Feeding the 5,000

Conversation in bed this morning at Chateau Cookie:

D: So what are we going to have for breakfast this morning?
K: I don't know. Since someone bought a 10 lb. box of pancake mix, I'm guessing breakfast is a no-brainer.

The box advises that it will feed 80 people attending the annual Volunteer Firefighter Pancake Breakfast or the 80 people attending PETA's annual "Common Sewer Rats Have Feelings Too" fundraiser. I feel like the breakfast version of Bubba Gump.

What do you want? Chocolate chip pancakes? Blueberry pancakes? Apple Cinnamon Pancakes? Banana Walnut Pancakes? Caviar Pancakes? Scallion Cilantro Pancakes?

And let's not even start on our waffle options.

The continuation of the allergy story: fastforward two days after the "ant incident"

We met up with B in Glacier National Park. It was still light out so we decided to go to the Visitor's Center to see what was up. It was already closed when we arrived and the parking lot was pretty empty except for a ranger's truck and a couple of Brits standing beside a rental car, chatting.

We got out of the truck and out leaped Zinni with us. While there is an actual law that dogs must be on leashes, we rarely follow these laws. You know, what with Zinni being so obedient and all. I mean, he comes when you are grilling steak. I think we had a leash with us though.

Anyway, Derek had once again been bitten by ants while putting up the tent and was jacked up on Benadryl. He wandered down the little gravel road with the sign that said "PARK RANGERS ONLY." I started yelling to him but he was clueless. Taking dazed and confused to a whole new level. He took the dog with him. Realizing that I would get more of a response from a brick wall, I gave up.

It was then that we looked up to the top of the hill and saw the most gorgeous ram standing right outside the Visitor's Center. I thought it was fake because it was standing so still. As he stood there checking us out, the dog started to trot back to me. Oh, yeah. You can see this coming, right?

With that, the ram looked at the dog and then came charging at me at about a million miles an hour. Having been on wilderness trips with B in the past that involved her spewing forth directions in advance while on a flight to the end of the earth ("if you see a caribou, run. If you see a bear, stand still. If you see a beaver, ..."), I yelled to her, "What do I do?"

Sure, she can't friggin' shut up on a 7 hour flight about what the hell I am supposed to do when I see any manner of creature in Alaska (which doesn't even matter because after 4 Bocci Balls, I don't even know my OWN NAME and I clearly didn't remember all her coaching when the caribou charged me in Denali), but now she's got nothing to say. As my life passed before me and I realized that not only was he going to run me down, he was probably going to maul me as well, the dog stopped his advance toward me and the ram ran in the 4 feet between us.

With that, I heard, "GET THAT DAMN DOG ON A LEASH!"

I almost die and Ranger Rick is worried about a damn leash? The Brits in the parking lot are freaking out and B is looking like she is going to pass out.

My soon-to-be husband turns around and walks toward me.

K: Did you see that? That ram almost killed me.
D: Huh?
K: Didn't you see that?
D: No.
K: I almost died.
D: Huh?

I hate Benadryl.

Fabian Basabe is going to be the death of me

I can't make it to the Season Finale of Filthy Rich Cattle Drive. It's just too awful. Derek doesn't even understand why (or how) I can watch it. Having finally caught up with the season thanks to TiVo, I watched Fabian Basabe berate the future Lord Alexander about how America doesn't care about the Brits (using "we" for Americans). I don't need you to speak for me, you pompous ass. Let's ignore the fact that Fabian Basabe's claim to fame is as the son of a "wealthy Ecuadorian businessman" and just move on to the real question--why no one threw HIM into the campfire on Sunday night's episode.

(I figure if I use Fabian Basabe's name one more time, I can creep my way up the Google search for all those people typing in "who is Fabian Basabe?" You are certainly sending my readership through the roof. Sorry to bring you down, Fabian lovers. Watching him makes me glad that even with my lack of wealth, I still have a brain in my head. That's gotta count for something. Then again, as one of "those people," you know, those who WORK, I don't count anyway).

How many children do I have again?

Last night we got home from our short trip down south to find that 'ada and Zinni had been stung by the bees hiding out in the wood pile. We know this because 'ada met the car with his usual, glazed-eye look that suggests a trip to the ER may be in our near future.

I asked him if he had taken his Benadryl yet, but he said he hadn't. Now I knew the ER was in our future. We spent the better part of the next three minutes arguing over 1/2 a Benadryl versus 2 Benadryl. This ties back to a couple of stories.

Derek is severely allergic to bug bites/bee stings thanks to an incident as a child involving a tree and his cousin Michael. Needless to say, Michael is less allergic to bee stings because his cousin let him get down out of the tree first, but they probably got 60 bee stings between them. It makes those of us who actually anticipate consequences of things very nervous.

So this leads to our cross country trip a couple of years ago. We were in one of the Dakotas (who knows which one, or was it Missouri???) when Derek got bit by ants. I didn't think anything of it until about a half hour later when he was unable to follow a conversation and wasn't even speaking anymore. This is when he decided to tell me about this whole allergy issue. Frantically I began looking for Benadryl, and when I found it, he only wanted to take a half of one.

K: Just take two.
D: I don't like how Benadryl makes me feel.
K: I imagine DEAD isn't very comfortable.
D: OK, I'll take one.
K: Are we having this conversation because I can't believe we are having this conversation? Take the damn Benadryl. You are a lunatic. Maybe I shouldn't marry you. Frankly, I'm not even entitled to your life insurance yet, so could you just take the Benadryl?

Believe it or not, this story gets better. But I think that is enough for today. Tune in tomorrow.

All-consuming knowledge

E has his own laptop. It's ridiculous, I know, but it's true. It is the laptop from 1999 that gives the very disturbing Blue Screen when you try to access any programs. But it didn't crash when we downloaded the Muppet Babies game CD, so now Boo Boo Kitty can play with his computer when 'ada is playing with his computer.

So the other day the two boys were banging away on their respective computers when I decided that enough was enough and it was time for dad's Mini Me to go to bed. Offering him one last snack before bed, he chomped down as hard as he could, sending me to the moon. I screamed, "don't BITE" but he did it again. As he opened his mouth, there was a Q key rolling around. Many apologies from dad, but I wasn't feeling the love.

"You have to be careful. He could swallow those keys. And frankly, Poop Scrabble doesn't sound like my idea of a fun game."

A few days later we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival. I was trying to get everything together but it was taking friggin' forever. Derek let the baby play on the computer and then tried to give him a bottle. E was having no part of it, so D just put him in his car seat. They went outside and I just started to throw stuff into a bag. Fifteen minutes later we were on our way when BBK started to cough.

D: You alright buddy?

He told me to pull over, but the baby had stopped choking by then.

We made it to the light before Derek pulled an N key out of the baby's mouth. The man's only job is to KEEP THE BABY ALIVE while I am trying to get ONE DAMN THING DONE. Maybe the baby didn't want the bottle earlier because he was trying to keep from swallowing the keyboard.

You think he would notice an N key missing from the keyboard. I mean, it's not like it's the Alt button or anything.