Yep, it's been a month. I suck. But look at this! Mountain Rose Herbs is giving away this fantastic natural lip balm DIY set! If you've been reading here, you know that I'm all about aprons, crafting, all-natural skin care, and DIY.
I love MRH for so, so many reasons. Earl Grey, Orange Spice, and herbal teas are just a few things I love about them. The hardest thing about ordering them is the wait, as they are clear across the country from me!
Make sure you take a look around this awesome business if you drop by their giveaway!
Monday, December 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Superhero in Sensible Shoes
Have you ever sat down and watched any superhero shows with your kids? I have. And seriously, something needs to be said here about the female of the superhero species. See, I've decided that supervillains must be stupid.
Really stupid.
Because, well, superhero gals generally have huge *ahem* upper parts and itty, bitty waists. A smart villain would, were they not so stupid, merely tap the superhero girls on the shoulder. Due to their wildly disproportionate frames, the small tap on the shoulder would cause them to fall over, snapping them like a twig in the process.
But, you know, villains are morons. That's why they're villains, I guess.
And seriously, what is up with their SHOES??? If I'm going to be running around, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, kicking bad guys in the face, I want a good sneaker. Or, at least a ballet flat with a decent sole. What I don't want is a knee-high boot with a freaking 6-inch heel. You're not a go-go dancer, sister! Nor are you a fashionista or a cowboy with questionable taste in footwear.
Over the past 24 hours I have made 3 loaves of bread, a tray of cookies, 3 pizzas, cleaned the bathroom, done a bunch of laundry, gone back and forth to school, broken up fights, and located lost items all while wearing sensible shoes. I am a superhero.
And I bet I could still kick a supervillain in the face.
Really stupid.
Because, well, superhero gals generally have huge *ahem* upper parts and itty, bitty waists. A smart villain would, were they not so stupid, merely tap the superhero girls on the shoulder. Due to their wildly disproportionate frames, the small tap on the shoulder would cause them to fall over, snapping them like a twig in the process.
But, you know, villains are morons. That's why they're villains, I guess.
And seriously, what is up with their SHOES??? If I'm going to be running around, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, kicking bad guys in the face, I want a good sneaker. Or, at least a ballet flat with a decent sole. What I don't want is a knee-high boot with a freaking 6-inch heel. You're not a go-go dancer, sister! Nor are you a fashionista or a cowboy with questionable taste in footwear.
Over the past 24 hours I have made 3 loaves of bread, a tray of cookies, 3 pizzas, cleaned the bathroom, done a bunch of laundry, gone back and forth to school, broken up fights, and located lost items all while wearing sensible shoes. I am a superhero.
And I bet I could still kick a supervillain in the face.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Habithate
Habithate: noun. A habit that makes you part of who you are, but annoy people who don't get it.
I love Crocs.
There. I said it.
Are you angry with me? I think most of the people who read this blog either have a pair themselves or don't give two flying flips if other people do. Or, they at least tolerate them. But some people hate them on levels that are unimaginable to my mind. Shoe-burning hatred. A hatred so deep that they not only don't want them themselves, they can't tolerate seeing anyone else wear them.
But why my love when others hate them so? Well, I can't find shoes that fit me right. Seriously. I've had one pair in the past several years that were awesome, but I've never been able to find another pair like them. I can't explain it. Maybe my feet are shaped funny or something.
My point is this: Crocs sort of mold to my feet. Therefore, they fit. Also, since as a mom of two young children I'm on my feet quite a lot, kneading bread, picking up toys, cleaning, so on and so forth, a pair of shoes that fit are extremely handy to have. So there.
For the rest of the world, that means sometimes you'll see me wear them when I pick my kids up from school, particularly if I'm in a rush. You may see me wear them when I run out to do an errand. You won't see me wear them in church, or to an important school function. They are merely my here-to-there-to-back-again shoes.
And I'm not getting rid of them.
But mostly, I don't get what makes people angry about them. Because they're ugly? I think neon colors are ugly, but they don't make me angry.
I love Crocs.
There. I said it.
Are you angry with me? I think most of the people who read this blog either have a pair themselves or don't give two flying flips if other people do. Or, they at least tolerate them. But some people hate them on levels that are unimaginable to my mind. Shoe-burning hatred. A hatred so deep that they not only don't want them themselves, they can't tolerate seeing anyone else wear them.
But why my love when others hate them so? Well, I can't find shoes that fit me right. Seriously. I've had one pair in the past several years that were awesome, but I've never been able to find another pair like them. I can't explain it. Maybe my feet are shaped funny or something.
My point is this: Crocs sort of mold to my feet. Therefore, they fit. Also, since as a mom of two young children I'm on my feet quite a lot, kneading bread, picking up toys, cleaning, so on and so forth, a pair of shoes that fit are extremely handy to have. So there.
For the rest of the world, that means sometimes you'll see me wear them when I pick my kids up from school, particularly if I'm in a rush. You may see me wear them when I run out to do an errand. You won't see me wear them in church, or to an important school function. They are merely my here-to-there-to-back-again shoes.
And I'm not getting rid of them.
But mostly, I don't get what makes people angry about them. Because they're ugly? I think neon colors are ugly, but they don't make me angry.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Factoad
Factoad: noun. A fact applied in the completely wrong place. (Like when people call a toad a frog. Get it? No?)
Ah, my boys. The sponges. They absorb seemingly massive amounts of information. You know, when they want to. Lately they have been all about nature and animals.
I'll be honest, I don't remember which little monkey this statement came from, but I think it was Philosopher Child. Either way, it goes right up there with other epic statements.
"Did you know that you would stay warm in winter because you have a layer of fat?"
I explained that I'm not a bear, but deep down, well... ouch.
Ah, my boys. The sponges. They absorb seemingly massive amounts of information. You know, when they want to. Lately they have been all about nature and animals.
I'll be honest, I don't remember which little monkey this statement came from, but I think it was Philosopher Child. Either way, it goes right up there with other epic statements.
"Did you know that you would stay warm in winter because you have a layer of fat?"
I explained that I'm not a bear, but deep down, well... ouch.
Monday, October 17, 2011
More Statements of Epicness
Ah, construction vehicles. An endless source of fascination and entertainment for countless children. It's no wonder kids love them. They're big, they're loud, and they make things.
Little Viking wanted to explain one he saw but didn't quite have the vocabulary. "I saw a mint truck. It poured out oil."
"A mint truck that pours out oil?" I asked. At this point I was picturing some sort of candy truck that dispenses mint flavored oil. Well, that can't be right, I thought.
Philosopher Child patiently intervened. "He means he saw a cement truck."
"Oh," I said. That made more sense.
Little Viking wanted to explain one he saw but didn't quite have the vocabulary. "I saw a mint truck. It poured out oil."
"A mint truck that pours out oil?" I asked. At this point I was picturing some sort of candy truck that dispenses mint flavored oil. Well, that can't be right, I thought.
Philosopher Child patiently intervened. "He means he saw a cement truck."
"Oh," I said. That made more sense.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Meditation and Other Hazards
I've had tension headaches nearly daily for 10 or 15 years. Yep. As a teen, if I didn't take a Tylenol before leaving for school, whether I had a headache or not, by the time school let out I'd be at migraine levels. Have you ever had a migraine? They are.not.fun.
So in this manner, I was able to curb the headaches as much as possible. Eventually they nearly disappeared, but lately they are back with gusto. I have been taking ibuprofen 1-2 times a day, every day, for the pain. Doesn't sound healthy? It's not. It's actually a really bad idea. But, for the most part, it was a choice of dealing with ridiculous, blinding amounts of pain, or taking some ibuprofen.
Recently, as my headaches got more and more out of control, I turned to some specific stretches, using better posture, and meditating. Not the trying to attain enlightenment on some astrophysical plane sort of mediation, but just sitting quietly, eyes closed, and just breathing. And you know what? It helped. A lot. I went 3 days without having to take anything. That was huge for me. (I admit over the past 24-36 hours I've been really stressed and last night and this morning I had a lot of trouble just breathing the stress away. I took some ibuprofen as the pain got worse.)
This afternoon I put on an episode of Voltron on my computer for Viking Child to watch (Philosopher Child is at school), brewed some herbal tea, and was going to go and just sit and meditate as the next round of headaches was creeping up.
As soon as I was going to sit, Viking Toddler ran in, asking to watch something on the TV instead. I explained to him that I really needed him to go watch Voltron, for just a little while, and I would call him in a bit. He went back pretty easily. I was on my way to go sit, but the dog had to go out now. Fine. Take the dog out. Go back to sit. As I am, Viking Toddler runs in with another demand, and while my attention is focused on him, I back into a bucket that Husband had used to fix some plumbing yesterday. Ick all over the back of my pants that I had just put on. Go to change my pants. Go back to sit to find that Viking Toddler had gone behind my back and put something loud on TV. In a last bit of frustration, I simply shouted, "I GIVE UP!"
And then I came here to vent.
And now my tea is ready.
So in this manner, I was able to curb the headaches as much as possible. Eventually they nearly disappeared, but lately they are back with gusto. I have been taking ibuprofen 1-2 times a day, every day, for the pain. Doesn't sound healthy? It's not. It's actually a really bad idea. But, for the most part, it was a choice of dealing with ridiculous, blinding amounts of pain, or taking some ibuprofen.
Recently, as my headaches got more and more out of control, I turned to some specific stretches, using better posture, and meditating. Not the trying to attain enlightenment on some astrophysical plane sort of mediation, but just sitting quietly, eyes closed, and just breathing. And you know what? It helped. A lot. I went 3 days without having to take anything. That was huge for me. (I admit over the past 24-36 hours I've been really stressed and last night and this morning I had a lot of trouble just breathing the stress away. I took some ibuprofen as the pain got worse.)
This afternoon I put on an episode of Voltron on my computer for Viking Child to watch (Philosopher Child is at school), brewed some herbal tea, and was going to go and just sit and meditate as the next round of headaches was creeping up.
As soon as I was going to sit, Viking Toddler ran in, asking to watch something on the TV instead. I explained to him that I really needed him to go watch Voltron, for just a little while, and I would call him in a bit. He went back pretty easily. I was on my way to go sit, but the dog had to go out now. Fine. Take the dog out. Go back to sit. As I am, Viking Toddler runs in with another demand, and while my attention is focused on him, I back into a bucket that Husband had used to fix some plumbing yesterday. Ick all over the back of my pants that I had just put on. Go to change my pants. Go back to sit to find that Viking Toddler had gone behind my back and put something loud on TV. In a last bit of frustration, I simply shouted, "I GIVE UP!"
And then I came here to vent.
And now my tea is ready.
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