Pink Mohair

Off to Ireland

I realize my posts have been sporadic of late (explained at Casapinka.) This week involved a few amusing moments, such as the cat door incident before dinner. Seems he smelled the catfood which we thought was out of reach. Don't worry, as Junior went through husband ran around to the other side to grab him (after a brief argument that this photo wasn't appropriate. HA.)

You know how men are. Husband dressed Juniorette in these scuffed up trashbin shoes to take her to church. As I was intercepting this, I noticed a tubular structure in her socks. "It's my chapstick mommmy," she whispered. Daddy said I couldn't bring it ." Excellent, a child well taught.

I'm telling you, blogging has really made the world tiny. As all of you were giving me sympathy about my job several weeks back, Di Overton of Designer's Block told me I needed a break, sent me a link to a 1 cent ticket from Dublin to England to visit her in her cottage for the day. I booked it and next Tuesday I'm off to Northumberland. We're going to hit a few thrifty/antique stores and go back to her little retreat. I just hope that England is prepared! I'm off to Ireland Thursday. Check back periodically in case I can post anything. Ciao!

I can't wait to stick this baby under my white coat. Next time I get some entitled patient who has diagnosed herself (wrongly) over the internet and demands a certain treatment after having had right buttock itching for the last seventeen years and MUST be seen at 3am because damn it, her ass just itched an extra lot tonight, then gives me shit because I tell her that her buttitchologist or primary care doctor (sorry, Suzanne in Maine) should be taking care of this, I'm going to stand, legs akimbo, throw that white coat open and stick my t-shirt in her face before I kick her itchy buttock outta there. And I'm going to feel GREAT doing it.

Thanks to Kiwi for the link. I'm really not that mean although sometimes the patients are!

Breakfast for Dinner

This morning my daughter proudly presented me with breakfast in bed at 6:07. "Look Mommy, I brought you your own pickle!" she announced gleefully. I bought pickles yesterday and opened them just last night. When making lunch today, this is what I found in the fridge. This means she probably ate oh, about TEN PICKLES between last night and lunchtime? Can't wait to see the periorbital edema tomorrow.

Husband has been on call two weekends in a row (single parents, my hat is completely off to you.) With HODAD splashing in the toilet bowl (see Casapinka) and visiting his catfood issues again, it's been a bit hectic. What better way to celebrate the insanity than by having breakfast for dinner?

I'm trying to learn to take prettier photos.

Ketchup is Juniorette's favorite food (other than pickles) so I tried to pretend that I was this great creative mom who didn't let her eat real maple syrup followed by a popsicle for dessert and then sit her butt in front of Charlie and Lola for 2 hours (after she spilled half a bag of confectioners sugar on the stairs while transporting it to her play kitchen.) I'd like to say that we practiced long division and quantum physics and followed the libretto to La Boheme but no - we repeated past mistakes and removed more catfood from Junior and did some chalkboard art while dinner was sizzling and mom was cleaning up the sugar.

Don't even ask me why my kid doesn't have pants on. I'm lucky I even remember he requires diapers. Sandrine, don't laugh - I'm sure lots of moms don't know what size diaper their kid wears (husband SHUT UP) - the box says something like 16-25 pounds; it's not as if he needs a 34 C or it won't fit!!!

Yes, my mom failed to notice that yet again I'm eating catfood. Dad, would you pleeeeeeease listen to mom and stop buying canned food?

I am soooooooooo tired right now. Hubs, after working fours shifts this coming week and having the kiddos for two weekends in a row, doesn't mom deserve a fifth of bourbon dinner and a movie?

Make a Terrarium

A blogging friend of mine, Amy, of DesignDNA, told me how to make a terrarium. We're big fans of products that involve "treasure" here at Casapinka, so I grabbed my daughter, told her to get some treasure and off we went.

I bought this glass bowl for $9.95 at TJMaxx.

We laid out our treasure for the terrarium - I managed to talk Juniorette out of the brass lamp finial.

We bought four succulent plants - one for each member of the family.
First you lay the rocks on the bottom - they absorb the water.

Next, you place a layer of soil and plant your plants

We then watered the soil and placed our treasure inside.

Yes, that is Hello Kitty peaking out from the left corner. My daughter insisted.

I'm back

I've been doing a lot of painting etc. at Casapinka so I've been quite busy. Junior makes things a bit more difficult these days. I put my printer on the ground because he kept pulling the cord, I rolled up the rug in my studio because he kept pulling out and eating the flokati fibers. I turn my back for one stinking minute and look what happens. One word is all I have : MEN!

(And for anyone who leaves a comment suggesting I get one of those Exersaucer things, Junior has one word for you: Amateurs!)

Designer's Guild Wall Hanging

For a tenner you can have this Designer's Guild wall hanging if you live on the other side of the puddle. Not bad...not bad at all. Check out her store, Suki Interiors, for other great wall hangings like this retro Ralph Lauren one.

She also has nice and tasteful Sanderson and other fabrics if you aren't into the above (like, if you're BLIND or something.)

This Really Happened

Fashion illustration  (not connected with conversation below. I just loved it.) by Lottie Frank ($20)

In the car yesterday, we were listening to NPR (National Public Radio for those outside the USA.)
They were discussing David Vitter (R-LA), the senator, and his prostitution connection as Juniorette absorbed it all.

Daddy, what's a prostitute?
Nothing sweetheart. Look, there's a McDonald's!
No it isn't, Daddy. It's trees.
Daddy?
Yes, sweetheart?
Are you a prostitute?
No honey, we're almost home and you can watch Dora if you want.
(Meanwhile, I'm wetting my pants laughing silently)
Daddy?
(Long, long sigh) Yes, sweetie?
Can I be a prostitute like you when I grow up?

Magic Platforms

This Farragamo platform is my fantasy shoe. Unfortuntately, it is in a museum and I won't be able to wear it (legally.) Ahhhh, platforms. When I arrived in Ireland in the mid nineties, every female had platform boots or sneakers. I was in HEAVEN. To me, the platform is the ultimate shoe; I love the attitude it conveys and they always make me smile to put them on. They can be clunky or more delicate (yes the can) but always lovely. Well, as you know, things have been pretty rough here at Casapinka.

So what does Pink do when the going gets rough? She gets out THE SHOES!!!

Yes, indeed. Is was clearly time for an intervention yesterday, so I wore these around and sure enough: Within six short hours, I had 3 phonecalls from colleagues at work calling to make sure I was ok and spell out how the situation will be improving. I even had a nurse get my number and call to say that the other nurses have my back and are angry at what has been happening, and will do anything they can to help improve things. The power of the platform, clearly.

I bought the shoes just up Grafton street on the left. I used to wear these to class and carefully remove them before Anatomy lab so they wouldn't get contaminated. I twisted my ankle numerous times in the cobblestones of Dublin and sometimes they would slip off while I was boarding a bus. You see, we do a lot of stuff in the name of love. I hadn't put these on in several years but somehow their magic still works. Thank God I kept them, right?

This was our library and my dorm was just to the left. I was running across that street once, lost my shoe and a Ford Fiesta ran over it. Luckily, the tire missed, but it was a close call. You can clearly see why these are such special shoes. Thank you, Pepe Jeans, for manufacturing footwear that a gal can proudly pass on to her offspring.

Karim Rashid Scented Shoes

I wish I hadn't found out that Karim Rashid designed these scented plastic shoes because now I want them and they are no longer manufactured. I don't care what you think about him, these shoes are freaking fantastic. Do you remember those scented Swatch watches from the eighties? Well, this is the grown up version of which I am clearly going to be deprived.

Oddly enough, I discovered this via the blog Blushing Apples. I was just now looking through it further and thought, "This woman has my brain!" but I hesitated to put it in writing because I certainly didn't want to insult her or anything. Well, it turns out she did an entire post on me a while back and I had no idea. So now I guess it's ok to make that claim because it seems we might have been separated at birth.

When it rains

A PILE OF DOGSHIT FALLS ON YOU.

Friday night, 8pm and all is dark. It is lashing rain, huge heavy droplets just pounding down as you and your daughter share a pink bowl of fresh strawberries and sit on the floor by the window. Suddenly, you decide that the better thing to do is run through the torrents of rain, carrying your three year old so you can go to Petite Caspinka, eat more strawberries in the middle of the rainstorm and spy on the neighbors. Any good mom teaches her kids to spy early - it's the best avocation ever, requiring hours of sitting still and writing in a logbook rather than smoking clove cigarettes behind the compost pile.

When both of you have to pee, you pick your kid up again and race through the backyard, around the little picnic table, slipping a bit in a mud river. You arrive inside exhilarated if a bit wet. Quite wet, really.

A few minutes later, through the pounding of the rain there is a sickening CRACKKKK....CRASH. You go outside and find that the Root Beer tree is partially fallen exactly where you had been running while carrying your firstborn. It smashes the little pink table that you don't really like but don't want to throw in the dump. Some of you may recall that, why, just last week we had another tree fall. Nevertheless, I think this has to be a Glass Half Full moment, even if everything does seem to be going to hell lately. We definitely aren't hanging bird houses today.

And to add shit to the shingle, I actually cried at work today. I never cry at work - what the f&@k has my life turned into?! Ok, Pink - breeeeeath. The tree fell on that ugly assed pink table, not your daughter. Breeeeeathe. Inhale that clove cigarette...