Gangsters In Training.

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Are you looking for the perfect daycare for your would-be gangster?

Do you want your child to learn the subtle art of drug dealing or con-artistry?

Are you already saving up bail money and teaching them the definition of “white-collar crime?”

If you answered “yes” to the above questions, then look no further! This is only daycare around that offers a shady playground, where your child can learn to swing, slide, and hide their shivs.

My husband is the one who spotted this. I immediately made him turn the car around.

My husband is the one who spotted this. I immediately made him turn the car around.

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Diagnosis: Mother.

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Today I realized that my 3-year-old isn’t as attached to his special blanket anymore. I realized that I have never rocked my 21-month-old to sleep, because she is the third child and in this house, the third child gets a bedtime kiss and dumped into her crib without ceremony.

Now that my oldest eschews rocking and my middle only lets me do it sometimes, I WANT TO ROCK SOMEONE BEFORE BED, DAMN IT.

Motherhood makes me feel like a crazy person. In fact, I am a crazy person.

To prove my point, I have created a visual aid using a family picture of us from October 2012, two months after The Great Negotiation.

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Because everything about this picture screams “WE NEED MORE CHILDREN!”

What’s The Great Negotiation? That was the time I spent months trying to convince my poor husband that I wasn’t done having children and we needed more, despite the fact that we were struggling on one income and had two very challenging boys — one of whom was not quite a year old. I felt like we totally needed to throw one more baby into the mix. That made sense to me.

This is how I know that mothers have something deeply, psychologically wrong with them.

The Great Negotiation took place during date night at Outback Steakhouse. My husband eventually wore down and said “FINE. But I have to get a vasectomy before the baby is born.” And I said, “FINE. I’m ordering a beer.”

Less than a year later, our daughter was born.

Less than a year after that, I regretted allowing the vasectomy. Because I have a mental illness.

It’s called Mother.

Doctor’s Orders.

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It’s Friday night, which means it’s time for Virtual Happy Hour! My children are glued to glowing screens and my husband just ran to the store because I have PMS and want to drink chocolate syrup directly from the bottle.

DON’T YOU DARE JUDGE ME.

This thing holds 25 OUNCES. Thank you for my favorite glass, Kate!

This thing holds 25 OUNCES. Thank you for my favorite glass, Kate!

If I was a true professional with professional-grade tools, I would have edited out my facial blemishes. But I’m not a professional, nor am I a responsible adult, so I’m just going to sit here with my enormous glass of wine and zitty face and chill.

Today I downed two cups of coffee, went to Zumba, came home, logged onto Facebook … and saw my napping body plastered all over social media. That was jolting. Modern Mommy Madness made the Today.com list AGAIN! Now the whole nation will know the miracle of Napilates.

To all of the tired women everywhere: just lie down. As long as you have your workout wear on, it’s all good. You’re totally working out, it just looks like you’re not. If someone wakes you, tell them to HUSH. You’re EXERCISING.

In other news, Robbie has high blood pressure. This comes as no surprise, as I have witnessed him consume more vegetables in the past 6 months than he consumed in our entire 12-year relationship. Even still, it’s upsetting. I married a man two years younger than me. I didn’t sign up for hypertension.

I called and made him a doctor’s appointment, because what I may lack in bedside manner I make up for in pragmatism. I nervously waited for him to come home, to hear the awful truth of his situation. He walked in with a very serious look on his face.

“Well?? What did the doctor say?” I asked nervously.

He took a deep breath. I waited.

“She told me the only thing that will make me better is to get more blow jobs from my wife.”

I immediately said it was time for Napilates.

My Best Half.

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My marriage is not perfect.

As much as I would love to think of myself as the perfect wife, I’m not. At all. I have high standards. I’m demanding. My expectations are lofty — not just of my husband, but also of my children.

Sometimes Robbie will tell me that he feels like nothing is ever good enough for me, and he’s right. Nothing is. I always want more, because I am a goal-oriented person. I’m a Capricorn, a mountain goat who wants to climb because I enjoy it and I don’t have time for your whining or lollygagging so either get on board or get out of my way.

Yeah. That.

I expect my sons to open doors and say “yes ma’am” and carry their Fiestaware dishes to the sink. Yes, my kids eat on real dishes. I expect them to follow directions and behave in public and say “thank you” and “please” because manners get you farther in life than just being smart. I expect them to follow directions and I expect to be respected because I am their mother and I deserve it.

I expect my husband to be able to fix things and keep up with the yard and be emotionally present and provide for our family. I expect him to listen and communicate and deal with the kids at the end of the day when I just can’t anymore. I expect him to be serious and funny and my partner in all things.

I expect a lot.

My expectations can be difficult to live with, but I give a lot in return and I am more demanding of myself than I am of anyone else. It will be a lifelong process for me to inch slowly toward Robbie’s end of the spectrum, where nothing is a big deal, as he inches slowly towards my side, where everything is urgent. We are truly yin and yang, which on a good day means we bring out the best in each other … and on a bad day, I want to claw his eyes out.

He does things like buy me stress-relieving water. Want to know why I was stressed? Because he was taking too long in the store. I could see him in there, wandering around. What the hell is taking him so long?! We need to GO!

He was hunting for the perfect beverage for his wife, that’s what he was doing.

10801931_10155098744040508_622468002666916761_nSidenote: the water didn’t relieve my stress.

The thing about our relationship is the love that overarches all of the differences between us. I could have married someone else and been happy. Maybe. But I have never and will never love anyone like I love Robbie Hobbs, and that is the thing that grounds me in our marriage. That is the thing that makes everything else make sense.

And then, from time to time, Robbie does something startling that reminds me just how lucky I am.

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In the blogging world, there are conferences that writers attend to learn how to be a success — whether that means learning how to make money through blogging, or how to go from blogging to authoring an actual book. I kept hearing about one conference in particular, BlogU, that I really wanted to attend. It’s supposed to be the best, and I think we all know how I feel about things that are the best. Why waste time doing something that is only marginally passable, when I can aim for THE BEST?

So back to the conference, Jill Smokler of Scary Mommy will be there. Jen Mann of People I Want To Punch In The Throat will be there. A ton of writers I am obsessed with will be there. I wanted to go so badly, tears would well up every time I thought about it.

I talked about it for months. Robbie wanted me to go, but we just don’t have the money for a trip like that. The airfare alone was ridiculous, and we are a one-income family of five. I felt guilty for wanting to go, but I’m a mountain goat. I can’t help myself. I WANT TO CLIMB.

I began looking into corporate sponsorships and devised a plan of action. When I sat Robbie down and presented it to him, he was on board … but quiet. Finally he said, “I think this is a solid plan, but you don’t have enough time to make it happen. I just don’t want to see you stressing out over anything extra. I’m going to figure something out.”

Then he stood up, and he took action. He set up a Go Fund Me. (You can view it here, it’s really cute.)

I cringed — hard — when he showed me his plan. I loathe crowd funding, and I dislike feeling like a charity case, but it was a huge success. People genuinely wanted to help. I feel really humbled by it (mostly because, if I’m honest, it really bothers me that I couldn’t afford to go on my own, without asking for help), and grateful to him because he knew I would miss out otherwise.

We had all of the money within one week.

So yes, I have high standards.

And that is why I married Robbie Hobbs.

Before we had children.

Before we had children.

Do You Want To Pee Alone?

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DUN, DUN DUN!

I have an announcement to make! I’m being published in another book (insert high-pitched screeching)!

I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, due out March 27, will be available in e-book form and paper form. I personally prefer paper form. I have every intention of hugging it and sleeping with it under my pillow. And YES, you can totally get a signed copy. I mean … if you want.

Can you spy Modern Mommy Madness?!

Can you spy Modern Mommy Madness?!

I Still Just Want To Pee Alone is the sequel to the national best-seller I Just Want To Pee Alone. I am honored to be included in this anthology with many other extremely talented writers, and I will let you know as soon as it’s available for order!

(Did that sound professional enough? Because the real truth is, I am totally hyperventilating over here.)

Modern Marvels.

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Last weekend, I decided to do something new — I took my 6-year-old on a run with me. This activity is considered new because I don’t run.

We took a break in the parking lot of a nearby church and I gasped for air and pondered aloud that I didn’t know what time it was. Where’s your phone? he asked. I explained that I’d purposely left it behind because I need to do a better job of distancing myself from The Thing That Eats My Time.

I love technology. Years ago, when I met my husband, I was staunchly anti-technology. I was more of a purist. I liked fresh air, sunshine, long talks, and I couldn’t afford cable. My then-boyfriend had a cell phone, and I had one too, but I don’t even remember texting him, ever, because we got charged for each one that was sent. For a girl who had $300/month rent and couldn’t afford cable … being charged by the text was a problem. So I didn’t.

I mulled this over and then had the following conversation with my son:

Me: “You know, there weren’t cell phones when I was your age.”

Son: “There WEREN’T?! What did they have? OH! Wait, I know!! The thing Thomas Edison invented?”

Me: “Yes … that.”

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At this point in my life, I have completely embraced technology in all forms. A friend asked me recently what I would rather go without for a 31 days: swearing, drinking, internet, carbs, or orgasms? I don’t really want to go 31 days without any of them, but the internet isn’t even on the table. Or drinking. So I guess I’d have to pick among the final three options.

This game sucks.

I got a wine glass in the mail last week that holds 25 ounces. TWENTY-FIVE OUNCES. I had absolutely no idea who sent it. There was no note, and I didn’t recognize the return address. Who possibly could have sent me a massive wine glass?

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Finally, I posted on social media asking who sent it. I’m sure everyone waited on the edge of their seats to find out who it was from.

I am so glad that someone much smarter than me invented social media so I could ask one question to hundreds of people at the same exact time. Who sent me this massive wine glass? And thank you! But really … tell me who sent it.

It was from my best friend.

I felt like an idiot.

An idiot who was about to drink 25 ounces of wine.

Hogwarts On The Bayou.

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I talk about Zumba a lot on this blog, mostly because it is a key component in the Trifecta of Things That Keep Me Sane (in addition to coffee and writing). So, when my instructor told me that she is running a two-week, Harry Potter-themed day camp program in Baton Rouge this summer called Hogwarts On The Bayou, I was intrigued.

Meet Erin. She teaches my Zumba class.

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She’s adorable.

You can — and should! — visit their website for complete information. Until visiting the site, I’d never realized that I might be “befuddled by all of the muggles around me.” Maybe my real issue isn’t that I’m overwhelmed by motherhood … maybe these people in my house are actually muggles.

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Here are the details:

Our goal is to create a unique experience to enhance imagination, creativity, teamwork, and life skills while building both a love of literature and promoting Louisiana’s traditions and history.  Basically: the magic of fun, play and imagination!

Students will be sorted into 4 uniquely Louisiana Hogwarts’ houses, play quidditch, mix potions, and learn dueling.   Activities, classes, daily challenges and quests plus house time all give you the feel of being in the wonderful world created by J. K Rowling.

potters

Tiny Potters.

harryIf you’re an adult who loves Harry Potter and are sad you can’t attend the camp (don’t worry, we won’t tell), you can still be involved! Hogwarts On The Bayou needs lots and lots of volunteers so DON’T DELAY! Get your broomstick and fly on over to the website for more information!