Boy Moms Are Da Bomb

Ladies: are you ...

- Super-sensitive to the smell of urine?
- Fabulous at choosing durable items?
- Unfazed by leaping and tackling?
- Well-versed in fart jokes?
- Constantly saying, "Stop pulling on your penis!" and variations thereof?

Well then! If this is you ... you might be a boy mom.

To those who aren't, the condition sounds hideous. I know. I've been told on more than one occasion that the stories on my blog serve as great birth control. I'm not sure whether to be offended or proud, but it's true: boys are an adventure, especially when you yourself have never been a boy. And having multiple boys, like I do, four to be exact, is like having a bunch of puppies tumbling around all the time. BIG puppies. Big, starving, bold, opinionated, endlessly energetic puppies.

But it's amazing, more than anything else. And we should be proud, because it's a tough job, not for the faint of heart - which means boy moms are a unique breed. We have to be adaptable, good at understanding a male perspective and then offering up the female side. We have constitutions of steel, accustomed to finding creepy-crawlies and stinky socks, and tending to bloody injuries with the calmness of a medic. We're in the rare position of teaching our sons not only their self-worth, but the worth of women. We know that boys' hearts are big and soft and broken as easily as anyone else's, even if they show it differently - and we're their safe place to land when that happens.

We didn't choose the boy mom life; the boy mom life chose us. And we wouldn't have it any other way. (Despite the scads of perfect strangers who nosily ask us on the regular if we're going to "try for a girl.")


Being a boy mom is awesome. So awesome, in fact, that it deserves its own T-shirt - which is where Boymom Designs comes in! And it's your lucky day, because they're giving one of my readers their VERY OWN BOYMOM SHIRT, just like the one this stunning model is wearing below:


... Okay, so it's not a stunning model, it's just me. But cool T-shirt nonetheless.

I LOVE mine: it's so super-soft, pre-shrunk and wrinkle-free, and has a really flattering fit. If T-shirts aren't your thing (whyyyy?), Boymom Designs has a ton of different ways to display your pride - long sleeves, hoodies, bags, you name it. (AND there are Girlmom things too, so nobody has to be left out.) And pssst ... you can use the code 10105 at checkout and save 60%!!!

For a chance to win this awesome tee, all you've got to do is "like" our very generous Boymom rep Lynn Stewart on Facebook or follow her on Twitter, and then leave me a comment below telling me your FAVORITE thing about being a boy mom! Don't forget to leave your contact info so I can get in touch when I randomly choose the winner (by next Friday, February 18th!).


The (Un)Fairer Sex

I try to be a calm person - zen and all that - but I'm almost always irritated at school drop-off.

Maybe it's because I've just spent the past hour making sure that my four kids are fed and dressed in reasonably-coordinating, weather-appropriate clothing and not looking like victims of parental neglect. (And, like, yelling "PUT YOUR SHOES ON!" over and over until I'm hoarse.)

Maybe it's because there are a handful of assholes (ewwww, sorry for the visual) who insist on parking in the DROP OFF LANE which is the lane for DROPPING OFF and not the PARKING LOT where you are supposed to PARK.

Maybe it's because I didn't want to get out of bed due to being tired because I had to stay up late last night waiting to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer. (And okay, watching some Netflix.)

But you know what irritated me today?*

*Besides perhaps a tiny smidge of PMS

How easy men have it in the looking-decent department. Especially men who are relatively attractive to begin with.

I was running behind this morning, so I essentially threw a coat on over my pajamas, stuffed my feet into a pair of boots, and ushered the kids into the minivan. Here's a bottom-half selfie:


Looking like Santa Claus's less-successful sister who has a painting business on the side. SMH.

The top half of me was wearing a disintegrating T-shirt from a gym that doesn't even exist any more, no makeup, glasses that are so loose they fall off my face when I bend over, and un-brushed hair skimmed back into a bun.

So here I was, dropping off my kids, praying there'd be no reason to get out of the vehicle, when I saw him in the crosswalk helping his daughter carry her Valentine box: Attractive Dad.

Ladies, you feel me. There's at least one at every school.

But this is what pissed me off: he was wearing sweatpants. Sweat. Pants. Yet he was still attractive. Attractive enough to garner furtive glances from all the moms in the drop-off lane. BECAUSE MEN DO NOT HAVE TO DO THE RIDICULOUS SHIT WE HAVE TO DO IN ORDER TO BE CONSIDERED ATTRACTIVE. And yes, I'm yelling.

Guys have a very small spectrum of appearance. From sweats to tuxedo is a narrow margin: basically only the outfit changes and the head stays the same. Sure, they can use gel or shave or get a trim or whatever, but those are minor tweaks that don't drastically alter their appearance. And to add insult to injury, some guys even look better when they let a little scruff grow on their faces (I'm talking five o'clock shadow, not Duck Dynasty).

It's not fair.

For women, there's a HUGE spectrum. On one end, you have sweats and no makeup and messy hair. On the other end, you have a dress and Spanx and hair dye and concealer and nail polish and all the other two hundred thousand appearance-enhancing things we're expected to make use of. Even if we're basically attractive as-is, we can still look like straight-up ass if we do absolutely nothing with ourselves. Men, on the other hand, are only as unattractive as their current outfit. They're like ... Ken dolls.

And nobody - NOBODY - has ever said to me, "Hey girl, why don't you let your leg hair grow out a little bit? A little scruff is sexy."

Hmmmph.

I know, I know, I know: we shouldn't care what we look like to others. If we dress up it should be for ourselves. But the woman who doesn't care what she looks like is a magical unicorn of not-giving-a-fuck. I want to be one of those magical unicorns; alas, I am not. I'm an "oh my Lord please don't let anyone notice that I need an eyebrow wax/am wearing pajamas/haven't brushed my hair since yesterday" type of person. I teach my sons to see the beauty in everyone, beyond their physical appearance, then lock myself in the bathroom and pluck chin hairs and cry over my deflated boobs.

Dudes will never realize how easy they've got it.




PSST - I'm about to have a giveaway from Boymom Designs! Stay tuned! :)

The Seeker of the House

House-hunting, man.

I thought it would be fun, but it was exhausting. I felt like one of those bitchy ladies on HGTV who veto everything and can't possibly live in a house that doesn't have a granite shower with dual massaging showerhead and skylight. Oh and a craft room.

Seriously, though - we looked at a ton of houses over this past weekend, but none of them felt ...well, like my house. Even though I don't want to move, I'm trying hard not to let that color my perception of my new home. I tried to envision myself, and my family, within the walls of each place. Some of them were easier than others. Still, I'm not completely in love with any of them. When we found our current house (*sniff*) I loved it immediately, so I figured it would be that way this time too.

... Apparently not.

I know in the grand scheme of things I'm still super lucky, and I shouldn't be complaining. I'M GETTING A HOUSE. I have choices. But some of those choices are harder than others ... like would I rather live in a place with faux-rock wallpaper in my bedroom or one with a dining room light fixture the size of a flying saucer? Sure, those things can be changed, but let's be real: we've been living in this house for eight years and 95% (okay, 98%) of the stuff we wanted to do it is still undone. Having a handy husband who is capable of doing renovations himself is great ... IF he actually did them.

This is pretty much Curtis's attitude toward home improvements.

Also, our new town is seven hours away. Which means that much of this has to be long-distance. Which also means that Curtis is working there and coming home on random weekends, while I'm here with our four boys, doing what needs to be done, desperately clinging to my last shreds of sanity holding down the fort.

Basically, the position I'm in is this: as long as our new house isn't leaking or haunted or infested by pests, we're good. I'm going to have to live with a few things that bug me (I mean, I already do: THEY'RE CALLED MY KIDS). All I really want is a sprayer in the sink, and light fixtures that don't look like they first illuminated someone's 8-track player.

Why can't this be easy?


You Gotta Be Kitten Me

My kids are 10, 8 (in a few days), 6, and 3 - so they're getting to be wonderfully self-sufficient. For years, I couldn't even envision a time when I wouldn't have to change diapers or cut up food or just say, "Go take a bath" and have them do it themselves. But now, here I am. My three-year-old still needs help with a lot of things, but even that's a far cry from having an infant or a toddler to attend to all the time. It's actually very nice.

So to complicate my life, I had to get a kitten. Because our household of six people, two dogs, and two cats reeeeeally needed another new addition.

Okay, okay, it's because I'm crazy. And a sucker for pretty much anything with four legs and fur. And a sucker for my oldest son, Colin, who is the hugest cat lover with a soft heart for animals, just like me. When I was little and I would ask my mom if I could bring a stray something-or-other home, her head would spin around and she would growl about "her carpet" and "dirty animals" in a possessed sort of voice. Now that I'm an adult I understand, but if my kids brought home a needy animal, let's just say I'd probably have a different reaction.

Anyway. Enter Zoomer, our shelter kitten.


He had already been named by the shelter people when we got him, and we kept it because it was so fitting - this cat is hyper and bouncy. He's a little kitten still, so I have to watch him constantly, lest he slip quickly out a door or into a closet or cabinet or drawer while it's open. (The other day he spent twenty minutes under my bathroom sink because I had shut the door not knowing he had crawled in there.) He wakes me up around four o'clock EVERY MORNING by stomping all over me and purring and meowing. It's like having a damn toddler all over again, I swear.





And I still. Can't. Pee. Alone.

But for all his kitten-y shenanigans, I can't be mad at him, because he fits in so well. He gets along with the dogs ...


... and the cats. Well, mostly.


And? He's SO STINKING CUTE.



... Lucky for him.

Follow me on Instagram @FightingFrumpy to see more pics of Zoomer and the rest of my crazy bunch.


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