Friday, May 27, 2011

The Case of the Missing Triple Paste

Background: On the changing table in Ari's bedroom is a wicker basket filled with baby necessities: diapers, nail clippers, Tylenol, Vaseline, snot squeegee, and a wide selection of diaper rash creams.  (Side note - A&D smells like steak sauce.  Anyone want my tube?  I do not like my baby the way I like my meat.)

Ari, knock on wicker, has never had diaper rash.   I attribute this to 2 things.  First, I am diligent and liberal with my application of Aquaphor in his crack(s) and crevices every time I change his diaper.  But more importantly, we have had a magic product. 

Whenever I would see the slightest tinge of red skin, I would dab on a little Triple Paste, and remarkably, the redness would disappear.  He has had a rash-free booty since birth.

I have never moved or removed the Triple Paste from the changing table. In fact, I have a travel-sized tube of Aquaphor in both of my diaper bags, under the stroller, in my car, and in my make-up case.  No need for Triple Paste on-the-go. 

That all said, I realized a few weeks ago that the Triple Paste... dun dun dun...had vanished.

I searched the basket, his room, and all of my belongings.  I looked behind the changing table and under the rug.  I even checked the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms!  No Triple Paste.  All that remains is an empty box full of rash-free memories.

(Ironic that the instruction sheet tucked in the bottom of the empty box promises "Serious relief for diaper rash. Guaranteed."  Should I write them a letter?)


I've narrowed the list of suspects down to 3 main groups of people:

1. The maids
2. The nanny
3. My mom friends

All 3 have good motives.  The maids have kids or friends who have kids and may have swiped my stuff for one of them (my husband swears they steal quarters out of our tzedakah box).  The Nanny (for the one day a week I go in to the office) watches another kid whose mom may not have this liquid gold.  Plus, she was the one who first noticed the paste had gone missing.  Maybe this was her cover!  And my mom friends, well, I think one of you them may have just placed it in your their diaper bag by "accident". 

This is no game.  This is a real-life crime.  And I need your help.  For Ari's tushie's sake!

Who stole my Triple Paste?  $5,000,000 reward for the clue that leads to the return of the butt cream.


Go the F*ck to...

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Currently #4 on Amazon's bestseller list is a book with a release date of June 2011.  Any guess what book could already be so popular?  Is it the biography of Bethenney Frankel detailing her life from f*cked up family to multi-millionaire & Forbes cover girl?  No.  Is it the fourth Stieg Larsson book?  No f*cking way (but I wish!). 

It is...
Go the F**k to Sleep
This book is genius.  Author Adam Mansbach writes an honest, hilarious, heart-warming "children's book" (for adults eyes only) based on the sleep issues of his 2 year-old daughter.  Every mom and dad knows oh-too-well the feeling of sleep deprivation that parenthood commands.  And Adam writes what we're all thinking.  Here's a sample verse:

     The cats nestle close to their kittens now.
     The lambs have laid down with the sheep.
     You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear
     Please go the fuck to sleep.

For the time being, we are no longer dealing with sleep issues (hallelujah), but we do have a big problem of our own.  Thank you Mr. Mansbach for the inspiration to write my own book.  What do you think?

My little baby Ari,
Your diapers should still fit.
Please explain to me love,
Why the f*ck they're filled with sh*t?

You're eating solid food now,
So blended it's like soup.
Apples, pears, and carrots,
I effing gag when you poop!

I take you to the market,
With all the chicks you flirt.
They say "oh he's a cutie"
'Til you F it up and squirt.

I put you in the carriage,
And we go for a stroll,
When the f*uck did that happen?
You dropped a tootsie roll.

I hand you to a friend,
I hear her say, "he farted."
But then it becomes clear guy,
What the F?  You sharted.

Mom and Dad just had birthdays,
Oh how we celebrated,
You effin' love attention,
That's why you defecated.

I give you mashed bananas,
You are pretty well-fed.
But 'nanas block you up babe,
Give you turtle f*ckin' head!

I think you get the picture,
I'll finish this little rap.
There is no rhyme or reason,
F*ck! You just took a crap.

The End.

(I'll be giving away a copy of Mansbach's book to the one of you who suggests the best title for my spin-off. Contest ends Friday, 5-27 at Noon EST.)


Kids these days

Monday, May 23, 2011

Maybe it was because I grew up in the South, but I don't recall rainbow parties (sub-urban legend? who knows!) or soda seal bracelets when I was a kid.  From what I hear, times have definitely changed.  Girls are hitting puberty earlier (I can feel my husband wincing as he reads this) and older boys are taking advantage of these 6th 5th 4th 3rd graders by encouraging "budding" romances.

I wanted to keep my precious little angel innocent and untouched for the rest of his life as long as possible.  Little did I know that "music class" is baby code for "make out class."  Babies have no shame!  Parents and grandparents are watching but the tiny tots show complete disregard for their caregivers.

Let me recount what I witnessed last Wednesday.  Ari and I are jamming together when he tries to get the attention of the little girl sitting in front of him.

Ari: Excuse me sweetheart.  Want to join me for the next song?

Little girl: You talkin' to me Cheeks?
Ari: I sure am Forehead.

Little girl: I'll shimmy on back and sit on with you.
Ari: Nice shoes...
Little girl: I've heard that line before.  Will you please ask your Mom to give us a little privacy?
Ari: Just ignore her.  So you like toys eh?

Little girl: This was fun.
Ari: You're beautiful.  I will take good care of you.  Hey everyone - this is my girl!

Little girl: Oh I think you misunderstood.  I'm not interested in a committed relationship.  I'm too young to settle down. 
Ari: You used me.
Little girl: Hey there little boy in the blue shirt.
Ari: (confused, sad, red-in-the-face embarrassed)
Little boy: Move on over blondie. She's mine.  Keep filming lady.

I'm sorry baby.  Little girls have herpes cooties.  Just stick with your mama.


What's your name?

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I recently heard about an Israeli couple who named their child "Like" after the Facebook app we all know and, well, like. 

I am reminded of my 7th grade science teacher Mrs. Geiger who told us a story of a student she once had with the name Femiley.  Mrs. Geiger asked the young girl's mother how she came up with the unusual name and she responded, "I didn't.  It was written on the birth certificate but I changed the spelling."  For those of you who need me to spell this one out (literally) "Femily" was a different way to spell "Female."  Get it?  True story.

I am no stranger to unusual names.  JulieSue.  Uh huh. 

Admittedly, I have grown to appreciate my less-than-common name.  Just last week, I was at a cooking event and a woman turned to me and asked, "Did you grow up in Florida?"  I almost forgot that I lived there til the age of 8.  Confused, I skeptically answered "yes", and she confidently stated, "we were in Kindergarten and Indian Princesses together. I would never forget the name JulieSue."  What a freak good memory! 

However, when my husband and I were considering baby names, it was really important to me that the selected name be found on toothbrushes, mugs, magnets, and all of the other crap (that's my poop reference for the day) they sell in the personalized item section at toy stores.  I always wanted those little custom trinkets but had to settle for Julie note pads and Sue stickers.

Umm, Err, Ehh...That's why we chose the name...

"Ari" isn't listed on the top 100 most popular baby name list...yet (btw, do you think Mason is #1 because of KK?).  Nope, the name currently sits proudly at #468.  Thank goodness for good friends who bought out Scribble It and outfitted Ari with a personalized:

  growth chart, coat rack, wipes, bank, wipes box, picture frame, 


and 3 blue blankets.

Oh, I almost forgot! 
And, 4 step stools!  Who knew I'd be so into stools?!

I don't think Ari will ever forget his name.  Uncommon names... I


Do you have a card?

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Before I received my last promotion (aka quit my job to stay home and watch Real Housewives "On Demand" take care of my baby), I loved carrying and giving out my business cards.  I had a snazzy card holder and kept a stack in every bag I owned.  I loved to network, make new contacts, give out my cards, and collect business cards for googling/stalking prospecting purposes.  Business cards made sense. 

Now that I spend my day at the park, the pool, and the play date, I have no need for business cards.  Or so I thought.

Last Thursday night, I met a woman who suggested we get together to introduce our kids and take a walk in the neighborhood.  I grabbed my phone to add her contact information when she said, "email me, here take my card."  As I walked away, I glanced down at the card to check out her profession or employer, and had to stop when I realized this was no ordinary business card.  It was...(dramatic sound effect)... a mom card.

Her name, her phone number, her email address, and her family members were all listed on the card. No company, no logo, no title.  What the what?!  I couldn't help but giggle. 

I googled "mom cards" to see if this was really a new fad, and voila, I found this ridiculous website.  Check out the top 10 reasons to get a mom card:

1.     New moms you meet and want play dates with
2.     Contact info for Babysitter
3.     Neighbors
4.     Existing friends (the cards are just too cute not to share)
5.     Put in holiday cards, birthday cards, thank you cards and more
6.     When dropping off your child at someone’s house for a play date or birthday party
7.     If your child is lost you can give out the card with their picture on it to help find them
8.     Keep one in your suitcase or diaper bag in case it gets lost
9.     Will make grandparents smile
10.   Just for fun!

They're all a bit nonsensical but does anyone think #7 is absolutely assinine?  (I'm shocked it took me 4 months to use "assinine" in a post.  Purposely spelled incorrectly.) 

Who in their right mind believes there's any need for mom cards?  Come on people.  This is absurd.

OK, fine, you got me, I'm gonna order some (just in case Ari gets lost...his crib is first.)

You want one?

poop mom cards Front


Elimination Communication

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I have friends who have successfully potty trained their 11 month old.  No joke.  Starting when the baby was a few days old, they used techniques to teach the little girl to communicate when she needed to go sink potty.  The term for this practice is Elimination Communication, and while I do not prescribe to this philosophy (no judgment - while I am constantly cleaning Ari's back armpits neck changing table clothing  tush, they simply wipe and flush), I have discovered that my baby and many other children have their own form of elimination communication.

Three examples:

1. While at a friend's home for lunch, the adults sat eating and chatting while the kids played in another room.  I was enjoying a bite of apple cobbler when a two-year old walked into the room, poked his mother, and proudly stated "I'm going poo."  The mom questioned, "right now?" and little boy answered, "yes."  I tried hard to swallow the warm gooey appley mush as my new little friend made a big public push.

2. Waiting for luggage at baggage claim at Logan Airport, I watched a mother struggle with two little girls and one little boy whose pants were drenched in the crotch area.  He was sobbing.  As he got closer, he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I peed my pants!"  (No, really?)  Everyone waiting for their luggage turned to look after he announced his accident.

3. And finally there's my baby.  We haven't taught him to signal before he goes #2 or tell us after he's finished.  But, guess what?  He communicates pretty well when he drops a deuce (shout out to my husband!). 

Now that is what I call elimination communication!


Googled this week (part 3)

Friday, May 13, 2011

The last few weeks have been uneventful in terms of google searches which led to this website.  I have realized that I'm not alone and a lot of people are "obsessed with poop" or their "husband is obsessed with poop" and their "baby takes big wet poops."  This week, however, the google search terms were anything but ordinary.

(Cut and pasted directly from my blogger statistics)

1. desperate pretty blonde girl pooping a big dump in a lift floor

2. daughter eating mothers feces

3. hot mom in shower

4. baby poop in my mouth

#'s 1, 2, and 4 - Disturbing. Disgusting. Dumbfounding. #1 just makes no sense.  What is a lift floor?  #2 sounds like a case of child abuse.  And #4, well, aside from the time I got a little baby poop on my lip (long story), I cannot begin to imagine why someone would have baby poop in their mouth, and more importantly, what they hope to learn from googling it.

#3 - Perhaps this googler was looking for pics of Alex McCord?  (Oh how I hope some of you get that joke.  And for the two of you, yeah, I agree, more like "hot man in shower".  Smack!  I said it!)  And, sorry to disappoint.

Also this week, a picture of the pooper and a picture of his poop:

Have a great weekend!


Cocks and Balls

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

My baby isn't talking yet...well, he's talking, but only he knows what he's saying.  So while I wait patiently for the day Ari can communicate with me in English, I love to hear what other little kids are saying.

My friend K has an 18-month old boy (that's a year and a half for those of you without kids).  He loves to play with balls.  And, he is obsessed with his socks.  Except, like most kids his age, he pronounces some words incorrectly.  In his case, "socks" is pronounced "cocks." 

Here are some of his favorite things to say:

Where my cocks?
I play balls.
Take off cocks.
My cocks dirty.
Give me balls.
Mama look at cocks.
Look my balls.
Look my cocks.
I want big balls.
You touch cocks.
(Pointing at daddy's balls.  "What that?" Dad says, "balls") I play dada's balls!
I lost cocks.
I bring balls cocks. 
You no cocks?
Poop on cocks.
Where mama cocks?
Balls on cocks.
Gimme balls and cocks!

His day revolves around balls and cocks.  Fitting, isn't it?  This probably won't change ever for many many years. 

(I want a girl.)

p.s. What does your kid/niece/brother/cousin/neighbor say that's funny?


A (very sappy) Mothers Day note

Sunday, May 8, 2011

My sweet baby Ari,

You are now 6 months and 1 week old and I am celebrating my first Mother's Day.  The last six months have been so much more astonishing than I ever expected.  When I was told that I would love you more than I ever knew possible, I did not understand what that meant.  Now, it makes perfect sense.  So today, rather than celebrating with a card or flowers or a gift (okay, if Dad gives me something, I will proudly accept it), all I want is to thank you for giving me the opportunity to be your mom and explain to you how truly amazing it feels to be your mother. 

Every morning when I walk into your room and peer into your crib, you look up and smile and I melt.  My heart skips a beat every time I see your smiling face.  You are my child!  I still cannot fully grasp the idea that Dad and I created you, that you grew inside me, and that I birthed you.  What I can grasp is an overwhelming feeling of connection to you and immense adoration for you. 

I love every second that I am with you, I am sad when I leave you, and I think about you constantly when you are not near me.  I could watch you sleep for hours (and I do).  I cry when I hear you cry.  And I cry when I think about anything bad happening to you.  And I cry when I hold you tight and think about how much I love and care for you.   And I cry thinking about my previous life without you. 

You have changed me for the better.  I am a warmer, kinder, more sensitive person since becoming your mom.  I have reprioritized my life and have you listed at the top.  I know now what is most important to me and that is and always will be family.

I will strive to be ethical and respectful and maintain a sense of integrity with strong values to impart to you.  I will do whatever I can to make the world a better place for you.  And I will make any sacrifice to provide for you and ensure you are always happy and healthy.

I feel so lucky to have you, to hold you, to kiss you, and to play with you.  I want time to stop so I can savor this amazing period of time.  And at the same time, I'm excited to watch you grow and develop, to help you learn and achieve, to celebrate your accomplishments, and to support and guide you through your challenges.

You, my incredible son, are the best gift I have ever received.  Today I honor you. 

Happy Mother's Day to me.


Who's Your Daddy?

Friday, May 6, 2011

Dear Daddy,

Mom says it's your birthday.  Happy Birthday!  I love you so much.  Here are some of my favorite things about you.  You always make me smile.  I love squeezing your nose so hard you say "ouch."  When you come home from work, I get so excited to see you.  You toss me up in the air and do that swinging thing I love.  You sing songs that make me giggle.  You buy me awesome clothes and lots of pairs of baby Adidas sneakers.  You put me to bed every night and I love that time together. 

I hope you have a fantastic birthday.  And, I hope I'm just like you when I grow up.

Love, Ari


Boys and their toys

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Ari loves a new toy. 

Is it the brightly colored stacking rings that feel good in his hands and in his mouth?


Is it the super (expensive) squishy cube with little windows and shapes and lots to touch and see?


Is it the fun drum that plays music and lights up and turns into a wheeling instrument to help with crawling?

You guessed it.  Nope.

There's currently only 1 toy that Ari wants to play with all day long, one toy that makes him smile when he spots it across the room, 1 toy that inspires him to nose dive off my lap and onto the floor or coffee table or sofa to get a hold of it. 

Yup, the remote control. 

He loves to hold it and touch it and push the buttons.  He likes to take control of it and grip it tightly.  He can play with it for hours!  In fact, he would sleep with it if I let him.  And finally, when I try to take it away, he throws a fit.

Wait a sec...the same can be said for someone else I know...

Like father, like son.


White babies can jump!

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Since we're on the topic of genetics, I'll share that I don't think my baby has melanin.  I'm not surprised.  "Yo mama and yo dada so white" jokes were conceived for Matt and me.  (You remember these... Yo mama's so white, she gets a sunburn from the TV.  Yo dada's so white, when he gets naked, yo mama's retinas burn.)  My brotha said it best when he inquired, "where are your kid's eyebrows?" and I had to swallow my pride and just accept that my little guy simply lacks skin (and hair) pigmentation.

Trying to spot us at the beach?  We're the family under the umbrella, wearing hats, covered in sunscreen inside. 

As summertime approaches (can I get an AMEN!), I'm feeling nervous about Ari's exposure to the sun.  If he's anything like us, he will fry like a piece of kosher turkey bacon. My dark hair is deceiving.  I'm truly as pale as they come.  2 days ago, I took a 30 minute walk outside (in partly cloudy weather conditions) and still have this oh-so-cute sunburn to show for it:

I should buy stock and stock up in baby (and adult) sunscreen.

But two things give me hope that my little Albino is not going to be the butt (ha ha) of jokes for the rest of his life.  First, he's got an unusually large wiener.  (You got me, that was a lie.)  But second and more importantly (and honestly), this pasty white 6 month old has got skills when it comes to jumping!

Watch out Woody Harrelson.


It's Genetic

Monday, May 2, 2011

I am needle phobic.  To avoid pricks (at least the kind that get under my skin...that didn't know, the ones that draw blood), I just don't go to the doctor.  But, when you're pregnant, you really have no choice (unless you don't realize you're carrying a watermelon in your gut AND you're constipated AND you haven't taken a trip to the feminine product aisle at CVS in 9 months, like these chicks). 

If you're Jewish, you're subjected to blood testing even before you get pregnant in order to screen for genetic diseases.  When my doctor suggested the testing, I refused.  There is no history of genetic disease in my family or my husband's family and I sure as heck was not going to let Mr. Phlebotomy take 5 vials of my blood.  After some not-so-gentle prodding by my doctor, I reluctantly subjected my little veins to the not-so-gentle prodding at the lab.

A week later, my doc called to inform me I was a carrier of Familial Dysautonomia and since 1 out of 4 Ashkenazi Jews (those of us from eastern Europe...or, the pale Jews) is a carrier of at least 1 of the 19 genetic diseases, it would make sense for my husband to be tested as well.  We did the math and odds were definitely in our favor.  But, 1 in 900 meant nothing when Matt's test came back positive as well. 

Shocked, upset, and scared, we made an appointment with a genetic counselor to learn about our options for having a child without this life-threatening disease.  We narrowed our choices down to either: 1. Gamble (make a fetus, get tested at 12 weeks, hope for the best, and make a difficult decision if need-be), or 2. IVF ($30,000 not covered by insurance, not guaranteed to make a baby, and not for the needle-nervous).  I took my 3 month old to Vegas, so you can probably guess that we decided to press our luck.

It's a basic Punnett Square genetic equation - Mom and Dad each carry 1 recessive gene and the fetus would need to acquire both of these genes to have the disease.  In other words, DD, Dd, dD, dd - 25% chance the fetus would have the disease, 50% chance the fetus would be a carrier just like we are, and 25% change the fetus would not be a carrier of the disease.  Or quite simply, 1 in 4 odds our offspring would have FD.

Sperm+Egg met, EPT showed two blue lines, and the waiting game began.  Twelve long, exhausted, nauseous weeks later, a sample of placenta was removed, and two agonizingly slow weeks after that, we received the call that the fetus was a carrier of the gene, just like Mom and Dad.  Ridiculously big sigh of relief. 

Matt and I like to needle each other and guess who gave Ari his FD gene.  We really don't care.  We are just thankful each and every day that he is perfectly healthy.  (And we hope he will marry a nice Sephardic girl one day - for the genetic assurance, the darker skin pigmentation, and of course, the rice and peas during Passover). 

(On a serious note, thanks for reading.  I hope you will pass this along to friends, relatives, neighbors, clergy, medical professionals, and anyone else who may not know about the genetic screening test.  Or, just "like" this and post on your facebook page to increase awareness.  Thank you.  For more information, please visit Victor Centers for Jewish Genetic Diseases. )


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