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    First Mommy Needs a Cocktail party ever? Holy CRAP!!! I’m too old for this much fun.

    February 25, 2008

    I remember getting into the limo with The Husband after our wedding (okay, lifting The Husband’s legs into the limo) and thinking, “This was the BEST wedding I have EVER BEEN TO.”

    Saturday night’s Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party?  It was so awesome, it just wasn’t right.  It was almost as fun as my wedding.

    I showed up late because I was trying to find my car keys to give to The Husband.  I drove up the hill to the most gorgeous house with the most gorgeous view.  (I also saw a deer try to jump a fence and not clear the barbed wire, only to bounce back on the road.  That was odd).  We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.  We are in Petroville.

    I stepped into a Mommy Needs a Cocktail heaven.  MNAC was everywhere.  Kimberly is a mommy who needs a cocktail. And who knows how to create a pink Wonderland. Kimberly & Kristen
    MNAC was on a cake, for heaven’s sake (which should now be mandatory for all MNAC parties–it was so cool).  I threw my crap on the table (sorry, Pache) and then Melissa, of Capitol Chocolate Fountain/Post Office fame arrived.  Tell me how often you send out a cheeky twitter and a month later 2 chocolate fountains are on the counter at your very first Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party.  Melissa kept telling people that she was sure I thought she was a stalker.  Let me just say that if you have a stalker, having a stalker who owns 38 chocolate fountains and makes homemade pink marshmallows to dip in the chocolate at your MNACP is the only kind of stalker to have.  We embraced as if we had known each other forever and then she proceeded to set up what became the focal point of the party.  The chocolate was so good I almost stuck my head in it.  She sells it online.  Go and buy some. 


    Then the house was packed.  There were women everywhere.  DC Metro MomsJazzercisers?  You name it.  People had brought tons of food and wine and there were cocktails everywhere.  Someone cracked open the Arbor Mist and it got a little crazy.  I’m just saying.  Lots of people brought stuff to give away and we had a raffle too.  I talked to so many fun women.  I ate too many items dipped in chocolate.  It was only when I looked at the clock on the microwave and read “11:38” that my heart about stopped.  Kimberly was trudging past me and I grabbed her arm.

    K:  How did you think this would go?
    Kimberly:  To be honest?  I thought people would get bored at around 9:30. 
    K: ME TOO!!!

    Uh, no.  Because this party was a Mommy’s Night Out first and foremost, with kick ass stuff to buy.  It helped that Kimberly is the most amazing hostess ever.  And we had two chocolate fountains, for heaven’s sake. We raised $100 from sales to go to Vicky’s Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.  I sold “Underpaid Kept Woman” shirts, a creation of the original Underpaid Kept Woman herself, Susie Sunshine.  I sold “Mommy Needs a Latte” shirts and “Mommy Needs Chocolate” shirts and “Mommy Needs a Margarita” shirts.  I sold “Mommy Needs a Cocktail” Martini Toast tanks in cocktail shakers, just like the ones the celebrities got back at the Boom Boom Baby Room.   Hostess gift structuring went out the window because this party so exceeded anything I had ever imagined.  Kimberly ended up with practically one of every style (plus the Mommy Needs a Vacation tote for the hostess-only).  It was off the hook.  It was so much fun.

    But the best part about it?  Everyone had carpooled.  Everyone was responsible.  I think everyone had a good time.  We talked about dreams and goals and travel and jobs.  We didn’t talk about kids and husbands.  It was refreshing.  Reinvigorating. 

    It was just a really good time.  Wanna see how good

    You should totally have a Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party.  Think about it.

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    The phone is still in ICU, but we get to visit her every two hours

    February 6, 2008

    First of all, I want to thank everyone for the kind emails and comments about the near death of the phone.  I have yet to throw her into the face of someone working at an Apple store, but I think she may get her first flying lesson tomorrow.  It is remarkably difficult to operate a phone that doesn’t have the numbers 4, 5 and 6. 

    Today was quite a day.  The house got cleaned.  Don’t look at me.  That would be Maribel.  The nanny/housecleaner/taskmaster who will be coming twice a week so I can clean my house get things done.

    M:  What’s wrong with you?  We have one more room to clean today.  Are you tired?

    K:  Yeah, I’m tired.  I didn’t sleep last night.

    This I’m telling to a woman who left her house at 3:30 to catch a ride with her husband to get dropped off at my house at 5:30 so her husband could make it to work by 6.  As a matter of fact, I am one lazy ass.  Thank you very much.  6 hours of cleaning my house and I just wanted to lie down on the very clean living room floor and die of a heart attack.  But God forbid we don’t clean the dining room.

    There was one point that she caught me watching Bob the Builder.  Hey, it was that really good episode when they build the well.  It’s fascinating.  But she snapped her fingers and I was off to find a home for the 900 yards of ribbon and 30 lbs. of card stock.  She kept saying that The Husband wouldn’t even recognize the house because it was so clean.  She said he would be confused and turn around to leave.  I said as long as he took the kids with him, that would be okay with me.  Did I do one shirt today?  No.  No, I did not.  I did not make that shirt for your daughter, Ali Landry.  Your daughter will have to wait because there was no making Maribel wait.  She wasn’t tolerating any of that.  She had high hopes when she left today that upon her return on Monday at oh dark thirty, she will find a clean house.  Ha!  If she wanted to see the house clean, she should have taken a picture before she left.

    But thanks to Maribel’s torture, I have a clean house and now The Baby can have a birthday party.  Yay, BABY!!!  So it’s not actually your birthday yet.  Close enough for government work.  Wondering how that whole peer pressure, your brother had 80 photos hanging from the ceiling for his first birthday, is going to go. 

    maybe I could teach the kids how to print pictures between now and Saturday.  Using their powers for good instead of evil.  We’ll give it a whirl. 

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    “Mommy Needs a Cocktail” Parties

    February 1, 2008

    I know.  I’m out of control.  First it was a book.  Now it’s parties.  Hello, Internet.  Kristen is throwing spaghetti on a wall and keeping her eyes peeled to see what sticks.

    Here it is.  How about hosting a Mommy Needs a Cocktail party at your house?  It’s like the Tupperware party of 2008.  Except it’s not plastic.  And not boring.  And there is alcohol involved.  So what happens?  You send out the Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party invite to all your friends.  I send you stuff.  Your friends come.  You all sit around, sipping cocktails.  Talking about anything BUT the children.  Your friends buy Mommy Needs a Cocktail shirts (and lots more MNAC related stuff).  You get free stuff.  Your friends buy a LOT of stuff.  You get A LOT of free stuff.  I send free stuff for you to give away.  You bake a chocolate cake so your friends will love you forever.  You pour yourself a signature Mommy Needs a Cocktail cocktail.  Everyone has a blast. 

    You aren’t a cocktail girl?  Funny, we have Mommy Needs a Beer shirts and Mommy Needs a Glass of Wine shirts.  Chili and beer party?  Wine and Chocolate party?  And don’t tell anyone, but I’m getting ready to roll out Mommy Needs Chocolate, Mommy Needs a Margarita and Mommy Needs a Nanny.  Not like you can have a Nanny party, but you know what I’m saying.  So think it over.  It’s just a suggestion.  A friggin’ AWESOME suggestion.  I think I’m gonna have one myself.  Although frankly, right now, I NEED to have a Mommy Needs a Nanny party.

    What do you say?  Email me at babybrewing at gmail dot com if it sounds like fun and you might want to do it. 

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    I’m so cold

    January 16, 2008

    Maybe it’s the bowl of ice cream I just had.  Really, don’t you just love a bowl of ice cream when it’s 62 degrees in your house and 34 degrees outside?  Those ice cream parlors that close for the winter so the owner can run his snow plow business?  Sissies.

    There’s ice cream in my house.  There is a lot of crap in my house that wasn’t here when I left for LA last Thursday.  How about the three pictures received via I-Phone of The Boy eating chocolate cake ON THE COUCH.  On the couch.  Did I mention he was on the couch?  I know that our couch is trashed since we had kids.  Pee, poop, ground-in Cheerios, pee, vomit, milk, pee.  But chocolate cake?  Really?  Seriously?  Chocolate cake? 

    Three different pictures of The Chocolate Cake Consumption.  Parts I, II and III. Over three days.  Why don’t you just poke my eye with a fondue fork already? 

    How about the hot dogs in the fridge?  Trader Joes nitrate free, but hot dogs nonetheless.  I may have served Chipotle for dinner three nights in a row since I got home but by God, that’s real beef.  Not beef parts.

    “Fruit” snacks.  The only fruit present being the SHAPE of the snack.  Look!  It LOOKS like an orange.  “MOM, CAN I HAVE FRUIT????”  Sure, you can have a banana.  “NO, MOM!!!  FRUIT SNACKS!!”  You may as well just take one of those 3 foot Pixie Stix, boil it down and smoke it through a pipe. 

    Apple juice.  See above.

    Beef jerky.  Which would be fine if they hadn’t bought dog beef jerky that looks just like the people beef jerky.  I’m almost positive it is the same stuff but seriously?  My apologies to The Baby who didn’t seem to notice a difference. 

    All The Boy’s shoes are missing but he does now know how to properly utilized a bottle opener. 

    Maybe I should go away more often.

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    It’s amazing how little there is to talk about at a party when you put your entire life on the internet every day

    January 1, 2008

    I would just like to thank everyone who came to the annual New Year’s Eve shindig at Chateau Cookie this year.  A far cry from years past with 7 course dinners and the mandatory passing of the torch to light up the creme brulee, the guests graciously ate their fingerling potatoes that were either massively overcooked or horribly undercooked, the carrots that tasted like, well, nothing, and the asparagus that was forgotten under the broiler and subsequently had a bit of a puree texture.  Let’s not forgot the Costco cheesecake, shall we?  I would like to say that we would have been dead in the water without the steaks from the grill and the three apps that Danyelle made in 22 minutes when she realized I was screen printing rather than making dinner for the 11 people coming.  The peppercorn sauce for those steaks?  Never thickened properly.  What a nightmare.  I’m thinking that maybe I should have started cooking BEFORE people showed up rather than making screens in the backyard during that 8 minutes of sunlight yesterday.

    It’s not a party until someone bites someone else (Derek asked to try again after his timeout), someone brings up how someone else’s gay ex-boyfriend cried hysterically in the kitchen during a New Year’s past and someone tells a  “can you believe the background investigator asked me if I was a lesbian?” story.  Upon walking through the door, everyone wants to know who has a blog and if they are going to read about their behavior the next day.  (I don’t know why I have this reputation for telling everything on the internet.  It’s not true.  I can’t remember anything that happened 10 minutes ago, let alone yesterday.  If I wasn’t cheating on the blog with Twitter, I don’t think I would ever remember anything).

    It’s not a party until you’ve called someone’s ex-wife’s current husband smarmy and until the children all fight over, shockingly, THE BABY’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT.  You find yourself ready to pass out on the couch at 11:45 but your freelance work is overdue and you are typing as fast as you can into your I-Phone.  Your husband gives you crap for being rude to your guests, only 1/3 who have managed to stick around until the witching hour, only to realize that if you don’t get this one thing done, you aren’t getting paid.  Suddenly he is totally okay with your rudeness.  All the while, The Boy is JUMPING from the ottoman to the couch to the ottoman to the couch to the ottoman to the couch until you think you are going to throw up from either dizziness or the fact that you have been up since 2 a.m.  The Baby?  Crawling back and forth from Tom to Carl.  Carl to Tom.  Tom to Carl.  Carl to Tom.  He’s intermittently trying to pull over the table with the obligatory midnight champagne crystal flutes.  At 11:45 at night.

    It’s not a party until you realize that your children could probably make it to 2 without blinking but you are just glad you are with people you love so you can lie on the couch, doing your freelance work, all while being traumatized that Carson Daly looks exactly like Dick Clark did 70 years ago.

    It’s not a party until things start to get fuzzy and the next day you realize that you offered your backyard for a wedding reception in May and you just hope that dogs aren’t invited.

    It’s not a party until someone spills the red wine and someone else blogs about it.

    crickets.  crickets.

    HAPPY NEW YEAR, Internet.  We have very exciting news over here at Chateau Cookie.  No, I’m NOT PREGNANT.  I promise that if I am, it’ll just be the post title so you don’t have to guess.  The big news will be rolled out next week.  Stay tuned…..

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