Vocab lessons

Today, after picking up the kids, in heat, we stopped at Walgreens to grab some drinks. We are walking across the ground, and some young punk has spray painted a word on the ground. I walk past it, paying no attention, when I hear:

Oldielocks: "Vuh-Geena"?

Thanks taggers. Was it a goody two shoes kid with one leg on the wild side, who lacked the inner city slang knowledge, to write something other than the proper term for female anatomy? Or perhaps it was the child of a gyno trying to educate the world. I dunno, if I'm gonna go through hassle of doing something illegal, I'm gonna go big. And show off my creative side. Like Dirty Birdie Doo Doo Eater. Or if I'm sticking with the female bits, I would have "Cooter" or "Hoo Haa Hattie was here." Anything but "vagina." Next time it will be "Appendix".

I guess I try to find the bright side, cup half full, and be thankful that they didn't write "a-hole" or something.

kitchens

I think baloney would love playing with a kitchen. I'm kind of torn of which one to get. I like this one, it even has a washer!








Check this one out. I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEEE this!



Oh the choices!

Smells like... blueberry pie.

Today in the car......

Oldielocks: "Middle, did you REALLY think Daddy's shoes smell like blueberry?"

Middle: *giggle* "noooo! at first I did......."

Oldielocks: "You really did. I saw you."

Me: "why would you think Daddy's shoes smell like blueberries?" (all I am thinking is how odd are my children, really.)

Oldielocks: "Because he took his shoes off and said, 'My new boots smell like blueberry, want to smell them?'

Middle: "But it was a TRICK! *giggle giggle* They really don't smell like blueberry."

Oldielocks: "Yeah I know. He holds them up for you to smell, and tells you they smell like blueberry, and shoves his stinky shoes in your nose."

Oldielocks: "and Middle fell for it."

Middle: "SO DID YOU!!!!"


Not only are my kids dirty shoe sniffers, they are suckers. They're doomed.

Chicken Cordon Bleu

Remember how my kids balk at meal times? They throw this down! Though, I'm sure I have just been lured into a huge trap of indulging my children with exotic french cooking, just so they'll eat. But really, the joke is on them, cuz Iknow nothing about france or french kissing. it is not true that I had some boy at an outdoor concert try to tickle my lungs with his tongue and I was thoroughly disgusted so i took his hand and wiped his slime off my mouth. Nor was I 17 at the time. A lot of details to a not true story, but I'm sticking to my guns. And straightening my halo.

So the bleu was a hit. I also slather a little dijon mustard on the chicken before I lay down the ham and cheese. Give it a little tang. Not tongue. Like the above referenced story. They love it. I am in their good graces, and no one paid me to make it. Try it Mikey, you'll like it.

WTF Wednesday #3

It was the summer of '98, and I was a young 20 year old California girl. I went to meet/visit my hubby, who at the time, was simply my boyfriend. But I liked him a lot. A lot, A lot, a lot. The Midwest is a big shock to someone who travels include the west coast and the Rockies. I was half expecting the Ingalls family to take me back to their Little House on the Prairie when I stepped foot on Ohio soil.

Boyfriend (at the time) tells me he has to babysit. So we are gonna take the kiddo to COSI, which is a hands on science/fun learning center. My world revolved around little booger eaters,so I was all excited. He then mentions the kid is 12. OK, not so little, but we can deal.

We head over to his "other" parents house. The kind of people that are not blood related, but every meaning of the word family, especially since they don't have to be. We go inside and I meet the 12 year old. Um, WTF!?!?! In no time I am staring at the world's biggest 12 year old. He is way taller, and way round. Big big kid. He could step on me or sit on me and that would be it. Biggie sized for sure. We head to COSI and have tons o' fun.

We came back, and returned big kid and stayed for dinner. The food was awesome, we are just shoveling away, when I smell something. Not something good. The dirtiest rotten egg fart ever. I look up, kind of sly, shift my eyes to the left, the right, and everyone is munching away. Does no one smell that? I mean, I'm not gonna say anything, because obviously someone had to have done it, and it was BAD. I continue to eat, and then another wave of fart-nasty crashes over me. My mind is spinning with "who done it?" thoughts.

Is it dear boyfriend? *gag*
Is it mom who made scrumptious dinner? *no way*
Is it dad who is laughing and joking? *no way could he be silent about that....could he?*
Is it Big Kid? *who, as I glance over is kind of chuckling...*

It was really reekin, and I'm kind of getting the little tickle in my throat. Total giggle rising, because farts are funny, and well, no one is reacting. Well, Big Kid is looking around, trying not to laugh.

NO WAY! It's got to be Big Kid. Big Kid is farting like a mouse, giggling in his seat, while we are eating dinner. I was torn between busting out in a fit of laughter, or gagging on my pork de la stink chop. All the while huge Hiroshima stank bombs are being dropped, and everyone else is acting like they have lost their sense of smell. Either that or I have lost my damn mind. It is taking everything in me, not to cover my nose, or/and throw up. This is no normal booty trumpet being played. This is the real maggot gagger, skid mark maker deal.

Then, Big Kid looks at me, makes a face, wrinkles his nose and looks at me again.

Oh.my.god. He thinks it's me! He really does. How foul! I cannot believe this. No way is that little punk blowing holes in the Great wall of China, and then trying to pin it on me. I'm ten seconds away from sticking out my tongue and saying "whoever smelt it, dealt it." And praying to Buddha, Allah, Statue of Liberty that no one else, ESPECIALLY hot boyfriend thinks it is me. My ass would be sent packing, for sure.

All of a sudden, the mother of all raunchy, smelly, decomposing piles of hot cow manure and rotten egg dog farts filled the air. I swear my eyes watered and you could see it in the air. Sure enough, the mom says "Whoooo -insert beloved dog's name here- is that you? get out of here!"

WTF X 100!!! There is an animal under the table? You mean, this whole time, a DOG has been ruining the air quality?!?!?! Not Big Stinky Britches? Everyone starts grimacing and looking around. Then, to make matters worse, Big Kid is about to fall over in a fit of hilarious laughter, catches his breath and yells, "I thought it was YOU!!!!!!!!!"

Hilarious Big Kid. Simply Hilarious.

Erin Brockovich love

Once, among many other things, I had the wee thought of being a lawyer. Perhaps it's my need, when in the heat of battle, to set the record straight. Black and white, Cut and dry. It is what it is.
I have an uncanny ability to remember word for word what people say, write, and quite frankly, think. Ok, so not really on the whole thinking part, but I'm working on it. I pretty much serve it up on a silver platter complete with a 7 course meal.
I think that's why, Erin frick frackin Brockovich is my movie lovin guilty pleasure. Here's some of my fav. quotes.
(cussing ahead)


George: How many numbers you got?
Erin Brockovich: Oh, I got numbers comin' outta my ears. For instance: ten.
George: Ten?
Erin Brockovich: Yeah. That's how many months old my baby girl is.
George: You got a little girl?
Erin Brockovich: Yeah. Yeah, sexy, huh? How 'bout this for a number? Six. That's how old my other daughter is, eight is the age of my son, two is how many times I've been married - and divorced; sixteen is the number of dollars I have in my bank account. 850-3943. That's my phone number, and with all the numbers I gave you, I'm guessing zero is the number of times you're gonna call it.

and this one:

Theresa Dallavale: Okay, look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here...
Erin Brockovich: That's all you got, lady. Two wrong feet in fucking ugly shoes.

and love this one:

Ed Masry: In a law firm you may want to re-think your wardrobe a little.
Erin Brockovich: Well as long as I have one ass instead of two I'll wear what I like if that's all right with you. You might want to re-think those ties.

and this pretty much sums me up, al la E.B. style.

"Look, I don't know shit about shit but I know right from wrong! "

Who dat?

So, who's reading this?

Not a restaurant

Three kids mean three different taste buds. And I have much respect for taste. I know that fish makes me want throw up all my innards and my organs, and dark meat does nothing for me. I actually find dark meat disgusting, and gag if it winds up on my plate. So when my oldest gags on kiwi fruit, I get it. I'm sure she doesn't want her esophagus voluntarily lurching out of her body, anymore than I want to see it happen. And when my Middle gags on spaghetti and pukes for 6 hours after awakening the next day, (really, for once I am not exaggerating, she really does. It is the WEIRDEST thing), so avoid it for her, just because that sucks. Baloney eats like she is Kobiashi the hot-dog eating champion, so there is not much she doesn't like. I am all about not making people wretch with my cooking.

Now that we have clarified that I have a heart, I refuse, on a daily basis to make a million meals to please the pickiest eater. It never fails, that I can put a hot dish on the table, and the little birds at my table all open theirs mouths at once. Not to be fed of course, but start shouting orders.

"Can I have this and this?"
"You know I don't like blah blah!"
"Are we supposed to eat that?" (Yeah real polite kid I got)
"I no like dat one." (complete with spitting noises)
"Will you put only blah blah next to blah blah?"
"Why didn't you...."

Yeah I could go on for days. so this is the standard convo I pull out every time this starts. And it's working.

"Do I wear a name tag? Did I hand you a menu? Have I asked you what can I get for you? None of those things have nor will be taking place. Why? Because this is not a restaurant. Only in restaurants do you get to request special things. Why? Because they get paid. Did you bring money to the table tonight? Then I am not getting paid. When people don't get paid, and do something because it was nice, we are grateful. Grateful means to be happy that you have food to eat, and that someone MADE you food to eat. Smile, and nod. Then chew."

Sheepish smiles, and quiet kids. It has been working well. Until 2 nights ago, when carrots, broccoli, cauliflower (in cheese sauce, I'm not a total nutrition Sergeant) made an appearance at our table. Oldielocks crinkled her nose and said. "I think I have fifty cents. You're getting paid tonight to not put any on my plate."

I guess I need to change my speech.

WTF Wednesday #2

On the coast. There are many things to enjoy. Surf, sun, sand.
And Seagulls.

You can tell when a storm is coming, they all go inland. If you feed one, you better hope you have tons, because now you have opened a non profit meal kitchen for them. And they expect it. They will stare you down with their beady eyes, inch closer, making little X shaped tracks, getting ready to snatch the tiniest crumb from you.

Gangsta seagulls. One swoops down, kind of scoping the situation. The posse hangs back, chillin; waitin for word to get back on the goods. They come struttin' up, leaning on one leg, lookin' fly with their beaks turned sideways, noddin "Sup? You gonna eat that?" And you got no choice but to hand it over, or dig a hole and bury your food. It's a shame how a bird can food snatch you, leavin' you with nothing but your sunscreen and keys to get through the day.

They are everywhere. Even at Disneyland. I was 17 ,at Disneyland with my friend and her family. 4 girls, teenagers, ridin rides. You know we had our eyes on the look out for Peter Pan and his crew. I had loooong hair, almost to my booty. We were standing in line, waiting to go on the tea cups. And if you have ever been to Disneyland, you know that you stand, in the shade, while you wait for tea cups. There's a price you pay for that.

There were these 2 boys, standing a few feet behind us, and we were conversing. I'm sure batting eyes and giggling, probably elaborating on our coolness or whatever. They start laughing, and of course, we think it's because we are THAT funny. I mean it's not abnormal to be known as funny, so we laugh too. Life is hilarious at that moment. Because the next moment is not so funny. When my friend's sister says, "Oh gross! You have bird poop on your butt!"

UH, WTF?!?!?!?

I'm thinking I leaned against the rail, and there's bird poop on it. Until I turn some more, and to my horror, those damn dirty food grubbin' seagulls had crapped all down my hair. Had to have been more than one, because the amount was unreal. Either that or the bird had been chomping on someone's Exlax and prunes. Just so we are clear on this, I had long DARK hair, and seagulls had white runny poop, with green middles. So picture my hair, looking like Cruella deVille down the back, with a big long dookie stripe.

That was one of the first times I realized there are things funnier than me. Such as seagull shitaki ruining my game. So gross.

9/11

I was working in a day care center, in Ohio on September 11th, 2001. We had just finished diaper changes, and I was getting down tubs of toys and putting them on the floor when the director walked in. She was doing a count, and said, "They just said on the radio that a plane hit the World Trade Center." At first, I was kind of confused. I thought perhaps it was a small commuter plane, someone learning to fly, etc. She told us we could turn on the TV for a minute.

I had just turned it on, said something to the other girl I was working with, and turned back around in time to see the 2nd plane hit. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. We watched for a little bit more, then turned the TV off. We were in the 12-18 month room, but still, we needed to care for the kids, even though our minds were very much elsewhere. We had the radio on, and then hear about the Pentagon. The day became surreal. Parents came back and picked up kids, others came and sat and held their kids and just watched. Or talked. Oldielocks was in there with me. She was a source of comfort. If something bad was going on in the nation, the world, I'm glad that, at that moment, she was right there by me. I could see her, and just know she was safe.

That's where I was on September 11th. Every American knows where they were that day. My heart breaks for the people, the families, the kids, and our country, always, and especially on this day.

WTF Wednesdays

I'm gonna start this new thing, where on Wednesday, I'm gonna relay one of the many WTF moments I have had in my life. And there is MANY.

Like the time, when I was 13, and had my own job. As in babysitting and a paper route for all the Jon&Kate hatin Child Labor Lobbyists. Perfectly legit. With this glorious freedom, I was able to buy my own clothes, in whatever god awful ugly style I thought was hip. And no Mervyn's for me. I was going to buy teenager clothes. Cool things. Like my red vans. And red lipstick. I would go down to this store, by our house, called Susie's deals. Which when I look back on it, I think about how trashtacular it was. Hip styles for little money. I choked as I typed that last phrase.

Anyways, I was going on a beach adventure with a bunch of peeps. Possibly a boy or two that I thought was cute. I needed a bathing suit, and since I had my OWN money, it wasn't a problem.
I marched my 13 year old happy self down there, and picked out this one piece red number, complete with a belt. Straight out of Sports Illustrated Gone Wrong. It was cool, stylish, and oh so sophisticated. Much like myself. *big cheesy grin*

I was so excited the next day, in my Cindy Crawford meets Jane Fonda get up, that I couldn't wait to run into the ocean, splashing and having fun. About 10 minutes later, one of the adults with us, comes running over with a towel, and whispers "Honey, your bathing suit turned see-through when it got wet."

WTF!?!?!!?!? Not my ultra adult savvy lady in red bathing suit?!?! (complete with belt)
Sure enough I slowly opened my towel and took a peek. My South America, in it's early pioneer days was showing off it's soil, and my North America was giving a temperature reading on just how COLD the water was. I think I flushed a deep shade of red, to match my failed swimsuit. You could see it all, as in it hugged and curved areas a 13 year old didn't know they had. And if I could see it all, the 20 other teenagers with me had a very nice showing of what I had to offer the world. (Not that I was offering to the world, but if I was offering something such as that, they could see it.)

I spent the rest of the day huddled in a towel.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Most of my faithful few know about the situation.

Puttin on my Mama bear suit.

Watch out world, this bear is hungry for some school size lunches!

Banana Crumb Muffins

We like muffins in this house. And banana bread. So when my 29 year old husband started acting like a 4 year old, whining about banana bread, and how would really like some, I gave in. Because I am a super fabulous wife like that. And um, the bananas were getting super ripe.

I came across this recipe on www.allrecipes.com and it is good. As in it made 11 muffins, made them at 7pm and they were gone by 7 am. That good. I mean, if the bananas are starting to look like somebody kicked their arses, then smash em up.

Banana Crumb Muffins

Submitted by: Lisa Kreft Rated: 5 out of 5 by 3529 members

Prep Time: 15 Minutes Cook Time: 20 Minutes

Ready In: 35 Minutes Yields: 10 servings

"A basic banana muffin is made extraordinary with a cinnamon-and-brown-sugar streusel topping."

INGREDIENTS:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt 3 bananas, mashed 3/4 cup white sugar

1 egg, lightly beaten 1/3 cup butter, melted 1/3 cup packed brown sugar 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 tablespoon butter

DIRECTIONS:

1.	Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). Lightly grease 10 muffin cups, or line with muffin papers.
2.	In a large bowl, mix together 1 1/2 cups flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. In another bowl, beat together bananas, sugar, egg and melted butter. Stir the banana mixture into the flour mixture just until moistened. Spoon batter into prepared muffin cups.
3.	In a small bowl, mix together brown sugar, 2 tablespoons flour and cinnamon. Cut in 1 tablespoon butter until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Sprinkle topping over muffins.
4.	Bake in preheated oven for 18 to 20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into center of a muffin comes out clean.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © 2008 Allrecipes.com

Printed from Allrecipes.com 9/8/200

Proud parenting moment

I watch Jon and Kate Plus 8. They, if you haven't been up to date with the hype, are a family with seven year old twins, and 4 year old sextuplets. As in SIX of the same age. They have a show on TLC, that is, of course a reality show. Which I like. I like watching parents who fight, make mistakes, try to live life to the best of their ability, and so on. I don't always agree with them, but then again, I don't have to. However, on tons of message boards, and websites, they have people rippin them to pieces. Lots of nastiness. I'm just like, peeps, get a grip. Put your glass of Haterade down and go annoy a gnat or something. I know that my parenting isn't always stellar, contrary to popular belief, but guess what, no one else's is either.

Like today.

I was in the car. With the family. Enjoying a nice Sunday drive up the PCH. When it merges into one lane. And Dummy BEHIND us decides to speed up, cut us off, and totally miss hitting us. By millimeters.
So, in the moment of panic and frustration, I say; "Oh really, Meet The FOCKERS!" But do simple mathematics, let's say subtract the O for a U, and well... yeah. Not my most glowing achievement.

Not even 2.5 seconds later, does Petey the Parrot in the backseat, yell, in an ultra raspy voice, "
Oh, weally, FOCKERS!" And rinse, lather, repeat. About 3 times. Husband is staring at me, horrified. (and slightly amused, because there is something a little funny about it.)

Yeah, I think I gained another jewel in my Parent tiara.

Don't drink the water!

It seems that there is a baby epidemic going on. Sooooo many people I know are having babies!! Everywhere I turn, someone else is preggers, and NO, it is not me! Which means I have been having fun making some baby things, and looking, but once you start looking in the baby section, it starts. The little pangs of baby love, the desire to hold baby, soak in the sweetness of baby. For me, it's little wrinkled baby feet. I love them, don't know why. I don't find wrinkled feet attractive on any over 4, by any means, but there is just something about the curled up, pinky, itty bitty feet that makes my uterus ache.

I can't help a little tiny feeling of "why not me?" when I hear that someone else is pregnant. I mean, I know the WHY of why it's not me, but at the same time, I want it to be me. I want ONE more. I love my kids, but there is this feeling of being incomplete that sometimes creeps up on me. This feeling of we aren't done yet with building this family. Which is weird, because in reality we might just be done. I get it. I respect it. I just can't accept it.

I know my husband is scared to death of any future pregnancies. It's a well grounded fear. When you spent months of the last pregnancy dealing with a complication that can be fatal to mother and child, it's real, and it's the first thing he thinks of. So do I. I don't ever want to walk that path again.

So, for now, I will enjoy other's babies. (not the poopy, pukey, crying part) ANd I swear, stop drinking the water, there is something in it.

parent homework sucks

Middle came home with this homework assignment today.

Pretty much we have to write a little paragraph about her name. And why we chose it. If we named her after anybody, does it mean something special? Stuff like that.

I don't know how to write an appropriate answer.

One of the real reasons:

"Middle's name is Middle Aspen. We chose her name, even though we really wanted her to be Aspen, but her dad was afraid that people would call her Ass. Please don't call her Ass now that you know the true story behind her name."

The meaning of her name is unimportant to us, so here is me trying to defend the meaning:

"Middle's name means 'woman from Magdala'. But she's not. From Magdala, that is. She's from a midwest town. So, it really has no relevance. Unless she moves to Magdala, so then she can say she's from there. I guess."

The who-really-cares-and-is-she -going-to-be-graded-on-this meaning:

"Her name would have been Epidural, because at the very end, I really wanted one. And since she flew out like a speeding bullet, I really didn't have the time to smile and say her name. Because I won't be held responsible for the things that came out of my mouth after the no pain medication style birth. So Middle seemed to be the only safe thing coming out of my mouth at the time."

or the super thought provoking soap box:

"Her name is Middle. There are lots of people with the name Middle. Middle, the name, is not special. It just isn't. But Middle herself, she will give the name Middle, a meaning. A meaning to where, the next time you meet a Middle, you will immediately think of my Middle. And that's where her name becomes special."

or *sigh* this, not because the other reasons weren't good enough, simply because it is first grade and 7 rows of ruled paper, big fat style, complete with dashes for using perfect handwriting:

"We named her Middle because we thought it was a beautiful name. It was the ONE name we both liked. And Aspen, because it just seemed right."

I'm guessing the last one.

Yumtastic

www.foodgawker.com

Will totally make you feel like a dirty food perv, peepin on all the awesome food and recipes.