Breakfast? Not so much with the Fast

I heard that steel-cut oatmeal was the new Big Thing (I dunno, I probably read it on the internet. Damn you, Internet, filling my head with all kinds of ideas) so I bought some and tried it.

It was a revelation. Steel-cut oatmeal is freaking awesome. It has a nutty texture and is completely unlike the mushy stuff I'm used to. It lived up to the hype.

But here's the thing, Internet. Who in the ever loving hell has 45 minutes to cook steel-cut oatmeal in the morning? Do you? Because if you do, come over to my house and make me some damn breakfast.

Wait, you know what? If you're going to spend 45 minutes on something, why don't you make me some grits and eggs. And biscuits. And bacon.

Because while steel-cut oatmeal is really good, even if you pile on the brown sugar and maple syrup it is still oatmeal. And yes, it is very good oatmeal, but if I'm going to spend 45 minutes stirring something it better taste like truffle-fucking-risotto when I'm done.

Seriously. Forty-five fricking minutes. Most of you can drive to my house, drop off an egg mcmuffin, and scurry back home within that time window.

Don't forget my hashbrowns.

Grandma Bell

Often Lumpyhead and Lula decide that they must call Gramma, immediatelythissecond.

Sometimes they preview this demand by calling her on one of the seven hundred fake phones that are lying around the playroom. Sometimes an event or item clearly reminds them of her, but sometimes it's just a random urge.

Occasionally we reach her, and the kids blather away about nothing, illustrating their nonsense themes by pointing at things and gesturing extravagantly. Lumpyhead and Lula inevitably hang up on her during the baton pass between them, so whoever was cruelly cheated out of the chance to dial the phone the first time receives restitution by dialing the second call.

Usually the kids get the answering machine, which they still haven't really figured out. They stare at the handset in a puzzled fashion and mutter a few half-silent phrases before being prompted to SAY SOMETHING TO THE MACHINE. My mother dials us immediately after hearing the message, always mildly distraught that she wasn't there to receive the call (because she was out getting her hair cut or buying groceries or living her life instead of waiting by the phone for the mood to strike a 2.5-year-old and a 4-year-old to call their grandmother).

I don't have the heart to tell her that, while they're confused by the answering machine, the kids aren't disappointed when they don't reach her. The excitement doesn't lie in talking to their grandmother, but rather with pushing buttons. Yes mother, they thought of you. But really? They just like to dial the phone.

Salute to a Fallen Hero

Let it never be said that you failed. The enemy's onslaught was overwhelming, but you distinguished yourself with courage and might.

Yes, Morning Diaper, there was a containment breach. You were outmatched. But you staunchly held back a monumental volume of opposition fire.

Many lesser diapers have come before you and faltered against much smaller foes.

Rest well, valiant warrior. May your days in the landfill be replete with stories of your greatness.

On behalf of a grateful laundry basket,
Lumpyhead's Mom

Da Boys

Lumpyhead got his much-needed haircut.

Nathan Jr: Yay!
Lumpyhead: Cheeeese.

Now the baby needs one.
Nathan Jr: Wait. Wut?
Lumpyhead: I don't think this is going to end well.

Nothing at All

There's nothing fun about smelling something funky at final bedcheck, turning on the light, and realizing the baby has been visited by the Midnight Barf Fairy.

There's nothing pleasant about shampooing yuck out of your son's hair as he shivers and cries in a tub of chunky vomit soup; because even though the water is warm, a few minutes ago he was sleeping and now he's naked and wet.

And there's nothing worse than soothing a finally clean child, who rests his head on your shoulder and heaves an exhausted sigh; because while you're pleased to be providing a bit of comfort, all you can think is "Damn does this baby need a breath mint."

Took a Day Longer Than I Predicted

(Caution: Grossness Ahead. High Ew Factor. Do not read if you are eating or have just finished a meal - unless you're too full and can't find the ipecac.)

This morning Lula woke up sick. It seems to be the same "I Feel Fine Except for the Vomiting" virus Lumpyhead had on Tuesday morning.

She had those awful empty-stomach pukes -- you may know them from such hits as Horrible Hangover and Horrible Hangover II -- that come with full-body convulsions and orangey-colored bile and mucous product. Then she ate breakfast and erupted spectacularly.

Lumpyhead threw up only once, rallied to eat another breakfast, and kept it down. We assumed Lula would follow a similar path and must have said "surely that is the last one" at least seven times.

She projectiled her snack while sleeping on the sofa. She expelled a chocolate milkshake onto Bump's chest. She had four sips of water and blew chunks into a bucket.

We postponed Thanksgiving. We just didn't feel right about feasting in front of a hungry child who couldn't eat anything; and honestly, neither Bump nor I had very enthusiastic appetites after cleaning up and catching (but mostly missing) puke all day.

(Seriously, people. I know I served it to her, so it was totally my fault, but no one - no matter how grave the offense - should ever be subjected to cheddar cheese and Chicken in a Biskit crackers on the return. Ever.)

Today I am very thankful for my washing machine.

When I Told Bump About It, He Immediately Went to Locate the Fire Extinguisher for My Future Baking Needs

In what was perhaps a questionable decision, last night Bump allowed me to go to the grocery store to complete the Thanksgiving shopping. (One time Bump sent me to the store for bok choy and I came back with napa cabbage. Evidently those two things are not interchangeable.) (Ditto on snow peas and frozen sugar snap peas, apparently.) (I suck.)

It was late and the grocery store was deserted yet bustling. There weren't many customers, but the employees were scuttling around like ants. The produce section was cordoned off for mopping or something, which meant that every time I got to the end of the aisle at the front of the store I had to turn around and go back the way I came. Efficiency! Thy name is not Lumpyhead's Mom. (I guess my name is technically not Lumpyhead's Mom either, but . . . eh, nevermind.)

I decided that pre-made pie crust was worth $1.50, but store-made cornbread was not worth $3. I bought the mix and planned to bake cornbread with the kids' help this morning.

Lula helped with the mixing. When it was time to pop it in the oven, I remembered that I wanted to move the oven thermometer to the center of the oven. Our oven temp is a little erratic, and I worried that the thermometer was too close to the heating element to register the correct temperature.

I reached in to the preheated oven - with a towel, because I'm an idiot, but I'm not that much of an idiot - grabbed the thermometer and POOF! accidentally touched the heating element with the towel.

That sucker went up like a marshmallow in a campfire.

I am awesome.

Have a great holiday, and here's hoping your spouse is more helpful in the kitchen than my husband's.

Happy Thanksgiving - I've Got a 25-lb Turkey

My office is closed tomorrow, so my holiday begins in a few hours. Five-day weekend! Hooray!

Nathan Jr went to the pediatrician this morning and got four shots, including seasonal flu and chicken pox. Lumpyhead woke up this morning complaining that his tummy hurt, and promptly ejected the entirety of his just-eaten breakfast onto the kitchen table.

So, tomorrow morning I will be dealing with a freshly inoculated baby, a maybe-recovered four-year-old, and -- if things work out the way I expect -- a two-year-old who's coming down with a stomach bug of her own.

Who wants to bet that around 9:30 tomorrow morning, I'll be dying to go to work?

Are Veterinarians from SE Asia Called Vietnam Vets, Too?

Apparently one of Lumpyhead's preschool classmates wants to be a vet, so everyone was invited to bring a stuffed animal to school today. I guess she is going to give them all exams or something. Lumpyhead chose this:
Bump: Is that a crocodile or an alligator?
Lumpyhead: It's a crocodile. His name is Mr. Alligator.
Bump: I bet that gets confusing.

Also? Holy cow does my son need a haircut. Maybe one of his classmates wants to be a barber.

All Look Same

So help me God, I cannot tell the Voltaggio brothers apart on Top Chef.

I'm usually pretty good at names and faces, but these two are a complete mystery to me. I've been watching all season, and constantly confuse the two.

Maybe it's a sibling thing. When I was growing up, my brother had a friend named Faron who I couldn't distinguish from his little brother Vincent. One was blond, the other wasn't. (But which ONE was blond? I DON'T KNOW!)

Have you ever mistaken someone for somebody else? Please tell me about it so I don't feel like such a moron.

A sibling mix-up would make me feel a lot better, but you won't be doing me any favors if your story involves identical twins.