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Category Archives: Mother

When it Rains it Pours….

Sunday the coffeepot was broken.  My father-in-law had stayed over Saturday night, and left to his own devices Sunday early in the morning, he had somehow ripped the entire top off of the device.

Coffee could be made but it had grounds in it.  I added “Get new coffeepot” to my to-do list.

Tuesday there was talk of a hurricane, and for us a lot of rain.  We have been around this torture-chamber they call Connecticut, long enough to know, that when the forecast shows little graphics of sideways rain – chances are we are totally screwed.

In particular, our basement has been known to have a flood or two, so we are usually on high alert when there are  big rainstorms.  There is a little pit in the basement that sometimes fills with water, (we call it the “pit of doom”) and a sump pump chugs the water out when water comes in.

At 4 AM Tuesday, Mr. Gaga woke up to the sound of torrential downpours and when downstairs to check out the precarious situation.  The sump pump was blown.

When the rain woke me around 6:30, I wandered downstairs to find that Mr. Gaga had transformed into a “human sump pump.”  He was using the wet-vac to suck up the water as it filled up the “pit of doom” and then dumping it out in the sink.

Over and over again, ultimately until an emergency worker could come replace the pump.  It was extremely muggy and musty which didn’t help matters.

Mr. Gaga was dripping with sweat, shirtless and late for work.

There wasn’t much I could do to help except poor coffee filled with grounds for him.

Finally the rain tapered off and someone installed a new pump.

I had a bunch of soaking wet towels that we had used to dry up the floor, plus my regular mountain of dirty clothes to contend with.  When I threw my first load of clean wet towels into the dryer, the machine started to smoke and make weird noises.  It wasn’t drying the clothes or turning.  It was broken.

I stared at the pile of clothing and could already smell the mold and mildew that would shortly start to grow.

The sump pump situation would cost a couple thousand dollars, and I needed a new coffeepot and now a dryer.

This was shaping up to be an annoying and expensive week.

I peeled out and headed to Sears to buy a dryer.  Between the basement status, soccer and baseball, there was a very small window of time that I could live without a dryer.  Meanwhile, it was my day off and I had a lot more important things planned for that day!

My plans were foiled and I headed into Sears disgruntled.

I stormed over to the dryer section.  I saw that they ranged from $900 to $400.

“I just want dry clothes, sir.” I demanded of a nearby Sears employee, “I need a dryer that will dry clothes and that can be delivered tomorrow.”

Let me show you some different options!

Let me show you some different options!

“No dude. Just get me the cheapest dryer you have and make sure it can be drying my clothes by tomorrow.” I cut him off.

We quickly established that there was a Whirlpool dryer for $400.  “I’ll take it.”

“Ok, ma’am,” and he started to drone on about Whirlpool and the features of this dryer compared to others.


“Ok – whatever,” I cut him off.

He started to type up my order.

“So how long will this machine last?” I asked impatiently.

It depends on how you take care of it!

It depends on how you take care of it!

“Hmmm…ok well I am going to take shin guards and peep cups and a million towels and throw them into the dryer in the morning and then I am going to walk away..How does that sound?”

Ma'am get the cheapest one we have...

Ma’am get the cheapest one we have…Do you want a warranty protection plan for $200.

“What do you think?” I asked sarcastically.

He laughed and started my order. I stood there while he processed my order for what seemed like an hour. I wandered the aisles for a minute and quickly grabbed a coffeepot.

“Can you add this too…my life is horrible.” I asked shoving the coffeepot box in front of him.

This is a great coffeepot - would you like to buy a warranty for this?

This is a great coffeepot – would you like to buy a warranty for this?  It could break and we always recommend getting the warranty for an extra $80 a year!


Finally I left with my coffeepot in tow, with the promise of a new dryer the next day arriving between 9-12.  I had to just pray that it came on the early side because I was supposed to go to work.

The next morning, I felt better about my life.  Even though I was out thousands of dollars, at least things would be working.

I went to go make coffee in my new pot.



How am I supposed to live like this!!!

I was trapped home waiting for my dryer.

The kids went off to school and I wandered around the house grumpily.  I was wearing a bra and wife-beater, but I threw on another wife beater so to not be too scantily clad when the dryer arrived.  My hair was in a bun and I had no makeup on.  I was too tired from not having caffeine to get up the energy to get dressed properly.

I decided to make dinner – since I would be going to work late and coming home late.  I poured oil in some pans and started frying up pork cutlets.  The doorbell rang. Excitedly, I answered the door expecting my dryer.

I had forgotten that I had scheduled a chimney cleaning weeks ago.

“We are here to clean your chimney.” a man said at the door.

“Ugh – ok – but I don’t even know why I scheduled this…is it really necessary?” I answered with disgust.

He started droning on about the importance of chimney cleaning and basically told me the whole house would be burnt to a crisp if I didn’t let him in.

“Fine – apparently this is Mary Poppins – I don’t even know what you are talking about – just do it I guess,” I said as I let him in and went back to making dinner.

After about a half an hour, Burt the chimney sweep returned. “’am, I just want to speak to you about a few things.” I had taken a break to read a magazine while dinner was cooking.  Now this guy was interrupting a great US Weekly article to talk to me about some chimney bullshit.  I was in no mood.

“I went onto your roof and you have a big problem….he started to talk about chimneys and flues and I think he might have even said “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” ……but I wasn’t at all interested in anything he was saying….”


I took some pictures to show you….You have a huge hole in your chimney”


And also apparently someone at some point tried to fix this with what appears to be rubber cement…..

I had to schmooze this guy as he started writing up an estimate that would surely be thousands.  I was really regretting my appearance and my choice of tank-top apparel.

The original estimate was $650.  I tried to flirt and offered him some cutlets….in the end he agreed to do it for $500.

I said I would call him later and shut the door behind him, anxiously awaiting my dryer.

I texted Mr. Gaga to give him an update on yet another household expense.

He knows me well

He knows me well……

Finally the doorbell rang again.  A man wearing a t-shirt that was supposed to look like a tuxedo was on my front steps. There was a big truck that said something like “We love tuxedos and dryers” on it in my driveway.

“I am here with your dryer.” he said matter-of-factly.

“But why isn’t it a Sears truck? I didn’t order the dryer from “We love Tuxedos and Dryers” – Do you have identification?” I asked nervously.

“No.” he answered impatiently, “Do you want the dryer?”

I needed that fucking dryer.

“But what if you kill me?” I asked him point-blank.

He wasn’t amused.

“Do you want to reschedule the delivery?” he asked starting to walk back to the truck.

“NO!!! I need to dry towels!!!” I shrieked.

Earlier I had tried to open the hatch to the basement and I couldn’t get the latch open.  This tuxedoed man was going to have to come into the basement and open it for me in order to get the old dryer out and the new one in.

“At least if he kills me – they will say on the news that I was simply trying to have dry non-moldy clothes for my family,” I thought staring at his tuxedo shirt.

“Ok – come in.” I gambled. I was at the end of my rope.

As I stood behind him in the basement, I realized things could get pretty dicey so I snapped some pics for evidence before my murder.


And then later when he asked me to sign for the new dryer – I snapped a quick pic of his shirt instead of signing.

“Ma’am what are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing! I hit a button my phone!” I said as to not anger this tuxedo wearing maniac.


Finally all of the transactions were complete.

I went to work and when I came home I just wanted to relax and calm down and not have to think or worry about all of the pressures of home ownership.

“Remember when I said that I only want to drink on the weekends?” I asked Mr. Gaga when he came home.

“Yeah – I changed my mind.”


This is a new week and I have coffee, a coffeepot, a dryer, a dry basement and a chimney that hasn’t exploded or caught fire yet….

Life is good.



Dear Soccer Mom,

Dear Soccer Mom,

You are the worst.

Admittedly, we are not “Soccer People.”

We are new to this whole world of soccer and we are not impressed.

Mr. Gaga was an all-star athlete. He was drafted.  He once led NY State in hitting a baseball.

He and his parents never behaved like you maniacs.

The irony is not lost on me that the term “Soccer Mom” refers to a middle-class suburban woman who spends a significant amount of her time transporting her school-age children to their youth sporting events or other activities.  But take note, it’s not called a “Baseball mom.” It’s not called a “Gymnastics mom.”  It’s not even a “Football Mom.”

Now I understand why America has chosen the term “soccer” as the preface for the douchiest moms in the US.

Is it perhaps because soccer people are the douchiest on the planet?

It started with the “try-out.”

I stood in the pouring rain so that my son could “try-out” for your precious travel team.  We all stood on the sidelines ruining our shoes in the mud while our children danced around with soccer balls in a Nor’easter.


I’m assuming that tryout wasn’t rained out – because “real” soccer players aren’t afraid of a little rain.

I peered out for 2 hours watching my child try his best despite the weather, and saw that not ONE person who was in charge of “accessing the children” even looked his way.  Nobody even had a clipboard or a pen – to pretend as though they were taking notes.  I am assuming this is because the teams were already chosen, and this so-called “try-out” was a farce.

The soccer “try-out” is just a technicality that has to be performed to pacify the masses.

I know you “Soccer Moms” who have an “in” are happy to stand in the rain and cheer for your children – but we aren’t fucking stupid.  We know that this is a bunch of political bullshit.

At the end of all of this “pretend trying out,” the “coaches” called all of the parents and children onto the field.

A man who apparently believes himself to be Lionel Messi, declared that he only wanted “soccer players.” He shouted out to the crowd, “If you love baseball, then play baseball! I only want soccer players!”

What a fucking dick.

These children are 9.

This is not Argentina.

Calm down.

When I got into my car with my sweaty, muddy child, I turned to him and broke the news.

“You will not make the travel team.” I said calmly as we pulled away from the field.

“Why not?” he demanded.  He had played his heart out.  He was bigger and stronger and faster than many of the children that were playing.

“You won’t make it – because not one “coach” even looked your way for 2 solid hours.”

He couldn’t understand and nor could I explain or rationalize the behavior of grown-ass adults pretending that they are recruiting players for the World Cup – when in fact they are washed up old men in suburban Connecticut looking at 9 and 10-year-old soccer players.

We moved forward and signed up for our town “rec” league.

Here we were met with less intense and somewhat more coddling and bizarre behaviors.

I received an email request from the “Team Mom” for cut-up oranges at half-time.  I had to put down my pizza and vodka to die with laughter.


I’m sorry – are the children going to get scurvy from all of this ball dribbling?

Is it because they ran 30 yards a couple of times in the fresh air of Connecticut?  Are they going to die? Are they going to throw up?

Are they going to be sad??

I mean – if I am being completely honest –

Unless Johnny Depp has come and held my child hostage for a significant amount of time on some sort of pirate ship – I ain’t cutting up any citrus fruits…..

This child needs oranges...this child is in some deep shit......

This child needs oranges for sure…this child is in some deep shit.

Fuck off.

I am not cutting an orange…..



Maybe…..I will fill a water bottle for my child.

Maybe…..I will remember it and not leave it on the kitchen counter.

That’s the best we can hope for

Did you also know that of all of the varsity highschool players in the US – less than 10 percent of them will get a soccer scholarship?

Do you think that your little angel is going to be one of those 8 percenters?

Keep cutting up those oranges!! You might make it happen with vitamin C alone!!

In closing,  I am happy that I am not a “soccer mom.”  I am happy that there are women like you who seem to enjoy this role.

And thank you for making it very clear to all of us - what your actual identity case we missed your

And thank you for making it very clear to all of us – what your actual identity is…in case we missed your “Cut-up oranges email.”

Thank you.

Yours truly,

Lady Goo Goo Gaga


Feed your Children

I should’ve known when I was breastfeeding my first child that I was doomed.

I would spend hours upon hours with my boob in this baby’s mouth only to go to the pediatrician’s office to be told that he was underweight.  Sometimes entire days would go by where I would spend every hour feeding this beast. I was tired and miserable and my nipples were raw and the child could not be satisfied.

“Oh, that’s called cluster-feeding!” the breastfeeding nazi would tell me gently as I described the horror that my life had become.

“This child is never satisfied. I think it needs like cereal or something.” I snapped.

“Oh no – it’s soothing and nourishing for the baby to cluster feed.” she answered softly.

Well can’t I just give it a snickers?  I don’t want to do this anymore.  I want to die.  “ I think he’s starving to death,” I would say with my tit in the baby’s mouth while I gazed numbly at her face.

She would pick up my skeletal baby and place it on the scale, and find that he was severly underweight.

“It’s ok, just keep doing what you’re doing!” she said and suggested a vitamin drop supplement.

At the six month mark I couldn’t take it anymore and started loading the baby up with pureed bananas and cereal.  Things improved.  Yet he was never ever satisfied.

Even though breastfeeding was very glamourous and exciting….


I threw my pump into the nearest fire and told Mr. Gaga I would no longer be available in the middle of the night to feed the baby.

I never looked back.

But guess what.

The hunger never ends.

I had another hungry monster child soon thereafter.

I tried to keep them fed while consciously attempting to not become another obese statistic.

After a few pediatrician visits with underweight children, the doctor asked what I was feeding the kids.

“Well, mostly bananas and apples…..grilled cheese and then carrots and grilled chicken and yogurt.”

He stared at me blankly.

“No pasta? No pizza?” he asked incredulously.

“Well isn’t there like an obesity epidemic?” I asked innocently.

“You cannot have these children on the Atkins diet.” he answered sternly.  He ordered a menu heavy in carbs and said they would grow brain power if fed grains and carbs.

I listened to this directive and started feeding them macaroni and cheese and pasta and sandwiches and pizza and bagels. (A menu that I started dipping into as well and found that it is not advisable for 30-somethings that don’t want to be obese.)

Things were better. The children were satisfied.

Suddenly this summer, we have reached a point similar to when they were babies.

Nobody is satisfied.

No food is safe.

I would find myself working all day and dreaming of coming home to eat a leftover fajita or a turkey sandwich and then get home completely famished, open the fridge and find tumbleweeds.  The children would eat every morsel of food they could lay their hands on.

These children have become beasts that cannot be satiated.  One dinner is not enough.  They come back an hour later and tell me they are starving.

I try to tell them they will become fat obesity statistics, but there is no stopping them.

They shovel food into their mouths with reckless abandon….


I find myself spending millions in the grocery store.

I stock my refridgerator shelves and everything is gone in 2 days.

I work like a dog.  I don’t want to spend all of my money in the grocery store.

There are Louis Vuitton Bags that I want,  there’s $300 Madonna concert tickets to consider     

college savings funds that need my hard-earned dollars.  So I cannot spend all!! of my money on FOOD!!! for these animals.

I was lucky enough recently to benefit from the generosity of Costco and it was an answer to my prayers.

We received some amazing snacks in massive size containers and suddenly people could just dig into pretzels filled with peanut butter and they weren’t hungry anymore.

pb pretzel

And then Costco sent me a strange thing.

Apple sauce in weird pouches.


This box is filled with pouches of pureed apples.  The pouch has a cap that you can open and squirt said pureed organic fruit into your mouth.

I kicked the box aside assuming it was for people in geriatric facilities with no teeth.  I pictured nurses coming over to old men in wheelchairs and squirting the apples into their mouths.  There was no way my kids would eat this shit.

Fast forward- two days later.  The apple sauce squirters were gone!! My neice and nephew (5 & 2 years-old) had been here and helped, but still, they were a huge hit.

Anytime they were hungry they grabbed these organic snacks that contained 100 percent of the daily allowance of vitamin C! Apparently they don’t mind squirting pureed items directly into their mouths! This was a total score.

Another major piece of the puzzle for me to keep these monsters at bay is bars.  Any bar can keep them satisfied in between meals.

These bars sent by Costco were a hit….


Other Costco staples that I have found help me survive motherhood include huge vats of coffee, huge boxes of Tampons, huge boxes of Band-Aids, huge boxes of macaroni and cheese, huge boxes of chicken tenders, huge boxes of goldfish and huge packages of American cheese.

Consider yourselves forewarned cluster-feeding mothers.

This doesn’t end well.



Goo Goo Gaga Fashion Week

This week is Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in NYC.

All of the fabulous fashionistas are in town to ooh and aah over the latest fashion trends right off the runway.

I’m here to break it down for the regular folk…particularly the moms.

In the olden days before I was fat and tired – I would have very enthusiastically attempted some of these fun trends – but as a weathered mother – I have to be careful.



So, post-Pretty Woman – I think we all kind of imagined that we could pull off this look and look sexy.

Sadly, unless you are in fact, Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman – this probably isn’t going to work out as well as you hoped.

At the very least you should be approximately 20 years old.

Anyone who says they didn't want to wear this outfit in the 90's  - is lying.....

Anyone who says they didn’t want to wear this outfit in the 90’s – is lying…..

But I think this is one trend definitely that most moms should skip.

This is not a look that would bode well at school pick-up.


Speaking of boots – I don’t want to admit this ….

but this infamously ugly, yet magically comfortable boot was missing from the NY runways.

I think we have run this thing into the ground.

Believe me when I tell you – nobody is more upset about this than me.

I lived in these things for the past five years and I often thought that God knew that I was pregnant and had babies and created this divine intervention to keep me fabulously sane.  As a former fashionista – it allowed me comfort and style at the same time while I was in the trenches of lugging infant carriers to the library and preschool drop-off.

Yet – I think it’s time to let this go.

We cannot spend the rest of our lives wearing these hideous things.

And let’s be honest.  You know when that cold day comes and you go to pull out your UGGS – they are not a fresh pristine pair.  They have salt stains all over them, the fur is matted and dingy.


The boot that was fucking hideous when you got it fresh and sparkly out of the Nordstrom box,  is now a beaten up piece of shit.

And some of you tried to spiff things up by buying the pair with the bows or the glitter or the sequins.


Let it go people.


Things aren’t that “romantic” around here when I need to get dressed to go somewhere.  It’s more like me trying things on and throwing them all over my room and asking Mr. Gaga if I look fat 500 times.

There’s a lot of cursing.  There’s a lot of complaining that I need a better closet.  There’s always that realization that my entire closet is a sea of black and that maybe I should shop outside of my comfort zone.

So this trend is just completely foreign to me….


I went to Marshalls on Friday night while the kids were at birthday parties and baseball practice – determined to try on blouses and find one that I liked.

Every single one I tried on was worse than the next.

I think this might work for some moms – but it really depends on your personality.  I am not a romantic, flowy, flowery, kind of gal.

So every time I tried one on and looked in the mirror – this is what I saw:


90’s grunge:

So when I gave up on the pretty puffy blouses – I ventured around and was met with some alarming choices.

Apparently we are supposed to be wearing sweaters and button-down shirts like dudes. Not just a regular old gray knit from the Banana Republic.

We are meant to be wearing all sorts of plaids and prints  I was so confused by the selection of shirts that I sent a quick text to a very chic personal stylist and shopper that I know…


But how does a mom wear these fashions without looking like a lunatic??

The plaid shirt that looks chic and fabulous on Kurt Cobain and Kylie Jenner -suddenly turned me into a trucker from the 80’s…


So I’m ready for a girl’s night out! Come pick me up!

Each one I tried on seemed more ridiculous than the next – I am just not sure I am ready to go back into this 90’s grunge style….


A great solution to all of this is just to throw on jeans with some sort of navajo blanket or “tribal cape.”


I tried a bunch on and realized quickly that this is also not a trend for every woman.

What looks cute on Cindy Crawford rapidly turned me into Sacagawea about to go on an expedition.

If not a size 2 – this trend can make women look pregnant or homeless – so we have to tread lightly here too.


I finally gave up on trying to be cool.

I went back to my comfort zone.


Thanks Wangs.

I just know where I belong.

In a sea of black.

From head to toe.




5 Reasons to Look Forward to Fall…

I can feel the fall coming.

Even though I am not mentally prepared for the end of summer….it’s unavoidable.

What can I do but succumb to the seasonal change?  I have to just look for something positive in this….

So here are some reasons I am happy that the summer is over:


I mean I don’t recall thinking that when I allowed my husband to impregnate me that I would have to morph into a full-time nurse.

My children wear flip-flops all summer and ride bikes and scooters at warp speeds, often ending in disaster.  They get into fights at the park, they get ear infections and swimmer’s ear, they stub their toes.

They get eaten and bitten by bugs and jellyfish, they get poison ivy.  The amount of injuries and rashes are obscene and disgusting.

I now have a medical bag filled with various ointments, bandages and gauze wraps that would rival Florence Nightingale’s.

Yet I don’t really have the stomach for all of this.

I am ill-equipped for children that drive their bicycles at full-speed ahead into a stone wall…..

Here's Michael's leg after he lost control of his bike.

Here’s Michael’s leg after he lost control of his bike.

I also not prepared mentally for children that decide to go “crabbing in a creek” and come home the next day with a rash that is called impetigo.  This is a rash that is the worst thing that you can ever find on WebMD.  I won’t even show it here, because you will want to vomit.  Like I do every day.

So, some pants, closed toed shoes and sitting safely at desks all day might actually be nice for a change.


Every few years, the most magical thing happens.

Madonna comes to town.

My idol.


My cousin and I load up our arms with jelly bracelets and put on our Madonna concert t-shirts and enjoy the most amazing show in the world.

It’s no matter that the Material Girl is in her late fifties – and it’s no matter that we are just some suburban housewives out for a fun night….

Bitch ...We're Madonna!

Bitch …We’re Madonna!


Between day drinking on the Tropical Breeze, and the endless barbecues, the pounds start to creep up.

Harmless day drinking over fourth of July weekend out on the open sea, slowly turns into a nasty habit, and by August looks like this:


Before I know it – inevitably by Labor Day, I can barely button my pants.

Sometimes in the summer, we enjoy happy hour so much that we forget to eat  forget to feed our children  enjoy a liquid dinner.


It might look trashy – but it’s delicious and Mr. Gaga claims that his beverage is the “champagne of beers.”

We eat ice cream and appetizers and fried clam dinners with reckless abandon.

After this weekend, Mr. Gaga and I are going to adhere to a strict diet of grilled chicken and water.

We will be super skinny and healthy before we know it.


Since I live in Connecticut, I know that even though I am wearing a bathing suit today, there is a very really possibility that I will be wearing a full puff coat and shoveling snow within weeks.

After wearing skimpy clothes for months, I kind of look forward to fall clothes.

As a child, I remember wearing new clothes on the first day of school.  It wouldn’t matter that it was 80 degrees out, I would choose my favorite fall outfit that my mother had purchased for me.

Off I would go to school, wearing corduroys and a blazer, regardless of the stifling temperatures.

Here I am in my favorite blazer on a warm September day.....

Here I am in my favorite blazer on a warm September day…..

I still have this enthusiasm for fall clothing.

Also – as I was perusing my magazine on the beach I found out some exciting news.

The latest trends suggest I can throw out my leggings and my ballet flat and start wearing a flared jean with a heel.  This is a look I very much enjoyed in college and am excited to do it again….



So what happens in the summer is, I lose interest in keeping the kids on lock-down.

We start off the summer well.  I totally know where they are.   I feed them dinner and lunch.  They are eating fresh vegetables and fruit, getting fresh air and vitamin D, and reading their books at night.

That all very quickly falls apart.

Before I know it, I am throwing hot dogs onto paper plates and they have forgotten how to spell their last names.

We have had a great summer at the beach, but now we are fat, (very tan) morons.

It’s time for me to buckle down as a mother and make them read and write and be upstanding members of society.

The beach has been good for our souls and our mental health but it’s time for a reality check…..

bye beach

There’s 287 days until summer 2016!!!  Please click the banner below to keep me in the running as the funniest mom in America!!


You like me! You really like me!! Or… 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 … 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.”


“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 :)”


“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…..









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:


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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 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.


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.


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.



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