Saturday, February 28, 2009

the mal-effects of cheese

Here's what happens when the Biscuit is told to "Say 'CHEESE'!" now we just say, "Laugh!" and hope for the best.

Friday, February 27, 2009

parenthood = a shot in the tit

Since my husband can no longer read my blog at work, I guess i'm free to say words like "tit", right? Because parenthood means all sorts of odd things one never expected.

Parenthood means....

... a complete examination with a doctor kit, including an ear stabulation, temperature jabbing, shot in the tit, and having your blood pressure taken around the knee. Usually, the prognosis is good. Today, I was assured that my ears were not dirty.

... knowing your child's diaper contents so well that you could match paint chips at Home Depot.

... saying to yourself, "These hot dogs are all beef and organic-- so that's healthy."

... realizing that counting 1-2-3 doesn't scare anyone, because your kid *knows* there are more numbers. And then spending half of your day counting down from 3 to 1.

... saying, "If you don't do X by the time I count to 3, you're going to be in big trouble," with no idea what big trouble will be.

... accepting that ketchup and ranch dressing aren't condiments so much as main dishes into which anything from broccoli to fish to bread can be dipped.

... thinking, "No one will notice the spit-up on my shirt, because they'll be looking at my cute baby," and then strategically holding the baby over the white splotch in public.

... having to say, "Don't hit your brother with the lightsaber again, or I'm taking away your laptop!"

... being thankful for a frequently nursing newborn, because it means you have no choice but to putter around the internet and have some small respite from playing hide and seek, chase, and "ice cream comes out of this gas pump" with your toddler.

... having instant conversation fodder with other new moms regarding things that did or did not come out of their bajingos and veiled comments on the aftermath of that area.

... sitting at home, wishing desperately that you could go to the gym for two hours, because exercise and alone time are the two hardest things to accomplish.

... reading a parenting magazine and realizing that you *still* aren't the target demographic, even though you are, in fact, a parent.

... spending 10 minutes with your spouse discussing how cute your child's toes/dimple/lisp can be.

... using a blog as your only creative outlet so that you won't go insane because there is one very small, easily angered person sucking the marrow from your bones and another, slightly larger person begging you to please read this Winnie-the-Pooh book that you hide every. single. day., but she still manages to find it somehow.

In conclusion, love means never having to say you're sorry, and parenthood means a shot in the tit.

Thursday, February 26, 2009


Alright, everybody! Here we go! Get ready to feel the burn!

Now... look goofy! Look goofy! Look goofy!

Okay now... stick that lip out! Lip out! Get it out! Keep it out!

That's good! But now that we've had those lips out... suck 'em in! Get 'em in! Hold that lip innnnnnnnnn...... goood! Feel the burn!

You're doing great! Let's keep it up! Turn that head... show your cheek! Hey, cheek! It's chubby! It's your cheek!

Whew! That was a great workout, guys!


Um, don't we need to lift our legs or something? Get some actual aerobics?

Wait, what?
We're supposed to get actual exercise! AAAAGH! I thought this was just an exercise in cuteness.
I usually prefer to have my leg workouts at 5am, thanks.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

conan vs. gordon in 9 rounds

Dr. Crog and I have some odd discussions, but our most recent debate was a spirited conversation about who would win in a fight between late night talk show host Conan O'Brien and reality TV chef Gordon Ramsay.

So here we go.

Round 1 - Oldness
O'Brien: born 1963 * Ramsay: born 1966
WINNER: O'Brien, for being very old, because I was born in 1977 and am a spring chicken.

Round 2 - Tallness
O'Brien: 6'4'' * Ramsay: 6'2.5''
WINNER: O'Brien, for being quite tall, although Ramsay is also pretty tall.

Round 3 - Cragginess
O'Brien: more pale and pointy, really * Ramsay: quite craggy
WINNER: Ramsay is one of the craggiest human beings i've ever seen on TV. Along with the Great Wall of China, his face can be seen from space.*

Round 4 - Hair
O'Brien: high, blondish, and floppy * Ramsay: high, blondish, and floppy
WINNER: Tie! Both men have hair that is quite high, blondish, and floppy.

Round 5 - Cooking
O'Brien: not known for cooking * Ramsay: apparently quite good at cooking
WINNER: Ramsay, because he is apparently good at cooking.

Round 6 - Cursing
O'Brien: helped write the famous SNL skit "Nude Beach", in which the word "penis" was said or sung 42 times
Ramsay: can't go 45 seconds without saying ballocks, the f-word, the s-word, or a made-up British word for "my aunt's stanky knickers". Once referred to a main dish at a restaurant as "donkey dic* kabobs".
WINNER: Ramsay, because the man seriously curses a lot. I think the BBC guy who does the bleeping drinks a bit, too, because sometimes he totally misses the choicest words. Poor Conan can't get very far with the FCC on his tail.

Round 7 - Toughness
O'Brien: Has several stalkers, one of whom is a crazed priest.
Ramsay: Fell 85 feet off a glacier while filming penguins and was under icy water for 45 seconds.
WINNER: O'Brien, because it's really creepy to be stalked by a priest. Water, shmater, Ramsay! Toughen up yer ballocks, man!

Round 8: Comedy
O'Brien: Wrote for The Simpsons and Saturday Night Live before becoming a late night talk show host.
Ramsay: Humiliates restaurant owners and staff on television. Made one guy face down a bull with a red cape. Made another guy play cricket with one hand tied to his body.
WINNER: TIE, because I watch Ramsay during the day, and he totally cracks me up, while I haven't seen Conan since college because I go to bed at 10pm after putting up my walker and taking my Geritrol. Conan is probably funnier, but I just can't provide personal evidence.

Round 9: Appearing On My Favorite Prime Time Television Show
O'Brien: Did a walk-by cameo on the Valentine's Day in New York episode of The Office.
Ramsay: Has not yet appeared on The Office, although I have hope. Can you imagine Gordon Ramsay and Dwight having a conversation? Beets, ballocks, Battlestar Gallactica!
WINNER: O'Brien, obviously. Plus, he looked like Howard the Duck in a leather jacket, if Howard the Duck were 7-feet-tall and in a hurry in New York.

Overall Winner: Conan O'Brien, with 4, beating Ramsay's 3. I'm not particularly happy with that, because I personally prefer Chef Ramsay, but i'm not in charge here.

Congratulations, Conan O'Brien! You have just beat another tall, weird guy in a hypothetical and arbitrary deathmatch! So please add that to your Wikipedia page.

*I can't prove this.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

shake yer tutu to gnarls

Aunt Urfa, this one's for you.

in which I mess up all the time

1. Just today, I set my coffee cup next to my watercolor water cup, dipped the brush in the coffee, dipped it into the paint, painted with a slightly browner tone than expected, and then proceeded to drink the coffee. And i'm not a beginner at paint or coffee.

2. Two days ago, I grabbed a cloth diaper for t.rex and set him down. He woke howling moments later, looking like he'd gone down a water slide. I forgot to put the stuffer in the diaper, and he (and everything else) was covered in tinkle. For those of you who aren't into cloth diapering, it's basically like having a sandwich composed of two pieces of bread-- nothing in the middle-- which means no absorbency at all. Not smart. Baby no likey.

3. The first time I left the house with t.rex as a baby, I forgot to bring wipes and spare clothes. Thus, when he had an enormous diaper blowout up to his neck, I was ill prepared. We lost some valiant blankets that day, I tell you.

4. And then yesterday, when he had another necksplosion in the car, I had forgotten to repack his spare clothes. Luckily, we were just stepping out of a consignment sale, so he had several brand new outfits at the ready. I redressed him and commented on how handsome he looked, and he promptly cheesed all over his new stripey shirt. Now I call him Cheeser, which goes well with calling the girlchild Biscuit. Mmm. Cheese and biscuits. Like at Red Lobster. Mmmmmmmm.

5. I almost stole from a church yesterday. At a consignment sale, I threw a pair of sandals and Disney's Hercules in the stroller basket. And almost walked out with them there. Sadly, I had no cash on me and had already used a check, so the Biscuit will have to wait to learn about Satyrs, Disney-style.

5.5 I did actually steal from a consignment sale two years ago, but I didn't know it until I got home and found the tag on the outfit. Not my fault - *they* didn't ring it up. It didn't fit, and the Biscuit never wore it, and I still feel kinda guilty.

6. Just today, I set t.rex down for a diaper change and leaned over to get a new diaper. He peed on the wall.

That's all that comes to mind. And most of them were in the last week and, oddly, involve the business end of a baby. I make a lot of mistakes. But it all turns out pretty well, anyway.

Saturday, February 21, 2009


Hey! Thunder thighs! Don't you know babies aren't supposed to wear black?

Chunk here rolled over for the first time today. It's amazing what Dr. Crog's progeny can do when they get mad enough.

Nutty McCrackhead's Variety Hour

Children's TV these days is truly disturbing. No Smurfs. No Snorks. No Shirttail Gang. Instead there's a creepy little girl who sleeps with a naked monkey and a giant purple frog larvae thing with false teeth that holds children hostage. Yes, i'm talking about Dora and Barney. May they rot in Disneys foulest dumpster.

But there's a new kid in town called Yo Gabba Gabba that freaks me out even more. Here's how it goes:

An insane man in a tall, furry hat and a fluorescent orange jumpsuit be-bops out with a giant boombox suitcase full of creepy monster figurines. He sets them on a toy stage, and they come to life as people in creepy monster suits. They all have arm issues and just fling themselves back and forth while singing scary, nonsensical, robotic songs. See?

I think the only possible response to a picture like that is: WTF?

It's wrong on so, so many levels, and i'm usually wildly in favor of nonsensical wackiness. But... look at those freaks? Jim Henson is rolling over his his muppety grave to think of such monstrosities. It reminds me of the senior theses in art school where kids just try to outweird eachother for freak points. The red and pink ones look vaguely anatomical in a diseased sort of way, and the two animal ones look like something you'd see at a rave for furries. The robot is like a cross between a tin can, a banana, and Bender Bending Rodriguez. As for the dude in orange, I just don't think grown men should ever wear spandex jumpsuits. EVER. Especially in front of children.

The songs are like Radiohead's latest side project, if Thom Yorke was strung out on LSD-laced Twinkies. And all the children in the vignettes between the scary dancing monsters are wearing shirts featuring the scary dancing monsters, so you don't even get a break there.

I've seen it once, and i'm flummoxed. Who would write such a thing, and who would agree to produce it? I did not believe that something more ridiculous than TeleTubbies could exist. And yet it does. And children love it. And it makes loads and loads of cash. More than i'll probably see in a lifetime.

If there is proof in the world that someone has sold their soul to the devil, I think it is the popularity of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Oh, and Paris Hilton.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


Mommy, I want to draw, please.


Mommy, please come help me draw. I want blue.


Mommy, look, I drew a heart! Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY! LOOK, MOMMY!!


Is it 7 pm yet?
Can I have a glass of Riesling?

Note: No children were emotionally damaged by the photographer. Sometimes babies just cry, but they look really funny, so you snap 3 shots before you pick them up. He's totally serene now. Promise.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

my so-called meatloaf

Warning: If you're pregnant, vegetarian, vegan, squeamish about meat in any way, or really hate the singer Meatloaf, you should probably just move along. La la la.

* * *

Interesting fact: I actually saw Meatloaf in concert. It's true. At the Fabulous Fox Theatre for his Bat Out of Hell tour, back when I was in high school. I used to have a t-shirt to prove it, too, until... well... I used it to wash my car. And I readily admit that a dude in his late 40's singing "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" was really, really funny. Meatloaf + heavy petting = a joke, even in Magical Unicorn Land.

Which brings me to today's meatloaf, which I consider Magical. Capital "M". Capital "Mmmmmm". I was never a fan growing up, and I never thought I would like it, but then I found this recipe one day in desperation with a pound of ground beef about to go bad. What can I say-- it was before the days of the Holy Foreman Grill. I omit the ketchup and brown sugar glaze, use crushed Annie's Whole Wheat Bunnies instead of Saltines, and bake the loaf over two slices of bread to soak up the fat, but otherwise, I actually follow the recipe. Honest!

And it is seriously heavenly. Captain Cupcake Craver dreams of this meatloaf all day. It makes a fabulous sandwich reheated with a bit of mayo on toasted bread. It is divine with dill-buttered baby carrots. It's fast and simple and goes with everything. I SIMPLY LOVE THIS MEATLOAF.

But I really, really hate the word "meatloaf".

Meatloaf sounds so nasty. I mean... a loaf of meat? It just reminds me of a Great Dane taking a crap, if you'll pardon my French. And the term is so inclusive-- from ketchup-and-Wonderbread loaves of the 1950's to Alton Brown's fancy Food Network version that I could ruin dangerously.

I just don't think the term "meatloaf" can describe the love I feel for this meal. So i've been trying to think of some rebranding terms for meatloaf. But they're all awful.

Steak Cake
Beef Pate
Angus Log
Beouf Von Loggins
Chuck Muck
Gourmet Ground Beef Casserole
Sloppy Joseph

There is simply no good term for meatloaf.

Our love must remain... forbidden.

Paradise by the kitchen liiiiiiiight.......

because I love you

Query of the day: What's your favorite rainy day treat?

Because mine is always cupcakes. Always.

And I am sharing this recipe with you because I love you.

Because I know that sometimes, you are having a weird, gray, oppressive day full of laundry, and you're running on 4 hours of sleep, and you're out of hazelnut creamer. And you're all wishy-washy and can't decide whether to go for a healthful walk with a friend or hole up on the couch like a beached narwhal. Because you definitely should have gone to the store yesterday, when it was balmy, and now you have to drag two sodden children around in one cart in the pouring rain or there will be no bananas tomorrow, and then you won't want to get out of bed. And also because your mother always cancels lunch with you on rainy days, which is doubly depressing, because you don't get to see your mom, and because toddlers don't understand the phrase "Don't shoot the messenger".

Poor you.

But you'll like this recipe, because it's yummy, uses basic ingredients that are already in your pantry, and only uses one piece of crockery.

I originally wrote "cookery" there, but I think I made that word up. It's where cookies roost.

5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
small splash vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to large mug, mix well. Add egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in milk and oil and mix well. Add chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, mix again.

Put mug in microwave and cook 3 minutes at 1000 watts (high).
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed. Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.

I would recommend having either ice cream or frosting on hand, as it was slightly underwhelming for me as-is. Then again, I have psychedelic daydreams about frosting. Then again, beggars on cold, dreary days can't be choosers, and it is a 1-person cupcake mix with no clean-up, and I snarfed it in less than 5 minutes.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

30 cute and pudgy seconds

i'm not even supposed to be here today!

Query: What movie changed your life?

Everybody has one-- the movie that changed your life.

And please, for the love of all that's holy, don't say it was a Rob Schneider film.

The change could be enormous or subtle, but it's there.

For me, it was Clerks. In 1995, the year that photo was taken. I'm the one on the far left. Don't ask about the flannel shirt over the homecoming dress.

Before then, I had seen all the usual movies-- the blockbusters, horror, action flicks, chick flicks, comedies, dramedies, tragicomidromedaries, you name it. But then I saw Clerks, a low-budget, black-and-white, vulgarity-ridden belly of laughs with a spoonful of philosophy thrown in. I had no idea people were even *allowed* to make movies like that. Not a single movie star. A whole lot of f-bombs. It was irreverent, smart, entertaining, and groundbreaking, and there wasn't a single explosion in the whole thing, a major accomplishment for a 90's film.

Now, over 10 years later, Clerks reminds me that there is still ground to be broken. When I feel like everything that can be done in music or art has already been done, that if I see one more rabbit eating a cupcake on Etsy, I think of Clerks and the fact that Kevin Smith woke up one day and said, "I want to make a movie. With my friends. And we're going to film it in grainy black and white, curse enough to curdle milk, and have no action whatsoever. We're going to be mean to people, and... and... i'm gonna have a cat crap on film. The cat's just gonna drop one, right there in front of the camera." And then he added roof hockey, knocking over a casket at a funeral, heavy metal Russians, accidental necrophilia, you name it.

And people loved it, and he went on to make 4 more wonderful movies. And an awesome cartoon. And then some really bad movies. And, recently, a really good one. And the funny part is that the movies with the biggest stars that followed the Hollywood path were the least loved and the least loveable. Like Gigli. When Kevin Smith thinks of Gigli, he must feel the same embarrassed protectiveness that I feel when I see pictures of myself in 7th grade. "It's okay. You're hideous and confused, but I promise it gets better. We all make obvious, horrible, terrifying mistakes. But it can only go up from here. Parachute pants never killed anyone."

Another point in the favor of Clerks is that it was introduced to me by a boy on whom I had had a crush for 4 years. But that part doesn't matter.

What does matter is that there is always something new to explore, always something with the possibility to turn a little key in the human heart and change everything. And if you're really, really lucky, that something new will include the salsa shark.

And exclude enormous, caterpillar-like eyebrows. Seriously. Do you see those things? Would someone please go back to 1995 and hand me some tweezers?

So, what's yours?

Monday, February 16, 2009

in which I give you free art

Here's an idea - I give away a piece of random artwork every day. Just go there and leave a comment for a chance to win.

Please tell everybody you know! It may lower your chance of winning today, but if people actually dig it, i'll keep going, thereby *upping* your chances.

Who doesn't want free art?

i want

I want blog followers. More readers.

I want Diggs and Squidoos and Twitters and all these genius little things that I haven't figured out yet.

I want people to comment and banter and make me laugh.

I want to be at the post office every day, mailing my art to people through Etsy.

I want to be on top of things and new and fresh.

I want a cupcake.

I want self promotion to be easy and obvious.

I want. I want. I want.

...and I have an idea.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

my dear/my deer

oh, hai!

I keep trying to humorously chronical our absolutely wonderful Valentine's Day date, but it's not that funny. It was just lovely. Fabulous. Perfect. But not really funny. Well, except for me getting drunk on one glass of wine, demolishing a mountain of duck, and laughing myself sick watching Dr. Crog maniacally swivel his man-hips for the hoola-hoop game on Wii after two glasses of pinot grigio. Oh, and I was served 1/4 of a chocolate pie. One quarter. 0.25. Even *I* don't need that much pie.

So let's skip ahead to today, which was also wonderful, lovely, fabulous. Not quite perfect, because we got lost in some sort of demon wormhole and ended up in Decatur, which is my own personal hell. I have beloved friends who live there, and I'm sure it's a delightful area, but going there just makes my skin crawl all over and sends me home to recover in a hot bubble bath.

We went to the Yellow River Game Ranch, a magical place that perfectly balances a colorful redneck petting zoo with wholesome, slobber-covered family fun. After purchasing saltines and graham crackers (because animals need a balanced diet) , we set out to enjoy our first 4-person visit to a place Dr. Crog and I have adored since 2003. There's just nothing better in life than being bombarded by friendly animals while wondering around in the woods on a gorgeous Spring day. The exotic smell of 20 kinds of poop spices the air as roosters crow, turkeys gobble, and guys in Nascar shirts threaten the lives of their offspring for "bein' a sassmouth".

I must admit that the peoplewatching is almost as fun as the critters. One of the signs had fallen into disrepair, for example, so the Angora Rabbit was listed as "ngora Rabb". And a woman actually told her grandson that it was a "ngora Rabb". And she wasn't being ironic. I also saw a man point to a chicken's egg cleverly laid in the high-walled tortoise habitat by some protective mama hen and tell his grandchild that it was "a turtle egg". It was almost as depressing/humorous as the time we saw a lady at the zoo tell her grandchild that an orangutan was, and I quote, "a orange goriller".

And did I mention that Georgia's official prognosticating groundhog, General Beauregard Lee, lives here?

Seriously, that's his plantation home. He also has an honorary doctorate from UGA, so I guess my BA isn't worth quite what i'd hoped.

On the way home, we passed Stone Mountain, which is really more of a Very Large Granite Boulder. But it's Georgia, so we call is a "mountain". The Biscuit assured us that one day, she would climb that mountain, and that we would give her a rope. Why a rope? "Because you can't climb a mountain without a rope," according to our logical mountaineer. Where does she get this stuff? I blame Dora.

After a quick trip to Target and a delicious egg sandwich, T.Rex and I retired to bed for some season 3 of The Office and a delicious nap. The nap was seriously more delicious than the egg sandwich, even though you can't have crispy fried onions on a nap.

All in all, it was an utterly marvelous weekend.

thing 1 and thing 2

Who is which and which is who?
I give you Thing 1 and Thing 2.
Eleven weeks each and cute as pies
The main difference is hazel or blue eyes.*

* Also genitalia, but we're not showing that on the ol' blog.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

a valentine smackdown in 4 acts

This image of the Biscuit at her preschool Valentine's Day party, eating a sugar cookie and sucking down 5000 sprinkles and drinking a juice box, is brought to you by the letter V and the number 2 and Dr. Crog's mastery of calendars. At least his darling daughter comprehends the fantabulosity that is V-day, especially when it means she gets to taste the forbidden sweetness of sugar.


Condensing our morning into four acts gives one a proper understanding of Dr. Crog's romantic complexity.

Act I: A Gift of Love

Me: So i'm thinking we need to stop today on our date and get a little something for the Biscuit...
Dr. Crog: Why? She has too many toys already.
Me: Well, it's a special holiday. When I was a kid, my daddy always got me a little gift on Valentine's Day, and I remember it fondly to this day. Just a little $2 stuffed animal or something.
Dr. Crog: Having a family tradition is fine, but I think it's stupid to get her some little piece of crap toy that we'll have to clean up every day. Might as well throw our money down the toilet.
Me: Yeah, that's very tender of you.

Act II: A Romantic Dinner for Two

Dr. Crog: (brusquely) So are we going to that stupid restaurant today?
Me: Um, only if you want to, I guess.
Dr. Crog: Don't do that annoying woman thing. I want to know *if* we're going, and when. Not, "Oh, gee, I dunno, if you want to," blah blah blah. If it's so freakin' important to you, make the decision, make the reservation, and I guess we'll go.
Me: Well, if that's your attitude, then I guess no, we're not going.
Dr. Crog: Well, i'd just as soon go out for pizza. You know I don't care about going to dinner at some fancy restaurant where they jack up the stupid prices to rape the fiscal crap out of us.
Me: Ah. Romantic.

Act III: Love is Patient

Dr. Crog: (in austere voice, emerging from the dining room) So, I have a question.
Me: I can guess what this is about...
Dr. Crog: I'm not placing blame or being accusatory...
Me: "BUT..."
Dr. Crog: BUT i'd like to know when our dining room will go back to being a dining room and cease being a repository for 600 paintings of naked women.
Me: I don't know...
Dr. Crog: (in Charlie Brown Schoolmarm voice) See, that's what you get to decide, is the time frame. Is it today or next week, or what? Because I don't mind you actually working in there, but I don't want it used for storage, and i'd really like to have our formal dining room back, because we bought a house with a formal dining room so that we could enjoy it, and i'd actually like to eat in there one day, and.... wah wah wop wah wah.
Me: Okay, okay. I guess i'll photograph the paintings faster and get them up on Etsy and out of there...
Dr. Crog: Look, i'm not being accusatory, so don't be defensive, just GET THEM OUT OF THERE. PLEASE.
Me: Yeah, got that.
Dr. Crog: So what's the time frame??
Me: Do you mind if I finish this cup of coffee first and ENJOY MY FREAKIN' VALENTINE'S DAY MORNING? OR IS THAT TIME FRAME TOO LONG FOR YOU???!!w#$#$^%$^$%

Act IV: Denouement

(Dr. Crog pauses, his face frozen in realization and chagrin)

Dr. Crog: Wait, TODAY is Valentine's Day?
Me: Yep. We've only mentioned it two or three times in the last hour.
Dr. Crog: So that trip to the fancy restaurant wasn't because we sold the motorcycle and wanted a treat.... it was... for Valentine's Day?
Me: Yep.
Dr. Crog: Okay, well i'm going to just sit over here and try not to be a jerk for the next 15 minutes.
Me: Thanks for that.
Dr. Crog: But I brought you a rose yesterday!
Me: Yep. That's why you're still alive.

Anyway, we are now on the same page about a fancy dinner sans kids for Valentine's Day, so that's nice. I've really been looking forward to something besides pizza and hamburgers. Because as much as I like pizza and hamburgers, and I REALLY like them, every now and then, I want something that comes with a side dish that ain't fries.

When I think about my husband, I don't mind episodes like this. Because I know exactly what's going on. I know that he was only frachetty because he was waiting for his gi to dry so he could go choke people and teach kids, and he doesn't know how to relax when there's work to do. I know that he forgot Valentine's Day only because he had such a tough week. I know that any reticence to spend money stems from his drive to provide for the family and make our future as comfortable and pleasant as our present. And I love all those things about him.

And most of all, I don't mind because I got to shriek with laughter for 5 minutes, tears streaming out of my eyes, rocking back and forth on the couch, because is was SO FREAKIN' FUNNY.

The look on his face when he realized that he had spent all morning chastising me and grouching at me on Valentine's Day during my "sacred morning", because as long as my coffee cup is in my hand, my morning is as sacred as can be with two kids around. My brilliant husband simply had no idea it was V-day, despite the hearts, pink doodads, jewelry commercials, and overpriced flowers bombarding him through every pore via the internet, radio, and his toddler daughter. Oh, we laughed so hard, my Valentine and me.

Also, I accidentally shot him in the eye with a rubber band during breakfast, so I suppose we're about even.

*Note: Some poetic liberties may have been taken for the sake of humor. Just a little.

Friday, February 13, 2009

my secret life

No, no big secret here. I'm not a callgirl or a bounty hunter or anything that interesting.

Not that i'd admit, anyway.

But I do have a secret life that somewhat baffles me. I have a secret life as a writer.

Seriously, my last 5 sales or so on Etsy have been for description writing services. And all to the same woman, who lives about 30 miles away from me. I get paid $4 a pop to write the descriptions for her beauty products. I sometimes want to write them in Burma Shave style, too.


I made an Etsy store to sell my artwork, but my biggest seller is my writing.

How messed up is that?

Thursday, February 12, 2009

eat, drink, and be bloody!

If you're a very strange and somewhat stalk-y person with a long memory, you might remember this post, where I told the uproarious story of how I nearly severed my pinky and then made Dr. Crog throw up at midnight. Good times.

Since that time, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I have been a leeeetle leery of the remaining glass in that set. Purchased when we were living in 1-bedroom splendor in Clemson, those Wal-Mart glasses have been through a lot and may actually be possessed by a demon of some sort. A demon with a chip on its demonic shoulder. For me. Even if Dr. Crog was most likely the part responsible for breaking the first 14 glasses by... I dunno... transferring gasoline from his motorcycle to the cat's litter box or something. He breaks glassware more creatively than anyone i've ever known, and that's saying something.

So this morning, I was picking up the remainders of my breakfast in preparation for a possible visitor, when SMACK. The last glass broke against the table. For no reason. Again, nearly severing my finger.

Okay, not severing. But there was blood! Buckets and buckets of blood!!

No, not that either. A little bit of blood.

And I think it speaks to the power of parenthood that my first instinct was to pick up the glass and vacuum, lest my poor toddler slash her sweet little chewed up toesies.

So now, the glasses are no more. We have destroyed or lost 16 drinking glasses since 2001. SIXTEEN. And you know what? I'm GLAD. Because they really did have it out for me. There was a yearning for my blood built into their very matrices, and I have lived in minor terror of them for the last couple of years.

But now i'm free. Free to enjoy my polka-dotted Target glasses, which would never, ever hurt me.

Unless the spirit of those Wal-Mart glasses transferred at the very end, like Poltergeist or something.

Great. Now i'm scared again.

Stupid glasses.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

are Wii having fun yet?

Most preschool days, I ready my child for public viewing and retire to the lounge to eat bonbons and watch my "stories" while wearing feathery high-heeled slippers and a vintage kimono.


...... no.

In actuality, on the days that my beloved Dr. Crog takes the Biscuit to school, I clean, I paint, I organize, I shop, or I take a much-needed nap next to my favorite roly-poly parasite. Those 3 hours are magical and beautiful and rejuvenating. But on the days that *I* take her to school, i'm stuck. I don't want to drive 9 miles back home and then 9 miles back to preschool, but I also don't want to spend money if I can help it. So I go to my parents' house, which is comfortable and conveniently located less than 2 miles from school.

And when i'm there, I have two choices: settle my lazy betonk into the butt-shaped dent in the couch and eat Twix out of the freezer, or play Wii Fit. So today, I played Wii Fit. It's fun, it's easy, it's available, and it's just the right amount of exercise for my still-recovering postpartum body.

But i'll let you in on a little secret, if you promise not to tell my mom: my main goal is simply to beat her scores. For no good reason. It's diabolical, really.

In fact, I think that's the main premise of Wii: to try to best your friends and family at games that make absolutely no sense. It's practically a drinking game.

The Strength and Yoga sections are pretty straightforward and for the more hardcore living room exercise enthusiast... but the Balance and Aerobics portions are ridiculous. I mean, head-butting soccer balls by leaning left or right defies all logic. It doesn't matter where your head is-- it matters which leg is carrying more of your weight. And then you get hit with a decapitated panda head. Quoi?

I find the most frustrating part of Wii is the Step Aerobics portion. It goes very slowly, and your score is based solely on timing. How well you step on the board at exactly the same moment as the other little dudes, who are doing their aerobics on a stage, in front of a cheering crowd, under disco balls.


But i've taken a Step Aerobics class, and it was very, very different. It was actually... aerobic. Had me jumping around like an idiot, trying desperately to keep up, huffing and puffing. And there were definitely no disco balls.

I suppose I just wonder how much the Wii is actually helping the Wii-obsessed people across America. I would love to see some statistics on folks who are actually losing weight with the Wii and tracking their goals every day with that little foot stamp. I'm guessing that most folks do a lot more bowling and ski-jumping than yoga and strength training. Because, in all honesty, who wants to play a video game that freakin' hurts?

In any case, it's better than sitting on the couch, eating frozen Twix.

Of which I ate 3 after 26 minutes of Wii.

Because I wanted to.

Shut up.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

what goes down...

I learned a very valuable lesson in parenting today.

Do not do the following. Ever.

1. Give your child a sippy cup of milk and a box of raisins to enjoy in her car seat.

2. Five minutes later, when she requests something different to eat, hand her a mozzarella cheese stick.

3. Five minutes later, when she requests something different to eat, "Maybe a apple cookie?", get quite annoyed, and tell her she can't have a freakin' apple cookie until she eats the freakin' cheese stick you just freakin' gave her.

4. Watch in the rear view mirror, horrified, as the child attempts to cram an entire cheese stick into a mouth already crammed with raisins.

5. Start shrieking, "No! NO! Spit that out! Take the cheese out of your mouth! STOP! STOP DEEP THROATING THAT CHEESE, CHILD!!!"

6. Watch, terrified and disgusted, as the child vomits up half a cheesestick, half a box of raisins, a cup of whole milk, and a bellyfull of stomach acid all over herself and her car seat.

7. Pull over to mop the barf-covered child off and undress her as she picks up a book and starts singing a song about what the Daddies on the bus say, having already forgotten her first puke. Try not to think about how it looks like raisin-studded bread pudding.

8. Begin driving your hideously stinky car again as the now perky child says, "Can I have something to eat, please?" and do your best not to scream.

Monday, February 9, 2009

it costs what it costs, Michael

I was saddened today to learn via Yahoo News that three very important businesses may be going out of business in 2009:

Rite Aid, Krispy Kreme, and Six Flags.

And I am sad.

Of course the last time I entered a Rite Aid was before I knew I was pregnant with T.Rex to buy the Mucinex DM that haunted me all pregnancy with visions of club feet. And the last time I stopped by Krispy Kreme was for a pumpkin donut on October 1, the day they begin producing pumpkin donuts each year. And the last time I personally paid to visit Six Flags was during college, back when Dr. Crog had long hair and I wore cut-off jean shorts.

But that shouldn't matter! Just because *I* don't personally frequent these businesses does *not* mean they should close. I have occasional and desperate need of them.

When I am sick and need to make two right turns on the way home and forgot to stop at Walgreens first, I need Rite Aid. When I am pregnant and craving a pumpkin donut and it happens to be one of the two months in which they make pumpkin donuts, I need Krispy Kreme. And when I want to go laugh at rednecks and ride roller coasters once a decade, I seriously need Six Flags.

Huh. I begin to see why they might be in financial trouble.

My point is this: YOU need to patronize these three businesses so that they will be available on the off-chance that I might need to patronize them one day. It costs what it costs.

Stupid economy.

ps. Blockbuster is also on the chop list, so I am now overjoyed to know that voodoo really works. Anybody got some pins and tiny little copies of Stuart Little and The Notebook?

Sunday, February 8, 2009

island of dr. me

As our eldest child gets older and demands constant, slavering attention and roughhousing, we begin to see the wisdom in having a dog. Finally, someone else she can torture, crowd, tug on, narrate to, dress up, race with, and torture.

Yes, I said torture twice. That's what 2 year olds do.

But there are problems. Get an old dog and face ingrained habits, or get a young dog and go through all the training? Check out the animal shelter, or go with a fancy import? Who's going to take care of the inevitable pudd
les and loaves that come with dog ownership? (Well, that's not much of a question, because it's obviously going to be me). Then there's food, vet bills, what to do with the dog when we travel (once every five years), where the dog will sleep, whether we'll name him Keith, Leroy, or Killface.

But the biggest problem is this: what breed?

I love small dogs. My first dog was a Boston Terrier, and I think 15 pounds is an ideal size. The smaller the dog, the less food it eats, the less it puddles and loaves, the less space it takes up in the bed, the longer it lives, the fewer vet bills it incurs, the fewer chew toys must be bought and barfed up. I am a small dog person.

But Dr. Crog is a large dog person. His fondest childhood memories center on his old dog Bear, a black lab who embodied all that is good in good doggyism. He wants a dog that is sturdy, substantial, manly. A dog that will not only bark if someone jiggles the doorknob, but possibly scar the wood, as well as protect and love our children forever.

But Dr. Crog has never had to vacuum a large dog's shed-out, buy 50 pound bags of dog food while tending to two children under 3, or had to scoop up 13 pounds of diarrhea after a large dog eats a stiletto heel, buckles and all.

And I have never had to face one of my MMA buddies while walking a chihuahua on a glittery leash, so I can see where he's against the small dog thing.

And we both dislike medium-sized dogs.

He wants a lab. I want a pug. He wants a Doberman Pinscher. I want a Chinese Crested. He wants a Weimerarner, I want a French Bulldog.

And thus have we come up with a compromise. I give you... the DOBERDOODLE!

Or Poodleman. Half Doberman Pinscher, half standard poodle. It's the best of all worlds. The poodle part cancels out the shedding coat and vicious demeaner, while the Doberman part makes the poodle part less wussy. It's a big dog that we'll all enjoy, as long as Dr. Crog keeps the back fuzz trimmed to avoid doberdoodle dingleberries.

Or maybe a greyhound. Let's give it a few years.

I have enough crap in my life right now.

And by crap, I mean crap. Two kids. Seriously. That's a lot of crap.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

good luck with that

Oh, it is windy! I will catch the leafs!

I cannot catch they. I will wait till Fall. I will wait patiently!!

....good luck with that, kid.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

stream of toddler consciousness

(random, in sing-song voice to herself over about 30 minutes)

1, 2, 3 Han Soloooooo
1, 2, 3 Han Soloooooo
Then we count to ten
How do you do?
What you have to do is
Marry the princess
Marry the princess
All you have to do
Is marry the princess
If you remember
Yes, you remember!
Oh, do you remember?
You look good, Sir Daddy Dad
That kid's really nice
Ohhhhhh yeah
Yes, sir!
You can have this sticker! Yay!
Whoa-ho, whoa-hay!
I have to go get my potty seat
I tinkle... I tinkle... in here...
Catie... CatieCatieCatie... Miz Christiiiiiiine! Miz Christiiiiiine!
What? What's that there?
Happy Birthday to strawberry
Happy Birthday to strawberry
There is a poblem!
Yes, we do have a poblem.
I am chasing the bees
I am cha-a-asing all the bee-ee-ee-eees
But I have to buckle my... um...
I have to put on my paaaaaaants!
My paaaaaaants!
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Once Upon a Potty...
Once Upon a Pah-ha-ha-ha-hotty
Where is Maggie?
Oh! I don't know!
She is watching squirrels, probably
I would like a cracker
A cracker cracker cracker
He pretend to walk
On his little bitty feet
He is growing so SO big!
Hello baby baby baby brother
Oh, toesies
Hey, baby!
May I have some of your apple please?
Please please please please thank you!
I want some pear, please. I want some apple.
The goose... are in his toes.
Scuse me!

it's all your imagination

Dr. Crog: Whoa, did you see that? There's so much static electricity in my favorite blanket that I can see it!
Me: Really? You can see electricity? Yeah, right! (rolling eyes)
Dr. Crog: (confused) Yeah, I can see it.
Me: Oh, so you can see CONCEPTS now? You can see "electricity"? What are you going to see next? "Love"? "Trouble?"
Dr. Crog: Uh...
Dr. Crog: No, I cannot see "emancipation"?
Me: Well, let me know when those superpowers kick in, cuz i'll call the news and let 'em know.

We were feeling a little sassy last night. We have fun.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

yummy guru

Ever since falling in goofy TV love with craggy, crabby Chef Gordon Ramsay, I have watched as many episodes of Kitchen Nightmares as possible while lunching on grilled cheese sammiches at my parents' house. From donkey dork kabobs to nude karaoke, it is currently my favorite show. Which is why i've been craving Indian food non-stop for about 3 weeks after watching an Indian restaurant under go Gordon's gastric gauntlet.

Normally, a craving is easy for me to quell, but Indian food is tough. It's no fun alone; Craig doesn't like it; and my mom is terrified ever since the "Oh My God, This is Goat!!" affair. So, finally, we went out for Indian buffet with our buddies Heidi and Jade. But we didn't actually *get* Indian buffet, because neither of our regular haunts currently offers a weekday lunch buffet. Stupid economy! After irritating some businessmen and trashing one booth before getting a drink order, we left Indian Chef for Guru 1, where we were blissfully (and unfortunately) the only folks there.

I do not have enough nice things to say about Guru 1 in the Old Roswell Mill. I can't believe the place wasn't packed. Although the location is forgettable and the interior is lackluster, the food and service were UNBELIEVABLE. They custom-made dishes for us and brought free kids' food and mango juice for our rambunctious daughters. They didn't mind the shrieking contest or rice spillage. Our lunch included some sort of delicious soup, our curries, rice, naan, a vegetable samosa, and Indian chicken nuggets for the girls, and it was very cheap. They offered us ice cream, but we all declined.

Over two hours later, and I am still utterly stuffed and very, very happy. I sing songs of joy for lamb curry with rice and naan.

Just... just... YUM.

So worth the wait.

So if you have kids and could fancy a curry, I suggest Guru 1. Delicious, sit-down food with silverware and real plates and free kids' lunch and no dirty looks while your kid talks in ultrasonic dolphin-speak.

Besides Chef Ramsay, who would surely tear them a new one, who could ask for anything more?

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

a letter of apology

Dear Dr. Crog,

Apparently, I owe you an apology.

In my dream last night, I stole your motorcycle for some big surprise, and I hid it in a field, and then I lost it. Even though I kept saying, "But it was a surprise!!", you were still really angry. Even when my childhood friend Letha gave you the entire set of Cabbage Patch Kid/Hungry Hungry Hippo crossover dolls in original packaging, you didn't forgive me. You looked so sad at that big party we held in our electricity-less cabin, wearing your purple and black glittery alligator skin tuxedo. I still can't believe 200 people fit in our living room. And after I went away with Jeanie to the Elite Pregnant Girls' School, you wouldn't send me a postcard, even after I wrote a song for you on a pink guitar.

So, sorry about that.

Love, d.

Monday, February 2, 2009

sacre bleu!!

Yeah, I know that the French don't actually say, "Sacre bleu!", and that's it's actually a blasphemous and vulgar thing to say, but... I don't really care.

I am very enthusiastic about my boy's blue eyes.

Look at 'em!

The polar bear sweater is also full of WIN.

the amazing growing twin

Biscuit: IT'S MUNNING! Oh, mommy, oh, daddy, it is munning!
Me: Good morning, sweetheart. Can I snuggle with you?
Biscuit: Yep.
Me: Oh, it is very cozy in your bed with you!
Biscuit: Yes, it is! My bed is getting so, so big!
Me: Your bed is doing what?
Biscuit: My bed is growing growing big BIG big! It is bigger than your bed already!
Me: Really?
Biscuit: Yep. I eat and at night I grow big, and my bed grows, too! We get so, so bigger together!
Me: Oh, excellent. Then we won't have to buy you a full bed in a few years, huh?
Biscuit: Nope.

As the rest of my day consists of cleaning, cleaning, laundry, taking T.Rex to the pediatrician for a sick visit, and cleaning, that was clearly the finest moment of my Monday. She then put her arms around my neck and told me she loved me.

It really is a very cozy bed.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

this thing about socks

For someone who is not particularly fussy, I have this thing about socks.

1. I can't stand to wear shoes indoors.

2. I don't like to wear matching socks.

3. I prefer argyle socks, but any linear design or skulls is also acceptable. I don't do flowers, frogs, stars, or any other sort of "cutesy" sock.

4. The more colorful or interesting sock must go on the left.

5. I have to put on the left sock first. Then right sock, left shoe, right shoe.

6. If, for some unfathomable reason, a right shoe or sock should touch my foot or be put on before the left one, the day is utterly and unalterably ruined, and I should not leave the house, as something horrible and catastrophic would be sure to happen.

7. I wear through socks really, really quickly.

8. I only buy socks on sale and often buy several pairs at a time.

9. I still have this wonderful collection of argyle socks from The Gap that I found for 50 cents a pair and wore during high school. They are bizarre, Tetris colors and full of holes and completely unwearable, but I just can't let go of them. I am not generally a packrat and rarely save anything.

10. I have no idea when or how these sock rules developed, as I didn't have them as a child. I do know that in high school, I lost one of the Tetris socks and decided I would just wear non-matches from then on, but the left-right business is just ridiculous.

11. We socks make me nearly homicidal. Stealth puddles are the devil.