Vagillion – n. a million vaginas or in reference to a lot of women. (source- Urban Dictionary)

Vagillion- the word I said by accident, when introducing Nikki of Moms Who Drink and Swear at the comedy show- Honey I Shrunk My Libido.

A brilliant mistake. Like Edison and the light bulb, Ben Franklin and his kite, I coined a phrase I didn’t even know existed. So now I give you a vagillion reasons to attend MamaCon 2014. Okay, I’ll make a short list of a few reasons and we’ll call it good, ‘kay?

(This list is not in numerical order, as you can see.)

85. Do not feel guilty for taking time for yourself
This is important. We are horrible at constantly flexing the guilt muscle. You are thinking of all the things you could or should be doing, and sitting in a seminar with a bunch of moms learning about how to take time for yourself, doesn’t seem like one of those things. Well, let me tell you- it is.

You have to fill your tank to be able to give to others. <pshhsk> (that’s the sound of the loud speaker) “This is your Captain speaking- Mom’s, put your oxygen masks on first.”

Got it? Good.

33. Don’t do chores begrudgingly.
This is hard, I know. Maybe harder than taking time for yourself and not feeling guilty. But I learned that if I want my kids to do chores, I better do my own chores without complaining. Being productive is good. Sure laundry and dishes may not be that fun, but darn it, it’s not hard and it needs to get done. So yeah, I will only complain about chores on Facebook and my blog, not in front of my children. Oh, and I told McSweetie this too. He agrees that rolling his eyes whenever I ask him to take out the trash or put his washed shorts away, is probably not a good example in front of the kids.

122. Hook the shit out of closets.
I know you’re thinking, ‘what in thee sam hill is she talking about?’ Well, it was an organizing expert that shared a nice tidbit about using vertical spaces. We need to do it more. Horizontal, we have nailed. Covered, quite literally. But vertical- there’s a whole new world of storage if we put hooks all over our closets, the backs of doors and under shelves. I will be making a trip to Home Depot soon. Translation- I will be sending McSweetie to Home Depot soon.

22. I need to not worry about the mythical relationship between food and exercise. There is no relationship between food and exercise. They don’t know each other. They’ve never met. There’s a relationship I have with both of them and it’s called, I need them to live. Yeah. It’s that simple. I need to stop thinking over every little calorie, stop beating myself up for every missed trip to the gym. I will eat, I will exercise. I have to. It’s how humans survive. I will eat when I’m hungry, and try to move as much as possible. And this includes trips to the gym, walking the dog, playing catch or pogo-sticking with Owen, or a roll in the sack with hubs. So there.

5. I can host a comedy show like nobody’s business. I’m no Tina Fey or Ellen DeGeneres, but when I impersonated urinating like a sprinkler and read my Sky Rockets in Flight  blog for the crowd, there was much laughter. And I can’t take all the credit. The fabulous ladies, Mom comedians Jacki Kane (jackikane.com), Joanie Quinn (livetired.net), Nikki Schulak (nikkischulak.com) of Honey I Shrunk My Libido and Nikki of Moms Who Drink and Swear had the crowd of women, eating out of their hand. I burned a vagillion calories that night laughing. See what I did there?

I hear there’s a MamaCon in Chicago come October. If I play my cards right, and save my lip gloss money, I might get to go!

See you then!

Okay, ironically, yes, I came across the inspiration from social media- shush.

But really, I think this is just a dose of some goodness we need.

Read on here at In the Powder Room-

I still haven’t lost the baby weight.

Owen was born with bright blond hair. Lots of it. He needed a hair cut at 9 months because he had a comb-over, it was so long!

Once my nether regions healed after birthing out this 8 pound 11 ounce child of 23 (22?) inches long with a 95th percentile head- I grew to realize that the ‘mama’s boy’ myth was coming true. He was in love with me and I with him.

I promise to not be a nightmare mother in law. It might be hard. He’s my golden boy.

I figured in honor of this day- I will post a few gems of previous Owen posts. He has always been entertaining. Including this one:

Also, I shall include last year’s post of when I share his birth story. It’s pretty good.

The Difference Between Sons and Daughters

Ha! Answer- HUGE!

Yeah, DUH!  I figure since my son’s birthday is coming up and I wrote a blog post about my daughter’s birthday, I should give him the same credit. Although, he is the second child and sometimes you just forget to do stuff for the next kid, like baby books, home movies, that sort of thing. The five second rule comes in to play a whole lot more. You don’t sweat the little stuff like you obsessed over the first time.

So, my story begins- I was about 16 weeks pregnant with my second child. I didn’t know yet if it was a boy or a girl. I kinda wanted it to be a girl. My daughter was 2 1/2, we had a houseful of girl things, I figured, I know girls. I’m a girl,  I can do girls. What do I do with a boy? Will I want to play with him? When he gets older, how am I going to deal with penis questions? (let me tell you now- I am always dealing with penis and testicle questions.) What if he’s hyper, what if he likes guns and wants to be an Ultimate Fighting Champion when he grows up? What is he going to wear? Boys clothes sure as heck aren’t as cute as girl’s clothes.  These were the thoughts that were spinning around and around in my head. Very shallow, but reasonable thoughts.

A friend of mine gave me a children’s book called “Love You Forever” about a mom so devoted to her baby boy and all his phases of growing up. She would tuck him in each night, she would watch him sleep. And then when he was a grown up she climbed in through his window and watched him sleep. Which is really weird. Then when she was an old lady, he watched her sleep and carried her when she couldn’t walk. And it goes to show you how much a mama loves her boy and vice versa. I thought it was a little creepy with the whole sleep watching part and I thought, “I’m never going to be one of THOSE moms that clings to her son.”

<<SNORT>> Yeah right. Fast forward 9 years from then- no girl is going to be good enough for MY boy!! No girl. Okay, settle down. I’m kidding. But I totally get the mother/son connection. My boy is a mama’s boy for sure. And he IS my favorite. I mean, okay, not really!! He’s just, well, he’s easy to love. So I joke about him being my favorite.*

In those early months of pregnancy, I read in a magazine that if your pee was tinged green you were having a boy. If it’s yellow, you’re having a girl. Of course, I was always inspecting my pee color those early weeks. And it was, well, pee color. I guess, I mean, sort of guess it was kinda greenish. It depended on when I took my vitamin, how much water I had been drinking. It was really hard to determine. Also, I heard that if you crave meats you are having a boy. I totally craved sweet baked goods when I was pregnant with Emma. And strawberries. I ate strawberries all the time. With Owen’s pregnancy, I craved vodka. What does THAT tell you?? I craved lots of seafood. I wanted shrimp and prawns all the time. And steak. So yes, I guess I did crave meat.

We had names picked out for if it was a girl or if it was a boy. Nothing written in stone. We just had ideas. I sure as heck had more options if it was a girl. I loved all kinds of girl names. Not that James agreed with me on most of them. Like, Cher or Genevieve, or Violetta. Something awesome of course! I kind of wanted Charlotte or Olivia. I thought that would go well with Emma. He didn’t want any part of that. Too old fashioned he said. I wanted Margaret or Kathleen. Again, too old fashioned. GEEZE, what did he want- Beyonce?? So we kind of, sort of, chose Sarah. But for the boy, we were leaning towards Henry. Love the name Henry. Yes, it was old fashioned, but we both agreed on it. Then low and behold his Great Aunt one day said if it’s named Henry, she’s calling him Hank. Well, stop the presses, because I’m not having a kid going by the name of Hank! Hank is a name for an old man wearing a wife beater shirt guzzling a Pabst Blue Ribbon in his lawn chair. No offense, I just had this image of what a Hank looked like, and it was NOT my son. So then it just came to us- If it’s a boy, it needs to be Owen, which is James’ middle name and his grandfather’s name on his dad’s side. And you don’t get Hank out of Owen. So Owen it would be. Or Sarah. We weren’t sure yet.

We went to the ultrasound at 20 weeks and found out we had a healthy baby. Brain, heart, all the good stuff- looking fine. And yep, a penis. There it was. The fifth appendage. They told us we were having a boy and I thought, well, okey dokey, a boy it is. Hmm, not sure how I feel about it. I wasn’t disappointed. And I wasn’t over the moon. I was just sort of, content. Yeah, content. Now I WAS convinced I was peeing green.

So the day Owen was born was very different, of course, than the day Emma was born. All birth stories are unique. With Emma, I had the perfect epidural after excruciating labor. With Owen, I experienced labor the way it was intended.  It ebbed and flowed and I got through it. I got the epidural but had to start pushing before it actually kicked in. He was coming hard and fast down the pike. They kept telling me it should be working and I shouldn’t feel a thing. Well, tell that to my burning vagina! I felt everything! I would find out later that the epidural worked perfectly if I was having leg surgery on my right side. Thirty minutes after I pushed out the placenta, I couldn’t feel my whole right leg. Gee thanks Dr. Anesthesiologist! Asshat.

So, I was scared as hell about feeling everything since I felt nothing with Emma’s birth.  You bloody well can bet I wanted to be numb for this one too. Well, I think I pushed maybe three times and out he came. Apparently, I push babies out easily. Despite their head circumference being the size of a bowling ball. What does THAT say about my hoo ha? Wait, don’t answer that.

Because I was more concerned with myself and the BURNGING RING OF FIRE sensation that just ripped through me when Owen came out, that when they placed him on me all warm and slimy, I remember thinking, “I did it!”. I didn’t feel that incredible connection to the universe like when Emma was born. I wasn’t as panicked about his well-being since he wasn’t in any fetal distress like she had been. Maybe because I was thinking more practically after having done it before. He had a full head of hair when he came out.  He looked like a surfer – kinda tan and with bleach blond hair. He nursed immediately. What a boob guy. He wouldn’t let go. The hoo ha survived, and latching on happened like it should have. And then, I fell in love with the little peanut. More like the little ham hock. He was 8 pounds, 11 ounces and I swear 23 inches, but the nurse said 22, but I SAW the tape measure. She totally short-changed him. But whatever. I know.

He cried, but didn’t fuss. If he was hungry- he cried. But honestly, if you held him, he was happy. Emma fussed. Sorry dear- you were a cranky pants sometimes. Oh and the colic! He never had that. He slept better, cried less and was just kinda chill. Maybe he was a surfer? I do remember him surfing across my spleen sometimes, or my cervix. He used to karate chop straight down the birth canal those last few weeks he was gestating in the womb. Holy fallopian tubes he would kick the wind out of me- from the inside!

Owen is a very typical child. He whines, he pouts, he doesn’t always do as he’s told. But 9 out of 10 times, he’s really good. He is always thanking me for doing things for him, taking him places, feeding him. He’s the most grateful child I know. He’s a goody two-shoes like me. Totally keeps track of any swearing or yelling by any family member. He really hates yelling. He likes things quiet. He loves to snuggle. And he loves James Bond and Harry Potter and drinks cups of tea with me. Really? What more could a mom ask for?

I can totally trust him. Emma is the story knitter. She can knit a story into a sweater like nobody’s business. How many times when she was in preschool I had to clarify to the teachers what was going on in our family. Whether she had said her dad broke his leg, which he didn’t, but she wanted the pastor (she went to a Christian preschool at our church) to pray for him so she decided to make up a story. Or when her teacher asked me how Disneyland was, and I told her that we hadn’t been to Disneyland. And she said that Emma had told the class that her Grandpa drove the family down to Disneyland in his RV. Well, Grandpa doesn’t have an RV and we didn’t go to Disneyland at all that year. So you get the idea.

I can look Owen square in the eye and he will tell me exactly what happened. If he got in trouble at school (this has happened twice in his whole elementary career) he immediately came to me with the note from his teacher. Guilty. He hates guilt. So he faces it head on.

The difference with boys and girls is clearly attitude. Emma throws me attitude like a logger at a Highland games. Just pitches it up to fall hard on me, Owen doesn’t do that. You don’t have to walk on egg shells around him. Emma is Miss Moody. Happy and easy-going one minute, in tears and hating the world the next. Typical hormonal pre-teen FEMALE. (*If you’re reading this ever in the future Emma, I think you’re awesome and the best daughter ever. Don’t hate me.)

Well, I could brag on and on about my amazing children, but I will spare you. My point is, despite my feelings while I was pregnant and anticipating a boy, wondering how to love it, how it will love me- I can’t imagine it any other way.  Two girls would absolutely kill me! Oh dear heavens, the estrogen would put us over the edge!! At least with Emma as the first born.  She is so Alpha that I can’t imagine another female between her and I.  Owen balances our family beautifully.

He really is my golden boy.

I pop out some damn cute kids, huge head and all.

I’m a makeup snob. But I’m also a makeup junkie. So if there’s a chance there’s something just as good out there, but at a fraction of the cost- I’ll try it.

How I wish I had this knowledge last summer when we went to Hawaii and I forgot to pack my makeup!

So I made a video to show my application and to compare the high end matches to the low end dupes. Check below for a product list.

And let me tell you- I was pleased!

NYX Eyeshadow Base

Maybelline Color Tattoo Metal 24 Hour

L’Oreal Infallible Eyeshadow Bronzed Taupe

Wet N Wild Kohl Pencil- Black

NYX eyeshadow- Nude

Milani Blush- Luminoso

NYC Bronzer- Sunny 720

Boots No7 Photo Fix Primer

L’Oreal Concealer Crayon- W1/2

Laura Gellar eyebrow pencil- taupe

Rimmel lipstick- 110

Revlon Colorstay in Nude 200

Maybelline liquid  master liner- black

Elf Makeup Remover Pen

Brushes- ELF, MAC, Sonia Kashiuk, Samantha Chapman

Show of hands- how many of you included a discussion about oral sex in the ‘sex talk’ with your pre-teens?

Hmm? Not too many of you I’m guessing. Now I’m no expert on child psychology or ‘the talk’. But let me share with you a little frank discussion I had recently with Emma. And she caught me off guard. We were driving in the car, so I needed to answer these completely sober. No cocktails were involved. No liquid courage to help. Deep breath. We’re going in.

Okay, the other night, Emma and I had some time just to ourselves. Lately we’ve been getting these afternoons or an evening together because the boys are entrenched in select soccer try-outs and spring tournaments. So they get to do their thing, and we do our thing.

Emma asks as we’re driving home from dinner, ‘Mom, was dad the only person you had sex with?’ Cue breaks screeching sound. Uhm, whoa there chica. I didn’t know we were having THIS conversation right now!

Me, “Uhm, yes.” There was a hint of doubt in my voice she detected. (Mom you can stop reading right here. Thanks- love you!)

Emma, “Mom, be honest now.”

Me, “Well, yes and no. Had I been intimate with some fellas before your dad? – yes. I was 23 when I met your father and I had some time to make out with other guys in college (not many, mind you) before I met daddy and so I had some experience with uhm, that stuff.” AWKWARD!

Emma, “Have you ever touched a pee pee with your mouth?” Her words, not mine!

Me, “Geeze kid! What are you doing with me here?!”

You could tell it was taking a lot of courage on her part. So I kept my cool. I could see she had some things going on in her mind, and I didn’t want to ruin this moment of her opening up to me. I also didn’t want to talk about blow jobs with my 13 year old!

I literally pulled the car over into a neighborhood and put it in park. I realized this conversation needed some attention and I wanted to make the most out of it.

So this is what I told her.  Feel free to take notes because afterwards, I felt like I totally nailed this. Really, parenting win moment coming up in 3, 2, 1…

“A lot of kids in middle school and high school are probably experimenting with oral sex. Guys might tell girls that blow jobs are harmless, don’t count as sex and also, you can’t get pregnant so it’s a win-win, right? No. Oral sex is just as intimate, it counts for sex and it means a whole lot more than you think it means. You can still get an STD from it and it is a big deal.”

Emma, “Isn’t it weird? Who wants a penis in their face?”

This is the right answer coming from a 13 year old!! Yes, who wants a penis in their face anyway? (silent prayer to myself, please help me Jesus that this child will not see a penis until she’s 30!)

I immediately thought of the scene in the movie Bridesmaids when Annie and Lillian are having brunch and Annie (Kristen Wiig) is confessing of her sleepover with her ex and reenacting a penis or a one-eyed snake using her facial expressions.

Me, “What you need to understand is that there will come a time when you’re kissing a boy and he’ll want to go further than just kissing. You will probably too.”

Emma, “That’s gross, I don’t want to do any of that!”

Me, “Now, right. If you think penises are gross, you have no business being near one. This clearly shows you are not mature to handle the situation.  However,  maybe when you’re 15 or 16 you will want to. Not that that’s an okay age either to have sex. You are going to think it feels good to be with a boy and you will be just as interested in having him touch you as he wants to touch you. Sex is a nice thing. It’s awesome. When you’re an adult and responsible and with someone you can trust. Whether those grown ups have intercourse like regular procreating mammals (cue laughter from Girl right here) or decide they want to enjoy each others’ bodies with their hands, OR mouths- is up to them. (Cue grossed out noises from Girl right here.) Let me stress- adults- not teenagers.  Feeling in love, loving someone and enjoying them is a perfectly wonderful thing. Just not when you’re 14.”

Emma didn’t believe me when I told her this. The part about her wanting to be with a boy. And that is understandable considering her age now. She’s convinced she’s not making out with a boy until she’s married to him. I explained that it’s unrealistic to think that. If she doesn’t want to kiss a boy or be with someone until her 20s or 30s, then great. But if she realizes that she’s kissing a boy and she’s 15 and she’d like to see how far it will go, then that’s when she needs to stop and think.

I want her to know that she needs to value herself. No boy is worth compromising for. Don’t do something with a guy because you’re afraid if you don’t that he won’t like you anymore. If you do end up doing anything you don’t want to, you’ll end up not liking yourself. And that’s more dangerous than any boy’s acceptance or rejection. Love yourself more than any other boy out there could ever say he loves or likes you.

But, if she’s the girl who wants the boy to do stuff with her and that boy doesn’t want to, she needs to respect him too. Boundaries are important for both sides. If she feels the little sparks of desire start to flicker, she needs to come to me and we can talk about what’s an appropriate solution with handling that until she’s 18 or 19 and on her own. Well, she already knows all about condoms and birth control. But what I want her to understand is that when urges come on strong, she can figure out what to do to not give in. I’m thinking jogging, shopping, macrame? Just kidding.

So there. I hope this helps you. Because heavens knows I got a few extra gray hairs from it and probably lost a few beats of my heart when it skipped.

Am I glad she asked me this? Hell yes. I’m so grateful to be talking with my teenager. That she comes to me with questions. I’m full to the brim with gratitude that she trusts me. I will cultivate this as long as possible. Even if it’s uncomfortable for me, it’s worth it.

For some references on talking to your kids about sex, check out Amy Langs blog, The Birds + Bees + Kids Blog.

Hey it’s Mother’s Day next week. You know what that means? Macaroni necklaces and handprint pictures that you will treasure forever. Or not.

Don’t think I’m a bitch for saying this- but sometimes for Mother’s Day, I would actually like a present that isn’t an outline of my child’s hand, or I don’t know, a shower head fixture. Now that the kids are older, I don’t get many egg crate jewelry boxes or seashell decoupages. And not to say I didn’t enjoy the ones I did get in my past. I did. I remember vividly tearing up at the hand print poem Owen gave me the Mother’s day he was in Kindergarten. It was precious. And I understand that McSweetie doesn’t really know what to do with Mother’s day anyway. Do I get a simple bouquet of flowers and call it good? Or do I need a giant diamond pendant that signifies all the fabulous things I do each and every day?

Well, neither.

I think flowers are a rip-off at Mother’s Day. They jack up the prices. And a giant diamond pendant is a little ridiculous. Just a little. A medium-sized diamond pendant wouldn’t be that ridiculous though…

So let’s be real here. We want to share all the real things we love and hate about Mother’s Day. You know there are those things that suck about it! And I thought what would be more perfect than a review of an awesome new book. Recently, I got the privilege of a copy of the new book Scary Mommy; Motherhood Comes Naturally  (and Other Vicious Lies) by Jill Smokler. I was tickled that I got a preview of the book from her publisher and I couldn’t wait to share my book review with you. It does not disappoint.

If you come from the point of view that motherhood isn’t all baby powder freshness and cooing lullabies, you will love Jill’s book. This is a second installment of her Scary Mommy tales. All I can say is, where was this woman when Emma was a baby?

Some Scary Mommy Confessions you can probably relate to:

“I beat my kids at Super Mario Bros. and proceeded to do a victory dance that made them all cry. Whoops.”

“For Mother’s Day, I will trim my pubes. And then I’ll pleasure myself while fantasizing about child-free days, endless bottles of wine, and the time when my husband was actually sexy.”

And my favorite-

“For years we’ve been assuming our daughter is just in an annoying phase. Turns out, she’s actually just really annoying.”

So for all you hard working, (every mom is a working mom) tireless, selfless mothers out there- I’m doing something special.

Enter for a chance to win a copy of Motherhood Comes Naturally (and Other Vicious Lies) by Jill Smokler, and I will throw in a copy of I Just Want To Pee Alone! As a bonus giveaway- if you prove in the comments with a link to a social media site that you told your friends about Scary Mommy’s book, I will randomly select a winner for something special by ME! No macaroni necklaces here, this will be a great load of loot, I promise.

Jill has been crazy busy promoting her book on the Today show and is starting a book tour- Find her cities here. 

I want to help her sell a ton of books. She has three kids to put through college people- or pay for therapy, either way.

So enter and share!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Today’s blog post is a video.

So many folks ask me about makeup, so I’m sharing my wisdom and expertise. Let’s use those phrases loosely for me, ‘kay?

Grab a cup of something good, take notes, and enjoy a long (it’s 29 minutes!) session on makeup with me.

Tell me what you like, or what you don’t like about it and I’ll use that for my next video. I say things like, “just slap that on” or “go to town with …” it’s entertaining, I promise.

MAC Prolongwear foundation N18

MAC Prolongwear concealer NW20

MAC Mylar eyeshadow

MAC Ombre eyeshadow

Lord & Berry Kohl pencil- black

Maybelline Volume Express The Rocket Mascara- Black

Laura Gellar Eyebrow Pencil- Taupe

FLOWER lipstick LS2

MAC Mineralize skin finish in Light

Milani Blush Luminoso

No7 Photo Primer wrinkler filler

Dior Skin Nude Tan Bronzer

I got the flu this weekend. And let me just say that my family was a champ about the whole thing. Mostly. Did my husband roll his eyes at me? Yes. Did I have to send him out for things like toilet paper and cat food and he rolled his eyes at me? Yes. Did my kids actually leave me alone? YES!

Both of my children have a phobia, an absolute fear of vomiting. Emma seriously can’t stand vomiting. If she thinks she’s going to throw up, she starts to cry. My children throw up maybe once a year, if that. Emma hasn’t puked in at least 3 years (knocks on wood.)

So if mom pukes, guess what? No one wants to be around me and catch it! Yay! oh, hang on…. dizzy spell…. okay. Better now. I shouldn’t get so excited in my condition.

Here’s how it all went down: I came home Friday night from an alumni event at my high school. That sounds really formal and important. Actually, it was my speech team’s Blabathon. A fundraiser they do for the Speech and Debate team and there’s games and talking involved. Like a telethon with teenagers. A bunch of us old folks showed up because we adore our coach, Gorne. You can read here about how I went to my high school this year to do a play.

I left for home at around 9pm feeling funky. I hadn’t felt well all day. I thought it was indigestion. Seriously. I kept popping enzyme tablets and even had a shot of tonic water with Jaegermeister to help my stomach.

It’s about a 25 minute drive home. I began to feel nauseous, achy and shivery. No. What? It can’t be. The flu? Oh dear God.

I started singing the song Jesus Take The Wheel when I felt like I was going to toss my cookies. (I didn’t actually sing the lyrics out loud, just thought of them in my head.) Thank heavens for random plastic shopping bags in the car. I grabbed one and pulled over. I remembered to turn on my hazard lights. I waited about 5 minutes and my cookies stayed in my stomach where they belong. I merged back on the freeway and then again, felt the need to pull over. Oh geeze!

I kept thinking if I just make it home, please Jesus, please let me get home. Then my stomach started on the other end. Oh, really? So if I have diarrhea in the car, who’s cleaning that up? What plastic bag do I use for THAT?

I get home, thank GOD, and stagger into the house and into the bathroom.

I give orders to McSweetie to get me the BOWL and a heating pad and a glass of water. Owen follows me upstairs and makes sure I get in bed. Bless him! He helped me changed into a t-shirt and pajama pants. He took my clothes and shoes in to the closet. He is so my favorite.

James came to check on me and Emma wished me a good night by the door way far away from my germy self. I fell asleep…

Yes. I woke up in the night to toss more cookies. Into the bowl, thank goodness.

Saturday arrives and it’s busy. Emma had a theater performance to do. Two in fact. A matinee and an evening performance.

James was on. He needed to be my guy and do all the work. I couldn’t get out of bed. I was able to stomach some clear tea and toast but I had body aches and chills and was exhausted.

Did I use the home phone to call him on his cell phone to tell him to come upstairs with some Advil? Maybe. It’s not like he gave me a bell or anything.

That whole day, Owen would occasionally grace my doorway with a ‘how are you mom?’ and tell me something he saw on his European League Soccer channel. I did have to do Emma’s hair for her performance. Two side buns on her head. She was good and didn’t complain when I stuck her with bobbi pins.

It got a little dicey at dinner time. James wasn’t sure what to do and he still had to run and pick up Emma after she was done with her performance. This is where the eye-rolling came in. I tried to give him some gentle direction, and he obliged my orders willingly. (Or not, maybe he just faked the willingly part.)

Sunday I was feeling so much better. I went downstairs and found a scene similar to a frat house; pizza boxes, soda bottles, a beer bottle, dirty socks, dishes…. You get the idea.

I tidied up, took a shower and had to get Emma to her matinee because James had a soccer game to coach. I even picked up some groceries, made some dinner and washed the bed. Ugh. It wore me out.

But a mom’s gotta do, what a mom’s gotta do.

Getting sick sucks. Getting sick when you’re a mom sucks even worse. But thankfully, my troops did pull together for the most part. I’m still dizzy today. I’ve gotta get some chores and errands done. I can do this…. maybe after a nap?

I couldn’t believe when Emma told me that there are things called Period Parties. So I Googled it, and yes- there are Period Parties.

WTF?

I guess they’re called Menarche Parties. Menarche is the first period of a girl according to ancient Greece- or Wikipedia, whatever.

First there were potty parties for potty training, now there’s period parties. Oy vey. Why not? The Jewish throw parties for the foreskin and women throw parties for their boob jobs too. You can throw a party for anything really, and lately parents have been doing just this. (But let’s not okay?)

I’m not the only one to blog about this, I know. But my readers are a little bit like me, and if you’ve been living under a rock, you’re going to want to know what to do for your daughter that crosses that threshold to womanhood.

Here’s my advice- don’t waste your money on Tampon Basketball as a game if you’re going to throw one of these parties. This was a game suggested on one of the parenting websites for fun activities to do during a Period Party. Another item of advice they included, “probably don’t invite boys- this could be embarrassing.”  Well, no shit, Sherlock.

Back to Tampon Basketball- I’m sorry, but Tampax doesn’t come cheap and providing several boxes for half a dozen 12 and 13 year olds to toss in a can or bucket and see who gets the most in, isn’t my idea of how I want to spend my money.

I won’t be ordering a red velvet cake either with frosting inscribed to read, ‘Happy Menarche Emma” (Menarche- pronounced like Malarkey)

Hmm, what else? I won’t be sending out invitations to her intimate group of girl friends. Honestly, they are nice girls, but how am I going to be guaranteed that they won’t laugh in my daughter’s face when Emma hands them the red embossed envelope that reads, “From Girlhood, to Womanhood, Come to My Period Party.”

We won’t spend the afternoon making crafts with red paint and sequins, or drinking raspberry leaf tea with fancy tampon tea bags. Edward Cullen anyone?

If people want to throw these crimson tide parties for their daughter- yay. Good for you. If your daughter WANTS this.

Mine however, does not. She doesn’t want to macrame tampon strings. She won’t play pin the ovaries on the fallopian tubes.

What I will be doing for her instead-

• Bringing her some ibuprofen
• Heating up the rice pack in the microwave
• Buying her favorite Ben & Jerry’s
• Letting her watch countless episodes of Glee or Castle
• Making sure she has plenty of black leggings and dark jeans to wear (this is probably the most important lesson of all!)
• Having a proper supply of the appropriate hygiene items
• A bottle of wine for myself

What you should be doing for your daughter with or without a Menarche party-

Letting  her feel comfortable to come to you with any question regarding her privates.

Help her to feel that menses, despite it being a bitch (I’m sorry, I refuse to celebrate what a fucking pain it is), it’s something all of us females have to go through and there’s no shame in it.

It’s a mother fucker, but it’s part of life and there’s no shame, no shame at all.

Happy period sweetie.