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 FacebookTwitter, 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 FacebookTwitter, 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 FacebookTwitter, 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 FacebookTwitter, 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 FacebookTwitter,  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. 

I Really DO Love Him

I have an obsession.

You might think it’d be blogging, but relatively speaking, blogging is just a blip on the radar where my main obsession is concerned. Star Wars? Lord of the Rings? They’re all in the same boat as blogging.

I’ll give you a hint about my obsession — it’s a group of guys that were once popular for being a blonde haired singing trio from Oklahoma.

Still stumped? I’ll give you another hint: MMMBop.

Assuming you haven’t blocked out that period of 1997-1998 when that song was played nonstop, then you surely know who I’m talking about now — Hanson. I was 13 when they came on the scene and instantly became infatuated took a liking to them. I was never one of the shrieky girls, but my room was basically wallpapered over with Hanson posters and pinups (let’s just say that my dad was less than thrilled with the fact that I used thumbtacks to hang and rehang everything), so I definitely had it bad.

It’s been 20 years since Hanson released that single (and they’ve released a few albums in that period on their independent label, lest you think they disappeared), and they’re having a worldwide tour to celebrate the anniversary. Since it had been 10 years since I saw one of their shows, I bought tickets for my husband, my son, and myself as soon as they were released. The fact that it was going to be Little Man’s first concert made it extra exciting. (Assuming we don’t count the Hanson concert he was present for in my womb, anyway.)

And then we found out that Little Man’s soccer jamboree was going to be the day after the concert. Since the games are usually in the morning, it didn’t seem like going to the concert would work out. We’d either get home at 2:30 in the morning, since the venue is three hours away, or have to get up super early and head home. Neither of those were desirable, obviously, since either one would leave Little Man exhausted — not exactly how you want to feel when playing a soccer game. Gah. I told my husband to cancel the hotel room and that I could sell the tickets.

Fortunately, my husband isn’t so quick to throw up his hands and admit defeat. Being the awesome person that he is, he contacted the person over the jamboree scheduling and got us a late game, ensuring that Little Man would be able to get reasonably rested up. The show must go on and all of that, right?

While talking about the concert and jamboree plans with Little Man, my husband mentioned that I had thought about selling the tickets and not going. His reaction totally cracked me up.

Now we know that my love for people is measured by my willingness to miss a Hanson concert.

I had planned posting this earlier in the week, but life got too busy. The concert was Friday night, and it was amazeballs. Little Man was able to stand in the front row and had a couple of cool moments with one of the guys in the band. It was a great first concert for him, one that will be hard to top. Also in case you’re wondering, women in their late 20s and early 30s don’t shriek as loudly as they did 20 years ago, but it’s still bad enough for a hard-of-hearing person to have to cover her ears at times. Yeesh.

I’m not going to bother doodling the concert, so here are some pictures from the show:

So, what’s the best concert you’ve ever been to? 

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

Your Vagina Doesn’t Work That Way

Kids can be frustrating. Mostly they’re amazeballs, but they can also be frustrating. They have little quirks that can make getting through the day a little tougher than it has to be. Take Little Man for example. He’s a selective germaphobe. I say “selective,” because he chews on his fingernails and will occasionally eat off the floor. Otherwise, he’ll wig out if he thinks someone has taken a drink from his bottle, has touched his food, or so much as sniffles in his direction. I completely get that, but still — be consistent and keep your hands out of your mouth! He also lines the toilet seat everywhere he goes, even in his own house (and I do clean), which is frustrating mostly because he goes through so much toilet paper and makes a mess.


Now for Baby Girl. Mealtime with the toddler is a struggle because of how picky she is. Even though I know many kids are like this to a degree, especially during the toddler stage, it’s still a source of constant frustration. I understand when someone doesn’t like something, since I’m rather picky myself, but she usually won’t even try whatever it is.

At the behest of our doctor, we’ve tried everything — pleading, bribing, guilting. (“Daniel Tiger will be sad if you don’t try those green beans!”) The promise of a sweet treat doesn’t remotely faze the girl. And don’t bother suggesting the not-so-wise advice of “She’ll eat it when she’s hungry enough” — that’s a big nope. (And the same is true with me — I’d be more likely to cut off my foot and roast it than eat zucchini.)

This is truly difficult for my husband and me, because not only do we worry about nutrition, it has us questioning ourselves as parents, What did we do wrong? Thankfully, though, it has provided a few humorous moments. Always, always look for the humor. It makes everything a little bit better, or more tolerable, at least. One thing that amuses us is when Baby Girl doesn’t want something, she’ll cover her eyes. Yes, her eyes. I’m not sure if she can’t stand the sight of the food or if she genuinely thinks that covering her eyes is the equivalent of covering her mouth, but it’s still pretty funny.

We also recently learned that she has developed some allergies.

She has no allergies that I’m aware of. But I’ve gotta give the kid credit — allergies is a damn good excuse for not eating something.

As I’ve written about before, my kids aren’t too big on the healthy, which came up again a couple days ago.

Girl, that was a fried chicken tender — whatever health is in it is canceled out by the breading and oil!

And just when we thought we had heard everything, this came up:

We pointed out that she actually is a big girl. We told her that if she really isn’t a big girl, then she definitely couldn’t watch Daniel Tiger or go to gymnastics. Naturally she had a comeback for this.

Your vagina prohibits you from eating peas? Nope, it doesn’t work that way. But obviously I’m gonna use that the next time someone tries to get me to eat zucchini.

See? Humor. It’s not enough to weigh out the frustration, worry, and parental self-doubt, but thank god for a little bit of it mixed in with this phase. (I hope it’s a phase, anyway.)

What’s the best excuse you’ve heard for someone not eating something?

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

I’m going to try the whole “make a little money from the blog” thing now via the Amazon Affiliates program. 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. 

Directionally Challenged

Remember those drug commercials from when we (those of us around 30ish, anyway) were kids? They’d show an egg and say, “This is your brain.” And then a skillet would smash the egg to bits and then they’d say, “This is your brain on drugs.” Or something to that effect. The point was drilled home — drugs make your brain explode.

That’s me.

Except without the drugs. Instead, that’s my brain when trying to process directions. The whole “yolk splattering” thing and ensuing rage definitely resonates.

I like to think that I’m a pretty bright person. I always did well in school, I can usually learn new things easily, and logic and I are besties. (Except for when anxiety takes over, so it’s more like logic and I are a step above being casual acquaintances.) Unfortunately, all of that goes out the window when I try to wrap my mind around driving directions. Put a map in front of me or try to tell me how to get from Point A to Point B, and you might as well be speaking a different language.


That in a nutshell.

I’ve lived in the same town for 30 of the 33 years that I have been on this earth. Yet if you asked me for directions to Walmart, I’d likely falter. And, heaven forbid, don’t ask me to read a map.

My husband finally figured out the answer to my problem one Christmas — a GPS! I was about 7 months pregnant with Little Man, and I didn’t know how to get to the hospital that was 20 minutes away. Since he was concerned about me going into labor while he was at work, he figured I should probably know how to get to the hospital, so he got me the GPS. He was pleased with himself until I called him at work crying a month later because I was lost in the town that we lived in.

“Did you use the GPS?”

“Yes!” I said between my dry heaving. “It told me to turn at a median! There was no road!”

Eventually, my husband finally figured out a way for me to get from point A to B without a) having to drive me or b) me getting utterly lost in the process — write out the most detailed directions in the world. You think the instructions for that bookshelf from IKEA you had to put together were long? You haven’t seen my driving instructions.

I might still have to call to clarify one part of the directions, or for driving back (I don’t do reverse directions well, either), but that’s it. Great success!

So, yeah, that’s me — Mrs. Directionally Challenged. Can any of y’all relate?

Bonus:

Here’s the This Is Your Brain On Drugs video. When I saw this as a kid, I was a bit terrified — who wants to turn into a dishes smashing lunatic, right? But now the mom in me — whose family mostly uses the nicer plastic take-out cups to avoid broken glasses — is going, “WTF, Baby-Sitter’s Club chick?! Stop that shit now!”

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

I’m going to try the whole “make a little money from the blog” thing now via the Amazon Affiliates program. 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. 

Making Things Worse

Sometimes kids know exactly what to do or say to make you feel better when you’re sick. Sometimes. Most of the time, though, they just unintentionally make things worse. And not only will they make things worse, the severity of the things they do directly correlates with how bad you’re feeling.

Got a nasty cold and can barely raise your voice above a whisper? Then they’ll fight like cats and dogs, making it necessary to use your Parent Voice (which is a nice way of saying “yell”) to get them to stop. Maybe a migraine has you down for the count? Then obviously this is the time to get out every musical instrument they own and start a band.


(And then you’ll probably wonder why the heck you thought it was a good idea to encourage creative expression.)

Or maybe you’ve got a stomach bug that renders you unable to move outside of trips to the bathroom? Then they’ll fight like cats and dogs, beg you to make special treats, and need you to help with a school project (and this project will be one they’ve known about for a month, but just told you about, and it’ll be due tomorrow). And only you and you alone have the power to help them. All of these scenarios have happened, by the way.

I often have sinus troubles and get excruciating headaches as a result. At one point last year, I was having an especially bad sinus headache and was lying on the couch when Little Man checked on me.

My beautiful boy is checking up on his mom…clearly he’s perfect, right?

Much like my kisses having healing powers for the kids, hugs and cuddles from them make me feel better momentarily.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling the “help Mommy feel better” vibe at the moment.

Thanks kid.

And for the record, he wasn’t lying.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

Maybe, Maybe Not

While looking through my doodle folder last night, I found a few things that I had forgotten about. Aside from there being no money in dorky doodling, that’s kind of like finding a $20 bill in a coat from last winter, bonus!

I was in graph/charts mode a few weeks ago and drew up a bunch of them. I have no idea why I didn’t actually post any — especially since I’ve been short on time and haven’t posted as often as I like — but here we go. And, nope, I’m not gonna post them all at once. I’m gonna save some for a rainy day, which will probably be next week, unless I forget again. (And if y’all see me comment about not being able to think of anything to post or having time to come up with anything, remind me that I have these, okay?)

So, my kids are always asking for something. They want a snack, they want to watch TV, they want to go to Sports Connection tomorrow, they want to go to the park, they want to go buy toys, they want, they want, they want. Like any good parent who wants to delay the whining a straight up “No” will cause, I’ll usually answer, “Maybe,” as long as they aren’t asking for something completely ridiculous. (“Can I eat all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms?” Uh, no. Oh wait, you’re going to your grandparents’ house today? Then knock yourself out, because payback is a bitch.)

As most of y’all know, anytime you answer “Maybe,” that means it’s usually not happening. I mean, sure, there’s a slight chance that I’ll hate myself enough the next day to willingly subject myself to the torture that is Chuck E. Cheese, but probably not. And being the procrastinator (and hater of headaches) that I am, I prefer to put off the “Aw man” and “Why not?” whines until later. The next day I can answer “Maybe” again, and we’ll keep that going until they either forget or realize it ain’t happening and stop asking. (Nine times out of ten, it’s usually the former.)

This is probably the part where a couple folks will skip to the end and tell me that they always tell their kids “No” and give an honest explanation or some crap because they’re parenting rock stars. In which case, I’d remind you that my kid gave me a coffee mug that said “(Mostly) Okayest Mom Ever” on it and move along.

Still here? Then here’s the doodle chart I promised.

See? There is a tiny sliver of hope in there.

What would you add to the pie chart? 

I’d like to give a shout out to Candy at GeekMamas.com for including me as a guest poster! Check out the post here.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.