Good Intentions, Road to Hell, blahblahblah

I had so much to write about this weekend! So much to blog! So much to tell!
So very much that I meant to do!
And I did do so much!! I forgot to take before and after pictures of my project Auxiliary Bedroom, but, let's just say that I cleared out approximately 75% of the toys in that room. Why would I take on such a project? One that would require hours of sorting, bags and boxes, labels and the strength to purge?
One that would require a mama, almost single-handedly, to turn this:





Into this:

And this...

What could it be? Well, I am sick of living in a tiny house in which every damn surface is some sort of uber-magnet for stuff.
Sick. Of. It.
Sick of my daughter being such a collector that she has become a consumer at the ripe old age of six. Sure, we are also to blame; we have allowed her to receive the years worth of gifts from loving friends and relatives, allowed her to hold on to too many dress-up clothes and 'special' dolls, allowed her to accompany me on too many necessary shopping trips (ohshitanderrmm...can they tell the difference?) ...not done enough to encourage her to let go of her stuff and make donations with her money.
Sick. Of. It.
Also? Bubbles is not an easy boy to put to sleep at night; though we have tried everything I know since he was about 18 months old.
HELLO????? Past self???? This is your future calling. I know you were all stressed about this baby's health and all, but hey? You are an idiot for not making that baby cry it out and teaching him the greatest gift of all for him and for the entire family: putting himself to sleep. Because now? Here in Future Self's present? IT SUCKS to have a two year old who cannot go to sleep or stay asleep.
Sick. Of. It.
So he is getting moved into Supergirl's room...a tiny lean-to-ish room off of our large bedroom, which doubles as the playroom. We live in cabin. Built by hippies on dope.
Anyway...to get a child such as mine to even consider screaming himself to sleep as he threatens to vomit, etc....one needs to remove all distractions, such as....toys.
So the little Supergirl room will now become a little sleeping room.
And, while Bubbles battles this out with sleep and with us (lalalala-I can't hear you), Supergirl will do what she has always done...sneak into sleep in our bed until he is through it (should take a few months, considering the boy's tenacity) and then...possibly...they may be able to - dare I say it???? - SLEEP in the very same room? The sleeping room.
I shall paint the low ceiling dark blue and stencil golden stars over it. tune in.

All this organizing inevitably led me to compulsive baking, which of course brought me immediately to beer and cheese bread, yet again.
And I was feeling all cooky-cocky and thought I would photo-blog the whole process.
Like this lovely beginning shot I took,
of the copious amount of cheese-food slices and butter and beer:






Which really is quite a lovely shot, all innocent and uncooked.
And then I took another lovely shot of the beer being poured over the sugar and salt additions to the cheese-food slices. Mmmmm.

And then it got all foamy and delicious smelling. Seriously, at this point in the recipe, I think I could eat this stuff alone, as soup.
But I didn't.

And at this point also, I went into the garage laundry room to you know, switch some laundry...and there were some toys I still had to sort, and the boxes in progress, and the...STUFF...and I forgot the bubbly yumminess that I had turned down to simmer and came back to a good portion of the goo stuck to our glass stove top. And dh was there, making the discovery as soon as I was, but he was more angry about it, and I had to be the one to remain calm and let him the stove cool down before it could actually be dealt with. Because, as with cleaning a starchy food burned on to a pan, one must treat burned processed cheese goo stuck on to their stove top much the same way.
Cold water and a plastic scrubby. Yes, COLD water. Hot water just cooks it on more. But because some people in this house are rather impatient, fits must be had about the frothy rubbery burned-ness of the burner, and some other people get so flustered that they forget to take pictures of the damn mess and then more pictures to document the incredible ease with which the horrible mess was removed.
Such is the theme of the non sequitur and unrequited blog postings.

We ate the bread, it was good.

SO....Have I told you how much I love the Mexican Coke?

I love it a lot. WHY? Because I crave that shit every now and then; maybe once or maybe twice a week, and dh gives me no end of grief because of the poisonous high fructose corn syrup I willingly ingest in these moments of weakness. BUT! The Mexican Coke? It has the real thing. It has the real cane sugar. Not the HFCS. And I thought it would taste pretty much the same...but I was wrong. It totally kicks US Coke's ass. If you're into that sort of thing.


And speaking of kicking ass, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS STUFF?????


It fell out of the sky and it is quite cold. I don't like it.