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New Baby Insanity


Thanks so much to everyone who has shared my Pottery Barn post these past few weeks.  I am so grateful when people appreciate and laugh at a post enough to share it.


Admittedly when I started having kids I really wasn’t too in to it.

I never really said or thought aloud “I can’t wait to have a baby.” It was more that in theory I knew that I wanted to have a family.

When I decided to try to get pregnant, I was figuring that it would take me forever to get pregnant like so many people who I know, and that by the time I did I would be ready for a baby.

Of course, as luck would have it, I stopped taking the pill and Mr. Gaga kind of just hugged me and I was pregnant.

I was in a state of shock from that point, until basically very recently.

So, I never got into the whole “baby” thing.  I never really got obsessed with my baby or baby clothes or baby rooms or any of that.

One of my friends just recently had a baby (8 years after me.) To say that I am over the “baby” stage is putting mildly.

When I went to visit her this weekend I was speechless.

Just to give you a little picture of what we are dealing with, right off the bat there had been a 4 hour photo shoot scheduled when the baby had been home from the hospital for 2 days.

The home is already riddled with photos from said shoot in frames, mugs, collages, magnets, everything you can imagine that can have a photo attached to it.

The baby is 6 weeks old.

Here’s an example of one of the photos:

Please note that the husband and wife have placed their jewelry on the 2 day old baby's teeny tiny toes threatening to break them off - and then presented their hand in the shape of a heart around the feet....precious.

Please note that the husband and wife have placed their jewelry on the 2 day old baby’s teeny tiny toes threatening to break them off – and then presented their hand in the shape of a heart around the feet….precious.

I’m sorry – when my baby was home on Day 2 I was in a complete state of shock. Any spare moment I had was spent putting ice packs on my cooch and rubbing lanolin on my nipples….the thought never once crossed my mind to take off all my jewelry and put it on the baby’s toes.

I know that it’s very cute to see baby’s in strange adult like positions and we all have admired an Anne Geddes calendar or two – but really to put your baby in compromising positions just seems a bit much.

I recently saw this on Pinterest and found it just plain offensive:

Did you really stick your baby into a mailbox in the forest?? Really?

Did you really stick your baby into a mailbox in the forest?? Really?

What will you say to this child when she grows up, and she demands that you remove it from the wall because she’s mortified?

“Mom, I hate that picture can you take it down?”

“No honey, it’s so cute! Your father and I thought it was important that we have something to remember you by, so we covered you with paper packaging shred and stuck you in a mailbox and brought you out into the woods!  Then we stuck two rotten tennis balls next to you and took a picture! It’s precious!”

So after I got over being inundated with photographs, I ventured into the baby’s room and more specifically her closet.

This is only one half of the closet.  Did I mention that the child is 6 weeks old? Please note the all important baby chandelier that has somehow become a staple for children's bedrooms.

This is only one half of the closet. Did I mention that the child is 6 weeks old? Please note the all important baby chandelier that has somehow become a staple for children’s bedrooms.

Please note the newborn size tiara's on the shelf...I believe that tiara was placed on the baby's head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately that she was a princess....

Please note the newborn size tiaras on the shelf…I believe that tiara was placed on the baby’s head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately as she entered into the world that she was a princess….

Oh wait – be sure to check out the shoes department of the closet.


“Janie – you know this child will never wear any of these shoes.” I said in awe of the collection.

“Yes she will! They are sooo cute!” she replied, with such naive cluelessness that I had to just agree and not bother trying to explain that newborn babies don’t really need shoes.

That’s the thing about new moms – they think they know.  They think they are going to be the one mom whose baby wears a different pair of shoes every day until she’s 2 months old.

I guess these were for in case she makes a trip to the moon....

I guess these were for in case she makes a trip to the moon….

As I was leaving the room I noticed a little basket that was not flashy and not princess-like at all….


“What the hell? You have like 35 baby Louboutins and then you only have 7 books!!!”

My friend just shrugged and laughed.

Suffice it to say – this friend might be featured frequently on this blog….And also suffice it to say- she’s going to kill me after she reads this.

Some things I can’t resist.





No news is good news

Yet another bad week for America.

Just when I thought it was safe to turn on the news, yet another unspeakable tragedy has occurred.

When I was growing up the news was always on.

The Today Show was on in the morning.  Even if we weren’t watching, Bryant Gumbel and Jane Pauly’s voices served as background noise for most mornings of my childhood.

At night, the background noise was provided by the nightly news with Tom Brokaw or Dan Rather.  There voices would drone on while my mother made dinner every night and we played or did our homework.

That would never happen in this house.

I actually turn on the news in the morning to get a weather report (lord knows we need that around here) and quickly turn the channel the minute Matt Lauer shows his face.

Once actual news starts I immediately turn to something that’s good for children, like Spongebob Squarepants.

I just don’t want them to find out about how horrible the world is before it’s necessary.  Why should they have to worry that they might be murdered at school or at the movie theater?

So, I shelter them….maybe sometimes too much.

The very first time I knew that my children were very sheltered was when they watched the movie “Annie.”  I thought they would enjoy it, because let’s face it, what’s more fun that belting out “The sun will come out tomorrow?”

Who hasn’t pretended to be an overworked orphan singing “Hard Knock Life?”  What children wouldn’t love this cinematic production?


We had to keep pausing it for their panic-stricken interrogations.

But Mom where are her parents?”

“Um.. I’m not sure.”

“Well, are they going to come get Annie and take her home?”

“Probably not….”

But…are they dead???” the two boys asked with pale-faced horror.

“Umm…I think maybe….”


And so on and so on….they couldn’t even enjoy the movie because they were so distraught that Annie’s parents had died.

I guess I hadn’t considered that there has been such a shift in children’s movies that they would find this alarming.  Today’s movies and shows for kids depict life as pretty safe and fun.  Nothing terrible ever happens.

That wasn’t the case in the 80’s.

When I was growing up Bambi’s mother got shot with a gun right in front of her, Cinderella’s mother died and left her to be raised by a wicked stepmother, Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz had no parents and had to live with her old aunt and uncle and even the Sound of Music children’s mother was dead.

I am sure nobody ever said, “We shouldn’t let the kids watch this movie because they will be upset.”

Growing up I really thought at any given moment my parents could perish and I would be an orphan.  That was real life.

If my kids saw this they would go completely insane....Really the baby curling up for a nap in its mother's pool of blood IS a bit much Disney.....

If my kids saw this they would go completely insane….Really the baby curling up for a nap in its mother’s pool of blood IS a bit much Disney…..

Even as I got older the trend continued.

The Brady boys on the Brady Bunch had no mother.

Arnold and Willis’ mom in Diff’rent Strokes passed away when they were young and left them with some old white guy.

The kids in Gimme a Break had to be raised by their housekeeper when their mom kicked the bucket.

Samantha Micelli’s mother from Who’s the Boss…dead.

Webster’s real parents…dead.

We didn’t even care that all mothers in the television universe were dead!

I was too busy being jealous of how much fun it would be to live with Uncle Jesse to worry about the fact that the girls’ mother in Full House was dead as a doornail.

Another lucky girl was Nicole from My Two Dads, whose mother croaked and left her with 2 really cool dads!!

And the coolest and luckiest girl on the planet was none other than Punky Brewster.  Please read the following description from IMDB of my favorite show when I was 7 years old.

“Punky Brewster” (1984) More at IMDbPro »

Punky Brewster is a show about a girl named Penelope “Punky” Brewster. She is abandoned with her dog, Brandon, in a supermarket by her mother. She doesn’t want to stay in an orphanage, and finally befriends Henry Warnimont who adopts her.


If my kids ever caught wind of this show, they would never go to Trader Joe’s with me again!

I was so jealous of Punky and her treehouse and her mismatched hair elastics and clothes...I didn't give two shits that she got left at a store and was residing with a child molester....

I was so jealous of Punky and her treehouse and her mismatched hair elastics and clothes…I didn’t give two shits that she got left at a store and was residing with a child molester….

Blossom’s mother didn’t even have the decency to die, she just flat out left Blossom and her brothers in the dust and moved to Paris.

We thought we were safe with a show that was actually called “Valerie’s Family,” but no sorry….she died too.

The producers thought if we just change the name and show that their aunt is their having a picnic and playing soccer with them...nobody will mind.

The producers thought if they just changed the show’s name and showed their aunt in the opening credits playing football with the family…nobody would mind the mom being dead.      They were right.

Interestingly enough, I hadn’t realized that I spent my entire childhood watching motherless children navigate the world, until right now.

It’s making me think my kids should toughen up and watch the news.

But then last week I accidentally told them about something in the news and it didn’t go well.  When they started to step into a sink-hole in my neighbor’s yard on the way to the bus stop I freaked out.

“Don’t do that!” I yelled frantically.

“Why?” they asked with their feet raised about to jump in.

Wanting to really be effective in my explanation I said, “It could open up and swallow you up and you could die!”

“How do you know?” Michael asked fearfully.

Against my better judgement, (and we were on our way to the bus stop – so you know that’s not when I am at my best) I said:

“Well a man in Florida was sleeping and a sinkhole under his bed opened up and swallowed him and his house and he died.”

They stared back at me wide-eyed and started peering down into the hole.

Alright, this seems small and admittedly I should maybe lay off the news myself..but you just never know these days....

Alright, this seems small and admittedly I should maybe lay off the news myself..but you just never know these days….

There have been nights that they say they can’t sleep because they are afraid of sinkholes.

Before Disney, they cried and said they didn’t want to go because they could die in Florida.

And the best was when Sam decided he was going to participate in the “Tell” part of Show and Tell and started to “tell” his kindergarten class about the man in Florida.

What proves to me that I am right to shelter my kids is that the kindergarten teacher realized what Sam was about to say and quickly whisked him away and changed the subject before 20 children could lose sleep from enjoy his story.

Mention current events again and your expelled....Got it??

Mention current events again and your expelled….Got it??



Mondays Mailer Button

Bless me Father for I have sinned….a lot

So you know the Gaga household isn’t exactly the most religious.

However, I at least send Michael to CCD classes or as my New York friends call it…”Relig.”

There are children from all over town that are in Michael’s class and he doesn’t really know anyone.

One of the children is particularly bad, (I will call him “The Devil”) and is constantly causing trouble.

Once the teacher actually quit being the teacher because she couldn’t take it anymore.  Of course, she was back next week because the “church people” guilted her into coming back.

What a surprise.

Anyways this child is always disrupting the class by saying inappropriate things like one time he stood up and announced “God invented guns”  for example.

Last week when I picked up Michael from CCD, I heard the teacher telling the mother of “The Devil” that he needed to be prepared for his first reconciliation by knowing all 4 prayers that she had printed for the kids.

“He already knows all his prayers.” the Devil’s mother answered.

They concluded the conversation and the Devil and his mother left.

When the teacher turned her attention to me I said to her point-blank, “Wait…does that devil child really know all of the prayers?”

“Yes, his mother really runs a tight ship and makes sure that he says prayers every night.”

I fell on the ground laughing and peed my pants.



That so epitomizes religion…hilarious….anyhoo.


Michael has his First Communion coming up.

This is a big deal.

For most good Catholics it’s because it’s an important sacrament that means something important I am sure…..

For me it’s important because I have to start thinking about the food and decor I need to have for 100 people at my house, and make sure it doesn’t conflict with the millions of other obligations that we have in the spring and summer.

I had to attend an important meeting at the church this week outlining all of the details about the ceremony and also to secure a date.

First topic of discussion was First Reconciliation.  This is when the children have to go meet with the priest and confess their sins.

I remember when I had to do this as a small child, being so afraid and nervous I  as I approached the confessional with sweaty palms and a pit in my stomach.

I told the priest that I was “sometimes mean to my mother,” and he told me that if I just said the “Our Father” three times then I would be totally forgiven.

I was so relieved.

Needless to say, in this day and age, this kind of torment is not favored by parents.

Parents were raising their hands at the meeting saying “How can we be sure that the children are comfortable and not nervous?”

“Can we be 100 percent sure that the priest will tell them they are forgiven?”

“I remember being very stressed about this, I DO NOT want that for my child.”




Then of course there was the topic of wardrobe.

Of course if you saw the picture of the Dad at my son’s baseball game then you know that this is a town filled with primarily Vineyard Vines and JCrew.  Nobody wears makeup….nobody combs their daughter’s hair….I could go on for hours.

But anyways – there comes a debate about headpieces.  A bunch of mothers said “Yes” to headpieces, and then it started.

“Well, my daughter would never wear something in her hair.”

“I don’t ever make my daughter wear something she doesn’t want to!”

“Well what should I do if she says that she won’t wear it??”

I told you I didn't want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!!

I told you I didn’t want to wear this headpiece MOTHER!!  I look like a whore!! When I grow up I am going to be a Scientologist!

I wanted to stand up and say “Look!! If your child is Catholic they have to make a confession to a creepy priest that could possibly be a pedophile and they have to wear a creepy bride-like head-piece that means they are marrying Jesus!! Deal with it you assholes! And if you don’t like it – then go be Jewish!! And have fun with 10 hours a week of Hebrew school and if you think our headpieces our bad – good luck with those hats and barrette clips they wear!! NOW JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP SO I CAN SIGN UP FOR MY CEREMONY DATE AND THEN I CAN HIRE A CATERER AND ORDER A CAKE!!”

But I didn’t say that.

I just looked at my phone waiting for everyone to stop whining and complaining.

There were 2 available dates in May to have the First Communion ceremony and one is Mother’s Day.  Again, some nice Catholic mothers I am told, actually enjoy having this precious ceremony on Mother’s Day.

I am not that type of mother.

On Mother’s Day I would like to eat a nice brunch, (something a little more substantial than a communion wafer) and enjoy my life…not sit in a sweaty church for an hour and half and then entertain 100 people in my backyard.

It was imperative that I get my name on the list for the first weekend in May.

I was pretty much willing to do anything to get it.

As the “church lady” spoke I adjusted my chair to be at the best angle to pop up from it and sprint to the sign-up table. I envisioned elbowing people or tripping them to be sure that I could get up front in a speedy fashion.

At the end of the meeting, the Church Lady asked that we bow our heads and say a prayer.

She also asked that we allow her time to move from the table before we swarmed and knocked her over.

I don’t even think anyone said “Amen” at the end of the prayer and that bitch didn’t have a fighting chance of escaping.

People were fucking INSANE!!! There was no mercy!! No forgiveness!!

I witnessed no behaviors that Jesus likes!!!


These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

I ran so fast to the table, and yet I could feel a crowd forming around me as I got to the front of the room.   People were pushing and shoving and hands were sticking into the space where the sign-up sheets were, grabbing at the pens on the table.

A pregnant friend was in front of me with a pencil ready to sign-up when we reached the table.  She was the first to get the paper, and I was behind her, I was so set.

“Give me that pencil when you are done,” I yelled in her ear above the noise of the crowd.

But as she signed her child’s name to the sheet, it was clear, that there was no way she would be able to hand me anything…..the crowd was too rough. She was jostled and pushed aside…I tried to grab for the pencil out of her hand but she got swept away.


There goes the pencil…..

I would just have to just grab the sheet myself.

A different woman had gotten control of the sheet and I pushed underneath her arms as she was writing and I quickly signed on the bottom of the sheet, in the last slot, before anyone else could think of it.

Thank you Jesus.

For understanding that it’s very important to celebrate your body in wafer-form only on specific days.

Thank you for answering my prayers and not punishing me for my sometimes less than devout behaviors…

We will be there on our desired date with bells on.

Well, I doubt I will take any...All I see here is a big filthy bowl of flu and stomach bug...

Although I doubt I will take any…All I see here is a big filthy bowl of flu and stomach bug…





My placenta tastes better than your placenta……

We just had a conference week so EVERY DAY was early dismissal!! You know how the teachers in my town don’t like to stay at school anytime after 3:30…right?  

So by cutting the school day short they are able to eat 55 sandwiches and meet with parents without having a long day.

Anyways, so what we did to fill our days was host playdates!!  I was due for a bunch so we had 6 playdates this week and I have to say that now that the kids are getting older – it really isn’t too bad.

However – it made me think back to the time when I was locked up in the house with babies and had gotten roped into a playgroup.  Those playdates were the absolute worst hours of my life!!!

Let’s face it – the playdate for babies and toddlers is really an excuse for bored moms to get together and talk about how horrible their lives are. 

Of course, my luck is to get stuck with a bunch of women who want to talk about how much they love their children.

Playdates are also an opportunity for moms to participate in one of their favorite past-times which is to compete with other mothers. 

Why do we do it? 

Why do we even compete about food??

Why do we care?

But we do.

It starts right from the minute we get pregnant.

“You eat cold cuts? – Oh I would never, I haven’t even had a drop of coffee, not even decaf because Dr. Oz says there’s caffeine in decaf….”

Then we start right away competing with the whole breastfeeding war.

“I breastfed Ava right up until she was ready for first grade…I didn’t mind at all….”

Then we jump into food. 

Oh I would never feed my baby – baby food from a jar!!! I make all of my own baby food from scratch.  I bought a $300 baby food maker and it purees an organic banana like you wouldn’t believe.”

Of course some people even take it a step further.

January Jones recently announced that she has been consuming her own placenta since giving birth to her child.  This is the new cool thing to do apparently.  Placentas can be ground up and eaten in pill form for the squeamish…..

Alicia Silverstone has been all over the headlines because she believes that she is a bird.  Because of this – she spits food into her child’s mouth after she chews it for him.

Let me just say Alicia – there is something called a food processor.  I know you are out to win “Mom of the Century” but let’s not reinvent the wheel here.

There are many ways to cut up food.  If you didn’t want to waste energy by using a blender – (because I know how you hippies are) you could even use a good old fork and knife to cut things up.

I’m not quite sure what you are accomplishing by making out with your baby in this manner,  instead of just feeding him like a rational adult. 

When I got invited into my mommy cult playgroup – I was new to the world of playdates and wasn’t really aware of all of the rules and etiquette.

When it was my first time hosting, I racked my brain to think of the perfect snack that would make the kids like me the best.

It was my friend Martha that said "Good mothers don't feed their kids red and orange dyes......"

I didn’t know! 

I also was thinking that maybe these women (whom I had never met before) could be my new friends.   I had been in the house going crazy – my only communication being with long-distance friends on the phone.

I was kind of picturing this in my kitchen once a week:

I mean how bad could it be? We can talk some shit about other moms and neighbors, dish some celebrity gossip and ignore the kids..... This could be fun!!

So – when I was finished filling baskets with Doritos I got together some “Mommy treats”……

This did not go over well - apparently some people think that 10:30 am is too early for a Skinnygirl Cosmo......what a bunch of losers.

I slowly realized what was proper and acceptable and what wasn’t. 

Kids were given water or breast milk served directly from a huge engorged boob that was whipped out at any given moment with reckless abandon, and a choice of cut up grapes or goldfish crackers. 

Moms were served this:

Instead of running for my life after my first encounter with these idiots – I stuck it out for like 6 months.  I kept trying to talk to them truthfully about how difficult life was or how sometimes I would eat more than just my placenta pills at breakfast even though I was fat. 

They never responded appropriately, the way any of my real friends would.

One time they were all talking about how devastating it would be when the kids (who were all 2 at the time) started preschool. After everyone kept going on and on about how many tears they would shed when they left Brayden, Cayden, Layden and Jaden at the preschool for 2 hours, I interjected.

“Um – really? I intend to peel out of the parking lot at warp speeds and chain smoke Parliament Lights all the way home…….” I said matter-of-factly as I popped a chunk of my placenta into my mouth.

When I looked up this is what I saw…….

Nobody said a word.....Nobody laughed......a cricket chirped....and then I just got my coat and left.

What is happening to this world?

Why can’t we laugh at ourselves?

Why can’t we just feed our kids food and beverages and act normal???



Do not feel inferior to crazy lunatics that think their placenta is better than a Dorito. 

Do your best, feed your child in a calm rational manner.

Oh and one more thing……..Do not join a playgroup.




Linking to

Terrified by the Dashboard Lights

Where did I leave off ?……Oh right…I did a kind act for my child and was rewarded with my “mom car” blowing up. 

The “check engine” light is flashing, a dinging noise is chiming repeatedly and another symbol is lit up on the dashboard which (a quick perusal of my car manual tells me) means essentially “Run for your life!”

So what did I do?

I drove home.  I was so close – I had to do it.

I arrived home without the car blowing up.

I was near hyperventilation.  The kids were still crying about Superman.

The “mom car” had to go in the shop for repairs.  This hellish week of back-to-school and my husband’s crazy schedule, we couldn’t have only one car. My husband borrowed someone’s car and let me use his.

It was glorious.

His car is nothing fancy.   But for starters, it’s a car and it’s not red.  It’s pretty fast and it has a leather interior and heated seats.

He watched me as I was getting acclimated, adjusting the seat and changing the mirrors.  I looked up at the rearview mirror and remembered that I can possibly get some tanning done in this vehicle.  I started thinking I should just keep this as my car.

“Look you even have a skylight in here!! It’s not fair!” I said pouting.

He looked at me with disgust.

“Ok – at least get the lingo right – It’s a sunroof.”

“Oh right – apparently my “mom car” is making me stupid……I am keeping this for my car now, you can have mine.”  I said matter-of-factly.

I think he didn’t really take me seriously the first day.  But by the end of the 10- day period of time that my car was in the shop, I had a new lease on life and there was absolutely no way I was giving him his car back. 

I can feel my youth in his car.  I am lower to the ground than I have been in 6 years.  It’s not depressing and sad like my “mom-car.”   I don’t chug along dropping kids off at school or going to the store. 

I zip.

I zip to the store in my sporty little car.  I open the skylight and crank up the music. I don’t have room for more than 3 kids and a stroller can’t even fit in the trunk if I tried.

It’s wonderful.

Not to mention that I have paid my dues in the offensive automobile department.  My father gifted me with my first car which was a powder blue Chrysler Holiday.   It was mortifying and ruined my life for a short period until I totaled it on purpose  in a horrible accident – (but everyone was ok thank goodness.)

I actually couldn’t even find a picture of this ridiculous hunk of shit – but this is the closest image I could find – just to give you an idea of what my Dad thought would be appropriate for his daughter to drive to a New England prep school where all the children drove BMW’s.

Picture this in powder blue....

After that I used my father’s Ford Taurus station wagon to get around for a while until he replaced my “Holiday” with a Mercury Topaz from the 80’s. 

This is what it looked like - but don't worry I tinted the windows and got some bitchin' hubcaps to spif it up....

After that I spent a few years driving a red Ford Escort, and then finally got a little sporty car that I liked. 

Guess what happened when I paid off that car and was loving life?

I had a baby and spent the next 6 years rocking a “mom-car.”

One day when we were fist-pumping (through the sunroof!!!) to the music, with the wind from the open window blowing my hair – Michael asked “Mommy when are you getting your car back?”

I turned down the radio – “This is my car.” I answered.

“No it’s not!” he said. I stopped at a light and looked back at both kids.

“Yes it is – and do you seen how clean and luxurious it is?  Do you see how it seems as if the person who owns this car has no children?” I asked.

They both nodded their heads “yes.”

“Ok – it’s going to stay that way. No more eating in the car.  No more leaving Lego guys and itty-bitty GI Joe guns and loose crayons in the car.  I want this car to always seem like there are never any kids in it….Got it?”

They agreed to this. 

By the time my car came back from the shop – my husband had resigned himself to driving the “mom-car” full-time.

Next step – making the full swap of the cars.  Out came the shop-vac and garbage bags and my husband went to work cleaning out the “mom-car.” 

It didn’t go well.

“This is disgusting, how could you live like this?” he said several times throughout the day.

“This car has been with me for some rough years!!  Children have grown up in it!  They have eaten and barfed and pooped in it!   Your car is so nice because you only had children in it like twice.  Drive a mile in my mom-car shoes and then we will talk, and I am sorry I didn’t have time to “Armor-all” the car – because I was busy BREASTFEEDING!!!”

Whenever I need to defend myself – I usually try to work in the breastfeeding and then I automatically win the argument.  Even though I haven’t breastfed in 3 1/2 years – it actually is still effective!!

Finally I took my lipglosses and sunglasses and any other essentials and gave him his cologne and EZ PASS and we were swapped!  I felt such a weight off of my shoulders.

And really it is for the best.  If I don’t nip this in the bud right now – I could end up in one of those things for the rest of my life! I could be bringing them to college in a van!! I could be picking them up and 32 friends from the movies!!

That wouldn’t be good for my mental health.

If this "mom car" thing continues - this will be me picking up my kids when they are on a date .....and then nobody will be happy.

Why should I drive a “mom car?”  Haven’t I done enough?  

It’s not enough that I am permanently fat and unpleasant?

I have to wake up everyday and get into some sort of red mini-van that’s filled with smashed up goldfish, sand, and toys?

 I don’t have a dog. 

I don’t have 4 children.  

Why am I driving this thing again?

Oh right …..I’m not.

It was hurting my feelings – and I feel much better now.

I know it’s a bit of a pain – but if you have a minute please vote for me as one of PARENTS MAGAZINE’S FUNNIEST MOM BLOGS!!


Linking to Shell at Things I Can’t Say and Boobies, Babies and a Blog and

Seven Clown Circus

Wardrobe Malfunction

My kids just went to NY with their father to visit with my in-laws without me.  The plan was for my in-laws to take them to a family party while my husband went to the Mets game.  I did all the packing of course, with clear guidelines about what clothing was to be worn to the party. 

When they came home this morning the party clothes were in the bag, clean as a whistle, untouched.  I asked the kids what they wore to the party. 

Michael said “My super-heros shirt.” 

Sam said “My Unicorn shirt.” (I’m sure Ralph Lauren would be thrilled to know that his polo player emblem could be easily mistaken for a unicorn.)

By the way, the clothes they were talking about were the ones they wore to school on FRIDAY, when it was 85 degrees, and then sat in a car with them for 4 hours to  NY.

“Um – those clothes were dirty.” I said with horror.

They both looked up at me innocently, “We know….we just kept wearing dirty clothes all weekend.” Michael said with a shrug.

Ok – it’s not the end of the world, but I would prefer if my kids didn’t go to family parties with people that we don’t see a lot, wearing dirty, filthy “Unicorn” and super-hero shirts like a couple of homeless people.

I threw the bag down and went in the backyard to question my husband.  Michael followed me trying to protect his Dad…”No Mom, it was all Granny’s fault!”

“Um – the kids said that your mother made them wear their dirty clothes to the party instead of the nice clothes I packed.” I said, hoping for a logical explanation.

He was leaned over filling up the kiddie pool, sweating. 

He looked up – rolled his eyes, and said “They’re lying.”

Ok – it’s Father’s Day – I decided to let it go.

I went inside to help the kids get into their bathing suits.  I told them to take off their cargo shorts and shirts and leave them on the bed to change back into after they were done with the pool. 

“But we have been wearing these clothes forever!” Michael

“Yeah – these are our pajamas,” Sam said as he tossed them into the hamper.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Mom – Granny made us wear these clothes as our pajamas last night.” Michael said with a horrified voice for effect.

What the hell goes on? Why would small children be put to bed in khakis?

I didn’t push it with my husband – seeing as it is Father’s Day and all.

Later my sister-in-law called and I told her the story – she laughed and said “It’s worse than you think – Sam went to the party in just a wife-beater.  His other shirt got
dirty at the park.”

This is a picture of my 4-year-old at the graduation party - that's appropriate right?

Ok – nobody was hurt and my MIL made a point to tell me that she bathed them twice, and she watched them, etc.  But really – sending my preschooler to a party like a crystal
meth addict and my 5-year-old to bed in heavy constrictive clothing is CRAZY!!  Mothers cannot leave their children’s side for a minute!!  

This is the "pajama top" my son wore to bed with his cargo shorts......

I was going to go on and on about how I can’t trust my husband to make sure things get done properly; but that would not be nice in the spirit of Father’s Day.  I will save that for another post.

The fact is – even though Moms usually do everything perfectly – there are some times when Dads come in quite
handy.  He does the yard work, he kills the bugs, he puts together toys, he grills, he takes out the garbage, he plays sports, the list goes on and on of activities and chores that I refuse to do – and thank God – he does!  

I love my husband – and even though he (and his family) have no regard for my wardrobe guidelines or proper party attire he is a great Dad. We are lucky to have him (upstairs right now doing air guitar with the boys to music) while I finish my blog.

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Off the Deep End

We spend a lot of time at the beach in the summer.  Up until last year I never sat down once when I was there.  I would lug chairs, towels, lotions, toys, swim diapers, etc. and then I would run around, covered in sand and sweat, chasing two little boys all day.  I would dig holes, take rocks and sand out of mouths, and most importantly prevent drowning.  It’s exhausting.  I’m tired.

These kids need to learn how to fend for themselves, and SWIM – so I can sit in a chair and read US Weekly, and look up occasionally……Is that too much to ask?

We sent both kids to about 5 or 6 costly sessions of lessons in hopes that they would learn to swim at an early age.  My husband and I did “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” to see who would get in a bathing suit and splash around during the “Parent and Me” lessons, and we were out about $500 before we realized we were getting nowhere fast.  If they both got tossed in a pool they would sink like a bag of rocks.

Last summer, Michael finally could stay afloat and do the doggy paddle.  When we went away this spring, he jumped right into the pool, no problem.   I was busy putting SPF on Sam with my back to the pool and Sam started laughing and said nonchalantly, “Look at Michael….he’s drowning.”

What do you know – he was fully drowning.

Into the pool I went to save him with my clothes on.

“This is bullshit!” I screamed at my husband shortly after I saved our child’s life, as he leisurely arrived at the pool, while I stood drenched in my clothes.  While I was putting sunscreen on the kids, blowing up inflatables until I passed out, saving people’s lives and getting the beginning of a sunburn because I spent a half hour taking care of the kids instead of protecting myself from the sun, my husband “had to go to the bathroom.” Please note all that occurred during the time that he spent on one trip to the bathroom.

“Why? What happened?” he said incredulously holding a beer and a copy of Men’s Health.

“Michael drowned!” I screamed.

“Really? I thought he could swim…”

“Well apparently he forgot.” I said with disgust.

Michael was listening to the conversation – floating on a tube in the pool, completely recovered from the traumatic event.  He said casually, “Mom, you should be a lifeguard.”

“I don’t want to be a lifeguard! You guys have to swim!!” I yelled hysterically.

So fast-forward to May, time to pull out the big guns.  There is a swimming school 20 minutes from us that operates a very intense and expensive program.  For over $400 for 2 kids, every night for 2 weeks, they promise you 2 swimming children. 

I signed up for lessons that started at 6:30 for Sam and 7:30 for Michael.  Insane? YES!!!!

I thought – “OK – it will be a rough 2 weeks and it will be worth it.”

First off – this place is in a huge glass building and parents are not allowed inside during lessons.  We are allowed to watch from outside through patches of condensation on the glass to see if we are getting our money’s worth.  Well of course, lessons started 2 weeks ago when it literally RAINED EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.  So there I am each night drenched, miserable, with one child hanging on me telling me they are cold, staring at the clock waiting for the lessons to be over.  One night it was thundering and lightening, and my husband tried to come in the building and they made him go wait in his car!! SWIMMING NAZIS!

Also, because its 20 minutes away, by the time we took showers and got home each night, it was a little before 9.  To say the kids were tired is a huge understatement.  We haven’t been to the bus stop in 2 weeks, and everyone was on edge, and could very easily be reduced to tears at any moment.

Oh – and wait, don’t let me forget the best part! Sam started each morning when he woke up by opening his eyes and bursting into tears, saying “I don’t want to go to swimming tonight!”  He actually cried throughout 7 out of 10 lessons.  I would peek in and see him with his hands on the edge of the pool practicing his kicking just hysterically crying.  There I am, out $450, plus hundreds more on gas, exhausted and this kid is inconsolable.

More than once I thought I had made a huge mistake all in the name of sitting down on the beach, but we trudged along.

One morning I was at the end of my rope, and Sam was doing his morning routine. 

“I hate swimming!” he screamed, “I am never going to swim! NEVER!!” he yelled through tears.

I lost it.

“You ARE going to swim!!!” I yelled, “And not only that you had better be Michael Phelps when this is over!” I screamed in his face.

He just looked at me blankly for a couple of seconds and then started crying again. 

Friday was our last night – thank you Jesus.  Parents were actually invited in!  Do you know that both kids calmly walked down this long diving board, waved to me, jumped into 9 feet of water, popped up and swam to their teacher!!

It was a MIRACLE!!!!   It’s not Olympic worthy – but if I can even read the “Stars – they are just like Us” page of US Weekly I’m going to be one happy girl.

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Reposted for Adventures in Mommyhood

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