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Take that, Rachael Ray!

Left over turkey (torn into small pieces by hand), goldfish crackers, and a slice of cheese….oh, and I almost forgot a crystal light packet poured into a bottle of water—-that’s my five minute meal.  Take that Rachael Ray…you don’t have anything on me!

On a  side note, if for some ungodly reason you are ever reading this Rachael, I love you and watch your 30 Minute Meals show every day–two episodes back to back from 6 to 7 pm.  And, I watch your talk show on Fridays when I am off of work.  Plus, I looked at your book at Barnes & Noble…I couldn’t afford it but I did peruse the recipes for a while before the cashier gave me one of those looks.

My son’s vocabulary is limited but if he could talk he’d say, “please teach my mommy some recipes.  Sure a five minute meal is impressive, but I’m a growing boy.  This sh*t won’t fill me up forever.”

Actually remove that last sentence.  I don’t want my child to use profanity.  He’ll never get us on your show using that kind of language.

Fork, Please…

Where do I begin?  Hmmm….I could start from the beginning, but twenty six years is difficult to fit in one entry.  Then, I guess I could start from when my son was born but I think more has happened in the last twenty one months than happens in a typical lifetime, So, I guess I’ll just start with today and my current state. 

I love my son (please see his picture and feel free to tell me how gorgeous he is!), but some days I would rather stab myself in the eye with a fork (a stainless steel, hypoallergenic fork nonetheless—I don’t want an infection) than hear him cry “mommy” one more time.  But most days, his “mommy” is music to my ears, even the repetition of “mommy” seventy two times which is the average number of times he says it in a typical hour (I’ve done the math and tallied the average, so believe me).  Most days, I’d rather just take that fork and stab it in his dad’s eyes. Of course, I’d rather that fork have rust and inflict semi-serious pain and an infection that perhaps requires an aggressive antibiotic treatment.  But, alas, I was born a hopeless pacifist, non-violent to the core, so I’ll refrain from fork stabbing, at least for today.