Kitchen Sink Saturday

Um, excuse me, but how can it possibly be Saturday again already? I’m pretty sure I just wrote a KSS post like, a day and a half ago.


Nevertheless, here we are. Happy Saturday! And, I see, upon glancing at my calendar, that it is also the last day of February.


What’s that crashing noise, you ask? Just my jaw, hitting the floor.


Time barrels on, like a drunkard at the wheel, mowing down unsuspecting pedestrians like me who simply want to amble down the sidewalk and gaze at window-dressings.


Somebody needs to take away his license, so he’d at least have to run me over on a bicycle. Or maybe a Segway.


Time, on a Segway.


Somebody should write a song.


Anyway. Here are some items of interest, submitted for your approval:


This made me cry. (warning: do not read if you are pregnant. Rose? Do you hear me? I mean it.)


Heather Swain, if you happen to see that I linked to your article and you follow the lead back here, can I just say thank you for writing one of the most gut-wrenchingly honest and powerfully beautiful essays on miscarriage that I have ever read? It made my whole soul ache.


Now, if you’re still with me, and you don’t mind an occasional swear word (and honestly, if you do, why are you still with me?), read this, and have a rib-tickling laugh. Oh, how I giggled. And hugged myself with glee. And giggled some more.


Got any fans of Dante’s Inferno out there? Check this out; it’s amazing.


Having never actually read The Inferno, I was interested to discover that the Ninth Circle of Hell–the furthest possible point from God–according to the Poet, is not boiling with heat, but is rather, freezing cold. Everything, coated in ice.


I like Dante. He strikes me as a kindred spirit.


I found this site a while back and it is worth a perusal for any wanna-be writers, stymied poets, backed-up bloggers, and others who have lost their way, literarily speaking. Just punch a button and you’ll be given any variety of settings, topics, characters, and ways to kill a character quicker than you can say “constipation.”


I especially like the “dramatic entrances” button. And this quote:


“Writer’s block … is simply a failure of ego.” – Norman Mailer


Today I am attempting to sew curtains for Rose’s nursery. This sounds like a sweet endeavor, and would be the ideal way to spend a frigid and gray Saturday, but for the fact that I am not much of a seamstress. Pray for me. I’ll try to post pictures sometime, barring natural disasters such as me strapping C4 to the machine and sending it skyward.


A trip to the park on a springish day…



Time to reflect (hee!)


Baby Toofs…



and baby toes…


(first time a-swingin’)





and sliding…





(hey, if he wore a belt we’d miss out on the dinosaur! he’s actually quite fashionable from what I can tell from the teen boys in town…)


A winsome lass (to borrow a favorite word from Prairie Chick)…


(I’m thirstyyyyyyyy….)


Last and best…reminders of Him, everywhere…my All in All…







Oh my, how I enjoyed reading all your contributions yesterday! Can I just say that I’m delighted that you played along? I really didn’t expect anyone to be much interested in my challenge, but y’all took up the gauntlet with finesse!


I was impressed with the dexterity with which Kate, Susan, Adrienne, Angie, Maggie, TGray, Michelle, and my own dear Mother wielded the words in question. Y’all could totally go semi-pro in the the verbal circuit!


Then I read Sarah’s, and I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. Out Loud. Sarah, your ditty about the octopus and his unfortunate encounter absolutely tickled me. I didn’t think anybody could top it.


Until I read Prairie Chick’s, that is. Girl, you rock meter, rhyme, and thesaurus. Dude. The poetic form was completely superfluous (ahem, Julie, winkwink) for this exercise, and if I didn’t know you better I’d accuse you of being an impenitent show-off.


But I do know you better. And you totally cracked me up.


After that, I really and truly thought we were done here. Until Straight Shooter piped up. And she must know that I have a soft spot for the invented word as well as the established, because there I went again, snorting and guffawing.


And relating. But we’ll stop there.


In the end, I am giving each one of you: Sarah, Prairie Chick, and Straight Shooter, my amazing, home-did mollusk award. 




Thank you to everybody who made my day brighter by playing along! And I really, really love my little octopus award. I’m disproportionately proud of him. Methinks I’ll be trotting him out regularly in the future.


Yes, I know octopuses can’t trot.


Happy Thursday, my prodigiously groovy comrades!

Werds R Grayte

Hey folks, did you know that there are lots of words for things? LOTS. OF. WORDS. It’s thrilling, isn’t it? I think words are just sublime. I think they are so sublime, in fact, that I subscribe to the AWAD newsletter, and get a fabulous new word in my email box every single day.


I posted my superhero, the Baroness Von Blistering Monarch, a few days ago, but I think that, in reality, if I were a superhero (yes, I realize that the previous half-dozen words make no real sense), I would be some sort of vocabulary-stretching-crusader with a thesaurus in one hand and a wand in the other.


The wand would be a handy gadget that would instantly transform sub-par adjectives into rockin’ descriptives with a flick of the wrist. I have long held that it is simply a lack of imagination that causes average people to spew the F-bomb rather than find a rich and wonderful epithet to fling.


After all, if the corner hoodlum knew that words such as extortionate, termagant, puerile and lachrymose even existed, he wouldn’t have to say that the f***’in landlady b**** was p***’in him off for raising his f***’in rent, would he?


When I was a kid in high school, we had a little curriculum called “Word Wealth” that introduced us to new and wondrous words each week, and to this day I remember many of them. Obstreperous, pugnacious, and querulous, for example, are trotted out frequently now and then when I feel like making a good impression.


Here are a few of my more recent favorites:


Ambisinister: (am-bi-SIN-uh-stuhr) adjective: Clumsy with both hands. (Literally, with two left hands.)


Pantagruelian (pan-tuh-groo-EL-ee-uhn) adjective   Enormous; Displaying extravagant and coarse humor


Atrabilious (at-ruh-BIL-yuhs) adjective: Gloomy; Ill-tempered.


Isn’t this fun? Aren’t you just dying to try one of these babies on for size? Okay, a few more:


callipygian (kal-uh-PIJ-ee-uhn) adjective: Having well-shaped buttocks.


Jobbernowl (JOB-uh-nowl) noun: A blockhead.


Kerfuffle (kuhr-FUHF-uhl) noun: A commotion.


and one which is especially intriguing…


Ichor…(ahy-kawr noun)… because its meanings are a bit dichotomous, to say the least. On the one hand, it means an ethereal fluid flowing in the veins of the gods.  Which sounds rather lofty and exalted, doesn’t it? But the flip side is an acrid, watery discharge, as from an ulcer or wound.

Um. Ew.


So hey, let’s have some fun! Use one or more of these words in a real, honest-to-goodness sentence in the comments and if any of them make me LOL for reals then I’ll reward the appropriate wordsmith with this:



It’s my very first, totally personal award. Featuring my verymost favorite mollusk, your friendly neighborhood octopus. You know you want him. So go ahead: make my verbal day. Literally.

Metaphor Monday


Hi ho, everyone, and welcome back from the weekend! I will confess right up front that my metaphor today does not come from my own pea brain, but from the musical and poetical mind of this guy, who happens to be the author of some of my most favorite (and, coincidentally enough, highly metaphorical) songs ever to have been penned.


The metaphorical song in question keeps running through my mind all because I got a teensy bit ambitious today and cleaned out my linen closet (linen closet is a word which here means closet into which every bit of household flotsam is jettisoned 


Here is a before picture:





































Here is an after picture:





































Oops! Just kidding! HERE is the after picture!





































Thank yew. Thankyewverymuch.


What? Yes, I’m sure that’s the same closet. Sheesh.


At any rate, the whole time I was cleaning, this song was going through my head. You’ve probably heard it. I will just let the words speak for themselves, because they voice my deepest desire, and my daily prayer.



If you don’t want to watch the whole video, here are just the lyrics:


Welcome Home, by Shaun Groves


Take me, make me

all You want me to be

that’s all I’m asking

that’s all I’m asking


Welcome to this heart of mine

buried under prideful vines

grown to hide the mess I’ve made

inside of me,

come decorate, Lord,

Open up the creaky door

and walk upon the dusty floor

scrape away the guilty stains

until no sin or shame remain

spread your love upon the walls

and occupy the empty halls

until the man I am has faded

no more walls are barricaded




come inside this heart of mine

it’s not my own

make it home

come and take this heart and make it

all your own

welcome home


Take a seat, pull up a chair

forgive me for the disrepair

souvenirs from floor to ceiling

gathered on my search for meaning

every closet’s filled with clutter

messes yet to be discovered

I’m overwhelmed, I understand

I can’t make this place all that You can


I took the space that You placed in me

redecorated in shades of greed

and I made sure every door stayed locked

every window blocked

and still You knocked


It took me several hours to make sense out of that linen closet, and I wasn’t facing the task with any great degree of enthusiasm.  I’m so grateful that my Lord is not daunted by the closets filled with clutter and the souvenirs from floor to ceiling in my own heart. On the contrary, I believe He delights to throw the doors wide and put things in order, and to fill every dark space with light. He is only waiting for us to ask.


Do you have a metaphor for me today? Leave me a comment; I LOVE to read what you all are coming up with! Thanks for playing along…

Kitchen Sink Saturday

I feel like this edition of the kitchen sink is sort of a cheat, since I haven’t been writing anything lately besides that of the kitchen sink variety…given that most of my energy is going into keeping this flu out of my lungs, where it is certain to settle in like a cold, damp fog on an autumn afternoon in London.


Forgive me for the lack of depth here lately. Sometimes the depth, it refuses to cooperate.


So if I cannot be deep, I shall at least enjoy splashing in the shallows with abandon. Care to join me?


I made this lately.



It’s me. As a superhero. She knows how to kick some booty. You can make your own here. Leave me a comment if you make one; I wanna see!


Now, I need all you LOLCat-lovers to help me out. I have this succession of photos that are begging for captions, but my inherent grammarian refuses to allow me to come up with the hilariously mis-worded dialogue that cracks me up. Check it out:



That’s Mini, our rat terrier, blasting off. Maybe it’s only funny to me?


Moving along…


I’m reading a book right now that is absolutely destroying me. I think I need time to process all the emotions I am feeling while reading it, but trust me when I say that it will mess you up. In a good way. It’s educational, horrific, historic, hopeful, gruesome, and tender all in one. It’s called The Hospital By The River, and it amazes me that I have no problem reading about things that, were I witness to them, would cause me to be unconscious on the floor in 0.4 seconds.


My proclivity for becoming useless in bloody situations is of great frustration to me. Mostly because people who do not suffer from this affliction always imply that if I would just get a grip, I’d be fine. Rose (who has the same tendency) has theorized that, when one becomes woozy, if someone else would just slap them upside the head really, really hard, then it might pass. We have yet to test this theory.


I found this amazing site that is very much like tastespotting (slaver!), but for interior design. It gathers up all the latest cool (often) and bizarre (more often) furniture and architecture trends, and posts them in a grid-style-format. It’s called cribcandy, and what is truly fantastical about their finds are the prices. Egad. (disclaimer: while you would think interior design would be a fairly benign sphere in which to dabble, given that much of it is considered “art”–and if I could make quotes in triplicate, I would–I make no promises that there will not be an occasional bit of offensiveness encountered at said website. but mostly it seems okay)


Here is a smattering of fascinating things for your “crib” over at cribcandy:



It’s a mirror! With a built-in moustache!


A table, for those with collaplateauphobia (fear of tables spontaneously toppling)

This is a chair. What? It is too! Yes, it is!



See. I told you.



Remember what I said about “art”? Yeah. I think I made my point.


If I had never found, I would have no idea that such things existed.


And that, clearly, would be a damn shame.


For this…



and these…



and this…



and these…



and these



and for laughter, which we all know is the best medicine…



Sorry if I freaked anyone out with my melodrama in the previous post…I thought it was apparent I was speaking of being sick, but in my feverish haze I might have overdone it a little…I’m on the road to recovery now; thank you for the prayers and advice and well-wishes!

I May Be Here, But I Refuse to Drink His Lemonade

Hello from Death’s door. Okay, more like his front porch. His veranda. But it’s closer to the door than I’ve been in recent memory.


Everything hurts. His porch swing is laced with barbed wire. His steps are covered in crushed glass. And it’s really, really cold. But apparently I’m the only one feeling it.


Death, I’m leaving now. You suck as a host. What was I thinking, visiting in the first place? I’m leaving right now. Seriously. You’re so…grim.


I’m leaving. Right now. Right…now….


Just as soon as I can get up the energy.


Is there a drug that will knock you unconscious, yet is safe for nursing babies?


I didn’t think so.



Uncle! Uncle!

Okay, I’ve been tagged by everyone I know, and even a few people I don’t, for the 25 things about me thing on Facebook, and I’ve had just about enough of it. Just about enough! What? Like I don’t have better things to do with my time than sit down and write out 25 things about myself? How narcissistic! How self-absorbed! How…..


fun, actually.


I’m sure I’m only amusing myself, but here, fine, HERE is the list, should anyone give a flaming rat’s ass.


  1. I hate having servicepeople in my home. I’m sorry, to all the plumbers, a/c repairmen, and electricians. I know you just want to help. But I hate you. Get out now.
  2. I suck at bathing babies. I know. Twelve should have been enough to make me a master, but I still don’t have it. Tiny, spindly things with zero appendage control should not be gotten wet.
  3. I am my mother’s favorite child. Yes, I am! I am too! Shut up!
  4. My sister doesn’t read my blog, so I can say anything I want about her here. Anything! And she would never know. Never. I love having that kind of power, even if I choose never to wield it.
  5. I don’t suffer from dermatillomania. I enjoy every minute of it.
  6. If one of the 5 love languages was sarcasm, I’d be all set.
  7. I’m already having a hard time thinking of things.
  8. I own four Webkinz. I don’t have much time to play, but I have made certain to get each one a bed so they have a place to sleep at night.
  9. Once, one of my Webkinz was sick, so I took it to the Webkinz doctor. It really pissed me off how he told me to wait over there while he pulled the curtain and performed the check up. I’m never taking them to him again.
  10. There is no other Webkinz doctor, so I’m hoping none of them ever get sick again.
  11. Can Webkinz die?
  12. Once I made cookies and they required milk. I was out. So I used breastmilk.
  13. I’ve been pregnant for 9 years of my life.
  14. I do not enjoy being pregnant.
  15. I’ve been lactating for approximately 12 years of my life.
  16. I enjoy lactating. It feels like a superpower. Especially when it helps me make cookies.
  17. My Beloved freaked out and would not eat the breastmilk cookies.
  18. My brother ate them.
  19. Yes, he knew.
  20. I think Toby could be a superbabymodel, but we live in the boonies so he’s doomed to ignominy. This kind of sucks because we could really use the money a superbabymodel would bring in.
  21. I buy stuffed animals for my kids, but really they’re for me.
  22. I love it when I have a baby who sucks his/her thumb. I think it means they are above average intelligence. It’s also stinkin cute.
  23. Once I got really mad at my little brother for peeing on me when he was asleep in my lap. I still feel guilty about that. Christopher, please forgive me.
  24. My sister would totally have a blog if she knew how self-absorbing it could be.
  25. Therapeutic. I meant therapeutic.

Metaphor Monday


For a while now, I have been thinking that it would be nice to have a little daybook in which to record just a line or two every evening to sum up the day’s events. I knew such things existed but I wasn’t sure just what to look for. In my mind, I pictured a drab little utilitarian notebook, because to be honest, money is tight right now.


This past weekend, while staying at my parent’s house, I was sitting in my mother’s rocking chair when I noticed a little book in the basket beside it. I fished it out and went to find my dear mum, to ask her where she got it.


Oh, I don’t remember. She said. I had forgotten all about that. I got it for myself because I like the artist, but you can have it! I won’t use it.


Oh. Thank you! I said, walking away.


And clear as a bell, I heard the Lord say with a smile: You’re welcome.


I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the little book and listening to Him as He spoke truth to my weary heart.


Do I not know your needs? Do I not know your desires? Am I not able to fulfill each one? Am I not worthy of your trust?  


I wanted a drab little notebook. Yet the Lord delighted to bring this my way (click on the pictures to see in better detail!):





Has there ever been a more perfect daybook for the likes of me? Let me hasten to assure you that no, there hasn’t.


For those who have had earthly fathers who were less than generous, it can be hard to believe that the Lord is not similarly stingy. That His love is not dependant upon us proving that we are worthy. That He delights to see us smile, rejoices over us with singing, and longs to lavish us with His love.


And thus, this little book has become a metaphor of God’s love for me. When I look for, and expect, bare-bones minimalism–the basic necessity–He embellishes with glitter, and color, and beachy illustrations in watercolor: front, back, and in-between. It is an embodiment of Ephesians 3:20: He does exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.


Not as the world gives He whispers…not as the world gives, do I givewon’t you let Me delight you today?


And so each time this notebook delights my eyes, I feel His smile, and I loosen the death-grip that I have on my heart just a little more; I open my hand to receive, and the hand that once was brushed away impatiently is filled with fish, and bread, and Abba-Daddy’s warm, sweet affection.


How good He is. How blessed am I.


Got a metaphor for me today? Please play along! Link in the comments, or spill the whole story…feel free to take the button for your own post if you wish.