I Don't Have ADD, I'm OH LOOK A KITTEN!

Little Mister is asleep and I had two diet cokes for lunch. I'm not quite sure why I put those two facts together in one sentence, but my fingers won't stop typing because I had two diet cokes for lunch. I was going to go on a walk with Miss A, but Little Mister decided to fall asleep thus leaving me to my own devices: jittery with a caffeine high and no physical outlet with which to relieve the jitters, except for my keyboard which DOESN'T TYPE FAST ENOUGH FOR MY CAFFEINE THOUGHTS.

Holy moly- I have a lot to do around the house- ironing, mopping the floor, tidying up my bedroom, finishing decorating the kitchen. Egads...I'm overwhelmed just thinking about it all. Instead I think I'll just sit on my butt and think of all the things I could be doing but instead not do any of them because my fingers WON'T STOP TYPING.

I could work on the blanket I'm sitting by that I've been making for the guest bed that is located in Little Mister's room. It's a great idea to have the guest sleep with the baby, no? Heehee- I'm the best hostess EVER.

Thumbs up with my rad blue toes and the not-so-rad burn mark I got from dropping my iron on my foot, which is the real reason I'm not ironing right now. My iron attacked me. I got the hint.

I also need to finish the blanket that I was working on for him, but I have to rip out nearly half of it and I'm crying a little bit inside just thinking about it. I was *thiiis* close to finishing it before our US trip, ran out of yarn, and then found the yarn at Michaels. And then I found even better colors than the ones I had used so I decided that the work I did was crap and had to be redone. OH THOU FOUL MICHAELS AND THY TEMPTING YARN OF DOOM!

I'm not sure if I'm fighting off the iron or preventing my hook from gouging out my eyes. ALL THAT WORK DOWN THE DRAIN. Darn me and my anal, perfectionistic ways!

And now I've spent way too much time taking pictures of my feet and running them through Instagram. HAHA! Thinking of running my feet through Istagram...They look best in Hefe.

Impressed with myself that I managed to do a whole blog post, including taking pictures, all while Little Mister continues to sleep. WOOT WOOT! Who's the fastest typer in the west? (Or....south....east? Where the heck am I?) That's right! It's this crocheter right OH LOOK A KITTEN!

What to Eat When You Don't Want a Heart Attack: Free Recipe

There are so many things about the States that I have missed since living in The Land Down Under- my sister and friends, free refills, the toilet flushing down clockwise*, knowing which side of the road to pull over when I’m being chased by the PoPo - but something I really miss are some of our favorite restaurants. Sure they have McDonalds – they’re Australians, not heathens- but other places like Crisp and Juicy (if you are in the DC area, YOU MUST GO THERE!), Chipotle, Macaroni Grill and, perhaps most of all, Carrabba’s. (Yeah- I eat at all the typical American restaurant chains. I happen to like familiarity and gosh darned tasty food. So sue me.)

WELL. Remember that very loving, smart, Christmas Mayor of Whoville that I married? He not only gives me gifts that he knows I will love and utilize, but he also gives me gifts that he knows he will benefit from, as well. Cute, smart and devious?!? Oh yes, ladies. Be jealous.

I am speaking of course of The Carrabba’s Italian Grill Cookbook.

I KNOW, RIGHT?!? All of your favorite meals from the restaurant conveniently located in your own kitchen so you can cook great Italian meals the way Nana Carrabba did back in the old country, which is, of course, Texas.

My Mister’s favorite meal is the Filet Bryan (pronounced ever so snootily: fee-lay bree-yon. Or at least it’s pronounced that way in our snooty house. Because we are awesome like that.)

The one drawback to being able to cook your favorite recipes is that you get to see just how much butter, fat, and butter they put into it. It’s like you’re eating some steak with your butter. Butter and goat cheese and some more butter, just in case you hadn’t had that heart attack you ordered yet.

Needless to say, this isn’t going in our normal rotation of meals. BUT, since my Mister requested it for his birthday meal, I am willing to oblige him- he’ll get his side order of heart disease and cellulite for Christmas.

To balance out the tremendous amount of fat that went into the meat portion of the meal, I made some Broccoli with Red Pepper Flakes and Toasted Garlic from Cookinglight (this has been a staple in our house for years), and then some roast potatoes of my own devising. It’s based off of a recipe I made when we were first married, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, and recreated for this meal since I couldn’t find the original recipe and I really did not want to make the artery clogging Carrabba’s mashed potatoes that My Mister usually orders with this meal.

So, here you go- my recipe for some tasty taters. I call them Noah’s Ark Potatoes…because the ingredients go in two-by-two. HEE!


Gege's Noah's Ark Potatoes

A little bit of heart attack to go with the healthy stuff.

Whatcha need:

2 lbs potatoes
2 Tbs Dijon mustard
2 Tbs whole grain mustard
2 Tbs olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp Italian herbs
salt/pepper to taste

Whatcha do:

Preheat oven to 200 deg C or 390 deg F
Wash potatoes and cut into inch sized pieces. Place in 13"x9" casserole dish.


Mix next 5 ingredients (mustard through herbs) in a small bowl and then cover potatoes with it. Mix well to cover the potatoes.

Bake for 45 minutes, or until they are soft and delectable.

Enjoy your non-artery clogging side dish and pray the good fats in the olive oil are enough to conquer the bad fats of the butter.



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*AS IF!! I have no idea which way the toilet goes down either here or in the States. I just make my deposit, hit the button and then get the heck out of Dodge. I don’t dilly dally thinking, “Oh wow- now THAT is a masterpiece. Look how cute my digested food looks going around and around…and, oh my- doth mine eyes deceive me? Is dear darling poopsie going around and around in the wrong direction? *girlish giggle* Those silly Australians! What will they think of next?” 

And for those of you thinking, "Why don't you just flush it when you haven't used the bathroom?" the answer is: because I have a life. *snooty giggle*

A "Relaxing" Weekend...Or, "OH DEAR GOD THE PAIN!"

Oh my wow, peoples. My body is so sore. It feels like I’ve been run over by a steam roller- all my muscles are screaming obscenities at me. I’d love to tell y’all it’s because I’ve been working out so hard core that I’m making your puny little muscles jealous just by being in the same room with me, but I really don’t want to brag about how much better I am than you all that much. *preening haughtily*

Ok, ok. The truth is that I just came from one of the most intense therapeutic massages ever in the whole world. EVER. Holy moly. How does one little woman pack such a punch in her tiny little hands?? It’s like I turned over and she activated her bionic Hulk hands to start kneading the muscles off my bones leaving me a whimpering puddle of goo on her table. A *naked* puddle of goo, to boot.

One good aspect of this is that she validated what I’ve always known: I have buns of steel. She may have used the words “extremely tight gluteals and hip flexors” but we all know that really means I have one heck of a fine derriere.

We started the session with me face up while she worked on my neck and throat area. I told her I had been having headaches so she worked on the base of my skull by sticking her hand up my armpit and shoving aside anything blocking her way. I can honestly say that I no longer feel pain there anymore. I no longer feel anything there at all. I may have left half my skull there for all I know. Ahhhh…sweet relief.

I then had to roll over, self-conscious that this lady was going to see my nude postpartum body, but after karate chopping my neck a few hundred times, I figured her retinas deserved to be seared. That’s right, lady. Take it allll in.

Now. Now is when the *real* work began. It’s like she had x-ray vision and could see the exact spots to poke at, making me writhe and moan in agony. I’m pretty sure she said in her Swartzeneggar voice, “Stop crying like a little girl baby,” as she was getting the kinks out of my shoulder via my spleen. I had to take a double take at her license on her wall- I could have sworn it said, “Hades College of Massage- Beelzebub, Master Masseur.”

She continued down my back, massaging my toes through my ribs, and then she came upon my extremely tight buns of steel. I was so afraid I was going to blast her with the amazingly powerful fart I had lined up, but I’m pretty sure that would have somehow given her even more magical powers from her Dark Underlord Master. I’m not sure what she was digging for down there…seriously lady…is that your elbow? Why is my arm twitching that way? I’ve never convulsed like this before. Wait…what are you…..wait….WAIT…..YOOOOOOU SHALLL NOT PAAAASSSSSSSS! 

*trying to do an angry face but too busy flopping like a dead fish*

She then went back up my back, revisiting the places she obliterated before and finding new areas she missed when I realized that she really did draw on powers from below Mordor. I could only pray the Blood Of Jesus Christ over my back as I felt the fire in her finger tips as she went back up and down my spine. She claims they were “hot stones” but we all know that is code for “Fingers of Satan.”

She ended the session by gently placing her hands on my back and neck in a sort of Jedi move telling me, “These are not the muscles you were looking for.” She left the room, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my body that were now strewn all around me.

I somehow got up and dressed myself, documenting the various bruises and missing vertebrae. I’m not sure what she put in the water she left for me to drink but it must have been something waaay powerful. So powerful that I somehow made another appointment with her in 3 weeks.

Dark powers, I tell you. Dark powers.

Wait...There's a Lesson in Here Somewhere...

So today I was on laundry load numero 105 when the power went out. Just out of the blue- kerblewy. And then it was back on again a couple minutes later. It was one of those times where you think the power company is just messing with your head- a kind of prank to see how many people use UPSs and how many now had blown out TVs and appliances. They couldn't care a fig if both my washer and dryer had all of my baby's clothes in them since they were too busy giggling and pointing at me while I kept pressing the refresh button on my laptop before it dawned on me that no power = no internets. Uggggghhhhh.

While this was going down, I was waiting for Little Mister to wake up so we could go to our friend, Miss A's house for a play date with her daughter, Miss E. Miss E is 2 weeks younger than Little Mister and she and Miss A moved here 2 weeks after we did, thus making us kindred spirits in our postpartum frenzied states. She and I have been going on (at least) 4-mile walks nearly every morning, making her a very important component of my regular exercising (ok, ok- the *only* component of my regular exercising) as of late.

Little Mister had a wonderful 2-hour nap which I was going to very gently wake him out of to ensure he didn't sleep all day long and thus never get back into the topsy-turvy daytime schedule we both are adjusting to. Instead, a workman that I was expecting later in the day decided that, since he was in the neighborhood, he would stop on by, ring the doorbell, and thus scare Little Mister awake. Now, I'm not one of those moms you read about on STFU, Parents who thinks that the world should stop while her baby sleeps and gets angry if someone audaciously decides to *gasp*shock*horrors* ring the doorbell instead of sending smoke signals from the driveway to get my attention. However, since I was literally minutes away from gently waking him up to see his eyes slowly open, witnessing the recognition dawning in his face while his adorable, toothy smile slowly spreads as he looks at me, I was just a leeeeetle perturbed that this guy came 2 hours early, even after I had *just* spoken with him on the phone and requested he come later. UGGGGGGGGHHHHH.

So, after soothing my poor, startled Little Mister, I hurriedly got him ready to go, changed his diaper and threw a spare one in his bag while trying to find my house key that my very sweet friend and neighbor returned to me after looking after our old, arthritic cat while we were gone.

ANYwho, in my haste, I forgot that I have to wash his "big boy" (convertible) car seat since he had a poopy-problem in it during our trip. So, I had to use his infant car seat once again. We no longer have the base ready to go in our car since we don't use this car seat anymore. That's ok since we can use it with or without the base and, since Miss A lives about a mile from us, there was no need to set up the whole contraption. (Even though Little Mister is a big boy for his age, he's nowhere near the 35 pound weight limit for this car seat, thus he's still able to safely use it.)

So. I securely buckle him into his car seat, throw some toys on him to keep him occupied for the 2 minute drive, and let the service man know we were leaving so, if he needed to get into the house, he should have come at 2:30 like I told him he should. (No, I didn't tell him that...but I was thinking it very loudly with a very haughty voice in my head. Take that, service man!)

I get into the car and try to remember that I once again have to drive on the left side of the road and by the time I finish telling myself, "OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD, GEGE!" we were pulling into Miss A's driveway. As I hurriedly made the turn into her driveway, out of the corner of my eye I notice a blob of color swoosh in the back seat, at the same time hearing a soft *thud* behind me. As I'm running through the events leading up to this moment, it dawns on me that, without the base of the car seat in the car, I have to manually attach the car seat into the car with the seat belt. As the wheels are slowly turning in my head, I look behind me and see Little Mister's cute little toes waving at me at eye level. Since I didn't hear any crying, I let out a sigh of relief thinking, "No tears = I'm still a good mom."

I throw open my door and rip the back one off it's hinges to see Little Mister looking at me, upside down, with a look that said, "I'm not sure what happened, but I can see my toes from here, mama!" I debated for a few seconds whether or not to take a picture, but then I thought that there would be tangible evidence that could be given to the authorities, so I thought, "Nah. I'll just blog about it instead."

Once I ensure my Little Mister is ok, I take him out and then have to promptly sit down as my body convulses with a maniacal laughter that is tinged with relief, disbelief, and hope that there were no witnesses nearby. As I furtively look behind my shoulders, I finally pull myself together and ring Miss A's doorbell.

We had a great play date, but as it drew to a close, Little Mister decided that he was going to get sweet, sweet revenge for my earlier transgression. Miss E was ready for her nap, so I pick up Little Mister and am walking towards the door, idly chatting with Miss A when Little Mister does a huge, full body convulsion in my arms, grunting a slight, "Ugh!"while  nearly wrenching himself free. I clamp down on him thinking, "Not on my watch, bub! I'm a good mom!" And then, just as I'm starting to feel redeemed from the car seat incident, I also feel some wet warmth oozing down my arms and legs. As the wheels are slowly turning in my head, Miss A announces, "It's poop. Ohhh, it's poop," the horror evident in the slight quiver of her voice. With that one powerful push, he managed to splurt all over himself, me, and Miss A's carpet. UUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

She quickly ushered me into the baby's room where I did my best to clean things up. Of course, since the power went out in the middle of the dry cycle earlier today, I had no extra clothes to put Little Mister in. (When will I ever learn?!?) So, I loaded him back up into his car seat, swaddled in a towel from Miss A, deeply humiliated about messing up her carpet (ok, ok....99.5% humiliated...the other .5% was thankful it wasn't my carpet. Sorry Miss A....just keeping it real!) but I would be danged if I didn't secure that car seat in the car with the seat belt this time.

Ohhh yeah. Who has two thumbs and wins Best Mom of the Year Award?

*smug smile on my face*

Me.

Silly Rabbit- Teeth Are For Food!

Whew! I'm pleased to report that, after around 34 hours of travel time, my Misters and I have arrived back safely home Down Under. There were lots of little snafus along the way (including one where they upgraded Big Mister to first class while banishing me to the very back of the plane with Little Mister on my lap...uh yeah. Thankfully for our marriage we got that one worked out.) but all-in-all, we got home safely and all I could think of was, "Oh dear Lord do I need to brush my teeth." Seriously. I think my teeth melted en route from Sydney. Heck, I think Little Mister's teeth melted when I kissed him. Blech.

Oh yeah...did ya catch that? Little Mister's TEETH. As in, multiple. When I last updated about his teething (right before Christmas), he had cut his first tooth. About 2 weeks later, his second bottom tooth showed up. About 2 weeks prior to our trip (about a month ago), both his 2 upper front teeth broke through at the same time. And then, right smack dab in the middle of our trip, 2 more top teeth broke through...again...at the same time.

My poor, poor Little Mister. Not only was he dealing with an international flight, jet lag, long car rides, meeting strange new people for the first time, and a toilet breath mommy, he was also dealing with a mouthful of teeth that decided to show up all at once. He was such a trooper on this trip. He really doesn't complain much at all and the only time he cried (instead of just fussed) was when mama couldn't control herself and ate cheese on her red chile enchiladas. I told myself it was ok to eat the cheese since he should have outgrown his dairy protein allergy by now and, since I was in New Mexico (which in Spanish means "Cheese is Life"), I was almost 100% certain that he wouldn't have a reaction since it's the Land of Enchantment, and we all know that "enchantment" means "magic" which means I CAN EAT THE MAGICAL CHEESE, DARNIT!

*hanging head in shame*
*magical shame*

So, no. He's not outgrown his allergy yet and I am back on track with my dairy free meal planning. I do hope he outgrows it soon- not for my benefit, but for his. If he doesn't outgrow it, he may have to be very strict with his food intake to prevent ingestion of any sort of dairy protein, which quite frankly is everywhere. For now, I don't worry about his food intake since the boy WILL NOT eat.

Yes. You read that correctly. He is 8 months old and refuses to eat food. As my dad asked, "Then how did he get so big? Just from you?" The answer: that's correcto-mundo.

I started offering him solids at 5 1/2 months, though he never really took to it. I kept offering him some foods every so often to see if he would magically discover that food is delicious, but to no avail. Right before we left on this trip, he was finally accepting some foods sometimes. However, during these last 2 weeks, whether due to the changes associated with travel, his teething, a growth spurt, or all of the above, he's refused to eat almost completely.

I'm not too worried about it. He's obviously thriving on breast milk, so I'm not concerned about his growth. Also, I know he knows how to eat, so I'm not worried that he'll be one of those kids who has to eat pureed foods until they're 10. I'll just keep offering foods to him while reminding him that I'm a professional in this area so he can trust me when I say, "Eat this" and hope he'll believe me sometime soon. Because Lord knows he's also not going to be one of those kids who is breastfed until he's 10, either. *shudder*

(I was just picturing the state of my boobs after breastfeeding for 10 years. Let's just say "fruit roll up" isn't a term you want associated with your breasts.)

Ahem. My eyes are up here, people.

Ok, I'm really fighting this jet lag hard and am very much losing the battle. My Mister just got home from work and I need to make him some dinner. Why he didn't take today off is beyond me. I would have called in "Jet Lag" and make them prove it's not a real sickness. And then I would have gone, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAA" and breathed on them. Because I'm mature like that.