Tag Archives: mom

You’re Hugging Me Too Hard

16 Dec

Sandy Hook. I have cried and cried this weekend for the children of Sandy Hook. I’ve cried for the teachers and the parents and the survivors and the community of Newtown.

It is enough to make you feel helpless.

This weekend, in between Girl Scouts and soccer games and doctoring colds I have loved my children. Yes, I always love my kids but this weekend I didn’t take any moment with my children for granted. I hugged them a little more often and a little tighter.

That is what Sandy Hook has given me; a reminder that my children are a gift.

As I hugged my five-year-old Friday afternoon, she exclaimed, “Mama! You’re hugging me too tight!” in between squeals of laughter.

No, I’m not, baby girl. No I’m not.


UPDATE: A commenter left the following message that I wanted to share for any who might be interested. Thanks again, http://robakers.wordpress.com for sharing this!

Thank you for your comments. My kids said the same thing…too hard daddy!

I believe that the pen is mightier than the sword. Several bloggers are encouraging others to send cards and letters to the school. Here is the address:

The school’s address is: Sandy Hook Elementary School 12 Dickenson Drive Newtown, CT   06482

God Bless.


All I Want is an 8-piece Fried Chicken

12 Dec

Yes, I’m venting. Yes, this is imaginary . . . well the phone-call part is anyway.

Damn you, Walmart!

Damn you, Walmart!

Walmart: Thank you for calling Walmart. May I help you?

Me: Yes, I need to speak to the manager please.

W: This is the manager. May I help you?

Me.: Yes, I have an issue with your deli department.

W: Ok, what seems to be the problem.

Me: Yes, I had spoken with your deli manager and placed an order for an 8-piece fried chicken. I stopped by to pick it up today and it wasn’t ready. I was told I’d have to wait 20 minutes.

W: I’m sorry that this happened ma’am. Is there something that we could do to improve your experience here at Walmart?

Me: I’m not sure because this isn’t the first time this has happened.

W: It isn’t?

Me: No. The last four times I’ve stopped to pick up fried chicken it wasn’t ready.

W: And you had called in an order?

Me: I placed my order in person! I remember it specifically because I was ordering a cake for my kid’s birthday . . .

W: Uh-huh.

Me: And I spoke with your deli manager . . .

W: Uh-huh.

Me: And I explained to her that on days that I had too much shit to do, to please have an 8-piece fried chicken waiting for me.

W: Huh.

Me: I mean, there is NEVER any chicken at your deli counter. I see the empty spaces for it but no.fricking.chicken. So me, being a planner (cuz I’m a planner!) took it upon myself to pre-order my chicken.  Ya know, to cut out any confusion and frustration on both our parts.

W: But ma’am, you didn’t schedule a date to pick up your order.

Me: Yes I did.

W: And what day was that?

Me: On the day that I have too much shit to do.

W: Ma’am, that is not a day.

Me: It most certainly is.

Uncomfortable silence.

W: Ma’am (sigh), how is my deli manager supposed to know the exact day that you will be in to pick up a fried chicken?

Me: Because.I.told.her.the.day. The day I have too much shit to do.

Another uncomfortabe silence.

Me: Ya know, maybe we could resolve this. Maybe, just maybe you could start keeping fried chicken in your deli counter. Maybe in that section that is labeled “8-piece Fried Chicken only $6.99!”

W: Ma’am, we do but . .. .

Me: No you don’t. Everytime I go in there it is empty. EMPTY! The only thing you have left is that lemon-garlic-rotissierie crap. Do you really think a two-year-old will eat that?

W: Ma’am . . . .

Me: I mean, all I’m asking for is that you actually keep fried chicken in your deli counter. Is that to much to ask for?

W: Are you currently taking any medications?

Me: I mean, how do you expect me to work all day, go to Girl Scout meetings, soccer practices, science fairs, and still have time to cook a meal?

W: Would you mind giving me your name for the restraining order?

Me: Don’t even get me started on the laundry! It’s ridiculous.

W: Or perhaps a physical description?

Me: This whole thing reeks of false advertising. And, and, and . .  .Walmart is against families having dinner together. Yes, that’s what it is!

W: Or maybe an address I can send the authorities to?

Me: Well, Mr. Manager! You and Walmart can stay the hell away from my family! Good day, Sir!


The No-Cabbage Treaty of 2012

11 Dec

The Mother and the Children,cabbage

Resolved to develop friendly relations between the Mother and the Children;

Convinced of the need finally to overcome antagonism and to develop cooperation within the household;

Have agreed upon and confirmed the following articles.

Article 1:

Her Maternal Majesty acknowledges that said Children have the right to have input into their food choices, no matter how wrong their input might be.

Article 2:

The Children acknowledge that Her Maternal Majesty, their Mother, deserves the right to have privacy, especially in the bathroom.

Article 3:

It is agreed that the Mother will not serve for consumption:  cabbage, cabbage-like food or anything resembling, by taste or smell, a cabbage. It is further agreed that the Mother will not try to disguise any of the aforementioned food items.

Article 4:

It is agreed that the Children will not stalk or harass the Mother while she is in the bathroom. The Children agree to acknowledge that the act of slipping notes under the bathroom door and/or wiggling hands and/or feet under the bathroom door as forms of harassment. (Mommy will give you a pass if she needs you to grab a roll of toilet tissue from the other bathroom. OK?)

Article 5:

The solemn ratifications of the present treaty shall be expedited between the contracting parties immediately.

It is my prediction that this treaty will be repealed before breakfast. The kids just can’t stay away from the bathroom door!

Open Letter to the Jerkward Who Broke Into My Home

10 Dec

This summer, my home was broken into and we were robbed. I still have a few unresolved issues about it.

Dear Jerkwad,

Thank you for breaking into my home on a Monday. I had spent all weekend cleaning the house and doing laundry. You managed to undo all of my hard work by dumping every drawer, tossing every cabinet and destroying each closet. Oh, and the broken glass throughout the house was a nice touch.

Don’t worry about the money you stole from my daughter. It probably wasn’t obvious to you that it belonged to an 8-year-old girl. I mean, you only found it in a pink wallet . . . . in a gir’ls bedroom. . . in a home that wasn’t yours. I explained to her that it was more important for you to get your crack fix than for her to get the American Girl doll she had hoped to buy. She’s all good now.

Thank you for not trashing the bedroom that my two toddlers share. They had already trashed it that same morning. By the way, I told the cops that you TOTALLY did that. It’ll probably add another 10 to 15 years onto your sentence when they catch  your sorry ass.

The thing that I hated the most about all of this was not the things that you took, but that you frightened my children. Something that you may not understand is that scaring the hell out of my children is MY JOB AND NOT YOURS!

But the thing that I really want to tell you is this: the day that you broke into our home . . . the same day you were tossing our mattresses and slinging Pillow Pets everywhere . . . . my five-year-old was EAT UP with HEAD LICE.


That’s the way we roll up in here, JERKWAD.

This home is protected by PEDICULUS CAPITAS.

This home is protected by

Here’s hoping that when they catch you that you have a very sweet cell mate who will pick the nits out of your hair. Speaking of being someone’s bitch, ain’t karma a bitch?

With Warmest Regards,

The Great Mama Experiment

Real Men Don’t Need Exterminators

5 Dec
This is EXACTLY how our mouse looked.

This is EXACTLY how our mouse looked.

My yard  is lined with ten pecan trees. Apparently, mice love pecans. My home is also surrounded on three sides by soybean fields, which mice also love.

What happened to mice eating cheese? Were all those episodes of Tom and Jerry based on LIES? What else were you lying about, Jerry????

As I stood on my deck admiring a herd of mice galloping through the soybean field, I noticed one of the mice pointing at me like he was calling me out. I knew it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Hell, my kids leave mouse-appropriate snacks everywhere . . . word was bound to get out.

That night I informed The Dad that the angry mob of mice outside had been heckling me. Since it was obviously only a matter of time before we were overrun by an irate horde of rodents, I did the only sensible thing . . . . I called the exterminator and notified the authorities.

The Dad grunted at me while simultaneously rolling his eyes.

The Dad grunts at me constantly and not in a come-hither way. Grunts are just his natural mode of communication. But the grunt-eye-roll combo translates into, “Real men don’t need exterminators.”

His solution? Glue traps. I detest glue traps. IF, I say IF you actually catch a mouse in one of these contraptions . . . . what the hell are you going to do with a LIVE mouse that is GLUED to a PIECE OF PLASTIC?

The Dad ignored my perfectly logical reasoning and strategically placed glue traps throughout our home.

The next morning as I’m slaving away to cook a breakfast that my children totally take for granted, I hear my two youngest calling for their mother. I rush towards their room only to see my three-year-old son with both feet and one hand stuck to a glue trap. His two-year-old sister, Madeline, also has one hand stuck in the trap and is trying to drag her brother towards me.

Me: Samuel? What are you doing?

Samuel: I stuck.

Madeline: And I save him, Mama.

About that time, a mouse ran by, shot me the bird and told me this was his turf now. That may not have been his exact words but you get the picture.

Alliance, Unite!

4 Dec

spy kidIt’s 3:00 a.m. and the four children are gathered around a small table in their play area. They always meet in the dead of night to keep their alliance secret. Do not let their innocent demeanor fool you for that is what they hope for. They are always conniving . . . always scheming . . . . to thwart the evil ways of their mother.

Melissa: Let’s get started. Lauren says she has obtained important information regarding the Evil One’s plan to convert Daddy over to her side.

Lauren: Yesterday, at approximately 16:00 hours, I emerged from the school bus at Blue Bird’s house.

Samuel: Blue Bird? Who is Blue Bird?

Melissa: That’s Grandma’s code name, stupid.

Samuel: Oh, yea. Blue Bird. Sorry, I forgot.

Lauren: Anyway, Blue Bird informed me that we would be staying at her house Friday night so that the Evil One could apprehend Daddy and go on a date night.

Samuel: What’s so bad about that?

Melissa: You fool?  Don’t you see? We will be imprisoined in Blue Bird’s lair, forced to watch re-runs of The Young and the Restless.  Poor Daddy won’t have us to run interference. There’s no telling what she might do to him. Lauren, did you try any preemptive tactics?

Lauren: Of course I did, but Blue Bird is just as sly as the Evil One. I suggested that we accompany the Evil One on this so-called “date night” so that we might protect our father. Blue Bird informed me they were going to a restaurant that did not allow children.

All Children: Gasp!

Samuel: What kind of sick place doesn’t allow children?

Melissa: Poor Daddy.  The Evil One more than likely plans to make him eat all sorts of vegetables. This sick woman already controls our lives, our candy . . . . and now she wants to control our father. All may be lost.

Madeline: Fear not, brother and sisters.

All look towards the dark corner where the two-year-old was sitting. She drains her sippy cup in one quick gulp and slams the cup on the table.

Madeline: You have all forgotten our basic strategy. Drain her energy! Drain her resources! Do not give her time for basic hygiene! Do these things and she.will.fall. Stick with the plan and I promise you not only will we have control of the candy, but control of the TV as well! Now, I’m pretty sure I can hustle up a suspicious looking rash on my bottom. That’s a start but it won’t be enough. What do the rest of you have?

Lauren: Tomorrow morning I’ll spill something on my clothes just as the school bus arrives. I’ll make sure to hide all my other clean clothes under my bed first. She hates it when I do that.

Samuel: A kid at daycare owes me a favor. He’s got a pretty nice runny nose . . . . I’ll just ask him to spread the joy, if ya know what I mean. My new found runny nose along with Melissa’s ability to turn any cold into bronchitis should be enough to foil the Evil One’s plans.

Melissa: Ok, guys. That sounds good.  I don’t hear the Evil One’s snores anymore so now might be a good time to adjourn. We’ll meet back here tomorrow at 03:00 to assess the situation.  Good night and good luck.

Every Mom Needs a Little Al Green

3 Dec
Al Green is an effective parenting tool.

Al Green is an effective parenting tool.

One Saturday morning not too long ago, a devoted mother awoke in the wee hours of the morning to prepare a breakfast feast for her four darling children. The mother would cook each child’s favorite as a special treat to begin a fun and special Saturday.

Sausage and eggs for her 8-year-old girl. The 5-year-old daughter prefers pancakes. Bacon and grits for the 3-year-old boy and biscuits for the 2-year-old girl.

There was not a fruit or vegetable in sight! The children would be thrilled. The mother only hoped that the children could contain their gratitude long enough to consume this breakfast feast of all feasts.

Devoted Mother: Oh, beautiful children! Come! Come quickly and partake of the bountiful banquet I have prepared for you!

5YO:    (while rubbing her eyes) Huh?

Devoted Mother:  There you are, my sweet Melissa.  Always the first to come and greet your mother in the morning.

5YO:    Huh?

3YO:    Mommeeeeeeee!

Devoted Mother:  Samuel, my fine boy! Come! I have a chilled cup of chocolate milk for you.

3YO:  Mommy! I pee-pee my pants.

Devoted Mother:  Err, what? I mean, fear not dear son. I can remedy that. But wait! I hear your sister! Come beloved Madeline and hug your mother!

2YO:    Eat-eat! Eeeaaattttt!!! (She runs past her mother and seats herself)

Devoted Mother: Do not worry child. There will be time for hugs later. Yes, go and partake of this divine breakfast spread.

8YO:  Is there school today?

Devoted Mother:  Lauren! Fear not! There is no school today!!!!

8YO:  What?

Devoted Mother:  Rejoice child! For there is no school today!

8YO:    It’s 7:00 in the morning. Why did you wake us? And why are you talking weird?

3YO:    Mommy! I pee-pee my pants!

5YO:    Huh?


8YO:    I mean, after we eat what are we supposed to do all day?  You should have just let us sleep.

5YO:    I don’t like pancakes today. I want Froot Froots.


3YO:    Pee-pee!

The devoted mother, sensing that her normally congenial children must not have slept well the night before, flew into action. The Boy was outfitted in fresh clothing and the children were seated at the table, their plates laden with all of their breakfast favorites.

Devoted Mother:  Now, my darlings, gorge yourselves on this fine breakfast!

Surly 8YO:  This is the wrong kind of sausage. I like the kind that is in patties.

Ungrateful 5YO: I said I wanted FROOOOT FROOOOOTS.

Piglet 2YO: (Her face covered in syrup and grits) More eat! More, more, more!!

PeePotBoy: I no like chocolate milk today. Fix it Mommy, FIX IT!

Surly 8YO: Ow! She touched me!

Ungrateful 5YO:  Did not!

Surley 8YO:  Did too!

Ungrateful 5YO: Did not! You’re stoo-pid!

PeePotBoy: Fix my milk, Mommy!

Piglet 2YO: Me want cay-cakes wid stirrups on dem.

As the devoted mother watched the scene unfold, she realized her beloved children were idiots. Did her offspring respond positively to the nurturing and caring of their devoted mother? No. They acted like the buffoons that they are. The mother resorted to the one tactic she knew would work: torture.

The mother cranked up her music. She saw the fear and realization wash over the face of her children when they heard the opening blasts of the horns.

The devoted mother sang along loudly . . . . and badly.


I’m so in love with you

Surly 8YO:  Mama, please! No!

Whatever you want to do

PeePotBoy: Why you making dat noise, Mama?

Is alright with meeeee

The two-year-old begins dancing while cramming food in her mouth.

Surly 8YO: Mama! Stop it! Your singing is horrible!

Cause you make me feel so brand neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewww

Ungrateful 5YO: What do we do, Lauren? How do me make her stop?

And I want to spend my life with yoooooooooooouuuu

The devoted mother is really getting into it now. She’s singing and dancing and oblivious to her dumb-ass children.

Let me say that since — oh yeah — since we’ve been together

Surly 8YO: Maybe she wants a hug or something.

Could they really be that stupid?

The devoted mother continues to sing and dance as she pries the sticky hugs off of her.

Loving you forever is what I need-eee-eee-eee-eee-ed.

Ungrateful 5YO: That just made it worse! She’s singing louder.

Oh let me be the one  you come running toooo-ooo-ooo-oooo

I’ll never be untruuuuuuuuuuue.

Surly 8YO: Just tell us what you want and stop torturing us!!!

Still singing . . . .

Eeeeeaaatttt!  Eat your damn breakfast

Eat it whether you like it or not

You un-grate-ful snots!

Surly 8YO: I’m pretty sure your horrible songs doesn’t go that way.

Oh tell me why, why, why, why, why, why

You children are so stupid

And do not even realize

I can sing this stuff all day-a-a-a-ay.

Ungrateful5YO: That doesn’t even rhyme, Mama.

Surley8YO: No, Melissa.  She’s trying to tell us that she’ll keep doing this until we give her what she wants. Everybody, just eat and maybe she’ll stop torturing us.

To my fellow mothers: Never underestimate the power of Al Green.