(As in: everything makes you want to, and your kids do nothing but)

Monthly Archives: March 2014

Everyone knows that what people post on social media sites isn’t actually an accurate snapshot of your life.

You put your best foot forward, your best pic posted.

It’s all smoke and mirrors.

This is never more true than for parents of toddlers.

Here are pictures of my husband and I on daycare date night.

dinner outrolando dinner out

It might look like we’re having a lovely evening, but we actually spent the entire dinner try to hail our waitress. We watched other diners arrive, be served and finish dinner and we couldn’t even get a second round of Sake.

That b*&ch interrupted our Sake cycle.

Instead of riveting conversation, we were busy glowering at the staff, pleading with our eyes for assistance from the hostess. (who was equally oblivious to our plight)

I considered luring her by dangling our food because she was all skin and bones, but my husband noted that she clearly wasn’t interested in eating. Maybe Meth would’ve worked?

The next morning, here’s a picture of my precious daughter hugging my dog. (Yes, he looks terrified. He’s old, partially blind and has Addison’s Disease. He’s always terrified.)

alma hugs del

What you don’t see is my son screaming in the background because he’s sick. Our punishment for a miserable night on the town was waking up early to face a feverish toddler.

My son is a real jerk when he’s sick.

I feel bad that he doesn’t feel well, but I don’t exactly feel like babying him when he’s constantly trying to throw heavy objects at my head and screaming “NO WAY” when I’m not even touching him or talking to him.

huck is sick

A fun day at the park? I think not.


It poured the night before so the whole playground was a soggy, mulchy mess.

We had to cut it short when my son decided to run full speed through a mud puddle in canvas shoes.

I did find it amusing that Alma wouldn’t stop berating an older girl who was playing barefoot in the mud.

“She’s gonna get her pants wet! She doesn’t have shoes on! She can’t go in the puddles!”

Her mom was nearby.

I just said, “That’s up to her and her mommy or daddy to decide honey.” (as I continued to yell at my kids to stay out of the puddles… awkward, awkward, awkward)

Here’s what else there AREN’T pictures of:

1) Our kids both instantly falling asleep as we drive off for lunch, so we have to drive around for an hour being quiet.

2) My son crying when we have to wake him up because we HAVE TO EAT.

3) My son demanding to walk outside while we’re trying to eat at Chilis, throwing all food offered to him across the room. (even slimy segments of mandarin oranges)

4) Mommy downing two margaritas.

5) Daddy saying he needs to work on the computer and mommy nearly having a nervous breakdown considering time alone with the kids.

So, I took Alma to buy white poster board to draw on with markers outside.

Look how adorable she was playing with the neighborhood kids.

poster board

What you don’t see:

1) Huck stealing all balls from the neighbor’s garage. Bouncy balls, plastic softballs, a football.

2) Huck repeatedly kicking said balls toward the road.

3) Alma looking shocked and appalled when the neighbor’s little girl wouldn’t let her have a turn at basketball. (awkward, awkward, awkward)

So, we go back inside and I serve up the kids an enviable spread of fresh fruit, Gouda and ham.

fruit spread

We watch Monsters Inc. for the 30th time.

I give the kids a bath, which means I get soaked from head to toe, chase around a naked maniac who refuses to put on a diaper and occasionally pisses on the carpet and manhandle my cranky daughter who screams at me to get her into her PJ’s and then screams even louder that she CAN DO IT HERSELF!

At this point, my husband is still on the effing computer and I shout downstairs, “Are you DONE YET?”

He storms up and says no, but takes over. So, then I feel like a shitty wife.

My husband can’t get his work done and I am already trying to figure out if enough time has passed since lunch for me to start drinking alcohol again.

Let’s just say the night ended with me breaking my diet to eat a Lean Cuisine and my husband telling me I had purple teeth. Wine drinkers feel me.

No pictures of that folks.

Smoke and mirrors friends.

The most commonly heard phrase in our household used to be “I love you.”

Now, it’s “Go to bed.”

Our children are trying to slowly destroy us with interrupted sleep.

In the middle of the night my daughter started horror movie shrieking from her bedroom. I rushed in to find her placidly playing with crayons. She calmly asked, “Can I have a glass of water please?”

Her screaming disturbed Huck, so within a few minutes as I am just about to drift off to sleep, he strolls into our room and says in an outside voice, “Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?”

For absolutely no reason.

My husband and I shout nearly in unison, “GO TO BED!”

I can only think of two things worse than being awoken by my children: A fire alarm or being waterboarded.


I love sleep. Why don’t my kids? Or maybe the better question is WHY DO OUR CHILDREN HATE US?

Why else would they refuse to sleep through the night when they are so far beyond infancy?

You know how in movies sometimes, it seems so sweet when the parents rushes to their child’s bedroom to calm their fears after a nightmare?


It’s not cute. It IS the nightmare.

And now my husband is harboring not so secret resentment toward me because I am a sound sleeper.

heavy sleeper

Oh, I am fully aware that the mumbled f-bombs and sh-bombs are for me.

Hey, if I were wearing ear plugs I’d be a bad parent. But, it’s not my fault that after 3 years of not getting enough sleep my subconscious has tuned out MEANINGLESS SHRIEKING.

Even if I do wake up, it takes me infinitely longer to get the kids back to sleep. I guess something about mommy screams “party time!”

But, I can’t just tell my husband at 4 a.m. “Honey, you’re so much BETTER at putting them back to sleep.”

Heaven forbid there is ever an actual emergency involving my kids. I will shoot out of bed like a zombie and shout, “GO TO BED!”

zombie mommy


Things that make me irrationally angry on a regular basis:

1) Deodorant stains on the bottom of my shirt.


2) When the bottom of my jeans get wet from puddles, then I sit on my feet at work and then my butt is also wet.

3) When you dye your hairline and actually end up dyeing your forehead and/or ears.

hair dye

Miss Jolie, you’re doing it wrong.

4) Peaches that look absolutely delicious, but are actually tasteless and gritty like they’ve been pumped full of oatmeal.

5) When the Walgreens employees tell me to “be well.”

be well

I hate you ALL.

6) When drivers blast crappy music with the windows down. It’s usually angry rap or Mexican music that makes me crave salsa. (Tampa NOT Tijuana)


This is not what the drivers look like, but this picture ALSO makes me want salsa.

7) Forced banter with the hair stylist. We have nothing in common except that for that hour we both care about my hair.

8) People who can’t properly pronounce words ending in “ing.” It’s not cry-EEN or walk-EEN. These people typically also have difficulty spell-EEN.

9) When you get to the bottom of the coffee cup and the grounds have piled up, the last swallow like cold, bitter mud.


10) My kids. Okay, kidding… kind of.

alma huck

For the first time in my life, we are paying someone to clean our house.


I am terribly conflicted about this stunning development.

Part of me stands by the long list of reasons why I have always cleaned up after myself.

1) My mama raised me that way.

2) Nobody else should have to deal with my filth.

3) Maids are for rich folk.

Then, there is the part of me that thinks I will sleep more soundly knowing mysterious kid goop will disappear, nail clippings will be sucked from the carpet like an alien abduction and we might finally be able to see through the glass doors of the shower.

We were still so uncomfortable with the concept that we totally spent an hour last night “pre-cleaning.” Which begs the question, why are we paying someone else to do it?

My husband swept and vacuumed up all the dog hair. (and then told the kids the resulting tumbleweed was a Guinea pig. I swear my son’s eyes lit up with excitement for a second)

kids cleaning

The kids “helping Daddy” by yanking the cord around.

I wiped down all of the counters and tidied up all the random marbles, rubber bands and dirty socks that migrate around the house like gypsies. (no offense to any Gypsies out there)

I’m just hoping the woman who cleans sees that there’s no food goo on the kitchen counters and forgives the strange pink mold on the floor of our shower.

The last time we had someone clean for us we were moving out of our bungalow and letting the renters move in.

When the woman said, “Man, these people probably never cleaned the house before. The dog hair is unbelievable,” my husband straight up lied and pretended it was the previous renters. (who didn’t exist… we were the ones living in a house of filth)

We aren’t disgusting people. We are just full-time professionals with two messy rugrats, two mush-faced old dogs and ZERO TIME.

cleaning kids

We are just scraping by.

It’s a choice between laundry or cleaning.

Bath time or cleaning.

Eating or cleaning.

Sleeping or cleaning.

At some point, you’re just like SCREW CLEANING.

Unless there is Vodka. Then, I would consider drinking and cleaning.

drinking and cleaning

I didn’t realize that as a parent I would unintentionally terrify my children on a regular basis.

Last night, I’m reading Alma a picture book and we were on the sea creatures page. I pointed at the lobster and said, “I loooove to eat lobster.”


She looked horrified and said, “You can’t eat that!”

Guess I shouldn’t tell her about where her chicken nuggets and fish sticks come from. I mean, they are called “chicken” nuggets and “fish” sticks. Guess she hasn’t made the connection yet.

The other book I chose to read her last night was all about the tooth fairy.

Yes, honey. Part of your body will fall off within a handful of years and some creepy little person will sneak in while you’re sleeping to steal it and leave you with some money.

tooth fairy

It’s no wonder we all have nightmares as adults about our teeth falling out. It’s some latent PTSD from learning about the tooth fairy as toddlers.

teeth falling out

This past weekend we took the kids to the Tampa Bay Airfest. We were trapped in bumper to bumper traffic in the seedy neighborhood near the Air Force Base for at least an hour. We got to spend several minutes inspecting each haunted house and shanty. At least I got a picture of this gem.

glamour shots

Super proud of our Glamour Shots from ’89?

By the time we got to the base, Alma was “pissing her pantalones” as my husband would say.

It was the perfect opportunity to introduce my daughter to the terrors of the Porta-Potty.

porta potty

I’m holding her over an enormous hole filled with neon blue water, used tampons and other people’s crap.

She’s chanting repeatedly, “I can’t go. I can’t go.”

After it’s over, I can tell she’s never going to go in another public restroom again.

Then, we sit around and watch F-16 fighter jets (Alma calls them “Fire Jets”) nearly collide and crash into the crowd, bursting our ear drums.

alma scared

Yay! Our little aviation enthusiast is now going to be more inclined to take the Greyhound.

Our son had a blast. Our daughter was too scared to even eat a cheeseburger.


I recently made the mistake of watching Goonies with the kids. Within minutes, I realize that showing toddlers a movie that revolves around murderous Mafia-linked jailbirds with a deformed sibling chained in a basement was probably not the best call. (I turned it off before we really got to know the Fratellis)


So, I think I am going to try to do a better job of not traumatizing my children.

“No, baby, you will never have lumps of fat that sprout on your chest, or bleed profusely once a month.”

“Farmers raise chickens and goats because they’re just so darn cute!”

“The lobster I eat has absolutely nothing to do with Sebastian from The Little Mermaid. This one is fake, like tofu.” (Which Alma calls “Toe Food.” Sounds about right.)

“The tooth fairy is me. Me and dad. We determine how much money you’ll get while you’re sleeping. Those old teeth? Garbage can little friend.”

At 1 in the morning, I awake to my daughter screaming for “mommy.” I turn to my husband and ask in sleepdrunken stupor, “which kid is that?”

He says, “It doesn’t matter, just go.”

I find her wide-eyed in bed. She says, “something pulled my arm.”

I said, “Like your arm got stuck on something?”

She says, “No, something grabbed my arm and pulled me.”

She says she’s too scared to sleep in her bed because it might grab her and pull her again.

A normal mommy would react in the following possible ways:

1) “Honey, you must’ve just had a bad dream. Nothing grabbed your arm.” (and then probably sing “Hush Little Baby”)

2) “Baby, your pajamas are just too tight.” (She insists on wearing flannel Minnie Mouse pajamas in Florida in March that are a size 24 months… and she’s 3)

minnie pajamas

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am not a normal mommy. I immediately feel a shiver of chills and start imaging evil spirits grabbing my daughter by her elbow to pull her away.

vintage ghost

It would explain why she always seems possessed. In my drowsy state, I am unable to process what she has told me and probably look as creeped out as she is.

So, I take her into our bed with her pillow, bunny and blanket.

Within 2 minutes she is kicking me repeatedly.

She says the blanket is making her itch.

Then she says she needs water.

Then she says she spilled the water.

Then she says there is something in her eye. Specifically something black. I think that is what we call “night” or “darkness.”

My husband shouts that she needs to stop talking and she starts to cry harder about the imaginary thing in her eye.

Alma and I relocate to the couch where she yells at me that my legs are too long.

Finally I take her back to bed where she shrieks like she’s being assaulted.

Eventually, her wails are intermittently interrupted with mumbles of “I have to potty” “I have to potty.”

So, we attend to that business.

I finally get her to go back to sleep in her room with her ghost.

ghost lady

The it takes me another hour to fall back asleep.

At this point, we’re getting about as much sleep as a typical parent of a 3 month old. Everybody expects that mom to be exhausted and cranky.

So, do I get a pass? Can I drool on my desk and tell someone to F-off and blame it on my shitty night of sleep?

Maybe tonight will be better. Unless the grabby banshee goes for my son.


In which case, we’re gonna go to that exorcist I just heard about in Lakeland.