From the Penis to the Boob...

So, I'm doin' the Hoop-Dee-Do with my husband...

Because both kids are asleep and, like, we have to take advantage of the opportunities as they come up because sometimes they don't come up nearly as often as we'd hope and so, we went for it and it was great and then it was over and, like, the very second it was over, Edie woke up and started crying and asking for boob, as if she had been waiting politely for us to finish the Hoop-Dee-Do and so, without any transition from one kind of physical experience to the other, I jumped up and ran into the other room, half-dressing as I moved, and launched myself into her bed and breastfed her back to sleep.

And David walked in and shook his head and muttered, "From the penis to the boob..." and then, walked out. The man was just happy some of the attention went his way.

I'm feeling pretty needed these days...

xxoo YM


Note: The comic was drawn by a very talented, and I suspect wacky, Physics/Robotics guy named Randall Munroe at XKCD. Continue Reading...

I'm Speechless...

I was on Google Analytics for like the 3,000th time this month and have been thrilled to see my reader numbers increasing a lot and decided to happily troll through the the search terms that people use to get to my blog, just to see what people are looking for. Many were predictable, food and kids and marriage related, some very cool - apparently a lot of Martha Stewart fans come here to read about me lovingly making fun of her - and some just down-right perverted and ridiculous.

I share the perverted and ridiculous ones with you now. Because that's the kind of blogger I am. And it's Friday. And I am trying to amuse myself. Three very good reasons.

Now, remember what this means is that at least one person, usually more, typed this phrase into Google. And somehow my blog popped up. My comments and observations are in italics.
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Pictures of girls in big girl underpants (leave my blog and never come back. Asses)

Yummy sperm (Well, okay...)

Aussie whore (That’s tea whore, freak)

Are fish sticks good for sperm? (yes)

Pork yogurt (sounds tasty)

Eats her boogers (all the time. Tastes like chicken)

Glimpse of my nipple (can’t you see your own nipple?)

See her hoo ha (and?...)

101 uses for maxi pads (I got one use, that’s it)

Big boobs of yummy Kim (got me some of those)

Boob torture video (my nipples know torture. Video has nothing on me)

Then he touched my hoo ha. (why do you Google this?)

Wife likes big coq. (that’s cock, you freak.)

Bourdain sperm (obviously the work of Evil chef Mom and Saint Tigerlily)

Can you sue Pathmark for a wet floor? (the litigious even come to my blog)

I apply curd on my wife’s boobs. (this isn’t you Cheesmonger’s Wife, is it?)

I see my mom take sexy shower. (this sentence should never even appear in your brain)

I still wee in my big girl underpants. (use Depends. Helps a whole bunch)

Kids that eat their own poop. (apparently many kids eat their own poop and their parents are turning to Google in record numbers. And then ultimately to my blog)

Poo eaters.

Poo eating mummy.

Poop eating kids.

Is it better to say poop or poo?

Daddies who have kids who eat poop.

Mommies married to Daddy’s who have kids who eat poop.

Do your kids eat poop?

What to do about kids who eat poo.

Shrimp poop eaters. (huh?)

My boyfriend wants to eat my poop. (get new boyfriend)

Spray Lysol on crotch. (you’ll need to if boyfriend is asking to eat your poo)

And my personal favorite.

Kim Foster naked. (obviously the handy work of someone with good taste)


My readers are nuts.


xxoo YM

PS To Robin at Local or Express?: This is why you need to get on Google Analytics immediately.

PPS: And yes, Molly at The NonHipster Mom. You're right - the picture from my last post of the woman on all fours with a milk machine attached to her breasts will not help. Continue Reading...

Pim & Ravid: The Sex-a-Palooza Continues

One More Sex Fest Story. This is the last one. I swear. Then back to savory onion tarts and Panzanella Salad and dishes made with fat pumpkins and tart apples.

Actually, this story I’m going to tell you isn’t really about David and I at all. It might sound a little like us and it might coincide with Sex Fest 2008 and the sojourning of my eggs, but it’s not us. I would never be so indiscreet as to discuss our sex on my blog. Really.

This story is about a couple named...um, Ravid and Pim. That’s right. Pim was ovulating and she and Ravid really wanted to have another baby, so they decided to use an ovulation predictor which would tell them the two very best days to have sex so they could stream-line their efforts. This worked fine and the two lines showed up on the indicator as expected and Ravid and Pim were a-go. They got up at 6 am to pursue what now will be called the “Activities” before the children woke up.

But before the Activities could get underway, one child, we’ll call her Meedie, woke up and wanted to hang out and this put a serious damper on the Activities. Then, Pim had to go out and move the cars all around and attend to alternate side of the street parking. Ravid and Pim decided that Ravid would try to get Meedie back to sleep while Pim parked the cars and they would meet back in the bedroom in exactly 45 minutes.

Everyone synchronized their watches. They were going to have their Activities no matter what.

So, then Pim parked the cars and came back with a hopeful heart only to find Ravid sipping a cup of tea while both kids, Meedie and the one we now call Poocy, jumping up and down on the bed laughing wildly. There would be no sleeping. There would be no Activities.

Pim could feel her lone egg dying as she stood there. Pim made breakfast. The breakfast was awesome. But that’s not what this is about.

Pim came up with a plan while she was gently poaching Ravid’s eggs (which she thinks might be a metaphor for this entire story, but she can’t quite make it fit). Anyway, Pim would wait until the babysitter arrived at 9am and then, they would act out a covert operation that would ensure the Activities would ensue.

Pim whispered the plan to Ravid. Ravid agreed. Pim considered telling the babysitter about the plan, just to get her help with things, but then thought better of it. Does a 25 year old girl really want to have the image in her head of her middle age employers doing their Activities? Not really.

And so Pim and Ravid lied like incumbent politicians to their children and to their babysitter and said goodbye like they were leaving to go somewhere and waited for the kids to get in the bath tub.

After waiting the pre-requisite time period, and feeling just a little foolish loitering in the hallway, Pim cracked open the front door, just a smidge and listened. She could hear the kids were happily splashing and chatting in the tub. Pim felt a little thrill, like she was a in a James Bond movie or something. She decided to use that for the Activities. She waved Ravid in and like a sniper or Ninja or something, Pim scooched low and dodged from arm chair to table to couch until she got to the safety of the master suite.

Ravid, missing out on the whole intrepid spy in Saigon motif, ambled through the living room checking his blackberry for last minute messages. Whatever.

They got to the master suite undetected by the kids or the sitter. Great. But there is no lock on the door to the master suite so the kids or the babysitter could easily walk in. This was no good. Both Pim and Ravid needed to concentrate. Interruptions could be catastrophic to the process. I mean, it’s not like they’re 22 anymore or anything.

But Pim had already anticipated this problem and came up with a crafty solution while poaching the eggs. By the way, a lot of good ideas come from poaching. I’m not sure why. Anyway, Pim realized that the master bathroom did lock and so she dragged the duna off the bed and positioned it as a comfy cushion on floor of the master bath.

This seemed fine but there was another problem. The lights over the bathroom mirror are very bright and so if you turn them on, it’s like having the Activities in like the men’s khaki section at Walmart or something, and if you turn them off, it’s pitch black, which is kind of like having the activities in a coffin.

Coffin. Walmart. Coffin. Walmart.

It was a toss up and neither was acceptable and there really wasn’t time for the great debate. Eggs were sitting around waiting for a hook-up, children were preparing to open every door and closet to find their parents, babysitters were threatening to walk in and be all mortified at their nakedness.

So Pim and Ravid decided to close the door to the bedroom suite and nearly close the door to the darkened bathroom, leaving only a sliver of light in to provide some semblance of atmosphere and romance. Pim and Ravid are like geniuses.

There was some frantic undressing and Pim, in one of the most sexy and romantic gestures of her lifetime, reminded Ravid that he was on the clock and dawdling would be frowned upon. Ravid thanked her for the helpful up-date.

Then, Pim and Ravid made a solemn promise that no matter what kind of Activities ensued, they would be very quiet.

And we were. I mean, Ravid and Pim were.

xxoo YM Continue Reading...

I Give You...Sperm Jokes

Because it is Sex Fest 2008. And I'm all sperm, all the time.

(If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see my last post.)

I'm not mocking my husband's sperm by the way. His is manly, virile sperm. It is the stuff of legends. Sperm of steel. They wear helmets and shit. They go where no man dares to go.

For Lucy, I wasn't even on the same city block when he knocked me up. I was having drinks with friends across town. I threw back my head to laugh wildly at someone's joke. I'm dramatic that way. And the little buggers came right up behind me. I kind of said, "ooh!" like some stranger goosed me or something. Then, it was over. I conceived.

For Edie, I'm still not even sure how he did it. I was in the room, but my clothes were on. David got all "Houdini in Vegas" on me. He put a sparkly magic cape over me, laid me in the middle of a circle of lit candles and uttered a few indecipherable words. There was a flash of light. I looked down and I was 3 months pregnant. I'm not even sure we had the sex.

So, for your amusement. And my own - a sperm joke or two:

Why does it take 1 million sperm to fertilize one egg?

They won't stop to ask directions.


And my personal favorite:

One sperm says to the other: "How far is it to the ovaries?"

The other one replies: "Relax. We just passed the tonsils."


Okay, okay I'm nearly done now. I swear I'll start writing about food again. Sometime soon. After the last egg drops. I promise.

Until then, Sex Fest 2008 rocks!

xo YM


PS: I want to completely apologize to my wonderful mother-in-law in Australia who reads this blog often and is probably mortified that she has to read about her son's sperm. Again. Sometimes it really sucks having a writer in the family.

Sorry, Ann! We love you! Continue Reading...

Pork Cutlets with Yogurt-Caper Mayo. And Vaginas.

Lucy told me something else about her vagina last night.

Which is good. She's one of those kids that likes to talk about it from time to time but she's not all touching it in public, which makes me happy because then little old ladies would stop her in the street and tell her to act like a "lady" and that she shouldn't touch "the bad place" and then I would have to hit the little old ladies with my umbrella and tell them to back off.

And then people would stop and stare at this crazy woman waving an umbrella and screaming at some poor helpless little old woman in the street clutching a cane and shaking with fear and then I'd try to calm down and explain about how the vagina isn't a "bad place" and how so very 1800's corset-hair suit it all is.

And then, someone would hear me shrieking and talking about vaginas and think I was a pervert and would call the police and since David is away on a business trip in London, I wouldn't have anyone to bail me out and I'd have to breastfeed Edie in jail and I bet the other prisoners would have something to say about my public breastfeeding, like most of my readers, and I'd have to tell them to read my blog and then half my readers would be felons, which they probably are anyway.

I hear I'm huge in San Quentin.

And this would all start because of a little public masturbation and so I am thrilled I don't have to deal with that. We just like to talk about it. In the privacy of our home.

And then, I blog about it. In the privacy of your home.

So, here's what Lucy said about her vagina this time: My vagina is made of chocolate and flowers and zebras and eggplants. There is magic in there.

And so I say: Yes baby, vaginas are magical...But what's up with the eggplants?

And she says: They're purple. Vaginas love purple.

And I say: Of course they do, sweetheart. This makes perfect sense.

And it does, right?

And just because I am talking about vaginas again, I'm giving you a super-easy pork cutlet recipe with a sauce that will make you all tingly and happy. (Just to remind you that I can talk genitalia and food in a single post.)

I threw this one together for us and our fun, completely adorable friends across the hall, Missy and David, a couple nights ago and it was a huge hit. Seriously, 20 minutes active time. 30 if you're like on crutches or have newborn quintuplets.

You'll love it. Trust me.

xxoo YM
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Pork Cutlets with Yogurt-Caper Mayo
Adapted from Bon Appetite

Bread-crumb-coated pork medallions or cutlets are golden on the outside, moist and juicy on the inside. The caper-yogurt sauce provides a burst of briny flavor.

Active time: 20-30 minutes
Servings: Makes 4 servings

Ingredients

For sauce
2/3 cup plain yogurt (6 oz; preferably whole-milk)
3 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons drained bottled capers, finely chopped
A little caper juice from the bottle for a little extra briney-ness
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1/8 teaspoon black pepper

For pork
1 1/2 to 1 3/4 lb pork tenderloin (or any boneless loin)
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 large eggs
1 cup fine dry bread crumbs
About 1 cup vegetable oil or lard for pan frying

Accompaniment: lemon wedges; watercress or other baby greens

Preparation

Make sauce:
Stir together all sauce ingredients in a bowl until combined, then chill, covered, until ready to use.

Cook pork:
Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Cut pork crosswise into 1 1/4-inch-thick slices (medallions) or if you have a larger cut of meat, cut thin cutlets, which is what i did.

Whisk together flour, salt, and pepper in a shallow bowl.

Whisk together eggs with a pinch of salt in another shallow bowl and put bread crumbs in a third shallow bowl. (I ran out of bread crumbs, so I just re-floured for this step. So, flour, egg, flour again.)

Working with 1 medallion at a time, dredge medallions in flour, shaking off excess, and dip in egg, letting excess drip off, then coat with crumbs, pressing to help them adhere. Arrange pork in 1 layer on a baking sheet.

Heat 1/4 inch oil or lard in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat until hot but not smoking, then pan fry medallions, turning over once, until golden brown, 6 to 8 minutes total.

Transfer to a clean baking sheet and roast in oven until thermometer inserted horizontally into center of meat registers 145 to 150°F, 6 to 7 minutes.

Serve pork with sauce, lemon wedges, and watercress. Continue Reading...

The Standing O

Disclaimer: I'm going to be talking about my period in this post. There could also be talk of vaginas. I will mention fallopian tubes at least once. There will be some blood and a few vivid details that I feel help tell the story. I will not include photos.

If you are queasy, not interested in the inner workings of a woman's biology, easily weirded out, eating a big mouthful of liver, are male and feel you need not know these things or are just minding your own business, trying to find a recipe for a good roast chicken and walked into more than you could handle, then, come back tomorrow when the sanity has returned.

The rest of you nuts read on.

Most of you already know that the prodigal daughter, better known as my period, has finally returned and we are, as of this month, in full baby-making mode for numero tres.

My husband is going to be awash in the sex, people. An angel gets his wings.

So, I have my period now and I've been ducking into the bathroom to change when necessary and do my womanly things, when my ducking and bobbing and weaving caught the attention of Lucy, who wondered out loud what I was doing hovering over the toilet, bent-legged with my fingers probing my fallopian tubes.

Okay, she didn't actually say "fallopian tubes" because she's three and she wouldn't do that, but when she walked in, I was trying to find the string and of course, it was lost and probably twisted around my liver and I was sort of straddling the toilet and bent over so that my head was nearly between my knees and I was muttering stuff, because apparently I felt that talking to the string would coax it out and so I was like in this contorted, bent-over position, talking to my vagina in a not so nice way and my fingers were jammed so far up there, it must have seemed like my vagina had swallowed them and Lucy was looking at me as if her mother was going to have to be admitted to the kooky asylum. Yet again.

And so, a full and honest disclosure was clearly in order.

So, I embarked on "the period story". To a 3 year old. Which is, like, 5 years before I thought we'd be doing this stuff and I was unprepared to say the least, not to mention that I still couldn't find the string, so I was having to tell her the period story while thinking that I might have to go to the emergency room to have the tampon removed by a professional, which clearly I am not since thanks to Edie's near constant breastfeeding, I missed two years of them and am now pretty darn rusty. Obviously.

And Lucy was mesmerized. A team of My Little Ponies, with pink flowing manes and bridles made of billowing satin streamers, pulling a wagon full of jelly beans couldn't have dragged her away. This was freakin' big.

And then, Edie wondered what she was missing out on and wandered in from the other room and joined her sister and they stood next to each other, arm to arm, staring up at me quietly as if they were in a sacred prayer circle and I was the pants-around-her-ankles mystic who had important life prophesies to share with them and so, still hovering over the toilet and trying to discreetly locate the still-missing string, I told them everything.

I told them how I was bleeding, but it wasn't a boo-boo exactly, but my body was getting ready to make a baby and they asked me if it hurt and I told them no and they came closer to get a better look and wanted to know what I was doing with my hands, because they were, like, missing.

So, I told them I was trying to get the old tampon out so I could put a new one in and I explained about how tampons were like band aids and Lucy wondered if I could get "Hello Kitty" tampons because that would be more fun and then, they each wanted their own new tampon, which was a little like I was giving out $10 bills, it made them so happy and I said no about the "Hello Kitty" band aids but mentioned how fun I thought that would be and all this tampon talk made them more curious and they came in a little closer, without even the tiniest hint of self-consciousness, which I think is beautiful, and also, a little weird 'cause I'm not used to doing close-ups with an audience.

But after wrestling the string like a big anaconda that didn't want to come out of it's dark hole, I succeeded and it was like I was David Copperfield, because making the tampon appear out of my body made them cheer. They gave me a standing O.

Hey, people. It doesn't matter that my first O was for changing a tampon. It was still an O. Do not mock the O.

And then, they peered into the toilet bowl as if it were a magic lake. And looked up at me expectantly, waiting for my big finish. I did not disappoint. It was all bonfires, fireworks and sparklers. I rock.

After the show, when I was sitting normally and not all bent over at the knees and with my pants on, Lucy reminded me that I should give her advance warning the next time I needed to go to the bathroom, so she could drop everything and be there. For the last two days, I haven't actually gone to the bathroom without an attentive audience.

Overnight, I am a performance artist. With a following.

Which is, ya know, weird but not entirely unappealing either. I'll take it as I can get it.

A food post next time. I promise.

xxoo YM Continue Reading...

Lucy and I Had a Heart to Heart Yesterday

About vaginas. Hers actually.

She was asking me questions about it and I was trying to remember all our plumbing and how it works and explaining babies and going to the bathroom and how it's all pretty complicated down there. And she was listening to me intently and then she looked at her vagina and then me and said this:

"My vagina is a long, dark tunnel with snails and a tiger."

Which I think is a damn good description of a vagina. Mine certainly has a tiger. Anyway, someone please call Eve Ensler and get this kid in the "Vagina Monologues".

No CSFB (Competent but Sexy Finnish Babysitter) so I leave you with a short post and a dish I made last night from Bon Appetite when my best friend from high school, Mary and her Mom, who was like my second Mom growing up, came for a visit yesterday. It was great to see them and this dish was quick and tasty.

A couple notes about the recipe - I put a little too much heat in the cabbage. Okay, way too much heat. I nearly set Mary and Rita's sinus cavities on fire. But I whipped up a second "no heat" batch and it was just lovely. You don't need lots of heat. It's sweet and vinegary and a nice compliment to the steak without the jalepenos. So, be light handed. Also, if you prep ahead, (cutting all the garlic, ginger etc.) the dinner takes all of ten minutes to get on the table. Oh! and make extra cabbage. It's divine and goes quickly.

I'm posting the recipe with only a little fiddling because the kids will be up any minute. I'll post again this weekend!

xxoo YM
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Asian Flank Steak with Sweet Slaw (adapted from Bon Appetite)

Prep: 30 minutes; Total: 1 hour

Servings: Makes 4 servings

Ingredients

1/4 cup dark soy sauce
5 tablespoons olive oil
5 teaspoons minced peeled fresh ginger, divided
1 garlic clove, pressed
1 1 1/2-pound flank steak
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons seasoned rice vinegar
2 red jalapeños, thinly sliced into rounds (optional)
5 cups thinly sliced Napa cabbage (about 9 ounces)
3/4 cup chopped green onions, divided

Prep

Prepare barbecue (medium heat). Mix soy sauce, oil, 3 teaspoons ginger, and garlic in resealable plastic bag. Add flank steak and seal bag; turn to coat. Let stand at room temperature 30 minutes, turning occasionally.

Stir sugar and vinegar in small saucepan over medium heat until sugar dissolves; remove from heat. Add jalapeños and remaining 2 teaspoons ginger. Place cabbage and 1/2 cup green onions in medium bowl.

Pour vinegar mixture over and toss to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Let stand while grilling steak, tossing occasionally.

Grill steak until cooked to desired doneness, about 6 minutes per side for medium-rare. Transfer to work surface. Let rest 10 minutes. Slice steak thinly against grain. Sprinkle 1/4 cup green onions over slaw.

Continue Reading...

Hoo-Ha Spray: 101

Dear Readers -

Now you've done it. You've made me go off on a tangent and write about something completely ridiculous and inane and not anything I'm supposed to be writing about...

And having to do with vaginas. I'm writing about vaginas.

Completely your fault, commenters.

In my last post, the message boards were hot with questions about the mysterious spray now known as "The Hoo-Ha Spray". Apparently, single people, the married folks without kids, some men, people outside the continental U.S. and C-Sectioniers missed the whole Hoo-Ha boat.

So, allow me to get you up to speed. This is The Hoo-Ha Spray.

They give you a couple cans of this stuff when you leave the hospital after having a vaginal delivery. It's like a parting gift or something, along with a good talking to about how you shouldn't starve your child or drown her in the bath tub or sleep for like the next three months. In fact, they tell you to constantly wring your hands with worry over things like meningitis, SIDS, improperly installed car seats and those long cords that help you move the blinds up and down that could wrap around your child's neck like an anaconda and snuff the life out of her.

Seriously, between the intense pain in your crotch and the debilitating worry, it's a wonder you don't just douse yourself with kerosene, set yourself on fire and get the pain over with immediately. But you don't because some opinionated jack ass in the form of a relative or know-it-all friend who already has kids, will tell you that no matter how hard it is now, it will only get worse when they are teenagers and smarter, faster and able to totally pull the wool over your eyes.

So, you come to terms with the fact that stationery and helpless is a blessing and now is as good as it gets.

Not that it matters because you are still delirious from the 47 hours of labor and the three straight hours of pushing out of your vagina the largest bowel movement of your entire colon-cracking life and you are convinced that the hospital nurses are high on crack because they let amateurs like you and your husband leave the hospital with a fragile newborn, because even though you don't let it show, you guys have absolutely no friggin' idea what you're doing and this kid is surely in danger of being dropped, stepped on, left in the car seat on the car roof or licked by the family dog.

Butt no matter what's happening, that little bottle of Hoo-Ha spray is your constant companion after you give birth. It isn't as good as booze, let's say or valium or...booze, but it's close. You see, during the birth process, your genitals can swell into a raw, bulbous inhuman malformation that looks like this:

The genitals of two women, just minutes after their vaginal deliveries

The spray is to alleviate the intense pain you are feeling as you hobble home in your loose fitting sweat pants with your low-hanging bulbous nether regions feeling all steamy, pink, swollen, inhuman and humungous. You also get to sit on this inflatable donut (when you get to sit down) because the thought of your Babboon genitals actually touching a chair or supporting the 90 extra pounds you've gained in the pregnancy is nearly unbearable and so you have to carry around a bag big enough to hold your cans of Hoo-ha, your inflatable donut, your bottle of Colt 45 and a super-sized box of maxi pads because there's sooooo much happening down under that there will not be enough Maxi in all of Duane Reade to satisfy your needs.

Forget diapers and wipes, that designer diaper bag the in-laws bought you is crammed with stuff to make your vagina feel better.

I bet you wished you hadn't asked...

That's enough about the vagina.

xxxooo YM

P.S. Special thanks to the ever-creative Evil Chef Mom, who coined the term "Hoo-Ha Spray" and is probably a life-long abuser of all tingly vagina sprays, devices and accoutrement. I don't know this for sure, but she's definately the type.



Continue Reading...