I’d love to tell you we’re a normal family but that’d be a lie and I’m teaching the punks that lying is wrong and I don’t want to be a bad example should one of them ever check out my blog. I’ve lost enough credit over the years where they’re concerned. Read more →

Jeffrey Campbell You’re so Good to Me

I love wearing heels. I can’t help it, there’s just something about them that instantly make me feel sexier. It probably has something to do with the fact that I think heels are just sexy in general (except for a pair of boring pumps because I don’t think anyone should be wearing “pumps”). Give me four inches of heel over a pair of flats any day. Read more →

Strawberry-Mango Salsa is Exactly What You Need in Your Life. Right Now.

Some people are bakers, others are cooks. Besides an incredible pumpkin cheesecake I can’t bake to save my life and really, I’m okay with that. It means it’s harder for me to overindulge myself with delicious food that goes straight to my ass. Read more →

The Honest Company

If you know me you know I like to maintain a “green” lifestyle as best I can. I am adamant about recycling, there is certain produce I will only purchase organically, I try to buy local as much as possible (the milk we drink is from a dairy farm here in Kansas. Glass milk jugs that I return each week to recycle. LOVE IT!), and I am very particular about what products we use. Read more →

And if the Music is Good, You Dance

I love music. I mean I really, really fricking love it. And I like it all. I’ll listen to rap, country, hip hop, top 40, jazz, classical…I really don’t care as long as it moves me in some way. That’s what I love about music. I can always find something that fits exactly where I am in my life at any given moment. Read more →

Summer Reading List: Book One

I’m a sucker for a good book. And by sucker, I mean once I start reading I pretty much don’t do anything other than read until I’ve finished said good book. If it’s a series I’m totally screwed because that means the house is a wreck, we’re eating cereal for dinner and no one has clean underwear because I haven’t done one ounce of laundry all week. Read more →

It’s Your Own Little World…

Cortland. If this punk would have been the first born he absolutely would have been an only child. He earned himself the nickname “Crack Baby” when he was about a year old because this punk is absolutely fearless, crazy and just plain weird. We can’t trust him for shit as he continues, time and time again, to make horrible choices that usually result in him getting hurt or me needing a drink. Read more →

37 Seconds

Last week a friend posted a link on their Facebook page that I’m sure most of you have seen by now. In case you haven’t watched it, in 37 seconds a woman goes from “average” to completely flawless, courtesy of the one and only Photoshop. Read more →

I Used to be an Expert

Fact: it’s easier to be a parent when you aren’t actually a parent. Before you have punks is when you will find you are most knowledgeable regarding how their little minds work, disciplining methods, and the best way to raise them to ensure they aren’t Grade A assholes.

This all changes as soon as you leave the hospital with your new bundle of joy. It is the moment you step outside (typically as you are trying your damndest to get the car seat latched properly so you can take your day old baby home) that you realize, you don’t really have a clue as to what you are doing and regardless of the amount of time you spent reading “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” you’re screwed.

No one will ever tell you this. It’s as though all parents are part of a secret society and this topic shall never be discussed with non-members. Parents just want non-parents to believe that it’s as easy as their non-parenting minds think it is, so once they’re in the club we can all sit around and laugh that another one fell for it. Then we all drink a glass of wine, high five and initiate the newest idiots into the club.

I was a complete childrearing, disciplining expert when I was 25 and most parents I knew were total douche bag idiots who should have never even been allowed to reproduce. There is really no better time to be an expert as when the only experience you have is from babysitting for a couple of years, before you can even drive. Also lending a hand in my expertise was “The Babysitter’s Club” book series which I was a fan of when I was about 10.

This all went to shit for me when I had my first born punk. Listen, there’s a lot no one will ever tell you about pregnancy, delivery or actually raising punks. Ever. I’m not even going to get into the delivery part because if you haven’t had punks yet and are excited to start your family there’s a really good chance you’d never want to do it. Let’s just say it involved an epidural, a hot anesthesiologist, and not being about to feel below the waist, resulting in utter humiliation. Ugh.

When Emmerson was about 5 days old I felt a lump on her head and I panicked. I knew it had to be one of two things: either in my sleep deprived, zombie state I had unknowingly hit her head on something, or, it was a tumor. I cried. I called the doctor and took her in, prepared for the worst – either they were going to take her away because I had whacked her head and didn’t even know it, proving me unfit as a parent, or it was in fact a tumor. Turns out, it was her soft spot. $25 co-pay to tell me she has a flipping soft spot. Expert right here.

When you aren’t a parent it’s usually really easy to spot the ones who suck. They’re the ones with the punks who are having ginormous meltdowns at the store, or the punks who are picking their noses and either eating the boogers or wiping them all over the place. Or their punks are flat out annoying. While I have done my absolute best to teach my punks to not pick their noses, I still catch them, time to time, with a finger shoved up to their brains. My happy compromise is that I’ve scared them straight when it comes to actually eating their boogers by telling them boogers will give them explosive diarrhea that’ll make their bottoms hurt. No one in this family wants a sore ass from diarrhea. Winning!

Before I had punks I honestly believed that “time-out” was one of the most underutilized, no-fail, disciplinary methods. Hello, stupid parents. Obviously this shit works because all the experts say it does. One minute for every year they’re alive. ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? The only thing “time-out” does around here is piss me off from the amount of time I have to spend putting my punks back in time-out. It’s more of a punishment for me than for them. You know what works around here? No TV, no video games, no playing outside, no fun. You have to hit them where it hurts and sitting in one spot for three, six or seven minutes doesn’t hurt shit. That’s a mini vacay in my book.

I miss the days when I was a childrearing expert. Back when I knew the answer to every punk related issue and could just roll my eyes at all the idiots who were completely clueless on how to raise their kids. I’d like to say that it gets easier the more punks you have but truthfully, what works for one will usually never work with another. It’s a never ending battle to raise punks who aren’t Grade A assholes. Some days you win, some days you get the A-hole. All you can do is hope you get it right more times than you get it wrong. Then sit back and laugh as you get to welcome all the previous “experts” into the club. High five.

Okayest Mom

Ryder Grey

Despite my best efforts, my little Ryder Grey keeps growing up. I’m not sure why he’s opposed to just staying a little dude for the rest of his life but it seems he’s figured out there’s more to life than living with your parents and having to go to bed every night at 8pm.

Every night when I tuck him in bed I give him a kiss and ask if he’s “my guy”. Every night he tells me yes. Then I test whether or not he’s serious by asking if he is my guy forever. And every night he tells me forever. And then I tell him that he’ll always be my guy, even when he has a girlfriend when he’s 45. Then he laughs because girls are still gross to him and that makes me happy because I like being the most important girl in his life.

Ryder is my emotional punk. He cries when he doesn’t get his way, when his feelings are hurt and when he’s mad. He is sensitive and sweet, wild and crazy, fearless and free. He’s bold, hates to lose and smart as hell. I appreciate the fact that he’s so willing to take chances without contemplating the outcome (although I do hope when he’s older and faced with bigger decisions than whether or not to jump off the diving board he’ll do some serious contemplating) because he typically finds so much joy in life.

His heart makes me proud – at six he truly cares about other’s and how they feel (this does not apply when he and his brothers or sister are fighting though). He is quick to offer a hug or a kiss, to tell you that he loves you and to say please and thank you. Even when he’s at his maddest, he’ll always tell me he’s sorry and that he loves me. I like to think this sweet heart of his is going to make someone extremely happy one day. Who wouldn’t want to find a guy who loves so freely?

Ryder Grey you touch my heart every single day. You are one of the very best pieces of me and I am forever grateful to be your mom. I cherish the fact that you are unique, independent, confident, sweet and smart. You are such a cool little punk and I am so proud of who you are. I know you will do great things in this life and I will always be here cheering you on, pushing you forward when you need it and reminding you of all the great things you can do.

Happy #6 to my guy.

I love you, dude.