This morning I slept in (well I went back to bed after letting dogs out and feeding them their raw meat and then taking my pills). Good enough.
Then I crocheted 3 Barbie skirts and added embellishments to them to ready them for market. At this point I have enough stock to sell, and am just creating extra because I can’t help myself. Must. Crochet. The problem with Barbie clothes is they are small and quick to work up. And they are lots of fun to make, because Barbie doesn’t wear boring clothes in pastels, black, or beige. She wears brights with ruffles, tassels and other embellishments. Her clothes pop and they’re very cute.
After I had done enough crocheting for the day, husband and I took the dogs down to the beach to run around. The beach was blissfully quiet for a Sunday due to the cold weather. The wind was fairly calm though and the sun was out, so we were all happy to look at the water and walk on the sand. Ellie, the retriever/coonhound, is always curious and gets herself into trouble pretty often. And she’s great at making me look like I have no control over her, always a great impression to give my fellow beachers who don’t own dogs. It doesn’t matter if I am keeping her south of the snow fence; she will for sure make a break for it and sprint north across the bike path and up onto someone’s lawn. Perhaps she will even run around their house into their backyard. I’m sure the owners love having their 4 million dollar property explored by a pooping peeing beast who is impervious to my (or anyone else’s) shouting. Ellie managed to get herself into a different kind of trouble today. She made her way over the rock breakwall down to a cement dock, and then couldn’t figure out how to get back. I couldn’t see her since I was on the other side and kept calling her.
Finally I carefully climbed over the rocks after her and saw she was afraid to climb back. I gave her verbal assurances that she could indeed make it back to her starting point. Luckily it worked and I didn’t incur any worried remarks from husband about the possibility of breaking my ankle again.
Meanwhile Pickle our mini doxie was busy eliciting Awwwws from everyone who saw her. Her head is so ugly it’s cute. And her tiny legs are hilarious. Add to that her dog sweater that she absolutely needs in winter time, and strangers can’t help but stop and admire her.
We arrived home again to a house filled with the scent of roast pork loin cooking in the crockpot. I’ll be serving this to the midgets this week for sure and hopefully they will eat it. Well I’m sure Boy midget will do so, but Girl midget is unpredictable.
A few weeks ago when husband brought home a load of groceries, there was a meatloaf and mashed potato platter there. This was a welcome addition to our refrigerator since it would make one of our weekday mealtimes easier to get through. A couple of days later I popped that platter into the microwave to warm it up for the midgets to eat. I plated it and brought it to the table along with their glasses of milk. Both sat down to eat. Girl midget immediately said she didn’t like it. I was feeling very fed up (ha!) about her being so picky and making mealtimes even more difficult than they already are on a busy weekday, so I told her she had a choice: eat it or starve. I’m not normally such a hardass, I can assure you. Boy midget ate everything on his plate, and Girl midget left hers mostly untouched. About an hour later husband arrived home from his store and saw I had prepared the meatloaf and potatoes. It was then that he noticed I had not read the instructions and had only warmed it up in the microwave. Unfortunately I was supposed to put it in the oven for another 25-30 minutes to FINISH COOKING IT. Essentially the meat was just browned, and the potatoes definitely were raw. Ooopsie. That’s the problem having my midgets eat meat while I do not – I don’t taste-test any meat before I serve it. I smell it and cut it apart to make sure the middle isn’t pink, and I usually ask Boy midget to assess the situation. But not in this case. Live….and learn? Perhaps.