Chores without complaints


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If you are a dog lover (or animal lover in general)…you may not want to proceed.  If you do…I don’t wanna hear it…and I warned you.


In our house chores are a given.  Not the kind one gets paid for- I don’t really believe in that, but the kind that are required if you want to continue to live under my roof.  They consist of things like the lawn, the trash, pool upkeep, dishes, cleaning ones room, misc tasks and the favorite- picking up dog poop.

Those that know me know I am not a real animal lover.  It is NOT because I don’t actually LOVE the animals, I just don’t LOVE them in MY house.  I LOVE your dog- because YOU take care of it.  I just don’t really LOVE my dog.  I can barely feed and care for my children, let alone another living thing.  Capiche?

So I am always up for a reason to NOT have a dog.  Even though we HAVE a dog. Let me explain.

My eleven year old is taking over some of the chores my now college-living son did.  She is currently training the three-year old to take over the dog poop duty (oh yes, chores start EARLY in my home) so she has time for the other chores she is gaining. I admit, the dog poop duty is one of the worst chores…to me.  So my answer?  Get rid of the dog.  Here is how the conversation the other night went;

jack“I think we should take the dog over to Jido’s house and let him live there” says me (Jido means grandfather by the way)

Eleven and three-year old stop what they are doing and stare at me. So does my mother in law who is sitting on the couch.  I am sure if her mind could talk out loud it would say something like “good grief, what in the hell is this woman hatching up now?”

“No mom…why are you saying that?” asks the eleven year old in that whiny voice that drives me nuts.

“Because, every time I ask you to pick up his crap, you complain and whine. I am tired of it” says the cranky mom

“No mommy!  Don’t get rid of him!” cries out the three-year old

Mother in law is trying so hard not to say anything as the two girls get sad forlorn looks and plead for the dog.

“Well…then here is the deal. If you complain ONE time about picking up the poop, I am loading him up in my car and dropping him off.  ONE time.  You got that?” says the really shitty mom

Deer in headlights look from eleven year old.  Three year old shakes her head vigorously feeling as if the victory is won.

Mother in law and eleven year old know better.

“Oh how about she get at least one freebie” pleads the mother in law who finally feels the need to defend the whiny saps from the crazy mother.  Truth is she KNOWS the eleven year old whines about EVERYTHING and is trying to save the poor kid.

Eleven year old slowly breathes out, “ok mom, I will try real hard…”

“No, trying isn’t good enough.  ONE time.  So that means, the dogs fate lies on your shoulders.  If the dog leaves, well, then it is on you”

Do you think this kid will need therapy when she is older?

It is all an upside for me.  Dog poop gets picked up with no complaints, or the dog leaves and there isn’t any more poop to worry about.  Or shedding.  Or dog food.  Or torn up pool fences.

Remember, it is all about me after all.

I am gonna start applying this theory to everything.  Hummm…diapers drive me crazy…

I am happy to report we have had six solid days of no complaining.  I wonder how long the dog has…..




Dirty LIAR


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I found out something about myself the other day.  I found out that I am a LIAR.  Not the I-don’t-want-to-hurt-your-feelings-so-I-tell-a-white-lie kind (though I am SO that kind too), but the kind that actually tells a LIE and BELIEVES it.

What the…?!

The other day I wrote about my 6th grader’s first day of school.  And I was SO proud of myself, as I wrote, that I HAD GOTTEN UP AND MADE her breakfast on her first day of school.  Like I was sincerely PROUD of it.

Here is the problem.  I.  Didn’t. Make. Her. Breakfast.

My husband kindly pointed this out for me.  The conversation looked like this,

“I read your post today” says sweet husband who is always SCARED to read my posts.

“Oh cool” I say as I am scanning a magazine (I think…oh hell maybe that is a lie too…it could have been homework…or my phone..whatever).

“You lied” he states flatly.

Enter deer in headlights look.  Me that is.  And my heart races.  Literally races like a damn teenage kid busted with smuggled alcohol as I try to remember what the hell the post was even about.  Did I dream post?  You know…. I have had nightmares of me writing certain things, that should never be written about, and it getting blasted all over the universe.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Asks defensive wife.

I cooked her breakfast” he calmly responds.

matthew‘What in sam hill is he talking about?’  is my first thought followed closely with, ‘well at least I didn’t write about some dream fantasy with Matthew McConaughey’  that would never… be posted…on…the…internet.  Well…at least not with details.

“You wrote that you cooked breakfast on her first day of school and you didn’t, I did…” he again states, like I didn’t HEAR the words the first time.

“Ya mom, you cooked me breakfast on the SECOND day” says my ever supportive daughter.

So then I thought.  Hard.  And realized that I DIDN’T COOK MY DAUGHTER BREAKFAST ON HER FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL LIKE I SAID.  LIKE I THOUGHT.  I just SLEPT the whole damn time.

I did cook her breakfast on the second day.  That is good.

I typed up that post only a couple of days after the first day of school and I actually, truthfully (liars always use the word truthfully….or the ‘to be honest’ phrase) thought I had cooked her breakfast on the FIRST day of school.

My poor hubs.



Much better.

Now I am just a liar who tells the truth after they are ousted.  Much classier.


Hand over the MOTHER of the YEAR award..again


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This year was no different than last year when it comes to the first day of school.  Well, except I have only ONE kid in ‘school’. One started college, and two are too young. Isn’t my 6th grader special?  It is all about her this year.

Let’s be real.  It is never all about my kids.  It is always, all about me.  But you get the idea.

And on this first day of school this year, it was the same as last year- being BOMBARDED by all the cute first day of school pics on facebook.



I did the same thing this year.  As last year. And the year before.

I slept.

Yes, yes I did.

I did get up and make her breakfast.  That is a big deal people and really never happens.

Then I laid back down since the other two were awarding me a miracle that NEVER…EEEEEEVER occurs- they were still sleeping after 7am.  You can hold the judgment on my lack of ‘oooohhhhs’ and ‘awwwwwsss’ for my 6th grader while I snuggle under the covers for another 30 minutes.

Don’t care.

HOWEVER, because of all of YOU wonderful, caring, amazing mothers…I STILL got my first day pics.

photo 1 photo 2 photo 3 photo 4

Isn’t it sweet that one of my neighbors is a good mom?  And then she even text me the pics no less.



PS- Today…there are end of FIRST WEEK pics!?  Really people, really?  Damn it.

I am not ALL jackass


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high-school-vs.-college-making-a-successful-transitionI don’t hide the fact that I am a selfish person and wonder all the time how God felt that I deserved the B..L..E..SS..I..N.G (that was hard to type) of children.

I am looking forward to the day they are all moved out and I can sit naked on my couch and do NOTHING (don’t imagine that ok…cause in seventeen years from now that could really burn someones eyes).

I am seriously STOKED that my oldest moves out today.  OUT.  He is moving OUT.  Ok, so he is moving into a dorm and I still have to sort of, kind of, save his room.  Maybe.

And ya ya, he will be back for holidays and summers.  Or not.  He could find a girlfriend and then who knows.

But I am excited. One down, three to go.  I.  Am.  So.  Excited.

Or I was.

Till I heard him come in late last night and realized he won’t do that anymore.  Like, probably never.

Till I realized that I won’t ever have him, as a mom, to myself, again.  Next time he comes home it will be as an adult visiting child.  Adult.  Visiting.

Damn.  That means I actually care and am not all jackass.

Well crap.

I am a lot jackass though.

Cause I am also super sad I don’t have a lawn guy anymore (my son).

I also don’t have a pool guy anymore (my son)

Nor a built-in babysitter anymore (my son).

What the hell!?

After all, this is all about ME and I just realized I am gonna have to mow my own lawn, clean my own pool, and watch my own kids.

Oh hell no, my 11 year old’s training starts TODAY.


Is this really happening?


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Today…for a moment..

Things smelled different.
Better. Beautiful.

Things felt different.
Softer. Comforting.

Things looked different.
Vibrant. Dazzling.

I was filled with an unrecognizable feeling of joy. Weightlessness.

What in the hell happened?


It lasted seven minutes. For seven entire minutes I felt like I was in a cocoon of fanfreakingtastic bliss. For seven minutes there wasn’t shitty diapers, crying, hair pulling, tantrum throwing, she-devils. For seven minutes they played together. To-get-ther.

I thought I’d share my seven minutes with you. Cause hell just erupted and I’m headed to the wine cabinet now.


I love you, now get out


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innonnadrivewayMy son turns 18 today.  EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD.

What the F*&%?

Like seriously, what happened?  Ya ya, time flies and all that, but the real problem is…


I seriously remember, like it was kinda yesterday, sleeping with my son on my chest about a week after his birth….and almost burning the house down….cause I was boiling his bottle nipples and I fell asleep (does anyone even do this anymore??).  I had to throw out the entire pan of burnt black goup and scrounge around for money (like literally) to buy more nipples.  Oh… and air out the house while dismantling the fire alarms.  Look…I was TIRED, dumb AND poor.

It also seemed like yesterday that I would SCOUR the movie (VHS people!) aisles for CHEAP but LONG sesame street videos.  I had ONE shot a day with this CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child (that would literally bounce off the walls), to get him to sit down and watch his favorite show- Sesame street.  However…once the show ended, that was it.  No matter how fast I would scramble to get a second movie started (VHS’s were NOT fast), he was done.  Hence having to find the LONGEST ones out there.  Which were usually 19 minutes.  19 freaking minutes of peace a day.  A. Day.

It really does seem like yesterday that I would get WEEKLY calls from his teachers.  Weekly.  To meet.  To discuss my son’s behavior.  Cause you see, my son was “so lovable…however he is very distracting to others..”.  Ya…that is because he was a CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child.  He was the kid that had his desk next to the teacher’s desk.  EVERY YEAR.  From kindergarten until fifth grade.  No email back then.  Phone calls.  Weekly.

**Special note; if you know my son now you would NEVER guess he was this CRAZY-ASS-HYPER-PSYCHO child.  He is SUPER quiet and laid back (about everything) now.  Of course…now that he can wipe his own ass and make his own meals…WHY DOES GOD TORTURE ME SO?**

I bet he feels like it was yesterday that I broke a wooden spoon on his ass.  Ya ya, call CPS, whatever.  He came home from hanging out with friends, and his cousin ratted him out that he smacked a girl on the bum.  WHAT DID YOU SAY?  Oh-no-he-didn’t.   Poor kid never saw it coming (not sure how as I am sure my mega stomping feet up the stairs and my loud as hell screaming coulda gave it away), but his date with the wooden spoon helped remind him how he should treat girls, unless he wanted his ass beat again….

The truth is, he is a pretty great kid.  Usually.  And I don’t take any credit for it.  I truly am not sure how he is alive today.  I was a kid myself when I had him, and I kinda grew up with him.  I did a piss poor job in a lot of ways in the parenting nightmare.  My saving grace is GOD, and the only thing I tried really, really hard to instill in him;

You get back what you give in life son, so give it everything you want: honesty, hard work, integrity and love. 

That’s it.  That’s all I got.  I now hope he becomes a positive contribution to society.  If not….. I have plenty of wooden spoons.

My son and I

All through his childhood years I had people tell me to treasure that time, that it goes fast, that I will wish it back.

It did go fast.

Not sure I did a good job of treasuring it-as I was trying like hell to survive it.


I DO NOT WANT IT BACK.  Not today, not tomorrow, not ten years from now.

I love my son, with all my heart.  But he is 18.  I am done.

Now get out.


PS- ya, ya, ya- a mother’s job is never done.  What-ever.

Daddy…I love you, Mommy…I am hungry


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meanMomIn most parenting relationships there is the fun parent, and there is the enforcer parent.

In my parenting relationship with my husband, he is the fun parent, and I am the devil-hath-no-fury-like-this-psycho-mother parent.

I am reminded of this on several occasions.  As an example-

When my husband goes up in the middle of the night to deal with the ridiculous process of trying to keep the brats lil ones in their beds:

“Get in bed now or you will get a pow pow (our version of spank your ass)” says dad.

“But daddy, I am thirsty”

“Ok, one drink……(five drinks later)….. now get in bed”

“But daddy, my finger hurts”

…….after a ridiculous amount of band aids are applied…..

“Now get in bed”

“But daddy, my tummy hurts…I will feel better if you rock me…”

Then, mommy comes up.



Most recently my travel schedule has been quite hectic.  And the kids LOVE it.

I returned from a trip a few days ago and the whole crew picked me up from the airport.  The three-year old gave me a blow-by-blow of all the fun things they did (see…daddies get to focus on ONE thing- entertaining…while mommies focus on one hundred things- like feeding the kids REAL food, the laundry, the messy house, trimming fingernails, miscellaneous work, the next day’s line up, the next day’s meal plan, grocery shopping…..).  Her blow-by-blow account didn’t really include one real meal, but did include a lot of fun trips to the mall park and plenty of bubble baths.

So sweet.

Pushing away the irritation at how easy it is for my hubs to be the fun parent, my sweet three-year old pipes up from the back seat (after mommy was gone for four days),


“Yes honey?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”


“Yes baby?”

“I am hungry.”

Hurry home so I can cook this child a meal, pour a hefty glass of wine, and pout.


PS- I AM grateful that my wonderful husband is such a loving, great daddy.  Mostly.


Advice to my son


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I HATE flying.  And we had to fly a TONKA SIZED airplane to this place.

I HATE flying. And we had to fly a TONKA SIZED airplane to this place.

My son and I are attending college orientation for his upcoming freshman year. We visited the most beautiful campus yesterday and are about to head off to day two.

I am so jealous.

I took the more..difficult path to obtaining a college degree. It also took me ten years to do so. As a single, young mother.

As I was walking the campus grounds yesterday, and touring the dorms, I couldn’t help but be wistful.

I don’t regret my path. I just sometimes kinda wish I had experienced other things in life too.

Regardless, I realized some things yesterday, and wanted to be sure I help put my son on the right path. However, after spending two days with him already, just one on one, I realized that he is a teenage boy. Surprise! Which means he doesn’t give a shit really, of what I have to say right now (maaaaaaybe he will ten years from now). Soooo, I wrote him a letter. I thought I would share it with you.

To my son,

photo 1 It is early in the morning and you are sleeping. Actually, it is not that early, but of course you are sleeping. You always sleep. In the car. On the plane. In class. On the couch. On the floor. At your desk. At my desk. ….

We are going to the second day of college orientation today.

College orientation. WOW. My first child is going to college. Not really sure how I feel about it. Excited. Nervous. Sad. I am sure you have a lot of emotions too…though you don’t say it. Maybe cause you are photo 2just tired. And sleepy.

I am writing you a letter so that you can cherish some advice I have for you. And by cherish I mean that you may actually read it before you throw it away. Maybe. If I tell you this stuff, you will nod your head and be doing one of two things;

1: be thinking of how to deflect, argue or explain away what I have to say,

2: be wondering how much longer I am going to talk before you can close your eyes and go to sleep,

Either way, a letter may give your poor brain more of a chance to absorb just a fraction of what I have to say. Maybe.

You are about to enter a very important stage in life. It is a game changer. And as I watched you interact with other people yesterday at the first day of orientation, I realized that I did a piss poor job of preparing you for this moment. So let me cram 18 years of advice into a couple of pages of paper so that I can be rest assured that you will succeed ….survive…. make it through to the other side. What is the other side? Well my son, that depends on how you do in the next four years. Let me get back to that.

Let’s start, shall we?

1. You need to learn how to do your own laundry. Here it is in a nutshell; hot water for whites, cold water for all other colors, immediately get things out of both the washer and the dryer unless you want wrinkled, mold smelly clothes. The key? Do not flip your underwear inside out and wear them twice cause you haven’t done laundry.

2. You need to learn how to cook. Here it is in a nutshell; buy cereal, milk, pasta, pasta sauce, lunchmeat and bread. Follow the directions on each package (I am fairly confident you know how to make a sandwich…I think). The key? You won’t have jack for money so don’t even think about hitting the Starbucks and Subway we saw at the campus yesterday and then call me begging for money. COOK.

3. You are SO smart. You really are. Book smart that is. I am so proud of what you can accomplish when you set your mind to it. When you are awake. SO SET YOUR MIND TO ACCOMPLISH GREAT things. This is important son. Whatever we believe we can accomplish- we do. Trust me…I am living proof of this (and I ain’t so smart when it comes to book stuff). The key here? Because of how smart you are, and what I know you can (and will) accomplish when you set your mind to it…..see number 4.

4. Plan ahead. NO EXCUSES. You get your syllabi at the beginning of each class. The beginning. Sooooo….like this means you know EXACTLY what the professor wants and when. Genius. No excuses son. None. I will not accept an excuse from you on why you got less than a B. Is that too much pressure for you? Great, then let’s not spend 20k a semester and instead enroll you in the local community college. Is that too harsh on you? Great, then let’s have you take care of your own job, housing, food, education 100% on your own…. as I did. The key? This is YOUR life and YOUR responsibility…however if I am funding it for the next four years (IF you maintain a B average) then that means you do not get to SIT ON YOUR ASS, EAT OUT, AND PARTY. This is still work.

5. Have fun. Yes, I know I just told you that your life is over as you know it, but here is the thing about planning ahead and having no excuses; when you get your work done, there is this huge relief and weightlessness feeling- enjoy it. Go out with friends. Enjoy this beautiful BEACH campus. Join clubs. Go to parties. JUST BE BACK AND GET SOME REAL SLEEP (not the kind that occurs on the desks in class) and GET YOUR WORK DONE FIRST. The key? Have ‘responsible’ fun but always let number 4 above haunt you…

6. Be responsible at work. Yes a job. You are paying for your own food and gas for your car. That too harsh for you? See number four above. You have always surprised me with your awesome work ethic; do not let the freedom of college (the noose of your mother has been loosened….) change this. The key? Don’t forget who you really are.

7. Take care of yourself. Eat three times a day (food that YOU cook). Drink water. Stay away from the stuff that most of us people do in college (you know, the plants that people smoke and the 21 and over drinks). Your body will thank you in your thirties (and on) and you will be able to focus better- when you are awake. The key here? If it is illegal don’t mess with it- I am NOT bailing you out of jail.

8. Girls are evil. They are, trust me. They will lie, cheat, beat you, burn you, taunt you, back stab you, and curse you. Just evil. You will be infected with a terrible disorder that poisons your brain and makes you forget things….like homework, a job, going to class, calling your mom…. If you must mingle with girls then go mingle with the cute little group we saw yesterday. The ones that are all enrolling in a monastery after they finish college. They might be alright. On second thought, skip that group too. All of them are filled with diseases and can kill you. Seriously. Let’s move on.

9. Be kind. Be honest. Do not get wrapped up into any group (or influenced by even one person) to do unkind, dishonest things to others. Remember- what you give to this world you get back. This includes how you treat people, the effort you put into life, work and relationships. The key here? Follow the simple cliché of, ‘treat others how you want to be treated’.

10. Number 10 is one of the most important ones. It is essential on your path to this future life of yours. Crucial. One of the most important pieces of advice I can give you: YOU. DON’T. KNOW. EVERYTHING. Yikes….I know right now you are reeling in shock and thinking, “whatever mom. I know what I know and that is more than you know”. Yep, I am sure. But here is the thing….it is OK to respond to someone with, “You know, I am not sure about that”, rather than your usual attempt to either a) make up some shit that sounds right because you want to show your smarts, or b) tell them some story about how you know this to be fact, or c) just state something because, well, you just can. No one, and I mean no one likes a ‘know it all’. Let’s say that you actually DO, 100% know something to be true and another person is saying the opposite. Here is an IDEA of how to respond, “Humm..I understand it differently, but perhaps things have changed”, this opens the door for them to maybe ASK you what your take on it is, because not everyone wants your opinion. I know- your heart is stopping right now. NOT EVERYONE WANTS YOUR OPINION. Just an FYI. So…the key? BE OPEN MINDED SON.

I am so excited to see you on the other side. If you make it. Remember that B average thing? I am not kidding…one semester, with less than that, will have you right back home, at the community college, paying ME rent and your own way- 100%.

This is what the other side can look like,

1: an emotional tear filled graduation from the beautiful campus we saw yesterday and your mom helping you to transition into your own future life (if you even need my help at this point) where you get a grown up job, meet a girl that isn’t going to kill you, and perhaps provide a grandchild or two (many, many, many years from today)


2: a tear filled reunion (your tears, not mine) with your old bedroom (maybe…. could be the game room couch as I think I have plans for your room), where you have to be home by 10pm, go to the community college (which is a great school by the way-I am taking classes there in the fall…we could take classes together!), have a job, PAY ME RENT, pay your own cell phone bill, buy and cook your own food, do your own laundry, pay the insurance on your car and perhaps, maybe, in three times the amount of time it would have taken you with option 1, put together a future that includes a grown up job, a non-lethal girl and some grandchildren (many, many, many years from today)

This is your choice. How exciting huh?! IT IS ALL ABOUT YOU SON.

I love you so much. I am HERE for you. I promise, no matter which direction you go, I will always still be here for you. Even if you do have to pay me rent. It would be exciting to take classes together…..

Love mom,

PS- you really need to start washing your hair too. It just doesn’t smell right. On second thought, those disease-filled-killer-girls do not like your smelly hair and yellow teeth so don’t worry about personal hygiene.

No, I won’t die, but you might


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I have been traveling quite a bit recently, and that always poses a couple of problems for me.

One- I am terrified of flying.  Absolutely horrified.  As a matter of fact, I am on the plane this very moment using the nifty online internet service (holy cow!), looking out at the puffy white clouds thinking, WTF?! We should NOT be up here.  This is NOT normal.

Yet we are.  Yet I am.  And TYPING no less.  Oh, and drinking.  A glass of chardonnay.  Because you see I am trying to overcome my demons.  Does that not make sense? Let me help; I stopped taking medication to fly almost a year ago because I want to overcome this absurd fear of flying.  Now I drink.  Did I swap one crutch for another? SO WHAT.  At least this crutch doesn’t have terrible side affects.  It is waaaaaay better than me going absolutely apeshit crazy on this plane and being arrested. Mostly. Look, let’s move on.

The second reason why traveling poses a problem for me is because I have some food allergies that make it difficult to eat out of the house.  Though more and more restaurants are accommodating food allergy issues, I find I still get sick quite often. I blame NO one for this, it just happens and I know that not EVERY food allergy can fully be accommodated mainstream.  I am cool with this.

I am even cool with bringing my own food.  As a matter of fact I would prefer it.

allergicWhat I am not cool with, is the look I get.  You know, the look.

Let me give you an example.

My best friend and I went to a bar-b-que Saturday while I was traveling.  She has the exact same food issues I do, so when we arrived (we ate before we went people) we planned on having water and just enjoying the outing.  Like all good hosts, we were offered food.  We politely declined.

“You have GOT to try this whatchamacall it” (it is a whatchamacall it because I can’t remember what the hell he said it was and it looked like yellow and brown goop).  My friend, so sweetly said, “Thanks but I have this food allergy….”…before she could finish I saw the look.  See, I am used to it, as I have been living like this for a few years, but she is fairly new on her path so I shifted my weight to lean slightly on her and just said, “We ate earlier, but thank you”.   Of course one party goer was not to be deterred, “ya, but you have got to try it”.  My friend, “it is just not worth the pain….”, the utter ass nice-person-who-just-doesn’t-understand, “uh…ya it is….it is seriously delicious, you are just missing out”.


We are missing out alright.  On running, crazily, to the bathroom with a gut so twisted in pain we can’t walk upright and to barely make it to the toilet before our ass explodes in what can only be described as a sewer explosion of massive proportions.  Ya, we are so sad about that.

This party goer, along with the host, turn to look at each other with the look.  This look says, ‘ what is the big deal?  you aren’t gonna die if you eat this’.

Nope, you are right.  We won’t actually die.  Though our insides will feel like it, to the point that we sometimes, while laying in the fetal position sucking our thumbs, wish we would die. Not to mention, there are long-term issues with celiac disease, however, no, we won’t die that moment.


You just may if you keep looking at me that way.  Cause I may grab this freaking spoon and stick it straight in your eye.

I am just sayin’.

Good thing chardonnay is on my approved list of foods to consume.  I do think I just may have another one and the guy next to me is grateful there are no spoons on board.


PS- well crap.  This damn plane is BOUNCING in the sky.  This.  Is.  Not.  Normal.

What is today’s date anyway?


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I, like many mothers, feel like I am losing my f’ing mind.  I don’t mean just crazy…that is a GIVEN..I mean like my MEMORY.  Like what did we eat for dinner last night?  What was I supposed to do with this thing in my hand?  Why did I walk into this room?  I know I was supposed to pack something else…? Where did I put my keys…that I had in my hand…ten SECONDS ago?

shorttermmemoryThere are scary times too. When I get in the shower..that I have used the last EIGHT years and stare at the handle.  Do I turn it left or right?


Or, when my daughter asks me how to spell a SIMPLE word, and I stare at her hard…like I am willing the letters to pop in my head, and finally say screw it-get my phone out to text the word so that auto correct will show me how to spell the damn thing.

During super scary times, like when someone describes an occurrence that was said to have happened…that I have ZERO recollection of…I pause and wonder if I have the gene.  You know-IT. The one my Nona suffered from.  IT= Alzheimer or dementia. When that happens I start to panic.  I start to quiz myself, which of course only produces fruitless results, cause now I am forgetting EVERYTHING except that I might have IT, so that I really say F it and grab the bottle of wine to drown ALL memories. **NOTE TO MY CHILDREN- IF I SUFFER FROM IT AND YOU PUT ME IN A HOME- PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE SNEAK ME IN WINE. LOTS AND LOTS.  I won’t remember you for shit, but know I am grateful**

Facebook has become my best friend.  Not for the social media aspect- but because it TELLS ME WHEN TO WISH PEOPLE HAPPY BIRTHDAY. My friends all think I am a hero when I mail them a card, send them a gift or simply write, “happy birthday” on their wall.  I am NO hero.  Thank Facebook-cause I am LAME and can’t remember your birthday for crap.  I have been known..on occasion, to barely remember one of my children’s birthday’s were coming up.  Listen, if you got the invite to my child’s birthday, the day before the party, it was probably cause technology sucks.  Not cause I forgot.  Probably.

A good friend of mine just had her first baby.  She was so excited and like all new moms had so much fun telling me the birth story, the fantastic moment when they first put her baby on her tummy and how she was filled with such joy (she doesn’t know any better yet people).  I smiled during her story and thought back to the very first thought I had during my first child’s birth.

After hours of induced hellashish labor, with no drugs (I was STUPID during the first one) and a vacuum inspired, ripping the child out of my body experience- the doctor finally put him on my chest.  I remember looking down at his scrunched up face and the very, very first thing that popped in my head;

“wait…what is today’s date?  How in the hell will I remember his birthday??”

I swear.

That was my first thought.

Because you see, I can’t just blame my issues on motherhood.  They preceded motherhood. I have always sucked at remembering things.  My husband makes fun of my calendar reminders on my phone, which tell me when to take the trash to the street (yes, yes it does) and when to pick up my children from school (yes, yes my phone tells me, one hour before, thirty minutes before and 15 minutes before the time to pick up a child- SO I DON’T FORGET TO PICK UP MY OWN KIDS).

There is no cure for this issue I don’t think, but wine comes really, really close to being a solution.  I am pretty sure, if it were legal, doctors would just prescribe it;

“Don’t sweat the memory thing, it affects us all, however, one way to help alleviate the AGGRAVATION of it is to do one simple thing at a time, you know, so you don’t overstimulate yourself.  Just uncork this, pour a hefty serving, and take as prescribed- which is daily…in abundance.”

So…I will.