tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68856730729444271752024-03-18T21:43:22.363-07:00holycrapimyourmomHi,
My name is Amy Albert Cobb, and holy crap, I'm your mom!
A brutally honest mommy blog written from the point of view of a former party girl lush turned mom. Tales from the past, observations of the present and predictions for the future.
Sonofabitch, I'm so tired already.
holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-11356584807089389582018-07-17T12:57:00.000-07:002018-07-17T12:57:47.829-07:00Five Things I'm Forgiving Myself For In Motherhood/FTSI am so fucking tired right now you guys. As I type this I'm sitting on my filthy couch that's covered in various kid juices and secretions, several stuffed animals, ancient cracker crumbs and a variety of hair.<br />
<br />
The baby is sitting in his vibrating chair to my left. He's cooing and smiling in between fits of whimpering because he wants to breastfeed. He's cluster feeding, which is a sweet euphemism for "sucking the life out of my once perky breasts". As I try to give him a binky, he smiles at me, which melts my heart, then projectile barfs through his baby grin onto my last clean tank top.<br />
<br />
My three year old is digging into a box of cereal that I didn't know we owned. Where did she get those chocolate peanut butter Cheerios? She is sticking her hands in and out of the box, coating them in sugary goodness, then letting the dog lick her hands. If that wasn't gross enough, after he's done sopping up all the probably-really-bad-for-dogs flavors off her skin, she goes in and gives her hands an extra lick. You know, one to grow on. Gag.<br />
<br />
Also the dog, who is really a sweet fella, has pissed all over the kitchen and on the (brand fucking new) carpet upstairs because I can't take him out enough nowadays.<br />
<br />
While this scene is a super common experience for most moms (I'm excluding the Kardashians, because they have staff to deal with barf and dogs and sugar meltdowns) I have to admit that a number of these things I'm witnessing right now would cause such guilt I would cry during the three minute shower I would allow myself to take every four days.<br />
<br />
But now I have a new philosophy. And that philosophy is called:<br />
Fuck That Shit.<br />
<br />
What Fuck That Shit, or FTS for short, refers to is the guilt that moms feel because we're not perfect. I actually talk a bit about this in a previous post about being a garbage mom, which you can check out <a href="https://holycrapimyourmom.blogspot.com/2018/01/hi-my-name-is-amy-and-i-am-garbage-mom.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
I put together a short FTS list of things I am forgiving myself for as I meander through mothering two kids in diapers.<br />
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<br />
5. Supplementing formula if I need to.<br />
<br />
When my daughter was five months old her pediatrician recommended I start supplementing with formula to get her weight up. A pretty innocuous thing to say, but to me he might as well have just said, "You failed, asshole, you're letting your baby down because you can't keep up with her need for breast milk. Good job, shithead." It sent me into a shame and guilt spiral for weeks on end. I remember sobbing to my husband that "I can't even nourish my baby, and it's my only job!"<br />
<br />
The thing is, Charlie is HUNGRY AF y'all! Like, all the time. He's a big boy, and is super healthy. So at three months, a week or so ago, I decided I would get some formula for supplemental needs. So far he's had about six ounces total, and it's great! He's not starving and I've given myself permission to not feel like I failed because I simply can't produce a Big Gulps worth of breast milk every time the kid needs a snack!<br />
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4. That my daughter is almost three and refuses to potty train.<br />
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I read a potty training book that claims the ideal window of time to potty train is between 24 and 30 months. So I tried. I had her run around bottomless for a full day, asking every five minutes if she had to use the potty while holding the potty ready to catch her urine at any time, like a rookie left fielder never taking their eye off the ball, even for a second.<br />
She said no every time. I had her sit on the potty to read a book. Nothing happened. I had her watch me use the potty, smiling like a goddamn freak as if to say, "Look how FUN THIS IS!" Nothing. <br />
Then she goes to sit on our bed and pees all over it. Like, alllllll over it. The pillows, the comforter, even my headphones that were tossed on there haphazardly, were soaked through.<br />
Not a drop in the potty.<br />
A river on our duvet.<br />
Fine, she's not ready. And it turns out that old adage is true: you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him pee on the damn potty if he doesn't want to pee on the damn potty! Horses can be real stubborn assholes when they want to.<br />
She turns three next month, and even though shes used the potty before successfully and effortlessly, she still doesn't want to give up those diapers. I mean, yeah, who doesn't like to crap their pants while eating a peanut butter honey sandwich, she is a Cobb after all!<br />
My hope is that one day she'll just end this charade and join the ranks of those who sit on the pot and check their email. Until then, I have to have faith that by college she will be potty trained.<br />
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<br />
3. Having a friggin' drink!<br />
<br />
I have said this before and I'll say it again, but HOW THE HELL DO PEOPLE WHO DON'T DRINK RAISE KIDS?!!! I mean, they are better than me in many ways I'm sure, but you guyyyysssssssss, it's so hard. So I forgive myself for having a drink or two after they go down. And sometimes...even when they are still awake. And sometimes...starting at 3:00pm. But to be clear, I never EVER get drunk, or even really buzzed, I always pump by boobs off and have a booze free supply ready to go, and I took a kid CPR class. So, we good?<br />
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2. Not hurrying up and trying to lose all the baby weight right away.<br />
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I'll admit that when I was pregnant with Bo I was crazy, super fit beforehand and took five Yoga classes a week during my pregnancy, so getting back "in shape" was not a big deal. But with my Charlie bear, it wasn't quite the same experience. I was barfing out my soul with him the first trimester, the hot Yoga studio where I worked took away the only class I could take around the sixth month. So I didn't quite maintain. And I ate a shitload of chocolate. However, I gained about 50 pounds with Bo, and with my little man I only gained about 30. There's probably a solid 18 to 20 pounds of that still chillin' on my frame, but this time around I am not sweating it. Like, literally I'm not working out so there isn't any sweating. Except for when I go to try on new jeans, then I sweat a lot.<br />
I know that I will lose the weight eventually. But for now I'm letting my husband enjoy my enormous boobs and telling myself he would be sad if they went away, so I better finish this pizza!<br />
<br />
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1. Getting a sitter so I can take a break.<br />
<br />
With my first kid the thought of getting a sitter, a person who was not me or my husband, to hang with my kid so I could go off and do something silly like, oh I don't know, work, would propel me into a guilt fit something fierce.<br />
When Bo was about four and a half months old my husband and I booked a commercial together! That's great, right? Well my postpartum self almost called my agent in a panic and canceled because the thought of not being with my baby all day was absolutely insane! My baby might think that I abandoned her, which will no doubt lead to her giving hand jobs to truckers for crack money down the road! I'm a dead beat mom for taking work, I'm a monster!<br />
But it turns out, she was a baby and didn't give two shits. She's like, "Where's my milk? Where's my binky! Where's my napping place? Who are you? I don't care! Cool!"<br />
Nowadays I'll ask a sitter to come over to watch my baby for a few hours even when I don't have a damn thing to do. Literally, last week, I called her, got in my car, drove two minutes away, sat in my car in front of a Target and listened to a podcast. And it was glorious, and totally worth it.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-53071005265717638332018-06-05T12:22:00.000-07:002018-06-05T12:22:52.762-07:00The First 15...<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
I have a new segment for this blog, and also my life, that I will call <b><u>The First 15</u></b>.<br />
<br />
This is a play by play of every event that has taken place during the first 15 minutes of my day. My life now, as you will discover, is a complete and utter shit show from the jump. This is not a unique experience for most mothers, but I continue to be flabbergasted by how insane it all is, all the GD time. <br />
<br />
Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<b>6:43 am</b>-I awaken to the dulcet tones of my baby screaming. He is laying right beside me in bed, because I was too tired to put him back into his sleep nest last night, so it's really f'ing loud.<br />
<b>6:44 am</b>-I manage to shove my boob into his mouth so he stops crying, even though I'm fairly certain my exhausted, drained breasts have nothing more to give. I re-close my eyes, hoping to fall back asleep for a little while. But then...<br />
<b>6:44 am</b>-My toddler, smelling an opportunity to rip sleep away from me, starts calling, nay, BELLOWING, my name over and over from her room.<br />
<b>6:45 am</b>-I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I can't hear her. My husband sleepily mentions that I will have to get up anyway, since if he does it she'll just freak out until I come in, because "No, Mommy do it!" It's her new thing. Her new thing sucks.<br />
<b>6:46 am</b>-My eyes are still closed. Maybe if I don't move my husband will assume I've gone into a coma brought on by lack of sleep and losing my identity.<br />
<b>6:47 am</b>-My daughter hasn't stopped yelling for me, and has successfully worn me down. I get up and start to walk to her room, but I'm making sure everyone is clear that I am fucking pissed about it.<br />
<b>6:47 am</b>-I open my kids door to find her standing up in her bed. She cheerfully says "Hi Mommy, hi!"<br />
<b>6:47 am</b>-Dammit, my kid is cute AF! I can't stay mad at her!<br />
<b>6:48 am</b>-For some reason I agree to let her get in bed with us, because I'm a fucking idiot.<br />
<b>6:48 am</b>-She gets in on my side of the bed, and lays down horizontally. Now there is no where for me to lay down in our bed.<br />
<b>6:48 am</b>-I instinctively lay down at the foot of the bed like a damn dog. Just a few more minutes of sleep, please Jesus.<br />
<b>6:49 am</b>-Bo has jostled Charlie, who is back to screaming. Fuck it. "Let's get up!" I say in a sing song-y voice that only serial killers and really, really tired moms have.<br />
<b>6:49 am</b>-Charlie needs to be changed. I go to grab a diaper.<br />
<b>6:49 am</b>-Bo offers to "Help Mommy" change the baby.<br />
<b>6:49 am</b>-I tell her thank you, but I can do it! Go down and have breakfast with Daddy!<br />
<b>6:50 am</b>-Bo starts to scream-negotiate-insist that she helps, so I give in and let her try to "help" with the diaper change by handing me wipes.<br />
<b>6:50 am</b>-I open the baby's diaper and notice that Charlie has had a bowel movement which can only be described as "disturbing". I ask Bo to hand me a wipe.<br />
<b>6:50 am</b>-Bo has decided that her version of helping is not handing me the wipes like we previously discussed. In fact, she decided to "help" by throwing the wipes on the floor.<br />
<b>6:51 am-</b>After realizing it would be faster if I just grab the wipes off the floor myself instead of asking her to do it, because fuck it at this point, Bo reaches over and yanks Charlies binky out of his mouth. A shit storm is a'brewin'. Charlie starts to wail.<br />
<b>6:51 am</b>-Bo thinks it's kind of funny, which pissed me off. I tell her to give it back. She refuses. I ask again. She says no. This goes on for longer than it should.<br />
<b>6:52 am</b>-"Fine, you win!" I say too loudly and startle the baby, who starts to cry louder. I proceed to attempt to change him sans binky.<br />
<b>6:52 am-</b>Charlie starts to pee, and because of the direction that his tiny baby junk was facing, he's peeing on his own face.<br />
<b>6:52 am</b>-I, being the loving and responsible provider that I am, try to stop my baby from giving himself a a golden shower by placing one of the wipes over his wiener. Sadly in that moment, Charlie flinched a little and his aim flipped over to me.<br />
<b>6:52 am</b>-I'm in the middle of getting baby pee in my eyes and bangs. Bo, still "helping" said, "Mommy? Charlie go pee pee?" I don't answer because I didn't want pee in my mouth. I am, after all, a lady.<br />
<b>6:52 am</b>-Charlie has finally stopped peeing. I take a moment to ponder how he had that much liquid in his teeny body. Did someone give him a Big Gulp to fuck with me? Because holy shit.<br />
<b>6:52 am</b>-Charlie and I look at each other. We both have pee on our faces. Suddenly we feel embarrassed, so I quickly proceed to clean him up and he averts his eyes to that fascinating fan above my head. We silently agree to never speak of this again.<br />
<b>6:53 am</b>-Charlie is clean and dry. I still have pee in my bangs. I made an announcement that we're all going downstairs.<br />
<b>6:53 am</b>-Bo declares that she has pooped. And by the smell of things she wasn't fucking kidding.<br />
<b>6:54 am</b>-I grab her size diapers and wipes from the floor next to the bed. I start to attempt to change her. She starts yelling "NONONONOOOOO!" and kicking me.<br />
<b>6:54 am</b>-I tell her it's pretty gross to want to hang out in your own poop. She thinks that's a ridiculous notion, because clearly it's awesome to sit in your own poop!<br />
<b>6:54 am</b>-A cartoon-ish chase commences between myself and my two and a half year old. She's unusually strong and fast.<br />
<b>6:55 am</b>-I have pinned her down and am trying to change her. She still fights. She kicks me in my tits over and over. It was too fast to count, but I figure it was between 15 and 300 rapid fire tit kicks. I look down and notice that I have giant milk stains on my nightgown. They're the size of adult male heads.<br />
<b>6:56 am</b>-I am finally victorious in getting my daughter changed. I tell Bo to go downstairs, I have to use the bathroom. Charlie is still on the bed and has quieted down.<br />
<b>6:57 am</b>-I emerge from the bathroom to see that Bo has emptied out the bottom half of my dresser. Three full drawers. How the fuck did she manage this? I don't have time to figure it out because she has found my old vibrator. She picks it up.<br />
<b>6:57 am</b>-"Oh, NO!!" I yell. This again startles Charlie, who again begins to scream. Bo is looking at the vibrator. She tries to turn it on.<br />
<b>6:57 am</b>-I flash back to those nights that I'm pretty sure I conceived my children. I wonder out loud "How did I get here?" Then glance at my old vibrator and think, "Where were you when I needed you?!"<br />
<b>6:57 am</b>-Bo has lost interest in the vibrator. She throws it down. She runs out the door because her Daddy yelled something that sounded like "waffles".<br />
<b>6:58 am</b>-I pick up Charlie and start to head out the bedroom door when I hear the familiar sounds of a baby filling his pants with shit.<br />
<b>6:58 am</b>-I have given up on all my hopes and dreams.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-59488783090349663612018-05-17T17:44:00.000-07:002018-05-17T17:44:41.120-07:00Bloody Mary Podcast/Apology<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm sorry it's been so damn long since I've posted anything. Truth be told I never have six seconds to myself ever. I'm not kidding. I'm typing this while wearing Charlie, who has barfed on me twice since I opened my computer. I mean, he's cute and stuff, but holy shit can this kid puke! He's def gonna make his goal weight. Meanwhile Bo is watching Despicable Me 2 in the living room, but keeps screaming "MOMMY! HELP!" And when I run in to check on her, she says "HI!"<br />
<br />
I thought when people said it was much harder with two kids they were being silly. They weren't. More on that....soon. I hope.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I wanted to post about this fun podcast I did about moms who kill, just in time for Mothers Day!<br />
It was the only time I left the house that week. Freedom, as it turns out, tastes a lot like the two vodka sodas I slammed once I knew I would be in front of grown up's for the first time in a while and could take an Uber with no car seats!<br />
<br />
<br />
It's called the Bloody Mary podcast and its hosted by two fab women, Lauri and Maria.<br />
<br />
Here's the link:<br />
<br />
http://bloodymarypodcast.libsyn.com/website<br />
<br />
Please listen. Subscribe. Then call me. Or come over. And help me take care of my kids.<br />
<br />
<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-35604910442115925492018-04-09T16:50:00.000-07:002018-04-11T13:05:48.478-07:00Holy Crap, I Have Two Kids Now!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u><i>Bo holding her little brother, Charlie, for the first time. Clearly she thinks he should be able to handle his own neck by now.</i></u> </td></tr>
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On March 26th at 4:06pm <b>Charlie Wilder Cobb</b> was born.<br />
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He decided that his accommodations in my uterus had grown stale and that he would make an appearance three weeks early. Cheeky little fella.<br />
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Since he was early no one was here to help out yet, which is why at 2:00 am that Monday morning when my water broke we made the decision that I would drive myself to the hospital. Bo was still asleep and going through the experience of waking her up out of a dead sleep would be <u><b>way</b></u> more painful than any labor pains I could have. It honestly seemed easier to just get myself to Cedars Sinai and figure it out later.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u><i>The moment after my water broke and our new Ikea duvet cover is destroyed.</i></u></td></tr>
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While I'd like to be viewed as a total bad ass driving myself during the beginning stages of labor, the truth is it wasn't that big of a deal. See, in movies when a woman's water breaks she immediately launches into gut wrenching contractions as she writhes and screams in pain, barely making it into her hospital gown before her baby's head is crowning. <u>But that's not really how it is!</u> Basically my water broke in our bed, I got up, brushed my teeth, put on sweat pants, packed my bag, ate a few cookies, then left. NBD. I didn't even start having contractions until a couple hours after being admitted.<br />
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I know what you're wondering as you read this. Did Amy, being the strong, independent woman that she is cave and get the epidural? <b><u>You bet your sweet ass I did!</u></b> And I would do it again! I wish I had it right now! Epidurals are <b>AWESOME</b>!!!<br />
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The first time I was in labor I waited until the pains were so bad I honestly thought Bo was going to emerge from the middle of my stomach a la Alien. This time however the doctor informed me that waiting is for assholes, and that the drugs are available for a reason. So that we don't have to feel pain! Which is why she makes the big bucks, because she's a goddamn genius!<br />
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Oh and speaking of my doctor, another interesting thing that accompanied Charlie coming early was the fact that my regular OB was out of town when I went into labor. I LOVE my OB. She delivered Bo and is amazing. I wasn't nervous when she said she had to go visit her father in India because she would be back by March 28th, and I wasn't due until April 12th. I had Bo a week early, so I figured that may happen this time around too, but that gave us plenty of time. Luckily the sub doc was incredible, so it wasn't a big deal. I mean, again, read the paragraph above about the pain meds. She is the jam!<br />
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Anyway, back to the birth. So I got my precious epidural and was immediately relieved of the pain. I was also relieved of the ability to feel my legs at all. In fact, my left leg became as useless as Betsy DeVos at a public school bake sale. In my delightfully high state <u><b>I remember saying several times that someone should go ahead and stab me</b></u> because I couldn't feel it, and it would be cool to watch. Thus explaining why people should probably not have an epidural on a random weekday for funsies. Everyone would be stabbed in their legs all the time.<br />
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This epidural was so effective that I didn't notice that my son had moved himself down the birth canal steadily for the next couple of hours. So steadily in fact that at one point the nurse, Carla, came to check on his heart rate only to discover it wasn't where she thought it was. Because it was down by my vagina. Because my son was crowning and I had no idea. Yep. <i><b>During my nap my kid wriggled his way down and was basically birthing himself.</b></i> While I was having a eating jello and making requests of the staff to stab me in my legs, he was starting to come out on his own.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><u>I gave birth to Blue Steel</u></i></td></tr>
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After she noticed that everything went very fast. The doctor came in, I was put into the pushing position, which required my husband to hoist up my dead weight leg behind the knee so he could help move the birth along. But since my leg was as heavy and dead as a bloated mobster being fished out of the Hudson river, he actually grunted while trying to lift it! <i><b>Nothing makes a gal feel sexier than having a human basically hanging out of her vagina as her life partner throws out his back trying to bend her knee. But no one said this was going to be pretty. </b></i><br />
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Now we're ready. The doctor tells me to push. I bare down, thinking I'm giving it my all. But since the epidural was so fresh I couldn't really tell if I was actually pushing or just making a face like I was. It was the latter, because the doctor said "No, really push. Don't just make a face." <b>She didn't F around</b>.<br />
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So I focus my mental energy on my nether region and push with all that I had. Then the doctor tells my husband to look down. He does, and gasps. And they pull out my baby.<br />
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Yes, I am that woman. The one you hear stories about. That asshole mom who had their baby in one push and didn't even feel it. I'm sorry, but the legend is real. I will be taking questions at the press conference.<br />
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Later when we were back in the recovery room my husband lovingly recalled the moment that he witnessed our son being born. With a tear in his eye he said, <i><b>"You know what it looked like? Do you remember that movie Ghoulies? Where the monsters popped out of the toilet? That's kind of what it looked like." </b></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><u>My husband, the poet. </u></i></td></tr>
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Even through I was on Percocet for the pain and a little out of it, I knew that I would have to kill him where he stood. I started to peruse my hospital bed for something blunt and heavy. Luckily he quickly realized the error in this statement and followed up with: <i><b>"No, not that. It was more like that game Whack A Mole." What a charmer, he should write greeting cards. </b></i><br />
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After Charlie was born he had to go to the NICU for about five days. He had some fluid in his lungs and needed to be monitored. It was scary, but he was in great hands and came home the following Saturday. Since then it's been a total <b><u>shit show</u></b>! In the best possible way, of course.<br />
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So there you have it. And then there were four. I would love to stay and write more, but I have to take a nap while I'm peeing as it's the only time I have to myself nowadays.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><u>Damn my kids are friggin' cute!!!</u></i></td></tr>
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-31548048085239700742018-03-23T12:05:00.000-07:002018-03-23T12:05:14.227-07:00Scared Sh*tless For Your Kids Safety? Try These Alternative Solutions! If you're a parent I bet your days are filled to the brim with utter fear and anxiety that at any minute the world will end. It's scary enough having kids and worrying they're going to hurt themselves just by falling off their roller shoes, let alone the possibility of them walking into a Chuck E Cheese on a random Tuesday and having to duck and cover because one of the animatronics with a history of violence has beef with the day manager. (How did he get hired in the first place?!)<br />
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So what are we, as parents of the future generation, supposed to do to deal with all this insanity? While there are the logical and thoughtful solutions suggested time after time like, uh, how about we don't give that dude who with a Google history exclusively on "How To Burn A Cat Alive Without Making A Mess" that AR-15, ideas like <b><u>that</u></b> are <i>clearly</i> insane and threaten the very core of <b style="font-style: italic; text-decoration-line: underline;">all American values </b>of being able to own <b><u>ALL THE GUNS.</u> </b>It seems like the only thing we can do is come up with some new, bolder solutions.<br />
We've all heard the "Less Guns, More Guns" argument, but I'd like to throw my hat in the ring with some alternative suggestions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheKtaxc5cNsjNPSsLo8bxOGLwrQU4-dQd7-wQItCjd1fz25c1_quwPv22_phzeJPPflysxOjruenfTzPRmgxQQay7Bz7PB2L6bdk_Ipc0nuGRXIeW32Sa11bJf-HdkGDJ7YpCNWiYHbfLS/s1600/shutterstock_309890969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheKtaxc5cNsjNPSsLo8bxOGLwrQU4-dQd7-wQItCjd1fz25c1_quwPv22_phzeJPPflysxOjruenfTzPRmgxQQay7Bz7PB2L6bdk_Ipc0nuGRXIeW32Sa11bJf-HdkGDJ7YpCNWiYHbfLS/s320/shutterstock_309890969.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b>1. Give Pets More Guns!</b><br />
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Sure, we can give every teacher in America a semi automatic rifle and hope for the best, but this idea doesn't go far enough in my opinion! Let's also arm our pets! They seem to have some of the same criteria as most people who have access to murder machines, in that they don't know how to flip on the safety and get spooked really easily. (As an example, I just dropped a roll of toilet paper near my dog, Dave, and he peed on the floor a little bit). If you think this idea is absurd because animals don't have opposable thumbs, then you clearly aren't down to make America great again! I<u> just</u> watched Benji with my two year old, and if they can train that dog to turn a lamp on and off, I'm sure they can teach them how to haphazardly pull a trigger. It is probably the real reason that duct tape was actually invented in the first place!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVz_woATCwuXJ82UsGd1FWaS5uSJ-ZxalqtN7N0z4RQZY_gKhgwgEbXtJ0OBX8aioy0m-3Qu4gIyBew46zgQPbkSwRjhYA1uu5hRPnwdENaQEmsn8OMbp4d0Wa3Rg4LjmBLgGriknXvTx/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVz_woATCwuXJ82UsGd1FWaS5uSJ-ZxalqtN7N0z4RQZY_gKhgwgEbXtJ0OBX8aioy0m-3Qu4gIyBew46zgQPbkSwRjhYA1uu5hRPnwdENaQEmsn8OMbp4d0Wa3Rg4LjmBLgGriknXvTx/s400/download-1.jpg" /></a><b>2. Thoughts And Prayers Don't Do Anything, So Let's Try Satan!</b><br />
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I would like to propose exploring the other, darker side and just sign an eternal agreement with Beelzebub. While I'm not particularly religious it seems like the ones making all the shittiest decisions that affect all of us are the ones that also claim to be the most Christian. And boy, thanks so much for those helpful thoughts and prayers, they're really helping this bullet wound that collapsed my lung feel so much better! The upside of the Satan route is that we know what the outcome will be so we can chill out about the other stuff! Sure, burning in hell for eternity doesn't sound super pleasant in the afterlife, but does it sound any worse that having to listen to Kellyanne Conway talk about how much she loves her Ivanka brand mom jeans on CNN today? You decide.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYq4RafSvJ_GLexOpa-HDJrw5xmeUd_wNCzC6vq2QJILjB4rpqMjeEvqetqSgv_6Hm_YTThr9Cq_CMpRIvT_sZ5wHG6upAQdksNib7HPVuFJLEN5Xa9vOKAFKJJj50qz90Hdm6a4gLH-_n/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYq4RafSvJ_GLexOpa-HDJrw5xmeUd_wNCzC6vq2QJILjB4rpqMjeEvqetqSgv_6Hm_YTThr9Cq_CMpRIvT_sZ5wHG6upAQdksNib7HPVuFJLEN5Xa9vOKAFKJJj50qz90Hdm6a4gLH-_n/s400/images.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b>3. Be Black Out Drunk Literally Every Moment of Every Day Forever!</b><br />
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I would be lying if this wasn't my favorite alternative. Of course this comes with some rules, like you can never take your children anywhere in a vehicle, and it's likely that you'll say something you can't take back to the nice pharmacist at the CVS. But honestly doesn't this seem like a good idea? You can wake up in the morning, albeit hungover to shit, but right away start hitting the bottle and numbing those pesky feelings that had you all worried to begin with. By the time you get around to checking out the latest bullshit on Fox News, you are so hammered all you can focus on is the glare of the lights from Tomi Lahren's taught, Botoxed forehead. There are also several food delivery services you can subscribe to, and your kids friends will just refer to you as "that lady who is always asleep on the bathroom floor".<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjALeuf9E605zT74cd9FxXqHY_segxn0t3py4fmgGDpmziip7xxnxkHNklRVV-f-oZ-21JQPZXaXrDklX9OfRdqTVKPasiIdQmXnlmmNHye2I9IJ-r1YbUKZgZggk7WxAc9BE-veRaKkfq/s1600/adult-cockroach-costume-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjALeuf9E605zT74cd9FxXqHY_segxn0t3py4fmgGDpmziip7xxnxkHNklRVV-f-oZ-21JQPZXaXrDklX9OfRdqTVKPasiIdQmXnlmmNHye2I9IJ-r1YbUKZgZggk7WxAc9BE-veRaKkfq/s320/adult-cockroach-costume-1.jpg" width="224" /></b></a><b>4. Become A Human Cockroach!</b><br />
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Okay, I get that this is a little science fiction-y for most of you, but just give it a chance. Cockroaches are known for their ability to survive in even the worst circumstances. I can speak to this a bit, as for a year I lived in a rent controlled apartment on the Upper East Side that should have been condemned due to it's chronic problem with feces in the shower pipes. Alas, my roach friends thrived during those times making lemons into feces-aid and living their best lives. I figure if someone could feasibly make a human centipede, how much of a leap is it to become a cockroach? All you'd need is an exoskeleton made out of some sort of vinyl or thin metal, not be scared of the dark and dine out of garbage cans. Easy peasy! Plus if you combine this with idea number three on the list you won't even care that people scream and try to step on you every time you're spotted!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Yk5BbzT9BdKhVYoDD3itjJa5SkBJmdLqwFetcNn2je3CCCvBKpEHUNTtJgG_KOctABTjlAz6HZinR_dhJGww_XyM4xycdrMrO-iTXmJAZMzISJVjQE848-cxvc9N6tlMCjyMEVBWD5Be/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Yk5BbzT9BdKhVYoDD3itjJa5SkBJmdLqwFetcNn2je3CCCvBKpEHUNTtJgG_KOctABTjlAz6HZinR_dhJGww_XyM4xycdrMrO-iTXmJAZMzISJVjQE848-cxvc9N6tlMCjyMEVBWD5Be/s320/download.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b>5. Get Yourself A Head Injury Like The One Drew Barrymore Had In 50 First Dates!</b><br />
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If you don't recall that movie, it stars Drew and Adam Sandler as two people who live in Hawaii and fall in love. The twist is that Drew was in an accident which effected her ability to remember things and every time she fell asleep, she would wake up the next day thinking it was the day that she got in her accident and not recall anything that happened previously or after. It's super cute, I love that movie. I also love this idea, because you can honestly say you have no idea what's going on and live in ignorant bliss all the time. The only downside is that it's too late to get our head injuries while Obama was still in office. That way we could really continue on with living with hope.holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-25712216023070000752018-03-12T14:45:00.000-07:002018-03-12T14:48:54.842-07:00"F**k Mommy!"or From The Filthy Mouth of Babes!<br />
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"<b>Fuck, Mommy! Please, fuck, Mom! Mom, fuck, fuck!</b>" said my two and a half year old while watching Zootopia one evening during dinner.<br />
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My husband and I looked up from our food/computer and stared at each other wide eyed. Then our our expressions began to change slightly. His look became that of a quiet accusation, and mine, guilt.<br />
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Our toddler is saying "fuck" over and over again, and we both know who she heard it from. It is <u><b>100% Mommy's fault</b></u>, and I know it.<br />
<br />
Obviously, if you've read previous posts, it's no mystery that I am a person who swears. I swear alllllllll the time, and I always have. As I turn to avoid my husbands gaze of disapproval I flash back to my past filled to the brim with potty mouth behavior.<br />
<br />
It all started when I was about two or so. My grandpa was holding me, cooing, making me laugh. And as he came in for a snuggle I flashed a big smile and said, "Fuck bullshit shit dammit!" then let out one of those precious baby laughs that all parents live for. I only know this because this moment was recalled every family holiday for years and years.<br />
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Then I'm eight and riding my bike in our downtown San Jose neighborhood when I accidentally slide and tip over going at a decent speed, skinning my knees and palms. Sitting on my ground I let out a "Mother fucker! Shit!" I must have said it loud enough for one of the neighbors to come out of her house to see who this filth mouth was, and was she in need of an ambulance. I didn't think anyone could hear me and I was instantly overcome with the feeling that I was going to be in trouble for swearing. In an attempt to cover my tracks I tried to casually glance down the street and asked. "Did you hear that?" Then quickly got up and limped my bike back home.<br />
<br />
It was when I was 12, however, and in the seventh grade that I really took to the use of curse words. I started to own them, getting very cozy with them. It was one evening when I had some girlfriends over from my middle school for a sleep over, and we were allowed to watch the Madonna documentary Truth or Dare. I loved Madonna, she was such an inspiration for me, and one of the reasons is that she had the mouth of a dump truck. Everything was "Fuck this", and "Cocksucker" that. She gave a bottle a blow job, showed her boobs, <u>had the balls to have sex with crusty ole Warren Beatty</u>! I mean come on! What a woman!<br />
<br />
That doc really empowered me to jump on the "fuck" train and from that day forward I would swear constantly. It made me feel like a woman. Like no one would want to mess with someone who said the word "bullshit!" when referring to a friendship bracelet they were given. It was sexy and bad ass. Everything I wanted to be at that age. (Not for nothing, I kind of still want to be that, but alas...)<br />
<br />
The other thing was that in my house, swear words weren't such a big deal. Don't get me wrong, I didn't go around being all, "What the fuck Mom? I wanted pepperoni on my cunt pizza! Shit!" Nothing like that, but parents did swear and my mom sort of had the philosophy that if you make a big deal out of swear words then they are given more power than they deserve. Bad words are really just words.<br />
<br />
Sadly, I took that reasoning and ran with it all the way to buttfuck where ever and back. I wanted those words to have power. I would <i>give</i> them said power. They were so fun to say!<br />
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<br />
I snap back into reality where in the present moment my sweet, golden haired, baby angel has just put a mirror up to my shitty parenting where I can't seem to pull it together for five fucking minutes and not curse in front of her, well aware that kids are sponges and everything we do, they pick up!<br />
<br />
I say, "Love, no. We don't say those words. That is not okay!"<br />
<br />
She gives me a puzzled look.<br />
<br />
I have a quick day-mare where she's in preschool and exclaims joyfully "These raisins are the fucking tits Miss Renee!"<br />
<br />
"Sweetie, those kinds of words are not okay. You can't say those things. Those are bad words, and though I'm pretty sure you've heard Mommy use that word before, it's not okay. I will do better, love. I will stop using those bad words because I owe that to you. Mommy has failed you in that way, and I'm so sorry, but I will do better, I promise. But you can't say that word again, okay? That is a very bad, bad word."<br />
<br />
My daughter stares at me for a second. I can't tell if she's considering challenging my request, or is choosing another bad word she's heard her mother say over and over just to show off her ever growing vocabulary.<br />
<br />
"Foon, Mommy! Foon, foon. Please Mom, foon and fuck!" she replied.<br />
<br />
As she speaks she points to the bakers rack where we keep all of our silverware. I realize what was going on. I let out a sigh of relief. She's not ruined quite yet.<br />
<br />
She wasn't saying fuck. She was asking for a fork. A spoon and fork.<br />
<br />
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Fin.holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-76926878558772962272018-02-27T13:22:00.001-08:002018-02-27T13:42:29.622-08:005 Of The Weirdest Things People Have Said To Me During This Pregnancy<br />
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I don't know exactly what it is about me, but I've always been the type of gal that people think they can just say anything to. Perhaps they think, "<i>She's funny! And has the bone structure of someone who doesn't get offended easily! I think I'll cover her with word vomit!</i>"<br />
<br />
This rule of thumb didn't disappoint this pregnancy. So, for your amusement may I present the <b>top five weirdest things people have said to me during this gestation process</b>.<br />
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Luckily, I still have about six weeks left so fingers crossed I'll be able to alter this list by then.<br />
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5. "<b><u>Oh my God, are you pregnant? Oh good. I asked a woman that the other day, and she said no and got SO upset!"</u></b><br />
<br />
This was said to me by a young girl who works in the piano lab where I'm taking classes. She has seen me many times before and we've never had to venture much past "Which room would you like?" and "Great, you have an hour, thanks!" I have liked our interaction thus far. It's reliable. No thrills, no frills. Just a peaceful exchange of handing her my I.D. to scan and her giving me a key to a tiny room with a piano.<br />
I'm not sure what happened over the break that changed between us. Maybe she missed me? Or perhaps she's on a personal quest to connect more with others. I don't know. I DO know, however, that if you asked a woman that once AND IT DIDN'T GO SO WELL, taking a stab at it again may indicate some sort of mental illness. In the very least, a propensity for making poor choices, so let's just say I wouldn't lend her my car anytime soon.<br />
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4. "<u><b>Are you so sad about your boobs being gross? My sister has a baby and her boobs are so gross now."</b></u><br />
<br />
When I was asked this, I have to admit I laughed and laughed. Because, sure, I'm bummed that my boobs will probably not be the same after this. I don't know if I would classify them as "gross" but to each their own.<br />
I'm also bummed that I will pee my pants whenever I sneeze, and that my hemorrhoids are clearly here to stay. But what struck me as funny is that this was said by a woman at my Yoga studio, and she was a complete stranger. We were in the locker room getting dressed, so perhaps she was checking out my rack prior to this statement. She overheard me chatting with one of the teachers about my due date, said this and then disappeared in a puff of Lulu Lemon and healing rose oil. It was sort of magical. I haven't seen her since, and I don't know her name so I can't give her a shout out, but I think of her often.<br />
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3. "<b><u>Oh, you're pregnant! That's so funny, my dog just had puppies like, three weeks ago!</u></b>"<br />
<br />
Oh dear, this is concerning on several different levels. The only thing I can assume is that this person wasn't allowed to participate in sex ed during middle school because their mom didn't want them to grow up too fast, and they never looked into it ever again. Or maybe she thinks I'm a dog. Like one of those really smart talking dogs you see on Nickelodeon and Disney shows. There's always the possibility that I, the talking dog, would be into chatting with her dog to hear about her experience, and perhaps inquire about the amount of lanolin that would be needed to soothe my eight sore nipples. I still haven't worked this one out, but I'd love to hear any theories.<br />
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2. "<b><u>How far along are you? (quietly, after I answer) Ew</u></b>."<br />
<br />
This was a very special one for me, because I don't think I was supposed to hear the "ew", part of this sentence. I'm fairly certain that the person who said this thought they didn't let it slip out of their brains and into the brisk night air where it lingered for a few moments. I didn't really say anything back either. Maybe I thought they would laugh or say they were kidding, or something. But no, they just stood there and waited for me to respond.<br />
I do wonder what the "ew" was for though? Like, is it the image of my unborn baby growing fingernails that freaks you out? Or the idea that I will almost certainly poop on the table while pushing in the near future? Perhaps it was a comment on the uphill battle our youth face nowadays due to living in a world of increased ambivalence for human life and how many people are converting to vegan-ism. I guess I'll never know.<br />
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1. "<b><u>My aunt had, like, four miscarriages then just gave up altogether</u></b>."<br />
<br />
This was said to me at, wait for it, a <i><u><b>kids birthday party</b></u></i>. Let that sink into your pores.<br />
What. The. Fuck am I supposed to say to this? It's not like I'm not sensitive to what your aunt went through, that must have been a very painful time. But how in the hell do you think this is a normal subject to bring up to a pregnant person who you barely know in between the cake and the magician?<br />
I don't totally remember what I said back, though I'm sure it was "I'm sorry about that."<br />
I wonder if there is a better way to respond? Something automatic like, "God bless you!" when people sneeze. If this happens again I think I'll try out "Exit stage left!" or "Hang in there baby!" and see how it lands.<br />
<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0Los Angeles, CA, USA34.0522342 -118.243684933.2099567 -119.5345784 34.8945117 -116.95279140000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-45589034033831169192018-02-23T00:32:00.000-08:002018-02-23T19:06:13.422-08:00Mr. Rogers Taught Me About Death<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning I was hanging out with my little girl. She usually watches an episode of <i>Sesame Street </i>while we get her ready. It's entertaining enough to keep her focus, and distracting enough for us to get her dressed without a struggle.<br />
<br />
Today though we actually had some leisure time as she wasn't going to day care and mommy was feeling lazy AF. I decided that maybe we could try something else, as it's gotten painful to re-watch <i>Sesame Street</i> over and over. I'm starting to become like one of those weirdo cinephile folks who can mouth word for word every line in some jaunty art film they worship. Except in my case it's not exactly <b>high art</b> but rather the episode where Elmo is learning how to ride his tricycle.<br />
<br />
I flipped through Amazon Prime to see if I could find anything interesting in the kids section. And interesting is exactly what I found. I stumbled across some old episodes of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood and immediately put it on. I hoped my kid would be into it, and thankfully she was. She and I sat on the floor wide eyed watching this slow paced, mellow kids show. It was mind blowing.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Because the very first episode in the queue was all about death</b></i>. I'm not kidding.<br />
<br />
This episode of Mr. Rogers was titled <i>Death of a Goldfish</i>. It began by showing his dead goldfish floating upside down in the tank. He tries to revive it with salt (which is ill advised in most circumstances, right?) and reiterated how dead the fish actually was. Then he talked about his childhood dog who died and how sad he was because of what his dog, Mitzi, meant to him. Then he buried the fish. Then we watched puppets.<br />
<br />
Wait, pause. Is this the <u>same </u>Mr. Rogers Neighborhood I used to watch when I was little? This isn't at all what I recall about this show. I don't remember there ever being anything heavy like that. I remembered the puppets, the neighbor song, how he changed his shoes and jacket at the top of the show. But talking about death? No, that doesn't ring a bell. But as I started looking into some of his past episodes, he talked about this kind of stuff all the time!<br />
<br />
The thing is, the way he broached the topic of death and how to handle it was absolutely <b>beautiful</b>. It was elegant, kind, honest and straightforward all at once. <b><i>Things die. That's life, neighbor.</i></b> It was heartfelt. without being overwhelmingly emotional or dramatic. It is exactly the way I want my daughter to learn about death. A way that I don't think I would be able to successfully communicate.<br />
<br />
Now I don't think my kid got what the whole thing was about, she was more interested in the music and train and stuff. But it got me thinking about how we as a society now address these kinds of issues, and how our kids are going to learn about these things differently than we did.<br />
<br />
When we were kids there weren't mass shootings every single day. We didn't have to have lock down drills just in case there is an active shooter in our school. We didn't have a <b><u>fucking</u></b> <b><u>president </u></b>who sincerely proposes that school teachers have concealed weapons on them at all time because of the likelihood of there being an actual active shooter situation. <u>We didn't live in an endless cloud of fear every day of our lives. </u><br />
<br />
I remember being warned about dudes in vans who'll ask me if I like candy and try to kidnap me. We had earthquake drills where we would duck and cover under our desks. We learned about fire safety and how to call the police in case of an emergency. But never, ever did we hear about the possibility that we could die while sitting in our classrooms because someone was angry and had access to an assault weapon.<br />
<br />
Being a parent in America nowadays has become an <u>exercise in terror</u>. There isn't a day that goes by where I am not paralyzed with fear that my baby will get hurt, or worse. Sometimes the scenarios that run through my head are so extreme that it makes my body shake. We are living in terrifying times, and the only thing I need to do is protect my kid both physically and emotionally from this fear. <b><u>How do I prepare my babies for the worst while instilling the importance of reaching for the best?</u></b><br />
<br />
I guess what I'm trying to say is that when we were kids our fears were, or at least seemed, manageable. We were taught practical skills that could keep us safe, and it felt like we had some <u>semblance of control </u>over it. Of course we didn't know about all the other scary things that were happening in the world, but what we did know we could handle by learning how to say no to the guy in the van with the candy, and that a doorway or a table would protect us from something falling on our heads as the earth shook, and that if you touch a doorknob and it's hot, to not go into that room because you could get burned.<br />
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While technology is amazing it's also debilitating. It's possible that we know too damn much and it's strangling us. I want to go back to a time when I didn't wake up with the first thought being, "Oh God, please don't let there be another mass murder today. Just one day, that's all I ask!" only to go on Facebook and immediately learn that I would have to hope that the <i>next </i>day didn't start with something horrible happening, because today was sadly already a wash.<br />
<br />
In my humble opinion we need to go back to a Mr. Rogers time. A time that didn't include 24 hour fear mongering news cycles, and Twitter, and a <b><u>pathetic sociopath</u></b> in the highest office in the land who runs the country<u> 280 characters</u> at a time, and it being acceptable to everyone.<br />
<br />
Of course bad things happened when we were kids, but we weren't aware of it like we are now. Yes, it's good to be informed and yes, it's good to have a plan of action. But don't you think we as humans would be so much happier if we didn't have this endless stream of shit flowing our way all the damn time? I do. <b><u>I sincerely do.</u></b><br />
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holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-42309753866760257092018-02-14T09:00:00.000-08:002018-02-15T10:19:26.925-08:00A "Geriatric Pregnancy" aka "Wow, You Must Be Old As F**k!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Recently at a store I frequent I had an interaction with the checker I always chat with. He's a nice guy, young, stoned, friendly. For a dude who's constantly baked his memory is impeccable. He always asks about my daughter, and our dog, Dave, and wants to hear about the thing I told him I was going to do the last time I saw him, etc. You get it.<br />
<br />
Just as I was about to say goodbye he asked if he could check out my engagement ring, since he was in the market and wanted some ideas! And even though I fucking hate it when <i>other </i>people do this, I squealed and jumped up and down a little bit. It seems it's an involuntary response. I asked about his girlfriend.<br />
<br />
Dude: "She's super cool, very chill for a Caucasian."<br />
<br />
Me: "Oh, that's good. Most white people are the worst."<br />
<br />
Dude: "She's like a hippie chick, but not a Vegan or anything."<br />
<br />
Me: "Thank God."<br />
<br />
Dude: "And she wants to have kids one day, which is awesome!"<br />
<br />
Me: "That's great!"<br />
<br />
Dude: "Yeah, cuz like, I'm 35 so I'm not getting any younger. And she's like, 27, so she has to get on that shit, right? I mean having a kid after 35 can be...bad, right?"<br />
<br />
Me: "I had my first baby a couple weeks after I turned 36."<br />
<br />
Dude:(in that strained "shit, I just called this super un-chill Caucasian woman old as fuck. Dang, my B" high voice) "Oh, word? Dang, that's cool! 36! Daaaannnnnnng, that's cool!"<br />
<br />
Ah, I can't blame the poor guy. He was put on the spot there and I didn't save him. I could've easily done the obligatory, "Yeah, ew, after 35 things get reallllllyyyy gross!" But instead I let him squirm a bit, and I don't feel bad. But honestly, it's not his fault he thinks that, because that's what we're all told. After 35 things <i>can</i> get dicey in the baby making dept for women, and there <i>may</i> be increased risks for certain genetic abnormalities, there <i>can</i> be a higher percentage of complications, etc. Yes, these are things that are true scientifically and <i>might</i> happen.<br />
<br />
When I first went in for my pregnancy appt my own beloved OB referred to this current round of knocked-upedness as a "Geriatric Pregnancy". Geri. Atric. Preg. Nancy.<br />
<br />
Um, b'scuse me? You know, geriatric as in old AF. As in nursing home old. As in "It's just little shriveled Gertrude, sitting around, having her tea and playing bridge with her girlfriends, getting up every so often with the help of her walker to grab herself an ice cold Ensure" old. What the actual fuck?<br />
<br />
So if that's how<u> doctors</u> refer to a women over 35 being pregnant, how could the sweet, stoned checker at this store think anything else? Clearly he paid attention in his high school health class when they detailed how a woman's body, and if we're being honest, fuck-ability factor, declines dramatically after she turns 35, so that's what he knows, right?<br />
<br />
This term is extra offensive because what it implies is that a woman's "usefulness" has an expiration date, which is the kind of thinking that has contributed to the blatant sexism and ruling of the tired, boring and misinformed patriarchy that we have gotten so used to over the years. (And no, changing up the term to "Advanced Maternal Age", does not make it any less offensive, but thanks for playing.)<br />
<br />
Because we are a society that's obsessed with youth we're not growing or changing to adjust to the actual times in which for the most part women over the age of 35 are <u>just</u> starting to have families, and it seems like that is a trend that's here to stay. Barring any Handmaids Tale kind of major changes that is. But just in case,<br />
<i><b>Under his eye, Blessed be the fruit.</b></i><br />
<br />
And to be clear, I'm not saying that it's men's faults that this is still an idea that's being perpetuated, because there are plenty of women who also think it's a bad idea to have a kid when you're older. For example, there was an article in the UK publication <i>The Telegraph</i> about a newscaster who was 45 years old at this point and had already had two kids. The article was about an ad campaign for the pregnancy test company, <i>First Response</i>, that featured a female newscaster who was made up to look like an elderly woman in her 60's or 70's that was pregnant. The intention of this ad was to scare women into having kids earlier in life, because at 45 she couldn't have another child, and the writer of the piece asked if this ad had crossed the line and gone too far. Check out the pic and article<a href="http://www.totalbeauty.com/content/blog/response-wants-get-britain-fertile"> here</a>.<br />
And in my mind, obviously yes, the ad had crossed the line. The ad was so far over the line it was in no longer part of the EU. The ad pulled a Brexit.<br />
Okay, so cool, not only do women already feel that looming fear that comes with knowing there is a biological clock ticking, and that(some) are <i><u>expected</u></i> by family or whatever to get pregnant at some point, but this asshole has the balls to jump on board and go full <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackass_Presents:_Bad_Grandpa">Bad Grandpa</a> in order to get the point across that women should start earlier!<br />
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I have many questions, like what is this chicks deal? She has two kids now. She also has a career. Things seem to be going fine for her, right? Does she think that if she had more kids earlier in her life that she would even have that job being on TV reading the news? And, oh, if she weren't on TV does she think that <i>First Response</i> would've chosen her to be the person in their ad campaign to begin with? Plus there are woman who <u><b>are </b></u>45 having kids <u><b>now</b></u> too! Did she even try? What kind of sweet First Response kick backs was she guaranteed for this ad?<br />
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Clearly <u><b>we don't know</b></u> what would have happened to her if she had more kids when she was younger, and neither does she, because we don't have a Bill and Ted phone booth/time machine, but frankly who gives a shit? Having another woman and mother participate in this kind of thing is really disheartening IMHO.<br />
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It's not the 50's and women are having babies <i><b><u>later</u></b> </i>because they are kicking ass <i><u><b>now</b></u></i>! Also, and I'm only speaking for myself here, but if I had a baby in <u>my</u> 20's, apparently when <i>First Response</i> and this woman would have preferred me to, there is a strong chance that I would be raising them in a Cleveland Grey Hound terminal making them fake illiteracy for change so can I maintain my "40 and a half top" habit on a daily basis.<br />
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What I'm saying is that in my 20's I was a CRAZY person! In fact, please refer to my post <a href="https://holycrapimyourmom.blogspot.com/2016/09/when-i-was-22.html">When I Was 22</a>...from this very blog. I'll wait while you read it.<br />
Done?<br />
Um, does THAT sound like someone you'd want procreating? Hell naw!<br />
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So, while the term geriatric is insulting to say the least, it's also not accurate at this point in time. Not too long ago peoples life expectancies were only around 35 on the top end, so maybe being called a geriatric back then was more appropriate. And while of course I'm not denying what science has proven, which is yes, a woman's body <u>does</u> change a whole hell of a lot after they turn 30 while a man's body just keeps being a semen dispenser for an unfortunate and lengthy amount of time. (As a quick reference to this, check out this article about celebrity men bags 'o' dust who are knocking up women when they are old AF <a href="https://www.parents.com/parenting/celebrity-parents/celebrity-dads-who-had-children-after-50/">here</a>.) But we also need to factor in that we also have advanced medical technologies and wonderful things like IVF and other fertility treatments that have changed peoples lives dramatically. <b><u>Oh, and it's none of anyones goddamn business when you choose to have kids</u></b>. Which is really what this whole thing is about anyway.<br />
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In conclusion, calling a woman over 35 who is going to have a baby geriatric may not change in the eyes of the medical industry for a long time, if ever. That's their problem. In the meantime, here are some images of bad ass women who were considered "old" to have a baby when they did, and <br />
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they seem to be doing just fine.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-16677024700988681252018-02-13T13:59:00.000-08:002018-02-13T14:02:28.099-08:00Angela Fink Rocks Hot Momiforms and Can Teach You How To Too!!~<div>
<b>"I truly believe that you should wear things that you feel 100% great in. If you are uncomfortable all day or don't feel confident about a look, don't ever wear it again. You don't have to wear all the trends. Find what works for you. "</b></div>
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Amen sister!</div>
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Though I have grown fond of my "momiform" of sweatpants and hi-top Vans on the average day, I have also been known to pull it together when I needed to! Luckily for us moms there is stylist and social media celeb Angela Fink who is proving being a mom doesn't mean you need to frump it up! </div>
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Check out this piece on her in <a href="http://www.refinery29.com/angela-fink-fashion-tips-from-mom-blogger?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=adsales&utm_campaign=PS_Tumi">Refinery29</a>, and learn how to pull your shit together in a jiffy while still ruling the world!</div>
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<a href="http://highbrow.com/wp-content/uploads/Angela-Fink-Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://highbrow.com/wp-content/uploads/Angela-Fink-Cover.jpg" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="800" height="116" width="320" /></a></div>
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Also check out her Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/angelafink/">here</a>.</div>
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And while you're at it, check out my Instagram <a href="https://deskgram.org/amyalbertcobb">here</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/momgeturshittogether/">here</a>. </div>
holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0Los Angeles, CA, USA34.0522342 -118.243684933.2099567 -119.5345784 34.8945117 -116.95279140000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-68956509228236460852018-02-05T09:00:00.000-08:002018-02-05T10:00:29.069-08:00Into Emotional Cutting? Cool, Read The Giving Tree! <br />
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If there is one thing I know about myself it is that I simply can't eat an ice cream sandwich with any sort of dignity.<br />
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If there is a second thing I'm sure of, its that I am not emotionally healthy enough to handle the children's book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. That book sends me into a sobbing fit so powerful I need my inhaler to pull me out safely. Every time I open the book I am cutting myself emotionally, and this post is a cry for help.<br />
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If you're not familiar with this classic let me give you the cliff notes. It's about a boy and a tree. When the boy is young he loves the tree and hangs with it all the time, and the tree is so happy. They play and he climbs and he eats her apples and sleeps in her shade. The tree even allows the boy to carve their initials into her side that's surrounded by a heart. She loved this boy so much she allowed him to brand her permanently.<br />
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Things were pretty awesome for a long time, until the boy got a little older. He stopped wanting to hang with the tree as much, and when he did he would bring a girl around and they would hook up under the tree, which is weird because the tree was, like, right there watching. Then the boy really pulled a dick move and carved his initials and this other chicks initials ABOVE the other carving as a real howdoyoudo to the tree! I mean, that is some shady shit! But you know what? The tree still loved this kid!<br />
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Eventually everything falls apart and the boy disappears for a long time. When he returns after years he's older and moody AF. The tree didn't care though, she was just to pumped to see him. She was like, "Hey, omg, it's you! Climb on me for old times sake and swing from my branches and let's re-live our memories and be happy!" And the boy was like, "No man, that's lame. I need money! Give me money!" And the tree was like, "Oh...you need money? Okay, well I don't have my wallet on me, but I do have these apples so you can take them and sell them and that'll perk you right up, so the next time you come here you'll be happy!" And the boy was all, "Whatever." And he took her apples. Like, alllllllllll of her apples. She didn't make apples anymore because he used them all up, along with her good years. Then he's out again for another long stretch of time.<br />
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When he returns next he's pretty busted looking. He kind of comes off like a dude who tried his hand at the stock market but lost it all so he started day drinking and partaking in a bunch of pyramid schemes, all of which failed pretty horribly. But the tree was still super stoked to see him, so she shook and was like, "Hey! Wow, look at you! You know what would make you feel better? A little swing in my branches!" And the boy was all, "Jesus, really? Again with that? I want a house and a wife. You got any of those?" And the tree was like, "Oh...okay, um...I don't have those things here with me at the moment, but, um...well, hey! I got an idea! Why don't you just cut down my branches, take them to build a house, snag yourself a pretty little lady and then you'll chill out and come back here and we can hang! I mean, it's like taking my limbs and stuff, but you're good for it, right?" And the boy was all, "Yeah, whatever, give me your branches." Then he fucking left again!<br />
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The next time the comes back he's old and somehow talks her out of her trunk until she's literally just a stump. But by now she's starting to get it, that this boy is kind of a dick. It's just they've been in this pattern of abuse for so long, she already gave up everything, so fuck it I guess.<br />
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The last scene of the book the boy returns and he's in his 80's and can't walk without the use of a cane or eat a candy apple to save his life. The tree, er, stump now, is like, "Hey, it's you. Um, listen, you literally took everything from me, and I'm just a stump now, so I have nothing to offer you, sorry."<br />
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You'd think that at this point in the story the boy would take a moment to look in the mirror and see what a dick he is, and how he has ruined this trees life by keeping her hanging on all these years! This should be the part of the book where he apologizes and admits to the tree that's he's been in and out of rehab for Oxy abuse for years, and he makes amends, and then we turn out the lights and go to bed. But does he do that? NO! This fucker has the balls to complain about his old ass bones being tired, and SHE LETS HIM SIT ON HER STUMP!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HOW?!</td></tr>
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And that's how the book ends!<br />
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There are a ton of theories about what this book is really about. It could be about the essence of parenting, how the mother loves her child so much that no matter what she gives him everything she has just so he can be happy. Some think it's the story of greed in America. Some think it's a cautionary tale about hallucinatory drugs, and others think it's Mr. Silverstein's revenge on his parents for naming him Shel. Actually, that last one is my theory, and mine alone. In any case, it's the saddest goddamn thing I've ever laid eyes on and it's very strange to me that it's supposed to be a children's book.<br />
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Anyway, the point is I have known that The Giving Tree messes me up for years now, it isn't new information. I don't know why I bought it for my kid in the first place, and even more bizarre is why I have attempted to read it to her a few times. Every time I do it's the same scene. I am pretty strong until I get to the point where he gets older and the tree is alone a lot more, and I start to sob. And not like, "Oh, I'm not crying, there's just dust in my eye!" tears but hard, loud, snot bubble sobs of pain and loss. My daughter always turns her sweet face to me and shoots me a look that's a mix of confusion and "bitch, you need to pull your shit together asap!"<br />
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She's right, I really do.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0Los Angeles, CA, USA34.0522342 -118.243684933.2099567 -119.5345784 34.8945117 -116.95279140000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-91047549589858469062018-02-02T11:38:00.000-08:002018-02-02T11:43:20.946-08:00Mom Get Your Sh*t Together! Beauty Stuff Moms Need!I am obsessed with make up. It's a "I have a million products and I love it and I'm not slowing down, sorry children you may not go to college but at least Mommy is gorgeous!" kind of obsession. One of the things that kind of sucks about pregnancy is that while others are obligated to say you're glowing, in reality you may just feel like a sweaty, puffy mess. At least I do!<br />
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I've been thinking about adding a little beauty hack stuff into this blog. Just products I've found that make me feel beautiful that I'd like to share with my other beautiful readers!<br />
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So, without further adieu, I'd like to introduce a blog segment I'm calling:<br />
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"Mom, Get Your Shit Together!"<br />
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I'll try to do at least weekly product and beauty hacks that I've discovered that make life easier, not harder, and really make you feel great. Because let's be real, you can't drink yourself pretty right now, might as well do something to keep you occupied!<br />
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My first ever Mom, Get Your Shit Together beauty hack is NYX's Wonder Stick in Universal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eKydeNmqGnuSoFv4SBumVqTAmf0CYKeDMky1Y-AkVm2wGN0eu89j0qNB0ScBHJPm316NpskXjekjzmY4fa_cjIW_ZjRdqPDmWofnaHqgfxAhzjLLKekLqWDzc8YVzXAV0Vmv68ruNYAk/s1600/wonderstick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eKydeNmqGnuSoFv4SBumVqTAmf0CYKeDMky1Y-AkVm2wGN0eu89j0qNB0ScBHJPm316NpskXjekjzmY4fa_cjIW_ZjRdqPDmWofnaHqgfxAhzjLLKekLqWDzc8YVzXAV0Vmv68ruNYAk/s320/wonderstick.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
It's doubled ended contour and highlighter and its AWESOME!<br />
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I have some pics of my transformation below. I started just with a little cheek, (double)chin and forehead contour then added a little cheek color and did my nose, the blended.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFfEHDbCHvOcApH2dsVUvPDoLNMcDKSvct2x6Iow2Mb9CEVFZG1TbQMpSx39-22mXf0XnenXWX6r8f9pcr0YtQtKLuX8RH_ZjwLfYmjkl49_yiS3FycBmyosIk6TzGwjvpns9mxPhB4vO/s1600/wonderstick1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFfEHDbCHvOcApH2dsVUvPDoLNMcDKSvct2x6Iow2Mb9CEVFZG1TbQMpSx39-22mXf0XnenXWX6r8f9pcr0YtQtKLuX8RH_ZjwLfYmjkl49_yiS3FycBmyosIk6TzGwjvpns9mxPhB4vO/s320/wonderstick1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi649fLUDIH-O9CmymYIs0J9DywvYNIhCVJXg6gy6JLH4rLk8qfhCrF2gIIh6ShmpprxkxB-8RX-grDim0W2HxVk0XrYX5zW3sioVI_UL5l6XHWh1FZ8qQWx-B-JyXJ6cDQ8Xlp5Sd_63Ua/s1600/wonderstick2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi649fLUDIH-O9CmymYIs0J9DywvYNIhCVJXg6gy6JLH4rLk8qfhCrF2gIIh6ShmpprxkxB-8RX-grDim0W2HxVk0XrYX5zW3sioVI_UL5l6XHWh1FZ8qQWx-B-JyXJ6cDQ8Xlp5Sd_63Ua/s320/wonderstick2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6kqFpdPXJstJ9bfWm9ivZhag7LkrBfE4tSZj0QRnCxCZgvgiL6i-IpnJFz7My8sE0-fc_0NDquJYqv3O9k9yrbFdJ28eIYBR4aOJ3dXgxX7SRQ7jBpXeDzMCgYwdWZdofCXJbTWqodAA/s1600/wonderstickblend.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6kqFpdPXJstJ9bfWm9ivZhag7LkrBfE4tSZj0QRnCxCZgvgiL6i-IpnJFz7My8sE0-fc_0NDquJYqv3O9k9yrbFdJ28eIYBR4aOJ3dXgxX7SRQ7jBpXeDzMCgYwdWZdofCXJbTWqodAA/s320/wonderstickblend.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
And sorry about the cleve in that first pic, but I'm rocking some serious preggy jugs at the moment.<br />
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I literally just did this make up, like five minutes ago. It's late morning, so this is what I'll look like today. Below is the final result!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiC7mAcoiVwTfm0OFcWo3a36IoUHQKjWJ48T7sLj-uF6t90F5DWndfruLzoXaBDmFRPIwALvnuYDa6RsPBI9ldO-5EORmQQgWtPfVTPSxlUP5kTwUKUB65h50xF90f7VWzOkNgOA4yUZTY/s1600/wonderstickfinal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiC7mAcoiVwTfm0OFcWo3a36IoUHQKjWJ48T7sLj-uF6t90F5DWndfruLzoXaBDmFRPIwALvnuYDa6RsPBI9ldO-5EORmQQgWtPfVTPSxlUP5kTwUKUB65h50xF90f7VWzOkNgOA4yUZTY/s320/wonderstickfinal.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty damn good, right?!<br />
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I don't feel puffy or overdone. To finish I just did a little mascara and gloss. Not for nothing, I'm starting to get why I got knocked up again, amirite?! 😉😉<br />
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I would love to hear your fave shortcuts, so leave them in the comments. Happy highlighting my loves!<br />
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holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-48883321443567847362018-01-29T12:16:00.000-08:002018-01-29T13:41:33.103-08:00Hi, my name is Amy, and I am a garbage mom. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHJhdYHlH36zIwD331oewnQESSczV49PmQmZhLTwd6yxZNylqKpRrA8FiF9RuqH8GLkU7b9xTRjuk0uNvmIJKT9clE2bv_GRNjRxOXJBcBub9zB7uL18pqX5_82QQ7SLdnRmi8B3SJief/s1600/7713F4DC-6D75-41E8-9786-FE3FBB061B85+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHJhdYHlH36zIwD331oewnQESSczV49PmQmZhLTwd6yxZNylqKpRrA8FiF9RuqH8GLkU7b9xTRjuk0uNvmIJKT9clE2bv_GRNjRxOXJBcBub9zB7uL18pqX5_82QQ7SLdnRmi8B3SJief/s320/7713F4DC-6D75-41E8-9786-FE3FBB061B85+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I happen to be a part of the greatest Facebook mommy group of all time. It's filled with successful, interesting, hilarious and strong women who have kept me going on many an occasion. I can reach out to them about anything parenting related, no matter how small or embarrassing, and in almost every situation I get positive responses that are encouraging and helpful.</div>
Why does this qualify as the greatest mommy group of all time, you ask? Because this mommy group is a rare gem amongst the cubic zirconia's of social media life. It's an online community of women who actually support each other rather than tear each other down. More importantly, it's other moms who have been though the shit and we all can acknowledge that we are what is lovingly referred to as a "garbage mom", and I love them so much for it!<br />
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The term "garbage mom" is thrown around a ton in my mommy group, and I heard it again today as I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts, <a href="http://whymommydrinkspodcast.libsyn.com/">Why Mommy Drinks</a> with Betsy Stover and Amanda Allen. Both of them are in the group and I know both of them personally. They are delightful and fucking hysterical in life and on their cast. You should FOR SURE subscribe to it whether you're a mom or not, because while it's a podcast about what a shit show being a mom is, it's also about just trying to make it through life without blowing your brains out. And in the end of every episode what we all learn is that we are all doing a great job, even when we feel like we're fucking it all up.<br />
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I love garbage moms because what that term really refers to is a mom who is doing literally <b><i>everything</i></b> they can, all the time, even though this parenting gig is mainly one disaster after another. They work so hard to keep their kids happy, healthy and educated, keep their own lives from imploding, feed everyone things with any sort of nutritional value, maintain some sense of independence outside of their children, pay the damn bills on time, have some sort of employment, keep your stupid fucking dreams alive and shower on the reg. But you know what? All that shit is <b>HARD</b>! Actually, now that I'm a parent of almost two kids, it's damn near impossible at times!<b><i> It takes a village, people</i></b>! There is a reason that those who vowed to never move back to their hometowns after they finally escaped gleefully return after they have kids. Their families are there and will (in most cases) happily babysit your brood so you can poop in private for once in five years.<br />
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In all cases those I know who call themselves a garbage mom are totally killing it by doing the best that they can in very difficult circumstances. No one refers to themselves as a garbage mom when they're not actually <i><u><b>really great moms</b></u></i>. Like, crazy people never call themselves crazy, you know what I mean? I don't think that Courtney Love ever referred to herself as a garbage mom when she was shooting up while pregnant. Joan Crawford didn't call up her friends and go, "Oh my God, I am SUCH a garbage mom today! I totally beat my kids until one of them passed out then I had six more martinis! Ugh, I am the worst!"<br />
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A real garbage mom probably calls themselves that if, say, they didn't have time to make dinner and picked up McDonald's instead one night because her day of driving her kids to school, then appointments, then work, then picking them up, then activities and play dates, left no time to prepare a Pinterest perfect, organic, balanced dinner out of the vegetables she's growing in her community garden. Because who the fuck does that? No one, that's who. And if you know someone who actually does do all that nonsense, then they have a staff of many assisting them. <i><b>Just peek behind the curtain Dorothy.</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmjRSleWSpHP_BOXyNTTrUcPvhdaaUXoFjllcD4P2ZEVWgXx7d-YJ54DiTYWw2KyeCLLK1FovQIbEIlM0ZAj1yP69R8M_HZfU2EbwwV3AfXr4k5n000wFV5wagDzUA_MQmncPeas5GeCT/s1600/garbagemommy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmjRSleWSpHP_BOXyNTTrUcPvhdaaUXoFjllcD4P2ZEVWgXx7d-YJ54DiTYWw2KyeCLLK1FovQIbEIlM0ZAj1yP69R8M_HZfU2EbwwV3AfXr4k5n000wFV5wagDzUA_MQmncPeas5GeCT/s320/garbagemommy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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But see, here's the thing: there is still a ton of pressure for moms to be "perfect". There is still a bit of the 1950's Leave it to Beaver style mom lingering in the highly polluted 2018 air and mom guilt is a mother fucker. Even though times have drastically changed there is still an expectation that just because we're <i><b>moms</b></i> we have to be perfect. And not just perfect with our kids, but with everything. <b><i>Gasp</i></b>! You didn't breast feed for a full year <b>ONLY</b> because your nipples were bleeding profusely and you got mastitis four times! Way to give up on your baby, mom! You're not planning on sending yours kids to a preschool that costs more than a four year state college education per month? Then how on earth are they ever going to succeed in life? You're failing them! You're going to work while your kids are little? Dreadful! You're NOT going to work throughout your kids lives so they can see what a good example you are! Tisk tisk! We must get right back in shape after pushing an eight pound human out of our vagina's, and don't forget the kegels! What? Your daughter isn't in a Mandarin language immersion program before the age of 2?! Well you may as well just accept that she <b><u>will</u></b> be a stripper. Sorry, you ruined her.<br />
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Even worse it seems like a good percentage of these pressures are coming from other moms. Don't believe me? Try this little experiment. Go onto a website that's mainly geared towards moms, like What To Expect When You're Expecting, or something similar. There are always sections of the site where parents post questions about an experience and need insight from other moms who have been though it. Questions like, "What is this groups thoughts on having a glass of wine from time to time during pregnancy?" This very question was posed on a mommy forum that I stumbled across recently and here are some of the responses.<br />
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"Well, I always say to each his own, but of course I would NEVER risk it on my baby, but if you feel okay with it and can live with yourself if something goes wrong, by all means!"<br />
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"Studies have shown that one glass a week won't hurt you or the baby, but I can't imagine doing that to my innocent unborn baby! But if you want to, go ahead. I just wouldn't, but no judgment!"<br />
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"If that is what you really want to do then go right ahead. Personally the idea of poisoning my fetus with alcohol makes me sick to my stomach, but don't feel judged or that you're a bad mom if you simply can't refrain from drinking for a measly 40 weeks to ensure your baby won't be deformed! Do you girl!"<br />
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Okay, maybe I took that last one and exaggerated it a teeny bit. But you get the gist. These forums all do the same thing. Instead of reassuring other moms that yes, we all have had a glass of wine or two during our pregnancy. Some may have smoked pot! Hell, there are probably a few on here who didn't know they were ever pregnant for three months, and it just happened to be during the time they were following Wide Spread Panic in a van where they supported themselves by making magic mushroom pancakes for the band! As opposed to building a safe community we as moms are made to feel guilty and compare ourselves to others, which then pushes us to keep all these questions to ourselves in fear that the judgment we'll receive could possibly manifest itself into our kids getting taken away or something extreme like that. If you're a mom you know that feeling very well, and it's debilitating.<br />
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But that's not the case in my mommy group. It's the exact opposite and it's beautiful. Even at my darkest parenting moments where I'm filled with doubt and fear about something I may have done or considered doing it when it comes to my kid, I am always soothed by the responses I get from the other moms who all let me know that they too have all done or thought the exact same things, and that it's all going to be okay.<br />
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In essence we are all garbage moms, just trying to raise our humans as well as we can in world that is unforgiving, scary and demanding. Being a garbage mom with all my other garbage mom peeps gives me a sense of security and I'm not sure I would have made it this far without them.<br />
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So raise a glass or nine to yourselves, fellow beautiful GM's! You are doing a great job!<br />
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Also take a moment to read <a href="https://slate.com/human-interest/2018/01/the-facebook-moms-group-that-has-helped-me-raise-kids-without-going-crazy.html">this</a> really fantastic article written by Kate Spencer, who is a fellow mom and member of this same group I'm referring to! Also check out her touching memoir, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Moms-Club-Memoir-Surviving/dp/1580056873">The Dead Moms Club. </a>holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-15704761255074796112018-01-17T11:36:00.001-08:002018-01-17T11:36:30.453-08:00My Two Year Old is Mean Girling Me and I Can't Handle It<br />
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My daughter is right smack dab in the center of being two and she knows it. She's learning and growing so much every day, saying new phrases and performing fantastical physical feats that just a month ago seemed impossible. She impresses the shit out of us all the time with all her new abilities, and she's pretty damn awesome.<br />
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With the exception of this one new thing she's also started doing, which is mean girl-ing her mom on the reg. And it sucks.<br />
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What is she doing? you may be asking yourself. Is she going through your high school journal and mocking your heart felt poetry that you scribbled after a hard break up with a guy whose name you can't recall these days? Is she tormenting you by secretly calling up all your prospective employers anonymously and telling them you have a drug problem just to fuck with you and keep you in a lower income bracket? Is she slowly poisoning your food with arsenic so that you remain in a sickly state just so she can convince you that you need her to care for her?<br />
No, nope and Jesus! No, she's not Munchhausen-ing me!<br />
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Then what in the name of all things good and Holy is this girl doing to make you feel so bad?<br />
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She doesn't need me as much as she did once and I hate it. Plus she purposefully leaves me out of stuff! Like sometimes at bedtime she refuses to let me read her books and only wants her Daddy to do it. Other times she screams when I want to get her dressed and when I sing what used to be her favorite songs she yells "Stop!" She slaps my hand away when I'm rubbing her hair or stroking her cheek. Other times when Daddy isn't here she just cries and calls out for him in a way that makes me think being with only me is such an arduous task that she just can't deal.<br />
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Yes, I know. It sounds super lame, but tell that to my heart, which breaks every time.<br />
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Now I'm aware that she isn't cognizant of what she's doing. The only thing she knows is that she's getting some sort of a reaction, which is her intention, but she doesn't know that it's affecting me as much as it is, because if she did I'd like to think that she wouldn't do these things anymore. I mean, I hope she wouldn't anyway! There's a slight chance that she's just an asshole, or a sociopath in the vein of We Need To Talk About Kevin. But since she's pretty rad a majority of the time I'm going to take a gamble on that she's not doing this on purpose.<br />
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I also know that it's fully my job to keep my shit together and not let a 30 pound toddler drive me to "take to my bed" because she doesn't want me to read to her. That's insane, and I get it. My "excuse" is that I'm 28 weeks pregnant and a little off my hormonal rocker. That's what I tell people anyway. What it feels like in my heart is that my daughter doesn't love me, doesn't want me around and thinks I'm useless and stupid, that I shouldn't even try anymore and I just need to fuck off in general. Even reading that sentence makes me feel so silly, but sadly those feelings are real in the moment.<br />
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As I write this I wonder if this is a common feeling amongst other mommy's, and how they handle it. I did share what's been going on to another mommy friend of mine who also has a little girl. Her daughter is a bit younger, but she acknowledged that she was worried about this happening too at some point. "Doesn't she know I love her the most?" she said over text. And I was all, yeah, right?! Like, what the hell, ladies? We're your mom! We would do literally anything for you! Take a bullet, walk through hot coals, let Steve Bannon's swollen liver give us a foot massage, anything! Plus, um, are you even aware of what a mess my vagina is? It's a war zone down there! Honestly I even can't recognize it anymore, and if it mugged me in the subway I couldn't pick it out of a line up. And guess what? I regret nothing! I wouldn't trade my busted vag if it meant I had to lose even a single moment with you.<br />
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I know that in the long run her figuring out her independence and speaking her mind is such a great thing. I want a kick ass daughter who takes no shit from anyone. It's just...what about me? I thought I had a long time before my kid is rolling her eyes at my jokes and texting her friends about how annoying I am. The way things are going I have three years, tops, before she's secretly calling me a bitch to her buddies. Oh my damn heart can't take it!!<br />
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For now I am just going to try to be more understanding and take my personal insanity down by several notches. A thought that keeps me going in all this is knowing that (if she chooses) one day she will have a strong, bad ass little girl of her own who tells her to stop singing, pushes her away when she goes in for a hug every now and then, and only wants her Daddy. And at that moment she too will feel like utter shit about it, which makes me feel a whole lot better.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-61220436933495437472018-01-16T14:30:00.000-08:002018-01-16T14:30:46.023-08:00Kick Ass Mom of the Week: Michelle Obama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXn_3uyHicWRBjrc4nlF8LW_tPCEndpdq9T3fH6DhrU6MmSTKZG7Gi10_-AQYs5AojJHbVhTqHFkw_XEdbDzI5_shZbznFh4lVhXHYN2MKXE8pQjgPqvXC1AddoQ5yfRsyMel9syOyNxJ/s1600/michelleobama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXn_3uyHicWRBjrc4nlF8LW_tPCEndpdq9T3fH6DhrU6MmSTKZG7Gi10_-AQYs5AojJHbVhTqHFkw_XEdbDzI5_shZbznFh4lVhXHYN2MKXE8pQjgPqvXC1AddoQ5yfRsyMel9syOyNxJ/s320/michelleobama.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Michelle Obama is the kind of woman that EVERY person on the planet looks up to. I don't care who you are or where you're from. It's universally acknowledged that Michelle Obama is a freakin' bad ass, total babe, brilliant and can probably beat anybody up.<br />
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She went to Princeton and Harvard where she slayed, then onto a law firm where she met her husband. Through she wasn't super keen on allowing the universe into their private life, she jumped on board and helped him get elected President. Also, Barack is nutso bonkers for his wife. Like, so into her, it's the sweetest thing ever! Check these pics of them being adorbs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIM-WvF28d1wN7Cj9BqUZ599NSBzwF6olP2AN1dVogy09NLAxOrQ4hKLDnfO21bGCfhK6-kpKB_O0pE4nI_3ihAJQHIPQUTqjb4Tx8D4Flvk-c3wLh4t_bX5ow5m-RbbFMgcmZOfP_xx7/s1600/michelleandbarack1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1190" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIM-WvF28d1wN7Cj9BqUZ599NSBzwF6olP2AN1dVogy09NLAxOrQ4hKLDnfO21bGCfhK6-kpKB_O0pE4nI_3ihAJQHIPQUTqjb4Tx8D4Flvk-c3wLh4t_bX5ow5m-RbbFMgcmZOfP_xx7/s320/michelleandbarack1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQcnLRAVARXE74rkJk-KegihfZgYRCnh7OQUZR-XPcyNkWvxOiatwdQwpzimCVeyJFxAQN0O-JVX8u3vJCbqMylPsWlhJbJIPkxhe0EaLQmjKR0qzYyYhHvukJWz8lcJtBUY5JXz0k13AX/s1600/michelleandbarack2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="411" data-original-width="613" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQcnLRAVARXE74rkJk-KegihfZgYRCnh7OQUZR-XPcyNkWvxOiatwdQwpzimCVeyJFxAQN0O-JVX8u3vJCbqMylPsWlhJbJIPkxhe0EaLQmjKR0qzYyYhHvukJWz8lcJtBUY5JXz0k13AX/s320/michelleandbarack2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFg_jIhmun0P0e9I4tHMnZ7HEG7iEVc0TtY_OOxUyTRQyVxoiC6okUb89UsO-CtyFINeqI6VQFNdNSylsjtsj0EHkniVvAoU5La00EbELYycNhjiPDTrS0uI4g-xq5Vnq_X18zpnFETee/s1600/michelleandbarack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFg_jIhmun0P0e9I4tHMnZ7HEG7iEVc0TtY_OOxUyTRQyVxoiC6okUb89UsO-CtyFINeqI6VQFNdNSylsjtsj0EHkniVvAoU5La00EbELYycNhjiPDTrS0uI4g-xq5Vnq_X18zpnFETee/s320/michelleandbarack.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
I mean, shut up with this, right?! So cute! Can you picture Melania and whatshisname being all snugly like this without bile rising up in your throat? Yeah, me neither. Gross.<br />
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Sure Michelle is known for her insane biceps:<br />
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...which are very impressive. However she is also known as powerful voice for women's equality, a fighter for LGBTQ rights, and upon meeting the Queen of England hugging her, giving no shits about "proper protocol", which is so baller, and is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to her kick ass-ery.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspFB0P5k44XnAiMyqNOuN68h2OITKuijQgPe5-KXeQHaAl7grSF2w-R0yXTDL8dyVdMbU4Y1dutly24kr0facs8hO2g7WfbCNvVUcl_5kS1OrkodrUV0dFfK6tudMlm_1BKkq2XEhmnZ_/s1600/michelleobamahugsthequeen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="460" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspFB0P5k44XnAiMyqNOuN68h2OITKuijQgPe5-KXeQHaAl7grSF2w-R0yXTDL8dyVdMbU4Y1dutly24kr0facs8hO2g7WfbCNvVUcl_5kS1OrkodrUV0dFfK6tudMlm_1BKkq2XEhmnZ_/s320/michelleobamahugsthequeen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And throughout all of this insanity she made a promise to keep her daughters grounded by helping them not because weirdo shut in White House kids. She talks all about it in this Babble article that you can read <a href="https://www.babble.com/celebrity/michelle-obama-sasha-and-malia-parenting-advice/">here</a>.<br />
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Sigh...what a dream girl! And a perfect Kick Ass Mom of the Week!holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-61745724603495875622018-01-08T14:36:00.000-08:002018-01-08T14:36:38.329-08:005 Reasons That Minivans Are Actually BadassMinivan. A van, but mini. Even the mention of that word sends shivers down the millennial parents spine. That word conjures up images of dreams lost, sleepless nights, and mandatory bake sales where you're required to be completely sober the entire time. In other words, a living hell.<br />
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I get it, and I used to feel the same way. Until I realized how insanely sweet driving a mini-van can actually be, IF you do it right! I mean, sure it's safer and more practical for when you have a family, blah, blah, blah, but what parents don't want you to know is that they are living it up in those nerd-mobiles. Here are five reasons why:<br />
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1. You Can Glamp In it<br />
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Camping used to be fun before you had kids thanks to that cooler full of Natty Lights and those mushrooms your cousin Dan found in his childhood desk from when he visited your Aunt last month. But now that kids are in the picture, camping has gone from all day drinking and sleeping bag hookups to stopping your kid from pooping in poison ivy for the fifth time today and/or walking directly into the campfire. Luckily your new minivan has enough space to comfortably sleep half the Duggar family, minus that creep Josh Duggar, who can sleep his handsy ass on the damn ground.<br />
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2. You Can Play The Video Games YOU Want To Play In It<br />
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Since minivans are designed for families, one must assume that long car trips don't always appeal to the adolescent who would rather show his wiener to his hot home room teacher than spend an entire Saturday apple picking with his dork parents. Minivan producers predicted that, so they have thrown in some goodies, like game consoles with WiFi. So when you have to "take this phone call" during your kids gymnastics class, you can really be playing Resident Evil WITHOUT headphones because you are an adult and you can take the profanity.<br />
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3. You Can Totally Bone In There<br />
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Though this isn't ground breaking news, and in fact I bet a hefty percentage of siblings have been conceived in a minivan over the years, the truth is manufacturers have been stepping up their bone game lately by making the bed part more cushion-y, thus more conducive for boning. Just because you're someones parent now doesn't mean you don't want to get freaky from time to time. Just allow for ample airing out time and for the love of god put down a towel.<br />
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4. You Can Stash Your Booze<br />
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Yesterdays minivans were way too basic bitch for today's savvy mom and dads. They were just a stretched out, big bottomed car with bench seats that could seat half a soccer team with little to no perks. Now these babies not only have all the bells and whistles you would want in a premium vehicle, like the screens and Internet and stuff, BUT also sweet hiding places in the undercarriage that only YOU, aka the adult in this situation, can hide your booze! Not looking forward to a weekend filled with toddler parties and trips to Costco? No worries. These back seats fold out to reveal an entire bunker of storage space in case you need to Irish up you punch cup at this Moana themed pre-school graduation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5huI8mq30lwuKQkC7IA9r436y5XtfZRXcuMdK0hPbk2dUi3Tr68-Liq7ol-aJUR7B17x3YRN44wNM5aJfHIngPtQejzEEWRX5EfrC6McfkMz0ol8uUyjMhrsilgeAXddkUMBAljR_t7w/s1600/minivanstorage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="790" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5huI8mq30lwuKQkC7IA9r436y5XtfZRXcuMdK0hPbk2dUi3Tr68-Liq7ol-aJUR7B17x3YRN44wNM5aJfHIngPtQejzEEWRX5EfrC6McfkMz0ol8uUyjMhrsilgeAXddkUMBAljR_t7w/s320/minivanstorage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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5. Worst Case Scenario, You Can Live In It For A While<br />
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You're in the dog house for that thing you said about your partners mom didn't you? Maybe you did it on purpose this time, maybe not. Either way, you're in deep. You would sleep on the couch, but your brother is staying there for a couple of weeks while he looks for a job. You could get a hotel, but jeez, that seems extreme, right? Lucky for you your minivan is here to save the day. Sleeping in there is a given, but now some of them have stowaway tables you can pop up in the middle, and swivel seats for you and your buddies can play cards without the threat of being yelled at for swearing too much. Hell, you can watch a porn in there if you want. With that aforementioned WiFi why not conduct business from that sucker. In fact, it's looking like you can stay here for a while, since the cigarette lighter connection can also be used to power a hotplate. You got yourself a little slice of heaven friend, you may never have to walk up that driveway to your house again!<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-84938284701670034782018-01-04T22:31:00.002-08:002018-01-05T00:08:16.619-08:00Kick Ass Mom of the Week: Lucille BallOne of my goals for this year is dedicating more time to blogging more often. Another goal is to start seriously focusing on celebrating some bad ass mommying on the reg.<br />
Let's begin with one of my comedy heroes, beauty icon and kick ass mom: Lucille Ball.<br />
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Lucille Ball had her first kid a month before she turned 40, and her second at 42.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RP7ZDiBFezFZrYx__QVXu3tX6rQqBaLk1tkNJo1mEZDxQcex9nGQIVJ5BDVsDAI58WV6wmD32Kl9DOYlQu__s_HA0UtUeOKtbro3ErPmFsEvW8-9g8vN2K0fLW0x4MuHHwuok2P48INd/s1600/lucywithkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="371" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5RP7ZDiBFezFZrYx__QVXu3tX6rQqBaLk1tkNJo1mEZDxQcex9nGQIVJ5BDVsDAI58WV6wmD32Kl9DOYlQu__s_HA0UtUeOKtbro3ErPmFsEvW8-9g8vN2K0fLW0x4MuHHwuok2P48INd/s320/lucywithkids.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
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She was also running her own production company, DesiLu Productions, at the time and became a trailblazer for writing her pregnancy into her show, I Love Lucy. During this period in TV having a pregnant woman on screen was as taboo as openly admitting to dating a Scientologist is today. There was a quote somewhere that mentioned being pregnant on screen in the 50's was basically viewed as having sex on screen. Of course today it's rare to not see a set of boobs on the morning news. I know I should put in more effort to find the quote, but I blew my load on all the pics and GIFs. #sorrynotsorry<br />
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She also got her husband the gig of Ricky Ricardo on her show making them the first biracial couple in television history. Yup, she got her dude that job telling those execs she wouldn't do the show if he wasn't on it. Because Lucy isn't f'ing around, y'all!<br />
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She also didn't give two shits about coming off as a dainty, pretty lady, even though she was absolutely gorgeous. What was important to her was being funny. She made it okay for women in entertainment to been seen AND heard.<br />
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I have to admit that I don't know a ton about her relationship with her children. There are a lot of old Hollywood rumors about her being super strict and the disciplinarian, but who really knows. I did find an old transcript from an interview that she did with her daughter, Lucie, where they talk about Lucy crying with joy when she found out her daughter had been born safely (this was the days of twilight sleep, when they knocked you out so you could deliver. Sweet, sweet twilight sleep...) and that she regretted not being home more, but she was working her ever loving, red headed ass off all the time!<br />
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Regardless, I LOVE Lucy and am proud to have her as my first Kick Ass Mom of the Week!<br />
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Who's a kick ass mom to you! I would love to hear your nominees! They don't have to be famous, they just need to be a mom! Leave your noms in the comments below and give your fave mom some internet love!holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-68886868416085964662018-01-02T15:49:00.001-08:002018-01-02T15:49:23.965-08:00Toothpaste and Oreos-Eat Whatever The F You WANT!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnbR93D60rmklE6ysSo3MNBBNwg6xulOsVdwUGRyDCOam3mSGDmzbIhTzj-g89QYNa1Jc5QAyUvOfeeee-GNOJBzOV52qNP1Wc8I_ZfSnx-EUdyt_BsEty_yEYxWiQn9-WjEkS3d7fBr4/s1600/oreoandtoothpaste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="962" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnbR93D60rmklE6ysSo3MNBBNwg6xulOsVdwUGRyDCOam3mSGDmzbIhTzj-g89QYNa1Jc5QAyUvOfeeee-GNOJBzOV52qNP1Wc8I_ZfSnx-EUdyt_BsEty_yEYxWiQn9-WjEkS3d7fBr4/s320/oreoandtoothpaste.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
As I am pregnant again I'm eating like a person would when they are pregnant. For instance, this morning I opened a yogurt for my daughter and one for myself. She loves those fancy Noosa yogurts, so we shell out top dollar for that Australian goodness knowing that whatever she doesn't finish we will. Or, I will. Because I did. She was done after three bites, and I finished my yogurt in a total of three bites, so I did what I had to do. Then she wanted apple sauce and sausages, because she's a weird kid. So I made her those things and had some myself. Then I could tell, because I'm a very attentive parent that she was hoping I would treat myself to an ice cream sandwich with peanut butter and capers, so naturally I obliged. I need to set an example for my daughter that her mother is paying attention to her wants and needs!<br />
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Fast forward to noon and she has persuaded me to eat another yogurt, a half a cucumber with hot sauce on them, three slices of cheese with hot sauce on <i>them,</i> two packets of her Mott's gummy animals and two fists full of animal crackers. I also finished the jar of capers.<br />
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As I type this I'm at a diner having just finished a giant Cobb salad and a side of zucchini bread that I put maple syrup on.<br />
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Tonight I may make enchiladas. If not, there are a bunch of ice cream sandwiches left in the freezer.<br />
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Why am I telling you all this? Because I want you to know I am nourishing my unborn baby. But also because I was on Pinterest the other day searching for cute pregnant outfits when I can across this <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/explore/lose-weight-while-pregnant/?lp=true" target="_blank">page</a>. If you don't want to click on it, that's cool I'll sum it up. It's basically link after link of ways to <u>lose weight</u> and stay hot while you're carrying a person in your belly. I repeat LOSE WEIGHT WHILE YOU ARE PREGNANT! If that isn't an assault on women then I don't know what is! So even when we're frigging building a human within our bodies we STILL are expected to be fuckable?! I call bullshit on this bullshit. Because if we weren't fuckable in the first place non of us would be pregnant, thus this blog wouldn't exist.<br />
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Look, I'm not hating on any pregnant lady who happens to be ripped and wants to stay that way throughout their pregnancy. That's awesome and good for you, it's your choice. Hell, I was like that with the first one! I was training to become a yoga teacher during that time for God's sake, I get it. I also know that the more in shape you are the faster you bounce back. All of these things are cool.<br />
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What I think is repugnant though is the idea that we as pregnant women should actually be concerned with LOSING weight during the one time when we should be GAINING weight. It's insane that this should be a thing that women in our situation should be made to, even for an instant, feel badly about. It is absurd and I won't stand for it. Do you know how hard it is to be pregnant?! It's harder than anything. You know how Melania Trump has to have sex with that gross bog monster once a month as is stated in her contract(that I'm assuming exists). It's harder than THAT! Take a moment to picture it. Yeah, you get it now.<br />
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Here's my alternative offer: I will suggest a series of weird preggo cravings recipes that you can enjoy since nothing is your own anymore. And look, if it makes you feel better, eat them standing up. You can also burn calories by just telling whoever has an opinion about what you're eating while the alien in your body has taken over to go fuck themselves and make you a sandwich while you watch The Golden Girls marathon.<br />
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These images are courtesy of Food and Wine-The Cookbook for Weird Pregnancy Cravings, and the Pickles and Ice Cream Cookbook which you can check out <a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/fwx/food/cookbook-weird-pregnancy-cravings" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://picklesandicecreamcookbook.com/recipes">here.</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC61zHbLzi_-WNbEU0ni7U8n_L_3EnVCPxluf1l97yHNL7XR6qBK0-0kxNTDAbG2r0Hi3nhi9yZqng00m4BlFaistF8DVbDMnfuGcYOrsW0Y4eSLzDKdhdBYWKP5ITCN79JzcgtVHJU-_/s1600/chocolate+olive+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="962" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC61zHbLzi_-WNbEU0ni7U8n_L_3EnVCPxluf1l97yHNL7XR6qBK0-0kxNTDAbG2r0Hi3nhi9yZqng00m4BlFaistF8DVbDMnfuGcYOrsW0Y4eSLzDKdhdBYWKP5ITCN79JzcgtVHJU-_/s320/chocolate+olive+cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chocolate Olive Cake</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLcKG8NYbCAlXM5fvc0sbAbDRCNRVLJ8oQKKXjVlCrbsyDpkSiWb0xa3ozV2slo9Sv6Cf_hwGaeGLx9DXpVSgoiFtgY9qPPCDX6n3W48AQFhJELEVX-N5gQFBWqgcyY72npqEdLJLnIYU/s1600/steak+and+ice+cream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLcKG8NYbCAlXM5fvc0sbAbDRCNRVLJ8oQKKXjVlCrbsyDpkSiWb0xa3ozV2slo9Sv6Cf_hwGaeGLx9DXpVSgoiFtgY9qPPCDX6n3W48AQFhJELEVX-N5gQFBWqgcyY72npqEdLJLnIYU/s320/steak+and+ice+cream.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steak and Ice Cream</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgez8yV_uBY8g9n2qo0_1slvVDU2Yuna4L_ooEOAkcSvtv4CJEORUazNmcJFMBCurUEOhz_FOWHiDZq7uv0LynZhksVIzQ3f-EXS1LQnYsz2cbcZzdMVWlQUZGMiHmwrbgvm1PMDrW4-XjV/s1600/mashedcaramel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="962" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgez8yV_uBY8g9n2qo0_1slvVDU2Yuna4L_ooEOAkcSvtv4CJEORUazNmcJFMBCurUEOhz_FOWHiDZq7uv0LynZhksVIzQ3f-EXS1LQnYsz2cbcZzdMVWlQUZGMiHmwrbgvm1PMDrW4-XjV/s320/mashedcaramel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mashed Potatoes and Caramel Sauce</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzvsdLr39t-mCj8kgl2GjZM0dEMmB96Rn0ik9blCblmVgHRdyRhwszDG3KBeDLGKcQfh1ukr1hMhasvrbRJ0El8TZ3STBLPkjqfc4YzPr58FXGKAzkkXk1wmOS7XUwXfJC2rf1p00oY0H/s1600/oreoandtoothpaste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="962" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzvsdLr39t-mCj8kgl2GjZM0dEMmB96Rn0ik9blCblmVgHRdyRhwszDG3KBeDLGKcQfh1ukr1hMhasvrbRJ0El8TZ3STBLPkjqfc4YzPr58FXGKAzkkXk1wmOS7XUwXfJC2rf1p00oY0H/s320/oreoandtoothpaste.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oreos and Toothpaste<br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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Happy eating Mama's!<br /><br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-47750682129181557032017-12-27T14:54:00.000-08:002017-12-27T14:54:08.180-08:00Welp, I'm Knocked Up AgainYup, it's true. In fact, I'm super knocked up. 25 weeks along. It's happening people.<br />
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I'm due on April 12th and am having a boy this round, so I've been practicing for the event by having my husband surprise me by randomly peeing in my face when I didn't expect it. I need to work on my reflexes!<br />
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I'm kidding of course. My reflexes are already really good.<br />
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I found out about this one just like I found out about the last one: while I was drinking and having a great time, blissfully unaware that a human person was developing in my uterus. However this time I just knew. I knew something was different, was off a little. And I don't know why it occurs to me to take a pee test while gripping a vodka soda, but it seems to be my pattern.<br />
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When I started telling people I was pregnant again I got less "oh man, your life if over!" comments and more "well, at least you know what to do this time around!" That is not true in any form. I DO NOT know what to do any more than I did the first time around. One of natures jokes when you're a parent and with child is making you so tired you can't hold onto memories of essential things like swaddling and swaying and breast feeding. Oh no, breast feeding. My poor nipples! RIP guys, you made it through by the skin of your teeth last time, but chances are when this fellow gets done with you you'll resemble some discarded chewing gum on a subway track.<br />
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Uh oh, what about those other things? The weird mass exodus of my hair about 10 weeks postpartum. The weeping that occurs over the smallest of things. The unforgiving images of things that could potentially hurt your sweet newborn that you need to protect him from. Donald Fucking Trump being the president. Hemorrhoids. You bastards.<br />
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So consider this post my birth announcement. I considered getting some pregnancy pictures done. You know the ones. The mom barefoot in a field with a white off the shoulder flowy dress blowing gently in the breeze. She lovingly cradles her belly and gazes down at her soon to be born child as her husband embraces her from behind with a tear of gratitude in his eyes. But that shit is not me. I will, however, take a selfie in my bathroom in a black dress, but it's mainly just to show off my new pink hair.<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-66280848299926104642017-11-23T21:46:00.001-08:002017-11-23T21:49:41.601-08:00Asshole Parents Plane Episode Featuring Me and HusbandHere's one of the episodes of Asshole Parents on Awestruck that we shot, Plane Shame. Enjoy!<br />
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What are you tales of travel with they little ones? Share them here!holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-49685270834986430932017-11-13T12:03:00.001-08:002017-11-13T12:03:44.727-08:0010 Sentences I Never Would Have Said Until I Became a Mom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsaazo5Bh5qODdCPjkBiqaKpF_KeFVIdXbc2OXH1LalBuGyPIeQbJ7Kfc4Myngc_dK1VI2IUb37wxvuxpBdJiHkOWnc9iclA_a3ejbRjafxZo_hBZLjXtVTZixZ4N1cmfqzGO2f78sHG-z/s1600/SweetBoGirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="745" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsaazo5Bh5qODdCPjkBiqaKpF_KeFVIdXbc2OXH1LalBuGyPIeQbJ7Kfc4Myngc_dK1VI2IUb37wxvuxpBdJiHkOWnc9iclA_a3ejbRjafxZo_hBZLjXtVTZixZ4N1cmfqzGO2f78sHG-z/s320/SweetBoGirl.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
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My daughter is two now and really taking on the toddler thing full force. Don't let that sweet face fool you, she is a diabolical genius. This means everything she does is an even mix of hilarious, terrifying, rage inducing and adorable all at the same time. To date the hardest part of being a parent is keeping my child alive and out of the harms way that she places herself in regularly. Oh, and not laughing when I say these things. Cuz dang my kid is CUTE!!!<br />
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1. "<b>Please don't use the nettie pot to drink out of."</b><br />
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She does this on purpose because she knows it makes me gag. It's disgusting.<br />
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2. <b>"The dog doesn't like it when you punch him in his butt, please stop."</b><br />
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I mean, no one <i>likes </i>to be punched in the butt, but a 13 pound Yorkie REALLY doesn't dig it.<br />
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3. <b>"Please don't store the grapes in your diaper, love."</b><br />
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Or do and I'll call Shark Tank because you're an innovator.<br />
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4. "<b>Sweetheart, it hurts Mommy when you poke at and pinch her nipples like that."</b><br />
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To be fair, I've said this to her father too.<br />
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5. <b>"I'm sorry you're upset, but dog poop does not go on your head like a hat."</b><br />
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Not that I would ever want to squash a child's creativity, but it was pretty fresh still.<br />
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6. <b>"Babe, please stop slapping your vagina with the iPad like that, you could hurt yourself."</b><br />
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But...also the iPad.<br />
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7.<b> "Crayons don't go up your butt."</b><br />
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This is really just a life rule, don't you think?<br />
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8. <b>"Cry all you want, but there's no way I'm letting you put that piece of broken glass in your mouth, sorry."</b><br />
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I know, I know, I'm such a controlling DICK!<br />
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9. <b>"Stop licking the toilet!"</b><br />
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Not that this makes it better, but it was just the seat. Ugh, sorry, still fucking disgusting. Why are kids so gross?<br />
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10. <b>"It's not funny to poop on Mommy's shoe!"</b><br />
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She didn't complete this act, but was threatening to do so over the course of a night by taking off her diaper and crouching over my shoes. She thought my reaction was hilarious. She's smarter than me.holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-24512691192395205202017-11-13T11:25:00.001-08:002017-11-13T11:25:55.211-08:00Asshole Parents Series for Awestruck!My husband, Nick, and I had the pleasure of filming for a new series called Asshole Parents for Awestruck.<br />
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Here's the trailer:<br />
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Our segment wasn't featured on this but we're in the montage at the end in the top right corner. I'll post our actual episode when it comes out!<br />
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<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-15456160376650064292017-10-09T11:47:00.001-07:002017-10-09T12:08:43.630-07:007 Completely Original Names For Boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv94P7i6xaYh9pdU01S2pANLHiyOANa7gzszITwL_kMUMdeOsKCbXDtRPxM9tV2NNj3G1fpHSDCPEHr8NT26-1X8qSYLjd0v5JOAA8zOTfoRL8ay5YPljHuzYwpmSJx-KF7h1mU0i8z3-/s1600/cutebaby+boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv94P7i6xaYh9pdU01S2pANLHiyOANa7gzszITwL_kMUMdeOsKCbXDtRPxM9tV2NNj3G1fpHSDCPEHr8NT26-1X8qSYLjd0v5JOAA8zOTfoRL8ay5YPljHuzYwpmSJx-KF7h1mU0i8z3-/s320/cutebaby+boy.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Feeling stuck when it comes to picking a unique name for your one of a kind baby boy? Trust that you are not alone in this. Your son is better than other kids and his name needs to reflect that. 2017 is a banner year for names that no one has heard of before, and even though there are tons of lists claiming they have some original ideas, they always seem to fall short. Don't despair, I won't let you settle for something basic like Kevin or Matthew. Here are a couple of ideas for those parents who refuse to allow their child to grow up not feeling special.<br />
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7. Trevice<br />
Pronounced: tre-vih-se<br />
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Trevice loves the outdoors and spends as much time as he can living in nature. Trevice has an affinity for reptiles and aims to devote his life to removing the stigma that some have when it comes to snakes. Trevice looks the best when clad in Autumn hues. Trevice wouldn't hurt a fly, unless of course it was to feed a spider, because the circle of life, you know?<br />
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6. Knightly<br />
Pronounced nih-t-lee<br />
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Knightly is the kind of guy who would never let you down. Knightly would give his left arm to see you happy. Knightly is a feminist who isn't afraid to cry in front of you during your first night of intimacy together. Knightly has three cats all of whom are named after famous female authors. Knightly has read It Takes A Village by Hilary Clinton 15 times cover to cover.<br />
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5. Slape<br />
Pronounced s-lay-p<br />
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Slape is a voracious reader who on the surface seems a little introverted, but the truth is he's a social butterfly just waiting to be released into the wild. Sure, Slape needs a little coaxing now and then to come out of his shell, but once he does watch out! Slape will never let a dance floor go cold, or let you karaoke to It's Raining Men by yourself! Slape has an enormous collection of incense.<br />
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4. Cutter<br />
Pronounced cue-tt-r<br />
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Cutter is really cute. He's, like, the cutest. He would never say this out loud, but he knows it and it makes him proud. He is a champion winker, and when you tell him he looks good today he can blush on command, because he knows how cute it looks when he blushes. Everybody loves Cutter. He received over 120 handmade Valentines this year, but if you were to ask his about it, he would tell you it was only around 90 or something. Cutter is afraid of heights.<br />
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3. Dragon<br />
Pronounced drr-ay-gone<br />
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Don't get Dragon started when it comes to how many choices we have nowadays when it comes to iced tea flavors. He's a minimalist to the core, and too many choices makes for an unbalanced society. Dragon doesn't like it when you call him Dray, so please refrain. He's a "behind-the-scenes" kind of guy, so don't expect him to participate in this years talent show, unless you need someone savvy to run that insanely complicated sound board that someone spent way too much on. Dragon can't even right now with global warming.<br />
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2. Durrkk<br />
Pronounced d-yurr-kah<br />
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Durrkk can speak five languages, not that he forces that information down your throat or anything, it's just what he's passionate about. He's a huge fan of the Grand Prix, and not for reasons that you may expect. Durrkk religiously wears boxer briefs, and would never dare search through your purse without explicit permission first. Durrkk is pastel colorblind.<br />
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1. Trump<br />
Pronounced t-ruh-mp<br />
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Remember when the name Lincoln was making the rounds thanks to that movie about him reminding us of what a great guy he was by doing stuff like freeing the slaves? Well Trump will try to do that kind of stuff too, only bigger and better. Actually, Trump already has a movie about himself in the works that he didn't produce himself, his fans did, and boy does he have a bunch of fans. Trump is awesome at checkers, in fact he's the best. Trump has had the most people at his birthday party that anyone can even imagine. Actually, you know Trump lost count of all the friends he has because there isn't a number that big that scientists have invented yet. Trump IS NOT afraid of the dark, believe me. Trump is illiterate, but no one seems to care that much.holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-48304696549129351842017-08-15T12:32:00.000-07:002017-08-15T19:17:58.624-07:005 Places I Used To Love That Now Suck Because Of My KidWe all have these places, whether it be an exotic locale or just a place where you buy your socks. Either way, just the thought of visiting your favorite places adds a little spring to your step. Then you have kids and they ruin them. These were mine.<br />
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1. The Beach<br />
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The beach used to be DOPE! Hanging out with your friends, maybe late night with a bonfire, sneaking some booze in a Sprite bottle, maybe taking a lil toke off that strangers j! Now it's taking two hours to pack up the car to make sure you have the right blankets, changing pads, 20 towels, three changes of clothes for the whole family, kids sunscreen for body, for face and hat, sunscreen for parents, water bottles, snacks, bug spray, floaties, whistle, Frisbee, shoes that can get wet, apple juice, aloe, huge umbrella...oh fuck it, let's stay home and watch Netflix.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92LVjBBsOsXeGASenWvDV3clGccKhMOm_j-oeW9NL9WW_7n9XJdTAWcoWJCrqdTt6fsTw4f66iFmwUFSsRLA47tw_SlaAhDDC50IGNEfin8RPthkGP0C3duHgZ0oBKrWaYVabxzMelP-A/s1600/Target.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="745" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92LVjBBsOsXeGASenWvDV3clGccKhMOm_j-oeW9NL9WW_7n9XJdTAWcoWJCrqdTt6fsTw4f66iFmwUFSsRLA47tw_SlaAhDDC50IGNEfin8RPthkGP0C3duHgZ0oBKrWaYVabxzMelP-A/s320/Target.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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2. Target<br />
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Target used the be the place I would go to forget my worries for a little bit. It's a wonderland of hair products and clothes and booze and furniture. You can go in for tampons and leave with a recliner! It's heaven. Well, it was. Now if I go in there with my toddler, I better have a plan of action and if that derails at all at any point, I ditch the plan and try again tomorrow, because if my kid gets bored for one second it's all over. She's start trying to rip the clothes off the racks, throw the produce and knock over a whole shelf of canned goods. And if I God forbid don't let her do those things, she'll scream like she just saw Donald Trump naked. So long, Target.<br />
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3. Restaurants<br />
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When my husband and I lived in New York we would go out every other night to a new restaurant. We would love taking our sweet time enjoying appetizers, having that extra glass of wine, laughing at each others jokes knowing we had all the time in the world. Life was our Grand Central Oyster Bar. Nowadays, we basically order from the hostess and hand over our credit card as she's seating us while requesting to go containers be delivered with the meals. Essentially the second we get food in any dining establishment we know the clock is ticking before our kid makes us the asshole cautionary tale of why you don't bring kids to restaurants.<br />
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4. New York<br />
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I know I mentioned New York in my previous post about restaurants, but the truth is, all of that gorgeous, stinkin' city is off the table now that we're parents. While I would love nothing more than to culture the shit out of my kid with the architecture, the art and every day experiences, I'm certain we would step off the plane ready for a high falutin adventure, only to re-board immediately because of the epic fit she should throw due to our unwillingness to let her put that used condom she found on the sidewalk on St. Marks into her mouth.<br />
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5. Hotels<br />
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At one point in my life I was touring with a corporate comedy team, and on average I would spend two nights a week in a swanky hotel. This was clearly the way my life was supposed to go, as I am very good at staying in hotels. I don't need the debaucherous sexual activity to have a great time. I just need to know that I can throw my towels on the floor and get a grilled cheese at 3am to live well. I'm not asking for much! Sadly, those days are long gone now that I have a kid. Hotels went from a magical place filled with mini-fridges and Jacuzzi tubs to a big room where everyone is staying all together, which means pitch blackness and total silence after 8:30pm. And if anyone breaks that rule, just know there will be hell to pay in the form of a sleepness night with an insistent toddle wedged horizontally between you and your mate. No late night $14 potato wedges delivered to your door on a fancy plate can make save you this time. Farewell, hotels.<br />
<br />holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6885673072944427175.post-14478928288644635152017-08-01T12:34:00.000-07:002017-08-01T12:34:03.610-07:00Can't take us anywhere"This will be so fun!" <div>
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Those have become famous last words around these parts. It usually pertains to an activity or event that we decide we should go to and take our almost 2 year old. We, like idiots, naively think it will inevitably be such a wonderful time that there is NO WAY anything could go wrong or result in an epic meltdown! Because we are amazing parents! </div>
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HAHAAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHA! What a fucking stupid thing to think, dumb dumbs! No, it will be a giant failure that will result in over-imbibing to cope with your frustration in literally every scenario! </div>
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The latest dumb shit idea was to take Bo to this free concert series at the park we go to all the time. Like assholes we got her a cookie, which angered her greatly. To display her disdain for our terrible choice to do something we thought she would like, she launched into a fit that will be talked about for years from those who witnessed it. In addition to the sounds she was making, which I'll get into, she also lost all control of her limbs and collapsed on the ground. At the same time it appeared she also gained about 100 pounds because no matter what my husband and I couldn't pick her up! She balled up all that cookie rage and transformed it into dead weight. And then of course there was the screaming. Not "tiny child screaming", but "there is a murder taking place in that windowless van" screaming. Luckily, we were so far away from the music and crowd no one noticed. Oh, wait, no that's not what happened at all. In fact this whole gruesome scene took place literally feet from the stage in clear view of the hundreds of people there, and the band stopped playing for a sec and looked at that family of dick bags who can't manage to leave their homes without it being a shit show. YAY!!! </div>
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The following two pictures were able to happen many minutes into the fit when my husband managed to figure out a way to pick her up so we could run from the scene as quickly as possible. Trust me, I would've recorded the whole thing, but I needed both my hands to try to wrestle my bear child. </div>
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holy crap I'm your momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00672910929548804096noreply@blogger.com0