Why Do Kids Smell Like Sewage Plants?

Remember that intoxicating smell of a newborn that set your ovaries into overdrive?  Even holding a baby that isn’t yours will have your baby maker screaming for one of it’s own.  They smell of new life, hope and innocence.

I'm going to smell bad soon? Crap!
I’m going to smell bad soon? Crap!

I miss that smell. That lovely smell has turned into a smell that I like to compare to a rotten carcass.  A little harsh? No, have you smelled my son?  Next you may ask, “Do you give him a bath?” Yes, I do bathe him often.  Yes, he also brushes his teeth twice a day.

To be honest with you, I am convinced there is a secret society at his school which makes it mandatory to run around as much as possible, while trekking through sewage pools.  Every day I pick him up he is doused in sweat, has dirt under his nails, and painted arms compliments of Crayola markers.  Once we get home and remove his shoes: HOLD your noses people because your nostrils just may burn off. It’s worse than a teenaged boy’s locker room.

Typical Recess at School Apparently

I scrub his his feet every night, why do they smell like rotten cheese and vinegar? We are going to go broke buying new shoes every few months! We have even put powder in his shoes to no avail. Once in the airport he was telling everyone at the gate, “Momma says I have stinky feet.” Not too many found it funny.  I, of course, thought it was hilarious.


At one point I was afraid he might be the smelly kid at school, but not the case.  All those little petri dishes (a.k.a. his friends in class), have the same problem according to their parents.

When he is at home on the weekends with us, the smell-o-meter definitely drops significantly.  Maybe I should start sending him to school in a bubble.  Either way, I guess this is preparing me for when he is a teen and smells even worse. God help me, and my nose.


Grocery Store Debacle

Dear Grocers,

Please eliminate the grocery carts with the attached dilapidated cars immediately.  Reasons to support my plea are as follows:

  • First and foremost, they are DI-SGUS-TING. When was the last time they were cleaned? NEVER?  I need medical latex gloves just to put my kid in there, all-the-while cringing at the thought of him touching the steering wheel. They are complete rubbish and make me want to vomit.
grocery car
I am a monster if I don’t get this car!
  •  There are never enough in circulation for as many kids as there are in the store.  If we pass one of the lucky few that snag one, my kid gets jealous and turns into a monster. Then he hates me.  Do you like making kids hate their parents?
  • They are impossible to turn.  I have to do an 8- point Austin Powers turn just to get to the next aisle. Then I get sympathy/ idiot looks from all the jerks without kids, or the ones that were smart enough to leave them at home.


  • I have a huge husband and a son. They eat a lot.  How in the hell am I supposed to fit all my groceries in the cart when it is a fraction of the size of a normal cart.  My groceries always pile up, and I then look like a pig.  Thanks for promoting my self- esteem.
  • The kids never want to stay in there the whole time! They end up throwing their limbs out only to get smashed into the aisle shelves.  So much for ‘safety’!             Grocery car 2
  •  They are heavy.  For someone small like me it is very difficult to push this P.O.S with a stock pile of food, and a 30 lb kid.

In conclusion, they ruin my life. If you insist on having these stupid cars, please CLEAN them.  AND while you are at it, make them look like an Audi or a Benz, not a beat- down Flintstones lemon.


Holly & Kari

Caution: Everything is Evil!

When did buying things for your kids become a lesson in chemistry? I was shopping for a big boy bed the other day and ran across an article informing me there are dangerous chemicals in the frame and paint. Awesome, just what I need to buy my baby boy. There goes his batman bed.

Sometimes I feel as a society, we are encouraged to live in fear.  Which in turn, will make us consume. From day one, you are told bottles are toxic, so you should buy BPA free.  Everything has to be organic, because there are chemicals in their food. And don’t worry, that awesome ‘it’ toy you just bought is sure to be recalled in a year, because it is deadly too.

222 copy

What do we buy for them to eat, play with and sleep on? What can they watch on TV that won’t give them ADD? 

spongey on crack

I find myself getting more and more annoyed.  I can’t only buy wooden toys because my kid loves Batman. He needs Batman in his life to prevent breakdowns.  I don’t want to be the A-Hole parent that doesn’t buy him his super hero sh*t.

No this is not his Halloween costume. He wears this frequently.
No this is not his Halloween costume. He wears this frequently.

I will be the first to admit things have changed since I was a youngster, especially in our food.  I am the soda police at work (yes that girl, but I have convinced a few to get off the juice)!  However everyday something new is on the evening news, warning of us of the ‘deadly’ side effects.  Some days, I don’t want to be a lunatic who is over protective of my son.  Some days, I just want to go to the grocery store and buy a regular piece of fruit.  Some days, I just want to go to the toy store and buy something without reading: Caution: this could kill you and your kid. I am going to have a nervous breakdown trying to keep up with all this! Can’t we just live in ignorance? Wishful thinking.

Pull Your Big Boy Pants Up

The day has arrived. My baby no longer needs his momma to wipe his booty.  I have to admit with every new milestone comes joy and sorrow.  Joy that I no longer have to buy diapers, but sorrow this is one more thing he will not need me for anymore.

My big boy is officially a certified pee-pee in the potty expert. Operation Potty worked!  I have heard of people potty training as early as 15 months.  Maybe I am just a hippy at heart, but I wanted my son to do it when he was ready, or when we were broke from buying diapers, which ever came first.  Luckily he was ready.

This is my poo poo in the potty dance.

When you are a working mom, you need everyone in your child’s life involved in his or her growth.  We enlisted his teachers at school to ask him every hour if he had to go potty.  When he did use the potty the whole class would cheer as he made his exit.  Attention wh*re, wonder where he gets that? His teacher says he is only one of two that currently uses the potty, so that made me proud.  Also, she said he is the popular kid because he is always playing and sharing with everyone.  Sorry- had to throw that one in too. (Attention Wh*ore).

At home, he wore a potty watch.  The watch is shaped like a potty and you set a timer that goes off every hour.  When it went off, S would get very excited and announce it was potty time.  Once he finished, he wanted us to go look at it before he flushed, then would say, “Bye-bye poo-poo!” Husband and I would dance around in a way that we would be embarrassed if it wasn’t just us.

I’m the king of the world!

The final tool in Operation Potty was going to Target and letting him pick out big boy underwear.  He, of course, chose Batman.   Once we got home he pranced around in his new undies and declared himself a big boy.  There you have it.  It truly is the little things in life that make you happy.

Round Two. Ding, Ding

Since Husband and I are beginning the daunting task of trying to get pregnant again, I have been reflecting back on my first pregnancy.  In doing so, I am hoping to pep-talk myself so I don’t chicken out.  Isn’t it amazing how women tend to forgot? We choose to only remember the good things.  I already shared some of my birth story (see: Push Gifts?), which was in comparison, relatively easy.

Overall, I would say my pregnancy was pretty easy too.  However, being the little nugget that I am with a giant husband, my son filled his ‘womb’ pretty quickly with his long legs. Carrying around this basketball player for nine months (it’s actually 10 months- those liars!), definitely took its toll on me some days.

In a quest to prepare myself for round two, I have put together the following list of things I am, and am not looking forward to.

Things I AM NOT looking forward to would include (TMI):

  • Peeing on myself when I sneeze, cough or laugh (Ugh)
  • Not being able to go poo (yes, women do this too)
  • Nose congestion (I think I had a borderline addiction to Afrin last time)
  • HUGE boobs that hurt with the slightest touch (or even breeze!)
  • Having Husband shave my legs because I can no longer reach them
  • Watching the scale climb, and there is nothing I can do about it
  • Awkward sex (No bueno)
  • Ugly clothes (VERY ugly clothes)
  • Waddling when I walk (Stupid round ligament pain!)
  • Giving up 9 (10) months of food and drinks I like (I am a foodie)

Things I AM looking forward to would include:

Still thinking……. Oh yes:

  • Excuse to take naps on weekends
  • All those hormones make my hair and nails pretty
  • All those hormones make you have really ‘dirtty‘ dreams. (Sorry Mom. Ladies you know what I am talking about.  I would wake up blushing!)
  • Feeling baby move (Pretty awesome)
  • Hearing the heart beat the first time (Emotional)
  • Anticipation and excitement of meeting the person you have already bonded with
  • Finally, and most important- the moment they are born.  There is nothing more amazing than that moment you hold your child for the first time.  It is indescribable, and brings me joy just thinking about it.

I am glad I finished with the ‘things I AM looking forward to’, as the excitement is starting to build.  So, who’s coming with me?  It is always more fun to be miserable with someone else, right?  Now back to baby making.


Sleeping with the Enemy

While pregnant everyone, including strangers, had advice for me. Among the list was: Don’t give him a paci he will get nipple confusion, don’t eat spicy food it will come out in your breast milk, don’t let them sleep in your bed they will never leave, blah, blah and blah.

Everything seemed overwhelming enough, I didn’t need the added stress of the “do’s and don’ts” of parenting. About a week after baby was born, Husband and I had to tell our family and friends to just let us figure it out and if we needed advice, we would ask. Some of the advice admittedly turned out to be true, particularly the sleeping in the bed bit.

I have to admit, I was (and maybe still am) the one who didn’t want him sleeping in his own room. First off, I would have never been able to sleep when he was a baby if he wasn’t in my room. Even then, I slept with one eye open and his bassinet was within arms reach. Plus since Husband and I worked so hard to get him on this earth, that kid was never leaving my sight. After three months, Husband said it was time to let him go in his own room. After he went to sleep, I would sometimes sneak Baby back in the room. Crazy? Maybe just a little.


Fast forward to now. I have a toddler who request’s ‘Momma’s Bed’ every night, and I have to tell you: it is hard to say no. He likes to cuddle and read books, which I love. However once he is asleep, he frails his arms and legs in the air and often hits me in the head. He also likes to sleep sideways on a king bed, shared with a man who is 6’5”, and then there is me. I am lucky to get a small section in the corner. Husband has given up the battle at this point; he knows I am just as attached to Sebastian as he is to me.

If I do put him in his bed after he falls asleep, he often wakes in the middle of the night and tries to sneak back into our room. Most times he is too tired to actually make it, and I find him in the morning either on the floor with his blanket or hanging off his bed.

I figure one day he will be too cool to hang out with me, and I will be lucky to even get a hug. So in the meantime, who cares if he sleeps with his momma! But before you pass judgment, know that I fully intend on paying his therapy bills in his 30’s due to his co-dependencies.

You Can’t Argue with Crazy

I recently saw a commercial, which shows a man going to Burger King at 2:30 am because his pregnant wife had her first craving. Sorry Whopper, you were not my first craving but it was something equally bad for you…. Doritos. I have a similar craving story, but Husband was not near as patient with me as the man in the commercial. Does that man even exist? Anyway, I couldn’t believe how this little crisp with powdered fake cheese had such a hold on me.


It was Christmas night when my first Dorito craving hit. The winters in Chicago can be pretty brutal and this one was no exception. We were snuggled on the couch watching a movie when I turn to Husband and say, “I have to have Doritos.” He looked at me but didn’t speak. I followed up, “No like now, let’s go!” Frustrated, he turned to look out the window and pointed, “Look it is snowing outside and it’s Christmas, no one is open.” “We will find someone open, now let’s go,” I demand. At that point he didn’t try to argue because you can’t argue with crazy, right? He knew I was on another Holly mission and no one could stop me.

Luckily living in the city you can walk anywhere you need to go. We bundled up and headed to the Walgreens a block away. “Damn it, they closed an hour ago,” I yell throwing my arms in the air. Husband looks at me, “Sorry honey, you will just have to wait until tomorrow.” I explain how that is not going to happen and we need to continue on our search.

We move on to the grocery store another two blocks away. Closed also! WTF, who do I have to sleep with around here to get some freakin’ Doritos? Husband looks at me with defeat written all over his face. I tell him we will just have to walk home and get the car. Now he is pissed. He tries some logic, “Now you are being ridiculous, driving in this weather just for Doritos?” Still didn’t work, I start marching home.

At the time we lived in a high rise, so before I got too dramatic by getting the car I ask the doorman, “Hey, what’s a preggo gotta do to get some Doritos in this city?” After he realized I was serious he replied, “Go to the Seven Eleven around the corner, he will be open.” Eureka! I waddle toward the door as Husband follows. We get there just as he is about to close for the night. Thank you Jesus! I buy several bags and tell the clerk he saved Christmas. Not sure if he knew what I meant, but I did.

Once we got home, I nearly finished the whole bag. I let Husband have a few, but guarded the bag as if it were my last meal. Husband eventually forgave me, but in the end he got the last laugh. Later that night I paid for being such a diva as the Doritos got the best of me. I will spare you the details. No more powered fake cheese for me.

Trying is Trying (warning TMI)

Contrary to what single men and women think: trying for a baby is miserable! With my son we started trying by not trying to not have a baby. You know, very organic, carefree, la vida loca!! While on our honeymoon (taken two years after we got married, because the wedding burned holes in our pockets) in Spain, I started to feel nauseous so I immediately ran to the Farmacia, as I was certain I was pregnant! As I am roaming back to the hotel down La Rambla, my brain starts to panic:

HOLY SH*T, could this be? Am I ready for this? Will my kid think I am a lunatic too? Will my career suffer? Will Husband think I am fat? Am I having buyer’s remorse? F**K, I just spent the past two weeks drinking enough to kill a small animal! My baby already hates me and is probably drunk….! Stop talking to yourself these Spaniard’s are going to think you are some crazy American!

Much to my surprise, after a few minutes of waiting and trying to decipher the instructions in Spanish (Spanish-Spanish, not American-Spanish), the results were clear: NO EMBARAZADA. There it was, SHOUTING at me that my baby maker had failed.

Suddenly I was sad. The thought of drunken baby kind of made me smile. Now that I had a taste of what it might have been, I was hooked. And when my mind is made up, I make sh*t happen. Poor husband became a victim of my mission! I barked, “Listen up! From this day forward we are having sex everyday until this baby maker makes a baby, got it!” He obliged. I’m not sure if it was out of excitement or out of fear of the crazy lady, a.k.a., me.

Fast-forward a month. I am walking through the grocery store, have a dizzy spell and eat it. By eat it, I mean, I fell so hard and so ugly, you would have thought an invisible linemen from the Chicago Bears tackled me. I walked to the car frazzled, and called my doc to schedule an appointment. I tell her I am getting old and forgot how to use my legs.

When I get home, I think: what the hell, might as well. I grab a pregnancy test and before I can even flush, the stick has TWO LINES! I run out waving it in the air to husband. He jumps and exclaims, “I DON’T KNOW what that means!” I yell, “WE ARE PREGNANT!” In my head, I thank baby maker for answering my prayers. Husband grabs two champagne glasses, fills them with orange juice, and runs over to me to toast as we both are crying. I proclaim, “This will be a boy, and we are naming him Sebastian, my saint.” Was this rollercoaster worth it? Absolutely! And I will be doing it again.

Who Pissed in Your Cheerios?

whopissedAs of three years ago I became a serious runner. I love running races, however I usually only run ones that provide medals at the end. Why? Because I love being rewarded for doing things that suck. Running does suck but I somehow developed a love for it.

This morning I decided to run a 5k with my girlfriend where we could run with our strollers. It was family friendly, lots of activities, bounce house, etc., sounds like fun right? Wrong!

For starters, it was a chilly 48 degrees and the route was along the lake. Anyone who lives or has visited Chicago knows the wind along the lake is BRUTAL! Also, I haven’t used my stroller in months, so I forgot how heavy that stupid thing is. Once I arrive and unload all the gear, here is the conversation that took place in my head:

Way to go genius, two of the three tires are flat!!! WTF?!! You should have prepared everything last night! What were you thinking!!? Great, Sebe’s nose is running – and NO wipes either! What should I do? Leave? No, that would make me a pansy! I can push 50 lbs of dead weight for 3 miles, I ran the marathon for Christ sake. Get your sh** together and stop talking to yourself, you look like an insane person.

After my pep talk with myself, I try to give the cranky pants (which I can’t blame him seeing how I woke him up early to come freeze his ass off) some cheerios and he catapults the bag, sending the cheerios flying. Great, now no snack.

I put my big girl pants on and headed toward the start line. The entire race was miserable, however I did finish, beat-down stroller and all. When we reached the finish line: no medal, no cheers, no nothing. Will I do this again next year? I think you know the answer. Note to self: buy a new effing stroller!

Headed to Crazy Town

Normally I am a pretty grounded person. I hold together nicely and rise to the occasion when faced with adversity. This has always been my strength. Ever since my son was born, this quality doesn’t apply when he gets sick. I literally turn into a maniac with a first class ticket to crazy town.

The first time my son was ill, we were on a trip to middle of nowhere, Texas for a friend’s wedding. I have family there so it was the perfect trip to combine family & friend time. My son, who was three months old at the time, started off the day with a minor cough. No big deal right? WRONG. Turns out he had croup, which sounds much worse than it is, but nonetheless, scary.


We leave the wedding and I get a call from my sister’s house, which by the way was a 45 min drive away, that something was wrong. She of course is trying to be calm because she knows as a new mom, I was on the verge of a freak out. I can hear my sweet angel in the background gasping for breath and whining. The drive was miserable and as soon as we got there, I b-lined it for the bathroom where she had him standing in the steam.

Meanwhile, Husband is trying to calm me down as I was sobbing uncontrollably. He then tells me, “It’s just the cat, and he’s allergic.”

I lose it. Why is it that men always seem to downplay the situation, and instantly become a doctor? I know woman can be drama, but this is MY son we are talking about here. Suddenly his participation in creating my son didn’t count.

We finally get to the hospital ER, where even the staff was telling me to calm down. Obviously everything turned out OK, but my poor family and husband for witnessing the wrath of the Holly. I know it only makes things worse, but I can’t be the only woman out there like this right? Sincerely, Mrs. Crazy Pants.