After only two-plus years of having a blog on wordpress, I’m FINALLY getting around to posting my blogroll. Yeah, me!

Check your link to make sure it works (not everyone is on there yet). If you have an asterisk by your name, it’s because you have a wonky feed address in my reader and I’ll have to get to you screwballs later.

It goes without saying that if you want me to have your blog on the blogroll, you just need to email me if you’re the bashful type; or if you’d rather call me out in front of everyone to show what a ungracious hag I am, leave a comment.

As of this post, I’ve got A-M in. If you are in N-Z, keep your panties on (for those who wear them) and I’ll get to it sometime in the next two and half years.

Gotta go. Someone is pooping and clapping. That’ll be me in 50 years, “Thank Jesus! I’ve pooped!” The parallel universe won’t end there. I’ll also be in a diaper.


I like to bring my opinions on products I use here, but only because I feel strongly about them enough to either warn you to save your money for that martini or four; or to advice you of something I’ve found that works. I don’t get paid or asked to promote anything on my blog. Much like Suz does with her “Things That Don’t Suck”, except she includes fun little snippets prior to the big reveal. Me? I don’t do fun and while I’ve tried, I have a heck of a time blogging in “snippets”. I’m freakishly long-winded.

I thought I would give Seventh Generationlaundry soap a try. I thought it’d make me feel more “green” as we disposed our dirty laundry and the soap that comes with it into our septic system, and ultimately, the leech field. While the stuff rinses out and leaves no perfume after-smell, it doesn’t clean very well, either. A bit of a problem when it’s supposed to be detergent. If I don’t pretreat even the smallest of “stains” (let’s say a wet cheerio smear), it doesn’t come out in the wash. I’ll be going back to Tide.

Socks are a staple with babies, much like diapers. I have lots of different kinds. If you want a fashion statement, definitely go with Trumpettes. The only downside to them is that while they say 0-12 in size, it’s more accurate to get them for a 2-9 month old for the best fit. After that, I have to confess my undying loyalty to Old Navy’s baby/toddler socks, specifically the kind I linked to. They are thick and cushiony and so inexpensive!

By the way, we did end up buying a Britax Marathon carseat. I can’t yet review it because it’s sitting on the garage floor as Mr. DD’s thought it would be a simple snap-in installment. It’s not. Actually, he’s a great procrastinator.

And lastly, I have to add that while I really liked using diapers.com when ZGirl was itty-bitty because it meant that I didn’t have to leave the house for necessities, nor did I have to wait an eternity for Mr. DD to come home after running to the store and getting distracted by some kind of manly product of one kind or another, I have found their prices do not qualify as bargains, even without paying tax.

There you go: one very wordy review of a few things I’ve used personally. Plus this gets me out of a real post for another couple of days.


0315-drooling-4ZGirl is at that fun stage right between being a mewling newborn that only smiled when she farted and the toddler who will feed the Wii pennies and paperclips. She can sit up for a long time and entertain herself, and if she gets tired she’s figured out that if she leans over far enough she’ll face plant into the carpet to find herself, even in involuntarily, doing some tummy time. Luckily, she’s not crawling yet. It should mean that I get more blogging in. Alas…

She doesn’t laugh much, which can be a little disappointing. XBoy laughed a lot. Still does. Sometimes he’s in his room laughing hysterically. I don’t bother going in anymore and trying to see what’s so funny because I worry I’ll turn the corner and find him grinning like a maniac at the booger he’s just extracted from his nose and flicked onto the lampshade.

About her laughing: what’s weird is that I’ll find some new way of making her laugh, like bouncing her on the bed, and then when I go to repeat the activity for the benefit of Mr. DD? She might grin, but no laughs. She’s a one-laugh pony.

She also has quite a stranger danger awareness going on. Oh, she grins like the Joker at people when Mr. DD or myself is holding her, but get a little too close? She averts her head, baby body language for “sodd off”. She’s a tease. It’s not just something she acquiring as she moves into the second half of her first year, either. She’s always been this way.

From the moment she’s handed off to someone other than Mr. DD, XBoy or myself, you can countdown from five and she’ll be wailing by two. I have to admit that I get a sense of smug satisfaction when she does it to the in-laws. But now that the daycare is having some turnover (I’m having no luck finding a replacement), she’s having a rather difficult time adjusting. Her reports home have gone from “she was very happy today!” to “a little grumpy…” Even when grandma comes for the day, ZGirl keeps her at arms length – literally. And once one of us walks into the room and she spots us, all bets are off. She pops out that bottom lip as far as it goes, tears fill her eyes and her arms reach out. It was cute the first dozen times or so, but seriously, Girl, you need to lighten up!

There’s one other little thing she does that’s a bit strange. She’s never taken to a pacifier and she has not yet developed a preference for any kind of “lovey”, so when she’s tired or cranky, she actually self-soothes by hitting herself in the head. Either she puts up one hand in front of her mouth and uses the other hand to hit that; or when she’s taking a bottle and is super tired, she’ll smack the top of her head either with an open palm or closes fist. She’s even taken to pulling her hair. Not hard, but still.

Is that too weird? It is, isn’t it. It figures. In the picture above she looks all light and sunshine with blond hair and blue eyes, but she’s a goth baby with her sullen attitude and get-away-from-me-you-big-person-freak and self-flagellation. My interpretation of that is below. I’ll first warn you that I haven’t yet figured out the photoshop I got for Christmas so I had to use paint. Yes, I really do have an art degree. Scary, no?





I think I have misplaced what I would equivocate as my pimp hand when it comes to blogging. It’s not that I’m no longer bitter, but maybe my daughter has been the honey on my spoon that eases that nasty aftertaste.

It might be the lack of adult, human interaction I haven’t had recently, which since the beginning of the year, has been reduced to my husband during the hours of 5:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. Trust me when I say “adult” refers only to his physical age. His mentality rivals my seven year old son’s.

It also might be I’m not reading enough blogs that write stuff that get under my skin – aside from the earlier post about those who ask for handouts. Instead I’ve settled into the overstuffed easy chair that is my blogroll.

It’s no wonder many bloggers go out with a bang instead of letting themselves become simpering dolts who whine and complain about losing their pimp hands, and possibly even thinking that “pimp hand” is a hip and cool reference.

What has happened to me? I’ve become…vanilla!


“wait a cunt pinching minute sharpie”

In most cases I can decipher the yoda-speak when it comes to google word searches that eventually show up in my stats. But the example above? That one is going to keep me up all dang night.

(Since the words aren’t mine, it does not go against my lenten goal of not swearing on my blog. Just in case anyone was keeping track. Pru.)


I have to say this and get it off my chest. And while I know there are probably a majority out there that will not agree with me, I’m going to give voice to the handful that probably do.

When someone plugs for donations on their blog so they can go to say, BlogHer, I find myself every so slightly (OK, a lot!) put off.

As someone who has had to change their plans about BlogHer from being “Most definitely going!” to “Pretty sure I can still go.” to “Damn. I can’t go.” because of financial changes in my personal life (loss of job), I feel I should be at least empathetic, but I’m not.

BlogHer is once a year. That means when the last one was over, there was twelve months – give or take – to plan for the next one. $100 a month saved should cover the following year’s flight, hotel and registration regardless of its location.

So, go ahead and judge me. You might even want to point out how I can be such a hypocrite, but since this is my blogI’m giving those people the equivalent of a “tough toenails!” and moving on.