Friday, April 30, 2010

See?

I had my blood counts checked today, and my hemoglobin was a robust 12.7. I give credit to the iron-rich Rice Krispie treats I've been consuming. Oh, Perfect Brownie Pan, is there anything you can't do?

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Perfection

One of WCK's favorite TV shows is called Busytown Mysteries, a cartoon featuring the cute animal characters from the Richard Scarry books. The show is on CBS on Saturday mornings, and all of the commercials are infomercial-type commercials. I didn't think WCK paid much attention to the commercials (because I am stupid), until the day she asked me, "Mama, do you ever start out taking a shower (dramatic pause) and wind up taking a bath?"

She was, of course, directly quoting the infomercial for the "Turbo Snake", a commercial that demonstrates in very vivid, graphic detail how the product will clean giant, hairy clogs out of all of your drains. I discovered that WCK is also an expert on "Shoes Under", a shoe-organizing system that slides under your bed. One day when I was having trouble finding a matching pair of socks, WCK informed me that I needed to buy "Shoes Under" so I could organize my socks. "You can also use Shoes Under to organize belts and accessories," she told me soberly.

Don't think that she is easily persuaded to think every single product is great, though. WCK never hesitates to voice her disdain for the "Your Baby Can Read" system. The "Your Baby Can Read" infomercial drives WCK absolutely insane. "THOSE BABIES CAN'T REALLY READ!!!" she'll tell the screen. Most of the time, I have to fast-forward the TiVo through "Your Baby Can Read", because WCK just can't take it.

The one product that interested both of us, however, was The Perfect Brownie Pan. This is a baking pan that has a metal divider in it, so you get 18 thick, perfectly shaped brownies every time. You set the pan on a little metal stand, and the brownies pop right off. WCK and I knew we had to have The Perfect Brownie Pan. Every time the commercial came on, we'd talk about it. Finally, Jay and WCK bought me The Perfect Brownie Pan for my birthday.

I have to tell you: This is the greatest invention in the history of humankind. Sure, indoor plumbing was nice, but it can't beat 18 thick, perfectly shaped brownies. I finally tried out the pan last week, and now I am addicted to it. In the past week, I've made perfect brownies, perfect cornbread, and perfect Rice Krispie treats. I probably don't need all of these baked goods in my life .... or do I? Chocolate has antioxidants, corn is a vegetable, and I found out that a serving of Rice Krispies provides 50 percent of your iron needs for one day. I have to think about my health.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Reporting injustice, one misplaced apostrophe at a time

This one comes to us from Kauffman Stadium, home of the Kansas City Royals.

Only one kid is allowed to shop here:


Thursday, April 22, 2010

Senior Cat

My kitty, Garland, is 13 years old. I adopted her when she was just a tiny kitten and I was just 22 years old, one week after I graduated from college. Today was her yearly checkup at the vet. She's in excellent health, and the vet says she'd never guess that she's 13 years old. Still, the vet handed me a rather ominous-looking pamphlet called, "Friends for Life: Caring for your older cat."

According to the pamphlet, at age 13, Garland is a "senior" cat. This is older than a "mature" cat, but younger than a "geriatric" cat. To put this into human terms, she's about the same age as all of the people sitting around us at the Bon Jovi concert: Young enough to haul herself up all of the stairs at the Sprint Center; old enough to look really ridiculous doing it.

The pamphlet went on to describe all of the horrible illnesses that are about to befall my "senior" cat, and that I need to watch out for dozens and dozens of terrible symptoms, including "drooling", "less-elastic skin", and "forgetfulness". (Yes, the people at the Bon Jovi concert definitely had skin that was less-elastic.)

I'm wondering how you can tell when a cat is forgetful. If she doesn't send me a card on my birthday, is it time to put her down?

Anyway. I read the entire, horrifying pamphlet, right up to the last page: "End-of-Life Decisions." Huh. I can't believe they left out the section on "Miracle Cats Who Never Get Sick and Live Forever and Ever", because this is the category Garland will fall into. I'm just sure of it.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

My buddy, my buddy

I've said it before: Only super cool people get myeloma. I really think doctors/scientists should look into this theory. Something in the Super-Cool Gene just riles up those myeloma cells. Just check out these little guys, created by fellow myeloma blogger Feresaknit:




Aren't these the cutest things EVER? They're called "Myeloma Buddies". She's selling them at her Etsy shop, and all of the profits go toward myeloma research. You can get them in whatever color you want. I placed my order last night; I had to get one for WCK as well as my two nieces and nephew. Technically, my nephew isn't quite born yet, but he'll have a Buddy waiting for him when he arrives.

Now I'm wondering if I should have ordered my own buddy just for myself. I could always use a buddy at doctor's appointments and things. Maybe I'll have to steal WCK's. I can't wait for them to arrive.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

My eyes! They burn!

I was walking the hallways of WCK's future school and saw a bulletin board display that said, "DAD'S ARE SPECIAL".

(Pause to breathe. Pause to breathe.)

What makes this particular case of apostrophe abuse so horrifying is that the letters and the apostrophe were cut from construction paper and stapled to the bulletin board. It wasn't an accidental typo. It wasn't something that could be blamed on a stray mark on a handwritten sign. Someone actually had to think ahead, cut out this apostrophe from a piece of paper, and then staple it to the bulletin board.

I've been worried enough about sending her off to kindergarten, but I think I've been holding myself together pretty well. Now it's all falling apart. I can't possibly send my sweet baby off to that strange place. WHAT IF THIS SCHOOL DOESN'T TEACH HER HOW TO USE APOSTROPHES?

(Pause to breathe. Pause to breathe.)

Maybe I can look into home-schooling.

Wednesday, April 07, 2010

Feed the Peeps, tuppence a bag

Yesterday was my 35th birthday (yay!). WCK and I went to see the play Junie B. Jones and a Little Monkey Business at Union Station, had lunch at d'Bronx at Crown Center, and then played with some friends at the fairy tale exhibit. Later, we went to the park. It was a good day.

The main celebration was with my parents over Easter weekend. First, Jay went out and bought me some very special party ware. I'm sure the cashier at Target didn't give him any weird looks at all.



Then, WCK and my mom baked me a cake. Last year, the two of them made me a very cool Wizard of Oz cake. This year, with my birthday being so close to Easter, WCK announced that she wanted to decorate my cake with marshmallow Peeps. I bought several colors and styles of Peeps, thinking that WCK and my mom would figure out a way to arrange just a few of them on top of the cake. I was banished from the kitchen. When the dust cleared, WCK claimed to have re-created a scene from Mary Poppins using -- by my count -- 28 Peeps:



You don't see a scene from Mary Poppins? Clearly, you have not eaten enough sugar. Once you've been sucking down Cadbury Creme Eggs for several days, as I have, it will all come into focus. The yellow tulips are the chimneys, the blue bunnies holding toothpicks are the chimney sweeps (or, as I like to call them, chimney Peeps), and the purple chicks are pigeons. I'm assuming WCK put the pigeons in there to give the whole thing a more authentic, rooftops-of-London feel. I mean, without pigeons, the whole thing would be just plain silly.

Sunday, April 04, 2010

Happy Easter!


Jimmy John, we hardly knew ye

Yesterday, I woke up to an absolutely beautiful spring morning, only to go downstairs and discover our pet betta fish, Jimmy John, face down in the gravel at the bottom of his tank. I feel responsible; just the day before I taunted fate by congratulating myself on keeping him alive for two months straight.

I wanted to subtly and quickly let Jay know about Jimmy's demise before WCK discovered the body, but he was in the bathroom. I didn't want to yell, "THE FISH IS DEAD!!" through the bathroom door. What to do? I found a scrap of paper and wrote, "Jimmy John is no longer with us", and then drew a picture of a fish with a big X for an eye and a sad face, to better illustrate my point, and then I slipped it under the door.

WCK cried for a while after we broke the news to her, but then she helped me wrap JJ in a little paper-towel shroud and bury him in the back yard. For some reason, flushing just seemed a little cold-hearted. I actually miss that little guy.

Friday, April 02, 2010

Good Friday

When WCK brought this painting home from her (Catholic) preschool, I thought it was a colorful, whimsical painting of Humpty Dumpty. She told me it was, in fact, a colorful, whimsical painting of the crucifixion.

Oh.


Thursday, April 01, 2010

Motto: "We give cancer a bad name."

I recently got a comment on my blog from a fellow myeloma blogger. (His blog is very fun and has the awesome name Myeloma,Youreloma. You should go check it out.) Anyway, he told me, "Stop! Stop undressing Bon Jovi!"

Well, I thought it over, and I decided to take a stand on this. This is my solemn pledge to you all: I absolutely will not stop undressing Bon Jovi until a cure for myeloma is found. I will not waver. I will not back down. My new charitable foundation will be undressingbonjoviforthecure.org.



P.S. I meant for this to be an April Fools' post, but I dunno. I kind of think it's a good idea.

P.P.S. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to find photos of Bon Jovi undressing on Google Images. Or maybe you would. I don't think the man ever wears a real shirt.