What do get your wife for mother’s day.

So every year there’s this grand question about what to get her for Mother’s Day. The expectation of what we should be doing on Mother’s Day is overwhelming too.  We dream of a perfect day off.  A blissful utopia of a clean house and no chores.  Where nothing is sticky or shoved into place.  Where we wake to the sound of chirping birds who help us get dressed and meet the day.   

I think for Mother’s day we just want you to treat us the way we treat you every single day.  Here’s a delicate suggestion: Wake up before she gets up and make breakfast…for everyone in the house including her.  This part is important: clean up all the breakfast dishes and get everyone dressed.  Plan a day of family fun.  Take the children somewhere for the entire day.  Leave her home, if she wants to stay home, but make sure there are no  chores for her to do.  Don’t tell her she can do the chores tomorrow!  Take the children someplace educational and fun, like a science center, or a museum.  Take the children to visit your mother.  Feed them.  Return home.  Bathe the children.  Dress them for bed. Perform the bedtime routine.  Put yourself to bed.  

Too much? Alright, here’s my best advice on a short list.  

Do not wake her up.  

Do not watch her fold laundry and say: “When you’re done, wanna get something to eat or what?”

Do not say “There’s a card for you somewhere in the bedroom. When I’m finished with my paper I’ll get it”

Do not say “Did we get something for my mother?”

And remember Father’s Day is a month away.  

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It’s the Same Boobs So Why Have the Rules Changed?

So we are coming up on swimsuit season – CRAP.  Every year it’s the same complaint – the garment is meant to cover the exact same area as my bra, except suddenly we change the rules and the size is XS, S, M, L, XL.  Or better yet, they put a piece of elastic, and call it a “shelf bra”.  What the hell is a shelf bra?  Who’s boobs live on a shelf?!!  There is no shelf that can accommodate what I’ve got going on.  I have the same boobs, so why don’t we have the same system for taking care of them??? It’s like bathing suit designers enter the Twilight Zone where suddenly these are self sustaining boobs that happily stand at attention on their shelf.   

Now granted, things are getting better.  Someone woke up and realized that some of us have asses that are not directly proportionate to our boobs, so they’ve started to sell mix-n-match tops and bottoms.  Okay awesome.  It would be great if there were more than three of these options and if the pieces weren’t $70 each, but having big cans is a costly affliction. 

To solve the  problem I have with poorly constructed swimsuits I have, for years, bought a bra whose sole purpose is to live under my  bathing suit.  I’ve noticed this year that manufacturers are now selling “swim bras”.  Here’s the thing: thanks but why don’t you just make a better fucking suit so I don’t have to buy a $70 addition to it! Just take a bra and design a suit around it. Novel idea huh?  I don’t see why?  They’re the same boobs I had in the winter! Like take a bra and make it out of quick drying whatever material and hang a little apron off of it and call it a swim suit!!!!  Damnit!!

Here’s another tip you woman-hating-bathing-suit designing-assholes:  women with giant melons can’t wear halters okay?  Stop making the two DD sized bathing suits you offer in a halter style design.  My neck is only so strong, it can’t be hauling around 23 pounds of boob all damn day!! That’s back and shoulder work buddy!  Give me a a DD-DDD sized, thick adjustable strapped, four hooked, underwire, industrial strength, “get over here when I call you”, “shit now i’m running”, full strength, machine washable, won’t bleach in the pool bathing suit that doesn’t look like something my grandmother wore in ’67.  

Also Calvin Klein?  Suck it okay?  Suck. It. 



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15 Things I never thought I’d say…Until I had kids

This is a completely true list of things I’ve absolutely totally said to my children.  If you think they’re funny taken out of context, could you imagine the context within which they were said??!! Many of you *sigh* can imagine, can’t you?

1. Don’t put your face in the toilet

2. Because if I wanted a monkey I would have joined the circus when I had the chance.

3. All I’m doing is pooping!

4. I’m only going to let you play with that bag for ten more minutes.

5. If you want to sleep with the balloon, you have to brush your teeth. 

6. Don’t put that in your butt

7. I’m going to have to put this in your butt

8. Look, now your sitting in pee. 

9. Is that pee?

10. What happened to the tuna fish sandwich I just gave you?

11. It’s not a pet! It’s a tomato!!!

12. Keep ur fingers out of my ears 

13. Your brain would never fall out but I’m pretty sure if it did, a new one wouldn’t grow back.

14. I can’t make an English Muffin when I’m in the shower

15. Don’t touch that Firby! I just put it to sleep! 

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Not Everything Goes in the Dishwasher (and Other Shocking truths about the (semi) modern kitchen)

Like many (some) of you, I grew up in the 70’s.  And also like many (some) of you, we weren’t the kind of family that enjoyed modern conveniences.  Our clothes were dried “on the line” and our dishes were washed in the sink.  We had one air conditioner in each of our two bedrooms and if you wanted to get cold you could wait until bedtime or stand in front of the refrigerator.

Now thankfully, we’ve grown and are happy to be able to enjoy those conveniences once reserved for only the Brady’s.  However, my mom hasn’t quite gotten used to the limitations of my seemingly “Jetson’s-style” kitchen.  So this one’s for my mom, and all other hands-on Grandma’s out there.  We love you, and thank you for all your help… but


Nope.  Its true. It was a great invention but it wasn’t meant for everything.  So, the sponge? Yeah, that doesn’t go in the dishwasher.  When it’s all stinky, we just go right ahead and throw that in the garbage.  Yeah, totally in the garbage.  Also Ziploc bags, yeah no.  Not in the dishwasher.  While yes, Ziploc bags can hold food items, such as left overs, that capability does not transform the Ziploc into a Tupperware-type storage device worthy of the dishwasher.  So, once again, when that bad boy gets a little soiled?  We just go ahead and yeah, throw that sucker right in the trash.

Okay, have I blown your mind?  Because here we go with another crazy rule.  Some stuff, only goes on the top rack.  Crazy right?  Turns out the bottom rack gets really hot, so when you put a Tupperware top (retailing at about $40 each) on the bottom rack, it will shrivel like a really really expensive Shrinky Dink.  So best just to either hand wash those puppies or go ahead and use the top rack.  Yeah, just take the Ziploc bag out and pop that Tupperware top right in there.

Speaking of shriveling, yep – those plastic forks and spoons?  Those are just not meant for the dishwasher either.  Ya put those in the dishwasher and I’m looking at a Dali-esque landscape of a once beautiful appliance.  So, yeah those plastic utensils? Those are dis-POS-able.  So by their very nature, meant for the garbage.  Don’t be scared, we just throw those right out.

Okay on to the dryer.  First, I must say… best just to stay away from it. Seriously, just don’t use the dryer.  However, since past warnings have gone unnoticed, I’ll say this: If it’s shiny, or furry, or sports related – DON’T DRY IT or it will look like a Ziploc bag after the heated dry cycle.

Okay, I think that about covers it… we’ll tackle central air in a few months.  Love ya! Thanks for the help!! xoxox

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Don’t Hate On Gwyneth…. Rarified Air Makes it Hard to Breathe

Sure, I was as stunned as the rest of you when Gwyneth Paltrow described her split from Chris Martin as “conscious uncoupling”.  I too thought, “what the hell is she even talking about?  Are they getting a divorce or are they dismantling a refrigerator?” But the thing is, Gwyneth is not getting a lot of oxygen up there to her blonde head.  She lives in a completely different stratosphere.  A world where “Apple” is a perfectly beautiful name for a child.  Where your ex-boyfriend is Brad Pitt.  Where you can walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards completely braless.  Where she thinks that working a 14 hour day is something reserved for people that work “on-set”. Among her more interesting oxygen-deprived statements was the one were she described the enviable routine of working in an office setting.  To quote her exactly:

“I think it’s different when you have an office job, because it’s routine and, you know, you can do all the stuff in the morning and then you come home in the evening,”… and then what Gwyn?  I’m just curious – you come home in the evening aaaanddd… sleep?  Oooor more like, get completely attacked by your kids who act like you left them with some kind of Ogre and promised never to return.  Like, you didn’t even drop your bag before you see what appears to be the aftermath of a spaghetti bomb that has gone off in your kitchen.  Like, you walk into your bedroom to shed your office attire only to be greeted by the basket of laundry you didn’t fold last night sitting on your bed. 

She goes on to say: “I think to have a regular job and be a mom is not as, of course there are challenges, but it’s not like being on set.” Really Gwyn?  What gave you that idea? Nnnnope.  Not like being on set.  See because what you’re making “on set” is make believe, and what a “working parent” is making is an entire life.  

I really didn’t want to get this worked up… I think I’m going to sit in a hot bath and consciously uncouple….  


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Give Up, You’ll never know What Happened at School Today…. ever

After you have kids your relationship with your parents takes on a different tone.  It truly becomes an “adult” relationship. You may not know exactly when or where it happened but it certainly did happen. I can ballpark it and say it happened around the time your mom suddenly thought that having ice cream for diner was perfectly fine, and a punishment of 3 minutes in a corner was cruel. Okay, so see how that relationship had a drastic yet gradual turnaround? You are again in the middle of a relationship turnaround when your baby turns into a kid.

You used to know everything about this little person. Where they spend their day, how they spent their day, who they were with, what they ate, when they ate, if they pooped, what it looked like… you get it. Now you send them off to a big institution where they have their little lives and you don’t know a thing about what happened there. Oh sure you can pretend you know because you have some sort of spiritual connection with your kids’ teacher, but really, give it up. You don’t know what happened at school at all.

Picture it, it’s “crazy hat day” or some other stupid distraction your school has come up with to make your weekend hell. Here’s the notice from school:

Calling all parents: This Monday will be crazy (fucking) hat day. Please (spend at least a $100 at the nearest craft ripoff store and) decorate a hat with 100 of your child’s favorite items (or 100 of the easiest cheapest shits I can find). Be creative! (FUCK YOU!) Get involved with your child (how dare you!) and really show us what you can create as a family (I already did that when I made this kid. Get off me!.) While you make your crazy hat, count with your child. Show them tens, hundreds and ones.(Bitch if I’m doing your job, I got a mountain of laundry with your name on it )Enjoy! (Fuck off!)

You spend the entire weekend covering a piece of crap hat with 100 things you found that could a.) fit on this thing b.)would adhere with glue c.) wouldn’t cause permanent nerve damages when placed upon the head of a 5 year old d.) wasn’t candy (because you spent all day Saturday negotiating candy right out of the decorating process). Now it’s Monday and you send you little one with a headdress that could easily win first prize at Carnivale. You go to pick her up at school and she emerges, full of molted feathers and glitter. The hat is a shadow of its original splendor and you ask: “What happened?” Your answer will be a resounding: “I don’t know”. You’ll continue to press and press, trying to piece together the moments of the day – not just to find out the fate of your creation but also whether your efforts were worth it. Did you have the best hat? How did people react? What did the other hats look like? Was there a contest? Did you win? Who won? What happens during “crazy hat day”? Was there some kind of parade? Do the other mom’s think I’m cool now? Did someone snap a photo!? Where there cupcakes!!! I WANT ANSWERS!!!!!

So relax. The first thing you need to do is forget about getting those intimate details to which you used to be privy. Those days are over. Think about what you really want to know. Does it really matter if there was a parade? Or a contest? All that really matters is that your kid had a good day and that she looked appropriately silly. Ask simply: did you have fun today? And end it.

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Holy Cow, get off me!

Every day I read some blog about how I can be a better mother.  “Give your children compliments”, “Don’t over-compliment your children”, “10 Things you MUST feed your children” “Don’t ever let your child eat these things” “You’re not being careful enough as a parent” “You’re being too careful as a parent” OH. MY .GOD.  Do these authors have any idea what I have to do in a single day to make sure these children don’t die?!  Really??? If anyone is even tempted to read those articles, they’re already “good” parents.  They already care enough to be curious about a little tip that might make them better.  And that’s what makes them better.  I just read an article that encouraged parents to let their kids play with fire.  FIRE!!  Followed by another about how breastfeeding into middle-school nurtures a strong “sense of self.”  What. Is. Going. On.  I’m not letting my kids play with fire.  I’m not breastfeeding my 14 year old.  

I’m so tired of being told to be “careful” but not “too careful”, to be “loving” but not “too loving” – what are all these people talking about?  This is just more fodder for our over-judgmental society.   We create all these new standards on how to judge one another, then we post them on Facebook along with pictures of our kids who are eating our fresh organic, gluten-free, sugar-free, fat-free, dairy-free, artificial-anything-free, snuck-some-spinach-in-it bullshit food. “Look at my little ‘Dakota’ eating our organically grown, backyard, compost-fed, carrots”  Great for Dakota, I gotta wipe the chocolate off their faces get my kids in bed okay?  Get off me.  

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