The ridiculousness of people NEVER ceases to amaze me.

First off, there is something about a man getting a manicure and pedicure that I find creepy. Maybe it’s because my dad is a manly man and my husband is a REAL manly man, but it seems so feminine to me. My husband would sooner yank all his toenails out with pliers before being seen in a nail salon sitting in a massage chair. His half cutting, half tearing off his toenails suits him just fine.

But this dude rolls in here with a four year old and tries to put her in the chair reserved for me (I don’t think so Mister…I’ve got a babysitter on the clock and I need some relaxation).

So he puts the girl in his lap and turns some cartoons on his phone at the top volume.

Look, Fancy Pants, I came here to have some relaxing time to myself. I left my kids at home (at a steep rate, no less) in order to avoid this exact scenario so if you could turn down Strawberry Shortcake, I’d appreciate it.

Well then the mom shows up. Good lord…evidently they must be contestants in a game show on which they will receive a $10 million prize if they can convince this little darling to get her nails painted. They are both literally BEGGING her. It is making me crazy. She doesn’t want little flowers painted on her toes, God love her. Leave the poor child alone before I use this handy cuticle pusher on your eye balls.

The mom is actually dropping bombs like “JESUS Emmie…don’t you want to look pretty in your Rapunzel costume??” Simmer down there Halloween pageant mom.

Oh my God…I just looked over and the mom is now dabbing adult lip gloss on the kid with her ring finger. Is this Candid Camera?

For crying out loud….

Halloween Party

Today was our first real school Halloween party and parade.

But before I get to that, I need to discuss Halloween in general.

Will someone PLEASE tell me when Halloween became the sluttiest holiday of the year?? I mean, I cannot stand Halloween costumes. It is astonishing to me the slutty nature of even kids costumes (that is to say nothing about the adults whose costumes double as lingerie).

Is it necessary to dress a five year old in a risqué Alice In Wonderland outfit with thigh high stockings? I saw a girl in the parade today who was no older than 10 wearing a slutty sailor outfit that was completely backless. I couldn’t help but wonder if her mother is blind or a stripper. She had to be one of the two.

I am baffled by the risqué cats, candy corn witches, Dorothys, vampires, and nurses. I cannot understand why anyone would let a little girl dress like a slutty grown up for Halloween. What’s next? A red furry bikini with an orange nose for an Elmo outfit?!? Don’t you even dare, people.

Now that the editorial is complete we can move on to the party.

First, I will have you all know that Too Tight True Religion Dad did not disappoint. You can always count on that in K1. I’ve never seen his wife. I wonder if she is ashamed to be seen with her husband when his pork and beans are on display for all to see. But despite that particular eye abuse, he was not the worst dressed person at the kindergarten party.

No, no…that honor was reserved for the mom who showed up in a slutty Little Red Riding Hood costume.

I shit you not.

Now I really wish I could get into the head of this “lady”. The dress was so short that you could see the control top part of her white panty hose. Here’s a clue: if you’re wearing control top panty hose, you are probably not approved for an exotic dancer’s costume.

But besides that fact, this was a KINDERGARTEN party.

I don’t know which kid was hers because she wasn’t in our class, but I assume she was dressed something like a slutty Cinderella complete with corset like ties and a garter belt (WHY ON EARTH do all these kiddie costumes have these fake corsets?! Candy corns do not generally need to shrink their waists). I couldn’t get over the lack of judgement involved with putting on a slutty costume at 8:00 am for a party of five year olds. So bizarre.

So the idea of the party was that each class had some activity tables and we could float around to all five class rooms and choose our activities.

Lo and behold, my girl was tickled to death about the snack mix table. On the table were big, huge bowls filled with candy, cereals, pretzels, pirate’s booty and marshmallows.

Now who thought this was a good idea?

Yes, each bowl had either Dixie cups or spoons for serving but come on…who is that really fooling? I was sweating and my pulse was racing just watching her fill up that baggie and trying to think of a way to dispose of it without causing a nuclear meltdown. I witnessed hands in the bowl and coughing in and around the bowl and it frightened me more than any ghost or goblin ever could.

Let’s break this down: we are allowing five year old boys and girls who wipe their own asses and whose hand washing isn’t exactly on par with my requirements, to stick their hands in a communal food bowl. Pretty sure little Leo (as sweet and adorable as he is) isn’t counting to twenty and using hot water to scald the fecal matter out of his fingernails after he goes to the bathroom.

So, let’s not kid ourselves about those serving spoons, okay?

I felt especially bad because my girl made a second bag for her little sister to enjoy during the parade but I had to throw out the E.Coli Coco Puffs and candy corn mixture to keep myself from going over the edge. It was in everyone’s best interest.

Then it was time to take some pictures. Let me just give some advice: if someone doesn’t ask your kid to be in a picture, that person probably doesn’t want your kid in the picture.

My girl’s BFF from pre-school is in another class at her current school. I wanted to get a picture of them in their oh-so-adorable and age appropriate costumes. Just when I go to snap the picture, a dad tells his little girl to get in the picture. Now, I wasn’t at all interested in having a picture of this girl but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I took the pictures and so did the other mom.

But then as the little girl was walking away, I quietly (but apparently not quietly enough) said to the other two, “Wait girls, just one more.” Well, the dad then tells his little girl to hurry up and get back in for just one more. I felt like I was on Candid Camera. Like, Dad, really? Okay, maybe she could get the wrong idea, being that she’s five and all, but you’re a 35 year old professional. Come on. It was so uncomfortable. So we posed them for an extra picture with the girl who didn’t belong. Oh well. Some people are just so strange. Social skills, people. Is there a weekend retreat for that?

And just a quick side note, I spent the morning totally dodging the annoying Girl Scout moms whose meeting I ditched last night. I’m not down with being responsible for creating a website for a bunch of kindergarten girls or being their photographer or coordinating all the crafts (it seems the mom who volunteered to be the leader just pretty much decided to “lead” by asking all the moms to take what I considered to be a pretty demanding job) so that sort of put the nail in the Girl Scout coffin for me. Maybe next year.

Just a couple more things…please don’t ring my doorbell after 7:30 for a trick or treat because if you wake up my baby, the devil himself ain’t got nothin’ on me.

And if you are a pubescent teenager reeking of body odor, not wearing a costume, I will not be serving you candy.

Oh, and also I don’t like complainers. If you tell me you don’t like nuts or caramel or whatever, keep on walkin’ cause you’re leaving empty handed. I hate demanding and greedy trick or treaters.

That is all.

Happy Halloween!

Field Trip

Sooo…yesterday was our first field trip. We went to the pumpkin patch.

Let me start out by saying I am not sure who cleared me as a qualified chaperone. I mean, wasn’t I just at Cracker Country with my fourth grade class yesterday? No? That was more than 25 years ago and I was wearing a Snorks shirt? Oh, right.

Next, we can move on to driving. I asked if I could only drive my own kid. I am not quite ready to be responsible for someone else’s kid on a 20 mile drive on the interstate. I would no more let my girl ride in the car with some total stranger class dad that I’ve never met than I would let her walk to the damn pumpkin patch wearing shoes that were made of fire. I can’t understand the logic here. On the drive back to school, just the two of us, I kept imagining that if I had other kids in the car nothing could stop me from pulling off into a wooded area and feeding the children to coyotes (or worse). Shouldn’t the cars be chained together or something? They didn’t exactly investigate me to know I’m not a total perv.

So needless to say, if mama can’t go on the next field trip, ain’t nobody going on the next field trip.

Next, we will discuss the bathroom arrangement at the pumpkin patch. This was yet another reason I was happy not to be responsible for another kid on this field trip. I can barely stand to take my own child to public potties so you can imagine how I would feel about taking a classmate to use the restroom with the touching the potty and door handles and all. They don’t know my rules. No thanks. And furthermore, back to the chaperone situation for just a moment…what about stranger class dad I’ve never met being responsible for taking my girl to the potty?!??!? That’s enough to make me stroke out.

But I digress.

After the 20 mile drive and a large cup of coffee, I really needed the facilities when we arrived. And so, of course, did my girl. I ask for directions to the bathrooms and was told, “…over the bridge…take a right…” blah, blah, blah, and then I hear the dreaded phrase “…bank of port a potties…”


Oh man. I tried. I really did.

We made it across the bridge. Then I just said eff it. The recycled family sized laundry detergent bottles (that were, I assumed, filled with water) advertising “hand washing only” did not exactly do the trick for me. I told her we were headed to the car potty. We ran all the way back to the car, and both of us climbed into the back.

I will spare you the details but suffice it to say, car potties are the shizz. It took a little maneuvering and there was a lot of laughing but boy, was it a relief. It wasn’t my first time at that rodeo either. When ya’ gotta go, ya’ gotta go.

On we go…

The next subject I would like to broach is that if you are going to chaperone a class of kindergarteners on a field trip, you’d better bring your A game. The class picture on the giant haystack turned out not to be such a great idea when one of the little boys climbed too high and fell down taking a poor little girl with him. The little boy’s dad was standing there the whole time as the boy was climbing and kicking kids in the head.

Hey, earth to chaperone dad in your WAY too tight True Religions, your kid is causing problems and although you may be suffocating, you need to look alive.

You know how annoying it is to want to say something to a kid but you can’t because the parent is standing right there? And then that parent just stands there like a dunce and doesn’t say a word? It makes me crazy.

But that’s a post for another day.

So I picked up the naughty class clown off the ground and his uber trendy dad didn’t budge or even apologize to the poor little girl. I guess he was too busy making sure his Lacoste shirt didn’t get dirty. He should be banned from chaperoning field trips. And wearing those jeans.

And speaking of wardrobe choices…to the lady wearing the knee high stiletto boots: it was the PUMPKIN PATCH. Did you not get the 100 emails regarding the nature of this field trip? The name Joan’s FARM didn’t give you a clue to what you might choose to wear on your feet? Did that really seem like a good idea? Oh, and it was 80 degrees. Were the pantyhose necessary also?

Anyway, it was a fun field trip all in all. We picked a great pumpkin, got to pet a cute donkey, sat on a haystack (narrowly avoiding collapse), and enjoyed a snack outside in the beautiful sunshine (with a drink I volunteered to provide that was mandated to be “no sugar added”).

I’d like to take a moment and say that there are no words to describe the awesomeness of kindergarten teachers. I really can’t believe how hard their jobs are. They should be awarded gold and diamonds for their effort. It is actually they who are the real gems.

Gems with an obscene amount of patience for tattling.


Okay…I was afraid this was going to happen sometime. So I am going to go ahead and address it now.

It has been brought to my attention that there is a perception that I am complaining about my life. Let me say this loud and clear: I AM NOT, BY ANY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION, COMPLAINING ABOUT MY LIFE.

I happen to have a great life. I am healthy and safe, I have a happy marriage, my husband has a job, I am lucky enough to be afforded what I know is the privilege of staying home with my girls, I have a home to live in, food on my table, clean water to drink and probably the most important blessing of all, I have two healthy, happy children.

I will readily admit that I am extremely fortunate to have the life that I do. Believe me when I tell you, I do not take any of it for granted.

One of my closest friends recently shared something that she heard at a bible study (she’s God Squad all the way). She asked me what I would do if I woke up tomorrow with only the things I thanked God for before I went to sleep tonight.  I was very moved by the question but I know when I go to bed at night, I thank God for all the goodness in my life. I am so grateful. Truly, I am.

That being said, picking little bits of soggy baby poop from the drain of my bathtub is not cool. Ever. It’s disgusting, no matter what my station in life. That is kind of the point of this blog, really. On some level, all of us moms can relate. Because we all know that when your kid spills milk for the third time in one day, it is maddening. But we all ALSO know that spilled milk is 100% completely insignificant to a mother who has a sick child.  That mom would gladly be having that “problem” for a day. That goes without saying.

My point is this:  I do not intend to offend anyone. Please know that when I am complaining about the poop filled tubs, short naps and kindergarten drama, it is all in good spirits. I am certainly not looking for pity or feeling sorry for myself. I am simply poking fun at the life of a suburban mom and housewife (and all its absurdity). I don’t take myself very seriously and I don’t expect anyone else to either. I don’t want to appear to be self absorbed and spoiled. I care very much about others and I am mindful of the struggles people have. I have, indeed, struggled at times myself.

So, people, just know that I am fully aware that my “problems” aren’t actually problems at all.  I do understand that all of the material in this blog is totally trivial. If you can’t relate to it or it offends you, I promise I don’t mind if you forget it exists.

But if you ever want to hear a great story about a kid throwing herself on the floor of Home Depot in a fit of rage, come on back.

Babysitter Withdrawal

You know who belongs on the FBI’s ten most wanted list? My babysitter, that’s who.

She bailed on me today and I am grouchy about it.

I am lucky enough to have my babysitter come every Thursday morning so I can fly solo to run errands and do whatever it is I need to do that is otherwise made difficult by the accompaniment of a zoo monkey on speed. My husband refers to it as my “day off”. It’s not really a day, more like three hours. But those three hours are glorious. One day I leisurely cruised Costco for a whole hour and a half and felt like I was at Disneyland.

For me, mothering takes serious mental preparation. I am capable of a lot if I am in the right mental state. When my husband goes out of town, I have to psyche myself up for days before, but I can manage if I’m prepared. When I’m on all day, I have to have my game face on.

But on Thursdays, I usually have my peace-out-see-ya-later-suckas! face on.

So this morning, I was not mentally prepared to run errands with the monkey. I considered taking her to the gym sanctuary and sitting in the lobby with the computer, but the sign on the kids club door advertising the recent outbreak of Hand Foot and Mouth disease had me think twice about bringing her. Won’t be stopping me tomorrow though. Some things are worth the risk (but dude…if she actually catches it, I’m going to feel like the worst mom on the planet).

Anyway, at first, I asked my backups and then a girl who I’ve never had before. No one was available. That got me feeling pretty much a like a crackhead jonesing for a fix. I felt like standing in the road with a sign begging for a babysitter. I figured maybe that was a bad idea.

But you know what was a worse idea? Taking the baby to Costco (I freaking love Costco if you haven’t already figured). For crying out loud. If my babysitter could have heard how bad I was cursing her in my mind, she’d never come back to my house again. Two suckers got us just past the entrance. After that, all downhill. Sometimes, I feel like punching myself in the face for trying to do things that I know are going to blow up. But I keep doing it. Will I ever learn?

So today was a bust. Oh well. We came home, had “big girl sammies” and read some books. There are worse things than that, right? But it’s time to wrap up because if I give her one more snack that she begs for, her stomach might explode.

I kid you not, the button on her jeans has popped open.

MMA (Mommy Martial Arts)

Does anyone else find it super annoying to receive unsolicited mothering advice from women who have less children than you have?

Well. I most certainly do.

I know that sounds rude or judgmental, but I’m being honest. Now, I know plenty of first time moms who are not like this at all. And I’m certainly not saying that I can’t learn something from a mom of one. My sister, for example, has one child and is a lactation super wizard. I’ve solicited her help a number of times.

But I also know a girl who is the know it all type and gives her unsolicited opinion about mothering all the time. She doles out advice in a very condescending manner to anyone and everyone on any number of topics…sleep, picky eating, behavior, illness. It makes me so irritated. (Yes, people, I am irritable. We covered that in post number one).

Here’s how I look at it: motherhood is kind of like Karate.

You start out at the very bottom. You learn the basic form. You shouldn’t be teaching anyone else any Karate. Someone could get injured.

Child number one is the white belt of mothering. You have no idea what you’re doing. You are not qualified to advise even your own self. You are too tired. You’re learning as you go. We’ve all been there. There’s no shame in being a white belt (or being a permanent white belt for that matter…I considered quitting my Karate lessons after I was nearly strangled with my white belt…no shame in knowing your limits either).

But just like in Karate, with each child, you move up the ranks. Mrs. Duggar would qualify as a black belt and she’s probably using that black belt to tie her uterus up so it doesn’t hang down to her knees.

My mom, having five children, would probably be like a purple belt and I’m still mad at her for not describing to me in an accurate fashion the horror that is childbirth, but that is neither here nor there.

I am just a lowly yellow or green belt which most of us are these days (big ups to the blue and purple belt ladies out there…I don’t know how you do it!).

But in the same way a purple belt wouldn’t take lessons from a white belt in Karate, I don’t want instructions on how to get my children to sleep or eat from a rookie. But I will gladly accept any words of wisdom from a vet.

Is that awful?

It’s just that sometimes the white belts think they have it all figured out because guess what…when you’re a white belt, you have the idea that you are doing things the right way when you’re reading the books and practicing the form and doing the poses. But when you get that yellow belt and you have to start breaking boards and chopping cement blocks, you realize not all boards and blocks break the same way.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…that second kid is a game changer. Just because baby #1 slept through the night at 6 weeks and never cries doesn’t mean that baby #2 won’t scream all night and spit up like a fountain all the time.

So white belts of the world (I am speaking strictly to the know it all, perfect mother type) think twice before imparting your mothering genius on the rest of us when we aren’t asking for your expertise. It’s kind of annoying.


(PS- I know jack crap about Karate in real life. I don’t know if they even break boards in Karate. But you get the gist.)