Parental warning label.

I had a realization a few weeks ago. A realization, that I'm sure my parents would laugh at, should I choose to share it with them. Here is my lightning bolt (I never said I was brilliant, consider yourself warned). Absolutely everything that is exciting for our children, falls into one or more of the following categories for parents: Expensive, Time-Consuming, Exhausting or Terrifying. (No, you can't slap my forehead for me.)


How did it take me this many years to figure this out? I mean, I knew my parents did a lot of exhausting, expensive & tedious tasks for me over the years, but HOLY CRAP.

It gets easier as they get older. Yea, right.

I realized this as I started planning out Monkey's birthday party. I was exhausted before I even started, and then the REAL fun began.


Custom designed birthday invite? Check!
(Time-consuming? Check!)
Invite way more people than necessary for a kid's birthday? Check!
(Time-consuming & expensive? Check and Check!)
Locate and order customized party themed outfit? Check!
(Expensive? Check!)
Plan menu, order & prepare food? Check!
(Time-consuming, expensive & exhausting? Check! Check! Check!)
Make adorable & coordinated smashcake/cupcakes/cakepops? Check!
(Expensive? Check!)
Clean my house, only to have it destroyed within hours? Check!
(Exhausting? Check!)
Put together non-junky gift bags for bratty kids party guests? Check!
(Expensive & exhausting? Check and Checkmate.)


You get the idea.


It is absolutely unreal how much parents sacrifice to do fun things for their kids. The hilarious part is, I know that in 15 years, he will not be saying "Thanks for making sure my birthday parties were always awesome, Mom!" (He might not get a chance to say it, because all this party-planning might very well kill me.) I stress myself out and spend way too much money (Don't tell the Yankee I said that!), because it is such a joy for me to make the day all about him and the things he loves (for the next 7 minutes, anyway). I love to see his face light up when he sees the perfectly proportioned Lightning McQueen cake that I very nearly had a nervous breakdown over at 1am.


Do I go over the top? Sure. Is he worth it? Abso-freakin-lutely*.




*Yea, I'm bringing it back. Don't argue with me.   

The one about sleep.

I've mentioned that I miss sleep. Not just any sleep, that deep, restful, naked sleep of my pre-child days when I could sleep past 8:30am and wake up, blissfully, on my own. I made you weep just thinking about it, didn't I? (Note: If you are one of those on-par-with-lottery-winners LuckyMoms whose children have slept through the night since they were two weeks old and never climb into your bed to harass your last thread of sanity at 3am, do me a favor & just keep that sh*t to yourself.)


Like I was saying, most every mom I have ever met would do just about anything, legal or otherwise, to have a that sort of sleep again. I, personally, don't think it is possible, even with child-less vacations and the butterfly-wing pills I keep seeing commercials for. The best sleep I get is on my annual Mommy's Drunk Night Out and as the name implies, that alcohol & exhaustion fueled sleep is clearly negated by the raging death wish hangover I am greeted with five minutes before the hotel's checkout time. See, now I'm rambling. This is what three years of parenting has done to me people. Bad things.


Now that we have firmly established what a sleep-deprived wreck I am (as if there was any doubt), let's discuss what three years of parenting has not done. The answer is, affected my husband's sleep schedule one frackin bit. Sure, the Yankee claims to be tired, but I hear his snores taunt me as I tend to squirmy children at 3am. I know better. The Yankee sleeps like he has overdosed on Nyquil every frick night. If sleeping becomes an Olympic level event, he'll be set, but until then this is what I deal with...


(Background Info: When Monkey came home as a newborn he was a tiny, hungry little dude, but my body hadn't yet gotten the memo that it was now an all hours diner, so a bit of work had to be done to get the *ahem* restaurant up & flowing. The protocol that I was told I MUST follow, was nurse him for 15-20 min, then pump, rinse & repeat two hours from when we began nursing. Sounds like a party, right?)


So, night one at home, Monkey has been topped off and the we all settle in to bed at 10pm. 11:30 comes & GrandMom (my Mom, not MIL, clearly) nudges me awake to feed Monkey. 25 minutes later I hand him off to GrandMom to burp and settle, while I groggily torture myself pump. We all head back to bed at around 12:15am. Repeat 4 times. 7:20am rolls around and I'm up readying myself for the next order. The Yankee wakes up, looks over at the sleeping Monkey and utters the dumbest statement I have ever heard: "(Gasp) Oh my gawd!! He slept through the night!!" Insert the most evil mom look ever conjured up and me hissing "No, asshole, YOU DID!"


The Yankee thought our newborn son had slept from 10pm until 7:20am without waking, at three days old. He had the foolish luxury because he slept through every frickin feeding! Don't you just feel bad for poor, sleep-deprived Yankee? Fast forward 10 months to Monkey still not sleeping through the night. Surely, the Yankee has been getting up occasionally to give Monkey a bottle of the good stuff stored in the freezer, right? Nope. Never. Not even once.


The Yankee does not even understand the meaning of exhausted and that is why I give him the stink eye each and every time he whines "I'm tired." Now, I'm off to bed. The over/under is 20 minutes before the first "Mommy?". Place your bets, people. 

Livin the dream

By now you've got to be thinking, "Wow! This NuttyMommy is amazingly awesome & oh-so-witty! I bet her life is really glamorous too!" Took the words right out of your mouth, didn't I? *smug smile* Yea, I thought so. So, in an effort to brighten your non-glamorous world, I'll give you a short peek into mine. Are you ready for this? Probably not, but here we gooooooooooooo!

3:12am Monkey comes into my bed. Just because. Monkey takes up 1/3 of the bed, the Yankee takes up another 1/2 of the bed, leaving NuttyMommy with 1/6 of the bed to occupy.

3:17am I realizes that I will not be able to sleep in such a tight space. Guess what NuttyMommy does when she is cranky & unable to sleep? Fractions? Haha, absolutely not! I poke the Yankee until he moves over.

3:24am The Yankee moves over, giving me another 1 inch of sleeping room between the Yankee and the Monkey. Success!

3:25am I realize I am laying between two space heaters and I am BURNING up.

3:26am Kick off covers. Monkey cries for "horsepower blanket".

3:27am Try convince Monkey that Mommy's blanket is just fine.

3:27:30am Monkey begins screeching for "horsepower blanket" at roughly the noise level of a freight train. The Yankee continues snoring.

3:27:45am I venture off to find "horsepower blanket".

3:31am I return with beloved "horsepower blanket", sippy cup and stubbed toe.

3:32am I try to reestablish my space in bed, by moving Monkey towards the Yankee. Success!

3:34am I return to my coma sleep.

3:56am Monkey kicks me in the rib. Ow.

3:57am I reorient Monkey from his current east-to-west sleeping position.

3:58am Resume sleep.

4:27am Monkey kicks me in the upper thigh. Ow.

4:28am I reorient Monkey from his southeast-to-northwest sleeping position.

4:29am Resume sleep.

5:41am Monkey begins whining to snuggle Mommy despite the fact that he is currently sleep in a south-to-north position with his legs draped over my stomach.

5:42am Reorient monkey to the proper north-to-south sleeping position with my arm trapped below his neck & shoulders.

5:48am My arm goes numb. Attempt to remove Monkey from arm, resulting in whining Monkey & a grumble/snort from the Yankee.

5:53am Lull Monkey back to sleep my rubbing his back. My rear end is now hanging off the side of the bed.

5:54am Attempt to resume sleep with unsupported rear end.

5:54:15am Realize that this is an impossible sleeping position. Gently slide Monkey towards the Yankee.

5:55am Success! Resume sleep.

6:00am Alarm goes off. Poke the Yankee, as it is his alarm. No response. Climb out of bed & fumble for snooze button. Climb back into bed.

6:09am Alarm goes off again. Shake the Yankee this time. He groggily instructs me to hit snooze. Climb out of bed & press snooze button. Climb back into bed.

6:13am Monkey is awake and whining for his trucks. "Mommy! Twucks, pwease? Twucks, pwease? Twucks, pwease? Mommy! Twuck, pwease? Twucks, pwease?"

6:14am I remind the Monkey that is sleepy time, not truck time.

6:14:30am "Waaaaaaa! Twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks...."

6:15am "No trucks right now. We'll play with our trucks when it's time to get up. Now, come snuggle Mommy."

6:16am "TWUCKS, PWEASE?"

6:17am "No trucks. Please lay down."

6:18am Alarm goes off again. Shake the Yankee to no avail. Climb out of bed & hit snooze button. Monkey is chanting "Twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks...."

6:20am "Do you want to watch SuperWhy?"

6:21am "No! Twucks, twucks, twucks....Horepower Movie?"

6:23am Fumble for remote. I am rewarded with sweet Lullaby of Sheryl Crow's Real Gone (opening scene of Cars) and a quiet Monkey. The Yankee is still snoring. The dog howls downstairs.

6:23:01am Resume sleep.

6:27am Alarm goes off again. Shove the Yankee & growl for him to deal with the alarm. The Monkey laughs.

6:32am Monkey begins whining to "Go wake Sissy up! Go wake Sissy up! Watch horsepower movie with Sissy!"

6:33am "No, we don't wake up Sissy."

6:34am "Twucks, pwease? Wake up Sissy, pwease?"

6:35am "No trucks and NO waking up Sissy. Watch your movie for 5 more minutes."

6:36am The alarm goes off again. The Yankee hits snooze, again. The dog is in full blown howl downstairs.

6:37am Sissy/Bug starts crying. Monkey is thrilled and tags along to rescue Sissy from her crib.

6:39am Attempt to fit 3 people in the half of the bed not being occupied by the Yankee. Restart Monkey's movie. Nurse the Bug.

6:41am The Monkey begins whining for his "twucks" again. Shove the Yankee & tell him to get up, turn off the alarm & go get the boy's trucks. Now.

6:43am The Yankee complies & stumbles downstairs to find the trucks. Forgets the alarm.

6:45am The alarm goes off again. I cannot move because I am nursing a Bug who thinks that 11 hours of sleep is far too long to go without sustenance, so I'm forced to listen to the "bomb about to explode" warning noises from the alarm. The Monkey resumes his chant of "twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks, twucks..."

6:49am The Yankee returns with one truck. The Monkey does not approve and melts down for "more twucks". I glare at him & tell him to turn off the damn alarm and go get 2 more trucks.

6:51am The Bug is done nursing & is now touching the Monkey's only truck. The Monkey is ANGRY.

6:52am The Yankee returns with a whole bin of cars & trucks (smart ass), puts them down and locks himself in the bathroom. (Punk.)

6:53am Dole out cars & trucks on the floor for both kids to play with.

6:55am Give the Monkey a time out for not sharing/snatching toys from his sister.

6:56am The Monkey howls from time out, the Bug enjoys having all the cars & trucks to herself and I make a quick escape to the other upstairs bathroom.

6:58am Free the Monkey from time out after he apologizes to Sissy/Bug and says he will share.

6:59am Check my email while the kids play together.

7:01am Give Monkey another time out for not sharing/snatching toys.

7:04am Free the Monkey from time out after he apologizes and says he will share. Again.

7:06am Hear the Yankee humming in the bathroom & decide I'm going to hurt him, if I don't evacuate the general vicinity.

7:07am Usher the kiddos (with all cars and "twucks", of course) downstairs to start breakfast.



And now, you lovelies, have been brought into the inner sanctum of my glamorous life, at least the first 4 hours of it. Glamorous, isn't it? I know, you wish you could be me.

Meet ya at #WineandWhine

So, I've already confessed my deep and passionate love affair with twitter and the freedom it gives me, without exceeding 140 characters, of course. But I didn't share the reason I love twitter with a fervent passion. It's the same reason there are pictures of me half dressed in a fountain repeatedly during college and that I have managed to survive 3 years of parenting without selling my kids to the gypsies. No, not booze. What kind of mom do you think I am anyway? Don't answer that. The answer, is my amazing and highly mischevious friends.


Lovely ladies, like the ever indulgent @Rustilyn, who co-founded #WineandWhine with me (OK, so maybe I do mix twitter & drinking, but I have it under control. Really, I do!) and @ThePurseBlogger, who for some unknown reason thinks I am actually a talented writer. I could go on and on listing the brilliant, amusing & oh-so-rowdy group of tweeps I have come to love, but to be honest, I don't really like to share. So, find your own damn friends! Or you could just look at my follow list, whatev. 


So, why do I need twitter friends when I have in real life friends? Because my twitter friends never tell me it's too late, they listen, err, read my stupid awesome jokes and they approve of me using my computer/iPhone/iPad as a drinking buddy; That's why. But even more amazingly, they hear all my crazy, unedited, rambling thoughts and still stick around for more. What else could a perpetually exhausted, slightly crazy and braless lady hope for? (Besides my 19 year old body, the winning lottery numbers and a visit from Marky Mark, of course.)


So, my advice to you (because clearly, I'm the lady you should not take advice from) is to mozy on over to twitter and join a #wineandwhine party. You'll either have a great time tweeting with some of the funniest people you'll ever meet or you'll leave thinking I'm even crazier than you realized, while perpetually humming "Baby Got Back". Maybe both, but I'm not making any promises. 

The war zone.

Anyone that knows me IRL (that would hopefully be none of you) knows the challenge that is my relationship with my in laws. These people make me want to puncture my eardrum with a screwdriver, just for an excuse to leave. Seriously, I didn't create & proliferate the hashtag #shittyinlaws for the fun of it. Ok, maybe it was a little fun, but that's not the point. These people drive me to a level of insanity that 3+ years of sleep deprivation and parenting hasn't achieved. Seriously, how is that even possible?! Apparently, they are gifted.


Let's start with some background shall we? The Yankee is an only child, which is a BIG deal. The Yankee was, and still is, very spoiled by them. They still call him a nickname that nobody over the age of 6 should be called and worry about his every want & need. Forget the fact that he is a grown adult & has a wife to look out for him, they still worry if he gets enough sleep & regularly advise me to "Let him rest!" (Have I told you about he sleeps yet? No? Oh, you'll enjoy that story, but back to my ILs.) The sun rises & sets with their boy. I'm just the evil, thieving woman who stole their perfect son. As an added bonus, I do not share the same cultural background as them, which is a VERY big deal.


My darling FIL once looked me in the face and told me that "EVERYBODY should be [from their culture]." I might have told him that saying & believing that was akin to being a Nazi. Definitely gave the Yankee a shock on that one. (It took almost 2 years for him to admit that his dad *might* have been wrong and that I *might* have been justified in responding like I did. Thanks for that support, hun.) So, to put it mildly, there is not much love lost between us.


I will eat some humble pie and admit that they, especially my FIL, are great grandparents. They love our kids (even if they are only half-breeds) and really want to be involved in their lives. I make sure to put on my big girl panties and let them see the kids as close to weekly as possible, despite the other crap that I have to deal with. That being said, I shall return to my vitriol.


My in laws are jealous, petty and a shocking mix of non-confrontational, passive-aggressive and full-on combative. It is a regular occurrence to have a perceived slight brought up months or years after the fact, despite all efforts to have an open relationship and ask them to communicate if I upset them. They once got offended because I told them I appreciated their opinions, but we were going to raise our son a bit differently. Yes, that's really how I said it & they really got upset, but didn't tell me until they had simmered in bitter anger for nearly 2 years. My relationship with my in laws makes me stop to wonder if I'm living in a bad sitcom or an elaborate reality show.


It is funny from the outside (my girlfriends get a huge laugh at the torture that is my life), but it's a bit tough to giggle when you are stuck in the war zone between the husband and his parents. But if I'm going to be miserable, I might as well entertain you wonderful people with it, so here are a few more gems from my #shittyinlaws:


-The very first time my MIL (a classic over sharer) met my mom, she insisted on talking about how her pain meds were causing her, *ahem*, digestive issues. We changed the conversation 4 different times and 5 times she brought it back up. I'll never forget the look on my mom's face when my MIL uttered the phrase "rectal spasms". Care to join us for Sunday dinner?


-My darling FIL telling my husband "Go ahead, marry her & break hundreds of years of tradition!" in reference to getting serious with someone outside of their cultural background. He sure knows how to welcome somebody to the family!


-My MIL reminding me to take care of my "wifely duties" when our firstborn was barely 2 months old. I guess that would have been a good time to ask her if she knew how to get vomit stains out of berber carpet.


So, do you have #shittyinlaws or am I going to be infinitely jealous to hear all the sweet things your sweet in laws do for you?

It's funny, because it's true.

I know the hassles and potential land mines of trying to make friends as a Mom and hopefully you do too. Just in case you don't, here is an [incomplete] study guide of some of the wild and beautiful MommyCreatures you might encounter on the playground. Approach with caution.


1. ZealotMom: You remember when you were just barely pregnant enough to justify maternity jeans or had just had a little too much fun at The Golden Corral only to be accosted by a stranger who had all sorts of unsolicited advice about how you just HAD to breastfeed/get an epidural/buy a specific piece of baby gear/drink castor oil to go into labor/pray to the patron saint of babies not being born with gigantic ears/etc? Yep, that was your very first encounter with ZealotMom and sadly, would not be your last. ZealotMoms mean well, but they, like that poor dorky girl in high school, just do not know when to stop speaking. You have a few possible approaches here, tell ZealotMom you agree completely and hope she leaves (rarely works), feign labor pains and waddle to the closest exit or, my personal fave, tell ZealotMom that you will consider her advice, but could she please come to the overpass you call home to discuss it in more detail. Yep, that should do it.


2. SuperiorMom: One of my all-time least favorite personalities to be forced into social situations with. I am acquainted with a b*tch that the Yankee makes me be nice to mom who takes the whole self righteous cake on this one. She is the mom of twins and insists on calling herself a MoM (Mom of multiples) every single frick time she writes mom, which is a LOT. I have, as of yet, held off on telling her what I think of her & her overachieving ovaries, but hearing her say "I laugh at your one baby" nearly landed me in jail for aggravated battery. I'm sorry, I didn't realize that this was a competition, but now that I know, I guess that OctoMom & DuggarMom are in the lead. Which begs the question, do you REALLY want to win a competition where those two are the front runners? Knock yourself out, I'll be on the couch laughing it up with my singletons.


3. NeedyMom: One supportive comment on her pity party post and she pulls you into her web. NeedyMoms always have an issue, question or dire need for your help, usually with no concept of time, normalcy or social boundaries. You will be fielding texts, calls, facebook messages & emails as if they are flying out of a baseball pitching machine. Ignore even one of those and you will be gifted with the full-fledged "why don't you want to be my friend anymore" hysterical voicemail. A good warning sign of a NeedyMom is someone willing to over-share to complete strangers, and not in an anonymous, you'll never know my real name way. Befriend NeedyMoms if you feel too cruel to just back away slowly, but whatever you do, keep all play dates at a neutral location. You can thank me later.


4. KnowItAllMom: Similar to SuperiorMom, but with less judgement and more quoting obscure medical journals. This mom has read a case study in every childhood disease, disorder & syndrome and probably has a friend whose second cousin's step-brother who has it. KnowItAllMom will undoubtedly have a statistic to show you just how likely your child is to attend an ivy league university, based on their skill at crossing the monkey bars at age 4years2months1day and 12.6hours old. KnowItAllMoms are great to bring along to trivia nights, but will make you feel about the size of a nano-particle for having the latest copy of US Weekly on your "Best Reads" list. I recommend short, occasional play dates with KnowItAllMom's kids, if only because she will give you a scientific backboard on which to justify all of the parenting tricks that you feel a little guilty about.


5. OverachieverMom: Without these ladies, Etsy wouldn't exist and I would be very sad. They can whip up a gourmet meal, that is appealing to the pickiest 3 year old and wrap it up in adorable, hand-decorated boxes. They send homemade birthday and thank you cards in a timely manner. Their kids are always well-behaved, they never yell or sweat and you might question whether Ann Geddes herself shot her family's photos. She has Martha flippin' Stewart as a follower on her blog. If you meet an OverachieverMom & she doesn't exhibit any of the traits of SuperiorMom, grab onto her and never let her go. Don't even bother trying to compete, just bask in the glory of her perfection...and ask her to help with your kid's birthday parties.

The Dad list.

In honor of my hilarious & oh-so-handsome husband, tonight's post is a list of reasons I am thankful for Dads, especially the Yankee.


1. The terrifying thrilling and adventurous stunts he performs with the kids that make me want to cry, but make the kids squeal with delight. Tossing your kid several feet above his head over hard surfaces? Check. Launching your kid across the room onto a haphazard stack of pillows? Check. Teaching the child how to ricochet those tiny bouncy balls (aka choking hazards) down my hallway leaving colored streaks on the walls? Check. Creating makeshift sleds, slides and high objects with which to break a leg leap off of? Check. As much as I worry (that's what the wine is for), complain and grimace, my husband makes my kids lives' significantly more exciting, though I still claim griping rights when one of said stunts results in an ER visit and a tense conversation with DFCS.


2. Somebody has to teach the kids that flatulence is funny, as that is clearly the benchmark of all childhood and male humor to follow. Clearly a job that the Yankee has been training his whole life for.


3. Who else would be ridiculously proud of all things within his son's diaper/underwear, including but not limited to the ultrasound crotch shot of his baby boy, the size of a newborns *ahem* balls *ahem*, unreasonably large bowel movements and the first time your son loudly and proudly identifies his pe.n.is in public.


4. Following #3, who else would be unreasonably protective of his daughter's modesty from her time in utero and beyond. Example: At ~20weeks large, we go in for ultrasound to determine the baby's gender. The tech confirms that we are having a girl and the Yankee asks how sure she is. The tech says "Definitely a girl, 3 lines clear as day". The Yankee leans in and asks what she means by "3 lines". I suppress my laughter (come on, we've made 2 babies & had plenty of practice, you think he'd understand the general anatomy of that region by now) and explain what she means. The Yankee gets a look of horror on his face and chokes out "You mean, they are looking at her......privates?" Yes, he really asked that. This is the man that showed his son's ultrasound "money shot" to anyone he within 5 feet for a 3 week period, but clearly a daughter is a different ball game. I told him no, that the ultrasound tech was just looking for the pink bow on her head. Sometimes it's just better to play along.


5. He's a much better cook than I am. Or he's just better at motivating himself to cook. Regardless, I'm thankful. Eat your heart out ladies, he's all mine.


6. The Yankee can jiggle, cajole & otherwise trick a cranky kid into going the heck to sleep without any help from me. Mommy still reigns supreme for calming meltdowns, boo-boos and bad days, but Daddy rules in the bedtime department. Especially thankful as this gives me time for all the important things like having a glass of mommy juice, reading up on my gossip and writing snarky things for all 8 of you to read.


7. Who else would know how to bring me back to reality when I start sporting crazy mommy eyes about some irrational fear that I conjured up after too much reading online and actually care enough to take the time to do it? Yea, nobody but the Yankee, because, my crazy eyes are a scary sight.


8. The snarky, judgy traits he has picked up from yours truly and the hilarious one-liners he delivers. Also, his ability to quote what I consider to be extremely important pop culture references like HIMYM, The Princess Bride and Family Guy.


9. His unfailing support of me, my choices, & my causes. Can I tell you how I beamed the first time the Yankee said "I'm so glad you are the mother of my son and are so dedicated to doing what is best for him (in reference to breastfeeding)." His support for my ever evolving parenting style has given me the freedom to parent with confidence that I'm not irreparably screwing up our kids.


10. That he has his priorities straight. That loving & providing for his family has & continues to be his primary focus. That he is willing to take the time to wrestle, snuggle, tickle and sit down with his kids, even when he is exhausted from dealing with work, all his other responsibilities and his nutty wife.


Happy Father's Day, YankeeDaddy. We love you!

HashtagsIRL.

So, I'm a twitter-er and like any good twitter-er should, I love hashtags. I love them so much, I have perfected the art of hashtagging.  Yes, perfected. I'm claiming it. Don't believe me? Go ahead & challenge me to a hashtag off. You WILL be sorry. But, uh, thanks for reading my blog.


I'll admit my hashtagging skills were a bit rough at the start of my twitter phase. (A lot like this blog currently is, come to think of it.) But with time and a lot of studying, I found the perfect balance of snark and emphasis to give me the hashtagging edge. I'm even known to triple or quadruple hashtag without cheating with "twitlonger" or some such crap. All I'm saying is, if hashtagging was an Olympic sport, I'd be suiting up to kick some 13 16 year old Chinese butt. It is that serious, but enough about how awesome I am.


After I perfected hashtagging, I started developing some hashtagging withdrawal symptoms in my non-twitter world. I tried throwing the hashtag down on some witty Facebook statuses, but explaining to my 3rd grade VBS teacher's half-sister why it says "#NeedABlowtorch" at the end of my status was a buzz kill. Then I had a moment of brilliance that was so dazzling, I amazed even myself: Hashtags IN REAL LIFE!


So, you don't think my idea is brilliant or even particularly inspired, right? Well, you're wrong and I'll explain why. HashtagsIRL are the perfect way to get all that hilarious snark out of your head & out into the world for others to enjoy, without all the hassles & drama caused by just outright saying what you think. (For the record, we usually call that being b*tchy.)


Still not convinced? Here's an example: You get a late evening phone call from the obnoxiously perky & adderall jazzed room mom in your child's class, asking you to please send him to school with 8 dozen organic, gluten-free cupcakes tomorrow. You choke back the "WHAT?!?" climbing your throat, and calmly reply "Of course, the cupcakes will be ready for tomorrow!" And here is when the HashtagsIRL come in, you add "#OrganicMyRear #WalMartToTheRescue". You are satisfied, have avoided spending all night making cupcakes that taste like cardboard and you got to tell PerkyMom just how much you care about her approval. As an added bonus (and to avoid having to find your child a new school), because it was only the hashtag that was rude/snarky/insensitive, she can't even be mad at you. WIN!


OK, maybe that last part is a stretch, but I still think HashtagsIRL is a brilliant idea. I plan on bringing it to the global level, so be an early adaptor and set the trend!






(If this post/idea sounds vaguely familiar, it is probably because I discussed the idea briefly when the amazingly talented Purse Blogger interviewed me for her "Favorite Lady of the Week". She is an awesome writer and a great bloggy friend!)

Let's blow this popsicle stand

Moms judge. It's what we do. We try to sound PC by saying things like "Oh, whatever works for you and your child" or "That's an interesting approach", while we are thinking something along the lines of "What the (insert 4 letter word of your choosing) is wrong with her?! I am CLEARLY a better Mom." I see you on the other side of the screen shaking your head and saying that you never do that. I'm going to go ahead and call BULLSH*T on you.


Now, I'm not saying we do this to every Mom we meet, but I am saying that every Mom has done it. At least once. Even you, SunshineMommy. I'm on a well known & popular local moms forum and when we get together there is almost always one extremely amusing and catty convo about "CrazyMom" and/or "NeedyMom". These are the conversations we have on the playground while watching our kiddos run off their sugar organic fruit snack buzz. You should hear the dialogue on a MNO with a few glasses of mommy juice in us. Actually, you shouldn't hear those conversations, but you get the idea.


Of course, the flip side of all that judging is the amazing AH-HA! moment when you realize that you aren't the only parent scarring entertaining your kids by flicking goldfish crackers for them to fetch. Purely an example, as I, of course, would never do that again. I bonded with one my now closest mommy friends by saying "Let's blow this popsicle stand and grab a beer". The lady laughing at inappropriate jokes about abandoning children to get a drink, THAT is my kind of friend. 


Gossip is the reality anytime you get a few ladies together, shit happens. If you are lucky, you'll make your snarky remarks to the right ladies & the result is awesome friends and a level of hilarity that belongs on an HBO show. If you aren't that lucky, well, you might want to find a new moms group ASAP. Either way, moms need to stop pretending that being judgy is the cardinal sin of the cardigan crew. Being judgy unites us all (even if we don't admit it) and gives us that feeling of superiority and extra swagger we need to keep patrolling the playground.  

Confession: I'm not really a blogger.

I'm a twitter-er (@anonyMOMous). I wanted to set the record straight on that before anybody got any lofty expectations and then makes me feel all guilty-like when I let you down. Don't get me wrong, I have a ton of snarky, irreverent and hilarious things to say, but until I can plug my phone into my brain and let it auto-fill this bad boy, a lot of my best goodies might be reserved for twitter, the Yankee or whoever else is close enough to hear my ramblings. So, here are a few of my fave twitter jems. If you don't like 'em, well go to hell, punk don't follow me. If you do love them & can't help but fall rapturously in love with my witty self, feel free to send me boatloads of small, unmarked bills or just follow me. I recommend the prior, but hey, it's your call.


Yes, I think my kids are geniuses, but I also thought unitards were a brilliant idea, so I'm gonna hold off on calling MENSA just yet.


Like I told my husband #sleepisthenewsex and I'm #alwaysinthemood. Spread the word.


It bears repeating: It is fawking cold. If you're looking for the glass cutter, it's inside my bra. That is all I have to say about that.


Pretty sure someone swapped my anti-anxiety meds for a caffeine pill. I'm effing wired & quite nervous about god-knows-what. #brilliantprank


Attention, people: Words have MEANINGS!

Decimated does NOT mean the same thing as abolished.

You, with the blank stare, get a dictionary!


Got a airbrush tan today. The girl who sprayed me was 21. If spraying my post-baby body isn't birth control for her, I don't know what is.


Going out with (read: drinking with) friends tonight. Determined not to be the old lady, so how do I prepare? By taking a nap. #iamsolame


My new glasses are giving me a headache. No wait, my stupid employees who I am looking at through the new glasses are giving me a headache.








What are your all time fave tweets? What is your fave hashtag? Who do you simply adore on twitter? 

How I got here. Wait, where am I?

Five years ago I was a perfectly normal, amazing looking (hey, it's my memory, don't question me!) and socially acceptable member of society. Now, I am a mom of two who has spent the last 3.67 years answering to the whims of tiny humans who have claimed squatting rights to my body. How did I get here? That's an easy one, I let my hormones convince me that it was time to become a Mommy. Why I trusted the very thing that makes me both ecstatic and berserk, in a one hour period, to make a major life decision for me, well, that's a question better left for another day. Moving along...


So, after my hormones got me all baby crazy and reason starved, I convinced the Hubs that it was go time and off we went. Five weeks later & having temporarily forgotten my baby lust, I couldn't figure out why my happy hour beer tasted funny. (*Insert forhead slap*). Wish granted to a silly lady who didn't stop to think that 40 weeks later would be smack dab in the middle of the hottest month of the year. (*Repeated forehead slap*). The Yankee and I moved forward making optimistic plans, playing hooky to our birthing class and giggling at what fun, amazing parents we were going to be. Yea, karma got me back for that bit of hubris. My punishment? Weeks of constant contractions (no, I am not exaggerating) and the very difficult birth of one adorably tiny and amazingly hungry little monkey.


This creature found a boob & camped out at it for an hour and a half. Welcome to Mommyhood and it hurts! He was a HUNGRY little leech. I had planned on breastfeeding, but holy moly, I was not prepared. They (by that, I mean all the overly chipper nurses teaching birthing & breastfeeding classes) forget to tell you that the first part is HARD...or they might have said that on one of the days I was playing hooky. Regardless, I was overwhelmed, overtired & overly hormonal and if not for the intervention of a few lovely individuals my Mommy title might have been compromised by an impending slapping spree. Having conquered the first speed bump, I was decidedly slightly crunchy by that point, having mastered breastfeeding, but still quite mainstream in comparison to my long-skirted compatriots in Mommyhood.


Fast forward two years and said hungry Monkey is much larger and still nursing, only now he's sharing his leased duplex with another tiny human with big eyes and a peach fuzz covered head. The two small humans are taking over my bed, wrecking my gorgeous house and strapped to my body for hours a day with all sorts of interesting, organic fabrics. It's official, SlightlyCrunchyMom has been replaced by full-on NuttyMom and I am million times happier, regardless of all the sacrifices. So, how did I get from SlightlyCrunchyMommy to NuttyMommy? Short answer: A Monkey & a Bug. They are sneaky little ninjas.