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Author Archives: Lady Googoogaga

Failing at Wife and Life


This week I failed miserably as a mother.

I had a long weekend of work and I was looking forward to a day off on Monday.  Mr. Gaga had a lot of big important meetings at work so he got up and left early.  I got up early too – ready to start the day.  I had a “to-do” list a mile long.

Michael complained of a cramp as he put on his sneakers to leave for the bus.

“I’m sure it’s fine – maybe you just have to poop?” I suggested.

He declined my offer to let him have some poop time and I would drive him to school, so off he went.

I headed out to my spinning class.  I usually don’t bring my phone with me but just to be safe, I brought it with me to my bike so I could be sure not to miss a call from the school.

I did receive a couple of phone calls from a strange number, but ignored them, thinking they were telemarketers.

I enjoyed a much-needed workout and at the end of the class while I was stretching I grabbed my phone.  The mystery number had called twice and left a message and there was a text from Mr. Gaga.

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I don’t know about your household, but in my household, there’s nothing worse than hot lava.

It is presumed to be the most deadly and treacherous substance that should obviously be avoided at all costs.

My children have nearly destroyed all of my furniture from jumping frantically onto couches and chairs to avoid “FAKE HOT LAVA.”

So when I read Mr. Gaga’s text I nearly threw up myself.

I was in deep shit, and there was nothing I could do or say to explain myself.

I ran for my life out of the spinning studio.

I called Mr. Gaga as I peeled out and headed home.

“What’s going on?” I asked trepidously.

“Well Michael threw up at school so the nurse called you twice and you didn’t answer your phone. So then he threw up again and so she called me.  So I excused myself from my meeting to go get him.”

“But it was a number that I didn’t recognize!” I defended myself.

“Just get home.” he answered shortly.

I was totally fucked.

And what could I say?

That my spinning class is more important than my motherly duties?

I am not even skinny!!!

Had I known all of this trouble was brewing - I would have gotten off of my bike and gone home!!

Had I known all of this trouble was brewing – I would have gotten off of my bike and gone home!!

Well my punishment for my neglectful ways was to be stuck in the house with Michael while he vomited every 20-30 minutes.

After he had thrown up 13 times (I counted) – I call the doctor to see if this was normal.

They suggested that I spoon-feed him Gatorade, one teaspoon every ten minutes to make sure that he wouldn’t die.

DAMN YOU UNIVERSE!!

Last week I blogged about how I silently judge parents who let their children drink sports drinks regularly.

I was stranded at home and Mr. Gaga wasn’t due home until 9 PM – “Hmm, I wonder if I called any of those Gatorade parents  and asked for a Gatorade if they would lend me one..” I thought.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I held out for Mr. Gaga.

Michael lived and after two solid days of Lysol-ing the house and bleaching toilets and towels and sheets – I was ready for the mental institution.

On Wednesday I went to work and was starting to feel better.

That was short-lived.

That night, Sam came home with a homework assignment to “write a biography about a parent.”

“I’ll wait for Dad,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

“Well Dad isn’t coming home until very late,” I answered, “I think you better do your story about me.”

He was not happy.

I can’t say I blame him.

Let’s face it. As Sam pointed out, Mr. Gaga could once throw a fastball at 90 mph.  I have nothing that is even remotely as cool as that.

During dinner we tossed around some information.

“So what should I say? She works at the mall?” he asked innocently, while simultaneously plummeting my soul and self-confidence into the toilet.

“I don’t work for the mall, love muffin, I work as a consultant for a company that requires me to go to different stores to offer my superior consulting skills.” I answered calmly.

“Um…yeah, I’m not putting that.” he answered with a laugh.

“Well would you rather people think I am just a mall worker? Like I work at the LEGO Store or Taco Bell?” I demanded.

“Oh yes! Can I put that?” he asked earnestly.

“NO!” I screeched.

“How about if you say I am a blogger and people read my blog all across the world?” I said proudly.

“No Mom, nobody even knows or cares about a blog.” he said matter-of-factly.

There was no convincing him that his mother had done anything important or had anything important to offer.  It was devastating.

drugaddict

I was dejected.

He was right after all.  If I died tomorrow – what would my obituary say?

“What if our obituary just says we are a wife and a mother?” I asked my best friend desperately the next morning.

“That’s ok – we are making them good people…and I just know that they have a good dinner everyday and that when they go to bed at night their sheets are clean and they smell fresh.” she said simply.

That’s just not enough for me.

In the end, I spiraled into a deep depression when the best fact of Sam’s entire biography was about food.

pasta

Why can’t this make me happy?

I wish this was enough for me to feel good about, but delicious macaroni and clean sheets cannot possibly be why I was put on this earth.

At the end of the story, Sam, sensing my despair, added a note.

sentiment

Am I just the worst mother?

Even though that helped to lessen the blow – I am still not satisfied with my place in the world.

Why can’t making pasta and being a good mother suffice?

I failed at being a wife and a mother and a productive member of society this week…

It can only go up from here!

Thankfully, I have the ability to drink wine and imagine myself to be quite spectacular during those shiraz-soaked moments…

I am actually Mrs. America......

I am actually Mrs. America……

WELL THE FACTS ARE WHAT THEY ARE – AND ONE THING I KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT I AM THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA SO PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO CONFIRM MY DELUSIONS…XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Balloon Etiquette and other confusions of polite society


I am just sick of everyone being so sanctimonious all of the time.

I know that I am a little rough around the edges.

I don’t necessarily follow the rules.

I know all of this because I am a smart woman.  I also know it because people love to tell me aloud that I am doing or saying something wrong regularly.

This week a close friend of mine accidentally let go of a balloon, purposely let go of a balloon threw a shitload of golden balloons into the sky in a parking lot of a restaurant.  The balloons apparently went into the power lines in just the right fashion that they made a huge explosion and made all of the power go out at said restaurant.

Now clearly nobody could ever know that such a thing was possible.

But now we learned an important lesson – This…

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Equals this…

wirefireAnd apparently bad things happen after that…

When I was relaying this story to my book club of six women they all just stared blankly at me.

“So everyone knows that proper balloon etiquette is that when you are in the out-of-doors and you don’t want a bunch of balloons any more, then the obvious choice is to just let go of the strings and let them go into the sky – right?” I said as I finished the story.

Crickets chirped while the women politely sipped their wine.

“Hello? So you all let balloons go into the sky right?” I demanded.

“No…I would never do that,” someone offered.

“What?” I asked incredulously. “Should she have grabbed a pair of tweezers from her purse and popped all of the balloons and thrown them into a recycle bin somewhere?” I demanded.

“Yes…” they all agreed.

What the fuck?

“No!! Proper unwanted balloon protocol is to let said balloon loose into the sky,” I argued.

“Well it’s not good for the environment…” they countered.

“The balloons could get into trees,” someone said.

“Who cares?!” I screeched.

I can’t believe that everyone is so high and mighty about these kind of issues.   Balloons going into the sky can be ceremonial – I know a mother who sends pacifiers into the sky on balloon strings for pacifier fairies.  I mean there are just a million reasons to send a balloon into the sky.

And this is one of many actions that people feel the need to announce are wrong….

Here are some others:

#1 Spitting out Gum

Once I was on a playdate with a woman for the first time.  We went to the library in our town center with the kids and when we were walking to lunch I casually spit my gum into a bush. She screeched her stroller to a halt and stared at me in horror.

This is where we were....just so we are clear...

This is where we were….just so we are clear…

“A duck could step in that gum!” she yelled at me.

“Oookay… well I don’t think there are any ducks here.” I answered sheepishly.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t really give two fucks about ducks that are strolling around at Barnes and Noble like fucking assholes.  If ducks are at Barnes and Noble then they might have bigger troubles than a sticky toe.

“You cannot spit gum out like that!” she lectured while we walked to lunch.

“Oh…okay – I didn’t know.” I answered quietly.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed quietly in my head.

I told a friend this story and she said a guy she was dating said the same thing.

Is there a gummed foot duck epidemic I am not aware of??

There are not always garbage cans readily available when I want to spit out my gum – sorry folks.

#2 Movies your kids watch…

During a series of snow storms/ice/sub-zero temperatures this season in Connecticut I found myself listlessly wandering around my home thinking of ways to get through the day.

We ran out of movies that the kids wanted to watch so we resorted to our trusty list of 80’s movies that Mr. Gaga and I enjoyed as children.

I picked one and texted a friend that I was at the end of my rope and letting the kids watch “Footloose.”

text2

I am sorry – all of the 80’s movies are rated PG and we all watched them when we were 5, so why is it that today’s children can only watch Frozen and Lion King until they are 15?
That day I was guilted into pressing stop and choosing another movie.

After weeding through all of the online reviews and censors we settled on “Mrs. Doubtfire.”

The next day while talking to my best friend reviewing how we survived the snow day I mentioned our cinematic choice.

There was silence on the other end.

“You chose a movie about a cross dresser for your boys to watch?” she asked incredulously.

“Well it’s a family movie and he only cross-dressed so he could see his kids!” I defended myself.

“I would never choose that for my sons to watch…” she countered.

Will they turn out to be cross-dressing transsexuals?  If we had watched Footloose would they have danced in a barn and then made out with someone? If we watch Adventures in Babysitting will they say “Don’t Fuck with the babysitter?” If we watch Karate Kid will they karate chop people at a Halloween party?  If we watch Ferris Bueller will they make a fake body and skip fourth grade?

I mean where do the concerns end??

Shut up everybody.

#3 – Don’t let your kids leave their car seat

I have huge male children.

When they were technically supposed to still be in booster seats I think I threw them in the garbage in a fit of despair.

Maybe the cut off was 80 pounds and they were 70 – I don’t remember.

Shortly after that we would go to baseball practice with Michael and all of his friends were arriving in the front passenger seat and he begged to be allowed to sit in the front seat.

We decided it would be fine.

Now when we arrive places many parents are horrified.

A mom who has a child in the same grade as Michael recently said “Well my daughter is still in her booster.”

Okay – well I hope everyone knows that their daughters will have their full periods and be seated in a booster seat.

I find this ridiculous and embarrassing. Why should I tote around my humongous child that has body odor and a foot the size of my couch in a booster seat?

I won’t do it.

Judge all you want.

carst

Right now this child is having a wet dream in his booster seat…

#4 – Don’t swear around kids…

The ship has sailed for that around here.

I understand it is not appropriate.

I understand it is frowned upon to curse.

But I cannot help myself.

And let’s face it.  This is not the 1950’s.  Most people that I know swear.

Most people I know occasionally swear around their kids.

Personally, I am completely desensitized to swearing.  I mean what does the word “fuck” even mean?

Why is it bad?

I think it’s a perfect and delightful way to get my message across.

But somehow – I inevitably will be chatting with a mother within earshot of our children and I will say something like “Oh I hate that guy – he’s a huge fucking dickhead,” and the mother will run to cover her children’s ears and then faint.

Really?

I always apologize to the children that are present!

What more should I do?

Should I put myself on the cross? Should I be burned at the stake?

FUCK.

THAT.

#5 – Saying I am fat.

At a playdate this week (apparently I have too many playdates…duly noted) I declined a snack and announced “Oh no – I can’t eat that – I’m fat.”

The other mother looked shocked. “Don’t say that around your kids!” she said in a hushed tone.

“Why not?” I whispered back leaning towards her.

“They can’t know that I am overweight?”

“No! Don’t say that! You are not fat! It will create poor body image for the children!” she answered knowingly.

“But I have a fat stomach…and if I continue to make poor choices I will get fatter and fatter…it’s a true health hazard…why is this top-secret information?” I questioned.

“You shouldn’t say that in front of the kids!” she laughed.

But why? Why can’t I announce the truth?

Why can’t I say that consuming large amounts of wine and cheese results in a very plump body that is prone to diabetes and high cholesterol and a propensity for wearing yoga pants?

Should we not warn young children to not go down this road?

I don’t understand the problem.

Should we just let these children balloon up into diabetic proportions and never mention anything?

Wake up America!!

Wake up America!!

In closing – everyone needs to just calm down.

When I see you giving your children huge Gatorades filled with dyes and poison do I tell you to stop?  When you hand your babies your phones to play with – do I tell you that they are radiating into their bodies and causing brain cancer?  When you allow your children to play Call of Duty do I tell you that one day he will be a violent drug addict?

When I saw this father at the local Target did I tell him that this was not an appropriate mode of transportation for his child?

target

No.

I didn’t.

I do what any normal person would do.

I took a picture with my iphone and silently judged.

That’s what you are supposed to do.

You think all of your superior thoughts and you scold the person and tell them they are a huge douchebag…

IN YOUR HEAD.

You silently judge.

Please learn to silently judge people.

And shut the fuck up.

We will all be better for it.

THINK WHAT YOU WANT ABOUT MY GUM SPITTING AND MY MOVIE SELECTION BUT PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW BECAUSE I AM FUCKING FUNNY….XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Sunday Funday


A few weeks ago my kids came home from their Wednesday CCD class with filthy black foreheads that signaled me that it was the dreaded Ash Wednesday.

I am sure there is some religious significance to this day besides the dirty forheads – but to me it means that my children that i demand that i give something up for Lent.

“Mom -you should give up swearing…You swear like every day – and it’s inappropriate,” suggested Sam.

“How about wine!” Michael offered, “You drink wine every day too!”

It is obvious what I would choose from those two choice if you know me.

ozzy bench

So I can only drink wine on Sundays until Easter.

So when my friend Nelly came over today to pick up her son and spontaneously offered to share a bottle of wine with me during a time that I would otherwise be blogging –

It’s obvious what I would chose….

So here’s a nice blog from my past – This is the annual St. Patrick’s Day post:

Since I am a little bit Irish -I like to post it each year in anticipation of the blessed March 17th event…

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:) XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Taking Responsiblity


Does anyone know how to make a child become inherently responsible?

Everyday I wake up to an alarm on my phone that I set in order to wake up in time to get my kids up for school.  I wake up Sam and then spend the next fifteen minutes screaming for Michael to wake up.  I pull clothes out of his drawer and throw them at his head and then rip his covers off.  I give him another couple shakes before heading downstairs to make lunches.

Research has shown that if I don’t spend the first few minutes of my day in this manner, then Michael will come strolling downstairs a few minutes before the bus is due to arrive looking like a homeless lunatic.

I'm ready for school!!

I’m ready for school!!

While I pack lunches and try to simultaneously make coffee, I repeatedly yell at the kids to grab something to eat.  Otherwise they will just sit at the table waiting for a waitress to magically appear with their bowl of cereal.

They are never able to get their shit together.

NEVER.

ferris

Often in the interest of time I will end up throwing a waffle in the toaster or grabbing the milk for their cereal – because they just cannot seem to get their bodies to move fast enough, and if they miss that bus, now my morning will be really screwed.

I will at some point pour myself a cup of coffee and take one heavenly sip.

After they finally eat, I have to remind them to brush their teeth and make their beds.  Even though I have been telling them to do this since they were three, I have to remind them. EVERY. DAY.

In addition, I now have to remind Michael to put on deodorant so that he won’t smell like a farm animal at school and alienate his friends.

I spend 8:03 to 8:06 chasing both children around with library books, folders, and lunch bags while screaming at them to put on hats and gloves.  At 8:06 we switch gears into full panic mode.  I open the front door and peer out to see if the bus has arrived.

“HURRY UP!!” I scream frantically while they tie their shoes and strap on their backpacks.

Once they are out the door I go back to my coffee that is now an ice cold cup of sludge and pour it into the sink.

That’s how I start my day….every living day.

Will it ever change?

Will some day arrive when my children know what to do??

At what age will they be when I no longer have to ask them if they brushed their teeth?

When they arrive home the panic and pestering picks up where we left off.

I ask them to get started on their homework.  Michael, who has one assignment on Wednesdays that requires an entire week to complete, tells me that he doesn’t have to do his homework every afternoon.  He would rather leave the week’s worth of work until the last minute, and every week I try to explain and coax him into preparing and doing a little bit at a time.

Drums have to be practiced and reading and math needs to be completed daily.

Dinner needs to be eaten after that.

Then showers need to be taken and then I have to chase them around to get them to put their little bodies into their beds at a reasonable time.

There’s just endless chasing and yelling.

This past week the irresponsibility reached an all-time high.

When I opened Michael’s folder I found his homework that was supposed to be turned in two day previous.

Then I saw a little folded piece of paper and opened it to find that it was a birthday invitation from one of his classmates. The date that I found the invite was February 24th.  The date of the party was February 15th.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I screeched, armed with the invite and the not-turned-in homework.

“I forgot.” Michael answered with a shrug.

“Well do you know what happens to people who “forget?” I asked gravely.

“They become homeless losers!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”

He said “no,” and I sent him upstairs to shower and go to bed.

I was very disappointed.  Also, I didn’t know how to rectify the situation.  My mother never had to chase me around, because I had an innate ability to care about my duties.  I received assignments and responsibilities and knew that they must be completed.  The fear of failure was enough for me, and still is to this day.

Once the day had ended and both kids were in their beds reading, I headed into the shower.

I am a tired and weathered woman.

The shower is a delightful escape.

For ten minutes I can go into the steamy hot water and lather myself with various creamy shower gels and feel good.

This is the most awesome part of my day....Sadly I only have one shower head.....

This is the most awesome part of my day….Sadly I only have one shower head.

But instead of this dreamy scene- I took one step into the shower and was met with an oil slick that jeopardized my life.

My feet were on banana peels and I could only grab the shower curtain to save myself.  I grabbed and grabbed at the curtain as I fell to my untimely death.  The whole curtain came down and I was left an oily naked mess in the tub with the curtain the rod hitting me in the head.

shower

“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!” I screamed!!!

Mr. Gaga came running up as he heard the 6 tons of flesh hitting the basin walls.

“What happened?” he asked looking down at me as I laid in a pile of shower curtain and despair.

“Your children!!” I squeaked.

I got myself together and came out in a towel to ask Michael what he had done in the shower. I have a cleansing oil in the shower that had clearly been squirted all over the tub.

“What did you do?” I demanded, naked and dripping in my towel.

“Well…I squirted the oil.” he admitted.

“And then, I was just enjoying the shower, I was relaxing and so happy…” he said quietly.

“I mean I was so relaxed….I just forget to wash my hair….” he said quietly.

“And my body.”

shower

This is all he does in the shower apparently….

WHAT THE FUCK?

Do I have to go into the shower and scrub these people?

I don’t know what to do any more.

How do I make these people become upstanding responsible citizens of America?

Ideas are requested and welcome;)

I KNOW YOU WILL ALL TELL ME TO PUNISH THEM AND MAKE CONSEQUENCES – BUT I HAVE DONE THAT AND IT DOESN’T WORK – THEY ARE STILL SMELLY BILLY GOATS THAT DON’T TURN IN THEIR HOMEWORK OR BRUSH THEIR TEETH…HELP. JUST CLICK THE BANNER BELOW BECAUSE I AM TRYING.. XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Don’t Blame Jenny Blame Al….


Moms are getting a bad rap these days…

Everyone seems to be talking about how stupid some moms can be…

Everyone is just pointing and laughing at these moms that aren’t vaccinating their kids….

My kids got their vaccinations, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think twice.  I would be lying if I said that I didn’t space out the vaccines a little more than the pediatrician prescribed.  I would be lying if I hadn’t thought in my mind, “Is he really going to get measles or rubella?”

Just because modern-day mothers collectively brought back a bunch of deadly diseases from the prehistoric times, everyone is dissing them.

But you stuffy “doctor-listeners” don’t know what life is like for us.

Women who were moms in the 50’s to 70’s and beyond are quick to judge today’s mothers and shake their heads when they hear the news that they are choosing to not vaccinate their children.  When I expressed concern about vaccinations when my kids were little, my own mother said “Don’t be ridiculous, you and your brother were vaccinated and you are both fine.”

Ok, but today’s vaccines are NOT what the original vaccines were.  They are over-manufactured and preserved and are lumped together with other vaccines.  I don’t really know what any of that means – except that it’s not the same vaccine that me and my brother received.

Secondly, we live in a world that is ruled by social media.  Our news feeds are filled with various articles and blogs and headlines announcing what we should be scared about for our children.  It is overwhelming and scary.  We are trying to do our best and every hour that we tune in to the news or facebook, we are told that we are failing.

Let me give you a haughty know-it-alls a quick perusal of the news items I found just TODAY that I need to worry about:

#1 – “Dry Drowning”

In the olden times – your children would take a swim and then they would come home and eat dinner and go to bed.  Well those days are over.  They can drown in their sleep!!! If you saw them ingest any water at all – then you must keep them awake all night so that they don’t die.

I actually have to worry about them drowning in real life- since they are horrible swimmers – but now I have to worry too about the sleep drowning…..Apparently this is “Nightmare on Elm Street.”

swimming

Oh…OK Dr. Hoehn – how about I never sleep again?

Then there’s the whole “Goldfish cracker” situation….

Um....OK.....

Um….OK…..I will only have kids eat them once a day instead of three times a day????

Ok....we're fucked.

Ok….we’re fucked.

Then there’s the whole soda situation.  I would never let my kids drink soda – except on a special occasion…

Apparently even that is really asking for trouble.

So if you decide to let your children drink soda - be prepared to have them destroy your home and beat the shit out of you and others.

So if you decide to let your children drink soda – be prepared to have them destroy your home and beat the shit out of you and others.

And then there’s the whole “screen time” dilemma….

You let your kids watch television and play x-box?? Well don't complain when they are suicidal and fat....

You let your kids watch television and play x-box?? Well don’t complain when they are suicidal and fat….

So it’s only logical that when we are inundated with information that can help us to prevent our children from dying or being severely physically or mentally ill that we would be scared or confused.

Older generations cannot relate to our frozen state of fear.

Why would they? They lived the “life of Reilly” where they could perform their parenting skills to the best of their ability with no worries or fears.

In olden times mothers would wake up and feed their children Pop Tarts (red dye and high fructose corn syrup will kill you) and regular old milk from the store (artificial growth hormone will cause cancer.) 

They would then pack a lunch of a baloney(carcinogens will cause cancer) or peanut butter and jelly(sugar and allergy causing ingredients) on white bread (refined white flour will cause diabetes.)  

Then they would spend their day smoking cigarettes inside their home (second hand smoke will kill you and your children) and talking on the phone (today’s cell phones send waves into your head that cause brain cancer) and clean using regular cleaning products purchased at the store(ammonia fumes can cause immediate danger to skin and lungs.) 

They would do laundry using fabric softener (toxic softeners can wreak havoc on the nervous system)

When the kids arrived home from school off the bus (that could crash at any minute) they would have a traditional American snack of cookies (childhood obesity) and the toxic milk again.  They would then go outside to play unattended, while moms had only a vague idea of their whereabouts (threats of abduction or child molestation.) 

The children would then come inside and either do homework or watch Sesame Street, Mister Rodgers and Electric Company(3 hours of screen time could cause obesity, ADHD, autism, mental illness and physical agressions.)

At bedtime the children would brush their teeth with the same toothpaste as their parents. (fluoride is an “endocrine disruptor” and can affect many things in the body, including the bones, the brain, the thyroid gland.)

And then they would get into their beds and go to sleep without any parents in their bed with them (NATURALCHILD.ORG actually SAYS that Babies and children have perished in fires, have been sexually abused by visiting relatives, have been abducted from their bed, have been attacked by pets, have suffocated after vomiting, and have died or been injured in various ways that could have been prevented had a parent been nearby to help.)

Days and days could go by like this with the mother having no fears or worries.

Short of the surgeon general visiting in person – there was no chance of anyone telling her that she was doing a bad job.

We will never have a day go by when we don’t second guess what we are doing.

SO IS IT ANY WONDER ???? That when a perfectly normal former playboy playmate     Donnie Walburg’s girlfriend 

tells us that she has the answers to prevent autism, we listen?!!

I see no real reason not to listen to this woman....

I see no real reason not to listen to this woman….

We don’t know the answers.  We aren’t pretending to be scientists or doctors.

We are scared!

We are riddled with guilt and worry.

If I hear Jenny tell a story about her perfectly healthy son who got vaccinated and then could no longer speak or respond appropriately, I am going to consider this.

I am going to then google “vaccines and autism.”

I am going to be met with millions of accounts and reports of children who negatively reacted to vaccinations.

It’s not Jenny McCarthy that is to blame for our lack of confidence in vaccinations.

It is the world wide web.

If anyone is to blame at all for this it’s Al Gore for inventing the internet!

al

We are not stupid.

We are not making rash decisions.

We are trying to weed through the overwhelming amount of evidence pointing to causes and reasons for our children to become sick or die.

We are trying to keep our children safe and healthy in a very treacherous world.

We are doing our best and so is Jenny, so don’t hate us.

DON’T SEND ME ANY HATE MAIL REGARDING THE MEASLES EPIDEMIC!!! CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME AS THE SMARTEST AND BEST MOTHER IN AMERICA….XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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THIS POST WAS INSPIRED BY MAMA KAT’S WRITING WORKSHOP – THIS WEEK’S PROMPT WAS “THINGS I DIDN”T KNOW BEFORE I WAS A MOM….”

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We Are All Going to Drown….


I don’t know if it’s because I watched too much Oprah, or maybe it’s all the Celebrity Rehab I watch….

or it might because Ray Donovan and his brothers are totally troubled because of an evil priest from their childhood.

rayd

I am just very, very afraid that my children could be molested.  It’s not something that people openly speak about, and it’s not something that I want to imagine or think about either.  However, it seems like every time I watch the news I hear of some sadistic person doing something horrible to children.

My solution to this has been to openly talk about it – some might say too much.  When the kids were quite young, I started to explain that nobody should ever touch their private area.  When they were young the boys called their penis a “pee-pee” but then as they got older I shortened it to “peep.”

Mr. Gaga and others have said that my concern with potential troubles borders on ridiculous – but I say it’s best to have an open dialogue about this sort of thing.

Any time the kids seem down or come home from school in a bad mood- I immediately think the worst.

“How was your day?” I ask as they trudge in the door.  Michael will often shrug or mumble that his day wasn’t great.

“Did something happen?” I’ll ask in a panic.

“No Mom!” he’ll answer with annoyance.

I usually grab him by the shoulders and stare deep into his eyes.  “Michael, if someone at school touched your peep – you can tell me.”

Thank God the answer has always been no.

Recently, I walked upstairs around bed-time to find Michael in his bed crying.

“Oh my God!  What’s wrong?” I demanded as I threw myself onto his bed next to him.

“Leave me alone!” he cried into his pillow.

“What’s wrong?! You can tell me!” I begged.

“I hate my life!!” he screeched. “Now leave me alone!” he sobbed.

I called Mr. Gaga upstairs.  He stood at the end of the bed looking at us.

“What’s up?” he asked disinterestedly.

“Michael is crying and says he hates his life!” I explained with eyeballs wide open trying to signal to him while I rubbed Michael’s back that something horrible was clearly happening.

After prodding and asking for 30 minutes, I finally had to ask.  Even though I knew Mr. Gaga would kill me.

“Michael…..you can tell us whatever is bothering you.” I said slowly. I looked at him intensely.

“How about this? Does it rhyme with “Someone kouched my jeep?”

“MOM!!” Michael screeched.

“You are so inappropriate.” Mr. Gaga said shaking his head…..

I left at that point.  I couldn’t take it any more.

A half hour later, Michael confessed that that he was upset that he had accidentally broken one of his LEGOs, and that was what he was upset about.

Well, better safe than sorry….

So after all of this diligence to protect my children from child molesters, I was faced with quite a dilemma a couple of weeks ago at swimming lessons.  Anyone who knows me – is aware of my hatred of swimming lessons. This year I was faced with a brand new reason to hate them.

We started a new session a couple of weeks ago.  In the past, I would bring the boys with me into the women’s restroom after their lessons to change.  Seeing as they both grow like weeds, and Michael has body odor, it seemed slightly weird to walk in with them, but I have no choice!  They are seven and nine years old!  Why shouldn’t I be able to walk them through the bathroom?

girl in bathroom

Of course, mothers instantly were giving me filthy looks.

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“Hurry up and keep your eyes down.” I muttered under my breath as they changed in the bathroom stall.

The next week after their lesson was over, the boys flat-out refused to step foot in the women’s bathroom.

They had been mortified when the women in the bathroom had looked at them (and me) with disgust.

I looked at the men’s room door fearfully.

This looks very innocent....but who knows what's behind this door?

It looks very innocent….but who knows what’s behind this door?

“Mom, please! We have to go into the men’s room!” they pleaded, dripping in their wet bathing suits.

“Ok fine,” I conceded, “But stay together and keep your eyes down. If someone tries to touch you or look at you – run for your life.  It’s 5:15 right now.  You have five minutes to get changed and get back out here.  If you don’t come out then I am dialing 911.”

They agreed to the terms.

I paced outside the door. As the sixth minute approached they burst through the door.  They looked ashen.

“What’s wrong?” I shrieked.

They started walking towards the exit of the facility with shocked looks on their face.

“Did something happen?” I asked as we pushed open the glass doors to exit.

“YES!” Michael said in a hushed tone.

“Did someone try to touch your peep?” I demanded.

“NO MOM!!!” they screamed in unison.

“Were there people their with naked peeps?” I whispered as we approached our car.

“YES!” they answered.

“OH MY GOD!” I couldn’t believe that it had really happened. “I told you to keep your eyes down!”

“We did!” Michael explained, “But we just looked up and like this old man was naked and he was walking right towards us!”

“Mom – it was like I just looked up and a wrecking ball was coming right at me,” Sam said with despair.

“WHAT???!!!” I screamed.

“Yes Mom!! This old man got out of the shower and just walked out naked and his peep was out and it was huge!” Michael confirmed with despair.

I was speechless.

“Can you believe it?” I demanded of Mr. Gaga when we got home and relayed the story to him.

“Oh yeah, that’s what they do,” Mr. Gaga said unfazed. “I don’t know why.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” I screamed. “We have to quit swimming then!”

Mr. Gaga shrugged.

“They are going to drown!” I announced.

He shrugged again.

So that’s where we are. We are quitting swimming due to weird men’s bathroom etiquette.

I wasn’t aware of this phenomenon – but apparently weird old naked men in the locker room is par for the course and there’s nothing we can do about it.

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STAY WARM AND KEEP YOUR CLOTHES AND UNDERWEAR ON PEOPLE!! CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME AS THE MOST VIGILANT FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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The Buddy Bench


When you have a baby or sometimes two babies, your life is turned upside down.

I remember feeling as though I was living in a never-ending Groundhog’s Day filled with shitty diapers, emptying the dishwasher and Caillou.  I felt very alone.

I considered myself quite a cool woman.  I would NOT be in a playgroup!! I would NOT do a gym or music or French class with my baby! I would NOT socialize with that woman that breastfeed her toddler openly at the park!

Some of my rules stuck.  (Nobody wants to look at a huge toddler suck on your tit at the park, lady...)

But others…..not so much.

You find yourself wanting to talk to someone who shares similar interests (i.e losing baby weight, getting kid to sleep or eat, and ways to not go crazy) and can understand your feelings (i.e wanting to murder husband, wanting to sleep more than 3 hours at at a time, wanting children to leave you alone for at least the thirty seconds when you have to pee.)

When you venture out into the world alone with your children and are searching for someone to be your friend it can feel impossible.

My real friends were mostly in NY at the time I was having children.  While I had been the first to marry and buy a house in the suburbs and start having kids; they wisely were growing their superstar careers and shopping and dining in NYC.

I would take the kids to the library and come home crying.  I just couldn’t believe that while my friends were sipping Cosmos somewhere at happy hour, I was stuck in suburbia with women wearing elastic waistband and no makeup.

I distinctly remember one mom in particular that was always at the library with her three-year-old twins, whom she breastfed regularly while she spoke to other mothers.  The boys would just walk up to her and lift her shirt up and take a few sips and then run off to play.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Oh yes, and …..she kept them on little creepy human leashes.

Many of the moms were wearing clothing and shoes that I wouldn’t be caught dead in and dressed their children in clothing as equally offensive.  They spoke in weird high-pitched voices to their bratty children and to other mothers.  There were many children whose noses were running down their faces, or who’s diapers were clearly filled with poop and the moms would pretend not to notice while they chit-chatted.

Those were the days before an iphone could keep you busy – so I would have to play with my children in the pretend kitchen or read them books, or sit quietly on a chair and watch them interact with the other kids.

I was horrified.

Slowly but surely though, I opened myself up to people.  I was desperate.  I just needed to hear someone else’s voice.  I actually needed to hear my own voice speaking to another human being that was over the age of 3.

I soon realized that even a mom that thinks its okay to wear elastic waist band, or a mom that keeps her toddlers on a leash in public, might not be my best friend….but we all have one thing in common. We are all mothers.

We all feel guilty over the same stuff.  We have all pretended to read our child a book but read the first page and then the last page,paraphrased most of it, skipped a page or two because we are tired.   We have all let our kids watch a little bit of extra television on days we are at the end of our ropes.  We have all considered smothering our husband in the night with his pillowthought of packing a bag and driving away in the still of the night  been frustrated with our husbands and our lives.

When one mother invited me to be in her dreaded playgroup, I accepted.  I just figured I would be the “cool mom” amongst all of these strange women who talked about making their own baby food and wore yoga pants everyday but never did yoga.

Once I had it all sorted out in my mind, I started to interact more and meet more people.

cool mom

When I opened myself up to the world of mothers and accepted my fate – the universe heard me.

So I ended up making friends with random people in strange places.  One on the floor singing songs at a baby class at the library, one at the hairdresser, a few at the kid’s preschool, a bunch by joining my bookclub, a wife of a football friend of my husband, an old childhood friend rediscovered in the library….

But what if I had never opened myself up at all?

What if I didn’t know how to make a friend?

Well there’s going to be a generation of children in Goopville that are going to find out…

Recently I filled you all in about a local elementary school that has elected to utilize parent volunteers during recess to help “guide the children as they choose what to do during their whopping 20 minutes of playtime.  This was a choice made after many parents at this school voiced their concern that their children were not quite sure how to play and were unaware of many popular schoolyard games such as “four square” or “wall ball” and need an adult to teach them.

Apparently gently suggesting who they should play with and manipulating the playground is not enough for these menaces to society.  Now they have created something so outlandish and over the top…..

Even for Goopville this is crazy….

It’s called a “Buddy Bench.”

It’s a park bench that children can go sit on when nobody is playing with them.  It essentially alerts their peers that they have no friends.  It’s a “cry for help bench.”

savannah-ga-and-forrest-gump-gallery

“Can you believe it?” I implored Mr. Gaga after telling about this latest assault on childhood development.

“Well…it’s kind of nice…” he shrugged.

“Nice?!” I screeched.  “It’s not nice!! It’s stupid!! These kids will never know how to make a friend!! They will have zero social skills or coping mechanisms!”

“I guess….” he answered disinterestedly.

“Really?? There’s no BUDDY BENCH in real life!!” I yelled smartly.

“Well, yeah actually there is…..” he answered.

“What?”

“It’s called “church.” he answered.

While he might have a point, I feel this is just a BAD idea for many reasons.

For starters, how much would your heart break if your poor innocent child placed herself on this bench from hell?  What if nobody came?? It’s really playing with fire.

girl-park-bench-wallpaper

And let’s not forget that – generally speaking – there’s no buddy bench in life, and their shouldn’t be! For God sakes – what would happen in the world if there were buddy benches throughout every stage of life?

And what does that do for someone’s self-esteem? How would we feel in college if we had to resort to the buddy bench?

"La, la...I am a sexy princess and I am sure someone will come over any minute to be my friend....."

“La, la…I am a sexy princess and I am sure someone will come over any minute to be my friend…..”

Also – how about the rest of us? What about those of us who know how to make friends and now we have to stop what we are doing because every two seconds there’s some poor soul sitting on a bench waiting for us to save them??

And how are we to know if they just want to sit down or if they are huge friendless douchebags?

wigflip-saywhat (1)

And what if you are one of the poor children who had a parent who hindered your development, and you never learned to make friends. You never learned to put yourself out there and try to play with someone new.  What if you become a young adult and you just sit on benches and hope for someone to notice you……

Everyone hates me....

Everyone hates me….

What if all of this loafing about on benches makes you even more upset than you were before?

I mean if you don’t make new buddies – this could make someone quite sad and possibly angry….

ozzy bench

What if you are a young mom at the end of her rope and you have no clue of how to make a new friend?  Should you just grab some wine and hit the bench??  How long will you be there before someone notices?

Somebody please be my friend....

Somebody please be my friend….

What if you put yourself onto the bench and some unsavory character comes along?  Are you obligated to this person now? Is this your new friend? I mean if you put yourself onto the bench -does that mean your open to any person that sits down?

wigflip-saywhat

Just when I think that Goopville has run out of bad ideas – this little town always comes up with something new and offensive!!!!

I JUST LOVE TALKING ABOUT HOW BAD THESE PARENT’S IDEAS ARE!!! CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME AS THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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