Stuffed monkey puppet? No thank you. Evil Homicidal Monkey? Yes, please!

Yesterday:  One of my favorite blogs is written by The Bloggess.  She has amused me many, many times.  Thanks to her I am now the proud owner of Gina.

Gina is a distant relative of Beyonce and not nearly as big.  Although I am thinking of using her as a teaching tool.  I named her after Gina Gershon because she has dark hair, well, dark metal feathers, and I just saw Gina Gershon on an episode of Psych and realized she needed to be around more often so what better place than my kitchen.  Ms. Gershon might not think it too complementary to have a metal chicken named after her but if she just took a look at all of the love Beyonce the Giant Metal Chicken is getting she might change her mind.  If you like Beyonce, please check out her Facebook page.

Not quite as colorful but definitely one to keep you on your toes is Copernicus.  He also has a Facebook page.  Since I am home during the day with the kiddos and they are all sweet and cute until I just think about making a phone call, I keep up with the outside world by leaving my email, Twitter and Facebook open on my computer.  And since they cannot read I do not mind leaving something up with some rated R or TV-MA language.  This afternoon I had Facebook open and one of Copernicus' posts was listed in my news feed.

My 3 year old:  "Yiayia (what the boy calls my mom) you see that monkey?"
Me:  "Oh yeah, sorry about that.  I know you don't like monkeys."
3 year old:  "We need to make the picture of that monkey bigger."
Me:  "Umm.... you probably don't want me to do that."  Whispers, I thought, quietly to my mom "that is Copernicus the Homicidal Monkey."  My mom looked at me and I know her thoughts ran to "this she got from her father."
3 year old:  "I like that monkey."
Me:  "I love you kid."

This is the same child that a few weeks ago refused, REFUSED I say, to go upstairs and pick out his jammies because there was a stuffed monkey in his closet.  Granted his stuffed monkey is more of an orangutan but let's compare, shall we?

Here is the monkey he was afraid of in his closet next to Copernicus on my computer.

And in case you cannot see Copernicus all that well, here is a link:  Copernicus the Homicidal Monkey .

 Today.  So today I actually took the pictures above.  When I brought the stuffed monkey/orangutan downstairs for the photo shoot the boy says:  "Why you bring the scary monkey downstairs?"  To which I replied "Well, to take a picture of him."  Him:  "Where is Coperncus?"  I love my boy.  So that is when we had a photo shoot of the stuffed "scary monkey" and Copernicus.  I had him point to the one that he liked best and here it is (trust me, he is pointing to Copernicus):

And here he is pointing to the "scary monkey:"

So there you have it.  Oh, and he also told me that Coperncus (because he is 3 and cannot enunciate) is going to eat all the white stuff on his (Copernicus') face.  Nice.  Next up will be pics of random weird-ass things I found at the antique store while looking for Gina.

Scenes from a Gas Station (and chicken salad recipe for one of my peeps)

Somewhere in South Carolina

Gas Pump:  Welcome to "Gas is Cheaper in South Carolina."  Please insert card and remove quickly.

Me:  [Inserts card and removes quickly.]

Pump:  Is that credit or debit?

Me:  Credit.

Pump:  Please enter zip code.

Me:  [Enters zip code.]

Pump:  "Hmph, what are you doin' comin' all the way down here for cheap gas and you have an American Idol winner livin' down the street from you?"

Me:  "She lives in the swanky neighborhood.  I am more 'swanky-adjacent.'"

Pump:  "Hmmm, sure.  Do you want regular, plus or premium?"

Me:  [Pushes regular button.]

Pump:  "Seriously?  With a car that big?"

Me:  "Yes, gas is expensive anyway and I got a kid in preschool, we just had to get a new roof, our two big dogs are on this expensive senior food for their joints . ."

Pump:  "Whatever lady."  *cough*cheapskate*cough*  "Well, start pumping."

Me:  [Starts pumping.]

Pump:  [Turns off.]  "You mean you came all the way down here to get five gallons of gas?  Talk about a waste. Should have known when I saw that big ol' SUV come rollin' up."

Me:  "As a matter of fact I am on my way to make a donation to one of your local charities and decided to stop on the way so I wasted no gas at all thank you very much.  Why are you so angry?"
Pump:  "Me?  Angry?  Why listen you . . . sorry, I'm just tired what with all you Charlotte people coming down here and all.  And the fumes.  They just get to me."

Me:  "Ok.  No problem."

Pump:  "Do you want a car wash today?"

Me:  [pushes "no" button.]

Pump:  "Are you sure?  Cuz from where I'm standing it looks like your car is about 2 1/2 hours away from your kid writing 'Wash Me' on the back window."

Me:  "Not gonna happen.  He can't write.  Or spell for that matter."

Pump:  "Sheesh, sorry lady."
Me:  "Not a big deal, he's 3."

Pump: "Oh.  Well, do you want a receipt?"

Me:  [pushes "no" button.]

Pump:  "I see.  So now you are trying to save the environment even though you drive that 18-wheeler all over town."

Me:  "No, its just that I end up throwing the receipts away anyway and  . . . why I am explaining myself to you?"

And you know how at the end you usually see a nice "Thank you for shopping at blah-de-blah.  Have a nice day."?  Well, I could have sworn I saw "Get lost.  Oh, and you might want to think about laying off the cupcakes."

Chicken Salad:

1 can chicken or pick apart a rotisserie chicken
start with 1/2 cup may then add more if you like
1 granny smith apple cut up really small (in a mini-chopper if you have one)
1/2 cup pecans chopped or mini-chopper-ed
salt and pepper to taste

Mix it up and shove it in yo mouth.

The chicken salad from the boy's birthday party:

4 cups chicken (I think I used two big cans (heh) or one rotisserie)
call for 3 celery ribs, but I think you know my feelings on celery
1 cup craisins
1/2 cup chopped toasted pecans
1 1/2 cups mayo (maybe start with 1 cup and see how you feel)
1/3 cup honey
salt and pepper to taste

Mix chicken, celery (if you must), craisins and pecans.
In separate bowl, mix mayo, honey, salt and pepper.  Pour mayo mixture over chicken mixture and mixture them.

Yeah we're gonna let it, slide

So I finally washed my hair today.  It is not a gross as it sounds although it was probably not that far off.  There are certain things that some people let slide when kids come into the picture.  If you work outside the home then chances are you shower and wash your hair daily or close to it.  When you stay at home with the kids, do your own errand running, house cleaning and grass cutting (sometimes but probably not enough for your homeowners association) your appearance can sometimes lean toward a mix of lazy college student and corpse.  And hats become your friend.  Now I would like to note that I had showered in the last week and a half, and no I will not say how many times, but the washing of the hair just did not happen.  Until today.  My hair was a commercial break away from forming its own dreadlocks and as my hair dresser in Charleston used to say, "White people should never, ever have dreadlocks."  She also was the first to inform me that when using any styling products to put it in your hand and then start at the bottom of your hair and not at the front or else you will have a huge ick spot front and center and will end up looking like me six hours ago.  She is vair wise.  I have those big pump shampoo and conditioner bottles and usually use about four or five pumps for my hair as it is on the long-ish side.  This time I decided to go for seven.  Turns out I needed nine.  My hair felt like Pig Pen and kept drinking the shampoo like a college student who just learned how to do keg stands or discovered the yummy-ness of Midori and pineapple.

Other things that slide, and I know it has been said many times, housework.  The only room in the house that the kids are not allowed to go in has dust about 3 feet high.  And it is probably a good idea to NOT turn on the ceiling fan unless you have some sort of breath mask.  And goggles.  Our house is brick so there are lots of spider webs hanging around but Halloween is just around the corner so no rush there.  Also, my many, many projects that are all about 1/6 of the way done but have stayed at that status for an embarrassingly long time.  There are others but I need to keep some stuff off the record.

Joe Francis has a protege in South Charlotte

So I got flashed by a 3 year old boy today.  It would not be so bad except he did not flash himself.  He flashed me.  And by flashed me I mean walked over and pulled up my shirt.  Luckily he is about as tall as my dog's food bag so the shirt only exposed my lily-white-I-have-had-two-kids-and-am-nowhere-near-close-to-be-mistaken-for-Pippa-Middleton stomach, but still.  His mom was all "Oh, sorry.  He does that all the time."  But I translated it to "Yeah, well, I'm not really sorry, I just do not feel like controlling him.  Maybe I am sorry.  For your belts. But whatever."  Did I mention we were in the middle of Target?  On a Saturday afternoon?  Good stuff.  I wanted to run over to the kitchen tools section, grab a wooden spoon, smack his little hand and pull him by the ear and put him in time-out right there in the school supplies section (which, by the way, is the busiest section in Target on a Saturday afternoon) but since parents get all worked up over that kind of stuff I decided the best course of action was to kneel down to his level and whisper into his little 3 year old ear that he was adopted because his real parents could not be bothered by his shenanigans.  I did not really do that but I soooooo wanted to.  Mainly because we have a little history with this kid who will either grow up to take over the Girls Gone Wild franchise or get arrested at Mardi Gras.

This is the same kid that my nowhere-near-perfect-but-cute-as-a-box-of-golden-retriever-puppies boy complained about at his little gym class.  Until this time my boy had only "I don't like . . " to certain foods (lunch meats, mustard, most vegetables, tequila*), his little sister and my choice of attire.  Then one day at the kiddo gym, the flasher kid was in his group and kept running up and pushing him and some of the other kids over, nudging them aside to get the good spot on the mat (the corner, in case you did not know) and just generally being a pain in everyone's ass.  Did the mom step up?  No.  Now she was about six/seven months pregnant but still, get your kid under control or take him out.  Of the class.  Not Soprano style. Although . . .  My boy was making some "What-the-frick-is-your-problem?" faces at the kid but did not say anything until we got in the car.  At which point I got "I don't like that blue kid." (Flasher was wearing a blue shirt.  And everyone is the color of their shirt which is cute except for the time when we were in Borders and a guy left his work on the cafe table to take a phone call outside and my boy was all "Where's that black guy going?" and had not yet  mastered his indoor volume control.)  So we talked about the blue kid and I decided it was time to teach a lesson in telling other people "don't push/hit/kick me, I don't like it" or to get Mommy/Daddy/etc or a teacher and tell them what is going on.  Or, as I taught him later that day, to say "Check yourself before you wreck yourself!" which in 2 1/2 year speak came as "Check self wreck self Blue Kid!"  I hope they teach urban colloquialisms in preschool.  Maybe I can get that in for his 4's program next year.  

*Note to CPS:  I did not really let him try tequila.  Though in an effort to be forthcoming, he did sneak a sip of my iced coffee the other day.  

If the shoe fits, or doesn't . . . .

So one of the myriad of bizarre things that can happen when one births a child is that one's feet can grow up to a 1/2 size.  I can personally say that this le fact.  After two kids I have gifted shoes to close friends and donated some to charity.  The hardest ones to see leave were a pair Dansko mules (although my mom has them and I get to see her wear them, so there's that) and my glorious Frye boots that I gave to a friend but was so sad to see them go that I told her under no circumstances is she to wear them in my presence.  For a while I was mad because my shoe collection was depleted by half but now there is another problem that needs to be addressed.

Should your feet grow, for whatever reason, know that you can always get new shoes.  The one thing that takes a very, very, very, very long time to deal with is working with your "new" feet.  My feet were the same size from approximately high school until I was 37.  That is, what, over 20 years of working with the same size feet.  Now, add a few centimeters and trouble starts.  One day you are walking around not harming anyone, minding your own business then next you are jamming your toes on furniture and door jams, shoving your toenails up through your foot and into your knee and trying not to curse like an 80's stand-up comic because your three year old is always around and always, always listening.  Also, it suddenly becomes a pain in the ass to put on pants! And undies!  If I had a nickle for every time my frickin' toe got caught on/in pants . . . Also, my poor, poor doggies.  I have two quite large older dogs that lie around a lot and I am constantly walking over or around them.  Now with these extra centimeters I have accidentally nudged them, slipped on the golden's tail and tripped over them enough to look into some supplemental health insurance.  This has been going on for three years now and I am still having issues.  Oh, and for the love of all that is Holy, do not let me be near anything breakable or hot liquids if I have on socks THEN put on pants.  Those extra 2 millimeters are enough for me to need a spotter or a neck brace.  

Digging for gold . . .

So, the three year old's new thing is exploring his nostrils, extracting anything interesting he may find then commencing with a show-and-tell session.  We call them "bogies" because I love Harry Potter, think "troll bogies" are disgustingly hilarious and just plain prefer "bogies" to "boogers."  The other day he picked one, on the smallish size, at Target then proceeded to give the cart a nice bogie massage.  So those anti-bacterial wipes at the entrance?  Get one.  Actually, get four.  You know what, just buy your own cart.

Last night while watching "Olivia" he turns to me and says "Mommy, I have a bogie."
Me:  "Ok, let me get a tissue."
Him:  "I like this bogie."
Me:  "Um, ok, well here is a tissue."
Him:  "I like to eat the bogies."

Luckily I swooped in with the tissue and got the bogie and probably the top layer of skin off his index finger before he could eat it.  Tonight after doing extensive research (about 5 minutes) I found this article.  I knew there had to be some sort of "-xis," "-mania," or "-agy" associated with this ick but had NO idea it was this scientific.  Oh, and yes, I did start to throw up a little bit in my mouth while reading the article.  I bet the same people who buy into this and are over the age of 4 (at least I hope that is when most kids stop this mining) are the same people who drink their urine and use the natural grease from their hair as a moisturizer.

Today it was:  "Mommy, I have a bogie."
Me:  "Ok, let me get a tissue."  (note, every bogie conversation starts this way, every time.  Unless there are absolutely no tissues around and I have to do the repulsive mommy move of wiping it . . . never mind, I am not admitting to that.)
Him:  "I want to put it back."
Me:  "You want to put the bogie back in your nose."
Him:  "Yes."
Me:  "Why?"
Him:  "He has friends in there."
Me:  "Really?"
Him:  "Yes, they are resting."

So now we know that bogies have friends, can be active or sleeping, and act as an amuse bouche for the toddler/preschool set.

From the mouths and fists of babes . . . .

First off, I finished "It Looked Better On The Model" by Laurie Notaro last night and I maintain that it is one frickin' funny book.  So, there's that.  

From the Department of You-Play-You-Pay, there is this.  You know how when you have a three-year-old and all and they decide they do not want to nap but you know that if they don't then around 3pm until say 8:30pm it is like living with some sort of PTSD-paranoid-schizophrenic-borderline-personality-disorder/multiple-personality-disorder patient who whines and makes the demands of all the terrorists in the world seem reasonable and you are afraid you cannot afford the hospital bills for the severe whiplash you are sure to have after going thru all the mood swings?  Well, that was today.  So at 4:15 I decided to carry the child upstairs for some cooling off.  He ends up falling asleep (and so do I, score!) and we wake up at 6:30pm. Not good.  When he does get a nap, he usually will not go to bed until 9:30 or 10:00 and I am prepared for that.  I usually lay in there with him until he goes to sleep which I feel will end up with him in therapy one day but for now it gets him to sleep without a fit and I figure he will have his own health insurance, hopefully, to cover his mental health bills.  So, after listening to him talk about which upstairs rooms are over which downstairs rooms he says:

"Mommy, did you pick out this house?"

Me:  "Yes, Daddy and I picked it out."

Him:  "Why did you pick out this house?"

Me:  "Well, we liked it."

Him:   . . . . . . 

Him:  "Mommy, where is the house store?"

Awww. . . . ok.  That one was mainly for the fam who reads this.  Then, just to prove he has a bit of my over-active imagination after about 10 minutes of silence I get:

"Mommy, I hear something underneath my ear."

Me:  "You do?"

Him:  "I do."

Me:  "What does it sound like?"
Him:  "Well, it is either an elephant, a snake or . . . an elephant."

Me:  "Uh.  Well, let me listen."

Him:  "Do you hear it?"
Me:  "I hear something."

Him:  "An elephant, a snake or an elephant? . . . . Or, the fan."

Me:  "Yes, I do believe it is the fan." 

Crikey, if he starts saying our a/c fan sounds like a snake I am going to need a prescription for some sleep medicine that will not mess with my dreams.  Thanks kid.

5 minutes later:

Me, whispering oh so softly that it would probably not even be picked up on government spy listening devices:  "Are you awake?"

Him:  "Yes!"

Me:  "Oh, sorry hon, I did not mean to disturb you."

Him, in a voice I believe I have heard on Dateline before:  "I like disturbing YOU, Mommy."

Crap.

5 minutes later, I hear the gentle toddler snores that means I can finally come downstairs and do some house stuff (i.e. mess around on the computer, eat a snack, etc) but before that I got a full-body toddler sleep jerk and got punched in the lip.  At least I hope he was asleep.  

Crazy hair, a funny read and homemade granola bars

So earlier today I was thinking about how sometimes when I am running downstairs and pulling my hair back into a bun/ponytail combo while trying to answer the phone, verbally break up a fight between the boy and the girl and not trip over toys or dogs, I end up with a fabulous up-do without trying or a mirror. But when I need to look all put together (usually just about once a month, well, twice this month what with a family wedding/rehearsal dinner combo) and try to make a fabulous up-do I end up looking like a crazy person who has just removed her finger from an electrical outlet and then got all Tippi Hedron-ed by mockingbirds because they are meanest birds ever. So I tried to find a hairstyle on-line that would reflect this but could not. However I did find this:

Really? That has go to be a piece, right? Even so, she has a pig hair on her head. And if it is her real hair, can you imagine what it took to comb that bitch out? So if you want to see some disturbing hairstyles, Google "crazy hairstyles" and look at the images. Seriously. Do it. I'll wait. . . . . . . Well, maybe not, I have to finish an overdue library book. Some of the images are, for me, stomach churning. Also, if my kids end up coming home with ANY of these on their heads and it is not Halloween, I shall have them wait on the porch and re-greet them with clippers and a picture of a bald Britney Spears as a future deterrent.

So this is the overdue library book that I am reading but I am confident in its hilarity to go ahead and post it before I finish. I have laughed out loud many, many times while reading these essays. Laurie has written several books and I look forward to reading all of them. I did read "The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club" a very long time ago and sadly do not remember any of it so I will have to read it again. (Actually, now that I think about it I believe it was "The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing.") If you do not have time to read the whole book, and I know many people do not, buy it / borrow it and read the chapter "You must be my lucky star." You will not be sorry. I really think that even though I have already read it (almost) I am putting it on my Christmas wish list so that I can read this chapter whenever I need to immediately laugh.

So up next is to finish "Not tonight, Honey: Wait 'Til I'm a Size Six" by Susan Reinhardt then to finish "The Winter Rose" by Jennifer Donnelly so that I can read "The Wild Rose" by Jennifer Donnelly.

Also, I made homemade Granola Triangles tonight. I know, I know they sell granola bars at the store. A lot of them. In many flavors. However, I felt the need to make something yummy that the kids would eat and that I would not be tempted to eat even though I froze the left-overs. Yes, I am talking to you yummy delicious oatmeal-chocolate-chip cookies. Also, I have been eating the Fiber One granola bars and the boy always wants me to share and the last thing he needs is more fiber so I decided to make some he can have. So here is the recipe:

Granola Triangles (picture to be posted tomorrow)

2 1/2 cups Rice Krispies (or similar cereal)

2 cups uncooked quick-cooking oats

1/2 cup raisins

Mix together in a large-ish bowl and set aside.

1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

1/2 cup light corn syrup

Bring sugar and syrup to a boil over medium high heat while stirring constantly-ish. I took some breaks. After it is nice and boiled, removed from heat and stir in:

1/2 cup creamy or crunchy peanut butter and

1 tsp vanilla

Pour this mixture over cereal/oat/raisin mixture and stir until everything is nice and coated with yummy peanut butter goodness. Let cool for 10 minutes.

Then stir in:

1/2 cup chocolate chips. I used milk chocolate but I am sure any kind will work well and I plan to use dark chocolate next time.

Grease or Pam spray a 13x9 pan and pour granola mixture into it. Then grease or spray your hands and smush it all down. Then cut into 12 squares and then cut those squares into triangles. They can be stored in an air-tight container for up to a week, if they last that long. Next time I think I will use honey instead of syrup, maybe throw in some almonds, dried fruit, whatever looks good. Oh, and I just saw Nutella in my tags and am so going to make Nutella granola bars next time! Oh! Oh! With toasted coconut and almonds. Mmmmm.....

The Not-So-Young and the Dim

If my life was a soap opera that would be the title.

So have you ever been so tired that after you laid down on the floor to read your kid a book you did not get up and then realized that you ended up taking a seven minute power nap and you now have carpet marks on your face and drool all over your kid's Blue's Clues book so that Magenta ends up looking like a former Russian head of state? No? Oh, me either then.

And a little heads up for all you microwave chefs out there: if you buy Trader Joe's yummy BBQ pork, when the directions read to poke holes in the package they mean "take the little clear package out of the store packaging and poke holes in the clear one and not the store packaging you nimrod." Clearly I am one of those people who need directions like "Do not use hair dryer in the shower" and "Do Not Eat Toner." At least until I start getting more sleep.

You try to be nice to somebody

I try to be nice to people on a regular basis. Granted sometimes I am muttering under my breath while rolling my eyes or spewing obscenities in my mind, but on the outside I could be a runner-up for Miss Congeniality. So I decided I wanted to buy the coffee for the person behind me in the drive-thru. I have wanted to do this for a while but kept forgetting about it. A week or so ago I decided the time was right but I did not want to end up buying for the nice old lady behind me only to find out she was on a coffee run for half of Bank of America. I thought it might be awkward to ask the people at the window "So, I want to be nice and buy the coffee for the person behind me, but I am not made out of money and am raising up a couple of expensive kids so I'll do it only if they get coffee and maybe a muffin. How much is a muffin?" Then I was all "You know, I could just leave my window down and eavesdrop on the person ordering behind me then I would know what they are getting! I am a genius!"

The day of generosity arrives (last Friday). I actually did not feel like being nice but figured if that is the case, then I really should be nice. I am in the ridiculously long line but cannot go in because I have the toddler and baby in the baby carrier and there is no freakin' way I can tote them both in and carry a hot cup of joe. The getting-free-coffee car pulls up behind me. Great. A young-ish all styled up dude in a suit in a BMW. Like he needs a free cup of coffee. Then I thought, "well, maybe his girlfriend (or boyfriend?) broke up with him or he found out he was rejected to be the next Bachelor, you never know." After accepting this is the give-ee (is that right?), dude pulled around and went inside. Next up a woman in a Jetta who is putting make-up on. Now I am all "Well, she is probably late for work, although if she really is late she does not need to be in this long line and really should shimmy her butt inside, but whatever, this is it." I pull up, order, pull up more and leave the window down so I can hear her order. She starts off "What is in your blah, blah breakfast-item? Oh, well, hmmm....., I guess I'll have a blueberry thing." Now I am all "Ok, I really don't want to buy for a high-maintenance person, but I guess I will." Now the cars in front of me pull up so I have to as well. She is still ordering. The next car leaves so I have to pull up to the window to pay. She is still ordering. I pay for my order. She is still ordering. I was all prepared to be nice but as far as I know, she is still at the drive-thru.

Today I go back and try again. I get in line and the car behind me pulls up. Woman, chatting on a cell phone, SUV. Ok, I'll deal with that. I place my order then do the pull up, window down, eavesdropping thing. At this point I could have sworn she gave me a "Who you lookin' at" glare as I am partially leaning out the window to listen to her order. She ends up with some peppermint mocha concoction (props to her, although I think it was decaf so loss of points there). To sum up, and now it seems at bit anti-climatic, I buy her coffee and breakfast sandwich. Turns out if you tell the window people that you want to buy the order for the person behind you, they tell you exactly what the other person ordered.

**Follow up to my post on William Rast jeans at Target** They are currently on sale for $24.99. Sadly they did not have my size.

Why I Should Not Be Allowed Out After 6pm or Why I Need To Get Out More

So the other week I had a rare night out on the town. Maybe not rare, more medium-well. Ha! You get?!?!? Like steak?!? Nevermind. And not so much "out on the town" as over to a former co-worker's house for a Christmas party then to a nearby bar for the after-party. By after-party I mean we got there at 9pm and I was home by 11pm. Makes the days when I did not start getting ready to go out until 10pm then played pool until bars closed at 2am then it was off to Huddle House or the Awful Waffle for greasy grub seem so, so, so very far away. So at the Christmas party I was talking to some former library co-workers and one of them, we will call him Jack because that is his name, said he recently spoke to our former manager who has since gone back to graduate school to study ancient Greek something or other. Jack said how he remembered the manager talking about whether the early Greek economy was more free enterprise-esque with interconnected price-making markets or was more in line with the Weber-Hasebroek-Polanyi analysis. (Look it up.) For someone who has as much book-learnin' as I have, I felt rather thick. My days are a Groundhog Day of sippy cups, diapers, formula, carrot stains, laundry, well, you get the picture. I started this blog as a way to use my brain a bit but we are in the early stages so I am not sure it is working yet. And it probably will not work if I just talk about cookies, but that is over now. So I am on a quest to re-smart myself!!! Starting with that last sentence. Brush up on my smarts? Whatever. So now that I am done with my new Christmas tradition of reading this




I am going to read one Classic novel each month over the next year. And if I can manage it, one non-fiction book each month on a topic to be picked by something-I-have-not-thought-of-yet but will not have anything to do with babies or toddlers or kids of any sort.


Now from the department of Why-Staying-Home-Is-Not-So-Bad is this. We went to Mickey and Mooch after the Christmas party. I have never been there before and will not go back. Our first clue that this was a mistake was the wall of fish smell that punched us in the face as soon as we opened the door. Second should have been the 92.0 sanitation score. But we figured, we are just getting a drink and maybe an appetizer so how bad could it be? As soon as we walked into the bar, we noticed they had live music. Now normally I am one to give every artist their props because most have a lot of creativity and courage to get up and out there and show their work, which I probably will not get, or sing in front of people which I will never do not even if karaoke and bottles of wine are involved. That being said, the entertainment for the evening consisted of a Moby look-a-like in a Nordic sweater playing the keyboard and an Al Jarreau look-a-like in a reverse Sprockets turtleneck (tight but a light color) singing. Again, they were out there doing their thing and hopefully getting good money but it felt like we were at the Airport Ramada listening to an American version of The Flight of the Conchords. So there is your setting. Adding to the airport motel lounge experience was a group of about five women ranging in age from mid-20's to mid-40's dancing around in the middle of the bar (where no one was dancing previously) with a guy whose mullet puts the old Billy Ray Cyrus mullet to shame and a slightly over-weight younger Michael Keaton who jokingly tried to steal my friends purse. We did not laugh. Sadly my back was to the dancing but I did get a brief glimpse of mullet man doing the "white man's overbite" with a snap and a woman in her late 50's gently yet freakishly caressing her Cosby-sweater-with-medallion-wearing husband/boyfriend's ear for about 5 minutes. And our waitress sucked. But my company was awesome and I got a blog post that does not have anything to do with cookies out of it, so there's that.