Out of the mouth of male babes, part 2

Yesterday morning when the older four headed off to camp (aka mommy-salvation), it started to rain. Evan and I played for a while and then he ping pong-ed around looking forlorn. I had a few errands to run in town so I told him that when Ellie woke up from her nap we would go for a ride in the car, and then stop and get a snack.

Ellie woke up and Evan immediately sprung into action, donning his Crocs with gusto. I explained that I still had to feed Ellie, and he stood silently by the door, watching as she ate. I sat her down when she was done and then flitted from room to room gathering up what I needed. I set the bags down by the front door and then ran back to use the bathroom before we finally hit the road.

When I got back and Evan looked up at me, and in a very tiny, exasperated voice asked "Is you ready now?"

Brettism Hump Day has writers block

I probably have the only children alive who dread the warm weather.

The rule around these parts is that once it's warm enough to go outside and play, the video games disappear and the television becomes more monitored.

It's almost kind of funny, in a sad way, to watch them go through the withdrawal. In the same way that a ex-smoker might reach for their pack of cigarettes, their little fingers will twitch like they're playing the Wii. And then, after a few weeks of unrest comes a depressed resignation.

This morning as the rest of the kids were hunkered down in the living room waiting to leave for summer camp, I looked over to see that Brett wasn't among them. I called his name and he replied from the kitchen table.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing" he answers in a soft monotone.

"Writing what?"

He comes around the corner and stands in the doorway. "A list."

"Um, okay. A list of what?"

"A list of things and ideas of things to do because I'm trapped here all summer without video games or television or anything else fun to do."

"Oh yeah, what's on the list?"

"Nothing yet, all I've got is the title, I can't think of a single freaking thing to put on the list."

"What's the title?"

"I just told you. A list of things and ideas of things to do because I'm trapped here all summer without video games or television or anything else fun to do."

T-minus

The other day Brett, Emma, and I are hanging out watching an episode of Jon and Kate + 8 when Brett turns to me.

"Hey, when their kids start to move out, will they call it 'Jon and Kate - 8?"

I laugh, "Maybe, although we'll be doing the countdown before they do, their kids are younger."

"Oh, yeah!" he starts blocking off letters in the air, "Curt and Caroline, the final countdown!" He begins to sing the Europe song and play the air guitar.

"Yes Brett, and you are going to be one of our test pilots."

He looks sobered. "Oh well, I got a few years." he says, and then dances out of the room, singing. "It's not quite the finnnnaaaal countdown. "

This post is long overdue

My husband and children now think I am a culinary genius, and if I were a slightly less scrupulous woman, I'd take all of the credit for it, but alas...damn conscience.

It all started when I requested help making ribs that didn't, well, suck. A very cool Angie and her hubs, Chef Elvis sent some rib rub and a container of something magical, called Elvis mojo.

These two items arrived in an ordinary looking cardboard box, but were wrapped in a large piece of butcher's paper, which were covered in instructions to make the ribs. Clearly Chef Elvis knows his audience.





I've yet to make the ribs, because I'm saving this secret weapon for the fourth of July. Behold! A night of fireworks and explosively tasty ribs! (I'll keep you posted)

But the mojo, oh, the mojo. I honestly have no idea what is in this mixture, it could be ground up beetles and frogs feet and I wouldn't care.



The first time I used this stuff, I added it to ground beef and made hamburgers. Now, trying something new here is always akin to playing Russian Roulette; you just never know when it's going to blow up in your face.

So, I held my breath and served them up. I tried not to appear anxious, peering up from my plate, watching Curt take a bite.

"Honey, what's in these burgers?" he asked. Crap. Doom. Any time he notices I've done something differently, it's always followed by skepticism and usually a half eaten meal. The man hates change.

"Um, a little of some stuff." I replied feebly. "Why?"

"Because I don't know what you did, but do it again, this is a seriously good burger!"

And that was just the beginning! I sprinkle it on chicken, pork, even fish, and it all SINGS. It's glorious, it's like fabulous for dummies! I meant to take pics of some of the finished products, and post them PW-style, but I'd get so wrapped up and excited that I kept eating the props.

So, I'm coming clean. My name is Caroline and I am a mojo addict.

Score one for management

Report cards came in the mail this week. Brett pried his open, glanced down long enough to make sure that he wasn't going to spend the summer on parole and then asked to play the Wii.

Lucas barely gave his a passing glance, his general attitude that any envelope that doesn't contain money is a waste of paper.

Emma showed hers off to the house requesting that everyone "Look at all of those sweet S's I got.".

Michael was probably the most antsy to see his. All year it's been a battle to get him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to remember that he was actually sent to school every day to learn things and not to notice when Lana changes colors of nail polish. Countless discussions about averages, passing, and the fact THAT HE'S NOT LIVING HERE WHEN HE'S 34 raged all year.

He found his on the desk, read over it, and then turned to me.

"Hey remember last month when you said if I passed all of my classes for the year that you would buy me an Appetite for Destruction CD?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, I brought up all of my grades in the last semester up enough, and I passed."

"Not health, you failed health Mike. You failed the class that every kid sleeps through and aces in school."

"But wait, when you made me the promise, I'd already failed health for the year; I had it at the beginning of the year."

"Yeah, and?"

Brettism Hump Day! Keeping it PG rated

If I can manage it, after dinner I make a run for my bedroom, leaving poor Curt stranded in my wake. I hole up on the bed, remote in hand and watch the news. The whole while Elle paroles the hallway, looking to get soused, boob-a-holic that she is. She's not really hungry, but just tired and cranky enough to want to clamp down on my nipple for the next hour, popping off intermittently to squawk at Evan. As you might imagine, it's a lot more fun for her than for me.

I was all snuggled up tonight when there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" I asked wearily.

"Can I get your trash madam?" Brett intones in his best Jeeves voice. Gathering all of the trash from the cans his one of his nightly chores.

"Oh, like room service!" I joke.

"Yeah, just don't ask me to turn down the sheets or fluff anything. I'm not a fluffer."

The beginning of the end

The kids came home from four days with bio-dad and Emma made a beeline for me to show me that she was a tooth poorer and a dollar richer. Not only that, but I'm fairly certain that she grew three inches and gained 5 pounds while she was gone. (If she didn't, than I know I did)

It just made me a little sad, like this was the last part of her baby-ness, and now it's gone. She'll loose her teeth, grow adult ones, start worrying about what boys think of her, spend colossal amounts of time on the phone with girlfriends, and then go off to college. AND I WILL HAVE TO LET HER GO. I will wake up one day and she won't be down the hall. Instead of nodding absentmindedly at her chatter at lunch, I will be the mother calling her up daily, desperate to hear snippets from her life.

We'll just call this poor mommy planning

Earlier this week Curt asked if I minded if we had the family over for a picnic on Sunday. I'm fairly certain I was surfing the interwebben when he asked, because I only have a vague recollection of absentmindedly replying.

At any rate, it's Sunday morning here. Yesterday Curt spent all day mowing the farm on the tractor, and he's toasted. (Perhaps later I will butter him?) The house needs a serious lick and a promise, it's Sunday so the sheets need to be washed, I have pasta salad to make, Elle has been demanding boob and/or comfort every few minutes, and Evan just woke up like a minature Henry VIII and we will all be headless in a moment.

And I feel obligated to let him continue to sit on the couch and watch mindless man movies.

Happy Father's Day honey, I love you.

Wiggly

Last week Emma asked me for an apple, took one nibble and then announced to anyone in listening range that she had a loose tooth. After that, if she were able, I'm fairly certain that she would have alerted CNN on a regular basis. Clearly the public at large needs to be apprised of her dental status.

Day 1: Discovers loose tooth, decides she cannot risk eating the apple as it may rip her tooth out, causing massive trauma and blood. And really, how do you band-aid that? Lucas obliges and finishes apple. Well, except for that one part where Emma's tooth marks were.

Day 2: Comes up to me whimpering because she is scared of loosing the tooth. Will it hurt? Will it be gross and rip out some of the pink stuff under the tooth? Can I have a marshmallow, because those are pretty soft and won't hurt "toothy"?

Day 3: Announces that she had a dream and "toothy" fell out. Toothy gets lost in the bed and then is stolen by Lucas so that he may pass it off as his own and get her dollar. Have to stop her from trying to pummel Lucas for imagined, dreamt theft.

Day 4: Spends the entire day fingering the tooth, decidedly impatient that tooth is no looser than it was after the first bite of apple. Accidentally bites finger.

Day 5: Declares that she thinks toothy is no longer loose and that she's really glad that she's not loosing a tooth because obviously this might cause her to look silly until the big tooth comes in, and Lucas has two different sized teeth right now and that looks really silly. And besides, Janey hasn't lost any teeth yet, clearly we cannot go this alone. Isn't mommy relieved that toothy isn't loose too?

Indeed.

Brettism Hump Day wants Starbucks

We're sitting at dinner when Lucas turns to Curt and asks "When Michael moves out will we sell this house?"

Brett laughs, "Yeah, and we won't tell him where the new house is."

"Don't worry, I won't want to know. I'll live far, far away." Michael replies.

"Yeah, he'll probably move right next to Jessica Simpson just to get a closer look at her."

"Brett, you hit the nail on the coffin!" Michael says proudly.

Curt and I start to chuckle in spite of ourselves and Brett joins in.

"Wait, why are we laughing?" he asks.

"Because Michael gets more expressions wrong than he does right." I reply.

"Yeah Mike, you got that wrong. I think it's the last nail in the coffin." he gets very serious "I've had coffin once. I didn't like it much unless it has cream and sugar in it."

Cooties

Brett was the first up this morning and Curt offered to take him on his early morning Lowe's run (Paint Gate 2008, solved!). We're standing in the kitchen kissing goodbye and Brett looks over to see us.

"Save it for the honeymoon." he quips.

I grin "Brett, every day is a honeymoon."

"Exactly why I'm never getting married."

Only because I like Tracey's barrette

And apparently her haircut.

Took this for Sweetney's 'Come as you are' submission, because if they start cloning humans we all need a Tracey in the neighborhood.


Still drinking my tea in Curt's wife-beater and my nursing bra, this is how I spent the start of most of my days. Surfing the interwebben and trying not to spill cereal on the keyboard.

Brettism Hump Day wants tzaziki

Last night as we were coming back from Grandma S's, Brett asked what dinner was. He caught me off guard and instead of my usual evasive answer I told him.

"Hamburgers or Falafel" I immediately mentally facepalmed myself because introducing something new is always iffy, and it's best to just spring in on the little punks, sans warning.

He shrugged. "As long as it doesn't taste awful. Get it?? Falafel tastes awful!!"

Still mentally facepalming.

Now we are six