they are preschoolers, hear them roar

at thing one's preschool today, they talked about what they want to do when they grow up. of the five girls in the class, two want to be "struction" workers, one wants to be a firefighter, one wants to be a doctor, and one wants to be a "computer person like daddy" (that would be thing one). 

different shit, same day

• first moments of the day, eyes not even fully open, sans glasses – wiping up pee in, on, around and in front of the potty and its environs. (note to mothers of boys:  you are not in this alone! girls have bad aim, too.)
  
• post-breakfast – picking up smallish turd off the bathroom rug, now being washed (rug, not turd).
  
• lunch – returning from preschool and rushing to the potty, thing one rushes back to inform me it's stopped up. plunging ensues, followed by rinsing plunger in bleach water and trying to autoclave hands.

it's hard being as glamorous as me.

postscript, 7:35 pm – and we just rounded out the day with someone whizzing on one of the good chairs. not one of cheap plastic chairs from ikea. no, the nice upholstered chair from room and board. is it any wonder i had rice krispies and red wine for dinner? no, it is not.

it's always a dad

heard in the aisles at target, addressed to a squalling, squabbling small boy and smaller girl:

"can you two get me that big bottle of olive oil?"

i have a feeling that shopping trip ended badly.

rich inner lives

my children have made up a game that involves:

• 2 laundry baskets
  
• the pillows from the handsome man's and my bed
  
• their blankies
• cords from their lacing cards
  
• numerous lite brite pegs
  
• my good spatulas
  
• many tiny pieces of paper
  
• and all of the hairbrushes in the house
  

i do not understand this game. i do not care. if they're happy (read: busy without fighting), i'm happy.

hey, it's a living language

another new word coined by my offspring:

ge•ro•cious [guh-ROH-shuhs] 

– adjective

1. something both gross and ferocious
   
2. ferociously outsized in its grossness
   

as in, "wow, that's a gerociously big poo!" and it was.

related forms:

ge•ro•cious•ly, adverb

ge•ro•cious•ness, noun

funny how your perspective changes

i bet that christina crawford was a right little a**hole and poor joan got a bad wrap.

i don't know which is scarier

that while flipping through radio stations, i stopped on one playing pat benatar's "hit me with your best shot," or that when the song ended, i discovered i was listing to lite fm.

it's official:  i am old.

for those who have not reproduced

following is a list of activities, events and items that supposedly generate lovely, sugar-coated parent-and-child moments of bonding and snuggy-wuggums.

DO NOT BE FOOLED.

in reality, they annoy, enrage, exhaust, induce migraines, and lead to astonishingly frequent consumption of alcohol and chocolate. avoid them at all costs.

herewith, the top 10 reasons for renewing your birth control prescription today:

10. parades

9. christmas cookie decorating

8. pinatas

7. halloween

6. candyland

5. any disney movie

4. paints

3. nail polish (even the so-called fast-drying kind)

2. the sound of music

and number 1 with a bullet (i wish)... balloons

oh, how i hates the balloons.

mount olympus, extreme northwestern division

after not cooking anything really, well, good for the last three years in deference to food-allergy baby, today i made a batch of chocolate chip cookies (after purchasing some outrageously expensive vegan pretenders at whole foods yesterday for aforementioned baby).

and OH MY GOD. 

butter! 

butter and sugar and eggs and more sugar and more butter!

i was never one of those eat-the-raw-cookie-dough types, and what the hell was my problem? raw cookie dough is the food of the gods.

******

and a post script:

who eats HALF a fresh, warm chocolate chip cookie and throws away the rest? my kid, that's who. at least, my ob claimed she was my kid. i think a dna test is in order...

an open letter

to the dour, 60ish woman at last weekend's wiener dog races dressed all in baggy, drab brown clothes who leaned over during her pet trick segment to reveal her NEON PINK, PURPLE AND WHITE THONG underwear:

aiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 

my eyes, lord, my eyes. i could have happily gone my whole life without seeing that, lady.

(and yes, i said wiener dog races. hurdles. sprints. and my favorite event, the sofa jump.)

um...howdy, neighbor

here's a disturbing item to see lying next to your neighbor's garbage can:  the empty packaging for a "soft-grip machete."

and now, time for a refreshing (meno)pause

ok, so i seem to have gone straight from breast feeding to hot flashes. (ah, the joys of being a "mature" mother, aka decrepit crone.) i got some books from the library, the first one of which, called ripe, basically sucks. here is the sole bit of useful advice i gleaned from it:

"if in doubt, smile, stand up straight, suck in your gut, and try to look like you've just had great sex."

there. now you don't have to read the book.

a venerable family tradition lives on

thing one has discovered a new-for-her delicacy, something beloved by her mama, gramma and great-gramma before her:  peanut butter and mustard sandwiches.

(before you say that, try one. seriously.)

and since you're reading blogs, try sarah palin's. 

my faith in humanity is restored

on the way home from the paint store, i ended up behind a big ol' slow-moving cadillac. doing seven miles under the speed limit. with a world war two license plate and a little wizened driver wearing a hat. 

and here's what his bumper sticker said:

obama '08

obamazen.com

well, god bless, sir.

just a typical afternoon at home

yep, nothing unusual here.

donna reed i ain't

here's what i had to offer the handsome man for dinner tonight:

• plain noodles
  
• "pasta salad" from an old family recipe consisting of pasta, chicken, thawed frozen peas, and mayo (and i upgraded from the original miracle whip)
  
• 3/4 of a tomato
  
• and a gently used piece of pizza
  

eureka

i have discovered the secret to potty training.

and it isn't a timer or m&ms or a portable potty.

it's an ipod and the new york times crossword and the figs of paradise martini at cafe maude, where the handsome man shipped me off to this evening. no one spoke to me for AN HOUR. it was glorious.

now off to do the pee pee-poo poo laundry.

love is...

accepting a handful of partially masticated gum.

(anyone can cozy up to a warm puppy.)

insanity is hereditary

you get it from potty training your children.

f*** me.

we have a winner

the mystery vegetable is...kohlrabi! (which wikipedia called sputniky, too.)

many thanks to my half-german friend who grew up eating her mutter's version (it's big in germany). she not only identified them but fixed them for lunch during a play date at my house today. here's how:

• peel and slice into french fry-size pieces
• steam/simmer in a little butter, olive oil and broth until fork tender (about 20-30 minutes)
• you can add minced parsley for looks when you serve, if you have it, which of course i do not

dee-licious. although cheetos would have been good, too.