Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 26-06-2013

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Dear Future Therapist Of My Darling Boys,

First, I want you to know, my intentions were good. Like many who came before me, once upon a time I was an awesome parent. Perfect even.

Before I had kids. And that small yet glorious window where my visit with them was supervised by licensed professionals. The 48 hours after childbirth rule–I would so kick ass at mothering if I had a whole staff. Dugh. Rich people can suck it. (I’m looking at you Kardashians!)

We’re one week into summer vacation. The first morning, the little (what’s the word I’m looking for?) shitz beat me downstairs. Forgive me for not leaping out of bed, but in my advanced age you and I both know that could cause dizziness.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t have stayed up late watching Andy Cohen. (Is Andy Cohen gonna come watch my boys when they rise with the roosters? Um, no. Mazel that Andy–thanks for nuthin’! You too, Mama Manzo!) Whatever. Five minutes. To shake off the cobwebs. And not fall on my bed head. That’s all I wanted!

I came down, intending to make my children a delicious and nutritious hearty breakfast (Cheerios), and there was spilled milk all over the counter and the floor, 4 year old was sitting at the counter wolfing a huge bag of Cool Ranch Doritos that he somehow managed to split in two down the middle. (By the way, I do not know who brought that processed crap pms snack into our house! Naturally we only eat organic, whole grain, flax seed encrustedfortifiedenhancedbedazzled with vitamins and minerals and healthyfullness snacks here!) Six year old sat nearby in a mound of brownie crumbs, while 8 year old wagged his finger, “I had NOTHING to do with this!”

Fast forward an hour later to the dental check ups. I try to look Danica Patrick interested in the Car and Driver magazine after four year old locks himself in the bathroom, conveniently adjacent to the waiting room, and hollers, “Mom! I have to POOOOOOH!” Of course you do. Because Cool Ranch Doritos are the breakfast of champions. Do I know you? I’m just here to get my Car and Driver fix on.

While one reads quietly (thank you Je-sus!) the remaining waiting room occupant who belongs to moi opens and closes the Keurig coffee drawer 43 times, tries out the step lever trash can a half dozen times, asks if the girls’ hat hanging on the coat rack belongs to any number of girls we know, opens an end table and surmises that’s the secret lost and found, moves a chair back and forth, tests out the antibacterial soap three times, asks for a toothbrush, tries to break into the bathroom to converse with Sir Poops A Lot, closes the door to the waiting room, rifles through the toys as a very last resort, but then inexplicably acts angelic during the exam.

While the one who read quietly fidgets and freaks when he gets his fluoride treatment.

Huh? But I miss most of that because after Sir Poops A Lot finishes his biz, and it’s obvious the 12 year old in the waiting room isn’t going to claim him (his parents should really teach him to make eye contact with his elders—rude!) , he waddles to the door and whips it open—pants on the ground! pants on the ground! —and hollers, “DONE POOOPING!” aka come wipe my arse, woman.

So was I wrong to ask the receptionist and hygienist when we left if it was happy hour yet? (It was 11 AM. So sadly, no. I mean, they didn’t expressly say NO, because they aren’t my legal guardians, but I’m fairly certain they might have 911 on speed dial in case of dental emergencies and what not so I gave the hearty yet polite laugh to signal I was mostly kidding.)

I have been dutifully saving for my kids’ college education. Their 529′s are bursting with enough money for used books and dollar drafts. But I have to wonder if I should be setting a little sumpin’ sumpin’ aside for their therapy?

I mean, was I wrong to happily inform my kids there was 61 days left of summer break….and counting?

Was I wrong when I barked at them yesterday in the 97 degree 3 h’s (heat, humidity, haze) after busting around my backyard like a sweathog setting up our klassy blow up water slide, patching holes, hammering stakes, and putting together lawn games for a playdate when I asked them to simply turn the hose on and they answered, one after the other, um, I don’t really wanna.


I’m on an online moms group and I happen to know other kids their age make their beds, sweep the floor, set the table, and run Fortune 500 companies.

The extent of my kids’ chores that they fulfill without argument is running down to the basement to get me a beer out of the fridge. I even pour it into my own mug! Shouldn’t THEY be doing that? Oh, I told those moms that, too.

They thought I was kidding.

Those kids know I like the slim can and they better not come back with the Silver Bullets—I don’t even care if the mountains are blue or not. No thanks. A girl has her preferences, am I right?


I had dreams. I had visions. My parents raised me with manners. They did! So I planned a treat today on a rainy day–we met daddy for lunch. YAAAAY. So as I sat at the finest kids eat free restaurant with my handsome brood assembled, napkin on my lap, elbows off the table, mouth closed as I chomped complimentary popcorn, we colored with the unwashable crayons (that damn well better not have been smuggled into my home!). We played tic tac toe, and I let 6 year old win one game to bolster his confidence but beat him in the second match because dude, no one likes a 6 year old bragger. All of a sudden, spontaneously, 6 year old spun the hanging light that teetered over our table while the mini Jonas brothers burst into song.

“I’m naked and I know it!”




Thankfully, they weren’t naked. Bonus! And we were in the corner. (They know us! And remember us! Isn’t great customer service the best?!)

Should I have interjected and said, “Actually, the song goes, ‘I’m sexaaay and I know it.’”

I didn’t. Because I’m really working on being positive. Positive reinforcement! Because someone told me when you make one negative remark toward a kid, you need to make eleventycajillion positive ones to make up for it.

So I just smiled and clapped. “Great singing boys, great singing! I love you MORE than these french fries which, undoubtedly, were fried in unsaturated oil for your good health and mine!”

And then I sipped my Diet Coke. And looked at my watch.

59 days left of summer vaca. But only 4 1/2 hours til happy hour.



That Mom





Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Uncategorized | Posted on 07-10-2012

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I’m on political overload.

Sound familiar?

I’m not the first to blog about this. And in truth, this post is an extension of something I wrote a few years ago but never published. But now? Things are worse and I am more weary. More jaded. More aggravated.

Social media, my happy place–my daily escape, my window to the world (Shut up. I know I need to get out more.) isn’t even safe anymore! If I see one more snarky political comment on Facebook or twitter, Imma explode. Implode? I’m going to lose my shit. There. I said it. See what happens when you push the muffin top?

I love my country. I want what’s best for it. I’m a big fan of snark! Huge! BUT….we’ve reached saturation, doncha think? And to that end, I can only surmise things need to change. There is a lack of basic civility surrounding politics, and it starts from the top down. Or maybe the bottom up? Politicians don’t seem to work together for the common good–they all seem to have their own agenda, most of which involves power, imo. I guess if we’re being honest, that’s not so new. You can only have it your way at Burger King, you douche canoes!


We are all entitled to our beliefs—-that’s the very best thing about our country, in my opinion. And because these beliefs are personal–it can seem “personal” when they–our beliefs– and by extension, WE, are attacked. But. But! Now more than ever, citizens can and do hide behind computer screens and hurl nasty insults toward strangers and friends alike. Instead of healthy discourse it reads more like a food fight. Or a sucker punch. A hit and run even. Don’t we all deserve better? Can’t we DO better? Is this the best example to set for our kids? That when we disagree with someone, it’s okay to call them names and even bully them? Would you walk up to a stranger or an acquaintance at a cocktail party/soccer game/Cracker Barrel and call them a dummy? A warmonger? A hippie freak?


Will that really help them to try to understand your point of view?

Before the debate started the other night, I wrote this on my muffintopmommy page on Facebook:

I really wish Andy Cohen could moderate the prez debate tonight. We could drink every time Barack says “moving forward” and Mitt says “deficit”. (Scratch that. Getting your stomach pumped at the ER when you’re a grown up is a no no.) 

He could ask Mitt pressing questions like what would Ann do if he took a call in a vineyard away from the table and started speaking Italian? He could ask Barack if he’s ever done a back flip in the White House foyer and chipped a tooth while he and Michelle had company. 

Really. We need to inject a little humor into this whole thing. We needs some MAZEEELLLLL!

Honestly? I was only half kidding. We can kill each other….or we can laugh about it and try to figure out a better way.

Regardless of where your political loyalties lie, chances are, first and foremost, your loyalties lie with your family. Let’s face it, the guys down in Washington—are mostly a bunch of schmucks. Democrat, Republican….I don’t think it really matters. See, I’m thinking, the gig’s about up. I’m onto them. While they wine and dine with lobbyists, with who knows what agenda, we’re at home, putting the interests of our families first. When they make decisions about this country’s future, are they considering the best interests of our collective families?

We have runaway spending while our roads crumble and schools falter and the suits point fingers and posture for the cameras. They get all shouty and start wagging their extremities. Nobody will cop to doing or saying anything wrong. No one will EVER just say, “I’m sorry” and ask for forgiveness when they mess up. No one collaborates–they obfuscate. It’s their way or nuthin’. Come on, you know their moms taught them better than that. How can you fix something when no one will admit it’s broken or offer any viable solutions?


Sorry. Sorry. I’m shouting. See? See? They’re doing it to me!

It’s time to start a revolution. The answer is clear. It’s time for mommies to take Washington, if only temporarily to show them how it’s done. Face it, we’re always on borrowed time. We can’t be lifers in Washington. Our families need us. But I contend that if we went down there for even a few weeks, the difference would be palpable and we could solve most of what ails our beloved country.

We’re fierce negotiators, even among the toughest of adversaries who can be, ahem, petulant and irrational at times (sound familiar politicians?). We balance strict budgets, work under severe time constraints, and arrive on schedule with our homework in hand. Our work ethic is unparalleled, as we are accustomed to working hours on end with no breaks, and no complaints. (Okay, maybe a few complaints. We’re moms not martyrs.) We juggle kids, jobs, homework, cooking, cleaning, shuttling and scheduling, and we do it all with a smile. Or a smirk. Maybe a few swears under our breath. But let’s not split hairs now. We teach our kids to play nice in the sandbox and it’s about time some of that is done in our nation’s capitol!


Just in my group of friends alone, we are or once were, sales people, educators, doctors, lawyers, nurses, real estate professionals, computer specialists and money managers. We come from all walks of life, and from different political parties. We don’t agree on everything, but we agree on one thing. The future success of this country depends on our ability to keep our future generations in mind, our kids and our kid’s kids.  If given the chance, we mommies could solve our education, healthcare, housing, defense and infrastructure problems, balance the budget and maybe even have homemade cupcakes on everyone’s desk by month’s end. Okay, maybe that’s optimistic, especially if I’m baking, but admit it, it’s not the craziest idea I’ve ever had, is it?

I’m crying uncle. This crazy shizz that’s going on down in DC…just ain’t working.


Wake me up when the election is over!