Captain Fugly Vomits Pink Rubber Latina Whores

The Day Dora Fell from the Sky

I won't tell you why exactly I have been on the mission (that's a story for another day), but lately I've been trying to find an old school Dora doll. It turns out that task is nowhere near as simple as it sounds. Just a short year ago, I know for a fact that Toys 'R Us and Target had dedicated long aisles to the Latina Whore. There were Legos and dolls and carriages and houses and figurines and clothes and every imaginable toy donning her football-shaped head.

Not any more.

I don't know how this miracle has come about, but Dora seems to be losing some of her grip on the retail universe. She has now been relegated to a meager four-foot wide display everywhere you go. That's approximately 58 feet less space than she used to have. Two years too late, if you ask me, but still, reason to celebrate!

Happy Dance! (Quick, somebody tell the Toddler Dora ain't cool anymore. Please?)

Anyway, I had all but given up on my old school Dora hunt. I had already drug Mr. Husband to at least three stores and he was very seriously questioning my sanity. Well, OK, so he's always questioning my sanity, but this time he was eying white coats in my size.

And then we went for a bike ride by The Beach where we happened upon this little scene:



A closer look:



I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING!

I swear on a pile of gummy worms, there was a Dora doll lying on the cement totally unattended. It looked as if she had gone for a swim, nearly drowned, been rescued, then left for dead.

I don't know which one of you made a Dora fall from the heavens right into my lap, but THANK YOU! I shall clean her and clothe her and give her a home. BWAHAHAHAHA!

I Know How I Rank

Last night, as I was turning off the lights in preparation for tucking Alexis into her miniature bed, she stumbled upon my sticker stash. The sticker stash that I have been using to reward her for staying in her bed all night, and that I aspire to one day use as a reward her for a successful potty breaks should pigs fly, Mars go into retrograde, and the miracle of pottying in the toilet ever actually happen. She clutched the edges of that sheet of stickers, staring hard with squinted blue eyes, trying to determine exactly which Dora sticker she should ask to have.

I told her, "You can have one in the morning if you stay in your bed all night."

She continued to stare and then excitedly spewed, "Dis one! Dora! Boots! Puuuuuweeze?"

I was tired, and I was weak, so I decided to let her have a sticker right then and there.

I carefully peeled it from the backing and she hurriedly adhered it to the back of her hand. With a grin, a "Dank you!" and a kiss, she snuggled into her sandpaper-like Mickey Mouse sheets. She softly stroked the precious Dora sticker, whispering excitedly to herself, until she finally fell sound asleep.

A few hours later, I heard the familiar sounds of tiny toddler feet shuffling quietly into our room. "Water, please," she whispered. It seemed a long way to walk for a drink of the exact same water that was in her cup right next to her bed, but there's really no point in arguing at 2:00 in the morning. As she handed the bottle back to me, I said, "Go back to bed, Alexis." She shuffled her bare little feet a few inches toward the door then paused. As she peered down at her tiny hands, softly illuminated by the glow of the alarm clock, her brow furrowed deep with thought.

Slowly, carefully, she peeled the Dora sticker from the back of her left hand and handed it to me. "Cuddle, please?" she hesitantly whispered.

My little Dora minion was willing to sacrifice a favorite sticker if it meant she could cuddle with me in my bed. Who could say no to that?

Talking Helper Monkey for Sale

There was a time in the not-so-distant past when taking the Toddler with me to go grocery shopping was sort of like like taking a rabid spider monkey who had never been out of a 3x3 cage to the grocery store, except I do believe I would have an easier time keeping a monkey happy and under control. When I started my current job, I started having the ability to run to the grocery store during lunch, so I all but eliminated lengthy jaunts through the store with the Toddler in tow. A couple of quick trips during the week was enough for us to get by. Life was good.

Last week I slacked on my quick runs to the store. As a result, we were in extremely desperate need of food. Since I was too busy to take a lunch break at work today, I had to go after work. And? I had to take the Toddler with me. I learned a very valuable lesson very quickly.

She has outgrown the spider monkey phase.

In fact? It was almost fun grocery shopping with her today. She might have even been helpful. Well, if I were incapable of seeing whatever was right in front of my face, she would have been helpful.

"Ook, mommy! Cereal!"

"Need gogur, please!" (That's Toddlerese for "Buy me some damn yogurt and nobody gets hurt.")

"Ders cheese!"

"Eggs!"

"DORA!" (Y'know, Dora is in EVERY freakin' grocery aisle now. There are Dora raisins, people. Seriously.)

"Ook, bread!"

"Yay! Beans!"

"Ook! Doggy teats!" (My Toddlerese dictionary says that means "Meg and Jasmine have requested that you pretty please with sugar on top buy some dog treats.")

Anyway, about halfway around the store, I began to ponder how much money I could make by renting out her services. There's lots of people in this world with bad vision. They could most certainly benefit from having a helper monkey yelling out food products while they shop. If I were to open up a training center for toddlers to learn to be talking helper monkeys, surely I could end up rich.

Then, of course, the game changed. Instead of shouting out every food item she could find, the Toddler started to say something entirely different. Over. And over. And over.

"You're gonna get it."

I don't know what I'm gonna get, but I think the vision-impaired people of the world might be a bit frightened of the possibilities.



(I know the quality of that photo isn't great, but I still big pink puffy heart it.)

REMINDER: The contest is still running, and the rules changed a bit. Leave a comment on the contest post about anything, and you'll be entered to win. If you're feeling froggy, try and figure out what feelings Alexis mentions in the video, leave your answer in the comments, and win an even better prize. You don't have to be a blogger to win (Jill, I'm talking to you. Seriously.) and you can enter as many times as you want.

Feel Free to Explain it to Me

I found myself really struggling with something this Easter: Why? Seriously--why? Of course I understand the reason for the holiday, but how did it turn into the massive commercial thing it is now? Why do parents feel the need to drop buckets of cash on Easter gifts? Since when did Jesus die so that kids could get new bikes? Or DVDs? Or stuffed bunnies? Or whatever random toys the stores claim that we are supposed to buy our kids for Easter? And why do people who aren't Christians celebrate it? I'm all for a cute bunny hopping around and hiding a few eggs while we spend time with our families, but I don't get how it has anything to do with Easter. I'm very confused about the whole thing.

Anyway, I had zero plans for putting together an Easter basket for Alexis. I figured she really wouldn't care since she's not old enough to know the difference. However, Mr. Husband thought I was a communist for even thinking about skipping out on a basket of crap, so we ran to Target on Saturday and picked up a few things. As in, she got about $20 worth of candy and Play-Doh. That's all. Somehow, I feel like it was plenty.

I'm not totally a non-conformist; Alexis and I did spend about an hour dying eggs. Well, actually she told me what color to use and I died the eggs because it's probably the last time she's going to let me help with that little project in any way. I figured I might as well enjoy it.



Of course Dora managed to invade Easter. I owe that pleasure to the one and only Anglophile Football Fanatic. Oh, and why yes, Alexis did manage to smother an egg with an entire sheet of Dora stickers.



Yummmmm . . . eggs!

If You Need Me, I'll Be Worshipping at the Church of Dora

I think it's a pretty well-documented fact that I loathe the little Latina known as Dora. It's not that I'm opposed to her Spanish-speaking ways. After all, I speak Spanish and have started to teach a little to Alexis (She's been known to proclaim, "Claro que si" for no apparent reason--I did that, thankyouverymuch!). It's not that I have a problem, per se, with commercial characters. I tolerate Mickey Mouse and Pooh just fine. My problem with Dora is that I have no doubt that her puppet masters have smoked a whole lot of crack. If those scripts aren't written by a bunch of drunken doped up teenagers, then . . . I don't know what. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to realize that Dora's writers are about as in touch with reality as Britney Spears after a night of hanging out sans underwear in a gas station bathroom.

And yet, I suddenly find myself suddenly MADLY, DEEPLY IN LOVE with Dora. Really. I want to give her a big wet kiss on the lips. I want to stroke her hair, hug her, even caress her very-kickable, football-shaped head. I want to make out with Dora. There, I said it.

Remember how we bought Alexis Dora bedding? Remember how I made a big deal out of the new sandpaper sheets? Guess who has bought into my sales pitch?

Oh, yes.

My kid? Has been staying in her bed all night. She has even resumed sleeping through the night. In fact, she has only called for me in the middle of the night twice since we bought the tacky linens.

I have actually gotten a solid eight hours of sleep several times in the past week. And for that, I will forever worship Dora.

Long live Dora! And her crappy bedding!

The Line Has Officially Been Crossed

Where's Dora

Obviously, Dora long ago took over several aisles in Toys 'R Us. It's probably not so much that she's popular as it is that none of the other toys want to be near this freaky thing:



This has got to be the largest Dora in existence. She obviously has developed sort of condition that causes her head to look like it belongs on Barry Bonds' body.

A Shoe In

There are many things that Alexis does that I know she learned or inherited from me. The constant need to twirl her hair? Apparently genetic. Talking with her hands so vigorously that you wonder if her feet might leave the ground any moment? I might have been known to do that from time to time. Her love of coupons? That's my girl! One thing that she definately didn't get from me is My Shoe Thing.

My Shoe Thing is pretty much the opposite of what you are probably thinking. Despite the fact that I have all the bits to prove that I am female, I don't like shoes. I wear them and everything, but I could really do without them for the most part. Actually, I should say that I could do with just one pair. And I usually do. I buy one pair of black shoes that can be worn with jeans or dress slacks and I wear them nearly every single day until they die. Then I replace them with a nearly identical pair.

I recently suffered the death of a pair of shoes. It was a very sad event, complete with the denial, anger, and acceptance that you would expect when something dear to you dies. Fortunately, I noticed the gaping hole on the inside seam of my shoe whilst I was presenting at a Psychiatric Hospital. There were literally dozens of trained professionals in the audience that were able to console me when I declared, in the middle of a big-deal presentation, "OH NO! My shoe died!" I'm such a professional.

Anyway, I hate buying shoes and do whatever I can to avoid it. If you don't believe me, ask my husband. I occassionally wear a pair of tennis shoes that the bulldog chewed a giant hole in two years ago. They are my only tennis shoes so I have to break them out anytime my kinda dress/kinda not shoes are a little too dressy for the occassion. Me wearing those holey shoes makes him die a little inside. But I keep doing it, because I hate spending money on shoes.

Alexis, on the other hand, has a Serious Shoe Thing. We have the same girl bits, but hers came pre-programmed to seek out shoes at every available opportunity. The girl just plain loves shoes. She loves putting them on, she loves walking in them, she loves sleeping in them. She seriously will not walk outdoors if she doesn't have shoes on (that comes in very handy when I need her to stand still--don't think I don't use it to my advantage, because I do). When she's in the house, she's constantly taking shoes off and putting other shoes on. Her shoes, my shoes, Daddy's shoes, it doesn't matter. Just bring on the shoes.

If Alexis is in a funky mood and I want to drag her out of it, I don't take her to Chuck E. Cheese like a normal kid. No, I take her to a shoe store. Within minutes she will be sitting on the floor, surrounded by dozens of boxes of shoes. She tries on big shoes, little shoes, shoes that light up, Dora shoes. Shoes, shoes, shoes. The girl loves shoes. Just yesterday she got three new pair, only one of which featured a certain Spanish-speaking little girl that's taking over the universe one product at a time.

I don't understand this shoe thing. But hey, if it makes her happy, then by all means I will play along with it. It's our differences that make us interesting, right?

Oh Broccoli, You Really Stink Up My Life

Kristen has asked a very good question. She wanted to know if having Dora on the broccoli bag has any influence over the eating of the broccoli.

No.

It doesn't matter that the Green Giant is on the bag. Dora is of no assistance. Nor is her sidekick Diego. I don't think even Barney* could keep the broccoli from ending up where it will end up. On the walls. On the floor. In the bulldog's mouth. Everywhere but in the toddler's mouth where it belongs. This is a big ol' problem for me. I once had a toddler that loved, LOVED her vegetables. She tried many times to convince me that all she needed was some Lima beans, sweet potatoes, and uncooked broccoli and she was set for life. I don't know what happened, but she woke up a few weeks ago and decided she doesn't eat green anymore. I keep serving it, she keeps ignoring it. Grr.

The fact that the bulldog ends up eating the discarded broccoli is like adding insult to injury. Have you ever heard the stories about how all bulldogs do is fart and snore? They're all lies. Lies, I tell you. Because all bulldogs do is FART and SNORE. It's like both ends have to be making noise at all times and must leave a cloud of stink everywhere they go. And guess what broccoli does to a bulldog? Makes it really easy to determine which end is stinkier, for one. So Meg eats the broccoli, I nearly die of lung poisoning, and Alexis doesn't eat the green stuff. Whatever. I'm over it.

*Lest you forget, fine friends and family, Barney DOES NOT LIVE IN PENNSYLVANIA. Any gifts bearing his likeness will promptly be burned and their ashes spread all over West Virginia. Not even a gift receipt could save his purple butt from my trusty grill.

Where's Dora?

You know what we haven't done in quite a while? Played Where's Dora! For you newcomers, this is where I prove that Dora is taking over the universe one product at a time. I had never noticed just how thoroughly Dora has infiltrated the world. These days it's brought to my attention about every ten seconds when Alexis yells "Dora!" anytime she spots her. By the way, she yells Dora in her chain-smoking grandma voice. Think Marge Simpson's sisters and you'll be on the right track.

I think you need to know that Dora is on at least 14 different food products. There's yogurt, ice cream, popsicles, soup, fruit snacks, cereal, animal crackers, etc. We have had just about every single one of those things in our house at one time or another. No grocery store aisle is sacred.



The winner, however, is the broccoli. Because everyone should eat Dora broccoli.



I can't even begin to tell you how many articles of clothing the kid has that have Dora on them. But I can tell you that when she wears Dora slippers, she can't go anywhere. Seriously.

Bopwan Fooleg Waffles Ehnosoo Bop Elmo Aaangto Dora!

It started about two weeks ago. The speaking in complete sentences, I mean. Alexis and I drug Daddy to a playground. He claims he is going to die of boredom at a park someday. Apparently watching your one-year old squeal with glee as she slides isn't exciting enough for him. On that particular day, he was in luck. Just as Alexis managed to climb to the top of Mt. Slide Alot, my nose detected a familiar odor. I don't know about you, but I consider slide time done when there's a present in a diaper. Nothing good can come of leaving that situation as is for any length of time, especially when sitting and squishing is most likely involved. So we went back to the car and did a quick change. At that particular park, it's about a five minute walk to and from the playground, so Daddy decided we were done. He strapped little Miss So Fresh and So Clean in her car seat just as she started saying "I want to slide." She said it nicely at first, but as we started to back out of the parking lot, it quickly turned to "I WANT TO SLIDE, DAMN IT!" (OK, maybe she didn't actually say "damn it", but it was definately implied.). There was much screaming and hollering, but it was quickly silenced by some parental pride. After all, no other child has ever before managed to put four words together to create a sentence.

Perhaps we displayed a bit too much pride. For now, no matter what she's saying, Alexis builds everything into a sentence. The problem? She's pretty limited by her vast knowledge of nouns and NO OTHER kinds of words. I think she has two verbs: want and eat. You can get pretty far with them, but we're not exactly talking about a mastery of the English language there. As for adjectives, she signs "grumpy" and can say/sign lots and lots of colors, BUT SHE HAS NO IDEA WHAT THEY MEAN. In fact, I'm really beginning to think she may be color blind. If I ask her what color something is, it's blue. It doesn't matter what it actually looks like, it's just blue. If I ask her the color of a second item, it will be whatever color I said the first thing was. And the third item? It takes on the color of the second item. When she loses track or forgets, she resorts back to blue. So without verbs or adjectives, you're pretty much stuck with making up your own words when you try to describe something. That means we get long strings of gibberish, with a real word or two thrown in for good measure. Somehow we are supposed to understand this new little person language, but it's not really working out. I know Alexis was telling me something about Elmo, Dora, and some waffles earlier, but I don't know what it was. And she's still mad at me for it.

It Really Sucks that the Weekend is Over

I started my day with a harsh return to reality. Anytime we have guests staying at our house, Daddy turns into Super Stud Spic-n-Span Man. Dust on the floor? Never fear, Super Stud Spic-n-Span Man is here! He'll clean it up! Trash full? No problem! Dishes need washed? They're no match for my husband! The best part is that I don't have to ask, it all just happens. I've learned that it's best if I just sit back and enjoy his Super Skills. I'm sure people think that I'm super-lazy and never do anything around the house, but that's simply not true. I just don't do anything when we have company.

Once the company leaves, he goes back to his mortal self. A mortal self who is pretty helpful when it comes to housework, but not quite at the same level. You know how he took the trash out at least fifteen times this weekend? He won't do it again for at least a week. And even then, it'll probably require a certain level of nagging for it to happen. (Yes, I could take the trash out myself. However, we like to play this game with the trash. I say that whoever "fills" it should take it out. Daddy somehow can manage to fit another item in that can over and over and over again for days. He'll even start stacking things beside the trash can so that it's not "full". I refuse to empty the trash when pulling the can out of the corner means an avalanche is coming and I'm going to have to spend fifteen minutes picking up crap all over the floor. And that is how neither one of us will empty the trash. (Note to self: Alexis will be assigned trash duty as soon as it's a feasible task for her.))

My other reality check came in the form of a reminder of what happens when you neglect the garden for a month. I spent hours cleaning up the dead Zinnias around the Oak tree. They were dead because not even a cactus could have survived the dry conditions around that little circle. I figured out that they were dying due to a lack of water a few weeks ago, but still didn't go to the trouble of starting to water them. So I ripped them all out, planted a few tulips (a few is defined as about 100 around here), and planted some mums. I'm not happy about those mums. They are a sign of fall, and I hate to admit that fall may be around the corner. Or here already. Whichever.

I also spent forever ripping out hundreds of Obedient Plants under our weeping peach tree. Whoever named them that had one heck of a sense of humor. They should be called Toddler Plants. They isn't anything obedient about them. In fact, the only way to keep them under control is to treat them terribly. I wonder if that would work with a certain toddler? Hmm . . .

Speaking of the toddler, she had a spectacular day. No, seriously. She has been remarkably well-behaved all day. It has a little bit to do with the finger paints, markers, and Dora coloring books I bought her the other day.



One more thing -- Happy Birthday, Uncle Eric!

When Indecisive One-Year Olds Pick Out Their Own Clothes

Pajamas? A Dora shirt with pants? Shorts and a tank top? All of the above? I'm so glad Daddy lent an assist when Alexis couldn't make up her mind.

First, Last, and Dora

My Fantasy Football draft has ended and I'm feeling all sorts of dirty. I had the "lucky" draw of first pick. So, Yay! in the first round. But wow does that suck when you get to the second round. With fourteen teams, that meant I got to pick Ladianian Tomlinson in the first round like anyone with a brain would, but I didn't get to pick again until 28. There weren't any good running backs or quarterbacks left at that point. Boo. Eventually I was left with players that I can't stand as my best bet. Enter Plaxico Burress and Eli Manning (my backup QB). I really hope I can sucker somebody into a trade a few weeks in for no other reason than so I can feel a little better about myself at the end of the day. No Catchico. Blarg.

While I was participating in the draft activities, Grandma made it to our house and the spoiling immediately kicked into high gear. I don't really know why Alexis thought she needed a Dora suitcase, a Dora outfit, and two pairs of Dora pajamas, but I'm pretty sure Grandma's were invented specifically to purchase unneeded items for little ones. I mean, what exactly does a one-year old need a suitcase for? So that we can ship her to Grandma's house for a week? Hmm . . . that's an idea.

Where's Dora?

This picture doesn't do justice to the Dora moment I had with Alexis at KMart the other day:



If you could see the Dora purse that Alexis has over her shoulder, the Dora pajamas that I'm holding (because Alexis was dragging them across the floor), and the Dora cups/plates that were abandoned seconds ago, then you might begin to have an idea of the depths of our Dora addiction.

Fisher Price Recall

Have you seen this?

Don't you just love when toys intended for small children are recalled due to lead paint? Little kids don't tend to put their toys in their mouths or anything. Anyway, it took me a while to find the website needed to determine how many of Alexis' Dora toys were affected, so I thought I would share it. And now for the joy of trying to round up all the potentially poisonous Dora things . . .

Where's Dora?

Dora has penetrated Indiana just as she has Pennsylvania. So far Alexis has found her at Miejer, Marsh, Wal-Mart, Target, Jo-Anns, Marshalls, and even Linens n Things. It's as if Alexis has nothing better to do than to try to find Dora everywhere we go.

Where's Dora?

Dora is at the pet store, all ready to keep your hermit crab company in his new home.



While Dora might be at the pet store, the gods of turtle acquisition are still on my side. There is yet to be a turtle sighting at Petco.

What to Do, What to Do

Not long after Alexis was moved to the toddler room at daycare, it occurred to me that it seemed a little crazy that we were paying the same amount for her to share her teachers with 19 other kids as we were when she only had to share with 4 other kids. It seems that the Parent Handbook specifically stated that rates were based on ages, now teacher ratio.

Now that seemed like a load of you-know-what to me, so I made like Alexis and threw a fit. And since Alexis is the daycare owner's favorite, it worked. We started paying the toddler rate a while back.

Now we are left to wonder what to do with all of that extra money. We could donate it to the Pirates (they obviously need some sort of help). We could buy a new house. We could buy a twin for Meg so that there was a lump of useless dog on both ends of our couch. We could hire someone to clean our house. We could go on a cruise around the world. The possibilities are endless.

But, the reality is it's only a lousy $5 per week. That's probably not going to make much of an impact on the Buccos. We would have to save for weeks to get even this house. The odds of another dog ever making it through our door during my lifetime are about a zillion to one. The only person that would take $5 per week to clean our house is the five year-old down the street. And $5 would probably get us as far as the Washington, PA. That's not exactly around the world. So I guess I'll just use the money to buy Alexis some more S'mores.