blame the drugs

It's that nebulizer.

For four days now I've been doling out the treatments to Bean--- saving up for when she needs it most and is coughing and wheezing and generally sounding like a broken accordian.

The biggest problem is that she won't suck on the tube.

And she certainly isn't putting on the mask.

Even if it looks like a jaunty smiling fish.

So I do what I do.

I sit her on my lap with a pile of books nearby.

And I hold the nebulizer mouth thingy as close to her own mouth and nose as possible.

Hoping that the misty drug juice will sneak into her system.

But what happens is,


it also sneaks into mine.

And so


let me just say


I'm simultaneously wired


and exhausted


jittery


and dead.






But my child?


Totally unaffected.











Have a wonderful weekend, mah peeps.


Wish me good restful sleep when my husband comes home this evening.


...and maybe some other stuff.





I miss that guy.

ramble

I woke this morning feeling scratchy and restless.

Sure signs of an angst I know too well:

a lack of inspiration.

I blame the fever a la cabin (that's cabin fever for plain).

So I sat in bed with Bean.

(Who is feeling a bit better --fingers crossed, I think I think I think we're on the back side of The Sick--.)

And I perused some of my favorite webbies for some of that missing sparkle.

An idea.

A thought.

Something that would ignite my inner vision.

I found a few that seem promising.

I will hold these little bits of spark in my hands today

and hope that I can kindle the flame.

A rainy(ish) day to create something interesting.

I have a birthday cake to imagine (I'm leaning toward a tiny cake with twirly fairy flags atop).

And a few birthday surprises to finish.

Here's to a good Thursday.

What are you doing today?

project: save not-cookie

This is NotCookie.

Or Cookie (wink wink) as he's known for short. He is currently soaking in a diluted solution of bleach water in the hall bathroom because he is a frequent (read: every night) visitor to Bean's Bathtime Routine. What's a poor NotCookie to do when he is put in bathwater every night and barely has time for a bath himself? He gets a little bit... 'tinky, as Chip would say.

So poor 'tinky Not-Cookie is luxuriating in the Whimsy bleach spa this evening.

It has worked before.

I hope it works again.

A note about NotCookie's name: originally Chip called him Gila, thinking him a hipster blue gila monster. But Bean insisted--- this is a bright blue monster. Clearly Cookie.

So Cookie (wink wink) it is.

I have fished paci's out from under public benches.

I have raced helplessly to save Bo the Woobie (blanket) from being trampled by airport strangers.

I have washed (and rewashed, and endlessly washed) blue monster Hurp until his eyes are nearly as blue as his body.

I have crawled on hands-and-knees around the living room more times than I can count to collect the precious contents of a box of business cards.

I have searched under car seats for a specific orange crayon.

This is clearly not the first time I've taken extra measures to save one of Bean's treasures.

And I know it won't be the last.

Tell me: how far have you gone to save a treasure?

i deserve this cupcake

And I will tell you why.

I am currently hosting a sick Bean. A very sad Bean. A low energy Bean. A clingy Bean. A Bean much less Beanly than usual. It's far from fun.

In fact, I will go so far to say that it's the kind of thing that pushes a mother to look forward to a cupcake at the end of a long napless day.

But to be more specific, I deserve this cupcake because it's day five in Camp Sick. Day five of which I am running solo morning, noon, and night because Chip is working in Idaho this week.

And that's not it completely, either. I deserve this cupcake because I spent over an hour at the pharmacy yesterday afternoon picking up Bean's prescriptions. That's an hour over the expected in-and-out run that I was promised because the doctor's office called everything in--- an hour previously. I wasn't the only irritable parent there, either. In the time that the dozen of us stood in front of the pharmacy counter at Walgreen's, we formed a union, elected officers, and wrote our charter. We have grand plans to meet back there in a few weeks when our children are all sick. Again. (Probably from all the germs we passed back and forth massing in front of the Walgreen's pharmacy counter.) Have I mentioned that I did all of this with Bean in tow, since yes, I might have said: I'm the solo parent this week. The Bean was not impressed with my attempts to organize the parent union. She might have also tried to open several boxes of Alphabits cereal that were in the vicinity.

I deserve this cupcake because, before the pharmacy sit-in, I spent nearly two hours at the pediatrician's office. First the meeting with her doc, the justification for coming in (fever for several days, lots of coughing --WHY CAN'T YOU GIVE ME SOMETHING TO HELP THIS CHILD TO SLEEEEEEEEP--, and some alarming wheezing). Then the doc doing her thing with the listening and the peering into various child head holes (eyes, ears, nose, you know the drill). Then this: well, she has an ear infection and I'll give you an antibiotic for that--- but there's also some rasping and I think we should have a chest x-ray just to be sure.

Then it's down the hall of the clinic to visit the diagnostic center with yet more checking in and sitting around. At this point Bean was pulling everything out of the diaper bag that was even remotely off-limits and I'm all WHATEVER, IT'S FINE-- including my wallet, car keys, and driver's license.

As they lead us back to the x-ray room, the tech was telling me that she had a chair that they'd have Bean in for the x-ray. I was soon to learn that "chair" was an extremely loose term. Because, well, I want you to close your eyes and think about George Jetson's clear travel tube system. Then think of it much much smaller in diameter. Like, small enough that it would only barely fit a squirmy, terrified toddler. And then imagine that there's a little bit of a hole cut out of the tube to fit the toddler's (screaming) face. Or better yet - think of Augustus Gloop getting stuck inside Willy Wonka's chocolate transporting tube.

Or just picture this:

I really wish I was kidding.

This is not Bean. Some other kid that they jacked up on Benedryl in order to strap her into this device for the photo op. Look! No screaming!

THIS is what the tech wheeled out to me, motioning that I was going to simply put Alice inside. The thing. Put my baby inside that thing.

So I did. By this time I was wearing the lead-lined apron so I could stay with her during the procedure - and when they stuck Bean down the tube (her legs pinwheeling helplessly from the bottom), I stood there and held her fingertips. I tried to sing a song to help her to be more calm, but quite frankly I didn't know if I was going to fall down to the floor laughing or if I was just going to burst into tears. It was... awful. Terrible. Too horrific. And also one of the weirdest (and yes, funniest) things I've ever seen.

I can be terribly inappropriate with humor when I'm stressed.

So here's what I did as Bean cried huge crocodile tears, her face crumpled into itself, her fingers wiggling to try to grasp my hands tight enough to pull her out of the tube--- I giggled. And then I cried.

And then the techs were there, releasing Bean from her prison, putting her in my arms, and I told her how sorry I was. Really, truly.

After that madness, we headed back to the doc to find out that no, Bean does not have pneumonia--- but she's got a bad case of the wheezies (my words). They gave her a nebulilzer treatment at the office and then sent us home with one to use here.

I like to watch bits of the nebulized medicine collect on her upper lip fur.

So like I said, I deserve that cupcake. And I think I'm going to be eating one tomorrow, too.

olympicated

Some of the ways we've been enjoying the Olympics:



. Eating grilled cheese sandwiches on thickly sliced homemade bread.



. Imagining that the male ice skaters are wildly dressed servers at Olive Garden. I'll be back with your bread! (pirouette) Some salad for you! (triple jump) Would you like romano cheese on that? (swizzle, swizzle, swizzle)



. Practicing our reactions if someone offered us tickets to the opening night of compulsory ice dancing (where, it would seem, everyone dances to the EXACT SAME SONG-- a nerve-jangling salsa-polka hybrid thing... clearly written by DRUNK 80-YEAR-OLD LEIDERHOSEN JUNKIES. (Whimsy: Um, you can't make me go. Chip: Thanks, but I'd rather shoot myself in the unmentionables.)


. Trying to figure out what downhill skiers are envisioning when the cameras catch them minutes before their run, standing with their eyes closed, hand motioning through the air, head waving side to side. (So far we have thoroughly REJECTED the suggested answer of "running through the race course" in place of the following top three: wildly specific dance routine set to Flashdance, maneuvering their car through downtown Vancouver traffic, swim strokes for their attempted crossover into the summer Olympics so they don't have to wait another four years for a medal.)



. Repeatedly rewinding ski crashes (firstly ensuring that no one has died or harmed themselves irrevocably--- we are crass but we aren't tasteless).


. Watching Chris Del Bosco's helmet camera's first person view of his wipe out during Sunday night's ski-cross final. Our favorite part? His shadow as he's pinwheeling in the air just prior to the stellar faceplant.



and lastly



. Theorizing the origins of those terrible personal photos displayed for each and every athlete just as they are about to compete. (Some possibilities: out takes from prom night, evil photo booth sitting outside a wind tunnel, mug shots styled by Nick Nolte.)





Now it's your turn. How do you watch the Olympics?

while the sun shines

Yesterday was one of those frighteningly infrequent February days of funshine (I mean SUNSHINE--- a bit carried away, there).

The inhabitants of the Last Homely House were drawn to windows near to the warm stuff.

Including me (I took a picture of my feet that will NEVER AGAIN see the light of day because Hoo Boy! Photographed feet are actually less pretty than In Real Life feet).

Beyond sunbathing, there was a lot of sewing-related activity. Which reminds me that I owe you some catch up nonsense. I don't know why sewing reminds me of this important task I have yet to cover, but there it is: a reminder.

On the docket of nonsense is an explanation about the Creamies. You could say I'm bragging, but I am choosing to believe I'm just being intensely factual when I tell you that I think they look fabulous. I've already said that a few times, you say? Fine. I'll tell you something new about them: they were originally bright green collpasable froggie men.

Really.

And then I had Chip gnaw the eyes off.

Just kidding! He surgically removed them. With a sharp knife. It was still a little weird and gory. (Even more gory: they actually sort of popped off once he cut around the painted parts.) Once their eyeballs were removed (I'm choosing to pronounce that word today as remove-ED, just because) --- they looked much more like little Creamie guys. But they had horrid little holes in their heads.

So I filled the holes with spackle. And then I sanded, sanded, sanded. And painted, painted, painted.

Until they looked like this.

So there you go, my in depth tutorial on turning a $1 collapsable froggie dude into a fantastic Creamie.

In other news, you should have heard the panic in Chip's voice when he called me from Portland yesterday. He had been reading all of your suggestions for Bean's 2nd birthday and was all I HOPE YOU REMEMBER THAT WE DON'T HAVE ANY ROOM WHATSOEVER FOR A PLAY KITCHEN. DON'T GET ANY IDEAS, LADY. To which I was all, Dude. I know. But your ideas were smashing - so smashing, in fact, that I think we're leaning toward the fake food / play pots & pans route. And maybe that card table tent.

Also in other news, I am stricken with some kind of free-floating ANXIETY. And when I say free floating, I mean it - because I have no idea where the ANXIETY is coming from and I have no idea what I can do to make it go away.

Apparently exercise is not the key, because yes, I'm still doing that. Yesterday Bean actually MADE me work out. I woke up feeling pretty UCK and just didn't want to bother. So I wasn't going to. Then we were downstairs and I was getting Bean her breakfast when she's all ESS-SER-SIZE? ESS-SER-SIZE? When I told her the bad news, that she wouldn't be wildly swinging her arms or rolling around on the floor with me today (because that's apparently how she interprets it-- lots of flailing arms, some rolling around, and some JUMPING). She FREAKED THE FREAK OUT. With the screaming of ESS-SER-SIZE!!!! And lots of exclamation points. So I did the flailing and rolling and jumping and all was well with our world.

Except for that anxiety. Which: yes, still here.

And you're still here. Because this is the post of nothing that WILL! NOT! END!

So I'm going to end it. Peace out, duders. Let's talk on Monday.

unfortunately it isn't practical to ask her for a wish list

Hello! I'm nearly two! And I play with business cards and mint tins!

It turns out that one of the biggest challenges of motherhood isn't having the patience to correct a tantrum. It isn't doing the daily routine and living to tell about it. It isn't making the same breakfast, lunch, and dinner and repeating it until your eyes roll into the back of your head. It isn't changing diapers, fishing poop out of a bathtub, the teething, or lack of sleep. One of the biggest challenges of motherhood is choosing appropriate birthday and Christmas presents.

And dude, I'm facing my Annual Biggest Challenge right now and I need your help.

It's Bean's birthday in just a couple of weeks and I'm at a loss. I've decided that two is a hard age for kids in terms of toys. I challenge you to find toys rated for 2+. There are a million for 1+, and a million for 3+... but 2+? Not so much.

Not that I'm using that as a guide, mind you, I just don't know what we should give to her, something fun but useful and educational.

But first, some background about Bean:

...She loves blocks and books and anything with music.

...She also loves Elmo. I can't stress this enough, though lately the love has been spread to the wider Sesame Street family.

...She can count to 14, recognizes all the numbers, knows her colors, and is starting to actually RECOGNIZE (read?) SPECIFIC LETTERS. It's unreal. But I'm offering this so no one goes and suggests a shape sorter (cuz she also knows all the shapes including -I'm not kidding here- the TRAPAZOID) or My First Book of Numbers.

...She isn't really into dolls yet. I'm thinking that's going to be next year's fabulous cast of gifts, which I'm totally up for.

I've considered getting her this Fisher Price Sesame Street thing. Which, I think she'd like, but I'm not sure she'd PLAY with it... yet. (I'm also a little bitter about this item because I had one when I was a little girl, and first of all there were A LOT more little people to play with than the TWO that this set comes with; second, my set actually had an Oscar INSIDE HIS TRASHCAN - this one comes with Elmo and Big Bird. That's it.)

I've considered getting her some Duplo blocks, which I KNOW she'll love, but it would take away the special experience she gets when she plays with the motherlode of Duplo blocks at my parents' house.

And I've considered the fake food / tiny pots & pans / cooking miscellanea route - because she loves to be with me in the kitchen, and she loves to play with the plastic food at other people's houses. But would it have true Toy Staying Power?

I'm throwing this one out to you guys. Toys appropriate for a two-year-old that will last for a while, won't bust my budget, and Bean will actually like. What do you think? One of the above I've listed, or something else entirely?

the heart of life

On our last day in Idaho two weeks ago, Bean and I threw a picnic party on our bed. We pushed aside the duvet and brought every creature comfort aboard (Whimsy: laptop playing some soft music; Bean: Trey the three-eyed pink monster, Herp the nearly mouthless blue monster, red-headed Elmo, her woobie Bo, and a generous helping of lunch).

We wallowed in lovees and music.

We compared our beverage containers (Bean: a green and blue sippy cup that's trekked across three states and back; Whimsy: a plastic water bottle).

We flexed our toes.

We ate lunch (Whimsy: leftover barbeque and potato salad; Bean: leftover pizza and bananas).

We laughed.

And as John Mayer's The Heart of Life played in the background and the rainy Boise sun fell through the window on Bean's still-dimpled fingers I thought about this thing I do every day.

I forget that I am the gauge Alice uses to test the world. I forget that my reactions tell her whether she should feel safe or happy or tired. This I know because I was once a little girl. If my mom told me we were having fun, whatever we were doing would become, magically, a good time. If my mom was stressed or worried or rushed, I couldn't help to feel that something was not right with our world.

I have long believed that my current place in Bean's life is to maintain her bubble - her sense of safety, her sense of regularity, her sense of order, and above all--- her sense of normalcy. Especially when you consider that we are on the road at least 25% of any given month.

I think that this life is full-to-the-brim with serious focuses. Regulation and responsibility sneak through the cracks regardless to the cotton balls and newspaper we've stuffed there to keep them out. In the last few months, I've forgotten that it's also my job to show Bean a sense of fun. I've forgotten that it's my place to teach her how to laugh.

So: a white-sheeted hotel bed, a cuddlesome almost-two-year-old, a tired-beyond-belief thirty-six-year-old mother, some music, some very-much-loved stuffed friends, and lunch.

How do I not wake every morning with the sweetness of my life still lingering heavy on my lips?

How do I not put down my work more often and hold her two-year-old body while she still lets me?

How do I not embrace the goodness of these moments while they're happening, while they're thick around my face like moths to a porch light?

How do I not confess each and every aching minute that the heart of life is so very, very good?

I hate to see you cry

Lying there in that position

There are things you need to hear

So turn off your tears

And listen

Pain throws your heart to the ground

Love turns the whole thing around

No it won't all go the way it should

But I know the heart of life is good

You know, it's nothing new

Bad news never had good timing

Then the circle of your friends

Will defend the silver lining

Pain throws your heart to the ground

Love turns the whole thing around

Fear is a friend who is misunderstood

But I know the heart of life is good

I know it's good, I know it's good

Oh I know it's good

-John Mayer, The Heart of Life

minionlympics I: closing ceremony

At the close of the first somewhat-annual Minionlympics, we pause to catch our collective mental breath--- and take this moment to reflect on the incredible things we've learned over these past eight days. We've learned that Whimsy cries when someone gives her a crockpot for her birthday (but she is also extremely practical and while she pitched the boy, she still has that crockpot). We've learned that it would be best to always KNOCK before walking in on Shelly Overlook. We've learned, along with Rose, that those wrap dresses are wily creatures. We've learned from Spadoman's hard-earned lesson that it is always best practice to ask your mother what picture she is going to display at your father's funeral. And we've learned that every single one of you are the funniest, sauciest, wittiest, sassiest, and creamiest Minions that a Whimsy could ever have.

Thank you for making the Minionlympics the rousing success that it was. You guys... have wowed me.

Wowed me to the point of desiring to make a Creamie for each and every Minion who took part in the Minionlympics. Alas and alack, time and resources and postage wouldn't allow for that. Instead, I made a magnet for each of you that wrote in with your Minion Cabinet Office. If you want one (it's small, but it's something, AND IT HAS YOUR CABINET OFFICE--- all except Midnight Rambler because I just couldn't bring myself to put Interim Phlegm Czar on a magnet, so dearie MR when you're feeling better and are fully able to occupy your more permanent Cabinet position, let me know what your title is and I'LL MAKE YOU A MAGNET). Anyway... if you'd like to claim your magnet and allow me to send you actual mail, email me your address (whimsyattack AT gmail DOT com).

Now without any further delay let's get to the much anticipated, long awaited, very opinionated, exceedingly creamivated AWARD WINNERS (though you're all winners, really truly you are).

The Bronze Creamie goes to our third place finisher...

Heidi.

Self-Proclaimed (but Whimsy named) Ambassador to the Four Legged Kingdom.

Buddy.

Mother.

And bus-driver extraordinaire.

Heidi has spent these rainy winter months furiously manipulating her typing fingers and practicing genuine blog commenting in preparation for these fine Minionlympics.

Her hard work paid off, and her valor will not quickly be forgotten.

Congratulations, Heidi!

The Silver Creamie goes to our second place finisher...

Alicia.

Mistress of Hindered Planning and Organization.

Delightfully intrepid.

Witty.

Sassy.

Wicked funny blogger.

And a darn fine mother to boot.

Alicia's efforts to go for Minionlympic gold were widely lauded by her inventive and determined group of fans, calling themselves Beth-heads for their fandom, following Alicia through the blogosphere in all her glory.

Despite her dogged determination to grab that Golden Minion Box of Awesomeness, Alicia showed true sportsmanship and grace - both winning Minion characteristics.

And the first Gold Creamie of the First Somewhat-Annual Minionlympics goes to none other than...

Wandering Nana.

Secretary of Discretion.

The picture of good hostessness.

Delightfully mischievous.

Contrary to her opinion, story teller extraordinaire.

Friend.

Grandparent.

And as evidenced by her overpowering core of fans--- FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH.

This is the woman you want on your team. And we are lucky. Because she's on ours.

Congratulations, Wandering Nana!

(And remember that Wandering Nana is now the first recipient of the Golden Minion Box of Awesomeness - but once she gets it she'll be posting her own contest for the box - which can only be won by a Minion. So stay tuned.)

Friday was something of a hard day for me. The usual suspects of stress and lack of sleep and other personal niceties. But the comments coming in about Cream had me in happy tears. Sometimes I think that in order to truly grasp a concept you have to lob it out into the universe and watch the way it is caught by others - listen to their retelling, wait until they roll it back to you, observe how it has grown. And that's so true about Cream. What a delightful surprise to have this quirk, this little thing that I've called my own not only be appreciated by so many of you, but to be understood - and adopted. It's a gift you've given me, this reminder of your tenderness toward the weird and random ramblings of one Whimsy.

Because cream isn't always easy. Cream is temperamental. It melts in a hot room. It can spoil if it isn't refrigerated properly. Cream can be, quite frankly, a little unloveable and CRANKY. And Cream can be lonely. For a good majority of my life, the dairy section has been frighteningly small. I've mostly been okay with that. It's given me time to think and create and play on my own which is one of my favorite ways to be. But Cream also needs human interaction, much like what Alicia talked about in Friday's comments. It is a terrible thing to go looking for that interaction and not find it. I think I've been a tough judge of the people who have wanted a glimpse inside my world. I still am.

But somehow, someway, I love sharing that world with all of you. And I hope that love shines through. Really, my hat goes off to the dear Spadoman, because he said it better than I ever could.

Cream, in all its glory --- in all its goofiness --- in all its hysterical imperfection. The Creamery is the place, but the Minions make it so. You're welcome here. Always.

minionlympics I: a brief interlude

You know how during the Olympics they have those Heartwarming Stories of Atheletes Overcoming Huge Obstacles with the softly focused camera shots and the plinky plinky piano music throbbing with emotion in the background?

Think of this post as something like that.

Or not.

Because it's not much like that. But we're experiencing a bit of a delay with the awards and the closing ceremonies of the Minionlympics. Let's just say that we're having difficulty finding the torch runner (i.e. there's a delay with the award delivery... i.e. I'm a little bit slower with the making of the Creamies than intended). Awards and closing ceremony tomorrow!

While it won't make you cry or think wistfully about the turns your own life would have taken if you had dedicated your athletic career to ice skating (dude I love the Olympics)--- let's talk about the answers to The Creamery Quiz.

1. Whimsy once fell into an open refrigerator and had difficulty getting out.

Oh so sadly TRUE.

2. One of the grossest things Whimsy ever witnessed (and photographed) is:

Two slugs making baby slugs on the side of her house (I'm sorry - really really sorry).

3. When Chip stayed at the haunted hotel, how many other guests stayed there that night?

None, which was almost as creepy as his experience at the hotel.

4. Who is Winston?

Whimsy's dad.

5. Chip is deathly afraid of snakes.

Very false. He is, however, deathly afraid of SPIDERS as seen here.

6. According to Whimsy, the perfect chip accompaniment to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is nacho cheese Dorritos.

Absolutely true.

7. At a Day After Thanksgiving sale, Whimsy bought the following item for $5:

What else would posess a tried-and-true LOVER OF SLEEP to get up at 3am? A food processor, of course.

8. Whimsy's parents live in:

Utah.

9. The furry monsters are:

Fergus and Phoebe. Here and here and here...

10. When she was pregnant with Bean, Whimsy had a specific food craving for:

Sour cream and onion dip. She even convinced Chip to try it... on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She did NOT CRAVE BEANS. In fact, there were several instances when she threw Chip out of the car / house / smelling range for consuming beans of any kind. (I can't find the link... don't know what's wrong with me.)

Now. Tune in tomorrow for the FANTASTIC MINIONLYMPICS CLOSING CEREMONIES AND AWARD EXTRAVAGANZA - you're all invited, of course!

minionlympics I: round five

I'm a little sad that this is the last day of Minionlympic competition.

But then again, I'm also a little relieved.

Because you guys mean business. And I've been worried if the whole MINIONLYMPIC EXPERIENCE didn't live up to the hype, you'd track me down and hurt me.

Or at least give me a very firm talking to.

So before we get to the whole competition portion of the Last Day of Competition, let's announce the winner of Chip's extra point extravaganza from yesterday's post. The lucky winner is....Spadoman, whose story had Chip (no lie) HOLDING HIS BUTT, he was laughing so hard. Congratulations, Spadoman!

Today's round is a little bit different than the previous - it even has two parts.

Part the first: a CREAMERY QUIZ. The questions are listed below - but don't answer them in the comments. To make sure that everyone has a fair chance, you'll need to email me your answers. Don't bother retyping the questions or anything, just list the question number and your answers. Email to whimsyattack AT gmail DOT com. Deadline for submissions is 5pm PST on SATURDAY, so that gives you some decent time to be able to complete it. Creamatheletes will receive one point for every right answer.

1. True or false:

Whimsy once fell into an open refrigerator and had difficulty getting out.

2. One of the grossest things Whimsy ever witnessed (and photographed) is

a. Two slugs making baby slugs on the side of her house

b. An apple with a worm in it

c. A termite infestation

d. A sewer plant

3. When Chip stayed at the haunted hotel, how many other guests stayed there that night?

a. A lot- it was a full house

b. About 20 or so

c. Only 2 - and he met them on his way out

d. None, which was almost as creepy as his experience at the hotel

4. Who is Winston?

a. Whimsy's uncle

b. Whimsy's dad

c. Whimsy's brother

d. Winston... Churchill?

5. True or false:

Chip is deathly afraid of snakes.

6. True or false:

According to Whimsy, the perfect chip accompaniment to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is nacho cheese Dorritos.

7. At a Day After Thanksgiving sale, Whimsy bought the following item for $5:

a. Food processor

b. Toaster

c. Blender

d. Cordless phone

8. Whimsy's parents live in:

a. California

b. Ohio

c. Washington

d. Utah

9. The furry monsters are:

a. Hurp and Trey

b. Elmo and Zoe

c. Mutt and Jeff

d. Fergus and Phoebe

10. When she was pregnant with Bean, Whimsy had a specific food craving for

a. Pickles and chocolate chip ice cream

b. Sour cream and onion dip

c. Cereal that looked like cat food

d. Bean burritos

Part the second: a QUESTION for the comments section, because it would be a shame to change the format now. But first (you know what's coming) A STORY.

Or maybe, not really a story, but some thoughts. And pardon me for getting a little bit introspective and emotional (But really, what would the Minionlympics BE without some deep introspective thought, right?). All this stuff about cream and the minions has gotten me thinking alot about friendship and personalities. I mean, the whole concept of creamy came about from the challenges I've felt relating to people. This idea of CREAM, and it being not just something that separates me from other people, but is actually a uniting force? That's some powerful stuff. I had a shrink tell me once that my concept of CREAMY could substitute for CREATIVE. That it's the creative force I sense in other people. He could be right.

But I want to know what you think. You've spent some time here at The Creamery. What do you think about cream? What is it? How does it work? I'm not asking you to think of a pithy answer (though they're always welcome). I don't think I want to laugh today. I want to think. Think about you guys and the depth and humor and richness you've gifted to me - and The Creamery. I want to think about the gift that this space is - how much fun I have here, and the fact that you each actually drop in regularly to join in the conversation--- that's amazing to me. I live a very small life, my friends, but you don't treat it as a small thing. It's wonderful that we've stumbled upon each other, don't you think? So tell me about cream. And meet me back here on Monday for our closing ceremonies.

(You can have your supporters and fans stop by up until Saturday at 5pm PST.)

minionlympics I: round four (post edit for post editing's sake)

In case anyone is coming onto the scene just now and you're totally confounded as to the WHAT and the WHY and the HUH, I have a little tutorial in the form of links.

First, you should read the Laws of Cream. Do that below at the bottom of the page.

Second, about the whole MINONLYMPICS thing: read here.

So... now you sort of know? Are at least a little less wondering what could possibly be going on?

The recipient of Chip's special bonus points from yesterday's post is none other than Heidi!

It's Thursday and that means we have but TWO ROUNDS REMAINING, and I'm sure you're wondering what the scorecard is looking like right about now. I have the entire thing in an Excel spreadsheet if you want to see it (email me whimsyattack AT gmail DOT com). We are all about TRANSPARENCY here at The Creamery, yo. But I have a little snapshot of the top five contenders below. Please note that I have practiced some discretion to add some Whimsy approved special points for things that amused me or made me laugh or I thought were particularly cheeky. For I am the Supreme and Creamy Whimsy, and that's just the way I roll. But just to keep it fair, I've kept the point tally column hidden from my view until just now to list the top five Creamathelets. (BTW, if another Creamathelete mentions that they love another competitor's comment, I'm counting that toward a SUPPORTER POINT, but don't let that stop you from saying nice things. Because it's nice. And so very creamy of you!)

The snapshot

In fifth place we have: Heidi with 10 points

In fourth place we have: M with 12 points

In third place we have: Amanda with 13 points

In second place we have: Wandering Nana with 20 points

And in first place we have: Alicia with 22 points

Now Minions, it's still EARLY in points-gathering. If you've fallen behind, marshall your comment-forces and have some non-minions stop by to support you. They can do that up until 10pm PST on Friday. And keep it up - I might even do a CONSOLATION PRIZE. No promises, of course, but let's see how this thing shakes out.

With all of that now out of the way, let's commence with today's question! But first (everyone say it with me), a story. Once the Original Minions and I really started to run with the whole idea of Creamy and Miniondom and all its trappings, we got somewhat... shall we say, zealous, in our excitement for, um, ourselves. There was the time that MB made the mistake of inviting ALL OF US to a dinner party at his place. A dinner party that included (gasp) other people. A dinner party which the four of us promptly hijacked. We quoted the entirety of the movie they were watching (Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Rings). And they made the pitiable mistake of playing Taboo - which we COMPLETELY RULED, seeing as how the four of us had somehow melded our brains and could finish each other's sentences. My favorite part of the evening? When I was up and the word was CREAMY. No lie. We weren't much invited to other parties after that. But that's actually not the story I wanted to tell. It's this one, about the thing that happened that STILL mortifies me. Being something of a writer myself (and this was pre-blog, so I had a lot of pent up creative writing just sort of uncontrollably oozing up to the surface), I wrote emails. A lot of emails. And so did M. And so did Samwise. We'd have these crazy and hilarious round-robin emails that would just go on and on and on. Now remember, we thought it was HILARIOUS. And in our Uncontrollable Optimism, we thought that the rest of the world would think so too. There was this girl at church. I can't even now call her a GIRL. She was a WOMAN. A WOMAN that should be written in ALL CAPS. A few years older than we were, she was uber creative and cool and funky and talented and extraordinarily smart. She wore awesome clothes that she usually found second hand. She drove a terrifically funky classic car (some kind of big old 1960's cadillac or something, I have no idea). She was... in an entirely different social strata than the likes of us fun-loving party-ruining movie-quoting Minions. But we had hope. Because she embraced a lot of the things we embraced. She understood a lot of the things we understood. Clearly, she was CREAMY. She just... didn't know it. So one day we took it upon ourselves (who am I kidding? I TOOK IT UPON MYSELF) to tell her about Creamy. To share with her the life of Creamy. To help her to see her creaminess AND EMBRACE IT. And then I added her to our email exchange, thinking she'd ENJOY THE FUNNY.

Forward a couple of days and I get an email from her that says this,

"Hi. Can you please remove me from your email list? It's just... sort of a lot. And I'm sorry, but I don't think I have time to read all of this."

Let me just say: MORTIFIED. And quite frankly, even MORTIFIED with the caps and all doesn't fully articulate just how ridiculously STOOOOPID I felt for trying to foist our cream onto someone else. For ages and ages afterward, whenever I'd think about it, I'd get all shivery and embarassed. I know, because I'm feeling shivery and embarassed NOW and it's been seven YEARS.

Dearest Minions, on this fine Thursday morning, I am now calling you to remember a terrible shivery and embarassed moment from your past and share it here. Tell us your best embarassing story. And we will probably laugh, but at least we'll be laughing WITH YOU.

Post edit: Seeing as how you're putting this down on the interweb, to reside FOREVER---- I'd like to extend the invitation that you can go back and extract/delete any comments that you feel would infringe on your future Fifth Ammendment rights. This way the future generations don't need to accidentally stumble upon the story of you and the time you were involved in a bank heist. But first! Wait until tomorrow, so Chip gets his chance to award the bonus points for today.

Now... Go!

minionlympics I: round three (updated)

First off, I was able to confer with a conscious and awake Chip this morning and find his declared winner for Tuesday's favorite comment. And the WINNER IS... SIBLEY SAGA. He couldn't get over her tragic Valentine's Day date that actually made out with her BEFORE he broke up with her. In Alicia's words, AWESOMELY BAD. Also from Chip, "You know, I don't have any terrible date stories... probably because I've been the CAUSE of some terrible date stories." HA! Now I've got to tell you - you are the best Minions a girl could have. I mean, you told some KILLER stories. I don't know if I've ever laughed (or sort of CRIED) so much reading comments. It was one train wreck after another. Is it wrong that I love a good trainwreck? No? See, I knew we all belonged together.




Bean says: I would be Minister of Chocolate if only my mama would let me EAT chocolate like I did at Grammy's

Now it's Day Three here at Minionlympics Central and we're very excited to see how the Games are shaping up. As I mentioned yesterday, you guys are FIERCE. A very nice quality in a Minion, I must say. And as a Minion, you need to be very much in touch with your qualities, as today's challenge will show.

But first, a story (are you noticing a pattern here?): there's this thing... about the Original Minion Beginnings... it involves A LOT of goofing around and A LOT of laughing and then A LOT of hilarity-induced craziness. I just sort of up and declared myself the Supreme and Creamy Whimsy one day. We were planning a huge joint birthday party, I vaguely recall. And we were passing around a lot of emails about our plans. And then, I just declared myself Supreme and Creamy and told my dear friends that they were my Minions. After a lot of funny jokes about this, I decided that the Minions needed Cabinet Offices, naturally. I mean, really--- if you have a whole load of Minions, they obviously need specialities.

And so, dear Minions, do YOU. Which brings us to today's FANTASTICAL CHALLENGE: you must now declare your Minion Cabinet Office. Are you a Minister of Cooking Gadgets? Minister of Bad Decisions (probably not recommended)? Chief of Staff (a little boring)? Something a little more ethereal? Remember, this is YOUR cabinet office, so you don't even have to be a MINISTER. You can be Head Pooba for all I care, I just want you to dig deep and be descriptive, folks. And make sure you say why you are claiming your specific position in Miniondom. Go!

minionlympics I: round two

The lucky recipient of Chip's FAVORITE COMMENT OF THE DAY extra bonus points from yesterday's post is none other than: WANDERING NANA. Congratulations, and again, I've got to tell you that we are adhering very strictly to the Whimsy-reading-comments-to-Chip-so-that-he-does-not-know-who-wrote-them thing. Which last night lead to Whimsy-getting-creative-mid-comment-reading-to-make-sure-that-she-wasn't-including-info-that-would-tip-Chip-off-to-the-identity-of-the-commenter. Phew, it was a little exhausting. I should tell you that aren't going to know which minion-suggested item I'm actually selecting to include in the GMBOA until next Monday. Just doing my part to make sure there is still some mystery left in this world. But you guys do not disappoint and made some awesome suggestions! Fierce competitors, all of you!

We'll get going on today's challenge; but first, a story: we've established that I've had my fair share of terrible romantic situations. The time a boyfriend gave me a crockpot for my birthday comes to mind. I cried over that one, especially since we'd been dating for several months at that point. And he gave me... a crockpot? There was the time when I was sent a letter by somebody who had a crush on me and they actually put a "check this box if you like me too". There was the time when I was literally ON A DATE and placing my order for dinner when the dude (my "DATE") corrected me that we weren't on a date. That he had just suggested we "hang out". There was the time when I had been going out with a guy for a while and his best description of me was that I was "neat". And crockpot dude? When it was all over, the best thing he could offer about my best qualities were that I was really organized and I got along well with his mom.

So. I had my fair share of lousy Valentines. By the time I was united with the Original Minions, we were fairly all sworn off of the lousy Valentines. And we weren't going to accept anyone who didn't recognize our true Creaminess.

Out of that came a Valentine's Day that we dubbed BLACK FRIDAY. (Naturally, the holiday fell on a Friday.) We got together at my apartment. We listened to music. We told all our stories of Horrible Valentine's Woe. And we ate molton chocolate cakes, individual ones. They were amazing.

My gift to you is this recipe for the molton chocolate cake. But Ree from Pioneer Woman does a tutorial. So go here to see it. The cakes we ate that night of Black Friday were eerily similar to these...

And you, dear Creamatheletes, for your next challenge, will tell me your BEST WORST story of romance. A terrible date? The worst Valentine's Day you've ever had? Whatcha got?

minionlympics I: round one

The somewhat frightening face of the first-generation CREAMIE.

Should I be concerned that Bean saw it and started meowing?

It's not like they say something to start the Olympic games like LET THE GAMES BEGIN or whatever. There's a torch. And... we don't have a torch. We have some Creamathelete buttons, though. So there's that.

And it's not like we're having an opening ceremony. Though really I'd love an opening ceremony. It's one of my favorite things about the Olympics with the pomp and circumstance and the athletes pouring in and waving and the tiny tiny teams that have like two athletes and also someone carrying their flag and the stories with the background of people overcoming huge obstacles to reach great athletic achievement and then the CRYING and the lighting of the torch and some kind of weird stylized dance number and some last minute surprise of the person who carries the torch into the stadium... I love every single cheesy second of it. (True story: I got really mad at Chip last summer when I talked about my LOVE and EXCITEMENT for the opening ceremonies for days before and when the night actually rolled around I somehow ended up running around like a crazy person taking care of something? Like laundry? And our child? --I don't know-- And our dear Chip watched the ENTIRE THING while I only got little snippets of it and afterwards, OH THE FIERY ANGER OF THE WHIMSY UNHINDGED.)

At this point let's all have a group visualization of a terrifically overblown Minionlympics Opening Ceremony and now it's the next day and we're ready to LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

So yes. The games. Beginning.

Welcome to the First Somewhat Annual Minionlympics! If you aren't already aware, you can review the rules here. (Please, also know that if you're an occasional reader or aren't playing or whatever, you are STILL and ALWAYS welcome to comment. We are an Equal Opportunity Community here at The Creamery.

On to the games! Again!

I have a passion for packages. That sounds a little icky, but seriously... you have no idea. I LOVE putting packages together. I love receiving them. I love tying things with pretty ribbon. I love wrapping it all up in cool paper. I. Love. Packages. Out of that love came the Plain White Box. I thought it would be fun. (It has been. Definitely.) But something has been wriggling at the back of my mind about the PWB... and it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I realized what it was: I want YOU GUYS to get it. Every time. I have great love for all the Internets, I do. But come on, you are MAH MINIONS. Out of this came

THE GOLDEN MINION BOX OF AWESOMENESS.

Or GMBOA, for short.

What's the point behind the GMBOA, besides SHEER AWESOMENESS? (And also it being part of the grand prize for the first place winner of the Minionlympics?) It's this: a pay-it-forward contest just for you guys.

Here's the deal: the GMBOA, being a pay-it-foward, needs to be passed on. The winner of the box will hold a drawing on their blog - but I am putting this binding rule on it: it must go to a Minion. Which means that our numbers will either grow exponentially as people who desire to win the GMBOA come back here and become an eminion (ha!) OR the current holder of the GMBOA has to specify that only Minions can enter and let the chips fall where they may. If the current GMBOA holder doesn't want to do the contest on their blog, I'd be happy to have you guys enter from here. Does this make sense? It's a way to make sure that the box passes from one Minion to another, and eventually, I'm sure, each of you will get it.

A few new twists on the box - I'm declaring another MUST. Like the box MUST contain some kind of action figure. I don't care if it's an actual tried and true action figure, Barbie's head, or a ping pong ball attached to a pipe cleaner. It just... has to have an action figure. This first inagural round of the GMBOA is going to contain none other than a SECOND GENERATION CREAMIE. You can see a glimpse of the first generation up there at the top, created by the very fantastic Samwise. The original is a little disturbing, I guess. Some kind of cheapie Dollar Store plastic man barbie wearing plastic shorts, nailed to a little block. The entire thing is spray painted silver. And lives to frighten unsuspecting guests who look inside my studio closet.

The second generation Creamie is a little less SO MUCH. But still: Creamie!

But I think this whole GMBOA with its rules and many specifics is missing one last thing. And this, my dear minions, is where you come in. Creamatheletes, STRETCH THOSE TYPING FINGERS AND PREPARE YOURSELVES, FOR HERE IS YOUR CHALLENGE:

Tell me what one thing the GMBOA is missing. Should it contain one more specific item--- and if so, what is it? Am I missing something else altogether about the box and some kind of special twist that needs to take place--- and if so, what is that?

CREAMATHELETES---- GO!