Happy New Year's Eve

Hope you are all getting ready to rock 'n' roll in the new year. We sure are. French 75s and homemade moonshine are about to flow like water up in this piece.

We are starting the night by having a kiddie countdown thanks to Netflix's King Julien New Year's Countdown. It lets the new year roll in on mommy and daddy's watch, not Time Square's. Your WELCOME!

I swear they are actually having fun.

Happy New Year, Boozehounds. May your blessings be many and your hangovers few.

First World Kid Problems: Christmas Edition

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 survive Christmas Vacation

If you’re anything like me, you are both looking forward to and dreading the upcoming time that you will have off with your family during the holidays. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll drown yourself in copious amounts of cheap boxed wine to dull the pain. I absolutely love having the extended time off with my kids. Most of the time. After about five days, we all get a little stir crazy and start getting on each others’ nerves. 

One of the best ways for us all to calm the eff down when we get like this is to have a family movie night. I pop some popcorn, get out our comfy blankets, throw something on the TV and we all snuggle together and zone out for an our or so. 

We have a few favorites flicks to watch, so I thought I would share them to give you some inspiration for your Christmas Vacation. Most of these you can stream from Netflix.

Hotel Transylvania

This has to be my favorite kiddie movie ever. It has adult humor that is not vulgar, is ridiculously cute, has a great storyline and doesn’t have any scary or violent parts. My whole family loves it and we watch it all the time.

How to Train Your Dragon

My god the cuteness of this dragon slays me—pun intended. Just a great story and a really awesome lesson on how it is cool to be different.

The Nightmare Before Christmas

Love this Tim Burton flick. A total classic. I can sing all of the songs. They are actually some of my favorite Christmas tunes, I am weird, I know.

Turbo

Cute. Easy to watch. Harmless in the scary department.

And when you don’t have time for a full movie but want to zone the kids out so thou can make dinner in peace, here are some of our favorites:

Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends

My kids love action heroes but most of the cartoon are hella violent. This one isn’t because it was made in the ‘70s. They mainly turn people into drone bees to do their bidding and shit. Love.

Car Toons: Mater’s Tall Tales

I actually love this one. A bunch of cute and funny shorts staring Mater and Lightning McQueen from Cars. My son LOVES this.

LEGO: Marvel Super Heroes Maximum Overload

Adult humor that isn't inappropriate. The kids love it too.

So what about you? What are you family's favorite movies?

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.

Dear Santa, Suck it!

Dear Santa,

I think we need to talk. Your fat jolly ass is really becoming a pain in mine. In order to keep up the ruse of you existing and all, I am somewhat being held hostage to a toddler's demands. You see, whenever we enter the holy land that is Target nowadays, every awesome shiny thing up in there becomes something we should, "ask Santa for". And if I don't pony up said shiny things from "Santa" on Christmas day, my daughter's childhood will be ruined and she will be doomed to a life of working the pole. All because of you. Well, Santa, your ass owes me money. A lot of money. And I am booking a flight straight to the North Pole to collect.

You see, Santa, we both know that you are a deadbeat mythical figure, but my doe-eyed darling doesn't. She thinks that you are all magical and shit and that you can fart toy sewing machines and Lalaloopsy dolls. I, on the other hand, know that you are a just another way for our kids to milk us for even more plastic crap under the guise of "holiday spirit". I am just lucky that my kids don't know the wonder of the iPhone 6 Plus yet. Now that is some naughty shit, Santa.

Also, because you are too lazy to make an appearance more than one day a year (DIVA!), you hire alcoholic homeless men to sit in fancy chairs and act like they are you at malls all over the world. Seriously? You couldn't find a few guys with white beards who didn't smell like a mix of sewer water and Mad Dog 20/20 to play you? Every time my daughter sits on one of their laps I have to hose her off with a bath of penicillin when we are done. Gross.

And, it is so not cool that you sit at the North Pole all year, getting shitfaced with elves while I am stuck here at home doing your slave labor. Not only do you not make any lists, let alone check them twice, but you also don't shop for or pay for any of the items requested by the boys and girls on said list. But, come December 25, your overweight ass sure does shimmy down my chimney, eat all of my cookies and pop back out just so you can take all the credit.

What the fuck, Santa? I had to drive all over God's green earth and Toys "R" Us just to procure that limited edition doll house that my toddler just HAD to ask you for, and you can't even cough up the change to pay for it? But I have to say it was from you? That is some bullshit. You must have some kind of airtight union contract that allows you to sit back and reap all the benefits of gift giving while us drones at home do all the manual labor.

In closing: suck it, Santa. I want my money back. Oh yeah, and can I have a pony? I have always wanted one of those.


Smooches,


Mommy

This is an excerpt I wrote for Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays. It's $2.99 and makes a great gift for yourself or someone with a great sense of humor! Buy it, yo!

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 would suck at online dating

The concept of online dating has always intrigued me. I hitched my saddle to my husband’s pony before Match and eHarmony were even things, let alone Tinder and god knows whatever perverted shit there is on the market nowadays. 

Whenever I have a nightmare that my husband leaves me out of the blue, the first thing I think is, “Now I can finally try online dating!” Weird, right? I don’t even ask him why. I just accept it and get to work on creating my profile. 

Here is the raw, unfiltered truth of what dating me would be like:

Please note lack of upper lip.

User name: I like beer and boyfriends.

About me: I'm loud, annoying and always right. Even when I am wrong. I am a bleeding heart that will bring home strays (both animal and human) constantly. I love to cook. Sometimes. I like to drink. Most times. I run so I can eat what I want. I eat more than my running accounts for so there is some junk in my trunk (and frunk—can I make frunk a thing?).

Favorite Movie/Band/TV Show/Song/Color/Brand of toilet paper: Christmas Vacation, The Lumineers, Project Runway, Josh Turner Your Man, Green, Charmin

Six things I can't live without: 

Pandora, wine, running, my friends, my kids and my husband (is that weird since this is a dating site?).

What you're looking for: A woman with a take-charge attitude who can drink beer with the best of ‘em and make a lasagna like Paula Deen (minus the dash of racism). You want a girl with a wicked sense of humor who hasn’t missed a meal and doesn’t back down when confronted with a challenge. Otherwise known as a mouthy, southern bitch (minus the whole being-from-the-south thing).

Marital status: Well, I hope that if I am creating an online dating profile that it would be single. If not, I would probably search for a more specific website to cater to my swinger tendencies. I don’t want to waste my time courtin’ no better-than-though monogamists now, do I? Damn right I don’t.

Age: I stopped counting about 5 years ago. Around the same time I stopped keeping track of my weight. I think there might be a correlation…

Height and weight: Tallish. Getting wider/squishier by the minute (see age correlation above).

Body type: Is celery filled with mashed potatoes a body type? Because if so, that’s it. I have lanky limbs and a middle that resembles copious amounts of raw dough being contained in a rather unstable trash bag. Also, baby got back. Lots ‘o’ back. Sorry, I cannot lie.

Income: The question shouldn’t as much be about income but the amount of outcomes that I have. Target is a toothless slut that sings a siren song that I cannot resist. I have yet to meet a clearance end cap that I can wheel past without magnetically drawing half of the shelves’ contents into my cart.

Education: I went to college. I learned how to master the beer bong, puke and rally, find the cheapest food, tame unruly frat boys, and smoke without inhaling (cough, cough).

Occupation: Writer of words, wrangler of toddlers and maker of home. BOOM! It’s a three-fer.

Smoking/drinking/drugs: Yes, please. Except cigarettes, or crack, or Everclear, or heroin, or, hell, can I just have wine?

Children: No. I mean, I have kids that I generally tolerate pretty well most days, but I don’t want you to put any more in me and I for sure don’t want to create a whole Brady Bunch situation or anything. 

Pets: I have an obese cat who will cut you for a slice of turkey or a chocolate pudding cup. I have a rabbit, but all he really does is eat a lot and crap everywhere. I like dogs. If they aren’t annoying and don’t shed everywhere, hump legs, chew things or nudge my arm with their wet nose so I will keep petting them.

Medical issues: Hypothyroidism, acid reflux, PTSD and chronic depression. Sexy, right?

Sexual orientation: I’m a power bottom.

Likes: Wine, salt and vinegar chips, cake, picking my nose when I am alone, making sure things are lined up just the way I like them or else, seeing how long I can make it without showering, inviting people over on nights you want to just stay in and be alone.

Dislikes: Rascals Flatts, chest hair and black olives.

Who should message me: No one. I’m married you pervert!


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.

I am Ferguson

I live in St. Louis. I may not have been born and raised in this wonderful city, but it is and will always be my home, whether I reside here or not.

When I moved here for a job after college in August 2001, I knew no one and knew nothing about my new home. I was alone, scared and in need of some feeling of belonging. Unfortunately, that was soon to come in the form of one of the greatest tragedies our country has ever experienced: 9-11.

I had the privilege of working at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on the day that 9-11 befell America. I arrived at work between the first and second planes hitting the towers. When I walked into work that morning, I had no idea what was going on, all I knew was that the news floor was on lock-down and people were eerily quite. To say that the experience immediately related me to my fellow St. Louisans is stretch, but it was a large part of the glue that bonded me to this great city.

But before things change in my hometown forever, I would like to talk a little bit about what it is like to be living in such a political hot spot. My family and I live in St. Louis. My husband is a teacher in Ferguson. As a person who suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), this entire situation has been one huge trigger for me.

Every day, people in St. Louis wake up scared for when the grand jury announcement will come out. We don't know what's going to happen. We don't know where it is safe to go. We have been advised to stock up on food and supplies because it may not even be safe to go to Target (talk about first world problems). My husband waits daily to hear whether he is to report to school or whether school is canceled indefinitely due to Ferguson no longer being a safe pace for children to learn due to the violence erupting there.

With the Michael Brown grand jury announcement hanging in the air like a thick cloud of poison waiting to descend upon us at any moment, my great city is at the crux of something bigger than the people who make up this thriving metropolis.

It seems that people from across the world have made up their minds one way or another on what happened that fateful afternoon in Ferguson. The problem is, only 12 jurors and a handful of people connected to the jury have all of the facts. Others see a Facebook post or a tweet from Anonymous and believe it as the word of God. I've even seen someone I went to college with post a photo of a police officer macing a child and saying that it happened and Ferguson. It happened in Brazil. In 2011. Things like this are not helping. There are real people stuck in the middle of this and hearsay and misinformed judgment are hurting the good people of Ferguson. The people who are protesting a corrupt and racially biased justice system and the mistreatment of America.

But 99% of the people who are protesting are doing so in a peaceful and productive manner. No matter what the announcement comes out as, what happened was wrong. No matter what the grand jury decides, lives will be ruined. Whether Darren Wilson used excessive force or Michael Brown attacked the officer doesn't really matter. What matters is going forward in a way where things like this don't happen at all so there is no gray area.

There need be no sides. The only side we need is one for change. One that, going forward, things like the killing of Michael Brown, no matter what the logistics of the actual incident were, are black and white. Not in race, but in facts. Whether a young black man used force against a young white officer or a young white officer used force against a young black man, we need to create an environment going forward that allows both of those individuals to thrive and survive without fear of the other.

I don't have all of the facts. I am not one of the 12 men and women who were chosen to take in all of the information and make one of the hardest decisions asked of Americans in decades, so I do not have a side. Because without all of the information, picking a side is just conjecture of my own beliefs on a very volatile situation. All I know is that no matter what decisions comes down from those 12 people, my city and our world as we know it is about to change. For the worse for a while, but eventually, I can only hope, for the better.

If you comment, please do so respectfully or I will drop your comment like a hot rock.

First world kid problems

My kids complain a lot. Well, not more than most, just 99% more than I want to hear. Which is basically none. Most of the time, it ends up making me laugh though because they complain about shit that is just ridiculous and so first worldly of them. Like their food being too hot or their DVD not loading fast enough. A few of you shared some of you kids' first world problem and photos with me and thus was born my first edition of First World Kid Problems. Enjoy.

Have pics of your kids being whiny assholes or first world problems you want to see published in my next post? Send them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail.com!

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 make holiday shopping painless (when you don't have a bottle of tequila).

Our house is overrun with toys. I feel like at any minute the toys will start overflowing and Barbies and Legos will start pouring out of our windows like popcorn in the movie Real Genius. Every year around this time I make an effort to go through what the kids have outgrown or have duplicates of and donate the like-new toys to Toys for Tots. But that only brings the situation from threat level red to orange.

But, alas, the time of year has come where even more plastic crap will soon be making its way into our house thanks to the wonderful and loving people who are our well-meaning family and friends. I am incredibly grateful that anyone is generous and thoughtful enough to buy my kids gifts. But sometimes common sense just doesn't enter the gift-giving process.


Here is a list of a few things to not buy my kids for Christmas this year (or ever):

Things that are way over my kid's pay grade 
A lot of gifts we receive are for kids that are more than twice their age. This is lovely and all, but the toys basically sit and collect dust until my kids can understand them and by the time they can, I have either buried them under three tons of other crap, or they are so completely uncool that my kids wouldn't touch them with a 10-foot pole. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle erector sets, grandma? These are so 2014.

Things that are choking hazards
On the same age-appropriate note, though one of my kids is old enough to play with toys with small pieces, the other is not. So buying my 4-year-old Polly Pockets is AWESOME until she plays them with her 2-year-old brother and says, "Here, play with this tiny shoe. I hope you choke on it."

Things that take up an entire room People like to be generous when giving gifts to kids. Which is freaking awesome. Except when their generosity comes in the form of toys that take up an entire room. Though the 16-foot blow-up ball pit was a super awesome score for the kids, I now have to watch TV while sitting in the middle of it.

Toys that my kid obviously already has
Wow, a set of blocks? I TOTALLY never thought to get my 4-year-old blocks. You are a genius. Let me put these right next to the 16 other sets of blocks she has because she is FOUR and not a homeless child who lives on the street.

Things that require D batteries
Seriously. Just stop. Those things are like $5k a piece and each toy that uses them needs at least four of them to work. And then 15 minutes later…it needs four more. Mama is broke and that toy is ANNOYING!

Things that require ninja-like skills to assemble
If it takes more than five minutes to assemble, please, please, please either assemble it before you give it to them or don't buy it. Christmas sucks major ass when we are in the middle of 3,000 tons of empty boxes and wrapping paper and my kids just HAS TO play with Barbie's ski chalet RIGHT NOW. I am still in my pajamas and haven't had any wine yet, so I am not prepared to work an allen wrench, hammer and power saw to put Barbie's winter timeshare together right now. OK, stop crying. I will just get some duct tape and super glue and this shit is on.

He got another set of blocks...

But in our family, we don’t just have to navigate the gift-giving hell that is Christmas, we also have to figure out what to do for the kids birthdays. Because for some reason I am only fertile during times that will end with my children being born during the shitstorms that are Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, yeah, I have THREE gift-giving holidays coming up. JOY!

The mere thought of organizing all of the gifts needed for birthdays and Christmas, then relaying said requests to the interested parties, makes my eye twitch. But I have found a way to get it all done in a way that doesn't end with me wanting to punch a kitten: Giftster.

Giftster let me make a list for everyone in my family and then add crap to the lists from all over the internets. Then I just email the link to my list to my friends and family who ask what everyone wants. Here are my lists for Me, ADD Daddy, The Cool Cucumber and The Quiet Contemplator.

So far I have added stuff from Target, Blik, Amazon and even a site for a race series that I want to enter. And to thwart more plastic from sneaking its way into my house, I have added links for concerts my kids would like, Zoo memberships and dance classes. Because how freaking cool would it be for Grandpa to take them to see Frozen on Ice so Mommy doesn’t have to? Right?

So, basically, I am winning at the whole birthday/Christmas thing this year thanks to Giftster. And you can suck it, Santa.

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.

This post was sponsored by Giftster but you Boozehounds know I would NEVAH EVAH subject you to anything I didn't think was amazeballs on my own. For realzies. 

Toddler-to-teenager Contract

My kids love the shit out of me right now. They think I am thebomb.com. They think I am the smartest, prettiest, funniest person they have ever met. I am their hero, their provider, and their earth, sun and moon at the moment. But I know that someday that will change.

Hormones, peer pressure and life will soon cloud their vision of their mommy. There will be times when they hate me for my mere existence. And it is not their fault. Or mine. But I know it will happen, no matter how good of a mom I am.

So I decided to do something about it. Now. I made them sign a contract to like me and acknowledge my existence even when they become overly-hormonal jerks. And I am going to lock it in the safe and pull it out whenever they start acting like assholes just because they're teenagers. Because what kind of mother would I be if I didn't manipulate my toddlers into signing a legally binding contract to love me? Wait...don't answer that.

If you click on The Quiet Contemplator's contract, you can download your own for your kiddos to fill out. Be sure to let me know if you forced had your little pumpkins put pen to paper to protect your future relationship.

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.

I’m so (not) fancy.

So as you may have gathered by reading my blog, following me on social media or, god forbid, knowing me in person, I am about as fancy and high falutin’ as they come. Wait for it…wait for it…NOT!

Note the missing screen and home button. Oops...

I have had the same iPhone through about 14 upgraded generations and only finally bit the bullet and upgraded to the 6 when mine started literally cutting a bitch: me. Since my track record has not been so great with dropping it face-down on hard surfaces multiple times a day, I decided I might need to add a bit of a protective layer to my new phone—more like I should just cover myself in bubble wrap on the daily because I am a complete and total accident-prone idiot.

I also recently received an iPad mini as a gift and wanted it to last longer than our last iPad, which died a swift death at the hands of me and one-too-many glasses of wine during a Project Runway marathon. Oops. But I made that shit work for three more years by covering the shattered glass with clear packing tape. Take that, Tim Gunn!

I like things that are a bit different so I searched Zazzle since I have used them in the past and am super happy with their style and quality. I was not disappointed. If anything, I was overwhelmed. Holy fucking selection, Batman!

A little upgrade. The bottom reads: I'm so (not) fancy.

If you need to keep your electronics under wraps and want to be a little sassy or pick something personalized, check out Zazzle. Use the code URCUSTOMCASE to get 30% off through November 26, 2014! 

And to my new electronics: 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.

This post was sponsored by Zazzle but they didn't break my iPhone nor my arm to force me to use one of their cases. They know I was trained by Chuck Norris and would big the pain if they ever forced anything on me.

Marital Sex Negotiators FTW

Because, well...yes. Just so much yes. 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.

If I turn up dead, you'll know where to look...

You guys, I did it. I know this story is going to become an urban legend, but I swear to God it is true. It happened to me. Not a friend of my friend’s cousin’s brother’s ex-girlfriend. Me. 

You probably won't believe me but I promise it is the truth. So, here it is: I went to Target and only bought the things on my list—AND spent under $100. I know this sounds crazy but it is real.

I know I am putting my life on the line admitting something like this. There will be people looking for me to erase the truth. But I am willing to sacrifice myself to help others. You really don't have to go through the dollar aisle. Or browse the kids’ clothes. Or peruse the clearance end caps. It is all just part of the man's master plan. Don't fall for it.

Needless to say, I am really scared right now. I plan to go into hiding until things calm down a bit. If for some reason I go missing without a trace, you will know where to look. Follow the red bull's-eye to my killer.

Until we meet again, stay strong and put down that damn Red Card! 

xoxo

The Beer Bitch

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.

Because someday you might need someone to help you bury a body.

I’ve written about friendship before. About how to be a good friend. 

One of the main ways I stay in touch with my friends nowadays is by having movie night. Every Wednesday night. At my house. Crazy, I know, but it is so easy to fall out of touch with the people that you care about, yet so easy to stay in touch with them if you just try a little.

So every Wednesday, my closest group of friends come over and we all make a meal together, share a few drinks and watch a movie. Usually we stream something horrible on Netflix, like Sharknado, Cockneys vs Zombies or Strippers vs werewolves (seriously, those last two movies exist and are freaking hilarious). But no matter what is on the TV or our plates, we all get to spend some quality time hanging out. 

As parents, we rarely find time to do things like this for ourselves. We are so focused on our children’s lives and friends, that we rarely take a minute to care about our own.

One night, instead of watching a movie, we all worked together to build a fort. And then we got drunk in that fort. And, god damn it, THAT was awesome. Because our kids don’t have to be awake for us to have fun. 

The Fort

I have even played Play-Doh with my friends before. Granted, there were a lot of dicks molded out of my kids’ clay, but they were colorful and AWESOME dicks.

Sorry, kids...

So gather your friends. Make time for them. Watch a game, make some dicks or play some Cards Against Humanity (LOVE that game and Rush Limbaugh's soft, shitty body). Just be sure to stop being the perfect parent and have fun with your adult friends every once in a while. I promise it won’t hurt.

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.

Raising independent children isn’t child abuse.

Lately, I have noticed a startling trend: children who are wholly dependent upon others to meet their own needs. Not babies, mind you, but preschoolers and even adult children. In our efforts to become the perfect mothers in our Pinterest-centric generation, we have started coddling the crap out of our kids. Not just providing our kids with what they need to survive and thrive, but providing them with every single thing they could possibly imagine, from iPads to tantrum-induced food choices. Our kids are losing the ability to think and do for themselves.

This child-centric way of living is a far cry from the parent-centric world that most of us grew up in. We listen to Yo Gabba Gabba in the car, watch Caillou on the TV, make dinners around what our children will eat, schedule our every waking moment around our children. This is insanity. Just think what your dad would have said growing up if you had demanded all of this. My dad would have laughed his ass off and told me to get my over-privileged butt outside and rake the leaves.

But we are often left feeling like if we don’t do everything we can to make our kids as happy as possible, we are a shitty parent. The opposite is true. When we coddle and handhold our children through every step of life, we are setting them up for failure. Our children need to grow up with a realistic view of the world. Everything will not always be handed to them. Everything will not always go their way. Some day, they will need to fight for what they want. And we need to give them the strength and confidence to be able to do that.

People often act like I am abusing my children when I make them clean up after themselves or keep trying something that is hard and frustrating. Or they will say, “Well, it’s just easier and takes less time if I just do it for them.” Sure it is, but you won’t be there to do it for them forever. Or at least I sure as hell hope I’m not! Children need to learn to do for themselves. To explore. To learn. To grow. And now is as good a time as any to start giving your child the power to change things. Even if it is something as simple as putting an empty wrapper in the trash.

What we need is balance. To raise children who know that we will be there for them whenever they fall, but that it is OK to try and fly. We need to give our children the opportunity to make decisions and do things on their own. Because right now we are raising a generation of children who won’t even be able to tie their own shoes when they go to their first job interview.

But we are awesome parents. And we can change that. We can empower our children. We can give them the chance to fall. But also the chance to dust themselves off and keep going. 

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.

#startseeingyourselfie

I have noticed a growing trend lately. In a world filled with narcissistic selfies that promote perfection, those of us that are less-than-perfect are becoming invisible. That sucks. 

Just because we don’t work out 24-7, sport the latest trends and can’t afford $30 mascara, doesn’t mean we don’t exist. We can take pictures outside of the gym or the salon. We can snap a selfie when we don’t have any makeup on. And it doesn’t have to make us sport a goofy face.

Because our kids are going to want to look back and see that we were there with them. That we were young once. That we were present. And we are going to want to look back and know that we were part of our own lives. 

So I propose a challenge. Take a picture of yourself. No makeup. No goofy faces. No filter. Just you. Smiling. Post it to Instagram, Twitter or Facebook. Tag me and add the hashtag #startseeingyourselfie. 

Then search the tag and compliment someone else who has been brave enough to take the challenge. Tell them they have beautiful eyes, great hair, healthy skin or dimples that make you smile. Tell them something positive. Help them see the beauty in themselves. I will add the pictures to a future post to show people how beautiful my readers are, inside and out. 

This isn’t a contest. I won’t crown someone the “most beautiful”. Because we are all beautiful. We are all winners. We just might need a little help from others to see it for ourselves. 

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.

29 Things Only a New Mother Would Understand

Ah, new motherhood. Now that the hard part is over, the really difficult part begins. Even though being a new mom is one of life’s greatest challenges, it’s also one of the most rewarding. Read on for a few things that only a new mother can understand.

1. The complete joy of a warm sitz bath.

2. Being so afraid to poop that you avoid the bathroom at all costs.

3. Having incredible boobs … that hurt so badly you’ll kill anyone who so much as brushes up against them.

4. That taking a shower is a luxury, not a necessity.

5. The isolation of being alone with a tiny, helpless human. All. Day. LONG.

6. Celebrating your new eau de parfum: slightly spoiled milk, cabbage, and A+D ointment.

7. The fear that every other mother in the world is doing a better job than you.

8. What a dairy cow feels like.

9. Loving your other half for giving you such an amazing gift.

10. Hating your other half for the way they eat/sleep/breathe.

11. What it feels like to have no shame about whipping out a boob in public.

12. Crying. All the time. For no reason.

13. The feeling of victory that fitting into your pre-pregnancy clothes awards you (no matter how much muffin is left on top).

14. Using the baby as a legitimate excuse to get out of absolutely anything.

15. Wearing granny panties that are made out of mesh and come up to your eyeballs.

16. Why you can no longer do jumping jacks. Ever again.

17. Watching a horror movie and sympathizing with the zombies.

18. Going so crazy with fatigue you find yourself mindlessly rocking a jug of milk to sleep at the grocery store.

19. That “mother’s intuition” is real. And it is powerful.

20. The pure joy that is a first glass of wine after nine LONG months of sobriety.

21. The joy/embarrassment that are Preparation H pads.

22. Being so in tune with someone that your body actually produces food for them on demand.

23. That whoever came up with the cutesy term “baby blues” had never actually suffered from postpartum depression.

24. Accidental shoplifting.

25. Leaking through your shirt during an important presentation at work.

26. Waking up in a cold sweat, convinced you rolled over on the baby — only to find them sleeping soundly in their crib.

27. That “sleep when the baby sleeps” is the stupidest phrase anyone has ever uttered.

28. Being proud of the fact that your stomach looks like it was attacked by a tiger.

29. The amazing feeling of being the one who created this unique human being.

This post was written by me and originally appeared on Healthline.

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