When the camera goes *click* *click*

My pregnant friend let me take pictures of her and her gorgeous family last night and you, lucky you, get the opportunity now to LOOK at them.  Yippee!  I feel badly she got me instead of a real photographer because a lot of these pictures are almost great, but just a little too blurry to be perfect, or with a tree growing out of someone’s head.  Plus, the only thing my photo editing software can do is turn pictures to black and white.  But as Vincenzo taught me, “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit.”  My favorite part of the evening was when their darling daughter pulled down her pants and went potty in the yard, then spent the rest of the night wearing only a shirt.  ONLY a shirt.  It felt so much like home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh blah di

For the lack of absolutely anything to blog about, and because I promised it a couple weeks ago, here are a few more pictures from Rocco’s Crazy Hair birthday party.

I don’t know which was cooler—the birds in auntie and uncle’s hair or the skull-and-roses dresses auntie was wearing.

The newlyweds.  Marriage has changed them already, see?

Rocco’s grandpa.  We’re not sure if he’s Japanese or Chinese, so we’ll just go with Asian.

We don’t know who this guy is—he just showed up, ate all the Late Night All Night Cheeseburger Doritos and left.

My head still hurts from this hair-do.

There’s a party pooper in every crowd, and Rocco’s party was no exception.  Ya think Leo could have manned up and grown a little something for his friend’s one-and-only first birthday?

But awwwwwwww he’s so cute.

Now let’s everyone hope that my kids do something in the next 24 hours that shows how cleverly idiotic they are and showcases my well-intentioned yet often clumsy and misguided parenting so that I can write about it in a self-deprecating, uproarious way, or I’m going to be forced about the time my baby ate his own poop.

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Cornbread taco bake
Salad with blue cheese, apples, and craisins
Peanut butter chip brownies

My son, the LOSER.

I showed up early to Vincenzo’s sports camp today so I could watch him play.  When I walked onto the field I saw him finish a game of soccer, then go over to a tree and start kicking it.  As soon as he saw me, he burst into tears.  “What’s wrong, honey?”  “Mooommm,” he sobbed, “I lost the World Cup!”

Poor guy.  He’s so darn competitive we won’t play board games with him because he explodes into raging tears if he so much as draws the wrong color of card in a game of Uno.  I can’t even describe what happens when he actually loses a game.  We keep the games hidden away.  Every once in awhile he remembers them and asks, “Hey Mom, wanna play a game of Candyland?”

I know exactly how pigs feel as they’re being led away to the slaugherhouse.

Sports camp ended today with a game of rainbow tag, where you freeze if you’re tagged.  Vincenzo handled it very well when he got tagged.  I was impressed!  (Of course, it’s not exactly the World Cup…)  But then Vincenzo noticed other kids getting tagged and not freezing, and he stood there, frozen, yelling at them with all his might and turning redder and redder and madder and madder, rooted to his place the entire time because while there was nothing in the rules about micromanaging other players, there was a very strict rule about not moving once you’re tagged.  My kid.  The Dwight Schrute of rainbow tag.  Another fit of tears followed by another round of hugs and sports camp ended for the summer.

I wish I could help him.  I know enough to avoid signing him up for competitive sports.  When he races me to the car or up the stairs I just tell him I’m not competing.  When we do play board games I model being a good sport and being a poor sport so he can see the difference.  We stress having fun over winning, we celebrate mistakes, we stopped beating him when he came in second place.  And still.

Anyway maybe he’ll just grow out of it.  It looks like the competition did, being two years older and ten pounds heavier than him…

 

even if it was just a GIRL.

Seaside II

I still feel like you don’t quite understand what the town we visited this weekend was like.  Let me try again. 

For those of you in the south, think Bourbon Street only replace every bar with an ice cream shop and replace every drunk guy you see with an enormously obese, white guy sharing an ice cream with his beard.

For those of you on the west coast, think Las Vegas only replace the casinos with arcades and people standing on the corner passing out cards with whores on them with a guy who stands on a corner passing out free taffy and singing a creepy song about visiting his taffy store.  Also, replace the Cirque du Soleil with an annual rock and gem show.

For those of you on the east coast, think Jersey Shore only replace Snookie with me in a fat suit.

Which explains why I seriously can’t wait for our vacation weekend to roll around each summer, and why it never disappoints.

Just in case any of you are tired of me making fun of my little Guidos and want to see some pretty pictures from our weekend, here you are.

 

 

 

Surviving a seaside vacation

This weekend was our annual trip to the beach, to a city that boasts “170 kinds of saltwater taffy.”  Now that Vincenzo has been there, it could also boast “170 ways to have a meltdown.”  Seriously.  We’d be all, “Hey Vincenzo, wanna go to the arcade and then get some ice cream?” and he’d hit the floor like he was shot and roll all around the hotel room, screaming that he didn’t want to he didn’t want to HE DIDN’T WA-HA-HAAAAAAAANT TO!"  So we’d tell him okay, we won’t, and then there would be an even bigger meltdown that usually ended with him throwing the queen size bed off the balcony then setting his own hair on fire. 

When he wasn’t melting down he spent a lot of time ordering us around, demanding things, and threatening to hit small children with his shovel.  We’re beginning to think that Hitler’s parents were just a nice, fun-loving, liberal couple with a good sense of humor who took little Hitler to quaint seaside towns on the weekends.

As for Rocco, our calm, good-natured baby has been crying for a week straight and just went right on with that through our family vacation.  I took him to the doctor last week and this week I think I’ll take him to the priest.

Anyway, we managed to have a good time despite it all.

Here Vincenzo appears to be tasting the wind until you look a little closer and notice he’s about to taste something a bit more…flavorful.

We took the kids on the Carousel of Death.  It starts innocently enough…

 

but then…

and then

 

and finally

and then when you get off your arms do this.

We really outdid ourselves and took Rocco out of the stroller this weekend.  Here’s how it went for him:

(This last one isn’t so much a picture as a sound.  “EEERRRRRHHHHH!”)

So we put him back in the stroller.

See if you can spot Poppy in this picture—it might be hard because he’s wearing a camouflage hat. 

You know how they say that the bubbly foam that sits on top of hot tub water comes from the oils and grime off of all the bodies that have been in there?  We’d like to thank the big hairy guy and his equally hairy wife who visited the spa earlier in the day for the following pictures:

Vincenzo, any final thoughts on our vacation?

 

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Tuna melts
Roasted red pepper and tomato soup
Salad
Peanut butter chocolate brownies

Week O’ Fun(ish)

One of the moms I met this year who I will heretofore refer to as Vetty is just like me in that she has a gigantic list of things she wants to do and she wants to do them NOW and she will not be able to sleep until she gets them done.  We want to take the kids to a waterfall, go hiking in the mountains, sign up for that dam tour, take the boys kayaking, take ferry rides to nowhere, hit up every zoo and museum we can find, get the kids drunk and take them bungee jumping.  (Just checking if you’re still reading.  You are.)

Vetty’s weakness is that she can’t seem to make time in her schedule for all her ideas.  My weakness is that even with a printed out map, hand-written directions, and a cell phone most of my attempts to find new places end on the side of the road with me placing a sobbing, panicky phone call to my husband, who then has a heck of a time trying to figure out how to tell me how to get back home.

So.  Vetty and I have joined forces and are slowly but surely making it through our list of things to do.  We decided to kick off our adventures with a Week O’ Fun.  Let’s do something new!  Let’s do something bold!  Let’s do something CRAZY!!  And let’s do it EVERY DAY this week!

Except Monday and Friday, because we’re busy.

Oh, and except—did you see the weather forecast? 

So we went to the same beach we’ve been to two to three times a week all summer long…

Then followed it up with a trip to the park we’ve been going to all summer long…

And ended it at the farm/amusement park we go to all year long.

You can tell from everyone’s faces it was totally lame.

Words are for losers

It’s a day late for Wordless Wednesday, so I feel like posting a picture without any caption so I guess that makes this Thoughtless Thursday?  Anyway.  Here.

 

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Fridge dump, including stir fried rice; marinated grilled eggplant and summer squash; grilled kielbasa; miso-marinated tofu; corn on the cob

La LA, la la la la…

Oh man, I woke up this morning of my own accord.  For the first time in over a year, I woke up because I had gotten enough sleep!  Not because someone was crying, not because someone was asking, “WHERE’S MY BREAKFAST?!”, not because someone was breathing on my back like the Big Bad Wolf.  True, it was 5AM when I woke up but enough sleep is enough sleep, whether it’s 5AM or noon.  I feel downright SMURFY.

A few quickies from my week:

1. Vincenzo to me: Rocco loves your boobs so much.  It’s like he’s a zombie and your boobs are a person.

2. Overheard yesterday:
V, charging out of his room: Okay Daddy, I’m ready to tackle you!
D: Woah—you’ve got to put some underwear on first!

3. Kevin keeps a stack of books and magazines on the back of the toilet and apparently it’s the only place Vincenzo ever sees him reading because the other day when he walked into the dining area and saw Kevin reading at the table he said, “Going potty, Daddy?”

4.  I’m thinking of starting up a line of fool-proof fortune cookies.  Here are a few examples—you know what to do to the endings.

a.  You will go to sleep.
b.  You will wake up.
c.  You should not eat crackers.

5.  Vincenzo: Mom, you know why I don’t think much anymore?
Me: No…why?
Vincenzo: Because I………………because I…………………I think……………um…………………never mind, I forgot.

It’s going to be a smuuuuurfy day!  I think I’ll spend some time smurfing the Internet now.  And anyone who does not share my smurfuberance can just smurf off.  (Though I think the Catholic church’s stance is you go blind if you smurf off too much, so please exercise caution.)

Aren’t I so much more fun when I’m not tired?

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Gado gado salad

The true Manwich

And now I’m going to introduce you to a sandwich that Vincenzo has named the “Beaver Stick” for reasons unknown to anyone.  Or maybe he said “Bieber Stick” and I just misheard him?  (Because that would make so much more sense.) 

Anyway, this is what your husband feeds your child when you leave them alone for any duration of time. 

The ingredients:

And the steps–they’re fairly self-explanatory:

(I feel like apologizing specifically to Corey for the miscalculated ISO in the final picture but Vincenzo is back in his “you only got one shot so don’t miss your chance this opportunity comes once in a lifetime” stage again.)

(And I feel like apologizing to all moms everywhere whose husbands just added this post to their recipe file.)

(Because all husbands, naturally, keep their own recipe files.)

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Miso-marinated salmon
Rice
Green beans with roasted onions

Summertime blues

I went to my laptop today and this screen was showing on the BING page:

We did not find any results for ,IIIIIIIIUUUUUUUUUUU879 . NJBLBNMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHJJJJJJJJJJJ.3swaq`w3`wwa`aWAAAA

 

I love that Rocco actually typed out his crying at the end of it.

Rocco had his one-year appointment this week, two weeks late because during his first scheduled appointment we were playing hooky at Wild Waves and during the second one we were sitting at home picking our noses.  The doctor asked me what Rocco eats in a day and I decided to fib a little because the truthful answer would include a little fruit, a little carbs, several handfuls of woodchips, a few wads of carpet lint, and an unknown amount of his own feces.*  Oh, plus a rock but he only licked it so I don’t know if it counts.

Anyway, whatever he’s eating seems to be working as even though height dropped from the 25th percentile to the 15th percentile the nurse announced cheerily, “At least his weight is up!”  As in, he used to be in the third percentile and now he’s in the fourth.  Cue the fireworks.

As for Vincenzo, this week he’s  pretending to be a lion that hatches from an egg, then he goes back in the eggshell and hatches again so that he can be his own lion friend.  I’ve tried to explain to him about mammals and live birth and all but it only makes him hatch all the more furiously.

Seriously, there’s just not much going on around here lately.  I actually think the whole Momosphere is kind of slumping right now though.  Have you noticed?

 

(That’s a road behind them, not the river it appears to be.  Happy friggin’ August.)

WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Cornbread taco bake
Salad with roasted red peppers, feta, and garbanzos
Brown sugar carrots if I’m feeling inspired
Ice cream cake

*Really did happen but I’m too grossed out to tell you about it.  Plus, it was totally my fault.  Not in an I-put-it-on-his-spoon-instead-of-yogurt kind of way, but still definitely my fault.