A new word in the boy's vocabulary: Commando

As if all this and this talk wasn't enough, this weekend I introduced Lil E to a very important component of, if not healthy, then happy living.

Yes, it was about the joys of being undie-free. Of course, he is a kid and a boy and he has long known the joys of running through the house nakey, waving some parts and jiggling others and planting others on my parents' leather couch. Of course.

And of course, I've pulled off a sweaty overnight Pull-Up and replaced jammies bottoms or comfy pants without Lightning McQueen or Elmo or blue dinosaurs or red cement trucks plastered across the cotton plastered across his nether-regions.

But this weekend, as I slid the purple fleece pants over his little nakey bum before breakfast and morning shows and making soy butter and jelly sandwiches, I whispered a secret of undie-defiance to him.

"Do you know what it's called when you don't wear underwear?" I asked quietly.

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Someone give me a vanilla topic to blog about and cancel my business card re-order

The other night I was having a very fun, very casual conversation with a few moms I know well (but not too well) and the topic of my blog came up. Ohhh yes.

It's not that I brought it up. I've learned. Believe me, I've learned.

It's not that I hide what I do, but I'm not exactly wearing the "I'm blogging this" t-shirt and reciting my URL every time someone asks if I'm SAHM, WAHM or what. Apparently, the culprit this time was the kid. Apparently, he brought it up to the husband of one of the moms that I was "probably at home buhhh-logging." This was likely said with an eye-roll that my astoundingly adept three-year old can produce with high drama and on cue all too well and the dad found it funny enough to share with his wife. Fast forward to the conversation, my job as a blogger, blah blah.

And it ended up after some nice questions and lovely interest in my career (who doesn't love that, right? -- especially after spending so many days answering questions only about why the Dragon Tales dragons talk and are made in such awkard color combinations or where eye boogs come from), that I gave her my card.

Ohhh, my card. With that blasted URL. Perhaps, perhaps she is like most of us (me, but maybe no one else) and will shove the card in her purse and never give it a second thought until she has to use it in a moment of desperation to wipe her child's incessantly runny nose (great...I just referred to two varietals of mucus within sentences...that is just freaking phenomenal).

Regardless, what do I do in response? I get right up the next morning and write  a post about phone sex and vibrators.

As the (ahem) gracious and (oh no) talented Jessica Simpson is so fond of saying: Oh. Mah. Gaw.

What was I thinking? What in the hell was I thinking?

You see? This is why I don't give out my URL. This is why I force two or three of you to Google me to find out what goss I am spreading. Seriously. I may have some kind of problem.

So yeah, that's nice, right? A sweet, smart mom (any one of them whom I would love to be better friends with) hops on and finds all that goodness a-waiting her.

Not that I take it back. No no no. I do a check in before every publish and I usually do hit that button with gusto. But I feel a little like I am a sixteen-year old who has just been told by her Gap manager to please go back to stocking v-necks (crew necks, scoop necks, ballet necks) in the back and to kindly please STOP SCARING THE CUSTOMERS.

There it is. Clearly, there it all is.

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Grrrlfriends, raunch and delicious dilemmas: Just another Thursday morn

Just got a call from Lulu, my dear friend from the days of Women Studies graduate school yore. My friend who was forever on a miso soup and scotch detox diet and had this crazy/strangely compelling idea of (this is the point when all relatives must look away, at least until the third paragraph) fashioning a vibrator to a suction cup and then attaching it to a pedal-operated trash can to really...ummm...well, you get the picture (and I know you have a picture). How could I not love her?

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