The curious case of the toddler and the porn-like music.

Last night as I did the stand and sway, nursing my little cherub to sleep- which is getting more difficult by the day, they grow so fast - The Boss reached a up a sweet chubby little hand, placed in on my cheek and said "Baby Mine".

Swoon.

One more round of Baby Mine on the house little one! As his eyes fluttered, fighting sleep, he popped off blinked his big blue eyes at me and said:

Bow chicka bow wow!

Um. Excuse me? I asked, what did you say?

Bow chicka bow woooooooow, Mommy!

I kissed his goose egged forehead and went downstairs hoping and praying that my mother in law and sister in law, who both were cheerleaders had taught him the Booma Chicka Boom cheer.  Nope. Neither one had, although they vowed to do so.

Next up I cornered the men in the fam...the likeliest suspects, non? Who on earth, said I, has been exposing my child to porn, or at the very least terrible cheesy porn-like music?!

Shakespeare really should have written "Hell hath no fury like a mother who thinks someone has shown her baby something innapropriate". Although, that doesn't have quite as good a ring to it.

The boys faces quickly paled and both denied any such thing, of course. They never would do such a thing. (for real, they NEVER would do something. This child is so very loved and protected, I always say to him that I wish all babies in the world were as loved as he is) I may have been a little, how you say, irrational? And craving chocolate like a crack whore craves crack. You get the point. The menfolk both wracked their brains to figure out where The Boss could have learned such a musical phrase!

Aha! Cried TOTT. The Motown documentary they watched several days ago! The Boss had loved the section where they laid down the tracks one by one and the bassist vocalized his line along with playing.
Boom. Chicka. Bow. Wow.
They had replayed it several times for him. Cause he's The Boss.
Phew.

My child, not exposed to porn at all, just a run of the mill musical genius.

Tangled up in blue...Huggies Jeans Diaper blue, that is!

TOTT and I are midgets...errrr...small people. 

Hanging with Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O'Connell. Like ya do.

Someone call Alanis because I've got a new one for her song. An actual ironic moment. Not just bad luck, or poor planing. Actual irony. But more on that in a minute.

There is something about NYC that usually makes me want to take a Xanax. Since I'm a bad weaner, Xanax isn't an option right about now. Curse you Xanax and your non-safe-for-nursing-relaxingness!

Let me just tell you, that if you need to hit NYC may I recommend you arrive as the guests of the fantastic Huggies team. When I received the email asking me if we would like to attend the Huggies Jeans Diaper fashion show and inviting Max to be in the fashion show,  I was like...hold on let me check my sched. OH HECK YEAH!! First off, Max already rocks the Huggies. Second, who doesn't want to go to NYC for a fashion show! I though I could live out some sort of 90's Carrie Bradshaw fantasy. Only instead of D&G hot pants it would be jeans diapers. The Huggies team even popped some in the mail to us so we could try them out before we got there.
I think they are adorable! I've seen some rumblings on the internet about them and to those people I say lighten up! They're diapers, they look like jeans, and they are so cute. You know I love a baby in a diaper, and this adds to it. I've always been a wee bit jealous of the adorable cloth diaper covers...why can't disposable diapering moms have some fun too?  TOTT, Max and I took the train from DC armed with an Elmo video and a well stocked diaper bag full of treats. The moment our train arrived in New York my phone rang. How lovely! It was Attitude New York letting us know our car was waiting for us. Let me just tell you, hopping into a driven Escalade complete with car seat is a lovely way to roll into the city. Well done, Huggies.
We were driven to the W Hotel at Union Square, a swanky hotel which at first glance might not seem to baby friendly, but the entire staff simply couldn't have been nicer to Max, the door man and the kiddo had a nice high five or two and we were off to our room.  And what a lovely room it was!

Then it happened.

We settled in and I started to clean the little tyke up before we headed off to dinner and then TOTT and his fellow producing partner were to see American Idiot. I started digging through the diaper bag, and then the suitcase feeling the panic rise as I futily searched.

It went like this:

Me: Dude. We forgot diapers!
TOTT:  Who is this 'we', kimosabe?
Me: Shut it you! We. Have. No. Diapers.(I start to giggle)  At a diaper event.
TOTT: It's like ray-ee-ain on your wedding day! (he starts to laugh)
Max starts to laugh too, just cause we are.
Me:(Laughing)  I can't believe we are here for a diaper event and have no diapers.
TOTT: (laughing) I'll just run out and get some.

Knock.Knock.Knock.

TOTT: (confused face-answers door) Hello?

Adorable Hotel Worker Marian: Miss Dulli? Huggies would like to welcome you to New York.

She then proceeds to hand me a Skip Hop denim (natch) diaper bag. I say thank you and the moment she leaves we begin giggling again. I tear open that bag and whatdayaknow! DIAPERS! Huggies literally saves the (stinky) day! After the kid was changed and we had wiped our tears of laughter and totally rewrote Alanis' song (remind me to send it to her. It's pretty good. And features actual irony) we dug into that cute bag and whoohoo! more goodies!

Along with the diapers and bag were coupons for more free diapers (squee!) a gc to cover eating out etc. and oh yeah...a FLIP video camera.


We headed up and moved on out to meet the friends for dinner. I've no idea where we ended up, exept that it was totally YUM and featured this:

Ultra awesome super sly taken on the go pic of Uncle Jesse in several poses. How oddly awesome.

At that point I wasn't aware that Rebecca Romijn was the Celeb mom. Weird, non? (note to Alanis, NOT ironic though.)

After a quick trip to the St. James theatre, Max and I were off to the hotel to catch some ZZZZ's before his big day! We started out with a lovely breakfast with our fellow bloggers who were total rockstars. I don't mean to be biased, but seriously...some outrageously adorable children amongst the bloggers. They kids quickly got acquainted as did we. Is there anything cuter than a bunch of 18 mo-2 year olds playing together?

We got the kids ready for the fashion show and then two of the tallest, most beautiful people ever walked in the room. Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O'Connell. The two of them were very nice and down to earth! Even better they seemed to genuinely like babies and were happy to interact with them. Jerry told Max that he had two little girls at home for him...so it looks like Lauren the waitress has some competition. I know I'll be the mother of the groom, but I've got some great ideas for the Dulli-O'Connell wedding.

Before you knew it we were off to the fashion show! Having done a bunch of these myself as a kid I know how hectic they are and you add babies into the mix and it's a whole lot crazier! There were a couple of mix ups, and we felt a little ummmm, second fiddle there for a second but the Huggies Team was on the case and took care of everything politely and brilliantly!

I was very proud of Max, he's done a ton of photo shoots so he's a pro with that, but this was his very first fashion show and he did very well!

The Huggies team even let me know that he ended up on the life.com website and he even made the Access Hollywood promo for the event. Well done, Max.

I wish the shirt was shorter so you could see the jeans diapers!

We had a wonderful time, and the diapers are great. We used them overnight in NY and they held up beautifully while Max slept for 11 hours! Go Huggies! (and Go Max) They fit him like a dream and I think they are cute. Why not have a little fun while keeping our little ones dry? Everytime I've asked M to bring me a diaper he's chosen the Jeans diaper so I guess he likes em too. Get em while you can cause they are only available during the summer. Thank you to Huggies for hosting us, we had a lovely time and we love the jeans diapers!

Wordless Wednesday~ Apple. Tree. Not far.

                                                        Apple.               Tree.

TOTT makes this face when he looks in the mirror. It's kinda Blue Steel-like. The whole of the American Dream teases him about this. The other night TOTT had given M a bath and had combed their hair so it matched. M looked in the mirror, made the face and said:

"I LOVE MAX"

Clear as a bell. I am in so much trouble 

We just went there for eggs...

I will admit I have a weakeness for Bob Evans pancakes. I mean, it's no waffle from Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles (hold the chicken for me please) but they are dang good and the second we walk in the toddler starts calling 'cakes! the cakes!'

Max lives in a really nice world. Every where we go someone swoons over him. Tells him he's gorgeous. I want to live in that world, don't you? Bed head? Awwww, so cute. Covered in food? So sweet! Mismatched clothes because you refuse to take off the guitar shirt? How sweet are you??

In fact, not to long ago Max caused a fight. He was cruising along at the mall and TOTT and I were relishing all the comments made either too us, or just overheard about how fantabulous our kiddo is. An adorable couple approached him, the 20 something blond girl said to her man "isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen?" the boyfriend responded "eh, it's a baby." The light went out of her eyes and TOTT whispered to me "oh his stock just dropped." She turned on him, how could he not think that baby was the cutest thing? Agreed blond girl! How dare he! We passed by them and kept going, but I'm pretty sure that Max prevented that pretty blond girl from marrying a cold hearted baby hater. We passed by them later at the food court and all was not well in Camelot. You're welcome random blond girl at Tyson's Corner Mall.

It was no surprise to me that when me and Mommy's Ma (my mom, as opposed to Daddy's Ma) took him to Bob Evans and the waitresses went all ga ga over him. I adore that people treat him well, and they always coo when he says please and thank you. Raising a boy with good manners is important to me. I hope he is always fawned over, but I will not allow him to expect preferencial treatment, abuse it, or take it for granted. I will do my best to raise a grateful child, and one who treats others as beautifully as he is treated. It's a glorious life for him so far. I wonder if he will grow up gorgeous or if this is the pinnacle of his cute. Either way, I just think he is the bees knees y'all! I know you feel the same way about your babes, and that's just the way it should be.

We had a lovely waitress named Lauren who immediatly proclaimed her undying love for Max. She was about 22 and adorable and was rushing around with an injured leg. Dude. I admired the heck out of her as she raced around limping from table to table with a big smile on her face and a kind word for everyone. Max pulled out all the tricks for her. Showing off all his signs and singing his songs for her, which now include Something and Here Comes the Sun. He played guitar and peek a boo. Lauren the Waitress stood no chance.

And so along with eggs and pancakes I can announce the betrothal of my only son to Lauren the Waitress, who had her friend the hostess draw Max his very favorite thing in the world (other than 'both sides' thankyouverymuch) and offered me this clearly legal contract to care for Max in the manner in which he has become occustomed, in 25 years.

Legally binding guitar contract.

So, at age 27 I shall hand Max off to Lauren the Waitress....wait. No. I don't wanna! He's all mine! He's never getting married! But maybe Lauren the Waitress will give us free pancakes from now till I break the news. I just can't share this bambino. He's all mine! I've got the ruined belly button to prove it.

What kind of crazy a$$ Sesame Street has he been watching?

Overnight my sweet pumpkin boy has turned into toddler dictator with a vengeance. He's got a mind of his own and by God you will bow to his will!
We are still fighting to tame the sleep dragon and hoepfully moving him into his own room this past weekend was a step in the right direction. He's a good napper, but not so much at night.
Until this last week. Suddenly he is practically screaming 'off with your head!' when I dare to bring him to the crib for a quick nap.
All the while he is rubbing his eyes and his head is too heavy for his neck. (Honestly his cheeks have got to weigh two pounds each, those bad boys are plump. And delicious.)
As I carried him down on Friday he began screaming, loudly and clearly:

la la la la la

la la la la la

la la la la la la

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing! Sing a sooooooooooooooooooooooooooong!!! 

But in some sort of vicious death metal screaming growl.  It was terrifying and impressive all at the same time.

What sort of crazy a$$ Sesame Street has he been sneaking behind my back?




Despite his protestations, the second his future death metal head hit his uber cute antique truck sheets he was out like the proverbial light and he woke up singing a much sweeter version of the same song.

So, the cure for death metal is clearly more naps.

As it turns out...

As it turns out, I did learn something at Crazy Hippie Montessori School in Boulder! I dig Montessori, but this particular school was a no. I mean at the time, as a youngster it was an emphatic YES! Dub and I spent our days drawing, playing let's pretend, and 'learning' long division by moving pretty turquoise balls back and forth in test tubes.

I put 'learning' in quotes because let's just say that long division is neither mine, nor Dub's strong suit.

Percentages though, percentages I got. I can figure a percentage like nobodies business. I need that skill for strategic shopping purposes.

Our mothers pulled us out of Crazy Hippie Montessori School at the end of 4th grade plunking us smack in the middle of the establishment's public schools for 5th. Say what? Desks? Homework? We were woefully unprepared. While Dub knuckled down and towed the line- smart girl - I preferred to act out and live in an imaginary world where I was a princess and had a horse. (So...nothing's changed except now the horse is a super safe awesome SUV to put the kiddo in.) The school district decided to hold me back in 6th grade because my 'imagination was too strong'. Can you imagine? The thought of a child's imagination being quashed makes my blood boil.

Perhaps they should have tried to hold me back because I didn't KNOW MATH. The very math they couldn't be bothered to teach me. But that's another matter.  So Mrs. Pinchuck, wherever you are, a little more attention on the teaching and a little less attention on the being mean. Also? If you have a strong Southern Dialect, don't get mad if you say mirrah in a spelling test and I write MIRRAH. You gotta say the terminal R sound for a little kid to get it!

Today Mr. Max happily trotted over to me with his lovely kelly green recorder, handed it to me and said "Mommy! Do this!" I promptly performed both Hot Cross Buns and Mary Had a Little Lamb.

Score one for Crazy Hippie Montessori School. Recorders are big in Montessori. And now I am big to Mr. Max.

Children bring us such joy!

Don't they? Don't your children just make your heart light and your cheeks hurt from smiling? Mine does. Ah, the sweet voiced way he says "Hi Mommy" can make my fluttering heart practically fly out of my chest and hearing him sing Big Yellow Taxi (well to be fair, he only sings the oooooooooo bop bop bop part) in the car just makes my whole day.

He is an utter delight.

But this week we have entered new phase of joy from children...the inadvertantly saying dirty things phase.

Maybe I'm twelve (okay I totally am twelve) but when Mr. Max asks for his 'dum dicks' I giggle every time!

BTW 'Mommy, dum dicks!" translates to "oh dearest mummy, would you please get me my drum sticks and move the rock band drums to the center of the living room so that I might, indeed, rock the house?"

Of course the answer is: YES! You're a rock god my little man and plus? mommy can have a little more coffee while you are banging the drum (silently) loudly.

Like all little ones his lexicon is a mix of actual English and then a great deal of Max-enese. It took me nearly a week to figure out that a tekko is actually a helicopter, while boon is a much more easily recognizable version of balloon.

Last night though I was at a loss for words. Max wasn't. He wanted poon. (oh the google searches that will lead to this post, eh? Sorry boys nothing to see...move along!) He wanted more poon. He wanted eat more poon. Max want poon. Daddy eat poon. Mommy eat poon. Poon, poon POON!!! His frustration  that I just did not understand what he wanted (because surely he did not want, y'know...the actual slang meaning) and wasn't readily giving up the poon was growing by the second. He was becoming more and more adamant in his want...no his need for poon!!!

And I was laughing and wishing I had a tape recorder. The more I tried to understand and take him seriously the more I giggled. Because I am 12. The more I giggled the more frustrated he became.

Thank heavens I finally opened the fridge in a desperate attempt to find something he might like and he joyously cried "POON!" and reached for the vanilla pudding.

Ooooooh. Pudding. I see - Poon. Ok, poon thou shalt have! I mean who doesn't love a good pudding! (Well, me. But that's besides the point.)

Ah, one more mystery solved. And now on to the next. Out of the mouths of babes!

Schooled by a clown.

Photo courtesy of I have no idea, but I wish I did cause it's awesome.

When I was in Elementary School Ronald McDonald himself came to teach us about fire safety. I guess he was an expert from always being around all those deep fryers and griddles. Maybe Mayor McCheese busted him jaywalking and this was his community service. Whatever it was he was there, in person, and we were stoked! I can only imagine how the teachers were laughing their butts off at us going all Jonas Brothers over Ronald friggin McDonald. ( Dare you to diagram that sentence. Seriously, I need grammar for dummies.)

(Actually don't, I beg of you. Don't diagram any of my sentences, I actually need Grammar for Kids Who Went To Hippie Montessori School And Spent All Day Playing Let's Pretend So When They Got To Public School And Ronald McDonald Came It Was Too Late Because Everyone Already Knew About Adverbs And Multiplication Tables And Such.)

( Anyone know where I can get a copy of that? )

Now, I myself have never been a big fan of clowns, especially ones who are later arrested for *ahem* messing with kids, as this specific incarnation of Ronald McDonald was. And also? Well done on that background check Mickey D's.

So there we all are in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium being taught the Stop, Drop, and Roll by THE Ronald McDonald. No,  it never occured to us that there could be more than one. He may have hocked Happy Meals but he was a celebrity in our midst you guys!

We all took it very seriously because for reals, who wants to be on fire? Ok, fine so those monks and the dudes who doing it for the movies seem to be cool with it (how does one discover that is your special skill?) But who else? Not this fifth grader thankyouverymuch. I burned my hand on the tailpipe of our volvo (don't ask) when I was a bitty thing and I was not interesed in reliving that kind of pain.

Stop. Drop. Roll.

Just a note to Ronald for future reference, you might want to specify which way you want the kids to roll because Mike Ferry  got a feel of a lot more than I was prepared for him too. Or maybe you planned it that way. Eeeeeeew.

This weekend I snuck in to check on the kidlet. He had a rough night the night before and I was anxious and desperate for sleep. Please, for the love of all things holy kid, sleep! Using my trusty iPhone as a flashlight I peered in at the crib. (oh you know you do it too, don't even pretend) when he stirred, rubbing the cutest little fist every over his eyes. I froze. No...

 I STOPPED. I DROPPED.  And then I ROLLED over next to his dresser and held my breath until I was sure he was sleeping peacefully again.

Dang. That creepy clown's lesson came in handy.

Wordless Wednesday~ The skills that pay the bills

or:
 Performance Art Instalation Number One

Wordless Wednesday~ A lesson in independence.

Place the most precious thing in the entire universe on moving horse, maintaining vice like grip.

Begin journey: up and down, round and round.

No need to guess who the photographer was. 

Suddenly the most precious thing in the universe no longer wishes to be held on to. 

Could he really be ready? I know I am not.

I guess the lesson is really for me, not him. 

Give them wings and all that, right? 

Daylight Savings tips for toddlers

Before I had one of these running around:

I never thought that Daylight Savings time was a big deal. Spring forward? Cool, one extra hour to sleep in. Fall back? Well, I'd just have to drag my sorry booty to class 'early' for a few days until I got used to it or, more likely, oversleep. Hmmm. Why didn't I finish that Anthropology degree again?

But now that the wee one is here I see just how the panic rises as the date moves closer and threatens the holiest of holies: the sleep schedule.

Daylight Savings is one hour to be fretted over, dreaded, and dare I say it - feared?

Fear no longer, mothers of the world (for I know it is by and large YOU that handle the havoc that is wrecked upon our (non) sleeping babes), I have found the answer.

GO TO HAWAII!!! 

What's one measly hour to a toddler? pffft. Nothing. Let's talk about six. Six hour difference...and then oh! let's toss in a spring forward just for fun, k?

Perhaps you think I jest, but I do not!
Day one: fly to Los Angeles from Washington, D.C., giving baby a smack of 3 hours difference. Whoohooo!!! We landed at 10 p.m.- 1 a.m. for the kiddo. Kid will be so jacked up and wiggly from being contained in a flying tube of steel that he will race around the apartment until midnight LA time...THREE A.M. D.C. time. *sigh*

Day two: Toddler will sleep until around 10 a.m. LA time, suhweet! Naptime...if he will do it, at 2 p.m., then bed at 10...progress y'all!
Day three: Toddler up at 8 a.m. LA time~ no nap, as we are off to Hawaii!!! Kid up till midnight again...which is now 3 a.m. LA time, and 6 a.m. DC time. (*note, mothers are allowed a small sob fest due to extreme exhaustion)
Day four: HAWAII! Kid sleeps til 9 a.m. Hawaii time...thank.God. Refuses nap, preferring to hold concert in lobby:

Then passes out in the lobby mid guitar strum.

Bedtime @ 10:30 p.m. not perfect, but we'll take it!

Day 5 officially on Hawaii time! Although refuses to sleep in hotel provided crib, insisting on sharing bed with Daddy. (Mommy thanks heaven for two separate beds in the room! whoohoo!)

Day 6...Daylight Savings time. I loathe you.

Then before you know it, it's back to Los Angeles; and we start all over again!
Day one, bedtime 12:30 a.m. *yawn*
Day two: sleeps til 10:30 a.m. and refuses nap, fights bedtime, finally collapsing in the cutest little heap ever at 10:30 p.m.

Day three....I'll let you know. But one little hour doesn't seem so bad now does it.

So, I say if you must battle the time change, you should all do it in:

HAWAII!

Go for it, for while the time change may be a struggle, you will be struggling in paradise. And the pina coladas don't hurt either!

** Thank you all for your sweet tweets/comments/emails about the little ones face. A few days of hydrocortizone and it is on the ment. Still there, but barely noticible.I appreciate your concern.

Wordless Wednesday~ Pearl Harbor

On top of the world at Pearl Harbor

He is most definitely my whole world.

Dads are from Mars, Moms are from Guilt-upiter.

We are back on the Mainland (do I sound like an Islander? I've giving it a whirl, but I don't think it's working, I feel like a poser. Oh wait, I totally am!) I could have stayed in Oahu forever, but we did get to scratch all our 'must-do's" and "must-buys" off of our list so yay us! I hula'd and Zach surfed and Max swam in the wa-wa, blew our minds learning a ton of new words and signs, and took a 'tar lesson, I would give this trip an A-.

 It would be an A + except for the fact that I failed as a mother.

*sigh*

The day after the beautiful wedding of Danny and Tim we all headed out to Hanauma Bay to snorkel (a must do on the ol' bucket list) and despite keeping Max under a near constant mister of 10000 spf, he still got a sunburn. I got crazy burned, but what else is new. Big deal...but the baby getting sunburned? Total heart attack - I want-to-kill-myself-mom-failure.
He wasn't so much sunburned as sunkissed. Whatever you call it, he was a loverly shade of pink which only adds to the whole pudgy pigletness of him.

I swoon for that piglet.

Once he was stripped of his swimsuit and the beach was washed away, I basically freaked. It became increasingly clear that moms and dads just deal with things differently. Not that dads don't care; but it's just a boatload of difference. It went a bit like this:

Me: Oh no! Max has a little sunburn!
Zach: Oh, poor dude.
Me: Oh my God, how could this happen? I sprayed him constantly and put extra stuff on his face! My poor baby! He's so pink. We need some aloe. We have to get some aloe, we need it rightthisveryminute! Do you want to go or should I?
Zach: (turning on CNN) eh.
Me: ok, I'll go. Keep an eye on him. Do you think we should give him some Tylenol? Do you think he hurts?
Zach: he's ok, he's barely pink!
Me: I'll be right back.

At which point I race down to the hotel gift shop and practically assault the poor, sweet, 19 year old girl working behind the counter.

Me: Do you have Aloe? I need some Aloe, my baby has a suburn!
Her: Yeah sure, here you go.
Me: Do you maybe have one of those little whip things? You know the ones the Priests use to punish themselves? Like the Davinci Code?
Her: uh...we have a feathered gord for hula dancing.
Me: Can I beat myself up with that? Because I am like theworstmothereverandIletmybabygetsunburned.
Her: ummm, I don't think so. It's for dancing.
Me: What about a stamp that I could put smack dab on my forhead, that like says MOM FAIL or something? Oh! Or a T-shirt that says it. Like a scarlet letter of motherhood failure, to let everyone know how awful I am as like part of some pennance?
Her: We have conch shell necklaces.

She was right. That would be worse than a scarlet letter or a mom fail stamp across my forhead. *shudder* I couldn't bring myself to suffer the necklace of 1987 coolness and thus resolved to continue the (not so) silent berating of myself for being the worst.mother.ever. (tm).

Also, I made up all of that conversation past "do you have Aloe?" and" yeah, here you go."

But I felt it. I felt his sunburn as an utter failure. My husband? Well, he was obviously (and appropriately I might add) concerned but it didn't mark a complete failure of his skills in the fathering department.

And here's something they never tell you: your sweet baby might be allergic to a certain kind of sunblock. It might make his face red. You might then surmise that he is getting sun and apply more of it, until you realize it is not a burn, or a 'heat rash' as everyone is so quick to dismiss it, but in actuality a bad reaction to something you have been purposely applying to your child. Repeatedly.

I'll take that conch shell necklace now. Mea Culpa.

this hurts my soul.

Hawaii 5-O.

Today we take off to Los Angeles, and then to HAWAII!! I am so looking forward to this, despite two 5 hour flights with a toddler. Heaven help us all.
Luckily between the flights there will be two days of play time with sister Dub, WWJD, and their two amazing little boys Zuzu and Ben.
I cannot wait!
After our little LA respite we'll be off to celebrate the union of Max's Guncles. I am honored to be performing the ceremony as these two lovebirds finally make honest men out of one another.
And to anyone who bristles about the sanctity of marriage I present to you:

Photo from ABC.com

Max's Guncles have been together for longer than my husband and I, and I am so looking forward to the big party celebrating their decision to spend the rest of their lives together. I will try to blog from Hawaii, and at least post some lovely pictures...although I must warn you, I appear to be impervious to spray tans and self tanners. So, I'd like to apologize in advance for my whiter shade of paleness and invite you to possibly don sunglasses before viewing the upcoming pictures so as to avoid white blinded eye damage.

I'm a little nervy about flying with a toddler who in the last three days has suddenly gone from easy going dude, to TODDLER TYRANT! The tantrums this sweet angel is throwing are dramatical to say the least. I wonder where on earth he might have inherited that from?

Harumph.

Anyhoo, I've found the sunblock and packed everything I can until the Stinker wakes from his nap...and away we go! Wish us luck!!!

I'll try to pop on, but since we live in the 90's and have not a laptop amongst us (HOW WILL I SURVIVE!) it might not happen. I hope you will all patiently await my return, I promise to regail you with silly tales of the islands. Promise.  And then be patient again, as I try to catch up on my blog reading, which is certain to be crazy overwhelming!

Wordless Wednesday~ On the late tip.

Otherwise known as Sisyphus, oh Sisyphus part duex.

9:00 a.m.

9:10 a.m.

9:17 a.m.

Sisyphus! Oh Sisyphus!

Before I had a baby I always thought of Sisyphus whenever I did laundry. As soon as I managed to finished it all and had it put away there were many more loads to be washed. Sigh.

So naive. 

One tiny baby not only increases the laundry exponentially but the same tiny baby brings a Sisyphusian (Sisyphian?) element to activities never before thought imaginable.

Example one.
 Every morning, every afternoon and at least 10 times in the evening The Stinker and I have the same battle of wills. Yesterday I won round twenty. Today I lost round one.

Submitted for your approval: (please note the Cheerio on the right shoulder, he's saving it for later.)

"Who me?"

"But Mommy, you told me to wash my hands!"

Like Puppy, like baby. 

In case you're wondering, yes, he does kiss his mother with that mouth.

He is obsessed with the dog and the cats, a.k.a. "Dawg!" and "Mo!" (All cats are Mo. Ya got one cat named Mo then all cats in the universe are clearly named Mo. That's logic y'all! It's adorable, but has proven embarrassing a time or two, say when you're at the mall and there's a guy and say he's wearing a shirt with like a tiger on it and Max joyously cries out "Mo! A Mo!") I am fighting the good fight, but like Sisyphus, that rock just rolls down the hill every ten minutes or so. 

It's a dang good thing my little rock is just the sweetest thing around. 

Uh...who am I again?

I seem to have lost myself a bit. I know this is for certain because just three minutes ago my local NBC station announced that it is moving the Ellen Degeneres show to 3 p.m.

Hello??? That's the same time that General Hospital is on ABC!! Whatever will I do! I love me some Ellen, but as I may have mentioned I am Ambassador to Port Charles! (Drowns in fictional ego boost)

I was for real and for true upset at this move and for a few minutes considered writing them a letter to give em a piece of my mommy brain addled mind! (I write a LOT of letters, I'm always penning some missive when, as Zach says I've been 'notoriously wronged'. hmpf)

Not to mention that King Max loves Ellen, so depending on how late he sleeps in (in direct relation to how many time he is up at night) we either watch it and snack pre or post nap)

Shortly after being all upended by my tv listing time change, I thought...what.the.heck? (Lent!) Am I seriously upset about ELLEN? Who in the fickety frack am I? When oh when did I become such the stereotype of the SAHM? Now, not that it's a BAD thing to be...but clearly reading back the last few posts I am indeed a pj wearing, no make up applying, daytime tv stay at home mom.

And when did that happen??
 I thought about my past, the good parts and the bad. The crazy times with WWJD post college and the easy going lovin lifestyle we had pre-baby. The dinner parties, the shows I did, the auditions and of course...home sweet home, Los Angeles.

The King let out a barbaric yawp above the rooftops (okay fine, it was just a big dramatic yawn) and I hurried him down to the royal crib where he proceeded to not want to 'Boo' (nurse) but instead cuddled in my arms, giving me many, many kisses...most closed mouth and sweet but the occasional wet sloppy one snuck in there. He wiggled up in my arms and proceeded to tell me...I don't know what, but it was VERY important and involved Daddy, Bob-Bob (grandpa) and fooball, Elmo and happy Mommy. (hey! At least I'm happy mommy!) it could have been a Shakespearean Soliloqy; it went on for ages, a good ten or so minutes and was basically awesome. Finally after one last big smack, he laid down to bed with a plaintive 'Mommy' rolled over and passed out.

And then I realized, oh! this is who I am now. It may be less glamorous than my previous life, I certainly have less need for earrings and stilettos, but more need for tickle fights and cuddles.

Seems like a pretty good trade to me.

I love him crazy.

Have you ever..

Have you ever been so tired that you well...have no recollection of certain things? I fear I am losing my mind, my brain is quickly turning into an Elmo addled bowl of mush.

(Goodnight mush)

Last night while playing with my oh so sweet baby I popped on one of my tiaras to make him giggle. He likes the sparkle. Andyes I said one of.  I have more than one. I have many. I am a princess, deal with it.

Also? You should all order some tiaras because, for reals, vacuuming is way more fun whilst wearing a tiara. 

This morning I achingly roused myself from my way too comfy, way too snuggly, way too warm bed to
respond to the shaky new voiced cries of King Max. I got him up and brought him back to my oh so snuggly bed to cuddle. We snuggled and giggled, enjoying our morning routine. Finally we crawled out of bed and headed up stairs for a wonderful breakfast of oatmeal and banana. You can't keep King Max from a banana, he will cut a **** (ARGH LENT!) to get to a nana. I got my coffee and settled down with him to munch and ran my hand through my hair. Where it got stuck. On my tiara.

Can I put that on my resume? Can sleep whilst wearing a crown? 

Good Morning, your Highness.

I wonder if I can talk The Lying Liar who Lies in to calling me Her Royal Highness along with Madame Ambassador.

Oh who are we kidding, he already does.

*It should be noted that this is not the first time I have forgotten I was wearing a tiara. Not too far in the distant past I sat through an entire dinner with my WHOLE FAMILY while wearing one, until I realized it and embarrassed said "why didn't you guys tell me I was wearing it?" My father in law said "oh, I didn't even notice, it's so natural on you."

MISSING IN ACTION!

Oh, hello.

Me? Do you remember me? Stephanie? 

About 5 foot 6 inches, brown hair, blue eyes, *cough* pounds, suuuuuuuuuuuuuper pale skin, cute kid? Oh yay! You do remember! I haven't forgotten you either. I know...it's been a week or so and I've just been vacationing in London. Sadly no, I was not paying my respects to Shakespeare and visiting my The Crown Jewels. I was finally visiting Greece, scampering about in lovely white and blue cotton dresses and basking in the sun (with SPF 10,000)...ah, no. Not that either. I've just been...well, a Zombie.


I woke up last Friday morning with a fabulous post a brewin' in my head. It went a little something like this:

And on the 547th day, Max slept! 

Following that lovely title would be a blissful description one full nights sleep. A gift from my sweet precious bambino and how I was hopeful we were turning a sleep corner.

Janice (of the upcoming What Would Janice Do) said 'NO! Do not even say it out loud."

Too late. And thus we are on night 7 of no.sleep. 

(Yet another example of why we follow Janice's advice. She is always right. It's her Super Power. It's truly amazing...and sometimes frustrating. Like, for reals he hasn't slept since she said 'Don't say it!" I jinxed it. Argh.) 

I am a Zombie. Existing soley on coffee and Hershey's Kisses.  Max blesses me with about three 1.5 hour stretches, we've backtracked. And yes, I've caved and nursed in the middle of the night in a desperate attempt to crawl back into the blissful escape of sleep.

For another hour.

So forgive me for not being around so much. but get ready because we are expecting between 18-24 inches of snow and I am putting my husband on overnight baby duty. He's never done it before so wish us luck. I'm THAT desperate. Also? Being snowed in means I will be demanding some blog time and visiting and responding to all of you who have been so kind as to not abandon my corner of the blogosphere.

It's a good thing he's cute. Even exhausted I just love him up one side down and down the other! 

You can take the girl out of Boulder...

Growing up in Boulder, Colorado I never fit in. I hated snow and cold and felt like the only person for miles and miles who passionately hated Tevas, North Face gear and tie dye (my apologies to my good fairy friend NakedJen), I truly thought that all clergy members wore Birkenstocks with socks, because that is totally what every minister I had encountered at that time wore (Until I joined the LDS Church when I was 16 and then later left,which is another post for another time but my experience was completely positive. But yeah...not a lot of Mormon Bishops rocking the Birks at Sacrament meeting). As soon as High School was over I got the heck out of dodge. (We're all pretending the embarrassing bit where I came back for like 5 weeks for a boy didn't happen, ok? Ah. The humiliation of youth, or is it the blind faith?)
When I got to California it was like I was reborn...all the things that made me a freak in Colorado, the wacky sense of humor, the offbeat fashion sense, the affinity for humongous Jackie-O shades and the desire to wear high heels to school every day now made me well, fascinating. There were many girls who I admired who had 17 years of California-ness on me and who had simply bloomed under the freedom to accessorize and costume how they saw fit.
It was heaven.
Oh yeah, I was still a train wreck in certain areas and continued to be (hmpf. I'm going with past tense it's my blog!) for quite a while. Not ingesting any food for years on end can make a gal a little nutty. (See above where I moved back to Colorado for a boy) But I digress.

Quelle Surprise!

I found my footing in California, especially in Los Angeles and when Dub moved to LA it was even better! Dub, who had let me braid ribbons in her hair as 1st graders and also wore her slip on the outside while playing Little House on the Prairie  now was living not only in the same city as me, but the same apartment! It was as if all our let's pretend games in our childhood had come true.

Heather was the first person I told I was pregnant  (I mean other than Zach and Gaily-O who helped decipher the very first oh-so-faint-test.) and she immediatly said "are you craving anything?" I told her OJ which is so weird because I didn't like OJ before this. Dub said "oh thank God! I must be having sympathy cravings because I can't get enough OJ!" I inquired if perhaps she too could be with child. She instantly poo-poohed the idea but a mere two days later she called me to inform me that she was all knocked up! WHOOHOOOOO!! We've gone through this before together, of course. We were 7 and both pregnant with Cabbage Patch kids at the time, and we lived in a cute little condo (aka my front porch) I do believe she was married to Rob Lowe and I was married to Michael J Fox...or I was married to Rob Lowe and she was married to Michael J Fox. Whatever.

Heather is, well truly graceful and just friggin lovely. I'm crazy jealous of it. Every boyfriend I ever had in high school eventually uttered the magic words: why can't you be more like Heather?

Dude. Like I hadn't been asking myself that on the daily since I was 3.

Heather of course, handled pregnancy with such glowing grace while I meanwhile quickly resembled Jabba the Hut and never stopped puking long enough to get any glow. How one can gain as much as I did whilst puking for 9 months is beyond me, but oh well! Heather wanted natural childbirth (me too!) she walked and did yoga (I hobbled and layed on the couch with a trash can nearby watching Law and Order), she planned on nursing and...what? Umm. No thanks. I was NO on breastfeeding. It just seemed kinda icky and I am not too touchy feely to begin with..so no.

But Heather was doing it.

When we were 11 Heather and I spent every morning up on my roof suntanning. Of course we got stuck on the roof one day and Heather actually got stuck half on and half off, sort of hanging off the roof almost to the fence stuck and kinda scared. (I would have been too!) Obviously in this instance I was the one who had come up with the brilliant plan and thus I was the one in trouble. Dub's mom asked the age old question:

If Stephanie jumped off a bridge would you? 11 year old Dub just looked at her and said 'Duh."

So if Heather is breastfeeding...then so am I!

Heather had Zu 6 whole days before Max joined us so I got to watch Dub get her nursing groove on before I had to awkwardly attempt to imitate her innate motherliness. And she was indeed, a natural.

Who would have thought it, but so was I! Max and I took to nursing like a duck takes to water, and I never looked back. Max is 18 months old now and we're still going strong. I've nursed at IKEA, at the National Cathedral, on airplanes, in restaurants, basically anywhere my kid needs to eat...I feed him! It's easier now of course, with sippies of hormone free organic milk and yummy biscuits. I find that even though I left Boulder long ago...I am still buying local grown organic veggies and fruits for Max. He eats whole grains and fresh avacado almost daily, I search for organic materials for his clothes. I have been a vegetarian for a hundred years and I am raising Max to eat healthily and cruelty free. His clothes are washed in cruelty free, dye free, perfume free detergent.

I'm a freaking Boulderite after all.

6 week old Max, looking for lunch

But I am NEVER wearing Birkenstocks.