certain death below me and I start questioning if it is just easier to let go.) </div>
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I should disclaim here that I am not suicidal. That's also the second time I've felt the need to write that down in my life so that people know that- yo, murdered. The other time was when I was 12 and I wrote in my sparkly journal, I wrote "if I ever die, I was murdered because I would never kill myself. I am not suicidal" and then I wrote something about how cute Johnny Depp is. So, similar if not exact to how I feel today. </div>
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Also, when I was 5 I made a deal with the devil or whoever that I was never going to die so, suck it, haters. And murderer.</div>
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Anyway, back to my story of when I was outside ignoring everyone digital and just watching the boys play, I realized how very little I take time to do this anymore. I'm always answering emails and facebooks and tweets and looking at Pinterest and not just watching the boys play in the dirt which used to be mud but, drought. </div>
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This makes me think that we need to break up, internet.</div>
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I feel the worst for my husband in all of this because, first off, the kids don't care. They really don't, Every Other Mommy Blog I've Read this Week. Here's the thing; they know that I love them, that I put the phone or computer down whenever they have question or speak in my direction, I have two sets of ears, the mom ears directed at only them 90% of the day, and the boys are pretty much ignoring me anyway and somehow, despite ALL my screw-ups, they are the most polite, loving, well-adjusted kids I could hope for. So whatever. Raise your kids how you do. </div>
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But back to the husband, "Ward" as we call him. I think he has to hate me by now. Because when I put myself into his shoes, I'm the worst as wife. He does all the dishes, grocery shopping, money making (mostly unless you want to <a href="http://www.fangirlsuperhero.etsy.com/" target="_blank">buy my stuff from my etsy shop??????</a>) and in general, I probably look like Peggy Bundy. He would never say that to me but, this is how it looks from outside my skin. </div>
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So, I've made up my mind. I'm going to kill a few birds with the Amy vs America's Housekeeping stone that I have been not throwing for many months. It begins tomorrow. I don't care how busy I get, I'm back on the ball. I will schedule time to do it. And sewing. </div>
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I just don't know how this applies to my interneting. I think I have to take a bre- OH MY GOD IMAGINE JUST CAME ON THE TV JOHN LENNON DOES NOT APPROVE OF OUR BREAKUP, INTERNET. </div>
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Alright, it's settled. </div>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-29119079567966564222014-08-09T20:19:00.001-07:002014-08-09T21:09:43.495-07:00PAUL MCCARTNEY!!!!!!!!!So tomorrow night I'm seeing Paul McCartney for the second time. <div><br></div><div>I have yet to get "out of my mind" excited. </div><div><br></div><div>Until now. I just took some stupid Facebook quiz about how many Beatles songs I know by lyrics or whatever and this thrill and chill went through my bones</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, and? I know all of them. Pshaw!</div><div><br></div><div>Oh and also? I am seeing a Beatle tomorrow night!!!!! </div><div><br></div><div>So I don't think I ever told the story about getting a new iphone (the pink one) and losing 80% iTunes library.</div><div><br></div><div>Sean Lennon- gone.</div><div><br></div><div>weezer- gone. </div><div><br></div><div>Girl Groups of the 60s- gone. </div><div><br></div><div>A million years ago and a million moves ago, I somehow lost my Magical Mystery Tour cd. And being that Beatles' Apple and iTunes' Apple didn't get along so well for a very long time, I couldn't just download it and be done. And I didn't ever get around to going to a record store and picking up a new one so my Beatles collection has been down one Beatle album for a very very long time. </div><div><br></div><div>Finally, after all the dramatics and whatever, Beatles were on iTunes (and hitting the music charts again btw) and I splurged. </div><div><br></div><div>I finally re-got Magical Mystery Tour and played the crap out of it. </div><div><br></div><div>And my Beatles collection was complete and listenable from my phone at anytime I saw fit. </div><div><br></div><div> </div><div>Ahhhhhhh. </div><div><br></div><div>Fast forward to present day Sherman Oaks. </div><div><br></div><div>Thanks, iTunes, I currently have one Beatles album left. </div><div><br></div><div>Magical Mystery Tour.</div><div><br></div><div>Goo goo gajoob.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>HOLY CRAP PAUL MCCARTNEY TOMORROW NIGHT!!!!!!!!</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-65368791124794518312014-07-30T13:14:00.000-07:002014-07-30T13:17:20.915-07:00My Mid Century Modern Obsession. Now this shouldn't come as a big shock to anyone that knows me, but I'm kind of in love with everything Mid-Century Modern. Everything. This and that pesky time-travelling unavailability nonsense are the main reasons I probably can't live in the 40s- my favorite of all the decades. And The Beatles. I need Beatles.<br />
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I also love Mad Men, obviously. Of course I do. So when Don and Megan moved into that apartment, oh my goodness. <br />
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In. <br />
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Love. <br />
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The mirrored entryway with the planter<br />
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and that hanging lamp thing <br />
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are pretty much the best parts for me. And I kind of want to replicate them immediately. <br />
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/214835844696774662/" target="_blank">Good thing there's pinterest</a>.... <br />
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Although I want this couch from The Dick Van Dyke Show<br />
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And the house from Bewitched. <br />
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I don't really think I'm asking too much here... <br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q79ks9LvkO8" target="_blank">Although Tim the Tool Man Taylor blew the whole thing up</a>, so maybe I need that time machine. </div>
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Or the I Dream of Jeannie house. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfALtPV4oX-3z2hpM_IllyhyphenhyphenZc_lFQQoWvLSaEtYFAvJrwOPDt0nskteRCIQuELP3VHC4d6SVHNbAmRfSDOBw_TW0E2mwMfwqsU3GqyMqUviR77laLYJSEPhf5_xmLkNy61nMYQA7RUvH/s1600/thN2TEY8W6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfALtPV4oX-3z2hpM_IllyhyphenhyphenZc_lFQQoWvLSaEtYFAvJrwOPDt0nskteRCIQuELP3VHC4d6SVHNbAmRfSDOBw_TW0E2mwMfwqsU3GqyMqUviR77laLYJSEPhf5_xmLkNy61nMYQA7RUvH/s1600/thN2TEY8W6.jpg" /></a></div>
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The fact that I'm probably not going to get these houses does little to stop my want. </div>
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And you know I'm going to try to make that lamp. And that mirrored planter entryway thing that the Draper's had? I could do that easy. </div>
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And I need a new couch. </div>
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And this for my tv. </div>
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Or maybe this. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit3XijL14BSZi6o_UbBhsPDnDy2bbawFZjYnN5t-QtTlLMtlB1jDz6vtWGoJOlbOrgpKpcJvwVVGv9-jAfiElxqRe8wm67Acw8PFibH2SVaH7Q_NMN0UWYYLEeuHCK6Q4AsQix_hC7CBA/s1600/006_Credenza_V1_00001_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit3XijL14BSZi6o_UbBhsPDnDy2bbawFZjYnN5t-QtTlLMtlB1jDz6vtWGoJOlbOrgpKpcJvwVVGv9-jAfiElxqRe8wm67Acw8PFibH2SVaH7Q_NMN0UWYYLEeuHCK6Q4AsQix_hC7CBA/s1600/006_Credenza_V1_00001_.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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I need this too. </div>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-1764374746533765012014-07-14T13:39:00.002-07:002014-07-14T13:40:45.273-07:00The Coffee Sack Situation. My husband, Ward Cleaver works as your typical Don Draper account getter for a local coffee roaster here in good ol' Los Angeles. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7egoUN-8HlrN0O16_OpquB1v-q6B_iR9k6pqMIMrpu8f0otblx3ZKuZqscywsW4nkppqUXXO5Pjz7SGSg1MvQY140d80hnrQ-DQQBOGFao1Ig-wVKSNZh8Qf1R3kC2mAspZtxr-vjRmTf/s1600/don.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7egoUN-8HlrN0O16_OpquB1v-q6B_iR9k6pqMIMrpu8f0otblx3ZKuZqscywsW4nkppqUXXO5Pjz7SGSg1MvQY140d80hnrQ-DQQBOGFao1Ig-wVKSNZh8Qf1R3kC2mAspZtxr-vjRmTf/s1600/don.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ward working very hard. </td></tr>
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He really does work hard and can make stuff like this which is pretty awesome. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6sp1EssrNvzq6-qmVHiPJb2HSMhmyRjoe0BGGo-0b-iVySd6x3IstY0rgKhViyZtxCRNhh07o019d9yOEAT_8dfXIzDDol7Gnid6sd5Yi_Ib5ljxIO2LrcHfLomoe5hEECL0ufhO-6aH/s1600/11927_10203844053040733_4112206529832095144_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6sp1EssrNvzq6-qmVHiPJb2HSMhmyRjoe0BGGo-0b-iVySd6x3IstY0rgKhViyZtxCRNhh07o019d9yOEAT_8dfXIzDDol7Gnid6sd5Yi_Ib5ljxIO2LrcHfLomoe5hEECL0ufhO-6aH/s1600/11927_10203844053040733_4112206529832095144_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twitter.com/search?q=@ferguson_bill" target="_blank">Follow him on twitter</a>. I don't know his instagram name. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And because he works at a roaster, they have all kinds of coffee sacks. So Ward, probably trying to save himself some money on my fabric collecting obsession, brought a bunch of used coffee sacks home and dropped them right on the living floor saying "Make me a messenger bag, woman" or something similar</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBw5jnv1U8Sa-XDIXla5aqQtgnkdirwUJ7Zo-gl8QBMHV43pClk_aDx55P2oBT6-X2Uuc2679RKOD9yCXMArZyIYJncvaTGT6w7EJ02ohw2TPbayIy2WEJxK2iBV3ZB3FL0bcsFxvop6k/s1600/IMG_4263.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not kidding when I say a bunch of coffee sacks.</td></tr>
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So I did. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9K8GIkmDwwFtgAub3dGRXLeZW-8Y2ywsiBqdhcuSgpnMkEjMjMTVRXd8Ln_VVaic741hN17wQtrt-PjsVAexM3GOdM6cgIyILBUva5qLckq7gMT3XgsfLQ_1O8u7AqeBJDpyRI-y-THVV/s1600/10447259_10152426030924098_1343461214_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9K8GIkmDwwFtgAub3dGRXLeZW-8Y2ywsiBqdhcuSgpnMkEjMjMTVRXd8Ln_VVaic741hN17wQtrt-PjsVAexM3GOdM6cgIyILBUva5qLckq7gMT3XgsfLQ_1O8u7AqeBJDpyRI-y-THVV/s1600/10447259_10152426030924098_1343461214_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In construction. Ignore my foot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0kd8uP8MrbVKEh756XXejx2tZXWcHEsHflyjFGy3yDpdnzBKdg7H_SHMK2hkkbW4Gv87gfEX1i2dDC7WOv-6fq4fvQqtYMVVxtCFYI16XGldPZrtQxUeJOQXSZadAOJR6s3huLpeZWkN/s1600/10423510_10152427090079098_453199254_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0kd8uP8MrbVKEh756XXejx2tZXWcHEsHflyjFGy3yDpdnzBKdg7H_SHMK2hkkbW4Gv87gfEX1i2dDC7WOv-6fq4fvQqtYMVVxtCFYI16XGldPZrtQxUeJOQXSZadAOJR6s3huLpeZWkN/s1600/10423510_10152427090079098_453199254_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished bag!<a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2014/07/super-awesome-purse-sale.html" target="_blank"> Ignore my mess</a>. </td></tr>
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I am SO in love with this bag!!! I'm not so in love with the four sewing machine needles it broke or the RIDICULOUS mess the jute/burlap makes all over my floor, in my eyes, clogging up my machine, but it is so worth it, because LOOK AT THAT BAG!!! !<br />
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Like a lot of things, I got myself all worked into a tizzy about this and well, bags have been made. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQm7FpO5Che1noX0rVE2NsQhgQ9DkYBm8XZPKoZtBYhZYZP5bYxogw_x6UUfsFnzEjgFQRJOt5YdEOfERfWM7dgUk79TGDkZWyRNoLZkQ9CvqIzHbqpLiwhRKswRMjXp9IskCycBA0mREX/s1600/IMG_4133-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQm7FpO5Che1noX0rVE2NsQhgQ9DkYBm8XZPKoZtBYhZYZP5bYxogw_x6UUfsFnzEjgFQRJOt5YdEOfERfWM7dgUk79TGDkZWyRNoLZkQ9CvqIzHbqpLiwhRKswRMjXp9IskCycBA0mREX/s1600/IMG_4133-EFFECTS.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some arty shot that g+ made. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnoNOXkO2tXBSUpOhcwLGmuLWJOk5iH1_vCNoFhOoqfiWZyESgm8xkwePno_gArPMcbnb6sWpPPgNvlf4IsQ6mddSpZbAI9vn6P6De_UjwI5j3LbBSAshWpHJ5z6wyDlRBd_RbEjdkZVb/s1600/IMG_4178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnoNOXkO2tXBSUpOhcwLGmuLWJOk5iH1_vCNoFhOoqfiWZyESgm8xkwePno_gArPMcbnb6sWpPPgNvlf4IsQ6mddSpZbAI9vn6P6De_UjwI5j3LbBSAshWpHJ5z6wyDlRBd_RbEjdkZVb/s1600/IMG_4178.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">vs my arty shot. No contest.<br />
Call me up for your annual family Christmas picture. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfw3Y28uZ2GziX58J3ksdhxrKtvS9Kzeh64mHMJzCB-JY8Rq7_SP888OvCbiF9UZ05CagMA-gCZJq9Rk73issOpMBEY6jtI9FproLFpz1l5von66-9seeMN0LZxEb1y4C-CbK35ChDeiH/s1600/IMG_4076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfw3Y28uZ2GziX58J3ksdhxrKtvS9Kzeh64mHMJzCB-JY8Rq7_SP888OvCbiF9UZ05CagMA-gCZJq9Rk73issOpMBEY6jtI9FproLFpz1l5von66-9seeMN0LZxEb1y4C-CbK35ChDeiH/s1600/IMG_4076.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0LsdsTrucEpBE4ynM0ZEB7CXufRUJEUu7g8vjYh96Zr0Us9yxbtyoKJw1fHGtOPTkxl_lRnX7zmWRSxpWlkywM_DiQHFBrDNrsnpEve0Buy58v0Yk2rJbOYKPxpQjviAJm7FtKkImSE8/s1600/IMG_4165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0LsdsTrucEpBE4ynM0ZEB7CXufRUJEUu7g8vjYh96Zr0Us9yxbtyoKJw1fHGtOPTkxl_lRnX7zmWRSxpWlkywM_DiQHFBrDNrsnpEve0Buy58v0Yk2rJbOYKPxpQjviAJm7FtKkImSE8/s1600/IMG_4165.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit B</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So I've got some to sell. These are on <a href="http://www.fangirlsuperhero.etsy.com/" target="_blank">etsy</a> right now and there will be many more to come I'm sure. Also I'm thinking of getting into the wallet game. And some kind of Pinteresty bunting maybe. (probably not). <br />
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero" target="_blank">Etsy shop link is here</a> and the link to each bag is under the picture.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPf_1p8WArSEVfWDLz3mmwj4XcxjRxrK35gHl53KVjBQ9-bFZvdZJvUpxtEvqCuKqBZZZauLku3sMfLYgJCsq07lR-u-miPuXPtZpCjqBelXjIWxuGQiejCufGMGOpTb86liTMZJAzGgq0/s1600/IMG_4263.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPf_1p8WArSEVfWDLz3mmwj4XcxjRxrK35gHl53KVjBQ9-bFZvdZJvUpxtEvqCuKqBZZZauLku3sMfLYgJCsq07lR-u-miPuXPtZpCjqBelXjIWxuGQiejCufGMGOpTb86liTMZJAzGgq0/s1600/IMG_4263.PNG" height="251" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/195629369/repurposed-jute-coffee-sack-messenger?ref=listing-shop-header-4" target="_blank">Coffein</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HdD1y2HnMVZfl1TxNPdOUiL9ut12mg_1pdNNfJXW5sAF8-EjjbDZmbn6SPPzEtyFs1ndBWmz0CunbxRTp1Srs0inplYhiDLsjKFR-0auqNNAJREMDyAwUlBDTPtandv16p4qdhx3o-uq/s1600/IMG_4262.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HdD1y2HnMVZfl1TxNPdOUiL9ut12mg_1pdNNfJXW5sAF8-EjjbDZmbn6SPPzEtyFs1ndBWmz0CunbxRTp1Srs0inplYhiDLsjKFR-0auqNNAJREMDyAwUlBDTPtandv16p4qdhx3o-uq/s1600/IMG_4262.PNG" height="296" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/195630747/repurposed-jute-coffee-sack-messenger?ref=listing-shop-header-3" target="_blank">Compagnie</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm2hHArha8exmvU9y-trZ0TYWJ1gNyvZqWjtDwKLSU6NYPaRNOkmPv9RLPHWqcF_muVQweBW1sSeDYZuunUQshfqYUtk2awr0hKFxUqJGwxDg3CD2jrzhmE6Zv5kK1sNt4acE5q_cwyFB/s1600/IMG_4261.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvm2hHArha8exmvU9y-trZ0TYWJ1gNyvZqWjtDwKLSU6NYPaRNOkmPv9RLPHWqcF_muVQweBW1sSeDYZuunUQshfqYUtk2awr0hKFxUqJGwxDg3CD2jrzhmE6Zv5kK1sNt4acE5q_cwyFB/s1600/IMG_4261.PNG" height="242" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/195631369/repurposed-jute-coffee-sack-messenger?ref=listing-shop-header-2" target="_blank">ETH4</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ef-42gDvPbGfnUwiRmjQMB4kcDyRDsXm61nt3BiEiUgH5Kvs8YC8sTC-7YPuhkwpQGfeykGDTh-Byubs4kMmK0lML6RY6yDar4yhkGFpuB23KXcb17fbOu8aEJ3BXbyJAS094hD_QlHw/s1600/IMG_4260.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ef-42gDvPbGfnUwiRmjQMB4kcDyRDsXm61nt3BiEiUgH5Kvs8YC8sTC-7YPuhkwpQGfeykGDTh-Byubs4kMmK0lML6RY6yDar4yhkGFpuB23KXcb17fbOu8aEJ3BXbyJAS094hD_QlHw/s1600/IMG_4260.PNG" height="246" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/195631867/repurposed-jute-coffee-sack-messenger?ref=listing-shop-header-1" target="_blank">514B</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9Q3Ja-UPLaattm8MA2J3kNRCBto9v1VAZd9GHubfzwGPhcucI7EC9_F6Wjqui7eERtusiIOqqb9qLCr_ZsGX1khUAWKkNSXob064N-l9o05Tpa_GicbBLjmyc3j5ss_wYHRyBjU01IRd/s1600/IMG_4259.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9Q3Ja-UPLaattm8MA2J3kNRCBto9v1VAZd9GHubfzwGPhcucI7EC9_F6Wjqui7eERtusiIOqqb9qLCr_ZsGX1khUAWKkNSXob064N-l9o05Tpa_GicbBLjmyc3j5ss_wYHRyBjU01IRd/s1600/IMG_4259.PNG" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/195623122/repurposed-jute-coffee-sack-messenger?" target="_blank">Bio Latina</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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OOH! Christmas stockings! <br />
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-70915267250936103462014-07-07T16:13:00.001-07:002014-07-07T16:13:20.906-07:00Super Awesome Purse Sale!!Remember how I'm trying to get some order into my life and my space? Well my sewing area is nonsense at all times. They say it's a sign of super creative genius stuff and not lazy slob stuff like you'd probably conclusion jump to if you come to my house and you're gonna be all judgy and stink eye about it. Relax yourselves. I'm clearly a creative genius, okay?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrpuRGI7hBQ3nK0BmaK3JbQWPnmMg2GdW7KDGIL5Fj0EiBPehV84h7AufAtl6IMEXyGM5c-HXXx4gWK5_K0YY1TKPeOjvDAy3TZo_kjUQHqnzUnbWFC6CHb5lXYUuhn9l384NTewXRqA5/s640/blogger-image-910426685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrpuRGI7hBQ3nK0BmaK3JbQWPnmMg2GdW7KDGIL5Fj0EiBPehV84h7AufAtl6IMEXyGM5c-HXXx4gWK5_K0YY1TKPeOjvDAy3TZo_kjUQHqnzUnbWFC6CHb5lXYUuhn9l384NTewXRqA5/s320/blogger-image-910426685.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But my sewing area has hit new levels of out of control like I can't even handle it or shut the doors to the hutch that I hide it all behind when people come over. </div>
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And do you know what's taking up a huge amount of space? Besides my fabric hoarding? <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero?ref=si_shop" target="_blank">My etsy stock. </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIThy-WHtfIo6aio3NFCHBfah58PaPlLom61cCzC_kEks6N0rHXctlkf8ps1AFD6yJQSLeGOOBB9W1iFKFc7Pdk85GDi1RrfGmlnTJM79EKdxh4eJILCtQH7KCV4a4aN3xd5o9XZIsVbK/s640/blogger-image--1116243988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIThy-WHtfIo6aio3NFCHBfah58PaPlLom61cCzC_kEks6N0rHXctlkf8ps1AFD6yJQSLeGOOBB9W1iFKFc7Pdk85GDi1RrfGmlnTJM79EKdxh4eJILCtQH7KCV4a4aN3xd5o9XZIsVbK/s320/blogger-image--1116243988.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Time to unload this nonsense. So I'm offering it up to you, my friends, at a 20% discount. I was going to say for one week but it's my birthday month so ALL OF JULY. Why not? </div>
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I've got your <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero?section_id=15404884&ref=shopsection_leftnav_2" target="_blank">toddler purses</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2esMMakIioMscrBw7GmP71lb26gbXHnDt0_hcJ5hg_0YUFvwj1GcE2gN-triaskc7X-2SlIirXVc2Pw20iD3PtowwE7ASR5hrnLJY-Zhtb1IAcJpIu6LvprwV0PHt3ipgd5S2A5l5HL_K/s640/blogger-image--990880770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2esMMakIioMscrBw7GmP71lb26gbXHnDt0_hcJ5hg_0YUFvwj1GcE2gN-triaskc7X-2SlIirXVc2Pw20iD3PtowwE7ASR5hrnLJY-Zhtb1IAcJpIu6LvprwV0PHt3ipgd5S2A5l5HL_K/s640/blogger-image--990880770.jpg" /></a></div>
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Your<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero?section_id=15402851&ref=shopsection_leftnav_3" target="_blank"> coin purses</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rUOY75LKlvSRloN2PD0aJ44rD1bf6brTdxMpuK-qMP1Z6B7E3bcDD2vletIOQUqxiOJXBnsRYwlg4eMbV4mb53KmugACCsM1caAWbVqjSFDGx9jykkIVhptbPy_9eTMsn4vjGg4ojzeX/s640/blogger-image--1408445906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7rUOY75LKlvSRloN2PD0aJ44rD1bf6brTdxMpuK-qMP1Z6B7E3bcDD2vletIOQUqxiOJXBnsRYwlg4eMbV4mb53KmugACCsM1caAWbVqjSFDGx9jykkIVhptbPy_9eTMsn4vjGg4ojzeX/s640/blogger-image--1408445906.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero/search?search_query=clutch&order=date_desc&view_type=gallery&ref=shop_search" target="_blank">Clutches</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwIDFsVekOMF49Yz_aFvz1qxRlwyAXnje0gnyUU2z89v77qN7jdStHy1Fv2MfgbyGX77-QS9Db9fBjrccH082M1oqYXzvKXNSvO7UXldIvtfPGW2pzdMgfk_wSCC2bMNWycdZGHGR81Nz/s640/blogger-image-1153802851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwIDFsVekOMF49Yz_aFvz1qxRlwyAXnje0gnyUU2z89v77qN7jdStHy1Fv2MfgbyGX77-QS9Db9fBjrccH082M1oqYXzvKXNSvO7UXldIvtfPGW2pzdMgfk_wSCC2bMNWycdZGHGR81Nz/s640/blogger-image-1153802851.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero/search?search_query=ruffled+purse&order=date_desc&view_type=gallery&ref=shop_search" target="_blank">A skeleton purse?? <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A Barbie purse????</span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTL7eapGnPYIeSsztt_s8XtzFafCoHyzIglogzc8bYNe929YygJh2zqy69u_vrq_VZhBrmBk746aMdlZB2MddTD3jd4CCU-8LpRpKVR5c-MiFGpAGxQf1EVJXZtRyDX4IWCFeLFPPqT1f/s640/blogger-image-1511106045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTL7eapGnPYIeSsztt_s8XtzFafCoHyzIglogzc8bYNe929YygJh2zqy69u_vrq_VZhBrmBk746aMdlZB2MddTD3jd4CCU-8LpRpKVR5c-MiFGpAGxQf1EVJXZtRyDX4IWCFeLFPPqT1f/s640/blogger-image-1511106045.jpg" /></a></div>
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All ready to ship. Come to <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero?ref=si_shop" target="_blank">my etsy shop</a>, and use the code </div>
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CLEANYOURHOUSEAMY20 </div>
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and get 20% all July long. Yay!! For you and for me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLXLuHs3LWDQUmYHAG5gS5dE31uh-V4jboi2hEHHUtNm9XhaXL283HsaYQoX3TtSrVesj-g6V0HPkYRdNOFpEScg8_mQZ6MBWmuQrQujetbVUkBsLjDRczvaOIKdCMOUztIAJC5FAzzsE/s640/blogger-image--1936450999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLXLuHs3LWDQUmYHAG5gS5dE31uh-V4jboi2hEHHUtNm9XhaXL283HsaYQoX3TtSrVesj-g6V0HPkYRdNOFpEScg8_mQZ6MBWmuQrQujetbVUkBsLjDRczvaOIKdCMOUztIAJC5FAzzsE/s320/blogger-image--1936450999.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've also opened up shipping to all over the land so invite your international friends! And if you *are* my international friends, Hi!! </div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-2360130186365058492014-06-25T12:19:00.001-07:002015-03-10T15:00:57.480-07:00Pretty Old in Pink<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0lI5cer0LqdbvhtjKf7YnVHVUZVj0A2fWrBxL07_TEZ-yMBbroR8dCMZZElKmgtpDLu-lFHbffSYK5ibWCHcoC2h_uI6cfzBeQlPDKqSyCePqC3KRyd5gPDpeNyLlki-gglE-1zxCrk9/s640/blogger-image--1789004331.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0lI5cer0LqdbvhtjKf7YnVHVUZVj0A2fWrBxL07_TEZ-yMBbroR8dCMZZElKmgtpDLu-lFHbffSYK5ibWCHcoC2h_uI6cfzBeQlPDKqSyCePqC3KRyd5gPDpeNyLlki-gglE-1zxCrk9/s320/blogger-image--1789004331.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From time to time you'll see things that make you question reality like "Will Smith is older than Uncle Phil was in the first season on Fresh Prince!" or "We're further removed now from 'That 70's Show' than we were from the 70s when 'That 70's Show' began!" those kind of facts that make you retweet them with an "OMG!!" but you never quite let it sink in. It's so surreal that doesn't even hold proper weight. For me anyway.<br />
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There is one thing that makes me feel older than every fun fact in the land. </div>
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Annie Potts' character in Pretty in Pink. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrVPVe3h4ap8wS3ZE77gx1mDI8Y4gxF_EvstG3XtYZ8puc_NgcAd7sZPfw2gVKrp8rWgUpvo5h4yQ14Nona9JJOD3DrUefS9-YNmBm5lihMo28Qo-GgumEAbxD1K52xvB2Nk0fmi8tsRL/s640/blogger-image--1522118172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrVPVe3h4ap8wS3ZE77gx1mDI8Y4gxF_EvstG3XtYZ8puc_NgcAd7sZPfw2gVKrp8rWgUpvo5h4yQ14Nona9JJOD3DrUefS9-YNmBm5lihMo28Qo-GgumEAbxD1K52xvB2Nk0fmi8tsRL/s320/blogger-image--1522118172.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm not joking. </div>
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This movie came out in 1986. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoELBQpxtxmRZ0CeunpPGgXPxHYNfVO32xJZUQgzjbxQHblYOyfwRrCvoWvRzJPxU7m_X_k0WvzP6wO_xiMPhEL2qMMAsEZ8PGPg8Iz81mi5eoM2qIc7IddYlhkueAbq8fjzgI6FPYQa7c/s640/blogger-image--1300322067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoELBQpxtxmRZ0CeunpPGgXPxHYNfVO32xJZUQgzjbxQHblYOyfwRrCvoWvRzJPxU7m_X_k0WvzP6wO_xiMPhEL2qMMAsEZ8PGPg8Iz81mi5eoM2qIc7IddYlhkueAbq8fjzgI6FPYQa7c/s640/blogger-image--1300322067.jpg" /></a></div>
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In 1986 I was a spunky 9 or 10 year old depending on what part of the year you want to go. I loved John Hughes movies and Molly Ringwald and pink and if I loved anything more than anything it was the 1960s. Very little has changed about me, by the way which is probably why this Annie Potts knife is so sharp. </div>
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Let's break down the facts. As a 10 year old I looked up to Annie Potts's (extra s, no s? I don't remember) character, Iona as an older woman, "middle aged" I had assumed because I was 10 and because I did some math and based on this ensemble </div>
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and that she danced to that horrible song "Cherish" by The Association, that put her in her mid 30s. Also known as old. But I was so looking forward to being like her when I was old. </div>
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In about 3 weeks I'll turn 38. THIRTY EIGHT, PEOPLE! That makes me OLDER than "old lady, Iona". </div>
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Holy crap!! And what's she doing hanging out with a 17 year old?? Or kissing Duckie?? </div>
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I've just gained a whole new perspective. </div>
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Fun Fact: if this movie were out today and I was Iona, (and I went to prom), I would be dancing with some child girl to Undone: The Sweater Song by weezer. </div>
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As I look off into the distance and remember a time long ago, softly singing out of tune while the teenager rolls her eyes and smiles. "If you want to destroy my sweater, whoa oo whoa oo whoa pull this thread as I walk away."<br />
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Fitting. Unlike Andi's excuse for a repurpose. </div>
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Speaking of that horrible prom dress, I stumbled upon <a href="http://onthisdayinfashion.com/?p=11761" target="_blank">this amazing analysis</a> of it. </div>
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And even worse???? At the end of the Iona story, she meets a dude and dresses like a grown up. "NO WAY!" I'd think. Even that blog post about the horrible prom dress that I just linked to alludes to the absurdity. <br />
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Here's where the old lady water starts to get a little too comfortable. <br />
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When I take Wally to school, I always feel like I'm dressing like a child. I wear my t-shirts and my comfy pants and I kind of don't really dress like an adult. I dress like me, but I don't dress my age. <br />
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So I can get behind Iona's decision to be old lady. I get it. If I were looking to be taken seriously by people my own age, which I kind of feel like I want to be at times, well, it's not really a stretch. After years of trying to stand out, you get to a point were you just kind of want to fit in again.<br />
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-56651361299339972732014-06-23T12:51:00.001-07:002014-06-23T16:04:50.961-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book - Kitchen grime editionHi. Did you miss me? I have been very busy, my friends. I got swooped into Wally's school's PTA, I have a sewing job to-do list that is becoming its own member of the household and I'm just getting over some wretched flu situation. Oh, and it's summer break so I kind of have to pay attention to the kids. And the stress that my house is a horrendous disaster at all times is making me want to throw in the towel and live like those hoarder people we all pity on the TLC shows.<br />
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So I made a pact with myself. I am going to try to not give a second thought about what I'm failing at. </div>
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It's never going to work. </div>
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But I've decided to prioritize. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Laundry because my husband doesn't need to be going to work looking like homeless. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Sewing work because money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Do ONE thing a day that will better the house. Like yesterday, no not yesterday, I was lying on the couch wishing for a coma yesterday, but before this flu, possibly Thursday, I finally threw out weeks of newspapers that my husband had been piling up under an end table, presumably for the coupons. Then Friday, the day the flu came rustling in, I did laundry AND dusted the bookshelf in my bedroom AAAANNNNDD finished up a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.517581911697889.1073741831.248751175247632&type=1" target="_blank">coffee sack messenger bag</a> (coming soon to an <a href="http://www.fangirlsuperhero.etsy.com/" target="_blank">etsy shop near you</a>) And I'm pretty sure that I overdid it on Friday and that's what made me sick. So the universe is telling me to relax. Message received, Universe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, as usual, I was looking for trouble over on the Pinterest when I came across this. Don't worry, I don't crossfit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So this apparent Jillian Michaels quote is my house motivation. EFFORT not perfection. I can do it, Jillian! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So my thing of today, other than the laundry I just did, is the stove. Again. I just did it the other day but somebody, I'm not naming names, but possibly a stranger? comes in and cooks and doesn't clean up after himself when he makes a large mess. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay book. Pgs 247-250 are basically telling me to stop letting my husband cook. Take it down a notch, book. I'm not quite ready to go back to meal making. It's not 1943 okay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, my stove. I took the burners and knobs off and soaked them all morning in dish soap and fake Pine-Sol and super hot water because they had yesterday's brunch cooked into them. I do wish I would've read the book first about boiling them with washing soap. Next time</span>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then I got down to business. First of all, I try to use the least amount of chemical stuff as possible, not because I'm a hippie or opposed to strong as butt chemicals because, they work and I don't have to scrub as hard and I'm lazy and I don't care what you have to say about it, but because of the boys. If either kid gets ahold of something I'm cleaning with, I'd like them to not go blind or "cornnuuuuuuuuuts" it into a glass table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Also why I removed all the glass tables. So I try to use as much vinegar and baking soda and all them other tricks as much as I can, but let me let you in on a little secret. It's all crap. This cheap, knockoff Pine-Sol is a grease cutting machine, though! And I've only just discovered this. Because I've been trying to get kitchen grease off with whatever Pinterest tells me I should- vinegar, oil, baking soda, lemon skins. All crap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This stuff is harmful to humans and animals alike so you know it works. It's my kind of clean! And look at that sponge! Ew. I think that thing is trash bound as soon as I get done with this blog post. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So this is what I'm working against. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't you judge me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is what it looked like when we moved in 10 years ago except more bug carcasses. I'm not joking. And I've never been able to get this stuff off, it is pure grease and now cat hair and it just smears onto the hood whenever you touch it and then a new stalagtite forms in its place in about a week. It's like kitchen nature. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, I don't know why I don't have a hood screen or light cover but I never have. And if we ever move, I'm sure my landlord will charge us for a new one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll put it on my "things to buy at Home Depot" list. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So UNDELUDED (make sure you're wearing your yellow gloves!) pour this poison right onto a scrubby sponge (the scrub part is also important to the workings) and go to town. It wipes fairly easily off. I don't think I took a picture of the top of my hood (with all the dust that accumulated into the grease making it look a grayish brown textured thing) but that crap wiped right off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, and my stalagtite?</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It did nothing for the rust though. Pretty sure this hood has been here since the building was built in 1954. I'll forgive it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then I wiped down the stove that wasn't too bad since I just deep cleaned it a couple of days ago and I was only battling day old grease</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay, it still looks bad but that is some burned on stuff that will only be released with possibly a razor blade and wizard magic or some other suggestion you have for me? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So voila! Or "wha la!" Like I saw on a Pinterest pin and can't stop giggling about. And I'm done for the day. If I want to be. No pressure. I did my one thing, actually also laundry and I just remembered that I forgot to make the beds today. </span></div>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-43723815654084899302014-04-08T18:20:00.001-07:002014-04-08T18:38:09.336-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book:Recap of my Living Room Cleaning.
A.K.A.: Failure.Well not complete failure. I got a good solid "Daily Clean" but not the "Weekly Clean" that I was looking for. <div><br></div><div>I took care of the earth's living room today, okay? 'Cause I planted a tree. An orange tree with my neighbors and so also, I was giving back to my community and THAT COUNTS LAY OFF ME. </div><div><br></div><div>Look at this cute little tree though!!!</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1lRF4GmS7cRjFMgYn8oEo2ykUcI5io0H420eabXHqwpuKV4EWCfCzWQGCtLrgI0WHHcDmFl1TLV2VrnEo6z08g2I9kfcuygPbMhvGOYWATcDzgrhe13x_2VBAiY5SgJSt5_94gVyMtwy/s640/blogger-image--68066331.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1lRF4GmS7cRjFMgYn8oEo2ykUcI5io0H420eabXHqwpuKV4EWCfCzWQGCtLrgI0WHHcDmFl1TLV2VrnEo6z08g2I9kfcuygPbMhvGOYWATcDzgrhe13x_2VBAiY5SgJSt5_94gVyMtwy/s640/blogger-image--68066331.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And I can see it from my dirty living room window so, that counts. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And as far as the living room goes, my sewing area is still ridiculous but I don't want to put stuff away that I'm still working on. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But I did get a sweep in and a rug shake. And speaking of the rug, I feel pretty impressed with myself. The rug sits under the coffee table and Wally sits on the edge of the couch and pushes the rug and table into the middle of the living room several times a day and it bugs me to no end. So I took the rug and some silicone calking outside and got to work. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicWWq6EUoadHnhfxE2nmwFnsQC45c7zP9fHL5kEhT7991wjxQGgAwzXNVdVNotoGKiTMtcoRt7eMDNcco26TheVcNHNRcZbb8RLnOe6PxjByh5W0Q11becwsKZEspRClaaQZXah9AQ60aQ/s640/blogger-image-212984887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicWWq6EUoadHnhfxE2nmwFnsQC45c7zP9fHL5kEhT7991wjxQGgAwzXNVdVNotoGKiTMtcoRt7eMDNcco26TheVcNHNRcZbb8RLnOe6PxjByh5W0Q11becwsKZEspRClaaQZXah9AQ60aQ/s640/blogger-image-212984887.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Can you see that????</span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Just going to let that "cure" or whatever they call it and let's see Wally rearrange that bad boy. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">What's up for tomorrow? The Dining Room. I don't have a dining room so maybe I finish the living room. Or my sewing. Or this level on Candy Crush I can't move on from. </span></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-41767188659355069632014-04-08T08:31:00.001-07:002014-04-08T10:13:01.745-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: The Living Room. Daily ScheduleI need to break this down into parts or I will never get through any of it. It's too much to deal with when I haven't been going at it consistantly for months, I have all these half finished and not even started sewing projects that people are waiting for, and I have a two year old under my feet the whole time. <div><br></div><div>Excuses excuses. I know. But I am being honest when I tell you my woes, that should count for something. And I have to remind myself that it's my house and it's my project and I shouldn't feel guilty. </div><div><br></div><div>I already make the bed most days and I keep up on the bathroom because I have to. </div><div><br></div><div>Once I get everything properly cleaned, I will have time to do everything. Right now it's like trying to wax a car that just did some mud racing. </div><div><br></div><div>So we're starting small. The Living Room.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOnWmkRE-BMbiCkGa3iodtptMw0S2yy4TQpddJoFcJ0O1UnNhWLFBN-01byS7XGEOvB1NHL6c1zPugH1-fV_61cHhgCKxsFb6sQX8rj05D5atxR_O0vrJwQeiSK_oMCHNHlg0jtZxn0f3/s640/blogger-image-1428487738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOnWmkRE-BMbiCkGa3iodtptMw0S2yy4TQpddJoFcJ0O1UnNhWLFBN-01byS7XGEOvB1NHL6c1zPugH1-fV_61cHhgCKxsFb6sQX8rj05D5atxR_O0vrJwQeiSK_oMCHNHlg0jtZxn0f3/s640/blogger-image-1428487738.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuJeAIRPqgiJtlaAJNiXmKhjMwC-la289LhGTHPGFBMtOg5uG1wTDBZVrdi-WRbi0D6xBlxVmr9yQtbniC9Xti1z8eIKufdGAxAJ9vDQN77Wb1izrwvHquy6YOtoZ5m6Z_4U7QtF6LB1u/s640/blogger-image-971347319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuJeAIRPqgiJtlaAJNiXmKhjMwC-la289LhGTHPGFBMtOg5uG1wTDBZVrdi-WRbi0D6xBlxVmr9yQtbniC9Xti1z8eIKufdGAxAJ9vDQN77Wb1izrwvHquy6YOtoZ5m6Z_4U7QtF6LB1u/s640/blogger-image-971347319.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Nailed it. </div><div><br></div><div>Page 230. </div><div><br></div><div>ORDER OF WORK FOR THE LIVING ROOM.</div><div><br></div><div>Daily Care</div><div><br></div><div> 1. Open windows top and bottom for free circulation of air. </div><div><br></div><div>2. Pick up and replace small articles belonging in the room such as books, magazines, music, games, victrola records, cards, etc. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Gather up on tray to take out: used ash trays, articles belonging in other rooms, plants or flowers to be tended. Collect trash in waste basket. </div><div><br></div><div>4. Carry out tray.</div><div><br></div><div>5. Bring in cleaning equipment: hearthbroom (if not kept at fireplace), carpet sweeper or vacuum cleaner (according to need), dust mop, cleaning basket (page 142).</div><div><br></div><div>6. In season, clean out fireplace, lay fire, sweep hearth.</div><div><br></div><div>7. Dust high objects if necessary: mantels, high shelves, window frames and sills, tops of bookcases, secretary, highboys, etc. </div><div><br></div><div>8. Dust radiator covers if necessary. </div><div><br></div><div>9. Brush upholstery if necessary. Straighten covers. Plump up pillows.</div><div><br></div><div>10. Dust furniture and low objects if necessary. Treat stains or blemishes as they occur (page 187). </div><div><br></div><div>11. Dust exposed wood flooring with dust mop if necessary. Use carpet sweeper or vacuum cleaner on rugs or carpets. </div><div><br></div><div>12. Final touches: Straighten draperies, shades, curtains, etc. Take out cleaning equipment and waste basket. Return clean ash trays, accessories, flowers and waste basket. Close windows if desired. </div><div><br></div><div>Weekly Care</div><div><br></div><div>One day each week additional care should be given the living room. </div><div><br></div><div>1. Clear surfaces for dusting, removing magazines, covers, bric-a-brac, etc.</div><div><br></div><div>2. Collect lamp bases and globes, bric-a-brac, fireplace fittings, etc., that need washing or polishing. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Bring in cleaning equipment: hearthbroom (if not kept at fireplace), vacuum cleaner and attachments, dust mop, cleaning basket (page 142), 2 bowls of clear warm water on tray. (At least two trips will be necessary.)</div><div><br></div><div>4. Brush ceilings (page 166) and walls (page 157) when necessary. Dust high mouldings, door and window frames, window shades and Venetian blinds (page 171) when necessary. Brush draperies (or use brush attachment of vacuum cleaner). Dust mirrors, pictures, lighting fixtures, lamps, woodwork; wash any of these articles if necessary (see index for page references).</div><div><br></div><div>5. Dust radiators (covers and coils) or registers (page 207); clean thoroughly when necessary. Brush baseboard or use brush attachment of vacuum cleaner. Dust book shelves and books as necessary (page 202). </div><div>Wash windows when necessary. </div><div><br></div><div>6. Remove cushions from upholstered furniture. Use brush attachment of vacuum cleaner on furniture (getting into all crevices) and cushions. Replace cushions. </div><div><br></div><div>7. Dust furniture; rub wood surfaces to polish (page 187); apply wax or polish when necessary. For special care of furniture, see index for types.</div><div>Polish metal hardware if necessary. </div><div>Wash glass table tops. </div><div><br></div><div>8. For weekly or special care of each type of flooring, see index for types. </div><div>Use vacuum cleaner for thorough cleaning of rugs and carpets (page 131).</div><div><br></div><div>9. Polish or wash accessories and return to place with other objects removed during cleaning. </div><div><br></div><div>And then there's a whole section on Special Seasonal Jobs which will be another day. I don't have time for such malarkey. But here's a picture of the page if you want to see it. I'll do it soon, just not today. Sorry folks. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2J5PKZag7NxzaRf_ah5g3vUOYEMeLJBnszP_Mv64K9GrECQlzGoykD08VQ4Onht0slSxyZPTlORMu21nHYd90vf7L_pD0oCS5O84IfuRVtJy3ccb1C0GJEY9Cl1jdFnbwmhZIDdoRREi/s640/blogger-image-719827109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2J5PKZag7NxzaRf_ah5g3vUOYEMeLJBnszP_Mv64K9GrECQlzGoykD08VQ4Onht0slSxyZPTlORMu21nHYd90vf7L_pD0oCS5O84IfuRVtJy3ccb1C0GJEY9Cl1jdFnbwmhZIDdoRREi/s640/blogger-image-719827109.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-59750680242921078742014-04-07T09:39:00.001-07:002014-04-08T09:32:25.546-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: Back on ScheduleMonday morning. <div><br></div><div>I'm still up to my nose in sewing projects but I'm taking some time this morning to try to get back on the schedule business. My laundry is in the wash so I'm ahead of my game a bit. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOjn4Vgs8X8j1QiBR_AozRiW6Zfujt9q6H_dIGaPGcCLFdBS-YvzRs60Oe95Fm9UAewbtfQE5yWgUemv3CuxJKtMB_eMaix2uSaTSsfr55KFE6EjlVoKnUFDAYuU-mQmGzQqiHzPDfshH/s640/blogger-image--160298826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOjn4Vgs8X8j1QiBR_AozRiW6Zfujt9q6H_dIGaPGcCLFdBS-YvzRs60Oe95Fm9UAewbtfQE5yWgUemv3CuxJKtMB_eMaix2uSaTSsfr55KFE6EjlVoKnUFDAYuU-mQmGzQqiHzPDfshH/s640/blogger-image--160298826.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Here's what I'm looking at today. I've already prepared and served breakfast, and I have my laundry in, although I would LOVE to have my laundry sent out like I'm some kind of Lucy Ricardo. A lady can dream. So, it being "forenoon" at 9:43 am- it's time to check out my "light cleaning of rooms". I have a feeling this will take up a vast majority of my day. </div><div><br></div><div>Page 230-253. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVq8oFAr9gBoA1sHbdUFtSoiqsMDYsNe_kALxj8gwHPNtgjp5U1dcmK-4LbNxWEvygmYSckEtqlVZ6ahnAQIL_NdhZH1ooHDZFMyEQW7awgIntKzCasMISg59uWCge8-Ab0DNEXuIZMoJ/s640/blogger-image-1940484241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVq8oFAr9gBoA1sHbdUFtSoiqsMDYsNe_kALxj8gwHPNtgjp5U1dcmK-4LbNxWEvygmYSckEtqlVZ6ahnAQIL_NdhZH1ooHDZFMyEQW7awgIntKzCasMISg59uWCge8-Ab0DNEXuIZMoJ/s640/blogger-image-1940484241.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Tp8gwTIH4Ol6v0RvdFgw7GF7as4Sck5UsJM2b0q8fDXMMwpKU3o14JVmYcR6bowZ3Y_R3pEdQHJgPzo-ptBOQceOPG7WlWpkzMxtFkGKChNFqx6G8UvKUBKS5wcS6d_Vtzgl_rifN26n/s640/blogger-image--538918953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Tp8gwTIH4Ol6v0RvdFgw7GF7as4Sck5UsJM2b0q8fDXMMwpKU3o14JVmYcR6bowZ3Y_R3pEdQHJgPzo-ptBOQceOPG7WlWpkzMxtFkGKChNFqx6G8UvKUBKS5wcS6d_Vtzgl_rifN26n/s640/blogger-image--538918953.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Okay. Living room. </div><div><br></div><div>2. Pick up and replace small articles...</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVaO7EHCoer4E6mCcMB8V7x1_gSKitsr0cfMUZSemTrlno8kt9MIlVuJGz5vBXp2rsEpIZ_72klhjOtiLdEmdJNMK9rk9RP_oW2LPY-KdLVqhu1iCSWZbHICFP8EiIkFtr-8sfrVLzCyy/s640/blogger-image-555688191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVaO7EHCoer4E6mCcMB8V7x1_gSKitsr0cfMUZSemTrlno8kt9MIlVuJGz5vBXp2rsEpIZ_72klhjOtiLdEmdJNMK9rk9RP_oW2LPY-KdLVqhu1iCSWZbHICFP8EiIkFtr-8sfrVLzCyy/s640/blogger-image-555688191.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Craps, man. I guess I'll see you in a week. </div><div><br></div><div>Okay, in order of what I need to do "light cleaning" of:</div><div><br></div><div>1. Living room</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlGBLqLadoKtZ8UHYkEfGilB8fqbhz0wPqw_Ln0t1K08FYJnN1InusPCnw7vKBCHGHLCxlLUxT5nfQXvqTybUWqcH-TccV3Mmgeqyc-xZkfIbdB8cKAji0NaPm6sj4ipSDRcQDodJ96Tp/s640/blogger-image-1531432369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlGBLqLadoKtZ8UHYkEfGilB8fqbhz0wPqw_Ln0t1K08FYJnN1InusPCnw7vKBCHGHLCxlLUxT5nfQXvqTybUWqcH-TccV3Mmgeqyc-xZkfIbdB8cKAji0NaPm6sj4ipSDRcQDodJ96Tp/s640/blogger-image-1531432369.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>2. Dining room - which is awesome because I don't have one. </div><div><br></div><div>3. The bedrooms. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyw7h-8zE8sQMSvaODHQvlHQpl8j_PcFu-5TR2p5Fm8qIOVfzafMe_266qR_QJrKVLEatr6kxbPonNjCAgg4IwnRSSOeBNkfMSZB-0JSYKf9vZ_LtAY_ICR5EC3ltenlJ3OySF8wzvQavO/s640/blogger-image--949055156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyw7h-8zE8sQMSvaODHQvlHQpl8j_PcFu-5TR2p5Fm8qIOVfzafMe_266qR_QJrKVLEatr6kxbPonNjCAgg4IwnRSSOeBNkfMSZB-0JSYKf9vZ_LtAY_ICR5EC3ltenlJ3OySF8wzvQavO/s640/blogger-image--949055156.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFt3mvzceGXymtaeCJxo6km9bHH5ndv1qbpKeZyk5A2MhzecKzhjQck8Q5ff1ZvoFyUWa2Om126PNB4oyQ0c9oHB4oKGdeNnAiHfnOs7y24CE60U6naiGRLcIvb8AcmD-rE2vMe6XiOnuk/s640/blogger-image--1446720889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFt3mvzceGXymtaeCJxo6km9bHH5ndv1qbpKeZyk5A2MhzecKzhjQck8Q5ff1ZvoFyUWa2Om126PNB4oyQ0c9oHB4oKGdeNnAiHfnOs7y24CE60U6naiGRLcIvb8AcmD-rE2vMe6XiOnuk/s640/blogger-image--1446720889.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>4. The bathroom. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi79NNAy2E56OnolU2XqR98ZsYN1LCBnXzFoNsumtkZumPKHSqt_0fRTogsxxio0NkWPXru3VcNZkDgexzYM2cTD0ovN5oGKeGWIUO8eQVPe46UNCZh4rV9fthX-0XRfyfuDVGL73AcM-Lr/s640/blogger-image-1550279680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi79NNAy2E56OnolU2XqR98ZsYN1LCBnXzFoNsumtkZumPKHSqt_0fRTogsxxio0NkWPXru3VcNZkDgexzYM2cTD0ovN5oGKeGWIUO8eQVPe46UNCZh4rV9fthX-0XRfyfuDVGL73AcM-Lr/s640/blogger-image-1550279680.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>5. Halls and stairs. No stairs so that'll be quick.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KDPDrrExsxuseSkbSwJV8LnJkRKBZBPIZR-QKZvXIR6dVeLdrum9S6XrmVQrt0eN_RKuSZ9HPdtyO0HjGSmx71nDtvSShmZfXUC1tLcXA54_WnKUdeiGn301rVVapCOEuQs44xaGEPOR/s640/blogger-image-1714564387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KDPDrrExsxuseSkbSwJV8LnJkRKBZBPIZR-QKZvXIR6dVeLdrum9S6XrmVQrt0eN_RKuSZ9HPdtyO0HjGSmx71nDtvSShmZfXUC1tLcXA54_WnKUdeiGn301rVVapCOEuQs44xaGEPOR/s640/blogger-image-1714564387.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>6. The kitchen. (Does blogger have spooky, blood font? No? Imagine this in horror movie-like font. Screams and howling wind in the background.)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayIC38GJaQ_lGPtbD40wdiJqq5t42qRXjUs-mzHoQ3ze1giKAd8pwUWePqkUUpcaKTzXYPlUOwwO3Tw7NbLX3zkgqoEoHa3ymbosE1Tqa0CNTHTUAZxirnmBgnPEUfKtgvlE-DaKpm3zL/s640/blogger-image--640663270.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayIC38GJaQ_lGPtbD40wdiJqq5t42qRXjUs-mzHoQ3ze1giKAd8pwUWePqkUUpcaKTzXYPlUOwwO3Tw7NbLX3zkgqoEoHa3ymbosE1Tqa0CNTHTUAZxirnmBgnPEUfKtgvlE-DaKpm3zL/s640/blogger-image--640663270.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Okay dokes. I better stop my yammering and get down to business. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS2aK2_sWVrGnw1w51kwpT8XtMAsN_nS4PleRlAenel90e3A42YomyhYJqtd2HvEjLxmLU1-yyL9ccW-3FsDhIGGasS2Ek-1GctE6jNW5KLWsRpdjrfuo-rQjQFNVnXqrAX9kaRaCYCa-/s640/blogger-image-1889752920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLS2aK2_sWVrGnw1w51kwpT8XtMAsN_nS4PleRlAenel90e3A42YomyhYJqtd2HvEjLxmLU1-yyL9ccW-3FsDhIGGasS2Ek-1GctE6jNW5KLWsRpdjrfuo-rQjQFNVnXqrAX9kaRaCYCa-/s640/blogger-image-1889752920.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-17708080711877531712014-04-03T09:14:00.001-07:002014-04-03T10:16:36.724-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: Sewing<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq9et20GDgf-tnV_vGIF1hG5gn26UOgtk0NIiRL5ywnPqAftCGANgsTJfTYkK-bA9LyZLcmGZQqi7F4Sq2w6XRjMshgK3reF4y6ERsJB_F4gv_yVNDZWLla5z_RWXcng36VbSj23vqMgx/s640/blogger-image-969292824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq9et20GDgf-tnV_vGIF1hG5gn26UOgtk0NIiRL5ywnPqAftCGANgsTJfTYkK-bA9LyZLcmGZQqi7F4Sq2w6XRjMshgK3reF4y6ERsJB_F4gv_yVNDZWLla5z_RWXcng36VbSj23vqMgx/s640/blogger-image-969292824.jpg"></a></div><br></div>My homemaker schedule is completely off the rails. <div><br></div><div>I'm not going to panic about that. Next week is a brand new week. </div><div><br></div><div>Besides, I HAVE to do a sewing day today because that's how I make money and I have 3 people waiting for me to finish their things and many more custom orders on my never ending To-Do board. I wish this were a humblebrag. So a wedding sash for a wedding in June, two messenger bags (for a June birthday) and a memory quilt that I was asked to do before Christmas have to take priority. <div><br></div><div>Anyway. The kids' room didn't get done yesterday and the bathroom is covered in toothpaste and hair and has a strong urine odor lingering in the air. So that's part of my day probably too.</div></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhke-9KHfl_UmyMv8Hf8w691cBsDIrtC4Kuui-tGDx7lqdrIY03L3OnwdvcGCaaunBaxzwHJTj8bdrPymAgnC8Zq2kU2wnU7ANCp0BvjJt35RgwWRKlRwEV8kiYeFGMDtXmS_nbMJl9jpDD/s640/blogger-image-1489490597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhke-9KHfl_UmyMv8Hf8w691cBsDIrtC4Kuui-tGDx7lqdrIY03L3OnwdvcGCaaunBaxzwHJTj8bdrPymAgnC8Zq2kU2wnU7ANCp0BvjJt35RgwWRKlRwEV8kiYeFGMDtXmS_nbMJl9jpDD/s640/blogger-image-1489490597.jpg"></a></div></div><div><br></div><div>The husband, "Ward" is home this morning so I'm going to use the opportunity to hit up the fabric store ALOOONNNNEEEEE. Besides, shopping is part of the sewing day (Wednesday) and we're just pretending they meant Thursday and the fabric store. </div><div><br></div><div>So in the meantime, drool over this set-up with me. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-aIKO-dTNlE8qr7u9bzu-Ttv0yB2JmY23m2sUPj6nGEPLxzKcH_sBvAQWRV8Ie30hROxtK3N5dY4cqjk1i0VoEPVyn1TwCGcFUDNRxUXepMD8dBAWdU6vsGNaeR8N7Gfu4AC7fnLRjyc/s640/blogger-image--1639326161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-aIKO-dTNlE8qr7u9bzu-Ttv0yB2JmY23m2sUPj6nGEPLxzKcH_sBvAQWRV8Ie30hROxtK3N5dY4cqjk1i0VoEPVyn1TwCGcFUDNRxUXepMD8dBAWdU6vsGNaeR8N7Gfu4AC7fnLRjyc/s640/blogger-image--1639326161.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>One day.</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-76866596899169168742014-04-02T12:55:00.001-07:002014-04-02T14:04:06.827-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: kids' room.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6fu6tRjA2FI3fXLWOSSG-gG2FHNKnRAkmt1vRWDTe0dhSvKyd-Bp_-yxUvfYttI-xF4fOdF6xtkICcLshuN7cGSxEQJ4Aq5SvV-9HmUYTTIlgCApmzANBhmqIM0B77BKkZJfANyMZgbg/s640/blogger-image--1082121281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6fu6tRjA2FI3fXLWOSSG-gG2FHNKnRAkmt1vRWDTe0dhSvKyd-Bp_-yxUvfYttI-xF4fOdF6xtkICcLshuN7cGSxEQJ4Aq5SvV-9HmUYTTIlgCApmzANBhmqIM0B77BKkZJfANyMZgbg/s640/blogger-image--1082121281.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The boys' bedroom has forever been the bane of my existence. It's ALWAYS a mess. Always. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wally loves boxes. He makes them into robots and cars and fighter jets</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWGBNssHET-ztwc0kQ_w2lFog31KC2sImwAedvr2ZGHl_Elu6z_wBEBIndnqEprscMZ6O7AVQ9_yVgSnIfBXrZtSLndwKKcIbJZBmXuxkgKn44y8lRtOfUGELjp9GlFNHufMqrQAgWsFi/s640/blogger-image--1038947576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWGBNssHET-ztwc0kQ_w2lFog31KC2sImwAedvr2ZGHl_Elu6z_wBEBIndnqEprscMZ6O7AVQ9_yVgSnIfBXrZtSLndwKKcIbJZBmXuxkgKn44y8lRtOfUGELjp9GlFNHufMqrQAgWsFi/s640/blogger-image--1038947576.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And rocket ships. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKhFI9kEMxHAGwD7gtrRQnt07QM8rL0l7YA0tHAs2YyBYe9mfmaJCBGwXfDHRdGuXi0ag7pV7YKLk5dp4R1dmCGDw4mLRF-6IGZtnqG_JRpWUWlvlQvj3qT5UmKanoUU9daoaeizfnO9N/s640/blogger-image-1766244085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKhFI9kEMxHAGwD7gtrRQnt07QM8rL0l7YA0tHAs2YyBYe9mfmaJCBGwXfDHRdGuXi0ag7pV7YKLk5dp4R1dmCGDw4mLRF-6IGZtnqG_JRpWUWlvlQvj3qT5UmKanoUU9daoaeizfnO9N/s640/blogger-image-1766244085.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And then he insists on keeping them forever. They eventually get thrown in recycling once they've been smashed up and forgotten about but there are still several members of the fleet in active duty. Which means his room eventually looks like the receiving area of a grocery store. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9q-1JpSPHj0vBg85hhjwPQGdlC4lcU44EjDfcXfws7RNhFiwvZLTOVd06uqXNwX-_IInlpezUjnf3N2fRfXEjgq2269XA4GGvu1yalvP3j4DzmDkwBEjt8xdStmpadZvd8nfKVMC_oDh/s640/blogger-image-531722260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb9q-1JpSPHj0vBg85hhjwPQGdlC4lcU44EjDfcXfws7RNhFiwvZLTOVd06uqXNwX-_IInlpezUjnf3N2fRfXEjgq2269XA4GGvu1yalvP3j4DzmDkwBEjt8xdStmpadZvd8nfKVMC_oDh/s640/blogger-image-531722260.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXVS-GqKiThpIl5aG5OKV7-jpjdRUsemVOw7ieDEN1YuRL4Sqs-yr2hRL7lz-d5J1IQn8NWhu89AurgEdlNXS9T-JpINF2Tivmq9p3kdA9tL8hTUK_42zndmdR9zdsFEsd_pFgS5suDlu/s640/blogger-image-321477322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXVS-GqKiThpIl5aG5OKV7-jpjdRUsemVOw7ieDEN1YuRL4Sqs-yr2hRL7lz-d5J1IQn8NWhu89AurgEdlNXS9T-JpINF2Tivmq9p3kdA9tL8hTUK_42zndmdR9zdsFEsd_pFgS5suDlu/s640/blogger-image-321477322.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Real time shots and I'm impressed that there are only 3 boxes in there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I deal with the boxes because I actually love his engineering skills. They will become very valuable when he gets old enough to have his own Pinterest account. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But I'm dealing with toys and toys and boxes and toys and toys. Everywhere. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have been off the charts lazy today and haven't even made the beds or cleaned up the bathroom. But I have not stopped thinking about the kid aspect of this book and since the room might just be a portal to the stock room of a Toys R Us, I can at the very least check out what the book advises I do to keep the kids' room in order. Did I mention how much I adore this book and its values????? With the exception of saying boys don't want "a sissy room" it's pretty on trend. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxpTUfQUQoG3bZDwTQcsu96VGHoCAZNyoLtyAMqG5FTCN0y6fbAe0DtGU9vPhatmHuwyfn-J9q1K4yozziNht3b6uVNpLjaRl04OOJAH8vzd8VAQ98VtKfBzdaZ_Wj5qfiXDaWTjGOcUr/s640/blogger-image--1079538065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxpTUfQUQoG3bZDwTQcsu96VGHoCAZNyoLtyAMqG5FTCN0y6fbAe0DtGU9vPhatmHuwyfn-J9q1K4yozziNht3b6uVNpLjaRl04OOJAH8vzd8VAQ98VtKfBzdaZ_Wj5qfiXDaWTjGOcUr/s640/blogger-image--1079538065.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Speaking of "on trend", this book invented Pinterest before you even heard of it, okay? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi401Q3cOa4HCOmPkaRwy8IwpB3qfWOr8AvTu1_Q2cOg05EUXhwrtTpDgNWW81sk3BCIt-GPV7f6Sxwmacx7eln1mN4LaN4znH8Hy35ZXkYFOMU9CNDArteKc2CPsnlqiABmO8cSS13VBjv/s640/blogger-image--970581391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi401Q3cOa4HCOmPkaRwy8IwpB3qfWOr8AvTu1_Q2cOg05EUXhwrtTpDgNWW81sk3BCIt-GPV7f6Sxwmacx7eln1mN4LaN4znH8Hy35ZXkYFOMU9CNDArteKc2CPsnlqiABmO8cSS13VBjv/s640/blogger-image--970581391.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It's fascinating and heart breaking at the same time when you realize why they had to be all hipster Pinterest. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In case you are not aware of what was happening to American households in 1943- a little thing called WW2 was happening. All over the world, men were at war and women were working. And shoes went on ration in March. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4jDzQs-uV7yZp3UvtBbGj4yAWPVsg7wtydgeMXZDyXGMfQMDylbSfvgIdWVVknQa_KBagKg5B7PQPOlAMXw82dC-wU7sLyINIToawFYFQUclK6ZAMG24jFaZUGPlfZf2gN7AqJbTuiWz/s640/blogger-image--806194271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4jDzQs-uV7yZp3UvtBbGj4yAWPVsg7wtydgeMXZDyXGMfQMDylbSfvgIdWVVknQa_KBagKg5B7PQPOlAMXw82dC-wU7sLyINIToawFYFQUclK6ZAMG24jFaZUGPlfZf2gN7AqJbTuiWz/s640/blogger-image--806194271.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyGaK_cmkkgKBpvr-gQQPSohx2PAx5yeMp67ltr8ZaI8S6cmP0yUhDmaN_5mwYeFVhmDDtcD-Yrmbd9aOxoLfgFQCEt-MEOb3dnzgjYomaxDnynH1Z_vQEUdtrQrgGobP-n_T379WvYR-/s640/blogger-image-43058880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyGaK_cmkkgKBpvr-gQQPSohx2PAx5yeMp67ltr8ZaI8S6cmP0yUhDmaN_5mwYeFVhmDDtcD-Yrmbd9aOxoLfgFQCEt-MEOb3dnzgjYomaxDnynH1Z_vQEUdtrQrgGobP-n_T379WvYR-/s640/blogger-image-43058880.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89kO8mFyk1jtTmdOAObvlpBeiYKCyutgNP9Lb1e5c9BphPoRHNJnasTM4C5gZWdMQrHFOkyqzs_vHQybW8cAjYtv7Sx8TLd-GSEw78a8cvv_zWeiK2G0JqXHyE2fy2DWU1v0NVDzAbNFB/s640/blogger-image--1386990709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89kO8mFyk1jtTmdOAObvlpBeiYKCyutgNP9Lb1e5c9BphPoRHNJnasTM4C5gZWdMQrHFOkyqzs_vHQybW8cAjYtv7Sx8TLd-GSEw78a8cvv_zWeiK2G0JqXHyE2fy2DWU1v0NVDzAbNFB/s640/blogger-image--1386990709.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So they saved and reused EVERYTHING. My grandma still to this day washes and reuses ziplock bags. She's probably still using the ones she bought in 1986. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Hipsters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So having order in the house was probably even more important to them then we even realize. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And finding cheap and free uses for things was just how it was. Good thing I found this book, then. I'm broke. </div><br></div>This era was possibly the defining moment for women, that silent rumbling that there was more to scrubbing the tub and having a perfect house and quiet, clean kids ready when your husband got home. The rumbling that got so loud that women eventually were socially accepted to go to college. (I saw that on a Quantum Leap episode, so you know it's true). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I went to college and now I'm a really bad stay at home mom who dreams of being a really good homemaker. But it's my choice, and for that I tip my unwashed mom bun to those ladies that came before me and did it so much better than I ever could. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alright, my vow is to tackle this room today. Maybe I could build some of this with old scraps laying around. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHiDKocFDOzGOKFnFSAUFnfdYvtNVN2yz3kZjEl0FR0gjlNjBUdci2lfjYER8Hduv5-nk6-8c-1Kxqf8fs7QhyphenhyphenN_Yr0JgeIalsnKYsJ31h47R-N-ttWCvXWW92mtXp3_UZHdau-BXRH_X/s640/blogger-image-1475283376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHiDKocFDOzGOKFnFSAUFnfdYvtNVN2yz3kZjEl0FR0gjlNjBUdci2lfjYER8Hduv5-nk6-8c-1Kxqf8fs7QhyphenhyphenN_Yr0JgeIalsnKYsJ31h47R-N-ttWCvXWW92mtXp3_UZHdau-BXRH_X/s640/blogger-image-1475283376.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHiDKocFDOzGOKFnFSAUFnfdYvtNVN2yz3kZjEl0FR0gjlNjBUdci2lfjYER8Hduv5-nk6-8c-1Kxqf8fs7QhyphenhyphenN_Yr0JgeIalsnKYsJ31h47R-N-ttWCvXWW92mtXp3_UZHdau-BXRH_X/s640/blogger-image-1475283376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3JVllZh8EkCzdFJOA86dC7u-AvjSWym-cL5vNBn2Oaeg0AiX5j6zXP9FcWg59kJsGalw4EtzVM05ha7DU7ZPSmsggGnWWuONonGBpg7hlLqPygldyQa8aTx2iz1GN3RPhgkgkuQFDh7M/s640/blogger-image-52604031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3JVllZh8EkCzdFJOA86dC7u-AvjSWym-cL5vNBn2Oaeg0AiX5j6zXP9FcWg59kJsGalw4EtzVM05ha7DU7ZPSmsggGnWWuONonGBpg7hlLqPygldyQa8aTx2iz1GN3RPhgkgkuQFDh7M/s640/blogger-image-52604031.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW1lji3vKkmRcrl3wCgrE-Qc3JOhamVyP2D3axy7m-044YxW02Hqp8UEKoaacahJ8qR4nDr02pj5kjP6wzgwq6m6vr4fw7m3kNdJbcTPnj2ZVLLuMqYuOSR-zCVfpG7Lof0EtP4q84eiO/s640/blogger-image--207144764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW1lji3vKkmRcrl3wCgrE-Qc3JOhamVyP2D3axy7m-044YxW02Hqp8UEKoaacahJ8qR4nDr02pj5kjP6wzgwq6m6vr4fw7m3kNdJbcTPnj2ZVLLuMqYuOSR-zCVfpG7Lof0EtP4q84eiO/s640/blogger-image--207144764.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">You laugh now, but I think I could do it. How hard could it be? I'll just look it up on a Pinterest diy board. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">First I've got to get rid of some boxes. </div></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-61781297755267685442014-04-01T20:23:00.001-07:002014-04-01T23:14:02.034-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9kzmFFljV1QitUR2vUHEEYxP-gQhyphenhyphenmhvqA573ULEBH00yyPvEwTxn1qICYmsDL0GGZuqgpAxaN3yPO8n6trBkS8OPhs6ysgwZEvaoWWUtS_bHZJsouZOjuy6QYEVcaPGb2xXJ9lnVsO1M/s640/blogger-image--1345421315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9kzmFFljV1QitUR2vUHEEYxP-gQhyphenhyphenmhvqA573ULEBH00yyPvEwTxn1qICYmsDL0GGZuqgpAxaN3yPO8n6trBkS8OPhs6ysgwZEvaoWWUtS_bHZJsouZOjuy6QYEVcaPGb2xXJ9lnVsO1M/s640/blogger-image--1345421315.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is the first of what may prove to be many side posts regarding this book. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The kid aspect.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It's so "now".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The book that I have in my hands was published in 1943- the same year "Beatle" George Harrison was born. I jump at all opportunity to bring The Beatles into anything, as you know, and I will still probably try to mold this in a Beatle way even though this book says "America's" in the title and they weren't. There may be SOME similarities on how British mothers and American mothers mothered in 1943, but I don't know. Not as I type this, anyway, but possibly by the end of this post I may know a bit more. BUUUTTTT since this experiment is based solely on this book and this book is for American housewives then "American Housewife" is the way I shall lean. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I am an American mother. And let me tell you that I kind of hate a lot of American mothers. The ones online anyway. And okay, a lot of the ones I know offline too. I hang out with a lot of cool moms but let's face it, as a mom of today, you've always got your side-eye on and stories of your kid's latest accomplishments on the ready just in case. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That's not just a problem of today, I suppose though because The Ricardo's had a similar situation if I recall correctly and I do. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyj10-js8i-g8hdEd5hTIQyXOf9Ht_-vAkI6HaEJ6ya7nzTCciTbFsZK8Gr8IbaQagcGJMuuo3bPVwHTmINRHra_WbqZoXc7S7rlMSjlByyAbne-54tPQ_KW7y3ROHGseTtTgPFk866CHH/s640/blogger-image-924904079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyj10-js8i-g8hdEd5hTIQyXOf9Ht_-vAkI6HaEJ6ya7nzTCciTbFsZK8Gr8IbaQagcGJMuuo3bPVwHTmINRHra_WbqZoXc7S7rlMSjlByyAbne-54tPQ_KW7y3ROHGseTtTgPFk866CHH/s640/blogger-image-924904079.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Remember that brat, little Stevie Appleby?? Me too. Mother wars haven't evolved much since then, only moms have Facebook now and well, I'm sure you know. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Listen, I don't want to hate moms but I think that's what quells our insecurities; hating each other and telling each other how much better it would be for them if they knew how to parent just like us even though we secretly question everything we do ourselves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">None of us know what we're doing and that opens the door for all the parenting "experts" like Dr. Spock and Dr. Sears and Miyam Bilak and Jenny McCarthy. It's a sickness we have. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm getting off topic a bit. </div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So the new trend is attached parenting. It's all hippie and crap but it's actually how I tend to parent (don't tell anyone) and this book is basically in line with ME rather than my romanticized ideas of the past trying to conform with the past. It feels that way, anyway. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When I became a new mom I was handed all sorts of books and one I remember in particular was a book on raising a genius baby written in the 80s or 90s. It had all these ideas of black and white color schemes that made the "I love everything black and white!!!" part of me want to paint Wally's nursery black and white like the Clockwork Orange milk bar minus all the naked lady mannequins.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtTEysi-bI_7mxiubNqMVMr3T8sgqU-byXOaI-HbC-98QfJM_X7tEXlDHp_ZidSgpYLPHlNURJWa9ePyOqMOLQYRKk9EvqLhrejyAwKJ-Yq5xhtJN45QkpXVNdH4YqqJ1d0vAskUIwKDT/s640/blogger-image-722175713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJtTEysi-bI_7mxiubNqMVMr3T8sgqU-byXOaI-HbC-98QfJM_X7tEXlDHp_ZidSgpYLPHlNURJWa9ePyOqMOLQYRKk9EvqLhrejyAwKJ-Yq5xhtJN45QkpXVNdH4YqqJ1d0vAskUIwKDT/s640/blogger-image-722175713.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The one part the stood out to me was the suggestion of moving the crib around the room often so the baby would have different points of view throughout the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I started questioning my need to carry my kid everywhere I went and this genius baby book is telling me to leave my kid in a crib all day to familiarize himself with his new views. That never seemed okay for me. Or for Wally. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">These many times that I've been trying to accomplish being a "perfect homemaker", I've failed. I've failed because I have kids and I could never figure out how moms back then did it. And it turns out, they didn't either. It's not a fault of me as a mother, it's how it goes if you don't have a nanny or a maid. It's about accepting that reality. Facebook probably doesn't help. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This edition that I have was published in 1943. That puts the kids of the women reading this a decade before when my mom was born (1954). I know that my grandma didn't breast feed, nor did my mom. I'm sure that because of all the rations and everything, in 1943, breast feeding was still the norm, which is back to where most of us are at now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love that the book encourages you to allow your children to help out around the house, even when that slows your work down (it SOOOOO does). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm very interested to learn more about what it was like to parent in the 40s, the 50s and how that differed in the 70s and 80s when we grew up. Mostly, I'm interested in how these groups of babies grew up differently.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Do you see how I can't stop sneaking in information about what I'm doing wrong? I want to learn more and go further with this, but I also want to go to bed. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We'll pick this up later. I welcome any insight. </div> </div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-78601534967773879552014-04-01T09:27:00.001-07:002014-04-01T16:44:14.920-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: Scheduling<div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcJPPsOB7BDQDscTkO8sYUgBY7dzsDTp1AuarCV_Vhy0ifuSO52q7CSrfOI5YZgpUcb7bXnz0WF5qu9qZ6WLesFdrMhLhYHeLELdD5CxTKBqno8cRykBdv9idiS51YCSgGPK6_Ss2xbcsb/s640/blogger-image-1870547527.jpg"></span></div><div><br></div><div>I think my problem is scheduling. I should've done this part first instead of going guns ablaze into the bathroom, although now I have a clean bathroom so not all has been lost. <br></div><div><br></div><div>But when "scheduling" is on page 9 and the bathroom is on page 244, I should've grasped onto the hint rope. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm doing laundry right now and airing the farts out of the beds. I was trying to figure what I was going to do next because the whole house, minus the bathroom is in sad shambles. I was planning on mopping the living room floor but it's supposed to rain tomorrow and that kind of seems like it might be a better task to handle after the rain. My bedroom is a mess, the boys' bedroom is a mess, the kitchen is a mess and I'm getting overwhelmed. </div><div><br></div><div>Today is a short day for Wally at school so maybe I tackle the scheduling today. Laundry and the scheduling and a bit of the daily chores if there is time. The book has a skeleton schedule which I am going to copy. I'll start there. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3CxnEUWakbIB1gXWY1N8k2htuSLNUdXZqFX4t5Dw1WVRh-2TGMMjzIRRxvAsVDYxV8sWM-nFLIkBoFlyYWuWM2fnRWMcvRKt5bFatkJQbz_1661doZXL5drMPshgUK5JBLo7gGBx8g22P/s640/blogger-image--372914196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3CxnEUWakbIB1gXWY1N8k2htuSLNUdXZqFX4t5Dw1WVRh-2TGMMjzIRRxvAsVDYxV8sWM-nFLIkBoFlyYWuWM2fnRWMcvRKt5bFatkJQbz_1661doZXL5drMPshgUK5JBLo7gGBx8g22P/s640/blogger-image--372914196.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEe6hEiidIWUanSJS5xRm7Yt1xgWv39RtMbzhVK_m0EhJ6xiiFc1cNdOKO6Ym6sjcjb6zyPvXSqf056tCEfFj9B4sP_a2Q9eL3OCgl-y6I-M-mI20TdwWyNcyLTbPyy-62hqkzS_oClhV/s640/blogger-image--1479783269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEe6hEiidIWUanSJS5xRm7Yt1xgWv39RtMbzhVK_m0EhJ6xiiFc1cNdOKO6Ym6sjcjb6zyPvXSqf056tCEfFj9B4sP_a2Q9eL3OCgl-y6I-M-mI20TdwWyNcyLTbPyy-62hqkzS_oClhV/s640/blogger-image--1479783269.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Let's see what the book says about scheduling. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFgzqlI3tDEn1EKxrh_oxEEoQ936Pr-UXwvPXmU7iRCwd_E5c9kwYNhyxjROXNtFWtyFWNojuVk3OOBdowS3zWUuA6_CgCM8khYROOviJVGcQPkJxC7l9ckbnKjycrVgDCsaEFs9lvW1L/s640/blogger-image-950599102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFgzqlI3tDEn1EKxrh_oxEEoQ936Pr-UXwvPXmU7iRCwd_E5c9kwYNhyxjROXNtFWtyFWNojuVk3OOBdowS3zWUuA6_CgCM8khYROOviJVGcQPkJxC7l9ckbnKjycrVgDCsaEFs9lvW1L/s640/blogger-image-950599102.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAuyHX0PXMY_QjqllnqHI-6Kl69nlW81UG5B17bWVq0xlRRTgoKmamfw7jHUadtzi5Bq6-SFsOCWz_u5YRdXz7HwpO1-hvMKL6jRG1_hLhzD49e9L9xg3ayi0lUbq6h5lxOVxJlA8eCMM/s640/blogger-image-121066340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAuyHX0PXMY_QjqllnqHI-6Kl69nlW81UG5B17bWVq0xlRRTgoKmamfw7jHUadtzi5Bq6-SFsOCWz_u5YRdXz7HwpO1-hvMKL6jRG1_hLhzD49e9L9xg3ayi0lUbq6h5lxOVxJlA8eCMM/s640/blogger-image-121066340.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ho9KLMSWHU3t9U_VlXpnOiSXyzh7xY6XYhOyZpnTyCB4y7qB0o0KoIjR1EbwmcOcRVYRkZWmTo3oJp-ypyI4mGqnCirvs2C65WZTzQpvd8O_pX4NIMhuUfKJe9D85tbQv5zR68aoOonW/s640/blogger-image--1663430370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ho9KLMSWHU3t9U_VlXpnOiSXyzh7xY6XYhOyZpnTyCB4y7qB0o0KoIjR1EbwmcOcRVYRkZWmTo3oJp-ypyI4mGqnCirvs2C65WZTzQpvd8O_pX4NIMhuUfKJe9D85tbQv5zR68aoOonW/s640/blogger-image--1663430370.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Do you consider silver polishing more important than a picnic?" I do not, book. Clearly. Have you seen my house? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm also super stoked that this book understands where I have failed every time I've tried to undertake this project due to feeling completely overwhelmed because children. And that's okay because apparently I've been doing what the book says I'm supposed to do anyway. (Facebooking would be in the current edition, I'm sure of it)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Exhibit A: </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8LThOVNPlLeMQHuDkTkAdyxrULwogjYt3YfydZUs1H8hQW4_OSp_DK8FURu4i0QOs0EGxeKsUirxDmE-ccXSRiuf-jsI0U6GshHw1kHct6Nmjy-53fuMbeISJy2Ybr7W57DKHfI4ciCe/s640/blogger-image--1951875468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8LThOVNPlLeMQHuDkTkAdyxrULwogjYt3YfydZUs1H8hQW4_OSp_DK8FURu4i0QOs0EGxeKsUirxDmE-ccXSRiuf-jsI0U6GshHw1kHct6Nmjy-53fuMbeISJy2Ybr7W57DKHfI4ciCe/s640/blogger-image--1951875468.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Exhibit B:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53ENiHxOwbT_m4vzyiyX8f6RK11rzr5O4VoY2XI3ouGM-9ZG3TOVHf87YYd4VzIQPt9CA4-S784BTQ869wQimf2MeRAVy01mfyqJMMjxmeKbF8zi1g-vFotbu9HVV3B0PChv9yJEAon3L/s640/blogger-image--768344920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53ENiHxOwbT_m4vzyiyX8f6RK11rzr5O4VoY2XI3ouGM-9ZG3TOVHf87YYd4VzIQPt9CA4-S784BTQ869wQimf2MeRAVy01mfyqJMMjxmeKbF8zi1g-vFotbu9HVV3B0PChv9yJEAon3L/s640/blogger-image--768344920.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFCvu68sISp7n2Q6xFUNpfsSIHPIyamnxC8ct8kOEt_pbeGHcz9XKVpOAYV7Bk5bJj_2MWAf0CRou7O7r1SETetePwhRPiJ8LefyYeT0RCtZkELqcCIKJUP1eZGlsiL1DvIOa2R9BXJHf/s640/blogger-image--1734266015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFCvu68sISp7n2Q6xFUNpfsSIHPIyamnxC8ct8kOEt_pbeGHcz9XKVpOAYV7Bk5bJj_2MWAf0CRou7O7r1SETetePwhRPiJ8LefyYeT0RCtZkELqcCIKJUP1eZGlsiL1DvIOa2R9BXJHf/s640/blogger-image--1734266015.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So I accept my state of affairs philosophically. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I'd still like a little more order round these parts. Or a maid would be awesome. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But really, only 5 hours and 41 minutes for a baby?? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My laundry probably has to be put in the dryer now. Stay tuned for part 2 of this series where I try to talk myself out of this whole project. </div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-40579491728827992052014-03-31T13:03:00.001-07:002014-03-31T17:20:10.698-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: The BathroomI live with boys and have been babysitting boys consistantly and wow. I know that we ladies get the business about leaving a ridiculous mess in the bathroom but at least we hit the toilet most of the time we pee. <div><br></div><div>So the bathroom is where we begin our adventures. Let's see what our trusty book has to say. </div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Each member of the family should share in the responsibility of keeping the bathroom in spotless condition". </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Mm Hhhmmmmmmm. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'm going to print that on the toilet paper and have it monogrammed on all the towels.</span></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9fsUZkjOcudo2UESql_mfRmOVr0T3Zpc_E1nvukLU0Zvka2yS3PWP327pnU4BfoqEnLeZBahyphenhyphenZ4LEqCsRBampjjTYN9Mkc1SrsNjxB0xxR6MAx1zXJxwQsaRRaRSjjzbDBjSpyGX5wta/s640/blogger-image-1820410083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9fsUZkjOcudo2UESql_mfRmOVr0T3Zpc_E1nvukLU0Zvka2yS3PWP327pnU4BfoqEnLeZBahyphenhyphenZ4LEqCsRBampjjTYN9Mkc1SrsNjxB0xxR6MAx1zXJxwQsaRRaRSjjzbDBjSpyGX5wta/s640/blogger-image-1820410083.jpg"></a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgP2MnS0E7BpJTi5AB90-V-y7_WHzwaodle9Ta61xZa8l3BOoIV_PkQ48dgaZzdwcbOvMS9ad-IUAMF3WbcP29vdfYHAM7upjQ6h1dpPArtlvQB0qnPku7CJLRcLNfldQMKHcqgst4GNz/s640/blogger-image--1984647321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMgP2MnS0E7BpJTi5AB90-V-y7_WHzwaodle9Ta61xZa8l3BOoIV_PkQ48dgaZzdwcbOvMS9ad-IUAMF3WbcP29vdfYHAM7upjQ6h1dpPArtlvQB0qnPku7CJLRcLNfldQMKHcqgst4GNz/s640/blogger-image--1984647321.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDV6BRJKsmYTh61GV5Q5k6Z3HsmQp5booWOq7Yvggq6f2xXJudMKuwONvy7utHwUbl2KXDwRru1-rTr8XvBIWe3C3FyvgvEvVZpiksfUKZ4zUwG13Z8cOjHZ0x8xGMt3SKLpOTogmgVvI/s640/blogger-image--1170169467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDV6BRJKsmYTh61GV5Q5k6Z3HsmQp5booWOq7Yvggq6f2xXJudMKuwONvy7utHwUbl2KXDwRru1-rTr8XvBIWe3C3FyvgvEvVZpiksfUKZ4zUwG13Z8cOjHZ0x8xGMt3SKLpOTogmgVvI/s640/blogger-image--1170169467.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXipc8fX20aHjyDN9vFJYdxOHvIjyOyJ1iIhyWh6t0SIvX_sVC4M3Br75r7D-msWo6LB_HUduYkpmJTM7Mr_xHtYJ3DjfYU4YBxQqh7MWhxehu4_B3Jm5oyOgIHhJGaZeF80SyNkTptsVe/s640/blogger-image-206615883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXipc8fX20aHjyDN9vFJYdxOHvIjyOyJ1iIhyWh6t0SIvX_sVC4M3Br75r7D-msWo6LB_HUduYkpmJTM7Mr_xHtYJ3DjfYU4YBxQqh7MWhxehu4_B3Jm5oyOgIHhJGaZeF80SyNkTptsVe/s640/blogger-image-206615883.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjidJTdtaGKQ7kJemyHQSXSs6A9wpUQudacqwKxdyJB4wzlJmvSFjDhvs3FaE7xvAGVlBXY9vY-cwE1xPBkZTky5hNtHSkJdai7pmkGwiuliiDJfJP1wUx7mwrKuBfNbNoGch3UhX_0CdEL/s640/blogger-image-1152710911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjidJTdtaGKQ7kJemyHQSXSs6A9wpUQudacqwKxdyJB4wzlJmvSFjDhvs3FaE7xvAGVlBXY9vY-cwE1xPBkZTky5hNtHSkJdai7pmkGwiuliiDJfJP1wUx7mwrKuBfNbNoGch3UhX_0CdEL/s640/blogger-image-1152710911.jpg"></a></div><br></div>So apparently I can just throw some kerosene in the tub and my tub ring troubles will be no more. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I probably won't be using kerosene....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I will tell you that I went full force on the bathroom today before I reread this chapter and I did everything the way I normally would. And like I normally would, I got annoyed about 2/3 of the way through and had to push myself to finish the job. I still have stuff in the hallway waiting to be put back. Whatever, the floor's still damp from mopping and that's my excuse. I kind of really hate cleaning the bathroom but I hate having a dirty bathroom even more. And I LOVE having a clean bathroom. It still doesn't make me want to get down and dirty though. I remember from doing that 50's Housewife Challenge a few months ago that once the bathroom has been cleaned properly it's super easy to maintain the clean. I just haven't had as much time to do it and more people than usual using it and that's a crap combination. Also literally. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So today, I didn't get it as spotless as I wanted to and I keep finding hairs stuck to stuff, but I know that when I wipe it down tomorrow, I'll get them. And I'll get more I missed the next day and so on. Clean cleans fast. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">That's my new life motto I'm trying to learn. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So in my full steam ahead adventure, I didn't do anything the book advised, except that I wiped down the walls and the "washbasin" and the counter and the tub and the toilet and I changed the towels and I wiped down the mirror. I mopped. So I kind of did it, but it's Monday, and I'm supposed to mop on Tuesday and Friday and I ain't doing that again tomorrow. So Friday we might be back on board. Unless I'm totally over this by Friday. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">You guys will keep me on it. I know you will. You'll also forgive me when I fail. That's why we love each other. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I also forgot to clean my bulbs. And my medicine cabinet. And my shower curtain. I'm doing laundry tomorrow so I'll put that in then. If I remember.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I did soak the kids' slimy, gross bath toys in vinegar and Palmolive and super hot water. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5_Pt3sM2gYvrDALnJfCWIfqjAsm1QruBuzE9hS72ms1MPL-XlsZetWaL6SAos3rgtSxCsj9ugssIeMgBVOTh2pFwalKkkyENtQf6kecOe0yGqyOYERZK6Q78ezRIGuxyZSnUddBNVkHC/s640/blogger-image-883968520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5_Pt3sM2gYvrDALnJfCWIfqjAsm1QruBuzE9hS72ms1MPL-XlsZetWaL6SAos3rgtSxCsj9ugssIeMgBVOTh2pFwalKkkyENtQf6kecOe0yGqyOYERZK6Q78ezRIGuxyZSnUddBNVkHC/s640/blogger-image-883968520.jpg"></a></div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It's the only thing I took a picture of. But they got some sun! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love how much this book tells you to put everything out in the sun. I've heard that sunlight kills germs or something and I don't know where I read that, if it's scientifically accurate, or if it's old wives' tale witchery. Either way, it can't hurt, and it's kind of cute advice. I suppose I could google it. Maybe I'll have an answer for you tomorrow. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Alright, my floor is probably dry so I'm going to go put all my stuff back and change the towels even though it's not Wednesday or Saturday. I've screwed this thing up already. It's my first day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">What should I aim for tomorrow? Possibly the kitchen, but I'm going to look it up because there might be logic to the scheduling. Oh, but my living room floors are in sad, dirty shape. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I would never have made it in the 50s. One day I'll be a real adult. Although there was no internet in the 50s (not for regular people anyway) so maybe I could've been a productive member of society with no internet. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Maybe. </div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-9872664667398184652014-03-31T08:13:00.001-07:002014-03-31T10:06:48.490-07:00Amy vs America's Housekeeping Book: IntroI'm doing this guys!! Like a Julie and Julia thing. One of my Facebook friends suggested it awhile ago and it's such a brilliant idea! Especially now that the<a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2014/02/pleeeease-tell-mom-babysitter-dead.html" target="_blank"> destructive kid I was watching after school</a> is not in my house anymore. Cue the singing angels and some kind of godly light that opens up the clouds. My house has gone to the crapper since November when my husband did this whole career change thing which kept him home for about 3 months. I loved every second of it but trying to keep up a <a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-50-housewife-experiment.html" target="_blank">housecleaning idea</a> is hilarious when I'm trying to work around someone else who keeps asking if he can help. Then there was the whole Christmas, <a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2014/01/if-gi-joe-is-real-american-hero-and-gi.html" target="_blank">GI Joe birthday</a> and the neighbor kid. Needless to say, I need to get a hose and some trash bags. <br>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Although perhaps I should change the title of this to Amy AND America's Housekeeping Book to keep it like the movie/book. Mm nope, I like the "vs.", it sounds like I'm going into battle and let's face it. I will be. </div>
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<a href="http://fangirlsuperhero.blogspot.com/2013/07/am-i-procrastinating-or-just-really.html" target="_blank">Here's the book</a> I'm "battling". The coolest book EVER. </div>
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And possibly my favorite part is this which will be its own blog post<br>
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I love personal history. The other thing I love is the 40s and 50s and thinking how much I could get done as a housewife and mother if I didn't have the internet. Or how people lived without the internet. </div>
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It makes me think of my grandma and how she was a young housewife and mother in the 50s because all the tips and tricks this book talks about are tips and tricks my grandma used to tell me when I was a kid. Like airing farts out of the beds every morning. Only I don't think the book says anything about farts. And my grandma, still to this day in her 80s keeps a mean house. And she did all of this with two kids the same age difference that mine are while still finding time to gossip with the ladies in the neighborhood. It can be done.</div>
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If you would like to order your own one of these books, you have to promise to take such dear care of it. I'm not kidding around. Here's a link on Amazon. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B000H5IJ8S/ref=cm_sw_r_udp_awd_08yotb0MFE2T7" target="_blank">America's Housekeeping Book by Tribune. </a><br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay. I'm starting this today. I think. Wally doesn't have school today, so I have both boys home and today is probably the worst day I could've chosen to start. Wish me luck. </span></span><br>
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Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1227602725130707404.post-71442795303646924192014-03-25T11:30:00.000-07:002014-03-25T12:48:34.966-07:00PLEEEEASE Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead<br />
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This is an accurate portrayal of current me. </div>
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A month and a half ago I offered to help my neighbor out and watch her son after school so she could take this new job in the fashion industry and kiss her super stressful bank job goodbye. </div>
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I love this woman. She's super sweet, she got her degree in fashion marketing so I love to talk fashion with her and sewing and eBay and my <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/FanGirlSuperHero" target="_blank">etsy shop</a> and all of that. She's a single mom and has to work but I'm a stay at home mom and I can help her with her kid so she can do that work downtown IN FASHION. I'm home with kids anyway. What's one more?</div>
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Hhaha.</div>
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I forgot that her kid is a living demon. He's loud. He's lippy. He eats everything. He breaks stuff. All the stuff. </div>
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Basically I'm babysitting Eric Cartman. </div>
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AND! He doesn't even go to the same school my kid goes to so at 2pm everyday, instead of taking a nice, leisurely stroll down the street with my 2 year old, "The Beav" to pick up my 6 year old, "Wally", I'm strapping a barely napped kid in a hot car (we're in The San Fernando Valley), driving two minutes, getting said kid out of car to pick up the older kid. Rounding those two back up with gritted teeth and high blood pressured "I said we have to go!"s and "Now where's your brother?!"s, I finally get them both strapped into their car seats and drive 20 minutes in traffic a mile down the road (remember, this is LA), get them both out of the car, the older one complaining about something. We go onto the overcrowded play yard by the handball court to pick up Cartman where he begs me for one more round of handball while my two kids both jet off into opposite directions. Did I mention how crowded this schoolyard is??? </div>
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Add more kicking and balls and then accurate.</div>
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So Cartman (7) is beating the crap out of a ball while he says he hates me and wishes I didn't have to pick him up, Wally (6) has disappeared, The Beav (2) is on his way around one of the buildings and the car is parked in a very busy 5 minute loading only zone. </div>
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I grow a new grey hair everyday. And somehow I've come home with 3 kids and no parking tickets everyday for a month and a half. </div>
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That's just the beginning. Cartman's mom doesn't want him watching tv or playing video games on school days <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">which is fine by me BUT that means</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">he sits around complaining about it and kicking my walls and saying he's bored after he's done raiding my fridge. That goes on for about a half an hour until I make them sit down at the kitchen table to do their homework which takes about an hour. Eventually I make them go outside because I can't handle the house destruction any longer. Then I have to yell at them the whole time to stop howling in the courtyard and "stop knocking on neighbors' doors!" and "get off that tree!" and "don't throw rocks!" and "stop kicking the ball against the windows!!" And I'm really kind of over this whole friggin thing. Because while I'm out there protecting Cartman from himself, I'm not in here sewing things for the people who have paid me to sew things (<a href="http://www.facebook.com/fangirlsuperhero" target="_blank">sorry my people</a>.)</span> </span></div>
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Basically I'm helping someone achieve her dreams at the expense of my own, at the expense of Wally going to his school friend's houses to play, of The Beav's naps, of my husband's happiness. Of my happiness. OF MY THINGS BEING IN ONE PIECE. </div>
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A couple weeks ago I was at the end and nervously texted Cartman's mom that I had to call it quits. That I couldn't do it anymore. I thought she was going to hate me. </div>
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"I do not blame you! I can't even handle one, much less 3! I'll work out another arrangement"</div>
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And that was it. I was so stressed about disappointing her, admitting that 3 kids is too many for me, that I don't have anything under control, that I failed. And she was cool. I guess you kind of have to be if Cartman's your kid. </div>
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The countdown's on. This is my last week. My last Tuesday. And then my last Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. </div>
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First thing I'm going to do is mop my floors because no one knows how to not drag mud through my house. And three boys bring in a LOT of mud. </div>
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Wish me luck.</div>
<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03173479080786501880noreply@blogger.com0