So, I totally fell in love with this:
The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Otherwise know as Pride and Prejudice told via vlogs. Amazingly funny modern take on the classic. Has some language, fyi.
So I was browsing around the internet, and happened upon these. I was on the phone with Chad at the time, and I was all like – These are a thing? Like, people actually think it’s a good idea to put a lid with a straw on a Mason jar? Only two things should be drunk out of a Mason jar – sweet tea or moonshine. Now, I’ve had a drink in a Mason jar – I’m not going to tell you which one, either. I am from Alabama/Mississippi. But. I didn’t drink out of a fancy straw when I did. Just sayin’, is all.
So, what are these for? Taking your Mason jar drink on the road with you? (Better be tea…) Giving it to you kids, so they don’t spill? (Might want to rethink – it’s a glass jar, if they drop it, it’s spilling). I can totally see Mason jar soap dispensers and other country-esque decorations, but the Mason jar drinking straws baffle me. Really. I laughed when i saw the shear number of these things on Etsy – apparently, it is indeed, a Thing. Who knew, right?
And it’s even on ThinkGeek. Ha!
So my constant battle against laundry is just that – a battle. I feel like I’m winning the war, over all, but it’s crazy and tiring, and I hate folding the kid’s laundry. So I end up like this sometimes:
I’m still following the load-a-day system, more or less, and it’s helping a lot. Like, when Brianna was sick last week, the extra laundry was just annoying, not catastrophic. But I still get behind when we’re busy (or when I try to read all three Hunger Games books in less than a week), and then Brianna runs out of socks and life is unbearable (for her. In sandals).
I’m guessing this is just something I’m going to struggle with forever. Maybe accepting that fact will make me feel less behind?
Here’s something I can get behind: a new unit of measure, the Kardashian – used to measure attention. The article pretty much sums up how I feel about celebrities in general, but specifically the ones that are famous just for being famous. The charts and scientific analysis, however tongue-in-cheek they may be, only make me happier with the whole thing.
I got a kick out of this:
Image by EpicGraphic
Brianna had her dance recital this week – she had a great time, loved the attention, and did well. In fact, for the second performance in a row, we caught people filming her instead of their own kids, haha. After hearing about so many of my friend’s recital experiences in the last few weeks, I’m glad we have Brianna in the program we do – besides being low cost, it’s really more about playing around and having fun, the recitals are no more than 30 minutes, and they certainly don’t stress performance. I mean, dance is not really a world I want to push Brianna into – if she was really interested in it, I might put her in a more rigorous school at a later point, but I don’t think a three year old should have to sit through a 3 or 4 hours recital or a full day workshop. And honestly, I’d rather spend the money/time on music lessons or something like it.
Of course, if Brianna gets really interested in it in the next couple of years, I’ll let her try it more… cautiously. While I’m a great fan of dancing in general, I think the culture of most dancing programs, and the scene in general – specifically the competition scene – can be really hard on a little girl’s self image. And honestly, there’s enough self-image crap out there to deal without without seeking out more problems.
These eagles live right by my house. Like, you can stand in my yard and see the nest. And that is awesome.
What is not awesome, is the stupid photographers that follow these birds around. The baby eagle can hardly stretch his wings without a dozen people snapping pictures of it – and they are all right next to our house. And I hate that. What I hate more, if when they turn their super-powered zoom lenses toward my house, for unknown reasons, and snap pictures. Or when they chase the eagles down, going inside the “protected” zone where no one is supposed to go. Or when they are rude to my family and my neighbors. They are there, all the time. Saturdays, people just camp out in the field. All day. Sundays, too. We’ve called the cops, they escort people off every now and again, talk to them sometimes and ask them to be nicer, but they can’t really do much.
So I’ll be sad when the eagles leave. But happy to have my privacy back. Thankfully, no celebrities are moving into my neighborhood anytime soon, because that might actually be worse.
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