There has recently been a bit of a rumbling over social media about the fact that granny panties are currently “in style.” I am very excited to hear this, but I am not new to the granny panty game. I have never been much of a thong supporter. I do not like having a chronic wedgie, nor do I want to pay more for less underwear. My husband has always been saddened by the fact that I enjoy circus tent, white cotton “day of the week” underwear. To him I say, keep rockin’ your Dad bod, and I’ll keep my fanny safely concealed.


I am titillated to see that my underwear of choice is now deemed fashionable and hip. It just affirms the fact that I make solid undergarment choices, which obviously translates into my supreme wisdom over all other topics. My reasoning for not wearing thongs, however has nothing to do with the fashion forward trends. Here are the top 5 reasons I choose to wear said granny panties over super sexy thongs.

  1. Let it breath: My nether-regions need to stay properly ventilated. I do not want a cotton, or better yet, nylon fabric wadded up my Va-jay, stopping the air flow.
  2. Comfort is priceless: Yeah, that’s right. I like to be comfortable while working my ass off all day. The last thing I need is to be distracted by an atomic wedgie while my four-year-old is trying to light the house on fire with a starter log on my patio.
  3. Shape Shifters: After three kids, my hips have expanded and shifted more times than the tectonic plates on the ocean floor of the western hemisphere. A thong could snap under such pressure. That is actually where the phrase, “You’ll shoot your eye out with that thing” came from.
  4. No room at the Inn: I already have three kids, one dog, and a husband stuck so far up my ass, that I literally cannot stick even the tiniest of things up there. No room for even the slimmest piece of butt floss.
  5. Safety First: Wearing granny panties makes me feel like my pelvis is buckled in. They are like the seat belt of underwear. No one drives the car without buckling up. Click it or ticket.

So I dare you to put on a pair of comfy cotton cheek cuddler’s and not grin from ear to ear. More is less. The freedom I feel in my tighty whities is like nothing else. You may mock my panty lines, but you will never crush my wedgie free spirit.



It seems that there are superheroes everywhere you turn. New summer movies will be gracing the big screens any day now, and comic book television dramas are sure to be on the fall primetime lineup. I have sat through hours of Batman, Ironman, the Flash, Superman, Spiderman, and most recently Daredevil. I am at a loss to say the least. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good action flick as much as the next guy, but I just don’t get superheroes.

What is it about superheroes that make our husbands want to secretly be these men? Why do they dream about a meteor falling from the sky, causing intergalactic gel to ooze into the water system, thus giving them secret powers that they can use to fight crime???? I guess I am no fun. I don’t see the point in watching a movie or television series where people have magical powers. If you want me to watch a show with you, create a character that was hit by a bolt of lightning and woke up without her  saggy tits, cellulite on her ass, and the absence of cross-continental baggage under her eyes. That show I will watch! 

So men, let me tell you what will make you a Superhero to your significant other:

1. Scrub the toilet. The entire toilet, including the shit stains.

2. Wash the dishes….with soap.

3. Give the kids a bath….with soap.

4. Cook dinner, or get take-out. Either way she didn’t have to cook, so you win.

5. Take us shopping and smile the entire time. Don’t ask if the item is on sale.

6. Wake up at night with the kids….especially if someone pissed the bed. Don’t pretend you can’t hear them. The dead can hear them.

7. Hold your farts. If it is a dire emergency, pass gas next to the children, not your wife. 

8. Don’t fart while in bed, and don’t even think about pulling the covers up over her head.

9. When we agree that a holiday or special occasion does not require gifts, get her one anyway. She wants a gift. She always wants a gift.

10. Snuggle up next to your wife while in bed and cuddle with no expectation of sex. Like legitimately no expectation of sex. 

11. Don’t’ push your junk on her back and tell her you have a gift for her. It’s not really a gift. She has seen it before.

12. Vacuum, mop, wash the windows, repeat.

13. Ask her if she wants a mustache ride without expecting anything in return.

14. Get a babysitter without telling her and take her to dinner. 

15. Wash the laundry, and put it away. Let me clarify, put it in the correct drawer. Don’t put your son’s underwear in your wife’s drawer.

16. Load the dishwasher, and then empty the dishwasher without being asked. I bet she drops to her knees later that evening.

17. Text her a sweet message during the day. Something like, “Babe, I can’t wait to get home and do a load of whites.” 

18. Take the kids……ANYWHERE. For an extended period of time. 

19. Bring her chocolate…….ANYTHING.

20. Bring her wine……..ANY KIND.

So as you can see, it is pretty simple to become a superhero. Your spouse will most definitely think that you can leap tall buildings in a single bound if you follow these 20 tips. They will call you the man of steel, or whatever ridiculous name you want them to scream while in the bedroom. These 20 tips are proven panty dropper’s, so get started today.

*This message is endorsed and sponsored by every woman on the planet




This past weekend I was sitting with friends, relaxing and enjoying a mid-day buzz. We were chatting about  “Pet Peeves” our friends do that drive us crazy, and  in the middle of the conversation I had an Oprah ” Ah-ha” moment. I am that flawed friend. I hadn’t always been that way, but I am at the point in my life where I can only retain so much information, and complete so many tasks on a daily basis. My flawed friendship status was never intentional, but the fact remains….. I am a flawed friend.

 I had no idea how much I sucked until I took a look around my house and realized that I still have a ton of stuff that I  “borrowed” and never returned. I am always asking for favors, and most of the time I am late to anything I am invited to. I sat searching my brain for redeeming qualities and found I was as empty as my Sangria glass.  However, I do have a swimming pool and a liquor cabinet, So I have that going for me. At least my shallow friends will still visit, it is summer time.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was envisioning  being inducted into the Friendship Hall of Shame in my mind. I could see friends from the past, present, and future all giving speeches as to why I was the absolute worst friend ever.

Now that I have accepted my flawed friend status, I have decided to help others by writing about it. You too may also be a terrible friend, and not realize it.  So here are the top 5 reasons that I am a sucky friend. Check the list and see if you too will be inducted into the Friendship Hall of Shame.

1. Always Late: I am constantly late. I always blame my children for my tardiness, but most of the time it is my fault. I am a habitual offender of losing track of time. I will start a task and get distracted, start another task, and then realize I was supposed to be at Starbucks to meet someone 15 minutes ago. Sometimes I will set a reminder, only to forget what the reminder was for. Then I sit and ask my dog what I am late for. It’s an exhausting process.

2. Finders Keepers: I borrow things from friends all the time. I currently have a coffee grinder and Laptop that has been in my possession for about six months. I called my bestie to ask him if he needed the coffee grinder back and he laughed, “Oh Sweetie, I bought another one a few months ago.” I was so embarrassed. I had basically confiscated several household items from my friends and never took the time to shop for my own item, or return their item. What a Schmuck!

3. Forgetful: I try to write down, or schedule every aspect of my life. I can’t seem to remember important dates such as birthdays and anniversaries. I always miss my families and friend special days. I am not sure if it’s because I am not a big fans of holidays, or it’s simply because I have the emotional IQ of a rock. Either way,  I never send cards, and I always end up looking like a complete Asshat. Once again, never intentional, but shameful just the same.

4. Non-Consoler: I am the WORST at consoling my friends. Any time they have an issue that brings them to tears, I turn straight to an awkward untimely joke. I become very uncomfortable with emotions and crying. I begin to sweat and make jokes about bodily functions or male genitalia. I am not even sure that I know how to properly hug someone. I never know if I am supposed to go in first, or wait and see. It is a nightmare. 

5. Notorious Bad Movie Selector: I love to watch movies with friends. It seems that my movie choices aren’t as renowned as Siskel and Ebert review choices. I recently forced my friends into viewing the first two Sharknado movies. The summer of 2015 will be no different. I have full intentions of a viewing party for the third movie Sharknado 3; Oh Hell No, coming in July. I am really a bad friend if I am trying to share cinematic genius with them? The movies were brilliant!

So to all my friends, I apologize. Please know that I have deep feelings of like for you, and I would do anything for you. I would even give you the shirt off of my back, but most likely it was yours to begin with. Please accept me as I am, and I will do my best to uncomfortably sit with you in your time of need. 


I normally do all of the shopping for our household. This past weekend was Mother’s Day so I asked my husband if he would go to the store to pick up a few things. Around noon, I sent him to the store for a total of 5 items. One of the items on the list was pantyliners. After giving birth to three children, I need the type of protection that said pantyliner provides. It is not a fun topic to discuss, but it is my lot in life to pee when I sneeze, laugh, jump, trip, fall, high-five, the list goes on and on. 

I was very specific with the type of pantyliner and brand that I wanted him to buy. I am a creature of habit, so I like to purchase the same product when I get great results. Pantyliners are a product that need to work…EVERY. TIME. My husband sent me a text, stating that he could not find the brand that I wanted. I told him where they were located in the store, and asked him to ask someone if he couldn’t find them. I knew that when I told him to ask someone, that he wouldn’t. My guess is that he figured if he asked an associate they would naturally assume that the pantyliners were for him. I mean what other logical thought would the associate have. A man in the feminine hygiene aisle, he must be shopping for his own personal use.

10 minutes later, he texted back stating that they really don’t have them and he sent me a picture of the brands that they did have. I looked over the selection and asked him to pick up the box of Always brand pantyliners and check to see if they were un-scented. He spent another five minutes reading the box. My guess is that he ran from the feminine care aisle and attempted to hide in the corner of the store. We have been married for over 12 years. He has watched me give birth three times, and yet he is embarrassed to buy a feminine care product. He finally texted me back stating that he didn’t think they were scented. Below is our short and sweet text conversation:

photo (24)



I couldn’t help but have a little fun with my husband. I mean seriously, it is not that big a deal. I wasn’t asking him to go up to a woman in the aisle and ask her for a detailed personal review on the pantyliner. I just wanted him to get the right one.  He apparently didn’t think my joke was funny. I still laugh when I see the picture that I took of our text conversation. Life is too short to be embarrassed over pantyliners and personal hygiene products. I can safely say that I wouldn’t have a problem going to the store to buy him jock itch cream. He did come home with a pack of pantyliners, so it was a successful venture. I am safe to sneeze, thanks to my husband.



We all have places to go. Each day we get up, get moving, and sometimes, get where we need to be….on time. Miracles do happen people. I have three children, 9, 6, and 4 years old. I have decided that my main job at this moment in time is to be a survivalist. If you want to be able to leave the house in under five minutes flat,  don’t have kids. If you already have kids, follow my list of tips and tricks to get you where you need to be with the least amount of stress possible.

1. Snack Pack: I have a canvas tote bag hanging on a hook inside of my pantry. As I am getting the kids packed up and ready to hit the road, I pack the bag full of granola bars, snacks, fruit, and juice boxes. The odds of at least one kids crying, “I’m hungry” from the back seat is the safest bet in the books. Most days, we haven’t even pulled out of the drive- way before someone claims that they are starving to death.

2. You Leave it, You Lose it: The rule at my house is simple. If you want to take a toy as we run out the door, you are welcome to do so. My advice is simple, take a toy that you are not in love with. If you leave it somewhere, you lose it. We will not go back to get it from the park, the grocery store, school, or any other place it was left. My kids learned pretty quick that taking a toy is a risky bet. We have lost many good men along the way, including Buzz Lightyear, Barbie, Transformers, the list goes on and on.

3. Don’t Clean Your Car: Yes, I said do not clean your car. I have a minivan and I love it. It is a disaster, but I always have the things that I need. My floor is littered with broken crayons, Cheerios, coloring books, and various McDonalds action figures. If I were to clean my van, I would miss out on having all of these things at my fingertips. For instance, “Mom, I’m bored.” My reply, “There are crayons and a coloring book on the floor next to you, make me a Picasso.” It’s built-in entertainment people. I’m not messy, I’m prepared.

4. Essential Items On Demand: Most days we rush out the door without jackets, shoes, underwear, it happens. In my van, I have a crate packed with jackets, shoes, extra clothing, and headbands, for the “Just in case” moments in life. My youngest son will make his way to the van in the morning without shoes, at least once a week. I may get all the way to his Daycare without realizing it. But guess what, I have essential items on demand. He might go into school with some sweet socks and sandals, but I did my job. Life goes on.

5. Bag-O-Tricks: I no longer have any children in diapers. It was a wonderful day to be freed of the diaper bag. However, I quickly learned that the diaper bag was a source of power. It was kind of like Mary Poppins bag of everything. I quickly assembled band-aids, hair ties, baby wipes, hand sanitizer, chapstick, and other needed items to be placed in a bag that is kept in the van at all times. I might not have anyone in diapers, but I will forever and always need baby wipes. 

Being prepared for anything and everything, is the only way to become a true survivalist parent. Parenting is the hardest job on the planet, make it a bit simpler by having enough bug spray and sunscreen to protect a village. Make your daily trips bulletproof by following these tips. I guarantee you will feel immediate relief if you need an extra pair of underwear and you find those bad boys in your trunk. 



I don’t want flowers.

Please don’t buy me a gift.

What do I want this year, several hours of quiet bliss.


Don’t knock on my door.

Don’t utter my name.

If a problem arises, call Daddy, he’s game.


I want to shower in silence.

I want to take a long nap.

I don’t want to see your fingers under the door while taking a crap.


Don’t tell me you’re hungry.

Don’t whimper or whine.

It’s Mother’s day rug rats, pass the wine while I dine.


The kitchen is closed.

No cooking today.

But I do want to binge watch episodes of Grey’s.


No cleaning or laundry.

No dishes will I do.

You crayon gobblers’ better think twice before throwing a coup.


I want to relax and read a book.

Eat a meal without sharing.

I’m sorry if this seems a bit uncaring.


Daddy, this goes for you too.

So tonight at bedtime…

I’ll take a pass on the screw.


I want to fall asleep untouched.

Please, no orifice invasion.

No groping or humping, I’m immune to persuasion.


Mommy needs a break.

But please don’t be sad.

The sperm donor’s here, you call him Dad.

Let me begin by saying that I do in fact understand that I am a 34-year-old mother of 3. I am also a huge Taylor Swift fan. I have several friends who have given me grief for being such a “Swifty,” but I simply do not care. Here is my open letter to Taylor Swift, explaining why I am head over heels in love with her.

Dear Taylor Swift,

You are adorable. Sometimes I pretend to be your beautiful, fancy older sister who gets to jet set with you all over the globe. You are remarkable. I am in awe of your song writing talents and ability to engineer social media. You are undoubtedly a genius. I am impressed with your musical talents, but also your business and marketing skills. You have become a very accomplished individual at a very young age. Being a mother, I am grateful to you as an artist and competent role model. My children all adore your music and I am happy that they can listen to it. Your music videos are all safe for their eyes, and you have given back to the community that has supported you over and over again.


It seems like critics are always waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. They are waiting for you to “Lose it” or get photographed doing illegal or immoral things. To them I say, “Haters gonna hate,” to you I say, “Shake it Off.” You are a smart business woman, who I am thrilled to have my daughter look up to. You have found a way to make a huge impact while remaining grounded and sane. I applaud your efforts and I wish you the best. I know you will continue to succeed going quintuple platinum on your next three albums. I hope you are happy and find satisfaction with your craft.

I find your music infectious and I can never sit still when listening to your sick beats. I find myself mopping the floors to your energetic tunes. Your lyrics send a message of hope and inspiration, as well as power to know it is safe to be yourself. You have cornered the market on threenagers, teenagers, and thirty-somethings. I look forward to your 1989 tour, and I will see you in October.


Crazy Mother of 3 Super Fan

P.S. My husband also loves you and uses the 1989 album as his workout mix 😉







One of my biggest parenting fears has always been that I will royally screw up my kids. They are relatively defenseless, and I have always been concerned with sending them straight to the therapist couch. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200 dollars. About a month ago, I had the kind of day my kids will definitely, at some point, relive in a therapist’s office.

Spring break was upon our household like the Bubonic plaque. Kids were crawling all over the place and I had 14 days worth of maximum security lock up to look forward to. I work from home which has as many benefits as drawbacks. One major drawback being, I can’t get my work done when my kids are home. I tried to find camps to send them to, but that ship had sailed.

The week started out with the common daily issues we all face in our households. There was a ton of screaming, crying, fist fighting, food throwing, running, and tattle telling. I was doing my best to keep it together. I was stressed with work, the demands of the three tiny hemorrhoids, and I was getting ready to have my second surgery for the year. I was not in the best state of mind to say the least.photo (17)

It was day seven of the break. That morning I got a letter in the mail from my home owners associations stating that we had violated our deed restrictions and owed a $100 fine. I was livid. I had been battling with these Napoleonic retirees for months and I was done. I loaded everyone into the car and drove to the management office to pay my association fees and address my recent violation. I jumped out of the van to discover that the office was closed. My blood began to boil. I automatically texted my husband a list of obscenities that I could not blurt out in front of the kids. I boldly and feverishly texted that I was on the verge of throat punching someone and buckled myself back into my seat. 

On the drive home the kids continued to fight over who was going to watch what when we got home. One kid hit another kid with a book in the backseat and I swung around screaming, “If I have to pull this van over you will not be happy!” My idle threat fell on deaf ears as I continued home with the miniature tyrants screaming that they wanted to swim. I tried to text my husband to calm me down but he was in a meeting and couldn’t respond.

We entered the house and I ran into my office to check my voice-mails. Just as I had dialed a number I heard two of my kids screaming and crying as though they were being mauled by a grizzly bear. I ran from the office to find them fighting over a stuffed penguin.

At that moment I lost my SH#T. I couldn’t take another second of the screaming and fighting. I grabbed the stuffed penguin and said, “If you’re going to fight over it, you’re going to lose it!” I then proceeded to make the penguin a double amputee by ripping his arms off. I stuffed him in the garbage can and looked back at my kids. They stood there, in silence, mortified that I had maimed the penguin from Madagascar. I shoved his mangled body in the trash can and smacked his beaten head with the lid. He had made his way into an early grave. I stood there in shock, I was now a stuffed animal murderer. 

The kids took one look at me and were off like a bat out of hell and ran for their rooms. I followed, screaming hysterically about their constant fighting, and continued my rant for about five more minutes. Nothing in my path was safe. I slammed chairs, threw toys, clothing, and shoes.  As I walked past a mirror in the living room I caught a glimpse of myself and I stopped. I looked like a crazy lunatic.

I needed to find my SH#T and put it back together. I went to the bathroom and cried for a few minutes. I then walked back out to the living room and sat all of the kids on the couch. I apologized, I cried, they cried, and we all hugged. My son looked at me and quietly asked if he could have his penguin back. I explained that he was now in a better place and he said, “No, he is in a trash can.” I tried not to laugh, but I did. My oldest chimed in with, “Yeah buddy, it’s gone. Mom went crazy on that penguin.” 

It is most definitely a day that I won’t forget. It was one of my worst parenting moments, but it taught me a very specific lesson. I simply can’t do it all. I can’t take care of three kids, work from home, take care of the house, and keep any kind of sanity. I called my boss that evening and asked her for a week off so that I could properly do my most vital job, be a Mom.

So the reason I am talking about my worst parenting moment, is to let you know that it too shall pass. I know that my limits are real and must be acknowledged. We all fall, it’s what happens next that matters most.


Conversations with your children can leave you speechless. Here are a few interactions that I deemed worthy of a share.


6 Yr. Old: Do we have sunblock?

Me: Yes Why?

6 Yr. Old: My friend is coming over after school.

Me: OK.

6 Yr. Old: He has asthma, so I’m just making sure we have sunblock.

Me: Yup, we’re all good.


9 Yr. Old: Gross, you farted.

6 Yr. Old: I didn’t fart.

Me: You are the only one here.

6 Yr. Old: It wasn’t a fart, it was my breath.


4 Yr. Old: I’m Spiderman, Batman, and a Ninja Turtle mixed together.

Me: Awesome, what are you called?

4 Yr. Old: Teenage Spiderbat Turtle Power.

Me: Wow, what is your super-power?

4 Yr. Old: WIFI


Me: Where are your pants?

6 Yr. Old: I had to take them off.

Me: Why?

6 Yr. Old: My underwear were crusty.

Me: What? Why?

6 Yr Old: No big deal, just a wet fart.

Me: ………………….


Listening to radio in-car (Blank Space by Taylor Swift)

4 Yr. Old: Mom, how does she make a bad guy good for the weekend?


4 Yr. Old: Does she put him in time out?

Me: Yes, that must be it. Hey look a squirrel.

4 Yr. Old: Wow, where?


6 Yr. Old: Mom, watch me run.

Me: OK.

6 Yr. Old: Look, see how my legs move.

Me: Your legs look fine.

6 Yr. Old: I think there is something wrong. Will you take me to a biologist?

Me: Sure, we can schedule that.


Me: Will you love me forever and stay my baby?

4 Yr. Old: Yes. I will stay here.

Me: What happens when you get married?

4 Yr. Old: I’m not getting a wife, I don’t want any kids?

Me: Why not.

4 Yr Old: Kids are a lot of work and I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.

Me: Won’t you be lonely?

4 Yr Old: No, I’ll get a dog.

Me: Genius!


4 Yr. Old: Why is your tummy fat?

Me: I had three babies.

4 Yr. Old: A long time ago, why is it still fat?

Me: You use to be the favorite.


6 Yr. Old: Why are you wearing glasses?

Me: It’s hard for me to see.

6 Yr. Old: They’re ugly.

Me: That’s not nice.

6 Yr. Old: Well, it’s not a good look for you.

Me: I’ll make sure to ask your permission next time I buy glasses.

6 Yr. Old: You should, you obviously need help.


9 Yr. Old: This food is gross.

Me: It’s not gross its good for you, its organic.

9 Yr. Old: Organic is gross.

Me: You eat your boogers.

9 Yr. Old: So.

Me: Boogers are organic.

9 Yr. Old: Well, boogers taste good.


4 Yr. Old: Can I sleep in your bed?

Me: No, there is not enough room.

4 Yr. Old: Why can Daddy sleep with you?

Me: Because I married him.

4 Yr. Old: I will marry you. Can I sleep in your bed now?

Daddy: Don’t be so quick to offer that up buddy.

4 Yr. Old: I really want to get in your bed.

Daddy: So did I, and now I’m stuck. Think about it.

4 Yr. Old: I’ll just sleep on the floor.

You never know where the conversation will take you. It’s kind of like Mr. Toads wild ride, so buckle up and enjoy the ride.



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