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. 😉

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

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 educations new Converses. 

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.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

If you’re an Amazon addict like I am (or are trying to avoid the stores while making your holiday purchases), then use this link to do your shopping. I may earn a small commission that will go towards my kids’ college educations new Converses. 

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?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

If you’re an Amazon addict like I am (or are trying to avoid the stores while making your holiday purchases), then use this link to do your shopping. I may earn a small commission that will go towards my kids’ college educations new Converses. 

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?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

If you’re an Amazon addict like I am (or are trying to avoid the stores while making your holiday purchases), then use this link to do your shopping. I may earn a small commission that will go towards my kids’ college educations new Converses. 

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. 

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

If you’re an Amazon addict like I am (or are trying to avoid the stores while making your holiday purchases), then use this link to do your shopping. I may earn a small commission that will go towards my kids’ college educations new Converses. 

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? 

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

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.

The Bleeping Tooth Fairy

There are many ways that I have failed at parenting.

I once forgot to put a filling in Little Man’s sandwich. Yep, my underweight child was sent to school with two slices of bread as his lunch entree. Christmas and birthday gifts have remained hidden for months following the events. There was the time that I floated the idea of carrot sticks for a post soccer game snack.

And then there’s the Tooth Fairy. The <insert all the bad words here> Tooth Fairy.

First, a little backstory…

When we had Little Man, my husband and I had the whole mythical characters discussion. You know, “Do we want to sell the whole Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy?” thing. For the record, this discussion ranks up there with discussions on whether one parent should quit their job, vaccinating, and college football team allegiance. It’s important.

We had our discussion and decided against Santa and the gang. I’m struggling to remember if it was a matter of not wanting to lie to our child (something all young, naive parents say they don’t want to do) or if we were just lazy assholes. Probably a bit of both.

I’m gonna go off on a tangent for a moment and tell you that if you ever tell a kid’s grandmother that you aren’t planning to do Santa, be prepared to be looked at like you’re the devil. At first she’ll squint her eyes and give you a look, wondering if you’re making yet another joke she isn’t getting. When she ascertains that you’re not kidding, she’ll lean in a little and sniff the air around you. She’ll make out like she has a sniffle, but it’s really about trying to detect booze on your breath. Because clearly drunkenness is the only reason a parent wouldn’t want to do Santa, right?

When she rules out jokes and booze, then she’ll move on to dropping hints that CPS will be called in the event tons of presents from a non-existent person (one that should be charged with B&E) aren’t given.

So, yeah, we do Santa Claus. (A modified version.)

We also put out baskets on Easter, because if you don’t put out baskets of chocolate on Jesus’s day, then surely you’re Satan. Little Man knows that there is no Easter Bunny (does any kid really believe in that?) and that getting treats isn’t what Easter is about, but we still have fun.

I did not expect to have to do the Tooth Fairy. Not even a little. Little Man questioned whether Santa was real when he was three because he didn’t think the story made sense. (We usually flip the Santa question back to him and he has continued to go along with it so far.) He knew the Easter Bunny was fake. But lo and behold, some kid in school loses a tooth and tells Little Man about the magical miniature being that leaves video games, cash, and toys under your pillow in exchange for your tooth. And he said he believed that.

The First Tooth

I can’t remember the circumstances surrounding Little Man losing his first tooth, but what I do remember is losing it. I don’t know if I accidentally threw it away or if I dropped it and it rolled under something. Whatever it was, I couldn’t find it. So as not to ruin the experience of losing his first tooth, I made a fake tooth out of popcorn.

Apparently teeth are like baby birds falling from their nests — if anyone else touches it, it will be rejected and die. Or, in the case of Little Man’s tooth, it will be rejected by the Tooth Fairy and he won’t get any loot.

Little Man didn’t bother the “tooth” and we later exchanged the popcorn for some cash. Crisis averted.

The Second Tooth

I didn’t lose this tooth, but I also didn’t have any money to leave under his pillow. After debating on leaving an IOU, I decided to borrow from Little Man’s piggy bank for money to put under his pillow. That was probably one of my low points as a parent, robbing my child to leave money from a fake fairy that collects children’s teeth.

Mommyburglar

The Third Tooth And Beyond

I’d love to be able to tell you that after losing the first tooth and not having money for the second tooth, that we learned our lesson and did better. But I’d be lying. There have been a couple of times when we pulled off the Tooth Fairy without a hitch, but mostly we screw up. I’ve lost more teeth, I’ve had to borrow more money from Little Man, and I’ve forgotten to make the switch.

That’s what happened with the most recent lost tooth. Little Man lost a molar minutes before his soccer game. He gave it to me to keep in my pocket, and miracle of miracles, it made it home. He put it under his pillow and woke up Sunday morning to find it still under his pillow. Crap.

My husband halfheartedly made up an excuse for the Tooth Fairy, but the boy wasn’t buying it.

“I don’t think the Tooth Fairy forgot so much as the parents forgot,” Little Man told my husband.

Burn.

That night Little Man put his tooth in a box at the foot of his bed so the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t have any problems. The next morning he found that his tooth had been traded out for three bucks.

“Look what the Tooth Fairy brought me!” he told us, showing us the money.

Yeah, right.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

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.

Throwing WHAT In The Well?

Have you ever gotten nostalgic and watched or read something that you enjoyed as a kid, only to wonder why the hell you enjoyed that thing? I have, and no, it’s not Hanson (and a big “Screw you” to my husband for saying that).

I loved Boy Meets World when I was young — and I can still appreciate the wholesome messages on some level — but I’m baffled at how I could have enjoyed something with so many plot holes. And, on a similar note, there were the songs Pink by Aerosmith, Butterfly by Crazy Town, and Barbie Girl by Aqua. It was quite some time before I realized what they were really about (sex, FYI), which shows how naive I was as a teenager.

Recently Baby Girl and I were reading through a book of nursery rhymes, some of which I remembered reading as a kid. It was a cute little pop-up book, but after a few pages of rhymes, the cuteness factor went out the window. Much like the fairy tales we were read as kids, many nursery rhymes have varying degrees of fucked-upness. Either my memory sucks or my mind protecting itself by shutting out the memories, as I didn’t realize how messed up they were.

Read on to see if you remember any of these warped rhymes

Three Blind Mice

Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?

Damn, farmer’s wife. It’s not bad enough that these little bastards are blind, but you’ve gotta go cutting off their tails to get your jollies?

Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.
She gave them some broth without any bread
Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

I definitely remember the first half of this rhyme, but the second half? Nope.

Those poor kids. So not only did they live in the nursery rhyme version of a meth house and have to go hungry, they also had to get a beating for their lack of food.

Ding Dong Bell

Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy’s in the well.
Who put her in?
Little Johnny Thin.
Who pulled her out?
Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who never did him any harm,
But killed all the mice in the farmer’s barn.

This one made me close the book of nursery rhymes for good.

Were there any songs, rhymes, etc. that you enjoyed when you were younger that left you going “WTF?!” as an adult?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

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.

What Your Bra Says About You

I’m sure everyone reading this post has seen those awful magazines geared towards women near the checkout counter at the grocery store. You know, the ones that have article with titles like 101 Ways To Please Him or Eating Disorders Are A Problem, But Here Are 13 Ways To Lose Weight?

I imagine that a title similar the one I’m using for this post has graced the cover of a crappy magazine or two. In magazine land, one’s bra choice might mean that they’re destined for a lifetime of solitude or that they’re ready to let their inner tigress run free. That’s not really the direction I’m going in with this post, though. Since my knowledge of all things feminine is pretty limited, you won’t be getting any insight from me on what a red satin bra, with pink lacy polka dots, that opens in the front means.

There is one thing my bra says about me, though, and that is where I’m at with my day. There comes a point in my day when I’m done. I won’t go out to the store for milk, I won’t run out to the mailbox or get anything out of the car, and I certainly won’t take a walk around the neighborhood. That point in my day is marked by The Removing of the Bra.

Bra on? I’ll do things. I might be exhausted and not want to do things, but I’ll go out and do whatever it is.

Bra off? Send Daddy out or tell the kids “maybe tomorrow.” (And we all remember how Maybes go, right?)

Occasionally I’ll be having a bad mood day or a day in which I’m recovering from being around people too much, and the bra doesn’t go on at all. If it isn’t on by 11:00 in the morning, there’s a good chance it ain’t going on at all.

Whenever the kids ask for things — like going back to town for doughnuts or anything else that requires leaving the house — I always tell them that my bra is off. I no longer have to explain myself, as they’ve learned that means mama ain’t going nowhere.

And, no, I can’t put my bra back on once I’ve taken it off for the day. Doing so would cause the moon and stars to become misaligned, and that might just cause the end of the world those nutty prophets have been predicting to happen. That, or maybe I’m just so lazy that throwing a strap over each shoulder and reaching back to do the clasp is just too much. Either way, for the safety of all, it’s best I let sleeping bras lie.

Recently Baby Girl wanted me to go get something out of the car. After telling me that her Daniel Tiger toy was in the car, she asked, “Is your bra on, Mommy?”

Way to cut to the chase, Baby Girl! I wonder how a guest would react to one of my kids asking about the state of my brassiere. I’m guessing we’ll find out soon enough. (The bra was on, in case you’re wondering, so I was able to retrieve the toy.)

Do you have a weird thing like, “The bra is off”? that only members of your home would understand? 

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Bloglovin.

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. *Full disclosure. 

Calling All Dorks: Kids Never Forget Our “Oops” Moments

The next blogger in the Calling All Dorks series is one of my favorite mom bloggers — Katherine of Welcome to the Nursery.

Katherine is the mom who runs the nursery where Puff (1.5y) and Squish (4) live. She hung up her engineering hat four years ago to start the mom gig; it turns out her skills of tank driving and bullet design don’t transfer well to child care, but at least with parenthood you can learn on the job (right?!). Katherine shares her amusements and frustrations with readers along that journey by trying to find the humor in everyday child rearing happenings. When the kids are asleep, she nurses a fledgling writing career, obsessively reads English historical fiction, and dabbles in painting and sewing.

Kids have funny memories. You can tell them something like, “Brush your teeth before going to bed” every single night for almost a decade, and they still act like it’s such a new thing to the point that you’re a bad parent for expecting them to remember. However, say something like “Shit” once, and suddenly their minds become a steel trap — no forgetting that.

Katherine can definitely relate to the concept of kids not forgetting such moments. Read her story below.

It’s amazing that we parents manage to do a lot of amazing tasks all day long, and most (all?) of them go unnoticed and unappreciated by our kids. Catch the toddler as she’s falling off a chair? Ho-hum, says the child (and never a “gee thanks, ma”). Got everyone dressed, fed, and out the door in time for school? No kid realizes the superparent powers required (and no act of God needed, either). However, when we do something wrong or amusing their elephantine memories will never forget it.

And they don’t let us forget it, either.

Now, let me preface this story by saying that my four-year-old (we call her Squish) has inherited many good genes from her parents, but klutziness isn’t one of them. She’s screwed from both sides: I’m klutzy, my mom’s klutzy, and my mother-in-law is, too. You’d think Squish would therefore commiserate when the rest of us have slips, trips, and falls … but no, she laughs like they’re part of a Three Stooges routine.

Last summer her grandparents took Squish across the street to the pond. The pond and grass area are bordered on the street by a few logs to prevent cars from driving onto the grass. Grandma was stepping over such a log when … she tripped and fell!

Squish saw this, and after everyone made sure Grandma was okay (and she was) Squish asked over and over and over again why her grandma tripped and fell. She just wouldn’t let it go!

Every day for about a week after that, she asked us, “Why did grandma fall over the log?” And she’s asked that probably every month since!

That log is famous, too. Every time we pass it – which is frequently – she says, “That’s where grandma tripped!” (Her grandma will never live that moment down, will she?)

You guess that her grandma has developed a reputation for klutziness. In fact, recently Squish saw a photo of a camel, and my husband told her that her grandma once rode a camel in Israel.

Squish’s response was, of course, “Did she fall off?”

Have you ever done something you wish you could forget – but your kids will never let you?

Find Katherine at the following links:

What are some of your “Oops” moments that your kids won’t let you forget about?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter,  Instagram, and Bloglovin.

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. *Full disclosure.