My Mom, The World’s Most Annoying Travel Companion

Waiting at, what my mom erroneously refers to as the airport "carousel." Whoever heard of carousel without wooden horses and kids throwing up?! What a rip!

Frankly, I was ready for a summer vacation. The rigors of preschool were taking their toll. The endless hours playing with my friends in the “Dress Up Corner,” the relentless arts and crafts, dance parties and sing-alongs. I was beat.

Of course my control-freak mom decided where we were going on our trip. I suggested we travel under the sea and visit Ariel but instead we ended up going to Seattle. Whatever.

I’ve got to admit, this time traveling was way easier than last August when my mom tried to force me on the potty in an airport bathroom on a layover to Maine. Seriously, I’m scarred for life.

I’m a year older now so my mom let me deal with my own luggage. I packed only the essentials: my magnetic fish puzzle, a Rapunzel dress shop, a LeapFrog game console, dad’s broken cellphone, seven of my favorite rocks and a wind-up plastic pig. My mom on the other hand packed such pointless items as clothes, shoes and toothbrushes.

Just to be clear: Spending my off time with someone who’s 40 years older than me isn’t my idea of a good time.

The first day we visited the Space Needle. That’s when she really started getting on my nerves. When we reached the top she kept breathlessly exclaiming, “Look at the view Lily!” Lady, unless the view is a field of chocolate ice cream cones and rainbow sprinkles I could really give a rat’s ass. I guess by her age, she’s excited to still able to see anything.

The next leg of our trip brought us to an island off the coast of Washington. Of course we had no reservations for any lodgings before we arrived. My mom hates to plan when she travels. I think it gives her the illusion of her carefree days before I was born – or she’s just stupid. Anyway as I was waiting for her to figure out where we were going to crash she told me that one place that did have a vacancy said ‘no pets or children.’  Excuse me? As a kid who no longer pees on the floor I take offense. It is the worst kind of discrimination to compare me to a pet. Mom finally did find a cute place that allowed kids but no pets. I showed them. The next day when my mom and I went clamming on the beach I saved one of the clams and named him Justin. I made him a little home under the hotel bed and left him there.  Take that Harbor Inn!

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Sh*t My Mommy Ruined!

My mom captures me in a cliche.

You can’t swing a dead cat on a mommy blog without coming across the inevitable “LOL! Look what a mess my kid made!” snapshot. Hell, there’s even an entire website, called  Sh*t My Kid Ruined. The whole site is basically just an outlet for whiny ass parents to complain about kids expressing their inate creativity or in my case, self-preservation. Exhibit A: Here’s a picture my mom posted on her old website. In it, at the tender age of two, I had just spilled an entire box of Cheerios on the floor. (I had to get my nutrition somehow… it sure as hell wasn’t going to be from her cooking.)


I guess what I’m saying is if I had to sum up my mom (and possibly all parents)  in one word (besides ‘effin’ old’) it would be “hypocrite.” She’s always bitching at me to pick up my shoes, and clean up my toys and fish my teddy bear out of the toilet. (Which happens to be where he takes his swimming lesson but she doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about stuffed animal safety.) Yet, when I want to, say eat, on the dining room table, it’s invariably strewn with one of her omnipresent piles of sh*t.

LOL! Look what a mess my mom made!!

Welcome to our home. Clear a space and sit on down!


How My Mommy F-ed Up ‘Crazy Hat Day’

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Here's the hat I would've worn if my mom hadn't dropped the ball. Yeah, you bet I'm crabby.

Ever have one of those nightmares where you show up to preschool,  discover it’s ‘Crazy Hat Day’ and you’re NOT wearing a crazy hat because your mom didn’t bother to read the school’s monthly activity calender so you end up looking like an a**hole ?

What? Just me?

Since my mom started working longer hours at her job she can’t keep anything straight. Usually her inability to hold it together works in my favor but lately it’s given me the shitty opportunity to show up to “Swim Day” without a bathing suit,  “Crazy Hair Day” with neatly combed hair and of course ‘Hat Day’ without a f**cking hat.

What  cracks me up is she also happened to miss that email about the lice infestation in Room 6.  Hope she can take a couple of days off work to pick nits out of my hair!


What Moms Are Really Doing…and it Ain’t Much

If there’s one thing I get sick of it’s my mom complaining that because of her work schedule she doesn’t get enough “quality time” with me. Yeah, right. When she finally drags her sorry ass into my after-school program and gets me home do we immediately start playing a rousing game of Candy Land? Do we kick off a round of Hide and Seek? Fat freaking chance. The FIRST thing that happens is she says she, “Needs a moment” after her 10 hour day. Boo freaking hoo. My school day wasn’t exactly a cake-walk. During recess, while playing “Cat Hospital,” I had to operate on four sick kitty cats … I was scheduled to do five operations but Emma freaked out and ran away. Look lady, I take my job seriously, too.

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


Preschooler Breastfeeds Her Doll in a Restaurant!

It’s a tried and true “hot button” issue: Breastfeeding in public. Every few months, some mom is chastised by authorities or bystanders for nursing her child on a bus, or at a sporting event.  It’s absolute bullshit. 

I subscribe to opinion that a woman should be able to nurse anywhere, anytime. It’s a woman’s right … and, I believe, a preschooler’s right. Not everybody agrees.

One night when I was out to dinner with my parents and my daughter, Madison, I announced that it was time to “milk my baby.”  I proceeded to pull down my princess dress so Maddie could “latch on.” (Simultaneously,  I enjoyed a nice beverage because, I believe one of the hallmarks of being an awesome mom is the ability to multi-task.)

Jeeze, what a letdown (sorry had to!) you’d think I had just poured an entire bottle of  ketchup on the table. (BTW it’s something I have done. Why?  Because it was there.)

Anyway, the couple next to us started giggling uncomfortably…which is freakin’ weird. A few judgmental diners even gave my MOM the stinkeye.  WTF?!  What was I supposed to do?! Cover myself up with a “blanket of shame,” Do they even make nursing covers in size 4T?


6 Things I Plan to Hate My Mom For When I’m a Teenager

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If the shoe fits.

I don’t know what the big whoop is about Mother’s Day. (This is my 5th one BTW–how many more do I have to endure?!)  Here’s what I know, apparently some dude named Hallmark decided that mothers deserve a holiday just for getting knocked up. Here’s my issue: Without me she wouldn’t even be a mom! Shouldn’t SHE be the one making ME the finger-painted tribute?

If there’s one thing Mother’s Day has got me to do it’s start looking to the future. I’m a planner. (ie. When I take off my sand-filled shoes after a visit to the park I always make sure to dump them out on the living room rug. That way my dolls can hang out at the beach.  Don’t miss these opportunities, folks!)

You gotta think ahead. That’s why I’m currently collecting ammunition to use against my mom during my inevitable hormonal teenage rages, you know, when I’m screaming, “I HATE YOU!” at the top of my lungs.

1) It’s Your Fault I’m Not a Super Model!
First of all my mom is 5′ 2″. That makes her near dwarf status. Last I checked “Little People” were not sashaying down the Paris runways sporting the latest Marc Jacobs line. Unless I plan to hang out with Snow White when I grow up I’m SOL.

2) It’s Your Fault I Can’t Cook!
My mom has no domestic skills beyond heating up a frozen Trader Joe’s pizzas. And even THAT she gets wrong. Even her breast milk was a  little off.  The woman under cooks everything– it’s a miracle I wasn’t born premature.

3) It’s Your Fault I’m Not a Child Prodigy!
I’ll never go to the Olympics, perfect a triple Lutz, or perform in the Philharmonic. My mom — the antithesis of a Tiger Mom — has not even attempted to explore my child-prodigy capabilities. When I was 2, instead of starting me out with intensive daily violin lessons she got me a LeapFrog Learn & Groove Alphabet Drum and called it a day.

4) It’s Your Fault I’m Addicted to Junk Food!
All that brown rice, tofu and healthy snack shit that she shoved down my throat is surely going to backfire when I discover the Quarter Pounder. Then I’ll have to make up for lost time. The result? Every pimple I get will have her name on it.

5) It’s Your Fault I Can’t Relate to My Peers!
I never get to watch TV at my house (although I have an extensive dvd collection–yeah Pixar!).  It’s fine for now but when I’m in elementary school and my friends are rapping about iCarly  I won’t know what the f*ck they’re talking about.  I’ll be a social outcast, culminating with me hanging out in the school parking lot smoking ciggies or captain of treasury of chess team.

6) It’s Your Fault I Have No Self-Discipline!
The saga of the “chore chart” is just one of many examples of how she’s failing me. When she first put the damn thing up everything chore I did  netted me some awesome stickers. Later I got to cash them in for fabulous prizes like gummy worms. That lasted less than a month–nice way to teach me the virtues of hard work and dedication.  I can’t wait to throw that shit back in her face when I flunk Algebra.


4 Reasons Being an Only Child Blows

sad clown

The tears of an only child preschool clown.

In case you haven’t figured it out by now: I’m an only child. Yes, my parents, underachievers that they are, decided to have just one kid. I used to think it was kind of cool — but recently, it hit me:  I’m getting ripped off big time! Being an ‘only’ means that I’m stuck with my “parents” until I run away from home (Which I’ve  planned for the moment I’m allowed to cross the street by myself). Oh, and make no mistake, a sibling-free life is my destiny. Judging from the number of spider veins I’ve counted on my mom’s legs–at last tally, a whooping 20 hundred–there’s not a chance in hell she’s young enough to pop out another kid. That said, here are just a few reasons being an only child bites:

You Get All of Your Parents Undivided Attention. Always. Forever.
You know how irritating it is to have someone read over your shoulder (I don’t read yet–but when I do you can bet it’ll piss me off.) That kind of lurking, hoovering bullshit is pretty much de rigueur at my house. Yes, occasionally I do get some private time to, say,  fill all the cooking pots with water, creating individual swimming pools for each of my dolls and subsequently flooding the kitchen. But that kind of freedom doesn’t come often enough.

There’s No One to Commiserate With
When mom and dad have one of their scintillating debates/screaming matches over who does less of the housework who can I turn to and roll my eyes? My fish?  Sasha is hardly a great companion — hell, she doesn’t even like to be petted — and believe me I’ve tried.

There’s No One to Blame Shit On
Take this for example: I have this mechanical Zhu Zhu pet hamster. (BTW my parents refuse to get me a proper mammalian pet until they’re sure I won’t try to dress it up in my doll clothes),  anyway… the thing’s busted. It won’t budge. I tried to explain to my mom that SOMEONE tried to see if they could jam a rainbow scrunchie in between the wheels (it wasn’t me!) and now it won’t work. What pisses me off is that she assumes I did it — she didn’t even bother confronting my dad.

You Can’t Join in on Sibling Chat
This happens at least once a week — I’m hanging out with my preschool peeps, chatting over some warm apple juice and Emma will start blathering about her new baby sister and how she gets to help change her diaper. Then someone else’ll chime in about some other sibling story. After about 5 minutes,  I swear I want to put a Nerf foam bullet in my head. I get it. You’re a big brother or sister. Sweet. Now STFU.


Mom: ‘Candy Land Makes Me Want to Put a Bullet in My Head’

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.


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.


5 Things You Can Get Away With When Mommy Works

Sweet freedom.

I haven’t written in a while because things around my house have changed. My mom, who got laid off from her job late last year, finally got another gig. Whew. There’s nothing worse than  someone with no domestic skills what-so-ever trying their hand at being a stay-at-home mom. My Zhu Zhu Pet hamster could run a house better.

Any-who, having mom back in the work force has made my life increasingly more bearable. Here’s why:

1) The He Said, She Said, Communication Meltdown
Since my mom leaves for work early in the morning and my dad comes home late at night they can never get on the same page when it comes to parenting. A simple, “Daddy, said I could!,” or “Mommy, said I could!” and the world is my chocolate covered oyster.

2) Breakfast for Dinner!
By the time my mom gets out of her job, battles traffic and picks me up from preschool she’s usually too exhausted to whip up one of her “specialties.”  Thank to her inability to plan our weekly meals in advance my dinner can sometimes consist of a nice yummy bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. SA-WEET!

3) The Easiest Game of ‘Mother May I?” EVER.
Generally, a request to bust out my  paints, Play-Doh, or Moon Sand, is met with a “get ready for bed” —but after a full day of work my mom would let me light the house on fire if she thought it would buy her some time to catch up on her email.

4) Dad’s No Fashion Police
In the morning it’s just dad and me, and unlike my control freak mom, he doesn’t give a rat’s ass if I wear the exact same outfit I wore the day before,  pull my clothes directly from the hamper or dress like a mental patient.  He’s good like that.

5) Bedtimes are for Mommies
My mom is in charge of the nighttime routine so by the time bedtime rolls around, after an  uninspired reading of Pinkalicious  she usually conks out in my bed. It sure beats sleeping alone … even if she does snore like a freaking buzz-saw.