Thursday, December 28, 2006


There are lots of stories, but I'll just show you the pictures for the sake of getting to bed by midnight.

We started out by opening our presents to each other on Christmas Eve (before The Dad went to work). I got a new pair of red boots (all weather!) and a new red vest. The Dad got a Yoga for Sports Conditioning Set and a new jacket, and The Goose, well ...

He got trains.


Trains with simple circular tracks.


Trains with larger circular tracks and helicopters hovering over the tracks with the capability to pick up cargo if one has just enough hand-eye coordination.


And then we went to Macy & Grandaddy's. Where there were not only gifts and tractors, but Mama's old rocking chair ("with spy-dahs" -- spiders). Here are the highlights ...

Two Guys Eatin' Goldfish on a Tractor

Farm hands need their nourishment.

Playing Money with Macy

"Playing money" with Macy on his new table and chairs was a big hit. That cash register was my toy in the early 80s. Notice that there's also a John Deere cell phone, some playdoh with a landshark cutout, and whole plethora of other gifts spread out on the table.

Ready for Mud

One of the biggest hits of all, however, was the pair of rainboots. Above he is heading out for a day on the tractor with stops at all of the local mud puddles for splashing. It's kinda like when you go on a cruise to the Bahamas, and you get to stop at lots of little islands and other attractions along the way.

That Little Chair:  I sit.

And this (above) is my favorite picture ... he fell in love with my old rocking chair and each time he sat down in it, he had to tell the story of how Macy had to clean out the "spy-dahs" from underneath it.

Chillin' with G-Diddy

Finally, he was super excited to find out that his Toddler Memory game included a set of TRACTOR cards, and that they seemed to be John Deere, of course.

I hope you all had a very happy holiday and that the new year brings you luck, health and wealth. To enhance your chances of acquiring the latter three things, you might consider having some cabbage and blackeyed peas on New Year's Day. It's helped us tremendously. Except maybe in the wealth category. Though wealth can be measured in numerous ways ...

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Peekaboo with a Diaper (while covered in ginger)

Well I have now made enough Christmas cookies and pumpkin bread to kill a man. I have probably used an entire wheat field and enough crisco that even just making the cookies (not eating them, mind you) might have blocked some of my arteries. Oh and did I mention the Chocolate Chip Star Bars? Every year when I finish my grading at the end of the fall semester, I always have about a week to burn a whole bunch of baked goods and/or drop them en route to delivery. But this year ... this must be my year (despite the two root canals). I only burned one batch and successfully delivered all of the other ones via stroller to all of B's coworkers and via Subaru to all of mine.

Meanwhile ... see this does have a Goose-related sidenote ... as I bake, The Goose busies himself with various tasks such as taking out the chicken bouillon cubes and putting them back in and/or dumping out ginger into his special pink bowl and getting it all over his new shirt (see above). He does participate in some of the cookie making, but since he's never really all that clean, I try to keep him away from the give aways. He's really into the snowflake cookies with blue icing but don't get him anywhere near the Santa Claus cookies with a marshmallow hat tassle, coconut shavings for a beard, chocolate chip eyes, and a red hot nose. Unh-uh. He also likes the snowman cookies, because he's completely enamored by Frosty the Snowman these days since Great Aunt Myrtle sent him a Frosty snow globe which was broken within 10 minutes of opening. She also sent a Frosty book, and now everytime we read (excuse me, "SING!!!") the book, we have to re-hash the story of how the snowman got broken and we were all so sad (especially Mama, who was down on her hands and knees digging out broken glass from under the refrigerator while the dad looked on and consoled The Goose (not that I'm bitter at all, but doesn't it seem like men always get the easy jobs?). It's so good that I'm never bitter about those kinds of things, because otherwise my life would be just miserable, you know?

Goose is really into the skill of narration now, and will often repeat various key words until I finally understand and recite the story (with his help). For example, recently we were in the bathroom preparing for our toothbrushing ritual when we noticed that there was a fly perched atop his Beaver Toothbrush. Apparently this was extremely memorable, because now we have to tell the story each time we brush. It goes something like this ...

Goose: FIE! FIE!! FIE!!!

Mama: Yes, one time a fly got on your toothbrush.

Goose: YUCKY!

Mama: Yes, it was yucky.

Goose: Had to get new one.

Mama: Yep, we had to get a new toothbrush.

Goose: Sing it FIE!!!

Mama: And then we sang that song, "Shew fly, don't bother me, shew fly don't bother me, shew fly don't bother me 'cuz I belong to ..."


The most bizarre things stick in his head. Like the time we went camping and he had hot apple cider. Now everytime we say a prayer he thanks God for apple cider. He also thanks God for Seiya and Mana, two of my former students who babysat for him twice.

And if he says that he sees something en route to Target (we've been to Target a lot lately), then don't you dare doubt it, because in a few seconds you will realize that, yes, indeed, there is a yellow jeep and a big 18-wheeler at the "RED LIGHT STOP." As a side note, I taught him to say, "Red light -- stop, green light -- go, yellow light -- SPEED UP!" His Dad wasn't all that amused.

ION ...

We are almost ready for Christmas, which we will spend this year with Macy & Grandaddy in Mississippi. Tonight I spent 10 minutes decoding the following Goosese: "Grandaddy's tractor. Mississippi. Pulls a bullfrog." I kept saying, "Bullfrog"? What bullfrog? And then I remembered, Grandaddy's tractor pulls a "bush-hog." Amphibians, tractor implements, it's all just details. Details schmetails ... it's the main ideas that matter.

In Kimmy news, we have now set up a Kim Laden Color-Coded Terror Alert System in order to warn friends and family members about my moods on any given day. I think maybe my mental dilemmas are going to get better once I resolve all my dental dilemmas, but lately I have been a piece of work. Last week I finished up my second root canal and today I went back to my regular dentist to have them put on my temporary crowns while I lay there in a valium-induced haze. Unlike the endodontist, my regular dentist won't give the nitrous oxide gas on account of the "liability," so I talked him into giving me a prescription for some valium. Not as good as the gas, but much better than me attempting to survive that drill by using my yoga breathing. Now don't get me wrong, yoga breathing can do some serious good. It's how I endured 8 hours of labor. But that drill ... it must have been created by The Devil Himself. My poor sweet 12-year old dentist didn't know what to think as I staggered into the exam room and said, "If you get that drill stuck in my lip I'm taking you to small claims court just like I did with Northwest Airlines. And this time, I won't lose."

So the trip today was relatively painless other than the part where I decided (while Husband was having his teeth cleaned and I was all done) that I needed my bottom tooth (#18) filed down a little more and that it would be OK if The Goose accompanied me back to the exam room (two valium tend to impair your mothering skills). The dental assistant warned him that the drill was going to "make a noise like a motorcycle," but that clearly was not a good preface and a really loud meltdown occurred. All day he kept whimpering and whispering the word "motorcycle." We're training him early in Anti-Dentite Dogma.

Ever since my first root canal (which must've been at least two months ago), I have been wanting to tell y'all the story about that first root canal. But I also wanted to wait to tell it out of fear that making fun of the dental assistant might jinx me for the second one. The first two-hour Torture Period wherein I got whiplash from all the jerking and whatnot was definitely worse. Seriously, I think Sedation Dentistry is so brilliant (but since it's not covered by our insurance, it is completely unaffordable). During my two visits to the endodontist (who has two of his children working with him as endodontists), I had two different dental assistants, both of whom were extremely interesting characters. Despite the fact that I brought headphones and made it perfectly clear by closing my eyes that I was happy in my nitrous haze, they both felt the need to indulge me with conversation. The first one, whose boyfriend owned a chain of those all-in-one video store tanning beds, kept telling me how her first husband had really done her wrong and left her with a lot of debt. A musician. And now her motto is "WITHOUT FINANCE, THERE WILL BE NO ROMANCE."

Or how about the second dental assistant I got who told me all about every single Lifetime movie she had ever watched. In particular, there was one about a little boy with polio whose best friend was trying to save him by saving up his money and collecting donations. But then he lost the ALL the money -- a grand total of $10 and she just kept thinking, "Why didn't he just put it in his sock!?!?!!??" and it was so, so sad and she just sat there and squalled and boo-hood herself into a tizzy. Thank goodness the doctor came in before I had to hear about the happy ending.

And aren't you glad that I have now relayed that same innane plot to you?

I think that's enough of this.

Merry Christmas to all!

p.s. Click the picture above to see some recent shots of our lives.

Thursday, December 14, 2006


Would you believe I have not taken one picture this week? Me of the 30 per day only a year ago. Oh well, the semester is almost over and then I'll get back into the swing. This photo was taken one year ago at Nana & Gampy's house. He's a lot bigger now. And sassier.

I don't have much steam tonight after having spent the day finishing up my application for the Procrastinator of the Year Award. I have now completed my Database of Names/Addresses of Family/Friends and have successfully merged it into a Word document with an Avery labels template to create address labels for our Christmas cards, which arrived today. That's part of my application too. Anything for an award. Anything to avoid grading 25 argumentative research papers with titles such as, "To Spank or Not to Spank" or "Pre-Arranged Marriage: The Bane of Civilization" or "It's Not Your Credit Card That's Bad, It's YOU: The Upside of Easy Credit." On the one hand I am thrilled not to be reading about the same old same old topics of abortion, legalization of marijuana, and the like (all of which I banned this year), but on the other hand it just seems wrong not to be doing more baking or shopping or tree trimming.

Meanwhile, in Gooseland ...

Last night we took our old babysitter (one of B's former students) out for pizza since she came home from her first semester of college with a 4.0! While there The Goose entertained himself with a section of pizza dough and an empty salad dressing bowl. Put in a piece of dough. Take out the dough. Put in the dough violently. Take out the dough violently. Listen to Mama remind you about being gentle at the table. Put in the dough gently. Take out the dough violently.

Finally -- since we were seated in the PEOPLE WITH CHILDREN section -- another family came with a kid his age. Little girl, pink jacket, baby brother, they brought crayons. The next thing we knew he was "ALL DONE!" and "Wanna get down go see that girl." So off he goes. Pulls out a chair, climbs up, grabs a crayon. I go over, clear it with the mom. Five minutes later, I'm engrossed in conversation, basking in the bliss of his being entertained by something other than me singing "Jingle Bells" or the "Bob the Builder" theme song repeatedly. Then I hear Brian say, "Uh, Kim, I think he just ate one of their chicken wings."

Verdict: "It's HOT. Too hot. Nose run! Eyes. Hurt eyes."

What will he be if not a politician?

That's all I've got for now. Tune in next week for the recap of all our various last-minute Christmas parties and possibly a description of my two root canals which are now OVER and that's all that matters. For two hours on two separate days I was in a nitrous oxide haze and you know some good stories can come out of that.

Check your mailboxes!

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Making Cookies

Click the picture for more shots of a flour- (and love-) covered kitchen.

And sprinkles.

Did I mention sprinkles?

Everywhere, just like the love.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

If there's gonna be any shootin' ...

I'd best be gettin' my sleep.

Three months after he received the cowboy hat as a gift from Aunty Amy, he develops an interest in wearing it. But ONLY while we read bedtime stories.


Tonight I actually said, "If you don't get in that bed then I'm gonna go jump in the lake." And he replied, "Mama go jump in that lake. It's code (cold)." And then he said, "More green toothpaste pease."

It's the preferences that get me.

Today it was 25 degrees after he woke up from his nap and the only thing I could think of to do was go to Target. So off we went. Two hours we were there. We stuck to my schedule: "First we have to shop and you can drink strawberry milk (Horizon Organic -- there's a Starbucks @ Target), then we can go look at toys."

"I look at toe-ees. Toe-eees. Go go Mama."

I always spend $80 at Target. No matter what, I spend $80. Which is why I am only allowed to go there once in a while.


And so while he was there, I made a mental to-do list, which went something like this:

  • Make a computer database of family/friends names/addresses so it won't be necessary to address holiday cards by hand anymore.
  • Take The Goose to a soup kitchen to give him the gift of Perspective.
  • Buy at least one Christmas gift before December 15.
  • Remember to comment on Nujhat Jabeen's argumentative research paper about WHY PARENTS SHOULD NEVER SPANK THEIR CHILDREN.
  • Research "herbal cures for eczema" on the Internet.

Meanwhile, The Goose entertained himself by checking out every tractor, dump truck, bulldozer, and steam engine. He also ate goldfish crackers out of someone else's cart while I was trying to decide whether 1% hydrocortisone is too much for a toddler's eczema problem. Wouldn't .5% be better? Yes, but they don't carry it anymore.

"Look it, Mama. A godefish."

"What goldfish?"

"It's right here."

Right here in this cart beside the nice mom of five children including two-year old twins and a pre-teen wearing a spiked dog collar. Just when you need to feel better about your life, the good Lord provides.

I made him say "thank you" -- what else can you do? Thief.

Actually, that comment about wanting to jump in the lake had nothing to do with today's thievery, cowboy hat preferences, the green toothpaste incident, or the insistence upon reading Dump It by Darice Bailer (starring Dave the foreman of a dump truck crew) fourteen times in a row. It was because half of my life I spend trying to figure out who I should be mad at: the rest of the world, or myself.

He's had a runny nose for the past coupla days. So, in order to prevent the clear stream from turning yellow-green, I douse him with "Little Noses" saline spray before naps and bedtime and then suction it out with a nasal aspirator. He hates this process, and gets back at me by making a habit of -- on his way to bed -- finding the USED nasal aspirator on the bedside table ...

WARNING: If you have a thing about snot or germs, skip down a coupla paragraphs.

... putting it in his mouth and sucking on it. Every time. WHY CAN'T I JUST REMEMBER TO PUT IT OUT OF HIS REACH?

So then I'm all in a tizzy, running around saying, "Don't put it in your mouth!!! It's NASTY!!!!!"

"Is nah-uh-stee," he mimics.

I give up.

And one more relatively positive, holidayish thing before I give up on this night. I LOVE this Santa Claus thing. It is the world's best threat. So whenever I get a glimpse of even the Prelude to a Misbehavior Sonata, I whip out the Santa Claus speech. Brilliant. Works every time.

And the best part about it all is that this is what he would tell you about S.C.:

"Come down a chimmey. Bring chock-it (chocolate)."

Sweet! Chocolate is SO much cheaper than TMX Elmo.

Thursday, November 30, 2006


That this post is boring can be directly blamed on Aunt Amy, who, during her Thanksgiving visit said, "Don't you feel too pressured to write EVERY Thursday night?" And ever since then I've been dreading tonight because I feel pressure.

But here's what happened before The Dad got a Quasi-Flu: HOW TO PIN A GOOSE:

First, you get tagged by said Goose:
How to Pin a Goose

Then, he runs, that Goose:
How to Pin a Goose

Last, you just pin him down:
How to Pin a Goose

Our week has not been boring, so it's really too bad that this post is. Oh well. Better luck next time.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Thanksgiving 2006

Well now. There are several phrases that can sum up the holiday for The Kimster. The simple noun phrase, "GRAVY" being the first. After that there's pie, homemade rolls, and dressing. Turkey? Who cares? Not when there's a ton of other stuff (all made with margarine and/or lard, I might add). I could've had a vegetarian Thanksgiving if it weren't for that heavenly gravy.

And the day BEFORE the relatives arrived, I spent an entire naptime -- stop, read it again -- an ENTIRE naptime (do y'all realize how precious naptime is?), making not just sweet potato pie, but sweet potato pie with an oak leaf crust and acorn filigree center. I did have a cut-out pattern for the leaves. But those acorns ... they were hand carved from what started out as a shamrock. An entire naptime. Why can't I just be mediocre and call it a day?

Oh, that's right ... there's the matter of photos, where "mediocre" would be a compliment. I took a grand total of maybe five (counting the one Husband took). That's borderline "poor" and definitely "needs improvement."

For the Goose, Thanksgiving 2006 can be summed up with several phrases:

Cranberry Sauce:


(Note: I took these two TODAY -- after everyone left -- brilliant.)

The good kind (not from a can):


Whipped cream:

Apple Pie with Lotion

Nevermind the all-organic apple center and the delicious cinnamony crust.

Baby Jack & Gampy:

Gampy & Baby Quack

Tow-truck pajamas:


(Hand sewn by Nanny. The Dad has a matching pair.)


Uncle Todd -- GO SUCKERS!

And I quote: "Uncle Todd likes football. TOUCHDOWN! Go SUCKERS (huskers)!"

(Note: Uncle Todd also likes McDonald's. Even when there are homemade blueberry muffins with streusel tops at home on the counter, still warm from the oven. Not that it matters. Even though we DID have to exit off the interstate on the way home from the airport in order to satisfy his bacon, egg, & cheese biscuit craving. Not that it matters in the least. Really.)

Let's see. Now you should be wondering where are the pictures of The Dad, The Mimi, The Aunty Amy, The Mama (bursting with cuteness in her Autumn-themed socks), The Nanny (who cooked practically everything despite a sore back from a leaf-raking incident). Yes, I'm wondering where are those pictures too.

Poor, poor, poor.

And here's the other thing to wonder about: WHY AM I STILL EATING THAT GRAVY EVEN THOUGH NONE OF MY PANTS WILL BUTTON AND IT'S NOT EVEN DECEMBER YET? I am quite sure that good, thankful pilgrim women did not gorge themselves with a substance made from animal drippings and white flour. And yet.

But thankful I am and happy it was.

Check out Jack's blog for more. His mama got a fancy new camera for her birthday, so she had no problem remembering to take photos. Plus I was busy chasing a toddler. She'll understand one day.

Let the holidays begin!

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Minnesota Trip

In an effort to make up for my ridiculous Pity Party Post, I'd like to announce that photos from the recent Minnesota Trip to Visit Great Grandpa B are now available for your perusal.

Click here.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Sunshine & Rainbows

Today I had sort of a bad day. Not devastatingly bad in the grand scheme of things, but still I wonder sometimes how my brain can take such everyday and normal tasks and morph them into monsters lurking behind armchairs waiting to pounce on me while I’m just trying to get the stupid laundry done.

The synopsis is that it started out good with work but ended with a snotty toddler whose favorite word is “no” and who (we just got the call from the awards committee!) is now in the running for World’s Most Dramatic Tantrum Thrower. At one point prior to bedtime I seriously considered the pros and cons of crawling underneath the area rug to hide while I yanked out my hairs one. By. One.

My gray hairs.

I mean, how did those 19th century farm women do it? … nine or so kids, no washing machines or dishwashers … churning their own butter, sewing clothes, keeping everyone moral, and not even thinking about taking Prozac? I wouldn’t have made it. I cannot even deal with one child, one almost full-time job, and some minor housekeeping duties.

But I think that maybe part of it can be attributed (at least today’s challenges) to my attempt to make Asian Peanut Sauce. Thank the good Lord that my husband bought egg noodles in bulk during his last visit to Kroger because my culinary experiments tonight were real live proof that the third time’s the charm. I am not even exaggerating: THREE times I tried to make this stir-fry meal (during which time The Goose made quite a scene of throwing himself prostrate at my feet declaring, “HEEEeeeeellllppp Mama!!!!!!!!!!” as if he were clinging to the side of a cliff rather than just attempting to remove the cap from the Playdoh container.

a trailer on the back of that tractor

He woke up from his nap in this horrendous mood which involved sporadic crawling around on the floor screaming NOoooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I met him at the top of the stairs and said,

“Would you like some apple juice?”

“NOOOOooooo!!!!!!!!!!” (cue crawling, writhing, head banging, and gnashing of teeth)

“OK, can you think of anything else you’d like to drink?”

“NOOOOoooooo!!!!!!!!!” (more dramatics) “I want APPLE JUICE!!!!!! APPLE JUICE!!!!”

“OK, let’s go downstairs and get some apple juice.”

“NOOOOOoooo!!!!!!!!!! Go DOWNSTAIRS! Get apple juice!!!!!!!!!!!” (crawl, writhe, gnash)


Recently I was talking on the phone to my dear friend Francesca and was conveying some of my worst moments of the past year and she was saying how she never would’ve guessed that I’d had even a somewhat difficult year based on my blog. And so I want to say that I don’t just write all sunshine and rainbows to cover up anything. I write it because usually I can’t remember the bad stuff unless it’s super fresh.

Well tonight it’s fresh.

So after I cleaned up massive amounts of corn starch, soy sauce, and dried bits of blue Playdoh, I sat down to watch “Grey’s Anatomy.” And I’m sitting there on my couch sort of sobbing and feeling sorry for myself and folding tiny poop-stained Spiderman underwear (which, by the way, I did NOT sew – or even purchase by myself) and part of the show was about this little girl who gets run over by a car driven by her nanny. And her nasty mom and dad are arguing about whose fault it is and yelling at the nanny and the mom is saying how she’s not to blame just because she loves her job … she loves her kid too! But she’s just not good at this whole mothering thing.

And I had said that to Husband earlier tonight. I had said that EXACT thing about ten minutes prior as I drug a sobbing Goose from the rocking chair to the Big Boy Bed in an attempt to distract him from a stuffed frog backpack which he was insisting upon wearing to bed. And here is this woman on TV who thinks the same thing. And for a minute I thought, “Phew! At least I’m not the only one who cannot seem to make consistent use of the implements in her Maternal Instincts Toolbox." Heck, half the time I can’t even find my toolbox.

Today is his 26-month birthday by the way. I push it. tractor.

And then I got the first little glimmer of hope that I’d had in approximately 11 hours: I felt strangely brave. That was the only positive adjective I could put to it. I felt like a terrible mom because I’d been impatient with my on-the-verge-of-a-cold toddler … and a terrible cook because I’d ruined a relatively simple meal not once but TWICE … and a terrible friend to Husband because I fell apart as soon as he walked in the door for dinner. And on top of that I had this nagging voice in my head that was saying, “Yes, you are really pathetic … you with your supportive family and interesting job and cute, smart kid --- and all the while there are people starving, people hurting, wars raging.”

There have been many times when I’ve thought, “I’ll just go back to law school, get a high-paying job, and then I can hire a nanny and a housekeeper.” Because to me, right now, that definitely seems easier. And it would probably make me feel smart and confident and successful, whereas in the role of Mostly Mom I often feel like a stupid, unsure failure. How’s that for sunshine and rainbows? Well, it’s true. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever, ever done.

But still, I’m just gonna get up tomorrow morning and try again and tell myself that that’s called BRAVE. I’m gonna smile and offer apple juice despite the choruses of NO, the piles of dirty laundry and leftover Drastically Wrong Stir-Fry jeering from the balcony, and the Monday Morning Root Canal looming at the end of my weekend.

I push it.

I get frustrated sometimes because whenever I’m honest about how hard it is for me to be a parent, people often say, “Yeah, and you only have ONE.” Why can’t we just admit that it’s hard no matter how many there are? Sure, it MUST be harder with two. And with three or more, well, you’re just outnumbered. But tonight I feel like admitting that even one is difficult for me. I’m a perfectionist and Lord knows you cannot be perfect at parenting. But I will try again tomorrow … partly because there’s nothing else to do (aside from pretending to drive down to Kroger with the full intention of just going all the way south to the beach) … but mostly because I want to. Mostly. JUMPING OFF OF HORSES 001.JPG...

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow'.”



p.s. I think he's got my butt.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Playing Horsey

And the horse BITES.

It all started so innocently.
The Beginning

And even in the middle it seemed fun.
The Middle

But then it turned ugly.
A big bite

Although it ended well.
The End

And just for the record, eating massive amounts of white bread toast covered with melted shredded cheese and butter does not constitute having an "I'm Turning 30 in Two Months" crisis. I probably just needed the calcium.

In other news ...

I just came back downstairs from checking on a good deal of upper-level thumping and bumping. I walked in and said, "What's wrong, Bo-bo?" (short for Johnbo or Bobie or something similar).

He said, "I pooped."


I said, "OK, go lie down on the changing mat."

He did.

I gave him my pretty green hairpiece to play with (since the alternative is digging out poop from under his fingernails).

I peeled off the Kroger-brand nightpants, wiped him up, and declared it "all done" -- our favorite phrase of late.

He looked at me, as I was re-inserting feet into dinosaur-covered footy pajamas and zipping up. That look. He said, "A big one?"

"Nope, just medium, Bobo."

And then he returned to the Big Boy Bed and closed his eyes.

Welcome to ten o'clock at our house. Every. Night.

Why is #2 in the potty so difficult to understand? I don't get it. But let me tell you a little secret about soaking out poop stains in Spiderman underwear ...

If you buy those Clorox Drop-Ins for your toilet, then you're all set. Just drop one in as usual and flush away. And whenever your toddler has a Level Two Accident then simply scoop out the Easily Removable Portion, flush, and then follow these steps:
  1. Drop in the underwear (crotch first) and let it soak for a little while.
  2. Don your yellow rubber gloves.
  3. Provide a little rub action to the stained area.
  4. Remove from the toilet.
  5. Apply an appropriate amount of Shout Out.
  6. Deposit the Level Two haz mat into your nearest dirty clothes hamper.
  7. Wash as usual with your Dermatologist Recommended Dye-Free, Hypo-Allergenic ALL detergent.

Easy as pie.

Happy Thursday.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Root Canals, Football Fans, Maple Trees, & Great Clips in a Strip Mall

Well first things first.

I have to have a root canal. Am seeing an endodontist first thing Monday morning to confirm that I may have what likely amounts to the worst decay and possibly abscess in the free world. So for most of you, this has two important implications:

  1. You’ll have to read the whole story next week.
  2. Your Christmas present will likely come from the Radnor Lake Lost and Found Box rather than Macy’s.

It’s gonna be expensive according to my dental insurance list of typical costs that are ONLY ESTIMATES – IT COULD COST MORE – THESE ARE ONLY ESTIMATES. But seriously, the likes of Nicole Kidman run out here, so in the past what we’ve found in the Lost and Found Box hasn’t been too shabby. In fact, without even visiting the box, I have already found two gifts already just lying around on the trails … a pink, hand-made baby hat and a blue and white striped matching hat and scarf from the Gap. But since I have now announced that over the world wide web, I guess those’ll have to be assigned to our family members who are technologically illiterate. Y’all don’t tell.

Now, on to more pressing issues.

One of the best things about Autumn Goose is that he likes football. He already understands that he will never be allowed to consider or even joke about playing, but he likes to watch it on TV. Two Sundays ago I had a game on in the background (it reminds me of my Daddy) while I was grading papers. He got up from his nap and came downstairs demanding apple juice and stopped dead in his tracks and said, “FOOTBALL. A GAME. HA HA HA! CRASH! I WATCH FOOTBALL.” And ever since then he gets up from every sleep asking to “watch that game.”

watching football
Here we are watching a game.

But seriously, I don’t care what he does in life, but I absolutely refuse to allow him to willingly propel his body into huge linebackers for the sake of some school’s spirit. That, to me, is almost as bad as joining the army. I just can’t even think about. I’m all for being a good sport, for school spirit, for patriotism, for duty, and courage and all of that. But not my baby. Uh-unh.

Well, maybe if he can be the punter.

The second best thing about The Goose is that he can successfully identify maple trees.

a maple tree

Stop rolling your eyes. He can. Last Sunday he was driving me crazy so I let him loose outside and followed him up a moderately difficult trail. He hiked the entire 1.5 miles of it, stopping periodically to identify various natural points of interest: maple trees, moss, bark, leaves at the top, some mulch, a big rock, a big stick, etc.

a big tree

In other news ...

Supergoose with a hard hat

I took him for his first professional hair cut last Monday. We went to Great Clips in a local strip mall that (what a coincidence!) happened to be right next door to Starbucks. The Goose calls Starbucks the "chocolate milk place" because I always get him a Horizon Organic 2% Chocolate Milk which he can suck down in less than 60 seconds. He's got holiday portraits coming up soon at school and I just really felt like it was time to pay $10 and have him tortured for a while.

Because trust me, torture is what it amounted to.

First, there was the cape -- a "big banky ... it off! Big banky off!" And then there was the stylist ... a large, poofy-haired woman with little patience for my Haircut Anxiety or the Goose's Wiggleworminess. She'd say, "Hold his head down please." And I would, but then she'd say, "You're gonna have to move your hands or I can't cut his hair." And he'd scream and say, "Banky off!" And then there was the scary bearded man using the neighboring chair. Unfortunately, he was utilizing an electric beard trimmer on some poor soul and the noise was really scary (apparently) and then he kept calling it a "hair lawnmower" which only confused the poor Goose, who was craning his neck to look outside after hearing the keyword "lawnmower." But all in all, I was pleased and I even tipped our snippety stylist who, during checkout, confessed that she didn't really believe my hair was naturally curly or auburn. What we don't know.


Haz Mat Man & Supergoose

Well, this is long, and I haven't even written about the "Trunk or Treat" party @ JEB's school. Maybe next week.

See you then.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

His First Halloween Party

Originally uploaded by Kimmy Crack Corn.
And ours (since he was born).

Husband and I are a haz mat team, duh.

The other guy is Supergoose.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Jack in the Back

It's pumpkin season in case you haven't noticed. There are hay bales, hardy mums, and acorns everywhere.

And don't think he doesn't notice Every. Single. One.

I love this season. I love the colors and the weather and the football. It is such a welcome relief from that hot oppression of summer's end. Phew. We made it.

And speaking of making things ...

a new sandbox

See that new sand/rock box? The Dad made it. That man is amazing. Took down that chicken coop and made a sandbox out of the old wood. Recycling King. The Goose had a little trouble during the part where a power drill was required (despite his otherwise insatiable obsession with tools, he has always been terrified of the power drill (and hairdryers, the coffee grinder, & the dustbuster)), but otherwise it was a painless and extremely quick project that was completed during the time it took me to hike around the lake.

Now, before I say anything else, I have to tell the story about the three of us going out last Saturday night to a cajun restaurant where my friend and colleague Donny Brazile was hosting a singing session with some of his songwriter buddies. We took The Goose. Or rather, we chaperoned him while he wooed eight-year olds in pink sweaters with silver teddy bear necklaces. If you ask him about the night, he'll say, "That li'l' girl. Pink sweater. I drum. I shake it. Uh-oh. I break it. Orange." And even though that's extremely clear, I'm going to be a Hovermom and explain: He fell in love with the girl, spent the whole night hugging and kissing her; next, he performed a drum solo and was introduced post-applause ... left the stage and high-fived one of the other performers on his way back to our table; then, he and Sweet Thing took turns shaking some sort of shaky percussion instrument thingy (can you tell I have a minor in music?) but UH-OH, some of it broke off (the orange part).

The only section of the night that he doesn't seem to remember (or can't find words for) is how, after each song, he applauded wholeheartedly but then, in the silence between the applause and the next number, shouted, "All done! Now, Ole MacDonald! Ee-eye-ee-eye-oh!" I was bent over double, crying in my jumbalaya.

This week he just blossomed:

Started really building things with his Lego blocks ...

Building Stuff

Discovered that it's funny when you yank your pants up around your armpits ...


And began saying "thank you" without prompting.

It's been so good this week that I've been considering allowing him to get a brother or sister. Considering.

Considering, people.

I like to think about things for a good, long time.

Happy Halloween!