I want ramen fo…

I want ramen for lunch. RAW-MAN. Make sure there’s a man in it. But no nose cuz I don’t like boogers. And no fingers or toes because the nails are gross. And maybe not the brain, or the blood. You know what, never mind, this isn’t going to work. I’ll just have ramen.


Prostitute? errr…Protestant

Long back story but last night, I  clumsily attempted to explain to the girls what a prostitute is. Aliyah piped up “(best friend) is a prostitute!” Wait…um….err…what?! Fortunately, it dawned on me pretty quickly what she was trying to say because I know her friend pretty well and had already made some assumptions about her family so I quickly corrected, “Oh, protestant, you mean she’s a protestant. Like, a type of Christian.” “Oh yeah, a protestant. That’s what I meant.” I didn’t want to make her feel bad so I refrained from ROARING but man it was hard. Definitely a classic “kid’s say…” moment. David had to go around the corner to laugh.

People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Over Achieving Elf on the Shelf Mommies

Over Achieving Elf on the Shelf Mommies

By now we have all heard of the adorable little Elf on the Shelf.  Almost everyone I know has one.  Some people even have two!  (Now I’m having guilt for not having two, because apparently I need two because when my kids are adults they’ll each want one from their childhood.  Ugh.  Not looking forward to that conversation with the Hubs when I tell him why we need another Elf.)

The Elf is a handy little thing to have.  The little bastard keeps my children in check this time of year.  When there is even a HINT of rebellion all I have to do is say, “Elf” and they snap back in line.

If he’s so good, Jen, then why did you call him a bastard? you ask.  I called him a bastard, because even though my children think he’s magic, I’m the one doing all the “magic” and I totally suck at it.  

Read all the delicious hilarity here peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.blogspot.com

OMG this is so funny. I shouldn’t mock delightfully well intentioned sacharine sweet mommies but…well…I really must. It’s a coping mechanism for my own self loathing that the best my kids get out of me on any holiday is moving my feelings of warmth from deep in my dark soul to somewhere in the vicinity of my facial muscles so they can see mommy happy on the outside a few times a year. And THAT takes about as much effort as I’m willing to exert. 101 fun ideas to do with your Elf?! *snort laugh spit-take guffaw…and bless their little hearts*

How to Land Your Kid in Therapy – Magazine – The Atlantic


This is SOOOOOO good. I highly recommend this if you are a parent and/or an adult early 30’s and younger.

Some of what I’ve learned from this and other articles about parenting (and about my own life as well if I think of myself as “the child”)….

1. let your kids make age-appropriate decisions and experience the full weight of the consequences of those decisions

2. do not become codependent/enmeshed with your child

3. do not overly praise your child or send the message that he/she is better than everyone else just by virtue of who they are

4. let your child work out his/her own conflict

5. let your child experience sadness, pain and loss

6. do not offer limitless options … or even choices in all situations

7. happiness for parent and child is only good as a product of a life well-lived, not as a goal in itself

I am most concerned about the narcissism problem. I see it rampant in people my age and it seems to be getting worse in their kids.

Because most of the best prayers are not my own

The bold sections are my favorite.

Tina Fey's Prayer For Her Daughter

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.


-An excerpt from Tina Fey's new book –Bossypants, 2011