Well, now where will I go to scream at bad parents on TV?

So the Kate plus 8 finale was Monday night and in an interview Kate Herself says she feels oh-so-bad for all the millions of devastated fans.

I like to picture her as Madonna in Evita as Eva Peron singing Don’t Cry For Me TLC Fans (the truth is you’ll never lose me..I’m already shopping another reality show idea!)


I myself AM devastated. Devastated in a oh-were-you-still-on-tv? kind of way. Wherever will I go? Whatever shall I do? I mean, there just isn’t another spray tanned mom with hair extensions and acrylics pimping out her kids on tv to watch!

Oh wait, there is still Toddlers and Tiaras and Dance Moms. Whew. Deep sigh of relief. Personally I think T&T and Dance Moms are worse that John and Kate, or Kate plus 8 or Kate and Kate and Kate times 8. (and yet I watch) I do wonder-I mean, these kids have been filmed since they were tiny. Everything has been recorded. Everything. If I close my eyes I can still see a certain potty training episode…shudder. Let just say that somethings that should have been blurred out weren’t and leave it at that, shall we?

Will Facebook and Twitter (or whatever new fangled social media is all the rage when they come of age) be enough to fulfill the need for a public life for these children or will they be forever seeking out attention and applause in other ways. And if we are making bets on which one ends up stripping, well, my money is on Maddie.

Honestly I hope the kids turn out well, go to college, and live out nice normal lives and grow up to write blogs about their own children like nice normal people.



BTW- tomorrow is my birthday random buy me things day!  Also, have I pimped out and exploited my smallest lately? I’d hate to leave my fans- my millions of fans devastated...


{so I says to her mommy, I’m three months old now. I can negotiate my own reality show deal}

Dear Iphone,

Dear iPhone,

I have been meaning to talk to you for a while, although this weekends events have changed the tone of this letter. You see, you and I have recently been fighting. A lot. Maybe we’re too close? I don’t know, but things that didn’t bother me when we first got together have recently become almost unbearable.

For one thing, you dissapear for hours at a time and I can’t find you. I page you…but you don’t answer. And don’t say it’s MY fault because I always have you on silent. Not everything can by my fault y’know. Can’t you please just stick by me? I mean we made a vow, for at least two years, and we’ve got several months left in our union. If losing you was a drinking game I would be drunk everyday.

For another thing,  I know you think it’s really funny, but for reals it’s not. Stop flipping back and forth between landscape and portrait. I’m not moving at all…stop flipping! I know you get an even bigger laugh at my expense when I do desperately try to move you to catch up. I’m sure it’s really funny, how I look like a grandma playing Super Mario Brothers. Leaning to the left does not make Mario go to the left any more than it makes you hold still.

Despite all of this, I think I owe you an apology. The other day I was so annoyed over my futile Cholula quest…(seriously Cholula, why are you more elusive than the holy grail?) I hopped out of the car and raced in the house, grumpier than Snow White’s 5th dwarf. After dinner I realized I couldn’t find you, and I looked. I did. But you dissapear so frequently these days, I didn’t worry too much.I’m sort of used to it. Really, I just hopped on the computer and then went to bed watching the lightening and listening to the thunder rolling in and the rain hitting the window. It was a great storm.

In the morning I awoke desperate to find you. I was in a panic, frantically looking everywhere. Where were you? Did anyone text me? I knew you must be starved, your battery nearly worn out. I looked all over the house, finally setting out on the damp driveway making my way to the car.

It was then that I spied you. Oh no. You lay facedown in the grass like a college freshman. Soaking wet from the rain. I fell to the ground beside you, cradling you in my arms saying a prayer over you. I gently pushed the button and you feebly fluttered your eyes.

You awoke. It was like a Christmas miracle! In May. I warmed you and dried you off as best I could then gave you the sustanance you craved. I can’t believe you came back to me without so much as a scratch!

I apologize, for not seeing how truly special you are. I’ll try not to get bogged down in the annoying habits that a long term loving couple develops. Instead, I’ll think of you waiting out the rainstorm, fighting to get back to me.

Let’s play Words With Friends for a while, and then whaddya say I take ya somewhere special. How about the Apple store? Would you like a new protective case? Let’s get you something pretty.
It would be great if you could stop that annoying flipping thing though. And I’ll try to stop dropping you so much. Deal?


A simple prayer…

Dear God,

   First off, thank you so much for the baby. I love, love, love him! He is an angel come to earth and there isn’t a minute where I am not so grateful for the blessing of him. He is amazing and he blows my mind by the minute. I know that’s all you ’cause it’s not like I conciously said “today I shall make his heart and it shall be good!” Nope. I was more like “turn on Law & Order and fetch me a puke bucket!” Totally worth it, since he is the grooviest little boy that ever lived! Cooler than Harry Potter for sure.  Thank you so much for the opportunity to be his mother. Aren’t children just the reason for everything? Amazing.

I know you understand this since your son was the coolest cat around and the grooviest of the groovy! Did you just swoon every time you saw him?

Of course, we are all your children so you probably think we are all amazing and groovy. Except maybe Hitler. And Jeffrey Dahmer. Oh! And child molestors. Maybe you wish you could have put them on a one way ticket to you-know-where. Probably not though cause you are way more forgiving and amazing than me. But I’m all death penalty like that. Sorry…I’m working on it.

Anyway, I only have one teeny tiny question…and prayer really. It’s not just for me, it’s for mothers everywhere! I recently tweeted:

And from the large number of responses I’ve come to realize I am not alone. Why, oh why do we feel more exhausted when we wake than when we went to bed? I’m confused because feeling rested would truly help me take even better care of my sweet groovy angel! So, dear Heavenly Father, could the mothers of the world please rest a little better? It would really help me enjoy the incessant fun games of Fan On! Fan Off! And truly I’d really like to enjoy his amazement that I can actually turn the fan on…

We all thank you so much.


Clowns are more evil than birds.

Being sick is for the birds. I wonder where that phrase came from…but anyway it works for me because I hate birds. Well, truly, they hate me. It started when I was four and a merry band of evil geese chased little yellow-London Fog- coated me out into the middle of a very (thank the heavens) frozen Viele lake. Had to be rescued. True story. (also, when I say true story I really mean it…Zach is the teller of tall tales, hence: TOTT, but weird hist just happens to me on the regular. Such is my life!) Soon after that I realized that perhaps the geese had told all the other birds in some sort of bird email blast of their being chased off the lake and loudly admonished by the South Boulder Parks and Rec guy and so I had a mark on my head. A bird vendetta was issued against me.

Get her.

I have been dive bombed, had my hair grabbed and pulled, bitten by a pigeon in NY (he just flew up and BIT ME! And yes…a tetnus and rabies shot was had.) I have never, knock on wood, been how to say this delicately – ummmm pooped upon. No, but poor Dub was marked simply for being my sis and she has been baptised twice by the flying demon birds.

Is it any wonder I became a cat person?

I hate birds and they hate me. It’s a very symbiotic relationship. Wait, no it’s not. I never really learned symbiosis because I was crap at science. Actually, I might have been good at science but I never really went. My instincts told me that hanging out in the student center and playing SWISH would be way more fun. The power of following your instincts kids. Lesson for the day.

I feel guilty though. Saying bad things are for the birds. I mean they are still God’s creatures.
Lucky for me there is something that I hate more than birds. Clowns. And I think we can all agree that Clowns are more evil than birds. And surely there is the devil’s work those creepy red painted smiled and horrifically demented eyes. The proof is in the pudding people. 20 million horror films simply cannot be wrong!

I mean seriously. Clowns will bring the end of days. Mark my words.

I’m pretty sure there is zero photoshopping going on in this picture because clowns are just that evil. If I can find who it belonged to first I will have them come here and prove it.

The problem with getting ready for bed…

The problem with getting ready for bed is that it kind of wakes you up. And then you lay in bed thinking:

I was so sleepy watching Family Guy not twenty minutes ago and yet, now here I lay staring at the ceiling and humming the words to Happy Tapping With Elmo.


Sleep has been a crazy struggle for me since Mr. Max arrived. It’s all worth it since I love him more than my sonic toothbrush. And I really love clean teeth.
I am always tired. Always. I am pretty sure that I’m so tired is the National Anthem of Momhood.

Last night I was applying my many time fighting-superhero-anti wrinkle creams and lotions, (curse you non safe for nursing Botox and your smoothness!) finishing up getting ready to pass out (or sing Sesame Streets Greatest Hits, either one) and just longing for my squishy pillow.

The last step of my evening ablutions applying psycho amounts of hand cream and chapstick and of course taking my belved Zoloft. So I popped my pill and…

Wait. Oh, crap. That wasn’t my medicine. It was the PUPPY BEAR’s medicine!

I took. The dog’s. Medicine.

Ah, well. It’s only Prozac. Yes, the dog is also on anti anxiety meds. You can take the Puppy Bear out of L.A. but you can’t take the L.A. out of the Puppy Bear.

This weekend I’m gonna stick some shades on him and take him shopping in a high end doggie stroller.
What are your weekend plans?

Have a good one…and stay out of the dog’s meds for the love of Ray J.

Of Nightmares and Shopping. And shopping nightmares.

Ever have one of those dreams? The ones that seem so real you can’t seem to shake the feeling of long after you’ve woken? Usually I just roll over and slug the Lying Liar Who Lies who groggily responds:

 “who did I sleep with this time?”

It runs the gamet from the girl who tortured me in Catholic School, who is now a lesbian so the chances of her coming for my man are pretty slim, to Jennifer Aniston who is a huge star so the chances of her coming for my man are also pretty slim.

(sorry honey.)

Sunday night I had the Academy Award winning 3-D nightmare of my kid being kidnapped. I felt it all day. Slept, woke up Monday and still felt a bit of it. This dream had it all. A phone that wouldn’t dial with a battery about to die, cops that would be helpful if only my phone wouldn’t die every time I managed to connect, a meeting point at a park where no one showed up, a search team looking for him in utter futility.

And then the baby woke.

In the morning after he wakes he likes to cuddle in bed with me for about 1/2 hour just nursing and babbling away to me. It’s one of my favorite times of the day, I will miss it sorely when he no longer points to my bed and whispers “mommy snug!” I cuddled him extra close and kissed him from the top of his head to his cute little toes, blowing many raspberries on his belly and drinking in his giggles. Honestly, is there anything better than a baby’s giggles? But even in the middle of this perfect moment I continued to panic. The emotions of the dream were so real.

The best part of your husband cheating on your dreams is that your husband is right there..having NOT (hopefully) cheated on you and you can punish him all day for the sins of his dream alter ego. Even if you try not too the chances that your husband will annoy you within a 12 hour waking period are high, even if he is at work for 8 of those hours, and then you can transfer all that left over residual angstyness right on to ‘why can he NEVER remember to walk the dog?!’  or whatever.

There was no one to punish with this dream so I cuddled Mr. Max till he pushed me away and said “all done, Mommy!”

Like Holly Golightly, I decided to head to the place that makes the Mean Reds (Unsettled Purples? Nervous Greens? Overreacting Oranges?) go away. Tiffany. But it’s all the way at Tyson’s Corner and I didn’t feel like driving that far. Besides, a toddler in a stroller totally cramps my evening gown/tiara/cup of coffee/cruller holding/diamond window shopping style.

Shhhh. Honey, Mommy’s pretending she’s Audrey Hepburn. (again.)

I decided to settle for Montgomery Mall. They have a Nordstroms and a Malibu Coffee so it’s good for an afternoon of shopping distraction. Plus Max is suddenly rocking the Urkel look with all his pants. Swear to Christmas they fit him last week, but now he is clearly expecting a flood of muppets and so his pants have risen accordingly. Not a good look for a dude. Even one as cute as my Mr. Max. Montgomery has an Old Navy which rocks for the small people so away we went…

Or not. Cause then I remembered that mall was the scene of the terrifying “YOU BETTER WATCH THAT BABY” incident.

Did you miss that one? Sheesh people, I tweeted about it! How did you ever live without knowing the play by play of my day!
10:48 @minkymoo  I’m tired.
10:50 @minkymoo  COFFEE!!!!
11:30@minkymoo I wish Target would go on my bank statement as “Totally Neccessary so @zdulli don’t get mad”

See what you’ve been missing??

Anyway I was at Montgomery when this woman came up to me out of nowhere (ok, the line at Malibu) and said

“You bettter watch that baby. He is kidnappable.”
Hello. My name is Stephanie and I have postpartum anxiety. So thanks for that random lady. Maybe next time just say: your baby is cute. That would be better.
So scratch the mall. Drinking it is. Oh wait, that’s not a good plan, huh? Not the best to be drunk at 11 a.m. on white wine spritzers while you’ve got a small precious person in your care, you say?
Ah, well. I’m not a big drinker anyway. Also, I’ve never had a white wine spritzer. Someone ordered one at the Regal Beagel on a Three’s Company rerun the other day. (I puffy heart John Ritter 4-ever)
No mall. No drinking. Chocolate it is! And baby snuggles. And Zoloft! If I ever meet the man/woman/lab rat who invented Zoloft I am going to tongue kiss them like Will Ferrel and Sasha Baron Cohen .