Spreading Holiday Cheer...

...for all to slip on and break their backs.
I'd never wondered what my kitchen floor would look like covered in brazillions* of tiny rainbow sprinkles, but I found out, nonetheless. My OCD and I just had to tear that last bit of plastic safety seal off the container, causing the lid to pop off, the container to tip, and sprinkles to scatter. Everywhere.
I swept some of it out the back door onto the snow-covered deck. The dog really enjoyed that. Mmm! Sugar and snow! This would be delectable on a hot summer's day. Someone should market this!
My floor looked quite festive for about two minutes. But I got all the sprinkles swept up; filled the dustpan three times (there might also have been some dog hair in there and part of the boys' lunch that Vito didn't snarf up the second they dropped it--it's a wasteful phase they're going through, testing gravity and all).
And luckily no one fell and broke anything.

* One of President Bush's advisors told him one day, "President, there have been horrible riots in Brazil. Four Brazilian soldiers have been killed, many more injured." Bush was sorry to hear this horrible news: "This is terrible. [pause.] How many is a brazilian?"

Ham Biscuit McCanfield

I made breakfast today. I know, I've totally outdone myself this time. I just don't make breakfast very often because our kitchen is usually a mess from dinner the night before; that whole clean-as-you-go thing is apparently too difficult a concept for me to grasp, and I always think, "I'll clean up after the boys go to bed." But by then all I want to do is veg in front of the TV with some unhealthy snacks and watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. It is important to keep up on current events; that's my rationale and I'm sticking to it. So I wake up in the morning (or sometimes around noon, depending on what time I watch the "News") and give the boys some banana slices and some cold cereal and I clean while they eat.

Today was different, though, because I actually did my cleaning after dinner last night while the boys played. And even though I stayed up late to watch White Chicks (that movie never gets old to me; I've seen it dozens of times and it still cracks me up), I still got up early (9:30) and decided to treat the boys and David to a hot meal. We had ham-egg-cheese sandwiches on flaky biscuits. Delicious! I should stay on top of things more often.

In an unrelated note, we finally got a good family photo taken. Here it is, along with one that's not so great but that I find hilarious in that it captures the boys' personalities quite well (Drew has a fit, Owen is stoic and pensive):

Meow! & Doot-De-Doo!

Sometimes Owen just sneaks off. Last Saturday, we were all downstairs watching ESPN and suddenly Owen wasn't with us. So I went upstairs and there he was: happily eating out of the cat's dish and splashing in the water bowl. Yesterday, I saw him crawling around the living room with something hanging out of his mouth. It was a cat toy. He carried it over to the cat dish and dropped it.

Drew is rarely hard to find; he makes a lot more noise when he plays. His favorite place to play is in the kitchen cupboards and drawers. So we had to move everything breakable or dangerous out of there and replace it all with sippy cups and paper towel rolls. Safe things. It turns out paper towel rolls make a fantastic noise when you yell into them, and they can sound a bit like trumpets.

At Risk of Sounding Ungrateful

Sometimes I wonder if the in-laws just invite us to lunch with them so they can watch Drew and Owen eat. They've actually given the boys a new nickname: "The Eaters." Creative, I know.

I guess I shouldn't care, since they usually pay (and by usually, I guess I mean always), but sometimes I get a little tired of it. It's always loud, everyone making a big deal whenever one of The Eaters eats something. "My gosh, he ate a pea. Oh! He's eating a piece of bread! Look at him chow that french fry!" (In case this isn't coming across at all like I'm imagining it in my mind, think sarcasm and bitterness.)

And it seems like we always see someone the in-laws know, and have to be introduced, and they all have to ogle over the boys and stand there and watch us eat, and someone almost always says, "My, you have your hands full. I'm glad it's you and not me!"

Is that supposed to be clever or witty? It makes me want to pimp-smack them and say, "Thanks for stating the obvious. I'm glad it's not you, too. With that attitude, you'd be a horrible parent." (Bitterness, once again)

But because I'm so nice, I always just flash my best cheerleader smile (I've got one, even though I was never a cheerleader), say, "Yes, thanks. It was nice to meet you, too." And I act like one of the boys needs my rapt attention so I no longer have to make eye contact.

At the end of the whole experience I feel like saying, "If you're gonna make me earn my meal, why don't I just pay next time? Grr."

Bitter, bitter, bitter. Sorry, everyone. Here: this video at the end of ACE's post will make you feel better. Maybe I should watch it again, too.

I'm All For Zoos

I was just browsing some pictures online and there were lots of animal pictures, most of which (if not all) were taken at a zoo. And I got to thinking about zoos and how, almost every time I've gone to one, someone in or near my party says, "Zoos are inhumane. I hate them." As a general rule, I'm against extremism on either end of the spectrum, but those bleeding-heart PETA activists especially drive me crazy.

Don't get me wrong; I don't endorse cruelty to animals (though I do eat meat, and people may argue that the cow I ate was cruelly murdered before it was cut up and cooked for my enjoyment), and I do actually like a lot of what I've seen on PETA's website. I do, however believe in moderation. And open-mindedness.

Consider all the facts before you go on a rant about the atrocities of zoos. This snippet came from a Wikipedia article:

"Most animal rights activists disapprove of zoos because they interpret zoos as human domination over equal creatures and criticize their educational value as being superficial and useless."

Are you people [animal rights activists] kidding me? Where else would an inner city kid (or a country bumpkin like myself) get to see a giraffe? A cheetah? A rhinoceros? I've never been to Africa, but I've seen a live rhino. It was magnificent. Even the lack of 'natural environment' at a zoo is a lot more stimulating to young minds than just reading about these animals out of a book.

Granted, there are some zoos in existence that mistreat animals, but I believe those are few. The problem most zoos have is funding. So next time you go to the zoo, don't just pity the animals; drop some moolah in the donation box and think about how you just helped purchase some food or medicine for that animal.

And if it weren't for zoos, would this picture exist?

(AP Photo/Paul Miller/FILE)

Who Knew?

...that something as small as half a blue crayon in the dryer would ruin an entire load of laundry?!
I guess the right question (since I already knew the answer to the first one), would be this: Who knew that the stinkin' crayon was in the dryer in the first place and how did it get there? Yeah, that was really two questions. I'm just so ticked! At least they weren't my clothes (sorry, Drew and Owen, but your clothes are cheaper to replace).
The damaged clothes are still wearable, but I thought the boys should have something without polka-dots to wear in public; doesn't really matter what they wear to piddle around the house (and that's the piddle that means hang out, lounge, pass time; I realize there are slang forms of the word that mean other things). So we went shopping today and bought some new pants and a few new shirts. All I can say is: a) I'm glad we decided not to dress the boys to match; it is much cheaper for them to share clothes; b) thank goodness for holiday sales. This is the best time of year to ruin your kids' clothes with a blue crayon.

MMM...Candy!

I love candy.

I guess that could be the entirety of my blog post for today, and it would perfectly sum up everything I wish to say with this writing. But, of course, I'm going to keep on typing. I love candy!

I went to a cooking training class thing with my friend and some gals from her church. I've been there twice; it's a monthly thing--last month we made various rice dishes: rice pilaf, Spanish rice, et cetera. This month, we made holiday candies: peanut brittle, toffee (I made this one 'cause I thought it'd be difficult and I wanted to get better at making it. It turns out, it's really simple and very delicious), cherry chocolates (way better than the kind available for purchase in stores), Snicker's candy (also better than the store kind), and Oreo Bon-Bons--just to name a few.

Rice is good, candy is better. Rice paper candy is pretty good; it's actually ginger flavored candy wrapped in rice paper (edible paper!) and can be purchased in the Asian Foods section of almost every grocery store.

There are, however, some holiday treats that aren't so good. Take, for example fruit cake. "Fruit, good; cake, great; fruit cake, nasty crap" --Jim Gaffigan. And that's actually the only holiday treat, of which I can think, for which I do not particularly care (how was that for grammatically correct?).

Well I'm just rambling now 'cause it's late and I'm tired and I'm avoiding doing dishes and I can put this run-on sentence in here because I already got good-grammar points with the previous sentence. And now I'm signing off. For now... I do have a few things to say about the new James Bond movie. Stay tuned. Same Bat Blog, Same Bat Channel.

Auntie Ace Would Be So Proud

I needed some good music to get me into the groove to clean my kitchen tonight, and I thought, since it is December and all, "Why not Christmas music?" Well, I only have two CDs and one album so there wasn't much of a selection, but I decided to let Owen choose which CD we would listen to. His options were Elvis and *N Sync.* I kind thought he'd pick *N Sync because the CD case is all bright and shiny and red. I hoped he'd pick Elvis. Owen took a good look at his options, smiled real big, pointed to Elvis and said, "Dah!" So we listened to Elvis. Owen and Drew bopped along to the songs and I got my kitchen [somewhat] clean.

* Just so everyone knows, I bought this CD when the band was still popular and their lameness was overshadowed by their what-were-then-considered-good-looks. And in the band's defense, they do a beautiful rendition of "O Holy Night" a cappella.

Various Random Stories; Part II

(I realize this is the second post today, I just decided to break my post into two segments to make them more readable. I find it more aesthetically pleasing and less daunting to read.)

And now for Story Number Two. Drew and Owen pretty much sleep through the night now. HOORAY! They have been for a while, and it's been kinda nice. So imagine my surprise (and feelings of slight annoyment) when Owen starts screaming at 1:30 in the morning. I went in to check on him, gave him back his pacifier,* gave him a hug, and he went right back to sleep. I went back to my bed, snuggled down under my warm quilt, closed my eyes for what felt like seconds but was probably minutes, and suddenly Drew starts screaming. So I stumbled out of bed and made the trek across the hall to the boys room. Again. Checked on Drew, gave him his pacifier, gave him a hug, put him back to bed. Still screaming. So I picked him up again and as I did so, I noticed something in the corner of Drew's crib that didn't belong there. Merle. That crazy cat had jumped into the crib and is just small enough to fit between the slats (yeah, it's an old crib and probably wouldn't pass today's high standards of safety).And it freaked Drew out. So I booted Merle out of the crib, let Drew sleep in my bed until he calmed down, and then put him back to bed, at which point he fell right to sleep. Thus ends Story Number Two.
Thank you for joining us for Parts I and II of our two-part series, "Various Random Stories." Stay tuned, and we just may add more exciting Stories to the series. The fun never ends at the House of Canfield.

* We just don't say certain words in our house, and Binky is one of them. Others are 'potty;' 'poo-poo' (we prefer the more classy term 'doo-doo pie'); 'pee-pee' and 'boo-boo.' There are others, but too many to list here. Maybe I should make another post! ...some other day.

Various Random Stories; Part I

I had to call the Poison Control Center the other night. Don't worry, it's not as scary as it sounds.

Usually while I cook (which cooking itself is unusual for me), I let the boys play in their playroom which is just off the kitchen so I can hear them and check on them with ease. I was just finishing dinner when I realized that Owen was being really quiet. He's generally more quiet than Drew (a lot more), but this time I couldn't hear him throwing toys or anything. So I went in to check on him and there he was happily taking clothes out of his dresser and putting them back in. I thought with relief, "Okay, he's fine." But then he turned to look at me, and he had a white ring around his mouth. I picked him up and did a sniff-test and discovered it was Desitin (the anti-diaper rash ointment has a very distinct smell). I thought that was pretty gross, and I told him so: "That stuff goes on your bottom, not in your mouth." He just laughed.

I located the tube of ointment and checked the drug facts. It said, "If swallowed, get medical help or contact Poison Control immediately." Yikes! Usually things just say to drink some water or something. So I made The Call.

I guess a lot of people call Poison Control about their kids eating Desitin. The nice nurse on the phone advised me to remain calm (as I already was*) and asked me various questions about the type of Desitin and the amount swallowed. Turns out, Desitin Creamy, which is the type Owen decided to taste, has less Zinc Oxide in it, so it's not as harmful to little stomachs. Also, it was a small tube and didn't look like it had much missing (I'm guessing Owen didn't like the taste and didn't bother eating any more than a tiny morsel). The nurse assured me that he would be fine and sent me on my way. Thus ends Story Number One.

*I'm not the type to overreact (at certain things--I think David would say that I overreact to trivial stuff and I think he'd be correct, but in a real crisis, I usually remain fairly calm and level-headed). I just wondered why immediate medical care was required, as per the directions on the Desitin label.

It's Official

Yay! I can finally put up Christmas decorations!

I guess I'd better clean my house first... I made myself a little Chore Chart so I can stay on top of cleaning. It's working pretty well, so far. I've been kinda flexible with it, so I don't get too fanatical and throw the thing in the garbage if I don't stick to the plan. For example: Today I really didn't feel like tackling the TV room which is large and messy and full of a lot of junk I haven't decided what to do with, so I chose to clean the living room (which, at the time of this writing I haven't actually done) and save the TV room for tomorrow. Why do today what you can put off 'til some other time?

Speaking of Christmas, Abby mentioned on a recent blog post some ways to get in the Christmas spirit. Personally, I've gotten to the point of not really caring about presents, so without all the excitement of gift-getting* I've had to think of other ways to get through the season without feeling like Ol' Ebenezer. So rather than clog up Abby's comment section, I figured I'd post some of my ideas here**.

• Shovel snow for your neighbor.
• Make cookies and give some to a friend (eat some yourself, of course!).
• Listen to Christmas music.
• Help give an underprivileged family a better Christmas. We saw a program set up at the mall called Secret Santa where you can pick a kid and anonymously donate a present from their wishlist. Also, no matter where you go to church (or even if you don't), the local clergy probably know of someone who could use some help--food, clothes, toys--doesn't have to be anything big.
• Send a Christmas card to your grandparents. Or your parents, or whoever.

I guess there are lots of ways to have a happy holiday. I'm going to start by cleaning our living room (even though Drew and Owen will probably have it strewn with books again the second they wake up from their naps).

* I realize getting presents isn't the 'reason for the season' but there was a time when it was definitely one of the more exciting parts of Christmas.

** I haven't tried all of these, and maybe I won't get to all of them this season; I'm not Wonder Woman. But I usually find, every year, that I have more fun if I'm thinking of ways to help others have more fun...

I Heard the Funniest Story the Other Day

David and I were discussing toilet bowl cleaners* and I mentioned the 2000 Flushes kind that we had used. David, who knows a joke or a story for just about every subject, told me this hilarious anecdote:

"My friend Billy's** parents got that 2000 Flushes to use in their toilet. Billy thought it meant that after 2000 flushes the toilet would stop working, so he kept count every time someone flushed the toilet.

I went over to hang out with Billy one day, and I found him out taking a dump in his front yard. 'Billy! What in the world are you doing?'

His reply was simple: 'We only have two flushes left on our toilet and I want to save them for my mom and dad when they get home from work.'

I couldn't believe it. He could have at least gone in the back yard!"

*We are apparently not the only people to have this discussion, though ours was much more cost efficient than this.

**Not his real name; there are people reading this who know this kid, and if they ever see him again, I don't want them to mention this and possibly embarrass him.

Mine Mine Mine!

I had the privilege to substitute in the nursery in church yesterday. It was pretty wild. There were about 9 kids (11 including mine) and only two adults. I think every single kid in there cried at least once. And by cry, I mean scream and have a fit. My lovely kids, of course, cried a lot more than once. In their defense, they were really tired and I think they were a little scared of the "big kids" (the kids in nursery range from 18 months to 3 years old). Drew and Owen had their toys stolen, and their eyes poked. I felt a little bad subjecting them to all that, so I had David come in and take them to class with him. I guess they're just not ready for nursery. But in 5 months, they definitely will be and they will go, and they will like it.

I have been thinking for a while that I need to start watching what I say around the boys. I guess I should just watch what I say in general, but for now I'll just work on being more careful in front of Drew and Owen. Anyway. These thoughts of mine were confirmed by a little something I witnessed in nursery. Suzy and Sally* were coloring and Suzy asked me to write the ABC's on her paper. I was happy to oblige. While I was writing, Sally told me that she knows how to write the letter 'M' and some other letters. She was happily rattling off a list of letters, but the more she said, the madder Suzy got until finally Suzy yelled, "Shut up! Just shut up!" I was a little surprised and appalled at the same time (I've never really liked that phrase). I told Suzy, "We don't say 'shut up;' it's not polite. What would be a better way to ask Sally to stop talking?" To which Suzy innocently replied, "Daddy says 'shut up.'" I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing and I still giggle at the thought of the whole "shut up" outburst. But I just hope my kids don't say something less-than-favorabe and tell people at church they heard it from me.

*Names have been changed in case by some odd stroke of luck their parents are reading my blog...

You Get it Meat-o!

My younger brother, Kevin*, is staying the night at our place tonight. He's on his way home, and our house is halfway between where he was and where he's going, so it's quite logical that he stay here. It's lots of fun, too. Kevin really looks up to David; he's like another big brother, and Kevin is the little brother David never had.
Kevin joined David in his daily exercise routine today. I think the goal is for David to be able to dunk a basketball (he's only 5'10" but I guess he was pretty close to being able to dunk at some point...). So they did jumping jacks and other kinds of exercises to help David get his vertical leap back. Then, they played fetch with Vito. This was the most entertaining part of the evening for me. Vito tires of playing fetch rather quickly, but he likes to get his energy out by running up and down stairs. He goes from the top floor all the way down to the basement and back to the top again (it's a 3 level house).
So Vito's running around the house, and Merle (the cat) thinks this is great, 'cause now he can chase Vito. And Kevin just wants to play fetch still, so he's throwing the ball and yelling to Vito, but getting mixed up and a little hyper, and he yells, "You get it, Meato!" Drew and I were just watching and laughing.
And as boring as that story was for everyone else, it was the most exciting part of my weekend.
We did get to go to relatives' in King Hill, and that was fun; David's family is very friendly and nice, which is good. I always feel bad for people who don't get along with the in-laws. As if marriage isn't hard enough already. I especially like that the relatives ooh and ahh over Drew and Owen (They were entertained with Drew because when he eats he makes this noise: MmmmmmMMmmmmmMMmmmMMMmmmm the entire time he has food in his mouth. Then he yells and screams until you give him more, then he goes back to MmmmMMMmmmmmMmm). So we gorged ourselves on turkey, potatoes and pie. And of course, that's always fun, so I guess it was a pretty good weekend.

*I guess the story is a little more interesting if you know Kevin. He's 19, and autistic, so mentally he's maybe 3 or 4 years old. He's not very high functioning; he can dress himself, but often gets his clothes on backward and his shoes on the wrong feet. Almost everyone who meets Kevin loves him to pieces; he's funny and kind--just an all-around cool kid.

Soap Box of the Week

I'm not sure to whom I should direct the wrath of my post today: stores or customers. As I ponder it, customers win. Or lose, depending on how you look at it... I realize there are a shortage of cart returns in some store parking lots and some of them are tricky to get to with all the other cars around, but how lazy are people that they can't walk a dozen yards and put their carts away? I'm not the kind of person to circle a parking lot looking for the closest spot. Any spot will do. But whether it's close to the store or not, nothing irks me more than finally finding an open spot, going to pull into it, and discovering that there is a shopping cart in the middle of said spot. The person who couldn't make the effort to put it away deserves to spend a night in jail. I also get ticked when I come out of the store and some idiot put their cart right next to my car instead of walking all the way over to the cart corral. Oh. And those people that pull slowly into the stall with the offending cart and gently bump it into surrounding cars, jail time for them, too. So the point of all this is, put your carts in the provided cart corrals! It doesn't take that much time, and you* could probably use the exercise anyway.

And now for Topic Number Two: If you see a sign like the following it means that 35 miles per hour is not an appropriate speed. If you are about to merge onto a road labeled with such a sign, speed up! You generally need to be going at least 55 miles per hour, sometimes up to 75. There are little lengths of road called "On-Ramps" the purpose of which is to allow people time to gain speed to travel on such a road as I-15. So push your gas pedal to the floor and get with it! If you don't feel comfortable going that fast, let someone drive who does.


*I'm using the indefinite form of the word "you" so don't anyone go feel all bad or singled out. Everyone needs exercise, no matter who they are or what they look like.

Go Have a Good Read

http://www.brianregan.com/experience-writings-2.html

This story cracked me up. I'm sure hitting a deer is a traumatic experience and all, but Brian Regan's such a great story teller; I felt both the trauma and the humor. And read the one about the fat guy on the bus, too. It has a surprise ending.
So what are you still reading this blog for? Go click on the link.

Like So Many Frumpy Housewives

My blog needed a makeover. So I gave it some new colors and font, and a new layout. Pretty snazzy, eh?
I hope not to offend anyone with the title of this post. If you consider yourself frumpy, or a housewife, or both, it's ok. Embrace who you are. I personally rarely deny being a frumpy housewife. And I certainly think I need a makeover. I really want to go on 'Extreme Makeover' or 'What Not To Wear' but David won't let me. I don't understand why he would pass up an opportunity for me to get clothes for which he does not have to pay. And all we'd have to do to get said clothes is let America see me at my worst. It's almost too easy!
I actually like doing some of the housewife-y stuff; I like cooking--though it would be nice to be able to cook something besides meat and potatoes. But I cook what David likes. I've also done quite a bit of sewing. I hemmed up some pants for Ace , and I'm working on some squares for a little family quilt project some cousins and I are doing. I also made those Halloween costumes my boys wore. So I keep myself pretty occupied.
But don't worry about me being overworked; like any good housewife, I make sure to leave time for watching Soaps and eating BonBons.

Like the Wind

Yep, that's how I run; if by 'wind' I mean something more like 'glue.' I'm trying to get back in shape. Lose that baby fat. Not from when I was a baby, but from having babies, of course. So I'm trying to go running (in the cold--treadmills are boring) and I think I'm going to get a gym membership and take an aerobics class. I guess I'd better go shopping. I need some Reebok high-tops, some spandex leggings, a cute little leotard, and, oh yes, leg warmers!! That'll be just the motivation I need. Well, ok, maybe that's over the top. I skip everything but the leg warmers.

Vito's Arch Nemesis

Jealousy, jealousy. We got a little cat last Saturday. His name is Merle. We got him in hopes that he and Vito would be friends (and maybe Merle could convince Vito that rummaging through the garbage and eating it is not such a good idea). So far, no such luck. Turns out Vito has a bit of a mean streak that is brought out by his bit of jealous streak. Merle is not shooed off the furniture like Vito is. Merle fits on David's and Heather's laps and Vito does not. Drew and Owen don't poke Merle's eyes like they do Vito's (this has more to do with the fact that Drew and Owen are more coordinated than they used to be, combined with the fact that Vito no longer goes near them unless they have food). Then Merle had the audacity to sniff Vito's food dish and take a couple Kibbles and a few Bits. *gasp!* Or maybe it was more like *snarl-growl-hissss-reeeeerr-bark-bark-run-around-the-living-room-scattering-books-every-which-way-fur-flying-Heather-yelling-Vito-getting-put-outside-for-the-afternoon* Today has been rumble free, so far. I think Vito and Merle both realize that neither of them are going anywhere, and there is plenty of food for everyone. But they still keep their distance:

Dhis and Dhah

...I pretend "dhis" means "What's this?" and "dhah" means "What's that?" when in reality, I could be way off. But it's a fun game Drew is learning how to play. He points at a picture or something (with all five fingers or sometimes just his thumb and index; he's not coordinated enough to use just the index finger) and he yells "dhis!" so I tell him, "That's a picture of Drew" (or whatever the picture is really of, get it?). There he is, on the left, "pointing" and yelling, "Dhah!"
I've also discovered that if Drew is throwing a tantrum, I can sometimes distract him by pointing at something and asking, "Drew, what's that?" Then he'll point and say, "Dhah!" But more recently, Drew has been turning the tables and using the game to distract me. For example, I'll say, "Drew, come over here so we can put your jacket on." Drew will respond by pointing furiously and yelling, "Dhis! Dhah!" and not coming to get his jacket. Clever, clever boy.
On an unrelated note, but while we're speaking of being clever: If you were a dog, and someone told you to get into one of these two cars, which one would you try to jump into? That's what I'd think. The red one. But yesterday when Dave called, "Vito! Hop up!" Vito ran straight past Dave and the open tailgate and lept with great fervor onto the closed trunk of the Toyota. He then proceeded to scramble and scratch my paint, trying to figure out why he didn't fit. In Vito's defense, though, we usually park the Toyota on the left and the Honda on the right, so he probably knew from memory how many leaps and bounds he had to make from the yard to the back of the Honda. It just wasn't there. And even though the value of my little green car, the first car I ever owned, has been drastically reduced, I keep giggling at the thought of big ol' Vito flying through the air and landing on that trunk and looking very confused.

Some Halloween Pictures Just Two Days Late

I finally got the picture upload tool to work so here are the afore promised pictures.



Owen is a soccer ball,

Drew is a football.

I dressed up as Chris Farley's Lunch Lady.

Dave had eyeballs painted on his eyelids.

These are the eyeballs up close.
I'm not sure what else to say about this...

Happy November

Another Halloween has come and gone. I remember now why I don't really like Halloween. Trick-or-Treaters make me feel insincere; I always feel like I have to comment on their costume, even if I don't think it's very good. And it bugs me that kids get mad if you don't give them "good candy" as if there is such a thing as "bad candy." Hey. If you're going door to door begging for candy, you take what you get and you say thanks.
My friend Jack put it this way: Halloween is extortion. Little kids are guilty of extortion! They say "Trick-or-Treat!" but what they really mean is "Give me some candy or I'll egg your house! This looks like a rough neighborhood and you need some insurance. I think a Snickers bar ought to do it."
But I guess everything went well; we dressed up, handed out candy, ate much of said candy, and our house didn't get egged.
And because I know everyone wants to see pictures, here they are:
[blast that technology that I love. The "system" is currently "down". I'll post some pics later. Click the link, and wait a few seconds.]

If You Have The Brain God Gave Vito

...then you'll be a Boston Celtics fan.
The start of NBA season (tomorrow) seems like an appropriate time for Drew and Owen to hear the "What Every Boy Needs to Know to Be a Man" speech. So this afternoon David stood in front of the boys who, secure in their high chairs, had no choice but to pay attention (well, they couldn't crawl away in any case). He introduced himself as "Dad" or "Dadadadada." Then he introduced me: "This is my apprentice. You may call her Mom or Mamamamama. Or just say, 'Waaaaa!' As you can see by her shirt, she is a Celtics fan. I am a Celtics fan. As members of this family, you will also be Celtics fans."
I had to interrupt at this point and remind him that at one point he said parents shouldn't choose which sports teams their kids like. It should be up to the kids. So he told Drew and Owen, "When you are old enough, you may choose what your favorite team is. [This is where the title comes in] But if you have the brain God gave Vito, you'll be a Celtics fan."
The lecture lasted longer than this; I'm not sure what else was said, as I excused myself to go put my shoes on. As apprentice, I have the prerogative to leave the lecture early and take care of other more important matters. But I'm sure it was a good speech, and I was glad to witness a bonding moment between parent and children.
I'm also glad basketball players got some longer shorts.

Eat Like a Bird

...And by that, I mean eat your body weight in food every day.
We went to the Doc yesterday, for Drew & Owen's one-year check up. Drew weighs 19 lbs, 11 oz. Owen weighs 18 lbs, 2 oz. They are both about 28.5" tall. How can they not weigh more than this?? Here is a sample of what a meal for the boys might include: ~omlette with cheese (1 1/2 eggs) ~one rather large pancake (say, 7" diameter) ~6 oz whole milk ~Some strawberry syrup from Grandpa's french toast ~[for Drew] 1 Tbsp. butter grabbed straight off the pancake and shoved into the mouth before anyone can stop him. Daily snacks include: ~chips ~crackers ~peaches ~food from Vito's dish. And do you see those pictures of them eating all that cake? About an hour prior to the cake, they each polished off their very own Whopper Jr. from Burger King.
The thing that weirds me out is that I've seen kids twice their size eat one bite of that big pancake, and say, "I'm full." So the lack of weight gain is plaguing me. I guess part of it could be that they inherited their dad's ultra-high metabolism. Also, my kids are never stationary unless they're sleeping, and even then, Owen isn't really motionless; he tosses and turns all over the place (another trait he inherited from his dad). But all-in-all, my kids are healthy and happy. And I'm glad they love food so much (something inherited from me).

Some Birthday Pictures

Owen thinks chocolate frosting is

lots of fun. How right he is.

This was probably the boys' favorite

part of the whole birthday experience.

Drew is in total sweet, chocolate bliss.

No cake, no ice cream. Happy Birthday.

Actually, there was cake. And ice cream. Lots and lots of it. You only turn 1 once! Why not go all out? In hind sight, which is always 20/20, I'm really glad I didn't shell out big bucks for decorations and party favors and all that garbage. Probably not as glad as David is, since he is the one who actually pays for everything around here... We put up 5 balloons and 4 feet of crepe paper (that classy stuff) and it was just about perfect. Because really, you only go to a one-year-old's party because you know there will be cake. There. I said it.
It was a great party; only one tantrum (it was Drew). The boys actually played with their presents and not just the wrapping paper. They got some good stuff, too (thanks to Aunt Ace for books and clothes, and to Aunt Jen for shirts).
On an unrelated note, since I'm handing out thanks: Shout-out to Josh for letting me know I misspelled the word "often" in my blog description. I guess no one else noticed, or in a certain husband's case, wanted to "hurt my feelings." I'll make sure to run spell check from now on, but please, if you notice something, let me know. As a former English major, spelling and grammatical errors bug me to no end. Unles their, on purrpos?

Son Of A [you-know-what]

A little background: I went to Petco some time ago to see if they had anything for our dog's *beastly* breath. The nice gentleman on duty squatted down to eye-level with Vito and said, "Let's take a look." He grabbed Vito's snout, pried back the little doggie lips, only to be greeted with what was probably the worst stench he'd ever smelled in all his days as a Petco employee. He reeled backward in horror and asked me, "Does this dog eat his own feces?" Apalled by his query, of course I replied, "No!"
I'm not so sure my declaration was correct. We came home from costume hunting tonight to find a bathroom littered with dirty daipers (the brown kind) and a really hyper/suspicious-looking Vito. We try to keep the bathroom doors closed, but sometimes (like tonight) we forget. So if there is anyone not completely grossed out and still reading, my question is this: would it be wrong to lace the garbage with something (not lethal or hurtful--we still want to keep the dog) to maybe deter him from further mutilating our garbage?

On The Wagon At Last!

It seems as though everyone who's everyone has a blog now, so I thought I'd give it a go. It will have to double as a journal for me too, since actually writing things on paper is way too time consuming. And hey. If I want to save something for "posterity," CTRL+P is all it takes. As my friend Kip would say, "I love technology."