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July, 2015

  • Shingles and Shenanigans

    The other day my mom calls me up and says:

    My Mom: I think I have a tick bite on my chin.
    Toni: I seriously doubt that.
    My Mom: Well I seriously think a tick bit my chin.
    Toni: Mom, you look in the mirror all the time. You would have seen a giant tick hanging off your face sucking your blood.
    My Mom: You’re probably right.

    She calls again the next day.

    My Mom: I think I have shingles on my chin.
    Toni: Why would you think that?
    My Mom: Because my head is all tingly, and my face hurts.
    Toni: Shit.
    My Mom: Can you come over and look at my chin?

    I went over to her house, and looked at her chin. Sure enough, I thought they were shingles too.

    Toni: I think you’re right.

    Now here’s the thing. My mom usually lives in Boston, so she doesn’t have a primary care physician in New Hampsha. The longer you let shingles shingle, they more shingly they get. And let me tell, shingles fucking suck so hard. For me, they were worse than childbirth.

    So OF COURSE I wanted to help my mom and take her to the emergency room so she could get the medication ASAP. But it was also 10pm, and I hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

    Toni: Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?
    My Mom: That would be really nice, yes!
    Toni: Ummm but we could go in the morning right? Like, you’re already all cozy in your jammas?
    My Mom: Oh sure, we can go in the morning.
    Toni: I will go get you some of my hippy shingles medication for tonight.

    As I left her house to grab my new age bark paste –  I felt guilty as fuck. I knew the right thing to do was to bring her to the emergency room that night and not wait until the next day….

    Toni: Here is some dragon eggshell mixed with Echinacea that I used on my shingles… but maybe we should just go tonight?
    My Mom: You don’t mind?
    Toni: OF COURSE NOT! Let me just go eat my hamburger for dinner and then I’ll take you.
    I ate one hamburger, and left my second hamburger behind because I didn’t want my mom and her shingles to wait too long.  For me, this is a lot more tragic than you would think.  But you guys, ever since I was pregnant, I got into the habit of eating TWO hamburgers.  Eating just ONE feels wrong!

    My mom and get to the hospital, she checks in, and I am still super hungry.  We get called back into the room, and the nurse starts checking her vitals.

    Nurse: Now why are you here this evening?
    My Mom: Well my neck has been feeling weird, and I thought it was because I got too enthusiastic in Yoga or something. Like maybe I did a shoulder stand for too long. But then I realized no I didn’t do any such thing. It’s not the yoga. I have shingles.
    Nurse: I see. Do you have any allergies?
    My Mom: No. Well I sneeze all the time, but I’m not allergic to any medications or anything.
    Nurse: Do you take medication for your sneezing?
    My Mom: I take Benadryl every night.
    Toni: HOLY FUCK YOU DO??
    My Mom: Yeah, it helps me sleep.
    Toni: Seriously, I think there are better ways.
    Nurse: Are you two sisters?
    My Mom: I AM HER MOTHER!! BUT THANK YOU!! Everyone always thinks that.

    The nurse left, and the Doctor entered. Now this doctor was not exactly the most jovial character on planet earth. He is an ER doctor in rural New Hampsha and exactly how you would expect him to be. There was no kidding around for him.

    My mom however is a personality and a half. She likes to say things to get a rise out of people, and entertain herself. If you are wondering where I get it from… well there’s your answer.

    Doctor: What brings you here today?
    My Mom: I have shingles.
    Doctor: And why would you think that?
    My Mom: Well at first I thought it was the yoga but… then I realized I didn’t hurt myself in yoga. It’s shingles. See look.
    Doctor: Usually shingles happen with our older patients.
    My Mom: Well I am 63.

    The doctor looks again.

    Doctor: Yeah, it does look like shingles.
    My Mom: Aren’t I clever?
    Doctor: What do you mean?
    My Mom: Aren’t I cleaver to diagnose myself with shingles.
    Doctor: Not really. A lot of people diagnose themselves with shingles. And they’re usually right.
    My Mom: Don’t you still think I’m clever?
    Doctor: I don’t know about that.
    My Mom: I knew if I came in quick, the shingles would go away faster, and hurt less.
    Doctor: There are only half-truths in that statement. That isn’t exactly the case.
    My Mom: Isn’t it better to come in within the first 72 hours? That’s why we rushed over.
    Doctor: When did they start bothering you?
    My Mom: This afternoon. So that’s why we came tonight. Aren’t we clever to get here on time?
    Doctor: Well, you had about 68 more hours you could have waited.
    My Mom: But we are clever.
    Doctor: I will be right back.

    The doctor left and I just sat there with my head in my hands not knowing whether to laugh or try and drown myself. He then returned.

    Doctor: Okay well…
    My Mom: Are you going to prescribe me Valtrex or something?
    Doctor: What I was trying to say is…. I am going to give you something tonight that you can take immediately, then you can fill your prescription tomorrow morning…
    My Mom: Do you think CVS is open right now?
    Doctor: No. Which is why I said I was going to give you something tonight.
    My Mom: Okay well the less drugs the better.
    Doctor: What do you mean?
    My Mom: I’m just not the type of person who takes drugs.


    Doctor: Well I can prescribe you something for the pain, and you don’t have to fill it if you don’t want to.
    Toni: Mom, shingles are seriously painful.  They may not hurt yet because you just got them, but they will.
    Doctor: What did you take for your shingles?
    Toni: I was given the Valacyclovir.
    Doctor: Yes, we could also prescribe steroids, but it is not given to patients under 55.
    My Mom: Well I’m 63. Even though we look like sisters.
    Doctor: I was just saying that’s why they weren’t given to her.
    My Mom: Should I take steroids if I am sad?
    Doctor: What do you mean sad?
    My Mom: Just if I get sad from my shingles.
    Doctor: We can prescribe them. And the painkillers.
    My Mom: How will I get the drugs? Do I just call the hospital and mention your name and they will give them to me?
    Doctor: No. Not at all.
    My Mom: Well how do I get the drugs?
    Doctor: I will write you a prescription tonight that you can take with you.
    My Mom: So I shouldn’t just come in here and drop your name.
    Doctor: Definitely not.

    As you can see, this doctor was just NOT getting my mom at all. Here she was dropping comedy gold, and he was taking her so seriously!! I thought they were going to kick us out of the hospital. There was no way she was going to win this guy over.  But then… he entered with the prescriptions.

    Doctor: Here are your prescriptions for the shingles and also for the pain.
    My Mom: Am I going to turn into Rush Limbaugh if I take painkillers?
    Doctor: Why would you say that?
    My Mom: I just don’t want to turn into Rush Limbaugh.
    Doctor: I don’t think that’s going to happen. You’re not a big fat idiot.
    My Mom: Can you believe that Al Franken was able to go from Saturday Night Live, to writing a book called “Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot,” to being the senator of Minnesota?

    AND just like that –  they were friends!! They talked about Al Franken for the next 5 minutes!!

    Doctor: Well that was quite a tangent. Good luck to you, and if you have any problems come back and I’ll take care of it.
    My Mom: Great. I’ll just drop your name.
    Doctor: It’s a good thing that you came in early and took care of this.
    My Mom: I don’t fuck around.
    Doctor: I can see that.

    The doctor then shook our hands and left as the nurse came in to give my mom her pills.

    My Mom: Nurse, would you mind looking in my ears? They have been really itchy and I just want to make sure there are no ticks in my ears.
    Nurse: Have you been outside?
    My Mom: Just in my screened in porch.

    And sure enough, there were no ticks in her ears.


    July 30, 2015 • Adventures, Family Drama • Views: 1515

  • What if Caitlyn Jenner Became the Anti-Kardashian?

    I am not proud to admit this, but Facebook is my news. It’s where I get alerted to the conversations of the public lexicon. Without my friends telling me what to pay attention to, I tend to stare deep into the abyss of my navel as if my consciousness is eating it’s own tail.

    I have been so wrapped up in a state of manic narcissism mixed with workaholic frenzy that I seriously have no idea what is going on in the world. I get broad strokes of what’s happening – people are still racist as fuck, the prison industrial complex is alive and well, and WW3 might happen tomorrow, but it might not.

    So admittedly, I am behind in my ability to be interesting at a cocktail party, unless you think queef jokes are funny, in which case, I am a blast. Get it?

    With the Caitlyn Jenner story, I get how revolutionary this is for culture. I don’t question the vast social impact it has for the transgender community, and how Caitlyn has ignited a national conversation of vast importance. Yet during a late night stoned conversation, my friend made a point that I just can’t let go of. She said, “It’s not that interesting to me that Bruce Jenner decided to become a woman. I can understand how one would dis-identify with their gender. What I find most compelling is the kind of woman he chose to become.”

    Okay granted, I was pretty high, but I was like “holy shit.” Caitlyn is very much like a Kardashian in her physical presentation – the body type, attention towards fashion, the excessive make up. There is a “Real Housewives of Where Ever the fuck,” vibe. These fancy rich women who hold onto beauty standards, glorification of youth, and will go to vast extremes to maintain a certain look.

    Sure it’s fun to get dressed up, look sexy, and play around with clothes and lipstick. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet when the exterior of your feminine form comes to define your interior, it does make me take pause. I wish being feminine wasn’t about looking feminine, but rather glorifying empathy, nurturing, emotional expression and all these other “feminine traits.”

    The female experience is so much deeper than the packaged façade the media insists it is. The cultural pressure to wax, pluck, tuck, and preen our bodies into smooth Barbie body parts has nothing to do with what it actually means to be a woman. Part of me wishes that the kind of woman Caitlyn became was a super feminist hippy earth mother goddess. That she wore flowing organic fabrics, challenged all convention, and wanted to blast open the patriarchy.

    Now that she has her TV show, what if Caitlyn became the anti-Kardashian? What if she rejected the commercialized approach to reality TV and created a whole new approach that was rooted in rawness and truth? Wouldn’t it be cool if she was like the ultimate Mother Gaia incarnate who was able to embody the true harmony of the masculine and feminine energies?

    Okay fine that’s a lot of pressure on one person, but if we are going to obliterate gender, that would be a kind of bad ass start.


    July 27, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 1610

  • The Art of Spoiling

    We all know that Grandparents tend to indulge their grandchildren. It comes with the territory. I guess for them it’s fun giving kids whatever they want, and then sending them back to their parents to deal with repercussions – because who cares!? And actually fuck you for your teenage years… here’s your child who’s high as fuck on sugar and will totally crash in about 20 minutes.

    My mom should lead seminars on spoiling. She has taken it to a fine art. I truly believe the MOMA should commission her for a live performance piece. Grandparents across the nation can learn from her ways.

    When I tell my mom things like “I like to be aware of Munch’s sugar intake so she doesn’t become a monster,” or “I like to limit her screen time so she doesn’t become a FUCKING MONSTER,” my mom usually just rolls her eyes at me. She insists I am being dramatic, and that The Munch is “a lovely child who is easy to be around and a great companion.” Yeah… do you want to know why she is a good kid? BECAUSE I DON’T LET HER EAT SUGAR ALL DAY, LIMIT HER SCREEN TIME, AND TELL HER “NO” ALL THE FUCKING TIME SO SHE ISN’T A PSYCHO BITCH!

    It’s like my mom doesn’t see the correlation between boundaries and decent behavior!

    Yet she is the Grandmother, and she will do as she damn pleases. For example, The Munch comes home from a sleepover the other day and tells me “Manna let me have 3 cookies for breakfast this morning.” I called my mom thinking Munch was exaggerating because surely NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would give a 5 year old 3 CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES FOR BREAKFAST.

    Toni: Hi Mom, how did last night go?
    My Mom: She was an angel. I gave her 3 cookies for breakfast this morning to celebrate the American Iranian nuclear peace treaty.
    Toni: Are you fucking serious?
    My Mom: I want her to remember this momentous day where America and Iran became friends!

    A few days later I picked up The Munch from my mom’s and asked casually what she had eaten. You know, so I had an idea of what food groups, and if there was already a fair amount of treats I should be aware of.

    My Mom: She just ate healthy things – mango and some veggies
    Toni: Okay great!
    Munch: I had 3 cookies and a Nutella sandwich. AND Manna let me watch TV the whole time. I watched hours and hours of My Little Pony. Like so much, my eyes hurt.
    Toni: Did you now?
    Munch: Yeah! Mom, can I go to Manna’s again tomorrow?

    The look of a truly cracked out Munch.



    July 22, 2015 • 5 years old, Behavior, Disciplining, Eating, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting • Views: 1639

  • Why I am The Way I am : The Shredder Saga

    I feel like there are probably moments when you read my writing, and then perhaps ask yourself, “why?” Just “why is this girl like this?” Why did she have to say that? Yes it is warm, but there’s no need to compare going outside to “walking inside a moist vagina.” Just unnecessary imagery.

    Was she dropped on her head? Did her mother smoke while she was in utero? (Answer: yes) What is wrong with her?

    I think I was just born into an eccentric family. We are all a bit wacky in our own ways, and I believe the email chain I am about to share is pretty much the perfect explanation of who I am.

    Here is the context:

    In my Dad’s study, there are piles and piles and piles of paper. Kind of like the room of a mad scientist, but instead of test tubes, there is just LOTS of paper with Ancient Greek on it. So my dad decides he needs to clean his study, and the best way to do this, would be to shred all the paper.

    My dad then goes on line, and buys and industrial sized shredder. Keep in mind; my dad pays all his bills electronically. There really is nothing in his study that is worthy of shredding, and if there is, I am sure he could tear up that ONE piece of paper.

    Yet my dad insisted he needed this industrial sized shredder anyway.

    The shredder arrived, and weighed 250 pounds. My dad, who was in Greece, assumed from MILES AWAY that this GIANT MACHINE could be brought up the FIVE flights of stairs to his office by the handy man Tony Farma. My brother interjected, and explained that the shredder is wayyyyy too heavy for that. My brother’s solution is that the shredder stay in the dinning room, yet my mom – who is German and very particular about aesthetic – would not be pleased. An industrial sized shredder in her dining room does not exactly fit into her taste palate.

    My brother, however, had grown very attached to the shredder, and insisted that it remain in the dining room. It was now a part of our family, and one can’t just go around abandoning industrial sized shredders.


    Title of Email : Applied archaeology on the shredder
    Author: My brother

    Dear Dad,

    So there is this huge heavy box that is sitting in the front hall. I
    think what must have happened is Tony Fama intercepted it but then could
    not deal with it because it is really heavy and it would seem it would
    need a team of ox to do anything about. I recommend it just sit there
    for a while. But what I am trying to tell you here is that it is a
    multiple person job moving this huge box anywhere. But I like having it
    around because it makes me think of you. But it is the kind of thing
    that if Mom saw this, she’d shit. Dad, I love you. Son

    My Dad’s response

    Dear Laszlo,

    I swear, your Mom gave her blessings to this. If the shredder can fit
    into my 5th floor study, near the wooden ladder that goes to the roof,
    then we have a plan. That’s what I pitched to your Mom, and she liked the

    My Brother’s response

    OK Dad this sounds good.

    But what I am saying is this thing seems like
    really heavy. So, I am thinking that it might be a good idea for you and
    mom to lovingly look at it. What happens if it doesn’t fit? Then one
    just has a huge shredder that has been opened and doesn’t fit anywhere.
    Can I just propose that the thing sit around until there is a plan? I
    just don’t want to have that much to do with it but I assure you that I
    pat the huge box lovingly each time I walk past it. Dad, I am cc-ing

    My Dad’s Response

    Dearest Laszlo and hi to your Mom
    Actually, our dear Niloo did some very good detective work on the size of
    the li’l critter.
    Actually, I shouldn’t call it “li’l”, but it’s still supposed to fit
    upstairs. It’s just the box that makes
    it seem so monstrously big. See what I mean?
    But you should not have anything to do with it. Tony will I’m sure hire
    some guys to carry the critter upstairs.
    And just think of all the fun I will have shredding so much junk.
    Lots and lots of shredded paper will go to the trash.
    I can hardly wait.

    My Brother’s response

    Dear Dad,
    Please know that I would walk through Hades with you to make sure this
    shredder finds a home in 8* Revere Street. I was just worried that it
    would not fit anywhere. But if you grant me your assurance that this
    device will in fact fit, I am happy just to think of many happy hours to
    come of you shredding things. I love you so much and I am sorry if I
    caused undue alarm with respect the dimensions of the device.
    Son Continue Reading

    July 20, 2015 • Family Drama • Views: 2060

  • Me, My Brother, Mania, and the Muse

    Last year something very important happened to me. I was feeling tired all the time, and like I didn’t have enough hours in the day to get things done. Then my brother suggested the revolutionary idea that I get up earlier so I could be more productive. My retort was that then I would be even more tired, to which he suggested, “not if you drink coffee,” – and then my life changed FOREVER!

    I drink coffee like a holy sacrament. I don’t fuck around once I’ve ingested this sacred sap of the muse’s teat. As it pours down my esophagus and infuses into my veins, I only direct my attention towards truly celestial creative work. Then the mania begins.

    My brother is probably the only person who truly understands just how severe the hysteria can be. How once I feel the artistic fervor to accomplish something, it takes over like parasite – engulfing all the mental microbes of sanity. I then enter into a trance where all that matters is the vision locked inside my being that I have to release from the asylum of soul.

    But let’s say I drink the blessed beverage, and then perhaps, get a phone call, or come across another human being. The result is by no means a normal exchange between two rational adults. It’s more like if you encountered a strange humanoid that had been living in a cave and was raised by bears. When someone has to deal with me after I just drank coffee, they will experience the unleashed OCD energy that should ONLY be channeled into a solitary act of my own making.

    The other day, I went to Boston for a “girls night out” for my friend’s birthday. I think this is an important thing to do as a parent, because you need nights where you think to yourself “my butt can still vibrate to the beat.” It makes you feel alive. I always have a good time because hey, no one is asking me to make them a sandwich made with mayonnaise, peanut butter, and cereal. There was one time when I was out dancing with my friend, and someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “why are you having so much fun?” to which my explanation was “because I’m a mom from New Hampshire.”

    So when I woke up the next morning after my night on the town, I went downstairs to gather my things to leave. My brother was in the kitchen, and in the middle of experiencing his righteous ritual. He looked up from his coffee with wild eyes. Now remember, we have the same DNA. We react the same to all substances. So once my brother gets an idea on coffee, his idea WILL be executed!

    My brother: Baby sister sit. We talk about the succession of the South, and how World War 3 might be here by the fall.

    Toni: I have to go pick up my friend to get her back to New Hampsha on time.

    My brother: Baby sister is hung over. You are going nowhere! You will be drunk driving!

    Toni: No I am not! I am fine! I promise!

    My Brother: Look at this picture of Baby Munch! She will say to me, “Why did you let my mom leave that morning! Why didn’t you make her stay!? Now I have no mother.”

    Toni: I’m so fine!!! I swear to you on everything holy!!

    My Brother: No baby sister! Make this friend come to you! I insist! Sit! We chat!

    There was NO changing his mind, or making him see the world differently. I had interrupted his consecrated custom, and now all that prana was directed towards me. The muse had spoken to him, and he was committed! But I was already late to pick up my friend, and also pretty sure my brother was going to tie me to the chair to hear his analysis on race relations in modern times.

    Toni: What if I go get some coffee? Then will I be okay?

    My Brother: Oh. Right of course that’s what you should do. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.


    July 15, 2015 • Adventures, Family Drama • Views: 1765

  • Legos Are My OCD

    The other day The Munch got a set of Legos for her birthday. She decided she wanted to open it with her babysitter, and I said sure, because I am a casual parent. I am not some corny helicopter mom who micromanages everything.

    But you know what? I fucked up.

    I don’t know what I was thinking. Who am I kidding? Fine, I’ll let my kid do whatever she wants. Sure, jump off this, walk across that, but Legos. LEGOS!? Those things need to be taken care of.

    Legos are my OCD manifestation. The thought of a lost Lego piece gives me hives. The simple notion of building a Frozen castle, and not securing every last fragment in its perfect place, just induced an anxiety attack.

    The Munch and her babysitter however, only built HALF the Lego castle! I pretty much lost all relationship to my sanity. Munch even had the audacity to have brought some of the Lego characters upstairs to play with in her CINDERALLA CASTLE! You can’t do that Munch!! You can’t move the Lego pieces.

    So I OF COURSE let Munch stay up until 10 pm last night because we HAD to work on her Frozen castle! This was an emergency after all She first had to take apart her “art Lego,” – these are the sculptures Munch had put together all willy-nilly because she thought they “looked pretty.” NO MUNCH! That is NOT they way they go! I also had to scavenger hunt for all the pieces Munch thought she would attach onto other castles – LIKE THAT DOESN’T MATTER! What do you think these are Munch? TOYS?!

    I don’t play Legos with The Munch. I take over Legos. After I got really into it, she kept asking if she could help, or “put the orange piece on, or something” – but I no. I can’t let her “play” with her Legos. I have to do it ALL MYSELF because I’m the only one that can do it right!

    The late night Legos


    July 13, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1734

  • Are My Wishes Dumb?

    When I was a kid I was obsessed with wishes. I would wish every time I saw a star, every time the clock read 11:11, and on every dandelion I blew… which I regret because they NEVER took me out to dinner first.

    MOST of my wishes didn’t come true though. I know this because I do NOT have size DD tits. So eventually I gave up on the ritual, and decided to trust what the cosmos had in store for me – a B cup.

    Yet, as a new age hippy I am always hearing about manifesting my destiny, the law of attraction, and visualizing the life I want to have. People usually justify these ethereal rationales through quantum physics experiments – and how the observer has a direct impact on whatever object is being observed. The thinking is that I’m supposed to engage in positive thinking to draw positive results for my positively positive intentions.

    I guess!? Feels a lot like wishing though… just saying.

    According to the spiritual post modern guides, rather than ASKING the universe FOR something, you are supposed to THANK the universe for what it has ALREADY given you. So I’m not supposed to say “I wish for an ass the shape of a lemon,” but rather “thank you for my lemon shaped ass… universe.” Life is so confusing. What can’t I just get what I want world!?

    The Munch is going through a major wishing phase. So she is often suggests we make wishes together. She doesn’t really get the concept of keeping your wish a secret in order to make it come true, and I don’t really feel like enforcing it because I kinda want know what other people wish for.

    My current wishes are no longer about the perfect body parts, the perfect life, or the perfect cheer. (SNL throwback fyi). If I’m going to wish anything it is going to be about my career. All these creative projects that I work on, and pray will one day come to fruition. Yet it turns out, that The Munch pretty much thinks my ambitions are absurd.

    Munch: What did you wish for Mama?
    Toni: I wish that the movie I just wrote would get made.
    Munch: Really? That’s kind of a silly wish.
    Toni: It is?
    Munch: Yeah, like you don’t you wish for a unicorn that can fly or magical powers or something? I mean that’s what I wish for.
    Toni: That sounds pretty good.
    Munch: How about this, I will wish for the unicorn that can fly AND I will wish for your wish… I will just share my unicorn with you.

    Munch and her best friend waiting for the stars to come out… to make NOT DUMB wishes involving obtaining magical powers


    July 8, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1532

  • Lord of the Flies Birthday Party

    My birthday is December 29th. Officially one of the worst birthdays a human can have. For one, nobody remembers. In the days before Facebook walls (where casual acquaintances can now celebrate the day of my vaginal emergence), for most of my life, people only remembered my birthday because I made them. Also, no one wants to party with you on the 29th of December. They are always like “I’m burnt out. Christmas just happened. New Years Eve is coming – and it just isn’t the right time to do a bunch of ecstasy.”


    When I was a kid I never got to have my birthday during school. Never got to bring cupcakes to class and have all my friends serenade me. None of that. NONE!!!!

    Also, my dad always had to travel during that time for some academic nerd conference, so my mother, brother, and I would have to tag along. This meant the majority of my birthdays were spent in some strange city like Dallas Texas, usually at a museum. My mom loves museums, and for some reason especially on my birthday. Do you want to know how many museums I have gone to in my adult life? NONE!!! THAT’S HOW MANY!!!!! BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE MUSEUMS NOW!

    I had ONE birthday party that I can remember. ONE! It was in the 5th grade, and I invited the whole class. Okay fine, that party was actually pretty amazing and my parents totally killed it. It was a dance party to some pretty epic 90’s hip hop, and we took any excuse to “slow dance” with each other at the proper distance of an arms length away. It was pretty hot. Trust.

    So needless to say I am kind of obsessive about birthdays, and am totally living vicariously through The Munch. When she said she wanted a birthday party where she invited all her little friends I said, “YOU BET!” Forget the fact that I have social anxiety disorder and don’t like being around groups of people. If you want a birthday party you are getting one kid. Even though I pretty much have no idea what I am doing, and The Munch was lucky I remembered to make everyone pizzas AND quinoa salad because I am kind of going through a narcissistic manic phase right now.

    I figured a fun thing to get for the party would be a “Slip and Slide.” Why did I think that? Because I never had one, that’s why. But you guys… I didn’t have any other plans beyond that. A “Slip and Slide” was all thinking I did. I assumed the kids would come, and then they would shoot themselves down a slippery tarp – end of party.

    After all the children arrived, someone asked me “Do you have any activities planned for the kids?” And I was like “Uhhhhhh for them to throw their bodies into cold water… Is that enough?” And they were like “What about activities or games they will play?” and I was all “Uhhhhhhh no?”

    I guess I was going for a more “Lord of the Flies” theme. It was my thinking the kids could govern themselves, and figure out what to do on their own. I was way to self-conscious to do any, “Come here kiddies while we slap this tail on a donkey’s ass… but don’t put it in the crotch area because then all the adults will be really uncomfortable.”

    And you know what? Without any interference the kids formed a line for the “Slip and Slide”, and totally ruled themselves. No grown up ever said anything to them. When it was time to eat, they all had their pizza and veggies, played their own weird kid games, and then I let them all have cake, brownies, and lollipops they wanted. Because fuck their parents its not my problem now y’all are leaving soon! HAVE ALL THE SUGAR YOU WANT!!!!

    Btw, I was SUPER popular! Drug dealers usually are…

    I never had Munch open her presents because that is another thing that makes me uncomfortable. I’m not yet convinced of Munch’s acting skills, and needed her to like every present with the same enthusiasm!! And you know what? She had so much fun at her party, she totally forgot about her presents. We opened them days later so she could appreciate each one, and not just have this barrage of stuff she couldn’t connect to. I kind of think that’s the way now – spread it out over a few days so she can actually appreciate all the thoughtful presents people got her.

    I think next year I’m not even going to be there, and just rent an island for the kids to roam free for a few weeks.

    (PS I did NOT make that cake… Munch’s old baby sitter Sexy Liliana did!)


    July 6, 2015 • Birth • Views: 2040

  • The Munch Birthday Blog

    Today is The Munch’s 5th birthday!

    Of course this marking of time makes me look back at these past few years and reflect. Hold on. I have to go stare in the mirror real quick. Okay I’m back. Still cute.

    Oh right… I was supposed to be reflecting about my child! Duh!!!

    Being a parent has taught me many things – like what it’s like to wipe someone else’s butt first thing in the morning, or what another human’s puke feels like dripping through my fingers. My child is the one person on planet earth whose imperfections, leaking body parts, or explosive emotions don’t freak me out. Yeah sure, I don’t always want to deal with them, but the fact that she is a part of me makes me infinitely more patient, loving, and tolerant. I’m like “awwwwww, I love you because you remind me so much of me, sweetie.”

    Even though I have to give The Munch A LOT of my time, energy, and food (she always want to eat what I’m eating), I’m also fully aware of how much she has given me. Like pink eye. Just kidding… I washed my hands so I didn’t catch it. Actually in truth, I don’t wash my hands at all. I only pretend to in public bathrooms because I don’t trust anti bacterial soap, but I also don’t want you to judge me. It’s not like I’m peeing on my hands though, so what’s the big deal you critical twat?


    What I’m trying to say is that parenting is an endless journey of satisfying someone else’s needs. Wait. No. That was my auto correct. Sorry. What I meant to say is parenting is the best thing that ever happened to me!

    The Munch has been a source of endless inspiration. I mean look how much I write about her! Sure, I take breaks every once in a while to talk about politics or vaginas, but the rest of this blog is my observations on this special creature. Even though The Munch has no idea I have been exploiting her childhood for my personal gain, she has been such a good sport about it!

    I have learned more about human nature from this human than I ever thought possible. She has been my greatest and wisest teacher, and has instilled me with lessons like “don’t sing Mama while I’m singing because I cannot hear myself if all I hear is your voice.” I mean, come on. That is some Buddha shit right there.

    My Munchee is a true miracle and I’m grateful for her beyond words.


    July 1, 2015 • 5 years old, Mommyhood, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1652