The two peas in my filthy pod...

Whoozyerdaddy is the grand master diddy Daddy of sleeping just about anywhere and any time the spirit of rest enters his weary body.

So it is uncanny that housed in Whoozyerkid's little body, of course is this very same amazing ability. Or this is the most boring book ever, or the attempt to decipher words on those pages just short-circuited her big little girl brain.

Poor Whoozyerbaby. She inherited my need for quiet and white noise. She's a light sleeper like her mama. Maybe I should have purchased the horrific baby sleep mask.

It's hot and I'm lazy.

Today it was a hundred and freaking five in Martinez. And we don't have air conditioning. "Well, it's this hot only a few days a year." I say nonchalantly when the weather is perfect. "We can deal with the heat. What did people do before air conditioning? They DEALT with it. THAT'S what they did." Oh yeah. Our home was built in 1928 and I am thinking perhaps we have the original heating system. With lovely asbestos-wrapped ducts, which, apparently are safe unless you happen to be oh, say, the HVAC guy who gets to replace the system for the lucky people who get air conditioning in this house. Then, as the luckiest HVAC guy in the world you would wear a suit remarkably similar to the suits that the evil NASA scientists wear in ET (one of the shittiest, sappiest films of all time, I might add).
Speaking of Hazmat suits, I'm going to need one to clean Wherzyourhouse. It's been too hot to clean so basically we pretend it's not filthy and cluttered and go about our daily business which--in the heat-- constitutes a playdate in an artifically cool home, a drawn out stroll through Tar-jay, a saunter through Scum Valley Mall and/or a leisurely meal at the self-serve fro-yo joint. Tomorrow it will be in the 80's, or so they say.There is a glimmer of hope beneath the oil slick that is my home. In the meantime I have provided for you an exhibit of Wherzyourpigsty so you can do a little self-congratulatory jig and revel in the cleanliness of your home. You are guaranteed to be much closer to Godliness than the Whoozyerfamily, which resides in the hot underbelly of hell. I need to call a cleaner. Stat:

What were they thinking? Part I

Somebody had too much downtime or maybe not enough when they thought of this mask--perfect for the baby who is on death row digesting his or her last smooshed sweet potatoes and a perfect pull from a big Mother of a keg. Sheesh. Poor, posh babies...

What kind of Mother intends for her darling Baby to emulate a cartoon corpse with X's for eyes while asleep AND a four-eyed monster when awake?




I don't know any baby that enjoys wearing a hat--let alone one that is pulled over his sweet little sleepy peepers. And imagine the future horror of a baby book perusal with a significant other. "Honey, I can prove, without a doubt that my mother is clinically INSANE. Look at what she made me wear. The "crazy" gene is in my blood. Say you still want to marry me, Lovemuffin. We can adopt..."

The scariest thing is---this atrocity sold out today on http://www.babysteals.com/ .

Preschool, the place where wishes come true.

My wish is for silent home--save for the whir of the ceiling fan. Not even that; just a few minutes where I can hear myself think, that is what I wish for.

So, tomorrow Whoozyerkid and I are headed for a fountain or a wishing well with handfuls of pennies and hearts filled with longing. Because preschool is out for the week and I am not sure what else I can plan with a napping baby and playdates galore. But a wishing well, we can do. So much for promises of the zoo or the beach. I'm not doing it alone. Things are getting harder as Whoozyerbaby grows ever more mobile.

I honestly don't know what I would do without preschool. Or how other moms have survived without it, with all due respect.

We mostly have stayed at home just because it is easier. At dusk Whoozyerkid hid in the hand-me-down playhouse in the backyard and demanded "Call Daddy, Mom." It was urgent--she and Whoozyerdaddy have a thing; she always hides when we hear his car and he acts surprised when she darts out from her spot. I debated not telling him we were in the backyard because I wanted him to get on with it and hurry up with the whole "settling in process" but she was so into their game and I relented. He came out and I said I was going to the store "Alone." "Just let me get settled in and a little relaxed after I find Whoozyerkid" he said. Oh my. This is why some SAHM's lose it. I have been home all day and unsettled. Does my child only view me as some sort of glorified waitress? I am not exaggerating when I say she wanted food/drink at least ten times today. I was unsettled until my excursion to Safeway, in pursuit of something low-cal and chocolate that doesn't taste like a plastic doll factory; to peruse the trashy magazines in the check-out line and look at photos of other people's children who have "stylists". Is that the antidote to kid-concocted outfits? For good measure I also gawked at heroin-wasted, crack-ho-ified Amy Winehouse and her before/after addiction mock-up and felt instantly better. And then I went home and said to Whoozyerhubby "I. Am. DONE. For. Today."

Thank God for preschool. Preschool, I don't think I have ever expressed how I feel about you. I don't think I can convey what is inside of me but I swoon as I fantasize about you and only you, baby. You make life worth living. You make me a better woman. I wish for your return every morning. With you around, I can do anything. Smooches...

"The Best Deodorant" sucks a$$!!!!!

If you're one of my mama friends you probably are well aware that I'm on a (as my friend J puts it) all Nate-ur-al rampage---purging mainstream personal care items and going more chemical-free where practical. So one day in the midst of this bodycare lifestyle change I visited our local hippy-yuppie drugstore and asked the clerk for "the most effective natural deodorant you've got" 'and make it snappy, Bub', I didn't add--but thought. I was in a big hurry to go all-natural. He pointed to a deodorant with breeze-kissed lavender fields pictured on the bottle and I was sold. Boy, do I love lavender. It also said "The Best Deodorant" right there on the bottle. How could I go wrong?

I hustled my prize home in my fabulous fuschia ChicoBag , washed the pits and sprayed the beautifully bottled deodorant under my arms. It smelled like pure heaven, strongly lavender-y and...it...stung.

The next day I nicked myself whilst shaving and I developed a little irritation. In the manufacturer's defense, it did say "do not apply after shaving". Really? How long am I supposed to go without my lavender "fix" after shaving? I mean seriously, folks; go without deodorant? For ANY length of time? Is THIS what happens to everyone who doesn't heed the warning? Who applies deodorant "gasp" after SHAVING?



Two weeks later I'm beginning to wonder if I should relocate myself to Molokai . There is a BOIL right in the fold of my armpit. I can't shave there. I dare not apply any deodorant--hippie or non. Hailing a cab--which I never have the opportunity to do these days--is a no-no. And reaching for the last 4-pack of of toothbrushes at Costco is verboten. I also apologize in advance if I smell. I'm wearing a different all-natural deodorant on the left side. I figure, what the hell, why not infect the other pit while I'm at it and make it even?

J is also pretty into the whole natural thing and even uses vinegar and baking soda to clean SANS the essential oils. She recommends the crystal rock roll-on which I'm trying and so far so good on the "good" pit. J is also a nurse; she examined the "area" and handed me a tube of Neosporin and advised, "Honey. sometimes you just have to go for the pharmaceuticals." Point well taken...

I was rendered blogless...

So---this whole awful fiasco with Whoozyerbabysitter has taken over my mind and my itch to write for the past week and as it's not a very good idea to blog about this---not now---or maybe even ever I can't sit here and discuss every aspect of the situation like I'm dying to. I did get a confession and that's all will say here. Now---catch me with a bottle of wine and a warm summer night and I will spill it--the story--and maybe even the wine (probably on my shirt).

Too good to be true...

To all of you mamas who thought I was so smug about Whoozyerbabysitter. Rubbing her fabulous-ness in your weary faces; I was wrong. And it could have been a very costly mistake. I'm not going to write much about it right here or right now. I don't think it's appropriate. I'm only gonna say this---do not let Whoozyerbabysitter anywhere near your checkbook.

No, you cannot have her phone number. You don't want it. Trust me.

So if you see me looking at you sideways in real life it's because I'm a horrible judge of character and I'm second-guessing my opinion of almost every one I know. Nothing personal, I'm just gullible and I need to replace my mettle detector as hearts of fool's gold trip it.

Another masterpiece...

Who sez I've gotta go to Clix? I'm a damned good photographer if I do say so myself...

And-- with this subject matter, how could anyone take a "bad" shot?