Motherhood Uncensored

Please pass the jelly

One of the hardest parts of kids getting older is that you just can't get away with what you used to  - the mid-day hanky panky that can be explained away as "wrestling," or the entertaining toys that you have laying around everywhere that just so happen to buzz at 16 different pleasure levels.

I can see why it's easy to become royal fuddy duddies when you've got kids who are five and older.

It's not so much that you want to say "sugar" instead of "shit," or have sex behind completely sound proof and locked doors with all the lights off.

Okay, so maybe the pitch black room isn't such a bad thing.

But no parent really wants to deal with a kid getting in trouble at school for calling their teacher "a royal bitch," nor do they want a verbal transcript of their sexcapades to be shared with the entire neighborhood.

Thankfully, we're not there yet.

But we're on our way.

As you might have guessed, I've got a few sex-related items lying around my house, given the fact that I write a sex column and I have a sex book for parents coming out soon.  

I've even got a Liberator Esse chaise sitting in my living room - a borrowed prop for my book trailer shoot last week.

Based on my kids' reaction, you'd have thought we brought a jungle gym into our house.

And while the infamous condom lollipops have been tempting, we've avoided any such issues with them.

They ask if they can eat one. We say no. End of story.

However, I was doing a massive clean-up yesterday and apparently my oldest got a hold of a condom in a regular wrapper.

Hilariously enough, she didn't know that those were off limits.

Now I only discovered this because she came down talking about making a window cleaning solution and how she found this weird jelly type thing in her room.

"It's like a jelly fish, mom" she said. I had no clue what the hell she was talking about.

But the idea that she was making some soapy concoction with which she was planning on washing her own windows made me curious enough to go check it out.

And there it was. In a cup full of water.

A Trojan "jelly fish."

At just over five years old, I didn't think she was quite ready for a condom speech. But I did make sure she understood that they're not great for cleaning windows.

Hey, it's a start. 

Possessed

The last few weeks with Drew have tried my patience.

This week alone he put black crayon all over our wainscoting (yes, Julie, that wainscoting). Then there was my Almay cream blush all over his bedroom carpet.

(Perhaps he was rebelling against the pink walls he now shares with his sister).

And finally, he completely covered Margot in lotion. This stinky cheap lotion my father-in-law brought back from Vegas (also: WTF?) that I didn't have the heart to toss.

See, I should have listened to my gut on this one.

"I made her a white baby!" he exclaimed.

But the laughable moments are hidden deep amongst a challenging duel of wits. 

And I think he's winning.

I offer two choices and he picks something entirely different. I hear the word "No" from his mouth more times that I would like to count.

And that's in a five minute time span.

And his little potty mouth, particularly when he's pissed, sends him to the corner every hour on the hour.

The timer and I now have an intimate relationship.

We're at a complete loss as to what to do around here, since the only thing that actually occupies him is our full and utter attention or the television; he can play alone for about five minutes before calling for us, or he ends up fighting with his sisters before we can actually get anything done.

We're trying an earlier bed time and less sugar (which he really doesn't get much of to begin with). 

And hoping that 3 is a little better than 2 and 10 months.

Bills, Bills, Bills

Late Sunday afternoon I couldn't get my Internet connection to work. I initially figured it was due to the crappy weather, which always tend to send our wussy cable for a loop.

"Oh god. It's drizzling. I can't function under these conditions."

But when it didn't come back on after a few hours, I started to get worried. And then when I realized that I was the only one in our neighborhood without a functioning Internet, I knew something was very wrong.

I instantly remembered the thick envelope that arrived from our Home Owner's Association, to which we pay a ridiculous amount of money every month for our cable/internet, phone, and other amenities.

Apparently, the HOA is there to ensure that some bozo down the street doesn't park a huge ass wheel-less trailer in their driveway.

But since no one in our neighborhood would probably do that, they find other things to send letters about - like our barely overgrown lawn, the neighbor's decorative rocks for which they DID NOT receive permission to use (who do they think they are with their decorative rocks?), or the questionable placement of a satellite television dish. 

So they're out there measuring lawns with a ruler or something and meanwhile there's a bunch of dead trees and dog shit everywhere.

Go figure.

When we first moved in, they sent us a letter stating that we had to do something about our fence - the fence that was part of our signing agreement for the freaking house.

So, when I get a letter from our HOA, I usually just ignore it.

But when I still didn't have internet and cable, I had a sinking feeling. And wouldn't you know, when I opened up the big fat letter, it was a friendly reminder that we were two months late with our payments (whoops) and that in seven days from the date of the letter, they'd be cutting off our cable, internet, and phone.

The letter was dated 11/17. The internet was shut of on 11/22.

Unless there is a new way to count, that's 5 days.

Of course, they shut it off on a Sunday, so even if I could figure out their ridiculously complicated online payment system, they wouldn't be able to turn it back on anyway. And well, if I don't have fucking internet so how am I supposed to make an online payment?

Apparently, even if you pay it on Monday and ask very nicely to have your internet turned back on, gently reminding them that the letter stated "7 days," they still can't seem to get it back on.

So in the mean time, I've caught up on laundry, finished my Thanksgiving shopping, and mastered Beatles Rock Band.

And had lots of sex.

HOA - Bringing couples together one late payment at a time.

Tis the season to be jolly. Very very jolly.

My editor emailed to let me know that my book might actually be in my hands before Christmas. Which means that it might actually be in your hands (and the hands of all your friends and neighbors) before Christmas.

WOO!

So, if you're interested in getting a signed copy of "The Mominatrix's Guide to Sex," along with a Mominatrix t-shirt as a holiday gift for someone (or many someones), just send me an email to mominatrixbook[at]gmail[dot]com with your inscription, address, and tshirt size. I'll send you payment info and then will make sure you (or your recipient) gets the t-shirt and a cute Mominatrix card letting you (or them) know that someone thought enough to send them a sex book for Christmas (heh). I'll even toss in some condom lollipops.

And then when the books come in (which I hope will be before Christmas, but could be later), I'll send them a book with the inscription.

Cost: $35

In a similar vein, I've also got my annual Mominatrix Holiday Gift Guide, chock full of sexy gifts for moms and dads, whether you've got a clean freak, an accessories whore, or a Shredhead, all of which you can find at Eden Fantasys, a one-stop mom friendly shop (that's also sponsoring part of my book tour next year - sweet!).

Even if you don't want a glass dildo for Christmas, you should still go take a peek because in the least, you'll get a little chuckle.

And if you have questions about any of the goodies in my guide, then make sure to tune into my podcast later this morning (you did know I had a sex podcast, right?). We'll be talking with a sex toy expert (how does one get that job - that's what I want to know) from Eden Fantasys about what's new and hot for the holiday season. Come chat - it's fun. I promise. 10:30 EST

If you don't want to miss the show, subscribe to it via iTunes. It's free and fairly entertaining.

And if sex toys are not what you're asking Santa for this holiday season, you'll definitely find something on the Cool Mom Picks Holiday Gift Guide, which has over 100 amazingly cool items for everyone in your family. My hat's off to my brilliant partner Mom 101 for what I think is one freaking awesome guide.

Yes, I'm biased.

So go shop!

Uh oh

A few days ago, I could have sworn I heard Margot say "Uh oh.

At first, I thought maybe I was having one of those over zealous mommy moments, you know, when the proud mother looks at her toddler's page of crappy scribbles and is convinced it's some sort of post-impressionist masterpiece.

But then I thought I heard her say it again.

And so did Drew.

But Drew also eats pumpkin donuts off the carpet and has been known to reach into a toilet full of crap to grab a toy that he accidentally dropped in there.

So then I did what all new mothers do when they think they just heard their kid say their first words - they keep saying the words over and over again (which is completely unannoying) hoping that the baby will say it and prove that they actually did say those very words.

Except they could really just be saying it to try to get their mother to shut up.

But I'm not newbie, neophyte mom. Hell no. I decided that I would create an actual circumstance that would, in fact, call for the correct use of the word "uh-oh."

So I instituted my brilliant plan that included me knocking stuff out of her hands, or even better, dropping stuff on the floor.

Of course all she did was keep throwing shit just to listen to me say "uh-oh" and then pick it up over and over again with a look that seemed to say "Seriously, I know you didn't accidentally drop that yogurt wrapper on the floor mom, because if you did accidentally drop that yogurt wrapper on the floor you would have said 'shit' and you don't want me to say that do you?"

Needless to say, she never said it.

That was until she accidentally dropped a piece of her pretzel on the ground later on that day. Then I heard it plain as day:

"Uh Oh."

I'm not sure what was cuter.

Those two little sounds, strung together for the first time to formulate something that I could actually understand.

Or the smile on her face that I'm pretty sure was saying "I told you so."