Tag Archives: Mom Humor

And This Is How I Ruin Any Eventual Chance I Have For Grandchildren…

Ahh, more loony ravings of a mom who misses the good old days!

Fisticuffs and Shenanigans


In the wake of Mother’s Day, I’ve been contemplating the real lessons and sacrifices of what it takes to be a mother. Should someday, I lose my mind (read: get incredibly drunk) and tell my children the truth…I’m afraid that it’s going to sound painfully like the following list…

1. Kids, when you were babies, everything about your bodies was miraculous and beautiful, but now my biggest fear is that one of you will grow pubes, and that I might accidentally see them.  I’m pretty sure you harbor the same fear, so let’s all just be cool, and keep this from happening, okay?

2. Children…loves of my life…there is NOTHING I wouldn’t do for you…NOTHING…except let you drink out of my glass.  It’s fucking gross, and you’re old enough to get your own cup, so let’s make that happen, or I’m going to start backwashing on purpose.

3. The ten minute drive between your school…

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Fun and Somewhat Sane Family Activities

Are your kids begging for you to leave them alone? Do you need ideas to get the conversation going, or something going? Well, I can’t help you with that . . . you’re on your own. But I can share some of the weirder activities I have done with my kids that did keep their attention for more than five seconds. These days, with computers and smart phones constantly engaging and entertaining your kids (I know! Those pesky technologies!), parents who actually want to spend some time with their kids have to get creative . . . or crazy . . . both work.

Activities you can do with your Kids:

#1: Stalk your teenage neighbours


My daughter won’t walk with me anymore since our last outing. Let me explain . . . since my daughter took up drumming, I have been eager for her to meet other musical people. While on a walk one evening, I heard a rhythmic beat and crash of cymbals drifting out from under a garage door. As soon as I returned home, I asked my daughter to go back out with me, because I had something exciting to share. She reluctantly agreed – you see, she is still not totally convinced of my insanity, so I can still trick her into doing things she doesn’t want to do. I told her about the elusive percussionist and I suggested she introduce herself as soon as I could find the damn house. She stood staring dumfounded at me . . . ”What?” I kept backtracking because I couldn’t remember the exact house, and then the rain started. My daughter was not impressed. She told me how uncool I was. I suppose it isn’t like when she was three and I set up play dates for her. But, there’s got to be an easier way to meet other drummers; they seem to be as shy as Big Foot! Then I can arrange a “jam” for her. Won’t that be cute? Meanwhile, I shall have to come up with a devious way to get her out walking again; but you get the point . . . be creative!


#2        Enjoy a candy date


Love candy, but tired of watching my daughter sort her Nerd candies into groups based on size. OCD candidate or future Quality Control Officer? Don’t care as long as she shares with me!!

#3        Reminisce about special toys


My kids had hobby horses when they were in kindergarten, named Puke and Vomit. I had no input into the name choosing, but they love to talk to me about them . . . over and over again, and come up with equally distressing and disgusting names. Parental participation level: Low (you just have to listen and have a high tolerance for crudities).

#4        Brother dot-to-dot

My daughter has always been gifted in art and I take all the credit. I would often walk into the living room where I had left Amy and Henry placidly watching TV, and catch Henry stripped to the waist while Amy connected the moles on his back with a marker. So creative, always a new picture; though I wish she’d not used the permanent marker from the kitchen drawer! Warning: This activity will not be popular after your kids graduate elementary school. Believe me, I tried. Sorry, but I thought it would be cute to take pictures of a mole doodle, but my fourteen-year-old son was horrified and called me a “Perv.” And that’s why you will not see many photos of my kids. They have to be vetted before I post them.

#5        Critique your favourite movie


I suppose a better word would be “criticize” your favourite movie. We spent a whole afternoon rewinding and pausing Harry Potter to see how many times Daniel Radcliffe does that strange double blink. No matter how much you love a movie, you know you’ve watched it too much when you start wanting to do shots every time a character blinks . . . and Harry blinks a lot! 😉 Can’t wait until my kids are drinking age . . . does that make me a bad mom?


#6        Create food art


My kids were asked to make food art when they were younger and a story unfolded…”The detective interviewed the mourning widow after she found her husband shot through the head…” Their favourite part was stabbing the toothpick through the head of the penguin. Then they ate the penguins. Twisted kids = great imaginations . . . at least that’s what I tell myself. I am sure your kids will enjoy this activity without the grisly murder scene.


#7        Search through Momma’s purse for receipts with amusing item descriptions


I had to explain what almond butts were. “You know, when you do too many squats, and your butt gets all wrinkly. That’s why momma doesn’t exercise,” I told my curious kids.

#8           Dance naked in the rain

Okay, I did not participate (you may if you wish), but I loved watching my little tykes skip through the garden in a summer rain shower with nothing but an umbrella and a smile. Eventually the umbrellas were discarded as they reveled in the mud, and the phone would ring and a nosy neighbor on the other end would say in a bored voice, “Your kids are outside naked again.”

#9           Butt painting

I seem to have a nude theme going here; but, what can I say? My kids hated clothes and it was easier on the washing machine and my sanity. I would fill paper plates with paint, spread rolls of newsprint on the floor and set my kids free. Inevitably, the body parts would be dipped, and the paper covered in suspiciously shaped prints.

#10         Create a Wall of Shame

Pick a family member, sort through photo albums, find the most embarrassing photos and create a framed collage. Who wants a poster of something pretty when you can be admiring your uncle in drag or your papa who always seems to be shirtless or pulling a face (we have several Wall of Shame collages featuring different family members).  Tip: You might want to switch out the collage for a Robert Bateman when the honoree shows up for dinner!



Your kind comments are welcome, and feel free to share your ideas!

I Was a Stripper Mom

(Knew that title would catch your eye! Patience, we’ll get to the stripping part!)

“Three boisterous boys, then I’ll have my perfect little princess!” was my answer when asked how many children I wanted. After my first baby (a daughter) was born, I denied to everyone that I’d ever said I wanted four children. “FOUR! Are you insane? I swear on my rock-hard breasts and red-rimmed eyes, I never said I wanted FOUR children!”

My daughter was ‘colicky’ or ‘spirited’ or ‘possessed’—pick an adjective; I couldn’t have given a flyin’ f*@k. Where was Rumpelstiltskin when I needed him? I would have promised him my second child for a night’s sleep and a full course meal that did not include instant mashed potatoes or peanut butter.

Sometimes, the only way I could get her to sleep—and do NOT ask me how I figured this out . . . desperation makes you do some crazy-ass shit—was by lying her flat on top of the coffee table while I breastfed her, or placing her on the dryer while it was running. Of course, I had to stand there to make sure she didn’t roll off, so there went my chance for a snooze.

I once attempted to take a walk in the sun and fresh air after I breastfed her and gently . . . careful, careful, oh god, please don’t wake up . . . placed her in the stroller and set off with a naïve smile plastered on my face for a quick once around the block. This felt right, I thought to myself—going for a walk like a normal person. Look at me, walkin’ with my baby. Aw, she is kinda cute, isn’t she? Now, this is my reward for trading my body and identity for a never-ending pile of laundry and a house that looked like the set of The Exorcist. I had read those parenting mags and knew I would eventually feel gaga over the little spud, but I never thought it would take this long. Ah, but what a lovely day!

Halfway around, Mama’s angel woke herself up with a rip-roaring, ear-splitting diarrhea blast that shook the entire stroller. Then it was a race home before the acrid stench burned right through my sleep-deprived retinas. As I jogged along, I realized the appreciative looks from passersby were not for my cute baby girl, or my pregnancy afterglow (that’s a thing, isn’t it?). My shirt was unbuttoned and blowing behind me like a gingham sail, exposing  my voluptuous bosom, decked out in a milk-stained cotton maternity brassiere, and my stretch-marked rotund belly. Put that on the cover of your favourite parenting magazine and suck it!

I survived the first few months, as did my little monster, and we grew to care about one another quite a bit. My second baby was a whoopsy (thank goodness), ‘cos I had begun researching the benefits of having a single child. Number two (not his real name) was a boy, and he was a breeze. I would often stop while constructing complicated play dough worlds with my demanding firstborn to wonder where I had left number two, only to run around the house and find him waiting placidly in his car seat in the laundry room for me to come and get him. How could I have ever considered trading him in for a good night’s sleep?

I am thankful every day for my little bundles of joy—even now that they are gigantic teenagers. My brave, high-achieving daughter who still has trouble sleeping, and my hilarious son with the patience of Job and a heart of gold are my pride and joy. As they grow to be independent adults, I often wonder how it’s even possible to love them more with every passing year, but each year seems to give me a different child with more to learn about and appreciate. I don’t miss the explosive diarrhea, but I do sometimes mourn the babies that grew to teens in the blink of an eye.

Cherish every moment, and take time out to laugh and cry . . . you deserve it. #HappyMothersDay