Pirate in Training

Emily has been eating up the book Pirates Don't Change Diapers, and although she can read, she wants one of us to read it to her because we do The Voices. There's especially a funny line in the book when the main character, a little boy, asks the captain to babysit his baby sister. The pirate replies, "Pirates don't sit on babies!" The funny part is when the chorus of other pirates holler out:

"No sittin on babies!"

To which Emily breaks out in hysterics.

This book has prompted the family room to turn into Pirate Training Camp. She had a plank set up with pillows and a tube that used to have posters in it that served as the plank. She had her stuffed puppy dog with her who was named "Baby Scurvy Dog," and there were no sharks in the waters, because alas, it was only training camp. Baby Scurvy Dog had to slide down the plank rather than walk the plank to see what it felt like, but again, since it was only training day, only sliding was necessary (and because Mom said).

I'm just waiting for her to say "Aye!" instead of yes from now on, especially now that she's looking into the pirate book that came before this one. I've promised her that we would look for it in the library, but I'm thinking that I may just have to go to Barnes and Noble to get her her own set.

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We were at the Y yesterday for gymnastics, and this was the day that I decided to take off from working out. One day. I stay in the gym with my book, half reading and half watching Emily. She's not having much fun with it today. The mean girl is back and the fun guy is gone. The fun girl is working with the older group, which is a shame, and the new girl doesn't have a clue as to what she's doing yet. That's Emily's experience. MY experience is a little different.

On the right of me sits Mean Mom. She has a two-or-so year old who has gymnastics for toddlers during the class right before Em's. She is the Golden Child. The girl's sister is in the same time gymastics as Emily, but she's at a higher level. Mean Mom repeated yells out this girl's name very gruffly and at one point calls her over to yell at her. I felt so bad for this girl. Mean Mom told the girl that she needs to get better, do what the teacher says and try harder. IF M.M. had been watching her elder daughter rather than stuffing her young one with crap food, she would have seen she was doing exactly as she was doing. I just wanted to tell both mean-girl gymnastics teacher and Mean Mom to lighten up! Good grief--if you want your kid to be a gymnastics star, go somewhere else. The Y's great, but they need a lower ratio of gymastics' instructors to kids for these little people to become so-called gymnasts.

Okay, that was my right side.

On my left was a young boy and an older lady who were going through the story of Harry Potter from what was probably book one all the way through to book seven. I almost wanted to say, "Harry dies. What a shame." But I held it in. They talked for the entire hour, and the little boy (8 or 9 years old) spoke very loudly because he apparently just loves H.P. I, on the other hand, do not. Talk, but for pete's sake (or Harry's sake), tone it down a bit, take a breath once in awhile.

At the end of the gymastics' class hour, Emily gets her stamp in her book, trots over to me. I ask her if she had fun, and I see out of the corner of my eye that Mean Mom's head just snapped towards me.

I wish I had said, "Fun? Do you remember that?" to her, but I don't. We gather our things and leave.


Welcome to Post #100

Ahhh, post 100. What do I win; what do I win?? I win a great big heapin' helpin' of nothin. :)

My Title should read: How to Be Nice and Not Be a Complete Jack*ss About It.

As we were driving to Wendy's tonight (I was not cooking, and I wanted one of their salads), traffic piled up on Greenwich Rd. I was in the proper turn lane and being patient. One guy was kind enough to not pull all the way through so that I could turn. He waved me through. <--That's the end of his niceness. I would have pulled through to acknowledge his niceness, and I would have waved my thanks to him, but I couldn't turn. In the other lane came barreling up an SUV. The man waiting just for me waved more vigorously and then more vigorously when I wouldn't budge. The SUV came closer, and if I had gone when the man waiting had waved me, then I wouldn't be writing this and my family would be visiting us in the hospital or making arrangements for the other possible event. Unfortunately, the man waiting was more concerned with his chivalry than our safety and he was upset and frustrated that I wouldn't go. The SUV passed and the man still wouldn't move. He was absolutely pissed off now and he was going to be chivalrous even if he were angry about it. I went, but I wanted to wave my thanks in a different way. I hope he had a nice hissy fit on the way to wherever he was going and got it over with. I'm sure he was thinking about how nice he was and how people treated him when he was just trying to be nice.

Being nice is one thing, but have some common sense by taking a look around you at the same time.

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I forgot to report about the absolutely most hideous fit I have ever heard by a child. Thankfully, it wasn't mine. And if it had been, I wouldn't have said something asinine like, "I'll talk to you about it later when you're happier" like this mother did.

Excuse me??

The girl, who was probably 7 or 8 years old, was SCREAMing at the top of her lungs in the Ladies/Girls' locker room about how her mother kept buying her swim lessons and that she could just do this on her own. She keeps paying for her to be serious, is what the girl said. Weird. The teacher must've wanted the girl to do something that the girl didn't want to do, because it sounded to me as if the the girl is used to getting what she wants.

The tirade lasted the entire time we were putting our things in our locker, going to the restroom, digging out swim goggles. Emily just looked at me like the girl was crazy and she couldn't believe this was happening. And then the "talk to you about it later when you're happier" comment hit, and Emily laughed. Later, she told me that the girl needed to go to her room! That mother has taught that child to talk to her like that in a public place--I'd hate to be one of the girl's teachers come this August. Calling home will not do a thing. I did have my own teacher moment and really wanted to step in and tell the mother to take her darling out and behave like a mother, so she could raise her daughter to be a good adult and not a self-indulgent one.

But that didn't happen.

I clamped my mouth shut. As soon as we were out of ear shot I asked Emily, "What would I do if you acted like that?"

She said, "I wouldn't act like that."


Colorado + Kansas = BFF

BFF = Best Friends Forever

After swim class today, Emily told me that her regular teacher would be going to Colorado for a few days. I asked her if she knew where Colorado was, and of course, she didn't yet. I pointed west and told her that if we drove west for a really long time that we'd eventually get there, and it sits right next to Kansas.

"You mean they sit with each other?"

"Yes, they do."

"That means they're best friends! They must have assigned seats together."

And this is the very short story of why Colorado and Kansas are together and why they will always be BFF.


My British Accent

I've been doing a little research project that I've entitled, "Why my tummy is so bloated and gassy that I'm doubled over in pain, and is it all of these damn vegetables that are doing it to me?" That little project has lead me to my Greens+ product and the fact that I could have overdosed myself on vegetable intake at such a high rate. A 3 tsp. serving = 6 cups of vegetables. I, after reading the label, took the 3 tsp's in an ice cold cup of water, just like the directions said. What the directions DIDN'T say was that I should start out with just a 1/2 tsp. serving in order to get used to the product and then increase the dosage. Aww, crap. And that's just what I wish I could do to get rid of this horrible bloating. Burp or Burp from the Bottom--I don't care.

Anyway, I'm researching G+ and then run across information about organic vegetables and the debate whether they're healthier than the conventionally grown. I've always believed that vegetables came from the same place: a seed sown into the ground, it is watered and then it grows with the right elements and then it is sprayed so the bugs won't eat them; the farmers pick it up with their big machines, they take it to the grocery stores, the stockers put it on the shelves, consumers buy it. I buy it, I bring it home. I stock it in our refrigerator, and promptly forget about it. Then, I notice the stinky smell. I clean out the refrigerator of the produce and throw it in the garden to hopefully reconstitute itself as some other vegetable form. I call it the cycle of life. Okay?

My research has sometimes taken me to the UK and their web sites. I know this because they have a dot-uk in their web addresses. And I'm reading the information, and I notice in my head that I'm reading it in a British accent. It's quite wild. American web site=I think English. UK web site=I think English, only it's the other English. It makes research so much more entertaining.


Praise be to God for the Breathe Right Nasal Strips People

I am so like my dad that it's scary. I apparently snore, walk in my sleep, as well as talk in my sleep. The key word here is sleep, because although I do all of that snoring, walking and talking, there was very little sleeping actually going on. I am not sure I'd gotten a good six hours of straight sleep since 1995, I think. I'd trudge through each day, and when I started exercising and eating right, I was promised bounties of bundles of energy. I nevered received my bounty. Last week, Dale suggested that since I've been gasping for air many times during the night that I could have sleep apnea.

"Try one of those nose strip thingies," he said. "And I want the covers back." I had apparently taken those every night, too, in my quest for dreamland.

"Ooohkaaaay"--which is exactly how Emily sounds when she thinks she's doing something naughty and getting away with it in front of her parents.

I put one of them over my nose and thought, "This is so attractive." It was just a good thing that it was dark.

And the breath that sustains life entered my body. And yay, though I walk in stuffiness during the day, I breathe and dream at night.

And Dale has the covers back.

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If one should ever decide to have Clint Miller and group build you a home, make sure that you have different plumbers than their contracted plumbers check out your hot water tank and their connections. We discovered the just plain wrong connections when the hot water tank sprang a leak. That leak lead to the dumbfounded discovery of the plumbers connecting the cold water to the hot connection of the tank and the hot water to the cold connection to the tank. The knob that shuts off the water to and from the tank turned for eternity without shutting anything off. I realize that this has been eight years and anything can happen to that knob in eight years, but the wrong pipes? The other thing that ticks me off is that the inspector who inspected the plumbing signed off on it.

Once the new water tank was installed, we could tell the difference right away. It used to be that I'd have to fill our bathtub almost halfway with whatever came out of the hot spiggot, wait 30-45 minutes and then finish filling if I wanted an almost-hot bath. NOW, I can fill the whole thing all in one shot and have a glorious too-hot-to-handle-it bath.


IF you should have C.M. build you a home, or if you buy a C.M.-built house, have another plumber come out--it'll be well worth the expense. You might want to get an independent inspector, as well; I wish we had.

They used Armstrong Plumbing.


Chicken Dance

I will never eat regular chicken leftovers again, just like I won't be regular chicken again if it doesn't tell that it hasn't been shot full of hormones. I had my leftover chicken-hypothesis breast for my second meal of the day, and it was just as good as it was fresh. No funky taste, no foul (pun, haha) smell, just blessed white meat.

No-Lid Chicken
You need a whole chicken (filled with hormones or not)
You need a roasting pan
You do not need the roasting pan lid
Preheat oven to 300 degrees
Spray the roasting pan with non-stick cooking oil
Place the whole chicken into the pan
Cook for approximately 2 hours

It should come out very juicy and tender with golden skin. Do not remove the skin prior to cooking--that's what keeps it juicy and tender and is the "lid."

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Blue Angels
The Blue Angels will be here this weekend for a show at McConnell, and so they were practicing (I think) today and yesterday. We have the best spot to watch the Angels from our back deck since they usually fly right over our house and backyard (awesome).

Today, I hear more airplane noise than I'm used to, and I notice it's a blue jet. I point out the window and holler to Emily, "The Blue Angels are here!"

She looked at me, her eyes crinkled, and she was obviously very confused. She hesitated for a moment, and later she told me that when I told her about the Blue Angels, she thought that I mean that there were angels from heaven here who were blue. I guess she didn't really want to see anything quite that up close and personal from heaven, yet, so she hesitated. After she realized what they were, she was very excited about watching them out of our kitchen window.


Chicken, the Pope, and Emily's now a Fish

I have a theory. I have always hated the taste of leftover chicken--hated it so much that I've had to plug my nose and force it down, or cover it with something else that had stronger flavor to it, like garlic, onion. And also have something repulsive-smelling next to me, but not AS repulsive as the chicken, like dirty socks worn while I've mown the lawn and I've stepped in something ... bad.

Well, we decided to have company over for dinner one night, and I was going to fix NLC, which is No-Lid Chicken (an inside joke). I bought it at Wal-Mart, I cooked it. We ate it. It was delicious and juicy. The next day, I needed something to eat protein-wise, and I needed something fast, and protein powder wasn't going to cut it. I sighed. The only thing would be the chicken I saved. I save it for the rest of the family, but not me. I had to have something. I don't hold my nose this time, but I did decide to eat it pretty fast. I didn't gag, and I certainly didn't spit it back out. In fact, it was almost as enjoyable as it was the previous night.

It hit me later that the bad taste I taste (redundant, I know) was that I bought a no-hormones-raised chicken. It was "All Natural." Just cut off the head and feet, pluck the feathers and put it in some water, wrap it up in a chicken condom, slabel it (short for slap a label on it) and let me have it. I'm putting my hypothesis to work. I bought some of the same type of chicken, and I grilled it this morning. I ate half of it already for one of my meals and TOMORROW, I'll try out the second half.

Emily's a Fish
Emily's been taking swim lessons for about two months now. She had been afraid for the longest time to put her head under the water. She finally did it two days ago and she didn't want to stop. In fact, she insisted I fill up the bathtub later so that she could show her daddy that she could really do it. Then the next day after that, she was playing in the wading section and she was kicking, putting her head in, but holding onto the ground of the pool. I told her to stretch out her arms when she did that.

"Okaaaay," she said, like she was going to be doing something conspiratorial.

When she came out of the water after having FLOATed, the look on her face was priceless. Her little mouth was twirled in an O and I knew that she was about to ask me if I had just seen what she had done. I told her to do it again, after I high-fived her.

I signed her up for two more weeks of lessons so that I could teach her more stuff. ;)

The Pope
All I have to say is that the Pope may want to watch what he says about who's a Christian and who isn't. Yikes! Scary territory there. From CNN.com:

and Kansas.com


Especially interesting from the above link was: "Pope Benedict XVI reasserted the primacy of the Roman Catholic Church, approving a document released Tuesday that says other Christian communities are either defective or not true churches and Catholicism provides the only true path to salvation." I thought Jesus was the only true path to salvation.

He's calling a lot of people who are Christian not Christian, and I thought that was a huge no-no.


Stuff Outta My Head

I made the best non-traditional breakfast this morning, at least, I thought it was great in my own mouth. I made a pancake batter of Eggbeater type stuff and fat free cottage cheese. I added minced garlic and oregano. I cooked those like pancakes. Once those were done, I put them on a cookie sheet and put sliced tomatoes and low-fat romano cheese with a smab of olive oil. Broiled it for about five minutes. GREAT breakfast for pizza-holics like me. I could survive on this stuff forever.

Workouts are going great. A co-worker ended up two ellipticals down from me, and when I noticed him, he told me that I "was sure tearing it up." Later as I was getting Em from her activity, the custodian said, "You sure were tearin' it up on that machine up there!" The music on my MP3 player really helps me. I start out with Chris Daughtry's "What I Want," then INSX "Pretty Vegas," Jet's "Cold Harde Bitch," then to Kelly Clarkson's hits. By the time I'm finished with all of this line-up, the machine is spanked, and I'm sweating worse than Richard Simmons. I really used to hate cardio, but if I don't get my fix in now, I'm really grouchier than I used to be.

To Al Gore III: Way to go being green.