Bringing Sexy Back

Hey you…in the yoga pants with your hair all a mess and that mystery stain on your shirt. I bet you feel super sexy right now, huh? Don’t worry. After we have kids, sexy often takes a backseat to motherhood and that’s perfectly normal, so don’t freak out. The fact of the matter is, that it’s not always easy to keep things spicy in your marriage, or to even feel desirable. You may feel like you left your sexy somewhere in your minivan, or wonder if perhaps it was removed during childbirth. But you still got it and I’m ’bout to give you some tips on how to get it back into your relationship.

  • Take a booby picture and send it to your honey out of nowhere. I’m not a selfie person in general, but trust me…one quick snapshot of the lady-tots and your fella will be strutting in the door with a bottle of wine and a plastic-wrapped rose from the gas station.
  • Ask him to rub your back. Yeah, it may sound self-serving…but what he hears is “I need your hands on me right now and you have a big ding dong.” I know it’s irrational, but that’s how their minds work. This one’s a bonus because he wants your body and you get a back rub..
  • When you kiss goodbye in the morning, hold the smooch. That little peck thing becomes so common that if you keep it going for a good five seconds and add a little lip smacking, he’ll be so surprised that body parts are going to start responding. It’s just nature.
  • Groom the kitty cat. A change of scenery never hurt anyone. You don’t have to shave it all the way, or do the whole, rip-off-the-labia-and-scream-like-a-donkey-in-labor-waxing-bit. Just clean up the front yard a little bit. If nothing else, it will be a nice surprise.
  • Bend at the waist while doing chores. Keep those knees locked while unloading the bottom rack of the dishwasher. Downward facing dog while you sweep those goldfish cracker crumbs into the dustpan. He’ll notice that sexy you have going on, and if he doesn’t…well, there’s no shame in twerking in the kitchen.
  • Utilize your closet space. Doing the nasty is down right difficult if you have rugrats that wake up a gazillion billion times a night because they need to pee, get thirsty, projectile vomit, and so on and so forth. So before bedtime, whisper in his ear an invitation for a late night game of poke-her in the closet. Why the closet you ask? It has a DOOR!! Be sure to do it swiftly, as they will eventually find you…
  • Buy yourself a pretty little night gown. It doesn’t have to pair nicely with a pole, or a pair of 6-inch platform heels or anything like that, but just something pretty that makes you feel good about yourself will do the trick. I mean hell, it’s gotta make you feel sexier than that shirt with the mystery stain, right? And you deserve something new anyways.
  • “Forget” your towel when you take a shower. Sometimes, they just fail to remember what they’re missing. So yelling, “honey…can you please bring me a towel?” followed by your back arched and your hands running slowly through your hair while dripping wet is a pretty strong reminder that you’ve got private parts that he hasn’t seen in a while (just be careful not to throw your back out while trying for the right pose, trust me on this).

Feeling like a sexy mother may sound far fetched when you basically wear spit-up as perfume and to you the word “naughty” means finding a kiddo coloring on the wall. Trust me, I get it. I’m right there with you. But once in a while it’s okay to be a little naughty yourself. You may be a mom, but you are still a woman for crying out loud and there’s nothing wrong with making him want a piece of what you’re serving up. And sometimes we have to take the initiative. So go on ladies…get your sexy back.

And Gentlemen,

You’re Welcome

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Asking Grandma to Babysit

(phone call)

G-ma: Hello?

Me: Hi mom, what are you doing?

G-ma: Not much. Just folding some laundry.

Me: Oh that sounds like fun.

G-ma: Oh yeah, I am just living the dream.

Me: Yep

G-ma: Uhh-huh…

Me: Well…everything okay? You have anything on your agenda this weekend?

G-ma: Not really, I may go shopping on Sunday with (my aunt).

Me: Well you two are about as fun as Kathie Lee and Hoda

G-ma: Who the hell is Yoda?

Me: No mom, you know the ladies that drink wine on The Today Show?

G-ma: Oh yeah, I know who you’re talking about.

Me: Yeah…well…any big plans for Saturday night?

G-ma: Oh…I’m probably just going to hit the strip clubs like I normally do, then get some drugs.

Me: Oh wow. You are fun.

G-ma: Yeah, no I don’t have anything going on.

Me: Oh well that’s nice. You can have a nice relaxing evening. Just reeee-lax. Relax the night away. Some R&R…yep, I hear ya. Relaxation. Sounds nice.

G-ma: Well, how about you?

Me: Me? Oh not really. Husband and I were talking about maybe doing something but we don’t have to. It’s really not a big a deal. I mean we probably shouldn’t spend the money and I think we’ll be tired. Besides, we really don’t care if we do anything or not…I mean it may just be good to stay home. In the house. In this house. That I’m always in. But yeah…no…we don’t have any plans…

G-ma: Would you like me to keep the kids so you can go out?


G-ma: You are an idiot. I’ll just keep them overnight. Just bring them whenever.

Me: Are you sure?? You don’t have to. Really it’s no big deal. We don’t have to go…

G-ma: Shut the hell up.

Me: Okay….I will! I will shut up…you sweet little angel disguised as a grandmother!

*now I do the happy dance all over the house and even attempt the splits which is NOT a good idea if you haven’t done them since the 6th grade.

And THAT my friends is how you land the Grandma sitter! SCORE!

Take My Toddler To the Store? I’d Rather….

I don’t think I can be the only one who loathes grocery shopping with my toddler. Regardless of the advice, that we should take them and the fact that many times we have to take them, it doesn’t change the fact that it can be a dreadful experience. Now now…I know there are some people who have little shopping cart angels that sit perfectly and don’t make a peep and that’s great. I’m not being a smart-ass either. I’m very happy for those who love it. But I’m going to be honest. I hate it. So, I made a list of things I would actually rather do than take my beloved toddler to the grocery store:

  1. French kiss Mike Tyson
  2. Squat down behind a horse and wait for it to kick me in the face
  3. Get a sledge hammer and shatter both my knee caps
  4. Strip naked and run head first into a rose bush
  5. Eat a dead possum with a spoon
  6. Do a hard 48 hours in San Quentin
  7. Place my hand in a blender and turn it on “frappe”
  8. Get a “butterfly kiss” from someone with a nasty case of pink eye
  9. Run the Chicago Marathon backwards
  10. Sit all the way down with both buttcheeks to pee (no hovering) and with no protective paper…on a port-a-potty in the summer heat at a carnival…while eating cotton candy
  11. Take a huge gulp of the dirty water from my carpet cleaner
  12. Snuggle lovingly with a porcupine
  13. Go through airport security with a migraine and a bottle of liquid over 3.4 oz.
  14. Cut carbs
  15. Find out that Charles Manson is actually my biological father and he wants to establish a relationship
  16. Get a colonoscopy
  17. Try and survive “the fireswamp” from the movie, The Princess Bride
  18. Talk about politics with someone who actually likes to talk about politics
  19. Get a Brazilian wax
  20. Lick the finger holes in one of the balls at the local bowling alley
  21. Reverse Cowgirl…while sober…with the lights on
  22. Dehydrate myself to the point of medical intervention and then have the nurses repeatedly “try for a vein”
  23. Put leeches on my nipples and let ‘em chill for about an hour
  24. Place my pinky finger in the crack of the door and let someone slam that shit, HARD
  25. Get a pap smear in front of a group of eager-to-learn medical students
  26. Go on a paranormal investigation overnight, without a flashlight, and all by myself
  27. Play the effing Thomas the Train song on repeat during a 4-hour road trip
  28. Pour lemon juice and salt in both of my eyes
  29. Paint my toenails a pretty pink and then put cotton balls on top and let them dry that way
  30. Place my lips gently around a wasp’s nest and blow
  31. Only have one glass of wine
  32. Volunteer as tribute in The Hunger Games

Well, there’s my list. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m currently out of milk and bread, and even toilet paper which is just a must-have. So, if you’re like me and must face the grocery store with toddler in tow…good luck my friends. May the odds be ever in your favor…

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In Their Eyes…(while you are losing your sh*t)

You know that feeling you get when everything is going completely down the shitter and you want to throw in the towel, but then you realize there aren’t even any clean towels to throw in?! Been there, done that, just bought the motherfuckin’ t-shirt and guess what? It doesn’t fit.

You may be at your breaking point. You may have had bad news, one thing after the other and it never seems to end. Then, while pacing around trying to calm yourself down, you may hit your hip against the corner of the counter where it hurts like hell and leaves a dreadful looking bruise, and you mentally scream who the fuck put that counter there?!? Maybe that last part was just a personal experience, but we all get to a point now and then where we want to call it quits. Give up. Ride away into the sunset on a horse while sippin’ a canteen full of whiskey and singing “Let it Go” at the top of our lungs, but with cuss words in place of the real words.

Only then, you see those eyes…their eyes; following you from across the room, needing you, and depending on you. The world around you may seem like it’s falling apart. You may not know the answers…to basically anything. You may doubt yourself. You may question whether you are even good enough for them and think that they deserve better. How in the hell are you going to get through this? The heavy feeling in your chest makes you question whether you accidentally swallowed an apple seed and a Granny Smith Tree is growing rapidly in the warm, moist environment of your esophagus (I’ve always wondered about this). But really, it’s that same ol’ sonofabitch called “worry” messing with you. You try and breathe. You try and keep your cool, because their eyes…they are watching you. To escape, you could throw back shot glasses full of M&M’s, or say screw the chocolate and go straight to vodka. You could hide in the barrel of the dryer, because you know no one would find you there. You could fade away within yourself and go through the day without speaking a word unless it’s necessary, and typically only perk up around people who can’t tell that it’s fake.

This last week has kicked my ass. If I have a child who is struggling and I don’t know how to help them, it consumes me. It consumes me to the point where it’s not healthy. I worry to where I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t function. I constantly criticize myself for things I could be doing better or things I haven’t done. I am so far from “the perfect mom” that it’s no longer even on my radar. So last night, when I was walking around in tears because the only warm weather pajamas I could find for my first grader’s pajama day today were so small that they looked like Richard Simmons’ workout clothes, it triggered a lot of emotions. My eyes filled up with tears. I can’t find anything! I am so disorganized! I started asking myself, if you can’t even handle freaking pajama day, how are you going to handle the big problems in your life? Because pajamas seriously, are the least of my worries. Then I looked over and saw my first grader sitting on the stair looking at me with those precious eyes.

“Mom,” he said.

“What buddy?”

“You’re pretty and I love you.”

After a power-hug and teeth brushing, all my littles were ready for bed. I told my husband I would be right back. I ran up to Target and bought some summer pajamas and a bag of M&M’s that I tore through on the ride home, like a lion ripping through a zebra carcass. Then I thought to myself, I have three little sets of eyes watching me at home. If I crumble, what will they do? I can’t let this worry take me…at least not while they are watching, so there, on the road, going 35 mph down the middle of suburbia, I cried. I cried my eyes out. Then I came home, got my shit together, and kissed my boys goodnight.

I sent my older two to school today, one in brand new pajamas. Only, wait! Mom fail! I didn’t wash them before he wore them. But guess what? It was because my washer and dryer were both full. This is because, instead of throwing in the towel…I decided to wash the fuckers…all of them. And after I’m done writing this, I will go and fold them and put them away and I will probably mentally cuss a lot while I do it. Everything is going to be alright, because it has to be. Besides, I can’t find a horse to ride away on that can hold five people…and I can’t give up because they all need me. Looking at those little faces gives me strength to get through it…and I’m not going to lie, a little Xanax doesn’t hurt either.

So if you are hiding in the pantry or the closet, or in your own mind, go ahead and come on out. They need you, and in their eyes, you are perfect…and pretty, and they love you.

Just watch out for that damn corner of the counter, because that REALLY freaking hurts.

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My “Go EFF Yourself” List

There are so many things to love about life; the joys of motherhood, snuggling with the little ones, a great song, a great book, Netflix, and wine…but there are also a few things that I’m kind of pissed about. So here is my Go EFF Yourself List. Oh and husband, if you are reading this, don’t worry. You aren’t on it…yet.

Hey laundry:

Go fuck yourself. I’m sick of looking at you. You are always there, just lying around waiting to be washed, dried, folded and put away. You are not fun for me at all. I’ve tried to ignore you, but when I do that, you only get worse! On top of that, you keep showing up all around the house in every corner; a sock here, a t-shirt there. I hate you.

Hey periods:

Screw you. You are a vicious cycle. Literally. The monthly invasion of hormones, bloating, fatigue, headaches, cramps, and mood swings is getting quite old. I don’t need anymore bad moods around here, I’m quite bitchy enough without you. Move it or lose it sister.

Hey nasty and cloudy weather:

Take a hike. When the sunny and beautiful days come to kick your ass out of here, all while delightfully filling my family’s brains with a heaping helping of Vitamin D, I’m going to sit back with a smirk and say…Bye Felicia!

Hey judgy people:

Suck a fatty. The ones who make sly remarks like, “that doesn’t happen in my house.” or those judgers who hide in the shadows and throw out ‘holier than thou’ opinions like they are SO much better than the rest of us. Listen, I’m not perfect and neither are you. And hey, judger…you have a booger in your nose. See…I told you, you aren’t perfect.

Hey bills:

Yeah, I’m talking to you electric, gas, mortgage, cell phone, credit card, and student loans…what’s your freaking problem? You just keep showing up every single month like a bunch of relentless stalkers. Don’t make me have to consolidate your asses into one low monthly payment. ‘Cause I’ll do it, don’t test me.

Hey calories:

After I take the last bite of this burrito, you are gonna take a long walk (down my colon) and I don’t want to see you back anytime soon, (well it’s a burrito, so that may be impossible) but you get the point. I may make some exceptions with some of you calories…like the ones found in wine and chocolate, and so on and so forth. But for the most part, walk away calories. That’s right…keep walking.

Hey Kanye:

Just…well…read what kind of list this is.

Hey alarm clock:

Shut your big fat mouth. I heard you the first seven times before I hit snooze and if you continue to harass me with these horrible sounds, I will personally take you out to the driveway and set you behind the tire of my minivan and I will reverse it over you with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Not only will I get to crush you, but I will be so happy about destroying you, that I’ll be bright-eyed bushy tailed. Two birds, one stone…not kidding.

Hey “Quick and Easy” Recipes:

Eat me. I follow your instructions. I do all the things I’m supposed to do…and you NEVER turn out right. Most importantly, no one in my family eats you. You have wasted my time, money, and effort. You are a homewrecking, misleading, liar and I’m done with you. You have been replaced, by PB&J. Get the hell out of my sight.

Hey jeans:

Beat it. You are expensive, uncomfortable, and unfortunately (sometimes) necessary. I love my yoga pants, but can’t wear them ALL of the time. So jeans…why no give? Why no stretchiness? Why you gotta be such an asshole? Why is there always that ONE pair of jeans that I feel like I have to fit into? I’m so sick and tired of squatting and crawling to loosen you up. Get back in with the rest of the laundry and go fuck yourself.

Well that’s my current “Go F Yourself List.”

It feels freeing to get this off my chest! Now, I can focus more on the things that I love…like my wonderful family, my amazing friends, my poorly behaved dogs, and of course…wine and Netflix.

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Can you rationalize with a woman with PMS? Here is a sample conversation that may give some insight into that question. I’m throwing myself under the bus here, for the sake of the greater good…

Me: Quit standing there.

Me: Could you run out and get me some tampons, maxi-pads, something chocolate, and then something salty to balance it all out? Like now? Like right freaking now!!!

**he gets back from the store**

Me: Great. Those are the wrong pads! Let’s use our listening ears next time, okay?

Me: Is there any possible way you could quit looking at me?

**5 minutes later**

Husband: Why are you crying?

Me: I was thinking about what song I’d pick to play at your funeral.

**he gets frightened and leaves the room**

Me: Honey, come in here for a second!

Husband: What?

Me: I love you so much.

Husband: I love you too.

Me: I’ve always loved you more than you’ve loved me. (I begin weeping) That’s the problem with this marriage! I care about you too much. What’s so bad about me, huh? Is it the baby weight I haven’t lost? Is it because I am bossy? You never thought I was good enough! And your parents hate me!

Husband: Jesus, calm down. Nobody hates you. There’s no problem with this marriage. You are being ridiculous.

Me: Now you are calling me names! Fuck you fuck-stick. Just get out!

Husband: No problem.

Me: That’s right, move on…get your ass outta my room!

**5 minutes pass**

Me: Hey honey!!! Come in here!

Husband: What is it?

Me: I’m so sorry. I’m sooo freaking sorry. I love you! I love our kids. What are they watching on TV? It better be something appropriate!

Husband: Full House.

Me: Oh I love that show! Michelle! Oh Michelle Tanner is so cute! Maybe we should have another baby?

Husband: Just stop it.

Me: If I’m not using this uterus anymore and we are done having kids, I want it out! I want someone to take it out! I can’t take the cramps! I asked my doctor. That bastard said no.

Husband: Do you need some Tylenol?

Me: Does this Tylenol you speak of have Codeine or Hydrocodone in it? Because if it doesn’t, then NO!

Husband: Why are you laughing?

Me: I was thinking of what song I would play at your funeral.

Husband: I’m going to watch Full House

Me: You are SO selfish!

**5 minutes later**

Me: HONEY!!!

Husband: What it is it?

Me: I don’t feel good. I need attention.

Husband: Okay, what do you need?

Me: Quit looking at me.

Husband: (throws hands up in the air) Listen, I love you…but I don’t know what to say. And why in the hell are you Googling gynecologists in Tijuana?

Me: My doctor won’t give me a hysterectomy! I already told you that! Listening ears!!!

Husband: You are not getting surgery in Mexico!

Me: That PROVES you don’t love me!

Husband: Why don’t you read a book?

Me: Why don’t you read this? (extends middle finger)

Husband: I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that.

Me: I need to get up and get homework started with the kids. I’m a terrible mother! Why can’t I do anything right?

Husband: You are a great mother. Why would you even say that? That’s so stupid to even say.

Me: Oh…great thanks…I guess I’m too STUPID to help with homework. Is that what you mean?

Husband: You are crazy!

Me: Ya don’t say? No freaking shit?!? You just figured that out? Who’s the stupid one now Einstein?

**husband stands frozen and looking helpless**

Me: I love you so much! I really really mean that.

At the end of the day, there is no rationalizing with a premenstrual woman. You can try. You can give it your best shot. My advice is simply crack the door and throw an occasional candy bar at her and then run. No man can handle this. Period.


They Saved Me When I Couldn’t Talk


Yesterday after school, my second grader climbed in the car and he said something that struck me.

“Mom…something happened today. C and K saved me. They saved me when I couldn’t talk.”

Of course I was thinking a million things! Did he choke at lunch? Was he gagged and bound by a bully who had vampire teeth and a tear drop tattoo and these two brave kids came to his rescue? I’m a worrying helicopter mother by the way, so of course my mind was going crazy with questions.

“P, tell me what happened!”

“Well,” he began, “there were these two girls from another class, and I was doing one of my tics and I couldn’t stop (it was a tic where his arms stiffen up, and his hands shake. During this, his face also stiffens). They were telling me to stop it and told me that I was so weird. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t because I couldn’t stop my tic. But C and K saved me. They told the girls that I had Tourette’s and that I couldn’t help it. They told them I wasn’t weird and that it was my brain making me do it and they shouldn’t be telling me to stop it because I can’t.”

Rewind: A few weeks ago, my son’s teacher, school counselor, and a very sweet high school kid, who also has Tourette’s came in to help P teach his class. They were taught about what Tourette’s is and why P was doing these things, called tics. When P asked the class, “How many of you have noticed me doing some of these movements and sounds?” The entire class raised their hands. I cried a little to myself sitting in the corner watching all of this. But not P, he just smiled and said, “See…that’s what my Tourette’s is!”

His AMAZING teacher said something that I will never forget, “We are P’s family here at school. So now that you know about his Tourette’s, if you ever see or hear anyone making jokes or talking about it, it is our job to help them to understand. We all have to look out for each other.”

THEY LISTENED!!! Kids will listen when they are taught. It takes teachers, parents, and other kids to help raise confident, happy children who feel accepted. P feeling like these boys “saved” him, is so powerful. It was like he was being thrown a life raft. He needed a voice and luckily he ended up having two, even if they weren’t his own. A little bit of help can go a long way. But here’s the kicker, not only did they “save” my child in that moment, but those two boys showed character and their ability to stand up for and accept others. They also taught two more children (the girls) about TS. I would march right up to that school and kiss them right on their faces if I could, but that would be creepy and so I won’t, but I’m so grateful. So very very grateful.

Yes, my remarkably-wonderful-amazing-talented-rockstar 8 year-old son has Tourette’s Syndrome. It is not something I am afraid, ashamed, or hesitant to talk about. It is a neurological disorder. He was born with this. He started having tics when he was only 8 months old. He shakes his hands, taps a pencil, blinks his eyes, and occasionally whistles or bites down. These are things he can’t control. He plays guitar, loves the NBA, and is pretty much a typical 8 year-old. He does not feel like a victim. He does however, want to spread awareness.

“Hollywood Tourette’s” is the name I have given to the mythological form of TS which is how it is portrayed in movies and television. I am super happy to debunk that myth. It’s just not like that. It’s not a joke. It is a struggle at times. It is also fascinating and awesome and is part of who my son is. Tourette Syndrome is not a taboo subject. It is a fairly common disorder with various levels of severity. The swearing tic is extremely rare, but still is not something I think is funny to laugh at. My son does not say swear words. I sure as hell do, but he does not. His tics are mostly motor.

It’s not just TS. There are all sorts of differences we can teach our kids about. Autism, Asperger’s, ADHD, the list goes on and on. The point is, our kids don’t know about the things that they are not taught.  Education is a game changer, and with it we may not be able to save the world…but we can at least help our children save each other.

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And yes, I use letters for the kids names, because like I said…I’m a crazy helicopter mother :)