mom confession

Tales Of Real Life Goblin Sharks (And How To Avoid Them)









There exists in the wild a rare but uber-creepy predator called a Goblin Shark. The human form, however, is much more common and even more vicious.

The thing that makes the Goblin Shark so eerie is that it swims along, like a seemingly normal fish when all of the sudden it opens its mouth and a second mouth shoots forward and attacks its prey. Like it literally shows up out of nowhere and bites. If you don’t believe me, watch this video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh_HUIJkRzU

Ok so it might not technically be a second mouth but that’s exactly what it looks like! Then the appendage-mouth goes back inside and takes it’s normal form again.

As we were watching this Goblin Shark do it’s thang’ I realized I’ve been Goblin Sharked and maybe even been a Goblin Shark at one time or another. You know when someone says something kind of nice to you, but then it’s followed up by what you’re pretty sure is a fancily-dressed insult?

The statement starts off innocently enough but then reaches out of nowhere, spears you in the gut and goes back inside so suddenly the person has walked away before you even realize you’ve been Goblin Sharked!

Another form of Goblin Sharking is where the foe uses a sticky-sweet voice and you think you’re about to hear something nice, but what comes out is a total slam. My dad calls this a “poop-filled Twinkie.”

It’s like a passive-aggressive way of totally hurting someone’s feelings without looking like a totally bitty to the rest of the world. From the outside the Sharkette looks like a regular fish minding her own business, but it’s that moment the freakish hidden mouth shoots out that sticks with you.

I say no more! To the Goblin Sharks out there, either own up to your predator ways or keep your second mouth shut! And to those of us getting Goblin Sharked, let’s start calling them out!

To the former classmate who commented on how “nice and curvy” I’d gotten since high school I’d like to go back and say, “Hey Goblin Shark! I just had a baby six months ago and that sounds a lot more like an insult than you probably meant it to.”

And telling me my son’s hair is so “fun!” but am I planning on cutting it soon?? Obviously you don’t think it’s cute. Your second-mouth didn’t fool me there.

The real ocean-born Goblin Shark is rare in the wild but too common in the world of women. And because kids tend to learn by example, I’d bet you’d find a mini Goblin Shark in any 4th grade group of girls. So please remember, an insult dressed as a compliment is still ugly.

It’s Her Birthday But SHHHH…don’t tell!

20151111_085051Today my BABY turns 4. FOUR! But she doesn’t know that. And I’m not telling her either.

I asked my family members to hold off on their sweet “Happy Birthday” phone calls today so as far as she knows today is just Wednesday. Actually she doesn’t even know that. She’s 4. She kind of knows it’s morning time.

What can I say? Sometimes kids’ birthdays just fall on days that aren’t so convenient for the rest of the family, so we float them to days that work better for US! Notice I said kidS? Plural? No, this is not even close to the first time we’ve lied to our children about what day their birthday is actually on. I mean, she knows her birthday is March 16th, but kids don’t read calendars. She’ll think Saturday is actually March 16th!

When I first married Aaron I was all about THE DAY. We had to celebrate the anniversary on THE DAY, not the weekend of. He thought I was super weird and was adamant that the actual day didn’t matter as long as you got it in sometime. I’ve started to sway his direction. Honestly, as long as you’re super stealthy, like me, your child will be none the wiser! And I don’t feel bad at all! I’m not SKIPPING her birthday, just floating it! I’m not going to be able to get away with this much longer! Teenagers probably read calendars… don’t they?

Come to think of it, we floated my middle child’s 4th birthday too! Two years ago we closed on our current house on his birthday and my husband decided we HAD to move on that day. That was also a Wednesday. So the entire day was moving day. My parents were in town helping out so we went to Red Robin the next night for his birthday and opened gifts there. Then he had his big  Pirate Party that Saturday in our new backyard using the moving boxes as pirate ships.























Oldest child’s birthday is January 2nd, which is usually a horribly inconvenient day as it’s the end of Christmas Break. SO… we typically have her birthday a day or two early while we’re with cousins for New Years. She’s cool with it. She’s 9 and she may not actually even know what day her birthday is. She just knows she had cake. Funfetti cake and frosting from a box and canister. That’s how I roll.

And about that, Pinterest has ruined motherhood for me. Well it’s at least ruined birthdays for me. That pirate ship and pirate castle was, by far, the coolest thing I’ve ever done for a birthday party. (Aaron did most of it.)

I’m just not a Pinterest mom!











Honestly, I’m more like an 80’s mom.


I wish that little blonde girl in the front was me SO bad.











Invite 20 kids over, play some old-school party games, run wild for a while, have cake from a box, open gifts and go home with your goodie bag full of dollar store prizes. The snacks don’t have fancy labels, the photo booth is a plastic table cloth and the theme is up to my kid.


My kids are happy! My kids know they’re loved and special and precious and don’t need a 5-layer birthday cake ON their birthday to know that. It’s a fine line but I think I’m balancing the tight rope well.


*Mom Confession: Even after writing this, looking at the ridiculous Pinterest parties made me feel insecure and lame.



I Just Talked My Kids Into Eating McDonalds

th Is the phrase “pink slime” in your kids’ vocabulary? It is in mine…all thanks to my stinkin’ health-nut husband.

I’m not sure if it’s been mentioned on here yet but I am a slight Diet Dr. Pepper addict. Well guess who has THE BEST fountain Diet DP? You guessed it, McDonalds. When my oldest, Brighton, was an only child I was bored. Honestly, I was. I had come from working full-time, so all my friends were my co-workers, so I was a bit lonely! So when she got old enough to toddle around the play-land at McD’s I’d take her there with my iPod touch (Before I had a smart phone) and I’d sip Diet DP and let her play. It was a glorious escape even if it smelled like toddler feet. (Or hamburgers…I’ve realized they pretty much smell the same.)

Fast forward to Brighton’s Kindergarten year. I had Deacon by then. So EVERY DAY I’d drop her off at afternoon Kindergarten and swing through the McD drive-thru for my pick-me-up and once in a while I’d get Deacon something to eat. Not excessively, but once in a while. So my point is, I was there a lot and when it was convenient I’d let the kids eat there.

About a year ago my husband started indoctrinating my oldest with the idea that McDonalds was full of PINK SLIME. I could tell she was slightly grossed out but he’s such a health-nut he thinks everything is going to kill you. We take everything he says with a grain of kosher all-natural sea salt. It’s kind of a personal joke in my house. Like if we told someone to imitate Aaron they’d say something like, “Who wants some of my green smoothie? Full of Kale!” or “Sure, eat that (insert unhealthy food here) if you want to DIE!” Literally. He’s literally that dramatic about it.

So Brighton’s been on the edge with the Golden Arches for a while but it all went downhill when he showed her AND Deacon a YouTube video of the pink slime seen here.  That was IT. Every time we drove by they’d yell, “EW! Pink Slime!”

I should have been ecstatic! I should have bragged to the PTA moms like, “Dude, my kids are SO much healthier than yours. I bet your kids still ask for McDonalds right? Not my kids!” Okay, I kinda was. Then my friend Ashley wanted to take the kids out to dinner last week when our husbands were both out of town… to McDonalds. Her little boy had been asking to go there for two weeks and since it’s a rare treat for them she agreed. I wanted to go visit with my friend and not cook dinner, so I told my kids we were going out with friends.

When we pulled into the parking lot you would have thought I was taking my kids to a 1920’s dentist office!









“I don’t wannnaaa DIIIIEEEE!!!!” -3-year-old.

Finally I convinced my kids that eating there twice a year will NOT kill you. I even had to tell Deacon that the pink slime is in the hamburgers, so he could get McNuggets instead, which he did. (They’re actually so much worse!)

What the heck, man? I talked my kids into eating at McDonalds! What’s wrong with me? Honestly, their food totally grosses me out. Except the fries. MMM good, for about 2 minutes while they’re hot and fresh. After that they may as well be old sponges.

I don’t think we’ll be eating there for quite a while and I’m actually really glad my kids know enough about nutrition to recognize what’s real food and what’s not! It’s just so ironic!

Disclaimer: I think McDonald’s actually took the pink slime out of their food…  but may have snuck it back in while we weren’t looking. We were too busy eating McFlurries. Not entirely sure the accuracy of this. I’d kind of rather just not know.

Tears Over The Finality of it All

Me and my adorable niece, June

I’m sad. And on days  I’m sad my blog won’t be very funny. So move along if you wish. Or go ahead and read if you want to relate to someone’s sadness over infertility.

It’s over.  My child-bearing days are officially over and it feels so final. Last week I had an endometrial ablation and a tubal…something or other. They removed my tubes. My baby factory has been demolished. It also coincides with the year anniversary of when I “lost a baby” in an unconventional way and I’m still not 100% over it.

Not many people know, not even some of my closest friends, we tried to adopt a baby last year. We almost adopted a baby last year. The birth parents chose us and after a lot of ups and downs decided they would place the baby. We met the parents, one of which was a close family friend and introduced them to our kids. We were so thrilled to have our family complete.

The interesting thing about this, is that after I had Piper via IVF (my 3rd) I had the distinct impression that we would adopt a baby. I had always been open to the idea but when deciding if we should put it out there and create a profile with an adoption agency it was very clear to me that someone we knew would place their baby with us. So I waited… When this family told us it was a possibility shortly after she found out she was pregnant I just KNEW it was going to happen. I had no doubt in my mind. It felt so right.

Fast-forward to last January, about six weeks before she was due, and the birth mom changed her mind and decided to keep the baby. I know it was an incredibly hard decision for her and she had to do what she felt was right. I sobbed in my bed for 24 hours like someone had died. That’s what it felt like to me. Then had to get up and take care of the three precious babies I did have. I’d been picturing our future one way for the last four months and I had to deal with this loss. And for the first time ever had to cry with my kids over a sadness we shared. That was the hardest part.

This week I cried again with my most sensitive, middle child when I told him to be careful with my stomach. He excitedly asked if I was pregnant and I told him no, I just had surgery. I told him I would never be pregnant again and his sweet face sank as big alligator tears spilled out of his brown eyes. “You mean there will be no more babies?”

“Nope, buddy. I won’t have any more babies.” Tears. More tears.

The hard thing about secondary infertility is that it’s kind of not talked about. The support and sympathy isn’t there for moms who have one or more children, but long for more. We hear “Just be grateful for the ones you have.” I AM grateful. I’m incredibly grateful. I cherish every moment with them but I have more love in my heart for more children. And the fact is, I didn’t get to choose when to be done. I didn’t get to say, “I feel like we should have a 4th. And then have a 4th.” It didn’t happen for us and now it seems so final.

In the last year I’ve been able to look at my family with a sense of completion. I know what our future looks like and I relish the opportunities I’ve been given. It’s only with this surgery and the finality of it all that I’m brought back to that longing for more. So to those moms who never quite felt like their family was complete, but for whatever reason had to be done having babies I say “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry you have to feel that bittersweet sadness when you hear a pregnancy announcement. I’m sorry about that twinge of envy you feel when you see a family with five kids together at the park. I’m sorry you didn’t get to make the final decision on your family size. It’s not an easy thing to go through and I’m sorry for your loss.

I Tortilla-Bombed a Mexican’s House

tortillaIf you think that title sounds completely racist, you’d be right. But wait! It was all a misunderstanding, I promise!

Let’s back up a bit.

Last week I flew to Seattle to help my sister Heather move here to Boise. Yay!!! We spent days packing,  boxing and bubble wrapping while listening to early 2000’s R&B. It was glorious. Then the night before the move Heather’s husband declared that keeping anything from the fridge would be completely disgusting. So we gathered it all up to give or throw away.

Heather has a neighbor who is probably the sweetest person on planet Earth. She’s Mexican-American and from everything I’ve heard from Heather she couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. We decided we’d take all the non mystery-meat fridge food to this neighbor, Josi, to see if she wanted anything. There was good stuff in there! Salad dressings, cheese, olives…. tortillas.

“Josi was telling me how it drives her crazy when people assume she makes great Mexican food and asks her to bring it to parties,” Heather told me upon seeing the tortillas. “For a church function, the Relief Society president asked her to bring homemade tortillas and it really bugged her!”  Apparently Josi does make incredible homemade tortillas, but the assumption is still irritating/racist.  Then she told me a story how at a “favorite things” party at church Josi happened to open up a bag of tortillas that someone else brought and everyone (except Josi) thought it was hysterical.

So after hearing these stories I gather up two half gallons of milk, bags of cheese, some bottles and a bag of tortillas in my arms and we start walking down the street in the dark. We ring the doorbell and knock on the door but no one is home, so we head back to Heather’s. When we get close to Heather’s house I look down and my tortilla bag is upside-down and empty.

“What happened to the tortillas?!”- Me.

“Oh my gosh! I heard something fall on the doorstep but my arms were so full I couldn’t see anything and the bag of tortillas was still in your arms so I thought we were fine!”- Heather.

“You mean to tell me, we just dropped a bag of tortillas on your Mexican neighbor’s doorstep and ran?”- Me (through fits of horrified laughter.)

“Yes!” -Heather.

At this point we’re about to pee our pants from laughing so hard and our arms are still full of food.

We decide to go back into Heather’s house to unload our arms and then go back and get the tortillas off the doorstep.

We make it back to Josi’s house and upon seeing tortillas spread all over the front porch we erupt into more pee-inducing laughter. (We’ve both had 3 kids, laughing must be done cross-legged.) So we rush up to destroy the evidence and just as we’re bent over picking up the mess we see a car round the corner and suddenly we’re blinded by headlights.

We freeze.

“What are you guys doing?” – Sweet Josi.

I don’t know if I still thought it was funny or if I was so horrified I couldn’t control my emotions but I could still barely talk. I could see how this looked!

“We were bringing over armfuls of food from the fridge and we dropped tortillas on your doorstep!”- Heather.

(We had no armfuls of food.)

“You dropped tortillas on my doorstep?”- Sweet Josi asks doubtfully.

I finally compose myself enough to explain that we DID have armfuls of food and only noticed the tortillas were missing when we got back to Heather’s…. this is not looking good for us! Suddenly I feel like we’re on an episode of Seinfeld or Modern Family!

We could only explain ourselves and hope Sweet Josi bought our story but what are the odds people!?

I guess maybe it’s a good thing Heather moved? She might have potatoes hurled at her house next week.

Yep, I did that! #MOMFAIL


My youngest, Joe, turned 3 almost three weeks ago. One would think I would remember his age well. I vividly remember my pregnancy, and his birth. Who could forget getting themselves cut open and a doctor pulling another human out of your stomach? Yeah, I remember it well. Well, I apparently couldn’t remember that it all happened three years ago. Take a look:



Yep! I told the baker Joe was turning 2. The best part of this whole thing? I didn’t even notice the error. I was too enthralled with how great the cake looked to notice there was anything wrong. It took the husband one second. He looked at the cake and instead of getting excited like I was (okay, he wouldn’t get that excited over a cute cake no matter what) he said, “Why does it say he’s 2?” I said, “What?” The husband then pointed out the number 2 on the cake. God bless the husband, he assumed the baker made the mistake. Nope, it was me. I checked the emails to the baker and right there in bold letters I said Joe was turning 2. It was all Mama’s fault. In fact, the baker offered to change it to a 3, but I told her no way, it will make for a great story someday, either around the dinner table or in the therapist’s office!

Reposted with permission from Boisenewsmom.com

Yes that was me…crying in Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve

20151222_133317I have to admit something. The whole Christmas season gave me PMS this year. I don’t know what it was! I’d be all excited to do something Christmassy like make a Gingerbread house and then we’d sit down to do it and I’d get all cranky and crampy. Ok not crampy but super cranky. It made no sense. But it happened over and over. I had a full-on meltdown when putting up my decorations because I’d just been to a friend’s house who has TWENTY-FIVE Christmas bins and her house looked like the flippin’ Festival of Trees! Even the backs of her kitchen chairs were festive. It was like I went into the season just feeling like I didn’t have the “ho ho ho” spirit. I just had ho.

So this year we decided to take a vacation for Christmas instead of getting together with my family which we have done our entire 11 years of marriage. I was excited for the change and looking forward to it. Then I really did get a visit from Aunt Flo ON the plane ride to Washington. I was seriously MAD. I cursed the very existence of my uterus! We were going to a resort with a giant indoor water park and I was going to be sidelined! I was looking forward to making memories with my kids not sitting 10 feet away from the ladies room all day!

You’re wondering where Wal-Mart comes in right about now, right? So we fly in Christmas Eve and I had the brilliant foresight to use the site-to-store option to send the bigger gifts to the Washington Wal-mart so we didn’t have to take them with us on the plane. I felt pretty brilliant. Then I started feeling super homesick on the way to Wal-Mart and wondered if we had made a huge mistake. I got there an hour before they closed on Christmas Eve and the employee needed my “state issued ID.” I reached for my license and then realized my husband was holding onto the ID’s and the boarding passes in the airport.  I explained this to the guy and then got out my Costco picture ID and asked if that would work.

“No m’am. We need a state issued ID.”- Guy.

“Listen dude, I just flew on a plane with three kids and drove two hours to get here. My hotel is a half hour away and I can’t go back and get my ID. Here’s the confirmation E-mail and a picture ID. This has to be enough!”- Me.

“We need a state issued ID.”- Guy.

“What do you need?! Here’s my picture and I can call and get my ID number from husband if that will work!” -Me.

“No I need to see your state issued ID.” -Guy.

“Don’t mess with me man! I’m in a fragile state!” -Me

It was then that I buried my face in my hands and literally started. to. sob. And I don’t cry! I don’t cry at movies or at Wal-Mart clerks, I just don’t! And I’m usually so nice to workers and waitresses. But I lost it on that guy! Finally he walked in the back, got my frickin’ Baby Alive Doll and I went on my way. I thanked him half-heartedly and walked away. As I was doing so I heard him say “I could lose my job for this.”

And all I could say is “I bet ya can.”

All is well that ends well and my kids were happy Christmas morning but I’ll never forget being the crazy lady at customer service!

Bachelor Night Bingo Cards

The Bachelor is BACK! Mom confession: I LOVE the ENTIRE Bachelor Franchise. Bachelor, Bachelorette, alas even Bachelor Pad and now Bachelor in Paradise. The later is my guiltiest of pleasures. But I don’t watch in the hopes of seeing two people fall in love. Does anyone? Nah, I watch for the DRAMA baby! The crazier the girls, the better. The beefier Alpha Male the guys, the better. The sweet Bachelor from the season before who we all fell in love with becomes a slutty D-Bag? YES! (But please not you Ben H. You’re so sweet and untainted from the world. And you look like a grown up Peter Brady.) He really does. SO….drumroll please. In honor of my favorite show and in honor of all the lovely ladies (and gents occasionally) who get together to watch the Bachelor I present to you Bachelor Night Bingo! This PDF should open up 8 unique cards.  Please share and Pin!    Bachelor Night Bingo Bingo CardsBingo 2

The Guilt, Fear and Joy of Motherhood

Is motherhood supposed to be this heartbreaking?
Is it supposed to be so full of this fear, dread and guilt?
We wish the best for our kids. We want them to be the most athletic, the smartest, the most talented and sometimes they’re just…not. Sometimes they’re not extraordinary at anything in the world’s eyes and you have to remind yourself that all you really want them to be is who they ARE. And happy.
We feel guilt that maybe they’re not a piano prodigy because we didn’t play Beethoven to them in the womb with headphones. We worry we didn’t read them enough books when they were toddlers. We feel guilt that they learned to read by watching PBS.
We worry that they’ll be bullied… we worry that they will BE the bully.
We dread the day that the innocent spark of youth will be lost from their eyes.
We fear the day they want to go to dance class in hot pants and a tank top instead of a pink leotard and a tutu.
We feel guilt because we haven’t changed that chore chart in months or even made the kids do chores because it’s too fun watching them play Mermaid-Pirates with each other and we’re so just grateful they get along.
We worry we’re not giving our kids enough of us and too many “things.”
We worry we’re either too hard on them or not hard enough. Sometimes the intense love we feel for them rips our heart out again and again which we would gladly do because when it all comes down to it, we would die for our kids.
Then at the end of the day when we’ve yelled at them three times to brush their teeth and their lights are finally off all they want…at the end of the day… is US. They want mommy. We are ENOUGH for them and they are ENOUGH for us.

The Road Trip When I Finally Snapped

375671-priestley-childrenAhhh the family road trip. Mom and dad in the front…mom trying to listen to talk radio…dad trying to listen to techno.  Kids in the backseat fighting. It’s par for the course, right? Except this past summer when Mom. Finally. Snapped.

There we were- only about an hour outside of Boise when Brighton and Deacon were screaming at each other in the very back of the mini van. Deacon dropped his binky (which we can’t live without in the car) so I asked Brighton to get out of her seat belt and get it for him. He kicks her in the head when she’s bending over and she starts wailing on him. They’re screaming at each other, hitting, scratching, and she’s whipping him in the face with her Rapunzel Barbie’s uber-long hair.

That’s when I had enough. I said “give me that Barbie!” She threw it up to me and in a split second the window was rolled down and Barbie was held hostage out the window going 80 miles per hour. I looked over at Aaron for confirmation about what I was planning to do and he gave me a slight nod like a mob man confirming the execution of a traitor.  I let that Barbie fly.

I see her in the rear view mirror- long hair and purple dress- flying through the air. And I see the car behind me swerve to miss her.  I can only imagine what he’s thinking.  When Brighton realized what I had done (and that I hadn’t just pretended to throw her out the window) she freaked out. I felt terrible but showed no remorse and Aaron looked at me and mouthed “I can’t believe you just did that!!”

For the rest of the trip her prince Ken doll was my prisoner in the front seat. Every time she started misbehaving the window rolled down just a little bit and out his head went. The rest of the trip was a breeze.