Mother's (Not Even A Significant Chunk of a) Day Out

After finishing up yesterday's entry, I closed the laptop with a flourish, satisfied that it was the last time I would have to discuss anything related to the Great Stampedeing Stomach Illness that had consumed us all for nearly a week. I could, perhaps, finally get around to writing the VERY IMPORTANT entry about my hair that I've been putting off day after day. But first, I had some equally important mental-health-related things to take care of. So I stood up and got dressed and put on some makeup and grabbed my purse and Kindle and got the hell out of Gastroenteritis Dodge. I drove to a sushi restaurant -- the one that has the tuna dish I like but nothing the kids are willing to eat so we never go there, especially since it's three doors down from a place that serves peanut butter and jelly and Noah KNOWS IT, DON'T YOU DENY HIM THE CHANCE TO ORDER THE SAME DAMN SANDWICH HE EATS EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE, EXCEPT THAT IT COSTS $4.95 AND COMES WITH A SIDE OF FRUIT HE WILL NOT EAT. And then...I just...ate the tuna dish I liked. And some soup. I took as... Read more →


How Bad Was My Weekend

...let me COUNT THE WAYS. I cleaned vomit off the top bunk. I cleaned vomit off the bottom bunk. I cleaned vomit off the bunk bed ladder and the floor. I cleaned one child's vomit out of the hair of another. I cleaned up after the world's grossest fucking diaper, BAR NONE. I cleaned up...the crib. Enough said. I cleaned vomit off the wall of the nursery, and the rocking chair. Also my brand-new, dry-clean-only sweater that I was stupidly wearing because that was before reality set in and all hope was shattered into a million disgusting, crusty pieces. I called the on-call pediatrician to find out if I needed to take my terrifyingly listless, still-unable-to-keep-solids-down-after-72-hours toddler to the ER or not. I went to the store for more Pedialyte only to realize I was standing in the stationary aisle, staring at sympathy cards and slowly going mad with fever. I came home and experienced some...digestive distress. I lay in bed and moaned at the ceiling fan while Jason baked the children COOKIES, since Noah was feeling so much better and Ezra...well, Ezra would probably be fine too, right? I lay in bed and muttered feverish I TOLD YOU SO'S... Read more →


BlogHer Part Two Kind Of

My best story from the conference, other than hanging out with old friends and meeting new ones and also MOJITOS, occurred about three hours prior to Sparklecorn. And like ALL of my best stories, this one predictably involves me going to pieces over something trivial. Basically, CAPS LOCKing all over the place, but live and in real time. I was trying to figure out how to get five rather large boxes from the package room at the hotel over to the party location next door. These five boxes contained about 4,000 multi-colored glow necklaces and bracelets, which are a Sparklecorn tradition, as everybody uses them for everything from jewelry to belts to tiaras to elaborate full-on glow-in-the-dark costumes. I'd shipped them to myself at the hotel, not realizing that BlogHer had outgrown its quaint days of underground hotel conference rooms and was now taking over gigantic convention centers, because blogging, apparently, is quite a thing with the kids these days. And it turned out that the hundred yards or so of sidewalk between the two locations were guarded by an old gray wizard screaming YOU SHALL NOT PASS to anyone working at the hotel, because of unions and balrogs and... Read more →


We Called Them Rinse & Spit Cups, Even Though We Never Did Either Of Those Things

This photo is for my sister, who is currently pacing a hospital waiting room while her daughter, my niece, undergoes emergency gallbladder surgery. You know, for kicks. Yeah. It's kind of an inside joke. Which would ideally involve each and every one of those cups filled with shots of contraband Pinot Grigio. On Christmas morning. While huddled in the guest room under the guise of last-minute present wrapping. Which may or may not have actually happened. Anyway. Between that and another week full of chemo treatments and bargain-basement platelet counts, I'm in a giddy sort of limbo where I don't feel particularly funny, nor do I feel capable of being all maudlin and introspective. I'm just sort of spent. Maybe I just need a drink. Or a hug. Or some kind of chocolate-y boozy drink that could be the equivalent of a hug. Come to think of it, those mini-sized Dixie cups seem like the perfect serving size for a pregnant woman to safely consume alcohol in moderation. Plus look! At the packaging! The cups have ARMS. I feel comforted already. Meanwhile... 1) I am recapping Top Chef All-Stars this season at Mamapop. Unfortunately, several of my personal Top Chef... Read more →


Mellencampy

I woke up yesterday morning completely incensed at John Cougar Mellencamp. That asshole had the nerve to get MAD at me after I called him "John Cougar Mellencamp" in my dream, because I simply forgot that he dropped the "Cougar" part, like who can keep it all straight all the time, and even after I apologized he yanked my wine glass out of my hand and and said "this is going to kill you one day, young lady" and then I woke up and was like, don't you judge me, John Cougar Mellencamp. For HOURS. Possibly even still now, a little bit. God. He was just so fucking CONDESCENDING about it. Anyway, after I woke up and had a whole imaginary defensive conversation about my imaginary intervention with an imaginary John Cougar Mellencamp, I had to start frantically cleaning the house for our Labor Day party, to which I had invited the local Mamapop contingent -- Sarah, Laurie, Jodi, Tracey, Charlie -- to come over and start drinking before noon. The party was a great success, if I do say so myself, judging by the two (2) recycling bins we done filled up with wine and beer bottles (STOP JUDGING... Read more →


There's No Crying In Blogball

It's been brought to my attention that my last couple posts have made a somewhat extraordinary number of you cry. At work, or other embarrassing places/occasions to be caught crying. Obviously, I assume MOST of you are exaggerating for the sake of affect (takes one to KNOW ONE, if you know what I mean), but I guess I do need to take some of you at your word and apologize for all the virtual sucker-punches, and promise that there will be nothing of the sort in today's entry. (BAM! SUNRISE SUNSET! MAGIC BABIES! PERSONAL GROWTH AND SHIT! GRAINY iPHONE PICTURES BECAUSE MY REAL CAMERA IS BUSTED! BAM BAM BAM!) (What? No good? Not doing anything for ya? Oh well.) Let's see if I can inspire some different emotions today. First up... ANGER I finally typed "Mockingjay" into Google this morning to figure out what the freaking frack everybody was talking about on Twitter yesterday, and what exactly we're giving away on Mamapop today. Spoiler alert! It's a book! Now here is my dilemma: 1) Take all of you at your word that it's omg!thebestthing!ever! and start the series at the beginning, looking for all the world like a shameless fad-follower... Read more →


A Day Without Internet

It turns out, if I deliberately decide to stay off the Internet* for an entire day, that I am downright PRODUCTIVE. Possibly even bordering on COMPETENT. The first order of business yesterday was a playdate, and don't you love that while I would never betray the sacred trust of What Happens on a Playdate, Stays on a Playdate and actually TELL you about the playdate, I still feel compelled to tell you that yes, I totally fucking had a playdate, motherfuckers. I have friends and am in demand for social gatherings with other human beings. WHAT UP. PLAYDATE. (She's probably reading this, by the way, so I will thank all of y'all to make me sound awesome in the comment section and not say anything about that time at the place with the thing. You know what I'm talking about.) So anyway, I decided to clean the house before the playdate. (Playdate! Playdaaaate!) And I realize this is completely 1) lame, and probably 2) cheating, because there's usually some unspoken arrangement between women that we're only supposed to express shame over the messy state of our homes and one-up each other regarding our failures. HOSTESS: I am sorry the house... Read more →


One Step Closer To My Dream Of One Day Thoroughly Annoying Tim Gunn In Person

On Friday night, I went to a party. A non-kid-birthday, grown-up-fancy party! And I, of course, proceeded to act like a toddler the entire time. Part the First: I decide to wear my new shoes. I attempt to drive a stick shift in my new shoes. Six blocks and three stall-outs later, I kick them off and drive barefoot instead. Part the Second: I arrive early because I am a blogger of considerable influence who is also Internet-Friends with one of the VIP guests, Laura Bennett of Project Runway/Daily Beast/Your Local Bookstore . I bump into the person who invited me in the first place, give her an awkward hug of thanks...and accidently stomp on her bare feet with -- oh my God -- those stupid fucking shoes. Part the Third: I attempt to give Laura directions to the event via text message, belatedly realizing that my phone auto-corrected my mistyping of "Elm Street" into "Elmo Street." Part the Fourth: There was wine. It was free. Part the Fifth: Socialite/Professional Fancy Party Person Tinsley Mortimer was another VIP. Laura and I decide to get our picture taken with her. She's busy holding an interview, but we don't let that stop... Read more →


Things Nobody Tells You: Four-Year-Old Edition

1) Learning to properly blow one's own nose is, in fact, a highly advanced skill. If you are able to blow your own nose, congratulations! You've accomplished something with your life after all. 2) Even AFTER one has learned and is perfectly capable of blowing one's own nose, it may take even longer before one has figured out that one SHOULD blow one's own nose, rather than sniff sniff snort snorting snot up through one's nasal cavities ALL THE LIVE-LONG DAY. 3) When one DOES opt to sniff sniff snort snort all the cotton-picking live-long mother-loving day and night, despite MUCH PLEADING AND PROMPTING from one's loving, concerned mother, one might eventually get sick to one's stomach and vomit. 4) A lot. A surprising, alarming lot. 5) Usually at 4 am, or so. 6) Maybe again at 5 am, on the sheets that you just changed, or in the wastebasket. 7) Incidentally, wicker wastebaskets are a poor, poor choice for a child's room. 8) Also, if you type the word "wastebasket" enough times it stops looking like a real word. Like you're referring to tissues as "noseblankets" or "snotwrappers" or something. 9) Anyway. 10) There will also be zero fever... Read more →


Microwavery in Action

Oh, come on. You knew I was gonna do it. So last night I made the infamous spinach-cheese souffle. In the microwave. MICROWAVED SOUFFLE. BECAUSE WHY NOT. Would you like to see how it turned out? In painstakingly over-documented, un-retouched, high-res detail? Yes? Then keep on clicking, baby. The first thing to do, in the interest of historical accuracy, was to remove our fancy rotating turntable. I wanted the full, real experience of two-minute cooking intervals and constant 1/4-turning. This is like the culinary equivalent of visiting Historical Williamsburg. The recipe explicitly calls for chopped frozen spinach, just so the very first step could involve defrosting the spinach. I mean, sure. You could buy and chop fresh spinach, but where's the microwaving fun in that? You don't even get to hit any buttons! While the book says to microwave the spinach in its package, Jason insisted that I heed modern advancements and follow the directions on the bag, which call for a separate, covered container. Boo! This throws the validity of the entire experiment into question! However, by this point I will say that I already learned something. My microwave does indeed have a special "defrost" setting* that helpfully beeps... Read more →