Today it's all about zucchini bread

Oh yeah, I'll be making these soon...

(This might be my new favorite site.)

HInt: It's not Rock of Love. (It's totally Rock of Love.)

I'll be out of commission while mom's in town. I'll be back soon (Tuesday-ish) with a new feature: Guilty Pleasure of the Month! Feel free to contribute yours!

My hand is starting to cramp

Man, it is exhausting falling off the face of the planet...

Before I get to the apologies, can I just say that I haven't made one stinkin' dime off these blog ads? It's not Blogher's fault - I suspect that we're paid by the amount of "unique" (meaning new) visitors to my site and mama's far too busy keeping the toddler alive to drum up business. Any fellow bloggers getting flush from selling space?

Back to apologies. Did I mention the sorry? I've been working my tail off pitching woo to a big-time ladies magazine, hoping to get some stuff bought. The editor is a dream (especially compared to the chilly reception I've garnered from certain other glossies. I'm talking to you, Unnamed Parenting Mag). I wrote almost 10 pitches in 4 days; not bad considering I can only work during naptime. I've discovered that I'm really good at writing short. Feature-length articles that are full of interviews and journalism and intellect are not my thing. Give me a piece on Tracy Feith's new line at Target (cuuuute!) and I'm all in. Unfortunately most places pay per word which doesn't bode well for my financial future but at least I'm never at a loss for party conversation.

Things here are good. The boy seems to have had a respite from the hell that was molars. After almost two weeks of terrible sleep (one night he was awake for almost 5 HOURS) he's back to full nights and reasonable naps. I suspect all this gorgeous sleep also has something to do with his newfound mobility - walking is coming on quick, peeps. We took Missy's advice and got him a walker a few weeks ago. He wasn't so keen at first but now he won't leave home (or his room) without it. He carts that thing around all over the place, bumping into furniture and tipping over like a grandpa on a bender. He wants to walk EVERYWHERE now. (With a little help from mama or the furniture or the cats of course.) He has also started climbing, which bodes ill. When you live in 700 square feet, finding outlets for toddler energy is tricky at best. (Oh god, I just got a flash of him at age 4...) My kingdom for a yard.

My mom's coming into town today which is about 17 kinds of awesome. My dad came up last week and it was just so nice seeing the baby with family. (Don't mention free babysitting... don't mention free babysitting...) My mom was about to chew her own arm off if she didn't get to see the boy soon and I can't wait to see her face when she lays eyes on our GIANT CHILD. Seriously, the kid is part Hulk. I can't decide if I'm proud of scared. (You should see the looks on people's faces when I tell them he's only 15 months...) We go in for his Well Baby appointment next week and I'm dying to know how much he weighs. According to my biceps it's about a zillion pounds.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about our 5 Year Plan which is always a bundle of laughs. I get the feeling that for most people, planning their future is an enjoyable conversation. I find it a little awful. Mostly because I have no idea what I want to be doing in 5 years. Scratch that - I know exactly what I want to be doing but after half a lifetime of chasing unrealistic expectations it's time to settle down and nut up. I know I should go back to school to teach but I just get all miserable inside thinking about it. I wish I wanted to. It sounds so great and noble and smart and yet all it brings to mind is a whole lot of frustration. I've worked with kids all my life and I really love them. I would like to keep loving them, which will not happen if I have to wrangle them all day. Years of babysitting and camp counseling and now motherhood have proven that I am not a font of patience and tend to get prickly if tested. Not exactly a recipe for Teacher of the Year. I've also thought about trying my hand at proofreading or copy editing (I'm not entirely sure of the difference between the two) but with the Death of Publishing being pronounced every seventh second, I'm wondering how much work there'll be for a newbie.

In other words, ugh.

How are your 5 year plans coming? Feel free to advise me on mine, those online career quizzes are useless. (Apparently I would make a fantastic Actor or Writer! Isn't that great?)

Another way to make parents feel like crap

Oh sweet baby Jesus...

Grrrrreat.

Greatest status update ever

For those not in the know, Facebook and Twitter offer people the chance to post "status updates", which are basically tiny snippets about each person's day. Most of mine are fairly banal, ("Went to museum", "Ditching responsibility. Taking nap") but sometimes someone takes hold of the reins and lets loose. That person would be Matt's good friend, Rob Trimarco.

Today's report:

"I am on the LIRR holding a dozen cupcakes on my lap. So help me I might fuck these cupcakes. Ball status: crumby."

That, friends, is good updatin'.

Let there be blood.

Does anyone recall 15 months being a really tricky time for toddlers? Because this kid is a mess. We've gone from a damn fine sleeper to a kid who wakes up every 2-3 hours sobbing. I know his teeth hurt - he's getting them all in at once (he will have a complete set of teeth in a few days) but the usual Tylenol/Motrin cocktails don't seem to be helping much. All he wants to do is chew on his blankie and refuse to eat and cry and cry and cry and never, ever sleep.

I wouldn't mind the wakings so much if he'd go back down, but the pre-dawn rousing (3 am, most days) is particularly brutal. I rock, I pat, I hum, while he just blinks and sighs and gnaws on his blankie. He's clearly exhausted but it's like his little brain won't shut off. We've gone through this before, but after a week of not getting more than 2 hours of solid sleep I'm starting to get mean. As I was cleaning the bathroom this morning I noticed that the boy had become suspiciously silent. I found him underneath the desk, fondling the wiring. The thought of Mr. Teeth using his newly acquired choppers to test out our babyproofing skills made me a little uneasy so I crawled underneath the desk and tried to scootch him toward his toys.

This went about as well as you'd imagine.

Forgetting that my son is a toddler and not a cat, I misjudged his reflexes. Instead of scooting toward safety I heard a sharp CRACK - and then silence.

You know that moment when a child tries to wail but nothing comes out? Like the pain is too intense for sound?

Yeah, scary, that.

Did I mention the blood?

Baby boy had taken a header, cutting his lip on his big front teeth. I tried to see if he'd knocked any out but there was so much screaming and blood and wetness that I could barely see anything. Let me tell you, mouth wounds don't kid around. SO MUCH BLOOD. It reminded me of a story a woman told me about the time her daughter slammed her finger in a door. The mother said that she was so scared, all she could do was laugh hysterically. There's something about seeing your kid experience true pain for the first time that ratches up the awful. AND I'D CAUSED IT! Talk about guilt. Eventually he calmed down and drank some water (blood all over the cup) and gnawed on an apple (it was the only thing I could think of that was cold that he'd keep on his mouth) and then collapsed in an exhausted heap.

Oy.

I know that some of you have dealt with surgeries and broken bones - a cut lip ain't nothin'. But if this is just the beginning, mama needs a drink.

I totally wish I'd written this.

A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.

By Shannon Popkin

My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we are in the library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window. People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a just-turned- 3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It's always fully cranked. There have been several embarrassing times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at Costco.

Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second to the last stall:

''Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now? Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?''

At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this stall and reveal my identity.

Cade continued: ''Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh...Mommy! I'm trying to see In dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna get some candy!''

I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her? Good grief. This was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, ''Why don't you look in Mommy's purse and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!''

''No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies...Oh! Mommy!''

He started to gag at this point.

''Uh - oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!''

As the gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall.. I quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began to reason with myself: OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be reasonably assured that those who overheard this embarrassing monologue will be long gone.

"Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going stinkies! Get up! Get up!''

He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my door. ''Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door? What were you wooking at? Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?''

More laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.

''Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy.'' He started pounding on the door. ''Mommy, don't you want to wash your hands? I want to go out!!''

I saw that my wait 'em out' plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud.

My first thought was complete embarrassment, then I thought, where's the fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of my dignity and privacy? But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.

(Shannon Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of three She lives with her family in Grand Rapids , Michigan , where she no longer uses public restrooms)