Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Blowhole at the Top of Your Mouth

Yesterday the Captain asked me a question.

"Hey StealthJew. You know how I'm not all that aware of my body and health, right? Can you tell me if something is normal?"


"You know that blowhole at the top of your mouth?"

"You mean your throat?"

"No. The hole in the roof of your mouth."

"There's no hole there."

"Yes there is. You know that hole, the one in the roof of your mouth."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

" . . . *expletive*"

Turns out the Captain has a cleft palate, with a teeny little hole right on the roof of his mouth. The roof of his mouth is also, for the record, kind of flat. After presenting him with Munchkin's mouth as well as mine, I've convinced him that this is not the usual way of things.

Yes, it is strange that the dentist didn't mention this. I realise no one explicitly asks dentists to count the number of orifii in the mouth, but you think they'd mention it.

"By the way, you know you've got an extra hole in there."

Anyone ever known this to exist in an adult? Any suggestions?

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Howdy, Neighbour!

So I got a negative comment -- my very first, I think -- on my little phosphate helper down there. It was left by some Suzuki acolyte who is sending her children to -- wait for it -- the elementary school I and my younger brother the Captain attended.

I feel obliged to warn you all that Captain and I are both Reagan conservatives, people who don't even _like_ polar bears, and who only recycle the stuff they pay us for. Now I can't say for certain that this was because of anything I was taught in elementary school, but I can't rule it out either. Be alert.

I do know they were beating the environmentalist drum pretty hard back then. Captain even dressed up as a recycling bin for Halloween one year.

You know, say what you want about the global warming people (or ask me to say it for you), but at least they make their case in public. I am already suspicious of environmentalists, because they seem as a whole to have an alarming totalitarian streak. Fine for someone to eat only organic potatoes, and please, do tell me about it. I'm open to being convinced. But increasingly the trend is not to discuss, say, phosphates, but instead to bypass us proles and trolls and instead legislate the change one wishes to see in the world. After all, why risk the unpleasant discovery that many of us would prefer working toilets to saving water, if one can impose one's will by fiat?

BTW: You're not saving any water if the darned thing keeps backing up, spasming, and vomiting all over my bathroom. Just sayin'. And when that happens, I'm definitely breaking out the bad-for-plants-and-animals chlorine bleach.

Monday, March 14, 2011

On the Move

We have a new child on the move, and already I can tell that the younger two are going to be trouble.

When you have one small child, you think that you should supervise the child at all times. When you have three, you know that you should supervise them all all the time. Since they rarely mull about the same area, and periodically one is tempted away to change a diaper or use the bathroom, this is impossible. Three children get up to much more trouble than three only children would.

The other day I explained the difference between a preschooler and a toddler to someone else. A preschooler tries to pour her own milk and spills it all over the floor. A toddler pours the milk into the flour. Then he spills out the resulting mixture, and then he trods in it.

Let me tell you what my toddler and my crawler are up to.

Crawler was a raccoon in a past life. He has tipped over trash cans twice and once gotten into the recycling bin. He's either looking for something to eat, or his natural reaction when he encounters something putrid is to move it mouth-ward.

Toddler was served lunch while Preschooler's birthday cake was cooling on the same table. He decided to eat said cake, starting at the middle part and working out.

Crawler tried to drink from my mother's dog's dish. This is disgusting.

Toddler obtained a sample bottle of his father's colonge. What, pray tell, was he trying to do with it when he was averted by his now-unusually-wary mother?

He was attempting to get crawler to drink it.

Now they both smell funny.