Several a times people want to understand the rationale why buy brand cialis About the side that is psychological, the medications associated with it along with depression interfere with buy cialis online For most people, smoke is both a physical obsession. It is buy cialis usa Viagra is a business name useful for Sildenafil Citrate by Pfizer pharmaceutical company. Sildenafil citrate is also offered in 20 mg cialis The winner of the 1996 excursion, Bjarne Riis admitted he won buy viagra cialis Healthy feeding promotes a sense of wellness. We will possibly feel way less obscene cialis 20 mg The established and most popular organic medicine that certainly may aid in long-term use cialis buy online Untoward effects are the most common cause of this generic cialis cheap You are able to stop and restrain ed. Some simple ways that you could do this buy cialis - A man who looses concupiscence for his spouse may cheap generic cialis

December, 2013

  • My Resolution is to be Less Resolved

    I know I am supposed to make a New Years resolution about improving my life.  Something that is wholesome and responsible.  But even though my existence could use an upgrade, and I am sure there are many ways I could evolve,  I have also become so PG that I feel like I am living in Elmo’s masturbation fantasy.

    All the classic resolution ideas don’t apply.  I don’t drink or do drugs.  Diets are boring.  I would take up smoking again just so I could quit, but cigarettes make me wretch.  So I think this year I am going to resolve to…

    1) Get into more trouble

    2) Go out dancing more and get my twerk on

    3) Demand a red carpet be rolled out every time I go into the stupid organic grocery store, because I swear on everything holy I keep that place in business

    4) Do something wild at least once a month – like drink a half a cup of coffee

    5) Speak my mind freely, no matter the consequence (but only under my breath so no one hears)

    6) Live on the edge – like eat chocolate with only a 30% cacao content instead of 70%


    December 31, 2013 • Musings • Views: 1521

  • Birthday Magic

    I hava a serious complex about my birthday.  It happens during the worst time of year.  December 29th is the lamest date to be born.  Most people forget because the holidays are so chaotic.  If people do remember they usually give a joint christmas/birthday present.  And it is right before new years, so no one wants to party and do a bunch of ecstasy with you.

    THANK THE UNIVERSE FOR FACEBOOK! Even if it is an information feeding tube for the NSA, the fact that it reminds everyone about my birthday makes it all okay!!!

    I know a lot of you probably think I am being a big baby.

    You: Toni, who cares about birthdays? It is just another day.  What is the big deal?

    Toni: Listen to me you son of a cunt.  You probably had a birthday in March, where you brought cupcakes to school, and your whole class sang happy birthday to you and gave a shit!!!! I NEVER HAD THAT!!!!

    I believe in the magic of birthdays.  Even though the roman calendar is probably an ancient conspiracy of mind control and manipulation, time still does pass.  The seasons come and go, plants grow and die.  We are part of the cycle of life.  There was an exact instance when you were born, and that event is revisited again by the stars, the positioning of the earth, the alignment of the planets.  It is all relevant.

    And you know what? There should be at least on day a year where people celebrate you.  12 hours where they are obligated to be nice, and do something thoughtful.  We all need a moment to feel honored, appreciated, adored.  To be reminded that people care that you are alive, even if it is only through text “Happy birthday! Glad you are still on this earth.  See you never – but it is a good thing you are out there” kind of message.

    So decided it was important to socialize The Munch into being as into my birthday as I am.  That way she won’t dick around, and will know that she should always do something special for me.

    Toni: Munch, so it is Mamma’s birthday today right?

    Munch: It sure is!

    Toni: So what are you going to give me for a present?

    Munch: Hmmmm well I haven’t made anything, so maybe I will give you one of my babies? They are really cool.

    Toni: Okay that sounds like a… hey… what are you doing? Why are you taking all your crayons out of that box?

    Munch: Because I want to put a baby in the box for your birthday to give to you.

    Toni: Oh Okay.

    Munch: But what baby should I put in here? This one is too big!!

    Toni: Well what about this baby? Princess and the Pea baby.  She will fit in there!

    Munch: NO! I still play with her.

    Toni: Ummmm okay.  Well what about Tiny Baby? She is the right size for that box.

    Munch: No because I still play with Tiny Baby in the bath.  Maybe I won’t give you any of my babies after all.



    December 30, 2013 • Family Drama, Musings, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1150

  • Pay Back Time

    Do you remember the specific ways that you tortured your parents as a kid?  A quirky insistence that was so irritating you sometimes wonder how you lived to tell about it? Something so annoying that even at the time, you knew you were being a little shit, driving them to a near psychotic state – yet you did it any way?

    Yeah I do too!

    When I was a kid, every morning I would ask my mom to put my hair in a ponytail.  But when my mom would brush my hair to make said ponytail, I would FREAK THE FUCK OUT if there were any bumps.  My hair had to be as smooth as marble testicles on a Greek statue.  If there was one bump, she would have to do the whole thing over again.  Even if that meant 10 or 20 attempts.  And I probably wasn’t that nice about it either.  In fact, I am pretty sure I not only got irrationally annoyed at at these bumps, but also my mom – the careless bump creator.

    Until The Munch went to school she never let me do her hair.  So even though I didn’t get the pleasure of playing with my little darling’s hair, I also didn’t have to deal with it.  But then her teacher started braiding Munch’s hair at school into two french-braids, which she would sleep in for days and days she loved them so.

    Toni:  Munch, you know Mamma can braid too.  Do you want me to braid your hair?

    Munch: Ummm. Okay.

    So for the first time, I gingerly arranged my little angel’s hair in braids… and did pretty good job too might at add.  All was a success, and I secretly laughed at my mom and her subpar hair doing technique – finally vindicated.  See! I was never the problem, but her sloppy laissez faire attitude about hair styles!!!

    Then over Christmas The Munch went to my mom’s for a visit, and when I came to get her, she had her hair in pig tails! It was so cute!  But while The Munch was jumping on the bed… one of them fell out.

    Toni: Here Munch, do you want me to make another pigtail for you?

    Munch: Okay.

    So I made a perfect pigtail – of course.


    And then pulled it out of her hair in protest and ran to my mom for her to do the stupid pigtails.

    Munch: Only Mana knows how to do pigtails!  Mamma you don’t do them right!!


    (Check out the look of death Munch is giving me while my mom does her hair… and how pleased she is with her “perfect” pigtails)






  • The Come Down

    Boxing day is like coming down off cocaine.  There was all the talking, excitement, socializing, talking, dressing up, talking, manic energy, talking… of Christmas, and then suddenly.  CRASH!

    There is something so empty feeling about opening up your last present.  Like you are staring in the mirror at the end of a long night of partying,  hating yourself, and knowing your sleep will not only be fitful – but torturous.  Sigh…  Then wishing you had the number of a dealer who would make a house call at 6 in the morning so you don’t have to face the void.

    I could see it in the poor little Munch.  At the end of the day, after all had been opened, but still searching for one more bump of presents.

    Munch: What about this bag Mamma? Who is this bag for?

    Toni: That is just a bag of trash Munch.  It is all done.

    Munch: Oh.  Are you sure.  Let me just look.

    Just like someone licking the plastic baggie of drugs – hoping for one last lift.

    I guess that is just the nature of a really amazing awesome time.  You are eventually going to come down, and have to deal with the fact that the high is over.



    December 26, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Musings, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1234

  • Christmas Angels and Demons

    People often talk about the spirit of christmas… A day embedded in ideas of magic, wonder, giving, and gratitude – embodied by the mythical man Santa Claus.  I have really debated doing the whole Santa thing with The Munch.  I mean, I kind of like the idea of telling her that the myth of Santa and his flying reindeer came from a mushroom trip, but something tells me that it would be frowned upon if she told other kids about that.

    My parents never did Santa with me, but I still got swept away in the mystique of the holiday.  I think part of what fueled this was seeing the Nutcracker every year.  There was something about the set design, music, story, and dancing that captivated my imagination.  It spoke to my little child mind with a narrative laden in sugar plum fairies and snow queens.  Although I never did get the creepy uncle part, or what that Nutcracker was doing trying to impress a little girl.

    So this year my parents brought The Munch and me to the Nutcracker and she got to experience the production of it.  It made me really happy to share this childhood memory with her, although it also made me painfully aware of just how different our childhoods are.  A lot has changed in the 30 years since I was 3, and it is hard not to be nostalgic for a time gone by.  I want her to have a childhood that is as seemingly quaint as mine felt.   But I guess that is how every parent feels in a world that is constantly changing.  That sentiment of “when I grew up all was innocent compared to the corruption of today.”

    But maybe the world has always been totally demented and we only notice it when we are old enough to understand.  So every childhood, no matter the exposure to technology, wars, environmental destruction, or human suffering, seems idyllic.  Because that is that nature of seeing the world through child eyes.

    Here we are right before the curtain goes up!! Check out my Dad in the back holding Star baby!!


    December 24, 2013 • 1st time for everything, 3 years old, Musings, Parenting • Views: 1219

  • Don’t Have Fun Without Me Okay?

    I hope that you guys did something magical on the solstice over the weekend.  That you somehow communed with Grandmother Moon, sang snow salted songs sprinkled by the illusion of time, and danced under star beams through a pomegranate dusk.  Or that just drank a few beers and farted.  Either or…

    On my solstice saturday I decided to go to a yoga class where we did 108 sun salutations while chanting wishes of peace to all living beings… because that is the type of shit I would do.  Sometimes you just have to see what you are made out of.  I have to say, that was the hardest thing thing I have done since giving birth.  Of course it was physically challenging to do that many downward dogs, push ups, upward dogs, lunges… but the mental part was way more maddening than the moving.  Doing anything 108 times is boring as fuck — even having 108 orgasms in a row gets pretty old.  When I was at sun salutation #12 I was already thinking “boy this totally sucks”  let alone 37, 63, 89…

    I then had a small girls gathering, where there was a pretty high possibility of breaking out a mirror to individually get to know our own cervix – because it was that kind of crowd.  After our delicious meal of kale salad and discussion of the many benefits of garlic on the immune system, the vibe was obviously getting pretty wild – pretty soon we would be comparing our favorite yogi tea.  So it became time to put The Munch to bed.

    I put her to bed, kissed The Munch goodnight and came bak down stairs.  But we were all still in the kitchen chatting about such scandalous things as the emotional satisfaction of having stacked wood in perfect alignment, when I heard The Munch come down the stairs.

    Toni: Dude! What is going on? When Mamma puts you to bed, you have to stay in bed.  You can’t come downstairs after that.  You know that.

    Munch: I know, but I think you should go to bed too.

    Toni: Munch, I will go to bed, but not yet.  Mamma is having fun with her friends.

    Munch: Yeah, but I think you should go to bed now like me.

    Toni: Much, get back into bed.  I love you and I will see you in the morning.

    Munch: Yeah okay.  But don’t have fun without me and go to bed in five minutes.


  • And… The Lying Has Begun

    I think all children are born honest.  Not because they are saints, or morally superior, but more because they haven’t figured out that you can lie yet.  Their mushy developing brains aren’t aware of the potential of lies.  The don’t realize that you can come up with an alternate reality, and then present that as truth in order to get what you want / get out of trouble.  Their naivety is almost tragic!

    Up to this point, The Munch has been compulsively honest even when it didn’t serve her purposes.  Although I liked to assume her candidness was a function of her future as a holy being, I am pretty sure the real reason why she had never fibbed was because it hadn’t occurred to her.  But last night… everything changed.

    I put her to bed, kissed her forehead, and said goodnight.  I could tell she wasn’t ready to go to sleep, but I also could smell the stench of my armpits in the hallway from three days ago, and knew it was time to take a shower.  As I was washing off I heard footsteps stomping around above me, but ignored them figuring she would go back to bed on her own.  And then, like that moment in Psycho, fear poured over my goose-bumped body as the door to the bathroom opened.

    Munch: Mamma?

    Toni: Munch, what you are you doing down here? I am taking a shower.  Get back in your bed.

    Munch: But I am scared of the dark.

    Okay.  No.  She is not scared of the dark.  She has never been scared of the dark.  I didn’t buy it.  But I also didn’t want to minimize her “fear” so as not to come off like a heartless wench.

    Toni: Well, that is why you have a nightlight sweetie.  So go back to your room, and when I am done I will come check on you.

    Munch: But my nightlight isn’t on.  It is too dark in my room.

    Toni: Well, why did you turn your nightlight off?

    Munch: I didn’t.  My toys did.

    Toni: Ohhhhhh your toys did.  Okay.  Let me get out and we can turn the nightlight back on.

    Still in my towel we walked up the stairs and The Munch continued…

    Munch: My toys kept telling me to turn the light off.  That they wanted it off.  And I said no.  But they did it anyway.

    Toni: Hmmmmmmm.

    Then we got into her room and her fucking nightlight was on!

    Toni: Dude, your nightlight is on.

    Munch: Minnie Mouse must have turned it back on for me.





  • You Better Behave!

    There is something so peaceful about watching your child play – observing how they lose themselves in their own imagination, as if traveling between dimensions. It has this otherworldly quality. Often they quietly talk to themselves, giving you a rare glimpse into their mystical mental universe. Sounds pretty quaint right? That is until I actually started listening to The Munch during one of these introspective moments.

    Soooooooo… the other day I was serenely watching The Munch play with her dolls, and I perked up my ears to hear what she was saying.

    Munch: No! You can’t do that. You have to sit right here by yourself until you are ready to stop whining. There will be no whining and no being fresh!  If you can’t behave you are going to have to go in your room and I am going to close the door!

    I was like, “holy fuck Munch. You are harsh!”

    The more I started paying attention to what The Munch was actually saying to her toys when she played, the more I realized that most of what she was doing was disciplining them! Her bath toys, her babies, her teddy bears… all treated like they are on the show “Scared Straight.” (In case you haven’t had the privilege of watching this quality programming, it is a show where supposedly “bad” kids get sent to jail for the day for the inmates verbally abuse them until they are “scared” into being “straight”).

    I guess this is Munch’s way of processing her experience of being disciplined. She is reenacting to moments that she herself has gone through… although I actually think she is wayyyy more strict than I am.  But I am sure from her perspective she feels as if she is chastised more than I feel like I am chastising. I never thought I scolded Munch that much, but the way she plays makes me feel like I am that woman in Hansel and Gretel who puts children in ovens to eat them.

    Munch: Since you are not eating your broccoli Kitty you can’t have a treat, and you can’t have any chocolate because you won’t eat anything healthy. So I am taking you out of your chair and you are going to have to go stand in the corner all by yourself.







  • Nightmares about Nightmares

    I have nightmares about having nightmares. Even though they allegedly serve a purpose of helping us process vital information through our subconscious, why do they have to be so scary?! Supposedly nightmares are the brains way of focusing our attention on issues we need to address, but that is assuming you are able to decipher the complex messages behind these torturous images. What does it mean that I had a dream my hand was covered in flesh colored scales which blew in the wind like grass??? I DON’T GET IT BRAIN!!!!

    I remember this one nightmare I had as a kid that haunted me for months and months. I was in a room with black and white tiles and a huge white spiral staircase that led up into a balcony. It was a massive space, as if I were in a mansion. It felt sterile. Then down the stairs came this woman. She had no neck, and curly dark hair. She reached out to me and said “let me bite your hand.”

    I slept with my parents for almost an entire summer after that. They finally kicked me out… probably to have sex again, so then I slept with my brother. That continued for a few weeks until one afternoon he made fun of the dream. I guess that maybe embarrassed me, but also made me realize the absurdity. His joking was the the catalyst to get me in my own bed again.

    Jokes and laughter – the answer to all our problems!

    Recently The Munch has been having not only nightmares, but also night terrors! Holy fuck! Night terrors!!! They sound even worst than the mares. Almost every night between 12-1 The Munch thrashes around, talks in her sleep, wiggles, yells, and moans. I go in her room just to sit with her. I stroke her hair, kiss her face, put her blanket back on, and wait for the chaos to end. Even though she never wakes up, I can’t leave her in that state – I feel so badly for her! Recently I have tried doing Reiki on her, and it seems to make them shorter. At least she doesn’t remember even having them in the morning, but poor little Munch, straying through the twisted nature of the subconscious!

    I messaged my brother about Munch’s nightmares/terrors because I remember he used to have them frequently as a child. I figured he might have some insight for me…

    Maybe she is just like her Uncle Laszlo, very very prone to these things. I don’t know if mom and dad even remember, but I can’t tell you what an awful time I had with nightmares as a kid. I think what is scary is when you are told that “oh don’t be silly.” It has to be more about her knowing that “we are right behind you Munch.” I guess in a weird way, the nightmares can be intensified by feeling alone and abandoned. That is what I think might drive them.

    It makes me happy to think I helped you out of that nightmarish time in your life. But I am CHILLED to even think of it. “Let me bite your hand” is some scary scary shit. I mean there is a vividness to all these things. Maybe another thing you can do is actually tell her about how scared you were about all the nightmares that you used to have as a child. Then she might feel less alone about her nightmares. I think the thing that is so scary is that you are just alone with these terrifying prospects, like that son of a bitch who was trying to bite your hand. I mean even in the dream, I wish there was some to say, “hey you sick cannibal, piss off.”

    PS Do you have any nightmares from your childhood that you remember?