I’m Googlicious

QUICKIE: I hope I don’t embarrass anyone too badly, but this is too good not to share: When one of my friends yelled to her husband to grab a Kotex, he yelled back, “Are those the pillows or the torpedoes?”
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Things people have searched for and ended up at my blog (I’ve mentioned some before but they’re good enough to write again):

1.  butt sex
2.  wet t-shirt contest rules
3. vincenzo matrix
4.  Kevin the great
5. my boobs are so much bigger than

I’m sure my blog satisfied all.  Now I think we should all take a few minutes to Windows Live Search for what our own boobs are bigger than.

All things O

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, after drinking 2 glasses of milk in 1 hour, asked for a third.  I told him he could have water instead.  He cried, “But I’ve forgotten what milk tastes like!”
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We spent most of O week eating O shaped foods.  As you can see from this picture, it is not advisable to eat only O shaped foods for any given period of time, as they seem to be made largely of hydrogenated fats, high fructose corn syrup, and yellow dye #5.  (I have NO idea how a bag of Oreos made it into the mix–they’re not O shaped!)

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We also made five separate donut runs throughout the week.  Vincenzo ate the sprinkles off the top of the donuts and I ate the slightly chewed, spit-soggy bottoms of the donuts, thus ending the debate of, “What’s grosser than gross?”  (Moms are.)

I cut out some shapes to make owls but Vincenzo was SOOO not into the art project…again.  It’s hard to tell, but his is the second one.

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Next week I think we’ll just skip the art project and instead pull his fingernails off one by one.  It would save us both a lot of pain.

Pretend this is your life

QUICKIE: Me: “Vincenzo, Aunt Wendy’s on the phone.” V: “But I ran out of words!”
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Vincenzo’s imagination is rather out of control lately.  It’s beginning to take on the properties of a black hole in that it grows exponentially each day and is beginning to suck more and more things into it.  I suggest you all find a flagpole or something, establish a firm grip, and don’t let go until the end of this post.

Exhibit A: We pulled out this basketball hoop last week.  Vincenzo took one shot before deciding it was a machine at Chuck E Cheese and he was going to sit inside it and be the ticket man (you know–just like the ticket man they have in each of the machines at Chuck E Cheese).  Kevin and I were told to be “little boys” and shoot hoops while Vincenzo dispensed ticket after ticket.  We’ve got about 200 tickets each.  100 more and we can buy a Tootsie Roll!

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Exhibit B: Vincenzo likes to have sword fights with Kevin.  He pretends they’re inside a video game and I’m the controller.  Then he tells me what to make them do.  I keep telling him it would be easier to just take the controller himself but he insists this is how the game should be played.  I’m not complaining, but would any of you have bough Super Mario Brothers if Mario shouted out things like, “Straight!” and “Jump!” and refused to move unless you did exactly as he told you?  And there was risk of physical harm if you didn’t?

Exhibit C: With his best friend, Abby, gone for the holidays, Vincenzo called me “pretend Abby” for a couple days until he dropped the “pretend.”  I am now simply “Abby.”  He himself has spent a few days being Abby’s Daddy.  Do you know how creepy it is to call your 3-year-old son “Daddy?”  Try it.  Try saying, “Daddy, we need to take your diaper off and put your tricycle away.”  Anyway, they other day we were playing Abby and Abby’s Daddy when Kevin pulled in the driveway.  “Look Abby!” Vincenzo squealed, “Mom’s home!”

And the only thing creepier than calling your toddler “Daddy” is calling your husband “Mom.”

Kevin the Great

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “I’m going to poop, Daddy, and then you will poop after me.  We can take turns pooping!”
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So I walked in on Kevin reading this book last month.

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You probably can’t see the blurb that reads “Sassy, witty, reassuring and great fun.”  I wasn’t sure what to think about my 6’1, 210 pound, former “professional wrestler” of a husband.  Then this showed up in the bathroom.

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At first I was offended he thought I needed hair removal help, so I confronted Kevin.  His voice cracked slightly when he told me he bought it for himself for some “manscaping.”  But I’m pretty sure any box that has this picture on it falls far, far outside the realm of manscaping.

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Just before I started to get concerned about my husband’s morphing identity and/or sexuality, this note appeared on the refrigerator (BG stands for “Baby Girl”):

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He’s asking me to help him with the laundry?  Why, this must mean he started a load all by himself!  Without being asked!  Without having to interpret my moody, irritable behavior as a hint that I have too much laundry to do so he should get off his lazy bum and do some himself!

So I’ll let him keep his female brain book and his Nads and his newfound sense of house-husbandry.  But Kevin, if you’re reading this, keep your paws OFF my feminine hygiene products.  You don’t know the first thing about Toxic Shock Syndrome.

Of noodles, nests, and New Year’s

QUICKIE: Yesterday we were watching some squirrels and I told Vincenzo that squirrels lived in trees.  He replied, “We should go for a walk and find the tree these squirrels live in.  It would be easy–we just have to find the tree with a doorknob on it.”  The scary part is I was just about to add that myself.
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We took educational advantage of New Year’s this week to turn it into N week.  We doubled dipped by celebrating New Year’s at Nine o’clock, which seemed like a good idea until it became apparent that Ryan Seacrest was being withheld until midnight our time and we were stuck watching Carson Daly, who talks as though no one is listening to him, which has the uncanny effect of no one listening to him.

Anyway, we also made Noodle Necklaces and confirmed what I already suspected about Vincenzo: his attention span measures at precisely 8 noodles long.

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And after a solid 12 months of pretending to be a bird hatching from a Nest, Vincenzo gave up this game just as N week started.  Still, his 12 months of training came in handy when making these nests out of paper/bits of string/loose hair, as Vincenzo applied most of what you see here by carrying the items in his mouth.

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Sorry N week fell a bit flat.  I’m still  trying to come to grips with the fact that my 2009 did not begin with the words “Seacrest out.”

No! Don’t pretend shoot!

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “Let’s play pretend fishing, Daddy.  You can be the bucket.”
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It’s official: Vincenzo is a boy.  You may remember my attempts to dispel his tendency to pretend shoot things by changing his “bang bang” to “pa-ching” and by calling g-u-n-s “shooters” instead.  Despite my valiant attempts, he still turns everything into a game of shooting.  Lately he’s turning to shooters even more, thus I have redoubled my efforts to turn my son into a Quaker.

Today, for example, we were playing pretend fishing.   He sent me up to the pretend crow’s nest to get me out of his hair, and I immediately spotted a ship. 

V: [merrily] Let’s shoot it!
Me: [thinking quickly] We can’t!  It’s a cruise ship with live singing and dancing, and…is that Kathy Lee Gifford?!!
V: Let’s shoot it!
Me: No; let’s get closer and see if they’ll let us aboard to see the acrobat show at 7:30!
V: Pa-ching!  Psh!  Psh!  Psh!
Me: What are you doing?
V: I had to shoot it.
Me: What a great idea!  You’re shooting WHIP CREAM!  They love it!  They’re eating it all up!
V: I know!  Psh!  Psh!  Whip cream YOU!  Whip cream YOU!
Me: Oooo!  I like how you’re shooting flowers now.  Those daisies are be-YOU-tiful!
V: Let me shoot flowers onto the back of the ship!  It needs flowers too!

Let’s just hope Vincenzo doesn’t aspire to join the army or to produce action/horror films.  I think either choice would be a huge blow to our national integrity.