Well, looky here. I’ve uncovered more evidence my mom should have had her uterus yanked and never had kids. Here’s an old post I uncovered from her pathetic ‘mommy blogger’ days. Can someone crack a window? This reeks.

(Originally published on momlogic.com) I enjoy playing games with my 4-year-old daughter Lily. Except one: Candy Land. If you’ve never played it, consider yourself lucky.

The game can literally take hours as you pick cards and move your pieces on the way to … you guessed it: Candy Land — a sticky environment that looks like a sugary oil slick. Sure, you might get to meet Gramma Nutt or King Kandy along the way, but after that there’s nothing to look forward to … except for it to end. My daughter is literally addicted to the game. Hopefully, Candy Land isn’t a gateway game that leads to harder stuff (like Keno).

Amazingly, the game has literally NO strategy, yet Lily has honed her Candy Land skills and has become something of a shark. It’s scary. And oh, yeah: It’s tedious as hell.

LILY’S TOP SIX CANDY LAND STRATEGIES:

1) Use the WHOLE board
She is a Candy Land genius, so you never know how she might approach the game. Sometimes she moves her pieces backward instead of forward, and she often hops over from one path to another. Or — suddenly and without warning — she starts pretending that the board is bed and her playing piece is a baby and then proceeds to give it a bottle.

2) Have a “Candy Land Face”
When she selects a card, she’s just like Lady Gaga maintaining a poker face — only Lily’s expression is always one of utter and total elation. Every time she picks a card, she flips out. (“Purple. I GOT TWO PURPLES!!”) Still, that’s nothing like what happens when she picks a card with a piece of candy on it. She’s sooo excited she must run in to show Daddy. (I use this time to surreptitiously move our pieces closer to the finish line.)

3) Wear down your opponent
With every move, Lily has to touch each space. EACH. SPACE. It takes forever. I know it’s all part of her scheme to tire me out. The thing she doesn’t realize is, I’m already exhausted because she gets up every morning at the crack of dawn.

4) Bluff
The worst part of the game — for her AND me — are the Lose Your Turn squares (the ones with the piece of licorice). When she does end up on the offending square, she does what any high-stakes game player would do: She cries. She’s bluffing, of course, but it works every time. The second I let my guard down, she’s rifling though the cards looking for one with a picture of a candy on it.

5) You MUST play with your lucky playing piece
Pretty much no matter what color piece her opponent picks, she’s gonna want that color. During the game, she’ll randomly insist on switching out her original selection. If you disagree, she’ll just start using your piece instead of hers … or use more than one, so her piece will have a “friend.”

6) Cheat
Even Candy Land sharks have their limits. After about what seems like hours, Lily starts to get bored. She’ll then tell me (no matter where her piece is on the board) that she won. Believe me, I don’t argue.

My creative process.

Case in point: Yesterday I find this t-shirt in a bag for old rags and proceed to make my mom a pillow. Why? Because bitch loves to nap. After cutting out my pattern, stuffing with toilet paper and sealing it shut with a liberal application of white glue I present it dripping and beautiful to my mother.

Does she scoop me up and smother me with kisses of gratitude? Does she praise my environmentally friendly use of reclaimed objects? Nope. She FREAKS. According to her the t-shirt got into the rag bag by mistake! This shirt, she says, was some sort of “memento” from her days when she did stand-up comedy in the 90’s. Hard to believe my mom was involved in anything having to do with standing up. Most of the time she’s sprawled out on the couch whining about how tired she is.

This women is continuously stifling my artistic growth — like suggesting that things that are glued should be left to dry…why wait for it to dry?! Art should be fluid!

I guess the crux of the situation is my mom is waaaay to possessed by her possessions. Parents need to be taught a lesson about ‘letting go.’ That’s why, every now and then, I like to f-up their sh*t. They’ll thank me later.

Anyway after she’s had her “moment” and “unwinds” (whatever the hell that means) do we finally enjoy some “quality time?” You tell me:

Check out the commercial that she conned me to appear in by bribing me with candy:

I’m thankful my oblivious dad doesn't realize he's being completely upstaged.

These days, Kindergarten seems to consist primarily of gluing dried leaves to construction paper, tracing hands to render bizarre finger-shaped turkeys, and being endlessly interrogated on “What We’re Thankful For.” I’d rather be waterboarded with turkey gravy. After a while, I’ll say anything to stop the madness.”

We kids play along and blurt out the usual “Candy!” “Mommy and Daddy!” “Turkey!” and whatever the hell to placate our teachers … but the truth is we’re thankful for oh, so much more.

Here’s my REAL list of what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving:

1. I’m thankful my mom hasn’t found the stash of lightly chewed gum I’ve hidden in the back of my sock drawer.

2. I’m thankful my parents are so frazzled at the end of the day that they can’t figure which of them said “Yes” or “No” to my zillionth request. Thanks to their profound lack of communication I can pretty much get whatever I want.

3. I’m thankful my grandparents don’t know anything about the dangers of transfat, lead-based paint, or even car safety. (Once Grandpa let me ride in the parking lot in the front seat! It’s freakin’ awesome up there!)

4. I’m thankful for those times I can kick back and talk potty-talk with my friends without grownups giving us the stinkeye.

5. I’m thankful my mom’s eyes are getting so bad she’ll invariably select “All Episodes” instead of one episode on the DVD menu — thus giving me a much needed iCarly Marathon.

6. I’m thankful my baby dolls have stopped throwing up all over my room (poor dears, they’ve been sick).

7. I’m thankful for that Saturday afternoon when my mom and dad both napped while I hauled mud into the tub to recreate that chocolate river from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

8. I’m thankful that if I throw a big enough fit I CAN leave the house in a princess dress/pajama ensemble complete with Mardi Gras bead accessories.

9. I’m thankful that by precariously placing a box on a chair I can almost reach where my mom’s put my Halloween candy.

10. And last but not least, I’m thankful for my parents because if it weren’t for their mediocre parenting skills I couldn’t get away with half the shit I do. Thanks Mom and Dad this one’s for you!

Turns out I had a temperature, which means my mom had to leave her job and come get me.

Man, you would’ve thought she was the one who was sick…when she showed up at my school she was a frazzled mess.  I don’t know what’s the big flippin’ deal with having to “leave in the middle of an important meeting” to get me. Hell, I meet people all the time…what’s so goddamn important about it? You make some lame small talk and then you’re outta there.

Anyway, now I’m home, in my jammies kicking back watching TV. Sickness, you can’t beat it!

It always happens this  way. The second I get a high enough temperature I’m suddenly transported into a world of cozy blankets, food on demand, and the chance to eat a popsicle on the couch enjoying all-you-can-watch TV.

So different from the usual drill! Usually when I get home from school my mom works my fingers to the bone. Either I have to help empty the dishwasher (which means hurling all the spoons in with the knives and all the forks in with the spoons), clean my room (It’s AMAZING how much crap you can cram under one bed!) or do my homework.  All  so I can maybe watch one measly episode of my favorite show. My mom, ladies and gentleman, the world’s greatest rip-off artist.

But now, thanks to a sore throat and a funky stomach — and a cough which I play up like crazy –  I’ve just finished my 600th episode of iCarly and my mom has transformed into a middle-aged lady in waiting. Peel me a grape, mommy.

Oh, sorry…  I better wrap this up…my mom just showed up with yet another perk of illness: my favorite cherry-flavored medicine. Heck, if you’re ever in my ‘hood and you’re not feeling well come on over and we can throw back some Children’s Tylenol shots together!

What’s your favorite part of being sick?

Moments before my mom effed-up my pumpkin.

My mom ruined my first Halloween. Yeah, I was only 7-months-old but I have proof.

It’s all in a blog she posted where she claimed, “dressing babies in Halloween costumes is cruel and unusual punishment“. The readers didn’t share her views — and this time I’m definitely on the side of the mommies. Based on the article it’s clear my first Halloween was spent in a onesie decorated only by dried spit-up. Thanks for nothing mom.

For chrissakes. I’m only young once and that woman has already managed to cheat me out of my first Halloween — a juicy item I’m adding to my list of things to blame her for in the future.

And it continues. Each year she manages to eff up my Trick or Treat experience. Here are just a few ways…

1) My Costume
It’s a kindergartner’s prerogative to change her mind and that goes for Halloween costumes. So what if one day I want to be a dalmatian, the next day a ballerina and the next a minor character from Pixie Hollow? It’s your job to figure it out, not mine. Just make it happen.

2) Mom’s “Costume”
There’s nothing worse than wearing a freaking awesome witch costume and then be led up to your neighbor’s doorstep by someone  in  ’mom jeans.’ Unless you can convice people you’re wearing a ”Middle-Aged Woman Who’s Best Years are Behind Her,” costume, at least  try to kick it up a notch.

3) The Candy
Don’t try that “Switch Witch” bullshit on me. I’m not buying it. I happen to know that the “Switch Witch” is really my mom. By November 1st she’s scarfed down all my candy while trying to appease me with some crappy toy in exchange. Pathetic.

4) The Trick or Treat Bag
No thank you, I don’t want to use a pillowcase for my Halloween candy bag. Just because that’s what you had when you were a kid. My mom obviously watched one too many showings of It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown at ye olde nickelodeon. The candy receptacle I want is the (not BPA free) plastic jack-o-lantern like ever other kid has, the one available at Target. Period. No replacements no substitutions.

5) The Pumpkin Carving
Don’t get all artistic when it comes to carving my pumpkin. I want triangle eyes, triangle nose and a happy or scary face. For some reason my parents are hot to fashion a “goofy” tooth or expressive eyebrows. You want to practice your carving skills? Enroll yourself in a sculpture class.

Anywho, in a couple weeks I’ll be at my very first kindergarten Halloween parade.  Last year, at preschool, I wore a Target off-the-shelf Super Girl costume. This year I plan to be a pre-fab witch. Sure it would be cool if my mom could actually MAKE my Halloween costume. Truth be told I’d be pissed if she tried. D.I.Y. and my M.O.M. do not mix.

Check out my mom's "sewing kit." AKA FAIL.

If you need proof of her inability to wield a needle look no further than her sewing kit. It’s simply a tangled mass of thread. Looks like a freaking bird’s making a nest in there. Obviously, any costume she’d try to make me would have me looking like a mental patient. Mom news flash: The One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest costume was not on my list.