Did I really just say that?

Occasionally I find myself saying something as a parent that I can’t even fathom. Something that makes my brain go “how on earth did you get to a place in life where that sentence is appropriate?” And I always think I should write them down, but those moments also usually require immediate action, like grabbing a child off the arm of the couch, changing the channel because Care Bears are terrifying, or shockingly often, poo. So by the time I’m done putting the juice into the cup that matches the underwear the kid’s wearing or putting the salad tongs back in the drawer because they shouldn’t be used to stop the fan, I’ve forgotten the bizarre thing I said and should have shared with others so you could all know the joy. Kind of like the bit by Louis Black about the time he heard the dumbest thing ever, and if he doesn’t share it with others his brain will EXPLODE. (Check that here if you haven’t. It’s way funnier than I make it sound, really.)

If it weren’t for my horse…

Anyway, I thought it might be fun to make that list here, and let you play along. What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said as a parent? Or heard your parents say? Here’s some of mine and the ones my friends contributed as well:

  • Are you ready for lunch- woah. Please put your underwear back on.
  • I know it makes a good echo but your face doesn’t go in the toilet.
  • We don’t use the toilet brush on the dog.
  • That’s it! I’m packing your room up if you won’t. Where’s the snow shovel?
  • Most people don’t take their pants off while going for a car ride.
  • I’m trying to make dinner, would you stop putting motorcycles in my butt?
  • I don’t think the cat really enjoys superheroes in his ears.
  • Please don’t lick the window. (She says this every. day.)
  • You really don’t want too many spaceships in your mouth.
  • Pacifiers don’t go in your eye.
  • Making cake is a pants-on activity.
  • We say “lick off” the spoon, not “suck it off.” Why? … um……….. …….. …..just because.

Add yours in the comments so we can all marvel at the awkward together!

Thought Collection #2

More thoughts! A collection of things I think while going about my mom-ly duties:

My son has decided that he cannot eat anything that has a “wrapper.” Blueberries, grapes, beans, corn, and peas all have wrappers. He will spit them out like Tom Hanks in Big.


I attempted once- ONCE- to remove said wrappers for him. I also tried once to bake something I saw on Pinterest, but I like to think I learn from my mistakes.


I feel like, when you pay off your hospital birthing bills, you should get the title for your kid, like when you pay off your car. Frame that shit.


That moment when your kids are so quiet it causes panic. You must check on them but if they catch you peeking it will break whatever mystical spell has made them silent and they’ll come get all up in your business. But you need to a) see what has them so focused to make sure that it is available at all times from this point forward and b) make sure they’re actually still alive. But oh my god it’s been a full five minutes since someone whined at you and no-one is clinging to your leg so if you wait another three minutes you could probably still resuscitate with minimal brain damage if that’s the situation. And then MOM-GUILT you scurry to the doorway and peeeeeek around with one eye and it was just a new Sesame Street but you’re busted and so is this toy and they need snacks and moooooOOOOOOOOooooom.


One fun thing about having kids is getting to explain the subtleties of language to them. Like why we say we “lick off the spoon” not “suck it off.” Loudly. In public.


Pretty sure the nicknames we’ve had for our kids demonstrate exactly how life has gone with them. First kid: Little Man, Bubbaloo, Sir. Second kid: Chica, Scooter, Destructo, Gozer.


We are at a phase in the big kid’s life where he is learning to deal with frustration in more mature ways than wildly flailing around the house raining destruction on everyone else’s emotions. It’s going pretty well, actually, though when your starting point is sobbing because you took your pants off when you wanted to pee through them, I guess you have nowhere to go but up. Anyway, the other day I saw a break-down coming during teeth-brushing time, and told him I would guess what was wrong since he couldn’t use his words with a toothbrush in his mouth. My guesses:

Is it because the Beatles broke up? Was it Yoko? I bet it was Yoko.

Are you upset because Nick Jr replaced Marina on Fresh Beat Band without saying anything and acted like we wouldn’t notice? How were not going to notice? You’re a kid, not a marmot. We know faces.

Is it because there’s no more Clearly Canadian? It was clearly the most Canadian soda, so I don’t blame you.

Wait, it’s because DiCaprio still doesn’t have an Oscar? Don’t jump on that bandwagon, man. He’s not all that.

I know. I know. It’s because your elbows are so pointy. Curse you elboooooows!

Is it because you have toothpaste in your nose from giggling so much? That would bother me, too. Stop giggling so much! You are SO weird.


A lady’s body changes a lot after kids, mostly in ways that make you feel floppy and broken. Like now, having cramps is suddenly like implanting the garbage mashers from the first Death Star into my abdomen. Replete with thrashing tentacle monsters, metal poles propping up the walls, and a Wookie.


And, just for good measure, an Awkward Baby. Sometimes, you just gotta see how a life-choice tastes before you can commit.

He who hesitates is sometimes licking paper

He who hesitates is sometimes licking paper

But if you do dive in, Awkward Baby applauds you.

Awkward Baby #7

It’s time for an awkward baby, yes?

The longer I have kids, the more I find myself getting REALLY excited about talking to other grown-ups. But I’m out of practice. I want to have philosophical discussions about religion and politics and Art the way I used to when I was young and had no fear of being seen as an insufferable ass-hat. Maybe something about Marxism or Dada. Something you heard about on NPR today where I actually use my brains and the many overpriced years of education I amassed and *GASP* learn something new by listening to other people. I really miss that.

But honestly, at this point, I just get really excited to see someone who is over three feet tall. Someone who can talk about Italian cuisine without pronouncing it “Pahsketti.” And I get a little over-enthusiastic about it. I feel my face getting all goofy smiley and I don’t have anything intelligent to add to the conversation but I WILL laugh a little too hard at everything that’s not another knock knock joke about bananas. Sometimes I try way too hard and it’s a little embarrassing. And sometimes I don’t care because even being in the same room as other grown-ups is such a nice change that I don’t care how out-of-touch I am, I’m just glad to have a new person as a part of my day.


What are you guys talking about!? AHAHAHAHA! Right?

Awkward Baby doesn’t judge- you keep on with that goofy smile.

Thought collection #1

Modern social media has changed the way I think. Rather than have actual ponder-y thoughts, I find myself planning out how to relay my musings in a witty status update. This happens multiple times per day. And then, the moment is gone, I completely forget what I was thinking about, and it never makes it past my noggin.

Until now!

Tell 'em what they've won!

Tell ’em what they’ve won!

(p.s. This is the first image when you Google the phrase “tell them what they’ve won.” It’s like I got you a pony! But I didn’t. I just got you this marvelous image, which is frankly almost as good.)

I’m going to collect all those daily thoughts and flop them down haphazardly here! For your reading enjoyment! You’re welcome!

First installment: car seats to gay porn. Hooray!

1) The way to test to see if you’re ready to be a parent is to install two car seats, in the dark, while it’s sleeting rain/snow. If you can do it without hurling something across the yard, slamming the car doors more than six times, or screaming obscenities at innocent latch hooks, then you may be ready to parent. For the record, I am not ready to parent.

2) Realized I am only two years away from my TWENTY FREAKING YEAR high school reunion. This led to three thoughts. Thought one: holy. shit. Thought two: Pretty sure you have to identify as adult when you commemorate twenty years of the end of something. So… I’m a grown-up now, I guess. Thought three: I have two years to get my shit together so I can pretend I never got super fat.

Thanks, Pinterest

Thanks, Pinterest

3) Got the Big Kid his first Shamrock shake. “Mom… this is the most amazing drink ever. It’s so… green.” We’re all right there with ya, kid.

4) How I know I am an adult: I do not pull off chips of peeling paint from my walls or ceiling; I consider when I will be able to scrape and repaint. How I know I will never be fully adult: god DAMMIT I want to pull off that chunk of paint SO bad.

5) Had an odd moment today where I realized a lot of the things I hear as a parent would, in a different context, not be out of place on the set of a gay porn movie. Consider these actual moments from this week:

“Batman will ride the Batmobile and Robin will ride this cucumber.”

“I kind of prefer you don’t kiss me directly on the butt.”

“Aww, look at all those bears piled up on your face!”

And, the old stand-by: “Look how flexible my penis is!”

Til next time, keep it awkward, friends.

We now return to our program

Well… hi. Look at that last post’s date. Look at this one. Whoops. Some life happened there, it seems. But I’m back! I still don’t know what this blog is going to be. But I know I want to give it another shot.

You know, when I started, I had these grand plans that I would create this visually stunning documentary on the life of a writer- everything I had ever done, from preschool to now. All organized by topic and date. It would be monumental….ly pretentious. So I ditched it. Then I thought I’d write the next hilarious mom-blog to go triple viral (because I don’t know how the internet works) and I’d get reposted by both The Bloggess AND George Takei and it would crash my site and I’d be instantly famous. But I was trying way too hard and gave up when I wasn’t rolling in Bitcoins within a month.

So that brings us to today. Two kids, a job I occasionally do, not a hell of a lot of time, but dammit, I started this and I want to keep trying. We all have these “shoulds” and “want tos” and I don’t know about you, but I know I avoid eye-contact with all of mine for fear of failure. But all you can really do is give SOMETHING a shot every once in a while, right? So all the stuff I would normally put on Facebook? The stuff that made a whole four people say I should start a blog? It’s going here. All the stuff I have scribbled on grocery receipts and random pages of notebooks? Here. If nothing else, it still makes ME laugh, so I’ve got that to look forward to. No clue what this blog will actually be, but it’s going to be… something.

Welcome back to the new and improved blog you never knew existed in the first place. Here we go again, awkwardly diving in.

That's the spirit

That’s the spirit

Next I’ll buy a summer house in the Hamptons

I did something the other day I’ve been avoiding because I thought it was wasteful and self-indulgent. Something that seemed lazy and irresponsible.  Like if I was an animal, I’d be a diva sloth, or a cat who… is a cat. Dare I say it? I hired a babysitter to come to my house for two hours, while I was home. I didn’t want to do it, a) because we really don’t have the means to hire a fancy au pair to follow me around whilst I tell the decorator what linens to discard for the new season and b) I should be able to handle everything myself. Right? That’s what Pinterest and TV and our guilt-ridden minds tell us; the parent at home should be able to care for the home and the kids, and be fabulous at it. What else do we have to do with ourselves, right? That’s my end of the deal in this arrangement we have- one partner spends time out of the house working, the other stays here and works. It’s not rocket science, Joe. But, dude. It gets hard. Certainly not welding beams on a skyscraper hard, or Friday crossword in pen hard, but anything you do twenty-four hours a day seven days a week can, you know, wear on you.

And it’s been wearing on me. And we had a playdate that afternoon with a good friend and our living room looked like a flop house. And our usual helper (read: Grandma) needed a little break, too. And I am TIRED. A three year old in constant monologue mode and a three month old who only sort of sleeps through the night? It, you know, wears on you.

So I hired a babysitter. She played with the big kid while I cleaned and nursed and got dressed. And it was the most fabulous thing I have done in ages. My house looked nice. I nursed without guilt for shooing away the big kid. I got dressed without having to stop every thirty seconds to find a superhero figure or pop in a pacifier or pull the toothbrush out of the toilet. I had a productive morning, and I didn’t stress once. And it didn’t wear on me.

So this is to all my home-staying caretakers out there: every once in a while, hire the help. Do not feel guilty. Do not feel weird or self-indulgent or wasteful or useless. I felt better than I ever imagined I could, just from having two hours where I wasn’t in charge of everything at once. Hire the help, do two hours worth of what you’ve been wanting to do the last three months, and tell yourself you are fabulous for it. Trust me, it’s worth it. And so are you.

p.s. She’s coming back next week. It’s gonna rock.

I’m my own audience

I try really hard to make sure my kids are given the opportunity to be creative and entertain themselves. I provide them with educational toys and, yes, tv. We play together and I find those teachable moments to help them learn and grow as thoughtful human beings. But sometimes, I’m just here to entertain my own damn self. This week I kept track of a few things I said purely for my own amusement:


Me: If you could do anything you want to do today, what would it be?

Kid: I… want… to… hit myself on the chin with this marker.

Me: Good. That’s good. You gotta have goals. Dream big I say. Hey! Look at that! You did it! Check that off your bucket list, my friend.


[While watching Blues Clues and Joe is taking a ridiculous amount of time finding the clue right in front of his damn face]

Me: Seriously Joe, you gotta pull it together. This is not rocket science. And while we’re at it, quit wondering who the letters are from. They’re from your friend. They’re ALWAYS from your friend.

Kid: It’s not rocket science?

Me: Exactly. You tell ’em.

Kid: It’s not rocket science, Joe.


Kid: Mom, I need a little guy to fit in this tractor.

Me: Hmmm, I don’t think we have one that small. Here- make one out of paper and we’ll cut him out and put him in there.

[Art project ensues]

Kid: I can’t get him to stay in there.

Me: Here, let me try. Get in there little man. “No! No! Let me be free! I must dance!” You must drive this tractor little man. “But I must dance!” Say cool it, Footloose.

Kid: Cool it, Footloose.

Me: Yeah, cool it Footloose, these fields aren’t gonna till themselves. Ah, Kid, this little man doesn’t want to fit in there, does he?

Kid: No, mom, he wants to dance.

Me: Then let’s dance, man!

[Dance party ensues]


I’m glad he gets me.