Oasis

A few months back the hubby and I decided that we needed to replace our worn sofas. They'd been clawed by cats, stained, dirtied by crumbs, ripped and smooshed flat from frequent use. It was time to move them to the basement, where old couches go to die.

We ordered a new sectional sofa. It wasn't just as easy as walking into the furniture store and saying, "Yeah, that one." There were debates and arguments and measurements and round corners and square corners and recliners and no recliners and chaise ends and no chaise ends and fabric choices. Good grief at the fabric choices. Books and books of fabric choices. I had better luck choosing bridesmaid dresses.

Finally we decided on a sectional sofa with a rounded corner, a recliner at one end and a chaise at the other end. I wasn't 100% sold on the rounded corner, because it looks so......

.....um...... how to put this nicely?

(There really is no way to put it nicely...)

To me, rounded corner sectionals with big puffy pillows and polyester fabrics look like they belong in the trailer park.

Sorry. It's just how I roll.

But! Jennings, our deck shoe wearing, babyfaced salesman sold me on the rounded corner when he pointed out that a square corner is hard to sit on, because your legs get bound in the crease. A rounded corner is more "sittable".

Gotcha.

Anyhow... this sofa is covered in the softest olive green fabric. It's indescribable how comfy this sofa is. It's almost sinful, really. It's making me very slothful.

Most people have the La.Z.Boy recliner. We have the La.Z.Mommy sofa.

"Hey! Who's got the remote? Bring me the remote!"

"Hey! The phone is ringing! Somebody grab me the phone!"

"Hey! Are you getting up? Yeah? Will you bring me a glass of iced tea?"

"Hey! Before you sit back down, would you hand me two of those Peanut Butter Girl Scout Cookies? No. Not the chocolate covered ones. The Tagalongs. Yeah. The peanut butter sandwich cookies. Orange box. That's them."

"Hey! Hand me a blanket. I think I'll just sleep here tonight. Got anything I can pee in?"

Seriously.

I'm not leaving this sofa. I've found an oasis. Right in the middle of my den.

Lemonade Stand

Lemonade Stand: Complicated business venture where Mom buys powdered mix, sugar, lemons and paper cups, then sets up a table, chairs, pitchers and ice for kids who close up shop after three to six minutes and net a profit of fifteen cents.

My sweet 9 year-old daughter is very....... hmm....... entreprenuerial? I guess that's the word. She's constantly thinking up new money making schemes and enlisting me and my hubby to help her. She's got big dreams, I tell ya. Big dreams.

I love her and want to encourage her, but I can always predict how these things will turn out. She'll build up a head of steam, put all the plans together, gather all of the supplies necessary to start the business, run the business for about a week, then lose interest.

I want her to succeed at SOMETHING, but I wish she had a little more follow-through. She's more than the little engine that could.... she's the little engine that does... briefly. She's not the cross-country engine. She's the train you hop on when you want to take a day trip somewhere. She's the commuter train.

Her latest brilliant idea is a cookie business. She found a great versatile cookie recipe in my ScrapShare cookbook and made a chocolate chip version. The recipe calls for cake mix, eggs, oil and add-ins, which can be changed to create many different cookie varieties. Really, it's an easy, cheap recipe and I thought maybe, just maybe, this plan would work. I briefly envisioned my daughter being the next Mrs. Fields. Well, maybe not, but I thought maybe she'd make enough to buy that iPod Nano she's wanted FOR-EVAH.

My daughter and I planned out all of the possible combinations for cookies, made up a "menu" flyer and ordered some of those "free" Vista Print business cards for her new venture. We decided that she would just run her business in our small neighborhood for now, so she made up a batch of cookies and took them to a neighborhood barbeque. She guarded her cookie plate at the self-serve dessert table like a mother hen sitting on her eggs. I told her she wasn't technically supposed to be selling the cookies; she was just there to get the word out about her business. She did end up taking home a buck from a kind older gentleman who insisted on paying for his cookies. She was so proud and ready to get the business off the ground that night.

Two weekends ago I was out of town at a scrapbooking retreat. My parents were here to watch the kids and they helped my daughter make a few batches of cookies. They individually wrapped the cookies in plastic wrap and took them door to door to sell. My daughter came home with around $4 and made lots of contacts.

That's the last I heard of the cookie business. I think she's done with it.

Sigh.

Anyone want to buy a dozen or so lemon cookies? They go great with lemonade if anyone has some of that left over from their kids' 10-second lemonade stand.

Two Weeks!

Two weeks from today my sister, my older daughter and I will be sitting in Jordan Hare Stadium in Auburn, Alabama, looking at Pat Dye Field, watching the Auburn Tigers take on Tennessee Tech.

I cannot WAIT.

It's been at least a decade since I last visited Jordan Hare Stadium. I never attended Auburn University, but I wanted to. There's just something magical about that small town, that university, that stadium. Second to the Star Spangled Banner, the Auburn fight song is probably my favorite tune EVER.

I can't wait to take my daughter to Toomer's Corner, buy her a limeade at Toomer's Drugstore and a game day shirt at Johnson & Murphy (J&M) bookstore. My parents did the same for me and my sister when we were kids, and I am so looking forward to sharing the same traditions with my daughter.

In fourteen days I will again feel the thump, thump, thump of the drum as the band starts the fight song, and my voice will blend with the other 80K + fans in the stadium as we yell, "Warrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Eagle!" before each kickoff. I cannot tell you how giddy I am about it all.

Sharing traditions with my daughter. Making new memories with her.

Fourteen days!

Wild Wednesday

Whew!

I've been on my feet all morning. I'm pooped.

I got up, took a shower, put my hair in a wet ponytail, and took the kids to school.

Dropped the kids off, went to the grocery store for ingredients to make treats for the weekend.

(I'm going on a scrapbook retreat! Yippee!)

Got home, unloaded the groceries, put away the groceries.

Unloaded the dishwasher. Reloaded the dishwasher. Started the dishwasher.

Sorted clothes. Started washer. Emptied dryer. Will repeat those steps six times by the end of the day.

(I think the people with whom I'm retreating would appreciate me wearing clean clothes, no?)

I made 2 batches each of my favorite Boiled Cookies and a Peanut Butter Cup thing that I LOVE.
(Recipes? Want recipes? Whatcha' willing to pay?)

My sweet husband called and asked if I could meet him for lunch. Alas, I was elbow deep in treat production, so I couldn't go.

Turns out he had an ulterior motive. Our 4 year-old, Quinn, had wet his pants while in the carpool line, because he is a strict rule follower (for other people who are not his parents!) The kids have been warned repeatedly not to talk in the carpool line so that they can hear their names called; my son thinks that means he cannot even raise his hand to ask to go potty, so instead he sits and wets his pants. Bless his heart.

Anyhow, the mister just wanted some clean pants for Quinn so they could go on their Wednesday Chick-Fil-A date. That's why I was invited. I feel so used.

I did get a Wendy's cheeseburger out of the deal. I sat for about 5 minutes while I ate.

I finished up the treats after lunch, then did another load of laundry, straightened up the kitchen, told the kids to adorn their feet with shoes, and I told them to go play outside.

Ahhhhhhhh. Now I'm sitting here in the quiet of my scrap room, recounting my hectic morning.

Thrilling, no?

Blog Challenge: Subtitles

I recently read the authorized biography of Texas oilman and entrepreneur Clayton Williams. The book it titled "Claytie", but it's the subtitle that gives more of a hint as to the contents of the book: the heights of glory... or the depths of hell. As I finished reading Claytie, I found myself brainstorming. What WOULD the subtitle be on my autobiography?

The challenge? You do the same, for you.

The obvious question is, "Why would anyone want to read a book I wrote?" (Better yet, why does anyone read this blog? I write it for myself; y'all reading it is just gravy.)

Since I have no intention of writing a book, I'm not taking this assignment too seriously. Let's have some fun with it, shall we?

Beth: Did I Just Step in Cat Yack?

Beth: The Solid Gold Dancer Years

Beth: If I Said You Had Beautiful Body, Would You Hold it Against Me?

Beth: Big Feet, Big Boobs, Big Dreams

Beth: 284 Pounds of Funny

Beth: True Confessions of a Real Desperate Housewife

Beth: Who Said These Kids Are Mine?

Beth: Heeeeee Haawwwwww!

Beth: The Price WAS Right: My Years as a Barker Beauty

Beth: I AM the Last Comic Standing

Beth: If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer