tiffany's spot

Prisoners on death row know that they're on death row. They know that the end is near, and no matter what they do there is no way around it. Sometimes I wonder if houseplants know that they're headed to a place where there will be no mercy. When someone walks around the plant section looking at the pants, do the plants recognize this person as someone who will surely not be able to keep them alive? Oh jeez they'll say, please don't pick me, nooooooooo...... This is my plant table. At a glance it probably looks rather normal. But upon closer inspection . . . . . . notice how the bottom half of this plant has very few leaves? I really actually like this plant, I really wish its leaves hadn't started falling off. Lately I've been watering it with a little more regularity. Turns out that when a plant is watered the leaves hang in there better, and even more leaves will grow! Will wonders never cease. We just bought this plant the other day. Believe me, it did not l

I agree with Tom and Candice. People really aught to comment when they read blogs. Not to inflate the blogger's ego, or to start some sort of e-fight, but just so that the blogger knows that someone actually reads this rag. For instance, on the last blog I wrote there was a picture of Steven, and a mention from me that he was really adorable. Someone hypothetically could have simply said: "Yes Tiffany, your husband certainly is a big stud. Look at him, wielding his big shovel like the men of yore." That's all. It would have sufficed. Instead, nobody commented on the overwhelming manliness of my Zeus-like husband.

I was reading Tom & Candace’s blog , and Tom was talking about the responsibilities of men. Since he looked more at the “big picture” I decided to enlighten him with some of the little stuff. Not that it’s so little! These are some things for you men to know. A good man: Brings his wife a flower once in a while. Seriously, do it. and when women want "flowers" we don't mean that we want you guys to bust the bank and spend $50 on some flowers. For crying out loud, they are just flowers after all. I’d be mad if Steven spent that much on flowers. I’m not that high maintenance. Lucky for him. Just get one - the whole point is to show your beloved that even when she's not right in your vicinity, you are still thinking about her. If you can’t find flowers, a Wunderbar will do in a pinch. Mmmm. . . . Never ever EVER accuses his wife of being hormonal when she had “issues” that make her somewhat emotional. Seriously, there are things you just don’t say gentlemen! Hugs and

It's been a while since I've blogged. Maybe it's because I haven't been up to much and therefore my blog wouldn't be that interesting. Sorry for any of you who actually check up on this stuff! Okay, that's all I can think of for now.

It occurs to me that I never mentioned the outcome of my job, or the crazy crazy interview I had. This is actually mildly interesting, in a you might have had to be there kind of way. My lack of follow-ups is appalling I know. Let me set the scene for you: It's laundry day. Or it should have been laundry day, or it should have been laundry day a few days ago. As a result, when the school calls I have to put on the shabbiest old casual dress clothes I can find. That's right. In the morning my poor babe cries. Okay, there's nothing poor about him, he just has a habit of getting up to eat. Instead of waking Steven so I can have a shower a little earlier I figure I'll let Steven sleep a little longer and then just hurry a little getting ready. As a result I skim time off my morning routine by putting my wet hair in a ponytail. You know what happens to wet hair. It looks like poopoo later. I never mentioned the eye patch. I wore an eye patch in the interim period between m

If you call our drive way and our yard a winter wonderland. It is pretty wondrous though when we have our kids out in it. I always want to wait until Tennyson falls asleep to take Jordan outside, but today Steven was home so I thought heck, every eight month old baby who can't walk or get around that good really really wants to get bundled up in a snowsuit and get smushed into a sled and watch everyone else have fun. So that's what we did! Our afternoon started outside in our own yard. We have a sled and a toboggan so we put the kids in them and ran around the backyard towing Jordan. Tennyson was pretty solemn about it. He didn't cry, but he did looked a little annoyed/bored/noncommittal about the whole thing. We then pulled them over to the school down our street where there was a little snow hill (snow"bump" would be more fitting) and let Jordan toboggan down it a bunch of times. It's funny the dilemmas we face as a mother. For instance, I'm sitting on

Tennyson woke me up as usual around 5:30 this morning. Silly boy, thinking he's hungry at that time. As I lay there contemplating whether or not to get up I hear Jordan stirring in her room. Usually if she gets up really early we can take her potty and make her go back to bed. (Aside - that's right, my daughter is totally potty trained! No diapers EVER! I stopped diapering her for bed almost a week before Christmas and there have been no accidents. Little genius or what.) Steven was actually up getting ready for work, and he went to take Jordan back to bed and noticed that she was all cruddy, so he turned on the light and found puke all over her bed and her pjs and all over her face and in her hair. Thus, my day began at 5:30 today. We ran her a bath and Steven gathered all her dirty sheets and blankets from her bed and I sat there beside the tub washing her hair and trying to comb all the bits out. She was so pale, even her lips had hardly any colour. Afterwards we had her wra