Tag Archives: Humor

Girls Rule…

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

Sugar & spice and everything nice or frogs & snails and puppy-dogs’ tails? I tend to like sugar over frogs. But that’s just me. And snails…eww!

Depends on who you ask, but most parents have an opinion on the easier gender to parent (if that even exists). When I was pregnant, we were Team Green, not pink or blue. That sounds like Team Hermaphrodite, but that’s what you call a couple who doesn’t know the sex of their baby. Much to the dismay of most of our family and all of our friends, I wanted to be surprised to find out our baby’s gender. Secretly I was hoping for a girl even after everyone told me that boys are easier (not that like would’ve changed anything anyway). I would’ve loved a son just the same, but in my heart I wanted a daughter.

A lot of parents say that boys are easier than girls. What about boys equals easy? The fact that they like to play in the mud, shoot things with pretend guns, and are accident-prone? I always thought boys were troublemakers, but that’s probably because I grew up with two older brothers. To me, a baby girl meant frilly dresses, tea parties, and dolls…things I know more about than Tonka trucks and lizards. I’m guessing that girls are more difficult than boys when they get older and the sassiness kicks in. Duh! I’m still keeping my fingers crossed that she’s a late late bloomer and somehow knows how much I wished for her.

It’s funny that anyone could claim a girl or boy is easier. At the end of the day, they’re still kids and we only have ourselves to blame for how they turn out…damn!

Addicted to Sleep Sheep

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

Insomniac sounds like maniac for a reason.

When I’m sleep-deprived (which is often these days) I turn into a delirious lunatic, putting the milk in the pantry and spewing mean insults at my hubby in the middle of the night, with no recollection of what I called him in the morning. What’s even more upsetting is that when I finally get to rest my weary bones, I’m wide awake as if I had just taken 5 shots of caffeine. You’d think I’d collapse right into sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but no. I toss and turn like a madwoman. Then I start thinking of the baby waking up and how I’m wasting precious sleep time, which only delays slumber even longer. It’s beyond frustrating!

It’s probably my own fault because I haven’t really tried to fix the problem. No warm milk, counting sheep, or reading a book. I just lay there, willing the Sandman to visit.

I’ve never been a sound sleeper. I thought if there was any time in my life when I wouldn’t have trouble falling asleep, it’d be as a new mom. What’s worse is that my hubby closes his eyes and is asleep in 2 seconds, leaving me listening to the whistle of his breathing that sometimes sounds like our daughter crying, which in turn causes my stomach to seize as if on a rollercoaster. Oi vey!

I’d give anything to fall asleep whenever, wherever. However, pitch black and complete silence are required. I hope my daughter doesn’t have the same problem. They say not to be quiet when she’s asleep, yet it’s instinctual to whisper whenever she’s napping. And if the dogs bark — forgetaboutit —  in their crate they go. I doubt she’ll end up like me because she doesn’t even need the white noise machine I stole from her to use as my own. So pathetic, I know. And now I’m addicted.

Some sweet souls try to tell me that sleep is overrated. But when it’s 3 am and you’re the one dragging your butt from a comfy bed to soothe a screaming mimi only to lay back down and be wide awake, then you can tell me that I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Because functioning on less than six hours of sleep sure makes you feel like you’re already there!

I Drank the Kool-Aid

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

It seems by our recent purchase of an SUV, I’m officially in the Mommy Club. Wasn’t expelling a human from my insides enough? I thought to be inducted into the club, you had to be pooped, peed, and barfed on all in one day. Apparently, the ante has been upped! To be a “real” mom, you have to look the part, and a mini-van or an SUV is at the top of that list. But there was no way in hell the hubby and I were going to buy a mini-van. I grew up with vans my whole life and that was where I drew the line. Cars are not meant to have sliding doors capable of hacking off a limb or curtains in the windows. Forget the vans with no windows…we all know what those are called: Chester the Molester vans! (As a side note: Why are they always poop brown or pumpkin orange?)

Driving my suburban mom vehicle does, in fact, make me feel more like a mom. I’ve only had a handful of “you know you’re a mom” moments so far. One was when I used spit to wipe my daughter’s face and another was when I picked a booger out of her nose without any hesitation.

Now that I’m a member of the Soccer Mom Cult, I couldn’t be happier. I love how high the car is, how it feels like I’m maneuvering a tank down the street, taking up the whole road. I know they’re gas guzzlers and not the best for the environment, but it feels safer than our old smaller car. Plus, we have room for all her things when we take a road trip now. There’s nothing like packing for a 2 day trip with a baby. You can’t bring enough stuff!

All my mom ride is missing is a “My Kid is an Honor Roll Student…” bumper sticker. Those stickers are so cheesy and cliché, but you know if my little Einstein brings one home I’ll slap it on there faster than you can say E=mc squared. What a proud Soccer mummy I will be!

Intimidated By My Own Authority

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

When my mom counted to 3 —  she meant business.

I want to be the type of mummy who has no qualms yelling at kids who are doing something wrong. But I haven’t found my “mom” voice yet. Nor have I perfected my “mom” look. You know the one. The one where you nearly crap your pants if  you’ve done something to warrant it.

Last week I was at the library with my niece. She was putting on a very humorous puppet show about a dancing chameleon and a sick frog when a young boy, probably four years old, walked up and stripped the puppet from her hand. My niece was so upset, but she just looked at him like the bully that he was and sulked to herself. I wanted to steal the puppet back from this little tyrant (maybe even whack him on the nose with it like a poorly behaved dog*) but I did nothing. His own mother was sitting nearby, oblivious to his antics. Then I wanted to speak up for my niece, but I couldn’t find any words. Who am I to reprimand someone else’s child? I’d be asking for a beat down in the kid’s section of the public library. It’s not like this mom was Hulk Hogan or anything, but some parents are crazy these days. I wished this boy’s mother would’ve been paying attention and fixed the situation, but she didn’t. So we moved on to the puzzles. But it irked me.

I have this huge block when it comes to telling other people’s kids what to do. (How I substitute taught for 6 months is beyond me!) For some reason I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or piss off anyone so I usually just freeze like a deer in headlights. It seems I’m intimidated by my own authority. That sounds ridiculous. You would think that from the moment I became a mom I’d be wielding my authority all over the place. Yelling at teenagers driving too fast down our street. Shushing noisy kids in the movie theater. Bitch-slapping anyone smoking near my baby. But no, I can’t even stand up to an ill-mannered 4-year-old. I’m sure I’ll get there…eventually and when I do, watch out all you little heathens!

*onefunnymummy does not condone violence against animals of any kind! : )

What’s Next, Baby Tattoos?

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

Wait, let me get this straight…you want me to take our sweet baby girl to a mall so a gum-snapping, hair-flipping 17-year-old named Kimberley can shoot spikes into her delicate ear lobes? No sir! Ain’t gonna happen! Baby’s don’t get tattoos, why should they get piercings?

My hubby wants to get our baby’s ears pierced, but I’m not convinced. I think it’s funny that he even has an opinion on the subject, yet it’s endearing at the same time. How could I put permanent holes in my daughter’s precious ears? My job is to protect her, not to inflict unnecessary pain for the sake of decoration. She’s not a Christmas tree, for Pete’s sake! What does she need embellishments for? She’s gorgeous, as is!

I feel terrible when she bonks her head on the side of her crib or face plants when attempting to crawl, so how would I feel when she’s screaming in agony from a piercing gun harpooning her miniature lobes? I’m guessing like the worst mom in the world!

My mom took me to get my ears pierced when I was 6 months old, a fact I often bragged about. She did it because I was bald and people would mistake me for a boy. To this day, I’m happy to have my ears pierced and no recollection of going through the painful process. So I wonder if I should go ahead and make the decision for my daughter, or just wait until the day she can ask me herself. What’s a mummy to do?

If her doctor’s office did the procedure, I’d be more inclined to get them done sooner than later, but they don’t. I asked. I just can’t bring myself to take her to a mall to have it done. How could I live with myself if something went wrong or they got infected. I look at her beautiful face and smooth skin and think nothing could be more perfect in this world…how could I mar her by putting metal studs in her ears? It seems insane!

The more I think about it, the more I want to wait until she comes to me and asks to have it done. Even then I’m making her daddy take her. Let him be the bad guy for once!

My #1 Wish

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

To stop time or at least be able to pause it like on the awesome 80’s sitcom,      Out of This World. All Evie had to do was touch her index fingers together, and voila, time simply froze. It was only when she clapped her hands like cymbals that time would pick up where it left off. If I had this ability, I could keep my daughter a baby for a little longer because her days as an infant are speeding by. Plus, think of all the laundry and dishes I could get done. Who am I kidding? I’d be sleeping all day and watching reality TV marathons.

In only 10 days, she’ll be 8 months old and I seriously don’t know how that happened. I don’t like using the term literally, but it literally feels like we just celebrated her 7 month milestone. Now I know why people have more babies…to show time who’s boss!

When I was little, our family used to go on an annual trip to a church camp in the mountains. I wasn’t so thrilled about the church part, but man did I love the snow and ice-skating part. 100 days before our departure, I counted down on the dry-erase board in my room. It took f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

It’s weird that you wait and wait an epic 280 day (sometimes longer) countdown when you’re pregnant just to meet your little munchkin. You keep telling yourself that it will be here before you know it, even though it feels light-years away. But then as soon as you pop that sucker out — wham! Time decides to fly by at “ludicrous speed” to quote Spaceballs.

Now that I’m a mom, my life has become a constant deja-vu moment or Groundhog’s Day. It feels like a hazy dream where I know what will happen next. Except that it’s not a dream, she really does need to eat and be changed again. I wish I could go back to when it felt like I had all the time in the world instead of laying in bed at night wondering how another day managed to sneak by.

Whoever said that time flies when you’re having fun is right. My days are so filled up with love and happiness (not to mention monotony and repetition) that time just sort of stopped existing for me. So, in a way, I guess I got my wish. Maybe I should’ve wished for a billion dollars instead!

Screaming Baby On Board

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

A wailing baby is a valid reason for speeding (not to mention other infractions when driving)! I haven’t gotten a ticket yet (knock on wood) but there have been times when I’ve gone from Driving Miss Daisy to Evil Knievel in 60 seconds or less. When your child is screaming bloody murder from the confines of her car seat just a few inches from your head, it’s not easy to block her out. As a side note, I’m pretty sure cranking up the radio to drown her cries is frowned upon in the parenting handbook.

Yellow lights are met with a burst of speed instead of braking and corners are cut a little sharper than normal…whatever to get you home and her out the quickest! I’m not proud of this, but it’s the truth. I usually pride myself on being a super safe driver especially since having my daughter, but sometimes a lead foot is necessary.

There is a solution. New parents should be issued a pink or blue siren for the roof of their cars which magnifies their child’s screams so the world can hear what Mummy or Daddy is dealing with.

A baby on board sticker won’t cut it! Baby meltdowns are enough to make even the safest, most cautious driver break the rules. It’s a truth serum of sorts because I would reveal my deepest, darkest secrets to make the crying stop. These sirens wouldn’t work unless the baby was screaming so parents couldn’t abuse it.

Where do I sign up?

Most of the time, I’m able to plan outings accordingly so baby doesn’t have a meltdown, but there are the rare occasions that she’s tired or hungry which will always trigger a screamfest and frazzled nerves for Mummy. No matter how many times you tell her calmly that we’re almost home, she only screams louder. Until I get my siren, I guess I’ll have to remember to slow down, stop at yellow lights, and try my best to soothe my tiny road-rager without losing my cool.

Bad Mom Complex

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

Ultimately, I know I’m a good mom because I don’t smoke crack and I haven’t forgotten my baby anywhere…yet . But there’s this silly part of me that worries, “I don’t want them to think I’m a bad mom.” It’s a phrase I use too much these days. My hubby is constantly flabbergasted that anyone would call me a bad mom, yet I’m always so preoccupied thinking about it.

“Uh oh, we better put socks on her feet or someone will say I’m a bad mom. She scratched her face because her nails are too long. She yakked all over herself and there isn’t a spare onesie in the diaper bag. Shame on me!”

I put a lot of  pressure on myself to be “perfect” at my new job as Mummy. I guess I’m going to have to get over my perfectionist ways, and quickly! I’ve learned that baby + perfect don’t mix unless you’re talking about how perfectly cute she is! Things don’t always go as smoothly as you envisioned, but hopefully everyone survives and maybe you learn what not to do next time. I guess this is probably how my parents felt at one point, and look at me — I still have all of my fingers and toes.

Guilt fuels my “bad mom complex.” Take for instance, this blog, which I love working on. Most days I write while she naps, but other days I find myself typing in between playing with her while we sit on the floor. I should be focusing all my attention on her, yet I’m not. Nothing like a baby trying to eat a power cord to get you to stop working though! Yikes! I try to rationalize my guilt by saying that a mom who works from home would be battling the same issues and since writing is my job (even though I don’t get paid for it) it’s okay. Yet somehow the “bad mom complex” rages on!

It’s so easy to say “The hell what other people think,” but it’s another thing to actually teach yourself this carefree attitude once you’ve been a people pleaser since you were born. I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing and hopefully when she’s thirty she’ll have all of her fingers and toes.

Super Nanny = Birth Control?

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

Why didn’t I ever watch Super Nanny before I went and got knocked up?!? Had I tuned in, perhaps my husband would’ve won the argument to remain a kid-free household. (We all know who won that one!) But now that we have our beautiful daughter we’re glad we took the leap to become parents. I can’t imagine not ever knowing her. Ask us again in thirteen years…we might be singing a different tune. Then again, some of the worst of these hellions is under the age of five. So we might be closer than we think to dealing with our own little Tasmanian devil.

Lord, I hope that I never need the help of Super Nanny. The children on this show scare the crap out of me. Cussing, hitting, screaming, breaking things, extinguishing their parents’ will to live. I don’t know who’s going to be the disciplinarian out of the two of us. My hubby likes to think he will be a strict dad…but we all know what super strict parents gets you. Hello, rebel without a cause! I refuse to be a grandma at 45 though, so maybe he’s right when it comes to setting rigid rules. But our daughter already has him wound so tightly around her itty bitty finger, I doubt he’ll be anything but a big ol’ softie! I’ll probably end up the bad cop…naturally.

I never put much thought into the actual parenting part that goes in to bringing up baby, or at least I never made it past the diapering stage!(Surely, I can’t be the only one? ) You think you get pregnant, have your bundle, and ride, sail, or drift off into the sunset…until one day you realize that the decisions you make will shape this little baby’s world and then you have your first ever panic attack! So, I try not to think about the day she’ll shout that she hates me, wishes she was never born, and slams her bedroom door in my face. For now, our biggest hurdle is when she becomes a fusspot because she missed a nap…nothing Super Mummy can’t handle!

1 Thing I Would Go Back and Tell my 13-Year-Old Self

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Don’t hate your body! Easier said than done! I recently came across a photo album from when I was so young I couldn’t even order a drink in a bar, or cast my first ballot…we’re talking young. Looking at the photos with my 30-year-old eyes, I saw myself much differently than how I saw myself then. I was so skinny, and cute, and…insecure. As a teenager, I didn’t despise what my Mama gave me, but if a genie came along and granted me 3 wishes, one of them probably would’ve been to look like Niki Taylor. Shallow, I know.

I’d say I had the “normal” amount of body image issues growing up– no eating disorders, but I wasn’t completely comfortable in my own skin either. But who is at that age? Not many teens, especially girls. Which brings me to my next question. How am I going to make sure my daughter doesn’t end up with a warped body image? Take all the mirrors out of the house? Disconnect our cable & internet and never buy a fashion magazine again? That’s a start.

I know I have to put more emphasis on intelligence and what’s on the inside…yada yada yada, but I wish there was some magic button I could press that would relieve her of ever having to worry about her weight or what size she is. It’s really appalling how early all of this madness starts these days. Maybe I’ll teach her what a wise woman once told me a long time ago (not really, it was yesterday). She said, “Love the jeans you’re in now,” meaning be proud of what you’ve got no matter what size you are, because you might look back and realize you were hot stuff when you thought you were a schlub. She went on to say that it never really goes away either…fan-frickin-tastic! Although I’m not in the jeans I want to be in post-baby, I need to embrace them because in ten years I might look back and say, “Mummy wasn’t so bad after all!”