They're Baaaaaaaaack

I've been remiss in posting this story, mostly because I keep forgetting it until it shows up in my nightmares. So there's that.

Several, several months ago The Husband (and Melissa's husband as well, I later found out) was excited to watch one of his favorite programs on PBS (or MPT as it's know here), Maryland Outdoors, or Outdoors Maryland. Whatever. Something not inside. So anyway, he was all sorts of thrilled to get to watch it again, and judging by our TV schedule, it should have been on when he tuned to that channel. And yet, it wasn't on. What was you might ask?

The one, the only, Celtic Man. YES, that intrepidly stupid group of singing and assumedly drunken Irishmen who couldn't emote their way out of a paper bag. What are the odds that not only was The Husband's show not on as promised, but it was superseded by this, the most unintentionally entertaining musical group of all time?

Oh, but wait, it gets better! Not only was Celtic Man performing at that time, but at the very moment we tuned in, Creepy, Leering, Future Public Sex Offender Guy was singing. No, not his signature "Ride On" piece, but...wait for it...the man who looks every moment as if he's going to crack your skull open and eat his Coco Crispies out of it was singing "Every Breath You Take." NO, I CERTAINLY AM NOT KIDDING. The creepiest stalker singer on earth was singing the creepiest stalker song ever written. It's like he reads this blog and does it out of spite or something.

Don't believe me? It's right on their fricking youtube channel.

And for our added amusement, some totally random ballet dancer dances on stage while he awkwardly haunts her from his perch. Why doesn't he just sing with a hockey mask on while he's at it? Now THAT I'd pay to see.

It's the Little Things

I've been talking about this recently with friends and I decided I simply had to share it here. One of my favorite things in the world to do is yell at children. I am not kidding. It actually puts a smile on my face. I'm smiling just thinking about all the kids I've gotten to yell at within the past week. Does this make me a bad person? What are the odds I care?

Let me be more specific: I enjoy yelling at older children. I don't yell at young children. For one, it doesn't phase them, and when it does, all they do is bawl. And then I feel bad, which is the opposite personal reaction I'm going for. After all, the goal is to brighten MY day. I honestly am quite nice to the little ones (unless they're related to me, in which case all bets are off). I even politely and sweetly ask them to be kind to each other so Jesus will be happy and we can all feel happy warm thoughts and blah blah blah. See? I'm nice to little kids.

But older kids? The ones who know better? The ones WHO HAVE IT COMING? The ones I never liked even when I WAS a kid? Oh my goodness, there is nothing in this beautiful world that gives me greater joy than to point out, VERY LOUDLY that they DO know better and they TOTALLY have it coming.

Take church for example. You'd think with the bishopric and God and everyone staring at me that I would not take joy in yelling at the older kids. Oh, but you'd be wrong. Lisa wasn't in church this week. For some reason she makes me feel guilty for yelling at them. That's why I wait until she's gone. I always have to do it lots to make up for all the times she is there, so the Senior Primary got several heapin' helpins of my Very Loud Voice this past Sunday. I know you don't believe me, but I am still absolutely giddy thinking about it. I have so few true not-so-guilty pleasures in this life that I revel in them when I can get a hold of them.

Did I ever tell you about the best job I ever had? While I was pregnant with Peawhistle I had a job at our apartment complex's swimming pool as a Pool Chick. I tested the water, I checked pool passes, I cleaned the bathrooms, I cleaned the pool each morning. All OK tasks. But the thing that made it all worthwhile? You guessed it. Yelling at all the children. And boy, was I given many an opportunity to do so. Shoot, I even got to yell at ADULTS! A rare treat indeed! Now those jerks REALLY should have known better! I gave those individuals a taste of swearing thrown in to show my disdain for their stupidity. But yelling at the kids was the best part. And better yet, I got to yell at them with their parents right there! Can you even imagine my utter bliss?? It's like getting to yell at kids AND their parents at the same time! I defy you to name a better job than that!

So Lisa, thank you for missing church this week. I missed your funny self indeed, but with you gone I was allowed to engage in my favorite past time. And to Greta's husband, many thanks to you for giving me an excuse to yell at the not-so-little tots. BEST SUNDAY EVER.

God Loves a Peanut

So it appears Stephanie was right, I was totally making everything up. OR SO SHE'D LIKE TO THINK.

I just got a call from Peanut's allergy doctor (well, one of them anyway). She said his endoscopy looked wonderful with nary a eosinophil to be seen. She also called with his latest allergy testing. Of every allergen he's come up positive for in the past, he is now negative for all of them except for cashews and pistachios. Milk and sesame didn't even register, while peanut has fallen below the positive allergen line. IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. Seriously though, IT'S A FRICKING CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. Now, his doctor warned me not to get too excited and start shoving peanut butter down his throat. No problem, we don't have any anyway. She said people can test negative for something and still have a clinical reaction to it upon exposure. So we are to proceed as if he were still allergic to these things, avoiding them as much as possible. However, the likelihood of him actually dying now is pretty slim (well, for peanut, milk, and sesame anyway--gotta still avoid those tree nuts). Plus, he can still have serious GI reactions to these things, particularly milk, which is notorious for producing severe GI issues in the allergic crowd. But not LIFE-THREATENING issues, which is what has given us all ulcers for the past year and a half. He likely still has an oral allergy to apples and pears, and a GI allergy to soy, which sucks, but hey, we can live with that. So can he--literally.

So it would appear that he is outgrowing his life-threatening allergies, including very possibly cashews and pistachios, whose numbers have dropped since the last time. He's still young, things can still change, albeit very unlikely that they would, so we still have to be careful.

But do you have any idea what this means for us in the next few years? He will be able to go to church. He can go to the playground. He can touch a grocery cart handle. We can go out to eat again. He can go to a baseball game. He can sit with other kids at the school lunch table. He can have a cupcake at school parties. He can go on an airplane. He can visit my family. He can go on a mission. Someone will actually want to marry him. The deadly toxins they warned us he would not outgrow are disappearing. I can't even convey how happy I am right now. I'm so relieved I could cry and feed my kid peanut butter. Well, maybe just the first one.

Yes, Master

Last night I dreamed Morgan Freeman and I were super tight friends. Or at least I thought we were, despite the fact he was thoroughly convinced my name was "Igor."

See? Tight.

Is This Thing On?

The following conversation just happened this evening. No joke.

Me: Peawhistle, please finish cleaning up the toys so I can get you a quick bath before bed.

Peawhistle: OK Mommy.

[five minutes later she comes upstairs]

Me: OK kiddo, go brush your teeth, pee in the potty, but don't put your PJs on yet because I need to give you a bath first.

PW: What?

Me: Brush your teeth. Pee in the potty. Don't put on PJs.

PW: But I thought I was going to have a late bath.

Me: You ARE. That's why I don't want you to put on pajamas yet.

PW: No pajamas?

Me: NO. PAJAMAS. YET. BATH. FIRST.

PW: [blank stare]

Me: Go!

PW: (pause) Am I having a late bath?

This went on for some time so I'll spare you the incredible tedium. But MY GOSH. At least this wasn't as bad as this afternoon when the following occurred:

Me: OK PW, what do you want for lunch?

PW: [blank stare]

Me: PW, what do you want for lunch?

PW: [blank stare]

Me: WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH??

Kid you not, she stares at me like I'm speaking Elfish; she's utterly fascinated that I'm trying to communicate with her, but there is ZERO comprehension on her end.

This is an all-day thing and my head hurts just from trying to interact with her so I don't even know how to end this, so I'll just stop typing. There.

*Oh, and I apologize for re-instituting word verification. I'm getting sick and tired of all the spam I've been getting lately and having to go back and delete it. So I'll just torture you all instead, cool?

The Medical Wonders

Being old really sucks. I think of things that happen all day and say, "I could totally write a whole blog post about that." And by the time I get to the computer I've completely forgotten about it. So it's not my fault I never post.

Peanut had an endoscopy yesterday. All went well, but when that kid came out of the anesthesia, boy was he P.I.S.T.-MAD. He glared at everybody for a good hour. This, coming from my happiest kid with the perpetual smile on his face. He was most concerned about the needle stuck in his hand, which he kept trying to cover up. He also refused to use that hand for hours afterwards, like it was broken or something. Weird kid.

Right before the procedure he took part in a medical study for allergies and eosinophilic esophagitis (which they think he has--again). So for participating in the study he got an awesome Fisher Price dump truck. The one toy this kid doesn't have, too. What were the odds? And we got free parking. Woohoo! Good times all around.

So after the procedure while Peanut was scowling at everyone, the GI doctor came out and started talking to me about what went on and asked for his history and blah blah blah. He stopped me about halfway in and asked me if I was a nurse. I, not being one, did not lie. He said, "Wow, you really sound like one. You know a lot about this stuff." I've heard on more than one occasion that when you kid has a condition, you have to make yourself an instant expert on it. Just further proof that I'm an excellent mother. I don't care what CPS says.

Speaking of mothering, remember when Peawhistle scared the crap out of me and the drama of the ambulance ride, ER visit, etc.? Guess what? SHE FRICKING DID IT AGAIN. No, not the trip to the hospital, but she did pass out again (sort of). This time I managed to catch her on the way down, so no career-ending Steve Young-esque concussions for her. So last week she had a really loose tooth. I'm always scared she'll swallow the darn things in her sleep so I told her I was going to take it out before bed since the gross thing could bend at a 90 degree angle in her mouth. I popped it out, she whined, she started fussing about, "Ew, the blood! I don't like the blood in my mouth!" so I told her to wash her mouth out with some cold water and come back to bed. She did so, came back, and promptly fell limp. And freakier than that, she never closed her eyes, she just lay there, completely stiff, teeth gritted, shaking like crazy. And then she stopped, I asked her if she was OK, and I stuffed her in bed while I conferred with The Husband. She was feeling back to normal after a half hour or so, so we decided against any ER visit and I decided to tell her doctor on Monday. Dr. Guilt Trip was supremely interested in this turn of events, especially after I informed her that prior to the first episode, she had lost her second tooth not 5-10 minutes before she collapsed in the parking lot. Two collapsing episodes following two tooth losses? Surely more than a coincidence (take that new, younger, creepier Sherlock!). Her doctor thinks that because the stiff/shaking episodes were so brief (probably only 5-10 seconds at most) that they weren't seizure related, but rather post -something-something-effect (darned if I can remember what she said) related to fear of blood, almost as if she's locked in fear rather than just passing out. We have to call the doctor if she does it again and it's NOT related to teeth loss or blood of course.

I don't get this. This is my blood 'n' guts girl. She is scared of nothing gross or icky. I was convinced she could have been an EMT with her talk of body parts, bones, blood, guts, etc. She falls down or hurts herself and she merely brushes it off and continues to play. The girl laughs at the very thought of zombies, monsters, and witches (I've tried to encourage that frame of mind actually). And here she is, freaking out over two drops of her own blood in her mouth?? To the point of passing out on me? And she's only lost three teeth so far. My gosh have we got a long way to go. She better hope I'm around when she loses another one or we're going for another trip in an ambulance I fear.

The Age-old Question

If there's one thing you know I am, it's a follower! So the fact that everyone else is making resolutions this week, despite the fact that resolutions repel me, I will indeed jump on the bandwagon.

I have but one resolution: to remember how old I am.

Sounds easy, right? For you, yes. For idiots like me, not so much. For the past five years or so (something like that anyway--years confuse me) I have not been able to produce my age when asked. When I do blurt out an age, it's always off by a year or two, hence why I usually just avoid that pothole.

Questioner: And how old are you ma'am?

Me: [blank stare]

Q: Your age?

Me: Uh...lemme think a minute.

Q: [incredulous glare]

Me: JUST GIMME A MINUTE. [fruitless pause] Do you have a calculator?

I usually wind up throwing out my birth year and making them do the math on their own. And then they usually tell me my age as a kindness.

Remember when you were a kid and your age was everything? You weren't just 7, you were 7 5/8. You were 9 in 34 days and two hours and 15 minutes. Now I couldn't tell you how many months/days until my birthday if you paid me. I don't even remember my birthday's approaching half the time. Fun fact: my brother and I share a birthday. I remember either his birthday or mine, but never at the same time. My friend, Misty, has to email me a week in advance every year (which she does, the dear) to remind me my brother's birthday is coming up. What I'm saying is, it's all very sad.

I tried to think how old I am just now and I failed by a year. Resolution success already!

"Let Them Frost Something Else!"

Peawhistle is watching SpongeBob, per usual. She's singing the opening theme song as "SpongeBob HotPants." Now THAT I'd like to see.

Speaking of SpongeBob.... Cakes! Yes, cakes. Now, if I had to guess, my most popular post to date is the Dora Cake post. (Don't agree? Send those disagreements to abbysspamfolder@gmail.com.) Anyway, if everyone learned anything from that post, it's that I suck.

This is a redemption post. For years I forced my mother to make my kids' birthday cakes so those kids wouldn't require therapy when they saw photos of them years from now. But when Peawhistle turned five, I decided to finally decorate a cake of my own. Now, if you recall I'm also sucky when it comes to drawing/artisty in general. However, over the years I've become much better about at least copying characters onto paper, or at least good enough so that PW thinks I'm awesome at it. So given her love affair with WALL-E (and seriously, who doesn't have a love affair with that guy?), I decided to make her a WALL-E cake. I drew it free-hand while looking at the DVD cover art. Trust me, the leaf looked better in person; the angle is making it look like mildew right there. Also, forgive the fact that I forgot to make his treads 3-D and just pay attention to the fact that you can at least tell what it was supposed to be over all.

Meh, it did the trick anyway. Motivated by my quasi-success, I decided to do Peanut's cake this year as well. And there is nothing in this world that Peanut loves more than SpongeBob. I chose to do a mixture of frosting and fondant, despite my utmost hatred for that crap. It was my first time working with fondant and if I had it to do all over again (yeah, I can really see that happening), I would have ignored their advice to roll it 1/4" thick and gone much, much thinner. And I wouldn't have hosed up the fricking eyelashes so much. But by and large, I think it turned out fairly well.

As Peawhistle pointed out repeatedly, he has no holes. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that would have hosed up the entire thing, so I'm glad I didn't. I also should have put the eyes closer together, but oh well. As for what is fondant, his eyes, teeth, nose, shirt, sleeves, arms, pant legs, legs, socks, and shoes. The shoes I had to paint using black frosting, which sucked for lightyears, but they turned out well. What sucked more was frosting the pant legs. I'm fairly certain now fondant wasn't ever meant to be frosted. That crap is slicker than snot.

Given this, I'm perplexed by the Dora Fiasco. It was clearly not the fault of Stephanie, but I must have some frosting ability somewhere, right? Apparently neither of us was ever meant to work in tandem. But I'll go ahead and blame her for it anyway.

So for all of you named Vann who laughed at the very IDEA of me frosting something other than a complete disaster, I DEMAND THAT YOU APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY. In cookies.

We Are Good Friends Now

If you recall (and by you, I mean none of you, apparently), I love me some catalogs! I still get enough catalogs to choke a horse, and I still read through all of them. Boy howdy, am I glad I do! Let me refer you to one catalog in particular. "Toys to Grow On" is full of toys that supposedly make your kid a genius. (Honestly parents, toys aren't going to keep your kid from being an idiot. I know this for a fact.) Anyway, the last time I got a catalog from these jerks I flipped through it, only to end up thoroughly delighted at what I'd found. There is a roll of paper called a "Create-A-Story Paper Center." Your budding author draws pictures on the top half of the roll of paper and writes his genius on the lower half. Fine idea (in some cases anyway). They have an example written and drawn of just what your little future MENSA offspring mayhaps could create. The story they've written goes like so: "A rabbit stole a carrot out of our garden, so I took a piano out of the rabbit's house. We are good friends now." No, I am most certainly NOT kidding. Where to start, where to start? First of all, props to the jerks who drew the accompanying picture of a rabbit holding a carrot while a kid barrels across a meadow hauling a piano. Good show.

Now, to the text. So, so many questions. I'll narrow them down to the most pressing: what the hell have you been teaching your children? Exaggerated retribution is the key to achieving lifelong friendship? OK, fine. Two can play at this.

"The next-door neighbor scratched the paint on my car, so I filled his house with scorpions. We're vacationing together next spring."

"A hobo begged for spare change, so I set him on fire. We're running together in the next election."

"Our dog peed in my shoe, so I chopped off his leg. We love each other so much."

"My teacher gave me a C on my last paper, so I turned her into the FBI for domestic terrorism. I'm testifying on her behalf tomorrow."

"Tommy teased me at recess today, so I heinously murdered his family and framed him for it. We're marrying right before he's hanged for it."

You get the gist. Essentially, these people think kids are certifiably insane. Now, some are, don't get me wrong. I've met more than my share I think. But all? And advertising those crazy children's innermost thoughts about the strange and complicated workings of society's norms? Eh. No.

I've Got a Lot of Collecting to Do!

So apparently Barbie.com will be allowing commoners to vote for which career Barbie should have next. Barbie has been many a thing in her many years--most of them slutty. But I have a few items I'd like to see covered when voting time comes around. This means I expect you to submit them.

1) Civil War Re-enactor Barbie

2) GED Barbie

3) White Supremacist Barbie (with Skinhead Ken)

4) Homeless Barbie

5) Stalker Barbie

6) Dungeons and Dragons Player Barbie

7) "Ho's 'n' Bitches" Barbie (with Pimp Daddy Ken)

8) Tourette Syndrome Barbie

9) Meth Barbie

10) Telemarketer Barbie

11) Polygamist Sect Barbie

12) Glenn Beck Barbie

Get on that.