First, I have to toot my own horn, because I don’t think I took the time to do so yet. I crafted something just for YOU, my wonderful reader. It’s for your blog–just down there to the right of this post. Ah madez mah own button! If you know anything about my level of technical (in)ability, you might just break into song upon seeing it. Anyhoo, if you’re so inclined, feel free to grab mah button to put anywhere that rings your bell. And thanks!

Now… on to serious matters, such as lunch prep:

I finally sat down last night to work on my kiddie’s class valentines (because I can’t NOT make some adorable paper craft with a goodie tucked inside). I’d been putting off making them, knowing I would be attending a scrapbooking event yesterday. You know, where I’d have several consecutive uninterrupted hours to create several hundred works of art.

Yeah. That didn’t happen. I did create some really cute stuff that the hostess had planned for us, and I also got the kids’ teachers candy holders done:

Just not the valentines.

I’ll bet at this point you’re also wondering what the flippity flop this has to do with romantic movies.

Practically the official image for romantic movie

I parked myself in front of the boob tube last night so I could get down to some serious crafty magic, and a new favorite romcom was on–The Proposal. I was a bit torn, because I knew I’d finish up my project before the movie was over. So what if it’s on Netflix streaming and I can watch it anytime day or night as the mood strikes. It was on now, and I didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

Turns out I didn’t have to. Two and a half hours later (oh, hai, 1:15 a.m.) I finally gave up on finished The Girly’s valentines. I got them all ready to transport in the morning. I really enjoyed the movie, though. It was the second time I’d seen it, and I suspect it will now be added to the list of movies I must watch every time they’re on TV.

Which brings me to the romantic favorites. In honor of Valentine’s Day tomorrow, I thought I’d list a  few of my faves (you may have seen them here before), and I’m hoping you’ll list a few of your faves in the comments section. Maybe we’ll all hear of some we didn’t know about.

A few of my faves:

• Pride and Prejudice (obviously)
• The Notebook (have your tissues at the ready)
• Love Actually
• Much Ado About Nothing (romance, comedy, and no-good scallywags)
• Must Love Dogs (Must also love John Cusack)
• Serendipity (Must love even more John Cusack)
• The Proposal (I’d totally watch it again if it came on tonight)
• Never Been Kissed (I’m not Josie Grossie anymore!)
• Kate & Leopold (How could you not love Hugh Jackman? Or as I like to call him– Huge Jacked Man)
• Someone Like You (I’m on a Hugh kick now. Also, since I usually include a clip or trailer, why not use one that includes a scantily clad Huge Jacked Man?)

I know I’m forgetting a ton of good ones. Help me out in the comments! C’mon out lurkers. We want to hear from you, too!

My credit card finally stopped smoking after so much use over the holidays, so I’ve started venturing out again for a some retail excursions. Lots of looking with a little less buying. This keeps my credit card from getting all twitchy. I may return home with empty arms, but these trips are never short on material for this series.

She’s a seamstress, she’s a stage beauty; this girl does it all:

*Hoorish Toddlers and Tiaras makeup sold separately.

Um, that’s a little too much nature for this nature lover:

I think I may have upchucked a little just now.

What the what? I haven’t been this grossed out over spider eggs since the big Bubble Yum/spider eggs hoax of  1975.

This is just wrong on so many levels.

Does cashmere have an appealing smell I don’t know about? Because the only time I’ve smelled it is after it’s been washed and it’s air drying. It’s nothing I’d want to have wafting through my house:

They should just rename this one "wet dog."

Mr. Wombat was pretty disappointed that I only came home with a picture of this and not the real deal:

The awesome gauge on this toy goes to 11.

I have no idea where these are made or how to say them, but they look like s’mores meets hostess snowballs, and I must have them:

It would be a huge bonus if you get to make your own faces on these.

Dear Target, I’m guessing I wasn’t the only childish adult shopper who was disappointed that something so fun looking wasn’t so fun after all:

"Yay! A fun ball I can kic--ouch!"

I found this at a medical office. Read the line below “hand soap:”

I think we've gotten a little disclaimer crazy, folks.

Aw, look at all the great baby gifts we got, honey! A baby laptop, a wee little flat screen, and a baby Smartphone so she can text while she’s nursing!

Text me in my crib, yo! No, I mean my actual crib!

My new favorite line of hand sanitizers:

I used to be friends with this man. Wait--that's every man!

For those moments when you’re sifting through clearance items and you discover one of them is wet. Or feeling that soft baby blanket on display only to discover that is also wet:

You can say that again, sister.

You may need to grab a handful of these to pass out at work to Typhoid Mary and crew:

You know who you are. Pack up your hack and hit the road.

Happy shopping!

A while back, someone mentioned they were watching the movie Mr. Mom, and it reminded me of another movie starring Michael Keaton that always amused me–Multiplicity. It’s several incarnations of Michael Keatons, actually. If you haven’t already seen it, Multiplicity is a story about a construction worker who finds it difficult to keep up with all the facets of his life. A geneticist ends up cloning him, so the extra versions of himself can lend a hand and lighten his load a little.

The always charming Andie McDowell plays his wife, who isn’t really sure what’s going on with him from one minute to the next. You’ve never seen multiple personalities quite like this before:

Last night while I was attending my very first PTA meeting (I know–I never pictured myself at one either), Mr. Wombat was perusing the latest People at the kitchen table while the kids chattered away over dessert. They were discussing how you can tell if a woman is married by her name (Miss vs. Mrs.), but you can’t tell whether a man is married by his name, because he’s referred to as “Mr.” in either case.

An engaging discussion, yes?

My understanding of the conversation that followed went something like this:

Mister Man: Well, I thought Mr. W. was married, but I just found out his isn’t. He has a Beyoncé.

[Mr. Wombat abruptly disengages from his People crossword]

Mr. Wombat: Mr. W. has a what?

Mister Man: A Beyoncé.

Mr. Wombat:  Beyoncé?!

Mister Man: Beyoncé.

Mr. Wombat: ??

Mister Man: He’s going to marry his Beyoncé!

Mr. Wombat: Oh! You mean fiancé! It’s fiancé. Not Beyoncé. It’s a French word. Beyoncé’s a person.

In the boy’s defense, it does rhyme, and Jay-Z did put a ring on it:

Sure it does. Much like the thank you note I’m going to send out to my girlfriend today for the Christmas gift she gave me. We did celebrate Christmas late, so it seems like it should be okay to be a wee bit late on the thank you. I figure better late than never.

I’m more than a wee bit late on this, though. Missy over at Literal Mom was gracious enough to pass along an award to me in LATE DECEMBER, and I’m just now getting around to responding to it. truth be told, it was so long ago that I only remembered it because my blog buddy, Bonnie, posted about an award she received, and it tickled my memory feelers. By the way, if you want to read a hilarious story about a dead cat in a freezer, Bonnie’s your blogger.

Here’s the award  the wonderful Missy bestowed upon me *ahem* in December:

The Whispering Writer borrowed this fab idea from Glamour Magazine, and I love it. It’s a list of things I’m declaring I’m okay with. Surely you have some too. I’m linking up with her today–wanna join in? Just go here!

Hey, it’s okay…

To have ignited a love affair with a TV show (Party Down) on Netflix that I know full well has been canceled.

To be really annoyed that yet another funny show bit the dust prematurely (see also: Pushing Daisies, Starter Wife, Wonder Falls, Arrested Development).

To be in a similar quandry with another favorite–Miranda. This one is British, and they only have six episodes per season. I’ve rationed it out to watching one every two months or so. That way the wait won’t seem so long between when I finish this DVD and the next season is available.

To be so far behind on my laundry duties that these are the bath towels we’re currently using:

To have been so behind on laundry and overtired a few nights ago (to the point of being punchy), that I went into uncontrollable fits of laughter trying to scrounge up a pair of socks for Mr. Wombat to wear the next day, and all I could find were a holey pair that sort of matched and a pathetic pair that matched but looked like this:

To have had a similar laughing fit last night when Mr. Wombat announced he had NO clean grundies, and I handed over a brand new pair of Adidas grundies. I laughed because he had tried the other pair in the pack, and they had proved to be very, um… binding.

To have gone into bigger fits of laughter after telling him perhaps I could make them more comfy by adding a codpiece like something a Shakesperean actor might wear:

To be happy that it’s a sunny day today!

I think I remember seeing previews for this 2010 movie, but now I’m wondering if maybe it made a hasty trip to DVD land, since I don’t recall hearing a lot of chatter about it after it was released. I was surfing Netflix today for something to entertain me while I sorted out a scary pile, and I stumbled on this one. The cast caught my eye:  I loved Rachel McAdams in The Notebook, so I was hoping for goodness here. She delivered. I also couldn’t imagine Mr. Indiana Jones doing anything dreadful on film. Ooh–and Ty Burrell (“Modern Family’s” Phil Dunphy) makes a brief appearance, too.

Full confession? I’ve always had a thing for Jeff Goldblum, so seeing his name on the cast list sealed the deal for me.

The movie was pretty much what I expected with an extra spritz of goodness thrown into the plot. Okay a couple extra spritzes (Rachel McAdam’s love interest really grew on me). The other extra spritz was purely plot related.

I think my days in radio may have had something to do with my liking the overall story, too, even though this one is about a T.V. show. I think a lot of those executives are cut from similar molds.

In short, it’s a good fluff film. You can go about your busy work while it’s on and still follow the story. Plus, as I mentioned, there are those spritzes of good. Here’s a preview for you:

It’s been a bizzy, bizzy week at the Wombat house. We even went to see the Wizard…

Where are those flying monkeys when you need 'em?

Sheesh. I flew pedaled all that way, and the guy at the door wouldn’t even let me see the Wizard. Bastard.

I guess I got some exercise, anyway.

And, yes, that bike was meant for kids. What of it?

That’s what I say to my mom when she comes to visit and I press my nose to something she brought from her house. It’s not meant as an insult, but more of an olfactory observation. Everyone’s house has a certain smell to it. What kind of smell it is differs from home to home.

I dated a guy in high school whose mom was a clean freak. Every corner of their house reeked of Lysol. I guess you at least knew it was clean. I once looked at a house for sale that smelled like a giant mothball. Stepping across the threshold of that house felt like being slammed directly in the snoot by a wrecking ball made of a million mothballs. I don’t think the house ever sold. No big mystery there.

The oh-so-lovely Jennifer over at Take2Mommy wrote about house scents last Friday, and I felt compelled to talk about my house.

And its smell.

Er, scent.

Smell would imply that it’s less than pleasing to your nose holes.

Which it isn’t.

I hope.

[Sidebar: For about three days after I cook fish, Mr. Wombat comes home from work declaring the place stinks of fish. At that point, I no longer smell it. Perhaps I should take that as a directive to get out of the house more. Or find a better way to clear the fishy air.]

I run around like a Supermarket Sweep contestant prior to entertaining guests (I’ll also note for the record that people don’t come over very often for this reason). My daily clutter level would make Martha Stewart’s blonde bob spin, so prepping for visitors is no small task around here.

Much like Jennifer, one thing I worry about is the smell of my house. We all know our house has a smell scent, but unless it’s something pungent like last night’s chicken dinner scraps brewing in the kitchen trash, we don’t really know what everyone else smells when they walk through our front door.

At Chez Wombat, Schmoopy sleeps fairly near the front door. The wall-to-wall carpeting surrounding her orthopedic old lady bed is her own personal towel on which she can roll and writhe to rid her fur of any moisture or mud collected during her outdoor rolling and writhing exercises. It’s also quite effective at ridding her fur of extra fur.

I vacuum this area thoroughly in an attempt to eliminate any dog hair or evidence of the great outdoors. Sometimes I sprinkle baking soda on it first and let it sit. After I vacuum, I feel the need to cover up the smell of “dog fur that’s been in the vacuum cleaner bag for far too long.” If you own a dog and a vacuum, you and your nose are familiar with this smell that fills the air as soon as you press the “on” button.

This is definitely not the smell you wish visitors to identify as your “house scent.”

Enter the freshening routine.

Even if it’s tundra cold out, I always try to get a little fresh air in here. Then I light the candle under my scented oil burner and let it work in a couple rooms for a few minutes each. I use mandarin orange oil, since it’s such a sweet, fresh smell. Sometimes we’ll even put a little grapefruit or orange rind down the disposal to disperse even more citrusy goodness into the air. I try to use natural smells to freshen up the house. I know someone who used to simmer cinnamon sticks and spices on the stove and it smelled wonderful!

Sometimes your house scent tags along with you like the kid brother you were always trying to shake. After cooking something like fish, bacon, or sausage, I fear that everyone standing near me in line can smell it, too. These lingering odors call for extra airing out and freshening. Pronto.

Maybe you enjoy smelling like it, but haven't cooked bacon today.

The only thing worse than having a doggy smell problem or bacon-infused home is the unfortunate (albeit adorable) combination of the two:

Source

What about you? Do you do anything special to enhance the scent of your abode?