Twipply Skwood

If you were planning on getting me a tow truck for my birthday, this is the kind I want

2009-07-08T00:37:00.000-07:00

Because I would totally put Jesus up there on the cross up there on the back if I had this tow truck. But not the real Jesus. 'Cause that wouldn't be very nice.

My younger gal noticed this on a necklace at Kohl's:
I'm not exactly sure how my generation made it through so many dangers without all the warnings. It would be nice if they were more specific though. I mean, is it a choking hazard because a child younger than fourteen might eat one of the beads, or do they think a thirteen year old might strangle herself?

It's so sad when people involve their dogs in sports and then the dogs get fouled. I'm glad they're going to protect the dogs in New Hampshire from this horrible fate:Older Gal really will be responding to comments on the last post. It's just that she's intimidated. So now she's just exactly like The Bloggess! Which means she's world famous all over Houston and possibly other places.

Except The Bloggess is intimidated by comments on her OWN blog, and Older Gal is intimidated by comments on her guest post. But aside from that, they're like twins. Practically.

I've now revised this post about 714 times. So my apologies to anyone who read it in its previous form(s).

In Which Older Gal Gives Us the Goods on the Vibrating Boobs...

2009-07-05T19:09:00.000-07:00

Here's Older Gal's guest post. Enjoy!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hello all! I’m Older Gal, piemaker extraordinaire and diabetic since 1996.

I know you’ve been waiting with bated breath for the vibrating boobs inside information, but first we need to step into the department of backstory. This is the quick cliff notes version, i.e. excerpts of the paper I wrote about insulin last semester (yes, I really stretched myself academically there). If anyone needs to see the bibliography, I’ll get it to you.

Insulin was discovered and implemented by Canadians Fredrick Banting and Charles Best in 1921 at the University of Toronto. They used a pancreatic extract from a dog, which they then injected into another dog that had diabetic symptoms due to the removal of it’s pancreas. They found that the diabetic canine’s blood glucose level decreased after the shot of insulin, the result they were looking for… In 1955, the structure of insulin was determined by Frederick Sanger, who was awarded the 1958 Nobel Prize in chemistry for those findings. As a relatively recent discovery, insulin has been at the center of science by being a drug new modes of preparation were tested on, and by being used as a treatment for a previously fatal disease…Insulin is primarily used in the treatment of high blood sugar that is caused by diabetes. Insulin dependent diabetes is an autoimmune disease of the pancreas that results in a cessation of insulin production in the body. Although diabetes had been given it’s full name, diabetes mellitus, by the ancient Egyptians, confirming that the disease was known of by that time, no treatment existed until the Banting and Best experiment in 1921. Before 1921, the only treatment, if it could even be called that, was keeping the diabetic patient on a near-starvation diet to prevent the damaging spikes in glucose levels due to carbohydrates from eaten food. The disease was always fatal, and people who had it were assured a short lifespan. Now, insulin can be injected in amounts that compensate for the intake of carbohydrates at meals…After this breakthrough success, insulin was prepared by extracting and purifying pancreatic tissue from cows and pigs, due to the similarity of structures between the bovine, porcine and human insulin, and manufactured as a drug for people with diabetes. This mode of preparation continued until 1982, when recombinant DNA technology came into science. In the early 1980’s, there had been discussions about the possibility of a shortage of insulin; it was projected that in 20 years, which was then about 2000, the supplies of insulin in the United States would be depleted…Using recombinant DNA to produce insulin allows the insulin to be molecularly exact, and also to be produced in large quantities. With the advent of recombinant DNA technology, insulin production became easier to produce in mass quantities, and cheaper…From the beginning, insulin was given by way of an injection; however, recently, the insulin pump was developed, which delivers insulin though a semi-permanent tube placed into the body.

My genetics professor said in class one day that “diabetes is a real drag,” or something to that effect. I’m not jumping for joy that I have diabetes, but I am thankful that I have this disease right now, in this day in age.

Now, before winter 2008 I was taking injections, or shots, of insulin multiple times of day to keep my diabetes under control. That really sucked, not just because of the number of times per day I stuck myself with a needle to try to maintain a decent average, but also because I had to use pen style injectors, although better than having to draw up insulin from a vial, but they were just weird. I also had to use two types of insulin, both a long acting insulin (Lantus, which has just been linked to the rate of growth of cancer, yay) and a short acting insulin (Humalog), the former to release slowly over the course of twenty-four hours, and the latter to be taken at meals to account for the carbohydrates consumed, and also to compensate for a high blood sugar. Then I got an insulin pump, a machine that automatically releases a preset amount of insulin over time (called a basal) and also calculates how much insulin you should take if your blood sugar is high, and calculates how much insulin you should take at meals based on your blood sugar and carbs eaten (those last two are referred to as boluses; I remember that because their kind of like bonuses), and I didn’t have to take shots anymore which was quite nice. If you ever ask a diabetic person if it hurts, they’ll most likely say no, they’ve gotten used to it, but that’s a lie. It does hurt, in the back of our minds, but we go through the motions on autopilot because we must, to survive. It does hurt, but I say that it doesn’t to make people feel better, or else they get this look on their faces, a mixture of pity, relief and revulsion. I’ve been taking shots as long as I can remember; in fact, one of the first lucid memories after coming home from the hospital was practicing how to give myself shots on an orange in the kitchen. Poor orange. But one time, a few months ago, I had to go back to injections for a few days because I forgot to order supplies for my pump when I should have…anyways, going back to shots multiple times a day was irritating, to say the least. It was like that one episode of The Unit in the Chinese casino with Cool Breeze (staying away from spoilers here). I promise we’ll be getting to the hilarious part soon. It’s just so hard to do manually what your body should be doing automatically.

Ok, on to the insulin pump. With regard to the previous paragraph, I’m not saying that I don’t have to poke myself with a needle at all, it’s just that I only have to do it about every two to three days in order to get the cannula, the tube that is in my body to complete the insulin infusion, replaced with a new one. It uses a nice big needle too, not one of the small, thin ones that I had to use with the insulin pens. I bet some of you are wincing at that thought, but really, one big needle every three days, versus 21 injections of irritating small needles, if you average it out to 7 injections per day? Sometimes in some of my pissed off moments, especially when a non-diabetic who’s not my doctor or a person in the medical field tries to tell me what to do, (sidebar here: never, ever say to a diabetic, “Are you supposed to be eating that?” Ponder that for a minute.), I want them to try to do what we do every day, for say, a week. I dare you.

Back to the insulin pump. It’s super smart, awesome, and tiny. Inside the pump along with the computer stuff and wiring is a small reservoir that holds the insulin. A tube is attached to the reservoir, which is then attached at the other end at the infusion site, which is where the cannula is.
At this place, the tube can be detached and reattached as needed, for a shower, swimming, or other stuff. Although pumps are waterproof, I kinda don’t want to mess with a $6000 dollar machine.

On to what you all have been waiting for. I usually use the little clip that came with the pump to put it on my pants, mostly in the front pocket, or outside on the belt, with the tube inside the pant leg. People mistake it for a pager all the time, I’ve heard, especially when people use some of the other clips sold, such as the leather, professional looking ones. So, mostly I wear pants, jeans, or shorts, where the pump can easily be put into the pocket.
The tube is usually tucked in more, it’s out for educational purposes.
It goes in my pocket like so. Tada! But now that it’s my first summer with the pump, I’ve had to get creative. This is where the vibrating boobs come in. I was wearing my second-favorite skirt, with a nice top. I didn’t want to put the pump on the band of the skirt, it would ruin the line of my body. So, I clipped it onto my bra.
I’m endowed enough that I am able to do that without the pump sticking out. Yay . I just have to be careful that the tube doesn’t pop out. Now, there’s a choice of alarms you can pick when the pump wants you to know something. I always have it on vibrate, because the beeping options were not good i.e. a bad sound and distracting if I was with a customer at my hypothetical job. The pump has alarms for various reasons: the insulin you’ve taken for a meal or a high blood sugar has finished, you forgot to take your pump out of the suspend mode if it was taken off and you didn’t want to waste insulin letting it drip, or, if you were running out of insulin.

One day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something, when my pump vibrated unexpectedly, as the reservoir had reached the point where it told me that it would need to be changed out for a full one. I did not expect that to happen; when I have to run to the bathroom to take insulin at a dinner, I know the vibration will happen momentarily when it has finished giving me the set amount, but this was totally out of the blue. It was…interesting. And so, doing what I do, which is sharing too much information because the filter from my brain to my mouth is out of order, I said “my boobs just vibrated.” Jill started snickering, and the next thing I knew, it was on this blog. So, I thought I might as well do a guest post, to explain it thoroughly. I do apologize for the meta up there, but it’s important, and Jill gave me the chance here to talk about it.
So if you ever hear a buzzing noise emanating from a woman’s upper torso, and a slight shiver, it may be from an unexpected alarm coming from the pump of a person with diabetes.

The other day, however, I was in a conundrum. I was wearing a dress that looked better without a bra, and I still couldn’t clip it onto my underwear. I had a fleeting idea that I could put it on my shoe, but that fell out of favor rather quickly. Any suggestions?

Sorry Folks, but Debbie Makes the Rules at our House...apparently...

2009-07-03T12:30:00.000-07:00

I've had this one friend who, for as long as I've known her, (which is as long as I've known internet, which was early 1997) has refused to tell the internet where she is going on vacation or for how long she will be gone.

It doesn't matter that we freely posted every last gory detail of our miserable pregnancy symptoms or birth stories, giving in depth descriptions of the dilation of our vaginas.

It makes no difference that we've posted pictures of our very living rooms and that I have even posted (probably multiple) pictures of my own toilet. Debbie has a rule that she doesn't reveal vacation spots until after her return.

Our friend Teresa adheres strictly to this vacation rule, lending Debbie's rule an aura of authority. For whatever reason, I have also always followed Debbie's vacation rule.

Despite the fact that I've had house sitters, I've followed her rule. Despite the fact that one would only need to pay attention half heartedly to figure out that I spend the majority of my vacation time at my parents' house, I've followed Debbie's rule.

And despite the fact that my sole experience as victim of stalkerhood had nothing what so ever to do with the internet, Debbie's vacation rule has for some reason seemed reasonable. Thus my tendency to drop out of existence unexpectedly.

So if you're wondering where I've been lately, I went to see this cute animal:
And this cute nephew:

And several other relatives and members of the animal kingdom.

I'm back now with the vibrating boobs post close on my heels. So get ready folks - older gal is putting on the finishing touches and we'll have the long awaited, much labored, very informative booby post at long last this very weekend!

Yeah So I Lied Just a Little Bit

2009-06-29T06:01:00.000-07:00

I really don't know when I will and won't have internet access over the next couple days. That part was true.

My gal really did tattoo a naked rat. So that was true too.

But it wasn't all the pictures I had. I lied about that part. It was ALMOST all the pictures I had. It turns out I have this picture of some veggies. These are the palest carrots and celery I've ever seen:And I'm not saying there's anything necessarily WRONG with orange cauliflower, but how can it be an American Classic?!? You'd think if it were an American classic, Americans would have at least heard of it. Maybe even eaten it. Like, I dunno...apple pie.

Anyway, I think I'll have internet by the time this posts. But just in case I posted ahead of time. Because the world just can't wait for a picture of orange cauliflower, for cryin' out loud. At least America can't wait. Because how else can I pull this American classic out of its relative obscurity?

'Cause Why Else Would the Rat Even BE Naked?

2009-06-24T04:10:00.000-07:00

I may be without internet for a few days, so I wanted to make sure the blogging world, if not the internet in general had adequate pictures of my gal with a naked rat. Oh and my cat.

So here's my cat Sugar right before I told him that our TV is basically a giant DVD player now. We never bought one of those TV converter box things:
Here he is when he found out. He ain't none too happy about it, that's for sure. I don't know how he did that weird thing with his eyes, but I imagine he'll give a tutorial on utube one of these days:
He decided to email his congressman, senator, the SPCA, and PETA. If only he could remember which was the "on" button:Here's my gal and her friend putting temporary tattoos on Bernardo the naked rat:

Because naked rats cry out for temporary tattoos, apparently:
That's about all I got for now people. Come again soon!

Death by Teenager

2009-06-18T07:27:00.000-07:00

Every time anyone reminds me that I WANTED kids, I tell them the God's honest truth: I never wanted kids. I just wanted babies.

And I was very perceptive that way, because I'm pretty sure having a teenager will kill a body. Or maybe only parenting a teenage GIRL does that. But teenage boys are said to have more car wrecks. So that probably causes parental death too.

Except in the case of a boy, your heart probably just stops in its tracks when you find out the car was upside down on the interstate at three in the morning. So that would be a quicker death than a girl who kills you by heartbreak and extreme moods. Except, somehow my parents seemed to live through it. They must be superhuman.

Or maybe parents are like Spiderman. Except that instead of getting bitten by a spider that allows them to climb walls, the baby's birth renders them impervious to death by empathy, or death by guilt, or death by scowling and rudeness. I'm pretty sure those feelings can kill a person though, because I definitely had a near death experience this week.

Look at this gal, my sweetheart, my angel, my sweet pea. Here she is all happy before she remembered that I ruined her life (as all parents must, I imagine):And here she is again all happy after she's nearly killed the both of us with her grief over me ruining her life:I don't know why the cat lets her do that. He'd have bitten anyone else's face off and hidden for a week. Actually, that one is our scaredy cat. He probably just would have hidden for a week. But he would have WANTED to bite our faces off.

The upside is that in my fog over the power of teenage emotions, I fixed two of our toilets. Well, I changed out the valve in two toilets and the flappy thing in one of them. But I couldn't even figure out how to get the flappy thing off the other one. Because despite this being a '70s house, I'm pretty sure that flappy thing on the upstairs toilet was installed in 1936.

In any case, the moral of the story is this: when I see a cute baby in a restaurant I plan on fixing a toilet in lieu of getting baby lust. Because it's way easier to fix a toilet than to subject yourself to parenting a teenager. At least, those are my plans. We'll see how it all works out.

War on Paradise

2009-06-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken has waged war on the tropical paradise that is our backyard. I don't really have good "before" picture because, truth be told, the newspapers carried very little on the events leading up to this war.

It was a surprise attack, you understand, and photographers such as myself had very little time to prepare. But you can sort of see the lush greenery in these photos:
And by lush greenery, The-guy would argue that I mean space hogging ginger and annoying philodendron. Or was that annoying ginger and space hogging philodendron? In any case, where I saw "tropical paradise", he saw "jungle". The sneak attack last weekend:It looks like The-guy will emerge the victor at some point, that's for certain, even though my boy is the only soldier in his army:Because look at the progress so far:Yeah, that big space where garbage can is used to be lush greenery. Or jungle...whichever...

It's okay though. I'm sure it's going to be some kind'a paradise back there, tropical or not. 'Cause The-Guy commands the plants around here. He's in charge, right after God or Mother Nature or whoever he reports to.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone's Covered in Barf

2009-06-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

The stomach bug sunk victim number four yesterday. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a picture, as there were four of us in the car AND the two cats (one in a cardboard box, one in my younger gal's arms) when my boy suddenly puked all over everything.

It was a glorious shade of orange too, because of the carrots and salmon and orange bell pepper he'd had for lunch. So that would have made a vivid picture. But at the time I was more concerned with whether or not I was going to get pulled over as I sped home.

Here's a member of our family that wasn't in the car. His name is Pirate Pete:But we call him Poisonous Pirate Pete because of the warning on the box:Yes, Older Gal and I saw the warnings on ole' Pete before we bought him. But selection was low and we figured no one would actually be handling or eating Pete. He'd just be sitting there in the yard, minding his own business and only looking scary to those of us aware of his carcinogenic proclivities.

But by the time we got him home Older Gal wondered what would happen if children who came up to trick or treat touched him and I wondered if the chemical that causes the cancer, birth defects and other reproductive harm would leach into the soil whenever it rained.

Both were moot points, because we didn't get many trick-or-treaters and we had an exceptionally dry fall. Nevertheless, Pete lived in my car for a good month while I attempted to return him to Target. The problem is, I don't really return things in a timely manner.

So then yesterday I tried to give Pete to Goodwill, but it turns out Goodwill doesn't accept Halloween decorations. Needless to say, Pete was crushed. He can't understand it. They'll take the birth defects and cancer, mind you, but no thanks on Halloween. At any rate, Pete's looking for a home if you know anyone that's up for some reproductive damage.

On a totally unrelated note, I saw this on Yahoo the other day:

Web mourns two deaths
The Internet faces the tragic loss of a young Olympic athlete and a beloved actor

That's odd - I didn't realize the internet had feelings! Of course, about 10 years ago I heard something on the radio claiming that computers had the intelligence of cockroaches and that they expected computers to have the intelligence of cats very soon. But they didn't mention anything about working toward providing the internet with feelings. Then again, the internet was still kind of new then...

Meanwhile, older Gal has promised full disclosure on the vibrating boobs thing, along with whatever other information she chooses to disseminate about diabetes. So that guest post will be coming soon to a computer screen near you.

Everything is Coming Up Dried Out Contact Lenses

2009-06-05T04:15:00.000-07:00

When you shack up with your man, everything is so romantic all the time that you even get to pee on rose petals:OKAY! So it's not romance ALL the time. For example, the stomach bug claimed another victim at our house this week. So cleaning up puke at one in the morning wasn't so romantic. And it wasn't all that romantic when I brought home lice from preschool. Or the germs from hand, foot, and mouth disease. Or impetigo for that matter.

But none of us actually succumbed to the hand, foot and mouth OR the impetigo. We just hung out with the germs. And then the rose that I cut from the back yard and put in a little vase on the bathroom counter died.

So then, in a fit of romance, The-Guy threw the petals into the toilet. There's a dried up contact lens in there too. So that's like pretty much all romance all the time here at La Maison Twipply Skwood. Mostly.

Here's something else unique about Camp Twipply Skwood - our district representative is an aging soul, R&B, and gospel singer in disguise:It's particularly handy when you want to lobby and be entertained at the exact same time. I'm just kidding! Because I don't even know how to lobby. But I am totally going to check into live concerts.

Hurricane season is here again as I understand it. And lucky thing too! After all, the blue tarps are starting to disappear and the roofs are slowly but surely being repaired.

This place doesn't look like it's ready for the next hurricane just yet:
This place looks like it needed help long before Ike plowed through:Here's my boy, enjoying his summer in between doctor and dentist visits:And here's what I get when I try and photograph younger gal:Only when she feels that she's having a bad hair day though.

I got a few good shots of older gal too. And she provided me with some lesser known facts about diabetes. For instance, if you see a total stranger's boobs vibrating, this could be a telltale sign of diabetes. But more on that when I find out which, if any, of her pictures she's okay with me posting.

Come to think of it, perhaps if I extended that same courtesy to younger gal, I wouldn't get a photo of the hand so much of time...

Fear and Loathing in the Backyard. Or in the Freezer...Actually, I'm not exactly sure WHERE I left it...

2009-06-02T07:38:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so after our nice little family trip to hell, followed by a trip to Michigan, a stomach bug took out The-Guy and me. It sounds almost benign, doesn't it...stomach bug? Cute almost. Yeah, tell that to the toilet who has put in a bid for early retirement.

But that's okay because school is out! Vacation! Well, for me it is. Someone forgot to tell the business world about summer time and the living being easy...Let's see, fish are jumping, the cotton is high...but The-Guy still has to go to work. Something's wrong here.

I read this a few days ago:

Four states adopt 'no-smiles' policy for liscenses. "Neutral facial expressions" are required at departments of motor vehicles (DMVs) in Arkansas, Indiana, Nevada and Virginia. That means you can't smile, or smile very much. Other states may follow.

Who are these smiling people that make these kinds of rules necessary anyway?!? I can tell you that after waiting in line for FOUR HOURS with two miserable children at my side, there's not a trace of a smile on my license.

My gal and I both thought this was a little on the morbid side:'Cause why wait until you're dead to get to heaven? If you're just about there anyway, you might as well go to an "adult day center" while you wait.

My boy is getting the hang of living in a home with five people:Who would eat a random chunk of brown God-knows-what that's been kicking around the freezer for who the heck knows how long? The answer to this question is not important. What matters is that if you don't want your brown gob eaten and you live with five people, it had better be labeled for cryin' out loud.

Meanwhile Older Gal has given the escape prone Sugar the cat this sage advice: "You don't want to go outside! Outside is disease and danger wrapped in sunshine and noises!"

And so we begin our summer vacation - sunshine and disease for the humans, none for the cat thanks.

None for Me Thanks

2009-05-22T06:36:00.000-07:00

Hello! Sorry I've been gone. We took a nice little family trip to hell, and then just when we made our collective way back into the land of the living, The-Guy and I went to Michigan for a wedding.

I'm not going to invade Older Gal's privacy (at least any more than usual). So I can't divulge too very much about hell except this: I've been paid back in full. My advice is NOT to put your stepdaughter-type-person's soul up for sale on ebay. It's like all kinds of bad karma.

I have collected some nice pictures during my absence though. I puzzle over this on the way to school each day:I can't quite capture just how desolate this area is. See how lonesome the stroller looks over there by the black and yellow striped diagonal striped sign?First of all, who the heck locks up a $10 stroller? Surely the lock must cost almost as much as the stroller itself.

Secondly, where do these people go every day? There is NOTHING around. They didn't park the stroller and go into Target. That bridge is over a bayou and the brick wall surrounds the city water works. Across the bayou there's a police station. That's it.

In other adventures, Michigan was a very nice place to visit. Although, they can be a little controlling when it comes to the speed limits: Because 16 mph would be too slow, and 18 to fast, obviously.

I had no idea the chicken vs. cow wars had heated up to this extent, PETA be damned:Last but not least, I heard this REALLY improves compliance among illiterate dogs:I'm sure there's a lot less dog poop on these people's yard now.

One week left on the end of school countdown!

Take Two (they're small)

2009-05-16T19:42:00.001-07:00

Two more weeks of school that is...

It's been a very difficult week here at Camp Twipply Skwood. We might have been more like quadwooply skwood this week, I'm not exactly sure. But I do know for certain that the countdown til summer break has begun!

My gal had her end of the year dance tonight, which happens to also be her first school dance. Here she is showing off her dress:I like this one where she's pretending to fall out of the rose garden:
We had the following conversation in the car on the way to drop her off. Keep in mind that she has been incredibly excited about this dance for quite some time:

Me - "Aaaaw! My sweetie! Your first dance! Well, your first dance that's at night..."
My Gal - "If you don't count bat mitzvah dances."
Me - "Okay, your first school dance at night!"
My Gal - "It's probably going to be lame."
Me - "Yeah. Well...aren't they all."
(I pause and shrug)
Me - "At least, that's what they say. I never actually went to any of mine."

Yeah, well...that's 'cause I heard they were lame.

Anyway that's the story from here...or part of it at any rate. Hope everyone has a good week!

My Lips Are Sunburned

2009-05-10T06:11:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day all you women out there who sacrificed your bodies and all your time and every ounce of energy that you had just to put yet another human on this earth who will alternately adore and you and ceaselessly criticize your every move! This day's for you!

Anyhow, we've been busy like little bees here. The kids had the production of their play, and now they're world famous in Jewish Houston. Random strangers tell them what a great job they did, and suddenly parents and grandparents of my students realize why I look so familiar.

Yesterday was Houston's Art Car Parade, the country's oldest and largest. Two hundred and fifty THOUSAND people were expected to show up, and I'm pretty sure I handed out a KPFT 90.1 program guide to 249,000 of those people. So that's why my lips are sunburned and I practically got sunstroke.

It's worth it though, because the art car parade is like Christmas to me. Did you ever know anyone who said, "No matter what, I can never be sad on Christmas."? I know someone who says that, and it's true. No matter what kind of PURE HELL she happens to be living through during any particular year, Christmas day makes her truly happy.

A couple things do that for me, like seeing my gal sing or dance or hearing my boy scold the cat for getting near his miniature Torah. And the Art Car parade. I'm always happy at the art car parade. Here's a couple pictures:

Here's a woman painting the words, "Art Horse" onto a police horse:
The-Guy (who knows a song about a chicken, as opposed to the guy whose car is a giant chicken) and I had this conversation with the owner of the chicken car:

Me - "Do you have to get it inspected?"
Chicken-Car-Guy - "No. I just get tickets."
Me - "But you have a license plate on there."
Chicken-Car-Guy - "Yeah, I take it off my other car and put it on there."
The-Guy - "Do you have it insured?"
Chicken-Car-Guy - "Yes, but I have it insured as a Toyota truck, not as a giant chicken."

In other news, the Older Gal is hoping to become a binge drinker like me, so next up I have pictures of our cabinets and refrigerator, showing what an awesome job we're doing around here helping her to aspire to her goals.

Meanwhile I'm off to collect on what I'm sure will be a plethora of mother's day gifts and a day of pampering...or something. Happy Mother's Day!

I'm sure I can get an arm and a leg for SOMEONE'S soul around here...

2009-04-29T14:31:00.000-07:00

A typical weekend morning at our house -

Older Gal (coming into the back yard) - "What are you doing?"

The-Guy - "Good Morning 'Older Gal'"

Older Gal - "Good Morning. What are you doing?"

The-Guy - "I'm scrubbing out the pool. Earlier today I took a run."

Me - "I put your soul up for sale on Ebay."

Older Gal - "Thanks"

Several seconds pass.

Older Gal - "Thanks? I didn't mean thanks.
I mean thanks, but I meant, can I see the listing? Why did you put MY soul up for sale?"

Me - "I thought it would get a better price than mine."

Older Gal (nods) - "Oh. Okay."

Older Gal heads back inside the house.

Several minutes later, Older Gal pops her head out the back door and calls out, "Did you put my soul up for sale because I'm young and virgin?!?!"

I didn't, but I'll highlight both those qualities in the description. That should up the bidding. Meanwhile, Kristine came up with a great idea: We can sell Sugar's soul nine times!

Except, I'm pretty sure Sugar may have beaten us to the punch on this one. He's already a pretty evil cat. Nimue, on the other hand, is fairly innocuous. I'll bet all nine of his lives are still up for grabs.

Speaking of which, have you ever tried to get a cat to pose with a flag of Israel so as to wish the blogging world a happy Israeli Independence Day/Yom Ha'atzma'ut? No? I thought perhaps Older Gal and I might be kind'a unique that way.

Here's are our best efforts. Notice that it's the evil cat who has reluctantly agreed to pose. He can't be all bad:
On a totally unrelated note, I'll bet you thought NPR meant National Public Radio:Last but not least, here are a couple of pictures from yesterday's flood:
I know, this guy has better pictures:But the water bubbling up out of the manhole covers was sort of graceful in it's own way. I probably needed video instead. At any rate, happy Yom Ha'atzma'ut!

Death by Entanglement

2009-04-25T03:09:00.000-07:00

Please excuse my absence from Blogsville this week. I've been trying to figure out how to sell my soul to the devil so I can afford to send my kids to a private religious school. How do you do that anyway, just put it up on Ebay or something?

I'm KIDDING!!!!!! I mean, I'm sure my soul has some flaws and stuff, just like anyone's, but I'm more or less fond of it and don't have any immediate plans to put it up for sale. I do really want my kids to go to religious school though.

Also, LOOK! They sent me an STD!!!!!Ok, they sent me some medication via standard delivery. Still, I bet whoever designed this label had a good laugh.

And I saw a warning on the bottom of this guy, Thomas, who my boy used to call Tommit:I know, you can't actually read it. It says, "CAUTION: Entanglement possible. Keep away from hair."

Really?!?!?!? Entanglement?!?!?! That's the best they could do? Not, "CAUTION: Chocking possible. Do not remove wheels." Or, "CAUTION: Intestinal tearing possible. Do not swallow magnet." I mean honestly, hair entanglement doesn't even involve dismemberment, much less death.

At any rate, the warning is too hard to read way down there at the bottom. The Older Gal didn't even see it. It should have been written right across poor ole' Tommit's face.

Because when I showed The Older Gal the warning she admitted she had been using Tommit to brush the cat. I'd have hated to be around if that caused any entanglement. After all, any entangling of my bipolar cat might actually cause death.

Now that I think about it, it takes a mighty brave person to try brushing my cat with ANYTHING. Maybe HER soul would get a better price than mine on ebay. After all, it's for a good cause. Besides who's to say the devil would get the highest bid?

I'm KIDDING!!!!!! But I might need to go put one of those evil eye bracelets or something on me and the older gal now. Also if you wouldn't mind spitting in our general direction over here as you read, I think that would help keep the devil away too.

Just, y'know, try and aim away from your computer keyboard. Thanks!

Because my Car Registration Sticker DESERVES to be Showered in Affection...

2009-04-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

Every so often my gal rolls her eyes and says, "Only YOU mama!" But doesn't everyone make declarations of love and devotion to their car registration sticker?

Because it was a big pain in the neck to get that sticker. First, I had to be pulled over by a policeman who happened to be the first to notice it was a month and a half overdue. Then I had to find all those papers that say the car is mine.

And then I had to bring in all those papers to the tax office which, as we all know, is never as simple as it sounds. And then I had to go again, because the papers I brought weren't good enough and they wanted different copies of the very same papers.

And so then I was so happy to have my very own car registered in my very own name that I told my gal was I was going to kiss my registration sticker every time I got in my car. 'Cause I'm sure everyone does that.

So now that we have my total and complete normalcy established, let's move on to some random pictures. Look, I may live in the fourth biggest (and first ugliest) city in the United States, but this is still my way home:And I took a sign picture this week too. I know the REAL subtext on these kinds of signs is always, "Please don't sue us!" But I always want to whip out a sharpie, change the period to a comma and add "you moron" to the end of the sentence (changing it from "always stay with your baby when using this table." to "always stay with your baby when using this table, you moron.")This one cries out for the same adjustment:I think they'd sell better, don't you?

Look! A Soap Box! And a Recipe!

2009-04-11T07:51:00.000-07:00

National TV Turnoff week falls in April, so I thought it would be fun to finally post the Passover recipe I've been promising from two years.

And I was going to celebrate TV Turnoff Week from up top a soap box:

Research now indicates that for every hour of television children watch each day, their risk of developing attention-related problems later increases by ten percent.

Children in households where the TV is on "always" or "most of the time" are less likely to read than are children in other homes.

In a study of preschoolers (ages 1-4), a child's risk of being overweight increased by six percent for every hour of television watched per day.

Number of 30-second commercials seen in a year by an average child: 20,000
Number of minutes per week that parents spend in meaningful conversation with their children: 38.5

Heavy TV viewers exhibit five dependency symptoms (two more than necessary) to arrive at a clinical diagnosis of substance abuse.

TV has been linked to depression among teenagers. Alas and alack I lost or tossed the article from my local paper, but found one at World News Network

The moral of the story is: if you're interested in making your child's teacher's life easier (and doing your child a favor), turning off the TV is a great start.

Also, I promised a recipe for chocolate covered Matzoh.That's not actually my picture. It comes from here. But it's more or less the same stuff.

This treat uses all four ingredients allowed during Passover, and truth be told I'd eat it all year long if I didn't mind weighing 3,982 pounds:

3-4 boards of matzah (yes folks, Jews eat BOARDS during Passover. Because that's all the food allowed)

3/4 cups of butter (The older gal uses unsalted in all her recipes. I always thought one used salted butter unless a recipe specifically called for unsalted. But I don't know why I thought this. Anyone a butter expert?)

12 ounces of semi-sweet chocolate chips

1 cup brown sugar (I usually use light brown, but I accidentally used dark brown this year and it turned out just fine)

-Melt butter with sugar on medium heat, stirring constantly.
-Bring to a low boil and cook 3-4 minutes.
-Grease cookie sheet with butter.
-Lay matzah on pan and fill empty places with pieces of matzah (in other words the entire cookie sheet has one layer of matzah)
-Pour sugar mixture over the matzah
-Cover with chocolate chips
-Put into a 350 degree oven for a few minutes, just until the chocolate chips are soft and melty.
-Spread chocolate evenly over the matzah with a knife or spatula
-Refrigerate
-Gain 70 pounds just by looking at it

More info on the tube:
TV and young children
CA State University: TV & health
France bans TV for kids under 3

Voted Least Likely to Become an Alcoholic

2009-04-06T03:49:00.000-07:00

I can imitate a binge drinker pretty well, but no matter how hard I try I don't think I can attain true alcoholism for this reason: I often forget to drink.

I'm all stressed out about one of life's greater or lesser hassles and I go straight to the garage for an axe. Because it's unladylike to gnaw on the type of chocolate that The-Guy buys and I can't figure out any other way to break some off:But then I remember this about anxiety and stress: Stimulant BAD. Depressant GOOD. My brother has even, on occasion, had to remind me: "Maybe you should have a drink."

So if I do become an alcoholic, I'll have to have somebody follow me around all the time reminding me to drink.

The sky was magnificent yesterday morning. My picture in no way does it justice, because as usual I was trying to snap it from the driver's seat of a moving vehicle:Seriously though there was a point where the freeway turned and the sky opened up and I just couldn't figure out why there wasn't car accident after car accident caused by drivers mesmerized by the sunrise.

There's still a lot of roofing left to do from the hurricane around here. That blue stuff is still tarp, yes indeed-y:STILL. You may or may not remember that the hurricane was way back in September.

I saw this sign at the grocery store the other day. I noticed that the section is called, "Healthy Meals":Now I'm no doctor (or a nurse or dietitian or a nutritionist) or anything, but a bunch of chemicals that I can't even pronounce, thrown together in a box doesn't even constitute a meal in my book, much less a healthy meal. Here's the ingredients list on one of those suckers:I realize it's illegible, but I'd be willing to bet most of that stuff isn't even food.

Here's another rose The-Guy grew for my scratch and sniff blog:Anyhow...that's about it from here for now. I'm getting google searches for chocolate covered matzoh. Seeing as two years ago I told one or more people that I'd post the recipe, I guess that's coming up next.

Church of the Latter Day Kitty Litter

2009-04-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

You know how when life gets to be too much, every now and then and you wish you had a giant eraser to wipe the thoughts out of your brain and then you're all, "Maybe I should become an alcoholic!"

But instead you just promise your cat that you'll spend the entire summer petting and adoring him because surely that's gotta be akin to meditation and less self destructive than becoming an alcoholic on purpose. Besides, he's a really needy cat who would probably thrive on the attention.

No? It's just me then? Ok, well you know how sometimes it's fun to just sit around and make up new religions to take your mind off things? No?

At any rate, I decided to invent a new religion called Church of the Latter Day Kitty Litter, so either way please send huge donations of cat food (hairball prevention formula, preferably) to the branch opening near you...

Because who could be more deserving of an entire religion devoted to him than my cat Sugar? He's fairly friendly (when he's on his bipolar upswing) and RARELY bites anyone's face off.

Look at how he protects us from harm!And by harm, I mean vicious star of David garland that I put up for Hanukkah, of course. As I've posted before, he guards all the feminine hygiene products:He's even into recycling:So go ahead, worship him from on high...or while he's way up high...however that saying goes:Once I dated this guy who came dangerously close to calling me names when he told me that he defines a "crazy cat lady" as "any woman who lives alone with more than one cat."

At the time I realized I had only narrowly missed his implied insult. After all, I lived alone with two cats on the weekends when my kids spent with their dad.

Now that I shacked up with The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken, I figured I was pretty much out of the running for "crazy cat lady". But now that I reread my post, I'm wondering if maybe his requirements were actually a little too stringent.

Dear Abby With a Belly Button Ring

2009-03-27T12:51:00.000-07:00

My boy got a birthday party invitation, and if he wants to go to the party I have to sign the invitation agreeing that I don't mind if he dies. Right there on the invitation, ON the card it says, "This release and waiver covers risks of death, serious injury and property loss..."

What do you do with a birthday party invitation like that? Call the mom and say, "Y'know, I'm okay with property loss, but if I'm going to let my kid go to this thing, you're going to have to promise to keep the death to an absolute minimum, okay?"?

The party is at one of those places with the bouncy air filled slides and stuff. Both my kids have had those things collapse on them before, so I know it's not an abstract danger, but still...a birthday party invitation that includes "death"?!? Couldn't they just have face painting or something?

I just bought this t-shirt for my gal:In other news, at work there is a new rule that we can't sing about frogs. Please just don't even ask, because if I'm going to be fired I would rather it not be because I went on an angry internet tirade about amphibians.

I just thought it would enough for everyone to know that in addition to jobs where workers are given electric shocks as part of their work day, there are places of employment where there is a rule against singing about frogs. I thought singing about frogs was a basic human right. Who'd'a thunk?!?!

Last but not least (or maybe least) The-guy recently called me "Dear Abby with a belly button ring." It's true that I have totally awesome parenting skills.

So then I thought, "Wouldn't it be fun to turn Twipply Skwood into Dear Abby with a belly button ring? And then my friend Jeff could make fun of my advice, because he's hilarious when he makes fun of that Dear Abby without (presumably) a belly button ring.

But then I remembered that for it to work, people would have to ask questions. And some of the people who read don't even have kids. And I'm not actually all that great at handling rejection. So then I would have to make questions up. And really, how many different ways can I find to say, "Your child is manipulating you."?

I am TOTALLY, TOTALLY kidding on that last part! I don’t think kids are manipulative in the least. It’s just that they normally have very different goals than those taller people around them.

It turns out that I'm not actually a "team player"

2009-03-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

But I am number ONE on google if you search "how many ways can you be decapitated," And that is such an honor in and of itself that I barely have to worry about not being a team player.

Here's the thing. I said that my parenting advice included moisturizing really well, 'cause who the heck can be a good parent if their face looks like a bundle of stress? And those kids DO cause a lot of stress. And here I'm using the term "stress" interchangeably with the term, "school activities".

My boy and my gal have both been required to complete science fair projects each and every year. If you're unfamiliar with science fair, it's like this: take your basic eighth grade science lab and include a research paper on the subject. Then instead of just writing down the information on a sheet of notebook paper and handing it to the teacher like I used to do, require a display board with a bunch of fancy graphics and photos. Then pit the projects against each other in a competition.

The only saving grace is that you only have to complete one a year instead of a certain number a week like I used to. The other difference is that science fair offers an option to work as a group. It sounds like fun, but it always ends up excruciating. So here's more very important parenting advice: don't EVER, EVER get involved in a group project if you can at all help it.

Up until earlier this week (when The Guy told me that it's not actually a requirement for life), I was under the impression that being a "team player" was a positive thing. This was a result of being interviewed by a principal for a teaching position.

The principal asked me if I liked working alone or in a group. It was a tough question. On the one hand, what I enjoy most in a job is when the boss will stay out of my hair and let me get done whatever the heck I was hired to do. On the other hand, I've disliked jobs where I felt isolated.

I floundered around for awhile until the principal gently lead me to declare that I was a "team player".

I did learn from that job interview that just because you share a sense of humor with a boss and can follow her leading interview questions does NOT mean she will be fun to work for. But I forgot to learn that I'm not a team player. And so I have, on more that one occasion, consented to my children doing group school projects.

Here's the thing - even if your goals are aligned with the other people in the group (pass science fair, or WIN science fair) AND the children get along well AND you agree on how much adult help is permissible AND you work at more or less the same speed, your schedules will never, ever match up. In any case, it's torture.

And since I'm never going to learn my lesson, maybe one of you folks with younger children can learn it for me.

Anyway, to turn to less agonizing subjects, here's one of the roses The-Guy is growing. I just wish I had a scratch and sniff blog, because it smells that yummy:And here's the ladybug release party, also known as a particularly expensive and cruel way to feed the birds:Notice how much better my boy's eyeball looks without the scratch on the cornea:So anyway, the-guy and my boy and gal released all the ladybugs, and the birds had a nice snack, but presumably not before the ladybugs ate all the pesky aphids.

And so just to recap: group projects will make your life miserable and you should avoid them whenever possible. And kids look cute releasing doomed insects from captivity. Oh and also, apparently I am some sort of expert on decapitation because I mentioned it once.

So be careful out there folks, because if I'm an expert on decapitation (not to mention science fair), then definitely John Prine got it right and it's a big old goofy world.

Where's the Chocolate Covered Matzoh When You Need It?

2009-03-14T15:25:00.000-07:00

You know life's gotten a little out of control when you're sitting in the minor emergency room thinking, "At least I get a chance to sit down."

The problem is, we've been celebrating Passover these past couple weeks. Except, we didn't really get the matzoh ball soup or the macaroon cookies. We just got the plagues.

We did manage to replace boils and frogs with more modern plagues, but this is the type of fun we've been having at my house:

two fever viruses

lice

battles with totally unreasonable science teachers (refusing to allow make up work from the fever virus)

back surgery (this was my dad's plague, actually, but I'm on a roll)

Two sessions of camp (Okay! Camp is WONDERFUL and not actually a plague, but it still produces a TON of laundry. And laundry is totally a plague in my book)

various sore throats, coughs, and colds

parent teacher conferences (preparation for those will be the death of me)

And last but not least my boy scratched his cornea.

A scratched cornea looks really gross under a black light, in case you were wondering:Anyhow, so that's how I come to be late (and anticlimactic I'm sure) on answering the final questions for A Free Man's Interview Thing. Here's the second set of questions Arizaphle asked me.

3. As a kindergarten (preschool) teacher, how do you feel about the next generation? Is there any hope for the world?

Hope’s really the best we’ve got, isn’t it? So yeah. In fact, make mine a double.

4. What's the one piece of advice you'd give to parents today?

Egads, who the heck knows?!?!?! Parenting is wonderful and horrible and complicated and simple but not always all at the exact same time. So just make sure you use a really good moisturizer at night, because if you’re like me, the stress shows all over your face…

No wait! That’s not it. My advice is: Just when you think you can’t possibly take one more thing, that’s when your kid gets lice. So just make sure you use a really good moisturizer at night, because if you’re like me, the stress shows all over your face…

Oh no wait…maybe it’s…aw never mind. A good moisturizer IS essential. I’m fairly certain about that. Take care of yourself at any rate, 'cause young children have absolutely no mercy.

5. If Obama is 'Hope' and Bush is 'History', what is Hilary?

A scapegoat?

At least that’s what Roy Zimmerman’s song “Burn Goody Clinton” seems to imply. But in all honesty, politics is not my strong point.

6. Who would you have awarded the Best Actor/Supporting Oscars to this year?

I don’t really believe in Oscars. But if I am only granted the power to award them and not to cancel the show outright, I’d have to give best actress to my gal for being Lady Merle & best actor to my boy for being Rabbi Tuckstein in Robin Hood.And that's it - better late than never. Happy Passover! Or no wait...that's next month. Happy "Jill survived until Spring Break." That's a major holiday at my house. Or...to me it is.

That Interview Thing - Part I

2009-03-02T05:15:00.000-08:00

I did A Free Man’s Interview thing, which means that Arizaphale of Now Where Did I Put That Flaming Sword? interviewed me, & I interviewed Father Muskrat.

Except, I think Father Muskrat decided to concentrate his efforts of late on evenly distributing his bodily functions into inappropriate receptacles instead of being interviewed, but...y'know...either way...

I've been getting kind of totally slammed by what I like to call "life spackle" lately, so I've broken up the interview into two parts to make posting (and reading, I imagine) more manageable:

1. You've got to admit, your blog has an unusual name. What does it mean (if anything) and what was your motivation in choosing it?

I overheard the name for my blog during Thanksgiving dinner maybe three years ago, uttered by my nephew. “But I was twipply skwood, because I did it at Mama’s house!”

I knew immediately that I had to adopt this new phrase…whatever it meant. As it turned out, my nephew had discovered the joys of superstitions and was entertaining his side of the table with the wishful thinking of a just turned six year old.

I don’t know if superstitions are the same the world over, but here in the United States, in addition to being somewhat reckless, walking under a ladder is also bad luck.

“I was skwood (screwed)” he explained, “because I walked undew a laddew (under a ladder)!”

He continued, “But then I was doubly skwood, because I did it at midnight.”

Finally he concluded that he was “twipply skwood” because he walked under a ladder at midnight at mama’s house.

So: skwood = screwed, twipply skwood = triply screwed

2. Why the signs? What's the attraction?

My dad has two theories about signs. One is "the brother in law theory." Someone has a brother in law in the sign making business and so a lot of stupid signs get made just to give the brother in law some business.

Dad’s other theory is that any sign means there’s a problem that, for whatever reason, no one feels like solving. I’m not sure if those two theories are mutually exclusive, or work together somehow. But either way, there are just so many entertaining signs out there.

Of course, it’s not always a sign. Sometimes it’s a fish with a tattoo:Sometimes there’s a sale at Target on movies featuring men with angry expressions on their faces:

And sometimes I see a truck that says “Fish” and I wonder, “Is that a noun or an imperative verb?”
And then I take a picture. Because why not? I mean, surely there are other people who wonder how hard it was to get the fish an appointment at the tattoo parlor and whether or not the sign on the truck is really ordering all who read it to go fishing.

Anyhow, that's two out of six. The other four are shorter and I'll post them as soon as life gives me a break here and/or some excess computer time.

Stuff I Learn When My Kids Are Sick

2009-02-19T05:30:00.000-08:00

Yeah. Pamper your skin, right in the privacy of your own home. Because by "pamper your skin," I'm sure they must mean "yank your hair out by the follicles."

So this is some of the stuff I learned while my kids were sick:

1) A bottle of Resolve Pet Stain Remover looks almost exactly the same as Zout Laundry Stain Remover. Also, I'm really glad The-Guy has a gray couch. Also, those two facts have absolutely nothing to do with one another. Almost nothing to do with each other, that is.

2) Raw pizza dough does not respond well to being rinsed in hot water in the sink.

That's why I recommend (for those who spend the time to fix pizza dough from scratch) not spilling an entire vase full of flower water directly onto the dough that took almost two hours to prepare. Because, as it turns out, dough doesn't roll out well after being rinsed off in the sink.

3) My cat, Sugar, likes to play guitar by plucking the strings with his teeth. Okay, so I already knew that. But I never had the opportunity to get a picture before:4) That hot wax stuff that pampers you by yanking the hair from its follicles works WAY better than the cold wax strips. In fact, it works SO well that it will even pluck individual hairs out of your head if you happen to look at the jar too closely.

In fact, the only down side to that hot wax stuff is it's seriously messy. And I can't figure out how to get it off of...well...any number of things.

As the old saying goes, it's been real and it's been fun...but it sure would be great if I were back at work by the time you read this.

Those Girl Scout People Are Trying to Kill Me

2009-02-15T03:42:00.000-08:00

I was happy to see these for sale at Target the other day, because I noticed they're 100% non toxic, as opposed to all the other teddy bears they sell there, which they like to coat in pesticides.

I'm KIDDING! But only partly kidding, since they've discovered that most of the toys my gal teethed on 13 years ago were full of phthalates and all kinds of other poisons.

I don't think they use poisonous plastics on baby teethers anymore. They just save all the bad stuff for the formula now-a-days. Better to go directly into the digestive system than having to worry about absorbing small amounts through the skin or mouth, right?

And speaking of ingesting bad stuff, I'm pretty sure The Girl Scouts are trying to kill us. Every year six or seven SEEMINGLY innocent girl scouts guilt me into buying a box of sugar and fat and food color.

It's very confusing because it says right on the box of cookies, "The Girl Scout Cookie Program is good for your community!" Except...last time I checked sugar and partially hydrogenated palm kernal oil (not to mention red #40 lake, yellow #5 lake, blue #1 lake, and blue #2 lake) were NOT good for my community.

But what the heck do I know. I never was a girl scout. I pass this sign all the time on my way to school though:You know, as much as I dislike being ordered around by signs, I did TRY to sign up for Boy Scouts. But I was 11 at the time. Because my neighborhood didn't have a girl scout troupe. So, of course, my friend and I tried out for boy scouts. But apparently they aren't interested in girls.

That's why that sign really should specify exactly WHO it's trying to order around. "Join Cub Scouts! NOW! And I mean it! Unless you're a female...or gay..." Or are they letting in the gay people now?

Either way, I missed out on the whole sugar and partially hydrogenated oil pushing experience as a child, but it wasn't for lack of trying.

Just in case you hate me for life now: I understand scouting is a fine organization except for the discriminating against gay people thing, and I respect them for teaching children everywhere how to go camping. But I'm still resentful about having to buy the cookies and being ordered around by yard signs.