Italian tapas

I went out to dinner last night with one of my best friends from college whom I only get to see every six months or so because she has a baby she works all the time, I have three kids and two school schedules,   and she doesn't drive. But I got to see her last night! We went out to dinner near her house at a restaurant that opened recently near her house that can best be described as Italian tapas. After perusing the menu, we decided to split the bruschetta and the gnocchi with brown butter and sage. We were particularly excited about the bruschetta because it came with avocado. In fact, after ordering I told her that every time I have avocado now I mourn the years I wasted thinking that I did not like avocado, apparently because it looked weird. I used to turn down the guacamole! Just because it was green! Turns out that my friend did the same thing, so we were really looking forward to the avocado on the bruschetta, if only to make up for the lost years.

We were therefore very disappointed when the waitress brought out the bruschetta with a pile of leaves on it.  "I'm sorry," she said. "The chef said that the avocados were too ripe, so he substituted arugula."

Arugula! In what universe is arugula an appropriate substitute for avocado, I ask you? I don't actually know what you would substitute for avocado, but I know that it's not arugula. What was going through his mind, do you think? "Oh, no, the avocados are no good. Oh, man. I have to put something on there. Let's see. What tastes like avocado? Avocados are egg-shaped, have large pits, and are green. Also, 'avocado' starts with an 'A.' Hey! Lettuce is green! But it's not close enough. I know! Arugula! That tastes terrible, but it's green and it starts with an 'A'!"

As much as I love avocados, I hate arugula. They offered to take it back, but my friend doesn't mind arugula so much, and it was easy to scrape the arugula off my piece. So we ordered something else to round it out, and they didn't charge us for the bruschetta, so it all ended well.

Arugula, man. I just don't know.

Minister of silly walks

Ann Marie is on the slower side of walking, in that she doesn't. Nor does she pull herself up. She's been undergoing doctor-prescribed Tummy Time Boot Camp, if you must know. But we're not concerned or anything, although I am anxious to avoid Early Intervention if only because I don't want to have another appointment to deal with.

At any rate, if you hold her up, she sort of flaps her feet around on the floor and thinks she's walking. It is hilarious.

Ann Marie: Minister of Silly Walks from Maureen on Vimeo.

Skunk update

Does anyone remember how there was a skunk living under our shed in the backyard? Oh, wait, a quick search indicates I didn’t actually blog about that, only tweeted. Well here’s the story: This summer, we discovered that a skunk was living under the shed in our backyard. I had actually been suspecting this for several summers now, but I chose ignorance and never actually investigated. But then this happened:

We immediately took the following proactive steps:

1.       Posted a photo on twitter

2.       Fretted

3.       Googled “get rid of skunks”

4.       Put down flour at the entrance/exit to the under-shed paradise (to watch for footprints)

5.       Forgot to look for footprints before it rained

6.       Talked a lot of smack about buying a light to shine under there

7.       Called the city, were told it’s not their problem but be advised we have to KILL it, we are not allowed to catch and release it

8.       Called the pest-control guy recommended by the city, were told it would cost “$150 and up”

9.       Became concerned about the “and up” part

10.   Called our regular pest-control guy, were told it would cost $495

11.   Discussed the costs and labor involved in preventing skunk access to the shed – agreed it sounds like an awful lot of work

12.   Discussed the logistics of just agreeing to live in peace with the skunk which is, after all, nocturnal

13.   Put down more flour

14.   Checked for footprints but never saw any at all

15.   Sprayed some “Critter Ridder,” given to us by my in-laws, all over the yard

16.   Bought some mothballs for $5.37

17.   Left them on the stairs for several days

18.   Finally tossed some mothballs under the shed

19.   Was told by Andrew that the entrance the skunk was using was in the BACK of the shed, not on the side, so all the flour I was putting down was in the wrong place entirely

20.   Crossed our fingers

Thanks to our quick and decisive action, we believe we have successfully eradicated the skunk based on the fact that we never smelled it again after putting down the Critter Ridder. The flour never told us anything, not even after I sprinkled it near the actual entrance the skunk was using - or at least what we think the skunk was using - so we don’t have any actual evidence. But I’m sure it’s totally fine now.  

Right?

Are you ready for this?

First of all, do remember when Nora used to move like this?

Stuck scoocher from Maureen on Vimeo.

At the time, I thought she was just expressing her individuality. But then Ann Marie started using exactly the same technique, so now I think it's me. I'm working with the theory that it's because I spend so much time in the kitchen with its hard floor that I never give the babies any tummy time. Whatever the reason, it remains hilarious.

You know what else is hilarious? How much all three of my kids like the song "Are you ready for this?" Jack got a musical card for his birthday, and I've since bought the single.

But please note above that I said all three of my kids love it, because here is a video of Ann Marie dancing to it, with bonus skooching.

MVI 4153 from Maureen on Vimeo.

The Very Model of a Modern Major General

Miriel told Twitter today that she needs a mnemonic for remembering the order in which the states ratified the Constitution, and asked if someone would write it into a song for her. This was obviously a challenge I had to accept.

Many thanks to Angela for suggesting Gilbert and Sullivan's "Modern Major General" as the song. And many thanks to the internet for containing many facts with the appropriate, or nearly appropriate, number of syllables.

And so, without further ado - except to say that I wrote this pretty fast whereas I bet Gilbert and Sullivan worked on theirs for many weeks -I present to you:

The Ratification of the Constitution

First Delaware, he snuck across the river and he signed it,
So Pennsylvania signed it next; that's not how they designed it.
Then up to Jersey where they liked it better than the Articles,
And then to Georgia to be signed by all of Georgia's particles,

The Yankees in Connecticut signed up to be State Number Five,
In Massachusetts, Hancock swayed the vote, suggesting Bill of Rights.
Then Maryland was next to vote adoption of the document,
And then South Carolina followed suit despite all being drunk.

New Hampshire as the ninth to sign secured the doc's legality,
But nonetheless Virginia signed and not just as formality.
And then New York, where Hamilton debated a Melancton Smith,
North Carolina, twelfth to sign, came adding to the monolith.

And so at last we reach Rhode Island which became the thirteenth state,
That is a fact so please do not attempt to give me a debate,
This was the order that the states joined up to form the new country,
I hope this song will help you learn the facts of this great history!

Stolen

Stolen

On Friday, I found a surprise package in my mailbox from Jessica. I was so excited! Fun Mail Day! But when I opened it, I found 1) A card and 2) Nothing else.

Upon reading the card, I discovered that Jessica had sent me delicious cookies handily prepackaged in a freezer bag for easy freezing. Had she not included a card explaining this I would have had no idea, because inside the box there were no cookies to be found. But here’s the thing: I had to cut through tape on every side of the box in order to open it. There is no way a freezer bag full of cookies just slipped out through a crack.

So it seems there is a cookie thief out there in the post office. I think it was an inside job, because why else would the cookie thief reseal the box? Why not just… take the box? Was the cookie thief taunting me by making sure I got the card? Should I interpret the resealing of the box as someone saying, “Ha ha! I ate your cookies!” Or was the cookie thief just afraid that if the discarded box was discovered in the post office trash barrel, then the whole cookie-thieving-ring would be discovered and brought to justice?

I don’t know, but I could really use a cookie. 

Stinky cheese

Whenever Nora does something sneaky, she likes to tell me, her friend Mommy, about how she put one over on her mother. Oftentimes when she does this, I and wish she were better at sneakiness, because then I could pretend not to know and let her get away with it. And I'll be honest, sometimes I let her  get away with it anyway. So today, when she interrupted me putting the baby down for a nap to whisper, "Mommy! I sneaked more cheese!" I just sighed and told her "No more cheese, Nora." I figured she probably just took another handful of the shredded cheese I had already given her.

But after resigning myself to the baby's refusing to nap anywhere but in my arms, I gave up and went into the living room to look for the Ergo*. I noticed an unusual smell in the air, and then I saw the white powdery substance all over the couch. "What is that white stuff?" I said, alarm inching into my voice.

"Cheese," came the reply.

You guys. Nora had not stolen more shredded, easily-clean-upable cheese. No. She had stolen the grated Romano, and had brought the entire container into the living room to eat it with a spoon. I was livid. The children are not allowed to eat in the living room without permission, but I suppose neither are the children allowed to help themselves to a snack of spoonfuls of grated Romano. And so I was faced with a living room  that smelled like cheese, a smell that was only going to get worse if nothing was done.

I'd like to tell you that I calmly explained to Nora what her infraction was, but the truth is that I flipped my lid. I made her dustbust the couch; meanwhile, I started clearing the floor so I could vacuum properly and did it while yelling at her. I forbade her from any more cheese for the rest of the day, at which point I picked up the satchel of poker chips that the kids play with so I could move it to its proper location. Sadly, it wasn't latched and eleven million poker chips poured out onto the floor and scattered in eleven million directions.

That is when I failed to get a sticker. But I haven't told you about my sticker chart, have I? We have a couple of sticker charts going in our house. Nora has one for potty training. Jack has one for cleaning up his dishes without being asked. And at Jack's suggestion, I have one too. It's called "Mom's Slamming Chart," and every time I want to slam something but don't, I get a sticker. When I fill up the whole row, I get ice cream! It seemed like a good idea to me. I like ice cream, and also slamming cabinet doors in anger is not behavior I  particularly want to model, but, damn, does it feel good to do sometimes. So. No sticker for me this morning.

Thank goodness today was Andrew's half day at work, because when he came home, I was shampooing the couch with a sweaty baby strapped to my sweaty body, and I was still pretty angry about the whole situation. So he made me lunch, and Jack cleaned up the poker chips, and it all ended well, and now Nora knows that grated Romano cheese is under no circumstances allowed in the living room.


*Why Ann Marie chose the 90-degree, 87% humidity day to insist on being attached to me at all times, I will never know.