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 ☟

 

 

 

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.

Bee stings & Birthdays☟

Do they give out Oscars for slideshows?  Holla!

 

Blow☟

Do you watch this?  Intervention on A&E.  Riveting television.  Love me some crackies. Great.  Happy ending, unhappy ending equally gratifying.  What I don’t find gratifying is when they end the show with-

     John has been sober since July 15, 2008

WTF!  July 15.  That’s yesterday!  I’ve been sitting here watching this show longer than that.  John’s probably shooting up as we speak…what a jip.

 

                 

If you whipped out the Cannon to take a picture of last nights take out-I’m guessing you’re fat

If you proclaimed the highlight of your weekend to be a birthday cake ☟-I’m guessing you’re fat

If your profile picture is of you in diapers over 30 years ago-I’m guessing you’re fat (and ugly)

 A blogger trying to hide they’re fat, is like Dubayoo trying to hide his stupid.   Stop it!  Stop crowding your children around you in every picture to hide your fat.  If it takes 4 kids to cover your thighs, than that’s just a better illustration of how big your thighs are, yes?   Don’t fret.  I believe that if you’ve given birth to 4  3  children or more, thunder thighs are your God given right.

We’re all fat.  Even if you’re not fat, you probably think you’re fat, so today I’ll qualify you as fat. (congratulations!)  

Embrace it! Post that picture of all your rolls I promise not to count them ( I will), and let me hear your best “I’m guessing your fat joke.”

” DIEGO!  IF YOU DON’T STOP DOING THAT I’M GOING TO “(… hmm... what do I threaten him with  … come on say something… anything… fast he’s sensing weakness… “KILL YOU!!”   

OOPS! S_ _T, F_ _ _K, S_ _T! **  Back out of the room slowly, real casual… Don’t panic!  He’s only 3, he doesn’t even know what that means.  He’s only 3.  Calm down, he won’t even remember.  Walk back in to the room like nothing happened… Good see, he’s hitting his brother again, he wasn’t even paying attention.  

Fast forward to this weekend, and another kiddy birthday party.  We’re among family and friends.  Not good friends  like the ones you can compare credit scores with, but friends that can possibly become good friends if we continue pretending to like one another.

“Mommy open this ” ( a Blow Pop) 

“No”

“Mommy pweese!”

“No!”

“Mommy…”

 “Hmm?”

“I’m  gonna kiw you”

 

 

… 

 

Note to self☞ Make sure the boy’s not around when you’re talking credit scores with good friends.

** someday I’ll be old enough to spell these words out like The Bean  


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On a some what related note I’d like to introduce you to the highlight of my weekend ☟

 

 

 When I suggested Aaron could grow up to be a fireman at his birthday party☟, our young guests were quick to correct me.  ” NO! He’s going to be a Jonas brother!”   Now that I know how much money they make who they are, I have to say that I’m completely smitten with the idea.

 I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but I happen to be the proud mother of 3 boys , which would make the three of them brothers. I  assume that the young girls based their suggestion  on this fact alone, little do they know my boys are riddled with talent.  

Important Disclaimer☞This may be one of those clips that only I find cute, because I’m his mother.

 

Get in line little girls, get in line!

 

It's the start of birthday season, and I've made the same mistake I make every year.  I went too big.  Which means the parties that follow will have to equal or surpass this event or people are going to talk.  Ahh the casualties of parenthood.

He likes fire trucks.  Obsessed.  They’re big, red, shiny, I get it.  I get it.

Sorry if your invite was lost in the mail.  Here’s a peek at what you missed.