Proud Mary

My FAVORITE

My Shameful Addiction

My oldest son had to write a paper on the differences between men and women. I asked him what was the main difference--thinking he would say something horribly sexist and being ready to pounce on him for it--when he looked me dead in the eye and said,

"Two words, Mom. Mission Flower."

Well, he had me there.

I have a passion for dishes! Not dolls, or figurines or other "collectables". . . but dishes!

My poor sons--they have been dragged repeatedly to the Pfaltzgraff store to indulge their mother in her addiction.

How to describe it? I grew weary of my plain white everyday dishes. . . went on a web search for microwave safe oven-to-table ware and what did I find? Mission Flower..



Everything you see in this picture--I have. I have Mission Flower dinnerware, flatware, serving dishes, beverageware, containers, canisters, towels, oven mitts, note pads--if they made it, I bought it.

Sadly, I dragged my children once again to the Pfaltzgraff store. . . only to find out (bracing myself) that my pattern has been retired! OMG--no more Mission Flower!!!!

Trying to find a substitute. . . well, it's gonna be hard. Going through Mission Flower withdrawal. . .you'll find me haunting sites like eBay and Replacements, Ltd where retired patterns go to live. . .jonesing for my oven-to-table ware!

So. . . I guess this is a Pfaltzgraff intervention. . .time for the Mission Flower madness to come to an end!

Merry Christmas, Ya'll!

I just have to get better at adding stuff to this thing. Become Blogger Extraordinaire.

Hey--maybe that should be my New Year's Resolution! Then when I don't do it I won't feel that bad about it. . .

Merry Christmas! (I'm Christian, so I can say that)

Oh wow, I hope that doesn't offend anyone--I guess I should have said the more PC "Season's Greetings." But I always think that's kind of confusing--which season? I mean, if I said that and somebody reads this in April, then they'll think I mean "Happy Spring" but then they're gonna wonder why I'm celebrating spring. Whoa--then they'll think I'm like Pagan or something and man, would my mother ever be ticked off about that!

So, since I'm celebrating Christmas later today, I'll just say Merry Christmas. And then after that, I'll probably say something like Happy New Year--but, I'll say that because I really want everybody to have a happy new year and not because I'm trying to force my fervent hope that the 365 day period following December 31 is more prosperous and joyfilled for everyone. Hopefully that's not gonna be offensive.

Ho Ho Ho! (and I don't mean that to be offensive to any women with looser than normal morals.)

Starting Over

Oh, whatever will I do?

My absolute favorite reality tv show, Starting Over, has ended for this season! Now we're into reruns for the rest of the summer. Total bummer. I mean, TOTAL.

You know, there's nothing quite as self-affirming as watching real-life people be real-life miserable. And folks, I'm here to tell you, these women made me feel like the Queen of the World!

Any problem I had, they had it worse.

I HATE walking up steps. I'm too old to walk up steps. But poor Megg--claustrophia so bad she had panic attacks just thinking about going in an elevator! So, to help her out, well, I always take the elevator. You know, as a kind of karmic support system.

Then there was Candi, who wanted to be more in touch with her feminity. So, being the supportive viewer that I am, I bought lots of really pretty lingerie and make up and designer perfumes--again--that cosmic karmic support system.

I'm telling you--this is a great show.

So, I guess I just have to wait around until next season. . . or watch the summer re-runs and figure out more self-indulgent ways to be supportive to the troubled houseguests of the Starting Over house.

Genetic Conspiracy

Gracious, it's been quite awile since I posted anything here. And I'll bet you're all wondering what I've been thinking about. Ha--or not!

Well, today's topic is CHILDREN. There's got to be some sort of genetic conspiracy.

First off, you get pregnant (okay, so I know that's not the actual first part, but it's my starting point for today). For whatever reason, you're incredibly excited, eat only healthy foods, drink lots of bottled water and suffer through any illness--all on behalf of the little parasite that's sucking all of the vitamins out of your system.

Then the magic day comes--he's born! And again--you're so excited. The most fascinatingly beautiful little bundle of baby is finally here! You count all the fingers and toesies, watch him sleep, hug him, love him. . . and of course, never sleep a full night again for the next couple of years. And you know what? It's all fine. Such a joy, such a wonder. . .

Then, one day, 15 or so years later, he's this big, hairy, deep voiced man. . . .who's incredibly. . . well, you still love him and all, but whoa. . .it's not the same! Looking UP at the baby face and getting him to open jars and reach high shelves. . .it's weird. You think to yourself, wow, he's a man now.

Until he does something incredibly stupid. Again.

So, for today's little adventure, little brother gets out of the car, leaving the car door open. His big brother, such an angel, gets the groceries out of the car for his mother, poor weak thing that she is. He comes in, Mom says, did you close up the car? Of course, mother dear, he says (first hint--MOTHER DEAR).

Two hours later, after you've made your wonderful children a fantastic dinner and are in the process of cleaning up the kitchen (did I mention the grease fire?), it occurs to you that you didn't lock the car. Head outside. . .low and behold, the back door is still wide open. Even more fun, the headlights are still on (they're automatic and don't go out until all of the doors have been closed for a bit).

And then you ask yourself. . .what is it that keeps us loving these battery/income drainers so much? And then you shudder in fear thinking that one day he'll pick out your nursing home. . . I'm telling you, it's a genetic conspiracy.

So--what could be more fun than trying to start your car in cold weather after the interior and exterior lights have been on for over 2 hours?

Oh, I don't know. . . maybe going through the whole birth process again? I should be so lucky.

WTF?

• That's such an interesting phrase. The first time I saw it, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it meant. I thought it had something to do with the World Trade Center, and I suppose in a way it does. I know that's what I said when I heard about it.
  
• I guess because it's September that's what I've been thinking about a lot lately. No one can deny it was an awful thing. The definition of tragic.
  
• But now, it's like we're living a rather Orwellian existance. Big Brother is watching us all the time. . .
  
• I can understand the need for safety, of course. We can't let what happen in 2001 happen again. But you know, it seems like the people that are paying the most are the everyday people who just want to hop a plane to Vegas for the weekend or go visit Grandma in Des Moines. But geez, the thought of going through airport security keeps me away, let me tell you. At this point, if i can't drive there, I don't really want to go!
  
• But you know, if all this security stuff at airports is going to stay, can't they make it more attractive? It all looks so. . . well, slapped together. They KNOW people have to take off their shoes to get them scanned--have somewhere to sit so we can put them back on again! Get rid of the folding tables at the gates and put up real counters. Good heavens, just because it's security doesn't mean it can't be color coordinated with the rest of the airport!
  
• At least hire hunky professionals to go through my lingerie when I'm randomly selected for search!

Football Fridays

Who's idea was it to have high school football on Friday nights? I think I must be getting old. . .well, oldER. All I want to do on Friday night is sleep through till Monday.

Thinks of the Day

I think. . .

People spend too much time thinking about things. Things that don't have to be thought about. For heaven's sake, just do whatever it is and be done with it. Then you can move on to other things. Or thinks.

Or, it could just be PMS. I think.