I Spy The Eye of Dr. TJ Eckelberg

Snowflake doesn't know it, but I play with all of his toys before he gets his meaty little hands on them. In this case, it's an Andre the Giant sized magnifying glass from HABA. I was shocked by it's size! It's fantastically wonking! Something like this just begs to be played with. I laughed when I removed it from the box.

The lens is one helluva nice piece of plexiglass with a beautiful hard maple handle. Damn, I love nice toys and I like to play with them almost as much as Snowflake does. I can't wait to capture Snowflake with this. It's almost like the Rolls Royce of Cracker Jack prizes. I feel soooo 1970's Inspector Cleuseau. Now I'm thinking, could this possibly burn the house down?

Truman & I

I loved the book, In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I read it in highschool and never forgot it. A weird thought crosses my mind now watching the Oscars and I wonder if subliminally I named True after him. The thought was planted there long ago though I never thought about it in 2004. Truman Capote was such a fantastic character. I remember seeing him on Johnny Carson in the 70's and being mesmerized by his presence. The white suit with hair to match, funny little glasses and a voice from another world. I admired him.

I didn't see Capote and when I saw a clip from the film I thought to myself, Philip Seymour Hoffman may be good, but truly, only Capote could do Capote. Yet now I find myself admiring Hoffman more. It was a little thing called the acceptance speech.

Capote and I don't relate on any level save for the dream to be a good writer, a scathing commentator or Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I guess that's something. Hoffman? He can just come right on over and sit his oversized arse down on my lap. One of the aspects of his speech was when he thanked his mother. She raised four children alone and did it well, leading a round of applause from the audience.

He then went on to relate how she took him to his first audition in grade school and another time when she stayed up watching The Final Four with him. She did it all, he said and he didn't know how. He raised the Oscar in her direction and saluted her. It was so touching to me, I cried as Snowflake sat curled up on my lap snuggling on top of the fuzzy frog blankie.

Hoffman sent me a beam of light. I swelled with hope and happiness, feeling a reassuring touch that I am Snowflake's mother. I can do this and I can do this well. I only have one little boy to care for and nurture. That makes my odds pretty damn good. And if it weren't for Truman, I probably wouldn't have been paying attention.

Thanks Truman! And the Oscar for best female in a supporting role goes to me !

The Small Things

The small things bring me the most joy. Like waking up this morning with a brand new, fresh faced baby guy who always says first thing upon waking and opening those baby blues, "Hi Heidi!"when he's feeling his usual self. It's not mamma or mommy, but Heidi.

Sundays are always my favorite. It's so quiet and peaceful, listening to the whistle on the train blow as it chugs it's way down the tracks on the other side of the park. The muffled whoosh of a random car. Actually being able to listen to the full hour of The Splendid Table

I will leave in a few minutes with my little rejuvenated radical randy rascal and go get my morning coffee. The snow is evaporating away more and more every day. The grass is peeping through. I can see the huge maples getting ready to bud. New life pervades my every thought. Although it's another gray midwestern morning, inside, I'm feeling all sunny.

Into Each Life A Little Snowflake Must Fall

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Gay Tight!

This is an adorable Benetton sweatshirt that my best friend sent Snowflake for his upcoming birthday. We just received it today in the post. It's funny because he's always late sending stuff and he knows it. When Snowflake was born I made him swear to send him postcards from around the world. Out of the six or so postcards he's gotten, only one was mailed from it's actual country of origin. The others have all been mailed from MIAMI, hello!

We were talking about it a few days ago and I was excited.

"What size is it?" I ask.

"Um, let's see, a 74. Oh shit, that's twelve months!" he says.

"Don't worry it'll probably fit. He has other 74's in jackets and they're okay."

"It'll be gay tight!" he says, "And if doesn't fit, give it to your brother's baby."



I'll have to stretch it out and never wash it. I think it's adorable, definitely very sleek and form fitting. Man, that is sooooo EURO! I wish he was wearing a red pair of baby Speedos and some goggles with it.


Snowflake has such a big head, thank goodness I ended up with a C-Section. Having such a large balloon like cabeza, when he feels lightheaded, he actually rises up and floats away. It's very surreal. How I love my little Dali.

Sick Boy

For the past two days, Snowflake has been sick with his first REAL cold since birth. I think I owe his great health to breastfeeding. Speaking of which, I feel like the world's biggest pacifier or nothing more than a milk tanker.

He has been nursing so much I feel like I have a 30lb. lobster locked onto my nipples. He doesn't suck with the same technique as he did when he was going for total nutrition. To the women who say they've been aroused by breastfeeding, you're whacked! You give bf-er's a bad name!

To me there is nothing sexy or stimulating about being gnawed on like a squirrel who nibbles at a nut. I feel like I have two big bags of cookies hanging off my chest. As annoying as it may be, I can't help but feel for Snowflake. His wish is my
command.

Smell Me, I Stink So Good!

Call me a paradoxical, sleazy, whorey teased and mussed up thang! The usually classic Coco wearing me, lingered a little too long at Walgreen's earlier this evening. The Celebrity Stench was wooing me with it's seductive hot-ass odor(To you, Gentle Reader, no, it didn't smell anything like what you may imagine a hot sweaty ass smells like), I mean aroma. I was a little hungry when I approached the "Dessert Treats" collection featuring the glamorous Chestica Simpson(nickname stolen from DListed) as spokeswhore.

I grabbed the butterscotch toffee deliciously kissable hair and body shimmer mist. With one whiff I felt myself falling dizzily, hopelessly and totally in love. I was floating high above the Mawl sauntering hand in hand with Fabio, as we searched for the perfect CZ at Sears whilst sipping Asti and nibbling Russell Stover. It's a good thing my mother bought me that wacky scuunci wiglet with the dangerous little braids and razored pieces to sex up my hair.

I didn't just stop with the spray. I bought the matching lotion AND shower gel! It was close to sixty clams, big boy! Now I'm going to smell like the most sprinkely twinkley sunshiney fresh baked butter toffee beignet in town. You'll smell me three blocks before I arrive. People will come out of their houses smiling in disbelief, half dazed as I walk The Chidler wondering where the goodness is coming from.

It's just me, I'll whisper and wink, giggling as I shuffle by in my red patent PVC hotpants, teetering on my matching stilettos as my boob pops out of my fishnet halter. When I say eat me, I mean it! It smells so good I want to lick myself. Now I know how The Chidler feels. Remembering those weird girls in grade school who actually ATE bits of the giant size Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers, I get it!

Waffling

It's so frustrating. The commercial space in this town is rediculously overpriced, run down or in a really bad area(for our budget, that is). This shouldn't deter us, but it does. The sucky thing is, is that Big Pappy is a very successful businessman and he won't mentor us in any way other than financially. Even that he begrudgingly does with a snort and a huff. The building is currently inhabited by a glassblower/lampworker. It's a complete mess and the owner won't stick anything into the space or structure as it is scheduled to be torn down within the next five or so years.

We figure this will just give us more time to plan, figure and bakie, bakie, bakie. I would love to track down the elusive crusty baguette. Does a perfect wheat-free version exist? What you wouldn't know is that a good old baguette consists of maybe four ingredients. Making it gluten free could mean it takes twenty! Texture is everything. So many people try their hand at gluten free baking and end up with a dense mass of spongey goo that goes directly into the garbage. It's the kind of substance you could seal cracks with or use as filler to fix the holes in a wall and completely flavorless. Or it could be bone dry, crumbling in your hand at the slightest pressure and tasting bitter because it was made with too much of one kind of flour.

Back to the drawing board we go. Cocktail time.

What's In A Name?

Today we're going to look at a possible site for the new wheat / gluten free bakery. It must be kismet because my mother knows the guy who owns the building and it's been renovated for just our kind of purpose. There's an area that we can exclusively dedicate to mixing dough. It has a walk in cooler, sinks and it's entirely up to code. We plan on using our artistic talents to doll the joint up, a little funky painting, some big photos of the products etc.

I have a few names in mind, but I thought it would be a great idea to tap into the power of the internet and everyone's creativity. This is the deal, if you submit an idea and we decide to use it, we'll send you a $50 gift card from Starbucks. I look at it this way: That's TEN FREE VENTI WHITE MOCHAS or many more of your favorite in a small size! Good luck and happy brainstorming! Is there anybody out there?

Toys and Torment

The witching hour is almost here so I better hurry before I turn into a giant pumpkin. I've spent the last few hours ordering Snowflake lots of HABA toys for his birthday. I drive myself crazy by googling the item number in quotes to make sure I find the best price. It can be maddening and it's so un-aquarian. They make they most amazingly cute room furnishings and really neat birthday candles. I was looking for the birthday caterpillar but had to add the king and the beetle as well. I am a total freakin' addict for HABA toys. I love them so much I think I'll just go ahead and marry them.

Yesterday I bought a case of 'vegetal' kimchi flavored noodle bowls at Sam's. Normally I look at the ingredients. Snowflake and I scarffed a big ol' bowl last night. I added organic peas and corn to the mix. It was so damn good. I don't think I've had ramen since 1991. After the nosh I checked the ingredients...beef bone stock, beef fat and beef flavoring. Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree! A vegetarian's nightmare! I felt a little queasy but then I thought, what the hell. You can't eat a McDonald's FF without getting a mouthful of beef flavoring. My chuckeye eating coworker offered to take them off my hands.

Something has been on my mind lately. I know it's been discussed before. I noticed Yoplait has a little note on the side of the container that says "PROTECT WILDLIFE CRUSH CUP BEFORE DISPOSAL". Apparently Skunks LOVE yogurt and the little rim around the top acts as a locking device rendering them unable to remove it. Piss me off! Miss Paranoia doesn't crush the cup. I get out my Leatherman tool and cut the bastard up. I'm not buying anymore Yoplait no matter how much Snowflake likes it. Screw Yoplait and the lousy ass that designed that container.

If there is any justice in the world, that person will die in some bizarre accident while closing up their home in the Hampton's. The paper may read,

He was found with a TGI Friday's Margarita Mix bucket stuck on his head, suffocating in a matter of seconds. He will be interned in a giant Yoplait container and shot out of a special cannon he designed for that very purpose. In lieu of flowers the family asks that donations be sent to the Sierra Club or Greenpeace because Bob really loved nature and the outdoors.

Starting Over

In the mid 90's my mother was diagnosed with Celiac Sprue, an intolerance to wheat. It was scary at the time because as diminutive as she is, she was always vibrant and healthy looking. No one knew what the problem was and she was wasting away in front of us. Gaunt, feeling weak and shitting at every opportunity, I feared the worst for her. Then the mystery was revealed and ever since she has been like a knight questing for the Holy Grail in creating wheat free delicacies.

Imagine never being able to have a slice of your favorite pizza, a crusty baguette, a rich chunky brownie, a dish of pasta! You can cheat, but in truth, it is like eating poison. Celiac destroys all of the little finger like protuberances in the small intestine called villi. When she was scoped, her small intestine was as smooth as a baby's ass. What that meant was that there were no villi to absorb the food passing through her system and everything was liquified and dumped at the end of the line.

If you're diagnosed (it seems to affect those of northern European descent the most), you think you can avoid the big things like those mentioned above. Yet in our hurried overprocessed and preserved society it appears in almost everything we eat, like ketchup, salad dressing, vinegar, soy sauce, canned soup, macaroni and cheese and almost anything you take for granted.

Returning from her week in the sun she looked frazzeled and fried. Mentally tired from being the escort to Big Pappy who ate and drank at every opportunity, she was ready for a change in her life. I think she's going through a huge realization that she hasn't acomplished anything in life. I try to tell her she DID by single handedly raising three boisterous kiddies. She did an outstanding job. She wants more.

She has decided to pursue opening a gluten(wheat) free bakery. Celiacs should be overjoyed by her succulent baked goods. What I think is wonderful is that it is just not Celiacs who benefit from a wheat free diet. People with fibromyalgia and autistic childeren have shown remarkable improvements in the quality of their lives by eliminating wheat. I think it would be so wonderful for a parent to bring a child into the the store and they can eat ANYTHING that's there!

How great would it be to be able to order them a birthday cake?!

The amazing thing is is that she has perfected so many things. It's very difficult to work with alternative flours and ingredients, but she has a knack for it. She makes delectible gingersnaps, angel food cakes, brownies, pizza crusts, waffles, pancakes, bread and rolls and so much more! They are seriously so good Snowflake and I prefer them to the real deal.

She has asked me to help her. How can I refuse? She thrives when she's making all of these goodies. She's like Wonder Woman. I think it would be a boon to her lagging self-esteem(mine as well) but more importantly, I think it would be an incredible example and inspiration for Snowflake. I am so proud of her and she gives me hope. She's turing 60 this April and I'm reminded of a magazine I saw with Lauren Hutton on the cover.

It said "Sixty is the New Thirty". Life begins again.

Snowflake Keeps It Real

Last night the padres came home early. They said it was just way too busy for them. Too many people, too many lines, overbooked hotels and too much traffic, especially through the fine state of Georgia. Could they be showing signs of crustiness?

I was more than happy to oblige my pappy by returning his snaggle toothed wonder almost as soon as I hung up the phone. I threw his paraphanalia(his dog bed, a huge thick terry cloth robe of my father's for him to smell while they were away and his little doggie bed pillow) into the car and we were on our way in a matter of seconds.

An ease of calm settled over me and I knew from the fact that The Chidler didn't even bother to see us off from his window perch that things were already back to normal. We arrived at the house and I hauled the baby n' things in.

Their driveway had a little dusting of unshoveled snow. I wore these suede clogs that have a toothed sole. We visited and I nibbled on fresh Pralines for awhile. I had to put a few things back into the car and returned with a bunch of snow wedged into the soles.

Of course Snowflake enjoys watching my every move. I left my shoes on the rug and went back into the den. Here comes Snowflake, like a playful puppy, hanging onto my old shoe.

But he had it flipped upside down and he was eating the snow off the sole! I gasped "What are you doing? Give me that!" and grabbed it from him, laughing nervously. I know ol' Snaggle Tooth pees in this general area. Could he have inadvertently eaten yellow snow? I truly believe in not freaking out unless absolutely necessary as I don't want him to be an anxious, nervous wreck over any little thing.

I convince myself no.

"What were you doing with that?" I say again.

"Tastin' shooz", he says.

I almost whizzed myself it was so funny and cute. His vocabulary and pronunciation are just exploding by leaps and bounds right now. I can't begin to imagine what will come out of his mouth next. He's just tellin' like it is!

Porcelain Goddess

I love to scrub my floors with my Hoover Floor Mate. It's so quick and easy and it actually does a great job. It doesn't recycle dirty water onto the floor, but rather sucks it up like a good little bitch. I'm feeling a little sassy this manana, and I don't have a functioning tilde. I don't know how to get it over the 'n'.

I have a thing for KABOOM! Bowl Blaster. I adore it's purple husky bottle with lime green twist off cap that doubles as a measuring cup. It takes the mundane job of cleaning the toilet to a new level. Normally, I use rubber gloves, bleach and a pumice stone when I'm feeling especially anal. It's very clinical work.

But with KABOOM! Bowl Blaster, I can let my softer side show. Pour a cup into the bowl and poof!, a thick foamy creamy head begins to build. Rising slowly, it stops just short of the rim. Sometimes I just let it sit and marinate, almost as if it were a spa treatment for that fine porcelain.

Other times, I like to get out the bowl brush and pretend like I'm frosting the most unusual cake, swirling the custard like conncoction in an artistc and loving fashion, leaving no spot unswathed. I may even repeat the process.

It's just so fresh, I could kiss myself.

Addict

I have a sickness. My impulse control can be as weak as a heroin addict's when I spy a deal. Was I really planning on buying anything at all this past week? Hell no! I despise materialism, yet I am a slave to the marketing schemes of that glorious sexy red bullseye. I know it's looking at me. I know it wants me BAD. I think I can resist and then it gives me a teasing slap on the ass, begging me to come hither.

Once a year, my favorite saucy catch all store has a collection called "World Bazaar". Maybe you know of it. Maybe you've lingered in the aisles, imagining yourself ringing the temple bell, weaving that carpet or viewing Kilimanjaro in the mist of the early dawn. You think, I must have it! At any cost! Not this little warrior.

I bought seven gorgeous handmade kilim pillows that were $59.99 each. My total for all seven: $42!(That's forking $420 dollars woth of Turkish delight, people!) Yes! A cool Asian table, round and wide at the top, tapering down and then flaring out at the base normally $129.99 was mine for a mere $12.99! I bought the matching stool $89.99 for $8.99. A wonderful oxidized Mexican glass mirror $59.99 for $5.99. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! I was on a crazy, rabid, free for all. 90 effing percent off! I'll take it. And I'll take some more of it, and some more. A-N-Y-T-I-M-E, sucka!

Baby Bean

Krispy and her Cream Puff

This is my friend 'Krispy' and her son, the Cream Puff. She asked me to take some photographs of the two of them and I really like the way some of them turned out, so I thought I'd share.









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Penny Lover

Snowflake did it again. Normally, he never puts foreign objects into his mouth except for boobs. Yesterday he was playing with a penny while I was changing him. I noticed he had it. After I finished, I asked him where the penny was.

"In-air", he says, meaning 'in there', inside of him.

"Open your mouth." I say. He does, but it's no longer there. He swallowed it. I wasn't too freaked out until I looked on line and it said,

One other point of interest. Old pennies made of pure copper are harmless if
swallowed by a child, assuming it does not lodge in the throat and/or wind
pipe. That is not true of copper plated zinc pennies. If the surface is
marred or scratched the zinc reacts with hydrochloric acid in the stomach
and forms zinc chloride which is very corrosive and can perforate the
stomach lining. So now a baby swallowing a penny is no longer to be taken
lightly and immediate medical attention should be sought should it happen.

I'm thinking that when I looked at that penny it was already a little teal colored. I start to get a little freaked. I call the Doc and she reassures me he will be fine. I'm happy to report that he had change in his diaper today so all is well. So I guess it has finally come to pass(no pun), The Chidler is not the only one who has strange objects coming out of his ass.

Skater Boy

Before Snowflake received his board, I took him to Old Navy and bought him a new hat. I was doing the dishes and I heard him mumbling to himself. I look into the living room and this is what I found. He had his hat ON backwards, all stylin' without any help from me. It was so adorable. Using my catlike reflexes, this was all I could quickly capture in the fading twilight. I hate using flash, but I had to. He was already wearing his VonDutch jeans and his SanFelipe Mexico tee. Coincidence?