Mocha Momma is asking folks to introduce themselves in 10 seconds or less. She kicked this off because Blogher is next week, but everyone is invited to participate.

Pretty much all you need to know about Erika "Plain Jane Mom"

I will forget everyone's name, possibly even my own. I am terrible with faces, and even if yours is plastered all over the front of your blog I might not recognize you.

It is possible that you and I have had a long email correspondence but when I run into you I won't remember your name. If, however, you mention what we were talking about I will remember every detail.

I'm like this with movies too, by they way. I never remember the titles (just ask Mr. Plain), but the plots and characters stick with me.

So. All I ask is that you please don't take my brain feebleness personally! I am like this with everyone, and I hate it more than you do.

(Of course I'll remember you, but this is just a warning to everyone else out there. I may, however, need to pretend just for appearances that I don't remember even your name. If I do that, please just play along — you know, so no one else gets jealous that I remembered you and no one else. K? Thx.)

Go see Shannon. This is an excellent question. Such a sweet sibling story. Alli sounds seriously scary. And messy. I don't know why I'm telling you about this because it just worsens my chances of winning… But there you go.

Recalls: Lots of toys made by Soldier Bear for lead, and Disney earrings for lead.

So my insane, lunatic children have some words that are just their own. Case in point:

"Bouf"

Now none of my kids can confirm the spelling of the word, but even the 2-year-old knows what it means.

Bouf, verb. To sucker punch your brother in the bottom. Alternate meaning: to smash your brother in the bottom using only your own bottom. Extra points for knocking your brother onto the floor and making him cry.

No joke, they've done this for about a year. And it has gotten to the point where I have outlawed it. But of course, you know what that means.

"When you outlaw boufing, only outlaws…"

What am I saying — that would imply that my kids listen to me. All it means is that I am now using this ridiculous made up word as part of my day to day vocabulary. Yes, that is as sad as it sounds. But believe me, it was all made worthwhile today when 2-year-old Chip ran up to me crying:

"Mommy, Robbie boufed me!"

How the hell am I supposed to not laugh at that?

Wii, it's giveaway time over on my other blog!

Jessica alerted me to the Environmental Working Group's current study on bottle-fed babies and Bisphenol A. If you have time before July 31st to fill out a survey you can contribute to their effort.

She may be bossy, but she is also some sort of genius Professor of Internet Economics.

Whoa, that's some big news. Congratulations :)

As the mother of a 2-year-old who has spent the last 3 days wandering around the house saying "Grrr, gosh darnit!!" over and over again, I am not allowed to have an opinion on this.

Do you like food?

Recalls: More mock-Crocs and some Walmart children's earrings for (say it with me) lead.

Most afternoons at home involve Mike and Robbie out in the backyard while Chip naps. After they've been out there about an hour, I get called in to inspect and admire whatever they have built. Just as an example, here is what they turned their clubhouse into recently.

It is called The Fun Club, obviously, since the top of the pickup truck now has a smiley face. I honestly can't believe I had to explain that to you.

And apparently the lack of a door isn't a problem. If you don't mind being shoved through the window by your big brothers.

I can't wait to see what they'll build tomorrow.

I think.

First things first, I need a waffle iron that makes those tiny round waffles like you buy in the frozen section at the store. You know, they come as 4 stuck together? I keep looking online and I'm finding nothing more than Mickey Mouse waffle irons and (god forbid) Belgian waffle makers. I have nothing against The Belge, but those are not waffles! But back to the point at hand, can someone please help me find a waffle maker that makes mini waffles?

SNORT!

Go give Karrie some suggestions.

Poor puppy… we did this about 2 years ago too.

So Suzanne, you might want to look away. (You too Dad.)

Last night I went back to the salon and let's see how quickly you guess which "service" I chose to have done.

I enter the quiet spa which is being subtly scented by soothing incense…

I lie down on a table and soon I feel warm, smooth wax being applied.

That feels nice. I think to myself.

Then I notice she's pressed a soft cloth into the wax.

That also feels nice.

Then.

THE PAIN. AAAAHHHHGGGHHH. THE AGONY.

Repeat.

So how quickly did you guess what they were doing to me?

I've now discovered why the manicure/pedicure combo is so freaking cheap. They correctly figure that when you're there you'll grab a booklet announcing the other services they offer and you'll return.

Apparently it worked because (unbelievably) the last things I said were "Thanks!" and "How often should I come back."

So clearly they have something "special" in that incense.

HAWT!!! And ALSO HAWT!!!

I have it on good authority that preventing this is a dad's sole job. So sad, so sad…

Something interesting is unfolding here. I'm watching. Join me.

Yeah, so if you don't live near me this will mean nothing to you. But you can still laugh :)

Her giving spirit is so moving to me.

"You should try it.” Indeed.

Have you been itching to get into the Blogher Ad Network? If so, they are accepting applications again.

Recall: Gerber's organic baby cereal.

Guest post by Anonymous

I had originally submitted a post to Erika complaining about my sister's blog. She wrote me a very kind message advising me that the post came off as a bit harsh and that she was uncomfortable posting it. I appreciated her honesty and realized that I would have regretted her publishing the original post. Because ironically, in the original post I came off as an ass. Which is something that I was complaining my sister did in the first place.

The internet and other forms of electronic communication, like e-mail are tricky. The nuances of spoken language are non-existent here. You can write something and have it taken in a direction that you did not intend. You can unknowingly offend others with your tone. I know there has been a few instances in e-mails where I thought I was joking with someone (a few times, my husband) and the person on the receiving end took it the wrong way. And I spent many subsequent e-mails digging myself out of the hole I dug with poorly chosen words, because my facial expressions and voice intonations were not there to guide the intent. There were only words on a screen. And sometimes words can be horribly misconstrued.

Another form of communication that can be misunderstood is, of course, blogging. It is true that many people blog ultimately for themselves, but many bloggers also wish to have an audience. To join the greater blogging community. The reason I initially contacted Erika was because of my sister's blog. My sister is a lovely, intelligent person. However, she is confused about why no one reads or comments on her blog. When she asks me for advice, I don't know what to tell her. Because in all honesty, I find her blog posts, well, boring. And I can see how people who don't know her in real life might be turned off by how she sometimes comes off as a jerk when asserting her opinions. Even some of my family members have complained to me that they have been offended by things she has written.

So my question is this - how do I gently tell my sister that she, unintentionally of course, may be turning people off by the poor attitude of her online persona? Or do I tell her? Any advise would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and Erika, thanks for calling me on my own unintentional assedness.

Guest post by Anonymous

Bum bum bum…

Well, I'm leaning towards pathological myself.

Baby!!!

Don't forget to follow CrankMama to her new home: Redsy. Bring her some cookies.

Here's a secret… I didn't actually name my kids after the boys on My Three Sons.

Let's all scream STOP together.

Whoa.

Sara just saved you almost a hundred dollars.