Virginity and Death: Despereaux Rides Again

"When you have a family of eight, there necessarily needs be a system of rules to manage the inevitable chaos. Some of these rules are important. Some aren't."

Remember that? Remember when, a little less than a year ago I posted about Max and I gently poked fun at Husband's declaration that THERE IS NO EATING IN THE CAR?

Yes. I remember that.

"Max lost her virginity a long time ago. Max is my car." Recently Max has been defiled. I'll come back to that.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of meeting LindseyLonglegs, a blogger whom I read with some regularity and who, until very recently (when I sort of went under the radar with post-partum depression and then morning sickness), had a link to this site on her blog. (HINT HINT.) : ) Meeting Lindsey was really fun. Maybe some of you remember that a while back I offered a little prize to the first commentor on my 100th post. Well Lindsey was the lucky "alert reader" who won that distinction and in light of this post, I felt the only possible fitting prize would be one of every kind of cupcake from Flour Girls and Dough Boys because seriously? Can anything else compare? So I procured the cupcakes and drove the long way to meet her. The weather was gorgeous (it's about time!) and as long as you were in the sun it was "not even cold!" as ThePinkiest(5) put it. I was really excited, both to meet her and to present her with those beautiful cupcakes. I wish I had a picture of them but my phone got a VIRUS and I can no longer send pics. Very sad. I was going to steal the pics from Lindsey's blog but she can't find her cords to upload them. Let's just say that the cupcakes are a work of art and that nothing else I can say would do them justice. She was adequately impressed and said they received her highest recommendation yet. That place should really start putting me on their payroll. : ) (Just kidding, Carol! I DO wish you'd put a link to your menu on your blog though. It would make telling people about you SO much easier.)

Apparently, one of the benefits of living out in the country, is that when your kids leave the van door open for five minutes or so, you can have a mouse live in your car. So I get to the meeting place to find Lindsey, go to get the stroller out of the back of Max, and that is when I saw it. A cute, furry little butt scurrying its Hanta-virus-carrying self away from the stroller up to the front of the van- my beautiful, wonderful, just-completely-vacuumed-out-in-March van. THERE WAS A MOUSE. IN. MY. CAR. I did the only natural thing I could do: I screamed, threw the stroller on the ground to make sure the little vermin didn't have any friends, and slammed the car shut. I opened the stoller up (it was safe by the way), debated for a second, put the baby in it, and then opened the front door to see if I could locate the disgusting little creature. Nope. He was long gone. To his deluxe condo (which I pay over 5oo$ a month for) up under the dash. I decided there was not much I could do at that point and my kids were already heading off to see the sights without me so I just locked the car and tried to forget about it temporarily.

Ever try to forget there's something crawly pooping in your very own car? It doesn't really work. So although I enjoyed meeting Lindsey, my pregnancy brain was pretty much fixated on two things and I am sure I was not a sparkling conversationalist. (For example: Lindsey asked me what blogs I read. I couldn't think of any. I didn't even think to tell her about Pioneer Woman. I LOVE that blog. Nope. I had nothin'.) (Thanks for hanging out with me Linds, sorry I was not all there.) The two things I was fixating on were these- 1) Do we have Hanta virus in ThePlaceThatILive and 2) Is there a way to possibly take care of the whole entire mess without Husband actually finding out? The answer to #1 is sadly, yes. I confirmed that with the county health department today. Hopefully we won't all die in two weeks. The answer to #2 is HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! I have children! The rodent fumes must have been interfering with my ability to think clearly because not even pregnancy brain would bring on an idea THAT ludicrous. I figured it would be about .2 seconds after Husband pulled up to the house before the kids had run out to his car and were knocking on his car window to tell him the wonderfully exciting news: THERE IS A MOUSE IN OUR CAR!!!!!!!!! So there was only one thing to do. I had to call him and confess the entire situation to him, admitting my own partial guilt in the situation for disregarding his Rule that THERE IS NO EATING IN THE CAR, thus creating an environment which would entice any half-sane, olfactorily challenged mouse into setting up residence there. Husband is very good and did not even get angry or gloat. I wish I was that good. I'm going to be. Someday.

Remember that post about Max from last year that I mentioned earlier? You may remember that in that same post I also blogged about our tradition of reading aloud. The book we are almost finished reading right now is The Tale of Despereaux. It is the story of a brave little mouse who fights against all odds to save the Princess he loves. It's a pretty ok story. Definitely not my favorite but the kids have really seemed to enjoy it. There are a lot of annoying asides to the reader that say stupid things like, "Now dear reader, you know of course...". The whole "dear reader" thing makes me kind of want to puke. The nice thing about readalouds it that you can leave that part out and then it's not annoying to anyone but the person who actually sees the page. Well anyway, Despereaux is a favorite around here.

Last night as Husband and I were systematically removing all the items from the van with our nitrile gloves on so we could get to the mouse STUFF to spray it down, to clean it up, to take the car to get it steam cleaned/detailed (aren't rodents FUN?), Bubba(7), who by nature is a very sensitive child, realized what was imminent. "Do you have to KILL the mouse?"
Me: Yes, honey.
Bubba(7): Why can't you just let it go?
Husband: Because it would just come back. Or try to live in our garage. Or our house.
Me: The mouse HAS TO DIE. Honey.
Bubba(7) tearing up: But why do you have to kill it?
He cried the rest of the evening and was still in tears as he went to bed, knowing full well that his evil parents were going to send poor little Despereaux to his untimely grave. I really AM that cruel. (Now right off, any mom is going to tell you that my priorities are exactly right on target. Of course "no food in the car" is WAY more important than reading "Charlotte's Web" before watching it- let's just get that straight right now.) And of course killing Despereaux is WAY more important than allowing a child's literary character to maintain residence in the family automobile. I didn't let Charlotte and her disgusting little egg sac live in my doorway and I'm not affording Despereaux any such luxury either. Some kids would tell me I'm wrong. That's why we're the moms. And why there is a mouse trap with a dead mouse in the garbage can right now.

Sweet Potato Queens and Foofs

I love the Sweet Potato Queens. I do. I think Jill Connor Browne is very funny, even though at least half of what she writes is completely inappropriate and not worthy of my time. I am aware of this and I have not read any of her work for several years. Consider her my guilty pleasure- like Superbowl ads, and CNN2 or The Weather Channel are for some other people. In one of her books, Jill talks about how much she loves Deviled Eggs (I know! Eww gross, right?) Anyway, she says she loves to eat them but they are WAY too much of a pain to make "her own self". Her solution to this quandry, is to periodically make the rounds until she can find someone who already has some made up or else will make some for her. It is so lazy and yet, I see the merit of this slacker strategy when I have to, say, change a diaper for the four millionth time in a week or something needs to be ironed. Once upon a time, Little Mommy(9) found this slacker approach particularly satisfying when it came to "Foofs".

"Foof" is the term Little Mommy(9) used (when she was Little Mommy(18m)) for "bubbles". The reference is obvious if you had ever seen her trying to blow bubbles with the little plastic wand from the bottle. She would try over and over again but all she could manage was, "Ffffffff!"- hence, the name. Going "Fffffff!" directed the air from her mouth straight down her chin and almost never resulted in bubbles wafting away on the breeze. She became so frustrated with the whole process that I eventually got out the oscillating fan and showed her how to hold the bubble wand in front of it so that the fan did all the work. The result? A happy 18 month old who requested we play Foofs every single day for nearly three months, and a mom who was not passing out from hyperventilation due to blowing bubbles for 2 straight hours every time, while being pregnant with Bubba(6).

The reason I was reminiscing about Foofs today is that Muhloo(7m) discovered her own version of bubbles this afternoon. She is starting to switch over to baby food and she's pretty excited about it. The trouble is that she also gets bored with the repetitive motions of scoop, open mouth, swallow, repeat. In response to the tedium, today she came up with a way to mix things up a little. She figured out that if she waits to baby-babble right when the spoon is just about to go into her mouth, it blows bubbles in the sweet potatoes and effectively sprays them EVERYWHERE. She wouldn't talk to me when the spoon wasn't at her lips. It was like she was speaking into the microphone. I thought maybe she was not hungry and was therefore more interested in playing with her food than actually eating it. NOT SO. When I tried to gently remove the food items from in front of her, she had a huge fit because she was still hungry, apparently. She just happened to be hungry AND entertaining herself with her lunch at the same time. (Is that a problem?) By the time her interest in eating had dwindled, I had sweet potatoes all over my face, shirt, pants, and hands. Her clothing was remarkably clean, come to think of it. (Maybe I ought to do the rounds and see if someone else in the neighborhood has a hankering for feeding babies?) No, on second thought, I would much rather enjoy this experience "my own self". Getting to be in the stories of The Sweet Bubble Queens and the people who hang around them is so much better than anything Jill Connor Browne has to say. I love being a mom. What more is there?

Photos: "5/19/07 Baby Shower Food" by Nodame; "Untitled" (Bubble Wand) by TeraRoop11; "Deviled Eggs for Easter Dinner" by Tojosan. All photos found on Flickr.com. Incidentally, I had a hard time finding a deviled egg picture that wasn't copyrighted. How weird is that? There were like ten zillion of them but they were all exclusively copyrighted. This is one bizarre cyberworld we live in.

Now I chow my A-B-...Z's?

Mr. Yuke(3) loves to sing the A-B-C song. He sings it often and at the top of his lungs. It goes like this:

"A-B-Z-D-E-F-G,
H-I-J-K-L-N-N-O
PEEE-
2-R-X,
T-U-V,
W, X, Y and Z.
Now I know my A-B-Z's.
Next time won't you sing with me?"

Every time he sings it, I gently correct him that it is A-B-"C", because the song has "Z" at the end. He looks at me like I am stupid and corrects me back that it is

"A-B-Z-D-E-F-G
H-I-J-K-LNNO
PEEEEE-
2-R-X,
T-U-V,
W, X, Y AND Z!!!"

I try to convince him that no, it is "C" (I'm saving the battles of "M", "Q" and "S" for after I win this one). He won't have any of it.


The Pinkiest(5), I fear, is going to be dependent on some substance or the other for the rest of her life. Currently she is hopelessly addicted to anything sweet. She steals them, hides them, and eats them every chance she gets. It is quite sad actually and I am at a loss for how to help her. This is such a problem that any time we go anywhere, she scavenges the parking lot for gum any moment my eyeballs are not directly on her. Then, all of a sudden I see she has gum in her mouth and I know she didn't get it from home because she has had gum in her hair (and the car upholstery, and the baby's hair...) so many times that she is banned from chewing gum at all. So I ask her, "Where did you get the gum?"-

The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Well, that gum didn't just appear in your mouth.
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: What do you mean 'you don't know'? How can you not know?
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Just tell the truth. You get in more trouble for lying.
The Pinkiest(5): The ground.
Me: Was it already chewed up?!!!
The Pinkiest(5): Yeah.
Me: Well SPIT IT OUT!!!!!

This exchange is usually followed by a lengthy conversation about germs and how disgusting it is to pick up ABC gum and that she should never, ever do that, at the end of which she promises never to do it again. Until the next time.

So I'm doing battle with Mr. Yuke(3) over "A-B-C" and the only explanation I can come up with is the one foremost in my mind: ABC gum. This of course will do me absolutely no good whatsoever and I am rendered impotent in both situations.

Score: Kids-2, Mom-0