Wrapping up my fabulous week as a guest poster at Nest & Launch. Click over to read about the change of perspective I am thankful to have received. This one is all about realizing what's important and what's not. You won't be sorry.
Want to learn how to make these?
You know you do. Pop over to Nest & Launch to see my midweek post. While you're there, give my friend Annie a great, big internet hug. She sent her baby girl into the MTC today and won't see her for 18 long months.
Pretty sure she's going to need some love.
Hi there.
I am posting elsewhere today. Please click over to www.nestandlaunch.com to read my wise words on how to survive a move.
If you've not been to that site already, you are going to thank me. It is run by my long-time BFF Annie and her friend, Sarah. They are brilliant, funny, creative women who have put together a blog for those of us parents in the "mid-stage," i.e., not raising babies anymore, but not quite done yet either. There are all kinds of how-tos, recipes, links, and amazing wit and wisdom. If I could pick one friend to be just like? It would be Annie. She is the bomb. I love her to pieces and miss her every day.
I'll be posting there all week. Honored and slightly terrified. Go read and see.
The other day, I was doing my best to suck the sweet, delicious marrow from our summer life.
I.e., I was attempting to sleep in until at least ten o'clock.
Pulling me suddenly from that blissful REM-land, I heard an urgent ringing of our doorbell. Throwing on my glasses, and nothing else, I ran for the door. Noting the time as I passed by the clock, I grumbled.
It was not even eight in the morning yet.
I threw open the door to find our chubby, mustached pool guy and, HOLY MOTHER OF JUDAS, the house alarm started beeping angrily.
Grumbling out loud, I ran to shut it off.
As my frazzled fingers tried to punch in our code, I heard the pitter patter of startled feet tearing down the stairs. "Mom!! What's going on?? ARE WE GETTING ROBBED?" they all asked in sleepy terror.
I begged them to go back to bed, and took my bra-less, bed-headed self back to the front door to see what the pool guy wanted.
Apparently, he just wanted to shoot the breeze.
Which meant that I wanted to shoot him.
Fortunately for me, the phone started ringing and I made my escape.
I answered to a panicked Husband, "Hey! Are you guys okay? I just got a call from the alarm company and they said the house was being broken into."
Yawning, I assured him that all was well.
As I plodded back to my bedroom in the hopes of salvaging my lazy summer morning, the phone rang again.
It was my mother-in-law who lives in Utah. "I just got a call! Are you guys being robbed???"
Apparently, we had put her down as an emergency contact.
Knowing full well that she was startled from sleep in an earlier time zone, I apologized profusely and assured her we were all safe.
Just as I hung up the phone, the doorbell rings again.
I fling it open wide, ready to snap at whoever is on the other side.
Thankfully, I didn't.
For standing at my front door was one of Frisco City's Finest. The FREAKING POLICE.
Apparently, after calling the Husband and his mother (both in other states at the time where they would be very useful in stopping any burglaries, I'm sure), the alarm company figured it might be wise to send the police out to check on us.
Apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time in about a 15-minute time period, I assured the officer that all was well. Arms crossed over my chest awkwardly, I thanked him for the response and wished for the second time in one day that I slept in a bra.
And then, I went back to bed. Where I laid there wide awake and listened to the Spanish radio station from the workers outside my window. And then heard the pounding of whatever rocks they were smashing together. Then I threw a pillow over my ears at the sound of my children fighting upstairs over the Minecraft. And my fat stomach growled. And a fly buzzed by my ear before landing on my face.
I am thinking the marrow from this summer life tastes a bit like an onion.
And I HATE onions.
Dudes. I am about to tell you the secret to happiness.
We went on a family vacation to Seattle a few weeks ago, and I innocently sat down to breakfast one morning without realizing my world was about to be rocked.
Sitting so prettily in a crystal goblet was the chewiest, nuttiest, most flavorful granola I have ever had in my entire life. Macadamia nuts. Coconut. Almonds. Pistachios. It's like all the world's perfect foods got together for a family reunion in my belly. This granola and I were meant to be soul mates.
As soon as we returned home, I vowed to recreate the best granola known to man. It took me a few tries, and a little bit of tweaking, but I have done it.
And, because I like you, I'm going to share the chewy goodness with you.
Definitely keep an eye on it in the oven. I loved the chewiness of the original, and if you don't stir it or cook it too long, it will get crunchy. Also? I was unable to find unsalted macadamia nuts, so I just threw in the roasted & salted. It by no means ruins the deliciousness, but next time I am going to try and find some without salt as you can taste a hint of the saltiness from the nuts.
I have been eating this for breakfast every day since we got home, combined with Greek yogurt and a bowl full of strawberries.
One batch makes a TON, so be prepared to eat it quickly or toss some in the freezer. For those of you who are interested, my calculations put this granola at 92 calories for a 1/4 cup serving. Definitely less than the crunchy crap I've been buying at the store. (Too bad I want to eat it by the pound, though).
Happy granola-ing!
Way back in 2008, I posted a photo of what was then my favorite room in our house. Lovingly crafted with the Husband's math skills, the photo gallery wall was a centerpiece of conversation in our home. The soft sunlight in the late afternoon made that room a very cozy spot to curl up with a good book and ignore the children.
Hours of my life were spent doing exactly that.
I mean, really. Who wouldn't want to curl up in this room?
With the invention of the Pinterest, I have received countless emails about the photo wall. What are the dimensions? How big are the photos? Where did I get the frames? Would I have an affair with a clown while eating a sandwich?
Okay, maybe not that last one. I made that part up.
But it could happen! (Except not with a clown. And probably not while eating a sandwich. A cookie...maybe.)
Recently, with our move to Texas, the wall had to find a new home. In our new home. With wall space being at a minimum here, we were pretty limited in where we could hang it. We settled on the big wall in our dining room. I bribed and cajoled the Husband, and voila! The wall was once again in my life.
Since I got an email from someone just this week (hi, Julie!) asking about the dimensions, and I happen to have them all written down as part of the aforementioned hanging, I figured a post was in order to preserve the information for future Pinteresters.
So, here it is. The dimensions from my favorite wall of all time.
Oh, and we got all the frames at Michaels. They are all the same frame, and it took four weeks and visits to three stores to acquire enough, as, inconveniently, they didn't carry them online.
You're welcome.
Welcome! I am Christie, a wife, mother, and diet coke addict. I write to remember the gift that is my life. I wear diamond shoes, complain frequently, and wish desperately that my babies would stop growing up so fast.
“You’re all too self-absorbed to pay any attention to me!”
