Hey Moms! Martinis & Motherhood – Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! Is Officially in Progress

Martinis & Motherhood – Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! is officially in progress. Here’s an update from Tipsy Squirrel Press …

Tipsy Squirrel Press

Available 2015 FB Profile

After a challenging selection process, the story line-up had been chosen! And soon, we will introduce you to the 36 authors who will grace the pages, of this unique anthology. These moms will share their personal tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! plus some tasty customized martinis, with you!

There will be heartfelt stories (with not even a hint of cheese) that’ll fog up your glasses and make you feel even luckier to be a mom. There will be scenarios, and hilarious turns of phrase, that’ll make you spit out your coffee and run off to the loo. There will be relatable, and sometimes unbelievable, mom-sufferings, told with humour- sure to make you feel a bit less alone and maybe even proud of your own tales of survival.

Martinis & Motherhood – Tales of Wonder Woe & WTF?! will make you feel like you’ve just shared some drinks, some stories, and some laughs with a group of fun moms, who remind you of your own pals. The book is currently in production mode but will be here…

View original post 11 more words

An Open Letter to the Sweatpants that Almost Ruined my Marriage (Eva is right!)

Young woman at home sitting on modern chair in front of window r

You weren’t my usual type, yet I felt drawn to you at first sight. Your allure was undeniable, and before I knew it, my hands were all over you. Inspecting, caressing, and imagining you on me.  At the thought of all the things we’d do together, I made a decision then and there.  You were coming home with me.

$16.99 later, plus the $100.00 worth of additional and inevitable Target purchases, we exited the store and were homeward bound.

I could hardly wait to get out of my restrictive yoga pants and into you.

The sky was the color of you, grey. Not quite fifty shades of grey, but grey nonetheless.

It was the perfect kind of day for the two of us to share some quality couch time together.  I didn’t know it just then, but you were about to become my favorite mistake.

The moment I slid my legs into you, I knew you were a good fit. You felt like home to me—saggy and baggy in all the right places. I’d never felt so comfortable, so accepted. That moment marked the beginning of a love affair so foreign and all-encompassing that I became blinded for days, as to what was going on (or not going on) around me.

We’d become inseparable.

The moment I woke up, I reached for you… Ok, ok- who am I kidding?  We slept together every night.  I just couldn’t bear to part from you (I did shower, though!). It’s just that you felt so good.

I wasn’t ready to admit it, but the truth was: with you in my life, all other things had fallen to the wayside. My husband was away and, to be frank, I wasn’t even missing him.

It wasn’t until day three, that I started to tap into the adverse effects of our time together. We’d “become one” so quickly that I’d, sort of, lost my bearings. You were hindering my productivity and my connection with my husband.  He had called several times but… I was with you, on the couch and … I couldn’t move!  This needed to change but I felt completely helpless to your lure.

I would verbalize my intentions daily, hoping that would give you hints as to what I needed from you. “I am going to be cleaning this afternoon,” I’d announce each morning, feeling hopeful.  But when the evenings rolled around, I’d be no further ahead.  Still optimistic that you were good for more than just one thing, I’d end the day with plans for a better tomorrow. “What a busy morning I’ll be having,” I’d say, willing it to be true.

I’d wanted so much for you to have my back, for you to support me in the things that I needed to do. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You cared more about your own agenda, which was just being with me, on the couch.

Cracks in our union were starting to show.

And, I admit it- the affair was beginning to feel trashy. Dirty, even.

My daughter’s birthday party was the next day, and having indulged myself over the past days with you, I now had tons to get done around the house. So, I ignored your silent pleas and I went out to cut the grass.  I also decided to drain some rainwater off the pool cover, with a pump that would send the water across the front lawn and out onto the street. The decision to combine these two activities would be one that I’d soon regret. In the short term, anyway.

I was only a few laps into my lawn mowing venture, when a cruel twist of fate landed me on my ass. My foot had slipped in the waterlogged grass and somehow, I ended up with wet slicks of dirt on my left knee and on my right ass cheek. I was up in a flash, though, and with an energy level that you’d most certainly disapprove of, my lazy lover.

So, I finished cutting the grass looking like a lopsided Sasquatch.  I then went immediately back inside to do laundry. It was the first load I’d done all week.

And there it was. A forced separation. I felt naked without you as I squeezed into my yoga pants. Yuck. They felt awful. I was eager to get back into you, where I belonged, yet a little part of me knew that a break would do us both some good.

The dinner hour arrived, and then it was bath and bedtime. After that I vacuumed and dusted, hung up streamers, blew up balloons and filled goody bags. I was in motion again, and it felt pretty great. Many hours went by and, I’m sorry to say, you didn’t even cross my mind.

I’d forgotten about you. And, man, did I ever get a lot done!

We spent the rest of the night, and all of the next day, apart. It was a fun party and, if I’m honest, it wouldn’t have felt right having you there. You’re not really classy enough.

Sorry, but it’s the truth.

We were reacquainted later that night, and though it was good to be together again, something felt different. Had the washing machine rinsed away your appeal? It seems our time apart hadn’t made my heart grow fonder.  I didn’t know how or why, but the fact was, the spark just wasn’t there for me anymore.

The honeymoon period was officially over.  Our short-lived love affair had been a case of too much too soon, I’d say.  It’d been good while it lasted but you need to hear this, my dear sweatpants, you’re too needy! You’re also selfish and indulgent and the fact is: I’ve got shit to do! I’ve got a husband, you know. And a family who needs me. I’ve also got work to do and I just don’t have time for you, right now.

I’m sorry it had to come to this. I really am! But, Eva Mendes is right! Sweatpants cause divorce. With you around, there is no question in my mind, that my husband and I were heading for the big D!

So take heed and beware, ladies, sweatpants are more (much more) than just comfy…

This is an altered version of a piece that was originally published on BLUNTmoms.

Inside the Mind of a Mom, who has PMS

Crazy housewife with kitchen tools

I’m alone in the kitchen, making lunch.

My face is sporting the expression commonly referred to as: Resting Bitch Face. Although, mine isn’t really resting; my forehead is in on the action, too. I am all scrunched up, like a pug. A confrontational (or perhaps constipated) pug.

In the distance I can hear them. They’re calling my names:

“BABE!”

“MOMMY!”

“MOOOOOOOOM!”

My face is speaking what my mouth isn’t saying although, I’m not sure what my problem is. What the hell is up my ass, anyway? And, what’s wrong with my face?

Ahhhhhhh. It dawns on me. And with a quick feel, I’m relieved to discover that, yes, my boobs are in fact sore. I exhale with relief as my sneer turns into a half-assed smirk. I’m very pleased to know that my irritability is due to hormones which means my desire to flee, will soon pass.

This is good news. Very good news, indeed.

I’ll just ride out the next few days. I’ll aim not to ruffle or to get ruffled. And before I know it, I’ll get my joy back!

In the meantime, I’m confident that the agitated beast, within, can be kept at bay. As long as I remember she’s in there and I don’t get caught off guard. (This is the challenge.)

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

It’s only for a few days… But, I have to say, this inner bitch really is relentless. She’s completely kicked my sense of humour to the curb and morphed me into a crone-like version of myself. She does this at the same time. Every month.

So, as to not hinder the happiness of my family members, I will do my best to avoid lashing out.

Just. Lay. Low. This will be my goal.

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!”

Why do they insist on shouting from across the house?!

If I can just keep my moods bubbling here under the surface, that would be best. My family shouldn’t have to suffer, right? As long as they don’t leave excessive messes around for me to clean, we’ll be good!

Lunches are made and now … off to shift the laundry. Grrrrrrrrrr. Who left a Kleenex in their pocket?!

Yes, my irritation will linger and poke and prod (unbeknownst to the rest of them) if everyone could just….. I really fucking hate Kleenex!

But, as I was saying: it’s only for a few days so I’m going to do my best to tame this inner….

“MOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

“MOM!”

“I said MOM, first!”

Little feet are stampeding their way down the stairs. They’re coming for me! And they’re bickering. I’ve got Kleenex mixed into all my darks and CLINK I just heard my husband leave his dirty bowl on the counter….

“MOOOOOOOOM! She hit me!”

Maybe we should leave town, my inner bitch and I.

Just for a few days…

*Fills a bag with tampons, chocolate, and sweatpants. Sneaks out side door*