I CANNOT be the only unpaid offspring servant asking herself this question today. Am I raising a monster... or perhaps a mogul? The odds of the latter are not in our favor, so I guess we’d better get a hold of this sass that is getting out of control. There is a fine line between spicy and undeniably out of line.

Most of the time, our little diva hovers over that line, but remains just cute enough to not get sent to juvy. For example, when driving the “trash truck” (her new nickname for her personal car service), if I hear “Scrawl (squirrel) comin’ atcha, mama!!” I know that her favorite new Beanie Baby, which is actually a raccoon by the name of Roxie, is about to take flight and hit the front windshield from the backseat. A small part of me wants to turn around and give her the best Karen threat I can muster up, and the other half of me is laughing so hard I’m trying not to pee in my athleisure wear. (See “I Pee When I Sneeze” from 2019 if you are concerned for my lack of bladder control.)

Sidebar:: Remember when people cashed in their 401k’s to get in on the Beanie Baby thing?! 😂 If someone told me to risk it all and buy thousands of fidget spinners a couple of years ago I would have paid money to see my facial expression. It would most definitely have said “Geez, Richard, did you not learn anything from Beary Garcia circa ‘94, ya dumbass?!”.

I am really struggling lately with where to draw the line with her. I can’t send her to West Point for being a smartass, but I also don’t want to under react and end up with a present day Amanda Bynes under my roof. I jumped her shit the other day for arguing with her brother (who is almost 6 years her senior and acts like her twin on occasion) and she looked at me with a straight face and demands: “Oh, mom, shut it down.” What I wanted to say: Absolutely not, no ma’am. Not in my trash truck!! I’m allowed to drop the mom voice whenever my bleeding heart feels like it. I pushed you out of my vagina. It is my birthing right to yell at you if necessary. So perhaps, my dear, you should be the one “shutting it the eff down”. What I actually said: You do not talk to me like that, young lady. No hipad for the rest of the day. 🤦‍♀️ I’m so weak. SP Fox is so much better at being mean than I am. Sorry, honey, it’s the truth. You’re a hot dad, but a mean one when necessary. I talk a big parenting game, but I’m the skinny little fella that gets bullied in the prison yard in the Jones house most days. #thingstoworkon #needashank #maybeafacetat

I love my little girl with my whole heart, and her big personality creates the highlights of my days! Even if she does become a mogul someday, I want her to know that you can be funny and respectful, sassy and sweet, and reacting like a full on sociopath is not necessary in 100% of life situations. I’ve said it before and I will say it again... if my children aren’t assholes, I am winning as a mother. Now I think I’ll go out and buy a police divider for the trash truck to cut down on the Scrawl incidents that are driving me so nuts (pun intended) (nerd alert).

Til next time, my friends. Good luck in the parenting trenches. May the odds be ever in your favor.

Someone much deeper than me once said “comparison is the thief of joy”... and it resonated so much with moms in our mid thirties that if you don’t own a tea towel, a coffee mug, or one of those bitchin’ DIY wood signs with that mantra on it, are you even basic anymore?! We suburban moms cling to that saying like my five year old holds on to her “hi-pad”. There is comfort in reminding ourselves that just because Karen has the latest model SUV and her kids always look like it is picture day, something somewhere in Karen’s life is just as effed up as our own. Maybe her husband doesn’t like her. Maybe she is struggling with whether or not to medicate her young son who acts more like young Tarzan than the sweet mild mannered Braydyn he was meant to be. Maybe she has the smelliest gas of anyone she knows, and Taco Tuesday and margs with friends is quite literally a death sentence for her. Hell, I don’t know what keeps her up at night 🤷‍♀️.

As women, especially of the variety in charge of keeping small humans alive on a daily basis, we have GOT to stop the idea that everyone else has it made. One of us may have money problems on one hand, and happy healthy children on the other. Another may have the most badass house on Wisteria Lane, but battles depression every single day as she watches her parent pass away from a horrible illness. And then there’s Karen... we think we know what she struggles with 🤦‍♀️🌮🍻. Bless her heart. We should pray. Dear Jesus, please guide Karen’s doctors to a resolution for her embarrassing gas problems. Hasn’t she been through enough?! Amen.

I feel like there has been such a big push on social media lately for positivity between women, and I am loving it!! Be proud. Be excited. Be happy. Don’t be envious, because nine times out of ten, that lush green grass in her yard is spray painted because she has a black thumb that could kill a cactus in the desert. You do you, girl. Love your people. Live YOUR reality. And for the sake of Pete, order you one of them there fancy tea towels if you haven’t already done so. Just be sure to warn your children that if they touch them, they may very well lose a hand. #thesouth #thoseareforcompany #trymechild #theanxietymom

See that baby angel up there? She looks sweet. She’s not.

I have a confession... I have a bully. She is three feet tall, four and a half years old, and makes me feel so dumb on a regular basis. She quite literally kicked me out of our family today. My response, “Listen here, ya little shit, I MADE the family. Like legit grew a couple of the members in my body. I’m like the President of the family (or Vice Prez depending on who you ask, I say tomato you say potato so whatever), so quit trying to kick me out!” Da fuq?! I gave up wine for the better part of a year for your cute little ass! (Other than the doctor recommended one glass a week - keep your judgement to yourself!) Her response... “I’m just going to hand this to dad since you aren’t in the family anymore.” 🤯 I’ll remember that when it’s time to pay for cheer classes next time.

That spicy meatball gets the most pleasure out of embarrassing me in PUBLIC. When there’s a crowd around, I hold my breath anytime that sassy mouth of hers opens. One time at the lake we were swimming at the back of the boat and were tied up with lots of lake friends. A very foul smell blew by us, we assumed from a cabin cruiser bathroom or something. While everyone is debating on what the rancid odor could be, my little lady decides to announce to the entire group that “it’s probably my mom’s underwear”... and lets out the most maniacal laugh I’ve ever heard. She gives zero shits.

*Side note, ALL of my laundry smells like Tide Pods, so her theory is far from reasonable.*

I am constantly asking her to stop picking on her ten year old brother and making him cry. She’s a savage, so I ask nicely... last thing I need is for her to turn her attention to me. Don’t need another roast session like she had at the lake. I grossly underestimated the low blows that little monster was capable of.

She walks around the house making announcements such as “Our internet sucks!” or “It’s fine, mom, I’ll pick all of my crap up later.” Ummmm.... is she four or fourteen?! Sometimes I think that “Boss Babies” are real, and she is the ring leader telling all of the other little people how to eff with their parents. She is the greatest actress in all of the land. She pretends to be a frightened camel every night the minute she hears the word “bedtime”. “I’m sooooooo thirsty.” “Mom, I’m afraid of the dark now. It’s new.” The best is when we get a babysitter and she gives us the guilt trip... “Mom, is Grandma even going to take good care of me?!” No, psycho, she’s going to lock you in the dog cage and withhold food and water until you get your mind right. Of course she is going to take good care of you, she’s your grandmother!

I appreciate her spunk and her zest for life, however, as I’ve stated in my mission statement, I’m trying not to raise assholes. She better shape up or ship out to West Point. Or I may just take a trip to the Betty Ford’s for a month or two to learn how to cope with my feelings of being bullied by my own spawn. She is smart and important, but we have some work to do in the kindness department. She is fine with her peers, it’s mostly family she roasts on a regular basis. I wouldn’t trade her for the world, though. I love her with my whole heart for my whole life, no matter how many times she cuts me with her words.

#nomorebullying #bossbaby #teaganfaye #theanxietymom #sendmetothebettyfords

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We’ve all done it. Just trying to save a dolla on looking fly for that big event that happens to fall smack dab in the middle of what I like to call “translucent season”. I went to the local Sally’s and bought the recommended aerosol tan in a can. I said “Self! No “regerts” looking back at those photos this year! You will not look like the walking dead AND be 20lbs overweight. It’s one or the other, sister!”. Disclaimer: those stems up there belong to a legend, and I am in NO WAY saying that I think her Highness Xtina is fat.

**Sidebar: I think that the tattoo fail of “No Regerts” will forever be my favorite. I feel like that would happen to me. Maybe my next tat shouldn’t have any words in it as a precaution. #winethoughts

Anywhoser... this is 2-0-1-9. There HAS to be a better option out there for self tanners!! I’m trying to be responsible and not lay in a cancer bed, and I come out looking like Tony the Tiger. We can put and man on the effing moon, but can’t develop self tanner than doesn’t leave my knees and elbows looking like I just finished 21 days on Naked and Afraid in South Georgia?! Get it together, beauty industry!

It baffles me that I can make my nails look like talans, my hair can grow 12 inches in one session, a pair of Spanx can take ten years off my ass, but the paleness cannot be corrected with a simple lotion that doesn’t make me look like Tre from RHONJ. Yeah, I watch that trashy show and I love EVERY minute of it. I also feel like me and Teresa are on a nickname basis, so there’s that.

I really do think this is the year of the tan, my friends! I’m going to make it my mission to try them all and document my findings on this here blog. Stay tuned. Sorry, SP Fox. You might disown me after this little experiment... or who knows?! Maybe you will like the variety. It’s like dying my hair, new wife who dis?!

Feel free to drop your self tan suggestions below to kick this thing off!

​#theanxietymom #selfcare #selftanner #rhonj #ivehadbetterideas

🎼Bark! The Jones House Angels sing!
Mom, you should get ready to clean.
Sleep is out and this shit ain’t mild,
God and the FLU have not reconciled.

Miserable all ye children rise,
Even if it be in the middle of the night.
With the father rolling over to claim,
”I have to work” Um... yeah. Same.
Bark! The jones House Angels sing,
Our mom’s plans don’t mean a thing!🎼

Have I told you lately how much I love these little people of mine?! Well you need to hear it before reading this post. I love their guts. That term has a more literal feel to it this week. And no, this isn’t solicitation for vaccination advice, nor a place to bash moms that don’t bask in the glory that is cleaning up puke and being forced to do laundry every two hours for a week. I should have known on Sunday when I laid my head on my pillow and said “SP Fox... I’m gonna crush it at work this week! I’m going to get so much done and be so prepared for Jesus’ big day this year!” Commence the seal like cough from both children’s rooms.

”Moooooooom!!!!” From the boy in the bathroom at 3 am is NEVER a good sign. I can promise you he isn’t cleaning toilets in the wee hours of the morning and just misplaced the Ajax. Yep. He’s got it. What “it” is ... welp that’s our mystery to solve, Scoobs! With the help of the doc, of course, they have a higher accuracy rate than web MD. Well hell. It’s the flu. Buckle up, Daphne. It’s gonna be a long effin’ week.

​Day 2, bum bum (Law and order style)... “Husbaaaaaaaaand” From the mom in the bathroom is NEVER a good sign. I can also guarantee you SHE ain’t cleaning toilets at 3 am! There aren’t many things harder than caring for a sick child when you, too, are so sick you have genuine anxiety if getting further than 20 ft from the loo. Priority one = give child meds and comfort. Priority two = change your own pants for the ninety seventh time today. Why, you ask? Because coughs. That’s why. The flu comes with coughs and should also come with a complimentary pack of Depends! God love those children and the miracle of childbirth.

Day 3 bing bong bing bong (National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation style)...

Boom! The littlest terrorist is hit like a ton of bricks! 104 fever and slightly narcoleptic. Ay chihuahua! We practically bathed in hand sanitizer for the last three days. Back to the doc we go! Upon arrival, of course, she pretends she is 💯 (kind of like her mom does when she’s had a couple glasses of wine too many 🤦‍♀️) and the doc almost doesn’t give us the meds, but she must have seen the liquid anxiety running down my cheek from thinking about a Christmas where bird has the flu, because she quickly checked herself and started writing. Thank you tiny Jesus, for that Christmas miracle.

We’re on the mend and back in action. Operation sterilize the house AND only wear one pair of pants per day is underway, Friends! Lookout Jesus Cristo... your bday is gonna be a rager!

#nottodaysatan #theanxietymom #fluisforthebirds

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.
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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