Tag Archives: children

Stupid Things Mothers Compete About

This post is probably more relatable to women, maybe because it’s about mothering, maybe it’s because I’m a woman, maybe because Air Bud can play basketball really well.


“Nothing but net!”

Maybe because I said maybe a lot and cited reasons. If I use potentially or possibly this post would sound a lot smarter, because scientists use those words more so to support their hypothesis (an educated guess, because everything scientists do is educated, even guessing). If my calculations are correct scientists could potentially guess with education than you when they play Guess Who? leaving you to guess, well, stupid. Also by my calculations I can make a hypothesis if I wear a lab coat, lab coats make you seemingly smarter than before.

3.Who has the most disinfected kid.

we all know that kid’s hands are more vile than a urethral swab from Tommy Lee. However moms think that having sanitizer in their purse, on their key chain, and simply everywhere makes them superior. They are quick to give you the most horrified look when you don’t splash Germ-X on each rung of the monkey bars as your kid goes across them. Firstly, hand washing with soap and water is more effective being that it kills C. Difficile spores. That’s one that can make your butt a diarrhea fountain not unlike the chocolate fountain at Golden Corral. Furthermore, constant sanitation eliminates germ exposure, weakening the immune system. Yes, your kid should wash his hands throughout the day but if you think that leaves you bacteria free, your an idiot. The body is comprised of millions, trillions of bacteria, approximately five pounds of it. we also have an immune system that operates on recognition of invading pathogens, so while it may be counterintuitive, the body breeds exposure in order to respond appropriately.



2. Who had the worst labor.

Birthing a child hurts, duh. Most women had contractions, painful ones at that. Some women labored for hours, some for days. Some women are dead set on having the most worst labor of all time as if they give prizes for that. First of all oxytocin, that awesome hormone that starts contractions, creates a flow of wonderful emotions, and also causes a woman to forget just how painful labor is. That’s nature’s way of “buying you a drink”. I mean if you remembered distinctly every detail, humanity would have ceased or slowed considerably. What could be a shared experience for women to relate to each other is sometimes a battle for who had it worse. It’s hard for me to openly talk about this subject for this reason. I love to hear other women’s stories but not when they have to detract from everyone else’s with, “Oh that’s nothing, I’ll tell you about MY birth…”


“When you were born it felt like Wolverine shredded my vagina”

1. Who sleeps the least.

Another favorite, some mothers love to make lack of sleep a badge of honor. Again, this could be supportive and relatable right? Fuck no! “When MY child was a baby he slept four hours every seven days, and I cleaned the house while he did that.” Yes, infants wake often. Sometimes they have colic, and they sleep very little. However, they do fucking sleep, because humans sleep. What’s worse an admission of being tired is like a celebrity tweeting a racist comment, you are subject to scrutiny. Not only will women make outrageous comparisons but ensure you that you have failed because you require just some of that restorative function our bodies need, not want, need.


I suppose us women will always compete. Maybe we’re evolved but we still look at the Facebook pages of our boyfriend’s ex or our ex boyfriend’s current girlfriend. I admit it, and admit I do it because I want to think I’m prettier, thinner, better at taking bathroom mirror pics. People in general brag more than they should really. Oh well, what to do? Well, besides hate every bitch at the YMCA pool, or baseball game, birthday party, pre-k keg party…what?

I love the moms who just admit they struggle and it’s challenging to be a mother. There are women who really do face so much adversity. I’m not sure why women aren’t supportive of each other as they could be. If being a good person and parent kept score, I’d be somewhat better than the Detroit Lions, somewhat.


Google Search Users Don’t Understand Kids

Yesterday, I wrote about kids, specifically my kid and the children of the Industrial Revolution. My spawn, as I like to call him. I tell him all the time I am so happy I hatched him. He looks at me with wonder, love and trepidation mostly trepidation. I’m sorry I’m so weird son. I’m also sorry that I’m going to be embarrassing when you’re a teenager.  Please just know I love you, bear with me.

Well, I couldn’t fit this into my post yesterday as it didn’t fully fit the format. Today I will share with you some of the jacked up Google searches I found for children while researching child labor.

All of these began with: WHY DO CHILDREN…. 

1. Scream for no reason?  I tend to agree, have you taken a child to a birthday party? For fuck sake, it’s like a scream fest where they get together and scream, eat cake, only two bites, waste the rest and then scream more.

First a circle scream, then we’ll stand in a line and scream

2. Join the Taliban? Well given it’s optional, it’s probably like summer camp…that teaches suicide bombing and kickball.

3. Souls stay behind? Not all of them, just the souls of poor kids.


4. Overgeneralize words? All children always do this all the time, times infinity.

5. Always stare at me? I like to believe their giving the “evil eye” trying to evoke misfortune in the form of The Black Death to my family and famine to my crops, killing my goats. To counteract this I recommend a vial of lizard blood and skullcap.

6. Play with their poop? It’s organic play-doh

7. Fail in school? Because learning is dumb, duh.

8. Have to suffer? I hope this person shook an angry fist at Google when they typed this rhetorical question. WHYYYYYY????!!!! Damn you!

It’s not fair! Answer me!

9. Vomit at night? Ugh, what the hell is wrong with that kid? I bet because he played with his poop all day and didn’t wash his hands.

10. Use private speech? So adults have no idea that they are plotting when and where they will start screaming, that way it appears unprovoked and spontaneous.

“Why does this happen?”

11. Need vitamins? Those too? I got to feed and water this thing as well? Gah! Can I trade it for a Chia Pet? I’m glad a parent felt the need to research this…

12. Take Xanex? Because lacking responsibilities is stressful.

13. Cry in their sleep? They’re whimpering, probably dreaming about chasing rabbits and squirrels, right? I mean they’re legs are moving like they’re running.

Or because monsters know kids are delicious.

14. Feel the need to access guns? You can’t join the NRA without a gun. You can’t be American without a gun. I’m as proud as a bald eagle.

15. Hate you? Don’t take it personal, they hate all adults, hence the real reason they are constantly screaming.

Lastly a search that did not fit in with the searches above:

Why do Tom Cruise’s kids live with him? 


Back In Someone Else’s Day…

I believe children are the future, why? Well, because chronologically speaking they are, duh. I have a kid of my own. I try my best to provide a happy childhood all the while preparing him for a productive, industrious adulthood. I surely don’t want him living in my den, eating Cheetos, and wiping his orange powdery hands on my furniture as he watches Walker Texas Ranger all day. Cringe.

OF course you have to lick your fingers, who wants this crap on their fleshlight?

I for one do not let him have his way all the time, often times it’s not even a democracy in my house. As he gets older I plan on negotiating more but at five, let’s face it kids that age have terrible ideas. For example drawing all over their legs before pictures are taken.

Because tattoos are way cooler than marker, what are you a frat boy? Bro!

One weapon I have in my arsenal goes beyond the starving kids in China bit. For one thing, they can only have one kid…is it really that hard to feed one mouth? I wonder if their dinnerware is as toxic as the materials used for the goods they export to us. Always using lead paint and shit…’Merican made that’s the way to go. I love guns and the ten commandments, U.S.A.!

“How many stars?” “I don’t know, like 15, get to work or they put us in the pit of many shames!”

I want my kid aware of how shitty his predecessors had it, not so much me or my parents, not really even my grandparents (poor, but not destitute). Nope, I had it pretty cake and they didn’t necessarily suffer. Plus, my dad got to be a cool ass greaser. His hair was truly awesome.

My dad still breaks into choreographed song and dance , gets into knife fights, and drag races like, every day.

I think maybe Industrial Revolution Era children had just cause for insolence , dying their hair black and refusing to turn Depeche Mode off repeat long enough to eat family dinner.

“Leave me alone mom! I gonna sit in my room and draw pictures of fairy girls that are  prettier than me!”

In 19th century London, children as young as three years old were put to work. I am going to say right here: I better have made more wages than a toddler. The exploitation of child labor was regulated by four inspectors for all of  England . At least in 1831 the Whig party reduced the average child’s work day from 16 hours to 12 hours maximum, what a relief.

“I don’t care if you don’t know how to read I need you to edit 12,000 reports by Friday, and I don’t care that it’s Thursday! Yo Gabba Gabba? Forget it!

Without OSHA and an over enthusiastic dork of a general manager, there weren’t many safety regulations (My first manager would double thumbs up a job well done and actually say “Thumbs up, guys thumbs waaaay up!” Cringe.) It was not unusual for children to lose appendages, inhale toxic fumes, and die from injury and related illness. Yeah, school doesn’t look so bad. Doing a report on Hernando De Soto beats being crushed to death by a four ton mining cart full of coal.

“Yeah…If you could not maim yourself in our faulty, unsafe machinery…that would be great.”

I can’t wait to drop this tidbit of knowledge the next time my kid complains that I am taking to long deciding on bow-tie or elbow noodles. I mean, these kids were probably pretty miserable.

Yep. Except for far left, he’s the company cheerleader.

This kind of makes my dad’s tales of having to help build a stone wall and early life without television seem well, lame. I believe these kids walked barefoot in the snow, to punch that clock. So the next time my son whines, I may just drive by a local factory and tell him to wait in the car while I get him an application. I think he’ll change his tune.

Don’t call child services on me, I know child labor is no longer legal. That’s why he’ll make me money as a pageant kid, they have boy competitions too.

No one will EVER pick on this kid in school

Death > Kids Bop

I know I used to be a kid, but even as a younger me I didn’t always mesh with other children. I preferred the company of adults. So, naturally as I got older, I’m no Dugger at heart. My standard tolerance of children is limited in capacity, like, 1.5 children per day. Yeah that’s the calculation I came up with, don’t argue it’s a series of complicated mathematical theorems and it’s SMART.

Don’t get it twisted, I care about children and I do love them. I am outraged by any harmful acts on a child. I love their innocence and honesty. However, some kids, are so annoying I want to improvise a home sterilization kit that will render my eggs more useless than a Beanie Baby collection.

Here are the type of kids that I find most offensive, trust their parents are to blame for letting these things happen:

1. Real life Garbage Pail Kids

We all know that children’s hands are a reservoir for infectious disease and all things yuck. My son’s hands retain a slimy, and sticky texture after several vigorous hand washing attempts. My car windows are petri dishes for bacterial growth studies. Some kids, however, are really filthy. Particularly snot nosed, booger eaters. Never mind their cooties, they are one sneeze away from a mucous eruption. There is nothing worse than a kid who wants to engage in play with a nose full of nuggets. I absently pick a dangler or two from my son’s nose so as not to let it get to this level of gross. I can’t help but think “Bloody hell the wee bugger is going to breathe too hard and a booger is going to catapult itself onto me. What will I do then? I’m going to scream, how will I stifle it?” I watched one kid pick a booger off the floor once and eat it, double whammy disgusting. Who the hell did that kid belong to?

2. Kid Scientists

Know-it-all adults have know-it-all kids that are annoying. These adults and kids alike seem to lack mature knowledge that’s more applicable to daily life.  I have never had an intelligent debate with even a kid, much less, one convince me I’m wrong due to compelling argument. Hey kid, no adult gauges intelligence by knowledge of dinosaurs, mummies and Cartoon Network characters. Newsflash, “Nuh uh!” is not a definitive argument settler. If this kid can tell me how to achieve a high yield investment on my IRA, I might care. Otherwise, I’m steady looking for his mother, who should teach her kid that it’s rude to be an elitist turd and that no one is nice to nerds until they’re rich adults. Don’t get it Screeched and run away potential friends with an overly hostile stance on the exact era of the Byzantine Empire.

3. Evil Children

Evil Children scare me more than evil adults, always. First of all, I have an innate sense to nurture and be kind to kiddos (even gross know-it-alls). When they are evil they fuck up my sensibilities. Thanks to Pet Semetary, far away toddler laughter sounds sinister to me, especially if it echos. I mean, what’s more scary than a really strong little kid that can easily hide under furniture and in closets? You can’t outwit evil children like you could a normal kid. They don’t care if Santa won’t bring them gifts because they would murder him too. Evil kids also derive more joy from being evil. They’re always laughing, as if matricide is hysterical in nature.

4. “Indigo Children”

So…this kid can travel to the world of my 3rd grade Trapper Keeper? Yep!

This is separate from kids that have legitimate behavior issues: A term created to describe, well, kids that act like turds. Meaning they have parents that allow them to feel a “strong sense of entitlement”. To which my father would have said, “Hey, I’m the big cheese, you’re the little cheese, I run things here.” I knew my place. Also a “resistance to rigid, control-based paradigms of authority” meaning, they get to do what they want far too much. I’m sorry mom, but your brat is not more special than my kid, he probably has behavioral issues brought on by lack of discipline, not a paranormal ability or intuition. So while he may be destined for greatness (like playing the John Edward guessing game), he still needs to put Play-doh back in it’s container before it dries up. Time for time out, trust, it’s a good thing. Kids aren’t usually intuitive as much as egocentric, so do you really think they make sound decisions for themselves? So they live with us for eighteen years for what? Yeah, I didn’t think so. A boundary here and there isn’t going to stifle anything other than that child becoming an adult jerk.

I’m not saying I got this parenting thing down but I do try to teach my kid to be socially aware of someone besides himself. I don’t know for sure if myself and him are lumped in the annoying category…probably. BUT we are not guilty of the above violations, at least. *shrug*

Why I Didn’t Have A College Fund and Parental Face/Palm

Children lack logical reasoning. The idea of parenting is to help a child evolve from egocentric to adaptable, dependable, and productive adults. Some children have talents that are quite evident at an early age. Some, well, you have to love a child that’s yours, right? There are times looking back upon my childhood that I think my parents might have been concerned about the adult me. I will present to you the evidence that will substantiate my previous statement.

My Parent’s Face Palm List:

1. When asked by adults what I wanted to be when I grow up, my most likely response was “I want to be a mermaid.” Yes, I wanted to be a half sea creature who dies tragically awaiting the love of my human prince. In fact at six years old, an age I should know such things are not real, I would play for extended amounts of time in the bath tub pretending I was in an underwater wonder world of talking crustaceans. I want to blame Disney for it’s romantic adaptation of an otherwise depressing tale and penis castle for this faulty ideology.

2. Like most children I would obsess over things. Miss Piggy, dinosaurs, The Simpsons, Bob Ross, friendship bracelets and Goosebumps books. Well my first memorable obsession; Jem and the Holograms. I was so obsessed with this cartoon all girl rock group/orphanage (which I hope was a cover up for black market child selling) that I denounced my own birth name. I would not accept Sheena and demanded to be called “Jem” as in gem the rock. I would correct strangers with a swift exuberance that could only indicate I was a child asshole and probably embarrassed my parents every time I screamed, “My name is not Sheena! It’s Jem!”

3. I was a terrible kid to take into public. No big butt went unnoticed. It seems I had an obsession when I learned to talk. My mother says she took me to Piccadilly Cafeteria, the mecca of big butts. It seems I not only wanted my parents to know that some lady had a big butt, but I wanted the restaurant and half of Houston, Texas to be aware. I yelled “Look at her butt mom, it’s a big butt, big butt, big butt!” No attempt made by my mother would silence me. It seems I liked to do this often but this day in particular I could not be silenced. The lady heard me, and so did everyone else. My mom said all she could do was laugh, shrug and look like a terrible mother who teachers her children to overstate the obvious.

4. As a jerk teenager I was inspired by talk shows, particularly wild teen talk shows. At the time Sally Jesse Raphael and Maury Povich were broadcasting them almost daily. I don’t know if you recall them but here’s the synapses; Interview mom, mom cries, teen talks about being bad ass, teen goes to boot camp, and then teen cries. The most spectacular part was the teen interview. Particularly an episode of Maury where he would ask these fourteen year old twins a question to which they responded “Yes I do, I do what I want!” Okay, ha ha, right? I responded to anything my mom said with just that in mockery of the teens. I recall it got out of hand as it became the only thing I would say for a good solid week or longer. My poor mom, she only wanted to know if I wanted bread rolls with dinner or how my day at school was.

5. My brother and I loved to answer unknown or sales calls at our house. We would scramble to the caller ID each time the phone rang. Well, I guess I was fifteen, and a lady called for my mom. I told the lady, in my best child voice, my dad said my mom was in heaven playing with angels. There was a pause and the lady sounded absolutely mortified. I was so proud when I told my mom I have triumphantly abolished all calls from that company; bulletproof! Of course my mom was actually expecting that phone call. The other thing my brother and I would do was answer, let the person start talking, scream bloody murder, and then hang up. We did that with our parent’s mortgage company they were going to buy a house with. We were no longer allowed to answer the phone in our house for quite a while. Bummer.

I probably will be reminded by my mom of more stories, yes, she reads my blog. I know right? She hasn’t denounced me as of yet, that’s rather commendable. She’s way nicer than me. I know though she would readily admit I embarrassed her sometimes with my quirky behavior. I suspect though the mermaid thing was the deciding factor as to whether or not to start a college fund for me. Let’s just say….I have student loans to pay off.


WWF is the topic today. I know what you’re thinking, but no, not the World Wrestling Federation. So I apologize I won’t be writing about Macho Man Randy Savage (Ooh Yeah!). No, I am writing about the World Wildlife Fund. Specifically, species adoption as a gift.

I’ve heard it several times recently, that species adoption is being used as a gift. Let me touch on gift etiquette.  This is great for a hardcore animal lover. Of course habitat conservation is going to be appreciated by them. Now for the general population that likes animals but doesn’t feel a strong conviction about the safety of creatures all over the planet, this isn’t the best idea.

Most disappointing to me,  is you don’t get the animal you adopt. You get a certificate and a plush stuffed animal of the same species you adopt. You don’t get to meet the animal, you don’t get letters from it, and it won’t be named after you. I for one want to see a Grizzly Bear named Sheena. I have known of a Rottweiler named Sheena, close, but no first prize in my books.

I just don’t want a little slip of paper saying an animal was adopted. This isn’t a gift. Actually bringing a Great White Shark to me that has been equipped with a saddle of sorts that allows me to rule the underwater world with bloody terror is way better and effective.

Even worse is someone may pick the animal out for you. Let’s use the Sea Manatee for example. Never has nature tried so hard to phase out a species. Have you seen how slow they swim? If it’s not boat propellers, it’s going to be any other species that’s faster, smarter, and more evolved that will exterminate them all. Humans keep them around. I would be pissed if I got a Sea Manatee, the animal that is the equivalent of a human unemployed avid court television watcher that eats a box of fudgesicles daily.

I think a unicorn is more believable than this thing

I want to pick my animal and honey badger isn’t an option. Sigh. I’ll settle for an Okapi since I have no clue what the fuck that is. I saw the picture and I still don’t know.

Now, I will say that worse than someone adopting an animal for me, is probably someone adopting a child for me. Unlike animals, when you adopt people, you have to take care of them. No certificate or stuffed human plush toy. Nope, it shows up, needing to eat, and be cared for. I cannot ride a baby and rule the ocean with rows of flesh ripping teeth trained to do my bidding. Well, unless this kid’s awesome.

One more point since I am talking about animals. I am surprised PETA isn’t pissed that the internet portrays animals as borderline illiterate. I mean it makes sense that would be offensive too right? I don’t think adorable kittens should be stereotyped. I mean PETA tends to get mad at animals wearing shoes, so their phonetic challenges should incite some anger as well, we are essentially making fun of animals for being stupid? I’ll write PETA with my utter outrage.   

This blog is possible thanks to comments from a fellow blogger at Drew’s Soapbox so go there, check it out, and be impressed but please don’t stay too long. I get jealous easily.

Alpha Mom: I Am More a MILF Than Thou

The alpha mom. This is the mom that did prenatal yoga, lost all her baby weight while she was still in the hospital, and is seemingly perfect.

She comes across as the enlightened progressive woman who has not only being a mother but her entire life in perfect balance.  Her diaper bag is organized, her children are quiet (but dress like dorks) and she has a sexy ( slightly nerdy but hard-bodied) husband who is quite successful.

Yes, she can jog in the park pushing a stroller while working from her blackberry and breastfeeding, it’s amazing.I can’t neglect to mention her workout clothes are not sweatpants, ever, but form flattering and color coordinating.  Perhaps one would not believe this woman with matching Vera Bradley purse and stroller ensemble really exists? It gets better, she still goes home, cooks organic quinoa casserole with goat cheese rhubarb chutney and roasted balsamic glazed vegetables twenty minutes faster than the recipe calculates. Not to mention so healthy, yet delicious Paula Dean would throw her muffins and cupcakes away for this meal.

The problem is, this type of mom impressive but tends to give the disappointing sideways glance at any other mother. Meaning, perfection is the objective and anything else is open to “friendly” criticism. The delivery is brought to you with a veneered smile that coffee (made without illegal Peruvian labor) never stains. I think there’s an assumption that all her effort should be revered by all and thus gives her the right to note disapproval.

While an intervention for outright child abuse or neglect is necessary immediately, not being up to par with said “perfect” mother should never even be an issue. Yes, I burn dinner and yes, my time management skills are less than desirable.  My car is a wasteland of toys and juice boxes. Staying on top of everything doesn’t come natural to me, and I accept it.

Alpha mom, stop your tyrannical trade on breastfeeding, and the sense of superiority that you get from it. You can, great, so can all mammals for eons…so, congratulations I suppose. I know, we all freaking know, formula isn’t as nutritious but guess what is less nutritious? Not feeding your kid. There is never a lack for criticism from this type of mother and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t stop at the playground, I have a feeling the husband really gets it when she’s home. Something tells me no one is really up to standard for her. No one works this hard to maintain appearances that is intrinsically happy.

This attitude makes good intentions and all efforts seem inadequate. I refuse to let seemingly sweet yet snide remarks chip away at my confidence in motherhood. Why? My kids aren’t dressed like Rod and Todd Flanders and I don’t piss people off pretending to be nice and saying some real bullshit all the time. I get annoyed when I can’t poop in peace, but I love my kid. I treat him accordingly, he knows it,  so it’s all good.