sometimes motherhood blows



Well, what do we have here?  It looks like a tasty easter egg treat all tucked away in the grass, doesn’t it?


This here is the top of a blow pop sucker nestled in a fuzzy little fluff of carpeting.  Yeah, it’s green apple.  Isn’t green apple the best flavor of blow pop?  And yeah, my carpeting is green.  It is unfortunate and something I’ve been planning on replacing for the past 5 years that we’ve lived in this house.

For those of you that may still be wondering just what in tarnation is happening, let me fill you in on my morning.

It began much like any other day off:  my eyes blinked awake when they were ready.  It was later than a typical day since I had a bout of insomnia the evening prior and was awake until after 4:30.  My intentions for the day were to prepare the kids’ area for a few girls that are sleeping over this weekend.  I wouldn’t want these 10 year old girls thinking that we live in a dirty house and are unorganized.  No.  After fetching a morning coffee, I began the always daunting task of cleaning their toy/play area.

I gathered up 4 bags of plastic toys and dumb shit that they don’t play with anymore or that is broken….and also toys that I think are annoying.  It’s true, I’m a mother that secretly gets rid of toys.  Let’s be honest…they never even know.  I loaded them up in the car ready to be donated to Goodwill.  I managed to make it out of there with only one bag of trash as opposed to the usual 4.  Despite arming their room with 2 garbage cans, papers, beads, wrappers and goldfish crackers always ended up on the floor and all over the place.  Savages.

I made it through the session without flipping into a maniacal cleaning madwoman.  I get angry when I clean.  I do.  I curse and bitch.  I ask questions to my invisible family like ‘Did you know we own a garbage can? Have I not given you the tools to pick up after yourself? Are you fucking kidding me??’

I made it all the way through today.  I did!  It was impressive!  My finest hour!  Until I moved the couch to vacuum and saw this green eyed beast staring at me.  Oh, what’s this?  Oh…huh…oh, it’s stuck to the carpeting….Oh man…Fucking A!!!  What the fuck?!?  A Fucking blow pop?

It sent me over the edge.

It was so lodged in there…pressed in further by the couch leg.

I had to slice it out with a razorblade.  It felt good.  Maybe now we can get new carpeting?


Rockin Rollers!!


My nine year old is a roller girl.  At first I was worried about it…and now, a year in, I am so proud and grateful that it presented itself to us.

I am continuously shocked at her growing talents…and speed!  This girl can fly.  On wheels.  In very close proximity to other fast girls on wheels.

Roller derby?  For kids? 

Uh, yeah.

This is the epitome of building self esteem.  It’s cool, physical, dangerous, and there is a lot more self expression even though they play for the greater good of the team. 

With derby names spreading from Killer Cupcake to Rainbow Smash to Cheetara…with colorful knee high socks and sticker-filled helmets, these young girls are completely themselves….and they look up to women of all colors, shapes, sizes and talents who skate and who have amazing day jobs.

If anyone out there has an intense, smart, creative, funny, young girl…who is not necessarily outgoing but needs to build her self power for the difficult future of the ‘tween’ years…I highly recommend roller skating and roller derby, if available in your city. 

Thinking up derby names and shopping for sweet socks is only the beginning.

Polly Jean


My tiny obsession with our dog has rubbed off on my eight year old.  She used Miss Polly as her inspiration for a project.  The project?  Create a creature, real or imaginary, out of recycled materials.  Easy.

She chose to make our dog.  I asked if she wanted to make it life size.  Duh.  Why would anyone make a great dane and not make it life size?

Her project blows everyone else’s out of the water.  It’s bigger, it’s cooler, and it’s quite obvious that an adult with an art school education helped her make it.  So, obviously, it’s pretty bad ass.  We covered the whole thing in recycled jeans, leading to a much more uniform finish…and we used pockets as ears and paws.  What 8 year old would think of that?  None.  Boom.  We used buttons for eyes.  Boom!

I am proud that my insanely expensive education has now allowed me to kick ass at second grade art projects.

We also had a good time making it…so there was also some great artistic bonding  going on in the kitchen too.  It’s ok, I’m the greatest parent alive.  You can say it.  I don’t mind.


While at the park in the sunshine yesterday, I noticed something about parents. 

Parents hover. 

Well, moms hover more than dads, actually.  At our park, at least. 

They hover and protect and correct and ask questions and ruin all the fun, actually. 

I probably seemed like a terrible parent…(someone is probably writing a blog about me not watching my kids…ha!) sitting, watching, allowing things to happen.  For interactions and manners and creativity and imagination to happen without me. 

And it does.  Kids don’t really need us…unless they need us.  Unless they ask. 

Just let them play and have fun, right?  I mean, you can’t really play pirates with laser beam eyeballs with mom saying veal about tummy noses.

Of course, when they pull out the sticks and start beating and dive-bombing each other…then it’s time to offer some peace-making chips or juice or something.