Snake cake

JP helped with decorating the snake- can you tell?

Rocket ship cake

Mr. Tonks wouldn't let me light the candles for picture taking purposes. It turned out okay, I think, and I'm pretty sure JP will love it.

A new place

I've been toying with the idea of moving over to Wordpress and finally messed with setting up a blog over there today. The new address is: www.intothethickofit.wordpress.com. Or, you can just click, here. Please change bookmarks and links accordingly. Apologies for any inconveniences.

Happy Friday!

UPDATE: I've fixed the links and they will now take you to the correct spot. Sorry 'bout that!

A song for JP

JP was singing a song last night. It is, I believe, from a commercial. It goes something like this: Baby you got it, yeah you know you got... It's got a pretty kickin' bass guitar, male voice singing but beyond that I've got nothing. Does anybody know the artist or the commercial of this song?

This is j0lt's fault

Your Score: Cheezburger cat

67% Affectionate, 56% Excitable, 62% Hungry

Sure, you deserve one. You helped popularized lolcats from a running gag to an online sensation. Now mainstream media writes asinine columns on this 'phenomenon', students write theses on the topic, programming languages adopt the grammar, and losers write tests about them on dating sites. Now take your cheezburger and never touch teh internets again.

To see all possible results, click here.

Which Lolcat Are You? Test

For the record: I don't like cheese and I'm not terribly fond of hamburgers.

Which kitty are you?

A fair point

My mom approached me today about JP's painted toenails (currently lime green). She's worried that other children will make fun of him, call him a girl, etc. She's got a point and I've worry about that, too. Father's of other children in the neighborhood raise their eyebrows and ask, "How does Mr. Tonks feel about that?" when they see his toes. My answer, "Mr. Tonks knows better than to inflict patriarchal values on our children." Or, "Why did you paint his toes?" My answer, "Was I supposed to tell him no just because he has a penis?" Unfortunately, at 4 1/2, JP can't play the patriarchy card very well and even if he could, chances are the kids teasing him wouldn't know what it meant anyway.

I'm not about to let a patriarchal society influence the way I raise my kids but, still, what's a mom to do?

Spoilers go here

So, if you've finished reading the final Harry Potter book, feel free to discuss it here.

WARNING: This thread has the potential to contain spoilers.

Thanks, J.K. Rowling

Thank you for giving a 20-something a taste of what it was like to be a kid again. I looked forward to Harry Potter books with anticipation I've not experienced since I was little and awaiting Christmas or my birthday- something thrilling and wonderful and palpable.

Thank you, for creating books that my husband (not a reader) and I can enjoy together. On numerous car trips we would pass the time discussing where we thought the plot was going, Snape's true allegiance, Harry's fate and lamented that it would be years until the next book came out.

Thank you for creating books that I look forward to sharing with my children that will allow us to discuss otherwise difficult subjects (human nature, right and wrong, love, death) in a way that will make the topics easier for them to grasp.

Thanks for writing in a way so as not to pander, condescend, or otherwise insult the intelligence of your primary audience- children. Kids are smarter than most adults want to give them credit for.

Thanks for creating female characters (Hermione, Tonks, Ginny, Luna) that buck the patriarchy and defied the female archetype that is too often found in children's books and making them likable, cool and admirable.

Thanks for creating Fred and George Weasley- two characters who made me laugh out loud in every book.

I shall miss the Harry Potter books (and the hype) more than I can say but, damn, what a fun ride it's been.

Jell-O doesn't work

I'm in the middle of trying to get my hair to a shocking pink color. Our grocery store doesn't have sugar free Kool-Aid in the color I want (unless I want to purchase enough to yield several gallons, which I don't) so I called A White Bear and she and I decided that Jell-O (sugar free, of course) might be a viable option.

It's not. While my hair does feel ridiculously good, it is still brown. I started to freak out just a little about 5-minutes into the process because my hair actually started to "set". I was worried that if I left it for a full 30-60 minutes I would be in big, big trouble- as in never-get-a-comb-through-my-hair-ever-again.

SO! The Tonklings and I are going to head up to the beauty supply store to traumatize the woman that works there a little more and I'm going to shell out $4 for a perfect shade of pink.

I can't resist!

I'm going to a Harry Potter release party this evening. I wasn't planning on dressing up. I was going to resist, pretend to be an adult and go in my everyday street clothes.

No more!!!

Here is a bit the Tonklings and I are headed out to by Mommy some hair dye so that I may dress myself up as (duh) Tonks. I've decided to don pink hair with a violet stripe, ripped jeans, an orange t-shirt and black robe*.

This is going to be fun!**

*My mom, who holds onto things "just in case," still has a Halloween costume I wore in the mid-90's that has a long, black robe.

**Not sure what's going to be more fun. Going to the party or sporting my newly died locks to my in-laws house this evening when we go over to help them move furniture. My in-laws already believe me to be slightly loopy, this will likely clench the decision.

Why do the East Coast bloggers have all the fun?

I called A White Bear this evening to check on her. While at dinner with my parents, my mother saw news of an explosion in NYC and asked if AWB was alright.

She was, of course. She was on her way to meet Scott Lemieux and then they were off to a party with a bunch of other bloggers.

Surely there has to be some Midwest* bloggers and surely we must be enough fun to have a party of our own. Let's make plans!


*Preferably KC area but I might travel a little.

This makes me sick

Courtesy of the Chicago Sun-Times:

NFL star Michael Vick was indicted by a federal grand jury Tuesday on charges of sponsoring a dogfighting operation so grisly the losers either died in the pit or sometimes were electrocuted, drowned, hanged or shot.

If that's true, you fucker, I hope you rot in hell. I hope they skip normal prison and send you straight to one of Dick Cheney's houses of horror abroad.

Don't just talk about it, do something

Before going any further, head on over to Is There No Sin In It and read this post. Once you're done there, meander on over to Bitch PhD to read this post.

Once you're done, if you're outraged and tired of the Bush Administrations' repeated abuse of the law and flagrant disregard for the Constitution, take a few minutes to compose an e-mail. Send it to your state Representative(s) and congress(wo)men.

Not sure who they are or how to contact them? Click here (look in the upper right hand corner of the page) and here.

This country and its government are not going to change the status quo if we only sit around whining. We have to get up, kick and scream and make our voices heard. NOW.

My childhood revisited

All of the toys I loved during my childhood are making a comeback: Strawberry Shortcake, Transformers*, Care Bears, etc. and the great thing** is that I have my own kids which allows me to play with this stuff all over again! Since we're revisiting the 80's here are a few more characters I'd like to see reappear:

1. Monchihichis
2. Smurfs
3. Rainbow Brite
4. Charmkins
5. Fraggle Rock
6. HeMan
7. Jem
8. Snorks
9. Alvin and the Chipmunks
10. Kissyfur
11. Get Along Gang

I could do this all night but will stop for now and will probably add more later.

What characters would be on your list?

*I remember being very upset one Christmas because I wanted Optimus Prime and instead my cousin got that one.

**Another great thing about being a parent: I can sit at the table and color with my kids and it's okay because I'm spending quality time with them!

Response?

The following snippet I received in an e-mail from a family member. The e-mail was in response to my comment that Bush is in denial over the Iraq war.

Despite his verbal clumsiness and mistakes, based on his actions that I know of, President Bush is a man of integrity and I appreciate his courage in attempting to bring us to success.

Comments?

Rich white people

Recently I was elected to the board of directors of a group that is comprised of a lot of rich white people.

I feel completely out of my element because:
1) We are, by no means, rich.
2) I'm the youngest board member by at least 10-15 years.
3) I don't have a "real" job.
4) I don't give a shit about golf.
5) I don't have any affiliations to any organizations (local or national) whatsoever.

I'm still happy to be on the board and hope that I can do a lot of good for the cause but came home from my orientation last night feeling like a fish out of water and wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

For more on rich white people, see this post by our favorite Bear.

July 21

July 21 is a day that I'm both dreading and looking forward to with great anticipation- it's the day the final Harry Potter book comes out.

I started reading the series out of curiosity, mostly to see what the fuss was about. Instantly I was hooked. I have sucked Mr. Tonks into my curious obsession and we've had numerous discussions about Snape and Horcruxes, foreshadowing and political parallels. A big topic of discussion these last few weeks is who's going to die. For the record I fear it will be Hagrid. Mr. Tonks thinks it'll be Harry (NO!!!).

I've waited for eight-years for this last book but after next weekend I'll have nothing else (Harry Potter-wise) to look forward to and that makes me ridiculously sad.

Best wishes

...to Cindy Sheehan.

Just one question: can a man who was never actually elected president be impeached?

One request: Impeach Cheney first (what a dick), then go after Bush (a mindless twat).

Other than that, kudos to you! Down with King George and his evil empire!

Fun news

...for me at least.

We have an internet connection at last!!!

What is that supposed to mean???

Last week a shockingly orange invitation to my 10-year high school reunion arrived.

I look forward to going. The $54* price tag hurts a bit but I'll be there nonetheless**.

Amid all the information on the invitation, here's what has me puzzled:
Dress attire: SMART CASUAL

Smart casual? What the hell does smart casual mean? I have no idea what kind of clothing we're expected to show up wearing.


*$54 for a cash bar, a "heavy hors d'oeuvres buffet and dancing. I think we're getting fleeced.

**Mr. Tonks will likely stay home. I'd love for him to go but over $100 for us to eat meatballs and dance to bad music seems obscene.

Breastfeeding

Over at Is There No Sin In It, commenter maitresse made a particularly snarky remark in regards to breastfeeding. My panties are now good and twisted so I'm going to vent about it here.

I don't understand the hubbub over breastfeeding. Really- what's the big deal? Most mothers are discreet about it. They don't let their boobs flop around, their nipples aren't hanging out for everyone to see...they're just feeding their babies!

Having been both a breastfeeding mommy and a bottle feeding mommy I have felt the pressure from all angles. It's a no-win situation when it comes to how you choose to feed your kid.

With JP, physically breastfeeding him wasn't possible. I tried. Every time he'd nurse, I'd end up with an intraductal yeast infection in my breasts. It felt like he was sucking out needles instead of milk. After four rounds of that, I gave up. Since he was a premature (and a winter baby) I felt like it was important for him to have breast milk so I pumped...and pumped...and pumped. He got the beneficial breast milk via a bottle, I didn't have to deal with nasty infections and everyone was happy. At six-months I couldn't keep up with his demand so we very gradually switched to formula.

The problem with that though was that I was (gasp) bottle feeding my baby. I had plenty people looking down their noses at me. What a bad mother! Didn't I know that breast was best! How could I feed my baby like that? Didn't I love him? Didn't I care? Didn't I want him to grow up smart and healthy??? Shame on me!

With SG we started out nursing and had no problems. She was perfectly happy to breastfeed, started refusing a bottle (no matter what was in it) around two-months and self-weaned at 15-months. It was a heck of a lot cheaper than formula and while the first six-months or so were emotionally difficult for me*, the last nine-months of nursing were great. I even remember knowing that she would wean herself soon and feeling pretty sad about it.

The problem with breastfeeding- people look at you like you're filming a porn movie if you have the audacity to do it in public. Have you no decency? What's wrong with a bottle? Can't you go somewhere else to do that? My mother's friend started harping at me when SG was just a few months old that it was time for her to go on a bottle. She didn't need that anymore. As though "that" were a dirty nasty thing.

As much as I hate this argument, breast feeding is natural and the optimial** food for babies. Our bodies start gearing up for it while we're pregnant. For as long as we're willing to do it, our bodies continue to produce milk (usually). Breast feeding isn't gross or dirty. It is what it is: a means to feed a baby. I think it's a shame that there isn't more support for it, particularly where a baby's pediatrician is concerned.

Having said that, JP was in school with a couple kiddos that were exclusively bottle fed as infants (moms talk about this stuff) and, as far as I can tell, they were just as happy, healthy and well adjusted as the kids that got the fresh stuff straight from their mom.

As a mom, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't no matter what you choose. Mothers of other infants are particularly horrid. "Oh, you bottle feed? Mmmm..." "Well wow! You're just going to whip it out and feed him now? Huh..." It's wretched! From where I sit, having endured both sides, I'd like to tell everyone here and now to shut it. How a woman chooses to feed her child is a personal decision. One she probably didn't choose lightly and something that is between her and her baby. If you don't like it, look away, leave, do whatever you need to do but don't stare and, for God's sake, keep your opinions to yourself.

*I was an emotional train wreck after SG was born. That story is a blog in and of itself.

**I really don't like hearing "Breast is best" as though bottle fed babies are somehow neglected or malnourished because they're getting formula. What's best is when mom and baby are happy. Sometimes that means buying cans of formula.

SG's stolen shoes

I took the kids to the pool for the first time this afternoon. We had a good time splashing and playing. JP, feeling empowered by the presence of a new life jacket, bravely "swam" where he couldn't touch. SG is still my water baby. She has no fear which, of course, scares the daylights out of me. All was good until we went to leave: SG's beloved shoes were gone.

SG loves shoes. The child could happily shoe shop (men's, women's, kids'- doesn't matter) all day. The shoes that were stolen were a darling pair of Carole Little Kids flip flops that I picked up at Marshall's a few months ago. They were pink with pink sequins and pink iridescent beads in the shapes of shells and fish over the top. SG calls them her fish shoes and she wears them every single day. She's even been known to insist on wearing the shoes to bed.

Of course I informed the manager (after looking and re-looking through our things and then asking the woman next to me if she would mind if I looked under her towels), left my name, tried to impress upon them how important these shoes are and carted a confused SG to the parking lot. "Where my feesh shoes, Mama?" She kept asking. "I need my feesh shoes." When we got home she searched all over for her shoes before bursting into tears, completely dismayed that her shoes were nowhere to be found.

Try as I might, I just don't understand why the hell someone stole a two-year olds shoes! I have tried to put myself in the position of not being able to afford shoes for my kid and still, I don't think I could steal from a child. My mother thinks this was some horrible child's idea of a joke. I keep hoping that maybe a little person (like SG) took the shoes and that their parent will turn them into the lost and found.

In the meantime, I'm trying to replace the shoes. SG and I went to three different stores this evening and came back empty handed (with the exception of a couple inexpensive pairs of flip flops from Old Navy which both JP and SG will wear to the pool from now on). I've looked online and found these shoes over at Zappos. They'd work, I think, but replacing a pair of $12 shoes with a pair of $80 shoes is a bitter pill to swallow. Worse still are the tantrum and tears that will come tomorrow when SG goes to get her shoes and remembers that they're gone.

Morbid thoughts update

I am not, in fact, dead!

Since I'm still feeling the effects of anesthesia and am acutely aware that my "filter" is not quite working the way it should, I'm going to leave it at that for now. Oh, and no pictures of my bloody tooth as it came out in pieces. If begged I might post a shot of the bloody gauze I pull out of my mouth every 10-minutes. It's gross and my 4-year old is mightily impressed.

Morbid thoughts

Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to an oral surgeon to have a tooth extracted*. It's not a big deal. Really. So why am I thinking horribly morbid thoughts?

From what I gather, they're going to knock me out for the procedure. What if I don't wake-up? Should I write a letter to my kids telling them how much I love them? Is my life insurance paid up for this month? Does Mr. Tonks know that it's okay if he remarries, as long as Wife #2 is good to our children? Do my parents know I appreciate all they've done for me? Should I call my ex-friend and extend an olive branch?** My house could stand a good cleaning...if I die will people think me terribly disorganized and dirty?

I've been under general anesthesia three or four times before and am obviously still here. During those operations I wasn't worried about not waking up. The difference between those times and now is that I have JP and SG and when it's all said and done tomorrow, I want to come home to my babies.

It doesn't help that last week was not a good week. We had to have a new sewer system installed, our backyard is trashed and is now a big mud pit, I twisted my ankle while digging a trench under our deck (for the aforementioned sewer system), I lost a good chunk of the tooth that's coming out tomorrow and I discovered mold growing on the kids' 6-month old swing set. At this point I'm kind of feeling like, "Okay fate! What's next?"***

But, I can at least go into this "surgery" knowing that today was a good day: we slept in, played, went to JP's favorite toy store (no, not Toys 'R Us- bleh), the whole family saw the very excellent Surfs Up and we had a nice dinner with neighbors. This evening I went for a walk with my friend and enjoyed terrific conversation. In a minute I'm going to pop a couple Tylenol PM so I can actually sleep. Tylenol PM sleeps are always good.

So, should I snuff it tomorrow, I went happy. I love my kids and my hubby and life is pretty damn good. If I survive, maybe you'll get to see a nasty picture of a bloody tooth on Wednesday.

Cheers!

*It was either oral surgery or another root canal. The surgery is going to cost us around $140; the root canal would be around $1000. Since it's my back molar and no one will know it's gone, I opted for the cheapest route.
**If I were a better person I just might but I'm not. I saw her face-to-face a few weeks ago and could barely speak. I think I said precisely seven words. Hmm...if I don't die perhaps will discuss that situation.
**Naturally there are dozens and dozens of things worse in life than what I listed in the above paragraph...but it just felt like one thing after another. The Domino Effect of Life, if you will. I should suck it up and deal, no?

Keep 'em in your pants!

A few months ago while out and about, I noticed something peculiar hanging off the trailer hitch of a Cadillac Escalade. As I neared the gas guzzling monster I realized what I saw was a huge, shiny, chrome scrotum. I saw them again yesterday, this time on an older Chevy truck. Instead of chrome this particular scrotum was a fleshy peach color- complete with veining.

Can someone explain this trend? I visited a website that sells Truck Nuts and the only answer I found was, "Hang 'em if you got a pair!" I'm at a total loss as to why someone thought this was a stellar idea and why anyone would want these fellas hanging off their vehicle. What statement, exactly, does a giant set of nads make? Mr. Tonks inquires as to what has happened to the penis?

These things are so...DUMB!

*sigh*

What's next, women sporting Tire Tits on their cars?

A hearty fuck you to Old Republic Home Warranty

The title pretty much sums it up.

Fuck you, Old Republic Home Warranty! And your little minions, too.

Fuck you, Casey and Enrique, for being rude, arrogant, twats.

I hope your toilet explodes (whilst you're on it) and you are showered in raw sewage.

Finally!

...as promised. A more in-depth Barack Obama post.

I've always been puzzled by the way people speak about JFK. Their voices and faces reflect a reverence bordering on awe- a feeling I'd not experienced with regards to a politician, nor did I ever expect to. That's all changed since I saw Obama speak.

We arrived about 30-minutes early and stood a mere 10- or so feet from the entrance of the old Muelbach Hotel. Our proximity to the front doors led us to believe we were all but guaranteed a good spot once inside. I admit that was a pretty dumb notion! People of all shapes, sizes, ages and races lined up behind us on the sidewalk, past the end of the hotel and around the block. We began shuffling inside promptly at 2:00 and at once realized our lofty aspirations of looking Obama square in the eye wouldn't be realized. There were hundreds of people in front of us. I'm guessing some of them had been there, waiting, for several hours. We wound our way through imaginary velvet ropes in the huge lobby. The sheer number of people made the calm, orderly, quiet way in which we moved astonishing. A few people mooed jokingly, some chattered excitedly about the man of the hour but most just shuffled along quietly.

The grand ballroom was opened to its full size. A press platform was stationed in the middle, platforms with chairs on the sides. We found a place a few feet in front of the press- a fine spot, especially when you consider that people overflowed into the hall- but it was standing room only and an inordinate number of tall people were standing between us and the stage, forcing yours truly to stand on her tiptoes with neck craned in order to see. While waiting we were treated to a wide selection of music. Two weeks ago I could've recalled the songs and artists. Now I can only tell you that if Obama played any part at all in the selection he has excellent taste.


Obama emerged onstage after a few words from a man I didn't recognize (probably in the Missouri government), the reading of a letter to Obama from an 11-year old girl and a sweet rendition of the National Anthem sung by a couple (cute) gradeschoolers. He was dressed in what has become his signature style- khakis, an open collard white shirt and navy blue blazer. He's tall- much taller than I expected- and his eyes sparkle when he speaks. His conviction and enthusiasm is not limited to his voice but shows in his whole body. He walks on stage with purpose and a sense of urgency.

The content of his speech was exactly what you would expect of a person seeking to win the Democratic nomination: he denounced the war in Iraq, lambasted Bush for his "efforts" in New Orleans, blasted the administration for the deplorable treatment of Veterans, encouraged efforts to make this country more environmentally conscious and reduce our dependence on foreign oil, pointed out that the No Child Left Behind Act is little more than pointless rhetoric, Darfur, health care (or the lack thereof). Those aren't the point, not really. The point is that Mr. Tonks and I believed him. We believed that he wanted to make this country better than it is. Better than it has been for a long, long time.

I want so badly to believe in Obama. So, so, so badly. As of yet, he's not let me down. His speech in Detroit didn't go over so well...good. McCain is ripping him because he didn't vote for that ridiculously lame Iraq withdrawal bill. Good. Good. Good. Good. Maybe, just maybe, there is a politician out there that can actually stick to his (or her) convictions. At least I hope so. My God I hope so. For once I would like to feel good about being an American- instead of feeling the need to apologize for it and if Obama is half the man he appears to be, that might actually happen in the near future. Right now I believe he could be the next Truman or the next JFK or the great president that this country desperately needs.

Barack Obama- short version

I went and it was awesome. No, I didn't meet him but I did get within eight or so feet of him. Yeah! Pictures and details will come soon.

Variety

Lots of stuff on my mind and not a heck of a lot of time to devote to several posts so here's a jumble of my thoughts:

Mrs. Lucas
I received word today that one of my very favorite high school teachers died yesterday morning. This is bewildering beyond words (she should've outlived us all) and I find myself monumentally saddened by the loss. She was a fantastic honors English teacher (I compared every professor to her and only one met the Mrs. Lucas Standard), a strong woman and just a really wonderful person.

My children
...are driving me up the wall. Summer will officially start at our house on Tuesday and I'm just not ready for it. If JP and SG don't kill each other before September it will be no small miracle.

Emergency room visits?
It's also no small miracle that we haven't been frequenting the hospital. JP bashed his chin with a drawer and is sporting a goatee looking scab. SG did a face plant into the sidewalk and damn near broke her nose. Yesterday JP tried to surf on his firetruck and split his leg open when he fell (smallish cuts, minor bruising) then SG tripped and fell over the same firetruck about two-minutes after I got him calm. I have an unsettling feeling that one of my little monkeys is going to need an ER visit and it's going to be for something ugly.

The Royals
No, not the Queen. We went to a KC Royals game on Tuesday night and saw, firsthand (11 rows from the 3rd base line), just how much they suck. Come on, guys! We're trying to believe!

Things that are lost that I'd really like to find
1) The battery charger for our camera.
2) The battery for our old camera (I can find the charger).
3) My favorite ring (small gold band with tiny but exquisite diamonds).

Zoie
My dog is still far too furry and far too smelly.

Barack Obama
The rally is two-days away. I might wet my pants I'm so excited.

Weight
I've started losing weight finally. It feels good. I'm guessing I only have a few more pounds to go to get where I was this time last year. That may take a few more weeks as I'm shoveling a lime custard sundae down my throat while I type.

A third?
A friend wants to buy our crib mattress but I'm reluctant to make the deal. The debate rages in my head: do I want another baby*?

Sleep
I need to get some.

*Mr. Tonks, I'm fairly certain, would say he's 90% sure he doesn't want another child. I'm on the fence.

Narf

Apologies for the title of the post. Every time I think of what's whirling around my brain that's the first "word" that comes to mind.

Ever since I had SG (not quite 27-months ago) I've been off hormonally- mood swings, tiredness, general emotional funkiness. It's hard to explain. When she was around six-months old (after a particularly disproportionate breakdown at the doctor's office) I was put on Zoloft for postpartum depression. It helped a lot and I figured that by the time I weaned SG, I'd be ready to wean myself from the medicine.

Not so much.

Fast forward to today. When I had the miscarriage in December everything, and I mean everything, got all kinds of nutty. I gained weight that is just now starting to come off. I started lactating again which has only recently (as in the last week) started to calm down*. My cycle went ballistic. My body went haywire but I'm starting to get back to normal- almost. The things that aren't abating are my moodiness right before my period and my exhaustion level.

A friend suggested that I have my estrogen and progesterone levels tested. I'm wondering, though, if anyone else has dealt with a similar situation and, if so, what did you do? Our insurance sucks so I'm hesitant to do anything that's going to result in serious bills (especially since we just got out of debt) but I'm really sick and tired of being moody and tired.

See what I mean?

Narf.

*Anytime SG started to cry (real crying, not a tantrum) I would have a let-down. Nothing huge or noticeable to anyone but me, just a little leakage and it drove me crazy!

Vet vexation

I'm completely irritated with Zoie's vet.

Mr. Tonks took the little furball in this morning for a grooming appointment. He returned home with her about 20-minutes later. She was still stinky and overly furry.

Our vet insisted that she be given a bordetella shot, a fecal test and something else (can't remember what). That'd be fine- had all of it not be done eight or so months ago. Mr. Tonks and I refused to go-ahead with any of it so they refused to groom her.

Had they given us a definitive reason as to why (other than a very pithy, "It's for the health and well-being of your dog."), I might have considered it. All of my research on the subject tells me that it's not necessary more than once a year so why should a $35 groom turn into a $200 visit? I kind of started to feel like I was being taken.

She's still funky which means that this weekend I'll have to bathe her, cut her nails and cut her hair. The last time I did that the poor dog skulked around the house for days afterward because I did such a terrible job, unintentionally of course, but terrible nonetheless. Truly, it was awful. My neighbor, upon seeing the dog, said, "Did JP do that?"

Maybe if I let JP do the trimming she'd look better.

Does Baskin Robbins know this?

Last Friday we took JP and SG to Baskin Robbins to have ice cream with JP's buddy, Sophie. We all had something different but Sophie opted for an electric blue raspberry sherbet (I think that was the flavor) concoction. Sunday evening I received an e-mail from Sophie's mom that read:

Tonight before falling to sleep Sophie had a #2 in her diaper. I changed it as usual but was totally taken by surprise because her poo was bright, and I mean bright, electric blue-green!! I was like what the &*^%,and then I remembered her blinding blue ice cream from the other night!! I had a flashback of her bright blue mouth and face and then it all made sense!

Yesterday several of the neighborhood kiddos and their moms ended up at our house where we were discussing the blue poop. Lo and behold another mom experienced the exact same thing with her little girl.

So, if anyone feels up for an experiment, go to Baskin Robbins. Get a scoop of the blue stuff (you can't possibly miss it), eat it and see what happens a few days later.

By the way, this evening is "Scoop Night" and you can get an ice cream cone for less than a nickel.

Excitement

On May 12 Mr. Tonks and I are going to hear Barack Obama speak at a rally in town. I'm beside myself with excitement. Will I get to shake his hand? Get an autograph?? Perhaps, just maybe, get a picture taken with him??? My head might just explode if the latter happens.

Ten more days...

Meatloaf

Over at Unfogged the discussion thread to this post mentions meatloaf several times.

I make a mean meatloaf. It's seriously good stuff. I'm always surprised, though, when people turn their nose up at the mere mention of meatloaf. Clearly, they've been served a greasy flavorless lump sometime in their past. Here's how to make a good meatloaf:

1 lb. ground turkey*
1 med. onion, chopped
1 egg
1 packet Lipton's Onion Soup mix
1/2 cup (more or less to taste) Heinz 57 sauce
1/2 cup+ breadcrumbs (I like to use seasoned)
Ketchup

Preheat oven to 375.

Mix egg, onion, soup mix and 57 sauce in a bowl. Plop ground turkey in and mix well. I find the only really effective way to do this is to use your hands. Ew, I know, but one must sacrifice for a good meatloaf. Once it's all mixed up, add the breadcrumbs. Add enough that the mixture will hold a loaf form.

Instead of using a loaf pan for cooking, I use a silicon jumbo cupcake pan. Individual loafs not only look nifty on a plate, it ensures that the meat will cook evenly. Fill each cup about 3/4 full with the meatloaf mixture. Squiggle ketchup onto each mini loaf. Bake for around 45 minutes.

I serve with green beans and roasted red potatoes (I quarter the potatoes, toss with a tablespoon or so of olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt).

*Using the ground turkey means that the meatloaf is virtually greaseless but, if you must use ground beef, try half turkey, half beef. If you insist upon only using ground beef use one that's at least 90/10 in terms of fat content. Less is preferable. To help soak up the grease, line the bottom of the pan with one or two pieces of bread. The bread will absorb the grease. Be sure to cut the bread off the pieces before serving. No one wants to eat straight fat.

Pica

Does anybody out there know anything about Pica in dogs? I am in need of some advice, firsthand if possible.

Zoie has always been one to eat things she shouldn't but in the last few months she'd gotten better about it (attempt at eating the ant bait excluded). It seems, though, that the Pica is back with a vengeance. Other than eating through a plastic bag, she's resumed her habit of eating sticks, squirrel/ rabbit poo, dirty tissues (which she gets off the bed stand in the middle of the night) and God only knows what else. Less than an hour ago I caught her up to her eyeballs eating dirt out of one of my potted plants. She was gorging herself like it was prime rib.

I love Zoie, I do, but this has got to stop. Apart from being completely vile, it's also dangerous (what if a stick gets lodged in her throat?) and more of a headache than I can manage.

Help, bloggers!

Damn dog

This evening Mr. Tonks went to the grocery store, picked-up a few staples, ran to the gas station, went inside briefly and then came home. The dog went with him because she loves to ride in the car.

While Mr. Tonks was in the gas station (for all of two or three minutes) our little (10 lbs., max) freak of nature dog consumed half a loaf 0f bread*.

She's now lying on the floor, bloated and looking totally miserable.

Damn dog.

*I presume she also consumed some of the plastic bag that the bread was in. We can only cross our fingers and hope she doesn't die or need surgery.

Bad mama update

Today was much, much better. We got out of the house, bought some flowers, had some laughs. Life was good and back to normal.

Not a good day

Today was not a good day.

I just deleted a lengthy, not very entertaining explanation as to why. The why can be summed up in three words: cranky tired mama.

I hate days like today. They're long and drag on forever. My irritation increases as the time progresses. My fuse is short. I'm not a hell of a lot of fun*. But most of all, I don't enjoy my kids.

The guilt I feel is tremendous. They're just being kids and, in all likelihood, if I would've quit wallowing in my funk and made more of an effort to have fun and engage them, we probably would've had a moderately better day.

I know a woman who's daughter died at the age of three. Three-years old and she was gone forever. When I reflect on days like today I can't help but think of Lauren. Her mother would give her soul to have that little girl back- long, irritating days notwithstanding. After days like today, when I've had time to decompress and breathe, I feel like I've wasted a gift.

Tomorrow we get to start fresh. I'll be a better Mama. I'll make sure we have a better day.

*I wasn't Mommy Dearest but I certainly wasn't Donna Reed. My back and neck are killing me and I'm seriously sleep deprived.

Inane conversation

I spent about 20-minutes this morning trying to find copies of a couple books that I’d like to read to JP’s class tomorrow. After first trying the two independent and local bookstores I started to call the big box stores. The conversation with a “bookseller” at Barnes and Noble had me wanting to bang my head against the wall:

Tonks: Hi, do you have a copy of “Diary of a Wombat” in stock?

Bookseller: Let me check. Do you spell ‘wombat’ with two t’s?

T: No, one.

BS: Okay. Hmm. I don’t see anything for “Diary of a Wombat”. Wait, let me try something else.

(sound of keyboard tapping)

BS: Are you sure it’s called “Diary of a Wombat?”

T: Yes.

BS: Weeelll (long pause) I don’t see anything by that title.

T: Okay, thanks.

BS: Wait, how do you spell ‘wombat’?

T: (repressing an annoyed sigh) W-O-M-B-A-T

BS: Oh, I was spelling it w-a-m-b-a-t (laughs).

T: (brief, polite laughter followed by silence)

BS: Here it is! Gosh, these computers are so picky.

And wouldn’t you know, they didn’t have it in stock.

It's not that hard!

I am inept and, maybe, just a little bit dumb.

Right now I'm "taking a break" from attempting to cover a plate of lemon squares with plastic wrap. I've gone through three pieces so far and none of them are sticking. Nothing like a piece of plastic to make you feel like a total moron.

Shit.

I'm getting the tape.

Gross day

Yucky thing #1
This morning the kids were outside playing and JP found a snake. He was playing with a huge, heavy pipe* on a pile of rocks at the back of our yard and when the Garter snake slithered out, JP got excited and dropped the aforementioned pipe. Right on the poor snake's head. Unfortunately, the pipe crushed the snake's skull but didn't entirely kill it. Mr. Tonks got the shovel and finished the poor guy off. I used the same shovel to dig a hole and carry the snake to his final resting place**. A brick is on top of the snake's grave and JP has been given extremely specific instructions not to dig it up.

Yucky thing #2
This afternoon, while my in-laws were over, I caught the dog outside with something in her mouth and looking particularly pleased with herself. Zoie has a tendency to eat sticks (she has pica so she'll actually eat just about anything) and that's what I expected to find- a half-eaten stick. Imagine my surprise when I pulled out what we presume to be the lower jaw bone of a cat. Any bets on what skeletal remain we find next?


*Our house was built in the 1940's and, for reasons I don't understand, there are two huge pipes (each around eight-feet long) in our yard and other smaller pipes buried in the ground behind our fence row. We'd throw it away but the trash guys won't take anything over four-feet long and we don't own a tool that will cut through 1/4" thick galvanized pipe.

**While carrying the snake to his grave, JP requested to hold it. I said no (it was fairly bloody). Then he said, "How 'bout I just hold its little head? I'll be gentle."

My sweet boy

I was listening to an NPR story about Darfur this afternoon. A soundbite of President Bush issuing empty threats to the Sudanese government left me feeling enraged. "What are you going to do?" I shouted at the radio, temporarily forgetting that JP was tagging along during my Target run. He asked why I was shouting and who was I shouting at. I explained to him that I was frustrated, that our president wasn't very good and that there are people in Africa who need our help but the president wasn't doing anything for them. He became quiet and I could tell that the wheels in his head were turning. Suddenly his eyes brightened and he said happily, "I have an idea! I know what could help the people in Africa! Superman! I bet if we asked him he'd swoop right in and help all those people." I didn't have the heart to squelch his triumph so I just said, "I think you're right buddy."

Sad, isn't it, when a four-year old's plan to end the genocide seems more attainable (and more likely to happen) than the hollow rhetoric of this administration.

Kicky new sunglasses

I think these are my most favorite sunglasses ever. It's hard to tell but they have sparkly multi-colored rhinestones on the sides. I have kind of a small head and it was suggested I try kids sunglasses. Hooray for Nordstroms! Cute sunglasses that fit for $10! Woo-hoo!

Not in my house

Yesterday JP said something that didn't sit well with me. I can't remember what, exactly, but it was a derogatory statement about girls. I asked him if he realized that Mommy was a girl and would he like it if someone talked that way about me? He responded with quiet but dismissive, "no."

Hmm...what's a mom to do when trying to teach her 4-year old how not to be a misogynistic twit? Well, this mom uses slightly empty* threats.

I told him that if he continues to put girls down because they're girls he's going to learn what it's like to be a girl. I'm going to make him wear a dress to school.

It must've had at least some effect because today, while chatting with a neighbor, I asked JP what will happen if he's not kind to the girls at school. His response: "Mom's gonna make me wear one of Lindsey's [my friend's daughter] dresses."


*I realize that this gender bias bullshit is because of his age. He's starting to see differences between boys and girls, is learning how to play with more than one friend, etc. Will I really make him wear a dress to school...probably not. Unless he gets really bad. Then I absolutely will.

It came back to bite me

This time last week I was whining about my allergies.

This week my allergies are much better, thank you, but the weather fucking sucks! It's cold. And rainy. And windy. The beautiful flowers that were starting to bud and bloom are dead. Even those that have been covered and protected have succumbed to below freezing temperatures in the evening. The Easter Egg Hunt at my parents' house on Sunday was cut short because it was so stinking cold. JP and SG were dressed for a trek up Everest- no cute spring outfits this year. The worse part? Snow has worked its way into the forecast. Shit. If it's not Christmas I have no use for snow!

*sigh*

Who knew that I'd be whining because my nose isn't runny?

Come back, Spring!

Happy day

Mr. Tonks, as I type, is en route to the Apple Store to buy an iMac.

I'm nearly as excited as I was the day we brought JP* home. I will finally be the proud owner of a Mac!!!

Now if I could just get rid of the buyer's remorse...


*Not that I wasn't just as excited to bring SG home- I was- but JP was premature and had to spend some extra time in the hospital so his homecoming was also a huge relief.

Long time, long week

Tomorrow Mr. Tonks and I will have been a couple for nine-years. Our seventh wedding anniversary is a couple months away.

It sounds like a long time.

It is a long time.

We've been spatting for the last couple days so there probably won't be much in the way of celebrating. I'm feeling irritated and put-out. I don't particularly like him very much right now. Love him, yes. Still, I'd kind of like to kick him in the shins.

My frustration with him spills over onto the children which isn't fair. My already short fuse gets pushed to the limit by two little people who seem to be determined to tick each other off.

*sigh*

This has not been a good week. Is it over yet?

'Tis the Season

I have been hoping and praying for Spring to get here and now it has arrived in full force in all its glory, with green grass, blooming flowers, budding trees and the need to be outside as much as humanly possible. Glorious!

What is not so fantastic is the runny nose, watery, itchy eyes, sore throat and the feeling that I've been smacked upside the head by a gigantic peony teeming with pollen.

Pre- JP and SG I would've stayed inside as much as possible until Memorial Day. Now, with two kiddos who start begging to go outside almost as soon as they've finished their chocolate milk, being a Spring hermit ain't an option. Plus, I finally have a house I love with a yard that is begging for some TLC. I want to be outside gardening and playing in the dirt! My head is spinning with all my landscaping plans, container recipes and trying to figure out what cool thing I'm going to do with my nifty solar powered, color changing, bubble lights.

*sigh*

There is no point to this post. None at all. You'll notice the label distinctly reads WHINING and nothing else. I've got about four more years of allergy shots before I'm done with Springtime Sneezes (at least this is what they tell me).

Right now, I need to go blow my nose.

I'm the Mama

Dammit!

This evening I was talking to my mom. Early in the day she called me on my cell phone while JP and I were stranded* at Costco in a not great (not terrible) part of town. Truthfully, I wouldn't go there at night by myself but during the day it's fine.

Apparently she told my father what I had done who informed her to tell me that he didn't want me taking the kids to "that part of town."

Let's refresh:
1. I'm the Mama
2. I spent 53 hours in labor with JP and four with SG. I have earned the right to take them anywhere I damn well choose.
3. I'm not reckless, stupid or prone to endangering the kids' welfare.
4. I'm 28-years old, own my own home, car and haven't lived with my parents for nearly seven-years. I haven't killed myself or burned the house down. I have, I admit, wrecked many cars**.
5. I'M THE MAMA!!!

I got a little huffy about the lecture and told my mother to remind my father of the above points (not all of them but the general gist) and further reminded her that JP and SG were my children, therefore his opinion on where they did or didn't go wasn't any of his business.

Now she's huffy with me, will probably tell my father about our conversation and he'll get his skivvies in a twist. Next time I see him, I'll get a lecture. In front of my kids.

It's not like this is the first time that this has happened. It happens a lot, usually over little stuff- reminding me to dress the kids warmly, not to go out because the roads are slick, put sunscreen on, etc.

Once again, I have never, ever not taken care of my children! They're always dressed weather appropriate in very cute clothes*** when we go out. They always get fed. They each ride in very safe, very expensive car seats. Child Protective Services has never come to my home (nor will they ever need to). I have never lost or injured one of my children due to negligence. I'm a good mom! Not perfect, maybe not even great but I love my kids more than anything.

I love my parents, too, and I know they mean well but I don't appreciate being second-guessed all the time.

Will I ever truly be a grown-up? Is this because I'm an only child? Worse still, will I do this to my kids when they have kids?

*I was in Mr. Tonks' car and decided to buy an outdoor storage box. It wouldn't fit in his little car so I had to have him come with my larger car so we could get the dang thing home.

**I have totaled three cars. In an 18-month period. The two big ugly accidents were not my fault (truly) and I still maintain that the last car committed suicide by drowning. All three accidents were pre, pre- JP and SG. However I have never lived any of them down.

***They usually look cute. Sometimes the dress themselves (or, in SG's case, insist on certain items) in the same sweet clothes but in more interesting ensembles.

Tonks: 1, Ice cream sandwich: 0

Ha!

I think I have mentioned before that I'd very much like to lose some weight. Between the hoopla of moving, the holidays and miscarriage I've added some extra padding in the last six-months. Ten to 15-pounds of padding. Not a lot, except I'm only 5'3" and normally weigh under 120-lbs.

I've been working out every Tuesday and Thursday for the last two months, walking occasionally and even tried yoga, but haven't been being very mindful of the crap I'm putting in my mouth. I'm a sucker for candy, cookies and all sorts of goodies that only contribute to the chubs.

I'm tired of being fluffy and ready to get back to normal. I'm throwing down the gauntlet. I've got two-months or so before swimsuit season and, dammit, I'm not going to the pool looking the way I do right now*.

This evening I got into the freezer for some ice and saw and Klondike Bar sitting there, calling to me, practically begging to be eaten. I'm a sucker for ice cream, too.

BUT, I practiced self-control and restraint and didn't eat the Klondike Bar! I stared at it as if daring it to jump out of its wrapper and into my mouth before I forced myself to read the label. For reasons I don't understand, finding out that something has trans fat causes the food to lose all appeal. Klondike Bars, by some miracle, contain trans fat.

It feels good, like I've done something stupendous. Instead of throwing away the hour-long ass kicking I had this evening I, just maybe, benefited from it. Woo-hoo!


*Here's the deal: I'm a perfectly healthy weight (as far as I can tell- I don't weigh myself) but I'm not comfortable in my own skin right now. Plus, my height and bone structure mean I don't carry excess weight well at all.

I almost killed the dog (seriously)

Zoie came dangerously close to entering that great dog house in the sky today.

We have been having some ant issues (due to the all the rain) so Mr. Tonks and I placed a couple baits outside- one behind a large, potted plant and one on the outside ledge of the kitchen window.

I let our Wonder Mutt outside this morning and after several minutes I realized she was being unusually quiet and well-behaved* so I went out to check on her. I found our tiny dog happily munching on the ant trap that had, apparently, fallen off the windowsill.

I called the vet whose receptionist called to his assistant who uttered a very discouraging, "Oh God. Oh no. She needs to get here now."

En route the necessary phone calls were made (Mr. Tonks, my parents**), prayers were uttered, truthful explanations were given to four-year old JP who knew something was up and I experienced my first nosebleed which I blame on stress and humidity.

Long story, slightly short, Zoie didn't actually get to the bait inside the trap and she lives. Hooray! My gross little dog drives me crazy. I threaten, a lot, to strangle her, ship her to A White Bear, etc. but I love her almost as much as I love my kids.

I'm relieved beyond words. The ant traps are gone. The dog is alive. All is well.

*Zoie is a total butt outside. She eats sticks, rolls in unidentifiable stuff on the ground and barks at every damn thing she sees/ hears/ or smells.

**My parents were called to come pick-up the kids because I feared Zoie was a goner and I didn't want them to see that.

5 Questions part II

See this post for info regarding 5 Questions.

From CharleyCarp
1. How did you choose your undergraduate major?
My first major was my first love: theatre. My second major, after I left theatre*, was journalism. I don't love it but I'm damn good at it.

2. You've won a month-long vacation, half with the kids, half without. Where do you go (you don't have to be in a single place for the whole time, but you only get one plane round trip)?
I'm assuming money is no object so I'm going all out. We start in Australia with the kiddos. I'd take them to Australia Zoo, the outback and the Great Barrier Reef. We'd head to New Zealand for a week or so to explore, hike and raft (again, with the kids). The time spent in Australia and New Zealand would probably take the whole portion of the kids' vacation with us. Once they were safely in the care of my parents, Mary Poppins or Super Nanny* Mr. Tonks and I would spend a blissful five-days doing nothing on a beach in Tahiti. We'd spend a couple days doing Tahitian-type activities and then we'd go to Fiji and spend a few more days basking. We'd rip ourselves away from paradise a few days early to come back to reality so we could spend a couple days at home, alone, to recover from our jet-lag.

3. You're going to visit a friend in NYC for a long weekend (sans entourage) and pick up a copy of the paper to see what entertainment is in town: what is the most pleasing surprise?
A whole weekend with A White Bear? Woo-hoo! I don't know where to begin! A terrific Broadway musical, for starters (not Grease, The Sound of Music, Bye Bye Birdie or any other show I don't like). Beyond that, I'd let AWB take the reigns and follow her lead. I'd would like it, however, if she threw one of her famous parties and made me sorbet. I love her sorbet!

4. You can go back in time to 9th grade: what do you change generally, and what specifically with regard to school sports?
I don't change a thing, generally. As far as school sports go...I didn't do sports- at least not through high school. With the activities I did do, I would prep harder for a couple auditions my freshman and sophomore years, I would've bowed out of debate* my sophomore year before the season ever started. I would've campaigned harder to be the managing editor of the school paper my senior year (I didn't get the title but I got many of the duties in addition to my own section's). I would've thumbed my nose at my parents and gotten scholarships so I could go to the school I wanted to go to.

5. You can go back in time to the 19th century, any location and time, but you have to be a member of the same social class you are in now, and have to stay a whole year. Where do you go, and what work do you do (you may switch gender for the year, if you want)?
Can I just not go? I have no desire to be a man and being a woman in the 19th century in the middle class (no matter the locale) just doesn't sound like my idea of fun.

*I loved debate and I was good at it (state ranked my freshman year). The problem was that I didn't want to devote my life to it, I wanted to spend more time in the theatre and journalism departments. This ticked my coach off to no end and she stuck me with a horrific partner and we didn't even make it to a single tourney. A miserable experience that wasn't worth the effort.

I love monkeys

The Monkey Story*

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for 5¢ a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

*I came across this story my junior year of high school. I have no idea who wrote it.

If there's nothing to hide

...why so secretive?

Do you suppose Bush and Cheney can feel the noose tighten around their necks?

Hell no!

For future reference, you will never catch me here.

Five Questions

Via Belledame...

Here's the scoop:
Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better. If I already know you well, expect the questions may be a little more intimate!You WILL update your journal/bloggy thing/whatever with the answers to the questions.You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Here are Belle's questions for yours truly:

1) If you weren't "Tonks," which literary character would you name yourself after?
Hmm...there are many but I think I'm going to go with Ibsen. I identify with his characters Nora (going from my father's house to my husband's, so to speak) and Hedda (her self destructiveness).

Other contenders: Darcy (I like to think I'm a bit like Elizabeth) and Anne for Anne of Green Gables. My very favorite book in the world.

2) How did you meet AWB?
A White Bear and I met about 15-years ago in middle school French class. She says I called her a bitch and it changed her life. We didn't like each other much back then. We were thrown together again in our high school theatre department and she quickly became one of my favorite people. Now she is JP and SG's favorite "aunt" and I practically count the days between her biannual visits.

3) What's the most beautiful language in the world?
I love French. It's smooth, lovely and even makes fights sound elegant.

4) Did you want brothers and sisters as a kid?
Yes. Being an only child sucks. I would go through catalogues and mark the babies, begging my mother for a brother or sister. In an ideal world I would've had an older brother and younger sister. The older I get the more I wish I had a sibling. It's hard to be an only child (married to a fellow only child) when your parents begin to age.

5) What's a typical day's menu look like at your place?
Breakfast: Carnation Instant Breakfast (chocolate) for everyone.

Lunch: Turkey dogs for me and the kids or (and this has been happening a lot lately) the kids opt for ham and turkey roll-ups* and I drink Carnation Instant Breakfast.

Dinner: Just about anything goes. I cook with red meat about once a year (if that) so there is a lot of chicken and turkey (ground, sausage, etc.) eaten at our house. I make really good ribs, baked beans and cheesy corn. My mac and cheese doesn't come from a box. I've successfully transitioned to whole grain pastas but still don't love brown rice. I prefer fresh veggies but will use frozen. I avoid canned unless I'm using corn or beets.

Snacks: Fruit, yogurt, crackers, I love pretzel chips, the kids love fruit snacks. Ooh, a yummy snack tip: popcorn, lightly sprayed with Smart Balance Buttery Burst Spray and sprinkled with Penzey's Taco Seasoning. Yum.

*Deli sliced turkey and ham wrapped around a stick of string cheese. JP refers to this as a "harvest lunch." I don't know why...

Anyone else want to play?

Poop

Our next door neighbors have two large black labs. For reasons I don't understand the prefer letting the dogs go to the small front yard to poop as opposed to their large backyard. The stinky bombs sit there, undisturbed, for weeks on end. They look nasty but smell is worse.

The husband (we'll call him Bob) used to turn a blind eye while the dogs did their business in our adjoining side yard. Until one day last fall when I happened to catch the dogs and Bob in the act, activated my car's panic button, and watched in satisfaction as the dogs tore off toward their owner and Bob's cell phone conversation was cut short.

That was a good day. Now the dogs stay in their yard to cop a squat (this makes me happy) but the poop remains.

Many of our neighbors walk, spend time in their yard, and are outside often. Everyone comments to us about the Poop Yard- as though we have control over it. On warm days or when the wind blows from the North the smell is atrocious. The Poop Yard's aroma drifts and can be smelled from three or four houses away. Gross.

What to do? Bob and his wife seem like nice enough people*, they're DINKS** so they're not home all that often. Aside from the poop their yard is well kept but the smell drives the rest of the neighborhood crazy. Do we ask them nicely to do something about the poop? Go over when they're not there and clean it up? Wear face masks while outside and hope they take a hint? Leave an anonymous note?

Down with the poop!

*I say they're nice enough people BUT shortly after moving in I went over there to ask a question and was horrified to see a hardbound copy of Ann Coulter's book on the sideboard.

**Double Income No Kids

It's Foreign Language Day!

Comment accordingly. All languages accepted- even Pig Latin.

Starting...

Maitenant!

Speaking American

The whole debate over whether or not to make English the "official" language of various cities, the US, etc. annoys me. Do people really believe that we're going to wake up one morning and suddenly be required to speak Spanish? Or French? Perhaps Mandarin? Maybe Latin will make a resurgence...

I digress.

What irks me more than anything are the soundbites played in the media of people saying, "If they're gonna live here then they better learn to speak English!" or, "This is 'Merica. They need to speak 'Merican!"

I've traveled a fair amount overseas and am always struck by Americans' brazenness (and sometimes downright rude behavior) when it comes to speaking a foreign language in a foreign country. I'll never forget standing in a store in Paris while a woman very loudly and crudely asked the proprietor, "Parlay vouse Englaze?" When the man ignored her, she persisted, this time in her native tongue, "Do you speak English?" He continued to ignore her (rightly so) until she left the store. Such behavior was not an isolated case. The same people who insist that English should be spoken here because, dammit, this is America, won't be bothered to (properly) learn a few token phrases when vacationing in another country.

Tomorrow, I think, should be Foreign Language Day at Into the Thick of It. Bring your favorite foreign phrase and share it with the rest of the class.

Ciao!

What did you do today?

We built a fire pit and then roasted hot dogs for dinner followed by s'mores for dessert.

Saturday morning ick factor

It's Saturday morning so, naturally, the children are watching cartoons.

A commercial came on for a new Barbie doll and for reasons still unknown to me, I watched it.

This morning they were selling the Barbie Forever Barbie Doll with Tanner the Dog. Barbie is bad enough* but Tanner the dog is nasty!

You feed the dog "biscuits" which the dog promptly poops out. Barbie very responsibly picks up the poo with her magnetic pooper scooper and tosses it into the waste bin. When it's time to feed Tanner you dump the waste bin and feed her the poo because the food and poo are all the same.

Don't believe me? The sentence below is taken directly from Amazon's item description:
At this point, Barbie can pick it up with her scooper, and then Tanner will eat it again-- just like your real dog!

"Just like your real dog"? Perhaps we're strange but we do not feed our dog her own bodily waste!!!

Ew! Ew! Ew!

The morning after pill

A news story ran this evening about parents of a murdered teenager trying to get Alexa's Law passed in Kansas. The potential law is so-named after the unborn baby of the murdered teenager.

I'm not commenting about the law or the potentially far-reaching implications. I haven't read it and know nothing more than what's in the story.

This is the statement that sent me reeling:

The bill would not charge a mother who harmed an unborn child, nor would it charge for death caused by abortion or by medication, such as the morning-after pill.

Now, being a wise little feminist, I lurk, on a daily basis, around Bitch Ph.D.'s blog and distinctly remember this post.

To reiterate: Plan B (aka the morning after pill) is not the abortion pill. It prevents pregnancy from occurring.

News dispute

Mr. Tonks and I are at an impasse.

He has a habit of channel surfing during the 10 o'clock news*. He buzzes back and forth between the four stations which often means I get to watch the same story- three or four times.

This annoys me to no end.

When asked why he does this, Mr. Tonks says, "I didn't think you were paying attention."

In my humble opinion, that response is dumb and makes no sense. Yes, I'm blogging while the news is on but I can pay attention to two things** at once.

I just want to watch/ listen to the news, all the news, not the same news story 4-times in a five minute period. Is that too much to ask?

*The ten o'clock news is usually the only news I get to watch.

**This should come as no surprise. My time is generally spent watching Thing 1 (JP) and Thing 2 (SG) all day, every day. Except of course, when I'm not watching them and they make each other scream.

PITY PARTY!!!

This evening Mr. Tonks is having a pity party for himself. I hereby invite you all to drop by and placate his bruised ego.

I wish my kids could've seen that

I have decided that we (the kids and I) are going to start using our garage as a main point of entry into the house. I think it will cut down on some dirt and clutter. Maybe. Okay, probably not but right now it seems like a good idea.

Anyway, in an effort to make this change more feasible, Mr. Tonks and I worked on the garage this evening. I was putting some things in the loft area above the garage which consists mostly of wood joists.

Good thing those trusses were there.

I had just finished putting the leaf blower away and was getting ready to climb back down the ladder when the ladder fell. Using my swift, catlike reflexes* I grabbed one of the joists and held on for dear life. I dangled, about eight or nine feet above the concrete floor, for a couple seconds before Mr. Tonks (my hero!) rescued me and returned me safely to ground level.

My only regret, other than the big bruised knot on my shin, was that my kids were not awake to see my stunt work. I have no doubt that JP would think his mom super cool. I love it when he thinks I'm cool.

*Go ahead and laugh.

The worst dream ever

The dream I had last night was wretched. Wretched.

I dreamed I was going to the bathroom. It was one of those dreams that was vividly real. The kind that leaves you disconcerted upon waking because, in your sleepy state of mind, you're not sure what's dream and what's reality.

So, as I said, in my dream I was perched on the toilet, answering the call of nature. Midway through my business I woke-up, terrified to find myself in bed. I felt around cautiously, certain that my hand was going to eventually hit a wet spot. It didn't, thank God. Can you imagine that conversation at two in the morning? Having to tell my husband that his 28-year old wife had wet the bed? Something, incidentally, that I've never done- not even as a toddler!

Needless to say, my remaining five-hours of sleep were not good.

Easily amused

Confession: I love to go through the Sunday engagement and wedding announcements and study the couples and make predictions as to how long the relationships will last.

Guinea pig

JP wants a guinea pig. We place the blame solely on Wonder Pets.

He has a really cute, realistic looking stuffed guinea pig, which reduced the number of guinea pig requests, but hasn't stopped them completely (which was the goal).

I told JP if he wanted one two things had to happen: he had to use his own money and Daddy had to agree to it. The latter did not occur. When JP readily agreed with the first stipulation, I explained that buying a guinea pig would delay buying the Nerf crossbow thing that he wants. He didn't care.

We went to the pet store* today and while there he blissfully cradled a guinea pig for half-an-hour. There is no doubt that he truly wants one.

Mr. Tonks and I have pondered the possibility of the Easter Bunny bringing JP a guinea pig but, quite frankly, the Easter Bunny is on the fence as to whether or not s/he really wants one!

*While there a woman was purchasing something in a big cardboard box. JP asked about the box's contents and she said, "A bunny. It's dinner for a Burmese python."

A LOT

When I was but a wee high school sophomore taking J-1 (the prerequisite journalism class) our advisor strode into the room and wrote the following on the board in huge letters red letters.

ALOT = TWO WORDS DAMMIT

A LOT

She went on to list other offending words: your/ you're, its/ it's, their/ there/ they're, etc . You get the picture. More often than not, when I see "alot" spelled that way, it makes me cringe. It drives me crazy and it makes me want to yell, "Two words, dammit!"

I feel much better having gotten that off my chest.

Blah

I've been wanting to write something non-mommy related. I'm bored with the topic and, quite frankly, I'm sure my handful of readers are as well.

Instead, I'm sick. Mr. Tonks has been home for the last two days taking care of the Tonklings and babying me. Yesterday he got a taste of what it's like for me on my "day off" as he calls it and today he has bravely loaded up JP and SG (both, by the way, have ear infections) and taken them to Costco because we are out of food.

Part of me feels sorry for him. I do! He's been thrown into some rough waters, head first, without much of a life jacket. The other part of me is secretly rejoicing. He's getting a small taste of what it's like to stay home- I can tell because he's been a little cranky with JP and SG and Mr. Tonks is not the cranky type.

So, until I feel up for a non-parenting post, A White Bear ponders the fate of bees over at ITNSII?, Orange has some interesting points about boys vs. girls toys, Jolt had some wicked spam so it might be worth going through her comments alone just to see some more of that stuff ;) and if you haven't checked out her blog yet, you should. My friend Anna posted another gorgeous African sunset picture and, of course, there is always something interesting going on over at Unfogged.

Right now, though, I'm off to take an afternoon nap.