Tuesday, April 28, 2009

You and Me and a Griddle Makes Three

Scott and I were strolling the aisles at Kohl's a few weeks back when we both spied the most glorious invention ever...

The electric griddle.

Considering that we have been using our tired, old, purchased-off-the-top-shelf-at-the-grocery-store electric skillet since 2002, we decided it was time to upgrade. Plus, I had a 20% off coupon! And you can't let that go to waste.

So we bought it. And I have made a mean breakfast every Saturday morning since. Mean in the sense that it is dang good, and also in the sense that it could give you a heart attack without an ounce of guilt. (Is there such a thing as healthy griddle-cooking? Wait...don't tell me. I don't want to know.)

The kids got in on the excitement, too. Even Owen (our self-declared toddler vegan) ate a slice of BACON that was fried to perfection on the griddle last Saturday. Bacon!! Maybe he's a true Nebraskan after all.

I had a momentary panic attack on Sunday when I learned about the swine flu sweeping the nation, but a quick visit to google reassured me that you can't catch the flu via bacon.

Thank goodness. What kind of a world would that be?

Monday, April 27, 2009

My Daughter the T-Ball Prodigy

As I may have mentioned in an earlier post (albeit through a form of Japanese poetry), it is now baseball season. Baseball and I have a contentious relationship, I must admit. It first seduced me way back in the day when Scott and I moved to Saint Louis, and I went to my first Cardinals game. I fell in love with the rag tag team of players, the excitement of the crowd, and I'm not ashamed to admit, the stadium nacho's.

I got so attached, I learned all the players' names. And their positions. And the little individualized clips of music they'd play as each player came up to bat. When that first season was over, I was sad. And I looked forward to the next season when I would see all my Cardinal buddies again.

Except I didn't realize something about baseball. The harsh reality is that half the team gets traded every season, and you have a whole new crop of players every year. I felt so used, so abandoned. How could my favorite little outfielder now play for the Cubbies, the Cardinals' arch-nemesis?? And how could that cute catcher guy have moved all the way out to San Francisco to play for the Giants?? Have they no sense of decency?? Does commitment mean NOTHING anymore?? Despite Scott's best efforts to convince me otherwise, baseball has never been the same for me since that first summer of innocent love.

The jury is still out on whether or not Ashley, Aidan and Owen will be the baseball fans that I tried and failed to be. Nevertheless, in honor of the start of baseball season, I'm reposting below an entry that I posted last year in my private journal describing Ashley's foray into the sport we all love and know as T-ball. Back then, it didn't look promising... Who knows what this spring will bring?

Originally written in April 2008:

One thing you all may not know about my husband is that he is a SERIOUS baseball fan. He often likes to tell me a little story about how baseball is really a chess game...

Scott: Baby, have I ever told you about how baseball is really a game of chess?

Me: Yes, baseball is chess, I got it.

Scott: But seriously, it's so fascinating because...

Me: (at this point my brain goes into "La La La" mode)

Scott: Blah blah blah....chess...blah blah blah...baseball...blah blah blah...chess.

Me: Yes, I love baseball. I love chess. Baseball is chess. Can I go now?

He looooooooooooves baseball. Specifically, he loves the St. Louis Cardinals. So much so that the one condition he placed on us moving back to Nebraska was that he could order the Major League Baseball channel on digital cable so he would still have access to every.single St. Louis Cardinals game.

Now I, on the other hand, am not a sports person. I do not like to play them or watch them. I am not very coordinated, do not like to perspire, and generally do not like being outdoors when the temperature is greater than 75 degrees. I don't look good in sneakers, I don't like being chased around and I don't like balls flying around in the air because they tend to hit me in the head. I only watch the SuperBowl for the commercials, and it irritates me that March Madness extends into April.

So my husband and I are perfectly matched, except for this sports issue. I can't tell you how many times he has tried to get me to join a co-ed softball or volleyball league, to which I respond every single time "Do you even know me at all??"

So imagine Scott's delight when it becomes apparent that Miss Ashley Belle is a tomboy. Does she want to wear dresses, watch princess movies, or play with dolls and purses, despite my best efforts?? Absolutely not. She would much rather be outside in jeans rolling around in the mud, kicking a ball, climbing fences, etc. So Scott has had high hopes for his little Ashley Belle, that she would be as much of a baseball fan as he is.

That is, until we bought her a T-Ball set.

The T-Ball set has sat unopened in our garage for months, dusty from the winter, just waiting for the first signs of spring so that it could be busted open and turn our little daughter into a T-Ball prodigy. So we finally brought it out on Sunday and set it up in the backyard, so Scott could begin teaching her all the chess-like aspects of baseball he'd been wasting on his unappreciate wife for all this time...

"Okay, Ashley....this is how you do it...You SWING the bat and HIT the ball!!!"

Orrrr, you could just tap it very, very gently.

Orrrr, you could hit it like a pool cue.

Orrr, you could use a big beach ball instead...

Orrr, you could just take the ball and bat into your playset...

And throw the bat down the slide...

And then slide down after it. Yeah, that's much more fun!!!

Poor Scott. Well, at least she has her baseball card pose down pat...maybe she's girlier than I thought she was. ;-)




It was shoved between the boxspring and the footboard of our bed.

Now I no longer need to wonder what the heck happened to it.

Or question Scott as to why our bedroom smells like [insert various gross object or behavior here].

In our defense, it really didn't smell like spoiled milk. Or I guess what we thought spoiled milk would smell like. (And that should tell you something about us - we are so sanitary we can't even properly identify the smell of spoiled milk! It's no wonder we weren't able to locate/identify the sippy cup until now! We are too hygienic for our own good! And no, I am not being defensive!!)

Thankfully it was somewhat warm, if a bit rainy, this weekend - so we were able to throw the bedroom windows open and clear the room of the non-spoiled milk smelly smell.

I am pleased because the room once again smells like spring with a hint of eucalyptus. Scott is pleased because I am no longer blaming the smell on him. The kids are displeased because sippy cups filled with milk now must stay at the kitchen table or be returned promptly to the fridge.

All is well.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

You Can Call Me Elle

A pipe burst in my office building earlier this week. Luckily my office was spared, but the hallway outside my office was not so lucky.

There are currently big fans blasting away out there in an attempt to dry out the drywall.

On the downside, the fans are very noisy and it makes it hard for me to concentrate (hence, why I'm blogging in the middle of the afternoon).

On the upside, everytime I walk down the hallway my hair gets blown back from my face in such a way that I feel like a supermodel. I'm also wearing heels today, which of course make me walk with attitude.

Who would have thought that water damage could improve morale? They just need to play some runway music over the PA, and I'll be all set.

Monday, April 20, 2009

That's the way it was and we liked it!

So apparently yesterday's post was my 100th post!

I think that's a big deal or something. Or maybe it's only a big deal when it doesn't take you almost a year of blogging to get there. But hey - quality, not quantity, right? Although quality + quantity would be okay, too, I guess. But definitely not quantity without quality, of course.

(So far, I rate this post a solid "2" on the quality-o-meter. Don't worry, there's still time to rally.)

Anyhow, I wondered how I should celebrate this momentous occasion. So many possibilities...
  • A sentimental post about how much the kids have grown since I started blogging?
  • A depressing post about how many grey hairs (Scott) and wrinkles (me) the kids have given us since I started blogging?
  • A funny post involving some sort of wordplay with the number 100 and whatever hilarious antics the kids were up to that day?

Or, I could just skip the post and celebrate with $0.99 Seven Layer Nacho's from Taco Bell. My God, they have guacamole on them!!!

Happy 100th post to me. :-)

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Words of Wisdom

Today Ashley walked up to me with a baby doll, and said "Mommy, let's pretend."

(She loves to pretend lately.)

So I said, "Okay, what are we pretending?"

And she said, "We need to take care of this baby."

So I said, "Aw, you're such a good little mommy!"

And she said, "No. You be the mommy. I'll be the Nana."

She's quite perceptive, my little Ashley. Apparently she's noticed that being a mommy can bring you to the brink of insanity. Being a Nana, on the other hand, means you just have to bring the ice cream.

Mom, I'm sorry for everything I ever did that made you crazy when I was growing up.

I'll take chocolate, please. :-)

Thursday, April 16, 2009


This week was Scott's birthday.

We celebrated with BBQ ribs and chocolate cake.

Ashley had two pieces. The boys only ate the sprinkles.

Then we cranked up the classic rock radio station and danced. Who knew that the kids love George Thorogood?

Later, I channeled Marilyn Monroe and sang happy birthday to him. He grinned and bore it.

I also told him that everytime I hear this song, I think about how much I love him. It's no George Thorogood, but it still makes me happy.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Knock Knock Jokes for Preschoolers

I've been trying to teach Ashley some knock-knock jokes, with little to no success.

Take 1:

Ashley: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Ashley: Uhhhhhhh....

Me: :whispering: ... "interrupting cow."

Ashley: Oh! Anernuper...

Me: MOO! Heh heh. Oh wait, I think we did this one backwards.

Take 2:

Ashley: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Ashley: Uhhhhhh.....tank?

Me: Tank who?

Ashley: Bless you!

Me: Well, not quite. Good effort, though.

Take 3:

Ashley: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Ashley: Uhhhh....

Me: :whispering: ... "Ach."

Ashley: Ach!

Me: Ach who?

Ashley: You're welcome!

Me: Criminy.

Take 4:

Ashley: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Ashley: Banana!

Me: Banana who?

Ashley: Banana.....orange.....uhhhh.....cross the road.....chicken!

Me: How about we call it a day.

Watch out, Comedy Store, here we come.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Opening Day Haiku

Farewell, my husband
Your red bird mistress beckons
See you in the fall

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Dating for Dummies

Scotty and I went out on a date today.

I think.

It involved shopping and a little errand-running. And lots of talk about the kids. And the budget. But it also included lunch. And, I wore lipstick.

So that counts as a date, right?

It was very confusing to be out and about in the middle of the day without our children. We were all out of sorts. I ordered macaroni and cheese for lunch, for crying out loud. It was fancy mac n' cheese, but still.

I tried to be romantic and told Scott I won't ever wear matching sweatsuits or get an old lady haircut, even when we're 60 years old. He reminded me that I'd have to work out in order to justify buying a sweatsuit, so he didn't need to worry about it.

Then I tried to convince him to drive to the Barnes & Noble where we first met so we could go in and make out like 22 year olds again, but he didn't go for it. Which was a fortunate decision for anyone who happened to patron Barnes & Noble this afternoon.

Apparently, we're rusty at this whole dating thing.

But when we were leaving, Scott saw that it was raining and told me to stay put. Then he ran out to get the truck and picked me up at the front door so I wouldn't get drenched.

Some things never change.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Darwin Would Be Proud

My little girl is growing up. If you're in the mood for a long rambling tale, settle in and I'll tell you why.

Tonight we watched Go Diego Go on Noggin. The kids actually prefer Diego's cousin Dora the Explorer to Diego himself, but I for one prefer Diego. The music is a lot zippier. And I love to jam out to the "Rescue Pack" song.

Yo Rescue Pack! Comin' to the RES-cue! AWWWWW Rescue Pack!


Anyways, back on topic.

So, Go Diego Go tells the tale of a little boy (i.e., Diego) who spends his time rescuing exotic animals that get themselves into various pickles. Today Diego rescued a pygmy marmoset.

shared by Dries Arnolds

Cute little fella, huh?

Well, after a bunch of rigamarole about the pygmy marmoset having a boo-boo on its paw, and needing to eat some kind of special syrup or something, the exciting part of Go Diego Go kicked in...the part where the animal of the day does something stupid and almost gets itself killed by whatever animal happens to be listed higher up than it in the food chain.

Of course, this is a show for preschooler's - so they don't actually show natural selection in action, or even discuss it for that matter. Instead, Diego says "Oh no! The [insert animal of the day] is AFRAID of [insert predator animal]!" Then your preschooler is supposed to yell out instructions given by Diego that will help the animal not be "afraid" anymore. Something along the lines of "duck and cover!" or "stop, drop and roll!" Or something like that.

Today, Diego said "Oh no! The pygmy marmoset is AFRAID of hawks!"

And Ashley looked at me knowingly and said,

"Mommy, that hawk's gonna eat that monkey."

Diego's not gettin' anything past my Ashley.