A Little Tidbit.

It was family reunion time at the Coloma Country Inn last weekend. The fall leaves were out and my aunts and uncles and a couple of cousins were there--mostly from Central and Southern California soaking in the colors of a Northern Californian October. Whoozyerdaddy and I also got out for a rare date to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary during which I got to remember in the midst of all of the choas that is our lives right now that I love that man, he makes me laugh.



My mom and Aunt C don't remember exactly which bed it was but apparently in a moment of desperation whilst touring Hearst Castle their guide gave them the nod to slip off silently and change my diaper on one. They left the group, a blowout requiring my mom's immediate attention while Aunt C went along for support (I'm thinking, more, the lookout!). Really, my bare little (at the time) booty touched rich brocade draped on a bed transported from Versailles where perhaps even King Louis XIV once snoozed---or upon where maybe, just maybe Marie Antoinette uttered "Let them eat cake."

Incredible Cuteness

S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G

Whoozyerdaddy and I had a conversation almost entirely in spelling this evening. Whoozyerkid, who isn't even 4 yet, having heard and sponged the whole conversation said "Mom, you guys are being C-R-A-P-P-Y".

Time for pig Latin...

This may seem odd to some of you but I'm shouting out to the universe for my techie-homie.

My friend "R" reads my blog and I don't want to call him at work seeing as he works for one of those stressed out agencies bailed out recently. I don't seem to have his email anywhere. He's just somewhere in the cyberworld and I need him. My computer is pulling some crazy stunts and he can tell me WTF it won't restart or download new programs or do Windows update or make me a martini. "R" --call me babe. Mama needs you.

Whoozyermama's First Soap...

This was a quick photo taken at night of MY FIRST SOAP because--dammit---that's the only time I have right now.

Well folks, so far I have made three batches of soap and I haven't burned my face off!!!! Thank God. I really love having a face. It works for me. I am enjoying my newfound role as Whoozyersoapmistress---lurking down to the basement, donning goggles, gloves, sweatshirt and pants, calf-length Costco shearling boots and respect for the "VIP". Lori Nova, my teacher and soap sensei likens lye to a Very Important Person (I imagine a volatile pimp)at a dating party. You handle the VIP with kid-gloves, you make sure there is a surplus of interesting and attractive dates for him at the party (more oil than the lye can saponify). You combine the oil and lye and you stir with a stick blender until the mixture resembles a light custard. You then mix in any scent and color and oh-so-carefully-because-you-like-having-a-face pour the fragrant mixture into a lined mold. You wrap your raw soap in old blankets "putting the party to bed" to mingle and synergize and then harden. 24 hours later you loosen the block of soap from the mold and cut it into bars. In a couple of days you can trim it up and make it pretty. About 5 weeks later you have a lathering bar, a keepsake from the party in the basement. Which beats a battered lampshade any day.

Hey Whoozyerbaby!!!!!

"Are you coming after Mama?" I asked.

"Yeah." said Whoozyerbaby.

And I have a witness. Whoozyerbabysitter II heard the same thing. She is equally amazed and astounded. "No effing way! Did she really say that?" I asked. "Uh huh" affirmed the sitter, eyes wide.


In other news check out Whoozyerbaby's fabulous, adorable, cute new tooth that has already more than grazed my nipple.

The key to brilliant babies. Our Marpac Sleepmate 980 A

So you have ascertained by now that the Sleepmate I am referring to above is not my handsome husband. No---the "our" is Whoozyerbaby and I. One night in a fit of madness triggered by Whoozyerkid's 2 AM summer cough and her close proximity to my bed I decided that my world would be a better place with the best white noise machine Amazon.com reviews could assess and recommend. The Sleepmate 980-A looked a little outdated but I figured over 200 cumulative Amazon reviews couldn't go wrong--4.5 Amazon stars.

I never expected to see this machine---which looks like factory surplus from the 80's--in another home--but--lo and behold while at Shaken Mama's abode keeping an eye on baby G for a spell I spotted that antiquity on Jeege's nursery floor. I set Whoozyerbaby on the floor to change Jeege's diaper and Whoozyerbaby crawled over, flipped the switch and turned it off. And if you read Shaken Mama's fabulous blog you'll know how stinking smart Jeege is.

Yes folks. I think that's the link. The Marpac Sleepmate 980 A helps little brains grow and develop at an accelerated pace. If you can get over the design (it's the aesthetic cousin to the Commodore 500 personal computer) it's a cognitive coup.

It's not cheese...

It's beautiful slippery, lathery soap. The feel of it on my skin; it's like the difference between Potato Buds and Yukon Gold Mashed Potatoes made with Strauss Family Creamery heavy cream and butter, roasted garlic and Fleur de Sel; the quality is felt gliding across my body as it would over my taste buds.

And the scents; from lavender to anise--to petitgrain and orange, bay and rosemary--I know that inside of me is a person who can mix scents and textures to make soap in my basement the way I make dinner in my kitchen. Watching Lori Nova of The Nova Studio deftly creating soap today confirmed the instinct that sudsy bars for me may just be the thing. People---do you see the soap she made? Shower with it and you'll see why I am practically giddy. Watch Lori make soap and you'll see why I am feeling so high.

I'm great at flavors and good at timing in the kitchen and I know without thinking just what to do to make a perfect risotto. Why haven't I made a career out of cooking? The product is fleeting, I'm a little picky when it comes to food, cooking is hard on the body and restaurant hours are brutal. The inventory is extremely perishable.

But here, I get to mix and experiment and play and still get a scent and my oh my. Soap, people just might be my thing...who would've thunk?

Immersed in ounces at the self-serve Coco Swirl

Words can't express how much Whoozyerkid and I just want to pull up a wheeled chair, stick our heads under the spigots at Coco Swirl; mouths agape, wanting, wanting, propelling ourselves left and right and left again like baby birds being fed by multiple mamabirds. Oh. It. Is. So. Good. The homemade mochi, the tart and plain yogurt, the fresh fruit, the CHOCOLATE creaminess. For lunch, dinner, dessert breakfast--whatever. We are lost, hopelessly lost in the swirl.


And it is a certain purgatory we find ourselves in when our cups house just air and our spoons seek cold resistance only to return to our trembling lips empty. Empty. Empty.

"Guess What, Whoozyermama?"

"What?" I answered.

"Clay Aiken is gay." said Whoozyerdaddy.


"No Shit, Sherlock." said I.


"No shit..."