Does your candidate support Cheetos?

My daughter loves Cheetos. LOVES. CHEETOS. Personally, I don’t care for Cheetos, but whatever; there are plenty of things that I love that she doesn’t. Yesterday when I picked her up from camp I had a small bag of Cheetos waiting in the car for her, a snack for on the way home. As she was eating them I thought I’d ask her: What would you do if they stopped making Cheetos?

After a moment of silence, she replied that if she was the mayor, she would order them to make Cheetos. A year’s supply of Cheetos, actually. And if they didn’t make the Cheetos, she’d put them in jail. IN JAIL! There would be ingredients in jail for them to make Cheetos though, and once they made them, she’d let them go.

As you can see, her plan revolves around her becoming the mayor. Which, isn’t too out of line I suppose, my husband’s grandfather was the mayor, perhaps it’s in her genes. However, I’m pretty sure he did NOT hold the power to incarcerate someone for making, or not making, Cheetos.

I asked her: What if you weren’t the mayor, and someone else was? And this mayor doesn’t like Cheetos so they ordered the makers of Cheetos to NOT make Cheetos. Then what?

Oh that’s easy, she’s simply not going to vote for them.

And there you go. It all comes down to Cheetos.

Tags: food, politics, Zoe

Lots of little bits

I feel like I have nothing to write at the moment, but I’ve got lots of little bits, if that makes sense. I’ll toss in a lie, just to make it interesting. Can you guess which one is the lie?

Zoe’s taken up a huge interest in Nicki, her American Girl Doll. She’s brushing her hair, changing her outfits, and sleeping with her at night. Do you think she’s trying to trick me into buying her something at the American Girl Store when I go to Chicago in a couple weeks?

I thought my credit card was set up for automatic payments. It wasn’t. My balance transfer rate of 3.9% went up to 19.73%. Oops. Guess who begged and pleaded with the credit card company for forgiveness?

I’ve been off the running wagon for over a month. Mostly due to illness. Maybe sometimes due to laziness. However I ran two days in a row, so I’m back on the wagon.

My love of tea is growing and I now have SIX stainless steel tea canisters to store my tea in. SIX! I think I burned the roof of my mouth on my tea this morning. Perhaps I should go back to iced tea.

My mom and I colored my hair this weekend. We weren’t exactly sure what shade it would turn out because we mixed three colors together. She wasn’t willing to give highlights a try, but she was willing to send me home with about five colors to do it myself. I see stripes in my future.

I’m listening to The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs. The book is pretty good, and obviously about knitting, which I tried for about a month when I was newly married — 12 years ago. I still have my 12″ long wool scarf with knitting needles and ball of yarn intact. I gave up, but this book is making me think about pulling it out and trying again. It just might be a 13″ long scarf by the end of the year.

I entered a pumpkin carving contest and spent my entire Sunday carving pumpkins. I have a small village of pumpkins in my front yard now, just in time for Trick or Treat on Friday night.

Ding Dong — Ditch

Help me out please, I need your advice. As a parent of a seven year old whom, in my opinion, is growing into a very nice young lady, I’m having issues with one of the friends from the neighborhood that my daughter plays with on a fairly regular basis. I won’t go into all of the details, nor all of the examples of poor friendship this girl has portrayed, but yesterday, around 4:30 p.m., I believe this friend crossed the line.

Here’s what happened. My daughter was practicing her violin, I was in the kitchen, and my husband was in the family room reading a book. The chair where he was sitting is right in the middle of our front window, where he has the vantage point of seeing the driveway and the front door. The neighbor friend, and another girl, walked up to the front door, rang the doorbell, then turned and ran! He shot up from the chair, ran outside, and the girls were already a yard away standing on the corner.

He yelled to them, “What did you want?”

The neighbor friend replied, “To see if Zoe could play.”

However, my husband is no dummy, and retorted, “Why did you ring the doorbell and then run? It’s not polite.”

I don’t know what her response was, but she didn’t come back, and my husband did not invite her back either.

This girl is pushing my buttons, and more than that, she’s reaching the limits of what I’m willing to put up with in a playmate for my daughter. Now, I’m no goody two shoes, however, I have learned from my mistakes. I realize exactly where the route I was going down in my school years took a drastic turn in a different direction. I know which girl pulled me away from my friends and before you know it, DIFFERENT PATH. I don’t want this for my kid, specifically today, I don’t want her to think that it’s ever okay to ring someone’s doorbell and then run off. Where does it go from there? Egging homes? Toilet paper in the trees? Grafitti on the driveway?

What do you think? Harmless fun, or not very good behavior for a “friend”? What would you do if your child’s usual playmate rang your doorbell and then ran?

Tags: Family, neighborhood

Baking issues

Clearly I am having baking issues today. Clearly.

I decided to bake banana bread, and instead of using my usual receipe I decided to look through a couple cookbooks to find a new one. I ended up using my usual, but spicing it up a bit with a few new ingredients, like vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg, as well as honey instead of sugar. 

I don’t mind baking bread, as I can put all the ingredients into my breadmaker pan, shut the top, press the button and come back a few hours later to freshly baked bread. There is usually little to no mess, and flour doesn’t end up all over the place. I cannot stand flour all over my kitchen. When my husband bakes, he gets flour ALL OVER THE PLACE. I’m usually warned that he’s baking with flour, and then I leave the house until it’s over.

Anyhow. Flour. Well it was in this very nice clear bag, that was placed inside of a ziplock bag. I’m probably the one who put the flour in a bag in a bag, because I’m the only one in my house that would do such a thing. Today I forgot why I put the bag in a bag, until I took it out of the ziplock bag, cut the top and then squeezed the bag to push the flour into my measuring cup. THAT IS WHEN I FOUND OUT THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE BAG WAS ALSO CUT. And then there was flour all over the place. OOPS.

So I get all the ingredients into my breadmaker pan, the eggs, butter, mashed bananas, flour, 1/2 cup of honey (instead of sugar), salt, baking powder, and baking soda … when all of a sudden I realize that I’m not entirely sure that the mixing arm was in place at the bottom of the bread pan — and the bread pan is FULL of ingredients. I stuck a knife into the pan, and stabbed around to feel for the arm. NOT THERE. After a while I did find it at the bottom of the pan, and was able to fish it out, but I still needed to get it onto the peg. There was only one thing to do — plunge my hand in there. YUCK.

The bread should be done in a hour or so, did you want a slice?

Tags: baking

Mario Galaxy & American Girl Dolls

The American Girl Doll catalog has arrived at my house, and you might remember what Zoe did to the catalog last year.

You can imagine my concern when she asked me for the black Sharpie marker, right?

“Are you going to draw mustaches and beards on the dolls again?” I asked her.

“Noooooooo.” She told me, while blushing behind the pages of the catalog. “I’m going to circle the things that I want.”

I found her a marker and she started circling the dolls, the cute dresses, and a lot of dogs, cats, and other animals that the dolls now have available.

When Zoe turned six, we took her to the American Girl Doll store in Chicago and let her pick out a doll. She chose Nicki. How often does she play with Nicki? NOT OFTEN ENOUGH. So I felt it was my obligation as a mom to point out to her that she doesn’t even play with Nicki very much. To which she replied, “That’s because I don’t have any time.”

Oh really? Please, do go on….

“I have to go to school, do my homework, watch dad play Mario Galaxy, go to swimming, blah blah blah….”

She didn’t really say blah, blah, blah …. but I was stuck on WATCH DAD PLAY MARIO GALAXY and I lost focus on whatever else she was too busy doing to play with the doll for whom she was circling things for in the catalog.

Her father has been playing Mario Galaxy for weeks now! When I get home from work, the two of them are in the Green Room (that’s what we call our office/computer/game room). He’s flailing the wii-mote all over the place as Mario runs around on the screen, while she sits on the love seat and cheers him on. How many freaking levels are there to Mario Galaxy?  I’d sure like to know, because once that game is over it’ll free up a huge chunk of her time so that she can go back to playing with Nicki (and all of the circled catalog items, apparently).

Something about underwear

On Monday morning I had a seminar to attend, just as I as walking out the door I spilled something all over myself and had to change my clothes. It was hours later, while I was in the restroom at the seminar that I realized that I had my underwear on inside out. Cripes. If I didn’t turn them right side in, I knew I was going to obsess about it all day long. I hoped no one in the other stalls was paying attention as I got undressed and redressed with all of my clothing right side out.

Did I mention that the Governor of Wisconsin spoke at this seminar? He did. And I sat there with my underwear inside out.

Hours later, back at home, it’s bedtime for Zoe and she’s decided she’s going to sleep on the floor in her little Disney Princess sleeping bag. I tucked her in, kissed her good night and went into the family room. Within a few minutes she was at my side with an expression of confusion.

“Mom, I found someone’s underpants in my sleeping bag.”

It was the way she said “someone”, as if a stranger had left their unmentionables behind the last time they slept in her bag.

“Whose are they?” I asked.

“Dad’s.” she said with an accusatory tone, giving him a sidesways glance.

Oh jeez, that’s highly news, I’ve been out of dryer sheets for weeks now and everything is clinging to something when it comes out of the dryer.

Or, maybe he forgot his unmentionables the last time he slept in her little itty bitty kid-sized Disney Princess sleeping bag. There’s that option too.

I Confess

On Sunday’s my seven year old attends Sunday school. The time that it’s offered is very odd as it’s between mass times — starting just as one ends, and ending in the middle of another. Now, I admit, I’m not a very churchy person. Sometimes I don’t mind it, but for the most part, I prefer to stay at home and read the newspaper. In fact, before Zoe was born, and actually for a while after, each Sunday morning I’d take my newspaper to my nearest Einstein Bagels, enjoy a bagel and a lot of coffee, while immersing myself in my own private time. Sometimes I’d be there for hours. And by the time I was done, I was ready to socialize with others.

I’ve never been a morning person. Sure I can accomplish a lot in the mornings, more than I can in the evenings, but DO NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES talk to me until I’m ready to be talked to. Do not look at me, do not take my favorite cereal bowl, or (God forbid) my coffee cup either. Don’t be all sunshine-y and tell me that it’s time to get up. I’ll get up when I’m good and ready to get up, and yes I know that I’m pressing the snooze button every 4.5 minutes due to the fact that I have two alarm clocks going off simultaneously. THAT IS HOW I LIKE IT.

Anyhow, back to Sunday school. I don’t mind taking her to Sunday school because I drop her off, and then I go to Panera with my newspaper, order a coffee and a bagel, and enjoy my time alone until I have to pick her up. Sure, I only get about 40 minutes of alone time, but you know what? I look forward to those 40 minutes all week long. I look forward to my trip to the coffee shop where I get to decompress, relax, not talk to anyone, and enjoy the quiet.

Well this week Sunday I had a parent meeting to attend while Zoe was in class. She’s in 2nd grade and for some reason the Catholic Church feels that 2nd graders are old enough to have their first reconciliation. This will be interesting, because getting Zoe to talk when she’s remorseful is impossible! I don’t know how she’s going to make it through confession with a priest. That poor guy.

Now, keep in mind that me in the mornings does not equal fun, AND multiply that with me losing my alone time and you’ll find one very unhappy me.

So, I arrive at the meeting, gather all of the handouts, write a check for $35, and then take a seat at a table all by myself. Next thing I know they are passing out a sheet of paper and telling us ’single sitters’ to move to a table with others. Luckily, some guy came and sat at my table so then I did not have to move. I look down at what they’ve assigned us parents to do: Share an experience that you’ve had that involved reconciliation with another person, and then share an experience that involved reconciliation with yourself which allowed you to diminish guilt in your life.

Seriously? I’m not a bad person, but talking about this kind of stuff with strangers (in the morning, during what is supposed to be my alone time) makes me feel rather uneasy. I’m sure the look on my face was similar to a deer in headlights. The dad who sat with me was actually able to verbalize what I was thinking: Uh, I’m not sharing that with you — YOU STRANGER! I think he was one of my people, and I embraced that he sat at my table and did not spill his stories of guilt and reconciliation on me. And even more, I’m glad that he was cool with me not spilling mine on him.

Wouldn’t it have made you uneasy? Would you have shared?

Macy’s Super Sale + 20% Off = Alternative Down

I just returned from Macy’s where they had a HUGE HUGE sale, and I was one happy benefactor — someone gave me a 20% off coupon while I stood in line, which brought the price down even more!

Today was the first time I shopped for “alternative down”, and while there was another lady there who was poo-pooing the alternative down and saying IT MUST BE 100% DOWN! – I was trying each and every alternative down pillow that I could lay my head on. My husband grabbed the first pillow he found, *eye roll* he never takes his pillows seriously. I’m much more choosy, and seeing as I needed to replace four pillows, I was able to mix it up a little bit and get one of each.

I also found a down alternative comforter, and it was about 60% off the full price by the time the sale and the coupon took effect. The pillows were a steal too. The lady who needed the down pillow paid $116 for one pillow, while I paid nearly twice that for a queen sized comforter and five pillows. Maybe six. I lost count.

We’ll see how it goes tonight. Will I be like the princess and the pea and toss and turn all night long? I have no idea.

Tags: home goods, macy's