Finally, every box is unpacked, smashed, recycled, and out of my life. All the goods are put up. Somewhere. What's not put up is put down in the basement. I wasted no time hanging my favorite wall saying over the stove where I'm learning to cook. I could choose to order take-out, but we're back on the Dave Ramsey wagon heading toward Financial Peace, so cook I must.

On that note, oh how that Pioneer Woman is my hero. I have taken to hanging out with her recipes and writing up menu plans and making my grocery list. Never in my days have I made grocery lists. I even organize them by departments - produce, dairy, meat, other. I'm sure there are names for the "other" items, but I just can't be bothered to come up with them because I'm so busy learning how to turn on my ding dang stove. That thing has five burners! And it gets so hot that I've set off my smoke detector at least once a day since my mission to learn how to cook decent healthy meals full of butter for my loving family. (Did you know that if you burn toast you can just scrape off the black part and it's good as new?)

Get this - I made my debut with Thanksgiving. OK, white lie. I actually cooked crispy yogurt chicken on Thanksgiving Eve. It was delicious and crispy and tasted nothing like yogurt. But for daggone real, I cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal all by my little self and even cleaned up to boot. I'm a bit particular about clean in my kitchen.

Oh, proud as a peacock, I was. Not to brag or anything. But this is big stuff. BIG. Seriously B.I.G. I once cooked a broiler chicken and couldn't even stand even touching it. Raw. Cooked. Either way, it was altogether gross and dumb. But now, well, I picked up a 15-pound turkey, dunked it overnight in an apply brine solution, stuffed fresh herbs under the skin then crammed the whole thing in a baking bag, and baked that poultry. Imagine my surprise when it was tender and juicy and edible.

I owe it all to Pioneer Woman.

I also made homemade stuffing, but I didn't stuff it in the turkey. You would have to put it in the turkey cavity, which is a fancy cook way of saying its butt. That's gross and dumb, just like that chicken I mentioned. So I made it in the oven all by its lonesome and it was bacteria free and yummy, just like Pioneer Woman promised.

Also on the menu -

homemade cranberry sauce.

See below? Proof. I really did this.

Oven roasted asparagus

whiskey glazed carrots
man, oh man, these were good. And I'm not a whiskey woman.
But, oh wow.
These were the yummiest carrots on the planet Thursday.

fresh baked white bread

a whole entire box of butter

real butter

sweet potato pie

and pumpkin pie

OK, so I cheated a little bit. I accidentally bought the sweet potato pie thinking it was a pumpkin pie. Then I realized at home that all things orange are not pumpkin. So I plopped some marshmallows on it, baked it, and then cooked a Sara Lee frozen pumpkin pie. It's the only thing left over from Thanksgiving dinner.

And honest to goodness, we humans did eat the meal. Really. Emma the Dog got a special plate for herself after we dined in the dining room. Yes, we have and use a dining room now. She also washed dishes for me. I'm particular about clean like that.

So, now that all the boxes on the first and second floors are unpacked, their contents painstakingly unwrapped from 14 rainforests worth of paper and displayed here and about, boredom is knocking at my door. Oh, how I dreamed for days of lazy mornings, drowsy afternoons, and nap-worthy evenings. And now I just find myself thinking about things I could buy, if, oh, I had money.

Well, turns out, our fabulous realtor (or is it Realtor???) hooked me up with her genius hair guy, William. He works at Hairdresser on Fire, and let me tell you, baby, he was On Fire for me! He's my new beaux. OK, so he already has a beaux, but he's mine once a month, and that's all that matters about that.

Let me fill you in on my morning with William on Fire for My Hair.

First and foremost, he did not say one unkind thing about my kitchen color that went south back in Pa. You know, when I tried to highlight my head from a box of stuff that said it would work? I bought it at WalMart. That should have been my first clue.

But Will, that Fabulouslo Man, totally fixed all that. A few minutes in his chair and I was highlighted and lowlighted and coiffed happily ever after.

But, listen, people. That's not all. Because and plus also, Will, the Man On Fire for My Hair, said that since I was living in Connecticut and all, I could get my brows waxed. Cause people in Greensburg totally just don't do that. So, swipe, rub, RIP, and swipe, rub, RIP, and swipe, rub, RIP! I was WAXED! And it hardly hurt at all. Nothing like 40-Year Old Virgin.

Check me O.U.T.!



Oh, it's better than Botox, this waxtox is. I have brow bones! Who knew?!

It was totally by chance that we met up with Santa today.

Really.

We'd be the last people to go searching out Santa Claus before Thanksgiving. We still cannot believe that there are Christmas decorations in the stores and have been since back-to-school sales ended.

ETA - I know I have to get to Dollar Tree to get some Christmas ball ornaments to make that way cool wreath. Gotta get there before everybody else does!

But still, we found him. Today. Alive and well. At Yankee Candle Village in Mass. We're that daggone close to MA, I tell you! Don't tell anybody, but I think this may very well have been the REAL Santa.

So, we were strolling through Yankee Candle Village, home to all smells candle-able. And lo-and-behold, there is Santa's Workshop before our eyes. And a giant sign that counts down the days till Christmas - 40 days, 13 hours, 13 minutes, and 9 seconds. Reminded me of the giant clock in Roanoke, Viriginia, that counted up the national debt. Turned out this was a bit of bad news on Roanokers' rush-hour commutes, so the clock died. Not unlike budget control. Not that this blog would ever get political.



And so, Camden and Benjy, not even realizing how real this Santa was, stood in line to wait to see The Man. I'm telling you, they didn't even care. They were just happy to look around at all the toys and sights and that doggone clock telling me I needed to buy some serious presents for all my loved ones near and far.


When it was our turn, let me be the first to tell you, Santa talked, really talked to the boys. He told them about how he isn't at the North Pole that often, how Mrs. Claus won't count squash pie as a vegetable, and how the reindeer only recently returned from the tundra. Seriously, I haven't used "tundra" in a sentence in quite some time now. Santa also listened carefully as Camden explained his idea for an invention that would create Star Wars guys and their vehicles. He showed Santa a diagram, told him how to turn it on, and then Santa said, "how do you turn it off?" And Camden, not to be beat, told him it turned off automatically. That's my boy.


This Santa has to be my favorite of all the Santas I've met. And I've met a few in my day.


Benjy, in his Benjaminess, told Santa he'd be happy with "whatever you bring me. I'll be fankful for it." Ahhhhhhh.

And now, because you need to be grossed out at least once a week, and who am I to stand in the way of your therapy.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

There.

Coming soon,


a


home!!!

Currently, it's just a house, but on Monday we close on our brand new used home here in Windsor, Ct.


Are you seeing that front porch? It's a real front porch, I tell ya! I'm probably just gonna sit there on that beauty for a few days before I unpack. Just cause. I haven't had a porch in quite some time, you see. Front porches are da bomb, I'm told.




The back yard here is huge and fenced. Emma the Dog has big ideas for that yard: poop, pee, sleep, run, poop, pee. So does Camden. He has drawn up extensive plans for a tree house that would probably require various permits and a mortgage of its own. See that nice wall there in the middle of the yard? That's not just any ordinary bit of architectural detailing. That used to be the rear end of the inground pool. See the inground pool in front of it? Me neither. The owner filled it in sometime between now and when the google map satellite snapped this picture.



That pool sure would have been a nice addition to our backyard. Cheaper than Camden's tree house. But it's definitely not there anymore. Perhaps Emma can dig it up for us.

The movers won't arrive till Tuesday, so we'll continue to reside at the Residence Inn nearby. Get it? Reside? Residence? Yeah, I thought so.



Here's a picture of the boys residing at the Residence Inn before I took them to school where they reside from 8-3. It was Veteran's Day Wednesday, so they were gussied up for the Veteran's Day program. We are so blessed that the boys love their new school.