So the Fish Said...

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear.

- Walt Whitman

Meet the Fish

I want to get a pet duck and keep it in the bathtub.
I am addicted to chap stick and altoids.
I am freakishly flexible.

World's Most Beautiful Child


World's Most Handsome Child


Other Important Things

Clive Owen

Clive Owen
Pretend Celebrity Boyfriend

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so the fish said...
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Nobody cares but me

I just french braided my own hair! And it isn't horrible! Here, I'll show you!

This is a big moment for me. When I was a kid, I always wanted to wear my hair in a french braid, but I could never do it myself without looking like, well, like an eight year old had french braided her own hair. My mom, a lovely women with many talents, couldn't french braid either. I guess it didn't hurt that my hair was usually pretty short - I may have had somewhat unrealistic expectations.

I've been worrying a bit, no seriously, about doing Mia's hair. I've never been good at that girlie stuff like doing hair or makeup or selecting matching outfits, and I've been afraid that I would fall short, that Mia would grow up resenting the fact that her mom never french braided her hair.

And then, just moments ago, I was braiding my hair before going to bed (as I do, otherwise I spend the first few hours with wet hair in my face and half the next morning pulling out the tangles) and I decided to get all fancy and daring and try a french braid. And I did it, more or less. I mean, it is certainly most appropriate for sleeping in, but I feel like I have something to work with and that by the time Mia thinks to ask for one, I will be able to give her a french braid to be proud of. Or at least one she will not be ashamed to wear in public.

Motherhood makes you care about the strangest things. Or else I just really need to get out more.

(You know, it's actually pretty hard to take a picture of the back of your own head.)

I'm not even sucking it in

So, do I look thinner to you guys? I've been on an actual diet for, let's see... I finished my celebratory pint of ice cream around 9:00 Sunday night, so very nearly 36 hours now. I haven't had a drop of alcohol in the same time frame, so you can tell how serious I am. I even did an extra 10 minutes on the treadmill last night, although truth be told I haven't spent much time at the gym lately ("lately" being the past 20 months or so) so it was more like an extra 40 minutes on the treadmill.

Anyway, it's one of those honest-to-god diets where you are supposed to eat half a cup of this and two ounces of that, which basically sucks, but I figure I'll give it two or three days before I quit in despair. Also, I've been reading through the food lists and can't seem to find where you get to eat an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting or the five boxes of Girl Scout cookies that my asshole wonderful husband ordered and which were delivered yesterday on Diet Day 1. Those little brown-wearing bitches, they are out to thwart me!

The real problem is that Mia is still sleeping for shit and now has a fever to boot, and the only thing I know that is good for sleep deprivation is eating an entire box of cheez-its before lunch. Half a banana just isn't going to cut it. I am thinking of turning this into a diet blog and just posting detailed information about what I ate (breakfast: two egg whites, two vegetarian "sausage" links, one fat free yogurt) and my exercise regiment (free weights can suck my ass). Oh come on, you know you guys would love it!

Ok, we're all bored, I'm stopping now. Just wanted to tip you off that you ought to start saying that I look like I've lost weight in two weeks or so, unless I go back to my usual ice cream and wine diet, that is. Which you know, when I am in charge of the world, people who want to lose weight are going to have to stick to a strict diet of ice cream and wine. Oh, and maybe cookies

Oh, also, if you have any brilliant potty training advice, I'm collecting it here. Not for me, you know, it's for a friend.

Mia Monday #59: Check out my Crib, Yo Edition

She likes to stick her feet out.

Practicing my acceptance speech

For lunch, I fed Mia McDonald's french fries and globs of straight peanut butter. Forget what I said before, that Mother of the Year thing is mine.

Things of which I am not proud

It's been a bad week for sleeping around here, so bad that after Mia woke herself up at 5:30 this morning when I had already been up since 1:00 the only thing I could think to do was sob on Chris's shoulder for a few minutes. Not a pretty sight.

I was wondering, suppose I put Mia on my bed and turned on an Elmo DVD and curled up next to her and just sort of dozed off for a little while. How bad would that be? I mean, not Mother of the Year, obviously, but would you guys call Social Services on me? I just feel like, you know, as long as I am letting the TV take care of my kid all day today (which I totally, totally am, just you watch), I may as well get a little sleep too, right?

Hey, does anybody want this basket?

It's totally cute and looks great with a plant in it or some flowers or spare towels in the bathroom or whatever. I've had it for eight or nine years, but just don't have a use for it right now and no room for it as every spare inch of space in this house is crammed with toys and stuffed animals and broken crayons and balled up wet diapers (which I swear, I am totally going to throw away really really soonish).

I ought to tell you that I found this basket next to the dumpster at our old apartment and liked it so much that I sneaked back under cover of darkness to rescue it and it has been in my house ever since, much to Chris's horror and dismay. So yeah, it was trash, but it's been long enough that I'm sure any pestilence it picked up from close association with the dumpster has long since seeped into my carpets so the basket is clear. And it wasn't actually in the dumpster, I do have standards. I just can't bring myself to throw it out - I feel like I saved it's life and now I'm responsible for it. Anyway, if anybody wants it just shoot me an email or something (beth [at] sothefishsaid [dot] com, or any of my 18 other email addresses that you happen to have handy), although I would really prefer not to ship it to, you know, Prague or the like.

Hey, random cuteness for you.

Month Nineteen

Mia Bean,

You are nineteen months old today. Nineteen. More than a year and a half. Almost two. I am half expecting you to get your driver's license this weekend and head off for college early next week. Ok, so not quite that, but I am starting to be able to see you as a kid. When you were a newborn, I couldn't picture you as anything other than a baby, but now I can imagine you going to school and learning to read and write and tie your shoes and do all sorts of big-girl things, and I love it. I adored you as a baby, but there's something different, and better, about now, about seeing you turn into a person.

This month has been all about getting better at things. You have gotten better at talking and signing, better at running, better at jumping, better at feeding yourself yogurt and getting at least half the carton actually into your mouth. You have learned how to throw a ball up in the air instead of just out or down, although admittedly the upward arc is a few centimeters, if you are lucky. You have figured out how to put your shoes on and how to fasten the straps, to your continuous (sometimes 60 times a day) delight.

I am looking back fondly on those few weeks several months ago when you slept nearly through the night. That hasn't been happening lately due to vicious canines and probably other issues that I don't understand. You sleep a few hours in your crib and then scream until I bring you back to bed so you can spend the rest of the night kicking me in the head. I know that when you are 12 or 22 or 52 I will fondly remember the nights we spent cuddled together, just the three of us tucked away from the world, but right now I sure would appreciate just a little more sleep.

We got you your very own potty this month, because you were always fascinated when you saw a picture of one in a book. For a couple of days it was your favorite toy and you carried it around with you and all of your stuffed animals took turns sitting on (or in) the potty. You lost interest pretty quickly, though. Two weeks ago, you spent the weekend informing us every time you needed a clean diaper by saying "poo-poo?" At that point, we thought that surely you were some kind of savant and potty training wouldn't be far behind, but you lost interest in that too.

We had a couple of snowstorms this month, and you were not amused. You hated having the snow fall on you, hated walking in snow (although madly adore your snow pants and boots) and especially hated that Mama refused to clean it all up. You did learn to say snow ("ssshhhn") and ice ("yie"), and spent hours looking through the front door reproachfully and telling me you were all done with both.

You are a climber and a daredevil. No piece of furniture is safe, you love to be thrown up in the air or tackled or spun around until you are so dizzy you spend the next 10 minutes falling down. You love to hang on the bars at your gym class and swing back and forth and then let go and plunge to the mats with a mighty crash, where you squirm and giggle and beg Mama to lift you back up to the bar so you can do it again.

You love to get tickles, and to give them. You like to put your finger to your lips (or up your nose) and shush me, especially when Dada is sleeping or Mama is singing. You like to blow on your food to cool it down. You love having your nose cleaned out, can amuse yourself for 10 minutes with a Q-tip by pretending to clean out your ears, and adore bath time. When I give you baths, you like me to run the faucet so you can put your head or knees or toes under the water.

You can identify all the different parts of your body, many shapes, some colors, and just about every animal on earth. We taught you some new animal signs this month and it brought you sheer joy to be able to talk to us about gorillas and zebras and crocodiles. You are madly in love with Elmo, and recently obsessed with his sidekick Mr. Noodle, "noo-noo" to you. You are fascinated by belts and toes and bellybuttons and knees and books. You go to bed every night with your pillow, blanket, monkey (in socks), doggy (in socks and hat), Elmo (naked as a jaybird) and beloved copy of Goodnight, Moon. It's always interesting in the morning to see how many of those items you managed to grab and carry into Mama and Dada's bed with you.

Mia Bean, yesterday was the worst day we have had in a very long time. With only a few short breaks, you screamed at me from the time you woke up at 7:00 until you finally snapped out of it at 3:00. I eventually told your father he had better hurry home before I sold you to the highest bidder. I mention this because I hope that someday you will read these letters and hope that someday will also decide to become a Mama yourself. And if you do, I can assure you that there will be some very bad days, some days where you feel like the worst mother in the world and want nothing more than to get your kid the hell away from you for a good long time. When you have those days, I hope you will remember that everybody has them, that your Mama had them too, and that it is ok to just try to do better tomorrow.


The many faces of Dada

Mia calls almost every man she sees "dada." At first I thought she was actually seeing some resemblance between Chris and, say, a young Paul Simon. I've realized though, that with her limited vocabulary anybody she doesn't know is either a baby, a mama or a dada. She has no word for older children, just gives them a befuddled look and moves on to something she can identify. It does give me an occasional laugh, though. I was pretty amused when she found a bookmark in my nightstand and christened the figures "mama" and "dada":

And then there's this picture of "dada" from a refrigerator magnet. She likes to give this one high fives, too.

My favorite, though, was definitely yesterday when someone left an ad for some ridiculous upcoming exhibition on our door and I brought it in and gave it to Mia to color on. Meet Mia's new dada.

Looks an awful lot like Chris, doesn't he?

(This picture hangs in out living room, and Mia likes to share her snacks with Dada. Please ignore any resultant fingerprints or graham cracker crumbs. Also, my reflection.)

(Also, he did it again. I am still taking suggestions for appropriate vengeance.)

Bad ass and bad-ass, actually

Hmmm. Now that I don't have you people feeding me lines anymore, I don't quite know what to say for myself. Maybe I'll make a format change and do all questions, all the time.

Hotty McBanktellersons didn't give me a lollipop today. I am depressed that he so clearly doesn't love me anymore.

I was singing along to the radio this morning, (Indigo Girls) (Oh shut up, like you never) and Mia shushed me. Now, I admit that my voice sounds best when backed by a very loud recording of someone else singing the song, but I can carry a tune in my rather nondescript alto way, and my toddler shushed me. That stings.

Mia is in a bad ass mood, and I am working on about 45 minutes of sleep so really it's like a crappy fucking mood-fest around here today. You should all come over. Bring liquor.

Last night, in the interlude between getting out of her dinner-splattered clothes and getting into her pajamas, Mia started pointing at her dresser and pitching a fit. Chris finally figured out that she wanted a wipe, so I gave her one, and she proceeded to use it as one generally uses baby wipes. Then, she did the same for Chris. And just so I didn't feel left out, she did the same for me. (We were both wearing pants, just in case you were concerned.) I mention this just so that you know that while we might be a rather odd and kooky family, thanks to Mia we all have very clean bottoms. It's nice to finally have something going for us.

Meme, the continuing saga

Don't miss Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Also, don't forget that everyone who asked a question is hereby tagged to answer that question along with four others from the comments here. Some of you are wishing you'd been just a little less interested in my sex life, now aren't you? Better get cracking on that, or I'm going to start harassing you personally. Ok then, let's dig in.

Julie asked: "Who is on your Top 5 "to do" list? I mean other than Clive.?

Y'all, I am so married. I can't imagine "doing" anybody else, even in the never-gonna-happen way-out-of-my-league celebrity sense. Now, if you asked for my Top 5 "go out for coffee and flirt shamelessly with" that would be a whole other story, but you didn't.

Shelly asked: "Assuming you sleep naked, if there was a fire, would you rather have to run outside in only your socks, your undies or your bra?"

Depends. If it's cold, socks. If it's warm, undies. If the house is on fire, as long as I make it outside with Mia and Chris I don't give a hot damn what I'm wearing. Besides, I can hide behind them until some nice fireman gives me a blanket. Mmmmm.... firemen.

Mrs. M asked: "Hmmm, tell me about your religious views, how you were raised, how you think, etc. Certainly this covers all the bases since sex is on here and you've already professed you're liberal."

I was raised Episcopalian - choir, acolyte, youth groups, the whole shebang. I'm an atheist.

Jen asked: "If you had to pick-which would you choose?

1. The Bikini Wax
2. The Brazilian Bikini
3. The Playboy Bikini Wax
4. The Sphinx"

Um, I don't even know what half of those are. Does everybody know but me? I suppose I could google it, but I'm a little scared of what I'll find.

Kelley asked: "Did you ever get that growth-thingie removed from your scalp?"

That "growth-thingie" is a mole that decided to start growing and freak me out while I was pregnant. I still have it because a) it is under my hair so nobody ever sees it, b) having it removed would mean shaving part of my head, which does not sound hott, and c) my insurance company won't pay for it unless I come through with the cancer. I did have Chris look at it for me a while ago, just to make sure it didn't seem angry, and he shocked me by informing me that it was scalp-colored. I had always assumed it was mole-colored. You know, brown and stuff, like my symmetrical armpit moles. You all totally want me right now, don't you? Yeah, I thought so.

And that's it, I'm out. Get to meme-ing, people!

Mia Monday #58: Why We Don't Buy Toys Edition

Because they just aren't as much fun.

ETA: It's a booklight, you freaks.

Round two of stuff you never wanted to know

Although technically, at least one of you wanted to know, or I wouldn't be doing this. So, let's dig in a little more, shall we?

Karly asked: "Did you ever have sex on your parents' bed? And, if so, do your parents read this blog? And if they do are they going to totally freak out when they find out?"

Um, I don't think I ever even had sex in my parents' house.

Pam asked: "Now that Clive is MY pretend celebrity boyfriend...who will you replace him with? Johnny Depp? (sorry, he's mine too)"

Well alright, you greedy bitch. I do not acknowledge your claim to Clive, but lately have been thinking I might eventually replace him with that guy from Deadwood. You know, the main guy with the hardware store? We've been watching the first season on DVD. Does anybody know if he's gay? Oh, or what his name is?

Brad asked: "Do you, or have you ever watched porn with Chris? Was it hot or weird?"

I wasn't going to answer this one, but then Sarah did so now it's like a game of Internet Chicken. I have, although not in a long time. College, maybe? I am the worst person in the world to watch porn with, because I feel I have to critique the production values, but sweet jeebus, after about three minutes it's just so boring I want to go read a book instead.

Ali asked: "do you fart in front of each other?? what about pee?"

It cracks me up that there are nearly as many fart questions as sex questions. Regarding question one, I am a delicate flower. Regarding question two, I have a toddler. I haven't been permitted to shut the bathroom door in at least nine months.

Linda asked: "I believe I remember reading at Chris' site that he carrys around a bottlecap you told him to keep forever, do you have anything you hang on to and plan to forever?"

You know, I haven't seen that bottlecap in ages. I'll bet he lost it, in which case he is so in the dog house. Thanks, Linda!

Oh - nope. Not very into things. I mean, there's some stuff I would hate to lose, but nothing I couldn't live without.

More later, maybe, if you all aren't bored yet.

Some (more) things you don't know about me

I'm late, but nap time was abbreviated and the furnace was broken and it is hard to type with cold fingers and also I had to clean the whole house before the furnace guy got here, because I am sick. And then there was a dinner thing so I had to do hair and makeup and hair (for Mia). However, I am now approximately 1.5 sheets to the proverbial wind, and therefore likely answering far more of these questions than I otherwise would have, which is good for some of us and bad for others, depends how much you really wanted to know.

Sarah asked: Where were you when you lost your virginity?

A waterbed under a black light. It was, well, it could have been worse. The far more interesting story is how the last time I saw that guy was in Paris. (OK, the last time I saw him was in Customs, but saying it was Paris is much more fun.)

Leah asked: "List the things you have done that are illegal. Hee."

Just drugs, mainly, although also a bit of underage drinking and quite a bit of underage smoking. Oh, and maybe driving when I oughtn't have, but we were all young and stupid once, right?

Carol-anne asked: "Have you ever thought of Clive Owen when you've been doing the dirty with Mr Cactus?"

The dirty what? Dishes? Laundry? Oh, that. Nope, can't say that I have.

Wicked H asked: "You are on a deserted island. During one of your foraging episodes you find that Clive, Hotty Pediatrician and Wish He Would Take Off His Damn Shirt Bank Teller are also on the Island with you. Besides the obvious, how would the 4 of you pass time?"

Well, I've always really liked Bridge.

Statia asked: "Do you prefer carpets or hardwoods? And I don't mean on your floors."

I've been into redecorating lately. You know, stay-at-home-mom and all that, have to do something to combat the boredom.

Hannah asked: "What was your favorite sex position while you were pregnant?"

We usually went with the "don't fucking touch me, you miserable bastard."

Jessica asked: "If you found out, irrefuteably, that Mr. Cactus was having an affair, would you stay or would you go?"

Why, what have you heard?

At one point, I would have said that no question I would have kicked his ass to the curb before he knew what hit him, but having a kid makes it less of a black and white question. It would depend on the circumstances, I suppose.

Fauve asked: "If you found out there had been a mix up at the hospital and Mia was not your biological child, would you give her back or fight to keep her?"

You mean if she was swapped for the other infant with the jet black mohawk and her ankles up around here ears? Fight to keep her, no question. I think the far more difficult question is, what of that theoretical other child who I gestated but have never known? I think biology is the least important part of family, and while I am sure it would keep me up nights the rest of my life, I think it would be best to stay with the families we have made and have a really stunning story to tell at parties.

Tuesday asked: "When will Mia get a sibling?"

I dunno - do they sell them at Target?

Shelley asked: "What if it turned out Mia was a (*gasp*) carnivore? Would you disown her? Try to convert her? Show her the error of her ways?

Also, do you ever secretly eat non-vegetarian things, and if so, what are you most likely to go for when you "slip"?"

Mia can eat what she likes, in fact, I have asked my parents to serve her meat at every opportunity. It is her decision to make, once she is older.

I eat fish, mainly sushi because it is the yumminess, but have not knowingly eaten meat in 6 or 7 years.

Jen asked: "If Chris wanted to undergo a sex change operation to become the woman he always wanted to be, would you stay married to him and share your sexy yoga pants?"

I'm sure that Chris and I would remain very good friends, and I may even loan him my yoga pants, but I really prefer the people I sleep with to have a penis, so the marriage would definitely be over.

Um, yeah, am far too drunk to continue, but will be back this weekend to answer more of these fabulous questions (and, I suppose, even more of the pervy ones). In the meantime, I tag everyone who asked a question and insist that you answer your own question along with four others from the comments on the last post. Get to it, don't make me call you by name.

I am definitely going to regret this one

You know that will-not-die "5 Things You Don't Know About Me" meme that I and everyone else have done eighteen times or so? Yeah, Sarcomical tagged me again, that bitch. While I can certainly think of five things you don't know about me (name of my first grade teacher, make model and color of my first car, number and precise placement of freckles on my body, etc.), none of those things is especially worth knowing. This is where you come in. You have until naptime Friday (1:00, more or less) to ask questions. Tomorrow afternoon, I will select five or so of the most outrageous, inappropriate, entertaining, or just plain hilarious (to me) questions and answer them.

Let's go, people. It's up to you to make this interesting.

Three things I hate

1. The number of people who asked me where my husband was while I was shoveling the walkway (and later, sidewalk, fuck me) with the kid strapped to my back. Now first, what the hell business is it of yours, and second, I am able-bodied and strong and have never been the type to sit around waiting for someone else to do for me anything I could very well do for myself. That said, next time around he's doing the shoveling and minding the baby while I sprawl on the couch and eat bon-bons.

2. The prevalent idea that all women are enamored of Valentine's Day and entertaining perfect visions of flowers and candy and dinner and candles and the ideal $3.99 greeting card while all men live in fear of the day and are eternally fucking it up, whatever the hell "it" is. I don't hate Valentine's Day, it just bores me other than as an excuse for sex, which I am for. Although Chris did buy me a card and candy, which is notable mainly for the fact that we discovered Mia knows the sign for "candy," which she saw once on a video two months ago and has apparently retained in her beautiful little head just waiting for an opportunity such as this to break it out. I did not, in the end, buy him a Hustler, but I did have him going for a while there.

3. That the search for something sexy used to entail finding the smallest piece of fabric which could still technically be considered a garment, and now involves a frantic search for something which covers both my stomach and my scar. Don't get me wrong, I think my scar is hott, it just isn't what I prefer to lead with. You know what covers both stomach and scar? Yoga pants and my ratty-ass old pajama shirt. Hey, I did brush my teeth, since it was a special occasion and all.

Hustle and Snow

Just in case you were wondering, scraping four inches of ice off of your walkway is not made any easier by strapping a 23 pound toddler to your back while you do it. But, it is done, and Mia is watching her beloved Elmo while I fortify myself with Cheez-Its and try to control my leaden arms well enough to type.

And where, you may be wondering, is my husband, who ought to be busting out the manly machos and shoveling the walk himself? He's working. In the basement. By talking on the phone. Which yes, I understand he does have to do and I do not fault the division of labor at all, but it's days like these that I would much rather be doing his kind of work than my kind of work. Also, I left the sidewalk for him to do, and we have a hell of a lot more sidewalk than walkway. Neener neener.

(In addition to working, I suspect he is driving himself slowly insane trying to figure out whether or not I really bought him a Hustler for Valentine's Day. Not telling, that would ruin the surprise.)

Also, um, I think I might vomit, because that was way more exercise than I have gotten in a long time and it has left me a little woozy. Maybe I just need more Cheez-Its? Or possibly Elmo is making me sick, he tends to do that.

And finally, at the risk of taking this joke entirely too far, I present My Nightstand: Revolutions (which is, you know, like the third Matrix movie, since this is the third time I'm posting it, funny, right?).

He gave me a dollar back. Do you think that's my tip?

Oh, if you are doing the Small Change thing with me, today is the day.

My nightstand, reprise

He took the five back. I guess, upon reflection, he decided he'd been overcharged.

I suppose the bright side is that he didn't take the ten instead.


In the past week, Mia has started to say uh-oh, tent, tie, belt, pat (as in the bunny), circle, up, noodle (she says noo-noo, how freaking cute is that?), baby and Mia. She's said some form of Mia for a while, but it is finally identifiably, undoubtedly her name, and she likes to sing it in the car.

She has started falling down on purpose so she can say uh-oh. She will command you to color a moon, stars, birdie, dog, and baby. If you ask her to, she will draw any of the above, or a gorilla, crocodile, mama, dada, mama's car, dada's car, or any other word she knows. Last night, she drew a sleeping duck. She insisted on both points, that it was a duck and that it was sleeping.

She's told me two stories. "Dada pa babwah bye-bye (emphatic gesture at the door to the attic)." Dada up ladder bye-bye, and yes he did go up the ladder and bye-bye into the attic, four days before she told me about it. Yesterday she told me "Dada share (sign) moo star (sign)." Dada share moon stars, he hung them in her room over a week ago.

Every day for the last three days, she's told me that she needs her diaper changed. ("Poo-poo," grimace, grab at diaper.)

You can give her three balls, ask her to return the one you gave her first, and she will do it. She can identify a square, circle, triangle, oval and rectangle, yellow, red, green and blue. She can count five or six things, tapping them one at a time and not duplicating until she reaches the end (and then inevitably starts over).

There's no longer any doubting or denying. My baby is gone, this is my big girl.

Mia Monday #57: Stripey Pajamas Edition

If Mia had her way, she would wear her bear jammies every night.

Late addition, how I found her after her nap.

My nightstand

Which would be a great name for a band

I have been desperately trying to think of something to tell you about other than my Angry Demon Child and the Teeth of Despair, although actually she is mostly back to Angel Princess mode despite the fact that she is still covering her toddler pillow with sad little bloodstains on a daily basis. I thought I might tell you about how I spent half of nap time yesterday checking all of Mia's dolls and animals for anatomical correctness, and the other half on my hands and knees scrubbing the hardwood, but one of those things is a little embarrassing, so I decided to skip it. (It is also a little embarrassing to note that until I got spell check in my browser I had been misspelling embarrassing for my entire adult life.)

Instead, I will tell you that I found out yesterday that we will be having a niece rather than a nephew come July or so, and that I have spent a goodly portion of the past week wondering whether little people are offended by Little People and also why all the female Little People are wearing poofy skirts and petticoats, which I think is an unsafe choice around farm machinery and someday one of those Little People is gonna lose a leg in a combine and that won't be pretty, no not at all.

(Mia just handed me a three-hole punch, a pack of cd labels, a cherry Chap Stick, one of my very own hairs, and a pencil eraser, so if any of you can think of a rockin' craft project involving those items and only those items I am totally prepared.)

Oh, right, I'll stop stalling. I was looking at my stats this week (which I rarely do, because it just makes me care and I try hard not to care) and noticed that I do more traffic over here than at the other place by, um, several orders of magnitude. And I don't expect the traffic to be the same, but I sort of started wondering why it was so different. So, if you read over here and not over there and if there is a reason for it and if you don't mind telling me what it is, I would appreciate hearing it. Unless it is rude or you want to tell me that I suck, which you can just keep to yourself. Oh, ok, if it is rude and likely to make me cry I guess you ought to tell me about it just so I will know, but in that case maybe you could email it to me so the entire internet doesn't have to share in my shame? Anyway, just wondering.

Whoops, have to go read, let's see... Biscuit's New Trick, which will be the seventeenth time through a Biscuit tome in the past 90 minutes. The glamor, I tell you, sometimes it just about does me in.


(Subtitle: Pictures again in lieu of an actual post, but really if you saw these canines you would understand. Wait, you can see them, here. See?)

Mia loves to draw. Give her a pencil or a crayon and a scrap of paper and she can happily entertain herself for upwards of 15 seconds. This morning, she has started telling me what she is drawing. For example, here's Mia's interpretation of a plane:

And here we have a bird and stars:

I expect to see her work in the Louvre within the year.

Oh hey, you guys remember E.T. right?

Notice something a little out of place in the back there?

We played this game for hours yesterday.

And finally, meet the Little People:

And while you are here, meet the Little People Camel Toes:

Um, what?

Better than the day we did it with forks

So, Chris says we have to put stuff on our heads today, and apparently it is the annual occurrence of me doing something my husband told me to do, so here. (I'm sure he would much rather I stop being such a bitch instead, but this is what he's getting.)

It looks pretty cute on Mia.

Um, have I ever even heard of a hairbrush? Apparently not.

Damn. I'm hot.

Had to post that one before Chris got to it. Controlling my own destiny sort of thing.


I just plopped Mia in front of the tv and put on an Elmo DVD, because I really need to not deal with her for 15 minutes. She has spent the last three hours doing every naughty thing her little brain can imagine. Fortunately at 18 months old that isn't much, but there has been hitting, throwing, touching things she knows she is not allowed to touch, and just general bad spirits and whining. Can a kid this young just be in a bad mood? I mean, usually a handful of teddy grahams and a big wet belly zerbert are sufficient to jolly her out of any snit she gets in, but not today. Today she hates everything except Elmo, Claudia's boots, and smacking Mama in the face as hard as she possibly can.

We are about to leave for storytime at the library, which I'm sure will be a rousing success as it will give Mia an entire new audience of people to annoy and abuse.

Oh, yeah, she's finally cutting her canines, which I suppose explains my morning. Have I told you how much I hate those fucking canines? Somebody send wine. No, wait, I already have wine. Somebody send 5:00.

Mia Monday #56: Obligatory Bathtub Edition

Too bad for all of you that I am trying to protect Mia's eventual modesty, because it means you are missing out on the cutest pictures. Sometimes it just sucks to be the internet, what can I say?


You are all a bunch of wimps, every last one of you. I tell you to be rude to me in honor of International Be Rude to Beth Day, and all I get is "oh no, we love you, you are so sweet and pretty and nice." Bunch a pansies. Yeah, and don't even bother trying to be rude now, the moment has totally passed.

It did entertain me how many of you assumed that the internet had been rude to me. Truth is, the internet hasn't been rude to me for weeks, at least as far as I know. Maybe, however, someone has started a Beth Sucks Blog that you all know about and read daily and are just too embarrassed to tell me about. Actually, I sort of hope that has happened, because that would mean I had really arrived and probably it would bring me a ton of new traffic.

Um, if anybody is having problems with the new layout, please feel free to let me know, although my likely response will be to switch to Firefox already, dammit.

Anyway, Mia had her 18 month check-up today and we learned that she is by far the most intelligent, advanced and beautiful 18 month old child to ever walk the earth, but we knew that already. The good news is that the Zit That Ate My Face had shrunk to concealable size by this morning. I mean, even with make-up you can tell that it is there, but it isn't the first thing you notice about me. The first thing you notice about me is probably the cream cheese smeared in my hair. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get cream cheese out of hair? I mean sure, I suppose I could shower, but that seems so drastic.

The Hotty Pediatrician really disappointed me today as he has spent the last two weeks on a tropical island somewhere (actually, I know where, I am just not telling you because I don't want you all stalking my Hotty Pediatrician) and he is not noticeably tan. This is disappointing because tan boy stomachs are hot. Unless they are hairy, in which case no amount of tan can redeem it. And no, I didn't think I would have occasion to see the Hotty Pediatrician's tan stomach, but I have a vivid imagination and could have extrapolated. However, no tan. This leads me to believe that either a) he is one of those boring people who spends a week at the beach cowering under an umbrella and 200 SPF sunscreen, like me, or b) he was not at the beach at all and rather needed to take two weeks off to prepare himself to see me again so he could gather the inner strength required to not confess his undying love and beg me to run away to a tropical island in front of my husband, which would just be tacky. (And I originally had a typo in this sentence which suggested that the Hotty Pediatrician wanted to bed me rather than beg me, and that would be really tacky to do in front of my husband.)

Oh! I recommended the Hotty Pediatrician to a friend of mine (for her kids, obviously, but also for the scenery) so if she goes to see him I will get her to report back to all of you on his hottyness. Unless she claims he is not a hotty, in which case I will call her crazy and pretend I never told you this. She would probably retaliate by telling the Hotty Pediatrician about my blog, which would be horrifying, but also just the impetus we need to get this relationship off the ground. Somebody has to make the first move, right? (Hi, Laura. Please don't tell the Hotty Pediatrician about my blog. Thanks.)

Um, um, um. I think I'm out. Kisses to all of you (with tongue, obviously).

Join the fun!

Did you know that today is International Be Rude to Beth Day? Ok, so technically today is nearly over, but it was such a good time I'm thinking we should extend it. Also, I didn't want you lovely people to miss out, so go ahead. Be rude! Surly! Suspicious and accusatory! Question my motives! Call me a stupid evil whore! Knock yourselves out, everyone else has.

You know, if I didn't have the cutest damned kid in the world, this would have been a very bad day.

Oh, something longer than four sentences tomorrow, I promise. Maybe.