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There Should Be An App For That

I need someone to make me an app. I need an app that will keep my different groups of friends separated and one that will specifically not allow me to send texts to the wrong group of friends. Can one of you get on that for me? Or do you know of such an app that already exists?

Because I’m gonna lose some friends without it. Seriously.

I have groups of friends. I have my college friends (aka- the ones who get me in trouble anytime we are together), I have my mom friends (aka- the ones with whom I day drink), I have my kids friends moms (aka- the ones I mostly talk to for scheduling playdates) and then I have what I call the polite friends (aka- I better mind my manners and act like a grown up). These friends should always be kept separate. Bad things happen when you get the groups mixed up.

Bad things. Bad bad things.

The importance of this separation cannot be adequately expressed. Otherwise your kids playgroup moms accidentally get the text about the naughty bachelorette party favors….with pictures. True story. One mom still isn’t speaking to me. Whoopsy. I tried to tell her that it was a total accident but she was not having it. I heard through the grapevine that she thinks I’m some sort of freak now. Come on, we are all moms so I assume at some point we’ve all seen a pen!s right? And a pen!s straw? No? My bad.

I guess it could have been worse. I could have sent that pen!s straw picture to the polite classy group of friends. I’m pretty sure that would have gotten me kicked out of their special little club. A club that I am not sure how I became a member….they must not do background checks. And they certainly have never come across this blog.

Anyone know of such an app? I need it before I commit an even bigger social faux pas. Because we all know I will. It’s inevitable.

*I coded the word pen!s to keep the creepers from googling and finding my blog. There are no pen!ses here, keep moving pervs.

Cheer Barbie and The Skippers

I’ve talked about the mom cliques before- specifically The Bus Stop Moms– but today I want to talk about another breed of mom clique. The Cheer Moms. If y’all thought The Bus Stop Moms were bad, well they have nothing on The Cheer Moms. These moms are like a different breed. I’ve dealt with the Dance Moms in the past- specifically The Stage Mom– but I was unprepared to venture into the world of The Cheer Mom.


When Maia first asked if she could do cheer I was a little ambivalent about it. I cheered- shut up, I used to have spirit- for a few years before I had to make a decision between cheering and soccer. Soccer won. I mean really- a sport where I have to wear a short skirt, shake more than my pom poms, and plaster on a fake smile while being thrown high in the air and hoping the 3 girls below me would actually catch me versus a sport where I can kick people? Yeah, hard decision. I have to be honest- I found the cheerleaders at my school to be a little superficial for my liking. Before I start getting hate mail- I am not bashing all cheerleaders or saying all of them are superficial. I’m talking specifically about the ones that I dealt with and the ones that I was exposed to for years. They were some superficial bitches. Seriously. The movie Bring It On with Kirsten Dunst? Gave me flashbacks and PTSD moments for weeks after I watched it. No lie.


But like every good mom, I pasted a fake ole smile on my face and signed Maia up for cheerleading. She loves it. Lord help me. So I am now a cheer mom. *shudder*


I’ve come to realize that there is some kind of strange hierarchy to The Cheer Moms. There is a queen bitch- she’s in charge. I call her Cheer Barbie. Then there are her sidekicks- I call them The Skippers. Everyone else…just her minions. Cheer Barbie gets the center seat at practice. She marches in with her 4 inch high heels, her hair teased so high I’m pretty sure there’s a small animal trapped in the back section, and nails that could quite possibly kill a man. The Skippers come in looking like her mini me clones. It’s terrifying. The first day I set foot in the practice gym I was instantly transported back to middle school.


Of course, you know me. I come in there wearing my jeans and tee with some flip flops and my hair piled on top of my head in a messy half bun. Like a real person. I even had ketchup on my shoulder thanks to Zoey thinking I was a napkin at lunchtime. The gasp that came out of Cheer Barbie could be heard 3 states away. It took everything in me not to laugh and then shoot her the bird. Seriously. Back in my middle school days, I would have been in tears and ripping myself to shreds for not showing up looking like I belonged on the cover of Vogue. That was before I realized something important- I just don’t give a shit.


So I stared the bitch down, arched eyebrow and everything, while I plopped myself in the seat right next to her. Oh yeah- I did. Then I smirked at her. She was all huffy and “excuse me, that seat is taken” and I was all “yeah I know, I’m sitting in it” and we had a stare down. I’m pretty sure I won, can’t be certain because her fake eyelash fell off and I couldn’t stop looking at it sitting on her cheek like a spider. The evil little bitch who lives inside me was screaming at me to slap her in the face and blame it on the eyelash spider. I resisted the urge. But it would’ve been awesome.


So now one afternoon every week I march in there and sit in the same seat- right next to Cheer Barbie. She nods her head, I nod my head, and for the next hour we pretend each other does not exist. It works for us. She doesn’t have to lose her status as head bitch and I don’t have to beat her ass in the parking lot. That’s called compromise.


My therapist would be proud.



How a Bird Rescue Goes Wrong

We came home one afternoon last week and found something I didn’t expect. A little bird was stuck in our outside light fixture. I’m not sure how or why this bird decided to climb on in there but once inside the little idiot couldn’t figure out a way to get back out. Sigh. Mase and Zoey were watching so I had to get the bird out. I would have anyway but having those two standing there watching me ensured that I did it with a minimum of naughty words.




I frantically looked around for a man on our street. Any man. I’m all for equality and stuff but the light fixture is high up, surrounded by spider webs, and protected by a very large spider. A trifecta of things I’m scared of. Yay me. Of course, there’s a never a man around when you actually need one. Yet I’m surrounded by them whenever I even think about turning on HGTV. Irony. It always bites me in the ass.


So I pulled out a barstool that was sitting in the garage and screamed like a girl as I wiped off the spider web  attached to it. Once I climbed on top of the barstool I realized that I had absolutely no idea how to get the top off of the light fixture so I could let the bird out. After using some very creative naughty word combinations I finally resigned myself that I was going to have to stand all the way up on the barstool so I could figure it out. Which meant standing almost eye to eye with that big spider. I swear that thing was staring me down. Just waiting until I got close enough so it could eat me. Every time my hand got close to the top of the light fixture, the spider moved. And I screamed. It moved more. I screamed more. It was a vicious cycle.


It took me 15 minutes to figure out how to get the top off. It involved a screw driver and sticking my hand directly through the middle of that spider web. I almost decided the bird could just stay in the light fixture…like a pet. But my kids gave me those sad puppy eyes and I couldn’t do it. Damn kids.


My mind has blocked out the majority of sticking my hand through a spider web and risking the wrath of a large angry spider. I remember the screaming and the naughty words and the kids laughter. That’s about it.


I finally got the top off of the light fixture and the idiot bird didn’t want to fly away. By this point I was ready to kill the thing myself so I poked at it until it decided to fly away. As it was flying away, guess what happened? It took a crap on my shoulder. I know. Ungrateful. That would be about the point I lost my mind.


The whole street saw me chase a little bird down the driveway yelling, “Get back in there you ungrateful little bastard” while waving a screwdriver like a samurai sword. Not my finest moment but in my defense, I was covered in bird crap. With the way our luck has been this winter, this will be the one bird in our state that has been infected with bird flu. If you hear of an outbreak in the South….I am patient zero.


And to top it all off, no less than 3 men walked past our driveway immediately following the bird rescue. I’m going to assume they were all watching from around the corner until I was done so they didn’t have to participate. I’m basing that assumption on the fact that none of them would look me in the eye. Bastards.


I hate birds.



Golden Rules of Motherhood

I was recently asked to give some words of advice to a young mother in our neighborhood. She is in her early 20’s, has a newborn and an almost 2 year old. Basically, she’s right in the thick of new motherhood and she was having trouble seeing the light at the end of the diaper tunnel. I normally try not to get all that involved with neighbors because that seems to backfire 99.9% of the time. But I couldn’t resist giving some sage words of wisdom when I saw this poor mom, she reminded me of myself 10 years ago. So I met her at the neighborhood playground to let our 2 year old’s play while we chatted. She showed up wearing mismatching pajamas with no makeup on and her hair in a messy ponytail. I decided right then and there that we will be friends- she’s my kind of people. We had a great time and somewhere along the way I had an epiphany. I am now the older, wiser mom instead of the young, clueless mom. Not sure when that shift happened but it did- even though I still feel completely inept half the time….ok, most of the time. I gave her my wise Golden Rules of Motherhood and then we had wine slushies.

Golden Rules of Motherhood

1. There is no such thing as perfect. There is good and there is good enough. Most of us fall somewhere in between depending on the day. June Cleaver is a mythical creature as far as motherhood is concerned. You’re going to screw up, we all do. Just think- the more you screw up the more bang for your buck you’ll get later on when your kid goes to therapy.

2. The early years determine the later years. Good and consistent discipline when the kids are toddlers will pay off in the end. It’s completely exhausting to correct a maddening toddler all the time but it’s even more exhausting to fight with a tween who never had that correction as a toddler. Trust me.

3. You cannot do it all. Moms put way too much pressure on themselves to be the perfect mom with the perfect house and a 4 course perfect dinner on the table every night. That’s not reality. My house is never completely clean, the laundry is never ever caught up, and last night the kids ate Ramen noodles for dinner. You have to pick and choose your battles or you’ll drive yourself insane.

4. Teach your kids to entertain themselves. So many moms think they need to be entertaining their kids and playing with them all the waking hours of the day. A wise mom told me when my oldest was a little guy that I was setting myself up for failure by doing that. It’s healthy for a kid to learn how to play by themselves and entertain themselves. I’m not talking all day long but I make a point of having Zoey play with her toys in her room for at least half an hour twice a day. It develops her imagination and she needs that time to unwind.

5. Day drinking does not make you an alcoholic. I mean, technically you’re not drinking alone….the kids are home. Right?

Motherhood is messy and there will be tears. As long as you accept that, you’ll be fine. And just think- eventually they’ll all go to school and you might get caught up on laundry. Light at the end of the tunnel.

The Golden Rules

Matt and I had the misfortune of having to take care our friends 6 year old twin boys last weekend. We are just now recovering. These kids….they were little deviants. Seriously. They were here from Friday afternoon until Sunday night. I almost didn’t make it. I thought my kids were off the wall crazy. These boys put my kids to shame. I didn’t even realize that it was possible for small children to get into so much mischief. At one point I found Matt hiding in the master closet. I only found him because that’s where I was going to hide.

I must admit that Matt and I are not overly strict parents. We’re fairly laid back and easy going. We don’t have strict schedules and we don’t hover. I grew up in a house with military strict rules courtesy of my military dad. Matt grew up in a house with a Asian respect your elders culture. Basically we were smothered and restricted to death and we rebelled like crazy as teenagers. We got married at age 19. My mom is just now finding out about a few of the things I did as a teenager. For example- I told her I was going to spend the weekend with my friend Steph. Instead we went to Chicago. Another time, I told her I was going to the beach for 3 days with my friend Carrie. We went to Mardi Gras. I used to sneak out of the house by scaling the roof and shimmying down the drain pipe. My hair was a different color every week and I had various things pierced. I also could out drink a Marine by age 17. Not things I would want my kids to do so Matt and I decided early on that we would not be like our parents.

After this weekend Matt and I decided we needed to have a little sit down with our kids and go over the rules that we do have. We call them The Golden Rules and they govern our whole house. They are very simple and self explanatory.

The Golden Rules

#1-Freedom is not a right, it’s a privilege. Don’t abuse it.

#2-Children left unattended in our backyard will be given a Red Bull and a Puppy and sent back home so all friends need to ask before coming over to play.

#3-I don’t care what the Smith’s have for dinner, where the Jones’ go on vacation or how much the Martin’s spend on their clothes. You don’t live there, you live here. Deal with it.

#4-I make one dinner a night. If you don’t like what I serve, see you at breakfast.

#5-We encourage free expression of your feelings. We just don’t want to hear them so take the bitching to your room. And close the door.

#6-This is not a democracy- your vote does not count. We are not your friends. Consider us your probation officers. See number one.

#7-Chores are not optional. If you tell me that Lincoln freed the slaves you will find yourself picking up dog crap in the backyard. And not our backyard either, the neighbors yard- they have a Great Dane.

#8-Obeying your parents is mandatory. See number one.

#9-Whining is discouraged. No seriously, it’s discouraged.

#10-There is nothing you can attempt to do that we have not already done, tried to do or got caught doing. We will catch you. There will be no parole.

#11-Disrespect will not be tolerated. As bad as you think your life is, we can make it worse. See number one.

Pretty straight forward, right? The basic premise of our rules is easy- do what you’re supposed to do and keep the whining to a minimum. Everybody wins. Although after seeing the deviant twins this weekend I’m thinking we should run our house like a prison camp. Those kids scared me.