Grass needs LOTS of attention, We are going to take the arbor down because it makes no sense, paint the exterior (more tone on tone), put hinges on the shutters and shutter dogs. Lot’s of landscaping to do as well.
Phone Tips For People Like Me Who Hate Phones April 8, 2011
First I must say, I totally cut and pasted this article and I DID NOT write it. I hope I am not infringing on any copyright laws ): But AMEN Matt Haughey, whoever you are…this article hit home 
Like many of us, blogger, MetaFilter creator, and friend of Lifehacker Matt Haughey isn’t a big fan of the phone call or of voicemail. Here he offers three effective but not particularly rude tips for limiting expectations when your phone starts ringing.
In no particular order:
1. A friend recently got a new phone & number on Verizon, and neglected to set up his electronic voicemail account for the first few weeks. When you call, after 4-5 rings it goes to voicemail but the message is simply “This user has not set up their voicemail yet. Goodbye.”
Now, this won’t work for everyone, but if you spend a minimal amount of time being interrupted by phone calls and you have a stable job and relationships and don’t need to get every single call that comes in, this no-voicemail thing is kind of awesome because it is one less inbox for this friend’s life. I know when I get that message I’ll either text, call back later, or just send an email. I’m envious and may not set up voicemail for future new phones I get.
2. In the spirit of Last Year’s Model, my home landline is connected to a 11 year-old cordless phone we have no reason to replace. It works for the hour or so total talk time we use it each week, but since the phone sits in the cradle charging constantly, the batteries tend to go bad after a few years. The batteries are currently dying so the phone has to stay on the charger all the time, and when you do get a call, you get about 10 minutes of talk time before the batteries are dead and the call drops.
Instead of replacing the rechargable battery pack, I’ve been enjoying this feature for a few months now. I know it’s kind of asshole-ish, but it’s really nice to be able to keep things short and sweet with everyone that calls my house. It’s really handy and I don’t spend hours on the phone chit-chatting because the phone simply can’t do it, and I have no guilt about cutting a call short. I can always have a long conversation on my cell phone if need be.
3. There are several web services out there to answer the question “Who owns that unlisted number that just hit my mobile phone?” but my favorite is WhoCalled.Us. It’s an awesome free service where people report details of who called them and what they wanted when they called, think of it as crowd-sourced telemarketer reporting. It’s handy because you can safely ignore most calls to your phone after looking up the numbers at this site.
If a weird unknown number comes into my iPhone, I ignore it and look up the number later. 9 times out of 10, it was a sales call from a bank, a timeshare company, or a bullshit work-at-home offer. I wish it was integrated in my phone, so I could just hit a button to do auto lookups from the missed calls page on my phone, or if an incoming call had known records at whocalled.us, it could display the top three rated comments on my screen before I hit accept or reject.
Matt Haughey is a blogger, builder of web sites, and bicycle lover. Follow him at one of those many places, or follow @mathowie on Twitter.
OCD March 8, 2011
I will begin by warning you that this is yet another lame blog post (Zippity Doo-Dah anyone?). But my need to cross stuff off the list, means that I have to write one (EGADS, I skipped yesterday because I have writers block in a big way) and another day can’t go by without SOMETHING. So this compulsion to do what I said I would do–write every day–also gave me the idea for this (lame-o) post, so here goes.
You know those lists I told you about? I think they MAY signify a deeper issue. I don’t really care to give it a name…but it’s true, in my world, things do need to be, well….a certain way. Tidy, organized, chaos-free. To the point where maybe, just maybe, I drive people around me a little nutty. And maybe, just maybe, short-change myself a good time, because I’m more worried about the couch cushions being fluffed, than the fun friend, family member or offspring sitting on them. Now mind you, having kids cures much of this compulsion…because it is virtually impossible to keep the chaos at bay in their presence–if you have kids, this doesn’t need further explanation. And I wouldn’t trade the kids…but is it wrong to relish my memories of days when surgery could be performed on the kitchen floor without risk of infection?
But even I, can admit, the pre-kids me was downright ri-DONK. I HAD to DEEP clean every week…meaning baseboards, blinds, ceiling fans…every inch. A dust bunny was enough to get me out of bed. I mopped the floors right after sinus surgery (and yep, landed myself back in the hospital). And it’s true, when guests came over, I did, on occasion, fluff the couch cushions if they got up for just one minute (My mother loved to tell me how RUUUDE I was, in her Southern drawl). I can remember being out with friends and having to excuse myself to go home and FINISH cleaning because the thought of the dust pan sitting out was more than a great band or even a cute boy could cure. Their favorite prank to play on me was to scooch a picture just an inch or two to the left and see how long it took for me to notice (2 minutes tops). My car was cleaned, top to bottom every weekend, the pine needles meticulously plucked from the lawn. (Drive by my house today and you’ll see that mostly, I’ve been cured. Take one look at my car and you’d think it was a prop in the cult classic, The Birds). But in those days…I guess when life wasn’t as full as it now, these things seemed to center me.
My mom often wonders when the anal-retentiveness took hold, as she doesn’t recall me being such a neat-freak when I lived under HER roof…but she forgets that I used to lay out my outfits a week in advance beginning in junior high (I still do this for my daughter…my son, well, I have given up). And I still do lay out my clothes the night before. Yep, I’m a big geek. I admit it.
Thing is, life got too busy for this nonsense and if I’d tried to keep it up I’d be keeping my room clean in the loony bin. I HAD to let it go. So I hired a housekeeper just so I could mentally cross cleaning off the list. She could NEVER (bless her) do it exactly the way I would…but the fact is, she shows up, she goes through the motions and somehow, it quells the voices inside my head.
My family DOES NOT share the neatness trait so I tend to harp a bit. “I am NOT your maid!” “You guys have NO respect for me!” But they have honed the ability to tune me out…as well as the ability to build piles on any surface (yes, even the microwave). Amazingly they can clutter up the entire downstairs in about ten minutes flat (maybe less).
This is why people like me are driven to drink.
But yes, I do have the ability to recognize that life is short–that I don’t want my gravestone to read “Wife, Mother, Neat-Freak”. That chaos comes hand-in-hand with family, and friends. That sometimes it feels good to let go of that need to control it all. So I try. Really I do.
And to be thankful that life is too full to worry about dust. Because it really is. (REALLY it is.)
And I really need to go load the dishwasher…
And try really hard to come with something else to blog about.
Zippity Doo Dah March 2, 2011
When I was little I took dance like most little girls did. So did my neighbor and playmate Ashley only she was in a different class than me. Now I wasn’t much for dance class. I had the tendency to stare at my feet, and they usually weren’t dancing. Ashley on the other hand must have been a far better student. I’m thinking this, because why else would HER class have gotten to dance to THAT song, and wear THAT costume at the Spring dance recital? Why did I have to be a PIG of all things? When she got to have a jaunty little felt blue bird bobbling around on her shoulder? Oh, and she taunted me over that, practicing her dance and bragging about her bird. All I had was a pink tail.
Not sure, but thinking maybe all that is what made me decide at some point that I’d show THEM. I’d learn to dance that dance, and sing that song, at the TOP OF MY LUNGS, most every morning at wake-up time. And let me tell you, it WORKS. They all wake right up. And start throwing things.
Zippity doo dah, Zippity aye,
My oh my what a wonderful day
Plenty of sunshine coming my way,
Zippity doo dah, Zippity aye.
Mister blue bird’s on my shoulder,,
it’s the truth,
it’s actual,
everything’s satisfactual!
Zippity doo dah,
zippity aye,
zippity doo dah,
zippity aye!
Isn’t it a magnificant morning song? You really should try it. It’s perky, and lively, and a whole lot of fun. For everyone.
Especially me.
Bless Your Heart… February 24, 2011
First of all. I am only the messenger here. I have gathered the viewpoints of my most outspoken friends, and a vast array of them at that. The subject of the day is What We Love to Hate About the South and other peeves about humanity in general. Funny, I found that the most outspoken people on the quirks of the South are TRANSPLANTS to the South, from either up north or the midwest. I guess it’s possible they take a slightly more objective view than we born-and-bred Southern folk do, however, that little bubble over our heads says “Don’t go around talking about how much better it is back home. If you don’t like it here, pack your bags and go back where you came from.” Don’t lie. You’ve thought that very thing.
I will of course include my own view points here, but lucky for me, because I prefaced that most of this stuff came from people I know, as far as YOU know I only had the most charming things to say about life in the South. The downright rude things were most certainly said by a mere acquaintance.
Southern Roots
Southern folk are all about naming new babies using old family names. Being from the south myself, I am all for it, but I have noticed it getting a tiny bit out of hand. There’s a reason some of these old-fashioned names were retired (Mildred, Ruby Mae; uh, I’m just sayin’). And last names as first names. Again, I love it, but within reason. When the teacher has to spend her time pulling out medical records to figure out the boy/girl ratio in her class of McKintyre’s and Kenley’s it’s a waste of our tax money, plain and simple. What happened to nice, basic names like John and Mary?
Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck, a good ol’ boy, and po’ white trash. I don’t need to explain, do I? You know.
Have a blessed day. When and how did this take hold? Lovely sentiment, yes; but when the telemarketer that you are just about to hang up on (and they know it too) says it, you have to wonder how sincere it is.
My brother gave the loveliest toast at my Georgia wedding. Yes, deep south, thank you. See, I married a…yankee. Yes, I admit it. And he’s a darn good fella at that. Well, that toast was all about Southern colloquiums; a message to my ‘intended’ and his family about what makes us Southern folk so special. I called him today to ask if he wrote it himself or found it in a book that I might get my hands on. “[Sister] he said. I don’t remember one word from that toast. You could lay me out on (some awful torture device, I can’t recall what he said exactly) and I still wouldn’t recall one word of it—maybe I’ve had one too many Budweisers since then.” And I said, “well, I know that something about “bless your heart” was said, because for the last ten years my mother-in-law has reminded me that she knows what it means when I say it, and it isn’t very nice.
We’ve all heard it, and most of us have said it, but what does it really mean? First of all, “Bless your heart” is not something that needs explaining to a Southerner. We all understand it because it’s our language. We all know that “bless your heart” has lot’s of meanings, kind of like how the word aloha means hello, goodbye, and I love you in Hawaiian. It all depends how and when you say it. I used to think that everybody knew what “bless your heart” meant, and it wasn’t until my mother-in-law started complaining about it that I realized that the phrase could be confusing. So, here are a few simple definitions you can provide the next time a Yankee or Westerner starts getting worked up about it.
1. “Bless your heart” is a form of empathy. It’s like giving someone a big hug when they need it most. When a friend starts complaining about her rotten housekeeper, her husband that lives on the golf course, and how her spoiled-rotten children are driving her batty, we just shake our heads and give her a heartfelt “bless your heart.” It’s our way of saying “Honey, I’m so sorry. I know just how you feel, and I’m glad that it’s you and not me.”
2. In the South, we believe in being polite under any and all circumstances. So, when we just can’t fight the urge to say something ugly (it means MEAN—another one of those double meanings), we follow it up with a “bless her heart” just to make it seem okay. “Look at that poor lady trying to jog. At least she’s out there doing something to lose weight, bless her heart.” It’s even used in church. Yep. I stand behind it. An excellent way to gossip without sinning. Poor Mary. Joe has been unfaithful for years, and I hear that Mary has been drinking. She is going to rehab, but she’s just so upset that he’s seeing Lola Champion, the receptionist at the law firm of Withers and Huey. Bless her heart. Let’s add her to the prayer list. And of course, don’t allow this to leave the room.”
3. When your cousin Reynolds Price Hawthorne (the fifth) does something just plain dumb, and your aunt Jane (see? plain and simple) calls you up to tell you about it, you just listen while uttering a few “bless his hearts” That way you’ll both know that even though RP doesn’t have a lick of sense, he’s still family after all, and we love him just the same.
Just one more thing about the transplants. We love you, we welcome you, really we do, but please stop mocking us about our lack of snow and ice preparedness. For heavens sake, really. Why would we carry snow chains in our cars? Snow tires? Please. Have you seen much snow here? If you live in an igloo do you wear flip flops?
Of course, I’ll hand it to ya. If the weather man (or lady) predicts the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the grocery store. It doesn’t matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.
And go ahead and stock up on milk and bread but hurry because the milk and bread aisle will be empty within an hour at max.
Southern Etiquette and Fashion
Never ask someone if they are pregnant. I don’t care if you see the outline of a foot on her belly. I learned this one the hard way, so please trust me.
It is still bad manners in the south to talk about how much money you have. And this one kills me. Classy. If you have to say you’re classy, then you most definitely are not.
Thank-you notes are a must. My mama said so, so I don’t ask, I just do what she says. And if your kid can’t write, buy the fill-in kind and have them scribble on it. Don’t wait around too long or people will start to talk about how ungrateful you are. And include some Southern niceties. “Thank you for the book. I love it” is not sufficient. Ask about the hip surgery too.
I am a firm believer in the white shoes, white pants, linen rule. AFTER Easter and BEFORE Labor Day. It may not be fashion-forward, but I only care what Southerners think about it anyway, and we all know better.
Wear a SLIP under your dresses girls. It saves on your dry-cleaning bill and it’s just lady-like. Period.
NO suntan panty hose. Only okay if worn as a mask when you are robbing a bank. Really, panty hose are dead. Just don’t wear them at all.
They call it a ring finger for a reason. Do NOT put a ring on every finger. Please.
If you have a little jellyroll (aka muffin top) around the mid-section, please Lord, keep it under wraps. And not spandex, sausage-casing wraps. It’s not a good look. It’s only “hot” if you’re wearing it while jogging on your treadmill trying to make it go away.
Now, I have not personally experienced this one, but apparently it is a Southern custom per my sources. When someone in the family dies (passes on, bites the dust, meets their maker) family members take pictures of them in their casket. Sometimes they go so far as to take “family” pictures with the beloved. What I’m wondering, is, isn’t it a little late at this point? Aunt Grace may have preferred to be photographed after a trip to the beauty parlor…not the mortuary. The whole idea of leaving a dead body in a room for two days while everyone walks up and looks (or God forbid, poses with it for a photo) seems a little “off” if you ask me. And then folks are saying “She just doesn’t look like herself.” Well, thank goodness! I’d hate to know I looked like a dead person while I was still living!
From a Few Mouths of the South:
Bama-bred Kathy:
Birds. I don’t like when people shoot them at me when I make a perfectly innocent driving mistake. (See we are full of these double-meaning terms and phrases here.)
Deep-South Sharla:
Off the top of my (melting) head–humidity doesn’t make you dewy and glowing. It means you are dripping wet with perspiration and it isn’t pretty. (She won’t even say SWEAT. What a nice Southern gal.)
To be fair, I’ve opened the forum to the TRANSPLANTS who love it here so much, they moved here. (I’m just sayin’). And see how much more they had to say than the Southern folks?
Mid-Western Mark:
1) Why does everyone down here refer to his or her father as “daddy?” Even adult men do this. C’mon, grow up. I’m 31 and I call my parents Joe and Karen.
2) You put groceries in a ‘cart’ – not in a ‘buggy.’ You put a baby in a buggy. Actually, if you’re over the age of 12 you shouldn’t even use that word at all.
3). You ‘push’ a button – you don’t ‘mash’ it. You mash potatoes.
4). Why are people from SEC states so hung up on how great they are at football? Are they harboring resentment for losing the Civil War?
5). The confederate flag symbolizes racism, not heritage. You live in The United States of America – that is your heritage. (Mark said it, not me!)
6). Southern ladies: Why the rush to get married so early? Don’t complain when that super awesome frat boy you dated in college turns out to be a huge jerk when he’s 30. Chances are he was a jerk when he was 20….but you had to get married when you were young. This is your own fault.
7). Again, southern ladies: The idea of a southern gentleman is a myth. I hear guys talking a big game about how they are some sort of stud/player/womanizer when women aren’t around. Married guys do this too – total shocker, I know. But when a woman enters the room the guy is oh-so-charming. He’s not a southern gentleman – he’s a schizophrenic hypocrite.
8) Just because you go to church every Sunday doesn’t mean you’re a good person. Try acting the same way you do in front of your whole congregation on any of the other 6 days out of the week when they’re not watching. Driving to/from work would be a good place to start.
Houston Hannah:
People think folks from the south are so nice. They’re not any nicer, they just say their rude stuff in a friendly accent.
Yankee Doodle Danny:
1) Calvin-peeing-on-ANYTHING stickers
2) Fear This and No Fear stickers
3) “In Memory of #3” stickers on broken down hoop-dees (this was his word, not mine). Who wants to be memorialized this way?
And In General,
Why do big American companies employ phone customer service reps who can’t understand me, and I can’t understand them? Just what I want when I’m ticked off, frustrated, and need help is to talk to someone who says “pardon?” (at least I think that’s what they are saying) after EVERYTHING I say.
I know they are just trying to polite, but just because they are only 18 doesn’t make it okay to call the reasonably youthful looking 40-year-old in their checkout line “ma’am”. It ruins her day, maybe even her week. You don’t want that burden to rest on your shoulders, now do you?
What has the world come to when there has to be a sign outside a medical office or hospital reminding us not to bring our guns with us for our appointment? Or the one at the bank that says “please remove hoods, hats and sunglasses before entering”. Nowhere does it say anything about suntan panty hose, but it should.
Southerners apologize for EVERYTHING whether they wronged you in some way or not (Northerners don’t seem to have this compulsion—I can say this, I am married to one.) God could strike someone down with lightening, but if they happened to be in my yard, I’ll be apologizing ‘til the cows come home.
When you give a Southerner a gift, you can expect them to fall all over themselves RAVING about how much they love it even if they are 1. Allergic to it, 2. Already have one or 3. It is 4 sizes too small. Give the same gift to a yankee and they’ll tell you on the spot, exactly why it is really the dumbest gift they have ever received. Unless of course, they actually like it, at which point, a simple “oh geez, thanks” is what you’’ll get.
This thing people do when you are trying to get over into the turn lane at a traffic light; you have your arm out the window waving and pointing and the driver you are trying to wedge in front of yawns—pretending they are so sleepy and focused on the light that they don’t see you. Next you try hanging your whole torso out of your car and flailing wildly. They stare ahead. You honk a couple of times. Nothing. The light changes, and not only have they yet to notice you, but SUDDENLY they are wide awake, pedal to the metal, leaving you in the dust and stuck in the wrong lane. Didn’t these people learn any manners? Or anything about karma, because let me tell you, they have it coming (they might even get a bird).
In the floor. Do what? Since I moved to Tennessee I hear this all the time. “I was laughing so hard I was in the floor.” How does one do that exactly; climb IN the floor? We all know good and well, they are standing ON the floor and are incapable of pulling a Houdini and getting IN it.
You know, I could go on for days (I’m sorry, really I am), but bless my poor sweet soul, there are thank you notes to be written and spaghetti casseroles to make for felled neighbors (heaven forbid you get sick, you can count on 9 or 10 spaghetti casseroles even though everyone knows too much of a good thing is well, too much). But alas, I must. For all my griping, I still say, the South I where it’s at, and I wouldn’t dream of ever leaving.
Afterward: Can I just say it was the happiest moment of my day when I started stressing about what in the heck to write about tomorrow and I remembered this story I wrote a couple years ago for a local publication. It was never published though, til NOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW. Heck yeah. Today’s blog post is a big ole’ CUT & PASTE.
Oh, and PLEASE don’t take offense at anything I’ve said…I HAD to write it
2010 in review February 13, 2011
Check this out…stats on my blog. Gosh, I need to thank Hannah Kate–that is one popular line! Hopefully one day Clarabelle & the Hen will have the same kind of following This inspires me to really get back with the program!
The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:
The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Fresher than ever.
Crunchy numbers
A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 10,000 times in 2010. That’s about 24 full 747s.
In 2010, there were 35 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 255 posts. There were 231 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 96mb. That’s about 4 pictures per week.
The busiest day of the year was January 7th with 110 views. The most popular post that day was Brrrr. It’s time to think about Spring clothes! (ha).
Where did they come from?
The top referring sites in 2010 were clarabelleandthehen.com, en.wordpress.com, monogramplanet.wordpress.com, kitziesblog.blogspot.com, and whittrobyfamily.blogspot.com.
Some visitors came searching, mostly for hannah kate sample sale, clarabelle and the hen, paper hat, hannah kate spring 2010, and hannah kate clothing spring 2010.
Attractions in 2010
These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.
1
Brrrr. It’s time to think about Spring clothes! (ha) January 2010
2 comments
2
About me, Kat! August 2007
7 comments
3
Cutie Patooties September 2008
1 comment
4
About May 2009
5
Princess Prunella is 4! April 2008
Happy Monday! February 7, 2011
I am bound and determined to start blogging again. Forgive me if it’s a meaningless ramble..but hey, ya gotta start somewhere, right?
So. #1, I am OVER winter. I was over it before it even started so this is just plain ri-donk-u-lous. Winter makes me spend money too–which is never good. Well, it’s good in the moment, but later? Hm. Not so much. It also makes me want to bulldoze my house and start over…which is how the money gets spent. It’s a nasty cycle. So THIS winter Henry’s room got the winter wrath. It went from cute cowboy so sophisticated big boy. I definitely took some risks when I painted it dark grey. And accented with mustard colored linen. Yeah, I know. Sounds awful. But it really does look pretty cool. I had big euro shams, a pleated bed skirt and roman shades and valances made–got a big, super textured sisal rug and used a quilt with the above colors as well as deep red and chocolate from Garnet Hill. The lamp is a big blown-glass number, also in mustard. I have been waiting on a new bookcase for more than 2 months now….ARGH (#1 unpainted furniture). When that gets here MAYBE I will post some pics but fear the reviews may not be pleasing. We also hung the antique Cuckoo clock in Henry’s room, because you could drive a freight train through there and he’d sleep right through it. This clock was hubby’s grandmothers and we inherited it. Even the clock repair guy said it was one of the ugliest he’d ever seen. Yes. U-G-L-Y. And mine all mine. And this elusive bird is starting to make me hot under the collar. I don’t appreciate this game of cat and mouse…or bird and ME. Never once have I caught him doing what he does best. And not for lack of trying I assure you.
So…I should have stopped there, but HELLO…winter is STILLLLLL HEEERRRRRREEEEE. So the basement got steamrolled. The painter is freshening the paint, I took down the HIDEOUS monster ceiling fan and replaced it with 2 FABULOUS fixtures from Ballard Designs. I ordered a linen loveseat and a really cool tufted ottoman, as well as a big sisal rug that will span the whole room. These things go with the chairs I already had. I am also working on a painting for this room. When It’s all complete maybe I’ll post pics. And MAYBE WINTER WILL BE OVER by then. If not…Lordy, I guess I’ll move back to to the living room that needs a new coffee table. (That just requires some hubby-hounding as he will build it for me).
I am joining the Chamber of Commerce, and am part of the 2011 Mentor/Protege Program. We get twelve really awesome business classes over the next year plus a mentor. I am going to learn TONS and quit flying by the seat of my pants with this business. Pretty exciting!
I just got handed a stack of orders so I reckon I’d better get back to it–but start checking in and hold me accountable! THE BLOG IS BACK.
Oh–head over to our Facebook Page…we are having an awesome sample sale, AND if you order from our website today, you’ll get $5 off your order. Just enter the code MondayBlues!
For My Husband…You Are Not Alone :) November 29, 2010
Dear Abby, My wife is a back-seat driver who seems to get more anxious every time we go anywhere together. She tells me to slow down, which lights to watch, which lane I should be in, which cars are braking, which ones are speeding, where the semi-trucks are if she thinks they’re getting too close, and how to drive in various weather conditions. She’ll move her foot to an imaginary brake on the passenger side, squirm in her seat and hang onto the handle above the passenger door while I’m doing my best to concentrate on my driving. It’s very distracting.
My wife is not willing to drive when we’re going somewhere, although I have offered to let her. She also refuses to sit back and relax because you can’t control another person’s driving. If I ignore her, she becomes irritated and says I’m not paying attention to her concerns. I have never had a serious accident and have had none in the past 15 years. What can I do about this? — DRIVEN CRAZY IN WISCONSIN
DEAR DRIVEN: For openers, slow down! When a passenger hangs onto the handle above the door, slams on an imaginary brake and scrunches back in the passenger seat, it means you’re approaching the car ahead of you too fast and the person is bracing for impact.
Next, make clear to your wife before you pull out of the driveway that what she has been doing is distracting to the point that instead of averting an accident, she could very well cause one — so it’s important she leave the driving to the driver. If she is still uncomfortable, she should either sit in the back seat or the two of you should drive separately.
By Abigail Van Buran
November 23, 2010
I never have time to properly blog anymore… September 21, 2010
So I think I’ll just add tidbits here and there, like whatever my current obsession is (Fall clothes!) and fab sites I come across. Check this one out:
http://www.carolinegardner.com
YUM!
And what am I longing for? Frye’s good old basic campus boots. I am a Frye junky and have boots, sandals, wedges from Frye…you name it…but another pair will never hurt.
That’s all for now!
Who has time to blog? September 2, 2010
I really wish I did because it’s something I enjoy but lately…there’s just toooo much happening in life. The kiddos are back in school…and let me tell you…school doesn’t always agree with me. I’m not one of those mommies-with-the-mostess who lives to volunteer and raise my hand six times during orientaion with smarty-pants questions. I’m just not. I try. Okay, no. Not so much. I do the best I can. That’s the truth.
Work is INSANE. That’s good. And bad. Because when the orders are pouring in, so is the STRESS. But I’m NOT complaining. Not out loud anyway. We are grateful. Seriously, SO grateful…but there are days…
I am very aware that I am getting a little older every day. I think this happens at this (advanced) age. It’s a tough pill to swallow–saying goodbye to one’s youth. If they could only find a way to merge the wisdom that comes with age with the elsatin and collogen that comes with youth…man oh man–we’d be in business for real.
I learned today that someone I knew many years ago has brain cancer. Count your blessings. Count your blessings–this is the mantra playing in my mind. Who am I to complain?
Thank you Lord for where I am right this minute. And hold my hand for wherever I’m going.
