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Stopping to Smell the Tropical Breeze

During the school-year I get caught up with what’s happening in Goopville.

I find myself signing up for $20 spinning classes because I’m fat and desperate 

it’s the trendy thing…

I lust for new Louis Vuitton bags because it’s very durable and a good investment  I just want a new one…

There's never enough...

There’s never enough…

I go back and forth between being determined to work hard so that I can have a million pocketbooks and things and just coming home at night, enjoying time with my children and husband, drinking too much wine, and saying “fuck it.”

tina wine

And then I worry about if the schools are good enough – Should I be saving for private schools?

Should I work more and save one million dollars for fancy colleges for my kids?  Should I get a fancy car? More Botox? Fillers???

Something I have never really mentioned much on this blog is that our neighborhood is very flawed….Our neighbors are insane and the demographic is not what I would like it to be – (which is old Italian women frying up chicken cutlets.) That demo is hard to find – but the one we have is FAR away from that….. So I think it would be nice to move – into a new house – with more room that is away from these wretched neighbors.

I spend a lot of time thinking about my fat stomach that’s stretched out and fat from these horrible children.  I spend a lot of fruitless hours  hours carefully calculated to burn off the wine  

time that could be spent doing other things, spinning, running, ellipticalling, and other fucking bullshit that doesn’t make me skinny or happy.

Probably because I then go home and eat pizza and drink wine -but still.

It’s depressing.

So then I dwell on the fact that I am fat and wish that I could get liposuction….and that’s probably not great.

And I also dream about a beach house, a condo in Florida, a penthouse in New York city, plastic surgery, diamonds….

So what’s my point??

In the summer – everything changes.

I don’t want to work.

I want to be basking in the sunshine.

I want to be drinking a Corona outdoors with a sea breeze hitting my face.

I want to be with my kids, on the beach.

I want to sit in a beach chair and read my book for an hour or two straight and then jump into salty cold water when I get hot.

I don’t care if I wear rags.

I would take an outdoor shower for the rest of my life.

I barely wash my face, and all of my luxurious and expensive creams and makeups start to collect dust.

Because in the summer – I have the luxury of being at the beach and I realize what true happiness is….

It’s watching my children play DODGEBALL on the beach!! Like in the olden days – just children enjoying a game with a ball!!  When they came home this night – I said – “Did anyone cry when they got hit with a ball?” And they said ……



This looks fake – but it’s actually from 2015…And my heart soared when I saw this.

And then this past week my family celebrated our family tradition of Christmas Eve in July.  My aunt visits from Baltimore every summer and she brings with her a sauce-splattered recipe card from my deceased Italian grandmother.  It holds the sacred recipe of her Lobster Fra Diavlo sauce that she would make every Christmas Eve when we were growing up.

She makes this sauce every July 24th and we eat like beasts with reckless disregard for our waistlines – like good Italians.

If it was February – I would feel guilty about being fat and eating lots of carbs…..

But fuck that shit….


Eating my grandmother’s Christmas Eve sauce is the ultimate in happiness for me.

And just when I was starting to find the true meaning of happiness and throwing all of my Louis Vuitton bags into the fire….

My friend invited me to go on her float.

Yes…it’s essentially a large inflatable raft.  She said – “It’s huge! And we can just float on the water for hours!”

Sounds good to me….

It’s called a “Tropical Breeze.”

tropical breeze

There she is….

We had a great plan to float on the water – and we decided that since there was a built-in cooler in the middle of this heavenly float – it only made sense to have a happy hour.

“I think we should have cheese and crackers,” my friend suggested.

A bunch of us agreed, and we met at the shoreline and piled my son’s boogie board high with alcoholic beverages, cheese and crackers, olives, chips and dips.  We pushed the food and drinks carefully out into the ocean and then hopped on top of the delightful float.

We tied the float up to a buoy rope and floated in the sun.

We gazed at the shoreline at all of the people on the beach and said aloud several times while we ate cheese and drank vodka, “Everyone is so jealous of us right now…”

We had our phones for selfies and music….and people would swim up to us like we were on a yacht and ask if they could join our party….


It was in this blissful moment in the sun, that I had an epiphany.

“I am so happy right now!” I announced.

Everyone sighed in agreement,

“This is what real happiness is!  I don’t think that I own one Louis Vuitton bag that has brought me as much happiness as this Tropical Breeze has brought me!”

Everyone laughed and agreed.

Happiness is a tropical breeze, figuratively and literally.

If only I could remember this in the winter….


Yup – that’s a Mike’s Hard Strawberry Lemonade in my crotch…..

I have to just remember what’s important –

I have to remember that life with pasta and vodka and salt air is what truly makes my heart soar and I cannot let myself be swayed by winter confusions…..

I am going to work on this – and I am telling all of you so you can keep me honest.





pasta alcohol



This Helicopter is going down…

Recently I was chatting with friends and I prefaced a story with “Even though I blog about how crazy moms are…I am secretly a helicopter mother myself sometimes.”

A friend quickly quipped, “It’s no secret.”

I was taken off guard. Am I a helicopter mother without realizing it?

Why would she say such a thing.

I reflected on some instances with this particular person where she might find me an overbearing and overprotective parent.

One instance for sure is my hatred of sleepovers.  I guess my refusal to let my children sleep in strange homes that could have a viscous dog!! in strange beds that could have bed bugs!!  on strange pillows that could be filled with lice!!    with a bunch of strangers (for no apparent reason) strikes some people as odd.

I find that the parents who loves sleepovers are particularly put off and annoyed by my refusal, and on more than one occasion I have been basically bullied by the sleepover-requesting parents.

These parents that want my children to sleepover their homes with their adorable little children will argue back and forth with me endlessly trying to prove to me the merits of the sleepover.

They will pepper me with reasons why it is so important for children to experience sleepovers and ask me why I would deprive my children of such joy and entertainment incredulously, in a manner that suggests that I am an overprotective moron.

They basically make me feel as though I am a huge nerd and they are totally cool hip parents.


I chalked her comment referring to me as a “helicopter” up to the sleepover issue – but then….

I started to take notice.  I caught myself being super-helicopter-y on more than one occasion!

The nerve of me!

Especially in the mornings before school.

I would repeatedly find myself sending the boys back up the stairs to change their outfits, their socks, their hair….

When I checked myself – I couldn’t let go.

I could not let my kids go to school with bad hair or an unseasonable or wrinkled outfit or mismatched socks.

But is this “helicopter parenting” or “good parenting?”

Many times I have discussed how I think it’s important for kids to look presentable for school, to comb their hair and put on outfits that don’t suggest that they are homeless or insane.

“Cool” parents that “aren’t helicopters” often roll their eyes at me.


“Oh I don’t care what Buddy the Elf Tucker wears to school – I let him decide…..You have to choose your battles..” they say in their breezy way that indicates that I am a huge douchebag that cares about unimportant matters such as combed hair and wearing pants instead of shorts in the winter.

They roll their eyes at me and my overbearing helicopter-ness to say “You are overbearing and uncool and I am laid-back and we don’t own combs or mirrors and we are very very cool.”


It might requires a little bit of effort.  It might require a little bit of static or arguement in the morning – but it’s too ensure that your child learns about the importance of caring about how he presents himself.  Is it no longer necessary to match clothes?  I am pretty sure that when you go to corporate America you have to wear matching clothes and look presentable or you will go nowhere fast.

Let me know how this works out for Tucker on Wall Street....

Let me know how this works out for Tucker on Wall Street….

And after I assess and approve their appearance and I am actually going to let them leave for school …I do make them kiss and hug me for a long period of time.  I do hang on them and pretend I am crying and say “Don’t leave me!”

Is that helicopter-ish??

Sometimes if I have extra time to spare I say “What if one day someone wants to marry you and they say “I hate your mother?” Will you marry them? What will you dooooooo?”


My children are quite accustomed to my dramatics so they usually just give a quick peck on my cheek and say “I won’t marry anyone mom…” and run away towards the bus.

The other day after I went into a long scenario where his wife hates me and refuses to come to my house for any holidays I asked Michael “So what would you do?

He thought about it and said, “I know! I will tell her that I am going to the liquor store and then I will actually come to your house for a visit!” he answered thinking he had done some great problem-solving.

“Ok,” I relented,”But how about ask her why she hates me in the first place?”(A little over-bearing? Maybe…but it’s never too early to start a good relationship with your future daughter-in-law.)

I mean I can see where this might be considered a little helicopter-ish but for the most part ….

This is all normal mothering right???


And then there’s the matter of Sam’s third grade teacher for the fall.  I mean Michael’s third grade teacher was the worst living teacher on the planet.  She didn’t teach him one thing and she played movies so much that Michael famously stated in the spring of his 3rd grade year – “I can’t wait until third grade is over so that I can stop watching movies.”

So obviously, I met with the principal this spring to strong-arm her into promising that Sam would NOT have this horrible teacher.

I mean how could I let my little sweet (very smart!) angel knowingly go through the entire 3rd grade with a bad teacher?!

I mean if that’s helicoptering and that’s wrong then I don’t want to be right…..


So maybe I can be pegged as a helicopter in some ways.

But now it’s summer and I find myself letting go. When I let things go – it actually feels really good.

It makes me realize the error of my helicopter ways….

Quite frankly – there’s just not so much to worry about during the summer at the beach.  Life is easier. We don’t have sports or anything stressful to think about.

I can really loosen the reins a bit…..a lot….maybe too much.

The whole “swimming to the raft” incident was one example…..

This year more than ever – my children have found a bit of independence.  They are 8 and 9 and they are taking off with their friends in our small beach community and disappearing for hours at a time.

After dinner every night – they hop on their bikes and announce that they are going to the park or to a friend’s house and they will be back at dark.

Do I know where they are?

yes.  I mean I know they are nearby…   Well how far could they really go……I’m drunk.

Kind of.

I know that they are safe. I also know that a little freedom for them is priceless.

I also know that a little freedom for me is priceless.

To not have to worry about my children every second of my day is so luxurious!!

Because let’s face it.  The worry and fear and maintenance of being a helicopter is pretty intense and pretty draining.

The summer is a time when they can explore, play and establish friendships without their mother hovering over them.

And what will I do with all my spare time?

I’m not quite sure yet…..


I’ll think of something……



Time for me to take some of my own advice…

I am sorry that I am late to post this week – 

It’s because I made a seriously bad decision….

I traveled to Springfield, Massachusetts yesterday and I took my children to Six Flags New England today.

Last year I took them to Hershey Park and I vowed that I would never do something like that again…

I forgot I guess.

Here’s a reminder of that horrific trip…and I promise to have some fresh material next Sunday – XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Well this week I decided to take the kids away for a couple of days with my friend, Jane and her children.

I have always heard great things about Hershey Park and I thought it would be a great place for two little boys and for two girlfriends who love chocolate.  Every time I told someone we were going – they would tell me how wonderful and magical it was.  “The kids will love it!” everyone assured me.

Many people have also suggested more adventurous trips for the two boys – like the Grand Canyon – but I thought this would be a logical first step.

I imagined a magical place with chocolate fountains and everyone told me that as you entered into the town of Hershey you could actually smell chocolate in the air.  There were tons of rides for the kids and a water park.  Basically it would be a wonderful adventure and would secure my ranking as “Best Mom Ever.”

Ok well first of all as we were getting close to the Hershey gates, after driving for 5 1/2 hours I rolled down my windows with excitement.  We all stuck our heads out the car windows.  Maybe the factory was closed that day – or maybe fresh landscaping had just occurred but all we smelled was manure.

We were off to a great start.

Off we went to the amusement park.  We started off on a few rides and we did one pretty tame rollercoaster.  As we got further into the park we realized that several of the rides were closed. On one ride Jane and Michael waited in a half hour-long line before being told that the coaster was broken.

Michael the daredevil of the group, was getting frustrated.  We came upon a very unusual ride where you get strapped into what looks like a rollercoaster seat and then you go down a straight rail, practically at the speed of light.

We watched group after group get catapulted forward at lightning speeds into a tunnel out of sight.

“Please!! Please can I do that one?” Michael pleaded.

“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly as I watched people’s heads jolt back from the excessive speed.


“Yes! Please!” he begged.

I relented and Jane agreed to go on with him.

We watched them get catapulted forward and waited for them to get off the ride.  They had disappeared.  We peered through the tunnel and under the trees that were blocking our view and I realized with horror that in fact the ride didn’t end with just a straight shot – but instead went on to become one of the most insane rollercoasters I had ever seen in my life.

Oopsie...there goes Michael.

Oopsie…there goes Michael.

After that whole fiasco we decided to have lunch and head over to the water park.

This part of the park reminded me of other hellish places I have been where water is squirting out from fifteen million places and a huge bucket above the area fills up with water and then tips over and drenches everyone with a tidal wave.   We were hot from milling about in the blazing 90 degree heat, so we thought it would be a good break.

As we approached we soon realized that there would absolutely be no way to watch our children.


The kids chose the longest slide and we agreed to let them go all together up the stairs to wait in line for that particular purple slide and we would wait on the ground for them.  The line was long and our skin was burning as we waited for 15 minutes while they ascended the stairs.  As I peered around there were a lot of unsavory characters in ill-fitting bathing suits.  I slipped off my flip-flops and waded in a cold puddle to cool off, counting the minutes until we could leave this area.

Fifteen more minutes passed and we looked up into the sun trying to find their little bodies on the stairwell.  We spotted them and realized they hadn’t moved ahead much.

Another fifteen minutes passed and we could no longer see them and we were starting to get nervous.

“I’m going to go the bottom of the slide to wait for them! This is taking way too long!” I told my friend with despair.

Human beings of all shapes and sizes came one after another shooting out from the slide, but not our children.


Finally, after one hour of waiting we could see our kids right at the top of the stairs, up next to come down the slide.  I walked up close so I could get a nice picture of them coming down the long-awaited slide.

But what was this that came shooting down?

This wasn’t one of our children….I took a closer look as a woman came tumbling down on her back in a big splash, legs spread wide……with NO BATHING SUIT BOTTOM ON!!!!  She leaned down and grabbed her bottoms that had slipped down around her ankles and pulled it back up.

I almost died.

Then she just walked back towards the line to do it again like nothing happened....

Then she just walked back towards the line to do it again like nothing happened….

I looked at my friend in despair – “But wait – I think our kids our next – that means – her bits and pieces just rubbed all the way down the slide!” I screeched in horror.

“Yup,” Jane said laughing as the kids came shooting down, “Here they come in the vagina tunnel…”

That was enough of that.

“Come on kids – a few more rides and then we can go to the Chocolate Museum.” I said wrapping the kids in towels and shuffling them out of the water park.

“But – we only did one ride!” the kids cried.

We ignored them and did a few more rides, even though we waited in two more lines!! that shut down the ride while we were mid-line!

Finally we headed out of the park and made our way towards “Chocolate World,” which was what I had been dreaming of all day. We were to go on a tour of the chocolate factory.

I knew for sure this whole day of torture would end with a delightful cruise down a chocolate river…

I couldn't wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey's chocolate at the end....

I couldn’t wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey’s chocolate at the end….

Only the tour was a fake-ass tour with barrels of fake liquid and a fake story about how chocolate is made….. I couldn’t help but think along the tour – “Where is the barrel of high fructose corn syrup??”


This is fucking bullshit -Where is Gene Wilder?????

The kids enjoyed the tour and didn’t seem to notice that it was completely absurd and stupid. When we hopped off our beautiful chocolate river boat  motorized tour cart – I thought to myself at least we will receive a delicious piece of chocolate at the end of all of this.



We peeled out of that Hershey Park so fast gnawing on our pomegranate balls in disgust.

The next time someone tells me some place is “wonderful” I am going to have to think long and hard about this.

The first thing I am crossing off my list is the Grand Canyon.  Many people have told me how “amazing” it is there.

Guess what? I am not falling for this bullshit anymore.

I am not riding some filthy goat up a mountain and looking down into a ditch where I can fall to my death at any moment…..

I’m thinking “stay-cations” are more my speed.




Places you won’t find me this Summer

This week I am finally able to get into the summer mode.

On Wednesday, my family left for three days for a special trip.


I stayed home.

When I first met Mr. Gaga he would speak fondly of his childhood camping trips with his sister and parents.  I firmly let him know in no uncertain terms that camping would not happen anymore if we chose to marry and have children.

Clearly, I am not equipped mentally or physically, to reside in a nylon facility with a rocky dirt bed, where I could be eaten by a bear at any moment.

I will never understand how such a trip could be enjoyable.

So off Mr. Gaga went this week with his father and my two beautiful safe children.  They were plucked from the safety of their beds and and their home and driven off into the wilderness to sleep in the great outdoors.

They had a blast. They played cards and catch and swam.  They didn’t bathe for four days, ate a lot of junk food and roasted marshmallows on a real campfire like they do in the movies.

I enjoyed my time at home watching Real Housewives with reckless abandon in the air-conditioning.


Camping is not the only summer activity that I refuse to do.  There are several other activities that Americans do regularly under the guise of “summer leisure” that I find absolutely horrific.

For example:


I’m sorry but if you know full well that people are getting their legs bitten off regularly in waters near you, perhaps it’s time to just sit in your beach chair and read a book.

At what point do you disregard the huge signs letting you know that you are entering into shark-infested waters and just go take a swim?

This is called - don't put one toe in the water. Fly a kite. Read your magazine.  Take a bike ride. Don't be a stupid douchebag...

This is called – don’t put one toe in the water. Fly a kite. Read your magazine. Take a bike ride. Don’t be a stupid douchebag…

You are entering into the sea, where sharks reside and they consider you lunch.

Have you seen Jaws?  You will not beat the system dudes…

When Mr. Gaga first came to the beach on the Connecticut shoreline where I spent all of my summers, he was horrified.

When you grow up swimming in the Long Island sound you don’t realize that it’s not up to par.  Apparently to any individual who associates the beach with the ocean, it’s a huge disappointment.

The water is very still and devoid of surf.  It can be a bit green and murky and filled with seaweed.

“What the fuck is this? A pond?” Mr. Gaga asked incredulously the first time we stepped onto the pebbly sand.

“It’s the Long Island sound.” I shrugged.

“There’s no waves.” he said with disgust.

He’s right.

There’s no waves.

But guess what else there’s not…..



I fell for this Willy Wonka hoax last summer.  Expecting to be met with the smell of chocolate in the air and riding a tube down a lazy river filled with Hershey’s Special Dark, I was in for a rude awakening.

I couldn't wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey's chocolate at the end....

I couldn’t wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey’s chocolate at the end….

Meanwhile – it was all bullshit and the tour was fake with fake chocolate pouring out of fake machines.  We were devastated.  To add insult to injury – at the end of the tour we were promised a delightful chocolate treat.

We were carelessly handed this by a disinterested Hershey tour guide…



After that disastrous trip – I vowed I would not do these short little jaunts.  The only time I would take a summer adventure it would have to be good.

But I am just not wowed by any trips that other people seem to find enjoyable, especially…


I mean I am sure people might miss the news sometimes.  So maybe you might not realize what you are getting yourself into…

But did everyone miss this report?


Or this one?


Or this one?


Does this actually appeal to people??

I cannot think of a worse fate than to be stuck out to sea in a huge vessel filled with sick humans.


This seems very unpleasant – yet millions of people continue to go on cruises.

It’s shocking.


I hear people often mentioning summer adventures involving the Grand Canyon.

I cannot think of something more terrifying.

“Let’s see – what should we do this summer?”

“I know! Let’s drive a goat up winding trails where we can fall to our deaths at any moment and then we can look at a huge dry dusty hole.”



I think I am best suited to just stay put in my beloved Long Island sound.

There’s just nothing like a staycation….




Sea Salt in the Wound

Every year to kick off the summer – one of my oldest friends and I hit the beach with our kids.

We grew up loving the beach together and we expect the same from our children.

We always envision this day to be us sitting in our beach chairs reading magazines and catching up while our children swim, make sand castles and entertain themselves all day.

This is us our dreams.

This is us …in our dreams.

Inevitably as soon as we sit down they are bothering us.

“We are bored – can you dig a hole?” “My eyes have sand in them.” “I got stung by a jellyfish.” “Sam’s not sharing the shovel.” “Can we go crabbing?” “I’m hungry.”

This is what actually ends up happening....

This is what actually ends up happening….

And then just when we think everyone is happy and entertained…..”Can we get an ice cream? Can we get an ice cream? The ice cream man is here – Can we get an ice cream?” repeats endlessly by all four children until we can’t take it anymore and throw cash at them.

Then once they eat their ice cream they come around again peppering us with more requests.

“Can we go to the raft? Will you go to the raft with us? Can we go to the raft by ourselves? When will you come to the raft with us? How old do we have to be to go to the raft alone? When can we go to the raft today?”

It’s fucking endless.

The raft is a floating plastic square out in the middle of the Long Island Sound.  It is a destination that is hard to get to.  The water gets deeper and deeper and colder and colder as one approaches the raft.

I grew up going to this beach and going to the same raft myself.  It can be scary.  The clarity of the water, which isn’t great in Connecticut as it is – goes away completely as you go into deeper waters. I can remember last year  as a child pulling myself on the rope in the dark cold water and having a fleeting thought that a shark could be beneath me and I would never know until it was too late.

“Can’t we just let them all go together?” my friend pleaded with me after the kids asked us to go to the raft for the tenth time.  “The water is so cold – we can’t go with them.”

“No way.” I answered definitively.

After five more requests she was really pressuring me, “My daughter is almost 12 -she will watch them, just let them go so we can relax!” she begged.

So obviously I would never let my 8 and 9-year-old go to the raft alone.

I mean we quit swimming lessons this year because of the naked old men in the locker room.

I could never let them go that far into the ocean alone….

I tried to read my US Weekly and enjoy the sun after saying no 50 times.

“Mom will you come to the raft with us?”

What can I say? I am weak.

I am tired.

And I just want my children to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.


So we agreed that all of the children would hold onto the rope that went from the shore to the raft the whole time and that they would each have a raft.  I told the eleven-year-old child that she was in charge and directly responsible for any drownings or shark attacks.

All of the children agreed to the terms and off they went into the deep blue sea without any adults.

I watched them intently and made sure that they reached their destination and then I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

I saw them hanging out with the other kids on the raft and I was proud of them.  Dare I say it, I was proud of myself.  I mean they should be able to go to the raft.  I have spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on swimming lessons so that they could survive in deep waters.

There they are - safe and sound.

There they are – safe and sound.

I sat back and read my magazine.

Life was great.

I looked up periodically and noticed after about twenty minutes that they had headed back to shore.

They arrived back to shore alive with no shark bites.

They walked over to us with their boogie boards full of life and independence.

“Great job guys!” I greeted them ecstatically.

“Mom there were kids on the raft that were so bad!” they answered as they reached for their towels.

“Why – what happened?” I asked casually.

“Well they were talking fresh,” the eleven year old reported wisely.

“What were they saying?” me and my friend asked with amusement.

The eleven-year old reached over to whisper in my ear.  I waited for her to say a curse or something benign that would not rattle me.  I mean clearly nothing could rattle me because cursing is a sport that I excel in regularly.

I leaned in happily ready to hear whatever these little raft children said.


She told me quietly what a boy had said loudly on the raft for everyone to hear.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and fell off of my beach chair into the sand.

I blacked out from the horror.

top view of a slim woman is lying on the beach

When the children resuscitated me – I made her repeat herself.

“The boy said, “I’m going to F%*^& that girl in her P*#$&y”

I mean……

Here I am thinking I am letting my children loose into the ocean to survive the world of waves and sharks and tides….

Only to be met with the evils of teenage American sex-crazed children.

So what’s the lesson here?
I’m still not sure.

Is the lesson – let go. You can’t control everything.  Let your children go out into the world.  Let them swim. Let them experience the earth and the ocean and all that encompasses and you cannot possibly control everything that they will encounter…

Or is the lesson – never let them go.  Do not leave their side. Do not let them swim away into the sunset – enjoying and experiencing the world even if it includes un-pleasantries.

I am really not sure.

But for now I think they won’t be going back alone anytime soon.


Making Mr. Gaga

I am just such a typical narcisstic blogger that I sometimes forget that the stars of this blog  my life – have feelings too.  They are real people.
Mr. Gaga is one of those people – he is a real live person that I am very thankful to have in my life.  So in honor of Father’s Day I am re blogging this post from two years ago – that describes how he came to be “Mr. Gaga.”

Because it’s Father’s Day I had to not ask Mr. Gaga to do anything, I had to not complain about anything in the house.

I had to not be bitchy or snippy.

I had to bite my tongue when he was watching Rocky in the middle of the day for no apparent reason, and I had to smile robotically when he said he had to go to my brother’s house at 2 o’clock in the afternoon “because smoking wings takes hours and we need to start early to have them ready for dinner.”

As a result I am totally mentally drained.

This week I am offering a very short and sweet tale.

Mr. Gaga wasn’t always Mr. Gaga.

He used to have his own hopes and dreams that didn’t include me.

Even after we were dating for a while, he repeatedly attempted to break it off.

“I don’t think we should go out anymore….we have to break up.” he would say.

“No.” I would answer back.

“I am going to go out with other people.” he would plead.

“Yeah, no…’re not.” I would calmly answer.

“I don’t like you.” he would say when he was at the end of his rope.

“Yes you do…you love me.” I would answer back.

It wasn't that I was completely was just that I knew we were meant to be....

It wasn’t that I was completely insane…it was just that I knew we were meant to be….

Finally when nothing he would say would stick he would just throw his hands up and say “Ok fine – forget it.”

I was always making this poor guy do things that he didn’t want to do.

I had visions of romance and love and I would make him to take me to fancy restaurants, buy me fancy gifts, write me fancy letters.

I was 19.

One night around the time that he kept trying to break up with me, I had planned a romantic night in watching movies in my college dorm while all of our friends were out at a bar.

We were about to start the movie, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

When I came back Mr. Gaga was missing.


I looked out the window.

This guy was so determined to get away from me, he jumped out a second story window, landed in some bushes and I could see him running down the street towards the bar.

Thinking quick on my feet I tossed aside my lounge clothes and put on my “Break up shirt.”

*Because Mr. Gaga was frequently breaking up with me, I had special clothes I wore during tumultuous times, called “break-up shirts” that basically allowed me to go out naked, ensuring I would receive much attention from men out at the bar. 

Oh well, I'll just drink this whole bottle of vodka and I am sure someone else in this bar will be happy to watch a movie with me....

Oh well, I’ll just drink this whole bottle of vodka and then I am sure I will find someone else in this bar who will be happy to watch a movie with me….

In the end, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t manage to escape.

He stopped trying after a while, and we were in love.

Then we had kids, and though we still love each other, things can get hectic around here and sometimes I yell at him or act a smidge bitchy.

Also I started a mom blog in which he stars as “Mr. Gaga.”   I mean what more could a guy want?

Sometimes he might secretly dream of jumping out that window, running like the wind into the night and drinking shots and beers until he can’t stand up.

Thankfully, he no longer acts on it.

He’s learned over time that there’s no use trying to escape….he will be Mr. Gaga forever.




Nutella and Pepperoni here we come…

The kids have 2 days left of school.

Many mothers dread the end of school but I welcome it.  It means summer is near.  It means that there are days on the horizon that involve a good book on the beach while my children play in the sun and surf.  This is welcome change after we all had a long cold winter spent in some sort of institutionalized situation that involved fluorescent lighting.

After months of torture involving school PTO, horrible weather, spending hours and hours watching wretched baseball and basketball and soccer games, it’s time for some relaxation time!!  There’s a whole lot of bullshit shenanigans that go on during the school year….and I am done.

For example, I am no longer making anyone in this household a lunch.  Any of my longtime reader know how I feel about modern day “Lunch-making.”

When I had little babies if someone had complained to me about making their kids a lunch before they went to school for 8 solid hours, I would have slapped them.  Yet somehow it really sucks making lunches…it’s arduous and horrible.  It’s organic and peanut-free and packed in BPA Free pouches and healthy and perfect. FUCK YOU FAT KIDS AND MICHELLE OBAMA NOW WE CAN’T SEND TWINKIES AND CHIPS.     It’s just very labor-intensive.

ln the old days you could throw a PB&J in a brown sack.

Now some fucking asshole is sending their kid to school with this:

Is that a CAR? Made out of a piece of Wonder bread and a two grapes and a cheese??? Seek counseling.

Is that a CAR?  Or TITS?   I can’t quite figure this out – but it seems to be something made out of a piece of Wonder bread and a two grapes and a cheese??? Seek counseling  crazy lunch making mothers.

When I was complaining recently, a friend mentioned that she never made a lunch for any of her children, that range in age from 12 to 5!

“Mrs. Bell doesn’t make lunch for any of her kids!” I informed my lazy useless children that evening, “So maybe I should stop making lunch for you guys this summer…”

“I can make myself a Nutella sandwich everyday,” Michael said with a shrug.

“Yeah my sandwich will be Nutella with fluff and pepperoni….and I can eat Doritos,” Sam added seriously.

I pictured the dirty kitchen, everything covered with fluff, coupled with the extremely large consumption of red dyes and sugars in the described lunch.

"It's a deal," I said, "I will never make your lunch again."

“It’s a deal,” I said, “I will never make your lunch again.”

Laundry is another whole situation that will get better when school is over.  It’s not enough that everyone in the Gaga household has something to cover their butts and peeps in public.


These motherfuckers need specific items each morning!!!

“Mom can I have underwear?” “Mom can I have socks that match?”

I am just constantly peppered with stupid questions.

So I direct them to the baskets of clean laundry that I haven't folded yet.....

So I direct them to the baskets of clean laundry that I haven’t folded yet…..

On top of it – I am expected to have their baseball and soccer and football and basketball uniforms readily available and clean.

On top of that! Apparently boys wear “cups” that are constantly tossed in with the dirty laundry.  Said “cups” need to be found at a moment’s notice when the child needs to go to his practice or game.  This “cup” locator job is apparently my problem as laundress.

Maybe I should lose all the cups and let them experience life without a cup.

They might keep better track of things…


Now that all of the sports are done with, the stress of laundry deadlines is gone. I don’t care what people wear in the summer, I don’t care if they match, and better yet it’s flip-flop season so socks won’t be an issue again until September.

The other thing I won’t miss is the homework.

I have stated before that I don’t know how to do the math homework of my 2nd and 4th graders.

Even though I can’t really help them on paper, in theory I can help them by chasing them around telling them to do their homework or they will be huge homeless losers.  I also help them to understand the instructions of their homework and I am also often held responsible by teachers to “check their work.”

During the summer I don’t give a fuck about learning.  It struck me the other day at the book store when I saw a huge selection of workbooks that are available for “good” parents who make their children do math homework over the summer.


Do you think that a girl doing a wheelie on her bike surrounded by numbers is going to trick me into becoming a math teacher over the summer?? It’s not.

I am certainly not doing any workbooks over the summer with my children.  If they forget everything they ever learned over the summer – is that my problem? No it’s not.  It’s their teacher’s problem.

I purposely did not become a teacher.

I also purposely live in America.

If I wanted my children to learn and be smart during the summer I would live in China.  I purposely live in America so that we can eat Nutella pepperoni sandwiches and spend the summer being fat and dumb and forgetting everything we ever knew.

I am looking forward to it.




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