Sneak Peek! Coming Soon….

2015-04-29 16.44.51I feel horrible since I haven’t had a chance to blog in the last two days. I am on an assignment so it’s hard for me to break away to write. I wanted to wish you all a Happy Friday and give you a sneak peak of what I have planned in the coming weeks.

  • A review of my Mother’s Day gift, the Keurig 2.0 K560. It works as a traditional, single serve Keurig, but has the ability to make a carafe of coffee.
  • I’m eagerly awaiting a shipment of Colour Pop cosmetics. This is my first time trying it so I will give all my thoughts on it with a review.
  • I want to share some of my MAC Cosmetics favorites – some new and some old favorites.
  • “Son Vs. Mom” in video games, coming soon. I know am sure he will whip my butt.
  • In search of some new healthy snacks to try. Please make suggestions 🙂
  • Of course, I will post about my fitness progress.

Please let me know in the comments some suggestions for products you think I should try out or  new coffees for my Keurig. I’d really love some suggestions for VS. videos games (go easy on me, I’m rusty!). Mostly, I hope you enjoy your weekend.




Happy Sibling Day!

Ryan’s look of disgust as his sister farts on the table.

I’m an only child. My goal in my adult life was to have a house full of children. I made it to two kids and am very thankful for them. Even though they don’t show it all the time, they are thankful for each other.

Rocky Beginnings

My son was barely two years old when I had his sister. He was cool with kissing my belly and telling me “Katie” while pointing at my overgrown watermelon stomach. He didn’t fully understand that there was an actual human being growing in there and yes, we would have to bring her home someday. His visit to me and his little sister in the hospital was an eye opener. I thought we’d get some precious pics of him holding Katie. We had to practically force him over to her basinette to show him that Katie was here. Ryan took one look at her and said, “Daddy, we go home now?” Oh crap, I thought. Here we go.

We did bring her home. She screamed a lot (still does) because she had reflux and colic. Ryan was petrified. He would not go anywhere near her. We set up a professional photo shoot at our home to get some pictures. Do you know how many we got? One. One picture. The photographer had the brilliant idea of putting Ryan’s Hot Wheels on one side of sleeping Katie to make it look like he was gazing at her in adoration. Nope. Totally into the cars.

She began crawling rather soon and boy, was she fast. Her favorite pastime was getting into her big brother’s play area, which was a hodgepodge of Thomas the Train tracks and Hot Wheels. Once she began walking, we called her “Kate-zilla” because she would stomp through said hodgepodge, destroying Ryan’s carefully put together Thomas and Hot Wheels adventures. Ryan started to ease up a little. He would let Katie play with the trains he didn’t like. We ended up buying her Rosie, a pink and purple train from the collection – which I knew Ryan would want no part of.

Happy Medium?

They may not have bonded over trains that well but video games were a whole different story. Ry introduced Katie to the world of Minecraft. They can spend hours talking strategy and about creepers. I have no idea what the heck they’re talking about but it works for them. Ryan & Katie share a love of Plants vs. Zombies and Super Mario Galaxy. True, they yell and get frustrated with each other sometimes but it never gets too crazy.

Thick As Thieves

Partners in crime. However you want to say it, the saying applies to my kids. Both laughed at me when I threw up after we went on the Tilt-A-Whirl. Both love to torment me with the Pokeymon stuffed animals they have. Ryan and Katie mimic the voices of Tepig and Gothita and it’s highly annoying. When I threaten to take the plushies away, one kid will always hide them. Another time, Katie was going bat-crap crazy in the car, screaming and kicking the seat. I threatened to give her away to another family (calm down people, I would NEVER make a serious threat like that.) It was Ryan who got upset. He said, “Mom, we need to keep Katie. She’ll be good. I promise.” Katie was still snarling at me and kicking the back of my chair while he pleaded. I guess he really wanted to keep her.

Katie is Ryan’s biggest fan. She always has words of encouragement for him even though he always tells her that her gaming skills stink. However, if you ask if Ryan loves his sister, he always replies with an emphatic yes. We haven’t reached teenhood yet and they DO share a bathroom. I’m just going to do my best to enjoy the moments of peace that still remain. 🙂





I Don’t Eat With Rats: The Day I Lost My Mind at Chuck E. Cheese

Screen Shot 2015-03-12 at 1.20.53 PMParents lose their minds everyday. It’s happened to me several times but nothing compares to the time that I decided to take the kids on a playdate to Chuck E. Cheese. My son, who has ADHD, was having trouble making friends at school. So when his one friend wanted a playdate, I could hardly say no. Fortunately, I really liked the kid’s mother and he had a little sister who was my daughter’s age. Score? Right?

It was a dreadful winter. So in order to breakup the dullness, I decided,”Hey! Let’s get the kids out of the house and hit up Chuck E. Cheese.” Wrong. So wrong. My timing couldn’t have been worse. It was President’s Weekend and when we arrived, the line was out the door. I could see parties going on inside with Chuck and his band of mixed species wailing away on guitars. I immediately began regretting my idea.

After a long wait, we arrived inside. Total. Freaking. Madhouse. I began to sweat. My heart was racing. My kids and their friends could give a crap less. They heaped their coats on mom and took off toward the play tunnel. I could see their shoes flying off toward the shoe cubby and I dutifully grabbed each pair and stuck them in my already stuffed arms.

They were up in the tubes, having the time of their life while I waited for Playdate Mom to snag a table. She did but it was nowhere near the play tunnel(which I will affectionately refer to as ‘ hell’ from here on out.)  I quickly ran over and tossed the coats and shoes in the booth. It was so packed I didn’t want to chance losing the kids in the crush. I hate crowds and my anxiety was at an all time high.

I saw the pizza  sitting on the table, congealing in a puddle of grease and sauce. As I stood by the tunnel, I tried to get the kids’ attention. I got it all right. I waved them down. They pressed their faces up against the tunnel window and stuck their tongues out at me. I don’t know what I was worried about more at that point: having to go up in the tube and physically get the kids myself or the germs they would pick up from the close contact with the tunnel windows.

I began to lose my cool. I was sweating like I ran a 5K through the middle of the Mojave Desert. My face was bright red and my hair stood on end as I tried fruitlessly to get the kids out of hell  the fun tunnel. Other kids in the tunnel started pointing and laughing at me. Some of them were sticking their tongues out at me as well. By then, I didn’t know if my kids were more embarrassed to come down from the tunnel and be seen with Crazy Mom or petrified of losing their electronics as part of punishment for Operation Make Mom Have An Anxiety Attack.

After a long power struggle, I started taking my shoes off. I figured it was the only way to get them down. I might get arrested but so what? I might get an astounding round of applause from parents who couldn’t get their own little darlings to come down. My spawn took notice and scrambled down, looking guilty. I said not a word as I ushered them out of the restaurant. No greasy pizza for you, brats. Straight home we went. I breezed past my husband and headed directly for a bottle of wine. He was even too afraid to ask what had happened.  I think I sat in the corner for a few hours, rocking back and forth with visions of kids laughing at me from the Fun Tunnel while the Rat Band played that hideous birthday song. I am still traumatized to this day, and no, we will not be returning there.  Ever.

Feel free tot share your own experience so I don’t feel so alone. Maybe we can form a support group.




There Is No Manual For Parenting

208_750x1000_all-free-download.comOften times, I wished there was. I really needed a section on “How to Properly Explain the Difference Between Boy and Girl Parts Without Laughing.” I’m horribly immature when it comes to discussing anything that might be of a sexual nature. I can’t say the word “balls” without a preface, such as “soccer.” I was the girl who couldn’t get her laughter under control during the “You and Your Body” segment of health class and was sent to the Principal’s Office. Oh, the shame.

Now, I am the proud parent of a boy and girl, born two years apart. My husband and I joked about their ultrasound pictures. My son had a hot dog and my daughter had a hamburger. We still throw that one out there whenever we come across those old pics.

In the beginning, I would bathe them together and it was no big deal. Neither questioned why they were different and frankly didn’t care. Then came the day when my daughter realized there was something not quite the same about her sibling.

K had no understanding of privacy up until recently. She would barge into the bathroom or bedroom without warning. She was about two almost three at this point and wanted to be wherever her big bro was. The feeling was not mutual. One afternoon, my son went to use the bathroom and of course, his ‘shadow’ followed him. I caught her standing in front of the bathroom door, puzzled.

My son was peeing, standing up, like a big boy. I ushered Katie away and closed the door. She looked shocked and appalled. She looked at me with wounded eyes, as though I kept a very important secret hidden from her.

“What is that?” She said, accusingly.

“What?” I said, thinking that playing dumb would by me some time to figure out how to explain boy parts versus girl parts. Hot dogs versus hamburgers. Ween versus petunias. Whatever you call it, I was not prepared to explain it.

“That thing. Down there.” Of course, she was pointing between her legs. I had to tell her, what else could I do?

“Oh…that’s a penis. Yes, a penis.” I said, praying that would end the conversation.

“Where’s mine? I want one!” Of course she did. Heck, I wanted one for the sole purpose of having the luxury of peeing standing up. Many drunken nights in my youth ended up with me peeing on my shoes and usually someone else’s. Not fun.

“Only boys have penises. Girls have….vaginas. You have a vagina.” She looked more confused but then let it drop.

She came to me with more questions for the next several days. I repeated myself over and over. I got so used to saying the word vagina that the uncontrollable laughter I had to hold in at each conversation had ebbed. I decided calling it her petunia was simpler. It sounded pretty (hey, it’s a flower!). That was also what my mom called my lady parts.

I thought we were in the clear. I honestly did. One afternoon, I was preparing lunch. My kids were running around like they were hopped up on 10 cups of Jolt Cola. Then I heard a particularly strange bang and whimpering. I ran to see what happened, thinking someone fell. My almost three-year old stood next to the coffee table, holding her crotch, crying hysterically.

“What happened?” I said, not imagining what could have possibly cause that kind of injury.

“I think I broke my penis,” she wailed. “I ran into the coffee table.”




The Desk Fairy? Really?


Just a quick note on this much-needed Friday. My kids just went back to school after being disastrously ill for most of the week. I was so happy to see the bus driver at pick up I could have kissed him. My house is in shambles and my fridge is almost empty. Just an overall crazy week.

My daughter is notorious  for her messy room. You can barely open the door. She hoards everything she can get her hands on. She told me her goal in her adult life is to have an apartment to house all of her ‘stuff’ and her cats(at present time, we have no cats that I know of, but they could be buried under the treasures in her pigsty  room.)

You can imagine my shock and surprise when she came home with this note from the Desk Fairy. WTF is a Desk Fairy? Apparently, she does desk inspections to make sure everything is neat and tidy. One would think this would not be the note my child would get from the Desk Fairy; I could totally see DF doling an eviction notice to my kid. Visions of jacked up, tattered books and broken pencils climbing out of her desk filled my head.

Did my daughter steal this note from another kid? Did I get sucked into a portal and end up in a parallel universe? Nope. This note was hers and came with a shiny, new Mardi Gras style bead necklace. Awesome. More stuff for the hoard. Then, a brilliant idea came to me. If my kid could believe in the Desk Fairy and the Tooth Fairy, why not a Bedroom Fairy?

As we walked home from the bus, I began my speech.

“You know, K, there’s a Bedroom Fairy too. Ya know, one who makes sure you clean your room?”

“Mom, no there isn’t,” she said as she gave me her best ‘whatcha talking’ ’bout Willis”look. Not that she knows what the ‘whatcha talking’ ’bout Willis look is’. That’s a lot little before her time. We will get there eventually.

“Yup. She makes sure you clean your room. Maybe she gives out prizes too.”

“No. She’s not real.” She sped up and raced into the house. I think that the Bedroom Fairy will be paying a visit soon. And re-decorating with some ‘caution’ tape.

Any advice on how to get a kid to clean his or her room is welcome.



Open Letter To My Kid

24169_382271553434_260425_nAfter a long weekend of being sick, along with everyone in my house, this is the best piece of writing my brain could muster. If you are a parent, you can relate. If you are not, well, you may laugh or be slightly repulsed. Enjoy. I am going back to bed.

Dear Son,

For the love of all that is holy, please, please stop pissing all over the toilet and surrounding areas. God gave you a penis; it comes equipped with point and shoot capability. Use it. Hands help with aim. We’ve been over that a million times; the “I didn’t touch it so I don’t have to wash my hands” defense doesn’t cut it.
Remember those times in your toddler hood where we had target practice shooting at Cheerios in the potty? Your aim was spot on. SPOT ON. We’d high five (post hand washing) after all your successes. Does mommy need to break out the Cheerios again? Let me know.

Love and Kisses,
Your Exhausted Mother, Fresh Off Toilet Cleaning Duty Post Scary Virus Weekend


Germ Free Kisses to All Who Read This,