Category Archives: Comedy

Girl Fight!

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How do I force teach my daughter not to be a mean girl? I would be devastated if she was the schoolyard bully or the Queen of the Snobs, but I don’t want her to be the victim of these girls either. It’s a tricky subject because I’m sure peer pressure has a lot to do with it.  Thank god I’m nowhere near having to actually figure this one out, but it’s already giving me anxiety. My niece, who is only six, is already encountering “girl crap” as my sister-in-law likes to call it. The drama, the tears, and the attitudes…hormones aren’t even involved yet. Yikes! I wish I could just skip over years twelve through eighteen. Boarding school anyone? No, I could never send my daughter away. Who could afford that? I mean, I would miss her too much — yeah that’s it!

I wasn’t a mean girl growing up (at least not intentionally) but I had my share of mean moments. Nothing like writing nasty things about other girls in bathroom stalls or starting scandalous rumors, but I remember getting in fights with my friend who lived next door. We’d ride our bikes all over and play Monopoly after school. There was one day we started quarreling over who knows what. Hair was pulled, shins were kicked, and bikes were knocked to the ground. It was ugly. Then, the next day we were back to Monopoly again.

I don’t remember apologizing, but we probably did. Did her mom call mine and tell her about our scuffle? Or were we left to work it out on our own? I don’t know, but according to my mom, kids fight. They love each other one minute, hate each other the next, and have moved on in the blink of an eye. When parents start meddling, that’s when the real problems begin. She’s right because if another mom approached me about my daughter’s behavior you better believe my Mama Bear claws would come out.

I know my daughter will have her share of spats and I wish I could protect her from all of it, but I can’t keep her in a bubble…or could I? Hmmmm….

I’m Coming Out…

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as a closeted Taylor Swift fan! There, I said it — so think what you will. I don’t shop in the junior’s section anymore (teen girls don’t have this much junk in their trunks!), I don’t know what the newest dances are (do kids even remember The Running Man?), and my craziest night of the week is when we order a pizza and watch the new episode of Secrets of a Stylist on HGTV. In other words, not exactly Taylor Swift’s demographic. But I like to think I’m still a young girl at heart — charmed by poetry and romantic ideals about love. Or maybe I’m just becoming an old fuddy-duddy, my music tastes mellowing out with my old age. (The fact that I used the term fuddy-duddy is proof enough that I’m no longer too cool for school. Ugh, I’m full of them.)

I’ve always liked a wide range of music, but this has been my dirty little secret. I was even embarrassed to ask my hubby to get Swift’s music for me. It’s not like I’d go all Kanye on her and try to take away her award or anything as mean, but I wouldn’t exactly admit that she was on my iPod either. But now that I’m a mummy, I might as well own up to all my imperfections.

The first time I heard Swift’s song, “Never Grow Up” I balled my eyes out. Perhaps I could’ve blamed it on my hormonal imbalance being 3 months postpartum, or the sweet strum of the acoustic guitar, or because I was looking into my daughter’s doe eyes while it played in the background…whatever the reason it really hit home. Maybe it reminded me of my past — growing up and realizing all that I put my mother and father through and how at times I still wish I was their little girl being tucked into bed by their loving hands.

There are two ways I could use this song. 1) Save it for my daughter’s wedding and cry my eyes out for her entire father/daughter dance or 2) use the song to punish my daughter when she’s grounded for sneaking out of the house or whatever it is the kids are doing in 2026. She will have to sit and listen to the song on repeat until she realizes that life is simpler when you’re little and she’s in trouble because I love her too much, not because I’m a mean mummy! Looks like I’ll be going with door #2!

Fashion de Bebe

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Have kids and babies always been so fashionable? Or is it a new trend that I’ve only started to notice since joining the mummy club? When I look at baby pictures of myself — I wasn’t dolled up in leopard print or pink, frilly tutus with the words “Princess” and “Glamour Girl” printed on them in big, glittery letters. My mom dressed me in floral rompers and white Little House on the Prairie bonnets. (See below.) Now does this call into play my own mother’s sense of style? Or was that all she had to pick from? (My mom claims to have good fashion sense, but I’ve seen pictures that have made me question her taste level…but maybe the 80’s were to blame for those fashion misses.)

Today’s baby clothes are anything but boring. There’s cargo pants for little boys. What for? To hold their Swiss army knife? There’s even high-heeled shoes for little girls who can’t walk yet! Whaaa? Then there’s the countless onesies with silly slogans turning your kid  into a walking, er, sitting billboard. It seems like we’re rushing them into being grown ups. (I don’t want to delve into that whole ugly mess about what’s age appropriate, but it has opened up my eyes as a new mom.)

Babies couldn’t care less if they’re wearing the newest designer threads. All they care about is if it’s clean and dry. It makes me laugh how obsessed we are to have mini-me’s running around. Guitars & skulls for boys and animal print & rhinestones for girls. I’m going to sound like the biggest hypocrite because I can’t help myself when it comes to leopard print…but everything in moderation.

For wanting to keep her a baby as long as possible, I didn’t start off that way. In the beginning, I admit that I didn’t even want her room to look like a nursery. My vision was of a bright and modern kid’s room with an eclectic mix of colors and accents. Her room is just what I wanted. But whenever I see the quintessential nursery with soft pastel colors and perfectly swathed cradle, it makes me want to redecorate. So, will I look back at her photos years from now and wish I hadn’t dressed her in zebra leggings with a hot pink shirt instead of opting for a more classic look of a white dress with tiny rosebuds on it? Who knows! But what I do know is that she looks too adorable for words in whatever she’s wearing, so I’m sure I won’t have any regrets.

Inside Voices

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There’s no telling a baby to use her inside voice, and this is precisely the reason why we haven’t visited the library yet. It seems that my daughter has officially found her voice, and it is anything but quiet. She went from sweet babblings to full-blown conversational dialogue. Sure, she sounds like a mini-German fascist spouting off propaganda and her chin is covered in more drool than a bulldog’s jowls by the time she’s done, but she’s happy as a clam to be “talking.”

She’s literally one of those people who talks just to hear her own voice. I’m waiting on pins and needles to hear her say “Ma-ma” and “Da-da” and actually understand what those words mean. But veteran parents tell me that once they start talking, they don’t shut up and you’ll never have peace and quiet again. The first time I heard this, I looked at my sweet bundle and thought, I’ll never want you to shut up. Have I wanted to silence other people’s children? Does a bear shit in the woods…of course!! Other people’s kids are annoying but my own perfect angel baby?The center of my world and fruit of my loins? Never! The unsolicited advice was like someone telling you not to get married as you’re standing in your dress mere seconds from walking down the aisle. It’s mean and unneccesary…not to mention waaayy too late. Yes, you can think it, but keep it to yourself!

I’m sure there will be times when mummy needs a break from the noisy chaos that is the very definition of children, but for now I’m enjoying every new “word” and sound that comes barreling out of her mouth. It’s only in the middle of the night when she wakes up to practice her new skill that I’m thankful for the pacifier and the silence that follows.

My Second Baby

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I gave birth to an iPhone and didn’t even know it! This is a true statement in the fact that I treat my phone like it’s my second baby: coddling it, cradling it, all but wrapping it in a soft, fluffy blanket and rocking it to sleep while singing You Are My Sunshine. It’s shameful how much I’m on my phone and I’m even more embarrassed to admit this. I want the world to think that I’m a good mom who couldn’t be bothered with Words with Friends, Facebook, or What to Expect. Yet, I’m practically addicted to these apps.

The hubby and I upgraded to smart phones a few weeks after we had our daughter. I was attracted to a phone that could take clear pictures and video since I was all about documenting every second with our little girl. I could care less about the apps…until I realized how easy it was to keep current on everything without bothering with my laptop. Soon, we were just like all our other friends with smart phones —  constantly padding the screens with our fingertips and looking up random things that we just had to know the answers to right away — important things — like who that one guy from that one movie was. Critical stuff!

A week ago, I let my daughter play with my phone because there’s a baby piano app that she enjoys. (I’m so conflicted about letting her play with it anyway. It goes against everything I thought I stood for…but it makes her happy. Which scares me just the same because it leaves me wondering if I’m going to be one of those parents who lets their kid do whatever he wants just as long as he’s happy and quiet. “Now Timmy, be careful playing with that grenade…”) Anyway, there she was composing her next sonata when I didn’t even notice she went from playing to chewing and drooling all over it instead. Long story short, she drooled into the speakers, shorting them. I was distraught, worried that she ruined my phone for good. But three hours later, it dried and was fine. I felt so foolish for getting upset about my stupid phone. It is, after all, only a phone and not my second baby, or even a baby at all!

Where Is the Snooze Button on This Baby?

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“5 more minutes, mom.” I’m not pleading with my mom though, I’m pleading with my baby! Wouldn’t it be so nice if she did have a snooze button. She doesn’t —  I’ve looked all over. To be able to push on her head like Small Wonder and sleep for at least ten more minutes would be glorious. But you know I’d start to abuse it, snoozing for at least an hour. Why do we do that to ourselves? I remember going through a phase when I was younger that I would purposely set my alarm clock for a half hour earlier and hit the snooze until I really had to get up. Is that why it’s so hard to tear myself from the covers now? Or is it because it’s not on my terms?

A baby dictates the schedule from day one. If she’s crying, you’re up trying to soothe her. When she’s awake for the day (even if she’s just babbling to herself in her crib) that means you’re awake too. When she’s taken a massive dump in her pants and you can smell it down the hallway, you don’t get to change her diaper when it’s convenient for you. You change that dirty diaper even if your eyes are still full of sleep. When she’s screaming because she’s starving even though she just ate two hours earlier, then it’s boobie time. Forget that you were in the middle of a dream where you were kissing James Franco. My favorite is when she’s up earlier than normal — happy and smiling at the crack-o-dawn. I bring her in my bed to show her it’s still sleepy time, but she’s bright-eyed and ready to play. She slaps me on the face and tries out her newest, loudest vocalizations. Only when I fully give up on trying to sleep and surrender to the day, does she decide that she’s tired again and needs her morning nap. She’s got a cruel sense of humor. (But at least she has one.)

Babies don’t have snooze buttons, but what a wonderful world if they did.

The Top 5 Things I Realize Now

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The Top 5 Things I Realize Now That I’m a Mummy

1) Boobs are Overrated. It’s not like they can cook you dinner or wish you a happy birthday, so why all the fuss? Why did I wish I’d wake up with the chest of a Victoria’s Secret model when I was a teenager? We’ll blame TV and the media. Now I realize that fun bags are just that–fun to look at for 5 minutes then they’re just…there. And now that I’ve experienced both worlds, I’d rather go back to how they used to be! (Maybe that’s #6–appreciate what your Mama gave ya!)

2) It’s Not About the Stuff. For months before I had my baby, I’d obsess about all of the things we needed to have before she arrived. The crib, the obnoxiously expensive rocking chair and baby bouncer, the clothes, blankets, beanies, and nursery decor. Who knew babies needed so much crap! But they don’t…it was me thinking I needed the crap. The baby gets here and poops and vomits on everything and you wondered why you cared so much about all the stuff.

3) Date Nights Are Crucial. Romance isn’t something that comes easily after eight years of marriage, and it was the last thing on my mind after giving birth. But now I realize that making time for just the two of us is more important than ever. Plus, it’s nice to clean the poop from under your fingernails, change into something that doesn’t smell like sour milk, and go out (even if you’re just pretending not to think about your baby every 10 seconds.)

4) Judge Lest Ye Be Judged. I used to get annoyed with screaming kids in public. Who wouldn’t, am I right? I used to hide in nearby aisles, grumbling and vowing that I would never be that mom. But I realize now that the mom of the temper-tantrum, shrieking child is going to be me one day. Luckily, my baby hasn’t made me sweat too badly yet, but I know it’s a matter of time. And I hope when that time comes, people will not be so quick to judge but will offer a knowing smile instead of a scowl.

5) Chores CAN wait: I like a clean house. I like organization and order. But I LOVE my daughter. Sometimes I panic that time is going by too quickly and why am I wasting all this time with dishes and dusting? Do I want to look back and remember having a clean house or remember the day we rolled around on the floor laughing and playing with her toys? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be on Hoarders anytime ever, but I realize now that the dishes will still be there tomorrow while my daughter will be a day older.

Show Me Your Teeth…

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is not just the name of a freaky & fun Lady Gaga song — it’s what I’ve been singing to my baby because she’s been teething for what feels like forever and still no sign of her first pearly white. I know it’s causing her pain and wrecking havoc on our “normal” routine so I keep telling myself that once it finally comes through, my sweet happy girl will return to us. Lately she’s been like Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde…happy and blowing raspberries one minute then screaming bloody murder the next. Teeth are the devil, I tell ya!

Why couldn’t mother nature have all the teeth pop through at once? Because it would be so freaking painful our heads would explode? Probably. I wish it were as easy as one night she goes to sleep with her toothless grin and the next morning she wakes up looking like those creepy toddlers in beauty pageants who were those fake “flippers” to present a flawless smile. Well, I don’t really want her to look like one of them, but if she woke up and had all her teeth at once, it would be a lot easier on all of us. Getting this first tooth to pop through is just the tip of the iceberg. How many teeth are in the human mouth? 26? 32? What a looooong road ahead of  more drool than Niagara Falls and more screaming than a banshee. My poor little bebe.

At the same time, I’m dreading the first tooth to appear because that means we’re really leaving the baby days behind us and I’d like to keep her little as long as I can. So maybe I should stop singing Lady Gaga and enjoy the toothless grins while I still have them!

The Olden Days

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It dawned on me that my daughter will never know a world without cell phones, texting, sexting (god forbid), The Internet, and Facebook unless we move to the mountains of Appalachia and live amongst the Hill People. That’s never going to happen because her father and I love having indoor plumbing and 7-11’s on every corner.

When I was growing up we had one old IBM computer, a phone that plugged into the wall–a cordless one at tha t– and a Zenith TV you had to hit hard on the right side when the color went out. A far cry from today’s smart phones, laptops, and widescreen TVs.

I was nineteen or twenty when I got my first cell phone — a dinosaur by today’s standards. These days my daughter will have enough money saved up from the Tooth Fairy to buy her first phone by the time she’s seven. (This Tooth Fairy forks out a lot of dough, I hear.) Note to self: tell my daughter the Tooth Fairy retired.

I tried to imagine what my teenage years would have been like if we had cell phones, texting, and unlimited Internet. Cue the music from Aladdin because it woulda been A Whole New World! If I do break down and allow her to have a phone when she’s a teen I’ll have to take the good with the bad…just like The Facts of Life. Good: I’d be able to get a hold of her whenever. Bad: cyber-bullying and potential video-chatting with boys.

I guess I have to get over the fact that my daughter will grow up in a drastically different world than I did. Hopefully she’ll be an old soul and prefer how things were in the olden days — the days of Saved by the Bell Saturday mornings and when books were things on a shelf not in a Kindle. If not, guess we’re packing up and moving to Kentucky.

My Little Foodie

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“This smells like it already came out her other end,” I thought as I spooned pea green sludge into my daughter’s mouth. I expected her to turn into The Exorcist spewing pureed peas all over the place. But she actually liked it and opened up for another bite.

I don’t think I’ve EVER eaten peas in my life — except for ones hidden in a lasagna or casserole. I’m not a fan of vegetables unless they’re raw, and then they have to be smothered in a mayonnaise-based dressing for me to even consider them. The smell of steamed vegetables takes me back to being six-years-old and a victim of my brother’s stinky farts (my mom made a lot of broccoli back then.) This is just one reason why certain veggies trigger my gag reflex.

As I sat feeding my daughter her first taste of peas, it got me wondering how could I expect her to eat vegetables when I don’t even like them? I must admit that I don’t have a refined palette and I’d rather eat Skittles than brussel sprouts, but my tastes have matured over the past ten years. I used to survive on a diet of Frosted Flakes and candy but now I’ll eat asparagus and bell peppers…big steps for someone like me. I want to set up good eating habits early for my daughter — heck she’s already got me beat by a long shot. In my mind she’s going to become an accomplished chef making dishes with sunchoke tomatoes and whatever else fancy ingredients they use on Top Chef.

I think I’ll invest in one of those cookbooks where the vegetables are hidden in the dishes…pretty sad when it’s for my sake and not hers!

*Funnymummy apologizes for the gross-out picture…but a visual was neccesary.*