November 29, 2010

Every year I get tricked into eating someone’s dry-ass bird for Thanksgiving.

I blame my fantasticness.

It’s probably because I’m so fantastic all the time.

I like to see the good in people. So I say yes. Yes to going to Senior So-in-So’s house for Thanksgiving this year because geez, I’m super fantastic. And I think to myself, I remember you having a large assortment of pies the last time I came over for Thanksgiving, and I’m not about to pass up large assortments of pie. I might even be willing to overlook your blander-than-my-duvet-cover-turkey. I say blander, because my duvet cover at least has some flavor with my sloughed off skin flakes that taste like corn and lubriderm.

For the right amount of pie, I’m willing to do some crazy stuff.

But this year I bested myself…

AAH-HAA!!! Take that, SELF!

…and decided to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house.

Which means I immediately threw myself into an anxiety-frenzy. I almost can’t do anything productive if I’m not in a frenzy about it. I’m like the opposite of a duck swimming in a pond. I’m all frenetic on the outside, but calm and organized on the inside. I’m like if a duck swam upside down. Or, I’m like a duck from a fish’s point of view. Yeah, that’s it.

OUTSIDE:: I’m climbing up my kitchen counters like a crazy-person, shattering bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar to find the bay leaves in my spice cabinet.

INSIDE:: I’m humming a Josh Groban Christmas carol.

OUTSIDE:: I have lipstick on my teeth, mismatched athletic socks pulled up to my knees, and I’m wearing an oversized holiday sweater with blinking lights on it, one of which is broken.

INSIDE:: I’m mentally checking off lists and multitasking like a MO-FO.

It’s my process people. Don’t judge.

Needless to say I was a mess. And things didn’t turn out perfect.

But, on the plus side, the turkey was delicious.

Here’s why:

First, I brined the sucker.

Then I rubbed butter under its skin.

And lastly, I placed strips of bacon on the turkey’s boobies.

TA-DA!! Bacon! Who knew?

People liked the bacon turkey, and I think I may have started a new tradition of having Thanksgiving at my house.



You cook a mean bird

by Mike Krause on November 30, 2010


by Marge on November 30, 2010

I did the butter, didn’t consider the bacon. Must try the bacon. Bacon makes everything better.

by Jen on November 30, 2010

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3 AM boobie call


November 23, 2010

If my baby could sleep through the night, all my problems would magically vanish. I’d have way more sex with my husband, I’d make the most perfect chocolate soufflé cake, I’d be way more interesting to talk to, and all my back fat would melt away.

This is what I tell myself at 3 AM every morning; right about the time when I’m walking down the hall to retrieve my fussy 11-month-old.

I think he’s too old to be waking up in the middle of the night. What does he need? He can’t possibly be hungry.

Maybe he’s bored?

Is his nose is stuffed up?

Maybe he has superior intelligence?

Ya, that’s it.

Superior intelligence.

Up until now I’ve been fine with the middle-of-the-night-wake-up-call.

I’ve justified it by thinking that it’s our special time to be together. I’ve thought it’s good for my milk supply to be nursing him, plus he gets a nice warm belly of healthy milk. And he has always been on the slender end of weight charts, so a little extra milk isn’t a bad thing, right?

But now that he’s almost a year old, I’m finally done with it.

He, on the other hand, would beg to differ.

I don’t know what to do now.

I’m in uncharted territory here.

With Berlyn, somehow I got that girl to sleep 12 hours at night when she was only 3 months old.

But with Hudson, it’s totally different. I’ve tried to fill his belly up before he goes to bed, I’ve tried to let him work it out on his own.

He’s even done it several times before–he’s gone 10-12 hours at night without a peep.

So I know he can do it. He just prefers not to.

I think he just wants to hang out with me…

At 3 AM.

Every night.

Well, these boobs have had enough of the 3 AM boobie call.

Mama’s shutting it down.

I NEED to sleep.

And he does too.

Any tips? Tricks? I’m desperate.


We do a 10:30 dream feeding (you know the one where they never actually wake up. Giving our little guy a 8oz bottle complete with rice cereal. Then we make sure he is good and pissed off before we go in at 3:00. usually letting him cry for at least an hour. (Sucks the first night, then it gets better.) That’s what works for us.

by Adam on November 23, 2010

Grim… I think I took my boobs and went away for the weekend and let it be Hugh’s problem… it was so long ago I don’t really remember, but that’s a good thing.

by Kristin on November 23, 2010

You stumbled onto it before but failed to realize it. He likes hard liquor.

by Mike Krause on November 23, 2010

Dunno…but when you find out tell me…my 5 year old still wakes up every night for a chat at about 2.30am. And she hasn’t been breastfed since she was 9 months old.

by Toni on November 23, 2010

My kid is 2 and still wakes up once or twice a night…every night. He’s never been much into long periods of sleep and we’ve tried “it all.” I remember when I stopped nursing him in the early morning around 10 months, Tim would go in to help him back to sleep. We did that for a week and then he realized no more boobies in the early morning and even though he would still wake up he wouldn’t get the boob. Now he wakes up talks, knocks on the wall and then just goes back to sleep. I can’t wait till he’s a teenager and I can wake him up :).

by mariah on November 23, 2010

well toots, if ur ready to take ur boobies back for yourself, then studsy hudsy is just gonna have to deal. sad but true. this is totally ur call. but it’s never easy. all us nursing moms have felt ur pain, ur not alone. it’s painful the first few nights; for ur boobs, ur heart and ur ears. in the long run though, he won’t remember and he’ll still be superiorly intelligent. 🙂

by jessica on November 23, 2010

Wish I could offer something more helpful than sympathy, but you got me. My 4 year old barely sleeps through the night still and didn’t do it for the first time until she was 2. I stopped nursing at 12 months, but she still wouldn’t sleep through the night, even once weened from a feeding.

by Jen on November 30, 2010

Going through this right now with my 7-month-old. Stopped nursing two nights ago and he seems to be waking up MORE often!

This is not good. Mama needs some sleep already!!

Good luck to you!

ps. God, it would be amazing if the back fat thing was true, wouldn’t it?

by RealMommyChron on November 30, 2010

With a clean bill of health & encouragement from my 9 month old son’s pediatrician, I moved into a downstairs bedroom (so hubby could sleep), set baby’s crib up in the entryway and let him figure it out on his own. It took one week of fitful, rage-filled turned pathetic ‘you-don’t-love-me’ crying episodes before he finally took the hint & would sleep for longer than 2 hours at a stretch.

by Susan on November 30, 2010

went through this as well. the screaming, boob-call not the melting back fat. we kept nursing until 16 months but had to stop the middle of the night… so i had my hubs give him a bottle of breast milk for a few nights and then he realized it wasn’t the same. so after a few wake-ups for the hubs, it was over in about a week. hope that helps, maybe? either way it is so very painful. for all involved. good luck.

by sarah on December 2, 2010

I read recently that giving the baby a bottle of water instead sometimes does the trick. After a few nights, they realize it just isn’t worth getting up for.
But what do I know? My little girl is like yours was–sleeps right through the night.

by Brendan on January 1, 2011

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Road Trippin


November 18, 2010

I consider myself an authority on road trips, seeing as though I’ve braved a whopping 2 this year.

That sort of qualifies me as an authority, right?

Well, no.

But let’s just pretend, shall we?

And because I have survived a whole 2 road trips with my family this year, I’ve come across a few tips and advice points that I’d like to share.

Here we go!

  • Tip #1-There’s no such thing as a bad out-the-car-window-photo. Take a bunch and enjoy. But beware, you can end up with a few photos that have you thinking, why did I take this?! What is the significance? The sky is kind of pretty, but other that that it’s total crap.

But then you can’t delete it because it makes you think of your fantastical trip in the car for 8 hours, and how barfy you got when you were just outside Gilroy, and you contemplated stopping on the side of the road to dry heave, but you decided against it, because you just stopped for the kids, and they’re finally sleeping and you are a martyr, who denies thyself such luxuries as barfing, for the good of the family. But it’s all worth it when you get some magical photos that warm your heart  just enough to make you crave a bite of lemon strudel cake with a sip of hot coffee:

  • Tip # 2- Snacks are a must. Candy, chips, even beef jerky are all okay. At home they might be forbidden, but when on a road trip they are encouraged, even celebrated.

It’s your lucky day! Fast food is also acceptable.

  • Tip #3- Sleeping children is the goal. Finding a clean rest stop is not the goal, making fond memories in the car is not the goal, not even getting to your destination is the goal, I repeat: Sleeping children is the goal. And you should stop at nothing to get your children to sleep. Because once they’re sleeping, it’s almost like you’re on a date; a long-uneventful-trek through-sprawling-highways-of-nothingness date. It really is quite romantic.

  • Tip #4. Drive safe. You don’t want to end up like this guy.


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Not buying it


November 9, 2010

It was a quiet morning. Hudson was sleeping and Berlyn was at school. I was sitting at my dining room table looking at my computer. I was enjoying coffee and a viral video with Keenan Cahill and 50 Cent when I was accosted with a loud knock at my door.

I jumped up, brushed the Triscut crumbs off my pants, grabbed my bra, and went to answer the door.

Was it my Amazon order? Perhaps it was my neighbor coming over to borrow some eggs? Maybe I just won the Publisher Clearing House. I’ve always wanted to win something awesome.

And I would feel so cool walking into the bank holding one of those giant checks.

I’d be all smug, with my head held high, but then as I turned the check over to endorse the back I’d take out some bank patrons at the knees. I’d say I was sorry, and offer to buy them a blueberry Slurpee when I was done depositing my gignormous check, because I was a millionaire now, and I could afford to buy a few frosty blue drinks. Heck, I can even buy them an entire Slurpee machine. If my huge check karate chopped your legs in half, please accept this Slurpee machine from me as my deepest apologies. 


All the bank patrons would clap and pull out their phones to take my picture with my huge-normous check, and I’d do something borderline inappropriate for the photo like mount the check and pretend to ride while smacking it’s anthropomorphic butt, because I know they’re all posting their photos to Facebook, and under the caption they’re writing something like, “Blue Slurpee Princess saves my day!!” And I want to make sure the photo gets them at least 7 likes and 4 comments.

Because I care.

I’m a carer. It’s what I do.

So, at this point I’m wrestling to get my bra hooked and as I look through the peep hole I see two women:

Nicely dressed.

Chit chatting on my porch.

Who are they?

I don’t know them.

And where the heck is my gargantuan check for one million dollars?

I look closer into the peep hole and they’re holding a big thick book with shiny pages.

A Bible?

An Encyclopedia Britannica?

I decide not to answer the door. They obviously want to sell me something, and I don’t feel like buying today. Yesterday I was in more of a buying mood. I bought a few things on, and a new Marc by Marc Jacobs iPhone case, Oh! And I almost bought some adorable Frye boots.


But today, not so much into the buying.

So I just stared at them through the peep hole. Because aside from being a carer, I’m also kind of creepy.


And aren’t you just a little pissed that you wiped off the Triscuit crumbs AND grabbed the bra? I would be. I get annoyed because I have a window in my front door so I can’t really avoid people. Unless I put something over the window, which I don’t do because I am lazy and I like to complain.

by Kori on November 9, 2010

You should have not worried about the bra, and lost the shirt. If they were missionaries they would have appreciated it.

by Libby on November 9, 2010

I answered the door to some Religious door knockers once. I was holding my 9 month old, was 5 months preg with my 3rd kid, had my 5 year old son hanging off me and my step-kids were home as well…My step-kids were 16 and 13….the man asked where my husband was..I said “what husband?” then they asked how old my kids were…I told them. Then they looked at me and asked how old I was. I said 25…they left. I may have made out that the step-kids were mine. They never came back either….

by Toni on November 9, 2010

I love that you took their picture through the peephole. I don’t answer the door either. It’s my door. Come to think of it, I often don’t answer my phone either. That’s what voicemail is for.

by Jen on November 10, 2010

YAY I love the photo through the eyehole. You are creeptastic!

I have a front gate where people have to ring the doorbell, but I pulled it out of the wall so it’s just a bunch of wires now. Ahhh peace and quiet.

by Steam Me Up, Kid on November 11, 2010

HA!! I never answer the door either… unless I have something baking. I like to quickly give them cookies then send them on their way. I feel so bad that they are hoofing it all over the place.

by kara-noel on November 14, 2010

I sit and stare at people through my peep hole too, sometimes I make faces at them (but only if I’m feeling ultra creepy). What scares me is when they put their eye up to the peep hole…can they see me? do they have some crazy x-ray machine that can sense me on the other side? are they mind readers???
I think I may begin taking pictures of these invaders and hang a Most Wanted type poster outside my door. Take that you 45 year old pretending to earn a trip to France with your college history class…who do you think you’re fooling!?!

by Christina on November 18, 2010

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November 4, 2010

Stickers are fun, and everyone’s having a good time.

This is a lie.

Stickers are not fun, and the only one having a good time is my kid. You know my kid, she’s the one with the snot in her eyebrow making her eyebrow hairs look all wonky and old-manish, she’s the one wearing a thrice handed down Ariel costume with shedding sequins, to which she refers to them as “sea-coins”, and she’s a rabid maniac sticking stickers on all my stuff!

It’s like she has obsessive compulsive sticker disorder. OCSD. It’s serious, ya’ll. And there’s not enough Goo-Gone in the world to eradicate this disorder.

Princess Tiana on my beautiful dining room table?


How did my daughter know that I wanted a hot skinny bitch watching me eat my third bowl of Strawberry Frosted Mini Wheats?

She’s so intuitive.

And Trader Joe’s stickers on the car window?


Thanks Trader Joe’s!

Oh, and my personal favorite:

Stickers on mommy’s ass.

I didn’t know it was there. I conducted my entire day with that damn sticker on my ass. No one told me it was there either. Berlyn has gotten incredibly good at the nonchalant divert-attention-and-stick-a-sticker-on-someone-move.

She came up to me all sweet and loving, and said, “Mommy, you’re the best mommy I’ve ever had. I love you!” and stealthily applied just enough pressure to my left buttock to stick the sticker there ALL DAY LONG.

But don’t worry Berlyn, I’ll get you back.

BAWAHHAAA!! (that’s my menicing laugh)


“How did my daughter know that I wanted a hot skinny bitch watching me eat my third bowl of Strawberry Frosted Mini Wheats?”

…hahaha, i love you?!

by elle on November 4, 2010

Hmmm. I love stickers on my piano bench and stuck to the glass so that you have to razor blade those little bastards off. -_-

by Megan on November 4, 2010

You a funny lady.

by Dena Lucas on November 4, 2010

I once had a $5.99 sticker stuck to my ass all day. And no-one offered to buy it at that cheap price either.

by Toni on November 4, 2010

I am so glad to know that there is a name to go with this disorder. Mea likes to stick them in super hidey places, like inside door jams, and inside the dog’s kennel. The front of the stove behind the dish towel is a favorite as well, so they can get good and baked on.

by Kelly on November 5, 2010

What Elle said. (I adored that line.) Also, you have a smart kid: “sea coins” for “sequins”? Amazing.

by Michelle on November 7, 2010

I remember going through that phase. I also went through a phase right after I learned how to spell/write my name where I wrote it everywhere. Including on my mom’s business invoices and briefcase. I was a gem. Aren’t kids the best?

by Bellacantare on November 8, 2010

Haha love this!

by Beth @ To the Fullest on January 7, 2011

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Mom Car


November 3, 2010

No one ever told my mom that when she had kids she was supposed to get a mom car.

This is weird, because she totally got the memo to wear pleated-front mom-jeans and she always used the time honored phrases, because I said so and if everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you?

To which I answered, yes. Because if all my friends committed mass suicide I would be plagued with the deepest depression and would have no choice but to join them.

That response just pissed my mom off, which was (and still is) one of my favorite things to do…


All through my childhood my mom drove tiny, fast cars.

I’m pretty sure her and my dad took me home from the hospital on the back of one of these bad boys:

I think it helped communicate to the world, Hey, I’m here! I’m kind of a bad ass, and you can take your five-point harness and shove it.

As a baby, my mom carted my brother and me around in a Toyota Celica.

Did she ever complain after countless trips to the grocery store or hoisting us in and out to our respective daycare centers? Nooo, because she looked hot. And looking hot is paramount. And it is what also led her to her next car purchase, a Nissan 3000ZX:

As a 4 year-old, I can assure you that this was the coolest car ever. While my friends’ moms drove station wagons and mini-vans, my mom drove a talking car that also had it’s very own Matchbox.

Yes, I said talking car. My mom’s car would go all Nightrider on your ass, saying things like:

Your door is ajar

Your key is in the ignition

You won’t go far driving with the parking brake on, Cyndi.

A few years after that my mom decided to get a new car, my brother and I were about 9 and 10, and she was driving us to soccer practice and dance class. Maybe just maybe she’d get a Volvo or something equally sensible?

Nah, she got a Chevy Camero instead:

The car was completly impractical.

It made me barfy.

It was a bitch to get in and out of.

It crunched over steep driveways and bottomed out at every dip in the road.

And my mom loved it.

She’d take the T-tops off and drive fast while the wind whipped through her perm, I however, would be in the back contemplating a juicy vomit on the upholstery.

My mom had that car for about 6 years, and then gave it to my brother.


He never did get that throw-uppy smell out of the seats.

Now I was about 16 and my mom didn’t have to drive us anywhere anymore. She was done with carpools and dropping us off at our friend’s houses or the mall.

She could finally get a car totally for herself.

So what does she get?

A Lexus 4-door sedan.

She finally got herself a mom car.

Way to go, Mom.


Haha! I totally remember when your mom gave the blue camero with the t-tops to Jason. Your brother would drive to waterpolo practice with the wind blowing his curly locks, and a shit-eating grin on his face from ear to ear! 🙂 Good times.

by Heather Gapik on November 3, 2010

My Mom was one of the first on the block to get a minivan. Oh, how I hated that thing. I think she got it purposely so we wouldn’t want to borrow it in high school.

by Libby on November 3, 2010

I love it when my car talks to me. – “Your door is ajar.” “Your dipstick is long.”

by Mike Krause on November 3, 2010

We had a Honda Prelude. So cool. And our door was a jar too.
sometimes we banged it with a knife when it was hard to open.

a jar.

never mind.

by Lora on November 4, 2010

[…] practice and piano lessons? For all of my adolescence my mom drove my brother and me around in zippy two-door cars, and aside from my 16 year bout of car sickness, I turned out just fine. So I’m very adamant […]

by Car Show | Hippo Brigade on September 24, 2011

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Hippo Halloween


November 2, 2010

I wore jeans and a shirt for Halloween.

But then I realized that if I added a pair of boots, a knit hat, and a sexy axe, POOF, I was transformed into a lumberjack.

(I’m totally giving attitude in this photo, huh? I think it’s the fact that I’m on the brink of chopping down some trees)

So that’s what I was, a last-minute-lumberjack. And when the kids got a little too rowdy, I just swung my axe around to let them know who’s boss.

Berlyn was a butterfly princess:

and Hudson was a cute little lion:


If you didn’t want to carry the ax you could have just gone as a Nirvana fan.

And sorry about Hudson’s cold. Well, I am. Meg’s not.

by Libby on November 2, 2010

I’m filing this away to use next year. I like that you don’t really need to carry a purse with this ensemble. The butterfly princess is beautiful. I love that she’s in fall colors instead of pink/purple.

by Michele on November 2, 2010

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