Schooled

Shane: Mama, what does 'greesas' mean?

Me: Hmmmm, I'm not sure. Can you use it in a sentence?

Shane: Okay. What does 'greesas' mean?

Conversations

Me (attempting to explain the concept of mental illness): For example, someone might take off all their clothes and run down the middle of the street because they thought God told them to.

Weston: But, that's good, they are doing what they think is right.

Me: Well, I suppose you could look at it that way, but God wouldn't tell someone to do that, and running down the street naked is against the law.

Weston (totally shocked): WHAT?!?!?

Shane: I have a great idea! Let's put worm in that net!

Shane: Wouldn't it be funny if your name was Scotch Tape?

Shane: These are my favorite pajamas!

Me: Yes, those are nice.

Shane: Smell them! They smell like toast!

Shane: How would you destroy a mama?

Me: What?! Why are you asking me that? Who would want to do that?

Shane: I don't know. Could you use a knife?

Weston: Raise your hand and answer the question! Are dinosaurs made out of atoms, cells or rubber?

Shane: Cells!

Weston: You didn't raise your hand.

Shane (raises hand): Rubber!

Weston: Shane, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Shane: A factory guy.

Weston: What kind of factory? A toy factory?

Shane: Toys, and candy and engines.

Weston: Grownups don't play with toys, you know.

Chocolate Covered Critters

I am a big fan of educational projects, and boy, did we come up with a good one today. Weston and I were talking about cicadas, and I remembered that I had just read an article about a shop that made cicada ice cream. This reminded Weston that I once promised him that he could try chocolate covered grasshoppers some time, and upon recalling this, he wanted to have them immediately. Since it's not grasshopper season here yet, I told him he would have to wait, and we spent some time speculating on what the best method of dispatching them would be. I favor putting them in the freezer, but Weston prefers poking them with a pin until they bleed to death. He also liked the idea of pinching their heads off, because that way he wouldn't have to eat the eyes.

Then, he spied some ants on the driveway and asked if we could eat chocolate covered ants. DEFINITELY, I said, and the boys set about capturing unsuspecting victims. This occupied them for quite some time, and they ended up with a small handful of black ants and a daddy long legs. Surprisingly, internet recipes for chocolate covered bugs are not super numerous, but I did find this one. It was a little elaborate for my level of ambition, so instead of all the dreary vanilla pod scraping and egg beating, I just melted some chocolate chips with a little butter and let them use that. They gently folded their critters into the chocolate, and then dropped spoonfuls of the mix onto waxed paper. We cooled them in the refrigerator, and voila! Chocolate covered ants, just like the fancy folks eat! They gobbled them right up, too, and said they were delicious.

Next time maybe I'll broaden their horizons and fix up some bugs sans chocolate. You can stir fry, deep fry, roast and shishkebab; did you know that? This is information that will come in super handy after the earthquake, when I have to sleep on the trampoline and drink my own pee. I'm not a girl to miss a meal, so I need to plan ahead. I even got to thinking, maybe we could eat slugs! There is a cornucopia of them around here for sure, but the only recipe I could find was this one for fritters, and I don't like fritters. Too eggy. Plus, after the earthquake, the eggs will probably all be smashed. I'm also not a girl to give up too easily, though. I'm thinking I could slice them open and get all those gross innards out, then stuff them with ants and roast them over an open fire. I'm open to suggestions, though, let me know if you have any ideas! Or if you want to come over for dinner anytime soon.

Dead Cat Beauty Secrets

You know how the Fonz used to grab a comb and go to style his hair, and then stop with a super-cool ‘Aaaaaayyyyyyyyy’, because his ‘do was already perfect? That’s kind of how it is for me. Sometimes, when I’m getting ready for work, I throw down my make-up sponge and just say, ‘What the hell do I need this for?’ I also find hairbrushes, razors, deodorant, vegetables and strenuous exercise completely unnecessary on a regular basis. As a result, I often amaze people in my office or on the street who are in awe of my fresh-faced dewy beauty and willowy figure. Well, at least I assume that’s why they halt in their tracks. Then they avert their eyes and their jaws go slack. Some of them even screw up their faces and make this hideous kind of gagging sound; I’m sure it’s just pure jealousy. It’s really quite unappealing; they should follow my beauty regimen and they wouldn’t look so ugly. Then I thought, ‘I could help these poor unenlightened souls reach their true potential!’ I wouldn’t want their faces to freeze like that, after all. Yuckola. Read on to learn the simple elegance of the dead cat beauty secrets; it's not just for those whose natural good looks have been ruined by their deep and unattractive envy of me. No, anyone can benefit from this system!

You, too, can look like Heidi Klum on her best day. It’s super easy! Really, all you need are four simple and easily obtainable things. You might even have them already. Are you ready for your life to change? Okay, then. The first thing you need is a big pair of pliers, or a large-sized crescent wrench. Take them into your bathroom and use them to apply force to the light bulbs until they shatter. Now, take the second item, which is a nightlight, and plug it in. This is mostly so you don’t step on the broken glass, but it’s also useful for the final step in the beauty routine. Lastly, tape over your mirrors with duct tape in whatever color matches your bathroom (I used sort of a mildewy green color) and then tape the mirror from one of your now unneeded makeup compacts right in the middle of the tape. When you get ready to go out in your revamped bathroom, you won’t believe the change! You will look stunning each and every time you glance at yourself. Your skin will be flawless, your clothes always flattering. Not only are you more beautiful than ever before, your primping time will be cut by at least 90%. As an added bonus, the frequency and duration of your bathroom cleaning efforts will be dramatically reduced. And if you require a little more assistance, you can do one of two things: unplug the nightlight, or replace the mirror with one from a dental tool. Or both! And then it's Hello, Gorgeous! No need to thank me: beautifying the earth, one person at a time, is more than enough reward for me.

Fishing

Here are some pictures of the fishing trip Lloyd and the boys just took with my dad and the dog (no, not Ping, though he would make tender, delicious, poodlerific crab bait).

Fortunately for me, I had to work lay on the couch. Drinking beer. In my underwear. I get seasick, you know. I have spent MANY a fishing trip vomiting while laying on the deck of some stinky old tub, getting sloshed by freezing seawater. At least when I'm vomiting on the couch in my underwear I'm plenty warm and I got to drink the beer first.

The boys, though, LOVE to go fishing. And I love to drink beer in my underwear. Win-win, my friends!

Ping

Here, as promised, is the story of Ping. Ping is what the kids named this white poodle that showed up at our house the other day. I call him 'Satan'. Oh, I know, he is a cute little thing. He doesn't LOOK like evil incarnate, what with his fluffy little ears and his delicate little pink toenails. That's how he sucks you in, see. And then WHAMMO, the maleficence starts oozing out, along with the reeking dog farts.

A few days earlier, I came home from work and heard about a little dog that had tried to get in the van. Hahahaha, that's funny, I said. Little did I know. If I had, I wouldn't have been laughing, believe you me. Then, on the day that I have come to refer to as the apocalypse, a little white poodle and a small black dog were careening around our cul-de-sac. I saw one of the neighbors chasing them, then ringing another neighbor's bell. Assuming that he knew where they belonged and was summoning the owners, I grabbed the white one as it went by. Maybe I should have gone for the black one; it was probably the Antiping.

You can imagine my dismay when the door-ringing neighbor trotted over and said, 'Hey, do you know whose dogs those are?' I dropped Ping as quick as I could, but the black dog was long gone, and he just wouldn't leave. Surely someone is looking for these dogs, right? Ping was nicely groomed, with clipped toenails and clean teeth, and he was wearing a little blue harness with no name tag. I hadn't yet learned to be suspicious about this, you see.

Thus began a quest to reunite Ping with his owner that consumed an entire weekend. First, my brother-in-law took him to the nearby shelter where we got Henry. They refused to keep the dog, but offered to scan him to see if he had a microchip. Sadly, he did not. We went to the pet store to put up an ad and spend a ridiculous amount money on holistic organic dog food and a leash. We put an ad on craigslist and painstakingly perused the lost pet pleas. We googled up and checked every single lost pet forum in the free world. We put posters up on the utility poles around town. Nada. No one, it seemed, was looking frantically for Satan Ping. How could this be? We called up all the shelters that would answer the phone. No one was looking for a charming little poodle, and no, sorry, they could not take strays. He has to go to the county shelter. Oh, sorry, no it's not open, and yes, it's too bad it's at least an hour away from your house. And make sure you make anyone who calls identify him to you! Don't you dare let him go with someone until you're sure he/she is the legitimate owner! People do terrible things to strays! They go around collecting them! Craigslist puts out these warnings, too. Really? People go around answering ads and collecting strays so they can be cruel to them? Don't these people have kids to torture? It's much less hassle. KIDDING. But seriously, I don't buy it. Who would do that? I think it's just another fear-mongering scam, like the one about the pedophiles that will snatch your kids at the park if you turn your back for one second. Anyway, as you can clearly tell, we put in a major effort here. I DID draw the line at my sister's suggestion of hiring a pet psychic for $65-75 per half hour to ask the creature where it came from, because what if it was dyslexic and got its address mixed up? That would be money down the drain.

We tried to foist him off on my dad and my sister to no avail, and then resigned ourselves to hosting him for a day or two: Someone would call us soon, we were sure of it! He's so cute and well taken care of! He peed on the floor, but that's okay. Someone will be along soon. He can stay in the bathroom at night; that will work perfectly! It's just for one night; someone will come tomorrow, for sure. He's howling, we can't sleep! We'll have to let him out of the bathroom. But what if he pees or poops on the floor? We'll just have to clean it up. Check the email again, any responses from craiglist yet? COME ON, PEOPLE! One long, long night passed in this fashion and we awoke to poop on the floor.

The next day, Lloyd and Weston went fishing, and Shane and I needed to go to Target for soccer shoes for him and swim trunks for Weston. Oh, and to look for Squeaky, the green squeaking toy that's shaped like a star and doesn't exist. But what shall we do with Ping? I guess we'll have to take him with us. We can check the signs on the way and make sure they'll still up! I don't know why someone hasn't called yet. I tried to give him to the lady at the Starbucks drive-through, but that failed miserably. I guess I'm just not persuasive enough. Either that or I shouldn't have been calling him Satan while trying to convince someone of his many charms. Then, we courageously left him in the car when we went into the store. We came out with swim trunks, shiny flashing Spiderman shoes, three movies, five shirts and a green squeaking dog toy shaped like a bear, and cautiously peered into the car. Everything LOOKED okay- he hadn't chewed up the seats or anything. I opened the door and it hit me, a foul stench that could have come from only one place. Yes, the beast had pooped in my car.

Dammit, when does that shelter open? First thing in the morning, huh? Do not give him any more food; maybe he won't poop anymore. Phew, morning at last! Smell you later, Ping. May the force be with you. Then, just as I was getting ready to stock the car with Febreze for the trip, a miracle occurred. Shane and I were out front with Ping, planting yellow squash when a couple of teenage boys jumped out of a car and said it was their aunt's dog, 'Taco'. They looked a little sketchy, but didn't have any fillet knives in plain sight so I figured it was okay. Plus I would have given him to Michael Vick if he drove up, so it's Taco's lucky day. And mine.

Entertaining

Some entertaining things I have been reading that I need to share-

1. this article about male lactation. Apparently, this can be successful and is routinely practiced in some parts of the world. Think of the possibilities, people!

2. a hilarious lost cat saga, sent to me by my brother-on-law after we inadvertently became a naive family of poodle rescuers. This story is coming soon to a blog near you.

3. the best ad EVER on craigslist: Hello, the other day i lost my black backpack which contained 5 steel reserves, a realistic old man mask, an 8th of weed, and a rasta colored bong, if you found it, all i want is the mask and bong back, you can keep the weed and beer. I lost it in magnolia near 27th street, thanks

I just really, really want to know what the mask is for. So much so that I might respond to the ad in an effort to find out.