Walla walla walla, step right up and have a look-see at the amazing...Vivacity! New and improved, guaranteed results! But wait...there's more! No actually, that's about it. New format, whaddya think? A big THANK YOU to my html-savvy friends, check them out on the shiny new links found on the right-hand column.

I find myself on a mission, folks. Operation Mommy's Remote Is Not A Toy. It seems my one comfort in life, my one escape from the insanity that occasionally threatens to institutionalize me, that treasured connection to my revered reality shows and dramas, has been discovered, investigated, and shot down. No longer can I relax after a long day of work, coming home to more work, putting the kids to bed and then working some more...I am now forced to work to change the damn channels on the television in my bedroom.

I believe Spencer when he says, "I guess I don't know where your 'mote is, Mommy. I guess I sure don't." He is my angel-boy, and he won't soon forget the time I cried my heart out when he misplaced my ring.

Julian, on the other hand, is surely the spawn of Satan, sent straight from hell to deliver my pennance by way of long, slow, unmerciful torture. Ok, I may be exaggerating here a tad. He occasionally shows mercy.

But there is no mercy in sight in OMRINAT. He continues to appear completely innocent when asked, even cocking his head and batting his eyelashes. Oh, the facade, how complete it is. And the Oscar goes to...

I suppose this is merely an update, that there is no change in status in our household. Julian continues to reign with cruel whimsy, and if he deems it law that mommies must heretofor change their channels manually, so be it. So it is babbled, so shall it be done.

There are few moments of spoken words from mouths of babes that really grab your attention. Their first word, their first sentence, a cry for help, an exclamation of pride. There are just a few words that can really stop you dead in your tracks and make you take notice of what everyday static you had just been tuning out.

For instance, just the other day, young master Spence comes bounding down the stairs from the second floor, clearly excited, yelling, "Mommy, Mommy, I found Daddy's hooker!"

Just one of those moments when your heart takes a thoughtful pause before resuming its regular rhythm. Daddy's what now? I can't have heard that right.

"I saw it, I saw it, Daddy's hooker, just lying there on the floor!"

Hmmm. Aaalllll right, now we not only have a prostitute in my house, we apparently have an injured/unconscious/dead one as well. And here I thought it was just going to be another quiet evening at home. Silly, silly mommy.

Spencer continues his descent into the living room, around the landing, down the last two stairs and proudly runs over to show me a prize he's clutching in his little hand. Nathaniel's bungee cord.

"See? Daddy's hooker. I found it!"

Aaahh yes. Daddy's hooker. I've obviously wandered onto the set of Leave it to Beaver in the Twilight Zone. June, be a doll and fix me a drink, will you? I've got a pounding headache all of a sudden. {canned laughter}

So when you think you've heard some astonishing, gut-wrenching news, ladies and gentlemen, let's remember to take a moment and consider the source, shall we?

Oh my LAWD am I ever slacking on the bliggitty-blog-blog. Please forgive!

I have a piece of advice for those with husbands/significant others/baby daddies/whatnot. NEVER, under any circumstances, tell them any ingredient of any recipe you make, EVER.

Now I knew this rule, I did, it must have just slipped my mind during a recent kitchen escapade. Having misplaced (that sucker is GONE) my yellow cake recipe, I thought I'd go hunting through my cooking/baking magazines for something new, when lo & behold, there on the page was a recipe for Mayonnaise Cake! I was THRILLED. My mother didn't whip up too many things that tantalized my taste buds over the years, but her mayonnaise cake was always a hit. Absolutely superb.

So as my moist delicacy is baking itself into a chocolate decadence in the oven, I happen to relate to Nathaniel as he wanders by my elation over having found a recipe for Mayonnaise Cake. The man (& I use that term loosely) began clutching at his throat in a pantomime of an astronaut who just lost air pressure in his helmet.

"Mayonnaise? Mayonnaise CAKE? MAYONNAISE CAKE?!!"

I knew the jig was up. I knew this bakery snob would never let a morsel of my hard work past his lips. Eff him then, more for me (& my hips, & my thighs...this back-fired in SO many ways).

So as our little family sat down to a slice of heaven later that evening, he ever-so-politely cut himself a piece...and proceeded to eat every bit...of the icing. He continues to grumble under his breath about "trying to kill me" and therefore, dear reader(s), I must forewarn you...Never, ever, tell your old man what is in anything he hasn't eaten yet. Wait 'til afterwards.