Life With Boys

I have 3 boys. They are currently ages 12, 9, and 4. Two have ADHD. One has Aspergers. One has dyslexia. And one was obviously just put here to torture his siblings and drive me insane. That pretty much says it all. My life is a complex mix of soccer, bug catching, mud wallowing, Lego booby traps, nut-shots, and all things relating to the release of bodily gases. Every day I teeter on the fine line between refereeing another fight over somebody stealing somebody elses shit in Minecraft and packing up my Rosetta stone and fleeing. I post occasional photos of my boys and their antics on my Facebook account, but I decided to share them here, too. This will be the first in a series that will hopefully give other moms the chance to either say, “My kids do that too,” or “Damn, I’ve got it easier than I thought.” Either way, hopefully you’ll have a laugh and hide your Learn Dutch in Two Hours tapes away for another day.

When you’re a mom of boys your youngest son will decide…

128…that your push-up bra serves much better as an ass cushion for long coloring sessions.

As a mom of boys you will discover that if you leave that same child alone with paint because, God forbid, you have to pee…


… he will turn himself into a Na’vi in 2 minutes flat.

You will also find as a mom of boys that the same child who draws this masterpiece with sidewalk chalk…


…will wait until a total stranger is coming to inspect your house and draw this…

March 2013 279(On the upside, this son is severely dyslexic and I was told he spelled it all by himself…you have to find the little victories).

And there’s a brief glance into the everyday antics I endure. Trust me, I have more and I will share.

Do you have boy? Well, here’s a place to share. Tell us what crazy crap they’ve done and how you keep from dropping them off at the fire station (besides that stupid abandonment law written by people with less than 3 kids).


Mommy’s Little Helper Monday

I totally planned on having this written yesterday and posted early this morning, but guess what– that was crazy talk. I got lured in by a warm fireplace and an idea for another Ambrosia Wood book (the gal from Fifty Shades of Puddin’ for y’all who don’t know). Anyway, this just didn’t get done last night but I knew all three kids would be at school today and I could crank this out in a New York minute (make that a Texas minute–I don’t do any thing New York-fast except run away from scorpions or towards a Nordstrom shoe sale). But the Universe laughed at that little plan and made sure one of the kids was sick and needing extra attention.

But it’s 6 minutes until noon and I’m finally in front of the computer ready to hit you with some Mommy Helping fa-shizzle. Let’s not waste our precious time, the day is slipping away and my blood alcohol level is dangerously low.

The Libation:

All you need to make a pitcher of Sarasotas.

All you need to make a pitcher of Sarasotas.

I saw a drink posted a couple of times on Pinterest called a Sarasota. This immediately caught my attention because I used to live there. In fact, this is the city where I met my husband and gave birth to my oldest son. It’s a magical city that I fell in love with the first time I went to visit my BFF. When I got fired from my job in Little Rock and broke up with Mr. I-tried-to-make-him-right-but-he-so-wasn’t #36, I packed what I could fit into my little mustang convertible, gave the rest to my family, and moved to the city of white sand and blue water. I decided that a drink named after that city must be a liquid angel straight from heaven.

The recipes on Pinterest called for Moscato or reisling, raspberry lemonade concentrate, Sprite, and fresh raspberries; but I can’t leave well enough alone. I decided that the Sprite was just for bubbles and would water-down my child-saving-sanity-juice, so I revised the recipe. I figured a bottle of cheap sparkling moscato could work double-time and it cut one thing off the shopping list. Dump the raspberry lemonade concentrate in a pitcher, pour the bottle of sparkly goodness in, stir it up, thrown in some raspberries and bottoms up!

Now on to the Duh–I Already Knew That Helpful Tip:

I am not a perfect parent. Never have been and never will be. I often forget meetings or to check homework. I never volunteer for serious roles in the PTA (insurance just can’t cover that type of catastrophe) and I’m certainly not good at giving the kids an example of living a tidy, organized life. But– I am a creative parent. I am and artist, writer, and god help them, an actress. I am the mom who will commit to the role of Popeye just to get a spoonful of spinach down their throats. I will cook and serve our spaghetti as a neurotic Italian man with a fear of utensils. I start wars with pool noodles (best lightsabers EVER) just to break up a real fight. I am the mom who realizes at 7am that her child is supposed to be in a costume for school, and will somehow make an exact replica of freakin’ Gandolf using only some fishing line, a pillowcase, cotton balls, and pipe cleaners. I am McGyver in that department. Don’t even try me or you’ll find a car bomb in your minivan made out of toilet paper rolls and some hair gel.

So within the hurricane of creativity I live in, here is my little trick I’ve created to help manage the butt-loads of toys and belongings my children like to drag downstairs and forget about after a few minutes. After many times of stepping on Legos, finding Batman in my bathtub and a T-rex in my panty drawer, this is what I came up with…

The Bucket of Despair--Mercy on the lost souls left to perish in this dark and dastardly place.

The Bucket of Despair–Mercy on the lost souls left to perish in this dark and dastardly place.

The Bucket of Despair. It lives on the landing of our stairwell. All toys and belongings left downstairs by the kids are sent here. If they are not put back where they belong by the end of the week they find new homes. I came up with the idea back when we were up to our arm pits in Harry Potter and started it out as a simple basket. Once I discovered this bucket at Target during Halloween, I knew where it’s forever-home would be. And it works pretty well. So far only a few stray toys have found themselves in the donation box. I’m just waiting for the day to be tested on a large, expensive item. I’m hoping I can keep up my strength when I’m tested. God have mercy on me when I am 🙂

And now that I’ve dazzled you with cocktails and my parenting knowledge, it’s time to laugh (which I’m sure you’re still doing over the fact that I offered parenting advice). Anywho…I was recently shocked to discover some x-rated activity taking place in the alley behind our home. I was innocently out and about spying on neighbors taking a walk when I discovered the seedy underbelly of our little suburb. It appeared that R rated fungi were growing amongst the St. Augustine and Zoysia. The yard gnomes were there like little pimps, charging other perverted lawn dwellers for the show. And here’s the proof…

Shake those shittakes, baby!!

Shake those shittakes, baby!!

Hey, if you haven’t figured out that I have the sense of humor of a 15-year-old boy by now, you’re slow. Happy Monday!!!!

Mommy’s Little Helper Monday

Well, I’ve been gone from this blog awhile but that’s about to change. With a newly published book and a change in my writing schedule, this little blog is getting some attention. Mondays and Fridays will be dedicated to this project while Wednesdays will be reserved for Wckedwords.

To kick off this new venture I’m christening these posts as “Mommy’s Little Helper Mondays.” What’s that? Well, I figured that the idea of reserving the weekends as your time for a little “shot” of relaxation was just ass-backwards. Monday is the beginning of the week–the beginning of carpools, teacher conferences, soccer practice, trumpet lessons, robot club, cleaning, working, pet neutering appointments, PTA slavery volunteering crap. Why in the hell would you wait until Friday for that drink?!? I say, Screw that! Carpe diem vino, bitches.

So, every Monday I’ll be posting a drink recipe, a helpful tip (like where to hide your stash), and something to make you laugh. It is a digital version of a sanity kit for mommies. So let’s break some champagne on the bow of this ship and send it out on its maiden voyage.

The Libation:

My husband discovered this wonderful vodka– UV Cake. Yes, cake and liquor in one bottle!! (It’s all the proof you need that God loves women.) And once I had this in my hands it didn’t take long to come up with a crafty way to mix it. This, my friends, is the Pineapple Upside-down Martini.

Everything you need to make it pretty, but if you're in a hurry just grab the vodka and juice.

Everything you need to make it pretty, but if you’re in a hurry just grab the vodka and juice.

You can do this as fancy or as simple as you want. Break out the shaker and jigger if you want to feel like you’re getting a $16 martini from the local bar, or skip that shit and just eyeball it. (Confession: I’m the eyeballing type so the pretty barware is just for show in my picture.) Shake (or mix with your finger) a half to full jigger (depending on your taste and how many kids you have) of the vodka with a 1/2 to full cup of pineapple juice (canned tastes better than the frozen in the photo), and some ice. Drop a maraschino cherry in the bottom of your glass and pour the liquid over it. To make it fancy use an actual martini glass instead of a plastic Elmo sippy cup and use raw sugar on the rim. Then stab some pineapple and another cherry on a pick and drop it in there. Ta-da!! Instant vacation.

Ahh...a vacation in a glass always makes parenting more enjoyable.

Ahh…a vacation in a glass always makes parenting more enjoyable.

Now, after downing one or two of these liquid cakes, you’re ready to move on to my helpful tip for this Monday.

Duh–I Already Knew That Helpful Tip:

This is simple but I found it out the hard way. If you go snag some cheap-ass, dark jeans for your kids from Old Navy, turn those bastards inside-out before you wash them in COLD water. It was not fun opening my brand new, expensive time travel washing machine and finding it stained blue. Same thing with the dryer, and guess what–that crap comes off on the next load. After a quick search I discovered that better moms than me knew to turn them inside out. The really good moms soak the jeans in cold water and vinegar first, but I’m more in the boat of “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Now that you’ve read my helpful tip that you probably already knew, here’s something to make you laugh. Well, it made me laugh, but I have a really warped sense of humor. Anyway, happy Monday!!

Take that, Ang! This is the American version. Yee haw!

Take that, Ang! This is the American version. Yee haw!

**I snagged this off facebook, but with a little searching I believe its source is nicsmal from