Author Archives: onefunnymummy

You Dumb Bastards

Posted in Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting, Writing by

I don’t get out much. This is nothing new. The other day I was in a normal grocery store as opposed to the tiny hick market I usually frequent and I saw Star magazine. (The tiny hick market by our house doesn’t have trash magazines next to the registers thus limiting my pop culture knowledge to zilch.)

Says official...gotta be true then!

Says official…gotta be true then!

When I saw the cover of Princess Kate and it said, “It’s official! She’s Pregnant” my first thought was, “You dumb bastards” to quote a favorite Kevin Smith movie, Mallrats. Then my second thought was, “Of course she’s not pregnant, you don’t believe these rags. How can it be trusted when the story next to it is about Jessica Simpson’s weight or what Miley Cyrus did with her tongue now?”

Didn’t the Royal Couple just have Prince George? Wasn’t that hullabaloo only three months ago? My two monsters angels are close in age, but not THAT close! My next thought after calling the Prince and Princess of Cambridge dumb bastards was, “Ha ha! You will know my misery.” A millisecond later it struck me that “They’re royalty. They probably have nannies coming out the yin yang. And will never know my misery. So go on and have ten more!”

I already feel sorry for their alleged second born child though. Can you imagine following in these footsteps?

george

Any subsequent birth or baby would pale in comparison to this level of perfection.

As everyone knows you go all out for your first born — brand new everything. Nothing but the absolute best! And in Prince George’s case literal parades thrown in his honor, his birthday a national holiday.

So what does the second one get? Hand-me downs and an empty baby book or in this case a smaller crown with less gems and an older brother who can do no wrong in his mother’s eyes…even if he declares war on the rest of the world.

That poor alleged second child!

One Funny Mummy Goes Viral…Not Really, But it’s a Start!

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting, Writing by

This morning I was shocked to find an email from an editor at BlogHer in my inbox saying they were going to publish my most recent Mom Code post on their Family blog page. Immediately I felt like I’d won the Pulitzer Prize, wait did I say Pulitzer? I meant Publisher’s Clearing House and that dude with the ginormous check and balloons was knocking on my door ready to hand it over. I’m pretty sure the feeling would be the same…total elation!

Yahoo!

Woohoo!

This came at just the right time to give me a small piece of validation to keep going because lately I’ve been questioning if I’m even a writer anymore because I don’t have a spare moment to reflect or observe or do writerly things and it’s starting to mess with my mind and, no doubt, my mood.

I was so excited and beside myself that I immediately went to BlogHer’s website so I could see my post, but it wasn’t there. So I thought maybe it would be published sometime this week. So I went back to my inbox to reread the email and only then did I notice the date, December 26th…four days ago. The day after Christmas. Who checks their email the day after Christmas? Certainly not me! Isn’t the whole world on pause from the 25th until January 1st because it sure seems that way according to the amount of tourists walking around the tourist trap of a town next to us and also according to the TV as absolutely f*ck all has been on. Plus, I normally wouldn’t have even checked that email if it weren’t for that Target debacle. (Man, Target has really been letting me down lately.)

So I was bummed I missed seeing my post on the front page of their Family section, but completely unbummed that they selected my post in the first place. There is no monetary compensation (although that would’ve been icing on the cake) but there is a profound sense of accomplishment especially for someone who deals with poop all day. I’m super proud and thrilled. Hopefully, there will be more to come!

Mom Code

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

My sister and I think we’re hilarious. It’s probably a “you have to be there” kind of hilarity, but it’s ours and it’s one of the things I love most about her. Every time we get together we’re brainstorming about our newest venture whether it be a taco shop where we sell delicious tacos and silk-screened tees, a book store/jungle gym for kids, a dessert/champagne bar, an eclectic home furnishings boutique, or a reality show about our comical conversations in dressing rooms. Yeah I know, we’d be the only viewers, but if that Ryan Lochte had a show and only half a brain then surely they’re just giving them away to anyone. A gold medal and rock-hard abs are totally overrated and will only get you so far.

We think it’s a brilliant idea inspired by that one time I got stuck in a sweater or that other time we went bra shopping schnockered off our asses and I ended up buying a massively padded bra that sits stuffed in the back of my delicates drawer despite having been measured and trying on fifty different bras. In my drunken stupor I grabbed the wrong one because what do I need with a push-up bra anymore? I have enough to worry about. Tucking my boobs back into my bra while chasing my two maniacs at the playground is just one more hassle this Mummy has no time for.

Our newest idea/fantasy is to have a TV show called Mom Code modeled after MTV’s Girl Code.

girl code

Since we’re no longer the shiny, young thangs we used to be but mentally and physically exhausted moms who need a glass or four of Chardonnay as a reward after a particularly hard day, we know that Mom Code is more suited to us than what these twenty-something millennials are talking about. These gals discuss things like the timeline for farting in front of your boyfriend or girls who can’t walk in high heels or how a porn star’s va-jay-jay resembles a walrus patty. My favorite comedienne is Nicole Byer whose catch phrase is “I can’t!” Everything she says cracks me up!

sad

“People don’t want to hear about your diet. Just shut up, eat your lettuce, and be sad. #ICan’t”

Mom Code moments happen every single day and when they do, I yell, Mom Code! and then text my sister cause I know she will sympathize, probably already having gone through it. So I’ve decided to put a little list together so that one day I might look back and laugh. I apologize in advance for all the poop references…it just goes with the territory. Oh hey, that’s one #MomCode

You look out the window and see the sunrise and your first thought isn’t, “Oh how beautiful” but “Ah crap, how early is too early to start drinking?” Mom Code

You don’t care if your toddler plays with matches and locks her baby sister outside, you will sneak away to take a dump in private if it’s the only thing you accomplish all day. Mom Code

You are now the proud owner of  yo-yo boobs…push them up and they just yo-yo back to their new southern location. Mom Code

It’s weird to see your actual name or initials cause now you’re just Mom. Mom Code

While furiously scrubbing your skid-marked toilet you unknowingly step in the fresh dog poop hidden on your poop-brown bathroom mat. Mom Code

You’re unsure if the booger crusted to your cheek is your own or your toddler’s and then you wonder how long it’s been there and who all has seen it. Mom Code

After changing a bajillion poopy diapers, you suffer from PPS…Phantom Poop Smell where you randomly catch a whiff just sitting on the couch then search tirelessly for the source of the stink yielding no results. Mom Code

You could feed a small African village with the amount of Cheerios, Goldfish, and raisins from under your two car seats. Mom Code

Any job sounds better and a million times easier than taking care of two demanding whiny-pants day in and day out. Mom Code

You give your fellow mom a knowing smile when her little one is going ballistic in the middle of the store (and feel smug as shit that it’s not yours this time). Mom Code

Silence means one of two things: they were finally successful in killing each other or one of them is happily drawing poo hieroglyphics all over the hallway while the other one eats handfuls of sugar directly from the bag. Mom Code

You eat every meal standing over the sink or the kitchen counter or sometimes even over the toilet. Mom Code

Mom Code like Girl Code is universal. How would we ever survive without it? Yeah ok, with a lot of wine. While it doesn’t seem particularly funny when you’re going through it, I try to tell myself that someday I’ll look back and laugh and even miss it.

Get Cancer or Save a Quarter?

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Writing by

Such a toss up.

I buy the Target brand Up & Up shave gel cause everyone’s always saying generic is the same stuff as the name brand only cheaper.

cheap assPlus, the bottle is bigger than the others and being the mini-Sasquatch that I am, I go through it pretty quickly. (Funny though cause I rarely have time to shave my legs anymore, but I’m still blazing through the shave gel…go figure.)

This morning as I lathered up, I noticed a disclaimer staring back at me.

WTF?

WTF?

How had I never noticed this sentence before? Details are my thing. And you would think that the word “CANCER” would have caught my eye at some point. How long have I even been using this shit, I wondered. Ah, feck.

How could Target and the state of California knowingly sell this to me and many other unsuspecting customers who don’t have time to read labels?!

Those A-holes!

Maybe it was the work of Skintimate or Gillette trying to sabotage their competitors?

I picked up my husband’s name-brand Gillette shave gel and turned it over and over in my hands, trying to find the disclaimer that his might possibly maybe somehow give him cancer. Nope, didn’t find it!

I’m appalled, Target. How can you state that you make “good products at good prices for good people” when right next to it is a warning that it might give me cancer?

Promises, shmomises

Promises, shmomises

Cancer is not a good price. I’m pretty sure the last time I checked, cancer was at the top of the list of things I never want (along with a Backstreet Boys reunion and a third child.)

I’m aware that in this day and age it seems like everything has the potential to cause cancer–breathing, walking in the sunshine, goddamn genetics–but you can bet your ass that if I see the C word on something that I slather all over my body on a daily basis then that shit’s going in the trash.

MOM CODE.

Living Under a Rock

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

It’s a sad, sad day when your own mother is hipper than you. When she knows more about what’s current and trending than you do. Makes me want to get a facelift or better yet, some Botox. Not really, but sheesh, it’s alarming. Give the old woman an iPhone and she’s Queen of Social Media spouting off words like YouTube and Yelp. I’m surprised she doesn’t have her own Twitter handle before me.

About a month ago, my sister sent me a video called, “What Does the Fox Say” and ever since then I’ve wanted to shoot, skin, and wear that fox to a Sunday brunch. Not really as I could never harm a fly, seriously, I apologize to a fly before I smack the crap out of it with a dish towel. Who does that? It’s a FLY!

foxphoto

The fox song is a catchy tune that Auntie played while my daughter was staying at her house one weekend so I never had a chance. It was funny the first hundred times listening to it and watching my girls bounce up and down to the music. The fact that the big one knows the words and sings along makes me laugh, but now it’s just gotta go. We’ve probably added 20,000 views alone.

Well, come to find out that this video is quite popular. Here I was thinking it was a kid thing. Apparently the group Ylvis was on MTV at the VMAs and the song was used on DWTS (not that I watch either of those things). Then my own mother asked me if I’d seen the latest spoof from SNL with Kerry Washington, “What Does My Girl Say.” That was the moment I knew my mother was more relevant than me and I just wanted to crawl back under my rock and pretend that the outside world didn’t exist, like I do 99% of the time.

I wish I had the brain power and the energy to make my own video called, “What Does the Mummy Say?” so my daughter could sing it in her adorable little voice. She’d say, “Go to, Go to, Go to Sleep” “Eat your, Eat your, Eat your peas” and “Time-out, Time-out, Time-out, NOW!” “What does the Mummy say?” It’s an instant classic, a bajillion views…in my head.

Miley Cyrus Ain’t No Shirley Temple

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

I grew up watching black and white Shirley Temple movies, instantly falling in love with her perfect ringlets and undeniable dimples.

shirleyOf course I saw myself as Heidi living in the Swiss Alps with my gruff German grandfather learning how to milk goats and wear clogs. And as the adorable little orphan in Curly Top singing about animal crackers in my soup and also as the feisty little southern belle dancing down the stairs with Bojangles Robinson himself in The Little Colonel.

dancing with Uncle Billy

Whether it was intentional on her part or not, my mother made me a huge nerd. She’s the one who introduced me to Shirley in the first place. She deemed her a worthy role model, letting me dress up as her in third grade complete with a top hat, cane, and the best ringlets my straight hair would hold. She helped me with my book report on her that same year and it was my proudest accomplishment of third grade, next to my kick-ass volcano.

When I think of the role models my daughters might have, I get a little worried to put it mildly. Remember cute little Hannah Montana?hannah montana

Well, I don’t know if she was ever cute or innocent, but I’m sure a lot of young girls watched her with the same adoration I had when I watched Shirley. And we all know how that ended…a twerking nightmare.

I can just imagine if Shirley Temple was a child-star today. How she’d grow up to shed her “nice girl” image claiming that performing half-naked with her tongue hanging out of her head was staying true to herself as a performer. She’d sing “On the Good Ship Lollipop” wearing assless chaps humping a giant foam sucker and twerking till the cows came home cause that’s what entertainment is these days.

Forgive me, Shirley. You would never stoop so low. Plus, you had real talent. You were, and still are, America’s Sweetheart for a reason, not because your daddy had an Achy Breaky hit in the early 90’s. I know my daughters will see the same magic in you that I saw and I can’t wait to share your movies with them.

To sum up, the nerdification of my daughters will definitely be intentional. They will wear glasses whether they need to or not. They will idolize Shirley Temple and play with horses until they’re eighteen. They will never listen to pop music and will never leave the house. Only now as mother do I understand why I couldn’t watch Dirty Dancing when I was nine and was twenty the first time I watched Pretty Woman. Like I said…total nerd.

Addicted to Chachi

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

Remember that show Joanie Loves Chachi? Joanie loves ChachiYeah, me neither. It was before my time. Spinoff from Happy Days, Scott Baio from Charles in Charge fame? Anyway, the “Chachi” I’m talking about here is my daughter’s beloved nickname for her pacifier…which she still has. I’m so embarrassed and ashamed to admit that I let my 2 1/2 year old still use a pacifier. I was always one of those people who said as soon as the kid could walk, that thing was gone. Yet, here we are a year and a half after she started walking and she clings to them like a junkie to a needle, like a fat kid to cake, like me to my shred of sanity.

We called the pacifier a paci or passy like other families, bypassing the outdated term of binky. Chachi came about organically. She called it something that sounded like chachi and it stuck. She even had a little song and dance about it. “I got a chachi. I got a chachi” swaying her little hips side to side while waving her chachi in the air. chachiIf you asked my friends, it sounded like she was singing about something else entirely.

She’s a full-on chachi hoarder! It’s not like she’s happy with just one. Oh no! That would be far too simple. She needs a minimum of two and prefers three or more. I remember how it happened. When she was nine months old we used to stock her crib with a couple extras for those middle of the night wakings so she could flail around and find one in her sleep. Well, that ultimately backfired on us and now she needs them to cuddle and rub against her nose. However, this might be more than a learned behavior it might be genetic and the person I have to blame is myself! Apparently I was a chachi fanatic just like my chip off the ol’ block. However, I called it a poey (Long o sound like Joey with a p–didn’t want you thinking I called it a pooey). I used to rub my nose with the poey to soothe myself as well. One day when I was two my mom told me “no more poey” so I calmly turned it over without so much as a fuss. Not going to be the case for my little petunia. I’ve been getting her used to the idea that chachis are only for babies and now that her sister is no longer a baby, we need to pass them on. She adamantly refuses this conversation and idea. I’ve even told her the chachi fairy will bring her an awesome present, yet she tells me she’s not giving them up. Eff the Chachi Fairy in so many words.

Not too long ago I read something by Erma Bombeck about pacifiers from her book, Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession. She talks about the mothers of her generation being closet pacifier advocates. She never wanted her own mother to know that she used them with her children. I get it. I start to perspire when I think about the world witnessing my giant child with a chachi in her mouth. I can just hear the judgement swirling around their heads. Lucky for me she only uses them in the car and in bed.

Erma writes that the pacifier signaled that we can’t cope with our children. Ding! Ding! Ding! Hit the nail on the head–at least in my case. When her mother saw her grandchild with a pacifier she said, “Do you know that if you keep using this pacifier, by the time this baby is four years old, her teeth will come in crooked and her mouth will have a permanent pout?” To which Erma replied, “Do you know, Mother, if I do not use that pacifier, I may never permit her to become four?” My sentiments exactly! And why my toddler still has a chachi obsession! If she didn’t use those things at night, who knows what kind of crappy sleeper I’d have on my hands. Guess I’ll find out soon enough when I take them away.

“We American pioneers of the pacifier have given it the respectability it deserves. After all, what other force in the world has the power to heal, stop tears, end suffering, sustain life, restore world peace, and is the elixir that grants mothers everywhere the opportunity to sleep…perchance to dream?”

Amen, Mama!

Wish I could’ve remembered this passage when I was up at 2 am this morning frantically searching the dark corners of my baby’s crib for her stinking pacifier to quiet her uproarious cries. Maybe then I wouldn’t have cursed those plastic pieces of crap to hell. Then it hit me, I’m the chachi pusher.

Hello, my name is One Funny Mummy and I’m an addict…of peace and quiet!

Year One

Posted in Daughters, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

Today was the little one’s first birthday. What the what?! How is that even possible, you ask. I’m not sure. Life is a complete blur since the second one came along. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like when you have 3, 4, or 5 kids. Good thing we’re stopping at 2!

When the big one turned one, I thought I was going to need a tranquilizer to stop my incessant crying from losing my baby, but this time it never even crossed my mind because I don’t have a moment to even think about something like that anymore…the curse blessing of a second child.

I’m trying to recreate the first one’s birthday for the second one so looking back, she can’t say that her sister was the favorite or anything like that. So in staying true to that, I would like to write a letter to my daughter about her first year. So here goes.

Dear my sweet darling,

One year old! It’s hard to believe. It seems like we were just leaving the house at 4 am to drive up to the birth center to have you. I remember crying a little at the thought of our family of three changing to a family of four and not knowing how everything was going to shift. But you came along, with your lovely little face and you fit into our family as if you’d always been there.

I was over the moon that I had two little girls–sisters–who would (hopefully) grow up to love each other and be best friends. I think you two are well on your way despite the lack of sharing and all the pushing going on these days. You seem to have your own language, yelling and shrieking back and forth, making Mummy crazier by the minute and you two closer.

You are a complete joy, except for when you’re tired…you become a complete bear, so thankfully you have the most kissable cheeks and adorable grin. They have saved you on many occasion.

You’re walking everywhere–sooner than your sister so you can brag about that someday. It’s the cutest thing to see you on two feet, stumbling around like a zombie baby. The only downside is that you’ve had more concussions than an NFL quarterback and a black eye from slipping in the tub. Your father is one click away from buying you a baby helmet on Amazon. But don’t worry, Mummy won’t make you wear it.

My most favorite thing is how you smell like toast when you wake up from your naps. The way you squeal and point whenever you see a bird. And how you scrunch up your nose when you smile. Oh, and the way you think you’re jumping by bending your legs and propelling your tiny body upward.

We took you to the zoo today for your first birthday. It was the perfect day–sunny and not crowded at all. Mummy was the only one to have a meltdown when I learned we couldn’t get nachos because the zoo changed their menu…the nerve!! (What’s the zoo got against delicious chips bathed in cheese and beans?) You were most excited to see the gorilla and you loved sliding down the hill with Daddy on a piece of cardboard. Then after taking a nap during the car ride home, we opened presents on the floor. We got you a cute book called Miss Lina’s Ballerinas, a pink owl pillow for you to carry around the house instead of the couch pillows, and a stand-up play center with lots of flashing lights and loud noises. You loved everything! After your sister asked to eat cake literally 100 times in a row, we put your party hat on, lit your one candle, and sang to you. You clapped along then ate your piece of cake with a huge smile, smearing the frosting all over your face. It was priceless! I tried to capture every second between three different cameras…not the easiest thing to do!

Now you’re snoozing away, conked out after your sugar rush and crash, officially one year old, officially a toddler (although you’ll always be my baby). I’m so excited for what the next year will bring. I’m sure it will be filled with giggling, tea parties, and lots of twirling.

I hope you had a very Happy 1st Birthday, my precious cutie pie! We love you more than we can say!

Hugs & Kisses my little Bun Bun!

The Mayor of Poopville

Posted in Family, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by
My sash?

My sash?

Might as well be my new title. It’s not normal to pick up poo off the bathroom floor every day…or maybe it is if you’re me and you have two babies.

I was so smug when I first started potty-training my daughter a few months ago. One day she decided she had to go and she was going to do it on the toilet. Super easy…but I should’ve known it was too good to be true. She really set me up for defeat. Her first time going #2 ended with her exclaiming that she “Went poop in the potty” and when she came to get me to show me, sure enough there it was in all its humongous glory. I wasn’t even trying to potty-train and it was happening. That was my little genius!

Now, pooping her pants is a daily occurrence. I try so hard not to get frustrated and upset with her because I’m aware that she’s only two years old and she’s still learning, but you would think that after squeezing one out in her undies caused an unfavorable response the day before (hell, even ten minutes before!) that she wouldn’t do it again. Wrong! I catch her worried deer-in-the-headlights duty face and know that I’ll be retrieving her stinky grenades once they fall from her pants as I hurriedly take them off of her in the hopes that she’ll finish her business in the appropriate place. That’s never the case though and I’m left with a doo-doo speckled floor and a baby trying to crawl right through it.

It’s a complete nightmare and beyond upsetting. I have to lock the little one out in the hallway while I clean up the bigger one and the floor which results in the little one screaming bloody murder because she’s all alone and the other one starts in with her ridiculous line of questioning. “You happy? You’re so proud of me? You’re not happy? You mad? You happy?” On endless repeat until she’s cleaned up and off the potty or until I slam my face against the door jamb–whichever comes first.

If it’s unclear, this is one of my personal levels of hell.

When I try to vent to the hubby, he doesn’t get it. How could he though when he’s never had to clean up as much doo doo as I’ve had to? And will continue to, there is another baby after all. (Kill me now!)

As far as Poopville goes, the hubby just passes through town every now and then, having to deal with it every once in awhile. He couldn’t even point it out on a map. Guess I’ll have to own my title and work on throwing a parade in my honor. I can see it now. The float will be covered in toilet-paper roses. I’ll sit on my throne waving my toilet brush scepter wearing a tiara made from empty toilet-paper rolls while a symphony of flushing guides me through town.

Maybe I should just be happy that I’m the Mayor of something, although I’d rather it were Skinnytown or FilthyRichTown. I’ll have to settle for Poopville for a little while longer. Who am I kidding–at the rate we’re going–a lot longer.

Dragon Breath Revisited

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Mommy Blog, Parenting by

Cut to two kids later  and I’m finally coming around to the idea that I need coffee, or more specifically caffeine, to survive.

mama needs

But I’ve been balking at this realization. I don’t want to succumb to the dragon’s breath that is in my future. As I’ve written before, my mom’s dragon breath has haunted me for decades and I’m not ready to submit my daughter to the same torture. Although now I like the idea of making her put up with my bad breath…she makes me put up with her shenanigans, so why not get some revenge where I can?!

First off, I’m not a hot drink kind of person. I don’t like to deal with a burnt tongue all day. However, I just learned that coffees come iced. Second, I discovered the wonderful world of lattes. They have more sugar than a Willy Wonka chocolate factory, which is right up my alley.

My kind of coffee

My kind of coffee

Recently I ordered a vanilla latte while the hubby ordered a plain iced coffee. I took a drink of mine, slightly grimaced at the coffee taste, but realized I could power through it for the caffeine buzz at the end of the rainbow. So what if it left an aftertaste as if I’d been licking the cat’s butt. Then I took a quick swig of the hubby’s and about vurped. I had the worst bitter beer face. That shit was lethal. Tasted like ass roasted in cow dung. At least what I imagine ass roasted in cow dung would taste like. I went back to my vanilla latte and it was pure heaven. Sweet, sugary heaven.

Now I’m on a quest to make my own iced lattes at home because I had a coffee epiphany. Coffee is crack–legalized crack. It makes everything better.

Makes me like my kids better. Makes me feel like I can conquer the world…or at least deal with my two *screaming idiots* for twelve straight hours without wanting to ship them to Siberia every other minute.

don't make meNo wonder my mom consumed three daily pots of coffee since I can remember. Mummy really does know best!

 

*Screaming idiots is a term of endearment in our household*