Poop on a Brick

I announced to more than one person today that I would be making Poop on a Brick for dinner. You know me, I didn't call it poop. As I was making my Hamburger Gravy on Biscuits tonight I realized what a huge role Poop on a Brick has played in my life.

My mother has always claimed "I will never win Mother of the Year." There is an entire staff at Up With Kids Day Care who will support that claim. I distinctly remember asking my mom in front of everyone if we could have Poop on Toast for dinner. Sorry mom!

The first time I made Poop on Toast myself was a complete disaster. Three distinct factors came into play. First, I was following the lead of my mother. She's a wonderful cook who just kind of wings it. It's not like I was working off a Betty Crocker Cookbook. Second, I have a grandmother who lead me to believe that when it comes to anything with the word Gravy in it Kitchen Bouquet is the way to go. WRONG! Third, I follow in the footsteps of a grandfather who thought more salt made everything taste better. I agree, but not everyone else does. My failure was a pan of brown sludge. Dad suggested we have something else and I try again some other time.

Shit on Shingles, Poop on a Brick, whatever you call it, it's good stuff. Unlike the "One Big Nacho" I'm unable to share my recipe. There's no big family secret here. I've jut finally figured out how to wing it too.

The Swedish Meatball Incident, 2009

The Swedish Meatball Incident, also known as the time my mom tried to kill me, has been on my mind all week. I'm just getting over the stomach flu - the two incidents sure did have a lot in common.

My parents had a party and my mom was nice enough to bring me some left over Swedish Meatballs about a week later (I know now it was more than just a week). I ate them on the spot and then we went to HyVee together. I never made it past the deli before making a mad dash to the bathroom. I should have known that was only the beginning.

That night I spent some quality time with my head in the toilet or the Official Barf Bucket - which once held delicious Christmas Crack from Aunt Laurie. Wearing pants that night was not even an option - there wasn't enough time. I was up all night.

I called my mom before the crack of dawn to tell her what she'd done to me and demand that she bring over Gatorade and Chicken Soup. She arrived about 7am and found me camped out on the toilet with my head in the Barf Bucket.

Gatorade? Soup? What was I thinking? I spent the whole day throwing up cold water. It didn't even have time to warm up to stomach temperature before ejecting! Of course I called in sick to work. Just reaching for the TV remote gave me the spins and started the whole process over again. If only I had been more graphic maybe my boss wouldn't have asked "You'll be checking email, right?"

The ordeal lasted three days by the time I was able to hold down a cracker. It was more than a year before I could even look at a Swedish Meatball. So when I spent most of Monday night tossing Cornbread and Chili up in reverse I kept telling myself "If you can survive the Swedish Meatballs, you can survive this!"

Reallocation of Funds

We've gone public. There is indeed a Bun in the Oven. And it's a good thing the secret is out because I'm not sure my body is willing to hide it much longer. My friend Chad asked me if I was showing. To the untrained eye the answer is no. But my pants say YES.

Aside from the bowls and bowls of cereal, gallons of milk and more plums than I can count...I can't figure out where it's coming from! I've only gained 5-10 pounds since the wedding (depends on which day I check in). And I can tell you exactly where it went: my fingers, my third chin and my big baby belly. So the question is - where is it all coming from? My only conclusion is that my body is reallocating funds from everywhere else to these three lucky locations.

Don't think for one second I'm not enjoying this just a little. I promise not to starve The Lovebug. I'm just trying to get used to busting my buttons...as I enjoy my French Toast ice cream.