Motherhood Uncensored

Reader Appreciation Week: Win Good Shit

If there's anyone that I should thank for getting me through these long years months. You're mostly kind words and generally thoughtful comments have really helped.

Except for a few wayward Googlers who like to tell me where to shove it.

Yeah yeah. Mississippi is SOOOOO great. Whatever.

And so, I'm not leaving people (it was the duck -- I know, I'm VERY sneaky!), I'm just putting my friendly PR pitch people to work this week and offering some kick ass prizes all week long. Read some vintage Motherhood Uncensored and win prizes that relate to the posts. And no, I'm not talking an ass smack from my father-in-law.

I'm talking good stuff.

I promise.

Come back starting tomorrow, leave a comment by Midnight PST (one per person per day please), and I'll pick winner(s) at random every day through Friday where the Mominatrix will return with sex-related prizes, a new column, and a radio show -- with the Queen of Orgasms, Lou Paget. (I'm not kidding. If you have questions, she is the woman who knows. Email them to mominatrix@imperfectparent.com. We will keep your identity private).

Enjoy readers. YOU ROCK!

The Mom Trap Reader Highlights: Who Wants to Be Featured?

All this week I'm doing Reader Appreciation over at Motherhood Uncensored with lots of giveaways, but I also want to recognize my Mom Trap readers as well. So, before you go over to MU to throw your name in the proverbial hat (great prizes, I promise), drop me an email if you'd like to be highlighted here.

I have a few fun questions plus I'd love to put a picture up. So drop me an email and I'll send you the questions. I'll be highlighting two bloggers per day on Tuesday - Friday.

And if you haven't seen The League of Maternal Justice site, please stop by. We could definitely use your support for our first two missions, with more to follow! If you've got any breastfeeding photos, please share them for our montage. And consider nursing live or via recorded video on our Breast Fest day (10/10 at 10am!). Also, we've started a Cafemom group to start the discussion on what we can do about other issues that are important to moms. Join up, will ya?

And come back tomorrow for a special guest blogger courtesy of the Blog Exchange!

We've Had a Good Run Guys

And so, it is time for me to bid farewell to you. I'm not sure what to say. We've had our good times, and we've had our really bad times. But through it all, you've stuck with me, and given me something to smile about. And I'm not just talking about all the gawker traffic.

It's time for us to part ways, Mr. Duck. Thanks for falling into my stroller. But I think we need to move on.

So congrats to Katie, the new owner of Danny "Stolen" Duck, some condoms, a Nexus Range, chocolate lotion and body oil, a new masthead, and two Starbucks gift cards.

We know you will give him a good home. At least you better, damnit.

And thanks to everyone who participated. We raised $197 for Catherine which allowed her to exceed her goal. (Hopefully they'll provide the puke sacks for free, my friend). You can visit her donor site (look for motherhood uncensored) to confirm that the monies did indeed make it into her donor account.

Thanks to our vibrator duck covetors:

Erin

Mrs. Chicken

Manic Mommy

Rebel Hart

Midwestern Mommy

Impostormom

Jackie

Lawyer Mama

Elizabeth

Amy

Mel

Geena

Bobita

Fishy Girl

Dana

Katie

The New Girl

Lori

Apricoco

Sharon

Sandra

Fairly Odd Mother

Kris

Christine

And for more exciting news, did you see my Cool Mom Picks co-founder and daughter-101 in the New York Times yesterday? Hot dog! 

More developments happening every day over at LMJ. Keep in mind, it's not just about boobs over there. We've got a bunch of new missions coming shortly, most of which were emailed in by concerned moms who needed some help.

And if you happen to pop over later today or tomorrow, you might just see some actual pictures of our alteregos. Well worth it.

Every Day Most Definitely Is the Same

Tonight I had great displeasure of hosting Jessica and her two little Joys for pizza, sundaes, and a Wii-Boogie smackdown. I would have invited more people, but they all heard Jessica was going to be there and knowing how incredibly boooooooooring she is, they decided to pass.

And so, I was left alone with her and our children. What a fucking nightmare.

Not only does her kid rip the shirt off Quinlan's back, but then when my daughter dancing her little butt off to "YMCA," she totally mocks her right behind her back. Okay, so it's not a "Y" -- she's 3. Cut the kid a break.

You can't see the screen, but she's obsessively counting her score from her "You're the One That I Want" Performance. Okay, you got 174,000 points which is about half of the comments for one post on your blog. Thanks for rubbing it in.

Her daughter, a little over two, could barely stand up on her own. As you can see in the picture, she had to hold her up most of the night while still obsessing over her points.

And of all the bizarre things in this world, she makes her son dress up like a dog. Don't ask. I certainly didn't.

So if you're all jealous about me living here in Atlanta, getting to hang out with some pretty cool mommy bloggers, don't be.

All they do is bring you tasty tofu salad, wash your dishes, and make you realize that playing video games is far from as lame as it sounds.

We'll be practicing our dance moves, two-part harmony, and extended play temper tantrums, Joys family.

Next time, the tofu's on me.

 

Free Flying is Great, But Where's the Nanny?

The first comment I get when I tell folks that my husband is a pilot is "Oh nice. You get to fly for free." And yes, this is true. But if you've ever done pass travel, then you know this benefit is a double edged sword.

And if you've ever done pass travel with two small children alone, then you know it's almost not a benefit.

As a child, I traveled a lot thanks to my father's job. I was very fortunate to have parents that believed seeing the world and exploring different places was important.

But flying back then was totally different. Heck, you could smoke on a plane!

Now, however, you can barely bring a lip gloss on. And people seem to be hyper sensitive when it comes to babies and kids. And honestly, trying to get through security, is like running the gauntlet.

I'm not kidding. Two car seats, a stroller, plus EVERYTHING in a carry on since you have to fly standby. The last thing you need is to get stuck with kids in an airport with nothing.

Then top off the whole "there's not enough room on this plane for you" thing and well, buying a ticket looks not-so-bad. In fact, it looks pretty darn good. And then the hotel? With two kids? Not the greatest option, unless you enjoy going to bed at 8pm when they do.

So until I can figure out how to make going away an actual vacation, I'll stick around here. Where I can drink a full can of soda and let my kid scream without people reading me the riot act.

If you've got a vacation story, or tips on how to make it through a vacation with kids without losing your hair, then share it today. You could win a portable dvd player. Check it out!

Formula is the Devil's Juice

I've been trying to give Drew some formula. I'm not sure why exactly. I suppose I could pump, but my supply is pretty regulated right now.

*Note to self. Don't talk about your perfect regulated supply on the internet because it's sure to go back to a total wonky leaky fest*

And I want to leave the house without him. So, I've been trying it.

But people, FORMULA STINKS. I mean literally. It's stinky.

Why is this, exactly? I've purchased regular formula and organic soy formula, neither of which he will take. And I've tried giving it to him in his Nuby, a bottle (which we haven't used in ages), and his sippy cup with no luck.

Yep. We've got a spitter, people.

So, care to enlighten me on how exactly you get your kid to drink formula?

I'm Holding On For a Hero

*I'm on cre8buzz now. (More updates on our progress at LMJ, if you are following along). If you think you'll miss all the emails you get from Facebook, don't worry. You'll get plenty to make-up for your loss. However, the people are cool, and the profile pages are way better (in my humble opinion). If you decide to join, come find me, but not before you go win a portable DVD player courtesy of these fine folks.

Yes, I know they're evil. Whatever.

--

 

Well you guys all love your Facebook, now don't you? To be honest, I barely used it. The pokes, gifts, questions, and games were a pain in the ass. So for me to say good-bye was not a big deal. In fact, it was one less thing for me to worry about.

And waaaaay less emails.

But since we decided to do something instead of write posts, link the "bad guys," and just hope for someone to notice, I'm surprised at how many people cannot let go of their Crackbook.

Don't get me wrong. I know people use it for work, and when creating my alterego (which is there to fight all injustices against mothers, not just boob issues), I never thought people would just gladly deactivate. Besides, what's 50 deactivations in a sea of over 40 million users really going to do -- mere pebbles at a giant?

I know there are protest groups and email campaigns, and many moms have successfully loaded their breastfeeding pictures onto Facebook without having them banned.

But they still haven't banned photos that ARE clearly obscene. And I haven't heard a peep from Facebook saying "we were wrong" or "we've changed our policy."

And for once, instead of sitting with my ass firmly planted in my computer chair, fingers tapping at the keyboard, I wanted to do more.

For my kids. For OUR kids.

Sure, maybe a part of my motivation was a bit self-indulgent. Feeling helpless, meaningless, and many times pointless in the daily goings on of this earth can motivate people in different ways. For me it was about taking my helplessness and channeling it into a fantastic superhero that can save the good guys. Or at least offer them a gloved hand and a cape of their own.

Helping is empowering. (And it's very good for the bowels, I've found).

So look. If you can't deactivate your Facebook account, then do something that you can. Send nursing photos in. Nurse live or via video. Put up a button. Tell your friends to do the same.

And what about an alternative? I spoke with "The Antman," founder of Cre8buzz (which goes live 10/7/07) and father of two under two (both of whom were breastfed).

Here's what he said to me:

Per our conversation we will absolutely not remove pictures of women breast-feeding from our site and we welcome anyone who feels we are a better alternative to Myspace and Facebook.

Our official position:

Cre8Buzz is the place where people can be seen, heard and found and interact with communities of like-minded folks. We believe that each community has its topics, issues and means of expression that are unique. Therefore, we at Cre8buzz accept all means of expression, including photos, as long as they meet reasonable standards of appropriateness for that community. For Moms, breastfeeding is part of motherhood like dirty diapers and sick kids. We have no issue with members of the Moms community expressing themselves with pictures of breastfeeding.

Chances are you'll need a hero at some point in your life. And a good way to start is to be a hero for someone else.

Al Gore, You Speak the Truth

I've never really been a car person. So long as it doesn't cost more to fix it than the cost of the actual car and it fits my children better than a can of sardines, I could care less what it looks like.

But I'm in the minority, at least in this country.

Cars equal status around these parts. The bigger and faster it goes, the better it is -- and the cooler you are. And really, who am I to tell you what kind of car you drive.

But as a zipped around in my mom's Prius last week, I felt really good. (Gotta love the extent of my activism -- Green Peace I am not).

And then I got behind a Hummer, and I felt really bad.

The excess. The pollution. The earth.

I admit to not being the greenest person in the universe. In fact, when I sat and thought about it (inhaling the fumes of the Hummer), I realized I pretty much suck. Diapers, way too much running water, disposable plates, plastic bags, TONS of wash... The list went on and on and on.

I honestly don't think about it much -- maybe it's to avoid the guilt. Or maybe it's because it never really mattered to me.

But when I sat there, I realized that we're in deep trouble. The earth is a mess. We've spent way too much time not giving a crap -- just living out of total convenience and utter disregard for the earth.

But it's catching up to us. And I'm worried. Not for myself, but for my kids.

How much would it cost for us to all drive hybrids? Or turn off the water? Or use paper instead of plastic?

Time and convenience, YES. But in the long run, the return is enormous.

I'm saying I'm going to live without electricity, but I am going to make an effort.

Turn off the water while I brush my teeth.

Choose paper instead of plastic.

Hang dry some of my clothes instead of drying them to a pulp all the way.

Hiring a nanny (heh -- saves energy, right?) -- just kidding.

This is a Mom Trap replay in honor of tonight's podcast "It Can Be Easy Being Green: How to Make Green Parenting Work for You." It's not as hard as it sounds, right?

I'll be sharing the changes I've been trying to make (oh, ziploc bags, how I love you) and I'll be speaking with the lovely ladies from BlogHers Act Canada, as well as Romi Lassally from True Green Confessions. If you've got tips, questions, comments, or thoughts to share, please call in: (646) 915-8634. It's also my first show with BTR's new chat feature, so if you don't want to call, but like to chat, then come try it out!

Live 9-10pm EST. Leave me a comment, drop me an email, or call in. We'll pick two lucky callers to win an awesome lunch bag (recently featured here) from our sponsor Lunchopolis.

If you're new to this podcasting thing, just listen while you read your blogs, or if you can't listen live, you can download via iTunes (Motherhood Uncensored).

It Ain't Easy Being Green or in my case a Pale Olive

 I'm all for saving the earth. In fact, I might even be considered pretty "green" to most folks in this non-recycling town. I forego wrapping paper and gift bags for a nice ribbon, I turn off the water when I brush my teeth and wash dishes, and I choose paper over plastic.

Okay. So, I'm not high on the green scale. I get that. But for what it's worth, I do give it some effort and thought. And I'm all for being a conservationist. Hell. I'm a human and I don't want the earth to blow up, freeze, or melt into one big puddle. However, there has to be a stopping point. You know, when saving stuff takes over your house and then affects your existence. Or in this case. MINE.

It all started when I was unpacking from our not-so-vacation. My in-laws had packed the cooler for us, and amidst the bread, milk, and eggs I found mustard and ketchup packets, four used straws, and splendas. Lots of splendas.

Now, I really hate throwing away ketchup packets and taco bell hot sauces in particular, however, was it really necessary for me to drag them all the way home? And the straws? Can we not afford NEW straws that we must keep used ones? Oy.

If you think that's bad, you should see their house. It's freakishly clean - you know, sheets on the furniture, plastic on the table, and everything in its rightful place. Even if you're still eating off of it or playing with it. They must have some inner timer. If you're not done with it in 4.7 minutes, tough luck. It gets put away.

I'm all about "rightful places" (in theory, that is). However, the amount of stuff they have is amazing. They must save every single gift box they ever get, and every single ribbon from every present they've ever received (or probably given). And, bags? Holy Vagina. They could bag an entire grocery store (nice paper ones, with handles) times 27.

When we had Q, my MIL pulled out an entire box full of crocheted sweaters and hats from when my husband and his sister were kids. AN ENTIRE BOX. Of mildewy, stinky sweaters and hats. Like at least 42. That she tried to wash. And put on my daughter. Ack.

And if you try to throw away something. Like plastic silverware. Your Whole Foods Salad Bar container. A straw. You're in deep shit. Unless you hide it really well. And then maybe they won't discover it. Until they take the trash out and bring it back in and put your leftover pizza in it. Blech.

So, while I love me a recycled notecard and homegrown tomato, please don't hate me for wanting a new straw. Call me crazy or frivolous. But there are certain things I just must have. And I take full responsibility if my desire for new clean straws causes the earth to explode. But until then I'll enjoy ripping the wrapper each and every time.

No, you're not losing your mind. It's a Motherhood Uncensored replay in honor of tonight's live podcast "It Can Be Easy Being Green: How to Make Green Parenting Work for You." I'm not talking compost piles and hemp underpants. I'm taking your tips, suggestions, hacks, thoughts, and comments along with guests Sandra from BlogHers Act Canada and Romi from True Green Confessions.

Let's make being green a little more accessible for today's mamas!

Two lucky callers (9-10pm EST) 646-915-8634 will win a kickass lunch box from Lunchopolis. Seriously, how hard is it to call in and say "hello" to me? C'mon now!

If you're new to podcasting, simply click the button, then click "Listen Live" on my page. Blog Talk Radio has a whole new site, including a really cool chat feature. So, if you don't want to call, but you want to chat, feel free. I'm not sure how I'll be running the show and chatting, but I'm willing to give it a try.

And make sure to subscribe to my podcast feed, or listen via iTunes (Motherhood Uncensored).

And just for kicks, and a real eye-opener (seriously), click here. Oh and here too. Now that's thievery.

In Which I Admit That I'm Already Thinking About Halloween

It must happen when you buy a house. At least that's what I'm blaming my cute little display of mums, a pumpkin and three gourds outside my front door on.

Seriously. Someone better call a doctor.

I have a holiday themed "display" on my porch, people. I have definitely jumped the shark.

And if that's not all, I'm already thinking about Halloween costumes.

Go ahead. Shiver right along with me.

I blame my daughter for this one since she dragged me into the Disney Store (okay, I offered it as a reward for making good choices at the food court but still...). And there they were in all their glory.

THE DAMN PRINCESS COSTUMES.

And of course, she picked Snow White. Which then, in turn led me to think "What could Drew be?"

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

A DWARF.

C'mon. You'd think about it too.

Now, I'm not going to pay $69.99 for a freaking baby dwarf costume on eBay (Shame on you, you Unamerican costume dealer). So then, my friend suggested an Apple.

Now that's funny, except I don't think people would get it. Well, smart funny people would. But everyone else would be like "Is he a strawberry?" and I'd have to explain the irony and well... that's just annoying.

So, I think I'm sticking with dwarf, except THIS MAMA DON'T SEW.

Any ideas on how to create a dwarf like outfit?

And please, pretty please, with large tasty cherries, go here and show your support. Spread the word, send in your pictures, please please please! This whole breastfeeding in a closet because that's the only "appropriate" place to do it is driving me nuts.

Because He Doesn't Really Like Them That Much Either

A few people have asked me why the huz never outs my blog to my in-laws. And other than the obvious reasons *cough* sex *cough*, it's because he doesn't really like them that much either.

But it's one thing to have nutsy in-laws. It's another when you know full well your own family is a bunch of lunatics.

Because that really only lends itself to one thing.

Chances are you're nutsy too.

Now I've spent many years adjusting to my own family's lunacy, or partial lunacy.

Hi, My name is Kristen and I'm Bi-nutsy.

But the huz has full-on looney-toon genes flowing through his veins, and it's taken a bit more time for him to come to terms with it.

[Okay. So he hasn't at all. But you've got to start somewhere. Or in his case, nowhere].

And so, aside from the occasional guilt trips about not apologizing for misdirected mail, he really does complain about them too.

On this occasion, his sister won out.

If you haven't figured out the huz's crazy schedule, let me enlighten you. Basically, he's on call for most of the month, with about 5 days off sprinkled in a totally inconvenient way. Since we originally chose LaGuardia as his "base," if they call him to fly in the morning, he has to leave the night before and since we don't really know anyone around there, he has to sleep in the pilot's lounge until his "show" time in the morning.

It's really just as unglamorous as it sounds.

Okay. It's just downright nasty.

But, it just so happens that on special days called "short calls," he has to fly up there, sit in the airport, and wait to see if they need him.

[We've since switched to Atlanta but that doesn't take effect until November].

Luckily (we thought), his sister lives near that large airport in New Jersey and so his plan has been to fly up, crash on her couch, and just hang out there until either they call him in OR they tell him to go home. This way, he can at least eat real food, watch television, and sleep on something other than some nasty chair that God knows who slept on a few hours before.

Except she told him he couldn't stay.

She's too busy. He arrives too late in the taxi he would take to her house. It's an inconvenience for her and her three cats. Or really, her three cats since she works.

I'd hardly wave the "family card" in front of them in my own situation, although you'd think they'd oblige me just on the basis of my two children, but considering all the shit my husband has done for her, including drive her ass around all day during her "I got a DUI so I can't drive and if no one helps me I'll get fired so get your ass up here and drive me even though your wife is 9 months pregnant" period, you would think that she'd at least let him crash on her couch.

And hell, keep the damn cats company.

But instead, he'll be not-sleeping on some nasty couch at LaGuardia. And no matter how much you think I don't like my husband, that's just plain wrong.

On the bright side, however, my unmade breastmilk stained bed ain't looking so bad.

Perspective works in mysterious ways.

Mamas Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up to Be Sign Holders

I know, I know. You'll love them even if you don't like what they choose to do. And you'll respect their choices as a well-informed adult.

Okay. Got it.

But don't tell me you don't dread the day your daughter comes home and decides to tell you she's Hef's 14th girlfriend.

You know you do. Admit it.

Your kid is still attached to your boob and you're already hoping and praying she doesn't decide to choose the highly rewarding job of shaking her butt on a nightly basis for some trucker named Jim-Bob with two teeth.

[Hef's 14th girlfriend ain't lookin' so bad now, huh? Particularly since he doesn't sleep with them, right? RIGHT?]

But equally as uncomfortable, at least in my opinion, are the people who stand on the street corners holding signs.

You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?

They are paid God only knows what to sit or stand holding some sign for some store in what always seems like the hottest day of the year. It makes no sense to me. Not only because it's not like they say anything interesting like "Destruction is near and Jesus is coming."

Hell, at least I could flip them off then.

But they're holding signs telling me about some 160K condos down the street from my subdivision that would do exactly the same thing if they were just stuck in the ground LIKE SIGNS SHOULD BE.

And really, the print is so damn small on those signs no one reads them. All they do, like me, is stare at the dude holding it and feel terrible that he has to hold it.

I know he's getting paid. I know there are worse things in life.

But why? Does it really guilt people into shopping for condos? Because all it makes me want to do is drive down to the sales office and yell at them for making that poor man stand out there with a FREAKING PEE JUG (I swear it had to be a pee jug. Or maybe it was a big thing of juice that he had already drank and was just holding onto because there was no trashcan or bathroom within a 3 mile radius).

At least let the man stand in a costume so he can cover his face. Give a big cow a sign and I'm buying $14 worth of fast food without even thinking about it.

But a random man with a random sign looking like he'd rather be having a chest hair wax.

Yeah. I say give Hef a call. At least he lets you piss in a toilet.

So, do sign holders make you uncomfortable? AND, what's one legal profession who hope your kid doesn't grow up to do. Don't worry, they don't read my blog...

The Case of the Thong Diaper

So I know they're making thongs for kids these days. I mean, how totally practical -- a constant wedgie. Way to make kids more pleasant and happy by sticking a some underpants up their crack.

Brilliant thinking!

Anyway, I was changing Drew the other day and he had part of his diaper up his crack. Or sort of. It wasn't a baby thong or anything, but it sort of made me think about it that way.

I thought I had just accidentally ripped the side lining of the diaper. It didn't leak and I didn't really care.

But then I went to change him again and I noticed the same problem. And, smart one that I am (only 13 diapers later), I realized I got a defunct pack of Huggies Supremes (I know. They're expensive, but they work).

Now, I'm already about 2/3 of the way through the box. And I repeat. They don't leak. But then I thought, "This is bullsh*t. My baby doesn't need a piece of diaper stuck up his butt. I already have to throw away sippie cups and teethers because they are flavored with LEAD and NOW diapers?"

But alas, I never took them back.

I sort of wish companies had sites of these instead of me having to drag my butt back to the store with a half-used box of diapers and two screaming kids and explain to some 15 year old sophomore in high school why I'm returning only half a box of diapers.

But the companies that do, I salute and support you.  It's nice to know my opinion matters to someone these days.

Because I'm pretty sure Tyffanye could care less about what I think.

So would you have returned the diapers? Do you make an effort to return stuff that doesn't work? Have you ever written to a company or shared your opinion with them and gotten a response?

Our House is a Very Very Very Fine House

Domestic Zeroism at its Finest

Do you think June Cleaver would have forgotten to clean the fuck up every now and then? I'd like to think so...

Feel free to share your own Domestic Zeroism (send me the links). UNITED WE STAND IN OUR SQUALOR!

(Okay, not really squalor, but it sounded good).

I Salute These Brave Women

Y

Taste Like Crazy

Southern Mom

Queen of Shake-Shake

Procrastamom

Payne Family Adventures

Impostor Mom

Hyphen Mama

Heather's Way

Family Hack

(And just a small caveat, I did clean up this room after my children were done wreaking havoc, and yesterday I purchased one of these... for my cleaning person/babysitter. SCORE!)

Little Kids, Big World

With all these researchers telling us that too much positive reinforcement can be detrimental to our children, I'm wondering what is okay to tell them.

Violence is bad.

Sex is worse.

And damned if you tell them "good job" too many times because they'll become narcissistic beasts that only feed on the praise of others.

What?

I grew up in a household where nothing was good enough and I would have taken any little morsel of praise I could get.

And so, I spent more than half of my life trying to earn kind words from others.

I tend to think that's more detrimental than telling our kids "good job" 14 times a day.

I foster independence in my daughter. If she makes a mess, she cleans it up herself or she helps me. She sets the table, puts away the silverware, and does what a three-year-old's fair share might look like around the house.

But she does use kid-sized plates and cups. She sits on a booster seat instead of on a low chair. And I cut her food.

She's a three-year-old and I try to treat her as such. And in my humble opinion, that means she needs a smaller fork, a potty seat, and lots of compliments.

If she doesn't do a good job, I find something she did do well. And if she doesn't win, I tell her "good game." But when it's so easy to pick out all the small little things our kids do that aren't so great, I think finding their positive points can help (not damage) their self-esteem.   

So if I'm accused of coddling her because I tell her does something well more than a few times a day, even if it's getting a whole spoonful of food in her mouth without it going all over her, then fine. I'll be a coddler.

And a proud one at that.

Plus, I tend to think that it's not well meaning, attentive, and loving parents who are raising maladjusted narcissistic adults.

Not that I have any experience with people like that.

The House of Choking Hazards

At least five times a day I am pulling something out of my son's mouth.

And no, it's not my nipple.

It's gum wrappers, carpet fuzz, and any other number of things that are considered choking hazards.

In fact, it's so bad that if you are missing any carpet fuzz, let me know. I bet my son has it in his mouth.

I'm not quite used to this because my daughter only put food in her mouth. She never touched an outlet,  never tried to get into the kitchen cabinets, and never put anything in her mouth that wasn't supposed to be there.

I'm trying to believe the amount of non-food items my son puts in his mouth is not directly related to his intelligence. I mean, his fine motor skills are pretty damn good for him to pick up the plastic tag thing that came off my shirt and stick it in his mouth.

But dang people. He finds it all and shoves it in there. The only way I know is a) he won't nurse with paper in there and b) he drools all over the place -- I suppose small plastic pieces you're about to choke on will do that.

Anyway, this is serious. I need to babyproof. And I know there are so many views on this.

"They live in your house, they have to adjust." Um, okay. I'll remember that.

"They rule the house. Clear everything and anything that could possibly be a potential hazard and live like monks." Yeah. Not going to happen either.

I do want to keep him safe, however, but I'm not really sure the best way to go about it. Gates on the stairway, plugs in the outlets, hooks on the kitchen drawers...

What else?

Domestic Zero.

*I interrupt this festival of rant-eous commentry to give you Facebook's response to why breastfeeding pictures are out, but pictures of starving girls, half-naked ladies, and a plethora of other disgusting photos are just dandy. And I still say, go deactivate your account.

I like housecleaning about as much as I like changing poopy diapers. While it's not terribly painful, it has to be done a bit more than I would prefer. And if I made enough money, I'd happily pay someone else to do it.

Clearly, I will not be the woman who was known for her clean house. And honestly, who wants to be? The lady with nice ass? Perhaps.

But no one wants their eulogy to include how "sparkling she kept her kitchen floor."

At least that's my excuse.

The huz seems to think otherwise.

He can barely drop his luggage and change his clothes before he starts vacuuming the floor. The floor that I had just vacuumed three-hours prior to his arrival home.

"If you had done right, then I wouldn't have to do it again" he explained.

Okay, Dad.

"Do you know anyone who JUST takes care of the kids and does nothing else?" he continues.

But I did clean... the toilet with your fucking toothbrush.

Now, keep in mind my husband likes to clean the kitchen floor with a spray bottle and paper towels. No swiffer, mop, or any combination thereof will do the floor any justice.

And therefore, I'm a slob.

Based on his description, you'd think we live in total squalor, when in fact, I spend a good part of my day cleaning up, washing dishes, blogging, cooking, doing laundry, paying bills, unpacking boxes, folding laundry, blogging, putting away dishes, and sweeping floors.

Oh. And parenting. Right. Those kids.

But he sees the pee stains my daughter leaves on the potty and all hell breaks loose.

If he were consistently clean (be glad I didn't take a picture of our closet or rather "room where it looks like someone vomited all of my husband's clothes") and didn't make it seem like I'm a total slacker because I'm not vacuuming every single day of the week, then it would be tolerable.

Hell, it would be fan-fucking-tastic.

But let's all remember who his parents are.

Yeah. Don't worry. He doesn't get my pity for that anymore either.

And so, I'm almost paralyzingly perplexed as to what to do. Do people vacuum every day? Do people clean the bathroom more than once a week, or maybe every two weeks if it looks okay? How often are other people mopping the floor?

But other than create a freaking schedule and checklist for myself (since, hellloooo I'm the only one living here for most of the week) or take a survey of women to offer some concrete proof, I'm not sure how to remedy the situation.

However, someone better lighten up pretty quickly because a domestic zero is waaaaaaaay better than the zero he's about to see in another room of the house.

---

Don't be a zero. Buy your tickets. More items JUST added to the pot! Including Starbucks Gift Certificates!

 

Petition Schmetition. Just Deactivate Your Account

And tell them why you're doing it.

"Your banning of breastfeeding pictures, but allowing of pro-ana photographs, and other pictures where women are blatantly objectified is unacceptable."

I know you're going to miss all the pokes and 4,000 other totally un-annoying and enjoyable features of Facebook.

Right?

Ducks support breastfeeding.

[If you've written a post about this topic, make sure to let Izzy know. She's rounding them up]

 

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I have a rule and that no one can wake up for the day when it is still dark.

I also want to win the lottery and wear size 6 jeans at Christmas.

He pops awake at around 5:45am and I stick him in the exersaucer, turn on the television, and try to get about 20 minutes more sleep.

I know I'm killing his brain with JoJo but the lack of sleep is going to do worse damage.

Aren't they supposed to be more tired when they start crawling around like lunatics, climbing on everything, and bumping their head so many times that you start shopping for "baby helmets?"

Nothing is sacred anymore, particularly small fuzzy balls and paper wads that get instantly stuffed in his mouth. I put him to bed the other night only to realize (after 20 minutes of screaming) that he had a piece of paper in there.

Nice one, huh?

And it's a bit hard to keep track of said paper treats when my eyes are half closed, and droopy, and

eurueirhkusfhkdfjahkjdfhjkahfeuwhlkjdjhfeuihfksjdhfeiufhewakfhkdsjfheufhkahjdfhkadfhjefhakdjfh

Oops. Head on the keyboard there.

Off to get some freaking sleeeeeeeeep, people.

And All I Got Was a Direct Ticket to Hell

So let me get this straight. She auctions off a bunch of pokemon cards that her kids snuck in her cart (but then she bought) and gets a bazillion hits and national recognition.

I accidentally take home a $6.95 duck that I don't even try to sell and I get tens of comments telling me I'm promoting thievery of the worst kind.

Sheesh, people. The thanks I get for ridding the shelves of Made-in-China toys.

Next time, I'm going to try to take Mei Lan.

Accidentally, of course. (I wonder how much I could get for her on eBay?).

So, I've decided to take a cue from my fellow mom blogger/entrepreneur and auction off the duck. That's right. "Danny" the duck (as it says on the tag attached to his ass) is up for grabs.

It's too damn hot here in Georgia. And I'm sick of grits.

(Thanks for idea, Suebob)

But the best part is that I'm donating all the proceeds to support my dear friend and your favorite blogger's Walk, er Casual Stroll for Tanner.

(Don't know Tanner? Read this post). Or this.

Raffle tickets are $1 a piece -- simply paypal me whatever you can spare to coolmompicks@gmail.com. Make sure to include your address (which I promise not to sell -- hey, I do have some morals) and your blog url (if you have one).

I'll put all the names in a hat (the more tickets you buy, the more chances you have to win) and the lucky winner will be the new owner of the duck.

And Motherhood Uncensored condoms.

Any duck who's worth his weight in feathers supports safe sex.

And a clitoral, g-spot, male/female stimulator (because I just happen to have an extra sample on hand).

Even ducks get lonely.

*PLUS: Southern Comfort for Mama Needs It Chocolate Lotion AND Lickable Massage Oil. All natural, handmade, and not-tested on animals. (Available in the shop 10/1). Thanks Mel!

*A brandnew masthead (you know you need it) from Amy's catalog! They'll even load it up on your blog.

*Two $10 Gift Cards to Starbucks courtesy of Sharon.

Please spread the word by swiping a button code at the bottom of this post. Raffle tickets can be bought through September 29 (Catherine's walk is September 30). Unfortunately, these donations are not tax deductible. You can donate the "official" way, but then you won't get a stolen duck and some rubbers.

Er, a Rubber duck (HA!).

(And if you have stolen items to sweeten the pot, or bought ones, or handmade ones that are highly covetable even moreso than the infamous duck, feel free to email me). I'll be updating this post regularly with the generous peoples' links who have contributed money as well as stuff.

Not only to support Tanner. But thievery of the very best kind.

<a href="http://motherhooduncensored.typepad.com/motherhood_uncensored/2007/09/and-all-i-got-w.html"><img src="http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j29/coolmompicks/wintheduck.jpg"/></a>

Potential Duck Owners (Show Them Some Love, Will Ya?)

Erin

Mrs. Chicken

Manic Mommy

Rebel Hart

Midwestern Mommy

Impostormom

Jackie

Lawyer Mama

Elizabeth

Amy

Mel

Geena

Bobita

Fishy Girl

Dana

Katie

The New Girl

Lori

Apricoco

Sharon

Sandra

Fairly Odd Mother

Kris

Christine

Live Blogging the Emmys Pre-Show. Well. As Much As One Can With Two Kids and a Bottle of Champagne

If you missed the show, my good friend has a pretty in depth commentary. Cheers!

Did Jaime Pressley just say she started working out 2 hours a day only 10 days post partum?

Cabbage soup diet? I guess breastfeeding didn't last very long. Or she's got ONE gassy baby.

Kate Walsh. One word. HAIR?

Why does everyone look so damn orange? I'm not even that drunk yet!

Steven Colbert -- is he wearing blush?

Kimora and Carson Kressley. Dead annoying non-celebrities walking.

Oh finally. A brunette. Julia Louis Dreyfus and her breasts.

Apparently I need that bra.

Ellen and Portia -- silver and gold. Hmmm. Not loving that.

The only interesting person is Kristen. And her dress is hot. Plus, um, her name is Kristen. DUH? Of course she's awesome.

Is it me or are all the dresses FUGLY? And ps Jaime Pressley. The cabbage diet didn't do much for your arms. OR VERY BAD HAIR.

-- Taking a break for bath and bedtime. --

Vanessa Williams. I like the green. Not so much her likeness to a bird. I think her hair might be thinning in the front, no? I still think she's a beautiful woman.

Yeah. Working out. *sigh*

Stars Stars arriving in cars. Oh Guliana with a G. You silly poet, you.

Sandra Oh no what the hell were you thinking with your hair? I'm thinking hair dressers are part of conspiracy tonight.

And I really really like it. A LOT. I have yet to see good hair. Except on the brunettes. Go figure.

WHAT? Guilana changed her name? I suppose Ranzig is better than DiPandi.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGIE.

Sweet. I love how he's so overtly gay now. I suppose he always way (duh). But I love him even more now.

Seriously.

Jeremy Piven. One word, my friend. SHAVE.

HEIDI KLUM. Sweet mother of GOD. What is with the hair tonight? Seal's hair = hot (heh).

I love that Heidi has rolls on her sides.

I can sleep a happy woman tonight.

(side note: my son is wide awake and terribly cute).

Rebecca O'Connell (ugh). I love that she looks like she eats, but could someone give her some lipstick?

And I say NO to the skinny tie.

Mary Louise Parker looks like she's wearing someone else's face. Maybe it's the dark hair? And I think she might lay OFF the weeds.

I love Katherine Heigl but I don't love those sleeves.

Christina Aguilera -- Hot Little Preggo in a Bottle! WOWZA.

Okay. It's official. Hair dressers = conspiracy. And you gotta love that she took off her engagement ring because it didn't match.

Hell. I'd have done the same thing.

That is, if I could actually fit INTO my ring. DANG.

I don't like Charlie Sheen.

Does anyone? I mean, really. Oy.

Teri Hatcher -- www.spanx.com, girl. Seriously.

Eek. Sandra Oh's shoes. Cool, but not so much for the dress.

Callie O'Malley - She's so cute but the hair is like 62. C'mon GIRLS.

Oooh Queen Latifah looks hot. Finally some sexy hair. It's not a freaking hair show people. Get a good hairdresser!

Julie Bowen is pregnant right?

Kanye -- "Go buy my album" -- why the self promo? Ugh. So tacky -- that and the gihugic glasses.

oooh. I saw a glimpse of Patrick. My Patrick.

Alright. I'm out kids.

Leave me your comments about all the fashion dos and don'ts from the show! 

Oh Shit.

I'm live blogging the Emmy's over here. If you're watching, come join me.

My Little Charmin Ultra Spokesperson

Upon completing a page in her new favorite book, Quinlan explained her choice when she was instructed to "color only the pictures on the page that you love:"

I love to poopie. And then I love to wipe my bum-bum with it. 

"I'm Coming" Takes On a Whole New Meaning

Thanks to Dana for this very interesting Mominatrix topic.

And it should be fairly obvious how the Mominatrix stays fit. Any guesses?

But what about you?

Because If I Could Make it Peel Off, I'd Be a Millionaire

I decided that maybe, just maybe, instead of whining about my husband being gone, and all my clothes not fitting me that perhaps I should try to something about it.

Non-surgical, that is. (Although I can sort of see the appeal of a tummy tuck).

I don't have huge gigantic aspirations. Actually, I just have really small ones.

Small butt and waisted ones.

What's so frustrating is that not only are women the ones having the babies and nursing the babies, we're carrying around the saggy reminder of those babies on our arms, stomach, legs, and butts.

It's like beat us while we're down. We're tired, we're irritable.

And we're scooping up our loose skin and sticking it down into our underpants.

I'm not trying to start a future MILFs club (although Lotta rocks and has a really amazing group of women working their butts off). Heck, I'm not even trying to be a MILF.

Okay. I lied. A little part of me wants to be so freaking hot.

HOT.

I just want to be able to wear most of the clothes that are in my closet comfortably. I know it's not about size. But to me, it is.

So I've been walking every other day on these one hour power walks from hell. I push the 50lbs of kids up and down the biggest hills in the Atlanta Sticks. And while I can't really tell if it's working, I definitely feel better.

Just sweating and moving has done wonders for my psyche.

I just hope it does the same for my ass.

(Many many thanks to Ryka for making shoes that do not cause me shin splints and actually look great. If you want a chance at winning a pair today -- FIVE chances -- then write a post about how you FIT it in as a busy or not so busy mom. Details are here. And lots and lots of free shoes are here.

And know that when you post you could really be helping a mom out who needs motivation to get started or just some ideas about how to fit it in when all she can think about is how many dishes need to be loaded in the dishwasher.)

*ahem*

Now With an Even Better Excuse to Drink Beer During Nap Time

If you happen to live in Ireland and are driving home in about 20 minutes, make sure to listen to me take on the Director of Crocs-Ireland on The Last Word with Matt Cooper (actually, you can go listen live and just pretend you're driving home in Dublin traffic!) thanks to this post of mine.

If you didn't catch my 4 seconds of fame, let me sum it up for you.

Me: Crocs are ugly and they're dangerous.

Crocs Ireland Rep: They're nowhere near as dangerous as any other shoe out there.

Me: Well then I must have missed all the reports about the dangers of loafers.

(Okay, so it was a bit longer, and I got to say how moms like crocs because it distracts from their mommy belly, and how they're anti-bacterial but when did that become a shoe requirement, AND how Crocs are taking advantage of poor tired moms who just see everyone wearing rubber shoes and we just buy them because HEY if everyone is wearing them including Mario Batali so they must be cool. Then the host called the crocs guy on how they are being banned from hospitals because of static).

And then it was done.

Dang. I had so many good one liners like:

We have to look at warning labels on our toys AND our shoes now?!

I guess they're good if you're planning on being stranded on an island.

When did we rely on boaters to start our trends? I prefer young teenage pop stars to control what I wear.

heh.

But, I got to talk to two lads with yummy Irish accents.

Prescott. Get ready for tens of hits from Ireland!

The Sleep Game

My daughter did not sleep through the night until she was two.

TWO YEARS OLD.

I hear rumors and urban myths about babies sleeping through the night. I've also heard tales of the Lochness Monster.

You get my drift.

I don't expect my son to sleep through the night. I have way bigger fish to cry, er, fry, but I would love to at least get him comfortable in his own room.

I'm fortunate in that I am able to put him his bed awake for naps and bedtime and if he's fed and tired, he will fall asleep on his own. That's one step in the right direction since my daughter would just scream for hours on end.

So, I've moved his playpen into his own room. I've set up a cd player with quiet lullabies on repeat.

But I still ended up having to get him after three hours, because I'd nurse him, put him down, and he'd wake up. And after awhile, I needed to get some sleep.

Even if I could just get a few hours in a row with him in his OWN bed and not in mine, that would be fabulous. Okay, it would be practically orgasmic.

Of course, he must be teething since his naps were incredibly short. And he just started crawling. So his brain is on rapid fire growing mode. This is just never good for sleep. I'd even consider giving him a bottle with cereal at night but that means I have to pump and do it every night. That's one thing when the huz is home and able to help me out. But I'm alone, pumping a bottle with a screaming child, well make that TWO children (and does that cereal bottle really work? seriously, I want the scoop!).

So here's what happened last night:

Down for bed at 7pm. Gave him some teething tablets. Slept until 11pm

Nursed him and put him down. Wakes up and cries. Picked him up and rocked him. Put him down. Wakes up and cries.

Reluctantly put him in my bed and then wake up every two hours not really to nurse but because he's rolling around and I can't sleep.

Awake at 6:30am.

I mean. He's not even really sleeping in my bed. And either am I. So I need to move him. I just need to have a sense of how often he needs to nurse. And how long to you let them "moan/whine" before you go in.

So how often does he need to nurse (he's 8 months but does not nurse well during the day; he eats rice cereal about 2-3 times a day since we're figuring out food issues? And I imagine that after he woke up at 11pm, I should have just nursed him, put him back in there, and then let him cry to fall asleep.

Teach Your Children Well

I'm incredibly indebted to you, the amazingly warm blogosphere, for lifting me up and carrying me into another day and not making me feel bad for not wanting to apologize but rather fling my middle finger high in the air towards the direction of Philadelphia (not anywhere near these folks, of course).

I'm happy to report that I have found a babysitter. And the power of pinot grigio and a warm bath. Thank you thank you thank you.

With Quinlan (like many of her bloggy peers) possibly starting germ central preschool next month and a shit-ton of bloggers with kids starting kindergarten, I figured it might be appropo to talk about school from the flip side -- that is, from the mouths of teachers.

I'll be talking about everything from mentally and physically preparing your kids for school, to what teachers would really like parents to know about their job tonight on my radio podcast from 9-10pm EST tonight.

I'm so pleased that Lara David, blogger and high-school teacher turned pre-school teacher extraordinaire, and author and one of my favorite dads and guests Robert Wilder will be joining me to discuss everything you wanted (or didn't want to know) about school plus Robert's new book "Tales from the Teacher's Lounge."

Click here to listen live or if you're able to call in (646) 915-8634, I'd love to hear from you. And please leave a comment or email me a question, and you'll be entered to win a copy of Robert's book.

And if you don't want to miss a show, make sure to subscribe via iTunes (Motherhood Uncensored) and sign up for my podcast feed.

No Room at the Inn, er, Preschool

I'm LIVE on the air right now. Come listen! (or better, call in -- 646-915-8634)

I know you've been just dying to know whatever happened with the cheap cost-effective preschool.

Two words: Waiting list.

By the time they got back to me, they had sold out (is that what happens at preschools?) all the spots. So, I had sort of resigned myself to museum visits, organized playgroups, and dressing up like "the Queen" for at least 2-hours everyday.

I love the crown but those corsets are a bitch.

But then, I decided to be brave and email this cool "cooperative" preschool close to town. I asked about their waiting list and then I waited.

And waited.

Until last week they emailed me back and said while their main campus was on a short waiting list, their other campus (close by) had two open spots for the 2-day 3-year-old class.

OPEN SPOTS!?

Cue angels singing!

However, I have to wait until the open house on September 20 before I can put my application in, and then I have to wait for their building to be finished (we're hoping she'll not be a college student by that time). But it looks promising.

And these days, that's a very good thing.

So what are some helpful hints you have about preparing your kids (and yourself) for preschool/school? Supplies? Clothes? Mental Health?

Share them here, or please please, call in to my radio podcast tomorrow night (please note: the current show that will play is ADULTS ONLY, so just be forewarned if you have kids nearby)! I've got two great guests -- blogger Lara David (a high school turned preschool teacher) and author Robert Wilder with his new book "Tales from the Teacher's Lounge." He's the dad, columnist, and author of one of my favorite books "Daddy Needs a Drink" (and one of my favorite podcast guests as well).

Make sure to listen WED NIGHT 9-10pm EST (click here) and call in (646) 915-8634. Leave me a question/comment/email or call and I'll enter you to win his new book!

And if you want to never miss a Motherhood Uncensored podcast, make sure to subscribe via iTunes and to my podcast feed.

And did you see my new Cafemom group? If you're a pilot's wife or know someone who is, please tell them about my group. I decided that I need some like-minded support!

Detox

My husband took it upon himself to enlighten me about several of my less than admirable qualities last night as they related to the whole "mail" incident.

It's generally how his version of "a conversation" goes. Try a list of all of Kristen's shitty personality traits.

"You have a problem with authority. You cry all the time. You keep score about everything."

Apparently by not answering the phone when they call me, I'm using my daughter as a pawn in my sweet game of revenge.

So let me set the record straight.

The've called me three times. That's THREE more times than they have EVER called me.

To tell me that they were sorry for barrelassing me over my own wedding. To tell me they were sorry for saying mean things behind my back to my best friend. To tell me they were sorry about my miscarriages, the mean things they said to Quinlan and their almost total lack of involvement in her life when she was living there.

Then there's the bras, the shoes on the bed, the ass smacking, and everything else that I've documented.

Scorekeeper? Abso-fucking-lutely!

So, as I told my husband, excuse me if I'm not so motivated to pick up the phone and hand it over to Quinlan so she can talk to them.

Admittedly I have felt stifled in my attempts to discuss what's really bothering me about my in-laws. I write about them here because making light of it is the only way I can deal with the immense hurt they have caused me. And while my husband has talked to them about some (just some) of the things that have happened, there's been no resolution. No apologies. 

And I'm pissed. I'm resentful. And I'm totally unsympathetic to their plight.

But because I'm not a bitch, I did apologize for not letting them know about their mail. And chances are, if they call, I will answer the phone and hand it to Quinlan so she can talk to her grandparents because that is important. Her untainted view of them, at least until they screw her over, is of high priority to me.

And they did let us live there for free. The least I could do is let her tell them she doesn't want to talk to them. (She's not much of a phone conversationalist) 

But I've realized that there's just no point holding onto this shit. All the crap that my husband pulled the first year of my daughter's life. All the crap they pulled and continue to pull. It does me absolutely no good to keep crying over this stuff anymore because I've got bigger fish to fry.

I'm struggling here.

Being alone in this house for up to five days at a time is a challenge. There are cool neighbors, friendly bloggers, and a great city to distract me from my loneliness and general overwhelm. But even though my children are freaking top notch, having at least one of them in my presence for more than half the day almost every day is exhausting.

No, it's mind numbing.

So the last thing I needed to hear from my husband is how incredibly mean of a person I must be to not call my asshole in-laws so they can talk to their granddaughter.

Because guess what? I already feel pretty terrible about myself.

I've yelled at my daughter two more times than I ever have before (that would be never). All I want to do in any of my free time is sleep. And I'm tired of feeling like a shell -- a transparent being that just barely exists. To feed the kids, to clean the house, to write a funny post. I feel totally and utterly unmemorable.

But that doesn't start with anyone but me.

I think I need to clear a little space in my soul for some goodness before my toilet overflows with all this crap.

So maybe I'm not going soft. Maybe I'm just learning how to let go.

And I'll deal with my husband later.

Bite Me

I'm pretty sure I had "My baby will not grow up to be a biter" on my birth plan under "I like pain so don't offer me anything that might affect my glorious experience of it."

Biting sucks.

It's one thing for your kid is the bitee, but I bet it's a whole other mortifying ball game when your kid is the biter. It doesn't matter how good your martinis are or how tantalizing your spinach-artichoke dip in pumpernickel without water chestnuts (because um, that crunch is almost spine shivering) because you've got a biter. Fingers are pointed, secrets are whispered, and you try to figure out exactly what you did wrong that made your kid a biter.

I'm not sure how I would respond if my daughter decided to nibble on a playmate's arm. 

"I forgot to feed her before we came."

"It's not my fault your kid's arm looks like an Oscar Meyer hot dog."

"It could be worse. She could have grabbed his ass."

Yeah. Those just don't seem to cut it. But I have to say, I'm not so sure having a biter is as bad as having a hugger.

We've yet to encounter a biter, but we ran into plenty of huggers this past week, and honestly, I think I'd take a biter over a hugger any day.

See with a biter, the parents intervene instantly, apologize profusely, and then watch their child like a hawk. And unless their child is an IV drug user (like most three year olds in our neighborhood), there is little chance my kid is going to die from a bite.

But a hugger? Good God they never stop!

Even when they're about to wrestle your daughter underwater from a hug that looks more like a tackle, the parents do little but say "Oh, he just likes to hug."

I mean, I like to hug too, but I generally try to make sure people can breathe when I do it.

The parent offers a couple of idle threats, directs a mean stare their way, and then just let them continue on with their love fest of suffocation.

I guess people perceive hugging as being warm and friendly. But guess what? A lot of things can be warm and friendly until they are done 20 times in a five-minute span. I mean, after watching both my kids get knocked down with "warm and friendly" hugs, I was about to offer their arms up for a biting sacrifice.

"Here kid. Bite their arms so you can get in trouble and LEAVE MY KIDS ALONE."

And quite frankly, most biters grow out of it in a matter of months. Better verbal skills, a bit more frustration tolerance, and the only biting they'll do will hopefully be for the pleasure of others later in life (heh).

But huggers? Cripes. I still know way too many of those.

And they're my age.

At Least I Know All The Brain Cells I'm Losing Are Going to Good Use

Um. You do know these were done by Quinlan, right? Clearly my lego work is far less stellar.

The Pooperologist

I spent the entire first year of my daughter's life obsessed with her poop thanks to my foremilk imbalance and elimination diet.

It's amazing what motherhood can do to you. Running to check the poop if someone else changed it. Asking them not to throw it away. Holding it under the light.

I was a regular poop investigator. or "The Pooperologist."</