Friday, February 17, 2017


I know that most of these thoughts probably aren't original. SUE ME. (don't sue me. I can't afford that right now, and frankly if you're suing me for not having original thoughts about parenting then YOU ARE THE WORST.)

I apologize in advance that I never post pictures and also that this is just mumbo-jumbo. Also I'm sorry that I just said mumbo-jumbo, because that hasn't been socially acceptable since 1492.

+ You know that whole "I don't have a favorite child" nonsense? That's the world's biggest lie, second only to, "of course I don't pee in the shower". I mean, I don't wake up every day thinking, "Well, it really sucks to be Jameson today because he is not my favorite!" but occasionally halfway through the day when he touches his junk and then puts his nasty unwashed hands on my food, I look at my daughter and praise the heavens that she isn't that gross (yet).

To be fair, the whole "favorite child" thing is switching constantly. It's not set in stone. Which I guess is why people can't say they have a favorite. It's not because there isn't one - there is always one. It is because the award for golden child is switching so frequently, nobody can even keep track. I only have two kids, and unless one of them is being a terrorist, I forget who is at the top of the list.

+ While we are on the topic of favoring children, I also have hit this point where I am realizing that my kids aren't always the cutest. It's terrible. You know if you have children, you've looked at other babies and kids the same age as yours and thought, "my kids are way cuter". It's a natural parent thing to do, and that's fine. I usually think my kids are cuter.

That isn't to say my kids are photogenic. OH, they are the worst when they are newborns. I swear Jameson was a cute newborn, but half of my photos make him look like baby Squidward. And Charlotte, she was a really cute newborn, but sometimes I look at pictures and wonder if the thing that I am seeing is even human. I have a few photos of her that look like they could be the offspring of the alien in Men In Black after he puts on the farmers skin. MORE SUGAR WATER.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is my kids are getting less cute. I'm pretty sure Charlotte peaked at 6 months old, which is really a tragedy. Every human hits an awkward stage in life where they aren't cute for a few years. I think Charlie girl just hit hers about 13 years too early. Don't get me wrong, she is still adorable (to me), but with her hillbilly mullet and her crooked front teeth that would put a beaver's to shame, she is really struggling to keep up with Gerber status. We love her anyway. Maybe when her front teeth come all the way in they will straighten out and shrink two sizes. Or she'll just have snaggle-teeth and a mullet for life, because it's hilarious.

+ Feeding kids is the worst. THE WORST. If you have children, you get it. You spend forever making a gourmet meal (most likely 30 second microwaved chicken nuggets straight from the freezer), only for them to throw it on the floor and eat the EXACT SAME THING off of your plate. Or they just refuse it entirely.

It's moments like those when my kids tell me they don't like something where I think, "Really? You suddenly hate pb&j? That's weird, because I'm pretty sure two seconds ago I watched you pick your nose and eat it, and your sister is literally eating a used q-tip out of the bathroom garbage right now and somehow both of you are refusing real food. WHAT IS MY LIFE?!"

And it is at this moment that I am finally realizing why my husband still makes fun of me for trying to feed a two-year-old filet mignon.


^^ well m , b bv the kids found me....

so adios


Friday, February 3, 2017

to the lady who judged me:

This post was originally written in March of 2015. Making Jameson about 18 months. (for those of you who can't do math and need it put into a measurement that makes sense, that means he's just over 78 weeks old. a prime time in his toddlerhood.)

To be fair, I am still the same type of parent now that I was then. 

original post:

I'm not a bad mother. That doesn't always mean I'm the best mother... just that I'm not the worst.

I was getting the car packed up to leave today, and as any mother knows... sometimes you have more things to carry than you have arms for. If my child is one of those things, then I have him walk with me to the car. He is able and willing, and if it saves me a few trips back and forth I am all for it!

As I was putting a few bags in the car, I noticed my son was wandering about 25 feet away from where I was standing. I wasn't worried about it. (I mean, let's be real. I survived losing him in Costco so 25 feet away in plain sight is fine by me.) Just then, I saw a stranger slow down their car. She stopped, pointed at my son and said something probably about my parenting skills, then gave me a disapproving look and shook her head. And then she drove away. The message she was sending was clear.

There are few times I have ever felt so judged. I wanted to go full-Hulk on her and rip her to shreds. Didn't your parents ever teach you it's rude to point?!
Don't look at me like that.
DON'T shake your head.
"GTFO!" (but really.)

So there I was, with my son still 25 feet away, and I thought, maybe I really need to evaluate my parenting style. If a total stranger thinks I'm a bad mother... what do my neighbors think?! What does my family think?! Oh. My son is now 40 feet away. I should probably go get him before an angry mob of strangers comes to point their fingers and shake their heads.

So I stuffed my son in the trunk and told him to sit tight while I re-evaluated my life.
..because that is the kind of disapproving look that lady gave me.

Listen lady. I'm not a bad mother.

I don't abuse my son in any way.
I don't neglect him.
I don't feed my him big bowls of sauerkraut! Every single morning! (it was driving me CRAZY! I said to my mom, I said... hey mom...)

That being said. I am far, FAR from perfect. And sometimes I don't even feel bad about it. I openly admit I am a culprit of bad parenting on a daily basis.

My son just might experience severe hearing loss by the time he is 5 due to the fact that I blast Taylor Swift any time we are driving in the car. Is that the best thing for my son? No. But I do it anyway. That doesn't make me a bad mother.

I have days where neither of us change out of our jammies until dinner time. Some say that's unacceptable. I say it's an all-day pajama party. Who doesn't love pajama parties?

I make him watch Lord of the Rings. It's rated PG-13. And unless something strange happened while he was napping, I'm quite certain he is not yet 13. But he's seen it. And he likes it. And that's okay by me.

I use every ounce of strength I have to pin all of his limbs to the ground when changing his diaper. He screams like a banshee. Torture? Uhh, yeah. For ME. You go change his diaper. I'd like to see you do it without using both of your arms and legs. Level 2 is getting his clothes back on before he escapes. (but sometimes I let him escape on purpose, because what is cuter than a baby running away with no pants on?)


so, reading this is a little bit hilarious because few things have changed.

I was telling my dad earlier today about the time Jameson (when he was around the same age as the original post) climbed into the large basket part of my grocery cart and started hucking cans of food at an old lady in the same isle as us.

Not that that makes me a bad parent at all... but it's sad and hilarious at the same time.

On a more related note, just a few months ago I lost my son in Target. LOST him. As in, I actually started panicking. I was literally running through every isle to try to find him. I won't tell you how long it took me, but eventually I found a swarm of ladies circling around something. Unless Target started a women's fight club in isle 17, my son is probably in the middle of that circle.

I reached the circle, completely out of breath and a woman looked at me. Completely disregarding the fact that I had obviously been running around the store and could barely breathe, she said, "Oh, THERE you are! I was about to go get security!!"

OKAY. I get it. I'm a terrible person. Now please, hand over my son so I can go cry in the bathroom while he drinks water from the toilet.

As soon as he spotted me, Jamey dashed away laughing. The lady who so lovingly judged me tried to run after him, but she was unaware that my son is 1/80 cheetah and can outrun every judgmental person on the planet. He fell, and as she reached to grab him, he turned and yelled,

"NO! STOP! You don't touch me!!" (waving a very angry finger at her)

I wanted to turn and yell, "Yeah! you hear that?! Don't touch my son or I'll be the one calling security, mean lady!" but instead I thanked her, picked up my son and left.

Parenting in public is so fun. You guys should all have kids and take them to the store.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

guess who's back, snitches?

new blog posts. dropping sometime in 2017.

in the mean time, look at pictures of stuff I never wrote about!

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

thanks for playing, try again

I swear my intentions are never bad. I mean, as long as we're not talking about the time my friend Ally & I made up a club called the EAK -evil alysa killers- and started making her beauty products out of bad perfume, velveeta cheese & all other things horrific.  Or the time Haley & I hacked into another girl's MySpace account and made it look like she was in love/obsessed with a boy that I liked so he would stop talking to her. These happened in my adolescent years, and when it came to "good intentions", my track record wasn't great. I'd like to think I've moved past that.

I try to be a good wife. You know, things like keeping my word when I say I won't watch another episode of Master Chef without The Hubs (ew. who says that? oh, that's right-- me), or shaving my legs for date night. Occasionally I even go as far as to make him lunch to take to work. Usually this consists of leftovers of whatever we had for dinner the night before.

We had spaghetti for dinner. I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend any more time in the kitchen than I had to. I told myself as long as I got lunch packed for Taylor, I could go to bed and finish the dishes the next day. 

The next day came. Not that I can remember, but I'm 99% sure the dishes weren't touched. Because who wants to touch day-old dishes when you can leave them in the sink for a week until your husband cracks and cleans the whole house? I really am a stellar wife. Taylor came home after school  (night classes) and mentioned he was starving.

"Did I not pack you enough food?" I asked, slightly panicked. 

"Oh, no... you did." he laughed.

I had packed plenty of spaghetti noodles. I just forgot the sauce. Apparently, when there is no sauce or liquid added to pasta when you reheat it, it hardens right back up. I don't know what was funnier to me-- the fact that he heated it up anyway, or that he ate nearly half a bowl of dry, plain noodles before calling it quits. That's true love.

I had this moment of NOOOOO. You know, like in the end of The Fellowship of the Ring, where Boromir finally gets his shiz together and starts fighting, and then BOOM.

It's like the universe's way of saying, "Thanks for playing, Boromir. Try again." And he DOES.  He keeps fighting, with an arrow in him. Because Boromir is B freakin A. 

The moment I realized I had forgotten the sauce was my first arrow. But I would do anything to work on set with Viggo Mortensen, so you know, I gotta keep fighting until he comes to kiss my forehead when I die. 

I had a moment today when I decided to keep fighting. Ironically, we had spaghetti for dinner. I am just now realizing that and am blown away. IT'S A SIGN.

So there we are, at the dinner table eating spaghetti. Spaghetti. Both times! I can't get over this, you guys. Jameson was practicing his audition for the scene in "A Christmas Story" where the little boy eats like a pig. He was doing a marvelous job, but Taylor was unimpressed. 

"Jameson" he simply said.

For whatever reason, the mention of his name made him stop eating. He looked up, and began wailing. WAILING. 

"Bud, bud, it's okay! you're not in trouble!" I tried to reassure him. 

It was then I remembered we still had the TV on, with some foreign show about horses Jamey had picked on Amazon Prime. I waited for a scene that showed horses, and made my move.

"Jamey, look!"

I directed his attention to the TV, and was reminded that foreign shows are weird as the scene cut to a couple of horses mating. 

"No! Wait! Don't look!"

I had this flashback to the time I turned on a documentary about animals for him, and fast-forwarded to the cow part. (Cows are his favorite animal.) This also happened to be a foreign film. I didn't know it at the time, but it was about animal cruelty. We have a gift for picking top-notch foreign films about animals. We sat and watched a beautiful panorama of cows grazing in a field, when suddenly a guy with a machete enters the scene and starts a cow massacre. 

Because I was so consumed in this flashback of the 4629847 time I ruined my son's life, I have absolutely no recollection as to how he reacted to seeing his second favorite animal mating on screen. 

My intentions were pure. I was trying to cheer him up. But pure as my intentions were, I was hit with my second arrow. (In reality it's probably my seventeenth arrow, but for the sake of this post, it's two). 

One more arrow, Viggo. I'll be waiting.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Walmart is the worst.

"You're on the market for a new dishwasher? Don't even bother going to [insert dishwasher store here]. I have a guy, I'll hook you up."

"You have a dishwasher guy?"

- ^^ not a real conversation. ^^ -

Are there actually people out there who "have a guy"? I mean, is that actually a thing that is happening in the world? I'm pretty sure I've seen it on one of my Netflix shows. I mean, just the one time I turned on Netflix for a half second. We all know I'm way above spending 4 hours a day staring at a screen while my children eat paper and week-old crumbs off the ground.

I need a guy. 

I mean, I have a guy. He's my husband. What I need are shelves. (Floating shelves.) Is there such a thing as a shelf guy? Does anyone have one of those? Help a sista out.

I thought I could make my own shelves. But then I remembered that time 3 years ago when I started refinishing a table, and how it's still sitting in my in-law's shed. These shelves need to get put up like, yesterday. This is where my shelf guy would come in handy.

Going to the store with Jameson is hard. For some reason, though, I always take him with me. It's like the whole bit about getting pregnant a second time. You're thinking, pregnancy wasn't that bad, and nine months flies by! I could totally do this while taking care of a demon toddler.

Then, the second you get pregnant you're thinking, WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?! as you're barfing up the Cafe Rio burrito you just scarfed while your toddler is trying to push you out of the way so he can have a turn "coughing" into the toilet. 

Just like when I got pregnant, each time I take Jamey to the store I vow to myself NEVER AGAIN.

I took him to the store today.

I took him to Walmart.

I thought it would be a good trip. We were off to a great start. I grabbed a cart, and the first thing I noticed: NO HAIRBALL WHEELS!

Don't act like you have no clue what I'm talking about. It's a Walmart thing. There is this unwritten rule among the wheels of all the carts that they have to snatch up as much hair as possible, and let it wind around and around until a nice little hairball starts to take form. This hairball makes the wheel defective, so your cart is always veering one way or the other, and you've got to use your super-strength to keep from looking like a crazy person who has never steered a hairball cart before.

My cart didn't have any hairballs-- I checked. Every single wheel was clear. It was a Christmas miracle. I thought to myself, Nothing can stop me today! and then realized how much that didn't matter because it was 8:00PM and I was about to go home and go to bed.

I waltzed into the store, confident that I would find exactly what I was looking for. I mean, no hairball wheels. It had to be some sort of premonition. 

But like any trip to Walmart, I walked around for about 15 minutes trying to dodge sketchy fat people wearing leggings while seeking out my floating shelves. 

I was unsuccessful. In the finding of floating shelves, I mean.

I decided it was in my best interest to ask an employee for help.

"Hi, um excuse me"

She stopped.

"Do you by chance know where I could find shelves? Preferably floating shelves."

She looked at me, and snorted.

"Floating shelves?! I suppose you expect me to find you a flying pig, too!" and she walked away.

Since that moment, the only thing on my mind have been these two dogs.

You guys, Walmart really is the worst.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

things I don't want to forget

>> Jameson is beginning to say words correctly. It's exciting and heartbreaking all at the same time. As of late, most of his words are pretty spot on, but the one that hasn't changed yet is "cockadoctor" (helicopter). I hope he holds on to that one forever, because it's adorable & hilarious.

>> The constant singing in my house. No matter what is going on, Jameson is always singing or humming. I try to introduce him to new songs every now and then so my brain doesn't go crazy having the same song stuck in there week after week. Lately he's been singing "swing on a star" (Look it up. Bing Crosby.) and he mixes up the verses about the mule & the pig. today, it was "a pig is an animal with long, funny ears. his shoes kick at everything he hears. huh huh-huh huh-... fat and lazy and stupid too!" 

>> going along with getting the lyrics wrong, he frequently sings I Am A Child of God (an LDS children's song), where it's supposed to say, 

I am a child of God, and He has sent me here.
Has given me an earthly home, with parents kind and dear.

Instead, it's:

I am a child of God, and He has me sent here,
Has given me an earthly home, with parents kind of dear.

We get a crack out of it ...because he's not wrong.

>> Charlotte LOVES taking baths. She gets so excited when she's in there, her legs start kicking like crazy. As a result, she ends up scooting herself all around the tub. Her and Jamey scoot and splash and laugh like crazy. It's one of my favorite things to watch them play and laugh together. 

>> Jameson congratulates me any time I poop in the potty. He'll come find me, and give me a high five and we'll celebrate, and if I'm lucky I even get to put a sticker on his chart. His "I'm so proud of you!" hugs are the sweetest. And for all of you parents who judge me for letting my son come in the bathroom when I poop, well... you're right. It's kind of terrible. Sue me. It's not like I invited him in there, alright? He just sort of waltzes in, especially if I'm missing for more than .00002816 seconds. 

>> As much as I hate it, I never want to forget the way Jameson will put his hand up and say, "Mom, don't talka me." when I'm trying to get him in trouble. 

>> On that same note, potty training is going really well. And by that I mean I frequently watch my son like a hawk when I know he needs to poo. He's caught on to my tactics, so occasionally he'll come up to me and hold up his hand and say, "Don't find me."

"Why? Are you going to go poop your pants?"

"No! Stay here, mom. Don't find me!!!"

"Do you need to poop?"


"Let's go sit on the potty!"

"No, no poop! No potty."

"You don't need to poop?"


"Okay, let's sit on the potty anyway."

"No. Mom stay here, don't find Jamey."

Potty training is so fun. It's probably my favorite part of parenthood so far. 

>> this. 

Saturday, August 27, 2016

eight minutes

Hello friends,

It is I. The one lady who makes all sorts of promises about this blog of mine and never pulls through. (I mean really, how many announcements have I made about "stay tuned for"... and actually written? Maybe two. out of eight thousand. Ouch.)

I chalk most of that up to the fact that I don't have the time I want to get a decent post down. My (almost) 3 year-old son doesn't take naps, and.... and nothing. My kid doesn't nap. I mean, any mom out there with kids knows how devastating it is when that day comes. A huge chunk of "me time" just got taken out of my day, so that kind of sucks.

What I'm saying is I haven't been giving this blog the love & attention it deserves. But I want to.

I want to make an effort.

I read on one of my cute friends blog something about writing for at least 8 minutes. No particular subject in mind, just.... write. So I thought perhaps maybe I should try that. For now, I'll shoot for once a week. (With my track record, you'll hopefully see another one by christmas. But that is neither here nor there.)

Either way, here's to hoping you'll be hearing from me some more. As for right now, I still have three minutes of writing, so let's see what happens.

My husband just shaved his head practically bald. he buzzes it frequently anyway because he pretty much is bald. But today he decided to go shorter than his normal buzz-cut.

Now, I'd like each of you to take a moment and put your hand on the back of your head, where it starts to go down into your neck. Now look at your belly button.

Do you feel how part of your neck comes up? I'm not a doctor, so don't ask me what it is. Spine? maybe. Muscle? also a possibility. Liver? i've never been good at anatomy. Doesn't matter. It raises itself when you look down, and thats the only thing about it that is relevant to this story.

Back to my husband and his bald head.

He decided to go shorter, and he happened to be looking down as he was running the razor through his hair. Somehow, it just so worked out that the razor basically shaved him bald in the raised area, and buzzed the rest. He didn't notice.

He asked me to come take a look, and as I did so I busted up laughing. I'm so mature, and all I could think of was that his head looked like a weird butt.

I was laughing to hard to tell him what was wrong, which he didn't take as a good sign.

Anyway, he is now grumbling in the shower trying to fix this irreparable damage, and I'm still wiping tears from my eyes at how hilarious I find his butt-head.

I wish with all of my heart I could have taken a photo, but... a bad haircut doesn't usually go over well with anyone. A bad hair cut with a wife who is crying she is laughing so hard....

that definitely doesn't go over well. (take it from me.)

Hahahahahahaha. butt head.