Monthly Archives: October 2009

happy meow-o-ween!

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Betcha can’t guess what the Kid is this Halloween?

Yes, a kitty, with a pink bell collar that, with any luck, will get “lost” very soon.

I hope everyone scores some great treats today!

Personally, I’m hoping she’ll get some Reece’s peanut butter cups I can abscond with. What treats are you hoping for?

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family (computer) time

Now that she’s a ripe, old six year old, the Kid is getting more comfortable on computers.

A little too comfortable.

She’s making freaky self-portraits on iphoto.
Photo on 2009-10-29 at 19.03 #2

Plus, since reading and writing has entered her world, she’s begun creating Word documents and emailing (on my account).

The hubs figured this might save us all some grief tonight, so he sent bedtime instructions to the Kid via email, but the Kid, naturally, had her own reply:

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(actual email addresses have been changed to deter other 6 year olds from emailing us)

She did finally go to bed, but we found that laptops don’t really have the persuasion capability that, say, a thick belt with a fat, metal buckle threat of No Books does.

I’m sure it’s only a matter of time nanoseconds before she surpasses us in technological knowledge.

Are your offspring running computer circles around you?

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poultry drive-by, a slice of island life

Ah, our little island community. We share a lot here. We share our unsolicited advice, our left/right wing opinions on ballfield artificial turf and vaccines, our recommendations for The Preschool to attend.

Occasionally, if you’re lucky, we share our overflowing veggie harvests, our babysitter, and our top secret hair dresser, or most importantly, our dog sitter’s name.

But we also share something you wouldn’t expect.

Poultry.

Male poultry, that is, roosters. That is, the noisy, crowing all the time, non-egg-laying mouth to feed and pointy beak to dodge.
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(this is not the culprit; photo courtesy of google images)

I have it straight from a secondhand story that a chicken owner who only had hens in his coop came out one morning, la-la-la, to find a rooster in the coop mixing it up with his feathered ladies.

He was not invited. No, some bird-ditcher came over in the dark of night and kicked him to the curb, or the coop.

And maybe, now that I think about it, it wasn’t even the owner of the bird. Maybe it was a neighbor of the rooster. Who knows.

Dumped, for another neighborhood to suffer the cockadoodledoing. Which, in case you’ve never lived near a rooster, does not happen at dawn. Or I should say, only at dawn. It happens an hour before dawn, perhaps an hour after dawn, then an hour and half later, again two hours later, possibly squeezing in a few happy hour caw-cawings, along with all the extra little cockadoodledooing bonuses sprinkled throughout the day.

So, let no one tell you we don’t share here on Bainbridge.

In fact, I’d be willing to bet someone will be sharing a pot of coq au vin soon.

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halloween treats do the trick, or. . . are the trick?

In keeping with my bake-more-butt-more autumn-arrival, hunker-down philosophy, guess what?

We baked cookies!

Not just any cookies, either, but Halloween cookies!

But, in keeping with my I-don’t-need-no-stinkin-instructions ‘tude, I made a mistake. Again.

You see, I used the same pre-made sugar cookie dough (yes, I am too busy with twitter and facebook domestic upkeep and meaningful attachment parenting to make dough) that I used last Christmas.

One problem last year, the cookies puffed up. And I’m not talking a little more rounded like my butt now that it’s October, I’m talking Stay Puft marshmallow man from Ghostbusters puffed up.
stay-puft-marshmallow-man
Now, I’m a pretty visual person (oy, have you seen the French hunk on Brothers and Sisters?!), so you’d think I’d remember this visual:
candy cane cookies

Nope.

So, we proceeded to roll out and cut tiny moons, pumpkins, bats, ghosts and skulls. After which, I proceeded to place them all super-duper-up-in-their-face-general-admission-Who-concert close on the cookie sheet. (youngsters, you might need to Google that.)

And, guess what? It puffed. Into one giant pan cookie.

Only not the good kind of pan cookie. Remember when they first started making pan cookies and Nestle had it as an alternative recipe on the chocolate chip cookie bag and it was like wow-why-haven’t-we-been-doing-this-all-along? and what-moron-will-ever-go-back-to-scooping-out-a-single-cookie? and we-might-actually-bake-this-dough-after-all!

No, this was just a puff. A lumpy puff, in fact.

Realizing that curling into a fetal position on the kitchen floor about one more thing going wrong might leave the kid eating all the dough that I should show my child how to think quick on her feet, we once again cut out tiny (did I mention they were small?) moons, pumpkins, bats, ghosts and skulls while the big cookie ugly, lumpy puff was still warm.

And, here is our lesson in recovery! Voila!
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I mean, really. What was I worried about? Sprinkles with powdered sugar icing can solve the international influenza pandemic most domestic problems, yes?

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the only proof I have she’s a bird dog

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tough girl, isn’t she?

that’s her Gully, the only bird she gets to hunt.

but the hubs still likes to take her to the hunting store and strut around with the safety orange collar on the pooch.

just don’t mention Gully, ‘K?

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not a hero

I am in SUCH trouble with the Kid.

Why?

Because I am a mean, terrible, selfish, cruel mom who only thinks of new ways to torture and punish her child.

Well, she said something along those lines.

What did I do now? Something so horrible, so awful, so crazy stupid when I look back on it now….

It was the hubs’ birthday, and let me tell you, he is one of the two hardest people in my family to shop for (the other? she reads this blog and knows, ahem, who she is….).

You know those people; you probably have a few in your family. Whatever they are interested in, they buy; they don’t really think about it, even if it’s days before their birthday/Christmas/insert gratuitous gift-giving day.

Which leaves the rest of us to create fake gift certificates on our PC for imaginary spas to buy more scented candles and candied pecans for them (and if you’re not sure how to pronounce that nut, read my rant here).

So, I was tickled with myself *puffs up chest* when I realized the wii we just got (yes, in 2000 and what….?) meant that the hubs, a fellow who has tormented his inner Eric Clapton with rough acoustic guitar practices has been plunking along on the guitar for the past few years might possibly get into this:
guitar_hero_package

What’s the problem, you ask? That’s so nice of me, you say?! Such a lovely, thoughtful gift, you say?!

Yeah, that’s not what the Kid said. She said this:

Mommy, how could you? Why did you get that game for Daddy when you knew I would want to play it and I would be baaaaaaad at it?! Why, Mommy, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!

Next year, it’s back to the fake gift certificate.

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does this scone make my butt look big?

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or this cornbread muffin?
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or how about these banana nut muffins?
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I don’t know why I usually put on weight in the winter….

It’s like the oven is my only heating source. Baked goods are my weakness, so warm, so fluffy, so sweet.

Tell me you are diving into comfort foods, too? Do tell!

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