The Academy Awards Drinking Game, Parent Edition

Posted on February 23, 2013 by ashersmom

Oh how I miss the days when my single friends and I would gather at one of our houses for 6 straight hours of red carpet glamour and the Academy Awards.

There was a tableful of our favorite foods (homemade hors d’oeuvres when we weren’t so busy, a plate of Cheese Krystals when we were) and of course, the cocktails, and the snarky comments, flowed all night long.

I still love awards shows but since I had kids, the fun-meter just barely reaches a 1 during the event. I’m sick of it, so this year we’re turning it all the way up to 11.

How you ask? Easy. We’re making the whole show a drinking game that revolves around being a parent.

First, gather a variety of alcoholic beverages, some shot glasses, wine glasses, beer mugs…hell, just move your entire bar into the living room.

Now follow along with these rules:

Turn on the red carpet portion of the show. Your kids will still be awake. Every time a boy child interrupts you to ask why a man on screen is dressed like a penguin, drink a shot of blue curacoa. Every time a girl child interrupts you to ask if the woman on screen is a princess, take a sip of a Cosmopolitan. Every time a baby tries to nurse through your shirt, drink a Slippery Nipple. (But then, ya know, maybe give the baby a bottle instead).

Every time someone comes down the red carpet looking like a 3-year-old dressed them, take a long pull from your Juicy Juice and vodka.

Just before the Oscar telecast, put the kids to bed.

Grab the kids’ dinner plates and that leftover cake you hid behind the dog food in the pantry and put them on the coffee table. This is your Oscar buffet.

Settle in for Oscar host and crude humorist Seth McFarlane’s opening number. For every reference to horse semen, bestiality, or a dog joyously eating the contents of a baby’s diaper, gargle a sip of beer and add another season of Family Guy to your netflix cue.

Every time a child interrupts you by crying or getting out of bed begging for a drink of water, sigh dramatically, take a sip of “whine” and begin stand-off with your spouse about whose turn it is to put child back in his room. If he cracks first, take 2 sips of wine and turn up the volume on the TV.

Starting to feel a little lightheaded? Eat the gnawed-on, cold quarter of a grilled cheese sandwich your son wiped his nose with just before he left the table so you have a base for the remainder of the game.

Now that you’ve reached your happy place and there are (hopefully) no more interruptions from the kids, it’s important to set a pace.

Every time a winner holds up her Oscar and says, “This is for you, mom,” take a sip of wine, spill some on your blouse, look at your spouse and mumble, “Ungrateful little bastards never thank me for anything.” Burp, then go to the kitchen to refill your glass.

During the death montage, try not to let your crazy-mom-hormones get the better of you. If you begin to cry before it’s halfway over, finish your cocktail in one gulp, ask your husband to hold you then tearfully tell him the only way to counteract death is with life and you want to have another baby.

When an actor holding an Academy Award in his hand names his kids as inspiration and then tells them they’re up past their bedtime and to “go to sleep,” knock back 2 baby aspirin with a champagne chaser and go to bed.

There are 3 more hours left in the telecast but let’s be honest. You can’t do it like you used to and there is no hell like taking care of kids when you’re hungover.

Good night everyone and thank you for playing The Academy Awards Drinking Game, Parent Edition.

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Shame on Me. And You and You and You.

Posted on October 9, 2012 by ashersmom

Mom shaming

I gotta warn you — this time it’s personal.

Last week’s mom shaming trend was a little controversial on the internets.

A friend got the trend started (Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva – her current post features a load of mom-shamers) and then a bunch of other hilarious and honest women carried it on. You can even add your own mom shaming photo on Blogging While Mom’s facebook page.

Personally, I got almost all positive comments, except for the chick who repinned my shaming photo with the comment, “This is do dumb.”

That typo belongs to her, btw, so which one of us is more dumber? ; )

A great many of the people I heard from said that I made them pee themselves laughing, which makes me pretty happy. Clearly most of the stuff I do is humor, so laughing is good.

Peeing yourself, however, is not good. I suggest you get on those kegels.

But the message that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and not because of the half-bottle of wine I’d consumed, but because it so closely ties with the “mission” of my blog in the first place is this one:

Hey, would you be okay with me sharing the photo you put up where you mention your first night out without the baby? I only want to do it with your permission, but it really struck a chord with me. It was one of the most honest expressions of our humanity in parenthood I have ever seen. I am so proud of you for your brutal honesty and bravery. We are *never* the paragons we are told we should be. We are people! Hope you and the family are well!

Yeah.

What Steve said.

Because he really got it. It’s about more than having a laugh.

I’m so grateful that Steve took the time to send me his thoughts because let me tell you folks, whatever you think of my “mom shaming” moment, it took a lot of guts for me to do that.

When I started this blog over 2 years ago (ugh, don’t look back, it’s not pretty. I actually posted recipes at one time…do dumb), it was out of frustration born from 2 main things:

1. I had been a career person all of my life and now I was stuck home all day long with a toddler whose unrelenting needs sent me searching for a satisfying creative outlet that didn’t involve making my own baby food. I love him (and his brother now) more than life itself, but I needed something for me.

2. I was suddenly a SAHM in a new city with no friends. And certainly no friends with kids. I had never been particularly close with a single SAHM mom EVER. The fantasy photo in my head about what it would be like to be a SAHM was off. Understatement of the decade. I was depressed about how hard, unrelenting and stressful it was and how isolated I felt and mostly, about how TOGETHER other moms seemed when I saw them out with their kids. I thought they knew something that I didn’t know. Or that they were way better mothers than I was. Eventually, I figured out that THIS WAS BULLSHIT. And I decided to talk about it freely. In public. And on the internet. Where everyone could see it.

But mostly where YOU could see it, if you’re a mom, and you think everyone’s getting it right but you. And you think you might be crazy, or bad at this really, really important job.

I think we have to be honest about motherhood. To acknowledge that we’re all dealing with pretty much the same crap — even those moms who don’t want to talk about it in public.

There will be many times when you’re elbow-deep in someone else’s poop, with “mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy” ringing in your ears all day long, and spit-up on the shirt you’ve had on for 3 days running, feeling alone, crazy and like you suck at the job at which you work so hard for 24 hours a day.

And you will make mistakes. Big ones and little ones.

But it’s not just you. It’s really, so very, not just you.

And that is why I mom-shamed, even though I was afraid.

It wasn’t even close to the first time I sat here in front of my computer, knowing that I needed to be completely honest with my writing, even though I was scared, even though what I was writing might make me look bad to the other parents at my kid’s school, to my family, or peeve off someone I know.

But each time, I remind myself of why I started this, and why it’s important to me, and I take a deep breath, ignore the butterflies in my stomach and hit publish.

No post exemplifies that more than my mommy shaming post.

However you look at it, it was an act of bravery.

I am an imperfect mom.

I screw up.

I’m human.

And I’m still a really good mom.

I bet you mess up too.

And I hope you feel just a little bit better about it.

I really, really do.

If you enjoy mom shaming, check out Mommy Shorts baby shaming.

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Stop Talking About It

Posted on March 8, 2012 by ashersmom

Because what's funnier than a hamper on your head?

This morning, while in the bathroom washing my face, I overheard this exchange between father and 4-year-old son:

“Take off your pajama pants and put on your jeans.”

Followed by various animal and other unintelligible noises and the sounds of pattering feet.

“Here, take these and put them on — we’re gonna be late for school!”

The swooshing sounds of someone larger trying to catch someone quick and small.

“Here, put your foot in!”

“I gonna do it ALL BY MYSELF!”

“Then do it.”

Two minute pause while my husband comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth then exits again.

“Asher, put on your pants!!!” And I can only assume Gabe then tried to hurry up the process by helping.

“No! I gonna do it ALL BY MYSELF!”

And this is the part that really caught my attention. Words of wisdom tossed off in the chaos of the morning rush.

“Well then stop talking about doing it, and do it.”

Gabe heard me laughing and came back into the bathroom.

“What?” he said.

“Words of wisdom,” said I.

And we laughed.

But we both know they really are.

Those words resonate with me. I feel like I’ve done some talking about doing things that was not followed by doing those things in my life, and if I have any regrets, that’s one of them. I’d love my son (both of them actually) to be the kind of person who stops talking about things and just does them.

That would make me very proud.

Whatever it is he’s doing.

As long as he’s doing.

With all the usual caveats about criminal activities and so forth.

I love my sons with all my heart. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.

I’ll always love them with the overwhelming intensity that is being a mom. But beyond loving them, my wish for their futures is that they become people I admire.

This one thing I’m talking about doing and actually doing every day of my life. Trying to do at least some small thing to effect this.

It’s a job I take seriously.

Although sometimes we just sit around and talk about how stinky things are.

Because we can only be serious for so long.

Stand and Deliver

Posted on February 29, 2012 by ashersmom

The Fleet men

This past week was a time of milestones for my boys.

Meyer hit 33 weeks gestation (even though he’s gestating in an incubator now) and according to BabyCenter, became a pineapple weighing in at 4 pounds. He’s starting to look more like a baby and less like some skinny, wrinkly old man alien. When I hold him, which is still restricted to about 30 minutes per day (yes,it’s making me insane), I actually feel like something’s in my arms now. Apparently, a pineapple.

And Asher decided it was milestone time for him as well. He decided it was time to pee standing up.

The child was slow to potty train in the first place — he was one of those kids that could care less about what anyone thought. All the mentions in the world about how his friends were all going potty had no impact on the kid. He still hates interrupting his play to go potty, and it gets him in trouble sometimes because he waits until the last second.

I’ll suddenly hear this urgent, “I need to go potty!” and I know there’s a 50-50 chance he’s gonna start to pee before his pants are all the way down.

We did, however, finally manage to convince Asher to jettison the pull-ups and use the potty, but he’s been just fine sitting down to pee until about 2 weeks ago.

That’s when I casually mentioned to him that his “best friend” at school, Josiah, stands to pee, like a big boy.

Me and my boys

Which I’m clearly just assuming is true.

Suddenly, Asher no longer wants to sit on the potty to pee. And it’s all because of me.

And with my 2 weeks experience in having a son who pees standing up, I’m left wondering…what the hell was I thinking?

When he was sitting to pee, the pee went were it was supposed to. Pretty much exclusively in the potty.

Now?

Pee goes everywhere.

Pee goes every freaking where.

It generally starts out either shooting high at the open lid of the toilet or low by shooting at Asher’s pants. And shoes. And the floor.

Then a sudden overcorrect will take it to whichever one of those areas at which it didn’t start.

Within a few seconds (you’d be shocked at how much pee can get in the wrong places in just a few seconds), a steady stream of pee will go right into the potty where it’s supposed to.

But my panicked yelling from seeing streaming pee hit various inappropriate parts of my bathroom then causes him to get the giggles which in turn causes him to wag his wee-wee around like a flashlight in the hands of someone in the Blair Witch Project.

And then the pee starts to go everywhere.

It’s on the wall, the baseboards, the base of the toilet, his step stool, his socks, his shoes, the cuff of his pants, the floor.

No one told me that having boy children means you’ll be scrubbing up someone else’s urine several times a day.

This woman’s work is not glamorous.

So much for my pre-kid vision of me as a mom: shopping and lunching while my kids sit quietly by my side looking adorable.

After 4 years of real life mothering, that fantasy is officially dripping with pee.