Gnumoon's Stuff

Laughing toddler, video upload test, and a weekend wrap-up

You know what is funnier than a teddy bear rolling down the windshield of a car over and over and over? Apparently nothing in the world.

We capped off yesterday with blueberry picking and a dinner of blueberry-wheat-flax pancakes. I ruined any illusion of "healthy dinner," however by heating up some of the honey-roasted hand-mushed peanut butter we'd picked up at the Farmer's Market and pouring it over the stacks. I'm not generally a huge PB&J fan, but it was incredible. My mouth just started watering thinking about it. I'm sorry, regular butter, you had a good run. Take that good-fer-nothing syrup with you. Then for good measure we showed Pookie the joy of feeding the dog peanut butter. She wasn't laughing quite as hard as in the above clip, but almost.

Today I made omelets with fresh veggies out of my grandmother's garden, and they were quite good. Even Pooks approved of the "yittle cute greenies" (sweet peppers), when usually she prefers her eggs infused with nothing but more eggs. (This page is quickly becoming "Gnumoon talks about food a lot," isn't it? Oh well, I do. I love food. *shrug*) Then, because I have all this free time, I painted Pooks' bathroom. I haven't posted about this much, but we're having some difficulty in the potty training area. The difficulty is that Pooks refuses. She CAN, she knows HOW, but she will NOT.

So, having tried begging, ignoring, "Potty presents," and other gimmicks with no success, I was left with no other option than to redo the upstairs bathroom (in the nursery). To change it from a dark, never-decorated cave suitable for only hand-washing post diapering and holiday-decoration-storage purposes into a room so bright, so fun, so cheerful that she will literally pee with delight upon entering. Let's hope that lofty goal can be achieved with paint, shelving, and tile. (PS - Do NOT just hand your paint swatches to the good people at Lowe's and then poss-ass off to do the rest of your shopping. Take the paint base of your choice to them. Otherwise, they will default to the MOST EXPENSIVE PAINT ALLOWABLE BY LAW in your state. Lesson learned.)

Then after some lunch we headed off the mountain to do some shopping (filling the pantry to avoid those "Oh shit, we have a sitter coming during football game and NO FOOD IN THIS HOUSE" moments) and meet the family for dinner. My youngest brother is going to portland to visit the middlest brother in the morning, and it's sort of an unofficial family tradition to meet for a meal the night before a trip and take turns chasing the toddler around the restaurant while not actually getting to ingest any food.

So that was our relaxing weekend. My husband spent the rest of the evening in the recliner, reading media guides and spot charts, writing furiously on index cards and highlighting words in his special Game-prep code. I puttered around getting ready for my week, quizzing him on stats and bringing him green tea, as is our gameweek custom. It's a routine we fell back into with stunning ease.

Since I'm starting back to school tomorrow I have this guilt about leaving the family to fend for themselves, not that they aren't capable of survival. I made turkey meatballs, and instructed DJ on where the sauce and pasta were, and the feta and cranberries for the spinach. He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at me and went back to his charts, indicating that he knew all these things. I also made fresh basil pesto and a triple-recipe of hummus (forever known around here as "Thomas," since that is what Pooks calls it) for later in the week.

I know all these preparations seem silly, manic even, but it's as if I'm stacking sandbags on a riverbank. The flood isn't here yet, but I can feel it coming, and I want to at least say I tried not to get swept away.

Birthdays, the Farmer's Market, and a few moments of stolen peace

That's what I'm doing, ayup. Stealing peaceful minutes while the family naps on this Saturday afternoon, this Last Saturday of Peace before football. We purposely planned to do nothing at all this weekend, but of course we're harried anyway with the business of life.

Maggie's birthday party was lots of fun. The kids all played, the band was great (it was at the park, where they have music on Friday nights), we met some new fun people, and a good time was had by all. Despite cookies, cake, ice cream, and a general overload on sugary treats, Pookie conked out on my shoulder around 8:30. We woke her up at home just long enough to brush her teeth.

The birthday girl, Maggie, getting ready to blow out her candles:

The cookies were a hit, by the way, and several people even asked if I owned a bakery. That is high praise indeed! (And it has gotten me thinking, which is always dangerous)

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I don't recall if I've blogged about it before, but one of my very favorite things about living here is going to the Watauga County Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings. We get up, throw some clothes on (no makeup or fuss, it's not that kind of scene), and head over as soon as we're conscious. We stock up on basics (squash, tomatoes, eggs), find new ingredients and recipes (rainbow chard wrapped around fresh mint tabouli), and catch up with fellow Boonies. We go there for the cameraderie as much as we do to support the local farmers and get wonderful food. There's just something quaint and wholesome and refreshing about the experience we love, some intangible thing that makes us sad when we have to miss it (as we will next week).

The above photo shows today's haul of fresh basil, chard, onions, squash, potatoes, apples and zucchini. The pineapple came from elsewhere (what, you're shocked that they don't grow in the mountains?). Below is a bouquet of sunflowers from the market. They make me smile, which is well worth the $3.

When we got home and everyone else retired to their naps I spent time destressing by cleaning and organizing the kitchen. There is something about having everything in its place in that one room that centers me. Something about having the spice jars clean and ready, in just the right place (turmeric and garlic front and center, tartar and ginger relegated to the back) to grab when I need them. Something that makes me smile to see the low-sodium soy sauces side-by-side, Kikkoman for DJ and La Choy for me. Marriages are about compromise, but this is not an area where we will ever agree, so there they both are, seperate but equally important to our household.

The dishes are all done and put away in order, not haphazardly stowed like they will be later, when  football/work/class are in full swing. The cookie cutters and mixer parts have been carefully handwashed and packed up, ready for the next project. The floor is freshly mopped (Shark for the win!), peppermint oil on cotton balls has been discretely tucked away under cabinets (to distract any curious mice who might be in search of a winter home). (note: so handy that what mice think smells so bad smells delicious to humans. Also, thanks for the tip, Sarah!)

These things all center me, enabling me to not shudder at the thought of all that is coming at us, fast. In an hour everyone will be awake, the house abuzz with noise and activity, and likely the kitchen will again be a wreck. And Monday I start class (I WILL finish this damn master's degree if it kills me), Saturday we start The Season, and work and toddler and life is all in between.

But for now all is in its place, and the restful silence is beautiful.

My vegetarian swimsuit body

Ok enough of serious posting. Let’s talk about bathing suits. I went at lunch and braved the dressing rooms with armloads of suits (tankinis, because I don’t think they even make one-pieces any more), in hopes of finding one that would make me not want to bleach the eyes of beachgoers.

Kathy posted and said that she thought I had an okay bathing suit body, but here’s the thing: I NEVER would have let Marie post a photo of me in a bathing suit, or in revealing clothing. So, never would she post a photo of my thighs. Because, dear readers, here is my secret: my upper thighs look like bell peppers. Seriously. Normal knees, normal lower thighs, and then BAM! Stuffed pepper thighs. It’s quite bizarre. And they have always been shaped like that.

I could be shipwrecked on a remote island and finally succumb to starvation, and when my body was discovered, emaciated and gaunt, the traveling doctor of the expedition would stroke his beard and say, “But surely something else killed this woman, her face and thighs are so full and meaty!” (He would be a British Colonial from the 1700s for some reason. I think they were looking for Spanish gold when they found my island.)

In the past I have exercised away my belly, I have starved away my muffin top, but the cheeks and thighs have always remained. When I was young (8 or 9 years old) I dreamed of the day I would become a scientist and devise a serum that, when injected into the thighs just so would grow a new layers of skin from the insides out and eventually allow me to peel off the unsightly chunks flesh from my legs.  I still think of my wonder elixir whenever I prepare chicken breasts, because in my imagination that’s what the hunks of fat looked like.

So yeah, bathing suit shopping isn’t high on my list of fun things to do. But I discovered that suits made to conceal the thighs (boyshorts, skirted suits, etc.) actually draw the eye to the problem area, they in effect scream “HOLEE SHIT LOOK AT THESE THIGHS! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT???”, so I’ve moved back to a more normal suit style, in a basic black or olive drab color. I am THAT exciting.

I used to think that if I just exercised enough I could look like Gabrielle Reese in my suit, but it just isn’t meant to be. That’s not to say that now I’ve had a kid I’m going to give up on trying to be in shape, but I think perhaps my standards are more realistic. If I eat right and try to haul my ass to the gym occasionally, I can put on a suit and have fun with my friends/baby/family when I hit the beach instead of worrying about my jigglation. At this point in life, that works for me.

just when you thought it was safe...

So I've been helping plan a bachelorette weekend for a friend. The weekend is nearly upon us, and I have realized with dawning horror it means I have to get into a swimsuit. On the beach. In front of people. Today two of my dear friends decided they were going to order suits from Victoria's Secret and go in together on the order to get free shipping, and told me to pick out the one I wanted and I could get in on the deal too. Lemme tells you something: Vikki's ain't got one thing that would be flattering on me. I'm going to hold out until they reveal their Pink! line of burquas, then maybe I'll whip out the ol credit card. Maybe they'll have the Sweeney Todd Collection soon (see photo).

I wasn't always this averse to swimwear; in fact I was a lifeguard for many a year. I never gave it a thought- I just threw on whichever suit was dry. One-piece, two-piece, tankini, etc. As long as it was dry and didn't have a "pool funk" smell to it. I wore one suit up on the stand that I now consider to be scandalously skimpy, and am somewhat appalled at photographs. Guess that means I'm getting old, eh?

I'm baaaaack

I haven't posted in a week or so. I had to put it on my "to do" list, or it wouldn't have gotten done. I just love marking things off the list. (Sometimes I put stuff on there I have already done, just so I can have things marked off, like accomplishments!)

In the time I've been offline, much has happened. I suppose the biggest thing is that we went to the NSSA awards banquet over the weekend. It was great fun- we got to dress up and people treated us like royalty for three days. Also, my mom came to help with (read: save us) with Pookie. So all the times that DJ was busy with non-wife-invited events, the girls got to hang out and do fun things. Things like shopping, swimming, and going on a safari.

The greatness of the weekend made the return to the real world more than a little bit difficult for us all- instead of gently easing back into reality, toe-first, I was rudely shoved in and had to bear the shock of it all at once. Three days later I seem to be recovering, but only time will tell.

Little notes from along the way:
- Pookie has decided not to sleep at night. Apparently it is for the weak. So we have decided to cut out naptime after noon or so. It's like having my own Mogwai. So, as difficult as it is to deal with a little grouch-muffin when I get home from work, having her conk out around 11pm or so is much preferable to staying up until 3am because she isn't tired enough to shut it down.

-Pookie is also about thisclose to walking. She crawls over to something, yanks herself up, and then waves her arms out so you'll help her walk around. Eventually she'll probably just venture out on her own. I hope so - it will be really awkward to have to go to college with her because she has to have a death grip on my index fingers to ambulate at 18.

-FIVE PEOPLE asked me yesterday when we're having another child. Look at me, people! What about my birdnest hair, raccoon undereye circles, and inability to get to anything on time suggests that it would be a good idea to reproduce again anytime soon? I'll leave it to the Duggars, as they are the pros.

-We just had a going-away lunch for a friend at work who gets to go to New Zealand for a month. For work. As in "is getting paid to go to New Zealand". It's the first time I've been "career jealous" of anyone in a long time.

-I agreed to a photo shoot tomorrow to help out a friend, thinking it would be a 2 or 3-hour thing at the most. I just talked to him... 8 am to 4pm. Sheeyit. What should I ask for, compensation-wise, for giving up an entire Saturday to shoot little league team photos? It's at least in the $20,000 range. ha.

Hey, did you guys hear something?

We took advantage of Grandfather Mountain's "Dollar Days" promotion today, where the yokels of the local variety get into the park for one buckeroo. Not that I mind the usual $14 - I think it's very worth it. But a dollar? I'm there. Also, you don't feel bad about leaving the bridge when it's so freaking cold and the wind is blowing about 150 mph...you can just say, "Well, it was just a dollar."

I'll be honest. Watching the bears snag peanuts out of the air was the most productive thing I did all weekend.

I feel like my laziness was justifiable because we have something planned almost every weekend from here until football season, starting this week. Merlefest starts Thursday- I can't believe it's been a year since the last one. Maren will be joining us this year, and we even bought a special Pookie pack to haul her around in.

I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax...

There are some things that bother me, and in the past few days, 2 of them have surfaced as "things that REALLY bother me". Let me tell you about them!

1. The phone situation
When talking on my home phone (normal land-line), I get significant bleedover from my neighbor. Once I heard him buying pot (or perhaps oregano in strangely-measured quantities). This has been going on for a while, but last night while I was on the phone I heard him say, "Oh, my neighbor is trying to make a call." I had no idea he could hear ME. I'd assumed it was a one-way deal, and when he was really engrossed in conversation I'd just usually hang up and call back the person I was talking to later.
I don't know him all that well and he seems perfectly nice, but I DO know that he has a penchant for guns and knives, keeps rattlesnakes as pets, and owns the largest german shepherd I have ever seen.
This phone thing has been going on for ages, and it has now gone on much too long to ask him about it...I think I'll just call the phone company and see if they can fix it. I don't want to have some blazed-up viper sicced on me, you know?

2. That guy who is probably a murderer
This is a different guy. Like I said, I think that my neighbor is a nice guy.
This is a guy who I know. That's all the detail I'll give because I think he might be a sociopathic killah. A real "Body parts in the icebox" kind of dude.
In my life, I can think of maybe 3 people (including this one) who, if you saw on the CNN ticker they'd been arrested on multiple counts of murder and corpse abuse, you'd say, "Yeah, I can see that." This guy is definitely at the top of that pyramid. Every time I see him I pray he can't see in my eyes that I know his mind is squirming like a toad. Other people know it too, but they are too scared of him to say anything. Jeez, I hope he doesn't read this blog. Yeesh. Ummm ... hey, you guy there? Yeah, I'm totally not talking about you. Put down the mattock and lawn darts.

Bling bling and skinny genes

gI thought this was funny ... my photo of Tyler Hansbrough (last post) and the AP's photo. I think I might have been sitting near them, whatcha think? It did my ego some good to look through the wire photos and see that mine were on that level. I'm not generally impressed with myself, but it was nice to know that my work is basically industry-standard.

We had the National Championship banquet this weekend, where all the guys received their rings and we ate and drank and listened to speakers talk about stuff. (I was paying lots of attention, can you tell?) I was feeling pretty in a nice White House/Black Market dress that ended up being practically the same thing that everyone else was sporting - Black cocktail-length dress? Check! National Championship pendant? Check! Black heels? Check! We are GO for banquet!

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This weekend I noticed 2 things that made me sad for this country. The first was this article. Seriously. Whaaaa? The second was this ad for "skinny jeans for baby" from Old Navy. Huh? Skinny jeans for your BABY?  Let me tell you something, Old Navy. My baby inherited the thigh genes from me, and I don't want her cursing me for it until she's at least 13. "Skinny jeans" in a size 6-12 months won't even fit on her chunky little arm.
The more I think about it the more it pisses me off.
Babies are supposed to have some meat on them 1.so they won't get dangerously underweight should they get sick 2. So that they have room to grow vertically and 3. So they have energy reserves for when they start walking and running around.
I'm adding this to all the other levels that skinny jeans offend me on.

To hell with you, global warming. And to you too, fake gunman guy.

Jeez, it’s been a crazy few days.
Definitely bloggable, had I had the time to sit down and do it, which I didn’t until now.
Short version:We're safe and sound in Charleston.

Tolstoy version:
On Monday we got locked-down on campus because there was a report of a gunman on the loose…EVERYBODY PANIC! He was described as being a 6-1 white male wearing a black ski mask, black Pink Floyd T-shirt, jeans, and red and green sneakers. If that sounds like a fairly complete description from the guy who interrupted the alleged apartment burglary attempt, we all thought so too. Read on… Anyway, so at around 4:30 we all got the ALERT, and were told to stay put. When the classes changed at 4:45 I hotfooted it to the car to go get my baby from daycare… safety in numbers, I reasoned. I drove by the scene and saw nothing awry.
Well, at 5:10 they locked all of campus down, effectively stranding DJ in his office. Classes were canceled, there was much wringing of hands and controlled freaking out. At 7 or so they let everyone resume normal activities, but not before the news of the Dark Side of the Campus hit national media.
Tuesday morning the kid admitted he’d made the whole thing up. Apparently he’s already changed his cell number and withdrawn from school based on all the shit he’s getting from other students. Oh, and not to mention the fact that he’s now under arrest and facing some serious charges. Nice job, dude.

On Tuesday morning tut tut it looked like rain, so I packed my umbrella and got Pookie's wet-weather gear packed.

At noon it indeed began to rain. And rain. And rain. By the time I picked up zee bebeh at 5:00, the roads were quite treacherous in town – the retaining wall at a popular hotel/bar actually fell down onto the highway, blocking traffic for a bit. The closer I got to our house (DJ was in town for his radio show at 7 pm), the more I knew that we might be in trouble.

And yes, we were. The rains came down and the floods came up, and the Watauga River had risen up and swallowed our road in one great NOM NOM NOM Cookie Monsterish bite. That's what happens when instead of the anticipated 2 inches of rain, you actually get closer to 6. In 5 hours.
(Please enjoy this 20-second Photoshop I did to illustrate the above point)

So I headed back to town to a hotel, since it was apparent that we weren’t going home anytime soon. We tried to get back to the house a few more times after the rain stopped, but even after the waters receded, trees had fallen and blocked what was left of the road. We had no worries about the house- it is built about as far above the river as is possible, but our concern was for poor Max. I know he thought we were never coming home, and our secondary concern was that a dog can only hold it for So long. [Starvation was never a concern…that’s a little joke for those of you who have met our 100 lb. gentle beast.]

We headed out again at daybreak – DJ finally got back to the house at 10. Max was indeed happy to see him, and on the ensuing walk, it was reported that Max “shit the world”. That’s what happens when you have a Good Doggie who will not go in the house, even if he really needs to. We only found one area where he’d peed ever so slightly.

So we packed in a flurry for Charleston, DJ headed out, and I made it into work around 1:00 with approximately 100 projects to finish before I had to leave again at 2:00. I didn’t finish them all. I have spent the morning here working on them from the hotel- I’m sure the quality is just great.
So we’ve set up shop here for a bit. I have 2 events to shoot here today, and then the rest depends on how well the team decides to play.

Please don’t try to go break into our house while we’re gone- my shotgun-wielding neighbor promised to look after it for us, and I really don’t want to clean up your splatter when I get back. I already have a doggie urine stain to get out of the rug.

PS- there was a Zombie Crawl last night in town. I cannot believe that I missed it. That's like missing Christmas for a freak like me. It paaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiinnnns me to have missed it. (If you groan "pains", it is supposed to sound like "brains". Like a zombie would say it. It's a little undead joke, get it?)

PSS- I LOLed. More than once.

Thppppppt!

You don't frighten us, English pigdogs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of a silly person! I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur-king, you and all your silly English kaniggets. Thpppppppt!