Codename: Zoey McBooty

I just returned from a lovely dinner out with Ginger. I am pretty sure by the end our waitress wanted to grab a glass of wine, pull up a chair, and pretend like she was just one of the girls. I don’t know which part she was interested in more,

Could it have been:
Us talking about Gingers “Fuckbuddy”, aka lovermuffin?
Us discussing the fact that this weekend my mom has embarked on a trip to track down the sister who doesn’t know I exist?
The part where I exclaimed that I could write a four part series title, “most of my extended family is a piece of shit,” under the pseudo name “Zoey McBooty”

Either way we had a lot of laughs. When we were talking about my family, and how most of them really suck great big donkey balls. Thats when I said, fuck, I could write a novel, NO WAIT, a series, a four part series even. One for each of my shitty families. I COULD BE THE NEXT HARRY POTTER SERIES! It was all quite funny and we giggle a lot about it, especially since I had just told her how I totally thought Harry Potter grew up to be quite the tasty treat.

Then we talked about how if I could just convince my parents (pretty much my only family who don’t suck giant donkey balls) to move, I would be gone from this town faster then you could say laterfuckers. Everyone keeps giving me a hard time about not leaving my parents. I guess I just have a different relationship with my parents. I’m the type of person who generally doesn’t make a decision in life with out telling them. I can’t imagine living in another city and not being able to ask my mom every little thing. I also can’t imagine having Brandon wake up and ask for papa and not have my dad only 7 minutes away to rush over and get him. That to me, is not an option. I need them, end of story, no I won’t move away from them, but I will move with them. I guess some people don’t realize that in the ENTIRE history of my life, my mom and my dad are the ONLY two people who have never, ever once EVER turned their back on me, not even for a second, not even for a half a second. And yet people can’t understand why I don’t just turn my back and walk away. But Ginger got it, she knew, she knows. Ginger knows about me and my parents. In fact, she knows exactly why I am the kind of parent I am. It’s all I know. I only know how to parent with out never turning your back on you kid. In fact, I think I’m the same way in my marriage.

We talked about how bad I want to drink. How I want to drink more right now then I have at all in the last 2 years. July will be 2 years. We ordered fondue with white wine and I had to send it back. Not because it tasted bad, but because it tasted so good, I felt myself breaking down thinking, “well shit if I can eat this I might as well order a drink, whats the difference?” It was hard. It is hard right now, laying in bed, and honestly, if I don’t write at this very moment, I’m not sure I can stop from going into my fridge and guzzling down the contents of the last bottle of liquor in my house. A bottle of Disorano, because this weekend when we cleared out all my liquor I told my husband, “No, not that one, not that bottle, because dear, if I ever do decide to fall off the wagon, it better taste really fucking good.” Actually, I like to keep it to test my will power. Two fucking years I’ve been staring at that bitch, thats a lot of Goddamn will huh?

We talked about her lovermuffin (as I call him), and discovered that I used to call my cat that. We devised a plan for me to meet said lovermuffin. It felt good. It felt like high school.

It felt.

Like I was sitting there with my best friend. Sometimes I need that. I need a night out with her. With someone so very different from me (okay we both love chocolate and cheese and the food network but still). A night out with someone who just genuinely gets me. I told her how my mom said that if I moved I would lose my friends, and that I responded in a heartbeat that Ginger would come see me. She said I was right, and I knew I was. I know, that no matter where I go in life I can count on that. The crazy part is, we could go months apart and it would be as though I saw her yesterday. We talked about how right now, I’m unhappy with how so much of my family behaves. They don’t act like family. They act like characters from The Hills, who are always having bitter, over the top fights over nothing. And how I have never cared until now, when I have kids, and they are affected.

We talked about how when I went into the hospital bleeding during my pregnancy she was the only one who came to see me. She knew, that no matter what I said, I wanted someone there, to just sit. So she did, she came, an sat and watched TV with me. For the rest of my life, I’ll never forget that, me in the bed, her in the chair to my left, watching TV, just being with me. There might have also been some talk about pooping with the door open, but still, she was there, and we didn’t have to talk. Believe it or not, sometimes I don’t want to talk, I just want silence. Just. Quiet.

I’ve never wanted to run away as much as I do now. And I guess I’m lucky for tonight. I’m lucky I had dinner with Ginger. I looked forward to it all day and it surpassed my expectations. Thats how I’ve lived life lately, aim low so you’re not disappointed, only today I had high hopes for dinner, because I knew who it was with.

On the way home, after I made her listen to Neil Diamond I made her listen to Miley Cyrus. And, like I promised, it got to her, it got in her blood, and before she knew it she was slightly bopping along. And right at that moment, when she said, you can go ahead and go around the block so you can finish blasting your song, even though she might have been late for her date with lover muffin, I knew, it would be okay. It will be. Things will be okay, as long as I always have some time, with a good friend, to drive around the block and blare my awful music while bopping along.

It will be fine. I will be fine. But, I can’t promise I will stay in this town forever. And, I can’t promise that I won’t stop pretending things are okay when there not. I think I’m ready to take on the world.

(Side note, we actually talked a lot more about Ginger but I don’t think its stuff that I should tell you since this is not her blog, its mine and it’s not my business to tell).

((double side note, I have a sneaking suspicion this blog will get me in trouble, and I don’t care, to those of you who want to get mad at me, I say two things, SHUT IT DOWN, and GO FUCK YOUR MOTHER))

Thank you all, and good night.

A deeper issue at hand

While I did state clearly in my title below that my anger was over something stupid there was a deeper issue there. I have every right to expect my waiter/waitress to know their food. As a consumer I have that right.

I have a son who is allergic to peanuts. Severely enough that I have to carry a Jr. Epi with me at all times along with loads of Benydril. My son can die from contact with peanuts. Does it sound like I’m making a big deal out of that, well I’m not. You can tell me it’s a big deal when it is your child who is puffing up and swelling and itching and hysterical because they touched one small Reeses pieces to their mouth. Here are two examples of wait staff being incompetent, and a third of people just being ignorant.

1. A few months ago we went to sushi. My son came. We ordered all you can eat sushi, which comes with a salad, rice and tempura vegetables. My son wanted the rice and salad. I told the waitress at least 6 times that he was allergic to peanuts and we couldn’t have the salad if it had peanuts. I was clear. She brought out two salads with peanuts on top of them. No where in the menu did it list peanut, it simply said an Asian ginger salad. I was very angry but nicely asked her to remove them. She said she would bring something else. She arrived with a second salad and I calmly asked her if it had any contact with nuts. She said no. I asked her please to double check with the chef. She came back and told me that actually, the dressing was made with peanut oil. Both times she set the plate directly in front of my son with in his reach. He is only 2 he does not yet recognize or understand what peanuts are. This waitress should have known what was in her salads.

2. This past friday I took my son to Ben and Jerrys. I was talking to two servers. I told them I needed their kiddie cone rather then one of their hand dipped cones because some of the dipped ones had peanuts and there could be contamination. He assured me, no no, it is safe. At that exact moment the owner of the store happened to walk out and hear this. He reprimanded both employees for telling me that, showed him that they have a completely separate cone because yes there is in fact contamination. He then advised them that they needed to get a separate scoop out of the back to scoop my sons ice cream because their other scoops are simply dunked in a bowl of water that could also be contaminated. Had he not done that, those servers would have gone on lying to customers. Even one small fragment of a peanut could have harmed my son, and the way the cones are dipped, all the toppings are mixed in the process.

3. A few weeks ago my son and I were visiting a local shop. We stopped in quickly to drop something off to a friend. I left the diaper bag in the car since I would only be a minute. The owner was present. The shop had one of those small candy machines next to the waiting area. My son asked me if he could have some. I replied, no because I know that some times those machines hold peanuts. I know this from last time my son simply touched one of those machines and broke out because one of the dispensers held salted peanuts. The store owner upon hearing me say no, replied, “oh it’s okay there is only M&Ms, and Runts in there.” I didn’t want to chance it. Seconds later my son came to me swelling up, crying and turning red in the face. He had a small M&M shaped candy in his hand. Instantly I knew it was a Reeses piecees and not an M&M. I sprinted to my car grabbed Benadryl and came back to administer it. In the 40 seconds it took to do that Brandons bottom lip was swelling and rock hard and his top lip was beginning to swell. His eyes were swelling because he touched them with the hand that held the candy. It seems after I told Brandon no, he spied a candy on the floor, and being 2 he grabbed it and ate it. I then showed the store owner so he could be aware for the future. He argued with me that it was still an M&M saying he had been eating them all day, and it was him who had dropped the candy on the ground earlier in the day, but was to tired to pick it up. And in fact until he went and got more out of the dispenser and broke them open to see peanut butter in them, he was still holding his ground. That store owner should have known what kind of candy he was selling.

A forth example. My son can not get a flu shot. He was born with an allergy to eggs. There was an 80% chance he would grow out of it, and he is slowly. However when he was 1 year old I took him to his doctor to get his shot. My doctor luckily said, wait, no, he is allergic to eggs. All flu shots are currently bound together with egg white. He can not get a shot until he is over five and has had 3 years of negative results on an egg allergy test. Upon asking other friends I discovered, that most doctors, or nurses did not inquire about allergies before administering flu shots to their kids. As a doctor or nurse, you should know what is in the shot you are administering my child, and you should know to ask.

And while I’m ranting I have a final example. A year ago I went to dinner with one of my close friends who is allergic to most nuts. She asked the waitress if there were nuts in her brownie. The waitress said no. The brownie came my friend took a bite and was met with nuts. My friend inquired on the kind. The waitress replied, they were simply walnuts. My friends throat began to swell, we had to leave our dinner and go buy medicine for her. Later we were told the nuts were packaged in peanut oil. In fact, upon shopping for nuts at the store I’ve discovered the only brand of nuts with out peanut oil is Blue Diamond Almonds. Nearly every other brand of nut I have picked up, cashews, almonds, macadamia, walnuts, and so on are packaged in peanut oil. That waitress should have known the brownie had nuts, and she should have known they were covered in peanut oil, it says it clearly on their packaging THIS PRODUCT CONTAINS: MILK, WHEAT, PEANUT, TREE NUTS, AND EGG.

I think I have a right in all of these situations to expect my waiter, waitress, or store owner to know their product. It isn’t asking to much. However, if they don’t know it, rather then answering what they THINK, they should be respectful enough to say, “you know what, lets not chance it, let me ask for sure.” Every waitress who has ever replied that way has gotten a lot bigger tip for worrying about my kids safety.

And yes, my rice having chicken stock in it, isn’t deadly but its the principal. That waitress has no idea if I have an allergy to meat, or something contained in stock. I am allergic to anything with a pit. Olives, avocados, peaches and so on. If I tell them I can’t have olives in something I shouldn’t have to say, it could kill me, they should just find out and respect it.

An anonymous person commented on my blog that only 2% of Americans are vegetarians so restaurants shouldn’t have to conform. However only 3% of America has peanut allergies, does that mean restaurants shouldn’t worry about that either? How about the growing number of children born with other allergies, eggs, milk, soy, and shellfish. Are you going to tell every parent of every child, there are bigger things to worry about then their child’s health? I have been a waitress. Before I even had kids and knew about allergies. I always treated customers requests with respect. I asked the chefs, I read labels, and I answered their questions correctly. I don’t know about you, but I would hate to be the waitress who didn’t find out and served a peanut oil salad to a child with a peanut allergy.

I also feel that until you have kids, and you are met with this situation, you probably don’t respect it. You probably would say, then don’t take your kids to eat. And that is fine for you to feel that way. However, you should respect my right as a parent to expect a healthy dining experience for my child. Yes anonymous, I made a big deal over my chicken stock, but it was due to an underlying situation with previous frustrations with wait staff. I hope that now you can read and understand, why some people do have to ask questions when they order food. I realize you probably brush me off as a pesky customer asking questions or being picky. You probably think that about a lot of people. However a lot of us have real concerns, real reasons. Will chicken stock make me die? No. Will chicken stock upset my stomach and make me feel sick? Yes. Will a product with soy in it hurt my friend Christy? No. But will it hurt the baby she is nursing? Yes.

Before you take the time to judge all of us picky food requesters maybe you should consider we have a valid reason for our concerns.

I’m mad…over something stupid

I’m mad. It is 7:50 in the morning. My mom is going to be late to work today. DO YOU KNOW WHY? Because she is driving clear up the Mt. Rose Highway for no good reason other then to buy me some ramen.

Yes. You read right.


Did you know that in all of Reno only one store carries vegetarian ramen? Nissin is the only brand that makes a ramen with out meat stock. Their oriental. However, even though every store in Reno stocks the chicken, beef, pork, shrimp, spicy chicken, creamy chicken, and so on, of the Nissin brand, for some reason they choose not to have Oriental. I assume it is because they also all carry the Maruchan brand, and in that brand they carry Oriental. Problem is, the Maruchan oriental ramen has BEEF EXTRACT.

And guess what?

I can taste it!

I’ve written about this before, but I want to again. I am so frustrated by the lack of vegetarian options. There is never a vegetarian soup option on the menu at restaurants. There is rarely a good cheese selection at sandwich shops. Most pastas, rices and risottos are made with stock, and most salads are now topped with bacon.

And fine. If you want to do that fine. I won’t eat at your restaurant. I no longer eat McDonalds because they put beef flavoring in their fries AND hashbrowns. But what really really bugs me, is wait staff who don’t fucking have a clue.

Me: Does the Parmesan risotto have meat in it?

Waitperson: No

Me: Can you please check (I don’t do this to be a pain I do it as a test of ignorance on their part)

Waitperson: I’ll check but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t

Waitperson: I asked the chef and it only has chicken stock in it

Me: Yeah thats meat, thanks I’ll just have a plain salad and some crackers.

It bugs me. It bothers me how a person can work in a restaurant and sell food and not know what the fuck they were selling. Don’t try and fool me. Respect your customer and tell them the truth. Do you think I won’t be able to taste the chicken, beef, or bacon in my meal? I don’t like meat, thats why I don’t eat it. It taste funny, looks funny, and smells funny. Kinda like dog shit. Are you going to tell me you wouldn’t be able to taste and smell some dog shit in your rice? Ha. I’m sure you have all been trained so well to think that dog shit is a fucking delicacy. You know what? I have a good palate I know what is in my food. Dammit I should be on Hells Kitchen, I would kill that competition every time.

Do you watch that show? How about the episode where all those amazing chefs couldn’t tell every fucking meal was made out of soy based meat product with NO MEAT! Are you serious? Is that what our world has come to? You tell us it’s beef and we believe it’s beef. YOU are the reason those people in Mexico selling cat on a stick and calling it chicken are still in business.

This weekend my dad and I were joking about the squirrels in my back yard. He was hungry and said he would eat some squirrel. I said, “I heard it taste like chicken”. He replied, “No, chicken taste like chicken, squirrel taste like squirrel.”

I wanted to kiss him right there because dammit, I’m so sick of hearing that shit taste like chicken!

And. While I’m bitching and moaning here, if I come in your restaurant and I order a fucking vegetarian taco, and you throw my tortilla on the grill you grill the chicken on YOU HAVE JUST RUINED MY ENTIRE MEAL! You fucking idiot, do you not think the tortilla doesn’t now taste like nasty raunchy chicken? I’ve had to walk away from so many meals because something was messed up like that. It’s just ignorance in the world of cooking. Pure stupidity, and also, it is just plain rude. Places like Tin Star grill, who prided themselves in having a vast vegetarian menu with tons of options, mushrooms, two kinds of beans, sautéed vegetables and so on, then they slapped my tortilla on the chicken grill.

I have one statement to make. I realize all cities aren’t as fucking stupid as mine. I know places in Oregon and Washington offer real vegetarian food. Shit, they offer real cooked food from scratch (whole other rant). So yes, I realize not everyone has my gripe. I know some of you live in towns where people pride themselves on their food. I don’t. I live in a town whose famous food is “the buffet.” New York has pizza, Maine has lobster, Reno has buffet. We are a speedy, slap happy, poor quality kind of town and I hate it. I’m sick of it.

I would love to write a letter to my local editor asking our restaurant owners to wake up and make some good food, but, I’m not even sure the people in this town slow down long enough to read a paper.

Dammit, I just want some good food, that I don’t always have to cook myself, is that to much to ask?

The Memory Keepers Daughter ** Spoiler Alert**

I’ve always loved to read. Since I was little. Until having kids I used to go through at least a book a week. Reading to me, was a great way to escape my own little reality for a while, and jump into something else. It was my way of having at least one happy ending a week. While I haven’t gotten to read near as much since having kids, I have made an effort to keep reading as much as possible. When picking books I research them. I read reviews, I think on it, and of course, I look at the cover (duh). I would have to say, this is the first book I’ve been utterly disappointed in.

I really don’t know how to describe it. The book was well written, it was a page turner, but, it was bad. The background of the story is, in 1964 a doctor delivers his twins. One is born mentally retarded and one is normal. He gives away the mentally retarded one and tells his wife the baby died. The remainder of the book, is basically the demise of the husband and wives relationship as she copes with the loss of her daughter and he copes with the magnitude of his lie. It is obvious that at some point the wife will find out he lied. That is where my disappointment lies. It took to long to find out. One major even happens before she finds out, and I feel as though, the author took to long. However, it is apparent that had the author not dragged out the reveal of the secret there would be no book.

My biggest beef of all, is the entire book is depressing. Even when the secret is revealed, it is depressing, when the mom and baby reunite, it is depressing, there is an air of sadness, there is no joyous moment, no time where I wanted to leap with joy. Even down to the last words I found the book depressing. I don’t want to reveal all the events, or the ending, I’ll just say I was sad the whole book. That is normally fine. Being sad is usually fine, because the author usually leaves you with some kind of overly happy ending, that you are left smiling through the tears. You are left knowing all the sadness was worth it. While this book is a page turner, I only turned the pages hoping that I would be uplifted soon. Waiting for the bait, something to lure me back in and make me say, “see it’s not all bad.” But it was all bad. Bad, bad, sad, depressing!

I guess that when I’m trying to take a break from the terrible things in my own life, and my own depression I’d rather not read a book that brings me down further and leaves me down. I can’t decide if I recommend this book or not. Like I said, it was very well written, the author obviously has a gift, I just wish I would have walked away feeling less like jumping off a cliff and more like jumping for joy.

I still can’t bweeth thwew my nose

Boy 2 at 6 months
Noticeably shorter, but he doesn’t care, at least he isn’t bald right
Boy 1 at 7 months
Much taller, but much balder

We are having a barbecue today. I just had to spell check barbecue, who knew there wasn’t actually a “Q” in it, blows my mind man. I am still sick. Since I’m nursing I can’t take anything but Robitussin DM and Tylenol (cough ahem, PLACEBO). What I wouldn’t give for a DayQuil right now. Doesn’t it sound heavenly? If only you could hear me now. I’m sexy. What with my plugged nose nasally tone that is often interrupted by my phlegmy cough and a hint of wheeze mixed in.

I made Ginger come over and make her famous potato salad. Then I made her make my scones for me, because the instructions were all, cut in this, and blend this, and separate bowl that, and I was all, PSSSH TO MANY INSTRUCTIONS, CAN’T MEASURE, STEP AWAY SLOWLY. Said scones did not come with enough cranberries and I’m left wanting to write the company and complain. I want to tell them, “hey two miserable cranberries per jumbo scone isn’t gonna satisfy this fatty.” Luckily I didn’t have to buy any jelly for them, I have plenty of jelly on my thighs.

This year I’m trying to talk Rob into letting ME barbecue (with no Q) the food, as he has a tendency to get totally drunk and burn and/or ignite everything on the grill because he is too busy telling some witty anecdote about NOTHING AT ALL. I had my camera all posed and ready to take pictures of the disasters that are our parties. Only, it’s raining outside so we moved the party inside, and the inside parties are not nearly as fun. I mean, if we are inside then none of my husbands friends can climb my fence and dive off, and splash around in the kiddy pool, and then let the other guys shove someone in the kids little car. And that was all one party, and all one guy. We can’t forget the time that they all got drunk and took turns seeing who could punch the buff guy harder in the six pack, only most of them fucked up and punched him in his hip and ran away crying that they hurt their hands. We are some adults here, yes we are!

I just want the party to start because dammit, I want to eat my spinach dip and Katies cookies. Well I’ve gotta go now, people will start showing up in a half hour and, wait, HA, that would imply I knew a single person who was capable of being on time besides ME!

And oh man, I can’t believe I forgot to write about how yesterday Ginger and I ran to the store (after she was 20 minutes late) and my husband called me to tell me I had company. Then Katie got on the phone and informed me, she thought the party was today and was standing at my house with her cookies and party hat on. I laughed, then told her it was totally okay, because she is pregnant and that constitutes baby brains! It was super funny though because Katie might be the most organized person I’ve ever seen, EVER. He he! She left her cookies for the pot luck (I swear I didn’t eat any) and said, “Okay I’ll be back tomorrow!” I reminded her tomorrow, that baby brains and all, she should try not to also be 45 minutes late, which just proves my point that everyone I know is always LATE!

An open letter to the last ten pounds

They say you are the hardest pounds to lose. Which isn’t saying much since your other 40 friends just fell right off like a leaf in the wind. But you, oh you, last ten pounds, well your quite the little bitch. You have the meanest desires. You keep luring me to that chocolate bar in the freezer, or the pop tarts in the pantry. You make me lose concentration and forget I’m dieting. You keep coming back. You tease me with a 1 pound lose only to make me gain 3 pounds.

I want you gone. But I don’t want to give up my candy, and bagels, and junk food. Tell me Mrs. last ten pounds, why can’t you give me a free pass from my period while I’m trying to get rid of you? Why can’t you protect me from getting sick and needing comfort food? Why do you like my body so much? I’m not nice to you. I don’t parade you around for the world to see. I don’t let you hang out over my jeans and brag that you are there. So why, why do you want to stay so close by?

I’ll make you a deal Mrs. last ten pounds. If you leave me, and move somewhere else, like oh, say onto my 3rd% for weigh 2 year old, I will totally continue to feed my body chocolate and donuts. And, if you won’t leave, can you at least redistribute somewhere like, umm, my brain, or my boobs. No wait, those are already big enough. Just leave!

Stop being a selfish stubborn little bitch and get off my body. I have some jeans I need to buy and I can’t till you’re gone! What did I do to deserve you anyway? It’s not like I spent the last 7 years living on pasta and ice cream….oh wait, I did, but still. Fuck. Give a girl a break.

I went out in the sun and attempted to melt you off this last weekend. But noooo. Instead I just walked away with tan stretch marks and an extra pound from the sunshine fun food I ate. You’re a slut, I see how you work.

Maybe you’ll leave if I feed you something really yucky, like fish, or diet food. Thats it. Two can play this game asshole, if you won’t leave I’m going to feed you nothing but rice cakes and apples FOREVER!!!!!

Life lessons

Lesson #9805863284niner

When you pierce your nose, and then get sick, don’t rub your nose to much, or blow it to much. If you do this, your nose ring will poke the inside of your nose and cause a scab. If you’re like me, you will not be able to resit poking your finger in your nose to touch the scab. This means you will have a scab for nearly 1 month because you are a little kid who must poke things when they hurt.








Burger time

Feeling like a big ass burger check it out here.

Also someone inquired about my salmon the other day, you can find that here.

I was just making my husband some breakfast quesidillas (dammit meant to take a picture of those) and while shredding the cheese I may have shredded my hand. So I turned the grater over and there was a piece of my skin just chilling on it. I picked it up and dangled it in front of Rob. He was less then impressed. But don’t worry, I think I got all the skin out before I wrapped it up to send to work with him.

We ran through the sprinklers this weekend and I ended up with some nice color on my shoulders and chest, aside from the part of my chest that has a chin shaped white mark on it. I’M HAWT! The annoying part is my legs are still bright white. BRIGHT WHITE PEOPLE, and I was in the sun for over 4 hours. We ran through the sprinklers till my grass turned more into mud and then I think he was having more fun squashing the mud then playing in the sprinklers.

My mom planted me a cute little garden with some veggies and stuff. I had a tiny 1 inch bell pepper growing. Brandon saw it and declared, “yum green vegtamable,” picked it off and ate it. HE ATE MY BABY BELL PEPPER! Then spit it out and said, “thats not belicious.” I was devastated to see my little pepper go. Shit head.

Codi is starting to pull up on everything. His favorite is to crawl over to my purse, or Brandons little couch and stand up on it. Only problem is, on the little couch he stands up then reaches over the back to grab something and falls feet over head on the hard wood. Then he screams, gets up and goes back and does it again. Scares the ever loving shit out of me because his neck bends back in a way that I thought only gumby could do. He had his 6 month doctors appointment yesterday. Here are the stats:
16.1 lbs 25% for weight
25″ high, 10% for height
44.5 cm head 75% head.

Awesome so, we have a short chubbermuffin who will be a genius. Sounds oddly familiar, cuz it sounds like ME! The doctor gave me a list of things Codi should do between 6-9 months (I’m scanning it later to put it on here as a great way to remember this shit with out four gazillion pieces of paper). He can do all but three out of about 25 or more things. He doesn’t eat solids, he doesn’t sleep through the night, and he isn’t quite picking stuff up using only his pointer finger and thumb. The doctor was shocked that he had already accomplished all his 9 month tasks. He actually sat up alone the entire visit just chewing on my keys. The doctor just kept looking at him like, “uh dude are you going to fall”. He said to expect him to start pulling up towards nine months and I had to tell him how Codi already pulls himself up and then launches himself off things. Last night he was trying to climb steps. All in all it was an excellent appointment. He said not to worry about solids, we can do those when Codi is ready for it, and obviously the breast milk diet isn’t making him thin or anything.

I asked him about Brandons teeth. His recommendation was that unless there are cavaties in the molars then don’t knock him out. He said front ons can often be ground out or left alone all together.

In other news. Last night I was out grilling some burgers. My husband walked out to do something and almost stepped in a giant pile of green poop. Seems Brandon was outside going pee off my porch (he likes to pee off the porch cuz it’s more fun and he can aim farther) when he decided he had to poop. So instead of running to the toilet, he just squatted down and took a giant green turd on my porch. Then he pulled up his pants and went about his business. Rob was totally not impressed. I had to put a plate in front of my face to hide the laughter and then run away in a fit of giggles. If your wondering why his poop was green, it was from all the blue otterpops he ate the last two days. Took me some time to figure that one out too! I’ll save you the part about how he also pooped on his shoe, and how he had tracks in his shorts after that from not wiping.

Seriously, I just don’t understand how some people could not want kids huh.

Notes of importance

Note one: Today while running through the sprinklers with Brandon, I had to stop and ask myself if that slapping sound was my thighs or my flip flops. I consoled myself with fresh cookies and pizza.

Note two: While visiting a friend who had just bought a new water slide complete with a spray gun apparatus, my son got frustrated when the other kids wouldn’t share. His remedy to this was to drop his drawers, grab his entire package (berries and all) and AIM at the kids with his, “squirt gun,” while yelling I squirt you I squirt you and shooting pee all over the kids and the slide. I was mortified, the other two adults there just laughed at it. PEE! HE PEED ON KIDS! WHILE SHOUTING HE WOULD SQUIRT THEM! WHILE HOLDING HIS STUFF AND THRUSTING HIS HIPS OUT AS FAR AS POSSIBLE TO GET THE MOST OUT OF HIS AIM!