Laugh More

Larry, Curly, Moe, and Pokey

2011-09-02T21:03:00.005-04:00

Right. Status update in numbers:
Griffin - 3 years old
- 2 weeks to school starting (OMG, what?!)
- 2-3 timeouts per day (down from 15-20 a few weeks ago)
Camille - 6 months old
- 2 thousand weeks until school starts because I am not going to let her grow up any more
- 2 vacations she has rocked so far (San Francisco and Marco Island)
Me - 0 days until my maternity leave is over because I'm RETIRED! Or on hiatus, whatever. There is no shame in sounding like a 68 year old insurance agent getting ready to move to Florida full time. I applaud those individuals. Actually, several times I've tried to move into retirement villages only to learn you have to be over 60 and collecting social security to live there... Thwarted again.
Grant - 30 hours he will be on his own this weekend with both kiddies. Mama's going on a bachelorette sleepover (Did I tell you the story of the last bachelorette party I went to in the Hamptons? No? In a nutshell, it was named "Mom's gone wild, 2009" and I was the only one there with kids... Whoopsidaisy).

1 funny story. Dave and Caitlin, our first and great friends here in the city, came over for dinner last night. Griffin has seen them dozens of times and they even stayed with him the 2 days I was in the hospital having Camille. But he's taken on this air of authority in all matters Camille lately so when they came in and said hello to him, he re-introduced them to Camille (whom they've met several times) and then proceeded to instruct them to "not poke her in the eye, because she's a baby". Which caused me to laugh in the first part because it was funny and in the second part because I have video evidence of the first several times Griffin held Camille and constantly tried to poke her in the eyes with his chubby little fingers, like the 4th Stooge or something. But just so you know, you aren't in the inner circle of people who can poke her in the eyes, that's reserved for family members only.

Red Light, Red Light, Red Light

2011-06-07T13:08:00.003-04:00

My latest parenthood epiphany is called "Red light, Green light: My Life in the Passenger Seat of My Toddler's Car".
Friends, I love my children. (And you know it's going to be bad if I feel the need to say that up front). If you've ever experienced a 2 year old - going on 3 year old child up close and personal, away from the safety bars and moat pond, you will know what I'm talking about. For the rest of you, listen here and don't ever say no one told you it would be like this.

My life is a constant game of Red light, Green light. The actions I would like to do or accomplish on any given day are the ones that get Red lighted and the actions said 2.8 year old would like to do are unfailingly Green lighted. A.l.l. d.a.y. Every day. Now that you know the rules, let's see how you do on a test run...

Game score: 0-0. You are peacefully slumbering away in the dead of the night like all functioning and happy people should be when your opponent starts hollering from his bedroom that he would like some milk. A "big, tall milky. Huge like my hands" to be exact. Your sleep - red lighted, so you try to red light his request and return to sleep. Only in my house, this would only be achievable if you either moved out of the country or went instantaneously deaf so as not to hear the screaming, crying bedlam that is coming from his room now. You wearily get up to fetch the master his milk... Score: You - 0, Toddler - 1.

Next up, you struggle to collect a few more moments of sleep until he wakes up for the day when in fact, he wakes up for the day. Signaling you are now waking up, you try to book it to the bathroom before he melts down so as to relieve your already bursting bladder. Red Lighted. His bladder is also bursting and since you just got your crap together enough to potty train him 2 weeks ago, you must put your bladder on hold (getting dangerously close to buying your first box of Depends) and help him back and forth to his potty. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 2.

Don't even get me started about meal time. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 4,278. And you will never need to diet again because to diet you'd have to be able to eat.

Outdoor adventures. You use every piece of creative enterprising you have ever possessed to get him ready to go run some errands with you. You make it out to the sidewalk and instead of following you the 4.5 feet across the street to the dry cleaners, he's halfway to Brooklyn without even a glance in the rearview mirror. What? How does that happen? Dry cleaners, Red lighted. Grant will learn to build his own washing machine before he gets those shirts back... Playground, Green lighted. Score: You - still 0, Toddler - we gave up keeping track because it was depressing the scorekeepers.

Lately, our game has taken a pleasant turn, however. There is no longer a score, there is no winner and loser. Peace reigns for the time being. How, you may ask? Because I f-ing gave up. My ambitions have been taken over by a 2 year old. I now want nothing more than to throw toys and eat hot dogs. But hey! We're not arguing anymore! Success?!

On Hitting the Lottery a Second Time...

2011-03-15T14:30:00.005-04:00

Camille is officially 5 weeks old today and time is speeding by so fast my cheeks are windburnt. Already her personality is shining through the poopy diapers and the 2am wake up calls. And let me tell you, she is freaking hilarious. She already has the, "Mom. You-are-not-one-bit-funny-so-quit-looking-like-an-idiot-to-try-to-make-me-laugh" look so down pat she can do it in her sleep. Which is sometimes necessary to utilize because even though her eyes are closed, I'm still unable to stop looking at her beautiful face all night. :) You'd think after 6 months of uncomfortable sleep while pregnant, and 5 weeks of constantly interrupted sleep for baby needs that I'd be sucking up as much sleep time as possible but, no. I lie there in bed at night, exhausted, but thinking about what her eyelashes look like on her cheeks when her eyes are closed or how her chest moves up and down as she breaths and I have to get up to watch these tiny miracles happening over and over again. I could never get enough of it.

To sum up the feeling: I've had not many, but a few moments in my life that have transcended earthly descriptions in there magnitude. One was after Griffin was born, and the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind for days, weeks, and months afterward was, "Now I understand how much God must love me". And Camille's moment is this: "It takes less than 1 second to memorize the features of a child you've been waiting your whole life to meet".

Though I cannot get enough of looking at her, after just a moment of seeing her face every color, eyelash, and feature is permanently in my mind, and I can't imagine not knowing her.

I love you, Camille.

No Apologies, There's No Time!

2011-03-09T16:49:00.003-05:00

So I have about half a second, shit, it's over... to catch you up.

Had another baby, she totally kicks ass, and the other one's still cute and screaming.

Two observations thus far:
1. If you measure success by days until you shave your legs for the first time post baby, I'm f-ing Warren Buffet because it was day 6 people! Day 6! Like, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to actually shave my legs but for the fact that if I did I could tell you I did it on day 6 post-partum! Bam. Tiger blood.

2. There is a limit to perfection. Witness: Today was the first day I've been able to nap, shower, do laundry, sort mail, pay bills, order groceries, and cook dinner all whilst 2 little angels are asleep. People, that's downright insane right there. It's taken me a month but it's finally happened. However, not before setting off both fire alarms TWICE. Nothing says wakey-wakey to a baby like ear piercing smoke alarms. Time to rise and shine! Hope you had a nice nap! Your mom's an idiot! L'chaim!

Just Don't Blame Me Later If They Don't Turn Out Like Mine

2010-10-22T10:34:00.005-04:00

Several things on my to do list include:

Tell you about why I owe a certain pediatric dental hygenist 3 fingers and a fortune in medical bills...

Explain to you why my child will never recieve a formal education...

Get your opinion on why 1 minute I love my job and the next minute I would rather dismantle my limbs than spend 1 second at work...

But first! I have another Griffin tale of make-your-day goodness to share.

So, sorry about the tata shot but it's important for the story. See that necklace I may or may not have purchased for myself for my birthday as a little "to me, from me" gift? Yes? You do that too? Okay. So glad we're on the same page.

Anywho, I came upstairs this morning with it on and sat next to Grif at the breakfast table. He was engrossed in his morning coke habit - the Backyardigans, and barely noticed me. Finally, when he came up for air he looked at me, thought for a second and said, "Mama listen to me?" Which in translation means he thought my necklace was a stethoscope and he wanted me to listen to his heart and back. [Go ahead and die of cuteness now.]

So, not wanting to disappoint my little genius of medical knowledge, I grab my necklace, shove it into his shirt and pretend I'm listening. And I crap you not, he tilts his head to the side, smiles at me and says, "Boom-boom, boom-boom". People, the entire week of screaming unearthly banshee child is totally worth it for those few minutes in the morning. Go ahead and procreate with my blessing now. Your serious side totally needs it.

Hold On To Your Cowboys!

2010-09-22T15:26:00.003-04:00

Updizzle: Apparently the reason I've been ten times sicker this pregnancy than with Grif is because we're having a GIRL! So that does not exactly bode well for her teen years, I fear. But the bambina is healthy and gorgeous and building her little bones and muscles just fine, which is amazing. She is kicking me right now for talking about her, so once again with the teen years...

Griffin has never been more hilarious and has added several phrases to his daily comedy stream such as, "Of course!" and "That would be great!" But only if you ask him if he'd like to watch another episode of Little Bear, or would he like some more milk and pretzels (the only things he eats now). I tried asking him if he'd like to move out into his own apartment where boys don't ever have to potty train and they can wear diapers until they're 60 and he did not say, "Of course!" It was worth a try. He also sings and makes up songs now. His favorite being the "Polar Bear" song. It goes like this, "Da. Dadada. Da. Polar bears are sleeping. Polar bears are sleeping" [pause for applause from all available audience members within earshot]. It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Sometimes he ratchets up the showbusiness element with wide sweeping arm motions. (I think he definitely gets that from his daddy). And almost always he is up on some sort of a step, or "stage", or some random stranger's doorstoop.

Otherwise life is ticking along, work is cyclical, and the weather is awesome. We have a whole hellabuloo of traveling coming up, one trip of which is to visit my BFFTWD (till we die, obvi) in Dallas, TX, so if you need a new lasso or saddle, drop me a line before I go and tell me what size/color etc. I am so excited to see everything Dallas and especially to find out if "Everything's bigger in Texas" applies to my boobs because if so, we're all in for some inclement weather.

At Least I Didn't Mix Them All Together

2010-08-22T10:05:00.004-04:00

I have officially graduated to a crazy city person who mumbles to themselves as they walk around aimlessly looking in trashcans.

Convincing evidence #1: Yesterday, I had to run to the grocery to get a few things and while I was there I happened upon several extra items that I could not pass up. Here they are in order of importance:
Half Sour Pickles
Watermelon
Ranch Dressing
Tuna salad
Tapioca pudding
Tomatoes
Cucumbers

So you know this is going directly downhill, right? I did not realize how heavy my stash was going to be to carry the 8 blocks to my apartment so while crossing over Broadway I spied the parkbench those nice city planners strategically placed directly in my path, and I decided to rest a bit. And while I was resting, I decided it would behoove me to have a little snack to keep up my energy on the long walk home. Two half sour pickles later I took stock of my situation as passerby after passerby stopped to stare at me and I couldn't stop laughing. Well, I was in this far, I might as well go the distance. So I ripped open the watermelon container and had roughly half of it. I would have moved directly onto the tomato and cucumber but I didn't have a knife or salt and pepper so I opted to save those for home.

I gathered up my loot and started the long walk only to stop several blocks later to readjust my grip. There I started hysterically laughing again as my inner brain whispered to itself, "I definitely didn't get enough half sour pickles for this".

Convincing evidence #2: Last week after work I had to run some errands and while doing so I remembered all I had for lunch was a giant plate of fries, and that I better have something a tad more on the nutritious side to even the score a bit. At the smoothie place I studied my choices to get the best possible bang for my beverage and picked the Protein Punch. Back outside I swigged a couple gulps of it and literally almost grabbed the nearest person walking past to force them into the smoothie place to buy a Protein Punch. It was the most spiritual experience I've had since Ocean's 11 came out. I was in awe.

It took every ounce of my energy to not stop the next 4,000 people I passed to do the exact same thing and I barely made it to Duane Reade and Planet Kids before I died.

Is this what self actualization is all about? Because holy hell.

Salty, Salty, Salty

2010-08-20T13:30:00.004-04:00

Want to know what made me lose my mind just now? The delivery guy only gave me ONE salt packet for my fries. O-N-E. (And I've decided I really, really can't tell you how many fries I consume these days. Really.) On the topic of food, did I tell you about the Rome episode of No Reservations? Because you are depriving yourself of happiness by not watching it. And I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that's against the commandments.

So this is probably weird*, but as people start figuring out I'm pregnant again I have this overwhelming urge to trick them into thinking I'm not and they just called me fat. So far, I've almost made 5 people faint/vomit/pee their pants by telling them I'm not pregnant I just eat too much. One of which was definitely more of a "boss", than "co-worker", but I literally lost control of my mouth when I started talking**. I mean, I eventually tell them I'm kidding so I'm not a total d-bag, right? And it's definitely better than saying, "Yes, my husband and I had sex and the egg was fertilized with sperm so now my boobs are getting huge and soon my vagina will shoot out a watermelon. You're so kind to notice". Come on, I have some semblance of decency. (Except for that one about engorgement...)

However, do not misunderstand this as complaining or taking for granted what we have been gifted with by having another baby. I am more than over the top excited for Bambino, Part Deux and I do thank God He forgave us for screwing up the first one and let us have another try. I simply think it's a tad weird to talk about internal organ formation with a person I have said 3 words to in 4 years, and I'm pretty sure two of them were calling them by the wrong name.

*Did I really have to preface the story with this admission? Would any of this blog be here if I thought like most people? I must redress.

**Again with stating the obvious.

The Visor Is Extra

2010-08-19T11:37:00.005-04:00

Because you never seem to have the time to look through those hair magazines at the salon to pick out your ideal do, I've coined and patented the haircut term for you.

Observe and Appreciate: The Star Wars Helmet.

Don't thank me now, my birthday is in a few months...

In other news, last week Griffin told me he broke his head. I said, "What?" And he said, with exasperated efficiency, "I broke......my head". So, of course I told him, as any good parenting award recipient would, "Well, if you think it hurts now, wait till your first hangover".

In other other news, you should definitely watch Anthony Bourdain's Rome episode from Monday night. If you don't want to rip your tv down off the wall/stand and eat it during this episode I don't know what is wrong with your brain, but there are plenty of neurologists who would take your money to find out. Maybe they'll even ask you to donate your brain to science afterward. (Although, I had to work on those things in nursing school and let's just say body donation is not on my list of top ten things I have to do before I die and go to Bora Bora.) Just saying.

In unrelated other news, we had a family vaca to Salt Fork Lodge last weekend and it was awesome. Pics to come, when I decide that uploading photos is more important than ridding this city of fried foods one french fry at a time after work today. It's a dirty job...

The One & Only

2010-08-06T16:02:00.004-04:00

What?

Like 61 ounces of Gazillion Bubbles aren't part of your daily make up routine?

Loser.

Get Out the Retractors!

2010-08-06T15:41:00.004-04:00

It's not often that I issue retractions on statements I've made, written, or even those I've imagined making or writing (ask my husband if you doubt me). But today marks a day in history, my friend(s). I have eaten my words for lunch and they were f-ing delicious.

It's all about a jolly fellow named Mr. Softee, and how I once tarnished his good name with slanderous accusations regarding his product. I've discussed my feelings with several people over the years and in recent discussions had decided to give him one chance at redemption. (Either that or my ass has decided to take up a mind of its own and is in a breakneck race to overcome the size of NY state as fast as possible by way of dessert consumption. ((A very definite possibility))).

So. I planned the rendevous for several days and finally took the plunge earlier this afternoon with a vanilla cone dipped in chocolate. People. If you ever see someone rolling around the streets of Washington Heights with no regard for public decency but completely overcome by her consumption of a chocolate dipped ice cream cone, it's me. Stop and say hi. Just don't take any pictures. My agent would totally crap.

I'm a much happier person right now than two hours ago, thanks to Senor Softee, and my entire workplace is much appreciative of his efforts. Especially since earlier I decided to go door to door down the hallway ranting about the men's toilet overflowing for the bazillionth time and why can't they fix it right and who is dumping in there and causing all the problems, I know it's you Construction Man, you're fooling NO ONE.

So, I retract my earlier insults and urge you to visit your neighborhood Mr. Softee as soon as you humanly can. Or you know, whenever.

Now I'm No Manolo Blahnik...

2010-07-30T10:46:00.003-04:00

Just in case you have reconciled with the idea that I'm having another child, let me show you what you're dealing with. Evidently, I thought it was okay to leave the house like this on Monday to run my errands all over town. Please note: the picture hides the fact that the one on the left has a heel and the one on the right clearly does not.

Wanna know when I realized this had happened? 20 minutes after I left the house.

People. Please.

No Argument Here

2010-07-28T13:21:00.003-04:00

To get right off to a "TMI" moment with you, I need to tell you about something serious.

You may have experienced this yourself, or know someone who frequently TMI's you and therefore you heard it from them, but there is a bit of humor in it so I feel the need to share. Sharing is caring anyway.

When you get pregnant one of the perpetual list of things that happens to you is an alien takeover of your (how can I put this delicately?) "poo-center". You know what I'm talking about. So all your life your poo-center has been fully functional and operating of its own accord without much involvement on your part and then WHAMO, poo-center meltdown. Which is difficult to handle because you don't even speak poo-language to begin a dialogue with your "center" about what the problem is. Maybe other people who have had malfunctioning poo-centers there whole life know this language, but you are not one of those people, you poo normally (usually).

Cut to Saturday night when Grant and I had a rare, very rare "date night" out. We're getting ready to go and all of a sudden I begin to feel not so hot so I decide this poo-center thing has gone on long enough. I send Grant out to buy as much prune juice as is legally allowed to be purchased at one time and laugh my insidious little laugh. I will not be defeated by my rogue poo-center! When Grant returns I eagerly fill my glass up to the rim with prune juice and begin the consumption. 10 ounces later and not even an inkling of progress. I go back to the refrigerator and much to his horror, fill the whole glass up again. As I'm gulping down the syrupy liquid I glanced over at him sitting at the kitchen table with the most frightened look I have ever seen on his face. It occurs to me then as my brain does a quick rewind memory montage of our entire relationship starting back in high school that this moment is special. It's as special as the anticipation of our very first date, or the moment before he asked me to marry him, or the day Griffin was born.

This is the moment I realize myself in the exact instant I am living knowing full well that I am sharing it with the person I love most in this world. And it is also one of the most stripped down and nakedly honest moments of our relationship, and how it has changed and is continuing to change every day. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing, I say to myself, change is perpetual and healthy. And after the shock of this new change in our lives subsided a little, I began to see a new perspective on our life with 2 children, and I let some of those old expectations go. We function now as a couple more fluidly than we ever have, we rarely disagree on important issues, and we sleep soundly in comfortable naivete every night. So I nod my head confidently, turn to him and say, "Well. This is definitely not the pre-game I'm used to".

And You Better Believe I Left My Name, Address, and Phone Number

2010-07-26T09:44:00.003-04:00

The other night whilst finally resting after a long day, Grant and I were drifting off to sleep when all of a sudden we heard what sounded like a barage of carbombs going off in our backyard. Needless to say, after we changed into dry pants, we were none to happy for the disturbance. I was convinced they were bombs, of course they were bombs, and if you even tried to suggest otherwise I was going to feed you to the bombs exploding just inches from our apartment. In case I haven't made my point, BOMBS.

Grant was not so convinced after the "bombs" continued for 5 or 10 or 85,000 minutes, so he wanted to go outside to investigate. Investigate the bombs? You are out of you everloving mind my friend. In case you haven't noticed, we have 1 child and another on the way and I'm pretty sure we're not set up with life insurance plans yet so like hell I'm going to let you go outside to investigate the bombs. Bomb investigation is no longer in your future, Dear One, move on.

However, that one tends not to listen to the hysterical rantings I've been prone to lately, so he went out back to see what was going on. He thought maybe it was fireworks, but we couldn't see anything so I was flying through every news channel waiting for the bomb destruction coverage on TV but not one thing was said about it. Finally, we both went all the way outside and could barely see the tops of fireworks over the tree line of central park. Turns out, the NY Philharmonic and the Shanghai Orchestra were having a concert and some ass-brain thought it would be a great idea to set off a thousand fireworks over a city of 9 million people living on top of each other at 10:30 at night, on a Wednesday.

Well. Did you ever see someone dial 311 faster than the speed of sound? Because I sure as hell did and when the friendly customer service representative asked me exactly what my complaint was, he may have heard something like this, "ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME WITH THESE FIREWORKS AT 10:30 AT NIGHT AND KID SLEEPING, BABY IN UTERO, WOMAN STRESS LEVELS IN PREGNANCY, NAUSEA, VOMITING, BOMBS, HUSBAND DEAD, NO MONEY, MASS DESTRUCTION, F-ING SYMPHONY IDIOTS, SHANGHAI REDICULOUSNESS, SUE THE MAYOR, DEATHSQUAD TO PARKS DEPARTMENT"!

It's been a few days and I'm still waiting for my complaint to be followed up on.

If I don't hear anything soon, I'm calling Chuck Norris. I swear I will.

And Then There Were Two

2010-07-26T09:41:00.000-04:00

Just when you thought it would be safe for you to have me housesit for you, I wrecked the Cadillac again. Translation: We're expanding our little spiraling sphere by 1 more human and my obstetrician is contemplating early retirement.

Several blog worthy stories to include here:
At the ripe age of 23 months my firstborn has learned what it means to die*. (*Not really, it's a bad joke.) Because for all intents and purposes "The Wonder Pets" have d.i.e.d. Now I don't know if you know about these pets and how wonderful they are, but let me save you the agony. They Are Not One Bit Wonderful. If you've seen one extremely long and repetitive and annoying episode, you've seen all 4 million of them that air an obscene amount of times every day. And thank you to whoever brought them into my life, I may send some bedbugs your way.

Well, Griffin was so obsessed with "The Pets" that we watched multiple episodes a day for several weeks before vacation. Which coincided perfectly with the alien takeover of my nausea sensors which were permanently set into overdrive times a trillion. But I never made the connection until later... So after returning to our house after vacation, I decided we were exterminating the Wonder Pets from our lives entirely. And do you know what happened? Now whenever I'm unfortunate enough to hear a note of their opening song I immediately throw up. Isn't that beautiful? Also, can I send this phenomenon in to one of these TV marketing research surveys?

Comments: Your show literally makes me vomit. Please advise.

One more. I've given in to the fact that this is going to be a massive pregnancy, what with the fact that we now have 400 restaurants that deliver to my house. (Did you hear that? DELIVERY). But the interesting and perplexing thing is that the two biggest cravings I've had are for food from restaurants with 2 major problems: 1. They're both in Columbus. And 2. They've both been out of business for at least 10 years.

And my answer to these conundrums is this: Call Grant and explain the situation. If he cannot fix it, it is his fault.

And now you know my OB's pain.

Here we go again!

Wherein I Once Again Thank the Lord I Have Faith

2010-07-20T12:42:00.005-04:00

Holy hell has it been that long? I kept thinking of you (my solo reader that may or may not be my mom) and hoping you hadn't forgotten me. It is I, and I am alive. For now.

Much to fill you in on in the meantime, starting with the fact that it's so f-ing hot right now I'm hanging out in my microwave for some relief. Also, we went on an amazing vacation to White Birch Lodge a few weeks ago and I cannot say enough about lake water swimming. Except that I'm a million miles away from it right now and that is undesirable.
Here's a pic:That's the whole fam-damly on the husband's side, plus the 3 absolutely edible babies that pretty much took control of the vacation and had there way with it from the beginning. Obviously. Griffin had more fun that you can throw a rock at, which he did, over and over and over. It was quite interesting one day how he threw a kicking and screaming fit on the beach because he couldn't pick up the 14 ton boulder that was parked in the sand so he could throw it in the water. He's his father's son, I'm telling you. Not at all like me.

Another funny story goes something like this:
3am: wake to get ready to go to airport
4am: car arrives
6am: flight to Chicago
8:30am: running up airport gate with pee* running down my arms, onto my pants, down my legs and into my sandals. *Not my pee.

There's something calming about the feel of your child's pee drenching your clothing in a public place that you're just going to have to take my word for until it happens to you. Or maybe it's the direct hand of God reaching down to pat you on the back and say, "Hey there, you're going to be alright. Some day."

Summer Lovin'

2010-06-23T13:12:00.005-04:00

Well, here we are again. Sweating our bejesus' off in this city with about a jillion people also sweating their bejesus' off directly adjacent to ourselves. Awesome.

And no, I will not apologize for letting my child run around in his diaper with no clothes on at the park because if it were up to me, I'd be doing the exact same thing. Unfortunately, Park Police do not agree with me. They lack all sense of imagination. Poor people.

But seriously though, Griffin loves him some water works at the parks nowadays. He starts asking for it when he wakes up in the morning and it's the last thing on his mind at night. Kind of like me and Reeses Peanut Butter cups. Now you understand the obsession. Wait till you see the pics.

3 to the Izz-0 And Still Got It

2010-05-13T14:51:00.004-04:00

*Griffin Story Alert*

So his new thing is, how can I put this delicately? Farting. And then sheepishly in a very quiet voice announcing to everyone in earshot, "Toot".

The other day he was raving on about something or other to me for a full 14 minutes of uninterrupted toddler-babble when he passed a little gas. He didn't even take a breath and stop before he goes, "toot", and kept right on talking.

Which sets you up for yesterday's event when Grant and Griffin were playing in the living room while I did some work on the computer in the next room. I hear random bumps and yells scattered with a few musical toy interludes and finally someone rips a huge one which jarred the very bones in my spinal column. I wait for it, and Griffin yells, "DADA TOOT! DADA TOOOOOOT!"

Happy Birthday, Babe. We love you.

Now Auditioning for Deadliest Catch, Season 6

2010-05-11T15:53:00.007-04:00

I cannot quite explain my excitement for this week and this weekend's events. Grant is graduating! Holy hell in a tuition basket, these last 2 years flew by. And this whole week leading up to Sunday's graduation is full of celebrations and parties that we can actually participate in because we have the most valuable comodity to new parents anywhere - babysitters! S. to the c.o.r.e. my friends, yes. My most favorite of the events being a dinner cruise around Manhattan, which I've wanted to do since we moved here 4 some odd long years ago, but never have. And alas. It is this week.

However.

Friday forecast:

And I was surprised, why?

To All the Mom's I've Loved Before...

2010-05-07T10:03:00.002-04:00

Mothers Rock*.

*Disclaimer: At this time I must disclose that I, myself, am a said "mother" and thereby hold certain financial ties to being a "mother" and therefore so what.

My mother and my relationship has run the gamut of emotions in my lifetime, as do most maternal-daughter relationships I would contend. We bonded early or so I was told, since it began at birth and lasted for several years of which I have no memory, but the fact that I survived and was a pretty happy and extremely intelligent child is proof enough for me. Then we went through our headbutting stage, which I might pinpoint to start when I was 4 years old (meaning the first formable memories I do have of my life) and ending at about 24, so that was brief. But around the time that I had Griffin, and you may have heard this before, my entire perspective of mothers completely went out the window and crashed on the pavement 4 stories below, injuring hundreds of people. There's just something about pushing a gigantic human baby out of your you-who that says, "Gee, my mom's a pretty f-ing terrific and classy lady. I better make her a really special construction paper card right now". Trust me, if you don't understand exactly what I mean now, you surely will someday soon.

Over the course of the last 2 years my suspicion of her awesomeness has only grown. If I thought pregnancy was challenging, raising a 1.5 year old absolutely blew my mind. And it's not even the disciplining that gets me, it's the teaching. Over and over again with the teaching. This is a spoon, this is an apple, this is your bathtub, that is your peepee now leave it alone for the love of the lord. Don't blatantly hit the kid that stole your truck, just make it look like an accident. Say please and thank you but only to grownups or if a grownup is watching, otherwise kids your age will think you're a dork. I mean, was there a course on this in college because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it and possibly had a plan and budget in mind to outsource my childrearing responsibilities when this time came. J/k! Ha. Haha. Okay, well maybe just a few hours a week at most.

But I think I do an okay job of it, and that is because of my mom. As these situations of being a mom crop up here and there with Griffin, I find myself remembering that I know what to do. As if I read this book somewhere along the line that told me all the answers but then I totally forgot I read it so when it comes back to me, I'm totally surprised and thankful for that book. Only the book was my mom and I'm still reading it every day, every time I talk to her. And the scariest part about the whole thing is now I've realized I need to read ahead, because at some point I won't have the book to consult anymore. And yes, I'm sorry I just went there on a Friday morning when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping there little heads off but the reality is I have never been more aware of my parents mortality than I am as a parent myself. So hug your mom today and tomorrow and your dad to because 1 or 2 days a year is not enough to thank them for being everything to you as a child, and more importantly as an adult.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

It'll Keep You Busy, But it Ain't Getting You Anywhere

2010-04-30T09:50:00.004-04:00

The things my child says these days absolutely throw me for a loop. Case in point, we met some of our friends for a picnic lunch yesterday at the Turtle Pond. Grant took Griffin over to the water to take a look and there were tons of turtles and ducks milling around. Grif takes one long look at the activity and goes, "TURTLES! Mama turtles and baby turtles and Dada turtles". Shut up, he really truly did.

Not to scare those of you who may not have children yet, but to give you a heads up as to what you may or may not experience as a first time mom, I'd like to wax you some philosophy right now. You may have heard the term, "mommy issues" or seen an episode of Dr. Phil wherein mothers spout off about everything that they think is wrong with their perfect life. And if these people drive you absolutely insane, you are not alone. However, there is some truth to the stress that new parents experience that is usually completely foreign to them, ie me.

When Griffin was first born I felt a lot of anxiety about nothing in particular, but mostly that I was doing it wrong. I come from a big family that has a million people in it, half of which are under the age of 11 with new nieces and nephews popping up here and there, which has blessed me with the knowledge and confidence to lovingly raise children of my own. However, that does not mean I've been spared the feelings that I could be doing it better, which I believe is probably something many parents deal with on a regular basis.

Unexpectedly, the baby is the one who has solved this problem for me. He's not even 2 yet and he has mastered so many things. I mean, he started from nothing and learned how to communicate, learn new skills, have a sense of humor, show patience (sort of), and share affection. Oh the affection. Last week he was playing at the park with a little boy we'd never seen before and when the boy had to leave Griffin stood up, opened both his arms wide and said, "Come here", motioning the boy to bring it in for a big boy hug. I mean, come one, that would melt even Kim Jong Il's cold dead heart.

So to sum it all up, the kid - he's fine. We all need family and friends to help support us and remind us that we're doing a good job. And worry is a rocking chair I don't even want in my house.

Dapper Little Island That He Is

2010-04-22T12:51:00.003-04:00

I apologize for the neglectful neglectfulness I have been rightly accused of committing lately. Turns out upending your whole existence to move less than 5 miles away is much more involved than you would think. But alas, we are in Manhattan now, and life is good.

I want to make one quick point here before I go on and that is to apologize for hating Manhattan for so many years of living in New York. I think it was that Brooklyn was my one first love of the boroughs and will always be on my drunkdial speeddial list forever and always, and that my perception of Manhattan was my first experience with it - which was Chinatown from 7pm to 7am 3-4 days a week, sprinkled with a subway strike, and kind of getting fired*... (Which lets be frank, I wouldn't wish on my most gorgeous and successful worst enemy, even on a bad day). Follow that up with our move to the Bronx which was one of the worst decisions we have made in our lives (yep, seriously) though necessary at the time, and constantly wishing and hoping and dreaming of living in Manhattan for the last two years, and you can see why I taped a sketch of Manhattan on my dartboard and you know that's never good.

Enter Manhattan. With it's debonair little bowler hat, pencil thin necktie, complete with perfect vodka martini to completely sweep all 3 of us off of our feet. {Insert huge sigh and deep yoga cleansing breath.} (Only not so much with the baby and the vodka you know, I mean what would the neighbors think?)

Stay tuned for Act II, I haven't even begun to tell you about Magnolia and it's proximity to my front door. Scary.

*(slash) resigning.

Stace - This One's For You

2010-03-26T13:53:00.002-04:00

Just a quick question...

Anyone else appreciate the irony in our new Super's name?

Mario.

When I mentioned it to Grant he had never realized it. Why was this the first thing I thought of when they told me his name? Now it's going to be entirely impossible to resist calling him Super Mario. Just one more reason to anticipate this move.

And No, I Will Not Reveal Their Identity, Find Your Own Gay Furniture Hookup

2010-03-21T08:52:00.004-04:00

One of the things I dislike most in the world is the responsibility of knowing that Craigslist exists. Stay with me on this one. Any time in the past 6 years that I've needed to make a big purchase, locate an apartment, buy a car, sell a car, or complete any other grueling task, I've had this little devil on my shoulder whispering, "Check Craigslist". "Do you think there's one for sale on Craigslist?" "You would never pay that much on Craiglist". "Craigslist, craigslist, craigslist!" Things have gotten out of control. I'm crippled by the existence of Craig and his damn list. Which wouldn't be so terrible, if not for the fact that 96.8% of the material on the list weren't complete garbage that you have to spend hours sifting through to find one worthwhile deal. I recently compared it to spending 3 days going door to door through 27 discount furniture stores piece by piece to find one $15 lamp that you really don't even like, but for the fact that it's under $20 and you can stop looking at damn lamps if you just buy it on the spot. {Deep Breath.}

So.

Finally, after years of figurative perpetual finger slamming in drawer Craigslist surfing, I have redeemed myself with the mecca of all deal finding, a gay couple cleaning out their warehouse of furniture from Pottery Barn, West Elm, and Crate & Barrel. Quick, pick yourself up off the floor where you just passed out from sheer amazement, it's true! And whilst we dragged our son all over Manhattan yesterday running errands, I successfully transacted 15 times with said gay couple to secure the following: a dining table from Pottery Barn, 6 chairs, and a 6 foot stand up mirror without ever having to see it or move a muscle, because do you know what else? THEY DELIVERED IT TO MY HOUSE. Now I'm just bragging.

My point is, don't give up on Craigslist just yet. There may be a gem out there for you too.

Short Story Shorter...

2010-03-18T20:20:00.002-04:00

WE FOUND AN APARTMENT. And since I am so good to you, I will spare you the disgusting and heartwrenching details of all the many mishaps we made along the way. Because the greatest outcome of all was achieved, I did not kill a real estate agent. S.c.o.r.e.

I will fill you in photographically soon, but first another "quote of the century" to add to your collection. After 53 days of the most awkward and personally offensive professional relationship 3 people could try to screw up, our real estate agent and ourselves have reached a successful end. Bless the god that I continually insult. Amen.

So I no-shit got a text from her earlier asking, "Do you guys drink wine? If so, what color?". Just reading it made my cold, dead heart of a New York Real Estate Casualty begin to melt. So I texted her back, completely honestly, "Definitely! Both, we're not picky".

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL. Out loud.

Who was I trying to kid? I will respect her less if I see her tomorrow and her cell phone is still in working order after she saw that message from me and resisted hurling it into the nearest concrete surface she could find, as hard as she possibly could.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's update.

But at least: we're moving! Y to the hell E.S.

19 Incredible Months

2010-03-17T08:52:00.003-04:00

Here are a few glimpses into the many accomplishments of Griffin "Jack of All Trades". First up, we have Engineer Griffin...
Not to be outdone by Cold Weather Student Griffin...

Here we see Professor Griffin, and lest you think I masterminded this little ditty myself, rest assured he lined up every one of those animals and went and got a book to read to them. Who is this kid? I'm pretty sure the Engineering Department at the Human Genome Project wants him back.And because it's a national holiday, I wanted to get you something special... No, your eyes are not playing tricks on you. He has his baby in his baby sling which he carried around all.day.long.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Next Up: Harvard Law

2010-03-12T10:36:00.003-05:00

One more story that will make you laugh*.

(*Or if not you better get a cardiologist because your heart is missing.)

Yesterday, Griffin asked Grant for a cookie right after breakfast. But apparently Grant didn't think he needed a cookie so he said "no". So that sweet little genius of mine thought about that for a moment, paused, and said "potty, potty", ran right to his room, plopped down on his little plastic potty, looked up at his dad and said with a clear look of success in his eyes, "Potty. Cookie."

Well played, my darling, well played indeed.

Are you kidding me with this? No. I'm not.

News In The Breeze

2010-03-12T10:10:00.004-05:00

Several updates on our apartment search.

1. Never ever ever ever use "Sahar Ziv" as your real estate broker in New York. Ever. Nevernevernevernevernever. He's a total liar and would cheat and steal to line his own pockets. It actually took me a month to even get to the point where I could type his name. That's how much I loathe him. Nuf said. EVEREVEREVER.

2. Because I don't have enough balls mid-air currently, 1 of our top choices of apartments is currently a shell of a place with no walls, no floors, no doors, and no kitchen. Because coordinating renovations was my second major, did you know that? (!)

3. A major factor in our desire to "win" #2 above is because while we were standing outside it haggling with the broker, a quite conspicuous neighbor happened to be walking her dog down the street... Are you ready for it? Catherine.Zeta.Jones. As in Catherine Zeta Jones-Douglas? As in Catherine Zeta Jones-T Mobile Spokeswoman of America? As in Catherine Zeta Jones of the Fabulously Beautiful Club? Yes, she walked her fluffy little dog right past Griffin and I as we oogled and giggled like school girls over her. And now you see why I have latched onto this apartment with every shred of my strength and will only let it go to the next bidder if they pry it from my cold dead grip. (But seriously, I'm serious).

4. The amount of patience I currently have with real estate brokers in general would not even fill up a thimble. And that's being generous. I often like to harass/fire them right off the bat, just to test the waters. (This has yet to prove useful, but still makes me feel good).

5. Saturday night after dining with Caitlin and Dave at Gus & Gabriel's Gastropub on 79th street, we walked right past another conspicuous gentleman in a trendy little bowler hat. If you thought I pulled out the big guns with Catherine, watch this: DETECTIVE ELLIOT STABLER. No, I am not pulling your leg. These are the kinds of neighbors one acquires when one leaves her home of perpetual exile in the Bronx and travels to the promised land of the Upper West Side. I seriously almost screamed when I saw him. Forget Catherine, this man is 40% of my entertainment television ladies and gentleman, something akin to a weekly prayer service.

Shoot, that's all for now. Eek, there's no time!

PS. Funny sidebar from this morning: I bought these black tights a few weeks back and my friend Erin said they'd be too big but I didn't believe her so I got them anyway. And then this morning I was hoofing it to work because every garage in the g-forsaken Washington Heights area was packed so I had to park 14 miles away. Long, coldbutt story short, by the time I made it to my office my tights were around my knees. Which makes me laugh.

Happy Friday!

Like That New Show on NBC About the Celebs Being Related to Other Dead Famous People

2010-02-27T12:02:00.004-05:00

The snow.

It falls.

Thus I have summed up the last 72 hours of uninterrupted news stories on television, in print, and online for the tri-state area. Consider yourself up to speed.

Now I don't know what it is about the news around here but if I were a foreigner visiting this country for the first time and tuned in to the tv for 5 minutes I'd be all, "Are you serious? (With Indonesian accent, of course)". And then my American friend would say, "Ummm, yeah. The weather is kind of a big deal here. I don't know if you've heard of Al Roker, but he's kind of a god". And then me as an Indonesian tourist would go, "Ahhh-haaaa! Bring me to this Al Roker. He must have the answers which I seek". And you see where this is going. You don't? Well, either do I, don't look at me.

Anywhothere, we're all off to see more apartments today, which is right up there with wanting to jab my longest metal utensil into an electric socket while standing in a puddle of water holding a live grenade, but it is necessary. And necessity is the mother of invention. So that makes me... Related to Albert Einstien I'm pretty sure. Need to check the facts on that one, but I'll get back to you.

Have a great Saturday!

In The Criminal Justice System...

2010-02-10T20:35:00.004-05:00

I totally forgot to tell you this weird factoid of the day from Monday. Now, with our current living situation, aka living in bfing Egypt*, I rarely have an urge to take public transit. And considering I have always had a hate-hate relationship with the MTA, remember that totally fun transit strike of 2005?, add to that my 2+ hours of subway ride from our old place in Brooklyn to my job in Washington Heights (read: corner of 168th Street and oh-my-gosh-are-you-serious-with-this-commute?), equals I would rather exercise in a bikini in front of my strictly Hasidic rabbi neighbor than take the bus and subway anywhere not medical-emergency necessary. Enough said.

So! When I do actually partake of ye ol' subway, I have the pleasure of treating it like some sort of mass commune with the people of New York City. Cut to this past Monday when I had to jump the 1/B/C trains from W 72nd St. to 42nd and 8th Ave to pickup my cell phone from my friend Carly (whose house we spent the Super Bowl at and I was totally awesome to leave my cell phone there and in no way willing to turn our car around on the way home to go get it, thus requiring me to retrieve it on Monday {holy run-on sentence}) and I'm somewhat in a hurry. As I swipe my metrocard and begin to walk through the turnstile, this "WOMAN" comes barreling, much like a stampeding hippopotamus, through my turnstile. Oh hell no.

And because all I need at this point in my life is a good subway knifing, I push her backwards through the turnstile. Did you hear that?

I.push.a.completely.strange.crazy.person.backwards.through.the.turnstile.

Yeah. I thought that deserved repeating. And, weirdly enough, she lets me, giving little resistance. But once I'm through, she grabs me, drags me off to the side of the entrance and keeps repeating, "Pull over, pull over!" And then, "I'm a cop. What were you doing?" Yeah. Seriously. And then the ex-barreling hippo turned SVU cop says, "Thanks to you someone just got away. I was following someone. If anyone ever pushes you like that, they're a cop, and get out of their way". And she just walks off as I mumble some sort of apologetic trailed off sentence.

Now, you tell me, was she for real? Because that sounds pretty f-ing made up. And I consider myself somewhat of an expert in the area.

*Wow, two references to Egypt in 1 week. Did a buzzer go off somewhere or something?

Notes to Samantha Brown

2010-02-09T14:04:00.002-05:00

(Excerpt from my drunken email to Samantha Brown last night.)

Congratulations on 10 years of amazing travels on the travel channel!...Letmegetstraighttothepoint,Iamnotoneforverbosityorbeatingaroundthebush.Iwouldlovetoanchoranewprojecthighlightingtravelaroundtheglobewithatoddler.MyhusbandandIarecurrentlyNewYorkers,originallyhighschoolsweetheartsfromColumbus,Ohio,onthebrinkofconcuringourgreatestambitions,withourmostimportantaudienceintow,our18montholdson,Griffin.Callmeanytime,IhaveincredibledreamsofhoppingthemetroinCairo,andhikingtheapalachiantrail.

And no, I am not kidding. You may notice a little something off from my regular literary prose, which may or may not be related to the fact that Griffin ripped off my space bar yesterday and in my haste to tell Samantha my ingenious and highly profitable idea, I had no time to fix it. Also? Why I chose riding the Metro in Egypt and hiking the misspelled "Apalachian" Trail as exciting travels to entice Samantha with, I cannot explain at this point in time. Only to say that those would in fact be badass, or children-services-call, things to do with an 18 month old.

Part of me thinks I should leave it as is before sending it to the Travel Channel. And if they aren't open-minded enough to think I am television-worthy, then I don't want to work for them anyway. I mean, if they hired that fat guy to eat the world's most disgusting food, I've got to at least have a shot, right?

If not, I'll just start my own show with Anthony Bourdain... Now there's a guy who would love my show. I'm positive it would make his Tivo.

Don't Tell Me This Means I've Finally Grown Up

2010-02-07T13:33:00.005-05:00

Another chapter from our trip home was not-so-fantastic and involved the one where you tell your family that you were just kidding about moving home this summer after 4+ years in a far, far away land called New York City, and that in reality you were going to stay in the far, far away land for another 2-ish years, only nobody likes that kind of story so turns out they are not going to give you the Caldecott Medal for that one...

Unfortunately, thus is the story of Grant, Griffin, and my situation as of late and it's been a roller coaster of emotional breakdowns, awkward silences, and several pig latin cuss words (which incidentally detracts a bit from the point of cuss words). All I can say in a nutshell is that life is not linear, and when curves come you have to either be ready to take the turn or end up lieing in a ditch somewhere bitching about your bad luck while everyone else passes you by.

Though many would see this as a story of compromise, I see it as a story of trust. Trust that your spouse is truly your partner in life, whose goal it is to see to it that you accomplish the most you possibly can in your life, both spiritually and concretely, regardless of his/her personal ambitions, and trusting that you will do the same for him/her, thereby ensuring each of your happiness and fulfillment will always be at the forefront of your relationship together. It's also a story of trust from your family. That the person you chose to spend the rest of your life in partnership with will always do what's best for you, so that they can rest assured you are being loved as much as is humanly possible.

And somehow, this little algorithm of mine makes life's speedbumps seem a bit more manageable.

Here's One for Ortho Tri Cyclen

2010-02-04T13:21:00.005-05:00

Call me crazy, but I think my OB is trying to send me subliminal messages. I mean, it's not that crazy considering those people who think they were abducted by ufo's, but you know... If I constantly compared myself to those people I'd end up digging for unicorn caves in the Indian Ocean. (I'm just saying.)

So anyway, I saw my doc this week and she asked tons of questions per usual including the ever-popular "What are you using for birth control?" To which I replied, "Condoms". To which she replied with a blank stare and nervous little cough. Now, maybe I'm being oversensitive, or maybe it's the fact that she delivers, oh maybe 236 babies a day for her living, but I definitely picked up on some negative vibes after this exchange.

Yada, yada, yada and just as she was getting ready to leave she quickly asked, "And what method of birth control are you using?"

....

Now, I have an intensely invigorating and quasi-intellectual position for my hospital and consider myself somewhat medically educated. But all that aside, I think she's debating between telling me that my choice of contraception is not actually considered birth control or if she should just go ahead and schedule my next visit in a month to see how far along I am.

Lady. Understand this. I have an 18 month old cross between the Tasmanian Devil and a fire hose who still routinely wakes up screaming for me at 4:30am. That's the best birth control there is.

This One's Going in the Baby Book

2010-01-31T09:33:00.004-05:00

From time to time I hear things from my Grant like, "Do not blog about this" or "I don't want this to end up on your blog" and "This is not to go on your website". Which, of course you know translates to "ABSOLUTELY BLOGWORTHY" in my brain of brains, or lack thereof. Hereafter lies the latest addition to this group... (Faint of Heart Disclaimer: If you have problems reading, talking, hearing, or otherwise being part of certain feminine matters regarding the "special time of the month", you may want to sit this one out).

[Curtain up, my mother's house over the holidays which is a venerable 3 ring circus of adults, children, babies, cats, Santa, neighbors, solicitors etc etc.] The house is somewhat empty, magically, and I run to the loo to quickly pee all whilst leaving the door open so I can hear Grif getting into some kind of trouble all the way across the house, knowing I can't actually stop him, and imagining the horror I will find upon exiting said restroom.

Only this time he pops his head in for a visit just as I grab my Kotex from the drawer. He immediately begins screaming something at the top of his lungs. Now, this little 18 month-old fireball of mine is quite verbal at this age but there are still many, many, many things he says that I scratch my head at and move on because there is no possible way he is saying something intelligible to my brain (much like 90% of the things my husband says as well, but I digress). I initially do the same to this exclamatory outburst but as he keeps it up for 2 minutes I realize he is saying something. And when the realization of what it is smacks me full in the face I have to hold on to the wall to keep from falling off my "seat", both in comedic appreciation and also in fear of what he will blog about me someday...

Let me digress again for a second to give you some back story. There are several things in this world that can make my son absolutely lose his mind in excitement for. Lest anyone question his paternity or maternity, one of them is food. (Obviously). Trucks, trains, airplanes, babies, slides, dogs, and balls also rank pretty high up there on the scale of unimaginable bliss. And, within the food category also exists a hierarchy of favoritism. Starting out with chicken or meatballs, advancing to bananas and peas, then up to blueberries, and at the utmost top remain the unseated champions yogurt (or "gogurt") and cheese.

Back to my restroom experience...

After seeing me begin to unwrap my Kotex, Griffin begins circling the bathroom yelling at the top of his lungs, as if his very life depended on me understanding what he is saying, "Cheese? CHEESE! Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. C.H.E.E.S.E!"

I'm so proud of that kid.

Damn, Damn, Damn

2010-01-29T12:34:00.003-05:00

I've strategically cleared my entire lunch hour (read: 10 minutes) for writing today's post and I left the damn magazine article at home. (!)

Well, there's no use crying over spilled milk, unless it's red wine and then break out the kleenex this is going to make history. So I'll try to use my memory to recall what I wanted to tell you (I know right? Scar-ey).

So I don't know if you get the magazine Parents but I do somehow and occasionally I get the chance to read it and often find some useful crap in there. Crap I wish I'd known before I did it the wrong way 18 times, but useful none the less. This month's useful crap was an article on Sleep Habits of babies and toddlers. I found the first two pages hugely vindicating sprinkled with a tip or two* I am currently trying out on the baby (or the one who runs our household now). How-to-the-ev-er. Smack dab in the center of this useful article was a quote from a doctor somewhere where it must be opposite day every F-ing day or something because this is what he said, paraphrased, "If your baby falls asleep while nursing, wake him up to a full alert state before laying him down so he will learn to put himself back to sleep".

.........................What In The Sam Hell Are You Talking About?

Let me put it this way, Doc, if you actually think any woman in her right mind would wake that sleeping baby up only to lay it down again, I want some of whatever drug you are on. Pronto. Also? What is your address because I need to know where to drop my kid off tonight so you can babysit him overnight, for the next 400 nights. And can I have your wife's cell number because I need to apologize to her for all of those nights she was up taking care of your children by herself. Poor woman (for several reasons).

Note to Parent's Senior Editor: No more Crazy Doctor consults. We're all set filling up on our own crazy for the year, thank you very much.

*The first thing I'm trying is to put him to bed as early as possible in the evenings, like 6:15pm last night, in an effort to get him more "good sleep" under the assumption that he will sleep later in the mornings** and not get up in the middle of the night screaming for his binky (or 'dinkdee!!!' as he calls it).

**Hmmmm. Would 5:15am constitute "later in the mornings"? Me thinks NO.

*2 The second thing I'm trying is a nightly massage before bed. The first night he looked at me like I had lost my mind and was trying to kill him via skin removal. The second night he went straight to OH MY GOD WOMAN I'M ABOUT TO DIE.

Beginning to think of retracting my earlier statement re: useful tips.

First Ever: Video-eo-eo-e-o

2010-01-24T11:47:00.003-05:00

Witness: Griffin 17 month montage.

(If I get my act together, and we both know that will never happen, I'll try to do this once a month. Wowsers.)

Which is Practically Scientific Research

2010-01-24T10:40:00.004-05:00

We went to Park City with an amazing couple friend of ours, Brad and Nicole, or Bricole for future reference. The weather was amazing, the skiing was awesome, and I only had 2-3 emotional breakdowns about missing G to the izzo. Note to mom's: if you're on vacation 800 miles from your 17 month old, do not, I repeat do not try to talk to him on the phone. Disastrous. There I am, balling in the bathroom at the bottom of the ski lift as women stop to stare at the mumbling marshmallow sobbing into her cell phone. But needless to say, he was perfectly fine without us, or so we hear from the grandmom's (Who incidentally probably wouldn't tell us if he was a basketcase because they knew we would have been on the first plane back if they told us he so much as sneezed. And since it behooved them to have us gone, so they could hog him to themselves, they refrained from mentioning anything like that. Thank you, Grandmommies).

So there we are, our first night in Park City and after a 5am flight, an hour bus ride, and 4 hours of skiing, we all decide to hit the local grocery store for some provisions and also food etc. I'm cruising the cereal isle, almost comatose from exhaustion when Nicole runs over to tell me, "I think Katherine Heigl is here!"

To prove how out if it I was, I go, "The girl in Grant's class who runs the marathons? Who gives a flying rats a**, she's too skinny anyway". (Again, I was barely conscious and that is why my initial reaction was not to run up and down the isles screaming, "K-K! It's me! Your long lost, BFF! Do you want to come to my house to play?")

Nicole stares at me for a second and takes off to get another item on our list. As I near the milk and eggs isle I glance to my left and OH MY GOD, THERE'S KATHERINE HEIGL. Wait for it... Ohhhhhhhhh, Katherine Heigl, now I get it. (Brain attempting to connect neurons now.)

And friends, let me make your day. She. Doesn't. Really. Look. Like. That. Now, let me go off for a second here and I'll be back to where we started in a second. The thing, or one of the many many things about show business that pisses me off is that women are portrayed and expected to look unbelievably gorgeous at all times which is a feat not even Jesus could pull off, so that's one thing. Jesus doesn't want us to kill ourselves and airbrush virtual people out of thin air so that small children can grow up thinking the world is made up of 10 foot Barbie and Ken dolls. In fact, I believe there may be some underground footage of satan himself creating Barbie and Ken, but it's strictly on the DL so I can't show you.

Getting back to Katherine, I think she's unbelievably cute, I sincerely do. But - she has flaws, and zits, and greasy hair too. And I only stared at her for about 5 minutes, but I'm pretty sure nothing she was wearing was name brand or even new for that matter. As if I needed any more reason to stalk her, now I really want to because she's normal! Or so my assessment was after 5 minutes of staring...

Remind Me To Tell You the One About "Cheese!"

2010-01-22T14:10:00.003-05:00

Boy oh geez it's been a while. Insert several apologetic comments here... And on to the news!

Let's take stock, shall we?

3 weeks in Ohio for Christmas vacation - Check.

1 week stint in Park City having a marvelous time skiing - Check.

2 cases of near-death gastrointestinal virus, not marvelous - Yep, check.

1 Katherine Heigl siting - Check.

423 new toddler toys I don't have anywhere to put - Check.

7 days of delaying taking down Christmas decorations - Check.

200 new words in Griffin's vocabulary - Check, check, check, CHEESE!

22 days past rent due date - Whoops and check. (Well, actually there's no check, that's the problem. See, my checkbook was among the casualties in trying to pack up way-too-much-f'ing-crap in about 15 minutes to come back to New York after my near-death viral experience last weekend. RIP checkbook, sorry Landlord.)

And most importantly, at least 37 good stories I have to tell you, just as soon as I get around to it. (Read: So if you're lucky before next Christmas...)

Ciao!

USS New York

2009-11-09T10:48:00.002-05:00

While driving into the city Saturday night, Grant and I drove right past the USS New York docked at pier 88. I must say that I had no idea this ship existed nor that it was forged from steel from the World Trade Center debris. But after G filled me in on it, I set about trying to find out as much as possible about it, and Wednesday we'll be taking Griffin to see it in person.

I just find it deeply moving that the people who are responsible for it coming about had the foresight and determination to see this symbol of our nation's unity come to fruition. I think I am also still saddened by the Fort Hood tragedy, but seeing this ship has sent my emotions into overload, once again. I have such mixed feelings about the wars and our government, I'm truly torn when thinking about the future of our armed forces.

I guess I have this maternal feeling of responsibility to all of the men and women who protect our safety both here and abroad including the police, firefighters, marines, army, navy, coast guard, and anyone else I'm forgetting. Though I would cringe at the suggestion that Griffin someday enter into one of these incredible fields, I realize he may feel the need to serve his country this way and so I hope I would be able to support it. Because all of these people are somebody's son and somebody's daughter, let alone husband, wife, father, mother etc.

It makes me want to do small things for these people if and when I can. I try to buy police officer's coffee if I see them in line behind me at the bodega. And I keep procrastinating but will eventually bake something to take to my neighborhood firehouse too. I want to take Grif to see the ship so that one day we can talk about 9/11 and hopefully he'll feel some of these same emotions too. So, I guess I just wanted to share the story of this ship with you to get you thinking.

Probably Not Going to Make "Most Popular" with This One...

2009-11-06T10:49:00.006-05:00

Alright, I admit it, I'm a card carrying member of a "Mom's Group". I'm not proud of it, but at this point, it's either talk crochet and crockpots or completely lose my mind. Now where's my damn knitting needle?

So to carry my weight in the Mom's Group I've posted several memo's on our google page from time to time. The last post being yesterday and involving the first mention in 2 months of a night out for the mom's to leave the kids behind with dad and finally get to know each other a little more than, "Sara! Get that light plug out of your mouth!" or "I've changed 15 poopy diapers today!" Do you see the problem here?

Cut to this morning when I eagerly log in to check all of the hits I've gotten on my Night Out invite and do you want to know what I saw?

(MNO) Mom's Night Out
By Teresa B* - Nov 5 - 1 author - 0 replies

W.O.W. Not only do I have no prospects for sanity here, I'm now the "Bad Mom" because clearly I "don't care" about my kid and his infinite poopy diapers and lego stacking abilities. I'm sure the group owner is scouring her google capabilities to see how fast she can un-join me from the group. But I've got news for you, Crazy Mom Group Ladies, I hate crochet! In fact. I've had the same scarf in progress for 3 YEARS, and I'm damn proud of it. So shove that in your crockpot and slow-cook it.

And Now You Know Why My Cable Guy is on Speeddial

2009-10-23T11:00:00.003-04:00

Big plans for the weekend, huge (compared to my normal plans verging on minute). Griffin's going to carve his first pumpkin. Well actually, I'm going to carve it and then after covering him head to toe with dropcloths, give him all of the pumpkin innards to play with. After which I will photograph him and show you later, because that's what parents do. They humiliate their offspring and publicize it for laughs. And in response, said offspring spend their entire lives trying to even the score. Now you never need to watch another Dr. Phil episode again. Didn't think you'd reap such an amazing benefit from reading my stuff, now did you? Consider yourself gifted with the majesty of avoiding Dr. Douchbag.

In related news, you know how most of my friends are tv personalities? Yeah, you too? Good, I love when we find things in common. We'd kill on eHarmony Olympics. Anyway, I've talked before about Op's and Ellen, but recently I have a major crush on the entire cast of 30 Rock. Like insane group crush. Not your usual Jim and Pam - 2 person crush, nope the whole shebang. It's not that I want to be on the show as a castmember, I just want their characters to be real life people that I work with. Then I for sure wouldn't be falling asleep at my desk every half hour... What? Did I say that? Ha.

What did people do before sitcoms? Horror.

Yep, I Did That.

2009-10-21T09:48:00.005-04:00

To save you the trouble of googling this before you send an email to the entire department that confirms the suspicions that you're a flaming idiot.

Moot Vs. Mute.

Anything I can do to help my fellow 'Intellectually Challenged' persons.

In other news, on my way to work this morning a man walking his 5 year old daughter to school gave me the once over and proclaimed, "God Bless You". And hereafter my list:
1. Shut up, you're walking your daughter to school.
2. What the hell does that even mean anyway? Do I need blessed today?
3. I reiterate: You, with a 5 year old (though she is insanely cute with her pink backpack) = not hot.
4. I do confess that the blessing was much classier than the whistle, the profanity, or the gesturing but still - 5 year old. Gross.

I Get It! Frigid-Air! Silly GE.

2009-10-16T15:40:00.005-04:00

Temperature Alert: It is f-ing FREEZING here. When did that happen? Where have I been that I didn't notice it until my fingers were so stiff I could no longer type or pull my pants up after visiting the you-know-where? I mean don't get me wrong, I love October. But we could use a little easing into winter instead of this frat party bingefest of frigid air and freezing rain. Like give me an orientation week or two, at least.

Hold on, my Pandora's way too loud.

There, much better for think/writing. Plus, I just noticed the people in the hallway are headbanging to my Beyonce and that is so not cool. My Beyonce. Mine.

Can you tell I have a 14 month old? No? Yes? No? (Welcome to Parenthood. Now you get why Mommy needs her cocktail.)

My little buddy is getting so big these days. In true genetic brilliance he said his first sentence the other day. "Dada byebye". And he even knew how to use punctuation after quotation marks correctly. Sheer genius. He also picked up an acorn at the playground, (because out of all the amazing and fun looking pieces of equipment he could possibly play with he chooses small choke hazards - why do I feel karma is associated with this reality?) and held it up in one hand while using his other hand to sign "eat" to me with a question mark in his eyebrows. PEOPLE. Maybe you don't understand that this translates into English as "Hello, I will be the next leader of the free world", but that is exactly what it does. Just saying.

It IsTime For Change

2009-10-15T07:14:00.004-04:00

Seeing as how it's Fall, I've made an executive decision that it is New Leaf Day in our household. There has got to be a way to squeeze more productivity from my day, and by God, I'm going to find out how. Starting with writing, I have got to get my act together and write more. I think some of this problem stems from the fact that when I'm crazy busy I feel like I don't have the time to write something great. And if I can't create something quasi-intelligible, I don't want to even bother with the time.

So more on this later, the babe is a-stirring, but what would you do on New Leaf Day?

Brainstorm #3 They Also Drink Out of the Toilet

2009-09-18T11:45:00.004-04:00

Does anyone else find it offensive that dog food commercials now very closely resemble TGI Friday's commercials? Maybe it's just me but the day I buy Chef Michael's Canine Creations for our dog is the day I iron my dinner napkins (or in other words, never). Plus, they try to sell the food because it looks like table food when in reality it looks like chunky dog food covered in gravy.

Attention Chef Michael advertising committee: the people of America do not think your commercial is appetizing. Because *Brainstorm #1* we can tell the difference between real food and dog food. What was that team meeting like: I know! Let's appeal to the people who think regular dog food does not look appetizing enough for their dogs! *Brainstorm #2* let me put this delicately: dogs lick their own butts. Are you really concerned they may not find dry dog food appetizing?

I have a better idea, can you do anything for Olive Garden? They need you now more than ever.

Note to Self: Dye Hair Before 15-Year

2009-09-17T14:40:00.004-04:00

Why haven't I told you about my 10 year high school reunion yet? Why? Why? Why? Because I don't care if you have never met anyone from my high school at all, this is an entertaining story.

I'll skip over the part where I was either gigantically popular or enormously stupid which led me to be our senior class president, but I was. Which leaves me forever strapped to the responsibility of planning our reunions, and thereby receiving months and months of hate-mail emails telling me what a horrible job I'm doing, and how the reunion is going to suck, and how my eyebrows are uneven. *Highlight.* And maybe some would even say I deserve the hate email because I don't "plan things in advance" or "give a shit", but I say to those people, "f%$^ off" and if you would rather snort spaghetti through your nose than come to a reunion planned by me, than go for it Chef Boyardee. L'chaim.

My idea for our reunion involved two things: people and booze. Now, maybe I'm a little conceited here but I didn't estimate it taking me very long to secure these things for the party, like, all of 4.7 seconds of my time. Which must have just really pissed some people off. Wait I retract, there was a good 15 minutes it took me to stop and pick up sticky name tags, 15 minutes 4.7 seconds total. Added to some serious Facebook and emailing efforts to reach people and we were in the money.

Day of reunion arrives and Grant and I get there early, but not early enough because there was already 4 or 5 people waiting. Wow, the enthusiasm. I measure the evening on several points that added up to an all out raging success. The points are as follows:

- Out of 210ish classmates, around 80 were in attendance.

- A total of 4 people were cut off at the bar before 9pm.

- The cops were called 3 times.

- My tab was under $100.

If not for some minor fall backs (ie the bartender recognized me immediately as the "older sister" of one of her friends and ps she graduated high school in 2005), I was thrilled to have so many people there and watch everyone having a great time together. Especially, the part where our former classmate cornered Grant by the bar to give him this card before launching into a 15 minute narrative about his trip to the Netherlands for the Redhead Convention. Let that just sink in for a minute. Poor guy spent the entire party trying to locate every person in our class who had red hair to initiate them into the club. And by the way, you have to have a passcode to get into the website. Those redheads don't joke around. But by far, my favorite comment of the night was his and his alone, "Hey Mike, does your sister still have red hair?".

A-may-zing.

Flying My Bird to the One I Love

2009-09-10T13:11:00.004-04:00

Have I told you about my hatred of flying? Well, I kind of freak out a tad and then there's the packing cluster f*^% that is my part time hobby considering how much we travel on a weekly basis. So all in all, it's a horrible experience for all parties involved. And since you know me so well by now, you know I have a husband story that I'm gearing up to tell you, right? Right!

You be the judge, do I need more shit going on when we fly to add to the 12 overweight bags that are costing me 1,000's of $$ that I don't have, which I have to now pay for online to save 15 bucks (because you know if there's 15 whole dollars to save I will walk to Nebraska, skin a goat, build an igloo, and be back before lunch thank-you-very-much), as well as online check-in to save us 15 minutes, and a screaming baby attached to my body by some chinese torture straight-jacket, and 398 liquids that are neither less than 3 oz, nor in a plastic ziplock bag, and God knows how I feel about the laptop that is completely pointless to take on a 3 day trip, but if he wants to take the GD thing then fine, take the GD thing, just don't ask me to help you at the conveyor belt because I also have a stoller, a diaper bag, a carry-on suitcase, and a purse all packed with roughly way too much crap that will probably be exploded on the other side of the x-ray scanner, just as they stop the husband for a 25 minute pat down because did I ever tell you that he is the Incredible Steel-Machinery man with at least 45% of his body made up of metal and or iron of some sort? Well, do I?

No. The answer is I do not need more rediculous shit to encumber me through airport security.

And yet.

After actually successfully maneuvering myself, my crap, and my screaming baby through the above cluster f%#*, I'm hobbling through the terminal towards the gate when my husband chases me down to tell me I have to go back out through security and check his carry-on suitcase at the counter because (wait for it) they won't let him carry-on his Gigantic Electric Power Drill.

[Blink.]

[Blink, blink.]

[Head ever so slowly tilts to one side.]

Friends. I started out under the premise that this is a safe place here on this site and I want it to remain one, so I will not actually tell you the 4 letter and 7 letter words I had to share with my happily wedded husband at that moment. I'll leave that for my diary and my shrink (read: bottle of vodka). Just take faith that I will never have to instruct Grant to forego packing the powertools in his GD carry-on bag ever again. Enough said.

How I Fired My Editor

2009-08-25T06:34:00.004-04:00

What's awesome these days? Ooh! I know. How about teenage acne? I think I'd like to single handedly bring it back in style for the 20-something crowd. Hey, what can I say. I'm a trend setter!

And in other things that make my life awesomer, I'm about to leave work for a much needed 2 week vacation and everyone decided to flip the f out at me yesterday for taking my God-given right to paid time off. Bon Voyage, A-holes!

In conclusion, I don't know if I've told you before how I am frequently and rudely edited by my not-so-literary husband from time to time. (I mean his idea of writing involves Microsoft Excel. Can you imagine the horror?) Well, it just happened again and in response I've decided to tell you horrible stories about him here. Witness:

A few weeks back we ran the NYC half marathon together. I believe it was his idea and I was actually excited to participate (this isn't the horrible part). We did an okay job training for it and ran some of our training runs together with the Maestro in the baby jogger, which was cool and grown up of us. Cut to the week or two before the race when my training topped out at 7 miles and I would receive daily emails from the husband bragging about his 9 mile run, and his 10.5 mile run yada yada. To which I swiftly told him to shove his feet alternatingly into his behind. Along comes race day and we think we're ready. If you've ever participated in a run like this or any long course athletic venture you know what I mean when I say we "thought" we were ready. Because for the rest of you, you have no f-ing clue if you're ready or not, you're just hoping you don't die or get picked up by the ambulance for moving slower than the pace of time.

We're about 1 mile into the 13.1 mile death course when Grant loses his shit on me and screams that "You're running too fast! I can't keep up with your pace! WHY DO YOU KEEP RUNNING ONE STEP AHEAD OF ME?! As soon as I catch up, you speed up!" And trust me, I took pity on you by limiting my exclamation points to 4 in that excerpt. So there I am standing dumbfounded in the middle of 4 million racers, trying to estimate the time loss I'll experience by strangling my husband and chopping his legs off.

Turns out I didn't have the time. Lucky for him.

E.I.F.S. Exercise Induced Flip-out Sessions

2009-08-17T10:53:00.004-04:00

Now I've seen it all. Several medical phenomena have occurred this weekend and I feel it's only right to notify the press about them (ie post it here).

1. (Did you miss my lists?)

2. I did not die during the NYC Half Marathon yesterday.

3. I did not die after the NYC Half Marathon yesterday.

D. I am still alive today.

E. Those little emotional-hormonal "episodes" that start when you're pregnant, peak post partum, and continue through breastfeeding months are still here and make themselves known when it's not at all medically necessary. (Let me explain).

I sent a mini-mass email to my family before the race to let them know I might require one of their assistance with Medical Power of Attorney should Grant and I both die during said race. And I got several responses of good luck and encouragement back. Upon which, when reading these I started balling and hyperventilating simultaneously. Then, I emailed everyone after the race telling them that in fact, we did not die but are mostly completely incapacitated from soreness. To which I got several more notes of congrats. To which I read with tears streaming down my face. Finally, I wrote my friends in NY a note thanking them for helping us out over the weekend with the Little Man and for their support and love. During which I again sat staring at the keyboard, wondering why the letters were swimming together in a pool of tears through 2 swollen eyes. I mean. WTF? It's just a freaking jog through the park. Get a grip, Weirdo. There are much more pressing matters to worry about.

Like what we're going to do without Paula.

And PS. if this is what exercising does to you, then I'm f-ing out. Nuf said.

To The Tune of "Please Don't Go Girl"

2009-08-12T13:05:00.003-04:00

Dear Tikka Masala In My Belly,

I thoroughly apologize for what I did to you today, but the thing is you're so amazing that I had to have you all to myself. Sure, I contemplated saving half of you for tomorrow, but swiftly realized there was not going to be anything leftover once my craving was fed. I mean, honestly? I almost lost a few fingers mixed in with the naan. If it's any consolation, the Palak Paneer didn't stand a chance either. If anything, I think you should be flattered that if you were being held captive by the North Korean government I wouldn't send in Bill, I'D SEND IN JESUS. Do you understand my love for you now? Okay. Good.

Now tomorrow is another day. And maybe, just maybe I'll leave some of you for the next day. (But more than likely not because I don't work on Friday and there is no way you're staying in that fridge until Monday so I better just finish you off tomorrow as well.)

Salaam,

India-or-Bust

Didn't Davy Crockett Die There?

2009-08-06T13:33:00.004-04:00

Now I will readily admit that remembering historical dates is not one of my most intense forte's. Nor was it during middle or high school when I was actively learning it. How I managed to get through those classes without failing, is still a mystery up there with MJ's toxicology report but at least it's over, right? However, I do have some sort of sentimental need to visit historical sites and imagine myself living through whatever battle or march or wagontrain adventure that once took place there. Hence my intense desire to see the Alamo when we were in San Antonio a few weeks back.

My best friend from high school, (and coincidentally college as well) and the only one who can make me scream laugh instantaneously by imitating yours truly, got married to the cutest Texan podiatrist you have ever met. And we all know how those guys grow on trees down there, am I right? So we trooped the fam down south for the main event and had an awesome 3 days catching up with friends, tubing down the Gruene River, and 2-stepping our pants off at the reception. It went way too fast and everyone was gone before I even had the time to get sick of them. The nerve.

When I booked the trip to the Great State, I decided to give us a late flight out on Sunday so we didn't have to rush around totally hung over in the morning only to realize we missed our flight which left us time to sightsee for a hair or two. All weekend we had been trying to find something to do that day until someone casually mentioned they had went to see the Alamo the day before. WHAT? You mean there's actually an ALAMO? And it's in my near vicinity? And there followed several straight hours of me chanting: MUST SEE ALAMO. MUST SEE ALAMO. So that together with Griffin screaming about the heat and his dislike of his rental car seat, directly led to Grant's head exploding several times that day. Holy Matrimony, Batman.

Eventually, we worked our way to downtown San Antonio and found a parking garage relatively near where we thought the Alamo was. ALAMO. ALAMO. ALAMO. We pack up Grif in the stroller and laden ourselves down with 80 million pounds of shit and no I don't know why, but we're parents and that is what parents do. And we've walked two steps out of the garage before the heat of Satan's Inferno descends on the 3 of us and we almost spontaneously combust right there on Main Street. Did you know that about San Antonio in July? I guess I should have been tipped off when I learned San Antonio actually means Satan's Inferno. (Yeah-huh.) Somehow we make it the 3 blocks to the ALAMO and we enter the grounds. The gardens are beautiful and there are these huge big billowy trees giving shade to the crumbling old stone walls that you can tell were hand stacked way back in something-07. The place was packed and we tried in vain to wander around taking it all in as quickly as possible before death overtook us in the form of a Flaming Grim Reaper. Grant kept asking to leave but I hadn't quite had my historical site fix so I kept inventing things to show him so we'd have to stay a little longer.

Finally, after a grueling 2 hours of the heat I give in and we walk back to the car. We're sitting in the cool of the air conditioner waiting to pull out of our parking spot when Grant goes, "What the hell happened at the Alamo?"

Though I really wished I could scream at him for an insensitivity to the sweat, toil, and sacrifice of our forefathers, I could only say, "Hell if I know, that's why I picked up this brochure".

Ah history. I can only hope to impart such a keen sense of nostalgia to our son someday.

Altogether Not Together

2009-08-04T13:37:00.002-04:00

Let's do a spit polish on our relationship here so we can get past it and move on, okay? I've been extremely neglectful of Laugh More and I realize none of you have laughed since July 7th which is entirely inexcusable. Now, on to bigger and better things.

My boobs are my own again! Rejoice with me. And take this moment to mentally note that you owe your mother a whole hell of a lot of nice Salt Water Taffy for giving you the benefit of breastmilk because let me tell you, it is not pretty nor non-labor-intensive to do so. But alas, I've made it a year, well almost, 11 months and that's close enough for me (except when it's a measurement of days past your 4th Anniversary that your husband hasn't gotten you a gift, and then a month's leeway is absof-inglutely not acceptable). I digress.

In other news, and to link two bits of otherwise unrelated information: 1.) It's Shark Week and 2.) My baby is about to turn 1 year old on Sunday. Now, these two seemingly unrelated events are in fact, quite related. To quantify how rediculously insane female reproductive hormones are, and how debilitating they can be to 51% of our population, I must expain about my emotions and feelings and "issues" with having my baby turn 1. I have found sentimental and/or emotionally devastating all things that I come in contact with lately. Exhibit: Shark Week.

Last weekend we threw a little Pre-1st Birthday party in Riverside Park for the big man and on our way down there, I noticed the billboard sporting the "Shark Week is Coming!" advertisement (that coincidentally was the same billboard that said it last year too - quirky this little City we have here), and completely had a full on hyperventilatory break down. ........ What the mother loving h*ll. So I smacked my own face several times and asked it, "why are you nostalgic about Shark Week?" And my face said, "because, you heartless cow, my baby was born just after Shark Week last year!" And then I said, "you're right! And I am a heartless cow. Now let's both cry and if Grant asks what's the matter let's yell at him, ok?"

So yes, Shark Week ended with a bang and a flying placenta last year and that is how my baby is related to sharks. Swiftly on the heels of this psychotic break, I also thought to myself, I bet Stacey posted about Shark Week this week. And sure enough: Shaaaaaark Week!! I love my friends.

Zest-fully Clean

2009-07-07T09:09:00.004-04:00

Quick, be quiet, I don't have much time.

Since returning to work has amounted to me working 168 hours a week and overtime, I have very little time to update you. But I've been dieing to talk to you, so work is on hold and you are my focus for the next 3.75 minutes.

Several orders of business: I got my hair cut again, circa 2 years ago and since every time I get my hair cut anywhere my only request be it Super Cuts or Bumble and Freaking Steal-Your-Money Bumble is to cut it so I don't have to do anything short of apply shampoo and conditioner to get out of the house in the morning, they succeeded in selling me some bullshit product for $25 that is supposed to make it look like I "spent the day at the beach". Revelation: "spending the day at the beach" hair looks like shit. And so I cannot fault Bumble for ripping me off because I'm the asshole who bought the product with full disclosure. Henceforth, I arrive at work every morning to people saying things like, "Wow, it was that kind of night, huh?" Yes ma'am, I spent the whole night flying a kite in a rainstorm trying to recreate the great experiments of one truly amazing Benjamin Franklin. Thank you for noticing.

On another note, did you know that my neighborhood post office, the one that I was truly moving to my neighborhood specifically for because in my last neighborhood it took 2.5 hours, $75, and three desert sheiks to get to totally pissed me off, you know that one? Well, did you know it opens conveniently at 8am? And that subsequently you can go before work to do your posting business, only not exactly so because the tellers don't start working until 9am? Now shouldn't the person who thought up this fantastic idea be promoted? I'd say. Promoted to uprighting tipped over porta-potties. Whew, it's a cleansing morning for me today, and I already feel better.

Last but not least, I am uber excited to be in my BFFFFFF's wedding on Saturday in a beautiful dress that is totally sexy and when I went to get it altered, the 107 year old Russian seamster (?) said, "hubba hubba", it looks that good. On an unrelated note, if you happen to wear a size 9 ladies dress shoe and happen to have a pair of silver heels in that size, would you like to overnight them to me so I can have them for sure by Saturday morning? Thank you. Totally random question, I know. Kidding Sara! Totally kidding...

Happy Tuesday! Alternate side of the street parking is in effect.

Well, Do You?!

2009-06-16T08:45:00.004-04:00

The second series of events set in motion during the Pallone Hotel Patio Fiasco of 2009 was my dad showing up after wandering in the wrong courtyard looking for us for some undisclosed amount of time that might have resembled about an hour. Dad shows up with his suitpants and a white t-shirt on and immediately takes a seat of honor and beer from Vince. Gina offers him a brownie, to which he automatically says, "These aren't marijuana brownies, are they?" .......

Because did you know, my family is big on marijuana brownies? And especially serving them on hotel patios? With a million kids around? And especially offering one to my dad? Well, I didn't either. Cut to the rest of us just losing our shit again and it taking a good 5 minutes to regain breathing function before we're able to have a conversation. Now I see where we all get it from. Epiphany.

Which isn't even the funniest part, a while later my dad leans over to my brother in law Mike and says, "Hey Mike, how would you ask an old lady if she wants some chicken?"

And so ends the rest of any coherent conversation during that evening because the only thing that happened after that was a series of different people in different pitch ranges, with differing volumes screaming at the top of their lungs, respectively, "DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!"

The end.

DO YOU WANT SOME CHICKEN?!

2009-06-16T08:22:00.002-04:00

Let me explain.

This past weekend was my cousin on my father's side, Dominic's wedding in Ohio. 2, repeat 2 weeks ago I decided to pack the whole fam-damly up and go home for it. Leading up to our departure a series of hectic things occurred, per usual, and had me contemplating my intelligence score several times over. However, with the promise of things to come in my head, I persevered and boy was I not disappointed.

The wedding was beautiful, outdoors, under the shade of giant oak trees on the front lawn of this tiny little Inn in Granville, OH. After the ceremony, we all smashed inside for the dinner and dancing (aka. free Budweiser and wine). We danced a little, ate a lot, smoked cigars on the patio, and imbibed on a few free beverages. Then the beer ran out. So they broke out Bud Lite bottles and the party really got started. Excuse me, it's hot in her'.

Round about 8:45ish pm the little one was getting tired and we decided to continue the party back at our hotel where we could put him to sleep, go next door and drink the rest of the night away with my siblings. My brother Vince and his wife Heidi came with and voila! Grif hit the sack immediately and we were 3 or 7 drinks in, as well as 3 or 5 philosophical convo's in, by the time the rest of the fam showed up.

Needless to say, more drinks were poured and consumed hastily. And the first of 2 series of events was set in motion: I'm jittery still thinking of how hard we were laughing, or maybe that's the coffee. Who cares anyway. So, all of our rooms had walk out patios to this central courtyard thingy. We were on Vince and Heidi's patio and had accumulated round about 14 chairs from miscellaneous departments for all to have a seat. Mindi, my other sister in law, was the first victim. She was only maybe 1 or 2 drinks into the hotel scene when she decided to go back in the room for something and whamo right into the screen door, full tilt and dropped like a hotcake right ontop of Grant who was the lucky one in the chair closest to the door. What else would you do when you make a fool out of yourself in front of a hugemungous group of people, she blames Grant for "pushing her into the screen door", right.

Next up was Julia, Mindi and Noah's 7 year old daughter. She's talking and walking and talking and whamo II. Screen door meet Julia face. Hello? How are you? For this we try to muster not laughing so as not to hurt the little one's feelings, but no sooner is she out of earshot before we lose it and 1 if not 2 unnamed victims slightly peed themselves.

Third time's a charm and my sister Marie was that lucky charm. She decided to take a different approach and run through the screen from inside the room coming out, so we all got to see her face as she realized mesh is not as forgiving as once thought. And this was a pivotal run-in because she set the screendoor off the track. Setting up the 4th and finale of all screen door run-ins: Noah.

So in an attempt to encourage more gathering and boozing, my brother Noah went to his car to get 2 bag chairs he brought from home to set up outside. He was returning to the patio, from inside the room, 2 bag chairs over the shoulders and a beer in hand. Not only does he smack the screen door with his forehead, knock it to the ground and faceplant, he does it without dropping the chairs or his drink. It was a hotel patio miracle folks, and I wish you were there. Who needs church when you have God making miracles happen every day?

And I'll go on record here as the one who peed my pants, no qualms about it. And yes, it was well worth it.

The Next Billy Elliot Emmerges

2009-06-10T10:04:00.002-04:00

In terms of stressful life events I'm going to go ahead and throw out a 9 on the 1-10 scale these days. Can I decompress a minute? So in a nutshell, (Help! How did I get in this tiny nutshell?!), in the nutshell, the lazy, gradual merge back into the working world that I was planning on has taken a turn for the worse. But for good reason. The girl, Erin, who had previously taken over my work responsibilities post flying placenta is pregnant and I am awaiting her delivery to return to work part time. However, after a cleverly orchestrated maneuver with the bosses, we worked it so I could return a little early to "review" all the new goings on in our department so I would know what the hell I'm supposed to be doing there when I return.

After exactly 2 half-days of reviewing, Erin's baby decided he couldn't possibly miss this year's Tony awards and so Evan was born last Friday afternoon. Mama and babe are healthy and happy and loving life currently, whilst I shi# my pants because we have about 4 million things going on and I don't even know which button turns on the new printer in my office. Holy Xanax, Robin.

Remind me why I wanted so desperately to return to the working life of bees? At this point I would like to retract those statements and go back to wearing my pajamas all day and drinking 14 cups of coffee while watching my tivo'd episodes of Home Sweet Hollywood and Top Chef. Sorry about the confusion. No, I don't want to mastermind the entire department's study enrollment nor send out faculty emails about research updates or really even wear my hospital id. So leave me alone. Now pass me my coffee.

Cough Up the 79 Cents for the Gerber Crap, It's Worth It

2009-05-31T10:34:00.006-04:00

Round about 5 months ago I lost my mind. I decided that rather than buy perfectly good (and organic mind you) jarred baby food from the neighborhood grocery store, I would make him his first baby foods from scratch. Please don't let this cloud your judgement of me, I am college educated and got that stupid little gold emblem in the corner of my degree to boot. But alas, I embarked on a journey that there was no turning back from. And so help me, if this child ever once raises his voice to me or comes home after curfew you better believe he's going to get an earfull of homemade baby food ranting and several pots and pans thrown at him. I'm just saying.

Homemade baby food preparation, regardless of what your Homemade Baby Food Preparation Made Simple book will tell you, is basically everything you don't have rolled into 1 fantastic endeavor. You don't have the 3 hours it takes to start, prepare, and finish the process, you don't have the 14 extra pans it will require to successfully cook and store said food, you definitely forgot several of the ingredients required for 1 "simple"recipe, and you sure as hell don't have the patience to follow the "simple" directions. Start with this knowledge and you'll be far ahead of where I was when I lost my brain function trying to accomplish it. I would right my own book but it would be short, "Homemade Baby Food Preparation Rules: smack yourself in the forehead with a large steel soup ladle. The end."

Here follows a pictographic montage of the destruction involved in baby food prep 101: (You hilariously think you'll accomplish this whole task while the baby is taking his nap. You funny, funny lady).

It starts out simple enough with a few pots, a food processor, and some storage containers.
Only you didn't have the storage containers when you started cooking so you had to stop mid-prep to run on an hour and a half errand to Babies R Us to get some. Oh and the baby gets up as soon as you return. Awesome.
Then while you're cleaning, peeling, chopping, steaming, boiling, and processing the food, the baby freaks out. Pause for baby redirecting and distraction techniques 1-4.
By now you're accumulating more dirty dishes, silverware, tupperware, and towels than you ever realized existed on this planet.
And then you start dropping miscellaneous pieces of food, ie a carrot which swiftly becomes part of the dog's organic food preparation, not what you had in mind when you lost your mind taking on this project.But finally, finally it is finished and your freezer is full of several home made baby food items which you cannot wait to try out on the baby because he is going to LOVE it, love, love, love...

Oh, he really hates, hates, hates it? He really makes a face so horrific you have to close your eyes lest you turn to stone? He really uses his entire body, cowlick to toenail, to gag on one small spoonful of carrots and sweet potatoes? Ha! Hahaha. Ha. Good one, Life! Life = 24, Me = 0.

There's More to Love Than Just the Irish Butter

2009-05-29T16:00:00.004-04:00

Something crazy happens when I go over to my neighbor/landlord's house. I lose track of time and, or possibly because of, the fact that the baby behaves himself for extended periods of time. Did you hear that? To my friends who've not yet sprung life from their gonads, I will interpret: (in list form, of course)

a.) When you have a baby it's so easy at first because they're basically a stationary object, much like a giant hungry potato.
b.) When the baby grows, it acquires many new skills which are amazing and adorable.
c.) Eventually you realize God makes babies cute because the trick's on you and those adorable skills now render you a homebound, shut-in bunch of haywire nerves ready to self destruct at every moment and around every bend.

But for some reason, which may have something to do with several facts concerning how my neigh/lords are straight off the boat Irish, drink like fish, resemble TV characters, and speak in accents thicker than molasses, Griffin is completely at home and relaxed and good. I don't even dare talk about it less I break some kind of spell and he turns back into the firebreathing couch clutcher he once was long ago. Brrrr.

Anyhow, the neighlords are so sweet they are kind of obscene. Friends, listen. They actually love to cook me dinner. Comprende? Also? They push alcohol on me like they're my own flesh and blood. And that says AMEN all over it. I haven't been treated this nice since before I hit puberty and my parents decided I was adopted. The majesty. Needless to say I'm pretty much over there every day and you know its bad when I don't even bitch at Grant for coming home so late because I'm 3 sheets* and it's 10pm before I even know it. So what if my new best friends are 60+ years old? At least they can order off the Seniors menu at Bob Evans. What can you do?

*To the wind. Aka: shitty, shitty, bang, bang.

That's Why Grif's Not Allowed to Watch Extreme Home Makeover

2009-05-27T21:09:00.005-04:00

So today was my first official day back to work post-'flying placenta' and it was a success. I had mixed feelings going in and Grif definitely smelled a rat (and one pro of living in BFE Bronx is that I know there's not a rat dead in my apartment somewhere, sorry B to the rooklyn) so he would not leave my side all morning as I got ready and the nanny came to take over. But he adapted and was good and happy and alive when I returned, which far exceeded my expectations of him shooting up heroin while pimping hookers in a craigslist sex crime ring while simultaneously clubbing a baby dolphin, shotgunning BPA, and misspelling s-e-p-a-r-a-t-e. Horror.

Work is an absolute shit show right now and reminds me of the Guinness Book guy who has to spin 43 plates simultaneously off of different parts of his body, a guy whom I have never admired nor even fully appreciated because, hello? Why are you doing that? You aggravate me, Guy. Stop it before I flick your nuts and really piss you off. You'll thank me later. But all in all, I'm glad I'm busy and don't have to think about the heroin and the grammar catastrophes because I would surely give up on the whole "living in the black" idea and go back to where we're comfortable, flaming hot in the red.

Enough about my gay friend, let's talk gossip. I don't want to name drop, but I kind of do, and so I must tell you I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding this fall wherein the bride's bachelorette party is in South Hampton this summer, ergo I will be in South Hampton this summer in a fatty bo batty house with a pool and I'm kind of so excited about it my eyebrows hurt, so there's that. And in total transparency I also must tell you that a certain Housewife of NYC that may or may not be affiliated with a certain reality TV show and is also a caterer may be playing a part in the bachelorette festivities. I need to be honest with you, it's kind of a big deal. So there's also that.

In summation, this is a good day and I'm on my second vodka and lemonade proceeded by two glasses of amazing red wine from my landlord/neighbor (I really have to tell you about him) and I am feeling Tony the Tiger: Grrreat. And I needed this like Ty Pennington needs Ritalin. You know it's bad. Holla.

Like A Short, White Oprah

2009-05-25T09:02:00.004-04:00

Listen, I've been known to exaggerate a number or two to make a point*, who doesn't, but no exaggerating required to implore upon you to shoot and dismember the voice in your head if it ever tries to convince you to sign up for a half or full fledged marathon, because you will be forced to run 4,599 miles a day in preparation for your race. Now, maybe it's just the fat little short girl inside of me that thinks that's a bit ridiculous, but you be the judge. And when has that fat little short girl ever led me astray? She was right about the Skinny Cow ice cream, and that makes her credible in any language.

Nuf said.

PS. Grant's always trying to up his funny scale to make a cameo on this website, and recently he did by not even trying. He forwarded me his registration email for the NYC half marathon and the subject line was, "I'm an idiot". Several emails later he forwarded me my registration email, subject: "You're an idiot". Touche' my love, touche'.

*Did I tell you how upon hosting 2 friends to New York for the first time I told them Central Park was, "Like 7 acres big!"? No? Okay, pretend I never told you that.

Who Needs Marilyn Monroe...

2009-05-24T14:53:00.003-04:00

...when you've got this Little Dude?
Happy Birthday, Mr. Laugh More!

And Caitlin, too!
Hats and candles courtesy of Stacey Marie Hall. Of course. (Streamer not pictured.)
Good times. And successful in terms of no one lost their dinner over the side of our front porch this time. Remind me to tell you the story of the weird British dude in Grant's MBA class. It's a keeper.

Centering

2009-05-24T14:40:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, we spent the day in Central Park because, 1. It's Central Park and 2. the Bronx is not Central Park. The weather was amazing, there were thousands of people there, and it was spectacular. I'm less and less in love with NY every day, but that day in the park with awesome friends was one thing I will miss. There's something about picnicking with so many people, albeit strangers, that makes you feel like its not the biggest city in America, but more like a neighborhood block party.

It is also the only place we can take Mr. Grifster now where he is content and cannot get into too much trouble. I say not too much because several times I did find him chewing miscellaneous items of Mother Nature, eh, oh well. Our ancestors used to eat twigs and berries in Prehistoric times and they seemed to manage, right? It's good fiber anyway.

You tell me, is this the face of a kid who's not loving the hell out of himself? I concur.

Automatic Update

2009-05-17T09:54:00.003-04:00

Listen, we have a lot to cover in a very short time, so zip it and listen.

Item 1: I have not had much time to post lately because Griffin has morphed into some kind of rollerskating chimpanzee on steroids and caffeine. (Watch for his piece on Ripley's Believe It or Not).
Item 2: We just returned from 2 weeks in Ohio visiting family/ hosting a baby shower/ attending baptisms/ I can't even remember what happened so I'm a little on the fritz.
Item 3: Hunter the Magnificent is currently at summer camp at Grandma and Grandpa's horse farm which surprisingly is making me appreciate the little bastard a lot more. (Holy backfire, Batman).
Item 4: I think I've entered the hysterical phase of parenthood, brought on possibly by the fact that my 9 month old refuses to sleep more than 2.5 hours consecutively, and when I found a completely foreign pair of brand new, never before worn pair of dyeable bridesmaid shoes* in my closet, size 6.5 (because you know I haven't fit into a shoe that small since Janet Jackson had a hit album) I started hysterically laughing until I almost peed myself.
Item 5: I return to work in exactly 9 days [Insert gasp and music crescendo here].
Item 6: I have more items on my to do list than OJ has felony charges.
Item 7: The contents of my frig include a spoiled gallon of milk, frozen broccoli, and 42 Yuengling. (Who says making your own baby food is hard? Who?!)

If I think of any other notable items, I'll call you. Better yet, I'll show up on your doorstep asking you for money and I accept personal checks.

*If these perchance are yours, I'll sell them back to you for $49.99 or a month of babysitting. You're welcome, that's what friends are for.

The Swine and I

2009-04-30T10:23:00.003-04:00

Have you heard the one about the crazy lady who spent all day on Craigslist trying to find affordable (ha! What's affordable to a family with no income?!) toys to stimulate her son's brain so as to teach him to save the world in his adult life? And then after unsuccessfully securing any toys or strollers she finally finds fresh meat in her own neighborhood and spends the entire evening tracking down the woman who posted several toys were available because said woman had to move back to Israel? But then while in the process of cleaning said Woman from Israel out of house and home and simultaneously breaking the heart of Israel Woman's little girl for "stealing" all her toys, Crazy Lady finds it odd that Israel Woman is hacking up a lung, eyes and nose running like 2 leaky faucets, but shrugs it off for sheer joy of securing cheap toys?

Then cut to several moments later when it dawns on Crazy Lady that Lady from Israel must have the Swine Flu? Therefore, said Swine Flu must have been passed through Crazy Lady to her son, who had a runny nose so she convinced herself and anyone in earshot that he had swine flu and was on his death bed? Mind you the boy is a playing machine who hasn't stopped sprinting the length of her apartment for 2 seconds in the past 3 days. But it's swine flu. Of course he has swine flu. He must have it. And the entire world's population will die in exactly 2.5 hours. Then the lady passed out cold because her brain decided there was faulty wiring somewhere or perhaps it absorbed too much bleach from the cleaning fluid she soaked all the toys in for 17 hours so as to kill any remaining Swine Flu Virus.

Ha ha. That was a good one.

Today, Yada Yada, Vol. 9

2009-04-28T21:04:00.003-04:00

I almost, almost roundhouse kicked a woman's ass for selling a jogger right out from under me. I haven't been this mad since Kathie Lee joined the Today Show.

Downward Facing Dog Sleep Manuever Expert

2009-04-28T08:52:00.000-04:00

Air conditioner, I love you.

Last night was the first night of the season for our AC to be on and it was the most glorious night of sleep I've had since I discovered Jamocha shakes at Arby's. There's something about the loud whirring white noise that puts me into a coma. The bambino loved it as well, because listen to me now, he's still asleep. Do you understand what it's like to sleep till 9am when that hasn't happened in over a year and a half? It's like chocolate covered strawberries for breakfast followed by banana walnut pancakes swimming in banana butter. (Whoa, I'm heavy into the junkfood analogies this morning, my apologies). I'll I'm trying to say is, hell yes in a handbasket.

Though I drifted off to sleep ticking off dollar amounts that will be reflected on our next Con Ed bill, I don't even care about the money. That's right, it's not your imagination, I said I don't care about going broke to pay an electric bill that is insanely offensively high because of my selfish need to sleep in air conditioned spirituality. It's just the way it is. I'll bitch about paying $1.29 for a fountain diet pepsi at Wendy's, but I will not utter a word about the electric bill in the summer. No, siree. You can't put a price on sleep quality in this house. It's a mythical being right up there with unicorns and no national deficit.

But what makes my day is seeing Griffin's pose of choice during sleep these days. One night he was sleeping scooted all the way up against the end of the crib, with his feet straight up in the air. Another favorite is face down in the mattress on his elbows and knees with his butt up in the air. Two days ago he was completely passed out sitting Indian style. We have one of those video monitors and watching his night time routine is better than 30 Rock. Yeah, I said it. Eat that, Tina Fey.

2009-04-26T08:52:00.000-04:00

Recently, friends took mercy on us for being cooped up in New York during the longest winter in America to invite us up to Connecticut for the weekend. I think Griffin's face here sums up how excited we all* were to get out of dodge and enjoy some sunshine and green grass.
Erica and Carter, you are the butter to my lobster roll (which we inhaled at the fish shack on our way home Sunday). We needed this like the captain needed those Navy snipers.

I will try to sum up to those of you who do not live in NY the appeal of "weekending". At first it sounds like something those damn pretentious East coasters made up to flaunt their money, and I'm not denying that is somewhat true. But for the other 89% of the population who cannot afford a room in a hotel, let alone an estate in the Hamptons, traveling away for the weekend to go anywhere, be it roadside bus stop or midstream beaver dam, relieves the pressure of living in a city that eats crack for breakfast and breaths fire down your back every 5 seconds.

I'm going to go on record here and admit that if anyone invites us anywhere other than New York, and I can drive there before Grif has a complete meltdown in his carseat, I'm there like sequins on Cher's ass, that's right, for the long haul. So if you're sitting there reading this and thinking, is this a cheap plea to be invited to our summer home? Know this: YES, IT IS and NO, WE'RE NOT BUSY. You're welcome.
*No, Hunter didn't make the trip. Because when Momma's on vacation she don't pick up shit. Literally.

Bring It On, Mom Vs. Manny Edition

2009-04-22T10:17:00.005-04:00

Lately Mother Nature and I have had somewhat of a falling out. I mistakenly thought we were homegirlz now that I've created, carried, and birthed another human life into this world, but alas, we are not. I guess all good friends tend to differ on certain subjects, and old Mama Nature and I differ on this: IT'S TOO F-ING COLD AND RAINY FOR MID-APRIL. Now, I'm not sure what she wants from me, perhaps I should have shot 2 babies and 2 placentas forth from my uterus to warrant a weightier opinion on the matter. And all I have to say to that is "Mother Nature, eat shit". You have forever caused my boobs and my ankles to be next door neighbors, and I can't sacrifice much more than that.So in light of our recent crappy weather, I took the bambino to the Children's Museum of Manhattan yesterday and I think my feelings about it can be summed up in the song: The Wind Beneath My Wings. This place makes McDonald's Playspace look like the Humane Society. And at this point in the winter (Because yes, fun fact: it's still winter in New York!) I'm not above taking him to the Humane Society and dropping him off for a little tummy time. He'd probably like it better than our matchbox apartment right now anyway. But thankfully, the CMOM saved us from flea bites and Children's services investigations, always a good thing.

The entire 3rd floor is a magical land of playthings for babies and crawlers especially. He spent 3 hours there and would have kept it up had not either of the following 2 things happened, which they did. 1. We'll just call her "hyperactive", hyperactive 6 year old Chuck Norris's him to the face with her shoes on. (Let me interpret that for any childless readers of this site: A GROWN woman tried to KILL my baby). And #2. I go completely apeshit on the grown woman's Manny and almost get arrested before deciding to quietly take my leave of CMOM.
In retrospect, no I do not expect that Grif will never get rough-housed or kicked, slapped, pushed around by other children. I guarantee he will. However, my issue is with the Manny and his utter inability to have a motherloving clue what he should be doing with the hyperactive 6 year old. Hey Manny, possibly taking a hopped up second grader to the baby room is not such a good idea, else you appreciate your ass being kicked by wackjob mom's on a regular basis.

You're Welcome,
The Management

All Aboard the Roller Coaster of Generational Differences

2009-04-12T17:57:00.002-04:00

Because my new mom neurosis (or NMN) prohibits me from ever fully relaxing and permitting me 15 minutes of zone out time, the amazing massage I got last weekend did not extend to my brain. Whilst lieing face down on the massage table as Hannah took the muscles in my back hostage, I started philosophizing about the state of our union, meaning my personal life, and what it is lacking. I realized that I don't have that voice in my life that tells me "everything is going to be alright" anymore. I used to have it, but either it's on vacation or it got laid off. Now stay with me, I'm not trying to profess my downward spiral into depression (that's tomorrow's post), I'm just saying that I think my "voice" was the presence of my grandmother and even my grandmother-in-law in my life.

Our grandparents are a constant reminder that hey, you'll make it through this, because I'm here and therefore I made it through a lot of shit to get here. But with the loss of my grandmothers over the past few years, I've lost the incarnation of "this too shall pass" and "it's nothing in the grand scheme of things". I also doubt the fact that they ever realized they fulfilled this part of my life, and I post-it noted myself to tell them when I meet them again in Heaven*.

(*WOW, this is becoming one morbid piece of intellectual psycho-vomit, isn't it? Well, hold onto your toilet bowls, I'm not finished.)

So what are we left with? Our parents, the Baby Boomers. Now here's my biased and unresearched point of view. Though I feel for them and their current situation, the Baby Boomers (and I generalize the entire population from a few that I know) are kind of downers. They complain about being old, they don't understand technology, they abhor most of our generation's music, art, and pop culture. And as if they needed more to complain about, they are the same people who are currently watching their life savings and retirement funds dwindle to next to nothing. Congratulations! You partied like rock stars in the 70's, accumulated personal wealth, and now you're broke. Best wishes.

So my Easter message is this, everything is going to be okay. Those things I'm worried about? They will work themselves out. I have everything to be happy about. I will look at the beautiful things in my life and embrace how they make me feel. When I'm not doing so good, or having a bad case of Baby Boomer, I'm going to hold up those really special moments, memories, and feelings and let the happiness take over. The people who try to rope me with their lasso of misery? I'm shutting the door, phone, or computer on them. Because I'm not buying misery today. As a matter of fact, I'm selling bullshit and rainbows if anybody asks and I take Visa AND Mastercard. It's not always easy, and God knows I'm not great at it, but it beats the alternative every day and twice on Sundays.

Now go eat your Peeps.

Dr. Seuss Can't Hang

2009-04-07T10:24:00.001-04:00

8 months and counting and again, I must ask the men to bear with me.

And now a short story:

Are You My Nipples?

Once there was a little girl who always wanted to be a mommy. (She also always wanted to be Christy Brinkley, but that's another story). One day the little girl grew up and married a wonderful man and they decided it was time to have a baby. (More like the tequila was talking, but isn't that how it always happens? I kid, I kid.) The baby is born and both mommy and daddy are over the moon happy.

Then the mommy realizes Mother Nature had a nasty turn in store for her. In order to make the baby happy and healthy, the mommy had to give up something she loved very much, her nipples. But since nothing was more important to her than raising that baby to be the happiest and healthiest nutcase this side of the Mason-Dixon, she relinquishes the nipples.

Several months go by and as the baby matures and mommy slowly goes crazy, mommy begins to plan on getting her nipples back. Only now the nipples are all, "Hell no, nu-huh, never ever ever" and the mommy is again without nipples.

Then in a surprising turn of events, Daddy decides enough is enough and if he's ever going to be back in this equation, he better do something fast. So he begins manufacturing fake nipples for mass distribution and in the current economic climate, hits the motherload (punny, huh?) So Mommy is happy, baby is happy, and consequently, Daddy is happy too.

The end.

Conducting My Own Investment Analysis

2009-04-06T10:23:00.000-04:00

Congrats go out to Mr. Laugh-More for an amazing feat of brain power and ass-kicking in school on Friday. The long and short of it is this, there was a competition among the students of his business school to come up with an investment idea for a prestigious hedge fund in the city. Each team had 3 people and there were 40 teams in all. So since my mind is quicker than a calculator and sharper than a steal trap (allegedly) I will compute that my husband simultaneously kicked 123 asses by sweeping the competition. Now, I'm no mathematician, but I'd like to see Chuck Norris do that.

It was also exciting to meet some of the people he works with for his summer internship including the president of the company. And now, a confession and an observation: the fault was definitely mine for wearing a low cut shirt. However, I rarely go out in business public these days, like never, so my wardrobe choices are more "Kansas Housewife" than "City Business Sleek". That being said, it was no surprise when 1, 2, 14 people looked first at my cleavage and then at my face when we were introduced. Pretty much everyone in that room saw my boobs except the president of the hedge fund. His attention never once faltered from my face.

So in a nut shell, invest your money with that guy. Because if these knockers can't shake you, ain't nothing going to shake you, yes siree.

Mistaken Identity #34,661

2009-04-04T09:40:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, I was hoofing it from 54th and 5th to 56th and 10th for reasons to be disclosed later, when I realized the man walking in front of me who kept turning around to stare at the discombobulated crazy woman trying her best to run down the sidewalk in heels was Fred Savage.

Only it wasn't Fred Savage, it was a look alike from his days on Boy Meets World. Turns out he doesn't look the same as he did 10 years ago. Who knew?

I must disclose that this happens a lot to me, mistaking ordinary citizens for famous people. It's just how sick my mind is. Other mistakes include: Howard Stern, Tom Brady, and Gweneth Paltrow.

Day Dream Believer

2009-03-31T08:59:00.003-04:00

The ongoing catastrophe that is my sleep-dream cycle has once again spiraled out of control. Evidently, my real life isn't scary enough that I have to make up the craziest shit ever while trying to rest.

Cut to: the fog lifts to a scene between me (who is not really married to Grant anymore) Grant's mom and his dad. [I know you, you're thinking, "This is gonna be good!"]

Grant's dad to mom: So what I'm trying to say is, I had an affair 28 years ago and Grant is not really yours, he's mine and Teresa's somewhat related aunt (who is a fictitious person).

Grant's mom: Oh, okay then.

Me: WHAT THE FUCK?

Grant's mom: Well, it makes sense. I'm not mad at you, we've been married a long time and things like this are bound to happen. I'm glad you told me.

Me: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

Grant's dad: Don't worry Teresa, it's not your fault.

Me: I'm sorry, did you just say my fault? How the hell would this be my fault? I don't even know this woman you're saying is my aunt. And furthermore, are you insane? How can you not know you didn't give birth to your child? You're batshit, people. All of you.

Scene ends with Grant's parents trying to give me a group hug.

Holy hell, I'd rather just be awake. And though now I seriously want to Chuck Norris someone's face, I can't decide between his dad, his mom, my fictitious aunt, or Grant.

Power to the Little People

2009-03-30T10:18:00.007-04:00

You may remember this story about my social prowess when fraternizing with important "power people" that my husband and I meet from time to time. You know the people, they may be slightly older than you, well established in impressive careers, usually very well traveled, and more often than not, expert conversationalists. Read: Intimidating as hell. Well, friends, I've been holding another such instance from you and per former president Billy Clinton, I must be honest about it.

Setting the scene: my husband and I are set to have dinner in the city with a certain power couple that we're somewhat familiar with. Since most of our meetings had previously been group gatherings, this would be the first stand alone social occasion for the 4 of us. The wife component of the other couple is a medical doctor (of course) and her husband after graduating from West Point and two trips as a paratrooper to Iraq (that's right TWO tours) is currently a professor of history at the Academy. Not at all intimidating. To add insult to injury, they are the sweetest, nicest people you've ever met with giant hearts to match their giant brains.

And in the other corner: me and Grant. Two homegrown, cornfed Ohioans who consider Florida a foreign destination. One, a boring baby nurse who may or may not have been fired/quit her previous place of employment for calling off to often, and the other a wet-behind the ears, freshman coffee boy* for Lehman Brothers (love you, honey). Stellar life experience alert! Look out.

Anyway, needless to say my desperation over making any friends in this city overwhelms my self consciousness about not being a "power" person and we're off! The evening begins splendidly and I make sure to only have one drink before we're seated so as to not appear the binge drinker that I am. We are seated and I'm spewing compliments about the restaurant, since it was their choice, and feeling like I'm on my A game. The waiter approaches for our order and I try to pick choices from a variety of ingredients rather than my usual selection from the children's menu: an order of chicken fingers and french fries. Everyone orders and conversation continues.

From time to time the conversation takes a turn that I have absolutely no f-ing clue about what they are speaking so I politely take a drink of water or go powder my nose. Standard. Our apps come and mine is amazing so I swiftly inhale it - without choking - and ready my place for the main course. And then it happens.

In an attempt to complement their restaurant choice again, I take the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to clear my throat and pronounce proudly that, "My appetizer was wonderful! The sweetbreads didn't taste like bread at all!"

Nails in the coffin.

~R.I.P social networking skills~

We loved you once, and now no more.

*No, you were not really an errand boy, it just makes for a better story...

And Those Little Petite Fors, Too

2009-03-29T09:24:00.000-04:00

I have recently entered the realm of Wedding Season Extravaganza which comes at a perfect time to mask my discontent over returning to work. My palms are sweaty with images of 2 of my closest friends tieing the knot this summer and fall and it's downright intoxicating. And since I cannot partake of actual intoxication these days, see here and here, I must take what I can get.

There are not many things I love more than weddings and rehearsals, showers and bachelorette parties, white lace and panty hose. I would guess that most people hold their own wedding up on a pedestal to compare every other wedding they attend to, but for me, every wedding is it's own special destination and the people who allow us to share in their journey there make each one the most special thing I've ever been a part of. What I'm trying to say is it's better than Grey's Anatomy, now do you understand?

So as the economy crashes and burns, our spending far outweighs our income (sidenote: I thought and/or think the opposite of income should be "outcome"), and the baby continues to wake me several times in the night, I can honestly say, it's okay! Because there are still weddings and people falling in love and candy almonds to get us through.

Whew.

Mighty Music

2009-03-26T10:37:00.003-04:00

I have a confession to make, I've been neglecting more than my health, razor, and credit card statements lately. This list includes my favorite blogs. I used to check my fav's several times a day and now it goes weeks before I have time and energy to keep up this exhausting but enlightening hobby.

So today I found this post by Maggie Mason of Mighty Girl and I am renewed with the spirit of the blogging e-community again. I think I became immune to it for a while but I remember now how amazing it is that the web opens us up to so much exposure of so many different things and enables us to learn so much so quickly. What I'm trying to say is, I love you Internet, never leave me. Enjoy!

~ UPDATE! I just realized where I know Zooey from. She was in Elf. Whew, now I can relax for the rest of the day, instead of pulling my hair out one strand at a time trying to figure that out. [sigh]

She's No Mariska Hargitay

2009-03-25T21:09:00.003-04:00

One positive note about living in the Bronx, and come to think of it, it's actually not so positive after all, they always shoot Law and Order episodes on our block. Ironic 3 days after my car was broken into right? Anyway, I've been freaking out excited since last week when I saw the no parking signs littering 4 square blocks for set traffic the day of the shoot. After being rained out on Friday, they rescheduled for Tuesday and I was ready! I mentioned more than once to Grant who was trying to ignore me that once they took a look at the face of our beautiful child they would fall prostrate to him and immediately swear he had a face for crime novel tv show history.

My first trip (of many) to the set on Tuesday yielded much success as Katheryn Erbe walked right past me (across the street anyway) and would have totally noticed us but her attention was drawn to the coffee and bagel in her hands. I mean, the woman needs her strength, I totally understood. So I took a lap with Griffin in the stroller and what do my wandering eyes find but Vince D'Onofrio AND Katheryn in the middle of talking scene talk with some director-looking people. They would have totally noticed me and called us over but they were focusing so intently on their scene, completely understandable.

Trip #2 to the set a few hours later produced another clear shot of Katheryn, this time leaving the shoot for her trailer. It was pretty cold out (ask Griffin, I didn't have time to dress him very warmly considering I needed to maximize our time "on set") so she pretty much ignored everyone as she headed into the trailer, sadly we were part of the "everyone". But some nice looking directorish man smiled at us as we walked past, which may or may not have had something to do with our little gang's appearance. [Griffin in the Bjorn, me on the cell phone looking interesting, and Hunter dragging both of us down the street so he can pee on the 74th tree in 5 minutes.]

The third and final trip I felt comfortable in making, considering there were several police watching over the set and I'm pretty sure they were getting ready to arrest me, was uneventful. No Katheryn. No Vince. And no director-looking people. However, I'm pretty sure a lighting guy was trying to pick me, and my baby, up for the night. Awesome.

All in all, I am slightly disappointed that I was too embarrassed to snap a pic (though in my head it definitely turned into an all out photo shoot where Katheryn and Vince would hold Griffin between them and pose like a family at Disney for the first time - what? Like you wouldn't do that) and that we weren't approached to be extras. But at the end of the day, I decided that's no life for a little boy.

He should never settle for anything less than the lead.

Caution: Meltdown Imminent

2009-03-24T21:41:00.006-04:00

After basically surviving Hell and back* today I finally made it all the way downtown for Dooce's book launch and signing only to find they were sold out of the book when I got there, Grant and Griffin in tow. Fanf-ingtastic.

Contents include: up several times during the night with the screaming teething baby (not that this is an unusual occurrence, he hasn't slept through the night more than twice in his 7+ months on this planet), a window replacement for the car that was 3+ hours late, a visit to the pediatricians office AGAIN because I thought Grif had another ear ache (turns out he doesn't and I'm now the "weirdo" mom at the office, walking a tightrope all day to keep the baby from scratching his eyes out from irritability and boredom, wrestling the screaming child into and out of his snowsuit several times to take the dog for his obligatories, making a death defying dash to shower, get dressed, and perform the makeup overhaul, and finally, actually body slamming him to get him into the car at 7:15 PM to try to make it down to Columbia to pick up Grant and then on to Tribeca to the book signing. Where, evil of all evils, I got a really great parking space. Ain't life a bi^$%? Er, I mean, grand?

And THAT's Why I Love The Bronx

2009-03-23T22:18:00.000-04:00

Does it strike anyone else as odd that every single thing that goes wrong with your car is always less than the deductible on your insurance? [Insert aggravation shrug and hand in the air throwing].

Would you like me to extrapolate? I was awakened Saturday morning to my lovely husband posing an odd question to me while my eyelids were still closed in full sleep.

"Did you have anything in the car that could be stolen?"

I'm sorry, hamina hamina what? As my brain snapped to full awake mode way too quickly, I almost thought he was telling me the car was stolen, or the baby was stolen, or the baby stole the car. Time stood still as we sat there staring at each other, both in stupified bewilderment. Finally, my brain regained the use of its neurons and I realized what he meant to say was, "Good morning, Sunshine! I love you! Everything is perfectly okay, and the baby is sleeping snug in his bed. Oh, by the way Dearest Love Noodle, unfortunately some sad soul broke the window of our car last night and stole our Garmin. But do not fret Sweet One, I'll clean up the mess and have the glass fixed in a jiffy. Love you!"

He's just slightly vocabularily challenged and used alternate verbage.

So at day's end the tally is: the window's broke, the Garmin's gone, the insurance won't cover either, and my "guard dog" barks at everything that moves except the things that move to break into my car.

Life - 4, Me - 0

But in the Cage Fight Rematch, that Bitch is going d-o-w-n.

Top Ten Things I Want To Do In My Lifetime, (This Month)

2009-03-22T17:46:00.000-04:00

1. Have many more children - like 4. (Coincidentally, this also accomplishes another goal of mine: Disregarding my husband's wishes).

2. Visit Tahiti for long enough to actually enjoy it to the fullest. (Fully aware this may exceed a year's time).

3. Learn an Asian language.

4. Publish something I wrote.

5. Own a home.

6. Take my kids camping.

7. Kayak the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.

8. Travel to Italy with my parents.

9. Spoil my grandchildren. (With attention).

10. Wake up every morning of my life to my awesome, red-headed husband, snoring and stealing the covers.

*What's on your list?

Today In My Life, Vol 8

2009-03-19T20:31:00.002-04:00

It's near 8pm when I realize I have two different socks on. AND, I was excited this morning upon donning them and incorrectly assessing them as a matching pair.

[Sigh.]

On Sale Now At Macy's Fragrance Counter

2009-03-13T15:20:00.006-04:00

The newest development in my life of late involves that of a minor nuisance we are currently experiencing known as "we're f-ing broke". Several suggestions have been thrown around such as: selling the dog, hacking him up and selling him part for part, and finally, something seriously gross and extremely unfortunate: me going back to work. I know. President Vom-town USA.

Here is the dichotomy, I would love to get out of the house 2.5 days a week and contribute to our non-existent income, truly I would. However, my fear of the nanny from hell situation and my slightly overboard obsession with anyone who sets foot near Griffin are major negatives to the whole situation. I can't even tell you the madness that selecting a nanny involves. And I'm just talking the things I'm saying out loud, not even the catastrophe going on in my brain that I can't even lend words to. Except imagine "Psycho" only to the 10th power. I'm presently interviewing potential candidates and we're 0 for 4, including two "hell no's" and two "you have got to be on crack, hell no's". Alas, it is a work in progress, more to come later on that topic.

So, I know I need to nut up and go to work already like millions and billions of mom's are doing all over the world every day, but as long as I live, breathe, and blog, I will voice my discontent. Malcontent? Whatever, you know what I mean.

Oh, and sidebar, I just got a whif of myself and yes, that's Eau De Curdled Milk/Baby Vomit #5. I am so ready for the workplace.

Reading Between the Lines

2009-03-13T15:20:00.000-04:00

In light of my commitment of full disclosure here, I must update you on the "progress" of Grant and my's "Biggest Loser" weight loss challenge. Currently, and unfairly, Grant has lost 19.5 pounds in 9 weeks. However, I wish to preface my success by stating that it has been shockingly overshadowed by the gigantic numbers he's been throwing on the board. Undoubtedly, the most important result of this challenge is that we eat better and exercise more regularly. The true number count* is not important. Thank you.

What? Like using the child to distract you isn't ethical. Jeez.

*I've lost 2.5 pounds.

Miscommunication

2009-03-10T14:07:00.002-04:00

[Backseat of car.]
Me to Griffin: Rrrrrrazzzzz!

Grant: [Frontseat.] Haha.

Me: What's funny?

Grant: You. What were you saying to him?

Me: What did you say? "Humphrey"?

Grant: What are you talking about?

Me: If we ever get a camel, we should name it Humphrey, anyway.

Today In My Life, Part 7

2009-03-10T10:56:00.002-04:00

I realized for two straight days I've chosen a second cup of coffee over showering.

It's all about prioritizing, ladies.

Toddlers, Tiaras, and Me

2009-03-09T09:42:00.000-04:00

If I can just go on record here, (by the way what the hell does that expression mean anyway - since when did people record themselves on records?) and lose my shit for a second on this concept of a show revolving around in-f'ing-sane mothers who enter their tiny, impressionable baby girls in beauty pageants, dragging them all over God's green earth and subjecting them to ridiculous treatments to enhance their natural appearance all for the sake of some measly amount of money? I can? Great. Because holy shit and then some, my friends. Everything about this show makes me want to gouge my eyeballs out with a dull spork. I can't even link to the show for you because I refuse to be a part of the degradation of these girls especially in a society that already smashes them over the head with false and unsafe images of what a woman is supposed to look like from the time they are pre-teens basically until we all die*.

However, I can't fault the show entirely because the true He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named Evil resides with the parents of these girls, and perhaps the show is only trying to enlighten the rest of the nation into what kind of heinous treatment goes on in some households to these poor girls. Still. Are the producers of this show and others like it making a profit off of these children? If so, then there are layers of you-know-where for people like them and plenty of very warm space to accommodate them.

And now you know why I need a vacation. And for putting up with my rant on a Monday morning, here's a present for you:* I'm not judging the idiots who would do this to their daughters, really. I just feel sorry and scared for the girls of this generation, that this is what they have to grow up around. Can't we just go back to My Little Pony and chubby Cabbage Patch kids?

I Mean Seriously With Her Circus Costumes?

2009-03-08T09:22:00.004-04:00

My weird dreaming habits have returned in full force this week starting with the marathon dream of my return to high school as a 28 year old adult only to find I was elected to homecoming court but did not arrive to school with my ballgown on so my elected male counterpart - who coincidentally was my 4th grade boyfriend - was very upset with me. I scrambled around trying to make it right when finally I had my "aha!" moment and decided I would fix all of these snooty high school kids - I'd wear my wedding dress. Beat that Miss 4-time Homecoming Queen. Luckily, I woke up as I was leaving the parking lot to go home and get my dress out of storage - could have quickly become a nightmare.

Second weird dream of the week involved me accidentally giving birth to a baby that I didn't know I was pregnant with. Nothing like a little newborn popping out of your vijay-jay to say, "Hey you, pay attention!". Slightly horrifying but even more so to the mother of a 7 month old.

Sadly, I am at a loss for celebrities in my dreams this week. I guess my internal "In Touch Weekly" has gone on hiatus due to economic downtimes. Perhaps it will return now that Brit-Brit's back on tour. We can only hope.

Fairy Godmother

2009-03-07T18:15:00.002-05:00

This shot was taken on our vacation to Naples with our friends and their baby. Griffin's Godmother took it while I was off ruining my skin with sundamage. I can't get over it. He didn't see her coming and all of the sudden she stepped into his line of sight and snapped just as he was reacting.
I wish I felt like this every morning when I woke up. Incidentally, I do not, most days.

I Hope It's a "Big" Plane

2009-03-06T09:32:00.008-05:00

In preparation of going back to Columbus next week, I need to do a few things:

1. Freak out about packing, because there is never a good time to start, we never have enough space, and yet we always take too much stuff.

2. Notify everyone within a 25 mile radius of home that we'll be in town in case they want to get together.

3. Pre-plan every breakfast, lunch, and dinner so as to accomplish #2 without leaving anyone out or spending too much time with any one person, group, or organization thereby offending other persons, groups, and organizations, thereby removing us from wills and/ or Christmas lists in the future - not an option.

4. Pack all necessary items including many unnecessary items for two adults, one baby and one high maintenance dog to permit us to be away from our apartment for 4 very short days - not to mention it's daylight savings time and we lose a whole 60 minutes to nothingness (completely unfair and litigious).

5. Freak out for approximately 24-72 hours about our plane going down en route.

6. Streamline books to take for pleasure reading: HA. That's a good one!

7. Coordinate pick up and drop off of earlier mentioned high maintenance dog, then over analyze the effects of leaving him for 4 days on his non-existent psyche.

8. Consume any perishable food items from frig and cabinets - check.

9. Water plants - shit I always forget to do that on a regular basis - thereby making me feel really guilty about leaving them for several days without the option of having me water them.

10. Make lots of lists.

Though every trip home is always much anticipated and way too short, I will not have nostalgia for these packing, unpacking, and repacking trips once we are permanently relocated in O to the izz-O.

Witness: The Family (Insert Jaws theme here).

Obliviously

2009-03-05T17:24:00.007-05:00

It's Thursday, March 5th. Know what that means?

Time to change blog colors, clearly. Where've you been?

Out with the old, in with the new, I say.

Especially when it comes to 3 things: bananas, underwear, and tequila.

Run 2 of Random Facts About Me

2009-03-05T17:11:00.005-05:00

1. When I was 9 I told everyone my name was "Mrs. Wilson". (?)

2. I went to Buckeye Girl's State in high school. I have no idea what we did there. But we did order a pizza that never got delivered.

3. I play the bagpipes. In my throat.

4. I once stalked my volleyball coach for an entire year.

5. My favorite food group is alcohol. It's also my favorite season and sport.

6. I can play Enter Sandman on the trombone.

7. My most embarrassing moment was in the 6th grade, I fell off the gym stage in front of the entire school. Oddly enough - no alcohol was involved. I can still feel my foot getting caught in the foam matting which caused the fall to end all falls.

8. The first time I shaved my legs was also in the 6th grade and I almost bled out in the tub. But I was front stage for a musical and we had to wear shorts, so like hell I was going to be the Yeti up there. Better to be covered in scabs and bandaids than hair, am I right?

9. My Great Grandmother had $8 to her name when she immigrated from Italy to Ellis Island. She was alone, unmarried, and not yet 16.

10. Juno might be my all time favorite movie.

11. Empire Records is a close second. The best things in life are free.

12. I am an intensive care nurse and yet I've never had a plant live more than a few weeks under my care. I successfully kept 4 alive for about a year and a few weeks ago they all died except the one my Grandmother gave me. I see signs of my grandparents almost every day.

13. My favorite words are aardvark and coconut. If only I had an aardvark named Coconut... [sigh].

14. I've spent a good portion of my life laughing. At everything and nothing in particular. I laugh out loud more now than I ever have in my entire life, thanks to Griffin.

15. I got a Snoopy Snow Cone machine when I was 14. Not by choice.

16. My roommate in college was hometown friends with Sam Hornish Jr. (So what, I name drop. Kiss it.)

17. My husband played for the Steeler's for 2 weeks during the 2005 season and they were the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl. I sat in the 10th row, 30 yard line for Super Bowl XL. WTF?

18. I once found a vibrator on the ironing board of a B & B I stayed in for my friend's wedding.

19. I did a shot of Tequila with Snoop Dog. (See #17).

20. I only skipped school once in high school. It was the day before prom, we got caught, and weren't allowed to go to the dance. I married the bastard that kept me from my Junior prom. [Love you, honey!]

21. My mom accidentally cracked my head open when I was 9 months old. I have a scar between my eyes.

22. My sister has quintuplets. No, she does not look like Angelina Jolie.

23. I used to throw tea parties for my dolls using plastic shot glasses. Now #5 makes sense, doesn't it?

24. I was both my high school and college senior class president. Running on a platform of "Why the hell not?"

25. My left eyebrow is slightly higher than my right one. In response, I buy crooked sunglasses.

Your turn, hit me with some randoms.

Glass Houses Etc.

2009-03-02T10:49:00.003-05:00

Let me just weigh in on the discussion of two newsreel items all up in my face and all of your faces if you're watching the national news right now. (This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I have raging PMS hormones right now).

1. If you find yourself making negative internal or vocal judgements about Natalie Sulemon I would really, really love to meet you in person because you must be the most perfect mother in the world and I'd like to pick your brain about a few things like "How the hell do you master this crazy unmeasurable vocation that changes constantly and demands more of yourself than anything in the universe?"

2. There are way too many abandoned children in the f-ed up foster system for people to be raising Chimpanzees as humans. Belly up to the bar and make a difference in a child's life* rather than fulfill some kind of weird need to receive unconditional love from something other than a cat or dog.

*Disclosure statement: Yes, I realize not everyone's capable nor should they accept the huge responsibility of raising a child if they are not ready or willing to do so. However, there are other ways to help if you are able and God knows there is plenty of need, especially right now.

**Okay, I'll be nice now.

Introducing Her Majesty:

2009-03-01T15:10:00.001-05:00

Lindsey Marie.

Five full pounds of beauty and energy.

And if you don't want to eat her in this picture, I don't know what planet you're from.I can't believe I have to wait two more weeks to see her.
I'm like an ADD fourth grader waiting for recess over here.

Or, We Could Be The Paparazzi

2009-03-01T15:02:00.003-05:00

Me: Do you think we'll be invited to Pete and Ariel's wedding? I really hope so.

Him: I didn't know they were engaged.

Me: They're not, but it's inevitable. Are we close enough to get the invite?

Him: I don't know. Doubt it.

Me: Well then, we have some serious ass kissing to do, now don't we? Get to it.

Doing My Part

2009-02-25T11:17:00.004-05:00

Things are happening. At an alarmingly fast pace. No time to sit, think, pee, blog. The baby - he is insatiable these days. Apparently, I no longer think in complete sentences. Just realized this. Crap.

But seriously, it's important that we, you and I, don't lose our "alone time" just because I had a baby. I mean, we need to spend time on this relationship to make it work. So, I've put the baby down, he's amusing himself at the moment (which - sidebar - now includes him playing with himself "down there" - which is scary to me because I thought maybe we had a year or 11 to wait before that happened, apparently not. Something else that would have been useful to read in "What to expect..." - thanks for that), and I can devote my full attention to you and your needs.

Enough about you, let's talk about me.

What is it about this economy crisis that just gets me spend-happy? Take for instance last Friday. My friend Meghan and I decided to jump in the car and head to the Woodbury Commons outlets up here in no man's land, aka the Bronx, (and why do people say "the" Bronx instead of "Bronx"? I mean, you don't say, "I live in The Manhattan or The Brooklyn" do you? Case in point, number 435 reason why I "dislike" THE Bronx). I then proceed to flip the f--- out and buy over $200 worth of baby clothes for the Incredible Growing Baby, because have you seen the pictures? He's already 4 feet tall. Apparently someone's been slipping Miracle Grow into his food. (Just kidding you sicko - that would be extremely harmful albeit it makes a good joke).

So here I am without a job, married to a husband without a job, living with a baby without a job, taking care of a dog without a job - who I might add is dangerously close to being without a home if he keeps taking up residence between my feet as I walk around the house, in an economy that is in the shitter. Please, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Q. Public, take a lesson from me, everything's absolutely fine! Go out and spend money you don't have! It's great fun.

[Death gasp.]

My OB-Gyn, The Miracle Worker

2009-02-15T08:39:00.003-05:00

I feel it is my sworn duty as the educator to the childless masses to inform you of a delightful new development in our lives as of late. Remember how I told you about this back in November? Well! Friends. Don't go out and get your tubes tied just yet. There is progress on the V-jay jay front.

After consultation with my doctor which went something like this, "PLEASE, please, please, pretty, pretty please, f-ing are you kidding me, I want to die, do something before I light myself on fire to help me, please" she took mercy and wrote me a little prescription for estrogen which completely changed the ballgame. Thank the good lord almighty and then some. Give that woman a raise.

So no worries that after you birth a child you'll never have sex again, because you will. And it will be great. Well, I can't vouch for the great part because I don't know what kind of sex you're having to begin with, but hopefully its good? That's a hypothetical there, you don't have to tell me how your sex is, actually never tell me how your sex is, ok? We're just going to say yes, we have it and it's just fine, got that? Whew. Got a little nervous there for a sec that you might comment and tell me about your bedroom exploits and jeez how I don't need to read about that tomorrow morning.

Alright, what else do I need to tell you about? Oh yes. My sister had her baby! Her name is Lindsey and she is a-dor-a-ble so much that I need to eat her and contemplate doing just that on a daily basis. Pictures are forthcoming, she was born last Friday the 6th at 5 pounds and she has tons of brown beautiful hair. Gina and baby are doing very well and are at home enjoying some R & R. So the circle of life spins once more for our family and now there are 14 grandchildren for my parents: Gabriella, Ben, Grace, Mary Kate, Emma, Alex, Julia, Anna, Rebecca, Logan, Joey, Griffin, Aedan, and now Lindsey. I cannot believe how wonderful they make my life and how much I miss living in Columbus just so I can see them grow every day and listen to them spout off the philosophy of 9, 8, 6 and 4 year olds.

Happy late Valentine's to you all!

Discovery: Daucus Carota

2009-02-11T09:38:00.005-05:00

Me? I'm not all that into cooked vegetables as a side dish. They're kind of smushy and taste very bland. All in all, they don't contain the staples which make every food enjoyable: fat and cheese. However, the young one doesn't know this yet. He's been diving into carrots, peas, sweet potatoes, even prunes. I know he's mine because he came out of "down there", but I'd otherwise doubt it because me and peas? Nada and niente.

Witness: The discovery of carrots...
Caption: (Spoken with a British accent, because I don't know why - I'm the author that's why.) "I'm not entirely sure what you are trying to pull here. This does not taste like milk. This whole ordeal is entirely too messy. Remember the good old days when you just hooked me up to the boob and called it a day? But in the spirit of the new year, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and try one more bite".

Caption 2: "Wait one bloody second (See? I told you he's British), an exciting turn of events has occurred. What I dost think, I no longer thinketh about our little orange root vegetable. Let me assess the situation again, Milady".
Caption 3: "By God, I think I like these carrots. Mom. Carrots! Have you had these things?! They're fantastic. Whoever invented them should be promoted and given a big hug".
Final Caption: "Mom. Mo-o-o-om. Carrots. I love them. I want to go there".

And so ends another day of table food success. He's an animal at the dinner table. And yet, he is my son, so did you expect anything to the contrary? Other than the fact that he's contrary? Because that also means unequivocally that he's flesh of my flesh.

Blagojevich Was Their Web Designer

2009-02-06T11:19:00.004-05:00

"The ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, the shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's... (Error: The knee bone is no longer connected to anything because the owner of said knee bone doesn't know how to ski and therefore lost the connection of knee to rest of leg). The end!"

Take home message: Get to ski lodge early to secure snowboard before they run out so you don't wind up on ski's that you don't know how to use. Thereby paying millions (okay, tens) of dollars in medical bills to fix your dumb broken knee cap.

By the by* and all kidding aside, skiing is not so bad. I may have to retract my earlier statements about skiing, skiers, those amongst the ski and so forth.

Upcoming will be pics of the ski lodge we stayed at while at Hunter Mountain because I would be selfish to keep them to myself when truly, you need to see the majesty that is the Friar Tuck Resort and Spa for yourself. And we, the management, use the term "Resort and Spa" so loosely we're practically impeachable.

*Don't know what the hell this means but felt like exercising my poetic license this Friday am.

Pushing His Political Agenda

2009-01-30T16:05:00.004-05:00

He's always doing this when I least expect it.
He's the sneakiest little lobbyest you ever did see.

What's that? 'More toys, less tears' you say? Well, of course! Great idea! Promote him! Give him that suitcase of cash we have lying around here somewhere from those nice Bailout people.

Happy weekend everyone.

A Side of Salmonella

2009-01-29T09:16:00.002-05:00

Does it occur to anyone else that every news program is exactly the same on any given topic and that it only changes minutely from day to day. As if you were watching a time lapse camera only in slow-mo? How irritating. I never realized it before because I rarely catch the news on a regular basis. And since we're going green (aka dirt poor) we don't get the newspaper anymore so I've lost that consistent repetitive news update bug.

So let me give you the NY minute of our nation's news: President has a blackberry, Everyone's got diarrhea from peanut butter, It snows, and Republicans hate Democrats.

Now spend your time doing something more worthwhile like catching up on Cheaters or any SVU episodes you missed the first time around on TNT. You're welcome!