pictures from Jesse's birthday party

Jesse and Annie both with green hair. Jesse's washed out-Annie's did not.

Jesse & Julian's Birthday Bash

Jesse and Julian shared their birthday bash this weekend. It was great because Julian's mom did all the hard stuff-especially making EIGHTY cupcakes. Silly Billy performed. A good time was had by all.

I Have Dyed My Poor Child's Hair Green

A day later, I do see that warning on the spray can, ok?

Little Annie now has green hair thanks to a can of green hair spray dye we employed this weekend for Jesse's birthday party. Apparently it can stain the hair of lighter blondes and isn't recommended.

I comfort my self that both children refer to it as "chartreuse."

Coke or Pepsi? A conversation with Peedles

Peedles: Thats always what people think they should ask you to find out the real you..
how about something really important....something that really matters in the world and defines the sort of person you really are....like tight pants on baseball players like they use to wear (which gave us yet another reason to look forward to spring) or that loose crap that they wear now (that should be reserved only for
former Olympic German women shotputters...and I mean no disrespect for Helga and her posse)? Thats the sorta thing that defines me...

Lorrie: I'm with you P. -love to cut through the bullshit and boil people down to their essence: what are you-chicken or beef? But I like a more subtle question. Like these:
Darfur or Survivor Fiji?
Global Warming or celebrities that shave their heads?
Who would you rather sleep with: young George Clooney or older George Clooney?
General Tsaos Chicken or Chicken with Peanuts?

P: just so we''re clear the options do NOT include a meanage a trois with both old and young George Clooney -- preferably while they are both wearing tight baseball pants?

Lorrie: Hmm. Now there's a thought: I can see young George Clooney now, with his Facts of Life hair in yellow rainboots (must be some odd episode that is stuck in my mind) and Older George Clooney in ER in that episode where he rescues the boy from the sewer flood (my gawd--he is wet yet again) and then an ever OLDER George Clooney who is talking about Darfur. Ok-scratch the last George.

But seriously Peedles, you need to get out there and date more. If it's men in uniforms that do it for you, might I suggest you come visit me in NYC where men in uniform abound? We've got doormen, mailmen, policemen, firemen...the DHL men wear a striking combination of red and yellow and are so masculine they switch to the shorts version around this time of year.

Also: my brother is coming to town MARCH 30. That would be my TWIN brother. Need I say more?

P: Date more? Is that possible? We have those same guys in uniform here and they all have southern accents! Here in the south even our firemen wear shorts. I just thought of something though...maybe thats what the original question meant: Coke GUY or Pepsi GUY? Hey LV....can your brother please bring me a soda?

Pink Puffy Coat

So just last week I was about to retire my pink puffy coat which is arguably one of the uglier winter coats I have ever owned--being a baby shade of pink and very puffy. (Kip will disagree. He thinks the turquoise coat from the winter of 05 with the faux dog fur collar is the ugliest, hands down.)

I purchased the pink puffy coat because Annie spent this winter in a pink puffy coat, and we had tons of fun putting our coats on together and saying: "Power Up Puffy Girls" and combining ballet moves with Power Ranger kicks. I have also cut my hair to match Annie's hair--so maybe there is a deeper regressive problem there that can be explored in another blog- but for now let's just say that Annie and I walk proudly down the dirty streets of New York and are a VISION IN PINK.

I purchase all my clothes for three reasons: comfort, warmth and irony.And if they hide my ass, well that's just an added bonus.

Anyhow-I was about to retire this coat but now it looks like it will be around for another 2-3 weeks. Damn this weather. Why can't global warming just get us all to a nice temperate 70 degrees stopping point and THEN I will heat my house with solar.

Who is Peedles?

Peedles is my friend. She lives in Virginia--not to be confused with Vagina-which is Annie's new favorite word-- she runs through the house yelling "Vagina Power, Vagina Power!"--but back to Peedles--who btw also has some Vagina Power; she actually may live in Virginia Beach, but since my knowledge of geography is based on a RISK gameboard and all I know is Australia is purple... OK I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHERE THE FREEK SHE LIVES, ok? But we have been friends lo these many years.

And one can never have too many friends because who else is going to read your blog? And maybe comment--speaking of which: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE I AM WORKING REALLY HARD HERE TO HALF WAY ENTERTAIN YOU.

But I digress yet again.

Peedle's real name is Patti. But trust me, she is really much more of a Peedles than a Patti. "Patti" conjurs up images of someone perky who plays Women's Lacrosse. Not that Peedles could not kick some serious ass if you put her out in a field with a big stick. It's just she's more the type that lures you under the bleachers because she stole a pint of peppermint schnapps from her parent's liquor cabinet and later makes out with the captain of the rugby team while you lay passed out in a pool of your own vomit near by. Peedles is all about fun.

One of her many skills-and trust me, she has plenty--is her ability to finish any song lyric you put out there-with an emphasis on the 80s. Her ability to blame it on the rain, rain, rain along with razor sharp wit (you need a bandaid when you get an email) is one of the many reasons I love her. And I must love her, because when we went away to Deb's for the weekend and I hadn't slept in a gazillion years because I'd just had a baby, and there was only ONE proper bed on the porch-which btw I had CLAIMED in the first half hour of arriving for the weekend-- and she passed out on it-I half slept in a freeking CANED BACK chair so she wouldn't have to move.

Anyway--because she is hysterical, I have invited her to share my blog. Because if you are stuck alone out in cyberspace, there is no one else you would rather have pull up in a virtual cab and holler "We're going to Vegas" than this mudchick. So without further adoooooooooo.............

Guest Post by my friend Peedles

Since this is usually LV's forum, I thought I should use my "special guest blogger" status to tell everyone a few things about LV that they might not know....like for instance....

** I recently remembered (sometimes it happens that way) that LV and I used to be in a band called "The Stupid Napkin People". We never performed publicly - mostly due to long-distance chatroom practices which involved little music but lots wine. Im certain music somewhere was played at the same time and I am equally certain that neither LV nor I had anything to do with it. I'd tell you where the name for the band came from but that would require trying to revive braincells long gone but Im sure it was hilarious at the time. Heck, take my word for it ...its STILL hilarious subconsiously. Hey ..we had "fly boys"...or perhaps there were real flies involved...face it '98 and '99 were a blur (kinda like last Tuesday). Scarily... SNP posters still exist and occasionally you can find them on EBay.

** LV was the first person ever to call me Peedles. Ive never asked why. When someone you love and respect gives you a nickname, you just gratefully accept it with pride. (Though Frank Zappa's kids, Dweezil and Moon Unit, should have been exempt from that rule.) I feel a need to point out that LV is also the ONLY person that calls me Peedles. (Wouldn't a great kids book be "Peedles walks the Poodles through the Puddles? Quick...someone call Doubleday!)

** For awhile...everytime LV wanted to get out of hanging out with her Mudchick friends and perhaps run the risk of partying too much,....she got pregnant! Okay...so that only happened twice but its not like the MCs get together too often and pregnant girls are suppose to be the cool designated drivers but since LV doesnt drive...well you can see my point. She so dramatic!

** LV and I once planned to publish a racy pottery calendar (oxymoron?) featuring naked men with their fancy bits hidden by painted pottery. We were gonna call it "Piece of the Month." I think that was about the same time that those old English ladies did their naked calendar and LV didnt want to show them up. Theirs was purely for charity...ours was, as is everything we do, purely for our own entertainmment.

There are many other things I can tell you about LV but it will take careful coaxing to get the good stuff out of the mushy parts of my brain. Its kinda like cleaning the attic....dusty, smelly and well...you have so many nice things here in the living room...does the stuff in the attic really matter?

You've got Mail

Here is an actual Email I received today. I sometimes get 20-30 of these puppies a week:


The following message was sent from ournameismud.com by (name withheld):
Hi, I am writing on behalf of West End Day School, a not-for-profit special needs school located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. We are having our annual fundraising auction on May 3, and would greatly appreciate a donation from Our Name is Mud (which quite a few of our families are fans!). Over 200 families attend the auction, and it would be a prime opportunity to reach all these families with information on your restaurant, as well as to generate goodwill among them.
I'd like to suggest a gift certificate for $50, but of course, anything you'd be willing to donate would be greatly appreciated.


Hello parent from West End Day School that is such a fan,
Thanks for writing the Our Name Is Mud restaurant. We don't often get mail--unless it's from the Health Department. I had to go ask the Manager about your request--interupted her doing belly shots on the bar to see if shooting you a gc for $50 in order to generate some good will was cool with her. After Ted, whose a regular here at the Our Name is Mud restaurant, was done sucking the tequilla out of her belly button, he suggested we forward your request to the Our Name Is Mud Dry Cleaners--which is also in the neighborhood. I have done so.
All the best,
Lorrie

JESSE IS SIX

Six years ago today...Jesse George Veasey was born.

I still haven't lost the baby weight. I should get on that.

Happy Birthday my sweet, complicated, mercurial boy. The last six years have been the best of my life. (That's the story we're sticking with--forget about year #1 with the colic and having to put you on top of the dryer to stop the incessant screaming.) You have brought us such joy, and I have fallen in love with your father all over again everyday I see him with you. You hang the moon for your little sister. You are my heart.

This is who you are at the moment.

You are compulsively creative. You are driven to draw, to paint, to sculpt and invent. You are not content with the ordinary--you want to make robots that work, to paint on the walls of our apartment, to make life sized statues. You prefer markers that are either permanent or smell like different foods. You go through reams of paper monthly. While you have trouble sticking with your homework or cleaning up the living room, you can sit at a table for hours drawing one thing after another.

You made a sign that is currently hanging on your bedroom door. It says "Jesse is mad." When you feel slighted, which unfortunately is more often than we'd like, you sit on your bed and scowl. Your emotions swing from intense joy and excitement causing you to hug everyone in the proximity, to anger and disappointment so overwhelming that you wear traces of it like a mantle for days afterwards. We talk a lot about "letting it go." We talk a lot about "choosing happiness." Sometimes we try to penalize you for your anger, other times we try to hug it out of you. We are often lost in the wild forest that is your emotional make up. I see myself in the things you struggle with and pray that your dad's grounded nature will at some point balance things out.

Sometimes you are so generous. You will wake your sister up by covering her faces in kisses and she will reach her arms up to you. You will pick her up from her bed, carry her to the couch and get her a glass of orange juice. You will snuggle in beside her, and your dad and I will find you both with your arms around each other laughing together at SpongeBob. You will call out "Family Hug" and we will all clasp each other tightly and it is always a good day that day. You call Saturdays and Sundays "Mommy Daddy Jesse Annie days." You wait for them each week with almost the same level of excitement you waited for today.

You love people with an intensity that makes you anxious about life. You want to know when people are going to die, if we will ever move, and worry about every change that may occur in your future. You are excited about getting bigger and older because skateboards and freedom have their allure, but you still want to sleep beside me. You have lost two teeth, your hair has grown dark, you are gangly and coltish. You are doing well at karate and can swim and ride a razor. You can read simple words: THE CAT IS ON THE MOP, but grow frustrated with the tricks of language like silent "e's" and blends--and you'll just look at the picture and say "the fat cat is sitting on the rug and he is happy" which at the end of the day is a more interesting story anyway.

You have many friends, and this year you have blessed us by hanging out with kids whose parents we really like as well--and life is fuller and richer as a result. You play with mostly boys, but you like a girl who has long hair and draws complicated pictures. When asked recently, you declared you were going to marry a boy--which by the way, we are totally cool with if that's what's in your future and just ignore the look on Dad's face---but you were more concerned about weather or not you and your future spouse would be allowed to live with us. I said yes--but then, I have also told you you can stay at home for college and the rest of your life. Again, just ignore that look on Dad's face.

Happy Birthday my Jesse Bear. For your sixth birthday you are getting a Hulk boogey board for the beach this summer, some construction toys you have wanted for months, and Nonnee and DeeDad are getting you a conga drum because you still have an uncanny ear and a natural talent that we are doing nothing to nurture. So bang your drum baby--march to your own rhythm. You are so very loved.

Love,
Mom

For Your iPod

I like to play a little game with my ipod. Before I put it on, I hit shuffle, and I tell myself that whatever song plays--the lyrics will have some great significance to the day ahead. (Do not try this if you have downloaded Mmmmbop by The Hansons.) But if you have an eclectic collection-as I do--you may find it's better than the tarot for mapping out the next 24 hours. Try it.

One song/album I recently downloaded that I totally recommend as a ditty you will thoroughly enjoy is TROUBLE by Ray LaMontagne. Apparently this album is a few years old--which would mean it's about time for someone like me to actually get hip to it. I love the song-love the album. Get thee to itunes for a listen.

Oddly enough, I also include among my favorites TROUBLE by Cat Stevens and TROUBLE by Pink. Which just goes to show that when I go looking for trouble, I am usually able to find it.

Change

Change is
a verb
full of possibility.

You cannot get
to where
you want to go next
without leaving
familiar places
behind.

Good luck
Godspeed
and lots
of love
to those who start
a new journey today.

Jonathan Adler of Top Design

I knew Johnny Adler when he was an unknown potter at MUD, SWEAT & TEARS--the same small studio where I started my ceramics career. Now, of course, he is the head judge on TOP DESIGN--and is also celebrated for the mod shapes, vibrant colors and organic eye-popping patterns that are the signature of his work today.

His business encompasses seven retail outlets in Soho & the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Los Angeles, East Hampton, Miami, San Francisco, and Chicago; a thriving interior design business, responsible for the re-design of the Parker Palm Springs hotel in modernist style with a comfy residential feel; a burgeoning licensing business under the brand name Jonathan Adler Happy Home that's expanding into bedding, bath accessories, stationary, dinnerware and table linens at accessible prices; and he continues to sell his wares to high-end boutiques around the world. Jonathan's “happy, handcrafted, and luxe” designs for the home have become a part of American pop-culture, appearing on the sets of the “Today Show,” “Sex and the City,” “Will & Grace,” and “The Apprentice.” In November 2005, Jonathan launched his first book My Prescription for Anti-Depressive Living, which combines his wittiness and enthusiasm for creating happy homes everywhere with serious design.

Oh BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Not that I'm jealous or anything.

Oh Johnny-I knew ye when you used to tape your designs off on your pots with masking tape. When those who didn't understand, mocked you for your precision. "Is Adler making that striped bottle AGAIN?" They would ask. But these were the same people who held me in such disregard for my own sense of commercialism. I still remember walking into the retail space of the studio to see a class of beginners gathered around a pitcher I had made while the instructor used it as an example of how NOT to attach a handle.

I can remember working right beside him at a round canvas table. But I can't remember looking or commenting on his work, and I can't remember him looking or commenting on mine. Which may be why we both went on to leave the studio; both of us were very focused early on.

For the first few years-before he made it REALLY BIG--because he is REALLY REALLY FREEKING BIG-- not that, again, I am jealous or anything, I would see him at the NY Gift Show and I would say "Can you and Simon have dinner with us one night?" And he would always say "yes." But we never did. We never deeply connected and our paths diverged greatly even though we both began in NY in the same place, shared many similar experiences, and were often the only ones left working long after the studio closed.

When you look in the dictionary under ceramic designer-it is Jonathan's picture you'll find, wearing something natty and holding something that transcends simple pottery.

I had one shot at TV; a show on one of the cable networks was doing a Crafters Challenge and I went all stoked to the audition. They put a pipe cleaner in front of me and an egg timer and told me to design a piece of jewelry and I froze. Just froze. Ultimately I think I connected both ends of the pipecleaner and called it a choker. I could have hung myself with it-they were not impressed. Hours later, I came up with seventeen different brilliant ideas for pipecleaner jewelry which haunt my dreams to this day. I could not take the pressure.

So hats off to you Johnny Boy. I hope you think of me when you stroll past a little mom and pop in LA (if you ever do veer off of Rodeo) and see an Instant Human Just Add Coffee Mug. I am happy making stuff that ends up in someone's kitchen sink. Call me on your way to the Hamptons this summer and let's have dinner, eh?

Vomit

I had six boxes carefully packed and ready to ship sitting on the floor of my spacious 10 sq ft office when Lenny jumped up from his carpeted cat perch and upchucked the equivalent of 5 cans of fancy feast (tuna & shrimp) all over the place.

So here's the thing: cardboard? Not the ideal surface for the cat to puke on. For one thing, it gets super soggy if you attempt to clean it with liquids. For another, it kind of soaks the smell in--like a big brown sponge--so that even if the vomit only hit the corner of a box, the whole 16 inches of it will start to smell as well as whatever is inside of it.

It's kind of like that Cat in the Hat book when he comes back and the snow goes pink, and the more they try to clean it up the more it spreads. The tiny spot in the bathtub, on mother's dress, becomes a whole back yard of pink snow. That was me and the cat vomit.

It even managed to find its way deep inside one of my boots that I had taken off in a Mr. Rogers kind of mood today--thinking they would be safe while I walked around in my sneaks. Now one of my boots smells like the Fulton Street Fish Market. Strangely enough, I think the other one does too.

And here's another thing: I kind of felt that this was oddly karmactic anyway. Not that anyone spiritually deserves to have a cat wretch, gag and projectile vomit all over every square inch of their personal space. But this has been the kind of week where lots of cathartic upchucking has been happening in my realm--even writing this, I have a hard time with the bitter taste that remains in my own mouth.

And so begins the process of cleaning up the stink. To do it properly, I will need to empty the room of practically everything and then scour it multiple times -going back over and over again areas where something lingers. Everything that was packed and planned will need to be unpacked and repacked.

When we first had children, Kip and I divided bodily fluids. He is the poop and vomit guy--I am the go to girl for pee and blood. I should have negotiated a better deal.

yes this website is broken

In response to the many emails I have received; yes--this website is truly broken. I have tried doing what the children do, and begged Kip to just fix it-FIX IT DADDY PLEASE DADDY DADDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEE-but it seems way beyond repair-damn you, paypal gateway.

We will have a completely brand spanking new website in about two weeks. The elves are hard at work on it in Chekoslovakia. Which is where websites come from, dontcha know.

With spell czech.

One compelling monologue

Here is a link to a fabulous monologue by Craig Ferguson. It's a bit long, but very heartfelt and compelling-worth your time on you tube. So grab a sandwich and listen up:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bbaRyDLMvA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Flinkateria%2Eblogspot%2Ecom%2F

Stick a Fork in Me

My cousin Deb has arrived from Detroit with her two boys aged 2 and 6 and her husband Jim. My cousin-who immediately following a six hour journey complete with missing luggage and various other obstacles says "let's go to the Empire State Building!!" And when I look at her all slanty eyed thinking ARE YOU CRAZY she says "we are get up and go people."

So today we were all GET UP AND GO PEOPLE and we started out by hitting the American Museum of Natural History. We began in the butterfly conservatory--well, actually, first I had to spend 15 minutes convincing Annie and Jesse to enter the butterfly conservatory: THEY'RE GOING TO LAND ON ME MOMMY-DON'T LET THEM LAND ON ME!! Demonstrating butterfly kiss after butterfly kiss-never mind the Maybelline Great Lash mascara. I was rewarded by the look on Jesse's face as a monarch perched on his index finger; pure wonder and amazement. Annie chose to see each winged creature as an opportunity to make a wish: I WISH THE WHOLE WORLD WAS FULL OF LEOPARDS.

All the better to make coats with my darling.

Then off to the dinosaurs, the Native American indian exhibition Jesse insisted on seeing ( I think because there are ample opportunities to snicker and say -NAKED BUTT) lunch at a crowded cafe, more dinosuars, amphibeans, an attempt to get into the GOLD exhibition, some lame movie narrated by Meryl Streep and, of course, THE GIFT SHOP.

Following THE GIFT SHOP we chose the next obvious stop: TOYS R US. which, if nothing else, is a great place to visit if your child is constipated-which Annie often is.

Annie and Jesse both claimed that they were about to throw up in the cab ride there--so we got out in the rain and limped to the Toys R Us.

The boys hung by the lego, Annie and I headed for Barbie, Disney Princesses, and Polly Pocket-but not Bratz, because they "don't look like nice girls." And later in the bathroom (which, like I said, was inevitable) she said to me: "Mommy- I am not going to get a toy for myself. I am going to get a toy for you because you never get toys."

MY SWEET SELFLESS GIRL.

"And I am going to get you an Ariel purse Mommy because I know it is what you really really really want and also that if you did not want to use it sometimes you would let ME use it-right Mommy?"

We left my cousin and her brood soon after-intent on exploring Times Square and perhaps jetting over to 30 Rock. Tomorrow we will hit Chelsea Piers, Canal Street, and perhaps some sort of boat ride around Manhattan. I'm hoping at some point Annie will let me borrow back the Ariel purse.

Tooth or Consequences

Part of being a MOM is dealing with a vast reportoire of gross bodily emissions--which I will not list here because starting out a paragraph with the word vomit never bodes well. However; there is one physical phenomenon that causes my blood to run cold, my innards to freeze up, and a sensation not unlike the itsy bitsy spider running up my back.

The loose, wiggly tooth.

Jesse has had two now; LOOK MOM! LOOK! WATCH ME WIGGLE IT! YOU'RE NOT LOOKING MOM! I CAN ALMOST TURN IT COMPLETELY AROUND WITH MY TONGUE! LOOK-I CAN MAKE IT WAVE TO YOU! MOM-WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY?

I shudder at the thought-grow faint while being forced to watch him place his grubby finger in his mouth and show the flexibility of his tiny tooth. Flash back to first grade: to a metallic taste in my mouth, an odd crunching sound when I realize that my own tooth has become wrapped in wonderbread and O MY GAWD IF I SWALLOW MY TOOTH HOW GROSS WILL THAT BE. Because everyone knows that chewing gum stays in your stomache for seven years--so swallowing a tooth would be really, really bad-not to mention getting stiffed by The Fairy. And though the memory is hazy and much has been supressed, I do believe at some point in my life string and pulling became involved--but I could be remembering an old episode of The Waltons in which Jim Bob gets a clever idea about barn door dentistry.

Kip was away on a business trip when Jesse lost his first one. Jesse announced that his lower front tooth was now turned completely sideways and ISN'T THIS COOL MOM? LOOK AT THIS MOM! OH MOM-THIS KIND OF HURTS MOM-A LITTLE HELP HERE, MOM....MOM? So I opened the fridge, pulled out a bag of red delicious apples, and had him bite into apple after apple until finally his teeny tooth remained embedded in the apple core. And then we jumped hysterically around the kitchen for ten minutes--Jesse triumphant at this first rite of passage--me giddy with relief that the damn thing was out. Then Annie came in the kitchen HOW COME I DON'T GET TO LOSE ANY TOOTH MOM? HOW COME ONLY JESSE GETS TO LOSE A TOOTH? I WANNA LOSE MY TOOTH RIGHT NOW! WAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA.

After Jesse has looked at the tiny tooth 10,000 times I put it in an envelope--which he makes me open at least 3 more times so he can look at it again, between trips to the bathroom mirror where he stares at the hole in his mouth and begins to figure out ways of making his tongue do tricks within the gap. My big boy. Wasn't it yesterday Kip and I were anxiously scanning his gumline for this same tooth to make its first appearance--because it had to be teething that was causing all that crying and fussing--it couldn't be Jesse's personality--no way--just the pain of those damn teeth coming in, right honey? RIGHT? PLEASE STOP CRYING! O MY GOD I HATE TEETHING!

The Tooth Fairy brings a gold dollar coin--the one with the woman Indian that never caught on with society. Jesse is impressed until he goes to school the next day and learns that the going rate for first teeth is $10.00. Plus, he realizes the mythology of the Tooth Fairy is not as well thought out as that of Santa- and where is the merchandise? The DVD, the doll? And he was a little freaked at the idea of a buzzing creature coming to him in the middle of the night--he actually requests that Santa leaves his stocking in the hallway at Christmas.

It is a hard moment when you take the envelope you have gently removed from underneath the pillow of your sleeping child and realize you have to do something with it. I know many people who save these baby teeth like precious gems. I am not one of those people--apartment dwellers seldom have room to store body parts that aren't essential. I threw it away.

The next morning, Jesse announced that yet another tooth was loose.

Random Thoughts: The Naked Brothers Band

For those of you not lucky enough to have a five year old in the house who demands the television be kept on Nick Jr, THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is a show about a rock band fronted by 9 year old Nat Wolfe. His six year old brother Alex is the drummer and looks like one of the guys in a Van Halen video from the 80s. There are other kids who round out the band; one is fat, one is a minority, and one has glasses. Oh and there is A GIRL- Rosalinda--who is the 13 year old Bratz look-alike who plays bass and is Nat's love interest. They've set the show up to reflect a kind of Sam Malone-Diane Chambers sexual chemistry between Nat and Rosalinda which is disturbing on many levels. Shame on Nat's father-who plays--you guessed it--the goofy father--- for executive producing a show that should celebrate his son's amazing musical and vocal talents but instead tries to exploit his 9 year old hotness. Because if I were between the ages of 7 and 13 I would be writing Mrs. Nat Wolfe on my notebook right this second. 6 year old Alex was asked in an interview what he liked best about being in the band. His answer: "The chicks."

Jesse is obsessed with this show. He chooses his clothing based on weather he feels Nat would wear it; meaning he has been wearing a camouflage shirt with camouflage pants lately (much to Kip's embarrassment, who worries other parents will consider our child pro-Bush, pro-military spawn. So he loudly proclaims when we are in public "I DID NOT DRESS MY CHILD TODAY! I HAD NO SAY IN WHAT MY CHILD IS WEARING!) Alex "rocks the tattoos" and so Jesse used sharpie marker to draw a six inch rocket on the inside of his right forearm. We expect it will wear off by the time he is old enough to sneak into a real tattoo parlor and get Tweety Bird on his shoulder.

Jesse has decided he wants to be in his own rock band (for the chicks, of course.) He has begun lobbying heavily for an electric guitar, a drum set, and keeps trying to make his dad and I agree to become roadies. He is convinced if we would just get him the instruments he needs and if we could make his little sister get the heck out of his room, he could be famous.

As any good mother would do, I put my dream crushing combat boots on and tried to discuss the reality of fronting a rock band. "Becoming famous is hard. Look at Dan" I told Jesse: "He's been in a band for many, many years but he is still working for MUD and allowing me to find fault with his facial hair on a daily basis. Rocket Scientists get a lot of chicks. And you won't have to change the tattoo."

THE NAKED BROTHERS BAND is on Teen Nick Saturday nights. You can download the single "Crazy Car" on itunes right now.

I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaack

It has been more than a year since I added to this blog--it will not surprise me if no one notices that I am back at work on it. The inspiration? An amazing blog at www.dooce.com Sort of like a day at the art museum that finds you later splattering paint chanting "Hey, I can do that..." PLUS: I located the file which I had cleverly labeled "HOW TO." In it-how to add a number to my cell phone, send an attachment, sell something on eBay, call for a messenger etc...all things I can't do unless I have written it all out-step by simple step. When Kip goes away he has to leave piles of papers; how to work the television, how to work the stove, how to play a dvd for the kids. He learned to leave these instructions after the last trip when he returned to find I had mutilated the answering machine with a steak knife. Stabbed it brutally at least eleven times, then choked it. Technology makes me tap into my inner rage for some reason.

So-anyway-I have decided to blog again. We'll be changing this website soon and I don't think keeping my musings front and center are at the top of the priority list for revamping-so perhaps my words will disappear into cyberspace in the near future. In the meantime, stalkers and haters be damned, I will continue to share pictures of my children and my rambling thoughts.

TILES FOR AMERICA

Yesterday was spent refurbishing the memorial on 7th Avenue and 11th Street. Thanks to the help and participation of many studios across the USA, we were able to once again have all the victim's names of the September 11th tragedy represented on the fence. You can read about Tiles For America at www.tilesforamerica.com

Here is a link to some of the tiles from studios who participated in the refurbishment. These studios crafted memorial tiles in addition to the tiles shown here that honor their individual states or studios.
http://ournameismud.com/tiles4america/studio/index.html

Thanks again to everyone who helped work on this project--big shout out to BETH at All Fired Up in Englewood who was instrumental in making it happen this year.