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The Briet

Posted on February 19, 2007

I have been reading a lot about the challenges of feeding toddlers, and I don’t mean in the glossy magazines with the pictures of kids in the $40 bibs. I am talking about those of us in the trenches. The real moms wearing cute jeans with stained shirts and our husband’s socks. The women struggling to figure out how to balance work, home, life and marriage. Bloggers trying not to hate themselves for so thoroughly acquainting their kids with the backs of their heads. I thought I would take a moment to post the very real Briet – that being a not so crafty combination of Briar and Diet, with a little twist of brat thrown in if you sort opf squint your eyes…

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So I was thinking

Posted on February 19, 2007

Hello. Hey. Hi. What’s going on? Not much. Briar is finally down and Avery just expressed her distaste for the onesie I dressed her in by shitting all over it. Nice. Yeah. What’s going on? I thought I might come home for lunch. Silence. Lot’s and lot’s of silence followed by: Wonderboy left his wallet at home. You being Wonderboy? Yup. K, I’ll see what I can come up with. Great! How much time have I got? Maybe a half an hour. K, see you.This was followed by a very loud, inside my head “shit.” Slim picken’s in the fridge here. Seriously. What to do? Expired ricotta. Old Jello. 2 jars of diced garlic. Chardonnay. Eggs, probably past their “best by” date. Half a…

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I don’t take it back

Posted on February 19, 2007

But I’d like to add a little something to the post about Briar and the amazing little girl she is becoming. In addition to saying adorable things – Standing over a heat register arching her back so that the hot air wooshed through her hair like a home spun Glamour Shots special effect she says: Look Mama, fresh hair. Briar is getting fresh hair. She does something else. A lot. She applies pressure, exclusivley focusing said pressure on her sister. Body checks. Straight arms. Blindsider shoves. Tips-a-baby. You name it, she does it. Poor Avery is impervious. She worships Briar with an energy and unwavering devotion that forgives even the most appalling hurts. She may cry a bit, curling up her little chin, wrinkling…

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Overheard…

Posted on February 19, 2007

Our life, taken through out of context snippets, may just be the best way to deter house guests* really let you taste what life is like here in the kingdom of dog hair, diapers and high maintenance cats…what’s that? We only have one cat? You could have fooled me. I want Donald’s beans cock. Daddy, eat Ariel. I just can’t get over how big sausage is out here. Ooh, Mama I see a fag. Grandma, look a fag. Omens Mama, give Briar poo omens. Get the spoon out of her butt. Crap, crap. Make a big crap Mama. And now, at Sean’s behest context and translations. I suppose if one of the lines read: Ride Mickey hard, Mama. I too, would demand context and…

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Drip much?

Posted on February 18, 2007

Can I ask you a question, and please pardon the colorful nature of my language… What the ever loving fuck are people doing in the bathrooms at the mall? A much ballyhooed dalliance with Jessica Simpson notwithstanding, this man is fucking genius. The other night Sean and I packed the girls in the car, Grandma tucked snugly betwixt the car seats, and headed for points south (just Albany, but that sounded slightly more jet set). After dropping Grandma at the airport, we headed to Crossgates Mall. I had two bags in the car, one was the “in case of breakdown and sub zero temperatures” bag- gloves, hats, snowsuits, pjs, food, and blankets. The other was the “diaper bag light”, meaning just diapers, wipes and…

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