Category Archives: Motherhood

Why God Made Wine.

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Have you ever felt like your life is so intense that you never have time to process anything that happens?

Crazy things go on here all day, every day. I’ll find myself thinking, okay … my child just got bleach in his mouth. I need to process that. But before I have a chance to work through it, someone is digging around in the can of garbage containing raw chicken, and then someone is standing precariously on a tall surface, and then someone else is eerily quiet. Which is never a good sign.

My marriage and my kids and my career and my extended family and MYSELF. That’s a lot to juggle without having adequate time to process things. It feels like I have been hurtling through life for the past few years. Maybe this is what they mean when they say “it goes so fast.”

It does go fast.

Too fast.

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Me and my big girl.

I want to tell my kids to stop for just one day — just ONE! — to let me collect my thoughts. I’ve had a lot of weird things, both good and bad, happen recently and am struggling to gain my footing. But they can’t stop, because they’re children and their job is to spend their days learning how to dismantle kitchen appliances to see what’s inside, and my job as their mother often gets in the way of me dealing with my shit.

I can’t deal with my shit when I’m cleaning up literal shit.

Mothers have a deeper need for emotional and physical space than anyone else, and yet we are the ones who are least likely to manage to make that happen for ourselves.

Personally, I like to process things. I enjoy actively working through the stages of elation and grief and change and emotion because I want to feel every step. To me, that’s LIVING — because life, with all of its heartache and anger and happiness and love, is rich. I relish it.

My current processing methods are ineffective and outdated. I can no longer spend hours on a running trail walking and thinking. I can’t be alone anytime I wish. I’m a mom now. Sometimes I have to put my own needs on hold in order to deal with someone else.

Life is happening faster than I expected. Faster than I have time to process. And it doesn’t stop, not even when I say “WAIT!” I don’t know if there is a solution for that, but I do know that the Good Lord gave us wine.

And I am going to drink it.

Wine(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Be Who You Are.

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Maverick, my 7-year-old, recently walked up to me and said, “You are who you are, Mommy. And you’re just right. That’s what you always say to me.”

I stared at him, speechless.

“Don’t let anyone judge you.”

And then he walked away.

I have poured my heart and soul into my children, and there have been times when I felt like my spirit was breaking. Or maybe it was already broken. It can be hard to tell the difference.

I fuck up all the time. Daily. Multiple times per day.

I’m probably not supposed to admit that, right? I’m probably not supposed to say that I screamed like a lunatic this morning when the kids wouldn’t stop fighting. I’m so calm, until that one thing — like milk boiling over on the stove, or poop that gets smeared all over the toilet seat  — sends me over the edge.

I don’t give myself enough grace.

When you’re doing the impossible, you should give yourself some grace. My kids, who see the best and worst of me, give me grace. They somehow absorb what they see and hear, assimilate it, and regurgitate it in their charming kid way.

Pepper will say “Maybe way-ter, okay? WAYTER,” when I ask her if she’s ready to take a bath.

Maybe later.

I say that a lot.

My middle child uses big words in an attempt to sound important. “Actually, Mommy …” He says “actually” all the time. I guess I do too, but it’s a lot cuter when he says it.

But what my oldest said — you are who you are, and you’re just right — struck me. I’ve said that to him, many times. I believe that for my children, but do I believe it for myself?

I have to model what I want my children to value. And even though I feel like a dismal failure most days because I haven’t done enough or said enough to make me feel like I truly nailed this parenting thing … these moments drop out of nowhere that remind me that I’m doing a damn good job.

12074510_10156342999505508_4436001455448041056_n(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Surviving An Indoor Playground In 6 Easy Steps

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I live in the Deep South, where soaring temperatures and obscene humidity levels make being outdoors a miserable experience for approximately one half of the year.

It’s not that I hate being hot. Many lovely places — like spas, saunas, and beaches — are hot. Being hot in the right situation is acceptable to me. What I find unacceptable is the feeling of makeup running down my face, my inner thighs sticking together and ripping apart when I walk, and what happens when a sweat-covered child lands in dirt.

Indoor Playground image

Because of these reasons and more, I know the location of every indoor playground within a 20-mile radius and I visit them on a rotating basis. But be warned — indoor playgrounds are just as wretched as their outdoor siblings. The temperature is more tolerable, but there are a lot of other things to watch out for … like the poop diaper that someone left next to the inflatable ball pit.

Here are some tips to help you navigate your way through what may be the germiest, most obnoxiously tolerable place on Earth: the indoor playground.

1. Stake your claim. Indoor playgrounds are crowded, so staking out prime seating is a top priority. Ideally, you should be near an outlet, the bathroom, and within earshot of your children. Wait, no. Scratch that last one.

2. Bring a friend. You may be tempted to go alone, since the indoor playground is a confined space and there is little chance of your child wandering off. But who’s going to catch you up on the latest gossip or discuss nipple hair with you?  Who will hold down the fort while you go look for the child you lost track of because you were so wrapped up in talking about anal sex? Your friend. Bring the nonjudgmental one.

3. Smuggle in alcohol. What?! Don’t judge me. We all know that intolerable parenting situations are much easier to handle when you have a glass of something in your hand. Pour your beverage into a benign-looking container, bury it in your oversized purse, make eye contact, and try not to look like you’re being a totally irresponsible rule-breaker. Sneaking vodka into an establishment full of giant inflatables was the only way I made it through my last trip. I offer no apologies.

4. Leave your pride at the door. It’s likely that you, your children, or all of the above, will make complete asses of yourselves before you make your exit. Go in with that knowledge, and you will feel a lot less embarrassed when your child screams “MY DADDY HAS A BIG PENIS!” Encourage your kids be as loud as possible while they aren’t in your house. Revel in the fact that you won’t have to clean that glass door that your child is licking. Whatever your kids are doing, worse has happened here. Trust me.

5. Be prepared — for anything. A throw up, a poop, a hunger, a thirst, a headache, a period, a nervous breakdown, a fire. Ready yourself for the world to end right there on the bumpy slide … because if the kid going down right before your kid has diarrhea pants, it might.

6. What happens in Vegas … you know the rest. Did you show your literal ass when you bent over to help little Jimmy get out of the toy car? Did your deodorant fail you? Did you cry, scream, or curse in front of small children? Did you over-share and immediately regret it? Did your toddler throw a tantrum and slap you in the crotch? It happens to all of us, because playgrounds — indoor and out — are terrible, God-forsaken places and motherhood can be a real bitch. The good news is that once you leave, you can just forget any of it ever happened and enjoy the silence of worn-out children.

Unless, of course, one of you touched that abandoned poop diaper.

Never touch the poop diaper.

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This post originally appeared on Scary Mommy.

The Perfect Bun

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Hobbs & Hayworth are back on Mom Cave TV with more shenanigans! Grab a coffee (or something stronger), kick back, and prepare to be amused.

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13 Surefire Ways To Make Life Difficult For Your Family

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After writing this post yesterday, several people have emailed or commented asking to see my list.

You know … the list. The one I pull out when I have heard too much needless whining. The one I refer to when I have picked up other people’s dirty clothes for too many days in a row or spent time cooking a meal and breaking up fights and keeping a toddler from touching the stove, AND NO ONE EATS IT.

That.

This list strikes fear in the hearts of those who have to live with me. Want to compare notes? OF COURSE YOU DO!

13 Surefire Ways To Make Life Difficult For Your Family:

  1. Omit items from the grocery list that everyone else likes, and buy what I like instead. Example: instead of Honey Nut Cheerios, I will buy fat-free granola with dried berries. Instead of whole milk, I will get almond milk. Instead of sweet tea, you will drink PLAIN WATER.
  2. If the situation in #1 grows dire enough, someone will eventually suggest going to the store. I will then produce a lengthy and complicated list of hard-to-find items. Can’t find the fresh coriander? LOOK HARDER.
  3. Fail to charge all of the iThings.
  4. Lose the chargers.
  5. Insist that we listen to the “Sunday Jazz Brunch” Pandora station all. weekend. long. It’s good for brain growth.
  6. Assign additional chores to anyone who talks to me. “Oh, hi! I was about to ask you to fold these towels!” or, “Hello, child! You have so much energy. Here’s the Windex — you’re 4 now. You can totally clean windows.” Pro tip: this one is my favorite.
  7. Go on a health kick. The mere idea of throwing away all of the Pop Tarts makes them gasp in unified horror.
  8. Suggest a bike ride and then say, “Daddy will take you! Have fun!” Disappear.
  9. Enforce educational-only books and TV shows for as long as it takes for them to become sufficiently educated.
  10. Sing in the car.
  11. Stop washing clothes. Hint: no one will notice or care until they start running out of underwear. Prepare to look confused when they ask where all of their underwear went.
  12. Consider military-style consequences for unwanted behavior, i.e. push-ups, digging holes, and running laps.
  13. Leave the house.

Adios

Bonus points: hang this banner in a common area.

I found this on Pinterest, and it is amazing. I have no idea where it originated from, but I WANT ONE.

I found this on Pinterest, and it is amazing. I have no idea where it originated from, but I WANT ONE.

There you have it! My list is ever-changing and ever-growing. What’s on yours?! I’m always looking for new ideas.

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10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Your Mother

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No matter how calm and collected a woman may be, you can rest assured that there are countless ways to piss her off. I don’t mean just irk her a little — I mean send her flying into a rage reminiscent of 2007 Britney Spears.

Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. We all have those moments.

I’m almost certain that my children have a master list hidden somewhere in the house where they keep track of the behaviors that seem to make me the angriest, which they refer to when they need some quick entertainment.

When and if I am able to locate this list and decode it, I imagine that it will go a little something like this.

10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Our Mother:

  1. Emerge from a bath without drying off. Proceed to wrap your entire body in toilet paper.
  2. Refuse to poop when she encourages you to, even if you really do have to go. Hold it in until the worst possible time. Repeat as needed.
  3. Poop in the backyard.
  4. Grind your Goldfish crackers into dust and blow them across the kitchen.
  5. Allow her to painstakingly part your slippery toddler hair and affix it into two perfect pigtails. Stare at her without emotion while slowly pulling them out.
  6. Wait until she leaves the room. Scream like you just got your fingers chopped off. Laugh when she comes rushing into the room with a panic-stricken look on her face. Pro Tip: You’ll probably only be able to do this once.
  7. Say the same thing over and over. Say the same thing over and over. Say the same thing over and over.
  8. Use her fancy shampoo as bubble bath.
  9. Play with her makeup … in her closet. (Allow your imagination to run wild with this one! Maverick once painted the closet carpet like a rainbow!)
  10. Pretend to be a cat. Do all the things a cat would do, such as hiding under the bed when it’s time to leave the house, pawing at others and yowling when someone is brushing your teeth. Don’t forget the most important part: eat and drink without using your hands. (See #3 for extra points!)

Rest assured, friends … I have a list of my own that I refer to as needed. It’s called “Ways To Make Life Difficult For Everyone Around Me.”

No one wants to see me pull that list out.

10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Your Mother(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Dinner And A Show.

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I have a great dad. I love my dad.

He’s kind and hilarious and has a fantastic Southern accent. He calls mosquitoes “skeeters” and says things to my kids like “You look like you’ve been wallerin’ in dirt.”

He always used to tell me, if you hit right, you’ll only have to hit once. I think my dad is the reason why I grew up with such cowboy-like grit. For a girl.

He works really hard, so I don’t get to see him that often, but occasionally he will take me out to eat, just the two of us. It’s so nice to have the luxury to sit and talk without the constant interruption of children, and to have a reason to put on real clothes to go to an establishment where someone else will prepare and deliver my food without me having to exert any energy beyond deciding what items I want to order from the menu.

Tonight I met my dad for dinner at Newk’s, which is like an upscale Jason’s Deli, which is basically a glorified Subway sandwich shop. I don’t know why I suggested it — he asked me where I wanted to go, and for whatever reason I picked Newk’s. It’s in a brand new building right next to Starbucks, and since I said that’s what I wanted, that is where we went.

We sat in a booth right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, facing the parking lot. I ate spinach-and-feta soup, he had the Chef’s salad, and we discussed heavy issues like what we are going to find out tomorrow morning when we meet with the oncologist to get the results of my mom’s PET scan.

The entire time we were eating, there was a tall, athletic-looking black guy standing right on the other side of the window talking on his cell phone. He was wearing a t-shirt, flip flops, and athletic shorts. My dad’s back was to the man, so he didn’t see him even though he was literally 2 feet away.

I have to assume that the man couldn’t see me — maybe there was a reflection on the glass — because the entire time he was on the phone, his hand was glued to his crotch … which was at eye-level.

I tried my best to ignore him, but every time I glanced over, HIS HAND WAS ON HIS GENITALS. Inside his shorts, outside his shorts … it’s like he was doing whatever men do when they’re by themselves, except that he was in public and I was trying to eat dinner and my dad was sitting across the table from me.

Let me be clear: this man wasn’t pleasuring himself. It seemed like he might be one of those nervous, penis-grabby types. You know the ones. He seemed distracted. Also, race doesn’t mean a thing to me … except in this particular situation.

You’ll find out why in a moment.

As I was talking to my dad, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and that is when I saw an enormous black penis, in person, for the first time in my entire life. I’ve seen my share of white penises, but nary a black penis. No, not one, in all of my 35 years.

I guess the guy was so involved in his conversation that he forgot where he was and just pulled that sucker free from his pants.

This is the exact look I had on my face.

This is the exact look I had on my face.

I stopped talking, stared straight at him and yelled “REALLY?! REALLY?!?!?!” through the window, waving my hands in the air with indignation. I can ignore a lot, but I draw the line at indecent exposure.

Everything moved in slow motion as he realized that people (well, just me) were trying to eat right next to his giant cock, which was out of his pants. He put it away, turned around, and casually strolled away, still talking on the phone.

My dad, who was confused and looked out the window just in time to see him walk away, looked at me questioningly. “I can’t even,” I said, and I continued talking about whatever it was that I was talking about before I saw what I saw.

Because I am a fucking LADY.

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Extraordinary Things.

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Motherhood is getting hit over the head with a plastic bin full of toys, because your child doesn’t know how to ask you to open it like a civilized person.

Motherhood is multiple, over-sized, unapologetic glasses of wine.

It’s earplugs, noise machines, and tiptoeing down the hall; it’s double shots of espresso ordered through a drive-thru because you haven’t had time to buy groceries this week and you are desperate for caffeine, SO STOP YOUR YAMMERING AND GIMME MY COFFEE.

Motherhood is self-sacrifice. Your heart and your mind, your body, your money, your energy and your breath. You pour it all out, everything you have, because you are a mother.

Motherhood is Vicks Vaporub, saline spray, and Kleenex bought in bulk. It’s the feeling of excitement when you see diapers on sale, the joy of finally throwing out an almost-7-year-old Diaper Genie, and the sheer anguish of potty training.

Potty training is a low point.

Motherhood is when you get news that makes your mouth go dry and your chest feel compressed, but you still have to go through the motions and be a mom anyway.

Motherhood can be a real bitch.

Motherhood is painful and uncomfortable from the very start. It is a bloaty, crampy, I’m-fat-and-my-heart-is-outside-of-my-body feeling that never ends. It’s overwhelming, always. It forces you to stretch in ways you never thought possible.

Motherhood makes you grow because you have to.

Motherhood is every joy and pain, the deepest love, the greatest source of hope. It brings us to our knees — in prayer, in suffering, in gratitude, in wonder — because it is worth every ounce of energy that we invest.

Motherhood is extraordinary, because all extraordinary things are hard.

And glorious.

But mostly hard.Joy(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Bottled Water Taste Test

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Guess what?! Hobbs & Hayworth (that’s me, Harmony Hobbs, and my friend Audrey Hayworth of Sass Mouth) landed a regular segment on our favorite online TV show for moms, Mom Cave TV!

Here’s our latest, where we taste-tested bottled water. Enjoy!

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“I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

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Maverick thought it would be hilarious to teach his siblings to scream “I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!!” when they’re in the car.

Our days just became a lot more interesting.

11822511_10156169512270508_6396230565025311162_n(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)