persephone33: (Christmas Converse)
( Dec. 22nd, 2011 07:55 pm)


Merry, merry! :)
KAHLUA FUDGE

... )



Chocolate Caramel Dreams
... )



COFFEE TOFFEE
... )

I have used ELEVEN POUNDS OF BUTTER AND 20 POUNDS OF SUGAR, so far. Holy diabetic coma and clogged arteries, Batman. I've worked hard for the past few days.

other stuff... )
persephone33: (Ethan=Little Draco)
( Nov. 23rd, 2011 11:10 am)
I love a good before and after, don't you? )
But if I told you, then it wouldn't be a secret. So here's a star bullet point update, instead.

★ I keep having the same actor's nightmare over and over and over. Five times in the last three weeks, I've dreamt the same non-existent scene in the play. It has the same words, and the same actors (that I know, and that are not in my current production), and despite having dreamt this that many times, I'm still always wholly unprepared for it. This morning in the dream, the director told me to watch the movie that the scene was in to be better prepared. I wanted to cry. Stupid subconscious.

★ We're having a billion people for Thanksgiving. Or 32. Either way, I'm having to self-soothe... It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay... on a loop. It's not the food, it's just having that many people in the house and making sure they're comfortable, etc. I was talking to a friend and fellow actress on the phone yesterday, bemoaning the state of rehearsals the telling her that I'm a control freak and that I kind of want to hide in the closet with a bottle of Crown, and she gave me some pretty sage advice:


Friend: You need to imagine one of those old time-y radios, you know? The ones with the knobs? And you need to envision one of those knobs being your 'give a sh*#' dial. And you close your eyes, take a deep breath and mentally turn that 'give a sh*#' knob way down. Or off.

Me: That's brilliant. Though, to be perfectly honest, I'm going to have to find that button before I can turn it down.

Friend: I'm not gonna lie. It might be in the closet with the Crown.

Love her. She makes me laugh.

★ Spent the better part of Friday refashioning a kind of crappy $40 JC Penney's dress into something sort of wonderful for The 39 Steps. And it only took 6 hours. :P

★ I spent over an hour this morning looking for a book my middle-schooler needed today, and we STILL didn't find it. Tell me this happens to other people, too, so that I don't sell the child into white slavery?

★ Pumpkins are still gross, and are still the devil. It's a fact. Look it up.

★ Due to the fact that I use my children to run lines, they now know how to swear in German. Mother of the year, folks. Right here. Please don't call CPS.

Supernatural spoiler? )

★ I really, really love Monday mornings, where the only noise in the house is Abbey the Lab snoring up a storm. Hope your Monday morning is as relaxing as mine. Happy Thanksgiving week! Or just Happy Monday, for those kajillion people of you out there not celebrating the American Holiday. :)
★I've decided that even though I don't have time to do it myself, I really love National Blog Posting Month, which is, for those of you not all-consumed by the intranets, is this month. I don't do it because I don't enjoy setting myself up for failure. Because honestly, I'm distracted by something shiny every, oh, five seconds or so. I'd never make it. But during NaBloPoMo, all my friends who are usually too busy to blog regularly do so for the whole month! It's like getting a glut of your favorite TV show. It's fun.

★Nolan signed me up to make cornbread dressing (stuffing?) for 40 people to take to our church Thanksgiving dinner. Do I get to go? No. Is Nolan going to go? No. But I'm still making the crap ton of stuffing. I can't even conceive of the amounts of ingredients for that. There's math in my future. Ugh. I'm not upset, though. Not about the signing up, or the making of the dish, or even the fact that I'm not getting to eat it. I'm upset about the math. Math makes me grouchy.

★Ethan just spent ten minutes trying to convince me that those yogurts that have Oreos or M&M's packaged with them to sprinkle on top are low fat and healthy for you. Seriously, kid. This is not my first rodeo. And: Ew, cough, gag and splutter.

★Tomorrow I have too much to do. A jam-packed full day. It's full of all good things, but there's not going to be time to breathe. I've become rather accustomed to breathing, and it bothers me a bit when I'm prohibited.

★Do you know when you do something, and then people really like it? That feeling you get when you get a pat on the back? I've had a dozen of those pats over the past week, for a short story I wrote for an anonymous fest where I still remain anonymous. Every single pat makes me smile. And if I could figure out how to respond anonymously, I would. But I am technologically deficient. It's a good thing I have other talents, for sure. Like making breakfast parfaits. I make a mean parfait.

★Rehearsal. Rehearsal is SO. MUCH. FUN. Rarely have I been with a group of people who are so creative and hard-working and intuitive as these boys. It's a delight and a joy. I've decided I'm going to do a picture a night on instagram. So you can follow the show and my crappy photography skills over there. I'm carriehuckabay on that particular site. Which is my actual name, if you throw in a space, for those of you who don't know.

★Also, and I'm loathe to "announce" it, but here goes: *deep breath* I'm breaking up with Sugar.

*throws self on floor and weeps bitterly*

It isn't Sugar's fault, and it isn't because I don't believe in Sugar's love for me, or even because I'm trying to lose weight (I'm ALWAYS trying to lose weight), or because I read the ebook of Skinny Bitch and secretly liked that the author was cursing at me like some sort of sailor with Tourette's. I'm leaving Sugar because I can trace all of the times I feel like utter and complete crapola to refined Sugar. Quite frankly, I'm sure I'll miss Sugar. I'll have Sugar withdrawals. I'm going to leave 2 a.m. phone calls on Sugar's phone and write Sugar a love Sonnet a day. But Sugar makes me feel like ass, and even if I do love Sugar from the deepest depths of my black little heart and want to have a billion of Sugar's little Sugar Babies, Sugar has to leave.

That metaphor went wrong somewhere. Alas. You have to know when to say when.

★That's all. *points to the icon* Make the right decision.

Cake. No... death. No! Cake.... It really is a difficult choice. As for me, I'm going to go Google 'Crapton of dressing' and see what comes up.

Later.
persephone33: (Musical Theatre)
( Oct. 25th, 2011 04:59 pm)
...That's not to be confused with a blog about cornucopias, which would just be boring.

A cute kid story, one of my neuroses, a Victorian costume slideshow and a callback, all wrapped up in one tight little blog. )
My house is arranged in such a way that all of my sons' clothes, toys, furniture and bathroom is upstairs. And that's all that's upstairs. Their stuff.

Once every month and a half or so, I venture up there. I know, I know, I should go more often, but inevitably, every time I go up there, it's like the rooms are a swirling vortex of doom, sucking me in against my will. I get trapped cleaning, rearranging, dumping, shouting and scrubbing until the place is habitable by human beings again.

The nitty gritty... )

Maybe when they go back to school, it'll be less like a pigsty.

Though there's no need to blaspheme the pig, come to think of it.
persephone33: (Angry bear)
( Jul. 14th, 2011 06:12 pm)
So I go to the door, since the neighbor kid is ringing it incessantly, and after I tell him that the boys are otherwise engaged, showering after being at the pool, and once is plenty to ring the bell, I see a situation on the front porch that I find bizarre. The cooler that we use fairly often, with a pillow on top of it.

SERIOUSLY?! )

Like the girl I am, I shrieked.

And I put the pillow back.

And immediately went inside and called up to the boys.

Carrie. Why is there a FROG in my cooler?"

Ethan. Because I put him there.

Me. WHY did you put him there?

Ethan. (grins) He didn't have a cooler of his own. I was sharing.

Ha, bloody ha, blond kid. You're on my list. And you're letting that frog go free, I don't care if he has his own cooler or not.

He looks a little forlorn, if you ask me.

Rest assured, there will be a release of the frog, a scrubbing of the cooler with bleach and soap and anything else frog-repellent that I can think of, and a little chat reminding him that WE ALREADY HAVE TWO PETS in the form of 70 pound Labrador retrievers.

BOYS. HONESTLY! ICK.
Which sounds like I've only been to Wal-Mart again, but this is not the case.

First, I must show you this. It is not for the faint of heart amongst you, FYI.

Eeeek! )
First of all, it was Ethan's eleventh birthday. Cannot believe my kid is eleven.

Second, went to AJ's talent show, where he and several other kiddos did a lip synch and dance to 'Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better,' from Annie Get Your Gun. I'm his mom, but it's pretty cute.
the videos... cut to save your page... )
It's in two parts because I absolutely suck at videotaping.

Three, I cooked all day for home group, but then I got a call mid afternoon from Nolan asking me if everything was okay. Turns out, there was a fire less than a mile from the house. It was a scary, smoky, crazy afternoon.

Fourth, the powers that be decided that they couldn't have home group meet at our house (there were streets blockaded and neighborhoods evacuated) so I decided that was divine providence, and we took Ethan to dinner for his birthday, and then went to Academy and got him a new bike.

Eleven. I have an eleven year-old. The mind reels.

Lastly, [livejournal.com profile] nolankyle and I did out first marriage blog. We're still working out format and technical stuff, but it's there. Special kudos to [livejournal.com profile] jandjsalmon for the layout. :D

And that's probably enough to be getting on with, right? Goodnight!
(Carrie combs Ethan's hair in preparation for his choir concert. Ethan looks at Carrie in the mirror, and asks)

Ethan. Mom, when you were in school, were there girls who thought that they were all that?

Carrie. Oh, yes. There are girls like that everywhere.

Ethan. We you one of those girls?

Carrie. I don't think so. I've been just like I am now since I was your age.

Ethan. Moody?




Touché, pussycat. Touché.
The boys have been learning the value of a dollar lately, and ever since the Easter bunny hid eggs with coins in them, have been counting and re-counting and hoarding like little misers. They decided that the first thing on which they were going to spend their egg-gotten gains was Star Wars III for the X-Box 360. I'm all about those little Lego characters, so I deigned to take them to Wal-Mart (I temporarily un-shunned the douche-y superstore to let the children use some gift cards that they received. It's evidently the price you pay when you love someone.)

It was agreed upon that if the total was above what the gift cards held, I'd take care of it, and they could pay me back when we got to the car, thus disregarding the need to take their empty paint can full of change into the store. It ended up being $5.74 over the gift card total.



(The errand run, the purchasers get back into the car. Ethan checks the receipt and hands Carrie $5.75 from the backseat. She takes it, and after a moment, she hears a throat clear discreetly in her right ear.)

Carrie. What?

Ethan. I need a penny back, please.

Carrie. (thinks about all the times she made the child meals, changed his diaper, nursed him while he was sick, washed his clothes and took him places, then opens her car ashtray, extracts a penny, and shoves it into his hot little hand.) Here.

Ethan. No offense, Mom. It's only business.




He's a shark. His father will be so proud.
Good morning, all.

I'm covered up with all of the things that I have to do today and this weekend - and I have some pretty great stories to share about life in the last few days, but here's a cute kid/royal wedding story for you Friday morning reading pleasure.
Cute kid story... )

Headshots gone wrong and promo photo for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels... )
That's too much information for some of you. Apologies.

What's got me all riled this morning is standardized testing. Just the mention of the TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) Test, the latest in a long line of similar examinations, is enough to get my eyes rolling and for me to huff in displeasure, repeatedly.

You haven't lived til you hear me huff. It'll send chills down your spine.

A story about how Carrie is annoyed by standardized testing.  )
Tags:
I could start this out a lot of different ways; I could tell you about the business part of the trip, or why we went, or whether or not it was successful, but I'm going to cut to the chase and tell you what was really important on this trip.

I went shopping.

Heck, yeah, I did. It was the most successful (read: expensive) shopping excursion I've been on in years. I was able to buy everything in smaller sizes, and really, that might account for some of the bulk of the purchases. (Carrie gets a little giddy about single digit sizes.) I spent an hour and a half in Anthropologie. I got a very fancy, kelly green, ruched dress, a blue and green patterned dress that is nine kinds of cute, and this little piece of amazing, right here. It might be my new favorite piece of clothing, ever. In fact, I don't think I'll save it for special events. The grocery store? Check. Teaching class? Right-o. Dance rehearsal? I think I will, thank you. I also got this, this and two pairs of these. Because you haven't lived 'til you've worn the boyfriend jean from the Loft.

Fine, maybe you've lived, but you haven't lived in super cute, comfy jeans.

Point of interest regarding retail shops: When did they start playing loud, obnoxious music to the point that you can actually feel your teeth vibrate in your head? I've really decided that the music is the go-to factor in deciding whether or not I'm too old to shop at a store. If they're blasting something that spills out into the area 10 feet outside the closed shop doors, you can bet I'm not going in. If they're doing that and they've pumped some sort of perfume/cologne combination to linger around the area while you shop, then I'm not going in times two.

If I were a math-minded person (not that that's something that I will ever be, or to which I even aspire, for that matter) I would make a graph, or a Venn diagram or something super smart looking and clever to illustrate my point. But alas, you go un-illustrated, dear reader. The cleverness is at an all time low, over here. Try to cope.

And my last little bit of information is this: I come home from this four day trip to a mountain of laundry. Inevitable, I know. I'm not complaining (much). However, as I pull the boys' dirty clothes out of their overnight bags, I realize that Ethan wore MY jeans on Monday. He had to have; they had grass stains all over the knee, and I think you and I both know (with the exception of one or two select activities) that is something that would never happen while I was wearing them. Ever. Now, thanks to calorie counting and denying myself the basic rights of Twix bars, I am smaller, and I'm happy about that, but there is no way on God's Earth that the eleven year old boy and I wear the same size. (Old Navy "Flirt" size ten vs Boys 12 slim.) Perhaps I should clarify. There's no way we wear the same size AROUND. In length, sad to say, his legs are as long as mine. Thank GOD I married a tall man. The boys have a shot at not being midgets. They also have big feet, because the same eleven year-old has snaked my red Converse for himself. It started out as a special occasion - "Mom? Can I wear these?" - and now he just keeps them in his room. Same size foot. At age eleven. I'd like to say that I have really dainty feet and that's why, but nope. I wear between 7 - 7 1/2, which is a man's 5.

That was a long, nebulous story that had absolutely no impact on anything resembling importance. Apologies all around. And enjoy your Wednesday, folks.
persephone33: (CARRIE)
»

So.

( Mar. 31st, 2011 08:03 am)
First of all on this chilly Tuesday, I'd like to report that my kids are watching a Looney Tunes retrospective thing that one of them recorded on the DVR, and giggling like crazy. Yosemite Sam transcends the ages, you know? And in "Knighty Knight Bugs," when he says with a moue of disgust, "Dragons is so stupid!" I laugh every time. I probably always will. Ethan said, "I like how Bugs Bunny always gets the best of everyone."

Me, too, kid. Bugs is hilarious. All I can think is how much fun my dad would have if he were here. I spent many a Saturday morning snuggled up on the sofa watching these same cartoons with him thirty years ago.

THIRTY years ago.

Gag.

I think I might have just thrown up in my mouth a little bit.

However, that segues nicely into the topic I set out to tackle this morning.

AGE.

Video clip and advice for the youth of today... )
persephone33: (I love vinyl)
( Mar. 4th, 2011 08:57 am)
I bring you a post with a story, this morning.

I've shared what I call 'cute kid stories' with you over the years; I think they're cute, anyway. You people might think they're moronic and I'm wasting my computer's battery relaying it - but whatever. Here's another.

Puff something. I KNOW it's Puff Something! )
We went to the family's cabin in Childress, TX (which is right between Quanah and Estelline, thanks for asking) for the long weekend. Below are the pictures to come out of it all.

Warning: There are a lot of pictures. I'm not kidding. A LOT. And there are cows. And strangely dressed children. And one victim of a hunting excursion. Be forewarned. I'm not listening to any whining.


The best thing about the cabin is that there's literally NO ONE AROUND. No people, that is. There are lots of cows. And deer. And cranes (minus one). And various other wildlife. You can imagine my moue of distaste on my face. But this weekend was fun. It was just the four of us. Well, six if you count the dogs. And we do.

Home, home on the range... )

And I showed restraint by only posting HALF the pictures. The other half got lost in my second crappy camera. I think I'll buy a new one with my birthday money. Then I can inflict GOOD cow pictures on you, and not the slightly blurry ones.
(Carrie's family is having lunch at Saltgrass Steakhouse yesterday, and Ethan is particularly animated, telling us a story about what happened the last time he was at church)

Ethan. You know how you always tell us to eat whatever is put in front of us without complaining?

Nolan. Yes.

Aaron. (Pipes up) You get what you get and you don't throw a fit!

Carrie. That's right.

Ethan. (glares at his brother) Anyway, we had cupcakes last week after the lesson, and our teacher's son asked for a cupcake with no icing. (playwright's note: This bit in italics is delivered as if it were "dropped the bomb on Hiroshima.")

Nolan. You don't say.

Ethan. Yeah! She knew that her son didn't want icing, so she saved one without just for him. She must really love him!

Nolan. Love doesn't necessarily have anything to do with that. The world isn't going to scrape the icing off your cupcake, Ethan.

Aaron. (pipes up again) That's okay with me. I like icing.

(There is a silence, in which we all ponder what's been said and the ramifications thereof...)

Aaron. Oh. That was a metaphor, wasn't it, Dad?

Carrie. (narrowly stops herself from swearing) What the-- A.J., what kind of eight year-old knows what a metaphor is?

Ethan. (preens) The kind with a ten year-old brother!

Aaron. (glares at Ethan) The kind that ignores his brother and listens to his mom.




I don't know of what I'm more proud: The fact that Nolan USED a metaphor, or the fact that the eight year-old listens to me talk enough to know what that particular figure of speech means.
Oh, my word. Pull up a chair and grab a glass of wine. This one's a doozie.

So after a day of deep cleaning in preparation for having folks over for the holiday, I made dinner this evening, a lovely pesto filled pasta in a creamy red sauce. After dinner, Nolan and I retired to the boudoir to watch television and have a glass of wine, and I, like the whimsical girl that I am, decided to paint my nails.

So far a pretty mundane evening at Carrie's house.

But then, I sweetly ask my husband if he would "go and get the clothes out of the dryer, and move clothes from the washer to the dryer," I asked, blowing on my nails, "so I don't mess up my polish?"

He grumbled as he got up, muttering something about "what have you done for me lately?" and reluctantly walked through the living room and kitchen, and into the laundry room.

When he got there, the noise he made can only be described as sonic boom-like.

Kids do the darndest (read: most dumbass) things... )
.

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