Some people mentioned that on my Parenting List (see previous entry) that I had forgotten to mention that you never get to use the bathroom on your own.
I have no idea why I forgot to mention that.
Maybe because I'm so used to having a child follow me into the bathroom.
Tommy doesn't do it anymore. But what he does do is stand outside the door and decide that he needs to tell me every detail of his life.
"And I don't want to wear regular underwear anymore, Mom. I'd like to wear boxers now, okay? Like Daddy?" was one of his conversations.
Maybe conversation isn't the best word as my responses are usually, "Uh huh," and, "Tommy, do you think I can have some privacy? We can talk when I'm finished."
And Tommy, who has lately been behaving like a PMSing teenager, will sometimes snap, "Nevermind then. I won't ever talk to you AGAIN!"
Well, excuse me, son. I was only trying to take a crap.
Most of the time Natalie wanders in with me though. There have been a few instances where she's been distracted by a toy or yes, shame on me, the television. (I'm always thrilled when I have to poo when Yo Gabbba Gabba is on because it means I get a few precious moments of peace. So what if it's in the bathroom? At least it's quiet.)
[I just had a thought: maybe if I consume a lot of prunes when Yo Gabba Gabba comes on I can have more poops in peace (PIPS)]
I'm jealous of my husband Tom, who can wander into the bathroom at any time and have his space. Heck, when he takes a dump I hear him flipping through a magazine and I'm thinking, "That must be nice. Maybe I'd like to read my US Weekly too."
One time I flipped out and shrieked, "You know what, Tom? I'd like a PIP too!"
His response? "What is a PIP?"
"A poop in peace!" (Or it can stand for a Pee in Peace. I don't get those either.)
I can't blame Natalie for not following Tom in the bathroom though. The stuff that he makes could KILL someone that small, really. He has to seriously spray the Lysol at least one minute so we don't pass out from the stench.
So yeah. PIPs don't happen very often around here.
But anyhow, moving on from the bathroom talk because it's a little gross.
I had to say goodbye to one of my favorite things the other day.
It was just time to let go.
To move on.
I'm sorry, dear Crocky, but you've been upgraded:
Yeah. I love my Crock Pot. But then I realized that there are new versions. Versions with...buttons?
I love to push buttons.
When I go down a toy aisle, I push all sorts of buttons. This drives my husband insane.
"Do you HAVE to touch EVERYTHING?" he'll grumble as I reach out to press a Fisher-Price toy.
Yes. Yes, I do.
So when I encountered this new Crock Pot my heart began to beat with excitement.
A Crock Pot. One of my favorite things. With BUTTONS to push.
Another one of my favorite things.
I had to have it.
I immediately rushed home and ordered it from Kohls.com. Because I had a 30% off code AND a free shipping code.
Saving money rocks.
Isn't it beautiful? I wanted the red one but I thought it might turn Tom off. Not that he actually cooks. But suppose he decides to start one day and he's all, "Ew, but it's red, so I can't."
So I went with a neutral gray. To pay homage to my old abandoned Crocky.
I'm sorry, Crocky. But you don't have buttons.
Plus this new Crock Pot, which I've dubbed Crocky the Second, will automatically shut off when the food is done.
Crocky the First would keep on cooking and a lot of the meat came out burnt.
I never knew you could burn things on a Crock Pot. I assumed you could not but of course I manage to burn everything.
No, I haven't used Crocky the Second yet. But I will. I found this chicken dish that basically just calls for cream of mushroom soup and some white wine and that's it.
I can do meals with less than five ingredients. If you start to add weird things such as fresh parsley and stuff, I tend to get confused. I've never even SEEN fresh parsley before. I have some in a plastic McCormick jar I think. But I don't think that's the same thing?
Crocky, if you're wondering, is going to the Salvation Army. Perhaps he'll go to a new home and actually, will most likely be treated better. Crocky had to deal with a lot of frustration from me. I would sometimes forget an ingredient and be all, "Damn!" and quickly uncover the pot and throw the forgotten bits in. I think I stressed Crocky out most of the time.
Crocky the Second is a little worried. I imagine Crocky the First warned him about me.
She doesn't know what she's doing in the kitchen. Beware. She once used salt when the recipe called for sugar. How a person can manage that is beyond me.
So, farewell Crocky the First.
Thank you for all the delicious (albeit some burnt) dishes.
I will miss you.
Your name will live on in Crocky the Second.
Who has ultra-cool buttons to push.