I have about a million things I want to tell y'all about, but I never EVER have time to just sit down and collect my thoughts. If you opened up my brain right now you'd see basically the contents of your garden variety kitchen junk drawer - an odd assembly of various bits and pieces, some of which have specific functions but just don't belong anywhere else, and some of which should've been thrown away 18 months ago because WHO THE H-E-DOUBLE- HOCKEYSTICKS PUT THIS IN HERE AND WHAT IS IT? IT LOOKS LIKE IT'S BEEN ON FIRE A TIME OR TWO. AND WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
I want to tell you about a recent trip to HOMEGOODS, the first time I've gone back since this debacle.
And yes. It does involve pillows. Because, well. Because this is me we're talking about here.
I want to tell you about the trip we took to Costco to look for the foam tiles for this project and what we came home with instead.
How do they do that, people?
And I want to tell you about the million funny things Bean and Al have said lately.
But I'm only going tell you about one right now and then I'm going to bed because it's snowing, which means the snowplows will be out scraping the school parking lot behind our house at 3 AM tomorrow morning (I ONLY WISH I WERE KIDDING!) and that means both Peabody AND Bean'll be up and at me, I mean at 'em ridiculously early.
Now I know that I romanticize this prairie life, and Currier & Ives have nothing on the FriedOkras' capacity to soak up the beauty and coziness of winter in our matching Fair Isle sweaters and our black watch plaid scarves and our red mugs of steaming cocoa with tiny little marshmallows on top, but people? Lemme tell you.
When we finally move back down South where we belong, if I EVER. And I mean EVER. See another snowplow as long as I live?
Say it with me now:
It will be WAY TOO SOON.
So we were puttin' up our brand new FAKE Christmas tree over the weekend and Al was all happy and giddy and going on and on and on about the benefits of a fake tree over a real tree (he was trying to make me feel better because I am not a fan of the faux tree).
"Yes," I said in reply to his reason 962, "and we won't be stuck with a brown tree in our living room come the new year."
"Mmm-hmm." He rustled around in the box a bit.
"What's this?!" he exclaimed, "A little can of some kind of spray! 'Apply to branches on January 2' it says."
"Huh," I puzzled, not looking, as I untangled a string of wooden cranberry beads, "Wonder what that is?"
"Let's see," he said, "Pssst. Pssssssssssssst. OH! Wow. They thought of everything. It's brown spray paint. Now THAT'S authenticity."