Long live the Queen

I have joked about the future wife of Prince William.  But I do pity her.  I'm not sure if Kate Middleton ever ponders what she's getting herself in to.  She's going to be Queen of England one day.  Every move she makes will be followed.  Every outfit scrutinized.  Every social engagement gossiped.  Heck, even her bowel movements will probably be recorded.  Who wants that job?  Because you know its there.  "I work at the palace." "Oh yeah, what do you do?" "I keep track of the Queen's BMs.  Got to make sure she's regular."

Okay, okay, probably not.  But she is going from a 'normal' British citizen to eventually becoming the most well known figure in England.  So, how do we as Americans celebrate that?  Make a commemorative doll, of course!  A wedding doll!  But why wait until the wedding?  The secret wedding.  Well, parts of it.  Namely the wedding gown.  Its a special one of a kind dress.  Now we all know that Kate doesn't get a say in any of it.  Just as Diana didn't (I'm guessing).  From the moment she and the Prince got engaged, she became a living paper doll.  So let's dress her up.  This advertisement got a huge laugh from me.  For so many reasons.  So I wanted to share it with you.

"We're going to make a doll.  That's the most American way we can show we approve of the marriage.  With tchotcke."

"We use words like 'museum quality' to trick you into validating the price"

"We want to remind everyone that she was a no one, but in a nice way.  We're calling her an 'enchanting commoner' because 'white trash' was both taken and distasteful."

"We have no idea what her wedding gown will look like, but if we had to guess, this gown from 5 years ago would definitely be it."

"We're going to remind you how secret the designs are so you'll think we're so clever later.  So clever that we think you'll pay $159 for something that may or may not look like the picture you see here."

"Advanced Reservations now being accepted" -- as though they weren't planning this all along.  And as though later you won't be able to buy one of the million they're making.

Making over priced crap to sell to commemorate an event is normal.  But to do it as a "this is what we will do most likely because we aren't even sure what we're talking about" pre-sale.  That's just genius.  Why?  Because people will buy it. You've got your credit cards out already.

Finding Nemo

Today I was out of ideas.  I couldn't think of anything.  So I decided to make Peanut and Bean a plain ol' sandwich.  They would be disappointed, but sometimes mama ain't got it.  When I went to grab a sandwich cutter, the top one was a fish.  Thus was created the chaos theory of bento lunches.  It isn't randomness.

Aquarium Bento -- Clown fish sandwich, "fish food" cinnamon pita chips, and various aquarium decorations -- sparkle rocks (jello), and pebbles (jelly beans) and fish feeder sticks (string cheese) 

Okay, I admit the string cheese is stretching the imagination, but they wanted cheese sticks.

The Ring Master Steps Up ...

Today we took the kids and had their pictures made by a professional photographer.  This is a lot like a three ring circus.  Clark Kent is the Ring Master.  The photographer is the Lion Tamer.  Wrangling four children to sit still, look the same way and smile at the same time is a trick of the eye.  Let me add that I was a bit stupid and got Little Frog his 2 month shots today just prior to the photo shoot.  Hey, I don’t claim to be the brightest crayon in the box, not by several shades. 

The Ring Master controls the children, and their reaction to the Lion Tamer.  It’s actually amazing to watch.  I stood there like a padawan watching a Jedi Master work.  He posed, he pacified, he acted like a buffoon to make them laugh.  Ring Master.  Amazing performer.  Clown.  These are all things that are required of great dads.  We survived.  They smiled, they laughed at Daddy, and the photographer captured their angelic nature.  It’s amazing how angelic children look in a still photograph.  You don’t see the crying, running around like crazy, screaming and general chaos that happens around that one moment of angelic grace.  I have great admiration for those crazy people with a bajillion kids, especially quintuplets or sextuplets or whatever they call those litters of children these days.  They are insane.  They like self punishment.  But to get all those precious children to look at the camera and hold still at the same time – that’s magic.  Or tranquilizers.  They might just have a Benadryl mist that they spray continuously into the photo studio.  And I’m sure that there’s lots of wine involved for the parents.  Or valium.  Or both.  I’ve often said that Mimosas and Bloody Marys were invented by stay at home moms.  Xanex was invented by moms of multiple kids.  Or people who watch Rachael Ray.  They might have invented it.

I love you Rachael.  But your voice is the leading cause of insanity in your hometown.  Look it up.  It’s got to be true.  I watch.  When the TV isn’t on Super Why.  For the first time today I pondered why the audience claps when she presents food.  Why?  Are we clapping because the food looks good?  We aren’t going to get any.  Are we clapping because she didn’t set the studio on fire?  I like to think that the audience is more like trained seals.  “See the food? See it? It looks so good doesn’t it? Smell the food. Yummy.  Clap for the food people! CLAP!” And they do.  They know they can’t have any.  They can barely see what’s going on.  They know it was prepared hours ago.  But they clap for it.  Hurray for “APPLAUSE” signs.  Turning people into seals.  All for Rachael.  I need some trained seals.  I already have the Ring Master.

Part of a balanced breakfast?

What does that even mean?  On the cereal commercials they always show their cereal with toast, fruit, milk and OJ.  "Part of a balanced breakfast" they say.  Does that mean that you have to eat the rest of that to counter the junk in the cereal?  Yeah, probably.  But I digress.  Today the girls have breakfast for lunch.

Breakfast Bento:  Blue & Red pancakes (just divided the batter and added food cololring -- instant fun), dried cereal, bacon and a frozen yogurt.  I also put syrup in a separate container. 

60 (or so) perfect teeth

Today I took the children to the dentist.  They cheered, they clapped, they shouted with joy.  Well, perhaps not that much excitement but it was close.  And why shouldn’t they?  Going to the dentist isn’t what it used to be.  I hated the dentist.  Dr. Jim Nyland.  That’s English for “evil, evil man with the personality of a pit viper”.  I hated everything -- the cleanings, the examination pokings with the long pointy metal things, and the fluoride.  God, I hated the fluoride.  Remember?  The big foam things coated with pink goop that smelled like Lysol and tasted worse.  They were the size of … well, looking back now, they sort of remind me of … nevermind, that’s gross.  Giant white cotton rolls.  Covered in goop.  Shoved in your tiny kid mouth with one set of instructions: Don’t swallow.   And he disappeared for days.  Well, 30 minutes, but when you’re six it seems like days.  Sitting there, holding that ridiculously small napkin thing as pink goopy drool ran everywhere that wasn’t the dinky napkin.  Remember now?  Oh yeah.  That was the dentist I had.  Not my kids though.  They might as well be going to the amusement park.  There are animals to look at (why do all dentist offices have to have fish tanks?), games to play and at the end everyone goes home with a prize! 

One thing hasn’t changed though. No matter how great the dentist is, he still speaks Chachingese.  I understand Chachingese, though I don’t like to.  It goes a little like this: “Well, Mom, Peanut’s teeth look great.  Of course, there’s a tooth that needs to be pulled and $$CHACHING$$ blah blah $$CHACHING$$ and her teeth are crowded so we want to think about early braces $$CHACHING$$ blah blah $$CHACHING$$ best for her now blah blah $$CHACHING$$.”  I am positive that’s what he actually said.  I heard it.  If there were other words in there, they were covered up by my future crying at me for the money the dentist had already spent with his Chachingese.  So, I gathered my things and took my wounded potential savings with me to go home and ponder how to save up for BABY TEETH BRACES.  Let me find a jar.

We have a lot of jars.  If there was a show on jar hoarding, Clark Kent and I would be on the first episode.  We have this compulsion to rinse and wash any form of jar that comes in the house.  Coffee cans, jelly jars, pickle jars, pasta sauce jars.  Anything with a lid.  It must be saved.  And I hide them.  In the laundry room cabinets, on the dryer, in the garage.  Jars.  They are my Precious.   I don’t need them, rarely use them, but I must have them.  All of them.  You’ll need a jar one day and think “Man, I wish I was cool.  Cool people save jars.”  Then my jar hoarding won’t seem so silly.  It will become the “in” thing.  Then I’ll be speaking my own Chachingese.

Napkins are like erasers for people!

As she was doing her homework tonight Bean asked me tonight, "Mom, are napkins like erasers for people?"  I laughed, and pondered it and agreed that yes, napkins are indeed erasers for our faces.  They take the nasty away.  Clever, clever Bean.

That was the last in a long list of amazing thoughts for today.  Today started out with a poopie diaper.  What's new?  I think half my day is filled with poop.  Poop that isn't mine.  And this was a beautiful gift at sunrise from Monkey Man.  Of course, we were out of diapers.  The diaper box must be made of lead, because Clark Kent didn't know we were out either.  So I dealt with poop only to be greeted by vomit.  The half of my day that isn't filled with poop is filled with vomit.  You are all jealous.  Jealous of my day of bodily functions that don't belong to me.  The special moment today was brought on by one of the dogs.  What I want to know is why he'll re-eat it?  Yeah, its gross.  The dog won't eat broccoli.  Or crackers, or soft tortillas.  But that which he previously ate that he's decorated the floor with?  Oh yeah.  That's the good stuff.

My morning was only saved by Little Frog.  Morning smiles.  There is very little that an almost-two-month-old can do to cheer someone up after all that has came from the orifices of the varied living creatures in this house.  But a smile that says "Oh yeah, I know you, you're mom" ... well, that just does it.  It makes things all better.  As better as pink milk.

Pink Milk is one of the "You're the best, Mom" drinks around here.  It validates my craziness.  Putting pink, crystallized, non-sugar junk into moo juice.  It makes the world a better place.  I'm pretty sure we could solve all world peace issues with Pink Milk.  Someone call the President.  I've got it figured out and no one knows.  It cures what ails you, makes you smile, and cures world peace.  I'm almost positive.

After morning smiles, Little Frog felt warm.  So I had to take his temperature.  Anyone with a newborn, or who has had a newborn, or a dog even, knows that this exercise is humiliating for all involved.  There's no dignified way to take a newborn's temperature.  Turn and cough.  May as well.  Its like that.  And then he didn't have a fever.  So the embarrassment on both our parts was all for nothing.  But we're closer now.  We've crossed that threshold of awkward moments.  Chalk it up there to the great moments like the moment I walk into his bedroom to check on him before bed a little too early when he's twelve.  Those types.  Then I can say "Oh get over yourself.  I shoved a thermometer up your butt once."

That's a Monday.  They are like that.  And Peanut has PE on Mondays.  PE.  Mondays.   PE means wear sneakers.  I can never remember that.  Its Monday.  Nothing important should ever happen on Mondays.  Monday is a fancy word for "giant brain fart" day.  Its the day that they are lucky I remember what's going on at all, much less get the kids to school.  And then remembering sneakers? Forget it.  Peanut has PE on Mondays.  As I complained and whined about this my friend, who is a genius, by the way, suggested putting in my smartphone.  This is why I have friends.  To think for me.  To have great ideas.  Almost as great as Pink Milk.  But PE can't possibly solve world peace.  Sorry to let you down like that.  It just won't.  Pink Milk though ... there's something to it.  Grab your towel, and a glass of pink milk.  And don't forget your erasers for people.

Spring has Sprung

Even though it's Monday.  Despite the cold that is invading every room of my house.  Spring is here, according to some sciencey stuff about planet orbit patterns, the birds, the pollen and the weeds.  It's been here a week.  I believed it for a few days.  I got excited for flip flops.  Then Mother Nature slapped me in the face with this 39 degrees junk.  So today, I'm slapping back -- bento style.  And yeah, I said sciencey.  Its a word.  I said so, and I'm important, remember?

Spring Bento -- Melon Fusion Jello (no idea what that means), Butterfly tortillas, cheese bunny, Tulip eggs, pepperoni "petals", sunflower seeds (for effect ... its Spring) in shredded cheese, and "birds eggs" jelly beans with flower marshmallow.  

They also got some pizza sauce in a separate container.  Butterfly pizzas -- how much more Spring can you get?  And still so trendy.  This is Bean's lunch.  Peanut doesn't "do" hard boiled eggs, so she got oranges.  Not springy enough for a picture.  She was actually bummed about that.