It's Halloween Day!

     Ah yes!  All Hallow’s Eve, Oiche Shamhna, Samhain, Hallowe'en, All-hallow-tide, Hallowmas, Alhallow ene, Hollantide…. Give-me-da-candy Day!  Whatever you call it, it’s gonna be good!  It has always been one of my favorite holidays and I think it is ranking pretty high on Sass’s list these days.  He woke Hubbs and I up with a cheery 6 a.m. “Happy Halloween MomnDad!  It’s Halloween Day!”  Sho’ nough is little dude.  Time to cram you full of sugar till you twitch and pass out.  No puking, though.  Ug.

Know your limit, little dude.

     
     All Hail Halloween! The one night of the year kids can run around overindulging like pledges at a Frat party (But no worries, bud. I won’t sharpie a penis on your face while you lay passed out in your bed... Maybe.) I love the cold weather and costumes (and the fact that most of my “inappropriate costume” days were pre-Facebook. Did you know you can make a Ladybug slutty? Heh.) and I love the fact that I will get to skim off Sass's haul after he collapses in bed. (Sprinkles will be remaining behind with Grandma, a princess in waiting, to"help" to hand out candy.)  I love the excitement and enthusiasm. I love the freedom and imagination. I can't wait to watch Sass stumble up a neighbors steps and yell “Trick or Treat”! (Okay, hon, now what do you say?) This will be a good night full of shrieks and giggles and noses running from the cold. I. Can't. Wait.

What are your little ones dressing up as? Any cool “Halloween Day” traditions you'd be willing to share? Tell me, tell me! I would really like to know.

Not So Happy Veggie Tales

     We like to eat in my house and no food group goes un-molested.  The favorites seem to be breakfast meats (that includes kielbasa, the finest and most versatile of casing-clad meat products) and breads (biscuits, pancakes, loaf breads).  That is not to say that we don't hit it hard in the veggie department (and fruit… but who doesn't like fruit?) as well, it’s just that tastes vary so much there.  Take Sass.  From the first moment the All-Hallowed-Broccoli passed his toothless little gums he pledged his undying love and unwavering masticatory attentions to its cold-loving crowns.  The boy will pick broccoli (or green beans) over a cookie.  We've tried it and it’s true.  Sprinkles, on the other hand, is completely uninterested in the verdant greens of the light seeking veggies and has chosen instead to pledge her allegiance to the dark loving tubers.  (A child after my own heart considering that I too had an almost unnatural affinity for a mashed potato as a baby.  Yeah…. As a baby… *Ahem*) She will continue to shove potatoes and kielbasa in her mouth until her little belly is straining at the highchair safety belt, belch loudly, and then reach for more.  I worry that her one-sided-veggie-ness will become nutritionally problematic.  Not with her iron intake (have you seen her go after a pot roast?) and not with her calcium intake (we are actually considering buying our own cow…. That is how many gallons of milk we go through in a week.) but with all the other important nutrients her little body will need to keep up its astonishing growth rate.  Last night at the table I watched her idly play with a bit of cooked spinach I tried to feed her, (she was putting it in her mouth and then slowly pulling it back out but never actually chewing) and I realized that helping her develop her taste buds may be a bit tricky. 

     I have found myself “sneaking” veggies into things, something I have never had to do before, in an attempt to widen her plant-eating palette.  Peas into every casserole, zucchini finely chopped into pasta sauces… but, in truth, I am only creating one, huge culinary lie.  Now, we lie to Sass about what he is eating all the time!  Green Bell Peppers have been called “Crunchy Green Beans”.  Black Olives have become “Black Pickles”.  But we lie to get him to put the food in his mouth and expose him to the flavor and it usually works.  With Sprinkles, all the veggie-sneaking is just a desperate attempt to make sure we don't have to start grinding up Flintstones to put in her milk in the morning.  Why is it that she will eat meat spiced with Cumin, Adobo, Curry, Thyme, or fresh garlic but acts like broccoli is the most vile and odious of poisons?  Broccoli?  The most delicious of all the green vegetables?  It’s not like I am asking her to eat brussel sprouts (Yummm!) or anything….   She gives me the “Are you trying to kill me, Woman?” look if any of the offenders from her ever growing list of “Things That Aren't Potatoes” ends up anywhere near her food pile on the table at dinner time.   It is a battle and I think I am loosing…. Badly.

     Do any of you have any tips on working with picky eaters or any guerilla-veggie recipes to share?  Because I think if I put peas in anything else Hubs is going to have an intervention….

C'mon Sprinks... Don't be a hater!

Everyone needs a little love...

Oh my... the LANGUAGE!

Sass-isms and excerpts from this weekend:

Sass:  “Throw me!  Ima baseball!”

Sass:  “What you talkin’ about?  Dats Batcrap.”  *sigh*

At 6:30 this a.m., Sass marches in the bathroom (while I am trying to take a shower) and declares that:

Sass:  “ I'm mad at Daddy!”

Me:  “Why?”

Sass:  “He won’t give me dinner.”   

     We are still waiting on Sprinkles’s little nuggets of wisdom, but it seems that she prefers to remain silent as Sass does all the talking for her.

Sass:  “Sister wants a cookie, Mommy.”

Sass:  “Sister wants her milk, Mommy.”

Sass:  “Sister maybe wants to go pway wif me upstairs now, Mommy”.

     Of course, Sprinkles goes along quite happily with everything Sass Monkey suggests… well, except for when he decided she wanted to have a pillow fight and he blindsided her with a decorative throw pillow from the couch.  Nope, she was NOT down with that.  No worries though, she gets him back by taking his toys and sitting on his head while he is trying to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Dats mah gurl….

No, Sweetie... THIS is Batcrap....

Slamming Hobbits and Bilbo's Berries

*Nerd Alert!*  You have been warned....

     The level of my obsession/love for the books The Hobbit and LOTR is frightening.  I am borderline bat-sh*t on this and the first step to recovery is realizing you have a problem, right?  Having been raised on the books I am a bit of what I would call a "Tolkien Purist" but what others might call "Oh Gawd!  Do NOT bring up the Ents... especially in public."  Apparently, I can be a little embarrassing ...
     I had a few issues with the LOTR movies (I still own the entire boxed set complete with HOURS of extras) and have been trepidatiously awaiting "The Hobbit".   I've been reading the rumor sights and looking at all the pictures that are beginning to dribble out and I thought sexy dwarves were going to be the worst thing I had to deal with... until Hubs showed me this...

Oh, Denny's...  "Hobbit Slam"?  "Seed cakes and Shire Sausage"?  "Radagast’s Red Velvet Pancake Puppies"?  I....   But....  Why,  Denny's?  Why?  And what the f*ck is a "Pancake Puppy"?
It's like my breakfast choices are roadkill or Hobbit Porn.  I feel like I need to go wash my eyes out or something.  Keep your Shire Sausage away from me!  I am a married woman, you know!  Slamming Hobbits... ewwww....

Other menu items include:
Frodo’s Pot Roast Skillet  (Oh...  no.....)
Bilbo’s Berry Smoothie (Not his BERRIES!) 
Gandalf’s Gobble Melt  (Can you put Purell on your brain?)
Hobbit Hole Skillet  (A coma sounds really good right about now...)

Oh, and there's more.  There's this...

AAAAAaaaaannnd this....

And dearsweetjeezusmakeitstop.......

This is almost as bad as seeing Frodo's nipples in ROTK.  Ack!  Nooooooo!  Hobbit's don't have nipples!  I need to go sit in a closet, curl into the fetal position, rock, and cry.  (Though not as damaging as having my Hubs, then boyfriend, set up Harry Potter in a full frontal photo from "Equus" as my "surprise screensaver".  He's a keeper, that one.)

So... happy Friday.  I guess...  *shudder*

Morning Aire... um I mean Air....

"Mommy.  I hafta fart."

This is what I heard while getting my lunch together this morning.  Sass was sitting at the table, munching happily on his cereal while Sprinks was alternating between shoving fistfulls in her mouth and gleefully throwing handfuls on the floor.

"What?"  I wanted to make sure I'd heard what I thought I'd heard.  

You see there was the "function incident" a few weeks ago when Sass was trying to tell us that something mechanical wasn't working.  "Mommy, Daddy... it not fuck... fuck... " (by this time our eyebrows had climbed to our hairlines and you could hear the crickets chirping in China).  "It not fuck-tion."  Big smile.  "OOoooohhhh, okay.  It doesn't function?  It doesn't work?", we said.

"Yeah, it's not working."

*Phew*

Anyway, back to this morning....

Sass:  "Mommy, I hafta fart" (looking concerned)

Me:  "What?"

Sass:  "I hafta fart."  Rubs his tummy.  I walk over.

Me:  "What's going to happen?"  Still playing dumb in the hopes that this is a "function incident".

Sass:  "It rolls around in here (points to tummy) and comes out down here (points to his underwear)."

Fair enough...

He start to look a little desperate, throws himself out of the chair (his normal mode of dismount), and trots toward the bathroom.

Me:  "You mean pass gas?"  

Sass:  Yeah, Mommy.  Pass gas."  As he opens the bathroom door, he looks back at me.  "And the gas is gonna come out!".  *triumphantly slams the door*

*sigh*

                                                                 He's gas powered....

Spiderman Pixie Dust

     Last night, while Sass was watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates (For those of you who have never seen this show it is about 3 children in Neverland who have adventures and are constantly harassed by a very toned down Captain Hook.  Disney basically took out all the darkness, the fear, and the sudo-pedaphilic undertones, slapped some racially obscure kids on the front and let ‘er rip.  Sass can't get enough.) and marching around in nothing but his red bandana and a Pull-Up, he declared that “Mommy, you be the pink one.  The pink banana girl.” (He has some trouble with “bandana”.)  “Okay, I do like pink.  Do I get the boots too?”  I asked.  “You get Pixie dust, mommy.” And he stopped for a second and thought and then said “I get Spiderman Pixie Dust.”  Because regular Pixie Dust is for girls, you see.  And only to use in emergencies like mace or bear horns.  So he had to man it up with some Spidey?  I guess so.  But the dude wears spandex and stays a virgin for how long?  He is a nerd with anger management issues.  He wears SPANDEX... but I digress….

But you can see his junk...

     What does this mean?  My little man doesn't want anything girly because “I’m a man, Mommy.” (yes, he has said that.).  I was concerned in the beginning.  He regularly identifies anything pink or sparkly as “princess stuff” or “Dat’s for girls!”.  He has a group of boys that he rough houses with now at school instead of girls (like at his old school … *ug.  Hipster jeans*).    He knows there is a difference…  Does he equate girly with weaker?  Lesser? 

     As I watched him squash his sister flat and then get squashed in return I realized that, no, he doesn't think of girls as lesser or weaker, just different.  He has no compunctions whatsoever with flattening a girl.  He isn't “man-ing up” he’s just putting people into categories.  “Boy” doesn't equal “better” or “stronger”, in fact, this boy refuses to touch bugs, snakes, lizards, and pumpkin guts.  (You should have seen his face when I tried to get him to help me gut the jack-o-lantern.  I thought he was going to puke.  All this while his sister is busy filling her gullet with grass and who knows what else she’s ripped up from the yard.)  Different is okay.  Different is good.  Because we are different.  He is starting with the largest grouping – male vs. female – and putting his world in order.  Order is good.  Understanding is good.  Defining is good.  We are going to have to work on the pink stereotyping though cause, honey, that boy (with his bright blue eyes and his peaches-n-cream complexion)  looks fabulous in a pink polo shirt….

Facepalms-n-Eye Rolls All 'Round

One of the many reasons Hubs and I decided to move from Charleston, SC to Nashville, TN was that the, ummm... accepted social practices of the, ummm... older established communities were, ummm... antiquated.  Parts of that state haven't seen the light of anything since 1842 and we weren't all that comfortable exposing our children to that sort of thinking.
That being said, there are parts of Charleston that will live in my heart forever as wonderful happy places. We met fantastic folks, ate mind-blowing food, and were toasted brown by the time we left (not to mention just toasted).  But I digress...
Now, Hubs and I realize that Stupid (with a capital "S") is not regional.  It knows no geographic boundaries, which is why I was not so much surprised as saddened by the hot-load that showed up on the news last night...  

Retired Professor Running For VP on Controversial Platform - NewsChannel5.com | Nashville News, Weather & Sports

Meet Virginia Abernethy... hey ya... meet Virginia.  I can wait to....

Seriously?  There are so many facepalms-n-eye rolls on this for me I don't even know where to start.  In fact, my eyes may actually get stuck in the back of my head and I know my nose will be hella bruised... but I have to do this...

1.  In this day and age.... really?
2.  Way to make Nashville look racist and backwards... again.
3.  "European American" - You wanna dance with words, lady?  Okay, well, hows about the fact that all those white people you are trying to try up in a neat little word package may not have originated from Europe?  Apparently Russia (you know, the GIANT COUNTRY TO EUROPE'S RIGHT ON THE MAP THAT IS FULL OF WHITE PEOPLE) doesn't count.  Try calling a Russian a European and see what happens....
4.  Most "European Americans" are not "pure-blooded" anything thanks to a convoluted and sometimes ugly history.  
5.  What are you again?  A professor... of what?  Oh, Anthropology?  Then you should be well aware of the fact that we all came from Africa (unless you cotton to the Multiregional Hypothesis, in which case, migration and early interbreeding have us all as a mixed bag anyway). 
6.  Since the first permanent  "European American"  settlement didn't happen until 1565 (The Spanish at St. Augustine), we could still be considered an Exotic Invasive, and therefore a Non-Native species.  You know, like Kudzu.
7.  Gah!  Why must you make it suck for those of us who ARE really proud of our heritage that just happens to be mostly from Northern Europe?  And NOT because most of my ancestors were melanin-deficient... it's because there were castles, and sword fights, and dragons (there were TOTALLY dragons).  It just makes me want to go all Viking on ya....
8.  Nut up or shut up, woman, and call a spade a spade.... or a white supremacist a white supremacist   "Ethnic Separatist" (insert disgusted noise that involves a raspberry) ... Coward!  We all know you've got a white hood in your closet!  Quit being weak and own your stupidity   This is America... you are allowed to have an opinion... allbit a bad one.  It happens all the time.  I mean, just take a look at the Tea Party.  A walking, taking bunch 'o' warmongering silly.  (to any buddies I have who are members or supporters of aforementioned party please remember... I love you for reasons other than your political affiliations and I am totally for your believing what you believe.  But I am still going to give you a facepalm.  Feel free to give me one in return.)
9.  She says she is "speaking" (I call it mouth-diarrhea) for those who are too afraid to speak up.  Like, all those old white dudes busy making money by standing on the backs of the minimum wage earners?  They must be too busy making money to give their opinions.  Yeah... soooo busy.  (And btw, go look in the back of your favorite restaurant and tell me what you see.  Not at the front of the back, where the servers and the hostesses hang out, but in the hot, sweaty back. Yeah... Oh. )
10.  I am so mad at this point, all I can do is spit expletives, but you get the picture.

As you know, a rant may be finished.... but it is never over.  :)  I am starting to think Natural Selection may have slipped up on this one...

Biological Attacks

     Yay!  Monday vacation!  I can sit, drink my coffee, and think my work thoughts… completely uninterrupted.  And pee by myself…  THAT is such a luxury now that Sprinks is mobile and has an agenda.  Time to wind down after the weekend mayhem of pumpkin pancakes, fall festivals, apple eating, jack-o-lantern carving, and general not-still-ness…  We had fun, mind you, tons of it.  The kind of fun that gets you good and dirty and has you asleep before you hit the bed… which is why I am happy to just sit here and pow-wow with Mr. Dunkin.  J

     But the weekend wouldn't have been complete without SOMEONE getting sick, right?  Enter Sass…. in grand style.  One minute we were in the Wal-marts buying groceries and begging for an Angry Birds tee-shirt (Really?  You have played that game, like, 5 times on my phone.  Total.  Ever.) the next he was sitting quietly (warning bells!!!) with dark circles under his eyes in the middle of the toiletries aisle.  He went from 98.6 to the-surface-of-the-sun in about 2 minutes.  While we checked out, he wandered around the nearby Halloween department in my green Pashmina knock-off, all hollow eyed and miserable, still trying to pull all the costumes off their displays.  It was like the virus had taken over and, in a desperate attempt to infect the greater population, was instructing him to cough/sneeze/drool on all the masks the kids would be putting directly on their faces this Halloween.  Soooo Michael Crichton of them.  (Eeek!  They can read!)  We quick scooped him up, got him in the car, and began to drive home.  Poor little man...he just laid in his car seat all silent and slack jawed…  and we knew it was REALLY bad when he refused the offer of freshly baked chickey nuggets and tater tots…  It was time to worry.  He must be near death.

      Straight into bed he went with a large dose of grape flavored Ibuprofen for his 103.9 degree fever.  Go Buddy, go!… when he does it he does it right.  He didn't move for the rest of the day.  At all.  It was very unnerving.  From the bed to the couch for some movie time and that was it.  He wasn't even this still when he had Salmonella… and THAT was ugly. (Sass has always been hard core.  He doesn't get a chest cold, he gets croup.  He doesn't get a stomach bug, he gets Salmonella…) Coaxed out of his stupor with a bowl of chocolate ice cream around dinner, he then began to perk up.  Once his fever began to respond to the medicine we all began to feel better… except for Sprinks who saw this as an excellent opportunity to “pay it forward” if you will, and harass and harangue her strangely still older brother as much as possible.

Stillness and quiet is always so disturbing with children…..

Whoa!  Look at the size of that Rod!

Diplomatic Reverberations or "Why I am the Ambassador of Awkward"

     Let me start by saying that I work for a government organization.  I won't go into more detail because, truthfully, it would be terribly dull and you wouldn't be interested anyway.  Suffice it to say that we help people.  I work in an old and ugly building, with old and ugly cubicles, and bathrooms that should be investigated by the CDC.  But we help people so it’s okay.  And it helps to build the immune system, right?  (At this point I should be immune to 7 different kinds of Dysentery, Smallpox, and the Bubonic Plague.)  Right.  So anyhoo, I have set the scene for you.  There I sit, typing away in my little Hell Hole… er… officable (or awficable) when one of my cohorts receives a call from Security downstairs.  There are people here who want to speak with someone.  Just that… people.  Said cohort and I ride the elevator down discussing the best escape techniques in case these are crazy people… which is TOTALLY possible.  Turns out they aren't crazy… just French.  Cool.  They all work for a comparable program in France and want to talk to us about our program.  Even cooler.  I am all about sharing some information.  Globalization and all that.  Time to practice what I preach and bring down some walls, people! 

     Oh, I was feeling puffed up and important all throughout our meeting.  I pulled out and dusted off my best “Love me and Despair” routine which I developed specifically for the stickler customers when I worked as a server for so many, MANY years.  I could even get old people to tip me if I whipped this act out.  Un-freakin-heard of, I know.  (There was also the “I Have A Ring On My Finger But It DOES Come Off” for tables of dudes/lesbians, the “Non-Threatening, Slightly Awkward But Endearing Younger Sister” for tables of women in their 30’s and 40’s, and the “I Think Your Kids Are Adorable Even Though They Are Throwing Food And Smearing Boogers On My Booth” for families.”)  Needless to say, I was helpful, capable, and confident.  Ooooo, I gots my mojo back!  Work it GIIIIRRRLLLL! 

    We are talking (sort of) and exchanging e-mail addresses and then it is time for them to leave.  I am all smiles and gentle (but firm!) handshakes...  but I begin notice that, when they shake my hand, they will move forward as if to kiss my cheek, and then stop.  Always one to want everyone to feel comfortable (and to help dispel the stupid/uncultured American rumors) I decide to go in for the kill.  As I am shaking the last gentleman’s hand (who I suspect is the leader and doesn't speak a lick of English), I go in for the big double kiss-kiss… *SMOOCH*  *SMOOCH*

     I hear “OOoooo” and “Ahhhh” and even a little giggle.  I pull back and this guy has a smile plastered on his face like the one Sprinkles gets when she finally unloads a turd she’s been wrangling for 20 minutes or so…. complete joy and not a little pleasure.  My brain starts to scream a little.  Wait, they don't normally double kiss, do they?  Did I… Did I just proposition this guy?  This guy who turned out to be the PRESIDENT of his Organization… with a capital “O”?  Yeah… I think I did. 

     The interpreter then gave me a big hug and an open invite to stay in the apartment complex he owns… in New Orleans... anytime I want.    What they hell did I just say to these people?

Well, I made an impression….. I’m not sure which one… but it was an impression.  

Exactly....

My life among the Banshee Garden Slugs

Why is it that when the wigglers get sick they are down for, like, a day… tops… and then, when Hubs and I get it, we need IV fluids and enough cold medicine to drop an African Elephant?  Their noses ooze green goo but our lungs stop working, crammed full of contagion, and both of us walk around the house gasping like carp in a cow pond.  We can barely muster the energy to shower while they are still launching themselves off the furniture with a 103 degree fever.  They become hot, cranky little fireballs comprised only of unnamable green substances and viruses, they whirl around the house leaving snot trails on the walls.  Oversized banshee garden slugs … woe to those who cross their paths!

Not that I don't get why they are cranky.  Being sick and unable to take the “fun” drugs has GOT to suck.  Daddy and I get Supa-Happy-Cold-And-Flu and they get… Ibuprofen.  *crickets*  They totally get gypped on that one.   Cause it is BAD for them… right?  *Sigh*  The only downside to being able to take said happy pills is that afterwards, all I want to do is lay on the couch in nothing but my fluffiest bathrobe and a thick blanket of my own misery, moaning and crying… but I can't… because I'm an adult… damnit.  I feel bad for them, I really do, but a small (but very loud) voice in the back of my head keeps shrieking “You did this to me!  You brought it in!  We are all DOOOOMED!”. 

But is it really their fault?  Nah.  Like rats off a plague ship, someone else’s kids snuck into town overnight and infected us all.  And now down we go, oozing buboes and all, completely blindsided and praying for it all to be over.  We all weather the storm and the kids start to feel better.  They eat like starving men and are ready for a snuggle while Hubs and I are still downing decongestants like they are candy and have noses like leaky faucets… for the next two weeks…  Of course.  Because that’s what makes it fun.  Now, where’s my Mucinex?

Da widdle owls make me feewl better...