The turkey should've totally been the national bird anyway

The husband is on thin ice, people. I always knew he was never fond of turkey (if that's even POSSIBLE), but to have him declare it publicly like that...woo. I don't even know, man.

I adore turkey the whole year, but Thanksgiving is like, the pinnacle of turkeydom. Yes, there were those few years of the pale, anemic, dry turkeys, but I've encouraged my mom change her roasting ways. Now our turkeys are toasty brown, crispy skinned, and oh so juicy. Meat falls off the bone and is perfectly seasoned. Not bland and boring as the husband insists.

I'm not even sure I can be with a man who thinks otherwise.

Besides, let's talk about mashed potatoes. When I merely suggested this year that we make another kind of potato dish rather than mashed, my family, including the husband, nearly rioted. I calmly offered up several other options...scalloped, roasted, casseroled...and was met with angry stares and the threat of looting. COME ON. We eat mashed fucking potatoes all. the. time. They're not even that tasty! They're simply a starchy vessel on which to eat cream and butter. We can actually eat cream and butter in better forms!

But whatever. All I know is that I will be bringing two homemade maple pecan tarts to my mother's for Thanksgiving. And I'm thinking that slices of tart will only be handed out to card-carrying turkey lovers who can convince me of their utter adoration of the bird.

Selfish? Weird? Obsessive? Maybe. But a marriage is at stake here.

Say cheese

The husband and I took the three kids to have professional pictures taken for Christmas. This was the first time I've attempted this feat with all three, and I'm thinking that after Saturday, it was probably the last, despite my mom's pleas.

Our appointment was at 10:40, and we arrived promptly and were told it would be 10 to 15 minutes. Fine. We browsed Target. I tried to keep Smella's curls under control. We went back to the portrait place and were told it would be another 10 to 15 minutes. FINE. By now the kids are bored and whiny. We browsed the $1 bins, trying to keep the kids from rolling on the floor and clean.

We were finally taken back almost an hour after our scheduled appointment.

The photographer was sweet and has three kids of her own, so she was understanding of my COMPLETELY NUTBAG CHILDREN. Big D refused to listen to instructions AT SEVEN YEARS OLD, Smella was easily distracted by bright, shiny objects, and Boobers forgot how to smile. The smiliest baby in the world was stone-faced sober.

I should've known better; I've tried taking pictures at home of all three of them at the same time. But I figured that in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, things would go a little more smoothly. Cha.

By the end of the appointment, Smella was whining for a drink, Boobers was crying because I wouldn't let him destroy the fake Christmas scene they had set up, and Big D was bouncing off walls...because, uh, that's what he does, I was sweating and gritting my teeth, and the husband was vowing to never do that again.

But we have lovely, lovely Christmas pictures to stuff into my Christmas cards. I certainly hope my mother's happy. Next year, I'm making her take them.

Karma is a bitch

I'm not a tiny person. Short, yes. Small waist and little hips? No. So when Mr. LA Fitness came into work a few weeks ago, I think he saw a prime target.

Construction has begun on a new LA Fitness just a little down the road from where I work. In the meantime, they have a small table and chair covered by a tent sitting on the side of the road with a huge banner that reads, "JOIN NOW!" I'd love to know how many people have stopped, cranes and steel beams in the background, battling four lanes of traffic to sign up with a guy who has a folding chair as his only piece of office equipment.

He had on his little white polo, embroidered with the LA Fitness logo on the pocket. He ordered his drink and then asked, "Hey! Do you need a gym membership?" UM. I probably do, really. We all have eyes, we can all see that yeah, I'd probably benefit from a little exercise, and it's quite apparent you're the biggest salesy salesman, but really. Don't try to hawk your wares to me while I'm at work.

I told him it would probably be way more money than I could afford, and besides, I really do love donuts. He assured me he'd give me THE BEST DEAL EVER. I assured him it would still be too much. "BEST DEAL EVER!" "UNLESS IT'S APPROXIMATELY $2 A MONTH, NO WAY!" He continued that way the whole time I made his drink. Him going, "I can cut you such a deal," and me going, "Uh, doubt it."

While he was standing, waiting for his drink, an older guy who comes in at least once a day, stepped up behind him. I turned to him, smiled, and said, "You need a gym membership? This guy will totally help you out."

LA Fitness guy turned to him and started his spiel. Older guy patted his small gut and said he was already in shape. He squinted at the guy's polo and smirked slightly.

"Oh. You're that guy that's been sitting on the side of the road!"

The flustered look of the LA Fitness guy was priceless. He stammered, handed out business cards and slunk out of the store.

No means no, ya know?

Meow, quack, blargh

Boobers has been working on his animal sounds. Occasionally they sound deranged.

Ingrates

Let me tell you how absolutely cool I acted yesterday during dinner. I was ever so proud of myself. I spent yesterday cleaning the whole house and doing countless loads of laundry, but I still managed to cook dinner. There was a recipe in last Sunday's paper for a pork tenderloin with Asian peanut sauce, so we had that with buttered noodles and green beans.

My oldest? Big D? He's kind of a butthead when it comes to eating. As in, he doesn't really like to eat anything save for chicken nuggets and maybe a grilled cheese. In the past year, I've put my foot down and said that I will NOT be making a separate dinner for him; he has to eat what I cook or nothing at all. Oh. And he's not allowed to vocalize just how gross or yucky or smelly dinner is. For the most part, this has worked okay, and he's even realized that hey! manicotti really isn't disgusting!

Baby steps, people.

So on to my tenderloin. It was perfectly cooked and tasty, and I love peanut sauces. Big D started bitching immediately, and Smella, being the small mockingbird she is, echoed all of his sentiments. I gently reminded them both of how rude it is to tell me repeatedly that dinner stinks, so shoosh and eat already. They both got hesitant bites, and Big D told me that was the weirdest tasting barbecue sauce* and Smella echoed that yes, it was stinky barbecue sauce. EWWWWW. GROSS. IT SMELLS BAD. YUCK.

I sucked in a breath and then slammed my fork on the dinner table and um, "voiced loudly" that they were to both stuff a sock in it and not speak for the whole rest of the meal. Either eat or starve to death. I was met with blinking eyes and the husband trying not to make eye contact with me.

The best part after a person explodes like that is the aftermath. Lots of cleared throats and clinking of silverware while the husband quietly adds up how much therapy will cost for three children.

Whatever. Wanna know what we're having tonight? I'm throwing tepid corndogs and ketchup at them and letting them figure it out.

*What? You think he'd eat it if I told him there was peanut butter in it? Come on.

Listy McListerson

1. Just a friendly reminder, once again, to leave when a place of business closes. Please don't wait for me to walk into the lobby and jangle my door keys suggestively in your direction. It's just awkward for everyone.

2. I only have about six weeks left of school in this semester. It looks like I'll be winding up with a 4.0. Hot damn. We'll see how long it lasts.

3. Big D has had a 4.0 gpa since 1st grade. It runs in families!

4. How's about Tuesday night, huh? Could it be any more awesome than that? Was I the only one pinching myself all day yesterday to make sure I wasn't dreaming?

5. Did you know the day after Halloween all the fun-size Snickers, Butterfingers, and Skittles go on sale? Did you also know they go ahead and vomit Christmas all over the fucking aisles? Hello? I think we forgot about Thanksgiving.

Election Day

Well, it's done. I filled in all the bubbles on my ballot. Now waiting and hoping that the people I was standing in line with for 45 minutes came to their senses and voted for the right person. And not the decrepit old man and his lipstick-wearing sidekick.

I love voting. I love the small sense of power it gives me.

I also love seeing the person I voted for win.

Here's to change.

So a cop, Blue, and a mouse walk into a bar

Here's the obligatory Halloween post! Halloween is slowly closing in on Christmas as being my favorite holiday. The weather is typically better, there's tons of free candy involved, and costumes do something about making your children the cutest they ever are.

First, my mouse. I asked this random cat if he would hold my mouse's hand. The cat complied and wound up holding his hand until it was time to leave. What's really funny is that Boobers let him.



Miss Blue, who actually said, "Happy trick or treat!" when someone answered the door and then sweetly told them, "Thank you!" I was pretty proud, and her bucket wound up being the heaviest because people would give her an extra piece or two for being too freaking cute.



My cop. He ran off early with the older kids and I didn't see him much the whole night. But when it came to meet up and head towards home, he blew his nifty whistle to let us know where his group was at. Handy, no?


And finally, the whole group. There were ten kids in all, and after doing head count after head count, it makes me appreciate people with more than three kids. Jon and Kate? Jim Bob and Michelle? You go, people.