OK, this is arguably one of the best photos I've ever taken, I'm just going to go ahead and brag about that. Also, I'm pretty sure this kid is going to have blue eyes, no?

by dooce in Daily Photo

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Lil Iris. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

I had no idea Chuck was so bendable. In fact, this photo is creeping me out a little bit.

(Thank you, Jon, for capturing this violation of nature.)

by dooce in Daily Chuck

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Gumby!. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

This is quickly and steadily becoming A List of My Ailments Blog, and I'm just waiting for the email or comment that is all, UGH! You just had to go and get OLD on us. I liked you so much more when your bones weren't brittle!

The things I have done to damage your expectations, I know. First, I got married. Then I had a baby. And now! NOW I'M TAKING CALCIUM SUPPLEMENTS! Where is the dooce you used to know and love!

I had blood work done last week while getting a second x-ray on my tailbone, and today the results came back normal. Good news on top of the fact that my tailbone seems to be healing according to the x-ray. When I asked the doctor if it would be okay to travel again with this... this... broken butt? Isn't that what it is, really? I broke my butt. There's no getting around this. Not with Leta walking around going, "When is mom's butt going to get better?"

WHEN WE STOP TALKING ABOUT IT OUT LOUD. IN THE HALLWAY. AT SCHOOL.

The doctor said to take my butt pillow with me, and I'd be fine. Also, just curious, she was. What did I do for a living since I travel this much? Now, picture this, okay. She has just inspected me, taken a look at The Smallest Butt In The History Of The Universe, and this conversation is inevitably going to result in, "Oh, my friend told me about you. You're that woman?" So before I told her, I said, um, the size of my butt falls under doctor/patient privilege, right? The Hippocratic Oath? And she was all, I will take knowledge of your tiny butt TO THE GRAVE.

Thank God no one will know about it now.

Anyway, I had to make an emergency appointment with my dentist this morning because one of the teeth on the right side of my mouth is making it so that I cannot chew food: the shooting, lightening-patterned pain! Straight up through my jaw, up into my eye, and bang into my forehead. And when my dentist sat down and asked what was going on, I was all, I'M FALLING APART! You think I'm kidding, but the odds are that you'll lean over to take a look inside my mouth and suddenly my head will topple off right into your lap!

An x-ray and twenty minutes of prodding and hammering away proved that it has to be a sinus infection. It's just that a certain nerve in a certain tooth sits inside my sinus cavity. Are you serious? It has nothing to do with my bones? I was prepared for surgery, and you're giving me a prescription for an antibiotic? How can I possibly write about this in all caps, SIR?!

I can't go back to the people with a sinus infection! They want DISEASE! They want LIFE-EXPECTANCY! Can I at least tell them you prescribed a cane? Because, let's be honest. I have an image to uphold.

by dooce in Daily

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as That decrepit old hag. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

I've featured the calendar and the teacups here before, so I thought I'd show how and where I've displayed them in my home. I should mention that there was a terrible accident involving my foot and a certain lower shelf that I thought was more secure than it actually was, and those two cups are all that is left of the entire set. Oh indeed, there were tears shed that evening. And not over the slivers in my foot.

by dooce in Daily Style

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Corner of the kitchen. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

He was like, FINE. You can show me affection and I will accept it, but only because you are sitting where I would like to be sitting in front of the fire. Please hurry.

(Thank you, Jon, for the shot.)

by dooce in Daily Chuck

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as A moment. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

I've recently made friends with a lovely woman up the street who kindly took pity on me when she noticed that I spend my entire day with my husband. Not that Jon is difficult to live or work with. He is my soul mate and best friend. But, come on. Space in a marriage is vital to its long term survival. Almost as vital as sex. I said ALMOST. Nothing is more important than sex. Except maybe Radiohead.

Her name is Kate, and she has a gorgeous sixteen-month-old son. She's been inviting me to play dates with her friends who have similarly-aged children, and if Marlo's awake I'll bring her with me. If she's not, I'll go anyway to sip some wine. Oh wait, did I just admit that we drink during play dates?! At least I didn't mention the hookers! Close call!

Earlier this week they were meeting at a local park, and since they were holding the play date at the time we normally pick up Leta from school I decided to bring her instead of Marlo. It'd be some quality time between the two of us, and when I mentioned it to her before school it was like handing a habitual gambler your American Express Card.

A PARK? AFTER SCHOOL? WHERE SHE COULD PLAY?!!! I'm not gonna lie. Utah winters are good for at least one thing: giving me ample opportunity to play superhero.

I didn't grow up in a climate where it snows this much, but I can imagine that hearing someone say, "Not until the snow melts," every day for seven months could make you want to register for a gun.

I didn't know if there were going to be any other kids her age at the park, but I assumed that since she's so careful and sweet with Marlo that if pressed she'd be the same way with the younger kids. And you guys! I assumed right! THAT DOESN'T EVER HAPPEN. Hurry, Jon! While I'm on a winning streak head toward the kitchen! And then in ten minutes the dishwasher will be unloaded!

In fact, I was blown away by my kid, and it was one of those very rare moments when you take a look at yourself as a parent and can see the evidence that you're performing this task successfully. Most of the time you just hope that you're handling everything in a way that doesn't produce an eventual sociopath, and you don't ever get to see that, oh. You mean throwing that glass of water in his face when he was three caused him to stalk people when he was 30? OOPS!

She was so gentle and soft with those kids, and when we sent her running after Kate's son who was headed toward the street she gleefully took up the challenge. She shared their soccer balls, showed them how to take turns, and always handed it back to them if one started to feel cheated. And the entire time she smiled and laughed effortlessly. I wanted to call Jon right then and go, the Internet is wrong about us! WE'RE DOING IT RIGHT! WE'RE DOING IT RIGHT!

by dooce in Daily, Leta, Parenthood

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as So far, so good. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

If this doesn't win some award, or video of the year, or Most Incredible Music Video Of All Time, then I will have lost all faith in humanity. Or at least all faith in award givers. I cannot pick my jaw up off the floor:

by dooce in Nubbin

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as OK Go - "This Too Shall Pass". This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

Me: Sorry about my butt peeking through the gown.

Technician: Oh, I... I didn't even notice. I was busy setting up the film.

Me: Oh God, sorry for even bringing it up! Here I am apologizing for my butt. Just ignore me.

Technician: I've seen a lot of butts, believe me. No big deal.

Me: I bet you have! You could probably write a book about butts!

Technician: I could, and I have to say, yours is totally fine. Not nearly as scary as some of the butts I've seen.

Me: That is probably one of the best compliments I've ever received in my life. You have no idea.

Technician: Was that too much information? I'm sorry—

Me: HAHA! Too much information! I should introduce you to a certain website.

by dooce in Nubbin

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Yesterday, while getting a second set of x-rays on my tailbone. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

Several of you requested that I balance the mutilated bacon bowl on top of Chuck's head, and that maybe I should set up a shop on Etsy and sell this as bacon art. I had a good laugh over that one, and yesterday I would intermittently blurt out: IMMA GET ME SOME BACON ART! And then I'm going to dedicate an entire wall in the living room to all my special finds. A wall of bacon. You guys are genius.

by dooce in Daily Chuck

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Bacon art. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

That's one of Marlo's new nicknames. Because 1) she is a total grabber, you can't get anything near that kid, and 2) she LOVES to hang out with her mouth firmly planted on the inside of an apple. She'll hang out exactly like this for a good half hour. Just try to wrap your head around how adorable that is.

by dooce in Daily Photo

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Grabby Apples. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

I just want to point out that I'm paying attention, UNIVERSE. And that by stubbing my foot on one of Marlo's more hefty toys last night and breaking the third toe on my right foot was your way of saying WOMAN. WAS YOUR TAILBONE NOT LOUD ENOUGH.

So what you're saying is that I have to walk around the house wearing shoes and a helmet at all times. I mean, is it that literal? Or is it more metaphorical? Am I supposed to slow down, is that the message? Anyone suggesting that someone with two kids and two dogs should slow down obviously did not take physics. Universe, are you single? Do you even have kids? Because if you get to sleep in on Sunday morning I CANNOT TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY.

Apparently it's trying to talk to me about cooking as well. In fact, I bet the Universe has Child Protective Services on speed dial and gets an itchy finger every time I look at the stove. I will admit, I'm just winging it in there. I've watched other people cook, and I'm good about picking up on details. I mean, I can make a mean pot of rice. And when a bowl has "dishwasher and microwave safe" stamped on its bottom, you can bet I think it's telling the truth. Who am I to doubt the bowl?

You guys. That bowl was lying. At least, that is the defense I used when, after successfully cooking seven strips of bacon, I poured the leftover grease into this bowl:

At least I know you're not supposed to pour the grease down the drain, AM I RIGHT!? Give me some credit! I picked up on that detail! PLUS TEN POINTS FOR ME.

But I guess "microwavable safe" does not cover the temperature of bacon grease. And I should have immediately sensed trouble when I heard the plastic of the bowl popping as the grease filled its sides. Nay, I trusted the bowl. I believed in the bowl. I rooted for that damn bowl. GO BOWL GO.

And everything looked fine as I transferred the bowl to the countertop next to the sink. I could see the grease cooling, congealing a tiny bit, and I might have thumped my chest with my fists and yelled WHO'S IN CONTROL NOW, BITCHES!

And then not a half second later that bowl disintegrated. And hot, sizzling bacon grease pooled all over the countertop down into the sink. And into the drain.

My reaction was not unlike that time when I was a freshman in college, and my sister had asked me to babysit my two-year-old niece, the cutest, blondest little thing who suddenly started projectile vomiting the goldfish crackers I had given her for lunch. And I was all, STOP! DON'T! GROSS! Thinking that those commands would put an end to that orange volcanic eruption. And five minutes later when it was over I was all, WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP?! WERE YOU NOT LISTENING?

That's called Quality Babysitting.

I just stood there watching in slow motion as the bowl melted into a puddle, not knowing what to do, so I just screamed STOP! DON'T! Because a four-year degree from BYU taught me nothing.

Jon came running in to see what the hell was going on, and I physically obstructed his view from the mess. I didn't want to hear it. I could envision the tone in his voice as he shook his head and muttered HEATHER, HEATHER, HEATHER. The same tone he used when I attempted a back hand spring on a trampoline after two huge glasses of homemade wine.

That was a fun trip to the ER.

But I couldn't hold him off, not if I wanted to make sure that the sizzling bacon grease didn't melt the pipes under the sink, so I frantically turned on the water and and started blowing air with my mouth. Surely that would help cool things off.

And once he started to shake his head, I was all, dude, I didn't take a class on microwaves. How was I supposed to know that bacon grease is hotter than a meal you zap for five minutes? I mean, I know you're not supposed to put tin foil in a microwave, and it's not a good place to store cats. I've got the basics down.

Oh! But get this! Jon is old enough that he DID take a class on microwaves. Because when they bought their first microwave the store offered the whole family a free class! I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Come on. It does not get more Renaissance Man than that.

I headed toward the recycling bin to throw the bowl away, but Jon was quick to stop me. Oh no. There would need to be a written record and photographic evidence of this event. Because ten years from now when we're fighting over who is right, he is going to pull this up and go THERE. THAT'S WHY.

by dooce in Daily, Jon

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Exhibit A. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

Leta: Did you know that Noah [her cousin] doesn't like chili?

Me: Maybe he just doesn't like the taste of it.

Leta: No, MOM. How is that even possible? How could he not love chili?

Me: Leta, you don't like cake. CAKE. As in one of life's most precious treasures.

Leta: That's because cake is gross.

Me: Good point, Leta. Good point.

by dooce in Leta, Nubbin

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as While brushing her hair this morning. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

I am THIS close to painting his toenails red. And carrying him around in a purse.

by dooce in Daily Chuck

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Glamour!. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Over the weekend my good friend Carol packed up and moved to Southern California. You may remember her as the one with whom I traveled to Palm Springs a couple of years ago, the trip that included a sighting of Rick Springfield wearing a fanny pack. It's not like I'm never going to see her again, I know, but I will miss her dearly in the meantime. Now whose accent will I make fun of?

by dooce in Daily Photo

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Carol. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

DO NOT GOOGLE IMAGES OF SCARS. PLEASE. I URGE YOU TO REMAIN INNOCENT.

Today's featured question comes from user maylu:

Anyone ever heard of a keloid? Basically, I scar outward. Meaning, there are several places on my body where it looks like I have grown an extra limb, one in particular on my right shin that has sprouted its own nose hairs. When people see it and begin to recoil I'm quick to say, hey! Don't be scared! That's just Larry. He minds his own business.

What. Am I the only one who names her scars? Shut up. YOU DO TOO.

I've got Larry on my shin, Roberta on my forehead, and Ed on my shoulder. Since I'm stuck with them, I thought, well, might as well make them feel as welcome as possible. Come on in! Take off your shoes! And Larry got so comfortable that he started to walk around the house without his pants on. I had to stop him when he started to itch his crotch in front of my mom!

Since I've had two basal cell carcinomas removed from my left shoulder and regularly see a dermatologist, I met a doctor at the clinic who prided himself on "fixing" any keloid he came in contact with. Turns out you can sometimes stop the outward movement of a scar with steroids. And I was all, steroids? And he was all, STEROIDS. And I was all, please don't tell me that this means I'm going to have to start shaving my mustache. Ugh. Jon does not like sharing his razor.

Turns out that this doctor had met his match in Larry, and no amount of tinkering could kick his butt out the front door. In fact, he referred to it as "some keloid," as in, "WOW. THAT IS SOME KELOID YOU'VE GOT THERE." And I was like, are you serious? You mean I have the valedictorian of keloids? Really? Sir, this wasn't exactly a bullet point I had on my life list.

But there you go. Now it's right up there with having my bikini waxer go, dude, you're going to need a bigger boat.

by dooce in Community, Daily

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Featured community question with accompanying warning:. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

Many of you will recognize Cami, one of my dear friends who often sets her hair on fire. She was up in Salt Lake today, and I thought it would be perfect to feature her here since she's responsible for the shirt and blazer I'm wearing in the new video that is up over on HGTV. Back when I lost all the baby weight I took her clothes shopping with me so that I would be forced to try on something other than a sports bra and white t-shirt. She helped me pick out a few dresses, skirts, tops and jeans that I'll be rotating through my wardrobe over the coming year. And oh indeed, is there leopard print in my closet!

by dooce in Daily Photo

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Camilla!. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Johnny Marra, an artist based in Baltimore and genius behind Real_Bot, sent Marlo this custom pair of Converse low-tops, making sure to tug at my heart with the hippo reference. Johnny will take any pair of neglected old tennis shoes and give them new life with his illustrations, which have also been featured in public murals and storefront windows. Love his style, and I can't wait for Marlo to be old enough to knock around in these!

by dooce in Daily Style

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Custom kicks. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Yesterday morning I woke up with a cold, one that hopped out of my chest, landed in Marlo's and woke her up at 4AM this morning in a state that I can only describe as half-screaming, half-coughing, topped with a delicious icing of irrational outbursts. She was a raging fire we could not put out, and every attempt to comfort her caused the muscles in her neck to turn her head in circles. I will admit, about an hour into the flames I thought we could sell her to the traveling circus and she could set up a stall next to the lady whose lower body just happens to be a serpent. She would DAZZLE.

And so all of a sudden our very mild-mannered, smiley baby has become a vicious, object-grabbing bear who every three or four minutes will explode with anger or frustration. We feel like we're living with Bobcat Goldthwait:

I can't believe I'm about to write this because all it will do is invite the Universe to sit down and take a huge crap on the already fragile state of things in this house, but I will take a sick Marlo over a sick Jon or Leta ANY DAY. And I mean that lovingly, in the sense that Bobcat Goldthwait is rather charming and funny and entertaining, in his own maniacal way, and well. How do I put this... when Jon and Leta get sick, it's like saving up your allowance for two years so that you can go to Disney World, only to make the trip and find out the whole park has been replaced with a dentist's office.

Poutsies!

All of that to say, we're holding it together over here! Minus the chest cold and broken tailbone and infant sideshow. So together, in fact, that when Leta looked up at me this morning from the middle of her room in the frantic moments before school, the floor littered with every toy imaginable, and I told her that "there is nothing to play with" was the stupidest thing I had ever heard, she bit her lower lip, rolled her eyes and said, "FINE. I will figure something out, THEN."

OMG, you guys. She's starting to talk like I write.

by dooce in Daily, Leta, Marlo, Parenthood

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as House of cough. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

read more

I know... another photo of Marlo. But I was away from her for three days, and instead of twittering nonstop about how much I missed my baby, you get this instead. Fair trade-off, I think.

by dooce in Daily Photo

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as Not her again. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Now that the news about HGTV is out, I can reveal some of the details about the trip we took to Scripps Networks in Knoxville, TN back in November. One of the many, many lovely people I met (all of whom apologized for the rain) gifted me this miniature Sunsphere, a "266-ft high hexagonal steel truss structure, topped with a 75-ft gold-colored glass sphere that served as the symbol of the 1982 World's Fair."

You have no idea how long I've been waiting to balance this on Chuck's head.

by dooce in Daily Chuck

© Armstrong Media, LLC. All rights reserved. Originally published by Heather B. Armstrong for dooce.com as The Sunsphere. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.