Oops, I crapped my pants. Seriously.

I ran a half marathon on Sunday. It was my first long distance race since before I got pregnant with The Quiet Contemplator. It was awesome. I am running another one next Sunday. Yes, I am an idiot.

I'm the bee-yotch on the right.

After I was finished the race (I crossed the finish line carrying both of my babies--best and worst decision ever), my friends and I decided to go out and eat a lot of horrible food and drink a lot of shitty beer. It was a wonderful Sunday. I went to bed early and slept like the dead. Until around midnight...

Suddenly I could no longer sleep and my stomach was cramping uncontrollably. This continued until around, well, hopefully it will let up any minute now... Yeah, I got food poisoning from that shitty food.

Needless to say, the last two days have been less-than-pleasant. There are two ends that food poisoning can come out of and mine always seems to head south.

Anyway. The POINT of this story is that parenting on your own (ADD Daddy has to work late the next two days) while you have food poisoning is not for the weak of heart...or stomach. I have spent a good portion of my last two days on the pot (and not the good kind). And, of course, none of that time was spent alone.

My son sees my weakened state as an excellent excuse for an all-you-can-read book fest that includes his own personal Mommy-on-a-throne.

My daughter thinks my current situation is the perfect time to practice her color commentary skills. I get an incredibly descriptive play-by-play of every noise and facial expression, along with a critique of the color and consistency of my poo plays.

So, yeah, I crapped my pants today. How was your day?

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.

Why I want to drug Daniel Day-Lewis

So my girl Ilana over at Mommy Shorts went and got all famous on me. Instead of hanging out in the playground circuit, catching hand foot and mouth or some other lovely childhood malady, she is all up in the celebrity game swapping diaper blowout stories with the likes of Taye Diggs and Rachel Dratch via the Mommy Show.

WHATEVER! I totally have a slutty promiscuous friend from college who made out with G. Love AND the guy from Fastball. So take that, Ilana. Wait, never mind.

ANYWAY. Ilana asked me who I would want to drug, tie down and make watch me drink boxed wine for hours while I drone on about my stretch marks interview if I could interview anyone. Well, Ilana, I pick Daniel Day-Lewis.

Why?

• Because he is amaze balls, first of all. The guy could stand on stage in a hot dog costume while reading the phone book and still get an Oscar for it.
• Second of all, I would throw my husband in front of a bus just to have the chance to make out with him a little bit. Yeah, I know it is kind of weird, but it is true, none-the-less.
• Third? Who doesn't want to watch Bill The Butcher change their kid's shitty diaper. Also, I totally want to see the look on my daughter's face when Daniel Plainview tells her he drank her milkshake.
• Fourth: My Left Foot. Enough said.
• Fifth: He digs writer chicks. Hell, he married Arthur Miller's daughter!
• Sixth: They named their kids Ronan and Cashel. 

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.

Life is hard.

Life is hard. Some days, the tiniest obstacle can seem insurmountable. An everyday task can stop you in your tracks and feel like a hurdle so large you can never overcome it.

But you are strong enough. To take that tiny task, and even the tremendous ones that may follow, and kick it in the balls and tell it who's boss. Because you are the only boss of you.

Because you were put here on this earth to do great things, whether big or small.

So let go of your insecurities. Stop downplaying your successes. Start shouting them from the rooftops.

Let life take you on a wild ride. Feel the wind in your hair. Feel the sun on your face.

Let go.

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.

How to clean your house in three easy steps

 

Step one. 

 Hop your kids up on as much overly processed sugary goodness as humanly possible. Candy, soda, cookies, you name it. Stuff that sugary crap down their gullet faster than those adorable little midgets can say foie gras.

 

Step two. 

Now that your kids are so jacked up on refined sweetness that they make Ty Pennington look like the Dalai Lama, hand them some cleaning supplies. I suggest a cordless vacuum and a wet rag. These provide the least risk and the most profit.

 

Step three. 

Sit back and watch the magic happen. But before you do, be sure to pour yourself a nice glass of mommy juice so you can thoroughly enjoy the fruit of your labor's labor.

 

You're welcome.

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.