The Daily Dish

Once upon a time, in the town right next to yours, there lived the fattest cat in the history of the world, and his name was Pudding Butt. Now when I say Pudding Butt was big, I don’t just mean big - I mean BIG. He was so fat that had to sleep in a Rubbermaid plastic tub instead of a cat bed. He weighed nearly 45 lbs.

Pudding Butt was a glutton. But he was a glutton for one thing only. Pudding. Tapioca, to be exact. Pudding Butt just couldn’t get enough of it. Morning, noon & night the cat craved Tapioca. His momma kept it in little plastic pudding cups tucked in every cabinet of the kitchen. But it still wasn’t enough.

One morning, Pudding Butt woke up hungry. He always woke up hungry. And so he yawned and stretched and smacked his little (big) Pudding Butt lips, and waddled into the kitchen for breakfast.

MEOW, he called to his momma. Which meant, “Hey Lady, get me some Pudding. Right NOW.”

His momma looked at Pudding Butt with worried eyes. “Oh, sweetums, I spoke with your doctor this morning. Remember last week when I took you to the vet? Well, your test results came back and [GULP] you have a little bit of a… weight issue.”

MEOW, said Pudding Butt. Which meant, “Really. That’s great, now get me my PUDDING.”

“So, ummmm, anyway poopsie, you’re going to have to go on a diet. Starting today. No more tapioca for you, my furry little man.” And his momma took a carrot out of the crisper bin and dropped into Pudding Butt’s dish.

MEEEEEOOOW ???

Pudding Butt just looked at the carrot, and looked at his momma. Back and forth, back and forth. Until, sensing no forthcoming pudding, he turned tail, disgusted, and squeeeeeeeezed himself through his dog-sized cat door.

And so Pudding Butt began to walk, albeit very slowly, dragging his massive blimp-like middle along the ground. Fortunately for Pudding Butt, he’d only gone a block before he picked up the scent. The scent of… PUDDING!

HOLY MOLEY! thought Pudding Butt, and he began to trot a little faster. Sniff-sniff-sniffing the air with eager interest. The trail led him to the rear of a nondescript house, and up to the window ledge of what appeared to be the kitchen. With quite a bit of doing, Pudding Butt heeeeeeaved himself up to the ledge and peered through the dusty window. The room was spacious and filled - and I mean FILLED - with pudding. Big cups, little cups, huge institutional-sized cans of it, stocked floor to ceiling with no room in between. And sandwiched inside this pudding cocoon, there sat a man. The biggest man you’ve ever seen. He wore a stained and yellowed t-shirt emblazoned with “PUDDING EATING CHAMPION OF THE WORLD” and was hunched over an open tub of tapioca.

This vast ocean of pudding belonged to none other than Pudding Jones Baxter, the pudding-eating champion of the world. But Pudding Jones had grown disillusioned with the world of competitive eating, which he felt had become too much of a commercial enterprise, and so he had retired to live the quiet life of a once-world-champion.

Pudding Jones sat eating eagerly, hungrily, totally transfixed, like he’d been trapped on a deserted island for months and just found his way home. He stopped occasionally to breathe, and look around the room at all of his unopened pudding. Pudding Butt, being an animal, had the ability to read human emotions with just a glance. And what Pudding Butt sensed was an intense loneliness. Almost palpable, like the big gaping hole of hunger gnawing inside his belly at that very moment. And so Pudding Butt did what came naturally.

MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW. Which meant, “COME HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU BIG HANDSOME BEAST. INVITE ME IN TO YOUR PUDDING FEAST!!!”

Pudding Jones, upon hearing this loud call, looked up and locked eyes with the cat. And never, in all the history of the world, was there a truer or more sincere case of love at first sight. Pudding Jones had never beheld such a beautiful creature in his life! He rushed over to the window and threw it open wide, exclaiming, “MY FRIEND!!!” To which Pudding Butt replied, MEOW. Which meant, “Home Sweet Home.”

Today’s JUST SAY NO! is a little different. Rather than address a topic strictly geared towards mothers & daughters, I will instead - for the benefit of mankind - address a topic which affects us all. All of us using sidewalks, that is. Today we will JUST SAY NO! to riding your bike on the sidewalk.

That’s right, I am talking to YOU. You, the 45-year old man, wearing the helmet, timidly riding your cruiser ON THE SIDEWALK of Walnut Street, Philadelphia. The wrong direction. Oh. Yes, we saw you. And do you know why? B/c you nearly ran us over. You poor pathetic creature.

You, my good man, need to GROW A PAIR OF TESTICLES. Take that bike off the sidewalk where people are WALKING and place it in the BIKE LANE. It is right there next to the curb on the yonder side of the street. Now, you take that bike and ride it the right way. In the STREET.

There is no excuse for your behavior. None. You are a grown man. At least in physical body, if not mind. You have a bike, you have a helmet, you obviously are not blind. Do you not see those special lanes on the streets of Philadelphia? Those lanes marked w/ this:

That is not a man rolling donuts. He is RIDING HIS BIKE. IN THE STREET. He has a helmet. He has BALLS.

Several days ago, I saw a young child and her momma riding their bikes on the sidewalk of Baltimore Ave. It was a little annoying, since I had to negotiate around them w/ my two kids and a filled-to-the-brim super freaking heavy push-shopping cart. But at least they have an excuse. A 5 year old learning to ride her bike needs some guidance, and a busy street w/ trolleys is not the best place. Maybe her momma should take her to a parking lot or something, rather than a busy sidewalk. But I am not one to judge. No.

But these MEN. And grown WOMEN. Riding their bikes on the sidewalk when there are clearly defined bike lanes in the street. Well. You people are either cowards or self-absorbed morons. Or both.

If you are too afraid to ride your bike the legal way, then you should sell it and walk. Or take public transportation. Or just stay home. I don’t really care, but I do take issue w/ your callous disregard of other people. Like me, and my 2 kids. Trying to walk. On the sidewalk. Trying to get across town w/out being run over. On the sidewalk.

You should be pulled from your bikes and slapped. Hard. Especially since you nearly ran my 4 year old over. And my husband. All over Philly there are bike lanes. Bike lanes. USE THEM.

JUST SAY NO! to riding your bike on the sidewalk.

I took the ladies to the Academy of Natural Sciences last week, and one of our very favorite exhibits there is called BUTTERFLIES! I like it almost as much as the stuffed bird room on the third floor, and the super sweet Cowbird in the Children’s room who absolutely loves my older daughter and always talks to her when we visit. Cowie, Cowie, he calls, and puts his head down for a scratch. ANYWAY. At the Buttterflies! exhibit, we spoke w/ a friendly & highly knowledgeable staff person who explained to us the difference between moths & butterflies, something I had always wondered about but never quite knew.

Three easy ways of identifying a MOTH vs. BUTTERFLY:

1) Moths are mostly nocturnal, i.e., they’re active at night and rest during the day. Butterflies are the opposite - awake during the day, at rest during the night.

2) Moths, when they rest, spread their wings out to each side, wide open. Butterflies, on the other hand, close their wings together & keep them upright. They may gently beat them up and down while feeding, but mostly keep them closed rather than spread to each side.

3) Moths have short, feathery antennae, while butterflies have long, thin antennae w/ a “club” (bent looking part) at the tip.

Some other interesting facts (excerpted from National Geographic Kids magazine):

Atlas Moths are the largest moths in the world, some w/ a wingspan of 12 inches. But they live for only three days. Sad.

Monarch Butterflies eat poisonous milkweed plants, rendering them toxic to other animals. Other types of Butterflies, such as the Viceroy, mimic the Monarchs coloring to fool predators into avoiding them as well.

Butterflies have sensory organs on their legs which act as tastebuds — so they can literally “taste” how ripe fruit is just by landing on it. PRETTY COOL.

When butterflies emerge from their chrysalis cocoons, their wings are crumpled and wet. If they don’t unfurl them properly and let them dry, their wings will stay wrinkled and they won’t be able to fly.

Caterpillars are eating machines. Some may grow to 100 times their original size.

Click HERE to read about the Four Stages of Butterfly & Moth Metamorphosis: Egg, Larva (Caterpillar), Pupa and Adult.

Lastly, my younger daughter & I very much enjoyed a picture book about Butterflies called Gotta Go! Gotta Go! by Sam Swope & Sue Riddle. I dare you to read it and NOT have the catchline stuck in your head for weeks.

Once upon a time, in a village far away, there lived a carpenter. This carpenter made lots of things, but his true passion was crafting beautiful wooden birdhouses.

The carpenter was successful, but lately had become very, very poor. For, you see, all of his neighbors already had birdhouses. Delightfully charming birdhouses. They had birdhouses in their front yards, they had birdhouses in their backyards, they even had birdhouses inside their own houses. They just didn’t need any more! And did I mention that this carpenter had SIXTEEN CHILDREN to feed?? Not easy when birdhouse demand has dwindled.

One day a stranger came to the village, and asked where he might find some birdhouses. WHY, the villagers cried, right down the road! They were thrilled to see someone who might be able to help the carpenter. And they sent him on his way. Shortly, the stranger arrived at the home of the carpenter, and knocked on the door. His slightly disheveled wife answered, surrounded by a mob of screaming children, and pointed the stranger to the shed at the back of the house. The carpenter was thrilled when the stranger explained he was in need of some birdhouses. And how many will you be needing? 1000. The wide-eyed carpenter blinked several times, and then asked, And by when? Tomorrow.

After the carpenter regained consciousness, he set to work, calling all of his children, as well as his wife into the workshop to help. All day they worked, and into the night. But by midnight, they’d only made 580 birdhouses. The carpenter explained they would have to all forgo sleep, in order to fill the stranger’s order. And work, they did. All night long and into the morning they slaved away, sawing and carving, nailing and painting. And even the littlest of the children did their share. Finally, by dawn, they were finished. Not just 1000 birdhouses, but 1004.

The family, exhausted, waited all morning for the stranger to return. When he hadn’t arrived by lunchtime, the carpenter began to worry, but waited still. All through the afternoon and into the evening, he waited patiently, until finally, the stranger reappeared on his doorstep. Looking over the heaping stacks of birdhouses, the stranger marveled at them all. The level of quality was unsurpassed. He counted each of them, and once reaching 1000, he could not believe there were 4 to spare. “Kind sir,” he praised, “You have surely exceeded my every expectation. I have come directly from the King, who created this challenge to find the best carpenter in all the land. You, sir, have won. I hereby offer you the post of Royal Birdhouse Maker, forevermore.”

The carpenter, overjoyed, accepted. And never again did his family know want.

What do you mean, Where the hell have I been?? I don’t get to go to the bathroom alone anymore, let alone blog about it. Yes, I know I have not been blogging. I am sorry. I do care about you all, but refereeing between my daughters has to take precedence. To be blunt. These kids is driving me CRAZY! The fact that we haven’t had a car in 2 weeks b/c the auto body shoppe is holding ours hostage has only compounded matters. I love walking. A damn good thing. B/c now I am accustomed to walking long distances w/out rest, whilst pushing a shopping cart, holding 2 hands & balancing my sanity on a dime.

I’m hot. I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I have to pee. I’m tired of walking. My stomach hurts. Mommy, why do people fart?

Yes, of course I explained about flatulence. But that only took so long. Leaving me plenty of time to devise a few diversionary tactics to keep my kids entertained while we hike across town.

1) Make up games. Your kids will LOVE THIS.

Our favorite is the super duper ANIMAL GAME.

It’s easy. One person starts. They think of an animal, and say “I’m thinking of an animal that…” and then you offer a single clue. Location, type, color, starts w/ a certain letter. You catch my drift.

I’m thinking of an animal that lives in Africa.

Each person gets a turn guessing. Zebra. Elephant. Lion.

If no one has guessed it, then you offer a second clue. Another round of guesses. And so on. The person who guesses the animal first gets to go next.

This is my daughters favorite game EVERRRRRRR. And when you get tired of animals, you can change it to anything. I like Food. I’m thinking of a food that used to be alive. And so on. But you can do anything. Trust me, this game keeps them entertained for AGES> THANK GOD.

2) Make up stories.

I have a million stories rolling round in my head, so I just pull one out. But even if you aren’t one of the Bros Grimm, you can still come up w/ SOMETHING. Where are you? Look around and make something up. My daughters fixate on animals. They give these animals funny names and make them do stuff. My older daughter told a really good one today about Bob & Phil the fat fish who went into a “Shrimp & Pancakes” restaurant and were being scoped out by the eel cook as potential dinner. My younger daughter came up w/ Bob the Hedgehog likes to eat poop. Just go w/ it. I tell you, when I make up a story, whatever it’s about, my ladies hang onto every word. They become so engrossed in the moment, they totally forget about how tired/bored/hungry/irritable they were.

3) Tell them true stories.

Think about things you have read, and talk about it. Or better yet, tell them about things you did when you were little. Tell them about things THEY DID when they were little. My girls cannot get enough of this. Daddy, tell us about when your foot got run over. Mommy, tell us how that crazy squirrel got into your apartment. It never gets old. My younger daughter loves to regale us about “That one time I peed in my bed.” YES SHE IS REALLY INTO BODILY FUNCTIONS RIGHT NOW. But.. As long as it’s about you - or them - or something remotely interesting - they will be happy. And so will you.

4) Sing songs.

One word: BINGO. Old MacDonald. The farmer in the dell. Three Blind Mice. CMON PEOPLE, You have to know at least a few. And when you tire of those (b/c you know you will), do like we do and make them up. We came up w/ a great song last week about a dead rat we saw in the street, it was called Flat Rat. That song lasted us at least half a mile. Perhaps the greatest children’s song ever.