Future Mean Girl?

Baby Girl is the most precious little girl that walks the earth. Sometimes. Other times, I could swear that she is a Regina George in the making, just without as much pink.

For a three-year-old, the comments she makes can be straight up savage sometimes.

Remember this from the Yo Mama post?

Brutal. She was making a joke, of course, but still…damn.

This is from when I picked her up at preschool recently:

Gee, thanks.

Baby Girl has also been trying to trim down the family lately. She got mad at Little Man one night while we were in the car — over what, I can’t remember, but it was minor — and she went off on him.

Goodwill? We about died laughing. But at least she didn’t tell him, “I not like your face” or “I’m going to die you” this time. (We really, really hope what she meant with that one was that she was going to take out his batteries, since that’s what we always tell her when the remote or something isn’t working, that the batteries died.)

My husband was also kicked out.

At the time, she wasn’t angry at all. She just mentioned that her dad needed to leave one day. She was quite insistent with that, too, and it was all said with the sweetest voice. I later found out that she didn’t want him around anymore because he used Google Home. So far I haven’t been kicked out of the family, but I’m sure my time is coming.

I didn’t doodle it, but BG also recently told me that she was leaving and not coming back. She planned to go live with new parents because she didn’t like any of us anymore. This was after she was fussed at for not cleaning her room. She later changed her mind.

And then there is this…

Little Man was pretty ticked over this, poor kid.

So now you see what we’ve been dealing with. Future mean girl? I hope not, but right now, she has as much of a filter as Sophia Petrillo.


I got my cochlear implant two weeks ago. The surgery went well and the ear is healing up nicely. The implant will be activated in a couple of weeks, so hopefully that will go well.

Also, I hate that I haven’t been able to keep up with reading blogs much or posting on this blog, but I started a new job in December and haven’t had a lot of free time. Sorry! Maybe one of these days I’ll be able to juggle everything as well as I’d like, but not today. 😉

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Leveling Up In Parenting

Much like a video game, there are times when you’ve improved/accomplished enough that you can move up to the next parenting level. That doesn’t happen often for me — out of the ten established parenting levels, a two is usually my baseline — but I did level up recently. It was pretty much an accident, but I’ll take it.

Baby Girl wanted me to play hide and seek with her one day. I’m not too wild about playing hide and seek with her because of how she plays. Her “tactics” were cute when she was one, but now they make me fear for her a little bit.

See? Literally this is all she does — she puts her head under a pillow or blanket and yells for me to come and find her. That’s it. Like her face being hidden is enough for the world to suddenly not know where she is. (This was especially amusing the time she decided to “hide” after she got undressed for her bath and I found her with her bum sticking up.) Usually I’m still sitting beside of her when she hides and says she’s ready for me to find her. Rarely am I allowed to hide, and when I do hide, she wants me to hide under a cover or a blanket on the bed, and then declares that SHE is hiding and I’m to find her instead, two feet away from me, partially under a blanket. She’d be the first to go in a horror movie.

At this point we’re kind of wondering how much longer we’re going to have to keep pretending that she’s a) hiding and that we’re b) finding her. I wonder if on some level if she’s just screwing with us, to see how long she can keep it going, but then that’d make her a little evil genius, and I’ve already got one of those in the house.

But when Baby Girl wants to play hide and seek, usually I do. The time that I leveled up, I tried again to encourage her to for real hide and for real seek. On her turn, she went straight to the bedroom and partially hid under the blanket. On my turn, I made her count and went and hid in the laundry room. I waited and waited and waited. And then my husband knocked on the door.

Oops.

A light bulb went off over my head — I can now hide all I want and she can never get to me. And considering how small her hands are, I could probably do this forever. (Really, though, my MIL is tiny like Baby Girl, and she can rarely open the doorknobs at our house because her hands are so small.)

Yep, parenting level up.

And then I leveled back down when I blurted out “That’s what she said!” in response to a comment Little Man made. Oops again.

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Yo Mama: The Ultimate Smackdown

Little Man has gotten into Yo Mama jokes lately. Much like when he discovered knock-knock jokes a few years ago, he tells these frequently. Some of them are cringey and others are downright hilarious.

He included the above jokes in a Cootie Catcher, by the way. Well, he calls it a Fortune Teller, but as a child of the 90s, I refuse to call it by anything else.

I had an ultimate parent fail a few weeks ago when LM asked me to tell him some Yo Mama jokes. I rattled off a few and told him I’d look some up to email him later. Later that night, after LM went to bed, I did a Google search for kid-friendly Yo Mama jokes, read the first couple of jokes, copied and pasted the page, and then sent the email.

I never closed out the tab that the jokes were on, so after I worked a little, did some reading, etc., I went back to the tab to glance through the jokes, and let me tell you, not all of them were kid-friendly by any stretch of the imagination.

Here are a few of the jokes that would’ve resulted in a total shitfest had Little Man opened the email. (And I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened had he opened that email at school.)


Sweet baby Jesus.

My arm is totally asking for an anchor tattoo to complete the Popeye look.

After having a minor heart attack, I collected myself enough to realize that a) I have access to Little Man’s account since I’m the one who set it up, b) he’s in bed, c) he’ll never know if I delete it right the fuck now.

So I did. Whew. I also remembered to empty his trash, being the savvy mom that I am. And then I found another page of jokes that was marked as being kid-friendly, read through them, and then emailed them along. Some time later, I went back to the vulgar jokes and read them all to my husband while laughing hysterically. (If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m never growing up.)

In case you’re wondering, none of that ordeal has anything to do with the title. Regardless of how inappropriate those jokes were for kids, they weren’t Ultimate Smackdown level by any means. Nope, the joke that earns that title came from Baby Girl. Yes, the three-year-old Baby Girl.

Like any younger sibling, Baby Girl pays attention to everything Little Man does or says, and his incessant telling of Yo Mama jokes did not escape her. We figured this out when she said, “Yo Mama SO ugly…” and stopped when my husband shut her down. She started telling jokes of her own, some were repeats, some were incoherent, and then there was this:

Yep, Baby Girl is straight up savage.

Feel free to tell me about a time you almost majorly screwed up as a parent. If you don’t have that, then I’ll take your best Yo Mama joke.

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Please Stop Talking, Little Man

Before I get into the post, I hope everyone had a nice Christmas and New Year! Ours went well, although the house still hasn’t quite recovered from the Christmas presents tornado. We’re getting there, though. The day after Christmas, I got some great news — after initially being denied for my cochlear implant by the insurance company, it was approved after my doctor talked to them. Yay! Surgery is a little over two weeks away.


And now for the post.

Taking Little Man to the doctor always gives me anxiety. Always. It’s not so much that I’m worried about something being wrong with him so much as I’m worried about what he’s going to say. (Considering that this is coming from someone with an anxiety disorder who gets on WebMD way too much, this is saying something.) He has quite a knack for saying bizarre (although sometimes hilarious) things and for making us sound like we’re coming in dead last for the Parents of the Year Award.

This post has a few of his little moments…

Dammit, Little Man, you had half of a burrito! A burrito! I can see where a four-year-old might get the two words confused, but still, that is significantly more food than half of a stinking chip. And it was your choice to only eat half of your burrito, by the way.

This one was also when he was four, but he still believes this. Despite telling me about dreams and grumbling over being woken up, he still believes that he doesn’t sleep at night. No amount of telling him that he’s asleep when I check on him will sway him. He has recently started talking about getting up at 3 AM to walk around during the Devil’s Hour to see if there’s anything evil happening. As someone with insomnia, I can tell you that’s not happening, either.

So, is that why you beg me to take you to McDonald’s three times per week, because you’re about that healthy lifestyle? I don’t think so. But thanks for making it sound like all I do is feed you kids junk food.

Oops, I have a double arm. Not fixing it.

He told the optometrist that he was certain about having X-ray vision, by the way. This was a few months ago. The optometrist didn’t push the matter.

The doctor about hit the ceiling and so did I. He left with a lecture and a printout of about a dozen pages on the dangers of smoking. We got home and I pulled up pictures and videos of lungs, cancer, etc. to scare him. He later said it was just a joke. As he would say now, “Ya got trolled, bro!” (Thanks, YouTube.)

The assistant assured him that everything was clean, but he still narrowed his eyes and gave her a suspicious look. He later questioned why they put books and magazines in the exam rooms and suggested that they just wanted to make people sicker. I’ve often wondered that myself, especially at pediatric offices where toys are available for the kids to play with.

Little Man has a hangup over restrooms. This has led to certain health issues that I’m not going in to here for his privacy, but those health issues aside, his commentary was pretty funny. After discussing some things, Little Man went on a rant about public restrooms. He hates them. I get this, because I hate them, too, but usually you wouldn’t expect that from a little boy.

Suggestions to line the toilet seat or to clean it with Lysol wipes weren’t well received.

He also lines the toilet seat at home. Thankfully he skips lining the floor.

I think you might be contributing to the problem, kid.

This was to a new specialist he saw a couple weeks ago. My husband took him to this appointment and said that she didn’t skip a beat.

What embarrassing thing has your kid said at the doctor’s office?

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Can We Just Stop With The Glitter, Already?!

If you’re wrapping gifts or sending Christmas cards that have glitter on them, you need to stop.

Seriously, STOP.


You know what it tells me when someone does the glitter thing? That you hate me. That you want to drive me freaking insane. That you should join the Taliban. That you’re an evil person with no heart.

Glitter is the evil gift that keeps on giving all year. No matter how hard you clean or dust off your clothes, it doesn’t completely go away. In fact, it multiplies. Don’t ask me how glitter procreates, but I’m almost certain that it does.

There has been a piece of glitter somewhere on my face or eye for the past two days that I can’t find. I know it’s there, because when the light hits it a certain way, I can see it glimmer in my peripheral vision. (It’s gold, BTW.) But when I look in a mirror, I can’t find it. (No, I’m NOT crazy…or not in the imagining glimmering light type of way, anyway.) It’ll go away enough, I’m sure hope, but it’s draining me of my Christmas spirit.

I’m officially putting everyone on notice —

If you give me something with glitter, I’m not going to be your friend anymore, and if you’re family, I’ll disown you. I’ll still love you, but I’ll remove you from the Favorites list on my phone and/or I’ll scratch you off my family tree. This is saying you don’t like The Office level bad.

I’ll also get you back. It might not be tomorrow, next week, or even next month, but make no mistake — I’ll exact my revenge. I’ll go buy ten pounds of glitter and throw it on your car after it rains. I’ll slip glitter in your shampoo the next time I visit. I may even go Carrie style and fill a bucket with glitter and rig it to dump on you when you open the door to your home.

Get it? No. More. Glitter.

And with that, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, everyone. Make your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be glitter-free.

Harry and Me are on Parent.com!

Fellow blogger Max has been published on Parent.com. Do take a minute to check out his blog (the link to his piece is there); I think you’ll enjoy the piece and his blog posts as much as I do.

Breakfast With Harry

IMG_1221

Hello, if you’re so inclined, please click here and read an essay of mine that Parent.com was good enough to publish this week. “Love by Numbers” is about Harry tearing open a bunch of the 277 letters I’ve spent years writing to him, and how I, a lifelong OCD sufferer, handle that. I’m pretty proud of the writing, and I think it has a “message,” but I’ll let you (potential reader) decide want it is.

Oh, if you enjoy “Love by Numbers,” do me a favor, and share it on social media. If the piece gets enough shares, I get a cash bonus.

End of shameless self-promotion.

Max

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Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer From Hell

Prior to this year, I’ve never been very good at the Pinterest stuff. I’m not sure why this year has been so different, but I’ve had nothing but wins with everything I’ve attempted. Yay, me. In the past, though, everything I’ve attempted has looked like utter garbage. For example, check out the time I tried to make a dollhouse for Little Man. Hint — mine is on the right.

And since the doodled version doesn’t do the real pictures justice, here’s the real deal:

screenshot-2016-12-09-at-1-11-32-am

Last Christmas season, my husband was looking at stuff online and came across a recipe for Rudolph pancakes. He got all excited about them and decided to made them for the kids. When he finished, he came over to the desk where I was working asked to borrow my phone to take a picture of the pancakes.

Look at Mr. “I hate Instagram people who take pictures of their food” now, I thought, smirking.

I handed over the phone, but didn’t get up to look at the pancakes because I was busy at the moment. After he brought the phone back to me, with the picture still open, I quickly became unbusy after I saw his Rudolph.

Here it is:

Baby Girl was watching me do this post and said the one on the right looks like a scary monster. She isn’t wrong.

Holy neckbeard, Batman!

And, again, since the doodled version probably doesn’t do the real version justice, here’s the real deal:

I could not stop laughing. I spent the better part of two hours getting fits of giggles over those things. “Rabid” and “zombie reindeer that will eat Baby Girl” were a couple of terms people used to describe it after I shared it everywhere.

To add to the funny, my husband didn’t get why I was laughing at first. Neither did Little Man, not until I pulled up a picture to remind my husband and show LM what the pancakes were supposed to look like. And then we all howled with laughter, except for Baby Girl, who didn’t give a crap because she had chocolate chips and high fructose corn syrup in front of her for supper. (Coincidentally, it took her a solid 2.5 hours to go to sleep that night. I’m guessing part of that was karma getting at me for laughing so much.)

I’m kinda thinking that terrifying Rudolph should be in a few doodles of his own…

In case you want to make the Rudolphs and not have them look all sinister, it may help knowing that my husband blamed it on having purchased the wrong canned whip. He bought Cool Whip in a can over Redi-Whip. He thinks that had the Cool Whip not melted as quickly, that his Rudolphs would’ve looked perfect. I didn’t say a word.

Have you ever made food that turned out looking like something that would suck out your soul?

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Umbrella Drinks

My husband, Little Man, and I went on a cruise to the Bahamas a few years ago. I know not everyone is a fan of cruises, but I enjoy them — tasty food, trivia, and all the fruity rum drinks I can stand brought directly to my lounge chair. (Plus the ocean and all that.) What’s not to love, aside from bar tab charges that cost more than the actual cruise fare?

As you’ve likely gathered from those first few lines, I imbibed a little on that cruise. Not excessively so (the only time a bar tab was truly more expensive than the cruise fare was on a cruise I went on in college, drank for the first time, and generously bought multiple rounds for others), but I did enjoy a few of those glorious fruity concoctions. Some of them even came in pricey little mugs shaped like coconuts and whale tails, something you’re far more likely to purchase after the first drink or two.

Today’s doodle comes from one of the many times I’ve been made aware of one of the universal parenting truths — the one where kids pick up on everything. Sometime after the cruise, Little Man was playing with his toy kitchen making dinner for us. He brought out a notepad to take our orders and later came back with our meals. I can’t remember exactly what he brought us to eat, but I do remember the drink.

Nothing gets past him. I got another umbrella drink recently when Little Man was playing with his sister’s toy kitchen and stuck her ice cream cart umbrella in a cup for me. That’s my boy, always thinking of his mama.


I started writing this post in July, so it has been sitting in my drafts folder for more than four months. Whoa. In that time, my husband and I have booked another cruise (just the two of us this time), bought passports for just in case, and will be heading down to Florida to get on the boat at three in the morning on Thursday. It’s supposed to be a combination of a birthday present (my birthday was last Friday — I’m 34…whoa again — and my husband’s is in January…he’ll be 40, so double whoa) and Christmas present to ourselves.

We are a combination of anxious and excited. I’m super anxious over leaving the kids for three days and being that far away, and my husband is pretty excited over leaving the kids for three days and being that far away. To ease my nerves a little, I’ve purchased the all-you-can-drink option. For the record, “All you can drink” really means “You get 15 drinks per day and then you’re cut off.” So, no, I won’t be making Carnival rethink their unlimited drinks package. 😉

My friend bought me this shirt for my birthday — because as we all know, best friends love nothing more than encouraging negative behaviors in each other — so I’ll be ready.

In reality, though, now that I’m over 30, this is the shirt I’ll probably need (something I forgot while purchasing that drink pass):


While I was on yet another blogging break, A Vodka Kind of Mom included me a featured blogger on her site! You can check out the interview here and find out the craziest thing I’ve ever done. (Spoiler alert: the answer is pretty vanilla.)

So, what’s new in y’all’s worlds? Between the 18 hours of driving and spending at least one day of the cruise chillaxing (I’m not too old to use that, right?) and reading by the pool, I’m determined to play blog catch up, but in the meantime, fill me in on what’s going on in your world. 

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I’m All About That Turkey, ‘Bout That Turkey, ‘Bout That Turkey

My Facebook feed is full of people talking about Thanksgiving. Either they’re listing what they’re thankful for, posting recipes that they plan to make, or are talking about how they can’t wait to eat. My husband hasn’t posted to Facebook, but he’s already talking about the various foods that he plans to gorge himself on at the three Thanksgiving meals we’re attending.

All the while, I’m like —

Food-wise, Thanksgiving is about one thing for me — fried turkey. I’m sure a lot of y’all are thinking, “Yeah, I can’t wait for turkey, either!” but when I say that Thanksgiving is about one thing for me food-wise, I mean that quite literally.

I’m a picky eater. I’m so picky that it’s much easier to list the foods that I do like than list what I don’t like. I like about three vegetables, your standard meats, and processed crap (which I’m trying to stay away from). I don’t do mushy foods, foods with lots of textures going on (I keep trying, though), foods heavy on the spice…the list could go on. As such, Thanksgiving isn’t such a big deal for as far as food goes like it is for everyone else. (For the record, yes I’m thankful for stuff, and yes I enjoy the family time…as much as an introvert can enjoy interacting with 60 people in one day can, anyway.)

Just so you know, I cook plenty of stuff that I don’t eat. In fact, two of the things that I’m famous for making are things I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole — macaroni and cheese and cheesecake. So, my family doesn’t go deprived because of my lack of a diverse palate. All that creamy cheese? Blech. Cream cheese taste? Blech. (Nothing hurts my soul more than seeing yummy dessert videos from Tasty and then seeing them dump all the cream cheese into whatever they’re making.)

With that I give you doodles of my husband’s Thanksgiving meal vs. mine.

My husband’s plate:

My plate:

Probably not foodporn.

I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have the saddest Thanksgiving plate ever. They aren’t wrong.

You’re up…what’s one food you love and one food you hate that’ll be served at Thanksgiving?

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Carrying All The Things

A few months ago, I read a post from another blogger talking about what was in her purse. I can’t remember if it was part of a challenge or what, but I thought it was a neat post, so I’m going to do one of my own. (I also can’t remember who did that post, but if whoever did it reads this, drop a link and I’ll update this post with it.)

Now, you may be thinking that you don’t give two craps about what’s in my purse. And that’s fine — you can be on your merry way and do a certain expletive to yourself. Kidding. But if you’re wondering why I’m doing this type of post, I’ll go ahead and tell you that I thought it would be easier and quicker than the typical post (lol at me), and time isn’t something I’ve had a lot of lately.

As some of you may have noticed, I haven’t been on as much in the past couple of weeks, and that’s because things are pretty busy at the moment. In addition to the kids’ appointments, activities, and events, I’ve been going through some testing, doing lots of research, and getting things in order to get ready for a cochlear implant. I’m super excited about that, as my hearing has gotten worse in recent years. I’m supposed to have surgery on December 15, but after it was scheduled my husband pointed out that is the opening day for Star Wars Episode VIII, so there’s a chance I’ll push it to the first of the year now. On the off chance that I don’t, I’m also trying to get everything ready Christmas wise — all the gifts bought and wrapped — that way if I do have the surgery, I won’t have to worry about getting Christmas stuff ready.

And now you know why I haven’t been doodling as much lately. And you also know why I’m doing a pretty basic post. Now I’ll stop the talking and get to my purse. I didn’t think there was much in there until I emptied it out. For the record, I don’t carry a mom bag, and it’s a small miracle that I don’t have one.

Normal Stuff

Here’s the stuff just about every female carries in her purse, I’d imagine. As you can see, one can never have too many pens.

Receipts Galore

Every receipt, business card, and store flyer gets crammed in my bag and left there for an eternity. The chicks who do eyebrows at Walmart get frantic looks on their faces and shove multiple flyers into my hand every single time I go in. I get the not-so-subtle hint, ladies. And of course we have the tree that was sacrificed to be CVS’s long ass receipt.

Electronics

I don’t typically carry power banks around in my bag, but my iPhone has crapped out. It’ll shut off even if the battery is at 85%, so I need power banks to make sure I have a way to check Facebook when I’m waiting in line at Walmart. And yep, there’s my iPhone down there being an asshole and shut off again.

Mini Pharmacy

Got a scrape, having an asthma or anxiety attack, chapped lips, sore throat, or a headache? Then come see me. Not pictured is the roll of antacids, so I can help out with heartburn, too. The only thing I don’t have is hard drugs, but you never know — between being a SAHM and driving a Prius, I might go the route of the mom in Weeds. (Just kidding, if any prospective employers happen across this.)

Other Random Necessities 

One must never, ever leave the house without all the feminine products galore. I’d take the lip color out of my bag since I don’t use it, but since it’s the same color and brand as one of my chapsticks, it stays, since I can prank Little Man — who is always using my chapstick and not his own — with it.

Proof Of Kids And More Randomness

Every mom has a pair of dirty socks in her bag, right? Once in a while I’ll have shoes, too, as Baby Girl is super resistant to wearing anything on her feet. And you never know when things might need to be cut and taped back together, so there’s that. And unless you’re feeling a bit sick and need some penicillin mold to help you out, you might wanna skip asking me for a snack.

And that’s what I have in my bag. In case you were wondering, my purse is the equivalent of a magician’s hat. No matter how much stuff I pull out, there’s still more. I’m surprised that a bouquet of flowers or a white rabbit didn’t come out during the process of inventorying my bag.

For another bottomless purse story, visit Tara at Daisy Smiley Face!

All right, people — what’s in your bag or wallet? Anything as interesting as a crumbled cookie? 

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If you’re an Amazon addict like I am, then use this link to do your shopping. I may earn a small commission that will go towards my kids’ college education new Converses.