23 Reasons My Kids Are My Best Friends

Not too long ago, I read an article by a woman explaining why her child isn’t her best friend. While I agree with a lot of the points she made, I was a little taken aback by one particular line:

“See, when I hear mom friends of mine refer to their infants, toddlers or even teens as their best friend, I can’t help but feel sorry for them.”

I have twin boys, and I’ve referred to them as my “best friends” plenty of times.

And I don’t feel like that makes me pitiful.

Don’t get me wrong, I have adult friends, too. In fact, I’ve also referred to my mom as my best friend. She is. So is my husband. And so is one of the women I ran cross-country with in college.

But so are my kids.

Maybe that makes me a Best Friend Whore. Or a Polybestfriendist. Or some other whacked-out term that I’m sure a few of the people reading this article will coin and crucify me with.

But guess what? I don’t care. I believe that you can have more than one best friend as well as different types of best friends. My kids happen to be a couple of mine. Here are 23 reasons why:

1. They never judge me. When they see me shamelessly spraying aerosol whipped cream into my mouth, or eating cream cheese spread with a spoon, their only criticism is that I didn’t offer them any first.

2. They know exactly how to make me laugh. Sometimes it’s a goofy face. Other times it’s a joke that doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. And sometimes it’s just the sound of their laughter.

3. We tell each other everything. Me: “Mama is feeling really overwhelmed right now.” Toddler: “I made stinkies.”

4. They help me pick out my clothes. Every time I look down at my feet and see one green sock and one blue one, I think of their enthusiastic faces as they pulled them from my sock drawer. And I smile.

5. They know how to make me feel better. Just the other day I was having some body image issues and was crying while talking to my husband about it. Out of nowhere, my son ran up to me, said, “Mama sad,” and wrapped his little arms my neck. And not in the typical toddler-chokehold way.

6. We w(h)ine together. Toddler: (tugging on my pants) “I’m thiiiirrrrsty.” Me: (uncorking wine bottle) “Me too, honey. Meeeeeee too.”

7. We talk about boys (often while w(h)ining together.) Mickey Mouse, Elmo, Jake, Boots, Daniel Tiger. We’ve analyzed the best and worst qualities of them all.

Toddler: “Dora’s monkey has red shoes. I want red shoes. I want redddddddd!” Me: (popping open a bottle of red) “Me too, honey. Meeeee too.”

8. We can go hours without talking and the silence is never awkward. It’s called nap time. And it is glorious.

9. They think it’s funny when I fart.

10. We often match without planning it. Sweats, t-shirt, and no bra FTW!

11. We binge watch Netflix together. Confession: I kind of like watching Sofia the First. (It’s on Netflix now!) The theme song is catchy and it gives me the warm fuzzies when I see how she’s always got everyone’s backs in the castle. Plus, I find Cedric’s cynicism totally entertaining. Oh, and that high-and-mighty Amber bitch? Hilarious. Seriously, it’s like an allegory for the various parents you might encounter at the playground. If you haven’t streamed it yet, you should.

12. We’ve seen each other naked. I’m kind of responsible for bath time and diaper changes so…yeah. And it’s not uncommon for me to be startled mid-shampoo by an inquisitive little toddler peeking around the shower curtain.

13. And we are honest about what we see. Me: “Oh, bubba, looks like you’ve got a little rash on your booty.” Toddler: “Mama no wee-wee.”

14. Actually, they are honest about pretty much everything. Toddler 1: “Mama’s face…ewwww.” Toddler 2: “Hair! Lot of hair on Mama’s legs!”

15. They’re always there for me. Like…ALWAYS.

16. We dance like Meredith and Cristina in Grey’s Anatomy. And we are each other’s “person.”

17. They keep my secrets. They can’t even pronounce the words “passive aggressive,” so there’s no way they’re going to tell Mrs. ***** that’s what I called her the next time we run into her.

18. I have more selfies of them on my phone than of anyone else.

19. They do my hair for me. Peanut butter and jelly beat even the strongest mousse on a salon shelf. And who needs to pay for a professional haircut when your kid will just yank it out for you?

20. We have inside jokes. For example: “We’re going to sit quietly and look at books now so Mama can get some writing done.” HAHAHAHAHAHA.

21. They make me feel beautiful. Because whenever I look at their vibrant faces and marvel at the incredible things they can do with those amazing, miniature bodies of theirs, I remember that it was my body that made them.

22. They motivate me to be the best version of myself. Because I know that’s what they deserve.

23. I would do anything for them. If you’re reading this, and you’re a parent, I don’t think any further explanation is necessary.

 © 2015 Samantha Wassel, as first published on Sammiches & Pysch Meds

A Translation Guide to Common Toddler Phrases

I love my kids fiercely. Truly, I do. I love them to the moon and back, and to Neptune’s known 14 moons and back, and to wherever the hell my sanity has escaped to and back. But as much as I love them, I often find myself being driven 50 shades of apeshit when they talk to me.

Basically, I’ve learned that you can’t take anything a toddler says at face value. Almost everything that comes out of their mouths has a hidden (usually vindictive) meaning. If doublespeak were a federal crime, my kids would be convicted felons. And I’d be their prison bitch.

I’ve come to refer to this way of talking as “Twat-dler Speak,” for reasons that will become increasingly apparent as you continue reading.

Spoiler alert: It’s not because I make a habit of talking like Tweety Bird.

If the seemingly sweet words spewing from your kid’s mouth seem to be spiked with sour undertones, chances are he or she is speaking Twat-dler. To save you the time and stress of trying to decode the perplexing language of a two-year-old, I’ve taken the liberty of translating a few of the most common Twat-dler phrases that I’ve heard thus far as a parent:

Twat-dler: I’m not tired.

Translation: I am, in fact, so exhausted that I’d probably pass out the moment my little head hits the pillow, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you have thirty minutes to yourself to salivate over your DVR’ed episodes of Cupcake Wars while stuffing your face with store-bought Cosmic Brownies. So instead, I will force myself to stay awake and then proceed to take out all my crankiness on you.

Twat-dler: No, don’t need to go potty.

Translation: Of course I need to go potty, dipshit. I pretty much always need to go potty. But there’s no way I’m going to do it on that plastic little seat you forked the extra 25 bucks over for because it makes cool car noises. Screw the potty chart stickers. It’s much more rewarding to see the look on your face when I splatter it with shit during diaper changes.

Twat-dler: Big mess.

Translation: I just crapped myself silly, and you better get on that shit (literally). But don’t think for a second I’m not going to kick and squirm the entire time.

Twat-dler: All done! (said after pooping)

Translation: Bitch, please. I’m just getting started. There is SO MUCH MORE SHIT where that came from.

Twat-dler: All done! (said during a meal)

Translation: I’m actually still starving, but I refuse to give you the satisfaction of seeing me eat what is put on my plastic, segmented toddler plate. Instead, I will express my raging hunger in one or more of the following ways: screaming, whining, or chucking this delicious, painstakingly prepared meal you made on the floor, and then laughing maniacally while you clean it up.

Twat-dler: No!

Translation: Yes! Wait, no. I mean, yes!

Twat-dler: Yes!

Translation: No! Wait, yes. I mean, no! HELL NO!

Twat-dler: Night night!

Translation: See you in approximately six minutes when I’ll suddenly become (hungry, thirsty, convinced that my teddy bear is actually alive and evil like Lotso in Toy Story 3).

Twat-dler: I want to go outside!

Translation: Come near me with that bottle of sunscreen and I will literally eat your face.

Twat-dler: I’m sorry.

Translation: I will be repeating this offense again in approximately three seconds.

 Twat-dler: I’m hungry.

Translation: If I don’t get some fruit snacks in the next five seconds, someone’s gonna lose a nipple.

Twat-dler: I’m thirsty.

Translation: I want fruit snacks.

Twat-dler: I want crackers.

Translation: I want fruit snacks.

Twat-dler: I want chicken nuggets.

Translation: I want fruit snacks.

Twat-dler: This is yucky.

Translation: This is not a package of f*cking fruit snacks.

Twat-dler: I want fruit snacks.

Translation: I specifically want (Hello Kitty/Thomas the Train/Despicable Me) fruit snacks. And if you offer me any other kind, someone’s gonna lose a nipple.

Twat-dler: I want (Hello Kitty/Thomas the Train/Despicable Me) fruit snacks.

Translation: WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE?

Twat-dler: Please.

Translation: I really don’t know WTF this word even means, but you grownups are always rewarding me for saying it so I’ll play along. NOW FETCH ME THOSE FRUIT SNACKS, BITCH!

Twat-dler: Thank you.

Translation: You need to go get me more fruit snacks. NOW.

Twat-dler: I love you.

Translation: You are a total sap who allows three little words to brainwash you into submission, forgiveness, and just being a pushover in general. I OWN YOU, WOMAN!

Surprisingly, Google Translate has not yet added Twat-dler to its list of languages. Until it does so, you may want to print this out and stick it on your fridge as a quick guide for babysitters.

And make sure they know where you keep the (Hello Kitty/Thomas the Train/Despicable Me) fruit snacks. Unless they don’t mind putting the money you’re paying them towards nipple reconstruction surgery. 

© 2015 Samantha Wassel, as first published on Sammiches & Psych Meds (under the title “What Your Kid Really Means When They Say…)

21 Things to Do With Your Kids If You Want to Screw Them Up

It was recently brought to my attention by a few blog commenters that baking cookies with my kids is an unhealthy choice of activity. Actually, I think the exact word used was “destructive.” Basically, I’d shared a post recounting a “fat day,” on which the shadow of my eating disorder was being a particular bitch. Instead of allowing the critical self-talk to send me back into a spiral of unhealthy behavior, I’d chosen to focus my energies on bonding with my kids. I mentioned that we baked cookies.

BIG MISTAKE. Apparently, I wasn’t just baking cookies with my kids. I was setting a poor example for them by not “loving myself” or “taking care of myself and my body.” I was teaching them that it’s OK to ignore the inner critic inside of you, the one that tries to goad you back toward destructive behavior. I was letting them believe that — gasp! — it’s perfectly acceptable to eat a damn cookie every once in awhile.

Thank God someone pointed out my misguided thinking. I would hate to continue to set a poor example for my children. They should probably know that baking and eating cookies is irresponsible and could land them in the same position as those hyperbolically overweight humans riding around in hovercrafts at the end of Wall-E.

This refreshing revelation got me thinking about some of the other “fun” things I do with my kids, and how those activities might negatively affect them in the long run. It seems I’ve been parenting irresponsibly for quite some time now.

What can I say? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And, apparently, cookie dough.

For those of you looking to join in on the destructive parenting trend, I’ve taken the liberty of compiling a list of ways to do so. Here are 21 activities you should do with your kids if you really want to screw them up.

1. Bake cookies. If you want them to be fat and lazy.

2. Take them to the zoo. If you want to teach them that captivity and bondage are amusing concepts. You might as well just start reading 50 Shades of Grey to them at bedtime.

3. Fly a kite. If you want to instill a disrespect for nature. What if it gets stuck in a tree? BOOM. Littering. Or, worse, what if a bird flies into the string, strangles itself, and dies? You’re basically raising animal abusers. Before you know it, they’ll be throwing plastic six-pack rings into the ocean to murder all the dolphins.

4. Push them on the swings. If you’re really stupid. I mean, whoa. You’re doing two taboo things here: (1) teaching them that it’s OK — fun, even — to push people, and (2) encouraging them to be “swingers.” Bullying and sexual promiscuity for the double-win.

5. Allow them to race their Hot Wheels down one of those plastic racetracks. If you want to bail them out of jail for reckless driving someday. On that note:

6. Hit up the McDonald’s drive-thru while you’re out running errands and split a milkshake. If you want them to think it’s cool to drink and drive.

7. Draw with sidewalk chalk. If you want to raise graffiti-loving hoodlums. If they’re not incarcerated for the reckless driving or a DUI (see above), they may end up in the slammer for defacing public property.

8. Build a fort. If you want to mold them into deranged sociopaths by encouraging seclusion and unhealthy antisocial behavior.

9. Take them to the library and let them pick out a few books. If you want to raise shoplifters.

10. Play dress up. If you want to lay the foundation for a life dedicated to sleazy identity theft.

11. Take them to a fast food place with a play area and allow them to hang out in the ball pit. If you want them to know it’s cool to play with someone else’s balls. IN PUBLIC.

12. Play a card game together. If you want them to end up in Gamblers Anonymous.

13. Play tag and/or hide and seek. If you want them to learn to hide or run away from their problems.

14. Start a (leaf, stamp, rock, etc.) collection. If you want to see them on Hoarders: Buried Alive one day.

15. Play with puppets. If you want them to think they have the right to speak for someone else.

Note: If you have a son and pretend it’s a girl puppet, you’ll be raising the quintessential anti-feminist, male chauvinist. You’ll also be implying that it’s perfectly acceptable to shove his hand up some random girl’s hoo-ha.

16. Exercise together. If you want them to develop an unhealthy exercise addiction and body image issues.

17. Push them in the stroller. If you want them to grow up to be lazy bums always looking for a free ride.

18. Play Simon Says. If you want to raise little dictators. Better yet, just change the name of the game to Adolf Says.

19. Plant a garden. If you want to inspire them to start their own marijuana plantation. You’ll want to really focus on the weed-pulling aspect.

20. Go for a bike ride. If you want them to join a motorcycle gang when they’re older.

21. Write a bitchy, satirical article exposing the ludicrousness of some random sanctimommy’s unsolicited advice. If you want to teach them not to give a f*ck about what other people think.  (This one won’t actually screw them up … I hope.)

© 2015 Samantha Wassel, as first published on Scary Mommy

24 Lies Parents Tell Their Toddlers

1. Big kids don’t poop their pants. You have definitely pooped your pants on more than one occasion. You did it when you were pregnant. And during that marathon when you had a bad case of the runner’s trots. And that one Taco Tuesday you said “F**k you” to moderation and didn’t make it to the bathroom before the shitsunami hit.

2. We’re leaving now! Yeah, you’re leaving in however long it takes to pry his fingers off the monkey bars and drag his convulsing toddler body back to the car. Or:

3. OK, you can stay here, but I’m going home. You’re not going anywhere without your kid, but you really want to go home and binge on cookie dough ice cream and The Vampire Diaries, so you’re relying on good ol’ reverse psychology to get him in the car.

4. You can’t have dessert unless you eat your broccoli. Umm, actually, you can. Mom does it all the time.

5. We’re out of M&Ms. You hid them in an empty Wheat Thins box in the pantry and intend on inhaling them the moment your little tyke’s head hits the pillow.

6. You shouldn’t call people names. Yes, sometimes you should, like that jackass who didn’t hold the door open for you at the post office, or that twat waffle who just walked out of the bathroom stall you went to shit in and didn’t tell you she used the last of the toilet paper.

7. If you don’t brush your teeth, they’re going to fall out. They’re baby teeth. They’re going to fall out even if your kid’s the Bob Ross of tooth brushing.

8. Mama’s got a boo-boo. Mama needs a nap.

9. Daddy misses you! Mama needs a break. Or:

10. Mama needs a break. Mama needs a Valium. Or wine. Or both.

11. It’s broken. You took the batteries out. There’s only so much f**king Vtech you can take in a day.

12. It’s a popped animal balloon. It’s a condom. Although something may have been blown into it at one point.

13. It’s yucky. It’s Starbucks: a hot, steaming, deliciously creamy orgasm in a cardboard cup. (Moan. Sigh.)

14. It’s a milkshake! It’s a spinach smoothie.

15. It’s candy! It’s Tylenol.

16. It’s lemonade! It’s a laxative.

17. It’s just a little scratch! It’s gushing more blood than Mama when her vag is paintin’ the town red.

18. It’s a magic potion! It’s rubbing alcohol. And it’s going to sting like a bitch.

19. It’s just a tiny bugaboo! OMG, IT’S A F**KING COCKROACH, the sperm of Satan himself, sent to impregnate this world with evil and universal grotesqueness. And if you don’t all evacuate the house immediately, it’s going hunt you down with its repulsively long antennae and EAT YOUR SOULS.

20. Dora isn’t on right now. It’s not “on” because you didn’t flip the channel to Nick Jr. You’ve had your fill of anthropomorphic purple monkeys and kleptomaniacal foxes. Besides, you don’t want your kid watching when Dora finally gets busted for whatever hallucinogenic substances she’s toting around in that backpack of hers (the thing talks for Chrissakes; it’s clearly on something).

21. Mama doesn’t know where The Very Hungry Caterpillar is. It’s on top of the refrigerator. If you have to orate that shameless insect’s binging habits one more time, you’re going to follow suit. And you’ll look more “butter” than “butterfly” by the time you’re done.

22. You are driving Mama CRAZY! This implies that you’re not quite there yet. The truth is, you boarded the family-friendly minivan to Crazytown before your kid was even a week old, when he burped up in your mouth for the first time.

23. If you don’t stop (kicking, screaming, tugging on Mama’s nipples, etc.) by the count of three… Not sure if this really qualifies as a lie, because you never actually finish the sentence.

24. That’s it, I’m done! You are never done. The moment you squeezed that little twerp out of your lady bits, you signed a vaginal contract to put up with all of his twerpiness until he becomes an adult twerp. And you’ll likely still opt to put up with it then, because he may be a twerp, but he’s YOUR TWERP.

Honesty may be the best policy, but it’s not always a realistic option if you want to actually survive the toddler years.

© 2015 Samantha Wassel, as first published on Scary Mommy

Experts Reveal the Meaning Behind Moms’ Favorite Valentine Candy

Mamas, have you ever wondered what your favorite Valentine candy reveals about you?*

*Probably not.

Well, wonder no more! Why? Because this year, instead of doing something sappy for Valentine’s Day—like writing my husband an epic love poem or baking my kids heart-shaped sugar cookies—I, your trusty blogger at Between the Monkey Bars, have decided to do something much more practical.*

*Not practical at all.

I hired a team of psychological and sugarlogical experts* to determine the connection between a mom’s candy preferences and her parenting style.

*There was no team. I just sat in front of the computer typing and cackling to myself for a good hour or two.

The results were shocking.*

*The results were total BS, fabricated for the sole purpose of entertainment value.

Here’s what my team of highly-qualified experts had to say:

If You Like Conversation Hearts: 

You’re a Lonely Mom, so wrapped up in your children’s lives that you spend zero time socializing with human beings who are capable of wiping their own butts. You’re literally HUNGRY for adult conversation—even if that “conversation” consists of a lame-ass “U R Special” stamped on a chalky lump of corn syrup.

It’s time to get out, Mama.

It may also be time to spice up your sex life. Or just, you know, have a sex life again. Especially if that sugarcoated “Wink Wink” is the most action you’ve seen this month.

If Assorted Truffles Fit Your Fancy: 

You’re a Spunky Mom who relishes spontaneity and the thrill of the unknown. You like to take the kids on impromptu adventures, tossing them in the minivan and just driving wherever that Honda Odyssey takes you.  

The park? Yes, the park! Who cares if it’s winter, and the slides are covered in ice? It’s all good. When the kids go flying off the end, they’ll land safely in those giant snow drifts.

Chuck-E-Cheese? Hell yeah! Where a kid can be a kid! And a mom can go bankrupt buying tokens, all so her kids can earn enough tickets to buy cheap plastic kazoos. And then she can listen to them THE WHOLE WAY HOME!

Liquor store? Kids, wait in the car. Mama will be right back.

Fun is great, but don’t overdo it. When you spend too much time living on the edge, you’re bound to fall—or be pushed—off of it eventually.

If You Love Dove:

You’re a Zen Mom who craves peace and strives to create a tranquil environment for your children. You spend your days wrapped up in infinity scarves, sipping herbal tea from a mug that says something inspirational, like “Today I choose joy.”

You own the entire Mommy-and-Me Yoga DVD series, and you cherish your relaxation time with your little yogis-in-training.

Tranquility is nice, but don’t forget to vent now and then. It’s okay to lose your shit when the toddler eats your favorite aromatherapy candle. Just flip him the finger while you’re in Mountain Pose. He won’t notice, and we won’t tell. 

If You're A Sucker For Heart-Shaped Suckers: 

You are THAT MOM. The pushover. The literal SUCKER. (You know what they say: You are what you eat.) All your kid has to do is look at you with those puppy-dog eyes, whisper “I wub you, Mama,” and you’ll let him have whatever the hell he wants.

This is a tough case that calls for tough love: Stop letting your kid turn you into his little bitch. 

If You're Nuts For Nuts: 

You’re a Kooky Mom. Some might even call you a tad unhinged. You say things like “If you don’t stop fighting, I’m going to coat your lips in superglue and shove your faces together. AND THEN YOU’LL BE STUCK KISSING ONE ANOTHER FOREVER. BWAHAHAHA.”

And then you might actually do it.

Be careful not to cross the line between a little nutty and full-blown crazy. It’s gonna be damn hard to eat those Ferrero Rochers if you’re wearing a straitjacket.

If You're Hungry For Hershey:

You’re a Martyr Mom, always sacrificing your own happiness for that of your children. You don’t think you deserve “nice things,” so you settle for crap.

But how can I justify downing a $30 box of pretentious truffles when little Johnny Dearest has been eyeing that new Duplo set? We’re not made of money, and Hershey bars are, like, A DOLLAR. Besides, if I close my eyes and don’t think about it too much, I can almost get past the fact that I’m basically chewing on a chocolate-scented candle.

Oh Mama. You are worth so much more than that.

Stop settling. Stop settling for that shit-colored wax that Hershey calls “chocolate.” Stop settling for Daniel Tiger reruns when Channing Tatum is on Ellen. Stop settling for half-eaten dino nuggets, greasy hair, and weeklong shower hiatuses.

(No, seriously: Go take a shower. We can smell you through the computer screen.)

If Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Makes Your Sweet Tooth Sing:

YOU ARE MAMA, HEAR YOU ROAR! Welcome to the Dark Side. You’ve sampled the sweet, seductive taste of power, and you’re never going back.

What’s that, Sugarplum? You want a cookie? THEN FINISH THOSE BABY CARROTS! And in the meantime, you can sit there and watch ME eat this Oreo! NOM NOM NOM!

Huh? You want to go to the playground? WELL, I WANT TO BE ABLE TO PEE ALONE IN MY OWN HOUSE. WE DON’T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT, DO WE?

Oh, you’re SLEEEEEPY? SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK! Now stop whining and do some burpees! No, not BURPING IN MY FACE. Gross; you stink. Nevermind. GO DO SOME PULLUPS!

Try dialing it down a notch every once in a while. Remember, Darth Vader’s power trip destroyed his relationship with his kids. Besides, can you imagine trying to drink wine through that bulky mask he wears?

Speaking of wine…

If You're A Big Fat WINE-er:

You are a Creative Mom who knows how to think outside the box. (Just not outside the WINE box yet.) Sure, wine isn’t technically “candy,” but so what? You can get it sweet, white, or red. And you’ve heard it’s good for your HEART! That’s Valentinesy enough for you.

You deserve that glass of liquid love. We know you spent the whole day wiping pee off the floor, listening Mickey Mouse’s gratingly high-pitched voice shouting “Toodles,” and stepping on Matchbox cars.

We feel you, Mama, and we don’t judge.

*

Our team of experts here at BTMB wishes you a Happy Valentine’s Day, filled with whatever candy fits your fancy.

And please remember to SHARE SHARE SHARE! (The post, duh: like we'd ever suggest you share your candy.)

Why Dressing My Toddlers to Play in the Snow Sucks Major (Snow)Balls

Mother Nature must be menopausing this year. I mean, Holy Hot Flash, Batman. Talk about mood swings. First, she lulls me into a false sense of security by keeping the temps high and the grass green well into December. Then, around mid-January, just when I find myself hoping that—perhaps this year—I would be able to avoid the exhausting, yet requisite, process of putting snow gear on my toddlers, she pulls this shit: 

You can bet your bundled ass that the first thing my kids asked to do when they woke up to a world covered in nuisance white was go play in it. If there’s snow on the ground, the soundtrack of my life is reminiscent of the one from Disney’s Frozen, i.e., my kids incessantly belt out, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” until I can’t take it anymore and agree to accompany them outside, so we can all freeze our asses off make memories together.

Kids love snow. It’s a fact of nature. (See what I did there?) When I was a kid, my siblings and I jumped at the opportunity to have snowball fights, go sledding, build snowmen, impale each other with icicles, and use our prepubescent bodies to make awkwardly-shaped snow angels.

The thing is, my kids are toddlers right now. And getting toddlers dressed to play in the snow is about as fun as getting hit in the head with a Hot Wheels car—which is usually what ends up happening if I don’t succumb to their demands to play outside, where they’re actually able to burn off some of their endless toddler energy.

Here’s why getting my kids dressed to play in the snow sucks:

All the things.

Snow-play requires more layering than Kim Kardashian’s wedding cake. I have a hard enough time finding my kids’ socks (the ones I put on their feet, like, five minutes ago). Locating all the random pieces of their snow attire requires me to search multiple closets, dresser drawers, the van, the diaper bag, the spaces between the couch cushions, and (occasionally) the toilet bowl. It basically turns my afternoon into a live-action version of an I Spy book.

Can you spy all the things required for you and your toddlers to go outside? Spot the following items, before your kids lose their shit because they just HAVE to build a snowman NOW: snow pants, winter coats, thermal socks, boots, waterproof mittens, hats, scarves, and LOTS AND LOTS OF COFFEE. (Okay, who am I kidding? Like the coffee isn't always accessible.)

Toddlers have jellyfish limbs.

I can barely get my squirmy-ass kids in the tub, which measures approximately 1.5 toddler x .75 toddler. So trying to shove their writhing bodies into 50 relatively-fitted layers of clothing isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Or, in this case, a walk in the unappealing arctic tundra that our backyard has transformed into overnight.

Oh, and the thumbs of those waterproof mittens? Eff that. My kids don’t need thumbs. Penguins don’t have thumbs, and they do just fine in the cold. Besides, they don’t need the dexterity. We all know that I’ll be the one risking frostbite out there, forced to remove my own mittens in order to properly handcraft “our” snowman, while the kids flop around nearby, barking orders at me like caffeinated seals.

“Bigger! Bigger!” (Any bigger, and I won’t be able to lift its head onto its body.)

“It want some hot cocoa!” (Not a good idea, guys.)

“Why her butt look so funny?” (YOU BOYS BETTER BE TALKING ABOUT THE SNOWMAN!)

Come on, you think my toddlers built this bitch?

Murphy’s Law of toddler shit habits, as it relates to winter clothing.

This basically states that as soon as I finally have all that shit (see “all the things”) on my kids, they either (1) will tell me they have to shit (hopefully in less abrasive language), or (2) will shit. On the spot. Under the 50 layers of snow gear I just wrangled them into.

Either scenario requires immediate removal of said shit (literal and figurative) because I’ll either (1) have to change their diapers, or (2) strip them down layer by layer and plop them on the toilet, where they’ll proceed to waste even more of my time by belting out “Do you wanna build a snowman?” and taking an HOUR to actually shit.

#itsscience

It’s also #bullshit.

And then we’re right back to shoving jellyfish limbs back into all 50 layers of clothing.

By the time I’ve finally managed to get my toddlers snow-ready, we’re usually all so worn-out that we barely make it 30 minutes outside before needing to come back in for snacks and a nap.

Then I have to remove and put away all their snow gear, and by the time that’s done, they’ve usually crapped themselves again.

*Sigh*

Someone needs to tell Mother Nature to get her shit together, before this mama loses hers.*

*Note: When I started this piece, my husband was home from work due to snowy/icy conditions. And now—less than a week later, as I hover over the "publish" button—temps are creeping toward 40. Our yard is mostly mud, and the boys are mourning the death of their beloved snowman.

But I won't be fooled again, and I'm keeping all the snow gear within reach for that cold bitch's inevitable next mood swing.

Five Bullshit Ways to Get Your Toddlers to Sleep Longer

My boys have some sort of twisted, personal vendetta against the joy that is sleep, and I don’t know how to rid them of it.

It started a few weeks ago, when daylight savings time screwed all parents over took effect. Instead of reveling in that extra hour of sleep they’d theoretically gained (as any reasonable human being would), my apparently-part-vampire toddlers started waking up a full TWO HOURS earlier than usual.

I’ve tried everything to get them back on schedule, from suggestions I’ve found online, to ideas concocted by my own chronically sleep-deprived mind.

I even dedicated part of my weekly spiritual devotion to fixing the problem. You know you’ve hit a low point when you find yourself sitting in church on a Sunday morning, imploring the Lord to make your kids sleep through the 6 AM Saturday airing of Thomas and Friends just ONCE this month. (I hate those creepy-ass locomotives; trains should not have faces.)

The boys? Well, they passed our time in church tugging on my bra straps, poking the visible bags beneath my eyes, and running literal circles around the narthex (much to the annoyance of a particularly uptight-looking fellow toddler-mama, who was sitting on a bench with her own young boy, his hands folded neatly in his lap, not a peep escaping his perfectly-pursed-together lips)*.

*Side note: If loud, energetic kids annoy you, and your own kid is perfectly well-behaved during mass, SIT IN CHURCH WITH THE REST OF THE CONGREGATION. Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me." And I'm no Bible expert, but I don't recall any mention of him mumbling, "BUT SHUT THEM THE HELL UP FIRST" under his breath.

Unfortunately—albeit, not surprisingly—my prayers for delayed morning-risings have gone unanswered.

If you’re like me, and you’re desperate to get your toddlers to sleep in longer, do yourself a favor: Stop trying. Toddlers are illogical by nature, and attempting to utilize any sort of rationality when dealing with their behavior will only drive you further down the road to Crazy Town.

Here are five logical (and, thus, ineffective) ways to get your toddlers to sleep longer:

1. Don’t allow them to nap during the day. 

It’s simple math. The less sleep kids get during the day, the more they’ll need at night, right? WRONG.

Allow me to illustrate my point. Think of your kids’ sleep requirements in terms of a modern story problem (since child sleeping patterns make about as much sense as that common core math bullshit anyway):

Question 1: Billy needs a total of 12 hours of sleep in a 24 hour period, or he becomes a cranky little A-hole. Suppose Mom allows him to nap for exactly ZERO hours during the day. If she puts him to bed at 8 PM, what time should he wake up in the morning so as NOT to be a cranky little A-hole?

Answer: 8 AM

Question 2: What time will he ACTUALLY wake up?

Answer: 5 AM

Explain your reasoning: THERE IS NO REASONING THIS IS BULLSHIT

2. Keep your kids’ rooms dark. 

The idea here is that if it looks like nighttime, your kids will act like it’s nighttime, i.e., when their little peepers pop open at 5 AM to total blackness, they will reasonably determine that it’s not yet morning, and thus not time to get up yet.

HAHAHAHA. “Kids…reasonably determine”: I can’t even type that oxymoronic bullshit with a straight face.

If my kids thought darkness = sleepy time, they wouldn’t conk out in their car seats on the reg—sunlight beaming through the windows into their tiny, defiant faces—only to wake up kicking and screaming five minutes later when I try to move them to their dimly lit bedrooms.

3. Take them to the playground to tucker them out. 

Fresh air, exercise, the thrill of chasing other kids around an open area: What kid wouldn’t be tempted to sleep in after a long afternoon of monkey bar swinging, rock wall climbing, and random giant-bug-contraption bouncing (see photos, below)?

Your kid. Your kid wouldn’t. Neither would my kid. Or any kid, for that matter. Playgrounds only seem to invigorate children, and the only “tiring” that takes place involves the little pieces of rubber being plucked off the ground and chucked at one another.

Oh, Mama, you think this is going to wear me out?

You poor, naive, fool of a woman.

Giant ladybugs are to me what Starbucks is to you.

AND CHECK OUT MY BROTHER ON THE GIANT BEE OVER THERE!

Yup, definitely "BUZZED."

Not only does this fail to make my kids sleep in, but I think it actually causes them to wake up earlier by giving them something to look forward to the next day. It’s not uncommon for me to wake up at 4 AM to tiny toddler fists pounding on my door, demanding to go back and bounce on the giant ladybug "RIGHT NOW."

4. Set an alarm/timer/nightlight/etc. to go off at the desired wake-up hour. 

In theory, this is supposed to serve as an indication to your kids that it is okay to get out of bed.

In practice, this gives your kids another loud toy to play with when they wake up at the ass crack o’ dawn.

5. If your kids wake up early, explain to them that it’s still “nighttime,” and gently tuck them back into bed. 

Okay, let’s be real: If you think that’s going to work, your own sleep deprivation is clearly beginning to affect your cognitive functioning.

You should probably just pour yourself a glass of wine cup of coffee, put on PBS, and pray those little monsters agree to put their clothes back on before you take them out in public, despite their insistence that “Daniel Tiger doesn’t have to wear pants.”

So far, the only way I’ve managed to successfully get my kids to sleep in longer in the morning involves exposing them to germs when their immune systems are compromised. This works, not because they sleep more when they’re sick (in fact, it seems their miniscule bodies go into defense mode, creating a surplus of energy that manifests as extra bed-bouncing), but because it gives me a justified excuse to pump them with Children’s Nyquil.*

And I’ll gladly take a little extra snottiness from my kids if it buys me a few more hours of shuteye in the morning.

*I don’t actually do this. I usually just take a cool washcloth and stuff it in their mouths lovingly drape it across their foreheads, like any good mom would. 

How to Take a Toddler Trick-or-Treating in 52 Easy Steps

Halloween is almost upon us, folks. As it gets increasingly closer, I've noticed a lot of fellow toddler mamas*  discussing the night's events in the telltale tones of trepidation and—occasionally—downright horror. 

*That is, mamas-of-toddlers, not toddler-aged mamas. Just to be clear. I'm not sure on proper terminology here. Although, these days, WHO FREAKING KNOWS, amirite? Maybe I just gave MTV an idea for their next hit reality show. 

I mean, these ladies sound exhausted just talking about tot-or-treating. Er...trick-or-treating. (Although, if you ask most toddler moms, "tot" and "trick" tend to be interchangeable most of the time. Little rascals always keep you guessing.)

Anyway, I guess I just can't relate to the stress and/or pressure these mamas are apparently under. TRICK-OR-TREATING WITH TODDLERS IS A PIECE OF CAKE! (Mmmm...cake. Why isn't Halloween cake a thing? Don't get me wrong, I love me some Snickers, but I could also really go for some devil's food cake this season. Ha...see what I did there?)

Worried about taking your tots out this October 31st? Worry no more! All you have to do is follow these 52 EASY steps, and you and your little monster will have a grand ol' time!

Part I: Preparation

1. Ask Toddler what he would like to be this year for Halloween.

2. Explain to Toddler that “Hungry” is a feeling, not something he can really dress up as.

3. Get Toddler a Nutri-Grain bar to stop consequent screaming before asking again.

4. Explain to Toddler that “More” isn’t a viable costume option either.

5. Give up on soliciting Toddler’s input.

6. Peruse Pinterest for a creative DIY costume. Little Zephyr Basil’s mom isn’t the only crafty parent on the block. You got this.

7. Click on costume that seems fairly straightforward, involves no sewing, and has the word “easy” in the title.

8. Check Facebook and see that little Zephyr Basil’s mom has already uploaded 124,842 photos of him in a homemade Gandhi costume (made from all natural materials, of course), meditating in his Feng Shui’d bedroom and munching on homemade granola.

9. Throw pack of fruit snacks toward couch, where Toddler is screaming in front of the TV, and compose list of materials required to make “easy” Pinterest costume.

10. Wrestle Toddler into car seat and drive to Walmart. Be sure to bring more fruit snacks for the ten minute drive, or there will be literal wailing and gnashing of teeth.

11. Locate and purchase costume materials*.

*Note: This is an “umbrella” step for the six trillion actual steps involved, which may include: saying “no” to every (toy, book, goldfish, random piece of crap) that Toddler sees at the store; taking multiple potty breaks, none of which will actually involve Toddler peeing or pooping on the toilet; picking up the contents of your purse after Toddler upturns it in Aisle Five; and scouring the parking lot for Blankie when it turns up missing (only to find it stuck in the back of Toddler's pants when you finally give up and return to your vehicle).

12. Don’t forget to grab a couple bags of Halloween candy for Trick-or-Treaters.

13. Drive home, put Toddler back in front of TV, and attempt to make “easy” costume.

14. Easy my flabby, postpartum ass.

15. When it turns out nothing like the picture, bury feelings of inadequacy in the jumbo bag of Snickers you just bought. Don’t let Toddler see you.

16. HAHAHA. Bitch, please: Toddler always knows. Throw a Snickers his way to stop the screaming. Be careful not to *accidentally* hit him in the head with it.

17. Return to Walmart. Bring suckers for the car this time. They last longer than fruit snacks.

18. Hit up the Halloween section and allow Toddler to select outrageously priced, cheaply-made costume.

19. Check out. And remember to get more candy to replace the stuff you inhaled at your costume-fail pity party.

Part II: The Main Event

20. On Halloween, dress Toddler in Walmart costume. When he starts crying because it’s too (hot, itchy, blue, not-Batman), remind him that HE’s the one who picked it out.

21. Attempt to take picture of Toddler.

22. Send pic of the back of Toddler’s head to everyone on your contact list on your way out the door.

23. When Toddler gets tired of walking after approximately two minutes, pick him up and carry him door-to-freaking-door like a haggard, overgrown Girl Scout hauling around a carton of Tagalongs.

24. Remove Toddler’s (cape, monkey ears, wig, eyepatch) because it’s too (hot, itchy, blue, not-a-Batman-mask).

25. Approach house and allow Toddler to ring doorbell.

26. Tell Toddler to stop ringing doorbell.

27. Tell Toddler to stop crying just because he can’t keep ringing doorbell.

28. Try to get Toddler to say “Trick-or-Treat” when masked stranger opens door.

29. Who the actual f**k dresses up like a demented clown while handing out candy to little kids?

Oh, right. Daddy. Daddy does.

Way to go, Daddy.

30. Say “Trick-or-Treat” for Toddler while he cries and screams into your shoulder.

31. When Bozo the Toddler-Traumatizer reaches into candy bowl for an Airhead, tell him that Toddler is allergic to red dye 40…

32. …but really loves Snickers.

33. Try to get Toddler to say “Thank you.”

34. When Toddler starts whining for the “big red candy,” say “Thank you” for him and walk away. Quickly.

35. Point out little Zephyr Basil across the street, in all his miniature Gandhi glory, and use Toddler’s momentary distraction to scarf down Snickers bar. You need the energy more than he does right now.

36. Continue to lug 35lbs of squirmy Toddler—plus awkwardly shaped pumpkin pail—past five houses with unlit porch lights.

37. Stingy bastards.

38. When you finally find a house giving out candy, haul Toddler up driveway resembling Olympic ski jump.

39. Repeat steps #25 – 38 for the next 90 minutes.

Part III: The Spoils of Victory

40. At home, dump Toddler’s candy on kitchen counter for inspection.

41. Repeatedly pull pants up while Toddler tugs at them, begging for candy.

42. Once you’ve deemed candy safe, allow Toddler just two pieces before bedtime.

43. *Incoherent wailing*

44. Attempt to brush caramel and cement-like taffy from Toddler’s gnashing teeth.

45. Wrangle Toddler into pajamas, shove tuck him into bed, and listen to screams of “More candy!” until he passes out.

46. Contemplate ways a serial-child-killer might open a candy wrapper, lace its contents with rat poison, and seamlessly repackage it.

47. Go check on Toddler.

48. Once assured that Toddler is indeed breathing, pour a glass of wine and raid pumpkin pail for any remaining Snickers bars.

49. Plop on couch, turn on TV, and try to relax.

50. Watch breaking story about poisoned Halloween candy.

51. Neurotically repeat step #47 for the rest of the night.

52. Wake up the next morning to Toddler’s screams for “more candy” and your hair glued to the couch upholstery with caramel.

Happy Halloween, from all of us at Between the Monkey Bars!

Also, if you like what you read, do a Mama blogger a solid and consider sharing!*

*Or I will intentionally deprive my toddlers of sugar, hunt you down, and tell them you have tons of chocolate in your pockets.**

**I won't really do this.

Call a Girl Pretty, and 15 Other Things Boys Shouldn’t Do

Raising boys isn’t as simple as it used to be. Look around you—online, at the playground, in the newly-neutralized toy aisles of Target—and you’ll notice that traditional gender lines are becoming blurrier by the second.

You’ll also notice people getting their panties (or jockstraps, since we’re all about equality now) in a wad about some pretty stupid shit.

Feminism is spreading, folks. It’s spreading faster than the legs of Cersei Lannister when her brother walks into the room.

(Was that offensive? It’s so hard to differentiate between humor and tactlessness these days).

I’m all for equal rights. I think women deserve equal pay. Because duh. I think all parents should be given paid maternity/paternity leave. I think athletes like Shalane Flanagan and Meb Keflezighi are EQUALLY freaking BADASS, because they're fast as f***, not because they're male or female. I think ladies can be scientists, and dudes can be homemakers.

But I also think people are getting a wee bit nuts when it comes to kids, gender roles, and the "sexual" implications of innocent childhood behaviors. Sometimes we need to just let kids be kids.

Now, if a toy is labeled a “boy” or a “girl” toy, it’s seen as regressive to the feminist movement. Disney movies are picked apart and scrutinized for being “sexist.” (I’m sorry, but what little kid watches Tangled and analyzes the relative hand sizes of Rapunzel and Flynn Rider? I think they’re probably more fascinated by the fact that Rapunzel has hair she could wipe her own butt with.) And is it just me, or does it seem like society is reading just a little too much into things, like calling your kid a “flirt”?

Now, if I offhandedly say that one of my kids is acting like "such a boy," the online gender role patrol is ready to get all up on me like white on rice (or brown on rice...I'd hate to be accused of racism in addition to sexism).

Now, if I buy my boys toy cars, I'm shoving them into a gender niche. And if I buy them dolls, I'm shoving my own feminist agenda down their throats. WHY CAN'T KIDS JUST PICK OUT THEIR OWN TOYS AND PLAY WITH WHATEVER THE HELL THEY WANT WITHOUT BEING PSYCHOANALYZED FOR IT?

I mean, when I found out I was pregnant with TWO PENISED CREATURES, my primary concern was potty training. Because obviously. How the hell was I going to teach them to use equipment I didn’t have?

Now I’ve got to worry about all this politically correct bullshit.

(Side note: Still not much progress on the potty training front, but they do know how to do burpees and utilize proper running form, because those are things I can actually demonstrate...without purchasing some really awkward items from an adult toy store.)

Seriously though, the gender thing: It’s hard to teach your sons to both respect and ignore gender lines, which seems to be what the world expects them to do: You should treat girls the same way you treat boys. BUT! Boys and girls are not the same, so while it might be okay to chest bump Billy Bob on the playground, it might be frowned upon if you rub up against Susie Q.

*Disclaimer: I am in no way implying that only boys can be named Billy or that only girls can be named Susie. I’d hate for the Target mom to read this and demand a retraction.*  

Mixed messages, people. It’s confusing for me, and I’m a grown-up (sort of...I did just picture Rapunzel flossing her butt crack with that golden mane of hers).

LUCKILY* FOR ME, I’ve read/heard/been offered a TON of advice on the subject, and I’ve managed to weed out the helpful stuff from the poppycock poppytwat. (See? I’m learning. YAY for equality!)

*Unfortunately and annoyingly

Anyway, here are 16 things you should NOT allow your son to do*, according to certain people on the internet, individuals who don't understand the real definition of "feminism," and random nitwits:

*Note: If you have no sense of sarcasm, please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD (or GODDESS), STOP READING.

1. Play with dolls. WOMEN ARE NOT A MAN’S PLAY THINGS.

2. Think there’s anything wrong with playing with dolls. But wait, you also want your son to learn how to be a loving, nurturing father. Playing with dolls will facilitate that. This is the 21^st century: Women aren’t responsible for all the child-rearing anymore.

3. Be bullied for playing with dolls. BUT YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO BE PICKED ON IN SCHOOL FOR PLAYING WITH “GIRL” TOYS.

4. Believe there is such a thing as “boy” and “girl” toys. Shit. I hope Target didn’t hear me.

5. Watch Disney movies. Those animated monstrosities are rife with degrading gender stereotypes. Way too many damsels in distress. You don’t want him thinking the right thing to do is help a girl out when she’s in trouble. Best to leave her passed out in a tower (like Sleeping Beauty) or at the mercy of a pedophiliacally-goateed maniac (like Jasmine).

I’d stick with A League of Their Own. Just be sure to stress that Tom Hanks has nothing to do with the team’s success.

6. Play tag (with girls). WHOA, INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHING. (Girls are not made to be manhandled.)

7. Play tag (with boys). WHOA, INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHING. (Neither are boys. But make sure he knows you’re okay with him being gay. But you probably shouldn’t use the word “gay,” because “gay” is a label, and LABELS ARE BAD.)

8. Play tag (period). It’s really kind of dangerous, and it reinforces the stereotype that men are always on the prowl and live for the thrill of the chase.

9. Play with water guns. *Sigh* Another male stereotype. Besides, playing with water guns will inevitably turn him into a psychotic serial killer. Might as well just buy him an AK47 for Christmas and let him use the cat for target practice.

*Note: If he has a sister, you can definitely let her play with toy guns. I mean, girls that play with toy guns are cute tomboys, fiercely expressing their burgeoning feminism. Boys who do it are just deranged sociopaths in the making.

10. Play video games. Yeeeeaaahhh…those will also turn him into a psychotic serial killer.

Yes, even the ones that don’t involve guns. Pac-Man is just too damn aggressive, the way he darts around, taking whatever he wants. Not a good male role model.

And don’t even get me STARTED on Mario. Psshh. Always there to “save” the “princess.” That anti-feminist asshole belongs in a Disney movie.

11. Climb up the slide at the playground. Again, this encourages aggressive behavior. And, seriously, are you TRYING to turn him into a psychoticserial killer?

12. Be chastised for climbing up the slide. I mean, after all, boys will be boys…

13. Hear you say things like, “Boys will be boys.” Shhh…Target shoppers might hear you.

14. Call a girl pretty. THERE IS MORE TO A WOMAN THAN HER APPEARANCE! FEMINISM! FEMINISM! FEMINISM!

15. Let him see you packing his (or Daddy’s) lunch. Holy shit, what do you think this is, 1950? Step away from the peanut butter jar, Mama! You should be spreading your feminist views in front of your impressionable son, not that PBJ.

Next thing you know, he’ll be waltzing up to little Susie at playgroup, yelling, “MAKE ME A SAMMICH, WOMAN!”

16. Just be a kid. From the moment he comes tearing through your vagina (or C-section incision), he needs to be aware of the possible political and social implications of everything he does.

In fact, if you nurse him, be sure to do it in public, show lots of boob, take a ton of pictures, and create a PowerPoint for him to use in any future 4H projects on women’s rights. Because what little boy wouldn’t be proud to show THAT to his peers?

For real though, you’d hate to see him actually enjoying his childhood.

Careful, boys. That "big stick" you're so sweetly playing with 

might be misconstrued as some sort of phallic symbol.