All posts for the month January, 2013

How To Spot A Mother

Published January 29, 2013 by sarcasmica

This post is inspired by the pimply-faced moron at Toys R Us who thought I needed to be informed that my child WILL fall out of the cart if i move it before she sat down.

No shit, Sherlock. You see these gray hairs? The frumpy uniform of stretch pants and T shirt?! You see the lack of make up on my face? This translates to : “I know, shithead!”

So on the way home, instead of fuming and turning back to smack him across the rump, i used my evil powers to make a list of how he and others like him might be able to spot a mother.

How To Spot A Mom

  • Gray hair. This also means gray roots because she hasn’t had a chance to freshen up the dye job. – but the kid’s hair looks great!
  • Comfy pants especially yoga pants or sweats
  • Gigantic purse with receipts and wipes on the verge of falling out
  • Lack of Makeup
  • Woman has make up on with large earrings and/or hair accessories ; babysitter/teacher/daycare adult – NOT the mom

These are the overall first recognizable signs. From here we differentiate between a mom of one, or many;

  •  If all the kids are in freshly washed well-fitted newer clothes, this may indicate a daycare on a field trip.
  •  Kids in hand me downs/ill fitting faded clothes and possible stains; they are all hers.
  •  Child having a tantrum and mom is continuing with her shopping with a faraway look on her face – this is not her first rodeo. She’s done it before, mom of multiple kids.
  • Mom yanking kid to a corner after he’s raised his voice one time – mom of one
  •  DVDs, hot dogs, chips, and one obligatory fruit in the cart – mom of mult. kids
  • organic fruit and vegetables with soy anything – mom of one

Now we can differentiate between first time moms (New mom) and one who has been around the OB/GYNs office once or twice:

  •  Mom has accessorized the stains on her shirt – experienced mom
  •  Baby is locked and seat-belted into the cart over a cart cover and a bottle of sanitizer is being whipped out repeatedly = First time mom.
  •  Kid is kneeling/standing/jumping and POSSIBLY sitting in any location other than the kid’s area up front in a shopping cart = mom of multiple kids.
  • Woman on phone in the baby aisle – you have to pay attention to this one. If she’s tense and confused looking = first time mom ; if she seems to be laughing and relaxed = mom of multiple kids taking advantage of some ‘quiet time’ at the grocery store

So before anyone opens their mouth to give some sound advice to a woman with a kid(s), please take this list into consideration. Just because she has one visible child, do not assume anything. She might even be by herself – the Holy Grail – assume nothing.

This list is for your own health!

Good luck out there!


The Human Body is Gross

Published January 25, 2013 by sarcasmica

As miraculous and wonderful as giving birth is, it’s also disgusting and messy and embarrassing and completely excruciating. I have done this twice and each time was more awkward and painful and messy than the last. The biggest annoyance is that the gore doesn’t end with labor. It just. keeps. going!

All the aftermess, and then the recovery and all the things you have to do to yourself to heal properly without having a cavernous scarred and lumpy orifice between your legs .. blech!

So whenever i have to do something that would normally be slightly uncomfortable, or a bit awkward, or embarrassing, i just remind myself, “Hey, you’ve managed to push two humans out of your hoo ha for an audience of strangers. This is nothing. Suck it up, Buttercup!”

So today was one of those times. I have some skin issues. My father generously passed down some fun skin tag gene to me, and while this was a humiliating embarrassment in elementary school and high school, there’s just nothing i can really do about it. I’ve also developed a few moles. No biggie, but since i’ve lived in So Cal, Arizona, and Austin TX, i feel I should pay a bit of attention to these things. My husband has been bugging me to get a mole on my back checked for a little while, and i finally shoved all the crap off my keyboard to find my desk and make an appointment.

I went today with my 2 year old in tow, of course. Dermatologist offices always freak me out a little. I don’t know why. There’s skin cream and beauty products all over the place. The only time you see plastic tubes and bottles behind glass cases. I feel i’m being judged when i go in, like, “Damn! I didn’t know we had an overhaul special going on this week! Come on in and have a seat!”

So i greet the two College Barbies at the desk, hand over all the necessaries, and wait. An over-pouty faced Catfish calls me to the back and has me sit on the table. It seems the poor thing had her personality sucked out when they puffed up her lips. Her shiny tightly pulled face did nothing to comfort me, either. My daughter couldn’t look at her.

So I explain why i’m there, the doctor eventually comes in and shakes my hand before man-handling my torso. It took him a while to walk all the way around and check my plethora of body. Sitting there in a paper ‘shirt’ that barely contained my mushroom top just added to the whole experience. 

He informs me it’s probably nothing to worry about, but they’ll take a biopsy to be sure. Catfish numbed my back and Dr Botox dug away and put the golden nugget into a liquid-filled jar.

I felt like a science experiment, but I just kept chanting my birth mantra in my head; “You did THAT, so surely you can do this.”

I really didn’t feel too bad about it. She slapped a band aid on my back, said goodbye and grimaced at my daughter as we left.

I was surprised at how little i felt, really. I got home after taking my daughter to a birthday party and checked my back in the mirror.

The damned band aid was only half on and i got a good look at the crater Dr Botox carved into my back. Holy shit!

They numbed me for the biopsy, so i had no clue or reference for size. I did think to myself the slimy creature that was put into the biopsy jar was kind of large, but that must’ve been a combo of my imagination and terrible eyesight.


And worse yet is the location of the now missing chunk of back skin. Right in the middle above my bra. An impossible place to re bandage on my own. I was so annoyed at the lack of sticking by Assistant Catfish, i just yanked the thing off thinking “pshh, band aids are for pussies!”  (this was BEFORE i saw the missing geography!) I immediately regretted this after seeing a-all the blood on the band aid and b- realizing i did actually need something covering it.

I couldn’t ask my 2 year old to bandage it for me. I’d end up with Elmo bandaids and Cookie Monster sticking to the painful part, or across my bra strap. Not to mention her goober germ covered fingers wanting to touch and poke while asking “Whats THAT?!”

So i did it on my own with one hand, two mirrors, held breath and a lot of hope. I’m still not 100% sure it didn’t stick to the wrong spot because where i felt nothing before, i’m bothered and limited now.

In all my overinflated comedic effect exaggeration i should put a disclaimer that it’s less than the diameter of a dime that was taken, but damn it’s ugly and kind of deep!

So that’s how my weekend is beginning. Hope that makes you all feel better about your days 🙂

Balls pt 2

Published January 22, 2013 by sarcasmica

Ok. So no one said blowing up the goddamned ball was going to be a neverending f-ing workout!!

Sneaky mo fos.

So here i am with a hand pump jammed haphazardly into a huge flat blob of silver and i’m hand pumping away. Terrible images of the goofy shake weight come into my mind. But i pump away. Soon i begin to realize that my poor husband is a long way from getting any sort of job that involves my hands and/or arm muscles. Hope it’s worth it!

Then i’m reading the directions and it says over and over and over “Do not over inflate the ball!”

Okay okay okay. It’s not like there’s a pressure gauge included! Not that i’d know or have the patience to stop my air hand job long enough to swap out the cheap ass plastic pump for an air pressure gauge.

So i’m pumping away and the thing finally takes shape. After i’ve blown out one of my triceps from pumping so hard and fast.

That’s right, i said it. I pumped it hard and fast with my hand.

I had to go as quickly as possible because i was certain my 2 year old would wake up to investigate the noises. The pump, the air hissing when it slipped, and my cussing.

She thankfully slept through the whole thing. And i’m thinking the whole time, if i had known it would be this much trouble to blow the thing up, i would have wasted my money on a jump rope that is CERTAIN to get zero use from these arms.

So it takes shape. With the black text emblazoned on my brain of DO NO OVER INFLATE! I stop. Much like an air mattress, there’s no way to know unless you try it out. Especially because your own weight is what determines the firmness … right?

So there’s a plug you pop in .It looks like a tee. It looks like a dangerous plastic pointy object that could turn into a projectile homicidal device if i have overinflated the ball and sit too eagerly upon it.

I make a mental note not to point it near a window or child… in that order

So i try the sucker out.

Much like my first attempt at an air mattress … and a hand job, it was an optical illusion. Not nearly as firm as it led me to believe.


So then comes the fun task of pulling the plastic stopper OUT. That thing is designed to go in and stay put …. under the weight of up to a 300lb angry woman who has given up cigarettes and/or coffee and/or doughnuts.

This thing didn’t budge.

And much to my amusement, i re read the directions to search for some advice to find it merely stated “Do not use sharp objects to remove stopper”

Well thank God they printed that tidbit of information! Do not stick a sharp object into the rubber ball you just spent 30 minutes hand jobbing and one tricep pulled to get done.

I might be fat, but i’m not retarded.

So my sad now-numb little fingertips, a marker cap, and the spare plug all worked in combination to yank the stopper out so i could continue inflating.

Second time was a charm. Here i sit, typing away, rocking and rolling on my new toy.

A toy i’m sure will cause all sorts of fun screaming and yelling matches in my house between myself, my 2 year old, the 2 year old and her 6 year old brother, and the two kids and my husband – who is certain NOT to allow either child to jump on, throw, or stick sharp objects into.

The nerve.

So if you are thinking about purchasing a big giant ball to sit your big giant ass upon, please consider first conditioning your hand and arm muscles perhaps after a few cocktails and alone time with your husband. That way you are ready to inflate, and your husband might be in a good enough mood to manage the kids around the new equipment without everyone trying to kill each other to get to the thing.

Let the games begin!

The Yoga Ball

Published January 22, 2013 by sarcasmica

If you’re a person who clicked on this because you know me, shame on you!! Were you looking for a story of an embarrassing explosion because you know how very giant i am and how very fragile and … umm, well it’s a glorified balloon under this gargantuan rear end ?!

I don’t blame you, i would too, and it hasn’t happened…. yet.

So i’m at Target to buy my son some socks. It’s been at least three shoe sizes since the last round, so i figured it was time. So of course i’m browsing the aisles for all the random Target shit i really never knew i needed, but for some reason today was the day i had to buy it.

I happen upon their optimistic aisle. The aisle with all the new, easy, friendly exercise equipment. Yoga balls, hand barbells/light weights and jump ropes. I’ve been debating whether or not to get a yoga ball for a while. It’s marketed as the workout that you don’t have to think about, exert energy for, try or watch a video for.

You know, the perfect workout for a fat chick!

And the light weights were only $4, and it was 2lbs, so why not? My arms seemed to reach for it of their own accord… as if my body is screaming for help and my mouth is sabotaging it with the help of spoons and forks.

So i finally picked up the yoga ball box. The thought of getting one for my son to use to help with the wiggling was the reason i got so close, actually. The ‘small’ size was still too big for him, so i looked at LARGE for my own hiney. First thing i checked was the weight limit. I was surprised to see it was 300lbs. It really is the fat chick’s exercise friend! And if i don’t eat dinner or snack today, i could possibly sit on it without an explosion!

I had to start somewhere. After losing 39lbs on Weight Watchers two years ago, i’m back up more than half.


I could blame it on stress and moving and lots more stress, but that’s just bullshit. The stress didn’t put a bigger helping on my plate or buy chocolate, my unself controlled ass bought it AND ate it.

So here i go. Back on the proverbial wagon. I have WW recipes pinned and a yoga ball (still in the box) ready to go.

Wish me luck & motivation!

Grocery Heaven

Published January 21, 2013 by sarcasmica

As if grocery shopping is not already a pain in the ass, the holidays make it even more difficult. And it seems recently the grocery stores are trying to get in the massive amount of impulse buying people do for said holidays.

I had to run in to the store quickly today with my 2 year old. This child is normally an angel. She’s really a much more well-behaved child than i deserve, certainly. But there are some things that remind me she is mortal. Stuffed animals, for instance. She has an obsession for them. She has a collection, a menagerie if you will, and they are all loved, all adored, and all go everywhere in the house with her. I’m considering getting an extra room in the next house so we can build a kennel of sorts for these things.

Anyway, so i’m rushing through what should have been a quick trip when she spots the COLOSSAL Titanic-sized Crowned Valentine stuffed animals right smack in the middle of the main walkway as you enter the store. And they are frogs. One of the many favorite species of love.



“Oh look at the fun {cheapass} nearly hidden .99 cent cups that have Mike & Sully!!!!” (her new movie favorite – Monsters Inc.)


screaming ensues for the rest of the trip. Not high-pitched bratty screeching. No, pitiful, loud, big shouting desperate hopeful demanding.


and here i am, just trying to smile my way through it. The kid is a spectacle with her pink sequined boots, her giant pink and black tutu attached to the hidden dress covered in the purple hoodie with the sequined cat on the front. and big blue teary eyes.

And she’s carrying her new Build a Bear horse Santa so lovingly left for her.

It’s a ridiculous sight.

Before children i used to think these scenes played out for the spoiled children with the obnoxious parents. Now i know better. Only the strong hold out against the demands, causing the actual break down. If i gave in, she’d be quiet and no one would be the wiser we were even there!

But i will admit my kids might possibly be a tad spoiled. So what? I wasn’t and look how that turned out !

So i do give in here and there, and i’m sure it’s confusing, blah blah blah. But a giant stuffed crowned frog is not going to be my undoing. I learned my lesson when i was dumb enough to win a nearly life-sized killer whale at Sea World that is still guarding our garage …. from the rafters… waiting ’til the day it’s forgotten and we can finally ‘re-home’ him.

Just a Thought

Published January 15, 2013 by sarcasmica

Here’s a thought: Daytime commercials suck. If i have to hear another “tired of feminine odor problems?” or “tired of your tampon not working?” commercial, i’m gonna scream.

… or write a rambling blog post.

I might have the TV on during the day. Possibly. My child might even watch a few shows. If i dare to stray from PBS or Nick Jr, i’m bombarded by ridiculous mind-numbing commercials for a variety of ‘feminine issues’.

What the hell?! If i were a man opting to stay home with my kids, i’d shoot my TV. If i were laid off of a job and stuck at home all day, i’d possibly hang myself by the TV cord to make a statement… and first stick winged pads over my eyes, ears, and mouth. … or instead of the TV cord, perhaps tie the strings of 100 tampons together. Thankfully there are plenty of ads on TV to let me know which has the most durable string!

And to alleviate any clean up, depending on how i’d off myself, i could coat the room in pads and Depends to make it more sanitary.

But people might be confused by the fact the liquid absorbed wasn’t blue.

Who pees blue? Who bleeds blue liquid?!

Granted, yellow and red and all the colors in between would be vile to see, but why do we need a demonstration at all?! You know what they SHOULD demonstrate?! HOW to use the damned things! I had no idea when i was ready to try it out. Thank goodness i had a shameless friend who enlightened me.


Anyway, these are just random thoughts of a stay at home mom trying to balance some ‘me time’ while my kid naps… TV is involved, computer time is involved, no cleaning or wine to be had, though.

Just keepin’ it real

Brain Eaters & Randomness

Published January 14, 2013 by sarcasmica

That’s my pet name for my kids. Affectionate, no?

I said something to my husband last night that, i think, took him by surprise. No, not “let’s do it.” And no, not “All the laundry is done!”

He was playing on the floor with our 2 year old daughter. I just had to repeat the phrase “Go brush your teeth.” roughly three times to my 6 year old son interspersed between bouts of fits and defiant “NO!” from him. Once the room was clear i said, “We are lucky we only have one of her.”

he looked at me confused:  “huh? why?”

“If they were all like her we’d have three or four kids.”

He looked confused. “why? because she’s good?”


This is not to say i don’t love my son. I do. At times i feel very lucky to be his mom. However, the fact remains he’s a very demanding and challenging person. Luckily, he was blessed with a patient and good-natured Libra mom. If he had two Scorpio parents, he’d be screwed!

My husband issued a challenge to me the other day. Saturday night – a few days before payday – he says “We might actually get to put some money in savings this month! I can’t believe it. Usually it’s gone by now.”

So i took that as a green light to go to Target yesterday.

That’ll learn him.

It’s like praising the children as they are playing nicely. Never look them in the eye and acknowledge the good at the time it’s happening, or you’re just saying “Hey, stop doing that and go back to being yelling hitting screaming imps please!”


I have taken on the behemoth task of getting all the laundry done today. Afterall, i’m a stay at home mom. I should have nothing but time and opportunity, right? I mean let’s face it. On the weekends, when everyone is home, nothing but productive chores and lists get completed , right? There’s so many opportunities for proactive productivity!


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