Lowes, You Magnificent Bastard.

About a week ago I was discussing my love of fresh mozzarella cheese and lamenting it's cost. (for some reason they charge you like it has gold in it.) I explained that I use it in my go to picnic fare.

Tomato and mozzarella salad. A little fresh basil, some olive oil and some Balsamic vinegar and it's freaking delicious! Seriously simple and fantastic.

I stole this image from the internet since I didn't make it just for the sake of this blog.

 A few days later she sent me a link to make my own fresh mozzarella.


I checked it out.

Then I checked it out again, and printed it.

Then I started shopping.

There were two items on the list that I didn't have in my pantry. Rennet and citric acid. The rennet was easy enough to get at my regular grocery store, the citric acid was another story.

I tried every local grocery store and then started scouring the internet. What else could it be used for? Would a different kind of store have it?

I found mention of it being used in beer making so I tried the local homemade beer supply store and they looked like I was insane. I was going to try the whole foods place but since it is so far away I called first.

Good thing. They didn't have it either.

Finally I gave up and ordered the dam thing off the internet. It will be here Thursday.



Then today I stopped into Lowes to get something completely unrelated to cheese making and there it was. Tucked in with the bug killers and the patio furniture.

CITRIC ACID, apparently its for canning and not for body disposal.

So what I'm saving is I will be making fresh mozzarella tomorrow and I really hope it goes well because now I have a lot of citric acid and I have no intention to start canning, zombie Apocalypse not with standing.

I'll let you know.

On a side note the South is a funny place.

Also at Lowes were numerous squirrel feeders:

What is that all about? Up North we try our best to get rid of them.
Unless it's just to draw them closer?

Ah ha, well played South. Well played. I won't underestimate you again.

Here Comes the Time Machine

In addition to Facebook, twitter, and this blog I also have an Instagram account. (seriously I am in trouble when the robots take over. Or the EM pulse takes out all the electronics. Pick whichever tech apocalypse you prefer.)

I mention this account because a few days ago my beautiful cousin posted a picture of me and my Mom from  a long, long time ago. This of course prompted me to pull out the old albums and share some photos.

Sweet mullet like hair. (jealous? hell yeah!)

 This would be me (in the blue sweater. I was a paragon of femininity. Even then.) my younger brother Sal and my Pops. Or "The Big R E C C O" as we affectionately called him. He wasn't huge. More like regular size but there was something larger than life about him.

His hands though, were scary big. Ask triple S. He was certain Pops was going to choke the life out of him.

He probably wasn't far off. Luckily pops always liked him so there was never any attempted homicide.

Me, Aunt Cathy, Uncle Jack and my eyebrows. I figure they deserve their own mention. You see them right?

16 there. I asked for a Nordic Trac instead of a sweet 16 party. That would lead you to believe I lived to exercise but that would be a misconception. I did use it for a few years but then it became a clothes rack like so many of it's siblings. Maybe I should have just had a foot long sub at the local Knights of Columbus with a DJ that played the best mix of NKOTB, En Vogue and House of Pain?

As a side note. 16 was also the year this happened:

 

 That's me in the middle in the white dress with blue flowers. Me and these lovely ladies are heading off to the Soph Hop (The Sophomore dance.)  You know how foolish you feel when you see someone wearing the same thing as you? Imagine 3 other girls, wearing the same dress, at your little high school dance.

Seriously, 4 of us.

All dressed the same. Like creepy bridesmaids in search of a bride.

There is photographic proof of this but it's tucked into a yearbook, in a box in the attic, or maybe the closet, or maybe the garage? We have a lot of boxes.

----------------------------------------------------

Next time we can talk about this:

you want to know. 

You really want to know but I'm not telling you until next time.

You'll have to come back.

That is what they call a cliffhanger.

bloggers and knitters

Groups that apparently overlap way too much.

I should be asleep. It's late and the kids are tucked in bed, but instead I keep hitting the "next blog" button at the top of the page.

One blog after the next.

Here's what I've learned:

 Bloggers like knitting.

Or knitters like Blogging?

I can't be sure. The data pool is insufficient, (when I'm tired I get seriously nerdy).
Or maybe it's the Sample set? (I'm sleepy! Not a statistician.)

Bottom line, in order for this blog to get more popular I'm going to talk about knitting a lot more. Sorry if you don't knit but I'm an attention seeking lunatic.

Spoiled Children

Driving home from the gym today (like how I throw that in there to remind you that I am still preparing for that evil Spartan Race?) Colin starts his usual requests to go to various people's houses.

Social etiquette is lost on the young.

Me- "Not everyone likes to have crazy kids running around their house."

Colin- "Why?" (that questions never gets old)

Me- "Maybe their house is smaller than ours."

Colin- "How small?"

Me- "Not small, just smaller. Like our house in New Jersey."

Colin- "That's small."

Mind you our small house in NJ was over 2000 square feet. My beautiful delusional son lives such a spoiled life that our old house was small to him.

This is also why his insane lust for a bunk bed baffles me. I mean I get why he wants one. Sleeping on the top bunk is a rite of passage. I just don't get why he thinks he needs one.

I had a bunk bed as a child. Not because it was cool or because I wanted one. I had a bunk bed because when you live with your mother, her mother and your brother in a 900 sq ft apartment (That is small) you need to make the most of the floor space.

I'm not complaining. We were never hungry and we always had clean clothes and despite the space we got new presents every year on our birthday and Christmas. So really I'm not complaining. I only point out this massive difference to help illustrate why I don't see the need for a bunk bed. 

SIDE NOTE:
Colin's birthday is next week and he is getting a bunk bed. Mind you it is a hand-me down bunk bed. But he is still getting one.

I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to getting him unspoiled.


I can't help it. I love his adorable smile. His beautiful blue eyes and his perfect round cheeks.

Yes he's holding a frog but that's another story. 

Colin has just informed me that is a toad, not a frog. They aren't the same you know.

An Open Letter

Thank you. No seriously, Thank you. (yes this is sarcasm)

To everyone at the gym tonight who didn't say a word to me while they politely laughed at my jokes.

I have a friend who will show you her teeth every time you share a meal with her. She begs you to "check them". I thought this was insane. I mean really certifiable but...

This might have been staged for dramatic effect.

There was a piece of oregano in my teeth from my dinner. Seriously!

As soon as I got home I went into the bathroom and sure enough, there it was. Big as you like.

I made two stops after I left the gym.

People stared and I'm pretty sure it had everything to do with my teeth and nothing to do with the fact that I was wearing pigtails and a dewrag, not to mention the smell.

It was definitely the oregano.

What must they think?

I felt shame.

I'm going to floss and brush one more time just to be sure my chompers are their shiny best and then maybe I will be able to sleep tonight without having nightmares about rotting teeth.

PS

I don't want to have to ask so please raise your right hand and promise you will say something next time.

Tug Boat Time

That's kind of like Miller Time but a lot less fun. Sure there is Sun and Sea and occasionaly dolphins but....

Well if you have never worked on a boat, and I don't mean that silly little skiff you have sitting in your driveway, you won't understand.

If you want to try and understand, or at least see how those salty sailors live:


Chronicles of Crew Change


The Husband, AKA triple S has a blog.  <3

Enter at your own risk. He has been known to ruffle a few feathers. :-)

Dante's Inferno

 

They say the 9th circle of hell is the one reserved for betrayers. I'm not about to argue with that but I would like to know who I betrayed?


You might be asking yourself why it is that I think I'm in hell. (Excellent question by the way.)

3 words.

Bathing Suit Shopping.

Now one might think that this year would be less stressful than last since I've lost weight and am working out. You'd be WRONG. Horribly Horribly wrong.

This year the nightmare is being caused by my top half. Which despite my shrinking size has refused to follow suit. (Triple S is glad for this.)

I just want a suit that will allow me to chase after my kids without the fear of a wardrobe malfunction without having to get one that looks like it's 1920.

Is she wearing tights?

 I've already been to 4 stores and spent way too  much time online. Maybe I just wont go swimming at all this summer?

That doesn't seem like a real option so I'm off again. Fingers crossed today I will have success.