Category Archives: Mischief & Shenanigans

Hobbs & Hayworth, Episode 1

I know many of you have heard of my friend, Harmony, from Modern Mommy Madness.  We just met, and in an insane twist, we live 3 miles apart.  Mind.Blown. Watch out, world, the possibilities are endless.

We recently taped a live segment with MomCaveTV and were delighted when they asked us to send them taped material to be edited down to several segments.  We’ve been brainstorming about what we could do, and had a semi-idea of where it was going.

And then we took a trip together.  And drank.  A lot.

We went to BlogU and took the same flights home together.  The flights were delayed, which means only one thing:  drinks in the airport lounge, which led to hilarity with some new friends named Dr. Gene, Ryan, and Jen.

DrGenepicmonkey

So, to kick off the MomCaveTV segments, we thought we would give you a sneak preview of our segments.  Enjoy, and look for us in the near future!

 

Another Life Lesson via Irony

voodoodoll

Last week, I wrote about irony after my first Scary Mommy post.  Well, life likes to put the smackdown on you when you don’t listen to the signs the universe is clearly shoving in your face.

This Monday, as in four days ago, was worse than last Monday.  When I picked up the boys from camp and tried to drive home, I had to pull over twice because Theodore was so hysterical.  Two hours later, he had finally calmed down and was playing quietly upstairs when I heard him starting to pick on Radcliffe.

Don’t get me wrong, those two can fight.  They’re boys, after all, and the definition of opposites. That said, they love each other and are each other’s biggest cheerleaders, but they were squabbling over petty shit.

I could hear them arguing from downstairs and frankly, was almost too tired to intervene.  Parenting is emotionally exhausting.

So, I called him downstairs, and asked him what was really going on.  He started to blame Radcliffe, and I shut it down.  ‘No,’ I said, ‘what are you really upset about?’

He just started to cry.

Him:  ‘It’s just never going to get easier.’

Me: ‘What, baby?’

Him: ‘Being around people.  I don’t know how to make friends.  And I’m just different than the other kids, I know I am, and I hate it. And the kids are not nice to me.’

These are the days I hate parenting.  I want to scoop them up into my cocoon and never let them experience pain.

He and I talk a lot about finding our ‘people’, and that when you are an odd bird (like myself), sometimes that doesn’t come until later, but that doesn’t mean you need to conform to the people around you to compromise and find them.

So, we made daily goals for camp.  Each day, he would introduce himself to one kid, and ask two questions.  Sounds easy, but for him, it’s not.  And, no matter what, he would be kind, even when the others are not.

Then, I gave him this ‘Watchover Voodoo’ doll I bought him in the airport while traveling this past weekend.  The tag says, ‘I will help give you strength to fight for all the things you believe in.’  I told him to put it in his pocket and grab it when he needs the reminder that I’m there, helping him fight little and big fights.

He started crying again.

Me:  ‘I know why the universe gave you to me.  So I can help you do whatever you want to do, whatever your big dreams are, and help you find your people.’

Him:  ‘Mom, I know.  I know you always do the right thing, even when it’s hard.’

Me:  ‘Really?  How do you know?’

Him: ‘I live here, mom.  And I know that you might not think you’re the best mom, but in my eyes, you will always be the best mom.’

Big.fucking.crocodile.tears.

So, today is Friday, and I was driving the boys back to camp.  On the way, I asked what he bought with the $10 I had sent with him to buy snacks at the dairy store at the LSU Agriculture Center, one of their field trips.  He told me he bought ice cream, and a bottle of water.  Teasingly, I asked him where my change was.

Then Radcliffe said, ‘You didn’t tell her?’

‘Tell me what,’ I asked.

Theodore: ‘Only one kid’s parents’ forgot to send money for a snack.  So I bought his for him.  I didn’t want him to feel left out. It was the right thing to do.’

Fighting tears, I dropped them off and then I pulled over and cried, for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint.  Why was I crying???

Pride.

Because this little human is choosing to be a better person, even when he has been given every reason in the world to be bitter after people are mean and exclusionary.  I’m ending this week exhausted and worn the fuck out, and for that solitary moment, it was worth it.

 

NSFW: #Don’t Look At My Vag

myvag

I went to BlogU this weekend, one of my most favorite weekends of the year because I get to go hang out with other writers and bloggers who are off the chart weird like me.  It’s pretty fucking awesome.

During check-in, however, something embarrassing and downright hilarious happened that I’m going to try to tell you without crying laughing tears.  I had just had lunch with several of the women checking in, women I seriously respect. I definitely did not intend to ever traumatize with my weirdness, which is important to note, since that means it was definitely going to happen.  I wore this beautiful dress that I’ve been drooling over for months to lunch.  The dress was white, so I wore nude thongs as to not have panty lines or see through the dress.

You know how when you are dragging luggage, and you try to be balanced?  You know what I mean; big oversized purse on one shoulder, dragging your suitcase with the other.  Balanced.

Well, I wasn’t balanced at all, clearly, because I was dragging my suitcase up the stairs, and I fell up the stairs.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Up.  And scratched my back up in the process.

So, there I was, laying against this marble pillar, legs spread eagle, and my suitcase tumbling down the stairs.

Amy, from The Outnumbered Mother, and a fantastically crass woman from Long Island, who I had just met two hours prior, comes running towards me.

Let me tell you first that Amy thinks I am a ridiculously Southern lady.  I have her fooled.

She comes running over, hand out, trying to help me up, and all I could think about was that my vagina, covered in a skimpy, nude thong was staring straight at her, and because I was stunned beyond belief, I couldn’t even reach down to cover myself.  Yep, that bad.

“DON’T LOOK AT MY VAG!” I screamed, louder than I’ve ever screamed at anyone in my life.

“What?”  She asked confused, “How fucking Southern are you?  NO ONE IS LOOKING AT YOUR FAT.”

Yep, she thought I was screaming at her not to look at my fat, because I’m that fucking polite.

Sheer terror takes over and instead of covering up my crotch, I started screaming louder, “My VAG, MY FUCKING VAG, DON’T LOOK AT MY FUCKING VAG, NOT MY FAT.”

Right about that moment, around the corner comes a group of about fifteen women that I don’t know, and have never met in my life.  So of course, I continue to yell, ‘MY VAG’, because then I was flustered as fuck and couldn’t get control of myself.  She then asked if I was ‘concussed’.

Amy is now a lifelong friend. She has to be, or she might tell everyone about my ‘fat’.  Our hashtags are now #DontLookAtMyVag and #ImNotLookingAtYourFat .

Jen Mann also told me I should probably put a bikini wax on my to do list before coming next year in case I decide to ever wear a dress in their presence again.

I’ll probably plan to wear pants.