Things I Want.


This is a list of things I want. 


1.  I want to use the bathroom without an audience which always includes no less than six hot wheel cars.

2.  I want to sit for longer than three minutes before someone needs something.

3.  I want to shower without having to say, please close the curtain.

4.  In the middle of the night I want to be able to get up without tripping over those same cars that watched me in the bathroom.

5.  I want to have a conversation once and be done with it.  Not have the same one everyday for a solid week.

6.  While talking about talking,  I want to have a conversation without being interrupted six times for a cup of juice/snack/toy/or to fix a toy that they broke.

7.  I want a clean house for more then four hours.  (While they are sleeping)

8.  I want my backyard to look less like a little tikes graveyard and more like a serene quiet park.

9.  I want my children to stay clothed for more then twenty minutes.


10.  Most importantly,  I want to walk into my house and not see penis.  Seriously, are my kids the only ones who have an aversion to underwear and pants?

I realize that these wants, are just sweet dreams that may never be attainable.   And surprisingly,  I’m okay with that, except number ten.  I really ready to stop seeing penis.

The tenth year



Ten long/short years have flown by.  We have weathered many storms and we’ve seen so many beautiful sunrises.  We have spent so much time and energy worrying about the present, questioning our past, and discussing our future.  But…there has been so much more time spent living in the moment, laughing at and loving each other.

This is incredibly difficult for me to write.  Words cannot describe the love I have for you.  There isn’t a word that can sum up my feelings for you, our marriage, and our family.  You have been my rock, my punching bag, my sanity through some of the hardest times in my life.  You keep me grounded when I float too high in the sky, yet let me soar to the clouds with my dreams.  You are my soulmate.  You are my end all and be all. 

Ten years.  Ten years ago when we met, I was lost.  I was on a sinking ship and I didn’t know how to swim.  You walked into my life and taught me how.  You taught me that life can be whatever you want to make it.  No dream is stupid.  Every idea is worth exploring.    Don’t ever stop dreaming Jason.  You are amazing.  You have a child like innocence,  which admittedly,  drives me insane.  You love with your entire heart.  No matter how many times someone steps on it, you keep loving.  I’m still learning to do that.  It comes much harder for me. 

In ten years we’ve done a lot of things, traveled to a lot of places, and created a ton of memories.   But my fondest memories will always be you and I sitting and laughing.  Laughing at each other, laughing at other people,  just laughing.  (We are funny people.  Like really funny.)

As we embark on the next years, I can only hope that we continue to love, laugh and support each other.  I will always be by your side.  I promise you that no matter what, I will love you til my last breath. 

Happy anniversary,  Jason. 

Love always


P.s.  I had no idea I stick my tongue out so much in pictures.

Dear crank and spank


One day I might not be here when you read this blog.  One day you might stumble upon this as you are researching your thesis on sarcastic mothers and the damage they do to young children.   One day you might ask why do these people know me?  Know my brother?  And keep calling me the terrible.  One day you might wonder which one of you is crank and which one is spank.  (I’m not telling you).  Anyway, how ever you stumble upon this blog, there are some things I need you to know.  I’m writing this close to your third birthday.  In three long short years, you have grown leaps and bounds. 

You are and will always be my greatest accomplishment.   I will always be proud of you.  I will always be in your corner.  I promise to listen when you talk.  To offer advice, to teach you, to love you more everyday.

I promise when you need me, I will be there.  I will run, swim, crawl to you.  I will always answer your phone calls.  Day or night, no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I will answer.

I promise to be your biggest fan.  I will be there cheering you on.  Whether it is baseball or ballet, I’ll be beaming with pride. 

I promise to tell you when you’ve fucked up.  I promise to help you make it right.

I promise not to be your best friend, rather, your mother.  A mother who has loved you since before you were born.  A mother who has rules and structure.   Not so much that you feel smothered, but just enough to make you a functional adult.

I promise to let you be you.  Whatever that may be.  All I ask is that you have tolerance to people not like you.

I have been talking to you since before you were born.  I have loved you since the moment you were conceived. (Don’t think about that for too long).  I have been proud to be your mother since the day you were born.  I love you with every single fiber of my being. 

Happy third birthday crank and spank.  The best three years of my life.


The marathon


Training for this particular marathon is particularly grueling.   It takes tenacity,  stamina,  and agility.   It takes a mental strength that only the roughest, toughest soldier is capable of.  You must be disciplined and determined.   You must keep your eye on the prize.

I’ll admit I started training months ago.  I wasn’t truly committed to it.  I had no idea what was in store for me.  The dedication to training, alone, may break some people.  It could crack even the hardest of criminals.  So now we are in what I affectionately call, Potty Training Boot Camp.

Boot camp started Monday.
Monday morning 0800 hours to be exact.

Me:  we are going to wear big boy underwear and use the potty all day!

Alex:  ok, mommy.  Takes his diaper off. 
Refuses to put underwear on.

Ben:  noooooo,  (words I don’t understand) tears, and finally naked.  Still lots of talk about how much he loves his diapers

Me:  let’s pick out underwear.

1100 hours.  (Yes 3 hours later)

Me:  yay!  We now have big boy underwear on!  Anytime you feel like you need to go, just tell me and we will sit on the potty.

Alex and ben:  okay.  Stand there look at me and pee.

Me:  hey that’s ok.  We will just clean this up and put new ones on.

Ben:  I want my diaper on.

Alex:  I want a tow truck.

Me:  no and no, we will try this again.

1400 hours.

Nap time.  Diapers on.

1600 hours.

Daddy comes home.  They never make it back into underwear.

Day two

Same as day one.  House begins to smell like a frat house.

Day three.

HOUSE STILL SMELLS despite the three tubs of lysol wipes and mopping the floors several times.

Day four.
0800 hours

Alex:  I’m going to pick out my underwear.

Me:  yes please do.  And Ben you too.

Ben:  mom wait one minute, I’m busy.

Me:  busy?  Doing what? 

Ben:  pooping and playing mommy.

Me:  ok.  Buddy listen you need to use the potty.

Ben:  no mom, I’m okay.  I’m just pooping in my diaper.  (They are still wearing diapers to bed…I think that’s a smart move on our part) 

Alex:  mommy!  Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Look!  Look!  I pooped.  I pooped on the potty.

Me:  that’s great alex!!  Please get it away from my face.  You did awesome.   Now please get it away from me.  (They are using the little training potty with the pot that pulls out)  he didn’t pick poop out of the toilet and hand it to me.  Although, I do not put it past either one of them.

Day five

Me to Jason:  I think Alex has this potty thing down.  Ben…not so much.  But he’s trying.

Jason:  I’m going to start drinking if this lasts much longer.

Me:  start?  Huh.  I’ve been drinking for about 3 years.

Jason:  yeah I know.  Why do you think I always offer to drive.

Me:  dickface.  You said it’s because you get car sick.

Jason:  I do…when you drive.

Me:  dick.

Day six

We go to walmart for more underwear and a birthday present.   All of us.  And all of us are wearing underwear.  And none of us peed ourselves.

Victory is mine!

We go to the birthday party.  I bring two changes of clothing, just in case.   We leave the party with no extra clothing and a plastic bag of dirty underwear. 

Defeated again.  The training continues….


Stranger Danger…sorta


Strangers like to give cranky and spanky things.  Those things vary from stranger to stranger.   Usually they are very much appreciated by both me and them.  This happens so often the boys think it’s normal.  They are like the Kardashians of the toddler world. You know, have no actual skill other than being pretty. Ben knows if he smiles at an old lady in the supermarket, she will gush over him and ultimately give him something.  (One time a little old lady gave them each 50 cents to get candy)   I didnt want to break it to her that is no such thing as penny candy anymore.  The ladies at the bank have given them, piggy banks, dvds about counting money, flash cards, and of course lolipops.  In the mall, store clerks have given them free shoes, toys and rides on the carousel.   But most notably was the gentleman driving past our house yesterday.  He stopped and gave them two huge tonka trucks….he is their hero.


Now of course the distrustful new jerseyian in me always looks for the catch.  But these all seem to be well meaning people that are just happy to be seeing double. 

   This is going to raise some  serious issues.  Most notably, stranger danger.  Stranger danger is real and needs to be addressed early and often.  Both Jason and I have talked to them at nauseum about the topic.  They are getting better, but can you blame a 3 year old for talking to a stranger who is offering them a ball, or truck?  I get it.  I really do.  I find them pretty cute too. 

    The second issue is, they sorta have been conditioned to believe people will give them things just for being cute.  This is not how Jason and I intended to raise them.  That saying, you don’t get something for nothing doesn’t seem to apply to them.  I don’t want them walking through life thinking all they need is a smile.  Hard work, determination,  intelligence,  a kind heart, and of course you can throw in a nice smile;  those are the things that get you somewhere in life. 

   The third issue, facing the facts of puberty,  they are not always going to be the cute, sweet little boys that they are now.  Pimples, body odor, and facial hair will happen.  (The b.o. has already started. they play hard).  One day, people won’t make such a fuss.  One day, they will just be teenagers.   I cry a little everytime I think about it.  They will be gross, and annoying.  They won’t get the attention that they do today.  Will they understand it’s because they are in fact gross and annoying teenage boys?  Or will it crush their self esteem? 

   Maybe I’m thinking too much into all of this.  Maybe just maybe, we have done a good enough job as parents, that the kindness of strangers will be just that.  Kindness.  Maybe if we are really lucky, they will repay that kindness to the world around them.


The worst date EVER.


Believe it or not the terrible are usually pretty good when we are out in public.  (When it’s just me and them). When the four of us leave the house it seems that cranky and spanky turn into feral cats.  I blame their father for this.  That’s another post for another time.  Anyway, I’m not sure if it’s because they feel bad that it’s two against one or I’ve actually done a decent job of parenting.  But they listen, follow directions, and generally don’t complain too much.  I really enjoy our adventures…usually.


Last night I took them to a consignment sale.  (A sale where parents sell their kid’s shit outgrown stuff to parents that need their shit stuff). Side note:  I love these sales because the terrible tend to destroy clothing, toys, and other necessities, so why bother buying new.  Ok anyway, I told them they could each pick out a toy while I shopped for deals on summer clothes.  (Which I got.  Two dollars a shirt and three dollar swim trucks!). They were well behaved.

Because it was dinner time and I was enjoying their company I decided to take them to a restaurant as a treat.  I have taken them out to eat many times and they are pretty good.  I can’t expect miracles, after all they are two and a half. 

We sat down, I ordered their food, (hot dogs and applesauce), and started looking at the menu for myself.  They took this opportunity to crawl under the table.  Once firmly planted back in the seats, I started looking at the menu again.  They crawled under the table, of the people across from us.  Thank god for old women.  They didn’t care, and just wanted to know if they were twins.  So now I’m annoyed.  They poor waitress had been over to take my order three times.  I just pointed to something and said I’ll just take that. 


Their hotdogs came out and they were happy because it also came with French fries.  Yay!  For fried food.  And applesauce.  Oh the applesauce.  Fucking applesauce.  At some point the sauce got flung at me and landed in my hair.  So at this point I’m literally praying that my food comes quickly.  I need to end this before it gets any worse.  Other than the two old ladies, which were still asking questions, everyone around us, (probably not parents themselves), were throwing dirty looks and whispering under their breath.  I can still hear you!  I’m sweating.  I’m yelling at them in my best, we’re in public so I’m not totally lose it but there is hell to pay when we get home, voice. And then they do the unthinkable.  They knock over a tray of food.  They realize what they’ve done and instantly hide under the two old ladies.  As if they are going to be able to protect them.  Ha!  No way.  I leave a huge tip for our waitress, like 90%, and apologize to everyone as I drag them out to the car. 


When I say, it was the worst date I’ve ever been on, I mean it.  And I’ve been on some pretty shitty dates back in the day.  When they woke up this morning they asked in the sweetest voices, “mommy, you still mad?”. Ugh, fact is, I’m not.  I do realize I will never be able to go back to that restaurant again, and I’m pretty sure that our faces are plastered at the front counter, but I’m not mad anymore.