Moms of the World- STOP Getting Offended. Just stop!

“If you don’t care what people think about your parenting, why are you talking about it so much?”

This is a common question I get, and although I find it frustrating, I guess I understand it.

I have a zero tolerance for bullying and negative judgment, not only in my “real” life, but here on this blog, and on all of my social media accounts. I will not tolerate it. I won’t argue with it- because I don’t need to justify myself to ANYONE and I’m at the point in my life where what other people think about how I’m raising my kids and living my life is their problem and not mine. It’s inconsequential to me. Still, because I put my thoughts out there in public forum, I get thoughts back- and they aren’t always pretty, and every now and then, I speak out, and when I speak out- someone always questions why.

Why not just let it go?

I’ll be blunt- telling someone not to talk about another person’s bully-ish behavior toward them is classic bully behavior. Bullies want you to be quiet, they want you to never tell anyone because they don’t want to be told they are wrong. They just want to continue asshole-ing around all over the place with no consequence. This is not okay. As long as I have this open forum, I will continue to use it not only to bring laughs, but to let it be known that this assholish bully-type behavior is not acceptable.

But that’s not the point of this blog. The point of this blog was inspired by the comment in question that prompted the question in the first line of this blog.

It’s not like I thought we were all going to burn our bras, let our hoo-ha’s grow out all caveman style and get along in perfect harmony, but I really thought Moms as a whole were moving toward a new level of understanding when it comes to acceptance of other moms regardless of parenting styles. It’s a something that as humans, we all naturally crave- harmony. The comment so graciously left on a blog post of mine from a fellow mom was angry, and it was hateful, and it was full of fire. Why? Because she didn’t agree with what I wrote because it doesn’t match her exact view of life and motherhood, or at least, what she personally took away from that particular blog didn’t. Oh, and she thinks that blogs about poop “aren’t funny.”

I didn’t feel insulted, enraged, sad, or even the slightest bit offended, but it did bum me out just a little. Why? Luckily for me, it’s been a long while since I’ve received ugly hate mail, so this one caught me a bit off guard. Will the Mom Wars NEVER end?! I don’t understand them!

Serious questions for all Moms: Why does it matter what other moms are doing? What they find funny? What offends them? How does it have ANYTHING to do with you enough for you to comment and try to make another mom feel like shit? What purpose does it serve?

There is no logic to it. I know people love to say that all women run off of emotions, but let’s use our heads here. NONE of that shit matters! What matters is your OWN life. Your OWN kids lives.

“I would NEVER breastfeed in public”

“I would NEVER bottlefeed my baby!”

“I would NEVER be a stay at home mom!”

“I would NEVER be a working mom!”

“Well, I think she’s a terrible parent because said such and such a thing online and I don’t agree”

“She clearly needs her kids taken away because she doesn’t spam photos of them on Facebook all day long!”

OH. MY. SHIT. Who the hell cares??

Nothing another Mom posts online about her own life (note: NOT involving you or yours) affects you. Nothing she says about how she chooses to handle certain situations with her family affects you. Let me repeat that- if you are a stay at home mom, and a working mom says that being a working mom is really f’ing hard- that is not a jab at you or how hard you work at home. If you are a working mom, the stay at home mom venting that being a stay at home mom is like having a job because it’s hard work- that is NOT a jab at you, or a criticism of how hard you work on a daily basis. It just isn’t. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Someone else’s complaint about their OWN life has NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. I swear, I’m not trying to be a harsh bitch or come down on the other Moms out there, but this shit is ridiculous, and it’s about time someone said SOMETHING. Someone HAS to, apparently multiple times.

All the time you’re wasting using to judge others, leave long ugly comments, make snide remarks, gossip, obsessing over, is ALL time taken away from your own kids. Think about that for a moment.

I’m not saying that if you have nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. All I ask is that before you make a negative comment on someone else’s choices, ask what good it’s going to do, and if there is no possibility of anything positive being taken away from your comment, just don’t. There’s no need for it,

Ladies- our grandmothers, great grandmothers, aunts, and even our own mothers fought for us to be treated as equals. Fought for the world to accept that we are equal, not just on a standard human level, but in intelligence, integrity. Decades spent proving we’re just as strong and enduring and worthy adversaries in every single aspect, and yet, so many of us sit around talking shit and belittling each others’ worth as a person, a woman, and especially as a mother. It’s absolutely unacceptable. We’re better than that.

Don’t shit on our ancestors. Show some respect for your fellow mom, even if you don’t agree with her. It might not be equal rights, but a high level of mutual respect is a pretty amazing thing to leave for the future women of the world.

Posted on October 20, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment

The WORST Part of Parenthood Isn’t What You Think


After my first week-long crash course in sleep deprivation thanks to a newborn with reflux, I thought- this has to be the worst part of parenthood. It can only go up from here! Then, after cleaning up the absolute destruction that is a gravity defying baby diarrhea diaper blow out in public, I thought- THIS has to be the hardest part of parenthood. Nothing could be worse than that! After that, when I had an extremely ill infant and felt like his health was out of my control, not knowing what was going to happen- I thought, there is no way any part of parenthood could ever be worse than this! Until I was waiting for an ambulance to come after my kid cracked his head on the corner of a brick fireplace, bloodied, shaken, crying- I’d never felt more fear. There couldn’t possibly be ANYTHING worse than that.

But… I made it through all of those things, seemingly unscathed. So did my kids. There were days I wasn’t so sure, but we did it, and actually, we’re all better for it. Weird. So… those weren’t the hardest parts of parenthood? Could there actually be something ELSE? HOW MUCH MORE CAN WE TAKE?!?!

Like any decent shitty side effect of anything, this “worst” of parenthood sneaked up behind me and yanked the rug out from under me, as I suspect it did with many other parents. The little bitch.

No matter the age, no matter the area, after talking to moms from all over the place, we all seemed to agree that the WORST part of parenthood is trying to keep or make friends. Not friends for our kids- but friends for US. The people we’re supposed to be able to confide in, vent to, laugh with, gossip with, relate to. You know, the people that basically keep us sane while our kids drive us to the brink of madness. Unless you have a solid foundation of mothers before popping out your very own spawn, chances are, you’ve experienced this sense of maternal lonliness. Hell, even if you DO have a group of mothers you secured into place before giving birth, that isn’t always something to count on, because, and I’m just being honest here, women can tend to be… twatty. Really twatty. If moms were dinosaurs, their genus would be Twatimus-Maximus.

Since I was the first of my friends to have a kid, one would think I would expect that a lot of them would bail, being that I could no longer party all night or go wherever whenever. In a way I did sort of see that coming, but I also thought I’d automatically make new mom friends. Moms are all over the damn place! It should be EASY! Nope. The whole “Mommy and Me” playgroups and things of that nature weren’t my style, but I’m told even that doesn’t make it much easier.

Even once Holden started school, while I was around the same Moms every single weekday, even with casual conversation, I couldn’t seem to click with anyone. In the three years Holden has been in school, I’ve made one friend, and one acquaintance. One because she saw the Holdin’ Holden bumper sticker on my vehicle and probably got it embedded in her brain enough to finally look up what the hell it was all about (she’s probably shaking her head right now that I’m wrong) and ended up moving away (super sad face) and one this year because our kids are in the same class and as shittastic as it is, I don’t know her name, and I doubt she knows mine. But we chat, so that counts, right?! Sigh…

Why is it so hard to make mom friends? I don’t think it’s the fear of approaching someone and not fitting in, but the fear of approaching someone and instantly being judged. It’s a different time than the one we grew up in. There’s not very many “it takes a village” villages left. People don’t give two shits about anything other than what you’re doing wrong. God forbid you punish your kid in public, or they throw a tantrum, or you snap ONE photo of their seat belt in the wrong position, you’re instantly labeled by random strangers as a shitty parent; some even going as far to say something to you (as if they have the right) or to call the authorities. It’s no wonder we crawl into a mom shell and just hope our highschool friends pop out crotchfruit so we don’t have to try to meet anyone new.

Let’s make it simple: If you see a mom sitting along with her kid day after day, just say hello. A simple hello can turn an entire day around. Making friends shouldn’t be so hard. These kids are going to be running our world one day, it’s probably for the best that we set a good example of being kind and reaching out to others.

Posted on October 17, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment

The Story That May End My Marriage


As I sit down to write this blog, I know only one thing: If you have never encountered a Spricket, you should consider yourself lucky. Also, I hate you.
This is not one of those moments where I tell you not EVER to Google the word “spricket” and you run off and immediately Google the word “spricket” and then come back and yell at me for putting the thought in your head even though I specifically said DO NOT EVER GOOGLE THE WORD SPRICKET!

Don’t do it. I’ve seen the beasts and even I won’t Google them. Be satisfied (and not scarred for life) with the following description: Demon Spider/Cricket hybrid from HELL!!!!!!!!!
Also known as: cave crickets
Also known as: total assholes

For anyone afraid of spiders, these mother fuckers are basically their worst nightmare. They are spiders that jump. And they seem to crave human flesh. I can’t confirm if that last part is true, but after this weekend, I think it’s safe to say the spricket apocalypse has begun. Either that, or my husband has a death wish.

This is the story of why my husband is lucky he is still breathing, and not buried in the back yard with sprickets eating his remains.

The scene: Saturday night. Catching up on the DVR while partaking in a few adult drinks.
The players: Me. Husband. Lurking danger.

It was late in the evening, so while I wasn’t exactly shithoused, I wouldn’t say I was exactly in control of all of my facets. Like most people, at my first party where the alcohol was flowing, I was quickly told never to “break the seal”- for once you did, you’d be feeling the urge to pee CONSTANTLY. Add two vaginal childbirths to that equation, and on drinky-drink nights, I’m pissing like a damn racehorse. I’m lucky I haven’t wet the friggin’ couch!

Anyway, so there I am, nearly launching myself off of the toilet with a pee stream that would make all other pee streams jealous when I see it. A fucking SPRICKET. Just sittin’ there on my bathroom floor like he owns the place. My bathroom is small, y’all. Like- I could prop my feet against the wall if I really needed leverage to get a big turd out. It’s THAT small. This mofo was not only in my home, but had now invaded my personal bubble. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

Normally, this would scare the pee back into me and I’d have flown out of that bathroom faster than monkeys in a freight train. No, that makes no sense, but you get my point. I’d have been OUT! I couldn’t stop the stream! I JUST COULDN’T! I was trapped!

At this point, I’m frozen in fear. Other than my pee. That was still going. I’m afraid to move because if I move, it will move, and I do not want it to move! There was only one thing I could think to do- I yelled for my beloved husband. He kills those evil fuckers for me all the time. This would be no different. I mean, I’d be on the toilet and it might be kind of awkward to squash a bug while there’s pee draining from me- but yeah, he could totally save the day! I was okay with a little bit of shame- so I called out to him, and he’s all “What?” and I say “THERE’S A SPRICKET IN HERE, COME AND KILL IT!” and he’s like “Why don’t you?” and I’m completely flustered at this point and I yell “I’M PEEING! I HAVE NOTHING TO KILL IT WITH! YOU COME KILL IT RIGHT NOW!” and he’s laughing and making his way to the outside of the bathroom door claiming he isn’t going to come in and help me when that rotten little shitdick (the spricket, not the husband) JUMPS IN MY LAP.

Does my husband swoop in and slay the foul beast, thereby saving me and my pee stream? No. He laughs hysterically while I scream and flail and pretty much die 4 times over trying to get that thing OFF of me. Pee, shame, and anger. I was full of all of those things. Poor bladder.

NOW we can call the husband a shitdick. Frickin’ husband. What the hell are they good for if they can’t even manage to smash a disgusting bug for us??

I spent the rest of the night shaken, paranoid, pissed off AND on, and wanting to stab my dear husband in the taint with a spork for not coming to my rescue. I’ve been trying to come up with some kind of moral to this story since then so that I could walk away from this situation with something OTHER than a lovely new phobia of peeing, but I’m hard pressed to find a bright spot, so other than the giggles I hope you got from this harrowing tale, I will leave you with this:

Don’t break the damn seal! And for the love of all that is holy, don’t Google “spricket”!!

Posted on October 13, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 8 Comments

10 Brutally Honest Tips for Moms To Be from a Mom with NO SHAME!


Over the past weekend, I attended a baby shower for my dear cousin. It is her first, and my family simply cannot miss the opportunity to throw a raging party, so to say it was over the top would be an understatement. There were all kinds of drinks and activities and things to do (and booze to drink out of bottles).

After guessing the baby’s birth wait and creating a wonderful “crotchfruit” onesie, I was directed to the baby’s nursery, where I was to write down parental advice on a card for the Mom To Be; any advice, whether it be pregnancy, labor, or parenting in general. I was not the first to come to this little station, so the bin already had a few cards in it, and… well… I just couldn’t help myself. What kind of advice were fellow shower attendees bestowing upon my beloved family member??

Card #1: “Don’t wake papa too early in the morning” – This was from my Uncle (her father). Cute!

Card #2-50: “Cherish it. They grow up fast”

WHAT IN THE SHITFUCK??? No, they didn’t all ACTUALLY say the same thing, but they were all scribbled with the same type of mushy useless “advice”. Where is the logic?? Where is the advice this woman can actually USE? When she’s pushing that baby down the birth canal, how in the holy hell is “cherish it” going to benefit her? It ain’t. She ain’t gonna cherish having her vagina torn in half.
At that very moment I realized that before birthing my first crotchfruit, I was given the same kind of useless mushy advice and was then totally floored when my kid blew out my vagina. Who would ever see that coming if the only advice they got was to cherish it??

Here are some tips for expectant moms (or new moms, or future moms… or even just moms in general) from a mom who isn’t afraid to put it all out there- and I do mean ALL!

1. Yes, you have an excuse to eat for two, but you probably shouldn’t. You’re going to give birth to a baby, blood, fluid, some other goop, and a placenta- not the 30 pounds of Krispy Kreme doughnuts you couldn’t help pounding into your face.

2. Birth plans are all well and good, but don’t freak if shit doesn’t go exactly how you planned. This is a baby, not a tooth cleaning.

3. Dermoplast. Write that shit down! RIGHT NOW! It is a numbing spray, and it saved my vag after my 2nd kid. I WISH I’d known about it after my 1st! You can pick up a can at your local drug store, but you’re going to want to test it on your skin first. The last thing you want is to light your hoo-ha on fire after ripping it in half!

4. Hoard the giant hospital ice packs. If you have a vaginal childbirth, this is key. I know some hospitals, some nurses, some places are very generous with the supplies they give you to take home, but both times I gave birth I got NOTHING. I learned after crying myself to sleep due to insane vag pain and being completely out of the wonderful ginormous pad-ice packs the hospital gives you, that if I ever were to have kids again I would need to take matters into my own hands. For every pad I used in the hospital, I stuffed one into my bag. I had a stockpile. Those things saved my life. I swear it.

5. You’re going to bleed after giving birth, and I’m not just talking about in the hospital. After Holden, I bled for 13 weeks straight. Consider it payback for the 9(ish) months you just spend without a period. Stock up on pads. Do NOT think this exempts you from being able to get pregnant.

6. Not everyone’s body bounces right back. Cut yourself some slack.

7. Kegels. They might just keep Poise from approaching you and asking you to be their spokesperson.

8. It’s okay to think your baby is an asshole, because babies ARE assholes.

9. You don’t have to take ANYONE else’s parenting advice. Trust your own gut; the gut is rarely wrong.

Oh, I totally spaced! I never told you what *I* wrote on the advice card at the baby shower!
10. All babies are different. All babies cry. All babies are frustrating. There is NO one way to raise them, so don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.


I can’t say for certain these tips will hold true for absolutely everyone, but it should help your vagina hurt a lot less. If nothing else, that’s pretty spectacular.

Posted on October 8, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment

Celebrating Mini-Milestones with Netflix

It’s been a whirlwind few months around here. What with school starting, book editing, double birthday party planning and throwing and Halloween preparations, there’s hardly been any time to take a moment to slow down and take note of the changes.

My kids are 5 and 7. FIVE AND SEVEN! Where did the time go? One more year and they’ll both be enough years old to be counted on two hands. That’s a little tough to swallow, not gonna lie. A second grader and a preschooler- how exactly do you celebrate such a momentous occasion? We already had enough birthday cake and cupcakes to last us a year (we STILL have some left and the party was almost two weeks ago!) CAN you celebrate an occasion that makes you just as sad as it does proud?

You know what I always say? Okay, I don’t ALWAYS say it, but I am right now- celebrate EVERY occasion. Why the heck not??

We whipped up a bitch of Easy Bake Oven soft pretzels (which we only do for a special occasion because it is SO much more a pain in the rear than I remember!)- a mix Parker got for his birthday- and then sat down to watch a movie about a family getting over their disagreements and coming together as a whole- something we desperately needed to do because after prolonged exposure to each other what with all the milestones and celebrating and cake eating, we were driving each other INSANE.

For the kids, it was the Croods- to remind them that there are kids out there more frustrated than they are, and at least we don’t live in the friggin’ stone age.

For me? Re-watching the last season of Parenthood to remind myself other parents are just as frustrated and sad and stupidly sentimental as me… and remaining in a state of complete denial that it’s ending.

Sure, some people might think television tears families apart, but I think television and the magic of Netflix keeps MY family from tearing each OTHER apart! That alone is worth celebrating!

Looking for something to celebrate one of YOUR family’s mini, and not-so mini milestones? From a kid losing their first tooth, to adding a new family member- Netflix has something for you!

Netflix Titles to Celebrate Mini Milestones

For your kids:

70305131 4181224
70222359 3827682
70176984 3827040
70070452 2243674
70279188 11131945
292876 4066169
Mighty Ducks  The D2 The Mighty Ducks NA EST and VOD Poster Key Art JPEG 571 x 800   WDSHE UK Netflix

First Trick-or-Treat: Julius Jr.: S01E06, Dressed for Spook-cess
First Pet: Beethoven
First Move: The Croods
First Big Game: D2: The Mighty Ducks

Akeela-And-The-Bee EN US 571x800
70235385 2128751
70171969 9650290
Diners Drive Ins and Dives EN US 571x800 copy
70136147 2313158
60028097 3785137
70264625 2502581
70235691 1142298

Another one of our favorite firsts? Going to the movies. Check out these tips from Common Sense Media to make sure your kids’ first trip to the theater is a good one.


Plus a few major milestones for mom and dad:

70136120 3360608
70221841 2756788
what to expect when youre expecting poster Cleaned
Parenthood S5 571x800 ENG US.2
70143842 11330576
House Hunters EN US 571x800

New Job: The Office
Getting Married: My Fair Wedding with David Tutera
Having a Baby: What to Expect When You’re Expecting
Life as a Parent: Parenthood
Running for Office: Parks & Recreation
Buying a Home: House Hunters

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment