Cheese-string crisis averted

Part of my little guy's usual breakfast will include a cheese-string (lately, anyway). He likes cheese, it's easy for him to hold, and when he starts getting bored I start a little string-pull for him and he's happy to rip off the string of cheese to shove in his mouth which gets him to eat just a little more. 

The other day was not unlike any other. We got up, got changed and before I put on the coffee, I gave him his cheese-string to get him started on breakfast while I was busy. As was typical, he toddled off to wander about while I made coffee which took me all of 2 minutes. 

By the time I was done, he'd made his way back to the kitchen...empty-handed.

me: "Baby, baby where's your cheese-string?"

Baby: "Hah?"

me: "What did you do with your cheese-string?"

Baby: "Hah?"

me: "Show mommy where you put your cheese-string."

Baby: "Bup!" *puts arms up to be picked up*

me: *picks him up* "Okay, where's your cheese-string?"

Baby: *hugs me*

Great. 

I put him down and tried to retrace his steps from the last 2 minutes to see where this cheese-string had gone so I could re-claim it before it was forgotten and was left to rot in some random corner somewhere in the house.

I knew he'd come from his playroom so that's where I headed first. I checked the floor, I checked the chairs, I checked in his little pedal car. Nothing. I stood in the middle of the room to assess the situation.

If I were a toddler, where would I put my cheese-string?

Then I spotted it. 

Duh, obviously, mommy. What a thoughtful little monkey.
...

For those of you who don't know, this little dinosaur sings a song when you turn him on:
I'm a hungry dinosaur
Who likes to eat
So please feed me
a healthy treat!

I'm going to chalk it up to my little guy just following instructions.

Father's Day

On Father's Day - the day that was supposed to all about him - my dad ran out and chased down the neighbourhood ice cream truck to buy a twist cone for pregnant me. I didn't even ask him to. :)  That's why we have a day for dads.

Quote of the moment:

My dad has a short memory and confuses his words easily most of the time...

   "So, you had lunch today with the sweets?"
   "What?  With what?"
   "The sweets."
   "Do you mean [my volleyball team that's named] Sugar?"
   "Yes."

Oh dad.  I wouldn't trade him for the world.

Nothing broke

I was listening to music at work on 8tracks.com...and then I wasn't.

I like the pictures that these websites come up with to let you know that they're having problems at the moment.

Twitter
Chrome

Did have a cow

In January of last year (2013) I attended a conference and one of the giveaways was a little plastic piggy bank. Except it wasn't actually a piggy bank, it was a cow bank.  Not really one to collect all my change, I repurposed the cow for something else.  I decided it was going to be my Cow of Awesome.

My what?

My Cow of Awesome.

I decided that every time something awesome happened, I'd jot it down on a piece of paper and keep it in the cow.  Then, at the end of the year (or, as it happened, at the beginning of this year), I'd open up the cow and see what awesomeness had taken place over the year.  Today was the opening day.

Awesomeness spilled out all over the table.  One by one, I reminisced over the year as Malcolm stayed close by to share in the memories.  There were a lot of wedding ones, but there were a lot of other randoms too.  Many memories were made with others, though Malcolm and I also got to share a number between the two of us.

I've since relocated the awesomeness to a nondescript envelope for the time being, until I can figure out the best way I can store them for the future trips down memory lane.  In the meantime, I needed the Cow back to start this year's stock of awesomeness. :)

Look no farther

Malcolm did some research and took me out to a surprise venue for a romantic honeymoon dinner in Bangkok.  When we arrived at the destination, I learned that he'd chose SMITH restaurant on Soi 49, Sukhumvit.

   "I read that their steak tartare is really good so you  might want to try that," Malcolm told me. I was SO game.

The inside of the restaurant matched the metallic outside.  The exterior was a nondescript building of corrugated metal.  The interior had metal seating everywhere, wrought iron details, and a section with meath -hooks hanging from the ceiling.  Funky photo-portraits decorated one of the few walls of exposed brick.  The lights were low to set the atmosphere while the in-house DJ spun old-school R&B; forgotten singles by TLC and All Saints threw us into a nostalgic mood.

Everything on the menu looked delicious and we decided to order accordingly.  Malcolm let me place my order first: I asked for the fresh oysters (3) and the steak tartare (of course!) to start, the pasta special as my main, and a side order of brussel sprouts.

Apparently the server wasn't accustomed to inquisitive Canadian appetites because she took that to be our entire order and left. Malcolm and I caught each other's eye and laughed before beckoning her back to take Malcolm's order of mussels and sea bass.  Turns out she had to return a final time because they'd run out of mussels and we had to fill that (obviously) gaping void in our giant order to sate our appetites.

The food came and we tucked in.  We were not disappointed.  I was pleased to try caviar with my oysters and was delighted when my steak tartare was arranged as a sunrise (or sunset) on my plate.  Malcolm's salad was the best he'd had - "I could eat this everyday!" - and our mains were delicious.  Admittedly, I think I enjoyed Malcolm's sea bass with buttery foam a little more than my tortellini.

As we dined, Malcolm shared another tidbit with me.

   "Apparently the chef and owner of this restaurant is the Iron Chef of Thailand."
   "That's awesome! What else did you read from the reviews."
   "That was it."
   "There were no more?"
   "No; after reading that they served good steak tartare and that it was by Iron Chef Thailand, I knew you'd like it for sure, so I stopped reading."
   "Fair enough."

He knows me so well.  Perhaps the way to my heart is also through my stomach.

We ended our perfect evening by sharing a banana split (the bananas were fired like the tops of crème brulée!) that was delectable and then left for home and a massage - extremely satisfied but not too full.  It was perfect honeymoon dining with my husband (husband!).

The origins of the onion

Our wedding day was filled with joyous tears.  A lot of them.  I think Malcolm started it.  And I love him all the more of it.  Anyway, to excuse the constant welling ups, Malcolm made the comment - multiple times - that someone in the building must have been cutting onions.

When it came time for our speech together to everyone, we were no exception to the tears.  Just as the tears started up, I was distracted by a body sneaking through the crowd towards us.  I realized it was TCHC just as he slunk up to the head table, but had no clue what he was up to.  Nearly sidelining me from what I had to say, his purpose came to light a moment later.

He wordlessly placed an onion - what turned out later to be THE onion - on the podium and slunk away again with just a quick nod at Malcolm.  Malcolm presented the onion to the audience.

"Here's the culprit!"

There was laughter and more love.  And more tears, even though that onion remained whole the rest of the night.

A whale of words

Twitter's over capacity at the moment so I can't tweet.  It's not upsetting or anything, just inconvenient that it took so long for the twitter site to time out and tell me it was over capacity, leaving me to think there was something wrong with my internet connection in the meantime.

However, their "over capacity" page is kind of cute...

Old fashioned

Okay, so I knit.  And I crochet.  I enjoy it.  And who doesn't love a homemade gift from time to time?  I really have to make more of a habit of taking pictures of my completed projects (because I've never really kept anything that I've made), but I've made leg warmers, hand warmers, mitts, gloves, scarves, kitten mittens (those were funny) and more.

This Christmas, I probably outdid myself, but with the warm reception that my home crafted gifts were getting, I couldn't help it.  I even rushed and completed a knitted infinity scarf with matching finger-less mitts for one 6-year old that we were going to see after a long hiatus.  When I finished that set and took a step back, it hit me what I'd just done.

I'm about to give clothes as a gift to a kid.  Worse, I'm about to give knitted clothes as a gift to a kid.  What am I thinking?!

I remembered those young days when the uncoolest gifts you could get were those boxes full of clothing that you never wanted in the first place - where was the fun in clothes when you know toys could have fit in that same box?

In a panic, I raced through the house to find something to pump up the cool factor of the gift.  Something.  Anything.  But alas, my house was barren of coolness and the best I could do was a scented and flavoured lip gloss from Bath & Body Works that I used in place of a bow on the outside of the box.  Having done my best, off we went to present our presents.

We met our friends at a restaurant and I basked in the attentions of my most enjoyable 6-year old.  We had lunch, had conversations, had desserts, and then...it was time for the present.  Holding my breath, I handed it over to her and watched her glance at the lip gloss momentarily before putting it aside to tear into the brightly wrapped box.  Uh-oh, my cool was not cool enough.  And then she got to the guts of the present...

...and gleefully wrapped herself in the scarf and mitts and refused to take them off for the rest of the day.

I was speechless.  Not only did she know how to wear everything, but she LIKED them.  Her dad leaned over and explained to me,

   "She's a bit of a fashionista."

Indeed she is.