Monday, June 30, 2008

kind of bossy

What he's saying (that I can make out) to Dad's puppy, Sam:

"You have to stay there, ok? But because you have to stay there, but because you have to do flap your ears, ok? But you-you-you could go in Papaw's yard or Papaw's shop, or you could climb on the fence and get out, or you just maybe get out and play and run around, or you could maybe play with my racecar jammies, but you can't play with my racecar jammies, but you can stay outside, ok? But you can stay on the (?), and the shovel, but you can't play on the (Lane's running the sink) but you can stay outside, but because you CAN'T. All you need to do is stay outside and poop outside."

Sunday, June 29, 2008

well now, if THAT ain't taking after his father

I'm a proponent of teaching kids the proper names for things. Blake knows he has a penis, and that's about it right now. The word "testicles" is just to big for him to remember, and the only girl body parts he remembers are "boobs."

I find a three-year-old saying "boobs" unnerving, but "breasts" just sounds icky. I'm trying to encourage him to call them "ta-tas" - and the reason this is all an issue is because he is in a curious phase. As in: "Mom? Can I see your boobs?" The answer is no, those are private, but you may look at your own. Except that he's been told boys don't have "boobs," they have "nipples" (thanks, Pete!).

Argh. I think I might err on the side of clinical accuracy and defer to "breasts," especially after this exchange:

A: You have some mosquito bites, so I'm going to put this salve on - it keeps them from itching.
B: Here's one. (pointing to a mole)
A: Nope, honey, that's just a mole. They don't itch.
B: Do you know what moles look like?
A: Um, freckles. They are like freckles.
B: Nope. They look like nipples.

After telling a friend (who shall remain anonymous to protect the innocent) about the above, she shared the following two stories of her nephews:

D, at age two, while the well-endowed check-out lady at the supermarket was reaching for the groceries to scan, reached across and latched onto her boobs. She screamed and pulled back, and he held his grip and went with her, right out of the cart. She screamed more, and his mother, M, was so horrified she could not move until the manager arrived and began to attempt to pry young D from the woman. Poor woman had to go on break after that, and M never shopped there again.

N, in a restaurant with his whole family and a group of us adults, leaves the table (with about all of us watching him, cause he's not quite four) and walks up to a well-endowed brunette who's just sat down, alone, at a table near us. He plops himself in the chair next to her and, I can still hardly believe I say this from a child, says to her coyly, "Hi. I'm N." He then looks right at her breasts, then back at her. In the meantime, all conversation with adults has stopped at our table as we stare at N and this woman, our mouths agape. And the woman clearly had no idea how to take being hit on by a child. I just remember A, N's mom suddenly being there next to him, deep red face, saying "N! Come here this instant!"

I guess they come by it honest.

Friday, June 27, 2008

fun house mirror

Maybe this is self-explanatory, but Blake discovered his reflection... a bowl of caramel corn.

trying to pull it together

Wow, we've been playing catch-up all week. A quick rundown:
  • 2:00 am - The hour, in Montana, that I had to wake up on Monday in order to get to the airport at time (4:00 am Eastern).
  • 10:30 am - The hour in Montana that Blake and I arrived in Billings, exhausted but with great memories and (the best part) a Batman costume.
  • Tuesday - I had to drive back to Bozeman and straight to work in order to wrap up a major deadline. We were there an hour and got to spend the rest of the day at home together. It wasn't super-relaxing (unpacking and watering droopy plants and showering), but it wasn't work, and that's saying something.
  • Wednesday - A full day at work followed by a baby shower for a dear friend whose preemie twins are doing SO WELL. I love them and would nibble their cheeks if I wasn't petrified I'd pass on some terrible disease.
  • Thursday - Our relaxing day, starting with a leisurely morning of reading and playing, then the park, some errands, and a nap for Blake.
  • Friday - Another full day of work. I still haven't taken my nap, and it feels like my face is cracking into two every time I yawn, which I do all day long. Also, a group of friends and I are going to Shakespeare in the Park tonight! I'm excited for almost all of it...but they're doing Macbeth. PARTY!
I'm missing out on a camping trip this weekend with the rest of my family. I blame the fact that NO ONE TOLD ME (or I wasn't listening when they did), so I never put it in my planner and consequently scheduled other things, but the fact is that I probably couldn't have gone even if told in time. That's my way of saying, "Mom? I'm sorry that I was such a bag about not being able to go. It's probably not your fault."

We had such fun in DC. I got to have great conversations with Rachel & Joe, and the boys played wonderfully together. Now that I got the semi-scary hurdle of a first visit down (you know, you never know what it's going to be like, so you're scared of the unknown?), I think we'll go out for a week the next time. I'm not sure when that's going to be, but hopefully soon.
An aside to the friend/family whom I will not name, but who gave me some genuine attitude about the lack or brevity of my visit? I will HAPPILY come out more often and stay longer - you can go ahead and buy the tickets. Be prepared to drop a thou.
Last Sunday at the National Zoo was great fun - we got to see the couple who had hosted big Blake and I for Thanksgiving during our brief stay in Los Alamos. They've been transferred to DC for the next four years, and it was lovely to hug them and spend a bit of time with them. We also got to see a fellow I work with - he hadn't met Blake yet! - and I am so grateful that they were willing to bend to our schedule given our brief stay. Thank you guys!
I'm having my wedding dress altered to attempt to wear it to a formal ball in September. For those who think that's in poor taste: it's more a joke than anything else. Also, shove it. For everyone else: it's the most fabulous dress I've ever owned, and I'm excited to possibly wear it again, albeit much changed, and I hope that not too many people pooh-pooh it. I think that would hurt my feelings.
Once I can figure things out, I hope to post video (I know, I've promised THAT before) and pics later today. Also, maybe once I'm rested I can organize my thoughts a little better? Maybe?

Friday, June 20, 2008


"Wanker is a pejorative term of English origin, common in Britain, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, and British-influenced territories like South Africa, and gaining usage in Canada and the United States. It initially referred to "one who masturbates" but has since become a general insult. It is synonymous with tosser." -Wikipedia

I'm not sure why, since I hate the word "masturbate," but I find "wanker" and "tosser" equally charming. It's GOT to do with the accent. For those who don't appreciate my love for and use of big words (which my son is inheriting):

pejorative: derogatory, derisive, and contemptuous. When used as a noun, pejorative means "a belittling or disparaging word or expression."

in dc and loving it!

We arrived yesterday evening to delightfully warm temps, some humidity, and a warm, welcoming home. Rachel & Joe have renovated LOTS since I was here last (almost four years ago), and it was fun to see the upgrades. Also fun? Four boys enjoying one another's company. Blake and Jack are peas in a pod, and it's encouraging to see Joe & Rachel parent three little men - almost makes me think I can handle one. Almost.

We went to the Air & Space Museum today, and there were PLANES, MOM! AND HELICOPTERS! Everything has been in all caps with exclamation points since yesterday morning, partly because of the excitement of it all, and partly because he's competing with three other energetic people for equal time. He's loving every minute of it.

The Teipes had a Batman costume sized just right, so he wore it all morning and intends to wear it all evening. He's announced that Batman carries a sword, so he's armed to the teeth once we added the sword to his pretend gun (forefinger). Blake and Jack are great friends already, and they play very well together. We've got a swim meet tomorrow for the older two boys and will hit the zoo after church on Sunday. I love zoos, so I'm probably more excited than anyone else.
So, I was very graciously and gently encouraged by a friend to amend what I'd said about false eyelash girl at Albertson's. After thinking about it (and realizing that I own and have worn fake eyelashes), I figure she's probably trying to glam up an otherwise thankless, dull job, and living in Montana, what else is she going to do? Anymore, multiple piercings and tattoos are de riguer, so the only real way to stick out in good old MT is glamour: eyelashes and heels will set you apart faster than almost anything else!

As someone who enjoys standing out and being the center of attention, I am going to be a little easier on others who probably feel the same way. At least, I will try. And the more people making fake eyelashes the norm, THE MORE I GET TO WEAR MY OWN.

They really are fabulous. I'm looking at a pair with actual rhinestones at the tips. Or feathers. Blake gets to wear his costume every day (or at least, he WILL get to). Why can't I?

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

you are trying too hard when...

  • You wear one-inch false lashes to your the checkstand at Albertson's. Maybe she moonlights.
  • You call me for five different surveys within a seven-day period. I don't think it's all the same company (oil opinions, CDC on childhood immunizations, etc.), and Qwest wanted me to bundle some services too, but I hate answering the phone to anyone who says "I'm looking for Adalee Mostad?" That just shows they don't try QUITE hard enough.


After preschool:
B: "My brother's at Sunday school, and always Tuesday and Friday and Saturday and Monday..." (in true list fashion, said more like "Tuesdaaaay and Fridaaaay")
A: "Did you practice days of the week at preschool?"
B: "No, but I did.

I did.

I did.

Trying to coax him to sing:
A: "Can you tell me how La Cucaracha goes?"
B: "No, it's too silly without you, and I don't want it to knock over the buildings."
When he calls me "Mommy," which I don't like (I'm not really sure why - it makes me feel old? makes him sound infantile?), preferring "Momma" over all, though I will answer to "Mom":
A: "I don't like it when you call me Mommy."
B: "Well, I like calling you Mommy because you're my best friend."
A: "Awwww!"


Blake's grill, generously donated by a friend's friend. He loves his fake teeth.

Bing & prego Lane: these guys got engaged not long ago!

Mason (l) and Smith (r) on their first birthday. They might be the cutest ever, and Blake tried valiantly to steal all their presents.

Smith, still not sure he can touch the cake, now that the enchanting candle is gone.

Mason, still emotional after I smacked his hand away from the candle. That right! I'd do it again too! Burned baby is not something I will tolerate. Plus, I didn't smack him hard, just quickly to keep him from hurting himself.

Lane and Blake, chillin' in the swing at the Myers' house.

He does not like haircuts, but Grammie was a brave soul. We also bribed him with the ice cream bar, which he tearfully ate while telling us, "I DON'T NEED HAIRCUT!"

But he looks so cute once it's all over with, I'll probably still fight the battle (rather than learn how to French braid). He ate plenty of his own hair, but I think a person's tummy can handle almost anything when it's mixed with ice cream.

A lovely surprise in the mail: my very own Patrick Dempsey. Click to enlarge and read.

Blake and Roberta, heading into the wild blue yonder of gymnas-kicks.

The Cars band-aid. He peeled it off himself the next night, solving that little dilemma for me (how do I take it off now?), and the cut is healing nicely, though it will leave a scar.

I was going through boxes the other day and left Daddy Blake's heart rate monitor out, thinking I could find the chest strap to go with it. Blake found it, proclaimed it his laser (like Buzz Lightyear), and now plays with it or carries it around pretty much constantly. He knows it was Daddy's watch, and that it's his now.

This is the same heart rate monitor that some of you may have known back in the day, when Daddy Blake would ask: "What's your heart rate?" Apparently, he did this with some regularity on bike rides, runs, hikes, and Bible studies.

At the picnic for the reunion this weekend. Blake and Lizabeth grabbed the two bunches of balloons and proceeded to run through the festivities like banshees on speed. They laughed and plowed around with them for quite some time, which was nice because they were busy, but kind of bad because I think they knocked over people's drinks.

The rosy-cheeked buddies, in a brief moment of rest.

Monday, June 16, 2008


Has anyone else noticed that lots more commercials are being voiced-over by British folks? The ones I hate the most are for Tropicana, which takes something pretty basic (fruit juice) and makes it sultry by way of an accent, drawn-out syllables, and frisky music.

It's weird.

Also, Lane and I watched Sliding Doors last night and agreed that you cannot say "wanker" without a British accent. It sounds stupid.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

eating crow

I had a great time at my reunion. The class president did a wonderful job pulling things together (though, after seeing many folks Friday night at the bar, last night's dinner/dance was anti-climactic), and it was so fun to see people again after such a long time. In general, the girls (I CAN STILL CALL US THAT) looked pretty much the same. The same couldn't be said for most of the guys...seemed like a lot of them had more around the middle or less on top or a combination of the two that was kind of startling.

It was a delightful time, and I'm very glad that I went. Next time, I will brush up on the yearbook pics to try to remember more names - I was wretched at them, which made me feel like a total flake pretty much the whole time.

Oh yeah, and the guy who nicknamed me "Adildo" my junior year? He totally apologized, felt awful, and is still as cute as ever. I may have forgiven him and secretly wished he'd asked for my phone number. No matter how much I hated him at the time, it now makes for a deliciously funny story, and none of you gets to call me that. EVER.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008


  • having a warm home on a crappy weather day
  • being ahead of the curve on work - that NEVER happens!
  • counting down to D.C. for family, possibly friends (we might get to see some), and unseasonable warmth
  • friends calling me with garden questions
  • Reese & Naomi letting me run the garage sale - because being in charge brings me a natural high, similar to heroin
  • Blake solving the "how should I take the band-off, now that we've gotten it on" question by taking it off himself...when asked if it hurt, he shook his head and said "Only a little bit."
  • "Good night...(hug)'re my sweet boy."
  • "Yep, and you're my sweet gurl."
  • getting to be the best lady in one of my best friend's weddings
  • having said friend know and care about the fact that I hate the word "matron," even though it's HER wedding, and she can do whatever she wants


  • seasonal mood disorders
  • doing all my home chores only to realize that I have to do them all over again in about one week...unless it's the dishes, in which case I wait two
  • feeling old at the ripe age of twenty-eight
  • having to resist impulse buys of two bags (one cute, one gorgeous), one skirt, and one sweater (in at least three colors)
  • breaking part of the loft I was cleaning up (in order to sell it) and not having what I need here to fix it
  • not having an air popper - I need me some caramel corn!
  • the half dozen overly hostile/aggressive drivers I've encountered lately - it's been really quite shocking. I think it's spiritual warfare, because nothing elicits the f-bomb from me faster than a jerk behind the wheel, driving like a jerk and not having the decency to feel shame.

stupid bozeman....

It's snowing here. I had to move all my potted plants either onto my sheltered porch or in my garage. The really big ones had to be dragged as close to the condo wall as possible. The high today is forecast at forty-seven degrees.

Blake was excited to see snow, naturally. "Oh! We get to shovel snow!"

"Honey, if we end up having to shovel snow today, we are moving to Mexico."


Monday, June 9, 2008

i don't like blood

For those of you who know me well, you know that I can be pretty low-key when it comes to Blake's injuries or God-only-knows what he puts in his mouth. Though I did carry around hand sanitizer for a few weeks after his birth, it eventually languished unused in the bottom of the diaper bag. I figure I'm giving his immune system lots of exercise so that, instead of going into hyperdrive over a peanut, it can save its energy for the really bad germs, like girl cooties. He's also a surprisingly tough little kid, and when something hurts enough to make him cry, it doesn't last long. I tell him to brush it off (especially because, 99% of the time, it's not serious AT ALL), he dutifully swipes at his head, even if he hurt his toe, and we move right along.

Well, tonight he decided to turn circles between a friend's coffee table and couch. Dizzy circles, in a space no more than eighteen to twenty-four inches wide. Stopping, he lost his balance and fell hard, cracking his head on the corner of the solid wood table. I saw him fall, saw him grab at his mouth, and promptly swept him up to assess the damage. No blood in his mouth, no broken teeth, a slight reddening on his cheeks, but I was pretty sure that was from crying...nothing, nothing, and then he tipped his head back.

In a straight line across the bottom of his chin was an angry, red, inch-long split. Clean edges, some blood, and my heart promptly broke in two.

"Catherine, he needs stitches," I said loudly, as she was coming to help. Hyperventilating, a quick series of pictures flashed through my mind - he has a huge, vascular head, and a head wound is a very, very bad thing. It was past five and we will have to go to the emergency room and wait and wait and wait and my sweet, small boy will scream at the needle and then they will sew him up and I will have to hold him down and we will cry and cry and cry and he will have a scar that will one day be cool but right now is horrible because it is bleeding and I cannot handle blood. My son should never leak the red stuff, and when he does, I lose my shit.

Catherine can attest to this. With the clean edges, she calmly asked if, maybe, a butterfly bandage wouldn't work? At least at first?

"No, no, he's scared of band-aids." GRR! Why must he be scared of band-aids when the one time he really, really needs one, I cannot fix it with a clean sock? Catherine and Tjabe, her son, were great sports, showing Blake that Tjabe could have a band-aid too! They could match! What about an Elmo band-aid? What about this, that, the other thing?

Blake was having NONE OF IT. He had stopped crying as much, unless, of course, we uttered the verboten words: band-aid. Finally, I asked Catherine if she would help me hold him down after I got some of my first aid stuff from home. She agreed, and I went to my house. Coming back in the door with my salve (which he recognizes and likes, for some reason) and a box of our own band-aids (Catherine's were adorning everything BUT my child), Blake cheerfully told me that he got a race car band-aid.

Catherine looked at me a bit worried, saying "He thinks you're getting race car that what you have?"

Oh yes. I do. He picked them out months ago, screamed whenever I reached for one, and is now quietly sleeping with a Nexcare Tattoo Cars band-aid beneath his chin. He whimpered a tiny bit when I put it on, but we dashed to the bathroom to admire the tattoo-like picture on his face. He was so proud that Tjabe wanted one.

I don't know what Catherine did to persuade him that band-aids were not, in fact, evil incarnate, but between her convincing him of their inherent goodness and talking me down from my borderline hysteria, well, she's just riding in pretty high in my book tonight. All my crazy comes out at the sight of blood (mostly my own, but ESPECIALLY my son's), but Catherine? She is my own personal Valium.

oh yeah

Top the Thai curry with chili garlic sauce to taste. I like it pretty spicy, and the sauce brings out the ginger and cilantro flavors. Just don't burn your lips off.


Thai Red Curry
  • 1 & 1/2 Tbsp red curry paste
  • Two 14 oz cans coconut milk (I use one regular and one light)
  • 1/2 cup chicken broth
  • 2 tsp grated ginger
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 4 oz sugar snap peas, cut in half
  • 4 oz shiitake mushrooms, sliced
  • 1 lb shrimp, chicken, or beef
  • 1 cup fresh cilantro leaves
Over medium-high heat, combine curry, coconut milk, broth, ginger, and salt. Bring to a boil. If using shrimp, add at the same time as the mushrooms and peas. If using sliced beef or chicken, add the meat first and cook about 4 minutes before adding the mushrooms and peas.

Lower heat and simmer until the meat is done and veggies are tender - about four minutes. Serve over rice or noodles and sprinkle liberally with the cilantro.

This serves A LOT - I have gotten at least six servings out of it so far, with more still in the fridge. If you're cooking for a small number, halve the recipe or face leftovers for a very long time.
Here's a curry recipe I can't enjoy until post-braces...

Curried Chicken with Pears
  • 3 Tbsp olive oil
  • 2 fresh pears, sliced
  • 4 chicken breasts
  • 1 onion, sliced
  • 1 Tbsp curry powder
  • 1 Tbsp flour
  • 1 Tbsp ketchup
  • 1 and 1/2 cup chicken broth
Heat 2 Tbsp of oil over medium heat. Add the meat and brown five minutes on each side. Transfer to a plate and set aside. Add pears and cook, stirring, for about two minutes. Set the pears aside with the chicken. Add the remaining oil and onion to the pan and cook until the onion is tender. Add curry, flour, ketchup, and broth and heat to boiling. Return the meat and pears to the pan and coat with the sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, covered, fifteen to twenty minutes. Salt and pepper to taste and serve.

I use a big wok to make this - it holds everything nicely.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

accept no substitutes

Believe it or not, there are a number of things going on in my life that do not make it to my blog (I'm working on the self-idolatry, and a big part of that is not talking about myself so damn much...very hard to do!). A quick example:
  • I have my 10 year high school reunion this coming weekend.
  • Two women very, very close to me both recently got engaged...woohoo!
  • Blake and I get to go to D.C. in about two weeks for a visit to Rachel (Daddy Blake's eldest sister) & family.
  • I've an AMAZING new recipe for Thai red curry - which is one of my specialties. This recipe makes the old recipe seem like a cute-but-sad attempt by a Montana girl to play with Thai food...which is pretty accurate.
For those of you who use my blog as a replacement for picking up the phone and calling me, well, it's just not the same (yes, I'm talking to YOU, Kathleen!). Those who could pass me on the street, you can go ahead and keep not calling me. That could get weird.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

the cuteness is almost too much

Blake is watching VeggieTales right now, and The Boyz in the Sink is on - singing BellyButton. As soon as it comes on, Blake jumps off the couch, and trots into his room, muttering "I need to get my guitar."

He plays his little cowboy guitar through the song...the double dose of wonderfully amazing artistic ability makes my heart soar.

Also, when I set a plate of baby carrots, cucumber slices, and sugar snap peas down as an appetizer, my son promptly came over and munched up all but the peas. I have friends whose children rigorously eschew all vegetables, so sweet Blake's willing and eager consumption of such healthy goodness is kind of amazing to me.

Of course, there was the time he hid two baby carrots in a pocket of the car. By the time I found them, they had dried and shriveled to the size of two orange toothpicks. Guess you can't have it all.

We were out the yard today (it was cold, but we toughed it out until the clouds hid the sun and it got really windy - it NEEDS TO BE SUMMER HERE), and Blake played with his rice box, which has lots of sand and bath toys in it. Lacking a sand box, last year I took a big Tupperware and filled it with a twenty pound bag of rice from Costco. It feels very decadent now that rice is in short supply, but what can I do?

So, he has a small net, which he snatched out and held up like a trophy, yelling "Mom! I going to catch jellyfish!" He then danced about our small swath of grass and ran back with his catch. I'm sure most of you think he should probably be catching "butterflies," but that would show a lack of knowledge about SpongeBob SquarePants. When you live in a pineapple under the sea, the butterflies are in short supply, so they catch jellyfish.

He then proceeded to fill bowls of rice to feed his cows. Imagination is a wonderful thing.

Friday, June 6, 2008

oh, the disconcertment

I turned off my alarm this morning and slept in a tiny bit. Blake woke me up at about 7:45, and we casually got him dressed and talked about what we would do this morning. He wanted to vacuum, which naturally made my heart go pitter-pat. If only he'd want to scrub my bathtubs.

I opened the blinds to a grey morning, per usual around here these days, and moved towards breakfast, eager for an open day full of nothing to putter and play. Walking past my table, I off-handedly wondered why I would have my Timbuk2 bag packed up and ready to go to work, and THEN MY HEART EXPLODED.

There's nothing quite like waking up blissfully secure in the belief that it's Saturday, then having the fact that it's-Friday-and-your
get-withering-looks-and-then-you-get-to-go-to-work-all-day come up and knock the wind out of you. I didn't recover until noon, and that had to be without the help of a cold beer at lunch. Sigh. Fridays are rough.

Monday, June 2, 2008

of dermatologists and ice cubes

First thing, it appears that Blake's fever has broken after a high of 103.5 last night. Hurray!

My two examples of overly sincere naiveté have nothing to do with my son...this time.

1. When meeting a dermatologist for the first time, he explained to me his doctor/patient relationships. As he expressed his intent to listen fully so as to better diagnose me, he lined out his desire for a fully communicative me (he clearly had very limited experience with me), capping his lengthy encouragement for open honesty with "I just want you to talk to me like a best girl friend."

Now, this is entertaining simply as is, but the icing on the cake...the reason this memory has stuck with me for over two months and elicited a smile or giggle at every remembrance...this sweet man was bald as an egg and sixty-five if he was a day.

2. I have two great cookbooks from Daddy Blake's dad's side of the family (Plentywood & surrounding area). Some of the recipes are a heart attack on a plate, some are divine, and others are so unique to the area that I'm not sure I could find the ingredients without renewing my passport. I LOVE looking through them for new dinner ideas, and I've found a few treasures. Today, in the "This 'N' That" section of Brewing Up a Brenteson Buffet, I found the recipe for making ice cubes.
How to Make Ice Cubes
Buy ice cube trays. Wash with soap and water; rinse well. No need to dry trays. Fill each little cube with water. Place in freezer on a flat surface until they are hard. Then can put them into a glass and fill glass with your favorite beverage.

I can't decide if I think this is a joke or not. I don't know which is funnier: some trickster got a silly "recipe" into the cookbook, or some enthusiastic soul decided to make sure everyone in the area knew how to use those fancy, new-fangled Fridgidaires (Growing up, I heard this pronounced as "Fridgidays" - that's right. We're country too.). Either way, I like it, especially the details: you don't need to dry the trays, you fill each little cube (not just half of them), you use ice in beverages...The only way it could be improved would be to add a line reading:
Or, hook the water line up to your fridge and make sure the bar on your automatic ice-maker is down. Add resulting cubes to a blender with your favorite margarita mix and the best tequila you can find in these parts.
I'm totally going to make that one.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

juice boxes and a business lesson

Purely on label recognition (on the juice boxes, which I normally do not buy), Blake is saying, "Juicy Juice. The very best juice for the very best kids." each and every time he takes a sip, further reinforcing why I do not buy juice boxes: my child's brand recognition.

To be clear, with my business training, I know EXACTLY what these companies are doing in co-opting today's youth to love their brand and their brand only. It's a big conspiracy to take over the world!

OR, companies know that getting people young keeps their business - and they've got it dialed in on how to "get them young." For example, red draws the eye more than any other color. Next time you're in the cereal how, notice how many sugary "kid" cereals are in red boxes. Also, note the direction the eyes are pointed on the characters on the box: down. They're not looking for YOUR business. They're looking for your child's business.

I know this all sounds paranoid, and it's mostly really funny to hear him say the above line, and I'm not immune to the marketing of certain items...but I really do want to protect him from the marketing that's more about dollars and cents than it is about his well-being.

you give me fever

Blake spiked a fever on Friday at around noon, and we've been semi-relaxing since then. I took him out to ice cream on Friday night (in between runs of garage sale stuff to Reese's), and he couldn't even eat half his small dish. Poor buddy. He was up at 2:30 and 5:30 am, giving me a great start to the garage sale that Reese, Naomi, and I put on for Saturday morning (Sara helped too!). He watched movies inside or napped in Reese's bed the whole time we were there.

Today is the second full day of fever (hovering at around 102.5), which is responding well to medicine. The poor buddy's appetite is non-existent, he's fussy and sweaty, and we're a treat to be around. I'm working on keeping him comfortable and hydrated, which is hard. He likes having his temperature taken and then taking mine, so we keep close tabs on each other. Also, he calls his thermometer his "temperature."
B: "Mom? Can you please take my temperature out into the living room now?"
A: "Why?"
B: "Because I don't want it in here."

I visualized him rolling his eyes when he said this, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I've recently been worrying over how much TV Blake watches. I'm not really sure what to do about it, since I can't always time my showers to when he's asleep, and I can't send him out to play without going with him, which isn't always practical as a single mother working from home.

I don't want to justify the TV time...but I don't want to feel guilty about it either. Grr. To top it off today, he asked for his juice when we got in the car after church:
"Can I have my Juicy Juice? The very best juice for the very best boys."

This is alarmingly close to Juicy Juice's tag line, repeated at the end of their commercials...which play often on Nickelodeon. While it was cute, it was also more than a little horrifying. I don't like my kid shilling for Disney by wearing branded clothing, so hearing actual commercial ad lines coming from his mouth made me die a little inside.

However, cracking down on TV time while he's sick seems wildly we'll stick to VeggieTales for a while.