Breast is best. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it. We believe you. But please don't call breastfeeding "magical," and please stop smiling like that.

A mother's milk may very well be the "perfect food" but the process sure ain't perfect so let's not pretend it is. Is it nice...

Max James Murphy, you sneaky rascal. How are you growing up so darn fast? You are four years old today. I am in awe.

When people asked how old you were today, you said: "I'm four. And then five and then six...

Oh look, a couple hours of spare time to blog. It was hiding behind the creative brief I brought home from the office, which was behind the dog's dandruff shampoo, which was behind the heap of dirty laundry, which was behind an enormous sign that says YOU'RE F**KED.

As a...

We are of that new order of families whose Sunday routine consists of lazing around in our jammies, eating cereal, and watching movies about space travel. "Church" is just a picture in Max's Little People book.

Yesterday morning (Easter Sunday), while we were visiting my mom at the ol' homestead...

Shoes. You gotta wear 'em to know 'em. Sure, they're comfortable when you're strutting up and down the hallway of your bungalow with your pajama pants pulled up to the knees. Try wearing those pleather suckers on George Street for six hours and see how you feel. You be hobblin'...

Valentine's Day is nigh. And I gotta warn my husband: he's got some competition -- he sleeps in the next room.

I usually like 'em tall, but this guy stands at just three and a half feet. He loves trains, Legos, chocolate milk, and farting in the bathtub.

They say...

2013 -- sounds so space age. But where's my hoverboard, McFly? Why is Earth the only planet I've been to? (I so want to see Uranus.) Where's the cure for cancer already? And why am I still wiping my own ass? Like, GAWD, it's 2013.

Technology has spoiled me rotten....

The other day, over a lunch-time pint, someone asked me to name the number-one thing I absolutely need to be happy.

Now that's a heavy question, but a welcome change from the usual mind-numbing converse of hair and clothes and weight gain and weight loss and money and Christmas shopping...

Christmas. The birth of Jesus. And the crucifixion of your credit card.

In spite of these uncertain economic times, we're spending more than ever on crap for our little crappers. But why? Forget our desperate need for "stuff" and thoughtless overspending, our kids have NO TASTE. In fact, most tots...

I'm a mommy blogger. Naturally, my main subject is my main man, Max Murphy.

But marriage is so intimately tied to motherhood -- you know, if you manage to survive the turbulent toddler years without killing each other -- that my husband often creeps up in my writing. Not unlike...

Max hates potatoes.

He hates 'em baked.

He hates 'em mashed.

He hates 'em french-fried.

Okay that last one's a lie. Damn you, Ronald McDonald.

But the rest is true. He hates virtually all forms of potato. He won't even play with Mr. Potato Head.

But when...

Ah, the glorious Easter story.

They rolled the stone away from the tomb to reveal... a giant Cadbury Creme Egg! Alleluia!

Then they rolled away the egg to reveal... the body of Jesus! Dead? Hell no. He was in a big dirty sugar coma. That's not dried blood on his...

The nurse comes into my room on the maternity floor.

"Did you eat a lot of fruit today?" she asks with a curious smile.

"Ummm, no?"

My three-day-old jaundiced son was in an incubator down the hall and Florence Frightengale here was talking about apples and oranges!?

She...

It's 2012. Sounds so space age, doesn't it?

As a child in the '80s, I used "2012" in my short stories as that far-off, fictional year when humans would be colonizing Jupiter and driving hoverboards like Marty McFly.

Instead, here we are, only slightly altered since last year,...

How do you prevent a mommy blogger from ringing in the new year in head-to-toe flannel, scraping chocolate out of her spacebar with the label from a bottle of cheap wine while she updates her Facebook status to: The first person to bring me...

I'm looking at Max lying in the bathtub, lying on his belly, his cute little arse cheeks nipped together like an angry muffin.

"Drink water," he says as he takes a gulp and grins, his upper lip sporting a thick bubble-stash.
"Drink water, drink water..."

He repeats it...