Several days in a row of virtually apocalyptic mommy failures….


I mean, either go big or go home, right??

Well, I guess. Not, generally, however, when it comes to failure. Although really, of you a re gonna make your mark you may as well make it really clear.

And my mark last week? One of resounding and epic failure. Sure, we all have those regrettable moments as a parent. We look at ourselves and say, “Could have done that better” or “Did I really just do that?” or “Holy bleep I AM becoming my mother!!” But every once in a while it is bad, it is SO bad, there is nothing to do but, well, immortalize it publicly, humiliating oneself in a blog. So here we go. Now remember – it is not even that any one of these is unforgivable. Rather, they are all awful, but compiled together in the short span of like 3 days, they become this combustible yet impressive volcano of mommy crap.

1.) At the end of the week, after school line pick up, Kincaid began a conversation in the car. “Mommy, I love you.” “Aw. I love you too buddy.” “Mommy, you know I like your food right?” “Sure bud.” “Well I didn’t like your food today. It was SO bad.” “Sorry about that little man. Do you not like ham and cheese any more? You eat it every day.” “Mommy, you KNOW I love ham and cheese. But mommy, today, I didn’t like it. I took a bite and it was so gross so I took another bite or two and then gave up because I wanted to puke. A LOT!!” “Wow. Ok. That’s too bad.” “Well I looked at it and there were these green spots. The gray spots did not taste as bad as the green spots. But the green spots were REALLY bad. I mean, I tried to eat it mommy but I just couldn’t do it.” “Um, oops.” How in the word did I miss putting green spotted ham on ALL my kids’ sandwiches? What the heck is WRONG with me?? And side note, how sweet is that kid that he repeatedly at green spotty ham, trying to like it?? Hahahaha. Um, not really funny. But you know….

2.) While having a playdate with another mom and her 4 kids, I thought little Marlowe was in her room with the two little girls. It wasn’t until I heard the screeching wail, right outSIDE the kitchen door, that I realized she had crawled outside, and fallen down the cement garage stair. She looks like she was in a bar brawl.

3.) As I got into the car after weight training on Saturday morning to drive to my 6 mile run location (a big bridge), I saw something on the floor. It was a Mrs. Fields semi sweet chocolate chip nibbler. I bought 12 fresh ones the day before, and gave them out to my kids. I was SO good and did not eat any. Marlowe, however, must have dropped one. Because it was looking at me. The cookie. A cookie that Marlowe had probably sucked on, and then dropped. Onto the floor. If my disgustingly dirty SUV. I mean, the level of filth is unparalleled unless you have an equal number of kids. And I picked it up. Then I put it in my mouth. For the record, to be fully accountable and give full disclosure, the song High Enough” by the Damn Yankees came on. And while chewing grimy floor cookie, I sang along, knowing all the words, to one of the worst songs ever. SO much shame.

4.) This one is bad. Like as in, not funny bad, but regular bad. On Sunday afternoon I popped a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Yeah, I am SO hard core. I know it. Anyway, I took a couple of sips then Ken called and said to get a sitter because he had some plans for us. I put the drink down, talked to the sitter, and we left 20 minutes later after I shuffled our afternoon around. I rarely have a drink at home. Maybe a glass of wine, or a Mike’s. I don’t like beer. (Ok, understatement. I HATE beer. It is like cold fizzy urine. But grosser.) But if I do, I pour out any left and throw away the bottle. Well, I didn’t. And when I got home, like 4 hours later, there was a half inch of liquid left. (cringe….). I asked around. Chase acknowledged that she had sipped a little bit, but was mostly upset because she spilled the majority of it and thought I would be mad for the mess she made. (Sure enough, the entire kitchen floor was particularly sticky). While I was relieved that she had spilled most of it, her demeanor while telling me this, crying and lying on the floor, was somewhat suspect. Reminded me of some friends, who played out that exact night in college, like every night.

5.) In 2 days I forgot a chiropractic appointment, a car appointment, soccer practice, and I think a few other things, but I forget what they all are. Were. Whatever.

6.) Doll mutilation. During another playdate, my older son and his friend mutilated my oldest daughter’s American Girl doll. Hadley wrote on her fabric chest. The other kid pushed nails through her face. Deeper issues? Honestly I don’t think so…the boys normally build stuff. They regularly hammer and nail; their favorite show is destroy build destroy and Chase had been torturing them prior to said incident. But Abigail, the doll, now looks more like a teen angst ridden, rave attending, goth styling, excessively facial tattooed version of the sweet little doll she used to be. In all honesty, I don’t really care. My only concern?? This will not be a reflection of my daughter’s style choices moving forward….(not that I am opposed to some expressive choices but, well, the doll looks like she belongs in Night of the Living Dead….)

Please note – this is where the original post was going to end. I had not posted yet though, and now I know why. Because my failures had still not been completed….

7.) Floor pizza. Last night, I made some rockin homemade pizza. It is chock filled with veggies like peppers, mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and has organic chicken sausage. The kids love it. Well I cleaned up after dinner but must have missed a spot, supposedly under the table. Because this morning when I got out of the shower, Marlowe was on the kitchen floor, eating a piece of pizza. Apparently, a piece must have landed on the floor (5 kids. pizza flying everywhere. don’t you judge me.) Marlowe, thus, must have found it. It was there. Under the table. All night. And she was chomping away. Apparently, the pizza is even better the next day. Who doesn’t like pizza for breakfast, right???

A major pre-purchased bday present for 2015 and a letter to Taylor Swift


I have never written a fan letter. Not a note, no mail, no contest signups, nada. In fact, growing up where I did, and having traveled the way I have, there have been celebrity sightings and meetings along the way (including two semi-famous – in my own mind – ones with Donald Trump and Bradley Cooper, but I digress) and the truth is I just. don’t. care.

Until now.

But not for me. Sure. Taylor Swift is adorable. And her music is good. She is talented…lots of people can sing though. BUT -she writes her own stuff, which, as a writer and singer myself, I respect WAY more than the little pop hacks who are given something to record and with decent (or not even decent) voices they record and flash some skin and sleep or scandal their way to the limelight. This chick has talent. I dig it.

Still though, whatever. She is just a singer. Just a girl. But I found myself teary eyed about it all.

You see, presale tickets for her concert (starting May of next year) went on sale the other day. And I spent about 4 hours total, and an insane amount of money, online and on the phone, getting things all set. It was torture. But I relished the torture. Because my daughter is gonna freak out. Oh, and this is gonna be her Christmas and bday presents all rolled up together. For a while. Like, all of 2015.

And I am thrilled to give this chickie, Taylor Swift, my cash. All of it, in fact. Here are my words and thoughts for you, sweet young lady (holy crap, I am old enough to call her a young lady. Depressing.)

Dear Taylor.

Thanks, doll. Seriously. THANK YOU.

Your music is fun. Catchy. You have talent, and no one can deny that. But that’s not why I am writing this. I am writing because I adore how you make my daughter feel, how she can have fun and celebrate life and love and freedom and expression. Without being blatantly sexual or filthy or rebellious.

Baby, you can have s*x with monkeys (um, not that I recommend that). I don’t care what you do. Your time is your time. Your life is yours. And sure, like any and everyone else, you have the choice to do as you will. But you alone stand out in the pop music scene as someone my daughter can look up to. You are unabashedly feminine without being weak, which I LOVE. You love falling in love without publicly whoring yourself. You dance and sing and play, and make music fun while not glossing over real life truths like heartbreak and loss, things my kids need to know are indeed part of that “real life”. You keep joy alive and well and I am willing to pay 50, 100, 500 bucks to take my daughter to your show, to make it special, to invest in her joy. And do you do this by being yourself and having fun but also thinking of the young people around you and keeping it healthy for their souls?? Yup. So…I will help you line your pockets as much as possible. Heck, I will attend your concerts and dance my butt off, humiliating myself to make my daughter smile.

We will see you soon. Ok. In, like, about a year haha. My daughter is literally counting down the days. Oh, and by literally, I mean literally. She made a chart. Sigh….In the meantime, thank you. A lot.


Mom who appreciates 1.) that you make great music and 2.) you don’t flash your va*ina all over the internet

some cool things that are, frankly, so NOT cool


A double edged sword.

Some great things in life, with marriage, and family, and kids, and well EVERYTHING, have a good and bad side. And as applesauce literally exploded all over me tonight, it made me think about those things. So here is a quick funny post about the things in my world, (albeit my limited, suburban, white mommy world) that are just so daggone exasperating.

1.) Applesauce packets. You know, those squeezy packets of applesauce?? Oh my gosh as a mom who has to pack 47 pounds of food for her hungry jackals-I-mean-children every day, these things are great. No spoons to include, not boxy for the packing purposes, and the littles don’t struggle to pull the lid off, thereby spilling and sloshing it all over themselves. The downside? The other “edge” so to speak? When you toddler spends time in the pantry, knocks the bin of them over, and you walk IN to the pantry, stepping squarely on a capped one, which makes it literally explode about 6 feet outwards and 4 feet upwards. Lotta pressure inside those things.

2.) My pancake griddle. Seriously. I whip up perfectly browned and fluffy pancakes on that thing. My french toast? Truly delectable. Heck…my bacon???? Yeah, it brings ALL the boys to the yard. But cleaning that thing. Really??? It barely fits over much less IN the sink, and inevitably I end up dripping and making a huge mess on the floors and counters. It’s some good french toast though so…..

3.) Helmets. Yeah. Like, the bike helmets and the things you super glue onto your kids’ heads to keep them safe as they navigate the world where instead of a bike or maybe a skateboard there are literally like 29 other sort of close to biking but not quite options. They all fill your garage. I get the theory. Heck, I even enforce it. (Ok, sometimes.) But really, they put the helmets on then I hear, “Let’s get the bat and test out how strong these helmets REALLY are!!!!” The point is I LOVE my kids. Would do anything for them. But at certain ages, they may be brilliant mini Doogie Howsers, but frankly, they are all stupid and will find ways to hurt themselves no matter how carefully I secure their internal organs.

4.) Carbs. Oh gosh they are all SO GOOD like bread and pasta and rice, preferably all smothered with things like fat (aka cheese and/or butter) but yeah, there is an obvious downside. Not playing college sports anymore, you know, so I can’t do the Michael Phelps pasta portions any more. Those were the days…….

5.) Lingerie. I get it. Really I do. And sure, like any dutiful wife, I have a drawer full of it. You look hot. Feel good. But really, what is the point? It is expensive (unless you want polyester burns in your unmentionable areas), and it stays on for only a few minutes because it either a. comes right off or b. stays on and thus everything progresses way faster, ahem, and it ends up back on the floor and your flannels are back on in a matter of minutes anyway. Sigh.


for heavens sakes….why the world expects WAY too much effort from me (this is a sarcastic post)


Yes, I gave a disclaimer in the title, so be warned. Should you comment or message me as though I am being serious, prepare to be cyber mocked, although there is actual truth behind each statement….not gonna lie…

1.) All yogurt should be mixed already. I really have no concept why, in today’s day and age of phones that transcribe your voice and recognize your fingerprint, there are any stir-it-yourself yogurts STILL on the market. It is an unpleasant surprise to open a new container of a greek yogurt with a name I can not pronounce properly, only to discover I have to actually put forth the effort of stirring it myself.

2.) After running 4 miles, it is counter productive to have a body that then craves chocolate chip cookies. Specifically, an entire batch of the homemade ones. Or maybe even worse, an entire vat of sausage biscuits and gravy.

3.) When you have breakfast at a nice restaurant (as opposed to breakfast in a diner), it is INSANE they they don’t carry Aunt Jemima or Mrs (Miss? Ms??) Butterworth’s. Home made maple syrup only. WHAT?? Not ALL of us like the real, homemade maple syrup. It is gross. I literally can’t stand it. But I find that it is discriminatory that the fine breakfast establishments think they are too good for normal syrup. They look down their noses at Aunt Jemima. Aunt Jemima is the BEST people. The BEST!!!!! I won’t eat breakfast at those kinds of places. Nope. Not me.

4.) Silly putty. Just the sight of it angers me.

5.) Sharpies. I have 4,816 markers and crayons and colored pencils in my house. I hide the sharpies like they are osama bin laden. And yet, no matter how well hidden, the sharpies are what my vermin kids find and use to destroy something. (why did it take years to get osama, by the way?? someone should have gotten 300 toddlers together and shown a picture of the crazy terrorist, holding a super sized sharpie, and then released those kids into the desert and within an hour they would have had him pinned down, taken his sharpie and any other weapons of mass destruction from him. easy.)

6.) Would it be wrong, in today’s world, to develop one of those hamster water dispensing things for babies? You know, like, hang it in the crib and the kids, when they wake up at night, can just mosey over there and suck out some milk or whatever until they pass back out?? Marlowe waking 3 times a night for a new bottle is REALLY old. I am 40, people. And tired. I mean, kids can’t drink milk til they literally explode, like fish, can they? And on that note I always hear that…but has anyone ever actually seen a fish eat to death? Eat til he bursts? Yeah…hmm….this is suspect….

7.) Science projects are the devil. I stand by this, yet I am expected to sew together mentos, yes SEW them, to help my kid. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get the needle through that hard candy shell, solid center, back out through the shell, and then have the thread snap? Seriously? I LOVE being a mom, and would give my life for my kids if some armed attacker came in, like it osama had his peeps launch a counter attack because my kids busted him with that aforementioned sharpie. But I did NOT sign up to sew mentos. And no, they are SO not the freshmaker. They are the bleeping blister maker.



a birthday party murder scene, and how they are all asleep by 10:30…


Tonight, while I type this, I have 9 little girls, in various states of snoring and drooling. And it is 10:30 p.m.

This pleases me because we are avoiding the all too common post-midnight bedtime crash that typically occurs during slumber parties. How do I do it, you ask? Well, I have a multi pronged approach.

1.) I exhaust them. They stay busy, nonstop, from arrival until 30 minutes before bedtime. They all got here by 4. It was immediate play upstairs, entertain the baby, etc. Then it was fancy dress up time with makeup application by the now worshipped 13 year old cousin present at the party. (They literally could all not get enough info on her first boyfriend, now exboyfriend.) Anyway…next up was chocolate covered strawberries to snack on while they made their own pizzas. Then they ate the pizzas and changed into their suits. Pool time! Sure, it was a little breezy. Oh well. Next up? Cake, in this case, a red velvet bundt cake that Chasey and her two cousins made prior to the other ladies showing up. I iced it, lit the candles, and the girls ate a couple of bites, then promptly smashed it into each others faces.

***For the record, when red velvet cake gets smashed on a white pool patio in chunks, the result is what looks like the scene of the most disgusting, grisly murder scene you can possibly imagine. The girls, of course, loved this, and capitalized on it.***

The remaining exhaustion came by way of whipped cream chasing, battles, spraying, etc. Good times.

***For the record, I never knew so many injuries could result in whipped cream wars. An accidental tube jab up the nose, whipped cream in the eye (grainier than one would think), tube torso scratches, etc.***

2.) I overfeed them, but carefully. I overdo the carbs early on. Same with the sugar. They get full. Heavy. But then as it gets later, we go to popcorn, then water, then nothing. I do NOT want to clean up puke, thank you.

3.) I then get them to relax. We do some movie time (cue the popcorn), which then rolled into spa time, where they all took turns giving each other foot exfoliation, massages, and scalp rubs. Then 20 minutes lights low, then no more talking.

That’s it!!

Crap, ok. I also lie. I lie like a dog. I lie like no one’s business. And I do so without saying a word. I confiscate all electronics, and then change my clocks accordingly. What they think is 10:30 is actually 8:45. So although the last words I heard uttered were at around 10:32, they will surely insist that it was well past midnight. And on that clock, it probably was…… ;)

mommy nails it…then mommy blows it….science projects and bikes and cookies, oh my!


Ok. Yesterday was MY day. I mean, I made that day my you know what. Seriously. I rocked it, in every way you can as a stay at home mom.

I made lunches for the next day. I simultaneously cooked THAT night’s dinner while I also cooked the NEXT night’s dinner. I baked 2 dozen brownies for the book fair and grandparent school shindig. I worked out. I cleaned my closet.

YEAH. I was THAT awesome.

Then I got the kids from the bus stop, where I gave them their snack of HOMEMADE choc chip cookies. BOOM. Take that martha stewart!!!! We ate supper. I bathed them all. (And no that does not happen every day so yeah, I was still on a roll.) Heck, we went for a family bike ride minus Kenny because daddy is out of town becoming a godfather to someone else’s baby….(WHOLE other story….sigh……and yes I actually did say, “um, is there something you want to tell me? Is this actually your kid? You get a 5 minute pass to tell me anything” but nope, not his…still though, who shares a once a year email with someone and then asks you to be the godparent and then you don’t check with your wife on that and then when do you make plans to fly up away from your own family to go do that and still not check with your wife on that????? um, hello???? no it ain’t all hershey’s kisses and moonbeams and farting rainbows at the Sweet family home….). Anyway, I digress.

We arrive home.

Cue Jaws theme.

Kincaid drops the baby. Elis Rey headbutts Hadley. Chase forgot her math book. Hadley is starting puberty and is crying about how NOT tired he is. Hadley broke the chain on my bike.

And I YELLED. You know, like the yell you say you are not gonna do unless it is a major infraction?? Well I did it. The neighbors probably heard me. (Well, no they didn’t cause they are all over 100 so…..). I felt awful. But we got all cleaned up, laid clothes out for the next night, and I owned that I shouldn’t have yelled, and Hadley sort of owned that he shouldn’t have broken my bike, and it was better.

For an hour.

Because we then realized that, by accident, the housekeeper (I love you forever and always Adriana) threw out his science project.

You know, that bain-of-your-existence protract that all kids ages like, 3rd grade through 7th grade or whatever have to do??? We did the experiment part this weekend, recorded the data, made the videos. And the poster boards, which yes were neon green, and yes, looked like scribbling messes (because 10 1/2 year old boys with sharpie write in scribble language) but still, it got chucked.

So meltdown. Again. Not mine though, so that was nice. Still, now I get to go back to the store, buy another 20 Pepsi 2 liters, another 10 packs of mentor (the FRESHMAKER!!!!), foam boards, packing tape, sharpies, meter sticks, blah blah blah….AND WE HAVE TO DO IT ALL AGAIN.

Our old school had a teacher who held a camp. 1 week, five 8 hour days, and the kids created their experiment, researched and recorded the data, did their experiments, wrote the reports, decorated, and typed it all up. 250 bucks for the whole week. 10 students. 2500. That teacher supplemented her income. Heck, maybe that teacher went to bora bora every year. No clue. But yeah, attention teachers or creative OCD types. Please, someone, hold the camp this summer. I already have 4 kids ready for you.

Today? Hoping to buy supplies and not yell at anyone. And maybe I will just end up sitting around, watching Uncle Buck. Sounds good to me……

Can’t believe it has been 3 years….happy forever family day, Elis Rey!!!!


My mind is like, totally blown right now.

It was 3 years ago today. And yet, it also feels like yesterday. Then again, it feels like we have had this precious soul with us since the day she was born.


The joy….I can’t even tell you. Elis Rey is so much herself. And so much ours. All of the scientific and moral and sociological arguments about nature versus nurture….I don’t know. And all of those debates about first families, birth families, God’s plans and intentions and so on….I don’t know that either. All I can tell you is that this perfectly adorable little munchkin is exactly where she is supposed to be, right now, right here.


People see us, all the time, in the store. The mall. The school. Disney World. Any and everywhere. They say, “Oh my. She is so lucky. Your girls are so lucky!” And like almost everyone else in the adoption community would respond, I too say, “nope. WE are the lucky ones!!!”

But really, it is so much more than that. It is not luck. It is pleasure. The purest, most beautiful kind of pleasure. The kind that melts and blurs into this big ball of mushy innocent perfection that only a child makes you feel. The kind that only the deepest of belly laughs and sweetest of ear splitting giggles makes you know, in the depths of your soul, what heaven is like here on earth, for a bit.


To you, Elis Rey, I say this. Baby, my life is MORE of everything since you came into it. Not a day passes in which I don’t thank God for you. Not a night descends during which I don’t close my eyes, and think of your dimples, of your scent, of your incredible eyes and even more incredible heart. I have a passion for you, my little monkey, that well surpasses the combined passions of all of your favorite storybook princesses and heroes. YOU are MY treasure. And I love you more than there are stars in the sky, and more than there are fish in the sea, and more than there are grains of sand on the seashore. I am the luckiest mommy in the world.