Today, E, boy genius, bless his heart, thought he’d help out. So I’m at work, writing a hellish professional court report on a case that is a fucking mess, and I get a text message from E about him baking a cake. He’s never baked a cake before, so kudos goes to E for effort. (A little aside about the cake:  I’m not sure how it’s possible to bake a cake mix meant for a 9×13″ pan in a 8×11″ pan and have it come out 1″ thick. And have some raw, runny pockets interspersed. It was . . . interesting. I’ll have to have him teach me so I can pass along the wisdom.)

And then I have the following text message exchange (apparently I do much of my parenting via text & twitter. Geez.)  with E :

E:  I tried to do the dishes, and it ended up in kind of an I Love Lucy fashion. But I’m cleaning it up.

DM: I’m cracking up. I can only imagine. Thanks for cleaning it up.

{Naturally at this point I Twitter about it. And tell all co-workers within earshot.}

E:  Well, that’s the end of my dishwashing career.

Then I receive an image (courtesy of the working MMS on my iPhone):

Blurry but bubbly!

Blurry, yes, but what you’re looking at is my best bath towels and bubbles on the kitchen floor in front of the dishwasher.

E:  Think I used a little too much soap.

DM:  Ya think?

Later E tells me that while the dishwasher fiasco is happening, the Big D is sleeping (taking his not-so-hard-earned lazy ass daily nap). E wakes him up to tell him he’s going to mop the floors . . . kitchen & bathrooms . . . neglecting to mention it’s with the soapy, wet bath towels. The Big D mumbles something about dinosaurs wearing shoes. Yes, D is THAT helpful.

E:  The bubbles just kept coming an coming.

E:  You’re going to tell this to everyone at work, aren’t you?

Oh honey, you know me better than that.  I don’t tell people  just at work!  I Twittered!  I blogged!  Now THE WORLD knows!

Turns out E used the Dawn dishwashing liquid and not the Cascade dishWASHER liquid. And just so we’re clear, I really truly do appreciate my son so much for helping out. Thanks E! Love you!

We ate until we were all S*T*U*F*F*E*D.  And then we had dessert . . . of a fashion anyway.  This is E’s plate:

Does this look like dessert to you?

Sometimes, I swear, I think he’s not my kid. Really? DESSERT consists of shredded carrots, mushrooms (2 kinds!) and gummy bears???  WTF?!?!??  Then I noticed the brownie and thought, yeah, okay, maybe he is mine.

You notice that the it-isn’t-a-monopoly-it’s-just-an-exclusive-contract-only-carrier-in-the-US AT&T hasn’t really advertised that their network HAS NOT BEEN READY to iPhone MMS for the past couple of years. In fact, I distinctly recall seeing the iPhone sending pictures from the txt screen on the demo video in the store when the 3Gs came out. So I bought one. WTF?? WHY can I not send a picture?!?!??

It’s funny — I don’t send all that many pictures via text message. But I’ve sooo missed this feature since I got my iPhone.  A few days after I got the iPhone, I was shopping without my children. Shopping. Without. Children. Luxury of luxuries, yes?  Being able to browse to my heart’s content . . . to be distracted by all the shiny things without having to do constant vigilance on what the other three pairs of hands were touching . . . to be able to look at bras without any embarrassed boy companions LOUDLY bemoaning their existence. Pure Luxury. Deserving of Caps.  But I digress.

I found a shirt I thought J would like. But J, being J, is P-I-C-K-Y has highly evolved — and very discerning — tastes. Particularly about his clothing. So I thought I’d snap a quick pic & txt it to him, right?  WRONG. The  iPhone I had already fallen in love with — have I mentioned my iPhone is like my best friend? — can NOT send a picture via a text message. No MMS capability. At. All. Seriously? This phone can tell me where I am within like 2 centimetres, tell me where the closest Starbucks is no matter where I am, can name that tune after hearing a snippet on the radio and it CAN NOT SEND A PICTURE?!?!?  WTF?  So my husband’s aunt, who has like a free AT&T phone, steps up, snaps a pic and a few seconds later I’ve got a txt from J giving me his blessing to buy the shirt. Meanwhile, I’m still staring — dumbfounded — at my phone. I felt so betrayed.

And yes, there’s an app for that. There’s workarounds. For $5 I can buy an app send an MMS “text” via email to another phone. Like I’m gonna spend $5 for my phone to do something every cell phone I’ve ever seen can do for free? Get real. And why should I have to work-around AT&T’s inadequacy?

AT&T has the chance to make it up to me tomorrow. They’d better not fuck this up.

The residual crankiness continues into the evening. I don’t know if it’s hormones, but I feel such a sense of rage tonight. I really really want to hit something. This is sooo not like me — I’m the peacekeeper, the pacifist. But right now, I have the propensity to be violent. THIS SUCKS!

Sidenote: I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I changed the kids’ school to a public charter school, so they’re doing a lot of their work as homeschool. It’s a great school — but that’s a whole ‘nother thing.

Anyway — I was helping Jare with his science whilst I was cooking. You’re thinking “uh-oh — not a good idea”. Go ahead, admit it, you know you’re thinking it’s dangerous for the easily-distracted-ditzy-DoofMom to do two things at once. And — this time — you’d be right.

We sit down to eat — the Big D, as you’d expect, is shoveling food into his mouth without comment — looking pained, but no comment. I’m thinking it’s ‘cuz I won’t let him salt his food anymore. (I’m not an ogre, people! It’s because of his blood pressure.)

Jare takes a bite of his rice and announces: Mom, this rice has no flavor.

I’m like — shit! — I forgot to put the seasoning packet in the Rice’A'Roni!  I gotta say, I like plain white rice. I like plain brown rice. But I learned something tonight — I don’t like unflavored Rice’A'Roni! It tastes like dirty sockwater (or what I’d imagine dirty sockwater to taste like if I cooked rice in it). Blech, blech, double-blech!

The family erupted in laughter, finger-pointing, and general gaiety directed my way. I swear, forget one little thing . . .

The Big D, bless his heart, says “I wasn’t going to say a word” knowing full well, the last time he criticized my cooking I didn’t cook for about 4 years! A man that knows what’s good for him — what a find.

“If you put a dryer sheet in your pants and fart through it, it smells good.”

Good to know, Jare. Good to know.

Questions were asked: so that means one of the other animals is infected? Maybe, or he could have contracted the Giardia prior to coming to live with us. Mose was adopted from a shelter, and diseases are common. How serious is Giardia? He doesn’t seem to have symptoms, but doc says it can be deadly.  So medicine was purchased.

Mose is a poop-eater. Now, we have 3 cats and 2 dogs. Whose poop is he eating? More importantly, who else is infected? Let the stakeout begin.

The animals now have NO privacy. We are privy to their every, typically intimate, action.  It didn’t take long to figure out that both Mose and Doodles find cat poop to be an irresistible delicacy.  As soon as the cats finish burying their business, the dogs scamper over, certain that their favorite treat is a few seconds away. They dig, they feast. The trot away, smug and satisfied.

Big D:  Ewwww! It’s like they’re chomping on Tootsie Rolls!

But we still don’t know which poop is the Giardia culprit. We also have to assume Doodles is infected as well, since she partakes enthusiastically  in the oral-fecal contact.

Being the control freak I am, I clean their bathroom (to make sure it maintains some semblance of sanitation). Imagine my surprise to grab the toilet brush, lift the seat and spot a single cent in the toilet bowl.

Just sitting there. A penny.

The following dialogue ensues:

DoofMom:  KIDS, why is there a penny in the toilet?

Gabby:  I don’t know, but it’s been there for two days.

Mr. E:  There’s a penny in the toilet?!?

Jare:  I don’t know.

DoofMom:  Okay, I’ll rephrase the question — who put the penny in the toilet and left it there?

Kids (in unison):  Not me.

DoofMom:  Okay, so let me get this straight. There’s a penny in the toilet only you guys use and no one knows how it got there?

Kids (in unison):  Yep.

DoofMom:  Are you suggesting I left it there? The dad? Or maybe one of the animals? Think Mose hid it there???  Seriously?

Kids:  ::: blank stare :::

Several seconds pass. Theories are offered:  perhaps I had done it when sorting the laundry — you know, if it was in someones pants and I shook out the pants? Or maybe someone was holding it and forgot they had it when they used the potty and it fell in?

DoofMom:  And y’all just left it there for TWO DAYS, peeing and pooping on it, for TWO DAYS?

Kids (in unison):  Yep.

DoofMom:  No one thought about — oh, I don’t know — maybe getting it OUT OF THE TOILET?

Kids (in unison):  Nope.

Mr. E (brave, foolhardy soul):  I figured it’d flush down :::shrug:::

This gave me pause. IT HADN’T FLUSHED DOWN. Ewww! What else lurks in the toilet, not flushed, that I can’t see? STUFF.THAT.DOESN’T.FLUSH.DOWN!?!?  Ewwww! I mean, I clean the toilets on a fairly regular basis. But EWWW! Stuff can just sit there? I use those blue tablet things in the tank. I like a clean potty as much as the next mom.  We flush after using the potty. How long can something — say, a penny — sit in the bottom of the bowl unfettered?

While I’m pondering this, Jare reaches in and pulls it out. Calmly washes his hands and the penny and pockets the offending coin.

And the kids disperse.

Isn’t bathroom cleaning the worst? I have two boys and a husband that seem to find the notion of peeing completely INSIDE the toilet bowl to be optional. A suggestion if you will. A silly whim of the DoofMom.

Why is it that DH can throw a golf ball 200 yards into a friggin’ dixie cup but can’t hit the toilet with his urine from less than a foot??!  WTF?

Seriously, WTF?

We haven’t actually gotten all that much real rain . . . just threatening dark clouds. The torrential downpour on Friday cinched it for me though . . . until those ominous dark clouds are gone, I’m keeping my happy butt inside where it’s warm and dry. We had a few minutes of blue sky above the house yesterday, so the kids and pets ventured outside. The kids were jumping on the trampoline and I heard it.  Hail. Kids screaming “OUCH!”  Mr. E, boy genius, said — “Mom, it’s snailing!” Rain + Snow + Hail = Snail.

Out to the patio I went to herd in the kids and the animals. For the record, Doodles was fine in her sweater (see the picture below),  Mose was oblivious and covered in hailstones and the cats were pissed!

Doodles in her sweater

Isn’t she cute? DH made fun of her (and me) when I first got the sweater. Then it snowed and she could play in the snow for more than 2 minutes without shivering. And who put the sweater on her yesterday when it was raining? Hmmm? Not I — but the Big D.  Ha! Not such a frivilous thing after all, eh?

Speaking of dogs — can you believe this is the same animal?!?!?!?!?!!

Mose when he was cute

Mose now