July 17, 2008 | Mama Smith

not what you think

dreams

While not always true, dreams can sometimes be very telling about where one is at in life. Last night I dreamed that I wandered into our bathroom to start a bath for the boys, only to find it full of human feces. Full to the brim. I asked Matthew what should be done about it and he told me I should probably get some plastic bags and start scooping it out. Which is just what I did. With a new puppy pooping everywhere, a 3 year old who wavers between constipation and explosive diarrehea, and a 1.5 year old who somehow manages to poop down his leg often…this dream is not too far fetched.

I made ginger cookies the other day and rolled the leftovers to store in the freezer for later consumption. The above picture is what I unraveled yesterday afternoon. Too eerily reminiscent of my dream not to capture on camera and share with you all. I know, you’re welcome.

the art of cold soup

I ventured beyond gazpacho further into the realm of cold soups yesterday. Whipping up a spicy avocado soup with citrus-shrimp relish. Even with the insanely UNpicky husband I married, I was still somewhat hesitant at the attempt. To make something appetizing out of a bowl of cold, thick slop that could be easily confused with a can of some lumpy processed soup. But people, this whole cold soup thing doesn’t get nearly as much credit as is due. When dinner rolled around and Matthew arrive home after biking in the 90 degree heat and I returned from a run pushing both boys in the stroller, this was just what we needed.

carnage

3 more dead, only 500 more to go. These house flies are driving us insane. It must be a combination of our first summer living in the south, getting new puppy who has to go in and out all day long, boys who want to go in and out all day long, a back door that is constantly swinging open, and the poo and pee all over the backyard that causes these germ infested creatures to seek comfort in the coolness of our home where pieces of old food and drips of juice cover the floors, counters and chairs. If you happen to stop by, no doubt you’ll see me armed with my trusty fly swatter and paper towel to clean up the mess.

Yes Dad, I am your weird daughter who posts pictures of dead flies, “poop” cookie rolls and my lacerated finger. But the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, oh father dear, who would give his 5 year old daughter his “bloody thumb” he found outside in a matchbox. All questions about that one should be referred to my dad. Email me if you want his contact information :)