Author: Rebecca Cuneo Keenan

Rebecca Cuneo Keenan is a writer who lives in Toronto with her husband and three children.

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Happy Birthday! Let me just wash that original sin off … There!

We celebrated Mary’s first birthday yesterday morning, right after her baptism. Yep, kid number three gets a birthday and baptism combo party and I’m proud of it. In fact, I’m currently launching a “We don’t need a party EVERY year,” campaign for the other two. So far, they’re not buying it. This is probably because they’ve been spoiled by all the specialized attention they used to get. Don’t worry, though, I’ll chip away at their collective sense of entitlement yet.

The baptism itself was fine. Although we hauled ass to get to the church for the 9am mass that immediately preceded the baptism and it turns out we didn’t need to. The other two families who were baptizing babies at the same time arrived after the mass was over and therefore didn’t have a baby who had already sat through an hour long mass. Of course, we’ve done this twice before at the same church, but I seem to have lost all ability to retain information. Seriously, if I didn’t sit down and type all this stuff up on this blog right away it would be lost forever.

At one point Mary was arching her back so severely, eyes rolling back and letting out a sort of strangled cry and I wondered if she maybe thought we were there for an exorcism instead. Babies can’t keep anything straight. Then, as part of the ritual, the parents and Godparents are asked to reject the “glamour of sin” and the influence of “the Prince of Darkness.” Hold up. That right there sounds pretty alluring. Note to the Vatican: you might want to play down the appeal of a life full of sin in the old baptismal rite. I don’t have the stats on how many Godparents have left the ceremony and immediately booked a trip to Vegas, but I have to assume it’s not a small number.

We then had our families back to the house for brunch. I made a ham and broccoli strata which was a hit. There was also a “toast bar” (yes, I invented it) that I was particularly proud of. It didn’t seem to garner quite as much praise (because it was just a toaster and some jams and stuff set out, I guess) as I expected, so I might have to dedicate an entire post to it later this week. Then I’ll pin it and it will become a runaway Pinterest hit. That will then bring so much traffic to my blog that it will probably crash and you won’t be able to go back and read about that weird smell from last week. Be forewarned.

The pictures of the birthday cake and candle kind of suck. And there’s none of her with icing all over her face either because I served lemon coffee cake instead of birthday cake. What? It was brunch! And, really, she had zero expectations and the coffee cake was on sale and, you know, third baby.

I do love watching one year olds open their presents, though. They are pleasantly surprised by every gift bag and box that is put in front of them. They are just old enough to appreciate that they are getting new toys (but they still don’t care about the clothes). And, really, there is nothing more fun for a 12 month old than putting things into a container and then taking them out, over and over again.

 

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Is that? A big box full of balled up newspaper?

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Oh baby. This is the stuff.

Who’s with me on the “not a party every year” campaign? We can do restaurant dinners or whatever instead, but three kids equals party fatigue. You know?

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The Smell That Wouldn’t Die

It probably started about three weeks ago. The late August sun would beat down on our ramshackle back addition. We were in and out, leaving bags of damp towels and swim suits, piles of dirty laundry, diaper bags and assorted detritus amidst the heaping pile of shoes. The adjacent toilet sometimes backed up. There was a lot of clutter.

So when I first got a whiff of a slightly malodorous scent, I didn’t worry. Something was going musty in the heat. Of course it was.

I opened up all the swim bags and washed and dried and folded and put away all the assorted bathing gear. The smell just got stronger. What was that smell? I knew that smell from somewhere. It was like … stagnant water left sitting in an upturned bucket by the debris from your recently deconstructed, but not actually cleaned up chimney … or something like that.

I kept stepping in and out of the room from inside. Was it something under the porch? In the doorway? Next to the steps? No, it really did seem to be coming from inside. Was it the bathroom? The unused tub? The general toilet area (gta)? No. The bathroom was actually in decent shape.

The smell just got stronger. I now had even less of a clue as to what it might be. I went through all the bags and purses looking for dirty diapers. I walked around the room sniffing and sniffing. Was it coming from the shoes themselves? No. The inside of my washer? No. Behind the washer/dryer! Maybe there  was a leak? Nope. You guys, I was this close to taking everything out of the room, scrubbing down every surface and starting from scratch. (Actually, that’s still not a bad idea.)

Then, just a couple days ago, I was doing a load of laundry when the smell seemed to get even stronger. It was definitely coming from the washing machine. This time I was sure. I leaned over the front-loading machine, careful not to disturb the pile of kiddie artwork, clothes and empty coffee cups on the top and sniffed. OH GOD, THAT WAS FOUL. Yep, definitely coming from behind the washing machine. Probably a dirty diaper that gets heated up when the machine is running. I’d get Ed to pull out the machine as soon as he got home. Definitely solved that one at last. Thank goodness.

Then, as I was getting the girls ready to go meet Colum at the school bus, I reached over to pluck a pair of baby-sized capri leggings off the washer. They were caught under something and I gave them a little tug. AND THEN THE WORST SMELL YOU CAN IMAGINE (short of rotting rodent carcasses) came emanating from the top of my washing machine. As Colum would say, “What the _?”

Yeah, so. It turns out that the empty take out coffee cup on my washer wasn’t empty after all. It turns out that it was half filled with coffee that had been sitting there for so long that it started to turn green and to rot. The smell of the rot slowly made it’s way past the cheap plastic lid of the coffee cup and permeated through my back addition. Until, finally, I knocked over the cup and it poured oozed onto an otherwise clean cloth diaper, thus fouling the diaper but preventing a disgusting clean up. How did I not just clean up the cup weeks before? What depths of slovenliness am I living in? I was deeply ashamed and vowed never to speak a word of this to anyone.

Afterward: 

I STILL need to properly clean and organize the back room which is now sagging from the weight of back-to-school clutter. The diaper that took one for the team has been washed and is currently hanging in the sun for the second consecutive day, stained a blue-green coffee rot colour that I doubt will ever come out. I may have to say goodbye to that diaper.

Please tell me, do you have any horrifying housecleaning mishaps to make me feel better? Anyone? 

 

 

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School Tales

“That boy is James*,” Irene said, somehow stretching the name out for four or five syllables. “He cried today.”

We were standing in the kindergarten playground after her first day of school.

“Oh no,” I said. “Poor James. But you didn’t cry, did you?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Irene was nodding.

“You did?! Why did you cry?”

“Because I missed you.”

“But you knew I was coming back.”

“I still cried,” she said. “And then James* cried, and then everybody cried.”

“Everybody cried?! The whole class?!”

“Yes,” she said. “The whole class.”

So Irene started junior kindergarten last week and her mood seems to be infectious. I’m so sorry. It’s a Catholic school with a blue and white dress code, too, which seems like a bigger change for the little girls than the boys. I mean, a navy t-shirt over navy cargo pants isn’t much of a departure from Colum’s street clothes. But Irene? My little style maven? How was she going to cope with the new school look?

photo.JPGThis is the look she put together for herself over the weekend.

But you know what? She’s into the uniform. It’s almost like a costume or something. She gets to dress up like a big schoolgirl and ride the school bus with her brother and all the other big kids. “I sat beside a teenager on the bus.” I’m sure the novelty will wear off at some point. But I’m also sure she’ll find ways to make it her own.

In fact, she already has.

How cute is she?! Dying.

I was kissing her goodnight when she looked up at me from the bed. “I was just kidding, Mommy.”

“You were kidding? About what?”

“I didn’t cry at school.”

“You didn’t?! And what about the rest of your class? Did the whole class cry?”

“No, the whole class didn’t cry. Only James*.”

What do you guys think about uniforms for little kids? Do they stifle creativity or make life easier or both?

*Not his real name.

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Stuff I’m Digging: This Dress

On my last day in New York City for the Blogher Conference last month, Nadine Silverthorne gave me this dress.  I like it.

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But I’m not posting this here so you can run out and buy the same dress. (Although it would be fine if you did. I’m not that kind of girl. We can have the same things!) I don’t even know where it’s from. Somewhere in NYC, I guess. My point is that she bought a dress for herself and then decided it didn’t fit quite right. Returning it was a hassle, so she offered it around. When it fit me, she gave it to me.

How often have you gotten home only to discover that you had actually been temporarily insane when you bought that latest shirt/pair of pants/giant owl-shaped brooch/string bikini. It seemed like a good idea at the time. A giant bird head on your lapel would be jaunty! Isn’t it time you embraced your curves? Alas, you were out of your mother-effing mind.

So you fold it up and put it on a shelf in your closet to return. And there it sits forever more. Let’s stop kidding ourselves. We’re never going to get around to returning that wishful thinking-sized dress. Why not give it to someone who might actually use it?

Inspired by Nadine’s generous grasp on the reality of life (as well as her actual generosity), I went home and scooped up the two XL-sized breastfeeding shirts that had been sitting on top of my dresser in their original packaging for TEN MONTHS. Thus is the peril of online shopping meets guess-tamating your shirt size four weeks postpartum. Who cares if the store might still accept the returns? My chances had expired. I gave them to a very pregnant friend who will likely fit them better and felt immediate relief.

So try it. What’s in your “to be returned” pile? Who might be able to use it? Wouldn’t that be easier than trying to sort out the return postage? And won’t it feel so much better? Let’s keep this going.

 

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I Found My People

You hear a lot of talk about finding your people or your “tribe” these days. The idea is that we can find comfort and support, and enlightenment and fun from a community of kindred spirits. But what if your tribe isn’t who you think it is? What if we’re way off the mark hanging out with those book club and Martha Stewart centrepiece kind of people?

Because I’m afraid I may have found my people. My real people.

It was 10:30pm on the Sunday of Labour Day weeekend and I was trying to find a parking spot at my local Walmart. I was there to buy school supplies and thought I’d find one near the entrance.  But as I inched along, it was clear that all the spots were taken. I maneouvered between streams of young families and a multitude of cars coming and going in every direction and finally snagged a spot nowhere close to the entrance.

The store was equally jammed with shopping carts being pushed by families of four, five or six. At least I didn’t have my kids with me! That was the entire point of shopping so late at night. People were picking up clothes and groceries and toiletries, sure, but the school supply section was fully ransacked. I waltzed by happily because I was there for one thing: kid-sized water bottles. And some cheap containers for lunches, too, I guessed — as long as I was there. And, hmm, did Colum need any more school supplies? What are Grade Ones expected to bring anyway? Maybe I should have thought about this before.

Right, so they were sold out of water bottles. They were even sold out of those crappy reusable juice boxes I figured I could use in a pinch. The entire bottle section was torn apart like a toilet brush expo display at the end of Blogher. I picked up some semi-disposable Rubbermaid containers and grabbed a pack of pre-sharpened pencils just in case on the way out.

I pushed past the screaming throngs of desperate families with a big grin. You see? I’m not the only one still scrambling for school supplies at the last minute! In fact, I was looking relatively pulled together and organized in that Walmart line up. It was a good feeling.

These are my people, I thought.

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Contests

Stuff I’m Digging: Back-to-School EXTRAVAGANZA

Giveaway alert! One girl’s backpack, Canada only.

CONTEST CLOSED

Last week I blogged about endless summer in this space and now, well, summer’s ending.

I know a lot of people will have already done the bulk of their school shopping. They will have already taken their kids to the supermarket and made a detailed list of all the various lunch foods they will pack in the super-eco-chic lunch box they have already purchased and labelled. I guess I’m not really here for those people. (Although if they would leave me tips in the comments, that would be fantastic.)

I’m here for those of you who just found out that Labour Day weekend is THIS weekend today. I’m writing for the parents, like me, who don’t even know if last year’s backpack is still any good or what size shoes their kids wear and, oh crap, was I supposed to register them for extracurriculars already?

For you last minute shoppers, here are the goods:

SUPPLIES

Staples is probably your best bet for one -stop-shopping for school supplies that will actually last. The dollar store is not. Ask me how I know. All of their binders and pencil cases and pens and pencils and glues sticks and geometry kits are good quality and durable. There are cheaper options, of course, and nobody understands shopping on a budget more than me, but be forewarned that if you cheap out on something that’s going to get a lot of wear and tear, you’re just going to end up replacing it down the line. (And, hey, sometimes you have to. And that’s okay too.)

And because the kids aren’t the only ones trying to get organized at this time of year, Staples also carries the Martha Stewart HomeOffice line. I’m kind of like the anti-Martha these days, just trying to get meals on the table and kids out the door however I can. But I can’t help but feel like adding a shot of Martha to my desk might be just what I need to make everything perfect.

GEAR

There are two things I get for the kids every September (and probably a dozen more that I should get for them): shoes and back packs.

Reebok hosted all of us at a back-to-school event and generously gave each of my kids a new pair of shoes. Not only am I impressed with the new running shoe technology, but my kids also LOVE them. (You can see them sporting them on our recent trip to the Ex.) The zig zag soles on Colum’s ZigActivates are designed to absorb the energy that’s usually sent into our heels while playing sports and send it forward toward the toe of the shoe. And the soft squares on the bottom of Irene and Mary’s RealFlex allow for maximum flexiblity and softness; part of the trend toward barefoot-like shoes. Basically, everything I’ve always looked for in a baby/toddler shoe is now available in all sizes. Sweet. (And matching shoes for my girls? How cute is that?!)
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Staples also sent me a couple Impact backpacks to review. They sport fun prints and a padded back and shoulder straps, a smaller front pocket and come with a matching pencil case and lunch bag that clips to the front. (Can you say no more spilled juice boxes on homework?) Colum loves his, but Irene’s is still quite big for her, hanging down to her not-quite-four-year-old knees. So I’m giving it away! See the end of this post for details.

ORGANIZATION

This is the big one for me, and the one that’s really a work in progress throughout the year. But it’s nice  to start the school year (or at least catch up by mid-September) with things lined up right. Some of my organizational projects for this weekend include:

  • Finally using the can of chalkboard paint I’ve been hoarding in my kitchen for lists and notes and important dates
  • Colour coding my dry-erase wall calendar with Crayola dry-erase crayons the good people at Staples sent me home with. I had no idea these even existed. Kids will leave the caps off my dry-erase markers no more!
  • Hooks, hooks and more hooks. Ed doesn’t know it yet, but I plan on wielding the drill in the near future and mounting hooks with bags for each family member on the stairs to the basement and more hooks where needed in the bedrooms, front hall or wherever.
  • I might even try to turn a cookie sheet into a magnetic board like I spied in Today’s Parent magazine. We’ll see.
  • Most definitely breaking out both the Martha Stewart write on labels and the Mabel’s Labels ones you can pick up at Walmart.

And finally, I’m buying a micro SIM card so I can fully move over to the HTC One X that the good people at Telus gave me to try out. I love this phone. I mean, I loved the less-than-a-year old Blackberry Torch I selected for myself recently, but I didn’t know phones could be this good. My favourite features are the 8mp camera (you can even take a picture and video at once), the slightly larger screen size and the brilliant HD resolution. It’s really a joy to use for both reading and videos. Of course, I haven’t even started to use it as a phone yet and I love it this much! Oh, and it has Beats Audio I can try out once I get around to downloaded some music to it. If you are due for a phone upgrade, I strongly recommend you consider this baby. It’s got everything Ed’s iPhone4s has, pretty much, plus Flash ;)

In any case, there are so many fantastic organizational apps for Android out there and I’m going to set aside a couple hours to get a few key ones running on this phone. Budgeting, to do lists, calendars, meal planning and the list goes on. The technology is there to help us get our shit together, people. We just need to remember to use it sometimes, no matter what phone you have.

Okay so. Giveaway! Win this backpack that includes a pencil case and lunch bag.

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This one’s a quickie because I want you to be able to go out and buy a backpack if you don’t win this one. (Although it will take a couple days to ship so you might have to make do with last year’s school bag for the first week even if you do win.)

Leave me a comment, CANADA only, and I’ll draw a winner using random.org at midnight on Friday (tomorrow). Winner will be notified by email immediately.

 Congrats to entry number five, Jessica!

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The Ex Or How Not To Parent, For Reals

We went to the Ex. What follows appears to be a tale of gross child corruption and irresponsible parenting. What can I say? It’s only once a year.

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It started in a classic fighter plane. Well, actually, it started at a Super Dog show packed with people getting in out of the rain during which I chastised Ed about never letting our family split up again. This meant I had to bring Irene with me when I went to pick up a discounted, small-sized school bag for her. I think you see where this is going. Let’s just say it was very pink, very sparkly and very Barbie™ in giant, bubbly 3D form. She was threatening a full and total freak out if she didn’t get it, holding the entire visit to the CNE against me. I had no choice.

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So how about some bombers, then? Pinkest fighter pilot ever.

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Colum was schooling the other kids in line about how this bomber works. Somehow he’s an expert on military jets? I swear teach a kid how to read and use the remote and it’s the beginning of the end.

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Oh, a tank! The baby’s going to want to see this! We eventually pried the kids away from the weapons of mass destruction and made our way to the Food Building. We then gorged ourselves on our usual meal of everything that’s cheap and not, like, a $10 hamburger. So, er, that was spaghetti in tomato sauce, sausage on a bun, back bacon on a bun, pierogies and some random pepperoni sticks. What? Processed meat is a vegetable, isn’t it?!

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Bring on the rides! It was actually still quite bright. I’m not quite sure what happened with this picture, but I’m including it anyway because the sight of my two bigger kids, side-by-side on a driving-around-in-circles car ride, brought me right back to my own childhood. My brother and I would ride these very same rides over and over again, year after year, and they remain some of the brightest, most joyous moments of my life.

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Bumble bees! The next ride up was the merry-go-round, only I was concerned it would be too lame during the day. Because that’s what mothers of three year olds are always concerned about, right? Is that ride too lame? Is it not scary enough? Wouldn’t it be better and more exciting after dark? Maybe an hour or two after her regular bedtime? Apparently that’s what I was thinking.

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So we went to the petting zoo because I’m pretty sure they close that when it gets dark. Ed led Mary around while she gently touched the lambs and kid goats, squealing with excitement, cuteness oozing out of her pores. I walked back and forth calling out to Colum and Irene to please, for the ever-loving last time, stop chasing the ducks and chickens all over the place. They don’t want to be pet. I wasn’t at all bitter about that division of labour. I’m still not.

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“Mom! Mom! Take our picture. We’re pretending to be a crown. MAKE SURE NOT TO GET OUR LEGS.”

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Oops.

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Look at that baby turkey. And the bird’s pretty cute too. Get it? Groan.

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Why wouldn’t you let your very young children play on the floor of the farm building? With a water bottle, no less.

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I know know … maybe for the same reason you don’t give a baby a tattoo?! Bad parenting. I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.

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Is it dark enough and late enough to go on some more rides now, Mom? Why yes, children, it is. But please, before you go on the merry-go-round, please ride this kiddie version of the Polar Express first. We heard the screaming just as soon as the ride started. The cars were whipping around and around at a frenzied speed, gravity pulling Irene farther and farther toward her brother on the outer side of the bench seat. She was my fearless child who has enjoyed every ride she’s ever gone on. And I think maybe I broke her. She was not having fun. Finally, toward the end, she seemed less terrified and more shell shocked. She got off and said, “That was scary, Mommy. It was still fun, but it was scary.”

She declined going on a very tame motorcycle kiddie ride with her brother after that and then the kiddie merry-go-round was closed. Closed?! Don’t they know it’s lame until it gets dark?! So we put them on the merry-go-round in the main midway, Ed standing right next to Irene the whole time, and she still thought it was a little fast. I really hope she doesn’t stay broken.

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We left just before midnight. I have no idea how an eleven and a half month-old baby stayed up that late. Oh dear.

It was empty!! Tell me I’m not the only one whose kids all love nothing more than sucking back the last remnants of an empty coffee cup?

Whatever. It was a really, really good time.

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Stuff I’m Digging: Endless Summer

I know, I know. We only have one more week of summer vacation left before the school routine swallows us whole. I’ve been working myself up into a school lunches and supplies organizing frenzy as much as the next parent. But as this weekend’s weather forecast bears out, it’s still summer, and I intend to make the most of it.

I’m taking a three-pronged approach: summer reading, ice cream, and the Ex.

Nothing says lazy summer days like hanging out in the backyard with an iced tea and a paperback. Leave the Dostoevsky on the shelf, though, and pick up an exciting page turner or two or ten. My very own dad’s latest true crime title fits the bill perfectly. One Last Kiss by Michael W. Cuneo is the story of Chris Coleman, head of security of a prominent evangelical ministry, who plots and executes the brutal murder of his wife and two young sons. All personal biases aside, the book is fantastic. Richness of detail and polished and powerful prose breathe life into the characters and bring tears to your eyes. It’s like I knew the family. I finished it in two days flat.

On a somewhat lighter note, we haven’t consumed nearly enough ice cream this summer. It’s a crying shame, really. The Canadian arm of Cold Stone Creamery was running a promotion in celebration of National Ice Cream and they sent me a gift card to sample their goods. Starting on July 15th they began offering a special Signature Creation for each province. We tried the Ontario, chalk full of strawberries, fudge sauce and brownies and the PEI with blueberries, graham crackers and almonds. Ah-maz-ing. I’m not sure if the promotion is still on, but the Cold Stone Creamery is most definitely still serving up delicious ice cream. And a quick shout out to my other local favourites, if I may: Tom’s Dairy Freeze , Ice Cream Junction and Delight.

Then there’s the ice cream waffles at the Ex. Summer deserves a proper send out and I can think of no better way than visiting the timeless attractions and midway of the CNE. I love the classic carnival vibe, the games and rides, the lights and sounds and smells. The petting zoo and kiddie rides are good fun too, but the real midway after dark is a little slice of heaven.

It’s still summer! What are you doing to hold onto the sunshine until the very end?

 

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Food and Travel Uncategorized

A Tent For Five and I’m Still Alive

The summer after we were married, Ed went out and bought a tent for a weekend camping trip with his siblings and cousins. He bought a six-foot high, six person tent. I laughed and laughed. What an absurdly big and expensive tent for just the two of us. And then we didn’t go camping again for another NINE YEARS. Until now.

We drove 125 miles out of the city and pitched a tent for our family of five to sleep in for the night. So I guess Ed gets the last laugh after all. Maybe.

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Oh, did you think we were in the wilderness? Goodness no. We were staying over after an evening in the country with Ed’s co-workers. There was a house (and indoor plumbing) within spitting distance. There was also a catered dinner and a hot breakfast the next morning. Seriously, catered camping for families! There’s a business idea there for someone to jump all over.

It was a low-commitment, low-risk camping adventure for our young family and THANK THE MOTHER LOVING HEAVENS because I never want to spend another night like that again. We were short a sleeping bag, to start, so we had to open one sleeping bag up and then lay out a baby play blanket (replete with built-in rattling toys and squeeky buttons) for Ed, Mary and myself to lie on. Then we all lay down together just after 10pm — three WAY overtired kids and two parents who couldn’t remember the last time they went to bed that early. Imagine the antics and the squabbling and then multiply that by ten. We did get them to shut up at some point and then Irene fell asleep. Ed was maybe sleeping too. Colum was not. Mary was not.

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I was lying on my side in a 12 inch-wide swath of space between Colum and Mary trying to nurse her down while Colum kept asking me question after question after question. “You’re waking Mary,” I kept hissing. I was lying on my side, nursing Mary down to keep her from crawling all over the tent, our bodies, our faces, and hiding the car key in a bundle of dirty underwear. I was lying on my side on the rock hard ground and I couldn’t move at all, all night long. I mean, I kept trying to shift … just … a … little … bit … and Mary would wake up instantly, screaming mad.

Finally, the sun started to rise and some cows on the next farm started mooing like their lives depended on it and I gave up trying to get her to sleep anymore. I let her crawl and cry and thrash and scream until Ed took her and the other kids out to watch the sun rise and I caught a couple blessed hours of shut eye.

So, lesson learned. Next time we will have some sort of foam or air mattress, enough sleeping bags for everyone and a baby who is a full year older. Any other family camping tips I should know? Because clearly I’m a little lost.

 

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About Time, Unbaby.

Apparently there’s been some sort of backlash against people that are always on about their babies on social media. This Tracy Moore post on Jezebel specifically addresses the unbaby.me Facebook app that is meant to block baby pictures from coming up in your news feed. All I can say is, I KNOW.

AND ABOUT TIME!

What is wrong with these people and their incessant obsessions with their babies? It starts before the baby is even born, endless strings of bikini clad profile pics replaced by swollen belly shots. It’s like their whole identity is engulfed by the size of their bellies instead of the normal and healthy fixation on their waist to bust ratio.

Then the drooling poop machine is actually born and it’s an endless stream of limp-headed baldies staring off into space. God help us all when the babies actually start doing stuff. Baby in a half roll! Baby sits up! Baby gums a bagel! Baby stands up, barely.

These people don’t even take a yoga class without their baby. The only diets they care about are baby-led vs home-made, organic. Forget about ever finding a decent keg stand photo on these people’s pages ever again. Forget about anybody “liking” your rant in favour of baby-free brunches. Forget about ever getting to talk to them without a mother effing sandbox withing spitting distance. Forget about a conversation in which spit doesn’t come up.

And then what do some people do with the free time that they DO HAVE? They start a self-indulgent, sticky-sweet, vomit-inducing MOMMY BLOG. Because Facebook and Twitter and tumblr aren’t enough? Now you need to own lilysmommy.com in order that even more broadband can be dominated by pictures and stories and OMG video of your bratty kid?

It’s enough to make you want to grab them by their spit-up stained collars and shout, “What happened to your Bachlorette recaps?! Those were worthwhile!” “You don’t even know when there’s a half decent shoe sale anymore!” “What do you mean you might not go back to entering virtual mountains of data into a ten-year-old PC in a beige cubicle for 8 hours a day? Do you even know who you are anymore? What about your career?!”

So thank fucking god for the programmers and developers who came up with a way to keep the endless stream of baby babble at bay. Hey mommies, we don’t want to block you, just everything you now care about.

Let me leave  you with the most recent pictures I can find of me enjoying myself without my kids around. (So what if they’re over ten years old? They still count!)

 

Now those pictures really capture what I’m all about. Too bad that’s it, though. There was no Facebook before I had kids. I know!