A New Mantra

A couple of years ago, I was all bent out of shape about turning 35, you know, because it marked the end of my early 30s — a time which had been stamped into my brain as the last “hoorah,” or whatever as far as being remotely awesome goes.

Long story short, I was totally in a funk. And I knew it. And I knew what was causing it and it had nothing to do with turning 35.

Fast forward to a little more than 2 years later at the ripe old age of 37, and things have changed quite a bit, to say the least. I’m in my late 30s, and 40 is staring me right in the face — and I don’t give a shit. I’m out of my funk. Because I’ve started living authentically instead of sticking with the status quo and putting up with the funk.

For the first time in my entire life, I have my priorities in line and know EXACTLY who I am. And if only said priorities had been the same when I was say … 25, as they are now, I probably wouldn’t feel the need to write this blog post.

Life doesn’t always turn out the way you’d hoped. And you know what? That’s OK. And sometimes things are a hell of a lot more interesting when they don’t go according to plan, even if it means you get knocked down a time or two. (Or seven.)

On that note, I’m moving on to a new philosophy in life. It probably wouldn’t kill you to adopt the same mantra when the going gets tough.



(And yes, I have a dog now, so this is totally legit.)

A Life’s Manual For New Dads: (Read This If You Ever Want To Get Laid Again)

A couple of months ago I wrote a “Life’s Manual For Not Quite-Preggo Gals” to give future moms a little insight as to what they should do before they have kids. I have yet to publish my “Life’s Manual For New Moms”, but I assure you it’s on the way in the future. In the meantime, here’s a little light reading for brand new dads. I suggest that you print this out for your husband if he ever plans on getting laid again.

A Life’s Manual For New Dads Who Really Want To Get Laid

1. Don’t expect sex from your wife a few weeks after she gives birth. Need a little more perspective than that? Imagine someone taking your nut sack and trying to separate each testicle and tuck each one behind your ears. Would you still want to get busy? I didn’t think so.

2. You know that advice your mother gave you about what and what not to do with the new baby? NEWS FLASH: Your wife doesn’t give a shit. Let her do things HER way and take her side when she asks you which way you think is better. Remember who you’re married to.

3. Do not under any circumstances make a comment about the mesh panties your wife wore home from the hospital, or the Tuck’s medicated pad that’s squished between her butt cheeks. She’s never felt less sexy in her entire life, and she doesn’t need any reminders from you about the funky shit that is still going on in her nether regions. Make it a point to remind her that you still think she’s the hottest bitch on the block.

4. Invest in a good pair of ear plugs, because you’re gonna need them. And the number one reason you’re gonna need them is not because of incessant crying from your newborn. It’s to drown out the insults and exclamations of hate that will likely come from your wife’s mouth. And no, she really doesn’t think that you’re a complete and total asshat. She’s just overwhelmed, exhausted, and may I reiterate that either her cha-cha was nearly split in two or she had her stomach muscles sliced open while delivering your kid. Suck it up and take it like a man.

5. When in doubt and you have no idea what in the hell to say to whatever ridiculous thing your wife has just told you, all you need to remember are two words, “Yes, dear.” Don’t say anything more or anything less, otherwise you run the risk of her bringing it up while discussing whether or not to have sex at a later date. And I’m assuming that you want to have sex, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this post.

6. Want to be named “New Dad of the Year?” Offer to get up with the baby at night a few times a week so that your wife can get some extra sleep. And after you’ve been up with the baby, bounce right out of bed the next morning singing the “Good Morning” song and act like you aren’t tired at all. Trust me…she will NOT forget this. (Do this and you may even get laid twice in one night once she’s feeling like her old self again).

7. Make sure to have a take-out menu handy from every restaurant in a ten mile radius. A sure fire way to kill her desire to play hide the sausage is by asking, “Honey, what’s for dinner?” Use that statement too many times and you definitely won’t be getting any “dessert.”

8. Yet another NEWS FLASH: Babies SHIT. They shit A LOT. And it’s only half-true that baby shit doesn’t stink when it comes out of your kid. Don’t act like you’ve just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when your baby has a blow-out and you open the diaper. Don’t ask your wife to come see what just came out of your baby’s ass…trust me…she KNOWS. She actually knew way ahead of time and that’s why she told you it was your turn to change junior. Just strap a sack on and focus on the task at hand.

9. Your wife knows you work hard and she is eternally grateful for all you do for the family. But while you were at work, you also got to eat lunch, take a shit, and talk to another adult without being interrupted by a pint-size poop machine who may or may not have just barfed in your hair. When you get home from work, take the baby, and ask your wife if she wants to go lay down for a bit, take a shower, or just sit and stare at a blank wall for 20 minutes. Good grief…I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about a man doing that for me as a new mom. Do it for your wife and moms everywhere will want to fu*& you. (Wink, wink)!

10. Remember that your wife may be a mom now, but she’s also YOUR GIRL. She’s the girl that you couldn’t wait to kiss on your first date. She’s the girl you used to lay awake at night and think about. She’s the girl who you used to call at midnight, “just to say I love you one more time.” And just because there is a munchkin in the picture now doesn’t mean that girl has disappeared. She’s in there somewhere underneath the dark circles under her eyes, drool-soaked shirt, and all of the exhaustion. But as a mom, it’s easy for her to forget that she’s still “that girl.” And when you remind her that you haven’t forgotten who she is?

Bring on the horny.

I Speak English, A Little French, And I’m Fluent In Bullshit

Ok, so since I started this blog a little over a year ago…most of you have gotten to know me pretty well. You know that I’m not afraid of discussing shit at the dinner table. You know that shaking my ass is at the top of my list of extracurricular activities, and you also know that I get paid to talk about celebrity smut all day long.

What you probably don’t know about me is that in addition to speaking English and the tiny bit of French I’ve retained from high school, I’m also fluent in the language of bullshit. And I’m talking about the bullshit that parents put out there to try and make sense of the fact that their kids have completely turned their lives upside down and given them grey hairs in places where the sun don’t shine. You know…the LIES PARENTS TELL to hide what is really going on.

May I present…

The Mommyologist’s Parental Bullshit Translator

Bullshit Statement #1: “Our little angel never cries…ever!”

Translation: “Holy motherf*&ing SHIT. This kid never shuts up. EVER. Oh for the love of GOD…get me some friggin’ earplugs before I’m catatonic in the corner crying for my own mother. I can’t take it anymore.”

Bullshit Statement #2: “My hubby is an absolutely DREAM with the new baby! I never lift a finger and he gets up with her every night!”

Translation: “I seriously can’t believe I married this prick. He hasn’t done one middle-of-the-night feeding, or changed one shitty diaper since this kid came home from the hospital. Now I understand why people get divorced.”

Bullshit Statement #3: “I was back in my skinny jeans the day after I left the hospital with this little munchkin!”

Translation: “F*&k you, I’m skinny because I’m blessed with an incredibly perfect gene pool. But I’m insecure in other areas so I choose to boost my own self-esteem by making you feel like a Twinkie-loving cow.”

Bullshit Statement #4: “Tomorrow is our 6-week post-partum check up at the OBGYN! I hope he gives us the ok to have sex again!”

Translation: “Holy shit. Tomorrow is our 6-week post-partum check up. That means that this asshole I’m living with is going to expect sex again. I just spent over 24-hours pushing a living thing out of my cha-cha, and the last thing I want to do is stick something back in there again. Oh for the love of GOD. If I don’t have sex with him tomorrow night, then he’s going to expect something else. Help me.”

Bullshit Statement #5: “I guess I’m lucky…I’m one of those women who doesn’t get tired, so getting up three times a night doesn’t even phase me!”

Translation: “I’m hallucinating due to lack of sleep, and I’m speaking gibberish. Just ignore me.”

Bullshit Statement #6: “My little prince listens to every single word I say! He never talks back, and he always minds his manners, because that’s what I’ve taught him to do!”

Translation: “Earlier today, this little rugrat stuck his tongue out at me, called me a poopyhead, and then proceeded to shove his finger up his nose, pull out a fresh picked booger, and wipe it on my leg. Stick a fork in me…I’m DONE.”

Bullshit Statement #7: “My kids always eat their vegetables at every meal, and they have NEVER had one grain of sugar.”

Translation: “If you consider sweet potato flavored Gerber puffs to be vegetables, then my kids eat veggies at every meal. And last night, after they polished off a cansiter each of puffs as they were screaming and kicking each other under the table, I shoved a rice krispie treat in each of their mouths so that I could manage to make a thirty-second phone call to the hubby to tell him to pick up more vodka on his way home from work.”

Bullshit Statement #8: “I don’t drink” or “I have never even thought about drinking since I had a kid.”

Translation: “Fix me a friggin’ martini before I either break down and cry or piss my pants from total lack of control.”

Bullshit Statement #9: “We’re having so much fun figuring out this whole parenting thing together!!”

Translation: “This kid is four months old, and we still have no idea what in the hell we’re doing. And it’s a miracle that we’re still sleeping in the same bedroom. Oh my GOD…what in the hell happened to our lives??”

Bullshit Statement #10: “I felt SO sexy while I was giving birth!”

Translation: “How did I feel while I gave birth? How do you think I felt, genius? Everyone in the room was staring at my crotch, which hadn’t been shaved in like two months because my belly was too big for me to see what I was doing as far as grooming goes, I farted uncontrollably in front of the hot anesthesiologist, I almost shat on the table, and then there was that whole episiotomy thing. Yeah…I was one sexy bitch, alright!”

My Vision for 2020

On a particularly cold and windy day last week, I resorted to taking my son down to the basement to play on the new John Deere ride-on tractor we bought him for his birthday. As he did countless laps around the mile-high mounds of clutter, I found that I just couldn’t seem to resist the urge to start going through boxes of my old stuff. When I say old stuff, I mean the stuff that I packed up and brought with me when I married my husband and moved to Denver to be with him. And the bulk of that “stuff” consists mainly of old photos from college and even a few from high school. I won’t elaborate on those old college photos, but I will say that it’s a good thing that I never plan on running for office. Somehow I don’t think that frat party shenanigans and politics mix very well.

Amid the piles of snapshots, I found one single letter-sized envelope.  When I saw the return address, I immediately recognized it as a letter that I wrote to myself during the last months of my senior year of high school.  It was actually an assignment that one of our teachers gave us, and we were supposed to write a letter to ourselves detailing where we thought we’d be 10 years from our high school graduation.  After skimming through the first couple of sentences, I just knew that the letter fit perfectly with a post that I’d been tagged in by Ambitious Gurl.

In this post, we are supposed to write a little paragraph about where we think we’ll be 10 years from now, in the year 2020.  All I can say is that I hope that I have my head screwed on a little bit better than I did back in 1995.  Before I touch on where I hope to be 10 years from now, I’d like to go over that letter that I wrote in high school.  Things didn’t quite pan out the way my uber-inflated head expected.

Here’s a little excerpt:  (I’m warning you, I was one cocky little bitch back then, though I totally didn’t think so at the time).

“I want to be happy later in life, and I do want the finer things in life.  Eventually, I hope to marry a man with great ambition, and a boat would be nice too.  I’d love to marry someone who had something to do with sports, maybe a coach.  However, he’ll have to pass my tests.

1. Table manners

2. Does he know the 4 parts of a boat?


As I’m reading this 10 years later, I hope to be ready to go on vacation to the islands on a yacht, where I’ll stay at one of my beach houses.  If I’m not as well-off as I’d like to be, hey, a Bojangle’s biscuit would be nice right about now.”

Ok, I don’t exactly know who in the hell that arrogant little chickadee was, but I’d like to go back in time and hit her over the head with a frying pan, because things definitely did NOT pan out quite the way she’d hoped. (Although the hubster does indeed know the 4 parts of a boat because he used to be in the Coast Guard.  Total coincidence how that one came true).

Now, I know that we are past the 10 year mark and that I’ve actually been out of high school for almost 15 years, but according to my 18 year old self, you would think that if I had my own home on a private island after 10 years, then I’d probably own the whole damn island after 15.  Yeah…not so much!

Instead of setting sail on a yacht for the island of my wildest dreams, I was doing something a little different the other night.  I was sitting on my couch with my foot propped up on my knee and was filling my husband in on the wonderful experience I had at Bloggy Boot Camp in addition to trying to put together a “sea vehicle”, as my son referred to it, out of Legos.  I was also sipping a glass of wine and trying to relax a bit.

Now, you all know that my son has some serious butt issues.  Well, apparently they haven’t completely gone away and he has devised new methods of coping, because he’s sick and tired of me yelling at him to stop digging in his bum.

I raised my wine glass for a little Pinot Grigio action, and somewhere mid-sip, my son sort of backed up close to me, wedged my big toe into his butt crack, and proceeded to wiggle like it was his job.

That’s right!  Instead of getting a pedicure on some luxury yacht, my toe was now being held hostage in my son’s ass crack.

That girl from high school needs a total reality check.  I mean, there is just nothing less glamorous than a big stinky ass toe.  I went from imagining myself as some sort of yacht traveling princess to a personal butt scratcher to my 4-year old.  And I don’t live in the South anymore, so I can’t even have that Bojangle’s biscuit that I was willing to settle for as a consolation prize.  Yep, I was WAY off the mark on how glamorous my life would be at 32.

And this brings me to a new little phrase that I’m going to start using periodically in my posts to reiterate the fact that when you become a mother, YOU CHECK YOUR GLAMOUR AT THE DOOR. Forget having a reality check.  In this case, I need a GLAM CHECK!  I decided that it just wouldn’t be fair to keep the GLAM CHECK! to myself, so you can now find the cute little button that Lauren at Restored316Designs made me over on my left sidebar.  Feel free to grab it and use it where you see fit!

The GLAM CHECK! is also going to become a permanent feature in a new series that I’m working on.  It should debut in the next couple of weeks, so keep checking back!

I guess this brings me back to figuring out where I’d like to be in 10 years. I’m determined to avoid having another GLAM CHECK! in 2020, so here’s my more realistic version:

“Ten years from now, my son will be 14 years old (yikes)!  And I sincerely hope that by then his ass issue has corrected itself.  If it hasn’t, then I’m just praying that he will keep his butt-digging activities confined to the privacy of his own bedroom.  I’ll even let him lock the door.  And for the record son, I don’t care what other kind of games you play with your developing body in that room.  You are a boy, and yes, all boys “do that.”  Just please do me a favor and hide the smut magazines somewhere where the cleaning lady can’t find them.  I really don’t want to lose her.”

“And as for myself, I’m just really kind of hoping that 10 years from now someone has invented a cellulite cream that actually works, or that a magic pill has been invented.  Or that cellulite actually becomes all the rage and that it is totally hip and trendy to bare your cottage cheese on the beach.  The more, the better.  And it would be really nice if my husband and I are getting ready to set sail on a Caribbean cruise on some semi-fancy ship. I don’t need a private yacht.  But it would be nice if we could have a cabin with a balcony.  And it would be even nicer if one of my dear friends will let my 14-year old ass-diggin’ son stay with them for a week so that the hubster and I can get some alone time.  Or if that won’t work, can we please take your kid with us so that my son has someone to hang out with besides his totally embarrassing parents?  And I’m definitely over the whole Bojangle’s craze because I was over it back in 2010, but how about hookin’ me up with a fat order of McDonald’s fries?  (And don’t forget about that cellulite pill.  And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a bottle of Pinot Grigio to wash it down).

What a Difference Five Years Makes!

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!  I hope that you all have something special planned with your special someone…even if that means a night in with the kiddos watching the Disney Channel and eating popcorn!  They’ll go to bed eventually, right?

The hubster and I managed to score the babysitter this evening and are headed out to one of our favorite restaurants for martinis and dinner.  I was absolutely shocked that she was available and thought that there was no chance in hell of us getting out for a date tonight because she recently got engaged.  I’d like to say a huge thanks to her awesome fiance for letting us borrow her tonight so that my son can hang out with his favorite Valentine and so I can hang out with mine!

In thinking about how lucky we are that we are actually managing to have a Valentine’s Day date, I started thinking about how much this day has changed since our little man arrived.  I thought back to 2005, the year before his birth, and what would be our last Valentine’s Day as a married couple with no children.  We were living out in Denver then, and our favorite restaurant in the whole world was (and actually still is) Del Frisco’s.  I would always make the reservation a good month and a half in advance to make sure we secured a table for February 14th at the exact time we wanted, in order to allow enough time for us to have a stogie in the cigar lounge after dinner.  I don’t know about all you other ladies out there, but I love a good stogie once in a while.  There’s something about puffing on one of those bad boys that makes me feel kinda sexy, ya know?  And for whatever reason, I love the smell of cigar smoke.  Always have, always will.  I think it’s because it reminds me of my grandfather.

Anyhoo, here we are in 2010 jumping for joy because our babysitter was free tonight, and I thought it would be funny to point out some examples of just how much things have changed in five years!

Date Nights in 2005 versus Date Nights in 2010

It Was So Romantic When…

2005: The hubster walked into the kitchen of our first home because he was drawn in by the wonderful smells of the delicious home cooked five-course meal I was making him.  He found me with mascara streaming down my cheeks from chopping onions all night, told me how beautiful I was, and handed me a tissue.

2010: The hubster walks into the kitchen and hands me a tissue because he’s just watched our son run up to me and hand me a giant booger that’s just been freshly picked out of his nose.

2005: The hubster wanted to do something thoughtful, so he picked me up a beautiful bouquet of flowers on his way home from work.

2010: The hubster wanted to do something thoughtful, so he picked me up a brand new package of Shick razors on his way home from work in the hopes that I’d take the hint.

2005: On a typical Friday night, the hubster and I would get about ten minutes into a movie and then have a full-blown make-out session on the couch for the rest of the flick.

2010: On a typical Friday night, the hubster usually falls asleep about thirty minutes into the movie, and I get a little giddy because I get to finish all of the popcorn in the bowl without any competition for those last few kernels.

2005: The hubster and I would go out for a fancy dinner complete with lots of wine, appetizers, entrees, and of course cigars….and then we’d come home to enjoy a little “dessert.”

2010: The hubster and I go out for dinner, have a drink or two because we don’t want to look trashed in front of the babysitter, and we come home, plop ourselves down on the couch and pig out on the to-go desserts that we brought home from the restaurant, which makes us both so full that we can barely move, so we head straight up to bed with no hopes of our bloated selves being able to pull off any sort of funny business. (Though we’re just as satisfied from the huge slices of cake we just consumed.  In fact, the cake is pretty damn close to complete ecstasy).

2005: The hubster and I made sure to pick out just the right cards for Valentine’s Day that accurately described how unique and special our love for each other was and how we could not stand the thought of being apart for one second. (I just threw up in my mouth a little bit).

2010: The hubster and I both have to try our hardest to resist the urge to pick out a Valentine’s Day card that includes a joke about farts.

2005: After a fabulous date night, the hubster and I were so hot for each other that we were lucky if we made it through the night and actually got some sleep, if you catch my drift.

2010: After a fabulous date night, the hubster and I are lucky if we make it through an entire night without one of us farting in our sleep. (There I go again with the farts).

2005: While out to dinner, the hubster and I would make sure to avoid any of the traditional items that you aren’t supposed to eat on a date, such as garlic, onions, etc.

2010: While out to dinner, the hubster and I chow down on every date night “no-no” food that we can get our hands on because after raising a small child, we’ve both smelled things way worse than garlic and onion breath.

2005: On date nights, I would get all gussied up in some slinky outfit that showed off my tight ass and flat belly.

2010: On date nights, I am usually scrambling to get dressed before the babysitter arrives and desperately hoping that I remembered to wash my fat pants because I don’t want anything digging into my waistline while indulging later that evening.

2005: While out on a dinner date with the hubster, I would look at him across the table and give him this sultry little smile and wink at him, and he knew this meant that I had chosen to go commando for the evening.

2010: While out on a dinner date with the hubster, I look at him across the table and smile and wink a little, but it’s because I’m proud that I actually used one of those razors out of the pack he brought home for me earlier in the week.  And if he’s really lucky, I’m wearing the new red gel padded bra that I bought from Target the previous day.  (I’ve got some sexy left in me)!

2005: The hubster and I would go out each Valentine’s Day and admire and point out all of the other happy and in-love couples who were at the restaurant and we’d comment on how adorable they were.

2010: The hubster and I will go out tonight for our Valentine’s date and look at those same happy and in-love (and young) couples, and then we’ll look at each other and laugh a little because we know that both of us are picturing that happy and in-love couple a few years down the road hovered over a changing table and fighting about what in the hell they are supposed to do to make their baby stop screaming while dodging projectile poop at the same time.  Yep, we were that cute couple once too.  But a baby changes EVERYTHING.  And I still wouldn’t go back to the adorable stage for all the money in the world.  And for the record, I still think we are a pretty cute couple.  And we’d definitely kick that other couple’s ass in a poop-dodging competition.

*To all of my wonderful followers, a couple people have pointed out that they have needed to un-follow and then re-follow me in order for my new posts to show up in their Google Reader since my big move over to WordPress.  I’d hate to lose touch with any of you, so if you wouldn’t mind doing the same thing, I’d really appreciate it!  Thanks everyone and have a wonderful Valentine’s Day!!*

I’m Sorry…I Have a Bit of a Bone to Pick

Ok, can someone please tell me what in the heck is up with the new holiday commercial for Kay Jewelers? Has Hell actually frozen over? For those of you who haven’t seen it or aren’t sure which commercial I’m referring to, let me give you the rundown.

Picture a woman sitting in her living room admiring her beautifully decorated Christmas Tree. Ok, now picture her also sitting in a rocking chair with what looks like an 8 month or so old baby rocking him gently. Now picture the husband busting into the room, looking at her and the kid adoringly and asking, “Is he up??” Ok, this is where I start to twitch.

First of all, this is just completely outrageous because the commercial leads the viewer to assume that the husband has actually woken up in the middle of the night, realized that his wife is not in bed, and actually gives a shit that she is up with the baby while he still has the pleasure of being all warm and cozy under the duvet. I’m sorry, but what husband in their right mind has this realization and proceeds to get out of bed and go look for her? Chances are the kid is screaming his head off and wants the boob and has no interest in “Daddy” at that moment anyway so why in the hell would he even bother to get out of bed? Or even if the baby is on formula, why in the hell would the dad get up to feed him when he knows that his wife has one ear permanently glued to the baby monitor and probably woke up before the damn thing even started going off. And if he does get out of bed and go look for the wife, chances are he will just get the evil eye from her because he didn’t hear the baby crying in the first place and just assumed that she would get out of bed if the need should arise. Also, if he gets out of bed on this particular night, then he will be expected to get out of bed each and every single night going forward when that kid starts to fuss.

Are you irritated yet? Wait…it gets worse. When hubby emerges through the living room door and asks, “Is he awake?” The fantasy wife declares, “He just fell asleep. What are you doing up? It’s 2:00am!” Excuse me? As if she actually gives a rat’s ass that he’s up at 2:00am! Ok, I’m sorry but I’m going to be very blunt here. He SHOULD be up. It’s 2:00am and if she has to be up at that hour than that man should too! Even if she’s breastfeeding and he can’t offer his services to chip in for a feeding, he should still be up to do the post-feed burp and diaper change, or he should at least switch off with his sleep deprived wife and do every other night or something like that. Oh wait…I forgot that this is modern day America and we don’t live in a freakin’ utopian society. My bad. Guess my expectations are just too high…or are they?

If the Kay Jewelers chick were me, and I had been up with some little bugger who had been screaming his head off for two hours straight and my hubby decided to take it upon himself and get out of our bed and come downstairs to the living room and ask me if the kid was awake, I would have looked him in the eye and said, “No Mr. Prince Charming! He is finally asleep no thanks to your pathetic ass! And you should be the one up at 2:00am tonight because I have been up at 2:00am each and every single night since we came home from the hospital and I think that I deserve one night off!”

As if that wasn’t bad enough, in this award-worthy commercial, Mr. Prince Charming proceeds to go get a “surprise” package from under the tree for the wife and gives it to her. Excuse me?? I’m sorry, but WTF? Kay Jewelers is portraying this man as first of all, giving a crap that is kid is up at 2:00am, and then they have the nerve to assume that this guy is such a “gem” that he has pre-arranged for himself to be up at 2:00am because he has some special surprise present hidden away under the tree that he thinks would be just PERFECT to give his adoring wife during one their baby’s middle of the night feedings. Please excuse me for a second. I just have to pause because I’m completely puzzled right now. I just can’t even fathom such a thing taking place. (Hold on…still trying to wrap my head around this one).

And when he does give her that secret gift and she opens it, this God awful looking ring is revealed. Yeah right! Like some ugly ass ring makes up for the fact that he has been virtually unable to hear the baby monitor since she brought that child home from the hospital and each and every time she wanders back into bed after a good hour long meltdown session from her baby, he looks at her and says, “Was the baby up? I didn’t hear him.” No shit Sherlock!

I’m sorry, but this is just another case of TV land trying to force the perfect image of parenthood on unsuspecting new moms. And it pisses me off. And if this fantasy had any truth to it, you can bet your butt that Mr. Prince Charming would’ve presented me with some big honkin’ diamond…not that dime store piece of junk that the chick in the commercial received. (I apologize in advance if you receive this particular gift from your man this year. He means well, I’m sure).

Before having kids, my hubby and I both enjoyed great careers. Up until my last trimester, I worked as a meeting planner and spent every other week flying to Vegas, Chicago, Dallas, etc. I was usually put on the concierge floor of every hotel I stayed at in an effort by the hotel sales manager to kiss my rear end and gain another nice 200-plus headcount event from me. The hubster and I determined that this career just “wasn’t gonna work” with an infant involved, so I chose to give it up and become a stay-at-home-mom. I do not regret that decision for one second, but I’ll admit a couple things to everyone reading this. There are things I do miss about being that meeting planner. I miss sleeping in a big fluffy hotel bed all by myself without worrying one second about being woken up in the middle of the night (Although hell! If I’d have seen this Kay Jewelers commercial and had my head filled with false expectations about life after the baby came I might have gotten knocked up right away so I could start enjoying all the bling bling from the hubby a little quicker)! I miss being able to hop on a plane at a moment’s notice without having to make sure my husband could take the time off from work to watch our son. And most of all I miss being able to make a bathroom visit without my son crawling into my lap and trying to pull me off the throne because he “has to go POOP” at the exact moment that I do. All I know is that even though hubby’s life has changed since having a child too…he STILL has his awesome career, and the last time I checked he is still able to go “number two” every day all by himself. I apologize to those of you who feel I’m giving up too much information or being a bit unladylike. Guess I’m just not afraid to admit that I take a crap every day like every other human being on the face of the Earth and I’m not afraid to announce to the world that I’d prefer to take that crap in privacy without interruption from a three year old.

Back to what has now officially become my new favorite holiday commercial. Since I’m ripping poor Kay a new one, I feel that it is necessary for me to write a new script for this commercial to make it a little more realistic and believable. Here is my version:

The setting for my rewrite is pretty much the same. The woman is still sitting in the rocking chair and the baby has still fallen asleep, except this time the woman is rocking frantically back and forth and kind of mumbling under her breath, “please don’t wake up…please don’t wake up…please don’t wake up” over and over again like some kind of mantra because she knows all to well that if she either stops moving or changes the frequency in her rocking by even a fraction of a second, that kid is going to be up again. She then gets a look of disgust on her face, and the voice-over kicks in so the audience can “hear” what she’s thinking without her actually speaking (again, we don’t want to wake up the kid). Her thoughts go something like this:

“Ok, this is bullshit. I’m up at 2:00am for the fourth time this week and my husband is once again fast asleep in our king sized bed and has no freakin’ clue that I am up. Ok, wait a minute, I stand corrected. He has EVERY freakin’ clue that I’m up but he is lying perfectly still in that bed like a soldier because he knows that if I even hear him shift in the slightest manner when junior starts wailing over the baby monitor, then I am going to shove him and remind him that he promised to take tonight’s feeding so that I could get some much overdue rest. GRRRR!! I cannot believe that man! Who does he think he is?? I mean, my life has changed completely since this baby arrived and I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in months and he just goes about his business like nothing ever happened and he only seems to chip in at night when he “feels like it.” I deserve some sleep. I deserve more credit. I deserve better. You know what I’m gonna do? Tomorrow morning when he takes the baby over to his mother’s house, I’m going Christmas shopping for ME. (she gets a huge smile on her face) I’m going to Kay Jewelers.”

The commercial ends with a quick shot of her the next day, walking out of Kay and admiring the new sparkler on her finger.

Honestly, which version do you believe?

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: I think that it is only proper to end this post by changing the slogan for Kay Jewelers. I’m changing “Every Kiss Begins with Kay” to “Every Myth Begins with Kay.”



I Guess the Cat’s Out of the Bag!

Happy Friday everyone! I hope that you all have wonderful holiday season weekends planned with your families. I am so excited to attend the Ellington Winterfest tomorrow with my two best guys and to head to the Christmas Tree Farm on Sunday to cut down our tree and hopefully get an acceptable Christmas card photo. (That’s right…mine haven’t gone out yet because they haven’t been ordered yet because we don’t have the perfect photo of our son for the front yet). All Christmas card stress aside, there is just nothing better than holiday traditions with my little man! Christmas is definitely different now that I’m a parent…but in a good way for sure. I’ve gone from “Midnight Mass” to “How in the heck would I ever be able to stay awake to attend Midnight Mass?”, but it’s more than worth it when I see that little guy’s face on Christmas morning. There are just so many moments I’ve had when I’ve realized that I am most definitely a mommy and probably wouldn’t even recognize my pre-mama former self. Here’s a little food for thought to kick off your weekend…just a few little clues to provide some insight into when you know you’ve made a full transition to mommyhood. Enjoy!

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you throw your son’s underwear that he’s just pooped in a little bit because he ate too many grapes the day before and couldn’t quite make it to the potty in time right in with your personal load of laundry without thinking twice about the fact that there is now poop swirling around the washing machine with your Hanky Panky thongs.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you actually get excited about going for an eyebrow wax because even though tiny little hairs are being ripped out of your face, you know that you are at least getting five minutes to yourself without someone pulling on your leg and demanding something.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

you get into your car by yourself on one of those rare occasions when you do actually get to go for that eyebrow wax or any other act of much needed self indulgence and you get about 10 miles down the road before you realize that: a.) The Imagination Movers CD is still playing instead of the radio, and b.) You are actually singing along with the CD…and you actually like it, and after the realization that you are alone in your car and can turn off the CD and change to whatever radio station you usually listen to when you are kid-free, you instead choose to keep listening to the Imagination Movers.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you stick your face down low for a close up of the diaper or potty filled with your child’s excrement in order to fully inspect each and every inch of the poop to make sure its color and texture are indeed in line with what is considered normal and appropriate according to the Child Wellness section of WebMd.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you consider 7:00am sleeping in, 8:00am oversleeping, and 10:00am as the halfway mark till the end of your day, and by 3:00pm you are already getting dinner on the stove and thinking seriously about putting on your pj’s and putting tinfoil on your windows so that you can crawl into bed before dark.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you are sitting on your couch trying to get through the dead of winter with a 10 month old and in a moment of true desperation, you have turned on an episode of The Wiggles and just for shits and giggles you sit there and think about which Wiggle you would “do” if someone put a gun to your head and told you it was a life or death situation. (Just go ahead and admit that you’ve had the thought once or twice too).

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you start to do things that your own mother did that you always swore you would never subject your own kid to but now find yourself doing without even thinking about it. A couple examples include spit-shining your child to get ketchup off his face, spitting in your hand a little and rubbing his head in an effort to slick down the hairs that are sticking straight up, and let’s not forget throwing your right arm across the passenger seat of the car when you hit the brakes too hard…and knowing full well that even though your child is strapped safely into his car seat in the back seat, your purse is on that passenger seat and you feel a real need to protect its contents.

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you wake up in the morning and check your Facebook page and are completely appalled because a friend of yours who has not yet ventured onto the journey of motherhood has updated her status to express to the world that she is “So Freakin’ Bored.” You immediately start having heart palpitations and furiously comment on her status something that goes a little like this: “Bored? What the fu*% is bored? I only WISH that I had the time to be bored! What the hell is wrong with you? Enjoy the boredom while you have it honey and find something a little more credible to complain about!” You then realize that the poor chick has no clue about how many mommies she just pissed off and would probably be mortified if she knew that she’d upset them, so you delete the comment, proceed to the next friend in your status update feed and give her a big thumbs up on her status, which says something like, “Woo-hoo! It’s Friday!” (Borrrinnnng)!

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you start preferring an issue of Family Circle or Good Housekeeping to an issue of US Weekly or Star. This particular transition didn’t happen right away for me…in fact it is fairly new, but I have to admit that it’s made me feel like even more of a Mom. I used to get excited about who Jessica Simpson was hooking up with and who was calling her fat and which celebrity daddy was caught cheating with the nanny in any given week. Now I get practically giddy when the Family Circle or Good Housekeeping (I subscribe to both) arrive at my door because I know that they are filled with great tips on how to remove red wine stains, and with easy mom-friendly weeknight recipes with no more than 10 ingredients or 5 preparation steps a piece. I mean, I absolutely love Cooking Light just as much as the next girl, but who in the hell has the time or the cash for that matter to put together a chili recipe with 37 ingredients? Give me a pound of ground beef, a couple cans of beans, and a can of stewed tomatoes and voila! A gourmet meal for two. (I understand now if any of my friends turn down my dinner invitations).

You know you’re a Mommy when…

…you can’t get away fast enough with your hubby for a much needed island vacation without your child…just the two of you, because secretly each and every day as much as you love your baby you dream of sitting on a beach, sipping a pina colada, heading back to your hotel room around 4:00pm for a nice afternoon nap, then getting all gussied up each night to enjoy an elegant meal sitting on a deck overlooking the ocean with the breeze blowing through your hair and cooling off your bronzed skin. You dream of falling in love with your husband all over again while sipping wine at that dinner and then, ahem, retiring to your hotel room for dessert. Then you sleep in as late as you want the next day and do it all over again. This is great for about the first two days of your vacation, but by day three all you and the hubster seem to have to talk about is the kid back home and how much you miss him and you start shopping frantically through all the shops on the island for the perfect little souvenirs to take home. By day seven you are both so ecstatic about getting home that you arrive at the airport three hours early, and when you finally board the plane you completely ignore the looks of pure confusion you are getting from the other homebound passengers on the plane because you and your hubby are the only people on that flight from Bermuda to Boston who are actually high-fiving each other as the plane pulls away from the gate. Yep…you definitely know you’re a mommy when you love to get away from your kid, but as soon as you do, all you can think about is getting back home and kissing his sweet little face as soon as possible.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “Anyone else have any “You know you’re a Mommy” clues you’d like to share? When did you know that you’d fully made the transition?”