Play date recap

Vincenzo spent the day with one of his girl friends (a.k.a Girl).  These comments were overheard:

1.  Vincenzo, while he and Girl were playing with the camera: “Hey, wanna see if you can lift your skirt over your head?”  [I think I’ll add this to his pick-up line repertoire.)

2.  Girl, at dinner: “I watched a movie called ‘Chippendales.’”

3.  Girl, while playing: “I’m going to make myself into a boy now.”

No time to elaborate.

Chicken & dumpings
Salad with apple and Beecher’s cheese

Nursery Rhymes Gone Bad

Alternate title: When All the Batteries Were Used on the First-born

For those of you who wonder how Vincenzo turned out the way he did, it’s incidents similar to this that really molded him.  I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when Rocco’s kindergarten teacher calls home to ask why he hid in the closet when she read “Humpty Dumpty” to the class, though.

Mall croquettes with mall fraiche

On the endangered list…

The ninja turtles are disappearing.

It used to be whenever we introduced Vincenzo to anyone he’d correct us and say, “I’m not Vincenzo.  I’m a ninja turtle.” 

He stopped doing that.

They’re not totally gone yet, but when they do show up the ninja turtles are all brandishing “light savers” and landing on planets all over the Milky Way galaxy, blasting aliens—and not with cheese puffs or whipped cream like it used to be; they’re actually severing off alien limbs and heads.  Turtle Island is no more, nor are the smelly foxes the ninja turtles spent so much time chasing around. 

I want to reel them all back into  my living room where they are safe and where Vincenzo is my bouncy, lap-sized boy.  To this time where a spare key becomes the Toy of the Week and where something as mundane as his reflection in the window is all he needs to spark hours of squealing excitement.  Where running rules over walking.  Where going to bed is the biggest bummer of his day.  Where Dad is invincible.  Where Mom is all he needs.

There will come a day–and I won’t even know it at the time—a when day Vincenzo will leave the ninja turtles on some planet somewhere and they’ll be walking around and they’ll run into Puff the Magic Dragon and one of them will say, “Oh crap, not you.”  Then a couple years later Santa and the Easter Bunny will come hurtling onto the planet too and they’ll look at the ninja turtles and say, “Oh crap, not you.”

Vincenzo will leave the turtles behind and never look back.  I’ll call the ninja turtles to dinner one day and brace myself for impact, but a boy will come walking calmly over to the table instead.

Before I start actually crying over the ninja turtles, I have to remind myself that it is very hard to get a prom date when you think you are a ninja turtle.  It is hard to get a job if the only skills you list on your resume are “fighting” and “hiding in crumbs.”  It is hard to find a suitable wife when you believe it is your job to lay and hatch the eggs when the time is right.  And it is especially hard to fit that Darth Vader cape over your turtle shell.

But I’m told it can be done.


Look over and to the left.  That’s what we’re having.
(Does anyone get it?  Anyone?!)

Hellllllooooo ladies!

Vincenzo is totally going to have his choice of girls at the bars some day.  Just check out these pick-up lines he’s tried on various friends and family members:

1.  Wanna see my sword?  It’s reeeeeeally long.
2.  Let’s pretend I’m a Lego.  You can play with me.
3.  Hey, have you seen my fire truck bed?

Here are some belated Santa Baby pics—thanks for the first one Michael!




Fontina stuffed veal meatballs
Fettuccini with marinara
Salad with craisins, apples, and blue cheese

…in which she overuses CAPS LOCK and italics

This year I hosted a Not-Quite-New Year’s party from 6 to 9 on New Year’s Eve.  Vincenzo spent the party yelling at pretty much everyone and everything.  We didn’t care because, well…


Now, there were two reasons I threw a not-quite-New-Year’s party from 6 to 9 on New Year’s Eve. 

Reason number 1: I had to get rid of this:


The leftover candy from making gingerbread houses for Christmas.  I spent the day before New Year’s Eve building gingerbread houses so other people’s kids could load the candy on their houses and walk away with them so that my family could return to its regular diet of flaxseed and wheat germ sprinkled on whole-grain carrots. 

This plan somehow failed, as after the kids left not only did I notice the parents had sneakily LEFT the gingerbread houses ALL AROUND my house without taking a SINGLE GUMDROP away, but to make matters worse, somehow THIS happened to the candy.


This would totally suck except for one thing.  Fill in the blank and see for yourself: CANDY is to LOAVES OF BREAD AND FISHES as RACHEL is to ____________.

You went there, not me.

Reason number 2 for my Not-Quite-New-Year’s party:

The Evite* clearly stated that at 9:00 the guests were to tuck me and Kevin into bed and quietly leave the house.  So why, I ask you, WHY did I end up staying up until midnight, against my deepest wishes?

Because LIFE happened, that’s why.  Life. 

You know. 


Here’s how things looked about halfway through Life.


Here’s Kevin.  He was a little EXTREMELY DRUNK, so he shouldn’t have been driving, and he certainly shouldn’t have put his wife in the back seat of his car.**  That’s his son in the front with him.  Or his gay lover.  It was a little ambiguous.


Here’s my sister; she just wanted to get her picture taken in front of the Countryside Meadows Retirement Home.


Here’s what Kevin did to my sister.


This is why you shouldn’t drink and drive, people.  Because you might accidentally mount her sister and her sister’s wife while your son/gay lover and your own wife look on.

It would be poetic justice if I had won the game despite my slow start that was in no way related to the fact that I chose to go to COLLEGE and get a REAL job instead of working as a SALES CLERK and earning $100,000 a year which—hey, what exactly was it you were selling anyway, you whore?!

But no.  I lost.

Damn, I’m to the bottom of my post and I didn’t find a way to work in the part of the party where one of my friends announced, “I’m gonna get me some of those rectal grapes” in the kitchen and it totally made sense.

Well happy New Year anyway.

Ham and chicken crepes
Gumdrop cake

*Evite, you now owe me $.50 for promotional fees.
**An hour later, when Kevin was puking ALONE in the bathroom, I like to think he had regrets about leaving his wife in the backseat of his car.