Request for Designers

OK, The Poem Company should be up soon. I would like to provide customers with a list of designers to choose from. I think for now, a referral type situation will work the best.

For those of you who are interested in being included in the list, could you please send me an email with a link to your shop/portfolio? I'm looking for all styles, so don't be shy! Feel free to let others know about the offer, or send me links to people you think might be interested.

My email is jules[at]pancakesandfrenchfries.com, but you can also just click that email link for add rates.

Thanks! :)

The Tinderbox

The weather has been unbelievably hot lately. Even on days where it only reaches the low 90s, the air is so still, so heavy with the city's sweat, it feels closer to the low 100s. And as the temperature rises, so do the tempers. The town is a tinderbox, and a flippant remark or careless driver can set off a firestorm as easily as a dry bush under the midday sun.

Fast food consumption goes up when it's hot. At least that's my pattern. It's too hot to cart the kids in and out of car seats and across parking lots only to spend the next hour pleading with them to hold out for just five more minutes while I find the right brand of cereal. They smell my fear like predators and poke at me with cries, whines, and constant requests to go potty down every other aisle. I sometimes get so flustered I forget half the items on my list, and so there are days I open the refrigerator and am shocked to find only a withered cucumber. Didn't I just buy that loaf of bread? And what happened to the peanut butter? I am still learning to shop with two growing boys in mind. I bought a pint of blueberries the other day thinking it would last the week. They ate the entire carton at snack time, and Nicholas had the nerve to look offended at the site of his clean plate. On these days I glare with envy at their slim, bottomless tummies and head towards McDonald's with just the slightest bit of guilt.

Under these circumstances, Omar had to know he had it coming.

At my McDonald's there is a driveup where you order the food. After which you make a sharp left turn and stop at the first of two windows. At window #1 you pay; at window #2 you pick up. I finished ordering and made the sharp left turn only to narrowly avoid hitting a pimply-faced teen standing in the drive-through and leaning languidly into window #1.

What the?!

My thundering engine 5 inches from his body was no match for the harp-playing angels and chirping birds floating above his head. This young man had eyes (and ears and brains) for no one but the beautiful young maiden, Leticia, perched inside window #1. I put the truck in reverse, made a 10-point turn in the curve of the drive-through, and re-approached.

"Hi. I almost hit you." I looked at his name tag. Omar.

Omar slowly tore his eyes away from the furiously texting Leticia and looked at me. I looked back, and played connect the dots with his pockmarked faced. It spelled out Dude, I'm in love. I gave him a look that said Dude, I'm in no mood. Leticia was too busy texting to give me my total, so Omar hoisted himself into window #1 and stole a quick glance at the register before sliding back down.

"Your total is $11.52." He rested his right elbow on the window ledge, propped his head on his fist, and held out his left hand for me to place my money, all the while staring at Leticia. I looked around for hidden cameras. Finding none, I determined that this pathetic exchange in time was my reality.

I gave him my card and watched as he hoisted himself into window #1 to process the order. Naturally, perched as he was like a freakin' lovebird, he fumbled for an indeterminable amount of time with the machine. Leticia entered an order and smiled at a reply to her previous text. Omar handed me back my card and receipt and resumed Leticia Watch. I waited, then realizing Omar would not be moving again, collapsed my side-view mirror, put the truck in reverse, and created enough berth between me and him so as not to hit him. I inched past Omar and made it to window #2. I looked in my rear view mirror and watched as the next driver behind me maneuvered around Omar.

Young love. It's sweet, passionate, endearing, and a pain in my ass. As I watched Omar hoist his scrawny little body into window#1 again, I knew I had no choice but to quash that little Love Connection like the Anti-Chuck Woolery.

As luck would have it, the manager was working the window. The manager who, if his frazzled appearance was any indication, was covering for Omar on break. It took me three times to explain to him that one of his employees was blocking the drive-through. Poor fella couldn't comprehend what I was trying to say, so when he followed my thumb and saw Omar's dangling ass outside window #1 (he was processing an order) he had to catch himself to keep from falling out of window #2.

"OMAR!" Nothing.

"OMAR!!" No response. Never underestimate the racket harp-playing angels and chirping birds can make.

"OMAR!!!" I watched to make sure the shower of spittle didn't hit any of my fries. Through clenched teeth the manager advised Omar to "get his ass back inside." I adjusted my sunglasses and didn't even try to hide my chuckle of delight as Omar slinked his way past the long line of lunch-hour cars and into the kitchen.

Love burns hot, Omar. But a hot, pissed-off mom paying for a bag of fried heart disease burns hotter.

See you next time, Romeo.

The High Dive

Last night the Mister had a dream Mikey was trying to captain a fishing boat on a rough sea. Mikey was all alone on the ship, and the Mister was desperately trying to reach him before a large wave tossed him overboard.


This morning I reminded the Mister that Mikey's last swim lesson was at 10:30. He looked at his calendar for the day, but his full schedule prevented him from making the lesson.

Uh huh.

Perhaps the Mister's dream and his packed schedule had something to do with today being the day Mikey would jump off the diving board. I talked to the Mister right after the lesson and he confessed that, yes, he was a touch too weak in the knees to witness this:


{Mama, I did it! But we don't need to do it ever again, ok?}

The Party Is Over...

I just finished cleaning out our sideboard, and I found a pile of greeting cards. I tossed out the ones from friends, but the ones we've given each other are just sitting there.

Should I toss them? Keep them? For how long? Do I keep just the special ones? (Isn't every birthday/anniversary/holiday with family special?) This is the sort of thing that makes me wish really hard for that house gnome. He would know what to do.

What do you do with your cards after the party is over?

Where are my Manners?

So a couple of weeks ago Cathe had the grand opening for her shop, Feterie. I've worked with Cathe in the past on numerous occasions, so I planned on announcing the good news here. But I didn't. Because I have the attention span of a gnat. I need to redeem myself.

Cathe emailed me this morning to remind me of an awesome giveaway she is hosting with mi Spa, July 21-August 1. The giveaway is simple, too. You just sign up for a chance to win right HERE.

But, wait! There's more! {I've always wanted to say that.}

There's another painless way to increase your odds at winning. All it requires is pretend online shopping. Like we don't do this already?! You just check out Cathe's new Imprintables line and tell her which design you like the best in the comment section of THIS POST. Two lucky winners (one per week) will win a selection of fabulousness from both mi Spa and Feterie.

You can also enter to win with each order you place at mi Spa and Feterie, in case all your pretend shopping makes you itch for the real thing.

Thanks, Cathe, for letting me know the latest with your shop and being so generous with your goodies! :)

Simplicity.

(Tine K Home. See more HERE)

Yesterday I showed to the Mister this picture of a china cabinet that inspired in me a radical idea. Let me start at the beginning.

I love a clean home. I just don't love dirtying my hands making it clean. There are a million other things I would rather do. Usually, I do them. My mother-in-law, Grandma Fern (the Mister's most awesome grandma--Hi Fern!!), neighbors, friends, and my mom are always quick to point out that the house is far from filthy. It just looks like two very young boys live there. ;) My perfectionist nature fights their logic. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed at the impossibility of keeping it perfect that I wind up doing nothing. Not good.

So I've been reading up on organization and simplicity and maintaining a peaceful environment. There is a common theme with everything I've read. We, the dishelved, all have too much crap. Gadgets, gizmos, and gimmicks bust from our drawers and clutter our homes and minds, and according to everyone the first step is releasing from your environment everything you don't love or need. Since coming back from vacation, I've been trying to purge what I can. I gave to Goodwill 95% of my closet. Next up, all the furniture that is taking up real estate in our garage.

Back to the china cabinet. It got me thinking about dishes and how much I hate to do them. We have a service for 10, and our usual routine is to pre-wash and rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher for a final clean. As you can imagine, we put off running the dishwasher until just before we run out of clean dishes. Then we have to unload a full dishwasher. What a boring waste of time.

We had already planned to replace our dishes this year, but what if, I asked the Mister, we replaced our dishes with a simple service for four? We are a family of four, after all. The caveat: we would have no choice but to keep up on our dishes. No more dishwasher full of plates and glasses waiting for the last minute. If we use it, we clean it. Otherwise, we don't have anything to eat off. As luck would have it, it is easier to clean 4 dishes through out the day versus 10 all at once. The bonus is the service that once took up two-and-a-half cabinets in my kitchen will now fit on one, maybe two shelves. No more bulging cabinets.

I haven't forgotten about guests. First of all, we're anti-social. We never have people over. But in the event we do, that's where the china cabinet comes in. In that I will store china, glassware, and linens for our guests. I can store artfully what we use only on occasion. Perfect.

I already have a china cabinet. It's just a cheap old thing, but I'm going to try prettying it up. I plan on working on it in August, so I'll be sure to post befores and afters.

So what do you think? Am I crazy? Have you done something similar, and did it work? I curious to know if I am the only one who feels weighed down by their possessions.

Favorite Moment

I love it when a story comes first circle. This week I started off with the Petrie Dish Boarding Facility. They thought Buddy was sick, a humming, buck-toothed, cyclops was left in charge, and we came home from vacation early to find two healthy, pissed off dogs and almost $400 in boarding fees. Oh yeah, and an additional $136 in ER fees. Today I ended the week with none other than Petrie Dish Boarding.

When I answered my phone late this morning I decided, solely on the lack of nervous tics, I was not speaking with my usual contact. This person thought she was returning my call. Of course, that was not the case. I never make the first move! Curiously enough, she called the Mister at work instead of me. It appears my reputation precedes me, and she was trying to avoid speaking with me at all costs. The Mister, naturally, wanted no part in any of it and gave her the home number, my cell phone, all four of my emails, and my weekly schedule in case she wanted to catch me at Mikey's swim lesson.

Verdict: The owner decided to write off Buddy's boarding fee, and so our account is now clear.

Score one for the good guys! She decided this on Tuesday, which is the same day she turned over the boarding facility to a new owner. Did I make her sell her business? We'll never know, but according to the people who have argued with me in the past (my mother) it is possible. I didn't get a chance to speak with the owner; an administrative assistant delivered the news.

So that's it. Completely anticlimactic, and I can't help but feel a little guilty. Would our $175 gone towards the old owner's mortgage? Did she make enough money in the sale to feed all her cats? What does the future hold for her, and would our money have made a difference? I think I won fair and square, but I can't help but feel like it was taking candy from a baby.

Then again, $175 is a nice purse. Some good shoes. And, [gulp] not quite a law school loan payment.