Cat 4 Sale

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “We are the most famous ninja turtles in the UPS!!!!!!”
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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.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Salad with salmon and raspberries
Spoonbread
Carrots with mint

MrsMouthy gets catty

QUICKIE:
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?
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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.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
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!!”
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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.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Feta and cheddar omelet
Pan-fried hashbrowns

Mom’s Day, my way

QUICKIE: Vincenzo to me: “Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.  That means you get to cook all day!!”
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A couple incidents from the weekend that can neither be overlooked nor forgotten:

1. I sent Vincenzo to his aunt’s house for a few hours and he came back wearing not only her t-shirt but also her underwear.  My parenting handbook surprisingly neglects this topic, so I’m not sure where to go from here…

2. My family came over for Mother’s Day and by the end of the afternoon we had whipped out the Nads and removed neck hair from several of the men in the room.  I am consequently very worried for Father’s Day.

3. My mom gave me and the other moms present each a card for Mother’s Day.  We opened them together, said thank-you, and as we were tucking them into our purses this conversation pursued:

Me: Thanks Mom.  It was enough that you just thought to give me a card; you didn’t need to stick $1,000 in it.
Everyone else: [raucous laughter]
Me: What?  What’s everyone laughing at?  Oh–didn’t Mom give you $1,000?
My BIL (whose name, coincidentally, is Bill): No.  I’m laughing because she gave us $1,500.
Me: I hate you.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Don’t look at me!  But here was our Mom’s Day menu:

Grilled eggplant with balsamic vinegar and feta on toasts
Chilled cucumber soup with baby beets
Basmati stuffed peppers and tomatoes
Beef kebabs with cilantro and mint
Fruit and date platter
Bread and cheese (for the guys)
Rhubarb tart with lemon mousse
Lemon sandwich cookies
Double chocolate brownies
Cheesecake
Some other awesome desserts my MIL made, but I forgot their names.

Thanks for all the help, family!

Love notes

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “Reading books is good for your body.  Right, Mom?”
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Kevin and I don’t get a ton of time to be one-one-one throughout the day/evening/night, so we like to seize advantage of small moments throughout the day to be romantic.  Take this segment from our IM session yesterday:

MrsMouthy says: Hey.
Kevin says: Howdy
MrsMouthy says: Damn Clyde.  He just drank out of the toilet and is now trying to lick me.
MrsMouthy says: He also puked under the bed, but as it’s on your side I figured it’s your problem.
Kevin says: I think all sides of the bed are yours now*
MrsMouthy says: On the bright side, the vet won’t have food for him until Monday so the puking shouldn’t be a problem.
Kevin says: We can just feed him people food from our plates
MrsMouthy says: Does that mean we’ll have to start drinking out of the toilets?

See what I mean?  Isn’t it romantic how we slip some bedroom talk into an otherwise mundane occurrence?  And how Kevin doesn’t use punctuation at the end of his sentences?  Rawr!

*A reference to the fact that he has been banished to the couch for most of my pregnancy.  He doesn’t usually snore but he BREATHES ALL NIGHT LONG and breathing is very hard to sleep next to.**

**This doesn’t always solve my insomnia.  Last night, for example, Kevin slept on the couch but I still couldn’t sleep because I was breathing and not only could I hear it, but my sense of smell is so acute that I was too grossed out by the smell of my own nose to fall asleep.  This is another one of pregnancy’s design flaws.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Maybe baked penned with prosciutto
Maybe glazed carrots
Maybe balsamic-marinated chicken
Maybe fudgy brownies
Maybe none of the above

This is my cry for help

QUICKIE: Question: If you witness your cat drinking from the toilet, how long do you need to wait to pet him–factoring in that your cat licks you when you pet him?
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Kevin bought V a giganto castle Lego set this weekend.  Now I am sentenced to play with it day in and day out while Vincenzo watches, as that is how he believes playing works.  Let me introduce you to some of the players:

Evil skeleton warrior who knocks on the castle door and shouts, “Pizza delivery!”

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Goodly but hungry king who invariably lets in “pizza delivery boy”

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Goodly but hungry king’s bodyguard, who takes a potty break every time the king lets in “pizza delivery boy”

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Grammy (on the left) and her dog Rasta (on the right) who may or may not be in cahoots with the “pizza delivery boy”

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Would-be fire-breathing dragon who flies by the castle periodically yelling, “I’VE LOST MY HEAD!  I’VE LOST MY HEAD!  HOW AM I YELLING THIS?”

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Said head

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And this, people, is the reason I have virtually nothing to blog about this week.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Grilled pear and fontina sandwiches
Butternut squash soup
Amaretto brownies

Sometimes it’s hard to be a mammal

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, trying to spell “park”: “t…r…k…6…I forget what comes after the 6.”
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Baby update.  Here’s what babycenter.com (a site we have started calling TMI.com) has to say about Mbungo this week: He now…measures 14 inches (an English hothouse cucumber) from head to heel. If you’re having a boy, his testicles are beginning to descend into his scrotum — a trip that will take about two to three days.

The pregnant-er I get, the more I’m aware of some underlying design flaws with human pregnancy.  Seriously, don’t you think Someone could have thought about the fact that pregnant ladies still need to put their own shoes on?  Or that sticking a baby in next to all the stomach/colon stuff might, might, maybe cause a couple problems?  Honestly, the only parts of my body that do not feel completely sick and nauseous are my limbs!  And acne?  How in heaven’s name could pregnancy zits ever have made it through all these years of evolution?!

I’m doing pretty good mentally, except for worrying that Mbungo is on the brink of death at all times.  When he’s not moving I worry that he’s gotten strangled in his cord; when he is moving I worry that he’s about to strangle himself in his cord.  I so wish the skin on my stomach was completely see-through so I could keep a better eye on this kid!  Evolution?  Talking to you again!

Oh well.  At least my belly button is cleaner than yours.

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WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Pork with figs, apples, and mustard sauce
Asparagus soup
Noodles in browned butter
Vanilla cream pie