like a rolling stone

Our boy's hair has a life all its own. Some days, he's a dead ringer for Napolean Dynamite. Other days, Grandpa Munster. Now, we're pleased to introduce his latest hair twin.

what $2.49 well spent looks like

i bet you wish you could write about this:

Look for this tasty eggy sandwich at a convenience store near you.

chuck-a-duck

There's a game that's sweeping the nation. It's called Chuck-a-Duck or "Cha-Dahhh." Here's how you play:
1. Line up eight rubber ducks and one orange fuzz ball on the side of the bath tub.
2. One by one, chuck each duck into the tub. Don't forget about the fuzz ball.
3. While chucking is in progress, yell "Cha-Dahh" at the top of your little lungs.
4. Repeat steps 1-3 five times.

And that, my friends, is how you play Chuck-a-Duck.

Good night.

"help"

It's been said that sign language can help babies communicate, thereby helping to eliminate frustration. That's one reason to teach your kid sign language. Then there's this one: Who doesn't want to see a baby signing like a little monkey?

We started teaching Elian signs thinking it might be fun. If it helped him communicate, well then, all the better. The only problem is, now that he knows quite a few signs, you just can't pretend you don't see them and ignore his requests. To let him know he's been understood, you sort of have to give him what he wants. Even though he can say the word "milk" well enough for us to understand, it's not uncommon for him to aggressively squeeze an invisible cow udder when he wakes up in the middle of the night until we cave.

Then there's the little "game" he's been playing since Valentine's Day where he takes the mylar heart balloons I bought him and releases them to the ceiling at the landing of the steps where you have to climb the stairs in order to reach them. "Help" he pleads desparately beating his chest with both his palms. This continues until you go up the stairs to fetch said balloon and bring it back down to him. Repeat 10,000 times. Come to think of it, the only time this request for help has been used is when he wants me to fetch something out of his reach (balls, balloons, Target, etc.)

We originally taught him "all done," so he could tell us when he's done eating. Now he uses it in any circumstance when he's had enough of what's going on, as if to say, "BO-RRRRRINNNGGG, let's move on to the next thing. I'm SO all done with this. Remove me from this current setting and show me something more exciting."

Stupid sign language.

my valentine's date with a 91 year-old woman

"Amy, this is Lempi. Do you want me to teach you how to make my banana cream pie tonight?"

"Um, yes."

And so began my Valentine's date with our awesome neighbor, Lempi. She delivered step-by-step instructions as I measured and mixed, hanging on her every word, so that I too, might one day make the world's most perfect banana cream pie.

All the while, I could tell it was killing her not to jump in and do it herself. As I mixed the flakey, delicious homemade pie crust, she said, "Don't give up. Persevere." And having lived through the depression, she saw that I scraped and used every last bit from the bowl. If there was a bootcamp for pie making, I was there. And I was loving every minute of it.

Sure, there were a few setbacks. Like the time when the basket she had set on the gas burners nearly went up in flames (it wasn't the first time, judging by the blackened straw on the side of the basket). And then there was the washing of dishes with water fetched from the bathroom then heated in a tea kettle because "I don't want to hear the faucet leak all night!"

I made four pie crusts under her tutelage. I filled one with the secret banana cream filling she taught me to make. Then I would bring two empty crusts home to freeze and she would keep one. As we said goodbye, she gave me a big hug and in the process stumbled a bit. Two of the crusts went crashing to the floor. She felt so awful. And I never let on that one had broken into about a bazillion pieces.

Yesterday we finished the pie I made in my lesson. And I'm happy to report it tasted just like Lempi's famed banana cream pie we've come to know and love. And I now have the secret recipe. State Fair pie bake-off, here I come.

do crunch berries count as a fruit?

Ed and I were in charge of bringing breakfast one day for the Dells birthday celebration. He had this idea to go with a large selection of sugary sweet cereals that we never buy for ourselves. But according to him, it wouldn't fun unless we went a bit over the top with variety. So this we did. Cookie Crisp. Apple Jacks. Lucky Charms. Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries. King Vitamin. Fruit Loops. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. The list goes on. The only flaw in this plan was that we were the ones who wound up bringing it all home. While the babysitter seemed pleasantly surprised, since then, there have been several nights where we've feasted from this selection for dinner. Oh sweet, heavenly partially hydrogenated goodness. The Lucky Charms were the first to go. Then, tonight for Ed, it was Fruit Loops followed by a bowl of Apple Jacks (he chose to stick with the fruit group). I, on the other hand, went somewhat sensible with Frosted Mini Wheats. But then followed that with a bit of Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries for dessert.

"Hello, Jenny Craig? I need help."

the year of the ball

Our little man has turned one year old. Actually, it happened a few weeks back, but who has time to blog, what with all the booger wiping that has to be done around here?

There was a big birthday blowout at the Wisconsin Dells (thanks, Grandma and Grandpa Schulz). Raisin got to share the celebration with three of his cousins whose birthdays all land within five days of his. The entire Schulz side was there and Grandma and Grandpa Johnson even stopped by for a special guest appearance.

There was some watersliding, wave pooling, present opening and, lest we forget, some throwing of the ball. By the time we got to the cake part, the kid was so tired he could barely lift his head, but once he saw the ball smack-dab in the middle of the cake, there was a miraculous recovery.

I'd write more but it feels like it happened so long ago. Wait. I almost forgot. There was also that part where mama got to take a big ol' 2-person whirlpool by herself. But only after fishing out the Tootsie Roll masquerading as a terd (oh, my funny family).

Happy birthday little man.

calgon take me away

I think of myself as one who is prone to stress. But sometimes I wonder, am I more prone than others, or is it just some bad timing on the part of the stressors?

Take, for example, this sequence of events that happened yesterday:
I'm working on an ad with an art director, who lays out only his ideas -- ideas that are, let's just say, ALL WRONG. The account supervisor calls me in a panic. The ad's due in an hour and where did all these crazy ideas come from that have NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CREATIVE BRIEF??!!! At this very moment, Raisin decides he is going to turn his fuss on. As the account supervisor and I discuss our plan of attack, I give Raisin a bottle. Seconds later, said bottle proceeds to leak out of the top and down his neck to his chest and back. WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!! Cue doorbell: Ding-dong (actually, our doorbell is more of a Brrrrinnng). Dog goes into barking frenzy. Doorbell rings again. Dog runs to front window to rip out the jugular vein of the neighbor on front porch. I hang up.

Curtain closes.

yes, we are twelve

Yesterday Raisin was playing with his shape sorter. Usually, he just plunks the circles in and calls it a day (they're most like balls, you know). But this time, he was doing an amazing job sorting all the shapes as both Ed and I cheered him along. Only, it went something like this:

ME: No buddy, that's too big to fit in there.
ED: That's what she said.

ED: Yeah, just turn it around, it'll go in!
ME: That's what she said.

ME: You've got it! Don't pull it out!
ED: That's what she said.

Turns out, she says a lot of things. Who knew shape sorting could be so dirty?

catch his disease

Raisin and I just had a serious groove session to Ben Lee's "Catch my Disease." You shoulda seen him shake his money maker. But really, how can you not dance to that song? You'd have to be dead inside to not at least wiggle a little.

the car wash theory

You know that theory with a car wash? As soon as you get one, it rains? Well, I have a similar theory with diapers: As soon as you change it, it poops.

table for (number) 2

It's official. Raisin has a pooping place.

I've heard stories how diapered kids sometimes find a regular secret spot to do their business. A few visits back, my niece Izzy ducked behind our wood-burning stove to do hers (luckily, there was no fire). So I wondered if little e would ever have himself a pooping place.

Recent observation concludes the answer is a resounding yes. Seems he prefers the comfort of the north end of the dining table -- not quite under the table, and somewhat hidden behind a chair.

Sorta makes you wonder what goes on inside those little brains that tells them that some things are best done in private.

college fund

Today we went to the bank to cash in our year's worth of collected change. Every time we do this, we each guess how much it will turn out to be. Whoever comes closest without going over wins. We got the teller involved in our game too and as it turns out, he had the closest guess (Little does he know, whoever wins, gets the money. Sucka!). I totally overestimated because I mistakenly thought we purchased our TV with our last change cash-in, but in fact, that was purchased from our cd sales on Amazon. Stupid Amazon. And here I was convinced the teller poured half of it into his own secret piggybank in the back.

So the total came to (drum roll please) something like $256. Hello college fund!

At this rate, by the time he's 18, the boy should have about a week's worth of tuition.

frue

The little man does this thing that cracks me up. Remember true/false tests and how when you didn't know the answer, you'd make an illegible letter that looked sort of like a "t" but sort like an "f" too? Maybe that was just me.

Anyhoo, little e does something like that when you ask him to point something out in a book. If he's unsure, he'll hesitantly point at one thing, then ever-so-slyly slide his finger over the page to point at another thing until you say, "You're right!" as if he never really meant the first thing he pointed at.

Sneaky cheater.

hello, my name is IDIOT

Okay, my glimpse in the bathroom mirror just revealed that I've been sitting here at the coffee shop for the past two hours wearing a "Hello, my name is" sticker on my chest, left over from a client meeting. Dork.

That explains the funny look from the barista.

he gets more like norman every day

a picture is worth 1,000 words

Look at it, would you? It's as if he's possessed by the ball.

It won't be difficult to remember little e's first word. After all, he says it 8,000 times a day. BAWWWWLLLLLLL. Ball this, ball that. Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball, ball. It's often the first thing he says when he wakes up in the morning -- and the last thing he says before he goes to sleep. We've even witnessed him saying it IN HIS SLEEP.

Usually after about the fifth or sixth time he says it, people in our class smile and say, "That's so cute, he must really like balls." I think that's just their polite way of saying, "Your child clearly needs help."

He takes every opportunity to seek and identify all balls and ball-like items -- anything circular in shape for that matter. The other day we went out to lunch at a Mexican sandwich shop, once inside he pointed and exclaimed "Ball." A ball in a Mexican sandwich shop? Highly unlikely! I thought. But there it was, a giant beach ball tucked snugly behind a plant.

And just so I don't forget, here are some of his other first words (none nearly as comprehensible as ball): Star. Dog. Spoon. Lights. Milk. Keys. Blue. Flower. Bird. He used to say "book," but apparently that's been phased out by the ball portion of his brain.

a sight to behold

I often pass the Aveda Institute on my drive home. Inside, Jose Eber wannabes practice hairdo techniques on mannequin heads. Stopped at a light by the school yesterday, I saw well-coiffed young beauticians wandering aimlessly about with their practice heads which, from a distance, looked like victims of decapitation. This made me giggle.

our little secret

Lately, we've been giving Raisin different distraction devices to hold during diaper changes in hopes of avoiding the twist-crawl escape combo.

Today, he took particular interest in papa's toothbrush on the bathroom counter. So, I gave it to him to hang on to while I changed his diaper. It just so happens he was producing some unusually messy and abundant poopies today. The minute I untaped his diaper, down went the hands for his usual boyish "exploration." But this time, there was a thick coating of soft poop smeared all over his target area. And before I knew it, it was covering his hand -- that's when he reached for the toothbrush in his other hand.

Sorry Papa.