Missing the “Girl” Gene

I really SUCK at being a “girl”.

Somewhere along the line, I missed receiving the “style” gene in my family.  Both my sisters got it, but not me. Therefore, I am very fashion challenged.  My closet is filled with hoodies and baseball hats.  The clothes I do have that are dressy and stylish were most likely bought by my personal shopper -my sister, Caryn.  It is pretty much guaranteed that if an outfit I am wearing matches from head to toe, then either my sister bought it, I bought it off a mannequin, or it was a total fluke on my part.  My friends know which outfits are “Caryn approved” and which are not. Every outfit I own for any occasion has been bought by my sister….even my wedding dress.  True story.

I really don’t have the time or patience to shop and honestly, I have no clue what goes with what.  I just want to be comfortable.  The problem with dressing up, especially dresses, is the limitations that come with it.  You have to be careful about what you eat, how you bend over to pick up a napkin, how you sit, whether a big gust of wind or a hasty trip to the bathroom will cause an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction….and any desire to do a spontaneous cartwheel or be part of a human pyramid is completely out of the question.  Another true story.

The same holds true with hair and make up.  Other then my brief mullet stage during the 80’s, I have mainly kept my hair short.  There is little to no maintenance involved with short hair.  Drying time is minimal and you never have to worry about accidentally eating you hair during a meal.  Over the past two years though, I have successfully grown out my hair to all one length.  To me, this is equivalent to Congress balancing the budget – next to impossible.  But I did it.  Maybe there’s hope for Congress.  Although I have long hair, I have no idea how to style it. I know two hairstyles – the ponytail and the baseball hat.  If I am feeling sassy then sometimes I’ll go with the baseball hat and a ponytail, but that is my extent of hairstyle knowledge.

This was cool back then?

This was cool back then?

So you can imagine my dismay when I found out we had a wedding to go to and I would therefore, be required to dress up.

Now, the easiest thing to do in this situation would have been to call my sister, inform her I needed an outfit and voila – my problem would be solved.    Of course, doing the easiest thing is not always my forte.   Honestly, in my head, I kept telling myself to call my sister, but something always prevented me from actually calling.  She was at work, or the kids were fighting, or I was in line at Dunkins.

Slowly, the weeks ticked away until the wedding was 3 days away and I had zero plan.  So I did what any sane person would do….I panicked.  I rummaged through my closet, through every past outfit my sister had every bought and came up with a turquoise sun dress that I wore to a wedding in Jamaica.  The wedding was before the boy was even an idea so the dress had to be over 7 years old, but everything comes back into style, right?  I no longer had the shoes so of course, I waited until the day before the wedding to tackle that problem.


We loaded up the family and headed out to look for shoes.  I ran into Payless, found a $10 pair of white sandals (white goes with everything, I think) and a flowery head band that matched the dress.  Accessorized for 15 bucks!  Well, it actually cost me $34 because the boy insisted he needed a new pair of basketball shoes, even though I just bought him new sneakers.  “But those aren’t basketball shoes, mom!”  Sigh.

Since my husband is the same way as me, we had to run into Kohl’s to find him a shirt and tie.  Amazingly, he found a shirt that matched my dress color and a snazzy tie right off the bat, so I took this as a sign the fashion gods were in our favor.  While I was keeping the kids busy in the toy section, my husband had to jump on a call so he checked out without us.  I had a 30% coupon I wanted to use.


A 30% coupon at Kohl’s is like hitting the lottery!   So I had to go back in and return everything and rebuy it with the 30% off.  (You’d do it too)

Outfits complete!  On to hair!

I got a quick appointment with my hair dresser to get my hair trimmed and my unibrow waxed back to two defined eyebrows.  While discussing the upcoming wedding, I mentioned it would be nice to have a little wave in my hair, but I lacked the skills to do it.  She said it was easy and began to explain how I could do it.

Instructions: separate your hair into sections. First the sides and clip them up, then the back – one section, clip, second section, clip, third section, clip.  Take one inch section of hair and begin…..zzzzzzzzzzzz.

OMG!  How many steps?  You lost me at the second section.


I figured I would spend Friday night practicing on my hair and, because I was still high from our sweet shopping finds (at 30% off), I decided to give myself a pedicure too.

I really tried to follow all the steps my hairdresser explained to me.  I tried to section my hair into 4 sections, but I couldn’t seem to keep the hair together long enough to put the clip in.  Eventually, I had one massive glob of hair on the top of my head, with 7 clips sticking out and hair was still popping out in all directions.

How do people manage to do anything to the back of their heads without any visual guidance?  I was trying to get 1 inch sections just from feeling around my head.  I ended up either pulling hair out of my hair clip contraption or, if I was lucky enough to get a section, I’d end up burning my fingers trying to get the curling iron around the hair piece (and yes, I was wearing the little protective glove that comes with the iron).  Finally, frustration won out and I just started grabbing chunks of hair and curling it.  In the end, I looked like Medusa, with crimped pieces of half curled hair sticking out every which way.  I tried brushing it out which just made it worse.  My last saving grace was to try on the head band to see if it would tame the mess.  It was then I realized that the head band made me look like an overaged mermaid, having really bad hair day.


F%#$k the hair.

I decided to move on to the pedicure.  If anything, the water might relieve the stinging sensation in my burnt fingertips.

Normally, whenever I tried to paint my nails, they end up looking like a drunk toddler got loose with the nail polish.  After the hair fiasco, I was almost resigned to the fact that I would be going to the wedding with unpainted toes and a baseball hat on.

I am still not sure what happened, but somehow I managed to stay inside the lines and my toes came out pretty nice.  Definitely not professional grade, but I only had to get through the day and as long as no one was crawling around by my feet, it would pass as acceptable.


I went to bed feeling somewhat optimistic.


Time to get serious.

During the night, my hair disaster had flattened down so I thought I’d give the head band another try.  Still looked like sh@$#t.  Really, I do have a baseball hat that matches my dress….

After getting everyone fed, dressed, packed for aunties, and medicated, I thought “hey, maybe I should paint my finger nails too.”  Freaking idiot.  I didn’t do a bad job.  I just kept forgetting that I couldn’t touch anything for a while.  After the fourth touch up, I decided I’d just keep my hands in my lap or talk really animated so no one would actually see my nails for more then 30 seconds at a time.

It was then my husband asked if we had a card.  SH@#$T!

Off to Walmart I go.  Got a lovely wedding card, picked up a sweater in case the AC was blasting during the reception, picked up a few more hair accessories (still have no idea what I’m doing) and grabbed some lip gloss.  Did I mention I never wear makeup?  Any makeup I have is from my wedding – 14 years ago.  According to my friends, I should not be using this makeup for fear of getting some bacterial infection that could make my eyes look like I’ve been in a really bad bar fight.  I decided to take my chances.

So I rushed home, got cleaned up, dusted off my special occasion only thong, put my straight hair in a somewhat side pony, threw on my 14 year old makeup, my new sweater and…….CRAP!  I look like a dowdy librarian for a low budget porn film.  My husband thought I looked hot (due to the thong and the porn reference).

I have to admit, we both cleaned up nicely.  We received a lot of compliments about our matching outfits, which we told everyone was due to the Garanimal matching system.  No one noticed my hacked up finger nails.  My eyes didn’t swell from a raging bacterial infection.  There were no wardrobe malfunctions and I managed to refrain from any cartwheeling.


The wedding was beautiful and I am so happy for the bride and groom, but the best part of the day was going home and getting back in my hoodie.

Some things never change.



My Peri-Menopausal Self


I turn 47 today which means I am officially sliding down the old age hill towards the half century mark.  On one hand I am one year closer to the 10% senior discount at Dunkins.  On the other, my body isn’t exactly being a team player any more.

Like an old car whose warranty had just expired, when I hit my 40’s, everything seemed to start to fall apart.  You silently pray that old Bessy will keep kicking for just a few more years until you can trade her in.  Unfortunately, there is no trade ins when it comes to life.  You are stuck with the body you took off the lot.  All sales final.

There are a lot of things no one warns you about as you get older. Similar to childbirth, most people are reluctant to tell you the gory details for fear of causing you to gouge your eyes out and run screaming from the room or curl in a sobbing ball in the corner of the room.

Fortunately, I am not one of those people.  I will tell you straight out some of the suckass things that happen to you as you climb the hill of old age towards “the Change”.  Hey, misery loves company


Say goodbye to your luscious locks.  Your hair will slowly begin to convert into straw.  Sorry ladies, but no amount of highlights are going to hide those steel like grey hairs that keep popping up on your head.  You will also be blessed with your hair starting to fall out.  I don’t mean an occasionally stray hair.  We are talking shedding like a sheep dog in winter.  I cannot tell you how much hair I find at the bottom of the shower drain after each washing.  I could probably knit a 3 piece suit out of the sh*t.

While your hair is shedding from your head, mysterious hairs will begin to pop out in places you never knew could grow hair and those suckers will be industrial strength.   I have one hair – just one- that keeps growing underneath my chin. I have affectionately named it “splinter” ever since my son commented that poor mommy has a “splinter” in her chin.  In order to get “splinter” to vacate my chin area, I must position myself with a firm grip on my tweezers as I brace my feet against the vanity and pull with all my might.  I believe the feeling is close to having your fingernails ripped off and it brings tears to your eyes.


Ah, those lovely breasts.  Remember how cute and perky they used to be?  You could throw them in a lacy little number and they would stand up at attention.  Two plump melons peeking out of your shirt.  Now, thanks to breastfeeding two kids and gravity, mine look like two dried out tangerines hanging in a panty hose.  Rather than peeking out from the top of the shirt, my cleavage is more in the vicinity of my belt buckle.  Bras are no longer for looks, they are for support so I can give the appearance that my boobs are still up near my chest, not part of my waistline.  Somewhat horrifying is I now wear the same bra that my mother wears because I need the full coverage or those puppies escape out the front when I lean over.   My mom tells me their underwear is super comfy too.  Aaah thanks, but I draw the line at bras.  Im not ready for granny panties…yet.


My “temple” is becoming more like an ancient ruin.   What was once a strong, solid column, providing support and protection, now has begun to show wear and barely keeps me upright some days..  Things have begun to shift and settle.  Where there was once smoothness, now has wrinkles.  Parts of me are spreading outward, mainly my a$$.  Other parts are drooping downward.  Things jiggle when I wave and often creak or snap when I move.

Now, I never really expected for my body to not change as aged, I just thought I would be able to keep it in check a little better.  How stupid was I? Especially after having two kids.  Right there was cause enough for my midriff to go to pot.  Add too many iced coffees and my love of french fries and I’m lucky I’m not confined to a Lark.  These days,my midsection looks more like the Pillsbury doughboy, soft and pasty.  Only difference is, if you poke me in the stomach, I will not giggle.  I’ll punch you in the f@*^%ing face. :)


While this subject could fit well under the last section, I felt it need a whole section on its own.  Yeah, its that important.  When my doctor told me after having my second child “Things will never be right down there again”, he was not joking.  I no longer have any control over that area of my body.  It’s like after the second kid, they snipped the important nerve that signals your brain as to how your muscles work.  I can no longer sneeze, laugh, or do a frigging jumping jack, without having to pee.   Even if I just went.  And forget holding it.  That’s freaking torture.  As soon as I see a toilet, my muscles start to fail and I am jumping around like a stripper with a wardrobe malfunction trying to get my zipper down.   I used to make fun of my mother for having to use the bathroom every 5 minutes.  Now we are racing each other to the first open stall.  First the bras, now the bladder.  I am not sure what to expect next.


I go to bed freezing my ass off but peel off the layers as I sweat out of my clothing during the night. My side of the bed is soaking wet and gross, so I scootch over to the husband’s side. This only irritates him with my clamminess, so I end up back in the waterbed area, although we clearly only bought a regular mattress. Now I wake up an hour later and I’m shivering because I am freaking freezing again. Don’t worry – this cycle will repeat itself after I find something else dry and warm to put on


So remember when you were first waiting for your period and you had to be prepared at all times because you just never knew when it could possibly just arrive? This is just what peri-menopause is like. Some months, I have my period 3 weeks out of the month. Some months go by and nothing happens at all. Tracking? This is a waste of time. It just shows up whenever it decides to, stays on a while, maybe goes away and comes back next week. It’s like seasonal coffees at D&D… you never know when they are coming and/or going away.

Moral is: don’t leave home without your supplies.

Or in white pants.

I can’t be too upset though.  My body may have some wear, but it still manages to get up everyday and get me to Dunkins.  As long as I have some caffeine and a boatload of Depends, I guess I’ll hang on to the old girl.  We’ve been through so much.  And if the other side of 50 is as much fun as the hills of 40, then I pretty sure I am in for a wild ride.

I just hope the ride doesn’t involve a Lark…or do I? :)


PS  I must give a shout out to my dear pal, Cindy, who helped me with late night editing and her funny addition about night sweats and periods.  I swear we share the same brain…which explains a lot.  I love you and your saggy uterus with all my heart. :)

Five Reasons Everyone Should have an ADHD Friend

1958452_10204703030489229_5528013608169813191_nWe all have a circle of friends that we rely on.  Your support group.  The friends you hang out with and laugh till you cry.  The friends you vent to or seek out when you’re having a bad day.   I call these friends “the A list”.     The list is usually short, but although small in quantity, it is rich in quality.

I am sure just as your group of friends is rich in quality, it is probably also rich in diversity.  While most friends have similar personalities and things in common that draw them into that friendship, it is our differences that add the spark to the relationship.  That is why every circle of friends need at least one ADHDer in their group.  Let me tell you why.

 1. We are very entertaining

One of the best qualities of an ADHDer is our sense of humor.  We love to laugh – at ourselves, at the world, at life in general.  We love to make people laugh and love it when people make us laugh.  If you have a party, an ADHD friend should be first on the list.  We will talk to anyone who will listen. We’ll talk even if no one is listening.  We make great ice breakers.  Cousin Joe in from town and knows nobody?   We’ll make him feel right at home.   We are the ones at the party with the bucket on our head and the first in line for the Conga.  We love to feel happy and we want everyone around us to feel happy too.  We will make it our personal mission that you have a good time in whatever situation you are in with us.


2.  We are good in a crisis

A crisis is all about spontaneity, adeline rush, and chaos.  Everything we ADHDers thrive on.  When the chips are down, we are at our best.  It does not have to be a big crisis.  Any crisis will do.  Car breaks down and you need a ride? You have to bring 450 cupcakes to a fundraiser by tomorrow at 8am?  We’ve got your back.  We aren’t wishing for anything bad to happen, but when it does, your ADHD friend will be the first one there to help. We think outside the box and come up with a plan most would never consider. You can rest easy when we are on the job.  It will all fall into place.

3.  We love a good project

Routines are boring.  Most daily living activities are boring so if you have a project you need help on, we ADHD friends are where to look.  We welcome anything that will distract us from doing the boring things in life – cleaning, food shopping, laundry…we will take any excuse to avoid the mundane.  Need your living room painted the day before Thanksgiving?  We’ll help.  Moving furniture or digging a ditch for a new swimming pool?  Totally into that!  Projects are thrilling and exciting. Our super hyper focus abilities means we will not stop until the project is complete.  Projects let us work with our hands and be around people we love.  What more can you ask for?


4.  We rarely sleep

Up at 3am and need someone to talk to?  Want company on Black Friday or standing in line all night for concert tickets?  We are the people to call.  We hardly ever sleep and when we do, it’s for small periods of time so chances are we are up and looking for something to do.  We are great listeners and we hardly ever gossip since we usually forget the conversation once you are out of sight.  We will keep you company at night when your kid is up all night with the croup.  We are the ones to call at 5am when your sitter bailed and you need someone to get your kids to school so you won’t be late for work.  Give us a chaotic situation and we will be happier then a swine in sh@$t”.  (That’s a Nana quote)

5.  We are game for anything

Going on an adventure?  Please take us along!  We love adventures.  No idea is too crazy for us ADHDers.   We love all things novel and shiny and bright so excursions are a world of excitement and wonder for us.  Whether you are taking a random road trip to NYC to see a play or stalking your favorite celebrity outside his hotel dressing room, you can bet we will be right there by your side.  Be careful though.  We do have a tendency to go too far so make sure you can rein us in or at least have bail money for us.

After reading this, I am sure you are just itching to go out and find yourself an ADHD friend.  In all fairness, I must point out the fine print that comes along with an ADHD friend.  We’re not known for having a very good filter and we have some impulse issues so we often say or do things that can hurt another person.  When we go to far with a joke or we stick our foot in our mouths, please don’t think we meant to hurt you.  We didn’t.   Our brains are moving so fast that things come flying out before our brains can figure out what we said was wrong.  Believe me, we do figure it out.  When we do, we will be crushed at causing you pain.  We are very sorry so please forgive our momentary lap in judgement.

Our compassion, loyalty, and generosity run incredible deep.  We are prone to gigantic highs and crushing lows.   We can run through more emotions in 20 seconds then most people feel in a week.  We feel all emotions so deeply which is why (I believe) we can have such deep empathy for all people.  So don’t take our mood swings personally.  Most of the time our moods have nothing to do with you.  The good thing is our moods are like New England weather, they change every 15 minutes.  If you wait a moment, we will probably come back around.

We are obnoxious, loud and exhausting, but we are also fiercely loyal, tremendously generous with our time and our love, and we can always find the sun through the clouds.

So you are probably wondering how you find an ADHD friend.  It is really not that hard.  Just look for the adult who is rolling down the hill with the kids or throwing herself down the inflatable slide at the Fun Zone.  There’s a pretty good chance that’s one of us. If you jump on the slide and ask to race us, you will be taken into our fold with a booming hello.  Then just hold on and enjoy the ride!



The Only Thing I’m Really Good At Cleaning Is A Colon


I haven’t written in quite a while.  The reasons behind that are long and I won’t bore you.

In short, I haven’t written anything because I’ve been up to my elbows in sh@$!%t – literally

If you have read any of my past posts (My House Smells Like Ass, Kicked Out Of Poop Camp) then you are familiar with my professional career as a potty trainer.  If not, then let me just say that for the last 3 plus years, I have been potty training my son and we seemed to have come back full circle to the beginning.

If someone had said that one day, I would know everything there is to know about human excrement, I would have poo poo’d them (no pun intended).

But here I am, currently back on poop patrol, doody duty, sh@#!$t stakeout – trying desperately to end this seemingly endless cycle of potty training.

Let me tell you, I have read every book, internet article, watched every youtube video, and seen every pediatric GI doctor on the East coast in an effort to help my son gain control over his bowels.  At this point, I should have earned a doctorate in poop.

Tell me your bodyweight and I can tell you the exact ratio of Mirlax to Gatorade you need to drink to clean out your colon.  Want to use Ex-Lax or Ducolax?  I can give you those doses too.  I can tell you how many hours after your “poop” cocktail that your first poop will arrive and all the stages that little bugger will go through till you’re regular again.  Show me a picture of poop and I can tell you what type it is according to the Bristol Stool Chart.  Want to know the inner working of the colon?  Know that too.  I know when a colon is stretched too much, it loses it’s ability to sense a poop.   You can sh$@!t your pants and truly not know it was happening.  I can tell you the difference between true diarrhea and just leakage.  Let me feel your belly and I’ll tell you if you’re constipated.  Do you know the difference between a “skiddy” and a “shart”?  I do.

My whole household revolves around poop.  While most people hang pictures of their kids’ artwork on the frig, mine is covered with poop charts, reminders to poop, and X-rays of colons.   Dinner conversations are not about “how was your day?” or “what did you do?”, it’s more like “did you have an accident today?” or “do you have a poop stuck?”.  My phone has more pictures of poop on it than any one person should have.  I have downloaded more poop tracking apps then I have mindless games.  We own enough Mirlax and Ex-lax to keep a small country regular for the next two years. We share our poop escapades with others like most share summer camp stories.  We are actually quite proud of our poop and will cheer on anyone who is pooping regularly as well as sympathize with those who are not.  We compare our poops to see who as the healthiest poop and we show our friends what their poops should look like.


I consider myself the Professor of Poop, the Logger of Logs, The Doctor of Dumps.   Our motto is “a good poop in the morning makes for a great day!”   Achieving regularity is the ultimate goal of our house.   They say no one has ever gone to college in a diaper, but some days it feels like we might just win that prestigious award.   At least by then, my son will be seen as a hero at his frat house for never having to lose his place in the keg line to go use the bathroom.  Right now, kids are not so forgiving and so I am determined to help my son through this.   To see him achieve success this time.  It could take up to a year for his colon to get back to knowing it’s proper job, but we cannot give up.  We are in it for the long haul.  We’ve lost 3 couches, 4 rugs, and countless pairs of undies to poop.  I’ve had poop on my hands, on my clothes, and on my floors and I’m fully prepared for more of the same.  As my husband often says, “sh!@$t wipes off”.  So I will continue to log the logs and mix up poop cocktails until we can one day look back at this all and say….”we nailed that sh!@#!t!

Peace and Poops


Bookends of Crazy

The other day I posted a video of my children in the morning.  If you happened to miss it, you can check it out on Facebook : www.facebook.com/MostlySaneMamas.

BTW – This is a good day in my house.  I had written this post a few days before so it seemed fitting to send it out into the world now.  Maybe it will give a little more context to the video.

The plus side of having a houseful of people who have a lack of focus and an overabundance of energy is there is hardly any boredom.  Sure we have days where things go smoothly and not much happens, but most days are anything but dull.

Often my day starts and ends with crazy.  Not just chaotic crazy, but bat sh&@t, off the wall crazy.  Like two manic bookends holding in the calm that unfortunately, someone else gets the pleasure of witnessing, mainly my kids’ teachers.




The roughest times, understandably, are in the morning before meds kick in and in the evening when the meds wear off.  Basically, the bulk of the time I have my children.

Nights are usually filled with more meltdowns because my kids are usually exhausted from holding it together all day.  Mornings are more prone to involve activities with lots of energy and chaos, like skateboarding in the kitchen or a rousing session of gymnastics on the couch.

The other night, I asked the boy to get on his pjs, like I do every night shortly after dinner.

His response?

Throw himself on the floor, screaming “why won’t you ever just let me relax?!”

He proceeded to repeat this cry over and over and over for the next 20 minutes as he got himself ready for bed.

My daughter and I found this quite amusing.  The boy – not so much.

My morning can start at any time, be it 3am, 4am or 7am (although that is rarity and usually means someone was up from midnight to 4).  After 10 years of this, I have become well versed in recognizing how far up the crazy scale each morning will be.  Sometimes, its barely a blip on the radar and we all go smoothly into our day.  Other times, someone pulls the pin from the hand grenade and the explosion is intense.

Today was a fine example of a sh&($t storm in the brewing.  When I got up, my daughter was already on the couch with her head in her laptop.  Who knows how long she has been up.  My son, on the other hand, followed me downstairs at 5:45am and grabbed his iPad.

Electronics are banned in our house during the mornings.  We have plenty of other distractions each morning, there is no need to add something as mind sucking as electronics.  I’ve even banned myself (not very successfully) since I am just as guilty of losing track of time and having to rush to make the bus.

Me: Shut it down. No electronics before school.

YaYa: I was just looking up something quick.

Me: Uh huh.  How long have you been up?

Yaya:  I don’t know.  4 something, 5 something.  I don’t remember.

Me: You need to get ready and you still have homework to finish.

Yaya: SIGH!  Fine!

Me: You too, little man.  Time to get ready.

The boy:  Where are my clothes?  Did you bring them down?

Me: Nope.  Thats your job.  You didn’t do it last night so you have to run up and get them now.

The boy slowly slides down the couch onto the floor and proceeds to cry and kick and scream.

I know, its a shock to have to stop what you are doing an get dressed.  Its not like it happens…oh… EVERY. MORNING.   We even have a flipping chart on how to do it!  But every morning, its a surprise.

The boy rallies and gets dressed fairly quickly.  He decided to dress all in camouflage today “so no one will be able to see me.”  Awesome.  If I knew it was that easy to disappear, I would have completely changed my wardrobe years ago.

Everyone gets fed and the boy is ready to go so I let him have his iPad.  My daughter on the other hand, it still not dressed, homework is still undone and she is now under a blanket, reading a book.  It’s 7:05am.  Medicine alarms rings at 7:30 and Bus alarm is at 7:45.  Not looking good.

Me: Last time, you need to get dressed and finish you homework.  If you are not ready, you will miss the bus and get an incomplete.

Nothing.  Silence.  Not even a glance to know she got it.

Me: Hey!  We on the same page?

Yaya:  I got it!  Geez!

Oh how I love my tween!

Finally, my daughter drags herself off the couch completely wrapped in a blanket and sits at the table to do homework.

Yaya:  I can’t do this.  its too hard.

Me:  How can you tell?  You have a blanket over your head.

Nothing.  I’m just staring at a blue blob sitting motionlessly at my kitchen table

Me:  Would you like me to help you?


I reach for the paper so I can read the instructions…the blanket speaks,

“I was reading that!”

I push the paper back over and wait.  My daughter proceeds to slowly bang her head against the table.

It’s 7:15am.  I walk away.

She finally emerges halfway from the blanket and with a little cheerful prodding, she is able to complete her homework relatively quickly and with no injury to herself or others.

But she’s still not dressed.

Me:  Ok.  You need to get dressed.  I’m running up stairs to get my clothes on.  Then we will do medicine.

She pulls the blanket over her head, slowly slides off the chair and proceeds to slither her way into the living room.  She is going in the right direction so I dash off to get dressed.  That’s when I hear the boy say “hey, I want a blanket too!”  I cringe.  Go back down and break up what is sure to turn into a disaster or continue on to get dressed and hope to make it back before chaos erupts?  I choose to get dressed.

I can hear lots of laughter and its getting louder and more intense.  Never a good sign.  I am moving as fast as I can.  The phone rings.  I’m sure its my husband.  My daughter yells she’s got the phone.

I hear “Hi Daddy!”   This is followed by more crazy laughter with some banging and thumping.  Then it happens.  There is a loud crash and the boy starts crying.

I make my way back downstairs and turn the corner into the living room.

The phone is in the middle of the floor and I can hear my husband on speakerphone yelling, “Hello? Hello?”.  The TV tray table is knocked over, there is a blue blanket blob on the floor and my son is crying and holding his face while wrapped in a brown fleece blanket.

The boy: “I hit my face on the table!”

Me: What did you think was going to happen?”

YaYa:  I didn’t do anything!  He did it to himself!

I pick up the phone to save my husband.

Me: Hey.

Hubby: What the hell is happening?

Me:  They are doing that blanket thing.

Hubby:  Ah.  That explains the screaming.

Me: Yep.

Hubby:  So the morning’s going great I see.

Me: Fabulous!

It’s 7:25am and I’m exhausted.  My only ray of hope is that big yellow bus coming at 8am to take my children away and leave me in silence.  That is, if my daughter ever gets dressed.

Womb For Sale

UnknownMy hubby and I were watching the news over the weekend and a story came on about a woman who was born without a womb. She wanted to have a child so she had a womb transplant and was able to give birth to a baby boy. Isn’t science flipping amazing?!

Anyway, I got me thinking so I turned to my husband and said..

Me: Do you think I could sell my womb? I don’t need it anymore. I wonder what the going rate if for a womb?

Him: I don’t see why not. Its not like you’re going to use it again. And then maybe we can go to Aruba.

Me: Do you think if we were younger when we had our kids, we would have had more?

He looked at me with that face, like I had just told him there was a purple elephant in the backyard.

Him: Yeah right. Because three is such a great number. Someone is always left out. If you’re going have three, you might as well have four. Two is just fine.

Me: Yeah, and it goes against my rule: never let the children outnumber the parents.

Him: Exactly. Might as well get another husband and wife.

Me: So basically, you’re saying the best number for kids is two.

Him: Right

Then we both looked at each other and smirked, then said…    “or none.”

Then we both started laughing hysterically.

We often joke about what we would do if we didn’t choose to have kids. Going out to dinner or the movies without having to coordinate babysitters; taking trips to exotic places where we can lounge around and people wait on us for a change; more disposable income; less clutter. But we both know that life would be extremely dull and uneventful without our two, off the wall, crazy, challenging, amazing kids.

Beside, imagine how unbelievably boring my Facebook statuses would be?


Oh, and if you know of anyone in the market for a slightly used, “vintage” womb, I know someone who might be selling….

‘Twas the night before school

‘Twas the night before school
And all through my place
Roamed two grumpy children
Not one happy face

School starts tomorrow
And it fills them with dread
Making it twenty times harder
To get them to bed

Summer is gone
A flash in the pan
No more days in the sun
Say goodbye to the tan

Fun days filled with swimming
Seeing friends every day
Many late nights to bed
They wish summer would stay

So few rules, no routines
Having ice cream for dinner
I have to admit
Summer’s a winner

But all good things must end
Its time to move on
I am totally ready
For these kids to be gone

They complain they are bored
They bicker and fight
Send them off to school
Get them out of my sight

Leave me be with my coffee
I can finally drink hot
Hit the stores unencumbered
Try on clothes on the spot

Eat my lunch undisturbed
Catch up on the news
Take a nap if I want to
Do whatever I choose

Yes, the start of school
May bring little ones fear
But I’m sure moms all over
Will let out a big cheer

And Mine will be gone
From 8 until 3
After 10 grueling years
I am finally free!

Have a great school year!


Limping Towards The Finish Line

The last two weeks of school are the same for most parents.  We are ALL DONE. Spent from a year of making lunches, getting kids dressed, putting them on the bus, getting them off the bus, homework, book reports, science projects, band concerts and class plays.  We are over the novelty of our children’s first day of (fill in the blank) grade.  Their first day at a new school or their first school dance.


During the last two weeks, everyone goes into survival mode.  You can tell who the parents are by the dead, blank stare they possess – the walking dead.  Plodding through the last few weeks in an utter daze.  If you muster up the energy to say “hi”, you’ll likely hear them whisper back -“I don’t give  a sh#&%t.”  Don’t take offense.  It’s just the end of the year battle cry all us parents mutter.


We are like long distance runners, after months of training, the race is coming to an end.  We can see the finish line and it looks beautiful!   No more routines, no more packed lunches, no more tears over homework or school reports.  Off in the distance is the dream of long, summer nights by the campfire, mom with a chilled glass of wine in hand, kids off playing flashlight tag, days at the beach, sand in the car, and kids exhausted and happy at the end of the day.


Personally, I think I checked out around Memorial day.  At that point, I was all done with school and everything associated with it.  My lunches, once packed with mostly healthy foods had dwindled down to a handful of doritos, two oreos and a leftover donut.  The same goes for our hygiene routine.  Gone where the days of brushed hair and brushed teeth.  We were lucky to get out of the house with clothes on. I got to a point where I didn’t even remember the last time I bathed my kids. I think it was weekly, but I could be wrong.


The first weekend in June, my son came down with what we thought was appendicitis.  Turned out to be an inflamed colon due to a virus, but it got us a night in the hospital,  He was home three days, with all his original parts, then on his last day of preschool, he came home early with a fever, which  turned into the stomach bug.  My daughter then got the bug that night, but she recovered quick.  The boy did not and was back in the hospital the following weekend for dehydration.  If we had gone in one more time, we would have won a free bed pan.


In between hospital stays, my daughter had not one, but two class posters due.  The first one, about states, was due two days after we got home from our first hospital stay.  We squeaked that out and got it in a day early.  The second poster, about grey squirrels, was due the following week and by then I was seriously thinking the teacher had a death wish.  I mutter the end of the year battle cry under my breath and decided to just do the flipping project myself. My daughter was involved since she did most of the research before hand and did all the pasting, but rather than let her painstakingly type up three paragraphs with one finger, I typed the report and printed of the pictures.  I’m happy to say we got an A+  on that sucka!


Oh and did I mention the day we got home from the hospital trip #2, my daughter got the stomach bug AGAIN.  Yeah, that was fun.


The last week of school, Death Wish Teacher decided to assign homework – make homemade play dough for a volcano project the kids were doing.  Now you’re thinking, that doesn’t sound so bad – a little flour, a little salt, it will be fun.  It’s stuff you have in the house so how hard could it be.  Easy Peasy.  Ah no – because she wanted us to make 7 POUNDS of play dough.  No lie!  6 CUPS OF FLOUR.  2 CUPS OF SALT.  And a bunch of other things in quantities only bargain price clubs carry.  The thing weigh slightly more than a small elephant.  In fact, I drove my daughter to school the next day because I feared she would dislocate her shoulder if she carried it in her backpack.


So here we are.  The night before the last day of school.  It is a half day so no need to worry about packing a lunch.  I did bathe my children.  Well, actually I let them soak in the tub while I wrote this, but that counts, right?   I can see the finish line within my reach.  In less than 24 hours, victory will be mine.  And as I slowly limp across the finish line, battered and bruised using every last ounce of energy in my bones – I will raise my hands in triumph and yell for the world to hear – “I DON’T GIVE A S@%#$T!  Yee haw!


See you on the other side



Happy Father’s Day

After my wildly popular Mother’s Day video (actually I think only 6 people saw it), I knew I have to give all the dads out there equal treatment so I searched around and found this song.  I had grandiose ideas for this video, but alas, like most ideas in my head, the mental image and the actual product don’t always come out to be equal. This was mainly due to many unforeseen incidents.  The rest was due to lack of talent and staffing issues. :)

First, it rained – buckets – for days – so I couldn’t get outside.  Then the stomach bug hit our house.  Actually, it crushed the boy, who ended up in the hospital – twice.  This lead to my husband canceling his business trip two weeks in a row, leaving him wandering the house, paying way too much attention to what I was doing. :)  I thought my dreams were dead in the water until a little stroke of luck the day before Daddy Day.  My husband took the boy on an errand and I had a brief half an hour of free time to myself.  The following is what I accomplished in that brief moment of freedom.

So I hope you enjoy this little montage.  Or at the very least wonder if I was dropped on my head as a child.

Either way, Happy Father’s Day!


Trip To The Dentist

Let me just start off by saying this, this post has nothing to do with dealing with children and difficult situations in the dentist’s office. If that was what you were looking for, I’m sorry to say that you will be sadly disappointed. This is a post about my situation at the dentist’s office this morning.

When I was in grad school I had a professor who would run to work, not shower (that we could tell) and just slip in to other clothes before teaching classes or holding office hours. I will call him “Bobby D”. To compound matters, the graduate fellows had offices directly across the math hallway from the professors. The math hallway was narrow, as it was a not a main corridor, so the distance between offices was minimal. The office I shared with another graduate fellow was directly across the hall from Bobby D’s. My desk was set up so that I could not see in to his office, yet I always knew when he was in and when he had chosen to run in to work. My closest friend in grad school was Irish Twin. Despite having an office on the diagonal from Bobby D’s, Irish Twin often wandered over to my office with her nose wrinkled, shortly after Bobby D had arrived at school.

Well, today I pulled a “Bobby D.” Mind you, I did NOT go to work post run. I did however, put in a quick four miles (on a ridiculously humid day), hop in my car, change my shirt, throw on some deodorant, and head to the dentist. What the heck, I thought. I was only getting my night mouth guard. How long would it take?

Forty minutes. Forty minutes to adjust and readjust that mother, while the only two things running through my mind were Do I stink? I must. How can I not? and I’m going to be Tina Fay in Date Night pulling my night guard out of my mouth at the last minute offering to rally. “Oh… oh, no… We can still fool around.” Will Big Man fulfill the Steve Carell role and let me off the hook with “I will light up your life… next time” or are we just moving in to a new, sadly awkward stage of marriage? Forty minutes in the dentist chair. I’m not even one of those people who hates going to the dentist. I love it. I’ve almost fallen asleep in the dentist’s chair once or twice. This morning, if I wasn’t sweaty from my run, I was sweaty from the awkwardness of sitting there, worrying.

Did I mention yet that my dentist is a runner? My dentist is a runner who has often noticed when I have show up for an appointment in full on running gear and has asked if I have just come from a run. My response has always been “No, no. I’m heading out for a run after this. I would never run before coming here. Gross.” I think I even told him about Bobby D once. Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I? I would never pull that kind of thing. Oh wait, but I did.

I’d love to blame it on motherhood and not having enough time to squeeze everything in, but really, who am I kidding? My kids are both in school all day. If I work, it’s as a substitute teacher and it’s not every day or even every week. I’ve got plenty of time to myself. Actually, as my kids get older they give me fewer and fewer excuses to use. I really only have myself to blame for the fact that there are more people out there who would never recognize me with straight, dry hair, make-up and normal clothes than without. It’s just that I am that girl who doesn’t give a crap. Unless, of course, I’m going to the dentist office…