I Didn't Win My Curtis Doll

Sad news today. I did not win the buttoned-up doll version of my husband.

Folk Man Doll by Pepperstitches

Perhaps it's for the better. When I showed my kids the above picture, Mike said, "It looks like Mr. White." 

Mr. White Blows by Casablanca

Also, based on the feedback I've gotten from other people regarding this picture of Curtis... 

People should make dolls in my honor.

...I might as well get one of these instead:

I pity the fool.

I'm Not as Cool as I'd Once Hoped

EXHIBIT A:

I was invited to a Girls Night IN (friend's husband and kids were out of the house) in my neighborhood. It was a themed potluck: Summer Salads. I brought this:

Tossed Coconut, Banana Chip and Pecan "Salad" (aka trail mix).

EXHIBIT B:

To supplement (or make up for) my not-a-summer-salad, I also brought beer and a Dera Frances. We went together to the local liquor store. When I say local, I really mean "ghetto". Dera found her wine, no problem, cuz she's cool like that. There was not a huge selection of beer, but still I was overwhelmed. I usually buy Budwieser because it's the King of Beers and I don't care. But I decided that these ladies, just might care and I was trying to overcome my trail mix. Finally, I held up a six pack and shouted to Dera across the store,

"Is THIS beer cool?!"

So not cool.

EXHIBIT C:

I just downloaded this app:

So that I can understand what all the cool people are saying on the internets, and so that I won't be this mom:

 


Source: tumblr.com via Sarah on Pinterest

 

 

Exhibit D:

What I wore the other day.

I, personally, think this is cool (although the face I was making while sucking in my gut was not). According to my eighty "followers" on Instagram, however, not so much. Four* people "liked" it (over an eight hour period). To put that into perspective...

Within fifteen minutes, this picture of our neighbor cutting down our tree got seven "likes". Not that it's a contest (but I guess it totally is).

WTF! Well that's fantastic!

 

*Shout out to @julmorg, @khannah, @lpink75, and @barefootgal: Thanks for the Southern Rawk love, or the sympathy "likes". Either way, xoxo!

Urban Nature Walk

Mr. Weasel and I are not city people. Nor are we explorers. We are quite content site-seeing from our semi-surburban front porch. Leave it to our hip friends at Casablanca to get us out and about to enjoy the urban backroad of Atlanta known as the "Beltline Corridor".

Three Littles in a Big World. 

 

Woven Willow Hut with a Swing.


"Oh, Hi. Welcome to my hut. Please don't touch anything; we don't know where it's been."

 

Through the Willow Nest Window

 

City Sisters

 

Jethro came with his short legs for the long walk.

 

Everybody say, "BACKHOE!"

 

So many treasures to be found. "Look, Mom! Dried mud!"

 

Such a lovely evening with friends, but it's getting dark and Mama's getting nervous.

Scary Scarecrow

I've been spending most of my time the past few weeks in the garden. Mama Blanca and I have planted a few rows to hoe in her backyard. This past Friday we decided to christen our endeavor with a scarecrow. After all, birds were getting to be a problem and we wanted to involve the kids in some way. We decided that a Blanca-Weasel joint family scarecrow building event was just the ticket. Never mind that we ended up ordering the kids inside to watch a movie, while she and I finished the scarecrow, as though we were set dressers for the Wizard of Oz - carefully placing hay to have just the right disheveled oops-my-hay-is-falling-out look about him. It reminded me of how all our family tree-trimming events go at Christmas-time. They start with my visions of holiday bliss: the kids carefully picking ornaments out of boxes, tenderly unwrapping them from tissue paper and thoughtfully finding the perfect spot to place them on the tree, all while sharing the memories of Christmases past that each ornament evokes. The reality, of course, is that the boys end up breaking even the most seemingly unbreakable ornaments, and place the survivors within one eye-level square-foot area of the tree. Before we are finished, I summarily excuse them from the room and ban them from looking at another ornament or even thinking about the tree for the rest of Christmas. This was kinda like that.

Meet Cletus.

So what makes a Scarecrow scary? Could it be the "Delta Airlines" shirt? Dedicating 13 years to a company that cuts your paycheck, hours, and benefits - that's scary. Could it be the Army issued desert camouflage pants? Spending time in Iraq during the first Gulf War, those pants surely saw someone die - that's scary. Or could it be that our scarecrow is dressed like a working/military man, but has the face of a blow-up doll? Totally disturbing.

We were never really banking on Cletus scaring any crows (we had already covered our plot with bird netting). Now we are just hoping he doesn't attract something even more undesirable to the garden.