Ginormous Duck

Yuck! It Sounds Like Boogers!

2012-02-17T06:00:00.003-05:00

So, for some crazy reason the other day I decided it would be a good idea to make homemade lemon curd. I found a good recipe and bought myself some lemons and limes.

When I announced it to my family I heard this:

Sweet Pea: What's curd?
Hubby: Yuck! What's lemon curd? Sounds gross!
Snickers: Curd? Yuck! Is that like boogers?
Doodlebug: Ew! Mom, you're gross!

So, of course I had to make some!

I explained that it's kind of like lemon pudding. This is what they had to say:

Sweet Pea: Yuck!
Hubby: Yuck! Sounds gross!
Snickers: Lemon curd? Yuck! It sounds like boogers!
Doodlebug: Ew! Mom, you're gross!

So, of course I made some! I also made lime curd!

(I'd post the recipe, but really, how many of you reading this are going to make some? Hmmm? And besides,
I'm too lazy to type it all in. I apologize to those of you who found me via Google and are now cursing me for not including a recipe. But all I did was use a standard recipe I found online. A quick Google search will get you several fine recipes.)

But anyway, let me tell you. This Is Good Stuff! Incredibly good! Apparently I love lemon and lime curd. I made a batch of each. The lime especially is so uber-yummy, so incredibly tasty that I almost fell over upon tasting it. Wow! Tangy and tart, but also sweet.

I also made some citrus pound cake (basic pound cake recipe with some lemon and orange zest added) and spread the curd on thickly. I also spread it on some leftover crepes from my ricotta and crepe bake-fest of the other day (of which I will blog about someday), rolled it up and devoured it. Of course I also ate some right off the spoon. And it's awesome in my homemade yogurt!

I was unable, despite my best efforts, to get the kids to try it. Sweet Pea was a little gun-shy after the failed custard attempt and refused to even consider it. The boys raced out the room screaming something about boogers. But the hubby! My hubby! Hater of all things lemon and lime, actually tried it. I almost fainted! I half-heartedly offered him a taste, knowing he would refuse, but after hearing my moans of pleasure he decided to give it a try. (It was kind of like that restaurant scene from 'When Harry Met Sally'. He couldn't not try it at that point.)

But anyway, he tried it and get this! He actually liked it! Wow! I almost fainted again. He actually agreed it was yummy. He drew the line at putting it on stuff, like toast, cake, crepes, waffles, steak, hotdogs, etc, but he did agree that it was yummy. That's enough for me.

And did I mention that lemons and limes were on sale? And that I bought a 2 pound bag of each? Well, I did. So, I have enough curd to have some in the fridge for when the urge strikes, some in the freezer so I always have some on hand, and some spare lemons and limes for future baking. Yum!

Quack!

Taking Your Yogurt For a Jog

2012-02-15T06:00:00.028-05:00

I'm all about making homemade stuff lately - like food kind of stuff. I know - what the heck am I talking about? I always make homemade food stuff. But usually I make home BAKED stuff - like cookies and cake and pie - you know, the sweet stuff. This time I'm talking about REAL food - stuff that's good for you - maybe not beans and brocolli good, but certainly way way way way way way above double dark chocolate brownies with chocolate frosting and sprinkles good.

Anyway, I posted recently about my adventures with custard. Well shortly after that strange idea popped uninvited into my head, another curious idea popped in. It's getting quite crowded in there! Really! You have no idea what's swirling around in that maelstrom inside my head. It's quite wonderful and frightening. But back to the topic. So, NOW what am I making, you ask? Yogurt! That's right. Yogurt! That awesome, bacteria-filled (or probioitic if you prefer) goodie.

Why on earth would I make yogurt? They sell it in the store you know! Yes, I know that, but I'm appalled and somewhat disgusted by the amount of sugar added to most yogurts. I eat yogurt every day. I make homemade granola and mix it into my yogurt for a nice breakfast (or lunch). I eat it, but deep down I'm cringing at the amounts of sugar - 25 grams or more isn't uncommon! That's the equivalent of 6 teaspoons of sugar!!) Like I said, I normally bake a lot so I get quite enough sugar in my diet from that stuff - I don't want it in my 'real' food too! I know that yogurt, even plain yogurt, has natural sugars in it. But most commercial yogurt is overly sweetened with all sorts of added sugars. I know I know - eat the 'light' yogurt. But that has artificial sugars in it which I try to avoid (sucralose, aspartame, saccharine, etc, etc) OK, then just shut up about it and eat plain yogurt! Well, OK. But if I'm going to eat plain yogurt I may as well make it myself. So I did:

It's really easy. I poked around online a bit and got some tips from a friend. This is what I ended up doing:

(I made a small amount to start with just in case it failed utterly, a la the first custard attempt, or just in case it tasted so terrible I couldn't bring myself to eat it. Neither happened so the next time I will make twice as much.)

Pour 4 cups of milk into a saucepan and heat it up to 190 F, stirring frequently. (I used a candy thermometer. Also, some sources I found said to heat it to 180 F. Some said to boil it. Some some said to never boil it. Some said 190 F. I went for 190 F since it was in the middle ground.)
Once it gets up to 190, remove it from the heat and let it cool down to 105-110 (about 40-50 minutes)
While it's cooling, stir together 1.5 tablespoons of store-bought plain yogurt with active cultures to 2 tablespoons of milk and set it aside.
Once the heated milk has cooled to 105-110, add in the milk/yogurt mixture, stirring it into the milk completely.
Now, in order for those wonderful little bacteria to do their job and thicken up that milk into yogurt, they need warmth, time and privacy. That's right! Privacy! Yogurt does not like to be disturbed or rushed while it's ~~procreating~~ thickening. (Really, let it sit quietly. I don't think complete silence is necessary, but try to refrain from peaking in, poking at it, jiggling it, dancing with it around the kitchen or taking it for a jog. It prefers to just sit and think for a bit.)
To get it prepared for it's resting phase, I warmed up my crockpot slightly - just so it wasn't ice cold, then put my bowl of yogurt into the warmed crock (bowl and all - I didn't dump it out into the crock). I filled in the spaces around the bowl with towels to keep it cozy and warm. I covered it, pushed it into a corner of the counter and let it snooze in cozy, undisturbed warmth overnight. (You could use an insulated cooler, or just towels or any slightly warm location. The goal is to keep the temperature as close to 105-110 as possible so it can do its thing. A nice down comforter, mug of hot chocolate and a good book would also work.)
Now, I was pretty sure that in the morning I would have yogurt, but that still didn't quell my surprised delight when I opened the cover in the morning and discovered actual yogurt! Wow! It was very exciting! I squealed like a little girl on Christmas morning.
Then I moved the yogurt (sans crock) to the fridge to chill for a couple hours.
And since I like my yogurt on the thick side, I decided to greek-ify it, which basically means I drained out some of the liquid (whey).
Line a strainer with cheese cloth. If you don't have cheesecloth (like me) just use coffee filters. I had a double thickness of them in the strainer.
Then, put the strainer in a big bowl (to catch the drippings) and dump the yogurt in. Cover it and move it to the fridge to sit for a couple hours.
When I checked on it after a couple hours I was pleasantly surprised (I know, a lot of surprise going on with this particular venture) to find a nice quantity of whey had drained out.
Now put your yogurt into a container for storage (I put mine into some glass jars) (or, you can just eat it now if you prefer)

And, I also saved the whey (the liquid that drained out) in some other glass jars. You can just discard it if you want. But I got online to find out what I can do with whey - it's full of all sorts of healthy goodness. (That's my next adventure - just wait until I tell you what I'm doing with the whey!)

Lastly, I scooped some yogurt out into a bowl, added a touch of honey to kill a bit of the tartness, added a squirt of lime juice (I love lemon and lime yogurt!), mixed in a little granola and it was awesome! It was really really good.

I'm sure my mother is right now, this very minute, cursing my name and shaking her fist at her computer screen. She made homemade yogurt for years in these awesome little ceramic heated yogurt cups. And would I eat it then? No! Would I even consider that it was maybe an edible thing? No! I made disgusted faces, wrinkled up my nose and refused to even consider it an edible thing. And now here I am, making my own homemade yogurt! Curse you Ginormous Duck!

Quack!

Happy Valentines Day

2012-02-14T06:00:00.001-05:00

These crackers are just begging for a peanut-buttering. Mmmmm.

Quack!

That Was Not The Intention

2012-02-13T06:00:00.001-05:00

Three related haiku to explain this picture:

A new chair for me?
What? Why do you look at me?
Surely it is mine.

It is in my house
I fit nicely, all curled up.
It must be for me.

A chair for the cat
That was not the intention
But she has claimed it.

Quack!

Um - Your Head is a Little Wet

2012-02-10T06:00:00.002-05:00

Our cat likes to drink from the faucet. She has her own bowl of water, but she prefers the faucet - where the water is cold and fresh. Everytime anyone enters the bathroom, she runs right in behind us and jumps up to the sink where she patiently waits for us to turn the water on for her. It has to be a thin trickle, if it's on too high she won't drink it. But if it's a nice thin trickle she'll stick her little hairy head right under the faucet and lap up the water. She doesn't seem to notice or mind that it's hitting her little hairy cat head and dribbling down her face. She happily laps it up as if she weren't a water-hating feline.

When she's done drinking she will often spent a minute or two batting at and biting the stream of water. And when she is done with that I get to have fun. I come at her with a towel and rub her little furry head to dry it off. Not because I mind a wet-headed cat, or because I think she minds being a wet-headed cat, but mostly because I love scrubbing that furry little head dry. She of course hates every minute of it. But for a cat she's smart enough and has learned to realize it's coming. That means she immediately jumps off the counter and races for the basement, or if she's too slow and I catch her, she patiently submits to the scrubbing, then stalks off afterward.

This picture almost begs for a haiku. So here's one:

Funny little cat,
Drinking water at my sink.
Your head is all wet.

Quack!

That Coffee Was a Little Fishy

2012-02-08T06:00:00.001-05:00

You know how different fish tend to live in different parts of an aquarium? Like Whiskers and Zoidberg the albino catfish, Cord, our loach and Creepy and Crawly the ghost shrimp. They were bottom feeders and rarely ventured from the bottom. Then the tetras tend to stay in the middle of the tank along with the guppies and the mollies are always up at the top, sipping air and blowing bubbles and having a grand ol' time.

Well, I was reminded of that the other day while drinking a cup of coffee. No, it didn't taste fishy, nor were there bottom feeders in the cup, nor was I watching anyone in particular when the thought crossed my mind.

Instead, I was at a Starbucks at Barnes and Noble. I've been there many times before, and I'm usually a fairly observant person (or so I thought), but I somehow managed to overlook, in all the times I've been there preparing my coffee, at that very same counter, the fact that there are several little spice shakers. There's the usual creamers and milks, a slew of different varieties of sugars and artificial sweeteners and right there along with the rest of it there is cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla powder and chocolate. Right there in front of my nose. Basically waiting to be noticed. Doing everything but jumping up and down. And somehow I missed them. WTF!

But anyway, I noticed them on my last trip and was very excited. I love cinnamon! I love nutmeg! I often add them to my homemade hot chocolate and bake with them all the time. So, in my excitement I added cinnamon AND nutmeg AND vanilla to my coffee along with the usual sugar and creamer. I guess I'm one of those people who drink coffee under the pretense of liking coffee, when I actually only like covering up the flavor with other flavors. But in any case I was just so excited to see them that I went a little crazy and added a bit of everything. It's a good thing the onion powder, garlic powder and minced peppers weren't out.

But anyway, I added the cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. It smelled heavenly!

And now you're expecting me to say that it tasted god-awful and I couldn't even drink it, aren't you? Aren't you? I know you are. But you're wrong. It was actually delicious! Hot and slightly spicy (not in a cajun, hot pepper way, but in a hot baked cookie fresh from the oven way).

And to tie things up, why on earth did that make me think of fish? Well, by the time I was done I noticed that the cinnamon had a tendency to float on the top in the first few inches of the coffee, whereas the nutmeg sank towards the lower 1/3 and formed a ~~gross~~ nice sludge on the bottom, along with the undissolved sugar. It was an unexpected surprise - it was like two coffees in one! I was jumping up and down with excitement. Just when I began to bore with the cinnamon coffee, I reached the nutmeg layer. It was intriguing. It was entertaining. It was delicious. It was downright fascinating! But truth be told, it was a little fishy.

Quack!

Custard's Last Stand

2012-02-06T06:00:00.001-05:00

Friday I posted about my failed experience with custard. This weekend I gave it another try. I used another recipe with just egg yolks (no whites), some milk, some cream, a little vanilla and some sugar. Other than the absence of the egg white, not much else was different. The ingredients were basically the same, the cooking method was basically the same. But this time . . . success!

It was delicious! It was creamy! There was no eggy taste. There was no strange lumpiness. It was pure, smooth, vanilla heavenly goodness. The hubby agreed and even sweet pea declared it acceptable.

I have won! I have beaten custard! I shall not be defeated! Muah ha ha ha ha!

Quack!

I Will Not Be Beaten By Custard!

2012-02-03T06:00:00.001-05:00

The other day I had a craving for baked custard. What?!? What a strange craving! I know, right? I agree completely. Very strange. I don't know if I've ever even had baked custard before (if I have, it was many many many years ago). But for some reason it sounded yummy.

So, I printed out a recipe and got to work. And Wow! Let me tell you - it was a resounding . . .

failure!

That's right! A failure. I mean, it looked OK and I liked the flavor - slightly vanilla-y with some nutmeg and cinnamon on top, but the texture was weird - it was kinda lumpy, when I expected smooth. The hubby and Sweet Pea hated it. They thought it was too eggy - like eating cold scrambled eggs with cinnamon.

So I poked around some more and discovered the importance of cooking it very slowly. Now, I followed the instructions to the T (which is unusual for me) so I think it was partly a bad recipe. I know I know - blame it on the recipe, right? But really - I followed it to the T and it was definitely not right.

I also found some other custard recipes online and the majority of them are made with just egg yolks and not whole eggs. That may have made a difference too. And while I'd like to just drop the whole thing, call it a day and move onto other yummy things I find myself curiously challenged. I can't be beat by a mere custard! No way! So, I'm going to try again, knowing full well that I'll be the only one eating the result, no matter how good or bad it comes out. But that's OK by me. I'll experiment. This time I'll follow the recipes with just the yolks and will bake it at a lower temperature and maybe for a slightly shorter amount of time. I've done my research! I know what to do! I'm going to try it again. I WILL NOT BE BEATEN BY CUSTARD!

Quack!

Sometimes You're Better Off Not Knowing

2012-02-01T06:00:00.001-05:00

The other day as I was doing something very important (I'm sure) in the kitchen, I overheard the boys playing with their new Nerf sword:

"I almost neutered you!"
"Shut up old man!"

I briefly wondered what they were playing, then decided I was better off not knowing.

Quack!

We're Having Fishues

2012-01-30T06:00:00.002-05:00

We've had some turnover in our little aquarium lately. Sweet little cord, our snakey loach has passed on. He led a long boring life so we weren't too surprised. And little Skye Masterfish, our sky blue betta named after a character in Guys in Dolls has also passed on. And as I mentioned the other day, we had some fishues with our little catfish.

Well, to console ourselves over the loss of Whiskers the 2nd, we got ourselves a couple of silver mollies. Well, who knew that they were piranhas in disguise? We set them loose in the tank and by morning poor little Zoidberg the 2nd was nothing more than a bit of sludge on the top of the tank. I'm not entirely sure that was his remains, but he's missing and the mollies looked awfully smug. I suppose I could have tried to return the sludge to the store, but since I'm not entirely sure it was fish remains I didn't try. We'll just write that one off.

So, what did we do? We went out and got a couple more of the bloodthirsy little buggers. I wasn't going to get another catfish, that would be a waste of money. So we got a black molly and a speckled molly. I thought they would all play nice but no. The silver mollies hang out together in a group (a small group) and the black and speckled mollies hang out on the opposite side of the tank. I was hoping they might warm up to each other, but the other morning we discovered the speckled one, belly up. At least he had a belly and hadn't just disappeared like the catfish, but still.

So, I bagged him up. The little black one is still alive so far (knock on wood).

Quack!

Bag O' Dead Fish

2012-01-27T06:00:00.002-05:00

We recently purchased two albino catfish - Whiskers the 2nd and Zoidberg the 2nd. The theory was that they could keep each other company. Well, that didn't work out so well. The day after we bought them, we found Whiskers the 2nd floating belly up. And since we'd only had them for less than a full day we wanted to get our money back.

I wasn't sure of the proper procedure for returning a dead fish, so I first looked at the receipt. I had 30 days from the date of purchase to return merchandise as long as it was in the original packaging and in good condition.

Hmmmm. Well, I could dig the bag we got it in out of the garbage I suppose. But it was going to be tough getting it back to original condition. I mean, how do you do mouth to mouth on a fish? Mouth to gill I suppose. But it's only a one inch fish. The attempts didn't go so well.

So next I decided to check out the website. OK. Making progress. I can return defective merchandise (and a dead fish is certainly defective). All I need to do is put it into a sealed envelope and mail it to the store along with a copy of my receipt. But as I was stuffing the fish into the envelope, I thought that maybe they didn't mean fish when they referred to 'merchandise'. I mean, the envelope was rather lumpy. And damp. And smelly.

OK, so I decided to call the store and ask what I do with a dead fish.

Just bring it back to the store, they said. And we can replace it or refund your money.

OK, great. NOW we're making progress. So I walked into the store holding the fish by the tail and, . . .

What? You think that's disgusting? Ok, so I didn't do that. But I was tempted. I put him in a sealed baggy with a little water - out of respect you know. And then the kids and I piled into the car and headed out. And of course, despite having three able bodied children with me, not one would hold onto the bag of dead fish. Ewww! Mom, that's gross!! I'm not gonna hold that!! Eeeeeewwww. Ick! Get it away from me!!

Ugh! Are my children wimps? It's a dead fish for god's sake. I was tempted to remove it from the bag and hold it between my teeth. You know, for the shock factor, but that was a little too icky even for me. And besides, the kids probably wouldn't have been shocked anyway. Grossed out, but not shocked. And besides, I didn't really want dead fish between my teeth. And I also know how dirty that aquarium gets - I've scraped the big strings of green-black algae out of the tank more than once.

I did however hold the fish bag between my teeth. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. After all, I needed my hands to drive.

I was unusually forward for me while at the store - brandishing my bag o' dead fish and trying to get someone to help me out. I didn't want to be holding the dead fish any more than they wanted me waving it around the store. But it wasn't long before I got my money back.

In my next post I will ~~bore you with~~ regale you with tales of catfish #2's fate.

Quack!

The Most Colorful Cake in the World

2012-01-25T06:00:00.000-05:00

I can honestly say I recently made the most colorful cake I have ever seen.

The most colorful batter in the world:

The baked cake:

The top half:

The finished product:

Tasting time:

Quack!

No One Makes Potatoes Like Grandma Used to Make

2012-01-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

Just the other day I posted about my bland roasted potatoes. Wow! That was a thrilling post, wasn't it? Nothing better than rivieting stories about potatoes! Well, have I got another one for you! And it's also about potatoes! Whoo hoo! Potatoes!

When I was young we used to occasionally eat dinner at my Grandma's house. One of the highlights of those dinners were her mashed potatoes. My sister and I loved those potatoes. Grandma made the best mashed potatoes in the world! Buttery, creamy, delicious! We couldn't get enough.

We always tried to get Mom to make them the same way.

Mom! Add more butter! Make them like Grandma does!

It was many years later when we discovered Grandma's secret. The secret recipe! Yes! And I'm going to share it with you!

[drum roll]

Wait for it . . .

Here it comes . . .

Cardboard!

That's right! Grandma's super fabulous, uber-delicious, wonderfully creamy, tasty and buttery mashed potatoes were from a box.

I have no idea why it was such a secret. I suppose they feared if we knew the truth we wouldn't like them anymore. But to this day I still like boxed mashed potatoes. I'm so weird like that. (My favorites now are fresh ones, made from actual freshly-peeled potatoes and whipped up into a buttery, creamy deliciousness by the Hubster, but boxed are a close second.)

Quack!

On Your Potatoes? Really?

2012-01-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

The other day my roasted potatoes were a little bit bland. Oh no! I know! Tragedy. It was terrible! But really, not so much. I mean, it's only potatoes.

But, in order to satisfy my tongue and also to gross out the kids, I heated up a little bit of tomato sauce for dipping. The hubby and Sweet Pea were dipping in ketchup (ick!) so I thought I'd try a little bit of tomato sauce.

Ugh! Ick! Yuck! Sauce? On potatoes? Oh Mom! You are so disgusting. Eeewwwww!

The faces around the table were priceless. I think I would do it again, many times, even if I didn't like the taste. The faces were awesome!

It reminded me of Calvin and Hobbes. There were a couple of different sets of Calvin and Hobbes comics where Calvin was making these terrific and horrible faces - one set was when he was eating dinner (and it was eating him), the other was family portraits. Priceless! Well, those faces across the table really brought Calvin and Hobbes to mind.

And since I know that you all are waiting with baited breath to find out if the bland potatoes were fixed by the application of some tomato sauce I will tell you . . .

Drum roll please. . .

Sure, they were OK. A little weird, but good.

Quack!

I Want a Lap Cat

2012-01-18T06:00:00.000-05:00

I want a lap cat. Forget that I rarely have a lap! I know that I rarely sit down and when I do, I have a lap full of kids, or crafts, or beads, or computers. But on those rare occasions when I do sit down and my lap is empty, I'd like it to be full of cat. Fuzzy, soft, purring, happy, snuggly cat.

But you have a cat, you're saying.

Yes. Yes I do have a cat. And the whole purpose of a cat is so that you have something to warm your lap on cold evenings. But no. Not this cat. She wants nothing - absolutely nothing - to do with laps. Occasionally, when we pick her up and put her on our laps, she will sit quietly and submit to petting for about, oh, 6 seconds. Sometimes, if we hold on real tight, we can get her to stay there for maybe 8 or 9 seconds. But eventually the claws come out and it's all over. Even if we could hold on longer, once the claws come out who wants to?

I used to think that she liked us - I mean - she is almost always in the same room as us. And if we get up and move to another room she follows. But now I think she is just keeping tabs on us. She wants to know where we are at all times. If she can see us, she knows we aren't doing anything she wouldn't approve of. (What that would be I have no idea.) Or more likely, if she knows where we are, she knows what we're doing and that lessens the chance of her missing out on her fair share of Redi-Whip or butter.

In any case, despite my attempts I don't think she will ever be a lap cat. That's just a little too close for comfort. (The cat's comfort of course - nothing else matters).

Fine! Be that way. But you know what? Ha ha! I have a guinea pig. She'd make an excellent lap pig! She doesn't purr, but she does rumble when when you pet her fur the wrong way and she's warm. That'll do (pig).

Quack!

A Sleepover Isn't a Sleepover Without Giggles, Elbows to the Face and Knees to the Groin

2012-01-16T06:00:00.003-05:00

Sometimes the kids and I have a sleepover. That means that all four of us (the hubby usually politely declines) snuggle up on the floor on a pile of blankets and pillows. There's some talking and giggling, some reading and snuggling, often some arguing and yelling and eventually some sleeping. It's a good time for all. We all feel bad that the hubby doesn't partake, that he's all alone in his bed with no giggles, no elbows in the face, no knees to the groin, no being squashed out of bed between two little bodies. But he says he really doesn't mind. And besides, I only have three sides. Yes, that's right. Three. One on the left, one on the right, and one at the top. Not ON the top, but AT the top. Like perpendicular to the other three of us, across the top of my head. Like so:

And of course, that leaves no room for the hubby anyway. I have two sides and a top. The bottom is no fun because ~~my feet stink~~ he can't talk to us easily from that angle. So he just stays in his bed. He gets to have a sleep over with me every other night anyway. Since the kids and I all had Monday off of school/work for Martin Luther King Jr day we decided to have a Martin Luther King Jr. Day sleepover. Any excuse for a sleep over works for us. And while we usually just go with the flow, this time we decided that we had to have a sleepover activity. And what better activity for a sleepover? We all had a dream.

Quack!

Quacktastic!

2012-01-13T06:00:00.001-05:00

Several years ago the Hubby and I went to NYC on a trip Hubby had won through his brilliance at writing. He wrote an essay extolling the virtues of the Dinosaur Barbeque restaurant and it was chosen by Good Morning America as the winner. So, we got a weekend in NYC complete with a tour of the studios and two meal vouchers - one for the Four Seasons and the other for Tavern on the Green.

The trip still comes up in conversation now and then, usually in reference to the huge Toys R Us we visited, or in reference to how delicious the meal at Four Seasons was, specifically the duck (and the chocolate souffle, but this is about the duck).

One of Snickers favorite animals is ducks so he is not amused to hear us speak fondly of the crispy crackle of duck skin and the succulent, tasty meat. He was equally appalled the other day when I referred to said meal as 'Quacktastic'. And who knows, after all this time maybe we've just built the meal up in our minds into something bigger and better than it was, but does it really matter? If I remember something more fondly that I have any reason to do so that just makes it better right? Indeed. And what better endorsement than to have 'Ginormous Duck' declare the meal quacktastic!

Quack!

The Importance of Ambiance

2012-01-11T06:00:00.003-05:00

When fine dining, ambiance is of utmost importance. The flavor of the food is affected in subtle ways by everything from the lighting, to the shape of the dishes, the scents in the room to the service, the music and the surrounding sounds and sights. The ambiance can make or break the meal.

Case in point:
Peanut butter crackers and a cup of skim milk. The perfect meal (as far as Doodlebug is concerned). But, if the lighting is off, putting the meal in shadow, or shining too brightly, the flavor of the meal will be off.

If the scent of sizzling onions across the kitchen is too strong, the peanut butter will taste flat, the crackers stale, the milk old.

If the peanut butter is not spread just right, with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, if the milk is poured without cheerful banter, it just won't taste right.

It must be perfect in order to be enjoyed fully! Let's try not to spoil a nice meal, shall we?

Quack!

Alarm Clocks are Dangerous Things

2012-01-09T06:00:00.003-05:00

Snickers got a Pac Man alarm clock for Christmas. It's shaped like Pac Man and when the alarm goes off it's all 'boopita boop boop, boopita boop boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop' You know how it goes, right?

The only problem is that it goes 'boopita boop boop, boopita boop boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop' at FULL VOLUME. Loud enough to be heard easily in a crowded arcade full of noisy 80's games. That's somewhat of a problem when it goes off in a silent, darkened bedroom, waking one from a sound sleep.

The other day I heard the tell tale 'boopita boop boop, boopita boop boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop, boop' blaring in from down the hall, through the bedroom door, through the bathroom door and through the towel wrapped around my wet hair. It sounded like it was next to me. I stepped out into the hall and there was Snickers, hair all askew, eyes wide, panting with his hand on his chest. Apparently the alarm is very effective.

He breathlessly confided that if he was an old man he would have just had several heart attacks. So I assured him that he didn't have to use that alarm clock if it was going to result in an early death.

Quack!

Living a Life of Cin(namon) (That Mystery Mint Left a Bad Taste in My Mouth)

2012-01-06T06:00:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago after a nice lunch out the waitress dropped some mints on the table. You know, those red and white hard-candy peppermints. A nice way to cover the taste and smell of the onions, greasy friedness, coffee and whatever else I had eaten. I popped a mint into my mouth. This one had a pink center. Ooh la la! And wow, was it tasty! For some reason I thought it was the best one of those mints I'd ever had. I really enjoyed it.

I dropped the others in my purse for later because no one else wanted them. Ooh! More for me.

So then a few days later, I decided to have another. I really hate coffee breath so I attempt to cover it up whenever possible. I think it harkens back to my youth - well, to one of my first jobs anyway, where I would go into work at 5AM and work with this woman who was a heavy coffee drinker, heavy smoker and heavy everything else. She was very nice, but her breath was enough to knock me back several days. Wow! I decided that coffee-cigarette breath was one of the worst smells ever. Right up there with dirty diapers, polyurethane, turpentine, rotten eggs, ammonia and sauteed garlic. Combined. And possibly a bit worse.

But I digress. A couple of days later I popped another mint into my mouth to cover the coffee taste. And much to my surprise, I discovered it was cinnamon! That darn tasty little mint was cinnamon! I felt betrayed! For two reasons: one - betrayed by my taste buds and the fact that my brain and mouth had just accepted the fact that if it was a red and white hard candy mint - it must be peppermint. And it took me two mints to come to that realization! Even though I noticed it was better than usual, it never occurred to me that it was because it was a flavor other than the obvious peppermint. No wonder I liked it so much!

Two - even more so, I felt betrayed by the mint. That little innocuous mint was masquerading as peppermint! How dare it?! That . . . that . . . that . . .imposter! And even though I love cinnamon, I didn't enjoy that little red, white and pink mint as much as I had previously. It was living a lie! It was pretending to be peppermint while living a life of cinnamon! (How's that for a pun? Huh? Huh? Get it? A life of cinnamon? A life of sin? Masquerading? Living a lie? Oh, nevermind.)

Just goes to show you that appearances are very important. We are all fooled by appearances. It's all about perception. The lesson here children, is that, well, it's, um. I'm sure there's a lesson here. I just can't think of it. But in the wise words of Stephen Cosgrove (the international, award-winning children's author whose books I have never read, but whose quote adorned the front of my favorite t-shirt when I was 10):

"Never judge someone by the way he looks, or a book by the way it's covered. For inside those tattered pages there's a lot to be discovered."

And as I discovered, inside that clear cellophane wrapper, there is a mystery mint to be discovered, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

On a related note, I was in an airport a few weeks back and saw a bag of cinnamon 'old-fashioned' hard candy. Since I really enjoy cinnamon I bought it. They are delightful! They are honest! They are not trying to pretend they are anything other than cinnamon hard-candies. No peppermint disguises, no fancy pink centers, just plain, hard, red, candies. I appreciate their honesty.

Quack!

Keep Those Moths Out of My Woolens!

2012-01-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

My dear sweet Grandma. I think she must have had a horribly disabling fear of moths. Maybe it was too many showings of Mothra, I don't know. Poor woman. But growing up she used to keep moth balls in her house. I think she must have had them sprinkled around liberally because very often food that she brought to us would have a rather strong odor of moth balls. I suppose it kept the moths out of the soup. More likely she stored them near the food wraps, but at this point, who knows? It's been a long time and I like to let my imagination run wild sometimes. So I picture them scattered throughout the cupboards, in the bowls, in the refrigerator, under the toilet seat.

And the moths - well, in my memories they beat their soft dusty wings and their feathery antennae on every window, trying to get in, kept at bay only by the overwhelming fumes billowing out. Should one happen to sneak in through an open door and flutter threateningly, it would be repelled almost instantly by a yellow noxious cloud of MOTH REPELLENT MOTH REPELLENT MOTH REPELLENT (do you hear the deep loud echo? Do you?)

But I exaggerate - I doubt that my Grandma had an all-consuming, fear of moths. Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure it was just a disabling and irrational fear of holes in her collection of woolens. (Can I say that with a straight face? Collection of woolens? It makes me want to giggle).

But in all seriousness, I have many many fond memories of my Grandma and of spending time at her house. And it isn't overshadowed in the least by clouds of noxious fumes, futiley beating dusty wings, killer moths or woolens so full of holes that Swiss cheese makers would be proud. Not at all.

Now, the dark, grapey smell of the basement where wine-making went on is another story altogether.

Quack!

Electric Frosting and Mortal Peril

2012-01-02T06:00:00.003-05:00

For my boys, as with all boys I'm sure, while playing, anything and everything is a weapon, from cardboard wrapping paper tubes, to folded up paper, to food, stuffed animals, LEGOs, you name it. Just about anything, with a little imagination can be a weapon. It's quite entertaining.

I remember fondly the days when White Kitty would shoot electric frosting.

And it's not only toys-as-weapons, it's the entire thought process - pirates and bad guys, lava and avalanches, tornadoes, wars, battles, monsters, dragons, evil sisters and on and on and on.

Just the other day one of the boys was singing a Christmas carol. I heard from the down the hall, ringing with youthful exuberance, the dulcet, tenor tones of

"Here we are in mortal peril, Fa la la la la la la la la"

I explained that it was supposed to be "Don we now our gay apparel" and explained what 'don', 'gay' and 'apparel' were.

He listened carefully, nodded sagely, then raced away with his sword in hand singing, "Here we are in mortal peril, fa la la la la la la la la". Apparently, his version is better.

Quack!

The Mud Splatters Made Nice Patterns on the Windshield

2011-12-26T06:00:00.001-05:00

The other day I got lost. Not, like, really really lost. I knew vaguely where I was and could have found my way home easily, but I wasn't trying to come home yet - I was trying to find a school. You see, Sweet Pea had an 'All-County Chorus' audition and I was trying to find a school across town. The music teacher gave us directions, but they weren't quite complete. The last step was to turn right onto road xyz, which I did. From there it failed to mention how far to go on this street to get to the school, or what side of the street it was on. So I drove for a bit, then saw some school signs. Great! It took a bit to find the entrance, but Sweet Pea and I found a nice close parking spot in the nearly empty lot and went into the building - the lit, but deathly silent building. Not a sound to be heard, not a person to be found. Yet the school was wide open.

Eventually Sweet Pea and I realized it must be the wrong building. What clued us in? Well, the lack of other people (and cars) for starters, the utter silence and the school name. Yes, we finally noticed the school name posted somewhere on the wall as we wandered down the silent halls and it wasn't the right name.

So, we left. We called the hubster and had him pull it up on Google Maps and he directed us. Turns out, it was very close to the original turn-off. The problem was, the road it was on was mostly hidden, and the big sign with the school name and arrows and such was back in some trees and it was very much like old driftwood - a soft gray with, I presume, some words on it somewhere, although they weren't visible in the dark.

In any case, we finally arrived. We parked off the side of the road with a bunch of cars and proceeded into the building. This was better - lots of cars, lots of people, lots of singing kids. I was pretty sure we were in the right place.

Everything went pretty smooth for a while. Sweet Pea had her audition, did wonderfully (although she didn't think so, but neither did any of the other kids) and then we were ready to get home. We headed out to the car, hopped in and proceeded to spin our tires for several minutes. I pulled forward an inch. I backed up an inch. Lather, rinse repeat until a nice trench was firmly in place beneath my wheels and the cars on both sides of me were covered in mud. (As was my car).

I would almost have paid money to see the look on the face of the car owners parked next to me. First it would have been "WTF! Why is my car all covered in mud! Crap! Stupid people. !@#$#@###'

Then, it would have been 'WTF. I'm stuck in the mud!'

So, I called AAA and got myself towed out. Quick and easy. And as the tow truck driver considered sticking around to pull out the other people - because surely they would get stuck as well - I peeled out of the lot, ready to head home and giggling at the patterns the mud made on the windshield, and side windows, and hood and all the cars that had been parked next to me. (Sorry - couldn't be helped.)

Quack!

Christmas Skeletons

2011-12-23T06:00:00.001-05:00

Yes, I know. It's the Christmas season. But sometimes you have to have a little fun. I mean, Christmas cookies are awesome. Tasty little morsels of chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon and ginger, lots of icing and sprinkles, lots of red and green, trees and holly, snowmen and santas, presents and bells and stars and skeletons. Yes, that's right - skeletons. While making dozens upon dozens of gingerbread men I got bored and decided to decorate a little more unconventionally:

I must say, these gingerbread men taste even better than the ones with the red and green frosting. I think it's because they are unexpected - one of those 'Is that a skeleton cookie? It isn't Halloween is it? I thought it was Christmas?" kind of moments.

Quack!

What the Heck is That Crazy Woman Doing???

2011-12-19T06:00:00.001-05:00

I recently rented a car. It was a Volkswagon Jetta. Now, maybe this is the way blinkers work now-a-days and maybe I'm just stupid but I'm sure, without a doubt, that the people driving behind me thought I was completely out of my mind.

You see, I would decide to change lanes, so I would press down on the blinker. In my car, and in every car I have ever driven, a slight push on it makes it blink and it continues to blink for only as long as I maintain pressure on it. A harder push will turn it on so it stays on until I turn and it clicks off. But in this particular car, this wild and crazy Jetta, a slight push would turn it on. What I finally realized was that a slight push turned it on for about 5 blinks, at which point it would then turn itself off. But my reaction was,

"Crap! I didn't think I pressed it that hard. Damn thing turned itself on!"

So, I would push it the other way to turn it off. But since it wasn't really 'on', instead of turning off, it would blink in the other direction for it's 5 blinks. And of course I would say, ""Crap! I didn't think I pressed it that hard. Damn thing turned itself on!" So I pushed it the other way.

Are you seeing the pattern here?

It went on like that. With my blinkers going:

Left blink, left blink, left blink, right blink right blink, left blink, left blink, right blink, right blink.

It only took me about a day to realize what was going on.

It took me another couple of days to remember and adjust my blinking habits. Just in time to return the car.

Quack!

You MAKE that Stuff?!?

2011-12-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

So, as I said, Christmas cookie season is upon us. I grew up with a mother who baked lots and lots and lots of many different kinds of cookies each Christmas season and I carry on the tradition - not all the same cookies, but a nice variety. The other day, Sweet Pea had a friend over as the baking fest was just getting underway.

It quickly became apparent that this little girl was not from a family that does a lot of baking. As I gathered up the dough, the rolling pin, some cookie cutters and some flour the questions began:

Girl: What's the white powder? (refering to the flour that I was sprinkling on the tabletop and the cookie dough to keep things from sticking).

Girl: Who makes this dough?
Sweet Pea: My Mom.
Girl: Your Mom MAKES it?!?!?
Sweet Pea: Yea, homemade is much better!
Girl: Stuff, stuff, munch, munch (I think she agreed)

Me: I'm out of green sprinkles so we'll use the red ones. I could make more green, but the red will do.
Girl with incredulous look on her face: You can make sprinkles?? How do you do that?

And throughout the process there was A LOT of "Can I do this?" "Can I help?" "Oooh oooh let me! Let me"

She had the time of her life rolling out the dough, cutting the cookies, marveling over the dough and the sheer quantity of it:
"Your Mom made ALL the dough?!?!"

I'm just so used to baking and all that goes into it that I find it funny when someone is amazed by the process.

On a similar note, in Sweet Pea's home-ec class recently they did some baking. Hearing her tell about the other girls not knowing some of the cooking basics that Sweet Pea takes for granted was amusing. Sweet Pea could have taught that lesson!

Quack!

Christmas Music Makes Me Stabby

2011-12-14T06:00:00.006-05:00

The other day as I was making hundreds of thousands of Christmas cookies, the hubby tuned the radio to a station playing Christmas music. While I generally prefer to bake to heavy metal with screaming guitars, screaming singers, lots of swearing, foul language and heavy drum beats, I had to admit that some holiday music was more appropriate for the situation. My tendency to beat the imaginary drum sticks sometimes interferes with the baking process and we end up with dough on the walls and ceiling and fist prints in the frosting. Something a little more in tune with the season seemed to be in order. So I didn't complain.

However, after hearing some of the song choices the DJs chose to play I was feeling downright stabby:

Blue Christmas is Elvis. Ok. Elvis is cool. But come on! Those uber-annoying whoo-ooo-ooo-oo parts throughout the song are enough to drive me insane after hearing it once, let alone 6 times!

And what's with Dean Martin referring to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer as 'Rudy'? Sacrilege!! Give the deer some respect! Use his full name. It's bad enough he missed out on years of reindeer games and spiked eggnog, but to call him Rudy?!? Inexcusable. And stupid.

Then there's Jewel breaking down into yodeling and jazz scat on Winter Wonderland. All I can say is WTF!

And I get that Taylor Swift is cute, and a good singer. And I know that she has a pretty good version of Santa Baby if you don't mind the country music twang thrown in and the fact that she is WAY too virtuous to be singing that song. But do we really have to hear that version over and over and over? There are other, much better versions out there. How about the original? Or even Madonna's version. Madonna at least has the personality to pull it off. Has Lady Gaga done a version yet?

And I think it may be Michael Buble singing Oh Holy Night. Or maybe it's Josh Groban. I really have no idea, but whoever it is, it's a god-awful, slow, put me to sleep version of an awesome holiday tune. Zzzz, wha? Oh, did I fall asleep in the cookie dough again? Let 's get something with a little bit of life on the radio!

And speaking of falling asleep, or being put to sleep, what is up with the annoyingly slow, bordering on depressing, versions of Silver Bells, Home for Christmas, and many others? Isn't Christmas supposed to be a happy time? Full of fun, love, laughter, family, giving, etc? I don't want to fall asleep in my Christmas pudding while listing to Christmas songs. Nor do I want to cower in a dark corner contemplating self harm due to overplaying of slow, depressing renditions of songs that should be uplifting.

After a mere two hours of that (and I tried several different radio stations) I was ready to kill - either myself or the Christmas tree, or the radio. Gah! I'm feeling stabby!! Time to switch to some Christmas CDs with good music, or some nice soothing heavy metal.

Quack!

The Fake Plastic Musty Scent of Christmas

2011-12-12T21:45:00.000-05:00

So a couple of weeks ago (I know - old news!) we dragged the Christmas tree out of the basement. Doesn't that sound so un-holiday-like? I pull the bin off the shelf, drag it across the cold concrete floor, bump-thump-bang-crash it around the corner and up the stairs, hoping that I don't lose my grip and send it crashing to the bottom of the stairs where it will surely crush the cat.

Then we open the bin and the lovely scent of ~~fresh pine~~ musty plastic fake pine needles wafts out. Aaaah - the smell of Christmas.

The kids all love to help sort out the branches and put them in the trunk. I follow along behind fluffing them. No, really. They need fluffing. They've been mashed in a box for almost a year.

Then the next two hours is spent on swearing over the fact that NONE of the GD light strings from last year work, even though they worked fine when we packed them away last year. Fortunately I am now prepared for this and stock up on lights each year.

Then the next couple of hours the kids ~~put~~ throw the ornaments ~~carefully~~ on the tree. I follow along behind rearranging, otherwise, the same 10 branches in the bottom half of the tree, in the front, get all the ornaments.

Child X: Mom! Why did you move that?
Me: Well, there were four ornaments on that branch. I couldn't see the ones behind.
Child X: But I liked it where it was!

Quack!

Even Catzilla Relaxes at Christmas Time

2011-12-12T09:00:00.000-05:00

Even Catzilla Relaxes at Christmas Time

Quack!

The Great Doily Cleanse

2011-12-09T06:00:00.001-05:00

The other week when I was emptying my room to turn it into our very own dojo, I had to do some cleaning. I threw out a lot of crap! It was great! I was digging through one of those 'under-bed-bags'. You know - those big plastic bags with zippers that you stuff full of things you don't know what to do with and shove under the bed. Yeah. I have some of those. So, while cleaning one out I tossed out several old purses. Purses are like shoes. I collect them. I love them. I can't walk past them in the store without looking. Just looking. The kids know to try to steer me around them. Sometimes they are successful.

But anyway, I threw away several old purses I will never use again. And while in that bag, I also found a collection of old burp cloths from when the kids were babies. I held onto them because they would make good rags. OK, now really. Who needs that many rags? I mean, I'm not an auto mechanic. I'm not into any hobbies that involve a lot of grease or gunk. And when I do get into something messy, the last thing I think of is the collection under the bed. I go to the sink, or get a towel, or a paper towel, or the hose, or just wipe my hands on my shirt. I think I've only used an actual rag once in the last 20 years. So I tossed them. Ha ha! Buh-bye!

And then . . .

I came across the doily collection.

You know, those lovely white crocheted things that adorn the table-tops and chair backs in old ladies houses. Yes, those. I had 10 or so of those. Very nice. I'm sure. If you like that sort of thing. Some of them were made by my grandmother's loving fingers - carefully and lovingly stitched and knitted and knotted and whatever else goes into making those things and given to me assuming that I would cherish them and put them out for display. Others probably came from the dollar store. Some were probably priceless antiques and heirlooms that I should pass onto my children.

Bah! They don't want those! In the trash! All of them! And as I did so I threw my head back and laughed. Ah HA HA HA. Look at me! I'm throwing these things away! Bwah ha ha ha! It was liberating. It was awesome!

On a similar note, do you know what I bought recently? No, not a doily! Don't be silly. I bought one of those crazy sweaters with no sleeves that's like a blanket with a head hole. No, not a snuggie. More like a poncho, but less colorful, less south-western and more light-sweatery. It's very pretty. But whenever I wear it I feel like I'm wearing a big huge honkin' doily! I feel like an end table, or a nice velvet chair. The hubby concurs, but that may only be because he witnessed The Great Doily Cleanse.

Quack!

2011-12-07T06:00:00.001-05:00

Got my iPod on
Drums, guitars, voices and more
Lots of good music

Well, it seems I am the only one in the family that likes music with screaming. Imagine that. You'd think I get enough of that sort of noise with three kids. I think it's more that it's a familiar sound and I've grown accustomed to it.

Five Finger Death Punch has some awesome music - the lead singer tends to descend in deep-throated screams now and then.

In This Moment (a really crappy name for a band, but awesome music) has lots and lots of screaming - both from the female lead singer and from the male backup.

And on my Apocalyptica CD there is a song by some French death metal dude - Joseph Duplantier, Bring Them to Light. I love that song! Awesome.

But whenever I put any of that music on it sounds like this:

Hubby: What the hell is that?
Me: What? The music you mean?
Hubby: If that's what you want to call it.
Me: It's awesome!

Snickers: Mommy! Oh my god! That's terrible!
Me: What? The music you mean?
Sweet Pea: That sucks Mom! Switch it to [some god-awful pop station].
Me: God no! I can't do that. And besides. This music rocks!
Sweet Pea: Really.
Me: OK, I'll skip this one. The next song isn't so screamy.
Sweet Pea and Snickers in unison: Oh my god! That's worse! Is that a guy screaming too?
Me: Fine! I'll listen to it when I'm alone!

Quack!

Mutant Orange Haiku

2011-12-05T06:00:00.014-05:00

Monster mutant orange
Huge Cheshire-cat-grin segments
Will it bite me back?

Quack!

My Wrists Are Smmmooookin'

2011-12-02T06:00:00.001-05:00

So, you know that I like to make and wear beaded bracelets, right? Did you also know that in the winter I like to blast the heat in the car? And by winter I mean the snowy cold months of January, February and March as well as the three months leading up to them and the three months after them.

Now, when I have the heat blasting out, it has to blast in just the right way. It can't blast directly into my face. I hate having hot eyeballs, not to mention the fact that since my laser eye surgery several years back my eyes are drier than normal, so having hot air blowing on them guarantees they will dry out like unbuttered toast and fall out. Not a good thing. So, rather than risk that, it blows out onto my hands and feet. This has the added advantage of warming up my hands, which for a good percentage of the year, are basically hand-shaped chunks of ice. However, I've recently discovered that having the car's heater blasting out onto my wrists - wrists that are covered in beaded bracelets with metal clasps and sometimes metal beads - is not always a good thing.

For instance, I'll be driving down the road, heat blasting, and will notice that my wrist feels funny. I'll wiggle it and, Ouch! Damn! Holy smokin' wrist bones batman! The metal beads get very very hot. This is going to interfere with my warm-up routine.

Quack!

Green Pepper Coffee

2011-11-30T06:00:00.001-05:00

So, the other day I went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive through and got myself a small coffee with cream and sugar. At least that's what I ordered. Since I hadn't had my coffee yet I wasn't entirely lucid so when she handed it to me and said what sounded like "Small punkin', cream and sugar." I took it as a compliment. I'm rarely mistaken for a 'small' person, but hey, she called me punkin' and I was in the car so maybe I looked particularly small and cute. I smiled and winked and went on my way.

It never occurred to me that there was any possibility in the whole wide crazy world that someone would want pumpkin flavored coffee! French vanilla? OK. Mocha? OK. Peppermint? Sure. Hazelnut? Cinnamon? Sure. Not my cup of ~~tea~~ coffee. I prefer plain. But I can understand.

But pumpkin? How about tomato? Or potato. Green pepper, anyone? Maybe onion? How about liver?

Now, I like pumpkin. I love pumpkin pie, and pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bars. I've been known to eat pumpkin pie flavored ice cream in my wild and crazy youth. Hell, I'd even make pumpkin pancakes if I thought the rest of the family wouldn't barf at the very prospect of it. But coffee?

In all fairness, it was OK. I didn't mind the flavor although it was unexpected. What I did mind was the 100 additional calories and 23 grams of added sugar. Holy great sugar overdose! I get plenty of sugar on a daily basis and don't need that much added to my coffee!

Tasty? Yes.
Worth the calories and sugar? No.

Quack!

My eyes! Ouch! Owwww! My eyes!

2011-11-28T06:00:00.001-05:00

I visited my mother the day. While there I had some cookies. Doesn't that sound boring? Everyday? Mundane, even?

You would think so. But you would be wrong.

It started out innocently enough. It was a 'single serving' pouch with 6 round sandwich cookies. I opened up the end, carefully reached in with my index finger and thumb, grasped the first two cookies and pulled. I was too lazy to actually split the wrapper down the back and they were lodged in there pretty good, so I pulled harder. I grabbed those cookies with every bit of strength in my finger and thumb. I will NOT be beaten by a mere cookie!

And of course, before I knew it, it was the sugar container all over again.

The cookies E X P L O D E D. Cookie crumbs went flying in every direction, across the table, up into the air, but mostly up into my face and hair. I immediately began shrieking, "My eyes! Ouch! Owwww! My eyes!" and proceeded to blink furiously and pull at my eye lashes in a futile attempt to dislodge the cookie crumbs from my eyes.

They finally dissolved and presumably floated around to my brain with the assortment of eyelashes, dust and gnats that get into eyes and eventually disappear. Everything was back to normal.

That was the least satisfying cookie I've ever had.

Quack!

Four?!? Is That All?!?!

2011-11-25T06:00:00.000-05:00

I'm still working on the chin-ups. I know - you don't care. But I do, so I'm going to tell you about it. I was so excited! The other day I did 4!

"Four?!?!" you say. "Is that all?"

Yes, four. But I am very proud of that four. And when I say four, I mean four at once - in a row. I usually do several sets of 2 or 3 and get up to about 8 reps altogether. But until now, my max in a single go has been 3. But for the first time I did four in a row.

I suspect that this would move along a little faster if I didn't take breaks from practicing them. But my arms were in rough shape for a couple of weeks from a Kenpo seminar so I couldn't flex my forearms - made it difficult to grab the pullup bar. But I'm back in action now and before you know it I'll be doing 5, or 10.

And yes, much like when I achieved one and then two and then three, I will most-likely update you on my progress as I get to five, and six (and you can see where this is going, can't you?) I can't ~~ever~~ always blog about exciting, interesting or weird things.

Quack!

Rolling for an Audience

2011-11-23T06:00:00.005-05:00

So the other day Sweet Pea and I were rolling in bjj class. It was fun and challenging. A big part of the challenge was trying not to squish Sweet Pea, but there were some moments where she had me in side control where I had difficulty getting out. There was a lot of giggling, some struggling and much to Sweet Pea's amazement and amusement, an audience.

It was the end of class and the next class was coming in. I think we attracted attention with our giggling. We were also moving more than some of the other rollers. We would disengage and start again and there were a few moments where she was airborne.

After class she was practically glowing. She did well, had fun and best of all, had an audience. Right up her alley.

Quack!

no no no no no not that not that!

2011-11-22T06:00:00.014-05:00

From what I've seen online, and in the dojo, most people who are rolling in bjj are relatively silent. There is a lot of panting, a bit of grunting, some heavy breathing, loads of sweating. You know, the typical sounds for someone who is working real hard, using their muscles, etc. Pretty typical. But I am amazed and amused by the sounds the hubby and I make while rolling.

Here are some examples of things you may hear us utter - some are pretty standard terms, others, well, not so much. It's our own bjj lingo:

tap : verb
     1. My hands are trapped in some terribly unfortunate position and I can't get them free to tap
     2. You won - now back off

chest : noun
    1. You are crushing my chest and I can't breath. Let up a little.

oooof : onomatopoeia
     1. You have just crushed me and I don't have enough breath left to say 'chest'.

whOOoo oooooo : onomatopoeia
      1. You have just twisted me into a pretzel and I have no hope of escape. This is often followed by 'tap'.

shit : expletive
      1. You have gotten me into a choke. Again.
      2. I am trapped and utterly helpless. Again.

no no no no no not that not that : revelation
      1. I am about to be twisted into a pretzel or some other unfortunate position like back control and will twist my own self into a pretzel to try to avoid it.

uberhootentrout : nonesense
     1. the universal release word, similar to 'tap' in that it means 'let me go now!', but different in that no one can remember that word when it's needed most.

You should try bjj. It's fun. Really.

Quack!

Up to the Windowsill For a Leisurely Meal

2011-11-21T06:00:00.003-05:00

A couple of times a week I try to go into the basement to workout with my kettlebells. The cat often accompanies me. It's can be somewhat unsettling. Every time. And I mean Every Single Time that I lie on the floor, for sit-ups, or kettlebell stuff, or for any reason, she eyes me, then she stands and slowly stalks over to me. Regardless of what I'm doing, she rubs herself along the side of my head or face or shoulder.

But I know.

I know!

I can see it in her eyes. What she really wants to do is attack. Like a wild panther. Like a leopardess. She wants to go in for the kill and drag my lifeless carcass up into her windowsill for a leisurely meal.

I think I may close the door behind me, leaving the cat upstairs, when I work out from now on.

Quack!

Now All She Needs is a Gazelle

2011-11-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

I don't think I have ever moved so much furniture in such a short amount of time.
I don't believe I had that much crap in my bedroom.
I don't believe I managed to stuff so much crap into the spare/computer room.
I didn't think it was possible to stack furniture so expertly.
I don't believe how bare and clean my bedroom is now.

What am I talking about? Well, I have a nice big bedroom with a high ceiling. It now contains a bed, a dresser and a set of shelves. Period. All jammed into the far end. The rest of it is just open space. A huge, empty, yawning space.

A savannah.

A wasteland.

A desert.

A dojo.

Yes. Our very own (small) dojo. Hubby can practice his Iaido, we can practice our katas, we can do our bjj rolling. It's tight - we crash into the walls sometimes, but if we're careful, oh so very careful, we can make use of this space.

We actually considered moving the bed into the closet to make a little bit more space, but that seemed a bit extreme. And by extreme, I mean, more extreme than the craziness we already just did.

But we can always move it back if we decide we made a bad decision or if we end up not using it. And in the process I managed to throw out a lot of old crap that we should have gotten rid of long ago. If nothing else it was good exercise.

And the cat loves the open space. Whenever she gets a chance she sneaks in (it's a forbidden room for kitties) and sprawls out in the middle of the open space, no doubt imagining herself a lion on the savannah. Now all she needs is a gazelle.

Quack!

Doggie Drugs, Kittie Quaaludes and Rodent Roofies

2011-11-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

We have a couple of guinea pigs. Skinny little Ellie and plump little Oreo. Sweet little things they are, especially Ellie. We've had Ellie for 5 years and she is really the nicest, cutest little rodent you'd ever want to meet. I noticed recently (well, Sweet Pea noticed - I really don't pay all that much attention to the pigs except when I feel like I'm being badgered into giving them yet another carrot just to shut up all the wheeking when I open the refrigerator) that one of her front teeth was very very overgrown. I've read that this sometime occurs with guinea pigs and it's a simple thing to clip their teeth.

You think you can see where this is going, can't you? You're wrong. There is no way in hell that I am going to try to clip guinea pig teeth. Nuh uh! No way. I'll clip the occasional claw, but they are on their own with their fangs.

Anyway, like I said, her tooth was overgrown. She is also the skinniest guinea pig in the world. She's really just fur, skin and bones. She wasn't always that way. I suspect part of the reason is that she has trouble eating with that tooth in the way. I must have been having a very sympathetic and guilt-ridden week because I kept thinking about her dying a slow, horrible death by starvation just because I wouldn't fork over $15 bucks to get her tooth clipped. And she's been such a good piggie. And she has at least 2-3 years left in her if we take care of her.

So, knowing it was crazy, I made an appointment for her. And of course, as is the way with car repairs, vet visits and trips to the grocery store, there is always more that needs doing/buying once you get there. Let me tell you, I felt like an utter fool sitting in the vets office with my box o' piggie. I mean, really. Bringing a guinea pig to the vet?! That's crazy!

So, the vet pokes her, prods her, squeezes her, feels her all over, amid a chorus of wheeks, squeaks, grunts and rumbles, then takes her off to try to get a look at her mouth.

I figured the stress of all the man-handling would probably do her in right there. I was hoping they wouldn't charge me if she died on the examining table. And honestly, not to be heartless, but it would have been somewhat of a relief not to have to walk through the waiting room again, mortified and embarrassed with my box o' pig.

But finally the vet was done and he brought her back out, happy and healthy if somewhat trembly. He sat down. He looked very serious. I expected a diagnosis of heart disease, high cholesterol and diabetes. But he proceeded to tell us that she's very skinny. A very observant man right there.

Then he very seriously told us all sorts of ridiculous things about her teeth, and how they are all overgrown, and how with a little surgery they can fix it right up. And did we want to make an appointment to send her to Cornell for surgery?

I'll stop to give you a moment to catch your breath. I know it must be hard to read this through your laughter.

The hubby actually laughed in the vet's face. It would have been very comical if the vet hadn't looked so hurt. I just know he thought we were heartless fools. He kept avoiding the hubby's gaze after that. I managed to keep my laughter contained and just stared at him in disbelief, trying to look sympathetic and concerned. I mean, that poor man really looked like he thought getting guinea pig surgery was a good idea. I think he was high - strong doggie drugs, kittie qualudes or rodent roofies or something.

Needless to say, we passed on bringing her to Cornell for surgery and opted instead for a quick snip of the long tooth. We brought her back home, dumped her back in the cage with a pile of carrots and broke the news to her and Oreo that there would be no more vet visits. That they were entirely on their own. They should keep their own teeth ground down by chewing on the nice hay I provide.

They were very understanding.

You know, in some parts of the world the little rodents would be running around my feet all day and when it was time for dinner I'd pick one up, wring it's little neck, skin it and serve it for dinner. I might consider such a thing myself except Ellie is too darn skinny. Now, Oreo on the other hand is nice and plump.

Quack!

This Dolphin Says WHUMP!

2011-11-11T06:00:00.000-05:00

Snickers won a huge plush dolphin at the fair this year. It was one of those games where someone wins everytime and it was Snickers, Doodlebug, Sweet Pea and I playing. So the odds were pretty good that one of us would walk away with a prize. And sure enough - Snickers won! He chose a huge golden yellow dolphin that is about 3 feet long. He was ecstatic! It was stuffed with tiny little styrofoam balls so it was nice and light and made a soft shushing/hissing noise when you shifted it. He actually carried it around the fair all by himself for quite a while before I ended up with it.

But, as we discovered, that Styrofoam was dusty. Little clouds of Styrofoam dust ploofed out regularly. So much so that Snickers decided he wouldn't sleep with it for fear of suffocating on the dust in his sleep. So, it had a place of honor on top of his book shelves. But he really liked the thing and wanted to sleep with it so I told him I would replace its guts with some other stuffing that was less likely to kill him in his sleep.

He was a little worried but I reassured him - a single small incision and a little bit of time and Dolphin would be back up and swimming in no time.

So I set to work. I opened up the seam in Dolphin's tail and poured and squeezed and squished and dumped out about 17 cubic yards of Styrofoam balls. And of course, as is the way with tiny Styrofoam balls, and as is the way with me and my lack of aversion to making a mess, the operating room was covered in a half inch of Styrofoam balls that somehow missed the garbage bag. Now, we're not talking a nice even 1/2 inch layer across the floor. We're talking a layer on the floor, and on the chair, and on the table, and stuck to the front of the cabinet, and covering every inch of my legs from the knee down and static clinging from the tip of my little finger up to my armpits. Every nook and cranny within 3 yards of the surgery site had anywhere from a few little Styrofoam balls to a thick coating.

It was a mess!

It was disgusting!

It was glorious!

Like a warm snowstorm localized around me and the Dolphin. It was all I could do not to throw handfuls up in the air and twirl around, eyes closed and tongue out. But I had to draw the line somewhere.

So, after cleaning up the mess, vacuuming the floor, my pants, my shirt, the cabinets, the bookcase, the computer and the cat I then decided to shake out the Dolphin for good measure to make sure I got it all. Then, after once again vacuuming the floor, my pants, my shirt, the cabinets, the bookcase, the computer and the cat I got out a bag of polyester fiber stuffing.

I stuffed and I stuffed and I stuffed. I stuffed approximately 20 pounds of stuffing into that thing.

Remember that nice shushing, hissing noise I mentioned? Yeah, that's gone. Gone into the huge garbage bag. Gone into the guts of the vaccuum cleaner. Now this Dolphin says WHUMP! It's quite an impressive sound!

I carefully sewed up the tail and Snickers was delighted with the change. If only he could lift the darn thing! But with perseverence he managed to wrangle it into his bed.

And while it's an improvement and he no longer fears suffocating on the Styrofoam dust in his sleep, he now has a new fear. He fears being crushed to death under the weight of the thing should it fall onto him in the middle of the night. Not to mention the forhead bruises and elbow contusions from accidentally bumping into the thing in the night.

I promised him I would perform a followup surgery - a liposuction - to remove some of the excess fat. Hopefully when all is said and done it will be 10 pounds lighter, soft and snuggly and no danger to anyone. Only time will tell.

Quack!

Sweating, Panting, Struggling, Shifting, Swearing, Pushing and a Tiny Bit of Actual BJJ

2011-11-10T15:07:00.000-05:00

So, how is BJJ going, you ask? It's going very well, thank you very much. In case you don't know (and there's no reason you would, and even I didn't know until about a week ago), 'rolling' is what they call it when you grapple/wrestle/roll around with your partner and try to sweep them, or get them in an arm lock, or a leg lock or a submission while trying to avoid getting yourself caught in one of those situations.

As the hubby and I practice our moves and get slightly better at a few of them, a couple of our practice sessions have ended up with us rolling - much like when the gerbils got into a fight - teeth and nails and fur flying, rolling bodies with no obvious winner, lots of swearing (mostly from me), lots of sweating, panting, struggling, shifting and pushing and a tiny little bit of actual BJJ.

Every once in a while I find myself grabbing a leg the right way, or getting my arms just right, then drawing a complete blank on what comes next.

Here's some of last night's conversation (if 'conversation' is what you can call those grunting, panting phrases uttered between my curses):

Me: Oh, wait, wait, don't move. I know he told us how to get out of this one. I need to think.

Me, trapped under the full weight of the hubby with little ability to move at all, let alone breath: Oh crap! He never told us how to deal with this one. (I'm suspecting it's because I never should have let myself get in that situation in the first place.)

Hubby: Whoa! Watch that knee! (That knee was too close for comfort!)

But the good news is, when I'm rolling I do remember some of it and see glimmers of hope that I may get better at it. I also recognize when I've completely screwed up, often just before that final moment when I'm stuck. It makes me hopeful that one day I'll be able to do something about it before it's too late.

There's something to be said for actually getting something to work though. Every once in a while I end up doing something right and get the hubby in an arm lock, or almost manage to sweep him, or I end up on top. Whoo hoo! Ha! Gotcha! Then of course, the tables turn again. But every little victory is awesome!

Quack!