Tag Archives: moms

Happy Mother’s Day to U2… One Love.

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As a mom, I know I have a lot to learn. Because being a mother comes with a steep learning curve. But in the short time that I’ve enjoyed the title of “Mom”, I have learned this: As amazing as it is, being a mom is not always easy, for any of us. At some point, we all struggle. But while our struggles may look different, we all have one BIG commonality… and that’s love for our children. A fierce, stupid love. A love that at times is suffocating, and debilitating, and overwhelming, and lonely, and scary, but mostly beautifully f-ing awesome!

A mother’s love knows no bounds. Errr, well, maybe with exception to the toddler and teen years. But no matter how tired, frustrated or defeated we feel, we push on.  Day in, day out. 24/7. Rain or shine!

That said, since becoming a mother myself, and in part because of the feedback I get from this very blog, I am always surprised by how hard we mothers can be on eachother. Sadly, we can be very judgemental toward one another.  Whether we had vaginal or c-section births, breast or bottle, co-sleeping or cribbin’ it, working or at home… we sometimes throw shade at one another. I think our own insecurities as mothers get the better of us and we turn it outward, lashing out at other fellow moms. There is a constant pressure put on us by society, and expectations set by our families. We are pulled in every direction, trying to do things “the right way”.  So when we see a mom doing it “that way” (which, by the way, doesn’t make it the “right way”… just the right way for HER) we get defensive. If only we projected the same sense of acceptance we have for our children onto our fellow moms… Imagine the power.

So whether it be Mother’s Day, or everyday, I want to give a shout out to ALL mothers… no matter the struggle… we are one.

TO THE MOMS WHO HAD VAGINAL OR C-SECTION BIRTHS: It’s about the journey, not the destination of arrival. You loved, carried and gave life to a healthy beautiful baby. Period. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS WHO HAVE ADOPTED OR USED A SURROGATE: Your child may not have grown under your heart, but IN it. A mother’s love is not defined by blood. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS WHO HAVE HAD SUCCESSFUL IVF BABIES: When the body and science come together, they produce one powerful seed… and from it is born the most precious miracle. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS WHO FOSTER CHILDREN: Every child needs an angel, and that angel is YOU. Every child derserves a loving home, and you are that home. One of the most selfless acts any human could give. I bow down to you. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS WHO HAVE CHILDREN WITH ANY TYPE OF SPECIAL NEED: No diagnosis can ever change one’s love for their child. In fact, I think it makes for a special love and an even more special family.  Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS OF SINGLETONS, MULTIPLE CHILDREN, TWINS, TRIPLETS, PLUS: No matter the number, they all come with their own challenges. You are doing your best with what you have. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS PARTNERED WITH ANOTHER MOM, AND THE “MOMS” WHO ARE MEN: An X and Y chromosome does not make a home. Love does. And every person deserves to feel this kind of love. Gender makes no difference to a child, nor should it to society. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO ALL THE SINGLE MOMS: It is twice the work for you. It is also twice the love for you. Twice the hugs. Twice the kisses. A child doesn’t necessarily need two parents, but the best parent. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE MOMS WHO ARE DESPERATELY TRYING TO CONCEIVE: Think positive (  || ). Think someday. As Cinderella said, ” Even miracles take time”. They are already in your heart, next stop your womb. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THE STEP-MOMS OUT THERE: You made a promise to love another’s child as your own. Honour. There is never enough love to go around. Happy Mother’s Day.

TO THOSE WHO HAVE LOST THEIR MOM:  No matter your age, no matter the time that has passed… you lost an extention of yourself. A vital limb. The brain has an amazing way of storing memories. Remember. Smile. Happy Mother’s Day.

AND MOSTLY…

TO THE MOMS WHO HAVE LOST A CHILD: No one deserves to be recognized more than a mother who has had to give her baby back. And no time or space will ever change the fact that you are a mom, always. Happy Mother’s Day.

 

When it comes to motherhood, the lyrics “We’re ONE, but we’re not the same…” (by a wee little band known as U2) come to mind.  We are all our own beautiful beings, simply doing our best to raise our children. We all have the same end goal, we’re simply exploring different avenues to get there.

It’s no different than how we raise our children. We encourage them to be their true selves. To dare to be different. To not always conform to societal expectations and pressures. To think outside the box. Why not encourage other mothers to do the same… without judgement. Imagine the power!

Happy Mother’s Day to ALL moms… to my mom… to my mother-in-law for raising my Big J, and to U2.

ONE LOVE.

Cheers, Red Whino

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My Mother’s Day Gift Registry iDeas

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NEWS FLASH: This Sunday is Mother’s Day.

(So tag every husband, son, and male on the planet as a subtle reminder. You’re welcome, Honey!)

The truth is, I don’t care for fancy, lavish gifts. My Big J knows that! Still, I thought I’d make it easy on him with my own Mother’s Day Gift Registry… Just a few iDeas:

iNap App: I love when people tell me to nap when my babies nap. Firstly, by the time my babies go down for a nap… assuming they go down for a nap… I’m so jacked up on coffee having been awake since 4:30am playing Peek-a-friggin’-boo, that my eyeballs are ready to pop-a-friggin’-roo out of their sockets. Sleep ain’t happening!  The iNap App would instantly put me into a deep coma whenever and wherever, regardless of copious amounts of coffee consumed!

uNap App: No more of this picking and choosing when you Beasts want to nap. No sir! Mama is da’ boss now! The uNap App would be installed like a dogs’ microchip. I simply press “Nap” et Voila… Zzzzz! They are down for the count. Cocktails at naptime anyone?!?

Uppa Baby App: Forget the stroller. This app works in conjunction with the uNap App. I determine when baby naps, and when it’s time for them to get uppa baby! None of these shit 20-minute teaser naps… You on Mama’s clock now, kiddo!

iBrow App: The other day I was out (like in actual public “out”, not on my front lawn “out”) and I couldn’t figure out why people were staring at me like I was a freak of nature. I just assumed it was because I haven’t showered or changed my clothing since my kids’ were born. That is until I got home and looked in the mirror only to realize I’d only painted on one of my eyebrows that morning. ‘A’ for effort… ‘F’ for execution! The iBrow App would instantly paint on both eyebrows by 8am each morning. Seriously, I look like an albino ferret without them!

iZap App: This is a ‘must have’ for all of us mothers when we’re out at the park with our kids. Truth? I hate going to the park. There’s boring, and there’s park boring. But as much as I hate the park, I hate leaving it even more… because my children refuse to leave. It’s like negotiating with terrorists… The iZap App instantly zaps them into a trance-like state. They obediently follow me like little zombies away from the park… far, far away.

iV App: This, THIS app allows for a glorious, continuous flow of whatever liquid poison you need to fuel your tired ass up. For me, a heavenly, warm coffee will run through my tired veins all friggin’ day. And with the click of a button, the IV will change to a rich, desperately needed wine that tastes like a big sip of life before children.

Oh, and one last item on my Mother’s Day Gift Registry…

iDo App: I know it’s Mother’s Day, so it’s all about me, me, me… But the reality is, I am eternally grateful to my Big J for knocking me up, three times! So for the days that I fail to tell Big J how much I love him, the iDo App would send him daily reminders that I do... I really really do!

So no “diamonds are a girl’s best friend” for this Mama. Dads, you need not overthink it. ‘Cause it’s really quite simple. It’s inexpensive. And it’s doable. Simply and truly appreciate her. Give her time off. Let her kick up her feet. Let her read a book. Watch a show. Let her go pee… ALONE!

Trust me, all of the above, paired with a nice bottle of red wine, just might guarantee Dad a Happy Mother’s Day for himself too.

Cheers,

Red Whino

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Celebrate ALL moms here: https://redwhinediaries.com/2017/05/12/happy-mothers-day-to-u2-one-love/

Watch out Movember… Chewbacca is in da’ house!

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Ah, Movember… The month where men walk around like 70s porn stars turned pedophiles. Tom Selleck they ain’t, my friends. I also love Movember as everyone thinks that I too am participating in it for charity. When really I’m just a lazy ChiaPet in desperate need of a pair of facial pliers, and the energy to do something about it!

And it’s only gotten worse as I’ve aged… both the hygienic laziness and the amount of unwanted hairs that have sprung up.  I’ll let you in on a little secret: Aging Women = weird-ass hormones = random hairs in random places. And this fact, coupled with the laziness factor, I’ve willingly allowed myself to morph into Mama Chewbacca. And I just can’t be bothered to break out the ole’ weedwacker. Ya know?

Oh sure, you hear of those “vintage” women who go on and on (and on!) about their raging ‘whore’mones… (Ugh! Envy is a terrible thing, is it not?). But have you noticed it’s always the skinny ones who say this? “Oh, I love my voluptuous curves!” Ya, I bet you do… you 100 pound, size 0, B cup, carrot-nibbling bunny! Try this one on for size, why don’t you… Put on a sumo fat suit and THEN try and have sexy time with your sweetie… I dare you!  The reat of us bring a whole new meaning to the ‘Big Bang Theory’.

As if my sumo sex suit and Chewbacca Syndrome aren`t bad enough… the other day, I happened to look down and see a long, white hair on my chest. “Whatev’, just cat hair”, I thought.  Only when I went to pluck it off, my skin rose up with it like a f*cking teepee.

Turns out, in addition to my Play Off Season leg hairs and my Movember stash, I’m apparently now growing a patch of chest hair!  THIS is the reason G-d made wine!

I know, you’re probably thinking “just pluck the bloody thing and get over yourself“. Fair enough! Only, here’s the thing… I HAD just plucked the stupid, white, long-ass hair the day before. And it came back! IT. CAME. BACK.

But rather than worry that, unbeknownst to me,  I may be undergoing a sex change… I decided to be optimistic about the whole thing with a wine-glass-half-full approach: I now look at  my random, long-ass chest hair is proof of my super powers as a woman! Not only do I grow beautiful babies, but I also happen to grow chest hair (Singular… For now, anyway!). That`s right, where my stretch marks are my tiger stripes… my lonesome chest hair is simply the fuzzy lining on the beast. (Work with me here, ok? `Cause I’m one step away from the ledge on this one!) Plus, Big J could use some unexpected teeth flossing every now and then… if you know what I mean!

Chewbacca

So next time someone tells me I need to “grow some hair on my chest”, I’ll proudly rip open my shirt Superman style, and do a little Godzilla chest pumping.  I just hope no one tells me to “grow a set of balls“… Cause, at this rate, who da` hell knows what’s in store for Mama Chewbacca next! Sigh…

Cheers,

Red Whino

WISH YOU WERE HEREditarily not like your Mama when you hit your teen years…

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Karma can be a bitch, non? I’m going to share a little secret with you… I was ummm, well, a f*cking nightmare when I was a teenager. I’m sure my Mama will comment below in TOTAL agreement… Unless she’s still suffering from PTSD, which is very possible, if not probable! Anyways, so you can understand why I’m dreading the day my Beasts reaches their teen years! All I can say is ‘payback’!

My three Beasts keep me busy. Yet while I barely have time to wipe my own ass… I somehow find the time to indulge in f*cking Pinterest! It seems my priorities are ass backwards.

Anyways, according to Pinterest, all “good” mothers write a ‘Wish List’ for their children each year on their birthday. They then collect the Wish Lists in a jar. All together now… Awwww!!! Then 18 years later, the oh-so-lucky child gets to read their mothers’ wishes… making them feel like even bigger failures than their teenage selves already do.

So I figured, why not share with the world my Wish List for my little Beasts:

Wish 1: On Teen Pregnancy
Let me be very clear on this… This Grandma will not be raising Baby Whoops. You are to wear TWO condoms AT ALL TIMES… whether you’re sexting, sexing, studying or sleeping! I will ensure condom dispensers are readily available to you at all times! I will even be so kind as to throw a couple rubbers in my purse, so when you steal money from my wallet you’ll be reminded yet again to ‘suit up’! Yes, in a weird way I am encouraging you to steal money out of my wallet… if only to shove more condoms down your pants.

Wish 2: On drinking n’ drugs
It’s inevitable, I know! Trust me, your ole’ Mama didn’t spend her teen years celebrating Pi Day with a square head who celebrated the characteristics of a circle. So you can’t pull the wool over my eyes on this one, Boys. Just be smart about it! Know your limits. Know when it’s no longer ‘cool’. You don’t have to be the jackass who does ‘keg stands’… it can only lead to broken ankles and diarrhea (errr, or so I’ve heard). And trust me there’s nothing worse than having a broken ankles AND diarrhea (again, hearsay!)… You just can’t get there in time, you know? Me either! Also, promise me that if you smoke a joint, you’ll do it while listening to Pink Floyd, and not f*cking Justin Timberlake!

Wish 3: On Career Choices
I want you all to be happy in whatever you boys choose to do. I don’t want you to become a Harvard-graduate, brain surgeon simply to please little ole’ me (nudge, nudge, wink, wink!!!) I want you to choose a career you truly love.  I know, I know, easier said than done. ‘Cause trust me, I know only to well how hard it is to find something you love and get paid for it. I am still trying to find someone who’ll pay me to drink and sleep! That said, it would be wise to choose a rather lucrative career in order to cover the luxury retirement living I’m expecting to reside… cause otherwise Mama’s movin’ in!

Wish 4: On physical appearance
Wear whatever you want…I don’t care… just wear a G-d damn belt! As cute as your ass is at the ripe age of one, no one needs to see it in it’s 16-years of harry glory. And tattoo yourself crazy! Just promise me not to tattoo Simba from the Lion King onto your chest! Yes, what seemed like a promising young man to your Mama at one time just happened to take off his shirt… and let’s just say the moment was ova’. OVA’! And who knows, maybe you’ll even get a tattoo for your old Lady? How about an “I love My Mommy” tat right on your forehead? That way when you spend your entire life with your face in your phone at the table, I’ll look over and see “I love my Mommy” staring back at me. It’ll make me feel all warm and fuzzy… almost like we’re verbally communicating. What’s that? You don’t know what ‘verbal communication’ is? Sigh…

After writing out my Wish List for my Beasts, the looong day-to-day demands of their infancy and toddler years are just foreplay for the shit that’s to come. Oh, Karma… throw me a wishbone, will ya? Penance and all that, non?

Or maybe the joke will be on me. Maybe I’ll end up with kids who are home before curfew… kids who prefer studying over a hazzy Pink Floyd session… kids who are not at risk of becoming teen fathers because they prefers one-handed sexting… kids who really want to be surgeons! I mean, what the hell would I do with kids like that?

Only I hear Karma whisper softly over my shoulder… “Dream on, Lady… Dream on… It’s payback time, Mama! P-A-Y-B-A-C-K!!!” So I get out my pen and paper to make yet one last wish for my Beasts. I pray that they are not like their Mama in their teen years… or their father for that matter.

Wish #5? Shine on you crazy children. Shine on!

Cheers, Red Whino

In other non-related news… and for some shameless self-promotion… I’m featured as a Kick Ass Mom Blogger on Strolling The City In Heels.  It’s written by a funky mom named Emma, and it’s a great site for easy tips on fashion, beauty products, and good reads. Since following this blog, I’ve gone from wearing tie-dye t-shirts with elastic-waisted pants and white runners with black socks, to being a fashion-force on the playground. Really, she’s doing society a favour with her blog. Check it out!

Dear Non-Parents…

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These days it seems like we’re all cheering for one team or another. Pepsi vs. Coke. Boob versus bottle. Aniston vs. Angelina (Still? Or have we all moved on?).  Trump versus, well almost everyone. And, of course, the ever-lasting feud… Team Parents vs. Non-Parents.

When it comes to the whole Parent vs. Non-Parent debacle, I’m totally a team player. When I’m with Non-Parents, I try very hard not to talk about my 3 Beasts… Just kidding, it’s actually quite easy and refreshing to forget about them.  Instead, I happily sit back and listen to the Non-Parents complain about their perfect f*cking child-free lives. (Insert eye roll!)

It seems Non-Parents have found yet another thing in their perfect child-free lives to complain about. Apparently, we ‘Parents’ say hurtful things to them. Sniff! Sniff!  I came across this following article: Five Things Parents Need to Stop Saying to Non-Parents. I ever-so-patiently read through it only to come to the conclusion that Non-Parents are just a bunch of whiny jerks. I mean, by intentionally not bringing a child into the world, these Non-Parents are able to maintain their sanity, body shape, livelihood, and liver. Really, they have a golden horseshoe shoved so far up their you-know-whats, they aren’t even able to appreciate it. IgnorANUS! (Oh, envy is a terrible thing. Is it not?)

But what about us parents? What about the hurtful things Non-Parents shouldn’t say to US?

Here is MY list of the Five Things Non-Parents Should Stop Saying to Parents:

“Sorry my house is such a mess”

Ok. Fine. So you think because your pastel, silk throw pillows haven’t been ‘fluffed’ and because you have a spec of dusk beside your glistening toilet (that I would eat off of, by the way), that your house is a mess.

Here. Try this: Go home. Smear peanut butter, jam and Cheese Whiz all over your sofa. Then squeeze honey all over your carpet, and empty a tub of icecream over top (for good measure, of course!). Now spray about 30 grape juiceboxes all over your walls and windows (note: must be grape, apple juice simply doesn’t do enough damage). Now toss a couple of fish sticks and chicken nuggets behind your sofa and leave them there for 9 months. Last, but not least, grab a Sharpie and scribble all over your plasma screen. THEN tell me your f*cking house is a mess!

“I feel fat”

Here, try this one on for size… Put your perfectly-pedicured, callus-free feet in my fat-ass shoes for a second. Then strap a nap sack on backwards. Fill it with 60 pounds of soiled diapers. Then take 2 melons and shove them down your bra. (Note: If your bra is not touching the floor, your melons aren’t heavy enough. Try again!) Now take 2 loafs of bread, soak them in water and tape them to your outer thighs. Now take 1025 apples and scatter them around the room, and squat down and pick them all up while wearing your “mom suit”. THEN tell me you feel fat… I dare you!

“Sorry I’m late. I slept through my alarm”

The fact that after an uninterrupted sleep, you have the ability to sleep through your alarm indicates to me that you basically slept in! To which I reply: Screw you!

Try this instead: Right when you are about to sit down and relax for the evening… Don’t! Get up and go catch yourself a bird (must be alive). Now sit down, and attempt to keep the bird on your lap while you read the same story, over and over and over again. When the bird starts to squawk and peck at your face to the point of blood, smile and tell the bird that you love it to the moon and back again. Now for beddy bye bye BYE, grab a 30 pound cinder block. Slow dance with the chuck of cement for about 2 hours. Wake up at 12:30am. Repeat. Wake up at 2:30am. Repeat. Wake up at 4:30am and start your day… with a smile, of course! As I said… screw you and your alarm!

“I SO need a vacation”

Don’t we all! But you see, here’s the difference. Your vacation will be just that… a vacation. You will fly to the destination of your choosing. You will relax. You will drink. You will feast. You will REST.

For those of us who are serving a life sentence for one drunken night of unprotected sex, we then further suffer the consequences by having to go to f*cking Disney World… every year… for eternity!

“I’m so broke”

I hear ya’. Michael Kors bags don’t come cheap these days, do they?

How ’bout this instead… Every week, go to the grocery store and simply hand over your wallet. Then go to the bank and have them drain ALL your accounts, retirement savings and stocks and bonds, along with your dignity. Most likely this won’t be enough to cover your car payments, loans and mortgage. Oh well, what can you do? Nothing says I LOVE YOU like DEBT!  Simply go home and drink copious amounts of wine… because really it’s the only ‘liquid asset’ to your name at this point.

People, the reality is Parents and Non-Parents tend to drift apart in the post-baby-world. Only it’s NOT because they have little left in common, rather because their once stylish, fun, hygienic friends now smell like they’ve marinated themselves in vomit and peanut butter, wear sweat pants (with elastic ankles), have a blank look in their eyes and drive minivans. Trust me, I don’t want to hang out with myself either!

But really, I think we all just need to get over ourselves. In the end, whether a Parents or a Non-Parents… we all still have one thing in common: WINE!

So let’s leave our sensitivity caps at the door… Let’s simply come together and agree to whine less, and wine more.

Cheers,

Red Whino

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PS. Please know that when I refer to “Non-Parents” in the above post, I am referring to those who intentionally chose not to have children, or want them eventually but just not yet. I am NOT referring to the ‘non-parents’ who are desperately trying to bring a wee one into their lives, whether via adoption, surrogacy, IVF or the good ole’ fashion way. I already consider you Team Parent… cause eventually your dream will come true and you’ll be driving a minivan in no time. Peace!

2P or not 2P… That is the question!

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The dog days of summer are upon us. And with the extreme heat, come the pool parties. And with pool parties, comes the question: To pee or not to pee… in da’ pool, of course!

I’ve had this conversation with a lot of people, and most say they do NOT pee in pools (insert eye roll). My research has led me to one conclusion: That there are 2 types of people: those who pee in pools, and those who LIE!

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Also, there’s been recent evidence that ‘urine tracing dyes’ are a myth. (WooHoo!) See? Believe it or not, I do actually do some research for what some might otherwise call an unintelligible blog. Sheesh! So you no longer need to go through the motion of letting out a little squirt, looking down for the blue dye, only to then let ‘er rip!  It was all lies… lies, lies, lies! Propaganda, my friends, propaganda!

So, now that we know we all pee in pools (whether you admit it or not), AND that there is no traceable evidence, we need to cover the etiquette of  HOW to pee in a pool. ‘Cause like anything in life… if you want to be successful, you have to have a plan. It’s all about strategy, People!

Here are my Top 8 Tips to help you pee in your friend’s pool without being suspected of doing what everyone else is doing anyway… peeing!

1. Don’t stay in the pool for too long. Frolicking around (do not stay still for even a minute!), get out have a drink, immerse yourself once more, do the deed, frolick some more. On the flip side, do NOT get in, pee, and get out. WAY TOO OBVIOUS! It’s all about timing!

2. Be careful not to pee only to have an unplanned poop too! We’ve all had this happen to us while on the shitter. You go to the bathroom for a quick tinkle, only to have a sneaky poop rear its ugly head. In a pool though? Shit, this is a tough one. It can happen (or so I’ve heard!), so you need to be prepared. Always carry a brownie in a little zip lock baggie… safely tuck it in your bikini top or shorts, and if you have an unplanned liquid poop, quickly shove the brownie in your mouth and pretend to barf. No one will appreciate the fact that you’ve thrown-up in the pool, but at least they won’t know you’ve really taken a dump in the pool. IF your unplanned poop is a hard one, try to inconspicuously toss it into the bush!

3. Pee IN the pool, not INTO the pool! Boys, yes I know you’ve been blessed with the ability to whip it out wherever and whenever you want, but do not stand along the sides and relieve yourself. And ladies, definitely don’t squat over the edge. Just get in the water! Or (gasp!) use the bathroom!

4. If you’ve had asparagus within 24 hours of the pool party, peeing while submersed in water eliminates the asparagus pee smell. So really, you are doing everyone a favor by NOT using the bathroom! ‘Cause who wants to use the bathroom after someone’s had an asparagus pee?

5. After pushing a watermelon out of a golf ball sized hole, a mother simply has to cough or sneeze and she’ll piss herself. So really, peeing in a pool should be a constitutional right for all mothers!

6. Do not reach down and move your bikini crotch off to the side. SO OBVIOUS! As Nike says: Just Do It!

7. Do not draw attention to warm spots… yours’ or others. Guilt by association, People. Plus, it’s just childish behavior!

8. If you have kids, BRING THEM! If you don’t have kids, BORROW SOME! The younger the better. Should you get caught, there’s nothing better than blaming a poor, innocent child who doesn’t’ have the ability to speak for themselves for your wrong doings. It’s parenting 101, really.

So, 2P or not 2P…?

Oh common’, don’t make a liar out of yourself. Just pee already…  As they say, when in Rome…

Just make sure you don’t pee in MY pool… and I don’t care how much asparagus you’ve eaten!

Cheers, Red Whino

PS. For those of you who left your sense of humor back at the office, I don’t tend to pee in pools. Not going to say I never have, but I do my best not to… cause I’m classy n’ shit like that!  But lakes and oceans? They’re fair game, y’all! Fair game…

Let the Potty Mouth Training begin… F*ck!

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Warning: This post contains several ‘bad’ words… If you are prudishly sensitive or otherwise just live under a rock, my advice to you is to skip it! If you choose to read it, find yourself offended, and then feel the need to send me hate mail… Please do! I so enjoy reading them!

For the rest of you…

Our Beasts have gone from being sweet lumps on the couch to masterful mimicking clowns. They observes everything we do, and everything we say.  In other words… they are very influential right now. Which, well, is somewhat worrisome considering they have me for a mother and Big J for a father. So to avoid raising  2.0 versions of *cough* ourselves… Big J and I have embarked on the daunting task of potty training our filthy mouths.

I, Red Whino, do solemnly swear… ummm, not to swear! Is that an oxymoron?!?

I never realized just how often I drop the F-bomb… until it came time to stop!  It’s second nature for me. You see, I am fluently educated in 4 languages… English, French, Sarcasm, and Swearing. For me, it takes so much pre-emptive thought just to string together a child-proof sentence that sometimes it’s easier to just say nothing at all.

I hesitate to ask Big J how his day was… because how does one describe a day at the office without a pint-size ‘f*ck’? And he certainly won’t ask me how my day was… because how does one spend a day with a threesome of babbling monkeys without a keg sized ‘f*ck’? So while our our Beasts are around, Big J and I basically just stare at one another like a pair of stunned blowfish. Because without swear words, what we’ve got here is failure to communicate!

I mean seriously, how does one effectively express themselves otherwise? ‘Poopie pants’ and ‘meanie head’ just don’t cut it. And I refuse to become one of those douche bags who use ‘friggin’… Ugh! So friggin’ lame, right?

But alas, Big J and I have pledged to clean-up our daytime red neck potty-mouths… If only for the sake of our sweet savage children, of course. Also, and more importantly, for the sake of my reputation. ‘Cause if I’m anything… I’m one classy lady!

imagesCAJM5DHO

But when our little monkeys go to bed? Ah, well, the gloves come off… Big J and I get our f*ck on!

Together, in perfect synchronized harmony, we f*ck! It’s like we’re newlyweds all over again…  f*cking as much as possible.  Ahhh, the sweet language of love.

And when it’s time for Mommy and Daddy to go to bed, we snuggle up and succumb to our sweet f*cking dreams, knowing we’ll wake up on mute for yet another day of responsible-parenting.

Really it’s the best f*cking we’ve had in a long time… and we didn’t even have to get under the covers to enjoy it!

Cheers,

Red Whino

50 Shades of Baby… Just in time for Father’s Day!

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HaHaHappy Father's Day...

HaHaHappy Father’s Day…

Dear Daddy…

Once upon a time,
My Mommy and Daddy drank too much wine.
Lucky for me, Daddy forgot to wear protection.
And it just so happens… my conception!

Life as they knew it, was never the same.
A force to be reckoned with.
Little Orange Crush IS my name.

It’s all about me and what I want to do.
Feed me.
Play with me.
Now clean my poo.

I want to go outside.
Now I want to go in.
Now back outside.
I don’t care if we’ve just been.

Pick me up.
Put me down.
Now change me again.
I’m smelling kinda brown.

I’m hungry.
I’m tired.
No wait, I’m wired.

I’m happy.
I’m sad.
I’m laughing.
I’m mad.

I’m hot. I’m cold.
I’m up. I’m down.
Now change me again.
I’ve gifted you with some more brown.

What’s that? You have errands to do.
No problem. Let’s go.
In the car. Outta the car.
I promise you, we won’t get far.

I’ll scream. I’ll smile.
I’ll sit still, but only for a little while.
You’re on my time now.
And peace of mind, I do not allow.

Read me a story.
Put me to bed.
Just kidding…
I’m messing with your head.

Ok. Fine. I’m asleep in my crib.
Just remember, you have no power.
So don’t bother relaxing.
Cause I’ll be up in another hour.

My gift to you this Father’s Day,
Is quality time… just me and you.
So you can truly see what Mommy goes through.

By the end of the day, you might wish
That you’d worn protection.
Or drank enough wine,
To lose that erection.

But you wouldn’t have me.
Good times and bad,
We are better as three.

So for an entire day… just father and son.
We’ll laugh. We’ll cry.
We’ll poo. We’ll play.
Really making it Mother’s Day!

(You’re welcome, Mommy!)

Love,

Your Little Orange Crush

From Fat to Phat…

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A lot of you have emailed me asking for a post on ‘body after baby’. So body after baby it is…

The first thing that came to mind was: what body? Seriously, in my third trimester it’s like someone put an air-machine up my ass and forgot to turn the bloody thing off! So my Whinos, there is body after baby… there’s just a whole lot of it!

Fat to phat

My Little Orange Crush and I spent the morning at the community pool. As much as he loves it, the Mommy & Me swims have also been a place of solace for me. It makes me feel better being surrounded by other mothers whose bodies have been equally ravaged by pregnancy as mine. Cellulite is like the new black!

We all frolic together. Unified mommas, bulging out of our x-large Walmart bathing suits… without judgement or prejudice. And while I’m sure some of them are secretly relishing the fact that their stomach is just a tad more deflated than the next one, most of us join forces proudly displaying our soft, doughy cauliflower stomachs. Tiger stripes, right? Ugh…

But this week was different. I looked around at my fellow queen-size mommies only to realize that they were looking pretty good. WTF? No one sent me the ‘let’s-get-our-body-back’ memo. Meanwhile, I’ve been frozen in time, justifying my lumps and bumps on the fact that “I just had a baby!”… 8 months ago. But whatev’…

It’s a hard sell now. I get it. Time to pull up my Spanx and get movin’…

But I refuse to embark on one of these trendy bark eating diets. Nibbling on a toilet paper and lettuce sandwich just isn’t my thing.

All that said, your emails have given me the motivation to get movin’. So here’s my pledge to you, my Whinos:

– I promise not to pretend to go for a jog only to hide in the forest with a bottle of tequila, pack of smokes while popping Percocet. You’d be surprised by the size of the mommy sorority that hides out in the forest… Kappa Mamma Phat!

– I promise not to hoard bon bons down my pants. I will eat kale chips… and I will enjoy them, dammit!

– I will have a glass of water in between bottles of wine. A liquid diet of sorts… Plus, Crystal Lite Diaries just doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know?

– I will engage in racial food discrimination, ’cause colour does matter! No more white… Brown only!

– My name is Red Whino and I’m a Chocoholic! First step is admitting to your addiction, right? Next step is finding a sponsor: Oh Henry… Won’t you be my sponsor?

– When I’m grocery shopping and those evil inner voices tell me to take a stroll down the baking aisle, I will yell out with conviction “No. No. I’m not baked”. You guys hear the voices too, right?

– I will take the 30-day Squat Challenge. So if you happen to see me walking around like I have a canoe between my legs, you’ll know why. And no Big J, this is not the kind of squatting you’re thinking of!

– I promise that I will no longer ask Big J to ‘watch the baby’ only to hide in the pantry and shove Ruffles down my throat… with a bottle of wine and a straw.

So there you have it, folks… how I plan on going from fat to phat. Feel free to join me… let’s get our Yummy Mummy on together. We can show up at the pool with our long, lean, mean bods. No running on the deck boys and girls… cause you just might fall and chip a tooth on my rock solid ass!

Jeezuz… may the force be with us!

Cheers,

Red Rhino Whino

I love getting emails from you with requests for future posts. I’m more than happy to oblige. Just don’t ask me to write about quantum physics, investments, or vampires. Otherwise keep em’ comin’…