Did You Know?

That if you hard boil an egg and forget it’s there and the pan boils dry the egg will explode?

Me either! (This was breakfast.)


A Day In The Life of ME

I’m trapped in a madman’s comedy and I can’t get out.

Today was a normal day for me: Abby was napping and I was working on an article in the office. Abby woke up so I retrieved her, dressed her and set her in the living room while I ran to the bathroom. While perched on the toilet I noticed that A) I didn’t close the bathroom door behind me, and B) I could see out of the window in the front door. That meant that anyone who came to the door and happened to look left would have had a great view of me on the potty. Also? Since we’re in an apartment building, anyone walking down the hallway? Same thing.


I finish what I’m doing while chanting “Please, no one come to the door. Please, no one come to the door.” >insert MSN blank stare icon here<

They don’t, and I finish up in the bathroom. I check on Abby (lying down having some of her bottle), and decide it’s about time I get dressed.

This is where I should mention that Matt did the laundry at the Laundromat on Sunday and most of the dryers had “out of order” signs on them. The remaining dryers were all being used and everybody and their uncles were doing laundry, so Matt washed our clothes and then brought them home.

Wet. (More awesomeness.)

We don’t have a dryer. That’s why we go to the Laundromat. (Awesome awesomeness.)

I put our shirts and some of our pants on hangers and hung them up on the shower rod, more stuff went over towel rods. The socks and underwear were hung on the rims of the laundry baskets. Abby’s clothes were on hangers and hung on the rocking chair in her room. I put a fan in the bathroom to help dry that stuff, and a fan in Abby’s room to dry the clothes on the rocking chair and the sheets hanging over her crib. Extra stuff was draped on whatever, wherever.

I walk to my bedroom, strip completely and put on my bra. At the dresser I get socks and a shirt and all my other drawers are empty. So, dressed except for my hiney, I go into the hall to where the laundry baskets are (right in front of the front door!) and find underwear. I put those on. Then, I look around. There are no pants in my room. There are no pants in Abby’s room. There are no pants in the bathroom. The only pants I see are Matt’s sweats and where are they hanging?? That’s right: over the back of a chair in the office right in front of the picture window facing the street.


I hop over the gate into the living room. Abby laughs at me. I think, “You don’t know the funny part, kid” and I tiptoe toward the window. Because if I go slowly no one will see me. Seriously. Ask a Ninja. I creep up to the chair and my underwear and I are in full view of anyone who happens to look this way. I reach into the sunlight which glares off my turquoise colored sleeve and can be seen miles away like a foglight through…well, fog, and grab Matt’s sweats, hop backwards while I put them on and ta-da! I am dressed, pottied and ready for the rest of the day with only minimal humiliation and embarrassment.

I can’t wait to see what happens when I make dinner.

I’m In Trouble with a capital ABBY.

First came standing.

Then this:

“You can barracade me in here, but I can stand here and wait!”


“I can reach this…”

“And this…”

“…and hey, what’s this?”


“Hey, put me down! No head can contain me!”

She’s not even WALKING yet and all I’m doing is chasing her around. Someone send vitamins. lol. I’m going to need all the help I can get.

Dinner by MacGyver

For years I either had to prepare dinner for small children or just for myself. It required nothing harder than staring into the freezer then nuking something into edibility. For the kids it had to taste good and look fun. For me? Well, okay, my palate isn’t so finicky. Dinner had to simply be warm. (Preferably involving either bacon or chocolate.)

My life as a chef cook person who serves food changed when I met Matthew.

Matthew used to be in the food biz. He’s been a cook in a variety of ethnic restaurants, cooked elaborate meals for me, taught me that a perfect dish is a balance of color, texture and tastes, and he appreciates the foods that he eats. He isn’t an eat-while-he-reads-the-paper kind of guy. When we’ve eaten out he’s been known to utter, “Oh this presentation SUCKS” or “this might taste all right, but it looks like roadkill.” He routinely says things like “taste how the lemon balances the taste of the fish” and “this ingredient is earthy, this is sweet and we need one more to balance it out.” ((0.o))

So, when we decided to become an us and make the big leap from sharing airspace to sharing counterspace the cooking became my deal. Me. Not because I had proven myself worthy. Not because I volunteered. Not even because I totally rock a chef’s hat (although I SO do). I am the main food preparer in our house because Matthew works twelve hour days. It didn’t really seem fair to expect him to make dinner for me after he worked so long and hard and I’d been home all day. (Damn.)

The kitchen became my domain by default. (A hollow victory.)

Since then I’ve paid attention to the Food Network, picked up a few things here and there and can now cook on the fly. (i.e. While watching tv, playing video games, feeding the baby, mopping the floor and waiting for my nails to dry.) Rachael Ray has her 30 minute meals, but she thinks I have unpronounceable cheeses and meats on hand and get so excited I drool when I see a baguette.

Daily I master a 30 minute (or less!) meal, but I am not Rachael Ray with her fancy ingredients. I am MacGyver. I do not serve *ahem* “Orecchiette with Pancetta and Peas”. I do not need wine, or have to visit three different supermarkets for a list of ingredients. I can make a dinner for four in fifteen minutes with a can of creamed corn, an olive and a toothpick.

Matthew’s praised my “Oh-Hell-It’s-Five-O’Clock-Defrost-Whatever-This-Meat-Is-In-Hot-Water-and-Put-Those-Beets-On-a-Medium-Heat” (serves two with enough for lunch tomorrow). He’s smiled after tasting my now famous “OMG-I-Can’t-Believe-This-Tastes-Like-Food Burgers” (made with a pound of…whatever… and stuffed with whatever “accessories” are in the fridge).

I am now a decent cook. I use real ingredients. I prefer fresh over canned or frozen (although I will use both) and I still don’t use recipes.

I have a chef’s knife, can of tomatoes and twelve grains of rice.

Dinner anyone?

Ducky 9-1-1

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m real.

Last night Matt and I took Abby for a walk. We walked past the library so I could drop off an overdue book. Cause I never know what day it is. Stamping it on a book you want back isn’t going to help. Dude.


We walked through what’s left of downtown (see pic below).

[This is where I was interrupted by the Squirmadega Car Race on Sesame Street. Dale Wormheart Jr crashed into the laundry basket. Slimy (Oscar’s pet worm) got stuck between Big Bird’s toes and couldn’t finish the race. First Place went to Shawna Wiggleson. And you think I’M weird.]

Back to the walk. We headed for the river. Cause we’re cool like that. Or part Pirate. But we were heading over the bridge when I spotted a duck in the water so I yelled. “HI DUCKY!” (As you do when crossing a bridge.) Just as I said that the little bugger went underwater. So I yelled and Matt looked in the water and saw…



“There was a duck but he went underwater.”

“Uh huh.” I couldn’t tell if Matt was just thinking I’m weird or remembering that hey, we were heading toward the local psych ward anyway….

“Really! There was a ducky right THERE. He went underwater when I yelled.”

“Uh huh.”

That’s when time dragged out. It stopped. No air moved. Sound was being sucked away in a vacuum of time and space. We walked in slow motion.


I looked at Matt. Matt was looking at me like I just snorted my M&M’s. (Not that I’d know what THAT looked like. I wouldn’t. No. Totally different story.)

I looked at the river.


I looked at Matt and whined, “He was right there. Really. Where did he go? Should we call the ducky police?”

Matt snorted his disdain.

Then I thought if a ducky went missing in the river you wouldn’t call the ducky police. You’d call Ducky Rescue. Ducky 9-1-1.

As my brain was imagining the opening sequences to the new TV shows I’d just invented I looked at the river and the ducky popped back up.

“AH HAH! THERE! SEE? DUCKY!” I was unintelligible in my excitement and rightness. (Meaning I was right about the duck. Not that I’m “right”.)

Matt rolled his eyes and refused to meet my gaze. We took a few steps in silence. I asked, “You’re never going to marry me, are you?”

He shook his head. “Oh hell no.”

Damn ducky.

Friday is the new Wednesday

I never know what day it is. I swear I look and go on thinking it’s whatever day I’ve read only to find out it’s a day later. It’s very confusing. I am totally displaced in the world. My own private time warp.
Last night Matt told me “I have to work tomorrow.” (He doesn’t usually work Fridays.)

Me: Thinking it was Wednesday, “Yeah…” (DUH)

Matt: “I just found out today. How did you know?”

Me: “What day is it?”

Every week.

I may be forced to either get an actual job just so I know what day it is, or possibly send Abby to school as soon as she can walk. One of those.

And I was coming to tell you guys…something…but I can’t remember what. It was funny. But I can’t remember what it was.

On my way here I stopped to change Abby’s diaper. I dumped a poopy into the toilet to flush and got splashed in the face with toilet water. For some reason I held my breath. I threw the diaper away and washed my face (again) even though clean toilet bowl water is supposed to be cleaner than a dog’s mouth. Or something.

So I guess my message for today is to blog every day so you know what day it is, and don’t drink out of the toilet. Or make out with your dog. Whatever.

It goes so fast. Or not.

I saw “normal”…it sped past and I couldn’t grab on. I heard “normal” but it whispered and vanished when I turned around. I felt “normal”…

…and then Abby stayed up all night!

7:45ish PM: She went to bed. (YES)

9:15pm She woke up and Daddy was able to rock her back to sleep. (YES)

11:00pm Daddy and I went to bed. I let out a sigh of relief and Abby woke up. (NO!!)

11:01pm She didn’t want the bottle. (NO!)

11:02pm She didn’t want to be held/rocked/bounced. (NO!)

11:04pm She didn’t want to be sung/talked to or pleaded with. (NO!)

11:15pm We went in the living room where we watched TWO movies. (GAH!)

4:03am She (FINALLY!) fell asleep on my shoulder. (YES, THANK YOU GOD!)

4:15am Daddy’s alarm clock went off.


4:16am She went back to sleep.

5:40am She was dozing very lightly and heard Daddy getting ready for work.

5:40:30am She sat straight up on me to look for Daddy.

5:42am She laid back down. (PHEW)

5:43am I wish for another blanket because I’m cold but don’t dare move.

6:03am Matt kisses us and apparently decides we’re as cold as the dead.

6:07am Matt leaves.

6:08am I lay Abby in her crib and she stays asleep. *cue halleluja choir*

6:09am I finally crawl into bed “for the night”.

7:23am Abby wakes up. She lays down with a bottle and goes back to sleep.

7:24am I curl up with my pillow over my face and cry softly.

9:03am Abby cries. I wake up on wet pillow.

9:07am I give Abby bottle and lay back down.

9:17am Abby finishes bottle and declares it morning.

9:20am I stumble into the living room with Abby wondering why I’m so warm.

9:21am I discover heater is turned up ALL THE WAY.

9:23am Abby drinks bottle while I strip her, change her diaper and she roams “baby naked.” (Diaper only.)

9:25am It is too hot to breathe in here. Hell is cooler.

9:27am I crawl into the kitchen and open window.

9:29am I make it back into the living room, but am too weak to open window.

9:30am Abby and I lay very still staring at the ceiling until temperature drops.

11:30am Abby takes nap.

11:31am I realize I am now too awake to sleep and will have to make due on what sleep I’ve gotten.

11:32am I cry.

1:00pm Abby still asleep. Evil voice in my brain whispers “Welcome to Hell.”

1:02pm I decide everything can be solved with a bubble bath.

Someone send brownies?