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

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

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.

28 Signs You're a Mom Suffering From 90s Fever

Did you grow up in the 90s? If so, you're probably not over it. After all, 90s pop culture included some of the most superfly, hella-awesome fads ever, and they likely shaped you into the person you are today.

If you're a mom, you might find your affinity for all things 90s influencing how you interact with (or how you act around) your kids.

Here are 28 signs that you're a mom suffering from 90s fever:

1. You have Lip Smackers hidden strategically throughout the house. Definitely your drug of choice. Should you find yourself in need of a fix, you know exactly where to find them: stashed in drawers, purses, empty tampon wrappers—anywhere that’s easily accessible to you, yet hidden from the greedy mouths of hungry toddlers, who assume they taste as good as they smell.

2. Whenever you find yourself in possession of a partially used can of frosting, you crack open a box of Teddy Grahams. Because you could Dunkaroo all day.

3. On more than one occasion, your kids have looked at you like you need to be institutionalized for your dance moves. It’s called The Macarena, yo, and it’s hip to the diggity.

4. Speaking of music with jibberish lyrics, all your favorite songs sound like they’re sung by the minions from Despicable Me. I'm blue da ba dee da ba daa, Mmmbop, ba duba dop ba du bop, I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah.

5. And you still find yourself wondering, Where HAVE all the cowboys gone?

6. Your running shoes look like they were made by Lisa Frank. Number one rule of running shoes: Don’t buy them based on color. Sure, sure. BUT HAVE YOU SEEN THESE?

7. While we’re on the topic of The Neon Goddess: When you take your kids back-to-school shopping, you try to persuade them to get all Lisa Frank stuff. And when you find her brightly colored animals in the sticker aisle, you have to get some, especially if they have the dolphin ones. After all, they make the perfect adornments for your MASH games.

8. Speaking of school supplies, no one seems very impressed with your rubber pencil trick. It’s okay. At least you know it’s dope.

9. And in addition to saying things like “dope,” you’ve embarrassed your kids on several occasions by dropping phrases from Clueless in public. “You want me to spend 60 bucks on a pair of hole-ridden jeans that look like they were spray-painted on you? As if!”

10. You mourn the days when Polly could actually fit in your pocket. This may coincide with number 6:

11. You mourn the days when pockets were more than ¼ inch deep. And when jeans weren't designed to fit like sausage casing. And waist bands actually covered your waist, allowing you to bend over without sounding like a Rice Krispies commercial: Snap (oops, just busted a seam),CRACKle (hello, butt cleavage), and Pop (there goes a button)!

12. You sometimes hide your gum in old Band-Aid boxes. It’s not quite the same as the original Ouch gum, but it’s the closest you can get since Hubba Bubba’s traumatic packaging redesign.

13. Occasionally, when your husband walks into the room, you ask him, “How you doin’?” Seriously, why haven’t they made a Friends movie yet? Sex and the City got TWO, dammit.

14. You are appalled by the super-cartoonized versions of Care Bears, Strawberry Shortcake, and Rainbow Brite. Why? Why are their heads so disproportionately large to their bodies? What the hell happened to Shreeky and Beastly? (I know these came out in the 80s, but you probably still watched them growing up.)

15. Sometimes, when you’re at the playground, you find the highest point, stand on it, put your arms out, and proclaim, “I’m flying, Jack!” And later, at the pool, you may just stand at the edge of the deck, take your kid’s hand, and say, “You jump, I jump, remember?”

16. Stepping on Legos brings back painful flashbacks of stepping on butterfly clips. It also makes you nostalgic for Claire’s, and may even compel you to swing by to look for a few tattoo choker necklaces next time you’re out.

17. You’ve told your kids that Facebook is nowhere near as cool as Xanga. Their response to this was probably something like, “Is Xanga a video game? Can we get it?”

18. You don’t like reading books that don’t have gold binding. There are generally only three exceptions to this rule: (1) All the gold has worn off, and the binding has faded to silver, (2) They are part of the Magic Treehouse series, or (3) Harry Potter. Because LONG LIVE THE BOY WHO LIVED!

19. You lobby to the school board to reintroduce Parachute Day in PE. And then ask to chaperone a class.

20. You occasionally sniff your kids’ crayons, hoping they’ll smell like Yankee Candles. And then to alleviate your disappointment when they don’t, you make black crayon etchings with them as artistic therapy.

21. You may or may not have thrown your kid’s VTech Race Car down the stairs, hoping it would make its way down like a slinky. You probably knew it wouldn’t, but you’re just so flippin' tired of hearing Rob the racecar driver saying, “Let’s drive fast!”

Okay, let’s be honest: You were just trying to break the damn thing.

22. You still roll up one leg of your sweat pants. Or, depending on your lounge pant preferences, one leg of your yoga pants.

23. You distribute chewable medicine tablets to your kids with a Pez dispenser. And you’ve got plenty of them to choose from.

24. You get your old Beanie Baby collection out “for the kids to play with.” And then freak out if anyone rips off a tag.

25. When you’re mad, you sometimes glance down at your wedding ring to see if it’s changed colors. White must mean disappointed.

26. When you go out to dinner at a Chinese restaurant with the fam, you're really tempted to put rubber pencil grips on your chopsticks.

27. The sight of a black cherry warhead gives you PTTD (Post Traumatic Tongue Disorder). It’s like you can feel it splitting all over again.

28. And, sometimes, when you eat around your kids, you set up folders so they can't see what you're doing. "Eyes on your own paper...er...I mean...meal! Or we won't be playing Heads Up, Seven Up...er...I mean...at the playground later!"

Unfortunately, there is currently no known cure for the Mommy Strain of 90s Fever.

But popping a few frosting-dipped Teddy Grahams into your Lip Smackered mouth certainly couldn't hurt.

The Gates of Hell Have a Padlock, and We Finally Have the Key!

Readers! I apologize for my absence, as I’ve recently been engaged in scandalous Polyblogamist behavior. I realize my posting on here has been increasingly sparse as of late, but I have tons of lame-ass excuses good reason for my absence.

Basically, I’ve been freelancing my ass off. That’s right: Like a seasoned whore, I’ve gone where the money is. What can I say? Freelancing = money, and money buys groceries, and I live with three members of the male species, one of which is 6’4’’ of pure muscle and has apparently sired two tiny versions of himself with similarly freakish metabolisms.

SO. Yes, I’ve been straying a bit from Between the Monkey Bars in order to make a little extra dough (in addition to the cookie dough the boys and I have been making and irresponsibly eating in bulk).

At the risk of sounding like a beggar in addition to a whore, I’m going to not-so-subtly drop some not-so-little hints that a few of these freelance gigs pay based on page views, so THE MORE YOU SHARE, THE MORE GHIRARDELLI CHOCOLATE MONEY I GET. So please continue sharing :)

In case you missed any of my recent writing gigs, you can find them conveniently listed below:

Scary Mommy: “An Open Response to The Working Mom From The SAHM”

Sammiches & Psych Meds: “23 Reasons My Kids Are My Best Friends”

The Mid: “A Mom’s Guide To Real-Life Gaming”

Mamalode: “When Preparation Fails”

As far as upcoming pieces, keep an eye out for some more Scary Mommy action, my In the Powder Room debut (a hilarious site I’m super pumped to contribute to), and another piece on The Mid.

Alright, enough of the petty housekeeping business. On to more exciting news….

WE ARE GETTING THE HELL OUT OF TEXAS!

Well, as those of you who are loyal readers know, you can’t really get the “hell” out of Texas. However, we are removing ourselves from its hellish borders.

You know what they say: You can’t take the hell outta Texas, but you can get the hell outta Texas.

Come September, we will be blissfully BACK IN INDIANA, just in time to see the leaves change colors, and for the boys to actually be able to go trick-or-treating without sweating through their costumes.

So, in celebration, I thought I’d do a little more bitching about the place Satan likes to summer when hell just ain’t meeting his standards for a blisteringly high enough heat index.

They say that everything’s bigger in Texas. ("They" clearly being idiots.) Well, I call bullshit. Everything is definitely NOT bigger in Texas.

I offer, as proof, the following list:

Ten Things That Are NOT Bigger In Texas

1. Popsicles. They shouldn’t even be able to call them popsicles here. They melt almost as quickly as my little boys’ hearts when they realize the frozen treats that I just gave them liquefied the moment they stepped outside. "Popsicles" should just be called juice here. Sticky juice. Sticky juice that stains everything it touches. Aw hell, let's just call them "messes."

2. Apples. Oh, how I miss apple picking: the pleasure of trekking through an orchard on a crisp autumn day, plucking a honeycrip from a low-hanging branch, and sinking my teeth into all of its juicy goodness.

There is no apple picking season here. Because there are no seasons here. And the apples at the grocery store tend to be tiny, hard, and gross. Unless you pay 50 bajillion dollars for the ones they have sent over from areas of the country that aren’t fruit-tree-killing infernos.

3. My boobs. I really hoped that the whole “everything’s bigger in Texas” thing might actually have some magical effect on my bra size. No such luck.

4. The range of our car’s temperature gauge. The first day we moved here (last August), we were driving around, trying to find a hotel for the night. The temperature reading on the dashboard of our van kept climbing: 98…99…100…101…and then it dropped down to 75.

Yup, that’s right: Texas, you bastard, you busted our car.

5. Trystan’s head. Okay, to be fair to Texas, I AM ACTUALLY GRATEFUL for this one. I don’t think my little bobblehead could withstand any more weight on his tiny toddler shoulders. As it is, we have to buy him adult-sized hats.

Trystan, age 2. 

Newsboy Cap, size 2. 

May God have mercy on the mother of his future children. 

And on her poor lady bits.

(Thank God he was born via C-Section.)

6. Spaces between vehicles on highways. Holy f***king traffic, Batman! Seriously. And most of the drivers here are total ass-hats who, apparently, have no working knowledge of how to operate a turn signal.

7. My tolerance for narrow-minded nincompoops. I don’t want to get too political here, but, for starters, there’s this.

8. A basic understanding of the cause-and-effect relationship. Again, don’t want to get too political, but a few months back, there was a biker shootout in Waco, during which nine people died. Sooo…then this happened. I mean, makes total sense, amirite?

9. Shoulders. (This is not referring to the boys’ actual shoulders, which have, coincidentally, gotten bigger since we've moved here, due to their oddly endearing love of pull-ups).

Beast Mode, yo!

I'm talking about the kinds of shoulders you're supposed to be able to pull-over onto while driving. I CAN’T TAKE THE BOYS RUNNING ON THE ROADS HERE. Unless I want to play (and lose) a real-life game of Frogger. There just isn’t room for a double stroller. ANYWHERE. At least not where we live.

10. Chocolate. This one doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but if I’m promised “bigger” things in Texas, my Ghirardelli Midnight Reverie bar should be the size of my freaking face, dammit.

On the flipside, here is a list of Things That Actually ARE Bigger in Texas:

1. The sun. Yeah, I know this is scientifically impossible, but whatever. Galileo, Keplar, Newton, Neil deGrasse Tyson…they can all kiss my ass.

2. Fire ant mounds. Also, my boys’ affinity for “big piles of dirt,” and our need for Quantum Sting Soothe® Bug Bite Relief.

Oh Texas: Where kids have the pleasure of making mud pies 

that—when bitten into—bite back!

3. The trail of sweat I leave behind on a run. Seriously, The Trail of Tears ain’t got shit on me.

4. Lists of things that piss me off.

5. Our electric bill. Air conditioning all damn day, every day.

And, just to keep things in perspective, a list of Things For Which I Harbor A Bigger Hatred Than I Do For Texas:

1. Cockroaches.

giphy.com

And even if it's beyond our reach, we'll haunt you in your nightmares!

So, in conclusion, dear readers:

WE ARE GETTING THE HELL OUT OF HELL! 

40 Ways to Make Your Toddler Cry This Fourth of July

When you’ve got toddlers, the Fourth of July isn’t so much a “holiday” as it is one giant suckfest. For starters, the main event takes place after bedtime, so you’re basically extending your kids’ waking hours in order to subject yourself to hordes of mosquitoes at a firework show that you probably don’t really give a crap about anyway.

But you know what? It might even be worth the extra stress and exhaustion if you got to see your kids actually enjoying themselves. I mean, I wouldn’t mind spending a late night with my boys snuggled in my lap, their faces lit up with awe and the glow of the fireworks above us, while patriotic music plays softly in the background.

But it doesn’t work that way. Trying to legitimately celebrate the Fourth of July with kids under the age of four pretty much turns the day into one big toddler tantrum. It’s simple math, really:

Overtired Toddlers + Loud Noises + Sparkly Things They Aren’t Allowed to Touch = Tears + Screaming

If you don’t trust in the equation, here are a few real-life examples of things you can do or say to your munchkins to make them weep this July 4th:

1. “No, it’s not a ‘present’ holiday.”

2. “We’re celebrating America’s birthday, not yours.”

3. “No, America’s mom is not providing goody bags.”

4. Wrestle them into their car seats to drive to a family cookout.

5. On the way there: “Sorry, guys, I left Elmo in Grouchland in the DVD player at home.”

6. After they inevitably fall asleep three minutes before arrival, wake them up when you get to the cookout.

7. At the cookout: “Those aren’t bouncy balls. They’re melon balls, and you need to stop throwing them on the floor.”

8. Force them to wear sunscreen when they ask to play outside.

9. “No, you can’t poke your brother with the sparkler. I don’t care if it looks like it would ‘tickle.’”

10. “You can’t eat it either. I don’t care if it looks like ‘sparkly cotton candy.’”

11. “You know what? I think we’re done with the sparklers now.”

12. When someone mentions Uncle Sam: “No, he’s not coming to the cookout.”

13. “…and, no, he doesn’t bring gifts like Santa.”

14. Wrestle them into their car seats after it’s already past bedtime in order to drive to a fireworks show.

15. After they inevitably fall asleep two minutes before arrival, wake them up when you get to the firework show.

16. Hose them down with bug spray in order to save their dewy toddler skin from the onslaught of mosquitoes sure to be there.

17. As you’re laying down a blanket for everyone to sit on: “No, we’re not building a fort.”

18. When they look at you with betrayal and confusion: “It’s the Fourth of July, not the Fort of July.”

19. Pull out the bag of limited edition red, white, and blue goldfish crackers that you foolishly brought in an attempt to provide a festive snack for the firework show.

20. “I didn’t bring orange fishies. These taste exactly like the orange fishies.”

21. Forget to pack juice.

22. Pack the wrong flavor juice.

23. “No, you don’t get presents after the fireworks.”

24. “Stop scratching your mosquito bites.”

25. “No, I’m not spending twenty dollars on a glow stick that’ll entertain you for approximately 15 seconds.”

26. After caving and buying the damn glow sticks: “No, we can’t trade them for the blue ones.”

27. Warn them that the fireworks are going to be loud. Or:

28. Fail to warn them that the fireworks are going to be loud.

29. “No, I can’t make them stop the fireworks.”

30. “No, we’re not going home yet.”

31. “No, I don’t think there’s going to be an Elmo shaped firework.”

32. “No, we can’t watch Elmo in Grouchland on the way home. I already told you, I left it at home.”

33. After the grand finale: “The fireworks are all done.”

34. “Nope, still no presents.”

35. Wrestle them into their car seats for the drive home.

36. After they inevitably fall asleep one minute before arrival, wake them up when you get home.

37. While you tuck them in: “No, Uncle Sam’s not coming tonight to bring presents.”

38. “No, we’re not leaving out milk and cookies for him.”

39. “No, you can’t have milk and cookies right now.”

40. “Yes, the Fourth of July is all done.”

Let freedom ring? Ha. Not if you’re a mom to toddlers.

  Happy “Independence” Day, suckers!

The Five Diapers You Meet When Your Kid is Constipated

Sometimes my kids are full of shit. Like, actual shit. And no matter how much they grunt, push, and wiggle their little toddler hips, they just can’t seem to shake it out.

I know I’m in for trouble when little Ollie starts rocking on his heels, his hips jutting back and forth sporadically like a mini Danny Zuko with a lego up his ass, moaning “Diiiiiinky.”

Surely I can’t be the only mom with an occasionally anal-retentive toddler. (Can I get an “Amen!”? Or possibly a tot-sized enema?)

When your kid is constipated, everyone suffers. And by everyone, I mean you. Not only is it painful to see your child grimacing and writhing around because he can’t get his shit together, but his uncooperative excretory system becomes the center of your entire day. If his bowels don’t move, no one moves.

Have to go to the store? You can’t. He’s trying to poop. Want to sneak off to take a quick shower? Sorry, he’s just about to poop. Need to make a phone call? Good luck hearing anything over your kid shrieking about how much he needs to poop.

The thing that sucks most about all this is that when your kid’s still in diapers, you’re the one having to constantly check, change, and chuck them. You are the Maid of Mudpies, the Queen of Caca, the Disposer of Doo-Doo.

Unfortunately, constipation typically doesn’t end with one singularly disgusting blow-out. It resolves itself in stages. Here are five diapers you can expect to encounter once your backed-up kid finally gets the shit show started:

1.  The “Gotcha” Diaper. Sometimes the putridly sweet, telltale scent of banana-and-fishy-cracker-infested crap hits your nose, and you’re certain that your kid has finally taken a dump. He even insists that he pooped. Relieved that the defecation drama is finally over, you grab the wipes and a clean diaper, and pray to find a nicely formed, bowel-baked keester cake resting beneath his buttocks.

SURPRISE! It was just gas. You are staring at a perfectly pristine diaper.

via memegenerator

And now your kid’s uncomfortable squirming is even more troublesome, as it is preventing you from putting said diaper back on.

2. The Tick Turd Diaper. When your kid’s been constipated for a while, the first fecal matter he starts shedding is this itsy bitsy teenie weenie hella-not-a-lot shitini*. We’re talking so small, it doesn’t even warrant the term “pellets.”

*This would actually make a pretty catchy parody.

Have you ever tried to kill a tick? It’s nearly impossible. Their outer shells are ridiculously hard (also, coincidentally, brown). Ticks have a tendency to latch on to things, or hide in little crevices and hard-to-reach skin folds. Sometimes you find them lurking in your hair or on your clothing hours after you thought you’d rid yourself of them. They’re also tiny. Very. Freaking. Tiny.

Imagine a diaper filled with copious amounts of ticks that smell like they bathed in hydrogen sulfide. Now imagine changing that diaper while your kid is flailing his legs about like a ballerina with tourettes, effectively hurling them onto every surface within a three foot radius, where they'll inevitably latch and burrow in.

3. The Skid Mark. This happens when your kid is prairie doggin’ it. That poop is like a little shitterfly that just can’t quite burst from its anal cocoon: It emerges and retreats repeatedly, leaving a tiny trail of brown (sometimes green—or, if you’re kid’s got hemorrhoids—a little red) behind as evidence of its escape efforts. This one's a fairly easy cleanup.

(Let’s be honest: “The Skid” is not exclusive to kids. We moms do a lot of laundry. We see things.)

4. The Cocoa Powder Diaper. Before your kid finally poops, he will sometimes manage a little “squirt.” The problem with the squirt is that it’s hard to catch right away. Your child usually doesn’t even notice that it’s happening, as it tends to eek out during a sneeze, a cough, or the hysterical laughter that always accompanies a kid’s fart. If you don’t catch a squirt in its original consistency, it dries into a disgusting powdery substance that gets trapped in all of your kid’s nooks and crannies.

Often, if you even manage to get at it with a baby wipe, all you end up doing is spreading it. If you’ve ever spilled cocoa powder while baking and tried to wipe it up with a sponge, you know what I’m talking about. It stains everything it touches, and sometimes you accidentally inhale some of the particles that are sent airborne during your cleaning efforts.

Don’t be surprised if you’re sneezing out shit for a day or two.  (Ahh….ahhh….ahpoo!)

*Note that poop found in the "Cocoa Powder Diaper" kinda looks like brown crack. 

Apropos, considering its source of origin.

5. The Paradoxical Hallelujah!/Holy Shit! Diaper. This marks the end of your excremental journey, and it will be filled with relief (for you and your kid), horror, and poop. Lots of poop. You can expect it to arrive within ½ to six hours of pumping your kid with fiber gummies and the “special pink candy” otherwise known as chewable Pedialax tablets. You can also expect it to look like the chocolate river in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Just don’t expect it to smell like it. And try to keep your little Oompa Loompa from playing in it, or he might end up shoving his hard-fought accomplishment in your face.

After dealing with a constipated kid all day, you’ll probably want to get shitfaced. Just not that way.