I’m blowing this popsicle joint!  Don’t worry you’ll see me again.  Just follow me to my new blogger page.  It’s super cute, and there will be cash & prizes! Well a prize, but it’s an awesome one!  What are you waiting for!  Go, go, go!!!


I know that the 40-something divorcee across the street has gone black, and is NOT going back.  I know that the creepy jerk that lives next to her wishes she would go back, and I’m almost positive that the guys in the corner house have an illegal grow operation in their living room. (why else would they have florescent lighting?)  Granted these are merely observations I’ve made in the short walk from my front door to my car, but I’m certain they’re accurate.   

Still, I wish I knew more about my neighbors.  I wish I knew why that chick two doors down insists on greeting me with the stink eye.  I wish I knew why the guys with the illegal grow op don’t drive better cars, and I wish I knew where the hefty 4 year old girl that referred to my baby as “ugly” lived.  Ugly! My baby? Thems fightin words!  Ain’t no shame in my game, I’m throwin’ down with this brat ☟

 Me- Ugly?  Did you say my baby is ugly?

Brat- (twirling her evil moustache) Yeah, look at his hair! (giggle, giggle)

Me to husband- HOLD ME BACK!

Husband-(holding me back) She’s only 4 leave her alone

Me-  Yeah, but she’s got big bones and that cast on her arm qualifies as a weapon.  It’s a fair fight!

Husband- Isn’t Project Runway on right now?

Me- (No idea it’s only 6 pm)  Oh yeah! (turn towards the brat as I walk in the house) THIS ISN’T OVER PUNK!

Ohh, don’t say it.  I’m embarrassed for me.  Imagine a grown ass woman picking a fight with a kid, while her children look on.  It’s over.  I’m squashing my beef with the kid.  Finito!  Word on the street is, she belongs to stink eye two doors down and she can totally kick my ass so it’s the smart thing to do.  BUT, if she should happen to ride her Razor down the street as I’m pulling out of the driveway, I can’t guarantee that my expired eyeglasses will see this portly target. MUA HA HA!  

Seriously though, I’m not crazy here, am I?  He’s gorgeous right?  

It’s been four years since I first became a mom.  Four years since I added our pediatrician, 911, and our priest to the speed dial.  Four years since the baby book became one of my limbs.  Hiccup, baby book, bowel movement, baby book, blotchy redness, baby book. Baby book all the live long day.  

Today I would like to tell that crazy, nervous, overprotective first time mom, to CHILLAX! ( that’s chill and relax at the same time)   Don’t make him do the laundry again, I’m sure Tide is just like Dreft detergent.  Think of the Dreftless kids in Africa, they survive.  Special baby laundry detergent is a scam!

Think about it, don’t be crazy.  That Pottery Barn crib bedding costs more than your bedding!  YOU are potty trained, and you hardly ever puke in your sleep anymore.  Pottery Barn bedding for you, Target bedding for the baby, that’s the smart way to go.

Oh and I’ve looked in to putting a tracking device on that sacred pacifier.  It’s a smart investment.  I know you thought it would be real cute to buy a pacifier in every color to coordinate with his outfits, but he only likes the one with that creepy bunny on it.  Creepy bunny pacifier is your friend, guard it with your life!

Finally, stop looking ahead to the day he walks, the day he talks, the day he is self sufficient.  Enjoy that you are his everything.  Carry and cradle him every chance you get,  because if you try that when he’s 4 you’re gonna get bitch slapped!  

Happy Birthday baby boy.


Important Disclaimer☞ I think your a bad ass all up in Mr. McGreggors garden Peter rabbit.   Not a bit creepy, not really.  Just a joke, you understand.


Later that day☟

 ☜Waiting for their ride to Chuck E. Cheese

Cake and presents ☟




My kids have been uncharacteristically coordinated around my Flip video camera.  Good for them, bad for my dreams of YouTube fame and fortune.  I had a great vision for my thousand part series entitled I laugh When They Fall, but what can I do?  Gravity is their new homeboy, except of course when daddy’s in charge.



⇧This is what happens when daddy’s in charge.  The most glorious busted lip to date.  I can’t help but laugh when I see him.  It’s fantastic!  From some angles he looks just like Roxie Hart.  Other times I see Clark Gable.

I’m sure you’re thinking I’m a terrible mother for laughing, but falls happen.  If your anything like mini me they happen often and without provocation.  No slippery floors or banana peels required, just a hefty dose of my clumsy gene.  I always rush to their aid.   Do a silly dance to stop the crying, apply Neosporin as needed, then laugh, away from them, quietly, with my hand over my mouth… Is that so bad?

Bernie ☟


 When my sons were newborns they responded to Bernie’s voice, that’s how much I loved this man. I chased his television show through every time slot change, I can recite his set from Kings of Comedy backwards, to say I’m a fan is an understatement.  He didn’t even have to speak to make me laugh.  The way he shifted his eyes, the way he grinned after a a punch line was comic perfection.  I am shocked an genuinely hurt by his loss and I can only hope that his death will bring his work the attention it has always deserved.


Beach ☟


 I want my sons to love our California as much as I do.  As you know most of it is sun, sand and surf. I cringe at the thought of prematurely aging skin, and sand on EVERYTHING.  Still once a year I suck it up and hit the beach with a smile and a thong bikini look ☟


It seems my sons are more like me than I thought. SCORE!

Ah ha moment people! Ah ha moment!☟  

Lately I’ve been concerned with my sons limited vocabulary.  They can speak enough to get themselves out of a pinch.  Please and thank you, hungry, thirsty, I’m not eating that, this sort of thing.  Still, I feel they should know more and by taking a moment to listen to my sons I’ve now realized what I’ve been doing wrong.

Here’s what I’ve heard my sons say ☟

-That’s not a toy!

-Alright! That’s enough!

-Shush! Oprah’s on!

-Don’t shush me!

You get the picture.  They learn what they hear, and sadly this is what they hear.  I’m not proud of it, but I’m aware of the situation and I’m on it.  

I’ve started narrating our entire day, and I’m happy to report it seems to be working.  Here are the latest additions to their vocabulary ☟

-Mommy is washing the dishes.

-Mommy is sweeping the floor, AGAIN!

-Mommy is going to Stater Bros., ALONE!

-We are having Butterfingers and Cheetos for lunch because mommy went to the casino instead of Stater Bros.

I’m sure one day I’ll regret I encouraged them to speak, but today it’s progress, and I’m thrilled.

A while back I joked about my sons being the future Jonas Brothers.  The truth is, I would never feel comfortable exploiting my children that way.  Placing them on display for the whole world to judge.   It makes me sick.  Just sick.  That said, I don’t even know why I keep comparing them.  Frankly, my kids have more talent in their diapers than all those Jonas boys combined.  It’s the truth.  

I can make you wait until their first album drops in 10 years to prove it, but what kind of host would I be?  Please indulge me by watching 30 seconds of the mind blowing talent that is my sons… do yourself a favor and stick around for the baby’s big finish (reminds me of my “working the cage” days).  


* For the record I never ever worked the cage… I don’t even know what that means really… I’m why sexy left.

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