Monthly Archives: February 2012

I clean, they mess…


Queen Lunchable

 Each and every trip to the supermarket, it never fails…when we hit aisle 7, Olivia slips a Lunchable into the shopping cart. It has been a long time coming and I am still not sure what pushed me over the edge, but today was the day I finally caved and didn’t remove the box o’ unhealthiness from the cart.
Perhaps it was the fact they were on sale at two for seven dollars and I fe…lt like I was getting a bargain of some sort, or maybe the idea of not having to make Olivia school lunch for two days was too exciting to ignore, but, in all honesty, it most likely happened because the thought of Olivia and her little preschool pals ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the yellow box with the M&M’s in it and, as a result, crowning me the coolest f#*king mommy in town this week was to tempting to pass up. Bon appetit, Liv.

Dessert Philosophy…

Recently, during one of those desperate “dear child, will you PLEASE just sit still and quiet for five minutes” moments, I offered four year old Olivia a lollipop to do the trick…

Mommy: “Hey Liv, pick one of these three lollipops.”

Olivia: (studies the three lollipops for a moment and grabs two)

Mommy: “Once again, Olivia, I said pick ONE lollipop.”

Olivia: “Um, well, I needs both, but don’t worry Mommy, I am just saving the second one for a dessert to the first one.”

Mommy: (super impressed and making a mental note to adopt Olivia’s dessert philosophy) “Oh, I see your point. Enjoy them both.”


One four year old. One claim of a microscopic paper-cut. Twelve band-aid changes within a two hour timespan to make sure each and every Disney princess has their time in the spotlight upon her ringfinger and the chance to unleash their magical healing powers. *Note to self: add a box of those hideous, plasticy flesh-colored bandaids from the dollar store to this week’s shopping list and be sure to take note of the drastic decrease in “injuries” Olivia endures.

It’s Schooooool Tiiiime!

What I will say: “Goodbye little angels. Have a great day at school today. I love you.”
What I will actually be thinking: “It’s schoooool time! Don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya on the way out the door! I love you.”

Suburban Mom’s Bible…

It’s 8 pm on a Sunday evening and I haven’t heard a peep from either kid’s bedroom in over fifteen minutes, which makes it the perfect time to indulge in a reading of this week’s edition of the suburban mom’s bible…

Back to School Countdown…

There are 19 hours and 54 minutes until the sweet sound of the school bell fills the air…but, in all honesty, who’s counting? Me, that’s who. The family togetherness quota has been met for at least the next four months or so. I’m expecting my “I survived 2012 February school break” medal to arrive by mid-week.

Supplemental Parenting Books…

I ran into these old friends of mine at a library book sale today and just had to give them a proper home on my daughter’s bookshelf, because after all…everything a girl really needs to know in life can be found on the pages of a Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary or Babysitter’s Club book.


You know you’ve fallen deep into the black hole of “mommywear” when you randomly swap out your usual black stretchy pants and hooded sweatshirt for fitted jeans and a sweater….and your six year old daughter asks you if you are going to a wedding.

Not So Happy Meal….

I’m left frustrated, defeated and wondering what I could have possibly done wrong in my former life to have deserved my children discovering play doh at the bottom of their Kiddie Meals this afternoon. No hard feelings when they play with it in the restaurant and smoosh it into the carpet, right? You obviously don’t have children of your own. Double middle fingers to you, Wendy.

The Mommy Lottery…

Winning the Mommy Lottery: The airplane pilot announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, today’s flight will be 2 hours and 35 minutes. You may now use any electronic devices”….and the kids choose a 2 hour and 48 minute movie to pop in the DVD player.

Adele and Tootsie Pops…

What’s better than blasting Adele and singing your heart out while driving in the car? Having a 4 and a 6 year old, who use Tootsie Pops for microphones, as your kickass backup singers.

A Feline Diva…

You know you live in a house with two young divas-in-training when…something sparkly catches your eye and upon taking a closer look you realize the cat has been covered in glitter.

A Letter to the 2012 Daddy of the Year Board….

Dear 2012 Father of the Year Board of Directors,
 I am writing to nominate my husband for this years’ award. Here’s a little background on him. He’s awesome. A-W-E-S-O-M-E. However, today Daddy took the awesomeness to a new level. He truly took one for the team. And, as a result, I, Mommy, dodged a bullet. I am so proud to call this man my husband and father of our children. I urge you to present …the award to my husband…the man who can pull of the “I just got puked on by my daughter in the middle of an airport with no access to my luggage for a change of clothes anytime soon” look a million times better than I could ever hope to. Please consider this hero of a daddy for this years’ award….you won’t be sorry you did. Thank you for your time.
Mommy of the Year, 2005-2011

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted…Vacation, Have To Get Away!

Without a doubt, I consider packing for a family vacation to be among the top ten most frustrating and annoying things in life. However, with a four and six year old enthusiastically offering up their rendition of the Go-Go’s “Vacation” as the soundtrack, this round of packing is almost enjoyable. Almost.

We split up the packing duties over here….I take care of the minor things, like the clothes and toiletries while Camryn and Olivia make sure we have the more important items, such as enough stuffed animals and headbands for each and every passenger on the plane…including the pilot, co-pilot and flight attendants.

DVD. That’s D-V-D.

Olivia, 4: “Hey Grandpa! Want to hear how I can spell?”

Grandpa: “Sure, Liv. Can you spell your name?”

Olivia, 4: “Yup. O-L-I-V-I-A. I can spell Mom too. M-O-M.”

Grandpa: “Wow. Very good, Olivia.”

Olivia, 4: “Oh yeah?! I can also spell DVD. D-V-D.”

And the Award For Good Listener Goes To….OLIVIA!

And to think…I’ve been trying to get her to listen for the last four and a half years. Who knew all I needed was a little purple slip of paper with a creepy cartoon guy with bad hair on it to make it happen. Thanks for the heads up Miss Preschool Teacher. Would you mind making me a few copies of those for home use?

They’re Always After Me Lucky Charms…

Dear four year old Olivia, stop your begging and let me explain…
Why do I always say NO to that sugary marshmallow enhanced cereal with the little Leprechaun man on the front of the box? Perhaps it’s because it is not the healthiest choice for breakfast. Maybe it’s because it is frowned upon by pediatricians and dentists worldwide. But, in all honesty, it is really because if I buy them on this Target trip today, there won’t be any left when you wake up tomorrow morning to pour yoursef a bowl, because Mommy has no self-control when it comes to the magically deliciousness and will have eaten the entire box in one sitting while you were asleep dreaming of the pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars and green clovers you’d be eating.
With sincere apologies, Mom
PS: Although nowhere near as thrilling, there is a half empty box of Cheerios in the pantry. Feel free to help yourself.

Remember What George Always Says… “Kids, Don’t Chop Cherry Trees and Don’t Smoke!”

Camryn, 6: “Hey Mom, did you ever do that smoking thing when you were younger?”
Mommy: (lying): “No way. Smoking can make you really sick. In fact, you can even die from it.”
Camryn, 6: (silence)
Mommy: (thinking she went too far with her reply and trying to think of a way to go back and sugar coat it a bit to ease the shock to the six year old)
Camryn, 6: “Ah ha! So I guess George Washington smoked, now didn’t he?”
Mommy: “Ya never know Cam, he just may have.”

Mommy Instinct…

Mommy Instinct: Upon discovering a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party invitation in your child’s school backpack you automatically begin inventing somewhat believable and socially acceptable reasons as to why your child cannot attend the party due to your own deeply rooted hatred for the incubator of germs and that dirty mouse that lives there.

Photo Proof….

In the rare event the 2012 Mommy of the Year Board of Directors request photographic evidence of one of the many reasons why I should win this year’s it is…homemade, heart shaped personal sized pizzas for the kids on Valentine’s Day. Look out! It’s a bird, it’s a plane….it’s Super Mommy up in here!

Etch-A-Sketch Masterpiece…

Etch-A-Sketch masterpiece, as seen outside 6 year-old Camryn’s closed bedroom door.
Mommy (knocks on door): “Hey Cam…what’s up with this picture you drew?”
Cam (opens door): “Well, do you like it, Mommy?”
Mommy: “Yeah, I do. Can you tell me what it’s all about?”
Cam: “Oh sure. Well…that’s Olivia and that’s a bear who is about to eat her so she can’t come in my room ever again.”
Mommy: “Ah ha. I see it now. Very creative.”
Cam: “Thanks.” (shuts bedroom door).

FU of the Day Goes To….

The FU of the day goes to… that tiny random piece of a toy that narrowly avoids becoming trash because you keep moving it from place to place to give yourself the illusion you are tidying up the house…all so the kids don’t have a nervous breakdown when they come to you sobbing three weeks from now, because they can’t find the microscopic piece of plastic junk…and you can be crowned hero of the day when you hand it over.

Rare Moment of Domesticity…

Rare moment of domesticity: Made my husband breakfast for the first time in the sixteen years I have known him. I now plan to use this milestone to get my way, as needed, for at least the next sixteen years. Of course, being that I would be lying if I ever put the words “good cook” on my resume, this all hinges on whether or not he pulls through from a nasty case of salmonella if the eggs were not cooked all the way.

And Behind Prize Door #2…We Have Butt Wiping!

Liv: “Hey Mom, um, can you feeds me my mac and cheese?”
Mom: Are you a baby? Only babies need to be fed, not big girls…”
Liv: “No, I’m not a baby, I’m a big girl…buuut I will gives you a prize if you do it…”
Mom: “And what would that prize happen to be?”
Liv: (completely serious, as if she is about to offer up a million bucks) “Well, the prize is you get to wipe my butt afters I poop later.”
Mom: (shaking her damn head) “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass this time around. Feed yourself and wipe you own butt, BIG GIRL.”

A Letter to My Four Year Old Daughter

Dear Olivia,
“I will be right back I am going to the bathroom” is NOT an open invitation for you to accompany me, critique me, and ridicule me while I move my bowels. Don’t bother trying to open the door after you have finished reading this, it’s locked until further notice. …
 Love always, Mom and her “stinky poo”

Smile! You’re on Candid Camera…at Target!

While on the return line at Target, Olivia questioned why they have video cameras in the store. Being that she’s four years old and old enough to handle the truth, I told her the real reason…so they can watch to see if any children misbehave in the store, come find them and tell them they can’t come back to Target ever again. She bought it. It was the most pleasant trip to Target, with a child in tow, I have ever had. I have high hopes it will do the trick on, at least, our next two-three visits.

“What’s Going On? LOTS of Whining, That’s What…

A child whining in a car with closed windows can, without a doubt, be used as a form of cruel and unusual punishment for an unlucky driver. Sadly, that driver was me today. Even sadder and very disturbing, is the fact I felt letting Olivia rule the radio and grant her request to listen to an extended remix of Four Non Blond’s “What’s Up”at full blast was less irritating than the whining.

The 100 Meter Get Back to School Before They Lock the Doors Dash

The 100 Meter Get Back to School Before They Lock the Doors Dash

Mommy: “So, Camryn, do you have a lot of homework tonight? Your backpack feels kinda light today.”

Camryn, 6: “Uh, not really, but I do have to study for my math test tomorrow.”

Mommy: “Ok, so how are you supposed to study for this test?”

Camryn, 6: “Oh, I’m going to study from the math review packet in my blue folder.”

Mommy: (inspecting contents of backpack) “That sounds like a plan, but uh, where’s this folder you speak of because there’s nothing fitting that description in this backpack.”

Camryn, 6: (dramtic pause) “Oh yeah, now I remember. I saw it drop out of my backpack somewhere inside the school today.”

Mommy: “Wait, hold up. You mean you actually saw the folder drop from your backpack and just left it there?”

Camryn, 6: (without an ounce of hesitation) “Yep.”

Mommy: (restraining herself to not unleash her true feelings about the situation which would most likely cause mental scarring to both Camryn and various other individuals in the school parking lot.) “Well then, it looks like you made a good choice in footwear today, Camryn. Get those sneakers ready to run the halls of Fairlawn Elementary School.”

Dance Party Free Zone…

The kids are at school. The house is silent. However, there is a mega-mix of Kidz Bop 21, the Chipmunks’ Chipwrecked soundtrack and Disney Princess Sing-Along blasting at an obscene volume in my head. There is now a ban in place on before school dance parties around these parts.

The Parents’ Step-By-Step Guide to De-Cluttering the Front of the Fridge

-Monday afternoon: Hang schoolwork up on refrigerator and enthusiastically express your love for your child’s creativity. Continue to praise their artistic abilities every time you walk by it.

-Thursday: Make a mental note to self how cluttered the front of the fridge looks and to be sure to take down the schoolwork tomorrow. After all, a minimum of 57 more masterpieces will enter the house by next Monday afternoon.

-Friday night (once you are 110 percent sure the budding artists are fast asleep): After having left the masterpieces on display for a full five days, quietly remove schoolwork from the fridge and place on the kitchen counter out of the childrens’ sight. Glance over at schoolwork on the kitchen counter with intentions to discard ASAP each and every time you walk through the kitchen.

-Saturday morning: Deny you were the one who removed the schoolwork from the fridge when the mini-Picassos confront you on it. They will be very agitated, so be sure to remain silent and smile as you watch them hang their schoolwork back on the fridge. Begin to plot your next plan of attack to complete mission: De-clutter Front of Fridge.

-Sunday night (after confirming, once again, that the masters of the crayons are officially in dreamland): Tiptoe into the kitchen. Slowly remove the schoolwork and strategically place in the garbage can inside an empty pizza box, cereal box or fold the paper into microscopic sized pieces and conceal them between bits of trash. Give the garbage can once last check to make sure the schoolwork is not visible to the untrained eye, say a prayer to the gods of childrens’ schoolwork and gently close the lid.

-Monday early morning: Awaken to the sounds of yelling, whining and the phrase, “Wait. What the?! Mooooooooommmmmmy! How did my picture get in the garbage?!” Resort to playing dumb, since they children will again, be very angry. Grab a paper towel or two to wipe the globs of ketchup off of it and hang that sucker back up on the fridge thinking how nice it will look next to the plethora of new schoolwork that will be joining it later this afternoon.


Mom’s Night Out (MNO): a night out with fellow mommy friends, sans kids, to relax, decompress, rejuvenate and take a break from all things Mommy…at which you will all, undoubtedly, spend 97% of the night discussing, in great detail, your children and motherhood.

Like Mother, Like Daughter…

Olivia (while inhaling a smores flavored granola bar): “Um, Mom? Well, ya know…I just love food.”

Mommy (eyeing the tasty looking morsels of chocolate in the granola bar while silently praying there is another one hidden somewhere in the depths of the glove compartment): “Yep, you sure do…and even though you look absolutely nothing like me, that is the reason why no one will ever doubt you are my flesh and blood.”

Today’s Agenda

As seen through the eyes of a four year old: today’s activites shall include a trip to the zoo, a shopping spree in a high end department store and a gourmet lunch with a bonus toy.
As seen through the eyes of Mommy: today’s activites shall include lugging a 30 pound bag of dog food through Petco and using every last ounce of energy to hoist it into the trunk of the car, rummaging through toy bins at the Dollar Tree in search of some sort of lead-free goody bag junk for Olivia’s Valentine’s Day class party and a lunch of wilted lettuce and rotten tomatoes with rubbery chicken on top and a side of Diet Coke.

President Gnocchi

Tonight’s dinner included gnocchi. This is the first time gnocchi has entered into the lives of my four and six year old daughters.
The following conversation occurred upon the unveiling of the scrumptious little nuggets of pasta:
Mommy: (trying her best to sell the new food anyway she possibly can) “Hey girls, did you know when I was pregnant with you guys I ate SO much gnocch…i. I couldn’t get enough of it?”
Olivia, four year old (after a long dramatic pause): “Wait…you got to be President once? Oh muh gawd.”

Fine, I’ll Just Pay the Fine…

Alert! Alert! We have a missing library book! Repeat! We have a missing library book…that I am not even responsible for losing, but will make an obsession out of searching the house for over the next 2-3 months, never find, end up paying hefty overdue fines, which will add up to be more than the cost of the buying the book brand new, which I will have to fork over to the library as well. Defeat at its finest.

Um, Mommy….You Skipped a Page…Again…Nice Try…

And as another busy, tiring day finally comes to a close, I find myself desperately longing for the nights when skipping pages, full sentences and random words in the bedtime storybooks went unnoticed by the audience. Sometimes reading is just not fundamental.

An Afternoon with Grandpa…

Camryn, six year old granddaughter: (ever so sweetly) “Hey, Grandpa, do you think you could help me with putting together this Play Doh toy?”

Grandpa: (dramatic pause) “Uh, pretend I’m not here.”

Camryn: “Um, ok, but could you still help me?”

Grandpa: (silence…)

*Note to self – print, complete and mail 2012 Grandpa of the Year application ASAP.

Always Something There To Remind Me…

Camryn: “Hey Mom, I made this heart with my initials in it so if you miss me while I am at school today, you can look at and be reminded of me.”

Mommy: “Thanks, Cam. That is very sweet of you. I love it.” (mumbles to self just low enough so the budding artist cannot hear) “Or…if I am really missing you and the drawing just doesn’t cut it, I can always look at the dirty pajamas you left on your… bedroom floor, the dirty breakfast dishes you left on the kitchen table, the trail of Littlest Pet Shop toys you left in the hallway, the glob of toothpaste you left on the bathroom counter, the crayon marks you left on the table, the stuffed animal kangaroo you left lying next to the front door after I told you to put it back in the house because kangaroos are not permitted in school…”

Camryn: “What did ya say, Mom?”

Mommy: “Have a great day, sweetheart. I’ll miss you.”

Eggs Come From a Carton and Other White Lies…

The other day, I received way too much praise from my children for cooking eggs for them. We’re not talking fancy eggs, sunny side up, an overstuffed cheese omelet or even hard boiled (which in my opinion take too long to make and require way too much effort on my behalf so only get made once a year and that’s at Easter and only to color them so my kids are not the only ones in school who didn’t color eggs).

I am talking about your average, run of the mill, basic scrambled eggs. The “ooohs” and “ahhhs” that the children showered me with as they took their first bite of the eggs made three things very obvious to me. Firstly, I must make some kick ass eggs. Secondly, I so need to step up my cooking game around here, because this is bordering on, no actually, it is embarrassing. Lastly, I now can’t stop my thoughts from wandering down a path which includes some troubling thoughts about when the kids are adults, which include, but are sure as hell not limited to the following concerns…

– will my children grow up to believe eggs must be poured from a carton?

– will they believe macaroni and cheese is not really macaroni and cheese unless it is made with a fluorescent orange powder?

– will they think the process of making mashed potatoes must include a box of white flakes and a microwave?

– will they only eat yogurt if it is rainbow colored, comes in a tube and has knock-knock jokes on it?

– when asked how they prefer their pasta, al dente or not, will they respond “in a can with that big fat chef guy on the front of it.”?

So, as I reflect on this, I try to convince myself there is, in fact, a bright side and that is at least I am feeding them. Now, I turn to you all to make me feel better about my lack of culinary skills and boost my mommy-in-the-kitchen self esteem. Let em rip, folks. Give up your not so proud in the kitchen moments…the winner gets a plate of my scrambled eggs.

And The 2012 Domestic Hero Award Goes To, None Other Than…..ME.

Feeling accomplished, rockstar-esque and just like one of those over-achieving moms I love to hate, after successfully completing…


1. Make a semi-homemade meal for dinner where only one of the four components comes from a box/bag and/or necessitates a microwave.

2. Complete all steps of gathering, washing, folding AND putting away one load of laundry in a timely fashion, which is to be less than six days.

3. Vacuum up enough dog fur on just one level of the house to make the dog a pseudo-doggie fur friend that is equal to, or bigger than he is.

…Nothing left to do now, but to pat my self on the back, relax on the couch, decide on a perfect spot on the mantle and wait for the phone to ring so they can give me directions on where I go to pick up my 2012 Domestic Hero Award…

To The Gods Of All Birth Control…

Dear Gods of All Birth Control Pills, please don’t let the little light orange ones by that other pharmaceutical company be duds too. I’m counting on you. Please don’t let me down. GULP.

Whores and Whos

This is a big week for Olivia. She finally got the coveted “Movie Pass” which allows her the distinct honor of bringing in a movie for the preschool class to watch after lunch. If I still haven’t got the point across, let me take a second to spell it out for you. Through the eyes of a preschooler…this is bigger than winning the lotto, better than seconds at dessert and most defi…nitely beats out staying up an hour past their bedtime. Over the last few days, Olivia has spent a great deal of time browsing through our DVD collection to be sure she selected the perfect movie to share with her classmates on her big day. I made sure to fulfill my motherly duties and follow the fine print on the movie pass which stated the movie must be “G” rated. Olivia jumped out of the car this morning and ran to the school doors with such excitement. She just couldn’t wait to get to her classroom to announce to everyone what movie she had brought in. And after they shut the school doors and made their way to their classrooms, I returned to my car and wished with all my might I could be transformed into a fly so I could sit on the wall and watch when Olivia took her place in front of the class and proudly announced in a nice loud voice, “Today we are going to watch Whores and Whos.”  No need to fret, Miss Audrey….it’s “G” rated.

Hair Die-ing….

Bowing my head and taking a few to mourn the days when dyeing my hair was fun, exciting and optional…while shaking my fist at the two lil rugrats responsible for the plethora of gray hairs that now call my head their home.