Dear Iphone,

Dear iPhone,

I have been meaning to talk to you for a while, although this weekends events have changed the tone of this letter. You see, you and I have recently been fighting. A lot. Maybe we're too close? I don't know, but things that didn't bother me when we first got together have recently become almost unbearable.

For one thing, you dissapear for hours at a time and I can't find you. I page you...but you don't answer. And don't say it's MY fault because I always have you on silent. Not everything can by my fault y'know. Can't you please just stick by me? I mean we made a vow, for at least two years, and we've got several months left in our union. If losing you was a drinking game I would be drunk everyday.

For another thing,  I know you think it's really funny, but for reals it's not. Stop flipping back and forth between landscape and portrait. I'm not moving at all...stop flipping! I know you get an even bigger laugh at my expense when I do desperately try to move you to catch up. I'm sure it's really funny, how I look like a grandma playing Super Mario Brothers. Leaning to the left does not make Mario go to the left any more than it makes you hold still.

Despite all of this, I think I owe you an apology. The other day I was so annoyed over my futile Cholula quest...(seriously Cholula, why are you more elusive than the holy grail?) I hopped out of the car and raced in the house, grumpier than Snow White's 5th dwarf. After dinner I realized I couldn't find you, and I looked. I did. But you dissapear so frequently these days, I didn't worry too much.I'm sort of used to it. Really, I just hopped on the computer and then went to bed watching the lightening and listening to the thunder rolling in and the rain hitting the window. It was a great storm.

In the morning I awoke desperate to find you. I was in a panic, frantically looking everywhere. Where were you? Did anyone text me? I knew you must be starved, your battery nearly worn out. I looked all over the house, finally setting out on the damp driveway making my way to the car.

It was then that I spied you. Oh no. You lay facedown in the grass like a college freshman. Soaking wet from the rain. I fell to the ground beside you, cradling you in my arms saying a prayer over you. I gently pushed the button and you feebly fluttered your eyes.

You awoke. It was like a Christmas miracle! In May. I warmed you and dried you off as best I could then gave you the sustanance you craved. I can't believe you came back to me without so much as a scratch!

I apologize, for not seeing how truly special you are. I'll try not to get bogged down in the annoying habits that a long term loving couple develops. Instead, I'll think of you waiting out the rainstorm, fighting to get back to me.

Let's play Words With Friends for a while, and then whaddya say I take ya somewhere special. How about the Apple store? Would you like a new protective case? Let's get you something pretty.
It would be great if you could stop that annoying flipping thing though. And I'll try to stop dropping you so much. Deal?

Love,
Minky

I hereby rename the Toddler stage "Disaster Machine"

Springsteen exit stage left. There's a new boss taking over!

The other day as I was blissfully watching a little Law & Order on the stationary bike at the gym when one of the male trainers came out of the day care and said to me "man, your kid is a trip!"

I feel that Max is SO safe at the gym daycare, from the moment we walk in every one who works there says hello to Max, knows his name. The trainers take the time to go in and play ball with him while he is there. No one could get through them to get to my kid. In fact TOTT went in not to long ago in the evening and the girl behind the counter squinted at him and asked "are you Max's dad?"

Our new roles are as parents to the real star of the show...The Boss.

The Boss, you say? We've never heard that one before! Sweet Baby Max, or King Max yes but The Boss? No. Well, get used to it.

The trainer proceeded to tell me what a kick they get out of him and how he does this thing now where if he wants to do something or wants you to get something for him he will forcibly take your hand and put it on what he wants or lead you over to wherever he wants to go and command you with a "THIS!" and follow it with a blink of his cartoon baby eyes and a sweet voiced "peas?" And so the they had taken to calling my sweet baby The Boss.

He is indeed The Boss. I mean really, I am the boss. I may have made him eggless cookie dough as a treat today but then I put my foot down and wouldn't give in to the cupcake. See? I'm in charge! of course then I spent an hour on youtube playing Beatles videos, so maybe he really is in charge.

Oh well, when your kid is under the weather you do things like make 'em cookie dough and play Beatles vidoes, right? RIGHT?

We spent Sunday in the E.R. It was decidedly not awesome. The Boss was climbing and slid, smashing his face on the edge of the entertainment center. Ma (Grandma) was watching him at the time and she was inconsolable, but it could have happened on any of our watches.

Because toddlers are disaster machines.

The gum above his right front tooth was split to the bone- good lord! seeing your childs bone should never happen- and he tore the connector from his lip to his gum. As you can imagine blood was gushing at nearly rate of the oil spill. It was terrifying. Afterfour hours in the emergency room we left with a 'it'll heal itself' and a prescription for anitbiotics. He vascilates between playing fine and being miserable. Poor baby!

Just an FYI, if your kid is miserable I do indeed suggest eggless cookie dough. Bonus for you, it's yummy so you can drown your 'my baby is sick' sorrows in it too! The Boss loved it so much he did his version of Snoopy's happy dance while singing 'Happy Day!" It slays me with cute.

Anyway, he's been extra cuddly and snuggly and I've been drinking in that sweet baby skin. He is intoxicating, even if his feet now smell like feet and not marshmallows. When did that happen? It's going too fast. But I am still drunk with love for my little klutzy boy. Maybe he did actually inherit something from me after all.

Sorry about that, little dude.

In fact right now I'm trying to decide whether the lovely new goose egg smack in the middle of his forehead makes him look more like a Cyclops or as if he is sprouting a unicorn horn. I think unicorn horn. I also think it's time for more Tylenol (generic, natch)

I leave you with this, in NY we hit up a music class at with DadaRocks and his adorable son Marc. Marc and The Boss made quick friends and had a glorious time together. Plus, the teacher could for real and for true play the guitar. The Boss' mind was blown. He just stood there for a few, taking it all in before he finally let loose and boogied till he couldn't boogie no mo!

The good stuff starts about 30 seconds in, it also features Marc. This kid is so cute I could eat him up. Luckily I have my own kiddo to snack on because we had just met DadaRocks and his wife...I'm not sure if munching on their child would have made the proper first impression.

The Boss spins it right round, baby, right round.

Really, is there anything cuter than babies rocking it out??? Sigh. It makes my heart happy.

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.

Short and Sweet for the weekend...

Yes, that is me in my former life (last week- hehehe) modeling for Simon Thorpe. You know what I was thinking while this was being taken? I'm so fat. I'm so ugly. This is a joke. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Enough is enough is enough. Or, enuff as my 15 year old 'little sister' M insists on spelling it. Either way ladies, enough (enuff) is enough. For all of us.

In the last week I have had three IRL friends and countless internet friends confess to me how unhappy they are with their bodies, I see them discount their successes and point out their (perceived) failures.

I am guilty of it too.

But enough is enough. This weekend I declare a negativity diet for us all. Two days. We can do it.

You are ALL goddesses. You grew and birthed babies, your bodies are strong. Your laughs are like music to God. Your smile makes someone's day, you might never know whose...the cashier at the store, your husbands...someone's day is made brighter by you and you don't ever know it.

We are too old ladies, too old for this junior high apologizing for being alive. We must stop apologizing for taking up space on this planet. We are meant to be here, to accomplish things. We so frequently apologize for behaviours that need no apology, we consistently accept less than we require and make do.

We would never short change our own children this way, why do we short change our parent's children?

Giving birth to my son, was a tremendously spiritual experience. I never understood the saying 'I am a child of God' but looking at my son I saw a plan bigger than me or my husband. This child was created in my womb, but by no concious day to day work of mine. I never woke and said to TOTT: today I shall work on the central nervous system!

No, it was in me, but beyond me. My child is sacred, and therefore so am I. And so are you.

So no more Ladies! Two days! And like feeding yourself nothing but nutritious veggies and high protein foods, getting our bodies healthy, this weekend I challenge us ALL to get take a tiny step towards getting our hearts and minds healthy. Our esteem healthy, if you will!

I say this for myself as well.
It took me years, years to conquer my eating disorder. It was only when the doctor flat out told me "in six months you will either be getting better, or you will be dead. Your choice." that I found a survival instinct.

True story.

(of course when I was checked into that hospital the nurse doing my exam asked me my diet secrets cause I was just so cute and tiny. Yeah, see that GIANT red stamp my chart that says BULLIMIC- must watch? That's how it's done. You too could be 80 pounds!)
Turns out I kinda wanted to live after all. We (I) grew up internalizing everything. Any mistake meant I was bad. I never did anything bad...I WAS bad. I wasn't bad, by the way. Not at all. I struggle daily with anxiety (as you know) and also with BDD, left over from my eating disorder...BDD is like a scar from a car accident. I have to constantly remind myself that I do not see my physical self as it is. I see it through a fun house mirror.
I challenge us all to simply take notice of how often we discount ourselves, how often we inform people that we are too pale, too fat, too silly, too...whatever, to be taken seriously.

I'm going to try my very best when I catch myself doing that to replace it with a thought of something I am good at.

i.e. when I look at pictures of myself I always think two things: I look like a hunchback, and I look like the stay puft marshmallow man.
I'm going to try to replace that with: I've got a pretty nice smile and my personality shows through in that picture.

Something along those lines.

I am not a Dr. Phil fan per se, but I heard him say one thing ages ago that has stuck with me; people treat us as we inform them we want to be treated.
I don't know about you, but I would like to be treated well! That means treating ourselves well.

This weekend just try to stop and think about how amazing we all are, what we've accomplished, the babies we've birthed, the jobs we've had, the relationships, the *childhoods we've survived.


We are pretty damn awesome. The lot of us.

Are ya with me?


I'm too old to accept anything less than stellar treatment from anyone, including myself. How old is too old? Why 27 of course! :)


Ok, that turned out to not be so short after all. Anyone surprised?


(*And  Mom, before you get upset, my childhood was great! You know when I fell apart...)

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!

The problem with getting ready for bed...

The problem with getting ready for bed is that it kind of wakes you up. And then you lay in bed thinking:

I was so sleepy watching Family Guy not twenty minutes ago and yet, now here I lay staring at the ceiling and humming the words to Happy Tapping With Elmo.

Sigh.

Sleep has been a crazy struggle for me since Mr. Max arrived. It's all worth it since I love him more than my sonic toothbrush. And I really love clean teeth.
I am always tired. Always. I am pretty sure that I'm so tired is the National Anthem of Momhood.

Last night I was applying my many time fighting-superhero-anti wrinkle creams and lotions, (curse you non safe for nursing Botox and your smoothness!) finishing up getting ready to pass out (or sing Sesame Streets Greatest Hits, either one) and just longing for my squishy pillow.

The last step of my evening ablutions applying psycho amounts of hand cream and chapstick and of course taking my belved Zoloft. So I popped my pill and...

Wait. Oh, crap. That wasn't my medicine. It was the PUPPY BEAR's medicine!

I took. The dog's. Medicine.

Ah, well. It's only Prozac. Yes, the dog is also on anti anxiety meds. You can take the Puppy Bear out of L.A. but you can't take the L.A. out of the Puppy Bear.

This weekend I'm gonna stick some shades on him and take him shopping in a high end doggie stroller.
What are your weekend plans?

Have a good one...and stay out of the dog's meds for the love of Ray J.

Of Nightmares and Shopping. And shopping nightmares.

Ever have one of those dreams? The ones that seem so real you can't seem to shake the feeling of long after you've woken? Usually I just roll over and slug the Lying Liar Who Lies who groggily responds:

 "who did I sleep with this time?"

It runs the gamet from the girl who tortured me in Catholic School, who is now a lesbian so the chances of her coming for my man are pretty slim, to Jennifer Aniston who is a huge star so the chances of her coming for my man are also pretty slim.

(sorry honey.)

Sunday night I had the Academy Award winning 3-D nightmare of my kid being kidnapped. I felt it all day. Slept, woke up Monday and still felt a bit of it. This dream had it all. A phone that wouldn't dial with a battery about to die, cops that would be helpful if only my phone wouldn't die every time I managed to connect, a meeting point at a park where no one showed up, a search team looking for him in utter futility.

And then the baby woke.

In the morning after he wakes he likes to cuddle in bed with me for about 1/2 hour just nursing and babbling away to me. It's one of my favorite times of the day, I will miss it sorely when he no longer points to my bed and whispers "mommy snug!" I cuddled him extra close and kissed him from the top of his head to his cute little toes, blowing many raspberries on his belly and drinking in his giggles. Honestly, is there anything better than a baby's giggles? But even in the middle of this perfect moment I continued to panic. The emotions of the dream were so real.

The best part of your husband cheating on your dreams is that your husband is right there..having NOT (hopefully) cheated on you and you can punish him all day for the sins of his dream alter ego. Even if you try not too the chances that your husband will annoy you within a 12 hour waking period are high, even if he is at work for 8 of those hours, and then you can transfer all that left over residual angstyness right on to 'why can he NEVER remember to walk the dog?!'  or whatever.

There was no one to punish with this dream so I cuddled Mr. Max till he pushed me away and said "all done, Mommy!"

 Ouch.

Like Holly Golightly, I decided to head to the place that makes the Mean Reds (Unsettled Purples? Nervous Greens? Overreacting Oranges?) go away. Tiffany. But it's all the way at Tyson's Corner and I didn't feel like driving that far. Besides, a toddler in a stroller totally cramps my evening gown/tiara/cup of coffee/cruller holding/diamond window shopping style.

Shhhh. Honey, Mommy's pretending she's Audrey Hepburn. (again.)

I decided to settle for Montgomery Mall. They have a Nordstroms and a Malibu Coffee so it's good for an afternoon of shopping distraction. Plus Max is suddenly rocking the Urkel look with all his pants. Swear to Christmas they fit him last week, but now he is clearly expecting a flood of muppets and so his pants have risen accordingly. Not a good look for a dude. Even one as cute as my Mr. Max. Montgomery has an Old Navy which rocks for the small people so away we went...

Or not. Cause then I remembered that mall was the scene of the terrifying "YOU BETTER WATCH THAT BABY" incident.

Did you miss that one? Sheesh people, I tweeted about it! How did you ever live without knowing the play by play of my day!
10:48 @minkymoo  I'm tired.
10:50 @minkymoo  COFFEE!!!!
11:30@minkymoo I wish Target would go on my bank statement as "Totally Neccessary so @zdulli don't get mad"

See what you've been missing??

Anyway I was at Montgomery when this woman came up to me out of nowhere (ok, the line at Malibu) and said

"You bettter watch that baby. He is kidnappable."

Hello. My name is Stephanie and I have postpartum anxiety. So thanks for that random lady. Maybe next time just say: your baby is cute. That would be better.

So scratch the mall. Drinking it is. Oh wait, that's not a good plan, huh? Not the best to be drunk at 11 a.m. on white wine spritzers while you've got a small precious person in your care, you say?

Ah, well. I'm not a big drinker anyway. Also, I've never had a white wine spritzer. Someone ordered one at the Regal Beagel on a Three's Company rerun the other day. (I puffy heart John Ritter 4-ever)

No mall. No drinking. Chocolate it is! And baby snuggles. And Zoloft! If I ever meet the man/woman/lab rat who invented Zoloft I am going to tongue kiss them like Will Ferrel and Sasha Baron Cohen .

I think I'm having an affair.

Oh Target, how I love you so. I do. I crave your company every single day, and you always leave me wanting more.  Please never leave me, because I would surely perish without, at the very least, bi-weekly visits.

The moment I arrive I feel giddy, almost drunk and swoony. How do you do this to me every time? I've no resistance to you. None at all.

You are such a temptress, Target. You tease me with bargains on skin care and organic items and then BAM! You blindside me with cute strappy sandals and adorable designer shirts.

I am powerless to resist you, I don't even try anymore. I find excuses to visit...I just need diapers. I need chewies for the dog.  I need a bra. I need...something.

Our affair is a lasting one, we will never outgrow one another. Even if I became a millionaire tomorrow Target, I would never forsake you.

My husband, he knows. He's not happy about it, but like the good man he is he chooses to view our love affair as one of my bad habits. It's as if I chew my nails or pick at zits. Not pleasant, but he loves me enough to overlook it. Most of the time. I neither chew my nails or pick at zits, so at least I've got that going for me.

You're good to me though, Target. You send me home with gifts for him as well. You send me home with razors and DVD's. Little things you know he would enjoy, and I think he appreciates it. It makes him more tolerant of our love affair. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.

Other people recognize your glory too. How sweetly you've bedecked me. I have no shame when someone says "I love your outfit" and I realize I am head to toe showing your love.

Whenever I have a problem I run to you first and you have never once let me down. From Halloween to Christmas. From intimate dinner parties to last minute birthday celebrations. I can always count on you. It only makes me love you the more.

I crave your sheets and towels, new bedding and end tables. And oh! Our online affair only adds to my need to see you more. You've added more and more to your beauty products on line, and real wood furniture! Thank heavens my husband doesn't check my internet history or he would surely be jealous of all the time we spend together, without  actually being together.

Oh? You've got some new great baseball equipment that's perfect for this Summer? Tiny gloves so he can teach our son to play? Perfect. That will surely ease his anger, and even provide us with more time together as I would be utterly useless at helping teach the baby baseball!

I know...We visited just this morning but I already feel your call. I love this new little tank shirt I got, perhaps I need it in another color? It was only $9.99. Maybe when the baby wakes we will sneak on out to you.

What's that you say? You have new Elmo toys and Summer clothes for him?

We'll be right there.

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? 

Just like we planned...

 Max and Zu in a rare moment of rest. 

Please note that Zu is completely dressed while Max is rocking a shirt, diaper, and one sock, with iPhone at the ready.

He's fashion forward.

When Dub and I were little we would play Let's Pretend. A lot. Stunning we both became performers, non? There were always handsome husbands, brilliant careers and beautiful babies.
When we were pregnant we dreamed about what our lives would be like once the babies arrived. the play dates we would have, lunches at our favorite place and of course...sneaking away during nap time while the boys dozed.

And by boys, I of course mean both our sons and our husbands.

We landed in Los Angeles safe and sound after what might have been the longest flight in the history of toddler hood. Max powered through 5 hours of flight from 8 p.m. till 2 a.m. (his time) falling asleep finally just as the the pilot announced "We are now beginning our descent into Los Angeles."
He was utterly entertained the entire time thanks to the fantabulous touch screen t.v. Thank you Virgin America! Everyone was really great with Max, except for of course one woman right in front of us who let out a great, heaving moan of martyrdom anytime he so much as giggled. Starting from the moment we boarded the plane it was a plane full of moaning in annoyance if he so much asked for milk.

Suck it woman, we were doing the best we could!

There was only one 3 minute period where the kiddo just freaked out, I felt terrible for all the others around us. Except for that woman. Again. She could suck it.

 Max partied like a rockstar til 1 a.m. (for the faint of heart that would be FOUR AM his time) before we convinced him to pass out. He was up bright and early with the the sun at 7:30.
It was a near literal reenactment of Dawn of the Dead over here. But so worth it. the boys quickly made friends and as we adults indulged in coffee, Max and Zuzu shared bananas.

It was so amazing to see them running around together, the same height, two little heads bobbing up and down as they raced around the house getting into things together.

Just like we planned.

We headed out to meet our friend Sean at Aroma Cafe, our favorite place. the boys were still tired and crazy and just basically toddler with a captial T. We all took turns toddler baby wrangling.

Just as it should be.

After some serious nap fighting (how can two such tired boys fight sleep so hard!) Dub and I escaped for a mani/pedi and Starbucks run.

Perfect.

This evening was exactly as I dreamed it would be.The menfolk grabbed us some delicious Mexican food and the kids chowed down then it was Toddler Dance Party time!  The boys played, wrestled and  laughed. There were rousing renditions of Ring Around the Rosey, much toddler tossing in  the air. It was just....utterly perfect.

Tomorrow we are off to WWJD's for some more dreams coming true. Seeing Max and Godson Ben playing together...another 'Just like we planned.

And now to find the sunblock...

The time is drawing close for me to pack up my newly acquired bathing suits and a half ton of sunblock and head to La-La Land, and then to Hawaii. I can feel the warmth settling into my bones already. Can you feel it too?
My toes are wiggling with glee at their new pedicure and just chomping at the bit to get at their old pals Flip Flops (not thongs, not thongs, not thongs. I'm still working on it). I've got a new set of shades just for the occasion and even got some that Max will keep on for more than a split second.

only the coolest of dudes fall asleep in their shades.

Of course my bags are not packed...who packs ahead of time! That's no fun! Nah, I'll be running around like crazy up until we leave.

That will make the big sigh of relief once we are on that plane all the better.

Hey D.C. when I return I'd like it to be Spring. Like, for real. None of this one day of 65 degree weather and then bam! the next day is 40 and rainy. Real live Spring. I want the grass greening up, I want flowers beginning to break thru the ground. I want to see people smiling and happy and everyone outside soaking up the sun and the fresh air. Cause D.C., I gotta say you are one GORGEOUS city in the Spring.
Thanks, Me.

I've achieved my vacation weight loss goal, with only about 10 lbs to go till I reach my full weight loss goal, and reach my pre-pg (and coincidentally my high school graduation) weight. I wanted to do this so that I would feel comfortable enough to enjoy the trip, and to like the pictures that will be taken. Oh, I'll still edit and veto the heck out of them, but I'm pretty excited that I did it! I may or may not be bringing my favorite pre baby jeans that I can not only fit into, but I don't look like a stuffed sausage while wearing them. Dude, that's like the brass ring right there!

My grandmother had this saying, it's "God said 'HA!'" Today I myself almost said HA! out loud. I am not a person who takes joy in others suffering. Really. I mean unless you're a total jerkface. Which none of you are. But today as I once again plugged my earphones in and tuned into Las Vegas and climbed my hills on the elliptical the gym manager came by me. On his crutches. Bet he's regretting those 50 billion calories now!  Clearly God smote him for his rampant consumption of pizza and donuts, ruthlessly flaunting it in the faces of those who are fighting off those insidious Girl Scouts at every turn!
I still hope he heals quickly.

How Stephie got her groove back.

It doesn't involve Taye Diggs. Dangit.

On Friday both Zach and I served as panelists for the Maryland State Theatre Festival. Oh yeah, me. Public speaking. In front of the most cut throat audience ever. High school students.  I once again cursed the pharmacutical companies for having not yet come up with a safe-for-nursing Xanax. Going back to high school is well, odd. And you know what instantly cuts your authority by like twenty billion percent? Using the high school lav with the very gals that you'll be talking to in five minutes. Also? The bathrooms are still gross. For being the neater sex, the 14-18 crowd is nastay in the loo.  I would have avoided it except, I don't know about you, but when I get nervous my bladder becomes the size of an edamame. An edamame having a seizure. Yes. That's exactly what it's like.
After 10 or so trips, it was finally time to face the music and the kidlets all poured in and took their seats. I was first. Of course.
Amazingly enough I didn't humiliate myself! *the crowd goes wild* I may have rambled a bit, but I made them laugh a time or two and managed to cover everything I wanted to. It was incredible! I really was made aware how much I love my job and how I am actually ready to get back to it...a little at a time of course!
 Let me tell you people, there is hope for our youth! High school students get such a bad rap, but the kids I met with were intelligent, funny, smart, respectful and it was just a great time. Not to mention that post panel a couple of the girls came up to tell me they loved my fashion sense, even though all my bits and pieces were covered. Ha! Favorite dress scored again.

Favorite dress:

I take all my fashion shots at IKEA. I recommend it highly. 

p.s. That's not our sippy cup. Random abandoned sippy.

We also left Max with a sitter for the very first time. My God, I was so tense about that! Not that I don't trust the woman we left him with, I do! But leaving him, for such a long time, with someone other than family for the first time was stressful. Blissfully unaware of my stressy-ness, Max napped for three of the four and a half hours we were gone. Good job, dude.

I learned several lessons on Friday:

1. *cough* years and 3000 miles, it doesn't matter. High schools all smell the same.
2. I forgot how pretty my engagement ring is! The gallery is so high I have scratched the baby with it so I rarely wear it. I stared at it all day, sparkly. 
3. I can in fact still do make up! Didn't even poke myself in the eye with the liner. Success.
4. I can in fact, still do my hair! Didn't even burn myself with the curling iron. HUGE success.
5. The hairspray I bought months ago but never used before Friday smells exactly like the hairspray my grandmother used to use. Totally freaked me out.
6. It was not Aqua Net thankyouverymuch.
7. If you don't eat all day because you are nervous, you will be ravenous once the nerve-wracking event is over.
8. There might be nothing to eat but Dunkin' Donuts.
9. They were gooooooooooooooood.
10. I blame the gym manager.

Does Dunkin' Donuts count as exercise?

Everyday I go to the gym. Monday through Friday I get The King all ready and we head out to to play. He now loves it and asks to go on the weekends too. Alas, Anna Maria the goddess of gym childcare isn't there and try as I might, I'm just not feelin leaving my baby with the teenage dude who watches sports on the daycare tv all weekend. Sorry, kid.

 I can't blame The King for loving it, it's humongous room filled with other kids his age and like, eleventy-billion toys. He used to cry when I dropped him off, now he doesn't want to leave.

And how I love the one hour of working out and watching something other than that blasted Dora! I love it. And I truly am digging the rag tag group that I see at the gym on the daily. I can always count on Bath Towel Turban man to make a silly joke before he hops on the bike. (Oh yes, he wraps a bath towel around his head and somehow manages to tie it in a bow. I've NO idea how this happens, I mean how tiny is his head? I wouldn't know, I've never seen it sans towel.) There are of course, 20 or so moms like me, sporting yoga pants and hoodies,  bringing their kids decked out in gymboree finery to play with all the wonderful toys. NBA Guy who is always there...always. If I go at night after Max goes to bed, there he is. Early morning, there he is. Noon? There he is. He is either stalking me or living at the gym.  But my very favorite of all my fellow workout companions is Combover Guy, he's 75 if he's a day, hair dyed a brilliant warm auburn and combed over, he always sports a wife beater, short shorts with knee socks, black tennies and he runs like the wind on the treadmill every morning for no less than 1.5 hours.

I couldn't do that if my life depends on it. 

Running, I mean. I can certainly dye my hair and comb it over whilst wearing a wife beater. It wouldn't be pretty, but I could manage.

Today the mood in the gym was decidedly grumpy and I couldn't quite figure out why! That is until I hooked into an episode of Los Vegas and began climbing those Random Hills on ye olde elliptical machine (Dear whoever invented the elliptical, marry me?)  I climbed and watched and perhaps even laughed out loud a time or two at the show and wait - what is that? What is this happening in the manager's office? 

His office is, of course, facing the workout floor and comprised of huge glass windows. There he is. happy as can be feet propped up with a whole Domino's pizza and huge box of Dunkin' Donuts. And he is eating. A piece of pizza. A donut. Alternating savory and sweet... seriously if looks could kill he would have been instantly incinerated as he watched the little tv in his office and ingested 20,000 of the most envied calories ever. 

Butthead.

(LENT!)

I shared a grumpy look with Combover Guy and we pressed on, silently resolving to do as the manager says and not as he does.

Butt.head.

Welcome....welcome!! *passes out drinks*

Check out the new digs! Things are moving forward at the American Dream! We've had good news all around, and we decided to go ahead and make this thing legal. I'm married to a domain name now...eeek.

Commitment phobe.

But here we are, www.dialMforMinky.com 

I hope you'll all continue to follow along for more  of the silliness and comedy hijinks that is motherhood and living with you in-laws. 

Living with your in-laws. 20 kinds of awesome.

What?

Anyway, welcome! Help yourself to some champagne

Or perhaps you'd prefer a cocktail...

Everyone enjoy some delicious chocolates and petit fours.

Ain't I fancy schmancy with the petit fours?

I is! I is! 

Lenty Lent Lent.

Ah, it's that time of year again where after gorging ourselves on holiday faire straight through the 15th of February we then deny ourselves something....something GOOD for 40 days. Till Easter, when we can again gorge ourselves on holiday faire (Cadbury Cream Eggs anyone?).

Last year I gave up cheese. Dude. That was rough. I am a vegetarian and mama eats a LOT of cheese. Swiss cheese in particular. I crave it! There is nothing like a swiss cheese, tomato, avacado, and sprout sandwich on light rye with some spicy mustard.

Delish.

I hadn't given giving up cheese much thought, and it came back to bite me in the bum. As I was about to partake of a bagel and cream cheese, it hit me! Cream Cheese is cheese. Or is there some sort of magical cream cheese loophole? Alas, no. No cream cheese for me. No pizza. No grilled cheese to go with my soup. No cheese. Sigh.

Today as I was doing my eyebrows before I hit the gym (what? like you don't make up before you hit the gym?) I thought that perhaps this year I should give up Vanity for Lent. Then I remembered that I live in hoodies and yoga pants and thought to myself perhaps I should give up Sloth and move a bit more towards Vanity. I am totally painting my nails once I'm done with this post. Start small people. 

Max's language is coming along at a crazy pace. Just the other day he busted out with cupcake. Ok, so it's more like keek-keek but he and I both knew exactly what he wanted. I figure it's a hop, skip, and a jump from keek-keek to a word that sounds a bit like 'ducker'.

So for Lent this year I am giving up cursing. This might be harder than cheese. I already messed up once. Shame on me. 

I've got a sailor's mouth. Always have. No idea why or where it came from as my mother does not like that language at all, and of all my friends only WWJD had a mouth like me. And seeing as how Godson Ben is 4 now (how on earth did that happen? The time, it flies.) she's far ahead of me on curbing the curses. I just don't want my sweet faced little boy whilst strapped his car seat spouting off with some string of expletives and honestly, if I don't take the proverbial bull by the horns my kid will be ready for a Tarantino flick before he's two.

So away I go...once more into the breach. Armed with only 'shut the front door!' and 'holy buckets!' (Do you think I can carry that last one off? My friend Katie says it and it's a.dor.able. when she does it. I feel ridiculous.) Ah well. I'm keeping blast and bugger and also damn. Because if cjane can say damn I can too. I mean she's a good Mormon for the love of Ray J!

Wish me luck kids. I'm going to need it! 

I forgot what my hair looks like...

Every morning noon and night I wear my hair in a bun. It's the crowing glory to my daily uniform. Tank top, hoodie, and sweat pants.
Being home all the time and still nursing I have completely fallen into the comfort zone. And yes, it is oh-so-comfortable. Perhaps not all that fashionable or feminine but definitely easy access for the little dude and super flexible for afternoon car races on the living room floor.
With snow outside currently pushing 40 inches with 10-18 more expected in the next 24 hours I've simplified even more. Wake up, toss hoodie over pj's, wear allllllllllllllllllllllll day, put baby to bed, shower, put hair up,put on new pj's, sleep, wake up, toss hoodie over pj's....well, you get the picture.

And it ain't pretty. 

Comfy, but not pretty.

Both yesterday and today I was able to escape the confines of the house and make a break for it to the gym. Oh, one hour of non cartoon tv and an attempt to burn off some of the Hershey Kisses that have been stalking me during this snowstorm. Heaven.

So that added another step to the daily routine. I traded my pj pants, tank and hoodie for a jogging bra, tank and yoga pants. And, oh yeah, a hoodie.

oh! The variety!

I wear the bun every day because perhaps I dream of waking up tomorrow and suddenly having achieved Prima Ballerina status at ABT, or more likely, I hate having my hair in my face. I would love to rock one of those darling pixie cuts like that new doctor with the doe eyes on Grey's. She looks all Amelie-esque whereas I would just look like a boy.

Peoples Exibit A:

Submitted for your approval: Heather and I about age 7. Please not Dub's fabu Jennifer Aniston gold locks. That was short for Dub. Also please note my awesome bowl cut. A real bowl cut. My mom (who is in front of Dub and rocking her very OWN version of the bowl cut) used to for real plop me on the kitchen stool put a bowl on my noggin and cut around it with the sewing shears. If the Flowbee had been invented then, I would have been hooked up to that bad boy on the regular.

Right around the time this picture was taken my mom dragged me to the good old Olan Mills for a yearly portrait. And then it happened "What a gorgeous son you have!"

HARUMPH!! (and totally true. I looked like a boy.)

I was devastated. It was a scene that repeated regularly until 8th grade when I finally took charge and began to grow out my hair.

Max and I came home -Dear God, thank you for Anna Maria at gym daycare, she is the bestest- from the gym had a quick milk and snack and then he was ready to crash out big time.
I am then afforded some shower and blogging time! Hooray! As I took my hair down from it's scrubby bun I realized it was still wet from yesterdays shower, and oh my...it's grown! I had completely forgotten what my hair looked like!


After the gym and my shower (oh heavens! I will never take a hot shower for granted again!) I switched it up. Big time. Stripey pj pants, tank top, *gasp* long sleeve v-neck T-shirt and a pony tail.

Change is good, yo.

Again with the snow...

Yes, it's true. We are snowed in again! And whilst I while away the hours with Sprout and (more) Hershey's kisses, looking out the window at the beauty that is a snow filled world I can't help but think..

Man. This effing sucks.

Oh yeah, it's gorgeous. It looks like a Hollywood movie over here. The bare branches of the trees are just the right amount of iced and the sun is lighting off them like God rays. It's breathtaking.

And it sucks.

Thankfully someone came and plowed our street, my husband and father in law dug out the driveway but it doesn't much matter. Everything is closed. Our neighbors who braved the freeway came back and reported:

it sucks.

Dub and WWJD have mentioned it's raining buckets back home in LA and oh...cry them a river, right? My toes are toesicles, there's nothing on TV and we are snowed in.  I'll take the rain over this any day! 

I had my first snowpocalypse shopping experience. I braved ye olde Giant Grocery Store where I encountered a crazed man who was buying nothing more than 60 rolls of toilet paper and three cases of beer. I guess we've all got our priorities, right? I myself, had run out for snacks for the wee man and oh yes, diapers. (I did however get overwhelmed with all the Supermarket Showdown cart crashing and came home sans wipes. Big props to Zach who scooted off to Target right before closing to make sure we weren't trapped in the house for four days without wipes. Can you imagine? The horror!)

Zach, my very own snow angel! 

We are some of the lucky ones, although we did get about 30 inches dumped on us, we didn't loose power. This was my biggest fear. Stuck in the cold with a baby and no power! We're slowly digging our way out, I do hope to escape out to...well, anywhere before we get dumped on again on Tuesday.

Seriously. I am over winter, how about you?

Rescuing the Puppy Bear a.k.a. Prozac Puppy

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! 

Things to do in D.C/POTUS press conference

When Max was in utero our nicname for him was POTUS, Z & I both love the politics and POTUS seemed like a grand generic name until we knew just who it was that was wiggling around in there. It has only been recently that we've stopped calling him that and I am not sure that I've ever done it here...wondering why too, since POTUS is a totally great baby nick name for a blog!In fact my very first blog was named Sam, Moo and POTUS too. It was hastily abandoned due to the crazy puking of being pg and then ya know; the Ohio Debacle.
Hmmmmm. Must think about that POTUS nick name.

Anyway, POTUS Max had his very first press conference at age 4 months when we were interviewed by a German TV station about Obama and how popular he was.

Max did great! Me? I'm utter crap without a script. For reals. No public improv for me! I once accepted the LA Weekly award for best show and thanked the people who put toilet paper in the theatre bathrooms. (ok...first off, those guys never get enough thanks. I mean, being stuck in the bathroom without TP is AWFUL! Boy, for a gal who is not big on talking about bodily functions this marks two posts in a row which feature TP in a prominent role.) In our family, I am not the go to gal for interviews or improv. Zach on the other hand should really be taking over the Tonight Show. He is quick as lightning and funny as all get out.  I stammer and shake and just embarrass the living daylights out of myself. (I am great on stage if something goes wrong however...but being ME and just talking? Hell. No.)

Over the break we decided to take a jaunt to the Newseum and check out Tim Russert's office among the many other cool things they have there. Did you know that no matter who Tim Russert was interviewing, if his son Luke called he always took the call. He would put Tony friggin Blair on hold for his son and expected the people he worked with to so the same. He and his employees didn't miss little league games or ballet recitals, isn't that amazing? He was a great journalist but an even better father. You see the evidence of it all over his office. Drawings and pictures of his son. Talk about having his priorities right!

DC has crazy cool museums of course, but the Newseum gives you great bang for your buck. It's crazy interesting and I was knocked back with emotion several times.
The radio tower from the top of the World Trade Center will leave you breathless.

Anyway,  there are a lot of fun interactive things to do at the Newseum and you just know this family wasn't walking away from any chance to be on tv. It's in our blood. We're all born honest-to-goodness attention whores.
So, when we reached the area to be a real live newscaster we happily got our little tickets and stepped in front of the camera! One note, if you are trained in tele-prompter as we we are these things go slower than molasass in January, but still it was a BLAST.
Both of us reported from the White House, natch. One stuck to the script (me), and one had all the workers laughing hysterically at their improv (guess who, Zach of course!).
After we watched ourselves we realized had left someone very important out!

POTUS MAX!

He stole the show of course. Clearly he takes after his father.