Like Buying the Cow a Martini

As a teenager, I decided quite suddenly that I should be a vegetarian.

I thought it would be more healthy, maybe help me lose a few pounds. Also? I lived in Northern California, a stone's throw from Berkeley. This decision may or may not have had something to do with the field trip my English class took to see "Macbeth" at the Berkeley Rep, followed by a walk down Telegraph and a stop at the Berkeley Whole Foods Market.

This also should probably have been the first clue that I would turn out to be something of a liberal. And a democrat. So there ya go, parents - there we see the fruits of molding an impressionable mind in the seat of American Liberalism.

Some of the ideas spawned in me in Northern California have stuck. The vegetarianism, however, lasted just under a week. To be specific, it lasted until my dad threw a few steaks on the charcoal grill.

I guess I'm just a carnivore at heart. I love red meat, and I eat my steak with a "the redder the better" mentality. Just shake a little black pepper on it, flame kiss that sucker, and plate it, please.

I have found, however, that I do actually have a limit when it comes to gratuitous consumption of living things. This epiphany comes courtesy of my husband, and his new favorite story out of Singapore.

I am referring to the delicacy dish of "Drunken Prawn". In the states, we get a dish called "Drunken Noodles" which generally just means there was a splash of some kind of liquor thrown into the sauce. Not so, Drunken Prawn.

A bowl of live prawns is brought to the table. The server then pours liquor over the top of the clamoring prawns, and the diner watches as their dinner gets good and schnockered, grows calm and sleepy.

The final flourish comes in one of two ways. Either the sleepy prawns are then carried back to the kitchen to be cooked up in a broth or some such... OR... for a big finish, the bowl of thoroughly drunken prawns and liquor are lit on fire, thus cooking the prawns alive.

According to T, this is delicious. According to me, that's a big NEGATIVE good buddy.

I refuse to equate the cows grazing in the nearby pastures to a delicious, juicy delmonico.

And you can bet I'm not about to bring the cow a nice martini before digging into my porterhouse.

Tick-Talk : Tick-Tock

I had to pull a teeny-weeny little tick off my arm. I'm pretty sure the head is still stuck somewhere in there. Reason #543267 that living in the country can be a pain in the posterior.

Also? 12 days.

12 days now I have been on my own, playing at "single mom". All I can say is, you moms who do this all the time? Holy crap, I'm not sure how you do it. The total lack of freedom, the inability to so much as brush your teeth without someone pulling on your pant leg and screaming for pizza at 6 o'clock in the morning. Usually I send the boys on their merry way to bug daddy in the morning. He gets a few minutes of quality (read: insanity) time with the boys, and I get to put my contact lenses in and answer nature's call without a play-by-play analysis of the action. ("Mom? Are you going to use the toilet paper, Mom? Because I don't have to use the toilet paper if I'm just going pee-pee. Why are you sitting down to go pee-pee, Mom?")

Last night I put the kids to bed and anesthetized my pain, just a little, with a few glasses of Pinot Noir. Also, I might have gone off the reservation just enough to leave myspace messages for a few friends. And quite possibly a celebrity. Actually, I'm pretty sure I did, because he replied this morning. Tip of the hat to him, by the way, as it now makes for a much better story.

Singapore Sling 2007 (as we will now officially refer to this particular Big Daddy business trip) has just been extended by another few days. Instead of returning home on Tuesday, as originally planned, Big Daddy T will be home at the end of the week some time.

I am, obviously, thrilled at this development. *cough*

So tonight the boys and I are ordering pizza and having a Disney marathon. For the rest of the week? Well, at least I have the Fall Season Premieres of some seriously good television to look forward to. Almost as good as a glass of Pinot for dulling the pain, y'all.

Mamarazzi. (Mamarazzo?)

Mamarazzo (TM). noun. : Mother who is obsessed with photographically capturing every moment of her children's lives, especially for scrapbooking. Which she never actually does, and therefore when her laptop finally gives up the ghost it consequently obliterates every photo she has ever taken of her children because she was too distracted, busy, and/or lazy to ever back up all the files.

Not that this has actually happened. But the sudden realization that it actually could go down like that? Has me scavenging the interwebs for a good backup drive. Does anyone still use zip drives any more? I think I still have some extra zip discs from college....

Jack! Want to be in a photo with Mama? No? Okay. I'll take a picture of myself then. All... alone. Oh! You DO want to be in the picture? Quick! Jump in!

Okay, Toby! Your turn! No? Can Mama just take your picture, then?

"No, you most certainly may NOT!"

Okay. That's how you want to play it? Photo by surprise attack it is.


Shoot. I really gotta start scrapbooking this stuff.
Right after I figure out what's causing that funny smell in the playroom. And fold the laundry. And unload the dishwasher. And reheat my coffee. And figure out what to make the boys for lunch... which reminds me, we really need to hit the grocery store before the weekend......


I'm sorry, what were we talking about, again?

UPDATE: I had no idea how appropriate the above photo would be for today.
As we arrived at Jack's preschool for today's drop-off, I fluffed his out-of-control hair and said "you know, buddy.. we're really going to have to cut your hair a little this weekend."

In front of the half-dozen or so other parents , Jack turned to chastise me with a twinkle in his eye. "If you do that again, I am going to BEAT YOUR BUTT!"

A heartbeat or two passed while I got over my shock, then I looked around at the other parents (standing horror-stricken around me). I managed a shrug and a very weak "Jack, I don't know where you get this stuff..." But I wasn't fooling anybody. And instead of the conspiratory "oh, I've so been there" smiles of sympathy I hoped to see, there were pointedly averted gazes.

Note to self:
1) Must find new way to reproach my child. (For the record, I don't actually beat his butt. I only threaten. Which is about as effective as karate chopping a waterfall.)
2) I really hope the averted gazes were in attempt to avoid bursting into laughter, rather than an uncomfortable judgment on my parenting skills. I'm gonna go with that. Yeah.

Sweet Things.

Pumpkin Pie Recipe and photos are up over at (much-neglected) Eat, Drink & Be Married!

Sweet tooth not satisfied? How about Jack's first day of school. Guaranteed to give you a few cavities - and possibly a case of the weepies. Or maybe that's just me.


Life with kids? It's a pretty sweet deal.

Thursday.

I survived. That's what I can tell you about this week, y'all.

Jack had his first day of preschool Monday. It was kismet - he and his school were meant for each other. Of course, it doesn't hurt that his teacher told me - after the first day - that she fell in love with him instantly. I'm totally okay with my kid being teacher favorite at this age. Note to self: be sure to give her a nice gift basket for Christmas.

T headed out for 2 weeks in Singapore, and now I'm just getting into the rhythm of the pick-up/drop-off routine and trying not to lose my mind being a "single" mama.

Of course, it helps that Toby naps during school times, so there are actually 2 quiet hours in my afternoon now. Today, I got the dishes done, moved some furniture, and still had time to rest my weary back for a few minutes before I had to wake Toby up to go get Jack with me.

It's a living, folks. But, all is not routine and dreary 'round these parts. Stay tuned for tomorrow, wherein I provide photographic evidence of the Pumpkin Pie I baked from scratch. Photographic is the only evidence available since, of course, the pie was consumed in a family orgy of gluttony. Pumpkin Pie is T's favorite, and with the exception of a sugar overage in the particular recipe I tried, I think he might have been reborn in the lightly-spiced goodness of the gourd.

I'm trying again tomorrow with a lower-sugar recipe and the remainder of the pumpkin that I baked and mashed. And if it happens to disappear in the next few days? Well... we'll just pretend we're all mystified by that.

And by "we", I mean you, me, and my hips, of course.

The Internets Were Broken.

I might have a problem. With the household internet acting up, and the wireless crapping out entirely for a few days, I began to get the shakes. When I logged into bloglines I had something like 200 new entries to catch up on. I caught up on my must-reads, then gave up and hit the "mark all read" button. It was all just too much to process.

I sepnt most of this week getting ready for Jack to start preschool next week. He has his first honest-to-goodness "school supplies" list, and I had a little moment of nostalgia as I stuck sticker labels with his name on his box of crayons, glue sticks, baby wipes and plastic snack cups. My handwriting even looked like my mother's to me.

By high school, I was begging her to please, PLEASE not label every notebook and pack of pens with my name. I think, though, that after 30 years of labeling kids' school supplies ... well, it was a hard habit for her to break. I still smile every time I look at the lid of the laundry hamper I've had since college. "Melissa R." Some habits are hard to break. Others, you don't want to break; they're your only coping mechanism for learning to let go.

Jack will be in preschool 5 days a week this year, in the afternoon class. This will be Toby's first real time alone with me, since last year half of our "free" time was spent driving to pick Jack up from his old preschool - 45 minutes away. The new school is just down the street, through the "downtown" part of our little town. I have visions of Toby and I dropping off a cheerful Jack at school and heading to the coffee shop for a bagel and a little face-time. Once I finish sniffling.

I think I need to find more things to write his name on.

And Then I Shaved The Cat's Rear End.

The long weekend was much more desperately needed than I realized. We took as much advantage of it as we could, grilling out for the first time in weeks, taking the kids to one last outing to the pool, and wandering the mall for a few hours. It had been years since I slurped on an Orange Julius, and - good grief - did I forget what a sugar rush those suckers cause.

Stressed is an understatement for what I have been feeling lately. First came the smiley-face-and-legal-threat-filled email from a woman demanding I change the name of my portrait business. She felt it was too similar to hers, which is patently ridiculous but, in light of the drama with the HOA last year, I'm in no hurry to ever get involved in a legal case again. So, bingo, name changed.

Thursday, a kid from the neighborhood comes around raising money for the local baseball team. Apparently they were invited to the Tokyo invitational, and the fundraiser was soliciting donations to pay for books for the pediatric unit at the local hospital. I was in the middle of putting Toby down for a nap, and the kid pointed vaguely down the street - "My folks, do you know Kathy and Dr. X?" "Nope." Kid continues. I'm tired. I feel guilty enough that I write him a check for the lowest donation amount. I put Toby down, then get on the internet and double check the kid's story.

Yup. You guessed it. Total fabrication.

So this morning the company gets an angry phone call from me. Apparently, I have until midnight tonight to postmark a cancellation, and they'll return my check. Also? If I enclose a "statement" about the lying piece of crap sales guy who fed me his cock-and-bull story? They'll "put it on file". Yeah. Thanks for that.

And in case you're not done hearing me whine? Poor Cassie, our long-haired cat, has been getting horrid snarly knots lately. We've been cutting them out one at a time as we found them, but lately they've been coming fast and furious. So, today? I shaved her butt.

Officially? I am not in the greatest of moods today.

There is, of course, only one solution. The boys and I? We require ice cream. STAT.