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Archive for January 2014

A Tale of Wisdom Teeth…and Lack Thereof

By Sue · Comments (23) · January 30th, 2014

Do you ever look back over a day in your life…or a string of several days, for that matter…and think…

Did that really just happen to me?

It occurs with me daily, friends. But I feel especially compelled to tell you about the events of the past few weeks. And no, none of these events count as sucker punches. I’ve listed them for you in numerical order, should you care to replicate these events.

Ahem:

1) Grow yourself an impeccably formed palate, including ample room for wisdom teeth, by the time you are eighteen years old.

2) Snigger behind closed doors at all of your high school friends who are having their wisdom teeth yanked. Be totally gnarly (yes, that was a good thing to be in 1989) and deliver Jell-O, Hunt’s Pudding Snack Packs, and Lipton Cup a Soup to their doors. Because you are a licensed driver with a cherry red Ford Escort station wagon to prove it.

3) Over the next 25 years, give your intact wisdom teeth the brush-off, so to speak, when conducting your oral hygiene routine. Dude. They’re really far back there. And hard to reach. Not gnarly.

4) At age 42, get slapped with the news from your dentist that those wisdom teeth are decaying. (See: Not gnarly). And guess what? You must have them extracted.

5) Sob uncontrollably and say a Hail Mary for every high school friend at which you sniggered behind a closed door back in the day. To no avail. An appointment has been set for those decaying suckers to be pulled.

6) On the morning of your appointment, pull yourself together, put on your big girl panties, drink a nutrient-packed smoothie for fortification, and wait for your girlfriend to come and pick you up for your appointment.

7) Arrive at the oral surgeon’s office to be greeted by a receptionist who is a middle-aged dead ringer for Gilly from Saturday Night Live. Stifle your giggles and answer her questions, including what you ate that morning.

8) Get yourself drummed out of the office by Gilly as she snarkily looks up at you and says,

You? Had a smoothie? NoFoodOrDrinkDayOfSurgery.

9) Reschedule your appointment. Leave with your tail between your legs, vowing to never drink another smoothie as long as you live.

10) Two weeks later, show up again at the oral surgeon’s office. Tell Gilly that you haven’t eaten once since you left the office the last time.

11) Feel a degree of smug satisfaction, as well as more than a twinge of hunger-induced light-headedness, as you get strapped into the surgeon’s chair.

12) What seems like ten seconds later, wake up crying for no apparent reason and leave with your girlfriend, who is carrying your post-operative instructions and other paraphernalia for you. Let her drive you home and tuck you in on your couch in the family room. Marvel at the irony of her stocking your pantry with Jell-O, Hunt’s Pudding Snack Packs, and Lipton Cup a Soup. Fantasize about a long day of lounging on the couch while The Cherubs are in school.

13. What seems like ten seconds later, wake up crying for two VERY apparent reasons: 1) Your mouth is on fire and is approximately the size of an rhinoceros’ hind quarters, and 2) The Cherubs and three of their friends are running amok, singing karaoke at the top of their lungs, and playing Nerf Gun War. After all, you do live in Chiberia. And school has been canceled for the next two days on account of frigid temperatures.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat.

Comments (23)

When Winter Punches

By Sue · Comments (31) · January 23rd, 2014

Winter in Chicagoland is magical, friends. Just magical.

Well…to be fair, it’s a little chilly. In a magical kind of way.

With an abundance of snow that magically blocks my driveway and impedes my finely honed carpooling abilities.

Gwen the Rescued Foxhound-Beagle Mix refuses to venture out into the frozen yard to do her business, magically transforming my back deck into a Winter Wonderland Poopdeck.

I scuttled out to the mailbox yesterday and regretted it the instant I touched the little red metal flag on its side. By the forces of what can only be described as magic, my right thumb and forefinger are still attached to that flag. Now I wave to them with my other three fingers, or sometimes just offer a one-fingered salute, through the front window.

Sigh. Chicagoland gets punched right in the privates by winter each and every freaking year. Is that what you wanted to hear?

Because it is the gospel truth. As you may very well know, Chicago has earned the moniker of Chiberia in light of the fact that this winter has been particularly, throat-seizingly, breath-snatchingly cold.

Yeah. Good times. I can hear you folks in Florida and Hawaii and Arizona and Taiwan and Anywhere But Here laughing at me. You can all just stop it right now.

No, really. Quit it.

But. Chiberia is occasionally granted a temporary reprieve from the bitterness, as was the case this past weekend. Temperatures soared to 37 degrees, and we in the City of Wind donned our swimsuits and enjoyed impromptu pool parties.

That was a lie. But this is not: The Cherubs and I took full advantage of the balmy weather.

Yessirree. We punched Old Man Winter back. Right in the privates. And it was magical.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat.

Comments (31)

Better off Without…

By Sue · Comments (19) · January 16th, 2014

Do you ever get the itch for change?

Of course you do. We all do.

Unless you are a statue. But then you most likely would not be reading these words today if you’re one of those.

But then again, if you were a statue, you would probably be Jonesing for change all the livelong day…you would just be rendered incapable of it.

Poor lil statue-friends.

But back to the point at hand. I was itching for change. So I made a lot of them.

Changes, not itches.

In between the sucker punches, I’ve spent the past several months reconfiguring the first floor of my home, assisted by the brilliant mind and loyal friendship of Mindy from Styled Living. Each room has been given a new design or purpose. I’ll show you around in time.

Today? I’d like to start in the kitchen. The room in which I decided that I’d be better off without my kitchen table.

No, we’re not eating off the floors. Although The Small One did propose the idea when I announced my plans to do away with the behemoth thing.

The table, not The Small One.

Again: The point at hand. This is what my kitchen looked like prior to the redesign.

Photo courtesy of styledlivingblog.com

This one, too.

It was a great kitchen. With a great table. But I had this vision…a vision in which my Happy Hour(s) guests didn’t all stand cramped around that smallish island…a vision of a streamlined space which could accommodate meal preparation, homework, before school breakfasts, casual weeknight dinners…and yes…the occasional sizable Happy Hour(s).

And so?

We did away with the table.

And we did this instead. We love it to no end. The bi-level design suits our needs perfectly.

Kitchen prep space on the lower section…homework and eating space on the upper…two paint cans and my yellow down jacket in the back right corner…{I will never learn to properly stage a photograph}

Large Under Counter Cabinets with Glass Doorknobs

The super-sized cabinets afford us tons of added storage. The Cherubs fit neatly under the bar, and, with the snap of a padlock? It’s a convertible time-out space.

Serious Happy Hour(s) functionality abounds.

And…when you consider the expense of a complete kitchen overhaul, the price tag on this project was modest by comparison.

Yet it still satisfied my itch for change.

And the kitchen table?

Oh, it’s tucked away safely in storage. It’s a nice piece, and perhaps it will be put to use again one day.

But in the meantime?

We’re better off without it.

pssssst…itching for some more eye candy? Follow me on Pinterest. All of my home projects…and tons of other goodies…are organized there.

Inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat

Comments (19)

The Survivor

By Sue · Comments (37) · January 9th, 2014

I am a loyal and committed person. Really, I am. Ask any of my friends, former colleagues, fellow PTA slaves, or Cherubs.

But this blogging thing? For some reason it doesn’t “stick” with me. Um, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m about as loyal to this site as I am to my brand of toothpaste.

As the Small One put it, this morning my breath “stank all cinnamon-y instead of stinking all mint-y.”

But what does he know?

And what do I know, for that matter?

I mean…what is the purpose of this site? To make money?

Please. The good people at BlogHer are onto me every time I put down the proverbial microphone and they revoke my meager kickback privileges quicker than you can say my dog’s full name.

Which happens to be Gwendolyn Jane Brooks Coates Dog Thing Poop Corner.

“Eats Caution Tape” is her lesser used middlest name.

But that is a story for another day. A day when I have the opportunity to sing for you the song that I penned around her name.

Ahem.

So why do I do it? Blog, I mean?

I don’t have a “niche,” as they say in the blogosphere.

Folks don’t come around here to glean Feng Shui tips. Or Paleo recipes. Or Dear Abby-esque advice. Or crocheting how-tos. I write about a little bit of this and a snippet of that, and I’m not much of an authority on anything.

I do it because I just like it. The writing. Until I publish that first novel, this little corner of cyberspace serves as my virtual calling card and a big recycling receptacle for all the oddness that flits around in my sassy little brain.

But sometimes? I don’t like it. The writing. My sassy little brain runs dry, so to speak, and the words do not flow. And so then I stop. Not forever…more like those Black-Eyed Susans in my backyard that wither away in the fall, appear dead to the world through the winter months, and then return with renewed strength each summer.

Yeah. Like that. My name *is* Susan, after all.

Coincidence?

Why, yes…yes, it is.

Only my eyes are brown instead of black. I’m not one to rumble, usually.

But I did wither a bit this fall. There was the loss of my sweet friend, followed by a series of sucker punches delivered by Life that left me almost literally gasping for air and wondering what the eff God had up His sleeve when He allowed for the blows to keep coming.

And coming.

And I still don’t know what the eff He has up his sleeve.

But I’m still here.

Breathing. Gasping at times…but breathing. Each breath is a reminder that I am alive. I am a survivor.

Oh, LAWD, no. I speak metaphorically.

I am stronger than I know thanks to this God who is stronger than any of us know.

Is that vague enough for you?

Perfect. Maybe I’ll delve into it here one day…

…and maybe not.

But in the meantime?

I’m back for awhile.

And I think I quite like it. Thank you for coming by today, friends. And please do drop in next Thursday, when I most certainly will have something more jovial to say. Something a bit more Feng Shui-ish or Paleo-like, perhaps. Because in between all of the sucker punches?

I’ve been a busy little bee. And I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been up to.

Linking with Shell at Things I Can’t Say

Comments (37)