Just a Little Suggestion

While some may think that I'm shilling for Disney (yes, you-know-who-you-are, I have received your crappy emails--I can delete them just as fast as you can send them), I do have one complaint. (Well, OK, two complaints. First, where's my free four-day park hopper pass? Wasn't that part of the deal? Errr . . . never mind.) My only complaint is that Disney? NEEDS TO GET SOME DAMN COFFEE.

OK, not coffee per se. Rather, those foofy caffeinated drinks that contain 90% milk, 8% sugary goodness, and 2% coffee. Those things.

Sure, you can buy an iced cappuccino in Epcot, but it'll taste like goat butt. It won't cost you quite as much as Starbucks (shocking, I know), but it will taste so bad that even your sleep-deprived, caffeine-desperate body will be like "NOOOOO! Don't drink it!"

Every park we went to, I searched for some sort of iced coffee drink. It was 80+ degrees out, and I'm going on four solid years without a decent nights sleep. Finding icy caffeine was a survival instinct.

I nearly died.

The only thing that saved me from certain death was managing to stumble into the McDonald's at Downtown Disney where the very kind employees took pity on my dying body and poured an iced vanilla latte down my throat. If it weren't for them? Well, I don't want to think about what could have happened. That iced latte was so fantastic that I was forced to make out with it. Tongue and all.

Making out with McDonald's coffee is like dreaming about Brad Pitt, but settling for Brad Garrett. Not right.

So, Disney, how about you call up Starbucks and make a deal? Let them speed-construct a little store on every corner. They can charge way too much for their caffeine-y goodness and I'll happily pay too much. Survival is dependent on it.

Quick with the Kisses

I don't know exactly when it started, but for some time now Alexis has been partaking in a little self-service chocolate indulgence. Whenever she figured out how to open our fridge, she figured out that if she opens the vegetable drawer and peeks under the bags of carrots and lettuce, she'll find an ancient bag of Hershey Kisses. Once or twice a week she will veer from her usual alien diet of Lima beans and raspberries and head for the drawer, select exactly one Hershey Kiss, carefully unwrap it over top of the trash can, and continue on with life with a happy mouth full of chocolate. Nobody forces her to take only one. It's a self-imposed rule, and one that keeps me from even caring that she does it.

I took note of this bit of self-sufficiency and immediately realized that I? totally can benefit from this skill. One of my must-have cookie concoctions at Christmas is Peanut Butter Kiss cookies. I lurve them, but I hate unwrapping all the Kisses. A few years ago I managed to find bags of them not in wrappers, but I guess I'm the only one that considers unwrapping 100 pieces of candy a form of torture, because I haven't seen them since.

This Saturday a bunch of Pittsburgh moms who blog are getting together for a little cookie swap, so tonight I set out to make six dozen of those little buggers. It took all of two seconds to get Alexis to volunteer to help me, so I stuck her up on a stool and set her to work unwrapping Kisses. All the while, I was smiling to myself because I AM an evil genius. An evil genius who had found a way to not have to unwrap Kisses.

Alexis deliberately unwrapped and unwrapped, carefully placing the Kisses in a bowl as she was done with them. As I rolled the dough in sugar, I helped her count her progress and she was all sorts of excited. She made slow progress, but eventually made it to ten. I glanced down to scoop another spoonful of dough then glanced up.

The bowl was empty.

There were no unwrapped Kisses anywhere.

I may be an evil genius, but I didn't take into account that self-imposed rules get kicked to the curb once a kid figures out she can fit ten Kisses in her mouth at one time.

Random Reminders

-- The verdict is in and Miss Megara Madison, aka The World's Most Annoying Bulldog, does not need plastic surgery. The drops appear to be working and her eye is better, so the vet has us keeping up with the drops for just a few more weeks. Fortunately, she's not bright enough to run away when the drops get walked her way, so it's really not that bad giving them to her. Mr. Husband can continue to have fun with that.

-- There was a death in the Fishtank of Horrors. Purple, the worm-eating fishy, died with his/her mouth agape the other day. The cause is unknown, but I'm thinking old age might have been a factor. That sucker had been around for a while and was already full grown when we got him/her. Peace out, Purple.

-- A while ago I had asked how to get the Toddler to cover her mouth when she coughs. Reactions ranged from helpful hints to "get over it, she's 2." I am pleased to say that I refused to just accept having Toddler breath shot in my face at Mach 5 and tried the "catch your cough" route. It worked. I'd say Alexis remembers to cover her mouth about 70% of the time these days, and she yells at adults for not doing it 100% of the time. I can live with that.

-- The comments on this post have turned a little, um, let's go with "interesting." Just so we're all crystal clear, I am a broken record when we go out, constantly saying, "Bum on the seat, please." That is Alexis' only sin when we go out--trying to stand in her seat. There is no way that kid is running around or in need of a babysitter. I just want her to get silverware, have a couple of napkins, not be physically injured by hot plates, and not spend longer waiting for someone else to make food than I would to run to the grocery store, cook, and clean up the kitchen faster. Alexis is very well-behaved in restaurants, and the one time that she wasn't? We paid and left. In return for her good behavior, I would just like to not have any other meals where she is stuck eating buttered noodles with her fingers because apparently Red Robin has no silverware anywhere. Or napkins. Cause that was. not. fun.

-- Earlier today, Alexis fell asleep in the car. When she woke up, she was all, "I had fun at Chuck E. Cheese." We haven't been to The Rat's Hole in months, so I'm thinking she had a dream about going to Chuck E. Cheese. It seems that it was a pretty good dream because Alexis was all about saying "thank you" and "that was fun." That's my kind of trip to Chuck's--the kind where I don't actually have to go, but the kid has a blast. We really should do that more often.

-- Thanks to everyone who linked to the 9/11 post and who has helped us raise a few more pennies to help support the Flight 93 Memorial. We've got a few more days left in the month, so click away and help us out a bit more. I'll let y'all know how much we ended up raising when all is said and done.

7 Things All Servers Should Know

We eat out way too much. We're trying to cut back on it, but the fact of the matter is that after a week of everybody working, the last thing we want to do on the weekend is hang out in the kitchen pushing buttons on the microwave. We've always had a tendency to eat out on the weekends while running errands, and the habit has resulted in Alexis being really pretty good at sitting sort of nicely when we go out.

Despite the fact that she's pretty good, I am forever living in fear every moment that we spend in a restaurant. I recognize that toddlers in restaurants are like tiny terrorists looking for a victim or ten, but apparently not all servers realize that. I can't tell you how many times things have turned ugly in no small part because some goober server has done something incredibly stupid. So, I bring you 7 Things All Servers Should Know:

1. Toddlers are ticking time bombs. Your job as a server is to do whatever you can to diffuse that bomb, or at least get it the hell out of your restaurant as soon as possible. Your first step to get food to the table ASAP. Find some crackers, chips, salad, or steal a glop of mashed potatoes off some guy's plate. Just get food to that table before the kid is even sitting down.

2. Right after you throw some food in front of the kid, go grab a wad of napkins. I don't care if the table already has napkins, go get more. You want the parents to be able to clean up any shrapnel if the bomb goes off. If you don't give them the proper tools, you risk spending your evening trying to figure out how to remove dried spaghetti sauce from the ceiling fan. (Hint: Formula409 and lots of paper towels. Or a hose.)

3. I personally keep a ton of crayons in my handbag. (Purse? Handbag? Whatever.) They come in handy whenever I need to take notes in a meeting, and very handy when your cheap-butt restaurant can't manage to scrounge up 3 cents for a little package of colored wax. Since I'm kind enough to pick up your slack, I expect you to bring me paper. Don't give me that stupid blank look that makes me think you have no idea what paper looks like. I'm guessing that children's menus must cost a small fortune, so I'm willing to settle for blank paper. Paper napkins. Scraps. Boxes. Whatever, just something for the kid to color on.

3. Drinks. In cups with secure lids and straws. Any time a tiny terrorist spills liquids, the bomb automatically detonates. This includes any adult beverages. Assume the kid has a six foot reach and you MIGHT be safe from disaster.

4. I know you all like to let cooked food sit under heating lamps for twenty minutes before taking it out to the table, but for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT STICK A HOT PLATE WITHIN REACH OF A KID. I wish I could say such a thing has never happened to us, but it has. It was ugly. And loud. I'm pretty sure a lot of people lost their hearing that night.

5. Make sure the tiny terrorist has some silverware, and preferably some silverware that will actually fit in his or her mouth. I'm pretty sure you see kids eat with their hands all day every day, but there are some kids who like that choice in life. Sure, they will always choose to eat with their hands, but if that spoon isn't sitting there? Duck. And run.

6. Stop by every once in a while and pick up empty plates, trash, etc. You may be shocked to learn this, but even a straw wrapper can be used to cause mass destruction. It's best if all things not in use and taken away from time-to-time.

7. This last one is a biggie. In fact, it's The Biggie. The Make It or Break It. Your life depends on this last step. Ready? Listen carefully . . . Drop the check off early and be REALLY quick about coming back with change or the card. Far too many times we have had a delightful dinner full of Toddler giggles then were caught off guard by a sudden explosion. Once the kid is done eating, the kid wants to leave. Immediately. When you disappear into the bowels of the kitchen for 20 minutes and the kid is done eating? It ALWAYS turns ugly. If you want us to pay, you need to give us the check and run as fast as you can to settle the bill.

If you carefully follow each and every one of these steps, I can guarantee you that nobody in the entire restaurant will even know a tiny terrorist was in their midst.



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We're donating all September ad revenue to the Flight 93 Memorial Fund, and could use a little help in reaching our goal. Every little click gets us closer, so why not take a second and read all about some other restaurant adventures?

Spray a Little Joy

Alexis is a breakfast girl. She would eat pancakes and waffles three meals a day, seven days a week if she could. Every single morning she gets her fix thanks to the joy that is frozen breakfast foods. One of my biggest failures in Alexis' eyes was the one time that we were totally out of frozen pancakes AND waffles. She nearly blew a gasket and most certainly fired me that morning. The way she sees it, the freezer should be totally full of her frozen fixes.

Before you give me any crap about how many preservatives and additives are in those boxes of Eggo's, let me just say that my lazy butt is not going to get up earlier than I already do so that I can slave over a stove cooking the kid fresh/homemade pancakes or waffles. I can't even be bothered to spray some pancakes in a pan, let alone mix things together.

Oh, yeah. I said SPRAY some pancakes in a pan.

Have you seen these?



You know what those are? Those are AWESOME IN A CAN!

Check it:



Making pancakes is like spraying whip cream. This is a good thing.



Me + whip cream = fun. True fact. Me + spray pancakes = fun. In the form of name pancakes for the kid.



You can tell me that I can do that with regular pancake batter, but I don't care. I won't get the joy of pancake whip-its and the extreme control the whip cream style can offers.

Why, yes, I am easily amused.

Spray pancakes cook up just like regular pancakes. The also taste just like regular pancakes. Nothing fancy about the end result, it's all about the method.



Just don't worry about me suddenly becoming less lazy and actually trying to make those things in the morning. At $6/can, they ain't exactly a bargain.



But they are fun. For me, anyway.

My Alarm Clock Could Kick Your Alarm Clock's Hiney

So, how was your day?

Glad to hear it.

What's that?

Mine?

My day was fantastic! Thank you so much for asking. Well, I should say it was fantastic all except for that little bitty part of the day where my alarm clock seemed to malfunction. That part was NOT so fun, I tell ya'.

It all started around 5:30 when I heard little Toddler footsteps walking down the hall. Now the Toddler? She has actually been sleeping in her own bed all night long for the last week or so. I blame it on vacation and the fact that we didn't HAVE to get up early all those mornings. Of course now that we're back to the grind the kid would decide she needs to become one with my pillow, thereby interrupting my four hours of nightly beauty rest. Whatever.

I heard the footsteps and figured I would just ignore the short person standing next to my side of the bed. It worked, too, because she went around to the other side and used the Bulldog's footstool (don't ask, I don't want to talk about it) to climb up on the bed. She laid down beside me, all snuggly and cozy, and we fell back asleep.

Next thing I know, I started to hear noises. Odd noises. I thought it seemed a little weird that the alarm clock was going off half an hour before it really needed to go off. Then I felt it. Wetness. On my face. Stinky, disgusting, chunky wetness. Just as my brain was processing that an alarm clock can't emit chunky wet stuff, the Toddler whispered, "Mommy, I puke."

Awwww, yeah. My life is now complete. I have had a kid puke on my face while I was sleeping.

(BTW, I am the SUCKTASTIC Parent of the Year and sent her to daycare anyway. I needed to get my laptop so I could work from home and figured either I could drag her to my office, or I could drop her off at school and maybe, just maybe, it would turn out to be a random weird thing and she would be fine. She lasted half an hour, but I did manage to grab my laptop. After that, there was working but no more puking. Not even when she ate a giant gob of canned cranberries at dinner.)

Grilled Pizza a la Burgh

Whenever we have people over at our house for dinner, I make it a mission to cook grilled pizza. The dough recipe makes enough to feed eight, so it's not something I can make all the time (shoosh with your "just half the recipe" business--math and pizza don't mix). It's a great recipe for guests anyway, because you can make the crust and prepare the toppings in advance, and then it's up to the guests to do the actual grilling, freeing you up to enjoy having people over (or to chase a Toddler if you're cool like me). They get to pick their own toppings, so there's no worrying about trying to keep everybody happy. Really, it's genius.

Alexis' Grandma requested the recipe, and I figured that it would be easier to throw it into a blog post than to write it by hand. See how nice I am? I even share with you.

Grilled Pizza Crust
(adapted from Fine Cooking September 2004 issue) (Um, how the heck do I have an issue that old?)

1 package active dry yeast
1 1/4 cups warm water
4 1/4 cups flour
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup olive olive

Stir the yeast into the water and allow it to sit for 15 minutes. Combine the flour and salt in a large bowl. While mixing using low speed on a mixer with a dough hook, slowly add the yeast mixture and the olive oil alternately to the flour. Knead until well combined (using the mixer or on a floured surface by hand), until the dough becomes elastic. The dough should feel soft and be a little bit sticky. If it feels grainy or dry, add more warm water 1 tablespoon at a time.



Place the well-kneaded dough into a bowl which is lightly oiled and cover with a damp dishtowel. Allow the dough to rise until it is doubled in size, approximately one hour. The dough is done rising when you poke it and the dough holds the finger poking impression (fancy wording right there, don't you think?).

Once the dough is done rising, punch it down and divide it into 8 evenly-sized balls. Roll out each ball using a rolling pin until each circle is approximately 1/4 inch thick (thicker if you prefer thick crust, thinner if you have excellent taste and like crispy crust). You can stack the crusts on a plate by placing a sheet of wax paper in between each one.

And, you have crust. You can do the dough in advance. For example, if you want to make it one day in advance, do all the combining and mixing and kneading, then wrap the dough up and put it in the fridge. It will slowly rise overnight and you can roll it out the next day.

Here's the cooking instructions:

Heat the grill to medium. Using a pastry brush, brush olive oil on one side of a crust and place the crust oil-side down on the grill. Close the grill lid and wait a few minutes. The first side of the crust is done when it is lightly browned (we like it to get dark brown stripes, but don't like any black burnt crust up in the joint).




Brush oil on the uncooked side of the crust and flip it using tongs or a spatula. While the second side of the crust is cooking, throw on some toppings. We like to start with standard red pizza sauce and mozzarella cheese, but we do tend to get fancy with the artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, spinach, Feta cheese, sundried tomatoes, red onions, and whatever else floats our boats that day. If the bottom crust looks like it is completely cooked before the cheese melts, move the pizza to the top rack in the grill.



We usually don't cook more than one or two at a time so that there is space for people to work their magic with their own toppings.

A finished pizza which proves I am not a good food photographer AT ALL:

Just Cause for a Shy Streak and Some Fun

Last night Alexis and I were flying solo as Mr. Husband had to attend an alleged work event until way late in the evening. Of course, we did what any intelligent women would do--we went out to dinner and then did some shopping. It was the first time we've done that in quite a while, so it was startling to realize it's actually, dare I say, enjoyable to have a girls' night out with the kid.

I figured I would make it all about the Toddler, so I asked her what she wanted for dinner. Always one to dream big, she said peanut butter and jelly. So, off we headed to the nearest Panera for a pair of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But when I got there, I realized that there was a new Mexican joint in the same little complex. I have never met a burrito I didn't want to inhale, so I overrode the Toddler's choice, knowing that she has never met rice and beans that she didn't want to shovel at top speed.

I was very right on that account. The Toddler shoveled that rice and those beans so fast and so furiously that it looked like a herd of wedding guests throwing Mexican rice at a bride and groom. I was actually feeling bad about the disaster zone until the server made a face when she saw it, then I started helping Alexis throw more food to the invisible dogs on the floor. I seriously would have cleaned up what I could if she hadn't gone all sourpuss on me. Now I figure that's what they get for only having forks bigger than my head. It would take a brain surgeon's precision and a crane to lift one of those forks full of beans neatly to a little pie hole.

Midway through the floor re-texturizing project, the REALLY drunk lady at the next table over suddenly took an interest in my little interior decorator. She came stumbling over, slathered herself across the table, and LOUDLY asked the Toddler about the Minnie Mouse on her shirt. I don't know what scared the Toddler worse--the giant uncovered boobs that were right smack in the middle of our table, the smell of half a box of wine radiating from the lady's pores, or the WICKED LOUD VOLUME OF HER RANTS. The Toddler leaped from her chair, landing right smack in my lap. She buried her face in my neck and didn't come out for a good ten minutes after the drunken whore finally stumbled back to her dinner with clients (no lie, she was trying to sell them something or other).

The Toddler has always had a Michigan J. Frog sort of quality about her. She loves to make people laugh and lives to entertain, just so long as nobody makes eye contact with her. Seriously, she will be laughing and jabbering and generally being a little clown, but if somebody so much as says "BOO" to her, she goes running to her mommy or daddy and hides for ten minutes. I've noticed that her shy streak is getting worse as she now won't say "please" or "thank you" or "bye bye" to strangers (she consistently did just two months ago). I'm thinking drunken whores have scared her shy.

Once we escaped the drunken whore, we managed to hit quite a few stores. I must have missed the memo, but apparently kids actually outgrow that whole "I'm going to run around like an idiot, bouncing like a ping pong ball off the walls, and I really don't care what you do. BYE!" phase. Six months ago I would have been lucky to make it through one store with the Toddler in tow. Now that she SUDDENLY is willing to hold my hand? We hit like ten. It was weird, and yet, delightful.

As we wrapped up the shopping spree, the Toddler turned to me and said, "This is fun." I think that means we need Daddy to have more alleged work things so we can enjoy more girls' nights out.

Make it happen, Mr. Husband.





(Just in case you thought I was the only cruel one in the house, here's proof that the Toddler enjoys inflicting pain on Baby Shell.)

Yup, She Was a Breastfed Baby--I Have the Mileage to Prove It

I don't usually participate in this sort of thing, but Sarcastic Mom encouraged peeps to share their breastfeeding stories today, and I thought it seemed like a good opportunity to throw a little something under a nice big bus. I've always been pretty quiet about my biggest challenge associated with breastfeeding because it seemed just so plain ridiculous. Well, that, and I didn't want to give any hints as to how I was managing to lay low.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Right from the start, Alexis was a breastfed baby. I was home with her for essentially the first six months of her life, and while I wanted to use her head as a hockey puck a whole slew of times in those early days when latching felt like an alligator clamping down, we really didn't have any major problems. She never had a single drop of formula and I was able to build up a decent stockpile of frozen liquid gold. Then I started working. Along with that, of course, came the need to pump at least twice per day.

That topic was one that I had discussed with my future boss when I interviewed, so I wasn't really expecting to have any problems with it. I was very, VERY wrong in my expectations. At first, I was told that I could just use a vacant office for those two brief disappearing acts. But midway through my first week, I learned that the office was slated to get an occupant. My supervisor didn't have any ideas for alternatives, so I emailed the Human Resources Department. Nothing. So I emailed again, this time copying the HR Representatives supervisor. I got an answer quick, but it basically said, "Use a restroom or reserve a conference room. The end."

Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not game for making my own food in a bathroom, so I wasn't really game for making my kid's food in a bathroom. Besides the fact that it's a gross idea to me (I compare it to taking the Foreman grill in there and cooking up a hamburger--would you do it?), it was a logistical impossibility. The restroom housed two stalls, neither of which had an outlet. The only outlet happened to be right by the door. Silly me, I've never had aspirations of putting on a peep show complete with wondrous sound effects. So, the bathroom wasn't happening. The conference room idea was just plain dumb given that there is a major shortage of conference rooms in that particular building, so they are impossible to get. Oh, and there's the small manner of most of them having windows in the hall and none of them having working locks on the doors. Again with the discrete issue.

Maybe now would be a good time to mention that my former employer was a very large hospital system. As in, one of the twelve largest and one of the most profitable in the United States. There are over 45,000 employees, including over 4,000 physicians. Last year, that particular non-profit organization reported NET profits of well over $500 million. I worked in the Corporate Headquarters, just a few stories down from one of the best paid CEO's of a non-profit in the nation. Anybody else see a wee bit of a problem with the lack of appropriate accommodations?

Anyway, when it became clear that the Human Resources Department was full of useless idiots, I devised a plan. I would go down to my SUV twice a day, every day, and sit in the back seat and pump. It was an underground parking garage, so it was relatively dark and my tinted windows afforded for a small amount of privacy. Of course, I can tell you that at least four people saw things they probably wish they hadn't, but it was a livable option.

Then I was told I needed to move over to a different building. It made a fair amount of business sense, but the new building was a warehouse. With even less in the way of accommodations. And no parking garage. The only viable answer was still the car, but this time there was an outdoor lot complete with LOTS of traffic (for you Pittsburgh folks, it's on the South Side right between the FBI building and Carson Street--yeah, high traffic). Obviously, I couldn't just sit in the parking lot with my boobies hanging out and various machinery hooked up. So, I went cruising for options. I ended up finding a car wash where I could park my SUV in a stall and only have potential traffic on one side of me. So that's what I did, every day, twice a day, for months. Four months in fact.

The lack of accommodations severely hindered my ability to be efficient in my breaks, I was less productive at work, and I was constantly stressed. Trying to maintain a professional schedule and needing to drive ten minutes just to pump milk really put a strain on me. I skipped lunch to make up for the lost time, I pumped in the morning before leaving for work, I pumped in the evening after work, and I nearly always brought work home with me in a feeble attempt to balance it all. I can tell you that many important people at big giant hospital system were aware, and not a single one actually gave a crap. Not a one made any attempts to make some sort of accommodation. In fact, when Alexis was nine-months old, a high-level manager told me, "Isn't your daughter almost a year old? It's time for her to quit getting breast milk anyway."

Moron.

*smoke comes out of ears*



*deep breaths*



*more deep breaths*



OK. ANYHOO, Alexis and I made it to 13 months. She never once drank a single drop of formula, and overall, I'd say we had a very positive experience. Our only real challenge was making sure she had ample supply while I was at work. THAT was a significant struggle every.single.day. Looking back, I have no idea how we made it, other than to take it one day at a time. It sure wasn't with the help of one of the nation's leading health care systems.

Roam Around the Dinner Table

As residents of Pittsburgh, we are required by law to venture to our local dive restaurant, Primanti Brothers, for a meal at least four times per year. I'm pretty sure that failure to do so will result in us losing our Cool Burgher licenses. So tonight we fulfilled our civic duty and went to indulge in sandwiches piled high with fresh-cut french fries, eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and coleslaw. (For you non Burgh-type people, yes, you read that right. A sandwich can hold all that stuff in between its two slices of bread and you can even throw some meat in there, if that sort of thing makes you happy. While your arteries may want to explode just looking at it, you belly will be screaming at you to eat! faster! already!)

For whatever reason, the Toddler was being extra-cute as she went against the laws of Pittsburgh and dissected her sandwich (Fellow Cool Burghers, do not fear for she was also eating Pierogies. I think that means she gets to stay in the Cool Club, in spite of her obvious faux paus.). I carry my handy dandy little camera in my purse, so I whipped it out and took a couple of shots. Behold the cuteness:



As I was taking the photos, it occurred to me that something was amiss. I have tons of cute pictures of the Toddler eating, but every single one of them is more deceptive than a campaigning politician. All of my photos of the Toddler eating show her sitting down and actually placing food in her mouth. Uh, that happens approximately 2% of the time. Here's what really happens at mealtime:



Way back in September when Alexis kicked her high chair to the curb, I didn't realize that she was also kicking my happy little rule where we all sat at the table while we ate to the curb as well. Mr. Husband and I ate sitting on the couch for years, but when Alexis started to eat real food, I decided I wanted us all to eat at the dining room table, together, and with the TV off. It took me a few days to clear all the crap off of the table we had never actually used for eating a meal, but it was worth it. We acted like a family. I know! Amazing!

My happy little world was shattered when the confining beauty of the high chair became more of a battle than it was worth. It didn't take long before Alexis decided she didn't want to eat at the big person table at all, she preferred her little craft table. I let it go since she was at least sitting nicely somewhere. But that didn't last long. Before I even realized what was happening, she turned into a roaming eater. I don't think she is capable of chewing food unless her feet are moving. Really, it's like she's a goat or something. She pauses long enough to shove some food in mouth then goes back to grazing around the house.

The only time I see her consume what I consider to be a reasonable quantity of food is right after she gets home from school. Every day, she inhales a bowl of raspberries or blueberries. She is always running to and fro, all over the house, dragging out every toy she can find whilst balancing her little bowl in one hand and sucking the berries down faster than a Dyson. I usually follow her around to make sure she doesn't drop one of those $15 berries on the floor (Have you seen the price of raspberries lately? And why can't the kid eat cookies like everybody else?). I don't know how one manages to inhale berries while playing, I just know that she does.

At dinner, she rarely manages to swallow more than a bite or two of my gourmet cooking, and her little feet are in motion the entire time. If she's not walking back and forth between rooms and adults, she's dancing while balancing a macaroni noodle on her spoon. I honestly don't know the last time her bum actually sat in her chair. As for meals out, she usually manages to sit like a normal human being for 7.6 minutes. If food arrives in that time frame, she will sit and eat it nicely, sometimes even giving the mistaken impression that she is perhaps a bit lady-like. But once the timer in her head goes off, she's up and doing her best to roam like a B-52. (Do you have the song stuck in your head now? I do. Rooooam if you want to. Rooooam around the world . . .)

I know I should be glad that at least she's not playing Duck Duck Goose, but would it kill the kid to sit down and eat once in a while?

(I just know Miss Michelle from daycare is currently thinking that Alexis always sits and eats nicely at school. I am convinced that y'all drug or beat the kids in order to get them to do it. It's not normal for 20+ kids to sit in a chair at the exact same time. I refuse to believe othewise.)

Things I've Learned in the Past Week

- If you thought it was a wee bit embarrassing when your Toddler screams "Mommy potty" while using a public restroom, it will be exponentially more embarrassing when she yells "Mommy pooping" and someone a few stalls down, as if on cue, unleashes some sounds that you didn't know could come out of a human being. And then everyone sees you with the Toddler at the sink and thinks you are the disgusting person.

- You should never, ever step on the crack between an elevator and the floor outside. Instead, grasp tightly onto the wall, as if hugging it, and carefully step as far as you can across the threshold. Don't worry about the door closing because Mommy will hold it, thus irritating all other elevator passengers.

- If you thought it was gross when your Toddler went digging for buried treasure in her ear then promptly stuck the shovel/finger in her mouth, wait a few minutes. She will wait until you've forgotten all about the incident, start sticking her tongue out at you in hopes that you will follow suit and then will swipe her nasty little earwax-covered finger down your tongue. Mmmm . . . I know you're all jealous you didn't get some of that.

- Bulldogs do not like to wear coats, but they will if it means they can stay warm.



- Restaurants do not give out purple crayons. I know this because I save all the crayons Alexis gets when we eat out and stuff them in my purse for future use. (The girl LOVES to color.) After months of doing this, we still don't have a purple. I realized it yesterday when I really needed purple to finish my pretty picture.

- It's not a good idea to allow your Toddler to fall asleep in the car then wake her up when you get to the hotel. If you do it four nights in a row, she'll think that she's supposed to wake up in the middle of the night and will continue to do it long after you return home.

- It's really fun to run through the halls of a hotel. It's even more fun to yell while you run through the halls. Mommy will join in because if you're going to pay to be somewhere, you might as well have as much fun as possible doing it.



- Whatever this thing is that Alexis has caught, it's kicking her little butt. If she's not fever free all day tomorrow, she's going to have to go to the doctor. Germs suck.

- You can read Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed as many times as you want, discussing the dangers of jumping on a bed each time; it won't make a difference. When you put cousins together, they will jump on the bed. Repeatedly. At least none of these Monkeys fell off the bed:








(Thanks, Ashlee, for the Monkey photos!)

Halloween in Review

Happy Halloween! I bet some of you are here thinking you would get to see cute pictures of one little Toddler wearing the Halloween costume that she picked out all by herself. You would be wrong. I took her to the mall to have professional photos taken while wearing the costume (which I'm almost afraid to admit went really well) but they haven't emailed them to me yet. Since we returned, we have asked her about 15 bazillion times if she wants to dress up again and she says "NO!" We are talking about a kid that has worn that costume every day since she got it, sometimes for hours on end. But, hey, why wear it when it's time to Trick or Treat? Just because Daddy offered to take her around the neighborhood doesn't mean that she should cooperate, after all. And for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting the man, he could have sincerely offered to house monkeys in his butt and would have gotten less of a shocked reaction from me. The man does not do holidays, especially ones that involve knocking on strangers doors and begging for candy. I fear Alexis may have missed the one and only time he will make that offer.

While I do not presently have photos of Alexis in her costume, I do have other photos worth sharing. First, here's the lovely decor in the front yard, including my Uncle Larry:


You know you think Uncle Larry is a sexy beast. Don't try to hide it.


The Toddler who would not go Trick or Treating did assist with the candy distribution. It was probably only so she could make sure nobody stole her Kit Kats. By the way, you don't need someone to unwrap a Kit Kat before you eat it. It tastes just dandy with the paper left on it.




After the candy distribution came the pumpkin carving. Apparently, if you are suffering from a wicked sugar high, you need to climb way up high, on top of the table, in order to assist with the carving activities.



To be honest, though, the scariest part of this Halloween was at lunch when I made the critical error of feeding the Toddler a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.


Who knew she would try to lick the jelly off the bread?

Happiness by Any Other Name Should be Chocolate

There are times when I'm not entirely sure that Alexis is genuinely my child. When she eats an entire can of lima beans in one sitting, I suspect some foreign DNA must be involved. But then the kid who was too busy sliding out on the deck to acknowledge that I've been calling her for ten minutes will magically hear the muffled crackle of a candy bar wrapper and come running, and I'll know that's my girl. Honestly, I'm far more likely to pay attention for chocolate than I would be for my Mother, so I understand where she's coming from. And I find myself disturbingly relieved that chocolate has finally caught her attention.

Alexis has been a health food kind of kid for as long as I can remember. One of the first signs I had that I was pregnant was that I suddenly had zero interest in ice cream, french fries, and chocolate. And for those of you that know me, you can attest that pretty much all I eat is ice cream, french fries, and chocolate. I went through most of pregnancy unable to stomach the mere thought of junk food, let alone the taste. Clearly that weirdness was because my body had been invaded by a foreign object, and that foreign object prefers healthy food. Give her a choice between cookies and lima beans, and the girl will take the lima beans. While I'm all for it, I can't claim to understand.

So it came as a bit of a surprise to me when Alexis started to become a chocolate thief. Really I had no business buying Halloween candy over three weeks ago, again last week, and again today. I knew I would end up eating it at every available opportunity, but I didn't expect Alexis to start toddling up to me with her Frankenstein arms, pleading for a little piece of chocolate heaven. I have created a monster, and I think I'm proud of it. The smile in this picture? It's in celebration of the Kit Kat that is making it's way to her happy little mouth.

The More You Know

Allow me to impart some very valuable knowledge . . .

* Cheap crayons SUCK. Stick to Crayola.
* If you leave the water on long enough, the garden hose will explode. The Husband will probably explode as well, however, so you may not want to try this at home.
* A one-year old can figure out how to unlock a deadbolt, open a door, and run like Forrest straight into the street. Lather, rinse, repeat.
* You can survive on funnel cakes alone. It's easier to do if you have strawberries, ice cream, and whip cream handy.

Random

1. Recently I have taken to wandering the streets of a certain part of the Burgh that is chock full of college students. I find them fascinating, what with their young and oblivious ways. Take, for example, the lovely blokes who are currently camped out protesting the Iraq war. At first I thought it was all very cute. I personally never went through a phase where I thought going on a hunger strike would change the world, but I think it's just adorable that these four kids do. I imagine that they have pictured the results of their hunger strike as follows:

W is sitting in his big, white house talking to one of his drones and asks to see the live camera action from all over the US. (What? You don't think he watches us on super-top secret video cameras? Whatever, let's pretend that he does.) He pans down on Oakland, PA and spies four bewildered college students and reads (Yeah, yeah, yeah, pretend he reads, too. It's needed for the story I'm trying to tell.) on one of their signs that they are on day 11 of their hunger strike. He looks to his advisers then proclaims, "By golly, those kids are right! End the war now!"

Somehow I don't think that's how the story will end, but good for them for trying to make a difference. I do have one request for them while we're at it: just because you're not eating doesn't mean you shouldn't bathe. I'll think you're even more adorable if I can't smell you from down the block. Thanks!

2. I have a bye week in Fantasy Football this week. Try to hide your disappointment.

3. Alexis has FINALLY added the word "down" to her vocabulary. I taught her to say "up" in about 1.2 seconds a few months ago. The problem was that she decided that "up" is used for any change in position. So she was saying "up" to get up, and "up" to get down. That was all fine and dandy for a few days, but then it started to irk me that she can say "Everybody Awake!" (thanks a lot, Rachel), but not down. So I started trying to teach it to her. I'll be damned if she couldn't figure it out. Finally, within the past few days, she has started to say "down." Anytime "up" doesn't get her the immediate response she was looking for, that is. Up Down. Up Down. Up Down. In rapid succession. That's 90% of what comes out of her mouth these days. I do good work, don't I?

4. If you think I'm done being salty about this Starbucks thing, you are WRONG. Fall is ruined, RUINED I tell you, because of that 11 cent price hike. (What's that Starbucks? You didn't think I remembered how much a Grande Nonfat with Whip Pumpkin Spice Latte cost last year? Oh, but I do remember. $3.96) I know 11 cents probably doesn't sound like much, but that little price hike adds up fast. Really fast. You see, we donate all of our change to Alexis' piggy bank. She has accumulated quite the chunk of change that way. So last year she got 4 cents every time I bought my latte. This year, if I were to buy one (which I won't), she would be getting 93 cents. So really, that latte would cost me a whole extra dollar. Times five days in a week=$5. Times a whole lot of times that I would drink one=way more money that I'm willing to add to my coffee budget. Grr.

Did I mention that I'm just going to buy my Nonfat Caramel Macchiato every day to make the Pumpkin Spice Latte pain go away? It costs $3.75 to melt away the hurt. Perhaps I should go on a coffee fast and see if Starbucks will lower their prices. Or perhaps I should just shut up and show you a cute picture of Alexis sitting on a giant turtle statue at the Zoo. We'll go with that.

I Will Not Pay $4.07 for a Grande Nonfat with Whip Pumpkin Spice Latte

I am Poor.
I am Poor.
Poor I am.

That Poor-I-Am!
That Poor-I-Am!
I do not like
that Poor-I-Am!

Would you pay that for a latte?

I will not pay it,
Poor-I-am.
I will not pay it
Poor-I-am.

Would you pay it with some cash?

I would not pay it with some cash.
I will not pay it with my little stash.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

Would you pay it with some credit?

I would not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with some cash.
I will not pay it with my little stash.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

Would you pay it with other means?

I would not pay it with other means.
I will not pay it in your dreams.
I will not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with some cash.
I will not pay it with my litte stash.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

Would you pay it in a loo?
Would you pay it in a drive-thru?

I would not pay it in a loo.
I will not pay it in a drive-thru.
I will not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with other means.
I will not pay it in your dreams.
I will not pay it with some cash.
I will not pay it with my litte stash.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
In a rush?
Pay it! Pay it!
Here and now!

I would not,
could not,
in a rush.

It's not so bad.
You will see.
You can pay it
with a fifty!

I would not, could not with a fifty.
Not in a rush. Now let me be!

I would not pay it in a loo.
I will not pay it in a drive-thru.
I will not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with other means.
I will not pay it in your dreams.
I will not pay it with some cash.
I will not pay it with my litte stash.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

A gift card! A gift card!
A gift card! A gift card!
Could you, would you,
with a gift card?

Not with a gift card! Not in a rush!
Not with a fifty! Let me be!

I would not pay it in a loo.
I will not pay it in a drive-thru.
I will not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with other means.
I will not pay it in your dreams.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

Say!
In the cold!
Here in the cold!
Would you, could you, in the cold?

I would not, could not
in the cold.
Not with a gift card. Not in a rush.
Not with a fifty! I said let me be!

I would not pay it in a loo.
I will not pay it in a drive-thru.
I will not pay it with some credit.
I will not pay it with my debit.
I will not pay it with other means.
I will not pay it in your dreams.
I will not pay it, Poor-I-am.

I will not pay that for a latte!

Overheard in the Burgh Baby's House

Alexis: I'm hungry.
Me: Do you want a snack?
Alexis: Yes.
Me: Do you want strawberries, grapes, cheese, or crackers?
Alexis: Grapes, please.
Me: Here you go.
Alexis: Thank you.
Me: You're welcome.

Pretty mundane, right? That's what I thought at the time. But a few minutes later, while our 18-month old sat in her chair in the living room eating her grapes, I realized something. That was like an actual conversation, complete with good manners. It's almost like Alexis is a real human being or something. A polite human being. A year ago at this time she still wasn't crawling, and now she's nearly human. Amazing!

Random is Fun!

1. I have graduated to Mummy status. It's not quite Mommy, but I've still decided to start allowing olives again. I am the nicest Mummy of all time, I know.

2. When I put Alexis to bed, she's all "I would like to go to sleep now, please." When Daddy tries to put her to bed, it's "Well the $#%^ do you think you're doing? Hold me! Where's Mommy? I HATE YOU! Where's Mommy?" I had a work event this evening, and I'm still trying to pick up the pieces from the calamity that is Alexis + Daddy alone at bedtime.

3. A certain little narcissitic one-year old was looking at pictures and videos of herself on the computer earlier today and came across this oldie. There are about ten more animals in that book (whose pages she didn't land on that day) and she knows the sign for every single one. I'm not proud or anything.

Best Phone Call Ever

I still hate phones, but daycare just called me and I must admit, I'm so glad they did. For that call was the most amusing of amusing calls of all time.

Me: Hello? (Much hesitation in voice because wise and cherished caller ID already warned me it was daycare -- that can't be good.)

Daycare Owner Lady: Hi Burgh Baby's Mom. It's Daycare Owner Lady. Nothing is wrong with your baby.

Me: OK. (Much confusion in voice because if she's not sick, then this really can't be good--did she beat somebody up for touching her Play-Doh?)

Daycare Owner Lady: Can you pick Lexie up by 5:00 today? We're calling everybody because babies are throwing up all over teachers and teachers are a mess and we need to close early so that we can clean up and can you pick her up by 5:00?

Me: No problem (Still confused--I always pick her up before 5:00. Is there some sort of traffic disaster in my future that will prevent me from driving 11 miles in under 1.5 hours? Is there? Because if so, I'm leaving now. Oh and there's a little annoyance in my voice as well because I'm thinking "Freakin' frackin' don't call my kid 'Lexie' for goodness sake, you can call her Lex, Alex, Ali, Kinnley, A. Mac, or Poopsy for all I care, just don't call her Lexie. Grr.")

Daycare Owner Lady: Oh, good because it's really just such a mess here and wow the teachers are really just a mess and kids are throwing up all over the place and . . . (There was more, but my little brain lost the ability to focus on the run-on sentence and promptly shut down.)

Awesome, for -oh- so many reasons.

1. If I have to get puked on, everyone should get puked on. Yay!
2. Nobody bothered to tell me this thing was going around daycare last week. So take that! teachers and Daycare Owner Lady who didn't think it would be appropriate to tell me the flu was making the rounds. It circled right back to you, now didn't it?
3. That was the first time Daycare Owner Lady called and I actually got more than three words in. I consider that a personal victory.
4. My kid is not one of the sick ones. Oh wait, that's because she already had it. Darn.
5. The call came at 11:00 am. That's lunch time at daycare. Picture the scene as 50 maybe 60 kids all sit down to eat lunch then they start to get sick, one after the other. While I really do feel bad for the kids, that is still an awesome little image in my head.
6. There will likely be lots of absences at daycare tomorrow. Yay! More attention for Alexis!

Randomness (Again)

1. I don't know what everyone was freaking out about yesterday. I picked Alexis up at 4:30 and she was totally fine the entire evening. No whining, no cranking, no Tylenol, just her usual self.

2. We went to the Pittsburgh Children's Museum today. I can now say the Indy Children's Museum sucks. I downgrade it to a C.

3. After the Musuem, Alexis achieved greatness by throwing up all over herself and her car seat. Mmmm . . . my car now smells like grape Yogos. After dinner, she tried to shoot her dinner at me, but missed. Mmmm . . . chewed up grapes. The best one, though, was after I cleaned her up from dinner and was putting a new pair of pajamas on her. She didn't miss that time.

UPDATE: Daddy made popcorn. Alexis saw the popcorn. Alexis installed an extra stomach in her little body specifically for the purpose of holding popcorn. I'm really hoping that extra stomach isn't feeling as cranky as her other one because I'm really, really tired of cleaning puke off of Alexis and me.

ANOTHER UPDATE: The popcorn stomach wasn't happy either. Poor kid :-(