I could so be Rachel Zoe...

I mean, like totally. Just a browner, heavier, less fabulous version. But I would kill to shop for people and style people and let them know what worked for them or what would revamp their whole look. I would do it for free- that's how much I love doing it. And to get to sit through tons of fashion shows during fashion week, front row, nonetheless? Are you kidding me? Sign me up! Of course I would share the same challenges of wanting to keep most of my merchandise for myself, but what true fashionista wouldn't? Maybe I could be the cheaper, everyday stylist to the average woman who doesn't have the a) time, b) inclination, or who just needs that extra set of eyes and expertise for that special occasion {we all have those}. Would you hire me? :)

This is just business venture number 111000220034400000...

Dial-a-style*, pp

* Don't steal this - it's patent pending!! :(

** Check out the Rachel Zoe project on Bravo every Tuesday night. You'll just die.

Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Monkey Boy?

I am. Very much so. In a' pee in my pants', immature kind of way. The phenomenon known as MB crawls at the speed of light now - in this bizarre, sitting yet crawling, crab-like manner. So weird that I am fascinated by it and I sit there staring and bam! he's tugging at my pants leg or hair (depending on if I'm sitting on the floor or standing) or necklace, or earrings (ouch) and with a vise like grip hoisting himself up. Yes, the MB doth stand. On bow legged but sturdy legs. I actually thought he would be one of those babies that didn't crawl and just got up and walked. Cause from like four months, he would try to 'stand' and yell bloody murder if you dared try to sit him down. The result is that we might have a very bow legged little boy (it's true, not just an old wife's tale - a doctor confirmed this, so there) . And/or some kind of gymnast on our hands. He does these perfect little (unintentional) splits when he's been standing for too long and cannot for the life of him figure out how to sit down. Sometimes I just watch him. Just out of pure malice. Gotcha Monkeylicious. That'll teach you to be so freakishly strong. Which he is. His bites (with just two of the most impossibly teeny teeth you have ever seen in your life) actually bring tears to his Daddy's eyes. Numero Uno son is already telling on MB for wresting a lollipop from him. {Side note: How does an eight month old best a three year old in a 'snatch and grab' fight? I say MB won it fair and square. Go ahead then, boy.} I pride myself on training my babies to sleep in their cribs by three/four months of age. With MB? You guessed it - he has broken me. You can hear his bellows through closed doors and without a monitor. And our rooms are not that close. But gosh darn it, how I love that MB. (In spite of all the abuse.) But I am totally scared of the child.

Birth - the control of.

Dear FDA/ scientists/ would be inventors, women and all:

If there is any bill control pill that will not make me/ will make me (depending)

1) bi-polar, schizophrenic or otherwise moody,

2) balloon up by 5 to 50 lbs (yes, even 5 lbs I take issue with, what's your point?)

3) break out in prepubescent acne or angry hives,

4) cause hair loss and alopecia,

5) have incessant withdrawal bleeding that is equal to or longer than a regular period,

6) feel nauseated, bloated, suicidal, bitchy, crampy, witchy,

7) lose my sex drive,

8) give me cysts, growths, lesions, a stroke

9) give me an ungodly amount of discharge and/or any kind of foul odor down there,

Do give me a buzz. While I am not trying to get pregnant for a good while (or maybe ever again), I would prefer not to experience any of the above or kick the proverbial bucket, you know what I mean? Sheesh! Is it really that hard, people?

researching, pp

Jes' like Bisquick...

Numero Uno Son turns three later next month. Yay on the one hand, as it means good bye to the terrible twos (right?) and hello to three year old 'maturity'. Ha. On the other hand, I have been stressed out trying to plan the 'perfect three year old party', because from what I understand, three is when they actually get it. Everyone knows the all out one year old bash, is for the parents, and since Numero Uno's second birthday was nothing more than a balloon, cupcakes and pizza in school, I figured that this year I'd do something a little special - especially since he has been badgering me about getting him the purple 'mustache' (mustang) car we saw in B.J's for his birthday present. Never mind that he barely drives the one he has now. But it is my fault, in a way. Everything he asks for, "I'll get it for him on his birthday." The trouble here is that I have a toddler with the memory of an elephant. So come his birthday, I might have to take out a loan or something.

I was thinking a fire engine theme - an ode to his love of all things 'auto' with flashing lights and I found out that the Fire museum actually hosts parties - how cool would that be for three year old boys? For the girls, maybe not so much. Or you could have the party at home and have the fire truck swing by your house! Even cooler! But I am determined not to be stuck with three year old debris/ after party fall out, so outsourcing it is. Luckily in 2008, there are more options than ever. 'My Gym' (to which he belongs) - is like 'Gymboree' only better, IMHO, complete with games and everything. All you have to do is bring Pizza, juice boxes and presto - Par-tay! Or our gym - which totally rocks (check it out http://www.lifetimefitness.com/ - you will love it, if you actually like, go.) Same deal as 'My Gym', but even better - with swimming, obstacle courses, scooters - even rock climbing for older kids. And they provide the pizza and juice boxes! I tell ya, 'jes like Bisquick, them parties.'

But when I was googling 'birthday parties for three year old boys' I came across this site 'birthayswithoutpressure' and I was like ' How sad that anyone would need this', until I realised that um.. okay, that 'anyone' included me. Why am I putting pressure on myself to throw NU son this party that he could probably care less about? How about just having a simple party at home with three or four of his pals, a cake pizza, sun chips and ice cream and call it a day? Then of course buy him his beloved mustang. End of story. Me and all moms of his buddies would breathe a sigh of relief - cause really, who needs to attend yet another scintillating toddler party? Not me, not after this summer. So why inflict his on others? a) Because I am a glutton for punishment and masochistic at the same time, b) Because I want to show people and my son that I really truly love him, c) Cause I have 'working moms guilt' and this is in part, penance, d) I am lazy and do not want to move a muscle or use a brain cell. I think a bit of all of the above actually, but if I had to choose one, then (d) would be it. Oh and I would pay a fortune just to get out of small talk with some of those Moms. Mm hmm, you know the ones, right? Shudder.

So I have purged myself and I am suitably ashamed and chastised. But I can't promise you I will be baking a cake and making my own pinata just yet though. Not this year. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

the party planning, pp

Chatterbox

My Numero Uno son talks up a storm. He started speaking early, and not just baby babble, but good (though far from perfect) adult English. This is probably due to the fact that we kept the 'baby talk' to a minimum once we realised he understood what we were saying. So his speech is very 'proper' as one of my friends puts it. Even though he has been talking for a while now, once in a while I still look at him in wonder. Is that you, baby? With all those tiny little teeth, and a point of view and everything. Sample question: "Why did you cry in school today?" Answer: "Because I need my Mommy. (accusingly) You leave me, that's why." How cute is that? The fact that he always adds the "that's why" to end of his explanation kills me every time, I tell ya. Or, "Why won't you go to bed?" "because there's a dragon in my room, that's why." Don't you just die? Or is it a personal Mommy thing? Whatever it is, I am determined to nourish it. And with him in the "what's this? why?" oh so cute but undeniably tiring phase, this book by Jamie Lee Curtis seems like it would be perfect - and something he would undoubtedly grow into. It's called 'Big Words for little People' and it explains words that we adults use (without thinking, most times) in a way that kids can relate to. Too, too adorable. And with purpose too. Can't beat it - will be buying it for sure.

Books rule, pp

Paris.

view of Eiffel from hotel room

Yes, we are back from the fabulous city. Food in Paris was a bust. I just had to get that off my chest. The one meal I enjoyed cost an ungodly amount of money that I just don't feel comfortable 'fessing up to spending. Ye gods! I have honestly never, ever, had food that bad. And it's not like I don't like French food. Au Contraire, I actually adore it. Well, when it's seasoned and cooked right. So I deducted mucho points from Paris, as everyone that knows me has to know that I take my 'manger', tres serious. I had never been so happy to see a McDonalds in my entire life (we came across one near the hotel) I was this close to kissing the floor. For real.

But food aside, Paris was great. And everything was just a little bit nicer than I thought it would be. Parisians are less rude and snobbish than in the yesteryear, not everyone (in fact very few) were decked out in head to toe haute couture(lol) and everyone wears jeans now. It was a laid back, nice fab vacation. Well, not really laid back for us, obviously, with two little boys - one of whom had decided he was potty trained days before the trip and so would NOT under any circumstances pee in his 'pull ups' on the plane or anywhere else for that matter (even though I begged him to at one point) to this mothers' consternation and extreme annoyance. I mean, picture me- exhausted, bleary eyed at some ungodly hour, running down the narrow plane aisle to get Numero Uno to the stinky, cramped plane loo, while he's crying hysterically that "Poo-poo's coming, Mama!". Of course we get there, and nada. Just a few miserable drops of pee. All this after almost dislocating my arm to prevent him from falling down the cavernous, stinky toilet bowl. Now rewind and picture this twenty or so more times during the same flight. Exactement. I am grateful the boy is (finally) potty trained, don't get me wrong, but dear Lord, where is a nanny when you need one? I know, I'm a bad Momma. :-)

The boys (en Paris), having a laugh at our expense

But this picture of Numero Uno staring out his hotel room window, soaking up the culture, made all his hassling almost seem worth it. Almost.

Mom of the Year, pp

Mr. Egghead/ Ma Pauvre Bebe

My poor monkeyboy. Fell forward in his bumbo seat when he was trying to get a toy and bumped his head on our extremely hard stone kitchen tile. Ouchhhhh! Thankfully, the seat was on the floor, so he didn't have far to fall - but still ouchie! The poor thing was such a trooper and was playing happily again within minutes. His bump was iced and he seemed okay. Fast forward to two days later- the bump just grew 4 times larger and was soft and puffy to the touch. Before you could say 'ER', we were there - with bells on. I was, to put it mildly, in a tizzy. What if he had like a concussion or something? Or internal bleeding? Because obviously, some kind of fluid was collecting under his skin and the fact that he was acting like his normal self scared me even more. Surely that meant he had something 'not good' going on internally, poor baby. But long story short, he had a CT scan and he was fine- not a fracture (thank God) but a contusion which is a bad bruise under the skin. The Doctor casually told me that it would go in two or three weeks. Weeks? Oh no! To be honest, his 'new face' freaked me out a bit. It was oddly misshapen and warped on one side, like he was staring into one of those funny mirrors at the circus. I wanted my MB back! And we traipsed through airports to Paris and back, Mr. Egghead in tow, people looking at him, curious but most too polite to ask, and suddenly it was gone. Poof! Just like that. Now we weren't sure if it was really truly gone or if we had just gotten used to it. But it really has. In three weeks, just like the doctor said. I have my adorable Monkeyboy back! But here's a picture (in the third week, so you can imagine how HUGE it was initially) just so I always remember how grateful I should be for his beautiful monkeyface and more important, health. Viola...