Nicole Leigh Shaw, Tyop Aretist

I prefer the metric system.

2013-05-15T11:11:00.003-04:00

I'm a guest over at Toulouse and Tonic. Do you know her? I discovered her blog well over a year ago; I don't remember the details, so let's call it kismet. She wowed me with posts about her pregnancy bed rest (like this one) and I became an instant fan. Now I follow her on Facebook and Twitter and sometimes even Pinterest when I happen to be cruising pins for more reasons to feel like I'm not living up to my full crafting potential. Today I'm happy to have my writing on her blog, examining the ways in which we moms are measured. Here's a teaser:

***

Being a mother is tough. Not so much because one has the care (along with her co-parent, certain restrictions apply, may not be available in all states) of other human beings, but because there’s no clear definition of mother. Right, yes, the person who births a particular human is that child’s mother. But there is also that person who is seen at the grocery store with the child, helping him to pick a sugar-loaded cereal, denying her a small toy, or removing him from the middle of the seafood section when he’s thrashing on the floor claiming that he’s “not done talking to the lobsters!”

That woman, like her counterpart wrangling children in the pew on Sunday, her doppelganger ushering kids through a soccer practice with erstwhile cheerleading, and her twin in the parking lot giving a stern lecture about not darting into traffic, that woman is being judged. I maintain that judgment, the collective silent critique of a woman’s interactions with her children, is the measure of a mother.

Mothers are measured. Like height, weight, and bra size, a mother can be cataloged by her actions. Does she yell too loudly at her children in public? Does she speak too softly when they run roughshod over her in the toy store? Where does she place her hand when restraining a toddler ready to bolt into a crowd? The upper arm? The back of the neck? The hair?

Read the rest at Toulouse and Tonic here.

I won Facebook

2013-05-10T10:59:00.002-04:00

Today I'm battling laryngitis, which, is perfect because I'll be live on the radio in one hour on Northeast Indiana Public Radio (follow that link to here it streamed live at noon today), promoting I Just Want to Pee Alone (follow that link to buy the book on Kindle as a last-minute Mother's Day gift). Later this evening, I'll whisper one of my original essays at the Listen to Your Mother Show in Valparaiso, IN.

Thanks Universe!

But that's all okay because this happened yesterday. George Takei likes me, he really, really likes me!

Normally I'd have the time to recap the week and point you in the direction of other cool things on the internet. Unfortunately, I'm late for a salt-water-and-honey gargle.

SO, just marvel with me because yesterday my head almost exploded when:

See it here on NickMom.

When Crazy Meets Exhaustion and The Little Engine that Could

2013-05-08T11:18:00.002-04:00

Supercalifragilistic, it's expialidocious! It's time to ride the Character Assassination Carousel! If you're new to the Carousel here are the Cliffs Notes. Each month a participating assassin will roast a beloved children's book. Click on the pretty pony above and get full the scoop. Anyone 36" or taller who has a blog can ride this ride.

Today's assassin is:

Steph at When Crazy Meets Exhaustion:

Steph takes the academic approach to deconstructing the world's most annoying Little Golden Book, The Little Engine that Could. I give her an A+++.

Here's a teaser:

Somewhere between the left and the right is a tired mother in the center who just wants to stop getting pooped on.

***

Previous Assassin: Synnøve at Don't Chew on the Dinner Table!

Next Assassin: Jean at Mama, Schmama.

***

WINNERS!

Here are the winners for the joint giveaway that Kerry of HouseTalkN and I ran. Winners will all receive a copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone autographed by both Kerry and I. The Grand Prize winner will also receive free tickets to the show THIS FRIDAY. If our Grand Prize winner cannot make the show, we'll offer the tickets to the runner up.

Here are the lucky ladies:

Grand Prize: The Shitastrophy! Visit her blog to congratulate her or follow her on Twitter.

First Runner-Up: Jenny P.

Second Runner-Up: Shelley M.

Gay vs. Straight: The Wife Round.

2013-05-06T12:06:00.000-04:00

In a move sure to be heralded by NPR and FOX alike as “dumb,” Deborah of Peaches & Coconuts, and myself, give you the four-part series: Gay vs. Straight!

Deborah’s an all-around funny lady, smart-ass, and “fake”-married lesbian.

Nicole is a typo artist, goofball and legally-married straight gal.

Over the next four weeks we will examine the history of tension between heterosexual and homosexual Americans in settings private and public, political and religious.

Psych! Instead of well-researched debate, we present you with a series of posts in which we anonymously answer probing questions like “Do you prefer massages from men or women?” Forcing you to wonder, which response is from the hetero chick, and which is from the homo lady? Deborah will post 3 questions and answers, and I will post 3 additional questions and answers—meaning you have to check out each of our weekly posts to play. See Deborah's third round contribution here.

See my Lady Round here.
See my Mommy Round here.
See Deborah's Lady Round here.
See Deborah's Mommy Round here.

Do we hope to change public perception of the imagined differences between people of opposing sexual natures, thereby winning ourselves a Noble Peace Prize in blogging? Do bees buzz? Do birds sing? Do these jeans make my butt look big?

From here on out we will go by the gender-free-for-all names: Chris and Pat. Good luck pinning the gayness on the metaphorical donkey. We’ll reveal each answer’s author in our final installment.

***

G vs. S: The Wife Round

1. Your spouse is running late when you told him/her that you were making your first beef wellington and dinner was to be served at 6:35 precisely but you've screwed up the meal and have already ordered Pizza Hut. Do you tell your spouse you're no Julia Child or do your lead him/her to his/her tardiness forced you to order out?

Chris: I don’t cook. Ever. So, the day I tell my spouse that I’m making beef wellington is the day my spouse learns that I’ve cleaned the entire house, balanced our budget and sold the children on eBay…for a fraction of what they’re worth. A ‘me’ that even comes close to a dinner-maker only exists in some sort of trippy, bat-shit crazy parallel universe.

Pat: I think we can all agree that whoever cooks makes the rules. Therefore, I say blame the eater, not the chef, even if the chef is a Hell's Kitchen reject. Never cop to screwing up a meal when you can pin the blame on your significant other.

2. Are you the inside or outside of the spoon in bed?

Chris: We have a king size bed so that we can sleep as far apart from each other as possible. We position ourselves like bookends with our bottoms facing each other as if they’re saying,

“Whatchu looking at, Ass?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me!”

“Why don’t you mind your own Buns-ness?”

“Butt-head.”

"Bum."

I recall falling asleep entwined one late, intoxicated night, but I don’t think we resembled spoons in any way.

Pat: We never spoon; we sometimes fork.

3. Why haven’t you left your spouse yet?

Chris: Leaving my spouse entails joining a gym, getting into shape, restocking my wardrobe with clothing from this century, packing up everything I’ve determined to be mine (which is just about everything) and also there is the cooking for myself. Frankly, I’m exhausted thinking about it.

Pat: I'm never leaving. It's like this. If we become so unhappy that we can't stand to be together, I think the best revenge will be to stay together, continue to spend all the money as I see fit, and make myself a lovely suite in the guest room where I finally get to pick the wall color without having to compromise.

***

The battle of wits has begun, sayeth the Man in Black to Vizzini. Have you studied enough of your own kind and the kind of others to be able to accurately identify who said what? Luckily, for all of us, death is not on the line. Pride, honor and bragging rights, however, are indeed for the taking. Did Chris and Pat fulfill your every notion of hetero and homo thinking, or did their answers cause you to question your own sexuality? It happens. Keep a running tally, and all will be revealed after our last post in the series. Then you will learn how well your Gaydars and Straightscopes are working.

Don't forget to see the other three questions on Deborah's blog HERE.

No fair guessing who's who if you have inside information! Cheaters never prosper. NEVER.

***

The series is almost over! Next week we reveal who's Chris and who's Pat and wrap it up with something we intend to be poignant and impactful but that will more likely have typos and mixed metaphors.

***

In the meantime, come see me this Friday in Valparaiso, IN at Listen to Your Mother NW Indiana. You can even WIN TIX HERE.

Or, if you're in Deborah's neck of the woods (NYC-Metro), WIN TIX HERE.

#Win tix and books, and meet two crazy babes

2013-05-03T08:57:00.002-04:00

In one short week I will be on stage in front of hundreds of strangers who will very likely be better groomed than me. I’ll be reading for, nay, opening the show for Listen to Your Mother, Northwest Indiana. Like you, I presume they are sending me on first because it can only get better from there.

The bright spot is that while I’ll know virtually no one in the audience that evening (save my mom who will be front and center, thanks mom!), I’ll have a cast mate I know, love, and can count on to carry me when I’m unable to carry myself.

Kerry Rossow of HouseTalkN is giving a smile-and-sniffle-inducing reading that I’m completely jealous I didn’t write. And still, I like her. So would you, if you could meet her and hear her read her piece.

BUT YOU CAN.

Not only can you buy tickets to the event at the bargain price of $15 a pop, you might even win a pair of “admit ones” right here on this blog. Kerry and I purchased---with our own money that we’d rather spend on after-show cocktails---two tickets for a lucky winner and a guest.

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL.

That lucky ticket winner will also get two copies of I Just Want to Pee Alone, signed by both Kerry and I, not because we enjoy defacing perfectly good cover pages, but because we both contributed essays to the book. Yes, that’s a ticket for one winner and a friend and a signed copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone for each of them.

BUT THAT’S STILL NOT ALL.

Two more winners will get a signed copy of the book mailed right to their homes.

Couldn't you just die of excitement? That’s rhetorical, friend.

Just comment on this blog (or Kerry’s where the giveaway is also active) and complete any of the Rafflecopter entries to up your chance of winning. We’d love to have two smiling faces that already know and tolerate us here on the interwebs. Who knows, Kerry might even take you for a turn in the Bjorn.

We'll announce the winners on Wednesday, May 8. Good luck! See you in Valpo!

If you can't stand the wait, just buy your tickets for the May 10, 7 pm show at the Memorial Opera House in Valparaiso, IN.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Earlier this week . . .

The "Gay vs. Straight" series continue with my gay gal pal Deborah at Peaches & Coconuts. This week we answer questions for the Mommy Round. Spoiler: We're both moms.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

Nancy Davis Kho of Midlife Mixtape, the coolest concert-goer on the Internet, suggests some rap names for moms on NickMom.
MommyShorts won the internet and has been crowned Grand Curator of Cuteness with Baby Mugging. It's a thing.
My newest post on Moms.FortWayne.com is about being lazy and doing good deeds. Also, saving kidneys and hanging out with myself and Nicole Knepper, author of Moms Who Drink and Swear.
I made this for you, with a little graphic design help from Let Me Start By Saying.

Wipes and wine are on my shopping list fighting for top billing. Oh silly wipes, wine ALWAYS wins.
— BadParentingMoments (@BPMbadassmama) April 30, 2013

Glamour, Giving, Goodness. All lovely, but there are also two Nicoles.

2013-05-02T10:39:00.000-04:00

I don't want to brag, but I'm pretty much best friends with Nicole Knepper, the author of the blog and newly-released book by the same name, "Moms Who Drink and Swear." Don't believe me? Well, you will when you see both of us at the Glamour, Giving, Goodness fundraiser for the National Kidney Foundation on May 9 from 6 to 9 pm at Ceruti's Summit Park in Fort Wayne. You'll know she's my bestie when you see her wearing the friendship bracelet I'm making for her out of my own hair.

You can be our besties, too. Join us there for food, shopping, prizes, and do-gooding. See the Glamour, Giving, Goodness web site for more info. Or, read my post below.

I am passionate about causes, but I’m not particularly good at seeking out ways to be charitable. I have a policy to donate to legitimate organizations that happen to cross my path; it’s how I assuage my guilt over being too lazy to seek them out myself.

That’s not to say I don’t have certain hot-button issues. I do: women’s suffrage and free public libraries. When I say I am passionate about these things, please realize that passion is limited to getting choked up whenever I hear the "Mary Poppins" song “Sister Suffragette” or getting angry over the idea that in some places people don’t have access to the written works of humankind, especially "Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret." My involvement does not move me to actually do much, not least of all because these are not active causes and haven’t been since Prohibition.

Read the rest at Moms.FortWayne.com

Gay vs. Straight: The Mommy Round

2013-04-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

In a move sure to be heralded by NPR and FOX alike as “dumb,” Deborah of Peaches & Coconuts, and myself, give you the four-part series: Gay vs. Straight!

Deborah’s an all-around funny lady, smart-ass, and “fake”-married lesbian.

Nicole is a typo artist, goofball and legally-married straight gal.

Over the next four weeks we will examine the history of tension between heterosexual and homosexual Americans in settings private and public, political and religious.

Psych! Instead of well-researched debate, we present you with a series of posts in which we anonymously answer probing questions like “Do you prefer massages from men or women?” Forcing you to wonder, which response is from the hetero chick, and which is from the homo lady? Deborah will post 3 questions and answers, and I will post 3 additional questions and answers—meaning you have to check out each of our weekly posts to play. See Deborah's second round contribution here.

See my first round here.
See Deborah's first round here.

From here on out we will go by the gender-free-for-all names: Chris and Pat. Good luck pinning the gayness on the metaphorical donkey. We’ll reveal each answer’s author in our final installment.

***

G vs. S: The Mommy Round

1. Your kid wants a tattoo. You say:

a. "Over my dead body."

b. "Not until you can afford to have it removed."

c. "Let’s go together! You get one side of a heart, and I’ll get the other!"

Chris: As long as it says something about worshiping Mom, I’m all for it. If they plan on getting a tattoo with the name of their delinquent boyfriend or whore girlfriend, I’ll threaten to move in with them as soon as I become senile and incontinent.

Pat: I’m going with “b.” I’m fascinated by tattoos, but too afraid to get one myself. I mean, how does one decide on a permanently marking her body with the Chinese symbol for “Sexy Dragon” or the name of a beloved pet when someday, probably within 90 days of purchase, she’ll really wish she’d gone with the Celtic knot? Like any good mother, I refuse to believe that my child will see things differently than I do. So, no body graffiti until you can afford laser removal. Unless it’s henna then, hey, point me to the nearest street fair.

2. Which is more important to teach your kid, good grammar or how to fart with your armpit?

Chris: Anyone can make a good armpit fart but it takes a dedicated connoisseur of language to be able to model impeccable grammar for his or her children. I do consider myself to be that kind of cunning linguist.

Pat: I cannot arm pit fart. So, the more pressing question is this: “How can you really say you’ve done all that you can for your kids if you've taught them that a gerund is a verb turned into a noun by the addition of the suffix ‘-ing’ when you couldn't teach them to make rude sounds with their sweaty palms and armpits?”

3. Whose job is it to floss your kids teeth?

Chris: Clearly, the Floss Fairy does it because no one else seems to even know where the floss lives in this house. Frankly, she’s not doing a very good job. I might have to register a complaint at Fairy Headquarters.

Pat: The same guy whose job it is to charge me enough to cover the cost of renting a slip at the yacht club for flossing those teeth every six months. I want my kids to grow up to be normal adults. The kind that lie to their dentist about flossing their teeth, like every other normal adult I know.

***

Don't forget to see the other three questions on Deborah's blog HERE.

No fair guessing who's who if you have inside information! Cheaters never prosper. NEVER.

Can I borrow some Goo Gone?

2013-04-26T12:36:00.000-04:00

You can read more of my parenting "wisdom" at my new blog gig as a writer for Moms.FortWayne.com.

I always intended, even enforced, a few house rules. Oh, little things like put dirty shoes in the mud room, do not visit with family members using the toilet, and do not store crayons in the dryer. Now, however, there are more mud-clogged shoes in my foyer than there are feet in my family. No one pees alone. And I'm open to advice about how to remove a quarter-inch thick layer of black crayon from the inside of my dryer. The rules have gone by the wayside; I want them back.

There's an idea, a metaphorical framework floating around to describe how we allow ourselves to live in less desirable conditions. The wisdom is this: If you toss a frog in boiling water, he will hop out. However, if you put the frog in a pot of cool water, set that pot on the stove, and slowly bring it to a boil, that amphibious fool will stay there until he's poached. Though, to be fair, it should be “If you boil a pot of water and toss a live frog into the roiling foam, that frog will die and you should seek psychiatric counseling.”

Read the rest at Moms.FortWayne.com.

Earlier this week . . .

I kicked of the "Gay vs. Straight" series with my good gay pal Deborah at Peaches&Coconuts. Can you tell which answers belong to the lady who prefers ladies?
Peyton Price of Suburban Haiku fame has written a guest post for me that explores the finer points of insane mommy crusaders who plague the PTA.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

Improving Facebook because Zuck won't. It's "7 New Buttons Facebook Should Introduce" on NickMom.com.
I also wrote a horoscope that will make you an astrology believer over at NickMom.com.
I'm a guest at Wendy Nielsen's blog, Writing a New Story. She was kind enough to share an oldie of mine, "Mommy Weather." Go to support me, stay to support Wendy, she's good people.
Some fabulous women will be reading their stories about motherhood live and in-person on May 10 in Valparaiso, IN and I'm honored to be one of them.

Memo to little kids. You'll always win 100% of the races I didn't know we were having.
— Nicole Leigh Shaw (@NicoleLeighShaw) April 26, 2013

PTA Meetings: Where fact is always stranger than fiction.

2013-04-24T06:00:00.000-04:00

I'm not one to invite many guest posts. That's because I don't like to share someone funnier, wittier, less grammar-challenged than myself. That risks you liking her better than you like me. But, from time-to-time I make an exception because that person, that esteemed guest, doesn't have a blog and therefore can't steal you away. That, and sometimes a writer is too good not to share.

So, join me in warmly welcoming Peyton Price, the pithy poetess behind Suburban Haiku. She's breaking out of the 5-7-5 mold with a frightening look at the PTA zealots among us.

***

From: PTA President Peyton Price

To: All PTA members

Subject: Agenda for next meeting

The next PTA meeting will be held a week from today, at 7pm in the All Purpose Room. Please reply directly to me if you have an item for the agenda. (No need to Reply All!)

From: Olivia Freewell

To: All PTA members

Subject: Re: Agenda for next meeting

I would like to discuss the use of air freshener in the classrooms. My son is in Mrs. Sykes' fifth grade class. I know for a fact that she sprays the room with Tahitian Breeze. Do you have any idea what chemicals are in Tahitian Breeze? Tahitian Breeze includes a synthetic orchid equivalent and my son is severely allergic to orchids. I am attaching his allergy test results, the list of ingredients found in Tahitian Breeze, and a link to a blog describing the chemicals in aerosol air fresheners. Pay special attention to the section “What We Don’t Know Can Kill Us.”

From: PTA President Peyton Price

To: Olivia Freewell

Subject: Air freshener discussion

Flag: Private

You have really done your research on this issue. Thank you for sharing it.

Let’s take this email discussion private, out of respect of the privacy of both your son and Mrs. Sykes. Have you asked her directly about the room spray?

From: Olivia Freewell

To: All PTA members

Subject: FWD: Air Freshener Discussion

Flag: Urgent

Private?! Chemical exposure is an important issue and every parent at this school should be aware of it!

I asked Mrs. Sykes to stop using Tahitian Breeze. She said she’d never heard of an orchid allergy, but she would switch to Vanilla Dream. OUTRAGEOUS! My son is even more allergic to vanilla, which as a matter of fact, is a type of orchid. What kind of teacher doesn't know this? She claims that fifth graders smell bad, and she “needs” to douse our children with chemicals. By the way, she also wants them to wear deodorant! How is this acceptable? Am I crazy?

From: N.E. Reeder

To: All PTA members

Subject: How do I get off this list?

Please take me off this list.

From: Peyton Price

To: Olivia Freewell

Subject: PTA Health and Safety Committee

I appreciate your passion about student safety! Have you asked the PTA Health and Safety Committee to address the problem? Can you please call me? Here’s my home number: 301-555-3454 My cell number: 301-555-9877. And my work number: 301-555-6578 CALL ANYTIME.

From: Olivia Freewell

To: All PTA members

Subject: FWD: PTA Health and Safety Committee? Thanks but NO thanks.

Flag: Urgent, Reply Requested

Email works better for my schedule. I’m very busy.

Last year I asked the Health and Safety Committee to investigate whether glue sticks are animal-friendly (vegan). They never got back to me. I assure you that my PowerPoint presentation will be very informative. I also need a table to display visual aids and take questions before and after the PTA meeting.

From: Peyton Price

To: Olivia Freewell

Subject: Re: FWD: PTA Health and Safety Committee

I’m very sorry no one got back to you last year. L

Idea: Have you approached the principal? He might appreciate the opportunity to discuss a teacher-related issue offline. J

From: Olivia Freewell

To: All PTA members

Subject: FWD: Re: FWD: PTA Health and Safety Committee TEST SCORES

Flag: Urgent, Reply Requested

My son would appreciate not being trapped in a toxic cloud of Tahitian Breeze, but no one asked him offline! Of course I went straight to the principal when Mrs. Sykes rejected me. He seems to think it’s my job to conduct a scientific study and tell him which room fresheners are safe. I already know the answer: NONE.

I know another school that banned air fresheners in classrooms and NO SURPRISE they have higher test scores than our school. Coincidence?

Are you going to put me on agenda for next week or not?

From: Peyton Price

To: Olivia Freewell

Subject: PTA Meeting Agenda

Thank you for following up, Olivia. You are on the agenda, under New Business. Presentations are limited to 3 minutes. Unfortunately, the projector isn’t working, so no PowerPoint. :’(

From: Olivia Freewell

To: All PTA members

Subject: Re: PTA Meeting Agenda

I’ll bring handouts.

***

Peyton Price is the author of the petty and poignant Suburban Haiku Series. You can find her on Twitter, Facebook, and suburbanhaiku.com. Please do not reply all.

Follow my blog with Bloglovin.

Gay vs. Straight: The Lady Round

2013-04-22T07:51:00.004-04:00

In a move sure to be heralded by NPR and FOX alike as “dumb,” Deborah of Peaches & Coconuts, and myself, give you the four part series: Gay vs. Straight!

Deborah’s an all-around funny lady, smart-ass, and “fake”-married lesbian.

Nicole is a typo artist, goofball and legally-married straight gal.

Over the next four weeks we will examine the history of tension between heterosexual and homosexual Americans in settings private and public, political and religious.

Psych! Instead of well-researched debate, we present you with a series of posts in which we anonymously answer probing questions like “Do you prefer massages from men or women?” Forcing you to wonder, which response is from the hetero chick, and which is from the homo lady. Deborah will post 3 questions and answers, and I will post 3 additional questions and answers—meaning you have to check out each of our weekly posts to play. See Deborah's first round contribution here.

From here on out we will go by the gender-free-for-all names: Chris and Pat. Good luck pinning the gayness on the metaphorical donkey. We’ll reveal each answer’s author in our final installment.

***

G vs. S: The Lady Round

1. Using haiku, how did you feel the first time you got your period?

Chris:
Jumbo maxi pad
Like riding a loaf of bread
When is menopause?

Pat:
Dear Mrs. Friend’s Mom,
Sorry about your couch, ma’am.
I’m a woman now.

2. How long does it take to apply make-up for the following events: jury duty, a family wedding for a second cousin, a Twilight screening in a friend's basement?

Chris: My superhero power is putting on liner and lipstick without a mirror—and not looking like Ronald McDonald. The lipstick is my kid-less indicator, so I wear it anytime I go out without them, jury duty and Twilight screening included. I reserve any additional make up for fancy occasions, which is why I still have a full tube of mascara from 1997. Even then, I only add eyeliner and mascara. Doesn’t take very long to apply. I stop right after I poke myself in the eye.

Pat: I wear a combination of powders designed to recapture my skin's original color, minus the shine, to any and all events. When I'm aiming for extra-presentable I swipe on mascara. For full-blown social occasions I add mascara AND eye shadow. For jury duty I add them all—to my cheeks. Nothing says "I'm too crazy for this jury" like painting eyelashes on your cheeks with a Maybeline wand.

3. Do you prefer massages from men or women?

Chris: I hate massages. I can’t relax while someone pretends I’m a tube of toothpaste and kneads my rolls from bottom to top as if there is still some toothpaste left to squeeze out of my nostrils. I don’t care if you’re male or female, step away! If I want a massage, I’ll get myself a pedicure where the massage chairs do my bidding, and no one is poking me where I don’t like to be poked, I don’t have to tell the chair how good it was when it’s over, and I’ve got something to show for it when I leave. That’s what I call a happy ending.

Pat: I prefer my massage therapists and my gynecologists to be men. And neither should ever look me in the eye.

***

No fair guessing who's who if you have inside information! Cheaters never prosper. NEVER.

Spring means it's hair management season.

2013-04-12T12:40:00.003-04:00

April showers bring May sundresses, and with them, a renewed relationship with my razor. It's been a long winter full of long pants and my legs more closely resemble the stems of the Goliath Bird-eater tarantula than those of homo sapiens sapiens.

I'm not so old, however, that I've forgotten the downy-haired legs of my youth. Though they loom lovely in my memory, I don't pine for them. So many other exciting! hair! changes! have happened since then that forgetting to shave the hairy spot on the outside of my knees is no longer the hair problem I most worry about.

From the hair "down there" to the "prickles" speckling my chin like poppy seeds, I've had to explain a lot of things to my children about my body. The state of my still-changing hairscape is one that requires constant vigilance against interloping follicles. I've got a nearly invisible, but thick as a sapling, strand of facial hair that I can only see from the periphery of my vision. Trying to pin it down with tweezers while looking straight at it in a mirror is a fool's errand. Similarly, its darker, lankier, under-jawline cousin is visible from space, but its position under my jowls makes it difficult to locate without two mirrors and a severe eye strain. You know that physical strain, don't you? It's when you try to focus on a facial hair that floats out of your vision when you turn your head to present it to the mirror. The pull of my eyes as I force them to veer far right has given me a headache. It's only a matter of time before I need to recruit the kids to do my plucking or risk permanent damage to my eyes.

There are a lot of printed pages serving the changes an adolescent girl's body undergoes. When will they put out "What Hair to Expect When You're Aging"? Until they do, here's short list of hair milestones.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

I was up on NickMom this week with a review of modern-day mom threats.
I can't get over the cuteness in this post by Mommy Shorts. It's part cute baby, part Photoshop magic, all win. Unless you don't like 3-month-old snowboarders?
I'm trying to get myself a nod from BlogHer this year as one of their Voices of the Year. If you'd like to help me out, take this link to my nominated post "Is Crack Still Whack?" and/or this link to an original piece "Bees and Skinned Knees: Summer Camp" that I wrote for Bonbon Break. Just click the "vote" button for my submissions and I'm that much close to public humiliation. Together, we can bring my inept parenting poetry to the masses at BlogHer '13 in Chicago.
This piece in The New Yorker, by Paul Rudnick, lambastes idyllic mommy-blogging. Oh the giggles.

It's been a great eight years, but I've changed my mind. Instead of having kids I want to travel.
— Nicole Leigh Shaw (@NinjaMomBlog) April 11, 2013

Spring Break but I'm not broken.

2013-04-05T14:29:00.002-04:00

I don't know when I started enjoying them more. I've always loved them. I've always been infatuated with them. But it seems like I've also always been struggling against them. Somewhere along the way the kids and I started running in step. In dirty, cluttered, nasty-smell-in-the-back-of-the-minivan step.

Once I prayed for bed time. Not because I didn't love the kids or didn't accept the fact that I was responsible for them each bottom-wiping to tears-dabbing moment. Just because doing all that, never knowing when the next "mom!" would come*, is exhausting and the only truly free time is when they are asleep.

It's also true that sometimes I wished them a-slumber because they were in a bad phase, a funk, on a tantrum tear.

But I haven't felt that way in a while and I can't put my finger on when the change happened. Sure, I still want them to stay in bed when they've been put in bed so I can watch New Girl in peace and fantasize about dating Nick Miller. But I don't find myself hiding in the laundry room, praying that they don't find me too quickly so I can regain sanity and a sense of humanity the same way that I used to hope their naps would last ten minutes longer so I could not only shower, but shave, too.

I like my children nearly as much as this man.

So, this spring break, one in which we went no farther than our local park, a friend's house, and the chalk garden we drew on our driveway, hasn't broken me. I'm looking forward to getting them back to school so I can put the house back in order and stop making excuses to take them out for cupcakes instead of a proper lunch. But I'll miss having them home to run alongside me this week, working in parallel for a change, instead of at odds.

*A lie, I know when, it's as soon as I sit down to eat, work, read, or use the bathroom.

Earlier this week . . .

Yogurt for all! Well, for me. And maybe you if you enter this giveaway. Chobani made me Yogurt Famous.
There's a new assassin on the Character Assassination Carousel. It's Synnove from Don't Chew on the Dinner Table and she slayed a Dr. Seuss book about possessed pants.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

I was on Bonbon Break with a repub of what is very likely the only smutty Alton Brown fan fiction on the internet.
I was one of the fools on NickMom this April 1st with my Latin translations of common parenting-related phrases. It's exactly as geeky as it sounds.
This is the only Melanoma PSA you'll ever need. From the hilarious minds of Kerry from HouseTalkN and her Moffice cohort, Jill.
I was published on Mamalode last week here, but if you want a better use of your reading time, you'll check out this moving piece by Anymommy on Mamalode.

Don't Chew on the Dinner Table and What Was I Scared Of?

2013-04-03T16:10:00.003-04:00

Today's assassin is:

Synnøve at Wine and Glue:

Synnøve takes issue with Dr. Seuss' sadistic turn as M. Night Shyamalan in "What Was I Scared Of?" It's a tale of possessed pants terrorizing a small, yellow man-bear. So, right in Dr. Seuss' wheelhouse.

Here's a teaser:

One fish. Two fish. NIGHTMARE PANTS.

***

Previous Assassin: Lisa at Wine and Glue.

Next Assassin: Steph at Do Your Job.

I'm yogurt famous. #GIVEAWAY

2013-04-02T15:04:00.002-04:00

Well, Chobani sent me yogurt.* For free. It's like I'm Brangelina without the nannies, the exotic trips to foreign Disneyland (Bonjour, Monsieur Mickey!), and the Brad Pitt. I'm just yogurt famous.

Here's the victory part. For my kids and for me.

We are in the midst of the Easter binge. Worse, it's Easter candy binge and spring break. That means no math worksheets or recess or paste-eating to break up the candy craving monotony. Right now our home is host to an inadvisable amount of food stuffs whose main ingredient is constipation. By Friday there will be complaints about tummy aches and I'll ask the question every mother is forced to ask and that no child is capable of answering: When's the last time you pooped?

I asked this question of my five-year-old, Beans (yes, that is ironic).

Beans: My belly hurts.

Me: When was the last time you pooped?

Beans: The day after yesterday.

Me: So, today?

Beans: No.

We'll start the next few mornings with lots of fluids and a Miralax-spiked smoothie. I'll have fruit out all day; whole grain, super-fiber bread with dinner. My goal will be to give them enough fiber-rich foods that they can't hear the siren song of sugar over the sound of their own chewing. Unless I can get them hooked on the free yogurt. Enter Chobani.

They ate it and it had bits of real fruit in it. Okay, my son objected to the real bits of blueberries, even though he eats actual blueberries by the fistful. I ate it. Okay, I objected to having to share it with my kids, even though I eat children by the fistful.

Everyone wanted more. Especially the strawberry banana.

I still expect that the kids will be backed up because some fool bought them waaay too much candy. But there are three types of pro-biotics (I just read that on the Chobani Champions site) and I'm hoping they ease (ahem) the transition from Easter/spring break living to regular (AHEM) yogurt famous living.

Now you can be yogurt famous, too.

Enter below to win 1 GRAND PRIZE** of a year’s supply of Chobani and Chobani Champions. Yep, a year’s supply of that delicious, nutritious, protein-packed parenting victory known as Chobani greek yogurt.

Our grand prize winner will build a custom case for themselves to be delivered to their doorstep monthly, including 1 case of assorted Champions Flavors, 1 case of assorted Chobani Flavors and a bonus case of either Champions tubes, Chobani Bite or Chobani 32 oz cooking sizes. Every month for a YEAR!**

10 Runners-up will receive one case of Champions Tubes delivered to their doors!

Giveaway begins April 3 and ends at midnight April 8.

Chobani is gettin' social to find the good, the bad, the ugly… and a REAL taste of life with kids. Join in on the convo!

Follow Chobani at:

Join all of us on twitter for #spikedpunch Sunday night, April 7 from 9-10pm EST. Enjoy the party and a chance to win 1 of 2 cases of Chobani tubes!

* I was not paid in any currency, except the currency of strained, Greek-style yogurt in colorful tubes (8, to be exact). Opinions are mine. Medical claims ARE NOT being made. Constipation is 100% real and I'll thank you to know that I have a great plunger.

** Giveaway open to residents of the United States only. Grand prize winner will choose from products available at http://chobani.com/products/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Marriage equality and monograms, confusion for all!

2013-03-29T17:43:00.000-04:00

There's a lot going on in Washington right now. Cherry trees are blooming, drones are droning in congress (and there are unmanned planes, too!), and gay marriage rights are being discussed.

Unlike some of my more conservative readers, I'm all for cherry tree blossoms. I just don't think they should be allowed to marry. The homosexuals, however---it's high time they were given the right to marry as they choose, even if, just like their heterosexual counterparts, they end up in divorce nearly 50% of the time.

But, my dear gays, please consider what you're asking for. Much like when one's eyes are larger than one's stomach, being married comes with indigestion as well as tax benefits. Which, if TurboTax is any guide, also comes with indigestion.

My LGBT friends, just consider that, should you win the Supreme Court's supreme approval, you will also face the following downsides to legal marriage that we hetero-types have been struggling with for years.

Earlier this week . . .

I killed my dog and told off a relative stranger. That's just how I grieve.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

Mamalode, I'm very proud to say, has picked up my stirring, Seussian rendition of how not to talk to your kids about drugs. Go, check it out, I promise to never talk to your kids about drugs if you surf over to Mamalode.
I'm kind of famous (in my own mind). Our local newspaper, The News Sentinel, has run a story about me, the book I Just Want to Pee Alone that I'm a contributor to, and my upcoming appearance at Listen to Your Mother, Northwest Indiana.
I'm all over this Peeps trend because all of my friends are doing it. See the Peeps-related fun in this Mommy Shorts post.

Make mine an angry grief.

2013-03-25T14:26:00.004-04:00

I killed my dog, Clyde. He was my favorite among our two dogs, Bonnie and Clyde. I can say that because they are not my children. If you have pets, plural, I recommend picking a favorite. It's freeing and cathartic to say out loud, "I like you best!" and know that no one's feelings will be hurt in the process. Not so when applied to your kids (mean) or your UPS guy (awkward).

When I say "I killed my dog" I mean that we put him to sleep because he was terminally ill. It was my oldest who called it "killing."

"Why are you going to kill Clyde? It's not nice."

No, I suppose it's not nice at all, but it is compassionate. Clyde was at the end of his life and, while he was not well, was as chipper as he was going to be before entering the last tortured days of his decline. The vet, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that none of us, least of all my sweet, overgrown, 11-year-old puppy, would enjoy the end should we choose to let him linger. We told our children that being responsible, caring pet owners means making the choice that is best for our pets, even when it's not the choice that is best for us.

On one hand, the blessing of grief over the death of a loved pet is that it's uncomplicated. Unlike people, pets don't leave us wondering if they knew that we loved them. They don't die leaving us with unfinished emotional business to try to clean up later in therapy. I'm not worrying that Clyde never forgave me for forgetting his birthday or that he's angry I never apologized for calling him a "real piece of work, you know that dog?" when he puked on the carpet.

On the other hand, like the mourning that happens when we lose people to death, I engaged with all five stages of grief. But none so dramatically as anger.

We took Clyde to the vet this past Wednesday to discover if the infection we had hoped for a week earlier was actually the something more sinister the vet had also proposed. He'd declined since starting on an antibiotic and had begun to lose bladder control. A quick exam by the doc confirmed the worst; he was dying, and quickly. We opted to wait one more day to say our good-byes. I took my pee-leaking pup home for a dinner of pork chops. We cried, we hugged him, and we arranged a babysitter for the next evening so that my husband and I could both be with Clyde at the end.

I called the vet that same Wednesday, maybe 30 minutes after having left the office, to schedule the final appointment. The woman who took my call was the same woman who had checked me out of the office just half-an-hour earlier.

"I need to schedule my dog for euthanization tomorrow."
"Weren't you just here?"
"I was."
"Oh."

It was not the "oh" that relayed sympathy, understanding, or condolence. It was the kind of "oh" that really meant, "I disapprove of dog murderers like you." I tried to believe I'd misread her "oh" but her next line sealed it.

"Are you sure you want to do that? Is he really in that much pain?"

To be clear, I adored my dog. He was a mushy, animated teddy bear, well-suited at his 90 pounds for crushing hugs around his neck and wrestling in the yard. He was amiable, gentler than his size suggested, and the picture of contentment. To be clearer, I was never less sure of something. We were making the best choice we could with the information we had. Yet on some level her disgust and judgement seemed fair.

I spoke into the phone. "I've never been asked such an insulting question. I just left the doctor who told me my dog has less than a week to live. He sleeps in his own urine because he's lost control of his bladder."

She gasped and began to apologize. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm . . ."

There was something about her apology. The way she was admitting her mistake and shrinking from the accusation it carried brought out my ire rather than soothed it. Maybe in another person the convergence of tears, doubts, and indignation at being accused of something untoward might have prompted a sheepish response. But I'm from New Jersey, friends. I went with four-lettered anger.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Three things happened nearly at once. I hung up. I turned to my daughter, who stood pale and wide-eyed behind me in the kitchen and said, "Those were terrible words mommy just said!" I stood at the sink and sobbed.

I was useless.

My husband drove up to the vet's and while the woman on the receiving end of my verbal assault apologized once again, he assured her it was okay, everyone makes mistakes, that we love our dog, and that it's just his time to die. This he confirmed with the doctor for a second time, getting her black-and-white assurance that putting Clyde to sleep was the right thing to do.

I saw the woman that next night when we brought Clyde in one last time. She apologized; so did I. Then she confessed that she was scared to see me again. I half-smiled, and just like that, I moved into acceptance.

Listen to other mothers, like me.

2013-03-19T23:36:00.000-04:00

There are times when we hit a parenting wall and we require the help of our sisters and brothers in child wrangling.

Johnny chewed through the baby gate! Does your orthodontist see toddlers?
Only one of my daughter's armpits gets stinky. Would you call the doc or just teach her to lead with her good pit?
I really want to wear my teen's new Uggs. Smack me. Make it hurt.

But most of the time I suspect what we really want is commiseration. We want to purge ourselves and pick out the details from the puddle of parenting sick that's left behind. We hold up those undigested bits and show it to our friends. "See," we say, "potty training. I can't get it under control." We want them to rummage around in their own stress and produce a similar nugget. "Me too! Here's I am undecided about pull-ups or rubber sheets."

I confess, I don't listen to other mothers often or well. I mean that I don't solicit advice so much as I solicit sounding boards and I don't absorb well-intentioned suggestions so much as I ignore them. Unless they are singing my song. Then I turn up the volume and put that tune on repeat.

No one meets a friend for coffee to finally tackle the problem she's having getting her son to stop picking his nose. Let's understand up front that co-misery is not about brainstorming solutions. We just want to confirm with each other that no way is our daughter going to prom with a boy whose nickname is "No-Pants McLightning." And no way do we have a clue how to stop her without making her hate us. Listening to other mothers is about plotting revenge or making the heavy decisions feel lighter. We want someone to give us a reason to go ahead and eat a pint of ice cream, even if that reason is our eighth grader's failing grade in Spanish.

We want to know we aren't alone, that, as much as we pretend to crave uniqueness, we aren't very different from other parents after all. We want to share. We want to be listened to. We want to be laughed with. We want you to share those chips and tell us once more about the time the baby threw up in your mouth.

***

This year I'm thrilled and proud to be a part of the Listen to Your Mother, Northwest Indiana cast. Listen to Your Mother is a national program that features writers reading their original pieces about motherhood. It's founder, Ann Imig, knows a little something about "Giving motherhood a microphone." So does Lovelyn Palm, the producer of the Northwest, IN show.

Tickets are on sale now. I'll bring the Doritos.

Wine and Glue and Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late

2013-03-18T11:12:00.002-04:00

Today's assassin is:

Lisa at Wine and Glue:

Lisa's son attempts to defend the Pigeon in "Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late." A landmark mock trial of sorts during which no parent changes their mind so nice try, mister, it's off to bed for you.

Here's a teaser:

That's quite enough, Pigeon. Bed. Now. No hot dogs.

***

Previous Assassin: Kelley at Kelley's Breakroom.

Next Assassin: Synnove at Don't Chew on the Table.

***

ALL THIS WEEK

Enter to win a $50 Amazon gift card and a complete set of the most excellent ebook series: Voodootown.

Voodoo is the new vampire. #GIVEAWAY

2013-03-15T00:00:00.000-04:00

Every time I pay $5.99 to watch one of the Twilight movies on pay-per-view, I wish I had saved the money for something more stimulating, like a complete set of The Joy of Painting DVDs with Bob "Soporific" Ross. I enjoyed the Twilight books, and I enjoyed the shirtless men in the movies, but that moody, blasé Bella is mellowing my harsh.

I enjoy monster flicks and super heroes. I like classic fantasy movies like The NeverEnding Story and updated zombie flicks like Shaun of the Dead. I’m a Potter fan and a True Blood watcher. I break for zombies, but only to cave-in their skulls. I pay IMAX 3-D prices to see Tim Burton films. I read at least half of Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter (meh).

What’s a ghoul to do when she’s had enough of vamps and weres and the undead?

According to author Bruce Elgin and the fine folks at Grasshorse Studios, an award-winning animation firm, voodoo is the new vampire, and I agree. For about the same price it would cost you to order up a crap vampire movie in which the lead actors have both porcelain skin and porcelain emotions, you can own two episodes of the leagues more stimulating Voodootown series.

This brand new concept in young adult fiction is both unique and engaging. Our teen protagonists, troubled in the usual ways, try to fit in, make friends, and keep away from enemies, all the while shadowed by their stuffed familiars...voodoo dolls with special powers who settle human-world scores by night in the underground world of Voodootown.

The latest episode in the series, Episode 6, "Tattered," is available this week for free download through Amazon. So don't take our word for it, read for yourself.

We know you'll be hooked, and like the stitches-and-seams super dolls that watch over the teen characters in Elgin’s engrossing serial, we're here to help you out. Eight bloggers* who have enjoyed a good young adult novel or two in their day, have gotten together to bring you a Voodootown Giveaway.

A Grand Prize winner will net a $50 Amazon gift card, which, obviously, they’d use to buy up every single Voodootown ebook BUT WHY DO THAT WHEN YOU COULD WIN THE WHOLE SHEBANG? Yes, in addition to the $50 Amazon gift card, the Grand Prize winner will get a free copy of each of the currently available ebooks, from "Episode 1, Schooled," through the latest ebook, "Episode 6, Tattered." The enormity of this generosity boggles the mind.

BUT THERE’S MORE.

The Grand Prize winner (there will be only one) will also get a limited edition Voodootown t-shirt. Clothes off our back, that’s how far we’d go for you, readers.

Eight other runners-up, one for each of the bloggers helping to promote this giveaway, will win a copy of the very first Voodootown ebook, "Episode 1, Schooled," as well as a limited edition Voodootown t-shirt.

Will wonders never cease? Actually they will. Enter today through Friday, March 22 when this promotion ends. You'll have until midnight on March 22, when the Rafflecopter sign-up below will shut down. Winners will be announced later that day on Ninja Mom Blog.

Get on it, kids. You just need to leave a comment to enter, posting the name you’d want for your very own voodoo doll protector. The rest of the entry options are optional, but each will give you a greater chance to win.

Remember: The promotion ends in one week. Until then, here’s hoping no one sticks a pin in your voodoo doll.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

*Thanks to the following bloggers for promoting the books and the giveaway:

Reading is FUNdamental; puns are embarrassing.

2013-03-13T15:25:00.002-04:00

I enjoy puns. It's embarrassing, the same way that sitting down to watch the rest of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective on cable is embarrassing, but there it is.

That's why I put one in the title of this piece. A pun to highlight the fact that I'm not above embarrassment for the sake of laughter. Because someday I'll be dead and people will say, "She sure loved a pun, that fool." They will sigh and a half-grin will break over their faces and someone will sniff and wonder aloud where the tissues are. All because of puns and the fact that I made someone laugh and then I died, a powerful cocktail of weepy nostalgia.

There is no greater legacy than leaving laughter in your cold, dead wake. Even if it means you might have felt uncomfortable while still living because you over-shared a bit, or "went there" too often, or used words like "bagina" in your professional writing. Making fun is not for the meek and joyless, it's for those few brave souls who invite you to laugh at them if you can't laugh with them. Those people who hear you tell your embarrassing story and make you feel normal when they tell you theirs. Humorists, clowns, fools, and comedians, where would we be if they had the decorum filter the rest of decent society employs?

Here are some of my favorite unfiltered bits:

From Kim of Let Me Start By Saying.

***

From Johi of Confessions of a Corn Fed Girl.

***

From Amy of Funny Is Family.

***

From Michelle of You're My Favorite Today.
***

From Steph of Binkies and Briefcases.

***

From Rachael of RachRiot.

***

Me. It's from me, Nicole. You're on my blog now.

*** Want more of the same? Buy the book I Just Want to Pee Alone. Just follow the link at left, or click on any of the images above. Do it before we are dead. We would appreciate hearing your laughter before we're buried.

"Mommy Doesn't Want to Wipe Your Poop" is the next book.

2013-03-11T12:04:00.001-04:00

So, you're in the bathroom and you manage to lock the door before your child slips a Croc-clad foot between the door and the jamb, preventing you even these few moments to pee privately. Now what?

Let me paint you a picture. You're in your powder room and your children are none the wiser. You look about you and discover a scented candle you haven't lit since its smell made you vomit back when you were pregnant with your now eight-year-old. You light it. How nice, is that pomegranate? No, cranberry? You find a nail file under the sink. It's half covered in hot pink nail polish from your daughter's last round of "Let's play nail sal—mom, it spilled!" But you might be able to file off the edge of your ragged thumbnail if you can peel away a few spots. You sit and file, letting the—you know what? it is pomegranate, after all—candle scent waft around you. It's nearly perfect.

If only you had this:

That's right. No longer will we mothers stand by and let our chance at peaceful reading in the smallest room in our house be hijacked before it can begin. No longer will we tolerate a reading material drought in our water closets. No longer will a two-years-out-of-date Martha Stewart Living be our only literary refuge when making number two.

It's time to stock up on our bathroom reading material. And this is the book to stock up on.

Thirty-five of the Internet's funniest, wittiest, mommiest mom-bloggers have come together under one cover. These are all-new, original essays and they can be yours. Host your very own Mom's Afternoon In the next time you find yourself secreted away in the bathroom.

But that's not all. This book, in paperback or Kindle, is perfect for reading while in carpool line, hiding in the laundry room "folding," at the gynecologist's office waiting for a pap smear, pretending to nap in the guest room at your in-laws', and any other time you find yourself with a few minutes and a need to giggle.

Not convinced? Need more incentive to BUY THIS BOOK? Act now and any of these hilarious, internet-famous bloggers (below is the complete list of contributors to this book) will raise your children for you. Operators are standing by.

People I Want to Punch in the Throat
Insane in the Mom Brain
The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva
Baby Sideburns
Rants From Mommyland
You Know it Happens at Your House Too
The Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess
My Life and Kids
Bad Parenting Moments
Let Me Start By Saying
Frugalista Blog
Suburban Snapshots
Ninja Mom
Four Plus an Angel
Honest Mom Binkies and Briefcases
Naps Happen Kelley's Break Room
Toulouse & Tonic
HouseTalkN
Hollow Tree Ventures
The Fordeville Diaries
Snarkfest
Mom's New Stage
Nurse Mommy Laughs
The Dose of Reality
The Mom of the Year
Life on Peanut Layne
Momaical
Cloudy, With a Chance of Wine
Confessions of a Cornfed Girl
I Love Them Most When They're Sleeping
Random Handprints
RachRiot
You're My Favorite Today
Funny is Family
My Real Life

Kelley's Breakroom and Love You Forever

2013-03-05T08:15:00.002-05:00

Today's assassin is:

Kelley at Kelley's Breakroom:

Kelley takes on the book we hate to love: Love You Forever. Now, not only has Kelley obliterated this book, she's introduced us to the creepiest version ever, a bizarroland reading of the book. YOU MUST GO LISTEN.

Here's a teaser:

Yes, I remember putting my son in timeout at Gitmo after a similar incident.

***

Previous Assassin: Tara at You Know It Happens at Your House Too.

Next Assassin: Lisa at Wine and Glue.

***

Who doesn't like a good assassination? Click the banner below to vote yes for literary carnage!

Is crack still whack?

2013-03-01T12:18:00.001-05:00

It’s 1993, I’m in high school, and I’ve stumbled into a party where underage people are drinking and heavens to Betsy, is that coke? As in, bastard child of chocolate: blow, happy dust, nose candy, snort. Although, one of those might be a dwarf from Disney’s seminal animated feature, Snow White, which, as irony would have it, is another street name for coke.

But we’re talking about my roaring teens, when I would go to parties where other youths were drinking and drugging and, after working up a nervous flop sweat, I would call my mommy to come get me. Because I was no druggie, man. I took Nancy Reagan’s call to say “no” to drugs seriously enough that I once declined an aspirin with an emphatic, “Stop pressuring me.”

Even as an adult I have difficulty with any substance that smacks of criminal mischief. At the pharmacy I never know where to look or how to comport myself when asking for pseudoephedrine. What facial expression relays dignity and not the moral turpitude that implies one is a go-between for a meth lab?

Whenever, in the course of the winter cold season, I discretely pack away my sinus-clearing drug score, I think about my children and the new drugs they face. Meth, huffing things that my generation used to mask pot smoke, designer club drugs, Splenda: these are the new crack, the new acid, the new Equal. I was not up to the task of confronting their forerunners, how will I equip my children to “Just say ‘no’” to their offspring? How do I speak with my kids about the dangers of illicit drug use, alcohol poisoning, and trans fats when my conversation starter is more than 20 years out-of-date?

I know what would happen. I know how my important, keep to the straight and narrow conversation would go. I’d sit the kids down in a comfy spot. They’d sense my unease. I’d silently pray that we don’t end up on an episode of Intervention and they’d silently pray that I don’t whip out a cucumber and a prophylactic. I’d clear my throat, smile uneasily, and begin like this:

Tell me. Is crack still whack? Is meth, death?
Do kids snort coke, shoot horse, huff glue, trip acid, smoke joints at school?
Pop Adderall, oxycontin? I know there are prescription trades—uncool.
What of tweaking, and candy flipping, and urban slang?
Or shooting up, dragon chasing—Stop fidgeting, I hate this, too.
Would you rather talk about C-O-N-D-O-M-S?
Okay. Then drugs it is.
Surprise! Your mom’s not cool. I didn’t do drugs when I was in school.
I once drank some beer, a wine cooler, and Jager.
But that was the 90s and grandma was asleep.
Besides, when I puked it was only on my feet.
Where were we? Yes, what’s your stance on
Drug use vis-à-vis the illegal and life-threatening practice
Of doing street drugs and pissing off dad and me?
I assume it’s clear that your father and I will have to
Ground you forever if we find even
A shriveled roach in your underwear drawer?
And I will snoop! Is it hot in here? You’re squirming.
Stop worming around in your seat.
I just love you so much and I want to,
I need to say, I’m begging you,
Don’t do drugs!
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not next month. Not during a Leap Year—
Let’s take a deep breath. Did I mention I love you?
And if you love me back, if you don’t want to break my heart,
After all the time I spent cutting the crusts off of your sandwiches
And sneaking your overnight diapers to you at that third grade sleepover,
The least you could do now is, I’m still your mother, young man!
If you want to say thank you, missy, listen up:
You can stay clear of drug use until you’re grown up.
What your father and I don’t know can’t hurt us.
And what you do when you’re an adult won’t get us into trouble with the law.
So, be kind to me, sweethearts. Be gentle. Be good.
Wait until college to get high like a nice kid should.

Better parenting through Sugar-Coated Sarcasm

2013-02-22T10:55:00.002-05:00

They say we learn more from our failures than we do our successes. I say I'd rather be dumb and successful.

Today, as a parent, I'm the stupidest mother alive. I'll tell you about my recent idiocy because I want you to be as dumb and successful as I am. That's called sharing. Which is also caring, which is something I read on a motivational poster that had two monkeys feeding each other nits they'd picked off their backs.

Recently my children begged my husband to stop yelling because it made him a "mean daddy." To be clear, I'm talking about the kind of yelling that happens after asking a child for the third or thirtieth time to brush their teeth or put on underpants because they are standing naked in the living room, again. I'm talking about a run-of-the-mill raised voice. Still, my husband obliged by sitting down with our four children and telling them, "Okay, you got it. I will stop yelling and mommy will, too, my sugar-crusted pig-tails with syrup in your noses."

Everyone giggled. Tension evaporated. I wasn't convinced.

I should disclose that yelling is my medium. It's part of my art, along with heavy sighs, feigned disappointment, and slow head shaking. And yet, as I listened to my husband put his no-yelling rule into practice this week, I began to see the value in his approach. An approach we've dubbed Sugar-Coated Sarcasm.

Unlike conventional sarcasm that children pick up much too quickly and use to their own ends in ways that makes parents unhappy, Sugar-Coated Sarcasm feels nearly as pleasurable as the usual kind, and when your kids turn it around on you it doesn't sting.

The next time you find yourself ready to holler, "Get down here already and put on your shoes," try one of our Sugar-Coated Sarcasm responses. It may feel too sweet in the mouth, but you can wash it away later with wine and reality TV.

If you like this kind of positive spin, you'll love what Anna at My Life and Kids and the b Positive Project cooked up in this eBook (to which I contributed):

b Positive b Inspired b Funny

Click the banner to see the eBook.

Earlier this week . . .

Tara from You Know It Happens at Your House Too was on my Character Assassination Carousel letting loose on There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.

Elsewhere on the internet . . .

JD Bailey from Honest Mom made quite an impression this week as one of the subjects of an article about parenting and depression in this original piece on Parenting.com, "Xanax Makes Me a Better Mom." Brava, JD!
It's been a great week for The Bearded Iris on In the Powder Room. First she made attempted murder by vagina laughable, then she gave depression and suicide a voice.
My original piece, "Bees and Skinned Knees: Summer Camp," an ode to my cheap-ass urban summer camp experiences as a child, was up at Bonbon Break.
Me on NickMom. I know a thing or two about pissing off toddlers.

You Know It Happens at Your House Too and There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly

2013-02-18T08:19:00.001-05:00

Today's assassin is:

You Know It Happens at Your House Too:

She asks the most pressing question in children's literature. Why isn't granny dead?

Here's a teaser:

So, gluten-free diet?

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Previous Assassin: Frugie at Frugalista Blog.

Next Assassin: Kelley at Kelley's Break Room.

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