Dad Dents Car Door with Butt

Dear Kid,

You’d best sit down for the News of The Day.

Yesterday, Dad dented the new car with his butt. Inevitably, this caused Pi to discuss Buns of Steel in great detail (and much hilarity).

Apparently, Dad used his posterior to close the car door, and somehow his muscularity cause such force as to dent the Imprezza.

Are butt prints, like finger prints, admissable in court? DearKidLoveMom.comI don’t know how one non-hulk-like human can butt-close a door and leave a dent. I wonder if a butt-dent would be admissible in court (the way fingerprints are)….

In other news, he also broke my iron yesterday. It’s not like the iron gets a lot of use in our house, but I’ve had it longer than I’ve had Dad, so it was a little sad.

In other breakage news from yesterday, Pi’s phone turned on but refused to light up the screen. Since actually being able to see the screen is important for sending and receiving communication, she didn’t think this was such a fab idea.

I will spare you the details of failed cell phone resuscitation (you’re welcome) and skip right to the “we went for new phones today.”

Replacing our phones mostly wasn’t voluntary. Cincinnati Bell decided they no longer wish to be in the cell phone business. So we knew we were going to have to switch carriers, but hadn’t planned to do it quite yet.

That's a butt that could dent a car. DearKidLoveMom.comPi and I drove up to the Verizon store, walked in, and were greeted with “Hi Pi.” It was the general manager, and he didn’t call her Pi, but he did greet her by name. The general manager of that location is the father of a football teammate and proudly introduced Pi to our sales dude as “our kicker.” Being “our kicker” gets you pretty darn good treatment. Still doesn’t make buying new phones phun.

Several years later, we walked out with enough to technology to compute pretty much everything we might ever want—and even the ability to phone home. Dad is displeased with the cell case we chose for him and has gone back to See About Alternatives (my money says he’ll come back with exactly what we got him).

I still can’t believe he dented the car door with his butt.

Hope you’re having a good Saturday.

Love, Mom

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Marshmallows, Oompa Loompas, Gladiators, and Peeps. Really.

Dear Kid,

“You is tough. Like marshmallow.” Actual Quote

Marshmallow plant. DearKidLoveMom.comOnce upon a time, there were no marshmallows. Then the Oompa Loompas visited Egypt, and bam! mallow plants growing in the marshes were harvested. Back then, it was a honey candy that was flavored and thickened with marsh-mallow sap. So basically it was exactly like today’s marshmallows. The same way that mastodons are like parakeets.

Because the ancient Egyptians made the marsh mallow candy for gods, nobles, and pharaohs, it was a crime for anyone else to eat the treat. The Greeks and Romans were crazy about the mallow. Hippocrates swore by it (get it?), and it was used to cure everything and s’more. (I am hilarious today.) Gladiators used to rub sap from the plant onto their bodies before fights. I have no idea why, but it’s a cool fact.

Until the 19th century (I remember it well), doctors cooked marsh mallow root juice with eggs whites and sugar, and then whipped it into a frenzy, or at least a meringue. Marshmallows were considered medicinal and used to cure sore throats.

Then modern manufacturing got involved and got rid of all the mallow in marshmallows. (So the only medicinal thing about them today is the chocolate used in s’mores). Marshmallows are now made of yummy goodness like corn syrup (or sugar), gelatin, gum Arabic, a little corn starch, and flavoring. And air. Lots of air. Delish.

Marshmallow in its natural habitat. DearKidLoveMom.comAmur-cans eat a lot of marshmallows (primarily stale peeps). To be specific, we eat about 90 million pounds of marshmallows each year. And when you think about the amount of air in each marshmallow, that is a freakin’ boatload of marshmallows.

You is tough. Like marshmallow.

Love, Mom

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Today is the Great American Smokeout | Support a Quitter

Dear Kid,

Encourage a smoker to quit. The Great American Smokeout. DearKidLoveMom.comToday is the Great American Smokeout. Every year on the third Thursday in November, the American Cancer Society sponsors the Smokeout to encourage smokers to end the habit.

The first Smokeout was in 1970 in Massachusetts when a man asked people to give up smoking for a day and donate the money they saved to the local high school scholarship.

The American Cancer Society uses lots of encouraging words like “making a plan to quit, or to plan in advance and quit smoking that day.”

I use much less open language: Stop Smoking. Now.

Fortunately, I don’t have to say that to you, but you may feel free to quote me as you see fit.

Smoking is responsible for 1 in 3 cancer deaths and 1 in 5 deaths overall. Worldwide, tobacco use causes more than 5 million deaths annually.

If you know anyone who smokes today is a great day to suggest they quit. Give them your support. Give them a piece of gum. Distract them when they crave nicotine (which they will).

It’s not easy to quit. But it could save a life.

Love, Mom

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Puppy Tries to Fly to Avoid Touching Icy Ground

Dear Kid,

It snowed the other day here.

That’s not big news since it snowed pretty much everywhere including on several tropical islands.

Tal was absolutely beside herself (which is difficult) seeing snow for the first time. She loved seeing the puppy’s paw prints in the snow—too cute.

Speaking of the puppy, he went nose first. During the early morning hours, a deer had crossed in front of the house and gone down the driveway. Booker stopped to sniff each hoof print, run a DNA analysis, and file the information. I’m sure it was all very accurate, but there were a lot of hoof prints, so the process took a while.

I wonder what he thinks when he does all that sniffing.

“I wasn’t just sniffing. I was securing the perimeter.”

I thought about asking how his nose could secure the perimeter, but then decided perhaps it was better not to inquire.

By this morning, most of the remaining snow had turned to ice (due to the melting and refreezing action of pressure from tires—see the things I remember from high school physics?). The ice did not please our furry friend who attempted to solve the problem by walking without any of his feet touching the ground.

Of course, trying to levitate took most of his attention so he wasn’t getting around to doing the things a puppy goes outside in the morning to do.

Finally we discovered an actual bit of grass where said business could be attended to and the Great Blockage of 2014 was avoided.

Hope you’ve thawed somewhat by now.

Love, Mom

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We’re About To Have A Chocolate Crisis!!

Dear Kid,

We are having a catastrophe. Of catastrophic proportions. Worse, far worse, than anything that has hit the globe in your lifetime.

We are headed for a chocolate crisis. More specifically, we are headed for a lack of chocolate crisis. Of epic proportions.

We're about to have a chocolate crisis!! DearKidLoveMom.comApparently, we’re already in a chocolate deficit. Which means we ate 70,000 metric tons more chocolate than the world produced last year. I am reasonably sure that I (personally) contributed to the crisis. And apparently chocolate makers have watched me in their crystal ball because they are predicting a 20 million metric ton deficit by 2030.

Mathematically speaking, I’m confused. We’re in a honking long streak of chocolate deficit years, so at some point one would think we’d a) run out of reserves and b) get tired of stale chocolate. It’s not like the Central Bank where they just make money out of thin air and paper. You actually have to have chocolate to eat chocolate.

One reason for the deficit is the frosty pod fungus (clearly a made up disease named by fantasy genre writers). Another is that growing cocoa is hard and insufficiently profitable compared to other crops like corn. And the biggest “problem” is that we’re eating more chocolate. (As Grandma points out, chocolate is a vegetable, so it’s good for you.)

As you doubtless know, falling supply plus increase demand means chocolate prices are going to skyrocket (they’re already up considerably).

Being the kind of mom I am, I have taken the liberty of coming up with some solutions to this impending disaster.

1. Stop Eating Chocolate. Yeah, right. Next!

2. Get Everyone Else to Stop Eating Chocolate. Only slightly more likely.

3. Remortgage the House to provide funding for my chocolate habit.

Love ya’ kid, but I’ve got to run to the bank now.

Love, Mom

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Mom Thoughts on Professional Football

Dear Kid,

I’ve been thinking about football. Yes, I watched a fair amount of football yesterday. And woot! woot! to the Cincinnati Bengals who showed up in a big way.

Throwback uniforms. I get that the authentic (or replica) uniforms are a huge hit with merchandisers and people who make throwback uniforms, but (imho) many of them are a Huge Fashion Mistake. Think about it: it’s why the team doesn’t wear them anymore.

Quarterbacks. I usually think about kickers, but the High School season is over. What do quarterbacks do if they lose their voice? It’s one of the few (only?) positions in sport where vocalization is beyond critical. I’m concerned about this.

Coffee. Who makes coffee for the coaches during the game? I saw one of the coaches drinking a warm beverage from a cup (not an insulated container). How do they keep the coffee warm? And is it studly enough to drink hot chocolate if you don’t like coffee.

Weather. What happens if there is a snow advisory that shuts all the roads down during the game? Do they let the players leave the stadium? Or are they trapped there with The Other Team and Fans of The Other Team? Not to mention being trapped with all the post-game football funk. I wonder if this has ever happened.

Speaking of Personal Hygiene, what happens if a player breaks a nail during a game? Do they have an emergency manicurist on hand? And what is with some of these hairdos? Polamalu, yes. Everybody else, no. Somebody send coupons for Sports Clips. If someone accidentally pulls your hair, it’s your own fault. (For the record, I am highly biased in this particular instance. Girls can have long hair and have the right not to get it pulled. Professional football players [except Polamalu who has great hair and an equally great name] do not.)

Officials. Professional league officials are amazing. It is ridiculous how often they make the right call. And by “the right call” I mean the correct call as supported by video replay.

Also, I totally don’t get the fuzzy dudes for the Cricket commercials.

Love, Mom

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Puppy Conversation | Ricky the Yorkie Comes to Visit

Dear Kid,

Puppy: Mom
Me: Yes, baby
Puppy: I think that’s a dog
Me: Yes, sweetie, that’s Ricky
Puppy: He’s very small
Me: Yes, he is very small, why don’t you come say hello?
Puppy: I would like to say hello
C: Ricky, darling, I’m not going to feed you to Booker. Say hello nicely
Puppy: It smells like a dog, but it’s a very small bit of fluff

You woke me up from a nap for a photo shoot? DearKidLoveMom.comPuppy: I think it’s not a dog
Me: His name is Ricky
Puppy: Ricky is not a dog
Me: I thought you said he smells like a dog?
Puppy (whispering): He’s on the furniture. Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture
Me: So what do you think Ricky is?
Puppy: I’m not sure. He’s not a moose.
Me: I agree with you there. He is not a moose.
Puppy: And he’s not a cat
Me: True. Definitely not feline
Puppy: He’s either a water buffalo or a purse
Me: What?
Puppy: I’m pretty sure he’s one of those
Me: Stick with being cute

Puppy: I like Ricky the Purse
Me: You decided he’s a purse?
Puppy: Yep, I figured it out because Auntie C carries him all the time.
Me: And that makes him a purse?
Puppy: Well, she wouldn’t be carrying a water buffalo

Puppy: Mom
Me: Yes?
Puppy: I smell food
Me: You always smell food
Puppy: I smell good food
Me: Food always smells good to you
Puppy: I smell THAT food
Me: That’s Ricky’s food
Puppy: I would like some of that food
Me: I understand, but you may not have that food. That food is Ricky’s food
Puppy: But it smells delicious
Me: But it’s not for you. It’s not Booker food
Puppy: That proves he’s not a dog

We had a lovely visit.

Love, Mom

For more puppy conversations see

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