Survival 101...

Just do it.....

No, we are not going to motivate you "Nike" style. We are not going to get you all revved up in the hopes that when you finish your first marathon, biathlon, triathlon or shopathon, you credit us inspirational gals at the DE with stoking your inner fire and bringing you to heights you never imagined. Shit, we aren't that motivated ourselves, so if we do that to you, let us know. It might get our own asses in gear to do something of spiritual contribution on this earth beyond laundry and killer mac and cheese.

In any case, this entry of the DE wants you to just admit that it is ok. You're going to screw up your kids. Plain and simple. Don't feel guilty, it is just a cold, hard truth. An very "convenient truth" if you ask me...because the sooner you accept, the happier you will be. Don't fight it. You are going to fuck them up in one way or another. Just get that into your head and mantra early, and you will be just fine. How do we do this? We exist. Plain and simple. And we invited Pandora's box into our world to make it an easier place, and that bitch has helped out quite a bit. It is much easier on the soul and psyche if you just accept that lying, cheating, stealing, bribing and a whole host of other ugly sins will be thrust upon you in parenthood. And it may not seem that apparent to you, but I am pretty damn sure you do it already....but those sins are sneaky. Your crafty, evil canevil ways might be SO snide that even you are pulling the wool over your own eyes. Here are a few examples (and I have gotten so good at this, that all of these examples are just from the past 48 hours of my life....) This is how I keep peace in my household, and therefore make an awful example to my kids of how a contributing member of society should conduct oneself:


I started out Saturday morning with a quick run to WalMart to replace the dead goldfish my husband killed with blatant neglect. We had a busy weekend and I did not want to kids to start their weekend off with tears over why Zip was floating upside down and smelled like dirty feet. So Zip II was quickly introduced into our family and no one was the wiser. Chalk one up for the parents. Also, the pool right by the baseball tournament was "closed", the concession stand was "out" of Ring Pops, and "No we can't go to Grandma's after the game because she is not home". This also comes in handy when your preschooler picks out her own clothes, and you tell her she looks amazing because that little face is so proud. And the ever popular "Honey, the tooth fairy must not have been able to fly here last night because it rained..." Yes, Santa will skip right over this house if you don't take a nap....yes I know it is only summer, but he watches ALL OF THE TIME. Seriously. It is shocking. The list goes on.


Yes, I have cheated my kids. Get over it. I have. I have pretended to count equal amounts of candy, gum, etc to keep the peace. But damn those little buggers, they can count by themselves now, so I have to be extra careful. I guess all of the above examples could be creatively woven into the "Cheating" category, so maybe we will just leave it at that.


Now before you get all judgmental and "holy holy" on me, watch yourself. You've done it. A fruit snack before you hand over the rest of the pack you just opened, a bite of the popsicle, a sip of the juice box. HALLOWEEN CANDY!! HELLO???!!! Who has not done this? If you answered an angelic "No, not me" you are a double liar and I would avoid the outdoors and lightning storms at all costs. I may have even "borrowed" a dollar from one kid to "lend" it to me so that I could make sure that tooth fairy bitch didn't disappoint two nights in a row. I always pay back. Tenfold. Summer camp is not cheap.


Been to Target with a toddler? Call it what you will. You might want to make yourself feel better and call it "strategic offspring management" but I am calling a spade a spade. I have checked out at Target before with every single box of food item purchased pre-tested by the population of ankle-biters in my cart all the while getting the stink-eye from the cashier. Whatever. At least I bought everything and didn't ditch what they didn't like. Snot. Don't judge. I won. The kids are happy, Target stock increased and the 18 boxes of open snacks allowed me to check out patio stuff AND the hair products for more than 12 seconds. I even recall in an act of rookie desperation offering my two year old a million dollars if he would PLEASE stop screaming at Nordstrom's on the escalator. It did not work and I ran with my double stroller beast to the nearest exit. tip: make the bribe at least a good one. Toddlers don't like money. They like food. They like toys. They want Elmo to come to your house. Go with it.


yes, out of safety and sanity, I have hidden from my children. Only once in public. It was to prove a point that if they did not stay near me, they were going to get lost. But mostly I just hide at I can shower alone, pee alone, use the phone alone. Whatever. Try it. It is best to do it in a room with a door that locks. But kids are quick. Little Sherlock Holmes'. They won't be able to find their shoes right by the back door, but they can hunt you down in 3000 square feet like a bloodhound.

Survival. That is the general goal of parenthood. Yeah, yeah, produce successful, kind, contributing members of society that will have a positive impact on our world, blah, blah, blah. Everyone wants that. But it is all about baby steps. Make it through brunch at Aunt Ruby's. Make it through the shopping mall. Make it out of Target with the same amount of kids you went in with (and in the best case, the same ones). Parenthood is about survival of the fittest. Sometimes it is you, and sometimes it is the kids. We are just here to keep your arsenal well stocked. Best of luck to you.

My...I mean YOUR...meal is served...

As a stay-at-home-mom it's not very often I get a chance to grab a decent meal for myself.  Most days will end and I will find myself standing at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal and wondering "Is this the only thing I've eaten today?".  Some moms are really good about it.  They make a point of preparing themselves a meal when they feed their kids or their kids get the same egg-white-green-pepper-mushroom-and-onion-omelette with whole wheat toast.  If I tried to feed that to my kids they'd look at me like I had a penis growing out of my forehead.

SO most days find me subsisting on diet coke and handfuls of mini Nilla wafers when I get a chance.  BUT yesterday I was determined.  Yesterday was going to be my day.  I was going to make myself not just one meal but maybe even TWO dammit.  Now let me just preface this by saying we have very little food in the house.  My husband is out of town.  Need I say more?  If I don't go to the store soon the kids may be forced to eat noodles with ketchup for dinner tonight.  Yum.  Anyway.  I managed to scrounge up enough for breakfast yesterday to make myself a lovely little parfait.  I had yogurt, granola, and a variety of fruit.  I was excited.  I was happy.  I was about to eat.  I poured myself a cup of coffee and got ready to dig in. Until I turned around and saw an urchin had bellied up to my bowl at the table.  She must have just tipped the bowl back because in the amount of time it took me to stir in my creamer she had managed to devour the majority of it and was covered from forehead to chin in Yoplait and Kashi.  Little bitch.  She grinned at me, complimented my culinary skills with a "yum gogurt mommy", and before I could catch her she had hopped down from the chair, leaving a trail of yogurt in her wake.  So rather than eating I got to clean up granola, yogurt, and strawberries.  Awesome.

I had higher hopes for lunch because the younger two spawn had already eaten.  They were full of peanut butter and jelly so odds of them wanting to steal my food were slim to none.  So with there being little danger of child thieves I created myself a lovely salad (yes, I went to the store just for myself...moms can be selfish too sometimes)  I was literally giddy with excitement about this salad, fresh avocado that I could have happily rolled around in, grilled chicken, diced tomatoes, chilled cucumbers, etc, etc...even thinking about it now makes me smile.  Or cry.  Because this one was also stolen right out from under me.  I forgot about the oldest getting home from school early.  As soon as I picked up my fork the front door opened.  I quickly shoveled in as many bites as I could before she made her way back to the kitchen.  She was probably a bit confused to find her mother huddled under the kitchen table whimpering, clinging to a ceramic bowl, and covered in ranch dressing.  She spied the salad in front of me and she instantly began salivating.  This is my salad lover.  She would mow down a cardboard box of small, helpless kittens if they stood between her and a salad.  She would let her own mother starve if it meant she could lay claim to a freshly made salad.  Which is exactly what she did.  Her big brown eyes bugged out of her head, she declared she was "STARVING" and asked if she could just have a few bites.  We all know what a "few bites" turns into.  Within seconds my salad was nothing but a few limp shreds of spinach left clinging to the side of the bowl.  She had all but licked the damn thing.  Had I suggested it, she probably would have.  Little bitch.  My salad was gone and I had Toy Story fruit snacks for lunch.  I'm considering selling her on Craigslist.

How do moms get decent meals without children stealing them?  Even when I feed my kids the same food I have for whatever reason what is on  my plate seems far more they not want me to eat?  Are they trying to subliminally tell me something?  They have sensors out.  Even if they have JUST EATEN if I get myself something to eat, they are instantly standing right next to me with mouths hanging open like damn baby birds.  WTF?????  Seriously?  Get the fuck away from me.  I'm going to start hiding food all over the damn house, I'm going to start sneaking out, preparing meals at neighbors houses and eating in the garage.  If that's what it takes to get a decent meal around here, that is what I'll do.  So if you need me, I'll be the one eating my salad while wedged into the seat of the double jogger that is parked in my garage.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

Did you ever read that book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"?  That was my day yesterday.  Times like a gazillion. 

Only I wish my day had been half as peachy as Alexander's had been.  All that little shit had to worry about was not getting the good cereal, going to the dentist, and not getting lame racing stripes on his Adidas.  Crying me a friggin river ya big sissy.  Yesterday was one of those days that I wanted to be over by noon.  And it wasn't just a I'm-tired-and-the-kids-are-already-cranky-so-let's-speed-this-day-up-a-bit kind of day.  Nope, it was a full on I need this WHOLE fucking day to be over.  Immediately.  Maybe giving a run-down will be therapeutic in a way...or reliving it will have me drunk by 10 am and someone will need to call CPS to come take my kids, it's a toss up.

It all started when the youngest gave her usual insanely loud wake up call of "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM".....the only problem was this particular morning it came at 5:30 am.  WTF?!?!?!?  Seriously?  I hate you.  And if I don't run in there fast enough, it wakes the other two, she's LOUD.  And she'll stand there and yell and yell and yell and yell until someone, anyone comes to get her.  So she's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5:30 am.  Shit.  This is no good because for a few reasons: #1: it's 5:30 am...DUH, no sane person should be up that early unless they HAVE to be and #2: my husband is out of town this week and I don't sleep well while he's gone.  Therefore I did not fall alseep the night before until well after 1 am...a mere 4 1/2 hours before her wake up call.  Kill me now.  So after a viewing of Toy Story, a bowl of dry cereal, her kicking over my freshly made coffee (resulting in me crying) 2 sippy cups of juice, 3 lost "nuks", some juice spilled on a "me" resulting in a mini-meltdown the other two woke up and even more madness ensued.  Awesome.  Here is the short version:  We had 1 missing library book (not good with one more day of school left), an entire bowl of cereal dumped on the kitchen counter (WITH MILK) a fight over who had more cereal, a toddler tantrum over the show the 5 year old chose to watch, stolen toast, crying about stolen toast, the 5 year old pushing the 2 year old for stealing his toast...all nicely rounded out by a missed bus followed by an impromptu trip in the rain to the elementary school with the 5 and  2 year old in pajamas still fighting over toast.

I was already on edge and it was only 9:30 so I decided to drive the nails in the coffin a bit deeper and keep my appointment with the car dealership...bad idea.  The "check tire system" light had been on for 2 weeks and I knew I needed 2 new tires and an oil change anyway so I went in.  They assured me it would not take the 4 hours it had taken last time but I went in armed with an arsenal of supplies for the kids anyway.  Regardless they chose to roll around on the dirty floor and play with the infested toys that had been breeding bacteria in the corner since God was a boy instead.  I tried in vain to entice them with the snacks and toys I had brought along but instead found myself surrounded by other people's children instead of my own.  I was like an urchin magnet.  So while I fought to keep my own spawn off of the petri dish that was the floor of the waiting room they let me know that there was a "sensor" that needed to be replaced to the tune of $200...awesome.  So $200 and 2 hours later we walked out and I realized I still had the same 4 tires I went in there with.  I inquired about this little oversight only to be informed that the tires they needed were out of stock.  Would have been nice to know.  Assholes.  Did I at least get my oil changed?  The douchecanoe needed to check his computer to make sure.  Wow.  I didn't say a word, just grabbed my keys and walked out, making a mental note to stop by the CDC on the way out to have the kids leave some samples just in case.

Off to the fabric store where we only suffered a toppled display of fabric and a bump on the head after pulling down a very nicely dressed mannequin.  Thank you, fine ladies of JoAnn Fabrics for being so kind and understanding and probably very pleased when we left just as quickly as we came in.  Our trip to Target was not as successful.  We were in a bit of a hurry as the 9 year old was getting out of school early so I had exactly 25 minutes to rush through the store, get what I needed, grab something for the other two to eat, and get home before she got off the bus.  No problem.  Or so I thought; based on how my day had gone up until this point I should have known better.  Started off with a shitty cart so we switched about 3 minutes into our trip.  Bad idea (you'll see why in a minute).  Swapped the kids and stuff into the other where the toddler insisted on buckling herself in, resulting in buckling in her own finger instead.  Awesome.  Our trip through Target was accompanied by her wailing while I hunched over the front seat attempting to soothe her while whipping down the aisles grabbing what I needed in my haste to get out of the store in my allotted time frame.  The 5 year old then dumped his juice all over his lap, my bag, the loaf of bread, and the white tshirt that I had literally JUST put into the cart.  Fantastic.  So now I had two crying kids and a cart full of wet, soggy, red shit.  We manage to make it through the rest of the store, up to the register, and out to the parking lot unscathed...I'm rummaging through my bag and realize I can't find my keys.  Start digging through another pocket and still no keys.  No panic yet as I have a bag the size of Texas with unbelievable depth and many hidden nooks, crannies, and I keep digging.  And digging.  Then I start dumping.  And throwing. All over the parking lot.  Then I start panicking.  I have exactly 8 minutes to get home and get my daughter off of the bus and I have no keys.  The 2 and 5 year old are sitting in the cart staring at me baking in the sun as I talk to myself and dump the contents of my purse across the parking lot of Target.  I.HAVE.NO.KEYS.  They were nowhere to be found.  Not in my purse.  Not in the cart.  Not in any of the shopping bags.  I quickly call a neighbor who was amazingly on her way TO Target but was wonderful enough to turn around, grab my kid, break into my house, get my extra set of car keys, and bring both to me...shit.

So I gather my shit and my kids and trudge back into Target where I ask the girl-child at customer service if anyone has turned in a set of car keys.  No such luck.  Shit shit shit.  It is now 1:30 my children have not eaten lunch and they are hot, sweaty, and tired.  Giant pretzels for lunch are acceptable as long as I serve carrots and apples on the side, right?  Perfect.  They were happy for the time being and I just wanted a stiff drink.  Unfortunately Target doesn't serve Margaritas.  My girlfriend showed up with my keys and my other kid and I ran out to check for keys to be potentially IN my such luck.  So when I switched carts at the beginning of our Target trip, the keys stayed behind.  So someone else was wandering Target unknowingly with my keys and I still have no idea where they are.  They have a super lost and found system in place though...write your name and number down on a piece of paper they ripped off of the register.  Flawless.

Don't ask about the rest of my day.  Because then I'll have to tell you about the bag of paid for merchandise that was left behind at the register at Target after we walked through the second time, the "puffy paint incident" involving the 2 year old, the potions created by the 9 and 5 year old in the upstairs bathroom (nail polish remover WILL eat through plastic cups...just an FYI), almost missing the 9 year old's 6:30 appointment (resulting in the 2 and 5 year old eating mac and cheese in the car...that will be fun to clean up) and the late night wrestling match...the 9 and 5 year old have matching goose-eggs on their foreheads.  I didn't care when it happened and I don't care now.  They're both still alive.  Super.

I was telling a friend about my day after I had put the kids to bed finally and was drinking wine straight from the bottle.  She laughed and said "yeah, right".  Like I could make this shit up.  I couldn't if I tried.  I wish I could have.  We realize that we can be entertaining but even I'm not this creative.  My day fucking sucked donkey balls.  Hardcore.  By 10 am I wanted to go back to bed, wake up and have it be October.  I know we've all had those days and I just wanted to share mine so that the next time you have yours, you just don't feel alone.  I'll scoot over and make room in the padded cell for ya...

Parts of speech...D.E. style...

Do we even need to do the "disclaimer" thing anymore? Chances are we're going to offend or piss SOMEONE off with one of our hey, today I'm going to swear. A LOT. In fact this whole post is just about that. Swearing. Lots of it. So if you're not a fan of profanity and think that women who use it are classless and uneducated, stop now. If you don't mind it and want some entertainment, by all means...enjoy.

My Sunday morning did not get off to a good start. The youngest was up far too early and therefore way cranky far earlier than normal, the older two were not lovin' each other, and attempting to get everyone ready for church while refereeing all of the above was wearing on my last nerve...the husband who "didn't hear me" didn't exactly help the ol' blood pressure either. So let's just say I wasn't exactly feeling very Christian-like before departing for church on this fine Sunday morning and every four letter word you could possibly think of was being bitten back repeatedly. And those who know me shouldn't be surprised as I do my fair share of swearing. A lot of it. I can drop a curse word so artfully into a conversation you don't always know it has happened until after we've parted ways. But I try to watch myself around the kids, but now in retrospect, I shoulda let 'em fly. After all, I could have taught them a lot about the English language. Well used profane language can be very effective, not to mention efficient, as those bad boys can be useful as nouns, verbs, adjectives, proper nouns, maybe even adverbs, conjuctions, and prepositions. They really are quite useful. Let's examine, shall we?

For demonstrative purposes I will mainly be using the word fuck, as I'm sure we can all agree, it really is the most versatile of all of the swear words...

It can easily be used as a noun: You really are a lazy fuck today, you know that? Or even a proper noun of sorts: Please oh-so-kindly stop riding my ass you SONOFABITCHINGMOTHERFUCKER.

It's use as a verb is quite obvious, but we'll throw one out there just for fun: Johnny fucked Suzy. (hopefully not on the beach...we've already addressed why that's a bad idea)

How about as an adjective? This could be used as Hallmark's new campaign for Mother's Day: Give mom a break from doing all of the fucking work. I like it, I'd absolutely buy myself a card. Shit.

What about as part of an adverb? What mother of a toddler wouldn't LOVE to verbalize this one? You whine too fucking much. Hell, ANY child for that matter??? They all whine too fucking much, pass the wine. Shit.

I would highly encourage this one with my kids, very creative use of the word as an adverb enhancing an Even their teachers might be impressed: Mom, you are fucking beautiful. OR Mrs. X, this is a fucking spectacular worksheet.

It is very commonly used as an interjection: FUCK! I can't find my keys...We're going to be late...I spilled my crapped your pants again?!??!...etc, etc, etc...insert whichever thing you find yourself bitching and moaning most consistently about.

It is very often used as part of a word...inserted somewhere in the middle to create an entirely new word that is so cool you can't help but want your kids to repeat it. I do this often and quite enjoy it. Abso-fucking-lutely. Fan-fucking-tastic. In-fucking-credible. Un-fucking-believable.

Only those highly practiced in the art of swearing are schooled enough to be able to artfully and eloquently use it as almost every word in the entire damn sentence. I bow down to those people. Im-fucking-pressive. I've tried yet start to stutter and stumble after about the third shit or fuck, this is typically after I've had a few too many adult beverages (yep, I'm SUPER classy folks...tell your friends) so I leave it to the experts. Fuckers.  I'm jealous.  I really, truly am.

So very versatile and can be used in so many different ways to express oneself in a myriad of situations...

1. Greetings "How the fuck are ya?"
2. Fraud "I got fucked by the car dealer."
3. Resignation "Oh, fuck it!"
4. Trouble "I guess I'm fucked now."
5. Aggression "FUCK YOU!"
6. Disgust "Fuck me."
7. Confusion "What the fuck.......?"
8. Difficulty "I don't understand this fucking question!" (this was me in college algebra...which I then found out I didn't even need to take..fuckers)
9. Despair "Fucked again..."
10. Pleasure "I fucking couldn't be happier."
11. Displeasure "What the fuck is going on here?"
12. Lost "Where the fuck are we."
14. Retaliation "Up your fucking ass!"
15. Denial "I didn't fucking do it."
16. Perplexity "I know fuck all about it."
17. Apathy "Who really gives a fuck, anyhow?"
18. Suspicion "Who the fuck are you?"
19. Panic "Let's get the fuck out of here."
20. Directions "Fuck off."
21. Disbelief "How the fuck did you do that?"

Unfortunately it's just one of those words and swearing is just one of those things that is typically frowned upon, despite it's usefulness and obvious versatility. Dammit. So I guess I'll just have to leave the whole "conjunction junction, what's your function?" thing to the elementary school professionals, huh? Fuck. We'll just stick to worksheets and coloring I guess.  Shit.

In the spirit of recycling...

I know it is summer. Not because of the weather, the Target ad with beach gear and attire, or that watermelon is on sale. My kitchen table is full of shit. Not literal shit...well, maybe. I have two of my three kids in school, and their task this past week has been to clean out their desks and bring the contents of it home. Apparently, my kids in their infinite good will decided to clean out other people's desks and bring that shit home too. There are half-used notebooks (which really pisses me off because I drove all over the Western Hemisphere for child #2 because his list said he NEEDED 2 purple notebooks and I could not find them anywhere) He came home with one of them unused and the other one with the first three pages somewhat used. I feel like making him color something on every single page so I feel vindicated. I have ziplock baggies of their half-used, some new, some broken, some chewed on pencils, markers, highlighters and crayons. There are about 8 used Pink Pearl erasers. One ruler, three calculators (2 kids remember), 6 sheets of looseleaf paper, 4 books - which I am sure the library will be sending me a love note for, 14 folders, 5 workbooks and about 2 million art projects, worksheets, test quizzes and other miscellaneous pages. There are even a ridiculous amount of crumbs sprinkled about. Yes, crumbs of whatever unfortunate snack spent the better part of a year in the bottom of their backpack.
Really? Was all of this worthy of a trip home? We are the first "green" school in our state. With the amount of paper that is currently sprawled across my kitchen table, I am questioning that title and status. My kids were encouraged to bring only reusable lunch bags to school. We recycled Capri Sun juice pouches, we recycled cell phones and batteries, we have solar panels all over, we have sustainable materials that constructed our school, we have "earth friendly vehicle" parking spots. But my kids personally took down a rain forest with the contents of their desks. And now it sits on my kitchen table. I started making piles the other day, and my 11 year old, privy to my organizational tactics, said "This pile is for keep and this pile is for REALLY keep, right?" Crap. But seriously? He wants to keep a geography test from February that he got 100% on. Congrats pal. We are all proud of you. Throw it the FUCK AWAY! I am not sure why 99% of this stuff even made it through the corridor of their classroom. Do they not have a responsible adult saying "If it is old, if it is used and cannot be reused, please put it here"....with a big fat arrow pointing to the garbage can. I guess in that case, my kids would have taken the easy way out and tossed everything. Instead, they went to the opposite end of the lazy spectrum and brought home EVERYTHING that has ever been in their desk (which is apparently the size and depth of the Pacific) since September. So now what? Well, they are at a sleepover, which means that the bulldozer is going to pull right into the kitchen and dispose of 99% of the 99% of crap that never should have made it home. I think I am going to save those fucking purple notebooks for next year though. He will need them. No, mark my words. HE WILL NEED THEM. I spent $75 in gas to go and find those 30cent notebooks. He will use them as journals this summer, or his scrapbook or something. And I might see if I can salvage a highlighter or two. And shit shit shit. I know I have to spend another $200 in the fall and a good portion of three days searching, battling and fighting women with keds and fanny packs to get this crap all over again. So I have decided right now that the broken crayons are getting duct-taped together, I will reinforce flimsy folders with contact paper, and staple and rebind spiral notebooks for use again next year. I worked way too hard and spent way too much money just 9 months ago, and my kids obviously love this stuff enough to bring it home. So we are going to use it all again next year. We are the "green" school after all. Anyone need a calculator? I have three...

Brought to you by the letter K...

So my son is 5 and will be starting kindergarten next year.  I have been working feverishly with him on learning his letters.  We have damn near everything you could think of to help him with this.  Every book on the market, every irritating toy, every learning tool, every set of flashcards, every damn refrigerator frog contraption that mysteriously turns on at night and begins to sing "B says BUH..every letter makes a sound..." yep, that one.  I feel as if I've tried everything.  I even went so far as to MAKE the child a special book of Star Wars characters that correspond to each letter of the alphabet.  I'm at my wits end.  He just doesn't give a shit...

He has spent the past year in pre-k at a wonderful school here in lovely southern Maryland with fabulous teachers in what I thought was a fantastic program.  All the other kids seemed to be doing so well and progressing rapidly.  Not the case with my kid.  He just doesn't give a shit.  I can't even tell you how many times I've picked him up from school and asked what letter he learned about that day (they'll spend a few days on a certain letter) and he'd think about it for a minute, look at me with a confused look on his face and say somewhat questioningly "Um, two?"  Holy shit.  And we PAID to send him there.  Every now and then we'll get lucky and he'll get a few letters right when we're working on them at night as we read books (because I make him do his Star Wars letter book before I'll read him ANYTHING about Transformers or Lightning McQueen).  The thing is, he's a smart kid.  He just can't be bothered.  He just doesn't care right now.  His teachers never seemed all that concerned, they said it was perfectly normal.  Huh.  I've never really equated Alex with normal but whatever.  Anyway, fast forward to a trip to Target.

We're strolling the aisles and I'm haphazardly throwing things into the cart, crossing them off my list (I know, I actually had a LIST...and guess what else??  The two year old was SITTING!!!!!!!)  Anyway...several items were landing in the 5 year old's lap and he was disregarding them and tossing them aside in favor of a straw he was wielding as a light saber.  Now, I was recently put onto a medication for my migraines that has created some Sahara-like conditions "down there".  Somewhat unpleasant.  Therefore my doctor recommended picking up a certain lady product to remedy said unpleasantness.  I grabbed said product and tossed it into the cart in the same manner I had tossed the other dozen or so items previously.  But for whatever reason THIS was the one thing that snapped the 5 year old out of his Anakin-like reverie.  It was like slow motion.  The box flew into the cart.  The straw was set aside.  The little hand reached out to pick up the box.  He inspected it very carefully.  The two bold letters stared up at him like a challenge.  READ ME, they said.  We dare you.  I am pretty sure I stopped breathing.  Odds are pretty good I had turned as blue as the letters on said box.  I waited.  He turned and looked up at me and in a voice louder than I had ever heard him use (of course) he said "Mom, what does K-Y spell?"  HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.  Heads whipped around from every end of that aisle, and I'm pretty sure there were about 52 people in that aisle, not even kidding.  They all edged closer, dying to hear my answer.  I pretended not to hear.  My son chooses NOW to learn letters???  He chooses THOSE of all letters?  In that fucking order?  Off of that fucking package???  HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.  He says it louder "MOM???  WHAT DOES K-Y SPELL?"  Looking down, pretending to be horribly interested in my list I mutter, "It doesn't spell anything buddy, it's a special lotion"  hoping that would shut him up.  Nope, wrong.  "Like a lotion that you put on my mouth when it hurts?"  Sweet Lord above.  People kept edging closer.  I am now cursing the stock manager for not having the Up and Up generic version on the shelf, I'm mentally drafting out the letter that I'm going to write when I get home for forcing me to purchase the name brand product...assholes.  "No, buddy, it's a lotion for mommy".  He ponders this.  "Oh, is it for your mouth?"  OH. MY. GOD.  I start to make my way out of the aisle yet all of a sudden find it blocked on both ends.  Seriously???  People are now glancing up at me, some sympathetically, some unabashedly staring and openly giggling.  FUCK.  Kill me now.  "No,'s not for my mouth"  As we finally make our great escape the last thing the patrons in that aisle hear is my son saying "Maybe dad can tell me what K-Y spells..."

Pets are not people...

In the spirit of our Nobel Peace Prize-worthy Public Service Announcement week - here is another one, and of course, we apologize in advance for any offense this may cause...because it will. That being said, here it goes.

PETS ARE NOT PEOPLE. They are not. Plain and simple. I feel a bit "Nazi-like" when I say that I am not a pet person. I do have a gold fish. We have chosen not to have pets for several reasons.  Just like some people choose to not have children (but in my defense, my kids don't chew on shoes, leave ridiculous amounts of hair on my black clothing, lick their private parts, sniff other dog's asses or female crotches and poop in my yard) I have caught my 7 year old peeing in the yard on several occasions, but I think we have nipped that little habit....we hope. So yes, pets are not people. I know several families that treat their dogs/cats/etc. with more kindness and respect than they treat other humans. These animals have more posh and privilege in their life than I do. And please note, just because you love love love your dog, it does not mean that I welcome him sitting on my lap, legs splayed so that I can scratch Buster's belly. F-ing yuck. And then you laugh and think it is sooooo cute. "OH look, Buster loves you." Yes, clearly, and he loves humping my leg too but how do I let Buster and his bad ass breath know that I do not share the same affection - without offending you? And no, I do not think Poppy looks adorable in her sweater. Really? Clothes for dogs? I saw a dog the other day with rain boots. That owner should be taken into a dark black alley and beaten. And then made to wear little yellow rain boots too. Do you think the dog enjoys that? Do you think Poppy woke up that morning and thought "Oh Boy Oh Boy Oh Boy! I hope I get to wear my doggy rain slicker and boots today when we go to the grocery store." I guarantee you, Poppy was thinking "Crap. It is raining. I bet I have to wear that f-ing rain coat and gay-ass boots. I hope we don't run into any other dogs I know."

If you are going to treat your dog like a person, treat him like a person that has at least a shred of self-respect. And that is another thing. Do animals really enjoy running errands with their owner? Would the dog know that you went to Target and Home Depot without him? Would that lack of inclusion throw the dog into a depression and state of withdrawal therefore resulting in less snuggle time when you came home from said errands - or a big old dump in the middle of the living room that says "Listen here bitch. I like sitting in the car with my head poking out the cracked window wildly barking at other shoppers while you pick out tile at Home Depot. I like eating the head rest and drooling on the dash board while you get toilet paper at Target, and THE NEXT TIME YOU DON'T F-ING TAKE ME I WILL EAT EVERYTHING YOU OWN AND PEE IN EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE WHILE YOU ARE GONE"

So, maybe a pet fanatic (if you are brave enough to step forward at this point - and are still friends with us) could enlighten those of us that do not understand:

Do pets really need gourmet microwavable meals? Do they know that it is an option other than dry kibble?

Do they like to wear "clothes"? Really?

Is the dog you reference on your answering machine really going to call me back? God I hope not.

Does he get a better night's sleep in your bed vs. the doggy bed that you bought him...or the rug in the back hall? I don't like to wake up to my husband's breath. I can't imagine starting my day with dog dragon breath greeting me.

And when your dog is licking my freshly shaved and lotioned legs, thank you for intervening. When he insists on sitting in MY lap and clearly did not invite this activity, yes, no need to ask. You can remove him. And it is NEVER ok for your dog to engage my leg in any part of his ritualistic mating activities. Never. NOPE NEVER. Same with crotch sniffing. I don't let my husband casually stick his head there, so it is not ok for your dog either. And....oh this is a big one and the source of my poor lawn-loving husband's disdain. We do not have dogs because we like to let our kids run into the grass barefoot with reckless abandon and freedom. If your dog decides that our carpet-like green landscape looks like an awesome spot for a bathroom break, CLEAN IT UP. No matter where you are...the park, the parking lot, the sidewalk, Mars....I don't care. Clean it up. I would not change a shitty diaper and leave it on the grassy knoll at the park, so don't leave your dog's shit there either.

Maybe I am missing out. Maybe I am a cold, bitter sinister soul because I have not yet embraced the selfless love and honest companionship an animal provides.  We kind of get the relationship that families have with their pets but when one starts shopping at Gymboree for their animal???  Sweet Jesus.  If you buy organic foods for your animal yet feed your children Spagettios?  Really?  Buy allergy medications for your dog yet won't vaccinate your kids?  Hmmmm....  Maybe this will just be one of those things where the DE sisters will agree to disagree with some of our readers, so carry on Poppy, carry on...

What NOT to wear...

DISCLAIMER (if you haven't already noticed, we throw one of those bad boys at the beginning of any post in which we fear we may horribly offend or piss people off...this post falls in that category) As I was saying...DISCLAIMER: We do not pretend to be fashion divas and we will both readily admit to our fair share of fashion faux pas. HOWEVER, we feel that since we now have our own platform in which to get word out to the masses, we have a few things that we would like to address regarding THE MOM UNIFORM.

SAHM, WFHM, WOHM...blah, blah, blah. We're all moms, we've all had our moments of "oh shit I totally look like I got dressed in the dark today". It doesn't matter what "kind" of mom you are, fact of the matter is, you don't necessarily need to dress like one. There are a few items that some may have in their closets and we at the Daily Epidural oh-so-wish that you would dispose of them. In no particular order...

1. The Mom know what I'm talking about. The I-think-they're-fake-denim-or-just-something-airbrushed-to-resemble-denim colored pants that button WAY higher than they should, resulting in unsightly and oh-so-unfortunate camel toe and a wider, slightly more compressed ass. Just what every woman needs, ass-spreading.  And for some reason, maybe because they button 5 inches above the belly button, the mom jeans create the phenomenon of the "front butt", that lovely pooch that puffs out in direct proportion to one's ass.  And the 'mom jeans' create all sorts of gynecological nightmares.  Can you say front wedgie? And is that a tapered leg I see? Sweet Jesus.  One should not be able to see panty lines through denim for God's sake.  Spare us all.  Burn them.  Immediately.

2. Six Flags Great America T-Shirts...or Valleyfair, Lollapalooza '95, kid peeing on the Ford symbol, etc, etc...there is a time and a place for your old tshirts emblazoned with the entire animated cast of "King of the Hill". I don't even wear shirts from this category to the gym (that would be the ONLY semi-acceptable place to wear such attire). These godawful items should be reserved for jammies or possibly repainting your bedroom. Period. Far too many grown women buy Sea World tshirts, it needs to stop. If you insist on wearing it to the grocery store, for the love of all that is good and holy PLEASE put on a fucking bra. It's bad enough that you have on a Cookie Monster tshirt...but your "girls" dangling every which way? Wrong on so many levels.

3. Embroidery...yikes, yikes, and yikes. Check in your closet...if you own ANYTHING that has been embroidered with something other than a company or business logo (ie: an animated character of ANY sort) ask yourself this question: AM I THREE??????? Whoever came up with the "genius" idea to take a full length denim dress and embroider all of the Winnie the Pooh characters on it should be drug out into the street and shot. And then strung up along a major thouroughfare wearing an entire embroidered ensemble for all to see. I don't care if "the kids like it" or if you're a kindergarten or preschool teacher. Let the kids wear that shit then. You are a grown woman. Take off the goddamn Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. NOW.

4. The head-to-toe denim look...I like denim jackets, I own two of them. However, I would never be caught dead wearing either of my denim jackets concurrently with any other denim item of clothing. Denim pieces are not meant to go together. Do not search high and low for a denim jacket to match perfectly with your favorite jeans. Wrong. Denim jacket and khaki pants? Absolutely. Jeans with a cardigan and heels? Super cute. A full length zip up denim unitard or dyed to match denim jacket and jeans AND the perfect pair of denim Keds? You don't deserve to live.

5. Basically anything that could be considered "toddler wear"...if it could be confused for an item of clothing that could possibly be found in your toddler's closet???  It's gotta go.  A tutu?  Please tell me that was for a drunken Halloween escapade (and yes, I spotted a woman wearing 10 am on a Thursday...she seemed sober to me)  Footy pajamas?   Wow.  Just wow.  There are no words.

Just because we're moms doesn't mean we have to sacrifice our looks.  Our fashion energy does not have to be wasted on our kids.  I have heard far too many moms say, "but at least my kids look good" as they shlump around in flannel pants all day long.  Damn.  Really?  You think your toddler dressed in head to toe Gymboree detracts from you shuffling around in pajama pants, flip flops, your husband's old football tshirt, and a ponytail?  We all have our days.  I am sitting here in the tshirt I slept in (sans bra) and plaid pajama pants.  But I'll be damned if I'm going to leave the house looking like this.  I wouldn't even walk my oldest daughter to the bus stop in this outfit.  Be the beautiful moms we know you are, ditch the mom jeans and Winnie the Pooh gear.  It IS possible to be fashionable without looking like you're trying to be 18 again...we know you us...

Please practice safe text...

You've all seen the campaigns and Public Service Announcements educating the less-than-intelligent masses of why you should not text and operate a vehicle at the same time. Well, apparently, texting is not one of those things that you should do while doing ANYTHING else...unless of course you are an ADD master. I am of the opposite camp. I can make a mean PB&J, sign the fieldtrip form, write a check, pour cereal, braid hair and help with 1st grade math all while chatting on the phone to my fellow blogger. But as I found out in a recent attempt while trying to push a shopping cart AND text, I should stick to one task or the other. Let's just say that the 17 year old "Loss Prevention" official in the backroom of the local Target keeps rewinding the security tape of some unnamed mother trying to text, steer her cart full of a preschooler and other miscellaneous items. I ( I mean "she") efficiently texted my husband "wgat elde do we neerd at trgt" right before I took out a display of water bottles. My preschooler was none too happy when a majority of them fell on her, but I told her if she stopped crying, I would buy her some of them (which I probably was morally obligated to do anyway under the whole "you break it, you buy it" rule of thumb). Lesson learned, or so I thought. I also was trying to walk down the stairs while texting my mom. She was golfing and it was cold out so I told her "try to stay warm HO". Now, I do not normally call my mom a "ho". But, if you are spending more mental energy trying not to fall down the stairs, it is easy to see why I hit "shift" instead of "symbol" and unintentionally referred to my mom as a stupid slut that can't keep her legs closed instead of the ":)" smiley guy that I had intended. Oops. My bad. Also, do not end a text with REGARDS if you are not paying attention....because the "G" is very close to the "T" and that can end up "RETARDS" and send very bad vibes and mean juju. Thank goodness I proof-read that one before sending. I shared some of these multi-media tips with a good friend of mine. She said that she learned her lesson too after a night of being up with the stomach flu. One of her friends texted her to see why she was not at the latest book club, and she said "I couldn't make it. I was up all night getting dick.....yuck." Her friend was shocked, and texted her back right away putting that text in the "too much info" category. My friend, the nasty texter, was mortified when she re-read the original. I laughed, but with an understanding nod, told her that I can see how it can happen. That pesky "s" is so close to the "d". Good thing she wasn't out "buying food for the fuck by the pond". We need to start practicing safe text....and not only when operating a vehicle at 65 MPH. But also when pushing the shopping cart, walking down stairs, operating the washing machine, eating a meatball sub and listening to the sermon at church (totally kidding on that last one God). Send us your texting faux pas....not only because it makes us feel less inept, but we think you guys are funny too!

Kindest Retards-

Anne and Carrie

People do WHAT on the beach??

In the spirit of the beautiful weather and the holiday weekend, we took our kids to the beach. It always seems like a good idea initially but then as soon as I get there I remember, I am not a fan of taking my kids to the beach. It's hot, it's windy, it's messy, they get sand in places....lots of places. At one point, when our 2 year old came to us with yet another faceful of sand, and plopped down with her peanut butter and sand sandwich, we got to talking about other "things" that people do on the beach.

The only sex on the beach I've ever had has been the beverage variety. The other sex on the beach has never even occurred to me. Wind. Sand in places. Friction. Sand in places. Chafing. Blowing sand. Painful rubbing with sand. Potential for badly placed sunburn. Why? Sweet Jesus Lord above why would you do that to yourself? Maybe I'm just not adventurous. Call me boring. Maybe there is some special way to do it that I'm not aware of. But I just really can't think of anything appealing about it.  I don't even like having sand stuck to my fingers, having to brush it off of my hands, feet, and legs every 12 seconds drives me crazy.  It sticks to everything.  Having it all up in there...yikes.  I just can't even picture anything romantic or Hollywood-esque about a romp on the beach.  Awkward and unattractive.  Potentially painful.  Actually lots of potential for pain.  Sand in places, lots of places.  Ever think of the things that crawl on the beach that can bite you?  Ever think of WHERE they could bite you when you're not paying attention?   How about a face full of sand while you're getting it on.  Super sexy.   Sand fleas biting you in the crotch while you are blinded by corneal abrasions.  Awesome.  How does sex on the beach sound now?  Perhaps throw in a strategically placed hammock positioned just adjacent to the beach...then maybe we'll have a deal. But sometimes I can barely be convinced that missionary in the comfort of my bed is the way to go. So on the beach? What with all of the wind, sand, blowing, hot, grainy, painful, gritty, abrasiveness, and did I mention sand? Sweet Jesus...why? A balcony positioned far, far above the beach? Perhaps. Call me crazy, call me boring. The good news is, my doctor will never be calling ME back for an exam in which I will have to tell him my hoo-hoo is raw from sand-burn. I'm thinking I'll just stick with what works...the closest I'll ever get to sex on the beach is the beverage version and possibly a frisky night with the husband and a CD of crashing waves playing in the background.