Freaky Egg Update

So this won't make any sense unless you read the previous post, but for those of you keeping track--after this mornings scrambled eggs and this afternoons cake, the total is up to 5.
Very, very weird.

The Apocalypse is Nigh

So I'm baking a cake for my friend Paul's 30th birthday and it's not going well, but that's another story. I'm making the cake in stages and I'm mixing the batter for the second part of the cake when I crack an egg into my measuring cup and discover it's a double yolk. Cool. I show Sam. He isn't terribly impressed. So I crack the second egg and discover it's also a double yolk. Freaky, right?? (Sam still isn't impressed.) But I thought it was weird so I took a picture:

Then I decide that my cake pan needed more batter so I set out to mix more. I crack the first egg and it's normal, but when I cracked the second-- you guessed it--double yolk. Really freaky!!! I took another picture:


Now, I'm starting to feel a little uneasy. I bake a lot. And when I say "a lot" I mean really. So I've cracked my fair share of eggs, right??!!? And occasionally you come across a double yolk, but I have never come across 3 in the same day.

I think the world may be coming to an end. . . .

P.S. I wanted to crack the rest of the eggs to see how many more there were, but I figured that was unnecessary and wasteful. But mostly I didn't want to get in trouble with Chris.

Fun In The Snow

Last week it snowed. I am happy to report that this is no longer the dreaded event it once was because for the first time in my motherhood experience--all three of my children can dress themselves for snow play activities. Trust me--there is nothing more exhausting than putting on 3 pairs of snow overalls, 6 boots, 6 mittens, 3 hats, 3 scarves, 3 coats and then inevitably having one or more of the children come right back in to say they have to pee. I know it's cliche, but believe me--it happens every single time.
But this year everyone can dress themselves--it's wonderful!! So the kids spent all morning sledding and having a grand old time until I noticed Sam's lips were turning a lovely shade of blueberry and Emma was trembling (and not from excitement). I decided it was time to come in and warm up. As I was helping Sam get his wet snow clothes off (alas--we have not reached the point were he can remove the layers independently) he was very, very cold and soaked through to his clothes underneath. So I told him I would run a bath for him so he could warm up. He runs off to his room to finish getting undressed and I hear,

"Mommmiiieee . . . there's something wrong with mine pee-nus!!"

So I go in to see what the matter is, (although I have my suspicions) and discover Sam bent over examining himself and looking very concerned. "Where did mine pee-nus go?" he asks.
So here I am, trying to explain scientifically what happens to the male body when it gets cold, but I can see he 's not getting it. That's what I get for trying to share a little knowledge with my children. "Just go get in the bathtub--it will be fine. . .trust me."

I just can't imagine why not everyone wants to experience this.

Steelers suck.

'Nuff said.

Liz Learns Sarcasm. . . Hooray!

There are certain milestones that a parent looks for their child to accomplish at certain ages. Walking, for example, should be achieved between 12 and 18 months of age. By age two your child should have a vocabulary of 50-300 words. Between 3 and 4 years of age, toilet training should be mastered.

Apparently, sarcasm gets learned right around 7 1/2 years.

So I'm cooking dinner this evening, the television is blaring football (because Chris's beloved basement television has died and he now feels the need to watch all sporting events on the kitchen TV), Chris and his friend Justin are yelling at the television (because this apparently affects the player's performance and therefore the outcome of the game), Liz and Sam are having a very loud Robo-Dinosaur vs. Robo-Man battle right under my feet, a dog is barking, and did I mention I have a pounding headache due to the delightful cold I have acquired from one or more of the outbreak monkeys who sprang forth from my womb and became instantly unable to walk past my drink without stopping to backwash into it.

So I (very sweetly and with marked patience) say to Liz and Sam, "Is there a reason you can't play with those toys downstairs in your playroom?"

And my lovely little second grader says, "Uh, because if we were downstairs, then it would be quiet in here and you would be able to concentrate on making dinner."

And Chris looks at me and says, "Oh great, Liz has learned sarcasm!"

Girls Night Out

I was invited for a girls night out with a new friend I met through my kids school. As I don't get out very often and rarely get to have grown-up girl conversations (the most intellectual conversation I had this week was with my four year old and was about whether the light saber or blaster gun is the better weapon of choice when fighting bad guys in space), I was very excited about the prospect of a night out cutting loose with the girls.
Now, this particular group of women calls themselves JUGs (standing for Just Us Girls). Personally, I think it is an adorable name for a girls group. The smart ass Husband responded with this email:

"FYI, my friend Jim and I are the founding members of SCHolastic Litany Of Nice Guys and we have a group outing tomorrow. Hope that's not a problem."

Once he informed me that I could not in fact become a member of SCHLONG, I shot back this response:

"Well, if I can't join SCHLONG then I'm starting my own group. And you and Jim can't be members of the Knowledgeable New Order of Cute Kissable Exceptional Representatives of Sexiness. So there."

IT'S FINISHED!!!

So here is the finished room--minus some prints of comic book art we're going to hang. Still on the fence as to whether to add Spiderman and Ironman on one of the other walls. . .