Why Do Moms Always Talk About Coffee and Wine???

Okay, what is up with all the talk about moms needing coffee and wine? Seriously! It’s everywhere. I see something pop up on my Facebook newsfeed almost everyday with this type of content. Why the hell do they need these beverages so badly? I’ll see a post that says, “No talking before my coffee” and it gets a thousand likes or picture of a swimming pool that says “fill my wine glass up to here,” and it gets another thousand likes? (Okay I made that last one up). But what’s up with that shit? Why aren’t we over that already? Well sit down now…’cause I’m about to tell you.

Here’s why we need the coffee:

We may have children who wake up several times a night and our “day” actually begins at bedtime, so by the time the morning comes around, we need a little “pick-me-up.”

We may have 20 things or more that we have to get done by 8:00 a.m.

Because cocaine is illegal.

We are addicted to caffeine and don’t want a withdrawal headache. Fo’ real (you don’t want that).

Without it, we can be real bitches and quite frankly, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.

We need our eyes to open fully, not half-way, because that could just be dangerous.

We may not even have time to eat breakfast for crying out loud, because we are too busy taking care of our kids. We have to put at least SOMETHING into our bodies!

We can personalize and adjust it to our mood, diet, etc…

We are thirsty.

Because we drank a little bit of wine last night and we need the coffee to help shake that off…which leads to the second part…

Here’s why we need the wine:

We may not have even sat down yet for the entire day and just need to relax and unwind. I mean shit, we may be moms, but we ARE human.

It’s 9:00 p.m. and we have to celebrate the fact that our kids are asleep, even if they only stay asleep until midnight.

We may be so worried about something, whether it be our children, cabin fever (for the stay-at home moms), careers (for the working moms), bills, the dog, the cat, the husband…I mean what DON’T we worry about? Our minds need a break!

It tastes really effing delicious.

Just because.

Sometimes, it helps us engage in sexual relations with the husband…if you know what I’m sayin’.

Because it helps us stay sane and out of the looney bin.

Because tequila, whiskey, and rum are just a little too strong (sometimes).

We are really really thirsty.

We feel glamourous drinking out of a wine glass, even if we are in sweatpants with no make-up and our hair is a mess. There is something about the stem on that glass…well there’s just something about it.

So really, there are a lot of reasons why we are not over the coffee and wine chatter already. But here is the big one. You ready? Okay…here it goes. We share everything with our children! Some of us share our beds, we’ve shared our wombs, we share our televisions to watch stupid cartoons, we even share the bathroom, because we all know we can’t get a minute alone. But here’s the awesome thing about wine and coffee…we don’t have to share it, because the kids can’t have it!

So DO NOT even for one single second feel guilty when you get your beverage in hand and shout out to the world…IT’S MINE! IT’S MINE! IT’S ALL MINE!!! Myuahahaha!

(Just don’t wake the children when you do this)

So CHEERS! Here’s to coffee, wine, and to us!

Share or like if you like and read my damn book, because the sequel will be out soon and you don’t want to miss out!

Puke and True Love


The second c-section should have been a breeze, or so I thought. Patiently waiting there with my arms strapped down in the freezing cold white room and the blue cloth draped over me so I couldn’t actually see them cutting open my uterus, I was ready. I was like, bring it on! Pregnancy is too damn long and my baby boy was fully cooked. Plus, I had spent the last five days trying to keep him from falling out of my asshole.

“Do you feel this?” asked the doctor while he did the pinch test.

“Nope, not a thing,” I replied. Of course that wasn’t true. I could feel pressure, not pain, but this wasn’t my first rodeo and I knew what to expect.

The anesthesiologist stood behind me. “I think we have you nice and numb,” he said under his face mask.

My husband stood on the side watching the disection, with eager eyes. He was as excited as I was. Not only because we were having our second little boy, but also because he got to wear scrubs. I think wearing the scrubs made him feel like a bad-ass. He kept telling me things like, “you’re doing great,” and “good work honey.” I remember thinking, what the fuck was I so great at? I was lying there like The Exorcist strapped to a bed and couldn’t move even if I wanted to. I guess he felt like I needed encouragement, but I was starting to get queasy. Suddenly, the anesthesiologist started asking me questions. They were off-topic questions. He asked about what I majored in while in college, where I liked to vacation, and if I was a big sports fan. I had never heard such pointless jabber in all my live-long days. I remember thinking, is this guy for real? I’m trying to have a fucking baby here and he wants to know if I watch football?

My mouth started watering. I was getting totally nauseous. Between my babbling husband and the windy numbing doctor, all I wanted was for them to shut their big fat giant word-holes.

“Excuse me sir,” I said. “I think I may throw up.”

“Well,” he said, “let me get you a cold cloth to put on your forehead. My grandaughter always likes a damp compress when she gets a tummy ache. This works for many of my patients.”

“Umm…okay,” I replied. In my head I was cussing out his stupid grandaughter. This wasn’t a flipping tummy ache. My “tummy” was currently in a thousand pieces…on a table…with a baby being cut out of it. Tummy ache my ass! He pressed the towel on my head and I could still feel the pulling and pushing going on down in my baby bakery. I tried to keep my head as still as possible and wish the pukes away. “See there,” he said. “I have always believed that a wet cloth works better than medication.”

Fuck that shit. I wanted the medication.

“Here he is!” I heard my OB doc say. “It’s definitely a boy and he’s already peeing!” I heard my sweet precious baby crying. “He looks great!” he continued. I couldn’t wait to see him, hold him, kiss him. Tears ran down my face even though I hadn’t yet set eyes on him. Complete and utter overwhelming joy is the only way to describe my feelings at that moment…oh…yeah and also sick as a muthafucka. I saw his darling little head peek above the drape as they held him up and at that very second, I vomited all over myself. It really was like The Exorcist. I was just waiting for my head to spin in a 360 degree circle. Once I started puking, I couldn’t stop. The anesthesiologist grabbed me a bowl and I continued to violently hurl up bile. The same nasty shit you puke up after a night of martinis. It was loud, horrid heaving and showed no signs of stopping. The nurses brought my new little boy over to me and I was so in love…PUKE…he was a miracle…BLUAHHH…one of the two best moments of my life…GWAAAYAH!

“Okay sweetie, we have to take him and get some measurements. You poor thing. It’s not supposed to be like this” said a sweet and sympathetic nurse.

I had to remain in that torture chamber of a bed and my eyes met with those of the numbing doctor. I wanted to take the damp cloth and shove it down his stupid throat. I actually would have liked to have pulled out my I.V. and poked him in the ass with it. But I was still puking.

“I’ll go ahead and put some Zofran into your I.V.” he said.

Now? Right now, genius? What happened to your wet rag you fucking turd? But I couldn’t say anything. I was too sick. They finally rolled me into my room and brought my precious angel to me and put him in my arms. I immediately started nursing him and all was right in the world…only my sweet little nurse was on the other side holding my puke tray.

Once my baby finished nursing, I let the family in to meet the new addition. It was both sets of grandparents, my 17 month-old son, my brother, and of course my husband. I was still vomiting, despite the anti-nausea meds that were administered way too damn late. As they passed my darling son around, the room got quiet. And then it happened…the loudest fart in the history of flatulence. I was still numb, I didn’t even feel it come out. Apparently this was quite funny…a real gas (catch that pun). Everyone was laughing, except me, because I was still hurling. I had tears falling from my eyes from the pressure of the chunk-blows. Various substances were leaking from every part of my body, like literally every part.

“Sorry I farted,” I managed to whisper.

“Happens all the time,” said the nurse still holding my vomit tray.

I puked for eight straight hours that day, but held my baby close the whole time. By my third pregnancy I requested Zofran (anti-nausea meds) be ordered for the c-section at my very first prenatal appointment. Yeah, you learn a hell of a lot from having babies. One major thing I learned that day is that a hell of a lot more comes out of your body on delivery day than a precious little miracle. But yeah…it was totally worth it. It was so worth it, I could just puke.

Share or like…so more people can hear about the joys of childbirth :)

(or do an interpretive dance to express your feelings…I mean whatever floats your boat)

I Can’t Be The Only One

Some days, I literally feel like I am going crazy. I wonder if I can make it through another day. Then, I feel guilty for feeling this way. Am I the only one who does crap like this? Am I the only one who is losing it?

I can’t be the only one that wants to scream “TALK AMONGST YOUR GODDAM SELVES!” when members at the family party are watching (staring) in horrified silence as my kid throws a ridiculous whopping fit.

I can’t be the only one who crosses my fingers that my own strep throat test comes back positive so that I can be quarantined for 24 hours until the antibiotics kick in.

I can’t be the only one who simply cannot answer the phone at times because the noise level in my house is just plain embarrassing.

I can’t be the only one who has to wear big sunglasses to hide the fact that I just got done crying my eyes out because I’m so freaking overwhelmed.


I can’t be the only one who has to try and not laugh when my toddler drops something and then says, “oh shit!” even though I feel the mom fail alarm going off in my head.

I can’t be the only one who sometimes wants to call my mama and have her come and make everything alright like she did when I was a little girl.

I can’t be the only one who feels like when it comes to parenting, I have no idea what the hell I am doing.

I can’t be the only one who wants to put my children in a bubble so that I can protect them from everything, even though I know logically that I can’t.

I can’t be the only one who drives down the road with my kids safely buckled in the backseat of the minivan listening to loud music and daydreaming about literally swinging from a chandelier while drinking champagne and wearing a silver tutu, because I need a break so damn bad that I’d go wild if I ever got one.

I can’t be the only one who mentally tells my kids to shut the hell up.

I can’t be the only one who feels guilty if I let my kids spend way too much time on the XBOX and i-pad and television because it’s the only way I can get anything done.

I can’t be the only one who feels like I nag my husband all the freaking time, even though he needs what I refer to as, “guidance.”

I can’t be the only one who carries toy cars, diapers and lip gloss around in my purse all laying on top of finely crushed animal crackers.

I can’t be the only one who is ready for bed at 3 p.m. every.single.day.

I can’t be the only one who feels alone.

I sometimes honestly feel like I am the only one who can’t get it right. When I see that family out at a restaurant and their children AREN’T acting like maniacs, or I see people’s pictures on Facebook where everyone is smiling and no one is bleeding…I can’t help but question what the hell I’m doing wrong. Why do I feel like a lesser mother? It can be a very lonely place. That’s why once in a while, I do have to call my mom and ask her to come over and help me feel better. My husband has to help me too. I have to stay in touch with other moms, even the ones who seem to have all their shit together. This is why I read “mom blogs” and this is also EXACTLY why I write them. We have to stick together. I will admit that I need support. I think the saying, “it takes a village,” does not only apply to children, but to moms as well. Look, Carol Brady had Alice. The Jetson’s had Rosie. Even on Full House it took two ass clowns, a smokin’ hot man sent straight from the Greek Gods (Uncle Jesse), and an Aunt Becky to raise those girls, remember that shit? I may not ever figure all this out. I may not have a single picture with all my kids looking at the camera, or a single day without a meltdown, but with the support that I lean on to get me through, I will do this. But I won’t do it alone. I just can’t be the only one.

As always…share if you like or more so, if you relate. Thanks a million!

Hey January, Let’s Do This.

Dear January,

I see you coming. You are waiting over there with your dreary days and bitter temperatures, ready to take us down and hold us there until we beg for mercy and impulsively book a vacation we can’t afford just so we have something to look forward to. I already did that, by the way, so see January…I’m one step ahead of you, you little bastard. This year is going to be different. I have mentally, physically, and pharmaceutically armed myself against your wicked little games. By the time I am done with you, you’ll be screaming for February to come save your ass with its chocolate hearts and its multiple days dedicated to Presidents. I’m making some changes this year. Your seasonal depression can’t touch me. So come on January, let’s do this shit.



It’s about to be a new year. News flash: Most people are hungover on January 1st. So, it’s really not a good day, but you know this don’t you? But not this year bitch. This year, I am not drinking on New Year’s Eve. That’s right. You heard me. I may offer to drive someone. I may stay home and have a party with my kids. I may even turn in early so I can start the New Year fresh as a daisy. Maybe I’ll get up early and rent a rug doctor and go full-blown spotless up in here. This New Years day, maybe I’ll even clean out my closet. At any rate, I will NOT puke on January 1st. You are already shaking in your boots aren’t you?

The holidays get blamed for the weight gain, but January…oh you pitiful little month..you and I both know that’s when the hibernation begins, the baggy sweatshirts get pulled out and that’s when we feel free to gain the extra pounds that we promise ourselves we’ll work off in the spring. You are a con artist. You mask yourself as the “resolution” month, but in reality, you are a fraud. Not this year asshole. I’m leaving the baggy clothes tucked away. I’m eating shit that tastes terrible and I am SO getting my sexy back and holding on tight to any of the sexy that I have left. I will not let extra pounds contribute to your mission of seasonal depression. I’m even gonna keep shaving my legs.You will not have my body January. It’s mine.

Flu season? Guess what fuckface? I already had it. We’ve already had the flu, bronchitits, croup, random bouts of intestinal hell on earth, and guess what? Even if a virus does hit this house, there is NO way it can be worse than it was in November and December, so you LOST loser. Step aside.

Your trick of isolation isn’t going to work either. If it’s super freezing cold, I’ll I will make plans and I will keep them. I will not hide out inside this house due to the feeling of not wanting to get out of bed. Every year this happens, but not this time. In fact, I’m already filling the calendar with activities so you can’t hold me hostage in this house. I’ve even pulled out my secret weapon; I’m going to Vegas (recall the trip I can’t afford). I’m reconnecting with old friends and new friends and facebook friends and I’ll even make up some imaginary friends if that’s what it comes down to. I will be a social butterfly in the middle of the winter. Watch me fly mother effer.

There are so many other things I plan to do and I will not let you ruin it. I plan on finishing writing my next book, spending quality time with my children, rearranging furniture just for the hell of it, and possibly even skipping through the countryside while singing 80’s power ballads and snapping merrily along with the tunes. If it snows, I will not complain. I will bundle up my shrinky dinks and we will simply frolick and play. There are no limits.

So January, here’s where I extend my middle finger to you. I realize there may be ups and downs. I realize that seasonal depression is not a choice, but I also realize that I can arm myself against it. I have happy pills, hope, and some fight left in me. I may even scotch tape my lips up to keep that smile nice and tight. Oh yes January, we may fight each other in many battles this year. Hell, I may even let you win the one about the whole leg-shaving thing. But I will win the war.


Oh yes…I will win the war.


Your Worthy Opponent

As always, share or like if you like.

If you need more to smile (or laugh) about this January, then read my damn books!

The Unbalancing Act


The Vada Diaries



Dear Husband, I Must Confess…

I must confess. Most of us have “little secrets” we keep from our mates. Call it “privacy,” call them “fibs,” call them “lies” if that’s what suits your fancy. It’s our 9-year wedding  anniversary today, so I’ve decided that its time for me to come clean. I am confessing. I’m bearing my soul here people. So husband, here it goes, this one’s for you.


1. I don’t really have IBS, I am just addicted to my Kindle.

2. I shop online after we fight. This is because I want to get back at you and also because when you find out, I know you will be too sick of fighting to bring up how much money I spent.

3. I make plans that involve “couples outtings” and then ask you later if you want to go, even though I’ve already committed you.

4. When I forget to buy something you’ve asked me to pick up at the store, I often lie and tell you that they were out of that product.

5. My “time of the month” does not actually last 7 days. I’ll let you stew on that one for a bit.

6. I told you I only had two glasses of wine, but in reality, I lost count after 4, so when I tell you I think its really a “stomach bug” after a girls night out…I’m just full of shit (and wine).

7. I have an upcoming Vegas trip planned that you do not yet know about…but don’t worry, you are coming along.

8. I sometimes call you horrible names after you leave your whiskers in the sink. The names I call you are so horrifically bad that I can’t even write them down.

9. I sometimes walk around in nothing but underpants in the morning with the intention of making you want a piece of this, but you usually ignore it and ask me to iron something for you, so I leave parts of your shirts wrinkled…on purpose, because you hurt my feelings.

10. I tell you that you are the only man for me, but I think that John Stamos may possibly be an exception.

11. If you and I were stranded on a deserted island, I’d probably make you do most of the work and boss you around.

12. Sometimes, when we are driving and I casually flip through radio stations in search of a catchy tune, I quickly skip through your favorite station because I can’t handle that shit.

13. When we were dating I told you I was once on a television game show to try and impress you. (I really and truly did this…OMG) I also told you that I won the grand prize. Lies!!!

14. I occassionally pretend that I don’t see that the dog just shit downstairs and then I ask you to run down and grab something for me so that you will see it and pick it up so that I don’t have to.

15. I always know what I want to eat, but when you ask me I say, “I don’t care,” and then reject everything you suggest until you finally offer the choice that I was originally hoping for.

16. I pretend that I don’t know the gas tank is on empty. I do this a lot. Like a really lot.

17. I tell you that I hate “Regular Show” on Cartoon Network and that it’s stupid that you watch it, but it’s actually one of my favorite shows.

18. When I tell you I bought this “on sale” I typically meant it was “for sale” and then justify it in my mind as just a wrong-word choice.

19. “The grocery store was packed!” I say after my alone trips to the store. Although this may be true, it usually takes me so long because I walk really slow down the aisles and then take the long way home.

20. It didn’t really bother me that you played poker with your friends until 4 in the morning on our wedding night because I was really tired and wanted to go to sleep anyways.

Let’s get something straight though. Just because I have now confessed these things, it doesn’t necessarily mean they will change, so you are just gonna have to deal with it. But I love you husband, even after 9 LONG years.

BTW, The Vada Diaries is FREE right now in the Kindle Store, so click here to get it! Share if you like, so your filthy minded friends will know. We’ve all got some :)


Awkward Moments and Why I Love Them So…

There are certain situations in life that may leave you feeling about as comfortable as a woman with a flaming UTI (the kind where it feels like someone poured Sriracha sauce into your urethra). However, in hindsight they can be pretty damn funny. I can’t help but love awkward moments. Here are some personal faves:

When someone asks, “What are you up to?”

And you reply, “Fine. How are you?”


When someone tries to call you and you don’t answer for whatever reason and then you look down and they are standing at your front door looking through the glass at you with your phone still ringing in your hand.


When you say, “Hey, I have that same shirt!”

And the person sweetly replies, “Thank you!”


When you run into a set of your child’s friends’ parents somewhere and you try to introduce them to your husband but you can’t for the love of all that is savory and delicious recall what the effing hell their names are, so you just tell them what your husband’s name is and pray they will take it from there.


When you are taking a leak in a public restroom and it is clear from all of your God-given senses that that the person next you is definitely working on a #2, but it’s gone silent. You can tell that they are trying to hold it in until you leave. (But you see their shoes and will later run into them knowing they just took a massive crap)


When you are in the parking lot and fight over a parking space with a fellow patron, giving each other evil looks and hand gestures and then you end up in line right next to each other at the checkout counter because its the only lane that’s open.


After going out to eat with a friend that you haven’t seen in a while and as you walk out to the car, no one really knows whether to hug or not so you just stand there dragging on a pointless conversation. You eventually cross your arms because someone has to make a damn decision about the hug and its better to send the “no hug” body language signal than to go for it with arms wide open, only to have them back away in uncomfortable rejection.


When a friend cancels plans on you because they think they have “strep throat” and then you see them tagged in a Facebook photo partying like a rockstar. And then you can’t possibly resist “liking” the photo.


When chatting with someone (an acquaintance, salesperson, anyone really) and while they are speaking, a spritz of saliva heaves out of their mouth and lands ever so delicately on your face. You don’t want to wipe it off in front of them and embarrass them even further, so you have to stand there with spit on your face until you can get away.

There are many more to list, it could go on and on… So many awkward moments, so little time.

Share if you like and don’t forget The Unbalancing Act is on a Kindle Countdown deal for $.99 thru Nov. 15th! Click the link below to find it on Amazon.



I know right? Could you imagine? I thank the Lord everyday for these little people who are determined to make me add Abilify to increase the effectiveness of my already-crazy-meds. However, do you sometimes think, what the hell would I be doing with my life if I never had kids? And sure, you can still do lots of awesome things even once you have the little critters, but this is hypothetical, so here are some theories of who I could have been:

A Las Vegas street performer, probably in a dirty Elmo costume.

A person who dies from walking tight ropes over terribly dangerous places without safety nets while blindfolded.

A fucking mime. I love silence.

The most horrible flight attendant in the world because Valium messes with me at high altitudes and I have the mindset that if people want something, they should get off their asses and get it themselves.

Ooh! I would love to be the host of “What Would You Do?” Move over John Quinones!

An American Idol hopeful that would be shown in the clips getting cut by the judges and then crying and begging them to let me try one more song.

A raging alcoholic.

In prison for stalking John Stamos.

A hippie with dreadlocks and barefeet who lives off the land and makes dandelion headbands (this is mostly because I hate shaving and mowing the lawn).

A zookeeper. I’m really good at cleaning up shit, and by shit I mean…shit.

A short person store fashion designer. Ain’t nobody wanna waste more money on alterations.

A paranormal investigator, because I ain’t afraid of no ghost. (That’s not true. I am afraid)

The most glorious grocery sacker in the land. I would carefully coordinate your purchases making it easy and effective to unload your goodies because it is important to me. Truly important to me.

A protester. I have no idea what I would protest, but they are all so passionate and I’m sure if I had more free time I would be passionate about something. Maybe I’d hold signs in front of coffee shops that say, QUIT PUMPKIN SPICING ALL OUR SHIT!

A pot head.

A hoarder who hoards nothing but foam cups from Sonic. (This one may already be in the works)

A winner at Wheel of Fortune, because I suck at life, but if I had time I would try everyday to get on that show because its the ONLY thing I’m REALLY good at (besides air hockey).

The star of a tampon commercial.

Someone who participates in all of the clinical research trials in order to help research while at the same time being handsomely compensated for time and travel.

A member of a sensational travelling barbershop quartet.

The person who dresses up like the Statue of Liberty and dances in front of the tax service place. They are such fun individuals. I almost can’t think of a job more fun than that. Just delightful.

A body double for Danny Devito in Hollywood.

The list could just go on and on. Oh the things I would have time for! But really, this morning when my two year-old held my face in his hands and said, “you precious girl, you are my best friend” it made me really grateful that I had those little suckers. They are sure hard, but I wouldn’t trade this for any other life. Sorry Danny Devito…you are just going to have to find someone else.

Like me, share me, follow me, (sorry that sounds so Charles Manson-ey)!