Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Right Now, In the Moment, Hotness

My friend Jeanie says that in 20 years I will look back at photos of myself and realize that I did not fully appreciate my RIGHT NOW, in the moment, inherent HOTNESS. So here I am appreciating it. Right now. In this moment.

Here are the Top 10 Reasons I am so Sexy that I will HURT YOUR EYES:

1. I can’t quite give up the maternity underwear yet because nothing is as sexy as panties that come up over your rib cage.

2. Within 10 minutes of getting dressed everyday my ravishing outfit is heightened to haut couture through adornment with fresh vomit, drool, and / or poo.

3. There appears to be a 20 pound, raw, boneless turkey breast hanging off the front of my body.

4. My tantalizing, pendulous breasts have achieved a NOW greater-than-ever “grapefruits-in-the-end of socks” look.

5. The alluring dark circles under my eyes – achieved through an arduous beauty process involving continuous interrupted sleep and deep, dark, night-time bottle making.

6. The incessant and mighty wind most likely induced by all the GD raisins.

7. Eyebrow stubble.

8. Back Fat. (Though the rib-high panties nicely come up and OVER that!)

9. The afore-mentioned bag lady. (Poor old gal!)

10. This year’s Piedmont Park Cine al Fresco screen also known as my wide, wide behind!

Monday, March 27, 2006

Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Masterpiece and the Consequences

This morning, 22 month old The Mayor was exasperatedly grunting in the middle of the room. When he finished his pushing and straining he triumphantly yelled, "I made it!" as though it was a work of art... a real masterpiece... something one should be quite proud to claim. He then marched to the changing table, turned back to us and said, "C'mon Daddy, let's say bye bye poo poo."

What I overheard K saying to The Mayor on the changing table:

Would you like a little creme on your flanus?

...and later to Rooster Girl:

Would you like a little creme on your flabia?

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Hot Park Ranger

Last night I asked my husband's former boss to help fulfill one of my life long fantasies.

Said former boss once ran one of the nations largest and most visited national parks.

This means the man has ACCESS to the much coveted park ranger uniform.

Park Rangers make my beeper go OFF.

Every year for my birthday, Valentine's Day, Christmas, Groundhog Day - whatever - I ask K to dress up like a park ranger, but so far - no ranger.

I finally took matters into my own hands and up and asked Mr. Former Head Ranger In Charge to assist me in this important matter.

He claimed that he could and would take care of it and bragged that he still had his own ranger hat hanging in his closet ... what a TEASE!

Whenever I visit a National Park I immediately find out what RANGER PROGRAMS they have to offer.

I am the participant that stays right up next to the park ranger nodding knowingly and appearing SO interested in watching lichens grow.

Oh, the nearness of the ranger!

A friend recently suggested I Google search "Hot Forest Rangers" to see if there was a site designed specifically for me and ... NOTHING, ZIP, NADA.

So I'm putting it out there because you know I'm right about Park Rangers.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

I Will Not Eat All The Raisins

I will not eat all the raisins.
I will NOT eat all the raisins.
I will not eat ALL the raisins.
I WILL NOT eat all the raisins.

I might eat a lot of the raisins...

Sunday, March 19, 2006

The Great Sunday Spew-A-Thon

Tonight the children were in the bath together and young Rooster Girl(6 months old) took a HUGE poop in the tub.

She is just a little bitty baby but her poo was LARGE.

Before we had control of the situation, turds were floating around willy nilly and The Mayor (21 months) was catching them in his hands.

A poo-in-the-tub fire drill followed.

There was scrambling, scrubbing and re-showering.

Once order was restored, Rooster Girl puked all over the floor, my pants, her pajamas and the sheets of our bed.


Monday, March 06, 2006

A Poo Filled Life and A Bowling Ball for a Head

We have a book called “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus” that we read to The Mayor. At the beginning of the book a bus driver asks the audience (The Mayor) to watch things for him and NO MATTER WHAT, DON’T LET THE PIGEON DRIVE THE BUS. The rest of the book is the pigeon asking / begging / conniving to drive the bus. Whenever, and I mean WHENEVER we ask The Mayor if we should let the pigeon drive the bus he grins, squints his eyes and says, “yeah” with fiendish enthusiasm. He is a pigeon sympathizer. He feels the pigeon’s pain. He also sometimes says, “I want to drive it”, so I know he and the pigeon are soul brothers.

Rooster Girl’s crib is still in our bedroom, but K isn’t. He’s been sleeping in the office for about six weeks. She gets up in the middle of the night to nurse and I do that in the bed so that I can get some sleep, but K can’t sleep through it, so he doesn’t sleep in there at the moment. Rooster Girl tends to thrash around a bit after nursing, but usually settles down after awhile and goes back to sleep. I am, however, invariable awoken by “the bowling ball hold,” a slick little maneuver she has where she takes the first two fingers on her hand and shoves one up each of my nostrils and then shoves her thumb in my mouth. I’m sure she’s a future US Bowling Champion – and that is all well and good- but it is one helluva way to wake up.

This morning as soon as I stumbled out to the breakfast table, my son grabbed my by the groggy finger, looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, “Mama, come play it, choo choo.” He had the most pleading look and what could I do but shuffle my slippered feet to his room and help him make his trains go round and round on the track?

Soon after this most innocent experience he began screaming and crying because the poo poo wouldn’t come out and “OUCH!” I held him up in my arms with his legs bent to his chest while he sobbed on my shoulder and struggled to eliminate “THE WORLDS HARDEST TORPEDO POO’’ from his teeny little bottom.

Rooster Girl did her share of grunting and grunting this morning. Baby poo everywhere.

My poo-filled life.