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The Million Dollar Mom Idea

Today during one of my hourly fits of parental frustration, I had an epiphany. An idea that could make moms (and potentially dads) everywhere MILLIONAIRES! Okay, maybe not millionaires, but it would be a source of extra income, and who couldn’t use that? I personally don’t know a damn soul who wouldn’t be willing to accept some dollars for little to no effort whatsoever.

This isn’t one of those “Get rich quick” pyramid schemes. You don’t have to join a team or recruit other people. This is ALL FOR YOU. Doing the shit you do on a day to day basis anyway, just monetizing it.

The idea came to me as I was doing my makeup in the upstairs bathroom this morning. The kids were “playing” together down the hallway (which really consists of bossing each other around and complaining that the other isn’t following some set of fictional rules that change with the fucking wind) when I heard the familiar sound of panic. Not the “I broke a toy” panic, or the shriek of being hurt. Not the “he’s hitting me” panic, or “I spilled something on the carpet when I wasn’t supposed to have something upstairs in the first place but I NEVER LISTEN”. It wasn’t the yelp of “I waited way too long to pee/poop and now I’m going to shit/piss myself”, or the “sibling isn’t listening to me even though I never listen to him so I don’t know why I expect any different” wail that I often hear ringing through the vents of my home.

It was the quick, shrill grunt of “I’ve gone and lost something again”. I’m not an organized person, but I’ve never met a soul on this planet who “loses” things more quickly, and more often than children. One second it’s in their sticky little hands, and the next, POOF! MAGIC! GONE! I constantly find myself wondering if we should call David Blaine and tell him that he’s been usurped by a bunch of pants-peeing heathens, because no one can make something disappear better than kids.

After standing by and listening to the panic escalate for a few minutes, I realize this isn’t going to be one of those situations where he finds his “lost” item. It’s never one of those situations where they find their “lost” items, is it? No. We are always called in. Always. They always swear that the thing they are “looking” for is gone forever, never to be seen again. That they have searched every single square inch of the house and the only logical explanation was that it was sucked into a magical vortex, never to return.

What did I do? What I always do. I walked into the room, clarified what this mysteriously vanishing toy was, and immediately found it right. in. front. of. him. Just like I said it would be. Just like it is nine times out of ten. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM.

In that moment, an idea was birthed from my frustrated, exhausted brain.

What if– WHAT IF– every “lost” toy we find that is in plain sight and could be found if they ACTUALLY LOOKED FOR ONCE… we kept. And not just kept… but sold online (craigslist, ebay, etc.)

Now, I know the bajillion cups and random single socks you pick up won’t go for much, but what about the rest? If I had money for every toy my kids swore was lost but was actually right in front of them, I’d have enough money to… well, I wouldn’t be a millionaire, but I’d have money to do things! Legos ain’t cheap, y’all.

If you think this is too much work, or perhaps even too traumatizing for your precious crotchfruit, I have a back up plan. Yeah, that’s right, my brain has been in overdrive!

SELL THE TOYS BACK TO THE KIDS.

You want your shit back, little Jimmy? PAY ME A RECOVERY FEE! Mama is no longer working for free, we are detectives, and our services cost money. Any money that might be doled out for allowance will be paid right back to us, which means… our house gets cleaned for FREE.

Or… maybe, just maybe, at the threat of either of these choices, they’ll learn to actually LOOK AROUND THEM before whining and crying and panicking that it’s the end of the world because a couple of Lego pieces have gone missing.

A mom can dream.

Posted on July 11, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment

Be Careful what you name your Pets

I often find myself wondering– if my family were to find itself in dire straits– how helpful would my children be? If we were in zombie apocalypse, “Independence Day” levels of shit, would they help, or hinder?

When it comes to the zombie apocalypse, I’ve already saddled myself with the understanding that in order for them to survive, I’d need to duct tape them to my body, and I shudder to think about how much whining and complaining they’d do if we somehow got slammed with some weird geothermal storm like in “The Day After Tomorrow” and were heaved into the next ice age.

As good as it is to be prepared, to know what you might be getting into, the fact is, those things probably, hopefully aren’t going to happen, so it may be best to focus on what might. REAL life emergencies. Full on Life-Alert style. They may not be prepared for a crazy blockbuster movie-style natural disaster, but are they ready for any kind of emergency that might occur in the household? What would they do if one actually happened?

We can teach them how to use a phone, how to dial 911, we can even teach them the Heimlich or how to perform CPR if we want them to be ultra-ready, but we never know how they’re actually going to perform in the heat of the moment until it happens.

I was shocked by what went down in my house when I was in need of immediate assistance. That sounds like a click-bait news headline, but it’s true. SHOCKED.

There I was, minding my own business. Actually, I was peeing, but that’s beside the point. The kids were upstairs playing, and for once, not trying to rip each other’s head off. Before leaving the bathroom, I always stop and look in the mirror. You can call it “vain”, I call it “making sure my makeup didn’t run and make me look like someone’s drunken mugshot”

Gotta fix that shit!

I guess I wasn’t paying close enough attention as I whipped my head away from the mirror and headed toward the door, because that mofo caught my pinky toe and bent that shit all the way backwards. ALL. THE. WAY. BACKWARDS. I’m not sure if you know this, but next to childhood and taking a Lego to the arch of the foot, stubbing your bitch-ass pinky toe is the worst pain a person can ever experience.

I’m not being dramatic.

In this moment, there are only two things that come to my mind, and they both come flying out of my mouth at decibels that could rival a 4th of July air show: “Fuck”, naturally, and “Ow.”

So I’m just standing there in the doorway of the bathroom screaming at the top of my lungs, over and over again, “FUCK! OW! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OW!”
I think this must have gone on for a solid 5 minutes, because I was pretty sure I was either dying, or the toe was going to have to be amputated, or I was going to have to have the toe amputated and then I was going to die. It was a slam so hard that I was actually afraid to look at my foot in fear that I would see my tiny ugly pinky toe nail sticking straight up and faint, hit my head, and die.

I’m screaming so loud, for so long, that in between screams of agony I’m wondering if the police are going to show up thinking I’m being brutally assaulted,  or if Satan is going to crawl out of the earth and tell me to shut the fuck up because I’m ruining his slumber, but guess who DOESN’T show up? My kids.

Once I checked to make sure my toe was actually still attached and the nail firmly secured (miracle of miracles, they both were!), I literally crawled my ass up the stairs to see what could possibly keep my kids from coming to make sure I wasn’t actually dying. We’d TALKED about this. We’d TRAINED. We’d PRACTICED. Something important must have been keeping them away. Maybe they simultaneously slammed their toes and we couldn’t hear each other over our own screams and they, too, needed assistance.

It must have looked like the zombie apocalypse in my house. I’m crawling, moaning, one bum leg dragging behind me, hair and face disheveled-

but somehow I manage to make it up the stairs, and down the eerily quiet hallway to the playroom only to find my kids perfectly fine, attached toes, playing with Legos.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME SEE WHAT WAS WRONG?”

They look like they’ve seen a damn ghost.

“What happened?” they asked, shocked looks on their faces.

“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME SCREAMING? I SLAMMED MY TOE ON THE DOOR! WHY DIDN’T YOU COME AND SEE WHAT HAPPENED?”

Blinks. Blinks some more.

“We thought you were yelling at the dog.”

I was yelling FUCK! OW!

The dog’s name is PASCAL.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FUCK! OW! …. PASCAL….  I want to be mad. I wanted to scold them for not coming to my rescue like the mamas boys they should be… but… I can hear it.

The moral of the story is: Don’t name your dog something that sounds like an exclamation of panic and pain or your kids might leave you to die.

Posted on July 7, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 2 Comments

It’s not the end of the World, Kids.

I’ve been wanting to sit down and write a new blog for a few days now, but I’ve been dealing with the coming apocalypse in my house, and it’s prevented me from any rational thought.

Frequent occurrences of the ground opening up and threatening to swallow us all. Yes, right in my own home! I wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it myself, but I speak only the truth. The only safe place in this whole house is the kids’ rooms, so, naturally, in order to protect them, they’ve been spending a lot of time there since this natural disaster began occurring.

I’ve documented these occurrences for scientific records, posterity, and for evidence once the rest of the world finally realizes what’s been going on, I can say “Hey, my kids knew it first! Here’s proof!”

Here are the ways the world has almost ended this week, according to my children:

One sat on the stool the other one wanted to sit on

One got a bigger piece of Nutty Bar than the other

It being bed time

One using a Lego block from something the other built a month ago and hasn’t touched since

His brother wouldn’t let him destroy his Lego car

We ran out of mustard

The waffle was too toasty

It’s lunch time

It’s not lunch time yet

They can’t have a snack 10 minutes before dinner

Babybels are too hard to open

His head wouldn’t go in his shirt’s arm hole

The cheese on his sandwich wasn’t melty enough

He has to take off his socks to put sandals on

He has to put socks on to wear shoes

We have to go grocery shopping

He didn’t know off the top of his head of Christmas this year is on a Wednesday

I told them to stop playing with Legos for five seconds and put some clothes on

I asked him to repeat himself

He tripped over a toy I told him to put away or someone was going to get hurt

He couldn’t decide what kind of meat he wanted in his taco

I said the words “it’s time to brush your teeth”

I said the words “we just argued about this last night”

I wouldn’t let him sleep in my bed

I moved him from my bed once I found him in it hours later

I didn’t DVR a show I didn’t know they wanted to watch

Onions

 

Hold on… wait… what’s that you’re saying? NONE of these things could cause life as we know it to cease? Not a single one of these things would cause the beginning of the apocalypse? Not a single one of these is reason at all to believe that it’s the end of the world?

CAN YOU TELL MY KIDS THAT? Thanks.

Posted on July 5, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment

I don’t want to be the “Cool Mom” Anymore

It was something my mom strived for my entire childhood, but never succeeded. It was the thing I swore, when I became a mom, that I would actually achieve.

COOL MOM STATUS

The mom other moms wanted to be. The mom with the house all the kids wanted to go to. The mom everyone thought was awesome. Not the minivan driving soccer mom. Not the mom jean wearing frump. THE MOM OF ALL MOMS! I wanted it all.

I don’t want that anymore.

Look, it isn’t like I wouldn’t take the honor if it were bestowed upon me. I totally would. Being a “Cool Mom” would be awesome, but aiming for it, striving for it, trying to be something other than just myself– and who that is varies from day to day– is too much work on top of everything else I have to do, none of which is “cool”.

I’m a mom who tries not to use “no” as every other word.

I’m a mom who looks for missing patience just about as often as I look for missing socks.

I’m a mom who hates crafting. And sports. And the park.

I’m a mom who tolerates playdates only so my kids stop bothering me all the time.

I’m a mom who tries to schedule these playdates anywhere but at my house.

I’m a mom who yells, and curses, and doesn’t feel a hell of a lot of shame over it

I’m a mom who may or may not have considered selling her kids on the black market a time or twenty

I’m a mom who also may or may not have searched for holy water on this black market

I’m a mom who isn’t currently concerned with raising future world leaders, but humans who PUT DOWN THE TOILET SEAT AFTER FLUSHING

I’m a mom who some days counts the minutes until the kids go to bed

I’m a mom who is not at all above bribery

I’m a mom who has legitimately considered running away and joining the traveling circus.

Mostly, I’m just me. It doesn’t really matter to me if my kids think I’m “cool”. I’ll consider myself cool if I raise decent human beings who are polite to strangers, don’t litter, and yeah, if they put the frickin’ toilet seat down.

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment

Celebrating life’s little Victories

This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Kingsford®. The opinions and text are all mine.

We did it! We survived two weeks of summer break! Sure, we had some ups and downs (downs being the stomach flu ravaging our household), but we did it!

Life is too short not to celebrate the mundane, small victories in life, so we decided to do something outside of our comfort zone, and grill out to commemorate this moment! Because what says CELEBRATE like food cooked on the grill?

We aren’t avid grillers, or experienced, or even great, but that’s also what made this occasion even more fun.

We ran to Wal-Mart and grabbed our favorite (and also easiest to use) charcoal- Kingsford® Match Light® Instant Light Charcoal, some supplies for kebabs, and ran home to get started.

Check out our piddly little grill that gets the job DONE!

We lit the charcoal and let the kids help put everything together (which, surprisingly, wasn’t at all frustrating like cooking with kids usually is), creating their own kebabs (and stealing most of the good stuff).

All the prep, and the flipping of the kebabs, and high-fives for making it this far were all making memories, even when there’s no real occasion other than to do it, and honestly, I can’t recommend it enough! You don’t need a huge life event to celebrate, just celebrate everything!

It was the most fun meal we’ve had in a long time, and I get the feeling our tiny little grill will be getting a lot of use this summer celebrating anything, or nothing at all.

What are you celebrating this summer?

Submit your favorite non-holidays and/or best ‘adulting’ moments to @Kingsford on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook.

Get to celebrating! (and grilling– try a honey teriyaki marinade over shrimp & veggie kebabs, drool-worthy and simple!)

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment