Almonds have nipples?

I'm allergic to dairy.  I suddenly developed an allergy when I was 19 and my doctor at the time couldn't figure out what was going on with me.  We did a few thousand dollars worth of tests until I ran out of money, but it never crossed anyone's mind to do an allergy test.  I figured it out through an elimination diet a couple of years ago and things have been a bit easier for me ever since.  Some consider this a simple intolerance, but it's not just lactose.  Even Lactaid caused issues with me.  We'll find out for sure in a few weeks when my insurance kicks in and I can go to a doctor for the first time in years.

When I say it's made my life a bit easier, I mean I have to scrutinize every morsel of food before devouring it.  Eating home-cooked meals made by someone else can be quite hellish.  I'm not being snobby; I'm trying to be polite by not allowing my bowels to explode all over your guest bathroom.

I have found a lot of dairy alternatives.  I don't particularly like soy milk.  Almond milk is a little bitter and coconut milk is a bit too sweet.  Dream Blend's Cashew Almond Hazelnut is my favorite.  Of all the things made with bovine bodily fluids, I miss cheese the most.  Some fake cheeses are like powdered salty cardboard, but I've found Daiya has a few tasty alternatives.  I like ordering a slice of the vegan pizza at Whole Foods (when they have it) and asking them to add some bacon or pepperoni.

Coconut milk yogurt is fabulous.  It's ridiculously expensive, but it's tasty as hell.  Oh, and some of those non-dairy frozen desserts that closely resemble ice cream are scrumdiddlyumptious.

I still haven't found a decent boxed mac and cheese mix that's edible without mixing in other foods to disguise the flavor.  Throw some suggestions at me, folks.  I'm at the point where I'd club a baby seal to get that cheesy goodness.

And now for one about the oldest child. . .

So it turns out that my blog has found a few new readers, even my husband.  He brought it to my attention that I haven't blogged about our oldest child, Kaiya, lately.  It's not that I don't love her as much or pay her as much attention.  She just doesn't do as many off-the-wall things as the other two.  There's enough weird in her to match them, though.

Kaiya is a very logical kid.  She puts a lot of thought into everything and often over-thinks the small stuff. She's always been this way.

One of our favorite movies is Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  No, not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Johnny Depp.  The original, well as original as you can get when you base something on a book.  The one with the one and only Gene Wilder. That dude is a genius, but as you can see, I'm drifting off topic.  She saw the Oompa Loompas for what had to be the hundredth time and she heard Willy Wonka explaining the tragedies of Loompaland, with the horrible Hornswogglers and Vermicious Knids.  As this scene played out I noticed that Kaiya's gears were turning.  She needed to know if the Oompa Loompas were a real tribe.  We've learned a lot about gene mutations, such as the blue people of Kentucky and even our favorite genetic mutation, red hair, so she had to know if there really was a race of orange-skinned, green-haired people.  She brought up the fact that some people fake-tan their skin until it takes on an orange hue and wondered if they were trying to imitate Mr. Wonka's favorite employees.  I assured her that no, Loompaland was not a real place on Earth.

She asked if I was sure.  Since then, she has googled Loompaland.

Ronin also inquired about those mysterious inhabitants of the candy factory, but that's another blog post.

Businesses and discrimination

I know that most people think that businesses shouldn't be allowed to discriminate based on gender, sexuality, race, religion (or lack thereof), but wouldn't it be kind of fun to find all the closeted bigots?  You know, it would be nice to see a large sign above the local corner shop, boldly stating, "No ________ allowed" so I could take my business elsewhere, to someone more deserving of my hard-earned money.  If I'm spending my money with a business, I'd like to know if they're going to spend their profits on klan robes or markers and poster board to protest the next gay pride parade so that I can be sure to avoid making donations.  I'm not saying they should beat people with the big racist stick, just a sign in the window will be enough.

Oh, you don't like a specific ethnic group, Mister Hateful McRacistpants?  Fine, enjoy your going out of business sale.

I avoid Bank of America because they support the Humane Society of the United States, a so-called charity that wants to end ownership of exotic species.  I don't shop at or donate to the Salvation Army.  Let me see your hate so I can avoid supporting your cause.

Just saying.

Phone calls

What is it about a call to customer service that brings out the worst in my children?  I made sure all of their needs were met before dialing, yet the minute I got an agent on the phone, my kids all felt the need to find danger in different corners of the house.  It's happened twice today.  During that last call, I'm pretty sure the agent didn't need to hear why putting random objects in the microwave, poking people with thumbtacks, and climbing closet shelves are bad ideas.  I'm hoping that she's already figured these things out on her own.

Tanith sometimes grabs her play phone during these calls and (loudly) makes her own calls to customer service.  You should hear her pretend to use an automated system.  It's almost as hilarious as using an actual automated system.  Hearing a three year old repeat the word agent is worth every second I spend on hold with Charter Cable.

Migraines suck.

I'm on day two of a migraine here and it stinks.  Remember how I was complaining about how I couldn't sleep a couple of days ago?  I slept until a blissful 7:18 am yesterday and woke up feeling like the sugarplum fairies were dancing on my brain.  The headache and nausea have teamed up to make me miserable.

It's a wonderful day outside.  My mom took the kids after we finished today's lessons.  I could be sanding down the new cage or hanging Christmas lights, maybe even scooping the mountains of dog poop.  Nope.  I'm sitting around and watching a documentary on Pompeii.  I really hope the movie doesn't suck, by the way, because the real thing is pretty fascinating.

I could be sewing, knitting, cleaning, reading, or a great number of other child-free and creative things.  Nope.  I'm watching documentaries while my pet robot terrorizes my pet mammals.  Oh, how I'd love to put Pugsley Poodle back in his little coconut helmet and teach him to ride on the robot.  He could be the keeper of clean, defending us from all things dirty.  If he wasn't terrified of it.

And this concludes the most boring blog post in all of history.

About that robot vacuum cleaner

Yeah, about that robot vacuum. . .

It is (high pitched voice) awesome! It might not get everything spotless, but I really don't care.  I'm not a spotless person.  My house is lived-in and I'm on day two of a vicious migraine.

I turned it on and it went two feet before picking up a rainbow loom hook.  I extracted it and explained how these things work.  My kids have now named it Floory/Wally/Zoomy/Botbot/Rosie and have decided that it eats dog hair.  They don't want their new robot pet to choke on small things, so they're rushing around to pick up all their toys before it gets to them.  They've decided that he or she is a desert robot and can't get wet so that Tanith doesn't try to water it.

My kids are cleaning their rooms without being bribed, begged, or told to clean.  It's a freaking Christmas miracle.

I'm just sitting here drinking tea and typing with my pinkies up like a lady while the electronic servant does my bidding.  Living like Jane Jetson.

A vacuum for my birthday?

My birthday is Friday and my dear darling husband got me a vacuum.  But not just any vacuum.  A robot vacuum cleaner.  It's like I've suddenly moved to the freaking space age and I have Rosie the freaking robot living in my house  I can see people on my phone and it's not even a booth like the Visaphone.  I'm living like Jane Jetson over here.  This is awesome!

I know most wives would be disappointed to receive a vacuum as a gift, but I think it's great.  Not only did I get a gift, I got something I want, something I will use on a regular basis, and something that will make my life easier.  I don't worry that I'm thought of as a household appliance because I value myself more than that.  I run this house, raise three awesome kids, own a business, and occasionally work a side job.  A new appliance that will lessen the workload thrills me.

Robby, if you're reading this, for Christmas, I would like The Jetsons' Foodarackacycle.