I love Evernote. I use it every single day. On my laptop and on my iPhone. I don’t know how I’d survive without my Evernote.
I love Moleskine. I never use them. It’s a sentimental thing. Who needs Moleskines when you have blogs and Facebook and Twitter and every other possible content creation platform under the sun. I still love Moleskine, though.
TW gave me the Moleskine for Evernote for Christmas. Yay!
But what in the heck was I going to DO with it?
So it sat here on my desk, right next to my computer — unwrapped but not unloved.
When I needed to write notes during a meeting, I used an old notebook. When I needed to tally up some numbers, I used an old notebook. None of those things are right for my Moleskine for Evernote.
Hmm, hmm, hmmm.
Then, around noon today, I was feeling unreasonably grouchy about some stuff and an idea for a blog post popped into my head. But, this was not something I could actually BLOG about. (I know. You’re shocked that there might be something I wouldn’t say online.)
I told my work peoples that I was grouchy and taking a lunch break (not to eat lunch, of course) and ripped open my Moleskine, (not without angst, which I did Tweet/Chatter) and started to write (not without input from Skeeter who is not used to seeing me with a pen and paper in my hand.)
The Moleskine for Evernote is really kind of perfect for what I wrote about. It stemmed some other ideas and it was fun to write something big and important in my notebook.
Then, I had to figure out how to send it to Evernote. It helps to watch the getting started video because I was totally clueless and just took a photo, which I can do with any piece of paper. After about three attempts, I figured it out.
And it is really VERY, very cool.
I kind of wish I had something else big, and important to write about. But I don’t, not right now. I’m sure I will, though. I’m feeling all inspired and happy with myself.
When I mail a box, I tend to use a lot of packing tape. I use some strips, all the way across the spot where the two flaps meet. Then, depending on how that looks, I probably add a couple more strips in the middle of each flap — all the way across the box.
Then, I will quite often print the to/from addresses on a half sheet of white printer paper, lay that down on the proper spot on the box, and use long strips of tape to tape it down. End to end or side to side, depending on the box itself.
I’ll pop a couple of strips of tape on the bottom of the box and call it done.
I used to think that was a lot of tape — until I started getting packages from The Fake Husband and Sassymonkey.
I’m guessing it’s The Fake Husband who is doing the packing of the packages but I don’t really know that for sure. Just a hunch.
Those wacky Canadians (or whichever wacky Canadian is packing those boxes) use a helluva lot of tape on their boxes.
The first time I really noticed it was when they sent me the Kotex machine. I figured the huge amount of tape was related to the weight of the box. More tape on a heavy box to help keep it all together and safe.
But no. It wasn’t the weight of the machine. I’ve received several more boxes from The Fake Husband and Sassymonkey and pretty much all of them have been LOADED with tape. So much tape that I can’t even get a steak knife through the tape on the first pass. I’ve got to SAW through the layers of tape. And I can’t just saw through in one place, I’ve got to saw through the tape in several places or the box WILL NOT OPEN.
It’s a fascinating thing to see and I wish I’d thought to take some photos or pictures when the last heavily taped box arrived. It would have been extra fun to watch Skeeter Bess watch me try to get the damn tape off of the box. She was fascinated and tried to help, without much success.
Which should tell you something.
If Skeeter Bess cannot get a box open… yea, that’s a lot of tape.
How do you tape up a box to ship? How much tape do you use?
The kids are gone, all five of them, and it’s quiet now. I’m not quite ready to say it’s too quiet, that will happen sometime tomorrow. Except, we’re going to celebrate the quiet and regroup from the holiday mayhem with a fake readathon day.
We stopped at Fresh Market this evening and spent too much on specialty junk food, (mmmm cheese straws), and we’ve got stacks of library books to read. We’re not getting dressed tomorrow and we’re going to lay in bed with books (and the darn dog) and just read — and nap — and take long, hot baths.
This seems like a really good way to end a fun, but very loud, holiday and keep the “gosh, it’s quiet… too quiet” thoughts away.
Yesterday, KarenLynnn and I started a new Words with Friends game. It started out like most games do. A crummy word played first, a not great word played second and then everything went to hell — for me, at least. And it was my own damn fault for being so fond of vaginas.
After I played my first word, I found myself looking at all of the letters I’d need to spell “Vagina” and I was sure I’d be able to play the word on my next turn.
But I couldn’t. So I did something dumb, in the scheme of the game, I played one letter for something like 9 points. I laughed at myself and shrugged. My new tile was… an “S”. Hot damn! Surely on my next turn I’ll be able to use all of my tiles and play “Vaginas”!! How awesome is that?
Except I couldn’t. So I did something else really stupid, in the scheme of the game — something I NEVER DO. I passed.
Yep. I passed.
Next round, I still could not play the word I wanted! Damn that Karenlynnn! It’s like she knew what my tiles were and was intentionally blocking me from having my fun.
So. I played an “S”. Yep. I did that.
All the while, KarenLynnn is stacking up the points and I’m floundering around with like 30 points after five rounds.
Next round, I still could not play “Vagina” or “Vaginas” or “Vaginal”.
I might have let out a little sob. Maybe.
I said goodbye to my dreams of playing “Vagina” and tossed out a few letters.
Next round… there was the perfect place to play “Vaginas” and I no longer had the proper letters. I might have let out another little sob.
Someday I’ll get to play “Vagina” in a Words with Friends game.
I was feeling all stoked about succeeding at NaBlo and looking forward to December — the holidays, some days off, seeing the big kids, going out to see Melissa. I wasn’t even stressing over TW’s still missing paycheck and the hospital bills that just keep rolling in. Life was good. I wasn’t even too grouchy about all of the driving around we were facing the next day, to get RJ to all of the places she needs to be.
I took a shower and was looking forward to climbing into my bed with a book (and TW and probably the damn dog) but as I was drying off, TW informed me that RJ did not have her ID. The ID that’s necessary to get her into the SAT at 7:45am.
I cursed and put on my dirty clothes and then was informed that not only does she not have her ID, she doesn’t even know where her ID is. I cursed some more and went to find my shoes.
10 minutes later, she’d verified that her step-mother was in possession of her Passport, so I leashed the dog and headed to the car. And waited. RJ came down without shoes and had to go back up to get them. I waited some more. She forgot her key. I waited some more.
Everyone was in the car and I started to back out of my long ass driveway. Something I’ve done 8 zillion times in the last four and a half years.
Crunch.
I. Hit. The. Damn. Pole.
The pole I’ve reminded people not to hit 8 zillion times in the last four and a half years.
I. Hit. The. Damn. Pole. With. My. New. Car.
I pulled forward and just sat there a minute.
Climbed out. It was too dark to see anything but I ran my hands over the side of the car, just above the tire well — scrape. A very large scrape.
I cursed and got back in the car, where I sat and cursed again for a very long time.
I stopped cursing and just sat there quietly for awhile. I just needed a minute to feel all of the happy float away and all of the frustration just flooded right out of me.
Numb. Comfortably numb. That pretty much describes the trip across town and back again.
This morning, I’m tired but the kid is at the SAT and I’m at my desk doing most of the normal things I do every morning. Planning the rest of my day. Wondering whether I should file an insurance claim or just pay it out of pocket. And wondering where a good body shop is, close by.
Fuck.
At least Michelle Belle is in a cab, on her way home, after a nice Florida vacation.
At least JMP is adorable as ever (almost 19lbs of adorable.)
At least 99% of my Christmas shopping is done.
At least we finally finished listening to the most depressing YA book on the face of the earth.
At least the puppy hasn’t eaten baby Jesus, so far, today.
After last week, I had great plans for today. I was going to GET. SHIT. DONE.
What was I thinking?
Spending more than three hours in the car, driving people around, does not make it easy to GET. SHIT. DONE. unless the shit you have to do involves driving people around.
So I started work early and I’m ending work late and now that I’ve cleaned out my inbox of surprise emails and (mostly) finished the post that was due (hi Jenna!) I can get back to the real work-day to do list.
Or I could if the puppy would leave me alone.
I just keep reminding myself… it could be worse, it could be like LAST WEEK. And then I grab a piece of fruit (thanks KarenLynn!) and watch Johnny Mac Pippin for a few minutes. And laugh. All I can do is laugh.
TW takes a lot of meds and some of those meds make it hard for her to sleep, so she takes a sleeping pill. To be specific, she takes Lunesta. This works really well for her but it’s not so great for me. Last night’s a good example of the power of the “butterfly” pill.
I turned off my bedside lamp at around 10pm. TW took her evening meds and then we took the dog out one last time (hah) shortly after that. I climbed into bed and rolled over to go to sleep while TW finished a chapter of a book. The puppy was laying on her bed, on the floor — until all hell broke loose and she sniffed something scary. (More on sniffing scary things tomorrow…)
TW got up and walked her around the house and outside and generally made soothing noises along with warming up a frozen beef bone to keep her occupied rather than sniffing scary things.
She came to bed at about 10:45 and turned off her light. The puppy was on the floor eating a mostly frozen bone. The puppy eating that bone was very, very loud and I commented upon this to TW. Her response was, “It’s better than her running around howling and growling and barking.”, which was true.
I closed my eyes again, listening to the dog make horrible bone chewing noises. I was just getting used to those noises enough that I thought I might be going to sleep when TW said, in a loud and clear voice, “Why did you push that kid under the counter?”
I said, “Huh?”
She said, “Why did you push that kid under the counter?”
I said, “What?”
She said, “That kid at the ice cream shop.”
I said, “TARRANT. SHUT UP.”
She said, “OK”
It was obvious to me that she was asleep and talking. She does this a lot after taking her sleeping pill but it’s not usually so quickly after falling asleep. And she’s not usually so clear — it’s more often low mumbling that I have to fight to listen to in order to make out the words.
At 10:58pm her phone vibrated.
She JUMPED out of bed (this is a big deal because TW never jumps out of bed and she’d also just gotten out of the hospital and was taking more woozy inducing meds than just a sleeping pill.) She read the text, I assume from Prince J, typed something, peed, and then climbed back in bed.
Notice the time between her turning off her light, accusing me of doing something weird to a kid, and the text message? 13 minutes. 13 minutes!
Because besides the bone crunching noises, the dog also spent much of the night growling, howling, barking, pacing, jump on the bed and laying there for awhile, jumping off the bed and eating her bone again for awhile (or sleeping on her own darn bed) and TW says she doesn’t remember ANY OF THAT.
She also doesn’t remember taking the dog outside or wandering around the house with the dog twice more in the wee hours.
The power of Lunesta. She sleeps through all sorts of things and I get no sleep at all.
And no, I’ve never pushed a kid under any counter much less an ice cream counter.
1) TW was in the hospital for five days.
2) I haven’t read more than two sentences of a book since Sunday.
3) We’re losing the bed war: Skeeter 4 — Denise & TW 1.
4) The puppy ate her brand new awesome leash in less than three minutes.
5) The puppy ate the power button off of the brand new uverse remote control on the first day we used it.
6) I have eaten almost no food in the last five days.
7) TW’s check still hasn’t arrived.
8) I have a mountain of clean laundry that needs to be put away.
9) My house is trashed.
10) I have a post due tomorrow that I haven’t even started and I don’t have the first clue about what to say. (Hi Jenna. Sorry. Umm. TW. Hospital. Bad shit happened. I’m trying, I swear to God I am.)
~~
1) TW is home and did not die in the hospital.
2) We have an actual explanation for her mystery traffic accident pain. (long story, ask me again another time.)
3) I have eaten twice today!
4) The puppy is cute and understands “Yes” very well.
5) We have friends who send things like barrels of cheese balls and gummi bears just because they are made of awesome.
6) I (finally) cancelled comcast and ordered uverse TV and it’s excellent.
7) uverse remote controls only cost $20.
8) Johnny Mac Pippin is freaking adorable and he’s very smart, just like I told everyone he was — before he was born.
9) I have done ALL of the laundry.
10) I have blogged (at least) once a day for ten days.
Once upon a time, you could write a post about almost anything and be fairly confident you weren’t going to be attacked, ridiculed, questioned, or called out as having completely missed the boat.
I’m not talking about the traditional hot button topics like abortion, circumcision, bottle feeding, religion, alternative sex topics, politics — those always have been hot button issues and probably always will be.
No, I’m talking about things like recipes and family stories and lists of favorite things. Those types of posts used to bring in discussion. People who could relate said so. People who had ideas to share did so. People who couldn’t relate or didn’t have anything to add, either stayed silent or left a comment indicating they’d read the piece but didn’t have a lot to add.
In today’s hyper-active internet, no topic is safe any more.
Post a recipe, someone’s going to have something negative to say about it.
Post a list of favorite things, someone’s going to call you out for missing something.
Misuse a comma and you’re fucked. An apostrophe out of place and you’re even more fucked.
The peoples, they are passionate. And I’m not just talking about other peoples. I find myself doing it, or close to doing it, a whole lot more often than ever before.
It’s so bloody easy to let our personal (or professional) passions get the better of us. It’s hard to read with a gentle eye. It’s hard to stop and look at the individual behind the post. Who is she? Where is she coming from? What led her to post this recipe, story, list, idea? If we stop to look and listen. Stop to think about the person behind the post, would we be less quick to react from a place of passion? Would that allow us to have more proactive and positive online interactions?
We’re not all professional writers, recipe developers, politicians, activists, etc. Most of us are just people who want to share ourselves with others. Our posts aren’t perfectly polished. Our ideas aren’t perfectly formed. Our experiences are colored by our environment. Our beliefs are informed by our histories. We’re also not that interesting in changing others at every drop of the hat, so there’s no reason to get your hackles up if someone posts something counter to your beliefs, opinions or experiences. And, we really do not want to be changed, improved or informed about all of our shortcomings (in your opinion) at every drop of the hat.
I need to remember to use my passion wisely and maybe not always take things quite so personally. How about you?
The girls have so many activities that it’s rare for us to be able to do anything that isn’t related to driving them around town or picking them up again so when we found ourselves with about eight free hours one Saturday morning, I knew we had to find something fun to do.
But what? With a puppy who doesn’t necessarily do well home alone for eight hours, our choices were limited. It was October and we didn’t have a pumpkin. And, we needed at least one pumpkin so I could try to make this melted crayon pumpkin project that someone saw on Pinterest and tried, which led TW to send it to me, which led to me wanting to try it.
A perfect storm of madness.
I searched high and low for a pumpkin patch or a farm that welcomed dogs. (Apparently most places like this don’t welcome dogs, in part because the dogs who live on those farms don’t like strange dogs visiting, which I can understand, really.) When I found one about a half hour away that welcomed dogs and had lots of other activities, including a corn maze with a theme of 100 years of Girl Scouting I knew this was the one.
It was fate and a perfect storm of madness.
We woke Elly up early and loaded her and the dog into the car. Elly forgot her iPhone which meant that every five minutes she asked “Are we there yet?” or made some comment about how far away pumpkin patches were.
We parked. We paid. We walked over to the little mini zoo and laughed while an alpaca stared down the puppy and the puppy cowered in fear.
We wandered into the corn maze where Elly decided the best course of action was to let the dog decide which way we’d go. It wasn’t long before I decided that was a stupid idea and headed off in a different direction, assuming Elly was right behind me. She, err, wasn’t. I shrugged and kept walking. Then I remembered she didn’t have her phone and we might never find her again. So I punched a couple of spots on my card and called TW to see if she had seen the kid. She had. But then I had to figure out how to get back to them. We (obviously) figured it out and decided we’d had enough corn maze. (A real shame since TW and Elly both love them so much.)
We were hungry so we headed to the refreshment stand — oops, it wasn’t open yet.
So we headed to the bathrooms. Those were open.
We wandered around a little and then headed back to the refreshment stand which was open — you could tell by the long damn line of people. I waited in line for TW’s donuts and coffee and Elly’s elephant ear. We got our food just in time for the pig races.
Skeeter loved those but the bees loved Elly and her elephant ear and that landed in the mud. Skeeter hated the zip line so TW decided not to ride that. Instead, she bounced on some big bounce thing (much to Elly’s horror) and she and Elly both climbed into some funky tubes and tried to take the dog with them. That was funny. Errr until it started rolling and they all three started flying all over the tube.
Elly climbed up on a John Deere (she looks like she was born to drive one, doesn’t she) and then we picked out some pumpkins and headed home where the real fun happened, though Elly and TW did kind of whine about not getting enough time in the corn maze.
We all stripped the paper off of a box of crayons and then I went in search of some glue. We didn’t have any hardcore glue so we tried… Elmer’s School Glue. Which didn’t work so well.
TW insisted we should just put the pumpkin into the oven and let the crayons melt that way. We tried it but the crayons were almost touching the top of the oven and I was afraid we were going to set them on fire — so we pulled it out and I grabbed the hot glue gun and re-glued everything while Elly took a quick shower (She was covered in mud!)
The hot glue gun did work better but good grief we made a mess and it took for-freaking-ever to get the crayons to melt at all, much less melt and drip down the side of the damn pumpkin.
In the end, Elly really liked the way they turned out and I thought they were pretty darn good — all things considered.
The key here is … have the right kind of glue and DO THIS OUTSIDE while wearing clothes that you don’t mind being covered in melted crayon. We’ve still got melted crayon on the wood floors in the kitchen and I’m not sure it all came out of Elly’s pajamas (which she put on over her clothes after her shower.)
The next time I think about doing some Pinterest project, someone should just say “melted crayon pumpkins” so I remember just how much trouble these things are. We will definitely go back to the pumpkin patch, Elly and TW love those corn mazes.
