grovel, grovel (or: Iamamama, Iamamama)

Hey, for a custom blog design from Ciao My Bella? Damn straight I’ll write a post about why I’m a crazy, hip blog mama. Technically, I’m still in the queue for linkage into the world of Crazy Hip Blog Mamas, but I’ll run the risk anyway. They did send me an email about it, after all.

Um…okay, here goes:

Crazy: hell yeah. Mr.Q will definitely vouch for that. Isn’t crazy a prerequisite for parenting, or at least a synonym? Sleepless nights, purposely enduring temperamental feedings, interpreting the same sound to mean 16 different things [successfully!] , knowing exactly what’s going on in another room, wandering the streets in the clothes you slept in, washing your hands 100 times a day? All signs of certifiable crazy. And motherhood.

Hip: hippy? Yep. hippie? Depending on who you talk to. hip? As in trendy, cool? Does being seen at the local coffee houses a lot count? Well, at least twice a year I have absolutely killer hair – a feat that is soon to be repeated this coming Thursday. Hey, my guy is good, but he’s expensive. Hip hair happens after the roots take over. And, in the mean time, the cut rocks so that even my roots are hip. But, regardless of whether or not I’m hip, I am nearly always in the presence of a very hip little girl and I am, therefore, totally hip by association.

Wait a minute. Maybe it’s Crazy Hip, as in So Hip It’s Just Crazy or So Crazy It’s Just Hip. Maybe the latter. Maybe that’s just over thinking which, I fear, puts me right back at just plain crazy.

Blog & Mama: oooh, the easy ones. This here is a blog. And I am a mama. [say that 10 times, fast] I even have photographic evidence.

So, does this make me worthy of adopting the moniker of Crazy Hip Blog Mama? I figure so. At least if you put a little more emphasis on the cuh-rrraaaazee part. And maybe make a little googly eyeball while you’re saying it. Then we’re good.

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