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Category Archives: Mother

Teaching kids about Bruce Jenner


The Gaga household is a fairly open household.  I really don’t keep much to myself in general (your welcome  – blog enjoyers) and at home I am a pretty open book.  If I feel like talking to someone and only the kids are home  if I am watching something inappropriate with the children the kids ask me something randomly – I try to give an open and honest answer.

Mr. Gaga usually rolls his eyes at me or shakes his head when I say something he deems inappropriate.

But on Friday night when he rolled in and Sam said “Hi Dad – are you going to watch the show with us tonight about the guy that’s cutting off his peep?”  he was not amused.

“Really?” he glared at me as I making myself comfortable to watch the Bruce Jenner interview with Diane Sawyer.

“What?! They aren’t watching – but they asked!” I answered innocently.

Quite frankly I don't think I even understand what's happening -but I did my best to explain this....

Quite frankly I don’t think I even understand what’s happening -but I did my best to explain this….

“You don’t have to tell them everything,” Mr. Gaga sighed, “Let them be innocent – they don’t have to know about this.”

Okay, he’s probably right – but….

Before you start judging me for randomly telling my innocent children about Bruce Jenner – let’s back up a bit.

We watch the Today Show every morning before school.

Even if it’s for 10 minutes – we get a few headlines, we get the weather update and we might get a human interest story out of Carson Daly.

To me it seems like a normal morning program to put on for families.  They have a dog on set, they talk about the world, they sometimes have concerts on the plaza.

When we go into the city, my kids actually enjoy standing outside of the Today Show windows like tourists from Mississippi because the Today Show staff is part of our life.

But….

Sometimes….

Lately…probably for ratings – they can be a little bit much.

This week we experienced a new story every morning about a small child who wanted to be “transgender” and who’s parents were supportive of said child’s choice.

Oh did I mention that these children were sometimes 4?

Oh yes ….

According to the Today Show - this child was born a girl named Mia - but by age 4!!!! Her parents let her transition into a boy named Jacob.

According to the Today Show – this child was born a girl named Mia – but by age 4!!!! Her parents let her transition into a boy named Jacob.

Every day was new story of superstar parents that embraced and supported their confused children.  Each day included some sort of promo or reference to Bruce Jenner.

The first couple of days – my children barely ate breakfast because they were in complete shock.

"Sit down and eat!" I scream every morning since the transgender stories started.

“Sit down and eat!” I scream every morning since the transgender stories started.

The third morning – Sam was sleepily pouring his Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Matt Lauer came on teasing his interview with Kim Kardashian talking about Bruce Jenner’s transformation, and he said “Ugh, all anyone cares about is transgenders!”

http://www.today.com/popculture/kim-kardashian-talks-bruce-jenner-today-interview-t17441

“I mean – how will he become a girl anyways?” Sam asked at 7:15 AM on Thursday.

“Well, he will dress like a woman and wear makeup…..and ask a doctor to chop off his peep.” I answered matter-of-factly while I sipped my coffee.

Ok - maybe that was a bit much for our breakfast discussion....

Ok – maybe that was a bit much for our breakfast discussion….

But what are we supposed to say when the Today Show brings up such topics????

“Well maybe the Today Show isn’t for small children?” Mr. Gaga suggested when I pleaded my case.

“Well I watched the Today Show every morning for my whole life!” I exclaimed.

“Well that explains a lot.” he answered.

“What do you mean? It was Jane Pauly and Bryant Gumbel and we watched every morning before school, didn’t you?”

“No. We didn’t watch television before school.” he answered with judgement in his eyes.

“But if we don’t watch how will we know the weather?” I answered with exasperation.

“Well, when we woke up my Dad just told us what the weather was.” he answered smugly.

“Well how did he know? Was he a meteorologist?” I inquired.

“No – I guess he just looked out the window.” he shrugged.

Well that's just fucking stupid - your Dad doesn't know more than AL ROKER!!!!

Well that’s just fucking stupid – your Dad doesn’t know more than AL ROKER!!!!

“Well we can’t live like that!! We need to watch the weather in the morning!!!” I explained.

“How are we expected to know what to wear?”

Mr. Gaga did his famous shrug of dismissal.

Later the topic came up again. “Um Mom – when transgenders want to be a lady then they need boobs….” Sam said smartly, “So how do they get boobs?”

“Um – they take a medicine that helps to grow them,” I answered like a smart adult.

“Like – there’s boob pills?” he asked bursting into laughter.

“Yes,” I answered like a smart adult, “Boob pills.”

I mean at a certain point there’s no appropriate answer. Should we educate our children on the facts?

Apparently this is becoming mainstream stuff!

Mr. Gaga says no.

I say yes.

And today after this whole week of transgender focus was over with – Sam asked Mr. Gaga to have a catch.  At a certain point during the catch – it seemed like Sam was losing interest,

Mr. Gaga yelled across the yard – “Sam -if you don’t want to catch the ball any more – you can just go inside and color,” to be a smart Alec and and torture my child,

Sam also being a smart Alec retorted – “Oh well I like coloring rainbows.”

Mr. Gaga said, “You know you else likes coloring rainbows?”

“No – who?” Sam asked innocently while he threw the ball.

“Bruce Jenner.”  Mr. Gaga said as he caught the ball.

NOW!!! WHO’S THE BAD PARENT???????

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LIKES AND SHARES ON FACEBOOK LAST WEEK!! I EXCEEDED MY GOAL OF 2000 LIKES – I LOVE YOU ALL – XOXOXOXO LADY GOO GOO GAGA  – CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO LIKE ME MORE!!!!!!!

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THIS JUST IN – SUN COMES OUT AND KIM RICHARDS GOES TO JAIL IN SAME WEEK!!


This week some things have come to fruition….

Here’s a quick rundown of stuff we have been waiting for:

1 – There is in fact a sun after all:

I have been wearing UGGS and a fur-hooded parka since October.

I have realized that when I decided to reside in the Northeast – I actually signed up inadvertently to live in a place that’s a mix between Alaska and Seattle.

It’s hard and disheartening.

My skin on my face looks like an old woman’s and my soul was almost permanently frozen in a cold hard tundra.

This is me watching my kid's play baseball in Connecticut last week....

This is me watching my kid’s play baseball in Connecticut last week….

Just when I resigned myself to wear boots every day for the rest of my life – the sun came out this week.

It was shocking.

It was delightful.

Finally.

2 – Gwyenth Paltrow finally admits she is not a normal American Mom

I mean I am sure she means well.  I am sure that I would want to be her friend if she and her Apple and Moses showed up in Goopville.

But let’s get real.

She’s the inspiration for my town being named “Goopville,” because she’s full of FUCKING SHIT.

She decided to take a food challenge offered by Mario Batali (who I have met and is an amazing person – sidenote)

where she would survive on $29 a day (which is what the government offers to families in need in the US of A.)

After four days ………..

of this…….

She quit.

I somehow think that homeless people don’t buy huge bushels of cilantro…..

And maybe don’t buy fucking 25 limes you self-indulgent Mexican

spoiled Hollywood princess

bad mom

bad shopper.

Finally, though, after all of these endless Goop newsletters and conscious uncouplings – we can comfortably know that we don’t have to live up to this woman.

Now we know that if she was in the real world, she would fail.

Is there anything better than knowing that we are better at grocery shopping than Gwyenth Paltrow??

Maybe.

But for this week -we can feel a little smug.

Thanks Gwynnie.

3 – Kim Richards goes to the slammer

If you don’t watch the RHOBH then you won’t understand this.

But suffice it to say that there’s a woman in Beverly Hills who has was a child-star and has a pit-bull that bites everyone’s arms off – and is a menace to society.

She is an alcoholic lunatic.

Up until yesterday she has been living a life of freedom and she has finally been arrested and thrown in the slammer.

kim-richards-on-tv

Does this look like someone that should not be locked up?

Thank you police officers of Beverly Hills, – it’s about fucking time that this menace to society is behind bars.

4 – Star Wars put out their dang trailer:

Apparently nerds across the land (including everyone that lives in my house except for me) put out the trailer for the movie that’s coming out on fucking CHRISTMAS of 2015!!!

I am sorry – but I am just thrilled to have a morsel of sunshine – I am not thinking about next DECEMBER!!

Well clearly Mr. Gaga has other plans.

He already informed me that him and the children will be going to see this movie next Christmas.

Duly noted, nerds.

5 – Full school Weeks

I just don’t know if I recall a child going to their instutional schooling facility for 5 straight days.

Between the vacations and the illnesses and the winter days –

This week – they will go to school every day…..

If my life depends upon it.

6 – I’m fat.

Ok – that’s not a new development – but I just am hoping that the weather has something to do with my girth.

I am in denial.

I foolishly thought in the still of the winter that I could just eat and drink with reckless abandon and nothing would happen…

I was wrong.

bloat

Mr. Gaga went for physical today in good old Connecticut and the doctor said he has never seen so many depressed and out of shape individuals.

This made me feel better.

When it’s below zero for many days in a row – the natural choice is to drink 50 wines and eat carb and cream-laden soups.

I’m glad I am not alone in this obese-land.

But suffice it so say that the snow has melted off of the grill and it’s time to think about a little grilled chicken and veg.

7. Sam will become one with God.

Sam has been waiting to make his first communion since he could say “gold chain.”

When I gave birth to him – he came out with a full tan and a leather jacket –

When you give birth to a child and the nurses bring a full guido to you in the hospital it’s alarming –

As he grew – he became more and more ……Italian.

It’s not normal to tell your 5-year-old to do something and to be met with a very bad attitude…

paulie walnuts

The day of his first holy communion has been a day he has been dreaming of for years, because he can become one with the lord, 

taste the holy wafer complete his look….

It will happen next week and everyone in the Gaga household will officially own a gold chain and all will be right with the world.

8. LADY GOO GOO GAGA will get 2000 likes:

I am humbly begging for Facebook likes.

I have been plugging away.

Entertaining you people for YEARS.

Can you please like me on Facebook? Can you tell your friends to like me???

I have 1930 LIKES.

THAT’S PATHETIC!!!

I need 2000 at least.

Make it happen!!

I am begging.

I think 2000 is just a more respectable number than 1930.

Don’t you??

LIKE ME ON FACEBOOK!!!!!

The “2000 like” will get a prize.

I WILL POST THIS EVERY DAY UNTIL I REACH MY GOAL!!!

POST AND SHARE AND LIKE ON FACEBOOK OR MY SELF-ESTEEM AND MY WEEK WILL BE DESTROYED AND IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT……NO PRESSURE….XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Why you will never sleep again…


When I was pregnant I remember being so uncomfortable towards the end that I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.  I actually looked forward to having the baby, foolishly thinking, if nothing else, I will be able to sleep.

At this point in time you are a full moron - so you think that things can't get any worse....

At this point in time I was a complete moron – so I thought that things couldn’t get any worse….

After you have the baby – you then realize that the “no sleep” you experienced during pregnancy was actually a drop in the bucket.  With a newborn you learn what it feels like to exist on short snippets of sleep that are continuously interrupted.

You hope and pray that your baby will sleep for even 5 straight hours.

You say to yourself “I just want this baby to sleep through the night,” and one day he does.  Those 5 straight hours feel like a Bahamas vacation.  You think then, I have made it through.  Now I will start to be able to catch up on my sleep!!

What you fail to realize at that point is that sadly you will never really sleep again…and here’s why:

Developmental Milestones:

Well, nobody really mentioned this to me that I can recall.  All I know is that I had a baby that just barely slept through the night and the next thing I know he’s up being a total asshole all night, crying and drooling everywhere.

I was ill-prepared for the following 18 months that required me to pump my baby with various anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving medicines to get even close to a full night of sleep.

That’s correct – babies teethe for 2 solid years.  So put that in your hat and smoke it – new mothers.

After that whole fucking fiasco is over with – you will think you are in the clear.  After 2 years and 9 months of no sleeping – finally you will have a chance to rest.

Guess what it’s time for?

Potty Training:

I just could not wait to have my kids out of diapers.  Poor Michael was 18 months old when I had Sam so I tried to get him out of diapers sooner than he was probably ready for – just out of selfish monetary necessity.

While I might have saved some money in the Pampers aisle and thoroughly enjoyed lighting my diaper genie on fire once and for all…I had not anticipated what would happen at night.

Poor Michael peed the bed every night for what felt like 10 years (but was actually 1 year.)

I think if one were to want to commit some sort of medieval tortures they would let said person go to sleep – and then wake them by a crying toddler, and then force them to strip urine soaked sheets, change a urine soaked crying child, and then put a fresh, clean FITTED FUCKING SHEET on the mattress at 2 AM.

Nothing can prepare you for this.  At a certain point you will find other ways to deal with this….

The pediatrician told me that children (boys especially) have no control at night of their bladders and finally after many nights of stripping the bed and changing sheets in the middle of the night, we started buying Pull-ups.

We then let Michael wear a pull-up until he was about 10 just so we could sleep.

Night Terrors:

But alas – I made the irrational choice to have Sam when Michael was 18 months old – so I had to start the cycle of no sleep torture all over again.

Sam offered a special new feature to the “You will never sleep again” cycle.

Something apparently called “Night Terrors” which involve said child to sit straight up in his bed in the middle of the night usually starting right about when you are going to bed and screaming at the top of his lungs as though Freddy Krueger has come to kill him.

Sam would scream as though he was in a horror movie all night long from age 2 until quite recently (age 7.)  It’s a horror movie scream so it will wake you up from your sleep immediately.

You will think first “Am I being murdered?”

A quick assessment – and “No,”

“Is my child being murdered?”

A quick assessment- and “Maybe.”

You will run to the child’s room and he will be screaming as though he is being murdered – his eyes might even be open – but there’s no reasoning with this possessed being.

He will scream and convulse in his “night terror” until his “REM sleep cycle is over” – aka (ALL FUCKING NIGHT.)

getty_rm_photo_of_little_boy_waking_from_nightmare

After months and years of this – I found myself shaking him vigorously trying to wake him.  I would be in a sleep-deprived state – screaming “WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!” to no avail.

So – that was until he was about 6.

So…..by then I was about 8 years sleep deprived….no-biggie.

Nightmares:

Night terrors are not to be confused with night MARES!

My kids (and maybe all kids these days) are fucking chicken shit – scaredy babies.

I have blogged about how I have lost many nights of valuable sleep due to the ANNABELLE MOVIE TRAILER.

That’s just one example…

There’s no end to the things that might frighten your child and keep him or her up all night long.  They will torture your life and make you get into bed with them.

You will say “No – go to bed.” several times – and then maybe the third time that they wake you up standing over you begging to get into your bed you will give in because your eyeballs and brain cannot keep up with these middle of the night requests.

This will result in elbows and knees in your face and stomach all night long – prohibiting your body from resting.  Your husband (who is a smart man) will leave at some point to seek rest and peace in one of the children’s beds….

Sometimes he will take a picture of his bed before he leaves:

Please note that I am being strangled by various arms and am face down with my neck at a precarious angle....

Please note that I am being strangled by various arms and am face down with my neck at a precarious angle….

Illness:

Just when you think you are in the clear.

Maybe there is no good reason for your kids to be awake at 3 AM.  So you settle down for a long winter’s nap – and just when you think you might get a full night of sleep you will be met with a kid that is either coughing and gasping for air all night or barfing his brains out.

You will find yourself instead of sleeping in your bed peacefully – rinsing vomit-soaked sheets and rubbing your child’s back all night.

It’s a torture that nobody can prepare you for – you don’t even know how your body is moving but you will remove that dreaded fitted sheet – yet again – and you will remake the bed……again.

They simply don’t want to go to bed:

When everything is aligned perfectly and your children are feeling good, their teeth have come in, they don’t have a stomach bug and they have nothing to be scared of – they suddenly just don’t want to go to bed.

Mr. Gaga and I love going to bed more than anything.

We find ourselves at events, including a wedding this weekend -where all we do is dream of going to bed.

We think about the joy of coming home, kicking off our shoes, taking off of our spanx, and diving head-first into the luxurious pool of heaven that our bed offers.

Possibly every single night that we go to bed, we crawl in and we say aloud things like “Thank you Jesus!” as we pull our sheets and blankets onto our tired bodies, or sometimes “I love you bed!”

But not our children!

They don’t ever want to go to their beds.

Every night I chase them around for 30 minutes trying to get them to go to their beds.

When they finally are settled I will go downstairs.

Without fail – EVERY NIGHT!! they will go into each other’s room, wander to the bathroom or wander downstairs to tell me of some bizarre reason why they cannot go to bed.

EVERY NIGHT!! I will spend the next 30 minutes screaming shut the fuck up and go to fucking bed 

rubbing backs, applying band-aids, assuring them there is nothing to be afraid of, warning of missing the bus in the morning, etc. etc,.

When that doesn’t work – I will go upstairs and shut off every light I can find and threaten their lives…

Sometimes they will find secret lighting devices and I will have to confiscate those….

Finally they will go their beds when they have no other options.

This is a lengthy process…

You are old:

A few nights will come along – when you find that everything falls into place that you can go to bed and get a full night’s sleep.

Those are the night’s that you will find yourself staring up at the ceiling thinking about all that you have to do and all that you should be stressed about.

Your neck and back might hurt.

You might have an injury from your Zumba class.

You might have indigestion or heartburn.

You will have to get up to pee.

You won’t be able to sleep.

Because….well….you were supposed to be sleeping approximately ten years ago and now that ship has sailed….

Now your old… and you have restless leg syndrome.

You will sabotage yourself:

Even still – you might find yourself with your partner planning a night that you will purposely go to bed late.

Your kids are older now and maybe they sleep a little better – so why not stay up and have some fun?

You will have a night of drinking alcohol, or going out on a date, or watching reality television.

You will continue to do this – despite the fact that it will take a full week to recover from such a wild night.

You will regret it the following morning – but you will do it again anyways.

Thank God I have Mr. Gaga to be the voice of reason – most times that I suggest such an evening:

photo (1)

When all is said and done – we are destined to be tired for awhile.

I am hoping when we retire after the kids go to college and get married we can catch some zzz’s – but that might be unrealistic.

As usual….consider yourself warned people.

PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW BEFORE GOING TO BED!!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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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.

photo (8)

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…

balloons1 (1)

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.”

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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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