There’s a Lot of Talk About Lady Bits in This Post

I have six children. Yes, they’re all mine. Stop looking at me like that. No, I’m not crazy, just really fertile. I mean…well, I suppose I’m a little crazy. Just a smidge.

Drawing of the Nursery Rhyme "There was a...

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children that she eventually went completely bat-shit crazy and ran away from home to join the circus.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What really kills me about having a large family, is how some people seem to think that my fertility is any of their business. The announcement of my sixth pregnancy was met with such incredulousness, that you would have thought that I had just proclaimed that I would be giving birth to the anti-Christ. Which, for the record, he is not. He is almost 2 though, so he seems a little like the anti-Christ, but I’m guessing he’ll grow out of it, like his siblings did. But I digress…

Potential demon spawn...

Potential demon spawn…

Upon the birth of my adorable baby boy, we were greeted by such congratulatory phrases as, “Aww, what a cute baby. You’re done now, right?” and “Look at his precious face. Have you gotten your tubes tied yet?”. It makes my heart swell to think of the joyous welcome our son was given by various family members. Not.

For the record, yes, we are “done”. I am hanging up my ovaries and having my uterus bronzed for posterity. But, for a short bit, all of the nosiness just made me want to squeeze out a couple more kids. That’d show ’em, right? Hmm…except, then I remembered that we’re really close to being done with diapers, and late night feedings, and all of that other shit that makes parenting no-so-fun.

But, if I decided I wanted to be the next Michelle Duggar and pop out another 10 or so, and my husband was on board with it, why would it be anyone else’s business? No one else is paying for or otherwise supporting them. They are well-fed, clothed and loved. How is the size of my family affecting anyone else? Do tell…I’d love to know.

The other thing that really gets to me, is how people will actually make comments about the vagina of a woman who has had more than a couple of babies. I’ve seen Michelle Duggar’s vagina referred to as a “clown car”. Personally, I had an ex-co-worker of mine compare my birth canal to a “slip and slide”. Stop laughing. That shit’s not funny. The only people who are currently allowed to talk about my vagina are me and my husband. And seeing as he would probably like to continue having visitation rights with said vagina, he’d best keep his yap shut. The same goes for Michelle’s and every other woman’s hoo-ha, cha-cha, vajayjay, cooter, etc. If you don’t have a personal relationship with the vagina in question, than you probably shouldn’t be talking about it. Christ, leave us poor moms with some dignity. We’re barely hanging onto the last shreds of it as it is.

Clown car

NOT Michelle Duggar’s vagina! (Photo credit: joshuaheller)

I guess what I’m getting at, is that people people should really think before they speak. Don’t judge a woman, until you’ve walked a mile in her vagina. Umm…driven in her clown car? Shit. You know what I mean.




I’d like to thank the little people…


I am positively pleased as punch to brag about announce that I have been nominated for the Liebster Blog Award by the lovely and talented Barefoot but in Stilettos! Fabulous, right? But what the hell is it? Here is the blog post by my fabulous nominator: I also did a bit of digging on my own and found that there are several variations on the “rules” for this award, such as this:


Nice! You’ve gotta love the sense of community amongst the blogging community.

Okay, so here goes…

The 11 questions I’m being forced asked to answer:

1.What’s the story behind your blog?  Was it conceived on a glass of wine, after years of preparation or something else?

Honestly, this blog has been a few years in the making. When a girl gets told on several occasions that she should be writing a blog…well, it gets the gears turning. I tried multiple times to get a blog up and running, but always seemed to get bogged down in the details of creating the damn thing. I’ve finally gotten to a point where I’m happy with allowing my blog to evolve naturally, instead of having a strict game plan.

2. What is your favorite blog that you have written to date?

Well, there have only been five. I’m not sure that I have a clear favorite, though my first, Because I’m the Momma, That’s Why, has a special place in my heart. 

3. If you had all the time and money in the world, how would you spend them?  (My FAVORITE question to ask people…)

Travel, travel, and…more travel!!! I have a wandering spirit, who sadly, is trapped in the suburbs. Infinite time and funds would allow me the luxury of dragging my family across the world.

4. Is your blogger a secret obsession or are all of your friends and family in the know?

There are a select few friend and family that I let in on my new obsession. I won’t let my husband read it though. I’m afraid I’ll censor myself if he reads it. Maybe someday I’ll give him the go-ahead.

5. If a PICTURE could describe your current mindset, or a mindset you had today, what would it be?


Who am I kidding? This is me every day.

6. Give us a glimpse as to what kind of kid you were…

Frankly, I was a mess. Awkward, sad, unpopular and very, very lonely…it wasn’t good. But, I truly believe that my craptastic childhood made me the spectacular creature I am today.

7. What is the goal of your blog?  For example, would you like for it to grow over the years or are the option of creating another exists and this could be temporary?

I would looove for my blog to grow, as I crave attention and validation through the acceptance of others.

8. Flats or stilettos?  (I had to)

Flip-flops, darlin’. Always.

9. A million dollars must be spent in 24 hours… how would you accomplish it?

Ack!!! Way too much pressure. I’m sure I’d completely fuck this up and have all of the money taken back.

10. Do you have a dream pet?  And it is…

Dream pet? Is there an animal that cleans up after itself?

11. Last book you read and enjoyed was…

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir)


Seriously…funniest book ever. The Bloggess never fails to amuse.


So, this is the portion of my little award’s ceremony where I get to pass the Liebster torch to a few fellow bloggers that I think are cool talented and worthy of such prestige. Turns out, it ain’t easy to find 11 blogs that meet the criteria of having less than 200 followers, and that I enjoy reading. I’m sorry…this may make me a blog snob. Anywho, I’m changing things up a bit.

And now, without further ado, I would like to nominate the following blogs for the prestigious Liebster Award: 

Extreme Mom – Funny, funny lady. I love a momma I can relate to.

Snoozing on the Sofa – Parenting dad-style. Who doesn’t love a guy who’s slightly creeped out by his kid?

don of all trades – Part dad blog, part midlife crisis = shooting beverages out of your nose

Diary of a MadMama – Her fashion do-overs appeal to my crafty side.


Yeah, there’s only four nominees. Sue me.

Now, dear nominated bloggers, here are your questions:

1. If you were a super hero what powers would you have?

2. What is your earliest memory?

3. Tell me about your last vacation. Make it good, I’m living vicariously.

4. Is your blog shaping up to be what you envisioned when you started?

5. What is your beverage of choice?

6. Who is your ideal reader?

7. What is your favorite well-read  (over 1,000 readers) blog?

8. Favorite author?

9. If you could go out and purchase any one item, what would it be?

10. What is the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

11. What is the one thing you cannot live without?


Okay, nominees, go forth and spread the love! I look forward to reading and growing with all of you!


I don’t understand your Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Harry Potter/Doctor Who References

9439d89626563cac05898a520aaa9e00                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I want to, really. And I’ve tried. Seriously. Stop looking at me like that.

I did make it through the first season of Doctor Who, but things happened, people changed (died?) and I never went back. I may give it a shot again, but major character changes are a lot for me to handle.

I’m a book reader. If a movie is released that began it’s life in a literary form, chances are I’m going to insist on reading it before I see the movie. I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I’ve tried to read the the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. At one time, I actually owned the entire boxed set. Every once in a while, I’d get a bee in my bonnet and decide that I needed to read those damned books. I’m pretty sure I never made it past the first 50 pages. Super-duper-boring-snooze-fest. Every time.

I made far less of an effort with Harry Potter. I figured they were written for children, right? Wrong. There are grown women who would sooner gouge out my eyes, than to hear me speak ill of Young Mister Potter. So me, feeling like I surely must be missing out on something, downloaded the first book (do NOT ask me what the official title is, please) onto my Kindle and prepared to be dazzled. After it sat, completely untouched for an entire month, I gave up and returned it to the Kindle library.

Okay, so I can’t handle the damned books. No biggie, because hey, I can just watch the movies, right? Nope. Every time I’ve attempted it, it’s as if some sort of film induced ADHD sets in and there are suddenly 50 gagillion other things that really need to be taken care of. Now. Maybe even yesterday. That toilet ain’t gonna scrub itself.

So I’m sorry, my lovely geeky friends. I do not understand your film/book references. Your literary quotes are completely lost on me.

This is where you revoke my membership to the geek club, isn’t it?

Momma’s Little Stalker


Ugh…I’m exhausted.

My youngest kiddo, Jude (aka Juder, JujuBe, Baby Jude or Scrud), is going through the most heinous case of separation anxiety I’ve ever seen. And the object of his very intense affection, would be your’s truly.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to know that I’m so completely adored. I’d just like to pee by myself occasionally. Or, shower without him pounding on the bathroom door, while shrieking “momma” over and over, as I race to lather and rinse. There’s no time to repeat. Shave my legs? No time.

My poor husband takes a fair amount of abuse at the hands of our little tyrant. Nothing says “I love you, daddy” quite like your precious son screaming and attempting to backflip out of your arms as he tries to reach his beloved momma.

You’d think after raising five children prior to him, that I’d be an expert in child psychology and have some magical “cure” for his mommy issues. Yeah, right. You want to know how I’ve dealt with this in the past? I suffered. I waited. I let each of my little monsters blessings work through their anxiety in their own time.

Martyr you say? Maybe. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Is That a Wrinkle?


Today, while I was buying kitty litter and live crickets to feed to the tarantula (yes, as in large furry spider-thing), an extraordinary thing happened to me. The twenty-something checkout guy called me “Miss”. Not “Ma’am”, but “Miss”…twice. I was delighted. I’m certain I blushed. I was tempted to fling my nasty bag of crickets aside, leap over the counter, plant a big smooch on him and ask him to run away with me to some exotic land. Bora Bora, perhaps? I refrained. My husband is thrilled, I’m sure.

Granted, I’m pretty sure this guy was aware that I am well into the “ma’am” stage of my life. Maybe he’s been told by some female relative, that women in their late thirties aren’t ready to be given such a matronly moniker. Hell, I don’t know that we’re ready for that at any age.

The thing is, in my mind, I just graduated from high school. Didn’t I? And then it hits me…my twenty year reunion is this summer. Twenty year reunions only happen to frumpy housewives and paunchy businessmen. I know this, because that’s how they’re portrayed in movies. That’s me now. Oh hell…

Thank you, checkout guy at Petco. In some crazy, roundabout way, you just screwed up my day. Nice.

Hey, you…ummm…kid?

Yesterday, I was informed that my 7 year old daughter, Cami, had moved to Africa. This was news to me, as the small person who told me about this situation looked an awful lot like Cami. Apparently, Cami has switched families with a child from Africa, named Alex. Alex has impeccable manners and plays nicely with Cami’s younger brothers. I kind of really like Alex. What I don’t like, is having to remember this new kid’s name. I’m a mother of 6, for crying out loud…I can barely remember their “real” names. Hell, they’re lucky if I don’t call them one of the dog’s names. But, if calling her Alex is all it takes to turn her into a sweet angel child, by golly, I’ll do it! Is it wrong to make your children wear name tags?Image