Because I can't wait around for Todd Selby forever...

And then shit went down... Literally.

After a shit morning of dark skies and pouring rain, the sun came out. So yesterday afternoon, Evelyn and I decided to enjoy the fleeting warmth and walk downtown for a little grocery shopping and a quick pop into the library. She took the opportunity to do her hair just so, showcase her new favorite dress, white Candie's heels (thanks a lot Colby Courter), and smear some blue eye shadow all over her face- because... of course she did.

On the way back, I snapped this picture of her, because she was just so happy- skipping along, perfectly content with life, strutting down the sidewalk in her heels, talking about flowers and which houses were her favorites. It was adorable and uncharacteristically pleasant.


And then shit went down... Literally.


"OWWWWWWW!!!"

"What? What happened?"

"Something stung me in the ear!"

"What do you mean? A bee? Oh no! Are you alright? Let me see..."

At this point, I lifted her hair back and saw a huge dripping mass of bird shit. What I thought was: Ohhhh... shit. But what I said was: "Ohhhhh..."

"What? WHAAAAT?! WHAT IS IT?! Mommy, it's WET IN MY EAR!"

"Ummm... I think you have some bird poop there."

Cue instant tears, laughter, anger, smiling, and hysterics. Simultaneously (because she's my child).

"GET IT OFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!"

"It's not a big deal... we're almost home anyway. You can take a shower as soon as we get there."

"You don't even CARE because you're not the one that got POOPED ON!"

"Of course I care. Everyone gets pooped on at some point."

"You didn't."

"Maybe I did before you were born."

"Really?" *sniffle*

"Maybe..." *No, not really*

"Well, what if I get rabies?"

"You can't get rabies from bird poop- they just eat little bugs and berries and worms... they don't eat rabid, gross stuff. It's all just squished berries in your hair! Probably blueberries."

"MOM! You don't know about rabies because they don't have rabies in Hawaii! I know all about them! It was probably a vulture that pooped on me because it ate an old dead animal with rabies and now it's in my hair and in my EAR! Birds have rabies in their stomachs! RABIES, not BLUEBERRIES! I read a book called "All About Rabies" by John McCain."

"John McCain, huh?"

"Well, maybe it was William... Mc...M'Hale...john...cain... SOMETHING! Anyway, I read it and I know all about it, and I have it!"

"You're sending pictures of the poop to people, aren't you?"

Please note in the above photo: The opened package of paper towels (used in my attempt to clean bird poop off of her), and the opened package of vanilla wafers (used in my attempt to console her with sugar).

And what magnazine's do you subscribe to?

So, Evelyn still says "mazzazine" instead of magazine, and I finally thought it would be good parenting to correct her- so we went over the correct pronunciation and she got it right. But sometimes she still forgets and I have to remind her- which she does not appreciate.

When she said "mazzazine" again this morning, I said:
"What? Articulate and say it properly, remember?"

She folded her arms and got all up on her sass horse with a look that said:
Bitch, please... my impediment will kick your articulation's ass.

And then she said, very slowly and deliberately:
"Ugh... Mom, I know how to say it! MAG-NA-ZINE... There, are you happy?"

"Oh, hells yeah."

Kids Love It...?

So we had this dinner party on Saturday night. No big thing- just Jeff and I, Matt and Kandace, and Nic (our designated 5th wheel). Chicken, rice, salad... Attempted corn on the cob... And then some s'mores in our fun new fire pit. Of course, we had a little wine with dinner, and then some peach champagne with dessert, and then more wine ('cos it was there), and then things got a little bit crazy. We took the party indoors and spent a good amount of time taking turns wearing Jeff's (size 12) Heely's in the kitchen.







It was pretty awesome. But the champagne ran out, and rather than take that as a sign to stop- we dragged ourselves the half-block 'round the corner to pick up more. In the absence of peach, it was strawberry champagne this time, and a bottle of spumante for good measure. Beer for the boys, two bottles of sake, and we stumbled back home.



Now, this subsequent batch of alcohol seemed to last all of ten minutes- so out we went again. I do not recollect what we purchased on the second trip to the store- but I remember the clerk smiling (and probably laughing) quite a bit. Needless to say, I didn't last much longer after this. I remember sitting on the couch saying something to Nic and Kandace (probably semi-incoherent) about Pharrell and Chester French, and then I woke up in the bathtub naked surrounded by barfed-up graham crackers with my head resting on my wadded-up, soaking wet jeans. Yeah. It was gross. The sweetness that is my boyfriend then pulled me out, poured me into jammies and bed, DID A LOAD OF VOMIT LAUNDRY, continued to entertain our guests for a number of hours, and even cleaned up the party. At some point Nic walked himself home (not too far), and Matt and Kandace stayed the night. Now, granted I was unconscious and therefore I hesitate to take much credit- but you KNOW you've had a decent dinner party when it trails into a breakfast the following day. At said breakfast- Matt ordered a miscellaneous chili concoction and it looked so good, that I found it difficult to think of anything else (which is the hallmark of my general food-craving behavior). So yesterday I bought all the necessary ingredients in a wild attempt at making my very own chili from scratch. You can't really screw up chili, right? I mean, you just keep adding things to it until you get it right. And you'd assume that with the amount of soup I consume, I'd be a natural at this chili thing. Turns out, I totally am. My chili is phenomenal. Ever so sliiiiiightly soup-ish, but what else would you expect from me? The PERFECT consistency for the other constant in my life... rice. Today, while enjoying my umpteenth bowl of it, I started thinking about the chili my mom used to make when I was little, and specifically how I could have come to love or even TRY chili after the taste bud scarring trauma that was her "Kids Love It Chili". I'm not joking. That's honestly what my mother called it. "Kids Love It Chili" was the foulest, most unloved chili known to man, or errr... child. Furthermore, it should be noted, that I am an only child. So who the fuck were these "kids"? And how could they "love" it when I could barely STOMACH it?! And then suddenly today, I realized the genius of it.

When my 6 year old asked...
"Mama, what's for dinner?"
and I responded enthusiastically with,
"You know, that chili mommy made yesterday!"
to which she inquired,
"Ugggghhh! Mamaaaaa... Can't we just have reguhluh chili- instead of the one you made?"
Then it occurred to me...
"But it's special Kids Love It Chili!!!"
And this changed everything...
"OHHHH!!! I WANT THAT!"
"Well, okaaay..."

DAYUM!

Tommorrow night? "Kids Love It Squash".