Monthly Archives: May 2015

How To Cuddle – A Manual

My 4-year-old daughter, aka The Boss of Everyone, recently schooled me in the art of cuddling.

Now, I’m 38 years old.  I’ve done a fair amount of cuddling during my years on Earth.  Plus, I’ve been cuddling this particular person since the night she was removed from my womb.  You’d think I’d have it down to a science, wouldn’t you?

Well, you would be wrong.  The Boss said so.

At approximately 10:15 on a Saturday night, my lessons began.  I was almost asleep, adrift in that blissful haze that creeps over me when the melatonin kicks in.  The Boss was curled up next to me, in my bed (because she’s The Boss and she does what she wants, obviously), when suddenly her little crazy-haired head appeared directly in front of my face.

“Mommy.  Mommy.  Mom-MY.  I need to tell you something.  It’s very important.  MOMMY!”

“What.  Go to sleep.  It’s late.”

“You are not cuddling me right.  I don’t like where your arm is.  You need to fix it.”

I swear to God, it took everything I had to stop myself from saying: “Are you fucking for real?”  But I didn’t.  And I awarded myself Mommy Points for that.  She continued:

“You need to put your arm across my back.  But not there.  Over.  No, down.  No, I mean up.  Put your hand around my belly.  No, Mommy!  That tickles.  Oh Mommy, you’re such a silly goose.  Move my pillow over.  Don’t lay on my pillow.  Mommy.  You’re breathing on me.  Okay.  Good job, Mommy!  Now it’s perfect.”

And she fell right to sleep.  I, of course, was completely uncomfortable and lay mostly awake for the next few hours.  Why didn’t I move once she was asleep?  Come on.  You know better.  Don’t be daft.  If I moved, or even took a deep breath, she would stir and mumble “Stop moving, Mommy.  Don’t wake me up.”

Wanna hear my “silver lining” for this batshit crazy dictatorship in which I live?  SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS.  And she’s not shy about asking for it.  Yes!  I’m a good mother and I’m raising a strong girl!



My mother doesn’t like it when I swear (on Facebook).

My mother gives me a lot of shit when I swear, but only when I swear on Facebook.  People I don’t know, nor have ever met or really care much about, “might see it.”


“There are so many other words you could use instead.” – Mom

True, there are a lot of words I know, and I do use them regularly.  But sometimes, “fuck” is the only thing that will suffice.  Opening the pantry door to discover a large scorpion?  “Oh, dear me!” will not cut it.  “Oh, holy fucking shit balls!” is what that situation calls for.  Am I right?

Mom and I were sitting around her patio table last night, with my youngest brother, my auntie (Mom’s sister), one of my best friends and her husband, and my mom was divvying up swats between my brother and me as we used “colorful” words in our usual banter.  My auntie brought up my recent ban of My Little Pony in my home (Sassypants was beyond distraught; more on that later) and mentioned the acronym I had used for the show recently (on Facebook, of course.):  MLMfCsP.

“What does that stand for?” asked my adorably conservative mother.

My auntie started laughing before I even opened my mouth.  “It stands for My Little Motherfucking Cocksucking Pony,” I told her.

Swat!  Gasp!  “You said that on Facebook?!?  That is embarrassing!  I’ve never said that word.”

Back up, Mother Dear.  You SO have said it and I recall the exact details of when and where.  This frazzled mind of mine holds a shit ton of memories and you don’t stand a chance.

“Yes, you have.  We were in your car, when you still drove the Highlander, turning left on Stephanie from Sunset.  You were upset with (shall remain nameless) and you called (shall remain nameless) a cocksucker.”

My mother, who really is the most adorable little lady on Earth, shrugged and said “Oh.  Well, it doesn’t really count if you’re in the car.”

So there you have it.  You may swear to your heart’s content, with my mother’s blessing, but ONLY IF YOU ARE IN THE CAR.


*Note: my daughter was not around for any of the above-mentioned interchange.  I honestly try to refrain from swearing around her and other children.  Modeling behavior and all that jazz.

Oh look. Another Mommy blog.

This is probably the 86,345,956th mommy blog online.  Just what the internets need, right?

Shut up.

I don’t say “shut up” to my daughter, though I often want to.  You see, I practice “modeling behavior” so that she can learn how to act like a good human.  What I really want to say, most of the time, is “shut the fuck up!”  But this is not acceptable behavior among the preschool set, so I do not hit the parenting runway with a potty mouth.

My daughter is four years old.  She believes that she is The Boss Of Everyone, but especially of me.  She makes me laugh and she also makes me a little insane.  Every day is an adventure with this child, and more often than not, I need a drink at the end of the day.

Welcome to my life.