Hey all!
I’m running a series over at Fancy Little Things and my hope is that it will help us blog better and be influential.
This is for new bloggers who want to learn the ropes and also for those of who have blogging for a long time and need some refreshing.
Of course all are welcome to read along and I hope you will.
Maybe I can even inspire you to begin a blog of your own.
So, come on over to Fancy Little Things and join me for Tip #3 – Be Social.
Cooking is a dangerous business.
There are the stove fires and the mishaps with the microwave, those very inflammable risks that come from working in the kitchen; however, no one thinks the actual act of eating can be dangerous.
Last night I made chicken noodle soup from a can and grilled cheese sandwiches, because I’m a culinary queen.
The bread was homemade.
You need to know that, because somehow I felt like it balanced the soup from a can and the cheese slices wrapped in plastic.
Girls, we can not do it all, but we can do some things well. So, I made bread. I can do that.
Soup?
Not so much, although it’s not from lack of trying. I’ve just reconciled myself to the fact that a person named Campbell does chicken noodle soup a hundred times better than I do.
My husband was working, so the kids and I sat down to our bowls of steaming soup and our thick grilled cheese sandwiches.
That’s when I remembered the extra half-slice of cheese on the kitchen counter.
I popped up to get it for my son, because he’s part mouse, and also because I can’t let a perfectly good half-slice (we call them slaps in my house, not slices) of processed milk by-product go to waste.
When those cheese slaps are not fresh out of the fridge, they get a little gooey and rubbery, almost like one of those slimy rubber hands the kids get in a little plastic egg.
Do you know what I’m talking about?
You fling the hand and it stretches twelve feet.
The kids make it goal to touch every object in the house with that hand, leaving a light coat of slime behind. The fun ends when it gets stuck on the ceiling where you forget about it for the next six months. Then summer comes, the humidity gives it just a touch of moisture, and it falls when you have a room full of company.
You quickly jump up and snatch the stretchy hand before anyone can identify the slimy object falling from your ceiling. You glance up, just to make sure.
I mean, ceilings are the forgotten place, even when cleaning for company.
That’s what that half-slap of cheese was like, a gooey hand.
I tend to talk with my hands; it’s a family trait (you should see my mother. it’s like watching sign language), so when my arm swung to the right, that slippery slap of cheese broke free from fingers and plunged into my daughter’s bowl of chicken noodle soup.
It was like an orange cannon ball and the splash of soup rose high enough to poke my daughter’s eye out.
My son practically fell to the floor in a fit of laughter.
I was concerned that I forever singed my daughter’s cornea, but it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, so I started laughing too. And crying.
The only one not laughing, was the little girl wearing a bear hat and holding a hand over her eye.
I am happy to say she suffered no permanent damaged, but I did have to fish a quickly melting pile of cheese out of her soup.
Chicken Noodle Cheese Soup – Campbell’s, I created it first!
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I’m over at Fancy Little Things today talking about 5 Tips for New Bloggers, Tip #3 – Be Social.
Please come on over for a visit. I promise not to talk about soup.
Today may be my lamest attempt at What I Wore Wednesday yet, but then again, I remember some pretty boring weeks, so we’ll just chalk it up to a mix of bad fashion with a touch of winter funk.
There is one person who very kindly asked me not to give up on What I Wore Wednsday, so I don’t want to skip too many weeks, but I am wearing a heart monitor for 30 days and I’m dressing to be comfortable while wearing it.
That limits what I will wear for the next month. Be forewarned.
The heart monitor is a gift.
I really feel like that, because almost nine years ago, my heart started getting wacky. It absolutely freaked me out.
However, when you are young and healthy, it’s difficult for doctor’s to take you seriously. So, they told me I had anxiety, stress from two little kids, a very full life, and a lot of responsibilities.
The truth is I had anxiety after my mini-hearty-tack episodes and not before.
I knew it wasn’t stress, but no-one would believe me.
That’s when I attempted to convince myself that I was crazy and this was all a figment of my imagination. I really did that and I’m pretty good at playing shrink with myself, but my heart was still acting funny no matter what my head told it to do.
I had two incidences when I was running on a treadmill, but still the doctor’s blew it off.
Then about four years ago, my heart would go into an unusual rhythm that lasted for hours every day for weeks. I called my doctor’s office and got the soonest appointment, about two weeks out, so I prayed a lot and tried to be patient.
Then one day I was at a craft fair at a local community college and I thought I was going to die. My friend dropped me off at home and I called my husband at work and told him he needed to take me to the hospital.
That’s when they observed my heart for hours and told me I would not die that day, but I needed to see a cardiologist. They admitted me the very next weekend.
So I wore a heart monitor and took stress test and I was told that there is a minor electrical problem, but I can pretty much ignore it until I am older.
Then my doctor left and I got a new doctor.
Praise the Lord!
He reviewed all my tests and said I can’t ignore what is going on, so I had another run on the treadmill, a monitor for 24 hours and now I’m wired for thirty days.
My heart is very strong. That is the good news. I don’t have heart disease. More good news. It’s just an electrical short of sorts which is ironic since my husband is an electrician.
I’m thankful to sort things out once and for all. We still may be able to ignore the problem for a while longer, but I may need medication or something a little more invasive.
A lot of people have this very same issue and modern technology is more than amazing. Besides, the one who holds the stars in the sky will keep my heart beating until it is my time to die, whenever that may be.
None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Sometimes we lose sight of that fact.
This monitor operates with four electrodes hooked up to various places on my body. Then I hang a nifty little device around my neck and press the buttons when I’m having a problem. They gave me a specially programed cell phone that rings after I press the button. I punch in my symptoms and what I’m doing and then the phone transmits my information, along with a recording of my heart.
Pretty cool, right?
If I need to go to the hospital, they call me and tell me to go.
My father says I look like a uni-bomber.
He’s kind of right.
I already forget that it’s hanging around my neck with four wires coming out of my chest, but then I notice people staring at my neckline when I’m talking to them and I remember the wires. I’m sure they are wondering if they should take their children and run.
Friends, I will not explode. Of this much, I am sure.
Disclaimer: I am not responsible for my family’s fashion choices.
My husband…I can’t even begin to explain. Camouflage is always in season for him.
My son, the man in black, looks like a ninja, and my daughter is furry. Furry. I give up.
I’m not entirely sure why you choose to stick around here, because if I were honest, I would tell you to run far and fast.
We’re a bunch of kooky, quirky, oddballs, and apparently we’re more than a little Redneck.
I don’t like it, and if I could, I would take myself out of the equation and say, I am the only non-redneck one in the family, but alas my son, the budding photographer, caught images of me aiding and abetting the king Redneck himself.
I feel like I should explain, so give me a minute please.
We is Po’ Folks and we use Redneck Heat.
We mainly heat our house with wood, because winters are long and cold in these parts and wood is about all we can afford.
I despise being cold. I should mention that.
Therefore, I burn a lot of wood. I can’t help myself. I dress warm, wear layers, and take my vitamins, but my feet still freeze and my fingers get too cold to type. That is not ok.
So, I load up the stove, again and again. You get the picture.
It’s March and all the good wood is burned. Gone. Buying a load of new wood is not in the budget and the last time FringeMan was hacking up old blow down logs on the side of the road, the police came.
Ya, he has this habit of attracting the law and this was not like the time I almost got him arrested. I have nothing to do with chopping down trees. I burn them, but I don’t chop them.
A girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere.
So he found this factory that throws out their old pallets. Hauling them back to the house is perfectly legal and allowed. They also burn very quickly, so when mixed with some of the wet, frozen logs in our garage, everything goes up in one giant ball of fire.
It makes me happy.
The other day he took us all on a run for pallets. He said he needed help – all four of our helps.
I should have taken that as my cue to get deathly ill, but I was being a good wife, so I flexed my muscles and jumped in the truck.
These things are hockin’ HUGE.
I couldn’t even lift one corner.
They are longer than our entire truck.
My son, ever the intellectual, said, “You need a chainsaw.”
You know that saying, if looks could kill?
Well let’s just say that FringeMan gave him a look.
“Oh, ya. That got stolen, right?”
My son remembered a moment too late. We do not mention chainsaws in my house.
Never.
By some act of brute force (it was probably anger over the chainsaw), my husband got this monstrosity loaded in the truck, and then the truck tipped backward.
No, not really, but I’m telling you, it was about to!
Once we all took a moment and allowed logic to reign supreme, Fringeman said, “Ya, this isn’t gonna work. We have to get it out.”
Huh?
Get it out??
Better call a crane down from heaven.
Now you know everything. I have a Redneck Gourmet, my daughter goes on Redneck Vacations, and we use Redneck Heat.
Jeff Foxworthy should come live with us for a few weeks. He could get all new material.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to throw another pallet log on the fire.
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I got a lot of work done and ate chocolate until I began feeling better about myself and life in general, so I’m officially ending my twelve-hour hiatus. It was good while it lasted.
I can’t explain everything my friends, but one day remind me to tell you about this truck.
Oh, and once, my son told the pediatrician that I fed him squirrels. True story.
If looks could kill…
I was going to take a blogging hiatus, indefinitely, except on Thursdays, because that’s the day I write for Fancy Little Things. So it would be more like a part-time hiatus.
I can’t even do hiatus right.
That pretty much sums up how I’m feeling right now.
Yup. It’s not a great time for me. Imagine me, the computer, and snacks, alternating salty and sweet.
I may need an intervention, or a wilderness experience.
You know the kind…where you pack a bag and take a hike out into the middle of nowhere to sit on a rock and get in touch with God, your inner child, and nature itself.
Only I’d really like my wilderness adventure to happen in a Holiday Inn with a spa right around the corner. They even play cd’s with exotic bird sounds and waterfalls. I’d say that was real close to nature, minus the poisonous snakes.
Instead, my wilderness looks a lot like a pink fuzzy bathrobe, a sink overflowing with dirty dishes, and laundry that refuses to clean itself (or put itself neatly in the hamper).
I wasn’t taking a blogging break because I have nothing to say. I mean, that’s rare, but there’s too much else that’s clouding my thoughts right now.
And, people keep tell me to write a book.
Do you know many pages are in a book?
The bigger problem…
A book about WHAT????
Seriously.
Go ahead and make suggestions, because I go round and round with ideas and I could be stuck in this circle for the next thirty years.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wilderness couch calling my name and a big pink fuzzy robe that helps me connect with my inner child.
I’ll see you after my hiatus is over, or on Thursday, whichever comes first.
Ok, the truth is I’ll probably write something tomorrow, but let’s still pretend this is a hiatus.
Humor me please.
Here’s the deal. This link party is a time to celebrate you, your blog, and your words. I’m not even asking you to link back to my blog.
My desire is to create a resource for all of us, a place to find the best posts in blogland.
You just show up to the party and link your favorite post from this last week. Then take a moment to read through a few other star posts.
It’s your time to shine!
That’s it my friends!
Saturday Night Stars is intended to be a social activity, so please socialize.
It’s your time to shine.
Show us the best of this week’s blog posts.
Can’t wait to visit!
Your turn to link up!
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If you are subscribed to The Domestic Fringe on Google Reader, you only have a little time to transfer your subscription. I’d love for you to follow along with Bloglovin. Just click the link below.
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Thanks so much.