The Stare Down

The Quiet Contemplator is not only smart (outside of the whole licking the bird shit covered van thing) be she is also intense. Mother. Fucking. Intense. Especially when she has chosen you as the random victim of one of her infamous stare downs.

The other day we got into an elevator with a nice older gentlemen. The Quiet Contemplator proceeded to stare at him with great intensity.

 Noticing her stare of death gaze, the man tried to talk to her.

She continued to stare at him in complete silence.

So he tried again.

Again, crickets.

He then decided his best course of action would be to look away and whistle.

So she broke out the laser beams and started to stare directly into his soul. This completely freaked him out.

 

 After mere seconds under her Jedi spell, the man started to get twitchy and sweat beaded up on his forehead.

Thankfully, the elevator eventually came to his floor and released him from the grips of Sybil The Quiet Contemplator.

 

Once he had fled from her creepy clutches, The Quiet Contemplator turned to me and said...

 Well, he may not have been before that fateful elevator ride, but he sure as hell is now.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Caption This

Here is how Caption This works:
You send me your funny photos. I caption them and share them with your fellow Boozehounds. Got a funny picture you want to see featured here? Send it to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces) and I will work some comedy magic. Or not. It might not be magical at all. It might be crap. Whatever. Send me your pics anyway.

Want to see your kids on Caption This? Send your funny photos to ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces).

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

My daughter is a genius...or not.

The Quiet Contemplator is smart. Really smart. Sometimes she makes her dad and me feel like complete dumbasses in comparison. She is three.

For example, the other day it was raining (foreshadowing, people) as we were driving home from The Target. While telling me a story, she used the word "definitely" correctly. Impressive.

But once we got home and parked the van in the garage, she did something not so smart.

That's right. She licked the Rambone (not as dirty as it sounds. Wait, no, it is dirtier than it sounds. Much.)

Once I reentered myself (that's what she said) after have an out of body experience caused by disgust, I was able to squawk out...

To which she responded...

 I guess I had better tear up that early admissions application to Harvard...

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

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 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:

This is Lauren. She is the mom of a 4-year-old little boy and 7-month-old little girl.

Here is her story:

WTF happened to my belly button? It will forever be wonky. I used to have an innie. During my first pregnancy it was an outie. Then an innie after my son was born. Second pregnancy outie again and now 7 months after giving birth to my baby girl it's stuck in between out and in. Forever to look ridiculous. Sigh.

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


Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. 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).


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Parenting: Perception vs Reality

I have written about parenting perspective before. But lately I have found that I have needed another healthy dose of it. Because I beat myself up as a parent far too often, when in reality, I am an awesome mom.

My kids get treated better and have more love in their lives than 95% of society. Yet at times, I treat myself like I am the worst parent on the planet. For losing my temper. Or making a crappy dinner. Or being too tired to play Candy Land for the third time in a row.

To open a few eyes, I thought I would dispel some parenting myths and lay some cold, hard facts out there. To give a little perspective of what it is really like to be a child in today's society.


Perception:
I lost my temper and yelled at my kids. I am a horrible parent.

Reality:
Over 6 million children are abused every year. 


Perception:
I fed my kids crap because I had a long day and was too lazy to cook. I am a horrible parent.

Reality:
16.7 million children go hungry every day.


Perception: 
Our yard isn't big enough and we don't have a playroom for the kids. I am a horrible parent.

Reality:
33% of all children are homeless.


Perception:
I sent my kid to daycare even though they aren't feeling 100% today. I am a horrible parent.

Reality:
1 out of every 3 kids don't have health insurance, let alone access to healthcare.


Perception:
I don't spend enough quality time with my kids. I am a horrible parent.

Reality:
Nearly 1 million moms and dads have been deployed overseas to fight for our country since 2001.


And we feel bad because we didn't read enough books or do enough crafts or that we fed them Goldfish crackers for dinner? Parenting in the Pinterest Generation fucks with us all, does it not?


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch (ironic, no?). I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Caption This

Here is how Caption This works:
You send me your funny photos. I caption them and share them with your fellow Boozehounds. Got a funny picture you want to see featured here? Send it to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces) and I will work some comedy magic. Or not. It might not be magical at all. It might be crap. Whatever. Send me your pics anyway.

This week's Caption This is all about little Luciano. His mommy sent me so many good pics of him that were funny, that they warranted their own post. Enjoy.

Want to see your kids on Caption This? Send your funny photos to ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces).


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Diary of a Road Trip

Taking a road trip with toddlers is a lot like getting rid of a bad case of crabs you picked up at a frat party in college. Painful, time consuming and frustrating, but in the end, necessary.

We made the trek to my mom and dad's house recently, better known as Grandma and PoPo's. They a little under three hours from us. Not a bad trip. Unless you have kids. With kids, it takes about six hours, half of my braincells and all of my patience. Here are just a few of the roadblocks that we usually experience on our three-hour tour:

I have to go potty.
This occurs about 15 minutes into every trip, regardless of whether we tried to go five minutes before we left the house or not. So we find the nearest exit, unpack everyone, hit the potty, then strap everyone back in their seats and hit the road again. The entire process usually adds about 30 minutes to our trip.

I dropped my ______.
For The Cool Cucumber, the dropped item is almost always food or his woobie. Because he could care less about anything else. Including a missing appendage. For The Quiet Contemplator, the dropped item can be anything from the iPad to an eyelash. Either way, the offending item must be immediately retrieved or all hell will break loose.

My brother/sister _______ (touched me. hit me. looked at me. is still breathing.).
Dude. Siblings. Enough said.

I'm hungry.
Even if the kids have just finished a 5-course meal before we get in the car, they will inevitably be "hungry" five minutes in. Because they know mom ponies up the good snacks to keep theirs traps shut when confined with them in such a small space. Smart little monkeys, they are.

I'm thirsty.
This occurs once they have drained all six of the sippy cups of water that I have brought along for the trip. Five minutes after we have left the driveway. I swear to god they turn into tiny camels when they get in the car. Where do they even put all of that water?

I am bored.
Even though she has access to an iPad, books, toys, coloring books, etc., The Quiet Contemplator always, "gets bored". Girl, give me a break with your First World Problems. Don't you know mama is busy playing Angry Birds!

I feel lonely.
Though The Cool Cucumber is still too young to get bored, he always gets "lonely". If he decides you are having too much fun in the front seat without him, he will squawk and throw things until you beckon to his call.

I am tired, but unwilling to sleep.
This is a FUN stage of travel. Both kids get super biotchy and whiny because they are tired but are unwilling to bow down to the goddess of naps. Good times. Pass me the Benadryl.

I have woken up and now feel abandoned.
When The Cool Cucumber wakes up from a nap in the car, I think he thinks that we have all abandoned him there and that Satan is now behind the wheel and driving him straight to baby hell. Because he loses his shit. Sometimes literally. Which leads to…

I crapped my diaper.
A poppy diaper waits for no man. At least not in a minivan that is traveling down the highway with four people in it.

How much longer?
My god, once The Quiet Contemplator got old enough to ask this question, I should have just had my eardrums surgically removed. It is like Donkey asking Shrek over and over again, "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" NO! Now stop asking before I turn this damn car…


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

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 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:

This is Margaret. She is the mom of a 17-month-old little girl.

Here is her story:

Since going to the hospital to deliver my girl I have lost 55 pounds. I gained almost 60 while I was pregnant! I didn't even use pregnancy as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted; however, the weight came and decided to set up camp on my belly, thighs and anywhere else it could find! I am so close to my pre-baby weight, but very far from my pre-baby body. The stretch marked skin on my belly is loose and by the end of the day I often look like I'm three months pregnant.

Am I happy with my new body? No. But I am working hard to cut myself some slack!!

Do I think the transformation in my body was completely worth it? Hell yes!

These stretch marks are the sign of a warrior. A warrior that grew life inside her and delivered that life into the world. We are warriors. These are our badges of honor. I am proud of mine.

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

Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. 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).


If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Fatty is Scary

A few weeks ago, ADD Daddy pissed off a mama and daddy bird by killing their entire family. Because he is a heartless bastard with no soul. Well, not exactly.

Actually, ADD Daddy covered a hole in our siding where birds were getting in so they would stop crapping all over our porch. But I like to go on and on to him about the sad tale of the eggs that were probably in there that have now hatched and can't escape. And how he will probably hear them screaming and trying to claw their way out soon. Not that that should keep him up at night or anything...

Anyway. The other day, ADD Daddy and I were in the backyard hanging out. There were birds everywhere. Birds with a score to settle with ADD Daddy.

While The Birds was playing out in our backyard, Fatty decided to saunter her fat furry ass outside.

And then a crazy thing happened. Not knowing what a fat useless pussy Fatty is, the birds fled in fear.

 

And then Fatty rolled over to sun her fat while we enjoyed the back yard in peace.

 

Stupid birds.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Caption This

Here is how Caption This works:
You send me your funny photos. I caption them and share them with your fellow Boozehounds. Got a funny picture you want to see featured here? Send it to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces) and I will work some comedy magic. Or not. It might not be magical at all. It might be crap. Whatever. Send me your pics anyway.

Want to see your kids on Caption This? Send your funny photos to ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com (remove spaces).

Co-sleeping is for Suckers

I have never been a co-sleeper. Not because I think there is anything wrong with it, but because I can't sleep with a child in my bed. At all. Like not even a wink.

Lately, The Quiet Contemplator has gotten into the habit of waking up early and coming into our bed. Not crazy early, mind you, but about a half hour before we all need to wake up. That would be about three hours before I want to wake up.

Here is how me and ADD Daddy sleep. Calm. Peaceful. Flowing with drool.

Then, around 5:30 a.m. every morning, I sense something staring at me in my sleep. Not at all creepy.

Now, let me make it clear that The Quiet Contemplator NEVER goes to ADD Daddy's side of the bed to wake him from a blissful night's sleep snuggle. EVER. Not because she loves him any less. No, I believe it is because she thinks that his side of the bed is where the spiders and evil live. Or not. Whatever.

  Anyway. Once The Quiet Contemplator has established that she is on the "safe" side of the bed, she slithers in next to me and proceeds to pass out while I lay wide awake, trying to will myself back to sleep.

Then, somehow, ALL of The Quiet Contemplator's hair ends up in my face. If I was anywhere near falling back to sleep, this makes me feel like there are spiders crawling all over me and wakes me back up.

Blissfully dozing by this point, The Contemplator wedges herself sideways in the bed, usually managing to kick me in both the boob AND the vagina at the same time. Bonus.

 Once deep into her REM sleep, The Contemplator dreams that she is a ninja and proceeds to kick and roll around like she is trying to escape from a pack of rabid bees.

It is around this point every morning that I lose my shit and tell her the get the fuck out of our bed and go watch cartoons. Or play with matches.

The end.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.