Fiddledeedee

The first day of Spring is upon us.  I watch for the signs, you know. The time change, the subtle rise in temperature, the cookie pusher Girl Scouts delivering their booty, and the leaves sprouting on my backyard Maple. Who was aptly named Lana by a toddler who lived in this house once upon a time.

It was that same toddler that grew up and tossed her sister’s hot pink hula hoop high up into Lana’s naked branches this winter.  You can reminisce about that saga here.  All attempts to extricate the hula hoop have been in vain.  And in fact, have only served to drive the hula hoop deeper into the tree.  Since the branches will not hold anything heavier than a hula hoop (and the squirrel that sat poised ready to pounce on my head – click on the picture and you’ll see him and the thirst for blood in his beady eyes) I fear we may never get that hula hoop down.

What is the shelf life of a hula hoop anyway?  Any and all ideas for freeing the hula hoop from Lana’s clutches are welcome.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

My husband is not what you would call subtle.  Recently he iChatted me a website that he wanted me to book mark for use whenever I step foot in the kitchen.

With 3 children, working at home, homeschooling, and all the insanity that combo brings, we often communicate best through technology.  That way we’re not left staring at each other and yelling over the din, “WHAT WAS IT THAT I WAS SUPPOSE TO REMEMBER TO TELL YOU?” So we send each other messages willy nilly.  “The toilet paper? It goes ON THE TOILET PAPER HOLDER.” Etcetera.

Anyhoo. I married a man who has certain ideas about cleanliness.  Especially in the kitchen.  It’s not that he’s a clean freak himself.  HOOOBOY. NOT EVEN. But he has issues with germs, mold, bacteria, and general nastiness.

The first time he ever witnessed me licking a cake batter bowl, his eyes rolled to the back of his head just before he hit the floor.  He didn’t know where to start.  The raw eggs?  The licking of the fingers?  The licking of the beaters?  His wife sticking her entire head into the bowl declaring that it no longer needed to be washed?

I attempted to explain to him that I come from a long line of southern women.  And in the south, we eat raw cookie dough, cake batter, and would never dream of leaving any of those delicacies behind on a spoon, bowl, or whathaveyou.

He shuddered.  And even after all these years of wedded bliss, I still don’t think he gets it.  Or approves.

Therefore, a link to a website appeared in my in-box this week.  Oh boy.  Here we go again.  Another interesting article about the perils of e-coli, or salmonella poisoning.  I clicked, because never let it be said that I don’t listen to my husband.  The link went to a website called StillTasty.  It is a Shelf Life Guide about everything Food related.  And unbeknownst to me, I HAD QUESTIONS.

Not only did I get the questions answered, but I learned things that I never even thought about asking.

One habit that I got into after marrying my food-cautious husband, was that I label all leftovers before they go into the fridge.  I keep a roll of masking tape and a permanent marker in my kitchen drawer, and I label what the item is, and the date it was cooked.

This works well as long as we either eat the leftovers in question, or throw them out before they turn green and fuzzy.  And sport wings.  But how long is too long?

I learned some interesting facts when perusing this website.  For example, I’ve been in the habit of tossing yogurt and other dairy products the day after the expiration date.  DON’T NEED TO.  According to StillTasty, the expiration date is a selling guide, and the dairy products are still good up to a week after the expiration date, as long as you follow safe storage procedures. Like keeping the temperature in the refrigerator at or below 40 degrees.  Also, the FDA has a handy consumer tip guide on their website.

I thought this was an interesting fact.  I’ve always heard that it’s unsafe to store food still in an opened can. According to StillTasty, while from a safety standpoint, it is okay, the USDA still doesn’t advise it.  The reason is that “canned foods retain their flavor and appearance if you transfer them to glass or plastic storage containers after opening.”

There is also a guide to freezing foods.  Did you know that you can freeze eggs? Me neither!  You just need to do a little prep work, according to StillTasty.  Always remove the eggs from their shells, because when a raw egg freezes, it expands.  And you don’t need a science lesson to know what would happen to the shell.

After you crack open the eggs, pierce the yolks, and mix them to blend with the whites.  Then you add in either of the following: 1) 1/2 teaspoon of salt for every cup of raw eggs, if you’re planning to use the eggs for a regular dish, or 2) 1 tablespoon of sugar for each cup of eggs, if you’re using them for baking or desserts.  The salt and the sugar both prevent the eggs’ yolks from getting too gelatinous when frozen.

Then you simply place the egg mixture in airtight containers or heavy duty freezer bags and place in the freezer.

Who knew?  What a great way to save money when eggs go on sale!

I’m able to search this sight by individual food as well, to get the information I seek.  LOVE THIS SITE.  Now my husband can no longer accuse me of trying to poison him.  HE CAN LOOK IT UP if he doesn’t believe me.

Now that I’m armed with all this culinary information, I actually think of myself as “going green.”  No more second guessing and food wasting for me.

And no unnecessary food-related trips to the emergency room for my spouse.

Win-win.

I’ve often said, in this game of Monopoly, I’m the banker.  I keep track of all the accounts, financial books, businesses, homeschooling, and running of the house.  I don’t pretend to be great at all these things, in fact in a couple of areas I am more than a little deficient, but I kind of have a head for business.

And yet, I thought it would be a good idea to spend 4 1/2 years in college earning a degree in the arts, and then go on to become a starving actor.  And then a struggling painter.  It is only fitting that now I run a blog, and work in the social online media circus arena.

I love working with numbers.  When tax time rolls around, I start sharpening all the #2 pencils in the house.  My pulse quickens and I crack my knuckles in preparation of pulling together all of our tax information and then writing it all down legibly on the forms that my accountant sends to me at the beginning of tax season.

I rant and rave about how hard it all is, and how my HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE FRACTIONS ALL OVER THE WALL, but secretly, I long to close myself away in a quiet place.  Just me and all those decimals.

My husband thinks I’m a freak.

And he would be right.

Up until recently I have been managing my husband’s two businesses and my own business plus all the homeschooling and household stuff out of a tiny computer cabinet in the dining room.  When I had to do Quicken and paperwork, I would either spread out all over the kitchen table (with leaf extension) or set up a folding table in the bedroom.

Fiddledaddy has been trying for the better part of a year to talk me into moving my operation into the bedroom, and buying myself a real desk.

I have fought him tooth and nail on this, because I had it in my head that I needed to remain in the hub of the house (even though the bedroom is 6 feet away).  And I did not want to turn my sanctuary into an office.  I did go so far as to look at office furniture.  I found a set by Christopher Lowell that I LOVED at Office Depot.  There were 4 pieces that I was eying. A desk and credenza both with hutches.  But the price of the set was FAR MORE THAN I WAS WILLING TO SPEND.

I even looked for the pieces on Craig’s List.  And found mismatched parts here and there, but I thought the price was still too high.

I did what any intrepid shopper would do.  I gave up.

But then after my knee started giving me so much trouble, Fiddledaddy insisted that I buy a real office chair.  In lieu of the hard kitchen table chair that I’d been using for years.  The chair that I would sit in for hours, and upon standing up, I would find myself eyeball to linoleum because my legs had fallen asleep.

I knew he was right. So a couple of weeks ago we went shopping for an office chair. On our date night.  We wandered into Office Depot and I peaked around a corner to gently caress with my eyes the office furniture of my dreams.

And I blinked.  Twice.  IT WAS MORE THAN HALF OFF THE ORIGINAL PRICE. They were clearing out all the floor models of office furniture, and all 4 pieces that I wanted were MORE THAN HALF OFF.  (Plus I get a teacher discount.)

The next day, Fiddledaddy and my BIL went and fetched it for me with the van and a truck.

BEHOLD! MY NEW OFFICE!

There is now a place for everything, and everything in its place.  I feel way more productive and even though a clutter free desk is the sign of a sick mind.  LOOK!  NO CLUTTER!

And this is the office chair that I ordered from Target online that will be here any day now. Cute, no?

The lamp I found at Home Depot.  I wanted a floor lamp because there was no additional room on the desk because of the hutch.  I’m downright giddy.

The word you are searching for is NERD. I’m off to locate my pocket protector now.

We went bathing suit shopping at Wal*Mart on Saturday.  Because we’re just adventurous like that. And let the record show that the bathing suits being sought were not for me.

And not just because I have issues with the fluorescent lighting and fun house mirrors at Wal*Mart.  I simply see no need to scar my children anymore than necessary by seeing their mother jump out of the dressing room wearing a sausage casing, “HOW DO I LOOK?”

Since the weather turned warmer, the children have begun lobbying to go swimming in their grandparent’s pool. Which is not heated. And I have learned my lesson regarding the purchasing of new bathing suits for the season in Florida.  If I wait until, say, April, bathing suit choices are greatly diminished.

I insist that my daughters wear modest one piece bathing suits. A factoid which you might find humorous if you were to have caught sight of a teenaged me barely wearing a lime green string bikini.  Which may or may not have had padding in the booby caps.

We found suitable suits which the girls loved, and in the right size. Both of my industrial height daughters (ages 8 and 10) are wearing size 14/16 swim wear.  And if you’re doing the math, next season we’re going to be shopping for their swimsuits in the junior department.

Which means that either I’m going to start drinking, or learn how to sew.

Jensen joined in on the fun by snagging Phineas & Ferb board shorts for his pending water fun.  He doesn’t need any, but he looked so darn cute. And he’s not a bit spoiled.

On Sunday we were to go over to the grandparent’s house to celebrate my MIL’s birthday.  The children began campaigning to swim.  Let the record show that I said absolutely not.  Their father took a different stance.  He said, “Sure, if the water isn’t too cold.” Thinking that they would stick one big toe into the frigid waters and run in the other direction.

I on the other hand, prepared myself mentally for the likely event that my children would suffer hypothermia.  Because I knew for a fact that at least one of them would end up in the deep end.

The children all happily packed their swimming gear into their backpacks.  And chatted about swimming the entire drive over.

When we arrived, they headed for the pool.  The water temperature measured 66 degrees on the floating pool thermometer.  The 8 year old, and her younger partner in crime got in with very little hesitation.  It was then that I informed my husband that HE was on lifeguard duty.  As I envisioned them turning blue, and sinking right down to the bottom of the pool.

They withstood the chilly waters for a good 20 minutes, while the rest of the family looked on in amazement and silently wondered why God saw fit to entrust children to me and my husband.

When the offspring emerged, smiles plastered on their frozen faces, we thawed them out in a warm bath.

Spring has arrived in Florida.  But I’m still holding on to the last vestiges of winter by my fingernails. And since I won’t step foot in pool water unless it is at least 85 degrees, I still have time to either find the perfect sausage casing disguised as swimwear, or resort to plan B and lose 20 pounds.

In other words, it’s not looking good for me to finally achieve my dreams by joining the Synchronized Swim Team for the Summer Olympics.

While waiting for Fiddledaddy to finish an appointment, I found myself alone, and within a block or so of a Big Lots.

I hang my frugal head in shame when I tell you that I’ve never step foot inside of a Big Lots store.  Oh, I’ve perused the ads, and have made vague statements about the need to check it out some day.  But our closest Big Lots is not very close at all.

This was my opportunity.

I was worried, because when faced with a store full of useless crap at bargain basement prices, I am likely to lose my mind.

I found the last remaining shopping cart, and entered the glass double doors.  Clearly marked “EXIT.”  I reasoned that I needed a cart not for all the useless crap I was likely to fill it up with, but as a sort of “walker” which is needed in these days leading up to my knee surgery.

I can justify most anything.

I stealthily moved up and down each aisle, like a cat in search of elusive prey.  I paused at the aisle which boasted of name brand drugstore items marked 50% off.  Oh, Big Lots, you have my number.  In fact, they carried a brand of Calgon lotion that Wal*Mart no longer carries.  I threw 2 tubes into the cart.  But then I paused, opened the lotion, sniffed, and put a bit on my arm. A little stinky.  Okay. So I put one of the tubes back on the shelf.  I walked a few more steps, smelled of my arm again, and realized that a tube of this stuff would be a grave error.

Made worse because of my frugal makeup, in that no matter how foul smelling it was, I would be hell bent on using it UNTIL THE TUBE WAS COMPLETELY VOID OF LOTION.  I’ve been down that aisle before.

My cart was again empty.

The toy aisle didn’t lure me to toss anything in the basket. I scoffed at the prices.  I moved on to toilet paper, then food items. I get a better deal at Wal*Mart.

The only single item in the entire store that I considered snapping up, was a white kitchen utility cart with a butcher block top and storage underneath.  To the tune of $129.99.  It was the perfect size for my postage stamp kitchen.  But Fiddledaddy and I have an agreement that we don’t spend over $100 for anything without written and expressed consent.  And a pinky swear to get rid of something in its place.

So I took a picture to make my case later in the day.  Photographic evidence works so much better than me trying to describe something with wild gestures and a high pitched voice.  It’s a great height, and would totally take the place of the bar stool that I drag across the kitchen when I need extra work space.  I had been coveting one I saw at Sears a year or so ago for over $200.

What do you think?  Go back and snap it up? Or look for one at a garage sale for SO MUCH LESS MONEY?

In the end, I parked the cart at the front of the store and left empty handed.  Big Lots, you disappointed me.  OR.  May, just maybe, I’ve sprouted some will power and am able to resist all the useless crap that before would lure me as I walked down the aisles.

But then, it’s a well known fact that will power and I are not on speaking terms.  I discovered this when I went next door to try on blouses and THE SIZE THAT USED TO FIT ME? Well, mysteriously, it is now made smaller than it ought to be.  Which is just wrong.

So, am I missing something at Big Lots? Did I just hit it on a bad day, or have y’all found some really great bargains?

Have a fabulous weekend, everyone!