of mice and men

People, there is a mouse in the house.

I had been blaming the nibbled fruit on the boy. In fact, I gave him an entire lecture about not taking just one bite out of the apples and pears. He was playing a video game at the time, and obviously he wasn't listening to me enough to even defend himself. Typical.

Rosa was here yesterday and she sleuthed out the mouse within minutes of her arrival. She's sharp like that. I stood there like the big oaf that I am (I always feel like a giant around Rosa, she's very little) and listened to her detective work. "You see dis right here? Dis isa poop. A poop a de mouse! You gotta de mouse en su casa! Es no goo. Es no goo Aprrrril." She set to work cleaning up the "poop a de mouse".

Now, I'm not too freaked out. We had a mouse in our house before and we caught him and set him free in a field. It was no big deal. But Sugar Daddy had to go and rate this situation an "R". For rat. That puts me over the edge.

The appearance of the mouse/rat is rather timely, or untimely, depending on how you look at it.

I've had a hankering lately. Whitman has been gone almost a year and I have started to feel a twinge when I see other cats. I have always wanted a big fluffy orange cat. I would get a girl and her name would be Matilda. Can't you just see her now, keeping my spot on the couch warm?

Sugar Daddy has said that we will not be getting another cat anytime soon in no uncertain terms. But I have my ways. I have been honing my womanly skills of persuasion for years now. He is powerless against me.

The truth of the matter is that I know exactly why I want a cat right now. It is another meager attempt to fill the baby void. I know this, but I can't seem to help myself. If someone doesn't get me something to mother quick, Matilda's movin' in. And I might even dress her baby clothes.

The little mouse bag was made by Syko. She has a delightful little Etsy shop you should check out. She is from Turku, Finland. She's not the allusive Miss Finland we are all waiting to hear from, but her work is charming!

girly stuff

Here is my most recent painting. It's called Weber Sleepers. I grew up in Weber County, Utah. It holds a soft spot in my heart. I built this piece over a map of Utah. It is for sale here.

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There are a few little items that I've been needing. Sometimes, when I blog in the evenings, I am distracted by the conversations going on in the other room. When I hear the boys discussing plans to collect spiders in my good jelly jars, I find it distracting.

I can't stand when I have a really juicy line of thought going and poof! its gone because I heard Ben tell Thom to run into my bathroom and bring him my tweezers.

I've come up with a solution. Ear plugs. But I, of course, don't want just any old ugly ear plugs. I want Holly Golightly ear plugs. And I'll be damned if I didn't find some! Fancy ears, here I come.

The other item I'm in dire need of is tea towels. We go through tea towels around here like, well, paper towels. I simply can't abide a dirty tea towel in my kitchen. And I'm looking for unique and funky. Anyone out there got suggestions for me?

I'm lovin' these from Atlier LZC, but I'm not about to pay $20 for one.

Tomorrow we will discuss more of my many many needs. Like lipstick in the perfect shade of pink and monogramed stationary.

god's snacks

I thought it might help our chances of finding a birth mother if we had a profile on the internet. It can't hurt right? Well, actually, if I were to truly divulge all my little weird idiosyncrasies I'm pretty sure my chances would be shot.

But these are things I can keep under wraps. Maybe not from you, my readers. They are slowly seeping out into my blog over time, but to a girl who stumbles onto our profile site, unaware, I should look pretty normal.

Here, check it out. Tell me what you think.

Do you think a person could ascertain from our photos that sometimes we stay in our pajamas all day, watch Spongebob and eat junk food? Can you tell that I'm the type of girl that sometimes vacuums naked before I jump in the shower? Do you see the crazy dancer that Ben really is?

If it isn't too much trouble, let's just keep these things between us.

If you know someone considering adoption for their child, send them directly to the profile page. We don't want to scare anybody off right away. They can get in touch with us here:

Okay, on to lighter subjects. Well, not really.

We were sitting in church today and they were preparing to serve the sacrament. Thom excitedly and not quietly said, "Yeah! Snacks!"

So being the reverent mom that I am, I said, "Shush. Not snacks Thom, the sacrament. You are supposed to think of Jesus when you take the sacrament. Now sit up and quit picking your nose."

And he replied, "I know Mom. It's God's snacks. God's snacks Mom."

That put me to thinking. The sacrament kind of is like God's snacks. It is meant to be a respite from our daily life. It is to nourish us spiritually and buoy us up for the week to come. A little something to hold us over. Just a little snack.

From the mouth of babes.

like the wind

The Crew (Thom, his bud from school and his Greeksican* brothers and sister)

We run for fun. I know. Some people find this absurd. But it's true. Running is really fun once you get into it. Let me repeat that. Once you get into it. It's pure hell when you first start. Don't judge your running capabilities until you have worked up to at least three miles. Then, if you still hate it, well so be it. Take up origami.

My child ran his first race today. It was one mile and he didn't stop until he crossed the finish line. Heaven knows he didn't inherit a single athletic gene from either of his parents, but we both run. I hope he does too.

* The Greeksicans are the children of Andre and Greek and my best friend Jenny. Thomas has grown up with these kids and he considers them his siblings. He actually thought for most of his life that he was also a Greeksican and didn't like being told that he was actually just a boring old caucasian. There's not a drop of Mexican blood in him as you can tell from his pasty white skin.

köszönöm!

A little something delightful came in the post.

It was from Julie. I met Julie, here, on Suaviloquy. Julie is from Hungary. She makes killer goulash. To make killer goulash you must have special Hungarian paprika. Julie is a nice girl. She sent me some special Hungarian paprika so I can make her killer goulash. I really like Julie. I think I will like her goulash even more.

To Julie:

Kedves barátom-
köszönöm a tréfa csomag! Nem tudom várja, hogy az ön recept. Ha ön születésnap? Én már egy másik kis vmit!

No, I don't speak Hungarian, although I would like you to think that I do. I cheated and used an online translator. I sincerely hope that it translates correctly with no inadvertant curse words. Luckily, Julie not only makes killer goulash, she also speaks English. Talented girl that Julie.


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As far as I'm concerned, one of the best things about being a kid was coming home to a mom-made after school snack. My own mother was the master o' cinnamon rolls. I tell ya, there is nothing like coming through the back door when my mom's been baking cinnamon rolls. You simply float 3 inches off the ground til you find yourself in the kitchen with one of those big curls of heaven placed before you. And I think it sufficient to say that there are very few places in life where you will experience the same rush of endorphins that wash over you when you actually take a bite. Your scalp tingles.

I try. I really do try to have a yummy homemade treat waiting for the boy when he returns, weary, from his day of painting, running, singing, counting and experimenting. Some days he is really tuckered.

So I made the Pink Lemonade Cupcake recipe. At this time I would like to make a public service announcement and say that these cupcakes are absolutely of the devil. I warn you.

Here you see them in their sweet innocence. Don't they look harmless? Cute even?


Here is the revised photo which reveals their true Las Vegas nature. They are sour and tangy and SINFUL and ADDICTIVE and those of you with a weak resolve ought to run for the hills because heaven knows I've already snarfed down more than I'd rather admit. But you know what they say. What happens with these cupcakes, says with the cupcakes.

And on your thighs.

Thom and I shared an existenial moment as we ate our cupcakes. And believe you me, this is as close to Las Vegas as this boy is getting as long as I have a say.

pandemic

Is it just me or is the entire female population pregnant? Is there some kind of pregnancy pandemic? Is my Pur water pitcher filtering out what everyone else has been drinking?

I saw a woman who was probably about seventy and she looked pregnant. Scouts honor. She was walking around Sur La Table with a rotund belly that I swear could only be pregnancy related. Or maybe she had a tumor in which case I will be struck by lightning later today.

Everywhere I go I can't seem to escape big pregnant bellies. And it may just be my perception, but these women seem to want to draw attention to themselves with their exaggerated waddle and the braggy way they rest their hands across the wide expanse of their midsection.

Don't bother leaving me a comment in defense of the pregnant waddle. I'm being facetious and I'm not in the mood. I try not to moan too much about my barren womb, but to be honest infertility is a treasure trove of complaints. And every once in a while, like when the entire world gets pregnant except for me, my grievances come out.

Just give me this moment of ugliness and ingratitude. After All, tonight I will sit and flip through The Boy's baby photos and I will be shamed.

God has given us this precious gift. For years, I prayed on my knees, "Please Lord, grant us this blessing and we will be happy." I think I should make good on my word.

Thomas 3 weeks

And so, instead of feeling sorry for myself when I am SURROUNDED by preggies at the Target checkout, I am going to think about heartburn, constipation, nausea, weight gain, bloating and vaginal varicose veins. Ew.

And I'm going to be happy for myself.

rogue writing

Hi. I'm feeling a bit shy. A bit naked without my blue blankie.

As you can tell, things are moving around a bit here. The blue is gone. So long, Blue. You were good to me.

The fact of the matter is, there are big changes in the works. Suaviloquy is undergoing a major renovation. I'm one of those lucky people who has a graphic designer as a friend. Don't you just hate people like me? I did. Until I met Shawn, and then his brother Adam. What can I say? Sometimes Lady Luck takes a shine to me. Don't hate me too much. It's a rare occurrence.

For now, I'm vagabonding it. I'm just parked here under my homemade header, eating canned beans, until my little masterminds come up with something AMAZING. You hear that Shawn? AMAZING. Cuz I know what you're capable of.

As for the rest of you, pull up a plastic chair and hang out. You're not going to believe this story I have to tell you. . .

freshly squeezed

Today is a day of fresh starts. We are getting a new president, the boy is back in school for the week, and I'm wearing new underwear. Gotta love that. So, if you are new around here, hello. Take a load off and stay a while.I have begun work on the Secondsister Spring collection. I always look forward to the Spring collection. There is nothing like pulling out all my most colorful gems and going to work. These felt babbles have been calling my name.

Today is also the day I will thoroughly clean my bedroom. All clean and folded clothes must find their home in the closest. The unruly stack of books at the side of my bed must be shelved. I think there might be an old hard orange rind that I must retrieve from under the box spring.

All this manual labor, plus my mid-afternoon run, will help take the edge off my guilt when I make a new cupcake recipe that I am dying to try. These little gems are WAY off my diet, but I am willing to tack on an extra mile for the chance to sit and enjoy citrusy cakey heaven in the sunshine after lunch. The recipe only makes twelve so the damage can't be too great.

Crystal Light Raspberry Lemonade Cupcakes
Makes 12 cupcakes

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temp
3/4 cup sugar
3 large eggs, at room temp
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup milk
2 packets Crystal Light On The Go Raspberry Lemonade mix
zest of one lemon

Frosting
4 oz. Neufchâtel cheese (or cream cheese), at room temp
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temp
1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar
2 teaspoons water
1 packet Crystal Light On The Go Raspberry Lemonade mix

1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a 12-cup muffin pan with paper liners.
2. In a small bowl, whisk or sift together flour, baking powder, and salt.
3. In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, and lemon zest with an electric mixer on high speed for 2 minutes.
4. Add eggs one at a time, beating on high speed for 30 seconds between each addition. Scrape sides of the bowl occasionally with a rubber spatula.
5. In a measuring cup, combine milk and lemonade. Mix well.
6. Add flour mixture alternately with milk mixture, beginning and ending with the flour. (You should have 3 additions of flour and 2 additions of milk.) Mix just until flour is incorporated.
7. Divide batter among muffin cups. Bake for 16-18 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean (a few crumbs are fine). Cool on a wire rack. When cupcakes are completely cool, make the frosting.
8. In a large bowl, beat cream cheese and butter with an electric mixer on high speed for 20 seconds. Slowly add confectioners' sugar 1/2 cup at a time, beating on medium speed until combined.
9. In a small measuring cup, mix water and lemonade until completely dissolved. Add lemonade mixture to the large bowl. Beat on high speed until frosting is thick and creamy.

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Oh and here's another fresh little piece of news to make you feel oh so happy. Orla Kiely is designing for Target. Yes, you read that right. Quite frankly, I'm totally beside myself with this information. It seems that the collection will go on sale on February 1st.

I personally found the worker being trampled at WalMart thing totally disgusting. I mean, get a life people. But. Please, ladies, stay out of my way on February 1st as I enter Target. I'm just sayin.

i have a dream. . .

I have a dream of raising a child who respects Mother Nature and learns the lessons she has to teach. I have a dream of a well behaved dog who infects our family with his carefree canineness.

I have a dream of well balanced life. Of making memories with friends and family. Of passionate kisses with my husband. Of walls covered in my children's art. Of a nation united. Of a flat stomach and tight butt. Of a clean laundry room. Of a sweet child to sleep in our nursery. Of many more days of my feet in the sand and my loved ones laughing in the waves.

Believe in family. Hope for health. Work for peace.

Happy Martin Luther's.

milk and other weighty matters

Here's the deal.


I'm 34 years old. I think that makes me generation X, or maybe Y, I'm not sure. Anyway, in my life time I have never seen the type of radical social upheaval that is currently blowing over America like a massive tornado. This is not to say that the 80's and 90's didn't have their fair share of turmoil. It's just that I was never of the age to feel in the least bit effected. We have already established that I grew up in town like Mayberry. I was the girl in the bubble.

But now I'm the one paying the bills, well, I guess technically that would be Ben, but you know what I mean. At twelve I couldn't tell you the cost of a gallon of gas to save my life. Today, I watch the price of oil like a heart monitor.

And things aren't so good. My friends are losing their jobs. My town has many empty houses and store fronts. My rock-n-roll life style has been cramped by the rising price of groceries. I mean how's a girl to afford high fashion when a carton of eggs costs $5.50? (I buy cage-free because I'm that type of person.)

My grandfather, who lived through the Depression, used to spank our bottoms if we didn't finish a can of soda, such was his feelings on wastefulness. As a child I was completely dumbfounded by this and attributed it to some kind of odd paranoia brought on by the ravages of World War II. I had no idea that for some years he had walked the streets of Chicago, hungry, with his navel rubbing against his back bone.

Last Wednesday I caught myself coming down on the boy for wasting a piece of cheese. Granted it was one of the fancy little cheeses that come wrapped in their own red wax, but still. A piece of cheese? Is this what it has come to?

Well, yes. It has. Times are hard and chances are, things are going to get worse. I may even be forced to give up my fresh squeezed orange juice if gas continues to go up. Sheesh. But my message isn't about doom and gloom. No, I am coming to you today with a dispatch of hope. Hope and certitude.


Have you noticed that as the economy gets worse people get nicer? I have. Pretenses are coming down. We are all feeling the pinch and it gives us something in common. Something to talk about.



I recently had a conversation in the Costco dairy freezer with a gentleman fifty years my senior. This is not something I am accustom to doing. First off, I hate to be cold and secondly, I am usually all business when I grocery shop. I suffer from a little known condition known as "cart rage" and so I rarely chit chat at the market.

But on this particular day, this man and I were both inclined to lament the rising price of milk. Dale, it turns out, loves 2% milk but it doesn't sit well on his stomach so he is forced to buy skim. His wife is completely lactose intolerant, which it too bad, but it does mean that he only has to buy one gallon of the cheapest type of milk.



I am hopeful. With the inauguration on Tuesday, I am looking forward to a fresh start. I believe in Americans. We have moxie and chutzpah. We have been through tough years before. This time around we have more tools at our disposal. We have more diversity and less intolerance. We have history to teach us. And we have my grandpa to remind us to be grateful for that can of soda, and by damn, don't waste it.


And if things get to heavy in real life, there is always Dog Beach, where everything is right with the world as long as you are off the leash, smelling butts and chasing balls.

Congratulations Bibi, of Bibs and Pieces. You won the hat giveaway!