Follow on Bloglovin> Be Mini Couture

Why I regret spanking my child

We say it takes a village to raise a child.

It can take a fleet of people to bring home a new baby. Grandparents, neighbors, best friends are all helping the new and bleary-eyed parents with their unfamiliar and exhausting schedule. The dinners are pre-made in the freezer, the laundry folded by a kind grandma, neighbor or mother-in-law are absolutely life savers!

There are countless instances where the village kicks in:

A ride to the pediatrician with your best friend can help you with that cumbersome stroller you’re still getting the hang of collapsing to fit in your trunk…I’ve been there.

When your oldest is sick and you can’t pick up your youngest from school and that helpful neighbor offers to do it for you.

But when it comes to issues like discipline that border on child abuse, we can turn a blind eye and say that how you discipline your kids is your business. What goes on behind closed doors is your business. How you treat or mistreat your spouse is your business.

It’s a Pandora’s Box of taboo topics. A minefield of gray that most of us would rather leave to each his own.

However, if it takes a village to raise a child, why do we neglect one of the parts that is so critical to a child’s psyche and molding in how he or she will perceive violence, corporal punishment, and power?

In the case of NFL player, Adrian Peterson, he took a switch, a small branch from a tree and hit the child repeatedly for interfering with another child’s video game.

This is an old-fashioned form of punishment. Probably one our grandparents endured. I think my dad did. We’ve seen it on episodes of Little House on the Prairie when the school master disciplines a student with a switch or stick. Nuns did this in Catholic schools with rulers, headmasters with paddles.

The difference between those situations and the Adrian Peterson situation is the boy’s injuries and wounds look like they were inflicted out of rage and lack of self control.

Discipline should be carried out judicially. Not in a fit of anger.

This is why I can say I regret some of the spankings I gave my daughter. I know that I reacted in the heat of the moment when I gave her the swat on her diapered backside. Read more

 

Why I regret spanking my child by Frugalista Blog for Bonbon Break

I can’t please everyone

“Get a hobby.”

“Get a job.”

“Clean your house more often.”

“Let down your hair and blow off steam.”

“You should go out with your girl friends.”

“Why do you go out so much?”

“Pay attention to your kids more.”

If I did nothing but look after my house all day, people would think I’m weird and need a hobby. If I just sat around and did a hobby all day, people would think I needed to work more. It’s called balance people. I do what works for my family. Not yours.

Why are people so judgey? I didn’t ask your opinion. Okay, I just did about the judgey question, but before that. Why do people judge my parenting based on how often I’m on the internet? Shouldn’t they judge my parenting based on my kids themselves?

I’m a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom). It’s a lame term. I don’t just stay home. Sometimes I do. Sometimes all I can do is wait for the kids to leave the house for the school bus so I can watch Sherlock on Netflix or Downton Abbey. I make myself lattes and eat baked goods and am in clear denial as to the amount of work I actually have to get done. It’s a coping mechanism.

Then there’s some days I leave the house around 9 am and don’t get home until 7:30 or 8 at night. Between errands, appointments, volunteering and taking the kids to their activities, I am non-stop.

On a really good day, I’ll throw in some laundry between errands and empty the dishwasher. On a fabulous day, I’ll prepare a dinner that is nutritious AND delicious. Whoa.

So if you’re wondering, no, I don’t spend my whole day on Facebook. Or my blog.

I blog when I can, usually after the kids go to bed. Or when they’ve left for school.

Why am I even telling you this? Because there’s bloggers and moms and dads out there who seem to share their opinions freely about how horrible us blogging, Instagraming, Facebooking, and Pinteresting moms are. And I’m tired of it.

I’m pretty sure my kids are totally fine while I sit here next to them and I’m on my computer. Or wait in the carpool line on my phone. And when they were younger, how many times did I hear, “mommy watch this!” and for the one millionth time I was shown how they could spin and forward roll. Or burp. I didn’t miss any milestones of my children’s development because I was on the internet. My children are not maladjusted because I don’t give them every breathing, waking second of my attention. No, in fact. They are independent beings that know how to wipe their own ass. (Most of the time.)

Now with the book, I Just Want to Pee Alone out and kicking book selling butt- I want to be clear that I am in support of other moms who share their candid tales of parenting and motherhood, pregnancy and post-partum, and not just do it honestly, but hilariously! The kind of stories you laugh so hard at over a Girls Night Out when someone shares the story of how they gave birth, that you pee your pants, or spew your cosmo out your nose. Don’t all moms pretty much share their birth stories?

Then there’s my marriage. If I make a few jokes about McSweetie, can we not jump to conclusions that I must be a nightmare to live with? Can we not think my marriage must be miserable and my husband so pussy whipped, he doesn’t know what hit him? If I was a stand-up comic and did this piece about how husbands can behave like children, there would be a lot of women who agree with me. Or husbands that agree with me about their spouse being childlike. But put it in a blog, and all of a sudden, I’m Dr. Phil and I need to stop giving marital advice and stop emasculating my husband. Trust me, a list about how my husband doesn’t pick up his underwear, doesn’t emasculate him.

He admits to his foibles. He knows he can be lazy around the house. So what? I get something off my chest, a few others laugh about it and tell me they relate, I feel better. Life goes on. We don’t have to psycho analyze it into a marriage crisis, people! I’m actually pretty awesome to be married to. I wash his shorts, make his lattes, encourage him and his career, send him off to heavy metal concerts with his buddies, take care of his mother’s birthday… I’m a pretty damn good wife.

Here let me interview McSweetie on his feelings about this….

Oh, sorry, he was asleep on the couch. I’ll ask him later.

Okay, are we cool? Because I’m a little tired of people getting their knickers in a twist. Just chill the fluff down. I can’t please everyone, so I please me. And my family. Thankyouverymuch.

And if you haven’t yet- buy the damn book!

Peace in Connecticut

I don’t always like to blog about controversial topics. I don’t. But I’m a writer. So I write my feelings. My blog is my voice and I try to use my voice with a purpose.  Here are my thoughts on the horrible event at Sandy Hook elementary in Connecticut.

The fact of the matter is- I hate guns. But before all my NRA readers get hot under the collar at me- give me a chance here. I support the 2nd Amendment. Sure. I don’t like it, but that’s my opinion. You can carry a handgun. You can own hunting rifles. But get those mother fucking automatic assault rifles out of the hands of citizens. I don’t know why we don’t agree on that. The assault ban law expired years ago. Why?

So with that said, yes, I’m sure I’ve pissed some people off, BUT- here is what I know we can agree on. The persons who have committed these atrocities in the last year, and the last 10 years, all were mentally ill. Right? Nobody does this is thinking soundly. Clearly we can use these examples as a learning tool. Can’t we?

Politicians, lobbyists, activists, LISTEN UP- we need to stop reacting in a knee-jerk fashion, pointing fingers, spending millions of dollars on lobbying, blaming parties (this is not a party issue, I assure you.) I have Republican friends who hate guns and Democratic friends who own them. We need to get to the root of the problem and fix those who are mentally unsound.

It isn’t easy. I’m not stupid. But why do all the stories of family members and acquaintances to these criminals start with, “I knew something wasn’t right with them…”

I don’t know how you can argue your right to bear arms of a semi automatic firearm to a mother who’s 5 year old was gunned down while sitting in their Kindergarten class. Or tell the surviving children of that class why their teacher’s son came with so much fire power to kill his own mother and their classmates.

This could have happened anywhere, to anyone. It has. We’ve seen it. From Amish communities, high schools, movie theaters, places of worship… there is no place safe in America. There just isn’t.

So this is why I’m asking those that sound off in the argument on this to be kind, to be respectful, to honor those that are surviving the aftermath. Yes, people kill people. But guns used by people kill people too. Terrible things will continue to happen in our world. This event rips out our hearts because we can’t understand it. The fact is, more children die from auto accidents, bicycle accidents, and childhood cancer than they will from a mass shooting. But why does it always feel like there was something that could’ve been done?

30,000 people have friends and family members who are missing them in just this passed year lost to gun violence. My question is for all of us, what can we do to lower that number? What can we do to protect people’s rights, without threatening people’s safety.

What countries in our world have fewer gun deaths and better mental health provisions? What is their system? This isn’t a socialist or capitalist problem. This is an American problem. We need to honestly and thoroughly look at every single possibility we can do to prevent this, or minimize this from happening again.

The date on the calendar, 11 days until Christmas, makes this more painful. I think about the presents I’ve already wrapped for my children that are under the tree, that are unwrapped hidden around the house in special places. Their advent calendars happily opened each morning. I can’t not break into tears thinking of those advent calendar doors that will go unopened in those houses in Connecticut.

My heart is truly broken.

Peace. Truly, and sincerely- peace.

Douchey kids and parents without a sense of humor.

I am pretty nice. I am. Ask folks. But I do bottle up my frustrations. So I’m smiling on the outside, and inside, I’m shaking my head going , ‘what the fuck?’  WHAT in THEEE FUCK are you thinking people?

Okay, here goes. Deep breath.

Do you lie to your kids? YES! We all do people. Our mom shaming craze is taking over Facebook. Woo hoo. I love a funny joke. I am the queen of self deprecation. I will dance around in a leotard wearing a turban if it makes you laugh.

But if you don’t think when I confess things I do behind my children’s backs isn’t funny- that’s okay. I guess. But I guess we won’t be friends. And that’s okay too. I mean, how do you NOT laugh at such honesty from moms?

Poor Somewhat Sane Mom got in some trouble from some ass-holey trolls who said she was a mean mom, a liar, a bitch, she needed to go grocery shopping, they felt sorry for her kids. Whatever.

Wow. All over a granola bar. A fucking granola bar. You say there are no more in the box. Eat one behind their back. No biggy. A unicorn isn’t going to drop dead somewhere people. Tinkerbell isn’t going to die because you told a fib to your kids.

Here’s a fib I tell my kids. Put your tooth under your pillow so the Tooth Fairy can come and bring you a dollar.

Yeah. That is called a LIE folks. Do you tell your kids- “put your tooth under your pillow so I can trip over random objects in the dark while you sleep and try to shove a dollar under your sleeping little melon without waking you up.” Huh, do you?

Lighten up people.

When you see a splayed out opossum on the road with it’s entrails on the concrete out like sausage and meatballs, do you say, “Wow, sucks to be that fella. Must have hurt real bad when the front end of a large moving vehicle crushed his insides and caused massive injuries and bleeding.” Huh, do you?  Or do you say, “that little opossum is sleeping with someone’s ground hamburger next to them.”

Do you see my point here?

Okay, I would also like to address the assholey little crotch fruit of other people that like to go around kicking, smacking or just spewing their little demon antics on every one.

When your kid hauls off and hits another kid, do you stay standing 10 feet away and say, “hey, let’s not hit, okay?” Or do you run on over to your uterus spawn and take his arm and say, “knock it off! Apologize or we are leaving!” Huh, do  you?

Just asking. Because I see a lot of just parenting from the sidelines. When my kids would do shitty behavior, especially around the age of when shitty behavior is rampant- translation- preschool years through elementary on through middle school…. (ha ha, I’m kidding)… I would get up in their grill and make sure they knew that I was on to them.

Are parents afraid of hurting their kid’s feelings? Are they afraid that if they blow it off in front of other parents those parents will somehow not notice the douchey behavior of the other kid?

Don’t raise a Nellie.

I don’t know.

So there you have it people. My rant on people who parent without a sense of humor and assholey uterus spawn whose parents enable their assholey-ness.

I can only save the world so many folks at a time. If you need a funny intervention or a wake-up call regarding your kid, just message me and I’ll slap some sense into you.

Am I Fat?

Well I’ll save you the trouble of answering that. No, I’m not.

But I still struggle with how I look, as does 99 % of the females in this country do too. I want to focus on my inner beauty. I do. But most of the time I’m a little distracted by the outer train wreck that is my aging self and I forget these important things.

I need to tell myself,  I’m okay. You need to tell YOURSELF that you’re okay. But some things in the media have been bothering me and I will get them off my chest.

Sports Illustrated swim suit model, Kate Upton, has been called fat. Fat?  Hmm, here’s a picture of her-

I’m sorry, who’s complaining?

and here-

How many folks would let her eat crackers in their bed? Show of hands please.

And here’s a blog about what the hell is wrong with people out there calling her fat. I knew about ProAna, (how-to Anorexia website) but I didn’t know about Thinspirational lingo. Gag me. And not in the Bulimia way folks.

 

So when I ask, Am I fat? the answer is still no. But I would be considered a plus size model in the industry. Plus size!  I waver around a solid size 6. My jeans are sometimes an 8, because they’re jeans people!  So Plus size? I don’t even shop at Lane Bryant. Why would I be Plus size if I don’t wear Plus size?  I’m an average size 5’6″ , one hundred and firthnmumpteen pounds.  Even my feet are an average size 8.

My BMI is healthy, my proportions are right- I’m like 34, 27, 38. Okay, I’m 32, 28,39. Whatever. It depends on the time of the month. However, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can help with the dimples, dots, divets, veins, stretch marks and pimply pale skin that is me. Between the barnacles, skin tags, 3rd nipples…did I just say that? I mean, my dermatologist says it’s just my skin overactive in the mammalian variety, whatever.. ANYWAY, it’s not pretty.

 

I am not a plus-sized, woman. I am a healthy, 40 year old, soft and squishy mom of 2!

Comments from people on Kate Upton article read,  ‘oh, she’s pretty, but she could tone up a bit’. Really people? You are going to knock a woman for being a bit, uhm, womanly? Reading fashion magazines and beauty magazines is dumbing down our senses. We are conditioned to see size zero perfectly airbrushed models that DON’T EXIST in the real world! Nit picking over every fold, inch, pudge or dimple is dangerous. Stop seeing just the hole when there’s the entire donut to focus on! A donut with chocolate icing and extra sprinkles that is so wonderful, you forget there’s a hole.

So here- tell me I’m fat. Go on, I dare ya. (Okay, please don’t. Yeah, thanks.)

Would it be fun to be a svelte, tone, size 2? Yes.  But I’m glad I’m HEALTHY, STRONG, and HAPPY!

I’m 40 and freaking fantastic!

Take that stupid magazines- you can suck my 3rd nipple. (DID I JUST SAY THAT?)

I’m tired of being nice

Okay, not really. But can I just rant for a bit? Please? I’ve been really good lately all positive and shit. But sometimes, I just got to let it out. Here goes-

  • People who bring their dogs with them on a summer day in the car and leave them in the parking lot. I don’t care if you crack the windows. I don’t care if it’s cloudy. It’s summer. The car gets hot. YOU sit in a parked car and see how it feels. Just leave them at home. Okay?

Here’s a great little chart of how the temperature changes in a parked car during the summer.

How a car heats up during the day. This site also has tips and facts about preventing pet deaths in parked cars. Use your head people!!

  • Folks who don’t tell their kids that they are being little shits. Now I know that there’s people out there that are real douchecanoes and are mean to their kids. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about parents that just don’t tell their kids to either shut the fuck up, sit still, or keep your goddamn hands to yourself! Don’t let your little monster crinkle their Cheetos bag during a live play (yeah, some kid did this during Emma’s show this weekend), don’t let your spawn splash at the pool so much that folks sitting on deck chairs are getting wet, don’t let your kid pee on the grass at the 4th of July fireworks display next to our lawn chairs. Really. This happened. And out of ten grown-ups, not a one in that group saw this kid drop trou and whip out his wee-wee to pee on the grass. No, I didn’t say anything. Whatevs. But if that was MY kid, I would’ve have used that moment as a learning tool ( I say this in my best Julie Andrews voice).

Public urination is only funny in the movies. Sort of.

  • People who go out in public looking like absolute shit. When you see the dude on his bike, with his hat sideways, looking all gangsta, but wearing alligator pajama bottoms, you seriously scratch your head and think, WTF?

This is the only way I want to see pajama bottoms in public.

  • Drivers texting not looking at the road. Yeah- I’m talking to YOU and YOU and YOU… anyone else? I see moms, teenagers, men, EVERYONE, weaving in and out of their lane, driving under the speed limit. Just fucking drive okay? Especially on the freeway. Sure I use my phone to navigate. I check updates in the car- at stop lights! Not when I’m turning the corner!!
  • And last but not least- rape jokes. Yeah, that’s what I said. Rape jokes. Daniel Tosh is funny, but not when he gets pissed at a heckler and asks the audience if  it would be funny if she was raped by like ’5 guys’. Huh, gee Tosh, who’s the douche now? Daily Beast article Tosh’s rape joke, NOT FUNNY. This goes along with you don’t joke about children being molested or babies being harmed. I remember watching the auditions of Last Comic Standing on NBC and a wanna-be comic had in their routine something about kicking a baby. The judges just cut them off right there and were like, ‘dude, you don’t joke about shit like that. You’re done.’

So there’s my piss list. I feel better getting that off my chest.

Thanks. Now, stay calm and have a cup of tea. Cheerio.

A letter from Katie Holmes to Tom Cruise’s possible 4th wife

I was actually surprised when I heard the news last week that Katie Holmes was filing for divorce from Tom Cruise. Not that their union was ideal or even real… but I thought TomKat had a few more years on the contract. <Cough> I mean, pre nup, <cough> whatever the fuck they arranged between them. And between just you and me, I have a feeling that little Suri is the most spoiled brat on the planet. This is purely speculation on my part. I know she is just an innocent pawn in all this, but don’t you think that she probably raises hell between the nannies, Scientology chaperones and Katie? I bet she has Tom just wrapped around her little Burberry mittened finger.

Doesn’t she look so sweet?

Okay, so here is a warning, or ‘heads up’ if you will to the next woman to fall to Tom’s charms as written by Katie, in my imagination, based on tabloid fodder. Don’t sue me.

Dear doormat-

Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that you will have to be a doormat to make this relationship work. When you realize you’re tired of being a doormat, that is when the relationship will have run its course.

Tom is very charming in the beginning of the relationship. He will pay someone to have your car detailed for you. He will fly your parents out to a fancy hotel and take you all shopping at Bergdorf Goodmans. He will pay for dinner and no one will notice the kool-aid being served that looks like Champagne.

He will try to get you to carry his devil/alien/Scientology spawn as quickly as possible. Trust me. I got knocked up within the first 6 months we were dating. This assured me, he said, that I would get more in the pre-nup because Scientology will use that child’s DNA for future alien/celebrity spawn. This is used in fertility clinics throughout Beverly Hills. Why do you think all the celebrities have twins?

Make sure to compliment him all the time. Whatever you do, don’t mention the height thing. It really irks him. Oh, and don’t point out to him either, that his face looks different from his early movies. This is not surgery. His nose is EXACTLY the same. The only thing that’s changed on him are his teeth which he publicly corrected with braces a few years ago. This is the ONLY thing that has changed on him. DO NOT mention surgery. By the third date, he’ll probably show you his hyperbaric chamber that only Scientology followers get. John Travolta has one too.

This brings us to his friends. Don’t criticize Johnny. They are good ‘friends’. They like to take saunas together, go shopping at the Izod store and spend secret weekends in the Poconos. Kelly is tolerant about this. You will be too.

Another thing NEVER to mention is the ‘couch’ incident. Or Oprah. Or the movie Legend.

No Tom isn’t gay. He doesn’t understand where any of those rumors even started. Just ask Nicole. Actually, scratch that. I think Nicole started those rumors.

Oh, and most importantly- whenever you have sex, (and it wasn’t often, first wife Mimi did elude to him entering monkdom status) he wants you to call him Maverick. Also, you need to yell, at the point of climax, “I can’t handle the truth!” He’s convinced that his sperm is magic. He has magic semen that sparkles. It doesn’t really, but he likes to think so. So just tell him this and he’ll be happy. If you whisper in his ear, ‘take it right in to the danger zone’,  then he’ll pretty much want to please you like he’s jumping on a couch. OH, darn it. I mentioned the couch again. DON’T go there.

Okay, there you go. That’s the gist of it all. Good luck. Don’t expect anything to develop or flourish with your career, family or friends. At first the novelty of isolation is relaxing.  But then, you get really tired of those chaperones.

Well, I’m outta here. My girlfriends and I are going to Vegas. I’m going to do body shots and dance in a cage (that’s not a metaphor or anything).

Cheers,

Katie

P.S. If only Nicole had written ME this letter. Just disregard everything I’ve said and RUN!

I will not censor myself

Hey, readers. Listen up. I’ve been holding back. You know the librarian with the glasses, the buttoned up collar and the comfortable shoes? That’s me. No, it’s not my alter ego stripper character. Although, that would probably be perfect if I were to have some secret stripper life. That’s describing how I’m feeling sometimes when I’ve been writing. I’m thinking of bringing out the fishnets, Flashdance sweater with the cut out neck hole, and a bajillion bangle bracelets Madonna style. You get this is a metaphor right? A wardrobe description to describe my writing? Right? Okay, cuz any of you waiting for pics of me in this get up- just move along.

My point is- NO MORE MRS. NICE GUY!

I’m not going to get all hung up on the Dewey Decimal system anymore!

I’m too careful. I feel I need to please.  I’m worried about what my neighbor might think. What my mom might think. What the husband might think. Well, too damn bad.

I should only have to please ME! If you don’t like what I write, well too damn bad.

Nobody has picked on me or anything. I just was thinking back on some previous posts, and I think I was treading lightly. I shouldn’t feel like I need to beat around the bush with my blog. It’s not a family get together with the in-laws where I should choose my words carefully. This is MY blog. And I’m going to write like I’ve had two appletinis and I’m out with my girlfriends!

Hold. The. Phone. There’s a Flashdance Barbie? Why do I feel like I need this?

Oh yeah!!

ARE YOU READY??

And you’re like, wait- you talk  about your time of the month, sex with your husbandtelling people how to feed their kids  and the sham family bed- what in THEE HELL could you be MORE honest about?

Well, I don’t know- YET. But I promise you, whatever it’s going to be, it will be raw, rough and naked. SEE! I’m already letting loose! ha!!

Maybe it’s this whole turning 40 thing on the horizon.  Maybe it’s life is too short to waste on feeling self-conscious.

I’m going to wear green eyeshadow if I feel like it, regardless of the beauty mags that say I shouldn’t since my eyes are green. And I’m going to wear red lipstick when I feel like it too. Because I got some nice lips, and I can show them off, even if I think I look like Gwen Stefani when I wear red lipstick, but I probably look like Courtney Love after a heroine high.

This is how I look in red lipstick.

So there you go. Stay tuned.

Just kidding!! THIS is how I look in red lipstick, especially after running around doing errands and carpool.

The ‘Family Bed’ is a sham, and not the kind with a duvet and 1000 thread-count sheets.

I’m going to catch so much hell for this. I’m just waiting for all the mommy groups to grab their pitchforks and torches.

But just hold on a sec.

I’m a cuddler, nurturer, breastfeeding parent like anybody. Okay, my kids are 9 and 12- I do NOT still breastfeed them. We need to specify this nowadays since you can breastfeed children until they go to college.

If you’ve read my blog these last months, you know I dote on my children. Love them, shape them, keep it real for them. They are great kids. But having them sleep in my bed is just a no-no.

I need my space. I need to have my ‘self ‘ to myself. And I think there comes a time when children need to learn how to soothe themselves, and be happy with being alone. Not lonely. Just alone in their beds.

I can see the family bed working for newborns. When you have one child. Not several. Then everyone decides your bed is a free for all. Maybe this idea originated in some Third World country. But I’m guessing that if those little cramped dwellings in Third World cultures had bedrooms and mattresses in every room- they’d be sleeping separately too.

When my children were really itty bitty newborns, co-sleeping would work sometimes. In fact, we did it with Emma often since I had such a hard time breast feeding that this was how I got any sleep. Once she would nod off while latched on, I would nod off too. But as she grew older she needed more and more cuddling to sleep and it wasn’t until she was 5 did we get her to sleep through the night without her coming to our bed, or us going to her bed.

And if letting her sleep in our bed from the start would’ve helped, then I suppose we would’ve continued this, but a fist in the face, or a foot in the nuts, isn’t a way to get a good night sleep. What child sleeps without flailing? Both of mine flail like windmills. I’ve been punched in the mouth before. I’ve been awoken by gasps and grunts from the husband as he’s had a heel sharp to the crotch. Or a knee in the gut. Let me tell you- I have skinny children. They have sharp elbows and knees. All bony and shit. It hurts.  This is no way to sleep folks!

And then there’s the contortion efforts to maintain them asleep, if you should wake up to go pee. Or when you’re stuck between your husband and the child and both are squishing you, or it’s summer and it’s so freaking hot you can’t breathe and you just want your

S P A C E!!!!!

Am I making myself clear? The pictures of family bed families, all comfortably spooning each other is a complete fairy tale. If anyone who sleeps in their family bed and loves it, I’m happy to hear that for you. I am in no way saying people shouldn’t have their children sleep in their bed. But for heavens sake people- do you see the monster you are creating if you even open that Pandora’s box?? They will NEVER LEAVE. NEVER.

Do you and your spouse want some alone time? Do you want some nookie time? How’s that working with your toddler between you?

Hey- the dog is always nearby when we are doing the marital relations. But honestly, she hangs her head in shame and walks over to her doggy bed in the closet until we are finished. You can’t do that with a kid!!

Making parents feel bad for using cribs, strollers and baby swings isn’t cool. I could only Baby Bjorn and sling my kids so much. Owen was born during May and was 3 weeks old during a June heat wave. You think I want that sack of ham strapped to me when it’s 95 degrees out and I’m sweating postpartum buckets? NO!

When I was postpartum with Emma, I needed to do 6 weeks of physical therapy because I kinked my neck carrying her all the time as well as the positions I was breast feeding created tension in parts of my body that hadn’t been used before. Obviously I started bad habits or posture or just using muscles that hadn’t been used before. Also I was on bed rest for 10 weeks before she was born, so I had very little muscle strength when she was born after atrophying on the couch for 3 months.

I love snuggling my kids. The idea of being cuddled in their beds together falling asleep with them is idyllic. But it’s the ‘idea’ not the reality that is idyllic. We snuggle lots. I rub their backs when I tuck them in. We are physically affectionate in lots of hugs, holds, back rubs, hair stroking. All that good stuff.

I hear of many folks that have slept with their children as babies and are trying to get their children to sleep in their own beds because they aren’t babies anymore! This is the disconnect. So much emphasis is placed on sleeping as a family when they are little, but what happens when you need to get your 4 year old to sleep in his own bed? Or when my friend says their 10 year old still can’t sleep alone in his bed? Once in awhile one of my children will crawl in to bed with us from a nightmare. This is okay. But even they will say, I didn’t sleep well last night, I hope I stay in my bed tonight. HA! They GET IT!

We don’t have to be pressured under Mayim Bialik’s parenting philosophies. Remember- she wore a flowered hat and overalls for many years during the 90s. Just because she does it, doesn’t mean you need to also.

If you think I let my kids cry it out, well, I didn’t. But I learned my mistakes from the firstborn and changed them with the second kid. Ha! Don’t we all! I would put him down in his crib when I saw the sleep signals. I would swaddle him all snuggly so he felt secure. He slept for hours on his own in his crib. He didn’t sleep through the night until he was 18 months old. He would still wake up for a 4 am nurse session. And then I realized that this was detrimental to me and wasn’t working anymore. I resented the sleep lost. I didn’t like the feeling anymore of breastfeeding. So one night I just cuddled him instead of nursing him and put him back in the crib. He went right back to sleep. It was just a habit to wake up. He didn’t need to eat. He didn’t need to be held. He needed to sleep really. I broke his habit, and we were all better off.

And now my boy is such a mama’s boy. So I don’t think I scarred him for deciding to stop breastfeeding before the age of 2. Our children will love us and be loving people regardless of how long they are nursed or if they’ve slept in cribs and beds by themselves. My kids love going to bed at night. They think their beds are cozy and safe and their own place for dream land.

Okay, so there’s my rant on the Family Bed. Just remember, it’s MY OPINION. I’m not writing child-rearing books here. I just don’t get it. If it works for you. Great. If it doesn’t- here’s a cup of coffee, you look a little tired.

Thank you for posing so perfectly for the photographer. Now everyone- start dreaming, full REM and flailing. Go! First one with a black eye wins.

I rest my case.

Sex (or lack thereof) and the Married Couple

Or as I should call it, How 50 Shades of Grey ruined my sex life. That’s right. I said ruined. I know, I know- you’re like, ‘WTF FRUG, you were all gushing about it in your music video. Yeah, well, that was back then. Now, unless my husband reads those books, (has any guy read them?) or any other middle aged-mom-soft porn, I can forget getting hot and heavy like Ana and Christian did. My husband will never look at me with smoldering eyes, fingering one of his silk ties in his hands, while he strolls on over to me wearing ripped up jeans and carrying a riding crop, telling me to ‘hold still’.  Our idea of kinky is when one of us gets a neck cramp during ‘relations’.

Who the fuck has time for hot sex anymore?  I’m talking monogamous, happily married, tear off each other’s clothes, pretend like you haven’t been married for 15 years sex. My body isn’t a robot. I don’t have a ‘TURN ON’ switch. So if it isn’t the time of the month, fatigue, sciatic nerve spasms, gas from too much bread at dinner… it’s a miracle there’s any relations going on at all. Seriously, mom- this might be where you stop reading- or put your fingers in your ears ‘lalalalala…I can’t hear you.’

Is it nature’s job to just mess with us? And by us, I mean women. It’s not that I don’t want sex, necessarily (oh dear God, mother, I am so sorry), it’s just that the urge for it really is sporadic. Here is a typical cycle of my libido in any given week-

Monday night= staying up to catch up on DVR shows and blog. Plus, my crops in WeTopia are far overdue to be harvested. Hubs is asleep on the couch. #Sameoldstory.

Tuesday= 11 am, started reading a book/ article/ or was watching Last of the Mohicans on one of the Encore channels with Daniel Day Lewis wearing deer skin pants- the only movie he’s ever looked THAT good- and think- hmmm, if hubby was home right now I would SO tap that keg.

Tuesday night= hubby’s home- and awake, but I have gas from that new quinoa and white bean recipe I tried. Plus, I snarfed that bag of Doritos when no one was around earlier, so the MSG is bloating in my intestines. This equals unsexy for sure.

Wednesday = Hubby’s working from home but I’m feeling glum and sad over how my jeans don’t fit me after I take them out of the dryer. I wish he would give me a back rub. And by back rub, I mean, back rub. And bring me donuts.

Thursday= holy hell- was surfing the web for blog material and happened to come across a whole handful of hot guys which got me thinking how nice it would be if hubby was working from home today. But he’s not. Once again, two ships- different ports.

Friday night= fell asleep in front of my lap top at around 9:30 surfing the web for swim suits that will never fit me. Got distracted and started watching cute kitten videos on YouTube, but my eyelids were so heavy, so now I’m just snoring on the couch. Maybe hubs will carry me upstairs, undress me and put me in to bed, which will wake me just enough for me to be aroused and he’ll pleasure me luxuriously for hours. Wait. Scratch that. Hubs hasn’t picked me up EVER since I weigh as much as he does, and he sure as hell wouldn’t make it up the stairs carrying my fat ass, especially with his bum knee. Plus he’s fallen asleep on the couch while updating his roster for Fantasy Soccer.

Saturday= went out with girl friends and got all dolled up to impress other ladies and get hit on by men that don’t mean anything to me. Stumbled home around midnight and took some Advil and went to bed.

Sunday= still recovering from the night before’s outing. Hubs gives me THE LOOK while we are brushing our teeth getting ready for bed. I’m like, “What?”, He’s like, “hey there”. I’m all, “hey there yourself”. Put in my night guard, throw my hair up in a scrunchie and call it a night. 6:30 am isn’t waiting for nobody and Monday mornings are always hell trying to drag my sorry ass out of bed. So no nookie for you my dear. Sleep time.

And there you have the random week in the life of a married couple that wishes, just wishes, that Afternoon Delights, Hotel Sex, or Anniversary sex, could come during random times of the day, conveniently when there’s no time of the month, gassy stomach bloat, constipation, or children around to bother or in their case, be bothered. OR telemarketers or the Mother In Law calling, or the dog whining at the bottom of the bed.

Yep. I went there. My next blog will be- ‘Why you shouldn’t blog about your sex life and humiliate your ultra, introverted husband.’

Stay tuned.