10/30/12 A Headstrong Toddler: Scarier than Freddie AND Chucky

Edited to add: This was actually supposed to post the day before Halloween but didn't due to "issues" with the dancing video on the previous post, which gummed up the timing on these other posts.  So...pretend Halloween hasn't happened yet.  

I love Halloween.  Love it, love it, love it.  I love thinking of costume ideas, and making costumes, and wearing costumes, and seeing other people in costumes.  (And yes, eating candy, if you're going to twist my arm about it.)

I mean, look at the following evidence:

And then ZB came along, and that just doubled the costume fun.  (Sadly, Tony has never been one for dressing up.  Even when we were first dating and he was still trying to impress me, he balked at the whole couples costume idea.  Sigh.)  But ZB wasn't old enough to protest, so she became my costume muse.

For example, last year:

I mean, you can't be a lion tamer without a little lion, can you?  But Internets, this year the best part about Halloween is in DANGER!  And not fake being-chased-through-a-haunted-house-by-a-guy-with-a-chainsaw-with-no-chain danger, but real danger!  Because ya'll, this year ZB does not want to wear her costume.

Dum-dum-DUMMMM!!

Seems that now that she is a toddler, she's got this crazy idea to "exert her independence" and that includes refusing to wear her little costume hat.  Seriously.  I've been "practicing" with her for the last month to wear her hat, and she just says "No! No! No!" and pulls it off.  Don't get me wrong, she thinks it is hysterical when Mommy wears it, or Daddy wears it, or CC wears it, but when it goes on her head, she wants nothing to do with it.

I am very concerned!  The costume doesn't really make sense without her hat, and if her costume doesn't make sense, then my costume doesn't make sense.  (And I spent a lot of time making my costume by hand.  Many a night I slaved over my sewing machine, and I don't really even know how to sew!)  So I'm not sure what to do.  If she balks tomorrow, then my plan B is to put her back into her wedding outfit and call her a princess.  But I'm really really hoping that Plan A (Wear the stupid hat!) works.

Does anyone know any good bribes that work on toddlers?

10/29/12 She Could Have Danced All Night

So...yeah.  I'm know it's been a few weeks since I've been on, and my excuse is that we have all been very very busy doing such awesome things that I haven't had the slightest free moment in which to write about them on the ol' blog here.  (And this is the part where, having just expressed your displeasure at my absence, you sigh and decide to forgive me and then rub your hands together in anticipation of reading all this awesome stuff.)  Except that, having completely set your expectations to ridiculously high levels, I have just blanked on everything that has happened to us in the last few weeks.

Wait! Wait! I just remembered something!

Last weekend Tony's sister Mary got married!  Originally Mary wanted ZB to be a flower girl or something, but the church has some kind of rule about no flower girls under five (or something like that...I can't really remember the specifics) so Mary asked if ZB could help me and Tony carry the sacraments down the aisle for the mass part.  And we said sure, that would be lots of fun, she'd love that, and Mom and I immediately went out and bought her the cutest little dress.  It has a silver top, puffy white tulle and sparkles and rhinestones, so you know it was a complete hit with the under 3' crowd.  ZB was so excited when she put it on that she kept spinning around and patting it and lifting the skirt part over her head.  (If that doesn't say yes to the dress, then I don't know what does.)  Then I found a kind of similar top (similar in that it was also silver, not that it had tulle or sparkles or rhinestones) and Tony a new sports coat, and off we went down to Charlotte where the wedding was being held.

Oh ya'll, the whole wedding was lovely.  The bride was lovely, the groom was lovely, the church was lovely, we were lovely...it was all just lovely.  The only thing that was slightly unlovely was that when it came time to do our part, instead of holding Daddy's hand and walking down the aisle to show off her pretty dress, ZB suddenly decided to go boneless and refused to stand on her own two feet.  And since people kind of frown on you just dragging your toddler behind you like a sack of dirty laundry, I ended up carrying the gifts, and Tony carried ZB, and her little dress was all scrunched under his arm and no one could really see how adorable it was.  (Which we all know is why everyone came.  Not to see the bride or groom or anything, but to see ZB's sparkles and tulle. Am I right?)

Notice how Mary was a good girl and walked down the aisle with her Daddy, so everyone was able to see her pretty dress.

Of course, ZB overcame her shyness as soon as the wedding was over, because then we were headed to the reception, and there's nothing that that girl loves more than a PARRRR-TAAY!  There's just something about her when the music gets started.  Her toes start tapping and all of a sudden she is off like a shot, headed towards the dance floor to get her groove thing on.  And trust me, she totally stole the show too.  At one point I looked up and everyone else had formed a circle around her on the dance floor and clapped as she got down with her sweet toddler dance moves (read: jumping, random arm waving and spinning).  She is a dancing queen.  And who knew that size five black patent leather Stride Rites were such great boogie woogie dancing shoes?

She enjoyed getting down and funky so much that we had to physically carry her off of the dance floor when it was time for the Bride/Father and Groom/Mother dances.  She was really miffed about it too.  She honestly could not understand why the bride and groom didn't want to share their special moment on the dance floor with her.  Luckily, we were able to temporarily distract her with some wedding cake so that she'd be all sugared up and ready to go again when they called for group dance time.

So that was our weekend.  Aunt Mary and Uncle Brett got married.  We discovered that the high ceilings in the church make great echoes when you yell really loud in the middle of the ceremony, (and also that being whisked out and into the cry room off the lobby is much more fun than trying to sit still in a pew with Mommy and Daddy).  And we learned that when there's a party going on, little girls can completely forgo sleep.  All they need is a dance floor and a good beat, and they can dance all night.



Edited to add:  Sorry for the delay in posting this.  For some reason, blogger refused to load my video.  It would load part of it and then freeze, causing great weeping and gnashing of teeth.  I FINALLY compressed it enough to load, but it took sweet forever and a large chunk of my hair.  All that is to say, enjoy the video.

Edited again:  Okay, apparently the video didn't load after all.  Another large chunk of my hair is now gone.  However, the video loaded just fine on facebook, so if we are facebook friends feel free to watch it there.  Meanwhile, I will continue to insult Blogger's mother for refusing to upload a simple video. 

10/3/12 Gettin' Our Bounce On

Last week Groupon had a deal for 4 passes to a place not far from us called Bounce USA.  It's basically a warehouse full of moon bounces and other inflatable games, and since ZB likes those kinds of things, I said yes please to the groupon and today we went for the first of our bouncy house adventures.  I call the following Dark Side of the Moon Bounce: A Bouncy Adventure in Picture Form

This is the special toddler area...age 2 and under only.  Not even adults allowed.   Tiny tyranny at its best. 

It has a ball pit!  We love ball pits!

Look Mom!  Ball pit angels!  (Seriously, it was a good 30 minutes of ball pit! Ball pit! Ball pit!)

I was finally able to drag ZB away from the ball pit and into a bouncy house.   She's a great bouncer...

except for times like this.  Face plant!

There's a toddler slide.  We very carefully climb to the top...

Eye of the tiger, baby.  Eye of the tiger.

Ready! Set! Go!

Wheeeeeee!

Back to the ball pit! Did I mention that we love the ball pit?
(So much so that I think I'm going to have to break down and put the at-home version on our Christmas list.  My poor living room will never be the same).  

Once we mastered the toddler slide, we took on the giant slide together!  Here's Mommy and ZB at the veeeeeeeery tippy top!

Action shot!

Zb was all, "Oh my gosh that totally blew my mind!  My whole short life flashed before my eyes!  
It was awesome but I never want to do that again".

Quick bouncy time-out to ride this rockin' (literally) Harley.

There was an inflatable batter's box where the ball floated on top of a jet of air.  ZB thought this was magic.

And finally, ZB's favorite part of the whole trip.  Inflatable bouncy houses and ball pits are fun, but nothing beats pushing a button and watching the water shoot out of the water fountain!

8/30/12 Crock Pot Lasagna

Hey. So I'm doing this thing where I'm trying to cook "real" food more and rely less on nuking a frozen pizza pocket in the microwave for meals.  But because I hate hate hate to cook, my sole saving grace is the crock pot.  Toss some stuff in and leave it alone for a few hours.  Then magically pull out beautiful homemade food that wows Tony and entices a certain picky little girl to eat.  That is my kind of cooking, my friend.  So I picked up a couple of crock pot recipe books from the library, and I try a new one out every week.  And because I am a thoughtful and polite hostess, I am willing to share some of my crock pot adventures with you.  (It's like those dinner and movie shows where they tell you how to cook a dish and then you get to watch a movie while it cooks!  Only with blog entries instead of movies!  But still, kinda the same thing!  Kinda!)

Anyway, I tried this one last night, and it was pretty and easy and tasty.  Toss together a salad and some garlic bread and you are guaranteed to impress your friends and family with your awesome Julia Child-like ways.

Crock Pot Lasagna!

(Note: This recipe makes enough for two to four people, or in my case, two people, a picky toddler, and enough for leftovers for lunch tomorrow.)

1 pound (16 ounces) ground beef
1/2 cup diced white onion (Note: I used a teaspoon of onion powder instead...seemed to work just as well).
1 teaspoon minced garlic (Next time I'll use more garlic.  It was okay like this,  but we like lots and lots of garlic in this house.  Up to you on how much you like it and if you're expecting any romance later).
1 (24 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
1/2 cup water
1 (15 ounce) container ricotta cheese
2 cups mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 whole egg
2 Tablespoons fresh parsley or 2 teaspoons dried parsley
6 uncooked lasagna noodles (Be sure and get the no boil kind.  Apparently there's a boil kind and a straight to oven/crock pot kind.  Who knew, right?)

1) In a large skillet brown beef and onion. Add garlic and cook for one minute. Drain. (Mine took longer than one minute.  I guess just brown until it's brown).
2) Add spaghetti sauce and water and simmer for about 5 minutes. 
3) Mix ricotta, 1 1/2 cups mozzarella, 2 Tablespoons Parmesan, egg and parsley in separate bowl. 
4) Pour 1 cup of spaghetti meat sauce into a 4 to 6 quart sized slow cooker. Place half of the noodles and half of the ricotta mixture on top of the sauce. Cover with 2 cups meat sauce. Top with remaining noodles (If the noodles don't fit exactly break them to fit) and cheese mixture and meat sauce. 
5) Cover and cook on low for 4 to 5 hours or until noodles are soft.  (Mine was ready in 4.  5 hours may give you soggy noodles)
6) Sprinkle with 1/2 cup of mozzarella and remaining Parmesan. Recover with the lid to melt the cheese and let it sit for 10 minutes before serving. 

Note: Do not overcook and don't try to speed up the process by cooking it on high. Works best with a 4 to 6 quart size slow cooker.

Ooooooh Yummy!

Cheesy noodley meaty deliciousness! 

Toughest critic says "More please!"

8/29/12 This is the Reason Why They Don't Let Cats Up in Space

I'm frantically cleaning the house because Stanley Steamer is scheduled to come by this afternoon to clean the stain off of the new mattress.  (And yes, I clean for cleaners.  A regular run of the mill mess if fine for my family.  We can be rolling around in dust three inches thick, but to have the possibility of some pimply-faced high school kid making minimum wage with a scrub brush and a hose come in to clean my mattress and be all like, "When's the last time this lady dusted?" is just flat out unacceptable.  I mean, I have standards here.)

(I should mention that I have no idea what Stanley Steamer people make.  They are probably handsomely compensated for their time and stain fighting expertise.  The minimum wage thing was just a guess.  I could probably look it up, but at this point I've spent more time going on and on about it than the whole thing warrants.)

Anyway, the whole reason why Stanley Steamer is coming is because we bought a new mattress a few months ago.  And because new mattress warranties are voided by any kind of stain whatsoever, we bought the super-duper money-back guaranteed waterproof mattress pad protector.  It has a 10 year warranty!  It has space age polymers!  It will protect your mattress through the Apocalypse!  So we bought one.  

And then we unleashed the cats.  

Here's something you should know about the cats.  Cats have hairballs.  Five times the cats equals five times the hairballs.  And on top of that, Dixon has a nervous stomach, which means that if ANYTHING unexpectedly changes in his environment (we go on vacation, we change laundry detergent, the full moon corresponds with the third Monday in a month ending in R), he will pull a Linda Blair all over your bed/floor/nicely folded pile of clean laundry in seconds flat.  So we asked the mattress sales guy if this mattress pad protector was up to that challenge, and he was like, "Oh absolutely!  Money back guarantee!  Did you see the part about the space age polymers?"

And to be fair, the mattress pad protector did manage to protect the first 9 times that a random cat (cough Dixon! cough!) barfed on the bed, but I'm afraid that time number 10 just did it in.  Even space age polymers can't handle that rigorous of a barf, wash, repeat cycle.  So now there's a cat barf stain on the mattress.  We called the pad protector people, and they were shocked! SHOCKED I say! that their space age polymers were bested by cat barf.  And I was all, "Yeah, that's the precise reason that Dixon flunked out of the space program...incompatible with polymers." (Which I thought was pretty funny, but it just seemed to confuse the mattress pad people, so I let it drop).  Meanwhile, what are we supposed to do about this stain on our new mattress?  In the end, the mattress pad people offered to send us a new mattress pad protector (now with more polymers!) and pay to have people come out and remove the stain from the mattress.  Which is why I am frantically cleaning the house in expectation of Stanley Steamer coming to pay us a call sometime between noon and 5pm today.  Of  course, the sound of the vacuums and cleaners and whatnot will scare Dixon enough that he will barf on the bed again, so it's all a vicious cycle.  Those space age polymers better be out of this world.

7/5/12 More American than Apple Pie, Stars and Stripes, and Freaky Robot Fire Dogs

Well hey there Internets!  I hope everyone had a wonderful July 4th yesterday!  Personally, we had an absolute blast!  Mom and Dad's neighborhood had a parade (and being on a golf course, everyone decorated their golf carts), and then a big cookout, band, demonstrations from the local fire and police K9 unit, and finally swimming in the neighborhood pool.  ZB loved loved LOVED every single second of it.  In fact, we only took her home after she was so exhausted that she fell asleep (although she managed to hold out for an hour and a half past her usual nap time) and when she woke up (three hours later) she was mad that she was at home instead of still at the party.  She is a little party animal, that one!

First, the parade.  Mom stayed up until 3am the night before in order to decorate the golf cart.  Ya'll, these people take this parade seriously.  There were 26 golf carts in the "Best Decorated Golf Cart" Competition, and you've never seen so many flags, streamers and balloons in your life.  Here's our cart:

And ours was one of the more subtle ones. 

On the cart: Mom, ZB, myself, two Yorkies, and one sweaty Uncle Sam
who was just forced to run up a big steep hill behind us.

Here we are in the parade.  That's my Dad in the giant Uncle Sam hat, hanging off the back.  He and Tony were originally supposed to walk behind the cart with the two dogs, but after the first big hill, the dogs rode on my lap, Dad spent most of the time hanging off the back, and Tony raced ahead to the cart in front of us who was handing out Popsicles to the people watching and snagged a couple for himself.  Still, we are quite the patriotic sight, no?

Tony and Dad, post golf cart chasing but still looking patriotic.

And me, having actually been smart enough to ride in the golf cart from the beginning.
(Hey, it was 97 degrees out...I'm no dummy).

Anyway, we all had a lot of fun waving and yelling to the people lining the streets, and ZB clapped and cheered because everyone else was and she loves it when people clap with her.  Sadly, we did not win Best Dressed Cart (there was actually a tie for first between the cart that recreated the Statue of Liberty on the back and the cart that transformed itself into a rocket, complete with smoke trails), but that is okay, because we actually did win both Best Dressed Kid and Best Dressed Pet!

Note the cuteness just oozing out
of her.

Here we have ZB sporting her lovely Hello Kitty Patriotic shirt, a custom-made white skirt with netting overlay and red, white and blue stars at the bottom.  She has accessorized this with her sparkly red shoes and red sparkle hair clip.  (Actually, Mom also made a hat for her to wear, but it was so hot that the poor kid's head was drenched in sweat every time we put it on her).  Now, I may be a little biased, but Internets, that kid stole the entire show.  She was so adorable and happy and excited about the whole thing that everyone who saw her loved her.  In fact, the local paper took her picture and put her on the front page!  Her cuteness is a force, people!  It is not to be denied!

And now I have a trophy that reads "Best Kid 2012" to prove it.

Speaking of cuteness, may I also present the winners of this year's Best Dressed Pet!  Mom and Dad's Yorkies, Brutus and Brandi, are each sporting doggie T-shirts, reading "Patriotic to the Bone" and "I love the USA", respectively.  Brandi is also wearing red, white and blue stars in her hair.  But I think the kicker was the little tiny sequined Uncle Sam hat that Brutus was modeling.

Because is there anything more adorable than a tiny dog in a tiny top hat?  I think not. 

After the parade ZB hightailed it over to the local fire department's truck where the firemen immediately made her their chief (complete with hat and everything!).  They also had an animatronic talking Fire Dog named Sparky that kinda freaked me out (no doubt due to repressed childhood nightmares about our Teddy Ruxpin trying to kill us) but had ZB totally mesmerized.  The other kids would come up and look at it for a while, maybe talk to it or touch it and then move on, but for ZB, the world outside Sparky the Fire Dog ceased to exist.  She'd probably still be there, rooted to the same spot, had the fire department not eventually packed Sparky up and headed out for his next engagement.  (Let's just hope she forgets about him before Christmas.  Something tells me that Sparkies may be hard to come by for the private consumer). 

Mommy, can we have a freaky robot dog with a grating mechanical voice and weird blinky eyes please please please please PLEASE?!?

Finally, after stuffing ourselves with hot dogs and hamburgers and (I kid you not) 38 different types of baked beans, pasta salads, potato salads, chips, corn on the cob, watermelon, and enough cookies, brownies and cupcakes to put a diabetic into a coma just by looking at it, we decided to hit the pool.  And it's a good thing that ZB has such fun grandparents because by this point I was ready for a nap in the sunshine, but ZB was still going strong.  She splashed, she played, she climbed everyone's swim suit like she was a spider monkey.   The entire day was like ZB's personal version of heaven.  (Think about it: A parade, a trophy, a hot dog, a cupcake, a creepy talking robot dog and a pool.  Nothing else could compare.  It is a one year old dream come true). 

So yeah, I suppose you could say that we had a pretty great day.  It was good to see such a nice turnout for the parade and picnic, and it was a great way to honor not only our active service men and women, but also our veterans that were in the crowd.  Not to mention make it into ZB's top 5 favorite days of her life EVER.

America, we love you and salute you.

6/17/12 Father's Day and the Week We Almost Didn't Survive

Oh Internets.  Have I told you lately how awesomely awesome Tony is?  And not just because it's Father's Day and he's a great Daddy, because it is and he is, but that isn't the reason.  The reason is that he had an out of town work training seminar thing this week and ZB and I both have been battling summer colds and there's only so many days that you can be on 24 hour snot wiping patrol for someone who doesn't know how to blow her own nose and would rather DIE than let you anywhere near her with a tissue before you get all burned out and fed up and want to just throw in the snot-covered towel and be done with it.

You know the old adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder?  Personally, I always thought that was a bit of a stretch, but man is it true.  As he packed up his bag on Monday I was like, "No problemo.  We manage to make it through the day while he's at work.  How much harder can it be to do a few more hours until bedtime?"

How much harder indeed.

The thing is that Tony does a lot more than just work a full time job.  Apparently he also gets up and feeds the cats breakfast sometime between 4am and 6am, and cleans out litter boxes and picks up hairballs and takes out the garbage.  After work he comes home and plays in the floor with ZB while I steal a few precious minutes to myself, feeds her dinner and cleans up the kitchen after she tosses all of that dinner into the floor.  He mows the lawn, takes the recycling out to the curb and makes sure that the house is all locked up and secure before going to bed.  He does all this quietly and without making a big deal out of it, so I kinda figured it wasn't that hard.

Trust me.  It is hard.

While Tony was gone, the cats did not get breakfast at 6am.  They got breakfast at 9:15 when I finally realized that I had forgotten to feed them and that was why they were following me around like the Pied Piper of Purina.  I was very proud of myself for cleaning out the litter boxes on time...right up until I realized that I had forgotten to get the ones in the basement that Bella likes to use.  I almost coughed up my own hairball while trying to clean up the one they left me out on the porch.  (Do you have any idea how gross that is?!?  And how hard it is to pick something up while refusing to open your eyes?  And how much I'm gagging even now just thinking about it?)  I got the garbage can out to the curb in time for pickup, but not in time for me to empty the trash that was in the house into the outside can first.  ZB spent the first few days standing at the front door, waiting for him to come home and play with her.  I tried to wrestle in the floor with her like what he does, but after she accidentally poked me in the eye and boxed me in the ear within a three minute time frame, I called a halt to floor wrestling.  After she tossed all of her dinner on the floor the first night, neither one of us was really interested in cooking, so we distracted ourselves by eating at various fast food places.  (I know.  I'm feeding my child a McDonalds cheeseburger just so I don't have to pick things up off the floor.  There goes Mother of the Year).  Speaking of the floor, I relied on the less sanitary but equally effective cat cleanup system.  I didn't sweep, they ate all the food bits they wanted, and I figured it would tide them over for the next time I forgot to feed them.  Win Win...sorta.  The lawn I ignored completely.  There is just no way to mow and watch ZB at the same time.  And on the second night he was away, I locked up all the doors and windows and set the alarm before bed, only to realize the next morning that I had left my keys hanging in the front door knob all night.  (Good thing we live in a safe neighborhood).

But beyond all the things that he does, we just missed him.  I missed sharing my day with him and ZB missed being played with and talked to and kissed on the head.  We missed hearing about his day.  (Well, he called on the phone, but it wasn't the same).  The cats REALLY missed him, because evidently I am an unreliable provider. And I'd even go as far as to bet that McDonald's missed him because of the mess we left on their floor (and they don't even have cleanup cats).

You know, when that many people miss you, you must be doing something right.  Tony doesn't have a fancy job title or a big status symbol car or custom suits or a mansion to make him feel important.  But he does have us.  And we love him.  And need him.  Without him, we are just not complete.

So I'm going to make sure he knows that.  Not because it's Father's Day and that's what the Hallmark card had written in it, but because it is true and he's important to us.  Every day of the year.

And also that he's never allowed to go out of town without us again.  Ever.  Let's put that in a Hallmark card.

5/21/12 The Pipes, The Pipes Are Calling

The Scottish Highland games were in town this weekend, so Tony, ZB and I went to check it out.  (I happen to be able to claim some Scottish blood since my ancestors hail from Aberdeen, and I wanted to share the heritage with ZB since that blood runs through her also, but mostly I just enjoy watching big beefy guys in kilts throw heavy things in the air.)

(Although can I just say that not everyone is built to wear a kilt.  They're one of those items of clothing that look really really good if you have the legs to pull it off or really really bad if you don't.  And I don't care how far you can throw a rock- if you insist on wearing a kilt you should at least slap some self-tanner on those milky white chicken legs of yours.  Yikes, man.)

Anyway.  We had a lot of fun.  We watched the caber toss (that's the one where these big burly guys try to flip what basically amounts to a telephone pole end over end) and the hammer throw, and one competition whose name I don't recall where people use a pitchfork to flip a bean bag the size of a carry-on suitcase over a bar twenty feet in the air.

Suffice it to say there was a lot of grunting.

(And probably hernias, but I can't really say for sure as I personally only witnessed the grunting).

Tony and ZB by the cabers. Bigger and heavier than they look.

We also had a very un-authentic lunch of chicken tenders and french fries (because who wants haggis when it's 90 degrees out? well, who wants haggis period?), watched a sheep dog demonstration where I lost major points with Tony-the-zookeeper by mistaking the herd for goats when CLEARLY they were sheared sheep, and took in the pipe and drum band competition.

Looks like goats to me, but that just proves I'm not a sheep dog.

Not sheep or goats, but still running around on a field. 

Also, we saw a Scottish Rock Band called Albannach who were FANTASTIC.  I mean it. You've never heard pipes and drums quite like this before.  Zoe loved them.  She and I danced with the crowd in front of the stage, and she never took her eyes off the band.  Totally mesmerized...so much so that I'm afraid she may want to take up the drums and the bagpipes and oh boy won't that be fun!

So to recap: cabers, pipes, sheep dogs, drums, skinny white legs in kilts. No haggis. A good time had by all.

4/23/12 Blessed Be The Kitties

Our church has a part of the service where members of the congregation can call out prayer requests.

Guy #1: Pray for our military overseas that they will be safe.

Guy #2: Please pray from my uncle who was just diagnosed with cancer.

(Solemn pause)

ZB: KITTIES!


And so the cats got extra prayers from ZB today.  And seeing how she's almost as fast as they are now, they probably need all the heavenly help they can get.

2/21/12 Phineas and Ferb, Part Deux

I know I just posted about us being addicted to Phineas and Ferb (the cartoon on Disney), but at the risk of sounding REALLY geeky, I'm going to post about it again. I promise I'm not as weird as this makes me sound.

See, shortly after the first Phineas and Ferb post, the official Disney Phineas and Ferb Live show came to the Knoxville Coliseum, and my work had some free tickets, so I said sure! That'll be fun! (Plus, you know, bonus points for being such an awesome Mom, right?) So on Saturday afternoon, Tony, ZB and I headed out to discover exactly how you turn an animated cartoon into a live show. (Answer: costumes. Which I suppose makes sense, but I was really disappointed that they didn't teach a real platypus to wear a fedora and do round-house fighting kicks).

I dunno. It was weird. This is the first time that I've ever been to a show specifically for kids, and it was slightly unnerving seeing them EVERYWHERE. I mean, they had the adults outnumbered probably 4 to 1. It was just rows and rows of keyed-up, sugar-fueled, running, screaming, jumping children...a riot mob all under three feet tall. AND there were cotton-candy hawkers every two feet, which is just tossing spun sugar fuel on the munchkin land fire. As soon as we walked in, Tony leaned over and whispered, "I don't know how wild these things get, but if the natives get out of control, head to that security guard over there. He's got a billy club at we can beat them back with while we make our escape".

The scary part was I don't think he was entirely joking.

But I gotta give Disney credit; they really know how to work the crowd to get the kids excited but not too excited. Cheering, yes. Widespread looting and tipping over cars, no. (Of course, they also made sure that each child walked through a maze of vendors before getting to their seats, so it's also possible that the kids were bought off by the various t-shirts, hats, pendents, stuffed plush dolls, light-up doodads and commemorative platypus cups. It's hard to riot when carrying all that overpriced loot).

The show itself was very cute. Lots of singing and dancing and acrobatics. Lots of flashing lights, t-shirt guns, confetti cannons, fog machines and elaborate set pieces. (In short, everything a 12 and under would love to spend an hour and a half looking at). Zb stood on Tony's knees and danced though all of it. She couldn't follow the plot, of course, but she really loved the singing and dancing.

It did take me a while to get used to the "live" characters though. For some reason, I am really uncomfortable with people in costumes with giant heads, (i.e. mascots, roaming Disney characters, and the Easter bunny-which I will still go out of my way to avoid whenever I'm at the mall, by the way) and some of the characters had really trippy eyes that will probably pop up again in my nightmares, but none of the kids seemed to mind, so maybe it's just me.

But all in all, lots of fun. ZB liked it, it was entertaining enough that it wasn't torture for parents to sit through, and I may or may not be the proud new owner of a Perry the Platypus t-shirt.

Plus I figure that knowing all the words to the theme show will allow me some leniency if the sugar high ever wears off and the munchkin mobs take over.

10/12/11 Joyride

ZB gets a "Jeep" walker for racing around in the kitchen. General mayhem ensues. Luckily, I caught it on video:

9/15/11 The Case of the Kitty Cat Karma

So I was feeding ZB some pureed green beans and oatmeal today for her lunch. (I know, I know, you wouldn't think that oatmeal would go well mixed with green beans, but she seems to like it, so who am to judge?) Anyway, as you can probably guess, green beans and oatmeal is a very messy experience. It was on her face, and her bib, and her hands, and up her nose, and possibly some in her ears too. Plus I was the one holding the spoon, so I was up to my wrists in it, with a spot in my hair for good measure. (What can I say? Lunch is a full contact sport for us). So we were eating, and dribbling, and generally enjoying the way green oatmeal squishes between our fingers when Mason jumped up on the table so see what all the fuss was about.

Now, Mason knows that cats are not allowed up on the table. Not anytime, but ESPECIALLY not when we're eating. He knows this. But he also knows that when I have my hands full of green beans and oatmeal and a baby who is convinced that she should be the one to hold/fling the spoon, he can get away with being on the table, because I can't spare a hand to toss him off. So Mason wandered over to investigate the intriguing culinary delight that is green bean flavored oatmeal.

And I did what every good Mom does whose hands are covered in green oatmeal- I yelled, I made shooing gestures, I blew in his face. No avail. Mason knew I wouldn't touch him and risk getting oatmeal on him and cat hair all over my hands. And if you've ever seen a cat smirk, imagine it happening here. You could practical hear him going "Neener neener neener!" in his little cat voice as he danced out of the reach of my nudging elbow.

But what he didn't count on was ZB. ZB who delights in seeing the kitty so close. ZB who has no reserves about grabbing a handful of fur. ZB who had also used my momentary distraction with Mason to grab a handful of oatmeal mixture out of the bowl when I wasn't looking.

She got him just behind the right ear. Big gloopy glob of green oatmeal, straight to the back of the head. (Perhaps this was his plan all along? A little sharing of the oatmeal with the kitty cat? Do cats even like green beans and oatmeal?) Regardless of whether this was his plan, he got some, although in the one spot that he would have trouble licking it off.

I called an official end to lunch time and literally washed my hands of the whole thing. I extracted Mason from the tiny baby fingers that had a death grip in his fur, got the largest blob of oatmeal off of him, and tossed him unceremoniously off of the table. Then I wiped green bean/oatmeal/cat fur off of ZB's hands, and face, and ears.

And in case you don't believe in karma for getting up on the table when you aren't supposed to, know that as I type, Mason's normally white fur on the back of his head is currently arranged in stiff, bright green spikes, (can we say punk rocker cat?) and the rest of the cats are chasing him around, trying to lick the dried oatmeal off that he himself cannot get to.

So, moral of the story: Stay off of where you are not supposed to be, get down when someone tries to shoo you away, and beware the baby with the green oatmeal hands.

Otherwise the Kitty Karma will get you, and tonight is pureed sweet potato night.

You've been warned.

8/17/11 The Laughing Game

Well, it's official. ZB is her Daddy's girl. Sure, Mommy may feed and bathe and diaper and dress her every day, but Daddy is the one she can't wait to see. He only has to walk into the room and her face lights up with the biggest smile. In fact, they have their own little game that they play every day as soon as he gets home from work. It's called the Laughing Game. The rules are simple: Face each other and laugh. He'll laugh (somewhat evilly in my opinion) then she'll laugh (like an angel) and then he'll laugh and then she'll laugh and on and on and on until the Mommy comes downstairs to find the both of them in the living room, laughing like loons. (Sure, sometimes Mommy tries to join in and laugh too, but nobody ever laughs at Mommy's laugh. It's a Daddy's world, I tell ya).

Anyway, I've tried several times to capture the Laughing Game on camera but ZB has a sixth sense about these things. As soon as the camera comes out, the laughing stops. But this time! This time the Mommy got sneaky! This time she hid the camera behind the couch cushion in advance and waited for the unsuspecting Daddy and ZB to start the game. Sadly, you don't get to see any of Daddy's crazy faces that he makes while he laughs, but you do get to see ZB's, and what sweeter sight is there in the world than a baby laughing?

And so, for the first time ever caught on camera, I present to you: Daddy and ZB's Laughing Game. (Mommies not included).

Click here to view this video

8/2/11 Bob Seester the Builder

So the Seester and Stubby are up to something cool - in November they are going to Chitwan, Nepal to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity's Global Village to build houses for families that desperately need them. The people of Chitwan are especially poor, and due in large part to a decade-long rebel insurgency, many were chased out of their homes and now live in crowded, substandard houses - some of which are little more than lean-tos.


With the insurgency finally over, Habitat is working to provide safe, simple and decent housing for the people of this community, each of whom have demonstrated a commitment to paying it forward by contributing "sweat equity" to building their neighbors' houses before qualifying for their own.

It costs about $1500 to send someone overseas for these kind of projects, so Seester and Stubby have made it a goal to raise $3000 to pay for the cost of their trip to keep Habitat's good work going. Check out their webpage here , and if you are able, please consider making an online donation while there. All donations are 100% tax deductible, and go to a great cause. So like I said, check it out, because any donation, big or small, will help. (Go on now, click that little blue link). I thank you, the Seester thanks you, Habitat for Humanity thanks you, and some well-deserving families in Nepal thank you.

That's a lot of warm fuzzies, don't you think?

7/14/11 Think Twice Before Coming Between A Woman and Her Doctor

I'm sure by now you've heard about the thing Netflix is doing with the whole charging for DVDs and streaming separately? You used to be able to get the DVDs and streaming together for one low price, but as of September 1st, Netflix is charging for each service separately. Well, Tony and I were talking about it when we heard the news, and after tsk-tsking at the extreme selfishness of Netflix, Tony was like, "Well we don't use both DVDs and streaming enough to warrant paying for both of them. It's obvious which one we should keep". And I was all, "Exactly. The streaming". Only at the exact same time I said streaming, he said "The DVDs". And then we both stared at each other in horror.

Here's the thing. Tony likes to watch movies. He has an entire queue set up with movies that he wants to watch. I however, like the streaming. I rarely have time to watch an entire movie what with the baby needing near-constant attention, so I use the streaming to watch tv shows like Dr. Who and Numbers and Firefly and Wings (and yes, MacGyver). And in the event that I do find myself with 2 hours of free time, I need a movie right that second, not three days from now. So I want the streaming. Only he pointed out that the new movies almost never go to streaming...you can only get them on DVD. And then I pointed out that if he really wanted a movie, he could get it at redbox for $1, but where was I supposed to find the past 50 years of Dr. Who? And he said that I could probably find them online somewhere, and then I pointed out that if I did that, I'd have to watch them in Chinese with translations, and not to mention the computer viruses that those sites hit you with, and by the way he only watches 4 or 5 movies a month anyway, so it'd be a much better value just to get the streaming. And he was like, "why should I pay for each movie at Redbox when I can get unlimited number of movies for roughly the same price? And besides, Doctor Who is dumb". And then I was like, "OH NO YOU DIDN'T!! NOBODY BASHES DOCTOR WHO!" And, well, let's just say the conversation deteriorated from there.

So we're at kind of a stale-mate at the moment. We're both frantically trying to get through as many of our shows/movies as possible before the September 1st deadline. And yes, we could just pay the extra $8 a month or whatever and keep both, but that's just letting Netflix win.

Anybody else trying to decide what to do about Netflix? Do you have any suggestions? Be sure to leave a comment if you agree with me. If not, then please take a moment to re-examine your motives and ask yourself why it is exactly that you hate good programming, you anti-Whoite.

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In other news, our garbage disposal is broken. Apparently, one of ZB's baby washcloths fell down the disposal and got shredded into tiny pieces, which then fatally wrapped themselves around the blades and the whole thing went kaput. (Who knew baby washcloths were so dangerous? They are the kryptonite of disposals). And since I'm the one who regularly "fixes" the disposal (read: knows where the reset button is located), Tony has decided I'm in charge of finding a new one. So here I am last night, doing an internet search on the benefits of In-sink-erator vs Kenmore vs Waste King when I come across this late-breaking news story about the woman who cut of her husband's, er, man-part and dropped it down the disposal. I'm reading the article out loud to Tony when I suddenly get the giggles. I don't know why. Surely such a crime is no laughing matter, but I just can't help it. It's like laughing at a funeral. You know you shouldn't but you just can't seem to stop. (And in my defense, the victim did refuse to comment, siting that the whole thing was a "private" matter. I mean, c'mon!) Anyway, I'm laughing, and Tony is looking rather disturbed and telling me that such things are not funny, which only makes me laugh harder. Long story short, my husband now thinks I am a crazy woman who thinks that dropping man-parts down the garbage disposal is hilarious.

But on the bright side, I don't think he'll be trying to take away my Dr. Who any time soon.

6/16/11 One Score and Eleven Years Ago...

Sooooo...it's my birthday today. Actually, mine and Tony's both. We're turning 31. He celebrated by going to work, and I am celebrating by pressure washing the siding on the house and then changing some poopie diapers. Later today we will meet up for a birthday celebration of signing the papers for refinancing the house.

Whoo-boy! Do we know how to party or what?

Remember when you looked forward to your birthday all year long? Remember when it meant cake and streamers and getting your name called out over the PA system at the skate center while they played the Happy Birthday song?

Or that pool party?

Or the giggling sleepover with pizza and sleeping bags in the living room floor?

What about the obligatory Chucky Cheese?

There's nothing quite like being a kid on your birthday. The siren call of too much sugar, a pile of presents, and 500 of your closest friends and classmates playing games and running amok. Birthdays were rivaled only by Christmas and the first day of summer as the best day of the entire year.

So why is it that adult birthdays are never as awesome as what they were when we were kids?

Actually, I can't really complain. While today might be a little humdrum, my extended family will get together this Sunday to celebrate Father's Day and all the June birthdays, including mine. We'll grill burgers and hot dogs, and buy funny birthday cards and pass them around so we can all laugh at the jokes. And I have it on good authority that my new favorite dessert, Chocolate Trifle, will be made. So as far as birthdays go, not bad.

I've heard that the tradition of birthday parties started in Europe because people thought that evil spirits were particularly active on the day of a person's birth. To combat this, friends and family would visit and bring small gifts and well wishes. Toss in some refined sugar and frosting, and viola! A birthday party!

I'm not sure if evil spirits are chased off by pressure washing and home refinancing, so maybe you should leave me birthday wishes, you know, just to be on the safe side. After all, you'd feel horrible if the evil spirits got me on my birthday, right?

Bonus points for singing the actual song.

6/15/11 Baptism

ZB's baptism was a few weeks ago, but I'm just now getting around to organizing the pictures. I figured that if I was going through them on my online photo album, I might as well share a few.

It was a really great service. Family showed up from as far north as Chicago and as far south as Savannah to witness it. ZB wore the christening gown that my great-grandmother made roughly 60 years ago...the same one that my dad was christened in, as well as all of my uncles and cousins. It's gotten soft and thin from age and numerous washings, but it was neat having that kind of family history.

To augment the family christening gown, (which in addition to being white and fairly unadorned, was a little big on ZB and therefore looked like she was wearing a pillowcase) my mom made a satin and lace over-robe, bonnet, and matching blanket. All together, she was just lovely. (Plus she really enjoyed raising her legs and watching the fabric billow up around her-endless baby entertainment there).

ZB hadn't yet made it through an entire church service without needing feeling the need to express herself vocally, so we were a little nervous about sitting in the very front where we wouldn't be able to slip out easily, but it turned out that our fears were for naught. She was perfect the entire time. Even when the priest poured water on her head. Even when he marked her with oil. Even when everyone crowded around to take pictures afterwards. She was a trooper, and she handled it with grace and dignity. (Well, except for the very very end when we had a minor diaper explosion, but a little bleach in the pre-wash and that gown will live to see another 60 years).

Seester and her husband Stubby were the godparents, and they did a great job. They didn't even drop her or anything.

After the service, we all headed over to Mom and Dad's house (our house is too small for so many people) and had a fabulous barbecue lunch that I'm still dreaming about. (Seriously, we had various flavored trifle for dessert, and the other night I had a dream that I was eating chocolate trifle by the handful. That stuff was sooooo good! It is also a main reason why I'm not back down to my pre-pregnancy weight either).

So a good day. I'm so glad that both the church family and the family-family were able to witness and celebrate with us. How lucky ZB and we as her parents are to have so many people who love her so much.

5/16/11 Trumpet for the Lord

So we're sitting in church on Sunday (in the last row in the back because our church doesn't have a cry room and the Quirklet hasn't quite mastered volume control yet), and the priest is in the middle of the scripture reading. And we're right in the middle of the book of Matthew, and the whole church is quietly listening to the reading about Jesus on the road to Jerusalem, when the Quirklet lets out this massive MASSIVE wet baby fart.

It was classic.

And you know the whole church heard it. A couple of people in the row in front of us did this kind of quarter turn thing like they were going to look around but then caught themselves and stared straight ahead instead. The priest did this started throat clearing thing. And a 7 year old boy four rows over was turning purple from the effort of not laughing out loud. (Actually I was pretty impressed by his stoicism, because my internal 7 year old self was snickering like crazy).

But what can you do? Babies just don't hold it in. I wanted so badly to yell, "That wasn't me! I was just holding her!" or something along those lines, but alas, it could not be done. Instead, I just made a big production of gathering up her diaper bag and heading to the changing area. Let the people put two and two together.

And then I ran home to blog about it because 1 )baby gas is adorable, even in the middle of church and 2), I'll need something to mortify her with when she's about 14 years old.

This story ought to do nicely.


Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. - Acts 2:2

4/29/11 Things I've Learned in the Past Seven Weeks

My apologies for being so sporadic with the blogging. As you may have guessed, the little one takes up all my time now. (My hope is that eventually she'll be able to amuse herself long enough for me to sit down and actually write something...as it stands now, I just have to hold her with one hand and type with the other).

But in the 10 minutes or so that it will take her Daddy to put her to bed, for her to wake up crying, for him to shush at her for a few seconds, for her to ignore him, and for him to bring her back downstairs to me with a shrug and a "She wants her Mommy", I'll try to relate some of the things this new motherhood deal has taught me.

For instance, I have learned that:

• She changes every day. Every morning I wake up and she's longer, heavier, and her face has changed a little. It blows me away. I can almost sit and literally watch her grow right before my eyes. She looks totally different than she did when she was born, or when she was a month old, or even from what she looked like last week. Clothes that fit 3 days ago don't anymore. Of course, she becomes more beautiful by the day, so all this changing is nice, but still...it shocks me how quickly she grows. Do all babies do this? I never noticed before.

• Babies have no concept of time. Come to think of it, no patience either. The bottle warmer takes exactly 90 seconds to heat up her 3am bottle of milk. You wouldn't think 90 seconds would be that long. But to her, there's only RIGHT NOW, and the bottle is not here RIGHT NOW, despite you saying, "Seriously, just 20 more seconds! Enough with the screaming already!" Seconds mean absolutely nothing to her. The world is ending! The world is ending! The world is-oh hey, the bottle's ready. Cool.

• In a similar vein, she can also go from happy to screaming like someone has amputated both legs in nothing flat. There doesn't seem to be any in between with her. No sniffling, or trembling lip, or cranky warning noises. It's happy smiling (or sleeping) to tortured screams in an instant. Then, just as mysteriously, she's back to being fine again, and you're just left standing there going, "what the heck was THAT?" Tony and I have actually taken to calling these sudden little fits her alter ego, which goes by the name Fussy McFussypants. Thankfully, these visits by Fussy McF are few and relatively short lived, but they're still enough to send your poor nerves reeling if you aren't expecting it. (I know, I know, the same mad crying means I'm hungry, I need a diaper change, I'm tired, I'm bored, my tummy hurts or I just want to be held. Then as soon as she sends the message, she's back to being a happy camper. I will be so glad when she's able to add a few more tricks to her bag of ways to communicate.)

• Also? She melts my heart. She has just learned to smile back at me in the last week or so, and every time I walk into her field of vision and she smiles at me, it's like I float three feet off the ground. I am totally addicted to it. I would walk for days, wrestle mountain lions, and leap tall buildings in a single bound for one of those smiles. As it is, I am giving up sleep, changing poopie diapers and completely foregoing chocolate (which apparently I have an unhealthy devotion to since I can't stop thinking about it, and yet it gets into the breastmilk and gives her a gassy tummy, so it's off the menu for the time being). And the crazy thing is I'm happy to do it for her! It's baby mind control, and I don't mind a bit. (Well, except maybe a little for the chocolate).

• Tony has learned that he REALLY REALLY hates getting up to give her the 3am bottle. He's tired, he's cranky, he's annoyed that I'm still laying in bed even though I get up for EVERY OTHER FEEDING while he sleeps. But still, he does it. Every night. Because he's still dependable, even when sleep deprived. But oh how she has him wrapped around her tiny baby finger! He comes home every day at lunch so he can see her. And you should have seen them reading a story together last night on the couch. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more. So he may really hate 3am, but he's absolutely crazy about that little girl.

• Finally, I've learned it isn't about me anymore. For instance, today she spit up all down the front of my top. (I know...gross, right?) Gallons and gallons of spit-up right over the burp cloth (I'm still not sure how she managed to get around it), hang a left around my collarbone and right down the front of my shirt. Now before, I probably would have ripped the shirt off, run screaming from the room, and spent the next 30 minutes scrubbing off the top four layers of skin in the shower. But now? It didn't even register. Because she needed a bath, and she needed a change, and she needed to finish her lunch, and there just wasn't space in my brain to give it any more thought other than to stuff a paper towel down my front and keep on going. (I did remember it hours later when I stripped off the shirt and found the paper towel still stuck in my bra).

So yeah. This motherhood thing is kinda like being in a cult. I used to think it was a little obnoxious the way parents would go on and on and on about their children, but I totally get it now. They can't help it. I see the whole world through baby-tinted glasses. My life (right now at least) revolves around this little person. A tiny, demanding, wonderful little person. And right now, I'm okay with that. I'm totally drinking the koolaid.

4/21/11 Sibling Rivalry

A lot of people ask me how the cats are getting along with the new baby. I get the feeling they expect some kind of baby vs cat shenanigans. (I blame this on Disney's Lady and the Tramp, which cruelly and erroneously showed Siamese plotting to steal the baby's milk).

But this is not true. The cats have been very good about the new baby.In fact, I they have been the perfect little helpers.

Dixon keeps an eye on her while she sleeps.

Magellan warms her bouncy seat for her.

Mason helps me feed her.

Bella helps burp her.

Now, it is true that they all run away when she cries (Dixon runs to the top of the stairs and cries too, so that both the baby AND the cat are raising a ruckus), and they do like to sleep on her changing pad when they get into the nursery, and sometimes they will abscond with a pacifier or two to bat around, but other than that they've been the perfect big brothers and sister.

Well, at least until she gets old enough to get a death grip on a tail or two, anyway.