So remember a few weeks ago when I said I feel like a biggity buzz kill sometimes, but I would not not not inflict my thoughts on my kids? I vowed to let them go and watch them fly.

As it turns out, surprise! My six year old really seems to dig math. I figured this out over the course of the year and his teacher confirmed it. Good for him! So when a form came home asking if we wanted to sign him up for something called “Math Superstars”, which is  just a few sheets of extra math homework per week, I leapt at the chance for him to math it up.

Now, I wasn’t a horrible math student, but I had to work really hard for average grades, and I despised it like Ohio State hates Michigan, like Carol Brady hated kids playing ball in the house, like muffin top hates swimsuits. With the exception of tying for first place in the multiplication table contest with a smartypants in third grade, I was no standout. (Did I mention the prize was a trip out for an ice cream sundae with the teacher? Ladies and gentlemen, meet Pavlov, the accidental mathematician!) 

Yes, yes I do.

Science and I–which sometimes seemed like thinly veiled math—were hardly bff’s either, but at least in science you could blow stuff up and learn to be grateful for the geniuses responsible for me being able to drive over bridges to fun vacation spots without plunging to my death—-go Physics!). Only because I was a motivated student kind of a nerd who went to a free math SAT prep class after school, did I actually manage to get a better score on my math SAT’s than my English. (You’re the man, Mr. Sweeney!) I’m not sure who that probably surprised more—my math teachers or my English teachers. Regardless, besides balancing my checkbook (and by balancing, I mean going online to see what’s what and making sure I didn’t blow the mortgage at Tarjay) and figuring out important math problems in my head (If the shoes are $59.99 and they are 40% off, how much are they? A great fracking deal!) I’ve steered mostly clear of math the past few decades.

I figured my kids’ math homework might stump me eventually, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I’m not going to lie to you. Some of the Math Superstar problems are hurting my head.

Example:

Five scarecrows had a candy corn eating contest.

Ben ate the most candy corns.

Jen ate more than Len.

Jen ate less than Ken.

Zen ate less than Len.

Write the scarecrows’ names in order to show how much candy corn they ate.

My son and I figured it out together but dude, this is why English people shouldn’t do math. My brain was whizzing. Why are scarecrows eating candy corn? They’re fake. Most scarecrows are badly dressed dudes, so what is Jen wearing? Not faded overalls and bad plaid I hope! And Jen ate more crap candy than two dudes–I wonder if she has a scarecrow muffin top? And anyway, who names their scarecrow Zen? Is Zen a Buddhist scarecrow? Isn’t it bad karma for Zen to try to scare away crows, who are gifts of nature, and overeat candy?

Moving on to exhibit B:

There are 3 children and 1 wagon ( I wanted so badly to scratch out the 3 and the 1 and write out three and one instead!). Two children can play at a time. One child can ride and one child can pull. In the table, show all the ways the children can ride and pull. (Then there is one column for child riding and one for child pulling.)

Well, this is a dumbass question. You know damn right well the one kid who doesn’t get a turn is going to be whining/crying/pitching a shit fit screeching, “When is it myyyyyyy turn? Is it myyyyyyyy turn yet?” You know the kid pulling is going to pull the wagon too fast, and you know that wagons were not designed by the smart bridge Physicists/Engineers because the damn things suck at hairpin turns. So you gotta figure the rider is getting dumped out onto the pavement. So that leaves two kids crying, pitching a shit fit, and one kid remaining. The one kid remaining will demand his turn from the whinybags who are crying, but the two cryers won’t want to pull him so he’ll start wailing, too.

Let’s review, mathletes: that leaves three kids crying, after only one turn. So that leaves 5 different turn combinations to go, math geniuses? I don’t think so. I’m calling bullshit on your fuzzy math. Meanwhile, the mom who sent the three to play with the wagon is cursing under her breath and counting the minutes til happy hour–she knew it was a stupid ass idea in the first place.

 You can be all Big Bang Theory Sheldon smart, but you can’t check your common sense at the door, son!

Finally? This one:

Teaka finishes dinner at 6 o’clock. She reads her book for 2 (t-w-o, mathletes, two!) hours. Then she goes to bed. Draw the hour and the minute hands on the clock to show when Teaka goes to bed.

Okay. But first….what book was Teaka reading? Is Teaka a kid or a grown up? This might help me guess what book. After she puts her book down, does she brush her teeth? Floss? Check her email? Balance her checkbook *cough*? Do some push ups? Write in her diary! Ooh! Check Facebook? Twitter? Pin some shit on Pinterest? Does she really go right to bed? I know you’re thinking the answer is 8 o’clock, but I find that hard to believe, frankly. But with no further information, I was forced to watch 6 year old put 8 on the little clock, but I do not feel good about it. At all. Because again? I have to call bullshit on the math superstars for leaving out pertinent info!

But I will hold my tongue. I will let him go. And I will watch him fly.

This is my brain on math and science.

As my brain explodes. (At what velocity and force, I really don’t know. I was probably talking about 90210 that day in Physics.)

A few months ago, a friend sent me an invitation to something called, “Pinterest”. Have you heard of it? I didn’t know what it was at first so I did what I always do when I don’t know what something is….nothing. (I put the I in initiative.) Then I got another invitation so I took the next step, set up an account under my alias, Muffintopmommy, and promptly forgot all about it. Til one day a few weeks ago when a funtastic muffintopper pointed me to a recipe blog called skinnytaste (nom, nom, low fat goodness!) whose glorious recipe pictures led me back to……Pinterest.

People? 2012 is the year I met my personal crack cocaine.

It was a circuitous route, but like all addicts, I perservered. And once I got there? It was the point of no return—I was ALL in. So now what? Naturally, Iwanna do like most good junkies do…. give others a taste and suck you all down my wayward path. That’s right. After being asked several times last week by friends what Pinterest is, I feel it is now my obligation to spread the good word. (I’m not going door to door. That’s just silly. It’s January in New Hampshire and this territory is owned by Girl Scouts right now. Have you ever tried to cross a sash clad, ponytailed, four foot tall ninja carrying an order form for the holy grail of minty cookies? Don’t. Just don’t. Just smile and give them all your money.)

Wanna come along? Consider this Pinterest 101. Right here. Right now. Time to woman up. This isn’ t for sissies. And it can be confusing. After one friend emailed me asking me to explain it and why it was so addictive, I sent her an email that I thought made sense, to which she responded:

“Ok, I think I kind of get it.  I can pin things to my board and they will stay there if I want to go back to them?  Do you share stuff with others?  I take it back…I don’t think I get it at all.”

She seemed down, so I emailed her back, “You is smart. You is kind. You is important.” Thank you, Pinterest, for reminding me of that phenomenal quote from The Help! I love you Aibileen, I love you!

People who are smart, kind, and important still often can’t grasp the concept of Pinterest because you see, it’s one of those things that’s harder to explain than it is to actually do. I know that sounds weird, but my best recommendation is to jump in with both feet and try it. You do need an invitation from someone who’s already on Pinterest. I know, it’s super exclusive. That’s why I am surprised I got an invite. (But really…if you need an invite, email me and I’ll send you one.)

So here’s my best stab at ‘splaining it. Pinterest is a virtual pinboard. Did you ever cut out pictures from a magazine of things you liked… a fun outfit? A wedding dress? A cool looking kitchen? A yummy recipe? And pin them to an actual corkboard? (Yeah, me neither, but I kinda wish I did.) I hear people who aren’t like me (read:organized) do, or they carefully file these clippings away for future reference/inspiration.

Well now, even disorganized dopes with no initiative can display everything we love! The really crack coke part of it is, you can follow what others display too, and “repin” what they have displayed on your corkboards. And you can have dozens and dozens of corkboards showcasing anything and everything your muffin top desires! For example, I have categories like, “The Yummies” for recipes, “The funny” for hilarious sayings, “Shoes and clothes and shoes, oh my!” for houses (Der, clothes and shoes! Just making sure you’re paying attention–this is so not important!) ,  and “Let’s Get Physical” for exercise tips. I even have a board called, “People I Want To Have A Beer With” and “People I’m Allowed To Cheat On The Hubs With”! Calm down! Stop calling me Newt. It’s just for funnies and let’s face it, Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights isn’t into me hasn’t returned any of my  calls, text messages, or emails.

And who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane? Someone’s pin totally brought me back and led me to the greatness of this 70′s commercial:

Time for Timer!

Makes me teary. And inspiration? Is at your fingertips, my friends!

Can you even guess where I found this fat-tastic weight loss inspiration? Who needs to pay for Weight Watchers! Pfft!

 So pin those yummy recipes, Julia! Showcase the most fashionable outfits you’ll never fit into or be able to buy, Gisele! Pine away for that perfect porch to have a cocktail on, Martha! Be inspired to conquer your muffin top, um, Muffintopmommy!

See, Pinterest is almost like the life we wish we had or everything we aspire to be: in shape, well dressed, well spoken, well intentioned, grammatically correct, repurposing, funny, inspirational, selves……..who drive fantastic cars, cook like famous chefs, sip gorgeous cocktails on sweeping verandas whilst taking time to smell the perfectly pruned hydrangeas.

Mama can dream. Mama.can.dream. Don’t we all deserve a break, if only virtual, from cars covered in winter’s salt, shirts we bought because they were on clearance at Target, and humdrum dinners we could assemble in our sleep?

But hey, just don’t blame me if you’re soon writing status updates on your Facebook page like I did last week:

Dear Pinterest, thanks for making me hungry, hate my clothes, and want a new baby. I would complain, but your inspirational messages prevent me from not appreciating the wonderful kids I have, the (mediocre) food I cook, and (nerd herd) clothes I wear! Well played, Pinterest, well played.

Don’t hate the playah, just hate the game.

**You can even pin blogs! But apparently putting a pinterest button on my blog so you can follow me or pin my blog….is above my pay grade. I tried. And failed. On Pinterest, I’m much more talented…..so if you’re looking for me? Try there. And if anyone finds a blog post giving the 411 on that, pin it baby, pin it!

Whew!

I’m happy to report I survived Black Friday.

Granted, I was in my snowman pajamas snuggled under the covers sawing wood til the late hour of half past 8, but I am just so grateful my 2 year old didn’t pepper spray me and no one stepped on my face for some Wheaties here at Casa de Muffin Top. I know others did not fare so well.

I was worried. You just never know where danger lurks.

I love me some bargains but oooh, the thought of getting out of my toasty roasty bed after hosting T-giving (that’s right…..and opening that can of cranberry sauce was the last straw…it totally did me in…)was too much for any 50% off wafflemaker. Unless Coach Taylor was up for grabs, I was just not ready to do battle with the people of Walmart. I’m klutzy on a good day–half asleep with gravy coursing through my veins–you know I wouldda gotten taken out by one of those scooter people cuz I’d be too slow to pole vault away into a display of Faded Glory madness.

So here I sit. Not one Christmas present purchased. Not.a.one.

And the overacievers on Facebook are stressing me out. (You know who you are, you crazy little elves, you. Bastards!)

You know the ones–they’re putting status updates like this up:

Tree trimmed? Check! Lights up? Check! Christmas quilts on all the beds? Check! Holiday afghans knitted for the senior center? Check! Christmas presents for friends, family, bus driver, teachers, mailman, street sweeper, babysitter, dog walker, newspaper mystery delivery person, check out girl at supermarket, brother’s girlfriend’s stepfather’s sister purchased, wrapped, and under tree? Check, check, and cha-eck! Gifts from toy drive for needy children wrapped and dropped to shelter?  Check. *

Ugh oh. I knew I should have started my shopping in 2010!

I’m a terrible person! The worst! A total procrastinator. I have nothing for my kids! For the needy kids! For the hubs! The teacher! The seniors! The distant almostsortakinda relative! The butcher! The baker! The candlestick maker!

 Think, think, think. I can do this. I’m not stressed. I’m not.

See now that I’m off my pneumonia meds, I can hit the sauce.

Can you have a beer while you shop at Walmart?

NOOOOOOOOOO. (You really should be able to. It might take the sting out of some of the scenery. No really. Seriously.)

UMMMM. I DON'T SEE ANY POURING GOING ON, WALMART LADIES. SO NO DICE!

But I can in my family room. While I’m on my computer. Shopping til I drop in my snowman jammies! I can google for coupon codes with my best pepper spray game face on. GRRRRRRRRRRR. I can throw my muffin top around the family room and pretend to knock down little old ladies for wii games while I’m on toyrus.com! JOY TO THE WORLD! WINNING! It’s the reason for the season, yo!

CRUSHING CYBERSPACE FROM THE COUCH. HUZZAH! PARTY SNACKS AND BEERS INCLUDED. AND MAYBE SOME RHONJ RERUNS. ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN GET ME SOME CHINCHILLA??

I can have hot chocolate with fluffed marshmallow vodka while I swoop in and crush some ebay auctions.

Hellz yeah.

Don’t –don’t even try to grab up the last blender at amazon.com or I will cut you. I will. I will find your cyber arse and cut you with my sword mean unChristmasy, un Jimmy Stewart words.

It’s holiday time. It’s on. Good tidings to all and to all a good figh–I mean, night. Night!

*If this was your status update though, let’s be friends! Really! You can help people like me!

When you’re home all day with small children, any adult interaction is key. It’s absolutely vital for a parent’s sanity to at least attempt to have some contact with adults. Don’t even come to my door trying to sell me on some mags or the good word of Jesus unless you’re prepared to chat.  I really don’t care if you’re from the high school lacrosse team or The Church of Latter Day Saints. (They’ll probably be coming by more often if they ever read this blog, trying to help my troubled soul. Really? Can you blame them?) I’m sorry Mormons, you seem lovely, but I can never join up with you. You frown on booze and I’m not giving it up, not even for the Lord. But let’s chat over coffee when I’m home alone with the kids. Decaf, natch.

OF COURSE I WOULD LOVE TO TALK ABOUT JESUS AND MY WAYWARD PATH!

It’s just the days are long around here. The hubs is gone for a good twelve hours a day between work and commuting. By the time he gets home, I just might be talking to myself. (Where did I put my glasses? OH! On top of my head. Where did I put my beer? OH! On top of the mantle. Where did I put my toddler? OH! Gotcha….I SO know where my son is almost all the time!) And the brain? Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not livin’ up to its full mediocre potential.  Love my kids, they say adorable stuff, but there are only so many conversations a gal can have about Transformers,whether or not fish have teeth, and the importance of thorough hand washing. And the brawls about the same damn toy when there are eight trillion others I’m twisting my ankle over? Repeat after me: I’m a mom, not a martyr bar bouncer. A mom, not a martyr. A mom, not a….oh never mind.

At some point, in between crafts and Cheerios, I have to sit and wonder what is going on in the world outside the confines of my kitchen.

To find out what’s up in the local community, I have the newspaper.

To find out what’s up around New Hampshire, the country, the world…. I have my kitchen tv for the news.

 But to find out what’s up with 300 of my closest cyber friends, I have Facebook.

If you’re not on Facebook, I don’t know if you can appreciate how much essential information you’re letting slip by! I’m scared for you. I am. See, Facebook to me is my “work watercooler”. It’s where I find out pressing, up to the minute details, like who passed their boards, whose kid put a diaper on their teddy bear, and whose dog swallowed the car keys. I know which childhood friend is on call at the ER, who’s having a baby, what they are naming said baby, and what their Facebook friends think of what they’re naming said baby.  I know who wishes essays would grade themselves,who loves to dance in the rain, and whose favorite smell is fresh cut grass. Are you a Fanilow or more of an AC/DC guy? I think I can guess! I know which moms like to drink and swear (please take note I’m not alone) and which ones won’t get all judgy on me for stating one night, “I’m hiding under the kitchen table. Do you think my kids will find me?”  I can see riveting revealing photos of my friend’s friends’ 40th and my husband’s cousin’s daughter’s dance recital. Don’t you wonder what your old next door neighbor’s favorite movie is or what your son’s friend’s mom’s five biggest pet peeves are? Join Facebook, and wonder no more!

From the east coast to the west, and even Europe too, I have a thread of individuals who make up my unique network of “friends”, even if I can’t quite recall how I even know one of them. (It’s not you, silly! I swear!)

Facebook is vital in my life because I need to know what my sorta friend from high school and my roommate from college’s sister is up to in real time, all the time! Wanna know who’s getting married? Divorced? Havin’ a baby? Midlife crisis? Botox? New boobies? Barium enema? Just ask the bankrupt US Postal Service—no one’s gonna mail you a letter, sweatheart! Facebook, baby.

OH THEY'RE REAL AND THEY'RE SPECTACULAR!

Truly, Facebook reminds me I’m really not alone, that my kids aren’t the only ones trying to wash their hair with diaper cream in the middle of the family room or dance on the counters….that maybe I’m not the only mother out there convinced there ain’t enough Calgon to even think about taking me away some days. It is a community of sorts, albeit a randomly constructed one.

I know, I know…. I might get tortured, or worse, pitied, for admitting Facebook is my window to the big outside world some many days. But most days, it’s just nice to know I’m not flying solo on this crazy journey called life.

DON'T YOU WORRY. IT'S ALL UNDER CONTROL. NO, IT IS. IT IS!!!

I am not a professional.

I have no formal training–I’m left totally to my own devices. I don’t have enough time to complete my tasks and I’m woefully undercompensated. My under aged staff is completely uncooperative, thwarts my efforts, and asks for way too many snack breaks.

I’m talking about the housekeeping aspect of my current gig as a mom.

Let me be frank: I suck at it. (Don’t you find brutal honesty refreshing? Sorry mom, while you forbade me to say ‘sucks’ while under your roof, you also told me to always tell the truth. I believe that’s called a ‘quandary’.)

If it were my professional job, I’d definitely get written up. But since I spoon with the only other grown up in charge of this joint, there are never any real consequences, except for my own feelings of housekeeper inadequacy, or, as I prefer to say, ‘inadequas housekeeperis’. It’s the new Latin for, “You suck so bad at cleaning, no one would even hire you to clean for free!”

See, when I decided to stay home with my kids and quit my job, I decided I couldn’t justify paying for a cleaning woman when I was making zeros dineros. I figured, big deal, I’d be home, I could just do it. Well, that was before I realized little urchins would try to swim in the toilet as I cleaned it, eat crumbs from the dustpan as I swept, and hang on the vacuum and chomp on the cord. For real, people!

That’s when I proclaimed, “To hell with it! I’ll do it at night when they’re sleeping!”

And then? A little American Idol here, some blogging there, and the house, well, let’s just say it probably wasn’t the best sign when I started naming the dust bunnies. But yo, check it out—I finally got my girls. Mm hmm. (What? I’m not crazy. No, I’m not!)

I wonder if my cleaning woman knows I miss her so. (Do you think she misses me? Yeah, $90 every other week says probably not.) I keep hoping Santa will bring her back to me, but I guess I’ve just been too naughty. (Okay, get your mind out of the gutter. This is muffintopmommy, not Harlequin.)

Anyway, ‘hem, I keep threatening to form a cleaning union, but frankly, I’ve neither the time nor the inclination. I can’t even be passionate about my plight because I despise it so. I actually have friends who ENJOY cleaning. I do. I have it in writing and I’m not afraid to expose them. You know who you are, you sickos!

To me, enjoying cleaning something is just unfathomable. You might as well tell me you dig having pap smears, doing your taxes or running into your old nemesis–who is skinnier and better looking than ever. Come on now! I simply don’t believe you. I don’t.

I would rather shot gun a bottle of Lysol instead of clean with it.

 Hello poison control? Please stand by…..

Due to me being completely useless as a “homemaker” (Btw, what in the name of popcorn does that term mean anyway? Kind of overstating your ability there June Cleaver and the gang. You made your home my ass. Like you built the thing from scratch in that ridonkulous get up, sporting your pearls while you vacuum–it’s because of YOU I’m now inadequate–wet Swiffering only when completely necessary in my XL Merona sweats!)

What?

Gimme a break. Someone needed to say it. June set us all up to fail. And we think show nowadays are unrealistic? Bottom line: my home looks like a cyclone hit it some days and probably sounds like it, too.

Bite me, June.

SEE WHAT I MEAN? SEE! SEE! SHOWOFF!

I should clarify I do have some pride as my home is really more cluttery than dirty–even I have my standards. Between the toys and books and shoes and everyday junk it just sort of spirals at times. Now my husband—he seems to have higher standards than I, and has little appreciation for the squalor in which we currently live. (Probably watching too many reruns of the Beav. But fricking Ward only worked like 9 to 5 and had a five minute commute. Screw those Cleavers! I should also remind the hubs they shacked in twin beds.)

 I rest my case.

Like many hubs, I know he understands my primary goal is to take care of our kids, not our toilets. He definitely maybe knows I don’t sit around eating Bon Bons all day. (I don’t even know what a Bon Bon is–why are moms always accused of sitting around chowing on them? If I’m gonna nosh on anything all day, it ain’t gonna be no random Bon Bon. Salty snacks or bust, baby!)

No, he realizes I’m busy as a short order cook, bottle washer, tush wiper, clothing outfitter/laundress, grocery schlepper, driver extraordinaire, martyr! This, when I’m not reading to them, helping select their favorite on demand tv shows, Tarjay-ing, slurping coffee, and Facebooking. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY! Take that, June! I mean, honestly, without Facebook, twitter, online shopping, talk shows and Tarjay runs, no wonder June had nothing better to do than vac in pearls. And everyone knows moms back then trapped their kids in baby jail aka ‘play pens’. (Um, hello, pen…as in…penitentiary?) I actually let my kids out of the confines of an indoor four foot by four foot fencing and do stuff with them, June. I, and society, prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt before we send them down river to the clink.

The hubs does help with the cleaning, but he has no more free time than I do. But every now and then he’ll have a relative shit fit about the condition of our home, stomp his foot, and beg me to hire a cleaning woman.

Then I get on my dusty soapbox and say, “Listen moneybags, while this would thrill me to no end since I am the unfortunate one who cleans the toilets, how can we justify it when we’re on one salary? I feel like if we can find the money for that, then we should save it for something else, because we’re certainly not swimming in it!” At our fictitious summer home…sigh…pass me my Dunks coffee please….cream, one sugar.

“But hon, seriously. We have NO time to clean. I honestly think my throat is scratchy from all the dust. And think about the kids’ rooms–how much cleaner the air would even be!” He’s pulling out all the stops now—hitting below the belt saying even our AIR is dirty! And bringing the kids breathing into it, like I don’t have enough mothers’ guilt between on demand cable and cheap produce that isn’t organic!! Now I have visions of them gasping for breath during nap time. If I can’t clean hard surfaces adequately, how am I gonna clean AIR?

“Listen, I just don’t think this is in our budget right now. What don’t you understand?” We live in New Hampshire, not Fantasy Island, dear. Da plane? Not coming.

“We can swing it. We can. We’ll just get take out less.” Gasp! Does he NOT even know me? The husband giveth, but the husband taketh away? I beg your pardon, mtm don’t play that way! I’d rather scrub a nasty toilet used for potty training than lose my one true love, red chicken curry and siam rolls! It’s time to play hardball.

“Ok. You really want a cleaning lady? Which would you like to give up? Food or clothes?”

“Fine, Janet, you win.” I win? Kind of a hollow victory there, husband, when I walk away STILL having to clean wretched toilets, used mostly by people with “peanuts”, in the five minutes of spare time I currently have. Oooh Bob Barker, what do I win next? The chance to clean out the gutters? Yeah, let’s spin that wheel.

If he ever calls my bluff, btw, I’m thinking we’ll give up food, because then we’d look better in our clothes. Really, since I’m the lucky one who pays the bills (Another brilliant move…put the English major in charge of the finances…we are so never affording that fancy assisted living with the open bar. Damn.) that usually ends the debate until the next round of dust bunnies make their appearance.

At which point, I’m gonna put my feet up, turn up the volume on Idol and say, “Great to have you back, girls!”

LADIES AND GENTS, TWEEPS AND PEEPS, THIS IS THE SAILBOAT I SHALL ALLOW MY SONS TO CAPTAIN!

IN 1492 (an excerpt)

“In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

He had three ships and left from Spain;
He sailed through sunshine, wind and rain.

He sailed by night; he sailed by day;
He used the stars to find his way.

A compass also helped him know
How to find the way to go.

Ninety sailors were on board;
Some men worked while others snored.”

Disclaimer: I might catch flak for this. I try not to be all judgy about how other people parent as I’m quite certain I’ve made my share of mistakes and I’ve only been one for five years….but I have to ask the question: Who the hell lets their 16 year old daughter sail around the world?

 Alone.

Um, yeah. Apparently some wing nuts from the OC.

I mean, dude. Don’t they know Christopher Columbus had like 90 guys with him when he was sailing around like a badass? (Granted, some of them were snoozing…and they say people don’t have a work ethic nowadays!) And he was just trying to go grab up some gold and go–he wasn’t trying to be a big showoff and circumnavigate the world!

Technology and boats have come a long way since 1492 when CC relied on the big dipper, but the ocean is still a mighty beast. One rogue wave (which happened to sailor girl) and you’re swimming with the fishes for real. Mother Nature can be cruel and unforgiving, and if you don’t believe it, go talk to the poor widows of seasoned fishermen and sailors who got swallowed by the sea faster than a WT guy in a wife beater can inhale a $5 footlong at Wal-Mart Subway. (Gotta do somthin’ while his baby mama shops for Cheez Doodles and Moutain Dew.) Um, but I digress!

I mean, do I admire this girl for her passion, determination, and mental fortitude? I do. She’s got pluck. She’ll be an interesting person to watch. Her life story will be fascinating, no doubt, if this is what she’s gunning for at 16. I rather doubt she’ll ever be asking anyone if they “want fries with that?”

But what she couldn’t have? The  judgment and the life experience of an adult.

And any adult should realize that. Her parents are lucky the French and Australian governments, who apparently racked up huge expenses funding jets and diverting boats to rescue her when her mast snapped from a horrible storm in the Indian Ocean, have been gracious and have no plans to send them some honking bill.

But really they’re just lucky she didn’t die. Or that none of the rescuers died as a result of their poor judgment and arrogance.

I have to wonder, is this an extreme version of parents (Dad is a shipwright and owns a yacht management company)trying to live vicariously through their kids, or gain notoriety through their kids? Just last year, this girl’s older brother successfully did sail around the world. When is enough, enough? I mean, I thought the hockey dads could be batshit crazy, but nope, we have a winner here!  

Not to mention, this girl is a high school junior. Shouldn’t she be screeching at Eclipse with her friends? Shopping for a prom dress? And no texting, no twitter, no Facebook? For months! She probably doesn’t even know who won American Idol! No Gossip Girl? No One Tree Hill? No Justin Bieber jokes to keep her going? Does she even know Albie might get tossed from Fordham Law and Ashley got booted from home?

What am I missing?

This was her dream? Really? Couldn’t wait til she was a legal adult of 18? Sorry….I ain’t buying what she and her fam dam are selling.

What do you think?

In the meantime, to the parents of Abby Sunderland…..you get the STFU Friday sammie!! (To be consumed on land only per order of muffintopmommy law!)

Land hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I’ve been discovered! I have. It’s awesome. I’ve been wishing, hoping, someone in a position of authority would contact me regarding my blog. Well muffintoppers, that day has come. I received the following email at my muffintopmommy address. I’ve posted the actual email so you can share in my excitement. (And, not to get all braggy on you, show just how important a gal I am!) My responses are in CAPS throughout the email. Ready? 

Dear Janet,
We came across your blog, Muffintop Mommy and see that you are an influential voice among the parenting community in Boston (I AM? THAT IS SCARY. BECAUSE I LIVE ALMOST AN HOUR AWAY IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH IS A CHICK FROM THE GRANITE STATE WHO’S BEEN KNOWN TO YELL, “MOVE IT D BAG!” IN FRONT OF HER KIDS IN THE CAR? NO WONDER PEOPLE ARE LEAVING MASS IN DROVES!) We wanted to reach out to you to tell you about an important citywide campaign that is taking place this summer- Boston’s first Soda-Free Summer Challenge. (SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE’S COUSIN NEEDED A MADE UP CUSHY TAX FUNDED JOB…. I MEAN, NEATO!)
Drinking soda can slow us down by causing weight gain and health problems, like type 2 diabetes and heart disease. (UM. I’M NO HEALTH NUT, BUT HAVE YOU TRIED DIET COKE? IT’S LIKE…ZERO CALORIES.) 

PLEASE NOTE THE CAN SAYS, "SUGAR FREE." PROBLEM SOLVED! GLAD I COULD HELP, GOVERNMENT!

Obesity and associated health problems are dramatically affecting our city, with recent data showing that 52 percent of adults are considered overweight or obese, and about half of high school students are either overweight or at-risk of being overweight. (DID YOU EVEN READ THE NAME OF MY BLOG? MUF-FIN-TOP-MOM-MY….AS IN, I HAVE A MUFFIN TOP. SOME FLAB IN MY ABS. CONTEXT CLUES, GOVERNMENT WONK…I’M KIND OF A FATTY… LIKE THE SCHLUMPS YOU ARE TARGETING. FIRST RULE OF A PITCH….KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE, GIRLFRIEND. YOU DON’T SEE PEOPLE HAWKING TWINKIES AT TRIATHALONS. YOU FOLLOW? ALSO? IF PEOPLE ARE FATTIES, IT’S THEIR FAULT SO WHY DON’T YOU JUST MYOB. IT TOOK THE CITY OF BOSTON FOUR YEARS TO GIVE THE FIREFIGHTERS A CONTRACT, AND YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA GET THE MCCHUBBIES TO STOP DOING THE DEW IN TWO MONTHS? BTW, MAYOR MUMBLES MENINO LOOKS LIKE HE’S BEEN ENJOYING HIMSELF A FEW COKES. YOU SHOULD REALLY MAKE HIM YOUR POSTER CHILD. AND AFTER THE WAY HE TREATED THE FIRE DEPARTMENT, I DOUBT THOSE JAKES WILL BE RUSHING DOWN WITH THEIR DEFRIBRILATORS IF MUMBLES GOES DOWN IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE. HE MAY WANNA KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF OR LAY OFF ANGELA’S LASAGNA, YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYIN’?)
In response to this issue, the Boston Public Health Commission (BPHC) is launching Boston’s first citywide Soda-Free Summer Challenge. We are asking individuals and organizations to take a pledge to not drink soda for the summer. ( NO. JUST, NO. DIET COKE AND I? TO QUOTE THE GREAT CAROLINE MANZO OF JERSEY, WELL…”WE’RE THICK AS THIEVES.” YEAH. DIET COKE IS MY HOMIE. MY CRACK ATTACK. LA FAVORITO DRINKO. NEXT TO BEER. BUT FACE IT,  A MOM WITH AS MUCH INFLUENCE AS I..SIMPLY CANNOT BE SEEN SWILLING AND CHILLING BEFORE A SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE HOUR, AM I RIGHT? SO DIET COKE IT IS! BRING ON….THE ASPARTAME. AHHH!)

BOSTON WILL KNOW. OH THEY WILL! THEY'LL KNOW IF YOU HAVE COKE. YOU WATCH IT, YOU PORTLY SCOFFLAW!

 
Since you are an influential voice in your community(NOT BOSTON) and a role model to your children (PLEASE REVIEW PARAGRAPH ONE), we would like to ask you to take the pledge and be a leader in this campaign. We realize you and some of your followers may not be residents of Boston proper (YOUR PLEA WILL TOTALLY RESONATE WITH MY READERS ACROSS THE POND. I JUST JOLLY KNOW IT! BRILLIANT!) , but we hope you see the importance of spreading the message to everyone – a healthy lifestyle shouldn’t be restricted to city limits! (NATCH! WE ARE THE WORLD! I TOTALLY GET IT NOW. DON’T WORRY ABOUT YOUR FAILING SCHOOLS, RUNAWAY FIRE TRUCKS, OR DRIVE BY SHOOTINGS, DEFINITELY USE YOUR RESIDENTS’ HARD EARNED TAX DOLLARS TO RID THE WORLD OF INSIDIOUS SODA! PRIORITIZE. YES!)
You can take the pledge on our Facebook page (www.Facebook.com/HealthyBoston) or on our website (www.bphc.org/sodafreesummer).  When you take the pledge, you will be entered into our weekly raffle for a chance to win some great health-oriented prizes that include online personal fitness training from Life in Synergy (GOOD THING IT’S ONLINE SINCE I LIVE….AN HOUR AWAY!), water bottles, healthy grocery store gift cards (YOU KNOW THEY SELL SODA AT THE GROCERY STORE, YES?), and a bicycle. (NO 30 PACKS? NO SOX TICKETS? A PIE FROM SANTARPIO’S? NO? NOTHING? THEN NO DICE!)
In addition, we are attaching a badge to display on your blog and/or Facebook page to demonstrate your commitment to your health, your children’s health, and the health of the community. (I AM COMMITTED TO MY CHILDREN’S HEALTH. WHICH IS WHY I DON’T LET THEM PLAY WITH MATCHES OR DRINK SUGARY SODA. I DON’T NEED YOUR BADGE TO TELL ME THAT. INSTEAD, I GIVE THEM “CRAP-I SUN”…WHICH IS….OH, SHIT, ALSO SUGAR LADEN. YEAH, WELL. UM. I’M A ROLE MODEL! YOU EVEN SAID IT!)You can also print out this badge to display in your home or your office. (OH SQUEE! I’VE BEEN MEANING TO REDECORATE!)
We would love to hear your thoughts, comments and questions. (NO, I DON’T THINK YOU WOULD.) Please contact BLABBITY BLAH (NAME X’D OUT TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT DO GOODER) for more information or to sign up to take the pledge!
 
Thank you, (YOU ARE SO WELCOME. NOW PLEASE CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE A NEWSPAPER COLUMN, BOOK DEAL, A PRICEY AD TO RUN ON MY BLOG, OR MY LOTTERY WINNINGS. GOOD DAY!) 

BLABBITY BLAH
Boston Public Health Commission 

OH AND P.S. BOSTON PUBLIC HEALTH COMMISSION? YOU GET THE STFU FRIDAY SAMMIE. BUT DON’T WORRY, I’LL MAKE IT LOW SUGAR FOR YOU. FEEL FREE TO DISPLAY THE MUFFINTOPMOMMY LOGO ON YOUR DESK WHILE ENJOYING IT. IT WILL PAIR WELL WITH YOUR DELISH BOSTON CITY TAP WATER. I JUST KNOW IT!