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Crushin’ on the Candy Saga

I have a new obsession.  Told you how flighty I am when it comes to games.  My BFF, like OMG, totally got me into Candy Crush on FB.


And to be honest, I’m only blogging about it right now because I’m waiting for a flipping life to restore so I can go back to playing the Candy crack Crush.

Bingo’s out the window.  I have Jelly beans and what-not to clear from the ever increasingly difficult boards. 

I made my son play the game so he could send me a ‘ticket’ to get to the next series. (You need 3 friends to send you them in order to keep movin’ on).  It’s times like these I’m the most grateful I have friends.  “God, thank you for my friends, especially the ones that send me lives and tickets for CCS.”

Had a rather intense session that sucked all 5 lives out of me earlier.  The trick is this – you don’t lose a life if you can get through the level – but fail … and die you will.  Then the little girl in the picture above actually cries! 

It’s heartbreaking!

So much pressure! 


That’s for making the little candy girl cry!

It has fun sound effects too – crunches and music and, and … when you make an invalid move, there’s a little snorting sound. ^_^

Adorable as all get out.

I told my friend Lisa about that sound when we were discussing the game (gawd, what have our conversations come to?) and she ever so cleverly, as I knew she would – responded with ‘Oh, does it?’.  Pffft.  She knows.  Oh yes, she knows.

Apparently she’s on Squatch level.  (Don’t you love that?  Whenever Nic and I are watching Finding Bigfoot we giggle whenever they say ‘Squatch’).  I’m apparently on some lemonade dragon thingy level. 

AND –  I do believe a life has been restored so it’s time to wrap this sweet post up.  And clearly, (and let’s face it, a little pathetically) due to the nature of this post, I’m obviously not referring to my life.





From stare to pounce and church mousin’


I am tired.

I am tired and actually wondered if there is a nice family with a farm somewhere, with miles of soft fenced in grass for Butters to run and pounce in – and wi-fi so my son will visit her.

9pm is ‘official’ bedtime in our house.  Meaning, the Goodnight sleep tights are said – hugs are had and we hit our rooms.

Usually about 9:30 or 10 is when I switch off the tv or call it a night and let my Nook rest.

Then it begins.

From approximately 10-11 I’m scratching, tossing, turning and peeking at the clock.  No, for the record – no bed bugs – it’s dry out here in the desert and with the heater on in the house I have an itchy epidermis that presents  only at night – I need some of those little baby mittens:

noscratchmittensYeah, those will do nicely.  I’d save the polka dots for the weekend – put some zazz in my Z’s.

Anyway – last night the dog was actually sleeping … good sign. 

Midnight.  I hear a noise in the kitchen.  Someone trying to be quiet in the kitchen.  Hmmm … process of elimination.

1) Only two other breathing things live here other than me

2) Butters is not capable of being quiet would not be the kitchen


I’ve coined the phrase ‘Church mousing’.  Don’t ask me why – considering the church mouse is supposed to be quiet.  But, it works around here.  I’ll hear him usually scrounging around and call out ‘I hear you church mousin’ around out there!’  To which a laugh and response of ‘Good night mom’ is followed by him taking his foraged items back to his room.

But midnight?  Midnight snack yeah – but he had school today for crying out loud.

I spend another 15 minutes trying to get comfy. 

1am – another noise from the kitchen. 

Really?  Jeez!!!!!!!  I’m too tired to get up and call him out on it, too tired to call out and frankly, a little concerned that if I respond in any way vocally or physically, my arse is not going to be able to fall back to sleep.

More tossing and turning.

2am – Butters has now evolved from her perfected ‘stare’ and thump of tail to a new move.  The front leg pounce – landing right on the 1/2 foot of mattress space between me and the edge of the bed.

Wonderful.  Sort of like this guy, but with her hind legs on the floor.


OKAY!  Up I get.  Let her out … stumble back to my room, the front door is open but I’m used to this routine by now, she’ll come back in a few minutes, plop down on the floor, or the bed and up I get again to go back to close and lock the door.

Half an hour later – pounce. 


Up I get – let her out – wait – in she comes.  Get up, shut and lock door.

God only knows how much later  – pounce (and a thump thump).

This time I’m glaring at her, quickly realize I’ve got my eyes open far too wide and walk with my eyes completely closed to the door.  (that old trick of if I don’t open my eyes, I won’t wake all the way up) Let her out and back to bed. 

I decide then and there that the door will remain open.  I weigh the pros and cons of a serial killer just waltzing in.

1) I’ll be too tired to really feel much pain

2) Maybe he can let the flipping dog out next

Pounce. Thump, thump.  I almost don’t get up.  I almost don’t.  Then I remember she had an upset stomach just this weekend and oh hell no am I going to wake up and step in something.

Up I get.

Now – the door is still open – not WIDE open, but at least 3 inches cracked open.  Even I could nose a door completely open with 3 inches to work with!!!  She’s screwing with me now.

Out she goes again.

My mind is mush – my body begging for some REM.  Back to bed I go, but it’s too late.

I startle at 5:55 am – after a brief slip into unconsciousness and give up.  The alarm is set to go off at 6.

You can imagine the mood I’m in. 

BUT!  I had already planned to cook Nic a hot breakfast.  Eggs and maple sausages.  Because, and I quote “I love it at Tylers house, his mom makes maple sausages and pancakes”

I think I responded at the time with a “Pffft” but of course it stuck in my mind.

I make the damn food.

Take it in to my child.

Grab my coffee and check Facebook.


My son’s last post “5 hours ago”.  It’s now 6.  Which means, he didn’t just wake up and need a drink or a snack.  His arse was on his ipad.

I head to my room – brush my teeth, come back out and there – on the counter – is a plate with one egg and 4 1/2 out of 5 sausages. 


“Why didn’t you eat your breakfast?” 

“I’ve never liked sausages … you know that.”


Anyone have a farm with a fenced in expanse of soft grass? Never mind the dog and the boy – I want to come sleep on it.

A giant is coming!

I slept until 9:30 this morning.  It was delightful.  I do vaguely remember being roused from sleep to let Butters out, but I blissfully found my way back to bed and back to sleep.

It’s my last full day off.  Tomorrow the alarm will sound and I’ll be off to my Sunday morning job.  I’m so grateful for it.  But I’d be lying if I said I’m not already looking at the clock like it’s an hour-glass. 

I do that.  I live this juxtaposition of soaking in every moment while a countdown is happening in my head.

I’m currently counting down until my son returns from picking up his friend, who is a giant.  When he’s here, in our little shoe box, the living room is impossibly dwarfed even further to the size of a matchbox.

He’s a good kid.  (I suppose he’s not a ‘kid’ really – he turned 18 and graduated from High School last year).  Nic has a knack (say that 10 times fast) of attracting ‘good kids’.  What a blessing.

But I’m sitting here typing and … tangent.  Hold on.  I heard somewhere if you use ‘but’ in a sentence, you’re not saying what you really want to say.  But I couldn’t very well just put a post up that says ‘I’m losing my living room’ could I?


But I’m sitting here typing and the hour-glass is almost out of sand on my vacation time with my living room.  They’ll be hooking up Xboxes – my little 3 foot Christmas tree (yes, I already put it up) will be scooted off somewhere to make room for his friends laptop – or monitor or whatever it is. 

I’ll be like a jury member on a high-profile case – sequestered to my room with a hall pass to the kitchen.

And that’s okay. 

I’ll clean around them and maybe paint this afternoon.  I’ll go to the market and pick some things they’ll smile about when I unpack them from the grocery bags.

I’m so grateful.  Grateful that my son chooses to be here.  That his friends like to be here.  Grateful that the electricity bill is paid so they can plug their consoles in.  Grateful that I can go to the store and bring food back. 


See what happens when I assume?  They got creative with the monitor and the little tree issue. 

And, now they’re all settled in.  Time for me to run errands 😉