Never Trust a Ho

you know you're in serious trouble, when your five year old (going on 15) asks the following questions:

1. D: what does "untouched" mean? (referring to the song "untouched" by the veronicas)

T: uhh let me demonstrate. come here D. i use my index finger to touch her shoulder. you're now touched, but i'm untouched. get it?

2. D: what is a ho mommy and why shouldn't i trust a ho? (referring to that song, the title escapes me, where the singer says, "don't trust a ho, never trust a ho...shush girl, shut your lips, do the hellen keller and talk with your hips. yeah. real classy. totally awesome lyrics. ha!)

T: a hoe is a dangerous gardening tool D. one should be very careful when using a hoe. *innocent look. gulp. is she going to buy this???"*

D: scrunches face, raises her eyebrows, and gives me a confused look that tells me she'll accept that answer...for now anyways. phew.

3. D: when are you going to download boom boom pow for me?

T: soon D. soon.

4. D: why do girls have boobs and boys don't?

T: uhhh, good question, ask your dad, he's the doctor.

5. D: daddy, did you have a girlfriend before mommy? what did you do with her? (man i wish i was there for alex's response to the latter question. )

i know i am largely to blame. but if you were forced to listen to the itsy shitsy spider, old fucking mcdonald had a farm, mary had an ugly ass lamb, and row row row your damn boat for the past 5 years of your life, you'd resort to 99.5 too. i promise. but my kid is too damn smart for her own good. she is a beast at picking up song lyrics. and she is not just singing for the sake of singing. girlfriend is paying attention to the lyrics, dissecting them, analyzing them, and writing op ed pieces and shit.

looks like i'm going to have to whip out the We Sing CDs again and put a jolly old smile on my face and sing along to hush little baby (while simultaneously daydreaming about daddy buying ME a diamond ring.)

good bye rihanna, black eyed peas, madonna, and miley (kidding! ok fine. i'll admit that 7 things i hate about you song is kinda catchy. shame on me.) i'll reevaluate in a few years.

Get In My Belly

sorry i've been MIA lately. i've been busy traveling, gaining weight, and spending time with my family. i have gained 7 pounds this summer. add to that the 10 pounds of baby weight i never lost giving birth to A. you do the math. and i'm starting to notice it in places other than my ever expanding mid-section. i do double takes when i see myself in the mirror. woah check out that girl's double chin. wait. that's me. my skinny chicken legs are still in tact, but now i'm sporting some serious purdue chick thighs. my husband is constantly pulling on my former stick-man arms and there is at least an inch of fat in his grasps. and god, please forget about my prayers for a J-Lo ass. i was just kidding. (and what i really meant was J-Lo's ass pre Marc Anthony and kids, not preggo J-Lo ass) i want my flat ass (the one my asian friends and i would lament about in high school) back please. and can't i just once be like those bitches who gain weight in their boobs?

i'm growing old. losing weight has become a battle. my 114 pound high school days are over and i need to get a grip. i am a lone soldier fighting an army of ice-cream, cakes, tarts, cookies, heath bars, kit kats (or as D likes to call them:kitty kats), lindt chocolates, sohan (persian version of brittle), whip-cream, flan, creme brule, tiramisu, brownies, batter, etc.

but i'm sick and tired of retreating. it's one thing to take over my belly territory, but when you start fucking with my face and neck, oh i am going to go ape shit. insert 3- finger-Z snaps. a grit. and a 360 degree circular neck roll. shiiyet.

i am going to get my life in order. i'm going to figure out what i want to do: law, teach, write, open up a stand at my farmer's market, go back to school, dance, become a model (ha! just making sure you're paying attention), what have you. i'm going to stop turning to sweets as a quick fix or temporary fulfillment from what's really missing in my life right now. i'm going to make my husband fall in love all over again with that "persian princess" who was driven, ambitious, and skinny (aka smokin hot) in undergrad.

The Poop Scoop

the pic that resembles "i'm constipated" best

i hope you're not getting too tired of reading about poo. but lately my life revolves around it. no really! A has developed a major problem with constipation and pounds of blueberries, blackberries, cherries, and plums have failed to work their magic. a typical conversation between me and my husband goes as follows:

A: hi honey.

T: good morning darling.

A: how are you my love?

T: i'm well. just enjoying my time with our beautiful, perfect kids.

A: you're the model mother and wife. i miss you. i want to take you out to dinner and a movie and shower you with expensive gifts. i'm the luckiest guy in the world.

HA! here is the real exchange between us:

A: hey.

T: grunt.

A: how's A? did she poop yet? what has she had to eat? (in an oh so accusing tone)

T: food.

A: make sure she eats lots of fruit. no milk. no pasta. no bread. no bananas.

T: check. check. and check. salute.

A: keep me posted.

T: ok. bye.

3 hours later:

T: finally! she pooped!

A: thank god! poor thing. what did it look like?

T: it was huge. and hard. and long. and i can't believe that thing came out of her cute little butt.

A: what's for dinner?

T: i have really bad reception here. i can't hear a word you're saying. see ya. byeeee.

end scene.

Alex, recipient of the world's best hubby award, took care of the kids for 4 days straight so that i could spend some quality time with my relatives visiting from iran. during those 4 days of utter bliss (did i just admit that out loud?), he got A off the bottle cold turkey and insisted that her milk intake was contributing to the constipation. i was skeptical. my husband is an ER doctor. he deals with stab/gunshot wounds and heart attacks on a daily basis. was he talking out of his ass again? (pun intended.)

finally on the last day of alex's mr. mom stint, A got very constipated. and i felt slightly vindicated. i was thinking to myself, "see, i'm not a bad mom, it happened on your watch too buddy!" in any case, it's time to take her to the doctor. my family (half are doctors and the other half think they are) insists that i should give her a spoonful of olive oil each day. (we tried this method and it really works! we gave her a few spoonfuls of honey and snuck in a spoonful of olive oil - she didn't even notice) i suppose it's better than a daily dose of enema for now.

my daughter is off the bottle at the tender age of 25 months. but i hope this doesn't hinder my future dreams of her becoming a supermodel (afterall, she is 95% in height - we just need to work on the 95% in weight impediment) as she now refuses to drink milk in any other form.