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. 


The black hole



This is my purse.  I bought it at Target on clearance for ten dollars.  It seemed perfect at the time, cheap, big but not too big, and I could wear it across my body.  Wearing a purse across my body is extremely helpful while chasing the terrible through hallways, stores, and grassy fields.  It is big enough to stuff two diapers, a small pack of wipes, and matchbox cars into but not so big that I’ll lose important things like my sanity.  Or so I thought.

After rummaging through my amazing practical cheap purse for 10 minutes looking for my keys, I just dumped it out. 
This is what I found.



What the hell is wrong with me?  Why do I have toilet paper in my purse?  Or coupons that expired last year?  Why am I carrying around plastic cutlery?  At no point in time have I ever needed a plastic spoon.


Why am I holding onto candy wrappers?  (I’m usually hiding while eating said candy so this makes sense now). Why am I carrying makeup?  When do I plan to do touch up while I’m out?  I really don’t need another ponytail holder, as my hair is always already in a ponytail.  (My niece Taylor pointed that to me one day). Clearly she understands that I gave up.


Seriously?  I piss myself off sometimes.  There are two crayons.  Well really one and a half.  I believe Ben ate the other half.


Notice the two bottles of prescription medications.  They are a pain reliever and xanax.  Wonder why?  Face masks that I bought, which I’ll never use….awesome.


This was my purse before children.  Cute, small and free of toilet paper.


And this is after.  Huge, cheap and filled with crap my children find outside.

Adult-like and shit



I have moments of deep thought.  Granted not often, and it usually is short lived.  Today while sitting in traffic on my way home from work, one of these rare moments hit me.  I’m not sure what provoked it; maybe the song on the radio, maybe the sun, that we haven’t seen here in south Jersey for at least three months, maybe it was just the quiet in my head.  For the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about diapers, vomit, house cleaning, or schedules.  I wasn’t worried about time, (rather the lack of), milestones, birthdays, spring cleaning, or money.  It was the first time in many months that I just was.  I was there, driving along, sitting in traffic, with not a thought in my head.  Then I started thinking about my friends, and family.  About how different our lives are now then what we ever dreamed they would be.

Some of us are married, some not.  Some divorced, some just starting their married life journey.  Some of us have babies, some of us have teenagers.  That is beyond scary.  We have real jobs, with real desks and real computers.  (Except me.  I don’t.).  Some of us are deployed in lands that I could never imagine visiting.  With real dangers, and real guns.  Some of us are struggling with our demons, some getting help and some wasting away.  Some of us are in therapy because we are all royally fucked on one level or another.  We have houses, and cars, and plants we haven’t killed yet.  We talk about things like mortgages and Roth IRAs.  We worry about our parents and their aging.  We worry if we will ever have it together.  A good weekend starts on Friday night (not Thursday, day) and ends Sunday evening (not sometime Tuesday). We are perfectly happy to curl up with a glass of wine (not a bottle of Miller Lite) and watch a movie or read a book. 

Is this growing up?  Is this what being adult is?  Because I seem to remember, being eighteen and knowing everything about, well, everything.  I was an adult.  I was grown, damn it.  No one was going to tell me what to do or how to live.  I had that shit.  I was young, smart, and fun.  Looking back, maybe I wasn’t so grown.  Maybe I wasn’t really an adult.  Maybe I needed a lot more life before I could say that. 

I dyed my hair for fun.  Now I dye my hair to cover the ridiculous amount of gray hairs. (I blame this exclusively on the terrible). My boobs are getting dangerously close to my belly button and I think I used to have an ass.  It seems to have flattened out horizontal.  But luckily I still have acne.  Yay for my face!  Please note the sarcasm there.  I wax my lip and chin…What the hell?!?  And I make weird noises after I’ve sat too long. 

This wasn’t a part of the deal.  This wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal.  No one told me about this.  No one told me I would turn into my mother and my mother would turn into my grandmother.  Truthfully, I wouldn’t have believed them anyway. 

So the question I still have is, am I really an adult?  It certainly doesn’t feel like I’ve got this shit.  I still wait for the day that it hits me that I’m a certified adult with my big girl panties on.  In fact, I knew more back then, than I do know.  A whole lot more was black and white, whereas now, all I see is gray.


When, please tell me when…


When am I going to stop saying….


We like our underwear...with our diapers

Get that out of your mouth!

Please for the love that is all holy in this world stop taking your pants off.

Why?  Just why?  Please tell me why.

No!  You can’t run around the house naked…unless you want to use the potty.  Then guess what?  You can run around naked all day.

Stop wasting food! 

How can you still be hungry? 

We color on paper only.  Not walls, not the couch, not our beds, not the dog, and certainly not each other.

We do not bite our brother.  EVER.

We do not bite the dog.  EVER.

Seriously, when will I be able to stop saying these things?  For the record, I would be cool with the naked factor, if they were potty trained.  But since they “like our diapers, mommy” I think we have a little way to go.


A butt pillow

Little Old Me.


10 “facts” about yours truly…


1.  I am the person people call when they need to vent. And I like that. 

2.  I pride myself on my ability to laugh.  Laugh at myself, other people and horrible situations.

3. I try find good in other people, but I’ve learned that there isn’t always good to be found.

4. I listened to a ridiculous amount of angry rap music while I was pregnant with cranky and spanky.

5.  Although I’m head over heels in love with my husband, I sometimes want to punch him in the throat.

6.  When I feel passionate about something, I can’t and won’t let it go.

7.  I really want a housekeeper.

8.  But I don’t want a nanny.  I love the time the terrible and I spend together.  A babysitter on call might be nice though.

9.  The terrible have completed something in my soul that I didn’t realize was incomplete.  I thank Jason everyday for knocking me up.

10.  I realize without the trials and tribulations, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.  I like this person.  Therefore, I am thankful for the hard times, the sweat and the tears.


You Want My Life.


The newest game all the cool kids are playing?  Walk your brother like a dog.

The things the terrible did while I was at work….

1. Knocked over the flowers that were on the kitchen table. I know this because half the flowers were still on the floor when I came home.

2.  Got into the junk drawer (don’t pretend like you don’t have one) and apparently were playing with screws.  I know this because I stepped on one as I walked into the house.

3.  Smashed Oreo cookies into the carpet.  I know this because I am staring at the carpet right now

4.  Got into the upstairs bathroom and used my black eyeliner to draw on the wall.  Much to my surprise I found a mural clearly made by two year olds as I closed the door.

5.  Emptied the contents of my underwear drawer down the steps.  Nothing quite coming home and finding your lacy thong hanging off the banister

6.  Found pens and drew on themselves.  They appear to have been trying to make prison tats.

7. Covered each other with the creme from the Oreos.  I’m assuming they did this before smashing the cookie parts into the carpet.  There is still creme stuck in their hair like hair gel.

8.  Ate some kind of chips. I know this because the chips also appear to be on my kitchen floor.

9.  Made a pillow fort in the living room.
Guessing so jumping off the couch would be safer.

10.  Rode our dog, Lucy, like a horse.  I’m only guessing on this one. She won’t come downstairs and I can only assume that they are the reason why.

This was my living room….and now it is a scene from horders.

Poor Lucy.  It really is a hard life.

The Scariest Noises You’ve Ever Heard.


5 noises that make me want to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed.

1.  The toilet flushing and my not yet potty trained children are nowhere to be found.

2.  Giggling followed by a crash, followed by belly laughter, followed by a crash and finally, screaming.

3.  Silence.  Silence followed by quick moving foot steps and then giggling.

4.  The words:  I wanna watch mighty machines mommy.

5.  The ever quiet noise that a metal truck sounds like falling down my staircase.  Always followed by the words Oopps, sorry mommy.

For the record, all of these noises happen daily and daily I think this is it,  They are going to need to sedate me and take me to my quiet place….

And for the record, it hasn’t happened yet.  Here’s to another day of mediocre parenting!


Yeah that’s right I taught them to play fetch…
And let them dress themselves…

Who, what, where and why?


There comes a point in every mother’s life when they have to ask some hard questions.  I think those questions vary by which stage of motherhood your in.  Right now I’m in the, “oh god I don’t really want to know the answer,” phase.


Here’s a sampling of questions I hate to ask.

1.  What is that in your mouth?  Followed with, did you just swallow it?

2.  Why are you doing that? 
This is usually answered with toddler gibberish and laughing. (They are mocking me I know it).

3.  What are you guys doing?
Silence is an awful thing when there are toddlers living with you.  Silence followed by running and hiding is so much worse.

4.  Where is your brother?
This may be a twin thing.  Usually the brother is locked in a closet or a room.

5.  What happened to the cats whiskers?
Pretty self explanatory…
Ben: kitty was bad
Alex: cut kitty’s beard.
Me: where did you guys get scissors?

6.  Where are you guys?
This is just a scary question.  Usually playing in the toilet…

7. What is in your bucket? If the question is posed to Ben it’s, what is in your pink pumpkin?
There is always something that’s growing fur in there.  Hint: it’s not supposed to have fur.

8.  What is all over your face/body/hair…?
Today it was my makeup.  Yesterday it was marker, two days ago it was something I have yet to identify.

9.  Who did that?
This is always answered by the one who did “it”. And they always blame someone or something else.  Example: who dumped the dog food into the dogs water? Answer from Ben:  Charlie did it.  Charlie is our cat.  Bad kitty.

10.  Can you guys just behave?
They have taken to answering in unison and that answer is always no, mommy.

I love this age.  I really do.  They make me laugh everyday and test my patience hourly but I couldn’t, wouldn’t change it for the world. 


Animal house


Ways my home is like a fraternity.  Oh let me count the ways…


1.  On any given night there is male genitalia on display.  Usually in the form of streaking…

2. Not one male in this home knows where the toilet actually is.  They have the general idea, yet never seem to aim well enough to make into the large bowl.

3. My home smells like farts and spoiled food.  Every.  Single.  Day.

4. The spoiled food smell usually is coming from a food fight that happened days, weeks, possible months before.  (Silly me, I forgot to check to see if there were meatballs stuffed in that closet.)

5.  If it is gross, smelly, loud, and/or will annoy me; it is the coolest, greatest thing in the world.  Bonus points if it has the potential to make me have to pop a xanax.

6.  Food fights are a daily if not hourly occurrence.

7.  Rule one: if they say it’s dangerous, DO IT, DO IT NOW!

8.  Daily avoidance of doing anything that involves putting pants on.

9.  The poop discussions are endless.

10.  Woman are drawn to them by cuteness, and then sucked in by their charm.  But then so happy when they leave.  Feeling lucky they got out alive.