Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Cool Moms Care: Trash Handing

This weeks post at Cool Moms Care is up. Click here to be privy to a fascinating insight into our marriage. And to help me win an argument. Or at least slink out of a "discussion" with pride.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Thanks Cinderella! That's Just What I Needed Today . . .

Zoey woke up with a fever close to 103 this morning. And I mean 'woke up' in the loosest possible sense as she had been up most of the night. Crying. And asking for a "Hug-uhhhhhhh". (A brief pause so you can get your tissues). While she got many 'hug-uh's' last night she didn't get a lot of shut eye. She kept choking on copious amounts of snot. That's right: COPIOUS. This morning, at home with me, she was very whiney and grumpy and just generally pissed off. Every time she put a bite of food in her mouth she would begin screaming. And screaming. And screaming. She refused to drink anything. So, using my amazing mom powers, I thought, Hey! I wonder if she has strep or an ear infection! I even put up one finger and made an ah-ha! kind of face when I had the thought. Oh yes, the universal sign of I have just had a brilliant idea that will benefit all of humanity! Booya! So I took Zoey to the doctor, in her pajamas no less. She was that pathetic.

Once at the doctor's office Zoey switched from whiney and pissy to charming and adorable. She flirted with the nurses. She said AH! on command. And, just as the doctor came in, my darling daughter began cramming fistfuls of Goldfish into her mouth. And, wait for it, there was no screaming. So I'm all, Uh, well this morning she had a fever and couldn't eat without crying and, well, um, I AM AN INCOMPETENT PARENT. Zoey tested negative for strep, ear infections, and the flu. So we left. Some of us with less pride than when we came in. But still. Then this happened:

Zoey grabbed a complimentary sticker on the way out and promptly stuck in in her hair. HER HAIR, people! And let's look at that sticker more closely, shall we?

Yes, it is a Cinderella sticker. Do I need to remind you how I feel about princesses? Hm? Do I? I do not feel good about them. DO NOT. You know what else I don't feel good about? Scissors. Especially in my daughters beautiful curls.

Monday, January 25, 2010

A 5th Grader, a Flossing Accident, and a Very Long Plane Ride

Demetri and I went away for the weekend. And, yes, we went Zoey-less. On the flight home we ended up sitting next to a 5th grade boy flying alone. He was a talker. Luckily, I had the window seat and Demetri was in the middle right next to The Talker. At first the The Talker was just making polite chit-chat. He told us about school and some computer games he likes. We learned that he is “really excellent” at reducing and adding fractions. He asked us what we do for a living. He told us that his grandmother “almost beat some dude up” before Christmas because “the dude” got to the last Wii just before she did. We then learned that The Talker was sick. And that he hates being sick. He opened his mouth and showed us the throat lozenge he was sucking on and said, “This is supposed to taste like honey and some kind of fruit but it doesn’t.” When I asked what it did taste like he replied, “Crap.” We then covered what our favorite foods were (he likes Kit Kats) and our favorite colors. After a brief pause when The Talker was choking on his cough drop, I was asked if I like to shop. When I said no, The Talker was rendered speechless. Momentarily. He recovered and launched into a in-depth analysis of how all girls like to shop. We learned that “Girls will only wear an outfit once . . . twice if you’re really,really lucky.” The Talker then educated us about the 6 levels of fat. There wasn’t really a segue. I can’t remember the details but one of the levels was ‘fluffy’ and one of the levels he couldn’t tell us much about because he wasn’t allowed to say the word out loud.

Then things got really interesting. We talked about Twilight. Apparently, all the girls “go chaotic” over Edward and Jacob. The Talker was worried that these girls would be “all upset and sad” when Edward and Jacob died. I then launched into a whole thing about how vampires can’t die etc. etc. The Talker looked at me like I was an idiot unworthy of having a conversation of this level and said, “I’m talking about the actors not the fake characters.” Yeah. Then the talker said, and this is a direct quote, “It’s too bad about Edward’s flossing accident.” Demetri and I exchanged looks, A flossing accident? Flossing? Really? The Talker then told us that just before Christmas, Edward had been flossing his teeth. Apparently, Edward looped the floss around his front teeth, pulled too hard and, well, you know. And guess what. IT’S TRUE. Sort of.

I eventually put my headphones on and abandoned Demetri. I later learned that they discussed the worst thing they had ever done in their lives and why Demetri wouldn’t give The Talker five bucks. I don’t know, I might have given the kid a few bucks. I mean, the flossing story alone is worth something.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Mami! Old!

Today is not a great fibromyalgia day. The fatigue is, uh, 'challenging'. Meaning, it sucks. I was just using The Miracle Balls which, in fact, are pretty gosh darn miraculous.* I'm laying there on on the floor (still in my pajamas, by the way. And yes, I'm aware it's past noon.) with one ball under my neck and two pillows propped under my knees. I'm talking to Zoey while she plays with the other ball. And I mention to my darling daughter that, among other things, I'm feeling old. Zoey pauses to consider this. She then holds The Miracle Ball high over her head and beings to march around me chanting, "Mami!!! Old!!! Mami!!! Old!!! Mami!!! OOOoooooOOOOOOooooold!!!"

Um, kid? Me and my decrepit, rapidly aging body? WE GET IT.


*Sadly, no one is paying me to say this. No one gave me The Miracle Balls. Or even asked me to say this.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Cool Moms Care: Boobs and Bottles

This week on Cool Moms Care a bunch of us are writing about our experience with nursing. My post is up today. Breast vs. Formula is a, uh, slightly touchy subject. So if you comment, play nice.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Silver Wonder Boots (or, Another Use for Duct Tape)

Do you have this season's latest accesory? Presenting custom made Silver Wonder Boots! That's right: custom made. Each boot is carefully molded to fit your exact foot and leg shape.

The result of this fine craftsmanship is a boot that will make you look and feel your best! Even when you are wearing footy pajamas with sweatpants over them! And, let's be honest, if the boots look good with that ensamble they will look good with anything!

Not only do the Silver Wonder Boots function as snow boots, but they also work as shin guards should a game of hockey or soccer break out!

Yes, this amazing versatility and fierce fashion fabulousness can be yours for . . . chocolate or free babysitting. So . . . act now, while supplies last!

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

In Which I Behave Badly

This week's post at Cool Moms Care is up! To check it out, click here! Or here. Or even right . . . . HERE. Once you click, you can read all about me behaving badly on Facebook. It was SO. NOT. COOL.

Monday, January 11, 2010


Guess what! Guess what! Guess what! I have a new way for you to waste time!!! A new and fabulous way! That's right, peeps. There is a new blog in our universe . . . and I am lucky enough to be part of it. Behold: Stinkerbells! Each week, Carla, of Adjustemnt [and] Disorder, and I will write on the same topic (this week's topic is moms and judgement). There will also be other shenanigans going on -- pictures, videos of interpretive scarf dancing (all Carla, of course), and lots and lots of sarcasm.

So, head on over to Stinkerbells right now! Today you can check out the site and read more about your wonderful blog hosti (sure, it's the plural of hostess, why not?). Please, follow us on Networked Blogs (Facebook) and please leave lots and lots of comments!!!

Friday, January 8, 2010

Bite Me

1. Apparently, when you brag it comes back to bite you in the boomboom. The same day. Yeah. Remember the last post in which I was all, "I can make soup! Yummy soup! I have a culinary calling! Blah blah blah"? Well, that very night I attempted to make 'butternut squash lentil bisque'. It looked like orangish-brown diarrhea with undigested lentils. Which is maybe what a 'bisque' is supposed to look like. But somehow I doubt it. And as far as taste goes . . . well, Demetri couldn't even look me in the eye when he mumbled something like, "It'skindaokmaybeifyouplugyournoseanddon'tputitinyourmouth. . . YUMMY!"

2. Apparently, when you try and be a fun mom it comes back and bites you in the butonka. Yes, I thought I'd be all fun and break out the finger paints this afternoon. Yes, well. We moved from picture A to picture B in about 45 seconds. And all because someone wasn't given control of the paint bottles. Some of us never recovered. Including the cat who walked across Zoey's painting while she was tantruming and now has two blue paws.

picture A:

picture B:

3. Apparently, when you vent to your husband about your inability to be a fun mom it comes back to bite you in the bobo. After the finger painting, I put Zoey in a nice warm bath. I sat on the floor of the bathroom and video chatted (aka 'video complained') with Demetri about the finger paint FAIL. Zoey then pooped in the tub. While she was out of the tub and I was fishing out the poop, Zoey peed on the tile. And then slipped in it.

4. Apparently, when your child slips in pee on the the bathroom floor and you wipe it up with a wash cloth it will come back to bite you in the . . . face. Yes, that's right. I used the same washcloth (on accident) to wipe my face. See, Zoey had emptied the drawer with all the wash clothes before the bath so there were, like, 20 wash clothes strewn everywhere. What are the odds that a) I would pick up the same wash cloth and b) I would pick it up by the one corner that wasn't wet? I should start playing powerball.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Wicked Good Mulligatawny-ish Soup

For the first time ever, I, the writer of Zozo's Mom and previous mocker of those who cook and bake, present to you . . . A RECIPE. Yes, you read that correctly: A RECIPE. As in food mixed up together and heated up with fire. See, I think the reason that I was never into cooking before was that I had not found my culinary calling. But now I know that my purpose in the kitchen is (drum roll please) . . . to make soup.

Behold! My recipe for Mulligatawny Soup. Which, by the way, is not a made up word. It means 'pepper water' in Tamali. Also important to note is that before making this soup I had never had Mulligatawny soup. So, all I can tell you is that it's wicked good. And Mulligatawny-ish. If you've had Mulligatawny soup somewhere else and this isn't the same . . . well, too bad.

Wicked Good Mulligatawny-ish Soup
(a proud compilation of several recipes and my own additions and subtractions)

1 medium onion
1 medium carrot
1 green pepper
1 medium tart green apple
1 c. cooked chicken
1/3 c. flour
1/2 tsp. curry powder
2 cloves
2 c. chicken stock
1 c. stewed tomatoes, slightly drained
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. garam masala
Note: many people put celery and a pinch of mace in their Mulligatawny soup. But not me, as a) I don't understand the point of celery and b) I don't really want to eat anything that has 'mace' as an ingredient.

Cut up* the first 5 ingredients into smallish pieces and 'saute'** in a 1/4 cup of butter in a big pot. Stir frequently until onions are softish. Stir in the remaining ingredients and simmer, covered, for at least 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper however you want.

Then eat and say, "Golly! I can't believe I made this!!!" And force all guests to compliment your skills by asking, "Is this good or what?! Can you believe I made this?" Repeat question numerous times.

*I am told the technical term for this is 'dice'. But 'dice' seems to imply a cube-like uniformity which was not present in my my preparations. And, yet, against all odds, the soup still turned out . . . delicious. So TAKE THAT, anal-cooking-meany-pants' from my past!
** Apparently, saute means to fry over high heat in a short time. I just kinda cooked the stuff over medium heat until the onions were soft. AND STILL, it worked. See bolded part of above.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Testing 1-2-3

OK. So I'm going to try linking to my Cool Moms Care post once a week. This may be annoying. I mean, there was this one blog that I used to read but stopped reading because the writer did exactly what I am about to do. Except she did it every day. And eventually no longer posted anything on her blog except links. So, if it's super annoying please tell me before you ditch my blog. Pretty pretty pleeeeeeeeeeease. "caue, you know, telling me gives me a chance to fix it.

This week's Cool Moms Care post in which I complain (again) about New Year's. But don't worry, the ending is uplifting:

Monday, January 4, 2010

Happy Old Year

Happy New Year . . . blah blaah BLAAAHH. I think I'm having a wee bit of trouble adjusting to a new decade. I mean, New Year's is already enough pressure -- what with the resolutions to be better and staying up until midnight. And then when it's not just a new year but a new decade . . . geeze, it makes a person want to eat a lot of chocolate. Or drink.

This new decade is also making me feel old. I found a grey eye brow hair. EYE BROW. I didn't even know that could happen. Well, I guess I did. But I didn't know it could happen to me. And there's a plethora of silver (which sounds better than gray) hairs on my head. These silver hairs were accentuated by the flash of the camera in all the holiday pictures making me look like an old Elven fairy. A big, old Elven fairy. Without the cool dress.

But the worst thing was having to write my age down for the first time. On a poop test label. No, it wasn't as bad as the fecal test for Zoey. My test didn't come with poop shovels. My test was more of a small smear . . . But it still involved poop. And on each slide I had to write my name and age. So, there I was, carefully writing the 3 and then very carefully writing the 4 so it didn't look like a 9. On a poop test. I mean, the whole thing would have felt totally different if I'd been filling out my age on, say, the winning lottery ticket*. But no. Really, really no.

I guess the good thing is that 2010 has no where to go but up.

* I totally stole this line from Kate. But she gave me permission because she loves me. And because I begged.