Monthly Archives: February 2014

A Day In The Life

Recently, I was at the grocery store (because hello, where else do I go with three kids in tow? Nowhere, duh), and I was in line to pay. While Carl and Leland “helped” me load the groceries onto the belt, AKA, threw everything on there as loudly and haphazardly as possible, in an effort to garner the attention of every shopper within a fifteen foot radius, the woman behind me looked at me and smiled. She had a baby sitting in the cart, and he didn’t look like he was mobile yet, so it was safe to assume she knew nothing of what was in store for her. She said, “you’ve got your hands full. How do you do it?”

This isn’t the first time someone’s asked me this, and I kind of inwardly chuckle anytime someone does ask me that, because my first thought is, what’s the alternative? Hide somewhere and totally neglect them? They’d find me. Sometimes I think they can smell me. I mean, I shower daily, but I think they can locate me via scent, like puppies. Or my other alternative would be to start smoking meth and have CPS take custody of them, which some days seems like a good idea, except for the whole crazy meth face. Have you ever seen Faces Of Meth? Google it. It’s scary shit.

Anyway, so the lady asks me that, and I tried to think of something witty to say, but I did my best impression of Forrest Gump instead and said, “I just… do.”

In an effort to not sound like Forrest Gump anymore, I’ve decided to detail a typical day for me, from beginning to end, to show exactly how I do it. So next time someone asks me that question, I can just direct them to this blog post. How clever of me.

5:30 AM: hear rustling on the monitor from the boys’ room. Someone’s up. Shortly after that, Mallory starts moving around. Good morning. I’m up before the fucking roosters. As usual. Roll myself out of bed and sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies as every bone in my godforsaken body cracks as I start hobbling to the toilet like I’m 85 years old.

5:45: make the beds and gather the clothes for the day. Argue with Carl about what color shirt he’s going to wear to school that day. Of course, he wants the color that’s dirty. When he discovers the shirt he chose is dirty, he decides he won’t be attending school that day. Think again, little friend.

6:00: we’re downstairs. First order of business is coffee, then breakfast for the minions. Nobody can decide on what they want for breakfast. This isn’t a five star restaurant with an extensive menu, and none of you people like anything I cook, so let’s keep it simple. Sandwiches or cereal.

6:30: everyone’s eating, and by eating, I mean, pushing around whatever’s in front of them like they’ve just been served hot turd stew. I repeat “eat your food” no less than 39 times, then end up throwing away 75% of everyone’s breakfast. Cool. Hope you’re all full.

6:45: the boys ask for chocolate milk in lieu of the breakfast I just threw in the trash. My eye twitches.

7:15: after chocolate milk, it’s time to get dressed and brush teeth, which to an outsider might look like a rodeo event. After I wrangle everyone into their clothes, I brush their teeth, which usually takes 3-5 headlocks depending on how cooperative they’re being that morning.

8:30: off to school. I load the entire troop into the car and we drop Carl off. They watch Toy Story in the car on the way, and if Joan Cusack ever croaks and they need someone to voice Jessie, I am the prime candidate, because I have that entire fucking movie memorized.

9:15: get home with the younger two. Do some cleaning and complete lunch and dinner preparations while Carl’s at school, then attempt to spend quality time with them if I don’t have errands to run. Usually, Mallory just claws at my face and yanks my hair while Leland asks for snacks every ten minutes. After eating everything in the kitchen, he dumps all his toy bins out, then claims he’s “too tired” to pick them up. My brain explodes.

11:30-12:30: loading back into the car, picking up Carl, coming home for lunch. Dragging Carl out of school kicking and screaming because he “wants to eat lunch with his friends,” but they’re eating chicken and vegetables and he doesn’t eat chicken or vegetables so get in the damn car before I flip out in front of all these people at the preschool pick-up and then the nice welfare people come take you away.

1:00: lunchtime. Usually consists of leftovers or macaroni and cheese. Usually, I have liquid lunch, my second cup of coffee. You guys thought I meant alcohol when I said liquid lunch. Wishful thinking.

2:00-4:30: I attempt to do fun activities or crafts or outings with the kids. This usually blows up in my face in the form of someone gluing their fingers to their face, someone pooping their pants on the way to the park, or the baby projectile vomiting like her name is Linda Blair. We also do Carl’s homework in this window of time, which usually turns into a shitshow, during which he claims he’s “exhausted.” Yes. I can’t imagine the level of exhaustion you’re enduring after all the sitting and breathing you’ve done all day.

5:30: dinnertime. Usually, it’s a repeat of lunch, where I offer a variety of delicious, homemade options, and they opt for the blue box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. After dinner, it’s time for me to list all of the dessert selections. I start to feel like a slave, until they decide on the creamy and delectable Jello chocolate pudding. Good choice, masta. While they are finishing that, I stand in the kitchen and secretly shove chocolates into my mouth as fast as I possibly can.

6:00: bathtime, or as I affectionately like to call it, time for me to get totally soaked, then wrestle slippery, wiggly bodies into pajamas. I let them watch some TV until…


Wow. I almost caught the Holy Ghost there. You might just see me in church on Sunday.


The Unofficial Handbook For Preparing Yourself To Be A Parent

It’s been pretty difficult to ignore the influx of pregnancy/birth announcements and newborn baby pictures on my Facebook feed. I get it, people- everyone’s having babies! Except me. Thank God.

I always scroll through all the cutesy posts about pregnancy and new babies kind of wistfully, particularly if it’s a first time mom posting it. It’s definitely sweet to see all these women so excited about bringing forth new life to the world, and I was totally there at one point, as well, but it’s hard to not wonder if these women truly know what they are in for. That last sentence sounds a little crappy and jaded, but I’m serious! Do they really know the kind of atomic bomb that’s about to land right on their heads? Methinks not.

So luckily, I’m here to piss on your parade and write the Unofficial Handbook For Preparing Yourself To Be A Parent. I’m not a parenting guru or a specialist, I’m just a lady with a big mouth and three wild hellions. So here we go.

– In preparation for a new baby, after you’ve prepared your mouthwatering, sorely needed cup of coffee in the morning, set it down on the counter, then walk away. Walk back to get it two minutes later. Bring the cup to your mouth, then put it down and walk away again. Twenty minutes later, walk back and finally have your first sip. Then walk away again for another half hour. Repeat until coffee becomes too cold to drink. Put it in the microwave and repeat until you’ve had to reheat it four times.

– Set an alarm to wake you up every two and a half hours throughout the night. Each time the alarm goes off, stay awake for thirty minutes. Attempt to stay awake and totally alert in a dimly lit or pitch black room. When you’ve finally gotten into a comfortable position, get up again and walk around the room for twenty minutes, singing a lullabye and saying “shhh.” Think about how delicious your bed would feel right now.

– When you serve yourself a plate of food, before you’ve eaten any of it, take half of what’s on your plate and scrape it into the trash. That’s the portion your child will eat off your plate after they’ve had breakfast, lunch, two snacks, a cup of chocolate milk, three pouches of fruit snacks, a pudding, and an entire school of Goldfish crackers.

– Watch Nickelodeon or Nick Jr. 24/7. If there is a show that interests you on, set a pack of wild hyenas loose in your living room, and attempt to keep them under control while you try to pay attention to your show.

– For a trip to the mall, gather the necessities. Make sure there are adequate snacks and drinks for everyone, in addition to diapers, wipes, a change of clothes for your potty training child, your baby carrier, your stroller, toys in case the baby gets restless or fussy in the stroller, and everything that could possibly keep your children satisfied, happy, and entertained while you’re out. On your way out, forget your coffee on the counter, and forget to go to the bathroom. Try not to piss yourself, because what the hell are you going to do with all those kids while you’re answering the call of nature? The last thing you need is to be on the news, explaining your children were kidnapped while you were peeing like a racehorse in the handicapped stall. You’re not even handicapped.

– When you’re in the shower, wash your entire body and hair in less than thirty seconds. Showers are no longer for relaxation. Think of yourself as a NASCAR racecar at a pit stop. You’re just in there as long as you need to be, then get the hell out and get back into the race. There’s macaroni and cheese that needs to be made.

– While you drive, make sure you reach into the backseat no less than seven times every three minutes to hand someone something, break up a fight, or take something from someone who’s beating someone else over the head with it. Try not to go flying off the road while looking into the rear view mirror almost the entire time you’re driving.

I hope this post has helped some of you who are new parents or soon-to-be parents look forward to the true joys of parenthood! I bet you guys are just jumping out of your skin with anticipation now!

In other news, follow me on Twitter. I finally got a Twitter account at @LosinChronicles (no G on purpose- it wouldn’t fit, haha). I’m thinking of creating a Facebook for my blog, but I’m still on the fence about that. I’m trying to expand my social media presence in the hopes of creating a larger readership. In other words, I’m just trying to expose more people to my mental diarrhea that flows through my fingertips and onto this blog. Spread the word if you enjoy reading, and thanks so much to those of you who do read along about my crazy life. I really appreciate it! 🙂


Family Vacation

Well, it’s officially that time of year again. No, in case some of you are wondering, I’m not going on another blogging hiatus, so don’t get your hopes up, sucka! I’m actually enjoying blogging quite a bit, and it’s proven to be a very enjoyable outlet for me. Usually, I have nobody to really talk to about anything, except for my husband, and he can only tolerate so much of my endless banter before I start feeling sorry for him, so thankfully, I have my awesome readers here to torture with my asinine ramblings! Yay! Aren’t you so glad to be here?!

Now that we are steadily approaching the close of February, my husband and I have been discussing travel plans. It seems that around this time of year, with Spring Break on the horizon and the end of school a mere three to four months away, people start planning family vacations. This will be the first family vacation that my husband and I have been on with our three kids, so I’m hoping for an amazing, fun, exciting experience that helps us bond as a family, but I’m also being realistic and expecting to need a Valium by day two.

In preparation for this great undertaking, I’ve taken the liberty of reading various blogs and articles about family vacations, and one thing that has resonated with me as important is organization. Being that I am a pretty organized person by nature, I am hoping this comes naturally to me, and we don’t get halfway to LEGOLAND and realize that I didn’t pack any underwear for anybody. With that being said, I’m going to use this blog post as a place for my list of things to bring and tasks to complete prior to our family vacation.

1) Underwear. For everyone.

2) A gratuitous amount of snacks for Leland to eat, because he cannot go three minutes without asking for something to eat, and he makes less noise when he’s got food in his mouth. On that note, also be sure to bring sixty boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, because Carl won’t even entertain the thought of eating anything else, and make sure to strap a cow to the hood of vehicle to ensure we have enough milk for the duration of the four and a half hour car ride.

3) The kids’ Kindles, our Smartphones, and my laptop, in addition to chargers for each of those electronic devices, because heaven forbid we end up lost somewhere on our voyage, we’re going to need to Facebook and blog about it. Also, Angry Birds is important.

4) Headphones to tune out the inevitable screeching that will be emanating from the backseat after enough time of being trapped in one car within a few feet of one another. They can barely make it to the grocery store without somebody getting knocked upside the head. Perhaps I can install a cage in the backseat of our car, and charge people to watch cage fights between Carl and Leland at rest stops. This may be a great way to help alleviate gas expenses.

5) Look into the cost of cage installations in motor vehicles.

6) Enough changes of clothes for us to survive a four hour car trip, so that when we arrive at the hotel, my children are not covered in juice stains, Goldfish cracker crumbs, and chocolate smears, at which point we can attempt to convince the kind hotel staff that we are not going to leave the hotel room looking like Black Sabbath spent the last four days there.

7) An exorbitant amount of DVDs, CDs, books, and games that will most likely end up thrown on the floor or directly at my head.

8) Our double stroller. This thing has been a complete godsend, and I don’t know what I’d do without it. For those of you who are curious, it’s a BabyTrend Navigator side-by-side double stroller. It’s got an incredibly smooth ride, it’s aesthetically beautiful, and it’s got a neat partition in the middle that helps block the fists from flying. Also, it enables me to strap two of the little darlings in. I was not compensated by BabyTrend for that review. But I should’ve been.

9) Cuban coffee and a Cuban coffee maker. I’m sure you’re all chuckling, thinking that I’m kidding. Seriously, lady? Bringing your own coffee and coffeemaker? But if I’m going to endure four days at Nick Suites and LEGOLAND, you better damn well believe there’s going to be a considerable amount of Cuban coffee involved. They just better be lucky I’m not filling those coffee cups up with wine. Next on the six o’clock news, drunk, disorderly mother removed from LEGOLAND premises for building a penis out of Legos.

10) My patience. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need quite a bit of it.

How Bruce Jenner & I Are The Same Person

Prior to becoming a parent, I was an asshole.

I just didn’t know I was an asshole until I became a parent and started interacting with other assholes.

I thought kids were incredibly annoying. I mean, some of them are, but back then, I thought all of them were. In high school, I felt very strongly about never having kids, yet here I am with three kids four and under. I remember I used to tell people I was never going to get married and never going to have kids. I actually remember saying, “I don’t want to have to deal with taking care of other people. That’s not my thing. I kind of just want to take care of myself.”

See? I told you I was an asshole.

Now, I’m being facetious. Kids aren’t for everyone, and it’s a completely valid and normal choice if a person decides against having kids. I just used to be a little shithead who was so self-absorbed in her own trivial little life that the mere thought of actually having to take twenty minutes away from staring into the mirror and ironing my hair with my mom’s clothes iron was too much to even fathom.

Yes, I used to iron my hair with a clothes iron. For those who are curious, it’s an extremely effective way to iron your hair, as long as you don’t completely sear your forehead. Not that I know anything about that. Let’s just say I had to part my hair differently for a few weeks while that healed.

Now that I have kids of my own, I look at other people who are not very tolerant of kids, and I have very mixed feelings toward them. If they’re young, I tend to remember my days of being young and self-absorbed, and I can relate to their disdain of small children. Small children tend to be loud, messy, attention-seeking, brutally honest, and also tend to lose their shit at the drop of a hat. Kind of like a Kardashian. I can see why someone wouldn’t want to be around that for very long, particularly if their experience with small children is limited. However, when it’s older people, I feel a little less sympathy, because you should be more mature, and understand that children are only this way for a short amount of time, even though it may feel like twenty seven eternities as your toddler flings himself onto the floor at the grocery store and screams until his face turns purple.

Recently, we were at a restaurant and there was a group of women in their 30s who kept giving me the most blatant and obnoxious side-eye because Mallory was being loud. I was doing my best to entertain her and keep her quiet, but there’s only so much that can be done in that type of situation before you realize that you’re just going to be the parent of that one screaming baby. I realize that these women were probably staring because, hello? I wasn’t doing a very good job of reasonably explaining that restaurants are quiet zones to a fifteen month old. I mean, come on. She should be able to process that information. She should be able to do her own taxes and make her own lunch before she hops into her Little Tykes car and goes off to work in the morning, too, right?

Or when this woman’s eyes were glued on us in utter disbelief, while we were at Publix and Leland was having a meltdown over an eight dollar plastic dinosaur that was regrettably not coming home with us unless he was marked down by about seven dollars and fifty cents. I mean, come on, Leland. Hold it together. You’re three entire years old. You should be able to completely and totally process the emotions associated with feeling incredibly let down, and feeling like your entire little world is encompassed in the four cents worth of plastic used to mold that crappy little dinosaur, slipping right out of your hands. Don’t throw yourself on the floor. Shake it off and move on. You are a full thirty six months old. Move on and suck it up. Stop being such a baby. I mean, you’re totally a toddler now. Jesus.

I’ll never forget when Carl was about two and a half years old, and he kept flinging his sippy cup at the deli at Publix. I finally picked it up and put it away in my purse, and he proceeded to flip his shit. Screaming, crying, tearing at my clothes, the whole nine. This childless woman who was also waiting at the deli had the audacity to say, “well, I guess now I know why I don’t have any kids!”

Holy shit! What a helpful and insightful response, lady! You must be a member of Mensa. I, too, realize why you don’t have any kids, as well. Because you’re probably horrifically afraid of passing the asshole gene on to another human being. Yeah, I totally understand why you’d probably stay celibate simply out of fear of creating another human being who’d say something as completely dense and ridiculous as what just came flying out of the vapid hole in your face.

So, next time you see a haggard, tired looking woman whose kids are running circles around her and being totally obnoxious, think twice before judging. She’s probably just doing her very best, even if it might not look that way. After all, how would you look if you were in the company of a bunch of Kardashians all day? Look at poor Bruce Jenner.

The Waiting Room

Look at me go! I’m really getting back into the blogging swing of things. I think I’ve even surprised myself. Hopefully I stick with it and keep unloading a play by play of my life onto this page. I’m sure there’s nothing more any of you want than that… Right? Hello?

Today we got the distinct privilege of getting to take a trip to the pediatrician, which is something I absolutely despise doing, because the very last thing I’m interested in doing is sitting in the middle of a germ infested cesspool, sucking in every other kid’s germs every time I take a breath. Not to mention, for some reason, we are always stuck there at least two to three hours, regardless of whether we have an appointment, while every sick kid in town parades in and sneezes in our faces.

When Mallory woke up this morning, her eyes seemed irritated, and I guess you don’t need a medical degree to diagnose pink eye, because I knew what it was before we went to the doctor. On that note, I’m thinking a medical degree is pretty worthless unless you’re a brain surgeon or something, because I’ve been able to correctly diagnose my kids almost every time they’ve been sick. Why are these people going to school for 8 years? Pop some kids out and you’ll acquire all the knowledge you need. Clearly.

While sitting in the waiting room for approximately two hours, I was able to do something I really enjoy- people watch. Based on today’s doctor’s visit, I was able to compile a list of “waiting room parents,” describing the different types of parents you might come across in a pediatrician’s waiting room. Many are interchangeable with types of “playground parents,” but others are unique to a pediatrician’s office.

– The “overachiever” – This parent usually has an entire bag of snacks, juice boxes, games, toys, at least one iPad/tablet, games, books, and other random diversions for their child to partake of during the wait. They also usually have only one child, because who the hell has the time to pack all that shit?

– The “businessperson” – This parent usually has their entire face in the screen of their smartphone or tablet for the entire duration of the wait. The “businessperson” can also be found at many local playgrounds or Jumparoos, appearing quite important and busy while their face is totally dominated by whatever screen they’re staring into. Usually, this is a farce, and they are really just updating their Facebook status or playing Words With Friends to avoid actually interacting with their child.

– The “disinfecter” – This parent is usually no more than 1 1/2 steps away from their child at all times, with a handful of baby wipes, wiping their child’s hand/mouth/face/eye every single time they make contact with any surface in the waiting room. I used to be “the disinfecter” until I couldn’t disinfect three people running in three different directions.

– The “basketball wife” – This parent is usually dressed to the nines, and maintains an appearance that would indicate she was on her way to a club and not a pediatrician’s office. She usually has little to no conversation with her only child, and typically will have a nanny along to help her with the apparently difficult tasks of sitting and waiting.

– The “father” – This parent is usually the male parent, and usually has no clue what the workings of a pediatrician’s office are. Inquisitive by nature, this parent will usually ask if he has to sign in, where the sign in sheet is, where the bathroom is, where his wife is, and how he got stuck taking his child to the doctor.

– The “ignorer” – This parent has resigned themselves to the fact that they have little to no control over their children, and will usually sit idly as their children wreak absolute havoc in the waiting room, usually commencing around hour two of waiting. They can be seen staring blankly into the distance as their children move chairs, tables, and trash cans. The other parents may glance at the ignorer disapprovingly, but the ignorer is probably just glad to be able to sit down for a couple of hours.

– The “new parents” – These parents almost always both come to the pediatrician. This very rarely happens with the other types of parents on this list. These are new parents, with their newborn. They are both extremely proud of their new baby, as they should be, and stare so hard at the other parents in the room that their gaze practically bores holes into them, waiting for the other parents to ask about their newborn. They gloat happily over the new baby, because they’ve obviously not experienced months on end of not sleeping. Soon enough, “new parents.” Soon enough.

– The “been there, done thats” – I think I belong in this category. These parents usually have at least two children, and they are just praying to any god that will listen that those children behave for the duration of the visit, and don’t drop any F bombs when it comes time to get vaccinated.

Which parent are you?

Hopscotch & Flamingos

Happy President’s Day, and welcome to another blog post in The Losing Chronicles! I’m sure some of you are really excited to read, and others were probably just hoping I fell off the face of the earth so they wouldn’t have to witness me shamelessly promoting my blog on social networking for the umpteenth time. Sorry to disappoint you all.

I hope you’ve all had a great long weekend, and that you’re all feeling great, gearing up for a new week. I am currently feeling like I’ve been awake for 72 hours straight, or maybe that’s just how long today felt. Since today is President’s Day, that meant there was no school today. For some reason, on days when Carl has no school, the day tends to feel like it’s anywhere between 12 and 93493935434 hours long. It also didn’t help that we didn’t venture out of the house for any reason today. Usually, we at least drop Carl off at school and pick him up, which helps to break up the day a little. In any case, today felt like an absolute marathon, where there was some asshole standing on the side of the track with a sign that said, “ALMOST THERE!”, except every time I passed that douchebag, there was another guy standing there with a different sign that said, “JUST KIDDING, DUMBASS! KEEP GOING!”

This morning, the kids and I were in the backyard, and I busted out the chalk and drew a hopscotch grid on the ground. I thought it’d be pretty neat to teach Carl how to play hopscotch, and as I drew the grid on the ground, I fondly remembered the days my friends and I spent playing hopscotch when I was a kid, and how much I loved that game. As I explained the rules to Carl, I felt this inward sense of pride, kind of feeling like I was passing along the hopscotch baton, letting him in on that awesome experience I had as a child. Teaching him something new. There I was, parent of the year.

Until we played. Now, I don’t know if any of you are familiar with the rules of hopscotch, but you stand behind the 1, throw a rock, and whatever number the rock lands on, you skip on your way to the 10. Then on the way back to the 1, you pick up the rock, and continue on until you get to the 1. As I remembered it, it was quite an enjoyable game, and something we used to spend ages playing in the summertime when I was a kid. We used to draw a hopscotch grid on the street on our block when I was 8 or 9, and it seemed like we could play for hours.

I don’t particularly remember my ankles feeling like they were going to shatter, and feeling like I was going to fall to the floor with bones sticking out from both of my legs, screaming in agony and writhing as paramedics rushed me away from the scene, leaving my children behind, stunned and horrified, but that’s exactly how I felt after about 2 1/2 rounds of hopscotch this morning. I also don’t remember breathing so hard that I could’ve been mistaken for someone who was being chased by Michael Myers, but that was another story entirely. All I could keep saying was, “how the hell did I play this so much as a kid?!”

I felt sorry for Carl, because at one point, I’m pretty sure he thought I was going to keel over and die. I think it was the part when I was doubled over, hands on my knees, saying, “if that damn rock lands on a 6 again and makes me hop three numbers on one foot, I’m going to lose my shit.”

It was really a sight to behold- I don’t think I’ve bent over while balanced on one leg in over ten years, but I realize now the harrowing ordeal that flamingos are faced with daily. I have a whole new respect for those silly looking pink birds. They spend most of their lives balanced on one leg. I was doing it for seconds at a time, and I felt like I was caught in some type of sadistic, medieval torture.

So this post is dedicated to you, flamingos. Most people might dismiss you as weird birds that eat a lot of shrimp and are all wimpy and pink, but you’re a bunch of badasses.

On Valentine’s Day And Bizarre Restaurant Experiences…

Happy February 15th!

I hope you all went out and took advantage of the amazing candy sales today. I paid a visit to Walmart and Publix this afternoon, and there were giant bins filled with 50% off Valentine’s candies, also known as, the only shopping I’m interested in participating in. Walmart had even marked down their giant teddy bears from $39 to $10- so you’re only being moderately raped instead of viciously raped for a giant, plush, dust collector. What a steal.

I am pleased to say my family and I had a lovely Valentine’s Day. On the way to Carl’s school, in typical Christine fashion, I picked up some heart shaped lollipops and taped them to the Valentine’s he wrote while we were in the car, on the way to his school. I am a firm believer in preparedness, and that is obvious by how well prepared we were that morning. Speaking of preparedness, I was obviously the giant underachiever on Valentine’s Day at Carl’s school, because I witnessed a fellow mom hauling bags of crap for the Valentine’s party into Carl’s school. I guess she was trying to make the rest of us look bad. I’m just over here, proud of my heart shaped lollipops. No need to get all competitive, lady. Pinterest isn’t cutting you a paycheck.

After we picked Carl up from school, we took all three kids out to lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings, and I guess the gods must’ve been smiling down on me kindly yesterday, because not only did I get to eat my entire meal without refereeing any fights, but all three of my kids sat quietly, ate neatly, and did not scream/flail/crawl under the table/attempt to eat someone else’s food/get us all kicked out of the dining establishment. Because of how utterly surprised I was at their excellent behavior, my husband and I decided to take them to Coldstone for some ice cream afterwards, where they must’ve decided to save all of the crappy stuff they could’ve done at Buffalo Wild Wings, and saved it for Coldstone. After an amazing game of tag throughout the entire ice cream parlor, an awesome display of acrobatic prowess on the belts that cordon off the line at Coldstone, and taste testing every single ice cream in the place before deciding on plain old chocolate, we decided to head home.

Today, we went to a pizza place for lunch, and I had an interesting experience there. I saw someone who I knew, and based on the way she looked at me, I can tell she remembered me, too. Now, I would’ve just greeted her normally and asked her how she was doing, you know, like normal folks do. Well, for reasons unbeknownst to me, this girl flew past me like she owed me money, leaving me feeling very puzzled. There was never any bad blood between us, and I’m wondering if maybe she just really had to go drop a deuce or something. That experience leads me to this conclusion: I am going to teach my children to not treat other people like lepers. I swear, had I not known any better, I would’ve thought I was suffering from the bubonic plague, and she was just trying to get away before she caught it, too. I mean, I always thought she was a teensy bit weird, but today, her behavior only confirmed my suspicions.

Anyhow, while we were enjoying some delicious pizza for lunch today, I got to put my incredible parenting skills on display for all the diners at the restaurant to see, when Mallory choked on a green crayon, then threw the child’s menu, then Leland said the word “shit!” when he lost a game he was playing on his Kindle. I always love when I’m able to show people how it’s done. Parenting: I haz da skillz.

And the Bad Blogger Award goes to…


I realize I haven’t blogged in a few weeks, and that probably makes me the worst blogger ever, but that’s okay, because luckily, I don’t have that many readers perched on the edge of their seats, totally captivated and waiting eagerly for my next post about coffee stains on my shirt and puke in my hair.

I realize that the major holidays like Christmas and New Year’s are over, and that we are now full steam ahead into February, and that makes me feel a little bit guilty because I haven’t updated since Christmastime. However, I must say this- the holidays being behind us has left me feeling a little bit like this guy:


Yes, that is Andy Dusfresne at the end of Shawshank Redemption. And yes, I am comparing the holidays to the rat-infested crap filled pipe he crawled through to get to his well-deserved freedom. I swear, what I went through on Christmas Eve in terms of wrapping presents should’ve qualified as cruel and unusual punishment. It seemed like the presents were doing the dirty and multiplying as I wrapped them. And let’s not discuss Christmas morning, when my kids completely bypassed a small fortune in Christmas presents and went straight for the old whoopee cushion. Fart noises all day. Merry Christmas, ya big idiot.

Now that one holiday is over, it seems like another has crept right up in its wake. Luckily, this holiday is celebrated on a much smaller scale, and concerns itself mainly with the consumption of chocolate, which helps me to tolerate it better.

Valentine’s Day is just two short days away, and besides baking some Valentine’s themed cupcakes today and eating half the batter while I waited for the first batch to finish baking, I’ve done very little in terms of preparations. I know many other moms are busy creating Valentine gift bags for their child’s class, with perfectly coordinating candies and knick knacks, but I have mercifully been relieved from Valentine’s Day duty for Carl’s class, so I am allowing the other moms to pore over Pinterest and stay up until 2 AM the night before, crafting and gluing and accessorizing, only to look like a meth addict on a 3 day bender the following morning as they frighten all the children when they bring their little goodies into my son’s class.

I don’t particularly know how to communicate to Carl that it’s ValentiNe and not ValentiMe, but those kids who said “ValentiMe” in elementary school (and, who am I kidding? Middle school, high school, and not college, because you don’t get into college saying “Valentime”), really irritated me. I am trying to kindly correct Carl without making him feel like I’m being critical or nitpicky, but he keeps saying Valentime and I’m a little worried for his future as a Walmart stocker as a result of the continued use of the word “Valentime”.

Speaking of Walmart, I made a pit stop at Walmart today to pick up a few essentials, and some of those candy conversation hearts for Carl’s class party. I remember the days of sweet, innocent messages on the little hearts, like “Be Mine”, “Luv U”, “I’m Yours”, etc. These candy hearts were obviously produced under the supervision of Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber, because they now have hearts that say, “LOL” and “Txt Me!”. I was waiting to stumble upon the one that said, “TWERK!”

Anyway, Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you. I hope you all get a Valentine heart that says “TWERK!” on it.