Good News!

My husband doesn't have a broken foot.

I know this because this morning he announced that his doctor was going to see him at 3:30 today. I was a bit confused, as my husband appeared healthy, so I questioned him on why he was going to see his doctor.

Him: About my foot.
Me: What about it?
Him: I think it might be broken.
Me: You're walking fine. What are you talking about?
Him: Well, I actually hurt it a couple months ago and thought I was broken...
Me: Oh! This is your car washing injury!
Him: Umm, yeah.

Ok, so this comes from the man who went to the urgent care clinic (which is essentially an unglorified emergency room) to have a hangnail -- that he knew was a hangnail, mind you -- removed a few years ago rather than wait to try to get in to see his doctor about it. And yes, in a fit of pregnancy hormones, it's possible that I may have blamed him and people like him for driving up the cost of health insurance for the rest of us responsible folks. Apparently, something sunk in.

So he made a doctor's appointment. He still sees the doctor he saw when he first moved up here before he ever met me, two residences ago for him. That translates into about a forty minute drive to see him. Purely because he's too lazy to find a new doctor. Personally, I could find a new doctor in way less than the hour forty it takes to drive there and back, but I digress.

Apparently the issue has been bothering him for two months. He's been playing baseball every weekend with no complaints and everything else. And after he didn't mention it the second day, I sort of assumed that it had healed and was no longer bothering him. Really, if you think you have a broken foot, how long do you wait to get it taken care of? Yeah, I didn't think anyone waited two months, and I appreciate your affirmation of that!

But no, apparently his car washing injury merely resulted in some joint issues where something in his foot pops in and out of the joint. We know this not because the doctor took and X-ray or MRI or anything else to determine this but because my husband described it to the doctor for about two or three minutes -- his words, not mine -- and the doctor made the diagnosis. And the verdict is that apparently this is something that he'll just have to get used to. I rest my case for finding a new doctor.

Oh, so you wanted details on how he injured his foot washing the car?

Yeah, me, too. I'm almost sorry I wasn't there. Really, it's not too exciting a story. He didn't trip over the hose running to save one of the wee ones who had run into the street after a ball. He didn't slip on some soap in the driveway and just barely manage to catch himself before falling with a feat of athletic prowess. He didn't have the car start rolling on him because it had been left in gear and roll over his foot.

Nope. He was waxing the car, actually, which technically isn't washing it but whatever. And he squatted down to get the silver shiny part of the tire (yeah, I'm all about the cars, can you tell?). When he did that, something popped.

Yeah, I giggled, too. In fact, I'm giggling again as I type this. My poor husband!

Don't Ring My Doorbell!

It's been awhile since I turned on my clothes dryer. When it's hot in the summer, I'm loathe to make it even hotter in my house by using it. I used to just do it at night once it's cooled down, but with the washer and dryer sitting right between the wee ones' bedrooms, and Little Miss especially being a light sleeper... well, that was a little hard.

I started out just not drying certain things. Swim suits are never dried to keep them from getting yucky. And I don't dry pjs to avoid removing the flame retardant. Oh and team jerseys should never be dried. In fact, they should rarely be washed in my mind.

But this summer, my house has started looking like this on laundry day.

And this:

And this:

And yep, even this:

I just stopped drying more and more things, and then it seemed so silly to run the dryer with so few clothes in it. And we've been so busy that I rarely had time to run more than one load in a day, so the clothes would sit waiting to be dried. This just seemed better.

And then I started thinking about the energy I was saving. I felt a little green. And then I saw a little more green as my gas bills were a bit lower -- or at least the usage was lower; gas rates have gone up a lot this year! That made me feel a little better.

My husband started questioning it when he saw the assorted laundry. He brought out the redneck factor, which I repudiated with the cool green factor. And really, I do sort of tend to get my way in the house. Especially since he's banned from doing laundry after ruining enough of my clothes. Have you ever seen a silk blouse after it's been through the washer and dryer?

My plan has been to get an outdoor line drying something. But I can't find what I'm really looking for. I don't want the lines that attach to the house and pull out because I don't want anything attached to the house. I don't want the ones that are out in the middle of the yard because I want to be able to put it away when I'm not using it (and I don't want to have to pour concrete in the yard). I need something bigger than the normal line drying racks, as the sheets need enough space to be hung. Really what I think I want is something like the one that gets planted in the middle of my yard but that sits in my patio furniture umbrella stand and folds up and goes away when I'm done.

Really, I'm probably not looking hard enough. I have searched a few times, in my defense.

So in the meantime, my house looks like this when I do laundry, and I'm ok with that. Fortunately, we have a lot of bannister space. The only time we have a problem is when I realize that the mom of a friend of Mister Man's is over to pick up the pirate hat her son left behind after a playdate and will be standing in my foyer staring at my whole family's laundry. Whoops.

I'm On A Mission

Yesterday was another two birthday parties for us (yes, apparently we need fewer friends or friends with fewer children; we know). Fortunately, the wee ones did really well at both parties, and we had a great time.

The first birthday party was from 11 to 1, and my friends served food. A lot of it. My kind of party. For Little Miss's party next week, we're doing it from 10-12 and doing heavy snacks along with cake, and I feel horribly guilty. The second party from 12:30 to 3:30 (mind you, a good 45 minutes to an hour from the first party) served only cupcakes, although there was some fruit up on the deck, but no one spent any time there so it didn't get eaten.

Fortunately, I didn't have to do a drive through run on my way to the second birthday party, as the delivery many started his first of three trips into the house (ok, there were 82 people at the party -- the first child turned one) with more food than we could ever eat. As we sat at a table to eat our bounty, I noticed that they had snacky-type food sitting there for us.

Goldfish? Check. Animal crackers? Check. M&Ms? Check. Pretzels? Oddly missing, but ok. Bowl of funky looking stuff all mashed together? Check. Wait, what?

My gaze returned to the large pink bowl filled with what looked like a preschool project gone awry. Apparently someone had taken all the snacks and put them in a bowl then dumped glue atop them. Ewwww.

Then I realized that this didn't include the Goldfish or animal crackers (I was tired with all the entertaining of family, give me a break on the brainpower here). And I realized that there was no glue on the sides of the bowls. As I craned my neck to look at other tables, it became apparent that this was an actual offering, as every table had a bowl.

Being the good mom I am, I didn't try it. Instead, I offered a chunk to Mister Man. He's the more picky eater, so if he likes it, it must be good. He liked it and asked for more. And more. And more. And more. Then I cut him off.

But it was not so easy to stop myself. It was really good stuff. It was kind of like Rice Krispie treats on crack. It had Chex, Cheerios, pretzels, and M&Ms with some type of a whitish, clearish but still opaque coating.

It was vaguely reminiscent of a Chex Mix concoction a co-worker used to make that used two pounds of brown sugar, butter, and I forget what else to make the sauce. But that sauce was more clear than this. It was similarly sweet though, and the whole mixture was totally addicting.

I decided that this is what I needed for Little Miss's party. No questions whatsoever. Today I called my friend to ask for the recipe. Unfortunately, apparently it's something her MIL makes and brought to the party. And she won't share the recipe with anyone. Including them. Now her husband's been my friend for over a decade and they told me at their wedding that they always thought their son would marry me, but I know I don't rank ahead of the woman who gave them their grandson. Dagnabit!

I won't be deterred though. I will find a recipe for this ambrosia before next Saturday. Won't give me the recipe? Fine. I'll figure it out myself. I know the majority of it (and the proportions aren't key -- I know nuts were already left out of it). Figuring out the sauce/topping will be the challenge, but I know I'm up to it.

Of course, if someone reading my blog has heard of or has the recipe for this lovely mixture my friend's mom calls "the stuff" I wouldn't complain or consider that cheating.

What Was I Thinking?

Every family has their potty tricks. Some of them are designed, and some occur by accident (no pun intended -- really). Ours are strictly accidental.

When Mister Man was potty training, we didn't use candy or toys or physical bribes to get him to go or once he went. No, silly me, the first time he went on the potty, I sang to him. And no, I didn't use a normal song, I made up a song. Doesn't everyone?

(As a side note, we have songs for brushing our teeth, washing our hands, combing our hair and so on. And they're all ones that I "made up" using existing tunes. Fortunately, the only one I still have to sing every time is the tooth brushing song, and they think it's funny when I "mess up" the words, so we get some extra brushing in.)

So he goes on the potty for the first time, and I start to sing. And he thinks it's the greatest song ever. And so I sing it every time he goes. And of course Daddy has to learn and sing the song, too. And the first time he poops on the potty, I change the words to the song to reflect that. And I soooo regret it. Especially since Mister Man remembers us doing that and insisted we do the same for Little Miss. Except that Mommy somehow conveniently forgot the words, so only Daddy has to do it. And only for poops.

When we were visiting at a friend's house when Mister Man was new to the potty, he had to go while there. And he went poops. My friend volunteered to accompany me on his guitar. (This is the same friend who sans girlfriend at the time came to Mister Man's first birthday party and was the entertainment, spending forty-five minutes singing kids songs on his guitar -- gotta love him!) I tried to demur, but he wouldn't have it.

Halfway through the song, he gave me a look and stopped playing, demanding to know if I actually had words for the entire song. Ummm yeah. I wasn't smart enough to stop at the end of the first verse.

Ten points to the first person who can name the original song.

Ohhh, someone pee peed / poo-pooed on the potty, all the live long day
Someone pee peed / poo-pooed on the potty, just to pass the time away
Can you see the pee pee/poo poo streaming, turning the potty yellow/brown?
Can't you hear the pee pee / poo poo splashing, go-o pee pee/poo poo, go!

Pee pee/poo poo won't you go, pee pee / poo poo won't you go, pee pee won't you go in the potty?
Pee pee/poo poo won't you go, pee pee / poo poo won't you go, pee pee won't you go in the potty?

Someone went pee pee on the potty, someone went pee pee I know-oh-oh-oh, someone went pee pee on the potty for the first/second/third/etc time today!

And he's going pee pee on the potty, pee pee on the potty, pee pee on the potty -- for the first time today.

Remind me that while song is wonderful and all, my talents do not lie in songwriting. Good blackmail, however, for once they start dating, I think.

Paying It Forward!

Alas yet another PIF contest has come to an end. I am actually starting to feel a little cheesy about these, as I feel like they're cheat posts, but I'm an honorable person and when I win one, I'm supposed to pay it forward. And there will be one more, as I have another prize headed my way. Yay me?


Before we get to that, some mild humor. Gotta make the post worth reading, right?


As of yesterday, I have five guests staying in my house through the weekend. My MIL, FIL, BIL, his girlfriend and my husband's best friend have all come up from St. Louis. And I found out last night that my other SIL and niece are going to drive up tomorrow. Wheee!


Last night I was conversing with my husband before shutting the house down for the night.


Him: Have you seen Fat Boy?
Me: No, but Little Buddy is up here already.
Him: Fat Boy is usually pretty good about going straight to bed.
BIL: Is Little Buddy Little Miss? And the other one is Mister Man?


Umm no, sorry. Those would be our cats (officially named Meow and Roar). And really, Little Buddy and Fat Boy are not exactly appropriate nicknames for any children, let alone the wee ones I birthed. But entertaining coming from a single guy.


Anyway, I thought long and hard about this one. As I mentioned, the silicone pans are optional. If you don't want them, you don't need to take them (they're used but in perfect shape). I love my silicone bakeware and use it frequently. I just discovered after all my baking last week that I have four round cake pans and only need two.




And for the rest of it?

I love drawing tools for kids. And apparently I'm channeling my inner panic about driving to Minnesota by myself in two weeks.

Cute little Chinese dress for a doll. I had to take it out of the bag, as it wouldn't photograph in the bag, but isn't it adorable? (I've also been told that this works as a wine bag cover if you're doing an Asian theme.)

I love my little totes. And so does Little Miss. Nice and happy and summery!

More books, of course. And yes, more Sandra Brown. They go well with the tote -- take them to the beach and let your mind unwind! Old School isn't quite as light, but it's an entertaining read. I've read it twice and just find the whole thing intriguing. Not a book to take to the beach.

And without further ado:

Random Integer Generator
Here are your random numbers:1
Timestamp: 2008-08-08 22:27:11 UTC


That makes commenter #1 Ya-Ya's Mom the winner! If I don't hear from her by Monday night, I'll draw a new number, but since she told me she was interested in silicone, I'm hoping that she comes through! Tomorrow we visit some stupid Mommy moments.

Recipe For Sleep

Want your kids to do this?



It's easy. Spend the morning at the pool. Be sure that there are lots of throws into the air and dunkings under water. Keep everyone in constant motion.

Then head to a birthday party. Call ahead to arrange for a bouncy house and a trampoline to be available as the entertainment. Whenever a child runs near you, encourage said child to move onto the jumping item that was just abandoned.

Feeding the children a lunch will help, but is not required. Once you arrive home, simply place children into their beds and quietly close their doors. You'll have three to four hours -- depending upon your child -- to spend reading blogs or taking a bubble bath or whatever you choose. A glass of wine is optional.

I'm Certifiably Insane

Don't forget: tomorrow's the last day to enter to win the PIF contest - check out Monday's post!

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For my birthday last year, my sweet and generous husband arranged for a trip to NYC. We were to see Wintuck, a Cirque du Soleil show, and had front row seats. We'd also spend three days in NYC sans kids just hanging out the first week of January.

The trip was actually a lot of fun, as it had been years since I spent much time in NYC. Two of my best friends from high school had also managed to find their way to NYC, so I saw a Broadway show with one of them and her husband one night and had dinner with them and the other friend another night.

While we were reminiscing about high school and growing up in Minneapolis, etc., we hearkened back upon our days at the Fair. For the uninformed, this is the Minnesota State Fair, held the two weeks before and including Labor Day every year. Home of Princess Kay of the Milky Way carved in butter, the inventor of random foods on a stick, great livestock shows (no, that isn't an oxymoron), and from good sources, the best state fair in the country.

We decided to meet up there this August, and all was good.

The wine wore off, and I didn't think much of it. It would be fun to go, but other things kept creeping up on me and I didn't have time to worry about it. Until I got an email from one of my friends asking if we were really going because she was going to book her plane tickets.

Apparently the wine didn't wear off as much as I'd thought, and I committed to going, as did the other friend (although we still don't have confirmation from her).

After I committed, I realized what this meant. I was going to take the wee ones to a fair with hundreds of thousands of people. And I was going to drive BY MYSELF from Chicago to Minnesota with the wee ones -- both of whom get carsick in long car rides, while I just hate being in the car for more than an hour or two. Oh yeah, and I was going to drive back by myself -- or shoot myself before we got to that point, I haven't yet decided.

While the wee ones are generally well-behaved, seven loooong hours in the car do not a happy group make. And going to the Fair? A three year old and a four year old traveling with me and three adults who have no children and don't spend time around children. What was I thinking? They try to wander off when it's me with my parents who are with them all the time and know their tricks.

I seriously thought about backing out, but I can't do that to my friends, and I do truly love the Fair. I've been talking about going back since the last time I was there six or seven years ago. And two friends of mine still living in Minnesota have had second babies so far this year, and I would love to see them, too.

Would I be an evil mom if I bought leashes for the wee ones? I've seen the ones that look like animal backpacks with the tails for the leash part. Those wouldn't be too bad for a one time use like the Fair, would they? (And if I don't get collectively booed for being a rotten mom for even thinking about leashing my children, does anyone know where I can get some cheap?)

We've been practicing what to do if Mister Man gets lost. He knows to find a mom with kids and to tell her, "My name is Mister Man, and I'm lost. My mom's name is Michelle X, and her phone number is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Can you please call her so she can find me?" He's finally learned our phone number, and I always have my cell in my pocket. I'm hoping that if we repeat this drill often enough that he'll be able to execute it without too many issues. As for Little Miss... if she disappears, I think I'm sunk. Like really sunk, and that has me petrified. That's part of where the leashes come in.

I do think they'd love the Fair -- or at least as much of it as we can manage before they crash. I'm still debating whether to bring a stroller or not. The Tom Thumb donuts I know they'd be all over. The quarter for a cup of milk will be cool for Little Miss (although I'm sure it's no longer a quarter!). The yellow slides with the sacks should be fun for both of them. The tons and tons of animals (fortunately my friend's husband's favorite part, too) should keep them enthralled.

I'm still working on the hotel though. I want to stay near one of the Dales (all the malls are something-Dale -- Ridgedale (closest to where I used to live), Rosedale, Southdale, etc) which would allow me to ride the bus to the Fair versus having to drive to St. Paul and try to park and get the kids into the Fair. I need a hotel that is a true suite, as I can't sit in the hallway during naptime, and I can't be perfectly still in the dark for bedtime at 7pm either. That's proving to be somewhat of a challenge, but I still have two weeks, right?

All I have to say is that Sweet Martha's Cookie Jar had better be there, because I'm buying a bucket first thing in the morning on Thursday!