The Mr. and I took the kiddos camping. What fun! The wildlife was... er... friendly. We had multiple nocturnal visits from Swampy the Raccoon and his sidekick Stinky, near-constant daytime companionship from Nutso the Insanely Brave Chipmunk, and we even had a pair of slugs (Sluggy and Leroy) attach themselves to the side of our tent. Ahhh, wildlife.
I guess that campers in Wisconsin State Forests are doing their part to embolden the raccoons. On the first night, one or two of them were noisily trying to break in to our second tent (we always put up two - a larger one for sleeping in and a smaller one for the kids to play in. It keeps all the dirt and sand from their darling little feet off of my pillow). On the second night, as The Mr. stayed up tending the fire, Swampy provided the distraction while Stinky opened our cooler (yes, the raccoon opened the cooler. Without benefit of opposable thumbs even) and absconded with an unopened package of English muffins. I almost heard him shouting "Victoryyyyyy!" as he fled into the woods. Almost.
Same goes for the chipmunks. Nutso stationed himself in the firewood bundle under our picnic table, and darted out (sometimes directly under Wunderkind's chair) to catch the crumbs. Pretty smart to target the 4 1/2 year old. I can imagine the Chipmunk Gathering Committee's Annual Strategy Meeting. "Hang out by the short ones! They're less dangerous and they tend to drop more! Plus, they're more likely to give you the peanuts out of their trail mix." Evil (and cute!) genius.
Speaking of the peanuts from the trail mix, we observed and recorded Nutso stuffing thirteen (yes, 13) dry-roasted peanuts into his cheeks. It was unreal. His head was bigger than the rest of his body. When I asked Wunderkind what he thought Nutso was going to do with all those peanuts, he replied, "I think he's going to eat them while he watches a movie!" Oh, didn't you know? Apparently chipmunks now have some pretty impressive home theatre technology available to them.
The mosquitoes were, of course, out in full force. I've most likely started some sort of genetic anomaly in my children, given the amount of DEET I applied to their little bodies in the past 3 days. No ticks, though, so that's good.
We had such fun. I'm home every day with the kids, but there's something about camping that really seals the bond. The forced togetherness without benefit of technology may have something to do with it (thank you, Wisconsin, for not offering WiFi at any state parks. Good call.) or maybe it's the novelty of hiking in the woods ("the ominous woods," Wunderkind corrects me) and playing in the crashing surf of Lake Michigan ("I'm going to call it the ocean," says Wunderkind) for the first time this year. Could be the extra hand holding and snuggles around the campfire. Maybe it's the magic of s'mores and pudgie pies. Could be any of those things, most likely it's all of those things, plus getting to see all of it for the first time all over again through your child/ren.
I'm glad to be home and clean and sleeping in my own bed tonight, but I'd be lying if I told you that I won't be thinking fondly of Swampy & Stinky... and Nutso... and even Sluggy & Leroy tonight. May they feast upon English muffins and peanuts all of their days.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Oh, Dulce de Leche, why you got to be so delicious?
Ever have one of those days when you can't get enough salty? Or you can't get enough sweet? Or you can't get enough both?
Today was one of those sweet days. So thank goodness for sweetened condensed milk, a 60-year-old pressure cooker, and about an hour and twenty minutes of my time.
You can find plenty of recipes for making dulce de leche (which is Spanish for, literally, "candy of milk") online, but here's the one I used - since I wanted more of a thin caramel sauce for vanilla ice cream rather than the thicker, spoonable variety. Cook it longer if you like it thicker.
Take a pressure cooker. Take a can of sweetened condensed milk with the paper label removed. Put the can in the cooker. Cover it (yes, cover it) with water. Put the lowest pressure setting on. Once you're at pressure, let it roll for about a half-hour. Do a rapid release of pressure. Take the can out and fully submerge it in ice cold water. Let it sit there for 5, 10 minutes. Open it up. Try not to stick a straw in there and guzzle the whole can.
Wunderkind thought it was divine and declared me "best cook ever in the world." That's some pretty heady praise coming from a connoisseur of mac n cheese (fancy mac n cheese if it has hot dogs in it) and PB&Js. I'll take it!
Today was one of those sweet days. So thank goodness for sweetened condensed milk, a 60-year-old pressure cooker, and about an hour and twenty minutes of my time.
You can find plenty of recipes for making dulce de leche (which is Spanish for, literally, "candy of milk") online, but here's the one I used - since I wanted more of a thin caramel sauce for vanilla ice cream rather than the thicker, spoonable variety. Cook it longer if you like it thicker.
Take a pressure cooker. Take a can of sweetened condensed milk with the paper label removed. Put the can in the cooker. Cover it (yes, cover it) with water. Put the lowest pressure setting on. Once you're at pressure, let it roll for about a half-hour. Do a rapid release of pressure. Take the can out and fully submerge it in ice cold water. Let it sit there for 5, 10 minutes. Open it up. Try not to stick a straw in there and guzzle the whole can.
Wunderkind thought it was divine and declared me "best cook ever in the world." That's some pretty heady praise coming from a connoisseur of mac n cheese (fancy mac n cheese if it has hot dogs in it) and PB&Js. I'll take it!
Saturday, May 19, 2012
"Do you have anything like that?"
At 6:30 this morning, my 4 1/2 year old Wunderkind came bouncing out of his room wanting to know if it was time to go to the rummage sales yet.
What can I tell you? The kid is a lot like his Grandpa Superwrench. He's a social butterfly, he's a collector, he's out there looking for deals and socialization.
So, he and I went online to Craigslist, found a dozen local rummage sales, mapped a route, and counted up all his change. He had about $15 in quarters, nickles and dimes, all dumped into a big Ziploc-style bag. He was ready and raring to go.
While I was able to round out Sweetie Babe's summer and fall wardrobe (maybe even winter if she slows her grow a bit!), Wunderkind was looking to round out his stuffed animal collection.
As a side note: I know of some moms who impose limits on the number of stuffed animals each child can own. I am so not one of those moms. Wunderkind really digs on stuffed animals. His imaginative play is often centered around stuffed animals finding themselves embroiled in dire peril, with other stuffed animals (or Wunderkind himself) coming to the rescue. In order to have all that peril, you really do need a LOT of stuffed animals. Now I just have to figure out how to store them all. Watch for that in an upcoming post!
Another thing Wunderkind was looking to do was to bring something nice home to his baby sister that wasn't clothes. He explained to me that you can't play with clothes. I guess he's right. I mean, I've never heard of a t-shirt being in dire peril... wait, that's a lie. Many of The Mr.'s t-shirts are in dire peril of being put in the rag bin. OK, then, I've never heard of a t-shirt in dire peril ever being saved by a beanie baby snake named Hissy. There. That is a true statement.
At several sales, Wunderkind marched up to the person looking most likely to be in charge and declared, "I'm Wunderkind. I am four and a half, and I have a baby sister named Sweetie Babe and she's almost 8 months old. She really likes pink, but not clothes. Pink toys. Do you have anything like that?"
He repeated the message, almost verbatim, until he found a baby bath toy plush frog that ribbits when you squeeze its tummy and a plush flower holding a heart that says "love" betwixt its anthropomorphic leaf-hands. He deliberated for some time over these two 25-cent items, concerned that, while the frog was, as he put it, "fantastic," it wasn't pink. I assured him that she would like it just fine if it came from him.
When we got home, he left his other acquisitions lying on the floor of the minivan and bolted into he house clutching the frog and flower. He held the frog out to Sweetie Babe. A slow smile crept across her face as she reached out to hold the new frog... and promptly began gnawing on one of its bulbous blue eyeballs.
It was a beautiful moment to behold.
I thought Wunderkind's chest was going to burst right out of his t-shirt. He was so very, very proud of himself and his toy-choosing prowess. I'd be lying to you if I told you I wasn't pretty proud, myself.
What can I tell you? The kid is a lot like his Grandpa Superwrench. He's a social butterfly, he's a collector, he's out there looking for deals and socialization.
So, he and I went online to Craigslist, found a dozen local rummage sales, mapped a route, and counted up all his change. He had about $15 in quarters, nickles and dimes, all dumped into a big Ziploc-style bag. He was ready and raring to go.
While I was able to round out Sweetie Babe's summer and fall wardrobe (maybe even winter if she slows her grow a bit!), Wunderkind was looking to round out his stuffed animal collection.
As a side note: I know of some moms who impose limits on the number of stuffed animals each child can own. I am so not one of those moms. Wunderkind really digs on stuffed animals. His imaginative play is often centered around stuffed animals finding themselves embroiled in dire peril, with other stuffed animals (or Wunderkind himself) coming to the rescue. In order to have all that peril, you really do need a LOT of stuffed animals. Now I just have to figure out how to store them all. Watch for that in an upcoming post!
Another thing Wunderkind was looking to do was to bring something nice home to his baby sister that wasn't clothes. He explained to me that you can't play with clothes. I guess he's right. I mean, I've never heard of a t-shirt being in dire peril... wait, that's a lie. Many of The Mr.'s t-shirts are in dire peril of being put in the rag bin. OK, then, I've never heard of a t-shirt in dire peril ever being saved by a beanie baby snake named Hissy. There. That is a true statement.
At several sales, Wunderkind marched up to the person looking most likely to be in charge and declared, "I'm Wunderkind. I am four and a half, and I have a baby sister named Sweetie Babe and she's almost 8 months old. She really likes pink, but not clothes. Pink toys. Do you have anything like that?"
He repeated the message, almost verbatim, until he found a baby bath toy plush frog that ribbits when you squeeze its tummy and a plush flower holding a heart that says "love" betwixt its anthropomorphic leaf-hands. He deliberated for some time over these two 25-cent items, concerned that, while the frog was, as he put it, "fantastic," it wasn't pink. I assured him that she would like it just fine if it came from him.
When we got home, he left his other acquisitions lying on the floor of the minivan and bolted into he house clutching the frog and flower. He held the frog out to Sweetie Babe. A slow smile crept across her face as she reached out to hold the new frog... and promptly began gnawing on one of its bulbous blue eyeballs.
It was a beautiful moment to behold.
I thought Wunderkind's chest was going to burst right out of his t-shirt. He was so very, very proud of himself and his toy-choosing prowess. I'd be lying to you if I told you I wasn't pretty proud, myself.
Friday, May 18, 2012
I'm so busy I forgot to be bored
Before I quit my job to stay home with the kids full time, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to fill my days.
Ha!
It's crazy busy around here. Wunderkind constantly needs help with something (or, more often, he wants to have a conversation spanning any number of topics from Phineas & Ferb to dinosaurs to the proper way to safely travel from Georgia to Minnesota. Really. I was informed yesterday that if you cross Georgia with Minnesota, you'll get a "wicked thunderstorm." I have no idea where he gets this stuff). Sweetie Babe doesn't allow me to be out of her line of sight for longer than 3 to 5 minutes at a stretch. The kitchen is constantly getting dirty. There are squirrels in my ceiling (yes, still). Someone is always hungry or bored or needs to poop or just finished pooping.
For the record, I am absolutely not complaining.
Every day is a brand spanking new adventure. The day is what I make it. My only deadlines are naptimes and my bosses - while tyranical, unreasonable, and prone to histrionics - are also very, very cute, snuggly, and funny. The chairman of the board of directors works hard to ensure continued success of the organization and affords me plenty of latitude in the way I manage the branch office.
The pay is horrible. The benefits are amazing.
Today's adventure took us to Kenosha for a subdivision-wide rummage sale. Wunderkind scored a sweet toy mixing board for $5 and a boatload of stuffed animals for under $4 total. Sweetie Babe is set for clothes for this summer and fall. I even got some wicker furniture to slightly refurbish before putting it out on the patio. Total spent: $58.
Wunderkind was a total trooper. He developed a blister on the arch of his right foot while walking around the zoo yesterday but he toughed it out. He also got much less sleep than he's accustomed to since he was so excited that he couldn't fall asleep in a timely manner and then was up before 6am today. He was overheated, tired, hungry, crabby... and exceptionally polite, patient, and sweet to strangers and to his baby sister. I am so proud of him for his excellent behavior today.
He's still got $10 from his piggy bank and he wants to go rummage sale-ing again tomorrow. I can't think of anything better to do with our time.
DJ Wunderkind with his new mixing board
Sweetie Babe modeling one of her new dresses
My ultimately refurbish-able wicker furniture
Ha!
It's crazy busy around here. Wunderkind constantly needs help with something (or, more often, he wants to have a conversation spanning any number of topics from Phineas & Ferb to dinosaurs to the proper way to safely travel from Georgia to Minnesota. Really. I was informed yesterday that if you cross Georgia with Minnesota, you'll get a "wicked thunderstorm." I have no idea where he gets this stuff). Sweetie Babe doesn't allow me to be out of her line of sight for longer than 3 to 5 minutes at a stretch. The kitchen is constantly getting dirty. There are squirrels in my ceiling (yes, still). Someone is always hungry or bored or needs to poop or just finished pooping.
For the record, I am absolutely not complaining.
Every day is a brand spanking new adventure. The day is what I make it. My only deadlines are naptimes and my bosses - while tyranical, unreasonable, and prone to histrionics - are also very, very cute, snuggly, and funny. The chairman of the board of directors works hard to ensure continued success of the organization and affords me plenty of latitude in the way I manage the branch office.
The pay is horrible. The benefits are amazing.
Today's adventure took us to Kenosha for a subdivision-wide rummage sale. Wunderkind scored a sweet toy mixing board for $5 and a boatload of stuffed animals for under $4 total. Sweetie Babe is set for clothes for this summer and fall. I even got some wicker furniture to slightly refurbish before putting it out on the patio. Total spent: $58.
Wunderkind was a total trooper. He developed a blister on the arch of his right foot while walking around the zoo yesterday but he toughed it out. He also got much less sleep than he's accustomed to since he was so excited that he couldn't fall asleep in a timely manner and then was up before 6am today. He was overheated, tired, hungry, crabby... and exceptionally polite, patient, and sweet to strangers and to his baby sister. I am so proud of him for his excellent behavior today.
He's still got $10 from his piggy bank and he wants to go rummage sale-ing again tomorrow. I can't think of anything better to do with our time.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Waste Not, Want Not (or how I learned to quit worrying and use the whole chicken)
Last week at my local Aldi, it seems the store manager greatly overestimated the demand for whole fresh chickens. At $0.69/lb they were a good deal, but their sell-by date was the following day and there were a ton of 'em. The manager's special was $2 off each bird. If you do the math, you're looking at, on average, a cost of $0.04/lb. And my chest freezer happened to have a whole lot of space available.
Cha-Ching!
I bought a little over 38 pounds worth of whole chickens for just under $10.50.
You might think that the deal ends there, but do you have any idea how very economical a whole chicken is? You can get at least 2 meals out of one chicken. You get the roast chicken (meal 1), you get the "casserole meat" (meal 2, maybe even 3 and possibly 4) and you can boil down the carcass with some veggies (or not) to get stock - which is so very much better than any store-bought broth - and guess what, friends and neighbors? You don't pay $1 for a 10 ounce can of it.
Today I roasted 2 chickens. Wunderkind and I feasted on roast chicken with baked potatoes and grape tomatoes for lunch, and The Mr. enjoyed my signature chicken salad with apples and pecans for his supper. I have a whole lot of chicken left over for our meals for the remainder of the week, and I have tons and plenty of stock frozen in ice cube trays for recipes coming up. I even saved the fat I skimmed from the top of the stock to use as pan drippings for The Mr.'s omelet tomorrow morning.
Not bad for $2.
Cha-Ching!
I bought a little over 38 pounds worth of whole chickens for just under $10.50.
You might think that the deal ends there, but do you have any idea how very economical a whole chicken is? You can get at least 2 meals out of one chicken. You get the roast chicken (meal 1), you get the "casserole meat" (meal 2, maybe even 3 and possibly 4) and you can boil down the carcass with some veggies (or not) to get stock - which is so very much better than any store-bought broth - and guess what, friends and neighbors? You don't pay $1 for a 10 ounce can of it.
Today I roasted 2 chickens. Wunderkind and I feasted on roast chicken with baked potatoes and grape tomatoes for lunch, and The Mr. enjoyed my signature chicken salad with apples and pecans for his supper. I have a whole lot of chicken left over for our meals for the remainder of the week, and I have tons and plenty of stock frozen in ice cube trays for recipes coming up. I even saved the fat I skimmed from the top of the stock to use as pan drippings for The Mr.'s omelet tomorrow morning.
Not bad for $2.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Ceiling Squirrel of Doooooom
I'm brushing my teeth this morning, staring groggily into the bathroom mirror when I hear
scritch-scritch-scritch... squeak-squeak... scritch-scritch... scritch...
directly above my head. In a bathroom with a drop-ceiling. My eyes bug out and I freeze as I watch a tile - just above my head and slightly to the left - quiver in the mirror. I drop my toothbrush, do a pretty respectable spin move out of the bathroom, and slam the door behind me, toothpaste still kind of dripping out of my mouth.
Ceilings - in case you haven't heard - are not supposed to quiver, scritch or squeak.
So there I am, looking crazed and foaming at the mouth (literally) when Wunderkind comes stumbling around the corner, his blanket (whom he has christened "Fefe") slung over his right shoulder, his left hand ostensibly holding in 12 hours' worth of pee.
"I gotta go potty, mom!"
"You can't. You can't use this potty. Use Dad's toilet." (My husband has a rudimentary "powder room" in the basement just off the laundry room.
"I can't use Dad's potty! There's no door! Everyone will think I'm a huge dork!" I should pay closer attention to the dialogue in his cartoons; I have no idea where this pervasive idea that people are passing judgement on his level of dorkiness comes from. I am also surprised to learn that, while peeing on a tree in the middle of a park is apparently a completely respectable activity, peeing in a partially-finished powder room - doorless though it may be - will make you look dorky.
"No one will think you're a dork. There's some sort of animal in there."
"Is it Miss P? Did she pee outside the litterbox again?" Our older cat suffers from occasional incontinence. Wunderkind is in danger of the same, as he is now dancing from foot to foot, all signs of sleepiness gone.
"No, there's a wild animal in there. It might be a squirrel or a bird or something." I am silently and fervently praying that it is not a raccoon or opossum or, god forbid, several raccoons or opossums or, oh my god, hundreds of raccoons and opossums partying hardy in my bathroom ceiling. I'm serious! Have you seen that Infested show on The Discovery Channel? The very thought of any sort of infestation makes me itch.
The Mr. comes downstairs, carrying Sweetie Babe. He hands her to me. "What's going on?"
Me: "We have a squirrel infestation."
WK: "I have to pee but I can't pee without a door because I don't want to be a dork!"
Mr.: "What is he talking about?"
Me: "There's something squeaking and scritching in the ceiling."
Mr.: "What?"
Me: "There's something squeaking and scritching in the ceiling!"
Mr.: "I heard you."
Silence. I blink at The Mr. several times. I have long since swallowed my toothpaste.
Me, very calmly and slowly: "There is vermin in the ceiling and I don't want to open the door because I don't want it to get us."
WK: "I... HAVE... TO... PEE!"
Mr.: "Whatever is in the ceiling won't attack while he's peeing." He hands Sweetie Babe to me. I retreat several paces. He cracks the door open. A ceiling tile is askew.
A gray squirrel scritches, squeaks, and looks right at me, its beady little eyes bright and menacing, as if to say, "This bathroom ceiling is MINE, now!"
I squeak. Sweetie Babe squeals in delight. The Ceiling Squirrel of Doom retreats back into the ceiling. Wunderkind wants to know if we can keep it. The Mr. shuts the door, looks at me and says....
"There's a squirrel in there."
We eventually convince Wunderkind to do his bidness in Daddy's potty, I retreat with the children to the living room, The Mr. suits up in long pants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. He arms himself with a broom handle and goes in to defend our home from the marauding squirrel invader.
Our strategy? Open the bathroom window, remove the screen, and start jabbing the ceiling tiles until the mangy little bugger decides that a summer vacation home in my bathroom ceiling just isn't for him and retreats out the open window. It's not a particularly good strategy, as minutes later, I hear the scritching and squeaking in the living room ceiling. This is not a drop ceiling, which is better, but it is also further away from the open bathroom window, which is worse.
Eventually, our little visitor vacates the premises. We see him streak past the back door. Wunderkind is sad that he wasn't able to keep him and train him. I'm sure he had visions of a trained and vermin-free squirrel perched upon his shoulder. Sorry kiddo, not in this lifetime.
And that, good readers, is the story of The Good Family's Adventures with the Ceiling Squirrel of Doom.
scritch-scritch-scritch... squeak-squeak... scritch-scritch... scritch...
directly above my head. In a bathroom with a drop-ceiling. My eyes bug out and I freeze as I watch a tile - just above my head and slightly to the left - quiver in the mirror. I drop my toothbrush, do a pretty respectable spin move out of the bathroom, and slam the door behind me, toothpaste still kind of dripping out of my mouth.
Ceilings - in case you haven't heard - are not supposed to quiver, scritch or squeak.
So there I am, looking crazed and foaming at the mouth (literally) when Wunderkind comes stumbling around the corner, his blanket (whom he has christened "Fefe") slung over his right shoulder, his left hand ostensibly holding in 12 hours' worth of pee.
"I gotta go potty, mom!"
"You can't. You can't use this potty. Use Dad's toilet." (My husband has a rudimentary "powder room" in the basement just off the laundry room.
"I can't use Dad's potty! There's no door! Everyone will think I'm a huge dork!" I should pay closer attention to the dialogue in his cartoons; I have no idea where this pervasive idea that people are passing judgement on his level of dorkiness comes from. I am also surprised to learn that, while peeing on a tree in the middle of a park is apparently a completely respectable activity, peeing in a partially-finished powder room - doorless though it may be - will make you look dorky.
"No one will think you're a dork. There's some sort of animal in there."
"Is it Miss P? Did she pee outside the litterbox again?" Our older cat suffers from occasional incontinence. Wunderkind is in danger of the same, as he is now dancing from foot to foot, all signs of sleepiness gone.
"No, there's a wild animal in there. It might be a squirrel or a bird or something." I am silently and fervently praying that it is not a raccoon or opossum or, god forbid, several raccoons or opossums or, oh my god, hundreds of raccoons and opossums partying hardy in my bathroom ceiling. I'm serious! Have you seen that Infested show on The Discovery Channel? The very thought of any sort of infestation makes me itch.
The Mr. comes downstairs, carrying Sweetie Babe. He hands her to me. "What's going on?"
Me: "We have a squirrel infestation."
WK: "I have to pee but I can't pee without a door because I don't want to be a dork!"
Mr.: "What is he talking about?"
Me: "There's something squeaking and scritching in the ceiling."
Mr.: "What?"
Me: "There's something squeaking and scritching in the ceiling!"
Mr.: "I heard you."
Silence. I blink at The Mr. several times. I have long since swallowed my toothpaste.
Me, very calmly and slowly: "There is vermin in the ceiling and I don't want to open the door because I don't want it to get us."
WK: "I... HAVE... TO... PEE!"
Mr.: "Whatever is in the ceiling won't attack while he's peeing." He hands Sweetie Babe to me. I retreat several paces. He cracks the door open. A ceiling tile is askew.
A gray squirrel scritches, squeaks, and looks right at me, its beady little eyes bright and menacing, as if to say, "This bathroom ceiling is MINE, now!"
I squeak. Sweetie Babe squeals in delight. The Ceiling Squirrel of Doom retreats back into the ceiling. Wunderkind wants to know if we can keep it. The Mr. shuts the door, looks at me and says....
"There's a squirrel in there."
We eventually convince Wunderkind to do his bidness in Daddy's potty, I retreat with the children to the living room, The Mr. suits up in long pants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. He arms himself with a broom handle and goes in to defend our home from the marauding squirrel invader.
Our strategy? Open the bathroom window, remove the screen, and start jabbing the ceiling tiles until the mangy little bugger decides that a summer vacation home in my bathroom ceiling just isn't for him and retreats out the open window. It's not a particularly good strategy, as minutes later, I hear the scritching and squeaking in the living room ceiling. This is not a drop ceiling, which is better, but it is also further away from the open bathroom window, which is worse.
Eventually, our little visitor vacates the premises. We see him streak past the back door. Wunderkind is sad that he wasn't able to keep him and train him. I'm sure he had visions of a trained and vermin-free squirrel perched upon his shoulder. Sorry kiddo, not in this lifetime.
And that, good readers, is the story of The Good Family's Adventures with the Ceiling Squirrel of Doom.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Thrift-Tacular!
I may have mentioned before that Wunderkind and I love to go thrifting. The Mr., not so much. But because today was Mother's Day, I gleefully guilted him into coming along with Wunderkind, Sweetie Babe, and and me.
The plan was to hit a whole bunch of rummage sales and end the day with a stop at one of our local Goodwill stores. We struck out bigtime on the rummage front; apparently, most rummage sales are run by moms. And as it so happens, most moms don't want to be running a rummage sale on Mother's day. Huh. Go figure.
Goodwill, on the other hand, operates under no such sentimental restrictions. Wheeeee!
So, with Sweetie Babe in her stroller (just chillin' cause that's how she rolls) and Wunderkind bouncing maniacally from toy bin to toy bin like some sort of demented American Pickers devotee, The Mr. and I combed the racks of Goodwill in search of kick-butt deals.
Oh my-lanta did we ever hit it big.
We picked up a $200 2-kid bike trailer in near-mint condition for $9.99 (can I get a what-what for The Mr. and his eagle eye for deals???)
Wunderkind hunted and gathered (all the while delightedly trilling, "Lookit what I found! Lookit this! Lookit over here! Wooooah, tha'ss-a good deal!") at least $150 worth of toys for about $10 all together.
I came away at least $250 worth of clothes for me and Wunderkind for just under $20
Sweetie Babe scored a brand-new, still-in-its-packaging sippy cup (which she luuuuuuuurrrrrves, by the way... it sounded like she was making out with it. Sloppily.) for $0.49 and a super-killer baby auto mirror that retails for over $20 (and I know because I've been trying to justify going out and purchasing a new one from our local Target store for months and months) for $2.
The Mr. even scored some supercooljunk exceptionally useful items.
It was one of those thrift-tacular days where around every corner, on every rack, something just stellar was waiting just for us. The Gods of Thrifting smiled upon us today, my friends. Nay, they beamed at us, and perhaps even patted us upon our stingy little heads, thus blessing us with boatloads of affordable awesome.
Re-retail therapy. Ahhhh... Feels good.
The plan was to hit a whole bunch of rummage sales and end the day with a stop at one of our local Goodwill stores. We struck out bigtime on the rummage front; apparently, most rummage sales are run by moms. And as it so happens, most moms don't want to be running a rummage sale on Mother's day. Huh. Go figure.
Goodwill, on the other hand, operates under no such sentimental restrictions. Wheeeee!
So, with Sweetie Babe in her stroller (just chillin' cause that's how she rolls) and Wunderkind bouncing maniacally from toy bin to toy bin like some sort of demented American Pickers devotee, The Mr. and I combed the racks of Goodwill in search of kick-butt deals.
Oh my-lanta did we ever hit it big.
We picked up a $200 2-kid bike trailer in near-mint condition for $9.99 (can I get a what-what for The Mr. and his eagle eye for deals???)
Wunderkind hunted and gathered (all the while delightedly trilling, "Lookit what I found! Lookit this! Lookit over here! Wooooah, tha'ss-a good deal!") at least $150 worth of toys for about $10 all together.
I came away at least $250 worth of clothes for me and Wunderkind for just under $20
Sweetie Babe scored a brand-new, still-in-its-packaging sippy cup (which she luuuuuuuurrrrrves, by the way... it sounded like she was making out with it. Sloppily.) for $0.49 and a super-killer baby auto mirror that retails for over $20 (and I know because I've been trying to justify going out and purchasing a new one from our local Target store for months and months) for $2.
The Mr. even scored some supercool
It was one of those thrift-tacular days where around every corner, on every rack, something just stellar was waiting just for us. The Gods of Thrifting smiled upon us today, my friends. Nay, they beamed at us, and perhaps even patted us upon our stingy little heads, thus blessing us with boatloads of affordable awesome.
Re-retail therapy. Ahhhh... Feels good.
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