Old Age

Saturday was a day where K and I apparently thought we were 22 again.  There was a football game.  There were friends from out of town.  And there was beer.  OMG there was beer.  I don’t know why we thought it would be okay to begin drinking beer at 11 in the morning.  I guess we thought we were at a fraternity tailgate and forgot that we were 40 years old.

The day began with us leaving the kids with a sitter and gleefully waving good-bye, practically running down the street to meet our friends.  Ten minutes later, a beer was handed to us.  Oh, and we ate one bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats for breakfast.  Really filling.

At one point, my friend Kate pronounced it “The greatest day ever.”  We literally lost Kate’s husband and later found him at a post-game tailgate a ten minute walk away.  I found myself drinking a Bud Light.  Horrifying.  Kate and I took a bathroom break in a church.  I attempted, with the help of a friend, to tackle my own husband.  It only resulted in him falling on Kate, potentially injuring her, but the point is, I did it.  I threw a ball for some random German Shephard.  I have no idea who this dog belonged to.

We brilliantly decided to go out to dinner later, at a respectable restaurant in Boulder.  In jeans and University of Colorado t-shirts.  And hats.  And some visors.  Our friend Matt continually asked the waitress to push our two tables together, which would completely block the entire waitstaff’s entry into the kitchen, but no matter.  We probably should have been embarrassed, but we weren’t.   That happens when you drink Bud Light.

When we got home, K announced he wanted to go upstairs and “see the kids”.  Um, no.

Suffice it to say, we went to bed at bed at 8:30.  And in a gorgeous display of Murphy’s Law, Zoe woke up sick the next day.  Great.  I don’t think I need to go into detail about how we felt the next day.  Because we’re 40.  I’m sure people can imagine.


Horrendous children’s toys

Christmastime is upon us all and it is time to practically go into debt trying to please the little people who run our households.  I’ve started exclusively shopping online because I hate stores/malls/lines/people in general and I’ve found some interesting stuff.  By that I mean, absolutely horrendous, ridiculous, gross, insane children’s toys.

Follow me:


What in holy hell???  I’m sure they would get Max instantly with the phrase “crawling disgusting maggots”, but they definitely haven’t sold me yet.  And I’m unclear, are there seriously maggots in here or is it fake?  Because I don’t want maggots in my rice, and I certainly don’t want them in my child’s hand.



Imagine the humiliation of someone thinking that your little girl is *gasp*, a boy.  Or even worse, a frickin baby.  Baby gotta have bangs.  Can’t just look like a baby.  The only way I would ever buy this is to get the “afro” bangs and put it on my white baby.  Just to keep people guessing.  Yes, the website does have different nationalities.



Oh good, something that can make my house messier than it already is.  Some sort of concoction that turns water into “goo”.  Because enormous amounts of dirt under my kids fingernails isn’t enough–we now need to mix it with goo.  Not to mention mixing goo with children’s private parts.  I can’t even begin to imagine what my bathroom would look like after this fiasco.  Water is everywhere after I bathe the kids together.  I really don’t think that adding a gelatinous red substance is going to improve what the place looks like.  Isn’t the point of a bath to be cleaner?  And “gelli baff”?  Um, gelli is spelled jelly and baff is spelled bath.  Do we have to be messy and illiterate?



Because life is now so dangerous, that babies are not even allowed to learn to walk on their own.  They must have support.  We must come to their aid.  I just know that without this groundbreaking invention, all babies will crawl forever and we will have a whole new generation entirely made of crawlers.  Everything will be built on a smaller scale.  No longer will nine foot ceilings in houses be the norm.  Three feet is more than enough.  A  stove top can be built right into the floor.  A football field will be two yards.  Olympic gymnastics will consist of rolling all over the floor.  Thank God, thank GOD for One Step Ahead’s forethought.  This is right up there with knee pads for babies that are crawling….what must kids who live in African mud houses do???  And 30 bucks?  Seriously?  I’m pretty sure I could make this out of a reusable grocery sack.



Do you smell that?  It’s the smell of every mother’s despair after a play doh session, in which she will be scraping and digging dried doh out of every surface of the house.   “Now in a convenient spray!”


Okay not really an insane child’s toy, but AWESOME:

Soap.  In the shape of  baby hands.  Do I need to say anything else about this product?



This is either really weird, or the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.  I can’t decide.  The normal person in me says, “okay c’mon, do we really need to humiliate dad this way?”  And then the stressed out mom (with a side of crazy in me) says, “Yeaahuss!  Let’s put daddy  to work!!  GIDDIUPP!!”  Max and Zoe would love his thing!  Max might even break out spurs.  Zoe would be all, “YAY DADDY YAY!!”  And I would laugh and drink wine in the corner, while facebooking obviously.


My search continues for Christmas gifts.  Because none of these are going to cut it.  I will continue to search the web in an effort to avoid malls/lines/people in general.

And did you know that there are actually toy play houses out there that cost, like $25,000?  And mini cars for $14,000?  Who are the people buying these things????