Sword-wielding poop samurai

So Lil E and I were sitting in the bathroom over the weekend, he half-nakey on his little potty and me teetering on the little stool next to the sink.

This is where we have long conversations, sing songs and ask each other Charlie Rose-like questions about the world these days.

"Mommy," he said seriously, "let's talk about poop."

Grrrreat. More of this, I thought.

I said nothing and he launched in.

"Isn't poop amazing?!"

For a moment, I became a ninja mommy, recalling the stealth conversational-avoidance skills from my days in nonprofit fundraising when I had a boss who could instantly appall me with the flick of a rude, inappropriate or mean-spirited comment right in the middle of a staff meeting. I used a move that was carefully developed and well-used: I just sat there, looking back at him, expressionless.

But like the boss, that didn't stop Lil E. If he'd been holding a sword (oh God), he would have raised it.

"Well, yes! Poop is amazing. And pee is beautiful."

I sat quiet, still, silent. Lil E stared me down with his lips slightly turned up and his eyes full of anticipation. And then, I really did get ninja: I burst into laughter. Loud, obnoxious, trying-too-hard, sarcastic laughter.

And the glory of it all was that it was just enough to throw off that little potty-saboteur. He laughed along with me, then got quiet again, looking down and concentrating on the real business.

I felt a little smug, I admit, halting that conversation before it went any further down the...ummm, tube. That and that the fact he's actually using the potty and not holding it six to eight hours at a time, is making me feel pretty victorious. And winning the battles is what parenting is all about, right?

Right? Well, no matter what, I was stealth as hell. And that counts for lot.

Click to read more ...

OPEN CALL!

BlogHer is so close, I can taste it. At least I can taste the gloriousness of finally getting my roots touched up, a few new highlights and perhaps a new pair of fabu shoes all in the name of the business venture of blogging.

And here's my favorite part: The women. The mamas. The writers. The blogebrity sitings. Most of all, I am thrilled to spend time with my grrrls, just staring at each other in person and trying to be as clever as we are when we IM or email. Fun, right?

Danielle from Foodmomiac and I decided that the ultimate treat for we Chicago grrrls attending BlogHer would be to kiss the husbands and kiddos goodbye for three days and stay downtown with all the other bloggers. So we booked a room at the W (I know! fancy!).

Now, we'd like to open it up to one or two more women to room together, braid hair, giggle and goss and talk very seriously about domain mapping and whatnot. Interested?

If so, email Danielle at danielle[at]foodmomiac[dot]com and tell us why you'd like to spend three night at the Dub (other than the cheaper way to attend a conference and stay in some schmancy digs kinda stuff).

You get bonus points for including shoe info or photos...It might sound base, but kittens, we all know how much you can tell from peeking at the shoes.

Hope to see you at BlogHer!

Click to read more ...

Postcards from the past

One of my many partners in crime is Mack. We met way back in the near-virginal years when we were paired up as roommates our freshman year at Northeast Missouri State University (I try not to acknowledge the name change). We lived in Ryle Hall 202, an all-women's dorm where I learned a lot about the world and how to navigate myself in the tiny pocket of Kirksville, Missouri.

Every time we left Kirksville to drive three hours to the airport or train station where Mack would head back to the Razor City in Wyoming and I would head back to the blissful concrete life in Chicago, we would barrel out of the parking lot of Ryle Hall and down the streets, flipping off the whole town and screaming at the top of our lungs, "Fuuuuuuuuck you, Kirksville!"  It was amazingly empowering. It was two A-students getting their release on. It was how I left Kirksville the last time I was there twelve years ago, long after Mack transferred and even though I had to yell it alone.

Mack went back to the 'Ville last weekend and she even snuck in to our old digs. She couldn't get into our room but she assured me it is very much the same. And the crazy thing is, she saw a car parked right outside the window -- the same window we peered out of after anonymously calling guys at the men's dorm across the way, posing as local DJs and telling them to hurry down, that they'd win a free Pagliai's pizza if they could meet the driver within the minute, ensuing much hilarity and wild times in the state of Misery-- with a license plate with my name on it. Of course, it also has the year '85, which is probably when the tiny zygote co-ed was born while I was busy listening to Like a Virgin and Purple Rain, but whatever.

Here are a few pieces of my past, courtesy Mack, shot on location at the once-center of it all, Ryle Hall.

It's like I'm still haunting the place.

                 Miss Scholarly Sluttina Roommate 1990

Where all the magic happened.
Or at least the karaoke and prank phone calls.

Click to read more ...