Tuesday, February 28, 2012
I'm over here at Skwishee's place visiting - except she's over at my blog visiting me so I'm here, alone with her girls girls girls...
I brought toilet paper with me because everyone knows girls use a lot of toilet paper, don't they?. My SOB (Significant Other Being) used to complain incessantly that our kids used a lot of toilet paper - honestly! aren't there more important things to complain about? Why the obsession with toilet paper?
Our youngest and I went camping for a couple of weeks and when we returned SOB was like 'Huh! We hardly used a roll while you were away, it must be our youngest using all the precious stuff up!'
Then one day whilst taking a pee it hit me like a lump of four by two - it was I who caused increased consumption of said precious commodity. With a conservative estimate of approximately three times a day for number ones and once a day for number twos I was spending four times the tickets the boys with their penis shaking abilities. Ha! Having solved the crime I reported my findings to SOB who has never ever complained since.
Skwishee's house smells like it has girls living in it. When I walked in, I took a backward step in trepidation.
Everything seems soft. I feel as though I should behave differently here than I do at home. It's like being in a museum or art gallery, yet not like that at all. It's like I've re-discovered something long forgotten and I'm not sure what to do with it. It's exciting and scary at the same time.
After staring at their girly rooms like a stunned mullet and sniffing like a Labrador I let go, immerse myself in femininity and rediscover the little girl inside me....
I'm braiding their hair and showing them how to make a Barbie house by taking all the books out of the bookcase and making steps with the books to each floor of Barbie's new condo.
I'm playing air hostess (that's what they were called in the olden days) with them, but we can't seem to get past the board room conference where we are at loggerheads designing our new look from a number of uniform designs submitted by staff members.
I'm making cup cakes and decorating them with rainbow lollies but I can't seem to get away from the fact that mine always end up looking like breasts...
I'm having tea parties with all their toys and we've run out of pretty cups and saucers for all our guests and the tea which we made with brown chopped up crepe paper has spilled all over the carpet (lucky we didn't use real tea).
I really want to teach them how to draw penises but I don't think I'll have time this visit. It must have been something I wanted to be good at when I was a little girl, in Catholic primary school, because some of my old fairytale books have crude pencil marks in the front that could only be penises - maybe that's how I offended the god/s and ended up not having a girl.
The place is a mess after all the fun we've been having, and when Skwishee gets home I'm gonna be in big trouble but I don't care 'cause I've had a ball today or rather I haven't had any balls today and the following film clip has given me an idea for a business proposal I'd like to put to her...
**You can find other participants in the Leap Blog Day hop here.**
Monday, February 27, 2012
They do eat healthy food, it's just an extremely limited menu; there are only about six meals that they'll both eat. Sadly, there is a whole world of vegetables they're missing out on.
I'm not going to fight with them. I know that there is absolutely no point, because I can't make them eat and they'll probably come around on their own eventually. So, in the meantime, by the time I've finished making their bland, boring, lunch/supper/whatever, I'm really hungry and I'll just eat whatever is easiest.
Which brings me to my revelation: the first step to healthy eating (for me, anyway) is to remember to start making whatever it is far enough in advance that it will be ready to eat at a meal time.
Today I actually managed it; I got a chicken breast out of the freezer to bake an hour before lunch time. Then I didn't even have to do anything for another forty-five minutes! At that point, it was time to find some vegetables. Here's what I came up with:
Not shown: kind of gross looking leftover spaghetini noodles.
Add everything but the spinach.
Once your veggies have softened up a bit, add the spinach.
Wonder if you've got enough room in the pan and curse the idiot who told you to use a small pan*.
Breathe a sigh of relief as the spinach cooks down to a more manageable size. Stir to combine.
Now is the time to add your noodles. Or rice. Or whatever starchy kind of thing you've got hanging around in your fridge that would be yummy. Curse your tiny pan again, and try to fold the noodles in without throwing half of it on the floor. Heat noodles through.
Throw it on a plate** and enjoy! (I put a bit of parmesan on mine for extra yumminess.)
*You may actually want to use a medium sized pan.
**Just so you know, this is a salad plate. I really don't eat plates of pasta as big as my head. Although, it was a lot of food. I'm quite full.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Today, during my "hiding in my room time" (which was sorely needed, because the kids were watching a movie about a stupid talking dog) I decided to start a blanket. I found this great tutorial for granny squares with a circular center, through Erin's post at House on Hill Road.
The only thing that I've done differently is crochet a row of single crochet around the edge after I finish each square (with four sc at the corners). It helps beef up the edges a bit, and define the corners. It'll also mean that I get a thicker line between the colours when I attach the squares later.
It' s going to be incredibly bright and cheerful, and it's going to take me for-freaking-ever.
Friday, February 24, 2012
"So, we're agreed then?" asked Heart tiredly, breaking the silence.As one, their heads swiveled to look down to the other end of the table.
"Oh, yes. Intellectually, we've known it's what we had to do all along. Healthy eating and exercise have been shown to have definite results on positive mental health." said Brain, pushing her glasses up on her nose.
"Besides that, we need to be setting a better example for these girls! We don't need them to be picking up our unhealthy habits. And truth be told, I feel like crap!" exclaimed Body, pounding her fist on the table.
"Calm down," said Heart, patting Body's arm. "We all know that. We also know that we want to be around to see them grow up. We want to see our grandchildren. There is a very long list of reasons, that we all know. No one is arguing with you, remember?"
"I think we all know what the problem is, ladies," said Brain.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
I said to myself, "when I am a grown up, I will get to watch the good TV, because I will get to go to bed whenever I want." Going to bed whenever you want is one of the major perks of being a grown up, you know.
Except it's not.
Because after you're finished with school, you usually have to get a job or something. And maybe you decide to have some kids. The job people, and the kid people, expect you to get up in the morning and do things for them.
So now I'm a full fledged grown up and, theoretically, I can watch whatever I want. Except for one thing: the TV people have gone and moved all the "good TV" to past my bedtime.
Castle, Pan Am, Revenge, Parenthood, new episodes of Storage Wars*? All begin at 10:00pm.
Which means that I go to bed at 11:00. However, once you factor in the usual bedtime things -- tooth brushing, using the bathroom, making sure the lights are all off, barricading the door, using the bathroom again -- it's almost 12:00. And then Kee gets into my bed at 6:30, or so**. That leaves me with (approximately) six and a half hours of sleep.
Which, at one point would have been more than enough.
But now that I'm a grown up... I find myself falling asleep at 4:00 in the afternoon if I stay up that late. Which is sad, really, but beside the point.
So I have two choices: skip the shows and get to bed at a reasonable hour so that I can wake up refreshed and ready to face the day, or stay up to watch my shows, dammit.
I wonder if the girls will let me have a nap today?
*I know. Don't judge me.
**This morning, she crawled into my bed for a snuggle. She looked deep into my eyes, put her hand on my cheek and said, "Mummy, your skin feels yucky." Then she stole my blanket and yelled at me when I suggested it was time to get up. Good morning!
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The hardest part is knowing where to start. Half the time, I've got to move this stuff so that I can move that stuff, and before I can do that, I need to move this stuff... you see the problem.
Partly inspired by Julie at Feeding the Cat's post today (and partly by the fact that I'm a bathtub full of cat hair away from being a hoarder) I decided to bite the bullet and tackle clearing out my dresser today.
I needed to be ruthless. Anything with a tag that says "Medium"? Who are we kidding, here? Goodwill. Anything that I don't actually remember owning? I obviously don't wear it. Goodbye.
I found some baby clothes, old letters, a chocolate bar, several pens, some jewellery, expired medications, and a letter from Public Health congratulating me on adopting my baby*.
I ended up with an entire large garbage bag to go to Goodwill, an entire grocery bag filled with miscellaneous crap, drawers that I can close (but that probably still need some culling), and the realisation that I am apparently addicted to socks.
uniform at the Medieval store.
That's forty pairs of socks. Not counting the ones on my feet, the ones in the laundry, the ones that went straight into the Goodwill bag or garbage, or any of those lonesome socks if they ever find their partners. FORTY!
And I have to wonder when, exactly, I was planning on wearing knee socks again.
*It's dated the day after Kee was born, and since I actually remember pulling her out of my body, I'm pretty sure they sent me the wrong form letter.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
And she was good. She wrote her speech, she practiced a couple of times every day, and she was prepared. Her speech was concise, she stayed almost exactly to her one minute limit, and she even had a joke in there.
So when she told me that she would be writing a speech again this year, I was looking forward to helping her with it.
"Oh no, Mummy, we're writing it in school."When she brought her speech home to practice a couple of days ago, along with a "good work award" and told me that she had indeed been picked out of the kids in her class to give her speech, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting; but I know that I wasn't expecting a twenty second speech made up of three or four word sentences.
Okay. Well, do you want help deciding on a topic?
"Oh, no, Mummy, we're supposed to bring our favourite toy to school and write about that."
Oh. Okay. Well, do you want to practice with me?
"No thank you, Mummy. I might not even get picked to do mine. We're going to vote."
I know that my daughter, despite being six years old is capable of much more. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her mum and I think she's awesome; I'm saying that because I have video of her speech from last year. She is eloquent and thoughtful, and has a lot to say about everything.
She got a lot of praise at school for this year's lackluster speech. Really, there was nothing wrong with the speech, except that it wasn't on par with her usual work. Maybe it was "fine for a first grader". Maybe it shouldn't bother me at all.
But when telling her that she did a great job -- she said her eight lines calmly and clearly -- I feel like I'm blowing sunshine up her butt. I know what she is capable of; is it wrong to feel like she should live up to that potential?
Parents spend a lot of time jumping up and down with pompoms around their kids these days. Should we not tell them when we know they could do better? I don't want my daughter going out into the world with the expectation that everyone is going to cheer when she does anything, no matter how much work she put into it. I want her to work hard and be proud of her work.
I don't care if she is the best, I just want her to be her best.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
It's amazing to me, the amount of venom that I've heard in people's voices as they say "I hate Valentine's day."
I've heard a few different reasons. People say that they don't like being told by "the greeting card companies" that they should celebrate loved ones on any particular day, and others say that we should celebrate our loved ones every day, not just once a year. True and true. But -- unless you're religious -- how is it any different than Christmas?
Or birthdays? Or thanksgiving? Or any other holiday that has you spending time with your family, and giving gifts or cards?
There are also those who say that Valentine's day is so focused on couples that it makes those without a significant other feel alone. For starters, there are many kinds of love; start your own tradition and go out to dinner with some friends. Invite some people over and have a movie night in. There's no reason to feel more alone on this night than any other.
As far as I'm concerned, it's just a day to celebrate friendship and love; and what could be wrong with that?
In the end, it's just one day. Whether you love it or hate it, I hope you have a good one.
Monday, February 13, 2012
There is only a problem when we run out of dresses.
Half of the ones from the summer don't fit her anymore, since she's decided to grow about three inches in the past few months. Some of Beege's would fit her at this point, but it's just not worth the sibling aggravation.
I happen to have some T-shirts that were my grandpa's that I've been planning to turn into clothes for the girls.
I originally sat down with all her measurements, ready to draft a pattern*, but in looking at the T-shirt I was going to use, realised something; my kid's whole torso will fit in that sleeve.
So, first things first. Find a suitable shirt; the sleeve width needs to fit around your kid. The one I used was a men's XL, and the sleeve fits loosely around (three and a half year old, generally wears a size 3-4) Kee's torso. Cut straight across just below the armpit (or farther down for a shorter skirt).
Cut one sleeve off of the top bit that remains.
This is what you should have now: a sleeve to use as the bodice of the dress, and the bottom of the shirt which will become the skirt.
Use the finished edge of the sleeve as the top of the bodice Cut straight across the "bottom". If you look at the picture above, you'll see that I've cut semi circles to make up the bottom half of the arm hole - it'll just make it fit a little better.
Sew a line of stitching across the top of the skirt to gather it for fitting into the bodice. Turn the bodice inside out and sew the bottom of the bodice to the top of the skirt, right sides facing. (I like to do two lines of stitching here, but I don't think it's entirely necessary.)
Cut two strips from the remaining fabric that you will use as binding around the armholes, as well as the straps - these should be at least two inches wide so that you can turn them into bias tape. Once you've folded your tape, pin it in place around the arm hole and sew it up. You can either sew it into a fixed circle as an "arm hole", or you can make it long enough to center at the bottom of the arm and leave it open at the top, then tie to fasten.
One of the great things about using a T-shirt for this is that the bottom hem is already done, as is the top hem of the bodice - yay!
And, you're done! Easy, right?
*Which I'm still planning to do eventually, and will most likely post when I do it as well.
Friday, February 10, 2012
My idea of "romance" is kind of different.
The year that I was pregnant with Kee, Beege was two. Do you want to know what my husband gave me for Valentine's day? He took the day off work. That is the nicest present I have ever gotten. I will always remember him sitting on the floor with Beege making valentine's cards, with pink sparkly heart stickers stuck all over him, while I sat on the couch holding back puke and wondering if the baby was trying to kill me. THAT was romantic.
The year before we got married, we spent our Valentine's evening in Kinko's photocopying our wedding invitations until one in the morning. Then we went to the all night diner across the street and had "breakfast". THAT was romantic.
That he usually brings me coffee when he gets one for himself; that he lets me sleep in on the weekends; that he rubs my back when I've had a bad day; that he reads to me before bed to help me fall asleep; that he'll run out to get groceries after tucking the girls into bed because we're out of their goldfish crackers... to me, it's those things that are romantic.
That is why, even though my mum and dad (who are the best) are taking the kids for the weekend, and despite it being the weekend before our thirteenth anniversary*, we have no big plans.
We are going to wander aimlessly, eat at places we've never tried, snuggle in front of a movie, and hold hands as we walk through a bookstore. Because to me, THAT is romantic.
*Not our wedding anniversary -- that's in May -- I make him celebrate the anniversary of when we started dating because 1. I like presents and 2. he hates Valentine's day (it's commercial, etc.) so I'd miss out on all the chocolate otherwise.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
So, thank you to Tara at Faith in Ambiguity, both for the recognition, and for giving me a writing prompt.
Tara has awarded me both "The Versatile Blogger", and "The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award"!
Apparently, there are some rules that go along with accepting these awards, and they're both quite similar:
Rules for the Versatile Blogger (or the Irresistibly Sweet Blog) Award
In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog.
In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.
In the same post, include this set of rules.
So... seven completely random facts about me. (I, like Tara, will not be boring you with seven facts for each, because that would make for a really long post.) Here we go:
1. I really hated working in an office. No matter how nice the office, or the people, there's something about being shut in a little room doing the same thing again and again, day after day, that is just not appealing. (Then again, maybe I just haven't found the right office.) Despite my pervasive aversion to office work, I love office supplies.
2. I quit gymnastics when I was little because there was a mean girl there who stole my socks. They were cable knit ecru knee socks.
3. I am hopelessly attracted to a "bargain". 1/2 pound of buttons for $5? yes please! $10 bag of miscellaneous crap? You bet! There's got to be something good in there, right? It's why I watch "Storage Wars" with my husband, and want to go to yard sales.
4. I want a sheep. I would name him Bob. Or maybe Jim. I want him to live in the backyard and grow lots and lots of wool that I can shear and make into sweaters. I'd need to get someone to come and shear him though, because I saw it once on TV, and it looked like if you're not quick, the sheep will try to eat you. Also, you probably need more than one sheep to get much wool.
5. I have this totally irrational fear that someone will break into my house, kill my family and then make me pretend to be his wife. He will move me around from town to town and he will kill people and make me serve them up at potluck dinners in Sheppard's pie. (I said it was irrational.)
6. I regret taking band in highschool instead of art. I never play a french horn anymore, but I've got art/craft supplies on every surface. Having some actual lessons in technique might have been useful.
7. When I was a kid, there was a linen closet in the hall. There was a space at the top that was just big enough to fit a pillow, a blanket, a book and me. I used to hang out in there and read.
Somer at Somer Sherwood
(I do realise that's only six, but a lot of the blogs I read have been nominated elsewhere.)
I was trying to come up with a snappy ending, but I spent last night zonked on Benadryl and I haven't fully recovered yet.
So, rather than stare at the screen for any longer, I wish you a happy Thursday and bid you adieu.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
It is coming up, in just three weeks, but there is still time to sign up! The only thing is, you kind of have to do it now. The time for ruminating is over; pick someone already.
- WHEN: Wednesday, February 29
- WHY: To get your voice heard by a whole different audience, and offer that opportunity to another blogger as well. (Plus, FUN!)
- HOW: Click on the frog in my sidebar and hop on over to We Band of Mothers to sign up.
- URGENT: You should contact whoever you want to ask to write your guest piece **NOW**
- DEADLINE: Has been extended for submission-- you must complete your guest post and email it to the person who asked you for it by February 21
I, myself, have a wonderful guest blogger lined up. I'm not going to tell you much about her yet; except that she's lovely, and one of the many people I'm glad I've been able to "meet" through my blog.
So go! Leap! Meet new people! You totally know you want to.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Beege dragged herself through every task. She took fifteen minutes to get dressed (and I've timed her, she can do it in two). She took half an hour to eat a piece of toast and have a cup of milk. She took half a freaking hour to use the bathroom.
And as she wasted her time making little boats out of toilet paper, I was popping my head in every five minutes or so to tell her we had to leave soon:
Beege, are you almost done? We have to leave in fifteen minutes.
Beege. Finish up. We have to leave in ten minutes, and I still haven't braided your hair.
Beege! FINISH! We have to leave in five minutes! I won't have time to do your hair at all!
BEEGE! GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM! WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!
Kee waited at the top of the stairs, while I raked a comb through Beege's hair and put it in a messy ponytail.
I started to stuff her things into her backpack, and then realised that she was not putting her coat and boots on. I turned around to see her glaring at me.
What?Instead of answering me, she grabbed her hair and pulled on it. She glared some more. She started shaking her hair at me.
What!?Seriously, the way she said the word "ponytail", you'd think I'd rubbed steaming dog crap into her hair. It was ridiculous. I ignored her and kept stuffing things in her bag. Eventually, after more yelling, arguing and general discord, we made it out the door.
I didn't want a PONYTAIL.
She dragged her feet all the way to school. She sobbed. She mumbled (I'm assuming) whatever it is that passes for obscenities to a first grader. When we got to school, I hugged her, told her I loved her, and that I hoped the rest of her day would go better. I finally left her at her classroom at quarter past nine; fifteen minutes late.
Fast forward to today; I am still in shock. SHOCK, I tell you.
This morning, Beege got up and used the bathroom. It took her five minutes, and I didn't have to tell her to do it.
She picked out her own clothes and put them on. Five minutes. And I didn't have to tell her to do it.
She ate her breakfast. She asked me to braid her hair. She was ready (except for her outdoor clothes) by twenty past eight.
She played, nicely, with her little sister, until it was time to put her coat on. At quarter to nine*, I said "I'm just going to the bathroom, when I come out, it will be time to put our coats and boots on. "
When I came out of the bathroom? She was in the hallway, with her coat on. When we left the house this morning, the three of us walked hand in hand, singing 'Oh, What a Beautiful Morning." Seriously.
The contrast between today and yesterday is astounding.
Has my girl finally realised that the only reason we even have to leave the house in the morning is to get her to school on time and taken some responsibility? Has she finally decided that everything is easier, and more pleasant, if she just does the things she's supposed to do? Has she gotten as tired of listening to me yell as I've gotten of yelling at her?
Although... she could just be screwing with me.
*We live across the street from the school. Theoretically, we should be able to get up, get out of the house, and be at school by nine if we woke up at eight fifteen.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
The husband has also had to cancel his last two appointments. I don't think either of us has been to the dentist for at least two years. Which... well, that's not so good.
So. In a show of masterful organisational abilities, I called the dentist last month, cancelled Beege's appointment for January 14th and made all four of us appointments for today. Brilliant. This way, not only do we all get it out of the way, but I don't have to take the kids on the subway at all!
(Lest you think I'm also allowing my children's teeth to go unchecked; I always manage to get them to their appointments. It's just my teeth I don't seem to care about.)
The husband took the day off, and I notified the school at the beginning of the week that I would be picking Beege up at lunch time today. We charged up the electronic devices to keep the girls entertained while other people were getting their teeth looked at. We packed a bag of other fun stuff to keep them busy, should the electronic devices fail (or be considered unworthy). We decided where and when we would be eating. It was all planned. So well planned.
I should really not have been surprised when, last night around seven o'clock, Beege threw up.
Then she did it again.
We finally put her to bed with a bucket and crossed our fingers. I fully expected to be up at least a couple of times in the night, soothing, and cleaning up barf.
I was pretty surprised that it was morning when she finally climbed in our bed and snuggled in between us.* That's great! She's already over it! No problem.
How are you feeling, Sweetie?So I left her tucked in my bed and went to her room. There was, indeed, a bucket of vomit on the stool beside her bed. Apparently, my daughter is a very calm vomitter**.
Much better Mummy.
You didn't throw up last night? That's great!
Yes I did, just once though.
Oh. You did?
Yes. In the bucket.
She says she feels totally fine, but she also said that last night: "I feel just fine now, Mu..*baaaaarf*", so I don't really know if I should trust her judgement.
However, I have the feeling that if we don't go to the dentist today, we will never go again.
We will go ahead with the plan, but the packing list will just have a few additions: children's Gravol, barf buckets, plastic bags, disinfectant wipes, and a couple of changes of clothes.
For each of them.
Just in case.
[EDIT: As of right now (10:28am), she has not thrown up this morning. Although I probably shouldn't write that. Because then she will.]
*I actually slept the whole night? I haven't slept the whole night in a week - even without barfing children!
**Apparently, "vomitter" is not a word. What else would you call "one who vomits"?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
INT. SKWISHEE'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - LATE AFTERNOON
SKWISHEE reads on the couch, while BEEGE and KEE play with vibrant pink play dough at the dining table. Skwishee glances at the girls playing and smiles. Skwishee closes her book and places it on the coffee table in front of her. She stands and leaves the room.
INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Skwishee hums to herself as she turns to the sink and begins to wash the towering pile of dishes that are haphazardly placed in the sink. Kee laughs (off screen)
SEVERAL MINUTES LATER. Skwishee continues to wash dishes. Beege laughs (O.S)
INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Beege is seated at the dining table facing the kitchen door; she appears unconcerned. Kee is sitting opposite, her back to the kitchen door.
(running to Kee)
(begins to cry loudly and turns to Skwishee)
(checks Kee for obvious wounds. She brushes Kee's hair from her face)
What is it, sweetie? What happened?
(crying and wiping at her mouth with her hands)
Get it out!
Get what out?
(opening her mouth to show gobs of pink lodged in her teeth)
The play dough! Beege made me eat it!
Skwishee sets Kee on a stool. Skwishee tears of several sheets of toilet paper and holds them to Kee's mouth.
(soothingly, to Kee)
Try to spit it out, honey.
(louder, to Beege)
Why did you make her eat play dough!?
Disgusted, Skwishee drops the pink stained toilet paper into the toilet. Skwishee picks up a toothbrush and puts on some toothpaste from the tube on the side of the sink. She stands Kee in front of the sink and begins to brush her teeth. Beege does not answer.
(frustrated, to Beege)
Well!? Why did you make her eat play dough!?
She ate some first.
I just wanted to see what it tasted like.
(coming to the door of the bathroom)
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I knew it would happen eventually, but this is so sudden; I mean... I didn't even know I was nominated!
No, I didn't win an Emmy; I won a MOV award!*
My very first award! (And MOV is a Pulitzer Prize winner**, so she's totally qualified to be handing out awards.)
I have been honoured with the "Down-to-Earth Angel" Award. And, really, it is an honour; you should go check out the other winners of the MOV awards. Some good stuff in there.
And now, it's time to spread the love, so here we go:
First to Jen at My Adorable Small Town Life, the Sunshine Award, for being generally sunny and upbeat.
To Tashab at Awsomesauce & Other Experiments, the Tasteful Gardener Award. Tasha posts pictures of her garden and food she's made that almost convince to try making my own pickles.
And last, but not least, to Mareth at Lime Riot, the Really Great Craft Blog That I Just Found Award. Which is pretty self descriptive.
To accept these awards, all you must do is link back to this page, give an award to a few other bloggers, and answer this skill testing question: What made you write?
My answer being:
"Loneliness, boredom, and the wish to preserve the tiny shred of sanity that I had left."
*Yes, MOV did just make it up, but it's from MOV, so it's extra special. Plus, I'm pretty sure that's how the Oscars started out.