You know, since it's almost the weekend I thought I'd recap. It is almost the weekend, right? I did forget what day it was just last week. Or maybe this was a few days ago? Eh, who cares.
New Meals and Baking
I can't cook for just the two of us. Does anyone else have this problem? Cooking for an army instead of just for two? Currently there is a crock pot full of taco chicken chili goodness in my kitchen. I want to eat the air, that's how good it smells in here. Which is good because there's enough in there to eat it for a week.
I found an old bread recipe that I had pinned...twice...and never tried. Recently DH and I were gifted a Le Creuset dutch oven as a housewarming gift and I knew just what to put in it. BREAD! I believe that homemade means we can eat it all in one day and not feel bad about it. You know, because there's no preservatives. Anyway, here is the link. Simply So Good Crusty Bread. I'm making an herbed version tonight. And I made a loaf last night. Because I can't ever have too much bread. That's like having too much cheese. Or too many donuts. Or too much 15 year Glenlivet.
Donuts are on the menu this weekend, thanks to Joy the Baker making it so dang easy! This could be disastrous for my already-slightly-too-snug-pants.
Working Out
I went to kickboxing class last weekend with friends. Despite all predictions to the contrary, I didn't break a single bone. I did bruise my knuckles, which just made me feel bad ass, and I had trouble walking for the next couple days. This will be repeated this weekend. I'm also trying a few 30 day challenges. Yes, you read that right. A few. See, I can't fathom that doing 20 jumping jacks and a few pushups will actually make a difference. So I'm attempting 3 of them simultaneously. Burpees are the bane of my workout existence. I want to puke after 9. Not 10. Not 8. But 9.
Giving Back
Do any of you shy away from giving? My bible study is working through James and we were in Chapter 2 this past week. It's a good hard look at do I give? I have a heart for the homeless but I realized only on my terms. I'm such a jerk! If I'm in the car and there is a homeless person on the corner I'll give cash if I have it and food if it's with me. But if I see them in a parking lot when I'm getting gas or taking my groceries to the car? I consciously avert my eyes and fervently hope they don't approach me. It's too uncomfortable for me without the safety of my car door and power windows. I don't think it's a giving heart if I only am willing when it's convenient. I'm praying this can change for me.
So You Think You Can Dance
I'm sad that there's only one more week in this season. One more show to see what majesty Travis Wall comes up with. One more week to wonder why contemporary dance moves me to tears even if I can't explain it. There's no clear winner to me this season. I may bite off all my fingernails between today and next Wednesday.
Gotta go bake bread!
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Poor Henry
Y'all know Henry. He's this lump of fur.
He's a little batty and full of love. His ancestry is French, I'm sure, even though he's part Maine Coon. His true name is Henri, Le Roi. He appears to enjoy chasing Evie around the house like his tail is on fire. Occasionally he even parkours off the walls, chairs, cabinets. Whatever, he's the King.
Henry doesn't like his tail being held on to, his feet being tickled or being flown around the house like the Hindenburg. He is ok with the occasional boat ride via cardboard box and a shoestring. He has the annoying habit of sitting next to my head, licking my hair and then placing his massive paw on my forehead and shaking me awake when he's hungry at 4am. He loves to sleep on his back whilst holding up one of the walls of the house. It's hard being Le Roi.
He's sweet. And beautiful. And cuddly. And a complete jerk when it comes to going to the vet's. Can't be that bad, you say? Our wonderful vet and staff have to GAS him in his crate in order to even touch him. Le sigh (you know, because he's French). In an effort to not kill anymore brain cells just to get his rabies vaccine updated, I asked about alternative methods. Maybe one of those mood sprays? Benedryl doesn't work because he chomps it and foams like a rabid wildebeest while looking at me saying "J'accuse!" with his eyes.
The solution: tranquilizers. For the cat. I've never even had tranquilizers! We had to give him 2 since he is the size of Jabba the Hut. Now he's wobbly and woozy and looks like he's drunk when he walks. He's currently sleeping it off while I anxiously check him for breathing every ten minutes.
The plus side? He still didn't get out of the crate, but he let the vet touch him. That usually doesn't occur. At all. There is hissing, scratching and bleeding but no actual touching. We've been assured there is a hell cat worse than he. I think they're making it up so I don't feel so bad.
He's a little batty and full of love. His ancestry is French, I'm sure, even though he's part Maine Coon. His true name is Henri, Le Roi. He appears to enjoy chasing Evie around the house like his tail is on fire. Occasionally he even parkours off the walls, chairs, cabinets. Whatever, he's the King.
Henry doesn't like his tail being held on to, his feet being tickled or being flown around the house like the Hindenburg. He is ok with the occasional boat ride via cardboard box and a shoestring. He has the annoying habit of sitting next to my head, licking my hair and then placing his massive paw on my forehead and shaking me awake when he's hungry at 4am. He loves to sleep on his back whilst holding up one of the walls of the house. It's hard being Le Roi.
He's sweet. And beautiful. And cuddly. And a complete jerk when it comes to going to the vet's. Can't be that bad, you say? Our wonderful vet and staff have to GAS him in his crate in order to even touch him. Le sigh (you know, because he's French). In an effort to not kill anymore brain cells just to get his rabies vaccine updated, I asked about alternative methods. Maybe one of those mood sprays? Benedryl doesn't work because he chomps it and foams like a rabid wildebeest while looking at me saying "J'accuse!" with his eyes.
The solution: tranquilizers. For the cat. I've never even had tranquilizers! We had to give him 2 since he is the size of Jabba the Hut. Now he's wobbly and woozy and looks like he's drunk when he walks. He's currently sleeping it off while I anxiously check him for breathing every ten minutes.
The plus side? He still didn't get out of the crate, but he let the vet touch him. That usually doesn't occur. At all. There is hissing, scratching and bleeding but no actual touching. We've been assured there is a hell cat worse than he. I think they're making it up so I don't feel so bad.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Not Teenage Worries
Trying to have a family isn't as easy as I thought it would be. I never thought that we would be dipping our toes into the "infertility" pool. It kind of sucks, right? As teenagers, whether you're having sex or not, you worry about getting pregnant. And now I'm worrying about NOT getting pregnant. DH and I are happy, so happy, just being married. This should be enough for us. We have each other and we have our furry babies. We have great jobs and wonderful families. We are blessed in a myriad of ways. But we want a family.
A family. It doesn't have to look like everyone else's family. But I want it. I want it so bad I can taste it. I want it bad enough that we're on the Clomid train. Oh, what's that? Twins you say? Bring it. Even a slight chance of triplets? I'll take those odds.
Would DH and I be happy without a family? We could be. Will a baby be the glue that keeps us together? Nope. We're the glue that holds us together. Well, and God. Without Him we're up the creek without a paddle. Would we be a kick ass mom and dad? You bet.
What I know, though, is that if Clomid doesn't work, if we have to jump through flaming hoops, move toward adoption or further then that's what we'll do. And in the meantime, we're keeping our eyes open for what God is showing us right now. What He's teaching us right now. What we could be doing that's bigger right now. But I would be really thrilled if the Clomid train would reach it's intended destination.
Until then you can probably find me in the kitchen, eating donuts and drinking wine.
A family. It doesn't have to look like everyone else's family. But I want it. I want it so bad I can taste it. I want it bad enough that we're on the Clomid train. Oh, what's that? Twins you say? Bring it. Even a slight chance of triplets? I'll take those odds.
Would DH and I be happy without a family? We could be. Will a baby be the glue that keeps us together? Nope. We're the glue that holds us together. Well, and God. Without Him we're up the creek without a paddle. Would we be a kick ass mom and dad? You bet.
What I know, though, is that if Clomid doesn't work, if we have to jump through flaming hoops, move toward adoption or further then that's what we'll do. And in the meantime, we're keeping our eyes open for what God is showing us right now. What He's teaching us right now. What we could be doing that's bigger right now. But I would be really thrilled if the Clomid train would reach it's intended destination.
Until then you can probably find me in the kitchen, eating donuts and drinking wine.
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