Be an athletic supporter

We watch a lot of basketball at our house.  I don't mind.  Every once and a while, I like to update any remaining blog readers on the status of all things NBA as perceived from my spot on our tomato red sectional.  (Remember how Carmelo Anthony wasn't invited on our family vacation?  Or how Yao Ming looks exactly like a Lego?)

Anyway, with all the excitement with round 1 of the 2010 Playoffs, I have noted the following:

Kyrylo Fesenko looks sort of like my nephew Carter.  Exhibit A:

Carter might trump Fes in maturity.  Carter is a three year old.  Also, Carter might be able to out-rebound him.  At least he'd go up with TWO FREAKING HANDS.

Don't worry, I'm not the only one around our house with an eye for spotting look-a-likes.  Earlier in the season, Paddy noticed the startling resemblance between the Raptors' Chris Bosh:

and Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars:

(Luckily for me, he also noticed the uncanny way I look exactly like Angelina Jolie when I wake up in the morning.)

Obviously.

Dear Citadel Broadcasting,

I used to enjoy 101.9 The End.  In case you were wondering, your new format blows, and the music is awful.  When I turned on the radio this morning and heard "Slim Shady", I wanted to throw up.  Thanks a lot.  Whoever is in charge should go chew on some pavement.  In the mean time, I'll change my presets. 

P.S.  I have been listening to Chunga in the mornings since high school.  Now I feel all... off.

If I had a wish, then it would be...

It's Schmoopsie's birthday today.  I thought about listing all the reasons I love him, but figured it'd go on and on and be boring and also sappy and make people want to gag and roll their eyes.  I also considered listing 26 of his quirks (like how he schedules his bathroom trips, for example) (5:22 pm, in case you were wondering) but decided that would embarrass him. 

So instead, I'll straighten just up the house and iron some of his shirts and whip up some Thai Peanut Pasta for his birthday dinner and hope that he knows how very much I love him. He is the ballast in my ship, the anchor of my heart, the string for my kite. 

I am many things:  a daughter, a friend, an aunt, sister, granddaughter, social worker, a crazy person.  I have degrees and licenses and letters after my name.  He made me the two things I am most proud of in the world:  a wife, and a mother.  He gave me his heart and our child; somehow a pair of Nikes and some peanuts in his pasta seem a little underwhelming.

(Notwithstanding the love affair I have with peanuts in my pasta.)

I love you.  Happy Birthday, Mo.

Sorry 'bout that

Dear Bug,

Don't worry.  It's not your fault you didn't like it.  It sounded gross to me, too. 

It's just that when you're a new mom, every person and website in the world shove advice down your throat (no pun intended) until you can't even think straight. And  you get all paranoid about starting with vegetables and new foods in the mornings and allergies and what not, and the next thing you know you're feeding your baby green beans for breakfast. 

I know, I know.  It sounds ridiculous when you just put it out there like that.  The point is that Daddy and I are doing our best.  And hey!  Clearly things are going ok because TEETH! You grew your own teeth! 

Now, Mama has to go get ready for work, but first we need to have a small discussion about your Easter outfit.  Let me just preface the conversation by saying I often have to physically restrain myself from eating your cheeks because, DUDE, have you SEEN your cheeks?  Well, when you find those cheeks sticking out one end and rolly-polly legs out the other of an outfit as cute as the Easter dress Nana bought you, it's darn near irresistable.  Let me say this to you very slowly:  You had a CARDIGAN.  With GOLD FISH BUTTONS.  DO YOU HEAR ME, CHILD??

I mean, seriously.  Are you trying to give me a heart attack right now?  Because as if my cute-o-meter hadn't already exploded, you got just a teensy bit tired and brough out that little flumb (do you even understand that I just used baby-talk on my blog?  This is the sort of thing you do to me!) and pretty soon there is just a gooey puddle of Mama all over the floor.

You take my breath away, baby girl.  Sort of like the taste of green beans in the morning, only better.

 I love you all the way the the moon and back, my darling. 
Love always,
Mama

PS-  Gold fish on the socks, too.  The SOCKS, Bug!

A riddle

What's new?

Things with which Bug used to share a common feature:

Earthworms
Ducks
Anteaters
Some old people

Things with which Bug now shares a common feature:

Alligators
Sharks
Tyrannosaurus Rex
Lupe


While you're pondering on that, let me talk about Bug's bowel movements.  I know she'll be thrilled later to find that I've shared this with complete strangers the world over:

Eating banana baby food for 2 and a half days makes Bug constipated.

It's like she's a real human or something.

Anyway, answer to the riddle:

Our baby now has teeth. 

The thing that made me laugh all the way to work

You know that part of Wizard of Oz where Dorothy opens the door and all of the sudden her dreary little black and white world has disappeared and she's wandering around in this colorful place and everything is all sparkly and full of brightly colored plastic plants? 

That's pretty much what it's like when you graduate to wireless internet, only with fewer flying monkeys.  I know it's ridiculous, but all of the sudden it seems like a basic human right to be able to blog-stalk while simulaneously rolling my eyes through the fifth We-Had-16-Kids-All-At-Once program on TLC.

So yesterday, my Daddy-o headed down to the local internet provider office and picked up his very own wireless router, and then spent the next couple of hours using his somewhat limited computer skills to set it up.  And he succeeded! (We hear he is a Wiz of a Wiz if ever a Wiz there was.)  I'm happy to announce that my parents have safely arrived in Oz.

I just didn't expect it'd be so sandy.

He swears he couldn't change it-- that the name of the network was pre-populated. 

And that's how my parents ended up with a wireless network called "Iraqi".

In a timely manner

Last summer, I spoke with a department head at a local community college about becoming an adjunct professor for a class or two in the college of social work. While it turned out the timing didn't work out too well with growing and birthing the Bug, I had submitted an application and chatted with the department head several times.

In July.

Yesterday, I received an email from the HR department thanking me for my submission and telling me staffing needs have changed.

Hmmm.  It's been 8 months.  2 full semesters.  Ya think?

That's a lot of bread.

In my family, we enjoy food.  You should see our family parties; it's a banquet, and I'm not exaggerating.  Christmas, Thanksgiving, 4th of July, it doesn't matter.  It's not complete without chips and salsa and bread and dips and cookies and brownies and cheese-- my word! The cheese!-- and drinks and treats.  It's downright indulgent, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love to cook, and most of the time, I'm reasonably good at it. With that in mind, I recently began a hunt for a crucial ingredient to a new recipe I wanted to try.  After extensive searching on the internet and by phone to every fancy-pants hippy food store in the valley, I finally located a local baking supply warehouse that claimed to have those delicious little cinnamon chunks crucial to making cinnamon burst bread. I was elated.

So I took my life in my hands, and wandered for 45 minutes in an industrial section of town far from humanity, keeping a careful outlook for both the baking warehouse and for any ax murderers.  (It looked like an ax murderer sort of area.)(Not that I'm judging.)

And when I finally found it, I nearly bounced inside, my promise to Schmoopsie for a dessert surprise ringing in my ears.

And that's when the lady in the apron told me I'd have to buy FIFTY POUNDS of cinnamon chunks.