Month: December 2019

2019 Out ! Mic Drop

Life happens and I write about it.

As I sit here in my cat leggings left over from Halloween that are now pjs and my VW bus shirt that is big enough to cover two people and has long since seen better days with homeless morning hair and a cup of coffee, I am reflecting on the past year. It is the last day of 2019. I am fairly sure I spent the last New Year’s Eve in my pjs at 10 am with homeless hair drinking coffee. I probably spent the one before that the same way. The cat leggings are new. That is about it. My Christmas breaks stay the same more of less. 

2019 In Review 

The Hobbit has grown. The tall one is more man like. The hubs and I celebrated our one year anniversary. The stepkids  have grown. The house has not grown. We are packed in here like sardines. 

I started blogging again. 

My first book was published in the fall. It only took 20 years to write. Maybe book 2 will be faster. 

I stopped teaching at GSCC in the fall. I started an Etsy shop. I have craft ADHD, so I paint glass, etch glass, etch and paint wine bottles and Bailey’s Irish Cream bottles. That is what I drink, so that is the glass I have. I sometimes paint beer bottles and Starbucks Cold Brew bottles from the hubs. I HATE removing the labels. The hubs does that. I can paint and etch all day, but labels are ick. I burn and paint wood that the hubs has sanded and shaped. I do not and should not ever use power tools. I paint on canvas. The hubs is trying to talk me into cutting glass. That might be in the category that Kristie is too clumsy to do. My biggest sellers are painted mugs with smart ass sayings on them. Who knew? I am making a profit off my nerdy likes and smart mouth. I have Lord of the RIngs, Harry Potter, and Dr. Who fandom mugs. They are my biggest sellers. Nerds UNITE!!!! If you would like to donate to the hobbit and tall one’s college funds, my shop is bookishnomadshop.com and my book is available on amazon. 

Five kids ain’t cheap. 

Side Note

Hopefully, I have not offended anyone with my blog post this time. My writing is my view of the world. It is meant to be funny. If you are not included, no worries. I will get around to poking fun at you soon. If you do not like my view of certain events, I guess we view the world differently. If you take offense that I do not view the world as you do, maybe my writing is not for you. Life happens, and then I write about it. 

“ If we all couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane.”

-Jimmy Buffet

One of the modern day great philosophers. 

Herding Cats on a Cheese Wagon

This morning while waiting behind one of the big yellow cheese wagons, my mind began to wander.Let’s be honest, it doesn’t take much for my mind to wander.  I am fairly sure it was an elementary bus. I sat there what seemed like forever. Do the poor underpaid bus drivers’ have to wait long enough for the child to get out of bed, get dressed , and eat breakfast before loading. That is what it feels like. Is the wait time for the kid that is nowhere in sight up to the bus driver? Is there a standard time? Is there an equation based on age?  Things to ponder…

As an observer, I have noticed it takes the little people bus longer than the big kids. What is the age cut off that we decide is the point where they child is responsible for getting to the bus on time or can be left behind? 

While I sat there waiting on a little to eat breakfast and get dressed before boarding the stopped bus, I thought about times passed where my oldest child ( who runs on his own time zone) was left behind by the bus. There must be an age limit. By the time they reach middle school and high school, they have 2.5 seconds to load the bus. Who decided teenagers are responsible? Have they met one? I guess the little ones are cuter and smell better. That is why we wait. It may simply be because parents of teenagers blame the teenager not the bus driver. Maybe it is to keep the teenage funk smell down on the bus?

Chef Not

Chef Not

I know people that claim that they love to cook. I guess everyone is allowed their own weird kinks. Those people claim to make things like pasta from scratch. 

The conversation usually goes like this:

Weird Person: I Love to cook. 

Me: It is a necessary evil. 

Weird Person: Oh, I pride myself on cooking complicated dishes. I love it. I just hate to clean up. 

Me: I cook because DHR frowns upon not feeding your children. 

Weird Person looks confused. They look confused because  I am female and Southern. I am supposed to love to cook and make a house for my family or at least to pretend to. As a Southern lady, I am supposed to pride myself on making a home and making good biscuits. My biscuits come out of the freezer or a can when I actually cook them at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I clean because I don’t like filth and am a bit OCD. I cook so they don’t starve. I also don’t give two shits what people think of my womanly home making skills. I have four college degrees, am successful in my field, and all my children and stepchildren are doing okay. They all know how to use the toaster and microwave. Biscuits do not define my worth. 

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