24/7

New England Mamas is back. The blog, devoted to all that is maternal in our steepled corner of the country, has returned from its hiatus with a new organizational structure and several additional voices. I'm excited to be a contributing writer to New England Mamas once again. My first post, which will appear sometime this week, will supply the missing link between Howard Stern and contemporary children's radio programming. Check in daily over at New England Mamas until the connection is revealed.

I was crying in front of the laptop, moved to tears by the viral video of 200 people dancing to The Sound of Music's Do Re Mi at a train station in Antwerp . From the first splash of the salt-laced liquid on my desk, I had to wonder what the hell was wrong with me. I cried and contemplated, unable to enjoy the strange wonder of the moment. A quick assessment of the facts didn't lead to me to any conclusions: a catchy tune reverberating from loudspeakers across a huge expanse of stone and marble; people going about their business; a few of them breaking into dance; more and more joining in; and, finally, a whole lotta happiness! As it ended, I remained in front of my computer, stumped. I couldn't understand why my emotions needed out of my body so badly because of a bunch of Belgians. That's when the first of two truths became evident. The logical idea of questioning my hormones reminded me immediately that it was, indeed, almost that time of the month. My visit to the...

I met up with Lauren yesterday. She's a blogger-turned-real-life-friend. She's a story teller who works with both words and pictures. A moment is more vivid when she shows it to us through her eyes. Nothing is mundane, nobody is normal, and even the cheese graters hold fascination. She shocks me with the realization that her world is the same place I've been living in all this time. I never even knew it. And she has me pegged. "I can see her being the one at the party with her skirt accidentally tucked into her pantyhose," she wrote about me in her post about our visit . God, she is so right . If I ever pen a memoir, some variation of that statement will have to serve as the title. But, since a picture says a thousand words and, I promise, you'd rather hear it from her than me, here are a few shots of Number Two to prove my point (in case you haven't followed the previous links to her blog already). Photos by Lauren

This is what our baby would look like if The Partner and I did not produce offspring that refuse to acknowledge my existence in any of their bodily features: For the first time, I'm thankful that our actual children are not our composites. We don't look so hot when merged. Go make your own baby online! It's not as much fun as having sex but it's a lot less painful than childbirth.

A virtual baby shower was held this weekend for GGC and Kristen as each awaits the birth of her second and third child, respectively. Is that sentence even grammatically correct? Oh my God, I have no idea. That's where I am right now. Anyway, I missed the shower. The brain of mine that is currently in hiding from the Strunk and White grammar police also balked at the price of admission to the virtual shower: one blog-ode extolling the virtues of newborn babes. Sometimes I get into this mood where I am unable to write about weighty subjects because I feel I can't do them justice. I am in such a mood now, as I have been for the past weekend. And certainly there are few things weightier than bringing a new life into the world--even if it only comes in at 7 lbs 1 oz, like the baby Boss, or 6 lbs 15 ozs, like my recently-born little boy. So as I sit here typing with the latter in my lap--he's simultaneously eating, sleeping and pooping--I will let these words suffice: Best wis...

This is the jacket of the hardcover book I created as a birthday gift for The Partner: Find out more about my wholly satisfying artistic endeavor over at New England Mamas , where I'm hanging out today. ___

Today's post is brought to you by Whymommy of Toddler Planet . Recently diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer and with one round of chemo on the books, Whymommy has already put into action an ambitious awareness campaign . As part of that effort, I am featuring her words here today. If you have a blog or an email account and haven't done so already, please consider putting the good ol' copy and paste function to work in order to help spread the message. From Whymommy: We hear a lot about breast cancer these days. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes, and there are millions living with it in the U.S. today alone. But did you know that there is more than one type of breast cancer? I didn’t. I thought that breast cancer was all the same. I figured that if I did my monthly breast self-exams , and found no lump, I’d be fine. Oops. It turns out that you don’t have to have a lump to have breast cancer. Six weeks ago, I went to my OB/GYN b...

A while back and then more recently , this badge was bestowed upon me: Not only has my status as a girl been validated, but I am a blogger and I rock as well. I am flattered by and very thankful for this gesture by Mrs. Chicky and Whirlwind . But it remains to see if I am " Hot Stuff ." See, GNMparents.com (whose legitimacy can be vouched for by Mrs. Chicken and Slouching Mom , on the grounds that their talented selves are regular contributors) has instituted a weekly contest . I was all kinds of pleased and even more sorts of surprised to see that my post 24/7/730 was nominated. If you check out the post and decide that it's a hellaciously good read deserving of the "Hot Stuff" designation, please cast a quick and easy vote for me over at GNMparents.com . Pandering aside, I will now pass along the mic to some more rockin' girl bloggers. If any of the following have already been deemed rockin' and have moved on, please excuse the reverb. 1. Debbie at...

I'm moving in two days. I went to the store to buy labels so that I could assign some semblance of organization to the used boxes we've been filling--ones that have been through so many moves that each one boasts the Sharpie-d scrawl of at least three previous tenants. I figured a fat white sticker on each box with the appropriate destination for THIS move would help clarify things a bit. With sticky paper in hand, I returned to my car only to find that it wouldn't start. The Boss was calm and collected as I tried to jumpstart the battery with a big booster thingy I carry around in the trunk but do not know how to use. Thankfully, two gentleman in a tractor-repair truck pulled in across the parking lot just as I began to get disgruntled. I flagged them down and they not only showed me how to properly affix the jumper cables, but proceeded to diagnose and (temporarily) fix the real problem when the jump start failed to work. I was on my way in about ten minutes, extremely ...

Since I can't seem to summon up the telling of any good stories lately, I'll just point you in the direction of someone who can, and did. Click on this link to revel in the glory of toddler self-discovery. And laugh, laugh, laugh. 'Mell My Winger

My family does not know about my blog. The secret was not threatened until TrueBlue came along. A case of the blueberry juice arrived at my door after I was approached about the possibility of reviewing it on my blog. As a sucker when it comes to free stuff, and with a daughter who's a sucker of juice, I was more than amenable to the idea. Tearing into the case upon its arrival, I stored one bottle in the refrigerator (per the kind gentleman's suggestion to let it chill before drinking) and left the rest of the case in a corner of the kitchen. Over the next few days, members of my household became well acquainted with the virtues of blueberries in liquid form. The Partner drank it undiluted. The Boss got a half and half mix of blueberry juice and water. When she went to bed, I drank mine with vodka. TrueBlue was a hit. Then Easter came, and along with it, extended family. The case of TrueBlue remained in its corner, a little more than half full. That's when I made the mist...

The Diaper Fairy has been dropping by our house monthly since The Boss was born. Our magical nymph takes the form of my lithe, spry and French-accented mother-in-law. She comes, she dotes all day, and she leaves in a flurry of triple kisses, a trail of bulk-packaged diapers in her wake. It never occurred to me to question the diapers we never had to pay for. So, when The Boss woke each morning, covered from head to toe in thick smelling urine courtesy of fleece pajamas with an uncanny synthetic ability to wick moisture from the middle to all points north and south, I tried to grin and bear it. Or grin and swear it, under my breath. Imagine my pleasure when a separate fairy descended on our front porch in the guise of the FedEx man. I tore open the box to reveal a package of Huggies Overnights . The plastic wrapped around the thick size 4s promised "unbeatable leakage protection." I rushed them upstairs to the place of honor under The Boss's changing table before coming b...

If any of you are not familiar with Ittybits & Pieces , now is the time to visit the blog. Toyfoto's two most recent posts discuss the death of the family dog, Maggie, and the effect of that loss on the rest of the household. Bring Kleenex, or, at the very least, a highly absorbent shirt sleeve.