Category Archives: Pretending to be Domestic

In case I freak out randomly…


Sorry I’ve been avoiding you.

It’s not you.

It’s me.

And the human growing in my abdomen.

That’s right. I can’t keep a secret, so I’ve avoiding posting on here until the news was out in the open and people knew.

And by “out in the open”, I mean FBO. Facebook official.  You know, the new formal announcement to let all of your sort-of acquaintances know what’s going on in your life so they can stalk you for the next 6+ months. Hey, I’m not judging. I’m guilty of it, too. And there are a lot of my friends on there, too.

So, the little one will be arriving around the end of October and I’ve heard suggestions of keeping a journal to remember all of the ridiculous interesting things that come up between then and now. Here are just a few of my observations:

1. Now my dreams are all wacked out. To the point where I’m afraid to be unconscious. I just never know who will show up or what interrogation methods will be used to track down Jack Bauer. I’ve clearly been watching too much 24 on DVD…

2. The Beast knows. And she may or may not be okay with it. She won’t leave my side and needs to cuddle. Constantly. Even in the small recliner we have.

3. My hormones haven’t been too bad except in one aspect of my life: road rage. As if my strong dislike for my fellow commuters wasn’t already outrageous.

Zipper. Merge. Do it, people. Seriously, don’t make me hormonally rage on you.

4. I can really get away with doing nothing now. I have a built-in excuse even though you can’t see it yet.

And most importantly:

5. I have no idea what I have gotten myself into.


The Talent I Never Knew I Possessed.


(Yes, I am aware that it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. I fell into the ever-growing Holiday Black Hole. Sunday is thankfully our last holiday celebration, at least for a few months, so I’m hoping to recover to my former state soon.)

It’s taken me a week to come up with the best way to describe my latest discovery of how truly awesome I am. Not only am I supremely fantastic* and incredibly humble**, but I continue to amaze myself with my variety of talents.

Dancing while driving.

Making a frozen pizza on the Pizzazz.

Watching 12 hours of TV straight.

But last Friday I even managed to shocked myself.

It was the Christmas celebration with my in-laws last Friday night. All of the brothers were there, along with the parentals and even the grandparents. To try something new, my IL’s decided on some festive fare for the occasion.


I love fondue. Cheese. Chocolate. It doesn’t matter. As long I can cover vegetables and/or cookies in it, I love it. And it loves me.

Well, at least I thought it did.

Having 9 people using one pot of oil to cook meat caused quite the issue when it came to space, so I decided to sneak in first and get my bitty piece of pork sizzling first. The rest of the family joined the feast and soon my dinner was ready!

Being logical, I let the metal skewer cool on my plate.

Apparently I’m not logical and/or did not let it cool long enough.

That’s right:

I burned myself while eating fondue.

Another embarrassing talent.

Not only did I burn myself, I burnt my lip. The metal skewer barely came close to my lip, yet somehow I quickly blistered and found myself in pain. But there was no way that I could make a peep…my BILs would never let me live this down. I just stuck to veggies and lukewarm cheese for the rest of the evening.

And while I am fond of weird and sometimes grotesque medical issues, I did not take a picture of my ailment. I did not to subject you to such horror, so I will demonstrate the results in my most favored medium:

Painted pictures.

Now here’s what I look like normally:

Well, at least that’s what I looked like a few years ago. And yes, I cropped Steve out of this picture. I didn’t want you distracted by his stunning good looks.***

And pay no attention to the teeth.

Now here’s what I imagine the injury looked like:

Not too bad, you say?

Oh, you are sadly mistaken.

This is what it felt like it looked like.

So, see, it was horrific. And mortifying.

Why, fondue?

Why do you hate me? How could you hate this face?

*I’m not really that vain.

**Seriously, I’m not.

***This statement is 100% true. Just don’t tell Steve that. It’ll go straight to his head.

Who’s crafty?


Our friend has been staying with us while she was working a short-term job (relatively) close to our house. We decided that Friday would be a night of  Steve watching a movie while my friend and I crafted.

Or as I like to call it:

Rae burning herself with a hot glue gun.

4 times.

While watching Ryan Reynolds in spandex.

I should not be so easily distracted when crafting.

Mine would look this good if I had patience and didn't have hotdog fingers.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, I spent a day in my mother-in-law’s quilt shop and she taught me how to make zipper daisies. (See picture above. I had help. A lot of it.) My fingers are still recovering from being overly poked. They required a wee bit of sewing and almost every customer that came in to find fabric and such steered clear of my area.

Probably because of the grunting.

I’m really bad at crafting. I take crafting very seriously.

These are super cute and I wanted to make some for people I know, but I didn’t grab zippers from my MIL before I left and I definitely did not have the patience time to sew all of these.

Enter: hot glue gun.

Boom! Crafted.

Next on the list was something that Aly found at Lowe’s, but it anyone asks, we came up with it on our own. We’re just that awesome.

The painting aspect was a bit daunting for the both of us. I can hot glue, but when it comes down to drawing or painting, count me out. Luckily, this little guy only had stripes and dots, both of which took practice but not nearly as difficult as a nose.

The Beast practiced her reasoning skills when her father and Aunt Aly put her kong filled with tasty treats under her mortal enemy.

Why she’s afraid of the clothes basket, we’ll never know.

This puzzle took her a while: pushing it around, hitting it with her paw, howling at us for laughing.

She did push it over to the stairs and tried to go under it while it was hanging over the edge, but then she reached her limit and hip-checked the basket down the stairs.

She’s a genius.

On Saturday we were prepping for our annual holiday party, so Aly and I went in search of sterno light-heater things. Much more difficult to find than you’d imagine.

We took a detour to stop at one of my favorite local stores and saw this.

And I immediately thought of this. Obviously.

I need this penguin. She’s just so darn cute.

And tall.

I texted Steve a picture of the future Ms. Penelope the Penguin.

Rae: I want this.

Steve: I never know if you are kidding or not.

Rae: It depends.

I’m still hoping that Penelope will end up under our tree this Christmas. She’s a poor blind penguin that is just looking for a little love in the cold Minnesota tundra and the best part: she’s even on sale!

Maybe when my short friend comes out to visit before her big move she can convince Steve that Penelope is a responsible investment and could become a family heirloom.

My future offspring are in for a treat: the strangest mother on the block.

And a large metal penguin.




There are many things I am thankful for:
— Game shows.
— Bacon.
— The Beast’s ability to keep me warm by sitting on my head.
— The Detroit Lions being better than the Minnesota Vikings this year.
— Not having to have surgery this year, unlike some people I know.
— Family, friends, faith, blah blah blah. You know, the usual stuff.

I have nothing to fear but fear iteself. And snakes.


Wednesday night, Steve had mentioned something about cutting the grass and making salsa on Thursday night after work. Trying to be helpful, I asked if he had filled in the recently discovered snake-hole in our yard.

Steve: “No…”

Rae: “Well, I was going to help you by cutting the grass, but now I won’t. Not while they’re out there…”

Steve: slight eyeroll.

I imagine that Steve did not believe that I would actually cut the grass because he never saw me do it before. And it would involve me partaking in physical activity.

This picture is a misrepresentation of the snake(s) that supposedly dwell in our yard. I’m absolutely positive that our local snakes look much scarier and man-eating that this smiling bafoon.

Not that I’ve seen one in our yard…

But still. I know they’re scarier. Even their shedded skin is frightening.

And note: I couldn’t even put a real picture of a snake on this post. The idea of Googling pictures of snakes makes me hyperventilate.

After feeling like I was the size of a house all day on Thursday at work, I decided that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad of an idea to help Steve. Plus, he does pretty much everything.

The only problem was those darn snakes.

They ruin my days.

Now, you may say, “Rae, so what? You’re afraid of snakes. Get over it, you pansy.”

But this isn’t just that I’m afraid of them. It’s some sort of sick, twisted fear that causes my lungs to stop and my legs to move faster than they ever have before. I never knew I could run so fast until we saw a snake on a walk last year.

And yes, you may say that these are just your average run-of-the-mill garter snake and they’re actually beneficially to have around if you don’t want your yard to be overrun with mice and toads and mosquitoes and other various creepy-crawling creatures.

Oh yeah?

I don’t care.

I’d rather have a million mosquito bites on my butt than see a snake. Living. In my yard.

Or worse: Feta with a snake in her mouth. I’m pretty sure that I’d puke all over the place if that happened.


I can’t even think about it right now.

So gross.

But I decided yesterday that I can not live my life in fear forever. I sent out Feta to scare away any yard-invaders and then followed behind with the mower. If Steve wasn’t going to take care of our growing reptile population, I was, one chopped up snake at a time.

After a few passes across the yard, I had yet to see anything except a ton of grasshoppers and a very large toad that retreated into the field behind our house.

And then there it was:

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a teeny, tiny bit, but there was a hole located quite close to our slowly-growing lilac bushes in the back corner of the yard that resembled the one thing I did not want to see:

The snake hole.

Once I returned to reality after a brief meltdown, I hurriedly cut that part of the yard and moved on to finish the rest of the yard without a sighting of an actual slithering, sneaky you-know-what.

Later that evening, while Steve was making salsa, I told him that I found the snake hole, so he doesn’t need to hide it from me anymore.

Rae: “Wait, you tell me where the snake hole is that you know about.”

Steve: “Up by the front corner of the house. Why?”

I imagine I looked something like this.

Only with smaller eyebrows and more hair.

I am now complete.


It came yesterday.

The part of my life I have been long waiting for.

My Green Apple KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer.

I know, I sounds like an old housewife being so excited for this mixer, but I’ve always wanted one. And I was positive that anything I made would taste a million times better.

As I walked up to the front door when I got home from work, I squealed (a rare occurrence) when I saw the huge box from the UPS dude.

It took all of 15 seconds for me to rip open the box and start playing with it.

As soon as the mixer was out, it met up with its long lost friends.

I’ll never say if I actually used all of this butter for the cupcakes and frosting I made. Okay, maybe I did.

Here’s me with my mixer, Vanna, named after the wonderful letter-turner who I was fortunate enough to meet last December. Note my displaying arms, like Vanna. Sadly, my arms are about 17 times bigger than hers. I would know. I’ve seen them in person.

Maybe it’s all the butter I’ve been eating…Nah.

I even wore a green headband for the occasion. Well, actually, my hair was kinda greasy, but it just so happens that I had the green headband on already. Coincidence? No.

I also look like I’m 14 in that picture.


Luckily, I had the perfect need for this mixer yesterday: I volunteered to make cupcakes for a bridal shower being thrown for a nurse at my workplace. I did a little re-con work and found out that her wedding colors are purple and black and her favorite cake is white cake with white frosting.

A bit bland for my tastes, but I’ll still make them.

It is so nice to not have to hold the mixer. I could get used to this.

Action shot!

The recipe I used can be found here.

I’ve only heard good things about them from the people who’ve tried them, but I haven’t gotten a chance to eat one myself. I’m trying to work on my self-restraint.

Plus, I prefer something with chocolate. Literally, anything with chocolate.

Oh yeah, I’d eat that.

I’d try it.

Okay, I draw the line with chocolate-covered scorpion.

While I’ve been day-dreaming of chocolate, cupcakes baked.

Pay no attention to the crud on the window of my oven. At least it’s not dog hair.

And now for the part where I get a sugar-high from “taste testing” the frosting to make sure that it’s just right.

After this I went into a sugar coma for 10 hours.

I decided to pipe on the frosting since it’s really so much easier and looks much more impressive. And at this point, I was more focused on watching America’s Got Talent than frosting two dozen cupcakes.

As I sat and watched some trapeze artists from St. Paul, I heard a faint voice coming from the kitchen.

Rae….come and eat us….

We won’t go straight to your hips.

We promise.

We are starved for attention. So is your stomach.

EAT US NOW!!!!!!!

Needless to say, the voices from the kitchen won.

Stupid voices.

***Please forgive the quality of these pictures. They were taken on my phone. Except for the chocolate covered stuff. Those were taken from Google.



Because we have a husky, we often find ourselves going on walks around the neighborhood. Rarely works, but it gives us a chance to critique our neighbors’ yards/decks/garbage in their yard/yard sale selections/children.

We were walking along this “new” found path (which I sure is the home to many-a snake) and discovered this whole other neighborhood that we never knew was there.

Most of the houses were duplexes, but this one house had really neat flower pots out in front.

So, we decided to steal their idea. Best of all, most of our neighbors have never been back there and probably have not seen these cool pots before. They’ll think we came up with it all on our own.


I’m not creative.

After an exciting trip to Menards (that has escalators for carts…whole nother story…), we were home with a stick, some pots, dirt, and marigolds.

Twenty minutes later…


Craft completed!

Feta even helped a little bit by cleaning up the spilled dirt on the sidewalk. With her tongue.


1. Stick the stick into the ground where you want the pots. Make sure that the stick will fit through the holes in the bottom of the pots before you leave the store.

2. Place bottom pot through stick and onto ground.

3. Have The Husband fill with dirt because we had to buy the biggest bag of dirt possible and I’m far too weak to lift it.

4. Take second biggest pot and place on top of bottom pot, making sure to stick the stick through it.

5. Repeat Step 4 with however many pots there are. Or before your patience runs out.

6. Fill remaining pots with dirt.

7. Tell dog to stop eating flowers.

8. Tell The Husband it’s too hot outside to continue.

9. Plant flowers.

10. Listen to The Husband say something about filling up the pots too much with dirt and it’s just going to spill out everywhere because of….something….and then zone out.

11. Take picture of The Husband and dog next to pot. (Watering can optional)

Note: That mound of dirt in the flowerbed to the right is still there. It’s a reminder of how none of the plants I’ve planted there have lived. It’s a graveyard of foliage.

And don’t be fooled by the flowers back there…they are in a box and were just put there just before this picture was taken. And now, 2 days later, dead.

I’m awesome.