As I'm Heading Out To the Gym...

Cat Daddy: You need to work on finding where that damn whatchamacallit is, Skerrib.

Skerrib: The damn whatchamacallit; I'll get right on that.

Skerrib: I have no idea what you're talking about.

Cat Daddy: Well, figure it out.


Sometimes, there is no way to win...

Brownie Advice...

Picked up this little gold nugget on Allrecipes.com (I think)--

Refrigerate the brownies before you cut them. They cut all nice & smooth, that thin little top layer doesn't get all over the place, and your knife stays way more clean. Alton Brown recomments de-panning them and using a pizza cutter, which I've tried and had decent success with...but in my experience, refrigeration gives the greatest flexibility in utensil choice, and therefore is the ultimate in brownie cutting manageability.

Once they're cut you can warm them back up, or eat them cold. Or maybe put some ice cream on them, or something.

Obviously it's longer to wait for awesomely-awesome brownie goodness, but in most cases it's totally worth it. Yum...

A Sunday Anatomy Lesson...

I like Sunday mornings because they're a little different. Usually they're more laid back than the rest of the week, 'cuz church doesn't start until 10:30. So we have time to sit, & putz, & generally just hang before we go crazy getting out the door because we still manage to run late most of the time.

I also like it that His Highness's imagination has mushroomed in recent months. We'll overhear him using our pet phrases with his toys as he makes up stories and scenarios. He'll come to me and start a conversation with "Mom, I'm Mickey and you're Minnie," or even "Mom, I'm Minnie and you're Mickey," and we'll be off & running with fun stories, and voices, and good memories of the Disneyland trip he took with Grandma & Daddy .

It is a little awkward, though, when the educational specialist is evaluating his development and asks him questions like "What's your name? Are you a little girl or boy?" and he replies, "I'm Minnie, I'm a girl." Luckily this particular specialist was reasonable. While she didn't declare him an imaginative genius, she understood that kids don't always perform on demand (her words), and gave me the chance to explain that yes, he is aware of his name and gender. And in the end she decided that he is a delightfully normal little boy (my words), and said he'd do well in preschool next year. And then she got to watch him throw a tantrum when he found out we couldn't stay at school for the rest of the day. It was the best ever.

So yesterday morning we were putzing & playing before getting-ready-for-church time, and His Highness decided that we were engines (the train-kind). I asked him who was whom, and was informed that His Highness was Percy, the Littler One was Henry, and I was Thomas, which of course I took as a great honor. So we chugged and choo'd, and sang songs from his Thomas musical pop-up books, and all was grand.

Finally it was getting close to time to go and I said, "Your Highness, my jeans are almost done in the dryer; let's go get the rest of me dressed. I need a shirt and socks and shoes." So we paraded into the guest room (home of Mt. [clean] Laundry), where I began dressing.

HH: You're putting on a bra, Mom?

Me: Yes.

HH: Why you wear a bra, Mom?

Me: It supports my boobies.

HH: I can wear a bra?

Me: Do your boobies stick out, or are they flat?

HH: They stick out!

Me: No! They're flat. Ladies' boobies stick out so they need a bra to support them. Boys' boobies are flat, so they don't need a bra. Do daddy's boobies stick out?

HH: Yes!

Me: No! Daddy's boobies don't stick out. They are flat--so he doesn't have to wear a bra.

HH: I want to wear a bra!

Me: No! Bras are only for ladies, not for little boys.

HH: I'm big!

Me: Fine, you're big, but you're still a boy, and bras are only for ladies.

HH: I'll wear a little bra, and you wear a big bra, Thomas.

Me: Nope, no bra for you, Percy.

It was a little strange keeping track of things for a moment there, but in some ways imagining ourselves as engines made it a little bit easier.

I mean, can you picture Percy in a bra???

Where Customer Service Is Off the Radar...

The Cat Daddy called on his way home and said, "Would you rather eat and then go to Sam's Club, or go to Sam's Club and then come home and eat?"

That is what he said, but I suspect what he meant was, "I want to go to Sam's Club tonight--wanna eat there?"

I replied, "Definitely eat first, unless you want to just eat there." So then it was settled; we ate there.

For all my anti-WalMart sentiment, I have mostly positive feelings about Sam's Club. I'd prefer Costco, but Cheyenne hasn't gotten one of those yet, so Sam's it is. We do pretty good about getting stuff we use, and staying away from the giant cartons of (delicious) junk food. We look at it, and then sigh just a little bit as we walk past without grabbing 10 lbs of creme puffs or the vat o' cookie dough.

His Highness adores Sam's Club. He will pick out every Sam's Club truck on the road, and says "Hello, Sam's a-Cwub! Good-bye Sam's a-Cwub!" anytime we drive by. If you suggest going to Sam's to have a hot dog and soda, he gets giddy talking about the ketchup and mustard.

As with WalMart you get all types of folks at Sam's--entertainment central--but without the big crowds. Not sure if it's the size of our city (or lack thereof), or if we are just really fortunate about picking calmer times to go, but somehow we always seem to go when no one's there. This is good, because we feel better about giving His Highness some license to run ahead of us a little bit and burn off steam.

Our membership was due, so tonight the Cat Daddy went over to order dinner while I took care of the renewal. By the time I joined him we were all sitting down to our gourmet Nathan's hot dogs. Well, they guys were. Call me crazy, but I don't care much for Nathan's (this is one reason I would prefer Costco--they serve Hebrew National). So I got pizza instead.

After dinner we decided that a little ice cream was in order. In the course of deciding who would go order, and who would stay at the table and wrangle kiddos, the Cat Daddy was describing to me how the guy serving the food had been a little grumbly. I'm not sure exactly how it went down, but it involved eye-rolling, and audible sighs and such. It sounded kind of entertaining to me, but I didn't have the gumption to try to provoke what the Cat Daddy was talking about, so in the end he decided to go up & get the ice cream. He did share about the experience when he got back.

Now, we'd never gotten ice cream from there before, so we weren't sure what everything was. Like, how big is the ice cream "cup," and such? So the Cat Daddy asked the guy what was in the "Four Berry Sundae." The guy very sullenly replied, "It's four different kinds of berries with ice cream. The picture's right above you." The Cat Daddy said, "Sorry, I didin't know that," and went with the sundae.

I was greatly amused by this story. The Cat Daddy hadn't noticed the picture, but it was, in fact, directly above where he had been standing. And it's about 20 feet tall, I'm guessing. OK maybe not 20, but definitely 8-10'. And the guy cut him no slack whatsoever. In fact I'm pretty sure he was shooting daggers at us with his eyes when he walked by as he was wiping tables.

So, sorry Sam's Club hotdog guy. Whether we annoyed you directly or just happened to catch you on an off-night. I'd be grumpy if they made me wear a hair net too...