Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 12 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes, and I’m one of them. Come on in and buzz around my house.

I LOVE May, for so many reasons. My favorite holiday is in May. Would you like to take a guess at what it is?

No, it’s not Cinco de Mayo, though I did enjoy a lovely huckleberry margarita with my enchiladas.

No, it’s not Mother’s Day, though I had a very nice day.

No, it’s not Memorial Day. Besides, that hasn’t even happened yet.

Give up?

It is NAKED GARDENING DAY!  Last year I declined to participate. In all fairness, the weather was pretty crappy. This year I had no excuse, so…yeah…well, at least long enough for The Man to get some pics. He had great fun trying to get the least flattering angles (and positions) possible. Thanks, big guy.

There are much worse pics, but I’ll “draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene” and spare you. Oh, wait…one more! I made a dirt angel. And then soaked in a bath.

 

On Mother’s DayThe Man made me breakfast. We had toast, fried eggs, and thin-sliced venison steaks. Delicious! And he didn’t leave much of a mess. I felt spoiled, especially since he reminds me that I am not his mother. Hmmm…sometimes I wonder.

When I told him the one thing I wanted for Mother’s Day was for him to pet our cat (He doesn’t like cats, and suffers because I insist on letting them in the house.) he looked at her and said: “She has venomous eyes.” Seriously? She has CAT EYES! She got insulted and wandered off. Maybe next year.

My baby chicks aren’t exactly babies anymore. They’ve officially reached the gawky adolescent stage that we all remember so vividly. I let them loose in the greenhouse on a nice overcast day (so we wouldn’t have a lot of roasted game hens for dinner; it gets hot in there!) and didn’t think it through. Getting them from their little brooder box into a tub to haul out to the greenhouse was pretty easy, though they screamed like I was killing them. Getting them from the greenhouse back into the tub was a challenge. I think a few of them gave themselves concussions trying to escape through the greenhouse walls. No more outings for them! By this time next month they will be in the “Big Girl Coop”. Sigh…..they grow up so quickly.

Speaking of chickens:

The Man takes great glee in pointing it out to me when I leave the oven on. He doesn’t merely turn it off, he barks loudly:
“Oven off?”
And though I hate to give him the satisfaction, I then have to admit I forgot. (I do this often.) So the other day we were having a very early dinner because I had to get good pictures of the meal for a column I was doing, and when he went back in the kitchen for a second helping, this is how the conversation went:

“Oven off?”
“I thought I DID turn it off!”
“It says 350”
I blinked, confused. Then I looked up at the clock.
“Um. That’s what time it is.”
Hah! Take THAT! He had the decency to look a little embarrassed. Fist pump! Small victories…

I was making homemade tomato sauce, an all-day project. I tasted it and said “yummm. I could just eat THIS for dinner.”
Him: if you add meat, cheese, and noodles, I could too.”
He loves his spaghetti.

My Rowdy Facebook page hit 4,000 likes this month. That was HUGE for me – very exciting! (If even 10% of those people actually read my blog I’d be in hog heaven, but I’m still glad to see them on my page.) I finally produced a cake I’d been dreaming about for months, just in the nick of time to celebrate the milestone. I’ve got to tell you, I put a lot of time and effort into that cake.

But here’s what kills me. Last Fall I did a simple Pumpkin Dump Cake, not thinking it would get much interest. I got thousands of views, and a whole lot of shares. The most I’ve ever gotten for anything. This cake? This cake I slaved over? Maybe 40 views altogether. So, take pity on me and at least go and see my Apple Blossom Cake. You don’t have to read the whole thing, but it would sure boost my morale to see it do better than the dump cake for just one day. Otherwise I’m going to start making more dump cakes. Every flavor known to man!!

Russ: “So here’s something. The word “plus”. P-L-U-S”

I nodded with a quizzical look on my face. He often asks me to confirm spellings, but this seemed awfully basic. Then he continued: “I guess if you remember that, you won’t spell “pus” wrong.”
Um…got it. Thank you.

This was actually not quite as random as it seemed. Someone on Facebook had asked her readers to give their most despised word. The word we could go our whole life without hearing again. I wrote “puss” (meaning “pus”) and then realized I’d misspelled it, so I was freaking out loudly as I scrambled to edit my comment. Obviously, he noticed. I don’t like either word, but “pus” is definitely the worst. I probably will remember how to spell it from now on.

Crazy Daisy loves water. I mean, this girl love love LOVES water. She goes nuts when I’m trying to water the garden. I have to keep stopping so I can aim the hose at her. She prefers it full blast, so she can open her mouth and drink it, making disgusting slurping and snorting sounds. I don’t know how she can do that (the water comes out fast), but she does. She’s easy to amuse, anyhow.

I spent about 3 hours of total frustration trying to load a video of her on here. I may be stubborn, but there are limits and I hit mine. So you just get a photo.

The Man was cooking breakfast (yes, twice in one month!) and made a disgusted sound. He invited me to come in the kitchen and look at the gross egg he had just cracked open. I was busy and did NOT want to see a gross egg right before we ate, so I declined. He threw it away. Then another. And another! What the…I should have gone in there at that point, I guess. Later when I went to pull out the store bought eggs for a cake (older egg whites whip up better) there were some missing. He had thrown them away because the yolks were weird. They were pale, as store bought eggs are. We are so used to our orange colored yolks that he thought something was wrong with them! Yep…I think we officially just shed our “Coastie” status and should now be considered country folks. But if he starts calling me “Mother” he’s out on his ear.

The sun’s out and the chicken poop is warming up, little fly, so you might want to go buzz around outside for a while. Or better yet, try these fun blogs:

Baking In a Tornado
Just a Little Nutty
The Sadder But Wiser Girl
Spatulas on Parade
Stacy Sews and Schools
The Momisodes
Someone Else’s Genius
Battered Hope
Menopausal Mother
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
Sorry Kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others