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.)


School Picture Day - AKA White Trash Version of My Child or $60 Pissed Into The Wind

I originally posted this last year - but it's the same story every year. So, I'm reposting it between arguments with my 6 year old about what to wear. I am also Pinteresting a sign for her to wear around her neck that says: "Slowly put the comb down and back away from my child. No, I don't want you to fix her hair into a style that makes her look like a window licker."  

It's that time of year again: school picture day. Time for me to spend a ludicrous amount of money for a handful of pictures of a white trash version of the child I gave birth to. 

You know the drill. You drop your child off, hair finely coiffed. Carefully chosen outfit. Painstaking time spent figuring out if you want picture package K122 or Q143 and if 150 wallets of your cherub is going to be enough for everyone you have ever known to receive pictures of your baby's kindergarten year. Directions of "Don't do that with your hair" and "Please don't make that weird smile". You hand them a check for $35,000 to pay for package D247 (plus 2 more 5x7's, a blue background and extra McSpecial retouching), kiss them good bye and hope for the best.  After school you pick up your child and breathe a sigh of relief because she still looks "normal." Maybe this year will be THE YEAR! She is so cute and wonderful and the pictures will end up being the one they use on posters on schools across the country! I just know it!

Then, several weeks later you excitedly open a heavy package of pictures and stare in shock at what you just purchased for more than what you paid for your first car. This person looking back at you has several features of your child, however is in no way the one you dropped off (or even picked up) at school. She is the white trash stunt double, clad in a filthy, disheveled version of an outfit you purchased because it brought out the blue in her now crossed eyes. The buttons on the beautiful cardigan are completely askew and there's a lovely reminder of the lunch you packed for her not only on one of her lapels, but also in her teeth. What did they do with her hair?  Her curls have been hacked through with a gardening tool. A nesting of voles looks to have taken residence in the corner of her hair. Who did they hire to prepare these kids - blind phrenologists???

She has adorned herself with "earrings" of stickers she absconded with to school earlier that week. The extra retouching has made a sunburst effect on the stickers. And - what the hell is on her eyelids? Oh my goodness. LIPSTICK? She must have brought her pink sparkly lip gloss to school with her too - because everyone knows lip gloss doubles as eye shadow. The only thing missing is a My Little Pony grill and a thermos of Miller Highlife in her Minnie Mouse lunch box. Since I paid the extra $37 dollars to have her name bedazzled in the corner of the picture, I can't even pretend the picture is some random distant relative. Mint.

So, even if Life touch makes Lena look like an extra from Honey Boo Boo  - at least I have this picture:

Lena's 1st Grade Pictures
Lena's Kindergarten Pictures

Oh, (gasp) look at how much she's grown since last year..... 


IKEA: The Place For Ginormous (But Reasonably Priced) Freakouts

It was time to buy Emmeline a "big girl" bed. For the past year she has been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. I was petrified to put her any higher than the height of a mattress because she thrashes around all night like she's having a grand mal seizure. We decided to go with an Ikea bed frame, having learned from Lena how a small child can decimate furniture like it's their job.

If you have never experienced the wonderland that is Ikea - picture this: a warehouse stuffed full of every home decorating thing you could ever want (and many things you didn't even know you wanted) mixed with low prices and sprinkled with Swedish meatballs (free when you spend over $150 on throw pillows and plastic storage bins!).

We set off with a VERY specific plan in mind: Get in. Get a bed. Get out. But, even the best laid plans sometimes go awry... Do not look directly into the displays - look down and find your way via sonar. Navigating the labyrinth of closet accessories, plastic colanders and duvet covers - we headed directly to the bed frame section without a second of deviation. Boom. Found the frame, wrote down the numbers LIKE A BOSS and walked right toward the exit and Ooh! Look! Sand toys for $0.49! 

Before we knew it, we had a giant body bag full of toys to make pretend bricks and cakes, plastic plates, nightlights, horse shaped cake pans and stuffed rodents. We rounded the corner, dragging behind us our now defunct plan in a plastic bag with $100 worth of superfluous home accessories.

We were about to head towards the registers when the Ikea cafeteria lured us in with her siren song of beverages made from exotic lingnonberry. Plus, it would be a free lunch because we were spending over the requisite amount. All the thousands of calories we burned digging through bins of kitchen utensils were quickly replenished with our decadent meals.I grabbed the girls each a little Cocoa/Oat Ball dipped in chocolate and covered in coconut as a little sweet finish to our lunch.

Lena took a bite of her sweet treat. And that's when my husband decided to question the ingredients. (He has a tree nut allergy - and it's probable that our kids may. So, we're conscientious about label reading - especially with desserts.)

Lena began to churn the bite of chocolate oat pastry in her mouth. It began to froth out, like my child had been replaced with a rabid raccoon. Panic. Gagging. Frantic run to the ladies room. The next hideous hour of our lives. Every time we tried to leave the ladies room she was convinced she was going to die. Sobs of WHY DID YOU GET ME THAT? (Even though I read all the ingredients to her several times and the actual DIRECTIONS on how to make them to tell her there is no nuts in the recipe). Bemoans of I WISH WE HAD NEVER COME TO THIS PLACE - WHY DOES EMMELINE EVEN NEED A BED? bounced around the tiled ladies room walls.

I began to receive text messages from my husband: Where are you? Did you fall in? Are you coming down? NO, thanks to you I'm witnessing a freakin oat ball exorcism here. WTFucker. I wanted to run out and strangle him for doing this to me her. I wanted to drag him in by the ear and make him deal with this unnecessary hysteria because I told everyone multiple times there were NO nuts in the dessert. But I'm at motherfuckin IKEA. My husband would be arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior for entering the ladies room (albeit very unwillingly) - and Lena wouldn't stop acting like she was going to die long enough to leave (although we did get a lovely tour of the facilities as she dry heaved in 23 of 35 stalls).  I want to slap Munchhausen By Proxy moms because I would NEVER want to purposely go through this - and SOMEONE needed to be slapped.  Might as well be a terrible parent.

Finally, I had suffered long enough. I grab one of those gibungous yellow plastic shopping bags and hand it to Lena. I inform her she is to vomit into the bag should the need arise. Lena sulked and rode around on the cart with her head in a huge shopping bag. Emmeline skipped around the aisles and told everyone "My sistew is pukey and snooky". $306 dollars, a $0.52 bag full of hypochondria and a new project to put together - the giant sliding glass doors close behind us on that super enjoyable experience.

When we get into the car a little voice (hoarse from dry heaves) pipes up from the back seat "How long until we get home? I'm STARVING!!!" 


Mommy Dearest to the Extreme - Ew.

So, life right now is great. And exhausting. And fun. And exhausting. And fulfilling. And exhausting. And did I mention exhausting?

Therefore I have had ZERO time to write for myself. But, if you are needing a fix you can find me each week at In The Powder Room. This week I'm talking about a sign I read about Rules for Dating My Son. It was creepy. So I wrote my own: 5 Rules for Being Human. Let me know if I missed any.

I also wrote this post for Families in the Loop right before I began teaching this year. Here was the tumult of emotions I was experiencing at that time:

Hope I can find a few minutes of inspiration to write. I want to tell you all about my students, some of their bizarre fashion choices, their humor and their teenage strife. Plus, there's a bunch to tell you about my little ones - although I am missing some really hilarious Emmeline quips. Sigh....

Miss you. Fingers crossed to find some calm soon. And if you're the praying type - say an extra one for my Mom who is dealing with Stage 4 cancer right now. xoxo


Are You Looking At My Balls?

A new job, a family with young children, a mother with Stage 4 cancer, a husband and a dog and a house and chores and friends and myself and obligations and lions and tigers and bears - OH. MY.

I'm trying to juggle it all - but how can I when I'm totally uncoordinated and wearing out-of-style shoes?

I'm squawking about it today on In The Powder Room:



One of the most wonderful things in the world are baby feet and hands. When I had my first baby I spent hours just holding those minuscule miracles; kissing every baby finger and every tiny toe. My little ones always had a hand wrapped around my finger and many loving foot squeezes. Even now in the evening when I cuddle with my girls, each of my hands is filled with a kid hand or foot so I can coddle and smother them with love.

I am so obsessed with tiny baby hands and feet that my girls have also become enamored with tiny appendages.  Any time we are near a baby, shrieks of "Awwwwwww tiny toes!" can be heard for miles.

I took hundreds of pictures of my girls hands and feet because they grow so quickly and become strong and independent. Soon, they don't want to grasp onto your finger just for a connection - "howdin hands is fow babies, Mommy." Feet become stinky from playing and jumping and running and living. So, I'm holding on for dear life to the tiny ones. Before long they're going to be asking to borrow my shoes instead of clunking around the house in a pair of my heels playing "dwess up."

I started a new job a few weeks ago - and suddenly I'm not around to kiss all those stubbed toes or help bandage blisters from new school shoes. Their hands are being held by someone else to cross the street and they're growing right before my eyes. I'm trying to hold on to every baby bit of my girls because I know how quickly these times fly. The girls are on the trampoline and using those strong feet to perform amazing stunts.  I head out to kiss their tiny finger tips and they bounce around the apparatus. I give them both giant hugs and kiss their palms.  As I'm heading back into the house I trip over the pooper scooper.

Me: "Hey, guys - have you been helping Mommy by cleaning up the dog poop?"
Lena: "Yeah! I used the pooper scooper and tossed the poop into the dirt over there."
Me: "Aw, you guys are awesome! I love you!"
Emmeline: "Me picked em up wif my hands cause dey awe yike yittle wocks and den I fwowed em!"

Please excuse me so I may gargle with bleach from touching those filthy, disgusting, vile little mitts.  Ptew. 

If You Like This - Please Share It!

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Featured Writer Here!

Read me In the Powder Room!