Archive | May, 2012

Your Formal Invitation to Violet’s Pity Party

30 May

I just dropped Buddy off with some officers and some gentlemen for another round of “G.I. Joe” on your tax dollar. For the next few weeks, I’m a single mother.

Did I mention today is our wedding anniversary? Today is our wedding anniversary.

I should be accustomed to this. I signed up for this when I married a troop. Six years and 20 minutes ago today, I was walking down the aisle, toward the most handsome man in his dress uniform. Even my wedding ceremony was wrought with reminders about the choice I was making at that very moment.

But things feel different now. We’re parents.  Last wedding anniversary, Buddy took me to our favorite sushi haunt, with a little monkey swaddled against my chest in her stylish pouch. This year, we woke up at o-dark-thirty to schlep the man an hour away, loaded to the brim with tactical gear.

I am not an ingrate: I value everything Buddy’s service has brought to our lives. Our killer health insurance, our inexpensive mortgage on a great home, and our paid off cars are gifts directly (or indirectly) bestowed upon us by the military.

But when he misses anniversaries, birthdays, family weddings, et cetera, I get a little crabby and forget to be thankful.


Daisy cooks, too.

30 May

Now, I know Violet has been the resident recipe poster, but I can get down with some cooking too. Violet asked me to share a few little tips and tricks that I’ve shared with her, so here you go..

I have great eaters. I really can’t complain, they will eat just about anything. Why? Not sure. Is it luck? Did I expose them to different foods when they were young, via my eating habits & breastmilk? Who knows. Maybe a good combo of both. Even with my great eaters, one of which (Diva) lists raw broccoli as one of her favorite foods, I still like to sneak in even MORE vegetables than they would normally eat.

Funny story, when Diva & Intuitive were about 2 or so, we were grocery shopping, strolling through the produce section, in fact. Diva begins a full on tantrum because she thought I didn’t put broccoli in the cart. Can you imagine this little pig-tailed girl, screaming her little brains out because she thought that mean old mommy DIDN’T get broccoli? The laughter coming from the other shoppers was pretty excellent when they realized that she was yelling for broccoli.

Anyways, “hiding” veggies in meals isn’t a new concept. There are cookbooks written on the subject. These are just some of the things that I’ve done.

Making spaghetti? Using jar sauce? Good shit, go for it. Whenever I make it, I will use a large grater and grate a few carrots, some squash, zucchini, finely cut spinach. Dump the jar of sauce in a big saucepan and dump the veggies in, simmer it all while your pasta is cooking. The veggies will cook down, and be completely unnoticed by even the pickiest eaters. My kids KNOW I do this, and couldn’t care less!

Tacos? Grate some of the same veggies into the meat while you’re cooking it. Same concept as the sauce, noone will notice.

Has your kiddo said no to baby food? Is she ready for the real stuff? Don’t worry. I’m sure you have 8 million extra jars of baby food sitting around, so USE them for your cooking. Dump a jar of carrots into your spaghetti sauce. Any veggie, really. Have some fruit ones? Make your kiddo some PLAIN oatmeal, and put some in the oatmeal.

Sneaking good stuff in is easy. It’s easy, and no one will ever know.

You’ll probably feel kinda bad ass for pulling a fast one on your family.

Any other ways you guys sneak some good stuff in? Let us know!


Memorial Day

28 May

We just want to remind you that Memorial Day ISN’T about barbecues, great sales on clothes and furniture, or the official start of summer.

It’s about those that have lost their lives defending this country.

Don’t forget the true meaning.



And I’d just like to add that it’s tacky and tasteless to “thank a soldier” today. Veterans’ Day is about LIVING soldiers. Today is about FALLEN soldiers. Extend your gratitude to the families who have lost loved ones in the name of this country.




Fun With Texting: 05/28/2012

28 May


Daisy needs to lay off the drugs. Or take up knitting. Or both.

(I don’t think that prednisone and albuterol are mind altering. Just sayin’ -daisy)

It’s raining.

27 May

It’s raining, and that makes me sleepy.

Did you know you can have bronchitis and not have any signs of a cold? I didn’t. Until yesterday morning, anyways. After 3 or 4 weeks of wheezing and not being able to breathe, I was sent to the ER by Terry. Yeah, I know. I should take care of myself. Gotcha. In my defense, the not breathing and wheezing thing was only at night and in the morning, and I really thought it was just allergies.

It wasn’t.

I also didn’t know that if you bust through the ER doors and can’t breathe, and your wheezing sounds like you’re breathing and speaking through a broken kazoo, the nurse at the front desk won’t take your name and tell you to go sit in the waiting room. You go right on in. 45 minutes later, I was done with the chest x-rays and onto the nebulizer. Ah, sweet nebulizer. Made me feel like I had guzzled about 27 redbulls and 4 pots of coffee, but I could BREATHE again. Little while later, Doc came back in, told me my x-rays were clear, and I had bronchitis.

I said “HUH?” I’m not sick. I was then schooled in the “Bronchitis is when your bronchii are inflamed and you can’t breathe.” (Or something like that. I was equal parts sleepy and jittery. Interesting combo)

Off I went to drop off my prescriptions for steroids (there goes my Olympic career) and an inhaler. Breathing is nice. Really nice.


By the way, this inhaler is super cool. It has a little countdown-to-empty thingie that goes down with every puff. The little thing that covers the mouth piece is connected, so I can’t lose it.  I feel like Daisy, the Super Nerd. It’s the lttle things, eh? I’m also doing the Queen Bee (my great-grandmother, remember?) thing, and conserving my inhaler. 2 puffs 4 times a day? No, no, my friends. 2 puffs 2 times a day, max. Make it last!


Please send me some pocket protectors and suspenders, ok?


-Daisy, the Super Nerd.


Fun With Texting: 05/28/2012

27 May




Fun With Texting 05/26/2012

26 May


In case Daisy doesn’t make it, here’s my proof that I tried.

To the holier than thou. Love, Daisy.

24 May

Dear Holier Than Thou Mothers…


I concede. I am obviously not worthy of the title of “Mother.” I fully accept this, and am moving on. (can you feel me rolling my eyes? I am.)


In a minute.


First, I shall lay out some fresh beats and bust a quick rhyme. (Or I’ll just explain myself. What-the-fuck-ever.)


1. Stretch Marks: If I say I have stretch marks, it doesn’t mean I hate my children, and wish I would have adopted so I could keep my svelte 18-year-old body. It means I have stretch marks. Did they appear during my pregnancy? Yes. Do I resent my children for “giving” them to me? No, I resent my genealogy, since that shit is genetic. Following up a comment (or just making a comment) about *YOUR* stretch marks by saying something along the lines of

“My stretch marks are SO worth it, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything, because they show me EVERYDAY that I brought an amazing, spectacular, gorgeous, fantastic, BRILLIANT angel into the world, and saying I don’t like them would be like SACRIFICING MY PERFECT CHILD TO “The Others” on Lost. I LOVE MY STRETCH MARKS.”

Yeah. Soooooooo. I get it. The big ol’ cross on your back is super bright and shiny. I get it. You are MOTHER, hear you roar.

I still think MY stretch marks suck, but, uh, more power to you. You must be a better mother than me.


2. The “When I have Children…” People: Do I even NEED to address you crazy asses? I will never meet the imaginary standard you have set. In the imaginary world that you and your imaginary children live in, I’m sure that everything is rainbows and unicorns and skipping through fields of wildflowers, with the scent of fresh jasmine filling the air. There are playdates with other imaginary friends, and children that don’t wet themselves, poop themselves, talk back, refuse to eat, cry incessantly for no reason.. They sleep through the night, from 8pm to 9am. You do everything right.


How can I compete with that?

Pop out a few, and then tell me if all your imaginary plans came true. I implore you. Do it.


3. The Ones Who Do It All.. and Then Some: Now, these.. Sometimes (most of the time) I just don’t believe them.

No, I don’t think that you can take care of 5 children, home-school them, milk the goats out back, make homemade yogurt, clean your house, take care of the pets, manage a business, do 4 loads of laundry, (in all natural, homemade laundry soap, naturally) sprout your quinoa, read 8 stories to your children, take them to the neighborhood park, then to the YMCA for swimming lessons, then to the library…… ALL BEFORE LUNCH.

Screw you. You’re lying, this doesn’t happen. Your attempts to make us “lesser mothers” feel like shit might work for a while… but eventually, we’ll all realize that you don’t really have your shit together, and you actually throw some Gerber Puffs on the floor in the living room and turn on Spongebob, and then go watch your “stories” on your laptop.

Why lie? Fess up, homegirls.



4. The Exaggerators: You know the one. That one woman who you see at your Gymboree Music class. The one who tells you about all the advanced shit her brilliant diaper dweller does.

“Sooo.. Is your son walking yet? No? Hmm. That’s weird. Perfectly normal, I’m sure. My little prince is just really advanced for his age. His doctor has even said so. He started walking at 4 months old, canyoubelieveit?! Yeah, so now at 8 months, it’s just amazing, but, well, I don’t normally tell people this, but.. We had his IQ tested. He scored pretty well. I don’t like to brag, but his IQ is 865. Yeah. So, he’s SMART. He started reciting Shakespeare last night. It was amaaaaazing.”

Listen, bitch. Your kid craps his diaper, just like mine did. He isn’t a fucking genius. He didn’t start walking at 4 months old. His IQ isn’t 865. He’s a normal baby. Enjoy him as such, because one, he will wise up and not want to hang out with you, because you suck.



And with that, I will bid you farewell.


For now.


I’m going to go wallow in the fact that I’m just not as good as all of you Holier Than Thou moms out there.

Fondly, Daisy.


An Open Letter to a Couple of Anonymous Assholes

20 May

Some lovely ladies in my life have experienced some really traumatic bullshit this week. I’d like to address their soon-to-be-ex-husbands, if I may.

To the Dick Who Served His Wife Divorce Papers on Mothers’ Day:

You mean to tell me that you spent a year planning your wedding, a year buying a house, and a year conceiving your child, just to dump your better half after all that? And on her first Mothers’ Day, to boot? Hey, Vindictive Asshole, the steroids must be shrinking your brain as much as they’re shrinking your balls. Don’t even think about asking for custody of that beautiful baby.


To the Moron Who Cheated On His Wife With A Colleague:

I always knew you were kind of dumb. Hell, if you had an ounce of sense, you would have kept growing after you hit five feet tall. But to not only cheat on your beautiful wife with the “office slut,” but then leave incriminating emails open on your shared computer? One can only assume that you’re on a quest to prove to the world that your dick isn’t as short as your stature.


You both fucked up royally. Royally. You both have ended beautiful, short-lived marriages with amazing, educated, gorgeous women for no good reason. You will both spend the rest of your lives regretting every bad decision you’ve ever made. 

I hope they both get The Herp.

Fun With Texting 05/20/2012

20 May


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