I’m still mortified by some of my undocumented behavior during Justin’s last weeks of back-to-back travel. I’m a yeller. I come from a very big and very loud family full of yellers. We yell when we’re happy and excited, and we yell when we’re pissed. Simply put, I come from a loooong line of yellers. My kids are used to it, too, and are rarely surprised when I start shouting about something. Except when I have hit the wall and start bellowing like some kind of drunk fishwife. One of those mornings I yelled so loud that both kids burst into tears and the baby in my belly jumped like he was startled. I was instantly and completely ashamed. I spoke to both kids separately after we had all calmed down and apologized to both of them for losing my temper like that.

The more I thought about my behavior and how my interactions have been with my kids over the past several months, the worse I felt. I was tired of always feeling rushed, always feeling angry, always feeling behind in everything that needed to be done, and always feeling as if I couldn’t take time to do something nice with my kids so that maybe they’d have just one memory of doing something fun with Mommy. They were, understandably, constantly asking about Justin, but it got to the point where their questions and requests to be with him instead of me started to wear on me, too. So I got desperate and started looking for something different for all of us to do as a family before Baby #3 came. I just needed to get all of us away from the house, work, and hit the “reset” button. I checked a few kid-friendly destinations, like Sesame Place and Hersheypark, but neither were open to the public until May. I took suggestions and did online digging from there. I finally settled on doing a long weekend at Massanutten Resort, outside of Harrisonburg, VA…a mere 2 hour drive from our home! They had some great spring specials going and after cornering Justin with a wooden spoon we decided to just go and have some special family time.

Unfortunately my phone is not very waterproof, and I forgot my little Canon Elf, which is not waterproof, either, but well…anywhoo…didn’t get as much pictures as I wanted. But these are the ones I did get when we went to Massanutten Resort about two weeks ago:

Massanutten 2010 pics

(sorry…having some technical difficulties and too annoyed to fight with it right now…check the link or check back in a day or two to see if I got them posted)

I couldn’t believe how beautiful this place was! The waterpark was a LOT of fun, as well as the pool at one of the rec centers (we went there before the waterpark opened), the restaurants has good food, the condo we were at was gorgeous, and the service from all the employees was phenomenal. Justin talked about going back there instead of a trip to Virginia Beach. There is just sooo much to do at Massanutten that is included with your visit, and even more for very reasonable prices. Worth checking out if you’re looking for something that has a little for everyone. We easily could’ve stayed there for a week but I’m glad we got the few days together that we did.

So I asked the boys a few months ago if they’d like a little brother or a little sister, and I got these responses:
Gavin — I want a little sister since I already have a little brother.
Cooper (in his squeaky, Elmo voice) — I no wanna sista. I wanna ‘former! (translation: I don’t want a sister. I want a transformer)

Apparently, though, when other people have asked Gavin what he’d like to have, he’s told them he’d like another brother. Although one time he said he wanted a fish. Cooper, however, has been pretty consistent with his wish for a Transformer, despite getting one for Christmas.

Last night, Justin was putting Gavin to bed and was reminding him of our appointment this morning, and he again asked Gavin if he’d like a little brother or a little sister, and Gavin answered, “well, lets just find out tomorrow.” Justin was surprised at this sudden burst of diplomacy, so he prodded him again, and again Gavin answered, “I think we should just find out tomorrow.”

So here we are. It’s tomorrow. Either I’ll be going nuts in the girls section of the store on the way home from the appointment, or I’ll be trying to figure out what clothes survived Cooper and can be used again for Baby #3.

Don’t know about the rest of you, but this whole Health Care debacle…nearly 2,000 pages of non-transparent crap that essentially says the government would like to tax each and every one of us an additional 8-12% for the privilege of letting the government manage our health care for us…has gotten me really riled up. I actually like my health care. I like it a lot. Now, last year I didn’t…so I changed insurance companies and have been ecstatic about their level of professionalism and coverage ever since. When Gavin decided to crack his head open this summer? The ER visit only cost us $75. All preventative care is covered 100%. Other care is well-covered, too. I had the option of taking another high-deductible PPO, but opted for this plan instead, even though it costs more in premiums. But that’s because in my mind, health care and health care coverage is one of my top priorities (besides when I can score my next cheese danish). I know some folks out there, most of them a good 10 years younger, who do not make health care coverage a high priority, so they get the low-premium, high-deductible plan. Or they are short on money and take the gamble against getting sick or injured and take no plan. Personally, I think that’s crazy, but that’s their own decision to make. Who am I to judge how they manage their lives?

Unfortunately the government doesn’t seem to think that any of us are qualified to make our own decisions about our health care or that of our families. So I’m going to go to Washington and join the likes of Mark Levin, local Conservative radio host Chris Plante, some members of Congress, and a bunch of Smart Girls and Tea Partiers to tell the rest of Congress to get their crap together and back some real reform. Not a take-over. Not irrational mandates. Not something that will run each of us, and the country, into the poorhouse.

Interested? Come join me at 12 noon at the East West Capitol steps. Or wander between the two like me, since I have a poor sense of direction anytime I’m downtown. I blame it on all the buildings interfering with my natural global positioning systems.

However a week after this incident, I got called to pick up a puking Gavin from his grade school. Since Justin was out of town, I was left racing home from work on a Friday afternoon (read: world’s worst traffic), and my poor puking kiddo was left to puke for over an hour until I could finally retrieve him. After an exciting afternoon and night of racing to help him as he got sick repeatedly, he seemed to have recovered on Saturday and it seemed to have been something that just didn’t sit well in his stomach because none of the rest of us got sick.

Shortly after finding out about the H1N1 cases at daycare, I went down to the basement to suit-up and clean the litter boxes. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw what I thought was a big ol’ pile of cat yack, but once I got closer, I realized that it was a dead mouse. My brain said “yuck!” and “yay!” at the same time because I didn’t want to touch the corpse–I don’t do dead things larger than an occasional half-mangled moth or cricket (also courtesy of the cats). But I was pleased that before even knowing we had a small rodent invader, that the cats had dealt with it by simply catching it and killing it. I few nudges with the litter box shovel convinced me that they had not tried eating it (unlike the cats I had growing up). I hollered for Justin to dispose of the body, and finished the chore I had originally set out to do.

Over the course of the next two weeks, I had tripped over each of the cats several times while they camped-out in front of the stove. I wondered if they had lost a scrap of paper, or the tab from the milk gallons under there, so I pulled-out my handy-dandy Maglite and peered underneath. All I saw was several golf balls, a few Hot Wheels, and more cat-hair tumbleweeds than I could count. I made a mental note (that I promptly forgot) to re-friend my crevice tool and suck out some of those tumbleweeds over the weekend.

Two nights later, however, as I sat up working well into the wee hours, I heard the distinct noise of a solo cup bumping something. I snapped my head around, thinking a cat was getting on the counter and instead, saw a mouse on the counter next to the stove! Thank goodness my conference call was on mute because the high-pitched shrieks came forth as I ran to wake up Justin so that he could deal with the invader I just saw. He was not very happy but I told him, “well, I HAVE to work, and really, since I’m pregnant, I can’t deal with a diseased mouse,” which convinced him to at least toss a cat on the counter, who then looked confused that they were being placed where they usually are beaten for being there. Then he started removing items from that counter quickly (ala pulling the tablecloth) in the event our little friend or his friends were still hanging out on the counter. He took my Maglite to go hunting for more evidence of our new little visitors, and reported back shortly about his findings. Since it was after midnight on a Thursday night, and I still had a few hours of work left ahead of me, we decided that we’d put out a few snap-traps and would perform an all-out house scrub on Saturday.

Friday morning we woke to a corpse in a trap. Saturday we scrubbed the kitchen like crazy-people, all suited up in pseudo haz-mat gear and armed with rolls of paper towels and bottles of Clorox Clean-Up Spray. Afterwards, I tackled where they decided to leave poop in the basement…right next to the litter boxes (which wasn’t there two days prior when I had last cleaned the boxes).

After about a week of setting traps in the kitchen and garage, and monitoring the cats’ progress in the basement, we ended up with 8 or 9 total dead bodies. And we figured out that when they started digging up our next-door neighbor’s yard to trace a water leak on their property, that was when we got our little visitors. It’s now been a good two weeks since the last corpse was found, and we seemed to have either killed them all, or the survivors packed-up and ran.

On a barely related note, Melisa-with-one-S over at Suburban Scrawl totally ghosted me last week!

Now this means I actually have to interact with other folks, which I’ve totally been sucking at since shortly after returning from BlogHer. So here are the rules, which I swear I will follow because I really really really like Melisa:

(1) Go “ghost” three other bloggers — doesn’t matter if it’s your best bloggy buddy, or a new one, or maybe somewhere you’ve never commented (not that that applies to me since I have an involuntary urge to comment on anything I read or see on TV).

(2) Stop by their blogs and leave a comment on their latest post saying:

“You’ve Just Been Ghosted — Come Over and Grab A Puking Pumpkin!”

(3) Copy and paste the puking pumpkin somewhere on your blog (either in a post or on your sidebar, perhaps) so that everyone can see that you have been “ghosted” and will NOT “ghost” you again. This will also let you know who you can “ghost.”

Alright fine folks out there…have a wonderful and safe Halloween!!!

So, I’ve been off the radar a bit, as we’ve had a lot going on around…most of which happens on a constant basis, but it’s the fun, tiny details which make it that much harder at times, right? As usual, Justin’s been out of town…that so-call four-week project has progressed into 5+who-knows-how-many-more-weeks. Let’s just chalk that mess up to our less-than-efficient government. Gavin got the stomach flu (or maybe food poisoning?) last Friday, I’ve been feeling a bit “off” myself, and I’ve been busier than ever at work. In fact, a few nights ago, I got the pleasure of not just doing some work from about 8:30pm until about 10:30 or 11pm like I often do a few times per week, but got to work from 8:30pm until 3am. THAT? Was a very long day, indeed. So I thought I would make it up to you by having a good reason to point and laugh at me.

I’m normally a person that is easily startled. Justin has scared me so many times unintentionally that I swore I was going to put a cat collar on him so that I can hear him coming. I also get spooked easily because I have a ridiculously overactive imagination and I watch WAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY too much cop dramas on TV. This is not usually a big problem because I normally make Justin investigate any weird noises I hear, or to go outside at night. But since he’s been gone, I’ve had to be the one to go outside at night to turn off the hose or go investigate strange noises. Thankfully the dogs, especially my dumb-dumb Ginger, are more than happy to accompany me outside…along with my trusty 2-foot, 5-pound Maglite (sucker takes four D batteries!).

Since we’re getting into that Halloween time of year, I thought some of you might be interested in what forces me to swallow my fear and face the unknown in order to protect the kids and my house.

And because I like lists.

• When Gavin says “Mommy, I just heard someone say /insert very strange fear-building noise/ to Ginger outside”. Now, I did ask Gavin what he meant…did he mean that someone walking on the sidewalk past our yard made a funny noise at the dogs while they were out there? No? Did he see someone in our yard? Yes? Maybe? You’re not sure? Did he see anyone at all? No. But he was sure he heard this noise. So I grab the Maglite (even though it was still light out), and start walking towards the back door, puffing out my chest and trying to look taller than my actual 5’1″. Just as I’m about to yank open the door and jump out all ninja-like, he says, “oh Mommy, it was just that big bee out there making that noise!” I look at him confused and disarmed, “what?” Gavin responds, “Mommy, it was our big bee that was making that funny noise at Ginger.” I’m still a little confused. “Wait, you mean the bee?” And he sighs tiredly like I’m some daft creature, “yes, Mommy–it was the bee.” I look towards my potted herbs just outside the back door and sure enough “our” big bumble bee was out there buzzing its fool head off.
• When I pull up to the house after being at work all day and see the big garage door wide open. If a lawnmower is missing, then I’m usually okay because friends of ours borrow it…but they don’t usually during the week. And they usually close the door behind them when we’re not home. So this means either (a) when Justin left for the week, the sun was in that “sweet spot” and shined right into the garage sensor, thus causing it to bounce right back up as if there was something underneath it; or (b) some crazed killer is in our house, ransacking the place, making off with our adorable dogs, my laptop, and they probably have also peed on the carpet and furniture because what else would crazed killers do? In this case, I pull in the garage and lock the kids in the car, telling them I need to check the house and will be back out to get them in a minute. Then, since my Maglite has probably been swiped by the killers, I go in there with my car key sticking out of my clenched fist like a Wolverine claw. As I walk in, I find that all five animals are accounted-for, as well as my Maglite, and I don’t smell any pee that isn’t related to the litterboxes in the basement. I do a quick run-through, ripping open closet doors and stomping around to sound as big as possible. This seems to work as I’ve yet to encounter any crazed killers stupid enough to mess with me when I do this.
• When I pull into the garage and even though the big door is closed, the door into the house is open. This seems to freak me out even more than the big door being open–I think partly because I’m so stunned to not find both dogs and all three cats in the garage as the big door opens. This also entails me to “clear” the house as detailed above.
• When not only I hear a strange noise late at night, but when I see all five animals’ head whip around toward that same strange noise. At that point, I pull the blankets over my head and command the dogs to “get it!” because, as we all know, Boston Terriers are awesome and viscous watchdogs. At least compared to the cats.
• When I see our back gate open. None of our utility meters are located in the back yard, so it really skeeves me out to know that someone was in our backyard. This causes me to suit-up with the Maglite again, and go make sure some wicked creature of the night hasn’t taken up roost under our deck, waiting to pop out and break into the house to kill me and the kids in our sleep.
• And finally, when this happens unexpectedly:
  

Ahem.

So, since I was bad about mentioning this the other week, I will get down to the nitty-gritty. I have started a Fantasy Hockey league which will rock your socks off. And will be free. And soothe the competitive beast within (such as it is). The big catcher? As of this post, I still need to fill the remaining five teams by about 8pm ET tonight because our live draft is tonight at 9:30pm ET. If we’re missing teams, then our draft will be dumped.

So please please PLEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEE join my league.

(originally posted at Draft Day Suit, 9/28/09)

Don’t Forget Tonight!
The most important night of your entire life…or something close, at least.

Still need a few more people to sign up for the DDS Fantasy Hockey league. If we don’t have all teams claimed by about 8pm ET, they will dump our draft, and you don’t want that kind of blood on your hands, do you?

By the way, it’s free. While I love winning money, I hate losing money more and my chances of winning are incredibly slim. Hence, free. And why you really only get to win bragging rights during the off-season and a nice facsimile of the real Stanley Cup.

If you’re not already a fantasy sports user on ESPN, just register. It’s free and it’s easy.

Unfortunately, if we’re still short a few teams later today, I will have to open this up to the actual public, and I can’t be sure that we will still have cool people joining the league if that happens.

So there, enough guilt for ya?

Draft Day Suit Fantasy Hockey
Link: http://games.espn.go.com/fhl/tools/join?leagueId=21087
Password: crosbyisatool (as a Caps fan, I’m legally obligated to hassle the Pens)
Type: Live Draft
Date: Mon., Sep. 28, 2009
Time: 9:30 PM ET

Okay, it was only five days, not all summer, but man, as short as it was, I really enjoyed it. We got to Virginia Beach around 10pm on Monday, got checked-in, got the truck unpacked, and finally got the kids and dogs settled down for the night. Gavin proceeded to get up at just past the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning, despite not getting to bed until nearly midnight. After breakfast, we waited for Cooper’s morning poop, then stormed the beach.

Yes, I said we waited for Cooper’s morning poop. That child poops like clockwork around 9:30am and 7pm every day. And since he already has an incredibly sensitive hiney (I’m pretty sure he’s used more Monistat than I ever have), I didn’t want to risk

1. not noticing the poopy smell emanating from him since I have long-since learned to sit up-wind of him, and thereby causing a new rash that will take a week to clear up,
2. changing the poopy diaper on the beach, cuz, well, yuck! or
3. changing the poopy diaper on the beach but end up rubbing sand into his skin in my attempt to remove all fecal matter from his not-so-teflon butt, which would also cause some sort of ridiculous rash.

So we waited until he pooped.

Once we walked out on the beach, I felt instantly calm with the salty breeze in my hair, the smell of the warm, damp sand, the cozy feeling of digging my feet in the sand, and the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Well, until Cooper started howling about the sand. So we tried putting him in the water, which caused him to holler “I no like-a da water! I no like-a da bubbles!” and had a new-found appreciation for the sand and all its building/destroying possibilities.
After a couple hours, we went back in, had lunch, and Cooper napped.

We did the exact same thing the rest of the week, though on Thursday, we went on one of those dolphin cruises. We went at sunset, which was pretty, but next time we will make sure we make it to a daytime cruise so that we can see the dolphins in the water better. Or Justin and I will just take a vacation sans kids and go swim with the dolphins.

Friday, as I mentioned, we actually saw dolphins right outside our hotel while we were eating our breakfast, and then again when we wandered out onto the beach shortly after Cooper’s poop. And when two of them were closer to the shore than a lot of the swimmers and surfers? Just too amazing for words.
Later that afternoon we wowed ourselves with the currently-being-renovated-but-still-pretty-cool Virginia Aquarium. While the shark tank was awesome (go in the submarine and you can be under the inhabitants of that particular tank), I think I liked the harbor seals out front best. Or maybe the big sea turtles. Hopefully they’ll have the new exhibits completed by the time we go there again.

Saturday, we packed-up and headed back home. Another end to another all-too-short vacation away. Especially since Justin had to leave Sunday morning for another trip for work. Meanwhile, in the two or three minutes of spare time I found for myself since vacation, I’ve been peeking at the price of housing down there. I feel the need to get back to that water already.

Oh, were you looking for pics? Well, those will have to wait until Justin returns cuz I can’t find my card reader and he has plenty more pics on his camera than I have on mine.

I get the kids ready (Justin is in Texas again, in fact, not too far from Rachel!), Gavin eats his yogurt (finally! seven minutes of silence!), and Cooper had his yogurt in-hand to bring to school. As we walk into the garage, I grab Cooper’s hand to help him down the steps and start to close the door behind us. As I shift my weight from my leg on the top step to the other leg stepping down, Cooper trips, both his feet sweep out from under him, and we both start going down as we desperately hang on to each other. My foot that had been in-air awkwardly finds the step below (and somehow I step there without stepping on Cooper), and I hang onto the door handle for dear life because I hadn’t found my balance yet with a 30lb weight dangling off of my other arm.

As I feel my left arm being yanked painfully, I can still feel Cooper not quite on anything solid. I finally find my balance, crouch slightly to let him do a slow fall onto the garage floor, then collapse into a heap, fighting back the sobs from the scare and the stabbing pain in my upper arm. I mumble some comforting words to Cooper, pat his back with my good arm, and can’t hold back the tears any further. While Cooper asks “you huwt, Mommy?” and tries to kiss my arm, Gavin stands in front of us, arms akimbo, demanding to know why I hurt Cooper. I sob harder and blubber that we fell and that I got hurt really badly and point out that Cooper’s not hurt badly cuz he’s already stopped crying. He looked at me skeptically and asked, “can we go?” As I gather myself, I realize that during our Stairway Acrobatics, Cooper never dropped his cup of yogurt.

So I drop them off at daycare and run over to Dave and Kari’s to let out their dog. Due to some nervous stomach issues, she’s been left in the garage instead of messing the house. I let her out, offer her food, and then coax her to lay in her bed in the middle of the garage. Then I tried to close the garage door. Nope. Poor dog came running at me and tripped the door sensor.
I tried getting her to stay in her bed again, praising her for laying in it and saying “STAY!” over and over as I back out and try to punch in the keycode to close the door. Nope again, as she came crawling miserably at me and her big paws got in the way of the door sensor.
And again.
And again.
And then there was that time that I tried swatting at her to get her to back up and I tripped the door sensor.
Then finally, after putting a harsher tone in my voice, she stayed in her bed longer and only tried to crawl out when it was too late and the door made it down.

As I get in my car, laughing at the absurdity of the day, my gas light comes on. I swear, I was not meant to make it in the office today.

I wince as I pump the gas because more of the muscles in my upper arms, shoulders, and neck are starting to protest the abuse they got an hour earlier, and contemplate taking Advil with my coffee on an otherwise empty stomach. I decide against it until I can get to work and eat my yogurt. Noooo need to tempt fate more today.

While I’m sitting in traffic on 28, I open a package I received in the mail and it’s the Limited Edition, signed copy of Mark Levin‘s Liberty and Tyranny: A Conservative Manifesto that I won in Right Commentary’s give away! Thank you so much again for the book–I didn’t realize it would come in such a nice box and such. Very lovely, and even lovelier of you to give it away to someone else. I swear I would’ve taken a picture of it to post if I hadn’t spent all my energy and creativity on my incredibly impressive artwork above. Instead, all of you reading this will just have to believe me until I remember to finally post a picture of it in like two months.

So anywhoo, getting the book totally made up for my crazy morning, and even when I found that someone stole one of my ultra-cool Snapware containers out of my lunchbox in the fridge at work. I could care less that they might’ve eaten the leftover Hamburger Helper that was in it, but man was I irritated that they took my container. Jerks. But I had my cool book waiting in the car for me to drool over as I sat through even worse traffic getting home. Speaking of which, what the heck is up with that??? School is out, Congress is in recess, so why aren’t my roads clearer? Oh wait. No one can afford to go on vacation so they’re staying home this summer to work their butts off. Dang economy.

Now here’s the really wacky part of today: I made chicky nuggets for the kids (mostly because I was pressed for time after that traffic, and partly because they requested it), and they gave me a hard time about eating it! Punks.

After purchasing a couple pounds of jalapenos, which resulted in Cooper having a complete meltdown because I wouldn’t let him eat them as he was placing them into our shopping bag, we went outside to go look at the chickens.

The farm had a fairly sizable chicken run, with more chickens than I could count while preventing my kids from throwing bits of gravel at the birds. After a few minutes, one of the several roosters had had enough of my featherless chickens making eyes at his lady-chickens and started crowing as loud as sin. This, apparently began a whole domino effect of all the other roosters to start showing off and crowing in order to keep the perceived rivals away from their ladies. It almost worked, as both Gavin and Cooper began to back away from the fence, until we were invited by the farmer to come in and see the babies and I dragged both children into the confines of the chicken run against their will.

Most of the chickens and roosters ignored us once we were in their midst, but there was one rooster who kept giving Cooper the evil eye, so I picked him up lest I needed to choke a chicken and be banned from further visits to the farm. Even though I was carrying Cooper into the chicken coop, where the babies were being kept, the rooster stayed nearby and Cooper continued to watch the bird warily.

As we walked in the coop, the farmer broadly gestured to all the hens plucking and scratching about and proclaimed, “these are your egg-layers”, then gestured towards the babies and said, “and these are your chicken nuggets!” I laughed while Gavin looked confused and Cooper continued to watch the rooster. The farmer continued on, “these guys are ‘roasters’ and are too little to be out on their own right now. Once they’re bigger, we can let ‘em loose in the other pen and they’ll be considered ‘free range’ chickens.” I smiled and nodded appreciatively, thinking I may need to compare his chicken prices to that of what I was paying in the grocery store.

While I was thinking about a fresh-roasted chicken dinner, I hefted Cooper onto the other hip and, since that sort of placed him closer to his new arch-nemesis, he whined. Hearing that, I thanked the farmer for showing us a closer look of the chickens, and started heading out of the pen. He offered us some feed to give to the goats, and the kids happily obliged in giving dried corn to the very large and greedy Mountain Goats*. Yes, my kids are afraid of small birds that frequently end up on their dinner plates, but were more than happy to stick their corn-laden hands into the mouths of two several-hundred pound beasts sporting lots of teeth, slurpy tongues, ginormous curled horns, and poop dingle-berries on their butts.

We finished our visit by waving at the cow who refused to budge from her shady spot, and strapping a screeching Cooper into his carseat for a noisy ride home.

A few days later, I was picking the kids up from daycare and Cooper was showing me the red cardinal he had colored earlier that day.
Cooper: wooky, Mommy! Biwd!
Me: yes! that is a bird, good job!
Cooper: Mommy! Wed!
Me: Yes, you’re right! It is red!
Cooper (stage whispers as he stares intently at his artwork): chicky-nugget

Cooper’s teacher and I looked at each other like “did you hear that???” and busted up laughing. Gavin, who had been doing one of his goofy “I’m tired of waiting and have unboundless energy” dances a few feet away, asked what we were laughing about. We told him and he laughed as well. Although he thought it was funny that Cooper thought you could make chicken nuggets from a cardinal when everyone knows chicken nuggets come from chickens.

A couple weeks after that, Justin was playing the guitar, accompanying the kids singing “Old MacDonald”, and taking animal requests. My cousin, Jill, and her family happened to be visiting, so we had a nice variety of animals to sing about, like a cow, a pig, a horse, a dog, and then Cooper’s request of chicky-nugget.

Justin said the hard part was what imitating what sound a chicken nugget might make.