Motherhood Uncensored

My Sentiments Exactly

"Grandma, NO MORE TALKING!"

Phew! I Was Worried That I Wasn't Going to Win Any Mothering Awards This Year

But then I gave my daughter two Zicams for her cold which I thought was totally unrelated to her chills and the overall "blahs" which could be none other than the "oh shit not at Christmas so help me God" flu.

When really, it was just the Zicams.

Sometimes I think my parenting brilliance is unmatched.

Santa Got Runover By a Southerner Driving a Pick-Up While Talking on His Cellphone

It has become very clear to me that people should not drive while talking on their cell phones. Except me, of course. And moms of the same persuasion. Because moms can process two screaming kids, driving a car, and shoving some sort of weird flattened sandwich and carrot sticks in their mouth all while chatting with a friend about their day.

Okay, so maybe that's not the safest thing to do. But at least I realize it, unlike at least four drivers we passed today who were driving in the left lane at least 10 miles under the speed limit all yapping away on their phones.

Are people not familiar with "hands-free?" Maybe they think a blue tooth is sign that you have some kind of disease down here.

"Wut. You got a balew tooth? Aw shiyit man. That's bayad."

Honestly, I have no problem with people talking to their 6,000 friends on their cell phones in their cars. And I love a good opportunity to use my horn. Plus, I get that people move a little slower down here. There's no reason to rush, right? Enjoy your deep conversation on a busy 12 lane highway in heavy traffic.

But just do us all a favor and do it in the RIGHT FUCKING LANE. 

Guilty as Discharge

Since we're all "mano a mano" with each other about our whoo-hoos, I figured it would be okay for me to complain about yet another "thanks for having two children suckah" gift that seems to keep on giving.

It first came to me the day before I went into labor with my son and I was convinced that I was leaking amniotic fluid. I mean, clearly it had to be amniotic fluid because I don't generally just randomly pee on myself (at least without knowing).

And there was no way in hell it was what I like to call "natural lubricant."

*ahem*

But alas, silly old me didn't realize that when you get pregnant a few times and then pop out a kid (or two), your hormones just go into whacked out mode and you tend to overproduce the stuff.

Yes. We are all singlehandedly funding the college educations of Always workers' kids, those bastards.

Of course you could never have an over supply of the stuff when you actually need it. Like when some midwifery student is trying to find your cervix and instead you swear is fondling your pancreas. Or after 14 straight minutes of foreplay. Because we all know that's a lifetime for most of our spousal units. And yet, you're still dryer than a mouthful of sand.

It's like those mother-in-law hairs. The ones that have no earthly business on your upper thighs or above your lip but just happen to show up there unannounced and they'd be more than welcome on the the top of your head where you're rapidly losing them and could actually use them but no they're on your thighs and under your nose so you pluck them and they just won't fucking GO AWAY.

Yeah. Those ones.

But no. It happens when you're in Target in the dressing room with two kids trying on some Mossimo Supply shirt that's marked XXL yet still doesn't fit you and all of a sudden you think you just peed yourself. 

So thanks to the every other day gift of wetness, every other pair of underpants becomes period or "please don't let me die caught in these things" underpants. And you get why double ply toilet paper is the bomb diggity. And you have no idea exactly when you're ovulating. Unless you're ovulating every other day of the month.

I'm just curious exactly what parenthood does to the male jingle jangles. Because my poor girl is tired and most certainly does not need anymore attention. 

You Might Want to Sit Down When You Read This. The Cuteness is Incredibly Overwhelming.

So, we're sort of doing a handmade Christmas around here. So if your blog name rhymes with "The Blue Hurl" or "Bomb Son o' Gun" or "Brothermoosehouse" don't read this post. Okay so I didn't make them. Deb made them from my daughter's art. (Um, hi, Deb totally rocks). So basically I had nothing to do with them except provide some really fantastic DNA to make this adorable child. 

Edited to add at Deb's prompting: I did come up with the idea for it (so I did actually do something other than have sex with my husband and push this wonderful being out).

C'mon. That kitty cat makes me want to throw myself on the ground (that's a good thing).

Limited Edition Christmas Trees (hellloooo red ball on top slays me as does the pose that I have no idea how she came up with it but I'm just trying not to think about it).

They're cute on little boys too.

I've given most of them away, but I do have a few extras in a few limited sizes. I asked Quinlan what she would do with the money if I sold any of them and she said "buy stuff." I was sort of hoping to hear "donate it to help the women of Darfur" but not so much.

And if kid art ain't your thang, I can guarantee that Deb has something totally awesome that will still arrive before Christmas.