boom, boom, pow

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Chuck and Welly are now full-grown ducks. No more fluffy ducklings. They now actually quack and drive me nuts with their neediness. I made the mistake of feeding them from the window once so now they are convinced that every time they quack incessantly at the window, food will appear. Fatties. They are so lazy and fat, in fact, that they do not fly. That’s right, I managed to have the only two non-flying ducks ever. Typical. Instead, they like to dig holes and beg for meal worms. I felt like such a failure as a mama duck. Like somehow it was my fault they’re defective and would rather dig holes than fly. Naturally, I decided that they needed to learn and I would teach them how, since I’m such an expert at flying. They’re pretty good a flapping and running so I figured all they needed was a little pixie dust and they were set. We also all watched Rio a few times in the name of research and for inspiration. They didn’t appreciate it as much as I did. Also they were pretty pissed that I wouldn’t let them eat the carpet. But they did bounce along to the songs. Chuck and Welly really like dancing. Maybe if the flying thing doesn’t work out, I can get them little tap shoes and we can start our own Vaudeville act. They already look amazing in bowties.

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Husband has a video of my endeavors but I think PETA would find me and wouldn’t be understanding about my desire to be a good mama duck, so use your imagination. Also, I look positively stupid especially since he made it into a montage set to “Boom, Boom, Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what happens when Fergie says “boom”. Or “pow”. Don’t worry, no ducks were harmed today. Technically, no ducks flew either but there was lots of squawking and splashing and general mayhem. Afterward, we all had a lovely picnic of meal worms and hard boiled eggs. Then Chuck and Welly did what they do best and took a nap. I’m afraid that maybe they’re scarred for life and will never fly. Oops. Thankfully they’re happy chilling on the ground digging holes all day and bouncing along to musicals. My Google search history now includes “how to start a Vaudeville troupe” and “how much money would people pay to see ducks dance?”

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i fully expect our sink to start sprouting basil

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Recently, I cleaned out the fridge. Scary. I should have left that for Halloween. Too frightening for February. February should be about love and stuff. Not scary refrigerators. But the moral of the story is I had to throw out a ton of food. Mostly herbs since I like fresh ones but only use a tablespoon. What a waste of cilantro. Ugh. And it makes my fridge smell weird. I have the least green thumb ever but figured I’d try growing my own. Hahahaha. I’m hilarious. But really, I’m going to try this. I’ll let you know how it goes. So far, its awesome. I only managed to get dirt all over the kitchen and spill seeds everywhere. I fully expect our disposal to sprout basil any day now.

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I bought this thing because it said “professional” and “easy” and came with a help line. The helpline should have clued me in to it not being as easy as I thought.
Basically, you add water and seeds and it grows all by itself. Or at least that’s what I got out of the “easy growing & planting instructions”.

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I was supposed to add 2-3 seeds for each little pot thingy but those things are tiny and I figured the more the merrier anyway. If one seed is good and three is awesome, then fifteen should be foolproof.

Besides, these “seeds” look more like rat poop than herbs so the chances of me growing rat poop and not lavender are pretty high. Not surprising.
Here goes nothing.

UPDATE:

great bean sprouts! I’m growing something!
The rat poop has sprouted and there are little green leaves! It’s a miracle! My herb garden is not a failure…yet.

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UPDATE:

The little dudes have been transferred to big boy pots and I have only killed half of them so far! Still slow growing though

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UPDATE:

Failure.  They are all dead.  Apparently you’re supposed to water them or something?  Better luck next time….

so i finally got around to…

…posting this week, cleaning the house, making dinner, getting out of the house…okay, maybe only one of those things, but it’s better than nothing. The last couple of weeks have been fantastically long and busy. And I have the cold that never ends. Awesome. But even better for me, Husband has been amazing and picking up all the slack. He did the dishes, made dinner, took care of the zoo, and even managed to make me his phenomenal apple pie…

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…and buy me this…

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…He makes a much better wife than I do. I need to step up my game.

So I organized the linen closet. Baby steps. But figuring out what to do with that giant tangle of sheets was more intense than I expected. There are three sizes of beds in our house, requiring three sizes of sheets. That’s a lot of sheets. Naturally, I forget which sheets are which and must pull them all out and try each one before finally giving up and pretending that the king sheets fit the queen bed. The rest of the bunch was tossed back up in the top of the closet to await the next sheet-change. Bad system. My type-A, OCD personality couldn’t handle it. This is my solution:
Group all sheet sets. Wayyy easier said than done, but I (mostly) made it happen. A couple of pillowcases are still MIA.
Once you’ve figured out who matches who, put the entire set in one of the pillowcases and fold so it makes a nice little package.

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This solves the tangling problem but not the sizing issue, so I quickly and un-creatively made some tag labels. Tied them on with some twine and BAM! Looks much better.
I considered that a sufficient day’s work.

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don’t go car shopping; you might end up with a baby

It’s time for a new car to come to the family. Unfortunately that means shopping for one, then picking one, then signing your life away for one, then sadly turning over the keys to your old one which you love so much because by now the seats have comfortably molded to the shape of your backside and you have finally learned how to parallel park the dang thing. Needless to say, I do not relish any part of this process. Except maybe the new car smell. I love that. But alas, the car shopping has begun. Which led us to the discussion of what we are looking for in a vehicle.

Me: badassery and a zero to sixty of 4 seconds.
Husband: fuel economy, price, and those little buckles for carseats.
Me: Wait, what?! Why do we need those?
Husband: For the kids
Me: Ranger and Tonto can ride in the back. They don’t need buckles or carseats
Husband: But the human kids do. It’s the law.
Me: Whose human kids?
Husband: Our human kids.

Moment of stunned silence while I process this new development.

Me: We don’t have any human kids.
Husband: We could.

Holy cow. As if car shopping weren’t stressful enough, not I have to start fielding questions about creating small humans. I was unprepared for this. When we were dating, we talked about having a family in the general sense: “you want one?” “me too” “okay”. But that was a far as it had gone. Now apparently, it was right around the corner. It’s not that I don’t want or like children, I just find them….sticky. And noisy. And I like sleeping in. And working. And walking around in my underoos. I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of trading in my very casual, no rules life for one of mashed peas and moulded plastic. Ick. I longed to go back to car shopping. I think Husband saw my horrified face and tried to backtrack.

Husband: I mean, not now, just that we’ll probably have kids during the lifetime of this new car.
Me: Nice try. Not helping.
Husband: We can talk about this later.
Me: good call. I think I’m going to be sick.

So the discussion was tabled. Until I discovered how badly he really wanted a baby and how badly I really wanted a Range Rover. I proposed a Range Rover in exchange for raising a small human. Negotiations have now begun.

In case you got lost in the middle, the moral of the story is, car shopping is a Pandora’s Box. Drive that thing till it dies, then hold it together with bailing wire, then start taking the bus. But for the love of Pete, don’t go car shopping. You might end up with a baby.

As a disclaimer, I’m not actually a horrible person and I do take motherhood very seriously. Which is why the Range Rover seemed an appropriate trade. Just kidding. Kinda…