Saturday, July 31, 2010

Sprinkle Lovers UNITE!

I eat ice cream with sprinkles (for those of you from other parts of the country, like South Jersey, that's jimmies to you. But make no mistake, they are called sprinkles). Ice cream is worthless without sprinkles. And let me tell you, I have credentials in the field of ice cream. Let me share my resume.

My parents owned an ice cream store when I was in middle school. Which means, when I was 11 and 12, I had unlimited access to ice cream and sprinkles. Thank God those were the days when children actually got off their butts and rode their bikes around the neighborhood, played in the street until dark when the streetlights went on, and orchestrated block-wide hide and seek games. Because had I been sitting in a dark room with my DS while listening to my iPod and texting my friend, I would have been considerably larger as a child.

Fast forward to turning 16. I started working at my brother-in-law's ice cream store - he owned a Baskin Robbins at a local mall. I worked there for 4 years. I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Cup or cone?" (and how many times a brilliant customer answered "Yes.") Again, thanks to dancing and cheerleading, my activity countered the large chunks of Reese's Peanut Butter cup I routinely spooned out of said flavor during every shift. That and Cookie Dough chunks.

But let's get back to the point of sprinkles. In my years working in the ice cream profession, I was a sprinkle lover's dream scooper. You asked for sprinkles? By God, you will get your $.25 extra worth (it was 1992, they were a lot less back then). It's your lucky day because I was taught THE RIGHT WAY in which to apply sprinkles. Let me explain.

The MOST important rule to sprinkle application is to ROLL the ice cream in the sprinkle container. The container should always be long enough to fit a cone with scoops on top. Make sure the scoops are pressed down into the cone, then ROLL the ice cream. This way, the ENTIRE surface area of the ice cream is covered. I cannot stress the rolling enough. If someone wants sprinkles, they want sprinkles all over their ice cream. Not 5 pieces strewn wildly about.

This same practice applies to a cup. Take the cup and roll the ice cream in the sprinkles. Bonus with the cup - some extra sprinkles always fall into the cup!

Having a vast knowledge of ice cream and sprinkles, as well as a deep love for the dairy delicacy and it's sugary decor, I am enraged when I order ice cream with sprinkles and my sprinkle request is taken almost as a joke. And in some places, it's a $1.00 extra joke!

Take last night. We went to Ghirardelli's in Downtown Disney. I ordered a cone with sprinkles and Monkey Man ordered a cup with sprinkles. Guess what we got? Someone obviously did not go to the College of Proper Ice Cream Service which I attended. Monkey Man had about 7 sad rainbow sprinkles laying on his mint chocolate chip scoop in a cup. A CUP! That child should have been loaded up! With all kinds of extra sprinkly goodness at the bottom ready to spoon with the soupy drippings at the end! And me? My chocolate cone had about 8 chocolate sprinkles gazing their lonely eyes at me wishing about 1,346 more of their friends had joined them.

This was no time to sit and accept my inferior sprinkle application. I asked for a cup with extra sprinkles. And the waitress got me a "cup" the size of a paper ketchup container at McDonald's. Which fit about 5 more sprinkles.

Too many people obviously take the name literally. Sprinkles are not for sprinkling. They are for coating. Thick and often. I am currently in the process of drafting a petition in order to get all the ice cream shops (at least in America) to adhere to the same practices and standards of sprinkle application. This disservice to our country, to our world, must stop.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Send Me to a Dental Institution!

Monkey Man had to get a filling. Okay, make that 2 fillings (fine, I’m lying, it was 4. I know – FOUR! What the hell? What kind of mother am I?) For the record, these cavities are NOT a result of lackluster brushing and poor oral health. We brush morning and night, (sometimes during the day), we floss, we swish with water after treats if we can't brush, we drink milk and water with an occasional juice. I brush his teeth with such passion, such gusto for clean teeth, that he probably has no enamel left. I blame it all on his father. Monkey Man has been given a bad hand in the tooth genetics game thanks to his dear old dad. At least he has my good looks and charming personality.

When the dentist showed me the x-rays and gave me the shocking news, I almost cried. Part of me was afraid that Child Protective Services was lurking around the large, colorful mural of The Plaque-inator ready to cuff me for teeth negligence – because, really, 4 cavities? How do I explain this? But mostly I almost cried because Monkey Man will now have to pay for his own college education. You see, in order to simplify my life, I have the dentist’s bank account linked to Monkey Man’s college savings account. It’s just easier to transfer the funds directly to Dr. Ben. He’s a nice guy, and hey, if I can contribute to his kids’ college fund, it’s the least I can do.

With the miracle of dental science, comes happy gas for the preschoolers. Because Monkey Man is not silly enough, let’s jack him up on some nitrous oxide and see how this rides out. Well, let me tell you, he had me nearly peeing in my pants in the corner of the room.

Mommy: “Hey, buddy, how you doing?”
Monkey Man: “Hi, Mommy!” he responded giggling. Then he turned his head towards Dr. Ben and said, “You’re the bestest dentist in the whole wide world. I want to stay here for 356 days!”

Dr. Ben looked at me and smiled. I told Dr. Ben that Monkey Man was probably on to something – a little child labor in exchange for dental work. Dr. Ben and I are working out the details.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Question #1,397

"Mommy, when I wasn't born yet, like when I wasn't even in your belly, was I floating in outer space? Like Super Baby?"

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

New Look, Same Old Blog!

It just looks different, but it's still me! Here we have a clean, uncluttered look - just the way I like my house. I'd love if the inside of my head could be this neat and organized, too, but with the welcoming of a child comes the welcoming of chaos, almost complete disorganization, and a teetering on the edge of insanity. And that's me with one child. Oh, which brings me to a topic that will be explored, dissected and ranted about in the very near future. The "only" child (I very much dislike this phrase, not going to say the H word, we teach Monkey Man not to use that word. Screw it. I HATE that phrase).

Au Natural

I don’t intend to use my blog as a soapbox, but here I am. Standing up on my shiny, silver box. With pretty, sparkly rhinestones. I’m not really a glam and glitter kind of girl, but this seems to be the way I imagine my soapbox to look.

Natural childbirth is the topic. And here we go…

Natural childbirth IS NOT birth without the use of medication. Natural childbirth is a birth that occurs naturally, i.e. unlike a scene from Aliens. That thing coming out of Sigourney Weaver’s stomach was not natural.

Quick bio lesson for those of you that missed Sex Ed your senior year in high school when it was the most effective. You know, teach those kids at 17 just as they are starting to learn that boys have penises and girls have vaginas. There are 2 kinds of natural childbirth – vaginal and cesarean section – to put it simply, all birth is natural. It's just birth. Whether the baby emerges from the cooch or via an incision in momma’s belly, it is birth. If the baby pushed its pretty little watermelon-esque head out of mommy while mommy couldn’t feel her lower extremities because of the sweet, tingly liquid goodness that is the epidural, doesn’t matter. It’s birth, and it's all natural.

Here's a comparison: When visiting the dentist for some work that requires novacaine or a little happy gas, does one tell their friends, "I'm having some natural dental work done today. Gonna try it the old torturous, medieval way. I'd like to see how that feels." Don't be surprised if she yells out in the dentist's chair, "Thank you, ma'am, may I have another?!" while all dolled up in a black latex catsuit.

The next time you are casually chatting with another mom – especially a mom that you really don’t know too well – do not ask her, “So, did you have a natural childbirth?” Because that’s a stupid, dumbass, and let me add the ever-eloquent word jerky question. And if you do ask, be prepared to get whooped with a good ol’ open-handed swing. That's the natural response.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Cookies & Bikinis

Monkey Man has a major crush. On my 19 year-old niece’s best friend. Best Friend came on vacation with us last summer and this boy hasn’t stopped talking about her since. He sent her a valentine. He requested a visit from her during her spring break and she obliged. Much to his delight, she magically appeared (in a bikini, long blonde hair flowing, and I’m pretty sure there was a blinding light glowing behind her and angels were singing) at my niece’s house yesterday while we were swimming. And she brought him presents. Presents that included cookies. The child almost lost his mind.

And on the car ride home, this was our conversation:
Monkey Man: Mommy, do you think Best Friend is pretty?
Me: Yes, I do.
Monkey Man: I think she’s really pretty. She’s HOT!
Me: (looking at him in the rearview mirror, jaw agape, horrified at his choice of words)
Where did you learn that phrase?
Monkey Man: From iCarly

EVIL T.V.! Keeping my son entertained and now apparently aware of inappropriate slang while I try to collect my sanity and attempt to cook a nutritious meal! T.V. be damned! I will get rid of the boob tube and we will play for hours while the housework and bills pile up around us!

Pffft. Yeah right. I’ll keep my sanity and set aside 5 minutes a day to explain that what they say on iCarly is not appropriate language for a kindergartener. Because, I'm sorry, Spencer is just too damn funny to be blocked from this house.