RSS Feed

Author Archives: Lady Googoogaga

The Queen has fallen


I haven’t been sick in years. There’s a simple reason for that.

I can’t get sick. There’s never a good time for a mother to get sick.

There’s too much to do.

Funny enough after Saturday we had plans to go away for a few days and enjoy the 72 degree weather after a long winter of polar vortexes and several winter illnesses for Mr. Gaga and the children.

It was almost as though my body knew that it could fail.

There was really nothing I NEEDED to do – except enjoy the sunshine and possibly get a tan.

I came home Friday and took to my bed. I have been rolling around in a pool of sweat and despair ever since.

When Mr. Gaga was sick THREE TIMES this winter…I was admittedly not the best caregiver.

I think it’s because of all the dramatics that go along with his illnesses.

For some reason he insists on wrapping an old t-shirt around his neck like a scarf and sleeping with a hooded sweatshirt with the hood over his head. He will spend hours on end in bed like that, sometimes sleeping, sometimes watching ESPN.

Meanwhile I will run around doing everything by myself and try to avoid interacting with him.

I will spend my time dousing the children in hand sanitizer and Lysoling every inch of the house like a lunatic.

I steer clear of him as much as possible.

If he asks me for water or pills I throw them at his direction from the hallway.

nurse

Mr. Gaga has risen to the occasion of caregiver in a much more loving manner.

He has come into my sick room and given me soup on a tray.  He has brought me pills and beverages.

All of our plans have been destroyed and he doesn’t even hate me.

But still…..he’s not me.

Last night I could hear muffled voices from where I lay in hell my bed.

“What do you want for dinner?” Mr. Gaga asked Sam.

“A hot dog, a cheeseburger, and chicken nuggets.” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Ok, no problem.” Mr. Gaga answered.

I rummaged through the blankets and found my cell phone to call downstairs.

"Caarrottss.." I squeaked out...."and just one entree." I managed to say before I passed out from exhaustion.

“Caarrottss..” I squeaked out….”and just one entree.” I managed to say before I passed out from exhaustion.

When I woke up today I felt well enough to come downstairs and drink coffee and send you all this quick update.

Both children had slept in the filthy clothes that they wore all day yesterday and the house was filthy.

Dirty laundry is everywhere and my older son is in bed not feeling well.

This is shaping up to be a great spring break.

It might be just as well that I get used to not feeling well for spring…..

If this article is any indication….

pollen

 WHEN WILL THE TORTURES END?? I’M GOING TO SNEAK BACK TO BED NOW….JUST WANTED YOU ALL TO KNOW I AM STILL ALIVE….BARELY. CLICK BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME!!!

150-tmb

Well played


When Sam and Michael were younger and I wasn’t working, time seemed to stand still.

If they woke up early, as they usually did, I would sometimes hope it was dinnertime and it would only be 9 am.

I was not really ever the type of person that enjoyed children. I didn’t really ever envision myself staying home all day with babies and toddlers and playing with them.

But I did it.

I would care for them and play with them and by the time Mr. Gaga would get home I was practically catatonic. I always used to recite my favorite scene from Overboard when he got home….he usually didn’t think it was too funny.

I don't belong here. I feel it. Don't you think I feel it? I can't do any of these vile things and I wouldn't want to! My life is like death! My children are the spawn of hell and you're the devil. Oh, God..

I don’t belong here. I feel it.
Don’t you think I feel it?
I can’t do any of these vile things
and I wouldn’t want to!
My life is like death!
My children are the spawn of hell
and you’re the devil.
Oh, God..

I really meant it.  I would stare at him and say over and over again “I feel it!! Don’t you think I feel it?”

Just for my own entertainment really.

But the next morning I would start anew all of the pleasures of being home with small children.

I did everything I could possibly think of to entertain them and myself.  I would do anything to get out of the house and speak to adults…I would have gone to a hanging.

I joined horrendous playgroups, mom groups, playdates and activities. I took them to classes at the library and at an art studio, we would go to the farm and the park, music classes and gymnastics.

When those activities were over I would spend hours on end on the floor in their rooms doing puzzles, coloring, and playing restaurant. I would read them books and do flashcards to learn the alphabet.

I would play Thomas the Train and matchbox cars and Lightening McQueen, I would build buildings out of blocks and forts out of blankets and chairs. We would play marching band and we would sing Wiggles songs and the theme song from the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

When it was nice out we would spend hours playing outside. I would take them for walks and pull them in their wagon. I would push them on the swings and chase them up and down the driveway and play hide and seek. I would watch them ride their tricycles and push their bubble mowers. I remember being utterly exhausted, sitting on the driveway in a patch of sunlight doing chalk drawings over and over again. When that got too boring we would blow bubbles and try to catch them. We would collect rocks and pinecones while exploring.

When it was hot out I would fill up baby pools and set up sprinklers and watch them splash in the water.

The other day was the first day that it was warm enough to play outside without a jacket. The kids drew a four-square court and invited Mr. Gaga to play while I prepared dinner.

I went outside to ask Mr. Gaga to light the grill.

“Mom, please play four square with us!” Michael pleaded.

It was nice out and I was in no rush to make dinner.

“Ok – I will play a couple of rounds – but then I have to get dinner ready.” I agreed.

So there we were in the front yard on the driveway having a family friendly game of foursquare.

 

Whenever we all play an outdoor game together Mr. Gaga sings "As long as we got each other..." very loudly which was the song playing during the Hogan Family's football game...

Whenever we all play an outdoor game together Mr. Gaga sings “As long as we got each other…” very loudly which was the song playing during the Hogan Family’s football game…

 

The game went well – we all headed inside and we sat down to dinner shortly thereafter.

A few minutes into dinner Michael said, “You know Mom – tonight when you played foursquare with us……..”

“Yes lovebug…” I replied.

“That was the only time you ever played with us.” he finished his statement and continued to eat his chicken.

 

 

 

I nearly choked.

I looked over at both kids while they calmly ate their dinner.

“Do you people even know that I spend 6 solid years of my life home playing with you and taking you places and doing everything for you?” I spat out.

“No…I don’t remember that.” Michael said confidently before biting into his roll.

“Oookaaay….well I did. I took you to the library, and the farm and the daycare at the gym science museum…….and I read to you and played with you outside practically every day of your life!”  “I took you for bike rides and walks and took you to every park in town a million times!” I said with desperation looking at both children for a flicker of recognition or acknowledgement.

Sam calmly looked up from his dinner and said “Well…you don’t do any of that now.” and took a bite of chicken.

And what could I say to that.

He was right.

Before this little foursquare outing I hadn’t really “played” with them in about a year.

I dropped my fork and sat back in my chair – speechless.

All those torturous hours and endless days of playing with my children……for nothing.

I thought back to all of the other mothers I spent time with and spoke to that made me want to gouge out my eyeballs…all for the sake of my children.  All of the horrible playdates I sat through, all of the horrific toddler classes at the library surrounded by snot-nosed children sitting on the filthy floor, the hours spent chasing them around the park.

And to think they don’t remember one thing I ever did with them.

So I did what any woman in her right mind would do…

 

theresa

theresa2

 

Just kidding …I only did that in my mind.  

But it’s a tough pill to swallow.

All that time and effort and I could have totally ignored them and watched tv and read US Weekly all day for the same results.

Then it dawned on me.  This is why I have two children.  So they can play with each other!! My mother never played with me!!

These jerks are trying to get me down and lay a guilt trip on me and I have learned a valuable lesson.

Now that I know they suffer from severe memory loss…..

I will never play with my kids again.

150-tmb

 

 

 

 

Big Fish in a Kiddie Pool


As a mother I find myself continually walking a fine line between “Tiger Mom” and fat lazy American mom.

On the one hand I grew up in the 1980′s and reminisce fondly of my childhood years where there was little to no parent interaction and we would play outside all day, enjoying life without being shuffled around from activity to activity. Other times I am swayed by the mothers of Goopville that live in their SUV’s driving their children from sport to sport, music lesson to karate and wonder if I am shoving enough down their throats doing enough.

This week I wavered back and forth quite a bit.

Over the weekend, Michael had baseball tryouts. Because he is young for his grade he misses the cut-off for moving into the league for nine and ten-year-olds. Instead of staying behind with seven and eight year olds he wanted to try out to move up with some friends from last year’s team.

I have mentioned before how Mr. Gaga is quick to dismiss the children’s athletic abilities. The stress leading up to the try-outs was intense. Thank God I was working and did not have to witness the actual try-outs because Mr. Gaga said it was agonizing. They waited and watched each kid get up and field balls, catch pop-ups and hit. He said Michael’s face was bloodless and zombie-like as he waited anxiously for his turn.

A table of washed up dads that are living vicariously through their children  men took notes while staring down boys showing off their baseball moves.  They didn’t crack a smile once as they dismissed each child and called up the next.

When it was Michael’s turn, Mr. Gaga said he did ok, but we would have to wait until Wednesday to find out the results.

27y62kh

 

For some reason I picture the tryouts being pretty much like this except instead of a crazy jump with a somersault he was catching ground balls....

For some reason I picture the tryouts being pretty much like this except instead of a crazy jumps and somersaults he was catching ground balls….and he wasn’t wearing a leotard.

 

We found out mid-week that he made the team which was great news, but then I was bloodless and zombie-like.  I started to worry that we made a bad decision to let him try out.

“Maybe I should have let him stay with the younger kids so he could be the star of the team,” I said to Mr. Gaga.   “I always push him and every other mother holds their kids back so they can be superstars…..now he is going to have to keep up with ten-year-olds!!” I said wringing my hands.

“It will be fine.” Mr. Gaga answered dismissively.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, we had conference week to contend with.  I was determined to find out if Michael was stupid or smart.

His teacher showed me some of what he has been working on. The minute she started to speak about math and scores I lost interest and couldn’t understand what she was saying.  As she rambled on about “math facts” and “common core” I blacked out and started to think about what I would make for dinner.  When the endless ramblings wouldn’t end, I cut her short and said, “Let’s pretend it’s the 1980′s.  Would he be in the smart class or not?”

She stared back at me blankly and didn’t even smile.  I then realized she probably doesn’t even know about the 1980′s.  She was probably born in 1990!!!

She showed me some test scores that indicated that he was reading and drawing groups of bananas doing math at an above average level.  This was the most information I got out of a teacher in years!!

Sam’s was the usual meeting about how wonderful and amazing he his.  When I mentioned that he gets extremely frustrated with the common core math problems, she wasn’t surprised.

“Well do you write out the answers for him?” she asked.

“NO! I would never!” I defended myself from this horrific accusation.

“Okay, well you can if you would like,” she answered sweetly, ” a lot of parents do that part of the homework for their kids.”

“Well, not this one!” I exclaimed. “I already completed the first grade, this is not my problem!” I exclaimed defiantly.

“Okay,” she answered calmly.  “But did Sam ever ask you to do it for him?”

“Um no – because he knows better.  He knows that I would laugh in his face.”

“Ok…..well if you ever change your mind…” she drifted off.

WHAT??!!

Now the teachers are telling us to do the kids common core homework because it is too hard?!!

The teacher is telling me that many parents are actually writing out the homework answers when their kids are perfectly capable of writing!!

Ashton

I was pretty sure at this point – this guy was watching from the hallway….

 

 

Meanwhile, on top of all of this achievement we have started the dreaded swimming lesson season.  I have told stories in the past about how furious I become during these lessons.  How my children flail about year after year, excuse themselves from their swimming lessons to go poop and how they never seem to progress despite years of lessons.

As a result, when we began lessons a couple months ago they were placed at the same level that they have been for years, while other children have swum and gone.

On the first day, Michael and Sam hopped in the water waiting for their class to begin.  The instructor asked where my children were.

“They are right there in the pool waiting for their “clownfish toddler swim program”….why?”

burtreynolds2

 

The teachers were even visibly shocked this session as it was noticably absurd to have thirty five year olds in such a low level swim class. Michael especially towered over the other children.

I warned him that he better not go to the bathroom once and that he better advance this year or there would be hell to pay.

Like the years before spent behind the glass watching my pathetic swimmers….I was disgusted.  Watching my huge children flail about in the water with 5 year olds was painful.

When I saw Michael actually carrying one of his fellow swimmers I had enough.....

When I saw Michael actually carrying one of his fellow swimmers I had enough…..

 

I stormed into talk to the instructor after the lesson was over.

“Um – can he advance to the next level? He’s like 45 years old – and it seems absurd…” I said briskly.

“Yes – we definitely want to work with him so he can move forward,” the instructor said kindly.  “Now maybe have you considered when this program is over – taking lessons at the School of Swimming or the YMCA?” she said carefully because she clearly thought she was dealing with an idiot.

“Yes!” I said cheerfully.  “We have participated in both of those programs as well as two others, swimming lessons for three years at the beach and your program for three seasons!!”

My tone changed then, “I am into these two for thousands of dollars in swimming lessons,” I said pointing to my two children that were wrapped up in their towels laughing and fooling around, oblivious about what losers they were.

“I am NOT signing up for any other programs. I am signed up here and you will teach him to swim!” I shrieked.

Last week in the midst of waiting to find out if Michael was an idiot at his conference and if he made the baseball team – the swimming teacher confirmed that he in fact has made progress and will likely pass onto the next level of swimming this week!!

It is a swimming miracle sent from Jesus.

In the end of all of this stress, it turns out that Michael is smart, can swim and made the baseball team.

I don’t know how those Tiger moms do it….I am just not cut out for all of this over-achievement.

 

I MET A FEW WOMEN THIS WEEK THAT RANDOMLY KNEW ABOUT MY SECRET IDENTITY AND ASKED IF I REALLY SWORE IN FRONT OF MY KIDS AND THE ANSWER IS YES!!! CAN’T I HAVE ONE PLEASURE IN LIFE? BUT I DID CHALLENGE MYSELF TO A BLOG POST MINUS ANY CURSING AND A NOD TO JESUS…I WILL BE BACK TO MY OLD SELF NEXT WEEK….NOT TO WORRY.

PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO KEEP ME IN THE RUNNING AS AMERICA’S FUNNIEST MOTHER!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

150-tmb

 

 

 

RIP Multiplication Table – Hello Common Core


This week is conference week in Goopville.

This means that we get to find out how our children are doing in school.

Simultaneously, the teachers work a half day all week-long so that they are not overburdened by work. Because meeting with Goopville parents for a couple of hours each day is apparently the equivalent of going to war in Iraq we are asked to supply a variety of snacks and meal items for the teachers while we have to have our children home at 1:30 each day.

I used to look forward to conferences so I could hear about the academic progress of my children – but I have since learned better.

All commentary is veiled with politically correct terminology and I usually leave with little to no information about where my child stands.

The days of categorizing children as smart or dumb are over.

Recently Michael mentioned that he spent an hour with a special group for math.

“I am almost into multiplication in my WIN group!” he exclaimed with pride the other day.

“What’s a WIN group?” I demanded.

“We go into groups and we practice our math problems.”

“Do you leave the room to work on math?” I asked with trepidation as my blood pressure started to rise.

“Yes.”

I threw down my magazine and got into his face. “Who’s in the group?”

He started to mention some smart children and I was thrilled.  I knew he was a genius!!

Thank god - he's the next Bill Gates and I don't have to worry about paying for college.....

Thank god – he’s the next Bill Gates and I don’t have to worry about paying for college…..

then he started to mention some idiots….

I started to sweat. Why would he be in a math group with kids that were not very bright. Was he an idiot?

I called Mr. Gaga at work while the kids worked on their homework.

I spoke in a hushed tone.  “Michael goes to a special group for math…and I can’t figure out if he is extremely bright or mildly retarded.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Gaga asked with annoyance.

When he got home he peppered Michael with a series of questions that got us nowhere.

When we were going to bed Mr. Gaga said “Well – he’s either really smart or a moron….I will email the teacher tomorrow.”

Of course when the teacher emailed us back we STILL didn’t know the answer.

She said “All of the kids break into groups and practice their math skills – He is right where he should be :)”

“Well – “right where he should be” is not good.” I said to Mr. Gaga.

“I am sure she would tell us if he needed help.” he brushed me off.

Would she?  Everyone is so politically correct these days – would anyone tell me if my kid was an idiot??  Was I an idiot? How could I not notice that he needed extra help in math?

When I went to my parents’ for dinner I mentioned this math dilemma.

“We just don’t know if he’s an idiot or a mathematical genius.” I sighed.

“Well what are his grades in math?” my father asked incredulously.

“Oh…..well mostly check marks and smiley faces I guess…” I answered matter-of-factly.

My father almost choked on his dinner.

“You pay all those taxes to live in Goopville for smiley-faces?” he yelled.

“Hmmm, ….um….yes. The grading system is just basically a series of smiley-faces…..” I answered earnestly.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You mean to tell me this kid has never gotten a grade on anything?”

“Nope.”

He has a point.

No wonder we don’t know if Michael is smart or not.

When I thought about it – it was quite feasible that I would not know if he was good at math or not.

How could I know?

I don’t know because it is a big fucking mystery!!!

With the new common core standards of teaching - children are little robots that must go through the standardized testing motions with little to no feedback.  All so that every child can be at the same academic level at all times.

Is the goal of the “COMMON CORE” for everyone to be common!!

Is it so that everyone can fall to the lowest common denominator!!

To add insult to injury – with the new common core standards of teaching there are new ways to teach and learn everything – especially math.

Gone are the days of the glorious math charts where you just memorized all of the multiplication tables and were set for life.

That is no longer allowed.

I'm sorry but didn't this chart work for like 3000 years??

I’m sorry but didn’t this chart work for like 3000 years??

Now math problems are solved with huge tables and strange pictures.

It is no longer enough to just get the right answer ….you need to “show your work.”

The Gaga’s have not embraced this new learning method with open arms.

Parents are supposed to check off each night that their child has completed their homework. A few weeks into the third grade I quickly realized that checking work was no longer an option because I clearly didn’t understand third grade math. Since September I have been making check marks where Michael tells me to and hope that he’s done his work properly.

On top of the fact that I don’t get it – there’s the issue that I just think it’s stupid.

“Why – can’t he just write 5×4=20?” I plead with Mr. Gaga. “This is such a waste of time!!”

See below – the question was “If 5 people have 4 bananas each, how many bananas are there?”

This is a picture of "a guy thinking about bananas, a guy speaking in bananas, a guy juggling  bananas,  a banana face guy and a guy that hates bananas" says Michael after ten minutes of work with no answer....

This is a picture of “a guy thinking about bananas, a guy speaking in bananas, a guy juggling bananas, a banana face guy and a guy that hates bananas” says Michael after ten minutes of work with no answer….

“Um – ok what’s the answer?” I say with disgust and send him back to do his work properly.

He comes back with this:

This is five plates with four bananas on each plate.  This is the modern way to find out that 5x4 =20.

This is five plates with four bananas on each plate. This is the modern way to find out that 5×4 =20.

“On what planet is this a good way to learn?!!” I ask Mr. Gaga with disgust.  “It just took Michael 20 minutes to answer a multiplication question that in the 1980′s would have taken us 30 seconds!!”

“It’s the common core – it’s good.” Mr. Gaga answers diplomatically.

“To what end?” I ask.  “So that we can compete with other countries?”

I have news for everyone, 10 Chinese boys just cured cancer and performed a full violin concert while my son was over here in America dicking around drawing 5o0 bananas.

I am not impressed.

And if you think I am not impressed – just come over some day and watch Sam do his first grade homework.

He also has to “show his work.”  But since his work is much easier it’s even more ridiculous.

Each afternoon I tread lightly – plying him with snacks and chocolate milk, hugs and kisses, before I bring up the dreaded task of homework.

He immediately spirals into a very dark mood and starts banging things around looking for pencils and his folder.  His annoyance level gets higher and higher with each stupid question he has to answer.

Last week he had to fill out a “pattern worksheet.”

It was something like this.  And it asked him to explain how he knew which numbers were missing....

It was something like this. And it asked him to explain how he knew which numbers were missing….

He seems to take after me with his lack of patience or interest in bullshit assignments that are stupid and lead to Chinese people conquering the world while we are left holding our dick in our hands 500 pictures of bananas.

He was muttering under his breath while he got to work.  After he completed the first row – I reminded him to write out “how he knew which numbers came next.”

“I KNOW!” he screamed like a lunatic.

When I checked on his work I was so proud.

I call this some good work coming from a 6-year-old.

I call this some good work coming from a 6-year-old.

 

In closing, I still don’t know if we are smart or dangerously inept over here in the Gaga household – but I am determined to figure it out this week at the parent-teacher conferences!!!

PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME FOR FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!!

150-tmb

ketchuplabel125copy2

 

Kiss me …you’re Irish…


I just don’t feel Irish.   Supposedly if you examine my genetic makeup it appears as if I am 1/2 Irish and 1/2 Italian, but I just don’t feel it.

I feel as though I am a half of a half Irish…maybe.  I will at least admit that it is probably my Irish side that gives me my wit and hilarious outlook on life.  I am thankful for that.

It is also my Irish side that made me choose to drink wine tonight and repost my St. Patrick’s Day post from last year.  It’s actually quite hilarious and I would appreciate it greatly if you share it on Facebook in the spirit of St. Patty’s Day!!!

Cheers!

REBLOGGED FROM MARCH 2013:

My mother is 100% Irish and my father is 100% Italian.  Same goes for Mr. Gaga.

As luck would have it, I am 100% Italian and Mr. Gaga is 100% Irish.

Being married to an Irish person can be good and bad.

Here are some indicators that your husband and children are Irish:

They can drink you under the table: – Most stereotypes don’t come out of thin air.  These people can drink all day and night with little to no repercussions.

There’s no hangover…no throwing up.

The only people who suffer are the sober people who have to be in their company.  In my case, I learned long ago that I will never be able to keep up with the Irish in the drinking department.   While my Irish girlfriends were dancing on the bar in the Bronx, I was home vomiting.

Mr. Gaga is always the life of the party…and has yet to ever wake up one morning of his life and say “I’m never doing that again.”

Irish eyes are smiling: It’s good to be with someone who has a smiley face, like Mr. Gaga.

I definitely have something that can certainly be described as a “frowny face.”

This has proven to be off-putting.   My neighbor told me that when she first moved to the neighborhood, some lady on my street (who I spoke two words to in my life) told her about the Gaga’s.  She said  “The husband is really nice, but stay away from the wife….she’s a total bitch.”  This is a common theme.

Thankfully, sometimes it seems that the friendliness that radiates from his Irish face, kind of cancels out my bitch face…and we become a little more approachable as a couple.

Somehow this face makes people feel better after they interact with
Somehow this face makes people feel better after they interact with…
this...
this face…

They can fight: Yet another stereotype that just happens to be true.  Mr. Gaga is non-confrontational to a fault, but if the shit hits the fan I know he can take everyone down.  He’s very happy and nice, but if pushed too far, he can get crazy.

Don’t be fooled by his smiling eyes or his intoxication….he will fuck you up.

Their taste buds don’t work properly: I believe it is because their ancestors spent centuries gnawing on rotten potatoes in the rain or something, but both my husband and mother have taste buds that don’t function.

As a result they douse everything they eat with inappropriate seasonings and sauces.

When we all eat together my mother spends the first ten minutes of the meal “peppering her food.” While we eat, she literally sits at her seat shaking salt and pepper shakers madly.

Mr. Gaga takes it one step further and mixes every sauce he can find together and dips his meat into it.

Needless to say, my delicious Italian food does not need this kind of treatment.  I beg him to eat food as it is prepared.  It’s heartbreaking to see him dip my chicken cutlets into this shit.

Every night he mixes all of this into a ramekin and dips food into it....Does that seem normal???

Every night he mixes all of this into a ramekin and dips food into it…does this seem reasonable to anyone with working taste buds?

“Why are you doing this? This chicken cutlet is delicious!”

“I like it this way,” he says as he dips it into the revolting concoction.

“It’s rude to the chicken cutlet! You can’t even taste it anymore!”

I plead…to no avail.

They have blatant disregard for food:   I guess it may be due to the dysfunctional taste buds, but food is merely a means of survival for the Irish.

I could truly give my husband homemade pasta with a lobster sauce or Lucky Charms for dinner and he would be equally content either way.

It’s offensive.  However, on nights when I’m working or have had a crazy day there’s some comfort in knowing that I can offer a tunafish sandwich for supper and Mr. Gaga will be thrilled.

They are witty: In college, I lived with 7 Irish girls.  I never laughed so hard in my life.

Mr. Gaga also has been known to crack me up.

Sometimes so much so that I pee my pants.  Since I had kids….I am especially prone to having accidents.

Our first date after I had Sam, we got a babysitter and went to the movies.  When we left the theater and we were walking to the car, Mr. Gaga said something very funny.  I stopped walking, twisted my legs together to try to keep the pee in.  It didn’t work.

50 gallons of pee came pouring out in the middle of the crowds of people who were coming out of the movies, which actually just made me laugh harder.

Mr. Gaga ran away and left me.  He got his car and came back to pick me up where I stood in a pee puddle.  He found an old garbage bag in his truck and he made me wrap up in it before I sat on the seat in his truck.

We laughed the whole way home and then I snuck upstairs with my wet pants and garbage bag while he paid the babysitter.

There’s absolutely nothing better than laughter.

Because they can make people laugh, they take it too far:

Laughter is great.  The problem lies in the fact that when people think Mr. Gaga is the funniest person in the world, he starts to believe them.

When he’s out with friends or at work, he is “Mr. Personality”, shooting off one-liners and cracking jokes, and everyone thinks he’s a riot.

This was the work crowd last time he had to speak....

When he gets home, I am not always in the same jovial mood as his work people or his friends.  Sometimes he tries to crack the same jokes to me that worked wonderfully at work….

carrie

They are very white:  When you look like Snooki, you don’t expect to have to get involved with people who don’t like the sun.  Mr. Gaga sits out for a couple of hours on the beach before he starts crying and goes back in the house, and Michael wants to stay out but ends up roasting.

Caring for pasty-white children and husbands is super-annoying.  While Sam and I are tanning, the last thing we want to do is go back to the house because the other 2 annoying lobsters have sun poisoning.

This is Sam on playing on the beach.....
This is Sam playing on the beach…..
This is a picture of Mr. Gaga when we were in Miami...
This is a picture of Mr. Gaga when we were in Miami…

Loving the Irish can be a blessing or curse – but mostly its a blessing if you can disregard the hideous sunburns ……

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!!!

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

PLEASE SHARE ON FACEBOOK FOR THIS IRISH GIRL:)

March Madness in Goopville


A while back I asked my readers what to call this homicidal maniac town I live in.  It is a town filled with mothers that are gluten free and wear Lululemon clothes all day for no reason and park in handicapped parking spots to give their children their skiis.  Someone suggested “Goopville” referencing the ramblings of lunatic, Gwenyth Paltrow on her insane blog GOOP….I thought that was perfection.  My town’s new name is Goopville.

Michael has a fall birthday.

Because I chose to send him to kindergarten at age 4 he is often the youngest in his class and on teams.  When I was weighing my decision to send him I thought it would be ok for him to compete with 5-year-olds.  What I hadn’t anticipated was that he would be competing with many 6 year-olds, since most mothers these days hold back their children as long as possible.  This is commonly known as “red-shirting your kindergartener.”

One can always spot these “red-shirters” because they are usually 6 feet tall and the boys have facial hair and the girls have full double “D’s” and their period in the third grade.

This is typical picture from Michael's class...see if you can find the "red-shirter."

This is typical picture from Michael’s class…see if you can find the “red-shirter.”

Michael plays in the YMCA basketball league for 7 and 8 year-olds.  The league relies on parent volunteers as coaches.  While it is generous of anyone to dedicate their time and energy to being a coach, you can imagine how things could get dicey with the wrong candidates.

Last week at Michael’s basketball game there was one of these monstrous red-shirters on the other team.  At first we thought he must be someone’s older brother while the team was warming up but then he took off his sweatshirt to reveal his team shirt and we were horrified.

The kid was at least ten years old.  His head was bigger than mine and Mr. Gaga’s put together and he had a moustache and for some reason not related to his age at all, he had a combover.

Also he may or may not have had a nail in his head...not sure

Also he may or may not have had a nail in his head…not sure

When the game started it was immediately clear that the kid was a nightmare.  He was pushing and shoving all the kids.  At one point, him and Michael both went for the ball and they started wrestling on the floor.  Michael finally got the ball.

“Nail-head’s” coach started walking on the court.  The ref explained to him that he could not be on the court and sent him back to his corner.

After that, “nail-head’s” behavior became more aggressive.

He continued the pushing and shoving and antagonistic behaviors typical of an angry 50 year-old.

guns-dont-kill-happy-gilmore-costume-shirt-screengrab-2

And then…

for no reason relative to the game of basketball…..he punched Michael in the stomach.

The referee had enough finally.

He threw him out of the game.

Like any mentally unstable “red-shirter”…he went to the corner of the gym and cried like a little bitch.

All was right with the world.

For all of two minutes.

Then all of a sudden – he was back in the game.

Why was he back on the court? How could this be??

Oh – because the coach told him to go back in!!!

“Nail-head” was sad- so of course it was time for him to go back in to the game!! Don’t all NBA coaches operate this way?

Even the ref was too nervous to say anything...

Even the ref was too nervous to say anything…

So play resumed.

After a couple of minutes a boy on Michael’s team was wrestling with the “red-shirter” for the ball and accidentally elbowed him in the face.

This time – all of the parents from the other team and the coach came running onto the court and a mob scene ensued.

georgetown-china-fight

The president of the YMCA happened to be there that day and noticed that something had gone horribly wrong on the court.

The other team’s parents and coaches were irate that someone had injured “nail-head” by accident!!!

Our team’s coach was screaming at the other team’s coach and a bunch of parents were there yelling at the ref and both coaches.

The YMCA President came running over to calm the masses and made everyone sit down in the bleachers.  He spoke to everyone about sportsmanship and told all the parents that the games were for the kids and that the basketball league is about children not adults.  He threatened to cancel the game unless everyone could agree to stay seated and watch and enjoy the game.

It's sad when grown-ass people have to listen to some guy talk about sportsmanship....

It’s sad when grown-ass people have to listen to some guy talk about sportsmanship….

The scolded parents agreed to stay still while the game ended.

And of course – just in case you were thinking there was hope for humanity at the end of the game when it was time to line up and shake hands – “Nail Head” punched everyone’s hand!!

Now Mr Gaga wanted me to mention that I actually wasn’t at the game (as usual) and that he gave me the first-hand account of what happened, because he just knew it was blog-worthy.

And even though I tell these types of cautionary tales week after week – I am amazed every time when I notice children acting like barbarians.  Every time parents act like stupid fucking morons I am shocked.

I will just never stop being shocked by modern-day parents’ bad behaviors.  The fact that parents today would sit by and watch their slow adult  3rd grader be violent and inappropriate and say nothing is disturbing on many levels.

What will happen to athletes if they are allowed to act like savage beasts and nobody ever puts them in their place?

Well ask Lance….

lance

Or Oscar…

oscarp

or this guy….

oj

or Mike….

tyson

Just sayin….

This won’t end well for all those “nail-heads” out there.

I DON’T KNOW WHEN PARENTS WILL STOP ACTING LIKE HUGE DOUCHEBAGS…BUT UNTIL THEN I WILL BE BUSY BRINGING YOU ALL OF THE LIVE REPORTING…PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO BE SURE THAT I REMAIN IN THE RUNNING FOR THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!!!

150-tmb

The Wolf Makeover


During the foggy February times that I described last week, one night I decided that “we” should take the kids to see the LEGO movie.

As I was recovered from my French onion soup coma at this point there was plenty of room for a huge vat of buttery popcorn.   However, I am quite tortured by LEGOS enough, so as Mr. Gaga and the boys headed into the movie, my enormous popcorn and I turned left and dipped into The Wolf on Wall Street.

Some friends had mentioned that there would be excessive nudity and swearing. I quite enjoy swearing myself so I certainly don’t mind when others say a few bad words so that wouldn’t bother me.  When I saw this pie chart on Vulture.com I knew that I would love this cinematic production:

cursepie

I’m sorry but what’s not to like about someone saying the “F” word hundreds of times.

Others had mentioned that the movie was a trashy boozefest.  I wasn’t expecting much.

Within minutes I was transported out of my winter doldrums into the glossy world of excess.  Fifteen minutes in, I was eating my popcorn slack-jawed and completely hooked.  At this point there had been a bit of cursing and nudity and people start walking out!!!!

What stupid fucking douchebags!!

This movie was just what the doctor ordered for the winter blues!

Is it too late for me to go to a party like this??

Is it too late for me to go to a party like this??

I never wanted the movie to end.

First of all because who would want to stop spending time with Leonardo Dicaprio?  He is gorgeous as always, as the sleek wall street monster.  His wife is a spoiled blonde who complains about nonsense.  She doesn’t seem to know how lucky she is…..

leo

And secondly because after watching this vodka and luxury filled tale I would instantly go back to a life filled with dirty snow filled streets, Lego filled rooms and leftover crockpot soup.

When I met up with Mr. Gaga after the movie he asked how it was.  I said “I want to steal everyone’s money, get a bunch of strippers and do drugs all night.”

He seemed to think that was a bad idea.

I decided to start small.

First things first - I needed a tan. Only washed-up fat loser moms are pasty and white. It was time to bust out the self tanner.

Second thing to be addressed was my hair.  Why do I always have brown hair?

Because I am a boring mom with boring mom hair.  I went to visit my hairdresser armed with a picture of the new and improved Kim Kardashian.

This is what I look like now...Thank you Wolf of Wall Street....

This is what I look like now…Thank you Wolf of Wall Street….

And the final piece of the puzzle (before I steal everyone’s money, buy my own helicopter and lose 75 pounds) was the teeth.  The wolf mentioned that when he met his business partner he noticed that he had the whitest teeth he had every seen.

jonah

I needed these white teeth to finish my look.  Just in time I got sent a professional teeth whitening kit from Smile Brilliant.

smile

I was transformed into a sexpot.

Now this is a typical scene of Mr. Gaga and I picking up Legos in the kids’ rooms.

nursery

And while I am in the midst of reinventing myself – it’s only right that one of you can join me in a Wolf of Wall Street inspired makeover!!!

I am going to send one of you a Smile Brilliant LED Whitening System!!

To enter to win please leave me a message of what you are going to do to make yourself Wolf of Wall Street worthy…..

I will pick at random the person I think is most deserving of this delightful system!!!

NOW I HAVE TO HOPE THAT LEO WINS THE OSCAR!!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

150-tmb

The downward spiral…


Otherwise known as February.

Maybe I was too quick to make fun of the people complaining about the weather.  My children have been home now for 12 days between vacation and snow days.

There have been too many storms to keep track of at this point – but all I know is that I have been in the house eating, drinking and aging rapidly.

Whenever there’s some sort of inclement weather that leaves us housebound, Mr. Gaga and I take that as a sign to strap on clothing made totally from elastic and spandex and drink alcohol and eat comfort foods like its our job.

Towards the beginning of the twelve day stretch – I was still in a happy mood and so after the kids went outside to shovel and make a fort I made delicious lunch-time hot chocolates with a little Bailey’s and Fireball Whiskey in mine.  Then I made French Onion Soup in the crockpot….

soup

Whatever delicious flavors you’re imagining are all true…You know you are jealous.

While it cooked I drank wine and lounged around while Mr. Gaga drank beer and watched a movie with the kids.  When it was time for dinner, Mr. Gaga and I had huge vats of steamy soup covered with bubbly cheese.

We quickly realized why this soup is traditionally served in mug.  I don’t think humans are meant to consume this much liquids and cheeses at once. We rolled around in bed moaning and groaning until we passed out in soup and boiling cheese comas.

Also, Valentine’s Day was mixed into this blur of days indoors.  Needless to say we made pink cupcakes and had a nice steak dinner with all the creamy fattening sides to celebrate our love.

When I was young, my best friend’s father owned a pharmacy.  He would always bring home boxes of chocolates when they were past their sell-by date.

With this much chocolate at our fingertips – we could look at the “map” and take a bite of each one and throw it back in the box if we didn’t like it.  We would lounge around taking bites of the chocolates and pretend we were on a soap opera.

There was something so luxurious about having a Whitman Sampler all to your self.

I really thought this would be me someday....

I really thought this would be me someday….

While my life is not quite as luxurious as someone who sits in bed eating bon bons all day – I did feel after a few days of torture that I deserved to eat some of Sam’s chocolates.

He was asleep and I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I just had one.

Old habits die hard....

Old habits die-hard….

In the mornings we were eating hearty breakfasts of bacon and eggs and then we had a great idea to put the Valentine M&M’s into pancakes.

Then one day Mr. Gaga decided to make “Breakfast Corn Dogs.” I mean this is just embarrassing….

So this is actually a sausage cooked into a pancake with syrup on it....and apparently he had sticks handy to create this masterpiece.

So this is actually a sausage cooked into a pancake with syrup on it….Oh and apparently he had sticks handy to create this masterpiece.

 

After a few days of eating and drinking with reckless gluttony -  I had to actually leave the house and go to work.  I had been shuffling around the house in my velour pants and my furry coat….

I took a little peek in the mirror.

What I saw was horrific.  I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“I LOOK LIKE FUCKING SHIT!!!”

It was time to face the cold hard facts.  Apparently, in my old age a diet flush with onion soup, cheese, chocolate and alcohol does not equal beauty.

My under eyes were so puffy I could barely see out of the small slit that was left of my eyeball and my skin was dry and pasty white further accentuating my dark circles and wrinkles.

I stared at myself in the mirror in horror. Had I just aged like 30 years since Christmas?

Yes.

Yes I had.

 

 

Please note the bags of onion soup and wine under my eyes....

Good lord!! Look at the bags of onion soup and wine under my eyes….

I promptly piled on 4 concealers and two foundations and ten bronzers to attempt to rectify the problem to no avail.

I have learned my lesson.

I will be making a concerted effort this week to reverse the damage of the last twelve days.

I will be piling on makeup like it’s nobody’s business.

I will be hitting the gym.

I will be wearing clothing that has proper fastening devices like buttons and zippers.

I will be eating onion soup in a mug instead of a vat eating celery and drinking half a bottle instead of a whole bottle of wine drinking water!!

Spring is right around the corner!!!

Ok...well maybe I will wait until after Wednesday....and then Saturday ....and maybe Sunday.

Ok…well maybe I will wait until after Wednesday….and then Saturday ….and maybe Sunday morning….FML.

THIS HAS TO BE THE HOME STRETCH!!! I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH MORE WE CAN TAKE!  CLICK THE BANNER BELOW AT LEAST BECAUSE YOU FEEL BAD FOR ME AND MY UNDEREYE PUFFS….XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

150-tmb

Abe Lincoln is kind of a big deal…


So in his honor – it’s only right that I take a week off.

Sam is actually deathly afraid of Abraham Lincoln for some reason.  If he catches a glimpse of him anywhere he shuts his eyes really tight, similar to what most children would do if they saw a monster or Freddy Krueger.

 

$5

Don’t even try to give him a $5 bill.  He won’t take it.

I have no idea how this started but at a certain point he would have nightmares about Abe.  He would come running into my room in the middle of the night out of breath. Hysterically, he described the horror of running away from several “Abraham Lincolns that were chasing him and trying to kill him.”

We made the mistake of letting him watch Happy Gilmore with his brother and we hadn’t anticipated that it would send him over the edge.

We totally forgot that good old Abe was in Happy Gilmore...

We totally forgot that good old Abe was in Happy Gilmore…

We are trying to think and speak positively about President Lincoln to help Sam conquer his fears.

We found him a used book at an old book store to read and he said it is actually helping him to relate to Abe and have better feelings about him.

This is actually the book from the 1800's that we read regularly as part of his therapy...

This is actually the book from the 1800′s that we read regularly as part of his therapy…

 

Today when I told him that it was Lincoln’s birthday he stared at me in horror about to burst into tears but stopped himself…

“That’s great!” he forced himself to exclaim.

So while I take a day to celebrate Abe – I am also celebrating my love for Mr. Gaga at a fellow blogger’s site Cuddles and Chaos.  Jen asked me to be a special guest blogger to talk about love!!

Who am I during the week of Valentine’s Day to turn down an opportunity to speak about how Mr. Gaga and I fell in love?

You can read the post on her site titled: LOVE AT THIRD SIGHT.

HAPPY PRESIDENT’S DAY!! CLICK BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

150-tmb

Art class for Dummies


 Thanks so much to everyone who commented and read my blog for the last two weeks!

Three years ago, today, I started this blog.  I had toyed with the idea a bit after struggling with having anyone who I could relate to as I navigated the first years of motherhood.

It struck me today that I finally pulled the trigger in February.  I remember long winter days being cooped in the house for days on end with sick children.  We would be trapped at home with children who were either too sick to venture out or too contagious to expose to the world.

As soon as they would get better I would be beside myself with excitement to go to the library or music class.  One venture out into the world and we would inevitably be back home with the stomach bug or a cold.

Those were some dark days.

It’s hard to believe that things will get better but they do.  Preschool and kindergarten are the first glimmers of hope and things get progressively better from there.

When I see mothers at the grocery store or Target with babies I just look at them and can feel the depression from afar.

Before you have kids you think that going to the store with children will look like this:

hispanic_mom

In actuality the above picture will pretty much never occur.

For one, no mother (unless you are heavily medicated) would ever smile like that in a grocery store with children.

I spent many days in the store threatening them up and down each aisle.   I would basically jog through the store throwing goldfish and milk in my cart while anxiously praying that nobody started crying or shit their diaper.

This is what things eventually end up like from what I understand.

article-0-193BAFC200000578-605_634x478

Nothing is ever the same once you have children.

But they bring so much joy and parenthood is sooo amazing!”

I repeat. Nothing is ever the same.

To all of you expecting mothers that think that this whole motherhood thing is going to be so cute and fun…..think again.  I have warned you before - today I have a new message.

You should all be doing everything you can possibly do before this baby comes and ruins your life.

Go to Whole Foods and leisurely peruse the produce.

Go for a run or walk without a stroller and enjoy what it feels like to have your body and mind to yourself.

Listen to whatever you want to in the car and watch what you want on TV…it won’t be long before the Disney Channel takes over.

What you should do before you have kids is anything that is fun and enjoyable.

Even when you are pregnant you should do what is entertaining and fun for you…..not your fetus.

The other day I was waiting for my nails to dry at a local salon and was perusing literature that was left by an art studio.

I was shocked by what I saw.

Read carefully.

artflier

ART IN MOMMY’S TUMMY??!!

What the fucking hell?

Is the fetus going to finger-paint in your uterus?

Has the world gone insane?

I actually risked messing up my manicure to flip over the card and read more – because clearly this was a mistake.

fliercolor

So you are going to pay someone your hard-earned cash so that your fetus can paint??

ATTENTION EXPECTING MOTHERS!! THIS IS VERY VERY STUPID! FETUS’ CANNOT PAINT OR DO ARTS AND CRAFTS!

Does anyone actually believe that an embryo can create pottery or an oil painting?

Has everyone lost their goddamn minds?

Did I miss the information from my OB that fetus’ can participate in whatever activity a pregnant woman is doing?

Apparently in Reese's uterus it is 40 love...

Apparently in Reese’s uterus it is 40 love…

This fetus just did a Black Diamond slope....

This fetus just did a Black Diamond slope….

This fetus just read 50 Shades of Grey...

This fetus just read 50 Shades of Grey…

And this fetus….

ok...well....this fetus is actually a drunk whore...

ok…well….this fetus is actually a drunk whore…

There is no reason for any pregnant woman to do any class to benefit a fetus.  Certainly not a music or art class at the very least.

The only art you are doing before kids should look like this….

ghostclay

Enjoy this Valentine’s Day childless women!  Spice it up!

Do not under any circumstance waste any time.

Once you have kids – time will be a precious commodity.

This has been a public service announcement.

You’re welcome.

HAPPY BLOG ANNIVERSARY TO ME! HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY TO ALL!!

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

150-tmb

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,141 other followers

%d bloggers like this: