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Bad juju gaga

It has been hectic around here….plus it was a full moon this week.

Last weekend we went to the city for Michael’s birthday. We came back Monday and had an insane week.

I had a lot of stuff going on that was work related and it was weighing heavily on me.

I had to make a few tough and risky decisions and it was stressing me out.  Additionally, I took on a couple of jobs that were last-minute, so I was tired and run-ragged.

Remember when I said I did something that was like selling bras for a living??  What happens is that I have to deal with PEOPLE regularly.

If you have read this blog at all – you probably know that interacting with people regularly might be bad for my mental health.  If there’s a full moon….then my patience is really tried.  Women go berserk.

During the full moon, I spend a lot of time biting my tongue and attempting to respond appropriately to their mentally deranged rants.

Midweek, I worked in a setting where their was a woman who was shadowing a manager all day.

I didn’t interact with her much as we were both busy throughout the day.  A couple of times we crossed paths and she asked me about my day, I would just shrug and say “It’s fine…people are nuts…but whatever…” and go about my business.”

At the end of the day, we were standing near each other working and she stopped and said, “I feel like you are having a really bad day.”

I stopped to think about it…”No, not really.” I answered.

“Well, I have to tell you …. I am a psychic medium, and I can feel an extreme amount of negative energy coming from you.”

I just stared at her thinking of an appropriate response.

“Um…okay……so you can feel what I’m feeling?” I asked with trepidation.

“Yes, I’m an empath.” she answered matter-of-factly.

YOU are a negative judgy bitch......

YOU are a negative judgy bitch……

“Um…well…okay…I’m probably a little negative but I am not having a bad day….You are probably just feeling like “my stuff” I answered sheepishly.

But in my head I was thinking …

Who the fuck says such a thing to someone they just met? I’m sorry -but I don’t recall signing up for the Psychic Friends Network and by the way your hair is very frizzy and you should be using some Moroccan oil for that shit…and you are rude and I hate you.”

She stared at me and smiled and said…

“I can hear your thoughts.”

My jaw dropped and I basically just ran away from her.

I told a coworker about what just happened and I was on the verge of hyperventilation and she came over to us and interrupted our conversation.

My coworker asked “Can you see dead people?”

“Oh yes,” she said calmly, “They are all around us talking to me right now – and I have to tune them out.”

I turned to her and said nicely:

“I’m very stressed out by what you said….it’s like freaking me out…”

She said “No, don’t freak out….just work on ….”  She paused here and said…

“Excuse me, I have to just take a few steps back away from you, because I can feel all of your negative energy and it’s really making me feel like I am actually going to throw up….”


Can you believe this??

Just because you see dead people doesn’t mean you can going around being RUDE!! to people!!  Unless you are the LONG ISLAND MEDIUM you need to just keep your mouth shut!!  Nobody asked for your psychic reading!!

I left shortly after that and when I got home I got busy with kids’ stuff and by 9 o’clock Mr. Gaga and I asked each other about our day.

“My day was ok – except for the part when a psychic witch told me that my bad energy was making her feel like she was going to barf….”

“Oh that’s too bad, ” Mr. Gaga answered while helping clean the kitchen.

“Wait…what? Did you hear me? That REALLY happened!”

“Oh, I’m sure it did.” he answered not fazed.

Do you know why he’s not fazed? Because this type of shit only happens to me!!!

I had too much other stuff to worry about, to let this maniac ruin my life but that whole interaction, coupled with my work stress rattled me a bit.

I really couldn’t shake it.

I tried to catch myself when I was having a negative thought and imagine a rainbow or a really expensive shoe…..but it didn’t seem natural.

I guess Sam is psychic as well and even though I was working very hard to shoot magical positive light beams out from my body, he could feel all my stress and tension.

He took it upon himself to make me a book to cheer me up.

I remember growing up – there were standard pictures I would draw for my parents that I thought would make them happy.

For my mother I would draw flowers, hearts and birds.

For my dad I would draw sailboats and the beach.

Here was page one of Sam’s book:


“Um – that’s nice Sam.” I said – (trying not to be negative.)

“Oh yeah – that page is for Daddy – it’s a ninja turtle, a NY Giants sign and a little bottle of beer.” he said as he turned to page 2:

“Here’s your page.”

At first I was being negative and I thought that was a picture of "tan mom" from New Jersey - but then he clarified that it was in fact Madonna.

At first I was being negative and I thought that was a picture of “tan mom” from New Jersey – but then he clarified that it was in fact Madonna.

And then another page for Mr. Gaga:

A huge beer? I thought this was my book???

A huge beer? I thought this was my book???

And then a gigantic glass of wine…..


The next page said “The End.” and I think he perfectly summed things up.

While this story may be troubling to some, and some might find it upsetting that a child thinks that the key to cheering up his mother is through alcohol and 80’s pop stars…..

For me it was just what I needed to feel a little less negative.


(Don’t worry – it will just be temporary – I will be back to calling small children douchebags by next week.)








Dear Beyonce,

I heard that you caused quite an uproar when you recently rented out an entire floor of a New York City hospital to give birth to your daughter, Blue Ivy.

I couldn’t help but think that you just didn’t know any better.

By now you have surely started to experience the harsh realities of motherhood. I am sure now you realize that you didn’t need an entire floor of a hospital to have a baby.

You seem like a real go-getter, someone who is confident and up for a challenge, so you probably decided to try to breastfeed.

Now you know that you could have given birth in the Buckingham Palace or a broom closet somewhere in the ghetto, and it all comes down to one thing.

That baby needs to latch on to your boob.

No amount of Grammy awards or royalty checks from Destiny’s Child,  will take away the searing pain that will rip through your body when that baby latches on, and if she doesn’t -her cries and your feelings of failure will be equally as painful.

After a couple of days of such joy, you were ready to bring the baby home.  Oh, when you were ready to leave did you try to squeeze into a fresh pair of Dereon jeans?  Were you horrified to find that they didn’t fit?

Oh I think Mariah probably forgot to tell you that She got lipo and a tummy tuck  it is hard to lose the baby weight.

If you are like me ( and let’s face it you invented the term “bootylicious” to hide the fact that you  have a huge ass,) then you may find yourself wearing maternity clothes until your daughter is 12  3 months.

You are home now, settling into some sort of routine, surrounded by doulas, nannies, nurses and your mother. Of course, you are nursing so you know  that even a small army can’t save you now.

You see, as Jay Z snores beside you while you feed your baby in the wee hours of the morning, that it’s all about you.

Only you, Beyonce Knowles, has the milk in the tit.

Isn’t it fun?

When you asked him to put a ring on it, is this what you envisioned??

Maybe for your next single, "Married Ladies" - you can say "If you like it - put a Nuva Ring in it"......

Oh yeah, and remember how cute it was when Jay Z would whisper sweet nothings like “I’ve got 99 problems, but a bitch ain’t one.”

Yeah……..not cute anymore.

In fact, I understand that you actually love him so much and think he is so wonderful, that you agreed to name your child “blue ivy” as an homage to his successful chart-topping albums. (A little narcissism never hurt anyone right??? I mean she won’t have to worry about living up to anything……she’ll be fine…..people get named after their daddy’s rap albums all the time.)

Well, don’t be surprised if you aren’t quite as infatuated anymore.  The sleep deprivation coupled with his utter uselessness will lead to a slow build-up of utter hatred and disgust.

In fact, you might just look over at him while he sleeps soundly as you feed the baby and want to smother him with your Boppy.  The fact that he just picks up his life right where he left off, before he took off one day to watch you push a human being from your body, can be frustrating.

He will return to work with zero regard for who is caring for your child.

If you don't mind - while you are home crying and rubbing lanolin on your nipples - he is just going to do some work with Rihanna.....

After work, he will continue to attend social events with zero regard for who is caring for your child, and without having to wear nursing pads in his bra or worry about sneezing and peeing his pants.

Remember how much fun you guys used to have at the games? Yeah - about that - you can't go anymore - so he gave all your tickets to Kanye West.....

Meanwhile, you will be busy managing your singing and acting careers, your clothing line, and trying to prevent your mother from styling the baby in weird outfits that she created – all while a starving baby hangs off your boob.

Just a heads up, no matter if you give him dirty looks or answer him in short one-word answers, he probably won’t be deterred.  The thought won’t cross his mind to leave you alone.


The day will come.

When your sweet little baby is just 6 weeks old, you will go to the doctor.  This doctor will give you a clean bill of vaginal health.

At this point you would rather light yourself on fire than participate in intercourse – but there will be nothing you can do because Jay Z will be home waiting for you naked.

This will further your hatred…….but not to worry!!!

It passes.

Soon you will find yourself in bed working on baby #2…..ready for all of this again!!!

Except maybe next time you can plan a home birth so that the peasant mothers like myself can utilize the public hospital facilities…..

Just sayin…….

Your friend,

Lady Goo Goo Gaga 

This week instead of voting for me as the funniest mom blogger….if you like it then you should click a share on it. Share on Faceboook so your friends and family can enjoy how ridiculous Beyonce is.  

Thanks!!!! Xoxoxox Lady goo goo gaga


It’s a Wonderful Life…….for my husband

So because I have been working more than usual and can barely get my chores done, when Christmas decorating, baking, cards, shopping, wrapping, etc is added to the mix ……forget it.

I have thrown my hands up in the air – and started to delegate a lot to Mr. Gaga.

Also – I have had to let some things go. 

Some activities I simply cannot do. 

The parent volunteer sign-up sheet for my preschooler’s class went right in the garbage – along with the order forms and catalogues for the pie and wrapping paper fundraiser. (sorry PTO – maybe next year ….but let’s be honest….probably not)

Traditionally, we go cut down our tree the same day as my parents, cousins, aunts and uncles, brother, etc. 

We spend the day at the farm tailgating. 

Let me be clear in case you find this an odd tradition – my husband would tailgate at funerals if they let him.   Any excuse to start an open fire and stand around it for hours on end talking, drinking and eating…..

This is Mr. Gaga at the Christmas Tree Tailgate party...

This year – I just couldn’t find a day that worked – so I gave up and told Mr. Gaga to go without me last Saturday morning.  I told him to go early and come home in the afternoon, that way he could put the tree up – and start dinner.  I would get home around 7, we could eat dinner and then trim the tree as a family.

Mind you – this was at the end of a long 50 hour work week for me and Sunday would be the start of another one – so we really only had this small window of time to decorate the tree and have some family time.

Do you know when I got home at 7:15 PM…… hungry and tired, looking forward to dinner and a glass of wine and Christmas cheer……..

Mr. Gaga and my tree were NOT HOME YET.

Do you understand what I am telling you?

Not only was the tree not UP WITH LIGHTS ON IT…..

…….it was not FUCKING HOME.

Do you know at the end of “It’s a Wonderful Life” when George Bailey comes home and wants to kill everyone – and he kicks all the presents and says “Janie will you stop playing that lousy piano?” and then he goes up the stairs and wants to throw the piece of the banister on the floor…..that was me. 

I wanted to kick everything and murder my husband.

I trudged into the cold, dark house.

I turned on the lights.

The chicken I had put out that morning to defrost (that should now have been in a fajita) was on the counter sitting limply in a defrosted pile.

The morning coffee cups and breakfast dishes were on the counter.

The morning newspaper was strewn about.

The sink was filled with dirty dishes and……

wait for it……

the dishwasher needed to be emptied.

I went ballistic.

Instead of calling and yelling at Mr. Welch - I called Mr. Gaga and told him he was a motherfucker.....then I went out into town looking for a bridge to jump from......

I slammed all the pots and pans and started making dinner.
I swore out loud for twenty minutes calling my husband every bad name I could think of.
And then I did what George Bailey would do in my position. 
I cried.
When my husband came home Sam was asleep already – which further sent me into a tirade.
I informed Mr. Gaga – that because he chose to stand around looking at a fire pit and eating sausage and peppers for 14 hours – now Christmas was destroyed. 
Poor Michael still had hope – so after I cooked and ate dinner by myself – because NOBODY WAS HUNGRY BECAUSE THEIR FATHER GAVE THEM HOT DOGS ALL DAY…..
I tried to put the lights up with Mr. Gaga while not speaking to him and simultaneously sending him hateful vibes through the pine needles.

What's the big deal? Why are you crying? Are you crying about coming home to raw chicken on the counter and a messy house or is it just because you married an idiot that cares more about tailgating than he does about you?

Michael waited patiently to hang the ornaments, snuggled on the couch in his PJ’s.  When we finally finished putting up the lights, and were ready to hang ornaments, I looked over at him and he was fast asleep.
This broke my heart.  I reminded Mr. Gaga once more that the kids will never be 4 1/2 and 6 again – and they couldn’t decorate the tree this year because of him and that he single-handedly destroyed Christmas for all of us.
I finished decorating the tree by myself until midnight…..crying.
Is this just a horrible Christmas tale or what?
This seems to always happen to me!
I am so frantically trying to create happy memories for myself and my kids every year, and every year it ends in disaster.
I am determined to have Christmas cheer!!!!
I am Clark Griswold.
“You’re doing too much – just stay home and empty the dishwasher and decorate the tree. Nobody’s husband is doing everything with the kids, cooking chicken, and emptying the dishwasher….forget it.” my BF lectured me.
“So you are saying this is all my fault for going to work?” I yelled.
“No – I am saying that you have created chaos by working all these hours – so just don’t get mad when nothing gets done.  It’s just not going to get done until you get home and do it yourself.”
What a horrible answer.
Sadly – she’s probably right.
All I know is that I can’t do it all alone – and I especially can’t do it all alone at Christmas-time.
I think Mr. Gaga got the message. He has been helping much more and I eventually started speaking to him on Tuesday…….
Tis the Season!!!!
Please click on the banner below to give me a vote for funniest mom in America:)  Thanks!! XOXOXO LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Power back on!! House still a mess :(

If  you are like me you still have a rotten pumpkin on your front steps and cob webs in your bushes. 

If you have ventured out to the world of retail – you would find that not only is Halloween over – but we have skipped right over Thanksgiving and started the Christmas cheer earlier than ever!! 

Apparently now the shelves of Milky Ways and candy corn are wiped clean and immediately replaced with stocking holders and candy canes!

This gives me anxiety.

I mentioned that I sometimes fall behind on housework and get overwhelmed with my hectic schedule…right?

So – my house was a shit-hole and the laundry was to the ceiling
and the dishwasher was filled with dirty dishes and then ……the power went out for 10 days!! 

So when it finally came on – it was basically a vile disgusting ice-box filled with dust and soot from the fireplace. 

Oh yeah – and the laundry went to the ceiling at this point.

Oh yeah – and the refrigerator was stone-cold empty – like we just moved in.

And add to this that apparently it’s Christmas.

Not only do I have to remove my Halloween decor and start decorating for Christmas – but I have start throwing out all my kids toys!!!

You heard me correctly – In order to maintain some sort of order around here – I like to throw out the kids toys a little bit everyday.  This way we have more room for new stuff they get for Christmas.

Nothing crazy – I’m not a horrible person….just McDonald’s toys, games and puzzles with missing pieces, any Nerf items, etc.

This was much easier when the kids were little and they didn’t
really know what they had.  Also – toys were on the larger side – so I could easily make room by throwing out stuffed animals or blocks.

I remember before I had kids watching “Everybody loves Raymond” and thinking this mother is a total asshole – her house is disgusting filled with hideous junk and toys…and her stairs were always filled with stuff.  I couldn’t watch it.

I vowed I would never have a house that looked like that.

Yeah right.

Can you believe that weird little pile of toys behind them used to irk me - and now I can only dream of having a house this nice and clean.......Sorry for judging you Deb

When the kids were little I felt like the walls of my already small house were closing in on me.  As rooms became filled with swings and jumpers and high chairs – I would dream of the day I could throw it all out and my home would go back to normal.

Instead what actually happened is that all that “stuff” got replaced by more “stuff,” but it just got a lot smaller and smaller.

And just when you thought little itty-bitty pieces couldn’t get any
smaller……enter the LEGO.

As a girl – I was never a big fan of the LEGO.

Just looking at the LEGO “map” of directions is enough to make me have a stomachache and break out into a cold sweat.

I make Mr. Gaga do all LEGO building – and I just frantically try to keep things in order by putting all the pieces in the correct labeled Tupperware container.

Inevitably they make their way out of the containers and ALL OVER THE HOUSE.


I step on at least one sharp piece a day in my bare feet. 

I find them everywhere.

I found this pirate and his capsized boat in my coffee last week....

This is what I want to see when I get my period......

They are in my UGGS, in the shower, camouflaged in every rug, on the back of the toilet, under every bed…..

And magically – both kids actually know where each piece

The other day I was vacuuming on our first day of power and I actually said,

“Who’s wig and handcuffs are these?”

So now we have pirates, Star Wars and S&M LEGOS........

Sam said “Oh that’s my LEGO police hair and cuffs,” matter-of-factly as he plucked them out of my hand.

I don’t know where he put them.

I will probably step on them tomorrow.

So this whole story is leading up to how excited my kids are going to be to go to the LEGO KidsFest in Hartford, December 2nd through the 4th. 

What’s even more exciting is that next week I am going to give away a pair of tickets to the LEGO KidsFest to one of my loyal fans!!!

Stay tuned!!

In the meantime – can you please click on the banner below!! You won’t win anything except my love:) XOXO LADY GOO GOO GAGA


Linking to shell at

My camper is cuter than your camper

Everyone (including me) has been talking about getting through the end of the summer without going insane, and counting down the days until the kids are back to school.  I feel this way sometimes – but honestly it is fleeting.   I am enjoying my laid-back summer mode.  We are in a groove here at the beach where we have been staying for most of the summer.  This lifestyle is so laid-back that even on our very worst day, everyone is still pretty happy.

It could be the daily ice creams from the ice cream man, or the sunshine and fresh air, or maybe because we are all tan (that always puts me in a good mood)….but everyone is friendly and pleasant here. 

Every kid that rides by on their bike will say “Hi Michael!” “Hi Sam!”  My kids say hello to everyone they see too…no matter who they are.   Meanwhile, at home, if we walk into the libarary or park and my kids see a child that they know and say hello, there is a very good chance that said child will either not respond at all or hide behind his or her’s mother’s leg until they are forced to say hello.  It’s annoying and weird and all too common. 

When did children become rude and socially inept?  Because by nature – children will play and interact and be friendly.  Wouldn’t it be so wonderful if I could transfer this energy where children play harmoniously and don’t bully each other and act like whiney brats back to my hometown (specifically my bus-stop) for the fall?

Aside from the endless “Toasted Almonds” and my very dark skin-tone, a major contributing factor to our summer happiness is  a little something called “beach camp.” 

The kids go to camp everyday.  This camp is a far cry from anything fancy that kids might be experiencing in other stuffy Connecticut towns.  It is not horseback riding camp, or rock-climbing and ROPES course camp, or UCONN Huskies camp….it’s not hanging out at a camp in Martha’s Vineyard while the Obamas are in town.

It is old-school, make a potholder, play Wonderball, hang from the monkey bars by your ankles, camp….and in my eyes it is absolute perfection.  Kids come and go each week from all over, and within minutes on Monday morning they are part of the camp.  Anytime I go by when I am on my way to the beach or going for a run(do you see why I love camp?) – the kids are always running around, having a blast, engaged in whatever the activity is.  There is no bullying, no tears, no drama. 

Why can’t it be like this at home?

Last week was the last camp session and they ended the year with a huge party and passed out awards.  Mind you –  all summer long I saw people post on their facebook pages the awards that their kids got at camp.  I kid you not – grown-ass adults would actually post something like this:

“So proud of Johnny! He got camper of the day for the second time!! He is so precious and such a perfect reflection of my perfect parenting!! Thanks Johnny for being the best little camper in the whole world!”

Alright – maybe I made up the last part….but definitely saw several posts about people’s children getting “Camper of the Day” and “Camper of the Week” (all people from my hometown of course.)

How about “Camper of the who gives a shit?” 

What makes anyone think that we care about this eart-shattering news?  What does it even mean? Did Johnny not have any time-outs at camp all day?  Did he do a super good job sharing the beads during necklace making? Did he do really good rowing of his kayak?  Did the horse he was riding do an awesome jump?  Did he hold the door for the Obamas when they were leaving the book store?

Even if he did any of those things…guess what?  NOBODY CARES.

This is why I love our beach camp.   There is no pretense.  There is no worry of hurt feelings if one kid gets an award that another kid might have wanted.  Nobody worries that insecure creepy weird kids need a badge that says they are super awesome to bring home to show their mommy.

So that’s why – only at beach camp would they announce Sam’s name and call him up to award him this:

Nobody felt slighted – everyone cheered and laughed.

And then they really outdid themselves and called up Michael to award him this:

And instead of crying because his brother was the “cutest” and he wasn’t – he fist-pumped and laughed like a nice Italian boy.

I am going to cherish and savor these last days of freedom and joy before heading back to the wretched bus stop and the land of whining children.




Mommy Tip #2 – Tantrums are not just for Toddlers

This has been a good summer.  Michael and Sam are very independent, they love camp, love swimming lessons, love the beach, and have lots of friends.  They don’t even like to sit with me on the beach and constantly ask to go hang out by the boardwalk – where they “play superheroes” and make friends. 

I haven’t had days like these at the beach since I was in my early twenties.  I’ve been reading books and magazines, talking uninterrupted with friends, and sitting on my fat (and growing as we speak) ass more than I have in 6 years.

On top of this luxury, now that I don’t have babies or toddlers to give naps or dinner to – I can essentially stay at the beach as long as I want.  I can pull my chair down to the edge of the water – so the waves are licking at my feet and enjoy my book in the late afternoon, the best part of the day. 

The sun burns a little less, the air is crisp, the water is gorgeous and the kids play in the waves while the sun starts its descent.  It was recently such an afternoon, on one of the most gorgeous days of the summer, when I got caught off guard.  I inadvertently was happy – and I should have known that was not possible.  

My 5-year-old dropped his hermit crab at the edge of the water and before he could bend down to scoop it up – a wave came in and swept it away, and he went ballistic.  This wasn’t a complete sneak attack – I should have seen the signs:

Clue #1 – Red Cheeks =Perhaps a little too much in the sun department

Clue #2 – A day of whining = Perhaps one too many late nights – and a little tired

Clue #3 – I mentioned that I was momentarily happy right?

He burst into tears.

I peered at him over the top of my book. 

“Michael this is nothing to cry about – go by the jetty and find a new one.” I said and went back to reading.

“No!!!” he screamed unreasonably, “I want that one!!!”

I tried to ignore him, but the whining and crying was getting worse. I read the same page 5 times.

“If you don’t stop crying and leave me alone right now – then we are leaving.” I threatened.

“NO!!! I’m not leaving!!” he screamed hysterically in my face.

Now at this point – any good mother with a head on her shoulders would pack up and leave, but not Lady Goo Goo Gaga.  I tried to read again. He wouldn’t shut up.

I gave one more ultimatum – which he failed miserably and I had no choice.  I threw my book down.

“That’s it….we’re leaving.” I started folding my chair. 

This is when things really took a frightening turn.  I told him to start picking up his toys, and quickly realized this would never happen.  The devil doesn’t pick up sand toys. 

Resigned I went to pick up buckets and towels and every step of the way I was body blocked by my possessed child.

I tried to remain calm.  I called out to poor innocent Sam who was floating on a tube catching some rays.

“Come on – we have to leave now!! Your brother is out of control!” I called out.

He graciously hopped off his tube and said “OK – Mama!”  I looked at him with joy and happiness for a quick moment and then turned back to Godzilla. 

A toy boat was thrown and narrowly missed my ear, he took his brother’s tube and slammed it down as hard as he could and it bounced off the sand and rolled away.

I frantically filled up my beach cart and was almost ready to go.   The only thing left on the beach was the huge bucket of crabs leftover from crabbing earlier in the day.  Considering this all started from a lost crab – emptying the bucket was going to be dicey. 

While he was momentarily distracted by two strangers, I was able to grab my flip-flops and book.

“Dump out the bucket, Michael, it’s time to go.” I said calmly.

“NO!” he screamed hovering over the bucket with snot and tears running down his sunburned cheeks.  I quickly made a move to grab the bucket – at the same time as he did.   I tried to loosen his grip to no avail, and a tug of war ensued.

Anytime I got into position to dump the bucket – he would get in front of it so that I would have to throw a bucket of crabs directly at him (which surprisingly – I wasn’t comfortable with.) 

I almost threw a bucket of crabs at him -but decided against it.

At this point – Sam hopped out of the water.

“Sam! Run for your life!!” I yelled while pulling furiously on the bucket, “I’ll meet you at the boardwalk!”

He scampered away – and I ripped the bucket out of Michael’s hands and dumped out mud and crabs like a maniac. 

At one point he headed towards the water and mass chaos ensued....

I was dripping with sweat and my back and arms were killing me from the struggle.  Michael collapsed in a heap of tears and I threw the bucket in my cart and turned around to go… which point I thought I heard cheering. 


Witnesses to this debacle were cheering for me.  I looked up and saw a sea of horrified faces. 

The beach was silent.

 A seagull flew by. 

The crabs made their way back to sea. 

I stood there sandy and sweaty, staring back at all of the faces judging me.

I was mortified.  I headed up to the boardwalk.  Some kind woman called out – “Don’t worry – we have all been there!!”

Someone else shouted – “You have a lot of patience!!”

I was dying  and on the verge of tears myself.  Michael followed me all the way to the car crying and threatening not to come and of course it didn’t end until long after we were home. 

Thank God I had just read a blog called Things I Can’t Say, in which the mom blogger, Shell, suggested getting Mike’s Hard Strawberry Lemonade, and I had some chilled waiting for me.  The promise of malt liquor was the only thing pushing me through the motions of showers, dinner and bedtime routines.

I think I have neglected the schedules and good parenting for long enough – and it’s biting me in the ass.  This little brush with the devil was enough for me.



Linking to Sunday Funday with Carri Ann and Pour You Heart Out


Birds and Bees

We had a nice visit the past two weeks with my aunt and cousins from Baltimore.  It was luxurious having an eleven year old girl and thirteen year old boy readily available to play with my kids.  To top it off – these children are very mild-mannered and quiet, so it would be a bonus if either of those attributes could possibly rub off on my two maniacs.  The Baltimore children, I am sure – are recovering from the Lady Goo Goo Gaga household.  Let’s just say they are occasionally horrified surprised by the things that I say.  Let’s also just say that they have happened to be here two years in a row when I attend the annual High-Stakes Bingo event – and threaten to drop kick the bingo wheel and call the lady announcing the winners a “stupid bitch.”  They might have found my behavior alarming – and talked about it all winter.  I chalk it up to the fact that they are southerners not used to the no filter  “to-the-point” charm of us Northeasterners.

I texted my aunt today to let her know that she had forgotten a few things and this was her response:

“OK – thanks.  Also – just so you know, Sam asked Nat if she wore makeup and when she said “no,” he asked her if her boobs were real.”

After I fainted and my husband woke me up with smelling salts, I answered: “So sorry – I am not quite sure how he even knows that fake boobs are an option since he just turned 4.  We will discuss this matter with him.”

O to the M to the G.  These people who we see once a year, probably already think I am the craziest mother in the world. Now they probably think my 4 year-old son must be growing up on a steady diet of Baywatch and Real Housewives of Orange County or dining regularly at Hooters.   How else would he think to ask such an inappropriate question?

You might find it inappropriate, but Sam's 4 year-old birthday party at Hooters was a huge success.....

I had to address this situation.  I said “Sam – did you ask Natalie if she wore make-up?” to open up the discussion.   My older son jumped right in….

“Yeah – then he asked her if her boobs were real!!” he said laughing.

I stared at Sam.  He looked at me and shrugged and said “Sorry.” nonchalantly.

“Why – would you say that?” I demanded.

“Well – when I have playdates with Jennifer (who is his “girlfriend” from preschool and will be discussed at a future post)….she always shows me her boobs!  But they are not real boobs!! They are just nickels!!”  he explained very seriously.

My husband, my son all looked at him as he finished his explanation. 

“What? All the time she does that….and I never ask her to!!” he pleaded.

I tried to keep a stern look on my face but then I busted out laughing, and was quickly joined by both boys.   My husband shook his head, chuckling.

YOU are the problem,” he said to me in regards to my inappropriate child, as I doubled over in laughter.

“I can’t help it,” I said – in between hysterical laughs….”I am just so happy he wasn’t referring to silicone implants I don’t even care….”

Maybe I fell down on the job with my parenting today – but at least it’s funny!!! Just please click on the banner below to vote for LADY GOO GOO GAGA!!!!

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