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Trainwreck…head on.

    Parent and infant play groups. A place where new parents can cry and gorge on donut holes with other parents. Someone usually has a boob exposed. Everyone—weeks old or years old– takes turns spacing out. Babies, babies rolling around, or just hanging on their backs like overturned beetles…limbs flailing and no inertia. Four-week-old eyes cross Totally normal. Right? Right? A young lad sleep-startles himself awake Lookie, he waved! Did you guys see that? The seeds of parental pride begins to swell and sprout. Some parents have an especially rough time of it. Colic, postpartum depression,… Read More »Trainwreck…head on.

    Dear Wife

      (A response piece to my last post entitled “Dear Husband”) Dear Wife, Please write this on my behalf, as you already interrupt me, finish my sentences, and speak for me on a regular basis. Below please find a partial list of things I should’ve told you thirteen years ago: In my late twenties, I will decide that black is my favorite color and all I want to wear. I’ll decide you look best in black too. As a testament of my love for you, I will present you with a short-sleeved black t-shirt for your… Read More »Dear Wife

      Dear Husband

        Below please find a partial list of things I should’ve told you thirteen years ago: Birthdays in my family are a national holiday. As a boy who tried to hide upon receiving the annual “Happy Birthday To You” reverie, we may have some friction around this issue. For a decade or so. Especially over the black Banana Republic T-shirt you presented as my 30th Birthday present. Try not to freak out when you see gefilte fish for the first time. Big deal. You were practically raised on Jello salads, right? Mini marshmallows, congealed fish broth…same… Read More »Dear Husband

        Role Play

          How did you meet your spouse? College? Blind-Date? The Internet? Can you imagine meeting the father of your one-day children while wearing a platinum Orphan-Annie wig? When you look like me? (see Jewess in banner above) When you’re awkwardly and frenetically tap-dancing your way through Anything Goes? Picture a younger, less-talented Carol Channing, rocketing off the Bernini’ Brothers’ stage in A Thoroughly Modern Millie. Never seen it? Never wanted to? Same with Husband. Razzzberrrries. Oh, I played it cool. Hey look at me all toy-poodle in a human dog show! Like my self-confidence? Oh, I… Read More »Role Play

          A Rant From Idiot Boy

            and no, “Idiot Boy” is not a new cruel blog pseudonym for one of my children…I started following IB after reading his hilarious post about his testosterone-fueled journey driving to work through a rare Seattle “snow storm” (an actual snow storm as experienced in Wisconsin, needs no quotes ;). A wonderfully descriptive writer, IB mixes humor and thought-provoking grit. He embraces his dark side. He makes you think. Read his post below, and then go over to his place and read my “Little Miss Perfect” Hope you enjoy our blog swap. Perfect is as Perfect… Read More »A Rant From Idiot Boy

            Conversations With My Sons

              I. Five-Year-Old: My dance is very important to me, and I need to practice every day. Me: [Breathe. Do NOT smile. Act casual. Keep at bay the preschooler shuffling-off-to-Buffalo in mini spats excitedly distracting my imagination] Really. [stay cool] Can I watch you dance? Five-Year-Old: Maybe later. Maybe after I eat breakfast. [later] Me: Umm. Can I see you dance now? I mean. Don’t you need to practice? Five-Year-Old: Well. I need the computer. It’s on the Transformer’s Website. Oh cruel, cruel world… II. Pediatrician: Do you brush you teeth twice a day?Five Year Old:… Read More »Conversations With My Sons

              Inside The Blogger’s Studio

                (Due to a conflict in both Mr. Lipton and Mr. Ferrell’s schedule, I will play the role of James Lipton. Amy from Bitchin’ Wives Club, does in fact play Amy, and has answered the interview questions accordingly) James Lipton: Mimimimi-maymaymaymay-momomomo-many mumbling mice were making midnight music in the moonlight, migh-ty-nice. Camera Man: aummm, Mr. Lipton? We’re rolling. JL: MMMMGood evening, Bloggers. Bloggeurs. Blogenstonians. [Long. Silent. Pause] Writer. [pause] Photographer [pause]. Maman de trois [wink, self-satisfied grin]. Karaoke Diva. Wife. Rapturous Bee-you-tee. As Patrick Swayze once wrote: She’s like the wind through my tree. And how.… Read More »Inside The Blogger’s Studio

                You Down With OPP?

                  You down with OPP? Yeah, you know me! At least if its Other People’s Property of the thrift store variety (ahem). Staying-at-home professionally re-introduced me to the absolute joy of thrift stores. Not only do I save money and keep awesome garments out of landfills, I love the adventure. Plus, its retail therapy without the hangover. Did I set out to find a genuine rabbit fur-and-leather bomber jacket in size 3T last month? Why, no dear friends, I did not. Did it make my rock-star girlfriend in NYC cry real tears of fashion joy? Why,… Read More »You Down With OPP?

                  I blame you, Benji: The Hunted!

                    In fairness, the vacation traumatization of Two-Year-Old began with a commercial on Nickelodeon. Apparently the product is some candy-bar, but ten seconds of Blue-Man-Groupesque human heads drowning in technicolor mucus scared the Beyonce out of Two-Year-Old (and me for that matter, and yes, I should really write a letter) The clinging began. Well, leeching might depict the behavior more accurately. Two-Year-Old refused to let go of my body for days. Remember that construction paper silhouette your grade school teacher traced of you? I have one etched in tan-lines on my torso of Two-year-old (SPF 27… Read More »I blame you, Benji: The Hunted!

                    Crib-Vaulter Title Reinstated

                      Two-Year-Old, new champion portable crib-vaulter, happily repossessed his title today, after defamatory sugar-doping accusations at the Ana Maria Island tournament last week. Sources claimed to witness Two-Year-Old grossly abusing treats during his daily beach outings, casting doubt and prompting the investigation into his nightly record-setting Pack-N-Play catapults. Ann defended Two-Year-Old’s sugar intake as “vacation-appropriate,” leaving skeptics highly unsatisfied. Two-Year-old vindicated himself upon returning home, continuing his nightly vaults and reaching new heights using a standard wooden crib. He proudly reclaimed rights to his championship vaulting title, and is currently mastering his nightly “MAMA’s BED dash.”… Read More »Crib-Vaulter Title Reinstated