and the chef is no Brad Pitt (although this one time this crazy ass stoned hipster told him he looked like Papa Pitt) but we sure do make the best looking babies ever.
My little doll baby Lou
Rock -n- Tot is, quite simply, an afternoon of fun. You can come as soon as doors open and be the last to leave, OR come for just an hour or two.
Rock -n- Tot is for families with kids ages birth through twelve. We promise that the adults will have just as much fun as the kiddos! Everyone is invited (older siblings, babysitters/nannies, grandparents, etc.), but an adult MUST be accompanied by a child!!
Non-walkers are free ... everyone else must have a ticket.
| Rock -n- Tot is . . . VIP |
 | The Dance Floor . . . |
| Our DJs play great music (no "kid" music here, just clean lyrics and a great beat) and encourage everyone to get their booties shakin. We add in scarves and egg shakers to help kickstart the dancing. | |
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| The Lounge . . . |
| When you just need to get away from it all, check out The Lounge! Stuffed to the brim with toys, puzzles, and books. Best of all, it is in a separate location from the dance floor, rejuvenate yourself and the kids here! | |
| | Crawlers Only . . . |
| We know that the little ones who aren't yet walking, sometimes need their own play place, without fear of the bigger kids! Bring your pre-walkers here for some quiet time! | |
| | The Cool Kids . . . |
| We know that sometimes the older crew needs to feel appreciated too! Stay tuned for details on how Rock -n- Tot is cool for your pre-teens too! | |
| | Parent Services . . . |
| Services will vary month to month, but may include - mini-massages, paraffin wax dip, eyebrow waxing, golf pro tutoring - just to name a few! These services are complimentary for parents, we just ask that you consider tipping the folks that have graciously offered these services to you! If they don't feel the love, they won't come back! | |
| | Nursing Coves . . . |
| For nursing moms, know that we appreciate your need for privacy. There are areas designated for you and your baby to nurse in peace. | |
| | Changing Stations . . . |
| Let's face it, bums must be changed! We offer sanitary stations in which to comfortably diaper those bums. | |
| | Giveaways . . . |
| You will NOT believe the giveaways we have for you! Our favorite products and supplies have been graciously handed over to us, specifically so that we can pass along the greatness to YOU! | |
| | Goody Bags . . . |
| Each family walks away with a fantastic goody bag filled with . . . well, you'll have to wait and see! | |
| | The List . . . |
| You will not receive tickets via mail. Please bring with you a photo ID, as well as your printed ticket receipt. You will be required to show ID at the door and your family's name will be contained on "The List", to which door security will have access. | |
| | Parking . . . |
| Valet parking is available for a reasonable fee. Self-park spots are available on nearby streets. | |
| | Refreshments |
| Juiceboxes and kid-friendly snacks are provided by Rock -n- Tot. Please remember to bring any necessary items such as bottles, sippy cups, wet wipes, etc. The bar is open (cash or plastic) for those parents not driving, who wish to have a drink. | |
Being married to a Chef tends to take it's toll on weekends. He works three days straight and I am a single mom. It especially digs deep when I happen to fall ill, like I am right now. I have a virus and zicam ain't cutting it. The kids are fine but all I want to do is lay in bed, watch 90210 reruns, and drink enough Hot Toddy's to knock my congested ass out. Ahh to dream...
but HERE WE GO! Nobody likes full price right?
I've never really seen myself as a moms. At least up until now. Before when I was solely mother to the boy, the whole mom thing never came up. I was still just Amelia but with a really awesome cool kid that hung out with me. I thought of myself as Amelia+1. But that all changed with the birth of Lou.
I wasn't aware how momlike I was until my BFF & I ventured to our ten year high school reunion this past weekend. It was there that I was congratulated on my momness and all that came with it. People who I used to smoke cigarettes with in my high school bathroom almost seemed proud & astounded that I was an actual mom. It was really fucked up. Not to mention lame and boring and held at a shitty sports bar in Lakewood. But that's besides the point...
As I write this post, I know for a fact that I am a mom. Two kids won't let you get a way with just being you + two. I am in the trenches of momdom. Between the diapers and the poop and the baby wearing there's not much Amelia left. She's in there and she comes out after a few glasses of wine but right now there is just mom. And I am good with that. I am great with that. I actually treasure it. It makes me go crazy and insane and my big ol' boobs are ruining my back but I dig it. Everyday I get to hang out with these really amazing kids that I created (with some help of course, thank you chef). I get to act like a kid and I melt every time Catcher says "I lub vu too. "
Although I admit that I could really use a day at the spa or a week in St. Barth's. Soon. Really soon. Really really soon. Like tomorrow soon. 
I just found a new read my friends and the first post I read was awesome...
Here's a blurb from my new fave Waiter Rant:
"I’m at the dog park with Buster, my joint custody pooch. It’s the first cold day of the year. The late afternoon sun’s pushing long shadows out of the trees, rolling darkness across the bright leaves covering the ground. I shiver slightly. I’m glad I wore a winter coat."
Read the rest of this well written post about overprotective parenting here.
If it wasn't for the Chef, I would still be holding strong on my Thanksgiving Day protest. But the man can cook and I am a sucker for yummy sleep inducing food.
I also like the idea of giving Thanks for all that we are & all that we have, however I do not like the fact that the day invokes a history forgotten. We all seem to have forgotten about the cholera blankets and genocide.
I guess the title should really be 'How come the chef I promised myself to for LIFE doesn't listen to a damn thing I say?'
Seriously all day today I have been quite accommodating to that husband of mine. I let him sleep all night long both Friday and Saturday nights and then I let him take naps and watch football all day long. So how come when I ask him one simple thing he does the exact opposite?
It was so so so so simple. All I asked, is that he abstain from running our dishwasher tonight and let it go on the 4 hour delay. You see the thing about our house is that if you use all the appliances at once there will be no water for my shower or perhaps no water for the two week old baby girl's bath.
Well ladies & gents...he paid no attention to little ole' me and started it immediatley after I turned it on delay. I did not wig out, I explained the situation calmly and turned the dishwasher off again. Then I fed the girl.
That was a half hour ago (NOT 4 hrs. ago). I walked into the kitchen/living room/playroom to post and low and behold the gd*mn muthatruckin' dishwasher is on. You see the chef thought I said that the dishwasher wouldn't work in four hours and that's why he turned it on again. I want to kill him.
I kid. I kid.
I used to love chain letters back in the seventh grade.
Today I was brought back to a simpler time when Scott Weiland was still a heroin addict, Shannon Hoon was still alive, and I was rockin' Doc Marten combat boots with my burgundy plaid school uniform. I opened the mail and was delighted to read this:
Am I gonna do it?
Not a chance in hell am I going to send $1.00 to six people and then buy a list for $40 and then mail it to 200 other people. F that. I know that I am passing up on $800,000 but that is just WAY too much work. It's bad enough that I spent five minutes scanning the damn letter just so you peeps could reminisce with me.
I have been trying to sit down and collect my thoughts since Monday but it hasn't happened until now. What is it Wednesday? How time flies when you have two kids. Pretty soon I'll be forty and barefoot on my front porch in the bayou.
Monday was tough. I think I came down with a case of the baby blues. Never happened with Catcher so it took me by surprise. I could not stop crying. All day. I cried in the car. I cried in the bathtub. I cried while I was nursing. I cried while I was sleeping. And then I woke up Tuesday morning happy as a lark.
Really I did. Everything was good again. It was so strange and the poor chef had to deal with it all day thinking he did something wrong. I read in all the baby books that it happens but I just couldn't imagine it happening to me. I wasn't sad about my family. I am ecstatic about our new family, though trying it may be. So when I couldn't figure out why I was a basket case I got freaked out. Lord knows I didn't want to turn into Britney's postpartum depressed ass. Harsh...but girl deserves it.
Today rolls around and my saint of a husband took the boy to the German sausage maker and singing class so I could get a moment alone with the girl. Or actually a chance to clean my filth ridden house. Never happened because the girl stayed awake and on my ginormous boob all morning and by the time she went down (5 minutes ago) all I could think of was posting on my dear blog. The cleaning can begin after...
On another note, the Festivus party is in the works. More to come as soon as I stop this post and start organizing it.
I must say that being a chef's wife, a mom to two kids, and an aspiring writer/entrepreneur/champagne sommelier (seriously if I ever figure out how) can be intense and overwhelming. Thank god for yummy beverages made from grapes...
Catcher's woman came by and the two kiddies destroyed our entire house within a matter of minutes. They also got naked within the first five minutes of seeing each. Could this be a sign of what's to come?
Here's the thing about Cleveland. People want a cool city but they are so damn scared of leaving the comfort of their bullshit suburb that the city implodes. Crime rises because poor people can't pay taxes to employ enough police. The economy sucks cause everybody leaves. The arts and entertainment industry can't produce enough publicity nationwide so tourism does not exist. The food is great yet no one knows because the can't pass up the TGIFriday's $13.99 prefix menu.
Can you tell something/one pissed me off?
How hot can one man be? Really David Bowie...you really look this good when getting busted for pot?
If you've got oodles of cash and interested in buying this one of a kind mugshot, email this guy.
band is the PLASTISCINES and this is my new favorite song Bicyclette Nouvelle.
French rocks chicks are badass.
Thank you Goldenfiddle.
I think I have got this two kid thing down to a science. Basically Louisiana is on my boob all day & all night and I nap when Catcher naps. It's that simple people. If I knew it was gonna be this easy...
NOT
So little Lala is quite the eater. WAY more than the boy. She wakes up every hour to feed and sometimes that's not enough. It is absolutely insane. Even when she is napping she still wants the option of food available. Basically I am wearing her in a sling so I can still hang with the Catcher or I am laying in bed with both my ladies out for her convenience. It's all very attractive and I can't say that I have ever felt more sexy.
PLEASE NOTE SARCASM
Other than my boobs constantly hanging out all day, I feel pretty good about our fam. The Chef has been amazing working crazy hours so he can be with us for a portion of the day. He takes the boy to singin' class (which I know he is not a fan of) and even takes him into the restaurant to go cook chefing. The boy loves it.
I must say that the Chef handles me & my psychosis fairly well. The past nine months have proved this and now I am finally catching up to the fact that no other person on this earth would have stuck around (except maybe Brad Pitt, as it seems he probably takes a bit of shit from Angelina).
I know that I am really hard. I have never denied this. The chef has always known what a mega bitch I am. In high school, he compared me to Rose McGowan's character in the movie Jawbreaker. Of course now he denies that he ever said that but I remember. My memory regarding the Chef is flawless.
Dude knew, then and now what he was getting himself into. He married a bitch, prego or not, and it seems that he is cool with it. Which is amazing because sometimes I want to leave my ass.
Even now, after Lala Louisiana has left my uterus the effects of my hormones are still lashing out at him. Deep down I don't mean to be so awful but it keeps happening. One second we will be laughing and flirting like we just went to third base and the next minute I'll say something shitty and it's downhill from there. The amazing thing is that the chef actually understands it and he even tells me so. He fucking rocks. Hormones do not.
One more thought...
The thing that I keep obsessing over with the chef is how he looks. In the delivery room he wore a black wife beater and jeans. An outfit I normally would approve of. But for some reason all I could see was Prisoner 8976548. Then in the past couple of days he has been rockin' this long sleeve shirt but turned inside out. Again normally I wouldn't give a fuck. I like scruffy scrubby guys. I always have. The scruffier the better. If you look like you just got back from a two year stint living in a tent I am probably going to look your way. I think it stems from my past obsession with grunge. I grew up when Kurt Cobain was a god and Chris Cornell was the hottest guy out there. So why now do I want the chef to look different than what I like and am attracted to. When I look of pics of him I think he looks super dead sexy but for some reason when he is in front of me I give him shit.
It's all in the hormones man. They can make a girl turn preppy. Hahahah...just kidding...no way is that gonna happen.
I think my chi or my balance or whatever the fuck it's called is messed up. Maybe I need a good 'ol rock show or maybe I just need a drink.
Mingle2 - Chicago Singles
