How are all children not afraid of being orphaned?

Now that my daughter is getting old enough to sit through a whole movie, I am worried she is going to develop an irrational fear of becoming an orphan. I mean, come on. How could she not? Just this weekend we watched Mirror Mirror (orphan), Hugo (orphan), James and the Giant Peach (orphan), and Dumbo (orphan-ish). FTW!

But the list goes on: Aladdin, Snow white, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket's, The Wizard of Oz, Annie, etc. Do I need to pre-screen everything my kids watch so they aren't quivering over my bed watching me sleep at night to make sure I am not swallowed up by an angry rhinoceros?

I wouldn't investigate that noise if I were you...

First off, did none if these parents have backups plans in case of their ultimate demise? A will? A note scribbled on a beer coaster? Anything? Because in most of the movies, the orphaned children are from wealthy, intelligent families that were spouting puppy dogs and rainbows out of their asses before they met the Grim Reaper. They couldn't have at least tossed around the idea of who would take their children if they had a house dropped on them?

Second, why do all of these perfect parents always have evil brothers and sisters who end up with their children? I mean, every family has a black sheep and all, but this is ridiculous. Did they want to teach their kids a lesson in humility after living a life of privilege so they left them with the most conniving brother or sister they had? Seriously? They didn't have a sweet aunt Betty or something?

Thirdly, if all of these parent were so wealthy and powerful, why didn't they have a trust set up to provide for their children with iron-clad clauses keeping others from stealing their heir's money? How do all of their kids end up penniless wards of the state living off stolen pieces of bread and sewer water?

Never trust a ginger...

Fourth, why do all kids have to be orphaned? What is wrong with just having adventures away from mom and dad? That's a good story. Or just use the most cliché movie tool of all time: The dream sequence. Then I won't have to pry my kid off the ceiling after watching Bambi for Christ's sakes! Give a Mama a break!

Ways toddler parties are like college parties

My parties weren't always filled with screaming toddlers and balloon animals. They used to feature drunken co-eds and cold kegs. But the more and more parties I have, the more I see how similar college parties are to toddler parties.

Before: You drank Jungle Juice
After: They drink juice boxes

There may no longer be a bathtub full of Jungle Juice for you to pillage with your plastic cup, but there now is a cooler filled with juice boxes. We hydrate like gangsters in our crib, yo.

Before: You partied 'til you puked
After: Somebody is puking, that's for sure

Though the piles are now smaller and less smelly, they are still just as plentiful. There may not be an underage girl hurling in our closet anymore, but there are still tons of shorties tossing their cookies (and milk) at our parities.


Before: You had to listen to music that made your ears bleed
After: You have to listen to music that makes your ears bleed

Where once the sounds of pulsating techno music made you want to punch a kitten, now the harmonies of Yo Gabba Gabba and Sesame Street do the same. Though the two genres are vastly different, they are still similarly irritating.

Before: You stayed up until the sun came up
After: They stay up way past their bedtime

College doesn't come with a bedtime, but if it did, every. single. party. would have ended well after it. I saw the sun rise while walking home from a party more times than I can count. Our toddler parties may not rage that late, but everyone surely misses their regular bedtime and surely does get crabby as hell as a result.

Before: Someone passed out and peed on your couch
After: They don't have to be asleep to pee on your couch

There may actually be more pee at my parties than there ever was in college. I have had pee on my living room rug, bathroom walls, couch, you name it. Toddlers have no manners.


Before: There was always some drunk girl crying
After: Everybody cries at some point (even Mommy)

There was always that one girl, that drank too much and cried over nothing at every party. Now, my parties pretty much consist of every participant being that girl. God, babies are such babies sometimes.


Before: Somebody got lucky
After: Everyone gets lucky. Didn't you hear there was free juice?

No one is having sex in my bathroom anymore, but everyone who comes to my parties nowadays gets lucky. They usually score some sweet swag, like juice, and the holy grail of toddlers: STICKERS!

Before: Somebody showed their boobs
After: At least one mama has to whip one out

It may not be like Mardi Gras up in our parties anymore, but there is a pretty good chance you will get a peek at a nipple at some point. Hey, a baby's gotta eat!

Before: You woke up the next day to the house completely trashed
After: You wake up the next day to the house completely trashed

The aftermath of my parties might just be worse now than before, when 50 wasted college kids trashed it. At least the college kids didn't wipe their boogers all over my new chair, smear pudding all over my walls and smash cookies into every orifice of my house. Bastards.


Before: You would get a raging hangover the next day from all the booze
After: Your kids are crabby as hell the next day from all the sugar

Good god. The sugar hangover. It could take down any booze hangover in a fistfight any day. Because you can mend the hooch hangover with cheese sticks and aspirin, but the toddler sugar hangover WILL NOT BE SILENCED!

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?
This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

Courage

Beauty

This is Jessica. She is the mom of a 4-month-old little girl.

Thanks, Jessica. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

I think I need to start blood doping

You want to know what my problem is with Lance Armstrong blood doping? That that asshole didn't share. I have to get myself and the kids ready in the morning, drop them off at school, work a full day, come home and cook dinner, coax my kids to eat said dinner, clean up after dinner, entertain the kids until bath time, give the kids a bath, get them ready for bed, read The Pout Pout Fish 15 times, tuck the kids into bed, start the laundry, get the kids back into bed, clean the house, get the kids back into bed again, and then stagger into bed, myself. And I don't get shit.

I mean, all Lance has to do is slip one testicle into some biker shorts and ride a 10-speed all day. He can pay people to do the rest. And HE is the one that gets performance enhancing drugs? That is some bullshit. I need me some blood doping. I think it would greatly enhance my mommy performance. This is me on drugs:

The Laundry
Instead of it taking me at least a week to get the laundry done because I have to haul that shit down to the basement and back for every load (plus, the TV is near the machine, and the TV is shiny) I now hand-wash, dry, fold and put all of the laundry away in under 5 minutes (I am working on shaving some time off of that).

Carpool
Wow, are we saving on gas now that I am doping. Instead of strapping the kids into car seats and putting the pedal to the medal, now I just strap those puppies to my back and mush their asses to school. Your welcome, environment.  

Dinner Time
Now that all I consume is other people's red blood cells, providing for my family is so much easier. I just launch Goldfish crackers at them and they catch them in their mouths like trained seals. 

Cleaning
Please. The second a Cheerio even thinks about hitting the floor I am on that shit like the Matrix. No need to clean when nothing gets dirty. 

Diapering
Since I started doping, I don't even need to put The Cool Cucumber in diapers anymore. The minute I sense he is about to drop a deuce, I just Flash Gordon him through the house and onto the pot. No fuss, no muss.

Bed Time
Who needs bedtime? I am now so hopped up on red blood cells I don't even care if my children sleep. Because I never do. I just wait for them to drop to the floor out of sheer exhaustion and throw a blanket over them where they lay. It has completely eliminated the stress of bedtime.

Goodbye, dignity. Hello, minivan.

If you follow me on Facebook* (seriously, you should. I am funnier there.), you probably already know my recent shame: I bought a fucking minivan.

Previously referred to as the Shame Wagon, I have decided to name the family truckster Rambone. Partly because Dave Ramsey made me do it and partly because it was painful at first, but after I got used to it, I really liked it.

Meet Rambone.

Though you already know that I covet minivans, it still may come as a shock to some of you that I actually bought one. And for that, I am sorry. Many of you look up to me, and I have let you down. I have fallen into the pit of douchebagery, never to return. I know I may never be able to earn back your trust, but I promise I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying. I understand if you don't want to hear from me.

Riding the Rambone.

What started off as just a little bump here and there to help me pick my kids has spiraled into a full-blown addiction. I promise, just one more hit off those remote-open doors and I will be done for good. Ok, maybe just one more, but only because my arms are full and I can't reach the door. Oh, fuck it. I am a junkie. I am a Honda Odyssey junkie. There, I said it. Wow, it feels good to finally say it out loud. I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. Hi, my name is The Beer Bitch, and I am a minivan addict. (Hi, The Beer Bitch.)

Sorry, but that shit is roomy, yo.

*Mark Zuckerberg is a dick, BTW. He wants me to pay him so my fans can see my posts in their Facebook feeds (the ones they SIGNED UP to receive). To give him the finger, go to my page, click "Liked" and drag down to "Show in News Feed". Take that, you wormy bastard.

Because everybody is somebody's baby

This weekend I was lured into that evil redheaded bitch's lair again. While waiting to check out with my daughter and all of the crap I didn't need couldn't live without, I was behind a man who was being rude to his cashier. His cashier was Colin. And Colin is my buddy.

You see, Colin is a person with different abilities. But what he may lack in critical thinking or math skills, he more than makes up for in personality. Colin is a charismatic fellow with a quick wit and awesome sense of humor. But he does like to talk. A lot. And sometimes that annoys customers when they just want to load their kitty litter and diapers into their trunk and haul ass because they are late for their kid's soccer game. I get it. But for those who take the time to listen to what Colin is saying, he will always make their day.

So, as I heard the guy getting gruff with my main man, I spoke up. SHOCKINGLY I wasn't a total bitch to the rude customer. I just said, "Hey, Colin! What's the joke of the day?" He replied, "Manti Te'o." I, of course, had no idea who he was talking about. Yeah. Colin is both cooler and smarter than me. The rude customer, on the other hand, knew who Manti was and started laughing. Colin had finally gotten through to him. The customer thanked Colin and left with a smile. And maybe a changed point of view. Colin is the bomb like that.

Once we were done checking out, I gave Colin a high five and my daughter and I went about our day. A day that was a little brighter because Colin and his endless jokes were a part of it.

The best part of this interaction? My daughter was a part of it. She saw me treat a person with kindness that others might treat like they were below them. I hope she learns that we treat all people with respect, regardless of their religion, sexual preference, age, race, abilities or economic status. Because everybody is somebody's baby. And they deserve to be treated like a person. Just like everyone else.


Want to help one special person help thousand of others? Donate to N3lla's Triple Crown.

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

Beautiful.

The "Road Map"

This is Lindsey from Achievos. She is a mom of three. Her kids are 5, 2 1/2 and 10 months.

Thanks, Lindsey. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

Initial Art Project

I am always looking for cheap and easy art projects for the kids. Here is a SUPER easy and cheap project I thought I would share with you.

I wanted to let the kids design their own sign for their rooms. I wanted to do their first initial, so when I was at Hobby Lobby the other day, I picked up some 13" wooden letters. I think they were around $2 per letter once I used my 40% off code (NEVER pay full price for anything at Hobby Lobby).

Since I wished I had put a basecoat on the letters I used in this project, I had ADD Daddy slap on a coat of white paint that we had leftover from painting our baseboards earlier this year.

Before basecoat

After basecoat

Then I set the kids up with some washable paint (I think I got a set of 10 colors from RoseArt at Hobby Lobby for $2.50 with the 40% code) and let them make their masterpieces however they wanted. The Cool Cucumber mainly used his fingers and Q-tips.  He LOVED it!

The Master at work

Stopping for a snack...

All done!

Time for a bath!

The Quiet Contemplator was big enough for a real paintbrush so she set to work on her masterpiece. She really loved this project.

Making her creation.

Adding a container dash of glitter...

And then the masterpieces were complete and ready for hanging. My plan for this project was always to use them as signs to hang outside of their doors. Here they are all hung up and ready to burn the retinas of all of our visitors shine.

The Cool Cucumber's

The Quiet Contemplator's

Anywho, thought I would share since it is a project kids of all age love and feel pride in once displayed. AND it costs less than $5! Enjoy and send pics if your family makes any of their own masterpieces!

Easy Crockpot Recipes

I don't know about your house, but at our house, dinnertime is the most stressful time of day. I am not even talking about getting the kids to eat it, I am just talking about getting it on the table period. By the time I get home from a full day of work, spending an hour slaving over a hot stove while both of the kids whine and cry at me for one thing or another makes me want to punch a kitten while chugging a bottle of tequila. I just. can't. do. it. anymore.

So I decided I had to make a change. I needed to have dinner pretty much ready by the time I stepped in the door from work. So I made my list, bought the shit on it, organized it into bags and threw them in the freezer to be grabbed and thrown in the crockpot in the morning before I head to work. It has saved my soul over the last week, so I thought I would share my go-to recipes with you. They are so easy an untrained monkey who is blind and has no arms can make them. Enjoy.

What you need for all 12 meals: a box of gallon freezer bags that zip (at least 12).


Chicken Tacos (Makes 4 frozen meals)
What you need:
bag of frozen chicken breasts
2 cans Rotel (canned tomatoes with chiles)
2 cans chicken broth
2 pack taco seasoning
flour tortillas
cheddar, sour cream, etc (whatever you like on your tacos)

Put in each bag: two chicken breasts, 1/2 can Rotel, 1/2 can chicken broth, 1/2 pack taco seasoning. Freeze bag.

To cook: Throw bag of frozen crap in crockpot when you leave for work. Cook on low all day. It will be done when you get home. Shred chicken and serve in tacos with other yummy crap.



Hot Wing Sandwiches (Makes 4 frozen meals)

What you need:
bag of frozen chicken breasts
2 bottles of Frank's Red Hot wing sauce
2 packets ranch dressing mix
buns
blue cheese (if you like it)
bag of chips, salad or other easy side

Put in each bag: two chicken breasts, 1/2 bottle of Frank's Red Hot wing sauce, 1/2 packet ranch dressing mix. Freeze bag.

To cook: Throw bag of frozen crap in crockpot when you leave for work. Cook on low all day. It will be done when you get home. Shred chicken and serve on buns. I top mine with blue cheese and more sauce.



Chili (Makes 4 frozen meals)
What you need:
 two pounds browned ground beef
4 cans stewed tomatoes
4 can black beans (drained and rinsed)
4 cans kidney beans (drained and rinsed)
4 cans tomato sauce (the little cans, not the ones for pasta)
2 beers
oyster crackers, cheese, pasta, etc (whatever you like on your chili)

Put in each bag: 1/4 browned ground beef, 1 can stewed tomatoes, 1 can black beans, 1 cans kidney beans, 1 cans tomato sauce, 1/2 beer. Freeze bag.

To cook: Throw bag of frozen crap in crockpot when you leave for work. Cook on low all day. It will be done when you get home. Put it in a bowl and eat it. Spoons help.

Stay Classy, St. Louis

Just a little something to make you feel better about yourself by thinking I am repulsive.

This is the "before". Note the shitty diapers thrown directly outside of our front door for the entire neighborhood to see. Because there is only so much funk the Diaper Champ can handle before the whole house smells of deuce. And The Cool Cucumber's funk is just too funky for the great indoors. So, of course, we just throw the dirty diapers right outside of the front door after he makes a deposit. Classy, no? Please note that the "before" system has been in place for the last nine months...

Here is the "after". So why the upgrade from trailer park to middle class? It's not because I was worried the neighbors could see our stack of shitty diapers. Nope. I was worried that the funk would freak the mailman out when he came to drop off my Etsy and Amazon goodies, so I classed that shit up, no pun intended. Please note that this bucket has been sitting unused and empty in the basement for the last nine months... You're welcome, neighbors.

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

Lori says the tattoo is a volcano, that erupted when she got pregnant...

This is Lori from The Next Step. Lori is the mom of three girls:

"The Kid" is 5, in kindergarten, and our little miracle after a miscarriage and some significant trying. 

The Twins will be 3 in March, and were a big surprise. We wanted to give The Kid a sibling, and got two. Everyone asks if there are twins in our families and the answer is "no". The Dr. chalked it up to "AMA" - Advanced Maternal Age and said the body pushes out more eggs the older you get. I said, "Like rats off a sinking ship?" and she said, "Yeah, kinda like that."


Thanks, Lori. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok.

Because this is what my belly looks like. This is what having two beautiful babies did to me. And it is awesome.

Beautiful.

That's right. Drink it in. That is Grade A, 100% Mommy Beef right there. I earned every one of those tiger stripes. By growing healthy babies. Through healthy pregnancies. My saggy skin, stretched out bellybutton (you could fit a fist in that thing) and stretchmarks aren't the result of something I did wrong. They are the sign of everything I did right.

Should I be embarrassed to wear a bikini in public because I look like this? Fuck no. I should be proud. If people don't like the way I look in a bikini, that it is their problem, not mine.

Now why on earth would I put my fat stomach out there for God and all of the internets to see? Because this is reality.

With this revelation about my own body comes a challenge to you all to help me keep it real. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

How to Tame a Target Addiction

My hubby and I are undergoing the Total Money Makeover. While reading the book, I realized that my biggest enemy is that sexy bitch that looks so good in red: The Target.

I think there are a few ways that The Target can help me overcome my addiction:

Electrify the Shopping Carts
If the carts shock the crap out of me every time I touch them, I am less likely to sail one of those plastic bitches around the store filling it with unnecessary crap.

Close Down the Dollar Aisle
Because everything in that damned aisle is cute. And now that they have me hooked, Target has sprinkled in some even cuter shit and charges $3.50 for it. Crafty, Target. Crafty.

Switch Clothing Buyers with Walmart
I wouldn't touch Walmart's "Fashion Tops" with a 10-foot pole, while Target is offering Marc Jacobs, Carolina Herrera and Oscar de la Renta. Stop. Just stop.

Close Down the Baby and Children's Section
The Children's section it is like my Bermuda Triangle: even though it wasn't where I was heading, I always end up there and can't escape--unless I add at least $50 worth of clothing, toys and hair accessories to my cart. Crap.

Stop Selling Booze
Because, seriously, like I need more temptation in that department. I need to be able to pick up a T-box with my diapers and maxi pads about as much as I need to birth me another baby.

Punch Me in the Face Every Time I Walk in
Because, really, there is nothing else that will deter me from crossing The Target's sweet, sweet threshold to give them my entire paycheck for a bunch of crap I don't need--or want. Stupid sexy Target.

The 10 Commandments of Mommying

Thou shalt honor no other mommies before thine self (even Gwyneth has her issues).



Thou shalt only give in to wine. Never give in to the whine.

Thou shalt not beat thine self up over mommy meltdowns (we all lose our shit every now and then).

Thou shalt not worry about stretch marks and baby weight.



Thou shalt consider Goldfish a nutritional food group (they are both dairy and a starch, after all).

Thou shalt alloweth thine self a Mommy Mulligan when needed.

Thou shalt alloweth thine self a time out when needed (even God took a day to rest).



Thou shalt use the answer "Because I said so" at will, especially after the 13th utterance of the word "why".

Thou shall covet one of the Ryans (Gosling, Reynolds, Phillippe, you choose).

Thou shalt remember that you are the best (and only) damned mommy your kids got.

Fuck you, Furby.

So, as you know, I won a Furby from Paige Kellerman. It was awesome. For some reason winning the ridiculously expensive pile of fur really made my week. When it arrived, I got to play with it for about two seconds before The Quiet Contemplator fell in love with it and stole it from me. Bitch.

After The Contemplator lost interest, about three minutes later, Furby was again in my care. Little did I know, this would suck. A lot. You see, Furby is a lot like having another toddler around. He is whiny, needy, clingy and all-around kind of annoying. Need proof? Read on.


How Furby is Like a Toddler

You can't understand him
Furby speaks gibberish, mixed in with a few real words, just like my toddler. And when you don't understand him and give in to his requests, he just repeats himself. Over and over and over again. This is fucking annoying. Just like it is when my toddler does it. But I am legally bound to try to understand what my toddler is blabbering on about. Furby, not so much.

He is constantly hungry and kind of a dick about it
Furby, much like my toddler, is constantly in the pursuit of food. And, just like my toddler, is a picky bitch about what he eats. THEN, once you figure out what the fuck Furby is asking for and feed him something he likes, he replies with, "Finally! Hungry!" Bitch, I will cut you.

He needs constant attention
A loner Furby is not. Just like a two-year-old stuck in a room full of toys that can't find anything to do but bother you, Furby is an attention whore. He wants you to listen to him sing, watch him dance, rub his tummy, etc. Well, I got news for you, Furby: mama's got better things to do than to sit around listening to you try to belt out Yo Gabba Gabba tunes all day. Like laundry. And dishes. And finding the will to live.

He is bi-polar
One minute Furby loves his head scratched, the next he hates it. Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought so.

He gets bored easily, then whines
If you are not constantly beckoning to his every need, Furby gets bored. And when he gets bored, he whines. A lot. Like I need more of that shit in my life.


As payback for Furby being such an needy assface, I let The Cool Cucumber play with him...

What's this?

Hi, Furby!

Mind if I bite your ear?

Now DIE!

Sorry, Furby. But you deserved it. You were kind of a dick and all.