MrsMouthy gets Ranty

Casey, to answer your question from my last post:

Now that the weather has finally warmed up, Vincenzo and I head to the beach about every other day.  We’re loving it!  But not everyone, apparently, is.  Every once in awhile we run into a Hall Monitor Mom who is miserable there and her kids are miserable and people sitting within earshot of her are miserable.  I went into the trenches to reenact such an experience for you.


“Don’t splash, Aiden.  Aiden, stop splashing.  DON’T get wet.  Aiden, put that rock down.  If you don’t put that rock down right now you’re coming out.  Do you want your pizza?  Come eat your pizza.  NO SPLASHING!  Now sit here and eat your pizza.  Stop standing up.  You have to sit here and eat your whole piece of pizza.  Where are you going?  Aiden, don’t climb that rock.  What?  I don’t care if that little boy is climbing a rock and his mom is RIGHT THERE not saying anything; you’re not climbing that rock.  Do you want the rest of your pizza?  Aren’t you hungry?  Come over here and eat your pizza now.  Take smaller steps!  You’re splashing!  I said no splashing!  I’m not going to hold this piece of pizza for you all day…”

I condensed the dialogue for you, as it actually stretched over half an hour and all her kid said the entire time was “…”.  I nearly bit my tongue off trying not to suggest she pack up camp and head to an art museum instead.  Or military camp.

That mom might as well have taken her kids to a nude beach covered in a layer of hypodermic needles and toxic mold.  Seriously, people, why would you take your child to a beach loaded with kids swimming, splashing, throwing and climbing rocks, if you felt that these activities were invented by the devil himself?

Breaded sole
Pasta with pesto and peas
Rhubarb and goat cheese salad

My, what a big head you have

QUICKIE: After looking at a boogie hanging out of Vincenzo’s nose for nearly a week, we finally extracted it.  Being outside, we buried it in the ground and I asked Vincenzo to say a few words over it.  “Goodbye, boogie, I love you!” he said, and ran off to play.  Kids are so resilient.
I’m 29 weeks pregnant, and I’ve reached the point where my stomach is large enough to make my legs look thin!


I look decent enough with clothes on, but naked MrsMouthy looks like something you might see while flipping through the pages of a National Geographic magazine.  When I catch sight of myself in a mirror my instinct is to nudge my neighbor, point, and snicker, and then I remember that I’m not in the sixth grade and this is not a magazine.

We had another ultrasound for baby Mbungo yesterday.  The OB had wanted to keep an eye on the low-lying placenta, which thankfully has moved out of the “line of fire.”  Whew!  But this time the doctor is a little concerned about how BIG my baby apparently is (specifically how big his head is) so I’ll have another ultrasound in a couple weeks.  Believe me, someone who will be in labor in a couple months does not want to hear that her baby has a big head.  Feet?  Fine.  Nose?  No problem.  Head?  Shoot me now!  (With an epidural, that is.)

I’m really not too worried, though, as Vincenzo was born with the proportions of a bobblehead doll.  His weight was 15th percentile, height was 45th, and head was 95th.  He got it from Kevin’s side of the family, I’m told.   Take this as a note of caution, any single girls who read this blog: when looking for a potential mate or lifelong partner, choose someone with a small head.  That way you’ll never need to know the specifics of what a third degree tear “down there” looks or feels like, as your front plumbing will always be a safe distance from your back plumbing.

Seriously, the closer your husband resembles this guy…


…the better off you and the future human race will be.

Picnic at the park:
Chicken lettuce wraps
Assorted funky cheeses/crackers
Sparkling cider with raspberries

I heart Kevin

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, trying on his new swim trunks: “These are too cool even to LOOK at!”
We have this ravine behind our house that is awesome because we own it, but not so awesome because it is full of things that either scratch you, sting you, or suck your blood.  But, like I said, it’s OURS!  And we’re going to own it since we, you know, OWN it. 

Over the six years we’ve spent in this house we’ve been slowly taking over the ravine.  Take, for example, this little corner:



In our latest installment of Take Back the Ravine, this weekend Kevin leveled out an area and started building a playground set on it.


It took a couple trips to the hardware store and a borrowed truck, but the good news is that the playground instruction booklet was 40 pages less than the instructions for Vincenzo’s castle Lego set. 

My favorite moment was after I called in Kevin’s sister’s boyfriend* (because Kevin, in his infinite cuteness, insisted he could do it by himself but I, in my infinite wisdom, knew better) and he commented, “You know, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”  Kevin answered, “No; it was built over Memorial Day weekend.” 

Kevin worked all day, every day on the playground until I started to worry that all these projects I dream up are going to “use up” my husband and I’ll be left alone by age 40.  This thought was really bothering me until we pulled into Home Depot Sunday morning and I saw a whole bevy of men whom I could pick up any given weekend, any one of which would make a seamless replacement for my husband.  You know–the guys standing around the entrance looking eager to drain your septic tank or caulk your tub or unscrew your pickle jars, depending on your going rate?

Anyway, readers, after three days of toil and sweat–not mine, of course–I present to you…ROME!


(Rome will be complete with a slide, swings, climbing walls, etc., shortly but give my husband a break already.  Rome wasn’t built in a 3-day weekend, you know!)

Heartburn-inducing pizza (for him)
Freezer-burned garden burgers (for her)
Potato salad (for both)
Raspberry lemon bars that I’m totally excited about–thanks Kristen!

*If you’re reading this, Kevin’s sister’s boyfriend, just PROPOSE already so I can write BIL instead and save everyone the confusion!  Okay??!

A week in the life of MrsMouthy

QUICKIE: Vincenzo told Grammy yesterday that Daddy is “very, very old” but Mommy is “pretty young.”  Is it still Mother’s Day?
1.  A conversation between me and K, while he was driving:

Me: Someone I know got a migraine in her eye today.
K: Oh, you mean an “eyegraine?”  Ha ha ha…
[sound of squealing brakes as K nearly rear-ends someone]
K: Sorry; I don’t drive as well when I’m so incredibly funny.  The cognitive power it takes to achieve that kind of funny is just too much.
Me: Now you understand why I’m such a lousy driver.
K: You’re funny.
Me: I know.

2.  I’ve discovered a way to get Vincenzo to do art projects: Insert the word “turtle” into the name of the art project, and he signs himself up!

Turtle Island (summer):


Turtle Island (winter):


Turtle Party Hat (he even let me take his picture for this one–so long as he was allowed to hold a blue pipe in front of his face for protection)


Whole new doors are opening with Vincenzo’s renewed interest in art.  I’m thinking today we’ll do a study in Turtle Pointillism and maybe dabble in Turtle Cubism over the weekend?

3.  I gave Vincenzo some cherries yesterday with a bowl to spit pits in.  I looked over and noticed he wasn’t using the bowl–his pits were piled up on the table–so I reminded him about the bowl.  When I looked over a few seconds later, he was taking each of the pits from the table, putting it back in his mouth, and spitting it in the bowl.  Smart a**.

4.  Clyde, wishing you a Happy Memorial Day weekend:


Wolfgang Puck’s breadsticks
Grilled raddicchio and Roquefort pasta salad
Verduri al forno
Corn on the cob
Cherry charlottes

Love lives!

QUICKIE:  Vincenzo: “I am NOT happy.  And I do NOT like mommies.”
Thank you one and all for your date night suggestions.  I now realize you are all sorrier than me.  Your ideas included:

1.  Playing Bingo with old people: intriguing, but where would a young couple like us find a group of able-bodied old people to play with?
2. Popping Kevin’s blackheads in bed: just thinking about this gave our love life an irreversible blow
3.  Going to the spa for separate massages (i.e. paying other people to touch our naked bodies): if I weren’t so friggin’ nauseous, this would be a great idea
4.  Building a fort and cozying up inside with lots of pillows.  This also would be a great idea if you didn’t already spend your day doing this with all the cushions and pillows in your house:

6AM: Kevin wakes up on “Second Bed”


9AM: Throw all pillows/cushions in house down one flight of stairs to build Jump Planet for Turtles and Anybody (concept created and coined by Vincenzo)


2:00: Haul cushions/pillows back up so I can watch TV or blog during naptime:


4:30: Lug cushions down 2 flights of stairs to build Turtle Island:


9:00: Back upstairs to build Second Bed again.


So thanks, Casey, but we decided to give the pillows, cushions, and ourselves a night off this week.

As it was, I did not make Kevin wash the windows for date night.  Instead we went out for a lovely dinner, after which he mowed the lawn, moved all the furniture downstairs to spray for cat pee (AGAIN), and straightened the living room while I ate Creamsicles and took pictures of our couch.  It was slightly reminiscent of a date we went on in our first year together that began with Kevin scrubbing cat poo off all the carpets in my apartment while I ate a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and made calls to the vet.

See?  We still got it!


ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (I wish)

Just popping in to apologize for not posting yesterday and not “really” posting today.  I’ve dealt with insomnia off and on (but usually on) since Vincenzo was born, and it’s really acting up lately.  Nothing slaps the funny out of you like passing a looooooooooooong 8 hours in bed awake in the dark, hearing every noise in the house, frustrated because your body just doesn’t know how to fall sleep, and “waking up” so exhausted that all you can think about doing all day is going to sleep.  Even so, I dread bedtime because I know it’s going to be another tortuous stretch of boredom, frustration, and exhaustion until I can wake up and do it all over again.

Anyway, hopefully I can post something more cheery this afternoon.

Does anyone remember how to date?

QUICKIE: One of my friends, on swelling during pregnancy: “You plump when you cook ’em!”
Kevin and I have a date on Wednesday (Vincenzo has an overnight at Grammy’s) and I’m scared.  I can’t remember what people do on dates!  I keep trying to plan this one, but all I’ve come up with is watching Dancing with the Stars while Kevin washes all the windows, then me watching Gossip Girl reruns while Kevin builds a retaining wall in the ravine.  Maybe afterwards I’ll invite him to sleep in the bed instead of on the couch.  It is date night, after all.

Can anyone help us out?  Keep in mind I’m nauseous, irritable, and exhausted…and Kevin?  Really loves washing windows.

Vinegar grilled potatoes
Orange-glazed carrots

Cat 4 Sale

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “We are the most famous ninja turtles in the UPS!!!!!!”
Just an update on Clyde’s fecal sample: I did manage to get one yesterday.  I got it by scraping cat poo off my son’s foot when he stepped in the pile Clyde left under his art table.  This cat is KILLING me.  He’s already peed in the basement and we may need to recarpet. 

Have I ever once pooped on his scratching post?  Have I ever once peed on his sock collection?  No.  Not once.

But I’m thinking about it.

Salad with salmon and raspberries
Carrots with mint

MrsMouthy gets catty

Kevin: Try some chicken, Vincenzo.  It’s really good.”
V: No thanks.
Kevin: You’ll like it!
V: No thanks.
Kevin: It’s possibly the best chicken I’ve ever tasted.
V: Then why don’t you have it, Daddy?
Clydey Clyde had his annual vet appointment this week and I brought in a fecal sample so they could test it or fling it or whatever it is vets do with cat poo. I paid $40 to leave Clyde’s poo at the vet.  By the time I got home there was a message on my machine saying I had dropped off a bag full of number one, not of number two.  So essentially I paid the vet $40 to identify a substance as cat pee.  Cat owner epic fail.

I asked the vet about Clyde’s butt-licking problem so she took a good look at his keester and said it all looked pretty normal.  All I can deduce about Clyde’s licking problem, then, is that he does it because it likes the way it tastes.  I guess that’s just what happens when you’re fed cat food out of a grimy bowl on the ground all day.  C’est la cat vie.

Salmon with dill yogurt
Baked potatoes
Broccoli with cheese sauce

What would Octomom think?

QUICKIE: Me to V: “Tomorrow is a Haylee day and an Abby day and an Ian day and a Grammy day.”  V: “Then tomorrow is my lucky day!!”
Ever since I’ve been with Kevin the world has become a stranger and stranger place for me.  I used to think a surprise, for example, was a vase of flowers randomly showing up on your doorstep.  Now I know that a surprise is merely a fart with a lump in it.  I used to correct people when they typed “teh” or “whut” or “injekshuns,” but now I understand they are simply typing in LOLspeak.  I now know that “dropping the kids off at the pool” involves neither kids nor pools, but does involve the bathroom fan and a magazine.  I call people jibrones. 

Last night Kevin opened my eyes once again as we were watching a hockey game on TV.  The fans all threw their hats on the ice after some guy from some random, non-important team playing some random, non-important game scored a goal.  Kevin told me that if the game were in Detroit, people would be throwing octopuses on the ice.  I totally didn’t believe him.  Really?  Really?  Does everyone already know this?  Please tell me I’m not the last person in America to learn that after that National Anthem or after a goal is scored in Detroit the ice is suddenly littered with octopus bodies.

Wikipedia has this to say about octopus-throwing etiquette: 

It is never acceptable to aim for opposing players. Beforehand, octopuses are usually boiled to reduce the amount of “slime” coating and facilitate the time it takes to clean up the ice and prevent further delay. Since Joe Louis Arena does not condone the throwing of any foreign objects onto the ice, fans often sneak the sea creatures in wrapped around their bellies in trash bags.

Hm.  I used to think all those people at Detroit hockey games were fat.  Now I know they’re all just a bunch of octopus-throwing jibrones.

Oh, and in case you were wondering:

Al Sobotka [was] the man responsible for removing the thrown creatures from the ice. He [was] known for swinging the tossed octopuses above his head when walking off the ice…Zamboni drivers [are therefore forbidden] from cleaning up any octopuses thrown onto the ice…because “matter flies off the octopus and gets on the ice” when Al Sobotka does it.

Feta and cheddar omelet
Pan-fried hashbrowns