The curious case of the toddler and the porn-like music.

Last night as I did the stand and sway, nursing my little cherub to sleep- which is getting more difficult by the day, they grow so fast – The Boss reached a up a sweet chubby little hand, placed in on my cheek and said “Baby Mine”.

Swoon.

One more round of Baby Mine on the house little one! As his eyes fluttered, fighting sleep, he popped off blinked his big blue eyes at me and said:

Bow chicka bow wow!

Um. Excuse me? I asked, what did you say?

Bow chicka bow woooooooow, Mommy!

I kissed his goose egged forehead and went downstairs hoping and praying that my mother in law and sister in law, who both were cheerleaders had taught him the Booma Chicka Boom cheer.  Nope. Neither one had, although they vowed to do so.

Next up I cornered the men in the fam…the likeliest suspects, non? Who on earth, said I, has been exposing my child to porn, or at the very least terrible cheesy porn-like music?!

Shakespeare really should have written “Hell hath no fury like a mother who thinks someone has shown her baby something innapropriate”. Although, that doesn’t have quite as good a ring to it.

The boys faces quickly paled and both denied any such thing, of course. They never would do such a thing. (for real, they NEVER would do something. This child is so very loved and protected, I always say to him that I wish all babies in the world were as loved as he is) I may have been a little, how you say, irrational? And craving chocolate like a crack whore craves crack. You get the point. The menfolk both wracked their brains to figure out where The Boss could have learned such a musical phrase!

Aha! Cried TOTT. The Motown documentary they watched several days ago! The Boss had loved the section where they laid down the tracks one by one and the bassist vocalized his line along with playing.
Boom. Chicka. Bow. Wow.
They had replayed it several times for him. Cause he’s The Boss.
Phew.

My child, not exposed to porn at all, just a run of the mill musical genius.

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Tangled up in blue…Huggies Jeans Diaper blue, that is!

TOTT and I are midgets…errrr…small people. 

Hanging with Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O’Connell. Like ya do.


Someone call Alanis because I’ve got a new one for her song. An actual ironic moment. Not just bad luck, or poor planing. Actual irony. But more on that in a minute.
There is something about NYC that usually makes me want to take a Xanax. Since I’m a bad weaner, Xanax isn’t an option right about now. Curse you Xanax and your non-safe-for-nursing-relaxingness!

Let me just tell you, that if you need to hit NYC may I recommend you arrive as the guests of the fantastic Huggies team. When I received the email asking me if we would like to attend the Huggies Jeans Diaper fashion show and inviting Max to be in the fashion show,  I was like…hold on let me check my sched. OH HECK YEAH!! First off, Max already rocks the Huggies. Second, who doesn’t want to go to NYC for a fashion show! I though I could live out some sort of 90’s Carrie Bradshaw fantasy. Only instead of D&G hot pants it would be jeans diapers. The Huggies team even popped some in the mail to us so we could try them out before we got there.
I think they are adorable! I’ve seen some rumblings on the internet about them and to those people I say lighten up! They’re diapers, they look like jeans, and they are so cute. You know I love a baby in a diaper, and this adds to it. I’ve always been a wee bit jealous of the adorable cloth diaper covers…why can’t disposable diapering moms have some fun too?  TOTT, Max and I took the train from DC armed with an Elmo video and a well stocked diaper bag full of treats. The moment our train arrived in New York my phone rang. How lovely! It was Attitude New York letting us know our car was waiting for us. Let me just tell you, hopping into a driven Escalade complete with car seat is a lovely way to roll into the city. Well done, Huggies.
We were driven to the W Hotel at Union Square, a swanky hotel which at first glance might not seem to baby friendly, but the entire staff simply couldn’t have been nicer to Max, the door man and the kiddo had a nice high five or two and we were off to our room.  And what a lovely room it was!

Then it happened.

We settled in and I started to clean the little tyke up before we headed off to dinner and then TOTT and his fellow producing partner were to see American Idiot. I started digging through the diaper bag, and then the suitcase feeling the panic rise as I futily searched.

It went like this:

Me: Dude. We forgot diapers!
TOTT:  Who is this ‘we’, kimosabe?
Me: Shut it you! We. Have. No. Diapers.(I start to giggle)  At a diaper event.
TOTT: It’s like ray-ee-ain on your wedding day! (he starts to laugh)
Max starts to laugh too, just cause we are.
Me:(Laughing)  I can’t believe we are here for a diaper event and have no diapers.
TOTT: (laughing) I’ll just run out and get some.

Knock.Knock.Knock.

TOTT: (confused face-answers door) Hello?

Adorable Hotel Worker Marian: Miss Dulli? Huggies would like to welcome you to New York.

She then proceeds to hand me a Skip Hop denim (natch) diaper bag. I say thank you and the moment she leaves we begin giggling again. I tear open that bag and whatdayaknow! DIAPERS! Huggies literally saves the (stinky) day! After the kid was changed and we had wiped our tears of laughter and totally rewrote Alanis’ song (remind me to send it to her. It’s pretty good. And features actual irony) we dug into that cute bag and whoohoo! more goodies!

Along with the diapers and bag were coupons for more free diapers (squee!) a gc to cover eating out etc. and oh yeah…a FLIP video camera.

We headed up and moved on out to meet the friends for dinner. I’ve no idea where we ended up, exept that it was totally YUM and featured this:

Ultra awesome super sly taken on the go pic of Uncle Jesse in several poses. How oddly awesome.
At that point I wasn’t aware that Rebecca Romijn was the Celeb mom. Weird, non? (note to Alanis, NOT ironic though.)

After a quick trip to the St. James theatre, Max and I were off to the hotel to catch some ZZZZ’s before his big day! We started out with a lovely breakfast with our fellow bloggers who were total rockstars. I don’t mean to be biased, but seriously…some outrageously adorable children amongst the bloggers. They kids quickly got acquainted as did we. Is there anything cuter than a bunch of 18 mo-2 year olds playing together?
We got the kids ready for the fashion show and then two of the tallest, most beautiful people ever walked in the room. Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O’Connell. The two of them were very nice and down to earth! Even better they seemed to genuinely like babies and were happy to interact with them. Jerry told Max that he had two little girls at home for him…so it looks like Lauren the waitress has some competition. I know I’ll be the mother of the groom, but I’ve got some great ideas for the Dulli-O’Connell wedding.
Before you knew it we were off to the fashion show! Having done a bunch of these myself as a kid I know how hectic they are and you add babies into the mix and it’s a whole lot crazier! There were a couple of mix ups, and we felt a little ummmm, second fiddle there for a second but the Huggies Team was on the case and took care of everything politely and brilliantly!
I was very proud of Max, he’s done a ton of photo shoots so he’s a pro with that, but this was his very first fashion show and he did very well!

The Huggies team even let me know that he ended up on the life.com website and he even made the Access Hollywood promo for the event. Well done, Max.

I wish the shirt was shorter so you could see the jeans diapers!
We had a wonderful time, and the diapers are great. We used them overnight in NY and they held up beautifully while Max slept for 11 hours! Go Huggies! (and Go Max) They fit him like a dream and I think they are cute. Why not have a little fun while keeping our little ones dry? Everytime I’ve asked M to bring me a diaper he’s chosen the Jeans diaper so I guess he likes em too. Get em while you can cause they are only available during the summer. Thank you to Huggies for hosting us, we had a lovely time and we love the jeans diapers!

Wordless Wednesday~ Apple. Tree. Not far.

                                                        Apple.               Tree.
TOTT makes this face when he looks in the mirror. It’s kinda Blue Steel-like. The whole of the American Dream teases him about this. The other night TOTT had given M a bath and had combed their hair so it matched. M looked in the mirror, made the face and said:
“I LOVE MAX”
Clear as a bell. I am in so much trouble 

We just went there for eggs…

I will admit I have a weakeness for Bob Evans pancakes. I mean, it’s no waffle from Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles (hold the chicken for me please) but they are dang good and the second we walk in the toddler starts calling ‘cakes! the cakes!’

Max lives in a really nice world. Every where we go someone swoons over him. Tells him he’s gorgeous. I want to live in that world, don’t you? Bed head? Awwww, so cute. Covered in food? So sweet! Mismatched clothes because you refuse to take off the guitar shirt? How sweet are you??

In fact, not to long ago Max caused a fight. He was cruising along at the mall and TOTT and I were relishing all the comments made either too us, or just overheard about how fantabulous our kiddo is. An adorable couple approached him, the 20 something blond girl said to her man “isn’t he the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” the boyfriend responded “eh, it’s a baby.” The light went out of her eyes and TOTT whispered to me “oh his stock just dropped.” She turned on him, how could he not think that baby was the cutest thing? Agreed blond girl! How dare he! We passed by them and kept going, but I’m pretty sure that Max prevented that pretty blond girl from marrying a cold hearted baby hater. We passed by them later at the food court and all was not well in Camelot. You’re welcome random blond girl at Tyson’s Corner Mall.

It was no surprise to me that when me and Mommy’s Ma (my mom, as opposed to Daddy’s Ma) took him to Bob Evans and the waitresses went all ga ga over him. I adore that people treat him well, and they always coo when he says please and thank you. Raising a boy with good manners is important to me. I hope he is always fawned over, but I will not allow him to expect preferencial treatment, abuse it, or take it for granted. I will do my best to raise a grateful child, and one who treats others as beautifully as he is treated. It’s a glorious life for him so far. I wonder if he will grow up gorgeous or if this is the pinnacle of his cute. Either way, I just think he is the bees knees y’all! I know you feel the same way about your babes, and that’s just the way it should be.

We had a lovely waitress named Lauren who immediatly proclaimed her undying love for Max. She was about 22 and adorable and was rushing around with an injured leg. Dude. I admired the heck out of her as she raced around limping from table to table with a big smile on her face and a kind word for everyone. Max pulled out all the tricks for her. Showing off all his signs and singing his songs for her, which now include Something and Here Comes the Sun. He played guitar and peek a boo. Lauren the Waitress stood no chance.

And so along with eggs and pancakes I can announce the betrothal of my only son to Lauren the Waitress, who had her friend the hostess draw Max his very favorite thing in the world (other than ‘both sides’ thankyouverymuch) and offered me this clearly legal contract to care for Max in the manner in which he has become occustomed, in 25 years.

Legally binding guitar contract.
So, at age 27 I shall hand Max off to Lauren the Waitress….wait. No. I don’t wanna! He’s all mine! He’s never getting married! But maybe Lauren the Waitress will give us free pancakes from now till I break the news. I just can’t share this bambino. He’s all mine! I’ve got the ruined belly button to prove it.

What kind of crazy a$$ Sesame Street has he been watching?

Overnight my sweet pumpkin boy has turned into toddler dictator with a vengeance. He’s got a mind of his own and by God you will bow to his will!
We are still fighting to tame the sleep dragon and hoepfully moving him into his own room this past weekend was a step in the right direction. He’s a good napper, but not so much at night.
Until this last week. Suddenly he is practically screaming ‘off with your head!’ when I dare to bring him to the crib for a quick nap.
All the while he is rubbing his eyes and his head is too heavy for his neck. (Honestly his cheeks have got to weigh two pounds each, those bad boys are plump. And delicious.)
As I carried him down on Friday he began screaming, loudly and clearly:

la la la la la
la la la la la
la la la la la la
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing! Sing a sooooooooooooooooooooooooooong!!! 

But in some sort of vicious death metal screaming growl.  It was terrifying and impressive all at the same time.

What sort of crazy a$$ Sesame Street has he been sneaking behind my back?




Despite his protestations, the second his future death metal head hit his uber cute antique truck sheets he was out like the proverbial light and he woke up singing a much sweeter version of the same song.

So, the cure for death metal is clearly more naps.

As it turns out…

As it turns out, I did learn something at Crazy Hippie Montessori School in Boulder! I dig Montessori, but this particular school was a no. I mean at the time, as a youngster it was an emphatic YES! Dub and I spent our days drawing, playing let’s pretend, and ‘learning’ long division by moving pretty turquoise balls back and forth in test tubes.

I put ‘learning’ in quotes because let’s just say that long division is neither mine, nor Dub’s strong suit.

Percentages though, percentages I got. I can figure a percentage like nobodies business. I need that skill for strategic shopping purposes.

Our mothers pulled us out of Crazy Hippie Montessori School at the end of 4th grade plunking us smack in the middle of the establishment’s public schools for 5th. Say what? Desks? Homework? We were woefully unprepared. While Dub knuckled down and towed the line- smart girl – I preferred to act out and live in an imaginary world where I was a princess and had a horse. (So…nothing’s changed except now the horse is a super safe awesome SUV to put the kiddo in.) The school district decided to hold me back in 6th grade because my ‘imagination was too strong‘. Can you imagine? The thought of a child’s imagination being quashed makes my blood boil.

Perhaps they should have tried to hold me back because I didn’t KNOW MATH. The very math they couldn’t be bothered to teach me. But that’s another matter.  So Mrs. Pinchuck, wherever you are, a little more attention on the teaching and a little less attention on the being mean. Also? If you have a strong Southern Dialect, don’t get mad if you say mirrah in a spelling test and I write MIRRAH. You gotta say the terminal R sound for a little kid to get it!

Today Mr. Max happily trotted over to me with his lovely kelly green recorder, handed it to me and said “Mommy! Do this!” I promptly performed both Hot Cross Buns and Mary Had a Little Lamb.

Score one for Crazy Hippie Montessori School. Recorders are big in Montessori. And now I am big to Mr. Max.

Children bring us such joy!

Don’t they? Don’t your children just make your heart light and your cheeks hurt from smiling? Mine does. Ah, the sweet voiced way The Boss says “Hi Mommy” can make my fluttering heart practically fly out of my chest and hearing him sing Big Yellow Taxi (well to be fair, he only sings the oooooooooo bop bop bop part) in the car just makes my whole day.

He is an utter delight.

But this week we have entered new phase of joy from children…the inadvertantly saying dirty things phase.

Maybe I’m twelve (okay I totally am twelve) but when Mr. Max asks for his ‘dum dicks’ I giggle every time!

BTW ‘Mommy, dum dicks!” translates to “oh dearest mummy, would you please get me my drum sticks and move the rock band drums to the center of the living room so that I might, indeed, rock the house?”

Of course the answer is: YES! You’re a rock god my little man and plus? mommy can have a little more coffee while you are banging the drum (silently) loudly.

Like all little ones his lexicon is a mix of actual English and then a great deal of The Boss-enese. It took me nearly a week to figure out that a tekko is actually a helicopter, and nacanoni is guacamole, while boon is a much more easily recognizable version of balloon.

I pay or may not purposely put him in blue shirts just to hear him say, well you can just guess what blue shirt sounds like now can’t you?

Last night though I was at a loss for words. The Boss wasn’t. He wanted poon. (oh the google searches that will lead to this post, eh? Sorry boys nothing to see…move along!) He wanted more poon. He wanted eat more poon. Baby want poon. Daddy eat poon. Mommy eat poon. Poon, poon POON!!! His frustration ┬áthat I just did not understand what he wanted (because surely he did not want, y’know…the actual slang meaning) and wasn’t readily giving up the poon was growing by the second. He was becoming more and more adamant in his want…no his need for poon!!!

And I was laughing and wishing I had a tape recorder. The more I tried to understand and take him seriously the more I giggled. Because I am 12. The more I giggled the more frustrated he became.

Thank heavens I finally opened the fridge in a desperate attempt to find something he might like and he joyously cried “POON!” and reached for the vanilla pudding.

Ooooooh. Pudding. I see – Poon. Ok, poon thou shalt have! I mean who doesn’t love a good pudding! (Well, me. But that’s besides the point.)

Ah, one more mystery solved. And now on to the next. Out of the mouths of babes!

Schooled by a clown.

Photo courtesy of I have no idea, but I wish I did cause it’s awesome.

When I was in Elementary School Ronald McDonald himself came to teach us about fire safety. I guess he was an expert from always being around all those deep fryers and griddles. Maybe Mayor McCheese busted him jaywalking and this was his community service. Whatever it was he was there, in person, and we were stoked! I can only imagine how the teachers were laughing their butts off at us going all Jonas Brothers over Ronald friggin McDonald. ( Dare you to diagram that sentence. Seriously, I need grammar for dummies.)

(Actually don’t, I beg of you. Don’t diagram any of my sentences, I actually need Grammar for Kids Who Went To Hippie Montessori School And Spent All Day Playing Let’s Pretend So When They Got To Public School And Ronald McDonald Came It Was Too Late Because Everyone Already Knew About Adverbs And Multiplication Tables And Such.)

( Anyone know where I can get a copy of that? )

Now, I myself have never been a big fan of clowns, especially ones who are later arrested for *ahem* messing with kids, as this specific incarnation of Ronald McDonald was. And also? Well done on that background check Mickey D’s.

So there we all are in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium being taught the Stop, Drop, and Roll by THE Ronald McDonald. No,  it never occured to us that there could be more than one. He may have hocked Happy Meals but he was a celebrity in our midst you guys!

We all took it very seriously because for reals, who wants to be on fire? Ok, fine so those monks and the dudes who doing it for the movies seem to be cool with it (how does one discover that is your special skill?) But who else? Not this fifth grader thankyouverymuch. I burned my hand on the tailpipe of our volvo (don’t ask) when I was a bitty thing and I was not interesed in reliving that kind of pain.

Stop. Drop. Roll.

Just a note to Ronald for future reference, you might want to specify which way you want the kids to roll because Mike Ferry  got a feel of a lot more than I was prepared for him too. Or maybe you planned it that way. Eeeeeeew.

This weekend I snuck in to check on the kidlet. He had a rough night the night before and I was anxious and desperate for sleep. Please, for the love of all things holy kid, sleep! Using my trusty iPhone as a flashlight I peered in at the crib. (oh you know you do it too, don’t even pretend) when he stirred, rubbing the cutest little fist every over his eyes. I froze. No…

 I STOPPED. I DROPPED.  And then I ROLLED over next to his dresser and held my breath until I was sure he was sleeping peacefully again.

Dang. That creepy clown’s lesson came in handy.

Wordless Wednesday~ A lesson in independence.

Place the most precious thing in the entire universe on moving horse, maintaining vice like grip.
Begin journey: up and down, round and round.

No need to guess who the photographer was. 

Suddenly the most precious thing in the universe no longer wishes to be held on to. 
Could he really be ready? I know I am not.


I guess the lesson is really for me, not him. 
Give them wings and all that, right?