Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Oh, whar is my fainting couch?

We are supposed to get more snow here tonight.  Third time in a WEEK.  OH, sure, it snows one day and is melted the next, but OH!  Dreadful.
I only half overstate, as it snowed all day yesterday, started really piling up to a massive 2 inches or so.  Funny, but the flakes kept coming but the totals never went as high as it looked like it was supposed to be.  No matter, as the runoff from the roof this morning when temps got back above freezing was pretty impressive.  When I went out for supplies this afternoon it was a chilly 43F, so keep us in your prayers.
It's supposed to snow again tonight.  Between 4 and a million inches.  Forecasts vary, as do enthusiasms.  Kids were out of school nearly all last week, have been out this week, and will likely not return until April, when all threat of snow in the Rockies (the lower elevations) has passed.
We entertain ourselves here as best we can, between storms.  Life can throw some curveballs, but if we can get to the McDonald's for Mint Mocha Chip Frappes at least once a week then everything is OK in our book.
Boy, sure hope this winter is over soon.  I almost had to wear gloves today.

Tiff out.


PS - This was originally (2 minutes ago) sent to my family as an overall update of what's going on around the NC regions, and I liked it enough to share with you, mostly people to whom I an NOT, in fact, related.

Everything about this post except the MMCF's at McD's is true.

Friday, February 20, 2015

It's always something


If it's not one thing, it's another.

If it's not needing a new water heater, it's having to re-side the house.

If it's not being snowed in, it's needing to prop up the entire house's foundation.

If it's not chocolate, it's pralines and cream.

You heard me!

We need a new water heater, a sump system to ensure the crawlspace doesn't flood (AGAIN!  WHO KNEW?!?), new pilings to shore up the 'overspanned' floor joists, and, well, pretty much an entire new sill girder thing that apparently holds up the entire house.

Oh, it's just that thet house might fall in, someday, is all.  No bigs.

Silly me for being concerned about that bouncy floor.  It made all those contractors poke around in our crawlspace and find things they should have just not looked at.  I mean, I KNEW the floors weren't level, but the house is 114 years old, so some amount of sagging was expected.

Our house is super-good at sagging, it appears.

SoooOOOooo, sometime in the not-too-distant future we shall be purchasing a firm set of undergarments for the Tiny House, and she shall be perky as a moderately middle aged lady once more.

All it's going to take is time, and multiple thousands of dollars.

Good thing we have the time.  Have to work on the money angle.

Send help.

Tiff out.

Monday, February 16, 2015

'Stash it!

To-day, because there was a Big Storm headed our way and I was working at home (WAH!), I took my usual lunch break to go run a few errands before all Hades broke loose and we were covered in 10 feet of snow up to our necks and armpits.

Or, the 2 inches of predicted snow fell, along with a nice coating of freezing rain and sleet.

It's the South, y'all.  We can get worked up over much MUCH less winter weather.

So, I toodled up to the gas station to get myself some gas, but instead of just pumping at the pump like one does in this day and age,  I wanted to get maybe a little cash so went indoors to use the debit portion of my card, thinking that 20 bucks in hand for a meteorological Armageddon would be a good idea.

No, I don't know why.


I swiped my card, clicked in my PIN, realized that the gas station don't give OUT no cash back y'all, stashed my card, signed the pad, and went to pump my gas.

And realized that on the 30-foot walk from the register to my car, I'd lost the card.

The card I pay for EVERYTHING with.  The card for which I'd just punched in the PIN, in full view of more than one person because I just wasn't being that careful about the full body shield and such.

That card was GONE.  Not in the regular par of my wallet, not in the other parts of my wallet, not in the OTHER parts of my purse, not in my jacket pockets, not in the car.  It. Was. GONE.

I walked the route twice, hoping to see it, very gratified when a lovely woman in a sharp blue SUV asked me with great concern in her voice if I needed help looking for something.  No, I needed no help, it would be tough to miss a card the color of mine in the short distance from pump to front door.

I figure I was in for a call to the bank.  Report in a possibly stolen card.  Bonus points: the bank is closed for President's Day.  So, yeah, whoever now has my card might have an extra day to purchase things from my account.  I could see the dollars flying past, me grabbing futilely at them while some dark menace sucked them away into its gawping greedy maw.  MY MONEY!

Well, I had one more stop to make, and another way to pay for that purchase, and determined that the first order of business once I got home would be to call the bank's service line and hope they could help me.  As I sat down in Carl (our new van!), something poked my hip.  It made an owie, and I hoped for a moment it wasn't a scorpion or assassin's poison dart.  Knowing, of course, that that owie was more likely something more mundane, I reached to my hip and discovered that....

My pants have pockets and this is where I put the card.

Pants have pockets!  The pants I am wearing today have pockets!  In which I had put my card!

Happy days are here again!!

I, therefore, could stop being suspicious of the guy behind me in line who I was working up to being SURE was a pro pickpocket, could stop fussing mentally about the hassle of having to procure another card and in the meantime having to deal with the bank and alternate methods of payments, could rest easy knowing that full of the fact that I am a dumbass and forgot my pants have pockets, sometimes.

Just another day in the life...

Tiff out.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Small blessings, a passing thought.

One day, not but a few years ago, when we were members of the local YMCA, the boys are I were swimming during 'free swim' time.

No big, we were horsing around, me swirling them around, racing them in the shallow water, tossing them and joking around.

It was lovely.

We had fun.

Sometime during that time, a woman came up to me, goggles on and breathless, and said: I love how you play with your kids.  That made me happy.

And I thought - OK.  Are we that special?

Well, maybe we are, and have been.  Special, lucky, tactile, loving, it doesn't matter.  What matters is that when my boys were beyond little children age, they played with me and I with them, as we had always done.

Maybe this is all hand's-on needs to be.  Just playing around.

Take time to play with your kids.  Treat them like you would want to be treated.  Live with them, and their bodies and their spectacular brains, for as long as you can.

Because romps in the pool with your kids come with an expiration date.

And then?  More fun, if you shift the rear-view mirror and adjust your shades.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

But of course, don't you?

Thing 1 is into the cosplay thing.

I wholeheartedly support this course of action.  It's a creative use of time that involves planning, execution of an idea, effort, and creativity.

To that end, I encased his face in plaster of Paris tonight, and made him lie still for 20 minutes, on order to cast his gorgeous face for a mask.

If only I could make Wern do the same!

As it was our inaugural outing with such shenanigans, I had no high hopes for the final outcome, but let me say: those three instructional sites I read and the research, however penurious, that we did, resulted in a semi-successful outcome.

To wit: there is now a likeness of his face resting on our mantel, drying.

A Mother's love, right there.

The mask will, in time, be turned into (I think) a skull mask, but that is up to himself.  I just know I had fun plastering plaster-of-paris-infused webbing all over his face and watching him have to sit still for 20 minutes.

Oh, if only this had worked when he was a toddler.

-Tiff out.

Monday, February 09, 2015


The very last thing that can be sponsored, has been sponsored, for this is the statement I just gawped at for 30 seconds trying to figure out how it has any relevance or financial value:

"Sabra is the official dip sponsor of the NFL."

Proof that I am not making this up.
Y'all.  HUMMUS is the official 'dip sponsor' of the NFL!  Not your dandified French Onion Dip (way to drop the ball there, Helluva Good company!) or Beefy Queso dip (Velveeta, did you not snap to attention when you learned this golden opportunity was open?), no!  It's Hummus, beaches, and it's official!  What other dip is manly enough to handle the NFL?  None, that's how many.  Hummus takes on the NFL like a boss and comes out on top!

It also contains no transfats or cholesterol and is gluten free.  The trifecta of thumbs up for hummus, The Official Dip Sponsor of the NFL!'s also KOSHER!  A fourfecta!!  Oh happy day!

When eaten with a goodly handful of pretzel crisps (also many enough for the NFL even though it is sans trans fat, sat fat, and cholesterol), one can feel pretty good about one's snacking choices, NFL-wise.

Just be sure to drink a  LOT of water before, during and after, because you're sucking down spoonsful of salt while enjoying the Official Dip Sponsor of the NFL and it's crunchylicious foodmate.

There's always a downside, isn't there?

Tiff out

PS - their company motto/tagline is "Dip life to the fullest."  What does that even mean??

PPS - here is an interesting article about NFL sponsors.  I did not realize that there is an official motor oil of the NFL.  Learn something new every dang day!

Thursday, February 05, 2015


Proper folding technique
Every Friday around these parts it's pizza night.  Generally, we order out for delivery, because we live in the city and we can do things like that.  It's a treat.

Sometime,s we make pizza, but that's kid of a pain and takes energy and sometimes it's just not worth it and besides, pizza if kind of cheap even with delivery and tipping.

Our pizza is better, by far, but delivery is the lazy girl's savior.  We don't have enough delivery places around here.

Tonight we moved up pizza night because 2 of us (originally 3 of us!) weren't going to be around tomorrow night to indulge.  Turns out?  Moving it was a good idea.  Here's why:

Pizza discounts -

1 extra large 3-topping 'za - 13 dollars
1 large 3-topping - 0 dollars because REWARD POINTS!
1 other XL 'whatever you want' 'za with a 40% web 'za discount - 14 dollah.

13 + 14 = 27, but with delivery charges, taxes, and 5 dollar tip, came to 35 bucks, which is OK for my wallet and please, cold pizza for breakfast?  YES.

Also, free pizza.


I know, I know.  PIZZA.  GAWD.

Sometimes I just don't want to chef it up, OK?  And sometimes the kids just want to indulge in a tradition when they know the rock-solid foursome won't be around on the designated day.

Fine by me.

Don't let the calender rule your life, is how I try to be.  Or other people's tastes.

Do take advantage of free pizza days.  They won't be around forever.


This post won't go down in the 'greatest posts of NAY, ever ever ever,' and that's OK.  It's what's going on right now, and it's a moment to  capture.

That, and one of the kids just burped.

Oh, such bliss.

Tiff out.

Tuesday, February 03, 2015

I married a what?

Recently, Biff joined forced with some guys with a Wild Obsession here in the Triangle area and is now back to playing bass and rocking the socks off the general populace.

Part of this required that he, somehow, was tasked with putting together a sound system for the band.  Tasked might actually be too strong a word.  Volunteered could be more like it, but as I'm unsure of the genesis of his recent projects I shall assign blame to the band and not volunteer Biff for such flights of fancy.

At any rate, over the past couple of months he's been amassing, by many a clever means, things with buttons and knobs and wires and more knobs and some sliders and displays, and has built an amp rack and ramp and cases and organizers and All One Might Need to be a Rock Star.

I did not know he could do this, or knew so much.

OK, the DO it part I might have guessed at, because at this point in our relationship if one day he woke up and said "I've figured out dark matter, let me go to the shed and make some" I wouldn't be all that terribly surprised.  He's Frigging smart, is what I'm saying, and can cobble together may a thing the mere man might hesitate to tackle.

The KNOWING stuff though.  Damn.

So, like any good wife, I asked him about it this evening as he was rhapsodizing about a new thing he just purchased on eBay that will act as a subspace partition to create a vacuum in the Heygate Continuum (his words) that will allow enough rigid leeway in the aural vorticies to engage equilibrium and, emphasis here, DAMPEN ALL FEEDBACK!

"How you know all this stuff, man?'

"Well dear, let me just dust off my smoking jacket of the smattering of awesome I just emitted and tell you a tale of how this new hobby of mine, the, oh, demi obsession, has writ large in my life as a closet gearhead.  Why, as  boy I was engaged in learning about all things mechanical and mineral. of mathical and biographical, of anthropomorphical and physical, and I determined that I am, what is known in the common parlance, as a bit of a gearhead."

"But gears, dear?  Aren't they for steampunks?"

"Tish tosh, my lady!  Gears are for people who like GEAR!  Be it climbing or music of computers or rodayo, GEAR is the stuff that gets things to the Next Level, and one cannot ever have enough or know too much about it if you have a passion (nay, PASSIONS) for activities and pasttimes that require it!"

"Gracious, darling!  That is illuminary and positively expostulatory!"

"Indeed it is.  Now, please excuse me while I go troll the interwebs for more items that shall induce a harmonious noise in the new Wild Obsession of mine."

"Of course.  I will go start preparing dinner."

"I shall assist, if you so desire."

"That's OK, my hero.  I will work my saucy magicks on supper while you drill into the inner workings of such sites and delights as please you in your pursuit of the creation of a true sonic wormhole, or whatever it is you're doing over there."


Totes a transcript, becasue that's how we talk around here.  Making conversation with polymaths requires a strong vocabulary and an even stronger sense of whimsy.

Tiff out.