Really, PETA?! Really?!?

I realize that (a) I haven't posted anything over here in quite a while, (b) I haven't posted a "Jumped the Shark" Friday bit in even longer, and (c) it's not even Friday.

But it is Groundhog Day.

So all I have to say is...come on, PETA!!  Are they serious?  They want to replace Punxsutawney Phil the groundhog with a robotic animal.  And as far as I can tell, they're not kidding.

Aside from the fact that Phil is one of the most spoiled little marmots on the planet (which he has earned), I'm just not sure I could get behind celebrating "Groundhog-like Cyborg Day".

Okay, I'm done ranting.

The Princess & The Pea

The Pea was having a very good time with his cousin at Christmas if you can't tell.

And, yes, I realize that they're blurry.  I think I may have accidentally switched the setting on my camera to something it shouldn't be on because when we first got the camera, it took wonderful pictures, but lately, they've all been blurry.  Of course, the Pea wasn't walking when I first got the camera.

Oh, Come On!

What I've been trying to feed the Pea for dinner:  buttered corn

What you would THINK I've been trying to feed the Pea judging by his tongue-sticking-out-gagging-bleching theatrics:  poop-flavored poison pellets

No Eggs for the Pea

Yep.  He's allergic.  I had a hunch after a whole lot of puking every time he ate anything with egg in it.  There's only so many times that you can say, "What a co-inky-dink!"  And yet again, I find myself thinking, "Trust your mom gut!"  The nurses and doctors brushed off my concerns the first couple times because there was no hives or anaphylaxis (thank you, God!).  But I just had this deep down feeling that he was allergic to eggs.

Looking over his list of "hidden egg items", I was a little surprised by a few of them...bologna?  Turkish delight?  (Not so much surprised that turkish delight has egg in it...although I didn't know that...as surprised that they would bother putting it on the list.)

The good news is that egg is an allergy that most kids grow out of.  The bad news is that an already overprotective mommy has now been given more reason to be.

Couple Pea pics:

Funny conversation in Chick-fil-A last Thursday:
Me:  Thank you so much!
Nice Lady Helping Me With The High Chair: Oh, you're so welcome!  You have a beautiful little boy.
Me:  Why, thank you.
NLHMWTHC: With those curls, he would make such a beautiful little girl.
Me:  We're getting them cut off tomorrow.

The Run-In

Me: Oh, hi! (Awkward pause) It's been a long time.

Blog:  Yeah...a really long time.

Me:  Indeed. (Even more awkward pause) Yeah, I've just been very busy.  And stuff.

Blog:  Yeah, me, too.

Me:  Really?  I mean...yeah.

Blog:  I heard you went to Disneyworld.

Me:  Yes...that is...where we went.

Blog:  Well, if you ever want to share any of those pictures, just...call me...or...

Me:  I will.  I mean it.

Blog:  Great.  And you, umm, you look good.

Me:  So do y--look, let's not do this.

Note To The Person Who Stole My Stroller from Hobby Lobby

I may not know who you are, but Jesus does.

And you are making Him cry.

To be fair, I left the stroller under the cart, and when I came back for it, it was gone. But what kind of person wouldn't take a BABY STROLLER into the store's lost and found?

An Open Letter to the Pea

Dear Pea,
Have I done something to offend you?  Or is there just some cranky, grumpy, you-may-have-brought-me-into-this-world-but-I-will-take-you-out, mood-swingy phase you're going through right now?

Or is it just teething?

Sincerely,
Your Loving Mother

 

I have to share this story really quickly:  I was flipping through my Google Reader, and I caught a glimpse of this picture of a baby wearing a bib just like the Pea's.  Then, I looked closer and said, "Oh, he really looks like the Pea."  Closer inspection:  Okay, that is the Pea.  My friend Amy hosted an awesome pool party last weekend, and she captured this sweet dinner shot.  Because nothing says pool party like jarred corn.  :)

My Bologna has a First Name

It's p-e-w-w-w-w-w.

I'm facing a tiny conundrum (and by tiny, I mean really, truly miniscule).

I bought some Oscar Meyer Cajun Seasoned chicken lunch meat.  It tastes yummy.  It smells like a small animal crawled into my fridge and died a horrible death.  Putting it in tupperware has helped to contain the stench  somewhat.  But each time I open it, it overwhelms.

What to do?  Throw it out?  Tough it out?

I'm pretty frugal, so I'm leaning towards toughing it out, but I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning for your own lunches.

A Word of Advice for Dating in the Dark Contestants

Just show up on the balcony.

He may be shorter than you. She may have a big forehead.

Isn't an awkward hug with a limo ride better than the "...but his teeth weren't straight enough" walk of shame? It's not like you're agreeing to marry the person. Just ditch them by e-mail a week later. If they end up being a stalker, you can sue the network. There you go, a win-win.

The only excuse that doesn't make you look like a shallow harpy? He was too handsy/she was moving too fast. Or we had nothing in common...I wouldn't care if he was Brad Pitt.

Seriously. Just show up on the balcony.


On a related note, Glee, your fall premiere cannot come too soon.

Dog Days of Summer

I always know that I've hit that point of summer (the point where the thought of doing anything but following the Pea around the air-conditioned house and slurping a popsicle is laughable) when I open my cookbook before heading to the store and cannot find one recipe (not a one!) that I have any desire to make.  (Yes, I realize that was the world's longest run-on sentence, but it's too hot to go back and fix it.)

It's too hot to go swimming.  Summer has jumped the shark.

Come join me in my lethargy.

Dogpatch U.S.A.

I had a random memory as Bill and I were driving back from seeing Wicked Saturday night. (It was okay...if by "okay" you mean "FRIGGIN' AWESOME!!!!")



We got on the topic of band experiences. Bill was kind of hot snot in a hot snot Atlanta band. By his senior year, he was the drum major. I grew up in Arkansas. His band went to places like New York City and Sea World. Our band went to Dogpatch U.S.A.** If you're never heard of Dogpatch, there's a reason. If you HAVE heard of Dogpatch, you probably grew up within a one hour radius of me.

Dogpatch dreamed of being "the next Disneyland". The only problem was that they (a) built it in the middle of Nowhere, Arkansas; (b) based it on the capers of Lil' Abner; (c) y'know, I really can't think of a (c)...I feel that (a) & (b) are more than sufficient reasons for failure.

And we didn't just go to Dogpatch, we PLAYED at Dogpatch. For whom? I'm really not sure. Our parents and the other three poor souls who actually paid to go to the park that day? The park finally closed for good in 1993. I can't remember the exact year we went, but it had to be within 1 or 2 years of its closing. The only thing I remember that was left open was the ferris wheel, the train (which you could easily jump off of mid-ride), and some random retired circus elephants.

Does anyone else remember this? Sara?

And does anyone have any good memories of Dogpatch in its heyday? That would make me feel a little better.

Oh, and you can watch a simultaneously hilarious and depressing news story about it. Please don't judge the entire state by this. Please.

**In our band director's defense, we also went to Washington D.C. my junior year and played on the Capitol steps.

What is WRONG with me?

The Pea gets up at 6 a.m. He does this every. single. morning. (except for when he gets up at 5:45)

And every morning, I swear that I will go to bed early that night.

It's 11:09. I am not even getting ready for bed yet. Plech. Night Karen wins again.


How 'bout an old school stink eye Pea pic?

She's Got the Look

I'm having a very meh week, wardrobe-wise. I suppose it started with the tinkle incident last Saturday. The thing is, I just don't care. I hate that feeling of "letting oneself go". And I'm really not intending to. It's just kind of...happened.

Case in point: I am out of hair gel, almost out of a makeup, need a haircut, have a 3 month-old pedicure, and am suffering from serious clothes envy every time I hang out with one of my friends who wears cute little skirts to go grocery shopping (ummm...and that feels like all of them). All of these are highly fixable. It's just that most days, the Pea is either going to pee, spit up, drool, or worse on said clothes before lunch.

I think I need to have a pamper Karen day pronto. Not so much because I desperately want one. In fact, more because I don't.

Piddle Puddle

Why, why, why do I stray from Pampers Cruisers?  WHY??

I noticed on my last trip to Sam's that the cost per diaper difference between Pampers and Huggies was noticeable.

Mistake #1:  "How different can Huggies be?"

Immediately, I noticed that they didn't have that Pampers fresh smell to them and didn't quite hug him like the ol' Pampers.

Mistake #2:  "Well, that's just aesthetics.  I'm sure they work just as well or they wouldn't be a top-selling brand.  I like their wipes."

Flash-forward to this afternoon when I decided to kill a little time with the Pea in a new doggy boutique while Bill sold back some DVD's to Vintage Stock. 

Mistake #3: Okay, I don't even know how this happened.  All I know is that one minute, I was looking at custom doggy thongs (DO NOT ASK!!), and the next minute, there was a puddle of Henry's pee-pee on the floor and my pants.  The bizarre thing was that the diaper wasn't all that wet, and he didn't pee on his clothes at all.  Thankfully, with that many quivering little dogs around, there was already a lot of mopping going on.

And I will never buy anything but Pampers again.  This time I mean it.

Wolverine!

The Pea seems to have an almost mutant superpower of rapid healing. He scratched his face yesterday, and by this afternoon, it was almost gone.

Chaos

If any of you know Bill and I personally, you know that we live a fairly quiet, peaceful lifestyle.  This is helped by the Pea going to bed at 6:30, our shared love of reading and movies, and our fat lump-of-a-dog sleeping almost as much as the baby.

This week, the nephews are visiting.  They are sweet, fun children (toddler and 5 year-old).  However...in the course of one afternoon, every toy in the house was spread out across our living room.  The toddler managed to set off the carbon monoxide detector during the Pea's nap. (youch!)  At one point, five different noise-producing toys were going off at once.  And 5 year-old decided to engage the Pea in a light saber battle.

Pea's first light saber pictures to follow!

Ode to a Dying Camera

This was the last picture taken by our old camera before it went kaput a few weeks ago. I was always the lady saying, "Could you take a picture of us? You have to hold down this button a l-o-o-o-ng time." And then the person would hit the on/off switch (located ever so conveniently next to the shutter button). Pictures at night were but a blur. Action shots? What do you think?

Our new camera has a "rapid fire" button that takes a bunch of pictures in succession to make sure everyone's eyes are open...not that we'd ever need that feature (***cough...Pea***). It even has a feature that detects when a person is smiling and automatically takes the picture. I AM NOT KIDDING. This camera could revolutionize my life. Until it breaks in four years.

Homemade Yogurt: Epic Fail

Riding on my Amish Friendship Bread high, I decided to listen to my older sister once again when she assured me that I can, indeed, make my own yogurt.

No, I can not. (Apparently, I managed to buy the one type of milk that you can't use to make yogurt...ultrapasteurized.  Pleh.)

Ouch.

I went by Plato's Closet this afternoon to sell back a few clothes that no longer fit, post-Pea.  My sister had warned me that they're picky about what they'll take, so I only took in things that were in good shape and (what I thought were) good brands.  J. Crew, Banana Republic, Gap, Harold's, Express, Guess (okay, that one might be stretching it by a decade or two, but it was a super-cute jean jacket!).  Looking back, I should have gotten a clue when the guy walking in before me was wearing a trendy t-shirt with a band that was doing a reunion tour before he was born.  But I toddled in with a 20 pound Pea on one hip and 20 pounds of clothes in the other.

Second moment I should have gotten a clue...
Snooty 19 year-old guy checking me in (not to be confused with snooty 19 year-old guy standing in front of me or snooty 19 year-old guy standing behind me):  You're supposed to bring your items in lying flat in a bag or basket.

Me:  I'm sorry.  I didn't know.

S19YOGCMI:  Meh.




Final moment of shame (after running to Wal-Mart and back, with ice cream melting in the car and the Pea melting down in my arms)...
Snooty 19 year-old girl checking me out:  Ummm...yeah, we looked through your stuff, and we can't take any of it.  The styles are just so... (she trailed off with a look of disgust).

Me:  (((mortified look of shame)))

S19YOGCMO:  They were just so outdated...

Me:  (((praying she will STOP TALKING)))

S19YOGCMO:  Ummm...if you wait a little while longer, you might be able to bring the jeans back in as "vintage"...

Me:  (((grabbing the clothes...contemplating leaving them in the parking lot for wild animals to nest or burrow in)))


Oi.  That process made a form rejection in the publishing world look like a kiddie pool full of marshmallows and kittens.

Whatever happened to, "I'm sorry, but these items don't fit our inventory needs right now"?

I'm Not Kidding

Took the Pea out for a walk yesterday afternoon (it was blazing hot, so we just walked around the block rather than the planned jaunt down to the lake to see the ducks...I believe my actual thought process was, "Must get out of house with bored, cranky baby.  Ack.  Must must get back to air conditioning.)

So anyhoo, popped open the stroller, strapped the Pea inside, walked around to the front of the house where the stroller closed up on my baby.  Closed. Up. On. My. Baby.

Thankfully, this lazy Mama Pea was walking very slowly.  I realized immediately that the handlebars were moving forward while the wheels were not.  And the Pea thought it was hilarious.

Me, not so much.

Seriously, closed up on my baby.