I didn't realize I was alive during the Civil War?

Well, it's that time again. Time for another fantabulous story about the halfling. It's a rare occasion that someone other than myself is privy to his humorous zingers, so it is especially nice when a friend (real or imaginary) is there to bear witness.

We were enjoying a heart healthy meal at McDonald's the other day, and were preparing to leave the impeccably clean Play Place to go home. The halfling, being ever the sport about leaving, was stalling.

Stalling is an art form, and he is a master artist.

If you haven't learned to properly stall by the time you can walk, you never will. Only the best and brightest children learn how to stall so that it appears they are not stalling at all. Only a wise Mother knows what the hell is really going on.

Like, for example, this scenario:

Mom: "It's time for bed, I'll tuck you in!"
Child: "I really like cuddling with you."
Mom:"OK, you can watch one more TV show."

The kid is obviously stalling. Sure, an optimist type mother likes to think that her child really likes cuddling with her. But the smart Mom knows that the little shit just wants to watch another TV show.

I am a smart Mom.

But, I am sure you already knew that.

Normally, the task of putting on shoes and socks takes about 1-2 minutes. The "expert staller" child can drag this process out for up to 10 minutes. Maybe more, if he's really good.

Now, I am not sure why the "putting on of shoes" task was chosen this bright, sunny day to prolong the playing experience at McDonald's.... Hiding at the top of the McDonald's Play Place and refusing to come down would have been much more effective. God knows I am not crawling my fat ass up there to drag him down. I'll be more than happy to order me a McFlurry and wait until the little freak gets hungry, has to pee, or tires of the cramped, smelly walls of that plastic wonderland. And I am not against enlisting another child to go up there and drag his ass down.

Today, the halfling decided that taking 3o minutes to put his shoes on was the best route to stay at McDonald's to play.

I was tired and annoyed. I was ready to leave.

While I was waiting for the "expert staller" to finish the shoe and sock charade, my friend Jessica and I were talking about the 1980's. I can't remember what brought up the subject, but it piqued the halfling's interest.

He asked when I was born.

I told him I was born in 1977.

And he rolled his eyes and gawked. Then he said this:

"Ugh, was that like during the Civil War?"

Why yes! Yes it was!

Little Fucker.

I made him walk barefoot to the car for that one.

I feel so *stupid*

So, we all decided to go eat Japanese food last night for a belated birthday dinner celebrating yours truly. If you've read any of my blog, you might have guessed that I love all things Japanese. Well, I love Bento Boxes and Japanese food...what fat girl doesn't?!

Except Sushi

I'd rather eat the raw flesh from my arm than put the raw flesh of a sea animal down my throat....yeah, yeah...it's a "delicacy" or whatever.

I get it, I get it.... I think the Japanese created it because it was easier than cooking with fire and pots and pans. Maybe they were out of logs for the fire? Maybe it had been raining? Maybe they didn't want to dirty up a nice clean kitchen....I know I've avoided cooking for that very reason many times. Maybe the gas company turned off their gas for not paying the bill?

I'd rather eat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese from a box, you know, WHERE FOOD IS SUPPOSED TO COME FROM. I don't know about you, but I like my food full of preservatives and chemicals...that is how God intended it to be ingested.

Anyway, the fourthling was intrigued by the swinging of knives and the fire pit for...oh, about 30 seconds....and then the nuclear meltdown began. He wanted his food like 20 minutes ago. I, of course, being the stellar Mom that I am, began scrambling to find anything to stuff into his mouth to stop the crying. Being ever prepared, I found absolutely no food in his diaper bag, but I did find 2 Matchbox Cars and a sock. Sock? Mouth? Tempting. But, no.

The Waitress came to our "grill" and started asking what we wanted to drink. I pleaded with her and the conversation went as follows:

Waitress: "What would you like to drink?"

Me: "I'll have a gallon jug of your Mt. Fuji Mai Tai." I continued, "Do you have any crackers or anything I can give this child that doesn't belong to me that is screaming at the top of his lungs?"

Waitress: (Laughing nervously) "No, we stopped ordering crackers months ago. Sorry!"

Me: (Getting desperate now) "You don't have anything? Bread, Noodles? Nothing? I'll take anything, seriously!"

Waitress: "No, I'm sorry...we don't have anything. Well, we have rice crackers, but they are really spicy."

The fourthling begins to up his game plan at this point and has reverted to the tried and true arching of the back and flailing of the arms and legs.

Me: "Oh, Do you have any fortune cookies? I'm desperate here!"

And this is where it gets good...

Waitress: (In her most condescending voice ever) "No, sweetie...that's CHINESE not JAPANESE."

Now, I am not an Asian Retard. I know that fortune cookies are a CHINESE tradition, but I also know that I have been to a Japanese restaurant that has handed out fortune cookies at the end of the meal.

Had I remembered my "Asian Culture" hat that night, I would have avoided this "faux pas", but I was desperate to stuff FOOD in the fourthlings mouth so that other people could enjoy their meal in peace. I didn't care where that food came from at that point in time: China, Japan, Guam, hell...I would have settled for Tajikistan.

Excuse e moi!

Or

Shitsurei shimasu!

Touche!

Farts. Yes, I said it....FARTS.

Living with nothing but organisms of the male species in this vast lonesome valley of estrogen I call home, I have come to accept that farts are like treasured precious pearls gathered from the furthest, most remote Tahitian Island.

Farts are funny, it seems. Small ones, big ones, wet ones, long and short ones....they all bring joy to even the smallest male in the house. The Fourthling can barely contain his excitement when he rips a big one.

Now, I like a good long fart just as much as the next fat girl eating at the all you can eat buffet, but only because I feel like I've just lost 10 pounds in relieving my digestive system of such ghastly nuisances.


I don't enjoy doing it.

I don't like the smell.

I just like the after effect. Who doesn't?!

The Halfling, being of sound age and mind, is especially fond of farts. He's 7, all he has are farts to entertain him. If it is not coming out of his ass, it's his fucking mouth. I have to constantly remind him the no one else thinks fart noises are funny. Just him. All by his lonesome. A boy and his farts.

I can hear him in his bed at night giggling and farting his way into a dreamland.

And then there is the digital camera that records 15 second videos. While cleaning out his room, I found it filled with nothing but videos of him making fart noises and laughing. And there were a few videos of real farts and more laughs. And then there was a video of his BFF Kevin farting.

And don't get me started on armpit farts.

This is a current intelligent conversation I had with him:
Me (The Mom): "Oh, Halfling...Did you fart in the car again? It stinks!"
The Halfling: "No, it was The Fourthling!"
Me: "No, that is NOT a Fourthling fart, you did it. Own up to it!"
The Halfling: "I can't help it. I just love farting and I love the smell so much!"
Me: (Rolling Eyes)

Now, don't be disturbed that I know the difference between The Fourthling's farts and The Halfling's farts. It's a Mom thing.

(I think)

(Or at least I tell myself that)

(I might also add here that I have a very sensitive nose)

Besides, I am appalled that my son, the very creature I gave birth to 7 years ago, likes the smell of his farts. Sick.

And before you (general you) get all on your high horse about "potty words". Yes, we use potty words in great abundance in our house. Fart, pee, poopy, stinky face, poopy pants, poo poo face, peepee lover, etc. are all used and well-loved. Go ahead and call DFACS on me. I'm ready. Just make sure you turn yourself in for not having a fucking sense of humor. *Smooches!*

I may never fully understand the male species and thier obsession with the things that exit their asses, mouths, and armpits... but I do know this: farts are not funny, unless they are blog material.

And that is totally different.

Totally.

Oh me oh my.

Has it really been 4 months since I last wrote, my pet? Wow. How the time flies! I know you missed me terribly. I will play catch up in a few, k? I have a million and one things to do before this semester is over.

I will return with a report card with all A's!

Remember: I know Santa. I WILL call him.

I'm going to Nursing School!

And judging by this picture I will be doing lines of cocaine in my sexy nurses cap. She looks torn. Do I snort it? Stick it up my nose? Hmmmm.....Maybe I will stick it up my patient's ass and get a good anal temp? She also looks like she is having a hard time reading the results. Don't burst a blood vessel, honey. Those are NUMBERS. They tell you what the temp IS. Just follow the red LINE.

So, I start on my venture into nursing on August 18th. I have quite a journey ahead of me. You see, when I first went to college I was only concerned with having fun. And, quite frankly, I was damn good at it. I could have given a rat's hairy ass about my school work. When I buckled down and studied, I did exceptionally well. All A's and a few B's. But what is killing my GPA is all my withdrawals. Oh, the big fat W's that haunt my past. W's, WF's. I hate them. I liked to register for classes, then decide later on that I didn't like my schedule. So, I withdrew from THOUSANDS of classes.

So, I have decided to return to school in pursuit of an academic fresh start. That's code for YOU SCREWED UP THE FIRST TIME, HERE'S YOUR LAST CHANCE MORON. DON'T SCREW IT UP AGAIN.

I get it, I get it.

So, I start anew in a few days. 4 years of glorious schooling with people half my age. Well, technically only 2 because I will apply to the school of nursing then. Basically, nursing school is VERY competitive these days. There is a HUGE shortage of nurses, but there is even more of a shortage of PROFESSORS. You can't train new nurses if there are not any teachers.

I read an article last week that last year 61,000 WELL qualified nursing students were turned down to nursing schools nation wide because there are not enough teachers. That's sad, really. And motivating. To get in to the school of my choice, I have to make all A's in my math and sciences. Not that hard right? Nah. Well, I have to admit I am a little bit nervous. I am a smart girl, don't get me wrong....but I have to work at it. It takes hard work for me to make all A's. I am so jealous of the students who barely have to blink to make an A. It's sooooooooo not fair. Of course, growing up my Dad always made me feel better telling me things like...."You will be a better person because you have to WORK for it!" The pep talk worked for a minute, but damn....I would LOVE to be one of the natural students who put in no effort. So sue me!

The idea of making an A without an effort sounds very appealing to me, mainly because I am a professional lazy ass.

Not anymore, my pet. I am a serious ADULT LEARNER/NON-TRADITIONAL student. I have my backpack, my MacBook (thank GOD for student loans!) and 3-Ring notebooks filled with "college" ruled paper.

Watch out world, here I come! And I KNOW how to take MEAN anal temp!

Admit it, you know you laughed too.

Ninja. I'm feelin' it.

more cat pictures

A little Ocean Humor

more cat pictures

I have always loved Prairie Dogs.

more cat pictures

The Spaz

I don't have a dog. I have a spaz. She is the offspring of a spaz. I know this because her Father belonged to my parents. He was a Champagne colored toy poodle. He had issues. Serious issues. But he lived in a time before doggie psychology and Cesar Milan. He was doomed from the get go. My Mom would get so annoyed with him she would just let him roam the streets of the neighborhood. You could see him frolicking around the 'hood with his dopey smile. He wasn't fixed either. So, most of the time he was looking for some ass. Hot doggie ass, that is. Hence the dopey smile. One of his one night stands resulted in Sedona. My current spazoid. When I first laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. I was single with no kids, mind you. I was so smitten with her cuteness I would take her every where with me. I even wrapped her Christmas presents and had a special stocking for her. Yeah, I was retarded. And I had too much time on my hands. I let it slide that she had this shrill bark that would render you deaf upon returning home, and that she peed all over the house when you left her alone because she was mad.

Fast forward to 2001. My first son, the halfling, is born. She tolerates him and his crying. He wasn't mobile, so she could deal. But, the day he began crawling, grabbing, squealing, and chasing....he became her most hated enemy. Yes, my dog hates my child. She still does. The halfling loves to annoy her. He wakes up in the morning with an agenda of:
1. Annoy the dog any way he can think of.
2. Eat breakfast and tease the dog with all the food he WILL not share but will pretend he will share.
3. Pretend to get a treat and run around the house yelling, "Sedona! TREEEEAAAAT!" So that the spaz will follow him around. It makes him feel uber importante.
4. Yank the blanket she is laying on from underneath her. It doesn't matter that the blanket doesn't belong to him...he used it once, so in his mind it is his.
5. Yell to me that Sedona is "looking" at him meanly. I can assure you that she is, in fact, glaring at him thinking of all the ways she will poop in his room when he goes to school. Or possibly thinking of strangling him with her leash when he is sleeping.
6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

They HATE each other. So, when the fourthling came along and we brought him home from the hospital...the spaz gave us this look like we were the most evil people on the face of the Earth. She actually sighed when she looked at him in his little carseat. That sigh meant, "Goddammit humans, not another one. I am outnumbered now by these spawns of satan."

She is a senile dog. She barks at her shadow, barks at the ice maker making ice, barks at any little noise the house makes. She barks when she hears Tristan cough during the middle of the night or when he rolls over in his bed. Thank you, Captain Obvious! She barks when the dog next door barks. I hate her, but I love her. We have a collar for her that shocks her when she barks. It actually works quite well, but the dumb bitch figured out the exact level of bark she can get away with...without the collar shocking her.

She could really use a lobotomy or some xanax stat.

I can't get this song outta my head, yo.

Someone save me. I'm begging you. I thought my curiosity was just innocent, but it's become a full fledged addiction. I can peel my eyes away from the hypnotic dancing, the sweet serenade of love in the air and the twinkly stars. I sometimes catch myself dancing the lawnmower in the shower and singing "You love me you want to love me tender..." And then Kyle walks in the bathroom and I pretend I was leaning over to pick up the soap. And yawning...yes, that singing was YAWNING. I was in this video in my past life...That's me in the front with the dark hair. I can show you my red jeans too. My lawnmower technique is KILLA!

Hey Ya'll!

Long time, no talk...eh? I know you missed me terribly. I've been super busy. Let's see...I've learned to read AND speak Japanese, learned to play the harpsicord, and taken up cooking classes at Le Cordon Bleu.

No, seriously....

I graduated Magna Cum Laude. Or whatever.

Now for the truth.

I have MONONUCLEOSIS.

In other words, I am really tired.

Birthing 2 children doesn't compare to the tiredness I feel.

Surviving on 2 minutes of sleep with a colicky baby doesn't compare.

Evidently, there is nothing medically necessary to treat Mono.

Other than REST.

Let's see. I will fit that in between the tantrum at 2 and Baseball at 4, k?

The nurse asked me if I drink caffeine. Um, yeah. I have an I.V. tap 24/7. I live on false alertness bitch!

And don't give me the wonk eye.

I will be glad to let you watch my kids for free so I can gently wean myself of the dark roast blend.

Daily Humor

see more crazy cat pics

Jew, anyone?

Before you go and get 'cher panties all in a wad...the above statement is not meant to be antisemitic. Oh, quite to the contrary. You see.... in our house, "Jew" is fourthling speak for "Juice". Or anything that remotely resembles a sippy cup. I'm sure we could spike his sippy with a nip a gin and he'd be none the wiser as long as it donned a popular cartoon character. In a life or death situation I fear he'd choose his sippy and paci over me. It's a rough place being in 3rd. We taunt him occasionally after we've hid his sippy in another room. "Where's your jew? Where is it? Go find your jew!". He frantically looks for it, calling out for it as if it will answer him one day, "Jew? Jew? Jew?" And we laugh because he cracks our shit up searching for his long lost jew. Oh, sweet manna from heaven it is.

Couscous or Kiki?

The halfling and I made couscous last night for his lunch today. He was so excited to tell his teachers about his cooking adventure. It didn't really matter that all he did was stir for about 5 minutes. In his mind, he cooked dadgumit! When I picked him up we headed over to my Mom's to pick up the fourthling. My Mom asked him how his day was and what he did at school. Typical halfling fashion he informed her that they went to the bathroom, played outside and that he ate kiki for lunch. In other words, the bathroom trip was the highlight of his day. Oh, and the kiki...let's not forget the kiki!

Why is it I feel inspiration when I have somewhere to be...in like an hour?

Oh, my heart yearns to crank out blog inspiration but alas, my dear readers, I have things to do today. People to see, parties to attend, money to spend. It's been ages since I've updated. I am gearing up to start an entire new blog on bento box lunches. How exciting, no? You will thank me in the future. Stay tuned!

A morning person I am not.

Feel like speaking Yoda today I do.

see more crazy cat pics

Is it weird that I can identify with Monk?

I admit it, I have issues. I've known this since I was a child. I line things up just so. Dishes have to be put away in a certain order. Clothes have to be folded my way. If things are not done a certain way....it eats at me to the point where I cannot function. It's all I can think about. I have to fix it before I can accomplish anything else.

I can distinctly remember after the halfling was born when we lost a pacifier one day. I searched for 2 hours until I found that one pacifier. Did it matter that we had 9 other ones just like it? No, it did not. Did it matter that the halfling didn't really even like his pacifier? Nope. I was grief stricken and absolutely panicked because if we lost one pacifier, that would mean that we had 9 pacifiers left, not 10.

10 is a good number...9 is not.

10=nice even number.

9=we lost a paci and we have 9 left.

9 is an uneven number and bad.

I couldn't live with that. I would obsess about the 9 pacifiers left and how we were supposed to have 10. I finally did find the damned lost pacifier, and when I did...I have never felt so relieved and happy. You'd think I'd just won the Nobel Peace Prize. It doesn't matter that I could have gone and bought another pacifier. I had to find the lost one. All things were right with the world.

Like I said, I have issues.

Bento Organization

My favorite bento inspiration place....Lunch in a Box, is having a bento organization event. I am never one to turn down organizing anything, and heck...why not try to win something cool in the meantime? Ok, you avid BU readers, here is how I organize my bento's. Here is what hangs in the corner of my pantry. I had to take it out of the pantry to get a semi-decent photo of it for the event. I purchased this mesh organizer at Ikea about a month or so ago. I'm pretty sure I paid about $7 for it. I love organizing, but I love organizing things cheaply. Dollar Tree is like my second home. I sometimes go in there once a week to see if they have anything new and versatile. It's a genetic thing, I swear. I have an astronomical amount of bento's, I admit. I'm not embarrassed, so deal...k?
I like to use something different everyday for the kids. So, there is a method to my madness. Plus, this mesh thingy makes it easy for the kids to pick out which bento they want to use for the next day or certain outing we are going on. Cheap and kid-friendly! Just for sanity purposes, I keep all the bento belts strapped on the matching bento inside this organizer. It's easier for me, and well, I would faint if I couldn't find the matching bento belt otherwise. It's a OCD thing. There really is not a particular order to each mesh pocket. I divided by size and weight (to distribute it evenly) There is one pocket at the bottom that is collapsed. It will eventually hold more bento's. I have some shipping to me as I write this. The only bento's that do not fit inside this container are our Laptop Lunches and my husband's Mr. Bento. Those fit neatly inside a pantry basket on the shelf.


Next up.....accessories! These are organized by plastic shoe-box sized containers I purchased at Dollar Tree. Inside each container there are smaller plastic containers to keep items separate. I usually keep the boxes I use the most at the top for ease of access. Other boxes that I don't use on a daily basis (egg molds, rice molds, etc) I keep at the bottom. I do have one more box on my pantry shelf for bento bags and oshibori towels. Surprisingly, these do not actually take up that much space. I recently had revamped my pantry anyway, and it left me a bit of extra room. I have plenty of room left for other supplies I may pick up in the future. I apologize for the blurriness of the photo. From the top left: 1. Baran grass, ozaku cups and food picks and skewers 2. Larger ozaku cups and silicone cups 3. Sandwich, Veggie & Fruit Cutters 4. Medium and Large lidded and un-lidded side cups (mostly laptop lunch containers) 5. Egg molds 6. Rice Molds 7. Not pictured: Bento bags and oshibori towels. Like I said, I like organized things, but doing it cheaply is better. I spent about $19 on all my organization supplies. That includes the hanging mesh container, 7 shoe-box sized plastic containers, and 5 sets 0f 3 small plastic containers to fit inside larger ones. Which leaves me more $$$ to get bento gear. Vicious circle it is.....;)

Hey, man. I am a deep, philosophical person.

Over the years I have pondered many a deep thought. Before I had children, I debated deep philosophical questions. Why am I here? What am I here for? What is my purpose? Blah, blah, blah....

I now question deeper things. Take children's shows for instance. A deep thinking philosophical person like myself has discovered an entire new realm of discussion topics. Let's look at some of the questions I have pondered since giving birth. World peace? Who gives a shit! I have more pressing matters to attend to.

Barney is evil. And what's up with the hiring of the goofiest kids in America to join in on his lovefest? I'd hate to have Barney on my resume. That would suck. Have you seen the peeps that appear on this show? It's a crappy acting fiesta, man. It's worthy of watching and having a good laugh. And even funnier if you are drunk like I am from sun up till sun down! Cheers!


And speaking of annoying television shows for kids....how anyone stomachs that brat Calliou is beyond me. Someone needs to smother him while he's sleeping. Whiney, bald, bratty and annoying. His parents must be so proud! Wait, his parents are morons too. First off, do his parents actually work? Ever? All they ever do on the show is putz around the house catering to their evil spawn. Every tantrum is a life lesson in this house. Who has that kind of time or patience? Secondly, what parent would put up with his absolute insane brattiness? I would sell him to gypsies, and use the money to go get me a strong, stiff flask of whiskey or better yet, go to Starbucks! Just look at him. Looking at him makes me want to tie his shoelaces together and watch him fall flat on his face. God, I hate him.

Over the years I have pondered many a deep thought. Before I had children, I debated deep philosophical questions. Why am I here? What am I here for? What is my purpose? Blah, blah, blah.

I now question deeper things.

For example, Max & Ruby. Ahhh, little Max. Not quite as annoying as Calliou...but very close. And Ruby....sweet, roly-poly Ruby. How Max has lived thus long and not popped a cap in her head is beyond me. Where are their parents? They have this huge house with no parents in sight. I occasionally see a Bunny Scout leader and some weird neighbor lady on the show. What gives?
And how come Franklin is the only animal that has the fortune of having a real name? Everyone else on the show goes by what animal they are: bear, rabbit, turtle, beaver. Franklin is the only animal with a real name. What's up with that?

Why does Little Bear's parents get to wear clothes, but Little Bear runs around naked all the time? And why do all the animals get to talk like humans EXCEPT for TuTu, the dog? Why are they hatin' on our canine friends? And how in the hell did Mitzi, a monkey, get all the way to the Canadian Rockies?


There are many other children's television shows that I often ponder, but I will save those for another time. Life's greatest mysteries are all on Noggin and Sprout.