Sickness and sage advice.

I’m crawling out from the week long sick haze of the norovirus. I haven’t been that sick since I was pregnant with Huckleberry and let me tell you…this was way less fun because at the end of it there is no sweet squeaking tiny human to inhale.


But I made it, I am up, showered. I even ate REAL FOOD! First diet coke in a week….nectar of the gods, people.

Yesterday after a week of mom being in bed or puking I was finally able to play with the boys. What did they want? Of course, toddler dance party. After that it was finger painting and it was then that Boss said what may possibly be one of my favorite things he has ever said:

When you’re finger painting  

it’s important to keep your underpants on.

At all times.

I may get that on a poster for the house. That’s just good advice y’all.

The Date.

The Boss is all boy. He is noisy, messy, curious and never stops moving. He is baseball, Spiderman, dirt, football and of course, Green Day. He is sports and rock concerts. But the Boss? He loves him some Cinderella.

I don’t mean he loves Cinderella, I mean he looooooooves Cinderella. He watches the movies on repeat (Did you know there was a 2 and a 3? I didn’t but now I can recite them line by line), he pours over the books, staring at her picture. He is in love with Cinderella. He repeatedly requests a Prince Charming costume and calls me Princess Mommy. Princess Mommy? Be still my heart.

I got him a damn Prince costume.

There is a girl in his class at school who is more benevolent dictator than princess, and by that I mean she is awesome. She at 5 knows more what she wants than I do at…well, more than I do. The moment he enters the classroom she say “Max! Come play!” and he says “Yes Leah!” I was not surprised when he asked if she could come over to play and maybe she could wear a dress and be his princess.

{Leah in action. Photo by moi}

Go ahead, make the Princess Leah joke to yourself, it’s inevitable.

A quick email to her mom and the date was set! Oh, he was so excited.  The countdown till Saturday when The Princess (as she was heretofore known) was on and impatience was the word of the week. Finally, the day came and the countdown till the Princesses arrival was a mere hour. The house was cleaned and he was bathed, teeth brushed and Prince Costume on. The costume had been slightly modified to match Daddy’s outfit on our wedding day, which actually made him look like an Amish Prince, but let’s not get distracted from the heart-wrenching awesomeness of it all! So. Suddenly he asks if he can go outside and pick The Princess some flowers. He MUST have some flowers for The Princess, he simply must! And because grandmothers are the way grandmothers are; his grandmother rushed to the store to get him a bouquet of flowers.

{my tattooed Prince Max}

He was nervous. So nervous. He stood looking out the window, waiting for a glimpse, the bouquet of flowers clutched behind his back. We took pictures and he patiently smiled and posed, and I thought this is what Prom will be like. I was caught in that mom emotion of wanting to smile so wide my face will break and wanting to cry that it is simply going to fast. But before I could wrap him in my arms to tell him I loved him The Princess arrived! She came right in and showed us her dress and fancy shoes. Boss handed her the flowers and she thanked him politely as her mother and I both died a little. Then she grabbed his hand and said “Show me your house!” and off they went! There were laughs, and screams of joy, jumping on the couch and playing with every toy in our home. The best of all was that the loyal Footman Huckleberry was included in everything. I came downstairs once to find Boss sneaking his arm around her waist. WHAT THE WHAT??? Later in a moment of quiet I heard her say “thank you for the flowers Prince Max.”

After she left and he and I were snuggled up for bedtime I asked if he had fun and he said yes. Then he said “I love you Princess Mommy”, slipped his hand into mine and drifted off to sleep.

He’s still mine. For now.

The week that was…

1. Huck and Mommy had a date at the mall which ended with Hip Hop Huck drinking his milk and driving all while giggling “go! go!”
2. He’s not staying. He just swung by to grab some coffee before his big meeting. direct quote.
3. Huck started saying “Bubble” which is more like buhbuh but we will take what we can get!
4. The Boss had a play date and got her some flowers. Story next week. But OMG YOU GUYS.
5. Redskins. Sigh. But The Dulli Boys had a good time and I could listen to Boss insist everyone “CUDDLE UP!” all the livelong day. I have threatened Zach upon penalty of death not to correct him. Cuddle it is!
6. “I don’t want you to read to me. I just want to look at it myself!” Well okay then.
7. So…the brekkie goes in my tummy? Flower in ear courtesy of The Cat In The Hat Carmen Miranda scene.
8. SAG Screeners started coming in and made me one of the WOO girls. As in “WOOOOOOOOO!”
9. Fashion Sense. Huck has it. (Also I am going to nibble those thighs. Juicy deliciousness!)

If you follow me on instagram you’ve possibly seen all these before, but I thought it might be nice to keep track of the week all in one place!

This one gets it’s own spot. Boss wrote this, it says “I love Mommy” and I am going to keep it for eternity.

What was your week like?


The Boss’s Views on Santa…

Boss on seeing Santa at the mall. Again.
MAN! Santa is always at the mall!”


Then a moment later “Well, I guess he does have a lot of shopping to do!”

Too true, little man, too true.

Merry Christmas From our home to yours.

I am holding my babies closer this season, thinking of those who have lost their little ones this year. Treasuring my already treasured small people even more.  I’ve never been so thankful for being woken in the middle of the night by a teething Huckleberry or the luxury of not being able to get a real smile from Boss once the camera is pointed in his general direction. I’m drinking in every precious second with my sweet boys like its the most delicious hot cocoa with Baileys and real whip. Speaking of, it’s time to wrap and assemble some more presents and make some of the aforementioned hot cocoa…someone may have ordered a cool wooden garage toys for a certain Hucklberry not realizing it was over 2 ft. tall.

And as I write it it’s just begun to snow…perfect. Hot cocoa for everyone!

Monday Morning 9:37 am

After a long, and contentious discussion with The Boss about how we do not wear our pajamas to pre-school even if they are comfortable, I finally managed to get him dressed. And then promptly drove him to preschool. In my PJ’s. Well played Monday, well played.

Huck is working on all four incisors and two molars at once. Teething. The great baby design flaw.

Dear Monday, I’ll have a Super Big Gulp sized cocaine latte with an add shot of speed. And two Splendas please.Is there an app for that?

Monday? I cry UNCLE! I just want to snuggle in bed and watch Love Actually.

Oh yeah, I have kids. And they need, like, attention and food and stuff.

Crack latte it is! How was your weekend?


More proof I need to get off my lazy butt.

Earlier today, just as I was contemplating how I needed to blog and how on earth a week could have passed so quickly…when I got a text message from a certain girlfriend, who shall remain nameless. It said simply: I pinned something for you.

And pin she did.

Chin exercises. As in; got a saggy chin? Tighten it up with these exercises! Now, I can’t say I was offended by such a pin. She and I had just been discussing how the skin under our neck was, shall we say, a little less tight than it was earlier in life? If I am being honest,  I’ve never had a strong jaw line and learned early in theatre make up to give myself a bit of help. This never bothered me too much, but as is the case with the lines on my forehead that have been there since high school; suddenly they bug me a lot. Truvvy said “Time marches on and eventually you realize it’s walking all over your face.” Time? Suddenly is a freaking marching band on my face.

So anyway, you know I re-pinned that good old chin excercise guide and gave it a shot. 20 seconds of leaning your head back and jutting your chin to the ceiling, how hard could it be? Oh tip your head all the way back and make exaggerated kissy faces at the sky? If it tightens my ‘waddle’ you got it, pinterest! Guess what? After the end of the three minutes of intensive chin cardio, I was winded.


Clearly, I need to exercise more. And I am contemplating just such a new commitment right now as I blog and drink a mocha. Cause that’s how I roll.

In other news, Thanksgiving rocked in Ohio with the cousins and they even let me drag them out for a little photo shoot. You will now be forced to look at said pictures of said little cousins. Enjoy.

(perhaps you’re wondering “where is Huckleberry??” Well, he was sick so we kept him at home. I knew it was the right thing, but I felt SO guilty anyway. Especially when we all got hot cocoa. Mine had Bailey’s in it. Boss’ did not.)

What did you do for thanksgiving? Was it glorious? I adore Thanksgiving because it has always been a great holiday for me. From Orphan Thanksgivings in LA to being a part of my husband’s huge extended family celebration, I adore it. And every year it gets better…more kids playing, more family members added. I am, as always, thankful on Thanksgving.

Do you have a favorite child?

Do you have a favorite child? I do not…although I ponder this question whenever it pops up with an earnest contemplation. I love them both with an insane passion…differently, but an equal amount.

Huckleberry is my baby. He is spun sugar sweet. He has two speeds: angel baby and the rarely seen demon baby. There is nothing in between. He yells GO GO! When he drives his cars. He says ” ME ah ME!” when he wants you to give him soemthing. He does the cutest little booty dance whenever he hears the theme to Thomas The Tank Engine. I also do a little dance when I hear that song; it looks a bit like I am sticking an ice pick in my ear but whatever. Huck never met a hat he didn’t like and loves nothing more than a good accessory. Whatever the costume of the day is, he needs all the accoutrements. Hopefully when he really starts talking he will tell me where he put my brand new watch!

And The Boss? Well, he is too smart for his own good. Or rather, MY good. He calls going barefoot ‘being Brittney” he says “Mommy the toes are the basement of the body and the boobs are the family room!” Once during an epic battle of wills he pointed at me and said in a still, quiet voice “you have been warned.” It’s all baseball all the time these days. I miss the days of constant Green Day concerts, but I love hearing him call out I AM THE BEST HITTER IN LITTLE LEAGUE! He asks constantly when his little league will start. At the end of the day,  he snuggles close to me and falls asleep pressing his little body againt mine. I frequently forget how little he really is…

And oh! How they love each other! They are my breath and heartbeat.

So no, I do not have a favorite child. I do however, have a favorite eyebrow. It’s the right one. The left one can feck right off.

Me and Lady MacBeth are exactly alike about washing our hands.

I’ve beent thinking a lot about Lady MacBeth, specifically Act 5 scene 1, the famous out, out damn spot! scene which finds our Lady distraught to the point of sleepwalking through the castle and imaginarily washing her hands. I’m awake of course, and far less distraught, but I find myself washing my hands a great deal lately and yet they are never clean.

 Lady M.:  Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh!

Me: Here’s the smell of poop still: all the perfumes of Bath and Body Works Peach Bellini antibacterial soap will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! 

Lady MacBeth had phantom blood and I have phantom poop smell.

See, I have two boys and while they are clean and bathe daily, and they themselves smell of Burt’s Bees and fresh air, it is my little hands that most often wipe their bottoms. Their hands remain free from the clinging, lingering scent of poop. Primarily it is the tiny centurion who is at fault. I could more easily diaper a greased piglet than put clean pants on the Huckleberry. Yet I am skilled…I never actually get the poop on my hands, mind you! I believe it is indeed, all in my mind.


And so I wash. And wash. I scrub with a nail brush. I use antibacterial wipes. And yet as I go to brush my slowly growing out bangs from my eyes I smell it, the faint smell of Hucklepoop.

Out. Out damn spot.

Perhaps I am having a mental breakdown about poop. Like Lady MacBeth was about spilling King Duncan’s blood. Alas, no poop has been spilled.

My husband says he can’t smell it, oh yeah you know I made him check. What a good man! I know my hands are completely poop free but I won’t be insulted if we ever meet and you don’t shake my hand, though I promise they are clean. So clean. Scrubbed raw and red and yet….

 Lady M. … What! will these hands ne’er be clean?

So this happened…

You guys? I’m just…meh. Lately I am just meh. So blah I don’t even have a real word for it.  Meh. I’m not sure if it’s that my birthday is coming up and I’m feeling introspective as to what I have accomplished this year and how I’m not that much further along in finding a new career but am so much farther along in being comfortable as a mother and even farther along in slaying the dragon that is postpartum anxiety.

Note: Boss is obsessed with Mike the Knight so there’s a lot of dragon talk around the house lately.

Maybe it’s that I self inflicted some angst upon myself by taking the bull by the horns to find a place of our own, fell in love with a place, and then we decided to wait just a few more months and save some more money so we can decorate etc. The right decision, I know this, but just…ugh.  The place was small, only 932 sq. feet. But the moment I walked in I could SEE our life there, you know? And Max loved it. Boo was happily racing up and down the hall as fast as he could crawl and Zach was doing the big eyed head nod. You know the one; the this is good, we could do this but be cool about it. The woman who owned it? Well she loved us too. In fact before she leased it to someone else she checked back just one more time to make sure our sweet boys didn’t want to live there. There was even a yard. UGH!

But it’s the right choice. Soon, soon Pinterest will need more bandwith and you will all be subjected to countless how to make a rented space my own posts.

It’s still sticky hot here, but grey and sometimes rainy which breaks my brain as I think sweaters! boots! then I open the door and am hit by 90 degrees of hot humidity. But it is actually Fall and so school began for the Boss.

Yup. That about sums it up.

But then this happened and my heart exploded into a billion glittery pegacorns.

Boss had a blast at school and his face when he saw me at the end of the day was just heaven on earth.

Last night as we snuggled before bed he said “Mommy what’s under my skin? What am I made of?” I said “You are made of baseball, rock and roll, and vanilla milk.” He responded “I AM! I AM made of that!”

Maybe I am not so meh after all.

Newborn Memories


Missing time. That’s what they call it when you can’t remember whole chunks of your life.


I am missing much of the Boss’ first year and a half. Thanks postpartum anxiety. But the things I do remember, especially those things from the first few weeks before we moved, I remember  viscerally. It is as if they happened a few moments ago and the feelings linger the way you relive a good laugh at a dinner party.

The Boss was a good nurser, right from the start it was declared that he had a perfect latch and when the lactation specialist came to visit us on the second day of his momentous life Zach and I giggled at how she seemed almost pissed off that we really didn’t need her. The Boss was a natural and despite my training bra sized boobs so was I. I took this as a gift happily since pregnancy and birth were not easy journeys and so I relished the nursing. So natural. So precious. Plus? Perfect excuse to demand your baby back from whomever had absconded away with him for snuggles. And so it was that I sat in my living room, the LA sun streaming through the windows, rocking my baby and filled with anxiety nightmares that were unceasing but quieted while we nursed. His sweet smacking noises made my heart sing as he snuggled in on the left side. Isn’t that strange how babies prefer one side over the other? both my babies prefer to really relax on the left side. One tiny arm tucked under mine and the other, a tiny hand curled in a fist as he nursed away and I marveled at the tiny left foot that always found it’s way into my right hand. The toes so impossibly tiny. That beautiful pink skin, still slightly translucent and peeling. His toes pointed and flexed as he nursed and I folded my hand fully encompassing it. So delicate. So amazing.

Then both legs suddenly stick straight and you know what happened next…the filling of the drawers. The tiny foot relaxed in my gentle grasp and he shuddered a big sigh, falling into a deel happy sleep. Perfect rosebud lips glazed like a fresh Krispy Kreme. I sat there wondering what to do? Wake him and change what was surely a swampy diaper? Let him sleep? I rocked and pondered this all the while caressing that tiny foot.

And so it is now. When he is upset he crawls in my lap and somehow that little foot ends up in my hand. The Boss sleeps with me every night. I know I should be getting him into his own bed but I can’t bring myself to care. He would never sleep with me or near me as a baby and in the last six months he has begun snuggling up as close as he can. I store these snuggles like Frederick mouse stored colors for the winter knowing that sooner than I am ready for he will push off my snuggles and he no longer will toss a sleepy arm over me in the middle of the night. He won’t scootch so close to me he is practically on top of me. So I relish every moment, every single second of it. There will be years enough for him to sleep in his own room.

I wake sometimes in the middle of the night, holding that precious left foot – now significantly larger and no longer smelling like marshmallow but in my hand nonetheless. Do I seek it out? Does he? I don’t know.

I wonder if when he is grown up he will come home and plop a giant stinky left foot in his wife’s lap?

But for now that little foot is all mine.