Brilliantly deceitful

Oh, Ben.

Have you ever had moments when your kid did something really bad, but they did it so well that you almost wanted to praise them? I have those every day with Ben.

If the boy put a quarter of the energy into his school work that he puts into his schemes to get out of school work he'd be a straight A student.

It started last year. He didn't want to do home work, but he didn't want to get in trouble at home either. They had agenda books for homework assignments. Ben started writing shorter, easier assignments into his book rather than what was actually assigned. So, silly me, I thought he was completing his work.

Imagine my surprise when his teacher called to discuss why he hadn't done home work in weeks.

To remedy the problem, he had to show his agenda to the teacher at the end of each day so she could verify that he wrote the correct assignment in. It seemed a simple solution, but we hadn't reckoned with Ben.

Ben saved his allowance and purchased a NEW agenda book at the school store. He would dutifully write the correct assignment in the one he showed his teacher, and then secretly would write shorter, easier assignments in the new one to show me. He was 7!


This year the homework battle has started again, but this time I warned the teacher and we came up with a fool proof plan--his teacher would e-mail me his assignments everyday so I wouldn't have to rely on Ben to know what they are. Again, we didn't reckon with the criminal genius that is Ben.

He decided he didn't want to do his math, so he left the book at school. Again, he wanted to avoid punishment at home. So, he acts like he's hard at work, doing his math. He even came into the kitchen to ask us for help with a problem. Half an hour later he presents me with a neat column of math answers. I tell him I need his book so I could make sure the answers are correct.

At that point his face gave his guilt away.

He totally made up every answer on the paper. The problem he asked for help with was a complete fabrication. His math book was in his desk at school.

He also managed to convince his teacher that our religion observed Ashbellum* for the entire month of August, and part of the practice is that we can do no work after 4 pm. I don't know exactly what he said, but he was convincing enough that he got out of homework for the first 3 weeks of school. I didn't know about this until his teacher mentioned it to me today. She felt silly for being duped by a 4th grader, but I told her she was in good company. She was just one of many who had fallen prey to Ben's mind.

If only he'd use his powers for good...


*Ashbellum is something completely fabricated by Ben. I've never even heard the word before.

Apologies, pee and my bad hair cut

Today has been one of those days, and I still have several hours to go.

I have some apologies to make, because when I have one of those days, it tends to spill over onto other people.


I'm sorry for making Sarah and the kids late for story time, especially since she was doing me a favor.

I'm sorry, Miss Pedestrian at the cross walk, that I failed to stop for you because I didn't see you waiting until it was too late.

I'm sorry for seriously considering keying the green van taking up two parking spaces at the hospital.

I'm sorry, commissary patrons in line behind me, for having 22 items in the express lane.

I'm sorry for all the obscenities I thought when the guy in front of me sat through an entire green light despite honks from myself and others.

I'm sorry, Ft. Gordon security guards, for wishing you'd die first in a terrorist attack simply because you made me get a full vehicle inspection, including making my 3 year old get out and stand in the rain, when I was already running late.

I feel better now that I've gotten that off my chest.

So, on to pee. I meant to post this the other day but other things came up and I got distracted. Let me start by warning you that I'm going to say erection. I know some of you will tense up and turn red and feel dirty because I'm going to say it. You'll get over it.

Anyway, Liam woke up Thursday morning with an erection (see, the world didn't end--besides, we're talking about a 4 year old--for him it's just the body making sure the hydraulic lift still works). He tried to pee before it went away and the pee hit him in the face. He was not nearly as amused as I was.

Finally, my bad hair. As I've mentioned before, back in June I got the worst haircut of my life. I'm not exaggerating. I even went to a different salon to see if they could fix it. The stylist did her best, but she said the original cut was so bad that there wasn't much left to work with. Then I paid her $40 and went home and cried.

Well, now it's growing out. My bangs have reached the point where they're too short to tuck behind my ear and too long to wear as actual bangs. And because it's humid here and my hair is curly, they make a big swooping curl across my forehead.

I looked in the mirror today and realized I look like Hermie the gay dentist elf. (What? You know he is. I heard he's dating Lance Bass).


That's exactly what my hair looks like now. Great. I'm an overweight gay elf.

The quest for desensitized garlic

I get around 50 hits a day from people doing Google searches for desensitized garlic. They get directed here because I listed it as one of my top 10 foods.

If you are one of those people, I dedicate this post to you.

Here's what I know: Only Delallo Foods sells it. I have only been able to find it at the commissary on the military base that my husband works on.

The Delallo Foods website does sell THIS, but I'm not positive it's desensitized. It may just be the same garlic that they sell in the olive bins at supermarkets that comes mixed with hot peppers. It's yummy and mild and crunchy, but not desensitized.

So, your best bet for getting the actual desensitized stuff is to find someone who has commissary privileges at a military base and get them to buy you a jar. Tell them it's in the deli/bakery section on the rack of gourmet Italian foods (Trust me. I've found it in the same spot in 3 different commissaries in 2 countries on 2 continents). It'll run you about $6 for a small jar.

If I could, I'd gladly buy it and ship it to you, charging only the actual cost. However, it's illegal to resell commissary goods.

So, here's what I can do for you. I will send a jar, free of charge, to the first 2 people who make a $15 (or more) donation to the Nie Recovery Fund. Click HERE for details (there are directions on how to donate under "How to help").

After you've made your donation, e-mail me your paypal receipt (mrsdouglass@hotmail.com) and I'll send you a jar of Delallo desensitized garlic (if you're one of the first 2 people to do so).

US, APO and FPO addresses only.

Here kitty kitty kitty...

Sunday was Amelia's third birthday.


And she got the thing she wanted most in the world--a kitty.


To quote Amelia, "Oh, what a cute kitty." Kitty's name is Cookin. (Don't ask me. She takes after Will).

Cookin is a great cat. She's friendly, she's gentle, she's housebroken, and best of all, she's FAKE.
That's right, Cookin is a robokitty, but a very convincing one.

I admit, I've been wanting a kitty almost as much as Amelia, but we rent and Ben is allergic and we like to travel so a real cat isn't practical. But Cookin is a pretty good substitute.

Watch me bond with Cookin, and tell me she isn't as good as the real thing...

I'm sorry, O.K.? I just didn't like it.

Twilight, that is. Most of my friends have read it and loved it and read the whole series and loved it and are slightly obsessed with it. And I don't get it.

I read it with an open mind. I tried to like it, I really did. But it was so predictable. And so full of teen angst. And so full of word repetition that I wanted to poke my eyes out with a fork. Seriously, I started counting how many times she used the word "glared." I stopped counting at 173 (no exaggeration). Somebody please send Mrs. Meyer a thesaurus ASAP. And do we really need 27 different descriptions of what the vampires look like? Pale. Under eye circles. Unspeakable beauty. Graceful. Topaz eyes. I got it the first 15 times, thanks (and Topaz is another word I can live without reading now for the next 50 years). And did I mention the angst? A quote from the movie Heathers kept playing in my mind through the whole book: "Dear Diary, my teen-angst bull**** now has a body count."

On the back of the book there are reviews from major news publications. One of them proclaims that Twilight is the best book of 2005. Really? Better than A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut? Better than Saturday by Ian McEwan? Better than Harry freakin' Potter and the Half Blood Prince? Really?

Maybe I just don't like vampire books. I read a few of Ann Rice's vampire series and didn't care much for them, and Ann Rice is 10 times the writer Stephanie Meyer could ever hope to be.

Maybe I'm just too old. By the end of the first chapter I had Bella and Edward cast in my mind's eye as Winona Ryder and River Phoenix. The target demographic for this book were mere babes when River Phoenix died and only know about Winona Ryder's shoplifting.

Maybe I didn't like it because I didn't see Edward as some romantic, tragic hero. I saw him as a controlling boyfriend. A couple more over used words in the book were "commanded" and "demanded," both in reference to Edward speaking to Bella. I can't count the number of times he used physical force to compel her to do something she didn't want to do. Bella is far from the role model I'd want my daughter looking up to. I see her as weak and I wish someone would just snap and suck her blood already.

I think the biggest problem is that Stephanie Meyer is writing about things she doesn't know. I don't mean vampires. I mean the dark, evil side of people. She tries to delve into lust and violence and darkness but ends up falling back on cliches. It's not her fault. She's a Mormon mom who went to BYU. How much lust and violence and darkness could she have experienced? There's a reason she made the vampires all sparkly and glittery in the sun. I was half expecting rainbows, purple unicorns and Mariah Carey to make an appearance in the clearing with them.

Also, I got a tiny inkling that maybe she was living vicariously through Bella. Why else would she bother to yammer on and on (and on) about the boys lining up to date her and how frackin' good she smelled? Sure, the smell played a role in the story, but we didn't really need to be reminded of it every other page. And I'm sorry, but if you're an outcast at one school, it's not likely the popular boys will be fighting over you at the new school. Just sayin'.

At any rate, I'm glad my friends enjoy the series. I don't have to love it. Just don't expect me to read the rest of the series or line up at midnight to watch the movie with you (now that I have River and Winona in my head any other actors will be disappointing).

And back to how predictable it is: I bet a billion dollars Billy and his people are Werewolves. Am I right? Am I?

Ben, Booze and Benadryl

Ben, 4 months before the booze incident

I've had several e-mails since yesterday asking if it's true that I got Ben drunk.

Yes, it's true--but I had a really good reason!!

In September 2001 we were living in Germany. I decided to take Ben, who was 2, and fly to New Hampshire to visit my family. Our flight was 2 legs: Paris to London and then London to Boston.

Ben slept for the one hour Paris to London flight, but then started acting up while we waited for our flight in Heathrow airport. So...I slipped him a Benadryl. It normally knocks kids out. I even had a doctor recommend it.

An hour into our 4 hour trans-atlantic flight, Ben starts going crazy. Squirming, kicking, screaming, crying...Nothing I did calmed him down. I walked with him, held him, you name it. He just became more and more agitated. A kind family in front of us, who were getting the brunt of his fit, offered him things to play with and eat. He was not having it. People around us were offering to pay money to be moved up to first class to escape him. They were yelling at me to calm him down and make him be quiet--you know, because I was enjoying having him like that.

By the second hour I was crying as much as Ben.

The flight attendant came over at one point and said--to a two year old, mind you--"You need to sit and mind your manners now. It's time for high tea and we're tired of this nonsense." (The effect is better if you read that in a snooty British accent).


About thirty minutes before we landed, one of the pilots came back. He informed me that my return ticket would be honored, but that in the future I would be banned from British Airways. Banned!!!

We finally landed in Boston, getting dirty looks and fingers pointed at us as we waited for our luggage.

I told my mother, a nurse, about what hapenned and she told me that sometimes Benadryl makes kids feel like their skin is crawling rather than making them sleepy.

Now she tells me.

While we were visiting, September 11th hapenned. I couldn't bear the thought of a repeat performance on the way home, especially with everyone nervous and edgy after the attacks. I was pretty certain his behavior was a result of the Benadryl, but I couldn't be positive.

So, my mother suggested we get him good and liquored up.

We bought a fruit flavored wine cooler (which has a pretty low alcohol content) and mixed half of it with Hawaiian Punch in his sippy cup. I had him drink it at the airport.

That kid slept not only from Boston to London, but all the way to Paris and during the 2 hour car ride from Paris to our house in Germany.

Sometimes a mother's got to do what a mother's got to do.

*If you try this yourself and something goes wrong, I am not liable and you're an idiot for getting harebrained ideas about drugging your kids from a blog.

I forgot.

They tell us we should "never forget," and I agree, but today, for the first time in 7 years, I forgot. Ben came running out of his room this morning to tell us we were being attacked by terrorists. I remembered.

I explained that the radio was just playing clips from when the attacks happened on September 11th, 2001--7 years ago, when he was 2. He's learned about it before-- from us, from school, but he asked about it again anyway. I went through the events of that day with him. We were visiting my parents in New Hampshire, Will was in Germany. We were supposed to fly home to Germany the next day.

I told him about the planes hitting the towers and the pentagon. I told him there was a 4th plane that might have flown into the White House or the Capitol or someplace else in Washington, D.C., but that the people on board found out what was happening and they fought back and the plane crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. And even though all those people died, they were heroes because they saved so many other lives that day. Talking about flight 93 always gets to me--I guess knowing that they knew what would happen makes it worse somehow. Anyway, I was fighting tears at that point so I told him about how he was just learning to talk and that he learned the word "Bush" that day. Every time the president came on TV he would holler, "There's Bush!"

On the way to school there were more radio tributes and we talked about the firemen and policemen and paramedics and just regular people who died trying to help others that day. I told him how worried I was about my friends who worked in Washington D.C and New York, but they were all O.K.

I was also able to tell him about finally flying back to Germany, and how I got him drunk on wine coolers in his sippy cup before the flight because everyone's nerves were on edge and couldn't tolerate a screaming toddler. How the flights were empty because people were scared. How the Irish flight attendant on the British Airways flight cried when she heard we were American and had flown out of Boston. How when we got back to the Army post there were flowers and candles and letters all over the security fences and gates, left by Germans.

How could I have forgotten?

I know there are lots of sappy tribute videos out there and I'm going to post one anyway. I hope you take time to watch it and remember.