Bill tells me he would like to buy a $5 part for his fountain pen so he can use bottled ink instead of disposable cartridges.

“It’s more ecologically-friendly,” he says.

“Ecologically friendly?” I ask. “Bill that’s…that’s…liberal thinking!”

“Crunchy con, dear, crunchy con,” he asserts.

“Oh, I see, if you care about the environment you’re a crunchy con…if I care about the environment, I’m a left-wing nut?”

“Yup.”

I am babysitting a one hundred and seventy pound English massive mastiff who is whimpering for his owners. He’d be really cute if he weren’t so drooly.

Updated: the dog I babysat wasn’t this big, but he certainly made our German Shepherd look tiny. He really is a “gentle giant” as the breed is called – very laid back. He and his “brother” (a much smaller dog) went back to their owners before I thought to get a picture. The owners are friends from Virginia just now moving out here.

Yesterday I had a dental cleaning. I never used to have a problem going to the dentist, but in the last year, the procedure has become very unpleasant. I’d rather get a Pap smear.

The older kids went to a neighbor’s house, and Mary and I headed to the dentist’s office. Mary wanted to nap…while nestled at my breast. This is a bit tricky, because the dentist’s chair has you lying back almost all the way which is not exactly a good nursing position. My arms were fatigued from holding her up for an hour without any support.

Like many dentist’s offices, they have semi-private chairs. At my feet was a solid wall, and on my other three sides were partition walls with generous openings instead of doors. I had forgotten to bring a blanket to aid in discreet nursing, but I was wearing one of my nursing shirts. The hygienist is a woman, so I wasn’t overly self-conscious about the bit of exposed breast.

The dentist is a woman, a mother of four, and a former breastfeeder herself. She thinks the sight of a nursing baby is sweet. I agree, but…

As I lay there, vulnerable, exposed and with my mouth gaping open, I could hear the dentist behind me. She had sighted Mary and was cooing over the beautiful sight of a mother – me – nursing her child. And then it seemed a crowd gathered, all looking at the beautiful baby at her mother’s breast. It was a bit awkward. Amusing, but awkward.

If you are moving and are looking for a company to assist you, DO NOT use Pack & Ride. My sister and her husband recently moved from Alabama to Alaska and used this company with expensive and disastrous results. The bottom line is that they were charged an additional $3500, even though both civilian and military lawyers told them the company had no legal basis to charge it. Bad communication, bad customer service, hefty extra charges. Use somebody else.

A few nights ago I had a dream. I was with my kids at some gathering with other Catholic families. I didn’t know anybody and was engaged in that get-to-know-you small talk. Even though I was carrying Mary, now three months old (for real, but in my dream too), several women asked me how far along I was. “Sheesh,” I thought, “don’t they see the baby? Surely I look more postpartum than pregnant?”

Then I looked at one woman, and I realized, in that way that you can read minds in dreams, that she had seen the baby. The question was really their catty way of telling me that I should have more children, that I was a bad Catholic for not being pregnant again already. “I haven’t even started my cycles yet,” I thought in my own defense. But it didn’t matter. I was judged and condemned.

But it was just a dream. In real life, we try hard not to judge each other. In real life, we’re not catty. In real life, we don’t read minds.

And in real life, I don’t look three months pregnant. Right?

Way back in September, I signed up for my turn at bringing snacks to the Little Flowers and Blue Knights meetings held at the same time same place. My turn was last Thursday. Normally this would entail loading the grocery cart with an appropriate number of juice boxes and pre-packaged snacks from a section of the store I rarely visit. However, since December’s family potluck banquet was canceled on account of snow, the leader decided to do an abbreviated celebration at this, our first meeting since then. She was going to buy cupcakes, but since I had volunteered for snack, I said that I would take care of it.

How many kids were there? I asked.

Thirty, she groaned, plus siblings.

It’s okay, I said. I’ll bring fifty cupcakes. Now what kind of a lunatic thinks she can mange to transport her own four Flowers and Knights, her neighbor’s three Flowers and Knights, a toddler, an infant in a carrier, AND fifty cupcakes? And, naturally, the difficulty of moving fifty cupcakes occurred to me the day after the recycle truck came and took away the last of the cardboard boxes from Christmas presents.

Thank goodness I forgot to buy cupcake papers when I bought the four boxes of cake mix and four containers of icing. Cupcakes were out, 9 x 13 cakes were in. I made two, and realized it wouldn’t be enough. I made a third cake using a bundt pan. Deciding I still needed another one, just in case, I removed one of the 9 x 13 cakes from its pan and made a fourth cake.

Cakes baked, I now needed to frost them. I could have just put the store-bought icing on them and been done, but I wanted the cakes to be pretty. I have not had much practice in making cakes look pretty. “Decorating” a cake around here means adding sprinkles. But I figured, armed with this fancy pastry bag, I would give it a shot.

I learned a lot.

First of all, using a template is a good idea. If you can’t draw a straight line, it’s likely that frosting in a straight line will not come naturally either.

Next, that pastry bag is great, most especially because it cleans up much more easily than a plastic pastry bag. But it is essential that you thoroughly dry the thing in between color changes. Failure to do so will result in unsightly drips.

Next, simple is good. If you have unused frosting, do not feel obliged to use it all up on your cakes. Just eat it. Or give it to the kids. Trying to make decorative squiggles just might ruin the whole look.

{I call this the Cockroach Cake.}

And finally, when all your work is done, keep your dog out of the kitchen. And if you forget to do this, and she gets a big lick on one big corner of one cake, do not think that chastising her will keep her from doing it again and ruining a second cake.

In the end, my neighbor drove the kids over because my car battery was dead. After a AAA jump, I took Pete and Mary, two whole cakes, 3/4 of a 9 x 13 cake, and 1/2 of a bundt cake to an appreciative group. I think three cakes would have been enough for 50 to 60 kids and adults. And one dog.

Someone else at that AP thread linked to this video. Warning: may cause convulsions. Bill said he is “scarred for life.” All I have to do is say “Bitty” and he falls in a writhing heap on the floor. Most British humor is too sterile for me (I prefer things that make you guffaw, but that’s just me), but in this situation it works. Danielle removed the link due to objections from late weaners. Folks, we all need to be able to laugh at ourselves, and we need to be able to laugh at the absurd things people think. That homeschool family video everyone loved is not how we are, but how people think we are (My family goes to Hooters all the time).

Then there’s this one which someone emailed me. How men think versus how women think. Here’s a clue for the guys: if you’re looking in your “nothing box” and your wife asks you what you’re thinking about, it’s much better to pretend that you’re looking in your “family box” or your “wife box.” Lie to us.

And finally from Esther is this video which shows you how to use sign language to thank all those soldiers you see at the airport. I haven’t been inside an airport in about five years, but I see soldiers every day. I suggested to Bill that I have my own *special way* of thanking the troops, and he’s totally cool with that, as long as I restrict my thank you list to…ONE. Seriously, though, Bill is always a bit embarrassed, but nonetheless touched, when someone does thank him for doing his job. And a free lunch every now and then is nice too.

Question: If your parents co-sleep with you, are you still a “cradle Catholic”?

Thank you, Sarahndipity, for a chuckle amid The Great AP Debate at Danielle Bean’s bog.