Mom of the year

     Once upon a time I loved teenagers. I wanted to dedicate my life to helping them. I was going to be an adolescent psychologist one day, or at the very least, open a hangout for kids under 20 where bands could play, or they could game, or whatever, as long as they were safe and not bored in their shit little town and driven to drugs and who knows what else. Something. I would do SOMETHING.      Because you see, I was a teenager once, and I was sooo misunderstood. I just needed to be loved and taken seriously instead of scolded for everything and being made to feel stupid. I could have thrived! But instead I wasted away, gave up on success and lost hope for my dreams.      Just kidding, I was an asshole. Ungrateful, rude, apathetic, selfish, and lazy. Oh I had my moments of sweetness and charity. I hid my homeless friends in my parent's garage so they wouldn't have to sleep in the cemetery in the cold. I bought my poorer friends lunch a...

    Having stomach flu while caring for a small child is a special kind of hell. Bug got it first, then Gage and I got it at the same time a couple days later. Luckily I had some help, my In-Laws came and took Bug for a few hours so I could shit myself in peace. But I still managed to do 3 loads of laundry and get some basic groceries for the next couple days while the virus was still just starting to brew in my guts. I had to. I knew I'd be down for the count for 48 hrs and Husband turns into a dick when we're ill, so supplies and preparations had to happen before the river of vomit blew through the house. How is he a dick? I shall fill you in.      Husband hates it when we're sick, and the first time the flu went through the house he was actually MAD that we got it. Mad at us. Snapped at us for walking into the kitchen to get water, for sitting on the couch to watch TV, etc. For spreading our germs. He actually lectured me while I was miserable wit...

     Ahhh... the holidays are upon us. I love this shit. I love it when everyone has a day off at the same time so there's no excuse not to see each other, and we all eat the same gluttonous feast we've been eating for decades, we remember the fun we had in years past and we make new memories for the younger generation. No, really! There's no punch line, I really do love this shit!      This year I'm preparing to have the family over for a potluck Thanksgiving. It's a good thing too, because there hasn't been much work in the last month and the job we are on now might not pay until next month. We have no idea. The whole thing is kind of stressful because we have to fly Gage across the country to see his Dad for Xmas, and then we have to fly our new kid here with him on the way back. Things will work out, they always do. I'm surprisingly un-alarmed, actually. I must admit it does seem pointless to fly Gage back to California when he will probably...

     HELLO!!! Yes, I know I haven't written in over a month, and that really sucks, and I will get into the insanity of the reasons why soon enough. First though, I need to get a true story out of me, since one of my friends brought up asshole customers in retail and I was reminded of this little gem.      This particular story is one from my early strip club days, when I was a bartender. It was a fully nude club in California, which meant that there is no alcohol served there. Only soda, juice, coffee and O'Doul's, a non-alcoholic beer. That did not mean that dudes didn't come in drunk, because they usually did.      During this time I was a miserable person. My marriage was shit, my apartment was infested with roaches, I felt like an ugly, plain-Jane around all these glamorous looking hookers, and despite the fucking SILVER SUIT VEST and button down white collared shirt I was forced to wear, I was sexually harassed by old, ...

     My first born child, my only son, and a wonderful person was born 15 years ago this month. Gage was 21 inches long, and 7lbs, 4oz, the same weight his sister would be born at 13 years later. What a trip this birthday is for me! I mean, think about YOUR life 15 years ago! It was 1998. While I was still in the hospital after having him, I was watching President Clinton lie to America during his testimony about his relationship with Monica Lewinski. Gas was $1.06 a gallon. I had long, dyed black hair and Betty bangs. I was married to his father. It was a different time.      Gage is the light of my life, truly. He is empathetic and socially conscious. He has great taste in music. He's smart. He doesn't argue with me about chores or anything else. He is helpful and generous. We crack each other up. We like being together. He's disgusting and funny and I love it. He can tell me when I'm being an ass and I know he's being honest and can take him ...

     We play a game with Bug where we ask her, "Where is Mommy's nose?", "Where are Bug's hands?" and so on down the list of major body parts. We clap and give high fives when she gets them right, which is pretty much all the time. One of her favorite parts of the game is, "Where is your belly button, Bug?". She loves to lift up her shirt and show everybody the teeny little indent on her round, full of mac & cheese belly.  And then, just like if we had asked her about noses, or ears, she wants to find everybody else's belly button after she found her own. That's when I get a little nervous.      I don't want to show ANYBODY my belly button. Not my kids or my husband, and especially not anyone outside my immediate family. It is also round from too much mac & cheese, or beer, or from being pregnant at 35 and not trying hard enough to recover my pre-pregnancy weight, and I hate it. It makes me too nervous to wear certain shirts o...

     For a few days, Bug wasn't sleeping well, waking up every hour or two screaming or just calling out for attention. Nothing calmed her down enough to sleep for very long. Not rocking her, or singing, or even a bottle of milk. I just had to keep getting up and going to her, over and over, until I was mad with sleep deprivation and ready to throw her out a window. This went on for 3 days. The last day I was so fed up that I let her cry it out when she didn't want to nap. It worked, but that night she made me pay. She screamed so loud when she woke up that she woke up the whole house, calling for Daddy, and screeching like a pterodactyl. I tried to let her cry it out. That made it worse. So I went through the motions...Rocked her... Changed her... Fed her.... More screaming, and now Husband is trying to stop her. No luck. Finally I went into her room, asked her in my snottiest voice, "Oh do you want to get out and play?", and she said, "YES". Oh HELL no. ...