MOM FAIL

Now that school is back in session, I have been back to giving my kids nightly baths.

Don’t gasp at me, lady with clean kids. The pool or sprinkler count as a bath in the summer.

Anywho, a few nights ago, I needed to place my grungy little two year old in the tub for a nice soak. He had been playing outside and there was mud under his nails and dirt on his face.

I said, “Cy Cy, it’s bath time!” And his fat little legs ran/toddled to the bathroom to prepare for some splashing that would inevitably end in me drying the entire bathroom while yelling at him to stop.

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Oh spray tans. I do love you. When I am starting to look like Casper, you can make me look like I took an overnight trip to Barbados.

Yes, you smell horrible and make my sheets orange, but you make me feel so much better about life. Everyone looks better with a tan, right?

So let’s flash back to approximately four and a half years ago. I had just had a nine pound, two ounce baby boy cut out of my uterus. The doctors stitched me up and sent me on my way.

I did not realize that when you leave the hospital, you still look pregnant.

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Every article I see lately is about how it is the job of the mom to make Christmas magical for her kids.

You know what I have to say about that nonsense? RUDE.

Disclaimer: I am not trying to sound like a Scrooge here, but why does Christmas have to include so much pressure? Can’t we just enjoy it? I don’t think when Baby Jesus was born that Mary surprised him with a brand new donkey and an Elf on the Shelf. I think she snuggled her sweet baby and hung out with Joseph and the Three Wise Men.

Is getting gifts from a fat man in red suit that slides down your chimney in the middle of night not magical enough?… CONTINUE READING


I keep ideas that I have for blog posts in the Notes section on my phone. If I have a random thought, I jot it down in there and look back when it’s time to get to writing.

Today I felt the need to tell this story of true and honest mom failure. It was a hot mess express and I don’t know why I ever attempt to do anything with grace and tact.

So here’s the deal. Why is taking a baby somewhere in the rain a total f-ing shit show? As in, I would rather just stay home but unfortunately not wanting to get out in the rain is not an acceptable excuse to skip your child’s doctor’s appointment.… CONTINUE READING


I am a full-time working mom with two little boys and a full-time working husband. I try to juggle all the balls without dropping any, but no one ever taught me how to juggle and I have no hand-eye coordination.

That leads me to the fact that I am late for work a lot. Not super late, maybe just a few minutes. But I am a perfectionist – at least when it comes to my work – and that drives me insane.

And who on came up with working 9-5? Where do they work? Do they eat lunch? Because I have to be at work at 8 am.… CONTINUE READING


In a post from about a year ago, I wrote that not all of us can be like Joanna Gaines and have a farmhouse-style kitchen table hand-crafted by a man named Clint.

Then, what do you know, Christmas rolled around and I ended up with a handmade, farmhouse-style kitchen table. It was crafted by a man named Thomas, not Clint, and it is beautiful.

And yes, that is the only item in my house that even slightly resembles anything Joanna Gaines would partially consider placing in her immaculate home with no TVs.

So why did I end up with this beautiful table?… CONTINUE READING


It was about a year ago that I stumbled across an article bashing “Bad Mom” blogs. It referred to the moms that write about drinking, cussing and making bad parenting decisions. It pretty much called them the scum of the earth. That they ignored their children and were only worried about likes on Instagram and page views.

I was a bit offended.

I write about drinking. I also cuss. And I have made my fair share of bad parenting decisions.

But how dare he call me a bad mom! I don’t even use Instagram!

So I moved on with my life.… CONTINUE READING


On Friday, July 20th, my family embarked on our annual Hilton Head vacation. We left mid-day. I spent the morning running around frantically packing for myself and my two little boys, who are one and four. Then I made a stop at the nail salon because my toes needed some real TLC.

I got home around noon and the loading of the car began. I fed the baby while Logan, my husband, squeezed as much as he could into the back of my mom crossover SUV with two car seats in the back.

When it was almost time to go, Logan snapped Henry into his car seat, I loaded up Baby Simon, and we were on our way.CONTINUE READING


I am leaving for vacation in approximately 24 hours and I have not packed a damn thing. I went into this with the best of intentions. But when you have kids, packing all of a sudden becomes 7 million times more difficult.

I have realized that there are three stages of packing when you have children.

The First Stage: The List

I sat down and made a list of things that needed to be packed – one for me, one for Henry, my four year old, and one for Simon, who is one.

My list was obviously the longest because I am an avid over-packer.CONTINUE READING


Over the last few weeks, the topics I have been writing about have been very heavy, such as Cy Baby’s developmental issues and my own issues with depression.

So for my own sake and my selfish reasons, I am changing it up today. Yes, I like to be real and talk about real life issues. But I also try to be a glass half-full type of person. I try to look on the bright side. I let myself have my sad time on the couch crying, but pick myself back up, put on some pants that don’t have an elastic waistband, and pull my shit together after searching for a ponytail holder for 45 minutes.… CONTINUE READING