Sweet Miss Jo-Lynne at Musings of a Housewife kindly asked that I step in and guest blog for her today so as to allow her some extra time with her family at a lake house in Maine.  Yes, I was jealous.  About the lake house in Maine, that is.  And the homemade blueberry pie picture that she posted.  Nonetheless, I pulled together a post that will hopefully entertain her throngs of readers for a minute.  Maybe two, but let’s not push it.  You might want to click your way over and see what I have to say about being the only one. 

I’m just sayin’.

Unless of course you found Such The Spot courtesy of Musings.  In that case, welcome.  Kick off ‘yer shoes and stay awhile.  And please be kind as I spill a deep, dark confession.

My name is Darcie.

Here’s where you all chime in with a chorus of “hi Darcie”.

Hi. 

Yeah, so um, here’s the thing.

I’m a habitual returner.

You know how our favorite retailers all used to have those satisfaction guarantees?  But then those giant policy signs suddenly disappeared from behind the customer service desks only to be replaced with strict return procedures?  Did you ever wonder why that happened?

Well, you’re looking at her.  Virtually anyway.

I’m a choosey consumer.  Someone who expects that if a dishwasher detergent claims it will leave my glasses streak-free, that my glasses actually emerge streak-free.  Nervy, I know.  When I buy three pounds of apples, for which I pay upwards of six bucks, I am not a happy consumer if those six dollar apples are mushy.  Same goes for starchy watermelon.  And rotten pineapple.

I keep my grocery store receipts just in case.  Seriously.  Who keeps their grocery store receipts? 

And you may not know this, but some grocery stores guarantee the accuracy of their price scanners.  The one I patronize, for instance, will give you the item free if it rings up for a price other than what it was marked.  And of this policy, I take full advantage.

My teenage daughter has begun taking pictures of price tags with her cell phone camera to show to the cashier.  No, she doesn’t exactly support my habit.  She just wants to hurry the process and she knows that if there is no picture proof the grocery bagger will have to do a price check.  And God only knows how long that  would take.  She’s not exactly patient, this child.

I do believe my lowest point occured last December when my husband and I hosted a New Years Eve party.   We hadn’t exactly been overwhelmed with RSVP’s and I was unsure of how much alcohol we’d need to sustain our guests until the ball fell.  So, before dropping the cash for the beer and bubbly I asked the store manager if I could return any unused, un-opened spirits.

He obliged.  Eyebrows raised, admittedly, but he obliged. 

And until that monent I never knew my husband could turn so deep a red as he did right there beside me.

That is, of course, until after the party.

I had also purchased some baked goods.  You know, because brownies and cakes are good for munching on when one has perhaps imbibed in too much bubbly.  Having done just that one of our guests commented that the brownies were perhaps a tad crusty.  Or too chewy, I don’t remember which.  And there the bowlful of store-bought, bite-size crustychewy brownies remained long after the last guest had gone home.

It was bad enough that our guests thought that I had baked crustychewy brownies.  You can bet your sweet patootie that I wasn’t going to let the crustychewy brownies go unreturned.

And that, my friends, is when I saw my husband turn an even deeper shade. 

Seeing as how like our outspoken guest, I, too, had perhaps indulged in a few too many midnight martinis, I wasn’t feeling all that great.  So my husband begrudgingly agreed to return the stale baked goods.  He walked into that store with his head hung low.  And what I wouldn’t have given to have been there when the customer service girl asked him what was wrong with the bowl ‘o’ bite-size brownies.

“My wife says theshshbushsesfruttshy.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “what was that?”

“My wife says….sigh….”

“My wife says they aren’t fresh.”

To hear my husband tell it she practically threw the cash at him before kicking him out of the store.  I sorta have my doubts but I would have loved to have seen it myself.

Don’t shake your head at me.  You know it’s funny.

And anyway, I told you it was my lowest point.

Yeah, so I’m curious how often these things happen in households across America.  Tell me how yours compares to mine.  

1.  The bathrooms in our house are cleaned once every two weeks. 

2.  We allow TV during dinner, but only on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights.

3.  Seafood is served, um, precisely, never.  (Shame on me, I know).

4. I exercise 4-5 times per week.

5.  Admittedly I’m awful at remembering to clip the kids’ toe and fingernails.  Promise you won’t get grossed out?  Okay then, I’ll tell you.  It’s almost a quarterly thing around here.  I’m sort of grateful when they accidentally scratch me because it reminds me that they probably need a good clip down. 

Your turn to spill it.  Inquiring minds want to know…

Ever had one of those days where you’re folding laundry and once you finish, you walk to the closet to hang up the clothes and notice that there is a bunch of (scrapbooking) stuff you haven’t used forever taking up space on the floor so you get distracted and abandon the clothes and focus instead on sorting through the endless decorative brads and chipboard letters and glittery stickers?  And then, in the depths of your cardstock collection you find a screwdriver that belongs in the garage on your husband’s work bench so you walk out to drop it off and on the way you notice that the lint has accumulated to sneeze-worthy levels atop your dryer so you stop to wipe it off.  But to wipe it off you have to go grab the spray cleaner from the kitchen.  And when you get to the kitchen you find that you forgot to put away the butter after breakfast and so you open the fridge to put it away and notice that the refrigerator is in desperate need of a clean sweep.  And you can’t very well continue to look at moldy grapes so you whip out your rubber gloves and baking soda but before you can even sterilize the fruit drawer the phone rings and it’s your dentist calling back to schedule that tooth extraction for your oldest daughter.  So you remove the rubber gloves and walk back to the bedroom in search of your appointment book and you look and look but you can’t find it so you end up telling the dentist you’ll have to call them back momentarily.  So you hang up with the dentist and set out in search of the lost calendar.  But immediately you are distracted by the piles of freshly laundered clothes on your bed so you decide to just get those put away zippity quick before calling the dentist back.  And as you remove that last pair of jeans from the bed, lo and behold, there is that darned appointment book. 

Yeah, um, that’s how my day went.  In my efforts to clean one mess I made a boatload more.  And now I have to go back and organize my organization attempts.

I guess that’s what weekends are for. 

I’m temporarily a single parent so I don’t have a lot of time to blog.  BUT.  I wanted to share the top 5 reasons why I hate it when Jeff travels for work…

5.  I’m stuck taking out the trash at the end of the day.  Taking out the trash is never fun but when you have a baby who has yet to be potty-trained and you live in a place where temperatures usually rise above 100 degrees, well, you can imagine how completely NASTY our trash can smells.  That, and the fact that I have to veture outside in the dark where one of these days I just know I’m going to be confronted by a coyote or a snake or something.

4.  It’s hard enough cooking for, entertaining, cleaning up after, and just generally nurturing four children with a handy helper.  It’s double trouble by myself.

3.  Every time someone opens a door and the security system beeps (to let me know someone is either coming or going) Jayce thinks it’s his daddy coming home from work and he runs as fast as his little feet will carry him to the garage door yelling “daddy, daddy, daddy.”  It breaks my heart.

2.  There is nobody to talk to as I try to fall asleep at night so it really throws my sleep schedule off.  And, for the record, I’m not a girl who likes to miss out on her sleep.

1.  Things like this happen mere miles from where his business office is. 

Not. Cool.

Just hurry home, m’kay? XOXO.

The extraction of the last baby tooth clinging
to life in Torri’s overcrowded mouth:                                                                    $316.47

The application of orthodontia that, if all goes well,
will remain in place for 18-24 months:                                                                  $4550.00

All the popcorn, corn on the cob, and apples she
can eat the night before the braces go on:                                                            $7.92

The knowledge that the dental insurance picks up a
good portion of it and her dad has to split the balance with me:                    PRICELESS!

I was tagged by both Grace Comes By Hearing and Fractured Toy for a meme in which I have tell you six things about myself. 

Six things?!

After I just spilled the beans in my 100 things about me post?!  You might be wondering if one person really can have that many quirks.

Let me assure you that one person most certainly can.  And I do.

1.  I can’t bring myself to eat food meant for kids.  Kraft mac’n'cheese, Smucker’s uncrustables, dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.  Not my thang.  Purple ketchup, go-gurt, Push pops.  Nope, no thanks.  I have to pass.  It may be that the total and complete lack of nutritional value in those empty foods is what repels me.  But, along the same lines, I don’t drink from the plastic cups we keep in our cupboard for the kids to use.  Nor can I eat cereal from the plastic bowls we keep on hand for them. 

It’s okay.  You can tell me.  That’s weird isn’t it?

2.  Clutter stresses me out, but only if it’s in my  house.  The sight of dishes in the sink, paperwork scattered about the counter, and random objects strewn across the floor will put me in a bad mood faster than you can say Calgon take me away.  Perhaps that explains why the first hour after school is out, when the kids come home and almost instantly destroy any semblance of order that I’ve worked all day to establish, is one of my most tense hours of the day.  However, clutter in someone else’s house doesn’t affect me at all.  I guess it’s the knowledge that I don’t have to lift a finger, or find a place for all of it, that helps me keep my cool. 

3.  When people say “birfday”  it affects me the same way that, say, the sound of nails on a chalkboard might affect you.  My body instinctively stiffens and I have to fight off the urge to point out the differences in the words ‘birth day’ and ‘birfday’.  The latter just reminds me of the word barf, which brings me to number 4.

4.  I don’t use the word barf (click here for proof).  Likewise, I hardly ever say ‘throw up’ or hurl or use any other slang in reference to vomiting.  My husband and my children get seriously annoyed by the fact that, without fail, I say vomit or vomited.  They think it makes me sound like an old lady. 

5.  At the grocery store, I never choose the item at the front of the shelf.  If I’m buying shredded cheese from the dairy case, I remove the first two packages from the little hook thing before taking the third package and placing it into my cart (not buggy by the way, that’s another chalkboard word for me).  The exception is for items sold in hard packaging like canned goods or cereal in boxes.  I can take whatever is on the shelf when it comes to those things.  If it’s sold in a bag or squish-able container of any kind though, I can’t buy from the front.

6.  None of these last quirks seemed worthy of their own number, so I’m combining:  I require at least two napkins to be within reach before I can eat.  I need a straw when I drink because otherwise I make slurping sounds with my mouth.  I’d rather starve than eat food prepared by someone I don’t know (potlucks are a nightmare).  And yes, I realize that what I’ve just admitted to will leave you wondering what food related trauma I suffered in my childhood that clearly left me neurotic .  The answer, is none that I can think of.  Feel free to chime in on this one in the comments mom (or Me as she refers to herself).

Alrighty then.  If you had any questions about my status as a high-maintenance type of gal then at least I’ve cleared that right up for you.  I used to own a pair of pajamas that were pink with those “Hi, I’m __________” name-tags printed all over them.  Only the ________ was filled in with the words ‘high maintenance.’ 

At least I’m the first to admit it.

*****Updated to announce that Michelle at Life With Three is the lucky winner of the cute shoes!*****

About three years ago my mom gave Cassidy a gift that proved to be priceless.  It was a pair of shoes that I instantly fell head over heels for because they were the one and only pair she could both put on and remove all by herself.  They were a Godsend, my friends, not so much for their appearance, but more in spite of it.  These were the imitation Crocs that, at the time, weren’t as widely available as they are now.  Plastic, fire engine red clogs with holes in them were really not my idea of a fashion statement, but purely for the convenience factor, I learned to love them.

Here we are three years (and a blue, black, pink camo, and white pair) later and those tiny little feet on that girl have finally begun to stretch out.  Yes, Cassidy has worn the same size shoe for about three years.  Many of you probably find that your kids grow out of their shoes before they wear them out, but we’ve never had that problem with Cass.  She’s a teeny little thing and only now has she begun to really sprout up.  The poor girl was walking through the mall and just plopped her little tush down in the middle of the aisle and refused to go a step further because her “toes hurt.”  When I took off the aforementioned red shoes I found blisters on the second toe of each of her feet.  I hadn’t even realized they were getting snug and I felt so bad.

Luckily, earlier in that same week I had received an adorable replacement in the mail.  Take a look at these little babies.

Can you help but love them?  It’s like those cute little green flowers are taunting you to do the love me not game.  And love them I do. 

They’re from the Eleven Collection (a sister company to See Kai Run) Spring/Summer line and they are as cute on Cassidy’s suddenly sprouting feet as they are in this picture.  And they’re made to last with high quality leather and really durable soles.  Take it from a mom of four who has done her fair share of shopping at Payless; these shoes are the real deal.  I love the classic designs and rainbow of colors to choose from.  I venture to guess that you will too.

And if so, you’re in luck because Eleven Collection has graciously offered to give away one pair to a lucky mom.  These would be perfect to help send the little ones back to school in style don’t you think?  To enter, just click your way over to Eleven Collection and have a look at the Spring/Summer line and then pop back over here and leave a comment letting me know (by name) which pair would put a skip in your step.  I’ll announce a winner on Wednesday, July 30th.

 And if you’re in the mood for more giveaways, be sure to visit the Bloggy Giveaway Carnival!

I don’t know about you, but for me, when it comes to blog fodder, it’s feast or famine.  In case you hadn’t noticed I’m sort of starving lately.  But, not wanting to leave you hanging for even a moment, I journeyed to the nooks and crannies of my dusty old brain and scavenged for some items of interest.  Whether these items are actually of interest or not is debatable, but a post is a post.  So sue me.

- I’m having issues.  Or rather, Cassidy  is having issues with which I must take issue.  She has taken to swallowing huge gulps of air.  This I know because I hear her doing it.  And as you might imagine, when air goes in, air must come out.  Typically it comes back out from whence it came.  Today, though, it was coming out both ends.  Loudly.  She has also discovered that she can talk through the belching.  I can honestly say that few things are more disturbing than giant man burps befitting of Jim Belushi being dispelled from my sweet and innocent eight-year-old daughter.  And I’m at a complete loss as to what I can do about it.

- We watched the first episode of Lost today.  Yes, first episode as in the first episode of the first season.  We got it on DVD from Netflix.  I realize that we’re a tad behind the times here and I have no excuse.

- Jayce has a birthday coming up.  He’ll be two.  I’m looking for birthday gift ideas.  I do realize that he will not care so much about the gifts but I figure it’s a good excuse to buy him some cool stuff.  I want some input from the experts though.  What do you buy for a two-year-old boy?  My criteria is that it won’t break, melt, come apart, tear, unravel, stain, lose it’s cool factor, drive me crazy, or otherwise become useless after a couple of days.  Yeah, so, um that leaves us with wooden blocks then right?

- If you’re reading this on Thursday, then it’s my Gram’s birthday.  I’m not sure how she would feel about me posting her age, so I won’t but I can I just brag on her for a sec?  Every year she celebrates with a margarita on her birthday.  She is not a drinker by any means, but she makes it a point to go all out for the occasion.  How cute is that?  Birthday or not I gotta tell you that she is one amazing lady.  A true hero in my eyes for many reasons.  So Happy Birthday Gram XOXO, enjoy your massage and your margarita!

So there you have it.  Hope you found at least a moment of entertainment tangled up in there somewhere.

I have a great giveaway to announce Friday.  Don’t be hoping for cash or something crazy like that, but if you’re a mom to little ones, I think you’ll want to put on your dancing SHOES (hint hint) when you see this one.

I dare you to say your mouth isn’t watering.

Yes, this is how I spent one of my precious free hours this morning.  Baking a fresh strawberry pie for my family to devour after dinner.  This, and freshly laundered sheets on the beds that every single one of them will crawl into tonight.  And they have the nerve to ask me what I did all day.

Okay, enough with the pity party.  On to the recipe that will change the way you look at a strawberry.  You can thank me after you’ve whipped up one of your own.

Crust:
1.5 c. crushed shortbread cookie crumbs
1.4 c. chopped blanched almonds
1.3 c. melted butter (don’t even think about using margarine).

Filling:
6 c. hulled strawberries
1 c. sugar
3 T. cornstarch
1.3 c. water
1.4 t. salt
1.2 t. almond extract (althoug vanilla will work in a pinch)

So you start by preheating the oven to 350.  Mix the crust ingredients together in a bowl and then press on the bottom and up the sides of a 9 inch pie plate.  Bake for 8 minutes and then let it cool completely. 

While that cools, mash enough strawberries to equal 1 cup.  In a medium saucepan combine sugar and cornstarch.  Stir in mashed strawberries and water. 

Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly (no cheating, the e-mail can wait), until mixture thickens and comes to a full boil.  Boil one minute.  Remove from heat.  Let cool ten minutes.  Then stir in salt and extract.  While it cools, arrange remaining strawberries in cooled crust. 

Once the strawberry/sugar mixture has cooled, pour it over the pretty strawberries in the crust.  Stick the whole shebang in the fridge and let it chill for at least 3 hours.  Garnish with whipped cream and you won’t. be. sorry.  Promise.