Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Pig Boy and The Truffle Shuffle

I've been mistakenly thinking my son smells look foot-cheese for days. Turns out it was my watch. I took it off, gave a vinegar bath and gave my son a sniff. He smells like he should. My daughter smells more often of coconut soap, strawberry shampoo or peanut butter. But my son just smells like him. Not smelling like an old foot/good cheese is a good thing. To my knowledge he has only had one smell that lasted a while and that was that smell of decayed stumpy umbilical cord that falls of a new born baby after three weeks. No one really prepares you for that. But it is fleeting and then you can concentrate on other smells. Like spat-up breast milk or diaper droppings. None of those matter though - it's all very welcome and surprisingly easy to get used to.

If someone told me that I had to take care of someone and they will pee and poo on themselves, and that a bit of them will die and fall off I would probably argue quite strongly to get out of it. But with your own kids it doesn't even register. Unless they smell like a foot and then you are allowed to give them away. They tell you that at the hospital. I have a very strong stomach as it turns out. Need a dead critter moving? No problem. Need someone to finger-out the black-blue hairy moldy thing at the back of the fridge? Doesn't bother me. Some smells bother me. Like microwaved popcorn in a public place (like at work) is disgusting. That smell honestly drives me up the wall. And there's a type of paper that smells like vomit. What is that? But all smells bother my daughter. She will yell across the room that something smells. Sometimes she's right. But hilariously she still hasn't figured out that sometimes it's her. But the smell of things that came out of children (edit: MY children) doesn't phase me at all.

My son is asleep now actually. My daughter is sitting on the couch looking at a craft book. She just spent a good hour decorating lollipop sticks (the big flat ones) with stickers and then painting them. Since about 7am this morning though I've felt lousy. That started to dissipate around 11am and now I almost feel normal. In the middle of feeling terrible my daughter took advantage and asked me if she could have ice cream if she was good. Apparently I said she could so Im hoping there is some left. She also expects sprinkles, chocolate sauce and a cherry. Blame that expectation on Grandpa - he simply must have desert after every meal and it's quite often a sundae with his granddaughter now. Thankfully it's a decent ice cream too (Byrne Dairy if you're interested) so I might see if I can squeeze a bit out for me. It's hard to not like ice cream, but this stuff is very good. Much better than some of the guff at the grocery store anyway. First off, keep that Turkey Hill and Edys crap away from me. That's disgusting. Perry's will do, and I'll take the Panda Paws if you're buying. But the masturbatory adulation for Turkey Hill needs to stop. And someone needs to tell me what the big deal is about Klondike bars. It's just a choc-ice.

Its a cold grey day too. 61 degrees! So no pool, no water balloons and per my daughter - no staying outside because it is, "freezing ice-cold." We hit the playground earlier to get them out of the house though. If I didn't do that they will never go to sleep tonight. I might persuade them to go "hunt pigs" out in the back garden. My daughter made that game up after confusing a story I'd read once about using pigs to find morels.

Which reminds me, my wife dropped a massive hint this morning. She said, " you should be more like her" and pointed at a book written by Ina Garten (the Barefoot Contessa). Then she read out loud this clearly nonsensical blather about how My New Idol (I don't get to make these decisions - I will be judged to this standard now) spends the entire day on a Friday preparing an elaborate feast to show her husband just how much she loves and adores him. He will have been away somewhere else around the globe, and she will go to extreme lengths to have him now the instant he walks through the door that he is Home. In fact, based on her own description, her every waking moment is based around devising amazing meals filled with such a grandiose intense level of hot sex-love in them that her husband may actually get pregnant just from eating them. So my wife said I should be like that. My wife seems to have missed the fact that Ina Garten is a 62 year old multi-millionaire with no kids, three houses (one of those in Paris) and a solid 24 hours a day to cook meals with ingredients that no normal person could even remotely afford.

"Then, after you've poured the Yeti's breast-milk into the gold-leaf decorated pan have one of your servants make a swan come in it" she might say.

I, on the other hand, am a 35 year old man with two strangely mental children - one of whom who is a four year old ninja - and seemingly nowhere near enough time to do all the things they want to do each day. I also gleefully left my last job to stay in this unfinished rebuilt soul-crushing home (I love it now, but it nearly killed me) that doesn't even have a single carpet in it. And I like to use a crock-pot quite often so that I don't even have to think about dinner. I can cook - I've actually surprised myself there - and we do have a ton of fresh ingredients growing right outside. I have genuinely cooked many bloody good things that even the kids wanted to eat. And truthfully I cook with effort 90% of the time. But I'm not going to be spending five hours today selecting just the right kind of truffles (presumably utilizing a free-range French pure-breed pig - or at a pinch dress my son in a pig costume) just so my wife can awkwardly weep at the dinner table because she can't believe I love her that much. During which time my daughter would be rubbing her truffle in ranch dressing and my son would sneakily give his to the dog under the table. Not because I don't want too either - but because I'm not a retired childless millionaire with their own truffle-pig.

Still, tonight I'm making a big pot of potato and kale soup and chucking in a ton of cannelloni beans and some Adirondack cheese. I have too many potatoes, maybe ten heads of kale outside that are ready to eat and I really don't need an excuse to eat beans. We eat tons of them. Not only do they taste really really good but it satisfies my wife and my own proclivity to be cheap. Stuff making a fancy truffle-feast - if my wife sees that I've been cheap and made beans she'll know without question that I love her.

Once pig-boy wakes up we're going to go drop off a whole bunch of boxes of baby clothes at the clothing donation bin outside the local Catholic church. It's quite a step for parents to make because it really does mean you know you aren't going to have more kids. No need to hang on to those three month old onesies any more. Even though they were only worn once by each kid before they rapidly out-grew them. We are officially not making sure we keep the good baby stuff just in case. We very much planned our two kids, and we are very much planning to not have any more of them. So unless something very odd happens we wont have any more babies. We're done. So the clothes can go. Weird.

Daily Dump - Nearest Playground

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