Breaded Pigs

Tonight, K made breaded pork chops. Z asked what kind of meat pork chops were.
"Pig", I said.
He studied his plate for a minute and asked, "Do pigs have breadcrumbs on them like that?!"
And somehow, K managed to squeak out (without laughing), "No, pigs don't. I added the breadcrumbs before I put them in the oven."

Teapot Murders

Before we begin, it has been brought to my attention that one might need a small vocabulary lesson in order to fully understand this story:
Main Entry:

fart machine

Pronunciation:

\fah-ert mosh-een\

Function:

noun

Date:

2007 (?)

Definition: A fart machine is a small, black circle with a speaker on it. Out of the speaker comes all varieties of flatulence. There is a remote with it, so that the person holding the remote can put the speaker under someone or something (a chair, perhaps?) and then go to another room to push the remote. It creates all kinds of surprise for the person sitting on or near the machine and hilarity for the person holding the remote.

Okay then, on with the story...

How many movies can you count where the lonely, relaxed woman sports a thin robe, warms up the stove for a cup of tea, and goes to relax in the other room? The tea kettle whistles, the music gets more and more dark and animated, and we know her end is imminent.

I felt like that woman today. I had the tea kettle experience.
K took the kids out, so I could get some homework done. All was quiet...

Except for a man's voice. One that was hardly audible. But still, a man's voice. If we lived in the city. No problem. Probably a neighbor or something. Out here? We don't have neighbors. At least not neighbors that we'd be able to hear...

My mind whirred with all of the men that K might have pissed off in his sermons and with all of the ways that they might want to get back at him.

They'd want to hurt his loved ones, of course...

His wife.

I got up slowly from the couch, and then thought, "It isn't really a man. It has got to be the radio."

I tiptoed to the radio.

Nope. (gulp)

K's computer?

Off. (hmmm)

The basement?

Possibly, but did I want to check?

No. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen anyway.

And then, just like the teapot scenario, B's (ahem) fart machine started going off. I knew I had just seen the remote to that thing in the bathroom.

On the counter.

I raced to the hallway to see if it was still there. It wasn't. At least, I couldn't see it from where I was.

Again, I tiptoed.

This time down the hallway. To B's room. Where the farting persisted.

Was my death about to come to me by way of an animated human fart? I didn't know, but my homework wasn't getting done. I was being distracted, and I was annoyed. I would possibly kill the murderer just out of sheer annoyance.

I opened the bedroom door.

Nothing, except the loudly farting (and hiding) machine.

I searched through countless toys until I found the thing and quickly flipped the off switch.

But still...when would my killer come? I knew I had heard him somewhere in the house. He now had baited me into position. I had to get out of this room. Quickly. (I was seriously scared!)

All espionage-like, I made myself one with the walls, and slid silently down the hall, to the kitchen again. The male voice was louder, closer....

And it was coming from K's ipod. On the kitchen counter.

There is absolutely no good ending, (I mean, I'm not dead, and that is good) but if I was an author (and I'm clearly not), this ending would suck, because the conclusion is this:

For some freak reason, the frequency in our house went wacky (or something), causing the fart machine and K's ipod to start going off simultaneously. I still don't understand it. K said that happens sometimes. (?)

All I know is that I am happy to not have been wooed to death by a fart machine. That would have just been embarrassing.

I Wonder How He'd Look if He Wasn't a Pacifist

See that mighty knight? And the eye-patched pirate? They are trying to protect the princess from the evil enemy. The princess was actually doing a pretty impressive job whooping the enemy's butt herself, but you know...we let the boys think they were helping anyway. Male chivalry is important, I guess.

To them.

Not to me.

By the way, if you read this said enemy's blog, you might think he was a pacifist.


I just have a hard time believing that sometimes. I don't know why.

Clothes and Drawings

Z informed me that "turkeyflage" is much more practical than "camel-flage', because "we don't really shoot camels around here! Who cares if camels can see us or not!?"
--------------------------------
B has been drawing like crazy. Not that long ago, he asked me how to draw a dalmatian.

I showed him. An oval for a head, then a big, black nose, two dots for eyes, and some little, black ears. He watched me, and made one similar. It was one of the first drawings he's done that actually looks like the thing he was copying. I was proud. I had him sign it, and I dated it and hung it up.

My sister came over, and said, "B, nice picture!"

"My mom made that," he said.

And no matter how much I tried to tell her that I wasn't guilty, she still looked pretty unconvinced in the end.

I threw it away, and I quickly decided that he no longer can copy my drawings.

Only originals from now on, baby!
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S asked if she was big enough to pick out her own clothes, "because the boys always do", and I was thinking, "Yup, but they only have cachis and jeans...you can't really screw that up!" Finally, she won me over, and I thought, "Oh well. She can't screw up TOO bad. She really only has SOME jeans with colors and stuff on them...maybe she won't pick those..."
I was right. She didn't pick those flowery jeans. She picked a skirt. And tights. Huh.

Good try, sunshine! We might wait awhile to try the independent dressing thing again.

Random Stuff About Your Mom

I thought I should paste this list here, because I wouldn't want my kids to miss out on how cool their mom was....

1. I used to have to wear an eye patch to school, and my mom drew an eye on the top of it to make it look better. I probably scared people.
2. I scratched my best friend's eye, and she had to wear a patch WITH me for a week. I thought that was cool. She didn't.
3. When we used to have those desks that slanted towards us, our teacher rearranged the room so we were facing another classmate. My desk partner puked on my desk, and it rolled down my desk towards me. I escaped just in time.
4. I used to think that I was mentally impaired, and my family just didn't want to tell me.
5. When I was in 8th grade, I transferred to a new school. The teacher asked where I was from, and I said, "I'm from Mars." Well, actually I said, I was from MARNE, but everyone thought I said Mars, and they started calling me Tard. I KNEW IT! ( see #4)
6. I say dumb things to people all the time, like when I asked a former classmate (a guy) what his name used to be or when I told a guy (who was all thankful for the good care the funeral home people gave his wife and who was all teary-eyed that they cared so much to make her look so beautiful), "Oh. Well, that's their job." (see #4)
7. I used to think that I had such long toes because I was gonna be in some big tragic accident that left me with severed hands. I would need my toes to write and draw.
8. I bleached my eyebrows gone once when I decided that Hydrogen Peroxide would be a good thing to clean my face with. I didn't realize my eyebrows were gone until people started asking about them. (see #4)
9. I have to pluck my nose hairs all the time.
10. Someone asked me if my kid was my grandkid just a few months ago.
11. Someone asked me if my sister was older or younger than me. She's TWELVE years older than me, darn it all!
12. I got in an accident once, when I first got my license, and we weren't sure if the noise was our car being crashed or if our music was just up too loud. (see #4)
13. Then, I drove away from the accident, because I didn't know you needed to stop. (see #4)
14. Someone chased us down.
15. I'm doing this stupid list instead of doing my homework.
16. I've been in seminary for SEVEN years.
17. I still have two more years to go. One class per semester...
18. I hope I can use my degree some day.
19. My kids all look more like my sister-in-law than me.
20. When I go away with her, people automatically ask HER if they are twins, how old they are, and what their names are.
21. When I first got married, K took a big ol' bite of uncooked rice, because I followed the recipe, and it said, "Serve over rice". It didn't say "cook the rice first"! (see #4)
22. I haven't improved much.
23. My kids have eaten candy every day since Halloween. The other day, they ate a popcorn ball, a sucker, and Kool-aid for dinner. (That's really true, Cind!) :)
24. I'm done. No more Random Things. I've got to go play "Knock Over the Other Person's Army Guys" with B.
25. Okay, one more. I have scars all over the place. Most of them are from when I tried to show off for a cute guy by pedaling my bike really fast down a steep paved driveway that curved at the end. (I fell, sliding on my knees, hands, and face.) The other ones (the ones on my hands) are from getting bitten by Alroy, my favorite biting human ever. He lived in the group home I used to work at.

Bubs is Almost an Adult

Some friends said I should blog more about Bubs, because they still feel like he is a tiny baby, and they were surprised to see he was a near-adult when they came to visit recently.

I agreed to do so.

But in attempting that feat, I realized I have little to say:

He still does all the same stuff. He's just bigger.

He eats, and he is mostly content with the every 3 hour set-up. Once in a while, he gets mad that I am not a "24 Hour Drink Bar".

He poops. Alot.

He cries when Z kisses him too much, but is otherwise pretty smiley.

He rolled over two times, and then decided that was way too much work for his cellulitey body.

He drools lakes-worth.

He is cute. Very cute.

And he is good entertainment when S's toys have lost their appeal.