Hair of the Bloody Dog

After Halloween haunts you with a hangover, mix up a batch of these to squash your ache and pains. When the kids start crying at 6am on Sunday, you are going to need some Sexy help...until you can nap that afternoon. Here's to tricking your treats...

The Classic Bloody Mary

• 1 quart tomato juice
• 1 cup vodka
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
• 1/2 teaspoon Tabasco Sauce
• lime slices
• celery stalks (optional)
• add a dash of top shelf tequila for an extra kiss of death
• top with a jumbo shrimp

2 Fridges, 1 Cup

I am fridge whore. I love them. So much that I have two. It is the only place I am organized. Every time one is opened it is like looking into a magazine; all labels facing outward, rows organized by type and purpose, leafy greens bursting from the drawers. The garage fridge is for the booze and overflow of Baby's milk, juice and yogurts...we haven't grabbed the wrong item yet! 

I feel overcome with joy when I look into my fridge, like I am doing something as a mother that at least looks pretty and right. 

My problem is that we are moving for the winter. Into a rental that has, gasp, One. Tiny. Fridge. 

 I am frozen with fright as I try to imagine a world where I have to take stuff out to get to the mustard squished way in the back between the Double Shot and goat cheese, that I actually forgot was back there because I can't see it. I start double buying things because I don't know they are there, the beer is warm because the milk gets first refusal, and I can't find what smells so bad! I get so frustrated that I stop going in there altogether, we start eating take out every night and become the typical family they find rotted in front of reruns of MASH. 

At least we will be there for the winter...I can make an igloo in the back and all the neighbors will have Fridge Envy once again. 

I NEED to Pee

My friends know by now that my bladder is small. Road trips are a nightmare: I try to hold it in, rhythmically rocking like Rain Man, trying to pretend I am really into the music, until someone glances at my sweaty hands that are also bleeding from my nails and asks, "Oh, do you have to pee?" This ritual repeats itself every 30 minutes or so. When I substitute taught it was horrible. How do you leave a classroom of kids alone so you can run to the teacher's lounge and go? No one briefed me on that. 

Post-baby my bladder isn't smaller, but the muscles are quite weak and the lovely advice, "Just hold it" doesn't work. By the time I say, "I have to pee," I have already peed. 

I used to carry extra panties in the car in case I got lucky. Now I carry them in case I get caught behind a bus.

My UnSexy Naptime today: I had to go to Babies R Us to get another Pack and Play. We pulled into the lot and I had to go so badly that making it into the store wasn't an option. If I even thought about lifting Baby out of his seat--Game Over. 

I have started carting a Thermos around with me for such purposes. I pity the one who someday uses that for tea. It holds about 20 oz, which I have found to be perfect. I have it down so passersby have no idea what is going on. I back my seat up, wiggle the pants down, schooch bum to edge of seat, go, redress and dump the contents no the asphalt, all while singing to Baby in the backseat. 

Today however, as I was raising the mug, it hit my thigh and half of it dumped all over my legs and arm. OMG. It was vitamin pee as well. 

No extra pants or shirt, but I had to go into the store. Since my son is very cute he draws lots of attention. Whenever an admirer leaned in to compliment his eyelashes, they would quickly back away, "Ooopsy, SOMEONE needs a diaper change." 

Thank god he is too little to rat me out. I can only imagine what he would say. 

Flushing out the Period Panties

No matter how sexy the Victoria's Secret models look wearing giant cotton panties, the truth is very few of us can carry that look off. They are like the sushi of panties--better left to the pros. Yet, over the past few years, those horrible square items have smothered my Hanky Pankys and have become the default garment much to the dismay of, well, everyone.  

Most girls have a few hidden pairs of worn, shabby underpants they reserve for "that time of the month." After a good long bleach bath, they are hidden from god until the next time of the month. But to let them overtake the lingerie drawer is a tragic state that I have let happen. 

So today's Sexy Naptime tip is to pick out a few pairs to save for the dark days and burn the rest. 

Massive Grannie panty lines is something no one deserves to be forced to look at. Should we feel the need to get tons of "suck it in" coverage, that is why Spanx were invented...also something never to be caught walking around the house in! Your lover will move into the guest room after that visual. 

G2GUL Friday!

Annnnnnd it is Guaranteed to Get U Laid Friday! The best day of the week because...well, it works! 

We always include some sexy recipe to make for your lover but we are also going to start The Un-Sexy Tip of the Week segment on Fridays. 

TODAY'S UNSEXY TIP OF THE WEEK: Talking about or eating in public any sort of yogurt whose main goal is to make you go poop is NOT sexy!!

Very Sexy Cocktail RELATED LINKS 5 Cool Cocktails Ingredients: 1-1/2 oz. Belvedere Cytrus Vodka  3/4-oz. Marie Brizard Cassis de Bordeaux  1-1/2 oz. fresh lemon sour  Moet White Star Champagne  marinated wild berries Directions: Marinate raspberries and blackberries for 6 hours in superfine sugar and Grand Marnier.  Make simple syrup by dissolving an equal amount of granulated sugar in boiling water (i.e., 2 cups sugar dissolved in 2 cups boiling water) and then allow to cool. Store in a clean bottle in a cool place. To make fresh lemon sour simply mix 2 parts fresh, filtered lemon juice with 1 part simple syrup. Add a teaspoon of egg white to each drink for a creamy head.  Place cocktail glasses in the freezer to chill (this can also be accomplished by filling them with ice and water).  In a 16 oz. mixing glass add fresh lemon sour, Cassis and Belvedere Cytrus. Add ice and shake until well blended.  Strain into a chilled cocktail glass with marinated berries, top with 1/2-oz. chilled Champagne.

Arouse the Senses...all 8 of them

In Kindergarten, the whole year is spent smelling (some awful things no doubt), feeling (after a lesson on "above the waist only, dear), tasting (oooh, not off the floor!!) etc. After we are 5, it seems we spend less time on percolating the senses and that is a shame, because when they are all firing, we get some lovely responses. 

When we are dating, or in lust with someone, we also spend more time activating our sensual beings: the sun shines more brightly, music has more meaning, everything tastes better...It is a sad thing to let lapse, so today's Sexy Naptime is to spend 15 minutes getting back in touch with at least 3 senses at once. 

For my listening pleasure, I am going to play Love and Liberte by the Gipsy Kings. This so is so sexy. I can actually feel the hands of a Spanish lover on me as we tango...of, course I am also an amazing dancer in this fantasy. 

While I am being lured across the dance floor, I am enjoying a cup of Tulsi's Rose Tea. Yes, I am that coordinated. How is drinking the light essence of a rose not one of the most romantic things you can enjoy on a misty afternoon? I know there is a Zen rule: When drinking tea, just drink tea...but for my purpose, you can expand your horizons and multi-task. 

For my third component, I am wearing this incredible purple boa-esque scarf that I treated myself to from Neiman's. When my son had it draped over his shoulders, it seemed almost pimpish, but alone it is thousands of tickely fingers around my neck. 

Fifteen minutes, that's all it takes to reconnect with those sensual beings we have buried and neglected for mopping and laundry...enjoy.

Detox Your Box

I received an email about a charity event coming up called "Detox your Toybox." I assume it is to donate under-used toys. Though funny how when faced with parting with a truck that hasn't been touched in months, all of a sudden it is Baby Boy's "most favorite." Cleaning out clutter is a wonderful way to spend a Sexy Naptime--or twelve--you can wear the frilly outfit if it makes you feel better. 

This is the first week that I have been Maid-Free. The word Maid is probably very un-PC and conjures up wonderful images of a uniform clad English woman waking me up with an espresso served in a vintage demitasse each morning.

Our "maid", whom I was allowed to hire when I preggo since (allegedly) the smell of chemicals make me sick, actually made the house messier. Her slogan was, "I won't sweep it under the rug." That is true--mainly because she never moved a rug or chair or anything. She was the master of cleaning around things. I had to clean up before she came and again after she left--and I never got coffee out of the deal. And over the past few months she started bringing along her 78-year old mother "to help" but I found her asleep in the guest room twice! At least she was sleeping and not Option B. 

But it was someone to help out and I never complained. However, a year and a half after giving birth, Darling Husband called me out on the waste of money since as far as he could tell, if the smell of tequila didn't make me sick, why would Windex?

So today finds me cleaning the house. Yet apparently she took all of our cleaning supplies because all I could find was an old bottle of Resolve. Yay! Target trip tomorrow!

Since I can't Detox the Toybox so to speak, let's talk about Detoxing the other Box, which is probably no less underused and filled with cobwebs. 

Our dear Vaginas. They are crying out for some seasonal cleaning. Google searching "How to Cleanse Your Vagina" actually tells one not to douche, especially as a form of birth control since it can push the spermies further into the vagina. (A fun tip to save for when you ARE trying to get preggo.) 

But as we all know appearances are the key to the sex game, so make a reservation to get a Brazilian. Don't even tell your lover what you are plotting--the reaction is half of the fun. And wah-wah no they don't hurt that bad. Heaven's woman--you squeezed a baby out of there!

Plus, as we all know, beauty is pain--and that little trip to Rio is so worth it. 

Child Proofing Makes You THIN

I have been exaggerating for months that my son can walk.

At almost 18-months old he crawls faster than most golf carts, but he

shows little to no interest in being a biped.

I wasn’t pushing him into it; I rather enjoy the killer biceps (on the left arm anyway) from lugging

around a 26-pounder.
Two nights ago however, Baby Boy got up and walked across the room

like he had never done

otherwise.

Darling Husband and I looked at each other not with gleaming pride

but the

exhausted horror in knowing that we finally

had to baby proof.
We dusted off the child proof kit we purchased when we heard moms brag that

"My Darling

started walking at 9 months! He didn't even crawl!"

Knowing Baby Boy was way more brilliant and physically advanced

than these crabs we

bought the kit that guaranteed he wouldn't open a cabinet or door until he was 10.

Yet, as the months ticked by and he stayed eye level with the dog,

we forgot about the kit and started coming up with white lies about all

the crazy things he

was getting into now that he was “officially” a walker.

“Yes, I’m right there with you Sara,” my eyes darting around the room for objects

that might hold appeal to a toddler.

“If I had a nickel for every time I have to pry the faux Ming Dynasty tureen

from his sticky little grasp.”

Now the lies were back to haunt us.

The first red flag should have been that we couldn't even open

the damn package.

I ended up slitting my wrist across the angry plastic covering as

Darling Husband stormed

off to get the box cutter.

Hours later we had baby proofed everything in the house.

Unfortunately, when all

we wanted

to do was celebrate with a margarita, we couldn't figure out how to

remove

the fancy lock from the liquor cabinet.

The next morning, I forgot the fridge and freezer doors

were locked together and

their combined force slammed into my forehead when I went in for milk.

My mother-in-law was locked out and the dog was locked in.

No one could unlatch the toilet lid locks resulting in some humiliated

dinner guests.

We had adult-proofed the damn house while my son could

easily still slip his small wrist

into the cabinet to crank the

volume on the stereo and slide underneath the gate blocking entry to the kitchen.

He held much glee in our panicked faces as he dumped the slimy dog water, yet again,

over his head.

After a few days of starving and peeing on the floors, we removed (with force)

all the baby proofing gizmos.

So we didn't feel too negligent, I grabbed a thick Sharpie and

wrote "WATER" over all the Vodka and Gin bottles.

At least now it's Grandpa-Proofed.

Ladies who Brunch

A Mother must have invented Brunch. What a perfect concept: early enough to still be (somewhat) awake but no one judges you for drinking vodka with your eggs. You just can't do that on a Tuesday. 

G2GUL Friday!

It is Guaranteed 2 Get U Laid Friday! In honor of Gourmet Magazine, which is sadly ceasing publication next month, here is a recipe that (trust me) will dazzle the carnivore in your life. Make it wearing a negligee and you will be set for the week. 

Steak Sandwiches With Tomato Pesto

Gourmet 

2 garlic cloves, chopped

6 tablespoons olive oil

1/3 cup drained bottled dried tomatoes packed in oil

1/3 cup packed fresh basil leaves

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

1 pound sliced medium-rare steak (about 2 cups)

eight 1/2-inch slices sourdough bread, toasted lightly

In a small saucepan cook garlic in oil over moderately low heat, stirring, until softened and cool.

In a small food processor or blender purée tomatoes, basil, oil mixture, and vinegar until pesto is smooth.

In a bowl toss steak with half of pesto and spread remaining pesto on bread.

Divide steak among 4 bread slices and top with remaining 4 slices.

Hunter Orange is the New Black

When we adopted our dog recently, it was just the excuse I needed to go for daily walks and widdle down the muffin top. I had visions of early morning jogs with pooch and baby, evening walks with tea, our strolls silhouetted against the Harvest Moon. 

Then it rained for two weeks. Then my sneakers (that I've had since 1998) completely collapsed. Then one of the "jogging stroller" tires went flat. 

But that was nothing compared to what my husband tossed in my general direction as I was  ordering a leash that goes around my waist; no more choosing over carrying my phone or wine. 

It was a hat. A BRIGHT ORANGE itchy looking hat. 

"Darling," I said through clenched teeth. "What a sweet thought. However, that, um, particular color isn't in my palate of flattering..."

"It is so you don't get shot," he mumbles over Megan Fox magazine that I apparently didn't shove deeply enough into the recycling bin. 

So, I don't get SHOT? When did we move to Compton?

Apparently, in the 300 beautiful acres behind our house, people go back there and shoot at the deer and bunnies and eagles and all the citizens of the living zoo I planned on homeschooling Darling Boy in several months of the year. 

This color looks good on nobody. But Darling Husband had a point that is better than being mistaken for a buck, getting shot in the face, stuffed and hung over some redneck's bricked-in fireplace. 

Hunting season has begun and today, after catching Dog eating about 45,000 calories of cookies, I donned than damn hat and went for a walk. I was so uncomfortable the whole time. I couldn't put my finger on it until 3 miles later, I realized my thong was on sideways. 

Well-Dressed Business Woman, Take One

Two weeks ago, I auditioned to be in a commercial for the local jetport. I read for the role of "Mother Taking Children to Disney World." I ended up with the part of "Well-Dressed Business Woman." Since, having never been a business woman, and if you read yesterday's entry, I am no longer well-dressed, finding an outfit as well as channeling this character was a challenge. 

Today's biz culture is all about Casual Friday and teleconferencing, so I figured as long as I looked appropriate from the waist up, I was golden. I managed to find a somewhat pressed Pink shirt and Banana Republic linen blazer. I didn't want to wear a skirt because A) who flies wearing a skirt? B) I hadn't waxed my legs nor spray tanned and I wasn't going to be on TV looking like an albino porcupine. 

As I was getting my make-up done, the director came in to "approve my wardrobe." He took one look at me and asked what other options I brought. My instinct was to tell him that since the advent of TiVo, no one watches commercials anyway so as long as I looked decent in fast-forward mode, I was fine with that. Rather, I blinked deliberately and said, "Oh, has my girl not brought the rack in yet? She must be held up at security."  

 The only "could potentially pass for work pants" I had were way too big, so I had, McGruber style, custom tailored them with a clever rigging including duct-tape. This was fine until the sound guy attempted to fit my microphone pack onto the waist band and witnessed a small landslide of bobby pins. 

My scene was shot as I sat at the airport bar (realistic), reading the Wall Street Journal (unrealistic), drinking plain iced tea (very unrealistic). I told them I would feel more genuine drinking gin, as I usually do when frequenting airport bars, but my requests were ignored. So much for method acting. 

I read my lines flawlessly and was done in time to get home before naptime was over. If only all those bobby pins taped to my ass hadn't set off the metal detector I would probably be home right now finishing off a gin martini rather than sitting here trying to convince security I have no grand plans with all the bits in my pants.

Giant Pile of Shirt

As mothers we wear lots of different hats--chef, cleaning lady, teacher, kiddie stylist, lady of the night...In doing so, we tend to neglect everything from the brow on down. Today's Sexy Naptime tip is to start gutting your closets and drawers. I finally dumped everything on the floor and forced myself to sift. I have shirts from college that I didn't wear then, so heaven knows what I am clinging to. My plan is to keep and toss in a 1 to 1 ratio. 

Those giant yellow Planet Aid bins everywhere makes it easier to part with stuff. I keep telling myself those cute African kids NEED my old Polo tees and LL Bean sweaters. A lot of the things I have are slutty frocks from my husband searching days. Even with all the nostalgia attached to my white spandex pants, they are heading to Kenya. Maybe it will inspire Madonna to adopt the 13-year old that gets them. 

I love XCVI's linen pants. They are sexy while being user friendly. I was wearing them the other day with a black tunic and my mother, who used to tell me I dressed like a French hooker (at least I was European), said, "It is so nice to finally see you dressing like a mother."

Whaaaaaat? Sorting through my mountain of clothes now, I see I have indeed started wearing things that don't even know what "Dry Clean Only" means. And I love, love fashion. I watch The Rachel Zoe Project like it is porn. But I can't be spending hundreds of dollars on clothes every season when we have college to pay for. I will say, when my brilliant Baby gets a full scholarship to Dartmouth, I am flying straight to Paris and Milan and blowing his American Funds account on Chanel and Stella McCartney. 

So as I part with bags of clothes, I am starting to feel cleansed. From my old life, I am keeping all my shoes and bags, a classic St. John LBD, crisp white shirt, some vintage cocktail dresses and my Hudson wide legs jeans--classics. Everything else doesn't fit in with finger painting, family hikes and bathing the dog. I am now 95% "off the rack" 

If all this means I am finally dressing like a mom, I hope it is one that can still channel her inner French prostitute so she can justify keeping her Christian Louboutin shoes--I don't think the Planet Aid people would quite know where to send those. 

Make Love, Not Bread

Isn't Fall such a sexy season? You can find an exact match of the leaves' vibrancy in several shades of OPI nail polish, the crisp air keeps the nips at attention and the cold nights are perfect for sexy snuggles. 

It's a theory. 

Darling Husband has been having an affair with a nasty cold so the nights of late have been filled with minty oils and wet wads of tissues--and not for the reasons one would hope. Last night I was climbing the walls needing some a-ten-schee-on, but the hocking and sneezing was keeping us as close as Jon and Kate. 

The madness drove me to the kitchen where I found an outlet for my ignored passions: bread. Something about this time of year has me nesting in a way. Right now, Baby Boy is napping to a blend of (a new batch of) bread in the bread machine, garlicky pork loin in the slow cooker and apple cake in the oven. 

So last night, at 10pm, I decide I am going to make bread. From scratch. Screw the bread machine! That is for rookies! I am going to make a big, stunning loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. It feels so Little House on the Prairie as I assemble the ingredients, punch the silky dough and cover the bowl with an embroidered cloth. By now it is close to 11 pm and I am way too tired to sit for god know how long as the dough "roughly doubles in size."

There is something else I want to roughly double in size and bread is not it. 

As much as I hate to waste food, I scrape the contents of the bowl into the trash. I grab a mask and hope I can catch him before the Nyquil kicks in. 

(I didn't)

So fast forward to this morning. 6:30 am. Go down to get Baby Boy his bottle and go to throw away a magazine with Megan Fox on the cover that keeps appearing in the bed and....what the fuck is THAT??

A giant gooey monster is crawling from the trash. Its long shiny fingers have pried the lid open and are creeping its way across the floor. I am so horrified I can barely move. What is it? What is....OMG. 

The dough I had carelessly tossed away last night gets the last laugh. It had easily multiplied by 5,400 and swelled to fill a better part of the bin. 

Huh. 

At that moment Darling Husband comes downstairs excited at the prospect of toast but I cut him off at the door and take him upstairs for a check up. 

It's G2GYL Friday!

Best day of the week. Every Friday I post a recipe to make tonight that is Guaranteed 2 Get You Laid. At the end of the day, the biggest aphrodisiac for a man is an amazing meal made by his sexy chef. After a long, hard week I know it is easy to order a za, flop down with Netflix and pass out by 8. But that ain't helping get the sexy back. These recipes are designed to be easy and delicious leaving time for all the...dessert. 

I read a study a few months ago that concluded if a couple goes for more than two weeks without having The Sexy, certain chemicals in the brain stop being produced and the two of you start falling into "roommate" status. By keeping up the naked relations, the chemicals keep you seeing each other through the rose-colored glasses so dishes left in the sink and his mixing Baby's $6.00 organic juice with vodka doesn't matter as much. 

The following recipe is vegetarian, but everyone I have ever made it for begs for a copy of it...after they try and violate me that is. It is that delicious/effective. 

The ingredient today that is a known aphrodisiac is BASIL. How does smelling that sweet spice not get you wanting to romp in an Italian vineyard?

Assemble this during naptime and pop in the oven 30 mins before dinner. Serve with a big red wine, crunchy bread and a crisp green salad. 

3 TBSP EVOO, more for brushing

3 med zucchini sliced lengthwise 1/4 inch thick

2 long, narrow eggplants, peeled and sliced lengthwise

Sea Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 large shallot, minced

1 lb plum toms cut into 1/2 inched dice

3 oz crumbled Feta

1/4 cup shredded fresh basil

1/3 Panko

1. Preheat oven to 425. Oil 2 large rimmed baking sheets. Put the zucchini slices on one sheet, eggplant on other. Brush all over with EVOO and season with S/P. Bake 15 mins until tender

2. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat 2 TBSP EVOO. Add shallot and cook over med heat until softened, abt 3 mins. Add the toms and cook over high heat until slightly soft and bubbling, 1 min or so. Season S/P. 

3. Oil a large shallow baking dish. Lay half of the eggplant in the dish and spread 1/4th of the toms on top. Scatter with 1/2 of the feta and basil. Layer half of the zucchini on top, followed by another 1/4 of the toms and remaining fets, basil and eggplant. Top with remaining toms and feta. Mix the panko crumbs with 1 TBSP EVOO and sprinkle over the top. Bake in the upper third of the oven for 20 mins until bubbling and crisp. Let stand for 5 mins before serving. 

Whine Pairings

Today's Sexy Tip is to always have a fabulous stock of champagnes, wines and other liquid treats stocked in your cellar. You never know when an impromptu need for a Kir Royal will call. Don't you dare grab Yellow Tail either! I am talking labels that will equate your mood with silky sheets and barely there nighties. I know it is challenging with kids to separate sippy cups from Chardonnay, so here is a primer that uses your child's moods to dictate what you should be pouring. 

For when your little one is in perfect, giggly, happy, snuggly moods:

The natural choice here is a Perrier Jouet Rose Fleur de Champagne. This champagne is the reason champagne exists. Each effervescent sip mirrors how you are as a parent during these golden moments: graceful, sophisticated and elegant (plus, it’s pink!). Dust off the crystal wedding flutes and reward yourself for raising a Stepford Child.

                        For missed naps/teething/gas when Baby is slightly fussy and just wants to be held: Keep in mind this has to be consumed with one hand, so skip the Cosmos or anything in a triangular vessel. I recommend Sangria or White Wine Spritzer. The point here is the fruit. Since Baby is in close proximity, you can use this as a teachable, as well as a comforting, moment. “See Mommy suck on her oranges and lemons and limes? Mmmm, vitamin C is goooood.”

                        For those terrible nights when Baby just won’t sleep no matter how you bounce, swing or sway: Listen to your own advice here—warm milk does wonders for you and Babykins…yours just has the added benefit of kaluha and amaretto. Let’s call it the White Fussin’.

                        For the Mach 5 temper tantrums in confined areas when you actually have the fleeting thought of leaving Baby at the next rest stop (I said fleeting): the only choice here is down-and-dirty-do-it-quick airport-size bottles of anything. Except the Godiva Liquors…they are too sweet and foofy for this.

                        For those times when Baby Daddy is making you crazy: there is actually a drink called The Black Widow (remember from high school science—black widows eat their mates). It is a rather nasty sounding combo of whiskey, amaretto and chartreuse with a Tobasco topper. This is probably something you would trick him into drinking while you cut up more limes for your Sangria.

                       

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Out with the Old, in with the Bzzzzzz.

You former babysitters are as guilty as I am. Step back into your fifteen year old self. Friday night. Kids are asleep. The frozen pizza is gone. Since they don't have cable (and the president is giving a speech) there is nothing to watch. So, you snoop. It starts innocently enough: what books line the shelves; trying the locked box on top of the cabinet; peeking at the checkbook balance; finally trying on those fabulous shoes/lipstick/wedding dress...then you find yourself perched on the king sized bed. 

You tell yourself not to, but your fingers ignore you as they slide open the bedside drawer exposing the dirty side of the people that pay you $4.00/hr to watch their children. 

Jump to today. I had my sitter come over so I could go to the grocery store without Baby Boy grabbing everything in site and chucking it at passersby. 

It occurred to me on Isle 7 that "OMG, what if she is going through MY drawer?"

As soon as I got home I ran upstairs and looked at my room as if I was her. Very pretty and clean--but focus on my night stand: 8 books that I either started and didn't like or have been telling myself (for years) to read; ancient alarm clock I have had since 1993 (That Sony won't die!), a bottle of massage oil so thick with greasy dust that I immediately toss it and a tube of Bio Freeze, a god send for one who carries a 24 lb toddler around; Bag Balm and plain Chapstick. 

Christ I'm 65. 

Opening the drawer, I am horrified that the expired lube has cracked open and soaked my Passport with 2 oz of water-based Her Pleasure. There are other things that shimmy and shake, but have been neglected along with a few blurry love letters (also violated with KY) and broken reading glasses. 

Dump. It. All. 

Today's Sexy Naptime: Making Over the Naughty Drawer. This will have to be in two parts since I can't hop off to the sexy shop today. But at least it isn't sticky now. 

When you get home, go through your drawer and get rid of all the crap. 

I need to get back that sex kitten that loved shopping for the newest toys and stealing batteries from the remotes in order to try them. 

More on this tomorrow. Now I have to call and get my Passport reissued. 

What Can Brown Do for You? Ask my Husband...

It has taken a few years and a few dozen oatmeal cookies bribes, but our UPS man has finally listened to my plea of: Never Deliver to My House on a Friday (my husband's day off). 

I have managed to keep the excess of Internet shopping mostly secret, notwithstanding a few neighborly slips.  

"Man, you guys have certainly had a lot of UPS visits lately. Now that I think about it, your son bears an uncanny resemblance to the driver. Ha ha." at a cocktail party.

Bring, Bring. "Oh, Fed Ex accidently dropped ANOTHER package of yours at my house. I'll bring it by after dinner." 

Darling Husband thanks me for taking charge of the cardboard recycling runs without being asked and never questions my answer of, "Oh, this? (quickly feeling sleeve for tags) No, I borrowed it from Twin Mama." To his, "Oh, have I seen that before? Is it new?"

Not that I condone lying to one's spouse, but carrying extra grocery store bags in the car to covertly sneak new stilettos into the house does save a lot of energy explaining why I (capital N) needed them. Men just don' t get that kind of stuff.

 I never nag him when he buys a new gadget like a buffer or air compressor. I counted up last month--he owns over 19 things with motors on them. One man's power washer is another lady's couture corsette dress for upcoming holiday parties. (God, it is gorgeous!) 

Today, however the gig is most certainly UP(S). Spacing that Darling Husband took today off, there was nothing to do when the telltale BEEP BEEP of that giant brown truck began its backward descent down our driveway. 

I freeze. Maybe he won't hear it. 

The large back door rumbles open. The dog runs to meet Don (who always has treats in his pocket). And the kindly, older delivery man whistles as he loads the dolly up with stacks of boxes. 

Shit shit shit. 

DH looks at me over his spectacles like a pissed off grandfather. Slowly rises from the table where he is already grouchy from paying bills and stalks to the garage. 

I grab the vacuum from the floor and start sucking up Cheerios as loudly as I can. 

No matter. This ancient language between husband and delivery man needs no audible words. 

Door slams. 

"Really?"

"Um, ahhh. Christmas presents?"

Checks a label. "And what lucky recipient gets a box from Victoria's Secret?"

"Your....mother?"

But it's all for him...in a way! My Sexy Naptime ritual for today was going to be to try on all the sexy somethings to plan seduction for every night this week. And pass that on to you, dear reader. 

With some fast thinking, I decided an impromptu fashion show was in order to quell the anger rising in the kitchen. 

Thankfully, when it doubt, lingerie does amazing wonders when distraction is the order of the day. 

And that lovely ladies, is the Secret Victoria has been selling all these years. 

McDreamy Rides Again

The (Patrick) Dempsey Challenge Century Bike Race is today; how could it not be a sexy day? The race course goes right by my house; we are the most challenging hill in the entire 100-mile ride. The gun went off at 8, and not sure how to calculate how fast it would take bikers to make it to mile 22, I stood in the road with Baby Boy in his stroller for a Very. Long. Time. waiting to see all the hot, sweaty bikers become distracted by my new push up bra (I don't have anything to push up anymore after breast feeding, but we will save that for another day). 

I saw 2. Women.  That's it. I don't know if I was early or late, but it was a waste of lipgloss. 

However, I was able to swirl a sexy nap time nonetheless. When in doubt of what to do to make you feel sexy: clean and bake. It sounds so anti-feminist, but I feel so beautiful when I pull out giant chocolate cuppies and admire my reflection in my polished granite counters. 

Did I mention I do this naked?

Ah, now you see where I am going. Seinfeld had an episode where he admonished his GF for vacuuming and opening pickle jars naked and he is right, that is BAD naked. Good naked is all about making the house smell like a bakery. And it is a great way to keep your husband in the house rather than heading off to the game. 

Having a toddler is like having a giant magnifying glass over the cleanliness of the house. When you crawl after them, not only to you see their cute bums wiggle, but all the clumps of hair, mulch, popcorn and nail clippings living in the tent city under the radiator. When those sneaky little muffins hide the cell phone under the couch cushion, you become painfully aware of the microcosm of Cheerios and Cheddar Bunnies mating like they need to repopulate the Earth. 

The first part of nap time was devoted to cleaning up that horror. But before I started, I dumped a box of cinnamon raisin mix into the bread maker. If you don't have one of these, they are worth every dime. ( I got my brand new Sunbeam at Goodwill for $30!!) For 15 seconds worth of opening a box and turning it upside down, you not only make the house smell fabulous but get amazing bread. 

Baby Boy is awake...guess the screams of vacuumed Cheddar Bunnies woke him up. 

Sexy Craptime

One of those very un-sexy days: cold rain, gray skies, droopy, dying summer plants that I am not willing to mess up my newly painted nails to dump. Plus, I procrastinated grocery shopping until today, Saturday, the day where all the divorced dads drag their kids around buying them all the sugary empty calories they would never allow under married conditions. 

"But Daaaaaaaad. I neeeeed Super Chocolate Smack Puffs with New and Improved Corn Syrup Chunks!"

"No, Simon. I won..."

"I understand. I guess I'll let mom's new boyfriend get them for me next week."

In the cart 7 boxes go. 

(Make sure you are doing your Kegels while you read--multi-tasking!)

Sexy things are to be found in the grocery stores. They are called "Daddies." You need to say it with a deep breathy voice, "Heellloo, Daaaadeeeee." 

These are very handsome men who you can tell have the kids because mom is on a biz trip or has left for an Italian god who has a yacht in Spain. They usually have little girls who are dressed in full ballerina regalia, or an old Halloween bunny costume. 

My partner in crime, Twin Mama and I stealthy snap cell phone pics of these Daddies at our respective stores and text them to each other along with recipes for shrimp scampi. Again, moms are great at multi-tasking. 

I didn't get a "naptime" today because by the time I got home from shopping, Darling Husband and Baby Boy were already awake eating Veggie Straws and watching Baby Einstein. 

So for a sexy tip today, and every Saturday hence, I will include a recipe that is Guaranteed to Get You Laid. (G2GYL)

Today's G2GYL recipe is Chile Brownies. The combo of chocolate with the kick of smoky chile at the end is a sexy treat that will boost your libido as well as the added effect of the spicy chile boosting your metabolism! Multi-tasking again...

Chile Brownies

by Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough
The Ultimate Brownie Book 

A staple in some Texas bakeries, Chile Brownies are spicy and sweet, a combination perhaps unfamiliar to, well, other folks (aka Yankees). While kids might prefer simpler brownies, these have a peppery kick many grown-ups adore. We didn't skimp on the chocolate by an ounce. These brownies would be perfect after a barbecue dinner, a fajita supper, or a chile cook-off. Yield: Makes twenty-four 2 1/4 x 2 1/8-inch brownies 3/4 cup all-purpose flour, plus additional for the pan 1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon pure chile powder 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon salt 12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, plus additional for the pan, at room temperature 5 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped, or semisweet chocolate chips 5 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped 1 1/4 cups sugar 3 large eggs, at room temperature 1. Position the rack in the lower third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 9x13-inch baking pan; set it aside. 2. In a medium bowl, whisk the flour, chile powder, baking powder, and salt until well combined. Set aside. 3. Place the butter and both kinds of chocolate in the top of a double boiler set over simmering water. If you don't have a double boiler, place the butter and both kinds of chocolate in a heat-safe bowl that fits snugly over a small pot of simmering water. Stir constantly until half the butter and chocolate is melted. Remove the top of the double boiler or the bowl from the pot; then continue stirring, away from the heat, until the butter and chocolate are completely melted. Transfer to a large bowl and allow to cool for 10 minutes. 4. Beat the sugar into the melted chocolate mixture with a whisk or with an electric mixer at medium speed; continue beating until smooth and silky, about 5 minutes by hand or 2 minutes with a mixer. Beat in the eggs until well incorporated. 5. With a wooden spoon or a rubber spatula, stir in the flour mixture just until incorporated. Do not beat. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, spreading it gently to the corners. 6. Bake for 20 minutes, or until a toothpick or cake tester comes out with a few moist crumbs attached. Set the pan on a wire rack to cool for at least 30 minutes. 7. Cut the brownies into 24 pieces while they're still in the pan. Carefully remove them with an offset spatula. Serve immediately, or let cool completely before covering with plastic wrap for storage at room temperature. They will stay fresh for up to 3 days. The brownies can be tightly wrapped in wax paper, sealed in a freezer-safe bag, and frozen for up to 2 months; allow them to thaw at room temperature before serving. To vary this recipe Add one or more of the following spices with the chile powder: 1 1/2 tablespoons ground cinnamon/2 teaspoons ground ginger/1 teaspoon grated nutmeg/1 teaspoon ground cloves And/or Stir in 1 1/4 cups of any of the following mix-ins, or 1 1/4 cups any combination of the following mix-ins, with the flour mixture: chocolate-covered espresso beans/chopped banana chips/chopped candied chestnuts/chopped candied orange peel/chopped dried figs/chopped dried papaya/chopped dried prunes/chopped pecans/chopped toasted chickpeas/chopped toasted hazelnuts/chopped unsalted roasted peanuts/crumbled biscotti/dried cherries/Goobers/raisins/toasted pepitás Source Information The Ultimate Brownie Book

Working on the "Inner Sexiness".

They say true beauty is on the inside. And it doesn't get more "inside" than the Kegel muscle. If a woman is a Tootsie roll pop, the kegel muscle is the chewy goodness at the center that you never quite make it to, but are all too aware of. 

After squeezing out a baby, Moms get lectured by their midwives and friends to "Do your Kegels." But really, who does? Out of sight, out of mind. 

But I wish I had listened because laughing, sneezing, coughing and walking quickly reduces me to a 74-year old woman who has to back out of the room because pee has gotten a mind of its own. 

Kegel exercises strengthen the muscles of the pelvic floor. By not doing these, you risk Female Genital Prolape, which is characterized by a portion of the vaginal canal protruding from the opening of the vagina. 

Hang on, I just threw up in my mouth. 

If they had told me THAT after childbirth, I would be the marathoner of the Kegel. I would be the Lance Armstrong of it. 

Nothing has fallen out of my snatch thus far, but no time like the present to start. Today's Sexy Naptime Project: 3 sets of 10 Kegels, held for 10 seconds each. 

Before we begin, let's go over the proper form. Really, you can be anywhere: car, dining room table, shower, even during sex! In fact, as soon as your lover stops mid-thrust and asks what you are doing, you know the reps are working! 

Basically, you pull up and tighten the same muscle you hold when you have to pee but are nowhere near a bathroom or suitable Tupperware container. 

Three sets of 10, held for 10 seconds each. Ready? 

I'm done. We will wait a few moments for the overachievers. 

Well done, everybody!

From now on, when we are in the car, we have to do them every time a Miley Cyrus song comes on. 

Let's get those stretched out daisies back to their glory days!