The moment no one was really waiting for: answers!

But first, a few words on my latest foray into the world of Quality Journalism: a brief, yet pulse-raising, story on the joys of alternative grains. Oh, the things I now know about alternative grains. I could opine for hours on the wonders of sorghum, the delights of quinoa, the buckwheatiness of buckwheat. The information I have on quinoa would curl your hair. The depth of my knowledge regarding amaranth—if I shared a single tidbit with you, your jackets would grow epaulets. For instance: In the month of Panquetzaliztli*, the Aztecs used a paste made with amaranth seeds and human blood to create dough figures of their gods. There. Now go check your closet. It’s a good thing the military look is back in style.

As for buckwheat, hold on to your shoes: it’s not wheat. Not wheat at all. Call it wheat, and within seconds aging natural-food-store managers will burst out of your closet to flog you with their gray-streaked ponytails. The End.

Answer time!

1.

a) Cookie.

b) Sesame Street.

c) Come with me (“Come on, Mommy” will also be accepted as correct.)

d) This was the toughest one: Swing at the playground. Even I didn’t get this one, for a few harrowing days.

2. The official answer is “D,” but I’m pretty sure he’s said all of these things at one point or another. And as for the comment’s reception: she was quite amused, as she herself taught him the word “booze.” Sigh.

3-7. Well, duh. Obviously C. Although I think C is the answer to everything in life.

I was amazed at the near-accuracy of your answers. (Carole and LOD, especially, as they were the first to identify some of the phrases in question.) You are all very good, and deserve many awards, none of which I have to give. But didn’t I just give you free epaulets?

*Panquetzaliztli is my favorite month. Sure, it's cold, but who doesn't look forward to a few bites out of an amaranth-and-blood Xochipilli during the feast of Huauquiltamalcualitztli?

Get out your pencils--it's quiz time.

1. Given that sometimes (but not always) c/d = t, s = f, g = d, k/c = p, p = b, r = w or h, n = m, and a/e/i/o/u = schwa, and extra syllables will sometimes be added to or removed from words as the mood strikes, translate the following before meltdown occurs:

a) Tuh-tee! TUH-TEE.

b) Femma-may feet! Femma-may FEET.

c) Tummonnameee! TUMMONNAMEEE.

d) Fing-atta-bingbong! I SAID, FING ATTA BINGBONG.

2. Given that clearly worded phrases will be ignored while muttered asides will be repeated with stunning clarity, which of the following is your child likely to announce in the presence of a grandparent?

a) Suck me.

b) That is such bullshit.

c) Fuckity fuckity fuck.

d) I love Grandma. Grandma the booze hound.

The following rules are:

a) Always true

b) Never true

c) Sometimes true, but YOU WON’T KNOW WHEN THEY’RE TRUE AND WHEN THEY’RE NOT TRUE.

3. The more you want your child to do something, the less likely he is to do it, even if it’s something he himself wants. Ha, ha.

4. Any food item that is crunchy, mushy, porous, green, red, hot, cold, or warm will be immediately tossed to the ground. Just be glad it didn’t get thrown in your face.

5. When your child has worked himself into a froth over something until he’s in such a state of disarray that he’s lost track of what he wanted in the first place, what will almost certainly calm him is a rational, coherent explanation of why his temper tantrum was ill-advised. So keep talking, jerk, see where it gets you.

6. Acquaintances want to hear about your child’s charming hijinks only slightly more than they want to hear about the unique challenges of parenthood.

7. You’re in charge. Until the kid wakes up.

It's quiz time!

Guess which items I let my son play with this morning

a) an unplugged hair dryer

b) a plugged-in clock/radio

c) Charlie the dog’s gums

d) the contents of the upended bathroom wastebasket (tissue paper, floss)

e) container that once contained yogurt, and, all right, still does, in that Henry didn’t want to finish it, but is now feeding it to the dog, and kind of licking it himself, or at least pretending to

f) a steaming bucket of urine.

If you guessed everything but “f,” you’re correct, and as reward, you may judge me… now. No, wait. Okay, now.

Guess what I was doing while Henry was playing with the above items

a) sort of keeping one eye on him, but really reading a magazine

b) eating a waffle over the sink, real quick-like, before he saw me and decided that he deserved it more than I do

c) repeatedly asking him if it was time for his nap yet

d) Downing the bottle of scotch we keep around for when the grandparents visit (the grandparents enjoy the hooch, I’m sure they don’t mind me telling you) while making prank phone calls to ex-boyfriends.

If you guessed everything but “e,” well, I hope you’re right. Frankly, the morning is a bit of a blur for me.

Ha, ha!

Ha!

(...ha?)

Naughty, naughty toy designers.

Henry has a couple of toys that, I'm sorry, are just really dirty. This could be my undertaxed imagination at work--or it could be a conspiracy led by a covert league of perverts.

My parents recently gave Henry a ring-toss toy that my nephews used to enjoy. The center of this thing, the object upon which the rings are tossed, is a large, flesh-colored stalk, topped by a red bulb with a smiley face on it.

My Mom hauls this device out, thwaps it on the floor, and calls out, "Henry! Come say hello to Mr. Penis Head!"

And that's my Mom who made that observation. My Mom, who once, completely innocently, asked Scott and me what a "boner" was.

Mr. Penis Head is a giant phallus, and I can't see how he can be viewed in any other way. I don't think he could look any penis-ier (I made up a word!). Not if his head squirted when rubbed vigorously. Etc. He's a penis.

Henry loves Mr. Penis Head. We snap pictures as he gums its smiley noggin, but I think I can't print them out without risking jail time. Even making such an observation is probably a federal offense. Hey, Feds--I'm just saying! Sheesh.

Also!

Henry has this pony. Not a real pony. A rocking-chair pony that we purchased from Toys 'R' Us. The wily people at Toys 'R' Us made the store very, very loud, so that we couldn't hear what the pony sang when his ear was tugged.

Then we got home, and we listened. And here it is.

I'm a pretty pony

Clippity-clop, clippity-clop

Such a pretty pony

Clippity-clop, clippity clop

I love to have my coat brushed underneath the old oak tree

So jump and run

We'll have lots of fun

When you come and play with me.

The lyrics are maybe not so creepy when you read them. (Although I think the phrase "I love to have my blank blanked" is going to be really dirty, no matter what you put in there.)

But they're intensely creepy when you hear them. They're sung by a breathy tenor whose voice positively trembles with anticipation. I can't help but picture the recording of this little ditty. The producer pushing Mr. Pretty Pony--a middle-aged, moist-palmed, slightly balding guy, with an eerily high-pitched giggle and a predilection for Hello Kitty paraphernalia-- for "more pedophile."

The pony's other ear, when tugged, elicits the following: "I like it when you brush me!" and "Let's go for a ride!" Strangely, these comments are purred by a woman, which either indicates that it was too creepy when the guy tried uttering the same comments, or that the manufacturers of this pony ride are suggesting that the pony is some kind of pansexual hermaphroditic love-beast.

Know what I just figured out? Know what? Do you? Bet you don't.

"Covert League of Perverts" = CLOP.

As in clippity-clop.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? I'll be up all night, trying to decipher what "clippity" could mean.

Anyway, Henry really likes his pony.