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In case I have never mentioned this before..(yes, I’m sure I’ve mentioned it…it was a purely rhetorical question)… blogging and being a member of a kick ass group of mommas in the Moms Who Drink and Swear group, I’ve been lucky enough to have joined a community of amazing women that can call each other bitches and whores (said with nothing but love), play “I have never” (a drinking game) online with each other across the nation on a Saturday night, and can have an intelligent conversations about something as controversial as immunizations without threatening violence towards one another. In a world of opinionated, self involved assholes, who lurk behind a keyboard and sling hate without a second thought, I find this recent conversation I’ve experienced so refreshing and simply AWESOME!!!

To start, I saw a similar post earlier that day about vaccinations….one that quickly morphed into an incredibly hostile and ignorant verbal slasher-fest (please note….if you’re attempting to school someone on how incredibly SMART you are, can you please PLEASE do so without major grammatical errors…consider this my PSA for today) and made EVEN ME want to gouge my eyes out with a fork just for having witnessed the immense stupidity that was on display. My God, I felt really dumb after reading that particular post.

While I was completely irritated, it also got me thinking. Irritation usually DOES get me thinking (Its like being in the bathroom and pooping and a million brilliant things just pop magically into your head). So I posed the following questions on my own Facebook page……

“Ok….sorta a half shit starting question and sorta half really wanting to know……Why are people so concerned with whether or not a parent vaccinated their children…..If MY child is vaccinated and there IS an outbreak of polio or something equally evil….won’t the vaccinations my child received protect them???? So…..I support my friends who opt to not vaccinate their kids after making informed decisions and doing research….and worry not at all about the media hysteria that tells me that people who don’t vaccinate their kids are a danger to my vaccinated ones. You can’t have it both ways….you cannot tell me I should vaccinate my kids so they don’t get diseases…..and then tell me children not vaccinated could infect my kids. That just makes you sound like a moron.”

And then I sat back and diligently waited for the shit storm to start brewing. I was poised over my keyboard, methodically reading every response, ready to pounce on the first douche bag that didn’t play nice.

Now, I KNEW that there was a possibility that it was…sorta half a shit starting question. But I thought, well, maybe there are things I’m unaware of. Maybe while I’m sitting around watching SpongeBob on a continuous loop all day, losing vital brain cells by the second, there are important facts and information that I’m missing. And as I’ve mentioned, I know some amazingly smart women. I mostly knew (and hoped) it would go well.

After the first 92 comments, I was impressed. While there were (of course) varying opinions (as well as many opposing opinions), there was also honest, intelligent, and often very hilarious discussion whizzing around. Those whores (said with love and affection) were downright respectful of one anothers differing views. The conversation went a little something like THIS :

Kyle : Oh Danielle.

** See how Kyle tried to dissuade me from continuing the conversation…..see how I kept right on going **

Kyle : Your kids may not be in danger….just all of humanity.
Wendy : I chose to vaccinate my girls. period. ——->> oh look the draft is on. ** Way to deflect there Wendy….”A” for effort **
ME : I only ask that anyone that comments must be polite….be kind. …be respectful of choices people make.
Danielle S. : You are right! It’s an Oxymoron!
ME : Yeah…but if everyone has always been vaccinated (I’m assuming that the idea to choose not to vaccinate is a relatively new one) then wouldn’t only those who opt not to vaccinate be unsafe? ?
Megan M : This explained so much to me in real scientific no BS manner. Penn & Teller: Bullshit – Season 8 – Ep 89: Vaccinations

** Megan dropped an awesome Pen and Teller skit that had me cracking the fuck up. It also helped diffuse the situation (even though it really didn’t need any diffusing **

Kyle : You hear the term Gateway drug…..nonvaccination…..the gateway to everything that has been gone……coming back. whooping cough is back….Measles are back…mumps are back…..they were gone, none of our kids had them….I did……

ME : And…When I said it just makes people sound like a moron…..I was totally referring to the CDC and the government agencies that feed the mass hysteria. Not anyone here….because I love you all. ** I really did feel the need to clarify that point **

Sara R : It’s a little more complicated than that, has to do with herd immunity. And it increases the risk for babies too young to be vaccinated yet (pneumococcal is a nasty nasty thing) and kids who are immunosuppressed or otherwise unable to be vaccinated.

Carol : I vaccinated and I agree its a personal choice. The way I understand it, is that the argument goes like this,,, If only a percentage of the kids ARE vaxed, then the disease can spread and become stronger and stronger, rendering those vaccines powerless against the new, more powerful strains that spread amongst the unvaxed and weakens the vaccines given in the first place. Whether the argument is valid or not is up for debate, as well.

Sarah KG : I do not vaccinate. BUT I only advise people to do their own research. Just because it is good for some one else doesn’t mean it is good for me. Our bodies react differently. Not every one is allergic to penicillin.. but it will kill me. Same idea. St the end of the day, we can only do what we think is best for our kids.

Meghan A : Anyone who is not vaccinated is not only susceptible to communicable diseases, but they also have the ability to spread disease to other unvaccinated individuals. Some of those individuals could be infants not old enough to be vaccinated or the elderly who, for whatever health reasons, cannot be vaccinated.

Kim : I just read a big article about the hurd immunity and what advantages it provides. For me, better safe than sorry.

Hundreds of comments followed…..all were relatively similar to these. I did have one friend who posted a very simple, yet telling, statement.

Jennifer S : I’m not even going to touch on this subject….lol have fun with it though. See you tomorrow.

** Jennifer S is much like me in that she has clearly been a part of conversations that went sideways quick and the only way to escape them is generally to avoid them entirely **

I am SO proud of the moms I know. They participated actively and intelligently without pushing their owns views forcefully down one another’s throats. They made points that were thought provoking without provoking a fight. Afterwards, we moved on to additional meaningful topics such as circumcision, pro life/pro choice, and gay rights
** Not really, we just discussed the idea that we COULD discuss those topics and the environment would probably remain very chill – GO US! **

After tons of comments, the conversation DID go sideways….but it a totally fun and twisted kinda way. We moved on from the important stuff and started talking about the REALLY important stuff…..

ME : Lol…..Erin. like spankings. ….get over here. I also have a van with candy inside…..and I’m looking for my lost puppy.
ME : Ignore that bottle of chloroform sitting over there.
Erin S. : I LOVE candy and puppies! As long as the van has no windows. …we have to keep the puppy safe when we find it.
ME : And I have rope……just because.
Erin S. : Well we need a leash…duh.
Sara T. : I rely on psycho, that way nobody fucks with me.
ME : Now where did I park that damn unicorn???
Erin S. : I bought my phone for that setting….do you have the go ahead I dare you to Fuck with me package too?
Paula Q. : By my rainbow…..u need directions again?
ME : Uh….yes! Or no…..but probably yes. Let’s go with yes.
Erin S. : I don’t know. My unicorn is at the hornwash. My purple elephant said she’d pick up Miriam my unicorn after she’s done shitting out the mystery van. She’s pmsing…she prefers old 70 – 80s cartoon vehicles this time of the month. Silly ellie.
Sara T. : Shit…where are we going? I need directions, too.
ME : Follow the yellow brick road Sara…..
ME : Make a sharp left at the cowardly lion….not a soft left…..a soft left will take you the third realm of hell….Unless hell was maybe your ultimate destination.
Sara T. : Dorothy’s Yellow brick Road Or Elton John’s?
Erin S. : Aaaahhhh I so love you girls.
ME : Diana Ross’s
Erin S. : Shhhh not Eltons…don’t mention anything associated with ivory when ellie is PMSing. She’s very sensitive.
ME : Or was it Michael Jackson’s yellow brick road…..
Sara T. : OMG…now I’m in the Ghetto with Elvis Presley….Thanks a lot, Danielle, your directions SUCK!!!
Erin S. : Michaels…you have to ease on down that road
ME : Tell Elli to go suck a sticky bag of donkey dicks with her pms-ing self.
Erin S. : Throw a pb banana sammich and run….
ME : Oh no……Sara…I stuck some lojack on you……wait….I’ll turn you on.
Erin S. : How low is jack?
Sara T. : You all realize that CPS is on their way with SWAT to take our children away because NSA is monitoring all of this, right?!?!?!?!?
Erin S. : I could use a nap anyway.
ME : Ok…..make a left at crack head blvd…….step softly over the sleeping hookers at the corner…..hop on one foot and then twirl three times really fast. POOF!!! Sara…..You’re home! (((((hugs you and squishes your face in closer for a loving motorboat)
ME : Jack is so low that he’s pissing on people in China.
Erin S. : China gets all the good fertilization.
ME : YAY!!!! Vacation! I’ll bring the smores!

And that my friends is how you write a blog about a controversial subject without anyone trying to kill anyone…….

As the mom of penis people and a woman married to the Dick, I’ve come to accept that my life and my home will encompass all things penis related. It will generally reek of testosterone. Things will often be messy. I’ve accepted this. There is very little that I can do but embrace it and move on.

However…….when you sit and try to soak away your day in a nice, toasty warm bath, steam swirling your troubles away and a good book transporting your brain to someplace far beyond your mundane existence…..and the smell of stale urine permeates your oasis. Well…..enough of this penis fest and all that grossness. I’ve spent the last few days bleaching and scrubbing every thing I could think of that might be holding this odor. I even bleached the very deep, dark recesses of the back of the toilet, a place so grimy that no one should ever have to go there alone and unarmed. I went through a whole container of cleaning wipes until that shitter sparkled……GLEAMED even. I thought that I’d battled hard and I’d won. I was WRONG!

That disgusting smell continued to waft around me.

Now, to be clear, I’m completely used to cleaning up after the penis people. I’ve accepted that my lot in life is to constantly trail along behind them, bucket o’ cleaning products in hand. I’ve accepted that, no matter how hard I’ve tried to correct their incorrectness, the penis people will generally piss as if they swirling around in a tornado while doing so. They will see that big giant circular waste receptacle, and promptly view it as a challenge to do whatever is required to miss it entirely. Even the Dick seems unable to resist marking his nearby territory like a fucking dog. The actual dog (also with a penis) probably pisses with far better accuracy. I’ve accepted this. I actually avoid this bathroom, opting instead to go to my happy place, the smaller girly bathroom. The only problem with the smaller girly bathroom is that there is no shower, which means I either take a whore bath in the sink or brave the penis room. And this was where I was encountering my biggest issue. There is NOTHING more disgusting that running a bathtub full of steamy watery goodness, settling in for some peace and quiet and smelling hot stale urine. I might as well have been BATHING in piss, the odor was THAT strong.

And while I’d been busy scrubbing and bleaching and cleaning, it never once occurred to me that the cloth shower curtain might be the offender. The shower curtain, easily a good five inches or more from the fucking toilet, was soaked in piss. Are you fucking SERIOUS?!?!?!!? Were they intentionally AIMING for that bitch? Because I simply cannot fathom any other way that this found itself soaked in piss. Its never even in the direct line of fire. Seriously…..WHAT……THE…..FUCK!

I’m convinced that this is one of those key reasons that justifiable homicide is justifiable. Since I have girly bits and have ALWAYS been a sitter on the shitter, I find it mildly irritating that I even have to clean these sloppy messes. Mildly irritating……but I do it because, frankly, no one else here (with a penis) will give a shit enough to do it themselves. I’m certain that the only end to this madness is to re-train the young penis people to sit when they piss, thereby avoiding the mess entirely.

I’ve done some research (because the internet is AWESOME and you can google just about ANYTHING). I’ve discovered that there is no necessary reason, medically speaking or otherwise, for people with a penis to stand while pissing. NONE! I while I have no idea who started this or why it was deemed a good idea, its completely pointless. I’m proposing a movement for all my tired momma friends. Let’s stage a mutiny……..let’s teach our sons to piss sitting down, in a effort to undo all the messy nonsense that is inherently just so wrong. No more sitting in puddles of piss… more cleaning and scrubbing errant sprinkles of tinkles. We, the moms of the world, CAN CHANGE THIS!

Because I, for one, am pissed about all the piss I’m dealing with.

Ode to my MWDAS friends…….

I don’t always enjoy the Dick and the penis people…….THERE…I said it. Well, actually, its NOT the first time I’ve SAID IT. But I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve “said” it in printed text.

I love them all, my penis people and the Dick. But evenly tempered with that crazy love, is that simple fact that I don’t always particularly LIKE them. Sometimes they absolutely exhaust and frustrate me. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming, longingly, about my single, childless, carefree days. Sometimes I’ve grown tired and bitchy and, while its generally so very wrong to simply throttle them into absolute compliance, I can almost feel the thrill that would come from said throttling. I often look forward, very happily, to those peaceful moments when they’ve gone to sleep (and the Dick’s gone to work) and I’m finally completely ALONE with JUST myself. No one asking me for ANYTHING. No one vying for my attention. I suck up the quiet and find I REALLY need it like a crack whore NEEDS another hit.

Motherhood has long since been known as a giving of the most important parts of yourself to people that won’t even appreciate your sacrifice until they’re much older….and, in a wicked twist of irony, you will probably be dead and won’t even get to enjoy the perfunctory “I told you so” moments. No one but a mom will understand the times when you are deathly sick but your kid needs help with a science project NOW, so you suck up all that shitty-ness that you feel and you just….keep…..moving. Even when every fiber of your being is just BEGGING you to stop and rest. No one but a mom will understand that, while you MUST work hard and long to provide a roof and food, you will still be consumed with unwavering guilt about missing quality moments with those same ungrateful brats….brats that will revel in your overwhelming guilt and not only work harder to make you feel even shittier, but they will use that guilt to play on your already frayed emotions to blackmail you for things that they want.

Many, many years ago, I was lucky enough to find super smart ass extraordinaire Nikki and her blog Moms Who Drink and Swear. She’d begun a Facebook page based on her blog and those mommas were smart and funny, quick with snark and bitchy-in-a-good-way. I was HOME! Nikki’s blog morphed into a book, much to HER surprise but not very surprising at all to the rest of us, her loyal fans. If you’ve not had the chance to read Nikki’s book, you can buy it here. What Nikki blogged and status-updated about were all the things that many of us THINK but never really had the balls to say. Only… we had a platform AND a group of like-minded moms who understood. Moms who were happy to commiserate with one another…..all of us knew that, with Motherhood, there is little you can actually DO about any given situation, but it was nice to know you weren’t SO fucking ALONE! Yipeee motherfuckers!

What’s funny, is I’ve spent SO many AMAZING years with these equally amazing women, I sometimes forget that there are still mommas out there that can do nothing more than pretend that motherhood is NOTHIING but happiness and sunshine and unicorns that miraculously shoot magical rainbows outta their ass. It’s as if they were to let go of this bullshit façade, their entire shitty little lives would fall apart. And when I encounter one of THOSE MOMS, I find myself staring at them, while they gush endlessly about there fabulous kids and their perfect life, like they have six heads, twelve legs and eight boobs. Freaky ass bitches! They scare me more than a zombie apocalypse AND a Supervolcano combined (see Heather, I’m STILL freaking the fuck out about that).

I’ve been ever so lucky enough to have surrounded myself with a wonderful group of moms, women who’ve been part therapist, part co-conspirator in the imaginary murders that I sometimes plot. Whenever I’m having an incredibly shitty moment, I can type a quick synopsis of my grief, press enter…..and presto. MAGIC! In a moments notice, I will have suggestions and advice and offers for bail money. I have friends who will (ahem….joking?) offer up a back-hoe to dig that not-so-shallow grave (Wendy…) and implicit advice on where to hide the bodies. They offer you a place to hide when you are simply fed the fuck up (Candice). In short, I’ve found an amazing support system and have offered the same support myself when its needed.

And THAT’S what’s so important about finding the perfect balance of crazy mommas. You KNOW the sun isn’t always shining because there are many more rainy days than not. You KNOW that at the end of those stupid rainbows is a pot o’ baby vomit and you’re not sure WHAT the FUCK to do. You KNOW that those unicorns are ASSHOLES who will kick you in the ass when you’re already down. But facing these moments is easier when you have your kick ass momma friends surrounding you with love (and a perfect alibi).

So, very recently the Dick had this ABSOLUTELLY FABULOUS idea (((insert dramatic eye roll here))) that we should connect better as a family. I’m not sure what kind of mid-life psychosis he might be finding himself in the midst of, but I get the sense that he’s read something somewhere or talked to someone or SOMETHING that has caused him to become hell bent on such a notion. I can nearly guarantee he didn’t come to this conclusion all on his own (PS – Screw you WHOever or WHATever placed this idea in his head).

So there we were….a happy little family of tablets and smart phones, computers and televisions….posed with the idea of COMPLETELY unplugging for an hour EACH day. What the fuck are we….QUAKERS??? To say I was skeptical that this would be even remotely successful is an understatement. But the Dick is rarely this pumped about ANYTHING so I thought “why the hell not”. And so we sat the kids down and begin the enormous task of setting this freak-show plan in motion.

** and it was met with happiness and joy **

NOT! Both penis people IMMEDIATELY balked at the idea. Oldest penis person was convinced he’d done something that deserved such punishment and began profusely apologizing for all his real or imagine transgressions. Wee penis person simply COULD NOT wrap his wee lil brain around the notion that there would be no SpongeBob for an hour each day.

NO PHONES. Well, maybe I COULD live with that. I actually HATE using my phone. I hate calling or being called. I hate checking voice mail. I hate people who LEAVE voice mail. I’m lukewarm in my feelings about texting and returning texts. Plus, my smart phone is being a complete dumbass right now and I’m only getting about half of my messages anyway. So whatever…..I could survive without my phone for an hour….except….I use my phone to access email! CRAP! I LOVE using email. And FACEBOOK…..Wait….no Facebook for an hour a day??? Admittedly, I’m NOT on Facebook all day, every hour. But I still like having the OPTION to use it when I want. FUUUUUCK!

So, now the Dick had three cranky assholes that weren’t entirely on-board. LET THE PARTY BEGIN!!!

We decided that we would tie this time in with our regularly scheduled dinner time. We’ve always had a standing rule that dinner time is family time, but over the years its completely morphed into a mad dash to finish quickly so we could go back to the shit we REALLY enjoy…. So we would no longer rush through meals, eager to get back to TV or electronics. We would spend that time REALLY together! Talking and sharing our day…….. GAG!!! Even typing that felt a bit hokey. But it wasn’t really that bad. We really took a beat to LISTEN to the penis peoples’ stories. The Dick and I had an ACTUAL conversation. It was…..kinda nice! Ok, so not entirely what I was expecting but we were off to a good start.

Then……..what the fuck do we do with the time AFTER dinner??? Normally, 9 yr old penis person would wander off to his beloved tablet to build crap on MINECRAFT and the wee penis person would ask for a movie in his room. NOT TODAY! I instructed each penis person to select 6 books and we settled on the sofa to read. I actually LOVE to read and am THRILLED that my penis people have inherited my genuine love for printed words. And so….six books each were thoroughly enjoyed. My penis people are also kinda artsy-fartsy. So I dragged out the crayons and the paper and we all got busy coloring and drawing.

I snuck a peek at the clock, wondering how long we’d been at this and how much further we still had to go. TWENTY SIX MINUTES?!?!?!?!? REALLY?!?!?!? I could have sworn we’d have been closer to an hour. It was right about then that the penis people started fighting over the red crayon and wee penis person began to really irritate his big brother. AND WE STILL HAD TWENTY SIX MINUTES TO GO!!! Damn it!

Had the weather been warmer, or even just a bit less damp (thanks SO fucking much stupid Michigan), I would have hustled their little behinds outdoors to blow the stank off of them. But we were stuck inside and I was growing desperate for something to entertain them that didn’t require power or electricity (see….Quakers). A rousing game of hide and seek seemed JUST THE TRICK! You penis people go hide and I’ll come find you! I closed my eyes and counted to 100…..hey, I wanted to give them PLENTY of time to find a good spot! Then I made a half assed attempt to locate them, pretending NOT to hear their giggles.

All in all, we made it through the first day of unplugging for an hour….and each of the subsequent days that followed. I can’t say that I’ve loved every minute of it, but I don’t really loathe it nearly as much as I thought I would. I’m far from “granola mom”, happy sometimes to let my penis people entertain themselves with electronics and television, giving me just enough time to decompress from the day and start to relax. But this hour each day has given me ample opportunity to work towards spending more quality time with my penis people and the Dick.

So while I’m not advocating COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY UNPLUGGING, I have enjoyed the chance to connect better with the people I love. It’s only a hour a day……how bad can it really be?

Toddler x Two….

Just this weekend I took part in a social experiment to see just how exhausted you could be when faced with a challenge.  I was tasked with caring for two small children, roughly the same age and very noticeably alike in their energy and demeanor, and then I took mental notes of how I performed.  It was all very unofficially official.  And I suspect I failed far more than I’m willing to admit.

My husband’s nephew (whatever…I’ve known him forever…he’s MY nephew too) and his young 3 yr old  (nearly 4 yr old) penis person spent the weekend at our home when they were in town from Missouri for a funeral.  When nephew called, I have to say I was STOKED.  Well….not stoked for the REASON they were coming to Michigan.  But stoked to see them just the same.  As soon as I got the call, I promptly set myself into freakishly clean freak mode.  I have no idea WHY I do this….most people that come to visit you come because they want to see YOU not your clean house.  But I always do this…..its just who I am….so I’ve learned to just deal with it.


** For those that might be counting…..that would be me + FIVE penis people = A LOT of male energy at my house this weekend **

They weren’t due to arrive until Friday night/Saturday morning (3 am to be exact-ish).  Now, YOU know ME!  My favorite time of night is midnight til 2 am.  So, no worries…..I GOT THIS!  Only, I hadn’t anticipated such a CRA-ZY busy day at work on Friday, coupled with coming home to kids who were SO excited about our pending visitors coming that they were ON like donkey kong.  Suffice to say, by about midnight or so, while waiting for some fresh sheets and a comforter to finish drying, I suddenly felt nearly comatose and was willing myself to catch my second wind.  I WAS NOT successful.  I texted nephew and let him know there was a SLIGHT (honestly, I should have said GUARENTEED) chance I’d end up crashing on the couch so hit me up when you guys are a half hour out and I’ll be ready for your arrival.  Cool????  Cool.  And then I promptly took a big, giant nose-dive into the big fluffy pillows on my couch.   And…….ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!


They made it in safely, nephew and his dozing lil penis person.  He and I sat up, briefly chatting and catching up.  He, not quite wound down from their 12 hour drive.  Me, FINALY catching that second wind.  We kept our voices low enough that we were having trouble hearing each other.  But you know who DID manage to hear us…….both MY young penis people.  DAMN IT!!!   Both MY tots wandered out, rubbing sleep from their sparkly little eyes, positively THRILLED to start the new day NOW!  Nuh uh motherfuckers!!!!!  By now, it was approximately 4-ish in the morning and this momma was ready to SLEEP!  So nephew made his way to his slumbering penis person and I hustled mine back to bed as well. 


Now, you might think that with all this traveling and waking and busy middle of the night shit would nearly GUARENTEE a later start in the morning for three small penis people.  NOPE!  NOPE!  And uh…..let me check…..NOPE!  They were ready to have fun and revel in the magic that is cousin time.  It took nephew’s young penis person LITERALLY two seconds to acclimate himself to his new friends and they were off and running, past the grown ups and the food cooling on the kitchen table, straight to the magic of the toys in the playroom.


A weekend filled with visiting and playing and general boy-shenanigans abounding, both the toddler penis people thoroughly enjoyed EVERY single moment.  There were a few minor bumps along the way, as they learned to maneuver sharing with a new friend and playing with someone they didn’t previously know very well. I am pleased to say that everyone had a great time and we are looking forward to their return trip in  August.


But what I discovered during this weekend is something I hadn’t really known before now.  Before now, I’d always thought, MANY MANY  times in my parenting life, is that I would have LOVED to have twins. I used to think it would have been AWESOME to have two shiny little faces to smoochie and love.  Now…..well, I’ve learned that even with two amazing lil penis people who were a sheer joy to be around……that level of energy multiplied by two leaves you positively EXHAUSTED!  No reasonable person could ever be expected to tag-team two toddlers and come out on top.  They will always win, because they have both youth and tenacity on their side….and a partner in crime to back them up.


And so, we bid a fond farewell to the nephew and his young penis person and secretly, I thought that I’m lucky that God doesn’t always give you what you want.  And I literally stand and applaud my parent friends with twins.  You have my utmost respect for what you do!





Long ago, I used to think I would “someday” want a shit ton of babies.  Understandably, I was young and “someday” seemed like a million years away.  I was naïve enough to believe that motherhood was simple and easy and I would master it entirely.  These days, I’m far more realistic in knowing that motherhood is often painfully difficult and sometimes only having TWO penis people leaves me huddled in a corner, methodically rocking back and forth, waiting for the sweet, peaceful relief that comes with bedtime for the fuck trophies.

With wee penis person’s fourth birthday having just passed and the eight year old penis person turning nine soon after, I quickly found myself in the midst of a penis person birthday party extravaganza.  Each year, I promise myself (and the Dick) that I will tone it down and each year I completely amp up the crazy factor.  THIS year we ONLY invited 17 munchkins and their parents (yes….THIS was toned down).  The older penis person has tons of fantastic friends….the wee penis person has a small handful.  Therefore, I was in the midst of children varying in ages from three to ten.  I’m a sucker for a good party and I’ve never been comfortable with deciding which friends and family to delegate off the list of invites.  So there you go!  I hired the Tumblebus,  set the dial to all things fun and went for it.

Oldest penis person also has a number of friends on the Asperger’s or Autism spectrums.  This made planning a party that was both fun and not-overwhelming a bit difficult.  But I think I managed to do it with some success.  I also wanted the parents of these friends to be able to sit back and relax as much as possible, comfortable in the fact that they were among parents like themselves, in a judgment free zone.  I hope I was successful there as well.  I like to think maybe I was.

Then, in what can only be described as a momma who’s always uber graceful (NOT), I took a dive off said Tumblebus steps and promptly landed hard on the cold concrete.  I was pretty sure I could plainly HEAR my foot bone snap like a winter-dried twig (which is appropriate….since….it IS winter).  OUCH!!!  There I was, trying desperately to hobble around (though I probably SHOULDN’T have been hobbling) and in some fairly intense pain.  There were a few times I quite literally just scooted my ass across the floor (take a moment….build a mental picture and laugh your ass off, I’ll wait).   But I refused (despite the insistence of many of our party-goers) to go to the ER.  THIS was MY babies’ birthday party.  I’m just OCD enough to spend roughly four months planning this shin-dig.  I had upwards of 50 people here.  I was so busy trying to be the hostess with the mostess that I told myself I was fine and that I would go to the ER when the party was officially OVER.   Flash forward four hours later, when I finally permitted my wonderful Sis-In-Law to drive my silly ass to the ER.  BROKEN confirmed!  DOH!

Several times, while at the ER getting xrays, I was asked if there were even a CHANCE I might be knocked up!  AS IF?!?!?!?!?   My super-duper birth control is firmly in place and with only a medical intervention will I produce another tiny fuck trophy.

So why the hell do I find myself…….wondering?!?!?!?  I’m most certainly CONVINCED I’m quite happy with our family of four.  I’ve made sure to secure the birth control that will ensure I won’t get knocked up simply because the Dick was uber charming and I was inebriated on cheap vodka.

But here I am….on the precipice of 40 myself….and feeling mostly nostalgic.  I  miss the smell that comes from a baby freshly bathed.  I miss the cooing.  I miss that moment when they speak their very first word or tumble through their very first step.  I miss stroking that ultra fine baby hair.  The way that a baby looks at YOU!

And then…..I politely tell my uterus to just shut the fuck up and take a beat to let the nostalgia pass.  I don’t even think I really WANT another baby….I just maybe need to get myself a baby fix and snuggle it and bask in all that baby gooeyness.  And then hand that lil ankle biter back on over to its real parents and bid them farewell the very moment it howls from hunger or soiled behind (or simply no reason at all).

Several of my friends are all packing away or donating off their baby items.  Just recently, I had stumbled across wee penis person’s last remaining baby item our house.  I quietly resolved to snap a few photos and then offer it up on Facebook to anyone who might need it.  No sooner had I fully unpacked it and was preparing to photog away, wee penis person spotted it and decidedly claimed IT WAS HIS and he wanted to play in it.  I calmly but firmly told him that it was going to another little baby who needed it more.  He seemed quite unconvinced about whether or not he was ok with this plan.  Instantly, he began to reminisce, as best as a four-year-old can, about being a baby not so very long ago.  We sat and we talked and I was instantly transported to a time and space where he was tiny and helpless.

I’m quite guilty of trying to hold on to his baby-time for far too long.  I only JUST recently, and sort of forcibly, eradicated his precious paci from our lives.  I was incredibly late tossing away, once and for all, his baby bottles and exchanging them for big-boy sippy cups.    HE, my wee penis person who BROKE himself OUT of his crib far too early, was always so busy rushing to meet every activity that would bring him one step closer to being a “big boy”.  Me, always trying to hold on to every last single moment of baby-hood, desperate for anything that would keep him my little baby just a short while longer.

And so, I find myself trying desperately to balance the fact that babies are inherently cute little shits (even when they ACTUALLY shit) but that this is not reason enough to rush head first into generating another baby. I ignore the fact that my uterus is double-dog daring me to put it to good use.   And I calmly tell my uterus once more to JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP and stay empty, thank you very much.

A Mom on a Mission…

It started simply enough.  I was irritated  pissed off and couldn’t seem to get any results.  Frustration growing, I took my angst to the internet and started Googling as if my very life depended on it (which, technically, it does).  CVS Caremark was surely going to be the bane of my existence…and, as I suspected, I wasn’t nearly as alone as I thought I was.  I was promptly faced with hundreds and hundreds of stories that seemed as atrocious as my own.  Some, sadly, even more so.

The internet, for all its proclivity to be a ball of negative nonsense, can be also provide a wonderful opportunity to, quite literally, have the world at your fingertips (stubby little sausage-y fingertips, if I’m being honest).  With just a few taps of the keys, you can easily (or..mostly easily) find out some pretty shitty things about a company.   What began as a Friday night homebound…snuggled up on the couch (or was I curled in the fetal position from anxiety) fingers poised to find a way to make a company pay for all my anger quickly morphed into something I’m still trying to wrap my weary mind around.

What began as one pissed off mom on a mission touched a nerve in…..oh….about 1,100 plus people.  There is nothing more frustrating that banging your head against a proverbial brick wall.  But when you have 1,100 people bashing away with you….you find the pain subsides just the tiniest bit and….screw that wall, you can collectively move a MOUNTAIN! 

While most of the people that have joined me to fight this company are essentially strangers to me, many of them are directly or indirectly connected to The Dick and his job.  It has always been said that the police family is police FAMILY and if you mess with one… should prepare to battle them all.  Furthermore, the families of officers are nearly their own entity.  No one understands the frustration of living the life of a law enforcement family like that of a fellow law enforcement family. 

What I’ve discovered is that the problems I was having were in no way just significant to myself and the penis people.  There were hundreds of moms and dads with their own family worries.  Husbands and wives concerned about their own loved one’s health and well being. As the personal stories began pouring in, I was sickened to see the ensuing carnage that swirls daily around this company. I suspect now that it might seem very narrow-minded to think that only I were having these problems. But when you are in the midst of your own battle, its difficult to fathom that there are others.  Its easy to see the world in a very singular way when you are fighting alone.  But when you form a collective group and take a stand……it becomes epic.

As a blogger, I’m often amazed that people still give a shit when I have something to say.  It boggles my mind on a billion levels.  But then I take a breath and keep pushing forward, trying to silence that little voice in my head that says “you’re in way over your head bitch”. 

And so I find myself perched precariously on the precipice of something far larger than myself and my young penis people.  What began as a fight to get my sons’ medications in a timely fashion, void of any unnecessary delays that could be detrimental to their health, has became a living, breathing paradigm of expecting better and settling for absolutely not a damn thing less.

Friday night, it would have been so much simpler to park my ass on the couch and veg away on mindless TV, hoping for the best and prepared do nothing.   But I chose to take a stand.  1,100 plus people joined me.  And that kind of momentum will not just simply fade away.  CVS Caremark needs to understand that they are literally screwing around with peoples’ lives.  They need to be realistic in understanding that people that move mountains make a lot of noise in doing so.  And they should be completely cognizant of the fact that we have a voice now and people are listening.

Thank you, sincerely, to each and every person that has shared this information…..has encouraged others to join us……has offered suggestions and avenues to pursue.

If you would like to find out additional information, please join us at  If you have dealt with CVS Caremark, we would love to hear from you.

Diabetes and my child…

Recently, while at the endocrinologist for my own routine Type One Diabetes checkup appointment, my doctor and I were discussing the recent diagnosis of my 3 year old toddler.  I am overwhelmed with his recent diagnosis.  I lose many a nights sleep over what his life will be like.  I anxiously fret over his daily care to manage his disease.  I recognize the fact that I will never be able to blindly trust that family and friends can take care of him, he will not have sleepovers with anyone, without quite a bit of diabetes training. My son’s grandmother wants nothing more than to be educated on all things diabetes related, the shots and the formulas used to figure out his insulin needs, but she finds herself utterly confused and unable to do it properly.   I am often confused as well, even with my own knowledge of this disease.  There is such a stark contrast to the management of adult diabetes and children with diabetes. 


I am still a little angry about it all.  And in the deepest, darkest corners of my heart, I am still heartbroken and so incredibly disappointed in my own diabetic self for missing so many of the key signs that would have indicated sooner his tiny little body’s distress.


Being Type One Diabetic, I can’t shake the feeling that I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN something wasn’t right.  When he began urinating several times an hour, when my perfectly potty trained child suddenly began soaking himself and his bed SEVERAL times a night, when he had a simply unquenchable thirst that seemed never-ending….I should have known.   When he lost his appetite and his clothes seemed to fall off his too-skinny body, when he seemed listless and lethargic, uninterested in his usual day-to-day routine, when he was screaming from a painful and alarmingly red rash that suddenly took over his groin area and wouldn’t go away….I should have known.  And yet, unwilling to accept what I KNEW might be happening, I tried to reason with myself and find a simple explanation for it all.  He’d been in the throes of a bad winter cold at the time, and my hopeful mind was trying desperately to believe that all these things were related to that.


Oh, how very wrong I was.  I KNEW there was something more going on.  And I just cannot find a way to make my heart let go of that indisputable fact. 


It was on a simple whim one night, just before his bedtime.  After another hundred trips (or so it seemed) to the bathroom for my young tot, I checked his sugar with my own meter.  Momma was tired and cranky and ready for the peace that a child’s bedtime offers, when a number that flashed across that screen promptly plunged me into a panic I’d never experienced before.  572!  I immediately called our pediatrician’s emergency number, trying to force out an explanation in between breaths that felt so very difficult to take.  I was told to get him to the nearest emergency room NOW!  I instantly felt nausea building within and began to cry.  My husband took the phone, quickly got himself familiar with the instructions and started making the necessary calls to secure a someone to watch our 8 year old while we’d be gone.  I found myself completely unable to wait the 20 minutes it might take my mother-in-law to get there.  I zipped up my precious baby in his winter coat, hoping his pajamas would be enough to keep him warm during our ride and subsequent hospital visit.  In the most calm and controlled voice I could muster, I told my husband to meet us there.  I wasn’t waiting.


In the 15 minutes it took me to get to the nearest hospital with a emergency pediatric unit, my son’s blood sugar had steadily continued to climb.  There was no standard waiting in the lobby, there would be no waiting to be triaged and asked all those perfunctory questions.  The pediatrician had called ahead and alerted our arrival with this dire situation and we were promptly ushered right inside.  CRITICALLY HIGH were the words that were repeated over and over and over.  A quick check of his blood sugar once more revealed a number too high for the hospital meter to read.  IV lines were started immediately on tiny little veins that were so weakened by dehydration that it took approximately 12 pokes in various areas of his body to find a usable vein.  They wanted to give it one more try before they would be forced to do a central line. Lucky number 13??  My poor baby had screamed with each and every poke.  He begged me to make them stop, while three strangers in scrubs pinned him to the bed in an effort to get a good vein.  It quite literally broke whatever pieces of my mangled heart that had previously remained in tact.


In the end, they managed to get him stable with 24 hours of a PICU visit.  In the end, they tried to ease my mommy guilt by telling me that I’d done the best thing I knew how to do to help him.  In the end, they told me that had I put him to bed that evening without checking his sugar, he would have likely slipped into unconsciousness during the nighttime.  In the end, I’m still so angry that I didn’t react sooner.  In the end, I’m so furious that my son has this horrible diagnosis and there is nothing I can do about it.  This is simply something I didn’t want my son to endure.


In the months since Joshua’s diagnosis, we’ve managed to find a way to adequately balance the good times and the bad.  I try to gently remind myself that, while his diagnosis is tough and he has a long life of care ahead of him, there are so many parents out there who’s children are far sicker or terminally ill.  They would likely give anything just to trade me places. 


We diligently monitor his blood sugar.  Every two hours during the day and once at 1:00 in the morning to make sure he’s stable until its time to wake up and do it all over again.  Five to six shots a day, depending on how his blood sugar is doing and what he eats.  We have an incredible team of people that help us oversee his care. We were assigned to an amazing Pediatric Endocrinologist and his fantastic nursing staff who are available to us nearly 24-7.  We have such caring and wonderful staff of teachers and a nurse at his preschool who have managed to catch some pretty severe low blood sugars and react swiftly and sufficiently, effectively saving his young life.   We’ve encouraged him to learn to test his own blood sugar, which he has mastered like a champion.  Even at the tender age of three, I think its important for him to understand how important his care will be and I’m certain that he’s not at all too young to learn to manage certain aspects of his own care (with our unwavering supervision, of course).  He’s slowly learning to understand when he’s “not feeling right” and what it might mean.  He’s learning that its not acceptable to pretend he feels his blood sugar is low in an effort to get a piece of candy (he’s tried it a few times…and discovered that pretending will only get him an unnecessary poke on the finger to make sure he’s ok).


In the end…..I’ve slowly begun to accept my son’s diagnosis. I’ve realized that I’m lucky that I’m diabetic and knew the symptoms of a body going into Diabetic Ketoacidosis.  I’m count myself lucky that I had a meter on hand to provide the information I needed.  I have started to give myself the space I need to feel what I feel. I understand that I need to forgive myself for trying to deny what I already knew.  I’m not there yet, but I’m hopeful I’ll get there sooner rather than later. 


I’ve also discovered that, in facing my son’s diagnosis and the myriad of things required to manage his Diabetes correctly, I’m also working harder towards improving my own control over my Type One Diabetes.  I am cognizant of the fact that I need to be an example of diligent care and proper management.  I must lead by example and encourage him to take this disease as seriously as it should be taken. I need to make sure he knows, in an age appropriate way, that its quite literally a matter of life and death.  I am always hopeful that there will be a cure in his lifetime, if not in my own, and that one day there will be an end to Diabetes.



I’ve never been a fan of men that cry.  THERE….I said it!   


Not even in movies…….not even when they’ve hurt themselves pretty badly or are nearly killed……I can almost stomach it if they’ve recently had a loved one that died horrifically.  I definitely cannot tolerate it in real life.  I’m certainly a girly-girl.  But I don’t even really like it when **I** cry.  I HAVE cried before, many times.  I just don’t particularly LIKE it.  I generally prefer to internalize my anger or hurt and project it outward to the world as straight up bitch mode.  THAT’S what makes me happy.  Tears DO NOT.


I’m kind of an old soul with equally old ideas about the inherent differences between men and women.  I think women are genetically predisposed to fits of tears….sometimes even when we REALLY don’t want to be.  We’re just hard wired to feel our feels on an purely emotional level.  Alternately, men have always been fueled by hard core testosterone.  Men don’t generally cry.  They grunt and they scratch their balls and then they walk away.  And that’s almost precisely how I like ’em.


I’d recently had a moment where I’d hurt a penis someone’s feelings.  I’ll be the first to admit I’d been a little harsh.  I’d expected that this would eventually lead to a conversation between us.  What I hadn’t expected was for there to be tears.  And not from me.  I almost didn’t even care felt bad….but part of me also wanted to offer up a complimentary tampon and a hankie and tell him to be a man and stop with the unnecessary water works.  Which, ironically, made ME feel like maybe I had a penis for being so insensitive.  Mother fucker.  When did I maybe grow an imaginary penis.


The point is, I’ve always been comfortable in those cozy spaces where the emotional roles of men and women were clearly defined.  Even the Dick knows better than to come at me whining and crying like a bitch, because I will generally tell him that I am quite happy being the girl in our relationship. 


Harsh…..maybe a little.  But I’m generally not in the mood to forsake my own feelings of “EWWWW, person with a penis, are you really crying” in an effort to make that person with a penis feel ok.  I’m just barely able to pretend to be interested in the reason for their in angst.  But NOW I have to pretend to feel bad that they are crying. Nuh Uh!

Just typing that, I could swear I just felt my imaginary penis get bigger.


Have I maybe been so consumed by the testosterone wafting through my home so long that its infiltrated me to the my very core and made ME equally insensitive.  Have I been hanging with these penis people and the Dick so long that I’m slowly morphing into ONE OF THEM?!?!?!?!  Honestly, I’m barely only slightly concerned about it.


ANNNNNDDD……My pretend penis just became enormous! 





I have always contended that living with penis people and the Dick can be incredibly gross.  Like…….Gross with a capital G.  Like GAH-ROSS!  Friends that have non-penis people insist that girls are just as gross too.  I will continue to dispute this vehemently.  Furthermore, I believe that penis people and non-penis people are BOTH gross, but in very different and distinguished ways. 


Exhibit A :  My two nutty penis people and the Dick like to play a game called “Butt Face”.  I promise you that it sounds JUST as stupid as it actually is.  The object of the game is to find any unsuspecting person (NEVER momma…..cause momma is ALWAYS watching everything AND everyone diligently) and sit on their face and fart…..THEN wiggly-giggly thy ass around whilst taking great care to distribute the funky skunky stank evenly. 


There are no clearly defined winners or loser……well…..maybe they are ALL losers.  Because even if you WIN you’ve still only managed to wipe your stinky ass all over the other person and forced them to smell Yo ass.  LOSER with an L-shaped finger.  I am thoroughly confused as to what the attraction is with this particular game.  It just seems like a whole lotta nonsense and I clearly just….don’t….GET…it.  But as sure as I’m sitting here typing this right now…..there is a Butt Face game a-brewing amongst the penis people and the Dick.  They are literally twitching with anticipation of Butt Facing one another.  And I’m just shocked that we haven’t had far more cases of pink eye in this overly Butt Faced house.


Exhibit B : Boogers……..they are EVERYWHERE.  And not just in the normal places where you would expect to find them, like a nose or the sleeve of a dirty shirt.  Often, the penis people find it Hi-FUCKING-larious to mine their nose gold and then promptly transplant it on to someone else.  FOR FUN!  I could literally paper the house with tissue on every available surface and it would matter not.  They would still deposit that funk-a-junk on one another…….and then promptly scamper off, laughing at their amazing ability to transplant their boogers so quickly and efficiently.  And when they aren’t depositing those filthy lil booger buggers on one another (or ACK! me)……they wipe them on walls……on floors…….on toys.  I once went in to do my monthly decontamination of Nick’s room and backed into something hard, sharp and poking the shit outta my ass on the wall behind me.  What to my wondering eyes should appear???????  Well, I can promise you it wasn’t Santa and his eight tiny reindeer.  Had it been Santa and those rascally reindeer, I probably would have been less shocked. 


NOPE!  This particular penis person had created an art museum worthy sculpture of boogers on the wall.  And then, as all boogers must obviously do, it dried up into a pointy lil rock of boogers.  I can only say that I assume boogers must obviously dry up.  I really have no clue.  I’ve never had a booger hang around ME long enough to know this for sure.  In my attempt to eradicate this particular mound of boogers from the wall, I broke a tissue-encased fingernail AND lost all faith in the idea that my penis people would one day be productive members of society.  Staring at that disgusting booger…..and half thinking it was snarling right back at ME…..I resigned myself to the fact that I’m likely going to be caring for them long into adulthood.  They will probably live in my basement, wiping booger bombs on the walls.


Exhibit C : Why must they ALWAYS touch their damn penis?????  I can only assume that the touching of personal junk in strictly a penis person thing (and NOT because they are the ones with a penis).  Seldom have I seen a girl touching her girly bits unconsciously.  Not even BOOBS get this much unyielding attention.  And boobs are generally bigger, softer, squishier and FUN (sorry, couldn’t bring myself to say FUNNER)!  Ok, so to be fair, I most definitely don’t HAVE a penis, so maybe I’m just missing the obvious attraction here. 


But seriously…..  The Dick and the penis people spend a great deal of time mindlessly handling their nether-regions.  It borders on embarrassing (AS IF they could be embarrassed).  As it relates to Exhibit B….I worry that one day they will be arrested for erroneously touching themselves in public and will face weiny wagger charges and then I will be the mom of a person on the sex offender list.  NO FUCKING WAY! 


The other day wee penis person was having a playdate with my friend’s daughter.  Her lil not-penis person came upstairs and informed us that wee penis person had HIS penis out and about in the playroom.  OK….they’re three.  It wasn’t DEF-CON FIVE worthy.  And I correctly guessed he was probably touching it and it managed to escape.  So I bellowed for wee to bring him and HIS wee upstairs PRONTO.  Then I promptly told him if his penis didn’t remain in his pants where it belonged I would chop it off and throw it away and he would be forced to urinate from his mouth forever-more.  OK… I have no idea where all the Lorena Bobbit nonsense dropped from, nor do I have the slightest idea if he even really understood what I was telling him.  But looked appropriately scared and sorry and there was no other instance of a penis being displayed.  SCORE for the momma!


And so…..I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will frequently be yelling for the penis people to stop Butt Facing/Boogering/Touching Their Penis for the rest of my remaining sane days.  I will promise myself that I will try to instill a little bit of dignity of self in them….though I will probably fail.  They are…..after all……a Dick and some penis people.  They will always do gross shit and I will always bitch about it.