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You like me! You really like me!! Or…..you hate me.


I am not sure why – but last week’s post about the “SEVEN MOMS TO AVOID ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL”  really struck a chord with mothers and fathers and aunts? across America.  There was a lot of talk about me being fat and jealous, and questions about what gave me the right to judge.    Your comments were very entertaining and well thought-out – the grammar police showed up and there was even reference to the Ashley Madison scandal.

In the meantime, I actually went to my children’s first day of school and mothers that were present, that know of my secret identity, quietly mentioned how they thought of me as they dressed for the first day. SCORE!!!  I am sorry about that Goopville moms….

I have to give a shout-out to the “pajama-moms.” You were some of the most vocal – proudly announcing your frequent bra-less pajama outfits with no apologies – while simultaneously enjoying my blog and laughing at yourselves.  This shows me that I have sold the pajama moms short and they could very well be among my closest friends if I am willing to overlook their nipples in the morning.  Duly noted.

Many of you hated me this week and told me that I was judgy and mean – and I love you anyways.  I love anyone who comes to this blog and is willing to read through a post and make a comment.  Please understand that this blog is meant to make people laugh and I have never once tried to be an inspirational voice for moms.  If anything, I firmly believe that we are all doing our best to navigate this crazy world of modern-day motherhood.  Sometimes it results in some funny shit.  Also, please note that I am the first person to throw myself under the bus.  I NEVER claim to know what I am doing.  I CONSTANTLY FAIL at being a “good mother” and my way of dealing with this is through laughter.

Because let’s face it.

If we don’t laugh at all of this, then we all be alcoholics that cry ourselves to sleep every night.

Thank you for reading – I read each and every comment and appreciate them all.

In closing – each year at this time I post my SECOND MOST SHARED AND FAVORITED BLOG which is my satirical take on school lunches and the lunatic mothers that prepare them…

For some of you loyal and loving readers this will be a repeat for you -but I have so many new readers that I just have to share!!!

Thanks again to all of you for reading!! A big thanks also to POPSUGAR MOMS for posting my “7 MOMS TO AVOID” blog on their website with possibly even better pics than I used!!!!

XO, Lady Goo Goo Gaga

When I was very young, my mother decided that I was quite independent and capable.

Upon discovering my love of “doing things myself,” she rearranged her kitchen cabinets and moved all of the cereal to the lowest cabinet. She taught me how to pour milk and make a sandwich for lunch. Once the basic survival skills were mastered she informed me and my brother that she would no longer be available in the mornings.

From that point on, we were responsible for getting ourselves up in the morning, getting dressed and ready for school, making breakfast and making ourselves lunch, and getting to the bus stop on time. To our credit (and hers) we managed to do this pretty much without incident. We never missed the bus and I don’t remember feeling neglected or abandoned in any way, even though the very first cereal I remember preparing for myself looked like this….

Fast forward to modern times when I have my own children and I have spent countless hours up at the crack of dawn preparing meals and snacks. Reflecting back on that time – it seems just a bit outrageous.

It’s a topic of conversation that she doesn’t enjoy, yet my brother and I bring it up constantly. It usually goes like this….

“Mom – remember when you announced that you were never waking up again – and we had to make our own lunch?”

She usually rolls her eyes…..”Oh – like you had such a bad life? I think you’re fine.”

“Yes – I’m fine – but it was little ridiculous that you weren’t up with us…”

“Oh, poor you…yes – you had it sooo bad. Did you have a good life? Did your father and I send you to college and give you a nice wedding?”

“Mom – that’s not the point – I am just saying – it was crazy to expect us to do everything by ourselves….we were like 2.”

“I was helping you to become more independent…..Like it’s so hard to pour a bowl of cereal?”

“Well it’s not – but when you are 4-years-old the gallon of milk is a little bit heavy.”

Usually it’s by this point in the conversation that she has left the room or hung up on me.

While I do think her morning routine was completely unacceptable, I am secretly envious of her 1970’s “laid back” parenting style.

Imagine just simply not waking up in the morning and sleeping in with no worries about what your children will wear, eat for breakfast or eat for lunch? How luxurious!

While I know that those days of parenting are long gone – never to return, I received full confirmation this week when I opened my Pottery Barn Kids Fall Gear Catalogue.

To start off I should have known I was in trouble when the catalogue started off with a picture of a preschooler carrying a backpack.

The “Pottery Barn people” must have really brain-stormed to come up with an image of a child that everyone could relate to.

It was only logical that they decided on a photo of a small child carrying 250 pounds of school supplies in a bag that is as big as he is, outside on the grounds of what appears to be……Harvard?

Oh yeah – and of course his name is Penn…What else would it be? And I am sure we could all agree that yellow suede loafers are the obvious choice for 4-year-old boys.

OK – so on to the lunch bag section of the catalogue. Of course modern-day parenting dictates that all snacks and lunches must be presented to children in fancy canvas totes with their names on it in bold text accompanied by an image of Darth Vader or Spider Man.

Gone are the days of the brown paper lunch bag.

Also, in the classic style of Pottery Barn, who historically since its inception seemed to make its mission as a company to make housewives and mothers feel badly about the state of things in their home……the “Pottery Barn People” have presented their impression of what a child’s lunch should look like.

Apparently their idea of a “lunch” drastically differs from mine.

Is this what my kids are supposed to see when they open their fancy lunch tote with 55 zippers and compartments?

Because that will never happen….

Please note that the sandwich has been fashioned into some sort of exotic daisy and a dipping sauce has been made available as part of Blair’s very balanced meal….If the other kindergarteners had any doubts if Blair’s mother loved her – I think it will be very clear now……

So …..here I am thinking I’m a great mother because I sometimes heat up Progresso soup in the morning and put it into a Batman thermos for Michael.

Once again – I am wrong. I am not mother of the year – in fact I might be the worst mother in America – according to Pottery Barn Kids.

As I kept reading – it became clear that I am, as I suspected, a very, very bad mother. I might as well just stay in bed like my mother…..because I have not once shaped sandwiches into a tic tac toe game smartly utilizing carrot shreds and pieces of grapes.

In the town where I grew up – If I ever opened up a lunch to reveal a tic tac toe game made out of sandwiches, I would get my ass kicked and my new name would be “Tic Tac” until I graduated highschool…..

Just when I was about to throw the catalogue in the garbage something caught my eye.

Wait – could this be true?

I know that good mothers are ones that send in little notes with their children’s lunch. I have been known to even send a note here or there.

But could it be possible that Pottery Barn Kids is SELLING IN THEIR CATALOGUE, something called “Lunch Box Love Notes.”

So – if you are too lazy or dumb to write out your own note to your child – no worries!! Pottery Barn has done it for you!!!

Thank you Mom for sleeping the day away and never sending me to school with a miniature sandwich with a yellow tomato ball and a strange love note on top of it.

Please notice the green note in the bottom right-hand corner.

So in case your kids is telling horrible stories at the lunch table – and the other kids are staring blankly at him – or saying something like “That story sucked,” – your note will be there to save the day!!

God forbid the 6 hour school day goes by without these children receiving some undeserving accolades from their mother!!

I actually perused the catalogue for a minute – thinking it would be nice to have the notes ready to go in the drawer in the morning. Maybe I would buy some, but I searched through the whole thing and couldn’t find any that were my kind of notes…..

Really?? It’s not enough that this lunch consists of yuca chips and cherry tomatoes? If my mother ever put a note in my lunch that said I was a “kind person” I would kill her.

I usually write things like:

“Hope you are having a nice day Michael – by the way the shirt you’re wearing is from Nordstrom – so if you rip your clothes at recess again today you are punished for a week.”

or

“Hi Love bug – don’t forget – if that bully bothers you again remember how Daddy told you to punch him right in the face!! Have a great day :)”

or

“If your friend offers to share his fruit snacks today, you are not allowed to eat them. This is why he already had a root canal when he was 4 – you will thank me later :)”

I guess I will be writing my own notes this school year…..

THANKS MOM FOR MAKING SURE I CAN POUR A MEAN BOWL OF CEREAL! AND PLEASE CLICK ON THE BANNER BELOW SINCE I HAVE BEEN MAKING THAT BOWL OF CEREAL SINCE I WAS 2…..

 

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7 Moms to Avoid on the First Day of School


There are a lot of reasons why I don’t want the summer to end.  One of the top reasons is that I shall return to Goopville as a mother.  This means I will shortly find myself surrounded by lunatics of varying degrees.

When I think of school events, sports, and other social gatherings I cringe when I think of all the different mothers that I don’t want to run into.

Here’s a quick rundown of the types of troubled individuals mothers we all know about that we DO NOT want to spend any length of time with:

THE HUNGRY MOM:

This woman will have you think that she eats a lot.  She talks about food and posts recipes on Pinterest and Facebook to throw us off.  She often posts pictures of shakes and smoothies and weird barrels of protein powder.

Yet despite all of this supposed beverage and protein consumption she weighs a mere 85 pounds.

You will find this woman at happy hours drinking straight vodka because it has the least amount of calories and she will order some sort of salad that she will pick at and move around.  Another popular choice for the hungry mom is shrimp cocktail.

She is known to walk around schools or parks in spandex outfits that will just barely cover her breasts and vagina.

“Ok kids, we’re here! Have a great day at school!”

She is “Gluten-free” or sometimes “dairy-free” or “vegan” or sometimes all of the above.

She claims that when she eats anything other than air or water she has HORRIBLE PAINS! in her intestines and bowels.  She will share this information with any who dare to ask why she is so painfully thin.

Her skeletal body is annoying enough but the obsession with working out and dieting is enough to send me home crying straight to my pizza and red wine.

THE PAJAMAS MOM:

Look – I am exhausted.  I have described my morning routine many times on this blog, and it basically involves everyone in my household sleeping way too late and then frantically attempting to get to school/work.  Despite this fact, you will NEVER see me outside of my home in my pajamas.

There is simply no excuse for these mothers that think it’s perfectly acceptable to show up at school in their sleeping clothes!  Take two minutes to get dressed people! It’s bad enough that you have no makeup on and your hair looks like you stuck your finger in the toaster.

Put regular street clothes on and also put on a fucking bra.

Do you think we don’t see your tits swinging in the breeze under your polyester pajamas?  My kids don’t want to see my boobs hanging to my belly button – what makes you think they want to look at yours??

“Don’t wave at me!  I hate you!!” “I can see your nipples! I will speak to you when you have gotten dressed.”

I cannot tell you how it irks me to wake up in the morning and to be greeted by anyone other than Kelly Ripa….the last thing I need to look at is someone in pilly pajamas pants and a sheer top with loose boobs.

THE HIPPIE MOM:

Speaking of boobs – this mom was found just a few years ago in every public place she could think of with her boob in her kid’s mouth.  No matter that he might be 3 years old, she would stop when “he was ready.”

Now she can be spotted a mile away with her graying hair and her “aging gracefully” face.  She wears clothing that might as well be homemade and puts her childrens’ snacks and lunches in organic cotton pouches.

Her children live off of greens and homemade granola bars and haven’t had a hair cut since 1982.  Her husband has a beard (not the hipster kind) and they speak in slow soft language with zero affect.

She is fucking annoying and ridiculous.  She eats her own placenta.

She is green.

She walks or bikes her children to school to save the environment.

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It’s not the 1970’s – get a bottle of Clairol Root Touch Up and some face cream for god sakes, and give that kid a burger.

THE SPORTS MOM:

This is a mom that I run into frequently at the children’s sporting events.  As I am reading my magazine texting friends 

watching basketball or baseball games featuring 8 and 9 year old children, I am often caught off guard by women who somehow believe they are at a major league or NBA Finals game.  They sometimes even wear team-related offensive attire and they bark out commands, cheers, and ref/ump scoldings like it’s their job.

She knows the rules of every game and she wants us all to know it.

She takes great enjoyment in screaming in my ear when there is a bad call of some sort.

I attempt to pay enough attention so that I can catch my son’s eye at just the right time and give him a thumbs up so that he thinks I am watching.

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That’s not good enough for this manly mother.  She is seemingly appalled when I don’t know the score or who’s winning, or when I don’t notice that my child is at bat or just scored.

They don’t quite understand that until someone in my household is in the running for a gold medal or college scholarship – I just don’t find all of this that interesting.

THE PTO MOM:

The picture of perfection.  She loves her children, she loves her children’s school, she even loves your children.  She loves all children and schools in America.

She wants you to do the same.

She will have you giving every penny you have for wrapping paper, apple pies, teacher gifts, teacher luncheons, field trips, book fairs…the list is endless.

Avoid this woman at all costs....

Avoid this woman at all costs….

But money is not enough.

She also wants your time.

It’s not enough to just write out a check to his maniac – she will have you running cash registers at farmer’s markets, hanging artwork for the art show, face painting at the school carnival…..It never ends.

And there’s no hiding.  She will email you.  She will call you.  She will pepper you with reminders, school updates, fliers, until you give in.

It’s not enough to give your money or your time.

She won’t stop until she has your soul.

THE PERFECT MOM:

This bitch will never admit defeat.

She looks perfect.  Her clothing and accessories are impeccable. Her children are dressed to the nines in Vineyard Vines and Mini Boden apparel.

I hate you perfect mom.

I hate you perfect mom.

Her hair is perfectly coiffed and she drives a luxury SUV of some sort.

She is never rattled.

Her children’s clothing and bags are stitched with perfectly embroidered initials and her manicure is never chipped.

She loves her husband.

She loves her golden retriever.

She loves your golden retriever.

She packs her children’s lunches in a bento box filled with fresh picked berries and julienne vegetables.  Sometimes she uses carrot shreds to spell out her child’s name on his sandwich – accompanied by a love note.

She is the room mother and offers to take your children for a playdate with a smile on her face.

When you complain or say that you are tired she looks at you with a perplexed look as though exhaustion or disgust are emotions she is unfamiliar with.

She uses social media as a weapon to remind us all that everything in her life is dreamy.

She is the reason my town is called “Goopville” because her idol is Gwenyth and she shops at Whole Foods looking for macrobiotic ingredients with fervor.

She is also the reason why we all feel unworthy and less than as mothers.  She is the reason that I started this blog in the first place.

She is a liar…

She lies to us, to her husband and kids, and to herself.

Because we all know that nobody’s perfect.

THE MOM BLOGGER

She is a judger.  She notices when you haven’t dyed your roots or forgot your bra for school drop-off.

She pretends to read her magazine at the games but his silently taking pictures of you while you innocently cheer for your child wearing a football jersey.

She pretends to be indifferent about the school and PTO but somehow finds herself face painting and running the farmer’s markets like an idiot.

Watch out for her – because behind her oversized sunglasses that she rarely takes off ….she notices everything….

and she will blog about it.

I ONLY CALL IT AS I SEE IT!!! PLEASE SHARE THIS POST ON FACEBOOK THIS WEEK SO WE CAN ALL BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THESE DREADFUL INDIVIDUALS!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

The Evolution of Date Night


Thank you to everyone who sent me their summer spirit emails and pictures and for all the tweets and shares this week.

It was tough to pick just one deserving person to gift this TROPICAL BREEZE FLOAT to….

But one person caught my eye – she sent lovely pictures and she went so far as to make up a Haiku about the Tropical Breeze.  Her name is Karadactyl and she is the winner of heaven on earth.

And now back to my life…..

When my children were little, just a mere 18 months apart, every day my goal was to survive the day.  In the summer, I would lug them to the beach, along with chairs, bottles, snacks, floaties, SPF, toys and balls.

After dinner we would all be zombies and I would be looking at the clock desperate to get them into their beds.

No matter how tiring their days were, inevitably since birth Michael has never been tired enough to go to sleep in a timely fashion.  I have pretty much spent the past 9 years yelling at him to get into his bed.

Every night of my life I have to tell him to go to bed, and then I have to go to his room and tell him to get into the bed because he will be lingering around near his bed doing something else, and then I will have to tell him to actually go to sleep millions of times after that.

It’s infuriating…

Sometimes I will be settled in watching a show and ready to relax and he will come meandering downstairs asking for water or something as equally stupid and annoying….

I can’t stand it.

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When the kids were little at least once a summer, my mother would babysit and Mr. Gaga and I would escape to a nearby restaurant on the water.  This was so luxurious.  To have someone else put my children to bed while I drank a martini looking out at the ocean was heavenly.  Also, most importantly it gave Mr. Gaga and I a chance to hang out and reconnect.

When the kids were very little, we were so tired we would just stare at each other in a dazed, shell-shocked state.  But we were still so happy to be free.

We would try to recreate what date night once was before we had kids. We would try to gaze into each others bleary eyes and be romantic.

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It was just never quite the same.

As the children grew and our lives became more manageable, we have really enjoyed our date nights as a chance to catch up with each other, as we become two ships in the night with work, school, and kids’ activities taking over our lives.

But, this summer was different than ever before.

I mentioned how my kids have become quite independent this summer.  They suddenly have their own agenda.

On the beach they are nowhere to be found.  They are either in the water with friends or hanging out at the playground or boardwalk.

This week Mr. Gaga and I both took the week off so that we could enjoy a staycation.  Every day we headed down to the beach as a family, only to find ourselves alone within minutes.

The other day, Sam wandered over to Mr. Gaga and I to ask us what time it was.  He plopped down into a tube that was sitting on the sand.  We started chatting about going back to school and other topics.  After about ten minutes, Sam looked around and said “Oh God, How long have I been sitting here with you guys?” I have to go.” and hopped up and left us.

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….And……we are alone again.

All that talk a couple weeks ago about reading my book…..

and this week I had more time than I knew what to do with. I READ TWO BOOKS!!

So when we actually went on our date this week it was very different.  First off – my mom doesn’t really have to watch them. She fed them and then they hopped on their bikes and went off with their friends like they do every night.  They play basketball or play games on the beach.  The play manhunt or watch a movie on the beach.   It’s as though they don’t need any adults at all.

Once we were out, we didn’t feel a need to catch up because we were caught up.  We weren’t happy to get away from the kids, we actually missed them.

We listened to music…We looked out at the water.

When the kids were little if someone had said to me – when your kids are 8 and 9 they will be totally independent and you can go out with your husband alone for hours on end….I would have pictured us living it up – getting wild.

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But instead we sipped our drinks calmly.

We talked about the kids.

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“I wonder what they are doing tonight.” I said as I stared out at the boats.

“Look – there’s Caitlyn Jenner,” Mr. Gaga said in a hushed tone pointing discreetly at a woman sitting near us.

We were shocked at the eerie resemblance and took a quick picture.

That was as wild as we got.

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I was drinking sweet summery drinks and in my old age they were upsetting my stomach…

“Let’s just go home.” I said after we had finished eating and I was getting sick of sipping on my sweet drink.

Mr. Gaga didn’t have to be told twice, he stood up quickly and we headed home.

Suddenly after years of trying to get away from these rotten children, I feel as though I have my whole life to go out to dinner.  I would rather be home with my kids.  As we drove home I envisioned hugging them and maybe reading a book or doing a puzzle before they went to bed.

When we pulled in,(at 8:30) the kids were just arriving home as well.  They were sweating from riding their bikes and guzzling water. When I tried to talk to them and hug them, they shrugged me off indifferently.

“Did you even miss us?” I shrieked.

They shrugged carelessly and went off to watch a movie together in the living room.

Mr. Gaga and I stared at each other.

Dare I say – I wished them away and now I regret it?!  It seems like yesterday I was wishing that they didn’t need me so much – that they would entertain themselves and stop bothering me?!

And here we are….it’s just the beginning of this new chapter of motherhood and it’s very bittersweet.

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ONE MORE FULL WEEK OF SUMMER AND BACK TO FULL INSTITUTIONALIZATION IN GOOPVILLE!! CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR ME AS THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Keep Calm and WIN!! a Tropical Breeze


I am back on the horse   Tropical Breeze!!!

After a series of unfortunate events last week – kept me and my family from enjoying our summer – this weekend things turned around.

Michael got his stitches out so he could go back into the water! And most importantly I received a special gift from the Bestway company.  They are the people that invented the best invention ever!

The TROPICAL BREEZE!!

Remember a couple weeks ago when I described the joy I felt when I was on this Tropical Breeze float that was my friend's?

Remember a couple weeks ago when I described the joy I felt when I was on this Tropical Breeze float that was my friend’s?

Well this wonderful company decided that I should have one of my very own!!!

I received it Saturday afternoon and was very excited to get it into the water on Sunday.

I was not prepared for the hard work it entailed to get this thing blown up!! Thank God for a friend that had a really good “blower-upper” thingy in her garage.

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This is not the type of thing you can blow up with your mouth.

It took about an hour and then we were wondering how we would actually get it to the beach.

We tried to put it on top of our car but it didn’t work.

We tried to get a bunch of kids to hold it on two golf carts.  Our plan was to drive both carts very slowly next to each other….that didn’t work either.

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Finally we just each grabbed a corner and walked it down.

It actually was pretty light and manageable!!

All the hard work paid off.

There is just nothing like floating on the open sea on the Tropical Breeze.

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We brought snacks and lunch, and I even brought my book that I have been trying to read for two weeks!!

I kept trying to keep the kids away by kicking at their hands when they would try to get on board….

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But ultimately I was a good mother and I let them have a turn with their friends…They were entertained for HOURS!!

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The most amazing news is that the TROPICAL BREEZE FLOAT PEOPLE want me to give to one of these magical flotation devices to one of you!!!

To enter you need to share and like this post on facebook or twitter.

You can get another entry by commenting below in the comments about how you would utilize the Tropical Breeze and why you NEED or DESERVE the Tropical Breeze!!

You can get another entry by showing me your summer spirit in picture sent to my email or Facebook page.

The winner will be chosen based on need of Tropical Breeze after being reviewed by my private panel of judges and number of entries.  If you like and share more than once on social media that will up your chances to win!!

And to all of my friends and family who think they have the inside connection……Coined by one of my friends as a “BREEZE BRIBE”

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Hmmm……I might be bought……

GOOD LUCK EVERYBODY!! I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE AND HEAR ABOUT YOUR SUMMER SPIRIT!!! SHARE ON FACEBOOK TO GET YOUR ENTRIES STARTED!!!

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Worst Week Ever


Apparently when you blog about Tropical Breeze floats and hard lemonade in your crotch the universe laughs at you.

If you float in the ocean and tell the world that you are happier than you have ever been….

The universe will immediately pop your brand new tires on the way to work…

Remember when I stole Mr. Gaga’s car with the sunroof?

So imagine me just cruising along on the highway listening to some great tunes, getting a tan through the sunroof, and then all of a sudden my whole car is filled with smoke and I fishtail off the highway into a cloud of doom – leaving shreds of rubber in my wake.

Many times I have noticed a shredded piece of tire on the side of the highway and a shudder goes through my spine thinking about what happened to the poor person who left it behind.

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Apparently you will find yourself on the side of the highway with a shredded tire when you are an hour late to work…

And then after Mr. Gaga rescues you from the perils of the highway and the late to work situation…you will say “Well that wasn’t so bad….” and then the universe will laugh at you again.

Monday Michael and Sam went to camp.

They came home crying.

Remember that picture I posted of the idyllic children playing dodgeball on the beach?

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Remember how smug I was when I said basically that children in modern day times can actually play dodgeball without crying?

Yeah.

I was wrong.

Apparently there was some dispute during the dodgeball.  Someone got hit with a dodgeball and didn’t admit that they were out.  This erupted into a fight. There was a squabble.  They all agreed to disagree.

They ate lunch.

Camp resumed for the afternoon.

In the afternoon when the children were playing in the park, Michael decided to seek revenge on the child that had refused to be out.

Unprompted while everyone was making potholders with their looms….

He threw the dodgeball at this child’s head.

The child sized up Michael, clearly assessed that he would lose this fight and chose to start beating up Sam instead.

Michael then rose to his brother’s defense and beat the shit out of him and got into trouble.

Meanwhile….back at the ranch…while my children are at camp, if I don’t have to be at work, I just want to bask in the sun, enjoy my Tropical Breeze and relax.

I just want to be tan and read my book and enjoy my life…is that too much to ask?

In case you missed the first three years of their childhood, I breastfed and chased these maniacs around every minute of my life.  I just want to read my book and every day occasionally have a cocktail.  I deserve this.

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Michael and Sam returned from camp crying.

I threw down my book with only one page completed.

“What happened?” I asked.

They cried and moaned about their troubles.

“I had to beat him up because he was beating up Sam!” Michael pleaded.

Can't I read my book and enjoy my pina colada you fucking assholes??

Can’t I read my book and enjoy my pina colada you fucking assholes??

I ripped their arms out the sockets, dragged them to the camp counselors and demanded that they resolve the issues, and returned to my beach chair to read my book.

That day was somewhat salvaged.

Next day, I send kids to camp and tell them I will beat the shit out of them if they cause any trouble and tell them if they are too soft to handle dodgeball then they should spend the day making potholders.

I go to the beach and get settled in for a glorious day of sun and surf.

The kids get out of camp and swim and enjoy life until 5 PM.

Michael says he is going to ride his back to the house to take a shower, I tell him we will head back shortly and see him in a bit.

When I arrive home, I find Michael has lost control of his brakes and crashed into a rock wall.

His leg is a bloody mess.

It’s meaty and fleshy and gushing blood.

My mother is there holding a cold rag on the wound while he cries and wails and she whispers to me “I think he needs stitches.”

We hope in the car after sending pictures of the leg to Mr. Gaga for confirmation, and head to the E.R.

I am NOT nurse-ish.

I am NOT Meredith Grey.

I am NOT a good mother someone that is good with injured people.

I gagged and held back tears as the nurse basically power-washed the shit out of his leg to get the gravel and sand out of his wound.  He held my hand tightly and cried, while I tried to remain calm and collected.

Then they gave him a shot in his leg and then they gave him 7 stitches.

After all of that, the worst was yet to come.

Imagine in slow motion a doctor saying “No swimming for two weeks.”

Imagine me literally wearing my bikini and a cover up -fresh from the beach- with sand on my feet and legs – throwing myself into oncoming traffic.

Somebody kill me.

Somebody kill me.

Poor me  Michael.

I mean we live at the beach.

As we drove home, I was thinking if I could just wrap up his leg in saran wrap – it should be fine.  I mean I am sure they just say “no swimming” as a precaution – but they probably don’t mean it.

I could let him swim for a little while.

Just a quick dip.  As long as Mr. Gaga doesn’t show up and catch me sunbathing while Michael’s leg gets filled with ocean bacteria…..

I could just imagine him running to the edge of the ocean screaming “Get out of the water!” like a maniac – and then I would wake up from my nap on my beach towel…It would be disastrous.

Jaws_2_10_Movie_CLIP_Get_Out_of_the_Water_1975_HD

My fate and Michael’s was sealed.

The next day while Sam and I lounged on the beach in the scorching 90 degree heat, Michael announced he wanted to walk over to the playground that’s down the road from the beach, since he couldn’t swim.

I agreed.

I laid back and finally tried to read my books and magazines and relax.

Twenty minutes later Michael was back on the beach headed towards me in tears.

I threw my book down.

Again.

“What now??!!!” I screeched into his sweaty face.

“I squirted a squirt gun into a guy’s face at the park and then he pushed me to the ground and punched me in the back of the head twice!”  he cried.

“WELL WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?” I screamed.

“When you are fucking annoying and squirt water in people’s faces that you don’t know – what do you think is going to happen?” I yelled. “You got what you deserved!” I said with disgust.

When Michael had calmed down and I had calmed down, I explained calmly that although it was a tough lesson to learn, he should think twice next time he is about to do something impulsive that could potentially piss someone off.

He agreed.

We went back to the beach.

I picked up my book.

“Oh Mom – there’s the guy that beat up Michael.” Sam said matter-of-factly pointing to a huge man.  I was shocked to find that the person who beat up Michael was clearly ten years older than him.

I threw the book down….AGAIN.

books

I waited by the edge of the water for the huge “slow adult” to come out of the water so I could let him know that assault on a minor would not be tolerated.

When he finally came towards me, I stopped him to say my prepared speech about how I would be pressing charges if he went near my child again.

He looked at me defiantly. “Your kid squirted water in my face,” he spat, “That’s assault!”

“OK, well he’s nine, so I will be calling the police the next time you try something like that,” I said sternly, sure that he would be anxious to have an adult threaten him in this way.

“I don’t really care!” he shouted as he walked back ashore, “Fuck off!” he yelled as he gave me the finger.

This is not how I thought this was going to go down...

This is not how I thought this was going to go down…

I was speechless.

I was filled with rage and anxiety until Mr. Gaga came to the beach the next day and hunted him down and took care of business.

Today was the day – I was sure would be normal.

Sam woke up screaming in pain, and Mr. Gaga spent two hours at the walk-in clinic before having a doctor diagnose him with an ear infection.

“No swimming.” Mr. Gaga said matter-of-factly, when he returned tossing ear drops on the counter.  I shrugged numbly.

I had all but given up on the sun, the surf, and the reading.

But at long last, the universe was done punishing me.

I received an email from the Tropical Breeze people.

They think I deserve a brand spanking new Tropical Breeze.

AND! They think I should give one of my loyal readers a brand spanking new Tropical Breeze!!  (Stay tuned for details.)

I am hoping this week finds us all splashing in the surf and reading our books….

LAND-BOUND CHILDREN, RUN-INS WITH EMINEM AND STITCHES=TWO TROPICAL BREEZES….CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO KEEP ME IN THE RUNNING AS THE FUNNIEST MOM IN AMERICA –

XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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Stopping to Smell the Tropical Breeze


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

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

it’s the trendy thing…

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

There's never enough...

There’s never enough…

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

tina wine

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s depressing.

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

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

So what’s my point??

In the summer – everything changes.

I don’t want to work.

I want to be basking in the sunshine.

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

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

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

I don’t care if I wear rags.

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

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

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

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

“NO!”

dodgeball

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

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

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

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

But fuck that shit….

lobstersauce

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

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

My friend invited me to go on her float.

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

Sounds good to me….

It’s called a “Tropical Breeze.”

tropical breeze

There she is….

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

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

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

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

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

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

tb1

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

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

Everyone sighed in agreement,

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

Everyone laughed and agreed.

Happiness is a tropical breeze, figuratively and literally.

If only I could remember this in the winter….

tb2

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

I have to just remember what’s important –

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

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

Pasta.

Sunshine.

Vodka.

Repeat.

pasta alcohol

THE SUMMER IS HALF OVER – GOD HELP ME!!! CLICK ON THE BANNER BELOW TO KEEP ME IN THE RUNNING AS AMERICA’S BEST MOTHER…..XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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This Helicopter is going down…


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

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

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

Why would she say such a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

luanne

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

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

The nerve of me!

Especially in the mornings before school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

doesntmatter

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

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

giphy

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

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

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

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

Is that helicopter-ish??

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

luanne

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

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

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

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

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

This is all normal mothering right???

notreally

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

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

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

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

becool

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I know where they are?

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

Kind of.

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

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

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

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

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

And what will I do with all my spare time?

I’m not quite sure yet…..

kimkbeach

I’ll think of something……

I’M SURE EVERYONE WILL SURVIVE WITHOUT A HELICOPTER-PLEASE CLICK THE BANNER BELOW TO SUPPORT ME AS THE BEST MOTHER IN AMERICA….XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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