The Blame Game

Salem and I were dining out with my grammy a while ago. We were finishing up our stoner plates of buffalo wings and steak fajitas when Salem stood up in the booth and alerted the whole restaurant with the statement "What's that SMELL?"

She turned to grammy and bluntly accused her of farting. Grammy replied, "Well Salem, that's not very nice, and if I did indeed fart I certainly wouldn't admit it!"

When we got home, we had a little chat.

me: "You are not to out people like that in restaurants or anywhere, accusing them of farting is not nice. I know that grammy is old, but it doesn't immediately mean that she was the one who passed gas."

She turned to me, put her head down and looked up under her brow and coyly said, "Well, it was me who farted...."

Do You Pat?

This is another pee pee story. If you are turned off by a little pittle, go find something else to read....

While training our daughter to use the big girl potty she developed her own little habits. She used to go overboard with the TP--or how do I put this delicately? She was overzealous with the wiping.

Chuk and I taught her to "pat lightly' after she tinkled to avoid future discomfort. She still ritually performs her 'pat' and notifies me when she does so.

My friend Addie was on an outing with her when nature called. She and Salem trotted off to the restroom and like normal, Salem performed her 'pat'. This time, she turned to Addie and asked very bluntly, "Addie? When you go potty, do you pat or wipe?" She phrased the question in an accusatory manner, like one would ask whether or not you wash your hands after using the restroom.

Before Addie could answer, Salem stated with confidence, "Well, I pat!"

So now we know, the kid pats.

A Face for the Airlines

I went out-of-town to see my bff, Honeychild this past weekend. Getting ready to board the plane, I approached the ticket counter and loaded up my modest yet worn-out suitcase on the scale. (I don't carry-on my bag anymore. Honestly, I can't be bothered with purchasing tiny versions of my toiletries just to stuff them into a plastic sandwich bag to tote through security. It's bad enough that I have strip down in front of a band of strangers, I don't need everyone knowing what brand of deodorant I'm using these days. Some things should be kept sacred for crissakes.)

Anywhoosels, I was notified by the ticket counter dude that I owed $15.00 extra for my bag and he wanted to know how I'd like to pay for it! I turned around, glanced at the other travelers in line and asked the man, "Um, when did that policy take effect? Are you charging everyone $15.00 or just me? Is that an 'ugly suitecase' fee?"

Apparently, the airlines are charging you for every bag you check! That's IN ADDITION to your ticket! WTF? Next time I will go the extra mile to shove my itty bitty personal care items into a sandwich bag and deal with the humiliation. I wish I had the following photograph to flash at said ticket counter guy when he asked how I should like to pay for my baggage. I use the term 'like' rather loosely here.

Project for You!

This photo kills me! She's so excited, but is it due to the painting or the environment she's in or what? Please comment on this photo with a caption with your interpretation of what's happening...

Windshield Snack

It's been colder than a miner's bum down here in the place formally known as Hotlanta. This morning, my windshield was wearing a thick layer of frost. I started the car, turned on the defrost fan, put Sal in her carseat and the chiseling commenced.

From the backseat, Salem yelled out, "Oooh! Is that clumps of ice-frost you're making? I wanna try some!"

Just what one needs to start off the day. Dirty frost shavings from the windshield--does the body good.

Superbowl Pick?

Okay, so my boss would like to do an office pool for the winner of the Superbowl. Lets just say this 'sports stuff' isn't my forte. All I know about football is that there is a ball involved and some sweaty dudes in silly butt-hugging outfits.

I've gotten some pretty sound advice on where to go from my brother, Ryan. He's a Fantasy Football veteran of many years. I'm just interested in what everyone else thinks and I'm looking to place my wager on Ryan's pick and an average of the results I get from you, gentle readers. Don't let me down!

Yip-freakin'-eee! I heart sports.

Outback Steakhouse

We had dinner out last night at the infamous home of the bloomin' onion. I feel bad for the folks down-under, that restaurant is so ridiculous. I mean boomerangs on the plates, "Gidday Mate!" on the menus and the flowing waterfall of Fosters beer? I'm sure the Aussies don't appreciate being represented with such exploitation; not to mention how ashamed they must be by Fosters representing thier nation as their libation choice. Ick!

While dining on my mediocre dinner (I skipped the bloomin' onion in the name of new years resolutions of eating better) Salem started in on some dramatics. She kept turning around and screaming at the decor. I turned to see what the hullabaloo was about; there was a taxidermied alligator on the wall as decoration. Nothing says "The Australian Outback" like a dead aligator.

She continued to turn and stare with nervousness at this stupid alligator. Then the fright escalated for one reason or another. She needed to go potty but she refused as the stupid alligator was a landmark in the path on the way to the restroom. I asked for the check from my pilled-out server (dude, this is a whole other story) as the kid was starting to make a scene. When the check came, I started to put her coat on, she turned got an eyeful of that alligator, screamed and ran towards the door of the restaurant! I had to chase the kid down--she went out the door before I could catch her!

I ran out of the restaurant as if the place was on fire. When I caught up to her, she spun around white as a sheet and in tears. I told her that the alligator was just a decoration but I think bad taste in the wake of Outback Steakhouse will leave permanent damage. Note to self: skip the alligator exhibit at the zoo next time.

Wet Shoes

Within the past few weeks, pee pee incidents have been rising. She keeps 'missing the toilet' and wetting her pants; or at least that's the story she gives me when I notice that her pants are damp.

Yesterday, when I picked her up from the sitter's, she was sporting 'penalty-pants'. (I call them penalty-pants when I know they are of the variety that the sitter keeps around for accidents. They are usually off-season themed and way too short. These were Halloween pants.) After giving her a big hello kiss, the first thing I asked was, "Hey Sal, did you have an accident today?" She replied:

"No!... Well, you know, um, I had to go pee pee really badly and then I couldn't get my pants off in time. That's what happened."

"Everyone has accidents once in a while, but you've been having quite a bit." I replied.

her: "Yeah, I guess I just need to get on the potty before I have to go REALLY bad."
me: "That's a fantastic solution! Great idea."

I went searching for her socks and shoes in order to leave the sitters. What I found was a soaking pair of keds.
me: "Salem, did you pee pee on your shoes too?"
her: "Yeah, I did that."

It was really cold out yesterday and I couldn't put her in the car without shoes on her feet. The socks were wet and bunched into a plastic bag with her wet pants. I put the wet shoes on her feet and dashed out the door. While we were driving, i looked back and noticed that she had removed the shoes and was smelling them.

me: "Gross! Don't smell your pee pee shoes! Stop it!"
She just laughed and laughed at me but then the embarrassment caught up with her. Tossing the shoes on the floorboard, and with a sigh, she asked to get home in order to be cleaned up and play with her Barbie House.

Possibly the Nerdiest Email I've ever Written:

My boss asked me to research using dashes vs underscores when naming web pages. I emailed him the following result.

Based on these articles, and other articles that link to these, I’d agree that dashes are a better choice in naming a URL.

http://www.mattcutts.com/blog/dashes-vs-underscores/ (this page ranks 5)

http://www.simoncox.com/mt3/2006/06/dashes_vs_underscores.php

Some would argue that dashes are for grammatical use and hyphenated words that are combined within a URL should be used in conjunction with underscores. Example: katherine_zeta-jones.com vs Katherine-zeta-jones.com or katerine_zeta_jones.com

However, that’s just getting a little over-the-top, or over_the_top as it were.

Nervous Fanny

Last night my friend Kelly came over to play the wii fit. I chose to do the downhill skiing. A few points Salem noted during my run:
"Mom! Your mii is wearing pink!" You must be nervous!"
me: "Why would I be nervous?"
her: "Well, your bum looks all pink and round and bubbly. That's what my bum feels like when i'm nervous!"

All I could do was laugh.

Barbie House Chronicles - how I rediscovered my hot glue gun

As Barbie House issues have been developing I've decided that they need to be posted as chronicles. I will begin the story line with a few threads that have been brewing since Christmas:

1. We have found that the Barbie Dream House was designed and constructed of insufficient materials--much like the polybutylene pipes and faux stucco found in sub-par Atlanta area McMansions.

2. The window frames fall out if I crank up my furnace, the slight breeze from the register blasts them right out. Remedy: Hot glue gun and a dewars and soda. The hot glue is for the windows and the drink is for my time.

3. The batteries for the special effects of the doorbell sound, kitchen stove 'sizzle', hi-fi, and toilet flushing seem to dissipate after just 1 day of use. Green the Barbie house is not. Al Gore would not recommend this toy.

4. Salem whispered her confession to my friend Ginny that she had already broken several things in the house: "psssst, Ginny, I'm talking quiet so mom can't hear...I've broken a few things in this house."
Ginny: "What's broken and why can't we tell mama?"
her: "Well, it's too close to Christmas, I just got this house and I don't want her to be mad!" Anyway, I broke the Barbie staircase, the windows fall out easy, the toilet doesn't flush and I can't seem to get the doorbell to ring."

Remedy: Hot glue gun, batteries, and a dewars and soda. Problem solved - I wish I could fix issues in my house with just three simple ingredients.

Painted Face - A photo request

Alright Addie - Here it is:

Addie tagged me to post the sixth photo in the sixth folder on my laptop photo album. I call this, "Oodly painted face with baby in tow".

The story behind this photo begins with my good friend Venessa. She and her husb, Olie were hosting a birthday party for their son Brody. The baby is my friends' Amy and John's little girl, June. As we all know, kids love a good face-painting. Venessa is a fabulous artist and has developed quite a niche in this genre of kiddie face-painting. The party goers lined up for the chance to request whatever they wished to be painted on their face. One of the kids requested a 'tire mark across my face, like burned rubber. Um...okay nothing can stump my gal, Venessa!

Venessa and Olie's friend Kelly made the cake, which as you can clearly see is within the Star Wars motif.

Funny, as a child of the 70's all I can remember about birthday parties as a kid was swinging lightsabers and girls drooling over Han Solo. Nothing changes, I swear.

(ahem, he was not at the party, fyi)

So, My 6th photo had quite a bit of history attached.

Later as we were driving home from the festivities, traffic was horrible on I 85--it was stop and go at best. The other drivers in my vicinity kept slowing down to stare while mouth-breathing at our car. Annoyed, I stared to get a bit paranoid and began to flip the other drivers off, I mean, the nerve! Unfortunately I forgot about Venessa's latest work; I too had my face painted and must have looked like some sort of nut-ball cult member with my demon-style red and yellow face. Ha! (no photo available.)

Okay blogger pals, you are tagged to represent!

Word Issues

Hey guys. I wanted to let everyone know that the word 'oral' has always bothered me.
That is all. Thanks.

A Perfect Self Image

Salem likes to climb all over the furniture much to my chagrin. If I had a dollar for every time I shouted any one of the following phrases, I'd be sitting pretty:

A. "Quit climbing on the back of the couch!"
B. "Quit jumping off the chairs!"
C. "Quit hanging from the table!"
D. "Stop walking on the couch in those cowboy boots!"

These commands are typically followed by a 3 minute time-out. 4 minutes for phrase 'D'.

This past weekend, in typical style, she was again hanging from the table. I turned and repeated phrase 'C' with much gusto. She swung her head around and said: "But mom I'm cute! I'm a cute little devil!"

Devil -- you got that right!

Salem's Pet Wish-List for 2009

Happy New Year people!

Last night I was tucking Salem into bed while reading her a story. After the story she usually requests a "story from my mouth." This means a story that I just make up as I go along, not read from a book.

This time she said, "Mom... I want to tell you something serious. Daddy was talking about getting a doggie but, I think he was also thinking of other pets too."

She sat up and bed and ticked off on her fingers each 'pet' Chuk was considering:

1. A doggie
2. Another kitty
3. A bird
4. A pigeon
5. A hamster with a tail

This list seems like a great place to start when considering your pet options. However, I have a very difficult time believing that Chuk would entertain the idea of having a pet pigeon. And last I checked, all hamsters have tails.