Calm Your Tits. Kids and the Future are NOT Doomed.

There are websites, television shows, memes, and even ads based on it, so it has to be real, right? The decline of intelligent humanity and the increase of profound stupidity. Text speak. Abreves. The forgotten difference between “There”, “Their” and “They’re”. Do we have ourselves to blame? Didn’t our generation start LOLcats? Weren’t we smarter before the internet took over being smart for us? Back in the Good Ol’ Days, when phones were dumb and people were smart? Are we all DOOMED? Is the future generation going to end up in the destruction of the world due to DERP memes and Grumpy Cat? IS THIS IT FOR US?!calm

Calm your tits, people! Just calm those tits right down!

Text speak makes me want to spork the taint of one thousand men, and the endless streams of internet fails and lists of the “people so stupid you can’t believe they exist” are horrifying… hilarious, but horrifying (Yes, the movie Titanic is based on a TRUE STORY. No, you can’t get pregnant from simply WATCHING Magic Mike)- but there’s no reason to wish the Mayans really had wiped us out back in 2012.

When you think that the kids of today are totally screwed and we’re all going to eventually get flushed down the crapper due to their inability to type out two syllable words, consider this- Didn’t our grandparents think the same thing about us?

Before there were LOLcats and internet memes rotting the brains of the youth of today, there was MTV and violent video games, and before that it was sublime and Nirvana and all the kids were “smoking that reefer” and ruining their futures, and before that, there was 80’s metal and headbanging and beer. Lots of beer and breasts and drugs- and our civilization was for SURE doomed, because no respectable man wears eyeliner, and npo respectable woman wears her underwear on the outside of her clothes, and even before that it was disco and everyone was doing blow in the bathroom and we were SCREWED! But… we weren’t. We aren’t.

As I type this, my 7 year old is at a city wide engineering contest, which he qualified for by creating a working zip line; one of only 4 students chosen at his entire school to compete. The kid is SMART. Far smarter than I usually give him credit for, being he is constantly doing the DUMBEST shit ever. That’s because kids ARE dumb. Seriously dumb. Crazy, infuriatingly dumb. aren’t we ALL a little dumb? At over 30 years old, I still can’t math and use my fingers to count. I can spell, but there’s plenty I’m just a total idiot about- but somehow I manage, because there’s things I’m NOT dumb about. We all do. Kids being dumb? It’s their thing and most of them will grow out of it once they realize that writing “UR” instead of “YOU’RE” on a job application is not getting them anywhere, but for as dumb as they are- but they’re not stupid.
And the obnoxious tweens and text-speaking teens? It’s their last hurrah of childhood dumbness before having to join the world of bills, responsibility, REAL stress, and bullshit. It’s okay to correctly blatant stupidity, but let the kids be dumb every now and then.  Just a little!

Posted on October 24, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment

Separation Anxiety- Mommy Needs Some SPACE!

Sometimes, when I leave the room, the kids act as if it’s the LAST time they will ever see me. They scream, they hold one hand in the air reaching toward me , and the other across their heart, as if to say, “No! Please, don’t go! I promise, I’ll be good! I’m sorry for what I did/said! I can’t go on without you!”

I swear, it’s like a heart wrenching goodbye scene right out of a Hollywood blockbuster.  And frankly, I’m done.  Let me eat, take a shower, pee, drink my coffee for Pete’s sake!! PLEASE, I am on my knees, begging you to STOP crying!  MOMMY NEEDS TO BREATHE!

It’s times like these (see below) when I ask myself, “is it worth it?”


1.Dude, I need to pee,  I don’t have the luxury of diapers like you do,
just give me a minute, would ya?

But NOOOOO, as soon as  I think I’m a safe distance away (not far
enough to not hear their sobbing voices), I see those little fingers
reaching under the bathroom door, as if to say, “I’ll never let go,
Jack, err, uhh, Mom!”
Here’s the thing, Rose lets go in Titanic, and so will I,  get over it.

I fear for the day that they learn how to open doors.


2. How about when I need coffee… and I NEED coffee. As soon as I exit their line of sight, they wail  like Tom Hanks in Cast Away when he loses Wilson, “Mom, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry Wilson-Mom!”
Look kid, you need me to need this cup of goodness. I promise you that, and what are you so sorry for?  I better make it a double.

Is it nap time yet?!


3. My favorite is when I leave the room to get something FOR them.

Lunch time, OK, I’ll go get some food going. This is when the hangry (when you are so hungry that you become angry with everyone and everything around you) screams come out.  The second I leave their area, they start shouting, at me like I’m Anty in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, “Go on! I don’t need you! Go on! Get out of here!”  This shout leaves me confused, I want to comfort them, and yet they terrify me.  So, so much.

Sometimes, I just want to toss food at them and yell, “EAT YOUR FOOD, TINA!”
(And truth be told: I’ve done it, more than once.)

4. And the moment when you stand up after playing peek-a-boo who knows HOW long on the hard floor, and they break down into sobs equivalent to Grace saying goodbye to Harry in Armageddon, “No, Mommy, no, please, no, don’t go!”
Small-Child, Mommy can’t sit down here on the hard floor a minute longer, remember when she BROKE HER BUTT when YOU were born? Yeah, I’m not letting up on that one just yet, I’m still quite bitter.  PLUS, I’m 2 inches away, chill out!

Broken. Buttbone.  ‘Nuff said.


5. The sneak attack always gets me.
Every. Single. Time.

This is when you leave them, and not only do they scream, but they FOLLOW you, like the little zombie/monster that they are. All the while, screaming, “BRAINS! Or bottle, that’s cool too, but BRAINS!”  And they they claw at you until you give in.

I have only been depantsed  by a zombie-baby twice this year, which is progress, and have possibly learned my lesson.

(Don’t leave a screaming zombie-baby that is fully mobile. They WILL crawl after you and yank on your pants until your pants come down exposing you to your unsuspecting neighbor walking his dog  until pick her up and wipe the snot and tears away— like I said, only twice this year. Not bad, right?)

What did I take away from this? I learned to wear sweatpants with ties… and actually TIE them.
And to feed them brains.

I wish I could reassure them that I will return in a way that they would understand, and actually believe.  But until that day, I will do my best to carry on. Perhaps, I should dust off my iPod and plug myself into some sweet tunes, and pretend that they are simply singing along with the 80’s hairband ballad or movie soundtrack that I’ll be jammin’ to, why not?

And to answer my question… YES, totally worth it.  Exhausting, yet worth it.

This post was written by the lovely Nicole of Perfectly Askew. Go check out her blog before her kids drive her so insane all she can do is drool on the keyboard (haven’t we all been there?)
Posted on October 22, 2014 by Holdin' Holden 2 Comments

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 2 Comments

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