Category Archives: Parenting

5 Most Awkward Parenting Moments

I know it’s been awhile since I have posted, lets blame it on the fact that I ran out of coffee.

So, I was laying in bed last night, letting my boisterous brain do it’s nightly thing and run wild till I passed out. I have no idea where the idea came from but I started to think of all the awkward moments of parenthood. I’m not talking about going to Wal-Mart while wearing banana in your hair or when your tot repeats his favorite F- Word during Thanksgiving dinner. I’m talking about the really gritty moments, the ones that make you go online and look for new neighborhoods to move to. This led to me wondering if I was alone on this odd, and sometimes painful, trip down memory lane or if perhaps my most awkward reflects were a common occurrences in the crazy world of parenting. I listed my most embarrassing and amusing moments just for you entertainment. Please, ignore the sobbing.

5. Who Hasn’t Seen My Who-Ha?

Some people think pregnancy is a very beautiful, majestic thing. I, on the other hand, think it’s not only disgusting but also embarrassing. During my whole pregnancy I didn’t see the wonderful, beautiful pregnant women everyone else saw. I saw a fat, bloated, gassy, messy looking women with nice skin. I was impressed with the whole process, a human being made in my uterus, but the new changes outside was one hot mess. Childbirth was even more humiliating. I told my mid-wife how worried I was about accidentally farting in her face, or even worse, pooping on her when the time for delivery came around. Not to mention I saw videos of how it looks down there and it is not pretty, don’t care what you say. But yes, people looking at your Vajayjay is part of being a women.


Just in case there are some out there that hasn’t gotten a view

So there I am laying in the stirrups, baby freshly popped out, awaiting to hear the details of the damage done, when I hear the twenty nurses (exaggeration, it was more like four) yelling, “Sir, you can’t be in here.” See I told the birthing staff that I didn’t want anyone in the room besides my husband and necessary medical personnel. My father, in his moment of pure eagerness and intense excitement, decided to follow the sounds of screaming grandchild and ran into the delivery room. Instead of being greeted by the sight of his beautiful granddaughter; he got front row, million dollar view of my who-ha being stitched up. There is some people who SHOULD NEVER see you from that angle. Good news is I didn’t poop.

4. Dinner Party Pooper 

So let me set the scene for you. My husband and I needed a civilized meal around civilized people. So we went to the Olive Garden(the best we could come up with). We were forced to take our little bundle of joy with us due to the lack of available sitters, plus this would give me a chance to show her off. Several people had commented on how well-behaved our little pasta eater was being, which just added to the nights relaxing, quiet dinner we were enjoying. We were about half way through our dinner when our little one decided to let herself go and by let herself go I mean her bowels. This wasn’t a little, quiet “oh no someone needs a diaper change.” This was a catastrophe. Not only was it loud enough to alert the whole room of patrons but immediately after the long, echoing resonance, a putrid wind blew through the dining room. My face turned the color of my marinara sauce. I grabbed the dirty culprit and ran to the bathroom for relief, observing the dirty looks we got all the way.

3. Baby Gone Wild

Not the goal I had in mind for her.

Not the goal I had in mind for her.

My tot is a little on the anti-social side. The flat fact is she doesn’t like hardly anybody. So I figured if I took her to play with kids more often she would drop the hatred of outsiders and get more comfortable. Being it was still winter, the only place suitable was the play area at the mall, a place where I could sit and enjoy a book while letting my tot run about on soft and only slightly contagious play equipment. I was feeling pretty good about myself, watching her toddle around with other kids, shyly closing in on them. I then started to hear laughter. Not child laughter, adult laughter. I looked up to see my darling one year old, standing in front of a group of manly men, flashing her little chip chips. I was paralyzed by the incident. I know she was just trying to show the men her new-found belly button but this was not the time nor place or the people to show. All I remember was trying to lighten the moment by yelling, “Riley Paige, this isn’t Girls Gone Wild!”. Again, I found myself scooping up my trouble maker and fleeing the scene of the crime. Before the question even comes up, no I did not teach her that.

2. Getting Handzy in the Produce Aisle.

Check out these Melons

Check out these Melons

I definitely learned my lesson with this one. My tot and I were shopping at our local Sam’s club a little too close to nap time. Only about half way through our shopping trip, she began fussing and was wanting me to hold her and what not, so I decided to cut the trip short and just go to the produce aisle to grab some fruits and veggies before heading out. Well there I am, trying to pick the best bag of oranges when I felt a hard tug on my neckline. I looked down and my darling had ahold of my shirt, thank god I had a tank top on underneath it or someone might have gotten a peak at my melons. I tell the handzy little one not to do it again and move on to more fruit picking. A moment later I feel another tug, this time she had success and grabbed both my shirt and tank top. I snatched my shirt out of the little hands and repositioned myself. I then looked up to evaluate my surroundings in hopes no body saw me baring my produce. I looked up to lock eyes with an older man not five feet in front of me with a look on his face resembling a teen age boys after watching the girls gym class run the mile. I knew he had seen it all and I knew he was hoping we were in the frozen food aisle instead. Again trying to make light, I smiled and tastelessly joked, ” You would have though she was a breast-fed baby, huh?” By that time the humility had reached my legs and I high tailed it to the check out. When I got home I realized the oranges were rotten.

1. Dora the Self- Explorer

Bath time no-nos.

Bath time no-nos.

This one isn’t as much as embarrassing as just plain awkward and uncomfortable. My tot loves to take bathes. I pile the tub with toys and take the opportunity to clean the bathroom while I am stuck there. I often give her a couple of my shampoo bottles or face brush to play with when she gets tired of her usual toys. Well, in the middle of scrubbing the floor I hear her turn on my face brush and start laughing. I assumed she had found it amusing that she had figured out how to turn on the unusual contraption. I giggle along and say, “Did you figure it out honey, it feels funny doesn’t it.” I was horrified when I looked up to see she had turned my facial hygiene technology into a sex toy. I was mortified. I grabbed the vibrating brush out of her hand and put it up on the shelf, not saying another word. But it doesn’t stop there. It keeps going on, with her rubber ducky, a wash cloth, her own hand. I know it’s not sexual and that it is a normal process for children but I can’t help it, being the prude I am, to just cringe in disgust. I am starting to get used to it and now every time she does I say something like, “Yes, that’s your girly parts.” or ask her, ” Are you cleaning your special place?”. All while deep down in side praying my daughter doesn’t grow up to be a porn star.      Well, now that you know my most embarrassing parenting moments and wonder what the hell I am teaching my child, I want to hear from you. What are some of your most awkward moments?


Helpless helping the helpless

For today, I had planned on publishing a witty and sarcastic post about going to the dentist. However, with today’s events, I decided against it and took a more sobering route.

flower riley 1

The horror at the Boston Marathon today really had me thinking about my daughter’s future and to be quite honest it scares the living hell out of me. What type of world are we up against now a days? To me it seems like every day the world gets more careless and cruel.

As parents, our main purpose is to keep our children safe and healthy until they are grown and able to care for themselves. We make sure they eat right, we make sure we have the safest car seats and cribs and we make sure they do good in school and so on. We try our damnedest to keep our children’s  best interests in mind. But with shootings, bombings, and increased illnesses, how are we supposed to succeed? We ourselves are helpless to certain situations, how are we supposed to help the helpless?

All I can say now is that my thoughts are with the victims and their families of the Boston Disaster.

Doc says: “Rest and plenty of fluids.” Doc doesn’t have children.

Yes, I have missed a couple of days of posts. But before you assemble the angry mob and gather your pitch forks and torches, let me explain. My dear, loving, caring husband got me sick. And being the great, amazing, unselfish mother I am, I got the kid-let sick.

So while I have been drowning in baby snot and trying to extinguish the fire that is burning fiercely in my throat, I have  noticed that I am not alone. Everyone in a twenty-five mile radius of me ( I actually measured and remeasured) has the highly contagious, life altering illness, that around here we call, the CRUD.  So healthy folk beware, stay out of the heart of America because the state of Ohio is infected. Might as well stay out of West Virginia as well. That would be the state of West Virginia, not Western Virginia. And yes clan, there is a state called WEST Virginia . I know crazy huh. My expertise doesn’t just stop at great parenting, I can teach geography as well.

Anyways, I thought since there are so many diseased and feeble parents out there, or soon to be, I thought I might give out a few of my no fail tips on how to deal with illness when with demon child. Not all of us can make it to the doctor and even if we do, he might start talking about “antibiotic resistance”. In other words you are dying infected with a virus. Even for the blessed (adjective used lightly) that were honored with those horse pills, they take time to win the fight. I mean look how long the Iraq War took. Ouch, sorry, awful analogy I mean after all those pills are actually working for…. Take it as you will.

So what do we frail care givers do?

Option One

Telephone the babysitter. Oh wait, your babysitter is a sixteen year old girl whose parents don’t see fit to drag their daughter out of school to care for your adult ass? Well, fine. See if you send them a Christmas card this year.

Telephone the grandparents. If you don’t get an answer like I do so many times, then what? I like to call this the Moses Method. This method does take a little energy but will hopefully pay off. You strap your little one into their car seat, of course using the American Academy of Pediatrics recommended guidelines. You then load the car with little one’s favorite toys, snacks and necessities. Then you choose which grandparent you want to grace with your child’s presence today, I recommend the one most likely home. Once you reach your destination, or close to, you unstrap little ones car seat. You drop the car seat with said little one still attached to the lucky grandparents door step, you ring the doorbell and run. Oh don’t forget the very detailed note explaining the situation. This is a win-win situation. You get a day off and grandparents get to spend time with little one while learning to answer the phone next time.

proper example of the Moses Method

proper example of the Moses Method

What if we can’t call into the office of parenting and request a day off or the Moses Method has caused a few phone calls to a certain unnamed agency? We then resort to my favorite option.

Option Two

The Malfunctioned Housewife Method.

This method was constructed by your’s truly, hence the name, with the collaboration of Dr. Sophia from the Institute of Imaginary Medicine*. Again this method involves energy, probably more than option one, but like I said before it pays off. The first step in the MH method is to collect the needed materials.

Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM(cat of imaginary medicine)

Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM
(cat of imaginary medicine)

Needed Materials:

  1. baby/dog gate
  2. duct tape
  3. sippy cup and bowl
  4. child’s favorite toys
  5. patients medication of choice
  6. T.V. (optional)
  7. couch or bed

After gather the materials we first start by applying the baby/dog gates to any and all doorways that will confine little one to the room you choose to be your restful locations. Ex: living room or bedroom. Then, using the duct tape, you tape down all doors, drawers, loose furniture, your cup of hot tea and anything else detachable in the room. Be thorough in this step. Failure to do so can result in a mess or broken something at the end of the method.  The next step is to fill your restful location with easily obtainable snacks, sippy cups, and toys for little one. The next step is my favorite. This step you ingest your medication of choice; rather it be cough syrup, NyQuil, or just a pint of ice cream. Whatever you choose, I recommend not over doing it. You want a healthy amount to where you can wake yourself if your little one alarms you with serious crying but enough to where the flying Lego blocks are not bothersome. Before your relief sets in you must decide if you want to go with the T.V. optional  or not. If so turn on and select age appropriate channel. Dr. Sophia does not recommend local channels, informing me soaps or talk shows are very poor influences for small children. Once little one is settled in, you are encouraged to hurry to couch or bed to rest.

Simple as that.

TIP #2. Last time I checked liqueur was 

considered a fluid and an antiseptic. 

Feel free to add any comments on how the Malfunctioned Housewife Method worked for you or maybe you have your own advice when dealing with your children while you are broken down.

* Dr. Kia Sophia, CIM, is a self titled Doctor. She obtained her fictional degree from a fictional institute and does not hold herself responsible for any outcomes from the advice she has given. Think of her as the Dr. Phil of my blog.

Where is My Rent, Fetus?!

I’m pretty sure we all at one time or another had one of those dreadful neighbors. You know what I’m talking about. The ones who don’t care its three in the morning, they are going to make sure you know the benefits to the Bosley method by graciously allowing their TV volume to reach max level. Then once their television viewing experience comes to an end they start with the bumps in the night. Of course, bumps in the night grows to something resembling an elephant walking on the walls.

Or the gems of the neighborhood whose front lawns are so inviting with knee-high grass, stolen Big Wheelers, naked Barbies, and the Santa on the roof that looks like he’s had one too many by the tilt on his stance.

Got a good visual?

Well that’s what my pregnancy was like. Parties all hours of the night, punched holes in walls, and a grotesque appearance; and that was all inside my uterus.

It took only two days since we went heels to Jesus, till I figured out I was in deep. And by deep I mean the next 19 years of my life will be trying to keep another human being alive. I was pregnant. Like really pregnant. All those anxious baby loving freaks had jinxed us. I cried. I don’t know why. It wasn’t really a sad cry, closer to a happy cry. Hell, it was probably just the hormones. I used to cry when the pickle jar was empty, every new stretch mark and don’t get me started on those damn ASPCA commercials. Sarah McLachlan is on my hit list for that one.

I was miserable. Morning sickness turned into evening sickness turned into after dinner till you wake back up sickness. My ankles swelled, I damned my husband, and I damned him a lot. I would feel a strong kick to my bladder, which would make me pee a little, I would curse the creature residing in my who ha. I was always damning and cursing but always with a smile. I was genuinely happy. The erratic, bomb shell of a girl was actually transforming into a rational, level minded woman. An in control, got a grip, whale of a woman. I had never been a very stable person but you give me some added estrogen and I turn into freakin’ Gandhi with boobs. Maybe the Greeks were onto something with their hysteria theory, because even Dave and I’s relationship went from a wooden roller coaster to a luxury cruise ship.

Nine long tiring months went by and I was ready to perform my own c-section; I wasn’t allowed within five feet of a butter knife. I had enough. I was fat, tired, and was sick of being beat up from the inside out by my inconsiderate tenant  But when that nasty little body slid herself out from under the white privacy sheet, all the resentment and fabricated arguments between us were forgotten. They laid her on my chest and I got to look into those beautiful bright eyes and could already see she was going to be even more of a hell raiser gift than I thought.The perfect combination of my husband and I; she was better than I could imagine. I’m not going to lie and tell you it was love at first sight because it wasn’t. It wasn’t till later that night when I woke up, everything in the hospital was silent, and I looked over at the crib. There she was already laying on her side, just staring in my direction. That simple moment was when I finally understood what every mother warned me about. I had fallen so head over heels that I felt complete.

So this brings me to our first tip. Rileys1stpic redone

TIP # 1. Don’t ever look into your infants eyes, they are not as innocent as they seem. Keep your distance or you too might turn into an easy manipulated puddle of mush.

Yes I’m on to you babies.

How I became the Perfectly Malfunctioned Housewife


It all started with an ordinary car ride. Well, actually it started three years before that at a party but we are going to start with the “I do” part rather than the “awkward courtship” part. Those are always so awkward.

Anyways, back to the beginning. It all started with an ordinary car ride and a conversation about school   loans or something along that line. Then the words ” Why don’t we just get married?” ran out of my face hole before my brain had time to scream WTF!? I think I figured that Dave ( by the way my husband’s name is Dave) would make some sarcastic remark and we would move on. Oh was I wrong. The next day we were getting hitched at the courthouse and contemplating how to tell our parents. Because you see, Dave’s mother didn’t fancy lil ol’ me to well and Dave being the baby of the family, me taking him from his mama was a down right death sentence. So, newly married and living a secret life, we went on our happy-go-lucky way thinking we were those annoying teenagers in Twilight or the hotties from all those Nicholas Sparks movies.

First comes love, then comes marriage….now on to the baby. One whole year into our roller coaster ride of a truly defined dysfunctional marriage and still no babies. Which was quite hard to fathom because everyone thought the hasty lock into matrimony was the results of a night full of “bow-chica-bow-wow”. I mean who actually uses the excuse of real love to get married now a days.

By this time your probably wondering what does all of this have to do with being a shitty housewife. I’m getting to that.

Everyone was starting to get impatient with my empty womb, except for me. I had to keep reminding everyone that Dave and I were to finish college and live a little more before ruining our lives. Evidently my lady guts had other plans because BOOM, baby in a baby carriage it would be. All of this I blame on my good college friend, lets name her C, $2 pitcher night and the VW Jetta that had to be equipped with those damn heated seats.Well, I hope everyone here has had the little birds and the bees discussion by now, if so you probably already figured that night contained the “bow-chica-bow-wow”.

I Do Not Claim to Be A Writer…

I do not claim to be a writer, I barely got a B in my English courses. I do however claim to be a mother. An expert on very unconventional, sometimes dysfunctional, parenting. I guess you can also throw in housewife. Again, not the best. I decided to hand out my successfully dysfunctional tips on being the perfectly rotten housewife. So, if you are actually good at dinner or you just can’t turn those whites the most feminine shade of carnation pink, you have come to the right women. Grab a crayon and paper, lock your little one in their room, and let the master school you.

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