Inspirations from cheese in a can. joey, kelly and danny.

It’s November 30, and this post marks the end of my month of daily blogging.  Like my brother-in-law, who joined in this foolishness with me (thanks, Greg!), I did not falter.  We will be buying each other beer, pizza, coffee, and Mickey Mouse ears all next week.  It was nice to have company.

I suppose since it’s a gray and dreary day *and* the end of an era, I am morally obligated to become all reflective and melancholy.  I hate to leave you this way, interwebs, but it’s just the vibe around here, it can’t be helped.  So here goes.  I am a little surprised at how addicting I found reading and commenting on other blogs, eagerly anticipating and replying to comments here, and refreshing ad infinitum my Twitter and Facebook pages (yeah okay, not that surprised.  I’ve always checked my email 50 times a day, which is pretty much the same concept).  I felt crazy more than once, and I welcome the fact that in theory, it is now possible for me to step away from the computer for long stretches (like even up to three hours or so) at a time.  I probably won’t, but I could.

This month has worked out to be somewhat of a lonely one for me, surprisingly.  I guess between birthdays and holidays and Danny’s contagious condition and whatnot, I just haven’t gotten out much.  That’s when it’s especially nice to have you, interwebs.  So thanks to those of you who dropped by for a day, a few days, most of the days, or all of the days.  Thanks to those who commented and to those who lurked (I know I browbeat you a little, but I’m glad you’re here just the same).  It was nice to have you.  Thanks for stopping by.

You may or may not remember some donut muffins I mentioned a while back.  Tonight I made them.  Well, really, I made a hybrid between those and these.  I won’t bore you with all the nuances.  Anyway, as expected of anything called a donut muffin, they are good.  They didn’t look quite festive enough by themselves, so I fancied them up a little with props and trick photography.

Also today, we went to Whole Foods.  They have a spectacular buffet of hot food there, for $7.99/lb.  Being a cheap bastard, I am an expert at balancing how much something weighs versus how good it tastes and how much it costs to make.  This all happens automatically in my brainhole without me even having to consciously think.  It’s like driving.  Some other people’s [read: Joey's] brainholes do not work that way.  I won’t tell you how much his plate weighed, but I wish I had had my camera ready to take a picture of his face when he saw the total for it.  He has very large (and beautiful, I might add) eyes anyway, but I thought they were going to completely take over his face and then fall out of his head, right onto the friendly cashier’s conveyer belt.  Terrific appetizer for a third (and most delicious) Thanksgiving feast.  The second Thanksgiving feast was at Sweet Tomatoes last night.  Wow, we’re on a buffet roll, innit?

As we left Whole Foods and were on our way home, I failed to be gracious about some little thing or other, and couldn’t resist letting fly some zinger.  I can’t even remember what it was (I feel like it was a good one, though.  Maybe a 7.5 out of 10).  Joey turned to me and said:  “You know….you’re kind of an a-hole normally.  But when you’re pregnant, you are a definitive a-hole.”   Just in case you’re thinking about flipping the a-hole card back onto Joey for saying such a wretched thing to his lovely wife, let me say this:  I imagine he’s right.  Well, actually, I know his observation about my default state is correct.  I am a little a-holish.  All those zingers that I can’t resist are generally at someone’s expense.  It’s a character flaw, what can I say.  But the fact that my a-holishness escalates to a definitive state when I am pregnant, I guess that was news to me.  Don’t worry, though, it doesn’t bother me much.  Direct your pity toward the man who drives my minivan.  And you may want to watch out for those zingers if you should happen by me in the real world or on the interwebs.  Amen and pass the donut muffins.

Here’s what Black Friday is looking like at the Rutledge Ranch this morning:

No one was awake before six, it is now almost noon, and everyone is still in their pajamas.  Other than a few regrettable circumstances (Barry Manilow singing “Never Gonna Give You Up” on the Today Show, a coffee flood, a broken toaster, and too much time elapsed before Joey became caffeinated), we have had a nice morning.  And we haven’t spent a dime.  I should say here, though, that in the above picture Joey is at one of his computers, plotting out his afternoon strategy.  He wants to get a head start on his Christmas shopping.  And by “his Christmas shopping,” I mean Christmas gifts for himself, of course.  Hey, works for me.  After a long series of incorrect gifting attempts, I surrender, and I hope self-Santa brings him just what he wants.

Regarding Christmas gifts, I figured that since Danny’s birthday and the corresponding gift avalanche just happened, we just wouldn’t really so much do Christmas gifts for him.  But then I remembered that now he can do things like get excited, and open presents, and say something remotely like “Santa,” and stuff like that.  So I think we’ll have to throw a few things together to wrap up for him after all.  I’m glad I figured this out now instead of say, December 23rd or so.  Now I’ll have some time to think of something.  Thank heaven he’s still a little easier to buy for than his father.

I guess I just needed to whine first.  Here is my (non)obligatory list of things I’m thankful for, right this second.

1. TopChef - It’s a small life I lead, what can I say. Anyway, I just finished watching it.
2. My crockpot - working hard right now on chicken and dumplings, so I don’t have to.
3. My delightful nookular family - even the one with the ass trumpet.
4. My delightful extended family - especially the ones that cook well.
5. Antacids - I’m pregnant.
6. Our loyal readers - I know you’re there, even when I can’t see you.

I reserve the right to update this list throughout the day, since I’m making it up as I go, and it’s time to stir the oatmeal.  In the meantime, I wish you all a happy thanksgiving, and I hope that you are able to find plenty of room for your 10,000 calories today, and the nap you’ll need afterward. Oh yeah, and protip: stay away from the tofurkey.

Edited at 9:45 a.m. to include:
7. Jackie’s brown sweater that she let me borrow.
8. Lip gloss.
9. The doodad that lets us continue to use the crockpot as we drive down the road.

Edited at 5:00 p.m. to include:
10. Curious George
11. My sofa corner
12. Colson Thanksgiving immunity
13. Car windows
14. The pile of dessert leftovers I unabashedly threw into the largest food storage container we own.

Here’s the thing:  I know I’m supposed to be feeling extra thankful and grateful and content and all that.  Oh, and I am, somewhere down deep, between the latest and greatest fetus and my liver or something.  But of course much closer to the surface, instead of thankful, I’m feeling….contrary.  I do not want to make a list of things I’m grateful for, or expound on one in particular.  I want to gripe, naturally.  I’ll try and pick something quick and painless, only a little shallow, and topical, or maybe a series of random ones.  Yes, let’s go with random.

How about this….I want to look more cute and less thick.  It is a trait of my pregnancies, apparently, to not look pregnant until about ten minutes before the baby pops out, and right up until then, I just look like I eat too much.  Sounds minor, right?  And sure, it is.  But still, I want to look cute, and today I made a special trip to MaxxallRoss and Target, scouring the clothing and accessories for something that would help me out with that.  I have a gazillion maternity shirts (hand-me-downs, vaguely the right size and season), but none of them are particularly me or just right.  And two pairs of maternity jeans.  So I thought I could find just one sweater or something that I could wear to Joey’s family’s Thanksgiving situation tomorrow, and they would think:  oh, she’s so cute and pregnant.  Yeah, no.  What I finally bought because I insisted on buying something, dammit, was lip gloss.  Oh, yeah, that should totallly do it.

Also, some people wear way too much cologne and it makes me feel like my head is inhabited by 10,000 Perfumania/Yankee Candle Company combo stores.  Oh, shudder to think….if that store existed, it would be kindof like hell on earth, and I would not even be able to visit that wing of the mall.  Please, for the love of everything holy, restrain yourself in your use of fragrance.  Thum people are thenthitive.

And to round this ridiculously-shallow-after-all list of things I’d like to complain about this Thanksgiving Eve, let’s turn to Facebook.  And/or Twitter.  And people that include in their status updates the outcome of the TV show that they just got finished watching.  Seriously?  That is NOT RIGHT.  Some people fall asleep (not because they want to) at 8 p.m. and can’t watch that show until the next day.  But after it gets ruined, they just don’t watch it at all, and have to medicate themselves with marshmallows.  Just a hypothetical.  On AIM, there used to be (may still be, I dunno) a button you could push to warn people when they were being annoying or otherwise inappropriate.  Facebook should look into that.

Here is my offspring making what appears to be (but actually wasn’t really) a contrary face.  This is what I feel like this evening.  Thanks for stopping by.

I am so bored to death of me.  Thirty days is a lot of time to talk about yourself.  Maybe I’ll talk about someone else.  Okay, fine, I will fascinate you with a story about a fence and my dad.

A year ago we had a fence put up around the backyard, all the better to contain humans and small animals.  This way we could achieve much greater levels of negligence and still be within legal limits.  We did a little research and found a company that at least one person on Kudzu found not to suck.  And maybe they didn’t suck for them, but they a little bit did for us.  They cut a cable (or three) that makes things in our back garage work and offered to have it repaired, but it never really happened.  The thing that stopped working immediately in the back garage would have been the phone, if we had a land line.  We just use cell phones, though, so we didn’t care too much to follow up.  Otherwise, the fence installation went pretty well, besides a wee little drag in the gate when we would go to open it.

A few months later, the power to the back garage failed.  Some troubleshooting between Joey and my former-electrician father was attempted over the phone, with not much success.  So the next time he came to visit, he and Joey went out and found the problem (maybe the cable-cutting incident, maybe an over-eager canine digger) and fixed it.  Also, that time or the next, Dad noted that the gate did not have adequate support, and needed to be braced or yadda yadda I dunno.  He spent a few minutes explaining to me in great detail what I materials I would need, and what procedure to follow.  I just sorta stood there with my mouth open and nodded when it seemed appropriate.

Over time, the gate-dragging got worse, until finally we couldn’t even close the gate anymore.  One time, the dogs emancipated themselves.  Another time, Danny did.  In the meantime, Joey is calling the fence company every five minutes or so, and they’re promising to come out tomorrow.  Always tomorrow.  And after the second or third Saturday morning of sitting and waiting for them for three or four hours, Joey started to disbelieve them.  And he got really mad.  Really often.  So, if you’re keeping count, now we have two marauding dogs, one escaping toddler, one open-mouthed nonhandywoman, and a frequently, vocally angry consumer (who undoubtedly possesses the requisite skills to remedy this problem, but he already paid someone else $2500 to do it right, DAMMIT).

Open-mouthed handywoman is at her wits’ end.  Now it is one year after the fence has been installed, and escaping toddler’s second birthday weekend.  Dad and five of his favorite travelling companions show up.  And somehow, he either telepathically absorbed my desperation regarding the gate, or someone else that I complained to suggested that it would be nice if he would fix the gate.  Either way, in 40-degree weather on a Sunday morning, he rousted himself out into the cold, and (after fetching me some rosemary for a quiche to feed the masses), he commenced repairs on the gate.   And after a break to attend Sunday morning, Southern-Baptist three-hour church and subsequent cholesterol-fest, he (now assisted by Joey) completed repairs on the gate.  Which now works like a champ, and will be impervious to marauding dogs and escaping toddlers, at least until they get a lot craftier (or taller).

I don’t think Dad swings by here at the cheese very often, but if you should happen to read this, Dad:  Thanks.  That was nice.

Here’s Dad in a more baby-kissing mode.  But I assure you he shifts very easily into Bob, the builder.   I just was too busy with the house full of people to document his Herculean gate-fixing effort.

Who ARE you people? Just a little family, living in a suburb of Atlanta.  One of us has an exciting career as a Systems Administrator, which is geek talk for “computer nerd”….that’s Joey.  One of us has a few degrees, but has not yet found a career….that’s Kelly, who stays at home to gestate, herd, feed, and read the internet.  One of us spends all of his waking hours climbing, running, jumping, singing, or watching TV….that’s Danny.  He is the cutest of us.  And one of us swims for a living and has never seen the light of day….that’s Danny’s little sister.  We also have two dogs, Heidi and Chloe, whose primary roles include:  keeping the floor clear of food, preventing regular vacations, and providing entertainment for Danny.

Why “Inspirations from Cheese in a Can.”? I have no idea.  This really started out as my cheese-loving husband’s website.  I didn’t really have much to do with it, so I didn’t care what he called it.  He made the name up.  He kept bugging me to make posts, though, and now here I am, hogging all the interwebspace (careful what you wish for, I guess).  He really likes Easy Cheese, I know that.  One day when we’re a superfamous blogging family, I imagine Kraft might come after us.  Until then, the name stands.  I can’t think of anything better, and I’ve tried.  Can you?

What are you trying to accomplish here? Oh, you know, the usual.  We want to capture some vignettes for family posterity and all that jazz.  We like to keep people that are interested up-to-date about what we’re up to.  I’m not so much a phone person, and I like to imagine that if I just broadcast something to everyone at one time, then that way I won’t have to incancerate my brain as much with a cell phone.  Also, it’s great to have this blog so we can guilt-trip people that don’t read it, like my mom and Tyson.  And at the moment, which is November of 2008, I am trying to meet a goal of posting every day this month.  Thus, grasping at straws and creating a long-overdue About page, and calling it a post.

How can I let you know I enjoyed your site, or that I was ever here at all? Leave. a. comment. please.

Sometimes on a weekend morning, Joey will wake up with the urge to make pancakes.  Normally by the time he’s up and ready to eat, I’ve already been awake for three or four hours and already eaten first (and maybe second) breakfast, so I’m pretty indifferent to the whole operation, though I’ll usually at least muster enough enthusiasm to heat the syrup and eat me a pancake or three.  But for production, he has to recruit other help.  And by help, I mean someone to put every spoon we own into the batter, and use them to paint every counter in the kitchen with it.  Here is Joey with his sous chef, who must be placated with full access to the spoon drawer and unlimited chocolate chips.  Because everyone feeds their toddler chocolate before breakfast, right?  Hello?  Is this thing on?

I’m not a good sleeper in the best of times.  It’s hard to fall asleep (okay, except in front of decent television, I’m getting to that), and when I do, it doesn’t take much to awaken me.  All of this is magnified with this pregnancy.  I remember a little insomnia and annoying night-time wakefulness when Danny was a tenant, but not like this.  Anyway, over the years, I’ve learned to deal with this by finding just the right television shows.  They have to interest me, and they can’t suck completely.  Most of the shows that Joey likes are disqualified, much to his chagrin.  So, when it’s getting late (like 8 pm) and it’s time to lull myself to sleep, we have to find a show that fits my qualifications, which usually means that though I picked it, Joey is going to watch it, and I’m going to sleep through it.  Oh, man, I would hate being married to me.  So I have those usual shows that I try to keep hoarded (right now, let’s see….Amazing Race, House, The Biggest Loser, Top Chef, Survivor, The Office, stuff like that).

And, I have another layer of sleep-inducing programming.  That’s my 3 AM-ARE-YOU-SERIOUS-WHY-AM-I-AWAKE? show.  I try to find older shows that I can pile up on the Tivo.  It’s been CSI New York (and Miami), Intervention (sometimes the needles and vomiting would get to me, though), Law and Order, and lots of others, but I can’t remember what now.  Right now, my 3AAYSWAIA? show is Arrested Development.  I watch it on Hulu.  Last week when we had six houseguests, I had to give up my gestational bed (my sofa corner…I’m here 24/7).  We have no TV in our bedroom.  DANGER, WILL ROBINSON.  My hot-stuff geek husband hooked me up, though, and I watched from his ginormous laptop in the bed.  I wouldn’t have given Hulu a shot (me and Tivo are BFFs and I didn’t want to cheat), but the circumstances converged, and now I’m a believer.  So instead of having to obsessively hoarde shows on the Tivo (I will, still, just not obsessively), now I can just find older shows on Hulu and watch them.  Or sleep through them, whatever.

Yes, so, as I was saying, Arrested Development.  It’s pretty good….here are some of its selling points:  Jason Bateman stars.  Opie narrates (and executive produces, whatever that means).  It’s ridiculous.  And it’s good enough to sleep to.  How’s that for a glowing endorsement?  Last night (this morning?) as I was sleep-watching Season 1, Episode 6(ish) for the third or fourth time, I was struck by this enlightening advice:  “You take that brownish area by its points and don’t let go.”  And that’s the wisdom I’ll leave you with today.  Thanks for stopping by.

It’s cold.  I can hear the wind outside, which means that now is the time for this post.  I really wish you could come over and get a piece of this.

A few days ago, our breadmaker reappeared.  After a two-year hiatus in the garage, a fruitless visit to Middle Georgia (turns out Jackson prefers to make her bread by hand), and a six-week ride in the back of another sister’s van, the BreadMan is back.  And just in the nick of time.  I knew this ginormous loaf of white was just a matter of time, but because I like to go in the direction of good to better, I first made a loaf of cinnamon raisin wheat bread.  It was alright.  Ugly, squat, and wheaty, but alright.  Then the next day, after Joey reminded me that we do actually have bread flour, squirreled away in a plastic bag in a produce drawer of the fridge, I made this beautiful piece of bread art.  Well, really BreadMan did, but I had to measure a bunch of stuff, push buttons, and slice it with a crappy knife.  Which is pretty much the same thing as making bread, I think.

I could not even wait until I took a picture to take a bite.  May your day be as warm as this.

Oh, and p.s.:  the inspiration for this post was this blog.  They love to bake and take pictures.  And one day I’m going to make these donut muffins.