A Quickie (no, get your mind out of the gutter, I'm not talking about sex)

I have been busy this week with oh so many things and haven't had time to write. This has to be quick too. As a result, I apologize in advance if this post is indecipherable or random with shameful missspellings. See? Here are the highlights.

My son got his first haircut! He actually did pretty well considering he has become an expert at slapping anything out of anyone's hands. His hairstylist, Julie, did an awesome job while he swung at her scissors and played with the electric razor (then razorless, of course).

Comb and razor in hand!

My husband had a job interview today. So, we have our fingers, toes, hair strands, eyes, eyebrow hairs, and anything else that can be crossed, crossed! Unemployment has been no fun.

My cousin sent me a couple of books about dealing with miscarriage, which was incredibly wonderful of her. I am looking forward to reading them and finding a brighter and more peaceful point of view about mine. I'll write about my insights, when I have some. Which isn't yet. Maybe soon?

And finally, the evening after our grill caught on fire, we used it again and everything went smooth like Jif. However, the next morning, I decided to make pot roast in the slow cooker. AFTER I had put in the meat, the potatoes, the celery, the carrots, the seasonings, the broth, the water...there was a loud SNAP! WTH?

The ceramic dish in the slow cooker cracked! My gluten-free seasonings that took me FOREVER to find and the gf broth were quickly leaking their way into the bottom of the cooker.

I had a conniption because I hate touching raw meat and our other slow cooker was too small to fit the giant roast, therefore the meat had to be cut up. And there was a giant bone running through the middle of the roast.

My husband stepped in with his strong arms and hands and unafraid-of-raw-meat attitude and cut the meat and transferred the goods to the other cooker.

Fifteen minutes later, it looked like a crime scene.

Roast blood dripping off the cutting board onto the counter, stray carrot and celery appendages strewn about, a bloody knife in the sink. I swear I almost had a panic attack.

I H.A.T.E raw meat.

And my sister even gave me a box of plastic gloves for my birthday (as a helpful joke) so I could begin touching raw meat with speed and purpose, instead of nausea and screams. I forgot to wear them. Oops.

Anyway, this has been my week as a nut in a nutshell.

And this is my son in a tuxedo, dancing like Elvis. Now is that random, or what?