Mon 8 Feb 2010

Top Five “What the Heck” Google Searches…part 2

Posted by Mindy under Family Life, General/Miscellaneous
[8] Comments

Last week, I posted a few of the strangest (and some slightly disturbing) keywords searched on Google  resulting in random visits to my blog.  It has yet to cease to amaze me that 1) not only are people searching for some pretty off-the-wall results, but 2) somehow the ‘brain’ at Google connects them to me. 

Now, I’ve been known to key in a few weird search words myself, such as, “toddler poop willful attitude,” or “dog sleeping with husband” which have undoubtedly shown up on someone’s Google Analytics account.  But here are a few that landed in my account and left me saying, ‘huh?”

1) Book:Mindy Superhero Fly – Now this one spooks me a little because I’m pretty sure that word of my superheroism has spread and perhaps someone is ‘googling’ me in hopes of extending an invitation to the Justice League. I’m quite certain there is a growing need for my mad skills and lightning speed reflexes.  This just might be my time to shine. 

2) Calvin and Hobbes Hammering Nails into the Table – Huh?  I’m racking my brain here and cannot come up with a single reason someone would be directed to my site with these keywords.  I think Google is messing with me.  Perhaps they’re anti-Justice League and are trying to throw me off my game.   Your little plan won’t work, Google.  Or is that even your real name?

3) Glad I’m Not a Man Feminist- Now, what exactly might a man feminist be?  A man sympathetic to the feminist movement?  A feminist sympathetic to the male movement?  A manly feminist?  A feminist man?  If you’re out there googler, please contact me.  I must know your purpose. 

4) Mozzarella Sticks Bowel Movement – Whoa, doggie.  I’ll have to admit I’ve had a cheese stick or two which succeeded in wreaking havoc on my digestive system.  And lucky me, the gurgly tummy tends to flare up at parties.  Parties not located at my house.  Which leads me to wonder, was this a person frantically looking for some answers?  Had their party-driven snack fest resulted in a little extra-curricular time on the commode and this was a panicked search from the iPhone during their 3rd trip to the bathroom? Imagine their major disappointment when they were directed to this post.  Hope they got out of there okay.

5) Toga Boobs - Again with the boobs.  Now, if I’m to join the Justice League I will have to address this issue.  I want, no, I need to be taken for the serious superhero that I am.  I will not be reduced to a mere sex symbol.  Yes, I have boobs.  And, yes, I have worn a toga.  But I’m so much more than that.  It’s time that people stop focusing on my ladies and start focusing on my gifts.  This had better be the last ‘boob’ search I come across.

So, there you have it.  Another brief glimpse into the minds of those who have visited my blog, albeit for some it was most likely a short stay. (So sorry cheese-lover.) 

Happy Monday,

Mindy

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Fri 5 Feb 2010

Mama Bear

Posted by Mindy under Family Life, General/Miscellaneous
[30] Comments

I had an interesting thing happen today which caused my baser instinct to come roaring through my otherwise gentile personality.  Ahem.  What? 

My daughter, Avery, is in the first grade and attends public school.  Every morning I pick out her clothes because if her daily ensemble were up to her she’d probably wear her ripped jeans and skip the shirt altogether.  That child is one Busch Light away from full-on Redneck.  To Avery, a shirt is strictly something you should only have to wear when in public.  Otherwise, it’s just in the way.  This theory works for you when your chest indents.  However, about two minutes after puberty sets in it’s not such an easy look to pull off.  Realistically, I see full-time shirts in her not-so distant future.

This morning I woke Avery up and set out a jean skirt and a white long sleeve shirt to layer under her red school t-shirt.  Now, my girl does like to, what she considers “dress up”, in a jean skirt.  She struts her stuff around the house, kicking up her heels like a rodeo princess.  This morning was no exception.  She looked very ’schoolgirl’ with her white tennis shoes and bobby socks. 

I sent her off to school without a second thought and began my day of singularly saving Jack’s life a bare minimum of 40 different times.  That kid is some kind of crazy.  His trick du’jour this morning was to launch himself off the coffee table a’la Evil Knievel but without the fancy pantsuit and helmet. 

Right after lunch (a nutritious Nutella and Goldfish cracker sandwich – Jack’s concoction, not mine) I got a phone call.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Mindy?  Hi, it’s *so and so* from the school.  Avery is wearing an adorable little mini skirt at school today and we’re a bit concerned that it’s a little too short.  Might you be able to drop by something new for her to wear?”

What?!?  Okay, I distinctly remember dressing that child and I’m pretty sure she was not wearing a tiny little mini skirt.  In fact, if my memory serves, she was wearing a jean skirt which fell approximately 1 1/2 inches above her knee.

Scandalous!

Folks, some internal force came growling out of me.

So, I respond, “Hmm. That’s interesting.  Her skirt looked perfectly fine this morning.  I’m not sure what changed, but I’ll be right there.”  Click.

Okay, so here’s the part where I prove how mature I am…

“JEREMY!!!” I scream as I go stomping down the hallway toward Avery’s bedroom.

“What?” he yells back.

“The school thinks Avery dresses like a whore.”  Well, that got his attention.

“What are you talking about?” he asks as he charges out of our bedroom.

“They just called and want me to bring Avery something new to wear.  Apparently her skirt is way too short so I need to bring her some pants or something,” I growl as I start tossing things out of her drawers.

“I don’t get it.  Why would you dress her in such a short skirt?”

“Um, I didn’t Jer.  It was absolutely fine.  Obviously, unbeknownst to us, Avery has been transferred from public school to Quaker school.”

“Well, that’s just great,” he adds.

“Uh, yah.”

I drove to the school in a fury and approached the office doors willing myself to settle down a little bit and deal with the situation in a calm and collected manner.  I’m pretty sure my look said it all as I walked through the doors.  The school secretary smiled at me, immediately sensing that I was in no mood to talk and called Avery down from her classroom.  As she walked towards me I recognized, as I already had that morning, that her skirt was absolutely fine.  She could have practically fit in as a member of the Duggar clan with that skirt.  She looked properly innocent and young.  Not a harlot in sight.

We switched out her skirt for a (long) pair of bootcut pants and I sent her off to class, me still bristling a bit and her completely oblivious to there ever having been a problem.  Like it’s absolutely common for a kid to switch outfits halfway through the day.  That’s so Avery.

I learned something about myself today.  I learned that I really don’t appreciate having my judgment questioned.  I learned that sometimes saying nothing speaks volumes.  I learned that when it comes to my kids I have a very low tolerance for nonsense and I learned that Avery’s school has a ridiculously low tolerance for jean skirts.  (I also learned that anger triggers for me an insatiable craving for Otis Spunkmeyer cookies.  Thank you cookie dough fundraisers for accomodating me.) 

But most importantly, I’ve learned that my ‘Mama Bear’ instinct is alive and kicking.  And although, ultimately, today was not that day, when I do choose to unleash the beast she will be ready and willing. 

Keepin’ it real on Friday,

Mindy

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Thu 4 Feb 2010

A Child’s Dreams

Posted by Mindy under Family Life, General/Miscellaneous
[19] Comments

I remember the first time I realized that Avery had started dreaming.  One morning I was standing in the kitchen making breakfast when Avery toddled out from bed, her tiny little 3 year-old body hunched over from an obvious fretful night of sleep. 

“What’s up little lady?” I asked.

“Where’s all my bayoons?”  Avery asked, looking around the kitchen.

“What balloons, sweetie?” I asked.  She looked very serious and slightly troubled.

“I had wots of dem.  Wots and wots.  Dey was all over da place.  Where dey go?”  Avery asked.

Ahh.  She had a dream, apparently having taken place at Chuck E. Cheese given the plethora of latex to which she was referring.  Luckily, Avery has always been easily distracted so I was able to talk her down from her balloon dream with the promise of Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast. (It works for Jer, too.)

Dreams can be so vivid and real.  Which, in the case of flying unicorns, candy-coated rainbows and a room full of balloons is a really good thing.  But applying that realism and vividness to a not-so-fairy tale dream can be a little disappointing and sometimes even disturbing.  

Now, obviously, in my 33 years I have had my share of dreams but there are two that stand out very clearly in my mind.  I once dreamt that I had stuffed a bunch of chewing gum into my coat pockets.  It was so real I could even smell the mingling bouquet of Wrigley.  Imagine my disappointment when I woke up the next morning, with an urgent hankering for Juicy Fruit, only to discover that the only thing filling my coat pockets was one lint-covered Mento and a bunch of ATM receipts.  A real bummer. (I feel compelled to add that I did eat the Mento.  Not one of my better moments.)

The second dream which stands foremost in my mind is one which plagued a very uncomfortable pregnant night’s sleep.  In my dream I was at the hospital in labor, actively attempting to push my baby out.  Everyone was so encouraging.   Jeremy was standing right beside me, holding my hand, whispering positive affirmations in my ear.  I was so happy because the joyous moment I had been working towards was finally coming to fruition.  The nurse informed me that I would probably deliver my baby with the next push and I remember bearing down with all my might.  The doctor reached down, smiling at the sudden appearance of my new little bundle.   She wrapped her in a receiving blanket and set the tiny package into my arms.  Witnessing everyone’s smiling faces around me I looked down to finally see my beautiful baby….kitten. 

I had given birth to a kitten.  A kitten baby.  With a furry head.   A furry little kitten baby head.

And not a single person in that delivery room found this fact the least bit strange.  I was the only one who thought that things had gone a little awry.  And, thankfully, I woke up from that dream with such relief that my big ol’ baby belly was still in tact and not a mewling kitten in sight.

Thank God.  No new mother dreams of cuddling up with her bouncing baby kitten.  Unless you’re a cat. 

Yes, dreams can be extremely vivid. 

But the dreams of a child are a horse of a completely different color.

On our way to the dentist this afternoon the kids and I were talking about dreams.  Jack piped in to inform me of his most recent nighttime woolgathering.

“Mom, I has a dream wast night,” he said.

“Oh, you did?  What was that buddy?” 

“I has a hand dat comes out my tummy and grabs a bunch of fings in my room,” he explains.

Pardon?

“Um, a hand was coming out of your stomach?” I ask.

“Yeah.  And it was grabbing stuff.”  He smiles at me, proud of his bionic appendage.

“I had a dream one time, too,” Avery said.  “And it made me kind of sad,” she said.

“Sometimes dreams can be sad, Ave.  What was it?” I asked.

“I had a dream that daddy got attacked by those little blue guys on T.V.” she answered.

“Little blue guys on TV?  You mean Smurfs?” I said.

“Yeah, those little Smurfs.  Except these were medium-sized ones,” she explained.

“Ahh,” I said. “Avery, I’m pretty sure your daddy could hold his own in a throwdown with a Smurf.  You have nothing to worry about.”

And then Jack has to add, “Hey…I fink my tummy hand could grab dose medium Smurf guys.  I sure wish I had a tummy hand.”

Ah, a child’s dreams.

P.S.  I’m fully aware that it’s a little disturbing my children are dreaming of medium-sized blue mushroom dwellers with a vicious streak and a protruding stomach hand with a mind of its own.  Too much TV?  Perhaps.  Bad parenting?  It’s a possibility.  High on the creep-factor?  You betcha.

Happy Dreaming,

Mindy

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Wed 3 Feb 2010

Recipe of the Week – Pizza Puffs

Posted by Mindy under Food and Recipes, General/Miscellaneous
[20] Comments

Superbowl Sunday is upon us which means many people are gearing up and making their plans for the big day.  There will be parties, there will be loyal fanatics, there will be nachos and there will undoubtedly be…beer.

My family has always gathered together to watch the big game.  The kids run around with total unabandon while the women sit with magazines catching up on gossip and the men…oh, the men.  Well, they tend to ride a fine line between a beer weinie-induced coma and an astonishing attention to every microscopic game detail. 

What I love about the Superbowl is the universally accepted belief that a main dish is unnecessary.  This is one of the few times of the year where the appetizer plays front and center.  No longer is it simply the prelude to a big reveal.  The appetizer rules the day.  And personally, I am a-okay with the change of roles because I am a big believer in eating lots and lots of tiny little food. 

 Today’s recipe fits in fantastically well with the traditional Super Bowl Food Pyramid.  Cheese?  Check.  Processed meat?  Check.  Refined carbs?  Check!

So bake these little babies up and prepare yourself for total appetizer domination.  (Okay, that’s a bit of an overstatement.  But who doesn’t love some refrigerated biscuit dough?)

Pizza Puffs

  • 1 (7.5 oz) package of refrigerated biscuit dough
  • italian seasoning
  • 1-2 cups of shredded mozzarella
  • 1 cup chopped pepperoni slices
  • 1/4 cup melted butter
  • parmesan cheese
  • garlic powder
  • 1 cup pizza sauce, warmed
  1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
  2. Flatten out a biscuit, creating a deep well in the center.  Add a generous pinch of mozzarella and pepperoni, sprinkling with italian seasoning.  Pinch the dough back together and place seam-side down on baking sheet.  Repeat with remaining biscuits.
  3. Brush melted butter over tops of prepared biscuits.  Sprinkle with parmesan cheese and garlic powder.
  4. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until lightly golden brown.
  5. Serve with warmed pizza sauce on the side.

Yes, they are refrigerated biscuits.  Yes, it’s an extremely easy recipe.  Yes, it sports the name “puff”.  

Adopt the simple.  Be proud.  It’s a pizza puff.

Happy Wednesday,

Mindy

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Tue 2 Feb 2010

My dog has issues.

Posted by Mindy under Family Life, General/Miscellaneous, Health and Beauty
[32] Comments

I’ve recently been presented with a new situation that is slightly concerning.  This situation is unchartered territory for me and at this point I’m not entirely sure what steps I should be taking to avoid this complication.

You see…

My dog is scared of my exercise pants.

Due to the extensive rain and colder weather this winter I have been doing the majority of my exercising indoors.  On any given day I could be “shredding” with Jillian, “cheering” with the DC Cheerleaders, “sweatin’” with Richard or “walking away the pounds” with Leslie.  And, since we’ve recently acquired a flat screen plasma television neatly mounted above our fireplace in the front room (yeah…definitely Jer’s doing) I have been gettin’ my workout on in there.  (Because, everyone knows, the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders just don’t look quite attractive enough on a standard screen without high definition.)

Now, normally, Lewis (the dog) is attached to me like a fly to a pile of poop.  Wait.  That would make me the ‘poop’.  Bad analogy.  Um, how about this one.  Lewis is attached to me like candy to a fat kid.  Dangit.  Okay, you get the picture.  He’s attached.  Moving on. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had just talked myself off the couch and Leslie Sansone was in my brain willing me to Walk Away the Cheezits.  I headed toward the bedroom and my good ol’ sturdy exercise pants, my little buddy trailing closely behind me.  

This is when I was faced with the new situation.

As I began pulling up myexercise pants I noticed Lewis looking at me…his furry face riddled with fear. 

“What’s up, buddy?” I asked.

He started backing away from me, slowly.  

I stood there, my winterized legs (in terrible need of a shave) glowing brightly in contrast to my black lycra pants.  I suddenly felt very vulnerable.  Was it the sight of me in these less than attractive pants causing his sudden trepidation?   Were my white legs causing his imminent panic attack?

Watching him back away from me, I pulled my pants all the way on and reached down to quickly shove my feet in my Nikes. 

That did it.

The little puff-ball beat feet and dove under Jer’s desk.  If the dude could drive I’m pretty sure he would have been halfway across the country before I figured out what was happening.

Jer, who I forgot was at his computer and had sat there watching the entire exchange, said,”That was weird.”

“Um, yeah.  What’s his problem?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.  He’s under my legs though and I don’t think he’s moving,” Jer said.

“All I did was put on my…Oh. My. God.  He hates my exercise pants.”  Of course!  Wait…what?

“Mindy, he doesn’t hate your exercise pants.  Why would he?  That makes no sense.”

“Um, I don’t know,Jer.  But as soon as my leg slid into these things the dog freaked out.  Okay?  I need to go work out.  We’ll figure this out later.”  I stomped out, slightly affronted over my dog’s apparent prejudice against athletic apparel.

I started my workout, trying to shake the image of my little dog’s fear-filled eyes, shivering helplessly under my husband’s legs.

About halfway through my sweat-fest I noticed Jer had entered the room, laughing. 

“What, Jer?” I huffed. 

“I figured it out.  I figured out what’s wrong with Lewis!” he answered, between bouts of laughter.

“Okay, what is it?” 

“Every time you take a step on that hardwood it sounds like elephants are partying it up in the living room.   The pounding is resonating through the house.”  Jer was standing there, shaking his head.  Proud of his discovery.

Hmmm.

“Jer.” 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Did you just compare me to an…elephant?” 

“Um…huh?” Jer asked, his voice suddenly modulating like a pre-pubescent boy. 

“An elephant, Jer?  Really?” I asked.

“Bad analogy.”

Yeah.

So, as you can see, I find myself in a new situation.  I apparently will need to approach my dog’s needs with more sensitivity.  At the very least I should be working out with a lighter step so as not to resonate an elephant-like stomp throughout the house.  Thanks a lot for that, Jer.

Mindy

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