Oatmeal, REVISITED

I like the word revisited. It seems like the kind of word one would find in lowercase cursive on a vintage tag in Anthropologie that some color blogger (oh, how I wish) would incorporate into some sort of green, orange, and navy color scheme that would probably include suitcases and trunks and inevitable a meadow.

I digress.

I must confess that I have been lazy about my oatmeal. School started, and even though I wake up an hour and a half before I have to, I still have problems being on time. Well, not exactly that--I always leave on time. Let's say time management, shall we? I have had such problems taking dreaded showers in a hopefully short amount of time that the most I think about my oatmeal is Bleah, this is kind of gross and weird-tasting. And then I should put that thought out of my head because of a lack of options.

Then I got a magazine in the mail (hurrah) and it had this whole article on snacks which I quite enjoyed. Cottage cheese and apricots, crystallized pineapple and pistachios, yogurt with pear or apple slices, pita bread and hummus. . . and oatmeal with maple syrup. So of course I simply had to try it.

Usually I have oatmeal with fruit, depending on what's in season--right now I'm still coasting on blueberries. I used to have raisins, but we don't have some currently and sometimes I do not like them. I also have been cruising with my year-old vanilla sugar, which I made.

Since maple syrup costs $22 I opted, as I usually do, for my mother's pseudo-syrup which is still good. And I must tell you that oatmeal and syrup is delicious. I highly recommend it.

Fruit fruit fruit. I like fruit. It is yummy. Nom nom nom.

I'm afraid I'm rather hungry. I cannot wait until green grape season so I can freeze them! }:D
 

I had oatmeal for breakfast.

I DID have oatmeal for breakfast. Because it is the best breakfast you can have, according to three magazines and the internet. When I have oatmeal, I get lots of nutrition and fiber while getting very little fat. When I add fruit, which provides Vitamin C, I receive short-term energy.

So I can walk away from my breakfast feeling light and happy.

Except that it's rather depressing to eat oatmeal. I have to force myself to eat it, through a combination of willpower, lots of peaches, and sheer force. Because as nutritious as it is, oatmeal is not a big happiness-inducer. I like mocha-chips muffins much better and they are probably not as nutritious.

I am going to issue a challenge for myself (and y'all too, if you feel so inclined).

I am going to see how many --GAH! I cannot finish my sentence because my father is reading a newspaper article aloud to my brother about animals escaping from the Central Park Zoo.

*closes eyes, makes that hand motion people do when they're meditating (ya know, when they put the tips of their fingers together), breathes* Okay. I want to see how many different way I can make oatmeal so that it's still healthy AND exciting.

I'm going to go look for some cheese.

Daisy Looks at Shoes

I don't know when Pet Day will be, but here's a Daisy story I hope you won't find tedious.

This may be utterly shocking to you, but someone likes my shoes. And by someone, I mean Daisy. And by likes, I mean "views as prey". The rest is pretty much literal.

Saturday morning, at approximately 5:14 AM, I awakened to a very irritating sound. [You must understand that with loads of homework and an overzealous Perry who wished to eat my carpet, I had had little sleep last week. So much that sometimes I slept in (gasp) ten minutes and thus couldn't edit my blog.] Hearing this, I turned over to see Daisy nuzzling my boots.

Me: Dai-syyyyyyyyy. Nooooooooooooooooo. (obviously tired)
Daisy: *jumps backwards and crouches behind scratching post*
Me: *falls back onto mattress, groaning*
Daisy: *leaps at my ballet flats*
Me: *sigh* Daiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisy.
Daisy: *treadles ballet flat*
Me: Go awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Daisy: *gets bored and commences eating boot*
Me: *buries self in comforters*

How many cats like shoes? (Probably a lot more than we need to know.)

Je t'aime, l'été.

Because, in summer you rarely get a cold. A fever, mayhap. A cold, no.

Guess what I have? Yes. And I got it from Rebecca. Mrpphles, says me. When you have a cold, there are only three things you can do: read, edit your blog, and do crosswords. And sleep. That's four. However, it is a well-known fact that one cannot sleep when one's little sister's Sleeping Beauty alarm clock sings for forty-five minutes, starting at 6:30. I suppose the logic is that if you don't wake up after practically an hour of squeakiness, there's no hope and the mice might as well go back to doing whatever mice do. Laura's really too old for it, but it's the only thing that can wake her up. Of course, when an hour passes and you go ask your mom to make you hot chocolate, she will ask you why you didn't turn it off. Why? Because you forgot your little sister was at a sleepover and expected her to turn it off.

So, after having a mug of warm hot chocolate, I shall retire to listen to the mice interlude, read the amusing comments, and ask said mice to make my bed so I can lie in it and do crosswords.

Sun-day

Today I woke up at the lovely late time of oh-seven hundred hours. And nineteen minutes. This means only one thing. . . .

Kitty feeding time!

Perry was delighted, Daisy was mildly pleased, and I was disgusted.

Then, seeing that there was absolutely no one else up, I went back to my bed and read my murder mystery. Every character was a criminal, I think. Except for two. There were many triple-negatives. But what truly made my reading experience lovely was that my neighbors a football field or so away were playing their eight-a.m. concerto. The rest of my family slept until nine.

Peter went to his friend's birthday party yesterday.

Peter: *walks up steps*
(One of many of) Peter's friend(s): PETER!!! *giant hug*
Peter: Ack! *goes inside*
(From inside)Peter! Peter! I love you, Peter! It's Peter! I haven't seen you in forever, Peter! PETER!!!!

Yeah. . . .

L'heure de le chatton impoli!!!

A post of updates.

This morning, Periwinkle. . . :

a)Chewed on my basket.
b)Climbed up my curtains, and. . .
c). . . thus fell from the curtains onto my bin of sentimental stuff. . .
d). . . which promptly toppled over and sent Perry under my bed.
e)He then clawed up my bed-skirt.
f)Knocked down a ribbon from my tall bookshelf.
g)Knocked down a hairclip.
h)Messed up my scrapbooking shelf.
i)Was yelled at, by me.

Hair status: Duck-y.

Just finished The Murder of Rodger Ackroyd and actually got the murderer correct. Joy. I can get a job now. Hooray.

The Sims 3 Fast Lane comes out September seventh and the new Poptropica island is set to come out September ninth. I'm so excited!

***I also need to update my links bar in the sidebar. I know y'all have access to lots of interesting sites, so if you could comment below or email me them, I shall put them up!!!***

7:36 and I burned my finger.

I wake up on a Saturday morning. Cue birds, violins, etc. Rays of sunshine. Ya know.

Well, someone cued my cat. Remember this post? I should hope you do. Go reread it now. This will make more sense.

I have a pretty wicker basket in my room that I use to put books in when I finish them before bed, as opposed to slamming them on the floor. Perry thinks it tastes positively scrumptious, and it has teeny bite-marks all over it. Picture coming soon. He also likes to chew plastic to pieces, as showcased by our lovely ex-lid.

Anyway, I'd hoped Perry had grown out of his issues, but he hadn't, and came into my room at 6:15. So I messed up my artistically neat bed and, against my wishes, was forced to get up at seven. . . as I would have if my cat wasn't a psychopathic maniac.

I am very mad at my cat now, so I stumble downstairs to warm up a cinnamon roll for breakfast. However, I burn the cream cheese icing and, in my starvation and thus requirement of food, I burn myself as well. Just a little spot on the finger, but it's like a constant pain. I am not a hypochondriac/an exaggerator/dramatic.

Not bad for a morning of pain and hummingbirds.

[Like my new poll?]

I washed my mouth with soap.

Really truly, I did.

I was brushing my teeth and not really paying attention. Why worry about dental hygiene? Sure, it's expensive, but you could be thinking about the murder mystery you finished last night (The Patriotic Murders) which was about a dentist who was murdered. . . actually, never mind what I just said.

I accidentally squirted the hand soap onto my toothbrush. Then, realizing what I had done, I rinsed it under water for approximately half a minute or so. Evidently, that did next to nothing, and I brushed my teeth for hardly two seconds. I was counting.

I fail to see how this would prevent me from cursing.

Je n'aime pas vendredi.

Mintal Hygiene

Ever since my teeth were enslaved by these "braces," I have been ordered to brush my teeth in a certain way. A certain EXTENSIVE way. First, you use the pine-tree brush to clear out the spaces between the metal brackets. Then you floss your teeth, which is complicated because you have to go under the archwires. We clock this at four to five minutes. Then you brush your teeth with water for two minutes. If it's morning or night, you swish with extra-strength mouthwash for one minute. Then you brush with toothpaste for two more minutes. Behold, another five minutes.

IT TAKES SOOO LONG.

Also, because I am me and thus slightly addle-headed, every single dental hygiene thing that I have is either extreme extreme extreme mint or green, to match. The resulting breath is so minty I could probably wilt flowers, especially if I used the mouthwash. I could wilt people's brains.

Off for the first time-consuming ordeal. Sigh.

(Remember the "shellac" story? Well, guess what: shellac is made by bugs. They ooze it onto trees. :) Made you learn!)

(I added something new to the sidebar. --> And I have a whole bar of links for you! I am also trying out a new format for the history. Do you like it?)

{Please note: I have discovered that I cannot invite my friends to follow my blog unless I am following it, which I do not desire to do. If y'all could invite some of your/my friends for me, that would be great and I would REALLY appreciate it!}

Perry: the unwanted feline alarm clock

Y'all know me: I love waking up early. However, I like to sleep into seven o'clock when given the chance.

Then comes Perry, who has pushed "Waking Emma up and 5:15 or 5:49" into #2 on his to-do list, right after "FOODFOODFOODFOODFOOD!!!!!" unfortunately for me. Every morning he prances into my room and commences nudging my face, chewing everything plastic, and mewing. Of course, once the sun comes up he sits down and purrs whilst I give up on getting my two hours of sleep back.

My mom has started locking him on the screen porch. And Daisy, because once Perry pries the door open, she loves to come in and bathe herself, hygienic little kitty that she is.

I'll update you on a future post along with Laura's soon-to-be-updated ears.

Breakfast

I love breakfast. It's my favorite meal of the day. However, having the same thing every day is tiring, so I have reviewed various breakfasts for you here.

Pancakes: All my sister will eat, so they disgust me. We have them all the time.
Waffles: I love them, but my little sister's best friend requires whipped cream with them. A LOT of whipped cream.
Fried Egg: Yum, although sometimes my mom messes them up because the pan and flipper are messed up.
Bacon: Yummalicious all the time. Especially good with a fried egg.
Cereal: Meh.
Toast: Yum; it depends if it's ding toast or not.
Muffins: Chocolate ones, usually. :D

I must go; OGTSGS is still in progress.