When Irish dyes are smiling…

Seriously.  Shoot me the next time I write a title like that.

I thought I’d post my St. Patty’s Day picture early in case any of you are bored and have a bunch of flat-bottomed coffee filters that don’t fit your new coffee maker lying around.  We had all the materials for the flowers on hand (probably about $.30 worth of coffee filters, skewers, and dye) and and then we spent $10 for the Styrofoam beads to fill the vase.  It was our way to “reduce, reuse, recycle, and buy lots of Styrofoam.”



Here’s the link for making the flowers:


Sea bass with Mexicana-Chinoise sauce
Couscous with carrots and peas
Mint chocolate chip cookies

Rocco Talk-o

Rocco’s newest vocab:

haaannnn: honk (meaning “I want to honk that guy over there’s nose”)
eng eng: ring ring (often said while walking around the house with the camera to his ear, calling “Dada”)
sound of coughing up a hairball: yuck
va! vvvvv: something dropped (usually followed by a chest-bruising version of the “help” sign)
bah bah: star (as in “Screw you, English language.  You suck.  I’m going to do my own thing from now on, nana nana boo boo.”


Rocco’s newest trick: Closing the toilet lid whenever we leave it open because he knows he can’t be trusted around an open toilet


Rocco’s newest hobby: rearranging the cat food


And, as Rocco is currently standing in his crib, screaming, I best be going now.

MIL’s taking care of it!

Into the Mouth of MrsMouthy

I woke up Sunday morning knowing I undoubtedly needed a root canal.

I knew this because a) my tooth was in screaming pain and b) every time something goes down in my mouth, it goes down big.  I have countless fillings, a permanent retainer glued behind my front teeth, a pair of caps, and a ten-year-old bridge—only slightly younger than the original bridge I had installed ten and a half years ago.

So.  I woke up with this root canal feeling on Sunday and I made a dentist appointment for Wednesday.  Leading up to my dentist appointment I alternated between being extremely cranky that I had to go to the dentist to have my sore tooth poked and being hands-to-heaven thankful that the minute I get a sore tooth I can go to a dentist and get it fixed.  With anesthesia.  And maybe laughing gas.  I really am thankful.

Still, as I lay there in the Chair of Pain I began to realized why I’ve never felt all that comfortable around dentists.  A person whose chooses a career that routinely involves ripping people’s teeth out of their heads doesn’t really seem like the kind of person whose fingers I would like prodding around my own mouth. 

As I’m thinking this, the dentist comes in and asks me where it hurts, and like my big brother would have done 30 years ago, he goes *poke poke poke* right where it hurts the most.

“Does it hurt now?”
“How about now?”

Unfortunately, the word “uncle” doesn’t hold any sway in the dentists’ office.

The good news is that I most likely do not need a root canal after all.  I’ve simply joined the ranks of the other tooth grinders out there, gnashing my teeth in my sleep all night.  Ironically, I spend very little of my night sleeping, as I am a horrible insomniac.

I’m such an overachiever.

I dunno…what are you cooking tonight?

Something’s fishy about this post…*

We went to the aquarium with our zoo vet friend today.  It was definitely worth the price of admission ($8 with our discount card) and probably also worth the price of parking ($19 with the aquarium discount).  We ate lunch while watching a scuba diver, who then invited the kids upstairs to watch her change.  S-l-o-w-l-y. 

Kidding about the s-l-o-w-l-y thing.  But we did go upstairs for the show.

Here she is, stripped down to her skivvies.  Viewer discretion advised.


She left quite the impression on Rocco, who walked around the aquarium like this afterwards:


It’s pretty cool hanging out with a zoo vet.  We walked by the otters and she told us how one of them was rescued from some guy’s bathtub and she helped raise it to adulthood before it came to the aquarium.  We passed a kind of fish that she helped spade at her zoo so it wouldn’t die of a stuck egg sac (or something like that).  Fish surgery is seriously awesome, and I don’t mean McStreamy’s kind of awesome either.  We’re talking “oxygen masks” for the fish that continually flow water through their gills to help them breath while anesthized on the operating table.  You think that’s about as awesome as it gets, and then she invites you to a tiger surgery she’s doing in a couple weeks.  Everyone should have a zoo vet friend.

Zoo vet friends also don’t have to pretend they’re not afraid to touch the sea anemones because they’re not actually afraid to touch the sea anemones. 


The boys, for their part, were totally into the fish.


I lie.  They were shooting missiles at a tireless fleet of enemy war craft that looked a lot like fish.

The aquarium has mystery boxes to stick your hands into.  Welcome to Truth or Dare, boys.


Anyway.  Fish knowledge.  We has it.



Florentine frittata
Butternut squash risotto
Pumpkin bars with browned butter frosting

*Seriously, if someone would just go ahead and do away with blog post titles, Blogland would be a much happier place.

MrsMouthy’s Deep Thoughts

1. I’ve been thinking about my strong aversion to Facebook lately, and I’ve come up with a reason for my distaste.  Facebook is just too darn polite for me.  You can “like” things all over the place, but where’s the button for “dislike?”    Why can’t you click a “who cares?” button or a “farting noise” button? 

Just sayin’. 

2. Sometimes when I throw things away, like pennies or polished rocks from Vincenzo’s rock collection that he leaves lying around, I imagine a child in a third world country poring over the dump for scraps of metal, then coming across the polished rock and lighting up all over—holding the rock to her chest, dreaming of the exotic land it came from, cherishing her little gem forever as a sign that better things are just around the corner and she is special because she has a shiny rock.  Thinking of that kind of gives me the warm fuzzies all over when the big garbage trucks roll around.

3.  And now, pictures.  Not deep, just cute.

Rocco, looking at snow:


Rocco, signing “cold” at snow:


Rocco, exhausted from his efforts:


Chicken Kiev
Butternut squash risotto

Quickies & pix


Me: What did you learn about in school today, Vincenzo?
V: That frogs live in ponds and lay eggs.
Me: Oh…and what are they called when they hatch from eggs?
V: Froglings.

(I told him he should let his teachers know about the froglings but he insisted that they’re the ones who told him about the froglings in the first place.)


Vincenzo, as we were driving over 520 bridge: Someday, when I grow up and build a floating bridge, I’m going to put up a sign that says NO TRUCKS OVER 90 POUNDS.


We got a day off of the grayness around here for a little bit of white.  Is this a sign that I’m supposed to go with the all-white bedroom despite my readers’ advice against it?




Rocco remains unconvinced.


Going out!

Inside MrsMouthy’s Bedroom

I’m thinking about redesigning our master bedroom.  It was one of the first rooms in the house I decorated.




As you can see from the 4-foot tall camel and the 6-foot tall giraffe, Cost Plus Imports is just minutes away from our house.

Before you let loose your snarky derision of of my bedroom and tell me I should throw away everything, including the cat, I should mention that I actually really like my bedroom.  The walls are sponge painted yellow so that no matter how gray or dreary is outside, it always seems sunny when you walk into my room.

The problem is that, thanks to a wall of west-facing windows, this room gets amazing light and it’s where I take most photos—at least any staged photos.


Well, that’s not actually the problem.  The real problem is that, thanks to my yellow walls, everyone looks fairly jaundiced in the photos and I have to do a lot of photo editing.  I really suck at photo editing.

So I’ve been thinking it would be fun to change my bedroom to be all white—to be a dual purpose love nest and photography studio, if you will.  Something like this:


(In which case we’ll have to upgrade the cat after all.)

I’m torn, though.  I like the all white look, and it would be so fun to have a pseudo photography studio, and there would be considerable less whining about photos on my part…but I’d be giving up the sunshine feel, which is kind of like a prisoner asking the jailer to put a curtain over the one tiny window in his cell.

I can’t believe the things I have to struggle with while other people in the world are worrying about such petty things as food, shelter, and not getting shot by their fellow countrymen.

Anyway, back to my hugely important problem.  Help me out, readers.   If it is truly Obama’s America, then I know it’s time for change.  But does that slogan apply to bedrooms too?

Kalbi marinated flank steak
Fried polenta sticks
Minestrone soup
Chocolate-chocolate chip cookies…if there are any left by dinnertime!\