Yes Mom

I was on a first date with a dude last year¹ and we were doing the stereotypical “here’s a brief rundown of my life (except for the shitty parts)” song and dance, and when I mentioned something about my kids he said, “wow, it must be really hard to handle everything!”

His reaction surprised me, although I guess it probably shouldn’t have — being a single mom (or a parent at all) is a lot of work, objectively speaking. But as I told this gorgeous tattooed childless gentleman that night, my kids are the easiest and best part of my life. Is my life in general a shitshow? Do I have serious personal issues to wade through? Am I frequently on the edge of existential despair? Possibly. But don’t get it twisted: there is absolutely nothing about my kids or about being a mom that I resent or consider a burden. Not the endless lunch-making², not the fighting over video games, not the interminable baseball games played in the blistering heat at which White Claws are inexplicably not considered acceptable hydration for parents in the stands, not the laundry or the midnight bad dreams or the ceaseless avalanche of toys that cover every square inch of my house and make it nigh on impossible to sweep or mop³, nothing. My kids bring me joy, and I am the kind of sick individual that derives pleasure from things like budgeting and checking items off of a to-do list, so even all of the logistical business of mothering is really right up my alley.

If this all sounds like a bunch of holier-than-thou bragging about how amazing I am for not letting the harder aspects of motherhood drag me down, don’t fret: I’m about to let you in on the secret behind this serenity, and it should bring your opinion of me and my parenting acumen back down where it belongs (i.e. very, very low):

I just say yes to virtually everything they want. 

Like…to truly ridiculous requests, all the damn time. Eat dinner in my bed? Sure, why not. Go to the 99 Cent Store to buy hundreds of balloons for the sole purpose of trying to pop them with various implements found around the house? Absolutely. Melt a bunch of perfectly good crayons into a brick so we can smash it up? Sounds like a perfectly sane thing to do! Basically, if there’s no risk of injury (and honestly, I’m pretty flexible on that) and it doesn’t cost a ton of money, it’s gonna be a yes every time.

Now, obviously I don’t have anything to compare to since I have operated in this fashion for the duration of my mothering career, but I believe that my yes-slingin’ lifestyle has eliminated a considerable chunk of the day-to-day conflicts that arise from having to tell children “no” all the time, not to mention the innumerable hours I’ve saved by not having to personally entertain these children. Do I really want to clean up tiny bits of crushed chalk from every crack and crevice of my garage after some bizarre art/destruction activity? No, not particularly. But do you know what else I don’t want to do? Come up with shit for them to do myself, and they spent all fucking day creating that chalk nightmare and I didn’t have to do a damn thing. 

I believe wholeheartedly that this strategy is the key to me remaining (relatively) sane and am completely committed to saying yes as much as humanly possible, to the point that it has become a defining facet of my personality in my children’s eyes. Ryan once told me, apropos of absolutely nothing, “You know what the best thing is about you? You’re a Yes Mom. Because you say yes to most things…and sometimes even when you say no, you think about it and then you say yes after all!”

And therein lies the problem, of course. I have created monsters who believe that if they ask their mother to buy $40 worth of duct tape so they can make a wall out of it and then destroy said wall with sharp objects, said mother will say yes…and they are right. She will not only say yes, she will say yes again when they want to try another kind of tape, and she will in fact do this four goddamn times in a single month.

(This is sadly not a joke; in related news, for any of you with hot DIY plans in the works, Gorilla Tape is superior to T-Rex Tape and both beat regular duct tape by a mile.)

Worse, they are now old enough to understand that I only deny their requests when there’s a really good reason, which sounds like it would be a good thing but instead just means that I have to have conversations like this whenever I drop a rare “no”:

Ryan, 30 seconds before bed: “Can I sleep in the office?”

Me, simply not in the mood to alter our already protracted bedtime routine : “no, we’re not doing that tonight.”

Ryan, so very sweetly, and genuinely curious: “But Mom…what difference does it make to you where I sleep?”

He was right, it doesn’t make a difference at all. 

He slept in the office.

Wish me luck when they’re teenagers, because I am, as I believe professionals would describe it, fucked.

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹Yes, this is a thing I have to do now and it’s as horrifying as it sounds.

²Remember sending kids to school? Ah, good times. 

³Can you tell that I secretly appreciate that I have an excuse not to clean?

How to Conquer a Marathon Without Dying: A Guide for Terrible Runners

I am a person who likes to have something to look forward to — it makes life a little more exciting and prevents feelings of stagnation. When you’re young, life is full of the anticipation of school breaks, family trips, graduations, and the like, but adulthood is packed with long periods of time completely devoid of such excitement. I found myself in one such rut last year, with no vacations or babies or big moves on the horizon, and I found it highly dissatisfying. I was restless.

I decided to remedy the problem by training for last June’s San Diego marathon, even though I hate running and am not good at it. I am not being hyperbolic when I say that I selected this goal purely because I wanted something to look forward to — that literally was the only reason. I cannot overstate this: I am terrible at running, it is not fun at all, and I am highly skeptical of anyone who claims otherwise. But it was something to do and it was fun to have a goal in mind, so I diligently followed a training plan I found online and soldiered forth towards the big race.

Now, that marathon did not go so well. I had no idea what I was doing, and since I have no natural inclination towards running or athletics in general, I was really winging the whole thing. It was excruciating and I immediately declared that I would never torture myself with another marathon again.

Of course, a few months later I was feeling bored again, so I decided to train for the LA Marathon. Will I ever learn?

I had two distinct advantages this time around, though: I knew what mistakes I’d made last year, and I knew how horrible it was going to be. The former allowed me to train a bit better and to eat a lot more, and the latter at least prevented me from being surprised when I still wanted to die at mile 21 despite the additional nourishment. It was torturous and I may or may not have texted my husband at mile 22 to tell him that I felt like I was dying and that I might not make it, but I persevered and finished in 4 hours and 36 minutes (a whopping FORTY TWO minutes faster than last year’s ill-fated attempt)! And then immediately made some random sweaty dude take a picture of me before I waddled to the food tables to gorge myself:

So now, of course, I consider myself an expert on marathons. I’m sure you agree. As a public service to my fellow non-runners who have deluded themselves into thinking that a marathon might be a good idea, I’ve compiled my best Do’s and Don’t’s for training for, enduring, and recovering from the 26.2 mile torture test. Read them, savor them, live them (and if you’re actually a serious runner…ignore them):

The training and build-up:

• On days when you have to run, DO give yourself a pass on all other non-essential life tasks. Cooking? Cleaning? Ain’t nobody got time for that after running for hours. Order pizza and make your husband do the dishes while you sit on the couch congratulating yourself for how hard you’re working on your training.
• DON’T make the mistake of thinking anyone else cares about your running, but DO tell them anyway. YOU RAN A MILLION MILES, PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW.
• DO eat whatever you want, whenever you want. In N Out is perfectly acceptable post-run fuel, even if it’s only 10:30am.
• DON’T worry too much about pace or timing. Just try not to die — it’s the only goal you really need.
• DO take a lot of photos to document your accomplishment. When you inevitably realize that running a marathon was a terrible idea and that you should never do it again, you’ll be glad you kept such a good record of the one time you did it. Look how cute I am picking up my registration stuff before the big day!

The big day:

• DON’T even think for one second that you’re going to get a good night’s sleep the day before. You’re a terrible runner and you’re going to be stressed all night about how hard it’s going to be. DO accept this and plan accordingly caffeine-wise.
• DO motivate yourself by telling yourself that you can eat something super awesome after the race. Remember, it’s good to have something to look forward to!
• DO be prepared for all manner of logistical nightmares. DON’T let it get you down when you have to walk TWO MILES (uphill, no less!) to get to the starting line because traffic is so bad:
• DO try to joke around and make small talk with your fellow runners while you wait for the race to start, but DON’T be too hurt when no one wants to talk to you because they’re serious runners and they’re busy getting in the zone or smearing vaseline on their thighs or whatever. DO feel great pride if you manage to pass them later.
• DO drink water and eat at any available opportunity, and not just from officially-sanctioned race “fuel stops.” Kindly spectators often hand out water and oranges, and I take them every time. Sure, they could be filthy or poisoned by some sort of serial killer, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take after three hours of running.
• DON’T punch spectators when they try to encourage you by shouting “don’t walk! Keep running!” They deserve it, though.
• DO whatever it takes to finish, even if it means crawling across the damn finish line. If you have to quit, you might be tempted to try again at a future marathon, and no one wants that.

The aftermath:

• DON’T be ashamed if you cry tears of relief as you cross the godforsaken finish line.
• DON’T try to do anything else for the rest of the day. DO order pizza and make your husband do the dishes while you sit on the couch congratulating yourself on a job well done.
• DON’T allow your husband to forget to bring you a fountain Dr Pepper on his way home from picking up the pizza. If he does forget, DON’T ever forgive him¹.
• DO allow your child to poke and marvel at your disgusting blisters. It’s fun for all involved, and prevents you from having to get up and actually play with him.
• DO bask in the glory of your achievement — it’s the only good part about running, after all!

Good luck! I hope you enjoy having such a ridiculous thing to look forward to, and then never, ever, do it again.

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹Just kidding. Mostly.

Five Fun Ways to Make Bedtime Last Forever (as Told by a Toddler)

I’ve been super busy lately with work, marathon training¹, and compulsively watching The Wire², so I enlisted Bubba to fill in for me today. As usual, he was thrilled to use this public forum to contribute another dose of his patented life advice. Take it away, Bubba:

As my mom shared a couple weeks ago, I am officially a Certified Big Boy. That’s right, folks: no more bottles, no more crib, and no more waking up in the middle of the night demanding to join Mom in her luxurious sleeping quarters³. I have my very own bed, complete with awesome construction bedding (THERE’S A DUMP TRUCK ON MY PILLOW!!! This is very, very exciting and I never miss an opportunity to point this out), and I have to say that I don’t miss that baby stuff one bit. My bed is quite cozy, and even I knew that those bottles were just a crutch upon which I could not rely forever. Best of all, though, is something I really don’t think my mom anticipated when she initiated this whole Big Boy Bed thing:

I can’t be trusted to be alone in there while awake (just think of the trouble I could stir up!), so my mom has to lay down in bed with me until I’m almost 100% asleep⁴. EVERY NIGHT! No matter how long it takes!!!

It’s almost unbelievable, you guys! The first few nights, I just asked for a couple songs and poked her in the eye a few times (SO fun), but when I realized that there really didn’t appear to be any limits to how long she’d stick around, I started upping the ante. Can you blame me? Why bother going to sleep when you don’t really have to?

Of course, being an active toddler, sometimes I am pretty tired at night, and trying to stay awake can be a challenge — god forbid I fall asleep quickly and quietly! Luckily, I have developed a few tricks to keep up my sleeve that are guaranteed to keep both my mom AND me awake for as long as humanly possible:

1) Insist on bringing a bunch of stupid shit to bed with you. I’m not talking about a couple of teddy bears — think outside the box! I like to have a variety of accoutrements at my disposal, from Hot Wheels to baseball bats to footballs. Not only will this devious little plan necessitate about sixteen trips out to the living room to gather all your goodies, but you can also play with them once you’re finally forced to lay down! I like to zoom my cars around on Mom’s head and back, for instance. Just don’t get too cocky: if you try to start a game of catch by throwing a football at your half-asleep mother’s face, she will take said football away and you will not get it back till morning. Trust me.

I have not yet concocted a scheme to get that wagon into bed with me, but I’m working on it. Check back in a few weeks and I’ll let you know if I’ve made any progress.

2) Create a sleepy-time ritual that has no foreseeable end. While trying (desperately, I might add) to convince me to close my eyes a few weeks ago, my mom made the adorable mistake of telling me that “everyone else was sleeping.” Everyone, you say? Do you mean…Grandma? And Auntie Jamie? And Ethan from school? And the mailman? And the dog? And my teddy bear? You guys, the possibilities are literally endless. I can easily spend a solid ten minutes confirming that every person, place, and thing in my vocabulary is indeed fast asleep. TV sleeping? Check. Basketball hoop sleeping? You better believe it.

3) Reminisce about old (or not-so-old) times. One of my absolute favorite tactics is to ask my mom if she remembers something. “Remember puke?” I’ll ask, referring to the time I had pneumonia and vomited Motrin all over her. When she confirms that she does indeed remember the incident in question, I proceed to recollect the whole story, sparing no detail. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that pneumonia story: Two shots! Puke got on Gokey! Doctors! Ah, good times. And again, this one has limitless potential! There’s no law dictating that a memory must be old before it can be a topic for reminiscence — ask her if she remembers eating hot dogs for dinner two hours ago! Or if she remembers the Spider-Man pajamas you are wearing right now!

4) Be sweet and adorable. After thirty minutes or so, when I can sense my mom growing a little impatient, I drop the obnoxiousness and dial up the charm. “Mama,” I’ll whisper quietly, gently stroking her face with an angelic smile upon my own, “I love you.” Like she’s gonna leave me alone in there after that, right?!

5) If all else fails, be pathetic. If the other tactics lose their effectiveness and she decides to leave before you’re ready to go to sleep, it’s time to swallow your pride and dig deep: puppy-dog eyes and a teary plea of “Mama lay down too??” or “Mama stay with Bubba pwease!!!” almost always does the trick. Guilt-tripping is an underrated tool, really.

See? With the right techniques, staying up until all hours of the night is easy, and it’s great fun for all involved⁵. And as evidenced by the above screen-capture from the baby cam, I do, eventually, fall asleep. When I’m good and ready.

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹Yes, I’m torturing myself with this nonsense again. Maybe this time I’ll eat enough to stave off the debilitating hunger that had me fantasizing about flashing my boobs in exchange for a single unsalted pretzel by mile 18.

²I’m only 10 years behind on my TV watching now! Someday I’ll get around to checking out that Friends show everyone talks about.

³If you don’t have a thick, fluffy mattress topper, I implore you to stop everything that you’re doing and go to Target to procure one IMMEDIATELY. Your life will never be the same.

⁴Before you chastise me, let me clarify that I do know that I could leave him in there to fall asleep on his own; I have both a monitor and a camera to keep tabs on him and could no doubt run in there at the first sign of danger and/or naughtiness. But alas, I am more than just a little insane, and the thought of him roaming about in his room alone — in the dark, no less! — is too much to bear.

⁵This is a lie. Except for #4, that one is pretty fun.

How I Cured My Son’s Bottle Addiction Via Procrastination, Lies, and Bribery

I’m the first to admit that I am not a perfect parent. To list just a few of my myriad shortcomings, I regularly bribe my child with M&Ms to get him to behave in public¹, I make no effort to stop him from watching WWE (and subsequently attempting some WWE-style divebombs off the sofa), and judging by the outfits he wears and the ridiculous array of toys he carries with him everywhere he goes, I am perhaps a wee bit too indulgent². My most grievous offense to date, however, is undoubtedly the fact that I allowed — nay, encouraged — my son to drink bottles until he was two years old.

I know, I know. It’s bad. I’m cringing.

In my defense, I didn’t plan on letting Bubba drink bottles so long, and I certainly had no intention of creating a routine in which bottles would be used to get him to fall asleep every goddamn night. It just sort of…happened. Listen, do you make the best decisions when it’s 3am and you’re half asleep and your child is crying and you know that you can make it all stop in a matter of seconds by simply chucking a bottle into his bed?! I didn’t think so. And furthermore, I did ask the doctor if she had any tips on breaking the habit when I took Bubba in for his 18 month checkup, and she told me it was perfectly fine for him to continue drinking from a bottle until age two. Granted, I didn’t specify to her that I was allowing him to use bottles as a sleep aid and she probably assumed I was referring to normal daytime bottle-drinking, but with her professional endorsement in hand, I continued enabling Bubba’s ever-worsening dependence on the bottle unfettered and figured I’d sort it all out when he was a little older.

Of course, as time marched along, the situation started seeming a bit ridiculous and I was having more and more trouble pretending that it wasn’t a major problem. When your child can open the fridge and say “milk, please!” and then carry the bottle to bed by himself and drink it with no assistance whatsoever, it’s hard to convince yourself that he’s just a baby and thus bottle drinking is only natural.

I knew I had to put a stop to this nonsense, but I had absolutely no idea how to make it happen. The obvious solution — just not giving him bottles anymore — was out of the question, thanks to my staunch refusal to deal with the epic nightly meltdowns that would surely ensue. Call me a wimp, call me a pushover, but I just do not possess the strength required to tune out the misery of my one and only child. I considered just waiting until Bubba decided for himself that he no longer cared about bottles, but when it became apparent that that day wasn’t likely to come for another decade or so, I buckled down and formulated a plan of attack that I prayed would provide the desired results without traumatizing him (or I):

Step one – planting the seed: Starting last week, I began doing a lot of talking about what a big boy Bubba was, particularly with regard to all the fun stuff he liked to do. “Those Hot Wheels are so cool, Bud,” I’d say. “big boys like you love to play with cars!”

Step two – identifying a patsy: At the same time, I talked non-stop about Baby Mia, the 8-month-old daughter of one of the daycare workers. “Baby Mia can’t play with cars like you can; she’s just a baby!” Or “Baby Mia doesn’t get to eat candy like you do, because she’s just a baby.”

Big boy stuff is awesome; babies have miserable lives and don’t get to have any fun at all. Got it so far?

Step three – a distraction: The night before The Reckoning, I took Bubba to Target and showed him some bedding options, explaining that he was going to get a Big Boy Bed the next day and we were going to say bye-bye to his “baby crib”. Just as I had hoped, he was quite intrigued by this development and happily selected a construction-themed blanket and dump truck pillowcase. I didn’t mention anything about bottles (or lack thereof) at this point — the success of my plan hinged largely upon him being so excited about the new bed that the shocking removal of his beloved bottle would be at least somewhat overshadowed.

Immediately upon picking him up from school the next afternoon, I sprung into action. I told him that his Big Boy Bed was ready and that he was going to sleep in it that very night. All evening, we talked about the bed, frequently abandoning other activities to take yet another peek at it. I nearly damaged a vocal chord with all the excited squealing I was doing (“YOUR BIG BOY BED IS SOOOOO COOL! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!”). And it was working! He was PUMPED!

Step four – bring it all together: When bedtime finally rolled around, I continued expressing excitement about the new bed until the moment I’d been dreading finally arrived: he asked for a bottle. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and in the most casual tone I could muster considering my pounding heart, dropped the hammer: “nope, no more babas, Bud. Babas are for babies like Baby Mia, not Big Boys like you!”

Now, to be completely honest, I didn’t really expect this charade to work. In fact, I hadn’t even thrown the bottles away at this point, because I really thought I might have to give up at some point in the night and just let him have one. But to my complete and utter shock, he accepted it!!! He whimpered for a while and it took ages for him to fall asleep (this was partially due to the excitement about the new bed; he kept calling me in there to talk about the damn dump truck on his pillow), but by 9pm he was sleeping peacefully.

Step five – improvise, lie, and bribe: Obviously, that wasn’t the end of things. No, he woke up in a tizzy at 3:30am, first demanding a bottle and then, upon realizing one was not going to appear, wailing “BABY MIA!!!!! Baaaaaaaaabyyy Miiiiiiaaaaaaaa….”

Apparently, I had been unclear in my explanation of why he couldn’t have any more bottles, because he was convinced that poor Baby Mia was directly responsible for their disappearance. Over and over again, he cursed that innocent infant’s name for stealing what was rightfully his, and obviously, I decided to just go along with it:

“Shhhhhh, it’s OK, Bubba. Yes, that’s right, Baby Mia needs your babas now. You can use a cup like a big boy!”

I kept repeating this ridiculous logic until he began to calm down, at which point I switched gears and opted for some good old fashioned bribery: “Let’s go back to sleep now, and in the morning we can go to the store and get a new dinosaur book! And you can sit in the cart like a big boy and have some M&Ms!”

Guess who hasn’t asked for a bottle since?

When do they hand out the Mother Of The Year awards?

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹I also consider this strategy to be a learning tool, though, because I make him tell me the color of the M&M before I hand it over. I’m pretty sure the educational value outweighs the bribery, right?

²Do you want to fight with a toddler about why bringing six Hot Wheels, a teddy bear, and a football to the grocery store might not be necessary?

Family Photoshoot Dos & Don’ts (Alternate Title: Learn From My Failure)

My child turns two in 5 days, and I’ve had “take family photos” on my to-do list for…well, two years minus five days. I know, I know: I’m pretty much the worst. Luckily, my husband is not the worst and eventually got sick of hearing me talk about how we should “someday” take some damn photos, so a few weeks ago he kindly took the reigns and booked us a photoshoot with a local photographer he found on Craigslist. We arranged to take the photos at a park near the beach — a spot the photographer recommended — and I got to work planning our outfits and visualizing these gorgeous photographic treasures we’d cherish for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t wait!

Now, I should mention that this was the first time I’ve ever had photos like this taken (aside from my wedding, which required no planning or action from me other than showing up and standing there in my dress). I will admit that I had no reason to assume that I knew anything at all about what happens at a photoshoot aside from the likelihood that some sort of camera would be involved, but I suppose I just thought we’d show up, the photographer lady would instruct us to stand in a couple different configurations, and we’d wrap this sucker up in half an hour. That sounds reasonable, right?

As it turns out, I was wrong. I know now that without careful planning, you might wind up with a bunch of photos of your half-naked son hurling himself into the ocean instead of the lovely fully-clothed and nowhere-near-the-water posed shots you’d envisioned. Lest this problem plague your next photoshoot, I encourage you to read my list of Family Photoshoot Dos & Don’ts before busting out that camera:

DO ask your photographer to clarify her plan ahead of time. Apparently, “we’ll take the photos at a park by the beach” can sometimes mean “we’ll meet at that location, and then I’ll lead you and your small child on a half-mile hike down a steep cliff so that we can take the photos IN THE GODDAMN OCEAN, never mind the fact that you are in no way dressed for such an adventure!” This is good information to have.

If it turns out that that is your photographer’s plan, DON’T wear leather knee-high boots, and DON’T dress your poor husband and child in thick sweaters thinking it’ll be cool and breezy at this “park by the beach” location and that you’ll be in and out of there before you have enough time to get hot. At a minimum, DO bring extra clothes and shoes for everyone, because after that long, sweaty hike followed by the sand-and-water combo, you’re going to wind up with precisely two photos in which you’re all wearing all the components of your original outfits:

If you fail to bring a costume change for your husband, DON’T assume that the shirt he’s wearing under his sweater is a presentable piece of clothing and not a baggy, stained white t-shirt, because it’s probably the latter:

DO plan ahead by bringing M&Ms in an optimistic but ultimately useless attempt at bribing your child to smile on command, and DON’T bother trying to make him leave his bear in the car:

DON’T be surprised when even with the promise of M&Ms, your child has ZERO interest in sitting down for a photo when the option of diving into the frigid water is right in front of him:

DO get over it and accept that the clothes and shoes are a lost cause, as are your dreams of a nicely posed family portrait:

When the photoshoot finally seems to be wrapping itself up and you’re all exhausted and your clothes are ruined and you just want to get the hell out of there, DON’T let your photographer talk you into driving to “a nearby park” for “a few more photos,” because said park might actually be 15 minutes away and your child will be SO OVER IT and also he’ll be wearing a random pair of extremely tattered pants that happened to be in your purse because you really didn’t anticipate his nice pair of jeans to be soaked in sand and ocean filth and thus didn’t put much thought into bringing a decent backup option for him:

And even if you can convince your child to smile for a few more photos at this point in the ridiculous day, you will be looking haggard yourself because you gave up on your appearance about an hour prior when you threw your hair up into an “I’m over it” ponytail and used your cute jacket as a diaper changing pad and your makeup melted off when you HIKED HALF A MILE UPHILL BACK TO YOUR CAR WHILE CARRYING A 28-POUND SACK OF POTATOES (or a toddler; same diff):

Eventually, your photographer will have mercy and put an end to the photoshoot, putting you all out of your misery at last. DO laugh riotously with your husband about what just transpired, and DON’T feel guilty for deciding that the only thing to do at this point is to drive through McDonald’s and let your child eat as much ketchup as he wants before passing out:

DON’T even think about doing this again for another two years.

How to Snag a Husband by Being Super Annoying

Nine years ago today, I drove from San Diego to Los Angeles, picked up my little sisters, and headed to Hollywood for a Bad Religion concert. The girls weren’t as awesome and hardcore as I was (ahem), so they opted to hang out in the back of the venue to enjoy the show from a safe distance while I pushed my way towards the stage in anticipation of singing and moshing along with my fellow BR-loving brethren. Since I was now sans my companions, I took it upon myself to chat with the person who was standing next to me while we waited for the band to start playing. In the course of our chit-chat, I bragged that I’d seen the band over twenty times (so charming!), at which point the guy turned to his friend and said, “hey, this chick has seen BR even more times than you!”

That friend is now my husband.

And how did I pull this off, you ask? BY BEING SUPER ANNOYING. If you’re one of the millions of frustrated singles out there, wishing you were in a relationship and wondering why you can’t seem to find a suitable mate, chances are that you’re simply not annoying enough. For example, it was my obnoxious insistence upon talking to my fellow concert-goers instead of just patiently awaiting the commencement of entertainment like a normal person that led to my conversation with TFW’s friend, and then my unprompted boasting about my dedication to the band compelled the fellow to draw his similarly-obsessed pal (TFW) into the fold. Perhaps he was just sick of talking to me and wanted to pawn me off on his friend, but no matter — had I kept quiet and waited for the music, I never would have met my future husband!

So as you can see, you’ve got to put yourself out there if you want to meet someone, and that means chatting up strangers whenever possible. However, you can’t just stop there! Your next step is to ensure future contact, and that means getting his contact information so you can bug him to go out with you later. And just so I’m crystal clear here, I must stress the importance of getting his information in addition to (or as opposed to) just giving him your info. What if he loses your number, or is too nervous or shy to contact you? If you have HIS info, you can take the reins and stalk him to your heart’s content! This proved to be a bit complicated in my case, since this was back in ancient times before everyone carried cell phones everywhere they went and neither of us had pens at the ready since we were, ya know, in the mosh pit of a punk rock concert, but luckily my mark happened to carry his business cards in his wallet and he was able to give one of those to me. I tucked that sucker in my pocket and guarded it with my life until I got home (WHAT IF I LOST IT?!), when I immediately fired up the computer and emailed him.

This brings me to my next tip, which is to bypass all “games” and “rules” (and “politeness”) and just contact the damn guy right away. Waiting three days to call?! Psssh. What if he meets someone else in the interim, or forgets how hot you are? DON’T RISK IT. If he thinks you’re a nutjob for contacting him so quickly (which you totally are, but that’s OK), then it’s his loss and you can move on. I emailed TFW literally within thirty minutes of arriving home that night, telling him I’d enjoyed meeting him and giving him a brief rundown of my life (remember, we’d only talked for about 90 seconds at the show) and included about thirty different ways he could contact me, then obsessively hit “refresh” on my inbox every thirty seconds for the next 24 hours. When he wrote back the next day with his instant messenger screen name (remember, kids, this was the olden days), I added him to my buddy list immediately and then stared at the computer screen until he finally signed on so I could pester him some more.

Unfortunately for me, my new love interest had flown to New York the day after our meeting to spend a week with his family, so I had to wait an agonizing eight days to actually lure him out for a date. Believe you me, had he been in town I would have insisted upon a meeting much sooner. Again, what’s the point of waiting? What are you waiting for? Nothing good can come from waiting. The faster you can get your hooks into your intended, the better! Since I had his screen name, at least, I was able to talk to him multiple times that week, and this proved to be a valuable opportunity as it gave us ample time to get to know each other without the awkwardness or pressure associated with an actual date (in these modern times, you could substitute Facebook messaging or Gtalk and accomplish the same thing). Sure, obsessively contacting someone you barely know via social media could be considered a little annoying, but you’ve gotta go big or go home (dateless). By the time he was back in town, we were well acquainted with each other and ready to go on a date!

Once you’ve made it to this stage, you’ve got it made in the shade, baby! Assuming you still like the guy and he hasn’t turned out to be a creepy weirdo or a drug dealer, your relationship is about 10 steps further along than it would have been if you’d sat around waiting for him to call or if you’d wasted precious time holding off on calling him in fear of being “too annoying.” Go on that date, and then suggest an outing for the next weekend as if a second date is a given! Invite him to meet your family! Buy him a nice Valentine’s Day gift even if you’ve only been together for a few months! Before you know it, you’ll be living together and he’ll be stuck with you!

Hey, it worked for me.

Some Practical Life Advice In Case I Die

Being a parent is daunting. You’re in charge of an impressionable little critter that knows absolutely nothing and it’s YOUR job to teach them good manners and how to treat people and what to eat and to avoid running out into the street to get a better look at a passing motorcycle. It’s a tall order, and while I think I’m doing pretty well so far (I always make him say “sorry” when he hits me and he ate 2 bites of a carrot yesterday!), I know it’s going to get more and more complex as he gets older. I’m fairly confident that I’ll be able to handle anything that comes my way, but what if I die tomorrow and poor Bubba is left with a father who means well but thinks the WWE is fine entertainment for a toddler and a hypothetical stepmother who simply pales in comparison to my supreme awesomeness?! Who will guide him?

Luckily, I think ahead.

Bubba, below are a few important tips to keep in mind as you grow up:

• Don’t be “too cool” for safety. Helmets aren’t lame, nor are seatbelts or speed limits or “no trespassing” signs. You know what’s lame? BEING DEAD, LIKE ME RIGHT NOW. Wear the freakin’ helmet and tell your idiot friends to STFU.
• If someone is being mean to you, remember that they probably have bigger problems, like terrible parents, or someone else bullying them (it’s a chain reaction). Or maybe they’re just having a bad day! The point is, it’s probably not really about you. Try not to let it get you down, and tell Dad or a teacher so they can deal with it (don’t worry: I promise you can alert an adult and still avoid being known as a tattle-tale; Dad will figure something out to cover for you. I’ll make a separate list of advice for him, and “protecting your child’s reputation” will be at the top!).
• Don’t forget that the internet is FOREVER…don’t let people tag you in embarrassing Facebook photos, and for the love of god, don’t create an angsty blog chronicling your pre-teen woes.
• Whether you’re at school or the park or boy scouts or baseball practice, there’s always gonna be some poor kid that everyone else makes fun of. DON’T JOIN IN, no matter how weird that kid is and how many awesome puns you can think of that rhyme with his unfortunate name. You will never regret being nice, but you WILL regret being a jerkface someday. Plus, if you’re a jerk, I will haunt you (I’m dead in this scenario, remember?).
• Listen to punk rock music from the ’80s and ’90s. Go to concerts and get destroyed in the mosh pit (but secure your wallet first and make sure to pick other people up when they fall; you can be a punk and still be a responsible human being).
• At some point you will have a “bad” friend who drinks or cheats or lies. You can still like them and even hang out with them (assuming they’re not an actual gang member and do have some redeeming qualities of some sort), but remember that YOU don’t have to be an idiot just because your friend is. You can be that guy about whom everyone asks, “why is that nice kid friends with that idiot?”
• If someone tries to make you feel bad for something you like, pay no mind — what kind of fun-sucking killjoy does that?! Do your thang and be proud! Unless the thing you like is something stupid like Insane Clown Posse, in which case they’re right and you need to reevaluate your life post haste.
• You will undoubtedly wear something stupid or adopt a lame hairstyle at some point. Unfortunately for you, photos will likely be taken and you’ll have to look back on your poor style choices forever. Learn from your mistakes so you can avoid them in the future.
• That said, go ahead and dye your hair blue in high school! It’s your only chance to look like a fool with no consequences.
• Don’t choose a college based on where your girlfriend is going, and definitely don’t choose a college based on your ex-girlfriend’s plans. Just…trust me.

I feel much better now, knowing that these little nuggets of motherly wisdom are preserved for Bubba, just in case I choke on a Snickers bar tonight. If I forgot anything, he can just write a mental letter to Dear Abby and think about what she would say!

Marriage 101: 5 Secrets to Ensure You Don’t Want to Murder Your Spouse

We all know that a shitload of marriages end in divorce, and according to the Investigation Discovery network and their many fine true-crime programming options, even more marriages end in murder. After having been married for four years, I must admit that these statistics aren’t too surprising; I’ve wanted to strangle my dear husband no fewer than six hundred times and I consider divorcing him every time he fails to read my mind and bring me the Snickers bar I am craving when he goes to the market¹.

The truth is, all married couples go through rough patches — there’s no avoiding it, and anyone who says otherwise is a filthy liar who doesn’t deserve a single delicious Snickers bar this Halloween. Wanting to maim and/or abandon your spouse every once in a while doesn’t necessarily mean that your marriage is doomed, though! As long as you follow my five simple time-tested (four years is enough of a test, right?) marriage secrets, you and your spouse can beat the odds and stay off the divorce register (and Dateline’s latest episode of “Surprise: It’s Another Spouse Murder!”):

1) Determine the boss of each task; if it’s not you, shut your face and follow the leader: From childcare to money handling to laundry, someone has to be in charge or you’ll fall into a cycle of either nothing getting done or, worse yet, arguing all the time over whose turn it is or whom to blame when things go awry. The solution to this age-old problem is to divide and conquer: figure out who is better-suited to each task and make it their responsibility. That part is simple, but the real key to success here is that the other party must follow suit and take orders when necessary, no questions asked and no complaining. For example, I am in charge of meal planning, so while I might ask my husband to help out by putting something in the oven, he knows not to complicate things by second-guessing the nutritional value of my meals or to ask why I let our son eat dinner in the nude while sitting on a step-stool in the kitchen — that’s my domain.

2) Remember that in every argument, someone eventually has to give up, and sometimes that needs to be you: Yes, even if you’re totally right and your spouse is being an idiot — sometimes, just shut up and let it go. You will be happier and your spouse will be less likely to murder you. Plus, he or she might feel guilty later and bring you a Snickers.

3) Give each other presents or send sweet text messages (and not just when you need to apologize): Surprising me with a Snickers shows me that you were thinking of me at the grocery store and that you know just what I like. A random “I love you!” text message in the middle of the day is nice, too, but Snickers is usually better.

4) Know what you hate about your spouse and find a way to deal with it: Don’t deny it: there are things you just cannot stand about your mate. For example, every time my husband sneezes, I want to punch him in the face because it’s so unnecessarily loud. IT’S OUTRAGEOUS, YOU GUYS. The important thing is that you acknowledge and accept these hideous flaws and find ways to make yourself feel better about them instead of seething in silence. In my case, I deal with my rage by mocking my husband relentlessly every time he sneezes, which is fun for everyone!

5) Remember why you liked him or her to begin with: Surely there are some redeeming qualities to your spouse, even if he or she sneezes super loudly and forgets to bring you a Snickers bar even when you’ve made it very clear that you would really, really like one. Make an effort to acknowledge and appreciate each others’ positive traits and don’t neglect to carve out some time for you two to do something special together, like watching a much-beloved movie or sharing a delicious Snickers bar². And make sure to take photos together whenever you can — even if they come out poorly, it’s nice to have photographic evidence of your love to reference when you’re mad at each other:

Marriage isn’t easy, but I promise it’s not impossible. Stay positive, and don’t forget the Snickers!

…………………………………

Footnotes:

¹An important note to law enforcement: if my husband is dead and you are reading my blog because I am suspected of his murder and you’re looking for evidence against me, I SWEAR THIS WAS A JOKE. (I’ve seen a lot of crime shows, guys. I know they search the wife’s computer, and I know this won’t look good. BRB gotta go retain a lawyer.)

²Unless he forgot to get you one at the store, of course. Can someone just bring me a Snickers bar already? I REALLY WANT ONE³.

³This post was not sponsored by Snickers. I just really, really like them. Especially the peanut butter ones (in case the Mars Corporation is reading and would like to send me a few).

---

Thanks to Mama Kat‘s writer’s workshop prompt (“Your top 5 secrets to a successful marriage!”) for the inspiration!

Five Proven Ways to Make Your Mom Feel Like the Worst Mother Ever (GUARANTEED!)

Today I have another very special guest post from the one and only Bubba! I hope you enjoy his advice and that you’re sufficiently impressed by his advanced writing skills.

I may be seven weeks shy of my second birthday, but I already consider myself an expert when it comes to guilt-tripping. It only took a matter of weeks after my birth for me to figure out that my poor mother (whom I do love dearly; don’t get me wrong!) is something of a nutjob. I could see right from the get-go that she was quite nervous about messing something up or not spending enough time with me, so naturally I’ve made it my life’s work to exploit her insecurities and drive her insane. Unlike some lazy babies who are content to sit around playing and snuggling and sleeping, I’ve spent the last 22 months honing my craft, always on the lookout for new ways to mess with Mom. I’m happy to report that it’s working out swimmingly: my mom often feels bad and gives me exactly what I want! Even more importantly, this is all just really, really fun for me.

above: SCHEMING, always scheming!

If you aren’t a pro like me, don’t panic: I can help! Whether you’re looking for a quick way to drive your mom crazy at the store or if you’ve got a lot of time on your hands and want to begin an ongoing scheme (a long-con can be very satisfying), I’ve got something that will work for you. Unless your mom has a heart of stone, at least one of my tried-and-true methods should do the trick:

1) Wait a really long time to say “Mama.” Like, months after you start saying other words — she will obsess over it and start to wonder why you hate her, which is fun to watch. Plus, when you finally start saying it, she’ll be so happy to hear your sweet little voice calling her name that she won’t even mind that you’re being obnoxious and hollering at her to come get you out of bed or whatever.

2) If your parents are leaving you with a babysitter so they can have a “date night” (whatever that is; sounds super lame and not nearly as fun as hanging out with their beloved child, right?), cry hysterically and hang onto your mom’s leg as she tries to leave. Your mom will feel really bad and worry about you the whole time she’s gone (and of course as soon as she leaves, you can give up the act and have fun with the babysitter anyway!).

3) If you have a special teddy bear that you usually take with you everywhere you go and your mom asks you if you want to bring it to the park, say “no” and run to the car chanting “Park! Park! Park!” so she becomes convinced that the excitement of the park is outweighing your usual addiction to your teddy bear. Then, when you get to the park, ask her for the bear and rummage pathetically through her purse in hopes of finding it even though you know it’s back at home. Then cry about it. HA!

4) Short trips to the store and the like are perfect for a quick guilt-trip. Ask for water and very specific snacks, neither of which your mom brought along since she wasn’t expecting to be gone for long. Begging for water is really good, because what kind of monster would deny their child hydration? If she did bring water, you can always pretend it’s too warm and beg for ice!

5) If your mom works, point at her computer and say “puters” (as in, “computers”) and “work” in a really sad voice, like your little heart is broken that she spends so much time working on her ‘puter instead of playing with you. Classic, right?!

Now, before you soldier forth to employ these techniques, it’s important to note that balance is the key to success. If you act like a psychopath all the time, eventually your mom will probably start believing that you really are crazy and that it’s not her fault after all, and you definitely don’t want that! Remember, the goal is to make your mom feel a little bad every once in a while so you can reap the rewards of extra attention and indulgences (one time I got cookies while we were shopping!), not to get yourself committed to a toddler insane asylum. Sometimes, you’ve gotta just be a sweetie pie:

Then you go in for the kill!

Good luck!

A Vocabulary Lesson In Case I Die

At 21 months, Bubba is a talking machine. It’s downright adorable: he points out exciting things he wants us to see, expresses his opinions, asks questions, and even tells stories!

The bad news is that only about one out of every one hundred words he says is even remotely intelligible to the untrained ear.

As his mother, I have developed some pretty keen interpretation skills, and more often than not I am able to suss out what the hell the kid is trying to tell us without too much confusion. Others, though, including my dear husband, are not as linguistically talented as I. This is all fine and dandy as long as I’m around to translate, but what if I were to die of heat exhaustion tomorrow (our house is really, really hot) or fall into a diabetic coma courtesy of all the fountain Dr Pepper I drink (never mind that I don’t have diabetes)?! The poor child would be left with no one in the world who understands his pleas for “onk” or why he’s babbling about “berries” while playing with his tractor.

I cannot allow such a tragedy befall my sweet lad.

So in the same vein as my list of requirements for TFW’s second wife and the helpful childcare pointers I compiled in the event of my untimely demise, I’ve created a vocabulary list for my husband to reference in my absence:

What Bubba says: “be-bus”
What Bubba means: “speed bus” (Yes, I know there is no such thing as a speed bus. I think he got confused because I showed him a YouTube video of a speedboat one time.)
What Bubba REALLY means: “STOP EVERYTHING AND LOOK AT THAT BUS OVER THERE!!!!”

A speed bus is in the vicinity!

What he says: “anunner nun”
What he means: “another one”
What he REALLY means: He could mean that he sees another of whatever item he was previously discussing (if two be-buses go by, the sighting of the second will warrant an enthusiastic proclamation of “anunner nun!”), but it might just be wishful thinking, i.e. he hopes for additional be-buses to appear. Either way, the correct response from you is “yeah!”

What he says: “hurse” (rhymes with “purse”)
What he means: “hairs”
What he REALLY means: “One of the dog’s hairs is stuck on my hand or in my mouth and I really don’t like it! Get it off!”

What he says: “gug”
What he means: “bug”
What he REALLY means: He might be alerting you to an actual insect on the premises, or he might just be telling you a story about a bug he saw in that location the previous day/week/month. Regardless, you should be grossed out because bugs are gross.

there’s gugs in them thar mud.

What he says: “onk”
What he means: “milk” (hey, at least he got the “k” sound at the end)
What he REALLY means: “You have nine seconds to give me a bottle or I will make your life miserable.”

What he says: “beedeos”
What he means: “videos”
What he REALLY means: “Get your phone out and show me some videos of myself doing cute and funny stuff, please!” (He is his own biggest fan.)

What he says: “be-pull”
What he means: “be careful!”
What he REALLY means: “I’m doing something dangerous! I don’t know what be-pull means, but Mom says it all the time and I think it has something to do with me falling down, so prepare yourself accordingly!”

BE-PULL!!!!

What he says: “berries”
What he means: “berries” (duh)
What he REALLY means: There’s a slight chance he might actually be talking about berries, but it is more likely that he is reminiscing about a YouTube video we watched about tractors, during which I explained to him that the tractor was digging up the dirt so the farmers could plant some berries. Were there any berries involved in the video? No. Did I totally make that up? Yes. Does my son now think that the sole purpose of a tractor is to plant berries? Yes. Just go with it and fire up a video about tractors when he starts talking about berries, and everyone will be happy.

Unfortunately, this only covers about 2% of the nonsense this kid spews, but it ought to get you started. For everything else…just smile and say stuff like “yeah!” or “oh, really?”