Monthly Archives: November 2013

Things They Failed To Tell Me BEFORE I Decided To Become a Parent #456,789:

Things They Failed To Tell Me BEFORE I Decided To Become a Parent #456,789: While it may seem like a good idea to do so at the time…no matter how late you let you kids stay up at night, they will STILL wake up, chockful of energy, at the crack of freaking dawn.
Without fail.
Every f#*king time.
110% guaranteed.


Do As I Say, Not As I Do…

Camryn, 7: “I can’t find my shoes anywhere!”
Olivia, 5: “Hmmm. I see them right there by the door, Camryn. Maybe next time you should look WITH YOUR EYES. Now are you ready to go? Wait. Let me rephrase that. We are leaving now. Let’s go little lady.”
Mommy: (hangs head in shame at how dumb she must sound sometimes while simultaneously being super grateful Olivia stepped in and took one for the team on this one)

Just Listen The First Damn Time…

Overheard ’round these parts at least 86 times a day in some form or another…

Mommy: “Olivia, please don’t wrestle with the cat!”
Mommy: “Olivia, stop making the cat breakdance on the kitchen table!”
Mommy: “Olivia, stop swinging the cat around by his tail!”
Mommy: “Olivia! Put down the damn scissors! The cat does NOT need his whiskers trimmed!”
Mommy: “Oliiiviiiiaaa! Get the cat out of the bathtub right now! He doesn’t want to take a bath with you.”
Mommy: Olivia! For the love of god! Just listen the first time I ask and leave that freaking feline alone!!”
Olivia: “Geesh, Mom. You don’t have to be so nasty about it.”

What To Really F#*king Expect…

Finally. It’s here. The book that reveals all those harsh truths they fail to tell you BEFORE you decide to get pregnant. Presenting…
What to Really F#*king Expect When You Are Expecting.

1. Expect your breasts and areolas will grow three sizes overnight, ache and throb like it’s their job, and will soon end up pouring out of the top of your bra.
2. Expect you will suddenly spot cellulite on random parts ofyour body that you never even knew could get cellulite on them.
3. Expect you will find yourself saying a desperate prayer that you don’t pee in your pants every single time you have to cough, sneeze, laugh, breathe or bend over to pick something up.
4. Expect you will be plagued by morning, mid-morning, early afternoon, late afternoon and evening sickness that leaves you dry heaving over the porcelain throne.
5. Expect you will emit gas from both ends of your body that sound and smell so bad it shall rivals that of a 400 pound man’s flatulence after he has ingested a super sized bowl of beans.
6. Expect you will be able to almost hear the sound of your regular jeans yelling “f#*k you!” as you force them over your expanding belly and have to finally give in to wearing those super high-waisted, super awkward looking, and straight up super hideous maternity jeans that scream unsexy.
7. Expect you will see no other choice but to give in to the nagging cravings for egg salad on an everything bagel, sauerkraut, mustard, green olives, and orange juice which are not always, but on occasion, all consumed together in one sitting.
8. Expect you will discover you are gaining weight so fast that you swear you can feel yourself getting fatter by the minute. This is confirmed by both the number on the scale and your five-year-old child incessantly asking you why you are getting so fat.
9. Expect you will no longer have the ability to see anything past your huge belly to perform that much needed weekly check to see if your legs are hairier than your husband’s and desperately in need of a shave.
10. Expect you will now have a complete understanding of the nightmare that is hemorrhoids which, without a shadow of a doubt, were sent straight from the devil above to torture pregnant women all over the world.

How To Get Your Kid’s Attention…


Dear Mommy,

I admire your courage and determination in attempting to sit down, pour yourself a glass of water, pick up the phone, crack open that secret stash of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream that is housed in the way, way back of the freezer and strategically hidden under that box of Elio’s pizza, or actually, trying to do anything at all that doesn’t directly involve me. I give you an “E” for effort, but alas, here I am yet again with my endless list of demands in hand. Let’s get to work meeting MY needs now, shall we?

With Love and Occasional Gratefulness,
Your Super High-Maintenance Toddler

The Christmas List…

Camryn, 7: “Mom, I decided to write my Christmas List a little early this year. So, here it is. But don’t read it til it’s closer to Christmas.”

And just like that I welcomed the reminder that in between the tantrums, the talking back, the messy rooms, the endless whining, the never-ending demands for more juice, the requests for less broccoli, and the begging to have a second scoop of ice cream at dessert…I suddenly remembered how awesome this whole motherhood thing can actually be sometimes. How straight up freaking awesome it can be.

Mommy Pet Peeve #457:

Mommy Pet Peeve #457…this shit right here.
And to all those candy toting strangers who obviously don’t have kids of their own but for some reason always feel the damn need to sugar mine up, send them on their way, and cause them to drive me even more batshit crazy than normal…cut that shit out. Please and thank you.

Not-So-Proud, Yet True Mommy Confession #112,013:

I may or may not have been guilty of this very act by 8:03 am this morning, because sometimes a fifteen minute long category five tantrum over which socks the five-year-old will wear to camp can put even the best parent over the f#*king ledge.

Mommy Epiphany #45,998:


Sometimes you just stumble upon one of those moments that make you stop in your tracks and realize sometimes it’s the little things that are truly the big things in life.
This was my moment today.
What was yours?

Dear Mommy McIgnorant…

Because there’s always one in the damn crowd.
Without fail.
Every f#”*king time.

Rocking Out In The Supermarket…

Because really, other than the kickass sale on frozen mini waffles, what’s better than listening to the sweet sounds of the instrumental version of Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” while crusing down aisle #6?

Curse Words…

Camryn, 7: “Hey mom, you know we should probably just trade in our dogs for different dogs, because all the other dogs in the world know they have to piss and shit OUTSIDE, but for some reason, our dogs always piss and shit INSIDE the house.”

Mommy: “Because number one, our dogs were sent here by the devil himself to make my life sheer hell and number two, you aren’t allowed to say the word shit. That’s Mommy’s job.”

Dear Mommy McPerfect…

Dear Mommy McPerfect,

All that wearing wrinkle-free clothes that match perfectly, a flawless hairdo, perfect makeup, and sending your kid off to school with a lunch that rivals that of a five star chef’s signature meal every damn day.
You’re making us look bad.
So, cut that shit out.
Please and thank you.

Mommy Not-So-Perfect

Mommy’s Official List of The Top Ten Worst Birthday Party Favors…

Mommy’s Official List of The Top Ten Worst Birthday Party Favors…
1. A HARMONICA…that my child can and will play extremely loud and with every ounce of energy they can muster up, while I attempt to maintain what is left of my sanity.
2. A BLUE RING POP…that my child will eat and manage to cover their mouth, hands, fingers, and clothes in blue stains that will take days, if not weeks, to finally fade.
3. PLAY DOH…that my child will smoosh into their carseat, my carseats, their hair and ultimately, into their mouth.
4. LIP GLOSS…that my child will use to apply generous gobs of to their entire face necessitating me to wash their face not one, not two, but fourteen times to remove it all.
5. WHISTLE…that my child will blow, repeatedly, leaving with me severe ringing in both of my ears that will annoy me until the next damn birthday party rolls around.
6. KAZOO…that my child will whine about not knowing how to use and then not stop for hours once they finally figure out how to make that annoying humming noise from hell.
7. CHOCOLATE AND PEANUT BUTTER CANDY…that my child will have no choice but to surrender to me and my peanut buttery chocolate loving belly and completely sabotage my latest diet.
8. BUBBLES…that my child will undoubtedly wind up spilling on themselves, their shoes, and a large portion of the backseat of the car.
9. CHEWING GUM…that my child will chew for approximately two minutes until it loses it’s flavor, forget to place in a wrapper and then step in it guaranteeing the floor of the car will never be the same.
10. A BAG OF CHEESE DOODLES…that my child will eat and then use the neon orange powdery residue on their fingers to grafitti every surface they come in contact with for the next three hours.

Three Foot Tall Warriors…

The chaos.
The craziness.
The sheer insanity.
And the three feet tall warriors who can turn an entire house upside down in five minutes flat.
Yep, that’s all me.

I Wasn’t Supposed To…

Because I wasn’t supposed to forget to count to ten before yelling at the kids for something that probably didn’t really require yelling at all.
Because I wasn’t supposed to spend that half hour folding laundry, unloading the dishwasher and vacumming the floors when I could have joined in and been the green guy in a game of Candyland instead.
Because I wasn’t supposed to overreact and scream like a lunatic when I spotted her getting ready to swan dive off of her dresser while dancing to some horrible Pitbull song.
Because I wasn’t supposed to reply with an annoyed and gruff “I don’t know” when she asked me question number 45,674 of the day which inquired about the life of a llama.
Because I wasn’t supposed to use phrases such as, “You better watch that attitude little lady” and “For God’s sake can I please have just five damn minutes of quiet?!”
Because I wasn’t supposed to let a handful of “Oh shit’s” and a couple of F bombs slip in their presence.
Because I wasn’t supposed to completely lose my patience and hurry them to bed just so I could go crawl into mine.
Because I wasn’t supposed to sit alone in the silence once they had finally fallen asleep and swear to myself that tomorrow I will be the kind of mom I hoped to be when I woke up this morning.
Luckily, there’s always tomorrow.
A new day.
With no mistakes in it…

The Unwelcomed Houseguest…

True story.
Slightly disturbing, yet very true story.
And with an extremely high possibility of me eating any and all chocolate you have in your house.
Careful what you wish for.

You Know You’re Getting Too Old Too F#*”king Fast When…

Camryn, 7: “Hey Mom…what is this thing?”
Mommy: “It’s a VHS tape of my wedding.”
Camryn, 7: “Um, ok. Well, what do you do with it?”
Mommy: “You watch it.”
Camryn, 7: “Like how? Is this from the old days when you were really little? Like when TV was in black and white? Do you put it in some sort of box or something to watch it?”
Mommy: “Yep. Exactly. A dinosaur delivered a box at the door of our cave and we all sat around and watched black and white VHS movies together.”
Camryn: “I knew it.”


…And today I bravely take on the role of camp counselor…

Welcome to Camp Mommy.
Day 1 of 5.
Today’s lesson is how to conquer a mile long to do list.
With the bribe of a trip to the movies thrown into the mix for cooperation, good behavior and minimal whining.

Mini Me’s…

Except when they’re whining, doing something wrong or being straight up annoying…then not so much.
On those occasions, we blame Daddy’s genes.

Reese’s Penises…

This may or may not have been the highlight of my day. I may or may not need to think about finally growing up and acting like a respectable adult already…

Olivia, 5: “Mommy, Mommy! I just saw a commercial on tv and we so have to go to Hershey Park for a trip! You know why?”
Mommy: “No, enlighten me.”
Olivia, 5: “You might not even believe this but they really said they have REESE’S PENISES there! We so have to go!”
Mommy: (gasping for air while laughing so hard she comes frighteningly close to peeing in her pants) “Why yes dear. It seems we do have to go there then.”

Consider Yourself Warned, Little Lady…

Dear Back-Talking Sassy Pants Daughter of Mine,

Did ya see that? That was Mommy’s last ounce of patience flying right out of the damn window. Now cut that back talking shit out. Like now. Consider yourself lucky to have received this warning. However, it’s most likely your last of the day so choose your words wisely, little lady.

With Love,

The Favorite Child of The Day Award…

And the award for my favorite child of the day goes to the one who did NOT feel the need to tell me, “Um, Mommy, ya know? When you walk your legs shake” as I was getting dressed this morning.
Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.

Parenthood Mystery #45,798:

Your child claims to always hate and straight up refuses to eat whatever it is you busted your ass to serve them for dinner…until approximately an hour later when he/she comes across you enjoying your very own plate of that same food at which time they suddenly decide they now love chicken parmesan and in the blink of an eye half of your meal is g-o-n-e.
Without fail.
Every f#*king time.
At just about every f#*king meal.

Motherhood: Taking Exhausted To New Levels.

Dear Kids,
As the day comes to a close, please let it be duly noted that Mommy is quickly approaching levels of sheer exhaustion never experienced before. Please stand back at least 500 feet for the remainder of the evening and obey all commands to go to bed without the need to exit your rooms for “emergencies” such as another cup of water, to kiss the dog goodnight or beg for just one more storybook. Consider this your warning. And don’t forget, even when Mommy can barely see straight, stand up, form a coherent sentence or remember your name…she still loves you.

With Love,

Summer Vacation…

And just like that it has crept up on me once again.
Summer vacation is officially here.
Just the thought puts me one step closer to insanity.
Let the fun begin…

I Think I Can…

keep calm
Only two hours, twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds to go until my own personal version of happy hour or better known as that heavenly hour of peace and quiet between when the kids finally go to bed and I finally get to crawl into my own bed.
But hey, who’s counting?
This lady right here.
That’s who.
I think I can. I think I can…