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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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?

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Calling All Dorks: The Mystery of Mom Friends

Parenting ain’t easy. You’ve gotta deal with diaper explosions, toughing out the middle-of-the-night wakeups, and doing the other necessary things to keep the kids alive. With the many parenting horrors we have to face, sometimes one smaller horror slips below our radars when venting — socializing. The next guest post in the Calling All Dorks series comes from Candy at GeekMamas.com, who does a great job of talking about socializing as a parent.

Let’s start this by being honest and saying I suck at this “mom friend” thing. It’s just like trying to make regular friends (not so great at that either) but harder because you probably have nothing else in common except your mom status.

* I do thankfully have friends who just happen to also be moms, but I’m talking about meeting new friends.

I started by joining mom groups on Facebook. I concentrated on one active one thinking, hey I’m making connections! But then I got kicked out, right on the day I was having a total mom breakdown because I hadn’t had much sleep in two days and K wouldn’t stop crying. Previously that week I had tried to do a meet-up at the zoo with them and totally failed finding the meeting spot and tried to be like, hey no big deal, we’ll just play here at the water park area. Apparently that was seen as “blowing them off.” See? I had no idea how horribly offensive I am.

I also joined a local place where kids can go and play, and in all the reviews it talks about how people just LOVE going there and have met SO MANY great mom friends! But unfortunately I have not met one other person in the 3 months we’ve been going there. Oh, I say hi and smile. Ask the obligatory “How old is he/she” while hoping I got the gender right because sometimes I can’t tell and that seems to be a conversation killer right there. Then we both go off running in separate directions to chase after our kids. And therein lies the problem. Even when I actually do meet up with another mom, we get maybe a few whole sentences in the span of a couple hours. I’m starting to suspect people who make mom friends have kids that stay still and aren’t trying to hurl themselves from the top of the jungle gym or throw toy cars over the fence.

Also, moms are busy. They are terribly hard to set up a date with and easily cancel due to a million different things. The more kids involved, the harder it is to meet up. And no matter where you met up, it’s like hanging out with someone with a severe case of ADD.

So maybe I am a little sad I never had that magical moment where your eyes meet across the playground and you become lifelong pals as your kids grow up together. (That’s how it happens, right?) But at least I’ve got my little buddy to keep me company so I’ll never be alone on the playground.

Be sure to check out Candy’s blog here.

You can read the first post in the Calling All Dorks series here. If you have a funny/dorky story that you’d like to see poorly illustrated, then send me an email at dorkymomdoodles@gmail.com. (Old posts are fair game.)

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Bad Mommy (Blogger)

A few days ago, Little Man and I went out for dinner after his Parkour class. We got to talking to someone at the restaurant when he sort of bragged that his mom is a blogger. We were talking about Star Wars stuff, and after bragging that his whole family is a bunch of nerds, he backed that up by mentioning my blog.

The girl didn’t look terribly impressed. “Mommy blogger?” she asked with a hint of derision. (Okay, maybe that derision was imagined, but she definitely wasn’t impressed.)

“Eh. Something like that.” I’m not much of a mom blogger since you won’t get advice or read anything introspective here.

Little Man wasn’t feeling the eh, though. “She draws these AMAZING doodles! And they’re so funny!” he bragged.

I felt a surge of pride — here is my almost tween bragging about his mom to a complete stranger. It might not be anything bragworthy to other adults, and is light years away from being amazing, but I’ll sure as hell take it.

And then he added a warning:

Maybe one day I’ll draw decent arms.

No, he didn’t read the post where I mentioned a certain word being my favorite, but I have shared a few posts with him. (I usually just show him the doodles, though.) My use of “damn” or “hell” or whatever it was certainly didn’t get past him. Then again, this is the child who commented, “They said two cuss words” after watching The Force Awakens, so I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s keeping a running tally for my blog.

(Is this what he talks about on the playground? Other kids talk about their moms doing crafts and stuff and Little Man talks about his cussing not-quite-a-mommy-blogger mom.)

I’ll take my Mom of the Year Award now.

Thanks for the promotion, Little Man. I think.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter,  Instagram, and Bloglovin. You can also vote for me as a Top Mom Blogger here. (Maybe that last once should be omitted for the post where I claim I’m not a mom blogger. Hmm.)

Happy Mother’s Day, Indeed

As much as I joke around about the kids’ clinginess and stuff, Little Man and Baby Girl really have a love for me that just blows my mind at times. I could do a post about Mother’s Day expectations vs. reality or one about the shenanigans my kids have been up to today, but I’ll save those for later and focus on the sweet stuff.

Little Man is a total mama’s boy. Always has been and, hopefully, always will be.

All. Nine. Realms. I want that on my tombstone.

And now for the toddler…

Yesterday I asked Baby Girl if she knew what tomorrow was, and she asked if it were a school day. I told her that it’s not (and won’t be for another three months — it’s going to break her heart when it sinks in that there is no more preschool for that long), but that it was going to be Mother’s Day.

“It gonna be Mudder’s Day?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She wrapped her arms around me and said, “You the best mudder I could have.” I didn’t think she had an inkling what Mother’s Day is, so to hear all that made my heart extra melty.

Yeah, poor Daddy.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mamas and to anyone else who fills that role.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Bloglovin. You can also vote for me as a Top Mom Blogger here

#AtoZChallenge: G is for Gift

For those of you who don’t know me that well — I’m a klutz. If “Most Likely To Die By Tripping Over Her Own Feet” had been a superlative in high school, I would have gotten it, hands down. I’ve broken bones, torn ligaments, and have gotten quite a few burns and cuts. Coordination and grace aren’t adjectives that anyone would ever use when talking about me, unless they were being sarcastic.

If you’re a clumsy person or live with someone who is, then you know that we tend to have quite the collection of injury-related materials. Some people like to collect coins or fancy handbags, and then there are people like me who can break out the Wrist Brace collection from the Fall 2010 line or a Knee Brace ensemble from 2013. And we can always accessorize with a nice pair of crutches or cold packs, or, if we’re getting really fancy, throw on that orthopedic boot. (In all seriousness, I probably have more injury related items than I have jewelry.)

My clumsiness has not escaped my son. When he was in kindergarten, he wrapped up some items he found around the house as gifts to give his dad and me, for no reason other than to be his sweet little self.

Here’s how that went:

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use it again.

Are you steady on your feet or are you a walking disaster like me?

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Methods of Torturing Mom (Or Any Other Female)

We always hear about how rough childbirth is. For sure, it’s no walk in the park, but usually it’s the one or two or three days of your life where the pain factor was high, and you walked out with a little bundle of joy, so that kinda balanced things out, right? Let’s talk about the day-to-day pains (physical or otherwise) that are pretty damn bad that a) don’t leave you with a bundle of joy and b) don’t make you elated in any way. 


The first one — underwire. OMFG. I know we’re supposed to avoid wearing bras with underwire for reasons I can’t think of (legit reasons, not “I’m afraid I’ll be stabbed and slowly bleed to death” reasons), but they’re more comfortable and supportive for me, so I do. It’s all good in the neighborhood until the wire that’s giving me a bit of form gets pissed off at all the work it’s doing and snaps. And then it’s like a drive by with a tiny sharp wire in my sideboob with every step I take until I free myself of the cursed contraption. I wouldn’t prefer labor with Little Man over the underwire, but I’ll take the C-section pain from after the spinal wears off over having to spend a day being stabbed by underwire.

And that brings me to epillators. I bought my first (and last) one a couple weeks ago. It was supposed to make my legs smooth for weeks, remove certain facial hairs that I don’t wanna bleach but want gone, and basically turn me from a 3 into about a 4.5. Lies, y’all, lies. Maybe I’m just doing it really wrong, but as far as I’m concerned, epillators are akin to medieval tools of torture. I have a high tolerance for pain, but I could only stand a few minutes of that. I want to box it up and send it back and leave a review calling it modern day torture, but they probably wouldn’t take it (and ew, would they resale a used epillator?). 10/10 I’d rather give birth to both kids again than shave both legs and other areas with that thing.

Hot wax. Hot not. Let me state for the record that the only thing I’ve ever had waxed is my eyebrows. Based on that, I can only imagine that ripping off hair in other areas would be godawful. Is it epillator bad? I don’t know and won’t be finding out just for the sake of this blog post.

Ain’t no flow like Aunt Flo. This one should go without saying, but look, it’s an angry uterus that looks like the Kool-Aid man ready to throw ovaries at you! As far as pregnancy comparisons go, I will say that some of these cramps have been every bit as intense as contractions. Not always, not often even, but it has happened. So, periods have their own torturous aspects. Plus, having to pay money for pads and tampons every month over the course of 40 or so years is a torture in its own right.

Crappy movies. Some of y’all will disagree with me on this. I know Lifetime sometimes shows legit movies, but when I’m flipping through, it usually isn’t. There are titles like “Who Killed Jenny’s Dad?” “Jenny’s Dad Returns: A Haunting” “The Face on the Milk Carton: The Untold Story of the Mysterious Disappearance of Jenny” and “Double Haunting: Ghosts Dad and Jenny Terrorize Mom.” Or something like that. You know how everyone says watching certain kids’ cartoons, like Peppa Pig or Spongebob, is torture? Well, Lifetime is about ten times worse. One day the kids are gonna find out that channels like Lifetime and Hallmark exist and are gonna want to know why we talked all that smack.

Laundry mountain. Maybe I shouldn’t be directing my hate at washing machines. After all, all it does is stand there. What I should be directing my frustration to is the individuals in my home who toss clean clothes in the hamper; the individuals who puke all over everything; the individuals who can’t go a week without spilling drinks all over. But, nah, I love my family, so I’ll hate on the washing machine and the laundry mountain that it eventually creates, and then cry online about having to fold everything being like delivering triplets with no medication. (Just kidding.)

So, torture…if you’re really pissed off at me, a great way to get back at me is to make me watch Lifetime movies while folding clothes while wearing a bad bra while on my period while you apply hot wax to one leg and go after the other with an epillator. 

So, what would you add to your list of things that you find torturous? And men, what makes you go, “This is worse than a cold”?

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Fun In The Sun

I’ve never been any good at drawing, to the point that I think my family wants to say, “Tell me about this, Mom,” to spare my feelings when I attempt to draw more than a stick figure. Despite this, I recently got an iPad Pro and discovered that I really enjoy doodling on it. It’s fun and relaxing and gives me something else to do beside zoning out to Netflix after the kids go to bed.

“This is adorably bad,” my husband told me when I showed him the doodle I’m sharing below. That’s better than just “bad,” right? And clearly, when he said “adorably bad,” he meant “start a blog and share it with the world.” Or something like that.

At any rate, I’m going with it. Maybe as I keep doodling, I’ll go from “adorably bad” to “not so bad.” We’ll see.

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