Monthly Archives: January 2012

Potty Talk…

Me: (Behind the locked bathroom door taking care of business)

Olivia (pounding fists on bathroom door): “Mooooooomy! I needs to use the pottay!”

Me: (holding my breath with high hopes Olivia will move along afer receiving no response)

Olivia: “Mooooommmmaaaay! I said I needs to use the potty! I have to make poopy!”

Me: (with obvious disgust): “There are two other toilets in this house—-go use one of them. This one’s occupado.”

Olivia: “But, I need THAT potty!”

Me (completely finished using the toilet, but remaining behind the locked door in order to to get revenge on Olivia for disturbing me while I take care of business and taking a few minutes to ponder why Olivia feels her little ass must ALWAYS sit on the very same potty my ass is on. Never fails.

Olivia: (alternating between grunts and moan as she sits outside bathroom door)


Mom CAN Fix Anything…

Stumbled upon this book in a clearance bin while shopping today. In the freaking clearance bin?! Clearly this gem was misplaced. This is a must read for all and needs its well-deserved spot on the NY Times Bestsellers List STAT.

All You Need is a Pink Tutu and a Dream…

Olivia picked out her own clothes today. Everything matched. All signs point to me making buying a lottery ticket a priority today. Mama’s feeling lucky.

Betty Cocker (as Played By Mommy)

I experienced a extremely rare streak of domesticated-ness this afternoon. The only explanation would be that someone slipped something into my can of Diet Dr. Pepper when I wasn’t looking since words such as baking, cooking, laundy and cleaning usually make me dry heave… So what if some muffins are a bit charred, some a bit undercooked and laced with salmonella, and a few clearly resemble penises? All that matters is Mommy baked and filled her domestication quota for the month of January…and with two days to spare.

Fill in the Blank…

FILL IN THE BLANK: Before I was a mom, I swore I’d never ______________, but now I do it at least once a week.

Some examples include:

a. allowing Cocoa Krispies in the house and then convincing yourself that they are nutritious and an acceptable choice for breakfast, lunch and dinner because the words “whole grain” are plastered across the front of the box.

b. ignoring loud, dramatic crashes from the other part of the house where the kids are located because the crash wasn’t followed up with crying, screaming or bloodshed, so that you can finish writing an email.

Tea with a Side of Silence…

Other than being woken up with a butt-wiping request from Olivia somewhere around 8:30 am, this is shaping up to be a rather lovely morning. Daddy took the girls on a field trip to the drive-thru car wash and, as a result will be their hero for at the least the next two days, because that place is simply magical thru their eyes.  I’m home, basking in the silence and realizing that breakfast just isn’t the same when I get to sit, actually chew eat bite before swallowing it and get a bonus view of what the bottom of my mug of tea looks like. It’s just not the same as my usual morning routine…it’s fucking paradise.

This is a Raid! Everybody Up From Your Naps and Hands Above Your Heads!

At the risk of being reported to the preschool authorities, I am clearing my conscience and admitting I granted my four year old permission to indulge in the luxury of skipping school today.  I was strongly swayed by and based my decision on the following conversation the night before:

Olivia: “Mommy, do I have school tomorrow?”

Me: “Yes, you do.”

Olivia: “Um, yeah. Ya know? I don’t really want to go to school tomorrow.”

Me: “Let’s have it Liv, why can’t you go to school tomorrow?”

Olivia: “Because I just want to spend some time with you, Mommy.”

Me: “I hear you loud and clear my child. Consider me convinced.”

Olivia: “What you say?”

Me: “Yes, you can stay home to spend time with me tomorrow.”

Olivia: <clapping, bouncing up and down and cheering> “Yay! I gets to be home with Momma tomorrow! I get to be home with Mom-ma! I get to be home with Mom-ma!” (spoken at just the right volume to float upstairs into the bedroom of her first grade sister who will most definitely be attending school since they are teaching math that even I can’t understand there and if she misses even one day of that insanity she could possibly throw her entire academic career off path, whereas I feel Olivia already knows enough things that start with the letter S and has pretty much mastered the playground, so she is pretty much safe for now. Fair? Hell no. Makes sense in my mind? Hell’s to the yeah).

{Sibling rivalry ensues, mommy yells, threatens Olivia she will indeed be headed to school if she doesn’t put a quick end to the bragging about her full day of mommy time/ditching school}

Fast forward to the next day around 9:30 am immediately following the first grader drop off…

Me: “So, Liv what are you thinking you want to do today on your day off from school?”

Olivia: “Homework.”

Me: “Say what? You want to do homework?”

Olivia: “Yes, I want you to make me some homework for me to do all day long.”

Me: (desperately wanting to, but finding the patience from somewhere deep down inside, to not say the following out loud) “Homework? Are you freaking kidding me? You want homework all day long? Get your ass to school girl! I ain’t playing the role of teacher today. You want to be schooled, go to school, kid!”

Olivia: <staring at me, waiting for me to hurry along and do some magic to make homework appear before her very eyes> “Um, so can you get me some to do?”

Me: “Oh, sure thing. It’s homework you want, it’s homework you’ll get.” {After digging through piles and piles of old coloring books, I finally discovered some workbooks, ripped out 18 double-sided pages and presented her with homework. On a side note, as appalled as I was that she requested homework as the day’s main activity, I was even more astounded that she blew through them in record time and with minimal errors [end Mommy brag]}.

Moving along to approximately noon at which time I am beginning to daydream about a nap…

Me: “Hey Liv, what do you say we take a nap? I’m so tired.”

Olivia: <laughing and pointing at me as if I just told the best knock knock joke ever> “No!”

Me: “Oh, come on. Let’s just take a little nap, huh?”

Olivia: <clearly disgusted> “No!”

Me: “Why not?”

Olivia: <moving, with purpose, towards the house telephone> “Because I’ll have to call the cops on you.”

Me: “Ok, enough said. Scratch the nap idea.” (Between the kid ditching school and me sleeping while on the clock at my stay-at-home-mommy job, I was guaranteed a lashing, if not two, for my criminal offenses.)

We finished the day out with a dance party to the soothing sounds of Kidz Bop19, 20 and 21, showed some more homework who’s boss, ate lots of snacks and watched more television than one child should watch in a week’s time. All in all, it turned out to be a rather enjoyable day, but please note the next time Liv plays hooky from school and you need to get in touch with me, please contact me via email only, since all phones will be disconnected and hidden away from sight in order to ensure Mommy gets that nap she deserves.

Everything I need to know I learned from my four year old #482:

Everything I need to know I learned from my four year old #482: The chocolatey flavored milk left behind after a bowl of Cocoa Krispies is to be honored, handled with the utmost care and thoroughly enjoyed as a dessert at breakfast time.

A Salute…

To all of the moms who use their self loathing about their subpar parenting skills and out-of-control children as a form of energy when disciplining other mom’s kids, I salute you…

Chinese Buffet: Hearty Appetite and Stretchy Pants MANDATORY.

Today, Olivia’s preschool class is celebrating the Chinese New Year. They are doing so with Chinese New Year crafts, music, books and most importantly…a big buffet of Chinese food in the classroom for all the kids to eat. Now, guess who opted to wear jeans today instead of the stretchy pants Mommy suggested on such a big day as today? …I guess we all know one little preschooler who won’t be going up for round two at the buffet today. You live and you learn, Liv.

Mommy Guilt…

So, I yell. A lot. And 70% percent of the time it is directed at my kids. The other 20% is at a pug, bulldog and/or cat, and the other 10% is reserved for imbecile drivers I encounter on the road.

Other than the imbecile drivers who deserve to be yelled at (as well as slapped upside the head, but that’s illegal in most states, so I default to the yelling to avoid jailtime) and the pets who shit, piss and/or puke in the house on a daily basis (and ALWAYS on the carpet rather than the wood or tile floors), I spend a good portion of my days feeling guilty for yelling at the kids.

At least once a day I am sucked into the black hole of Mommy Guilt. It’s claws dig deep and it’s grip is tight. Mommy Guilt happened to be consuming me yesterday morning as I strolled through the aisles of a my personal heaven on earth, Target.

The Mommy Guilt was overwhelming me as I entered the food department and it was then that I realized I had no choice but to do the one thing that would redeem myself.

Please see photo below for a visual of the guaranteed, scientifically-proven method to eliminate every last ounce of your Mommy Guilt. It will keep the kids smiling for days and the memory of you yelling shall be erased from their minds as they ingest enough sugar for a family of fourteen in one sitting.


Doing the Honk…

On the way home from school pickup today, some poor excuse for a driver cut us off. Unlike my normal routine in this type of situation, I decided to switch things up a bit and put every last ounce of self-control into forcing myself to keep my big mouth shut instead of unleashing my alter-ego, Ms. Truck-Driver Mouth Road Rage Lady. As it turns out, the six year old in the backseat decided she needed to step up to the plate and take over since I was slacking on the job…
Camryn: “Mommy! Mommy! Do the honk!”
Mommy: <realizing it was now officially okay to flip out on this imbecile driver since even the six year old found something wrong with his lack of driving etiquette> “HHHHHOOOOONNNNNNKKKK!”
Camryn: “Ah, that’s better, Mom. That always solves the problem.”

No More Kids For Me!

Perhaps a revised version of this ad should run with the tagline as follows: “I know that I love being done having kids because…I find a great deal of pleasure in viciously beating the ones I already have with pillows.”


Wanted: Personal assistant for car rides with my two kids. Must be able to juggle a minimum of 17,258 demands and requests begininng when the key enters the ignition. Please note, some of these tasks will necessitate you to contort your body in various uncomfortable poses in order to retrieve a myriad of items, such as, but not limited to, droppped reading materials, micro-sized Squ…inkie toys, full bags of chips and beverages from under the car seats. Please have experience in dj’ing as you will also be required to load, play, replay, and switch out at least fifteen kiddie cd’s per every four miles driven. This is a fast paced position and not for the weak of heart. You must be willing to perform these duties efficiently and always with a smile. Payment will be in the form of any change you may find under the car seats during your shifts.

My Baby’s Got a Tail…

Now that I am (finally) at peace with my decision. I am able to admit, traveling the road to making the final choice to either, fork left…and forever remain a mom of two or…fork right, drink an entire bottle of cheap wine, declare mysel…f clinically insane and make a third Trant baby was a rather challenging one. Some days I would stumble upon sweet little angel infants in the aisles of Target, the supermarket, in tv commercials or magazine ads and pretty much everywhere else I turned. I liken this feeling of drowning in all things baby to the scene in Better Off Dead when Lane Myer resorts to ripping the radio out of the car and throwing it out of the window because every single station he puts on is blaring a sad, sappy love song. Not that I ever wanted to throw a baby out of a window, well, there was that one time my husband and I were over the moon to be having a “date night” in a so-called non-kid-friendly establishment and that brat wouldn’t stop crying, but you get the point. Some days my brain was simply filled with nothing more than babies… making one, having one, burping one, feeding one, holding one, raising one and so on and so on. Then there were the other, darker days. The “I’d have to be out of my f#*king mind to even entertain the insane thought of making another baby!” kind of days. These thoughts usually rolled in following such experiences as, a night of bedroom exit marathons (“I need water, more water, kisses, more kisses, hug, more hugs, to tell you if I changed the first letter in my name to ‘G’, I’d be called Golivia instead of my real name, Olivia”). A few other examples of times which would sway me to make an appointment to get a full hysterectomy are such things as, discovering one of my children has some serious artistic abilities…in shit painting and learning that sometimes, when a kid pukes, it can mimic a tsunami and cover the kid from head to toe, all four walls of a room and both parents in one fatal swoop. It was a fine line to walk and of hell of a hormonal roller coaster to ride on day in and day out. It was exhausting, both mentally and physically this deciding whether to procreate again or not. It consumed me day in and day out. So, one night, somewhere around 3:13 am, I suddenly awoke and came to the realization that I had to make a decision once and for all. For the well-being of myself, my family and anyone I encountered on a daily basis, I HAD to make a freaking decision. So, I decided instead of denying my undying, deeply rooted need for another baby, I would just go for it. I imagined a baby who slept through the night from one week old on and therefore gave me a free pass from sleepless nights. A baby who I could leave home alone and not worry he or she would call CPS on me. A baby who would have no qualms helping him or herself to a jumbo sized bowl of food whenever hunger would strike throughout the day and night. A baby who didn’t require me to make the act of changing diapers a part of my life once again. A baby who was trained, upon birth, to pee and poop in the same place each and every time they had to go about their business, making for effortless clean up. A baby who didn’t necessitate me walking around nauseous for three months, growing into the size of a killer whale and not having the ability to see my own toes for quite some time after giving birth. The answer was as clear as day…and it had a tail and four legs.

Watch Out Faye Dunaway, There’s a New Mommie in Town….

This morning was chockful of what I like to refer to as “Mommie Dearest” moments. You know, those moments when you hear yourself yelling at the kids like a lunatic and realize you are over the top, out of control, but do nothing to stop yourself. Perhaps, you may even spit while yelling. Yes, I am notorious for that one. Sometimes the kids even run to grab their sweet, frilly, princess umbrellas when I begin a screamfest. Even they know to take cover when the “Mommie Dearest” storm hits. It is vicious. Holla if ya hear me about those moments when you know you sound like, are acting like and look like one of those disgusting creatures that jumps out of of someones stomach in an especially gruesome horror movie, but there’s just no convincing yourself to apply the brakes, breath and consider how using a quiet voice with a stern tone would work just as well, if not, even better than roaring like a lion who has just been shot in the ass with a poison dart. There’s just no turning back from a “Mommie Dearest” moment round these parts. No other option, folks, but to hold on to your hats, ride out the storm and hope it passes quickly leaving minimal damage in its path. So, as I sit and write, I realize if they had a casting call for a Mommie Dearest Sequel, this morning’s audition would have no doubt, won me the leading role of Mommie. For those who are keeping tabs, you are correct. This makes two shit show mornings in a row. Yesterday morning’s performance wasn’t as dramatic, but most likely would have earned me best supporting actor in the sequel. The kids have been at school for over four hours now and I have spent the majority of the last four hours reflecting on the last two mornings and swearing on anything and everything that tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will win the role of Carol Brady, June Cleaver, or shit, I’ll even settle for Marge Simpson…3 foot tall blue hair included. Whatever it takes. I can almost feel that 2012 Mommy of the Year Award in my hands. That is, until… Somebody shits somewhere other than a toilet, somebody floods the kitchen floor with spilled chocolate milk, somebody doesn’t give her stamp of approval to one of the four outfits that have been carefully selected for her to wear to school and after emptying the contents of all her drawers, concludes nothing in there will work either and then reverts back to the original plan of choosing pre-selected outfit 1, 2 , 3 or 4, somebody stages a hair brushing protest complete with yelling, throwing and whining, somebody sends her breakfast back to the chef, uneaten and with a request for “something a little different” because she “changed her mind after she said she wanted it before,” somebody encounters shoe/sock issues and wastes fifteen precious minutes when they “just feel a little strange today…….,” somebody lost a mitten and then refuses to wear it after you spend twenty minutes searching the hall closet and every coat pocket in it, the car, and schoolbags for it, only to be informed upon locating it that “it’s actually a little too warm to wear mittens today.”, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc……. Misery loves company, so let’s have ’em folks…..unleash your very own “Mommie Dearest” moments here. Tell is like it is. Be proud of your un-perfectness in your role as Mommie and most importantly, make me feel like I am not the world’s biggest meanie-pants Mommie ever….

Dear 2012 Mommy of the Year Board of Directors…

Dear 2012 Mommy of the Year Board of Directors,
It’s only 7:49 am and I am already suspicious that I may have forfeited my chance to be a contestant in the 2012 Mommy of the Year Contest. I am writing with the hopes of explaining my actions and possibly swaying you to allow me to continue in the running for 2012 Mommy of the Year. Most likely, you will see fit to deduct points for the following: yelling like a lunatic before the clock even hit 8:00 am. However, if I may plead my case with hopes of receiving just a warning this time around. There were a myriad of events which led up to the screaming like a crazy lady episode. They were the following: A 6:29 am visit from Olivia in my bed asking if she could “just sleep in Mommy’s bed for a little while.” I now know for future reference that Olivia’s idea of sleeping with Mommy was just code words for her to roll around, sing Top 20 Pop songs and kick my legs repeatedly while I prayed to God for just five more minutes of uinterrupted sleep.
Next up, was me throwing on my black and white striped refree shirt to run downstairs to break up a sisterly battle over who would decide which lame-ass cartoon show they would stare at next on the TV. About here is when the yelling marathon began.
Upon re-entering the bedroom I was greeted by a medium-sized puddle of bulldog vomit. I headed back downstairs for the trusty vomit clean-up supplies: carpet cleaner, towels, paper towels and a plastic baggy to tie it all up in a neat, cute little package at the end.
Luckily, I still had on my striped shirt because when I went back downstairs to replace the vomit clean up supplies for round two, which is bound to take place by noon today, my referee services were needed to break up a battle between Olivia and the cat. Insert LOTS more screaming at a VERY high volume.
After pulling teeth, er, I mean getting the kids’ breafast orders, I bribed them, er asked them nicely to sit down and eat. I then decided it would be a good time to slip away into the bathroom to use the facilities and attempt to make myself look somewhat presentable for the school drop off and try my best to blend with, the other mommies who always look like they have worked on their hair, clothes and makeup since 4 am. However, as it turns out, black stretchy yoga pants and the same t shirt I wore to bed will have to do for today’s delivery to school since a clogged toilet became the priority instead.
Next was enduring the death stares from the girls after informing them their “Chipmunks and Chipettes on Ice Dance Party” would have to be continued at a later date since it was time to finally leave for school.
It was sheer bliss once I gathered up all my belongings and glanced over at the front door to see the two little angles standing nicely at the front door waiting to leave. Success. We were getting out of the house, on time, and both kids even had their shoes on the correct feet.
As I leaned in to pull the front door closed I saw it. Dog shit. Not a pile, but more like a trail. Five little nuggets of poop staring me in the face and shouting “Ha, Ha! Not so fast! You were so close! You even had one foot out of the door! Bring it back in lady, you have some shit cleaning to do!”
I scurried around gathering my shit cleaning supplies: paper towels, plastic bag and anti-bacterial spray cleaner. As I dropped to the floor following and scooping up the doody trail, I stopped for a minute to take a deep breathe and realize things could be a lot worse at that moment. I know, in your eyes, my epiphany probably doesn’t fully erase my screeching show. I am aware that you were probably watching, judging my actions and deciding whether or not to deduct points or eliminate me from the contest all together, so I must take this opportunity to apologize not only for breaking the #1 Mommy of The Year rule, which is not to yell (especially before 9 am), but also for giving the pug the middle finger. No pug deserves that treatment. In conclusion, I truly hope you have been able to empathize with me and better understand the reasons for my hollering like a wounded animal at my children this morning. I look forward to hearing from you soon regarding this matter.
Sincerely,   Lindsay Trant   Loving mother to 4 year old daughter: Olivia, 6 year old daughter: Camryn, 12 year old shit trail leaving pug: Stewey, barfing bulldog Roxie and 4 month old cat who hates me: Tygra.

Dancing With the Cat…

Not so proud parenting moment of the day: Walking past Camryn’s room, seeing the girls in full blown dance party mode, noticing them using the cat on center stage to “Whip Her Tail” back and forth to the beat of the song and pausing to watch, while using all my energy to not laugh hysterically out loud, for quite a few minutes before saving the cat.

Never Say Never (sung in Beiber-esque voice, of course)…

I just put a price on true motherly love when I used $10.99 of my $15.83 Itunes credit to make the dream of two party rockers become a reality today. Won’t you completely disregard your musical morals and join me in the torturous experience of subjecting your ears to a bunch of howling teeny boppers, who haven’t yet gone through puberty and lost their singing careers, manage to destroy songs you truly believed could not get any worse than the original versions. Get ’em while they’re hot, folks…Kidz Bop 21 has hit the stores. Blech.

An Apple a Day Makes the Tooth Fairy Pay…

It is a given that during a Target field trip with the kids, they will begin pestering me for a toy while approaching the entrance. The pleading will continue throughout the entire shopping experience and the grand finale takes … place in the checkout aisle with a last ditch effort to score one of those random, obscure items on display there such as, pocketsized Barbie dolls. I’d like to smack the sneaky ass merchandiser, who does not have children yet, in the face with the Mermaidia Barbie’s tail. Anyway, during today’s Target excursion, Camryn failed to whine, beg and put all her mindpower into telepathically turning the cart towards the toy aisles. That in itself was enough to make me worry, but her request a few minutes later made me just about choke. “Hey Mom, would it be ok if I could please get an apple at Target today?” An apple? Yep, A-P-P-L-E. You know. That healthy fruit my kids could never have been bothered with throughout their entire lives. That’s the one. I studied her as she inspected each apple and then finally placed one red apple in the plastic bag. The remainder of the trip, I was bombarded for information on when she would be able to eat her apple and how she just couldn’t wait to have it. Later on, I turned to my husband and said, “Wow, that’s pretty freaking exciting that all Cam wanted was an apple and even more so that she will have ingested one healthy food today’s sans me having to yell, plead and bribe her to do so.” Steve just chuckled. It was then I knew I was truly missing a piece to this appley puzzle. Apparently, there was once a little boy, who lost a little loose tooth while chomping on a little red apple…and now today,there is a little girl, with a little loose tooth who is putting all her faith in a little red apple from Target…

Wiggles and Jiggles

So, Camryn has her first “wiggly jiggly” tooth. She couldn’t be anymore excited or prouder. She wants to talk of nothing else other than its wiggliness. She enthusiastically demonstrates the jiggle for any and every person who will stop to take a look. She is keeping busy creating Excel spreadsheets to determine her total tooth fairy savings once all of her teeth fall out. S…he is consumed with daydreams of the toys she will soon buy with her tooth funds. First kid. First loose tooth…and I have learned the following lessons: Firstly, a kid’s first wiggly jiggly tooth is the adult equivalent to winning the lottery. Secondly, without warning, the experience will send Mommy on an emotional roller coaster as she surrenders to visions of the day when her little baby girl first got that very tooth. Thirdly, based on Camryn’s calculations of price per tooth and cost of desired toys, I will need to start the loan application process now.

Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird. It’s a plane….It’s a school night in the Trant household!

Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird. It’s a plane….It’s a school night in the Trant household! Brace yourself for a whirlwind of first grade homework, so challenging, it makes you feel like you need to go back and repeat grade school….and then repeat it once again after that. Get ready for a tornado of household chores, including …re-washing the laundry that’s been sitting gathering mold for the last seven hours because you forgot to move it over to the dryer in time, unloading the dishwasher with one hand while swatting the cat out of it with the other, and cleaning up that trail of dog turds littering the dining room floor befor someone gets it between their toes or paws. Hold on to your hats while doing your best imitation of a short order cook on speed with the hopes of successfully getting some poor excuse for a healthy dinner on the kitchen table that the kids will actually ingest with minimal negotiations and bribes. Put your helmet on for bedtime, for it is guaranteed to be a bumpy ride filled with “I need one more kiss,” “I need water,” “I had a bad dream even though I haven’t actually fallen asleep yet,” “for some reason I have the urge to tell you about Johnny getting in trouble for writing on his desk at school today and I feel that now is the perfect time to share it with you,” “I need some more water because I purposely finished the first cup to have another excuse to get out of bed again…” And, what seems like decades later, when the journey through an evening at the Trant house has finally come to a close and the kids are asleep….Mommy puts on her jacket, punches out and takes off for a journey all her own….a trip to the local library…on a mission…to find that f#*king mommy manual.


Personal hairdresser for four year old girl. Must be able to tolerate ear piercing screams, especially during early morning hours.  Must also have ability to make sense of, and tame the human equivalent of a lion’s mane. Please inquire within and name your price. I’ll pay it.

You Say Vagina. I Say Vatina.

Olivia: “Um, ya know. Boys have a penis.”

Mommy: “Yes, Liv. They sure do. But, do you know what girls have?”

Olivia: <deep in though for about a minute and a half> “Uh, um, yeah. I know it. Girls have a V-V-V-V….um, uh, oh yeah, a VATINA!

Mommy: “Hmmmmm. Vatina? I think I like it, Liv. Sounds much more elegant than vagina. I’ll take it.”

Fill in the blank…

Bring it on my fellow mommies…fill in the blank….

You Know You’re a Mommy When______________________________ .

Books on CD…

Um, yeah. Books on CD. Where the hell have you been all my mommy life?! Especially you, Puss in Boots, narrated by Puss, in his Spanish accent. A true crowd pleaser. Kids get edumacated and Mommy does none of the work.  Mommy’s feeling like un superestrella right about now.

Bargain of the Century…

Family pack of tickets +tax = $54.50
One Flounder and one Simba stuffed animal @ $24.00 each: = $48.00
One Sno Cone in a Stich shaped mug: $10.00
One bag of cotton candy with bonus Flounder hat: $10.00
Being told, unpromted, on the way home by your kid,  “Oh my god, Mommy and Daddy…you are the best mommy and daddy in the whole world! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO much for taking us to Disney on Ice!”= Absolutely freaking priceless.

Brittany Ain’t Got Nothing On Me…

It’s 4 pm…..and the perfect time for Olivia’s sixth round of dance party USA today.  More disturbing than six dance parties in one day is the fact I just caught myself not only singing along with “Whip my Tail Back and Forth” but using a chipmunk-esque voice while doing it. White flag has been raised. I am a goner.

Poopy Pants

Olivia: “Moooooooomy…I need you to wipe me! I made poooooopy!”
Mommy: “Oh yeah, I can’t wait. I’m on my way Olivia.”
<Mommy enters bathroom>
Olivia: “I need you to wipe me because I know how much you love to wipe poopy.”
Mommy: “Ok, now you are just making a mockery of me, Olivia. You’re on your own from now on with the wiping of the poopy. I retire.”
Olivia: [evil giggle]

Craving Chaos

Twas’ such a splendid feeling sending The Trant Sisters off to school this morning after a long, long, long, exhausting week of school vacation.  Next up, twas’ a slice of heaven on earth aimlessly strolling the aisles of Target without two little ladies hanging off the side of the cart. … Then, An uninterrupted toilet and shower visit made me feel like it was Christmas all over again. Finally, Enjoying lunch from start to finish and without shoo-ing away small hands grabbing at my food was delightful. However, I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t missing them like crazy by 3 pm….okay, more like 1 pm…ok, ok….I started counting the hours until they would get home somewhere around aisle 4 in Target…which was sometime around, um…10 am.

On your mark…get set….SCHOOL!

On your mark…get set….SCHOOL!

T-30 Hours…and Counting….

T-30 hours until school starts again. Perfect timing since Momma’s bag o’ tricks is running on E-M-P-T-Y.  Time to refuel and recharge.  February break is just around the corner… Now accepting applications from anyone interested in taking on the job of keeping a four and six year old smiling for a week straight. Please do not apply if you are weak of heart….

Animals and Nature 101

Camryn: “Liv, let’s think of all the different nocturnal animals there are.”

Liv: “Okay.”

Camryn: “Well, there are owls, raccoons, possums, mice….and, wait….Mommy, are skunks nocturnal?”

Liv: “Yes, yes, they are and ya know when they get scared they get you with a really big fart.”

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid….

Typically, there at least a minimum of 2-3 bedroom exits after the lights have been turned out at night. Some of the usual excuses include needing a glass of water, needing another kiss, needing another hug, needing someone to assist in a search and rescue of the pink elephant stuffed animal that has been strategically “misplaced” in order to lure in an unsuspecting helper, etc.
However, Camryn’s excuse tonight was a first and has me thinking and I can’t lie, a bit nervous.
Me: “Camryn, why are you out of your bed?”
Camryn: “Um, Mommy. I just needed to tell you to be a good Mommy or there will be consequences.”
 Me: “What are the consequences?”
Camryn: <dramatic pause> “Um, I’m not really sure yet. Goodnight.”

1,440 Minutes Per Day…

Just got done yelling at Camryn for manhandling the cat again.

How does a six year old get back at her screaming Mommy?


With the following math question…”Mommy, how many minutes are in a day?” I guess she knows how painful it is for me to do such difficult math.


PS: According to Google…the answer is 1,440. I’m going to go with it, since I can’t bear the pain of checking it with my own brain as well as the embarassment of sending my daughter out into the world to report erroneous information to others…”But my mom said it is 1,274, so it HAS to be!”

O-H S-H-I-T, I A-M S-T-I-L-L S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G M-Y W-O-R-D-S…

You know you’re a parent when the kids have been asleep for hours and you are still spelling out curse words when conversing with your spouse…..

Ohhhh Heaven is a Place on Earth….and It’s Target at Night….

Question: What’s more powerful than a Xanax? More soothing than a mug of vodka? More calming than a therapy session?

Answer: A leisurely drive, which includes the blasting of uncensored versions of songs, to a solo late night stroll through the aisles of my very own personal slice of heaven on earth..better know as….Target. Ahhhhhhh.

Books o’ Lies…

I stumbled upon these while cleaning out a drawer today. Oh, the faith and trust I put in these books as a mom-to-be. They were my own personal mommy bibles. Fast forward to the present day as I sit, haggard and worn, while waving my white flag and admitting even though it is a fun ride, I have no fucking clue what I am doing in this game called motherhood.   It is with a smirk and an evil chuckle that I drop the books into the local library’s donation bin and create a vision in my head of the unsuspecting, bushy-tailed and bright eyed mom-to-be who will purchase them for a mere ten cents each and truly believe she knows what is in store for her in nine months or less. I will whipser from afar, “drop the books, go stock up on some coffee and realize there ain’t nothing out there that can prepare you for the roller coaster ride that is motherhood. Please buckle your seatbealt, secure all lose articles and enjoy your ride.”

The No Homework Elf…

I have a newfound love for elves. If anyone knows how to get in touch with the homework stealing breed, please let them know Camryn and I are willing to pay top dollar for their services throughout the school year.

Kid-Free Target Shopping Hours….

For Christmas, I want a kiddie drop off area, equipped with a playground, that is free to all paying customers at the entrance of each and every Target. If that’s not possible, I will settle for designated whine-free, cry-free, screaming-free, tantrum-free shopping hours…

Inmate #ABC123

We all know him or her. That one kid in the preschool class that lives to cause chaos, thrives on pissing the teachers off and puts the remainder of their energy into trying to drag the other kiddies into their black hole of perpetual time-outs. What sucks even more than this convict-to-be is when your sweet and innocent preschooler begins to imitate this future juvenile delinquen…ts’ annoying behavior once at home after a day of school. The solution is obvious. The devil child must be framed and ultimately bounced out of preschool. The only thing left is to decide which form of contraband will mysteriously make its way into his backpack….a toy gun, uncut raw carrots, popcorn, a live rodent, grapes NOT cut in quarters….the possibilities are endless. So long Mr. Bad Behavior and please take your crown with you so a little girl named Olivia doesn’t find it to be a perfect fit upon her angelic little head once you are gone.