It’s time for Fly on the Wall again! Each month you have the opportunity to see what’s really going on in the homes of 13 bloggers when they think no one is looking. As a fly on the wall, you’ll be privy to the dirt (in my case, figurative and literal) that others never see.
I hope you’ll read my post and then click on the links below and visit the other 12 crazies!
This is the time of year that makes me frantic. Everything hits at once! I planted 300 garlic plants, canned two batches of applesauce and ten jars of huckleberry jam, froze tomato sauce, and sorted potatoes. What I haven’t done yet is prune all the raspberry and blueberry plants, cut down the asparagus, dry and grind garlic, turn the other giant basket of apples into sauce, and clean house, Why am I not getting things done? Read on….
It’s been a crazy-good month for me. You saw me shrieking and dancing when I got chosen as one of the thirteen finalists for Blogger Idol. There was another round of happy dancing when my Facebook page for The Rowdy Baker hit 2,000 “likes”, and some jaw-dropping astonishment when a frumpy looking little dessert (that tasted like HEAVEN, thank you very much) went crazy and gave me a shocking number of hits on my blog and Pinterest.
And now, after two weekly assignments, I’m still alive in Blogger Idol, thanks to votes from family, friends, and readers (they’re the same thing, right?) and
probably possibly drunk judges. In just a few hours I’ll find out if my third post and reader votes got me through another week.
For our first assignment, we had to write our own eulogy. That was kind of creepy. I went in a strange direction and wrote a poem. I was worried that I’d made a huge mistake, but the judges were kind – or just befuddled – and I made it through.
For our second assignment, we had to write a newspaper article about a fictional crime we’d committed. They liked it. WHEW! Safe.
For our third assignment we had to write about something we did that we didn’t want to do. I wrote a sad piece (my daughter even called it a “Debbie Downer”) that made me cry the whole time I was writing and editing it. I’m hoping it was enough to move me into Week 4, which will be a double elimination (why does that make me want to giggle?) week. Scary.
Please check my blog every Wednesday at noon when the new assignments are posted to see if I’m still “in it to win it”. If I am, you can help me by voting. It’s so easy – and there will be simple instructions waiting for you.
I don’t want to be indelicate here, since you are, after all, a Musca domestica, but I have this great joke my sister Khym sent me:
WHY SENIORS STILL NEED NEWSPAPERS
I was visiting my daughter last night when I asked if I could borrow a newspaper.
“This is the 21st century,” she said. “We don’t waste money on newspapers. Here, use my iPad.
I can tell you this: that fly never knew what hit him!
See this face? You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of it. This crazy middle grandchild of mine just got through filming a show in LA. Can’t give you any more details, but she’s definitely on her way. You can be sure I’ll keep you posted!
The cats are working it. All spring and summer they will have very little to do with us, occasionally gracing us with their presence long enough to scarf down a bowl of Meow Mix, but then heading right back to the front door. “Don’t pet me.” “Don’t touch me.” “Do NOT try to put me on your lap.” You’ve got to figure, warm weather brings excellent hunting conditions and these cats are hunters to the max.
But now the temps have dropped into the 20s at night, and all of a sudden they’re sucking up. Rubbing against our legs, rubbing against the dog, cuddling on the couch, getting in our laps. They KNOW what it feels like to be sleeping outside in sub-zero weather and are working every angle so they’ll get more warm couch time.
Hmpf. I’m a woman – I know how to hold a grudge! Every diffident strut past my proffered hand was logged in. Every huffy squirm when I tried to pick them up was tucked away as a direct insult. I will not be seduced into trusting them, only to be dumped in the spring when the swallows taunt them to play. Nope. I will be strong…indifferent…
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m such a sucker for a loud purr.
OK, this is kind of crude, but The Man and I laughed for hours…DAYS over it. Let me set the stage for you. Youngest son (you know him as Lord Voldemort) is living in our guest room right now. The walls are horribly thin, and the toilet in the master bathroom is right against the wall where the headboard is in the guest room. You get the picture, right?
Lord V is the most disgusting 30 year old ever. He spends most of his time on a boat in Alaska, and hasn’t had any of his rough edges smoothed by a steady female companion. Some would say he’s a bit of a pig. YOU know, you’ve been on our wall all month. He doesn’t suppress any bodily noises at all, to my endless horror and his juvenile amusement. When I complained, he insisted that flatulence and burping whole sentences just got funnier each year.
So…he wanted to be awakened early in the morning to go hunting. Instead of knocking on his door, The Man knocked on the bathroom wall and then sat down on the commode. I don’t know what we had for dinner the night before, but I can tell you that it produced the longest, loudest, most sputtering noise ever. Lord V was totally grossed out. I have never EVER known him to get out of bed that fast. If he’d been a girl he’d have been squealing down the hall. Instead, he did the manly “yelling, bitching, swearing” thing. Obviously this young man can dish it out, but can’t take it. He was highly indignant that his dad had knocked first and then done that, bellyaching about it for days. Apparently it’s only funny if he is the one being gross. It served him right. I’d like to say that it made him change his ways, but we both know I’d be lying.
I made some yummy cookies the other day. Too yummy, because they disappeared instantly. This should have been astonishing, because were at least six dozen of them, but I’ve seen this disappearing cookie phenomenon before, and wisely stashed some in the freezer. Unfortunately, I didn’t put them in a spinach bag like I used to, and The Man found them. I looked up from my book and there he was, on the couch, eating frozen cookies out of the bag. Rock hard frozen cookies!
I snapped a picture, and then when I mentioned the dreaded words “Fly on the Wall”, he gave me a rather unpleasant photo op. He didn’t think I’d share it, but after 35 years he should certainly know me better!
On that pleasant note, I hope you’ll buzz over to these other blogs and see what they’ve been up to.
Baking In a Tornado
Stacy Sews and Schools
Just a Little Nutty
The Sadder But Wiser Girl
Follow Me Home
Moore Organized Mayhem
Spatulas on Parade
Sorry Kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others
The Insomniac’s Dream
Dates 2 Diapers