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coughing, stress incontinence

Why is it that women of a certain age who have children can no longer cough or sneeze without crossing their legs to stop themselves from pissing. Don’t even get me started on the coughing fits. I have another cold and I am terrified that I might piss myself in public. I am actually choosing my wardrobe based on which is least likely to reveal my coughing fit piss stain. I am becoming a Holiday hermit for fear of urinating myself in public.

I’ve tried party-liners and, let me just be frank with you, they only work if you have one of those teeny tiny sneezes or can slam your thighs shut in the spur of the moment like a bear trap. But if you have a full-on coughing fit or, God forbid, a child or dog sitting on your lap when the unfortunate incident takes place, foggedaboutit you better just get yourself a pair of Depends because in some situations its just better to be safe than sorry.  Sorry you pissed your pants Grandma. Yeah, I feel 105 every time I cough. I love my daughters but did their heads have to be SO damn big?

As if it were not bad enough that they split me apart and there is no longer a urethra, vagina and asshole but just one gaping wound, now I can’t even keep liquids down..errr inside..you know what I mean! This should be included in the What to Expect when You’re Expecting manuals. This should be told to every little girl that watches the puberty video. We should all be forewarned that we will piss ourselves after giving birth.I don’t know about you but I don’t particularly relish the thought of running around all stuffed up from a head cold smelling of the faint scent of urine like the homeless women on Randolph because I can’t smell anything and no one has the heart to tell me. Just tell me.

I was so concerned about shitting on the delivery table while pushing my children out into the world, if only I had known about the entire pissing ever after, I may have begged for a Caesarian section. They say that a steady regime of Kegels will rectify the situation but I say, they are damn liars. I have kegeled so much that I walk around with my vagina closed tight like a fist and yet, one rogue tickle in my throat and cough and there I stand, with a leaking closed fist where my vagina used to be. It should come standard to do some sort of urethra/bladder reconstruction for all women after giving birth. At the very least, can we stick an extra stitch or two in there to bring it back to some semblance of normal? Hell, sew it shut. I just don’t want to have a steady drip during flu season. Yes, doctor, I would like the number 3; urethra reconstruction, labia beautification and a tummy tuck.

Anyone else dreading cold season and stocking up on panty liners? Don’t say know because I noticed a definite shortage of Tylenol cold and flu and pantyliners at the local Target, coincidence? I think not!

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elf on a shelf, elf, Christmas, holiday traditions

Our elf on the shelf elves have once again arrived. Well, three out of the five have arrived. Currently, we have Ed, Analee (because someone who shall remain nameless forgot to remove the nametag…. I’m talking to you Grandma) and Rick Astly ( that bastard’s never gonna give you up! Can you say Single white Elf Male?) We are still missing Herbie Hancock and Rick (i) James (bitch!)

So you’re probably thinking that maybe I have some sort of nasty little elf on the shelf fetish or way too much time on my hands, I assure you that it is neither of those. Well, maybe I do have a little extra time on my hands seeing as I was just downsized from one of my 12 jobs. Damn, what ever will I do with all of that free time the last week of every month? But I digress, we have so many elves because when the girls were small we were moving a lot and the elves got packed away in storage lost on their way back from the North Pole! So every year, we had to replace the lost elf. Look, my mommy brain is not what it once was and I forget shit…like where elves went into the witness protection place the year before or sometimes even the night before.

elf on a shelf, elf, Christmas, holiday traditions

 

Our elf on the shelf problem started with Analee.

He came in a beautiful gift box with a letter from the man in the red suit because he knew the girls were having a horrible year leaving their friends and everything they knew and moving across the country. Analee came to give love and moral support.

The next year, Analee “lost” his way to our house because we had moved back to Indiana so “Santa” sent another elf, Ed (this is what happens when Daddy names the elves) to entertain the girls while their daddy was living in Iowa for work. They only saw the Big Guy once a week and we assured them that the elf could check in on daddy each night before he went back to the North Pole and reported to Santa.  Then one day, Analee found us and just showed up on the Christmas tree like a damn serial killer stalking his prey and then the two became Santa’s henchmen because we don’t tell our girls about the boogie man.

The following year, we had moved in with our in-laws because 2 years apart was too much for all of us. Unfortunately, we had forgotten our two little buddies they couldn’t find us because we had moved yet again. Enter, Herbie Hancock (he likes to rock down to electric avenue) coolest elf ever. He even has a naughty and nice placard to let the girls know where they stand.  But by this time, Bella was 6 and Gabi was suspicious of that damn placard, “Mommy, why does he look like a stuffed animal?” (Because we spare our children the damn traditional scary elf on the shelf) “Because Santa doesn’t want children to be afraid” Near miss. This kid is on to us. I just know it.

elf on a shelf, elf, elf on the shelf, Christmas

 

Then last year, we moved into our house and it was the mass exodus of elves. They descended upon our house like locusts. Analee, Ed, Herbie Hancock, and then Rick Astly ( what a mischievous little guy he is. You never know what you’re going to wake up to.) He looks like the traditional elf on the shelf, I’m trying to throw the 5-year-old off the scent. Then she demanded to know why no one arrived in the official Santa box and you guessed it, Rick(i) James showed up a couple days later in the box from the North Pole with an official  letter addressed to the girls.

So the winter of my discontent 2012 was the year of the elves (that were very mischevious). The mischievousness rubbed off on the girls and so we had to tell them about Santa’s “special” cameras that are installed in the fire alarms throughout the house. Elves were popping up in toilets and refrigerators, backpacks and boxes of cereal or not moving at all or being chewed up by crazed puppies.Kids were dancing naked in front of the fire alarms mooning Santa and blaming shit on their sister. I was still stumbling across rogue elves covered in cob webs in April.

This year we have 5 elves, 3 have arrived, 2 will be here any day I am sure of it. Oh and Gabs is back on board, since finding out that a classmate of hers had a pocket elf who has gotten elderly and now in his wheelchair talks openly to the child. No longer hiding his secret. What an imagination and guess what she prayed for that night? Her very own pocket elf, but not “an old one in a wheelchair” a regular one. Now, we have another elf to remember to displace. As of yet, he is still nameless and harmless ( no baby Jesus stealing or conga lining with the 3 kings…yet) I’m think we name him Too Short or maybe Prince Napoleon.

elf on a shelf, elf, Christmas, holiday traditionsSo to all of you who say that elf on the shelf is stupid, I say to you…stick to your guns. Our elves have played a wonderful part in comforting my girls when they were small and our lives were upside down and we all missed the Big Guy but now, the elves are running amuck and I keep forgetting where they are at night and one keeps stealing baby Jesus and eating all the Fat Boys and Mentos in the house.

I know it’s nonsense and has absolutely nothing to do with why we celebrate Christmas but I also know that my girls love their elves and look forward to their magical appearance every year. It is magic and I am not taking that away from them.

What’s your most creative idea for elf on the shelf shenanigans?

 

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Vegard and Bård Ylvisåker, The Fox, Ylvis, What does the fox say, music, funny

Have you ever found yourself wondering, “What does the fox say?” Me neither, well, I didn’t until I saw this viral video by the Norwegian comedy duo Ylvis’, which has taken the Internet by storm in recent days. It’s Friday and we can all use a laugh so I am sharing my favorite funny from the week!

Ylvis is composed of brothers Vegard and Bård Ylvisåker. “The Fox” was created to promote the premiere of the duo’s show “Tonight With Ylvis” on Tuesday. Think the Norwegian version of Flight of the Concords.

My entire family is running around singing this damn song and screaming at the top of our lungs phrases like:

Ring-Ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding / Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow/ Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho! / Joff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff! Oh and don’t think we are above communicating with a friendly ho-o-o-o-orse using mo-o-o-o-orse.It’s all worth it for the Jacha-chacha-chacha-chow/ Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow and my 6-year-old’s favorite A-hee-ahee-ha-hee! Maybe it is A-oo-oo-oo-ooo? Whatever the secret of the fox is we can’t get enough! Go ahead and watch this video, I dare you to not be singing it all weekend and smiling. It’s the video equivalent to xanax. Any day now, I am sure my kids will want to make their own parody of this song. They are already fighting over who gets to be the fox for Halloween!

Hey, anything is better than my kids wanting to watch that Miley Cyrus video. Thank you Ylvis for giving us something entertaining and funny to share with our kids and hey, it even has a good beat! I don’t know about you but I have never been more curious about foxes and neither have my children. I need to know, What does the fox say?

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woman's mind, how women think

A woman’s mind works differently than a man’s. There is a fundamental difference in ways of thinking. Men are driven by one goal and by some miracle are able to focus on that goal at the exclusion of all else. For example, if my husband wants to take a nap in the middle of the day, well, he just lays down and ignores everything else going on around him; the kids fighting, the dog barking, the doorbell, me crying out in pain from the damn Polly Pocket incident of 2008. He sets his mind to it and it’s as good as done, if it’s something he wants to do. If it’s not, he can fabricate 101 distractions all day long. Point in case: The crown molding sitting on my living room floor that is supposed to be hung, on my living room wall.

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shark week ,pms

Shark week is not my favorite week of the month. Shark week (menstruating and PMS, in case you were confused) is just one more thing that I have to deal with on my already full Mommy plate. Shark week is that one week of the month when my entire body rages against me and decides to attempt yet another mutiny. Ain’t no mutiny like a shark week mutiny! Damn you, shark week!

shark week, PMS, living authentically online, Domain .ME, blogging, digital influencer, writer, blogger

Kids, this is your mom before shark week.

But then something happens. My head begins to spin. My breasts ache. I am ravenous to eat things like hot fudge sundaes with jalapeno chips at will. My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!).

My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!). New baby? Who dis? Ain’t nobody got no time for that.

Unfortunately for him, I am like a hybrid between a Praying Mantis and Black Widow spider. All I want to do is rip his head off and eat my young, not necessarily in that order. Pretty much, if you breathe you are in danger of incurring my bloody, hormonal rage and for some reason, I swear my teeth get bigger.

Shark week, PMS

This is Your Mom on Shark Week

For your safety, I am listing here a few ways to survive Shark Week without Losing a limb;

  • No sudden movements or loud sounds, Mama usually has a migraine during shark week. Move slowly and quietly for optimal chance of survival rate.
  • For the love of God, please don’t hide my Diva Cup or flush all the tampons. I’m talking to you fruit of my loins, this could result in Mommy’s head spinning and/or completely popping off.
  • Have chocolate and carbs in the house. A pizza with a side of French fries and a Ding Dong usually does the trick. And NO, don’t remind me that I’m on a diet. There is no reasoning with me when I am on shark week.
  • Don’t ask me any stupid questions, like where is the milk? It’s in the fridge! Do you want to die? And please pick up your f*cking socks! I’m not your maid. Would you like me to shove them down your throat? ( This is directed at the Big Guy, not the children. I pick up their socks, with no threat of choking them out, on the regular.)
  • Don’t look at me sideways, it will surely not bode well for you. I know you will be tempted to test this theory, but just be aware that during shark week, better men have died for less.
  • Don’t comment on how tight my jeans are or the extra head-sized pimple that has sprouted on my forehead. I can see it. I’m menstruating, not blind and I am hyper aware of every single flaw this week.
  • Don’t expect me to try on clothes, especially a bathing suit for a vacation. Don’t even ask. You will be wasting your time and is your life worth it?

Shark Week, is that eye roll worth dying over?

  • Don’t take my measurements for any reason under the sun. Seriously, Mr. Personal Trainer, I know you are a man and don’t understand but I don’t need to know how many inches the water retention is adding to my body. My jeans are cutting me in half; believe me, I’m already aware.
  • Don’t be my Mother or Mother-in-law, anything you do while I am on shark week will leave me exasperated and annoyed, usually taken as passive aggression and held against you for the week. I would recommend marking your calendars and not calling me or making eye contact at all that week.This is more for your benefit than my sanity. I promise.
  • Don’t ask me to step on the scale, this is pretty much any day of the month but it could have dire consequences for you during this week.
  • Don’t raise your voice at me, not even moderately. You can try it. But I’m pretty sure that I will have snatched the snark right out of your mouth before you get to the second word. But, hey, it’s your life.
  • Don’t touch my boobs or ask for any kind of “service” for you. I’m dying over here. Why should you be having a good time?
  • Which reminds me, little one, please don’t ask Mommy for a baby brother on this week. It truly is the furthest thing from my mind. Birth is pain and I’m in enough right now with the troll squishing my ovaries, my sore boobs and cramps. Ask me in a couple weeks, when the water weight is gone and I‘m feeling frisky (this tends to happen during ovulation week. See, conspiracy I tell you!)
  • And under no circumstances, ever ask me if I’ve got PMS? Just observe and know it, that’s enough to save your life. I don’t need your commentary. I know I’m on shark week. I don’t need to know that you know and think I’m being a hormonal bitch I already know that.
  • Your best bet for surviving Shark week is to stay still, be quiet and hope that I don’t see you. In 3-5 days I will be back to my sweet self but for the next few days, stay out of the water.

What is your best tip for surviving shark week in your home? Has anyone ever been seriously maimed during that week? What was there crime? Can’t wait to hear your stories in the comments, Misery enjoys company…especially this week. Oh and for an extra dose of The TRUTH I am guest posting at Blogging Dangerously Where sex in the city meets married with children today. If you are not already familiar with Blogging Dangerously, go now and check it out. Kit is an amazingly funny and quick witted writer and I’m sure that you will love her as much as I do. Also, she is the creator of #wineparty on Twitter every Friday night. What’s not to love?

*Disclaimer; I did not coin the term Shark Week.I can’t remember who the brilliant soul on Twitter was who did, but I have made it my own. That week of the month will forever be known as Shark week in my household. When my daughters begin menstruating, I will pass it down. Shark week is now my legacy:)

P.S. No husbands, children, Mothers or Mother-in -laws were harmed in the making of this Shark week post.

Happy Shark Week, Hope we all make it out alive

 

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stress incontinence, mommy issues, life after giving birth, peepee, sneezing, Poise, Impressa

This is a piece that I originally wrote for Aiming Low about Stress incontinence but I had to share it here as well because it makes me giggle. I know my readers and I know 99% of you can relate to this post.Kegel on my friends and enjoy.

What ever happened to doctor patient privilege?

Is there no dignity left in the world?

I was on the phone talking to our new insurance company agent and was being interrogated asked, what I assumed to be, standard medical questions. I expected them to be somewhat personal; it is the nature of the beast. I had no idea the degree. How could I ever know that anyone would ask me if I ever, you know, tinkled when I sneezed?

Not as personal as the therapist asking me if I talk to God…and does he answer. (My God woman, I just met you I’m not telling you what the voices in my head say or don’t say.)
I digress.

The nurse politely and matter of factly asked me about different conditions that I may currently have or have had in the past according to my medical history. I was prepared to explain that time that I had that gerbil removed or the time I thought my headache was brain cancer and insisted the doctor ran every test imaginable. I was prepared to explain all of that away.Then it got personal, we moved on to the “area” and suddenly we are talking babies, and labors, my deep cervix and even my vagina made a cameo appearance in this conversation but I was not prepared for the question she asked next.

Nurse: “So, what about stress incontinence?”

Me: “Pardon me?? I am not familiar with that diagnosis or that term?” (Is this the clinical term for a brain fart?)

My God, I thought, was she asking me if I soil myself when I got stressed out? Was that even a ‘thing”? Was this an actual bonafide medical condition? If it is, I don’t have it.  Have never been diagnosed with it and certainly don’t want it. I mean, there was that one time in college when I had that really bad pneumonia and I coughed so hard that I farted. It was humiliating. How did she know?

She explained, “It’s when you sneeze and there is a release of a small amount of urine.”

Me: “Oh, you mean do I tinkle when I sneeze? Yes, occasionally ( like every single time I sneeze, cough, laugh or move too quickly. It’s like a had a perfectly good urethra and now, my kids broke me. I have a leaky faucet) if I sneeze really hard (thanks to my beautiful big headed babies). Why yes, I do sometimes have to do the peepee dance so I don’t piss on myself at zumba. But it’s not always…just sometimes. Well, like 30% of the time. OK, well, maybe more like 67% of the time. 80% of the time tops.”

Come on, surely I’m not the only Mommy who has had this happen, right? Oh please don’t tell me it’s JUST me. There is no way that I am the only one in Zumba class who is having to sport a Depends. Why else do you think my yoga pants are so lumpy? What, you thought that was cellulite? I cannot believe that I am the only person who is afraid that sneezing, coughing or laughing too hard can cause Mama to water the plants. Don’t tell me you do your Kegel exercises religiously and have the vaginal wall of a 16 year old? If so, I’m not sure we can be friends any longer.

The nurse was really trying to be serious. Next question, “Do you require any treatment for this condition?”

Me: “Oh, you mean other than the peepee dance? Not really, just remembering to practice my Kegels. Maybe I need some gingko, my memory is not what it used to be.”

Nurse: “Any plans for treatment or corrective surgery in the future?”

Me: “No, it’s kind of like being ugly. You just kind of have to learn to live with it!”

At this point, she laughed out loud. And this concluded our interview.

I am a little concerned that I am in a chart somewhere as a grown woman who tinkles on herself (just a little bit and just on occasion…OK, OK, 80% of the time!) but it’s better than what I had originally thought…. One who poops on themselves in stressful situations! Now, that’s a stressful condition. Can you imagine, explosive diarrhea every time you were stressed out?

No amount of Kegels in the world is going to fix that.

And in case you’re still fixating on the whole gerbil incident, God told me to do it…during our conversation, in which I asked what I could do to make him smile. He answered.

Stress incontinence~ Is that a Gerbil in Your Pocket or are You Just Happy to see Me?

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Sick Daddy Walking.Really does that even exist? Seriously, when I get sick the world keeps on moving on.Asses need wiped, BooBoos kissed, Dinner made. Lunches packed, Laundry folded.Children chauffeured, dressed, bathed, coddled and loved. The show must go on.(PERIOD)

But when the Big Guy, or any man for that matter, is sick,the world comes to a screeching halt.Full on, falls to the ground, assumes the fetal position and can NOT move.Sniffles are sure to be whooping cough. Diarrhea must be cholera or dysentery. A fever, oh shit,he’s pretty sure its the bubonic plague.Vomiting must be fatal food poisoning.No matter the ailment,the end result is the same. They are dying and you must sit by their bedside and nurse their body while stroking their, (ehem) ego!

My husband and I have had the exact same virus, simultaneously and I had to get up and take care of the kids as he whimpered from the other bedroom ( because apparently when he’s sick he needs to be alone in another room to get his rest…really,novel idea. Can I borrow it sometime?I need some sleep too!)”What do you want me to do ( cough ,cough)?You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself,( cough, sneeze, sniffle..repeat)but if you’re getting up,I think Gabs needs to be wiped!” Commence eye rolling on my part.

Have I told you about the time I had the stomach flu so badly that I vomited for 9 hours straight,every half hour on the half hour? Well, I did and guess what happened on the 9th hour?I finally felt well enough to walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water for my dehydrated self ( it was about midnight)when my then 4 year old walks out of her bedroom, we meet in the hallway, and she proceeds to say “Mommy, I don’t feel so…BLEH>>>>” all over my feet.As I was cleaning her up and trying to clean up the hallway and …my feet, the Big Guy walks out, only to say, “You Ok?” I say yes (yes, in the vomit was not acid like and had not burned off any of my skin or limbs. But not yes as in, I’m OK, life is dandy with vomit on my toes)and try to explain what had happened…to his back as he was headed back to bed.Guess what I got to do that night, after a long day of puking? You guessed it, I got to stay up all night with a sick daughter who kept puking.What did the Big Guy get to do? SLEEP!But if the tables had been flipped, you can bet your ass that I would have had to stay up and hold the barf bucket, wipe vomit off of faces, and soothe all general ill physical pains and emotions.

Just wondering if this happens at your house too? I love my Big Guy but there is something about a man sized baby that makes me want to gouge his eyes out.I just don’t understand why they get to be all baby like and get pampered and stroked and we have to soldier on. I’m not a soldier, nor have I ever been, and I don’t want to soldier on.When I’m sick, I want to receive the same care and attention the Big Guy and the kids expect from me.I want to be allowed the simple luxury of lying around in my jammies, sipping hot tea, while the world soldier’s on without me. For now,( cough, cough, sniff, sniff, and a trifecta of sneezes)I will soldier on!

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kids cursing, raising children, toddlers, they hear everything

Are you guilty of cursing around your toddlers?

I, like so may other Mommies, am guilty of the occasional stubbed toe “Damn it!”, or the lost keys “F*bomb!” or even the I just busted my shin on the coffee table,” Sonofabitch!” but I really do try to keep my inner sailor in check….around my girls. ( I know, not very lady like. My Mom is mortified). And other than that week a couple years ago when Gabs decided to run around the house screaming”F*CK!” incessantly like a little mafioso on a tirade, we’ve not really had a problem with too much cursing. They’ll hear it, they’ll try it, we tell them no, they get bored they move on..Bada Bing Bada Boom, Fuggedaboutit(Holy shit,,, I just got possessed by Tony Soprano for a minute!) There’s always this little voice inside me that keeps warning me..” filter woman, filter!” But I keep on keeping on, and get caught in a moment and sometimes not so savory words come falling out of my mouth, despite my best efforts. Anyways, I’ve been getting worried you know with Catholic school just around the corner and all. How am I supposed to explain that my beautiful, innocent little girl can probably sling cursed laced insults with the best of them? I’m assuming and I know for sure that she can use them in the appropriate context because they have already proven that..with the exception of Gabs’ Tourettes-like f-bomb tirade, but I digress.

The point being, the girls have been saying things that, though we giggle now, I am sure come fall.I won’t be amused in the least. Especially when I have to explain where she learned it from. But something else has been happening that has made me completely forget about the curse words that may or may not come out of my 5 and 3-year-olds mouth. Yes, something much, much worse.No? You don’t believe there could be anything worse than your kids telling some nun to eff off? Well, what about these gems…
Gabs:” Girls, Pull your tits!” (in English, Girls, cool your jets!)
Gabs: (While escorting me around the yard as I picked up the dog poop with the pooper scooper..oh the joy! Gabs was running around the yard like a shit-seeking missile, pointing and yelling to id the aforementioned “poop” )This is what she yelled on a warm summer day, as all of our neighbors looked on,” Mommy! DOG SHIT!!!!!”
Yeah, thank God that wasn’t embarrassing.

So, you can see my concern. But something even much worse happened this weekend and put everything into perspective for me. I have a colorful vocabulary, I am a hand talker, and I like to use metaphors and all kinds of language manipulation to illustrate my points but they are very seldom to be taken literally. But, I forgot…3 and 5-year-olds don’t understand the difference. Over the otherwise fantastically family filled Fourth of July weekend, I was having a discussion with my MIL about her son, my husband, doing something ridiculous.I think my exact words were, “He better take a pill or he better not be surprised when I stab him in his sleep!(this was said with a chuckle and a smile)” Obviously, I was saying he needed to calm down or I would hurt him, which really meant..”Dear Husband, stop being a butt face and please calm the eff down. Love your biggest fan!”

But Bella, she just doesn’t get that ( plus, to be honest) I totally didn’t even realize that the little ninja was in the house when I said it. Last I knew, she was outside with the prospective stabbing victim playing volleyball or covering her sister in S’mores in hopes of feeding her to the ants, or something of the like. I found out that she was in the house when my husband approached me and said, “Hey, so ..you’re going to stab me in my sleep now?” I wasn’t quite sure if he was serious or if he was crazy and I said, “WHAT?” Yeah, apparently my 5 year old went outside and called her Dad over to the side to inform him of this, “Hey Daddy, Mommy said she’s going to stab you in your sleep!” WOW!

Needless to say, I had to have a talk with her to assure her that I  indeed was NOT going to stab her Daddy in his sleep, nor would I ever hurt him in any way. I tried to explain  that I was using colorful language to illustrate a point and be funny but in fact, it was inappropriate and I should not have said it in the first place. Her answer, ” I know Mommy. You were just saying that Daddy was being a grouch and he better stop it! It’s not like you said you were going to choke him out!”

Wow! Oh Shit! Can I get some earmuffs over here for this kid? Maybe some perma pink ones that I can leave in at all times and remove only when I need to speak with her. I would really prefer she not start Kindergarten by telling some nun that I said I was going to stab her Daddy while he slept..that’s not very christian and I’m pretty sure the school might put a call into DCFS. The moral of the story being..be on the look out for tiny ninja’s before ever speaking in metaphor , irony, allegory, or simile!

What’s your trick to stop cursing around your children?

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