OBSESSED

I've always been an obsessive type. It takes all kinds in my book, so should it also in your book. They made a whole sitcom about it - it was called DIFF'RENT STROKES.

Anyway, my obsessions have never been cool. I have been obsessed with Egyptian cotton sheets, Nutella, Q-tips, gigantic Sharpies - that sort of thing. Never anything like "vintage childrens books" or "reading the classics". Always things that are a little too day-to-day or pedestrian to be considered interesting or cool.

My latest obsession is cloth diapers. Ugh. Who knew I was so lame? But, really. I am obsessed. I just think these new futuristic cloth diapers are the SHIT. I want to own millions of them in all the colors. They are so soft I want to put them all over my bed and roll around in them. They are better for the environment and now I don't have to worry about what that alien gel in disposables is doing to my babies body.

Oh, Fuzzi Bunz, let's get married.

Poop etiquette

Is there such a thing, you ask?

YES. Let's lay this out.

NO. NEVER.
Pooping while on the phone
Pooping while eating
Pooping and talking to a person in the next room

YES. GO AHEAD.
Pooping with the door open if it's just you and your spouse home
Pooping while reading Oprah magazine
Cursing while pooping because it can be so slow and such a waste of time

QUESTIONABLE
Emailing or blogging while pooping?
Playing Facebook games while pooping?
Applying makeup while pooping?

I need to get to the bottom of this (no pun intended. really.). I hate to poop. I feel like poop asks more of me than I am prepared to give. It takes too long. It's messy. There are so many things I would rather be doing. What do I get out of the deal? I need to go ahead and accept that pooping would be more enjoyable to me if I was able to blog or email or instant message on the toilet. But what's the etiquette here?

I think that having a "theme" (that being 'chelsea loves _______') could be one of the reasons I am struggling with this blog. Or maybe that's just an excuse? I don't know. Maybe if I just come here and write about whatever is going on, I will be more inclined to post. Here's hoping.

Thursday night my dear friend, Erik, came to visit from Colombus. It was so good to see him. I particularly love hanging out with friends from different times in my life now that I have Zoe. They are in just as much awe of her as I am and keep saying, "I can't believe you have a baby, " or "It's so weird that this is YOUR baby!" No one in my Kansas City life really gets it in the same way. People like Erik and Martinique and Paul all knew me as a sort of different version of myself. They knew me as the swingin' single Chicago gal that traveled a lot whose dreams were of a family of her own.

It's also fun to just sit and reminisce with an old friend. Old friends remember things that I forget. And I remember things they've forgotten. It's sort of like visiting your elementary school as an adult...as soon as you lay eyes on it, you're flooded with memories. In our case this weekend it was when Erik mentioned a totally weird restaurant in Chicago called Victory's Banner. We used to take Harrison, the little boy for whom I nannied, there for french toast. The waitstaff wore saris and Birkenstocks and one of the waitresses was incredibly short and it seemed quite possible that she was a mini Pema Chodron.

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Next weekend Zoe and I are going on our first airplane together. I was initially a little nervous about flying with her alone, but quickly eased up. We're like the fucking Wonder Twins. We kick so much ass together. I don't know what I was worried about.

We're going to New York City to visit Jess. She's really going through some difficult changes, but it's wonderful knowing that I can bring to her the little person that makes her the happiest. Zoe cheers her right up.

Completed unrelated to anything in this post: I have GOT to stop saying the word "super" when someone calls and tells me that my car is ready to be picked up or to remind me of a hair appointment. "Super" is just unacceptable. I don't know where the hell I picked it up, but it stops now.

Chelsea loves....her CSA

Do you know what a CSA is? I didn't until a few months ago. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture. But what it means to me, is this: I paid $25 to join (this gets me in, plus a few tote bags, a shirt and a cookbook), then every week of the summer I go to Hen House on Saturday mornings and pick up a bag of locally grown natural foods for which I pay $25. Best part is, I don't know what I'm going to get.

This week, my pick-up included a loaf of ciabatta, bok choy, bean sprouts, natural breakfast sausage, milk, eggs, sirloin steaks, fresh thyme and red lettuce.

I love this. It's a deal. It gets me incorporating new foods into our diet (we tend to eat A LOT of the same stuff 'round here). I am supporting our local farmers. And the surprise aspect really appeals to me.

Yessssss.