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Mother/Daughter Bean Boozled Challenge

Oh boy! Did you know about these jelly beans called Bean Boozled? It’s like Bertie Botts Every Flavor beans from Harry Potter with flavors like ear wax and pencil shavings. Only these Bean Boozled taste like vomit, grass clippings and skunk spray. Not all at once, thankfully.bean boozled challenge mother/daughter



So you don’t know this, but Emma has a vomit phobia. It’s a legit thing called Emetophobia. I know that you’re probably thinking, who does like vomit? Well, no one. Hopefully. But, Emma’s phobia brings her into panic in different situations. Let’s say a classmate gets sick nearby, this would put her into full-on panic mode.  I would have to pick her up from school sometimes because it would make her feel so awful. She would psych herself into feeling sick and nauseous herself.

Her therapist has been doing aversion therapy. Basically exposing her to sights and sounds of vomit. YouTube has everything. Don’t Google it, please.

Emma has been really good at listening to sounds of retching and watching scenes from movies where folks vomit. It’s not fun. Even I’m getting grossed out. The final task was to get close to vomiting, but without vomiting.

How would Emma handle it? Would she panic? Freak out? Break down in tears?

You’ll have to watch the video to find out.

Spoiler Alert- we had a lot of fun and Emma’s doing really well with her therapy!



10 Ways Autumn is Awesome AF

10 ways Autumn is Awesome by Frugalista Blog

For those not in the loop, ‘AF’ means,’As F**k’.

So when something is really cool, awesome, or wonderful, if you put ‘AF’ on the end, you’ll be one of the cool kids. Sorry to be so blunt. I gotta throw around some major street cred, I’m serious here. Fall is Awesome. Say it with me, “Awesome AS F***.” Maybe because it leads into Christmas, maybe because it actually relieves me of the heat rash on my feet from the entire month of August, but it’s just the best. And here’s why.

1. Back to School.

Honestly, I have a love/hate relationship with back to school. Deep, deep down it gives me massive anxiety when I think of how my children are growing up. It’s weird now that I’m a parent and every time my kids go back to school it reminds me of how they’re getting older. Almost more so than a birthday, it really shows the passage of progress and how they’re inching towards leaving that nest. Dammit. I want them to leave the nest, but then…. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? It’s okay. Really.  But why I love it-  it means new cat sweatshirts and polo shirts with popped collars. At least that’s what my 7th grade back to school outfit was. Yours? Oh, and the kids out of my hair during the day!! AMEN!

10 ways autumn is awesome by frugalista blog

And flannel shirts too- another reason autumn is awesome. And these kids look hella cooler than I ever did.


2. Pumpkin stuff

Not real pumpkins. Those are gross. The guts and seeds smell like a slimy old sponge. Ew. No, I like the artificial pumpkin shit. Give me Pumpkin Spiced Waffles, Pop Tarts, Pepperidge Farm cookies, Fiber One bars, lattes, candles. Am I forgetting anything? I do like real pumpkin pie that my mama makes. But that’s because it’s full of cinnamon and spice and sugar and whipped cream on top! Pumpkin stuff leads to Gingerbread stuff that leads to Eggnog stuff. And all of it is bomb. Sorry summer- you just don’t have those heavy hitters. Uhm, cucumber? Nah. Oh and all this ‘stuff’ leads to baked goods. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Yeah. This is pie season folks. And cookie season, and bread season and all baked goods season. And elastic waist pants season. But don’t worry because #4 goes well with those pants.

3. Socks

I love socks. I like wearing socks to bed and with pajamas. In the summer time I just sweat so I can’t wear socks. Hence the heat rash on my feet. Wearing socks to bed is weird in July. But after September 21st- socks! Oh my gosh, I’m wearing socks to bed tonight!

4. Wearing sweaters

I have a collection of at least 20 cardigans. The entire summer makes them feel neglected. It’s wonderful to welcome them back in the rotation of my wardrobe.

5. Fresh air

Nothing feels like crisp autumn air. Especially when the entire summer has been drought-ridden and hot with poor air quality, or you have neighbors that keep burning their fire pit on evenings when it’s 90 degrees out and the smoke comes in the house like a campfire! Once September rolls around, I like to open the windows and let the rainy air in the house again. But then after awhile, close them and crank up my Venta Air Washer to purify the room air and replace the proper humidity. Venta has now released a collection of essential oils to use in their Air Washers.  Now that they have an aromatherapy collection, I can create cozy scents that smell fresh and clean like lavender and vanilla, without smelling artificial and perfumy. My bedroom smells like a spa. With every purchase of a Venta Air Washer, mention my blog and you get an aromatherapy pack for free. Maybe pick the Winter Dreams one, I really like it. (No they don’t have Pumpkin Spice. Sorry) Call them at 888-333-8218. (I wasn’t paid by Venta for this post, but they did send me product to try, which I love!) venta airwasher aromatherapy 6. We’re closer to Christmas

Now when I watch the Little House Christmas episodes I don’t get weird looks from the family. Well, I still get weird looks, but not as many as when I watch those DVDs in June.

7. Football

Yes, I like football. Not every woman doesn’t, you know. I also like the other football, European soccer. This time of year both are in full swing and there’s at least one game on at our house in the background. Go Hawks!

8. Movies

The movies in the theaters around this time, step it up several notches because as we wind down the year, studios want the Academy to notice. So this is the good stuff. More than the summer blockbuster craziness, this is the creme de la creme level of the Daniel Day Lewises and the Johnny Deppses. Hello Oscar contenders!

9. Boots

Han Solo season has begun. Let every soccer mom show up with quilted vests and brown boots to Target, Starbucks and Whole Foods, practice fields, school pick-up, etc. You know what I’m talking about.

10. Shorter days, darker evenings

It’s time to light a fire, light some candles (pumpkin scented, duh) and get cozy with a blanket and your dog snuggled up. You can’t do this in July, so this feels delicious. I love it. Put on some socks too.

When you sh** your pants at Tiffany’s

First of all, I’d like to clarify that I wasn’t the one who did the pants shitting. It was Emma. Second, this was last year and not when she was in diapers. Third, she gave me permission to tell her story. Because she’s awesome and it’s funny.

Forgive me, but there’s some back story here. I want to give a quick run down of how I have always wanted a little something something from Tiffany’s. You know, the fancy American jeweler with the little blue box. Dammit all- they have good packaging. And marketing. Because Audrey Hepburn wasn’t in a movie called Breakfast at Ben Bridge. Or Breakfast at the Sear’s jewelry department. When there’s a movie called Breakfast at Tiffany’s, it sort of makes the place iconic. Not sort of. It does.

James hates Tiffany’s. Like with a passion. He sees it as over priced and unnecessary. I see it as beautiful craftsmanship, classic, heirlooms. He sees it as a rip-off. We’ve been together 20 years and I told him that one day, if I could just get a little blue box, it would be so nice. And not a ring. Or diamonds. Like, find a key chain or something. But for gosh sakes, put it in that blue box!!

So before last Mother’s Day, when Emma was 14, I told her the story of my blue box wish and how her dad was not into it. We were actually shopping at the mall and she said she would talk to dad about Mother’s Day for me. Bless her heart! I needed a blue box ambassador!!

The morning of Mother’s Day the kids presented me with cards and tea and goodies from Teavana. Oh yay! My favorite. And then, oh what do we have here? James comes in with a LITTLE BLUE GIFT BAG!! OH MY GOSH IT’S A DREAM COME TRUE!!! In it was a little box, and in that box was a little necklace with the initial R on it. Perfect. I was thrilled.

So I ask Emma privately if she helped. Of course she helped! And she said, “now I can tell you the story I’ve been dying to tell you!”

Let’s also mention the fact that Emma was on heavy drugs for her ovarian cyst issues she was dealing with that spring. And also a combination of laxatives and such to help regulate her with all these drugs.

She said that while she and James were browsing in Tiffany’s, she felt the need to fart. Yeah, sure. No biggy. So she goes to a corner of the store that she feels safe enough to just you know, toot toot. Well, you know the phrase, ‘don’t trust the fart’. Sure enough this was more than a basic flatulence. She’s in the corner and the fart is well, it’s a solid fart. Yep. A turd exited.

The horror. The panic. What to do?? She’s all in her head, “I’m in Tiffany’s for GOSH SAKES!!”

She goes over to James who is with the sales person. “Hey, yeah, dad, uhm, I’m going to need to go to the restroom. Where’s the nearest one?”

Salesperson, “Oh it’s upstairs through Nordstrom.”

James, “Honey, I don’t want you going by yourself, just wait.”

Not sure the extra paranoia on James’ part considering at 14 I was at the mall with friends all the time and went to the restroom by myself. But okay, whatever.

Emma chooses not to argue and watches the salesperson painstakingly tie the white ribbon on the box. At this time, I think Emma was resenting Tiffany’s as much as James’ debit card was!

When they were done, Emma proceeded to walk a little less normal towards the restrooms. She tells her dad that she legit pooped her pants. He looks at her like, what? And she’s all, “I shouldn’t have trusted the fart.” He’s all, “I don’t want to know.”

She takes care of whatever she can at the Nordstrom restroom. And all is well.

Whenever I wear that necklace, not only do I think of the love and dedication of those closest to me, but that Emma pooped her pants at Tiffany’s. And honestly, that’s a high class poop, right?

And that’s how I got my first Tiffany’s gift. And I truly love it.

Frugalista Blog humor, tiffanys, mothers day

Holding down the fort

holding down the fort by frugalista blog


McSweetie and I went away for a weekend without the kids. It was nice. I mean, except for the 5 hours of bickering in the car or how he doesn’t wear his seatbelt for the first 30 seconds of driving, WHY? and then his tendency to take 10 minutes to figure out which beer on tap he wants when we order at a restaurant worse than Sally in When Harry Met Sally. BUT OTHER THAN THAT, we had a great weekend. For real.

The kids are 15 and 12. Still too young in my opinion to leave alone over night. Right? I was wondering this and wasn’t sure what the rule was. My kids are mature and have been left alone quite a bit during the day or whenever we go out. But overnight? That seems weird, right?

We had my sister in law and niece stay with them for the first night. They were in town visiting, so I designated them as their babysitters. It worked out great! Thanks Katherine! They got to do fun stuff during the day and then she was the designated adult to stay in the house.

So what if Emma forgot how to turn on the dishwasher and had to text me for directions. That’s a minor detail. Okay. Let’s be real. My kids are really bad at housework. They need constant prodding to do laundry or pick up after themselves. They never clean the cat box, although Emma is really good at looking after her hamster. For 15 and 12, they are behind when it comes to household tasks and knowing how to do them. Is this because I’m a control freak and only like the way I do it? Shhh. We can talk about that another day.

What I’m trying to say here is, I had really low expectations while we were away.

The second night we were away, they slept at my parent’s house. My folks brought them back home before we returned. This was good so that they could let the dog out to pee, and settle in and it saved us a trip to get them.

It was so nice to come home. The kids were greeting us enthusiastically, and even the dog was happy. She was dancing on her back two feet. We hugged and danced in a circle for a bit. And that wasn’t even the best part.

As we settled in, Emma told me that when they got back to the house, Owen emptied the dishwasher and put away the dishes, and she had noticed the dog had a messy backside after going out to poop. Wiping the dog’s butt with paper towels was only making it worse. So she needed to bathe her. She put her in the kitchen sink, which the dog hates, and had to keep her from jumping out. She hollered orders at Owen to grab a big towel (he came back with the largest beach towel ever) and hand her the soap. She said they were a tag team like in surgery. She said it was fun. I was thrilled to hear they didn’t leave the messy dog around with shit smears for me to clean up!

I was impressed! Emptying the dishwasher, and a washed dog? I’m the luckiest girl ever!

Emma shared that once Owen was done in the kitchen, and had finished his dish duty, and the dog was drying, he sat down on the couch and let out a long breath. It must have been from all the messy dog excitement.

He announces: “Being a mom IS the hardest job. I only did one mom thing emptying the dishwasher, and I’m already tired!”

No kidding buddy.

It’s stuff like that that when you hear it, it just makes this whole mothering thing worth it.

Did Emma smack Owen in the arm at dinner when he got in her way over the milk? Yeah. Oh well. Kids are still kids. They are not perfect. But it’s good to know that left to their own, I can count on some things getting done!

We just need to work on the laundry stuff next.


Saved by the Bell- make that, Saved by the BlogU

My husband travels infrequently for business. I would say a half dozen times a year. And probably 2 or 3 of those trips might be for a conference. When he comes home he’s always soooo tired. I mean, how hard is it? You sleep in a nice hotel, get meals out and stand around and talk to people. Big deal. And he complains how his feet hurt. But he’s a guy and he wears flat shoes. How can his feet hurt?

Hold the phone. I just came back from BlogU, a blogging conference. I’m exhausted. Instead of some convention center or hotel ballroom, our conference was at a college campus. The beautiful Notre Dame of Maryland. It’s such a small campus (I went to the University of Washington. That place is huge. Any campus after that seems small to me.) Talking to about 150 other blogger/writer/creative talent forces takes a lot from a person. It’s exhausting! Dancing at the #MiddleSchoolAwkward NickMom dance that Saturday night also is exhausting. And I WORE FLAT SHOES!

I came home and I was all, “McSweetie, I’m so sorry I never acknowledge your fatigue after a conference. Talking to people is tiring! Also, dancing 2 hours to 80s hits with a banana clip in my hair is exhausting too. I bet you don’t do that at your conferences.”  Nope. You can bet your Spanx, he does not.

Dancing in a banana clip? I will tell you more about that later. Trust me. It’s GOOD.

I’ve been blogging for about 4 years now. Sometimes that seems like an eternity. Sometimes I think how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I look at other people’s success and feel sorry that I haven’t come further. But you know what? That’s what is so cool about BlogU. The bloggers who attend BlogU come from all genres, social media reaches, and experience levels. Some have just begun. Some have had that VIRAL post, some are New York Times best selling authors, and some are media mogul powerhouses. What’s great about the community of writers that this weekend brings together, is everyone is accessible, everyone has a story, everyone has a purpose.

BlogU’s creator Stephanie of Binkies and Briefcases started this conference and builds this conference, literally from her garage! But what makes this so special? What makes it so awesome that folks like NickMom like sponsoring themed dances and Scary Mommy’s creator, Jill Smokler comes to give the keynote? The special sauce is in the people. And that there’s a spirit at BlogU. It’s going to sound corny as hell, but there is a spirit of trust and camaraderie at this conference unlike any other conference, that wants to see it’s attendees soar. That the next Jen Mann can be in the crowd.

But even writing that- ‘the next Jen Mann’ seems wrong. Because the individuality of each blogger is what makes them special. There’s only one Sass Mouth, or Real Life Parenting, or Quirky Chrissy. And they will get their success and blogger notoriety how they are meant to. Best selling author? Talk show host? Reality TV star? Who knows!

When you think of the endless sea of bloggers, you think how many more does there really need to be? And you even think about your own blog, ‘why bother?’ But then it only takes one person to say they read something of yours and it really related to them. Then you smack yourself in the forehead and say, “yep! That’s why I blog.”

It’s stories. And stories need to be told. Thanks BlogU for lighting that fire, or blowing on the coals to stoke them a little more. I have lots of stories to tell!

So I’m just gonna leave my #MiddleSchoolAwkward dance pics right here-

Left- photo booth sponsored by That's What She Said, Top R- Jen Mann, and Harmony Hobbs in the back! Bottom R- Kerry HouseTalkN and Nikki Moms Who Drink and Swear

Left- photo booth sponsored by That’s What She Said, Top R- Jen Mann, and Harmony Hobbs in the back! Bottom R- Kerry HouseTalkN and Nikki Moms Who Drink and Swear



Top right - Mommy Shorts, Bottom L- Nicole Shaw- Bottom R- Me- 2nd place WINNER #MiddleSchoolAwkward

Top right – Mommy Shorts, Bottom L- Nicole Shaw- Bottom R- Me- 2nd place WINNER #MiddleSchoolAwkward

Ellen, Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms, Susan, Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva, and ME

Ellen, Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms, Susan, Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva, and ME

Yep. This is how I dance. Elaine from Seinfeld just comes out. Notice the fanny pack, popped collar and sky high bangs?

Yep. This is how I dance. Elaine from Seinfeld just comes out. Notice the fanny pack, popped collar and sky high bangs?


Here it is. The best picture of all Middle School Awkward 80s themed shots. Taken by the fabulous Susan of Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva, it looks right out of a Nickelodeon TV show. Yes- I’m ‘you can’t touch this’.

Saved by the Bell at BlogU15

Saved by the Bell
at BlogU15


If that’s not enough- there’s this. I think I made my kids proud. Thank you Kim from Let Me Start By Saying, for being my dance soul sister. Thank you Anna Bardsley for capturing the video. Click on the date below and it will take you to awesomeness. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to rub ointment on my aching feet. Something I didn’t need to do in 1985.


Posted by Anne Bardsley on Saturday, June 6, 2015

Why I deserve the greatest Mother’s Day of all. And you do too.

I know, I know. You’ve heard it before. We (moms) think were goddesses and fucking saints for pushing watermelons out of our easy bake ovens. And if you had a C-section- power to you. Because stitches through five layers of tissue makes any guy whining over a vasectomy look like the pansy ass douche he is.

Where was I? Why am I so angry? I don’t know. I mean, maybe it’s the PTSD from the pre-epidural catheter they gave me in the labor and delivery room when I went hypertonic trying to birth Emma. Hypertonic- abnormal muscle tone. Sadly, my over active uterus did not leave me with 6 pack abs.

Maybe it’s the bloody nipples I got a week after she was born because I spent those 7 days with her latching on improperly while trying to breast feed. Then cried when I was pumping milk sitting on the toilet in our cramped little bathroom because I felt like a failure.

Yeah. Moms unite! Bitches get shit done. And you know what? We get birthing done.

When I gave birth to Emma, there was a story that week in the news of some natural disaster in Africa ( I can’t remember because part of the brain that holds memory and reason comes out with the after birth. It’s true.)  that caused a woman to give birth in a tree. A GODDAMN TREE! By herself. Her and her baby were there for a good day or so before the rescue choppers got her. Did she worry about saving the placenta later because her MOPS group wanted to make smoothies out of it and then paint pretty pictures on canvases while drinking wine? NO! She did what she had to do.

And gosh darn, I was laboring in a comfortable first world hospital bed and I thought of her. HER. And she was my hero. But also, it kind of scared the shit out of me because the way things were going with Emma, I would have died in that tree and she with me. So yay, modern conveniences!

So I’m sorry if my wish for this Mother’s day is to be treated like royalty by the subjects of the house. But dude! I earned it. It’s been 15 years since all that happened. But still.

Not that you want to know this, but one of the first times I got up to go to the bathroom after I had Owen, I thought I had birthed a second child. I had been lying down in the bed for several hours. It was so scary, like, I paged the doctor  and all and told her that a pile of left over something and I think it had teeth and whatnot had just smooshed out of my cooch and did they need to weigh it or take it for a biopsy, because that twin baby looked like I was bleeding to death. It was frightening.

She laughed, sweetly, and said, you know, most moms forget that their vagina is a long tunnel that fills up with all kinds of good stuff after the baby is born. It was just waiting to come out. Sometimes the muscles contract and it doesn’t until you get up to go to the bathroom. And then I was all, “Like a JELL-O mold!” And she’s all, “YES! You’re fine!”

Oh phew! I thought I hemorrhaged. And so does every other woman who just pushed an 8 pound bag of potatoes with a 90th percentile head out of a hole the size of a golf ball.

Let’s not forget the old days when our mothers and their mothers had babies. When they gave them enemas, shaved their pubes, and knocked them out with drugs. You know. Because it’s easier for the doctor. The male doctor. Oh boo on him for dealing with female pubic hairs. Thank GOD when they changed that. Even though now everyone’s got a Brazilian, so who cares. And I’m all for drugs, but I’d rather NOT wake up two days later to find out if I actually had the baby or not.

Ugh. Men.

“Waa. Let me whine some more because my wife snores when she sleeps and insists on sleeping with a body pillow we’ve named Phil. She never wants to do it anymore. WAAA.”

Someone call the whambulance, because I’m sick and tired of men complaining. I’m sick and tired of men complaining about their vasectomies and that their wife doesn’t want to have sex. Oh, and then newsflash. She’s not going to want to have sex with you after because, well. You’ve seen the Hindenburg disaster. Who wants to fly after that? We need some time. And by time, I mean at least, at LEAST 6 months post partum. And lube. Lots and lots of lube. And probably booze. And the promise of a nap afterwards without a baby attached to my body.

And again, sorry for the graphic nature of this- but if you had hemorrhoids, you don’t want your man down in your crotchal region with anything other than some nice cotton or microfiber breathable underpants. Stuff changes. It’s not the same.

Did you have an episiotomy? Or how about a 4th degree tear? Do the words ‘transvaginal mesh’ send you into flashbacks of trauma similar to a combat veteran’s? You didn’t know what a ‘taint was before, but now you do.

Yeah. So lay off dudes. We deserve pie, and croissants. We should have long leisurely baths alone without people asking to climb in the tub with us. That goes for little kids AND husbands. STAHP. If I wanted a bath with you, I would have said so.

Plus sex in bathwater leads to UTIs and nobody got time for that.

Happy Mother’s day mamas! May you get all the worldly goods you deserve. And peace.


Frugalista Blog in the Pee Alone Trilogy

Buy the books on Amazon!

What Would Beth Do?


This is going to be my new phrase. Who is Beth? Well let me tell you. Beth is the genius blogger behind The Cult of Perfect Motherhood, my friend, and co-contributor of I Still Just Want to Pee Alone. But Beth is also, a wife, mom and woman living with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. That’s a pretty big deal. It’s a big deal because when you’re diagnosed with Stage IV anything, it pretty much means that you probably will die within a few years or months. We’re all dying. But Beth is very open about the fact that she doesn’t know how long she has to live. And this breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart like an ax through wood because Beth is pretty fucking awesome and she deserves more time. Yep. I’m just going to say it. “God, she needs more time!”

And when I had heard recently that she’s had some bad news, I couldn’t believe how positive she was about it. She knows. She knows it’s bad. And yet, she can make jokes, throw F bombs, and frickin’ quote the Constitution.

Because Beth is a lawyer. A civil rights attorney, actually. She’s not working right now, and that sucks. Well, I think it’s kinda cool she gets to be a SAHM. But Beth is a wicked smart attorney. She knows her law. We need more Beths in the legal system. She’s a feminist who knows her shit.

She knows Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Not personally, no. But I feel that she has a connection with Notorious RBG. She sees that woman on the bench who gives no shits and fist pumps the feminist who fights for justice.

So as I’m griping to myself over my haircut that I decided I didn’t like because now I want to grow out my hair, I will instead refer to WWBD? Let’s begin.

I don’t like my haircut. WWBD?

Beth would take the peach fuzz growing in post chemo and dye it bright red to emulate Alice on the BBC drama, Luther. Alice is a bad ass. She gives no fucks. Neither does Beth.

Having a bad day? Did you get tired of the Bruce Jenner interview? WWBD?

Beth would have a  Manhattan on the rocks and let her friends know on social media, that despite the mets in her liver, she’s feeling pretty fine. She’ll email her oncologist to make a drinking date with him probably pretty soon.

I’m griping about my belly hanging out over my swim suit. WWBD?

She would hand me a Jell-O shot and tell me to shut the fuck up. I’m beautiful dammit. (Beth likes the F word if you haven’t guessed already.)

I met Beth last year at MamaCon. I didn’t know who she was. I knew her blog. But I had never met her or seen her. There was an entire group of ladies in the front row wearing multi colored wigs and really rallying around this one woman. When she met me, she knew me and my blog and introduced herself. I was like “Duh, it’s YOU!” The wigs were all in support of Beth’s bald head from recent chemo. I was a little jealous of this woman and her devoted friends. Wow. What a group. They all got tickets, spent the night in the hotel doing pudding shots. Beth on chemo and cancer, can party harder than me on my best day in my twenties.

When Beth knew the cancer mets were in her brain, she also knew it would head to her liver eventually. Her oncologist, who she lovingly calls Eddie, and who has Bourbons with her, told Beth that she would probably need more chemo very soon. He’ll go easy on her this time. Chemo-lite, I guess. Nope.


Beth told him, “Fuck that. Go balls to the wall on these roaches. Kill the mother fuckers.”

Yeah. She does it for her kids, and her husband and herself. She’s fighting. Beth on chemo and cancer has a sharper, wittier mind than most people I know.

God I love her.

So when you’re having a bad day. The mortgage payment is late maybe, job got you down, kids pissing you off…. ask yourself WWBD?

She’d fight to live another day and toast that day with a fucking Bourbon on the rocks.



If you’re in town and want to raise a glass with Beth and I join us for this- Garden Party Book Club

or join us on May 15 for MamaCon

Rebecca and Beth book at MamaCon lite



Jazz party, book signing and cocktails

Sometimes when you’re invited to a party there’s certain aspects of the party that make it more fun. Like, will there be cupcakes? Will there be a pinata? When you’re a grown up you want to know will there be booze? Will there be cute boys and dancing?

Well what if I told you that I was throwing a party and there will be booze, cute boys (at least McSweetie will be there but he’s taken) and dancing. I’m sorry I can’t guarantee cupcakes and there will most likely not be a pinata. BUT STILL- doesn’t it sound like an awesome party?

My friends Beth and Tracy who are co contributors in the book , I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, are joining me for a book signing May 4th in Seattle at a place called Sole Repair Shop. It’s a cool, snazzy venue that will have cocktails and food and US (of course!) signing your books and selling as many copies as you need. Mother’s Day is the next weekend you know- you’ll need to be prepared for all your mama friends.

The jazz party will be provided by a group called Emily Asher’s Garden Party.  You guys. This chick and her band are AWESOME. She plays a trombone and sings and sounds like Ella Fitzgerald hopped out of a speak easy and into the new millennium. Even if you don’t like jazz, you will love her and her band. Because you just will. Beth at Cult of Perfect Motherhood (who will be there and hooked us up with Emily) was diagnosed with Stage IV metastatic breast cancer last spring. Emily wrote her this song-

This song makes me cheer and makes me cry.

I’m so excited for this awesome night of talent, fun and coming together for celebrating the book, garden parties, and life in general.

Get your tickets here so we know how many books to bring and the bar knows how much Bourbon to stock.



garden party book club poster

“Bikini body in 30 days!” – Nacho fast

See what I did there? I put nachos in a bikini title. I like nachos. And it was a play on words. Get it? “Not so” is also “Nacho”.

But you totally got that.

If you’ve been doing all the right things but still don’t look like one of those rock hard bikini bodies on Instagram or Pinterest, don’t be discouraged. I am right there with you.

Let’s just jump right out of the gate shall we with the cold hard truth. It takes way more than 30 days to look like you’ve got washboard abs and buns of steel.

You probably already knew that huh?

You probably already knew that huh?

And when you want it to happen like all the charts and gurus and detox whatever folks are telling you it can be done by, but it hasn’t, you throw your hands up in the air and say ‘fuck it’. I’ll just order the onion ring tower. Might as well since I’m just going to be fat forever, is what you tell yourself.

Well, let me tell you. Don’t. Or do, but share it with friends and eat just a few onion rings.

Don’t give up. Slow and steady wins the race, not fast and hard.

And you know what else? Being 40 totally sucks. My body doesn’t get in shape as fast as I want it to. AND I am more susceptible to injury and strain. So I can’t go full on Cross fit for 2 hours and think I will be able to function the next day. If by function I mean pull my pants down myself to go to the bathroom. Also, there’s these things called kids that I’m in charge of. Sucks that I can’t work out and be all ‘me, me, me’.

It’s not fair for a woman with 13% body fat who’s been working out most of her adult life to pose for one of those pics that us squishy moms look at and get all excited about and start hitting the mat with our lunges, planks, and squats. Yes, those exercises work, but it takes TIME.

I had been skinny all my life up to getting pregnant with my first at 27. I packed on the pounds, was stuck on bed rest, had a hard postpartum, and didn’t get moving much until my daughter was around 6 months old. I finally felt like myself when my daughter was 2, only to gain weight again with the pregnancy of my son. After he was born the weight came off fast and I really seemed to be more kind to myself. I understood what I could do to get fit. Things were working. For the next several years I did a random circuit of my own workouts that included classes, gym time, and my own stuff of walks with the dog and training for 5ks. I was pretty disciplined with my diet. I didn’t realize how good I had it. I still wanted to be thinner, skinnier. I was probably around a size 4/6. I always felt self conscious of my waist or my arms. If I knew then what I know now, boy would I have been more accepting of how my body looked.

Once I started blogging I became lazy. I spent more time on my laptop and social media than I did working out. I thought I could just get away with the occasional walk with the dog, skipping lunch, maybe a few squats. Then I would read different articles that would make my head spin. I could get fit in just short workouts, no wait, I had to sweat it out for at least 45 minutes, no wait, sweating wasn’t necessary, as long as you engage your core. Ninety percent of how you look starts in the kitchen not the gym. Drinking wine is like a workout. Eat kale. Drink coconut oil and you’ll totally whittle your waist down. Eat avocados and lose weight. Do Pure Barre. Do ten minutes of planks. But hey, if you’re not doing cardio, then all your core work is wasted.

Dear GOBS I want to scream.

WTF? Eat less and work out more right? Nope. Hold the phone. You might be making yourself fat if you eat too little, and maybe the workouts you’re doing and the food you’re eating are working against your hormones. How much coffee do you drink? Coffee is bad. Coffee makes you hold fat in your stomach. No wait. Coffee is good. Coffee before a workout helps you burn fat.

If you’re confused too then- yay. My point is made.

Here’s what’s going on right now. I’m using My Fitness Pal app to track my food. I’m using my pedometer on my phone to track my steps. I get 10,000 a day for the most part.

I am still doing my 30 day whatever challenges for abs, planks, pushups, etc. BUT. I am reminding myself that it will take me more than 30 days to even look the way I want to look. I’m remembering that feeling stronger climbing up into my son’s loft bed to change the sheets is a win. Pants that were tight to zip up 3 months ago are fitting better. My favorite little black dress still doesn’t fit. But it’s closer than it was to fitting a year and a half ago. So I’m keeping at it. My waist is 3 inches smaller than it was before Christmas. It’s still soft and pudgy like a bagel before it’s cooked, but hey, 3 inches is 3 inches!

After 8 weeks of consistent exercise, calorie tracking and just feeling like I was getting somewhere, I headed to the hotel pool of our vacation in my two-piece feeling a bit sassy. I had Emma take my picture, you know as a ‘look at me, I’m on vacation’ picture.

I have to say I was disappointed when I saw it. I felt thinner in my head. Seeing my dimples and fleshyness kind of bummed me out. But I shared it in a private group of friends and they were so positive. Of course they said I looked good and I was rocking the two-piece and yadda yadda yadda. Because they are my friends and that’s what friends do. Which was what I wanted to hear. But what it proved to me is that we all have our ideals in our head. Just because I see this picture and don’t feel a hundred percent like I’ve ‘arrived’ at some fitness precipice of awesome, I can feel good in the fact that I am on my way. I couldn’t do a 25 second plank 8 weeks ago, but now I can rock 90 seconds and maybe two minutes on a really good day. My arms are still squishy, but they are stronger than they were before. And remember those 3 inches I lost around my waist? Yeah, that’s something!

So here’s my journey. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. My point is that even if your success story doesn’t seem as obvious as the next person’s, don’t give up. Keep on doing what you’re doing. Doing nothing is not an option.

Also, I will not caption this, “How a ‘real’ woman looks in her 40s after 2 kids and not a whole lot of exercise”. But instead I will caption it that I’m just a ‘regular’ woman. Real women are size 0 and size 18. Size isn’t what makes us real. But you already knew that didn’t you?

Regular woman in bikini after 2 months of steady working out and eating well.

Regular woman in bikini after 2 months of steady working out and eating well.







I’m still not peeing alone- and that’s OK

Did you know that even when your children are 11 and 14 they will still come and bother you in the bathroom?

Yes, they will.

And you know what else? When they don’t come bother you in the bathroom, the pets will. The dog and cat sometimes join in together to sniff around my underpants at my ankles, sit on the counter and watch me do things, and then pop their head in the bowl to watch a swirly. I mean, it’s a good thing I’m a people person. Or animal person. Otherwise I might have kicked everyone out (of the house mind you) years ago.

But  that’s OK. You know why? Because ahh, motherhood. I’m blessed to have two adoring children I have brought forth from my (tender) loins that I have pretty much signed a contractual agreement in blood that says, I will never have privacy again.

It means, that if someone is actually IN the house, they will most likely need me to find their sock, locate their iPhone, or not know how to open a box of cereal, and they will come to me while I’m in an otherwise indisposed disposition.

And I know I’m not the only one in this No Privacy ship. So let’s all commiserate together-

Frugalista Blog in I Still Just Want to Pee Alone the book

So I bring to you the sequel to I Just Want to Pee Alone (now a NYT best seller!) –


Yes folks. An entirely new collection of kick ass mom stories and hilarious anecdotes, and some tear jerkers too, of motherhood and womanhood.

Some authors are from the first book, like me. And some others, are new and you might not have heard of their blogs and you will be forever grateful to find new and refreshing voices to laugh at (or with) and be inspired by. Or you’ll know these bloggers and be all, “hot damn, ’bout time she’s in a book!”

Now, do yourself a solid and go and get the book.



Barnes & Noble

Or, you can come to my house and by one from my hot little hand. I accept cash.

All the awesome contributors to this book-

Jen Mann of People I Want to Punch in the Throat

Bethany Kriger Thies of Bad Parenting Moments

Kim Bongiorno of Let Me Start By Saying

Alyson Herzig of The Shitastrophy

JD Bailey of Honest Mom

Kathryn Leehane of Foxy Wine Pocket

Suzanne Fleet of Toulouse and Tonic

Nicole Leigh Shaw of Nicole Leigh Shaw, Tyop Aretist

Meredith Spidel of The Mom of the Year

Rebecca Gallagher of Frugalista Blog

Rita Templeton of Fighting off Frumpy

Darcy Perdu of So Then Stories

Christine Burke of Keeper of The Fruit Loops

Amy Flory of Funny Is Family

Robyn Welling of Hollow Tree Ventures

Sarah del Rio of est. 1975

Amanda Mushro of Questionable Choices in Parenting

Jennifer Hicks of Real Life Parenting

Courtney Fitzgerald of Our Small Moments

Lola Lolita of Sammiches and Psych Meds

Victoria Fedden of Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds

Keesha Beckford of Mom’s New Stage

Stacia Ellermeier of Dried-on Milk

Ashley Allen of Big Top Family

Meredith Bland of Pile of Babies

Harmony Hobbs of Modern Mommy Madness

Janel Mills of 649.133: Girls, the Care and Maintenance Of

Kim Forde of The Fordeville Diaries

Stacey Gill of One Funny Motha

Beth Caldwell of The Cult of Perfect Motherhood

Sarah Cottrell of Housewife Plus

Michelle Back of Mommy Back Talk

Tracy Sano of Tracy on the Rocks

Linda Roy of elleroy was here

Michelle Poston Combs of Rubber Shoes In Hell

Susan Lee Maccarelli of Pecked To Death By Chickens

Vicki Lesage of Life, Love, and Sarcasm in Paris

Kris Amels of Why, Mommy?

Mackenzie Cheeseman of Is there cheese in it?

Tracy DeBlois of Orange & Silver