some items for your consideration, part does anybody even keep track anymore?

1. You know when short people pretend they're not sick? Well, maybe they're not really faking, more like they're not entirely convinced they're sick? Elliott is trying his hand at that, poor lad. But on the plus side, he's a really great cuddler.

2. Elliott is also fascinated with eyebrows now, too, which means he's a fabulous Eye Poker-Outer. Big fun.

3. This week is my least favorite week of the year. And no, not because of Halloween, although I will admit that I am not a fan. The Mister always has a week-long gig, on top of working a normal full-time gig, so he is gone like the wind. I like to think of it as Single-parenting Appreciation Week, because I have a renewed perspective by, say, Monday evening, of how good I have it. All of you who take care of your babies and your homes and your jobs and never get a break? I have so much respect for what you do. And I get that you just have to do your life because it's your life, but it doesn't make what you do any less spectacular because you have to do it.

4. Speaking of Halloween, I am praying that it snows so that I do not have to take the short people Begging Door To Door For Candy They Will Not Eat Because I Got To It First.

5. I don't think there is such a thing as Too Much Rice. This is because I love me some rice. I would claim to be the Bubba Gump of Rice if I were into hyperbole, but my friend Rebecca already claimed that title and would probably tell you an embarrassing story about how I stood in her kitchen, eating a container of her adobo mayonnaise, one fingerful at a time, while making weird noises and faces. OH WAIT. (There's a freebie for you, Beccy.)

6. One of the short people has arrived at the stage where he or she finds it necessary to point out every detail of an experience and label it according to its value, which is a completely arbitrary measure. This is extremely irritating, and also, I have no idea where said short person acquired said skill. AHEM.

7. I would like to tell you about how I am feeling as if I have finally gotten the hang of homeschooling for the first time, but I wouldn't want to jinx it, so draw your own conclusions but do it quietly and not on my blog.  Please.

8.  I finished a superty adorable cardigan on Saturday, the first of a pretty large custom order, and it has cables and bobbles on it, which makes me feel kind of like Big Shot Knitter Pants.  Now I'm halfway through a bright yellow pullover for Henry.  Dude loves him some yellow.  I'll probably finish it this week.  He's all antsy.

9.  What are you up to these days?  I'm all out of the loop and stuff.  

some items for your consideration: tenth-ish edition

1. The Brain Pain Situation: I had no migraines for 22 days. And then I have had one 3 of the last four days. I'm choosing to be happy and grateful for the 22 pain-free days.  Coincidentally, my body pain is way up these past few days, too.  Trying to figure that out. Meh.
2. The Chicken Situation:  I have caused no chicken deaths in the past 15 days.  Neither purposefully nor inadvertently. Yay, me.
3. The Cat Situation:  I find myself really hating our cats.  I really cannot get rid of our cats.  Advice, please.
4. The Wendy's Gift Card Situation:  I am surprised that so few of you have left a comment HERE. Do you not have a Wendy's near you?  Do you not know about the Double Stack?  You could totally purchase 25 Double Stacks if you lived near me and won the gift card.  I could eat 25 Double Stacks, that's for sure.
5. The Beach Situation:  The short people have been asking about going to the beach for, well, since around Christmas.  It opens June 18th.  You'd think I told them it was not ever going to reopen.  They have all torn their clothes and adorned themselves with ashes.
6. The Disgusting Expression of Displeasure:  Henry has decided to expel air through his nose with extreme force whenever we tell him something he does not like.  And sometimes, for extra beauty, boogers come out.  Kids are awesome.
7. The Sad Boy Situation:  Elliott has decided that one minute without me is entirely too much for him.  I have decided that this is entirely too much for me.   
8. The "Borrowed" Baby Situation:  I have a new friend (well, new to YOU), and she has a tiny baby (well, new-tiny, not tiny-tiny) and yesterday Tiny Baby A was not being kind to the mama, so I taught New Friend about the beauty of the stretchy wrap, and now Tiny Baby A is being kind to the mama.  BUT!!!  New Friend was super stressed by the days of incessant screaming, so I put Tiny Baby A in my stretchy wrap and took her home with me.  When we arrived home (we walked, for the record, just to be clear), I sat down for a minute.  Henry marched up to me, put his hands on his hips, and scolded, WHO SAID YOU COULD TAKE THAT BABY HOME? YOU DON'T TAKE PEOPLE'S BABIES!!! It was kind of awesome.  And yes, I did give Tiny Baby A back.
9. The Sun Situation:  We have some. I like it.

So what's up with you?  Talk to me.

listen up, people.

Backstory:

I read Steph's blog and from there started reading Love's blog.  Love and her mister adopted their son from Uganda, and are in the process of adopting two more sons.  On her last trip to Uganda, Love spent some time at a children's prison.  Yes, prison.  Where these little people are incarcerated for LIFE.  You can read more about the horrible conditions here.

Sixty Feet is a not-for-profit organization that works to better the lives of these imprisoned children.  They provide medical treatment, food, clean water,  and other things that we take for granted.

So.

WE'RE HAVING A CUPCAKE SALE, PEOPLE! 

Saturday, April 16, is the National Cupcake Sale to raise money for Sixty Feet.  The Dayton Time crew is the only cupcake sale in the state of New York, and we want to make a big impression.  

I need your help.  I need to make you cupcakes, and I need you to open up your wallets, bust out your credit cards, log in to your paypal accounts, or shake down your sofas. 

Here's how it works:   You donate to Sixty Feet, and I send you a dozen cupcakes.  Simple, no?  We're making chocolate, yellow, carrot, spice and red velvet cupcakes.  Frosting choices are chocolate, buttercream, or cream cheese.  I have a team of people ready to bake and frost and sprinkle and package, so make us work!

Now.  If you donate to Sixty Feet and don't actually want any cupcakes, I will donate $5 to Sixty Feet for every dozen cupcakes I don't have to make and ship.  Everybody still wins. 

Orders? Questions?  Comment away, or email me at thedaytontime at gmaildotcom.

For more information, visit:

Sixty Feet on the effbooks

Cupcake Kids on the effbooks

some items for your consideration: the long-overdue edition

I realize it has been approximately ninety-eleven daysmonthsyearswhatever since I've been posting.  Sorry about that.  February was awful, and March was bad, and I had nothing clever to say.  It was just dark and icky, and I had nothing to say.  So I didn't waste your time.

However, here's a little catching up.

1. There have been MANY trips to various doctors in the past 8 weeks.  So far, I have fibromyalgia (which I already knew) and at least 15 ulcers because I'm a complete overachiever, and there are approximately four children in my house with varying degrees of constipation.  None of these facts are particularly awesome.  
2. Also not particularly awesome: my migraine meds are a no-no now that I have ulcers, as is spicy food, tomatoes, anything with fat in it, and coffee.  
3. Elliott Samuel, my most darling of darling babies, turned 2 this week.  We celebrated by going to a total of 4 doctor appointments, blowing our noses, doing nebulizer treatments, taking tylenol and going to bed early.  
4. Elliott Samuel, my most unsleeping of darling babes, who just turned 2 this week, also just began the beautiful practice of SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT.  Mostly.  Which means I've had to get up one time on two non-consecutive nights in the past 8 days.  
5. Last week was really sucky, but I got a little something in the mail from her, and a totally awesome dessert from her, and sat for an afternoon with her, and this guy cleaned my car, and my mother-in-law cared for the short people for about 20 hours because she's nice.  And, as if that is not enough, there were more lovely things that happened, like phone calls from people who noticed I've not been myself, and my MOPS mamas showing up on my doorstep with dinner.  I feel like I am forgetting something, but believe me, it's not from lack of gratitude, it's from the migraine I've not been able to shake for a day and a half.  I'm blessed.
6. Henry loves chickens.  I may have mentioned this before.  IN LOVE.  I ordered our meat birds and a few more layers because our laying hens are not actually LAYING EGGS and I think they should visit the pot but it doesn't actually seem to matter what I think because NOBODY WILL KILL THEM.  So I will just purchase more and more hens until someone is forced to take drastic measures.  I digress.  Henry caught me perusing the online catalog of chickenry and squee-ed and shouted LOOK AT THE NAKED NECKS!!!! LOOK AT THE NAKED NECKS!!!  And so I did and he swooned and now we own a naked neck hen.  The end.
7. More Henry.  Kid crawled up in my lap yesterday, wrapped his arms around my neck and said, Mama, I love you more than Elliott does.  I think you should know this.  
8. Homeschooling.  We are doing that thing, still.  The latest in a long line of objections and attempts to not do school is this:  But I can't find a pencil.  And yes, with extra whine and a side of whiney sauce.  It's really difficult to find a pencil in my house, I assure you.  Extraspecially challenging considering there is an enormous box with the word PENCILS written on it in extra-wide Sharpie, and that said box is filled to the brim with at least 200 brand new pencils.  
9. Just now noticing that I haven't mentioned the Wee Man yet... He has mastered drama, congrats to him.  Also, he would like me to do a criteria-unspecified Lego contest on my blog, and he would like to play old-school Super Mario Brothers on the Wii all day long.  Finally, he can beat the Sudoku game on my phone in under 5 minutes.  We're working on that.  Except the Sudoku.  I can't have my 5 year old beating me at Sudoku.
10. And The Mister.  The Mister ________________(verb) a ______________ (adjective) ___________________(noun) sometime before ____________________ (event) and we are not __________________________ (verb) very __________________________(adverb).
11. The Mister also introduced the phrase "Polish bubblebath" into the short people's vernacular this week.

That's the news.  And please, for the love of teh interwebs.  Tell me what's up with you.  I'm not up on your stories and goings-on, and I want to make sure you're all still here.

i got an afternoon off and then my car died. it was awesome.

Right.  So I got time off for good behaviour, or to ensure future good behaviour, or because I'm going bat-shit crazy being in my house for the last month with those charming people who sprang from my loins.

That was a terrible sentence.  You have my most sincere apologies.

I got some coffee, and went to the yarn shop, and visited an amazing art gallery that consigns all kinds of amazing handmade things... and the art gallery is interested in some of my sewing and knitting, which is very cool and very odd all at the same time.

On the way home, I noticed that the gas pedal didn't seem to be playing nice with the engine, which made me remember that the gas gauge had been fluctuating like crazy the entire day, and oh yes, by the way, the service engine idiot light was blaring.  So naturally the minicoopervan conked out whilst driving uphill where there was no actual place to pull off.

But fortunately, God really wanted me to enjoy my day, so He pushed the car about a quarter mile up the hill after it stalled and then further on down the road to a place where I could pull far away from the road and not die.  True story.

We had the stupid vehicle towed to the local repair shop, who told me that my fuel pump had died and it would be in the neighborhood of $600 to get it fixed... half for parts and half for three hours of labour.  So I called my girl Heather's husband, Nate the Hot Mechanic, and asked him what he thought about that, because he has been taking care of the vehicle for a while.

Nate said that there was no way it takes three hours to change a fuel pump in my van, and also that it is his experience as a Chevrolet mechanic that fuel pumps in Venture vans just do not ever get replaced.  He told me about this little thing that is a part of the fuel system that sometimes does need to be replaced, and suggested I ask the garage if they had checked that.

Now, I had already told the garage people that the gas gauge had been bonkers all day, and that I suspected the thing was out of gas.  OH NO!!!! they protested vigorously, and told me there was no way on earth my car was out of gas and that the little thingy was not a problem and that it was most assuredly the fuel pump and also pay.up.sucka.

Nate the Hot Mechanic had given me his price for fixing the fuel pump, if in fact it was the fuel pump, and his price was over $200 better than the garage.  So I told the garage they could suck it that we'd come pick up the van and tow it to Nate's garage.  They offered to come down on the price of the labour, but I was not having any of that tomfoolery.

Nate pulled the little thingy from out of the fuel system, and sure enough, the little thingy had MAJOR bad stuff happening to it.  There are technical terms for the situation, but major bad stuff will have to do for now.  And also?  Not a drop of gas in the tank.

So for CONSIDERABLY LESS than the thieving or incompetent, or incompetently thieving people at the Automotive Center on Market Street in Attica suggested, Nate the Hot Mechanic fixed my car.  And he SHOWED THEM.  

The Mister says I shouldn't call them and tell them off, but I still kind of want to.

Also, they were snippy and rude, and it was a good thing I had put my big girl pants on.

I bought Nate a bag of peanut butter cups because he's totally a peanut butter cup junkie, and because he's awesome.  And my girl Heather knows that he is Nate the Hot Mechanic, and she knows that we all know he's Nate the Hot Mechanic, and she is okay with it.  In fact, she's more than okay with it.  She likes it a lot.  And so does Nate.

Me?  I just like that I have good friends who can keep me away from people who are incompetent and out to screw us.  Anybody else have that kind of awesomesauce in their lives?  

some items for your consideration, fourth edition

Item the First:  Thank you, so very much, for all the kind words you gave me this week.  Things do tend to look differently after bourbon, or in the morning, or in the morning after bourbon, which in this case is an air-quotes "in the morning" because it pretty much took until today for things to look upward enough to be convincing.

I think it's important to say so when things are not good, just as it's important to say so when things are good.  More than one IRL person told me this week they were totally surprised that I ever felt overwhelmed and inadequate.  Y'all.  Really.  I'm just a mama over here.  I might be a little more quirky than the mama over there and a little more straight-laced than the mama in the other direction, but we're all just mamas, right?  

And when you said, You're not alone, or I get this, or I know how this feels, you weren't just saying it to me.  You said it to other hurting mamas who needed to hear it just as badly as I.  

So thank you.

Item the Second:  In addition to having a bad case of The Whatever That Was Last Weekend, I found myself having a case of the _____________ which led me to schedule an appointment with my midwife, who also performs regular vaginal maintenance procedures.  (And no, the correct answer to the fill-in-the-blank is not BABY IN MAH BELLAH, so pipe down over there.)  I just really don't think that you need a clear description of All Things Southerly, so I'm just going to be a little vague, and you're going to be happy about it.

This was not my yearly exam, because, well, I didn't actually have a yearly exam in 2009, because I was doing something else that did not involve duck-billed anythings in my places.   Except it turns out that when you plan to attend the gyno only when you have a case of the ______________, she will take advantage of you when you are scantily clad and in a relatively immobile position to swish as many swab-ish things as she can in order to secretly conduct your yearly exam.  Big trickster.

But then?  Good news, people!  She upped my meds.  For those of you who don't know, I flat out lost my shit when I was six months pregnant with Elliott, and started taking a low-dose SSRI.  Turns out that flat out losing your shit when you're pregnant is an actual, serious medical condition called antenatal depression.  Time magazine wrote a really great piece about it last February.

But then?  Bad news, people!  She told me I'm fat.  No, she didn't say the Eff word exactly (or the other eff word), but she said something about 20, no 25 pounds and so really speedy quick I stuck my fingers in my ears and sang the Smurfs theme song.  Classy, I know.  I can't even help it!

Item the Third:  Christmas was nice.  Hope you had a lovely Christmas, too, if you're a Christmas-er, or that last Saturday was a nice, plain old boring day if you're not a Christmas-er.  And thank you to my internetty pals who sent us cards.  The short people would open them and say Who are *those* people? and we'd say Blog people, and eventually the short people would open a card, have a look, and say something ridiculous about Pretend People From The Computer.  Except for WRH's card... they jumped up and down and shouted about The Well-Read Son and The Well-Read Daughter and demanded to return to Philadeedelphia at once.  Heh.  Not with that attitude, missy.  And mistery.  Mystery... Oh never mind.

Item the Fourth:  It is bloody cold in my house.  This whole BEING CHEAP thing is not for me.  Thank GOD for my boyfriend, Colin Firth.  I pop that fella in the microwave for three minutes, and he warms me down to the tips of my toes.  Sometimes he warms only my toes, if I make him sit on my feet.  And you know what?  He's okay with that.  And he always cuddles and never asks for anything more, no matter how hot he gets.  You should totally get your own Colin Firth.  (Spoiler alert:  shameless plug.)

Item the Fifth:  Laptop or iPod Touch.  Discuss.

Item the Sixth and Final:  Plans for New Years' Eve are as follows:  Feed the children dinner.  Make some popcorn in our new Whirly-Pop thingy.  Pop a movie in the DVD player and cuddle in bed with the short people whilst The Mister mixes some random bar band and earns a pocket o'cash.  Bed by nine.  I know.  We're terribly exciting.

some items for your consideration

1. Elliott has learned the fine art of screaming MINE!!!!
2. My church got itself a new pastor and due to a very long story that has no bearing on this story, which resulted in the sending of a few emails back and forth between New Pastor and Moi, New Pastor spent some time here.  And told me it was "interesting reading".  I would rather get to know someone in real life through, you know, ACTUAL REAL LIFE, than to have my first impression be the dayton time.  And not because I'm somebody entirely different here, but there's a line between The Actual Pamela Dayton Time and the dayton time.  Hello, awkward.
3. Remember my What the Fark, Amazon? post???  (Please be advised I used my Bad Words, and lots of them... people were giving that disclaimer on the effbooks about that post... gulpish.) Anyway.  Dude got arrested.  Hooray, Florida Law Enforcement!!! 
4. My official assessment of the current homeschooling situation in my house:  DISMAL.
5. My official assessment of the homeschooling situation in my house come January:  BETTERISH.  At least it had better be betterish.
6. I played Hair Roulette with my gal pal who cuts my hair.  I said Cut! Color!  And she went to town on my head.  Pictures later, after I've showered, and applied makeup to the black rings under my eyes.  Because right now I look a little bit like this:
   
   
   
7. Wee Man has learned the fine art of Pushing People's Buttons.  I have learned the fine art of NOT BEATING HIM.
8. I mailed out Christmas Cards.  Not because I'm especially awesome, but because mailing Christmas Cards is the only item on my very long bucket list that I have accomplished this month.  Granted, I've only been cultivating the bucket list for about three weeks now, but still.  I'm one step closer to being able to sleep through the night without having a single, solitary reason to wake up.
9. And yes, that was a little morbid.  But I am at the point in my life as a procreating person where I honestly believe I will be dead before I sleep more than three consecutive hours.
10. Almost all of our gifts this Christmas are handmade by me, or us, or by someone else. Except the Legos for Wee Man, and the Stocking Snacks.  I am really happy about that.  And while it *totally* makes me look like someone who PLANS THINGS to say I started knitting for Christmas in MARCH, please know it was not on purpose and I just happened to be (illicitly) shopping for yarn and the first Yarn Purchase Justification I could muster was BUT I'M KNITTING IT UP FOR YOUR MOM. FOR *CHRISTMAS*.  And I'm pretty sure he knew I was grabbing at straws or strings or whatever you kids are grabbing these days, but it's knitted up.  For his mom.  So there.

she made me cry.

Favorite Babysitter Beth got married today.  Pardon me for just a moment while I start crying.  Again.

the photographer made her do it.

I'm sorry, did I just blow snot on your screen?  That was an accident.

it's not the best picture.
it's not even good.
but they were all sitting still at the same time.
so points are awarded.

Miss O was the flower girl (seems her advertisement paid off), and Wee Man, HB and Sweets were the ring bearers.  Sweets actually slept through the first part of the ceremony, but there was never a more adorable tux-wearing baby sleeping in a coordinating stroller.  Also, he doesn't actually walk, so he didn't actually bear anything, I guess it was more of an Honorary Ring Bearer position.  

yummy babeh.

I know I'm biased, because after all, she is Favorite Babysitter Beth and all, but people, I have not ever ever ever ever ever seen a more lovely bride.  Pardon me again, my eyes have gotten all misty-wet and I can't really see what I'm typing.  

It wasn't the dress (which was amazing, and looked like it was made for the sole purpose of being worn by her), or the hair, or the orchid in the hair, or the pearls or the anything else that could make the list... Maybe it was all of it.  I don't know.

the romance of the hair. sigh.

But in my head, I have a picture of her, taken almost ten years ago (ten! years!), where she is with two of her good friends, Favorite Babysitter Jackie and Danielle, maid of honor and bridesmaid, respectively.  They are laying on their bellies on a bed in the hotel where we had our wedding reception, grinning up at the camera.  And they are young.  High school freshmen, maybe?  That sort of math is impossible for me.  And for the record, we were providing childcare to the guests at our wedding.  We don't just get hotel rooms for teenagers.

favorite babysitter maid of honor

The year after our wedding, she started babysitting for us.  She has been holding our babies for as long as we have.  We listened to the stories and troubles and drama of high school, we tried to be good givers of advice, and tried even harder to bite our tongues.  We have been loving her longer than we've been loving our own babies.  That's not me saying we think of her as our older kid, because we don't... the Favorite Babysitters are like the younger sisters we never had.

And now she is halfway through graduate school and she is married, with a husband!  It is so good.   It's so good that my throat is hurting and tears are on my cheeks and I'm sniffing and biting my lip so that I can think, because it is SO. HARD. TO THINK. when I'm overwhelmed by the beautiful, and good Lord, people, the way their eyes speak to each other and the gentleness of his hands on her face when he kisses her.  

love.

yeah. last week. about that. also, this is a long post, but highly entertaining if you're one of those monkeys that works for an organ grinder. or if you're me.

You may have heard that my town had a great big partay this past weekend.  (What? I totally blogged about it... even made it a contest... with a superfab prize... That's right, you'll go and check it out. I know you want the taffy.)

But that was just the weekend.  There was *SO* much more.

I was sick.  (insert sad viola music here, because a violin is never as sad as a viola)  Two weeks ago, my people had The Strep. SuperGrossDisgustingVile Strep.  The doctor looked at my throat and said something about it looking like I was getting the strep, too, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant a prescription, since I probably wouldn't fill it anyway, and I should just call her when I feel like death and have come down off my high prescription-free horse and want the drugs.  Paraphrasing there, people.  But I would totally go to a sassy-pants doctor like that.  It would be awesome.

So I finally got The Strep.  And I'm pretty sure I had a sinus infection, and I couldn't breathe, and I wanted to sleep all the time, and I was an UTTER FREAKING JOY TO BE AROUND.  Just ask my short people.  Also, my allergies.  And the 100 degree temperatures, which are NOT NATURAL, people, I swear... this sort of heat never happened before we all sprayed the crap out of our hair with that Aqua Net stuff in the 80's.  And by "WE" I mean all of you, because I was not allowed to use hairspray in the 1980's.

One day, I took a Ben.adryl and it was only by the grace of God that all of my children survived that day.  Because I am a lightweight, that's why.  On Tuesday, I was too tired to drive across the county to pick up the milk from our cow (I can elaborate on that another time if you so desire), so The Mister packed up the short people, who started doing BAD THINGS IN THE CAR almost immediately.  And instead of laying my sick self down and taking a nap, I did two loads of laundry, hung it up on the clothesline, weeded my vineyard, and tied up all of the grapevines that were laying on the lawn.  Because I'm clever, that's why.  On Wednesday, I took the short people to the children's play museum because in the afternoon, it's totally dead, and I can just sit in the baby area with Sweets and the bigger short people can play and leave me alone.  Except on this day, the Reptile Man was there, and the place was swamped.  Also there was a fire drill.  Fail.  Something happened on Thursday, but I may have been asleep.  And The Mister, bless his heart (and I say that as a Northerner, not a Southerner, so I actually mean it) worked all day Friday at his normal job, all Friday night at his other job, all day Saturday at his normal job (weekend edition), all Saturday night at his other job, and all day Sunday at his normal job (weekend edition).  He has today off.

Thank God, because we all need a break from all of that.

Also, on Friday and Saturday, I had a GINORMOUS baking order to fill (sorry, Gumbo... ran out of whole wheat).  The final tally:  12 loaves of regular bread, two loaves each rosemary bread and cinnamon raisin bread, and approximately 80 cinnamon rolls.

There is good news.  Despite eating my weight in Nacho Cheese Doritos this week, I have lost a ton of weight, and when we were at Family Swim Wednesday night, the bottom half of my bathing suit KEPT FALLING OFF.  Maybe that's not such good news.  And no, I don't have any pictures.  And no, I cannot apologize to you for not having any pictures, because I am not sorry for that and neither are you, if you are truly honest with yourself.

This week is shaping up to be much different.   Today, I put laundry away.  And yes, that will take all. dang. day.  Tuesday, I will deal with 75 pounds of cherries.  That means jam, pie filling, cherries in a jar with sugar and booze... Wednesday?  Well, that's a WHOLE 'NOTHER POST.  But it is shaping up to be completely awesome, so you'll just have to come back tomorrow and I'll tell you about it.  Thursday, something is happening but I can't remember what it is... seems to be the way Thursdays go around here.  On Friday we are meeting my college friend and here team for dinner.  I haven't seen her since, like, last year when I graduated college, because I'm totally not old enough to have graduated when I may have graduated.  Or actually graduated.  And on Saturday, Jenny Minnesota of Coconut Belly Fame is bring her WHOLE!!! ENTIRE!!!! TEAM!!!! to my house.  Unless you live by Jenny Minnesota of Coconut Belly Fame, and then she will totally be home all weekend so don't even think about it, you thieving bastard.

What? You want to bring your team to play with my team?  WHY DIDN"T YOU JUST SAY SO!!! We'd love to have you, unless you firmly believe in personal hygiene and that children should always wear undertrousers.  Because then we might have a teensy problem.

stalker thursday, irony edition

I have it on good authority that this person stalks me regularly.***

***Not in the creepy, illegal, stalkerish way.  

Just wanted to clarify.

more of the whole not posting thing.

I'm really to busy this week to be posting, but since I have received some requests for misadventures of the Dayton family, I will oblige.

We drove to Philadelphia. Or, if you're HB, Philadeedelphia. Kind of like Scarlett O'Hara and her Fiddle de dee, that's where we are.

To get here? Drove down I-81. That is a mistake. If you plan to drive in the SOUTHERLY direction on I-81 from the NORTHERNLY part of Pennsylvania (let's talk about spelling... how did Pennsylvania ever happen?) you should really reconsider. I will sum up the experience this way: Traffic was stopped so often and for so long, I taught my children how to do Chinese Fire Drills. And they all are in car seats. Also, Miss O drove for six miles.

Just kidding.

Or am I?

No, really, I'm kidding.

Honest.

Anyway, we have been hanging with the Well-Read Family. Everyone's in love. Miss O and the Well-Read Son are now betrothed. They were walking around Philadeedelphia holding hands and it's just wicked cute.

In other Philadeedelphia-related news, I was not surprised to learn that it costs $2 to visit Ben Franklin's grave. Also, not surprisingly WHATSOEVER, I learned that shooting in broad daylight with the aperture WIDE FREAKING OPEN is a mistake. I'm talking about shooting with a camera, too, for the record. And OF COURSE I learned this lesson after we had gotten back on the train to return to the Well-Read Household, and I saw that all of my pictures of Ben Franklin's grave were so overexposed that I could barely tell what they were. I took them to show to The Mister, because he likes Ben Franklin. Sorry.

I brought bread and pickles and jams to the Well-Reads, and for the other bloggers who came to partay on Sunday. I gave some to HER and HER and HER and HER. But? No bread for Bossy. She didn't come to the party. The Mister was disappointed I didn't get to meet Bossy.

And as disappointing as it is to be ignored by Bossy, even worse?

Please sit down. Really.

We lost Beloved Blanket. Wee Man's Beloved Belovey is gone. There is no sign of that thing. We're still in shock.

Condolences can be emailed to: thedaytontime (at) gmail (dot) com, Dear Wee Man in the subject line.

Thanks for your support.

week in review

nurse the baby...82% of the time
wear something other than pajamas...2% of the time
eat proper meals...4% of the time
have inane phone conversations...2% of the time
twittering my life away to win the Sling and Swaddle Journey...10% of the time

wait... where does sleep fit in my schedule?

oh. i see. so *that's* the problem.

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if you people would just please follow me on Twitter, my game id is @Mom_17, maybe i could take a nap or something. i'm not winning. i want to win. and remember, if i win, i will donate all the prizes to Teen MOPS (except the camera, which i will give to mah mama).

i'm seriously considering sending bread to anyone who does a blog post about the contest and sends their readers my way. and you can ask irish gumbo or joce or manda or julia or steph or jill or the mister about how freaking yummy good the bread is. and in a few days, my friend k from down in philly, yo, will know about how freaking yummy good the bread is. because i'm bringing it. because she told me to.

see. *i* follow directions.

will you follow directions, AND ME ON TWITTER????? @Mom_17.

be there or i will lose and cry forever and blame you.

i only get hurt on tuesdays

today started out pretty normally.

but before i get into it, i apologize for the completely inappropriate lack of capital letters and punctuation other than periods.  the left shift key on my keyboard isn't working and i don't know how to use the one on the right.  so there.

the baby slept well, hb slept well, wee man and miss o slept well, the mister slept well.  i slept on the edge of the bed, carefully poised to neither fall off the bed into the co-sleeper nor roll to my right on to hb.  who has claimed my bed for his own.  meh.

miss o got on the bus, no muss, no fuss.

i got a little work done, and even showered.  because my scalp had this itch thing going on and it was fifteen kinds of wrong and nasty.  possibly sixteen kinds, but i was so grossed out i stopped counting.  or ninety kinds.  so. ick.

we went to the playground, i had some adult conversation... no, not adult-themed conversation, just a conversation with another adult.  wee man can do the monkey bars pretty much by himself.  and hb can jump off things onto my head.  it's awesome.  and elliott... well, he can sleep in the hotslings like a champion.

we went to the grocery store and i bought reese's pb cups and skittles in the bulk bags.  for myself.  the children are under the impression that i am going to share but that belief just adds them to the growing numbers of misguided youth in america.

we stopped to see the mister at work.  that was nice.  he told me i was the hot wife.  i was having good hair today.  because i washed it.  that always helps.  and also it was about 80 percent humidity, so my hair was about 80 percent curly.  yes, the correlation is that spot on.

we got home.  whilst i took elliott in the house, i heard the garbage truck.  a certain person cough-mister-dayton-cough did not pull the waste management container out to the street.  of course, i'm just calling it a waste management container because it manages our waste, not because it's necessarily the company who fetches our waste. cough-yes-it-cough-is-cough. i ran up the stairs in the house to fetch the stinky bag of overnight pee slings, ran down the stairs and out the front door.  i ran down the sidewalk.

except i didn't run down the sidewalk.

my left ankle bitch-slapped me by rolling in a certain direction that is unnatural, and i flew, headfirst, down the sidewalk.  oh yes, yes i did.

and the garbage man saw me.

and so did the two guys putting siding on our neighbor's house.

and so did my kids.

it was awesome except for the part where, you know, i couldn't stand up, and my head was resting on a bag full of stinky vile diapers, and the only pair of jeans that really fits me had a two holes in the knee and were covered in blood, and also the huge gross open wounds on my right knee.

go ahead and thank me for not posting a picture.  because those suckers are oozing the yuck.

i'm walking around a little because i don't know how to sit down, and also i'm in this twittering contest and i'm in the lead right now with the number of followers and i think that's cool and the mac laptop in our possession is crap and i can't tweet from the sofa.  

what... you didn't know i was in a twitter contest sponsored by hotslings and miracle blanket... well hop your little self on to twitter and sign in or sign up and follow me, i'm @Mom_17 .

i like winning things.  and there's good things to win in this game.  so go follow me, please, pretty please.

also i'm walking around because i told a friend i'd make a bunch of bread for her this week and i don't know how to back out of things.  also i can't really back out of the bread making because it was half made when my ankle hated on me.

it feels like it's on fire right now. 

at least i'll be cozy warm in bed tonight.

fluff friday

Do you like how I make stuff up?  Like this whole Fluff Friday Thing?  I am awesome.  And that is why I am delivering you a healthy dose of blog awards and, everybody's favorite... THE MEME!!!!!  And because I am That Flavour of Awesome, I have the same meme for you TWO TIMES!  I am sure all of you at home watching are actually standing and applauding and cheering your little...

Who am I kidding?

Nobody cheers for memes.

Especially when there's two of the same one on the same blog.

Alas, it seems I suck.

Here's something that does not suck: Fancy French Bourbon Flavoured Sugar. In mah coffee. With heavy cream and not half and half. Have I ever mentioned that my MIL is good like that? Another flavour of good: going to a stupid meeting and coming home to FREE BABYSITTING!!! (knew about that before I left) and CLEAN AND FOLDED LAUNDRY!!!

I have been trying to NOT mention this, but the short people have been barfing and pooping ever-whar for a week now, thereby generating about eight loads a day. Needless to say, I have been a little swamped with the laundry.

I even put most of it away, IN DRAWERS, last night.

But this post is not about The Barf and The Laundry.

Before I get to the real point of things, though, I just wanted to say that today is the first time I've seen one of my posts on the BlogHer Ads list of posts over there on the right. It's Wednesday's post called 'bloom' and I'm not linking to myself today. But it just plain tickles me to see it there. Oh stop laughing at me. It's been a long week.

First up: THE ZOMBIE CHICKEN AWARD.


The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the Zombie Chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.  These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie cihckens just to be able to read their inspiring words.  As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers.  Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all.

My five choices?  Five lovely ladies (smell them in the air) who would appreciate a good zombie award.
ChurchPunkMom from Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction
Jen from Blissfully Caffeinated
Jenbo from SteenkyBee
Jenny the Bloggess 
The Stiletto Mom (because she's all recovering and stuff, and needs something new to think about)

I got the Bella Award from Jess over at This Life Is Mine.  This is Jess.  Hi, Jess!  I stole this picture from her blog because I'm assuming (you know what they say about assuming, right?  it makes an ASS of U and ME?) that she'd be cool with it... 

She's so sad-looking because it took me like ninetyeleven years to post this, and she was thinking I didn't appreciate it, or that I didn't like her... or maybe she's hung over.  Who knows.  Anyway, Thanks, Jess.  The Award is for bloggers you have just discovered and really enjoy reading.  I haven't even been able to keep up with the blogs I usually read, so I'm not going to pass it on right now.  But if you have recently found a blog that you enjoy, please feel free to pass the award on.  

Anyway, to show you that non-recognition of recognition is par for the course, I offer you Exhibit A:  The Superwoman Award.



This is from my knocked-up, already-married-but-having-the-party-in-four-weeks pal Danae from Beauty In Distress.   She's lovely, and she has morning sickness, so you should stop by and tell her nice things about being pregnant.  Do NOT even go over there and tell her about being completely lame (unable to walk lame, not pathetic) for the last two months of pregnancy, or about how you were in active labour for three weeks before they stuck a massive pair of tongs up your bajingo to yank that monkey out, because I will personally come over and kick you in the teeth.  Because I'm not pregnant any more, and I can totally kick that high.  Also, I hear kickboxing is a great workout, and I need to lose that last five pounds of baby skin weight.

Exhibit B:  The Good Buddy Award, from a highly esteemed blogging colleague who will remain nameless because I'm a colossal ass and saved the jpg to my little folder and wasn't clever enough to bookmark or otherwise record the person who loves me so much.



I always wanted to be a great buddy.  Maybe I'm not... maybe you should take your award back.

Exhibit C:  Sardine Mama from Sardines in a Can gave me this award, in March.  (See, Jess?  I'm just a slacker.)  And this is what she said about me: Pamela over at the Dayton Time deserves an award because she just popped out a baby. And she is funny. She has guest bloggers this month at her popular site while she recuperates and is waited on hand and foot and stuff. Anyway, Pamela just makes me laugh. I like laughing. So I like Pamela.  Awww, shucks.  Thanks, Mama!  I like you, too!



I got this award from Ree at The Hotfessional (this week) and also ChurchPunkMom from Embellished Truth and Polite Fiction (oh I don't know, maybe two, three months ago?)  



Here are the rules for the award:  List 7 things you love (or six things that make you happy, or pick your own set of rules...) and pass the award along to seven friends whose blogs you love.

1. I love my family.
2. I love Jesus.
3. I love my house.
4. I love my French Press.
5. I love my camera.
6. I love cake.  (And Cake's pretty good, too.)
7. I love my garden.

The seven friends whose blogs I love:

1. The Mister.  Duh.
2. Jill at The Daniels Five.  Because I miss that girl, I tell you!
3. The Well-Read Hostess
4. Joce at Tillaboro Orchard
5. Styro at Speaking in CAPS (Jim's new to Blogistanifornia, and just celebrated his one month birthday.  Kind of like Elliott, but hopefully Jim uses the big boy potty.  Check him out.)
6. Jen from Coconut Belly because she and I think alike.  So if you like me?  You'll like Jen.  Also, I want to say that it's hard to type three L's all in a row.
7. Sardine Mama from Sardines in a Can 

do you miss me?

This guest posting thing was a brilliant idea.  I hope that you all have been having as much fun reading the posts as I have.  Jason's post actually made me snarf my coffee, and it was all stuff I had written.  I am such an easy room sometimes.  And poor WRH, who had such anxiety over her post she found it necessary to post drunk.  Funny, though, that she considered making up a story about teaching Elliott French.  My MIL, a retired French teacher, is already on that.  All of my children have a basic understanding of French, and when we are out in public and want them to hop-to in a hurry, we order them around in French.  It's pretty sweet.  Also, I think Amelia Bedelia is a moron.  That's why the dayton time + WRH = true love forever. 
 
Jen from coconut belly hit the nail on the head with her comparison of first vs. fourth... and she only (I don't mean only... ummm, errrrr... moving on) has two kids!  But that's probably because fourth is only a little different than second... just more poop.  

I will admit that I was sort of surprised Irish Gumbo posted about toast, but also sort of not surprised.  I am being completely somewhat honest with you when I say he sent me about 6 emails a day the week he was enjoying the loaf of bread I sent him, and I was starting to think he and Steenky Bee were team stalking me, but he totally chilled out after the bread was gone and started acting all normalish again.  And The Now-Infamous Steenky Bee Post?  Woah, man.  I had no idea The Mister was taking this whole guest posting thing so seriously.  Don't worry, they're totally all BFF and whatever now, there's really no bull-puppies or hating going on in real life.  It's cool.
 
What's not cool is the large crumb from my pizza crust that just went to live under my right arrow key.  Not.  Cool. 

But I am guessing you don't want to hear about my booger coffee, or how funny I think I am, or any of that stuff and nonsense.  

I'm guessing you might want more baby.  So here you go:

Being a chill baby is serious business.

We've only seen this face a couple of times.

That's why I recorded it for posterity.

I wanted visual proof that he cries.

The baby buffet.

HB thought Elliott was hungry for some real food.

The baby not like the milk.

As if.

Elliott and Wee Man just sit and stare at each other.

Gazing lovingly.

How long will that last?

This is mah sweet baybay.

He's a lovey.

I never thought, that I would post, on a subject, such as toast: A meditation on friendship

(Guest posting today is Irish Gumbo, who has been let out of his cage for a little while today, and whom Pamela likes depsite his knucklehededness. A very gracious invite on her part.)

I have been a little out of the loop lately when it comes to readin’, writin’ and bloggin’ stuff. So this guest post, while The Missus and The Mister celebrate the arrival of the new baby, was a perfect opportunity for me for to shake off the doldrums and tone up those flabby creative muscles I have been letting languish. So, sitting down to write, fire up the ol’ idea engine, and the first idea that comes to mind?

Toast, of course. I’ll give you a minute or two to applaud my burst of genius (whistling). Thank you, thank you!

Now don’t go away, clicking on the next blog in the reader out of boredom or irritation. Toast may seem like a strange (read: boring) choice for a topic. But there is a reason for my toast fascination. Or is that toast-ination?

I like toast. I eat toast almost every day, the standard white bread kind and all its variants, including the bagel and English muffin members of the toasted bread products species. I would venture to say I am a…connoisseur of toast, if you will indulge me. A well-made piece of toast can serve as platform and substrate for all sorts of tasty toppings of the sweet or savory kind: cream cheese, jelly and lox spread come to mind. One of the best pieces of toast I ever made was with a layer of peanut butter smeared over the hot bread and dotted with some thin, quarter-sized disks of dark chocolate pressed into the warm surface. Mmm, all melty goodness and a great way to start the morning I must say.

Really good toast needs nothing more than butter, melting and sweet over the golden brown deliciousness of the crispy bread. It really is that simple. However, “simple” does not equate with “easy”. This is true even given the plethora of toasters and toasters ovens available to the average consumer in this country. Toasters that have multi-browning options, settings to toast frozen bread, digital calibrated “bread brains”*, chrome toasters that looks like race cars. My parents have a toaster they acquired before I was a born, and are still using it. It makes a decent piece of toast, too. But good toast requires attention and care; rare is the device that can produce a superlative piece without jiggery-pokery on the part of the human who desires to eat that toast.

Truly transcendent toast (and such a thing exists) can be eaten plain, all by its lonesome, naked but for the sauce of hunger. To make toast such as this, and I have done it on rare occasions, takes time and attention and patience. Three things that are usually in short supply when attempting to pull together breakfast in the morning, or scrounging up a quick afternoon snack. And before you say, “Gumbo, you are a nutcase for wanting to spend so much time and energy on dry, brown bread!” you should know I am not the only one who feels this way. John Thorne, one of the premier food writers on the planet (and a personal favorite of mine), wrote an essay on the topic called Quintessential Toast**, in which he illuminates the process of making truly great toast:

“…So, first, I reluctantly began cutting my thick slice into two thin ones, since this is the only way to toast the bread all through…I learned that I had to make my toast very, very slowly…This meant that to get the toast just right I had to run it through four or five short cycles with a brief rest between each.”

See what I mean? Four or five cycles of the toaster just to make toast. Who the hell does that? John Thorne does. Oh…and I do, every now and then. Why? Because it works. This method makes a great piece of toast. It is fantastic straight out of the toaster, hot and crispy with no need for butter. Making toast like this, I usually eat it standing up at the kitchen counter, next to the toaster. Man, is it good. Good toast is made with good bread, no getting around that fact. Gotta have good bread. Good bread is what brings me to the true inspiration for this post.

Earlier this year, during my period of unemployment, I was given a loaf of bread by a friend. Homemade bread. Homemade. The bread was dense, sturdy and had some heft. No “girlyman” bread, this, it was serious. I was so tickled to have gotten it I immediately sawed off a slice and ate it straight away. It was chewy and delicious. So good I had another slice at the island in my kitchen. While I was munching away, eyes half-closed in baked good bliss, the thought crossed my mind: toast. So it was I found myself cutting the requisite one-quarter inch thick slice of the wondermous bread and toasting it just so. To my delight, the toast was excellent, with and without butter.

Who was my baked loaf benefactor, my patron of the toasting arts, you ask?

Why, it’s the lovely Pamela, The Missus, The Boss of Things. She called me one day while I was out walking and wanted to know if she could send me some bread. Who does things like that? Friends do. Friends help friends make good toast.

I had that brilliant realization that day I stood at the counter, eating my slice of transcendental toast, compliments of a friend I was unrealizing I had. And that, dear readers, is a beautiful thing, to have a friend who gives you homemade bread.

Thank you, Pamela.

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*I am not making that up. I saw this phrase on the side of a toaster in the lunch room of a company I used to work for, some years ago. Even with a “bread brain”, that POS toaster made a lousy piece of toast.

**In his book ‘Pot On The Fire’. A very good read, even if one is not a food geek like me.