A Letter to My Boobs

Today's post comes to you from our pal Dani at Martinis and Minivans. It's certainly a topic I can relate to. Although our dearly departed Kate put it best when she said: "My boobs used to be SHOCK AND AWE! Now they're like shock! And awwww....."

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I was recently trying on the ever-popular Maxi dress at a department store last week.  While in the dressing room, I realized that the same problem kept occurring with each dress I put on.  My breasts popped out of them.  

Horrifying Conversation with Mini #2: The Baby Duck

Mini says things that are horrifying. She always has. She is one part sweet, adorable cupcake and one part iron-willed anarchist. Now that she is approaching the age where she is required to be civilized, I am attempting to crack down on her more and more. It's not working.

Last Sunday, she was in full spirits.  She did not care what anyone said. She wanted to frolic. It was warm and sunny! Finally!

She wanted to frolic through the Home Depot parking lot. So she unbuckled herself and attempted to throw open the van door while the vehicle was still moving. She really wanted to frolic at the playground adjacent to her brother's Little League field. Is it safe for small children to play there? Out of the vision and the ear shot of their parents? It is not. That was not important to Mini.

Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures

UPDATE: Commenting for the give-away is now closed. WINNERS ARE BELOW.

Do you guys know about the blog Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures? It's so awesome and hilarious. It's written by a woman named Amber Dusick who is incredibly sweet and nice. We've exchanged like 6 emails so I can say that with total confidence and authority.

She was also the last blogger to win a certain bad ass award called the Parent's Magazine Funniest Blog of the Year. So when I won it this year, I reached out to her to ask her some stuff and ending up being all weird and like:  "BY THE SECRET CODE OF BLOGGING YOU MUST NOW GIVE ME THE AMULET."

Domestic Enemies of the Mom with Toddlers

This post comes to use from our friend Julie. Here's what you need to know about her:

Julie is the wrangler of a little girl who wears glasses and a fuzzy pink eye patch and a little boy who does neither. She also writes nonsense at ilikebeerandbabies.com. In her real life, she makes words sound good. In her superhero life, she saves kittens from burning buildings. Her parents think she is weird. They are right. Julie enjoys a dry sense of humor and a buttery chardonnay, preferably mixed together. She sucks at Twitter, is OK at Facebook and rocks The Pinterest.

And now we present, the Domestic Enemies of the Moms with Toddlers:

Horrifying Conversation with Mini #1: The Ginger Ale

Mini and I have had a series of horrifying conversations recently. I've decided to document them for your amusement. Mini is four and a half. Now that's she's getting bigger I'm doing my best to tame her. It's not working.

Here's what happened:

Mini spied a can of ginger ale in the fridge. Why is there ginger ale in the fridge? I have no idea. Ask her father, he did the shopping that week. We don't usually keep soda in the house. I spent the next five days chasing the kids away from it.

The Yoga Pants Song

You know of my love for yoga pants, right? Do you share this love too?

Watch this video.

I saw it on my friend's Facebook feed and so of course I clicked through and watched it.  And then promptly lost 35 minutes of my life watching a bunch of this guy's stand-up videos. (To learn more about Tim Hawkins, click here. )

I like yoga pants. I like things that are stupid. Therefore, THIS SONG IS PERFECT FOR ME.

Enjoy!
xo, Lydia

Why My Husband Won't Take Our Kids into Public Bathrooms

------- Warning! Today's story story is gross. Really gross. --------

A couple of years ago, I told you guys the story of when I threw up in a Five Guys bathroom while pregnant and in the presence of my two little kids. There's a part of the story I left out, though. The part where the entire thing is clearly my husband's fault. (If you haven't read the Five Guys story, it's right here.)

You see, it is OBVIOUS that if my husband had not refused to take our son into the men's room with him, like a coward who is afraid of a little wiping, then I never would have projectile vomited all over a restaurant bathroom like a possessed person from a 70's horror movie.

But my husband, the handsome and stalwart Cap'n Coupon, claims that he has a perfectly good reason for still, to this day, refusing to take our kids into public restrooms. For that matter, he won't even walk them to the door and then wait outside until they're finished. He claims he was permanently scarred by an experience that occurred a few weeks before the Five Guys incident. I think his story is a convenient excuse to get out of a parenting duty he finds tedious and gross. You be the judge, my friends.

Anatomy of a Weekend

Last weekend was the first real weekend of Spring for us. The weather suddenly became beautiful and warm. Baseball games and practices of all kinds and parties and a parade and the seasonal clothing migration and school projects and yard work and everything under the sun all got crammed into 2 days.

Do you remember when weekends were relaxing? I mean, it's gotten to the point where on some Sundays, I'm so wiped out that I'm actually looking forward to Monday. That's just wrong. I tried to put a pin on the exact spot where weekends became so overwhelming for me. So I broke it down into the three main eras of my adult life: Before Kids, When The Kids Were Little Bitty, and now When The Kids are Medium. And I made a chart of how the weekends worked.

Summer Clothes In, Winter Clothes Out: A Seasonal Fabric Migration

I originally wrote this 3 years ago. BUT IT NEVER CHANGES. Every season the kids need their clothes swapped out and purged and it kicks my haunches without mercy.

I'm currently, I am deep in bowels of laundry hell. I thought some of you could appreciate what it takes to keep our offspring weather appropriate.

xoxo, Lydia
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Domestic Enemies of Teenage Mom

Ever since we started this series, we've been getting requests for this post. There are a lot of young moms out there who deal with a lot of Judgey McJudgersons. Please remember to keep your comments respectful, even if you don't agree with the author.

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People often say to me, upon finding out that I have a teenager, “You look too young to have a teenager.”  And they are right, I am.  I had my daughter when I was 16.  However, even after all these years (my daughter is 16 now), I still feel a bit of shame when I see the reactions of strangers finding out I was/am a teen mom.  

10 Rules of the Dreaded Indoor Pool & Water Park

Last week was Spring Break here and we stayed home and tried to find fun things to do that didn't cost too much money. We went and saw some historic stuff, which was awesome. We went to the library, saw friends, played laser tag (Mini dominated because she is a heartless little mercenary), and we saw "The Croods".  You guys, I'm freaking exhausted.

But one thing we did really wore me out. We went swimming. I'm very lucky. I live in a great community where our County Recreation Centers are incrediballs. There is one that is a huge indoor pool and water park, complete with 3 story water slides, tot lots inside the pool (!!), beach slope areas for little kids, lazy rivers, you name it. It's awesome! And for me to take all 3 of my kids there for the day costs $15 total. I've been there many times and usually work hard to go at off hours, when it's not crowded.

The Perfect Gift

My husband recently celebrated his birthday. Cap'n Coupon turned 43 last week and the kids and I got him a bunch of silly little presents. His birthday fell over Spring Break, which is both wonderful and kind of a shame. Because Spring Break does this thing to my family whereby the Cap'n and I start to be driven slightly insane by our kids. And them by us. And each other. 

So on a few occasions, I had to correct their behavior because they were being evil and monsterish to each other. But "good" moms aren't supposed to say that. Good moms also aren't suppose to say "Quit it. You're being a dick." So instead I took a deep breath and said the opposite of that. Something like "You are not respecting your sister. Please apologize and make better choices."