The only thing Beanie hates more than boundaries enforced by her loved ones to ensure her well-being is having her picture taken.

Which is why I had to snap pictures of her fresh shearing and deshagging while she  stuffed her face.

I give you a sweet bob on a sweet rotten baby:

CIMG6470 CIMG6471 CIMG6475 CIMG6483 CIMG6485

Regarding the crap mountain situation that may or may not be occurring on my sofa in the background of these shots:

1) Pretty certain there is a note in the Bible about being sin-free to cast stones at hoarderific suburban glass houses. Or something. Judgy McJudgerpants, God totally disapproves of your judging and critical ways.

1) I posted the majority of the pictures in sepia so I maintain that Crap Mountain is cleverly camoflaged and almost completely invisible. What pile of not-yet-folded laundry, cast-off-outerwear, and shit my children dragged home from daycare? I have no idea what you are talking about.


Stumpsisms of the day


Stumps will ask me “Why?” nineteen times in a row and still not be satisfied with my answer. Since I am not quite ready to surrender to earning the very special Mother Of The Year award that is reserved for mommies who tell their preschool-age children to “shut up”, I oftentimes find myself saying “Sweetie, it’s my quiet time now.”

This, however, has started to backfire. Now when I pick the Stumps up from daycare and inquire about her day, she responds with “Can I have some quiet time please?”

In other news, Husband was upstairs this evening giving our pitiful little Beans, who was mid-overtired-and-overstimulated-helltantrum, a bath. Typically my children bathe together so when I came downstairs and found my four year old still down here playing, I asked why she wasn’t with her sister in the bath. Stumps replied, “I don’t want to listen to all that freaking out.”

Instead we played beauty parlor for awhile. Stumps was styling my hair and just tooting up a storm. I asked if she had gas and she stated matter-of-factly, “Yes, that usually happens when you fix someone’s hair.” Hairstylists – Is excessive flatulence a universal issue within the industry? It must be all the exposure to processing chemicals. I now feel like I am privy to one of the secrets of the trade. Prior to this evening, I just always assumed she got it from her dad.

Per usual, a blog entry with excessive overshare and very little adherence to typical western social boundaries

(*If you do not yet have children and someday may want to become a parent, you probably don’t want to read this. Seriously. This is like a mental tubal ligation. An emotional vasectomy. Psychological birth control that is essentially permanent and extremely difficult to reverse. Proceed with extreme caution…)

In my 4+ years of parenting, I have been pooped on, peed on, vomited on, bled on, drooled on, and been used as a human Kleenex multiple, multiple times. My sweet little one year old Jellybean, who perpetually has a cold, very recently ran up to me when I unsuspectingly asked for a kiss and shoved her face right into my mouth, which is when I realized her upper lip was covered with snot because I could taste it.

I was certain (until yesterday, anyway) that it could not possibly get any more gross in my life as a mother than it already had. That was before the infestation.

“Infestation”. Is that not one of the most disturbing words in the English language? I managed to avoid this for 32 years myself, so until the dreaded “A child in our preschool has lice” memo that my girls came home with yesterday, it had never really crossed my mind. While my girls were not the catalysts for the memo, I had noticed Stumps scratching her head a lot in the past couple weeks. Of course the first thing I did when we arrived home was start pawing through her long nest of curls and frizz, and it only took five minutes to confirm my suspicions.

Needless to say, now 24 hours later, my house is the cleanest it has been since 2007 when the previous owners were trying to sell it.

Entirely at a loss for how to deal with the vermin (other than Clorox wipe half of our belongings, and soak the other half in bleach, both of which I did), I called a 24 hour lice crisis hotline (yes those exist) which is essentially psychological counseling for the recently disgusted, and then made an appointment with a local lice removal specialist  (those exist too). She was here 21 hours after I called with all of the materials for an in-home check and delousing. All day at home with the girls awaiting her arrival, we referred to them as “our bugs”. One thing I have learned throughout this ordeal is that giving one’s parasite a cute endearing nickname (pretty sure in intellectual circles, none of which I personally belong to, this phenomenon is called “Denial”) somewhat reduces the emotional trauma and revulsion of dealing with it. For me, anyway.

Upon reflection, I suspect that this entire unpleasant episode is long-overdue karmic retribution for all of those times in middle school when I began an insult with “Yo mama is so nasty that…” and ended it with something related to head-lice. Such stigma. The ultimate pre-adolescent burn. So anyway, I probably had it coming.

I did not purchase any of the over-the-counter stuff or try any Rx treatments because the thought of putting pesticides on my babies’ scalps disgusted me almost as much as the infestation itself. The local removal specialists use only natural, organic products, and really their technique is entirely mechanical. They rub a ridiculous amount of blended hippy-dippy essential oil stuff into your scalp, and then spend hours and hours combing every family member’s hair. Every bit of bug debris (I refuse to refer to the stuff that was living in my damn hair as nits, nymphs, eggs and the remains of dead lice. “Bug debris”. I heart euphemisms! :) is removed strand-by-strand and they don’t leave until you are, as the public school systems like to say, “nit free.”

Anyway, our removal specialist, Kim from NitNabbers, was really fun, my kids loved her, she gives an excellent scalp massage (which you need if you have been on all fours for endless hours cleaning and just generally dealing with this shit), and the experience was sort of like spending three hours talking with the best friend you never knew you had. You know, if your best friend was a chimpanzee sitting behind you picking bugs out of your fur while, instead of throwing poo, you browsed the net on your iPad and discussed the most recent heartbreak on Momastery (which is actually what we did while I was being nitpicked.)


Worth. Every. Penny.

So if it happens that you run into this situation yourself at some point and want a referral, let me know. I can give you Kim’s number and she is highly, highly recommended.

Anyway, the four of us are now 100% cootie free. And as it turns out, we learned this evening that Husband and little Beans were louse-free from the beginning. What can I say? Stumps and I are just lucky like that.

the delousing of the House of StumpsandBeans

the delousing of the House of StumpsandBeans

the delousing of the House of StumpsandBeans

the delousing of the House of StumpsandBeans
the delousing of the House of StumpsandBeans


So we are that awkward family at the children’s museum indulging a preschooler who is enthusiastically shouting “Bury me alive! Bury me alive!”

PS – I do wear makeup and wash my hair.

PPS – Sometimes I wear makeup and wash my hair.

People like to ask if I gave her a perm


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Yesterday Stumps’ childcare center director (who is probably approx in her late 40s) is walking out with us saying how beautiful Stumpy’s hair is. Direct quote: “She has the most GORGEOUS curly hair! It is so 80s! I love it!” …not a hint … Continue reading