When You Don’t TiFaux The Commercials…

…you sometimes get something unexpected.

This ad cracked me up. Because I’m really an 8 year-old boy….


Defiance, MA

I don’t know what to do. My children are sapping me of my will to live.

Boo is so fucking defiant, all the time. If I ask her not to do something, she stares at me while doing it anyway. If I ask her to do something, she runs away. She ignores everything I say. She’s not supposed to go into the office area of the living room. She knows this. Yet, time after time after time, she goes in there. I have it somewhat blocked off with a bookcase and she still gets in. She takes her sister’s toys right out of her hand. She’s not supposed to play with the cordless phone, but every time it’s within reach, she grabs it and starts pushing buttons. When I ask her to give me the phone, she runs away with it. When I take it away from her, she fucking melts down. Shrieking and screaming and flailing her arms. This happens dozens of times a day. It. makes. me. insane.

The Bug isn’t much better. She can’t really talk yet, so she screams. At the top of her lungs. Over everything. She also hits. Yesterday she hit me and grabbed my new glasses off my face (Boo broke my old ones) and threw them on the floor. When Boo grabs her toy from her, The Bug will scream and whack Boo over the head. Hard. If she doesn’t get her way immediately, the screaming and shrieking starts in. Her whole body shakes because she’s so angry.

Both of them are very unpleasant to be around right now. I refuse to take them out anywhere for longer than 45 minutes because they’re guaranteed to have at least one meltdown a piece while we’re out. I’m getting seriously angry on a daily basis and have started putting Boo in her crib when she misbehaves, as much for a time out for me as it is for her.

We’re trying to finish packing and that’s only making this situation worse. This has been going on for a couple of months, since long before we found out we had to move, so I can’t blame all this behaviour on the move. But if this is what my life is going to be like until they start pre-school, I might as well check into the loony bin now. I really feel like I’m on the verge of losing it.

Oops, We Did It Again!


Awww, Mike Lowell won MVP! Oh, god, if they’re smart, they’ll sign him to a big, fat contract.



Almost there. Almost. Don’t get cocky.

The Fat Lady hasn’t even begun to warm up.

My nails are bitten down to my elbows.

The Reincarnationist

This is a Mother Talk book review.

The Reincarnationist, by M.J. Rose is a fun read. Josh Ryder, a photographer, is badly injured in a terrorist bombing. This triggers in him memories, or lurches, when he experiences the life of Julius, a pagan priest in Rome in 391 A.D.. Julius is attempting to save his temple as well as the life of his vestal virgin lover Sabine. These memories lead Josh to The Phoenix Foundation, a group that works with children experiencing past life memories.

Read the rest over here.


I was recently asked to review a cookbook aimed at people with diabetes. This one was an unpaid review (although I did get a cookbook out of the deal). It’s over here.

This post is mainly to alert the woman who sent me the cookbook. Like the scatterbrain that I am, I deleted her email without saving her address.


OK, that was almost embarrassing.

But we won. 13 – 1.

6 more to go.

Still not tempting the whatever, high atop the thing. No, no, appeasing the whatever. See? Look? Humble. Not cocky. Not taking it for granted, no. Never.

The Peace Process

TCBIM and I really like to go to this local outdoor flea market. It’s a fun thing to do on a Sunday morning. It’s outdoors, which is nice because it means I don’t have to get too up close and personal with people. I don’t mind humanity but people can really suck. Plus, there’s always a guy there selling paperback books for $1 a piece (and I wonder why I have so many books). The guy selling fresh cut French fries is a lure, too, especially because he has two kinds of vinegar in addition to the ubiquitous Heinz ketchup.

Last year, before The Bug was born, we were there, perusing the stalls. I was lusting over an old, 50s-era formica and chrome kitchen table. TCBIM was eyeing the power tools. Both of us knew we couldn’t afford either of the things we wanted. A couple of booths over was a heap of brightly-coloured plastic toys. There was, of course, a talking Elmo, which I quickly moved out of Boo’s sight line. And then I saw a cute little dump truck.

And I thought “Aha! A truck! It’s cute. It’s not pink. And it doesn’t have batteries! (Ok, it did, but it wasn’t obvious that it did.)” So I paid my $3 and brought it home.

Boo didn’t really want anything to do with it until recently. Actually, she didn’t want anything to do with it until The Bug discovered how much fun it was to shove it around the floor. Then Boo was all about the truck. Good lord, it was like negotiating peace in the Middle East, trying to keep those two from killing each other over this damned truck. Boo would grab the truck away from The Bug. The Bug would shriek her patented, blood-curdling shriek and toddle as fast as her chubby legs could carry her, running after Boo and then hauling off and smacking her upside the head. The Bug would get it back and Boo would sit there, all pathetic-looking, saying “Please, Bug, please can I have the truck?” Meanwhile, The Bug is whipping that truck around the room like she’s Mario Andretti’s daughter.

So today I was at Target, my other favourite place to be, especially when it’s raining and I’ve had just. about. enough. of the Shriek Sisters. As I walked into the store, I had an epiphany. The sun actually broke thru the clouds for a second and it came to me. “Dood! Just buy another truck!”

So I did. And now peace reigns in the Happy Valley.

At least until they start fighting over Bitty Baby.

I Am A Delicate, Fragile Flower

You want to know what pisses me off? (Shaddup. It’s my blog and I’m going to tell you whether you like it or not.) The fact that I am 40 years old and get zits on my chin like I was a 17 year-old fry cook. What. The. Fuck??

In an attempt to rid myself of said blemishes, I bought (on the recommendation of a friend) some Clearasil facial cleanser. It gave me more zits. So I used the zit cream that came bundled with the Clearasil.

Guess what?

I’m allergic to it.

So now, not only do I have zits on my face, I also have huge, red, welt-y looking blotches. All over my face. Like this kid.


In an effort to distract myself from clawing picking scratching my face, I decided to read some blogs. I noticed that motherbumper updated, so I went to check it out. Her post? It’s about big, fuck off bugs.

Now, not only does my face itch like a motherfucker, my skin is crawling and I keep seeing black things darting across the floor out of the corner of my eye.

It’s going to be a long night….

Edited to add: I have a review of a cookbook aimed at people with diabetes up over on my review blog. It’s a good cookbook, one I’d find useful even if I didn’t have a child with diabetes. Look how productive I am when I’m busy trying not to scratch my face off.



8 – 2, bottom of the 8th, Pedroia just cleared the bases, knocking in three runs and ohmigawd, ohmigawd, ohmigawd, we might do this again!!!!

Shhhh. Shut up. Stop tempting the whatever.

Do you know how much it sucks to be watching this all by myself? I have no one to get all giddy and excited with, so I’m sharing it with the internets.

I can hardly sit still. I need a beer. I need a cigarette (and I don’t smoke any more). I need something celebratory. Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

Edited to add: Youk just hit a homer off the Coke bottles. 11 – 2.

Yeah, baby. Goin’ to the show. Bring on those Rockies!

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