Okay, so maybe not so minor.  Is there really such a thing as a minor irritation anyhow?  If it's enough to irritate me, then it's likely pissing me the hell off!  Aka not so minor.  

1)  Emails home from PRE-school.  
This isn't college, folks.  It's f'ing preschool.  Can't you just tell me face to face that the little shit with Hand, Foot, Mouth ran a muck with my daughter today at school.  I know you're following some BS protocol in sending me the link to the CDC on how to "monitor" it should my daughter catch it, but come on.  Like I don't have enough to squeeze into my day already -- now we get to add that lovely anxiety-ridden worry!  

If you're gonna send me an email, make it worth my while and send along the name of the a-hole parent that sent that kid to school!  

3)  Pinterest.  It's the devil.  
All of your made from scratch recipes, DIY projects that you proclaim to be easy, hand crafted artwork, blah blah blah.  These boards should more aptly be titled "How to Make My Mom Feel Even More Like a Loser".   

Unless it's a pin on how to effectively treat and "monitor" Hand, Foot, Mouth.  Cause then I may need it.  


Be well, my friends!  

Remember those days that you'd want to crawl in a hole and die because your mother was just that embarrassing? She'd sing loudly in the car, dance around thinking she had rhythm and just in general do everything she could to make you feel a uncomfortable as possible?  Yeah -- well I'm her.  

Yesterday as hubby and I were driving with both kiddos in tow and an Eminem and Dr. Dre song came on the radio.  As expected I started jamming out, rapping along with Marshall, getting my flow on --- and then it happened.  "Fuck you too bitch, call the cops" -- and Adam breaks out into hysterics and I couldn't help but want to crawl in a hole and die.  Seconds before I'm singing "Swiper no swiping, Swiper no swiping" as we repeat Dora's song on her handy dandy cell phone for the 4,971st time of the day.  It's almost as if I checked out of reality and for a moment in time and it was 1999 again and I was driving down I-94 in my 1992 Buick Regal smoking a cig, music blaring, sunglasses on and not a care in the world.  

And then....Dora comes on for the 4,972nd time of the day and I'm back.    

I then quickly realized I am my mother.  I can no longer sing along to these songs.  Not only is it clearly inappropriate for my kids to hear but my cool factor has decreased significantly since becoming a mom.  Yes, it's true.  I've tried to avoid admitting this for months, but I figure if I own up to it now, maybe I have a sliver of a chance of my kids accepting my dorkiness when they are older.  Most likely though, I will still be THAT mom.  

I was thinking this morning I'd like to paddleboard.  Not a good idea.  

Did you know I tried boxing?  Again...   

Going with my gut here and gonna keep thing simple this summer and not get too adventurous.  It may be short-lived and although my kids aren't old enough to appreciate it now, someday they will thank me.  

Isn't that just the loveliest oxy-moron in the world!  This mommy is going insane lately with the incessant "no's" that are flying around this house.  Literally, every other freakin' word is no.  I'm going bat shit crazy!  To the point this morning I found myself screaming "NO MORE SAYING NO!"  Yeah -- okay that's genius, Kristin.  I could almost visualize myself laying on the floor, stomping my feet, bending up my back and whining over and over again throwing my own tantrum begging for someone, ANYONE, to hear my pathetic plea!  

Then reality sank back in.  

I gotta give it to the SAHM's out there who stay at home with multiple during the day.  I thought one was tough?  Ha!  K is in preschool three days a week -- yes through the summer too -- so the other two days prove to be my weekly tests.  If I survive, there's a large cocktail awaiting at the end of the day that may or may not be consumed while wearing the same yoga pants I was wearing at 7:15 when they demanded I get out of bed.  If I don't make it, well... there's five large cocktails that will still be consumed in said yoga pants.  

My kids are high maintenance, I know this.  From the second my daughter wakes up, she wants to go shopping.  Every.  Single.  Day.  If it takes me a milli-second to get ready to depart in the house, full blown meltdown.  This morning she wanted a popsicle for breakfast.  Her options were yogurt, fruit or cereal.  She chose chips and dip which she kindly helped herself to and were laying in a nice spread on the kitchen table as I exited my short lived shower.  Seeming I had actual "work" to do this morning (as if I don't every other day) I nothing short of BEGGED her to watch Dora.  Yeah - that was a joke.  She's almost three and has ZERO interest in anything on the screen.  I'm sure I will be thankful for this one day, but unlike the other 9,999,999 mothers out there who secretly use it to babysit their kids, I don't get that privilege.  Come on -- admit it.  I'm not saying I'd plop her there for hours -- but a quick 24 minute episode would do WONDERS for my household chores!  

Anyhow, as our morning chaos continues, I'm trying to get #2 to nap in his crib, which my daughter has no intention of allowing to let happen smoothly.  As I'm laying him down, the cookie monster kitchen decides "he wants to cook with you" and she starts dancing around like a chicken with her head cut off screaming for a treat.  REALLY?   Like the French Onion Dip for breakfast didn't do the trick?!?!?!  

It took me approximately 48 minutes to get #2 to nap.  As I'm scrambling to document this wonderful morning I'm watching my daughter draw in chalk all over baby Katherine's head -- her toy baby.  Why you ask?  Because she's fucking quiet and not saying no.  

Bless this moment.  

Sometimes I feel like a crazy woman.  Honestly, that's more often than not.  I feel like my life is one constant whirlwind of me trying to catch up on things.  

On a side note -- every freakin' time I get to this computer to start writing a post one of my kids is crying.  SERIOUSLY?!  

Anyhow, since "catching up on things" (notice the smart-ass quotations) is about as easy as creating world peace, I've learned my to-do list in 2018 will still contain items from August 7th 2010 -- the day after my first child was born.  Motherhood has caused me to become a lot more creative in trying to achieve the smallest of small victories.  See, my husband doesn't consider my very real work from home job very real at all.  Many days I'm left to "figure it out" (as he says) and wonder how I haven't hung myself from the ceiling fan.  

As we speak and I'm writing this post he's in the other room yelling for our daughter to bring him a diaper and wipes to change her nasty diaper while she is in here with me drawing on the wall with her cherry chapstick that I'm actively ignoring to enjoy my few moments "alone".  My four month  month old is losing his lunch all over him now.  I'm secretly loving this.  Okay, not secretly.  I'M LOVING THIS!  He's now yelling to me to come and help to which my response is "figure it out" as this is Mommy's dedicated hour of the day that we've recently come to terms on. We'll see how long this lasts...

Okay, I digress... Point is that in order for me to get my work done, I need something just short of a miracle to happen.  My solution, the fuck it button.  You know, like the easy button the dopes at Staples created?  On another side note, nothing is ever that easy at Staples -- if that's what they are trying to convince you of, they failed miserably.  In my perfect world, the fuck it button will stop all life and movement around me -- you know like Evie from "Out Of This World".  Considering that will never happen, my fuck it button will exist solely for me to feel better about my lack of ability to complete a task.  

Oh great -- the skinny bitch from next door just ran by my window after completing her leisurely morning jog.  Seriously?!?!    

Ahhhh... I had one of those proud parent moments this morning.  Today my daughter's teachers learned mommy is a lush.  Super.  

See, she has taken a liking to my diet coke and has for quite a few months.  I don't let her drink much - maybe a sip or two in a days time, but yes this is a bad habit I'm forming, I know.  Anyhow, I think she likes it more simply because I tell her she can't have it.  

Long story short, I occasionally (who am I kidding) indulge in an adult beverage (or four).  This drink of choice is typically a vodka and diet coke aka "skinny bitch" -- would've never guessed that by my waistline!  In order to keep Kayla away from this drink and all other pop, or "soda" if you're reading this anywhere south of Ohio, I tell her there is booze in it.  Booze = bad.  This, she has known for months by the crazy shreeks mommy made when spotting her in sneak mode trying to steal a sip.  

This morning as I'm saying goodbye to her at school, she sits down at the table with her teachers.   I had her over her cup to which she would naturally respond... "Thank you, Mommy.  No booze in here?"  

Mother.  Of.  The.  Fucking.  Year.    

Take a good long look at this douche bag ladies (and gents).  This is the CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch.  This is the man that says I am too fat to wear HIS clothing. He doesn't want a slob like ME representing HIS company.  This is the cock-sucker that says because I am not "thin" I am not a "cool kid".  Let me tell you something asshole...

YOU are the problem with our society.  Yes, YOU.  Your egotistical, narrow-minded, condescending, womanizing jackass comments are exactly what push young, and already insecure, teenage girls over the edge.  There's already enough issues women of all ages face and battle on a daily basis -- but now young girls get to hear someone with the likeliness of their grandfather scrutinize their growing and maturing bodies.  Go fuck yourself.  

I have never and will never been a fan of your overpriced crap clothing nor the "sophisticated pre-pubescent" jock standing at the front door trying to spray me down with your nasty ass cologne while passing by.  I promise you that no other member of my family will ever be either.  Thank you for doing me that favor.  Now I won't have to spend thousands of my hard earned dollars on your crap-ass clothing when my daughter is old enough to wear them.  I promise you one thing...my daughter will NEVER be a part of your "cool kids" group.  My family doesn't define cool kids as you do.  We define cool kids as those who don't pass judgement and are accepting of all man-kind no matter where you're from, where you live, the color of your skin or the size of your waistline.  That's cool.  

What's not cool is you.  

By the way jackass -- have you looked in the mirror?  You're not rockin' a great genetic pool so I'd shut the fuck up if I were you.  The only company that you should be affiliated with is Trojan condoms because narrow-minded and two inch pecker pricks like you SHOULD NOT PROCREATE.  


***To read the full article about this jackass' comments -- click here***

So this guy tells me yesterday that his three year old son came and sat down next to him on the couch, looked him dead in the eye and said -- "I just don't think I can do this much longer."  I immediately broke out in hysterical laughter -- you know the good belly kind that I use to have when out on the town with my girlfriends telling stories from our past, hitting on random men and getting silly while downing Martinis at a downtown bar -- you know, when I had a life?  Seriously kid?  You?  YOU can't do this much longer?  HA HA HA HA HA --- that's hilarious!! 

Shortly after hearing this story I find the "tickle monster" (aka myself) chasing my daughter around the house.  She looks at me and says "Don't do that no more.  Keep your hands to yourself, mommy."  Oh.  My.  God.  Darling, you have no idea how many times I've wanted to stomp my feet and demand no one lay a hand on me for 30 seconds.  It's the fucking tickle monster - let's get this straight.  I'm not grabbing onto you begging to be held.   I'm not screaming at you from across the room to bring you some milk.  I'm not using you as a trampoline to get attention.  I'm not pulling, pinching or smacking you when I'm pissed off you won't give me what I want.  None-the-less -- I can relate sister. 

 Clearly they say these things because they've learned them from us -- it's what we say to them.  This is great, of course until it's used against us.  I couldn't help but think about my wishful comeback to the smart ass comments that come from our kids...

Dear Child of Mine,  

I hear what you're saying.  Although we may disagree on many things, from time to time I do actually find myself agreeing with you.  In this case, I couldn't agree more.  I'm not sure I can do this much longer either.  Please know you mean the world to me and I'd lay my life down for you in a second, but also please know that the rules to the game from here on out are changing.  

I don't think I can change anymore shitty diapers.  
I don't think I can cook you any more "special" meals because you don't like what's being offered.  Hot dogs do not qualify as an intrical part of the food pyramid.  
I don't think I can go one more day smelling like vomit and/or urine.  
I don't think I can scarf down my meals in less than 3 minutes 46 seconds any longer.  
I don't think I can go another day without wearing make-up.  
I don't think I can sacrifice another nights sleep because you've had a nightmare, have a tummy ache or shoved your heel into the side of my face.  
I don't think I can stomach the site of the purple fucking dinosaur one more time.  
I simply don't think I can handle your incessant whining, complaining, needing, begging, pleading or demanding ANY LONGER.  

I want to stand still, by myself for two minutes at least once a day.  I want to take a few deep breaths and not be in demand every waking moment.  I love you to death but I'm taking a sabbatical.  

Love, 

The Tickle Monster

Okay so I haven't tried this one yet but it sounds DEEE - LICIOUS!  If you give it a whirl, let me know what you think.  I mean, anything with limoncello in it can't be bad -- right?  

Directions:
In a pitcher, combine 12 whole fresh basil leaves, a 750-ml bottle of sauvignon blanc, 2 cups all-natural lemonade, and 3/4 cup limoncello; stir. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving.

Makes 6 Servings
Per serving: 220 cal, 0 g fat, 40 g carbs, 0 mg sodium, 0 g fiber, 0 g protein

Over here we don't think that you need a special designated day (and only one) to celebrate moms.  But since the rest of the world is celebrating them this weekend, we figure we mine as well do it for the entire month!  

In celebration of all mothers, whether you are one or have one, we're giving away $100 in gift cards to treat yourself (or your mother) to something fabulous and fun!  Our "Mom Rocks" giveaway includes a 

$50 Gift Card to Macy's AND a $50 Visa Gift Card 

Enter to win throughout the month of May as the drawing will take place June 1st.  Good luck!