Archive for the ‘brain dump’ Category

Just a Girl, Just a Mom- November 17, 2015

Tuesday, November 17th, 2015

I remember the first time I saw Gwen Stefani perform. It was sometime in my angsty teens in the mid-90’s. I was likely eating a bowl of cereal after school and watching MTV Spring Break. I saw her sing “Just a Girl” in her halter top and rocker jeans and thought, “Who is that?! She is awesome!” Watching many female artists is wildly intimidating when you’re a young teen, but I never felt this way watching her. She was the lead singer of this band of guys and she was SO COOL! She made me feel like I could do anything. If I ever meet her I’ll tell her that. I’ve been a fan for years. I’ll have to ask my sister what we did with that old “Tragic Kingdom” CD. No doubt, it’s in a Discman in a closet at my mom’s house. (“No doubt.” Ha! See what I did there?)

Fast forward decades to me as an adult who listens to Top 40 and Country music in the car. I first spotted Blake Shelton when we had some music award show on TV at some point. I mentioned to my husband how handsome I thought he was. Tall, curly hair. Hot. I listened to him croon and decided he might be on my celebrity “gimme” list. You know, the hypothetical list of celebrities you and your spouse establish that you could hook up with if you ever met them.

Before last year I had never watched “The Voice.” Like much of America I was kind of over singing reality shows after years of voting by phone for the next “American Idol.” Then I saw that Gwen was going to be a coach and I told my husband, “Oh! Gwen Stefani is a coach?! I’ll have to watch. I love her!” He agreed that she is awesome and we watched because of her. I later had a discussion with some girlfriends about how Gwen could totally bring her kids and come hang with us and mom it up. You know. Coffee, strollers…cliche mom stuff. They were like, “Yeah, she’s the best! Totally!” That being said, let’s think for a moment what that might be like. Super cool rock star in leather and her kid…with me in my tennis shoes and unruly toddler. It might look something like this:

Me and Gwen Stefani hanging out with our kids

Here is where I make a confession. I have a crazy obsession with Gwen and Blake dating. I’m all about it. It’s weird. As an adult I don’t keep up with too much celebrity gossip or tabloid fodder. I have never watched anything with the Kardashians. The last time I read a magazine was when my phone died at the nail salon once. I don’t care if Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are married or whatever. Are they? Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. But, for some reason I REALLY care about Blake and Gwen. You know, “Blen” or “Gwake” or “Shelfani” or whatever they’re being called.

I’ve read some people all like, “What!? They’re dating? That’s weird!” Okay, what’s weird about it? The queen of cool with the hot cowboy, both of whom are coming off highly publicized divorces. Now, they work together on a hit TV show where they giggle and make sexy eyes at each other. That’s awesome! They don’t have to get married. They can just be each other’s hot music industry rebound. More power to them! Plus, think about how brooding and angry Miranda Lambert’s next album is going to be because of all of this. I smell another Grammy!

In all seriousness, I have a problem, ya’ll. I can’t get enough “Blen.” In an extreme moment of idiocy I shared an article from a tabloid on my Facebook page like I have no sense. Yep! I shared the Us Weekly piece about the Stefani/Rossdale split. I may or may not have read wildly sensational articles on websites like E! and Hollywood Life. Please, please do not ever click on the videos on these sites. They are so effing stupid. On top of that, I follow Gwen and Blake on Twitter and Instagram. I’m always reading their tweets and telling them how awesome #TeamBlake and #TeamGwen are on the show, like I don’t have a family/job/responsibilities of my own. I may or may not have ignored my 2-year-old throwing crackers on the ground in the line at Target while I leafed through People Magazine because it promised more on their “Sexy New Romance!”

Monday night my husband laughed at my fan girl ways as I nestled up to the TV promptly at 8:00pm EST to watch the “The Voice” live. My ridiculous swooning over Gwen and Blake’s flirting reached new heights after the whole “Hotline Bling” conversation. I was gushing over how awesome they are and how handsome Blake looked. My husband said, “So he’s at the top of your list now? It’s cool. You could hook up with him if you met him.”

As if nothing else about that statement phased me I said without hesitation, “Oh my God! I would NEVER do that to Gwen!” 


I looked a him. I mean, “I would never do that to you. You know, because you’re my husband and I love you.”

Yep. I’m an excellent fan girl and a mediocre wife.


Only Moms Find This Funny- November 3, 2015

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2015

Last week at our friends’ house our daughter decided to drag out their daughter’s startlingly large toy that you can’t miss if you visit their home. It’s a Minnie Mouse bigger than the children that has become a source of jokes for the adults. The jokes got real when Minnie had a rip in her signature white bloomers in a highly undignified, un-Disneylike place. The husband said to the wife, “Did you ever sew up her crotch rip?” She assured us Minnie was repaired. That’s when she and I let the comical lines…well, rip.

“Minnie got ripped a new one when she delivered that litter of mice.”

“3rd degree perineal tear.”

“Stiz baths for like, 2 weeks.”

“She had to send Mickey to the specialty pharmacy for perineal ice packs.”

No child understood these jokes. No husband thought they were as funny as we did. After stitched up lady parts or a belly that’s been stapled together, different things become funny. Mama humor at its finest.




Motherhood Has Made Me Gross and Weird- September 28, 2015

Monday, September 28th, 2015

Before I became a mother I found gross things gross. I wasn’t squeamish about too much, but I was repulsed by the repulsive as most normal people are. During birthing class with my first child I couldn’t stand the childbirth videos that showed the mother kissing the baby with afterbirth all over it. I thought, “Ugh! Come on! Let the nurse do her job and clean that up before you put your mouth on it!”

Then I birthed a baby of my own and kissed her fresh and wet without hesitation. I’m quite certain the cord was still attached when my lips met her shiny forehead. I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of lowering my grossness threshold. Poop on onesies and smeared boogers naturally became a part of parenthood along with car seats and knowledge of Disney Junior programming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a firm believer in showering and good grooming, but yucky stuff has just became less of a big deal. Drop a cracker? 5 second rule. Baby poop on your elbow? Wash it off and move on.

Last week something I did made me realize how bad it has become. My son got his cast off. After nearly four weeks in what we dubbed the “Hulk arm,” a technician used a scary saw to cut off the his green cast. I held him and held my breath as the saw went through the plaster, or whatever material casts are made of these days. I didn’t breathe not only because I wanted to hold still enough that my baby didn’t get cut, but also because I didn’t want to inhale the scent of rancid toddler cast. You can imagine how icky that thing was. Keeping a child under age 2 clean is a task in and of itself, but a toddler in a cast?! The bread bag on his arm in the bathtub only went so far. His cast got moisture and grit in any number of crevices at his wrist and elbow. Poor little guy. I cringed at the open blisters and sores that had made spots on his skin raw. I hated seeing the atrophy at his wrist. In my opinion his arm still looked a little crooked, but I’m not an orthopedic, so I don’t know any more about bones than what a game of “Operation” taught me. (The charley horse is the toughest to remove. No, it’s not the wishbone. Don’t start that argument with me.) The tech threw the cast in the trash.

Wait, he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to keep it. Do people keep casts? I feel like people keep those little baby casts when babies have crooked feet, right? My sister kept her cast when she broke her foot in middle school. Wait. All her friends had signed it, though. Come to think of it, I thought that it was kind of gross that that thing sat in a plastic bag in her closet. Ew. Right. I don’t need the cast. That’s gross. The tech left us to wait as he got a lighter and washable brace for my son’s arm.

That’s when things got strange. The little guy was entertained by my phone as I wandered over to the trash can and peered in. There it was. That tiny green cast. I thought about how his arm would never be that tiny again and how one day I’d forget he was ever that small. Sappy, yes. Not that unusual though. I’m his mother, of course I feel sentimental about odd things, but what I did next was over the top.

I picked the damn thing up out of the trash and held it. Then, making sure no one was looking, I kissed it goodbye. I KISSED IT! I pulled a piece of garbage out of the can and TOUCHED IT WITH MY MOUTH! What was wrong with me?! It’s trash! Granted, the cast was on the top of the trash in relatively innocuous looking wastebasket, but it’s garbage nonetheless. It stinks! I stood in a doctors office with my son, cuddling medical waste.

I came to my senses and put it back in the waste basket before going to checkout at the front desk. I was like, “Heh, heh. So funny. I heard people keep old casts. So gross, right!?” The receptionist replied, “Oh, we have people keep them all the time. It’s not unusual.” Validation. That’s all I needed. Validation for my gross need to keep that thing. I requested the staff retrieve it from the trash for me. They wrapped it up and brought it out. I gratefully tucked it in the stroller and got out of there before they could identify me as the freak I am.

Motherhood has made me so weird and so, so gross.




Two Target Trips- August 6, 2015

Thursday, August 6th, 2015

I explained on Instagram and Facebook that I had a truly extraordinary weekly pilgrimage to Target yesterday. Not once did I say “No! Don’t touch that!” “No, not today.” “Maybe for your birthday.” “Stay with me!” or “Keep your hands in the cart!”

target alone

Yep. It was the mother of all Target trips. I was a mother, ALONE. Sans children. By myself. It was everything I thought it could be. I perused clearance sports bras and snagged some of my favorite coffee creamer from the grocery section without anyone whining about how cold it is near large refrigerators. Thank God for grandparents being willing to watch them.

Last week’s Target pilgrimage was the exact opposite. These are some exact phrases I used on this trip: “Stop hanging on the cart!” “Oh wow! That IS a different Doc McStuffins than yours.” “No, we’re not buying toys today.” “You will NOT get chocolate milk if I have to tell you again!” “Stop throwing things out of the cart!” “You already had a snack!” “We’re almost done, Buddy.”

As I dragged my weary babes and full cart to the checkout I started unloading. I looked over at my 4-year-old perusing the candy by the register like they were clearance sports bras. That’s when I saw her snatch a chocolate bar, break it in half and put it back. In an instant she did again! She was ridiculously fast with her greedy little preschool hands. I grabbed her wrist, shocked at her behavior.



I was so freakin’ mad with this child! I made her apologize to the clerk through tears. I bought the three mangled chocolate bars. She sobbed all the way home as I threatened to take away every toy she ever owned. I questioned everything I knew about parenting as I texted my husband to tell him what she had done so he could also wonder if we needed an overpriced psychologist to assess this behavior.

I have a confession about each of these Target trips:

  1. On my solo shopping trip I may have glanced down the toy aisle, missing them a little.
  2. On my shopping trip with the candy incident I was a little excited I had to buy the Rolos. I ate the hell out of those Rolos.

Nightly Routine- April 20, 2015

Monday, April 20th, 2015

For years my husband has marveled at my bedtime routine, wondering what on earth could take me so long to get ready for bed. Exasperated he says, “No one on earth takes so long to get ready to go to sleep! What are you doing?!”

It’s true. I would think most women take longer than their male significant others to go to bed. For mothers of little ones, it’s an unending string of tasks adding to another hour of sleep we won’t get.

bed routine edited

This is exactly what I did the other night and not far from my nightly routine:

  • Announce to husband, “I’m going to bed.”
  • Kiss him
  • Check locks on back door, garage door and front door
  • Unlock one door to let the dog out
  • Put rogue sippy cup in the dishwasher
  • Add remaining dishes in the sink and start the dishwasher
  • Remember that laundry needs to go in the dryer, start dryer
  • Turn off lights, but leave a few on so we won’t get robbed and I won’t trip when I wake up with a crying baby
  • Head upstairs with an armful of shoes, a hairbrush, toys and bag of stuff I bought at Target that was all sitting on the stairs
  • Check to make sure each child is breathing and still sleeping
  • Notice one child has kicked off her covers
  • Tuck her in without waking her
  • Go into bathroom and turn on faucet to warm the water
  • Pee
  • Turn off now warmed water to go back downstairs to let the dog back in
  • Go back upstairs
  • Remove eye makeup with baby wipes because I no longer buy actual eye makeup remover
  • Toss the empty wipes package
  • Wash face
  • Apply zit stuff
  • Apply moisturizer (Although, I have a new skin care routine coming soon! Stay tuned! I digress…)
  • Pee again
  • Remember I need my Neti Pot because of spring seasonal allergies
  • Take Neti Pot downstairs to sanitize it in the microwave
  • While it’s in the microwave, notice I haven’t packed the preschool class snack in the “Snack Basket”
  • Load the basket
  • Find the weekly take-home preschool bag with the frog painted on it to put with the basket so we won’t forget it
  • Realize it’s in the car
  • Look for shoes
  • Don’t find shoes
  • Screw it and don’t get the bag with the frog painted on it
  • Get the Neti Pot out of the microwave and wipe up the water that spouted out of it during sanitation
  • Can’t find paper towels so I just leave the water in the microwave
  • Announce to husband that now “I’m really going to bed.”
  • Go back upstairs
  • Wash face
  • Realize I still have black smudges of eye makeup on my face
  • Look for wipes that are gone
  • Lick my finger and wipe under my eye
  • Remember I have a date with my husband later this week and decide to try an old dress on
  • Try on shoes with it too
  • Try on a different dress
  • Put pajamas on
  • Use Neti Pot
  • Change pajamas after getting saline from the Neti Pot on them
  • Go downstairs and get water to take medicine
  • Listen to husband say, “I thought you were going to bed!”
  • Assure him that I am
  • Take medicine
  • Brush teeth
  • Pee one more time
  • Look for charger
  • Plug in phone
  • Check on kids one more time
  • Lay in bed and look at Twitter until my husband comes in and asks me why I’m still not asleep
  • Reply by saying, “I was doing stuff!”

Husband’s bedtime routine:

  • Comes upstairs
  • Brushes teeth
  • Gets in bed