As you can see, my run was over.  No dry fire on this one.  I crapped out.  Literally.

On the upside, this outfit had a zipper that ran from neck to foot, which was helpful, because it contained the ‘bulk’ of the spill.

On the downside, I’m no stranger to picking dog crap out of the treads of my running shoes, and we were headed down a very similar road.

I faced a decision.

Spend a few hours picking blowout from the zipper-teeth of this outfit, giving it an overnight bleach marinade OR quietly put this garment out of it’s misery and sit down for a cold beverage.  After zero minutes of deliberation, I bagged and tagged this beauty and sent her on her way to the landfill.

Rest in Peace outfit, we’ll miss having you around.

Me and my brothers would team up with Dad, who would take us to the store and turn us loose with five bucks a piece.  Before we got smart enough to pool our money together and get her a decent $15 gift, we used to split up and meet back at the cash register with a damage-discount candle, fanny pack and a spatula.  We knocked out a homemade card and hoped Dad pulled through with some flowers and a piece of jewelry, which he always did. We rode his coattails, signing our names to the ‘polished’ Hallmark sentiment.

But it was never about the gifts, however, we didn’t learn that until much later…

Now I’m older.  I’m married.  I’m a stay-at-home dad responsible for two mobile midgets.  There are a lot more moms in my life than before.

Mother’s Day no longer only celebrates my mom, but EVERY mom in both my family and my wife’s.  It’s a hierarchy of ladies like Mama and Mommy and the seasoned vets who have graduated into Nana, Nona, Laine-Laine, Gram or Memaw.

And for me, it hasn’t stopped there.  It’s my neighbor Katie.  It’s the woman crossing the street or the checker at Safeway.  And oddly enough, in this age of social media and technology, it’s  Twitter & Bloggy Moms.  I’ve never met them personally, but I know everything about them.  I follow their adventures, listen to their advice and read while they vent on a Friday night.

So to acknowledge ALL the Moms in my life (whether you know you’re in it or not), I thought it was only fair to celebrate them here today.  If you’re looking for some great moms to celebrate (follow) today, join with me and send them a message.  Let them know that we love and appreciate everything they do.

A -@averagesupermom – Sean, who can also be found at her blog http://www.averagesupermom.com/

B – @blogdangerously – Kit, creator of #wineparty can also be found at her blog http://www.bloggingdangerously.com/

C – @Cb4M – Amy, who has a 1-year old and is still trying to get married, can be found at her hilarious blog http://www.carriagebeforemarriage.com/

D – @DagmarBleasdale – Dagmar’s got her hands in everything & was one of the first to post a comment on DOA, creator of Dagmar*s Momsense, found here http://dagmarbleasdale.com/

E – @emom – Wendy lives in Chicago and wrote ‘Mom Blogging for Dummies’, she can be found here http://www.wendypiersall.com/

F – @5minutesformom – Susan and Janice can be found here http://www.5minutesformom.com/

G – @gothamlove – Suzanne is a family photog, wife of @Dadarocks – can also be found here http://suzannecohenphotography.com/#/home/

H – @HollyPavlika – Holly is the president of Momentum, a marketing to moms expert and can be found here http://momentum.bigfuel.com/

I – @ieatmykidzsnack – Lady of the House wipes asses and takes names.

J – @jenkulp – wife of @dadoralive – she can be seen working or writing product reviews at DOA, she’s hot and I’ve had sex with her at least twice.

K – @coolmompicks – because I don’t follow anyone that uses the letter K, it allows me to give it up to Kristen & Liz at http://www.coolmompicks.com/

L – @leighandmeg – sisters and mommy bloggers from Toronto can be found here http://www.meandmeg.com/

M – @mommasgonecity - Jessica, like me, moved away from California not too long ago, find her here http://www.mommasgonecity.com/

N – @NorthWestMommy – Stasha has a giant dog and shares her amazing adventures on Instagram and here http://www.northwestmommy.com/

O – @one_savvymom – One Savvy Mom can be found at http://www.onesavvymom.net/

P – @pbsparents – Tracey is PBS parenting and can be found here http://www.pbs.org/parents/

Q – @queenoftheclick – A middle school teacher in Brooklyn, can be found at her blog http://queenoftheclick.com/

R – @redneckmommy – Tanis twirls the pompoms in her own freak parade in Edmonton and can be found here http://www.theredneckmommy.com/about/

S – @shorelinemommy – Liz is a mommy in Connecticut and can be found sharing her stories on Twitter.

T – @TheSassyMama – Brandi and I graduated from High School together and she’s also got her hands in everything, find her here http://thesassymama.com/

U – @undomesticdiva – I love following her on Twitter and she can also be found here http://undomesticdiva.com/

V – @vodkamom – A kindergarten teacher and because I used to LOVE vodka can be found here too http://www.vodkamom.com/

W – @wifeandmommy – Michelle lives in the DC area, where I just moved, she can be found there AND here http://www.wifeandmommy.com/

X, Y & Z – Just like the letter K, I’m stymied.  However, there were a few that I can’t help but mention.

* The Lexingtonienne – Hannah lives in SoCal, a Kentucky transplant that dishes up some DELICIOUS recipes with the help of her daughter Eleanora.

* @circleofmoms – A community of moms and mom bloggers found here http://www.circleofmoms.com/

From my family…

…to yours…

…HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

EDITOR’S NOTE:  Hallmark, if you’re reading this, I made the card above and am looking for a job.

Over the last 9½ months, Charlie’s little turkey legs have been getting adequate rest, taking their vitamins…slowly gaining the strength to support his mammoth frame.

Last week, with Ava napping and Chuck Norris occupied with toys in the living room, I decided to fix myself a sandwich.  I didn’t even get mayo on the second slice of bread when I heard the toy shopping cart coming towards me from the other room.

After catching this little gem, I put the sammie on hold and threw on my ‘Coach’ hat.

I wanted to get an Emmy-Award winning stroll through the house and wasn’t going to settle for anything less.  Maybe I’ve been watching to0 much ‘Toddlers and Tiaras’ and the redneck stage mom inside of me was fighting to get out.  I told Charlie that if he wanted to be a successful internet superstar, we were going to have to put in some time.  This wasn’t Candyland or Chutes n’ Ladders cookies n’ milk time.

This was serious shit.  Once we get this thing right and it hits YouTube with a standard ownership license, we’re looking for an endorsement deal from whoever in the hell manufactured this shopping cart, that up until now, has been good for nothing but busting up my ankles.

This outtake shows a father losing his patience under duress.

We were at each others throats.  We needed to take five and regroup.  Charlie made a few calls on his cell phone while he paced around the parking lot smoking a cigarette.  I watched nervously out the window as I ate my sandwich, waiting for him to calm down and come back inside so we could nail this thing.

AND WE DID.

Well, Charlie nailed it.  I, on the other hand, was all thumbs.  Specifically…I used my big boner thumb to cover up the audio holes on my iphone.

Oh Lawd, I hope he doesn’t fire me after seeing this blog post…

Saturday was a lot of fun.  My brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Brad & Brooke set up a carnival in their backyard for the kids birthdays, complete with a primo bounce house, clown-mouth bean bags, dart games, sno-kones and balloons.

The city of Atlanta chipped in and brought some ball-sweltering heat, registering in the mid-90′s, illuminating the stage for the debut of my sweat glands.  I didn’t include any pictures, because all my iphone wanted to do was give me a heat warning and honestly, it was almost too hot to press that imaginary camera button.

Sunday was the ‘chicks only’ baby shower, which left me and the boy to fend for ourselves.  I didn’t complain (much), as we haven’t had a lot of time to bond as dudes.  I hooked up with Brad and my nephews and we took the sausage party to the movies.

Charlie is the greatest because he doesn’t have any opinions and can’t talk yet.  It didn’t matter if I was jamming to Alice in Chains or Carrie Underwood.  He just chilled in the backseat, refusing to give a shit.  He’s physically unable to judge me.  Sweet deal!

Turns out we weren’t the only geniuses on the block that decided to beat the heat with a cold pop and a movie.  CHAOS.  Kids with Thor hammers and Hulk hands tore through the lobby, slowing down our move to the self-serving germ kiosk to buy tickets.  I got there at 10:50 and the 11:40 was already sold out, so we decided to check out the mall and wait for the 1pm.

I noticed that this mall had a LEGO store and since I’m a 36 year-old grown man with a Lego city in my garage, I felt compelled to check it out.  I chose not to consult the mall map or ask directions (sound familiar?) and start walking.

Twenty-five minutes and a mile later, we arrived at the other end of this disturbing labyrinth staring at a CLOSED sign.  Dejected, we turned around and headed back towards the theater.  On our campaign back through the bowels of the mall, Charlie and I began to feel a disturbance in the force.  We fell to our knees, debilitated, in front of a store called ‘perfect bodies’.

As we fought back the froth from the corners of our mouths and looked up from the fetal position, there it was.

With Charlie still breastfeeding and me being me, our Achilles heel had been slit right then and there in the middle of the mall on the Sabbath.  I glanced at Charlie as we both twitched and writhed on the dirty floor tiles as if we were bitten by a Black Widow.

Charlie had his Hawkeye on the prize and wanted to command Thor’s hammer to smash that window down, channeling Tony Stark’s persuasive manner to release what he thought were dirigibles filled with milk.

“WE MUST KEEP MOVING CHARLIE”, I mumbled.  “We must fight.”  I struggled to contain my (Nick) Fury, to not Hulk out and do some avenging of our own.  How dare this mannequin challenge the fiber of our (loins) being.

EDITOR’S NOTE:  I don’t wanna sound like a whiny bitch, but is this an appropriate window display?  I mean, I know it’s (Captain) America, but c’mon.  When did they start putting nipples on mannequins?  And not to sound like a pig, but with a body like that, why is she hiding her face?

I fought tooth and nail to inch us away from the…………mannequin?

It’s a mannequin.  And we’re freaking out.  This plastic bust was controlling us like Loki’s spear.

Charlie and I joined forces and summoned the power to move on and meet up with Brad, Max, Stone (our other Avengers) and 200 other dopes waiting in line to get admitted into the theater.

Charlie had already been in the mall for two hours, we were running low on food & drink and he was tormented by a headless mannequin with engorged torpedo breasts.  I rationed my ‘quack snacks’ and watered down the remaining milk.  Once we rolled in, the stadium seating threw me for a loop, so I grabbed a handicapped seat and docked him where the wheelchair would normally be.  I would’ve moved had anyone asked, but this was about (enjoying an awesome movie) survival.

I considered I might be pushing my luck, thinking he would sit through a 2½ hour movie after what we’d already been through.

But he did.

And maybe we didn’t fight an army of Loki’s soldiers that poured out of a tear in the time continuum onto the streets of New York.

And maybe we didn’t have flashy superhero outfits or special powers.

What we did have was an epic father & son day out, packed with action, food court gyros, boobs and his very first movie.

Think what you want, but WE were the REAL avengers that Sunday afternoon.

I offer you Exhibit A.

In my never-ending crusade to keep at least one side of the sink open at all times, I knocked one of Ava’s juice cups into the disposal, with a ‘sucker’ sliding in behind it.  I didn’t see it happen and once I had the sink clear, I gave the disposal switch a little bump.

Instead of the sweet sound of blades slicing through broccoli stumps and old spaghetti with ease, I heard something more along the tune of a lawnmower and a pile of rocks.  I shut it down to investigate and to my surprise, this juice glass didn’t break.  Instead, it somehow got jammed into the disposal sideways.

MAYBE it was because it was my last chore of the day.

MAYBE it was because I was exhausted to the core, from a 2 ½ year old and 9-month old beating me like a slave all day.

But MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, it was because I didn’t feel like spending three hours disassembling the garbage disposal to save a $5 juice glass, that I ended up here.

Somewhere between the corners of Zero Common Sense Ave. & Lazy St., I thrust a few bangs of my roofing hammer into the sink, obliterating the vestibule, making the pieces small enough to remove by hand.

As I type this blog with band-aids on the tips of 5 severed fingers, I think it’s safe to say that I’m not getting any ‘handyman reward blowjobs’ this weekend or taking home any trophies… but after reading this, maybe there’s hope for you yet.

You reach for her.  Does she:

A)  Pretend to be asleep.

B)  Slap your hand away.

C)  Tell you to get it over with quick (while still watching Khloe & Lamar).

D)  Jump on top of you, reverse cowgirl-style.

If you answered D, you can skip to the end, you big liar.   Otherwise, here are some tips on how to get a mommy interested in having sex with you.

• TALK DIRTY:  Don’t be shy.  A little dirty talk can really put your lady in the mood.  If you’ve never done it before, here are some helpful examples.  “I put the dirty clothes in the hamper.”  “I washed the dirty dishes.” “The kids got dirty, so I gave them a bath.”  Lines like these are total panty-droppers, the dirtier, the better.
• RUB HER THE RIGHT WAY:  Listen up, because I’m going to let you in on an ancient female secret.  Every woman has three erogenous zones that, if you rub vigorously for 20-30 minutes, will result in intense waves of pleasure.  They are:  Her back.  Her shoulders.  Her feet.  You’re welcome.
• GET AUTO-EROTIC:  Women don’t talk about this as much as guys do, but a little ‘self-stimulation’ can really set the stage for some hot lovemaking.  When I get time alone, you know how I like to stimulate myself?  By reading the new Entertainment Weekly, watching 30 Rock and exfoliating my face.  Oooh yeah, that’s nice.  Right there.

In all seriousness, once kids are in the picture, finding the time, energy or desire to do what used to come naturally can be hard (that’s what she said).   But once you’ve done the nasty, you never regret the 15 minutes of postponed sleep.

In fact, you sleep better.  Sex releases tension, prevents arguments and generally puts everyone in a better mood, so it’s worth trying to make it happen a little more often.

If you really want to seduce a mommy, be kind to her.  Tell her she’s a great mom, even if she left the baby on the bus that one time.  Tell her she’s beautiful, even when she’s wearing yesterday’s sweatpants.  Listen to the most mundane parts of her stories with the same attention you’d give to Sportscenter on draft day.  Touch her when you’re not in bed.  Shower her with love.  Also, shower.

Now go forth and bone.

Amy has a 15-month old daughter and is trying for baby #2 so she has sex on the brain.  She hopes maybe her parents and in-laws could skip reading this post for everyone’s sake.  Amy writes the blog Carriage Before Marriage – about her backwards, but entertaining life plan.  You can follow her on Facebook HERE and also check out her Twitter feed – @cb4m – which Adrian convinced her to try, but she still doesn’t understand.

We didn’t stop at the enormous Bass Pro Shops, the one with the lure testing tank, where die-hards like my dad enjoy casting different weapons from their arsenal and watching their ‘action’ underwater.  We also drove right by the receding waters of Lake Lanier, where this summer, they were uncovering old guns, beer cans, stolen cars and sunken Christmas trees tied to cinder blocks.

Just before Cleveland, miles of dense forest thinned out to reveal one of those quaint little Bavarian holiday villages.  Like every other jackass on the road, we pulled off to window shop for hand-whiddled Christmas ornaments in the dead of July.

We stumbled upon the Hansel & Gretel candy shop which boasted this 4-pound diabetes football.  We gawked and shoved each other out of the way like obnoxious teenagers with our iphones, trying to be first to upload this monstrosity to Facebook.  They also had chocolate covered Fritos and my personal favorite, the great wall of jellybeans.

We suffered a toddler tier-3 meltdown, but negotiated an eleventh-hour deal which found us responsible for purchasing a 3lb bag of assorted beans in exchange for less dramatic screaming episodes in public.

The novelty shop had a t-shirt that my wife wouldn’t let me buy (decent move on her end) and I discovered this little gem while I purchased a hand-squeezed lemonade.

If your kid is missing some shoes, message me for their info.

If all this wasn’t enough for one day (let alone morning), we hunkered down for some calories.  A nice bowl of Spatzle, washed down with some warm apple strudel. A BIG carbo-load for the next destination…

Babyland General Hospital, home of Xavier Roberts and his Cabbage Patch Kids.

These are the sacrifices we make.

We parked and emerged from the cabin of the vehicle to be greeted by my favorite, bugs and humidity.  The porch of Babyland General was like an infinity pool, but instead of water disappearing into the Pacific horizon, it was like Charlotte airport, sticky rocking chairs for miles.

Inside the lobby they showcase the ‘O.G.’ CPK’s from 78′, all lit up behind bulletproof glass.  Some of these are worth 35k a pop.  Makes me glad that my dad gave away all of my original G.I. Joe’s, Star Wars and Transformers to some guy at work.  They probably weren’t worth anything anyway.  I’m sure his kid took great care of them.

With the amount of cabbage (pun intended) they had hanging out here, I kinda figured they would’ve pumped a few bucks into security.  I guess they assume that out in the country, on a peaceful wooded stretch, the chances of a militant assault squad smashing in to abduct a 76′ needle-molded, soft-sculptured ‘Dexter’, is fairly unlikely.

I sometimes have trouble expressing my emotions, but I seem pretty dead-on here.  There’s something so relaxing about posing for a picture on the lettuce chair in the lobby, while eager tourist patch-groupies line up behind your family, extending tripod legs and fighting with their sleeveless spouses about how to set the timer.

One quick observation I made was that no one in Northern Georgia brandishes sleeves on their shirts and if you don’t have a decent dip container fade on the back pocket of your Wranglers, you’d better wait outside in the truck.

Ava grew bored with the nostalgia of the stinky-70′s dolls and made a run towards the back of Babyland.  She disappeared into one of the side rooms and within seconds, I found myself invited to sit in a miniature kids chair, drinking invisible tea (booze) and eating plastic scones.

At first I felt a little uncomfortable, maybe it was that my knees were jacked up into my face or that the insanely humid air had melted my balls into my thighs.  Maybe I felt a little silly being the only guy at the tea party with sleeves on my shirt.  All of that faded when I caught a glimpse of how much Ava was enjoying this moment.  She was so excited that Dada was down on her level, smiling, laughing and pretending.  Pretty cool.

Over the intercom, the receptionist announced that a live birth would be happening in a few minutes and that everyone should make their way to the Cabbage Patch.  ‘Is this for real?’, I asked my wife.  ‘Is some chick giving birth?’  This is one of those occasions where she just looks at me, shakes her head and moves on.

Thankfully, they were referring to the dolls.  Things hatch quicker than on that dang movie ‘Aliens’!

We gathered around as the 18-year old doctor put on his best actor’s workshop, performing a seamless (not really) ‘easyouttame’ (episiotomy) with a straight face, all while making eight bucks an hour, no benefits.  The doc took a few moments before washing up for his next cabbage-section and posed with a proud father (me) who just got fifty dollars lighter.
I burned off my strudel chasing Ava to shoot this video.  It’s a perfect example of the inner-chaos behind a toddlers decision-making process when supplied with too many variables.

And if you thought we could just pay for a doll and head for the air-conditioned car, you should guess again.  You need to fill out the proper adoption papers ya’ll!

At this point, we had been in here for two hours, so I turned the show over to my wife and resident notary.  I focused my efforts on acting impatient and crop-dusting strudel farts onto unsuspecting kids while faking interest in a CPK sweatshirt or snow globe.

With the ink dried on our adoption papers (and my Visa receipt), we added another savage to our patch.

I’m a woman and he’s a boy.

We have a very special bond that will (hopefully) last a lifetime but we also have some major differences, which are starting to become apparent to him lately and it’s getting rather…awkward.

You see, my son is two years old. He’s still in diapers but he’s starting to understand that boys are girls are different. He’s also starting to demonstrate that he’s a full-fledged boy.

He laughs when he farts. He plays with himself in the tub. He burps. He jokingly asks if he can sleep in his crib naked because nudity is obviously HILARIOUS.

While I have no problem with little boys handling their junk or laughing about moronic bathroom humor (my husband still does, lord help me), I’m starting to wonder how to handle the more awkward situations that are sneaking into our daily routine.

Let’s start with the most basic scenarios. Since I’m a stay-at-home mom, my son and I are together all day. He comes in the bathroom with me when we’re at home. He gets dragged into women’s restrooms out in public. We shower together after swimming.

It’s nearly impossible to shake him from my trail when we’re home. He feels entitled to his mama at all times. This can be very endearing but also a little stifling. And embarrassing.

It’s one thing for him to play with his cars while I pop a squat real quick. But when I need to change a tampon, it’s not time for everyone to gather ‘round and watch. But oh, he does! And being the nice boy that he is, he likes to help. “Here mama” he says sweetly as he hands me the tampon. I reach down to do my business, blushing as I feel two little eyes watching curiously. “Me help!” he squeals as he reaches between my legs…

Oh hell no! I shoo him out of the bathroom with a frazzled fear that I’ve scarred him for life. But what am I supposed to do? He is ALWAYS WATCHING ME.

Taking him out in public has become another exercise in humility. We head into women’s restrooms for diaper changes. I plop him onto the dirty public changing table and change him with lightening speed. But when I put him down so I can go wash my hands he darts away, peeking under stalls and giggling at the poor old ladies doing god-knows-what inside. “HI PEOPLE!” he yells gleefully.

And don’t get me started on doctor’s appointments. Taking him with me is no longer an option. He cries hysterically when the doctor just looks in my ear. What’s going to happen when mommy is spread-eagle in the stir-ups getting a pap smear? ((shudder))

These are the complications I did not foresee when I popped out a little boy two years ago.

He is the sweetest little guy imaginable — cuddly, giggly, happy, smart, and incredibly good-natured. But what am I supposed to do when he’s nuzzled into my shoulder and starts snapping my bra strap? Or putting toys down my cleavage? Or poking my boobs? Not so cute anymore.

It may be time to institute some new rules around the house, starting with Rule #1: All personal hygiene must be taken care of during nap time. Rule #2: Have a daughter.

Liz is your typical neurotic, overtired, and underpaid stay-at-home mom. She lives in CT with her husband and two-year-old son Benjamin. Her survival kit includes: strong coffee, lots of wine, a good therapist, more wine, and a sense of humor.

You can read more about her journey through motherhood and life with a toddler on her blog at: http://shorelinemommy.wordpress.com and on Twitter at: @ShorelineMommy.

Good God = Good Gravy!

Oh, F-bomb! = Ohhhh, Frankenberries!

Son-of-a-Bitch = Son-of-a-biscuit (borrowed from my grandmother)

Dammit! = Dagnabbit! (another goodie borrowed from my grandmother)

Shit! = Shnikees!

However, I am admittedly wearing down as my little posse is getting older and my need for dramatics is growing.  As few weeks ago, I did let a “SH&T!” fly out of my mouth.  SO when my daughter came racing downstairs to rat out her brother by saying, “Mooooomm! Gavin said the ‘S’ word!”, I held my breath to find out if this was the moment when it would come out that I had officially corrupted my children. She exclaims, “He said ‘shut up’!”  Whew. THAT is the ‘s’ word she meant.  (Secretly, no parent who enters this no-swearing pact wants to be the one to ultimately color their kids’ language. It’s like a secret long-standing competition.)

Other times when a good ol’ F-bomb would feel good include (all of which have happened to me):

• Spilling a bottle of freshly pumped breast milk

• Massive diaper explosion in the car seat…while on a highway with nowhere to pull over

• Realizing, as the bus pulls up, that you forgot to pack up the homework that you battled through with your son the night before

• Having a child throw up on the sofa while you are on the phone with a client

• Having a child throw up on you before you meet someone in public

• Having your preschooler announce that they have to go potty just moments after you’ve been placed in the coveted exam room…after waiting 45 minutes past your appointment time

I know I am not alone in this perpetual battle against profanity.  Recently, I had a friend whisper to me, “Don’t you wish you could just say ‘Shut the ‘f’ up!??”.  Why, yes… yes, I do.  But I don’t. And I probably won’t.  I am going to win the competition, dammit. 

So, here’s to another year of Frankenberries!

Brandi Greygor is a working mother of two and can be heard preaching and ranting about modern motherhood at www.TheSassyMama.com.  Be sure to subscribe there to receive her new free guide for moms.   You can also follow her on Twitter @TheSassyMama and on Facebook at The Sassy Mama.

She always has a great time, but in the last few months she has become a little bit skittish around the characters in costumes. In my opinion, she’d be crazy not to be scared. Have you ever seen Winnie the Pooh on TV? He is half the size of a nine-year old, but in person, he is as tall as most mommies. That’s a big damn tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff.

When we went a couple weeks ago we were walking around Toon Town and spotted Minnie Mouse in front of her house and thought it best if we avoid it because we weren’t sure how Baby Buzz would react. BUT, Avery saw Minnie Mouse and put out her arms and said “Min-Min, Min-Min.” We thought maybe she’d turned a corner and was ready to see the characters again, so we got in line.

By the time we got to the front of the line it was time for Minnie’s tea (read: smoke) break. That gave my wife the necessary time to do a full on photo shoot for Disney magazine in front of Minne’s House.

Look at this child.

She looks like she is about to live out one of her dreams. As we know though, sometimes the dream is better than the reality. Avery was standing on the front porch when Minnie arrived and she wasn’t ready to meet a five-foot mouse. In a matter of seconds, she went from a dream to a nightmare. Clearly this mouse wanted blood.
After snapping off a couple quick photos they shuffled us aside, we moved on into Minnie’s house where Avery was able to calm down. When she stopped crying the first thing she said was “Min-Min? Min-Min?” I’m going to assume/hope she was asking to see Minnie again, and not asking “Why did you guys just try to offer me up as a human sacrifice to that mutant mouse?”

I think we’re going to try to minimize the costumed character visits for awhile. We’ll stick with the Princesses. They tend to be my favorite any way.

Robb Buzzini lives in Pasadena, California with his wife Catherine, daughter Avery, and a baby to be named this summer. When his chores are done you can usually find him working on screenplays and pilots, staring at his computer complaining about how terrible his fantasy baseball team is playing, or maybe even running off to Vegas for the weekend to lose his allowance. You can follow him on twitter at @StayAtHomeBuzz.