Well I had a lovely holiday, how was yours?

Thanksgiving week is deer season week in Wisconsin, which is pretty much a holiday in itself. My husband didn’t hunt this year, but elected to hang out at home this week and do manly things in the garage. With bearings and axles and all sorts of things.

Because I tend to do more harm than good in the garage, I stayed in the house. I knitted. And there were vanilla bean seeds in my latte this week. I have discovered the joys of homemade vanilla simple syrup.

I cooked dinner on Thanksgiving, and made THIS. I think everyone should go make THIS stat. It’s a sweet potato tarte tatin (fancy French alert) and it was divine. So so good. 

Butter, sugar, cinnamon, slices of cooked yam or sweet potato. Meet pie crust. 

Oh lawdy mama. 

Oh, and it snowed. Of course. 

Yesterday afternoon I did some shopping with the husband. Not early-morning-get-a-black-eye-with-that-TV-Black Friday shopping, mind you, but shopping. I wore my favorite pair of jeans – a pair of Levi’s I’ve had for 5+ years at this point. They look like crap, are more whitish than blue, and more frayed around the edges than Courtney Love. And I was thinking I shouldn’t wear them outside the house anymore. My husband assured me they looked fine, and I trusted his judgement and away we went.

The first stop was a hardware store where flooring was purchased for the bedroom, and I’m so excited about that I could pee like a border collie. We loaded it into the car, and I plopped down into the seat in the car and…riiiiip.

The inner thighs of my jeans are always put to the test by my thigh girth, and they just couldn’t take no mo’. I had a nice split in the denim, a few inches in length.

It wasn’t bad, but the split kept growing. I had a box to drop off at Goodwill, so I went in and tried on about 8 different pairs of jeans before I found that one magical pair that fit all criteria:  A.) Actually fit B.) weren’t highwaters or C.) didn’t give me Mom Butt.

Jeans should not be this difficult. And I think the moral of this story is that I should eat less pie. Then I could possibly avoid the embarrassment of explaining to a cashier why I had to change pants in a dressing room.

See you on Monday!