Lest folks think that X stood with a whip under the ladder as I embarked upon Adventures in Larvae Eviction, let me be clear. X was all for calling an exterminator. But he married me, Kelli Courtney Oliver. I grew up in a house where my parents did as much as they could on their own before calling a knowledgeable friend to help. If that failed? Then, you called a professional.
And I married a man who is all about hiring folks to do things. We work it out, we find our common ground. Sometimes, that common ground finds me on a ladder, cursing him. But hey, it works for us.
My post last week was really about the Grind of it all, the special blend that comprises many SAHMs days.
I suspect every single person out there has their own house blend of Grind.
I read several blogs where every Monday there is much grumbling about a busy weekend and how tired they are. I am generally very selfish with my weekends. Fridays and Saturdays are open, but I try to keep Sundays free for doing "our" stuff - the gym, laundry, housework. It is a holdback from my days of college, trying to catch up on homework and then later, my days of working, trying to catch up on housework before another crazy week began.
This weekend was an exception to our rule because we had a family event on Sunday. And Saturday? Was crazy - we went to the Scottish Highland Games, then trucked over to Tonganoxie to hang out at my sister's house, then went to a friend's house to watch the Tonganoxie City Fireworks. It was a great day, but I was really scrambling on Sunday to catch up. Not because I was over-loaded with work, but rather, because I am used to being extremely lazy on Sundays.
Anyway - Highland Games were totally worth it! The smells (pipes, and Scottish meat pies), the sounds (pipes, Scottish meat pies) and the sights.
Also, I have a special Scottish edition of Handbag Thursday coming this week - stay tuned.
If one grandpa can wear a lungi, why can't the other wear a kilt?
Clan Fraser, Represent!
It is rumored in tight circles that my step-mom had an inkling as to what she was getting into when she married my dad. However, in her defense, he was NOT wearing skirts back then.
The Games themselves were awesome to watch - brute tests of strength with lots of grunting and cheering. FUN. However, I loved how some of the contestants' kilts were daintily tucked behind the chairs as if to not wrinkle them.
Insert your own damned NomNom noises [HERE]*
Scottish meat pies are the bomb, but fortunately, not the Belly kinda of bomb. Ahem.
*I am very weary of the LOLcatese that has proliferated blogs these days. Dude, you are NOT a frocking cat. Speak HUMAN!