in today's medical news

Study says: Moderate alcohol consumption increases cancer risk.

I say: Moderate alcohol consumption reduces filicide risk.

wake up - dinner's ready!

it's 10 a.m., and dinner is cooking. tonight i'm debuting easy pork ragu, because any recipe that starts with the word easy is a recipe for me.

indifferent is probably the kindest term that can be applied to my cooking, and this fit the bill:  brown meat, then dump in a crock pot with some other stuff and fuhgeddabodit. i'm loving me some crock pot these days, having recently rediscovered the hand-me-down one i got years ago from a friend (hint for carbon-dating:  it's harvest gold).

maybe this pork thingie will be tasty, maybe not. all i know is i'll be able to put it in front of my people and call my part done.

kwizine at its finest.

why do you hate the baby? installment no. 317

took things one and two to a kids' event today. one of the girls there was named...precious.

and her brother's name? gift.

precious and gift. 

why do you hate the babies?

the boob tube, with a light raspberry vinaigrette

we finally got television at our house last month, after living here for a year and a half. no cable, but we do get the regular broadcast channels. 

the girls are fascinated.

thing one barely remembers "live tv," and thing two has no memory of it at all and is very put out that we can't pause it so she can go potty. when the handsome man first fired the tv up a few weeks ago, he turned on pbs. it was antiques road show, and the girls were mesmerized and wouldn't let him change the channel.

today, he went to put on a bob the builder dvd for them, but before he could the girls saw some cooking show on pbs and again were suctioned to the screen. i believe they're learning how to make a lamb stew with wilted spinach and a red wine and pear sorbet right now.

you know you're in minnesota when

you look around at the kids in your preschooler's music class and realize that there are:

• 3 brunets
  
• 1 redhead
  
• and 10 blonds. and of them, 4 are towheads.

ba-dum-bum psssh.

(and yes, people here really do sound like the extras in fargo. oh, yah.)

my husband wants one of these

Sony Releases New Stupid Piece Of Shit That Doesn't Fucking Work

the slashers

that's the cool marketing term i want applied to me and all my friends who are stay-at-home-moms/freelance whatevers. mommy-slash-writer. mommy-slash-counselor. mommy-slash-consultant. mommy-slash-tutor. mommy-slash-caterer.

the slashers. i bet we could get some really cool t-shirts made up.

no braids, no dolls

when she eventually goes completely loopy, my friend peggy has one simple request for her caretakers:  "please don't put braids in my hair or dolls in my arms."

i think i'd better pin those instructions to my own shirt right now.

the other day, i received a check for my freelance work. i only bill once a month, so, while it was not a huge some of money, neither was it insubstantial. i endorsed it while i was doing my usual lakshmi impression:  paying bills-helping with spelling-making snacks-helping string beads-sorting mail-folding laundry-answering the phone-helping people pee.

the next morning, after i dropped thing one off at school with the requisite boots, snow pants, hat, and show-and-tell item, i got ready to head to the bank. "i should just make sure that check is in my wallet," i thought.

the check was not in my wallet. 

the check was also not in:

• my backpack
  
• any pockets of any of my pants
  
• any pockets of any of my coats
  
• the recycling (which i sorted)
  
• the trash (which i went through with rubber gloves)
  
• the tax documents i had been collecting for our accountant
  
• miscellaneous papers to be filed
  
• miscellaneous papers to be shredded
  
• stuff that had already been shredded
  
• our office desk drawers
  
• my husband's dresser drawers
  
• my armoire
  
• the wet clothes sitting in the washing machine
  
• the dry clothes sitting in the dryer

finally, after tossing the house for nearly an hour, i called the handsome man for help. "you gave me the phone bill this morning to mail," he said. "should i open the envelope and look in there?" 

yes, i said, you should. 

and lo, there was the check i'd written for the phone company ($30), and a little extra ($800) i'd thrown in by mistake.

i've reminded the handsome man:  no braids, no dolls.

p.s. and you just know the phone company would have cashed it.

the new official perimenopausal theme song (according to me)