Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, Uncategorized | Posted on 08-06-2015

Am I the last to know?

Hey, I thought it was cute when my kids asked me what a phone booth was last year. When my six year old grumbled he had to sit on a booster seat at the salon and I chirped, “Oh come on, you’re lucky you don’t have to sit on phone books!”,  he looked at me with the blank stare.

What’s worse than the blank stare? Does anything good come after the blank stare?

“What’s a PHONE BOOK?”

70's booster seat!

70′s booster seat!

Several years of being called ma’am, not being carded, or worse, being carded, and the woman looking at the ID with disbelief followed up by, “OH, well you have a baseball hat on.”

She took it back! Before I got to fully enjoy the moment. Before the last digit of my four number pin was entered onto the machine thingy at the register. She might as well have screeched over the loudspeaker.


She was a dope anyway. It’s called context clues, Sherlock. What underage chick would be buying a big banger of Cavit?

The past few years, I’ve started to notice a lot of the teachers looked younger and younger. And the student teachers! Please. They look 12. Do they even know what Hooked on Phonics IS?

I went back to work full time this year, and realized I looked like a legit grown up in meetings. And people I interview have serious credentials….and are way younger than me. Way.

But it’s the 20th reunion coming up that really did it to me.

I realized, I’ve been out of college almost half my life. Some of my best friends from college I’ve known for TWENTY FOUR years. Some of my friends from college have kids in high school. Their kids are taller than we are, with bigger feet! They aren’t babies and toddlers and tiny beings who leave a wake of Cheerios and discarded binkies. (Five second rule!) If they are real, BIG, people then we are real, middle aged grown ups.

So I approach my reunion with mixed feelings. Don’t get me wrong–I could not be more excited to see some of the best friends I know I will ever have in this lifetime. Though hugely separated by geography and the demands of….life….I know we’ll instantly pick up as if we were hanging on our porch having a beer after class. I know what seems like five minutes ago was half my life ago. And that paradox kind of hurts my head.

And so it hit me. If this is middle age, it’s pretty damn good. I didn’t lose that 25 pounds before the reunion. (I mean, I do have like four days left. Don’t be hating on my optimism.) I don’t have a good tan. (Tan fat is NOT better than white fat—we are middle aged and skin cancer is real!) I am going for a pedi though and my toes will sparkle, man!

Most of all I realize that being middle aged is not a curse, but a blessing. There are people who have walked this earth who haven’t had the luxury to live to 41…to watch their hair go grey, to realize the creases on their forehead that they catch themselves looking at… are becoming deeper and more permanent.

I am watching my kids grow and I like what I see. They are imperfect like their parents but have good hearts. Whatever they will be, they will be. And I am excited to see it all shake out.

When you get to be middle aged, you are smart enough to know you’re not smart enough to know everything. You’re old enough to learn to be comfortable in your own skin, pale as hell as it is, as imperfect as it might be. You’re old enough to figure out who and what is important… to you.

No one can tell me I’m too old to do cannonballs off my diving board or play cornhole with my kids. I can drink domestic beer from a can and admit that I still like it. More than fancy wine. I said it. I mean it. I earned that right! If you can’t handle the truth then get off my lawn! I mean, my blog. NO, I kinda do mean my lawn. If you come to my lawn, I will share my domestic beer in can. I will. If you judge me for that, or anything, it’s on you.

No one can dull the sparkle of my can.

So middle age? I’m here for you. Show me what you got!



Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness | Posted on 27-01-2015

1. Google hypothyroidism and hope you have it. I feel tired! I’ve gained weight! My face IS puffy! 

2. Shop online for swimsuits that you know will fit better once you get your thyroid in check and the three thousand feet of snow melts!

3. Open the hall closet and vow today will be the day you finally organize it. Walk away.

4. Go back to closet and hide with coffee and Oreos while a melee ensues in family room during Wii u.

5. Twist ankle in closet on weights you would be using if you didn’t have an obvious thyroid condition.

6. Limp to unload dishwasher and realize you forgot to run it last night. See! My hypothyroidism is making me forgetful! Or was it the vino? Wait.

7. Text your friends to see if they want to come over for a playdate happy hour.

8. Answer the door, invite your friends in, don’t hang their coats in the closet because it’s a mess covered in Oreo crumbs and coffee splatter, and explain to them over a random assortment of party snacks you had in the house that you have a thyroid problem.

9. Google hypothyroidism and show them your awesome WebMD’ing.

10. Drink more wine and call endocrinologist to see if they offer group discounts. Indignantly shout, “NO! This isn’t a joke!” when they challenge you, and tell them,  ”Then we’re happy to book with the place I saw on Groupon that comes with a free trip to Mexico!”





Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, MTM hits the road!, Uncategorized | Posted on 12-10-2014

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It’s not really stalking if you’re at an official event, right?

So goes the story. Kathie Lee Gifford has a new line of wines out (in conjunction with a winery in Monterey) called, Gifft. I wanted to picture her stomping grapes like I Love Lucy but alas, no.




The wine comes in two varieties, Chardonnay and Red Blend. (Red Blend? Ooh, it’s a mystery!) KLG visited a market down the street from my house to promote her new vino yesterday. Kathie Lee, wine, the chance to pimp my book to a woman who relishes cocktailing at 11 AM? How could I NOT? Some people dream of playing major league baseball or finding a cure for cancer. I just wanna sip some chard with KLG and Hoda.

Stop. It’s not nice to judge.




I came, I saw, we faux hugged, I gave her a copy of my book, Mommy Mixology: A Cocktail for Every Calamity. Which, for all I know, later hit the circular file at the market though she did graciously accept it!



Tick, tock. Not sure why my people I haven’t heard from her people yet? It’s been almost 24 hours! Don’t KLG and Hoda know how much fun sipping cocktails with me could be!? For the love of God, I’m a professional! And, I’m even willing to even endure the mental anguish of seeing my muffin top x an extra ten lbs!

Until then, I’ll be enjoying the GIFFT at home. In my polka dot jammies. I knew you’d be wondering if this stuff was any good, so as a public service to you my bestest readers, I twisted open the chard to test it! The hubs and I found it to be quite light and refreshing. And as you know, we are quite the wine afficionados. (NO.)




But hey, we like what we like and there is no shame in that! Sometimes I find chards to be kind of heavy and this was not–I truly enjoyed it. And clearly, this is not a sponsored post. I stalked it out and paid cash money for the vino!

My only complaint with this wine is it’s a twist off. I’m not implying that makes it inferior as I know there has been much debate about this in the wine world—it’s only because I like to save my corks to make fun crafts at Christmas. Geek alert. But, otoh, yay for twist off if you’re travelling and don’t want to deal with toting a wine opener. Nuttin’ worse than finding yourself in a square hotel room in East Bumblebee staring helplessly at a bottle with no opener, am I right? (Now who’s a dummy for travelling with beer in a can???) I picked the red up for a friend so I’ll have to let you know what she thinks! Red + Muffintopmommy = fetal position! No bueno. Until then, for the good of my Christmas list, I’ll keep pressing on with mah corks……salud!











Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, Uncategorized | Posted on 22-08-2013

School is starting next week and I’m…..well, might be, not totally sad? Last year, I was emotional about middle starting kindergarten. But, last week, I’ll say, the full moon was coming and that didn’t help. I suddenly felt religious! I changed a well known prayer! (The Vatican hasn’t called. I guess they’re just not into new stuff? Frankly, I don’t think it would kill them to mix it up but WHO am I?)

God, grant me the serenity to accept that school doesn’t start til the 27th,

The courage to change happy hour if need be,

And the wisdom to know that while I love my boys with every fiber of my being, even prisoners get an hour of free time, yo.


Summer started and I was all, “Whee!!! We’re going to the beach! We’re gonna enjoy lazy days! We’re gonna sit and sip lemonade and look at stars and read awesome books!”

And then little people burped. And farted. And literally waved their tushes in my face and inquired, “DO I HAVE POOP IN MY BUTT?”

And so now, I can’t stand the sound of my own voice.

I’m sweating.

And kind of tired.

Flush the toilet!

Wash your hands!

Who crunched Cheez-It’s all over the couch?

Stop leaving your undies under the bathroom vanity!

Don’t use your shirt as a napkin!


The questions! The thousands of questions, mostly from one of them. Not just questions for me, questions for randoms. On vacation, he asks the 75 year old woman next door, “So, do you rent or own?”

Who asks people that? We don’t!

We’re at a pool, chatting with a mom and her daughter. He asks her, “Where’s your husband?”

She says, “I don’t have a husband.”

Oh God.

He presses, “YOu don’t have a husband! Everyone needs someone to kiss!”

My own sister is divorced, but he picks the stranger at a pool to question about the mysteries of where divorcees get their kisses!

We get new neighbors at home, and of course, he goes for it….

Man child: “So, where do you and your husband work?”

New Neighb: “We both work at Fidelity.”

Man child: “So…is that like a restaurant or a store? What is it?”

ME, nervous laughter: “It’s sort of like a bank, where your tiny college fund is!”

Which you will clearly not need, because you have no boundaries, and will probably start selling time shares in the 5th grade! Which is good, because then I will have lost my ever loving mind, and will likely need round the clock care. Don’t skimp now! Remember who wiped your arse 5,439 times!

This one won’t sit still. The energy is boundless. But he is sunshine and light—the sweetest–and the most loyal. When the doctor asks him this summer, “Have you been reading every day?”, he looks back at me, looks at her, and says, “Possibly?” because he’s trying to stick up for me because knows we should be, yet despite our grand plans, sometimes we shower off the dirt, and plunk ourselves in front of a show instead. We do. We did. I admit it. (Stop. We have time shares to fall back on. He’ll be fiiiine.)

Someone picks on this kid’s brother, he is first in line to stick up for him. He’s all Donnie Wahlberg pre New Kids On The Block. 

But if something doesn’t go his way, his temper flares. He’s the first to pitch a fit. To challenge me. And wind me up. And ask me why, why, why, why, a thousand whys. I wonder if he has ADD? So I Google it. And then wonder if  I am just that impatient as I struggle to fill the up the days, know all the answers, refill all the drinks while the two others jump from family room chairs, yelling, “Cannonball!” and ask questions like, “Who is your favorite American?”, “How many miles away is the moon?”, “Why would a child die?”, “Is Jesus skinny because all the blood runned out of him when he was nailed to that board?” I fear I just don’t have all the answers–I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. (My Jesus answer was good though—I said I thought he was skinny because there were no McDonald’s and no cars then—people ate right and walked everywhere! Again, Vatican, call me!)

Pickets are missing from my fence. Curtains are askew. Nothing stays clean. Things are sticky, and every morning is Ground Hog day as I pick up the assortment of socks and shoes and Beyblades around the house and howl after I step on an errant Lego barefoot. Pinterest is a distant memory. How would I ever make cupcakes that look like minions and create my own art when I can hardly keep my floors and my kids clean?

And when we have a playdate over–brother’s friend from school and his mom, whom I don’t know well, this kid whips out a Bud Light 40 from the fridge (*You’d believe me if I said it was leftover from my 40th, right??)..He swings the bottle with gusto and shouts, “This is mah mom’s drink!”

At 11 AM.

And yet, when I smash my pinkie toe on a clunky basketball sneaker left astray in the middle of the kitchen floor tonight, the one who chose to stay behind to hang with mama to look at family photos while daddy took the other two on an errand, rushes to help. It’s throbbing and I’m fighting back letting loose a litany of choice words.

“Would you like some ice? I can wrap it in a towel?”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

He pushes the ottoman toward the sofa, puts a pillow on the ottoman.

“Here, put your foot up.”

He leaves the room, comes back with a water and a pack of frozen corn for my toe.

And I realize that there will be plenty of time for reading–a lifetime. He has so much to learn, and he will learn, but being loyal and loving and compassionate, he already has in spades.

We’re ready for school. We’re ready. Amen.



Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Uncategorized | Posted on 26-07-2013


Forty years ago, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown was at the top of the charts, Archie Bunker curmudgeoned his way into our living rooms on All In The Family, the MRI was invented, Billie Jean King kicked some tennis arse, and the Oakland A’s were World Series Champs. And in Boston, a little squawker was born. The thing about being born in 1973 to parents who were 40 and 45, who already had kids who were 13, 12, and 7, is that after a while the writing’s on the wall. Irish + Catholic + ohgawdmygawd. They must have hit one of the DiGirolamo’s infamous parties and, to quote Teresa from Real Housewives of New Jersey, “Brown chicka brown chow.” Too many Schlitzes? Too many VO and waters? No Catholic birth control. BOOM.


Well, all I can say is, thank God we weren’t Presbyterian. *waves hello *no offense God faring Presbyterians and all other birth control loving denominations

My family was so loving about it though. While one sister told me my parents bought me on the corner for a dime and got change, the other told me when my mom found out she was preggers she banged some pots and pans together. When the doctor called our house to share the great news a new sister was born, the third chick to make my brother wait for the bathroom, bro reportedly went behind the couch and cried. Pussy. He would be sorry when I turned out to be full of awesome. Not really. When the doctor called back, he refused to take his call. My how times have changed!

But hey, NO hard feelings! This all explains a lot, doesn’t it?

My parents were kind enough to soften the sibling barbs and say I was a”happy accident” and that I “kept them young”.

Um hmm.


1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, and……

Lights! (But not too bright, my wrinkles will show!) Camera! (Um, not too close, and let me tilt my face to hide my three chins!) Action! (Brown chicka brown chow! Shut it. I’m 99.9% sure I will not repeat history as a card carrying cafeteria Catholic heath-en!)…….


Now that it’s spelled out, it seems like a lot. 28 more than the Electric Company song. 40 years on fast forward……Walking, talking, falling of my biking, awkward buck teething, first dating, kissing, missing, soaring, oversleeping, dancing, boozing, schmoozing, marrying, birthing, parenting, writing, flighting. That was FLIGHTING, not FIGHTING. Who do you think I AM?

40. It’s just a number, right?

40% off is a lot.

$40 dollars. Not a lot.

40 lbs. Not a lot. Unless you lose 40 lbs. Then it’s a lot.

40 boyfriends, husbands, hook ups, mystery illnesses? Yup. A lot.

40 miles. Not a lot. Unless you’re running. Or swimming. Or spelunkswimhikingbikingtriahaloning. Then it’s a lot.

I know I should probably look like this right now:



But seriously. 40 is the new, what, 11? It’s all good. I’m happy. I’m healthy. (The holes in my liver will close up after summer, c’mon!) I have a wonderful family and much to be grateful for. A few months ago, I came across this quote, “Growing old is a privilege that is denied to many.”
It is. And I well know it.

So on my 40th, and for the next hopefully 40 or 80 years (you never know—this kid brought to you by Schlitz and VO—here’s hopin’!), I’m going to heed a line from my favorite writer Erma Bombecks’, “If I Had My Life To Live Over”, “I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa was faded.”

WORD. Let’s do it everyone, whether you’re 30 or 40 or 50 or 99.

We’ve earned it. With every bad breakup, boss, unfortunate hair style, trauma, scar, and loss. Every hope, dream, goal achieved. We’ve earned the right. To know who we are, who our friends are, who will gain the privilege to grow old with us and pop a squat on our faded sofas.

So bring it. 40 more years or bust. We meet here. At dawn, we ride!






Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage | Posted on 05-07-2013

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I KNOW! This is a skitzo post. First, the gas card winnah!!! Pamela T! Please email me at with your full name and address so I can have Stop and Shop mail your $FITTY dollah gift card. WOOP! Thanks to all for entering!

And now, this.



So you know how when you have small urchin childs and you are prone to shop at 98 miles per hour throwing this and that into the cart? So I grabbed this cute green Ralph polo shirt at Che Mar-shalls. Extra grande. VIVA LA MUFFINTOP! Ahem. I get it home and throw it on and I look like Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc! Maybe a green apple. Or a pea on GMO steroids.

What the schluck, Ralph Lauren?

I grab the shirt, hold it up, see that it indeed says XL, EXTRA GRANDE, and not extra fricking flash your muffintop small. And then I see, under the XL, hidden from the eyes of hasty shoppers, “SLIM FIT”.

Slim fit?

Slim fit.

Um, Ralph? If I’m buying an extra grande shirt, there ain’t nothing slim about me. What in preppy hell is your ever loving point? Extra Grande +Slim Fit = Oxymoron. GET A WEBSTER’S DICTIONARY, RALPHIE!

The hell, Ralph. I’m breaking up with you. Obviously, you only want slim chubsters to wear your shitz. That’s what I get for cheating’ on mah Merona. They have REAL xl’s. Hell, they even have XXL! EXTRA EXTRA GRANDE!

Ralph. You had your chance. When I’m rich and famous some day never, I shall not be rocking your duds on Jimmy Fallon. Or at the playground. Whatevs.



Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy | Posted on 01-07-2013

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"I'M JUST TRYING TO TREAT MY FAMILY TO A LITTLE FUN!" --photo courtesy of photobucket


Are you filling up the family truckster and hitting the open road this summer? (Take me with youuuuuuuuuu!) Stop and Shop is here to help put the swagga back into your wagon. They have graciously offered to give a $50 gas gift card to one lucky Muffintopmommy reader and one Muffintop (moi!).

You know you’re a solid grown up when receiving a $50 gas gift card makes you go BOOM like Santa’s on your roof! But seriously, I’ve been saving on my gas for years at the Stop and Shop right in my town. Never mind the rewards you can rack up, their everyday gas prices are typically the best around. Getting gas there is a no brainer. (And with the scratch I save on gas, I don’t feel one bit guilty dropping into Stop and Shop for some vino!)

With Stop and Shop gas rewards, it’s easy keep more money in your pocket for Hamburger Helper, rocking plaid pants, and other miscellaneous funsies (see above–ahem) —and there are many ways to save. First, while you’re doing your grocery shopping. Stop and Shop has tons of every day items throughout the store that are marked “Gas Rewards”. You can plan ahead by seeing the participating items in the sale flyer each week. Baby items, flowers (they have a kick arse floral department!) and other household items are included in addition to groceries–woot!

Here’s how it works:

  • Save 10¢ per gallon for every 100 points you earn.
  • You earn 1 point for every dollar you spend with your Stop & Shop card.
Points Savings
100 10¢/gallon
200 20¢/gallon
300 30¢/gallon
…up to $2.20/gallon!

Up to $2.20 a gallon! That is crazycakes!

Not sure where your nearest Stop and Shop is located? Find one near you by visiting their website.

To enter to win the gift card, please leave your first name and last initial and tell me if you’ve ever saved on gas at Stop and Shop and what fun thing you might do with your savings. Please enter by Friday, July 4th at 11:59 EST. Winner will be announced on mah blog on July 5th!

Stop and Shop is giving me a $50 gift card to facilitate this review/offer. All thoughts and opinions are my own. As usual. Like it or not. :)

Cheers to summah!!!!!!!!!!