A Ticking Time Bomb

I don't know whether it's because he's still adapting to the new time zone here and recuperating from all the travels, or if it's due to the change in diet- he's been eating some solid foods this week- or if it's just to get back at me for eating cheese while in New Mexico and causing him intestinal distress, but whatever the reason, I am scared. Like SCARED scared. I am scared because my Little Mister has not pooped in four days. FOUR.DAYS.

This means, of course, that we are in for one heck of a doozy once it happens. And, since he's been eating some solid foods, it means that it's not going to be the "sweet" smelling breast milk poopies. It is not just going to stink, but staaank. After his first solid food poopy diaper a while ago, I seriously considered breastfeeding him until he was potty trained because, good golly Miss Molly! The smell was something like a mixture of old people farts and death. Fruit Roll Up boobs be darned- if he's not potty trained till he's 5, it's worth it.

The longest he's ever gone without a poop was three days and I'm still trying to recover from that one. I'm really not sure how we'll survive this one, but I really hope it happens tomorrow so I won't be alone with the carnage Little Mister won't be so uncomfortable. It's like playing Hot Potato whenever we're holding him.

Me: Here you go, daddy! It's your turn!
Mister: But, ummm...I uhhh....I have important work to do on the taxes. Yep. Taxes.
Me: GOOD GOD, MAN! If he poops on me again, the IRS is going to be the least of your concerns!"

*Mister takes him*

*Two minutes later*

Mister: *halo burning bright over his head*

Little Mister: Ma mama ma ma mama mama ma ma

Me: *angry squinty eyes* You did that on purpose.


We are hoping to go on a slight road trip and then a hike tomorrow. If he hasn't pinched a loaf by breakfast, I'm thinking we are hunkering down for the day. If you don't hear back from me soon, send reinforcements.

Apparently My Carpet is White...Who Knew?

So. After having a very hyper-want-to-be-active-but-sleeping-baby-prevented-yet-another-selfish-dream-of-mine afternoon yesterday, I decided to vacuum my house. Because apparently I'm a mother now so I have to do things like "vacuum" and "clean" and "wear clothes" when I'm home now. Sheesh. Next thing you know I'm going to have to start putting the knives and guns on unreachable places instead of strewn about the living room. GAH! KIDS CHANGE EVERYTHING!

Well, the only problem with me vacuuming my house, other than the afore mentioned "vacuuming," is the fact that my vacuum sucks. Or rather, it does NOT suck. It's about as effective at picking up dirt on my carpet as Little Mister's diapers are at containing his poop. No matter how many times I passed that noise-making wand of disappointment over the floor, the only thing it managed to suck is my time. I think I would have had more success sucking stuff off my carpet if I yawned really hard over the dirt particles.

SO. Once Little Mister woke up, I loaded both him and that canister of stale air in the car (making sure to  buckle both him AND his car seat into the car- fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice....well, I'll learn sometime) and headed out to return my vacuum. I was prepared to fight with the vacuum gatekeeper- I was going to let them know that I was tired of playing, "What Does the Baby Have in His Mouth Now?" and "Five Second Rule! Oh Darn, There's Cat Hair," followed by, "That's Ok. It was only Two Seconds Anyway." I was ready to pull out the big Mammy Yokum guns and say, "I HAS SPOKEN!" with a really, really stern look on my face if they gave me any grief.

But, all that practicing in front of the mirror and teaching Little Mister how to cough pitifully while batting his incredibly cute eyelashes was for naught. I went in there, told them I needed a new vacuum, and they said, "Ok- no worries." Sweet.

Now, the following I completely blame on an incredibly rough night of waking up with Little Mister FIVE- yes that's right- 1, 2, 3, 4 OH MYLANTA NOT AGAIN! times. I was pretty much a walking zombie, thus the need for a double shot of caffeine at lunch time. Also, I blame it on my lack of an advanced engineering degree.

I took my new vacuum home and joyfully took it out of the box and then spent the next 30 minutes trying to put the darn thing together. The instructions were all written in PICTURES...apparently it was to help those of us who is a wee bit stoopid for written instructions. Or for those who can't speak English. No discrimination here. All you had to do was "CLICK" "CLICK" "CLICK" and then you could happily start issuing evacuation notices to all those dust bunnies that have been taunting you for the last 6 months.

Well, apparently I was much too intellectual for the pictorial Cliff Notes version. I needed the smarty smart words, darn it. Words that would tell me, "If the tube won't let you "CLICK," try twisting it in another direction, dummy," and, "Don't worry if that pole won't go down prior to hearing the "CLICK" because, if you follow the diagram and "CLICK" first, the pole will go down automatically. Dummy."

I'll give you a click, click, click. Dummy.

Seriously. It took me 30 minutes to accomplish what a slightly blind, illiterate French person could do after taking a cursory glance at that diagram.GAH!

Of course I was frustrated with how long it took me to put this insanely simple thing together, but my spirits were lifted when I saw how powerful that mother sucker was. And then I was grossed out.

Let me back up- I have a play mat in the living room for Little Mister to play with his toys, but he, as of Sunday, has started crawling. (WAHHHHH!!!! My baby is growing too quickly!!) So, I folded up and tossed aside neatly put away his play mat since there's really no sense in trying to contain him in one space anymore. That ship has now sailed. (WAHHHHHH!)

So, I've been letting him practice his crawling on the carpet. The brown carpet that hides dirt very, very well. The carpet I had just vacuumed with my previous, wimpy vacuum. The carpet I thought would be fun to vacuum once again with my new, powerful vacuum, just to see if there was anything left behind. Behold- this is after that initial vacuum session:

Oh my wow- is that the cat in there??

I KNOW!!!! You may have gotten cooties just looking at that picture! I have the heebie-jeebies just thinking of that grossness lurking in my house. I spent the next 30 minutes scrubbing the nasties off of Little Mister. If only there were written instructions instead of those blasted pictures, I could have had my floors cleaned a half hour earlier!

If only I had turned the page:

These are not the instructions you were looking for *waves hand*

Yeah. Well you know what? Shut up.

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.