You ever say something in response to one of your little people, and immediately wonder what freaking planet you’re on and how you got there? Well that’s an average Tuesday in our all American household.

Shit I’ve argued with my preschooler about this week:

1. Candy < A Wholesome Breakfast

Yes, Vampirina, Halloween was spooky, amazing, and ALL the things. No, my dear, mommy didn’t eat any of that “special candy” that makes her let you do whatever the hell you want, such as eat 6 Twizzlers before a long day of learning at the “Rooster School”. Sidebar:: I’ve done the bloodwork and she’s definitely mine. I don’t know why she (or anyone for that matter) thinks Twizzlers are good, but we will keep her anyways I guess.

2. Bedtime is not for camels.

Of course you’re thirsty... it’s 8pm. Listen, kid, I was the best bamboozler this side of the Mississippi for a looooong time. I literally invented stall tactics. My mom used to tell me stories of me slithering like a snake down the hall and melting down the stairs, hoping no one would notice me watching Cops from behind the recliner. I feel a negative amount of guilt about the fact that you are crawling across the floor acting like it’s the Sahara because you just want one teeny sip of water before bed. Sweet dreams, drama llama.
​
3. The HiPad is going to get me put in the nut house if you ask for it one more time.

That damn thing is the definition of a love/hate relationship. It’s nice if mama wants a minute without hearing so many questions like “but what trouser snake means?” (Thank you #FamilyFued for NEVER keeping it kid friendly at 7 pm on a Wednesday.) It’s not so nice when I don’t even think Brain Balance can help her when she is sitting on her bed screaming pre-k obscenities at me over watching Ryan’s latest toy review on that blessed contraption. It’s a double edged sword for sure.

4. You can’t take a photo with EVERY mannequin in EVERY store.

It’s too much!! Do you know how many headless folks there are at Dick’s Sporting Goods?! I hope not. I do. That little lady in the feature photo up top has a special relationship with those plastic people. It creeps me the eff out. She literally hugs them and must shake ALL of their hands like they are her best friends in the world. The Old Navy children and the Target dog are her adopted family. I don’t understand the connection, but she also told me she sees people who are in heaven this week, so there’s that.

5. No, psycho, you can’t drive to dinner.

You’ll have plenty of time to drive mommy and daddy around when you’re 16. Trust that! What?! There’s a future with no Rock Paper Scissors for who has to drive home after a wine dinner with friends?! (Chill out, folks. The loser obviously drinks responsiblier.) Sign me up! But for now, my ambitious little crazy pants, you may NOT drive to dinner.

These are just the ones that really got my goat this week. I thought it would be helpful to take a moment to reach out to other parents on planet “What the Hell?!” to let you know that you aren’t alone, and their crazy evolves over time. Still as unreasonable as Kanye, but at least they comprehend the words that are coming out of your mouth.... Lort willing.

#winethoughts #allthewine #theanxietymom #whatthehell

Imma tell you a story about a friend of a friend, and because of HIPAA laws we shall call her Becky with the good hair.

This. Girl. It’s Saturday night, she is visiting from Las Vegas, and she is ready to partayyyy!! Kids are taken care of and she is going to a football game. Just like the golden days, right?! Wrong. She is on this low carb diet where she has to count the carbs even if she looks in the window at The Cheesecake Factory (she is finally tired of telling people she “really does have a small frame”.... prove it, bitch!), so she skipped all the meals on that fine, Fall college game day.

Her team wins the game so what does she do, you ask?! Celebrates with Fireball... handmade by the Devil himself. I just wonder when on God’s green Earth has that ever worked out for her?! I don’t want to be too judgy, though, so I don’t point that out. Oh, what’s that you say?! Vegas bomb?! Well of course he will, and two for my good friend Becky! What should she do next? Bed? Ice cream? Take some damn ibuprofen to prevent the hell that will be called Sunday? NO EFFING WAY! We’re going to the Battery!!!! For those non-Atliens, the Battery is the most amazing MLB stadium in all the land, because you don’t even need tickets to experience a wonderful time! Not a time like Becky, or if you are into that type of night - go ahead. No judgement here.

She’s swirlin’ around like Bernie, and her good man, Ethan, decides it’s time to go. So he responsibly calls a Lyft. They’re better than Uber. No competition. However, Becky with the good hair is NOT ready to leave yet. So she acts like her husband is kidnapping her yelling “I don’t wanna go! I wanna stay! It’s so FUN!”. She is white girl wasted and should not be in a public place any longer. She makes fun of the Lyft driver the whole ride home behind her back, as if it is her fault that Ethan is a party pooper. Bless that sweet starving actress’ heart. She’s just trying to make it in the Biz... but our friend B from the HOA is just trying to rage, so stop yapping and take her back to the bar!!

Now I have a confession. I am Becky, and we are not friends. Every now and again, that girl comes out, guns a blazin’ and even Ethan, I mean Evan, can’t reel that one in. He still loves me. He’s not mad. He didn’t get arrested. Neither did I. I feel better now. I had water with dinner for a week if that gives you any idea of how shitty this mama felt the next day. I drink wine like it’s my job, but Black Box Pinot had a slight dip in sales this week.

But here we are at the beginning of the weekend again, and I have very high hopes that Becky will stay her ass in Vegas this time. My kids have sports to play and this busy mama ain’t got no time to hang over.

#confessions #gameday #poorchoices #welovelyft #theanxietymom #beckywiththegoodhair

First and foremost, I would like to know how in the actual Hell does that happen 👆? Socks are not sold separately. They are a pair, but I’m pretty sure the sock divorce rate is double that of adult humans. Maybe half of all of these socks are with a new family just trying to blend in somewhere. Who knows?!

Raising a blended family is sometimes like having a basket of mismatched socks. Relax. Hear me out. I love all of my misfit sock children, and happen to be one myself. We are all so different but, in our case at least, want so badly to navigate this journey called life as one unit. From the very beginning of our relationship, “step” and “half” have not been words that we use often. Our children are siblings and we have three of them. We don’t hide the fact that our kids have “other parents”, but most don’t assume that, because of the way we interact with one another. “They” are “our” responsibility and that is the key to keeping our unit strong.

​Nothing grinds my gears more than to see someone expecting to have a happy blended home life with young children, and at the same time drawing a line in the sand regarding whose is whose and what’s is what’s. My “stepfather” is my dad. He raised me to be the parent I am today to ALL of my kids. Blended families are WORK. Rewarding work, but work nonetheless. I feel the same way about marriage, but that’s another blog for another time, my friend. Maybe a day when I’m not annoyed at SP Fox for training our four year old to remind me every day how shitty of a driver I am. Kidding, SPF (oh man! I just realized his nickname initials are the same as sunscreen 😊 I like it even more now.), I would agree you are just a hair better than I, but only because I am unable to back in a trailer. Now THAT was a disaster! When a perfect stranger has to get in your truck to back a trailer in the water, perhaps you should try another part of the boat removal process. I digress.

It is difficult to explain to the tiniest terrorist why her sister has a different mom, or her bubs has a different dad. I’m still working on how to make that make sense in her oh- so-distorted little brain. Judge me... go ahead. If you’ve ever met that little crazy pants, then you would agree that some of the shit she says is off the wall and she could very well be a real live Boss Baby. We cross our bridges when we get to them, but one thing never changes... our bridges always go the same way. When blending a family, there is NO room for doubt. If only every parent really took that into consideration when walking down the isle, then the stigma that is a wicked stepmother or an asshole stepfather would be almost no more. There’s a bad Jell-O shot in every batch (usually the last one IMO).

I am not tooting my own horn, or even saying that we are doing it exactly right, because Lort only knows what that means. I am just saying that in order to make this CRAZY life work, we have to be all in. Unlike all those damn socks that I can’t part with that have been single for at least a year now! Get on Match, bitches! Aren’t you lonely?!?

#theanxietymom #coparenting #stepparenting #blendedfamily #thingstoworkon

Okay, friends. It’s time to get real. Like really real. I’ll start...

Why is it that every time I sneeze, I pee myself a little?! I’ll tell you why! It’s those two youngest little angels of ours that were apparently wielding samurai swords on their way into this world. I’m not sure what they did to my old bladder, but I’d like it back. I know that much.

I appreciate the miracle of child birth just as much as the next gal, don’t get me wrong. Before you go getting all mad because I am slandering the miracle that is shoving a person out of your Britney, don’t. Just relax. I do realize that without that miraculous event, none of our little angels would even be here (whether YOU birthed them yourself or not)... and that makes it special. I don’t use the term “beautiful” because, having gone two rounds with those little ninjas, I know for certain that process is NOT a thing of “beauty”.

I just want to keep it real for the expectant moms out there who think they are going to check in to L&D like they are going on a weekend getaway at Chateau Elan. Listen up, youngins!

Congratulations! You’re pregnant! Now what? I’ll tell you what. First things first... you are now practically narcoleptic. Might want to invest in a helmet and a Snuggie because I am not kidding when I say that early stages of pregnancy make you want to fall over and take a nap right in the Target maternity isle. I’d hate for you to hit your head on the table of stretchy pants on the way down, so the helmet is key. Also, you are now the most sensitive person in the world. “Why did you look at me like that, Pete? You don’t love me anymore?!” 😭 “Damnit, Barb! Don’t you know I’m a human faucet over here?! Stop sending me military homecoming videos and biggest loser transformation stories on the emails! Gah!” Don’t worry mama, you’ll get your sanity back. Only 8 months to go! Mwahahahaha.

Now you’ve been cooking that baby for a few weeks and you start to pack on the pounds! Sound advice... ready... that child is the size of a Lima bean. You are NOT eating for two lumberjacks, although you may be hungry enough for that. Put the effing Pop Tarts down!! Trust me on this. S’mores pop tarts are doing nothing for the growing child in your womb or for the size of your growing ass. You’re in that weird stage where it’s hard to tell if you’ve been stress eating or are, in fact, knocked up.

​Sidebar:: Man! I could really go for a S’mores pop tart right now. #momproblems #ketoproblems #dontjudgeme #ijuststartedmydiettoday. Don’t get it twisted! Those junk food cravings don’t stop just because the baby comes. You’ll be fighting that sweet tooth for life, girlfriend! And I dare you not to eat one chicken nugget out of the air fryer as you make their plates when you’re too lazy to really cook. Double. Dog. Dare. I digress.

Second trimester is finally here! Boy or girl? You feel like a million bucks! You are obviously pregnant and your boobs are finally coming in. This may not be so bad after all. Hold on mama, here comes the boom. Boom! Your mind was just blown! Why, you ask? I’ll tell ya. Because you just got hit with the real talk that you are about to be in charge of another human life for. ev. er. If he doesn’t eat - your fault. If he doesn’t sleep - all your fault. If he gets sick - you shouldn’t have vaccinated/breastfed/co-slept/daycared/insert soapbox here. You young mamas need to brace yourselves for the judgement that comes along with raising little people. Thicken that skin, pretty girl, it’s a jungle out there!! 🦓🐆🐅

Phase three. You’re huge. You’re hot. You pee every five minutes because your once flat tummy is now another person’s very own SkyZone. You have an interesting gait these days, some might even describe it as a waddle. Your ankles have taken a vacation (don’t worry... you’ll get those back soon!). You’re leaking out of your tatas anytime anyone starts crying. You’re almost to the finish line! Enjoy cuddling that body pillow now, because the next phase is smelly diaper butts in your face, while all you wanted was an afternoon nap with your sweet baby angel.

Whether you home birth,water birth,no meds,ALL the meds 🙋‍♀️, adopt, or however you choose to bring that bundle of joy into the world... don’t ever forget that he or she is your person now, and will change your life forever. My mom has taught me to always make time... And my wish for you, young mama, is to do just that. Pick them up, listen to them, go on the field trip, sign them up for sports, eves drop on them any chance you get, and last but not least, take it from me, don’t forget to cross your legs EVERY time you sneeze. #subtlereminders of the longest and most rewarding year of your life! ❤️

#theanxietymom #realtalk #FYIimNOTpregnant

The word “Jesus” in our house means a lot, but maybe a little more than it should lately. Hear me out...

”Jesus! I think I broke my arm.” (I did.)

”I pray to the Lort my intoxicated self did not just get a concussion on our trampoline!” (I did.)

”Jesus of Nazareth, child! Where are your shoes?!?”
”Jesus of Necklaces, Mommy! I. Don’t. Know!!!”

”Lort help her if she gets out of that bed one more time.” (She did. Teagan is the thirstiest camel this side of the Sahara when bed time rolls around.)

”With JC as my witness, if that damn dog pooped in the office again, I’m going to lose my shit!!!!!” (She did. And I did.)

All. Unacceptable. It hit me like a ton of bricks the other day when our youngest terrorist (3, white female, wanted for: messy room, sassy ass mouth, wearing her shoes on the wrong feet - 100% of the time, and now using the Lord’s name in vain) was trying to get from one boat to another during a family day on the lake. (Relax... we knew them. It wasn’t like the sketchy ice cream boat or anything.) She kept muttering something under her breath and sure as a redneck eats Spam, that child was saying “Jeezzzuuussss. Jeezzzuuussss.” I immediately knew this was my doing.

I have TONS of anxiety (duh), and I may be just a skosh dramatic, and I absolutely use the Lord’s name in vain on a regular basis. Lord, I apologize, and be with the starving (oh wait... that joke’s taken. I may be a sinner, but a plagiarizer I am not). I digress. Usually (aka always) when I use those types of phrases it is because I am late, stressed, or hangry. My anxiety is not debilitating, mostly because of Dr. Prozac, but the last thing I want to do to my little mini me is create an environment where EVERYTHING is end of the world and stresses her out, and subsequently give her the stress I feel on a daily basis. I have to do better. I have to be better. Otherwise I’ll get reported to DFCS when she starts needing a good Pinot to wind down after a stressful day at the Primrose Pre-K.

I have recently read the most life changing book. It is called “Girl, Wash Your Face”, by Rachel Hollis. That woman is not only a wordsmith, but a God send to anyone who is lucky enough to read her work. Do yourself a favor, ladies. Get it on Audible and listen during carpool/commute/fake trips to the grocery store just for some sanity/whatever! I mention this book because before I read it, upon realizing that I am a terrible influence on my child when it comes to swearing by the Lord, I would have beat myself up so bad and dwelled on the negative, instead of making a conscious effort to change it. You can’t change the shit that happened yesterday. You can only do better today. So that’s what I’ll do. I can’t promise she won’t hear a curse word this week, but I can promise that I will try harder to make her understand when and how we talk about Jesus and why it matters.

#thingstoworkon #theanxietymom #girlwashyourface #rachelhollisisamazing

Buckle up, friends. I have held this in for six long months, debating if I was ever going to share it with anyone. I feel like it is my duty as a woman to share this cautionary tale with you, so here goes nothing.

It was a cold dreary day in December. With Christmas craziness and the obligatory 97 different “holiday” parties to attend, “me time” was falling through the cracks. But one day, a Christmas miracle straight from tiny baby Jesus happened. I found myself with an unexpected two hours where I had to be no where by any certain time. Where did I go, you wonder? Luxury Nail, duh. These cuticles needed some attention and I was too tired to do it myself. This is where the real Nightmare Before Christmas began...

I pulled up and saw they had a permanent sign on the window that said “facial”. I said: “Self... don’t be so judge mental. The sign wouldn’t be permanent if it wasn’t something they did all the time. You could be missing out on the greatest secret since Brazilian waxing” (another blog for another time). We can tell by the title of this blog that I was wrong, but I was just trying to be more open minded. So I asked Tammy when I walked in if I could get a “mani/pedi/and uh... (pointing at the sign) do you do facials?” Boy do I wish I had a screenshot of Tammy’s face when I said that. Should have been a dead giveaway.

After realizing I was making a huge mistake, I should have just said nevermind and that I didn’t have time for all three services. But no. I’m what they call a yes lady, a people pleaser, a real pushover I tell ya. So I was in too deep and going through with whatever the “esthetician” had in store for me. I mean, my pores were the size of Texas so what was there to lose?! 🤦‍♀️

I went back into the room. There was a furry zebra blanket on the massage table and a boom box cut into the corner of the ceiling. The scariest thing in the room wasn’t the children’s socks and toys on the floor, or the Caboodle sitting next to the sink. It was the steamer on the counter that looked like something I had definitely seen at the Wal-Marts on clearance before. I asked Kim (no I am not being racist, that was her name) if it was perhaps a clothes steamer and not a face steamer? She assured me it was for face. Well shit! Here we go! Yes lady can’t back out now!

I laid down after taking my shirt off (standard for a facial - but there was no way in hell I was losing my bra in that joint) and the torture commenced. It started with a heavy cream with a very familiar smell... hmmmm.... I know it! Oil of Olay. But the knock off kind. Target brand I presume. The “spa service” included lots of slapping and pinching and scalding me with a clothes steamer, with the occasional “you has no wrinkles because I do this to your eyes”. Um, bish I has no wrinkles because I get it from my mama, thanks very much. Don’t take credit for good genes, Kim.

Then it happened. She told me to roll over. I said to my self: “Self... don’t do that.” And immediately followed that little lady’s orders and went face down. She then unhooked my bra and gave me the worst back massage of my life (and I’ve lived with three toddlers so I am a fair judge of shitty massages. I love their guts though. I digress.)

I was lucky I still had on pants, because what happened next, my friends, was nothing short of sexual assault. That tiny Asian woman took her tiny Asian hands and smacked them on the cheeks of my more than tiny ass! I wish I had a screenshot of my face at that magical moment! Then she started shaking it violently back and forth. Kind of like when the pedicure chair goes haywire and makes it look like you are having a seizure when you are just trying to read what the Housewives are bitching about on Twitter. What makes nail salon owners think we like to be shaken like a salt shaker while trying to relax?! Anyways, back to the fiasco at hand. After some chop chop chops down the back of my legs she said to roll back over, put some foot cream on my face and in my hair and sent me on my way. I felt bamboozled. And my dumbass paid only $10 less than what I would have at any real spa for that shit!!

I stole a writing pen to pen to put my greasy, coconut paradise-smelling hair up, put my shirt on, snooped in her Caboodle (I was right! Target of Olay!) and walked out of the room. I have never counted to 60, 60 times before that experience. Longest hour of my life. So what did i do next? Sat down with Tammy and got a manicure because I felt like it shouldn’t be her fault that Kim slept her way through cosmetology school.

Luxury Nail got me good that day, but I can guarantee you they will never have me again. Instead of beating myself up for being a dumbass and not being bold enough to stand up for myself, I am considering this event research and development. You don’t know what you don’t know and now I am able to share my story with all of you. I hope you got a laugh and a lesson out of this one!

#theanxietymom #nailsalon #facial #notthesame #dontrollover

Every parent with multiple children has one, I’m convinced, that gives them a run for their money and keeps them on their toes. Mine is the baby, thank the Lort, or she would possibly be the only. Hold the judgement, please. I didn’t say that I don’t love her or that I would change one thing about her... I just mean she is a little more spirited than the older children. Don’t call DFCS on me. She gets food, baths, and honest to goodness every damn thing she ever asks for. That face. I can’t. (Yes I said it and I say it all the time! Move on.) Here are a few examples of how she likes to shake shit up around the Jones casa...

I went to Bunco the other evening. Sidebar:: Yes ladies, we are that age and if you aren’t part of a Bunco group then you are missing the party train. Think I’m joking? I’m not. Our husbands think we are going to throw dice and gossip, and we are really eating junk food, shooting fireball, talking shit, and trying to remember what number we are trying to throw and if we are trying to win or lose for the evening (even losers win at Bunco). I digress... back to mini Britney. I come home from Bunco a few hours later to find my youngest sticking feminine pads to the walls in the powder room.... like a ton of them! She was so proud. “Look Mommy! I did some art!” All the while, dad is upstairs yelling at 12 year olds on the headset playing call of duty. The older kids were entertained. Hell, I’dve let her do it too if I didn’t know how much that paint cost! My big kids have learned that with Bird (aka “her”) we have to pick our battles. And I was too busy acting like a college kid with Helen and Carol to be there to regulate.

She is definitely the most adventurous one of the brood. We were leaving for school the other day, after it took me an hour of negotiations with the terrorist to get her to wake up and get her shit together, and I opened the garage door per the usual. Something caught my eye in the garage and I paused to look... next thing I know, mini Mary Poppins is holding onto the ledge of the bottom of the garage door riding it all the way to the top. Not scared at all! Her response (in her normal British accent... we will get to that): “What mummy, I was just going up up up?!” Nothing like a heart attack and an anxiety day dream of your kid cutting off her arm in a garage door to make you confident in pulling out of the driveway and tackling your day. From swinging from the kitchen light (which has happened more than once) to using the back of the couch to get down (every time... I’m pretty sure she thinks our house is the American Ninja Warrior course and Evan and I are the commentators) that little nut keeps us on high alert with the doctor on speed dial and a defibrillator handy (for me) at ALL times!

The most recent topic of conversation regarding the Teagan follies is the new accent she has picked up from the “hi-pad”. This child LOVES Peppa Pig 🐷. So much so that she occasionally refers to me as “mummy pig” (you can imagine how that must make this momma feel) and her dad as “daddy pig”. Everything she says these days sounds like a spice girl. She randomly oinks and says things like: “When IIIIII was a little piggy, I used to eat bahbecue!” Oy vey. Not only is she certifiable, now she is a cannibal too?! Whether she is telling me that she needs to take a sleep, or that she would like to ring her grandmother, the accent never fades. I think the best, though, was when SP Fox was practicing his pony tail skillz and she was wiggling all around. He told her to stop it because it was not funny. Her reply (in full character, of course): “It’s a BIT funny, dadday.” I’ve got to get this kid an agent.

When we tell people the ages of our children, usually the next question is “Oh, how are the big kids with the little one?” The real question is how do they tolerate her bossy, crazy, English toddler self?! The answer to that is simple, though. That child has a heart of gold. She lights up a room with every joke and “good idea” she has! She is the perfect finale for our blended little family and life just wouldn’t be the same without her in it. I love her guts and wouldn’t change her crazy ass for anything!

Wish me luck, friends, I have to open the garage door tomorrow to get out again.

#needmorewine #raisingaBrit #theanxietymom

For any of my reader friends who don’t know... my mom has ALS. And it sucks. Bad. To compare this journey to a rollercoaster ride is an understatement at best. At times I wish I could take her place, and then I feel guilty for that because I have children and a husband whom I love very much, and can’t imagine their lives without their crazy mama/wife. Other times I am trying to get my doctorate on WebMD to cure ALS and Lyme’s disease (yes, technically she has both?? What kind of bullshit is that?!?). I wrote a letter to an organization that has done so much research, begging for help today. I don’t understand and I am desperate.

“Sometimes bad things happen to good people” they say. “It’s part of His plan” I hear often. Sayings like that are like daggers in my heart. Obviously I know bad shit happens to good people. I kind of feel like my family wrote the book on that one to be honest. I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about the most wonderful and respected people in my tribe, my mother and her father (who passed in April).

I worked with my mom before she got sick. She has hundreds of clients that love her dearly, and have subsequently loved me as well. For that I am very grateful. I took over the company and am doing everything I can to find my way through the new normal of my career (don’t panic, A+Tax is still there and doing just fine 😉). If I didn’t work there, though, then work would be an escape for me each day. A welcomed distraction. Instead, it has turned I to a place where I give updates to every caring person who walks through the door or calls on the phone, and walk away quietly wiping tears thinking about all she is going through and praying for a miracle. All while doing the job of two people. My coworkers are amazing in comforting me during those times, and for that I appreciate them that much more!

I get asked how I am doing a lot. The answer is that I am broken. My wings are clipped. I am sad. My heart is crushed as it was in April and as it was 12 years ago this past February, when my only sibling tragically died in a canoe accident. When is enough enough? Why THOSE people? We don’t know. It is what it is... right now. My husband has been my rock and I am so thankful to have him by my side. My Dad has been incredible and I can only hope if I were in that situation I would get the same quality of care. People who I never would have imagined have reached out and that means so much to me! I am tired of lying to people and saying I am good, but I have to.

​This is my outlet to say how I really feel. I will be okay. I know that because it really is part of HIS plan, and bad things really do happen to good people. Sometimes you just want the plan to be different and you wish you weren’t the good people that bad shit is happening to.

#theanxietymom #reallife