I is for Ice Cream…does anyone know the # for Weight Watchers?

QUICKIE: Driving up to a park, Vincenzo yelled, “Wow, Mom, we haven’t been here in YEARS!”  He’s 3.
Not too much action for ice cream week.  We bought ice cream, made ice cream, and went out for ice cream.  Every day.  We even made paper ice cream sundaes for our art project.

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Are there any other words in the English language that start with I?  Because I could really use some Ingenuity and Innovation here!

For review Vincenzo told me, “Ice cream starts with the letter H.”  But just as I began to reach for my beating stick, he added, “with a dot on it.”  Lucky kid.

Garden burgers with aged apple smoked cheddar
Squash with roasted garlic and sage
Spinach salad with warm bacon dressing

It’s Groundhog Day (Every Day)

QUICKIE: “Dad, let’s play the “Push Your Big Button” game!
Not everyone who reads this blog has kids, so I thought I’d give you an example of what life is like with one.

You wake up early and go to the park in the rain.  It ends in tears during a game of pretend woodpecker when one of the children (yes, it’s yours; it’s always yours) becomes a little territorial and makes the other woodpecker find a different tree.  You buy their happiness back in the form of hot chocolates with whip cream, which also ends in tears for various reasons.

At home, your son picks something off the floor and asks what it is.  You quickly file this incident under “things I don’t really need to pay attention to” and tell him without looking that maybe it’s a Lego.  He says he doesn’t think so and sets said Thing back down.

You make lunch.  There is a lot of running in the background, and also you notice your son is no longer wearing pants.  As you flip the grilled cheese sandwich, you hear your son yell, “PEE-PEE TIME!” so you go to assist.  You find this in the bathroom.


You put your child down for a nap and take note of everything else in his bed, including 3 swords, 10 cars pretending to be babies, the Dumpy book that he is using for a pillow, a box of Legos, a few rancid milk cups, and a friggin’ upright piano.  He asks for one more toy before you leave.  And a cup of milk.

At dinner, your son decides he’s full when he sees what’s on his plate, then hovers around the table watching for you to be done.  As soon as your plate is clean he yells, “You’re done!  Now come play with me!”  You help yourself to seconds even though you’re stuffed silly.

You spend the next couple hours emptying out every board game in the house, setting it up, and putting it away, at your son’s request.  When you finish with the last one he asks to start over.  You tell him it’s bedtime an hour early and congratulate yourself on not doing a good job of teaching him to read numbers yet.

Once the house is quiet you walk downstairs and rediscover the “Lego.”  Picking it up, you realize it is a piece of cat poo.  Yes, your son touched cat poo and also touched everything else in the house.  You get out the spray cleaner and start opening up the board games one by one…


Vincenzo’s Matrix

QUICKIE: Vincenzo was unsuccessfully trying to get my attention the other day so I would play with him.  Finally, his voice desperate, he said, “Look Mom, I’m a Starbucks machine!  Want some coffee?”  We’ve been happily playing “barrista” ever since.
Nothing in our house is as it seems anymore.  We are all just figments of Vincenzo’s imagination.  Here’s a glimpse into his world:

The doctor


Rocketship Mommy


Rocketship baby (we think she’s adopted)


Pretend rocketship


The cat


Coincidentally, there are now messages on Kevin’s phone that say, “Meow meow meow meow,” there is a bowl of drinking water on the table, and Vincenzo frequently refers to his fingernails as “claws.”  I’m going to have to keep a close eye on the litter box this week!

Lemon-marinated chicken breast
Candy Bar cupcakes (stay tuned…)

Candy Bar Pizza

Ever since Halloween I have been madly trying to find ways to repackage the leftover Halloween candy to give away to other people.  I’ve found if you leave a plate of mini candy bars on the counter, people will pat their gut and say, “Oh no; I ate too much last week.  None for me today!”  But if you leave a plate of candy-topped chocolate chip cookies on the counter they will eat one in front of you, sneak one behind your back, and take a few home–“for the kids.”  My favorite is to bring the candy cookies to our neighbors who don’t know they’re eating the same Kit Kat they passed out to my son a few days ago.  It’s kind of like an arsonist’s obsession to watch his own fire burn.

Anyway, I played around with a recipe and it’s AWESOME.  I wish there were a better way to mingle pictures in with the recipe but even WordPress has its limitations.  Pictures first, recipe second–just like eating dinner first and dessert second.  Or maybe just eating dessert and then more dessert.

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1 cup softened butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
2-1/4 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
3 to 4 cups chocolate chips, divided
3/4 cups peanut butter
Broken candy bar pieces

1.  Preheat oven to 375.
2.  Cream butter and both sugars.  Add egg and vanilla and mix thoroughly.
3.  Sift flour, salt, and baking soda, then add to butter mixture.
4.  Add in 1-1/2 cups chocolate chips
5.  Press mixture into the bottom of a greased 12″ cheesecake pan–or really any pan with sides will work.  Make it about 1-1/2″ thick.  If the dough doesn’t all fit, you can make regular cookies with the rest.  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.  That’s not true.  It will probably come out with chocolate on it.  I will leave you to solve this dilemma on your own.
6.  Immediately sprinkle 1 to 2 cups chocolate chips on top.  Let melt for 5-10 minutes, then drop on the peanut butter by spoonfuls.  Spread the melted chips/PB all over top of cookie.
7.  Sprinkle cookie pieces on top.  Cool, cut, and force it on every neighbor, mailman, and wayward visitor who happens by until gone.

H is for Hot Diaper Bag

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, praying before bed: “Thank you God for everything.  Now I don’t have to pray anymore!”
H week.  I don’t even know where to begin.  Yes I do.  It started on Monday when we went to a park that has horses.  See?  Horses!


Yeah, we don’t see either.  We did hear one once in awhile, but just as I began to poke my camera through the chain link fence to get a closer shot, I noticed the entire chain link fence was electrified.  I nearly electrocuted my face via my camera, which I’m sure would have hurt worse than when my childhood neighbor peed on his electric fence to see what would happen.

When we got back to the car, we were greeted by this.


It doesn’t translate to photo very well, but my car window was smashed in and the diaper bag was stolen.  This presented multiple problems, as the city police were having a busy day and wanted me to wait an indefinite amount of time and it was RAINING and we were COLD because it’s friggin’ NOVEMBER and Vincenzo was HUNGRY.  VERY VERY HUNGRY.  Where were all his snacks?  In the paws of the two teenage boys that had been smoking in the parking lot when I drove up.  You know the economic crisis is real when kids are breaking into cars for Motts applesauce and Lego gummies.  Poor, hungry little juvenile delinquents.  I hope they enjoyed their $200 snack on me, as that’s what I paid for a new window.

Anyway while waiting for the police I stepped over my pile of glass


to visit this glass one stall down


and this glass another stall down.


And there were more piles of glass in the auxiliary parking lot.  Those boys.  They LOVES them some applesauce!

We salvaged the H is for Horses day by going to McDonalds, where H is for Happy Meals.


Happiness having been bought, we rounded the week out by making houses and handprint turkeys.  Vincenzo’s house turned out rather pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey-ish, but he assured me the door was supposed to be half off the house and most houses have at least one flying window near the roof.  I’m not sure if we should visit the optometrist or the psychiatrist.  Is there such a thing as an opt-chiatrist?



To summarize, for H week we made mental houses, we didn’t see horses, and we got robbed.  I should have just done “H is for Handguns.”  It would have been safer, and probably more fun, too.


But this picture from the park makes it all worth it.

Thick crust pepperoni pizza
Candy bar cookie II

Believe it…or not

I got tagged which, in blog terms, is kind of like getting an STD.  One person gets it, then passes it on to six more people, who pass it on to six more people who…well okay it’s more like a chain letter.  But anyway, the well-adjusted, self-confident, established blogger feels annoyed by getting tagged.  I, of course, feel thrilled.  My first tag!  Someone likes me!  Or at least knows me!  Of course I’ll list six things about myself!  What else do you want me to do?  I clean toilets!  And bottoms!

I’m supposed to list 6 random things about myself, but pretty much there’s only one you need to know:

1.  My name is really Juan Olivera and I have been captured by a Colombian drug lord who is holding me captive and forcing me to write humorous blogs under the guise of a SAHM named MrsMouthy for reasons unknown even to myself.  He also makes me shave my legs and wear floral-scented deodorant.  Please send help.  I am not joking.  This is not a humorous post.  Please  contact authorities.  My life depends on it.

The next thing I’m supposed to do is pass the tag on to 6 other people.  I choose: Kevin, Casey, MOtt, Jnet, and Mom because none of them have a blog (which is the best form of tag protection available).

What?  That’s only 5?  Then I tag RENEE over at Pooks Inc.  She’s snarky and crass just like me except she lives in her mom’s basement.  Oh, and today’s entry is about how she bumped into a porn star at Disneyland.

And thanks for the tag, Sandie.  Sorry I desiccated it.

Breakfast for dinner!!! 

A heart-warming, nauseating Christmas story

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, who is very into pretend play, came running up to me with popcorn in his hand, very excited.  I didn’t see the popcorn; all I heard was my  three-year-old boy yelling, “Look Mom!  I have crabs!  Want some?”
The candles…they’re pretty, no?


Yes, well I can’t even BEGIN to describe the FLESH-EATING STENCH from burning four Zen candles at once.  If I could, I’d gnaw off my own nose to escape the smell of earth, water, wind, and sun which are, apparently best kept in separate corners of the Tao. 

In the garage of my parents’ house is a Christmas lightbulb that is always plugged in.  I asked my dad, a frugal man, why he keeps a Christmas light burning.  I guess I expected a story of hope and wonder, of persistence in the long winter night and of keeping the spirit with you all through the year.  But no.  Dad explained that one day he saw the bulb on the garage floor and couldn’t see throwing out a perfectly good bulb.  It would be like throwing money away.  So instead of wasting $.10 by simply tossing the bulb away, he’ll pay triple that in electricity costs until the $.10 bulb burns out and he ultimately throws it away.  I found it funny.

Well there is NOTHING FUNNY about my latest obsession to burn through all the candles in my hallway closet that have been there for years and I’m sick of smelling them every time I open the door so it’s time to either use them or throw them out and I can’t throw them out because THAT would be WASTEFUL.  So every night I get the flame stick, light up earth, water, wind, and sun, assume a dour expression, and spend another evening swathed in nausea.

Frugality: you’re on notice.

Same as last night, since last night’s menu was changed to “Whatever.”

Spoiler alert!!

QUICKIE: Vincenzo to Kevin: “I’m going to lift you up.”  K: “I don’t think you can.”  V: “Yes I can.  I’m the strongest boy in the wooooorld!”
I was dreading going on the blogosphere today.  On Monday/Tuesday it was all about how you can get free coffee, free ice cream, free condoms, etc. for voting, and I was worried that today was going to be nonstop election recap.  After yesterday’s election coverage went over like a slow-motion baseball commentary, I just didn’t think I could handle it.   (I had to turn the election coverage off when a reporter actually interviewed a box of half-eaten donuts at a local calling station.)

But I just hit up most of my regular blogs and no one’s mentioning the election, which leads me to believe that after the free coffee, free ice cream, and free fill-in-the-blank, you just went into a caffeine/sugar coma and missed the election?  Or maybe you were too busy collecting free things to watch the election so you all just Tivo’d it? Or, more likely, you were too busy commenting on other people’s blogs all evening in the hopes that they might comment back on yours?  *cough, cough, ahem*  So if you missed the election, SPOILER ALERT: OBAMA WINS!!  OBAMA WINS!!  OBAMA WINS!!

Check back hourly for more incredibly current news flashes.  And leave a comment, too.  That way you can kill two birds with one stone.

Cilantro Lime Rice
Candy Bar Cookies

Categories Uncategorized

Top five signs your toddler is outgrowing you too quickly

QUICKIE: Me: “Vincenzo, you took all the pillows off the couch!”  V “Because it’s boinkier now!”

Top five signs your toddler is outgrowing you too quickly:

5.  When you play the game “I’m gonna eat you up!” he initiates it, he eats you up, and he even remembers to say, “Ew!  Pee-yew!” when he gets to your feet.

4.  When you mention you need to go to the bathroom he says, “Okay, you have FIVE MINUTES to play first,” and offers to set the timer.

3.  When you are red in the face and Yosemite-Sam mad from trying to screw the blasted hose on the spigot, he calmly looks in and says, “You need to turn it the other way.”  Oh.

2.  He stops believing in Caturday. 

…and the number one sign is…

1.  He tells you there’s a crumb on your face, licks his finger, then leans in close and wipes it off.  Yes, your son performs the spit-clean on you.

Pistachio-crusted halibut
Twice baked sweet potatoes

G is for substitute teachers

QUICKIE: Abby, noticing the blue water in a honey bucket, exclaimed to her mom, “Ooo!  This is a fancy bathroom!”  (I hope I got that right.  Anyway, you get the idea.)
We took a second attempt at G week and again failed miserably.  We talked all week about how golfing starts with a G and we’ll go golfing…maybe today…or tomorrow…any minute now……hey babysitter do you want to take him golfing?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?

Change of plans.  Know what else starts with G, Vincenzo?  GRAMMY!  Wanna go to Grammy’s so daddy and I can have some grown-up time?  Grown-up time starts with G too, you know!  And off he went for an overnight.  Think of it as outsourcing G week.

To be fair to myself, we did finally make a ghost project that worked.  Vincenzo stepped in paint then stepped on a black piece of paper (and then on my favorite black pants).  We added googly eyes–to the paper, not to my black pants–to class it up a bit.


I haven’t posted the “week in review” dialogue for some weeks.  That’s because it’s always the same conversation, and it PISSES ME OFF and I don’t want to give Vincenzo any form of reinforcement for it, including blog time.  But the kid is wearing me down and I’ve finally cracked.  Here is the (past three weeks) in review:

Me: So what does the word ghost [or fall or egg] start with?”

The same past-date leftovers we never made it to last Saturday