The Dirty Mommy Club

Jesus & The Easter Bunny Walk Into A Bar

2012-02-23T09:09:00.003-05:00

Ella started school in September. Catholic school. Which had me brushing up on all things papal so I didn't come off as a total atheist when she started asking questions.

I was born and raised Catholic, attending Sunday school, Catholic elementary and secondary schools, convinced that I would go to Hell for hitting my brother (not as big as deterrent as you would think), and knowing that God is always watching (cue showering in my bathing suit).

You would think with all those years under my belt, I would know all Catholic holidays, parables, and Bible passages. You would be wrong. Nonetheless, I want to answer Ella's questions, promote a loving and forgiving view of mankind, and have her know that Easter is about more than chocolate (it really is you know).

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent. Lent is the forty day season of preparation for Easter. Traditionally, Catholics give up something for Lent as a symbol of fasting and repentance (that about wraps up our Cathecism lesson for today).

Ella's days at school have provided her with a lot of knowledge of this time in the liturgical calendar. And I'm glad. I'm not sure I could pull off a full explanation. Enter parenting a school ager. It's really more of a fill in the blanks job. So I asked Ella what she was planning on giving up for Lent. After the ensuing tantrum and explanation that she did not in fact have to give away her most favored possessions, Ella decided she was going to give up suckers. I was very proud of Ella for this decision. Although she doesn't get them often, she loves suckers.

This conversation, of course, lead to the conversation of what I would be giving up for Lent. We batted around a few ideas, and then Ella said 'Diet Coke'. As I gasped for breath, as the very suggestion of this left me breathless, and I realized she was serious.

Note: Anyone who knows me knows I would choose Diet Coke over oxygen.

I recovered and suggested a few other possibilities, but Ella would not be deterred. She felt that giving up Diet Coke would show Jesus just how much I love him, and that was important to her. A lifetime in purgatory is less daunting that disappointing my daughter.

So, thank you Catholic school system, for totally shooting a giant hole through my parenting theory of do as I say. And for the record, that bunny is holding a Diet Coke under his trench for me. In thirty nine more days.

Cheers Dirties

Book Rentals and Other Amazing Things

2012-02-21T15:59:00.000-05:00

I was an English major in university. That meant a lot of books. A LOT. And a lot of books meant a lot of money. Sure, I could have checked them out of the library (if I didn't mind waiting for the 46 people who had it on hold in front of me to finish with it), or I could have bought it used (if I didn't mind missing pages), but generally I just bought them new. There weren't a lot of options in the early '90's.

I am far away from university now, and won't be re-entering that world, even if in a peripheral way, for many years to come (my oldest is only 4). But I do have friends that have kids who will be entering university and college in the next year or two (yes, you Mel), so this is for them.

Enter Campus Book Rentals. This amazing concept allows students to rent textbooks, saving between 40 and 90%. Not only can you save cash, but you get to determine how long you want to rent it for. Brilliant!

I took anthropology and still have my text book from the course. I paid $76.00 for that book in 1993. That equals $632.00 today. But if Campus Book Rentals had been around, I could have rented it instead, and saved myself some cash. You know, for important stuff, like my bar bill.

I am the Mama of three, so you can bet your dollar store pregnancy test that my kids will be taking advantage of this brilliance. Unless I choose to work until I'm 70. And since I'm working toward freedom 45, that likely won't happen.

In case saving 80% isn't enough to persuade you, Campus Book Rentals donates a portion of every book rental to Operation Smile. Smart, good looking, and generous. It's like looking in a mirror I tell ya.

So, for all you Mama's out there that have kids four and a half times the age of mine, this is something for you. After all, the last thing I want to be know for is ageist children's blogging.

Cheers Dirties.

Monster Mania

2012-02-11T13:27:00.000-05:00

We've got a problem over here. Every night, at 7:42pm, our problem arises. It has been so disruptive that I've decided to take action. No more messing around.

You see, each night as I put my sweet boy to bed, the monsters come. They don't hide in his closet or under his bed. These monsters are ballsy, and hang out (pun so intended!) for all to see.

There is no way I could fall asleep with monsters watching, so it's no surprise that my two year old can't either. Enter Monster Be Gone Spray.

Two sprays of this potent stuff and the monsters disappear. And my little man can rest his head in peace.

I whipped up this little label, taped it to a can of Febreeze, and became my boy's savior. And his room smells nice to boot.

So if you have monsters invading your littles' space, copy and paste the label, grab a can of Febreeze and call it a day.

Cheers Dirties.

Momcafe

2012-02-09T07:23:00.001-05:00

Hi ho, hi ho, grab a cup of joe and drop over to the momcafe Network.

You'll have fun. I promise.

Not the money back guarantee kind of promise. The other kind. That doesn't involve money.

Cheers Dirties.

The 26 Year Plan

2012-02-06T21:54:00.005-05:00

I am a planner.

I have two day, two week, two month, two year, and two decade plans. In fact, moving forward without a plan makes me uncomfortable.

I always have a plan. I didn't say I always had a good one, but I always have one.

I'm a 'who drank half my beer' kinda gal when looking at the glass of life. So not only do I have a plan, I have a contingency one too.

You know, just in case.

Some of my plans are small (put laundry away by Friday), and some are big (lose 25 lbs by Friday), but each stands as a reminder to me of what I would like to accomplish.

Not that life always goes as planned. Anyone who has ever awoke with only one shoe and can't remember how they got home will tell you that.

I have been told planning is part of being a type A personality. And it would seem that it is also genetic.

The other day, while driving home from playgroup, Ella says 'You know what Mama?'

I didn't, so I said 'What baby?'

Ella responds 'I know when I'm going to be a Mommy.'

'You do?' I ask, attempting, albeit poorly, to hide both my shock and humor at the conversation topic.

I'm fully expecting Ella's response to send me into out loud laughter, as her concept of age is surrounded by the fact that she has to be eight to ride a scooter. 'Yes,' Ella says. 'When I'm thirty.'

Enter stunned silence.

I'm all for having a plan.

Cheers Dirties.

What Happens In The Bathroom...

2012-02-01T17:01:00.001-05:00

It never fails. The minute I step out of the shower, three little beings are waiting for me to participate in the beautification (I use that term loosely) process of Dirty Mommy. It doesn't matter that I set them up with a book, a puzzle, or a tv show prior to jumping in the shower. The water stops and the pitter patter of little feet commences.

Dirty Daddy was wise enough to put in a double vanity, so at least there is a little elbow room for me and my littles. Emerson hangs out in her jolly jumper in the doorway, which makes her easily entertained. All I have to say is 'jump, jump, jump' and she begins laughing and jumping. The other two though, that's a little harder.

So I have come up with a few bathroom games that will allow you your hands to make yourself pretty and still keep your littles busy enough your makeup bag will be left alone.

Q-tips. Not only are these perfect for cleaning ears and helping your eyeliner, they are perfect for making shapes. I give Ella about eight of them, then ask her to make me a square, rectangle, triangle, and any other shape with a straight line. This buys about ten minutes of time, plus she's honing her shape making skills. A win-win, no?

Tampons. That's right. I said Tampons. While not my favorite product to use because I don't welcome Aunt Ruby's visits, turns out they are fantastic to use for counting. Especially when you have a Costco size box. Hunter dumps the box and then starts counting them. And Ella counts them into groups of fives and tens. Not only are the kids sharing (gasp!), but they're learning a thing or two. Or three or four.

L'Oreal Preference LB02. Okay, I'm not completely a natural blonde. And by completely I mean I was born a brunette, but have considered myself a blonde since the early nineties. Regardless, there is a learning opportunity here people. The box lists both numbers and letters. Which is great. I ask Ella and Hunter to find particular numbers and letters, which promotes their recognition. I heart you L'Oreal on so many levels.

Well, there you have it. Some bathroom fun that doesn't involve stuffing toy cars down the toilet or busting your Aveda blush into a million pieces. And Mama gets spectacular in the process.

Cheers Dirties.

Boob Jobs & Other Renovations

2012-01-25T11:14:00.002-05:00

We spent last year renovating our house. Countless hours and dollars were spent to make our home just the way we wanted it. A process I wasn't sure I'd survive, but the end result has been more than satisfying. Turns out, the previous two sentences are applicable in more than one scenario.

I have hot Mama friends. Seriously. These ladies are beautiful, confident, and inspiring. Like any woman balancing her own life with that of her family's, they need to be reminded of these things. Three women of this particular group did a little something extra for themselves this past year. One opted for rhinoplasty, one for Botox, and one had her breasts augmented.

Now, I would have traded my body for anyone of theirs in a sleeping baby minute. But rather than dreaming about self improvement, as seems to be my new favorite pastime, they did something about it. That's kick ass!

As I wallow in baby-toddler body dissatisfaction, these ladies looked it square in the eye and said enough. I admire that. Grown women doing something to make themselves even more confident and happy. Ain't nothin' better. What I don't agree with is passing on the idea that this is the right choice for everyone, including our daughters.

Enter Sarah Burge. Sarah is world famous for having over 100 procedures done, and spending an estimated one million dollars to make herself into the 'human Barbie'. Sarah has her own reasons for doing what she has, but when you give your 7 year old daughter a gift certificate for liposuction and a boob job, well, that's something else entirely.

I understand that Sarah is a Mama, making choices she feels are right for her daughter. No different than the rest of us. But what are these gifts relaying to her daughter?

I spend an inordinate amount of time teaching my eldest daughter that the definition of beauty starts with kindness, intelligence, a smile, generosity, confidence, and somewhere down the line, prettiness. During her 4 year old interview, I asked Ella what were 3 words to describe herself. And she answered, in this order, 'smart, beautiful, and snuggly'. That was a proud Mama moment for me.

So what do you think Dirties? Harmful or helpful? Would it matter if Poppy was 7 or 17?

Shake a leg (or a boob), and let me know your thoughts.

Cheers Dirties

Kissing Ass & Other Foilbles

2012-01-20T08:44:00.002-05:00

As I near the end of my maternity leave, I have been working furiously on my morning routine. Soon enough, I will have to have myself and three kids four and under up, dressed, clean, fed, and ready for the world each morning. Throw in Dirty Daddy's shift work, and I have to fly solo everyday, half the time in stealth mode to let hubby sleep after work. A daunting task to say the least.

I am feeling pretty confident about it all at this point. For the most part, I can do it in an hour. Which lays to rest my fear of having to wake at 4 am each day, as this seems to be the time that I drift off for some zzzzz's.

The other morning I was getting each of the kids dressed and coiffed. Ella is always the last to do both as she likes to choose how she will wear her hair each day, thus taking the most amount of time. Ella chose braids that morning (yet another task I'm working on perfecting). After two attempts, I finished her hair. It was probably my best braid to date. Feeling proud, I announced to Ella she was done and gave her a smack on the butt with the brush. Cue feeling not so proud.

Ella burst out into tears, crying that I hurt her butt. I hugged her and told her I was so sorry. That I didn't mean to hurt her, and that I had intended to be playful, not hurtful. Ella continued to sob into my shoulder as I held her and then told me I needed to kiss it better. 'Your butt?' I asked. 'Yes' replied Ella.

So I got down and kissed my little girl's butt. The tears instantly subsided, and off she skipped to pick which craft we were going to work on. Just like that, the tears ended. Which got me to thinking. Was she really skipping off because it didn't hurt anymore, or was it because she got her Mama to bend over and kiss her ass?

And this got me thinking a little more. This probably won't be the last time I'll be kissing her ass, just to end up watching her walk away smiling.

Cheers Dirties

Resolving

2012-01-06T14:41:00.000-05:00

I had a great big post written about resolutions for 2012. It was really good. You would have liked it. But, with both the blessing of technology and the curse of it, I lost it. For good. Which sucks.

Lucky for you I had written one for the Momcafe Network as well. You lucky buggers. Here you go.

Cheers Dirties.

Elves Gone Wild

2011-12-24T13:12:00.000-05:00

We have finally joined the Elf on the Shelf extravaganza, albeit a little late in the season.

Apparently our elf, Miss Holly, has been busy drinking and recording with the Elves Gone Wild crew.

Of course, that's to be expected of Dirty Mommy's elf.

Merry Christmas Dirties. Wishing you a holiday season full of happiness and health. And if you're lucky, a little dirty time too.

Muah!

Look Out North Pole!

2011-12-22T12:30:00.001-05:00

Ok, again, I'm not here. But I am here. And you'll want to read it. Really. It's about my 'discussion' with Santa.

And now, for your viewing pleasure.

Cheers Dirties.

Not Here

2011-12-21T13:42:00.000-05:00

Today I'm there. Which means I'm not here. But at least I'm not there. But it wouldn't be bad to be here. It all balances.

Cheers Dirties.

Santa's Village My Ass

2011-12-20T12:51:00.000-05:00

Every year I take my kids to get their pictures taken with Santa. I spend about an hour getting each of them dressed, cleaned up, and spiffed up to make the fat man proud. We park the car, talking as we're walking, about what each of them will say to Santa when they sit on his lap. And each of my kids are super excited. Until it's actually our turn. Then it's a hot mess of craziness.

Exhibit A

Note: before Megan Fox's elf double sat down with my oldest, she too was screaming her Jack Frost head off. My littlest babe was shocked into a state of cooperation.

Come blizzard or high ice float, I want that Christmas picture. So, my kids will either get over their fear, or they'll be screaming at the beginning of December in a Canadian mall for the next fifteen years.

But this year's photo fiasco got me thinking. There has got to be a better way. So I turned to the holy grail of information, Google, and found this. Thank all that is holy! An alternative. I am a huge fan of Amy and her blog, The Idea Room. I constantly turn to her blog ~~and hack her ideas for my family~~ for inspiration for my own family. But Santa pictures without Santa, freaking brilliant.

Happy ho ho Dirties.

Makin' A List...

2011-12-16T10:17:00.000-05:00

Christmas is almost here and I just realized that I haven't prepared my Christmas wish list. Hopefully I made the nice list cut this year. Either way, here goes:

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas this year is sleep. The kind of sleep that happens after a full night of tequila.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Past,

I would like you to locate my ass circa 2006 and bring it back to me. I miss it terribly.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Future,

Please bring all of my children home each year during the holidays until I die. After that, they can do whatever they want.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Present,

Let the wonder in the eyes of my kids on Christmas morning be forever etched on my heart. And please don't let me burn the turkey. That would suck.

Thank you.

Make sure you get your lists to Santa before next Friday. You can mail them to

Santa Claus

North Pole

HOH OHO

Does anyone else find it funny that the words 'pole' and 'ho' both appear in Santa's address? Mrs. Claus must be a minx!

Merry Christmas Dirties.

Fergie, God. God, Fergie.

2011-12-13T08:10:00.002-05:00

I'm pretty sure Ella is going to be a dancer when she grows up. And I pray to God, the good kind. As soon as she hears any music playing, she's up shaking her little butt and gettin' down on the dance floor (aka our living room).

Every week, Ella looks forward to her dance classes. She loves to learn her ballet positions, but equally loves the energy of her jazz class. And each time I see her dance, I tear up. It fills my heart to see her do something she loves with such pride.

The other interest Ella seems to be enjoying is singing. She performs daily duets with Dirty Daddy singing everything from Journey to The Police to Lionel Richie. They're seriously good and I'm considering booking them to start touring in the New Year.

If you put Ella's two current loves together, you get dinner and a show everyday in our house. Not too long ago, Ella was shakin' what her mama gave her to one of her favorite songs, Boom Boom Pow. She's actually starting to learn some of the words.

So there she is, shaking her butt, and she starts belting out a tune that went a little like this: 'Boom Boom Pow, cause the Bible told me so'. Fergie, God. God, Fergie. Introductions done.

A Stitch in Time

2011-12-08T08:02:00.000-05:00

In the words of my husband, I'm 'not too domestic'. Pop by the Momcafe for further explanation.

Cheers Dirties

Down the Rabbit Hole

2011-11-23T21:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not a very outdoorsy girl, but I like to be outdoors a lot. Confusing? A little. Just be thankful you don't live in my brain.

While 'a camping we will go' has never passed through my lips, I do love to spend time outside. In all types of weather. And since I'm an all weather gal, so are my kids. Or they're going to be anyways.

In my efforts to have my kids enjoy all kinds of weather, I try to make things fun and, at times, educational. Puddle jumping, snow angels, flashlight walks, animal home hunting, anything I can think of.

We had a bit of freezing rain last night, so this morning everything was glistening with ice. To make our walk to school a little more fun, I announced that we would be going on an ice hunt.

My little sleuths found ice in tiny pinecones, on tall grasses, along fence posts. It was a lot of fun to watch them hunt along.

At about the half way mark on our walks to school is a little park. This little park doesn't actually have anything other than a grassy hill big enough to toboggan down. But when the snow isn't flying, my kids love to run to the top of the hill to simply run back down it.

This morning the kids spent a couple of extra minutes at the top of the hill, and then came running down it announcing that they found something. I assumed that they had found a new item in nature all covered in ice when Ella announced 'I found the beaver hole'.

Enough said.

Buzzin' at the Cafe

2011-11-16T13:47:00.001-05:00

I'm buzzing at the momcafe today. Come see.
Could be caffeine, could be something stronger. Just sayin'.

Scootin' Boobies

2011-11-14T20:09:00.002-05:00

My oldest daughter wants a scooter so badly. She is always asking when she can get one. Being as she just turned four, I'm inclined to wait until she's a little older. So you can imagine her delight when she recently saw an elderly woman driving what I referred to as a scooter. Ella's jaw literally hit the ground. And I knew exactly what she was thinking...'I'm over that two wheeled jobbie. I want one with a motor!'

I went on to explain that people with mobility issues sometimes use a scooter to allow them independence in getting around. Of course, using the term 'mobility issues' with a four year old prompted further explanation. So I went down the list - elderly people, people with hurt legs, amputees, and so on.

If I had to guess, I think Ella turned off her listening ears after 'elderly people', for as I finished up my explanation, this was our conversation:

Ella - 'When I get old, I'm going to use a scooter.'

Me - 'That might be a good idea to help you get around town when you're old.'

Ella - 'Yeah. I'm going to get a scooter and maybe wear a bra too.'

I was about to explain that by the time she reaches old age, the whole bra deal isn't so important anymore, but I figured why ruin a kid's dream.

Cheers Dirties.

Sugar and Cigarettes

2011-11-10T23:02:00.001-05:00

When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike to the local convenience store to pick up things my Mother 'required'. Yup, me on my banana seat bike, heading to the Quick Trip Variety to buy a pack of Dunhills. For my Mom. (Sheesh, I didn't start that early.) Wrapped around my handle bar was the note my Mom had written, 'Please give Stephanie one package of Dunhills' and wrapped in that note was the money to buy them with - a one dollar bill and a two dollar bill. And the change was all mine baby.

It is amazing the clarity I have of those nicotine fueled errands. I remember the cigarette packaging, the man who owned the store and what he looked like, where the penny candy was located for my purchasing pleasure. And the route I took to the store. We lived on a crescent that wasn't really a crescent. It was a street pretending to be a crescent because Breezewood Crescent sounded much better than Breezewood Street.

Heading to the store was easy. Most of it was down hill. But coming home. That was a bitch. Even for my energetic seven year old legs. Throw in some really hot summer days, and the bonus cash at the end of the purchase almost didn't cut it. Almost. Because even then I'm pretty sure I had a sugar addiction.

And sometimes I just didn't feel like going. But I did. Because my Mom told me too. It was on one of these begrudged trips that it hit me. I was totally going to have kids when I grew up so I could send them to the store to buy me cigarettes. Brilliant. And while my kids were there, they could pick Grandma up a pack too. And I would totally give them at least an entire dollar to spend on candy, not just the change. You know, as a thank you.

Here we are, many years later. No longer are there any one dollar or two dollar bills kicking around to use. Penny candy is now at least a nickel. I have no idea where my banana seat bike is these days. I used to smoke but gave it up to have my kids. And even if I did smoke, the government implemented laws against selling tobacco to minors. Well, that plan didn't work out very well, did it?

Cheers Dirties.

Dirty Woody

2011-11-04T22:37:00.001-04:00

No matter how hard you try, parents are hard pressed not to succumb to the pitfalls of the licensed character. Those freakin' marketing geniuses make it nearly impossible to come out unscathed. Add the persistence of a toddler, and your done.

I never set out to raise daughters who idolize troubled royalty, but here I am, sitting in what appears to be Disney vomit all over my house. Thankfully, Ella is not completely over the top and enjoys wearing her hockey gear as much as she does her tiaras and tutus.

Hunter is a little more narrow minded. He is all about Toy Story. We have all three Toy Story movies. We have Toy Story figures, books, stickers, temporary tattoos, placemats, telephones, sand toys, the list goes on. Hunter seriously loses his shit when we walk past anything to do with Buzz or Woody. And since the majority of my time spent out of the home is at either the grocery store or Walmart, I see Hunter losing his shit a lot.

The other thing that will make Hunter lose it is dirty hands. This kid hates, I mean hates, dirty hands. He can accept them while playing, eating, painting, etc., but once finished he must have his hands cleaned asap. If that doesn't happen, he will lose his shit.

Marry those two aspects of his life and you have a looming apocalypse. And that's what happened this afternoon.

After finishing a peanut butter sandwich that was eaten over his Toy Story placemat while holding his Woody figure, Hunter noticed that there was, you guessed it, peanut butter all over his hands and his toy. He started with a little whimper 'Mommy', holding out his Woody figure and his peanut butter covered hand. In a rare moment when I was not standing in the kitchen at the sink, it took me an additional twenty seven seconds to get to the sink to wet a cloth to wipe him down. Naturally, this was more than enough time to ramp up the whimper, wake his youngest sister from her nap, and have me moving faster than Ben Johnson without the roids.

My standard plan of attack with Hunter is to clean the hands first. This kid is quick, and if you don't get the hands cleaned up fast, you'll be dealing with a larger mess from where he places his hands at lightning speed. So that's what I did. I started with his hands. The thing is though, peanut butter isn't the easiest thing to wipe off. You have to scrub a little. Which takes time. Which makes Hunter lose his shit.

I attempt the calming voice as I continue to clean his hands, explaining that I have to wipe his hands clean of all the peanut butter so that he won't dirty his Woody figure again once I clean that. A few cracks at this and he's back to the whimper, with a big pouty bottom lip. And then I hear in a little sad voice, 'wipe my Woody'.

No, he's not potty trained.

And yes, my playgroup resignation is in the mail.

Cheers Dirtites.

Getting Dressed at the momcafe

2011-11-02T12:33:00.000-04:00

Today I'm talking about dressing for success at the momcafe Network.Well, maybe not success, more of a 'not-leaving-the-house-naked-for-work' kind of thing.

And while you're waiting for that link to fly, here's something for your viewing pleasure. Wonder what criteria she uses to pick out her work clothes?

Cheers Dirties.

Sweaty Ice Cream Balls

2011-10-31T00:04:00.001-04:00

I have no idea where I've been, but today is the first day I've heard of Schweddy Balls.

It would appear that Ben & Jerry have stirred up some controversy over their newest ice cream flavor. So much, in fact, that it has now been pulled from the shelves.

OneMillionMoms.com was one of the forces behind the company's decision to pull their newest product. And LaughSpin is one of the publications against the decision.

Ah, but. A little back story if you please. Schweddy balls was a hugely popular sketch on SNL. One, apparently, that Ben & Jerry liked. So much in fact they created this ice cream. And right there on the package is a cow dressed in a SNL shirt, just in case anyone missed the reference. Funny.

Ok. I get it. Ice cream equals childhood. Childhood equals innocence. Schweddy balls equals nothing appealing. Well, the ice cream version was appealing, but I can't get that anymore.

So, I'm sitting here as both a parent and a societal humor fan, and I'm confused. The parent in me screams the battle cry against anything that could taint my kids sooner than later. But my funny bone vibrates (in a good way) with SNL skits.

I can honestly say, however, that I'm glad the ice cream wasn't blue.

Cheers dirties.

Drink Up You Cheating Bastard

2011-10-26T22:24:00.001-04:00

Like any married couple, Dirty Daddy and I have our own top five get-out-of-marriage free lists. In case you're one of those people who don't lust after anyone other than your spouse (why no honey, that is not a picture of a half naked Ryan Reynolds on my Pinterest board called 'I'd Do Him') and you need further explanation, it is a list of celebrities that, if ever given the opportunity, you would be allowed to sleep with without repercussions.

In case you're wondering, my top five are Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, Gabriel Aubry, Ryan Gosling, and (you guessed it) Ryan Reynolds. A long shot, yes, but the very reason I don't leave home without wearing mascara.

While I am constantly scanning my local Walmart to see if by some miracle Ryan is indeed doing some shopping, I can honestly say that my eye doesn't really do any other wandering. It may be because I'm usually that crazed and frantic woman attempting to keep three kids in line while buying toilet paper. Or it may be because I'm happily married (most likely the latter). But every once and a while, some tight tushed man makes my head turn one hundred and eighty degrees.

I am confident that this also happens to Dirty Daddy. He is named Dirty Daddy after all. But I never worry that a look may be acted upon by either of us. Not one bit. Wanna know why?

Yes, we're still deeply in love after five years of marriage. Yes, we're a team building our lives together. Yes, Dirty Daddy is a hottie. Yes we have three kids and child support would be a killer. But mostly because Dirty Daddy's wedding ring is made of titanium. So short of digit amputation, that sucker is staying put. Which means a no pee cocktail for him.

Cheers dirties.

A Dirty Education

2011-10-24T22:55:00.000-04:00

I spend Monday mornings volunteering in Bug's class. It gives me a little peak into this separate life that she has. Plus, being a teacher by trade, it allows me to see just what kind of school kid my kid is.

Most of my time is spent collating, filing, putting activities together, and helping the JK's with their printing. But today? Today was different.

Bug's health teacher was in the classroom today talking to the kids about, well, health. She focused on how to have a safe Halloween, telling the kids to watch for cars, not eat too much candy, wear appropriate costumes and so on. Being as candy was a topic, this woman had their undivided attention.

With no student assistance needed, I sat in the back of the classroom performing glue stick magic. I was half listening, but not really when I heard 'my Mommy has a Dirty Mommy Club'. I'm sorry, what?

Yup, my Bug told the health teacher that her Mommy has a Dirty Mommy Club. I don't even want to venture what this woman thought my child was talking about. The look on her face said it all. So I figured, let dirty, sleeping Mommies lie. And give the PTA some fodder for their next meeting.

When I caught Bug's eye, she was smiling wider than a Cheshire cat. Sitting there prouder than punch. I'm not sure if the pride came from her Mommy's membership affiliations or that at the tender age of four, she can already stun the teacher. Maybe I should start sending the principal nice Christmas gifts.

Cheers dirties.