Momaical is a humorous look at trying not to raise a flock of assholes. Cursing & copious coffee involved.

Momaical: [mom-mahy-uh-kuhl] = (Hybrid of Mom and Maniacal.)


She Is Risen. And She Is Pissed.

Here's a look at our Easter celebration from last year.  I'm sure 2013 will be just as exciting...

Norman Rockwell version of Easter morning in our house:
The children slept in until a reasonable hour. They awoke happy and excited for Easter morning and the potential for goodies left by a fluffy bunny.  We all go downstairs together and enjoy the eagerly anticipated treats.  My husband and I sip a hot cup of coffee while the girls go outside to collect eggs.  We then relax for a little while before we begin our wonderful family-centric day.

And...then there's our reality:
5 am:  Lena comes into our room crying because the bunny hasn't come yet.  My husband tells her that he's never going to come if she's awake because it's the middle of the night so go back to bed.

6 am: Lena returns. Highly agitated because there is no basket full of treats in her bedroom. My husband informs her that maybe if she cleaned her room once and a while the bunny might have brought something. She crawls into bed with us where she proceeds to sing Peter Cottontail at the top of her lungs.  She is told by my husband that if she doesn't shut up the bunny will never, ever come.  Tears, gasping, quiet tremors.  I suggest that she go into her room and watch a show quietly and perhaps the bunny will visit us downstairs.
6:07 am: Lena is sobbing in her room that the bunny probably skipped us because her daddy is mean.

6:08 am: Lena comes back into our room where she informs us that she is sick of waiting and will be searching the house for her Easter score. 

While Lena is downstairs destroying the house in search of her loot (which is soooooo secretly hidden on the kitchen table right in front of her chair) I suggest to my husband that we go hide the colored eggs outside (much like I enjoyed as a child).  He quickly dismisses this idea because "Lena is too smart. She'll know that they are her eggs that she colored."  I told him that's how we did it when we were kids - the bunny came to hide our eggs as a treat for us.  He informed me that he would have seen right through this as a kid and thinks Lena will do the same and that it's lame.  I acquiesce, because they are carbon copies of each other and he would know better than I with things like this. They don't have the usual plastic eggs filled with candy this year because I have spoken to the Easter bunny.  I asked her not to bring any more candy because the girls receive sweets from both sets of grandparents and from the Easter egg hunt near our house.  They generate so much energy from consumption of said confections they could power my house for a month.  And send me to an early grave.

6:10 am: After thoroughly trashing the downstairs, Lena comes up with the Fur Real Bunny that she received.  She is thrilled and yelling that "THIS IS WHAT I HAVE WANTED FOR EVER!!! OH MY GOSH!!! Running down the hallway, screeching Peter Cottontail and successfully awakening her sister.  I grab Emmeline and bring her downstairs to receive her gift.  She stares at the bunny for a minute and then stuffs her face with the few chocolate eggs that the girls received in addition to the Fur Real Bunnies.  She gives her bunny a cocoa-covered kiss.
Lena comes downstairs a few minutes later, boasting that her bunny is in fact superior to Emmeline's because hers is pure white and Emmeline's is brown, white and now chocolate.  Fight breaks out "No. My better."  "Nuh-uh."  Yelling.  Crying.  Then Sybil, I mean Lena, changes personality in a blink and wants to know where the bunny hid the eggs.  My husband says "Maybe the bunny hid the eggs that you colored outside?"  I shoot death looks at him, which he blatantly ignores.  Then Lena decides she's going to test his theory by looking in the refrigerator to see if the eggs we colored were still there.  My husband has to pry her fingers off the handle to the fridge and bring her upstairs to put on some pants because it's cold outside. He shoots "I told you so" looks at me which I ignore.
I am now forced to scramble, grabbing the eggs, practically running through the sliding door while dashing outside and trying to hide the eggs.  Emmeline's hollering "MUMMA WHY YOU OUTSIDE?  YOU OUTSIDE?  COME IN MUMMA!"

6:17 am: Eggs are sort of hidden.  Kids are in pursuit.  I have asked Lena to let Emmeline find some of the obviously hidden eggs which she completely disregards and runs to the first egg yelling that she is the winner because she found the egg first and Emmeline hasn't found any which makes her a loser. And, she can't believe it because the only thing that Emmeline has found is a piece of chalk which makes her an "extra loser".

I help Emmeline find her first egg.  Lena starts flipping out. She doesn't want Emmeline to find the "special egg" that she made at school because she doesn't want Emmeline's "disgusting baby germs" all over it.  Lena runs off finding a few more eggs.  Leaving only one egg left for Emmeline.  Which incidentally happened to be Lena's special egg.

Meltdown ensues.  Crying, scream tantrum from the 5-year-old.  Emmeline is already sick of listening to it and informs Lena "Go get it.  Baby."  Lena collects the last egg and then does her victory dance because she found the most eggs and she is the best.  They come back into the house where Lena immediately starts telling Emmeline that she is handling her eggs all wrong.  Emmeline decides to throw one of the hard boiled grenades at Lena.  Lena runs upstairs crying.

Emmeline is hopping around saying "I a bunny.  Wibbit, wibbit."  Frog-bunny hybrids apparently eat blue mini eggs and then wipe their paws all over the couch.  Because frog-bunnies "no use nakins!"

Lena is sobbing upstairs because there are only "boy shows" on TV. 

Is it wrong to add Bailey's to my now cold java?  Happy Easter everyone!


Moving Sucks

I'm in purgatory.  Packing purgatory.  We closed on our house a few weeks ago but can't move in for a few more weeks.  I've been organizing, cleaning, and painting what I can.  I have "packed" several garbage bags full of items that rob me of my will to live of the kids toys.  I have donated an entire SUV worth of baby clothing.  I have given a crib and toddler bed to a family in need.   I have transplanted my garden.  We have "eaten down the cupboards" so I don't have to move all those items.  I have reached the end of what I can do at this point. 

But, now I'm stalled because if I pack any more we will begin to need those items.  I'm already hearing:

"Do you know where my (insert some boy thing that probably hasn't been used in 6 months) is? I can't find anything in this mess."

"Mommy, why our stuff in da gawbage? You packin it der?"

"Mommy, have you seen my super annoying horrible singing toy that makes you want to poke out your eardrums with an ice pick but you can't since you already packed the ice pick?" (Ok, that may have been slightly paraphrased)

My response: "Check in the piles." (Oh, and good luck with that muahahahahahahaha......)

So, I will continue to live in this labyrinth.  And, I will find super important critical chores to complete in preparation for our upcoming move - like sorting a gigantic bag of nails or checking expiration dates on salad dressing.   Since my mind can't process more than 1/4 of a thing at a time right now due to stress induced brain apathy - my writing is suffering.  I believe I *may* have packed my muse.  What?  It's not like she was doing anything...

You still haven't purchased our BEST SELLING BOOK - "I Just Want To Pee Alone"?  What are you waiting for?  It's all the rage - don't be left out....


Tuesdays with Morals

Once a week I take the girls to gymnastics.  They absolutely LOVE it.  In fact, every day I always ask them what their favorite part of today was.  Emmeline always answers "Nastics" - even if we haven't been in 5 days.  Emmeline was in the "Mommy and Me" class where I have to go with her - because apparently sending your toddler alone into a ginormous room full of dangerous apparatus is frowned upon in that establishment.  Whatever. So, I was forced to spend time with a room full of SAHMs all decked out in Lululemon and Lucy sizing each other up over the top of their ginormous Kate Spade sunglasses. This makes me uncomfortable - which leads to me saying totally inappropriate things like "Nothing like golden showers on the trampoline".   Oddly enough, I don't get invited to many Chardonn-Play Dates.

By the grace of God, both just got promoted to the next level. So now I can hide in the waiting area and pretend to read a 2 year old copy of Latina magazine while eavesdropping on conversations about how the nanny might be a binge eater. 

In the class that Emmeline was placed into, one of the coaches is a middle-aged hippy freak show. For some reason she sings as they stretch in a falsetto operetta about whatever the theme of the week is. Sometimes she sings about aquatic creatures.  Other times about holidays or seasons.  This week the theme was Farm Animals.  I was expecting some Puccini-esque versions of Old MacDonald's Farm or  The Farmer in the Dell.   But, no. 

Imagine this in a very loud, opera-y style, made up song:
"High fructose corn syrup is very bad for you!"
"Organic, organic, organic!"
"Don't eat animals, eat your vegetables."
"MSG is not for me!"
"If your mom serves you processed food tell her NO!  It's not healthy!"


1. How many 3-4 year olds know what high fructose corn syrup, MSG, and processed foods are?
2. I don't need passive aggressive attacks on parenting during gymnastics class, especially when I'm trying to eavesdrop on the story about who the neighbor is banging this week.
3. I have a hard enough time getting my toddler to eat.  The last thing I need is for you to tell her it's ok to say she doesn't have to eat. 

She wrapped up the class extolling the virtues of Tea Tree Oil and how using it clears up stinky feet.   After class I asked Emmeline what she learned that day.  Her response: "Dat wady dat teaches is weiwd."

That's my girl.

Do Bear Crawls...but don't wear fur!

Maybe I'll just bring a copy of our BEST SELLING BOOK - I JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE.  It's sure to make me a few new mommy friends because it is JUST THAT FUNNY and people will want to know what I'm reading. 


Who Brought The Awkward Old Lady? Oh, Wait. It's Me. Crap.

I'm standing in a group of people I don't know. They're all young, beautiful and sleep-deprived-bags-under-eyes-free.  I'm like the awkward giant elephant in the room.  One of the girls points to my 2 year old and says "Where did this one come from?"

And, because I say awkward things when I feel awkward I respond "From my loins."


Yeah.  That was me. Bringing an awkward situation to a new even more extra McAwkward level.  Yay.



Child, Canine or Concocted Connundrum

Welcome everybody to another rousing episode of
"Who Consumed the Following Objects:
My Child?
My Canine?
or Has My Cerebellum Concocted This?"
Keep track of your answers...we will review at the end!

Nothing like a healthy helping of Mitchem
deodorant to start off your day.
Rose-scented breath and no sweaty teeth to embarrass you.
 This individual eats all the lemons that fall off our trees in the back yard - peel and all. Thankfully we are a scurvy-free household.

I had to restock several brushes during my recent "I need to paint everything in my line of vision" spree because apparently they make a delectable snack. Who knew.
Poop is exciting.  Rainbow poop is the apex of awesome.

I guess I don't need to ask if you've brushed your teeth today - since you just ate enough toothpaste to keep you out of the dentist office for a decade. 

Keeping us safe from potential predators...

Polly Pocket has delicious clothing - and it's bite sized!

Just because I use oatmeal based soap - doesn't mean it should be consumed in lieu of breakfast.

Delicious on cakes, cupcakes, and brownies. 
But, don't restrict yourself to actually putting them on TOP of baked goods. 
You can just chew the top off and sprinkle directly into your mouth!
It's time to reveal the answers to:
Who consumed these items?
Was it my Child (Emmeline)?
Was it my Canine (Loki)?
or was it concocted by my sleep deprived cerebellum?

Well. It was a trick question. 

All of the aforementioned things have been eaten by Emmeline. 
Loki knows better.  And even in my delirium I couldn't imagine these things....
If you answered Emmeline (child) to all the above questions - you clearly know too much about the bizarre habits of my family....

Bon Appétit!


My Daughter's Doll Is Trying To Kill Me

A few years ago, Lena wanted Cicciobello like you read about.  Every time the commercial came on for this stupid ass doll she reminded us of this fact.  Which means we heard about Cicciobello approximately 74 billion times a day as we inched toward the holiday shopping season.  We were graced with "Chi-chi Bella" Christmas morning - and have been fearing for our lives ever since. 

Cicciobello is a doll that is ill. a fever.  Shim has a sore throat.  Shim whines and cries the minute the pacifier is out of shis mouth.  I believe that Cicciobello is Italian for "I Will Kill You In Your Sleep".    I'm positive that Creepybello stalks me. 

Here is where he was the other morning:

Sticking out of the closet.  Like one of those paintings that the eyes are drilling a hole through your soul no matter where you are in the room.  Waiting.  Plotting.  Scheming a mass murder of sorts.  Just look at him. 

I mean, look at that HAIRCUT!!! Did they cut it with a shiv before they packaged him and shipped him off to unsuspecting hosts?  If that doesn't scream "I am totally joining a cult when I get old enough" I don't know what does.   It's like he's biding his time until he gets the "signal" to start his murderous spree. 

Here he was this morning:

I believe Creepybello was trying to pull the dog under the bed to eat for a midnight snack.  Thankfully I woke up in time to save our Maltese.  I pulled out all the batteries on this evil incarnate in plastic but somehow it still eeks out words like "Ma-Ma," "Wah, Wah, Wah" and "Sleep with one eye open..."

I'm pretty sure I'm imagining that the doll is stalking me, right?  It's just a doll.  Not a serial killer.  I'm just going to take a shower to clear my mind and shake off the feeling that I'm being watched.  I mean, no one ever dies in the shower in a horror movie, right?

In case you haven't heard - I'm part of a Best Selling compilation of humor bloggers in a new book called I Just Want To Pee Alone.  Every page of it will make you laugh out loud - regardless if you're a Mom, Dad, Grandparent, friend of a friend who gave birth... Available in paperback and all e-reader formats. Leave a comment on the Amazon site and let me know what you think!  xoxox



Parenthood - It's Not For The Weak

*Thunk* The glass shower door latches shut.  I exhale a breath that I have been holding since the Mesozoic ages.  I am so overwhelmed with everything going on in my life right now that I'm one minute from a breakdown.  We are a week away from moving from Boston to San Francisco with a 4 year old and 13 month old in tow.  Between packing, saying goodbye to loved ones and overall anxiety about moving to a place where we know absolutely no one - my nerves were shredded.

My family is under strict orders that regardless of hell, high water, locusts or pizza delivery - no one is to disturb me.  I feel some of the tension releasing as I lather up my hair. I close my eyes and let the scalding water pour over my face.  Sigh....

"Mommy!  Daddy needs you." 

Dammit!  I thought I had locked the door.  "Lena, tell Daddy to handle it."

"Ok Mommy!"

I rinse the rosemary mint bubbles from my hair, reveling in the warmth of the cascading soapy water.  I massage conditioner in and "Mommy! You hafta come!  Daddy says it's a mergency!"

Oh. My. Freakin. God!!!!!!

Loudly bitching about the fact that I can't even have two minutes to myself, I wrap my soaking body in a towel and drip my way down the hallway - my hair still full of Aveda.  I walk into the baby's room.

My husband has one hand on my wiggly, poop covered baby so she doesn't fall off the changing table. With his other hand he is holding the Diaper Genie so he can puke into it.  "I was (retch) trying to change Emmeline's diaper (retch). And, she was moving all around (puke) and there was shit (retch) and she's slippery now and I can't stop (retch).  The smell...and there's corn...(retch)." 

I'm laughing so hard that tears are obscuring my vision.   I rescue my baby girl from the death grip of the Pukeasaurus Rex and start to clean her up so I can return to my poop-free shower sanctuary.  Diaper changes: Not for the weak of 

In case you haven't heard - I'm part of a Best Selling compilation of humor bloggers in a new book called I Just Want To Pee Alone.  Every page of it will make you laugh out loud - regardless if you're a Mom, Dad, singleton, baby sitter, know someone who once had a kid...  A great read for anyone literate!  Available in paperback and all e-reader formats. Leave a comment on the Amazon site and let me know what you think!  xoxox


IQ of 6? You're Hired!

Remember the days when you went into a store and there were actually knowledgeable people employed there?  You were greeted, your questions were answered, and you left with what you needed.  Wasn't that so cute?

Now more often than not, when I walk into a store I am uber annoyed at "customer service" provided.  And I use the term "provided" very loosely.  If you're not "greeted" by a surly look or completely being ignored - the person with whom you're trying to get help is a freaking idiot, doesn't speak enough English to be of assistance or wastes your time pounding on a keyboard that doesn't yield the results you need.  It's as if hiring managers are standing outside of the Wheel of Fortune exit:

"Hello there.  I couldn't help but notice that when _INK COTTON CANDY was on the board - you guessed 'Mink Cotton Candy'.  Would you like to work at my bank?"

Aren't we in a depressed economy?  We should have the crème de la crème of people working at the available jobs because there are more people looking for work than there are jobs available.  I'm not saying stupid people should not be employed (not procreate - yes. Starve - no).  Just don't put them in the jobs where they need to SPEAK TO/ASSIST THE PUBLIC.

Apparently companies are too busy looking for their help in the Walmart parking lots to actually interview the candidates they place in the open recs.  So, I'm here to help.  Here's a questionnaire to have applicants complete:
Are you an asshole?
Are you commonly referred to as any of the following:
  • Douchenozzle
  • Fucktard
  • Lowest Common Dominator Reject
  • OhMyGodYouFuckingIdiotWhatTheFuckIsWrongWithYou
Do  you have any misspelled tattoos - that you know of?
Do you drool?
Do people keep giving you an "I'm With Stupid" shirt with an arrow pointing upward?
If people are going to ask you a question in the language most commonly spoken in the area - can you reply equally coherently? Do you understand this question?
If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, please head to the next Wheel of Fortune tryouts. 

WHAT?!? You haven't picked up your copy of I Just Want To Pee Alone yet?  Don't be a Wheel of Fortune reject.  Just click on the link on the right and you're on your way to being a part of the humor phenomenon that's burning up the charts. 


How Best Selling Authors Spend Their Day

Now that I'm a best selling author - everyone keeps asking me how it's changed me.  Well, I'll tell you.  I am spending my afternoon being pampered and living the lux life. And by "pampered" I mean spray painting my furniture that is so sun-faded that I'm not entirely sure what color it was when I bought it 10 years ago. And by "lux life" I mean keeping an eye on my dog to protect him from the golden eagle that has been snacking on small pets in the area around where I live. (Have you seen those bastards?  They are HUGE!!!)  That's how best selling authors roll. 

So, yes.  I can understand your jealousy.  But, you can live vicariously by picking up your very own copy of I Just Want To Pee Alone and laugh until you stop...much like we uber famous best selling authors do.  Just click on that link on the right to get your very own copy.

Oh, Tina Fey...could you please pass me some tea?  Just because we beat you doesn't mean we can't still be friends...Tina?  Where are you going?  Tina....



Funniest Book EVER - (And this time - not just according to my Mom)

Who is a best selling author?  That's right people. This. Freakin. Girl.  This one. Right here.  SEE?!?

 I Just Want to Pee Alone.  The kick ass book I am a part of with 37 of the funniest women on the internet - is:
#1 Hot New Releases: HUMOR
#1 Hot New Releases: HUMOR ESSAYS
Be a part of the book that's got everyone reaching for the Depends...

It's released on Amazon, iTunes, Smashwords (for Nook, Kobo and Sony Reader).  It's available in print or ebook. YOU NEED TO read this. 

Every single story will have you laughing so hard that people will ask "What the heck are you laughing at?" and then it would require 10 minutes to explain so it might be easier to just pick up an extra copy to hand them.   

See that Amazon link on the right?  That's the best way to get it - sends you directly to the link.  Now go.  Be a part of something huge. And funny. 

Don't forget to leave a review.  If you happen to mention how Tracy from Momaical might be the funniest person who ever lived...well...I may leave a little something for you in my will.  Just sayin'.

Here's a review from Meredith to Mommy - just in case you need some MORE proof at how high-larious this book is....



Signs You *Might* Be PMSing

A My Little Pony wedding has you reaching for the Kleenex. Only chocolate will make you feel better that Princess Celestia did not show up at your day of Holy Matrimony. Apparently she was too busy that day holding down the barn at Ponyland. Whatever, bitch.

You’re positive that you are have been impregnated with an alien fetus that is currently clawing its way out through your abdomen.  What you need is some chocolate.  Which you don’t have because the kids JUST HAD TO HAVE THE LAST OF THE CHOCOLATE MILK AT BREAKFAST. FML

You’re super pissed off at your husband for eating the last of the Oreos. You loudly rant about it for a few minutes. Then you remember that he’s away on a business trip.  And hates Oreos.

When you discover there is no chocolate anywhere in sight, you turn to the Special K with chocolate and pilfer through those stupid damn flakes for a few shards of chocolate.

Unsatisfied with this course of action, you take to licking the side of the empty Hershey’s syrup bottle because that’s the only “chocolate” in the ENTIRE GOD DAMN FREAKIN HOUSE. WHAT THE HELL.

You decide that your need for chocolate outweighs your desire to work on your ass indentation on the couch.  Which means you need to get dressed.  However, you’re so fat and bloated and God damn disgusting due to your alien pregnancy, that the only thing getting you into your 7 For All Mankinds involves a vat of coconut oil and a slip-and-slide.  Which makes you cry.  You reach for the Kleenex only to discover that there’s NOT ONE FREAKIN KLEENEX IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE????? REALLY PEOPLE? Who used all the KLEENEX?  After a 10 minute rant about people having to tell you when we run out of stuff so you can replace it because no one does anything around here but you – you remember that you used the last of the Kleenex watching the Pony wedding.

Defeated, worn out from all the crying, ranting, and lack of nose-wiping-implements – you sit back in your spot on the couch and wipe your tears off with your sleeve. Suddenly in a brilliant epiphany you remember that you hid one Nestle’s Crunch bar in the freezer after Halloween. You dive into the freezer and scarf down that bastard like the troll you are. All is right with the world…for now.  Oh, great.  Baby Jaguar is stuck on a mountain?  Will Diego be able to save him in time? Al rescate, Diego, al rescate! *Sniff*

This may be indicative of PMS.  Or, you may just be an asshole.  The jury's still out on me.



Most Likely To Be....Published!

So you know when you're at lunch in high school and all the cool girls are sitting at "their" table.  You're not really welcome at it - so you stare at it from the other really long prison style table and daydream about what it would be like to BE one of the cool girls?  It's not that you're a high school pariah.  You don't have a third eye or lurch around like Quasimodo.  It's more like you're just kind of...there.  You exist.  You have friends.  You go through the high school motions.  But you're not ever going to be standing in the Homecoming Queen's court.

Then one day, you make friends with one of the cool girls because she's in one of your nerdy classes.  She discovers you use your smart ass humor as your defense because you know you're not that cool but you SO DESPERATELY WANT TO BE!  And then - it happens.  You get invited to eat at the cool girls table.  You are so freakin' excited that you just want to usurp all the oxygen in the room by babbling, trying to cover your fear of being discovered (and then really shunned instead of just invisible).  And, then you think - God. Will they find me funny or should I just shut my mouth and not try to horrify them?  If I flap will it confirm their probable suspicions that I really DON'T belong at the cool girls table and it was just one giant mistake asking me? Should I eat only ice cream sandwiches instead of this chicken patty? 

Well. This is the adult version of that. 

In January I received an email from Jen at People I Want To Punch In The Throat asking me to contribute an essay for her upcoming book.  I just about puked writing 7,000 versions of the only idea I could come up with for this submission.  She asked for HYSTERICAL. Oh, God. Would she find me hysterical or just annoying?  I hit send on the email and tried to forget about it.

I figured she passed it over.  And then I received an email that my essay had been chosen to be a part of the book I Just Want To Pee Alone.   Holy. Shitballs.   And then I read the list of the other authors.  I had hit the blogging jackpot.  I was at the cool girls table.  Me!!!! 

Look at the company I am keeping these days!
               People I Want to Punch in the Throat                
           The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva              
                                 My Life and Kids                                 
                                                 Insane in the Mom-Brain                                              
                                  Kelley's Break Room                              
Naps Happen
Toulouse and Tonic   
                                     The Fordeville Diaries                                  
                                           Hollow Tree Ventures                                      
                                           The Mom of the Year                                         
                                              Cloudy, With a Chance of Wine                                    
                                          Random Handprints                                  


Moving, Mortgages and Painting with Candy

Some of life's biggest stressors include: Selling a house, buying a house, starting a new job, lack of sleep, tax preparation, and breathing in, out, and then in again.  And, because we laugh in the face of stress - my family has decided to do ALL of these things at the same time.  That's pretty much how we roll in Casa Loca.

Our landlords announced that they were placing our house on the market - which basically lit a fire under our asses to find a home to purchase.  Except there are NO houses on the market in this area.  None. Zip. Zilch. Nada.  The minute one gets even close to being listed - multiple offers above and beyond the asking price are being tossed into the ring.  It gets into an ugly bidding war: I'll raise you $20K, one refrigerator and a small dog.   People are bidding so high for properties that they will never get a loan for it because it won't even be appraised anywhere near the price. 

Then, once your offer is accepted, you have to get financing - even though you are preapproved. Even though you just wrote a check so large that it made you puke in your mouth to sign it for a small portion of the down payment.  Mortgages: a whole can of fucking fabulous.  You are running here, there and to Jupiter to get a DNA sample from your 4th grade teacher and providing reasonable explanations about your Kindle spending/addiction. Insurance: a whole other can of fuck my life.  Once you somehow get that all squared away - then you somehow have to come up with payments for everyone who has ever breathed near the property. 

"Let's meet with the house inspector people.  Oh, ok, we need termite people too?  I guess I could meet with the painter for an estimate.  And, sure, another estimate?  I need to contact who? When's the meeting for the title? No, I haven't called to arrange the carpet cleaners yet. Yeah, I can drop this off in East Bejesus in my "free time".  No, I don't know where that slip of paper from when I was 3 years old went.  HAVE I STARTED PACKING YET?  Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?  Yes, in all my free time.  Do not get too close - I'm grouchy and just inhaled an entire sleeve of Fat Mints (because let's be serious - there's nothing "Thin" about that Girl Scout Crack).  Was it wrong to eat that for lunch?  Yes, that was my 2 year old having a gigantic meltdown in the paint aisle because I won't buy her a $25 paint brush to use for her "ake up". 

Oh, sure. I'll drop all this paperwork off and run around to get all the crap ready for taxes.  Yay.  My head is so far up my ass right now that my eyelashes are tickling my uvula.  Just throw more shit on my to-do pile!
Oh, you want to parade people through my current residence?  No, it's not at all inconvenient.  I'll just straight jacket my kids into the trampoline since they are the human equivalent to tornadoes."

So - what do I decide?  To paint Lena's bedroom furniture - because clearly I don't have any working brain cells. Then Emmeline wants hers done too.  Well - it is less expensive than trying to buy new stuff for them to destroy, right?

Lena wants her new room to be a beautiful pale pink color.  So, I decide to paint her furniture gray and the inside of the drawers the same pink as her walls will be.  I'm up to my elbows in "Unrequited Love" pink and "Timber Wolf" gray  Benjamin Moore paint, when Lena comes over to inspect the work.  She bends over and accidentally pours a fucktillion Nerds into the can of paint.  So, now the "Unrequited Love" has morphed into "Tainted Love". Gee, Tracy.  Why is the dresser so....lumpy?  Oh, that would be the nerds.   They cost extra but are worth every penny...

So, if you're wondering why the writing on Momaical is huffing a gigantic can of Benjamin Moore lately - that would be the reason.  Benjamin Moore...with a dash of Nerds.

**No Nerds were wasted in the project. Emmeline quickly scarfed the ones that were not added to the paint (top right corner).  "Yummy Mommy!  Me yove da gway Newds."



Sponsored Post: Introducing Ellie!!!

A few months ago PV Body contacted me to promote their workout gear.  And, because of the HUGE upswing in sales from people who want to work out like I do - they decided to branch out and create their own amazing label: Ellie!

It's a great site.  You take a quiz on your workout (or non-workout) style and which type of gear you like to wear.  Then, you let them send you the coolest looking and comfortable Ellie stuff to wear.  And, when you run to the grocery store, you can splash some juice box on your forehead and tell everyone that you are just running in for some healthy fare after your super intense workout. (It doesn't MATTER that you have been watching an NCIS marathon.  They will totally believe you - because that's how awesome these clothes are). 

I chose an Ellie long sleeved blue shirt.  The kind with the thumb holes - in case I decide to get all pastel emo-y.  Because emo people wear fingerless gloves, don't they?  Well whatever. In my My Little Pony Emo Cult we do. 

I also received an awesome pair of super comfy Ellie yoga pants. Around 5:45pm I roll out my yoga mat, brush off the cookie crumbs and turn on a workout video.  That way when my husband gets home from work I can have a great excuse as to why dinner is not even close to being prepared.  "Hello!  I'm working out here so I can be eye candy.  Which is clearly more important than feeding you - where are your priorities?" 

It's really a great program.  It's only $49.95 monthly and Ellie mails you a new outfit that suits your workout (and blog reading/internet surfing) needs.  And then when the shiny pink envelope shows up at your house - it's like a little "go you" party.  Your neighbors will think you're uber serious about your healthy life style.  You will be the envy of your twitter tweeple.  And, when you post a picture of the ginormous double cheeseburger you're housing for dinner - you can be - but I'm in my Ellie workout gear.  I have EARNED these calories, dammit.

So, go check it out.  This month features the Little Black Collection - clothing inspired by those hot French chicks who look all sexy when they are sweating.  Or not sweating.  Ooooh la la.  We want that, don't we ladies?  Plus, you can order the pants a size too small and it's like a giant set of Spanx for your lower half.  Which, is hot.

Even Lauren Conrad is on board - clearly she reads my blog as well. Don't feel intimidated by my awesome reach and branding power.  That's just how I roll.  It's hot.  You want to be hot.  You can be hot in Ellie.  Go. Be hot. Tell em I sent ya.

Here's me being hot in Ellie. 
Ok, this is not actually me. 
But, it totally could be if I worked out.
And was blonde. 
And had WAY better genetics. 


Tracy: The Tormentor

I strap her into the chair; pulling the belts a little tighter to ensure escape was impossible.  She struggles against the restraints, but her efforts are futile.   She juts her chin out in dissension.  She will not show weakness...yet.  I grab her foot and yank it toward me. She knows what's coming next and begins to shriek her protests.

"Scream!  Scream all you want!  There's no one to hear you for miles! Muahahahaha!"

Yanking and twisting I proceed.  Every teardrop fueling my fervor. "Sing, little canary.  Sing for mamma...."

The screeching reverberates, creating a cacophony in the chamber. Neighborhood dogs begin to bay along with the tortured symphony. What may be seconds or eons passes - the threshold of what one can take has been far surpassed.  I unbuckle the straps and set my prisoner free.

"Ok, Lena. Your toenails are all clipped. Go get your socks and shoes on for school."


They Tried To Make Me Go To Rehab - I Said No, No, No!

The old wood protested my weight on the dilapidated staircase. One wrong move and I would plummet to the space below with the rats that claim this hovel as home.  My neurons are firing on all cylinders as I try to retrace my steps to figure out what led me here to this lowly state.   

I need to call in for reinforcements but if I wait any longer, it might be too late.  I take a deep breath and steel myself against what I am about to face. 

It was worse than I imagined.  Vagrants littered the shadowed rooms.  The pungent stench of death and decay perfumed the hallways, burning my eyes and singeing my nose.  I step in something that causes my shoe to slip - but I refuse to allow my brain to process thoughts about what it might be.  I forge on ahead focusing only on my search and recovery mission.

I'm tripping over objects.  The ground is covered in a residue. The walls are spattered.  It looks like Jackson Pollock came here to die.  I'm beginning to give up hope.  Then - I spot her.  I barely recognize her.  She struggles against capture but succumbs after a brief fight.  I don't even have a clue how to get her clean.  But - she's my baby - and have to act fast....because my husband will be home soon.

Oh, shit.  Too late.

"Tracy! What the fuck happened here? You let the kids play with an entire jar of Kool-Aid mix UPSTAIRS?  Holy. Shit. What the hell have Suzanne and you been doing? Were you guys even watching the kids?????"

"Um...well...we were watching Bradley Cooper's abs...I mean...the A-Team. And...well...we asked them if they were one was crying... Yeah....So...I'll go get the spot bot..."

Dat is weiwd.  Me do NOT know what happen.

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