Birds vs. Monkeys!!

So last night we had a knockdown, drag out fight at the house.  Over what?  Tinkerbell sheets.

My son had a rare accident the night before so I had stripped his bed that morning, and when I went in at 7:30 to change his sheets I realized the only sheets I had available were his sister’s very awesome purple Tinkerbell sheets, since his sister had no problem using his second set of sheets on her bed (complete with race cars).

It pretty much melted down into this conversation.

Why are you putting THOSE sheets on my bed? 

 Because Bear, they’re all I have left that’s clean that will fit on your bed.

Begin face melting, pouting bottom life, and real tears forming.

BUT NOOO!!  I hate those sheets! 

 Why? What’s wrong with these?  I know technically they are your sister’s, but can’t you live with them for a few days?  What’s the harm?

I HATE THEM!  (tears streaming, feet stomping)

 They are the SAME EXACT SHEETS as the ones I usually put on except they’re purple and have fairies on them.  You love the Tinkerbell movies, what’s the big deal?

They’re girl sheets!!!! 

 Pfft.  There’s no such thing you know that.


 Why, do you start to feel like a girl when you sleep on them?


Do you think your penis will fall off if you sleep on them?


Then what’s the big deal?  They are actually a bit softer than the ones you usually have.


He then proceeds to grab them from me while I am pulling the fitted sheet on the bed and tries to run with it.


I’ll sleep on the couch!!! 

No, you won’t because your dad’s getting up early and I don’t want him to wake you up at the butt crack of dawn too.

This debate went on for several minutes.  Bear is getting more and more hysterical by the minute.

Seriously kid, I don’t know what the big deal is.  There is no such thing as boy and girl stuff.

So, we compromised.  I took our queen size red sheet and put it over his mattress, tucked it in, and gave him a down comforter that we use as a living room blanket to sleep with (which is purple by the way).  I topped it off with the manliness pillowcases I could find, which (thanks to Grandma Mary) were handmade brown flannels with power tools on them.

Good Lord.

What the heck did I do wrong?  I have been a fairly strict gender neutral mother since before I had kids and I took Women’s Studies 101 my senior year of college.  There I read Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan and a slew of other awesome women who informed me of the way we separate our children from birth to act like “girls” or “boys” is horrible.

You will never hear me say, “That’s a girl toy,” or to G “You’re so pretty.”  OK, OK, maybe I do say this a lot, but come on…she is and, in fairness, I say this to Bear too all the time.  I just try hard not to define her by her looks and my son by how strong he is.  I try to balance it out, which usually just turns into awkward run on sentences, much like this one.  So, I end up saying to G, “You’re so pretty! Ah….errr….and smart and funny…”

I am so careful not to tell my boy to “toughen up” or that “boys don’t cry” which leads my husband to accuse me of coddling.  Well so be it.  To tell a boy he’s not allowed to have feelings is ridiculous in my eyes.  Now, I try not to encourage crying as a standard reaction (both tend towards the melodramatic when trying to get their way), however, I do allow either of them to cry if they are sad, scared or hurt in some physical way.  There’s nothing wrong with that.

I want my son to experience whatever he finds interesting, whether it be machines, trucks or ballet.  If the boy wants to put on toe shoes and kick it in tights, I would be overcome with joy.   If G takes up an interest in football, I’d be happy too.  OK, not football, that’s super dangerous.  How about karate where she could learn to kick ass and take names with ample amounts of headgear and mouthguards?  That’s better.

But no, I get two kids who are pretty standard boys and girls.  My daughter is the toughest princess you’ll ever find.  She thinks nothing of donning a pair of fairy wings and a Nerf gun and going after the boys.  My son loves Tinkerbell and has a soft spot for Benji movies, but would rather figure out a Star Wars lego set than color pretty pictures.

Nobody mess with the FAIRY!
Nobody mess with the FAIRY!
Only real men can handle a hose.
Only real men can handle a hose.

So, I guess to sum up, I am doing an OK job of it right?  I want to achieve the right balance of making them tough enough kids for this sadistic real world they will one day be entering and making them comfortable with their feelings and interests and to never be limited by their gender.  My girl plays with cars, Nerf guns and trains. My boy plays with Barbies, dress up clothes and My Little Pony.  If you don’t want yours to do that, then I wouldn’t come to my house, because here they get to play with anything they want.  Except football, because that’s just dangerous.

PS – Happy birthday to my husband, who is on Attempt #2 to get back to work tonight.  So far only an hour delay… Wish him luck, and non-trainee pilots pretty please.  I’d like to keep him for a bit longer….

This One Goes Out to the One I Love


Dear Diary or whole Internet…whatever,

I have a confession to make.  I might have been a wee bit selfish and assholey about Father’s Day.  It may not have occurred to me to put any effort into it until the actual day.  And then I blew it.  Big time.

First, Mother’s Day was a freakin national holiday for me and I took it VERY seriously.  No one was taking this day away from me.  I did what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted and I did not wipe one butthole that was not solely behind me for one whole day.  It was a big deal.  I prepped Mark for weeks that I was taking this day.  No presents.  No cards.  No breakfast in bed (besides the bed was already full of crumbs from my nacho binge the night before anyways).  No need.  JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.  So he did, they did.  Like a boss.  He took the day and enjoyed the kids without me.  It was awesome.

So – he set the bar pretty high right?  I should have followed suit and let him have a day all to himself,  bought him a cool gift, or at the very least become an animal in the sack right?  Nope.  Not at all.  First, I was tired.  We’d been in the sun all day.  I just wanted to sleep for cryin out loud, and since 50 Shades and my new smut addiction have come about, he hasn’t had much to complain about. (Gross, I know, I’ll stop.  I can hear my sister ewwing from 2 miles away.)

AND, I also may have gone a bit over budget this month, so spending any money, even on him, would have just made him mad, so the present was a nonstarter.

My big hang-up, and the thing that made me kind of an asshole, was my whole attitude about the whole thing.  I might have had the teeny tiny thought that he didn’t deserve a day off.   I do the work Monday through Friday.  I wipe the butts (can you tell I’m getting a wee bit tired of doing this?), I use all my vacation on mystery fevers, I worry what the mystery fevers are, I pack lunches, I fix dinner (kind of, they get fed anyways, PB&J counts people), I chauffeur to med checks, doctors, soccer, karate, daycare and so on.  I work full time, do the pick ups, rush home to fix dinner (kind of, see above), unpack, OK, I’m getting tired of typing this, let’s just say I do a lot.  By myself.

So, I kind of got my panties in a bunch and ignored any sort of planning or putting any thought into the day.  I may not have given him the day because this was his first time home in two weeks and I NEEDED him to be with the kids.

Problem is, he didn’t deserve my attitude.  His job isn’t his choice, a sucky local job market makes it so he has to travel to find work.  It’s a good job, good pay with a good company and an awesome opportunity for him that at the same time allows our family to stay put near our support systems and surroundings with which we are familiar.   He gets to come home every weekend mostly and when he does, he hits the ground running.

He gets home, maintains the outside (with the exception of my May only gardening helpfulness), does trash duty, pool duty, fixes all that’s been broken (because I’m just a girl, math is hard!), helps out his family, and cooks all the weekend meals.  This is all in addition to organizing fun nights like outdoor movie night, trips to the Zoo, swim parties and cookouts.  All with two kids hanging off him.  Then he catches a 7 a.m. flight back to his hotel “home.”

So, it’s not like he’s livin the dream either.  And he hates it.  I mean, the job is great, but it’s the crazy number of miles away with no end in sight that bites.  Plus, he’s a way better dad than I’ll ever be a mom, even just two days a week.  Sure, he might miss a few details and match G in horrendous clothes, but really, there’s not much to complain about regarding his parenting skills.  He has more energy, more creativity, and basically the mentality of a 12 year old.  No wonder kids love him.  He’s wicked fun, indefatigable (word of the day toilet paper), and the most creative dad on the planet.  Oh yeah, and none of it’s forced.  Even before we had kids, I could find him playing with his nieces and nephews when the rest of the adults were being all grown uppity together.

So, this is my public apology.  I am sorry honey for being such an asshat.  You know I’m not perfect and you love me anyways.  You’ve put up with me for close to 18 years and this is no where near my first fuck up.  I’ll make it up to you.  Maybe with some steak, Killian’s and a rowdy romp in the hay once the kids go to bed.  What can I say, he’s easy to please.  No ties for this guy…well maybe we’ll throw some ties in there, you know, just for fun.  🙂

Outdoor movie night...Come on!!!  Suck at something will ya?!
Outdoor movie night…Come on!!! Suck at something will ya?!
Real men wear pink and watch the babies
Real men wear pink and watch the babies
You may see a smartass, I see a man unloading the dishwasher.
You may see a smartass, I see a man unloading the dishwasher.
He was a LAMP for christsakes!  I love lamp.
He was a LAMP for christsakes! I love lamp.
And this.  Just. This.
And this. Just. This.


Things Have Been Said

A snippet of things I have said tonight…

“I cannot dance like a royal princess if you don’t turn Macklemore back on.”

“Stop eating the butter.”

“Let me get this straight, your head hurts because your thumb hurts?”

“NO!  I am not wiping your butt until I finish dinner!”

“NO!  I am not plunging the toilet until I finish dinner!”

Aaand face palm!!

Face Palm



Fat cat

I like food.  I am currently successfully battling my food demons.  As of right now, I am back on the wagon, on week 4 of Weight Watchers and have lost 3 lbs.  That’s pretty good for me.  My goal is not to lose my ass and thighs, that’s a forevermore for this girl, but I’d like three things to go away.  First and foremost, the baby belly.  Second, the double chin aka the Waddle.  Third, I need to dump the chubby arms and get my rockin swimmer arms back.  The kind I had 10 years ago whilst waiting tables and bartending.  The arms that came from 12 hour shifts, trays of food, moving kegs of beer and full bus tubs.  I want to sell tickets to the gun show.  $50 a pop.

About a week ago, one of Will’s after-school caregivers asked me if I was going to have a baby.  If that’s not a kick in the pants, I don’t know what is.  It hurt.  It made me feel bad, which makes it even worse because I was feeling pretty good about myself up until that point in the day.  Was it stupid for her to ask?  Hell yes.  Was it a crazy statement?  Not so much.  It’s where my weight has settled.  Babies have left and food has taken their place.  My food baby.  God I love that food baby.   It might help if I wasn’t constantly touching it and resting my hand on it, much like I did when I was pregnant.  It’s just fascinating that so much can just dwell there.  I have to admit, I am constantly poking at it, grabbing handfuls of it when I sit down and look around for a pair of scissors, because that’s what I want to do, just trim it off.  Can’t hurt that much right?  See how lazy I am?  I’d rather CUT my fat off with SCISSORS instead of GASP! walking away from that donut or getting on a treadmill a few times a week.

Since the food baby question, I have been more motivated than ever, so thank you naïve young daycare girl, you made me hit bottom.  Time to look up and start taking care of myself.  I want to like me.  I want my kids to know that I like myself.  And I want to make my husband happy, which is not the hard part.  He really likes chubby girls.  His big fear is that I’ll get “too skinny” and lose my ass.  Don’t worry honey, it’s not going anywhere.  I’ll never be my teenage self (save maybe the acne, which come on, give a girl a break! I’m 33, when does it end?), but I would like to be a leaner version of me.  One that doesn’t use rouching on swimsuits as extra material to fill.  I want the actual rouching to come back and be just that, cute wrinkles in the front.

As a testament to my commitment and a way to keep up the motivation, here Internet, is a picture of me NOW.  You know, so I can mail it to Weight Watchers and have them ask me to be a spokeswoman, cause you know, they don’t have enough celebrities who’ve just had babies 30 seconds before who want to join.  Just so you know, I made pregnant cankles sexy WAAAY before Kim K.  You stole my sausage feet Kim!

No, I didn't buy this dress.  My sister talked me out of it after I texted this pic to her.  Gotta love sisters.  They tell it like it's fat.
No, I didn’t buy this dress. My sister talked me out of it after I texted this pic to her. Gotta love sisters. They tell it like it’s fat.
A good example of "the Waddle."  Yeah, the skinny bitch next to me makes it look worse.  I blame her completely.  :-P
A good example of “the Waddle.” Yeah, the skinny bitch next to me makes it look worse. I blame her completely. 😛


The Bitch Face

Original Article Here

I am a victim of Bitchy Resting Face. YES. And to be fair, these girls actually don’t have BRF in my opinion. I think they had to work pretty hard to look mean. I, on the other hand, just look pissed off normally.

I have tried different looks over the years to make me seem more approachable. One was growing out my hair.  Apparently short hair makes me look even meaner.  This may have worked if I hadn’t constantly pulled it back into a tight ponytail because I hate the feeling of hair on my neck. This caused my giant forehead and huge Dumbo-like ears to become my defining feature. Not a good look. Just ask my stylist who, when I begged to cut my hair short again, made me promise on my first-born that I will wear earrings and wear makeup EVERY DAY. For the most part, I’ve held up my end of the bargain, but on the days I don’t, you can bet I’ll see the most popular girl in high school at Costco, which doesn’t really bother me, as she didn’t know who I was anyways. These are also the days I get my picture taken. Constantly. For no reason.

Anyways, this is a big issue to have when desperately trying to fit in in high school. I remember wondering why for the life of me I could not make friends in my catholic high school after spending the first 9 years in public school.   Take a fish out of water, combine with BRF, my introversion and the acute inability to open my mouth to make initial conversation with another human being, and I was out of luck.  High school was a character building experience to say the least.

I was the most lonely my freshman year during my Intro to Typing class, which, unbeknownst to me, was an elective only seniors chose. I was seated behind what must have been the senior plastics of their day and desperately wanted to be included in their conversations on a daily basis. One day, one of the cool guys (who is totally probably fat and sad now, I wish I could remember his name) turned around to ask me a question. I looked up from my typewriter (yes, you heard me) to listen and he backed away with his hands in the air saying, “Okaaay, nevermind, sorry didn’t mean to bother you,” and then proceeded to snicker at the girl next to him about “what pissed her off?”    That’s just my face dillhole. I was LISTENING.

One of my biggest pet peeves that happens from having BRF is people are constantly telling you to smile. Life’s not so bad! Cheer up! Whaaa? I wasn’t unhappy, nor was I looking at you, so please be on your merry way. OK, maybe I am a bit of a bitch.

One of our building maintenance guys thinks it’s funny to call me “Smiley.” He doesn’t know me, nor has he had more than a 5 minute conversation with me, but this doesn’t stop him from judging my unhappy appearance and feeling free to comment on the state of my face. I don’t look at him and out of the blue go, “Paunch!” No, cause that would be rude. Smiley, however, is apparently funny.

My question is, what do these people want from me? A shit grin on my face at all points in the day in the off chance someone is looking at me? Not gonna happen. For me, apparently my smiling is so rare that when I do smile, people make a big deal about it and insist on me telling them “what I’m so happy about,” to which I oftentimes cannot explain without sounding like an idiot.

To sum up, bitch face + introvert = not very likeable 1st impression.  Sorry, it’s just the way I look.

No bitch...but maybe a tad crazy.  I can never get it right.
No bitch…but maybe a tad crazy. I can never get it right.

Mother’s Day



I take Mother’s Day very, very seriously.  Now, I am usually not a big Hallmark holiday type of gal.  I could care less about Sweetest Day or Valentine’s Day, not even an acknowledgement required (how lucky is my husband?).  St. Patty’s Day makes me hide in my house.  New Year’s is the same.  Christmas and Easter are fun, but tons of work and planning.  Thanksgiving is like my Superbowl, as it pertains solely to food, but I digress.

Mother’s Day is my high holiday.  A day where I get the day off.  A day of rest.  A day about ME.  The past few years, I have gotten totally gypped.  Mark has been out of town, a kid has been sick,  and other uncontrollable circumstances have prevented me from doing the one thing I have wanted to do.  NOTHING.  As I told my husband, this is not about me not wanting to be around my kids, this is more about not having anyone NEED anything from me.  A day where I am absolved of feeling guilty for doing what I want, not what my kids want.  A day to walk out of the house to go shopping, alone and without moving heaven and earth to get said few hours alone to myself.

So, I thought I’d give you a brief synposis of what I DID NOT do and what I DID do:

I DID NOT wipe anyone’s butt but my own.

I DID NOT prepare or plan anyone’s meals but my own.

I DID NOT break up any fights or put anyone in time out.

I DID NOT cut up any food for anyone.

I DID NOT put a kid in a shower or bath.

I DID NOT get out of bed to start some electronic this morning.

I DID NOT go outside to ride bikes or go fishing on this frigid spring day.

I DID NOT make any decisions about anything for anyone.

I DID NOT load anyone into a car and wait patiently while they buckled up and fought over the movie, nor did I yell when they put up their umbrella instead of properly restraining themselves.

I DID NOT comb anyone’s hair or brushed any teeth that did not belong to me.

I DID NOT clean up after lunch and breakfast, and then proceed to sweep up most of what was prepared off the floor and table.

I DID NOT wipe any noses.

I DID NOT stand outside in the bitter cold yelling “CARRRR!”

I DID NOT get told I was chubby today.

I DID NOT have to tell my preschoolers teacher that I am not pregnant, no matter what my 4 year old told them.

I DID NOT have to explain how corn becomes popcorn, or why the lines are solid or striped in the street, or why birds poop or who that lady is in the car next to us.

I DID NOT have to watch Backyardigans, Dora, How It’s Made, Benji or Cinderella at all today.   I did however watch Phineas and Ferb, because that show is hilarious.

However, I DID go shopping at my own pace.  I tried on clothes, compared prices, and DID NOT have to stop and explain why the mannequins do not have hands and/or feet nor did I have to tell them “no not this time honey” to every single $1 item in the checkout line.

I DID go to a Mexican restaurant and had a big-ass margarita and some awesome fajitas nachos without once having to cut up any pancakes or ask for more ranch for chicken nuggets.  I had an adult conversation without having to say once, “Wait for Mommy to finish….yes, that’s nice, no, I don’t know why that man has long hair or why that lady is wearing blue.”

I DID go to the bathroom BY MYSELF.  No company.  No comments on said results.  No asking, “What’s the yucky smell?”

I DID read my book.  In the middle of the day.  For no reason.

I DID straighten up my house UNINTERRUPTED.  I DID throw away some Easter candy and maybe a few artistic drawings without being accused of destroying their only food source and hating on their creativity.

I DID NOT yell one time today.

I love being a mom, even despite all the bitching you see on this blog.  My kids crack me up.  They light up my life and not for one second would I wish they weren’t here.  I got to snuggle with my son today for a while, mainly because I didn’t have anything else planned or on my mind, and I could just sit and enjoy the moment.  And I did.  I high fived my daughter for her awesome picture that she drew and I excitedly listened to their stories about their day with dad.  I did not ignore my children.  I did not make a big deal about wanting to be away from them.  Tomorrow I will start the day fresh and renewed and present.  But, today, today was all about giving myself a break – emotionally and physically.  It was awesome, and I can’t wait until next year to do it all over again.

Thanks to my husband and my family for understanding that I needed this day. Not because I am a bad mom, but because I do the best I can with what I’ve got and, frankly, I’m exhausted.   I’d just like one day a year to not have to worry about anyone but myself.   I hope you all had a day as wonderful as mine.   God bless all the mothers out there.  God bless our partners for putting up with us.  And God bless the kids who let us try this parenting gig out on them, I’ll pay your therapy bills one day I promise.


Thanks Mom

I wrote this a while ago, but thought in honor of Mother’s Day, I’d reshare.

An Open Letter to My  Mom



I owe you quite a bit.  This mothering gig seemed easy through the eyes of a kid.  How hard could it be really?  I am only now truly beginning to understand the magnitude of what you did.  The following is a list of things that I am truly thankful for, and it’s a working list, because there are things you did for which I am not yet aware because I am still new to this mothering thing, being only six years in…

  • Thank you for letting me poke at you every single Saturday morning to wake you up.  Even though you worked full time and Saturday was your one day to sleep in, you let me tell you it was time to get up.  And then, not only did you get up, but you promptly made us breakfast.
  • Thank you for letting my sexy swimmer boyfriend in the front door.  I am not sure I will do the same for Gracie’s boyfriend, because I know what is on their minds and what they are going to try to pull with me in the same house.  Also, thanks for letting me leave with him in his big white jalopy car too.  Again, I am not sure I will let Gracie out of the house after the age of 15.
  • Thank you for the complete and balanced dinners.  Every. Single. Night.  After working a full day, without sitting down, you started cooking and had dinner on the table by 6 p.m.  Never did we have a PB&J dinner, or mac n cheese five days in a row, you cooked actual food and served vegetables at EVERY dinner.
  • Thanks for working a full time job and then coming home to raise us.  You never relaxed, you cooked dinner, packed lunches and kept a clean house for all of my childhood.  It was amazing.  I honestly don’t know how you did it.  My house is a disaster at all times, lunches are packed in a rush in the morning, and dinners, well, see above.
  • Thanks for not killing me for how I treated my sister.  I know now she wasn’t that bad, just kinda annoying in a little sister kind of way, and that I should have been way nicer to her.  Thanks for telling me that one day she’ll be my best friend while I looked at you like you were crazy.  You were right.
  • Thanks threatening to rip out a belly button ring if I ever came home with one.  That was one mistake I was too scared to make.
  • Thanks for never letting me play with fireworks.  While I thought you were totally uncool at the time, I feel the same way now.  My poor kids.
  • Thanks for the weekends at the cottage, where food was always a given, and I was allowed to hang with cousins and my grandparents every single weekend of the summer.
  • Thanks for all the wonderful cards and cute thoughtful gifts for every Christmas, birthday, Valentine’s Day, Easter and so on.  Every single holiday sneaks up on me, and I am still having trouble giving all the credit to a fat guy in a red suit.

This list is a work in progress.  There are so many things I am thankful for that I do not know yet, and those that I am aware of, but have yet to remember in my sleep-deprived overloaded brain.

I love you mom and thank you every day for turning us into respectable adults (I use the term respectable and adults very loosely).


Jen (and Lisa too, since she lets me sign her hand-crafted cards on occasion).

Bee Movie

Who killed a bee tonight LIKE A BOSS?  This girl!  Because, my “Edward” isn’t home until Saturday and this bee was all, “Oh I live here now.  Honeybee don’t give a fuck!”  And I was like “Will get my shoe and my cone sweeper!  Grace, get the door!”

Killing is dramatic, I may have showed him the way out via a cone sweeper.  All left happy.  I swear this bee was stoned.  He really didn’t seem to give a fuck where he was.

Let’s just say there was A LOT of screaming and yelling for a while, and the neighbor walking her dog got quite an eyeful as a 33 year old in a “He’s my Edward” T-shirt and yoga pants falls out the front door, screeching while holding a running cone sweeper.  (Because if you turn off the suck, the bee will come out…duh.), with 2 kids screaming behind her like the bee’s family is after them and about to put a horse’s head on their beds.

What an evening.

How sexy am I?
How sexy am I?

A View Through a Peephole

253395_532719740107150_224326385_nI have a pretty intense desire to be liked.  This has waned as I’ve gotten older, and I am not quite so devastated if someone does not take a keen interest in me.  That’s fine.  What really bothers me is when people form opinions of me that aren’t true.  You can honestly  dislike me because I’m a crazy liberal, have bad taste in music and books, and am fairly lazy.   I also try to be funny at all times, which can grate on people’s nerves.  I also complain a lot, am a bit of a gossip, swear like a sailor, quote bad old movies and don’t find Big Bang Theory funny at all (I’ve tried, I just don’t get it).  These are all things that I will legitimately own as my personality traits.  Take or leave em, that’s me, and after 33 years on this planet, I like me, so if you don’t like it you can suck it.

What bothers me is when people form judgments or opinions of who I am based on a very small sampling of my personality and life, and being an introvert, a snippet is usually only what  most people see.

See me snap at my daughter in a store because to you she’s being “just being a kid?”  Well this kid just told me she HATED me because I didn’t let her watch a movie on the way to the store, only because she asked when we pulled into the parking lot of the store.  Said daughter then proceeded to throw a screaming fit in the car, which put her in a coughing fit on the verge of throwing up and made us 10 minutes later than we needed to be, all just to run in to pick up one freakin jug of milk.

See me sitting on a park bench maybe sneaking a peek at my phone every once in a while my kids run gleefully in the playground?  Chances are, I am checking the time, not Pinterest (or maybe I am, what of it?), and have just spent the entire week living and breathing my kids and could use a breather.  Practices, lunches, doctor’s appointments, dinners, homework, building forts, blowing up various toys, replacing batteries in night lights at midnight, hearing their highs and lows of the day, disciplining, celebrating and so on.  Every. Single. Moment.  I am not married to my phone, it’s just I am too tired to run and play when my kids are perfectly content to play without me.

The problem with my parenting is that because I am introverted, I tend not to show the emotion, joy, happiness, and love I feel for my kids in public.  I am content to let them have the spotlight, sit back and cheer quietly, and quietly survey the area for child molesters.  My best parenting moments come when no one is watching.  I am calmer because there isn’t an adult judging my every action, wondering if I am coddling my boy or giving into my princess too much, or making everything a teaching moment.  When we are alone, we just have fun and we talk about life, about the good, the bad and the days where I wish I could lock them (or me) in a cage (just kidding, it would be a comfortable cage).  No one sees the crazy dance parties or my dead-on performance of Ursula from Little Mermaid (For some reason, I relish only the villain parts).   No one sees me struggling through a how to defend yourself from other stupid, mean kids discussion with my 6 year old, who’s just finding out there are actually people out there who don’t completely adore him.  No one sees me sit and do a puzzle with my G or playing Barbies, or my personal favorite, My Little Ponies, like a boss.

I know people judge because my daughter is always sick.  Yes, she’s in daycare, and yes, that’s a big part of why she’s sick, but am I solely to blame because I work?  No, the daycare is not dirty or neglected.  It’s as clean as it can get with 18 snotty, sneezy and wipey 4 year olds together every day for 8-9 hours a day.  Her caregivers love and care for her oftentimes better than I could.  And they are all freakin saints when it comes to potty training.   So, when my kids get sick, please don’t blame being in daycare OR the fact that I didn’t breastfeed them long enough.  Does everything have to be my fault?

I just get mad when people only see 5 seconds of my life and think they would do it differently.  Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t, but hey, what can I say?  At least I am here, in the trenches of raising kids, digging as I go.  I am present all day every day, even in the moments I get to be away from them AT WORK.  I mess up, I lose my temper, I let things go that I shouldn’t, I feed them crap food, let them watch too much TV, but I am HERE.  Cut a girl some slack will ya?

Wow, that got angry.  Just a vent piece.  Mark’s been gone for two weeks and comes home tomorrow.  Let’s just say I need a break.  I’ll feel better by Sunday.

Blerg…I mean Blog.

I am unmotivated lately.  Must be PMSing or pouting that my husband is gone for 2 weeks and G gets sick the second he leaves town.

How about I give a shout out to all the people who fill up my Facebook page and make me mostly unproductive during work hours.  These bloggers help me daily and I love them dearly.

Angie Lynch @ who writes about awesome smut and gives me a cheat sheet on what to read next on …  I hope to one day visit this Floridian and kiss her feet for making books awesome again. – My hero of funny. I hope to one day be 1/4 this funny. I will die happy.  This is the best.  46 Reasons My 3 Year Old Might be Freaking Out. 

Moms Who Drink and Swear – Nicole Knepper makes me feel NORMAL and comfortable with the fact that I think my kid using sarcasm correctly at age 6 is a personal achievement in parenting.

Jen @, because really, her blog name says it all.  She cracks me up.  She wrote a book with other awesome bloggers and maybe one day I can hornswaggle my way into one of her next bestselling anthologies.  Cause right now, my publishing attempts are 0-2.    This girl brings the funny.

And lastly but not leastly… my local girls

Jayme @, who is awesome and one of only 3 ladies who will remember our senior trip to Cancun together, and who will most likely agree that our parents were the dumbest ever and our kids will NEVER get that opportunity of drunken debauchery in HIGH SCHOOL.  Good Lord, some of the stories from that week we will take to our graves.  Let’s just say only ONE of us did NOT get a tattoo in a walk up Mexican tattoo parlor, where they did not turn the autoclave on, only pretended to take things out of there.  This was only because said person was STARVING and just wanted to eat food that would ultimately give her diarrhea.  Food always trumps peer pressure, in SOME people’s eyes.  🙂

And Brittany @, who in the 4 years I’ve been following her (religiously and maybe a bit single white femalishly) has gone from laugh out loud pee your pants funny anecdotes to totally hot, inspirational blogger with ever-increasing fame and success – and she still has time to write ridiculously entertaining, hilarious stuff.  See The Brazilian.

OK – that should give you something to do while I take a brief hiatus from writing.  Check these girls (and guy) out.   They are hilarious and will probably make you unproductive at work too.  Try explaining why you are laughing at the Brazilian video to your cubicle mate.  Not easy.