My Vicarious Surrogacy Through Famous Uteruses (Uteri?)

The last kid that you have is always a little bittersweet. No matter if it's the second or the twelfth (Which in and of itself begs the question: Dear God, WHY??), there are many mixed feelings about the child to end all children (in your household at least).

On one hand, you are 1,000% over all things baby. Pregnancy. Diapers. Teething. Poop-up-the-back blowouts. Tantrums. Potty training. They are inches away from starting school and you start to think you may keep a little bit of sanity intact to save for when they finally fly the coop one day.

But on the other hand....ooh, that excitement of finding out what you're having! Baby powder newborn head smell. (Ovaries worldwide just exploded at that mere thought.) First words. First steps. Buying extremely adorable miniature clothing....You didn't properly appreciate the last of the last but there's not more chances because even though you've ruptured an ovary thinking about brand, spanking new babies, you are still over it. Done. Nada mas por favor!

And yet...

I still find myself clicking on every damn gender reveal video I see on my social media feed. I can't help it. I need this like an addict looking for their next fix. There are no more babies being churned out of my Fallopian factory but there are plenty of people stepping up and taking one for the team in my place. And putting it online. Where I can watch what color balloons pop out of the box. Or what color dust is in the baseball. Or what cake flavor is under all that frosting. Or what color egg isn't hard boiled. (Yes, that's for really real. Mama and Daddy smashed blue and pink eggs on their forehead and the raw one was the gender. It was a boy by the way. #teamblue)

Just because my uterus resembles a ghost town (complete with tumble weeds and dusty prairie lands!), doesn't mean that my heart strings aren't yanked by those precious urchins-to-be. Hence the addictive viewing of online snippets into other people's baby joy. Hey, don't judge me, I've seen you watch cat/dog/tripping toddler/baby goat/sloth videos when you thought no one was looking. I even caught you watching that gender reveal with the creepy cake shaped like a baby head coming out a lady's va-jay-jay:

Just say NO to vagina cake.

(Wrong on so many levels. And probably wrong-er that I can come up with at least 3 inappropriate jokes right now.)

As if living vicariously through random stranger's gender reveal videos wasn't odd enough, I also find myself enraptured with celebrity baby news. If those celebs are popping out paparazzi potential pups, I want to know. That whole Megan Markle thing that just went down? I was beside myself with anticipation. Let me tell you, it felt like she was preggars FOREVER. Finally though, she had that royal bundle of joy, and just in time, since the suspense was just about to do me in!

But it's not just the royals that have my interest piqued, but any celebrity. I just gotta know, is it a boy? A girl? What whack ass name did you give them? I have mad respect for the celebrities who realize that you don't just name your child after the last thing that you ate or the object at the bottom of the junk drawer. Props to the famous folk who give their kids nice, normal names and don't name them "Silver Spoon" or "Psalm". (For the love of all that's holy, don't make their name a holy object. SMH.) Even the ones who give their kids strange names that would totally get their ass kicked if they weren't a celebrity's kid make me feel good about myself. I can think, "Hey, I may not be parent of the year, but at least I didn't name my kid Rocket. Or Apple. Or Cricket. Or Lazer. Or any single one of the Kardashian/Jenner kids names." 

So yes, I'm living vicariously through your uteruses. Uteri? (I feel like spell check knows what it's doing but uteri sounds really weird.) If you see me creeping up on your sweet newborn, don't be alarmed. I'm not attempting to kidnap them (I'm not starting over at this stage in the game dammit!), I'm just trying to sneak a sniff of that sweet baby smell.

 

Maybe, if I look really pathetic, I may even be able to hold that sweet baby for a minute? No? Because you don't know me? Fair. And because it's uber creepy? Also fair. Just one more sniff though? O-kay. And I'm backing away from the crazy eyed lady holding a taser now. 

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I (Barely) Survived My Family Vacation, And You Can Too!

We are freshly back from our annual insanity-fest (A.K.A. the family vacation) and though I have managed to survive, there were some moments that were iffy. If a family vacation is on your horizon, here are some tips on how best to make it through intact. (Or at the very least, make it through a less traumatized version.)

Pack an extra bag. Of sanity. Because when you cram your family together in a tin can with wheels (or a tin can with wings), it’s going to get real. There are only so many fart blasts from your 11 year old that you can take before you start wondering if he’s shat himself. Regardless if he’s tie dying his undies with chocolate streaks, you’re probably pretty fed up with it after the 4^th (or 20^th) time you’ve gagged and rolled the window down to help pass that gas from his ass to the underpass.

And pack two bags of patience. It’s probably frowned upon to leave a tantruming five year old on the side of I95. (Probably not the spouse either.) You might need to do some meditation practice before embarking, or in the very least at least pack some Xanax or a flask of happy juice. (Disclaimer: It is also frowned upon to drive whilst drinking happy juice so save that for the flying tin can or make it nonalcoholic happy juice.)

Take a lot of pictures. Yeah sure, we all hate the sight of our flappy arms or our crooked smile, but none of that is going to matter when you have an empty nest and you’re drinking wine and crying over how little your babies once were. Plus the grandkids will enjoy looking at the pictures and laughing at the funny clothes and funky hairdos, just like we’ve done with our own parents and grandparents photo albums for generations. Hey, it’s tradition, right?

You catch more flies with sugar than vinegar. Which is a dumb saying anyway because who the hell wants flies? Besides frogs. Do you know how I catch flies in my house? With a flyswatter. BOOM! Dead flies is what I have now. Wait, where was I again? 

Oh yeah, so when you and your honey bunny snap at each other, which is more than possible on an extremely long driving trip or airplane ride, make sure you sprinkle those barbs with terms of endearment to throw the kids off. Need an example? How about: “You are an extreme asshat my snookum wookems.” Or perhaps: “You’re driving skills are similar to a those of a blind toddler, darling dearest.” Maybe this: “If you don’t stop whistling my special treasure, I will rip your spleen out and beat you with it.” I guarantee that the kids won’t even bat an eyelash because of those endearing sweet words mixed in there. (Or the fact that they’re wearing headphones and watching a movie. One or the other.)

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. No, a little slower. I said slower. Now you’re hyperventilating. That’s great, just freaking great! Can’t we have one damn family vacation where something doesn’t go colossally wrong my sweet darling asshat?

EAT. THE. CAKE. Holy crap, what isn’t there to love about vacation food? It’s not just the snacking that you normally don’t allow yourself to do, it’s the rich foods that you splurge on for your regular meals. This year I decided I was still going to do my workouts, something I haven’t ever done during vacation, in the hopes that I might stave off some of the dreaded vacation weight gain. I still came home 5 pounds heavier. But at least I ate the damn dessert. So take that stupid cellulite! Yeah, you may have bested me this time but who got to enjoy the sunshine cake, huh? Mic drop!

Make the best of it. Maybe the weather isn’t cooperating. Maybe your five year old isn’t cooperating. Maybe your snookum wookums isn’t cooperating. Whatever it is, try to remember that this too will pass. (I am laughing as I write that because it is so damn hard to do in the moment… and I feel like people who give you sage advice are probably laughing their asses off on the inside because they have been there, done that. They know. But it sounds like they know what they’re talking about so you believe them.) Sure, that toddler diarrhea blowout sucks now but it’s going to be a great story to tell their own kids someday. You know the old adage “You’ll laugh about this one day”? You probably will. And if that isn’t the most helpful advice in the moment, well, it’s not the worst either. I mean, the worst would be like telling you to put butter on and then lay in the sun or something. Or wear a meat suit in shark infested waters.

If you are planning a trip with your precious loved ones soon, I wish you all the best. You’ll need it! But you’ll also love it. Maybe not every moment, but definitely enough that it’ll still beat having to go to work. And it’s definitely better than the shark/meat suit option.

Viva la vacation and carpe daiquiris!

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Spirit Children and Spirited Children Are NOT The Same Thing

If you ask any parent what raising their kid(s) was like, you'll likely get a different answer. Even if they have multiple children, it's probably not the same experience. Because every child is unique. In other words, every child is a a pain in the ass in their own way.

Sometimes, raising kids is almost effortless. They fool you into thinking that you can do this again! (And then the second child is almost always the exact opposite of their older sibling.) My oldest was like this. I thought that all children were as well behaved and this was normal, which was probably a good thing because not only was I young, I really had no idea what the hell I was doing. I raised my first child mostly on instinct with a strong dose of "winging it".

And then my daughter was born.

The quintessential wild child, she had no problems getting in trouble and pulling her older brother into it. She was energetic, enthusiastic, and like 14 other synonyms that mean "full of energy that is drains the energy of the parent, much like a host feeding a foreign parasite". She managed to give me a few breaks (She would try any food at least once and I barely remember potty training her because she was so easy.) but mostly, she was a fireball. She was nothing, however, compared to my youngest child.

In all my life, I have never met a child who has such a strong will, a strong opinion, from such an early age. He has been a thumb sucker from the age of brand spanking new baby. As much as I discouraged this, pushed pacifiers, pulled his thumb out of his mouth, he was determined to be a thumb sucker. He didn't let being born 9 weeks premature stop him, achieving all of the normal milestones at his own pace. He's stubborn, funny, and has the iron will of someone who is 5 times his age.

And he's freaking exhausting.

Have you ever hear a parent say, 'If he wasn't already the last one, he'd be the last one?" If so, chances are they have one of these freakishly stubborn, steel will forged in the fires of Hades, everything is a battle kinds of kids. Half the time I wish he had born to a much younger me, one that wasn't tired all the time and that could navigate these parenting minefields with one eye closed. The other half is grateful that there are 3 kids worth of experience in front of him because steering that ship through those choppy waters is much easier with all the knowledge I possess of his fore siblings. And believe me, there are plenty of rough seas to travel through with a spirited child. From picky eating (the pickiest) to weird quirks (like a sock fetish, even in summer) to melt downs over the most minute things (What do you mean I can't live in pajamas and have to wear real clothes every day? WAHHHH.) he has made my navigational skills on point.

He's not a feral child, which is ( I gather) the new term for wild child. He's more like an 80 year old man trapped in a 5 year old's body. He's always cold (probably explains the sock fetish), he has a rigid routine that he does NOT like to deviate from, and he complains if it's too loud. Conversely, his brother is a menopausal woman trapped in an 11 year old's body: Always hot, loves sweets, and enjoys Netflix way too much. (Which is just proof of how different two siblings can really be.)

Yet you aren't allowed to complain about raising children in today's day and age. As soon as you mention how exhausting it is to have daily battles with your kids to get dressed, someone manages to chime in with some trite saying like, 'One day you'll miss these days. Enjoy it while you can." Is there some unwritten rule that says we can't complain about the trials of child rearing without being made to instantly feel guilty that we aren't enjoying it? Let me ask you Donna, do YOU enjoy doing things that make you doubt your parenting skills and leave you frustrated and on the verge of tears? No Donna, I don't think you do. So instead of making me feel like some leper mother for daring to mention how hard parenting actually is, why don't you give me some emotional support. Say something useful like, "Some days are tougher than others. You'll get through it." Or maybe even, "Yeah, kids can be real assholes sometimes. Wanna go for a pedicure?"

So for all my fellow parents of those spirited-borderline-feral children, I feel you. I know your pain. I know your daily struggles, how many times you have wanted to cry (and didn't) and how many times you wanted to cry (and did!). So I just want to say, "Kids can be real dinks sometimes, wanna go for a margarita?"

Cardi-O, She Isn't Fooling Around

Six years ago, before my husband knocked me up like a teenage girl on prom night, I embarked on a personal journey to get myself in better shape. I lost almost 20 pounds, I was doing Zumba to tone what everyone was telling me were muscles, and I was probably, (Wait, I am vividly remembering how I felt about high school gym class.) no definitely, in the best shape of my entire life.

But pregnancy has zero regard for six months of hard work and undid all my progress in one single trimester. It made me crave fast food that I otherwise didn't care for, it cut through those barely toned muscles like butter, and left me shredded (and not in the good "six pack ab" kind of way) into a shell of something that once resembled "in shape".

But hey, I can roll with the punches, so I did the best I could to maintain a decent weight while being a sleep deprived new mom comforting herself with her hobby of baking. (Yeah, the irony isn't lost on me either.) While I mostly got some sort of daily exercise, I know there were long-ish periods where I wasn't. (Some of them might have been the months I convinced myself that breastfeeding, while burning a gajillion calories a day, was like a boob inferno of calorie burning epicness that meant I could shed baby weight with a mere flexing of my mammary muscle. Spoiler alert: It wasn't. Second spoiler alert: I don't think mammary muscles are a real thing.)

Fast forward six years to the present day. Since I have always marched to the beat of my own drummer, I decided February 25 was a better time for New Year's Resolutions than January 1. I mean, you gotta get to know the new year before you can commit to any sort of new relationship with it, right? I found out that we were super incompatible because I was somehow managing to gain even more weight, despite my best efforts to exercise and eat well. This meant that I had to start a new and personal relationship with a detested, loathsome, repulsive foe: Cardio.

If there's ever been one word meant to strike fear into the hearts of chunky, out of shape moobs everywhere, that would be it. Cardio is a relentless bitch who brings you just to the brink of heart attack before allowing you to do a stretch and cool down.

Oh, and she LOVES burpees, which are probably an exercise thought up by Satan himself.

Now, there's a certain age where workouts become, well, even more of a workout. When you have more work arounds than workouts, you might be getting a little too old to dance with Queen Bitch Cardio. When you can't do burpees because they hurt your wrist (carpal tunnel), when you can't go all the way down on left knee lunges because it's never been the same since you wrenched it 8 years ago, when you can't do the cobra stretching position because of your acid reflux....well, let's just say that you can probably retire your "Spring Chicken" plaque.

And if all those old lady issues weren't enough to get me down, my metabolism being in the crapper definitely is. Apparently six years older in human years is like 112 in metabolism years and it's so weak and can barely get up a good burn so that even chewing celery (a negative calorie food!) makes me gain half a pound. (Yet all the blood tests say he's fine... cagey old man.)

So if you have been struggling with adopting a new exercise routine, or trying to eat healthier (which would be so much freaking easier if things like chocolate cake and cheeseburgers didn't exist), just know that you're not alone. We can all form a support group where we drink gourmet coffee drinks (probably made with some soy shit to make it half the calories) and trash talk evil Cardio behind her back.




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Sad Sack January and the Great Holiday Switcheroo

I always feel a little bad for January. Following right on December's heels, with the lights and joy and holiday festivities, January is just kinda meh. Actually, it's probably worse than meh and downright blah.

Luckily, today is January 973rd.
Image credit: The Interweb

I'm not being too harsh on January. It's certainly not MY fault that it has a bad reputation. I mean, it's the month of exercise and resolutions for cripe's sake. (Is it cripes sake or cripe's sake? Does cripe own the sake? I can never tell if he's being possessive or not.) December is fun and food and presents and January is the hangover where you promise to never do that again, go on a cleanse, and try to lose the fifteen pounds of holiday cookies and spiked eggnog you've claimed as your own now.

But you've got to give January credit. It tries. It gives you the first day off, ostensibly to make resolutions that you're never going keep but in actuality more like giving you time to recover from giving the end of the year a proper send off the night before.  January begins gently, like it's trying to tame a feral cat. (Uh, yes, "we" are the feral cat.)

As if being likened to a feral cat isn't enough, January pretty much goes downhill from there. Store advertisements have workout clothing, weights, and other torture devices under the pseudonym of "exercise equipment". It's like finding pamphlets about the dangers of drugs from your mom except that treadmills are legal (yet possibly as dangerous). Nothing says "It's January" like dozens of flyers that say, "Hey Tubby! Time to trim that spare tire, dontcha think?"

It's not just the body shaming that got us down January, it's also the weather. It's colder than a witch's tit outside and while I have no friggin' idea how actually cold that is, it's probably A LOT. (Otherwise why would they say it?) When it hurts to breathe air outside, it's just too damn cold. I mean, it's not like I'm running a 5K out here, I'm literally just existing. That's it. Inhale. Ouch, frozen snot just stabbed me. Exhale. Ouch, icicles formed from my breath just stabbed me.

If the cold isn't enough, sometimes it comes with snow. That's always fun. Because there's nothing like telling your kid that they can't go play in the foot of snow that just got dumped on you because it's a measly 5 degrees out and you prefer your children in the non-popsicle variety. Plus, there's only so much snow that you can receive before you can't send your kid out for safety reasons. If there's 2 1/2 feet of snow outside and your kid is only 3 1/2 feet tall, now you're going to have to put a bell on them or dress them in dayglo orange for visual acuity. Even if it's only moderately cold when it snows, well, it's still snow. Snow stops being exciting when you have to drive in the crap because your work doesn't do snow days. You're an adult now cupcake, suck it up.

I think that they should have put Christmas in February. Think about it. January's overall suckiness would decrease because exercise equipment would now be March's problem. Snow is acceptable if it gives people their desired white Christmas. And the cold would be more tolerable too because you would be amazed how much warmer spiked eggnog can make you. Plus people would be too busy planning Christmas festivities to be bothered by January's blah-itude. Valentine's Day can get moved to December. If we just switched those two holidays, everyone could get through the winter a little easier, right?

While I may be waiting impatiently for winter to skedaddle and drop Spring off, at least there's hot coffee, wood stoves, and 15 blanket layers to help keep out the chill. And if all else fails, there are always Margaritas.




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It's Not Really That Cold Out But I'm Still Leaving

Apparently the "people" who seriously need to get a hobby aren't happy until they spoil everything we love. This time they've set their sights on a beloved tradition: Christmas carols. Because we can't have nice things anymore, now old holiday songs are being scrutinized for appropriateness. If you haven't been living under a rock, you know I am referring to the "Baby It's Cold Outside Scandal of 2018".

First let me take a brief detour before I get to my point. Why is it that Bruno Mars can ply a women with diamonds and champagne just to have sex by the fire, literally his intentions are spelled out in the song, but God Forbid Dean Martin wants to cuddle during a snowstorm and tries to convince his lady to stay inside with another glass of wine! Why is that one date rape but the other is A-OK? Not to mention the number of songs on the radio nowadays that explicitly talk about performing oral sex, call women derogatory names or talk about killing people. Those songs are perfectly fine but we need to pull apart our traditional classic carols?

So back to my point. Since everyone and everything is suddenly offensive, it's only a matter of time before the rest of our revered traditional Christmas music is picked apart by the grumpy forty year old trolls that still live in their parent's basement. It's probably a good idea to get ahead of this now. So let's be proactive, shall we?

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Apparently there have already been mutterings that this song encourages bullying so I'm pretty sure this one's days are numbered. But before this song makes the ban list, has no one considered that it celebrates the uniqueness that is a reindeer vastly different than his peers? With all the "inclusivity" being touted, how is this not worth a second chance? Yeah, people, uh, reindeer, are cruel and don't understand Rudolph's big ol' red honker, but Santa sees the beauty in him and that's the take home at the end of the day, right?

We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Well this one is obvious: It excludes all of those people who do not celebrate this specific holiday. We can't have a song that is this dismissive of other faiths and cultures. Heathens! Immediately we should change it to "We Wish You a Merry Christkwanzakkah".

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. How racist can we get people? I mean a white Christmas? Was this written by the Ku Klux Klan themselves? (Quick side note, who the hell came up with the KKK? Clearly hooked on phonics did not work for them.) Not to mention that we are back to the exclusion  thing with Christmas. Henceforth we shall re-title this song to "I'm Dreaming of a Racially Diverse Holiday".

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. If Baby It's Cold Outside stirred up controversy I can only imagine how well this one would go over. First, both mommy AND Santa are clearly cheating on their spouses. Beyond that, it could cause childhood trauma for that kid to witness said adultry. By the way, was this agreed upon by both parties? How do we know that Mommy didn't roofie Santa's milk, hmm? This one will now have to go by "I Saw Mommy and Santa Claus Engaging in a Mutual Reciprocated Act of Affectionate Behavior Not Condoned by Anyone Who Believes in the Sanctity of the Marriage Bond". Also accepted: "Hey, Who Knew Mommy and Santa Clause Were Both Swingers?"

Holly Jolly Christmas. With the influx of awareness on depression and the increased rate of depression during the holidays, this just seems like a mockery of those who may suffer from mental illnesses. Plus, who are you to tell me how to enjoy (or not enjoy) my holidays? We are going to have to change this one to: A Seasonal Appropriate Holiday Celebration Where You Are Not Entitled to be Jolly, Unless You Want to Be".

Walking in a Winter Wonderland. This is extremely offensive to people who suffer from disabilities and are unable to walk. How insensitive can you be? My God. Not to mention that it's clearly only intended for people who live in climates conducive to snow. Now it's exclusive AND offensive. This song clearly won't make the cut the way that it is. From this point on we will now all refer to this song as "Transporting Yourself in a Winter Landscape Suitable For Your Geographic Location".

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. This promotes senicide, alcoholism, and mixing medication with alcholic beverages. (A big no-no!) Sure, Grandma may be entitled to a cocktail or twelve after living through the great depression and two world wars, but like every other family in America we hide it with vague stores of possible dementia and put it down to her advanced age. We don't flaunt the fact that Grandma is a floozy who can't hold her liquor. And what kind of family is okay with letting grandma go out into that good night, snockered and imbalanced? Was there no one sober to drive grammy home? Couldn't she call an Uber? (Well, back then, a taxi.) Also, this is libel against Santa's good name. What kind of Fictional Fat Man isn't responsible enough to fly a heavy sleigh pulled by flying magic reindeer? I'm sorry, this one will just have to go. Immediately. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

And last but not least, the one that started it all: Baby, It's Cold Outside". Ok,we all know they are saying that this promotes date rape culture. I disagree, not just because I don't think it's okay to look for sinister intentions in cherished Christmas carols, but because it's just not realistic. If it were, it'd be called, "It's Not That Cold Outside But I Haven't Shaved my Legs in a Week, I'm Bloated, and I Just Want to Binge Watch Netflix and Eat Ice Cream Tonight So Adios Amigo".

Listen people, the moral of the story is this: You can find a reason to make something out of nothing for everything if you try hard enough. My question is: Why do we have to try hard enough? Why do we have to crap over everything good and wholesome just because we can? Shouldn't some things be sacred? Here, let's just have some of this very spiked eggnog (I think Grandma made it) and sit here by this cozy fire where the stocking are hung with such precision and care. Would you like a cookie? They are NOT upside down J's, just stockings, so no worries that I'm secretly converting you to Judaism.




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People Innards Ain't For Wearin'

I tend to come across odd articles sometimes. Often it's a quirky tidbit that would be great in a trivia contest but in reality will sit and take up storage space in my cranium while I'm trying to remember three items on a to do list (and getting a mental "storage full" error).

Sometimes, however, I come across something gross.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Did you know that you could make your child's umbilical cord into jewelry? That's right, you can now wear a shriveled up collection of human cells right on your person! Make it into a ring and flash that 'bilical bling to all your friends! Or make it into a necklace and keep those decaying particles near and dear to your heart!

Um, no.

Seriously? How did I not know this was a thing now? I feel like any second someone is going to jump out from behind a bush and tell me I'm being pranked or something. Do they still do Candid Camera? There's a hidden camera recording my crinkle nose of disgust reaction over this, right? Is this like one of those gag gift boxes where you think it's toddler ankle weights and then someone says they're just kidding and your real gift is inside? No? You mean this stuff is for real?

What fresh hell is this?

Listen, I love my kids. Truly. But never have I finished giving birth to one of my precious progeny and called out to the nurse, "Hey, don't throw that umbilical cord away, it'll make me a fine accessory when my pearls are too dressy!" Not only was I a little busy basking in the after glow of childbirth (translation: stitches, many stitches), but I guess I am just not avant garde enough to see the art in wearing something that was once contained on my insides. On. My. Insides. Y'all.

What's next? Kidney stone earrings? Tonsil toe ring? Appendix necklace?

How the hell did this even start? Is this like Hoarders: Extreme Motherhood Edition? Is someone trying to see how may different pieces of memorabilia you can have from your child's life and this one was the one that took the cake?

"I'll see you your first haircut hair samples and raise you baby's first nail clippings."

"Oh yeah, we'll Ill see those nail clippings and raise you this ring....made out of my kid's umbilical cord."

"Yeah, okay, you win. That's cray."

Do these people realize that they are wearing a vein? And something called Wharton's Jelly. (I looked this up on the internet out of curiosity. I'm not sure which is more frightening: That I had no idea what Wharton's Jelly was after having 4 kids, or that someone felt the need to name the stuff Wharton's Jelly. Who is Wharton and why is his jelly inside me?) It's basically wearing dried gelatinous vein material.

(But it really makes this blouse POP!)

I guess the moral of the story is this: If it was in/on/of any part of my body and it proceeded to come out/off, it was probably not meant to find a new home inside my jewelry box. And by probably, I mean "No freaking way, man!"




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Hide Thine Pumpkins It's All Hallow's Eve

It's hard to believe, but tomorrow is Halloween. I think, of all the kid oriented holidays (and boy, those twerps got all the good ones!), this one has to be the kid-est oriented-est.

If you doubt this, consider the mass pumpkin hiding that is occurring in towns big and small, all across the country. That's right, because only kids would be dumb enough to piss off their potential free source of candy before they get it.What kind of idiots do that? Uh, kids that's who. They'll TP your trees, shaving cream your car, egg your house, and smash the jack o'lanterns.

Now that I think about it, that's probably why the fun size candy bars were invented. A bunch of pissed off adults who were tired of the Halloween shenanigans and refused to give those kids full sized candy bars. Before the miniature versions were invented they probably just threw hunks of milky way and snickers at kids. "Take THAT you little ba*tards!"

Because only kids would think that it's acceptable to smash pumpkins that their peers, other kids just like them, spent time creating. Only heathens would take a crap on the family tradition of carving vegetables with spooky faces that we can put on the porch and light, like creepy beacons of paganism. Only heinous (probably teenage) monsters would think it's ok to  ruin the equivalent of a week's worth of parental patience by smashing it all over the driveway. I'm not kidding. Have you ever tried to carve pumpkins with a 4 year old? A feral, wild child who could be a poster child for Ritalin? It pretty much goes like this:

Okay, now we're going to cut out the eye...stop touching that. I just need to get the little pumpkin carving tool. Put that down, it's sharp! Okay, do you want circle eyes or triangle....please leave that alone. Because it's pumpkin guts, not a toy. No, leave it in the bowl. So circle eyes. Ok, now you push the eye out. No, not with the poker tool, just use your finger. Great! Now we can do the next eye, don't put that in your eye! Because it's not your eye.Yes I know its the pumpkin eye. Okay, I already told you to put the cutting tool down. Because it's sharp and you can hurt yourself. Stop stabbing the table with the poker tool!

And soon and so forth.

After spending all of that quality family time (without crying, liquor, Xanax, OR copious amounts of cookies), just to have it heaved all over the road? Yeah, that's pretty much some moronic kid move.

Another big hint that this is a HUGE kid holiday is the candy. I mean, what kid doesn't want candy? (Yes, Linda, even your kid who has only ever eaten vegetarian tofu wants candy, stop kidding yourself.) How is that not literally their dream? To walk up to stranger's houses, knock on the door, say a few words, and come away with the sweet nectar of the gods? And to have this done all over the entire city? Uh, yes please! (Actually, I'm NOT a kid and this idea is pleasing to me. Especially if you throw in some orthopedic insoles after walking around all night.)

Not to mention that they score this candy by wearing costumes. So let's review: Mass destruction and pranking, followed by playing dress up (Sorry...for the boys, I mean "role playing".) and topped off with scads of deliciously free candy.  I'm going to go with The Most Child Oriented Holiday for 200 Alex.

On the upside, if you take your kid out trick-or-treating long enough, you can get a decently sized stash that you can both share. Just make sure they know about the two most important rules of Halloween: Full size candy bars are meant for full size people and Momma is the candy checker-outer for your own safety.

Happy Halloween from my ghouls and goblins to yours! Stay safe and take lots of pictures that you'll feel guilty about forgetting to print out for another 3 years!



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It's Fall Y'all (Now Chill the Hell Out)

It’s officially fall in my house. Some people use Labor Day or the Autumnal Equinox as their guide to when it’s truly fall. In my house it’s the day that we finally take the air conditioners out of the widows. That day was today, so mark September 29^th as the first day of Autumn 2018. (This will be on the quiz later.)

I’m always torn about how I should feel on the first day of fall. On one hand, it’s great that I can open the windows and get some fresh air in the house without the AC Nazi, I mean the love of my freaking life, asking me why I don’t just turn the air on instead. There’s something about a crisp fall day when the sun is out and the windows are open…..it’s lovely. On the other hand though, this means that summer is most definitely over and it’s only going to get colder from here on out. I spent much of the day (or like the last 15 minutes before I started blogging) weighing the pros and cons on fall and since I know you are dying for me to share my thoughts with you, here it is:

My Pros and Cons about Autumn List That I Put Together Just to Amuse Myself (And others apparently since I’m sharing it with all of youse.)

PRO: Soups, stews, comforting and delicious foods that we pull out in colder months and wrap around us like a comfortable blanket. Bring on the carbs baby!

CON: None of my favorite comfort foods are what you’d call healthy. Soul food? Yes. Delicious? Yes. Going to make me have to double time my daily workouts? DEFINITELY YES.

PRO: Sweaters are WAY more forgiving than bathing suits. Layering up to stay warm in the colder months means that no one notices I’m about to put the local bakery out of business with all the rolls I’m carrying around.

CON: Covering up and hibernating in the winter months makes my already pale skin start to become fluorescent. Come spring I’m going to have to buy my closest friends and family sunglasses just to get through until the farmer’s tan comes in.

PRO: Did I shave my legs? Or not? You’ll never know because I’m wearing pants all day, every day. That’s right, it’s time to live it up like a hippie in a protest over razors.

CON: If you think fluorescent legs are bad, try fluorescent legs with carpet. Yeah, ‘nuff said. (Shudder.)

PRO: Halloween is right around the corner…and so is the day after Halloween’s half off candy sale.

CON: Buying new clothes is expensive so I can’t have both candy AND comfort food and continue to fit into my clothing. (I’ll have to alternate days! How’s that for plan B?)

PRO: Now when I wrap myself in a blanket (or 5), I don’t look at crazy as when I do it on 85 degree days. (The AC cools me off quick, I’m telling ya!)

CON: Unfortunately, I’m starting to look more and more like a bear: hairy legs, round body, and hibernating in my house til the daffodils peek back out.

PRO: Not only does fall have apple picking, pumpkin picking and a dozen scrumptious other flavors, but it comes with new scented candles, soaps, and lotions to keep us (and our surroundings) smelling like fall, which is apparently a mixture of apple, cinnamon, pumpkin, and leaves.

CON: Mmumph unumph mununumph. (Translation: I can’t talk about this right now because my mouth is stuffed full with these damn seasonal maple cookies that are only like a hundred thousand calories a piece.)

PRO: Fall leads into one of the best holidays ever: THANKSGIVING! (Mmm, turkey.) And once we’ve stuffed ourselves like a turkey, we can start shopping for THE MOST WONDERUL TIIIIIIMMMMMMEEEE OF THE YEEEEEEAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!

(Quick side note: If you’re seeing a trend about my love of fall and food, well, you’re darn tootin’ right! It’s all about that bass, bout that bass, bout that bass. Cuz I can’t  stop shoving food into my face, in my face, in my face.)

So now that it’s fall, or autumn, or the season that falls between spring and the season that shall not be named, let’s enjoy it. Grab something pumpkin spice (Because that shit is EVERYWHERE) and settle down for some leave crunching, pumpkin carving, apple cidering fun.

What is on your pros and cons list? Let me know! You can follow me on the Instagram (modernmommayhem) and like me on the Facebook (Modern Mom Mayhem) Of course, feel free to read old rants, I mean posts, about other things that have set me off right here on the blog.

I'm Not Dead Yet (But Apparently I'm Close)

I've never been one of those people who obsess about their age. Well, not since I've hit the "big three" at least. (16, 18, 21) After you're legal to drink, the next exciting age is retirement and considering they keep moving that age farther and farther out of sight like a carrot dangling in front of a jackass...best not get me started on that topic right now. That's a blog for a different day.

So anyway, yeah, birthdays are a big freaking deal in my house. Even the dog gets a "cake" (A.K.A. a wet dog food instead of the usual boring pellets). So with the big 4-0 looming on the horizon for my husband and I, we know we are both going to be hitting an important milestone soon. (The one where we are apparently over that hill we've been sitting on for 39 years. Talk about indecisive!) With this in mind, when I came across an article titled "40 Things No One Tells You About Turning 40", I thought it was a perfect time to study up on what's in store for me.

It starts off benign enough: Your circle of friends get smaller. You'll get gray hair. (Which I technically don't think qualifies for this list because people gray at different rates. It's not like you turn 40 and poof! Magically your gray hair appears.) But as the article goes on, it gets a little more depressing.

• Your back will hurt. 
• You won't budge on core beliefs. 
• You don't get embarrassed anymore.
• "Wrinkles blindside you." 
• "Junk food hits you like a ton of bricks."
• Sleep is your biggest priority.
• You don't care about being alone.
• You have less inhibitions.
• You get hangovers easier.
• There are vitamins and supplements for everything.
• Your joints make noise, you can't lose weight easily, you have multiple creams for your body.
• People you know begin to grapple with serious health issues. 
• People think you're incompetent, glasses become necessary, forgetfulness is a new worry.

I'm only 2/3 of the way through this article and I feel like 40 is the new 70. I was feeling pretty good about my age but now I realized that this year is my last golden year before I completely start falling apart. I'll have no friends and no inhibitions. I'll be popping supplements to stave off old age's forgetfulness. I'll have to start buying hair dye in bulk because now I have to worry about gray hairs. I'll be a wrinkled mess (probably what some of those body creams are for I'm guessing) and I can't enjoy junk food and alcohol now because of how easily I get a hangover and how hard it is to lose weight.

At this point, I'm wondering if I even want to know that last few things I was never told about turning 40. Maybe I don't really need to know. I mean, I've gone 39 years without knowing and it doesn't seem to be hurting me thus far. (Although, maybe this is because I'm not 40 yet??)

Bravely I continue on and now see that I will also fear going to the doctor's office and I'll have a barrage of new tests that will come with these appointments. (Because I'm older than dirt at 40 remember.)

But wait! There's more! If you order now, you can also get this:

• You might not be able to get back up once you bend over!
• Your sex life will "slow down" but what you lack in quantity will be made up by the quality. (Maybe because of the long dry spells?!?!?)
• You won't recognize those famous faces on the supermarket tabloids (possibly from the memory loss) and people will now start to sir and ma'am you. (HA! This happened 15 years ago so shove that in your pipe and smoke it article!)
• You start thinking seriously about retirement. (Oh come on, who doesn't think about it?)
• Your priorities shift and you don't worry about small stuff.

Okay, so let me summarize. I'm gray, everything hurts, I speak my mind, and I take more pills than a hypochondriac with access to a medical dictionary. I'm wrinkled and fat and I can't enjoy alcohol or junk food because I'm old and fat. But that's okay because I won't remember that I'm old and fat due to the memory problems, of which will also come in handy on helping me forget my lame sex life and the fact that I don't know any current celebrities in my ancient age.

After reading this article, I derided it so hard that I'm pretty sure I broke my scoffing bone. (Or at the very least sprained it.) It was all yuks and chuckles until, wait, is that a gray hair on my head? Let me get up and go see in the mirror. (cue cracking knee sounds and aching back) Gasp! OMG, it's coming true before my very eyes! But I'm not ready to be an old lady yet! There's so much I still wanted to accomplish!

Le sob, le sob!

So now that I have one foot in the grave, I realize that I was very unprepared to turn 40! I need to find an article on 'How to Cope with Reading Disturbing Articles About Turning 40 That Will Simultaneously Scar You and Make You Feel Inadequate". Is that article out there? Because I feel like that one might be a little more appropriate at this point.

(To read the article for yourself, here is the link: https://www.msn.com/en-us/lifestyle/smart-living/40-things-no-one-tells-you-about-turning-40/ss-BBLlEbL?ocid=se)



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