An Important Announcement Part Duh

Potty seats make interesting if unsanitary head gear.

When one announces one's children are potty trained, one's children should in fact be potty trained. Because soon after I pressed "publish post" with an air of mild smugness (the "mild" is because when children are over 3 and just getting potty trained perhaps immense smugness is overkill) Lulu announced she "had an accident" which was actually no accident because I caught her purposely squatting in a closet defecating in her Hello Kitty undies. I have no problems with the accident part of course. The part I have a problem with is my husband was out of town and normally when a task like scraping shit out of cotton undergarments arises, I delegate it to him.

Partially potty trained doesn't really work for me. I don't like uncertainty. The constant vaguely anxious feeling reminded me of having a partially monogamous boyfriend throughout college. Is he out sleeping around on me right this very moment? Will we be out in public and she'll crap her pants? See, the unease of both are similarly disquieting. Although at least my angst over the potty training lasted less then a week. Try four years of wondering if your alleged boyfriend was cheating, with the answer 9 times out of 10 being a big Hell Yes. My favorite was when he was humping his high school co-worker from TCBY. The Country's Best Yogurt indeed! I grew suspicious as she began interrogating me when I went in for a peanut butter shake on a day he wasn't working. He scoffed when I confronted him, noting that she was still in high school for Christ's sake! What kind of person did I think he was? Well, it turns out the kind who contracts crabs from an underage high school girl. (I feel the need to confirm here I was not infected, because by the grace of God he was too busy screwing jail bait on a frozen yogurt-making device to be intimate with me during this unfortunate time in my life).


And while I'm on the topic, I might as well mention this particular boyfriend lavaliered me for some reason still unbeknownst to me and proceeded to sleep with a freshman the night of my sorority candle light ceremony. (If you are unfamiliar with the antiquated customs of sorority life, consider yourself lucky.) And, because my best friend from high school thinks no conversation about this person is complete without the following anecdote, she came to visit me in college for a week during her school's spring break and he uttered exactly one word to her the entire time: "Cups." (Why that was the particular word he chose is not the point. The point is she was my best friend and he couldn't be bothered to say more than one word to her the entire week.)


What am I getting at? Good question. I think I was saying I prematurely announced the girls were potty trained and it's been a rough few days but they are in fact now potty trained. Pretty much. They still wear  diapers at night but I don't particularly care if they do that until they leave for college, where hopefully they will have better taste in men than I. 


PS -- I don't know the ethics (or good taste?) of combining a post on potty training with that of an STD-laden ex, but well, too late.


PPS -- You know the DUH in the title was purposeful and I don't think that's how two is spelled in French, right?


PPPS -- Speaking of French, I have mentioned that I took like 14 years of French and yet all I know how to say is "Centre de plounge" (spelling not so sure) which means scuba diving shop, correct?

PPPPS -- Okay, just one more thing. Really. I must say I have no hard feelings, actually I have fond ones, for my philandering college boyfriend. He meant well. He just liked the ladies. A lot. You might suspect as much, but I was no angel... Although I did keep my dalliances to those of the legal variety.

What's In a Name?

So a very lovely woman asked me to do a guest post at a blog that specializes in baby names. That was back maybe in the fall and I just got around to it yesterday. Keep in mind that people go to that site LOOKING FOR A BABY NAME. You know that old expression -- know your audience? Well, if you went to a site looking for advice on baby names, would you want to be insulted by a bitch who thinks it's funny that she would have named her twins Lulu and Moxley if she was famous? Probably not. So after I submitted the piece (below), she very kindly told me perhaps this wasn't up their alley given that, among other things, 15,000 people named their daughters Madison last year and a large majority of women who visit the site meet my definition of "unstable." Well, I spent a whole 10 minutes on it so I didn't want to put it to waste. Here are some tips on naming your baby. Don't read this if you have a child named Madison. Or one named Buddy Bear Maurice Oliver for that matter. Or if you name your babies before they are even conceived and then accuse other people who have real, non-fictional babies of stealing YOUR baby name. Or if you are Nicole Kidman, Gwyneth Paltrow or ... you know what? Maybe nobody should read it.

Eight Tips on Picking Out a Name

I assume you are over here at (the blog's name) because you are expecting a bundle of joy and are debating monikers for your impending little one. Either that, or you are one of those unstable women who name their children years before said children are conceived and are here to see if other people are “stealing” your name.  I say “women” because men almost never think up names for children that don’t exist.  It’s the one and only way in which they are the superior gender.

So if you are in fact perusing for a name, I have some helpful tips for you:

1. It’s always a good idea to name a child after a cherished relative. Or better yet, a rich one. One of my twin daughters is named after my maternal grandmother, unfortunately not for the latter reason.

2. If you’re going to stick a child with a bizarre name, after a day of the week for example, give their siblings an equally tortuous name. This brings to mind Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban. Their first daughter is “Sunday.” They just had a second daughter born on Tuesday, December 28. Instead of naming her “Tuesday,” they chose “Faith.” Don’t they think someday Sunday is going to wonder why she got stuck with the weird name and her sister got off so easy?

3. Speaking of celebrities, unless you are one, don’t name your child after a fruit.

4. And even if you are a celebrity, have some compassion. I’m talkin’ to you Katie Price and Jermaine Jackson. No child deserves to be emblazoned with Princess Tiaamii Crystal Esther Andre or Jermajersty Jermaine Jackson.

4. People will not think you are creative if you spell your child’s name in a funky way. They will think you are illiterate. Think Jaycub instead of Jacob, Brittni instead of Brittany, Jourdynn instead of Jordan, and J’son instead of Jason. (Yes, people have done it.)

5. The name Madison should have remained nothing more than a mermaid in the movie Splash. Unfortunately, every elementary class in the United States is filled with them. On behalf of Darryl Hannah, don’t perpetuate the trend. She probably feels guilty enough as it is.

6. Consider how much money and power you have when naming a child. The more money and power, the more leeway you have with names. When the kid is teased on the playground, will he be able to retort, “My daddy can buy your daddy’s company and fire him!” and actually mean it? Well, then, knock yourself out and name your son something like Buddy Bear Maurice Oliver like that overrated famous chef Jamie Oliver did. 

7. Be careful with nicknames. Oh sure, he may be your little “Mikey” when he’s three months old, but nicknames have a way of sticking. And a 23-year-old Mikey (or even an 8-year-old one) isn’t quite as cute.

8. Remember this is your child’s name. Forever! Give them a lovely name, a creative name if you must, but one that they will be proud of as a child AND an adult. I am no expert on names. I spent all of three seconds deciding what to call my girls. One is (Lulu's real name), after my awesome grandmother. The other is (Moxley's real name), just because I think the name is so pretty. It wasn’t until I noticed every third child on the playground is (Moxley's real name) that I realized it was so popular. But the name suits her perfectly and I wouldn’t change a thing. So go with your heart like I did and you can’t go wrong. Good luck!

No doubt this is not my best work, and as I said to the woman, I certainly don't want to offend her readers. But I don't mind insulting mine. Okay, I kind of do. I like the name Madison, okay? Mermaids are awesome. I like the name Ariel too. Got nothing against mermaids. Sorry to offend. Sheesh, why so touchy? And if it makes you feel any better Lulu's nickname is the same name as a famous movie star and everyone always asks if she was named after this movie star to which I diplomatically reply, "No, bite me." 

PS -- I lost a follower yesterday. Perhaps they were upset I got the girls potty trained? If I lose some more today, I will assume they have a child named Madison. Or hate mermaids. No hard feelings.


PPS -- I want you to know that I'm going to sit here and pick worriedly at my cuticles hoping I didn't offend anyone. Mermaids, Madisons or otherwise. 

An Important Announcement

People, I think you might want to sit down for this. As you may know, I have many failings as a mother. My children still drink milk from a bottle. They still use pacis at night (and occasionally at other points in the day just so I can confuse them with inconsistent rules). They are still vegetarians in a very annoying Gwyneth Paltrow kind of way. They might even be vegans except I'm not sure what that means exactly. But THEY ARE NOW POTTY TRAINED. Well, sort of. Accidents are occurring (our couch now has the faint scent of cat urine and we don't own a cat but whatevs) but for the most part, they are using the potty.

This of course occurred BECAUSE of my failing as a mother. I accidentally ran out of diapers. I may write a potty training book. It will go something like this. "Wait until they are embarrassingly old to be crapping their pants. Forget to buy diapers. The End." It will be the shortest best-seller in the history of publishing. Oprah will beg me to come on her show, despite my having broken the publishing world's cardinal rule -- never bash The Opes! I will comply only if she promises -- in writing -- that Jenny McCarthy will not be on the same program. I will be hailed as an international potty training expert and parenting forums will pay me absurd amounts of money to give (very brief) talks on potty training which will consist of "Hello mothers and fathers out there. Forget to buy diapers! Thank you very much! I love you too!"

As seen above, my children are being rewarded with treats as big as their heads. This weekend we have to go pick out bikes. It's the middle of winter in Chicago so I have no idea where they'll ride them but we promised them bikes when they got potty trained. Perhaps I should add in a chapter about bribing in the book -- or better yet, I'll save that as my follow-up parenting masterpiece. So, I'm not sure if there is a Mother of the Year award floating around out there, but feel free to nominate me. My children are almost 39 months old and (pretty much) potty trained. Surely that should garner me something?

Just out of curiosity, when do they start wiping their own butts? When you answer, add on two years past the time most kids do it as that's when it's likely to happen around here.

2011 Golden Globes: The Scientologists Have a Hit Out on Ricky Gervais

All day I kept saying I was excited to watch the Emmys. I'm not sure what the difference is, but it was the GOLDEN GLOBES, not the Emmys on tonight. But really, who cares? I just watch to see rich famous people make asses of themselves. And asses they did make. Yippee for me!

--Ricky Gervais is my new favorite person. He called Tom Cruise and John Travolta gay on national television. In front of all of their peers. Travolta has a new baby for crying out loud. One should wait at least two months before calling a closeted new father gay. It's just common courtesy.

--Christian Bale, what were you drinking? And / or smoking? Normally I want to immediately sleep with someone who has an English accent. I actually forgot he was English until he opened his (inebriated) mouth. I thought the British had a way with words, but at last count Bale used the word "fantastic" 2,342 times in a five-minute speech. A speech that was cut off by the guy who's in charge of putting on the music when drunk winners blather on too long. That said, who are we kidding. I still kind of want to sleep with him. Just not as much as I used to. Which was a lot.

--If you didn't know bald was beautiful, enter Bruce Willis. Dear God, from Bruce Willis to ASHTON KUTCHER? Do you think Demi Moore bashes her head into her bathroom mirror every night before she goes to bed ? No, probably not. That might knock some of her Botox out of place. But she wants to.

--Michelle Pfieffer, you will go straight to hell if you don't share with the rest of the world what you are doing to yourself. Botox? Fillers? Invasive surgery? A combination thereof?  You don't have a whole lotta spunk left, so I wonder if David A. Kelley had you killed and stuffed like a prize deer. If so, that's one hell of a taxidermy job. I want to be you. Even if that means having to have sex with David A. Kelley, the idea of which doesn't appeal to me.

--Is it safe to say Justin Bieber has peaked? I don't like to encourage underage promiscuity, but he might want to start nailing everything that moves  now. His options may wane and then completely peter out over the next few years.

--Jennifer Love Hewitt looks like the orange twin with a bouffant. She either needs to stop eating carrots or needs to find a new spray tanning facility.  And whether or not she does either one of those things, she must never allow the same person to touch her hair again.

--Notice Angie laying on Brad at their table? I mean c'mon. Don't you get the feeling she does that just in case Jennifer Aniston is watching? Isn't stealing Jennifer's husband and having six children with him enough while Jen resorted to dating John Mayer? YOU WIN ANGIE! YOU WIN!  Why does Angie always dress like shit? I wore a dress eerily similar to this for my final sorority rush party in college. I got dung from several sororities (eff you Delta Delta Delta) just because of that dress. (It couldn't have been my personality could it have?)

--Did you see Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban on the red carpet? Would it have killed her to wear flats? Poor Keith came off looking like her pet chihuahua.

--If you don't believe in aliens, rewind and look at Tilda Swanson. Human? Please.

--Did anyone tell Annette Bening she was going to an award show, a show that will be televised and she actually might win an award? Or did Warren Beatty steal the mail postmarked from The Golden Globes Nominating Committee and sprang the news on her last minute? Regardless, I'll say this about Annette Bening. She is secure aging without pesky little treatments. And she still looks beautiful. I just think she could have showered before the awards out of politeness for her table mates and lost the blind-old-man glasses which resembled the ones Ed Asner wore in Up.

--Speaking of table mates, have you ever seen an award ceremony where winners thank the people SITTING AT THEIR TABLE? ("Shout out to Table #149! You rock!") I mean, why not thank the Golden Globe seating chart committee while you're at it?

--Sandy... bangs? Whose idea was that? Fire them. (although I love you and hope the rumors about you and Ryan Reynolds are true. Yum.) BTW, did you watch that Celebrity Apprentice episode where Donald Trump said you "couldn't have married" him? I bet you actually could have. Not that you wanted to. Although your taste in men proved to be such that I can't really predict whom you might marry.

--Why does Robert Pattinson look better as a vampire than he does as a human? Maybe he could hire a personal makeup artist to make him look like a vampire every day?

--Me so very much likey that Hung guy. Whether he is or not.

--I love Alec Baldwin. He's hilarious. Except when he's calling his daughter a "rude, thoughtless little pig." He's pretty funny other than when he's doing that. But is he starting to look a bit like Liberace? Incidentally when I searched Google Images for a picture of Liberace a bunch of photos of Michael Douglas came up.

--I am currently so enamored with Jeff Bridges it's hard to put into words. Plus if I put it into words it might hurt Daniel Craig's feelings. If you can name someone hotter than Jeff Bridges (besides Daniel Craig) knock yourselves out. I'm all ears.

--Is it required that one give an amateur stand-up comedy routine when one is given a Golden Globe lifetime achievement award? Holy crap what was Robert DeNiro on / thinking / not thinking?

--Why did the top of Halle Berry's dress look like a one-piece swim suit? Don't get me wrong, she looked great. But she looked like she was wearing a bathing suit with a long cover-up skirt. Whatever. She procreated with the hottest man on Earth (other than Daniel Craig) so I'm not one to be critical. But was that a bathing suit? Weird. Not as weird as Robert DeNiro's stand-up comedy routine, but weird nonetheless.

--I've never seen Glee. Ever. And given I have no other New Years resolutions I think never seeing Glee will be mine. I hear it's good. I love that woman who plays Sue. I just have to resolve to do something this year and it might as well be to never see Glee.

That's it. I must now watch Big Love. I sort of forget who was burned alive, who was implanted with incestual embryos and why Bill's mother lopped off the arm of that man married to the cross-dresser. But I'm excited nonetheless. Plus, I heard they got rid of Teeny #2. Thank you Big Love powers that be!

We Are Unlikely To Be Friends If...

This cat is more potty-trained than we are or ever will be...

You don't think my kids are cute. Or at least pretend to.

You breastfeed your six-year-old son. In fact, not only would we not be friends I might try to have you arrested.

You are a prescription drug addict. This is not a moral judgement on you. This is a moral judgement on me. You are more ambitious, creative and have a lot more money than I do. I can't even manage to find a way to get my hands on a non-addictive pill that eliminates water weight while you are probably rocking out on vicodin or xanax or a lovely combination thereof. Plus my husband notices when I spend $75. Something tells me if thousands in cash mysteriously disappeared he'd catch on. Before I even had a chance to get a buzz or two.

You inform me either verbally or in written form that you "work hard and play hard." If you say that, chances are you do neither. Plus, you're a moron.

You don't understand the genius that is Barry Manilow.

You are sleeping with Daniel Craig.

You are married to Keith Urban.

Or Tom Cruise for that matter, but for very different reasons.

You, without irony, use use the term "vis a vis."

You forward to me more than two unfunny e-mails that you preface with a note which includes the acronym "LOL!!!!!"  If you write "LOL!!!!!!" I better in fact f***ing laugh out loud.

You do something on your iPhone more than three times during the course of dinner. Unless I am involved and dictating psychotic, threatening text messages to the guy who just dumped you.

You post unflattering photos of me on Facebook. (Note to Facebook friends: I find all photos of me unflattering.)

Four of us go out to lunch and you ask the waitress for four separate checks. The woman isn't a mathematician for the love of god. Plus, you're cheap.

You don't want to engage in discussions such as whether a boring person can in fact bore someone else to death. (I say yes, but unfortunately there is no conclusive test a coroner can conduct so we'll never know for sure.) Once I convince you that a person CAN be bored to death by another person, you're unwilling to discuss whether that person should be charged with first degree murder or a lesser charge.

So how are you peeps? (I should use the singular "peep" given one person -- my mother -- probably still reads this blog.) Happy New Year! I'd like to say I haven't posted in a month because I've been super productive and spent the time potty training and getting my THREE YEAR OLDS off the bottle but alas, no. We're still rolling with poop in our pants and bottles in our mouths. It's starting to get slightly embarrassing. Like when Lulu squatted in the middle of Little Gym class and screamed to me proudly from across the room, "I'm pooping Mommy! Did you bring the diaper bag!?" The thin, blonde bitchy nanny in there I can't stand (her charge hates her too) looked down at me smugly and I almost popped her one. But that would make me no better than Teresa Giudice. And everyone knows I am slightly better than Teresa Giudice.

"Why?" and the Case for Boarding School

Just try to send us to boarding school...

I am intently curious who coined the term "the terrible twos." Did this person give their child up for adoption on the eve of their third birthday? Send it to boarding school for pre-schoolers? Because if this person let the kid stick around, they'd have found out the threes ain't no picnic.  And the person who coined this phrase is guilty of leading all stressed out mothers of two-year-olds to believe that they only need survive until the kid's third birthday for things to get better. BAHABHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  The joke's on us, ladies! Because they don't get better at 3. They are just as big of a pain in the ass with the added bonus of an expanded vocabulary with which to torture you.  And with the high twos and low threes comes the very bothersome "why" stage.  Following is an excerpt from a recent discussion with Lulu:

Me: Lulu, what are you doing? (I asked this because I looked over to see her with her finger up her nose up to her knuckle while out in a public venue.)

Lulu: (matter of factly)  Mommy I'm picking the boogers out of my nose.

Me: (wondering where she learned the word "booger" because I assure you I have never uttered that word.)  Well... don't pick your nose.  Do you want to blow your nose?

Lulu: Why?

Me: Because nobody wants to see you pick your nose.

Lulu: Why?

Me: Because it's not very polite.

Lulu: Why?

Me: Because it's yucky.

Lulu: Why?

Me: Because... (thinking of how to explain that nobody likes to see a kid digging for their own snot)

Moxley: Because you should use the blue thing when we get home. (the blue thing is that nose-suctioning device)

Me: (slightly annoyed a 3-year-old is smarter than me) Right! We should use the blue thing!

Lulu: Why? (as she goes to hand me her "boogers.")

Me: Because mommy doesn't like to be given boogers!!!! (annoyed she got me to say "boogers")

Lulu: Why?

The conversation about boogers actually continued for quite a bit longer and it occurred to me as I tried to explain my distaste for nasal residue being placed in my hand that I once routinely sat in meetings during which the strategic direction of a Fortune 500 company was discussed.  I'm pretty sure I am exactly who Leslie Bennett had in mind when she wrote The Feminine Mistake... Leslie, I can assure you that I will never have to support my family alone because my husband would be too terrified of me to ever leave. Shoot himself in the head to put himself out of misery, sure. But leave me while he still has a pulse, no.

Oh, and isn't it lovely that aforementioned "blue thing" is a nose plunger / sometime lollipop holder? Very hygienic.

So speaking of boarding school, I used the think such a concept was the sinister making of morally bankrupt people who had way too much money on their hands and couldn't be bothered to take care of their own kids. I mean, what kind of mother outsources her parenting duties to the extent they don't even live at home? Everyone knows it's your responsibility as a parent to allow offspring to live at home until they reach 18 at which time you pray to God they get into college -- preferably one at least a two-hour drive away. Then you suffer through them coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks at which time they will barely acknowledge your annoying presence except when they want to borrow the car, which they'll probably crash at some point and not even apologize unless they happen to kill somebody. They will be non-rent-paying squatters at your home for the summer too, in between partying with their high school pals and making minimum wage in some useless job that will make them look like directionless losers on their resumes.

In the old days parents needed only suffer through this cycle for four years before their adult children limited their visits to the holidays with their own families in tow. Not anymore! College now can stretch on for YEARS. Graduating in four years is for overachievers only. And when they do finally graduate do you know where they expect to live? In their old bedrooms. Which they demand be in the exact state they left it four / eight / twelve years prior. And grandchildren? With the rampant arrested development epidemic not to mention fertility treatments you'll likely be senile and/or blind before your kids reproduce. Perhaps if your children are never permitted to live at home in the first place, they don't expect to return there to live as adults.

So my point here is: the rich who ship their kids off to boarding school at a young age aren't morally bankrupt. They are enlightened VISIONARIES.  Alas, my children will attend Chicago Public Schools. And I didn't see a room and board option on the form.  

Food Issues

We like cake so what's your freakin' problem?

I quit a lucrative job to stay home when my twins were born because I was convinced my constant presence in their fragile little lives was of utmost importance. Looking back, perhaps it was in their best interest to ship them off to an orphanage upon birth and ask that they be returned when they turned 25, assuming Angelina Jolie didn't adopt them first. Add "proper nutrition" to my growing list of failures as a mother, which currently includes not potty trained, still drinking milk from a bottle, general menace to society.

But all of this isn't really my fault, right? RIGHT? It's clearly theirs. I've long suspected my children have devised a sinister plan to slowly drive me insane. So slowly that I wouldn't really be sure when in fact my mind reached the brink of a breakdown at which point some very big men in very white jackets would show up at my house and take me to an undisclosed location where my brain would be subjected to severe electrical jolts. Which might actually feel like a vacation right now. I would think of it as an all-inclusive Sandals-like resort for the mentally ill. With the added bonus of being paid for by insurance.

My girls' food issues about have me near that point. Men in white / travel agents? You know where to find me. My children will only eat a subset of foods which require a diabolical amount of work on my part.

--Raisin bread with the raisins picked out. This went on for months until I finally scoured The Jewel bread aisle wherein I found a cinnamon loaf that looks and tastes remarkably like raisin bread sans raisins. Lulu looked at it and had the balls to indignantly demand, "Where are all my raisins?!" "YOU HATE RAISINS IN YOUR RAISIN BREAD AND MAKE MOMMY PICK THEM OUT LIKE A DERANGED PSYCHOPATH!" I concede that perhaps I uttered this a decibel too loudly.

--Blueberries muffins minus the blueberries. Fellow coffee shop patrons don't seem to appreciate my decimating baked goods in their presence.

--Chocolate chips cookies without the chocolate chips. Do you see a pattern?

--And perhaps most problematic, bagels with the crust cut off. Have you ever tried to explain to a pre-schooler that bagels are in fact SURROUNDED BY CRUST?

They won't try any new foods unless it contains 99 percent sugar. The other 1 percent should be some kind of artificial coloring. While other mothers lament their kids will only eat mac-n-cheese and chicken fingers, I would throw an elaborate party to celebrate this breakthrough and gladly serve it every night. And I wouldn't get all Jessica Seinfeld-y about it and sneak in pureed cauliflower and such.

So today Moxley nonchalantly looked at me while I attempted to gut a bagel, and says "Will you put jelly on top please?" My child, who won't eat foods "touching" other foods, requested a condiment, if in fact jelly is a condiment. No matter what food group, the kid asked for jelly! Thank you Caillou, the slightly slow and more-than-slightly annoying Canadian kid who loves jelly sandwiches! See the evidence of some nibbling:

Strangely, while they won't try delicious treats like hamburgers, bacon or chocolate, these kids love squash. Love it like I love Daniel Craig. Except they get to lick the object of their affection. Even grosser (them, not me), they like to eat the cubes I freeze. A SQUASH POPSICLE. I'll wait while you regurgitate. This is what a gnawed cube squash popsicle looks like. And yes, there sits a side dish of banana split lollipops. Oh, please, like you don't consider that a serving of fruit...



I'm already worried about packing their lunches for kindergarten in 2013. I don't think I can send squash popsicles.  Of course I can just send bags of Dum Dum lollipops and explain my theory that if the flavor has a fruit in the title (banana split, strawberry shortcake, coconut, tangerine...), it counts as a serving of fruit. Then see how many days it takes DCF to pay a visit.

PS -- Lest you be worried about my children's well-being, perhaps I should mention my kids also eat apples, carrots, sweet potatoes, peas, green beans and McDonald's french fries, a grossly under-appreciated member of the vegetable community.