Deviant Dispatches

It's been busy at the abode. Spousal Unit turned 30; he threw me a surprise party; I turned 30. We gained a furnace and a fetus. Oberon had bladder and jealousy issues (he apparently doesn't like my new hormones). We discovered a wasp nest the size of a volleyball (abandoned) and the neighborhood trick-or-treating status (decent). Work has been insane for both of us, to the point where it's a perpetual madhouse. But we manage. The anxiety of having a room dedicated to the new stroller and baby clothes is balanced by the excitement of having finished the Tickle's first sweater (Spousal Unit named it; don't worry, that will change). Child's Placket-Neck Pullover by Joelle Hoverson The worry of whether I'm eating enough omega 3s is balanced by the joy of steak. (I promised myself I'd pay attention to my cravings in case they're saying something important. To quote Spousal Unit, the Tickle doesn't know I'm vegetarian and doesn'

I'm a fan of potating . Dear OreIda, I write to you with joy in my heart after having consumed half a bag of tater tots. These crispy, chewy, lightly salted pinnacles of starchy excellence are often the highlight of my weary days, when I make it to dinner time only by keeping thoughts of their golden perfection in mind (often accompanied by a heavenly choir). It can come as little surprise to you then that I write not only to praise tater tots, but also to request a nationwide french fry ban. No, I am not one of those obsessed with calling them "Freedom Fries" instead. I do not stand before you with a flag as my Cape of Justice and a trusty eagle sidekick on my shoulder. I merely wish tater tots to have the rightful respect that is due to them. They deserve a place beside every hamburger, every sandwich, everywhere. For what are french fries but an inferior, long-legged imposter? I also request this ban of the inferior potato so that the infamous Spud War

Hi all - been a while. Distractions abound. I'm trying to get back into the swing of it - I haven't had a blogging hiatus like this since I started this up in 2011. Time to regroup, which may happen in fits and starts, but I'll do my best. What's been distracting me? Well, you know. Life. My next couple of posts will feature a lot of backlog, and mostly pictures, as I find it easier to get a post going when there's an image to go with it. First: the great outdoors. Earlier this summer, Spousal Unit and I decided to make good use of our fire pit. We proceeded to buy a ton of logs from the grocery store. You know, the paper-wrapped ones they sell next to the coolant and motor oil. (That should have been a clue.) One night, Spousal Unit didn't just put out the fire: he hosed it out, dumping the ashy water onto our yard. We ended up with dead grass and weird mushrooms. (Not quite a fairy ring.) So that's gross and disturbing, and we're never b

I've been romping around the garden a lot lately. This might look like a forest to you, and it is. But what is this, a forest for ants? Yes actually. These are my carrots. (Dear ants, kindly ignore my previous invitation and leave my carrots alone. You're far too bitey for my liking.) My tomatoes are making huge strides. I was kind of terrified that they would all make it and I'd have to make enough sauce for a small Italian village, but the first two have rotted before ripening already. So we're good. (I might be the only gardener who roots for tomato death.) This corner is my whole edible garden, but the plot is five times this size. Maybe I'll fill it with more than weeds next year. My three basil plants are enormous, the oregano's coming along nicely, and the parsley is still piddly. Please note the tiny pink statue, which is awkward and terrifying and really good at keeping the rabbits from eating all my noms. She's t

Our CSA through Circle M Farm has started up again, and it's been amazing. Every other Thursday when we pick up our box is like a delicious, strange Christmas - after three years, Spousal Unit and I are still surprised at some of the stuff that graces our kitchen. This year, we finally have a fridge big enough to house the fresh greens and produce. In past years, our tiny apartment fridges barely fit everything, and the tails of greenery would spill out of the sensitive crisper drawer and even hang out of the fridge door. Cramming everything in like that sometimes meant things went bad more quickly - there was no room to set a glassful of fresh herbs.  The benefits of our house keep surprising me. I've never needed more than a stove and a sink and a handful of fresh ingredients to cook great food and enjoy doing it. But it's a little more fun when you can move the teapot to a different counter instead of a different room to avoid oil splatters. I have more room to

Lately, I've been going through boxes of stuff from my former life (a.k.a., pre-Spousal Unit). The nostalgia is like crack. Musty-smelling crack, but still addictive. Starting on the left: My Poetic License , from high school English teacher Mr. Poss, famous for things such as throwing his keys at the PA system during class interruptions and reading us the "cease and desist" letter from a magazine sick of sifting through bad teen poetry. Definitely one of my formative teachers. Star Wars Bedsheets . They're for a twin bed, though, so they're currently useless. Doesn't mean I'm getting rid of them, though! My Softball Glove , from when I played catch as a kid. I can't remember if it was too small for me by the time I joined the middle school softball team. Mission T-Shirt . In the '90s, there was this thing where a school bus was decked out as a space shuttle. Teachers interviewed for a crew, and kids were "hired" to visit schoo

It's been a rough couple of weeks. There have been Reasons, certainly, but it all seems to have had a greater effect. Readers might have noted that I haven't blogged with any frequency lately, and I also haven't worked on the novel in ... two weeks, I think? That's unheard of for me. On top of that, I haven't been knitting.  This too shall pass. So here are some pictures and a vague attempt at shaking some of this off. Some good stuff has happened. The poppies in the backyard bloomed.  I had fun with my hair. Some friends got married in spectacular fashion. (There was even chair dancing .) We celebrated Avatar Day, this year by watching season one of The Legend of Korra in anticipation of season two. "Happy Avatar Day Father Lord." Thought I was being clever, but apparently we did this last year too . I got to see my nephew again for the first time in nearly two months. He has teeth! And the most expressive little so

(At least, to one who understands language.) I don't think I need to emphasize too heavily that there's swearing ahead ... . If you weren't lying on the floor like an asshole,  then maybe I wouldn't have stepped on you. You JUST ate. You're not good enough to deserve more food yet. If you keep whining, I will never feed you again. No, I'm not letting you outside today. Or tomorrow. Or ever. If you wake me again tonight, I'm going to lock you in the basement for the next six hours. Stop licking  my hand,  you horse's ass. Maybe if you behave, I won't get rid of you. Get off my pillow or I will throw you across the room. Look! It's the neighbor's angry dog. You should go outside and play with it! Stop peeing in your cage. We're only going to the doctor. (For some reason, I imagine this being said by Brock Samson of Venture Brothers.)

Last week, I ordered several books that are out of print on this glorious invention, the internet. This doesn't have nearly the same soothing effects of wandering about a used bookstore for several hours, though it does have better end results (if your goal is to actually get the books you want, which is not always my purpose in such heavenly realms). The nice side effect of ordering books online is the excitement to greet the mailbox at end of day. Rather than flyers that might (but never do) have coupons for things you need, piles of bills, and bribes that would turn on you later if you were dense enough to take them, there might be a package with your name on it and, within, brilliantly arranged bits of tree pulp with just the right ink upon the pages. It's even more exciting when they're books you've wanted for years. For example, the only one of five that I've received so far is Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Pictures From the Gone World . I love his unusual

Our can opener has recently decided it's only going to work when it suits its purposes, and it will stop and throw a moody tantrum for no reason halfway through a task. I can't decide if it's acting like a hormonal teenager or a temperamental two-year old. Truth is, it's closer to being a teenager. I don't remember how long we've had that thing. It was with us in New Mexico--might have been purchased there. Or it might be the same can opener I've had since the beginning of college, which would make it older than my relationship with Spousal Unit. A decidedly weird thought. One way or another, we could use a new one. But I'm at that phase right now where a tiny, necessary purchase like that feels like over-the-top spending. (Never mind that we just went out for a fancy dinner on Saturday; that's from a separate vault in my mind, which has been drained.) I get like this over the weirdest stuff. I sometimes suddenly reach a point at which any spen

As the weather gets nicer, the weekends get better and better. Kale egg bake The cats get full use out of all the windows (though Titania is still getting a bit too much use out of the basement ceiling, which leads to her getting stuck above the furnace and in the walls). Oberon gets terribly jealous that we're allowed outside and he isn't - he meows plaintively at the windows and follows us as we roam. I think he's loud enough for the neighbors to hear. So much bloomed this weekend. I now have tulips and poppies to go with my daffodils, hyacinths, and bleeding hearts. We mowed the lawn for the first time this weekend with our new electric mower - I'm quite fond of it, despite the cord. It's just like vacuuming, but more detrimental if you run over it. I mowed a lopsided half of the yard on Saturday, as we discovered that the 50-foot extension cord wasn't long enough. Rather than run back out immediately, we decided to finish the rest on

I know almost nothing about plants. I know they need water and some require more shade or sun than others, but as far as remembering which is which and what ones to plant next to tomatoes, I don't have a clue. So when I went to see my mom last weekend, I brought pictures of my yard so she could inform me. I've already forgotten half of it. But here's some of what I remember. Raspberries. Spousal Unit is going to be very happy later in the season. Daffodils and grape hyacinths. There might be some tulips sprouting around them. Bleeding hearts! After the rain last night, they've unfurled a lot more. Possibly oriental poppies. I don't know what any of this other crap is. Probably weeds. Hostas, I think. They're probably not hydras . All I can remember about this one is the general prefix. I want to say septum, but that seems like an inappropriate plant name.

Spousal Unit has wanted to make pancakes out on the patio since we moved in. Perhaps a bit strange, yes, but it sounded fun, too, and his unusual creativity is wonderful. So I mixed up the batter and told him to be careful of bird flyovers. And he made pancakes, which we ate on our patio in the warm sun, surrounded by encroaching greenery that I haven't yet bothered to prune. After, I went to my cousin's baby shower. It was fun to see lots of family in a more unusual context (a bowling alley). Brooke and I with our spicy, decadent bloody marys. The next morning for Mother's Day, we started out with mimosas. Brooke's was a little pale. Neal was disapproving, as usual. We finished it off with a trip to River Bend Winery. It was good to see Mom so happy.