The Plight of the Sensitive Smeller


The smell of grease fat lingers this morning from the previous night’s feast of fish and chips. Tiny whiffs of scent hang in the air like the surprise fun-bags you find at novelty shops. Except rather than discovering fanciful prizes upon opening them, these sacks contain a swift punch to the nostrils. A walloping of the senses.

I hate weird smells. Can you tell? I’m so anal about it. My roommates (and by “roommates” I mean my kids, husband and sister in law) must get SO annoyed with me. I am forever asking, “What is that disgusting smell?” or yelling in top rage mode, “WHY DOES THIS HOUSE STINK ALL OF THE TIME?!”

Sometimes I wonder if it is me that smells. I will slink away to the bathroom and attempt to check my various body parts for ill-smelling indicators but that never works. If the horrendous smells were in fact coming from my person I’d never be able to tell. I would have already become accustomed to my reek. The ripened aroma would have already amalgamated with my skin follicles. I would wear it like a child wears her favorite Halloween costume, for days and remorselessly. I would bathe happily in my stench never quite accepting the dismay I was putting those I love through by simply standing next to them.

This revelation leads me to believe that there still must be something extra that is stinking up my home because I can in fact smell it. I will begin rooting around under furniture, behind tables, like a hog roots for truffles. I am on a quest to find the sought after tang of insubordination. For one beautiful moment I believe the smell might have dissipated. I have opened the windows and currently all I can detect is an unsoiled breeze blowing in. My heart is aflutter by the seemingly mystical properties which have vanquished the horrendous odour from my abode. A single tear drops from my eye. I am free.

However my happiness is in vain. Somewhere in the depth of my senses there is a tingling. It lazily alerts my brain that the smell has not truly left but lays in wait. There is rests. “Soon” it teases as the plot of this ever thickening joke on my senses evolves.

Alas my friends, this is the plight of the sensitive smeller. It is a sad and pathetic tale but one which must be told. So next time you encounter someone whose nose is particularly in tune with their surroundings, remember these words. Have sympathy. Agree that, yes, there definitely is a revolting stink in here. And most of all assist them in their hunt for the aroma in question because, as our sacred scent-detecting mantra goes: A smellers search is never through until the smell is found.



Wednesday Rambles


The house has a muggy calm about it this morning. Today is supposed to be devastatingly hot and I’m not entirely sure I am ready for it. I’m not entirely sure I am ready for anything anymore. For someone who used to be chronically prepared for just about everything, I’ve sort of dropped the ball lately.

Maybe it’s the heat. Or maybe it’s my brain being overloaded with menial tasks. Perhaps it’s my brain being overloaded with all of the non-menial tasks that’s getting me down. The worries and what-ifs about the future. I find myself daydreaming all of the time about what’s to come.

Like, I wonder when that multi-billionaire is going to stroll through the doors of The Hot Wire and give us an offer right then and there that we can’t refuse. He will say something along the lines of, “Boy Howdy I do declare this is the best éclair I’ve ever eaten!” or “Well, I tell you what, I’ve never seen a more original and downright delightful sandwich shop in my whole dang life.” I am imagining this person to be from the Deep South with an accent reminiscent to Foghorn J. Leghorn.


However right here and now I am reminded that none of this has actually happened yet. A wall of heat is currently pressing up against my back and I feel as though I may be slowly melting away into oblivion. I do hope it’s not so hot there.

Usually I don’t mind the heat. I like to bask or whatever. But working in a kitchen when it is 30 above, I’ve come to discover, is most likely the closest impression of Hell that any human being will ever know.

I literally just turned around to see if I could physically see what the “heat” looks like. I am assuming that because it is so god-damn hot in here (at 6 am) that surely I would be able to spot its wrath. I’m really considering stripping down to the buff and going to sit in the cool garage for a few before I head off to work.

Okay by now I’m sure you guys are asking yourselves where in the good and glorious name of Jeebus am I going with this blog post?

Well, to put it right out there; I’ve been a bit of an asshole lately. I’ve pretty much been the assholiest asshole in the history of assholes (but not the literal kind…because that would be shitty. Ha!)


In these last few weeks I’ve pulled away. I’ve withdrawn because let’s face it, things got scary and things got hard. We were struggling to get the business where we needed it and doubt plus many misgivings were running rampant. I stopped calling my friends and family because I just didn’t have anything positive to say. I didn’t text, and when they texted me I shot back with insincere one word answers.

Assholery I tell you, pure assholery.

Now, it is time for an apology! I’m sorry dear loved ones…I love you all. Love, love, love, love and some more love. Yes, this is in fact my idea of an apology. They’ll get it.

The smouldering and fiery facts—that accompany my current state of sweltering alive—are that I was a little depressed for a brief moment there, and it scared the holy molies out of me.

But then one day not too long ago something happened and although it doesn’t solve all of our “starting a business stresses” it gave me that little bit of oomph I was in need of to get up and get on.

A dude sitting in the shop so very nonchalantly muttered to his Panini one random day, “I love you. I never want you to end.” And in that moment our suspicions about failure vanquished. We realized that we have something here, something good. It was about at that time when grandiose delusions of talking roosters paying us millions to franchise our panini palace came into play.


Maybe that’s a little much, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I cannot allow the down days to affect the relationships in my life. Our humans, the ones who get us through the everyday, are our everything. There are going to be bad days. Days when the bread doesn’t rise and the cakes all fall. There will be days when the equipment brakes. When the kids act up and lash out. There will be days when we want to tell the whole entire world to just fuck right off.

And then, there will be days when we find a grown ass man telling his panini that he loves it. There will be days when we feel invincible. Some days we will find that we have the ability to do just about anything.

These are the days we must hold tightly to. The days that remind us that we are doing something wonderful and fulfilling.

Some may even go as far to say; these, are the days of our lives.

*mic drop.*

Lindsay Out.



Taking a Breather

Quickly I run the mouse over the red X in the right hand corner of the screen. If I am going to get anything done I have to pull myself away from the tantalizing grips of my Facebook world. As I watch the screen disappear I feel a momentary melancholy because all I really want to do right now is mindlessly scroll through a sea of Selfies and dumb political opinions. I don’t want to think, or read or have to conjure up anything from the foggy depths of my brain because I am just too damn tired for that.

It’s been about two weeks now since I’ve sat down at this computer and wrote anything at all. I force myself to put my fingers to the keyboard because whenever I happen to go this long without writing a sneaking fear begins to burrow its way into the better judgement section of my brain. What if I forget? What if I lose the ability to sling sentences? What if I lose interest in the art of wordsmithing altogether? What the hell then?!

As much as I don’t actually believe this will happen, there is a small part of me that will probably never let go of this completely irrational worry.

So here I am, writing. I don’t really know what to write about at this very moment but my hands seem to be clicking away at a good pace so I will just let them do the work I suppose.

Everything has been going pretty swell at the Panini factory. Our doors are open and every day we seem to be gaining more happy customers which is truly a beautiful thing. I think one of my favourite parts of this new adventure is meeting all of the people who walk through The Hot Wire’s doors.

A few have been back several times and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that our little shop is a place that people just like hanging out. This is what Jamie and I always envisioned when we talked about opening The Hot Wire. Now, it is coming to fruition and we couldn’t be happier.

Of course it hasn’t all been a pleasure cruise. For the first few days we were pretty dead. Like I mean NOBODY new about us at all. Here I was thinking I was such a marketing wizard with my awesome Facebooking skills. What I’ve learnt about Facebook advertising is that a whole lot of people can “like” your page and that does not mean jack when it comes to them coming into your shop.

On grand opening day we were packed to the roof with prep and bread from the hordes of people we imagined would be fighting each other (literally just destroying each other) to get a mere taste of our sandwiches. In reality we had about ten costumers. It was not very glorious at all. So in the days to follow Jamie and I would be mentally willing the people who walked past the front of our shop to pop their head in and take a whiff of the delicious treats we had on display.

Now, by “mentally willing” I actually mean awkwardly staring down anyone who came near our doors as we wore ridiculously large smiles and expectant expressions on our faces. We were probably scaring more people away than anything. I would have been scared.

However a few humans did brave the weird vibe we were giving off and ended up loving the food. This is exactly why you shouldn’t judge an oddball book by its cover people!!

And there it began, the infamous word-of-mouth advertising. Seriously it works like a charm!

Each day our numbers are growing. We are becoming more confident in this huge endeavour we’ve taken on. And damn does that ever feel good!


“Just Keep Swimming”

I had decided to take the children swimming. Jamie was working and I didn’t feel like tracking down any other adults to come with. “No worries,” I said to myself, “I can deal with a couple measly kids at the pool.”  Two kids to one adult; those odds weren’t too bad.

We started out on a pretty positive note and managed to get our swimsuits on without incident, which in itself was surely a small miracle. The kids dutifully walked through the prep showers when asked and we even managed to score a radical floating mat in the shape of a butterfly before hopping in the water.

Once we were in, I noticed that Lars had begun to stare at something. I followed his gaze to find a lady with a considerably voluptuous chest playing volleyball. And, due to an unfortunate serious of events one of her hefty breasts had managed to wrangle its way free from her suit and was hanging out for all to see.

Here was my dilemma. I don’t want my children to be afraid of the body; I don’t want them to recoil in fear when it comes to the sight of nakedness (however awkward the situation may be). So in an attempt at normalcy I acted cool and continued nonchalantly playing the shark game where I chase the kids around making, what I feel to be, some pretty spot-on shark noises.

I continued glancing over at the woman fleetingly though and she had still not noted her boob-out-of-suit situation. The whole damn pool seemed to be letting this poor woman carry on participating in a very “bouncy” game of volleyball with her gargantuan boob flopping footloose and fancy-free. It appeared that everybody was holding their breath waiting for someone to speak up. Or perhaps we were all just waiting for the other one to gyrate loose.

As I waded towards her—because somebody needed to stop the madness—I thought about what I should say, “Um excuse me ma’am your breast is out, (proceed pointing uneasily towards upper torso area) just thought I’d let you know.” Was that seriously the best I could come up with? Thankfully I didn’t have to say anything since she became aware of her slip-o-the-nip seconds before I reached her. I glided right on past and pretended to be retrieving a floating ball for the kids. Smooth, I know.

Now that the momentary mammary was now just a memory we could get down to some serious swimming business.  But like kids tend to do, they were beginning to take things a little too far.

They had turned on me. Sophie was doggy paddling in her lifejacket like a bat out of hell towards the deep end. “I just love to float there Mama!” She was screaming as she tried to make her escape. Lars was terrified to go anywhere near that area of the pool and was vying for me to continue playing the shark game with him.  Meanwhile I had secured the location of Sophie by towing her around by that little handle that is attached to the head rest of the life preserver.

Their ear-piercing screams sounded like banshees as they splashed chlorine infested water into my eyeballs. At one point Sophie jumped directly on my head and nearly drowned me. Lars began crying because he thought his sister had fatally sunk his mother and knowing Lars, was probably fretting about the years of therapy that would ensue because of the incident. I wrestled my way up to the surface and found myself face to face with an old acquaintance. She was as surprised as me, except I was sputtering for air and had a trickle of snot dripping from my nose.

I instantly discovered that the pool is probably the worst place to meet an old friend. You are wearing next to nothing, your hair is almost certainly a hot mess and if you are there with children you are probably running after them; your legs jiggling persistently in the most unappealing of ways. We made a bit of small talk while Sophie tried dunking me again and Lars poured a bucket of suspiciously warm water over my head. She was the one who ended up making a weak excuse to have to leave, and for that I was thankful.

When I decided it was time to leave as well, I bribed the children into the van with enticements of chocolate and candy. Now, they chow down while I sit at my computer and recount the experience. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad, but next time I may try a little harder to get my adult to kid ratio up.


Have I told you about my two little parrots? I’m sure I’ve mentioned them in an article or two- I have come to quite enjoy their antics you know. These two little parrots currently reside in my home but once upon a time (at different times of course) they set up residence in my uterus, which is probably why I can never manage to get too angry when they start in on their tricks.

“Um Mama?” Lars begins in a tentative, treading softly sort of voice.

“Yes Lars.” I reply.

“So umm,” he pauses to gather his thoughts, “well I have some bad news.” This is never something you want to hear come out of your 6 years old’s mouth, I think immediately. “So you know how sometimes the toilet gets plugged?”

“Yes I am aware of that.” I say, desperately hoping I’m not actually hearing the sound of drip drip dripping water in the background.

“Well,” another long pause, this time I’m sure, because he does not know how to move forward in our conversation without getting in trouble. “Well, you see I didn’t realize it was plugged, and well, I flushed it.”

“Okay.” I say in a long hopeful and drawn out sort of way.

“Well the water started going up, and then up some more…” His eyes are wide now and I can blatantly see the pure exhilaration the ordeal has caused the small human. “And Mom it suddenly just went flowing over the sides of the toilet! It was like a waterfall Mom and it just kept coming and coming!” He is using grandiose hand gestures now- a telltale tale sign that one is at the heart of a great story.

I know I need to move. In truth, I should have been running towards the main bathroom as soon as he began telling me his restroom account. But it’s not really a restroom at the moment now is it? Seemingly, judging by my sons version I should begin gathering coupled flora and fauna, erecting a vessel and preparing to wait out a lengthy downpour. But perhaps in our specific case: we could call the trouble an Outpour.

If I am about to walk in on that kind of tempest I must have my wits about me. So I sit. I collect myself within the frame of a second or two. I cannot take longer than that because if I do I will have soggy floorboards to contend with and God knows what the contents of that seeping toilet water contain. My son has managed to keep such details behind his yapping gums.

Husband, with clearly a snappier reaction time than I, grabs an armload of towels from the linen closet and with words that are appropriate for neither a Day-Writers description nor the ears of a child, stomps his way to the bathroom.

I follow close behind him because I cannot be the weirdo spouse that does nothing except dwell on the utter horror of the untimely situation they’ve been put in. Well, not so much put in rather than pandered too. Who lets their kids hang out and create shenanigans in a bathroom anyways? So I get up and walk towards the mess.

“What can I do- is it as bad as Lars said?” I ask.

“There’s a lot of water- I just don’t understand how it could have came from the toilet. It is all under the sink and not even close to the toilet. I don’t think the floor slants that much.” This is an inside joke that we often mull over- referring to the shoddiness of our homes structural integrity.

“Lars are you sure it came from the toilet?” I ask realizing both of the parrots are right behind me.

“Well…” and it is not long before I find out the truthful story of how delightfully mesmerizing it was to watch Sophie fill cups of water from the sink and dump them upon the floor.

So you must be wondering where the parrot part comes in- yes often I call them parrots because unfortunately they seem to pick up on the less than lovely (albeit inspired) words I spit out in times of frustration. However I’ve also coined the phrase for the two because each day they exhibit another trait that I too can call my own.

Some may call it fibbing, but when you do it with the kind of flair Lars had this evening, I can’t imagine naming it anything other than polished exaggeration- and hell, there are a lot worse things in this world than a good story teller.


The Death of A 20-Something is lonely

Hello my bloggy blogger friends!

Remember to please take a second to pop by my brand spankin’ new blog

The Death of a 20-Something

It is fabulous and has some pretty neat-o writing there too!

And it isn’t only for 20-Somethings as the title may suggest.

Oh no…

It is for anyone who wants a fun spin on thoughts about growth and maturity.

So feel free to follow the link and check it out!

And remember if you enjoy it please to Like our Facebook page or click follow to receive more posts

As well as share with your friends!

Click here to be transported to the awesome land of-

The Death of a 20-Something


Awkward Things

There are many an awkward moment in this life of ours. Every day we are faced with the possibility of enduring a red faced, breath caught in the lowest region of the throat, feel like you might puke out of sheer embarrassment moment. And don’t try to lie- it happens to all of us. It happens when we least expect it. It happens on the fly.

And what’s worse than actually living through that disconcerting situation? Reliving it for all to hear about. And yet we do that don’t we? We retell our embarrassing tales to anyone we think we can get a laugh out of. Because somehow being able to laugh at the situation makes it less excruciating- less awkward.

I think it is safe to say ‘Awkward Things’ is a topic that brings humans together. Because as humans we have all lived through that moment when you just want to shrivel away from the world, crawl into a cavernous hole for just long enough that people will forget your truly unfortunate faux pas.

But if the movie ‘Superbad’ has taught us anything it is that, “People don’t forget.”

So join me my friends in reliving just a couple of the simpler things in life. The Awkward things.

1. There you are in the grocery store jabbering away to yourself about why in the hell you need to buy milk again when a fresh faced youngster ( and by youngster I mean teenager) looks over at you suspiciously.

You see the glance out of the corner of your eye and slowly (awkwardly) turn your head to meet their gaze. They ask if you are talking to them.

Robert De Niro pops into your head and you start smiling…Weirdly.

You immediately feel the pressure because you both know you were talking to yourself, but clearly neither of you are actually going to come out and say it.

And instead of fessing up to it you say, “I’m sorry, what?” the kid rebuts with, “What.” You then become immersed in a stalemate battle of ‘what’s’…


That is until the youngin’ pauses and you both endure the longest ill at ease moment of silence ever.

Finally she turns to leave mumbling something about people getting weird when they grow older.

2. Let me paint you a picture…

There you are at a rocking Christmas party. You’ve had a few glasses of the bubbly which really loosens the ol’ tongue and you’ve found yourself smack dab in the middle of relaying an electrifying story of an encounter you had at the grocery store the other day.

You are obviously embellishing the tale because if you simply told your current company that a kid witnessed you talking to yourself in the dairy section you realize the story would end on a devastatingly dull note. And you just cannot allow that on your watch. OH NO.

So instead you start making up all of these newfangled twists and climaxes that are just believable enough to get the crowd completely enamored in the story. You are about to wrap up the tale in a nice and neat little bow when you realize you have completely forgot how to end the story. You had an ending in mind but the booze (as it tends to do) has completely erased it from your memory.

You cannot end it the way it actually ended because you realize you’ve completely changed the story line from what actually happened. So by revealing the genuine boring ending you’ve defeated the purpose of ‘embellishing’ in the first place. So there you are 15 eyes (one of them is wearing an eye patch) plastered on you waiting to hear the punchline and you are at a complete and utter loss.


It’s to the point where you’ve essentially now forgot the entire reason you started telling this story in the first place. You can literally feel the champagne swimming into the last unsullied area of your brain. You realize how drunk you are. All of the sudden you are self-conscious of slurring your words and possibly you may even be swaying a little. It has been an entire minute that you’ve been sitting silently. You are praying that they will either A) walk away from you (maybe they forgot too…) Or B) The story will miraculously turn up in your head and all will be forgiven.

Alas those 15 eyes still stare you down unwaveringly and clearly, by now, indifferent. So you try to shrug off the whole shebang and say, “Oh well, it all worked out I guess.”

The people start to disperse their separate ways until that one asshole says, “What are you talking about? That just made absolutely no sense…”

Stay tuned friends for more Awkward Things- because let’s face it, an embarrassing moment is only an extremely clean glass door away.

This post is my virtual way of happy dancing

Guess what friends!? We are up to 938 readers on The Blogging Mama- WOW!

I feel so grateful that you all have continued to read and share my stories and am very excited for our new adventures in guest posting together.

 Again please feel free to send me your tales as I would love to share them on the blog!

Sometime ago I had wagered that if I could attain 1000 readers on the blog I would make it my quest to get Ellen DeGeneres to share The Blogging Mama on her Facebook page, because really, how cool would that be!!!!

Here is my original post on that to clarify- and to brag about the super nifty name I have for said quest. 

So here we are 62 readers (no I did not have to use a calculator to retrieve that number…) away from me setting out on this honored pursuit! And boy howdy am I excited 🙂

So what I am here asking now is for you to share The Blogging Mama Faceboook page, your favorite posts or even bust out some good ol`word of mouth for yours truly. Hopefully soon we can reach the goal of 1000 readers and the rest will be blogging history!

I really can`t thank you guys enough for reading, liking and sharing all of the real and sometimes weirdly imagined things that I conjure up in my head…It makes me wonder what is wrong with you all 😉

But you still totally rock my world guys- Thanks for everything.


The Hangover

My eyelids pull apart from each other in a wretched, sleep-deprived, there’s no way it’s time to get up kind of way. I can feel the sugar riddled breath of an almost four year old on my cheek which tells me it probably isn’t time to get up but I’m not going to be given the opportunity to choose this fine morning.

My voice croaks as I manage to get the words, “go back to sleep Soph” out in a vain attempt to get the kid to go back to sleep. It obviously doesn’t work because kids plus early mornings always equals sadness and losing. End of story.

“Mama I’m hungry.” I’m pretty sure this is the most used phrase from the girl thus far in her lifetime. Not, “I love you” or, “you are the prettiest mama I’ve ever seen.” Nope, “I’m hungry” is what I get to hear about a thousand and one times a day.

On any other morning I would begrudgingly move myself out of the beautifully warm confines of my duvet and tip toe towards the cereal box and Keurig. But this particular morning I was having troubles finding my grounds.

It was as though I could feel the red bloodshot lines running rampantly throughout my eyeballs. My skin felt taut and without a drop of moisture to it. I was about to smack the small child standing before me until I realized it was not her that was repeatedly banging a large drum over the side of my cranium. No, that was just in my own head.

I sat up quickly- which was my first mistake. My head began spinning so fast I had to lie back down to regain composure and not squash the kid who was still standing ridiculously close to me.

There was no doubt in my mind that I was hung over- the question was, how?

The only thing I had drunk last night was the lonely baileys and coffee I sipped upon as we walked the streets with the kids looking for candy. Yes it was Halloween and yes the coffee and baileys was a nice warming tool on a chilly night. No judgment please.

Needless to say I was not going to be hung-over from that.

I swing my arm over to where Jamie is still blissfully asleep and begin shaking him anxiously- it gives me too much joy to wake him up in such ways.

He too is groggy and wears the same bloodshot eyes as me. What the hell happened to us last night? I suddenly feel like I am in The Hangover and we are about to embark on a crazy adventure with a small Chinese man.

By the way- where is Lars?

This gets me moving and I practically jump into his bedroom from mine in three easy leaps. There he is sleeping soundly, still comatose from his candy intake the night prior. Sophie is getting more and more agitated with each second I ignore her.

“MOM I’m HUNGRY!” She yells with vengeance as a single tear rolls slowly down her face.

What is happening here? My mind is foggy and I cannot for the life of me add up the weirdness that is going on this morning. Lars still sleeping? He is always the first one up. Jamie and I seemingly hung-over despite our lack of drink the night before? And Sophie crying an ornery over food…Well that ones about right on the money- but all the other things are almost too spooky- even for the day after Halloween.


It all is beginning to come back to me now.

The kids dumping their loot bags on the living room floor- me making the kids go to bed. Jamie and I greedily gobbling up handfuls of candy corn and skittles, starburst and kiddy sized chocolate bars while we laughed headily from the rush of the artificial sugars that ran through our veins. We ate until our bellies could fit no more- and yet still we gorged on further.

Gluttony was our name and stolen Halloween candy, the game.

I came out of my reminiscence that morning with a new outlook. I poured Sophie her cereal- making sure it was the sugar free kind- and let Lars sleep off whatever it was he was sleeping off. Jamie woke up shortly after complaining of the same thing I had felt that morning and I then advised him of my findings.

I never thought I would say it but our whole family had a nice relaxing day- recuperating from our shared Halloween hangover.

And the winners of Halloween are…

You know I used to think family costumes were lame…But my bro, sis-in-law and their wee Jackson have brought Family costuming to an entirely new level.


If you somehow haven’t gotten the reference here, it is The Lion King. Jackson of course is Simba, Ashley is Zazu and Dustin, makes a remarkably  terrifying *ahem* identifiable Rafiki.

The King!
“What is happening here Dad?”

“I’m gonna be a mighty king
So enemies beware
Well, I’ve never seen a king of beasts
With quite so little hair

I’m gonna be the mane (main) event
Like no king was before
I’m brushing up on looking down
I’m working on my roar…”

Read more: LION KING – I Just Can’t Wait To Be King Lyrics | MetroLyrics

"It's the Circle of Life And it moves us all Through despair and hope Through faith and love Till we find our place On the path unwinding In the Circle, The Circle of Life"
“Like seriously what the hell are you guys doing to me?”

“From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There’s more to be seen than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done…”

Read more: LION KING – Circle Of Life Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Oh how tender and heart warming. It almost brought a tear to my eye- that is until I laid my eyes on this…


…Now I just feel weird.

But I still think it is safe to say that these three are the adorable winners of Halloween this year!

Remember friends The Blogging Mama is still looking for guest posts! So if you have some great Halloween pics or a funny tale to tell about your night of ghosts and goblins send me your stories at


Tell Your Tale- Submit a Story to The Blogging Mama Today!

Well here we are once again with a new and exciting development on The Blogging Mama!

Hold on to your hats ladies and gents because this is a doozy.

The Blogging Mama is calling for writers!

I am officially looking for fresh and fantastic content for the blog.

From funny facts to amusing antidotes.

Parenting predicaments and tantalizing tales,

Short stories that will wow!

Whether you are already a blogger looking for a new platform that will link to your site…


Just wanting to tell your story.

The Blogging Mama is the place for you!

images (1)

We all have some great stories whether they are fiction, fact, funny or filled with excitement. Since starting The Blogging Mama I’ve had so many people tell me their stories of parenting- wondering if I needed some new material.

Well the time has come friends, send me your previously unpublished stories for publication and I will be happy to publish them on The Blogging Mama along with a short bio and a picture (optional) of the writer. And again if you are currently a blogger I will be very happy to link to your site. Great for advertising!

Remember The Blogging Mama is not limited to just parenting tales (however we do like those a lot!) Feel free to submit all kinds of creative works- Paintings, poetry, photography, etc. (Again not limited to words beginning with P).

So as they say let’s get this monkey dancing! *People say that…I swear I’ve heard people say that…*

Go forth and prosper by emailing submissions to Or Private Message your submission to The Blogging Mama Facebook page. Head subject line with “BM Submissions”- and yes I know how it looks.

Filled with anticipation in this new endeavor, The Blogging Mama

why i write

Iced Tea

A few days ago the children and I were on our weekly park hopping expedition…Park Hopping, if you were wondering is a marvelous activity in which we tour all around town looking for new parks to discover. We have found big parks and little parks. Parks that are hidden in the midst of tall houses and parks in plain view from the long and narrow walking paths we travel.

So as we were engaging in our park uncovering adventures we came across a young man sat behind a large red cooler with a cardboard sign attached to it. The sign read, “Ice Tea.” I wanted to correct the kid and tell him that it is actually properly pronounced, ‘Iced Tea’ but I was concerned that may come off a bit assholeish. Plus the kid was like 7.

So instead the children and I slowed down and stopped at his ‘Ice tea’ stand for a quick refresher.

As soon as this 7 year old entrepreneur realized we were actually going to stop, his look of boredom and dreariness quickly transformed. A new child sat before me as I arrived in front of his makeshift kiosk with a bright smile and a cheery, “Hello what can I get for you.”

“Hello good sir, I see you are selling iced tea.” I really put some good enunciation on the ‘iced’ part too. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Yeah a dollar a cup.” Wow a little steep I’d say but who am I to argue with the small child selling beverages on the side of the road. So I bought 3 glasses of literally the worst iced tea I had ever drank in my entire life. The kids and I sipped it sparingly.

“Yummy, good stuff.” I blurted out to no one in particular. Lars and Sophie just stared up at me with a blank, what-are-you-talking-about look. The kid on the other hand must have decided the comment was meant for him and responds with,

“Ya well everyone else thinks it crap.” I’m not going to lie, I was definitely taken aback by this small persons candor.

“Oh yeah? That’s…Rude of them to say.” What the hell is one supposed to answer back to that?

“I dunno, I don’t think it’s very good either.” He flings back nonchalantly.


“Well, why are you selling it then?” I don’t know why I continue to pursue this ridiculous conversation with the boy, but I do.

“I didn’t want it to go to waste.” That is some solid logic I will give him that.

“You could always add more powder to it to make it a bit stronger.” I offer the kid now feeling a bit sorry for him.

“No I have to spread it thin…” Yes the kid actually said “spread it thin.”

I laughed because that term coming out of a small child’s mouth sounds completely ludicrous. He gave me an odd look that somehow made me feel inferior and then carried on.

“I need to sell a lot of glasses of juice because I need to buy a dog.” This is the moment when my heart melted just a tiny bit.

“Oh well that’s awesome! It’s very fun to have a pet dog.” And I immediately feel bad about laughing at him.

“I don’t need a pet I need a guard.” He says in an unnerving tone.


“Why?” Is all I can muster myself to counter with.

“So it can guard my birthday money.” He replies with a roll of the eyes and a shrug as though I should have obviously came to this conclusion on my own.

I told him that was a very smart idea and then bought another three glasses for the road. Now that I look back at the exchange of words this child and I had I wonder if I should have grabbed more information. Like why he was concerned someone was going to steal his birthday money in the first place. Or how he planned to train the dog to guard the infamous birthday money.

But I didn’t, so now we come to this tales end.

Moral of the story: There are 2 reasons to ALWAYS stop at Iced Tea Stands.

  • For the insightful conversation.


  • You never know when a kid will really really needs to make some quick cash to purchase a guard to guard his cash.

It was the most straight forward thing I had heard all day.

My Daughter The Drama Queen

There Sophie was insistently slamming her hand down over and over on the Hideout Hut. You may be asking yourself now what in fact a ‘hideout hut’ is and why was I allowing my daughter to beat it. Have patience people and read on!

We were at the park and my darling daughter was attempting to wriggle her way in to some other children’s play.

“Hey! Hey kid! I’ll have an ice cream sandwich…Did you hear me kid?! An ice cream sandwich!” Yes this is what she was saying. And the tone you are imagining it in right now…Exactly the tone she was using. I’m her mother and even I felt it was pretty unappealing.

The other children were indeed doing their best at ignoring my girl which made me want to throat punch them all but I knew that would be a bad idea. Hey, I had a lot of conflicting emotions happening in that moment. It was a confusing time.

Luckily no throat punching/jail time occurred. Sophie being the brilliant little lady she is must have realized how irritating she was being and decided to shift her attitude.

She gently approached where the children were playing. I am watching from the picnic table on the outer edge of the playground. My heart is soaring with pride as I imagine her politely asking if she can join them in their juvenile performances. I can see my child growing before my eyes and I am humbled and awed at the wonderful little person she is becoming.

Too bad this all played out in the sanctity of my delirious mind.

In reality Sophie gently approached the kids and began screaming in their faces about ice cream sandwiches and it being rude that they didn’t take her order. I was on my way to diffuse the situation when Lars hopped out of nowhere and into the midst of the kerfuffle.

“Sorry about my sister. Come on Soph let’s go play over here.” Then Sophie’s brother took her by the hand and led her towards the swings.

Whether it was the children taking pity on Sophie or wanting to play with Lars and realizing Sophie was a necessary add-on I’m not sure, but they changed their mind and off the whole gang went to play tag.

It wasn’t even 3 minutes (THREE MINUTES!) later that I hear Sophie screaming bloody murder once again. I run towards their general direction to see what has happened. Once again Lars is leading Sophie away from the group. The girl is huffing and puffing about something and stomping her feet in an ornery way.

“What is wrong now!?” I ask throwing my hands up in a notable fashion.

“Those guys were chasing Yarsy (Lars) and I didn’t like it!” She screamed while alligator tears streamed down her devastated face. For a moment I even felt bad for her, then I was impressed that she could act so well, then I was annoyed that she duped me.

“Sophie we were playing tag, I told you that!” Lars tried to rebut.

We all decided to go home. We didn’t need any more park shenanigans bringing us down.

That night when I asked the children to brush their teeth for bed I received the same response I do every night from Sophie.

“Oh Mama my tummy hurts SOOOO bad!” Even though she was running around half naked with a Barbie in one hand and Pinky Pony in the other claiming she had the fastest pony Barbie flying team in the universe, only milliseconds before.

I responded to this by saying, “Fine don’t brush. See if I care when your teeth all turn moldy and black and fall out of your head and then you will look like a little old lady with no teeth! No big deal right!” And yes, I partnered this with the appropriate facial expressions too.

Finally once bedtime came a single tear rolled ever so swiftly down the girl child’s cheek. I asked what was bothering her.

She instantaneously began bawling reciting all of the woes that had overcome her three year old existence this dreadful day. I attempted to console her, but I too was beginning to get a little teary eyed as she was making it all sound so damn unbearable!

Throughout the whole ordeal she kept grabbing my hand and caressing her face with it. Finally I asked what and why she was doing such a thing.

“Because I want you to feel how big my tears are Mama.”

It was then that I realized my daughter is a drama queen. But I can’t for the life of me figure out where she gets it from…

Drinking Gin and Making Flower Beds


Well it’s that time of year again my friends, the gardening season is in swing and The Blogging Mama has been busy! Today I will be giving you a sweet and simple tutorial on how to construct a flower bed out of the squalid conditions that is the drab and droll side of your house as well as some handy tips on how to keep your garden blooming bright.

First off let me elaborate on what in fact we will be working with today…

DUH DUH DUH! Oh for the love of God, how boring, how lackluster, how dreadfully tiresome this side of the house looks!
DUH DUH DUH! Oh for the love of God, how boring, how lackluster, how dreadfully tiresome this side of the house looks!

Step 1 in creating a wondrous new flower bed:

Assure you have excellent tools to work with.



Step 2  in creating a wondrous new flower bed:  

Use a garden hose to trace out the perimeter of what you would like your new bed to look like. Unfortunately I do not have a picture of this because the ingenious idea to make this into a blog post did not come to me until later in my quest. Never the less it is not difficult just trace that shit out.

Step 3 in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Once mapping out what glorious shape you would like your bed to be, begin edging it with an edger or flat head shovel. Again I do not have picture but I can assure you this is the easy part. Simply dig into the sod along your outline. It’s not rocket science.

Step 4  in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Now comes the exhausting part. Hopefully you have a good set of pipes on ya because this shit is going to need some muscle power. Begin ripping the sod out in strips. It will be heavy, and you WILL find some creepy crawly creatures under the surface.

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Step 5  in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Mourn the dead lady bug you find in the soil.

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Step 6  in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Get over it and move forward. Continue to rip sod out while simultaneously searching for earthworms. They are great little critters to have in the flower beds as they do wonders for the soil.

Thank you wormy for being such a great contributor to this new wondrous flower bed.
Thank you wormy for being such a great contributor to this wondrous new flower bed.

Note: Allow your hands to really get in there and feel the soil…You wont be sorry you did (until later in the evening when you are attempting to scrub the dirt from under your nails cursing the fact that you did not wear gloves while constructing your wondrous new flower bed). 

Get the children involved in the worm searching process. Kids have some kind of weird sonar for those slimy buggers.



Finally come to the realization that it is odd that you are so accepting of worms…When these dudes just make your skin crawl.


Step 7  in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Use edging to assure grass will not travel back into your new wondrous flower bed. $T2eC16hHJFoE9nh6qS4YBRCS9OqC+!~~60_35

Line the outskirts of the bed with this while mounding soil against it so it does not move out of place.

Unfortunately edging does not work as well as the ‘MAN’ would like us to think, so you will more than likely still have to weed your garden of grass and junk.

Add fresh top soil and compost to the bed to guarantee a garden full of nutrients and glory.

Step 8  in creating a wondrous new flower bed: 

Have a momentary nervous breakdown when you realize you still have to place the rocks for your border around the bed. But instead of throwing a hysterical tantrum on your front lawn where all your neighbors can see you and will assume you are headed to the nut house sooner rather than later…



Pull up your big girl panties and gather the fucking rocks. Then place them strategically around your flower bed in an aesthetic manner.

Step 9  in creating a wondrous new flower bed:

Attempt to ignore the searing pain that has now encompassed the entirety of your lower back. To take your mind off this heinous throbbing decide to choose what type of flowers you would enjoy in your new wondrous flower bed.

I chose 4 foot Hosta's to fill up the space to create a spectacle of awe when one will glance down my once dreary house side.
I chose 4 foot Hosta’s to fill up the space to create a spectacle of awe when one will glance down my once dreary house side.

Keep in mind your garden may not look full right off the hop but it does not take long for those plants to take flight and soon you will be swimming in a treasure trove of foliage and flowers.

Voilà, and there you have it! Your wondrous new flower bed. 


And I almost forgot, step number 10 in creating your wondrous new flower bed…

A nice STRONG Gin and tonic to finish the job.

I deserve this...I am just so damn awesome.
I deserve this…


For more wondrous flower beds created by The Blogging Mama…Just keep scrolling!

Shade garden under the steps of the deck with Fiddle-head Ferns.
Shade garden under the steps of the deck with Fiddle-head Ferns.
Bleeding Heart
Bleeding Heart
Front door decor (boy howdy am I ever clever)
Front door decor (boy howdy am I ever clever)
Mint in a pot
Mint in a pot

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A rock garden I recently had to redo as some advised me it resembled a large penis with an over-sized scrotum...Needless to say I will be thinking more closely when it comes to my design ideas from now on.
A rock garden I recently had to redo as some advised me it resembled a large penis with an over-sized scrotum…Needless to say I will be thinking more closely when it comes to my design ideas from now on.
The fix job...Some still say it looks like a penis only now proportionate with the ball-sack but sliced halfway down the shaft.  I say, you can't please everyone!
The fix job…Some still say it looks like a penis only now proportionate with the ball-sack but sliced halfway down the shaft by a fence.
I say, you can’t please everyone.

And on that note I will bid you all farewell and hope you enjoyed my terrible tutorial skills on how to make a wondrous new flower bed for your yard or anyplace for that matter.

Remember practice makes perfect so get out there and start tearing up some grass!


Irrational Fears- The Day the Bird Almost Stole my Soul

“Everyone has irrational fears right?” This is what I was saying aloud to myself as I stared into the beady eyes of my long-time nemesis- The Bird.

I credit this ghastly photo to Google Image
I credit this ghastly photo to Google Image

There we were in a standoff. Both of us under the red wooden planks of the deck. Me searching for flower pots, the bird readying himself to surely attack from his perch atop an old piece of wood haphazardly thrown down there. I was too far into the 5 foot high burrow to run…


And the sudden movement would likely cause the beast to swoop and obstacles surrounded me (including numerous beer boxes) hindering my quick escape path.

Instead I armed myself with a nearby gardening fork and began screaming bloody murder in hopes it would frighten this foul cousin of a fowl to take flight in the opposite direction.


Its minuscule kangarooing head gave no illustration that it was even slightly scathed by my outburst. No it just continued to twitch in its unnatural way while looking side to side in the small locale we currently shared.

The flower pots, to my defeat, were on the other side of the bird’s perch. I decided the wisest approach would be to exit the facility and move around to the other side of the deck where there is a smaller opening. Though having to crouch uncomfortably to wedge myself in, I would be closer to my prize and not have to cross the blasted birdie to reach the pots.

As I entered the secondary entry way I was relieved to see I was within arm’s reach of my target. Unfortunately though I glanced up while stretching my arm towards the pots (not wanting to enter into the area any more than I had to) and there to my devastation was that GOD DAMN BEADY EYED SON OF A BITCH, he had turned himself around and for a second time was staring right through my very humanity.


What kind of sick and twisted universe had I entered into where the birds control the humans? Where was the morality? And why had this fresh hell hammered down upon me, right here, right now? All I wanted was some friggen flower pots to plant my petunias.

I was frozen with fear.

I knew that any quick movement may result in a flock of feathers swooping my head. Just the thought of its tiny talons touching my scalp or god forbid it’s piercing beak pecking my face open was enough to paralyze me for the rest of my days.

So it continued to stare me down. It knew what it was doing, it knew it had me in its gruesome grips. It almost seemed to do a bit of a jig on the rotten piece of ply-board it sat upon. Silently parading the power it had over me in a flippant sort of way.

I knew I had to break free of its sorcery!


If I couldn’t do it for myself I HAD to do it for my children. I cannot let them grow up experiencing the same kind of crippling fear.

So with every bit of might I’m sure I possessed accompanied with a He-woman war cry…


I lunged forward to grab my flower pots, while crouching short- so not to get knocked out from the low overhang of the deck and get pecked to death anyways- I slithered my way out of the small space.

Once in the open expanse of my back yard I cried a shout of utter exhilaration while thrusting the pots above my head in an act of triumph!

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I had done it, I conquered and prevailed in my quest and I was feeling enraptured!

And in a small twist of fate, only moments later I saw the chickadee fly out from its dwelling and soar up into the sky. And I realized maybe…Just maybe that chickadee was sent here to assist me in overcoming just one of my irrational fears.

Thank you chickadee, you may never know what you truly did for me today, but will always stay close (but not too fucking close) to my heart.


Stay tuned for more segments of Irrational Fears such as The Day the Beaver Almost Bit off My Beaver or The Day the Lawnmower Nearly Decapitated Me as well as one of my personal favorites The Day I was positive I was pregnant again (A monthly occurrence)

A Letter of Love to my Husband

My Dearest Jamie,

You have been away for only half a fortnight and yet my heart soars with the thought of your arrival home this eve.

The trials of angst I’ve suffered since your departure have been lengthy and I yearn for your sweet embrace. Upon your leave, thoughts of grandeur hung listlessly in my mind as I assumed your absence would be an easy weight to bear seeing as how I would only be 10 days in your lack.

Oh how I was wrong my darling.

The first five days were sufferable as the children and I spent the time supping with my parents, however thoughts of you continued to sully my mind. And it was not until our daughter fell ill on the fifth day that I realized my folly in thinking your excursion would be an easy thing to endure.

Mother is keeping the boy as a temporary charge while I attempt to nurse the girl back to health. I suppose in a way it is a good thing that I’ve been kept so busy with fostering wellbeing into our daughter as I have had little time to dwell on your nonattendance. Yet as always your image dances lightly in the back of my mind and this I can assure you is no jest. 

Again as I write this note, my heart skips several beats when I think of your coming home. I have begun cleansing this place yet my efforts have been for naught. Each time I scour the carpets to an acceptable state the girl sullies them again with another bought of vomit. I fear the stench has lingered.

On the day preceding this, I stubbed my toe in a hurried state. It hurt like a bitch but I had no time to feel the pain and instead suffered through it. Today I fear I’ve broken the bone. The toe in question has swelled and turned the color of an eggplant’s skin. The injury, although painful, has not festered and for that I am thankful.

The nights have been long without you dear Jamie, and I fear sleep has not come easily deprived of you by my side. I will roll over in my sleepy state to spoon you in the wee hours of the morning only to find a three year old in your stead. This I concede does not suffice when looking for a strong body for warmth and security in the midnight hours. And I distress to tell you that here too, on your side of the bedstead, she has retched…Again the pong of it is unrelenting.

Our son returns home today in anticipation of your arrival and I have much do to for the event as well.

Despite the hardships that have befallen me in your absenteeism I have learnt some valuable lessons- first of which is that you and I James Alexander Jefferson Brown beat from a heart of one. Being apart from you has shown me the lengths in which my love for you wheels and how life would be indolent without you.

Two- I have learnt that vomit is the wretchedness that steals life from the soul and how utterly god awful it is to remove it remnants from the homestead. It loiters with an uneasy prowess.  

And finally three- too much reading of ‘Game of Thrones’ will result in outlandish letters of love and loss from yours truly and the innate knowledge that I may need to take leave from the series in question as I have begun speaking aloud in such dialect.

I hope your travels from across the pond find you safely home and if you hadn’t realized I wholly look forward to seeing your handsome face once more.

Until this beautiful eve my dear husband and with loving thoughts,

Your awaiting wife,


The 2nd annual Boozy Tea Party

I’m listing to Clapton right now with a glass of wine in hand and feeling disgustingly nostalgic.

As I was surrounded by my oldest friends who at one time were the best group of party girls a gal could ask for it made me chuckle inwardly as we sat and sipped politely on champagne and orange juice and talked about our children.

The 2nd annual Boozy Tea Party was a hit. And this time I didn’t even get stressed out in the preparation of the event.  The Boozy Tea Party is a young tradition that I’ve started where on Mothers Day I put on a nice brunch for all the Mama’s in my life.

Check out the First Boozy Tea Party Here. 

Needless to say this event went a lot smoother than the last.

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Keep Calm & Drink On

 It occurred to me later that this must be the key to having a hitch free event…Just get plastered- this way you simply don’t notice or care about the hitches.


Not to mention who could be stressed with all of these lovely faces around…

IMG_0648 IMG_0643 IMG_0641


In the days leading up to the brunch I had several people ask me why I go to so much trouble for this Mother’s Day event I’ve created, since I am a mother too and should be relaxing. In answer I would shrug and say, “well, I just like doing this kind of thing”.

But as I sit here tonight…With a palpable buzz on (which really gets the ‘ol cogs a turning in the brain) I realized that what it really is, is that I love being able to provide this one small gift for the women in my life.

We talk daily, weekly, monthly about our struggles and triumphs while being Mom. We rely on each other for quick tips in raising kids- although we hardly ever use them. We cry on each others shoulders and brazenly brag about our little ones achievements.

Our own moms having gone through all of it before tell us that “it’s just a phase” or “I remember when you did that…” to provide comfort when we are feeling defeated. They raised us into the awesome moms and women we are today.

Our moms are the reason we are so truly remarkable.

And how absolutely wonderful it is to have a day where we can be celebrated for the beautiful job that we strive at each day.  And how lovely it feels to be the person who puts something together so we can all share in the festivities as one.

Mom and Mumma-in-law were showered with flowers, while getting to enjoy the grand-babies. And the all of the ladies, who I once never imagined I would refer to as ladies, got to enjoy a relaxing mid day of chit chat and toddler play ( it possibly wasn’t as relaxing as I am remembering it to be). Regardless we shared in laughs and memories, hopes for the future and happiness.

And when it all comes down to it, I couldn’t imagine a better gift to come to fruition on this wondrous day.  I highly recommend beginning a Boozy Tea Party tradition of your own!

Thank you to all of the ladies who joined me today on the 2nd annual Boozy Tea Party. 


The Sordid Phrases of Google- Defender of the internet

The shadows of night creep lazily into the room.  The individual in question sits apprehensively at the computer desk- constantly looking over his shoulder in fear another human will enter his space and find out of his ghastly activities.

He types slowly on the keyboard while the blue, yellow, orange and green colors of GOOGLE shine back at him.

He stops.

He thinks he hears a sound from the corner of the room, but when he looks it is only his spinning imagination. The indignity of his search term has caught up to him and he wonders if he should hit the ‘enter’ button to seek the answers he so desperately desires.

He throws caution to the wind and the phrase, “dark n sweaty armpits of aunties” is now flying through the inter-web. His own pits begin to perspire as his anticipation grows for his soon sought out results.

He clicks on the first hit hastily as he again becomes concerned that his plight will be found out by the others who accompany his home. Searching odd and unusual terms on Google is his own dirty little secret- a time to be alone with his unseemly thoughts.

He is brought to a blog called The Blogging Mama and all too soon his world comes crashing down around him!

You like that? You sicko!"
You like that? You sicko!”



Terrifying, just terrifying.

But not so terrifying that he does not try again with only a different search term.

Next he discreetly types in, “Poop shit leather jacket” and he breathes heavily and he awaits what awesome pictures he will discover from his creativity.

"A poop shit leather jacket is the worst kind of leather jacket...Why would you want to gain ANY information on such a thing?"
“A poop shit leather jacket is the worst kind of leather jacket…Why would you want to gain ANY information on such a thing?”


‘Thwarted again by The Blogging Mama! Why does she do this to me?!’ He thinks in vain disgust.

He will try once more because he must. His fingers now ache from the typing of the evening, but he pushes forward because, “Sweat dripping tits pic” is something he just must see on this big ol’ web.


"You disgust me!"
“You disgust me!”

The man is now angry. The blogging mama has foiled his evening of Google searching- an evening in which he had been oh so looking forward to. He tries once more in an attempt to salvage an acceptable memory from this wretched evening.

“Erotic short stories wet pants”

"Are you serious?"
“Are you serious?”
"I hereby ban you from the internet!"
“I hereby ban you from the internet!”


And the last search term the man types in a not so quietly way, “I hate Blogging Mama’s”

"And never come back!"
“And never come back!”


Once again The Blogging Mama has saved a small corner of the internet from the atrocity of weirdo web crawlers.

You’re Welcome.



All search terms in the story were in fact searched and redirected to The Blogging Mama website…Wowzers there are some odd balls out there. 

And seriously, who could possibly hate blogging mama’s!?

A few things no one told me about being a parent


1)      How the first cries after birth would be the most relieving sound in the world.

2)      The extreme vexation I would feel when some brazen asshole would tell me my newborn’s smiles were in fact just gas.

3)      How I would become one of those fanatic breastfeeding mothers, and miss it immensely once stopping.

4)      The boundless displeasure I would feel when an individual would not comment on how adorable, cute, perfect, or sweet my baby was.

5)      How indefinably hilarious it could be to be puked on from above.

6)      That feeding a baby solid foods for the first time would be a nerve-racking yet exciting exploit.

7)      How the novelty of feeding a baby solid foods soon wears off.

8)      How listening to the first giggles of my children would be the sweetest sound I would ever hear.

9)      That having kids could make me entirely fearless and desperately fearful at the exact same time.

10)   How finger painting is actually a very enjoyable pastime.

11)   How I would learn home remedies on how to get almost anything out of a carpet.

12)   How the first time I saw my child take his first steps I would think, I could never be prouder.

13)   That each time I saw a milestone reached I would think I could never be prouder.

14)    Always, always being prouder with each momentous occasion, big or small.

15)    That I would not cry on the first day of school, but marvel in the idea of novel beginnings and bright new futures.

16)   How finding places for all of the artwork would be one of my greatest tasks in their young lives.

17)    Feeling the overwhelming angst to punch out a five year old when learning of his bullying towards my child.

18)   Coming to the realization that I cannot punch a five year old.

19)   Learning just how far positive verbal communication can go, and how much I would use it in my parenting career.

20)   The aggravation I would feel when an older kid would try to boss around my daughter.

21)   The relief I would soon after feel when she ignored him and went on her merry way without batting an eyelash.

22)   The awesome respect for my own parents that would hit me like a ton of bricks once beginning in on this child-rearing journey.

23) How I would look forward to play-dates more than the children would. 

24) How watching them grow and mature and become their own little people with their own unique personalities would be the most rewarding thing I will ever do.  


And one more thing I was never told about before blindly running into this thing called parenthood, was how much I would mature with them. 

And how much I would come to love the person they have helped me grow into. 


What Women Really Really Want

So I’m bored this fine evening. Jamie is working a late shift, kids are sleeping, and I am scrolling through Facebook. I see this post that catches my eye.

“What Women Really Want” is the name of it.

I click on it, to assure that this post is quite certain of what I really want as a member of the female sex. It begins spouting off all of these amazingly cliche things about sunshine and lollipops.

1) We want you to tell us we’re beautiful- HA! You better not need a list to know to tell me that!

2) We want you to stop asking us how the sex was- Nope, wrong. I like talking about sex. 

3) We want you to let us cry- Wrong again! I want to retreat from you seeing me cry because I have begun in on my hideous crying face. You know the one where your face crumples up to resemble the ugly pug dog that poops on your lawn all the time. You know the one. 

It goes on like this for awhile, and although I see where they are coming from, I decided to write up my own list of what I as a woman wants.

Obviously I can’t say that this will appease every woman out there- maybe you would agree more with the original list. Maybe you are a sunshine and lollipops wantin’ kind of gal.

I’m just saying, I feel like mine is a bit more realistic.

1) I want to look on and under my kitchen sink without seeing beer cans stacked to the high heavens.

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2) I want to be a hat person.

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3) I want to turn back time and tell myself never to pop that zit on my earlobe…I haven’t worn my hair back for weeks!


4) I want to look at an empty laundry basket.




5) I want to walk into my daughters room and not get attacked with the overwhelming stank of piss.


6) I want these two, to be this reserved and angelic for even one hour during daylight hours.

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7) I want to throw caution to the wind, and chuck out all of my cleaning supplies…Knowing full well that I will never have to scrub another toilet AGAIN!!!


8) I want to look sexy in my housecoat…You know like the big time movie stars do.


9) I want to look at the sink to see no grimy dishes staring up at me.


10) I want to never again know the sorrow of almost completing my hair only to find out I am fresh out of hairspray.



11)I want to no longer know the horror of finding a new zit and wrinkle simultaneously in one sitting at the mirror.


12)I really really want to know what a full day of not having to plunge the toilet is like.


13) I want my husband to stop pestering me to throw out my comfy slippers…I love them, they are perfectly formed to my feet okay!!!


And, for the sunshine and lollipops part of me.

14) I want an industrial size bucket of sparkles to wear daily. Just because sparkles make me purdy.


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