I can’t believe it’s been a year since I joined Fly and started doing my dirty laundry in public! I love this venue and am always willing to spill my guts, so writing a Fly on the Wall post each month is fun and challenging and…cathartic. If you’ve missed any of them, you can always scroll down my home page and choose Fly on the Wall from the categories on the right. You’ll learn more than you ever wanted to know about me AND my reluctant family.

Hubby has lightened up (or just been slowly broken down) over the year and allows me to post semi-embarrassing photos of him. However, “He Who Shall Not Be Named on Social Media Sites” (or Lord Voldemort) is still holding tough. I tried to sneak a photo of him in there a while back and he is still in a snit over it. Meh.

In case you’re new to the whole “Fly” phenomenon, a group of bloggers gets together each month and describes what a fly on the wall of their house would hear and see. Things that either aren’t usually discussed in public or that aren’t worth writing an entire blog about. YOU are the fly, and here is what was happening in my house. (The links to the other 13 bloggers’ posts are at the bottom of the page. You don’t think I’d give them to you before you had the chance to read my post, do you? I’m not that nice!)

Somehow I manage to write posts, comment and opinionate on 5,847 Facebook statuses a day, and edit photos with an archaic laptop that is on its last legs. I broke the hinges so the lid flops willy-nilly. I vacuumed off the “U” key cover. I somehow managed to eliminate my editing option and now have to move each photo to Picmonkey to crop and save. I also managed to blow out 2 of the 3 ports, which is causing me grief. And my mouse turned its little belly up and died. You have been hearing some VERY bad language this month, and I’m truly sorry about offending your little fly ears. (I’m embarrassed to admit how long I spent at this point trying to put ears on a photo of a fly. I give up. Guess you’ll have to just imagine it.)

You heard something like this:

“Oh, crap. This is hard. I can’t do this without my F*@/%*G mouse! How am I supposed to copy this? It won’t let me scroll down! What the @*?/% did it just do? Holy s%*t!”  Well, I’m sure you get the general idea.

And then Lord V (who is getting more impatient as each day progresses) has to come and show me how the youngsters do it, with their finger on that little square part of the computer. He gets really upset when I use two hands. Apparently this is like driving with two feet. Unacceptable. I am supposed to be able to hold down the left clicky thing with my thumb and then move the cursor with the finger on the SAME HAND! He assures me it will come naturally after some practice.

When he’s not looking, I cheat. Don’t squeal on me, okay?

The good thing is, he’s so tired of helping me that he’s promised to bring his “old” laptop back the next time he comes this way and give it to me. It is light-years newer and better than this one, so I’m truly thrilled to be getting my son’s hand-me-downs. Pathetic, huh?

In spite of this handicap, I will bravely carry on.

 

I’m sure all the bad language in the beginning of this post has clued you in, but if not…and you think that THIS…

…is what I’m like, well, hey. That works for me! Someone else thought so too, because I got a SUNSHINE AWARD from friend and fellow blogger Tamara of Confessions of a part-time working mom. She’s delusional, but I love her. Mwah!

For Christmas Eve our good friends Missy and Joseph braved the ice and snow and came over for dinner. We feasted on crab chowder and french rolls, and they brought all kinds of snacky stuff. The highlight for me was Joseph’s fudge. He substituted Irish Cream for the evaporated milk. He also used chopped unsalted mixed nuts in place of walnuts. May I just say…….burp?

I’m really glad everything turned out well, (though between the eggnog and the wine, I probably wouldn’t have cared too much) because the next day – Christmas Day – I had a major baking fail. It happens. Doesn’t this look like a yummy pumpkin pie? We didn’t have one for Thanksgiving and someone was pouting about it, so I made a nice one with the last of my expensive brandy in it.

Sigh. Next time I’ll remember the sugar!

And in case you’re wondering, no amount of whipped cream (or brandy) in the world can salvage a sugarless pumpkin pie. The chickens loved it, though. Merry Christmas, ladies.

Here’s justice for you: whenever Lord Vodemort is over here, one of his favorite activities is “brushing” the hair off of our yellow lab with his hand (he calls it petting. Hah.) and depositing it on the carpet or furniture, with a promise to clean it up later. I’m sure you can guess that “later” never happens.

So. I combed Otis every chance I got, and used the pile of yellow fur to make Lord V a special pillow for Christmas. It’s really nice – with cougar and deer and bear on it. He doesn’t have a clue what’s inside, and unless he actually reads one of my blog posts, he will never know.

But I will. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha.

I’m almost through with the physical therapy for my ankle. It bends all directions. It’s pretty strong. It’s only painful if I stand for hours at a time. I can even walk down stairs now without going sideways like a crab. Do you know what I can’t do? What I fail miserably at and will probably keep me in therapy for the rest of my life? I can’t balance.

Now…I never could balance well, but since right now I can balance better on my uninjured ankle, it’s obvious that my bad ankle has taken my natural uncoordination to a new level. And not being able to balance well would just lead to more slips and sprains…or worse. So I am practicing.

I love my therapist, I really do. She’s awesome, and funny, and kind. Except when she puts me on a big half-ball. Flat on the bottom, domed on the top. Spongy. Hard to stand on. Since I kept falling off when I tried to stand on it, we graduated to the next step and she THREW BALLS AT ME while I clung precariously on this instrument of torture. You know what else I suck at? Throwing a ball. Ask my son – I can’t even throw a ball from my chair to the couch where he is sitting. So of course I am expected to stand on a ball, throwing a ball.

I just can’t talk about it anymore. Sniff.

Last Sunday was the big game. The game that is sending the Seattle Seahawks to the Superbowl! My daughter and her family now live in California, but still were loyally rooting for the Hawks…even at a 49ers party they went to. Here is grandson Mack “persuading” a young 49ers fan that the Hawks were the best team!

His mom swears he was going in for a kiss, but I see him looking for the jugular.

I usually end with some embarrassing photo or story about my husband, but for the life of me I can’t come up with one this month. I’m truly sorry – I’ll watch him like a hawk next month!

Here are 12 fun blogs to go visit. See what kind of craziness they’ve been up to!

Baking In a Tornado
Just a Little Nutty
Menopausal Mother
The Sadder But Wiser Girl
Follow Me Home
Spatulas on Parade
The Momisodes
Stacy Sews and Schools
Searching for Sanity
The Lazy Mom’s Cooking Blog
Pink Heart String
Spinster Snacks