Sloppy Joes… Slop…Sloppy Joes. Sloppy Joes… Slop…Sloppy Joes. -Adam Sandler

Otherwise titled: Three Ways to Eat a Sloppy Joe

The Nate (a.k.a. “Sandwich Style”) – Hamburger meat in Sloppy Joe sauce sandwiched into a bun. However, no matter how much or how little meat, Sloppy Joe sauce will inevitably run all down hands and arms and potentially hit sleeves if not thwarted by the closest napkin or paper towel. Use spoon to scrape excess lost meat off plate. Consider licking plate when parental units aren’t looking. Or, brazenly, while they are looking.

The Matt (a.k.a. “Oreo Style”) – Again, same starting concept. However, remove top bun first and consume. Then, use fingers to eat meat. Discard any found chunks of pepper or tomato in small pile on table to the side of dinner plate. Resume eating soggy bottom bun with a fork. Leave remnants of sauce on chin, upper lip, and in corners of mouth until bed-time.

The Peyton (a.k.a “Chipmunk Style”) – Begin with tiny pieces of squashed down flat Sloppy Joe sandwich scattered over high-chair tray. Stuff all pieces into mouth at one time until cheeks puff out. Place excess chunks in hair, ears and nose for safe keeping. Require disgruntled spot cleaning followed by a bath splash-down.


The Mom – Tupperwares excess Sloppy Joe to pursue the same adventure as leftovers in a couple days. Keep Calm and Sloppy On.



She didn’t Swear I Swear

Sometime last week, in a moment of absolute mommy clumsiness, I dropped and broke a Corning Ware French White ceramic baker that I use regularly. I mean… I really couldn’t help but say “Oh shit,” as it was a wedding present that until that day had survived 13+ years. And really… there’s nothing wrong with saying “Oh shit” (see my previous post about how everybody poops), until your husband swears he heard your then fifteen-month-old daughter repeat it outside a few hours later. Granted, I’m not sure I believe the hubs: Peyton has a vocabulary of maybe 5 words tops, and a certain someone probably wants to take the heat off himself for all the swear-words the boys have learned from him. However, she IS in full-on parrot attempt mode right now. My closest friends won’t even let me bring her to our Wednesday breakfasts anymore for fear she’ll repeat something they’ve said about their ass hole husbands. So… perhaps there is some validity in what both the hubs and Peyton are saying.

And so, I’d like to now bring your attention to this recent picture of Peyton. I love it because I think there is a sweet, almost angel-like softening of her features, probably because she wouldn’t pose and hold still and mom was also using a camera phone. But herein is my point:

Sweet Pea ain't going to be so sweet and angelic once mommy is through with her.

Sweet Pea ain’t going to be so sweet and angelic once mommy is through with her.


Oh shit.

The land of the misfit toys

When the kid(s) are away, mom definitely does not get to play. As Matt is visiting his grandparents up north, mom decided to tackle cleaning out his old car bed. Minus a mattress for a couple years now, the car bed had become a receptacle for unwanted toys and breeding ground for toy sets with 300+ pieces.

Inside the cavernous shell of a car were enough toys to fund, albeit “cheaply,” our local Toys for Tots drive. I filled a giant trash bag full of shit, which included (but was not limited to) enough cheap ass Burger King and McDonalds Happy Meal toys to prove we could have provided fast and questionable food to a very, very, small, undeveloped country.

We all have this plasti-crap.

We all have this plasti-crap.

I found all the missing puzzle pieces for puzzles I had long since failed to garage sale and ultimately sent to a land-fill without their missing friends. There were enough Matchbox and Hot Wheels to film a remake of Gone in 60 Seconds, a sequel, and perhaps the entire Fast and Furious series. (I kept these. Kids never outgrow Hot Wheels. And lately they’ve become great teething toys for Peyton. Don’t laugh. I’m not kidding.)

Finally, while the legos are supposed to be confined to the basement, I believe the car bed Sarlac pit had swallowed enough legos that all the Kragle in the world wouldn’t have made a difference. Kragle

I finally emptied that sucker. Finally. At least I didn’t find anything nesting or moving. So guess what, I’m celebrating the lack of pill bugs in all that mess by having a drink. 🙂 Surprise, surprise.

Have a good night.

“Everybody poops… sometime. You know that everybody poops.” (cue R.E.M. background music)

Yes… I realize I have not posted anything in a long, long time. No… you will NOT make me feel guilty. You try running around after a now one-year-old who walked early, thinks she should keep up with her older brothers, and firmly believes every scrap of paper she can get her hands on should be shredded or eaten as an appetizer. Enough said.

"And baby makes 5..."

“And baby makes 5…”

Anyhoo, I came to my blog today to share my family’s poop adventures. I’m not shitting you (pun intended). Any of you out there who have kids still in diapers or young boys obsessed with potty words (read: any boys, maybe your husband, too) probably grow weary of hearing, literally, about crap. At my house, it’s like a public service announcement. All family members feel they need to share when they have to take a dump, as if they need to lay claim to one of the four bathrooms, or, at least the one that has toilet paper. I grow tired of hearing about butts, poop, little weenuses, and just about anything related to it. And one day, after discussing bodily movements over dinner, I announced that I had simply had enough.

The boys looked at me open-mouthed. “What?” “Are you serious?” “You don’t want to hear about our poop?” (Giggle. Giggle.)

“No! Not only do I not want to hear about it… but I’m tired of seeing it every damn time you forget to flush.”

“Oh,” in unison, with heavy sighs of sadness.

Mom sighs and — get this shit (pun intended again) — gives in! “Can we at least code it or call it something else if we must announce it? Not everyone at ___________ (insert restaurant here) needs to know that you’re about to de-foul the restroom.”

“Like secret code??????” Excitement growing.

“Yeah….. like secret code. We’ll all do it!” Feigned excitement from mom.

So yes, we all have a secret code we use when we have to go. And it goes right along with our own individual likes and interests. Don’t believe me, read these:

Father: “I have to go drop the kids off at school.” Something he does both literally every week-day morning AND in poop-speak. In fact, he looooves to go drop the kids off at school because that means he either literally gets to escape to work or in poop-speak gets to read Car & Driver magazine un-interrupted.
Mother: “I have to see a man about a wallaby.” Stolen directly from Finding Nemo. Because Disney movies are all I ever get to watch anymore. And why does P. Sherman always need to poop in the middle of a root canal?

This dentist really likes wallabies.

This dentist really likes wallabies.




Nate: “I have to go deposit some pennies in the bank.” Comes from my money-obsessed but clearly clueless son. (The kids thinks he’s rich because he has about $150 dollars in the bank. He once asked us if we ever spend $1,000 dollars at once. Ummm hello, mortgage? Routine colonoscopies (while we’re talking poop)?
Matt: “I have to take the train out of the tunnel.” You all know how obsessed he is with trains, right? His code is perhaps the most fitting. Sometimes he even changes it up by saying “The train is leaving the station…”

It beats some shitty chocolate choo-choo reference.

It beats some shitty chocolate choo-choo reference.

…and last but not least…

Peyton: “Miss P needs to mind her P’s and Poos.” Yes, I realize Peyton can’t say much yet, but Miss P is her nickname, she does need a more proper code and it beats me calling out “Holy shit, Peyton!” when I change her diaper.

So now that I’ve disclosed the family’s secrets, if you hear Nate discussing pennies at the local restaurant, or you hear Matt screaming “The train is leaving the station, now, mom!” through the open window at the carpool line, you keep that snicker to yourself. And come up with your own shitty euphemisms.


Parenting is a House of Pain

Earlier this week, while listening to Fort Fun’s Rewind station on the drive home from school, Jump Around by House of Pain came on. Naturally, it was only a few minutes before Matt decided that since we were in a semi-quiet, enclosed place with a sleeping baby, he should try to imitate the shriek that House of Pain samples in the background. Yeah… his attempt was not so good. Naturally, it was only a few more minutes before Nate decided he should imitate the shrieking, too.  Yeah… his attempt was only a small notch better than Matt’s. Naturally, at this point, the baby was awake. She looked to her left at a shrieking Matt. She looked to her right at a shrieking Nate. She listened to the music. She gave me a look in the baby mirror which I caught in the rear-view which clearly meant “What is up with my brothers’ awful vocal stylings?” Naturally, she then let a shriek of her own out which was… well… damn near perfect: Perfectly in rhythm. Perfectly in sync. Perfectly loud. Peyton upstages them all.

And baby takes the Grammy!

And baby takes the Grammy!

In related musical news, Peyton has decided she’s a big fan of the song “Gold Digger” by Kanye West. If that means she destined for becoming BFF with North and getting wrapped up in that Kardashian nonsense, well… then I might have to shriek.

The Great Blizzard of ’14

All snow & no play makes my boys & girl pass out. And I didn't even half to drug them!

All snow & no play makes my boys & girl pass out. And I didn’t even half to drug them!

“Shark bait: Hoo-hah-hah! Shark bait: Hoo-hah-hah!” – Finding Nemo

Parenting Success 101: Letting your sons watch the first thirty minutes of Jaws. Explaining convincingly & whole-heartily that the shark specifically went after the little boy on the yellow raft because he didn’t listen to his mother, who told him not to go back in the water. Assuring them that sharks use their “sonar” to detect the tastiest morsels of selective hearing and parental disobedience.

  • Matt (after said explanation): “I promise I’ll listen from now on. I don’t want to be six and die. I want to at least turn, like, seven first.”
He should have listened to his mother.

He should have listened to his mother.

Parenting Success 201: Letting them also watch the scene where the two local yahoos attempt to catch the shark off the dock with a roast and a prayer. Explaining that the man only escaped the “shark dock” swimming after him because he was a fast swimmer from all those lessons he took when he was a boy. Re-iterating that you only had to be able to swim faster than the person behind you, who probably has a history of not listening to his parents.

  • Matt (after said explanation): “I can swim faster than Nate. I’m fast and I wanna keep taking swim lessons.”
  • Nate (after said explanation): “Can I take swim lessons again?”
"Just keep swimming." - Dori, Finding Nemo

“Just keep swimming.” – Dori, Finding Nemo

Stay tuned for descriptions of 301, 401 and 501 (for the life-long student of non-listening).

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