What's That Smell?

"Mommy, what's that awful smell?"

I roll down my window to take a whiff. "Eww."

"It smells like feet and throw up and glue!" says Sofia

"It smells like that stuff that mommy uses in the wash to makes the white. That bleach stuff! Mom, what's it smell like to you?" asks Mia.

I take in another whiff of the air. It did smell kind of bleachy, kind of bitter--

a scent that only women and homosexual men would recognize...it smelled like semen! The spermatic aroma danced through the air as it poured from the hundreds of trees that lined the streets of the school.  

I thought I was being my usual overly-dramatic self. So I decided to do what I do best...Google it.I pulled out my smart phone and logged on to the internet.

And thank goodness I did. There ARE trees out there with this foul smelling odor!

According to Wikipedia, they're named the Trees of Heaven, (or Ailanthus altissima), an invasive species from China, brought to California by Chinese miners and railroad workers around the turn of the last century. They has since earned the monikers “stinktree” and “ghetto palm” (for their ability to grow in the harshest of urban conditions). 

Ok, not only that..but there were MANY inquiries about this "Sperm Tree" online. A few of the questions ranged from:

There's this tree that sort of smells like human sperm in summer (I think when  it flowers). A pretty strong distinct smell. What's it called? Is there a plant/tree that smells like male sperm?

to comments like:

 

. . .when I took those deep cleansing breaths this morning, I caught a whiff of Sperm tree in the air, and it was it was pleasing to the senses...

So, remember- when you're driving around town and smell the fragrance of semen, it's most likely the beautiful Trees of Heaven and not you... or George Michael.

"Hey mom..you still didn't answer my question! What do you think it smells like?!"

I smile and reply, "Almonds... yes, almonds...."

And with that, Mia sits back in her seat and mumbles, "Ugh, if that's what almonds smell like,  I will never, ever eat almonds...even when I grow up...ever!"

I smirk- Thatta girl...

;)

Never Buy a Joke Book for a 9 Year-Old

The sound of my childrens' laughter is music to my ears. 

It's hard not to smile and laugh with them when you hear the deep, belly laughs emanating from their little bodies. Both my children have inherited one of the greatest things that man can ever receive: a great sense of humor. 

But... they are not stand-up comedians...yet.

On a recent trip to Barnes & Noble, Mia (my 9 year-old) decided she wanted to get the alamanac of joke books: 500 Hilarious Jokes for Kids by Jeff Rovin. 

It should've been called 500 Ways to Annoy Your Parents and Drive Them to Drink.

Like most people, I enjoy a good joke or two. Yes... A good joke or two; not 500 within three days. So, we check out the book and she starts with page 1...in the car. And usually- I'm overly animated at the beginning with my laughter and Sofia (my 5 year old doesn't "get it"):

Mia: Hey mom, What color is a burp?

Me: I don't know. What color is a burp?"

Mia: Burple!

We all laugh in unision. "That's a good one!" I say.

Sofia: I don't get it!

(Sofia starts to get irritated)

Mia continues...

Mia:How do turtles communicate with each other?

Me: I don't know. How do turtles communicate with each other?

Mia: With their shell-phones!

Again- we all laugh in unison

Sofia: I don't get it! (Sofia crosses her arms and is starting to whine at this point)

17 jokes later-Mia still continues-and I become a little shorter with my rhetoric

Mia: Oh wait..this is a real good one!

Me: what?

Mia: this joke.. it's a real good.

Me: (frustrated) Geez..well then tell it already.

Mia: Ok, ok...oh this is funny.... ok...What did sushi A say to Sushi B?

Me: what?

Mia: You want to know the answer?

Me: Yeah

Mia: You really, really want to know?

Me: Yessss

Mia: Guess.

Me: NO! I do not know what the hell sushi A said to sushiB!

Mia: WASABI?!

Sofia: I don't get it. (tears are shed)

AND.. the jokes kept flowing even after we got home:

In the kitchen...

"Mom-Why did the dog go to court?! He got a barking ticket! Get it?!!"

In the bedroom...

"Mom- Why did the orange stop half-way up the hill? It ran out of juice! Get it?!!

In the garage...

"Mom- What do you call two spiders who just got married? Newlywebs! Get it?!!

While I'm on the toilet...

"Mom-  Why did Tigger look inside the toilet? He was looking for Pooh! Get it?!!

She would not go away. The jokes just kept coming and coming and coming. As I screwed the cap back on the Cuervo Gold, I had formed a plan. The next morning, Mia walked into the kitchen looking for her joke book. It had magically disappeared . Awwww....

I re-directed her attention to a new episode of The Dog Whisperer on T.V. and she forgot about it for awhile.  I gave it a few days and then it magically re-appeared. She was so excited when I gave it back to her. I suggested that daddy would LOVE to hear her jokes. She skipped off...

"Daddddyyyy....I got a good one"

Yes! Let the other parental unit share in my suffering! Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha <---my evil laugh.

"Mommy.."

I looked down. It was Sofia.

"Knock, Knock....."

The Thong

I have to admit... when the thong became THE item to have, I was a little resistant. I mean, how comfortable could a piece of material rubbing between your buttcheeks be?

Don't get me wrong. I like sexy underwear. They say wearing sexy panties underneath your work clothes can make you feel sensuous...like a naughty vixen underneath the conservative outer wear. But honestly, if I'm sitting at my desk trying to pull a piece of lace out of my labia, then it aint' happening. Plus, after having two children, I'd rather not look at myself wearing a piece of silk with dental floss attached. The tummy and booty aren't what they used to be- especially when the tiny little straps dig into my fleshy hips and the butt floss is wedged so far up, I get a rope burn on my brown star; just NOT a pretty picture. And you gotta make sure that you're waxed and smoother than a baby's bottom down there if you're going to attempt to wear a next-to-nothing-made-for-a-porno thong; there's nothing worse than looking like you're hiding a Furby in your undies (doesn't do anything for the look you're trying to pull off). It doesn't help either when your 5 year-old goes, "Ewwww" when she walks in on you changing into your thong. My 9 year-old is more inquisitive, "Mom, are you missing a part of your panties? Am I going to have to wear those when I'm older? Do all mommies wear those? How about my teachers?"

But...I do buy thongs; pretty, breathable smart thongs. I buy thongs for the reason they were intended- to avoid any pantylines. I like to be comfortable. Normally, I prefer the Jockey bikini panties. No, they aren't the high-waisted,Little House on the Prarie, grandma briefs that you're thinking of. They're the cute, cotton panties that are a tad more flattering.

Would my husband love for me to walk around the house with nothing but a thong 24/7?

Of course.

But..really? Who does that??

Here are a few things that irk me about the thong:

- When ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When 400 lb ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When you put on a fresh, clean thong and then have to take a shit

- When the material in the front isn't enough to cover the tummy bulge

- When you try your thong on and you look nothing like the models who wear 'em

Another thing that bugs me: when I walk into Victoria's Secret and I see 13 year-olds' buying thongs. What the hell? They barely have hair 1 on their "cha-cha" and they're going through the bins of thongs with careful precision like they have someone to impress. Scary...

If it isn't bad enough...

Then Sisqo goes and makes a song about it..

"...Baby make your booty go da na da na

Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong..."

As much as I complain about the thong, I'm also thankful for it. (And also maybe a little jealous that I can't walk down the runway like a Victoria's Angel with the perfect little butt and not a stretchmark in sight.)

Long Live the Thong....

Just Swing

It's not easy for me to relax.

I'm not a relaxer.

It's part of being a mom. There are always a million things going on and you feel you're on this endless treadmill. And life can become overwhelming. But, I must admit, I recently found a way to escape, if only for a few minutes, from the hustle and bustle of my daily life.

I came across it unexpectedly on the playground at the kids' school. I've always passed by them and never thought twice to try them out...

The ever-so-lovely, swings.

Like I said, I didn't plan this. But one morning, Sofia asked me to come to the playground area before school started. She wanted me to push her on the swings. So I made my way to the sandy play area and started to push her. And the higher she went, the louder she squealed with delight. I sat on the swing next to her to take a breather.

I started to sway back and forth..back and forth...back and forth. Hey, this was pretty cool. I then grabbed each chain to hold on to and started to pump my legs back and forth. I had a pretty good rhythm going and I started to go higher and higher. I probably looked pretty silly as I swung in my Christian Louboutin heels, but I didn't care.

As I rose higher with every swing, I was magically transported back into my childhood. I felt like I was in Kindergarten again with my dad pushing me higher and higher until I felt like I could touch the clouds. I felt the wind blow my hair back while the morning sun warmed my cheeks. I looked down at my feet and I no longer saw my heels, they were transformed into my red, Keds sneakers that I used to wear on my little 5 year-old -feet. I was free without a care in the world. I was a kid again.

Tears started forming as I basked in the glory of it all. I didn't want this ride to end. I wanted to jump off this magical time machine and remain 5 years old...

But the bell rang. My swing quickly slowed down and my heels reappeared. It was time to go back to real life, grown-up stuff. I hugged my kids before they ran off to their classrooms- each of them carrying a piece of my heart with them.

I walked away from the swing and then had to take a look back.

"Thanks," I said, "for letting me be a kid again...."

I pull my car keys out of my pocket and walk out the gate into my reality.

The Great Poo Stand-Off

Sometimes I feel like my brain lives in a Jerry Seinfeld-esque type of world.
I think about the most insane things and find comedy in the minutiae of every day life.

Like a few days ago...

In our office, the bathrooms are out in the hallway and we share the facilities with all the other offices on the 4th floor. It's a pretty intimate atmosphere in the ladies room. There are only four stalls and everything echoes... everything.

That's why, when nature calls and I gotta "back the big brown motorhome out of the garage", I take the elevator down to the 1st floor where usually no one uses the restrooms. My code for this is "2-on-1". (Thank you to Cindy Dias for sharing the code).

On this particular day though, I had company. As I was sitting in the stall, trying to take care of business, another woman walks in. And out of all the eight empty stalls she decides she is going to take the stall right next to mine.

I hate that.

I start to contemplate whether I should just finish up or wait. I hate to be rushed. She probably just came in to go pee. So, I decided to hold it all in until after she left.

But..

She didn't leave.

She had the same intention I had.

She was doing a 2-on-1.

She started to tap her foot. She wasn't leaving anytime soon.

It was a Poo Stand-off.

I wasn't about to give in.

I started to whistle.

She started to hum.

I refused to lose this battle. I would not go down without a fight.

I could feel her smirking on the other side.

Who did she think she was?! I was here first!

I started to play solitaire on my phone.

Then... I heard it....

The burst of a fart, a splash and the unraveling of toilet paper.

Hahahahahahahahaha (that's my evil queen laugh).

She quickly gathered her belongings and left the ladies room as I proudly did the cabbage patch dance while still sitting on the toilet.

Was there a point to this story?

Not really. It was just one of the little annoyances in life that I'm pretty open about.

Now you will never visit another ladies room again without thinking of me and my
Poo Stand-off.

“Lee Lee Can’t Go to School Today”

 

So , it’s 8pm on a Saturday and I’m in the loft of my house watching an addicting Lifetime channel. You know the ones I’m talking about- the shows that suck you in after watching two minutes of it and then when it cuts to commercials, they run a preview of the next Lifetime T.V. movie (usually starring Valerie Bertinelli or Judith Light) to play right after the one you’re currently watching. And the shows all have cheesy titles: My Lover, My Son or  A Father for Brittney or the ever so popular Bastard Out of California. I confess, I am one of the millions of women who get sucked into these programs. It’s like crack. I’ll even hold my pee just so I don’t miss the good parts! Thank God for TiVo.  

 

My 9 year old, Mia is sitting with me and a commercial comes on. The screen opens up to a small African village with a sad girl sitting outside a hut. The male voiceover has a serious, yet sad tone:

 

“This is Lee Lee. She can’t go to school today because she has her PERIOD..” (extra emphasis on the PERIOD).

 

It was a sanitary pad commercial for the Always company with their charity initiative in Africa. Part of the proceeds from the purchase of any Always product will go to helping women in African with their sanitary needs.

 

Mia looks at me with her eyebrow raised, “What’s a period?”

 

Ugh. THE question. How am I going to handle this? Do I tell her the truth? Do I dance around the question? Do I fake a coughing fit and leave the room?

 

Damn that Lee Lee!

 

"Well, honey- having your period is a part of womanhood. All females, even animals get it. As your body matures, you will bleed once a month.Girls can start as early as 10 years old. But all this is necessary as you get older in order to have babies. It’s nothing to be ashamed of- it’s a part of life. It's a part of being a woman."

She looked at me like she had just witnessed me skin a cat.

"Are you serious?!" she asks.

"Yes"

"Well, where will I bleed from?"

"Your vagina."

At this point, she looks as though she was going to faint. I continue to keep a straight face as she is thoroughly disgusted.

"THAT IS GROSS. How do you stop it from getting everywhere?"

"Well, honey..pads or tampons. They both are made out absorbent material, such as cotton, that comes in various sizes that fit snugly in or outside the vagina to absorb the flow. And you have to change it every few hours"

I felt like I was in the middle of a really, awkward after school special.It was killing me to be so "technical".

"So... is that what you do?" she asks.

"Yes"

"At work?!"

"Yes"

"At your desk?!"

"Uh, no honey..i leave my desk to go to the bathroom."

**Silence**

"Oh boy..I can't wait to go to school and tell Jade!"

I patiently discuss that the conversation needed to stay under our roof and that there might be girls at school who's parents don't think they're ready to hear about periods. She understood and that was the end of the "talk".

Mia became pretty comfortable discussing this in the open with me. It actually started to make ME uncomfortable. I was in the bathroom one day and she knocks on my door. In our house we never lock our bathroom doors, normally everyone does their business with the doors wide open. But on this particular day, I just happened to close the door...

Mia knocks.

"Yes?" 

"What are you doing?" Mia asks

"Going pee"

"Are you sure you aren't putting one of those tampons in your butt again?!"

I locked the door and vowed that i wouldn't come out until she was 40.

I have an amazing relationship with my two girls and they've both inherited my sense of humor and sarcasm. I'm not perfect and maybe our "talk" wasn't ideal..but what I do know is that she knows that she can discuss anything with me regardless of the topic and we'll always find humor to navigate our way through.

It's been a few months now and I think she's over the shock of it all (as am I). I click on the T.V. and get comfortable to watch my Tivo'd Lipstick Jungle episode. I turn to hear footsteps and it's my 5 year old, Sofia.

"Mommy...what's a period?

"Miaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

 

 

 

Keeping up with the Baumunks...

Friends are always asking my 2 daughters what they want to be when the grow up. My 9 year-old Mia wants to be a marine biologist and my 5 year old wants to be a veterinarian.(And so do their friends). I think animals are an obsession for little girls (maybe it's the innate sense of nuturing that females are born with). Recently my friend, Teri told me that at her son's kindergarten graduation each child had to tell the class/parents what they wanted to be when they grew up. The occupations ran the gammet from firemen to NBA stars...and...SEVEN, yes, SEVEN dolphin trainers. Sea World will never have to worry about a shortage of trainers for our friendly ocean friends.

Before my girls were born, i had a plan for their future. My children would grow up to be corporate attorneys. They'd share a practice Baumunk & Baumunk with Disney as their top client. They wouldn't have to worry about men or $. Because the world would be theirs. Of course, they wouldn't want me or Charlie to work so we'd just travel. As toddlers, I even had them trained:

"Mia/Sofia, what you do you want to be when you grow up?"

"corprit turneys"

Unfortunately, that is not how I see things laying out. Mia insists that she'd have her own medical marine biologist office and she'd also work part-time at the zoo and I would answer the phones back at her office. After she'd get done helping the animals get better at the zoo, she'd go to her waitress job at RA sushi. Sofia just mimics what her older sister says, "And me, too!"

Mia has also questioned me regarding different occupations:

While sitting at a stop light waiting to turn into the AZ Mills Mall she looks over to an establishment on the right hand side of the street:

"Mommy, why are all the men going into that building?"

I look over and see that the aforementioned establishment is "Christy's Cabaret" strip joint. I smile and look back at her and tell her that they are picking up doughnuts. It's a doughnut shop.

She stares back at me with a "you've-just-insulted-my-intelligence" glare. 

So..I decided to give her an honest answer...

"Well, Mia..when you drop out of school and don't go to college and get your education, that is where you'll end up."

She furrows her brow, "What exactly do you mean?"

I continue, "If you don't get your education, you will end up dancing naked in front of fat, ugly, sweaty men on a pole."

Her jaw dropped, "ARE YOU SERIOUS? THAT'S DISGUSTING! That is what happens there?!!!"

And with that, the conversation ended.

A few months later my father was visiting and we came to the same stoplight in front of the mall and Mia taps my father on the shoulder,

"Grandpa Bernard, if ya' don't get your education you're gonna end up working there...dancing naked on a pole in front of fat, ugly, sweaty men."

My father just shook his head.

"And another thing grandpa-- they don't serve doughnuts there."

So needless to say, I am still trying to steer them in a positive direction when it comes to their future careers. If caring for animals is what she and her sister choose as their career path, so be it. I will love them no matter what they decide to do--(yes, even if it is swinging on a pole). But the marine biologist/ veterinarian gig seems to be on top of the list right now and I will do everything I can to encourage them to live their dreams.

---But I'm still making the Baumunk & Baumunk wall plaque (just in case)

To All the "Other" Women

A few years ago, someone very near & dear to me experienced what could be one of the most life challenging moments a person could ever endure: after 20 years, her husband left her for another women….and married her.

There are never any words that can help ease the pain of the situation. Yeah, I can call him every name in the book, talk about how idiotic & self-centered he is, question his sanity..etc. But I'm going to take a moment and reflect on the decisions that "the other woman" makes when she decides to get involved with a married man…..

 

An Open Letter to all the "Other Women":

 

The world is full of men. The world is full of a lot of single men. What is the attraction of getting involved with a married man? Some might say that you're insecure and don't feel that you're worthy of getting anyone better than someone who is already attached. Is that true? Did your daddy not love you enough? Did you not get the attention from your father that you so desired as a girl growing up? Was mom out whoring around the trailer park with every Tom & Billy Joe Jim Bob? Are you so hurt from your own family's dysfunction that you want others to share in your misery?

 

Desperation comes to mind when I think of you. Were you really so desperate for a man that it didn't really matter that you were taking someone else's? I am sure that it doesn't bother you that his wife and 5 year old son are paying the price for your happiness. I'm sure it doesn't bother you to know that he gives his wife only $200 a month for food & necessities to support their child that she is now raising alone..just so he can afford to buy you the new Coach bag you've been wanting

It baffles me to think why you would want to be involved with a man, who 8 years ago, stood in the presence of his family and friends and swore before God that he would be faithful to his wife. How can you spend time with a man that can't be trusted? Do you think that you're so special that he would never lie to you?

 

Oh.

 

But Wait. I forgot.

 

You're different.

 

With you, he's a different man. With you, he is a gentleman that makes you feel like a queen and spoils you with diamonds and fancy dinners. You love him the way he needs to be loved. You understand him. He treats your 5 year old daughter like his own. He promises you the world and romances you with wine and flowers. He listens attentively to your dreams and ambitions.

 

You're different.

 

You don't f**k. You make love. He makes you feel special and you do things in bed with him that his wife couldn't compete with…(or at least that is what he tells you.) 

 

You're different.

 

He'd never leave you for another woman. Your body is addicting and leaves him wanting more. It's golden.

You're different.

 

I hate to break it to you, but your coochie is no better than hers, the waitress at Chili's or the whore on the corner selling it for profit. A man is going to screw anything with a hole.

 

But, oh yeah—you're different.

 

You've never met his wife, but you've affected her life more than you'll ever know.

I know one day that you'll end up being the "other woman". And believe it or not… I don't think his wife should hate you. All she can do is pray for you.

 

Just remember that what goes around comes around and it's your turn next.

 

Here's to you getting what you so richly deserve...

Platform Flip Flops

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's a sign of getting older. Maybe when you hit motherhood, cells automatically form that give you an acute sense of fashion...

An open letter to all the women out there who think that platform flips flops are the shit.

Nothing ruins a cute summer outfit than a pair of ugly ass platform flip flops. You know which ones I'm talking about, the thick-3inch-sole flips flops ...Ew.

I'm not sure who thought it would be cute to design a flip flop such as this? I believe the first pair that I saw over 4 YEARS AGO were made by Steve Madden. And women are fooled to think that just because Steve Madden came out with it, it's stylish, hip and cool. Don't get me wrong, I love Steve Madden. But there is some shit that he comes out with that makes you wonder what the hell he was smoking when he sent these awful mounds of rubber into mass production. Before long the shoes end up on the shelves of Marshall's and Ross where they lay to rest before they're donated to the orphan children of Tijuana, Mexico. (And even they won't wear 'em).

Oh but wait, you can purchase them in a rainbow of colors from daisy yellow to trailer park white. Trailer park white is the best because then you can see how dirty your feet constantly are by the brown imprint it makes inside the flip flop as well as on the outside. 

Oh hold on.. it's not just the flip flop, it's the ugly, dirty feet that go inside them that make them "oh so attractive".Nothing  screams "white trash" more than a woman wearing these horrible flip flops with jacked up toes , chipped nail polish with the visible dirt resting behind the yellowish toe nails.

Why does this bug me so much?

I don't know. I think I have pretty good taste in the shoe arena.I admit, I'm a shoe whore. And to see such a horrible accessory screw up a cute outfit is such an outrage.

So ladies, go to your closet, your sister's closet, your friend's closet and even your mom's closet and start a bonfire with these monstrosities.

And really, ladies.. take a poll. I did. Men don't like 'em either. If your man says he does, he's lying and just wants you to break him off some. 

Open a new chapter in your life and go buy your self a decent pair of flip flops (Old Navy 2 for $5).

You'll really thank me for this later....

The Vagina Monologues

The Vagina Monologues... is made up of a varying number of monologues read by a varyin number of women. Every monologue somehow relates to the vagina, be it through sex, love, rape, menstruation, mutilation, masturbation, birth, orgasm, the variety of names for the vagina, or simply as a physical aspect of the body. A recurring theme throughout the piece is the vagina as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality.

A play with various women who share their views about their vagina with the audience

Wow. Can't beat that right?

My Vagina could tell a story or two. It wouldn't be crazy exciting- not too many tales to tell- but yet.. interesting.

When I went to The Vagina Monolgues event, the roles consisted of Angry Vaginas, Sad Vaginas, Vagina Happy Facts, Vagina Village and yes, Reclaiming "C*nt" and a lot more. Very touching performances by a lot of intelligent, inspiring women.

The crowd that attended was an interesting one. You had women from all races, you had couples, bi-racial couples, lesbian couples, single women, married women, groups of women. And we all had one thing in common that brought us together....our vaginas.

I walked out of the performance, enlightened; Proud.

I will admit. I am a slave to the monthly $60 primping and manicuring of everything "below the belt". But the Vagina Monologues did get me thinking...

All the waxing, the primping and attention to detail that I do for my vagina doesn't change who I am inside, my sexuality as a women or the way my husband views me. It doesn't define me as any better than the woman who decides to grow her pubes out into a mini afro.

Does it make me any more shallow, though? The fact that I will spend $60 for a brazillian every 5 weeks on something no one else but my husband will see? 

I could probably feed 100 kids in an underdeveloped country with $60! 

So I know what you're thinking...

Am I going to give up the bikini waxes?

Will my "feminist" side kick into high gear and say "F**k it All!"? Will I grow my pubes out Bohemian style, wear some Birkenstocks and proclaim how much men suck and are the death of us all and that all hairy vaginas rule? Will I bring all opressed women into the light by not getting my wax on? 

Hmm...not quite.

The thought of a hairy cooch actually nauseates me.

I will continue to get my brazillian while at the same time continue to love, honor and cherish my vagina and respect the women who decide to keep their "locks of love".

I am who I am...... bikini wax or not.

And this too shall pass...

I am the mother of Mia (9) and Sofia (5). We constantly visit the stage of , “she-copied-me” tantrums, “she’s-looking- at- me” outbursts and the ever so famous backseat boxing matches. My mantra has come to be, “and this too, shall pass..” It’s what keeps me sane.

If you’re a parent, then you are pretty familiar with the “she-copied-me” tantrum. It can be anything from one child copying what the other child says to the more common act of imitating the other child’s physical movements. 

I’ve learned to be pretty passive about this until chunks of hair and clothing start flying all over the place. That's when I throw the “red card” in and break it up as opposed to my husband who will just yell from his office, “WHAT IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!” and then continue to go about doing whatever he does. 

Does he investigate the disturbance that is happening during the Wizards of Waverly Place show?

Noooo, that would be too easy. 

That’s when mommy comes in with her black and white jersey ready to eject the players.

“She’s looking at me!” 

Ahh..the sound of those four words is enough to make my skin crawl. Just when you think they are getting along you hear this line. You’d think that there was some retractable, evil beam coming from each other’s pupils. 

This usually leads into backseat boxing.

I believe backseat boxing dates back to when the first car came off the assembly line. If you have a brother or sister, you know what this extracurricular event entails. Let me delight you with one of my experiences:

 It’s been a long day and we are driving home from school and work. Mia says something that Sofia doesn’t agree with (it’s usually something as trivial as determining who’s mommy I am) and kicks her leg. Mia retaliates with an arm nudge. The whining starts and Fairytopia Barbie with one boob hanging out, goes flying across the seat and hits Mia on the leg. Mia cries bloody murder (the older one is always the more emotional). Then the “Everybody Poops” book is heaved across the car seat and knocks Sofia in the arm. Now..the heavy artillery comes out. The next thing I see in my rearview mirror is a Nintendo DS game machine chucked to the right and a Hello Kitty backpack fly to the left.   

I try to keep my eyes on the road while threatening them with solitary confinement in their room of bazillion toys. But that just triggers the accusations that usually start with “She did it first!” 

I am so exhausted by the end of my work day, I don’t have the energy to discipline my girls. So instead, I calmly talk about how grandma (my mom) used to drive with a fly swatter and every time that my brother and I acted up, she’d swat that thing like she was Barry Bonds. Their eyes widened with interest. 

I continued, ”Now, would you like me to bring a fly swatter with me every time we went somewhere?” 

They both looked at each other and shook their heads. Everything returned to normal for at least the rest of the drive home.

I started to feel a sense of peacefulness as I drove into the driveway.

And then…

Fairytopia Barbie’s magical unicorn hits me in the back of the head.

How many more years until college...out of state? 

To Mia & Sofia...

 

To Mia & Sofia to Read When... 

Your Heart gets Broken for the First Time

 

The time will come when that special boy will break your heart. It’s a part of life; it’s part of growing up—but you don’t want to hear that. Right now your world has stopped and it feels like someone ripped open your chest and danced around on top of your heart with football cleats. Your chest hurts, your head hurts from crying and you can’t eat. 

Every song you hear reminds you of him and it seems that everywhere you turn you see a couple holding hands and laughing without a care in the world.

 You question whether you were good enough or pretty enough to be with him in the first place.

 You will never love anyone like you loved him.

 You will never recover.

 No one understands your pain…

 But I do.

The first time I ever had my heart broken was by my very first boyfriend in high school. His name was Dinky (yes, go ahead and snicker). He was the first boy I ever held hands with and the first boy I ever kissed. At 15, I had my whole life planned out: We’d graduate high school together, go to the same college, get jobs in the same city, have a dream wedding, raise a family in a big house with two dogs…(You get the picture). Anyway, I had it all planned out at 15. Unfortunately, his plans didn’t match mine.

There was a dance coming up and he told me that the dance was going to be boring and that he wasn’t going to go. So I decided to also skip the event and stay home with my family. A few hours into the evening, my phone rang and it was one of my best friends calling me to tell me that Dinky was slow dancing with some 9^th grade skank named, Veronica Galvan. She wasn’t even cute! She was tall and lanky with buck teeth and bad hair. As I listened to my friend fill me in with the sordid details of his juvenile tryst, I felt my heart slowing slipping into the pit of my stomach. The tears that I tried to fight back started to pour down my cheeks- slowly at first, then uncontrollably the next minute. I started to shake and told her to tell him that he was….(ok, I feel like a dork)… I told her to tell him that he was a gigolo. If you don’t know, a gigolo is a male prostitute- a man that sells his body for money. Yes, that is all I could think of at the moment and plus, I didn’t cuss back then! So gigolo seemed quite appropriate for the moment.

I ended up showing up at the dance and confronted him. He didn’t deny anything and acted like what we had was nothing. I gave a good three months of my life to this boy and my feelings were irrelevant! I guess that was the worst part for me- Dinky acting like I was invisible. I stood there like an idiot as he continued to slow dance with her to the beat of Wham’s “Careless Whisper”. And yes, he did end up leaving with that Veronica Galvan. Apparently, she was giving him something that I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

After that, I was convinced I’d never love again; that I’d never find someone who’d care for me like he did. I was never going to recover. I would forever carry this heavy heart doomed to walk the earth alone for eternity.

But…(and you know how I hate to be wrong)…it did get better.

Your heart and your soul may be hurting more than ever right now. (That’s why they call ‘em crushes. If they were easy, they’d be called something else.) But you know what?  Everyday, a little bit of that pain will go away and before you know it, it’ll be gone. You’ll move on and you’ll be a better person because of it. If he wasn’t able to see all the special qualities that you have, then he doesn’t deserve you.

As a mom, I want to protect you from anything and everything that would ever hurt you. I want it to be as easy as it was when you were five years old and I’d kiss your boo-boo and make it go away. But it’s not as easy this time around. I know this is a time that no matter what I do or say, it’s not going to make that hole in your heart go away. You just want me to stop talking, shut your bedroom door so you can scream into your pillow while thinking of ways to make his life a living hell and…at the same time…figure out how you can get him back. As demented and crazy as that sounds- I get it.

Know that I’ve been there, I understand, and I love you.

And when you feel like opening that door up just a little to let me in…

I’ll be there.