Archives for February 2007

I don’t really trust the holes in my washer.

I refuse to put the soap in until the bottom holes fill with water.

Who wants to throw all that detergent into a pock-marked abyss?

Not me.

And so I wait.

With a leettle expert advice, we’ve decided the new roof can wait for a few years while we save up to pay for it in cash. If things get really bad, we may send Laylee and Magoo to live in the attic holding pots and pans. Maybe they’ll make friends with the rats who will one day repay Laylee by making her a beautiful ball gown, which I will subsequently tear to shreds. …

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What cheers you? What brings you joy? When you need a quick pick-me up during the day, where do you turn?

Paint your toenails all different colors. If you really want to cheer up, paint your daughter’s too. If you REALLY need something extra, paint your son’s as well and see how long it takes dad to notice….

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Today I got the best comment ever on my blog at The Parenting Post.

“Seriously.. if my name were Magoo I’d want to commit suicide.. I can’t believe people are actually listening to this stupid baby-naming fad.. STOP NAMING YOUR CHILDREN AFTER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. Also, stop making up new names.. we have a list of names for a reason.. so USE IT!”

The commenter kindly provided his email address to which I sent this response:

Yes, Magoo is totally his real name. I didn’t give him an alter-ego at all on my blog to protect his privacy. I thought it would be a good idea to use his real name on the blog so his junior high friends could google search “Magoo Daring” and find out all about the consistency of his infantile poop. You’re right. I must be stopped.

Our next child will be named McFrick or Throckmorton, regardless of gender. Are those on “the list” or should I keep brainstorming?

Yesterday Dan was microwaving his lunch at work when a woman walked past him into the lunch room, removed his food halfway through its heating cycle and started nuking hers. He was so dumbfounded by this that he just waited for her to finish. When she was done, she left his food on the top of the microwave and walked out without a word.

Sometimes people are just oblivious. I like to imagine that she knew he was there microwaving his food and just felt that her needs were somehow more important, a lunchroom bully, waiting in the hallway for her next victim to begin reheating his leftovers. In reality, she was probably spaced out and didn’t even realize what she was doing.

A few years ago Dan and I had dinner guests who we didn’t know very well. I made some Indian food, a complicated dish requiring a ton of onions. I have zero tolerance for onions and sob like a child every time I come in contact with them.

Some time after the guests had left I walked past a mirror and noticed several inches of black mascara circles running down my face. “DAN! Why didn’t you TELL me I looked like a crazed clown the entire evening?” He had no idea what I was talking about. He came over. “Oh yeah. You do have a little something there.” It’s not that he’s a moron. He’s actually quite a genius. He’s just so used to seeing me a certain way (fabulous goddess of beauty) that he has a hard time noticing when something changes a wee bit.

Which brings me to the pigs feet. A couple of weeks ago I was grocery shopping as I am sometimes wont to do. In between the bottled artichokes (I was making a new dip recipe from Chilihead) and Vienna Sausages (I was keeping my distance) I found a “value pack” of pigs feet. I laughed out loud in the store and placed them in my cart.

Since I’m trying to lose weight and can’t eat all the food I’d like without feeling guilty, I’d rather just buy groceries that make me giggle.

I got them home and placed them in the food cupboard at eye level to see how long it would take Dan to notice them. 52 hours. It takes Dan 52 hours to notice a jar of pigs feet next to the niblets. But I couldn’t stop there. This is too fun.

I decided I would send the feet to anyone willing to play this little game with me. Then Mir started rambling on about liquid/ fragile/ perishable blah blah blah and I rethought my strategy.

It works like this. Go to the store. Buy a bottle of pigs feet (they cost around $4). Put them in an obvious place in a cupboard your spouse will open at least once a week. Email me a picture of the feet but don’t blog it so s/he won’t know what you’re doing. I’ll put a link to your blog on my sidebar with a counter of how long the pigs feet have been sitting there. Fun, yes? Just say yes, okay? I’ll enjoy it because I’m twisted like that.

Someone told me in an email today that I was a “solid example of motherhood” on my blog. Of course I know this is true and never more true than in my Parenting post today. Feel free to go over there and be enriched by my greatness.

Thanks to everyone for your awesome suggestions for Laylee’s faerie birthday. You people know how to part-tay! I’m sending the DYM shirt out to Heffalump for her suggestion of little flower pots and tools so the kids can create their own faerie gardens at home. I love this idea for its creativity, utility and cheapitude.

I will be using several of your ideas and will hopefully post pictures on the website some time in March. Again, thank you all so much. This may be the best birthday party EVER. Okay, if I gave them each a bag full of sugar and let them run in an orbiting pattern around my kitchen appliances it would be the best birthday party EVER but these suggestions should help make it more than adequate.

Things have been a little strange around our house lately. I refuse to buy bread but I can’t remember how to make it. There is a pink balloon floating around my kitchen, which I think may be partially to blame.

I just cut Magoo’s hair for the first time and although he looks very much like a POW, I still love him madly.

After 2 weeks of flaming acid poo, we now hose him off instead of using wipes. It’s cool because I think he’s becoming so much like me. I am fairly confident that I would also shower if I ever soiled myself. …

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