Eat this!

QUICKIE:  Vincenzo, pointing to some mylar balloons: “What are those for, Mommy?”  Me: “You would buy those on a holiday or birthday or maybe if you wanted to show someone how much you loved them.”  Vincenzo: “You love me a whole lot, Mommy!!”  Yup.  He got one.
I hate all of you!  I totally gave you the opportunity to choose to eat poo on my blog this week and NO ONE took the bait.  I at least have respect for those who chose an option (yes, A was the Cocoa Puff), but everyone else?  This is for you:

(The fun really starts around 27 seconds.  The commentary at the end is priceless, too.)


Bready-crumby, lemony, shrimpy thing
Baked penne with prosciutto
Asparagus with fried sage

Feeling poopy

QUICKIE: Vincenzo, after a session on the toilet: “That’s a big poop.”  Me: *sounds of agreement*  Vincenzo: “That’s a mommy-sized poop!”
So my cat has this problem with dingleberries.  A week ago I found what looked like another cat dingle on my floor, but upon tasting it found it to be, in fact, a Cocoa Puff.  It was quite a pleasant surprise.

Here’s the challenge for you, readers: which one of these would you eat and which one would you toss?

Option A:


Option B:


P.S. It frightens me that I’ve actually opened a picture of cat poo in my photo editing program so that I could adjust the lighting and shadows.

Out again!

What’s brown and sticky?

Quickie: I told Vincenzo to close his eyes and go to sleep and he said, “But if I close my eyes it will be dark!”


There’s this new park near our house called Carillon Woods.  It’s beautiful in every sense…except that it has no bathroom.  Knowing this, I withheld all liquids from Vincenzo’s breakfast and made him go potty like three times before we left.  You all think you know where this is heading, don’t you?  You have no idea.


No sooner had Vincenzo climbed up a ladder at the park than I realized I had to do a number two.  Like, NOW.  Not one of those, “Oh, I’ll just hold it for an hour or three” deals.  I had two options: rip Vincenzo away from the park that he had been excited for all morning or do what I would have told him to do, which would involve a big tree so conveniently growing beside the park.  I was actually in a lot of pain by the time I had considered my options so the decision kind of made itself for me.


Thanks to a cache of wet wipes and plastic bags I keep around for just such an occasion, the incident itself was rather uneventful.  Vincenzo watched from atop the play set, a goofy grin on his face, asking over and over again, “What you doing Mom?”  I’m just thankful the next minivan didn’t show up until I was already on the way to the garbage with my new “brown baby” (one of Kevin’s many, many euphemisms for it), and I’m equally grateful Vincenzo wasn’t in an especially chatty mood that morning when a few kids piled out of the van.


The whole thing felt like such a non-event that it barely even occurred to me to blog it today.  I guess after three years of changing diapers and cleaning up accidents, pooping in a park behind a tree while your son watches is small potatoes.


And to answer the question in this blog’s title: a stick.  What were you thinking?




Deferring to Kevin