My 22 month old son is an actual poop machine. He never runs out. There is an endless supply of multi-colored, foul smelling, sometimes lumpy poo for my viewing pleasure. It dawned on me the other day that the best business to be in, or own stock in, is diapers. Babies will never stop pooping. There is no cure. No magic pill. As long as babies eat, they WILL poop. So I figured it out. Diapers average about thirty cents each and most babies average about eight diapers a day more or less. That’s $1500.00 for just the first two years times what, about a billion babies? So apparently shit is the business to be in. I guarantee the diaper execs never say “I don’t give a shit” or “stop giving me shit”. Their slogan is probably “Please give me shit”.


Ironically, not only do we come in to this world in diapers, we go out in them as well. The only difference is the size and the name. It is no longer Huggies or Pampers, it becomes Depends and Poise. (Poise yourself for the fact that you are about to shit your pants)


Tomorrow I am going to go out and buy stock in diapers.

Stop calling me that.....that's not my name!!

I heard someone once say “we are born Mommy”. Well I checked it out and I don’t know what the hell she was talking about. If that is the case, why doesn’t it say Mommy on my birth certificate? It doesn’t. It says Justine Michele Stoddard. And for my parents names, why doesn’t it say Mommy and Daddy instead of Joan Grayce and Ned? Because it’s stupid, that’s why.


I understand we couldn’t all be legally named Mommy and Daddy or it would get confusing. I would probably be like Mommy 1,645,289. Not easy to yell out in the grocery store. “Mommy #1,645,289, your child is waiting for you at the guest service counter.” We would all be checking our numbers like a lottery ticket.


So what jackass came up with the idea for kids to call us Mommy and Daddy and not our real names in the first place? If they only knew what they started. For some reason kids love to say the word Mommy over and over again, like 400 times in a row. I don’t think my daughter would be as likely to say Justine? Justine? Justine? It just doesn’t have the same ring.
In today’s society no one would dream of letting their kids call them by their first name. It would be disrespectful. It would be rude. It would be embarrassing. It would be uh….my name. What is so wrong with that? I happen to like my name. My mommy gave it to me.
Would it mean our children would love us less because they call us Dick and Jane instead of Mom and Dad? Does “Dick, can I have my allowance?” sound any more unloving than “Dad, can I have my allowance?” I think not. Does “Jane, when is dinner going to be ready?” sound any less thoughtful than “Mom, when is dinner going to be ready?” Not really.
Just a thought.


***On a side note: I do have to admit, there is nothing like the first time your child says mama. Probably wouldn’t sound the same as Justine and not to mention they wouldn’t be able to say until they were about 4.

I Ain’t Gonna Lie, Five Year Olds Are a Pain in the Ass.

Adj. 1. five-year-old - five years of age.
young, immature - (used of living things especially persons) in an early period of life or development or growth; "young people"


Yes, I said it. Five year olds, even mine, are a pain in the ass. I read a funny Phyllis Diller quote somewhere once that said “We spend the first twelve months of our children's lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next twelve telling them to sit down and shut up." Though funny, not quite accurate. I think we actually spend the next 17 years telling them that.


I love my daughter more than life itself and that’s a fact. Wait for it. Here it comes….BUT just like every five year old has the ability to annoy their mother, she has the ability to drive me up the freakin wall. I look at her and she is so beautiful and wonderfully sweet. She is smart and caring and…whatever. She is still a pain in the ass.


I have tried to analyze just exactly what it is that makes me so nuts, just as I am sure I made my mother nuts. First, I believe there is a club that five year olds are automatically a member of when they turn five and some actually join as soon as three years old. The Motor Mouths. The prerequisite for membership is they must be able to speak non-stop, without taking a breath and start a new conversation about something totally unrelated without so much as missing a beat. My daughter could actually be the president of this club. If speed talking were a sport, my daughter would for sure win the gold medal.


Next, whining. Whining would also rank right up there. “But moooommmmm”! Enough said.


“Knock, Knock”. It’s bad enough that they don’t really understand the point of the joke. My daughter says things like “Chicken” and I say “chicken who?” and she says “chicken taco shoe head” followed by screaming laughter. But it never ends there. Knock-knock jokes can go on for hours. Over and over and over again. If something is funny the first time, the five year old thinks that it gets even funnier the fourteenth time. The same thing. Fourteen times. Pain in the ass.


And then there is “Look at me Mommy”! “I know how to do that better than anyone”. “Watch this”. Again, enough said.


I always thought of myself as an excellent debater, but after being repeatedly taken down by a five year old, I have lost respect for myself. The constant barrage of “I don’t want to’s” and “you can make me’s” with the occasional “you wanna bet” has beaten me to my core. I could at one time argue back until I figured out that she has nothing but time on her side and she is happy to point that out. Five year olds are good.


But at the end of the day, when she walks up to me and says, “Mommy”? “Can I lay in your bed tonight”? is when I realize that she is just that, a five year old little girl. Still afraid of the dark. Still needs her mommy to protect her. Her attitude is big, but she is still my little girl. She is finding her way. Getting her feet wet. She loves me and I love her, pain in the ass and all.

I Make the Rules

Rule (ro̵̅o̅l)
noun
1.a.an authoritative regulation for action, conduct, method, procedure, arrangement, etc.: the rules of the school
b.an established practice that serves as a guide to usage: the rules of grammar
2.a complete set or code of regulations in a religious order: the Benedictine rule
3.a fixed principle that determines conduct; habit; custom: to make it a rule never to hurry

So last night my daughter asked the question "why not mommy" to which I quickly replied, "because I make the rules and one day when you are old enough, you can make the rules".  I've said it a thousand times before and I am quite sure my mother said it to me on more than one occassion. So I started thinking, do I really make the rules? Has any mother ever really made the rules?  I am sure most of the rules we all use are pretty much the same:

1. Don't touch that
2. Don't put that in your mouth
3. Don't hit your sister
4. Don't jump on the couch
5. Don't jump on the bed
6. Don't jump on your brother
7. Because I said so 

The list goes on and on, but you get the idea.

If I could REALLY make up the rules they certainly wouldn't be those rules. I would probably start with:
Rule# 1. My husband must serve me breakfast in bed everyday.
Rule #2. Shoes would be free.
Rule #3. No pants would ever make me look fat and even if they did, the rule is no one could say so.
Rule #4. Botox would just "kick in" at age 40.
Rule #5. My boobs would never head south.
Rule #6. No one could refer to me as ma'am.
Rule #7. I would reserve the right to change or add to the rules at any time.

Fitting in a Fart

fart (färt) Vulgar Slang
intr.v. fart•ed, fart•ing, farts
To expel intestinal gas through the anus; break wind.
n.
1. An often audible discharge of intestinal gas.
2. An annoying or foolish person.
Phrasal Verb:
fart around
To fool around; fritter time away.


I actually am so busy that I don't have time to fit in a fart. If one accidentally slipped out, I would have to suck it back up into my butt and reschedule it for a later date. Then one day my farts would form an
army and launch an attack. I am tentatively scheduling a few days off work for that event.

My daughter happens to think fart is the funniest word in the whole world. I guess when you are five it is pretty funny, but when you are forty, you start to realize that it won’t be too long before you have no control over that particular event. At some point, they just happen before you even have time to leave the room. Quite frankly, it has been my experience that when it gets to that point they don’t even care to leave the room. At some point it just becomes acceptable to say “oh my goodness” or “excuse me”. Like either one of those phrases could possibly make it ok. A sneeze, yes. A fart, no. It makes you wonder if they don’t hear it, or for that matter, feel it.

Is this really what I have become…reduced to talking about farts? I guess when you have vomit on your shirt, your hair (unwashed) is in yesterday’s shamefully bad ponytail and your toenails have the same half-peeled polish from 4 months ago, you can talk about whatever the hell you want. It's not like anyone takes you seriously anyway, in fact most people are probably scared of you.

Is "Mom" a noun or a verb?

NOUN:
A woman who conceives, gives birth to, or raises and nurtures a child.
A female parent of an animal.
A female ancestor.
A woman who holds a position of authority or responsibility similar to that of a mother: a den mother.
Roman Catholic Church:
A mother superior.
Used as a form of address for such a woman.
A woman who creates, originates, or founds something: "the discovery of radium, which made Marie Curie mother to the Atomic Age" (Alden Whitman).
A creative source; an origin: Philosophy is the mother of the sciences.
Used as a title for a woman respected for her wisdom and age.
Maternal love and tenderness: brought out the mother in her.
The biggest or most significant example of its kind: the mother of all battles.
Vulgar Slang Something considered extraordinary, as in disagreeableness, size, or intensity.

ADJECTIVE:
Relating to or being mother.
Characteristic of a mother: mother love.
Being the source or origin: the mother church.
Derived from or as if from one's mother; native: one's mother language.

TRANSITIVE VERB:
moth·ered, moth·er·ing, moth·ers
To give birth to; create and produce.
To watch over, nourish, and protect maternally.

Holy crap! I am tired just reading that. I actually think they forgot a few things though: taxi driver, chef, cleaning lady, ass wiper, nose wiper, orifice checker, poop inspector and the list goes on and on......

Keeping it Real

I am writing this blog as a real mom. Not a perfect mom, just a real mom. I have flaws and plenty of them. I will say things that most of you think, but don't want to say out loud. I am not politically or otherwise correct, so if you are easily offended, I suggest you "blog" off now. For my friends and family the preceding comes as no surprise, but for those of you who don't know me, if nothing else you will at least have to admit that I am honest!

Let me start by saying.... I love my children. They are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. Of course my husband ranks up there (just in case he actually reads this), but my children are my life. My daughter is beautiful and smart. She has a quick wit and speaks her mind. My son is handsome and funny. You are probably noticing that I didn't say smart, but he is only a year and a half old. How freakin smart do you expect him to be? He can say "mama" and "dada" and "dude", but he hasn't quite figured out how to solve a quadratic equation yet. I guess that is important to some moms. I am not one of those moms. I want my kids to be kids. You only get to be a kid for such a short time and frankly, I want my kids to be happy. Don't get me wrong, education is extremely important to me, but not at such a forced pace.


I had a pseudo friend in Florida who shall remain nameless (you know who you are you crazy bitch) that constantly criticized her kids. She believed that the only way to make her kids successful was to push them to be better and push them she did. She made her daughter take dance every year even though she clearly hated it and quite frankly it showed. She put her in what she termed as the "best school" which did not allow children to have play time. Learn, learn, learn. She once told her seven year old son that if he didn't concentrate harder he would wind up picking up trash for a living. The only thing I think she taught her son that day was to look down on other people. Needless to say, our friendship was short lived. I am not saying that her choice in schools or parenting style was wrong, just not what I want for my family. Plus as hypocrites go, she was the poster child. Riding her kids all day and riding a bottle of vodka into the next day.

If I can say one thing about myself and my parenting style, it is that I am a supporter. I want my children to succeed as much as anyone, but even more than that, I want them to know that they are loved no matter what they do. I want them to be happy, healthy and trust in me enough to tell me the truth even when I don't want to hear it. Pipe dreams maybe, nonetheless they are my pipe dreams.

Moms are always moms. There is no 401K, paid holidays or sick days. We don't earn a paycheck for our mommy duties, not even our doodie duties. There is no "Mommy of the Month" with a special parking spot. The law doesn't allow us a half an hour lunch with two fifteen minute breaks. However, we get the best rewards. We get paid in kisses an hugs. Every day with your child is a holiday and there is no more precious sound than when your baby first says the word Mommy. I think we have it pretty good most of the time. Trust me, I will be pointing out those other times.

This blog is for every mom. A place to share embarrassing stories, serious stories, opinions, thoughts or just plain bullshit. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours! The only rule is to be real.