Dishes suck. They are a vital part of everyday living, though, so some shit needs to change before us moms lose our cool.

To anyone who makes/sells non-dishwasher and microwave safe children's dishes: please get with the program. Our kids eat more nuggets than the teenagers that work at Wendy's. We need to be able to nuke 'em on the fly, and wash the plates while we're at baseball. I mean for real, what is the purpose of a kid plate that can't go in the dishwasher? Most of the time when things can't be machine washed it's because it's nice and expensive, like a suit, or any piece of women's clothing ever. (I'm convinced S&P Fox 🦊 has effed up laundry on purpose on multiple occasions so he doesn't have to do it anymore.) These plates cost about $2 each. They deserve the dishwasher. Wine glasses - hand wash. Yeti cups - hand wash. Dora bowl - get your bilingual ass in that dishwasher. From this point on, the warning on the label is just a challenge. Survival of the fittest, if the Ana cup survives and the Elsa cup doesn't, then we clearly know who the queen bitch around the Jones castle is. It's 2k17, folks, I should be able to machine wash my pets for crying out loud.

To our beloved children whom think it is acceptable to put the dirty plate NEXT to the sink after I have just emptied the dishwasher and started to re-load: NO. Just NO. You didn't even put the shit in the sink. So close. You're big enough to cook your own nugs, therefore you can load a damn dishwasher. You get with the program, too, minion.

To the husbands that resemble a hurricane when they step foot into the kitchen: while I very much appreciate that you are participating in the struggle that is cooking in this house, it is not necessary to use EVERY mixing bowl we own when making your Aunt Betty's famous potatoes. Rinse and re-use, mate. Unless you are going to hand wash those bad boys once the dishwasher gets full. This is highly unlikely in the Jones house of crazy. We get squirreled pretty easily after dinner, or lunch, or any time. So. Many. Squirrels. 🐿🐿🐿 Sometimes I walk in after him and consider calling the cops because someone has clearly broken into our home and ransacked our kitchen! Then I remember that we had Daddy's homemade pancakes for breakfast and I hang up the phone. SPF makes a mean breakfast, y'all.

The kitchen is the hub of the home. If the hub is in shambles, Mom is likely to be a real you know what. We need your help, little family, to keep our sanity and keep this boat afloat. Do a dish, save a life.

*Thanks Crazyhyena.com for the meme. I just steal these images off the inter-webs most of the time. Not sure if I am allowed to do that. #cybercrime

#theanxietymom #dishesdontdothemselves #getwiththeprogramorscram

"Hello, Mrs. Jones?"

"Yes?" (My heart starts to race #anxietymom)

"This is Mr. S, an admin from the school, and I have Mason here in the office. He's okay, but we have had an incident."

"Okayyyyy....." (spit it out already, pal, I'm on the edge of my seat here! I am planning out all of the different chores he is going to take off my plate in the next week. This could be fantastic!)

"He kicked another students lunchbox in the lunchroom. With his foot."

"And...?"

"That's what happened. And sometimes the worst punishment we can give is to call the parent."

🙄

Give me a break. You aren't serious right now. I just checked the calendar and it is not April 1st, so I can only deduct that it's pretty quiet in the school yard today and you needed something to do. I feel like a note home or a tally on the board would have been sufficient. You called me AT WORK to tell me that, after leaving a message on my cell phone (that I had not seen yet, relax judgy pants, I don't screen phone calls from the school).

Hear me out, teacher friends, I am the FIRST person to admit when my child has made a poor choice. I am the world's biggest people pleaser, and the thought of one of my kids throwing a wrench in the day with bad behavior makes my blood pressure rise. My kid can be an a-hole. I'm not naive to that. However, sometimes the sensitivity that is in school these days make me crazy. He did a jerk thing. You shouldn't kick a kid's lunchbox out of his hand. That's rude as hell. But to send a child to the principal's office over that seems a little over the top.

I can't lie. I played along and talked to Mason on the phone about it. I took away his iPod for a week (it's been dead for two, so it's not like I crushed his weekend plans or anything). But hindsight has me thinkin'. Maybe taking away the authority of teachers and admins in the school has created this tattle tale culture we now live in. I would have much rather my kid had to run laps on the playground for being an ass (and read about it in a note after school), than to have received a startling phone call in the middle of the day at work over it. People are so critical of school employees and how they handle situations that this is what it has come to. I feel like my teachers were allowed to teach us life lessons. Pretty sure we had a paddle. Luckily I was never sassy enough to get the paddle, but I think I saw it once while being nosy in the office. I wish I could say the same for our kids.

The lack of respect for authority is in the classroom, on the sports field, and with law enforcement, and if we don't get a handle on it, we are going to have a bunch of entitled, drug addicted, self-centered brats, waiting on their handouts after graduation. (<--- I realize that's very dramatic, but that's kinda what I do.) Take back the classroom, teach! Don't tattle... paddle!! Haha, just kidding... but a little more freedom to control the classroom would be most helpful in my opinion... and since I started this blog to give my opinion, then I guess it's serving its purpose.

I'll sign a petition. Change.org should jump on this one! I just signed one to save dogs in China yesterday. This seems way more relevant to my life. #bethechange

#thingstoworkon #youcalledmeforwhat #tattletale #drama #anxietymom

​Good morning, Moms! Today's our day! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the dogs are hungry and the dishes need to be done. But alas! Today is the day that we get to lay in the bed as long as we like after a homemade breakfast brought up by our favorite people and ignore the clatter going on downstairs. 😭 <--- those are happy tears.

Mother's Day for me is not about a diamond necklace, brunch at a crowded-ass restaurant where the food is expensive and the drinks are weak, or a fancy-dancy day at the spa away from those that call me "Mom" (or "hey"... or "lady"... or "her" depending on their mood). For me it is about my little people pausing to acknowledge the excessive amount of shit I do for them, and just showing a little more gratitude with a little less attitude. S&P Fox does a good job of letting me sleep in and being a good referee on this morning each year, and for that, I shall keep him (and let's face it, there's usually an end gain in all of this kindness that starts with S and ends with Sex.) You know the old saying: "If momma ain't happy, dad doesn't get any."

As as I lay here in bed, with a tray and a happy plate that used to be full of cheese eggs and a homemade cinnamon toaster streudel (because it was toasted, in my home), I am reminded of how truly blessed I am. These are my people, and though I complain about the shit they do all the time, I really wouldn't have it any other way! They love me, and occasionally appreciate me, and this day each year recharges my will to press on and be better at this mommin' gig. As they fight and cry downstairs I think to myself, maybe I should intervene... then I slap my own face and say "self! This is the one day a year you get to ignore those kinds of responsibilities and just be happy. Take advantage, ya dumbass!".

​Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms and grandmas out there that keep the world moving. Enjoy your day and your people ❤️ Now get in the car, minions, we are going to be late for church!!!!!!!!! #blessed

P.S. Special shoutout to the mom of the talented artist of today's blog picture. She is extra blessed to have had to face the teacher after that one!! 🤣❤️👩‍👧

Just put that shit anywhere, kids, you're in mom's car!

Why is it so impossible to keep the car clean with little people around? I'll tell ya... because fighting about cleaning out the car everyday is worse than taking half an hour to clean the damn thing out once a week (month). I am literally swimming in wrappers, cups, blankets, homework, and stuffed animals by Thursday, and with every trip we take, driving becomes that much more of a challenge. It is quite literally a trash can on wheels. Sometimes I worry if I get pulled over if the police officer will go back to his car and contact A&E to get me some help. "Ma'am, you're either prepared for a blizzard in May, own a stuffed animal store, have fourteen children that only eat cereal bars, or are a real-life hoarder. Regardless... there is a problem."

Dad cars are impeccable. Washed, waxed, and without crap inside. S&P Fox can hear a skittle drop in the backseat and grounds the kids from eating in the truck for 6 months (👈 that is no exaggeration). The kid will be in the next grade before he can chew gum in his vehicle again. I'm pretty sure he put a reminder in his phone to be sure he enforced the whole sentence. Way to be tough, honey. I'll say it works though. Our kids are way more considerate of his pimped out ride than they are of my dirty taxicab.

I kind of see it as a pick my battles kind of thing, though. I can allow toys and shit in my car, and get to listen to my tunes and belt out Celine in peace... OR I can forbid anything in my car and hear "I'm hungry... I'm bored... He's breathing my air" and play KidzBop on repeat to keep them happy. Choice seems clear to me. The next time you see a mom who opens her door and a naked Barbie falls out... don't judge. Give her a smile and a "good day" and move along. She is just thankful to have survived that 20 minute carline convoy to drop those monsters off at school. I love my little monsters, but damn if they aren't the messiest creatures I ever did meet 😳🚕🍬🍼🍟☠️

#momlife #carpool #friesfordays #trashcanonwheels

Dear Lady with a horrible case of RBF, mean muggin' me for giving my toddler a phone at dinner:

You have either forgotten what it is like to have a screaming, plate-throwing toddler in a restaurant, or you haven't ever had the pleasure. Either way, you need to get in the know. Let's get real.

Every now and again, me and the 'ol ball and chain get a case of amnesia and decide to take our littlest offspring out to a nice meal at somewhere other than a Mexican patio or the local Fudruckers (home of the "World's Greatest {and most expensive} Hamburgers"). We are quickly reminded, after the fight to get her in the highchair, that this doesn't usually go smoothly. It starts with a thrashing movement, similar to that of a shark on a hook, as she fights to stay out of that damned seat. "I wanna sit in yap (lap)!!!!!" Translation: How am I supposed to reach all of the shit on the table to throw at people if I am confined to this thing?!?

Then the silverware comes (if not already on the table) and it looks like an episode of Game of Thrones, as the forks and knives fly by, inches from our faces. The reach on a child of her stature is remarkable. That's why part of all server training should be: DO NOT put the margarita within two feet of the child. Not only is mama going to be pissed when the kid takes a bath in it (and let's be honest here... the biggest problem is that the margarita is on the floor), but the cop that pulls us over later may not take too kindly to the toddler in the backseat smelling like she just left cinco at Coco Bongos. (Relax, friends. It is 9 pm and we had a tail light out. Salt n Pepper Fox was my DD.)

Out comes the kids' food first, which I never think is a good idea, because then the kid gets super bored and we are just getting our dinner by that point. Toddlers have the attention span of a cocker spaniel. You can only show a child the straw wrapper worm thing so many times before she looks at you like "get some new tricks, dumbass". We are headed down to fit pitching town with every passing second. By the time our entree hits the table, I'm usually ready to take it to-go and try again when she's twelve.

So the next time you consider giving a parent a face like someone just broke wind IN your nose for giving their child a phone or tablet at dinner, think twice, Sally. You. Don't. Know. If the worst thing my tiny terrorist is doing at the table is quietly watching "Farney", then consider yourself lucky, bitch, because Winter is Coming.

Lets just be real for a few about the things women do to make ourselves appealing. The following list is a compilation of the most idiotic things that we put ourselves through just to walk away and think "mama's still got it!"...

1. Jean. Stretches. Now friends, you know we are all guilty of squats, lunges, and various yoga poses while putting on our skinny jeans. I have quite literally almost pulled a hammy doing this before.  And if you are doing this activity within six months (or possibly 6 years) of child birth, then there is likely a hair tie around the button and a slight muffin top going on when you're done. But kudos to you, mama, those bitches are painted on, and who cares if your husband knows you're being held in by a Goody elastic?!? He already married your fluffy ass. Enjoy your evening. And your margaritas.

2. Wax on, wax off. Whether you go to the local spa to get a Brazilian 😳, or just the occasional nail salon eyebrow job, the cost of hairless beauty is pain. Lots of pain. Keep up the waxing, gals, no man I know has ever expressed his affinity for a hairy lady. Sidebar:: What is up with the little ladies in the nail salon always asking me if I want "lip wax too"? I have asked my most honest friends (who I know would tell me) as well as some strangers (just to be sure I didn't need new friends) and the consensus is no, I do not have a mustache. I understand the art up-selling, but maybe an ocean scene on my big toes would be a little less offensive of a suggestion. Just sayin'.

3. Those shoes though. You know the pair, the first hour and a half you are Gisele, strutting your stuff down the imaginary runway. The rest of the evening you are more like a baby gazelle, that got left by its mother when it couldn't walk after two hours of being born. Those animals are ruthless. Almost ALL children left behind (watch Animal Planet if you don't believe me). Personal story... my friend Jess got married in Charleston, SC a few years back. I wore smokin' hot coral hiiiiiigh heels. My calves were on point. My man thought I was hot. I was winning. Problem: it was a daytime wedding with an open bar and the reception ended when it was still light out. There was no convincing this mama on the town it was later than it was and time to hit the hay. I was going out, and I'll be damned if I was going to change into the sensible Target sandals that were in the car in case of emergency (or intoxication). Laying on my back on the concrete entryway of Charleston's Buffalo Wild Wings with what I thought was for sure a broken ankle swelling out of those fancy shoes really made me wish I had changed into my soccer mom outfit after so many fireball shots. Like I said before... he already married my fluffy ass.

4.  Spanx are the devil.  Sometimes we need a little extra smoothing in the middle region (especially if we have birthed a little person recently... I mean ever).  Sometimes our only options are a bigger dress or the dreaded Spanx.  The maneuvers we do to put those bad boys on are hilarious!  Picture Neo from the Matrix, but with a serious look of constipation on his face.  That is the process that is painting those damn things on our bodies.  The struggle is real.  And let's not even begin to discuss what happens when you've had a few too many beers and need to pee quick.  Pray and run, or else you may be going commando for the rest of the evening, bumps and lumps on display.  There has to be a better way, which leads me to final item on my list...

5.  Dieting is for the birds.  Watching all of your friends eat cheeseburgers and fries while you make sensible food choices makes us want to punch someone in the face.  It's necessary, especially before summertime, or any function where you want people to think you're hotter than you used to be.  We live for "wow, girl, you look great!".  "Oh really? Thanks! I haven't really been doing anything different." LIES!! You have been living off of celery and egg whites for the last 6 months for that comment.  And it was worth it!  Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, friends.  That's just true.  Except for beer and oysters in the Gulf. And Sushi from Minato (best sushi in Atlanta, no doubt).  Those things I cannot turn down.

We all are guilty of at least some of these practices, and what we want the fellas to know is that we know we are crazy.  Don't point it out or I will never look this good again.  Nothing makes a woman want revenge like being called crazy.  Just ask any of my past suitors.  It never ends well.  Hang in there, ladies, we only have so many years where looking "hot" is acceptable.  We will be able to retire our high heels and Spanx one day.  Until then, jean squats it is!

Teaching children gratitude in a first world country is a struggle, y'all. A daily struggle. My main goal in life is for my children not to be assholes. This is one of the most important challenges to attaining that goal. Yet sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite alive when I am giving them the "some kids don't even have shoes" lecture for the 49th time this year.

I am so quick to point out the rude things my children do, and it isn't until the littlest minion checks my attitude that I pause to self reflect. Case in point... me and the bird (she's two) like to go to the local Dunkin Donuts sometimes (ahem... approximately 3-5 times per week... give or take a few). She gets her chocolate munchkins (because I'm an excellent mother) and I get my "sugar free" iced coffee. Well, I grill the guys every time to be sure there is no sugar in said coffee and it always comes out sweet, so I assume I have done my dietary due diligence and if I'm eating sugar, it's Josh's fault at this point. Long story shorter... I now realize they don't even have sugar free sweetener at DD! Josh may be losing his job this week. I digress. So I'm pulling out of the drive through and take a sip (of what I imagine the burnt coffee under the pot tastes like the next day) and shout: "Damn! No freakin' sweetener!!" 😐. It was like word vomit. And it isn't until I hear the most innocent little toddler voice inquiring "No freaking fweetner, mommy?" that I realize I am the asshole I am trying to keep them from being sometimes!

The older I get, the more I try to not sweat the small stuff. Think of others that aren't as fortunate. Be grateful for the life I have (which I am). And then a moment like that totally underlines the hypocracy that being a parent can sometimes be. I realize that no one is perfect and that we all have unflattering moments (me more so than others IMO), but it feels pretty icky to tell my kids they should be more grateful when I am sometimes guilty of the same behavior they are. Parenting truly is about self reflection and growing up WITH our kids. There isn't a manual (I guess the Bible is, but that is a really long book and I haven't gotten through all of the chapters yet). We just wing it everyday and hope we aren't raising criminals. I guess we both got a few things out of our latest trip to our favorite morning spot... she got a sugar high and a few new vocabulary words, and I got the worst coffee ever and an attitude adjustment. I'm starting with the (wo)man in the mirror, friends. I'm asking her to change her ways. If I wanna make the world a better place, I need to take a look at myself and make that change.

#lessonsfromMJ #operationbettermom #thingstoworkon #dunkindonutswreckedmydiet

Toddlers are little tiny terrorists. They are wicked smart and will often times make sacrifices for the cause. Pretty sure Teagan would jump in front of a power wheel for a pack of fruit snacks. I'm not sure if it is the age gap between our middle and our little, but this new dictatorship going on in the Jones house of crazy lately has got me drinking a lot more wine than normal. Relax, Judgy Judys, I'm not riding around town with a forty in the cup holder... mommy just needs a little more juice before bed these days.

Our oldest was (is) the kindheart. She is a sweet little lady and by far the easiest of the three when it comes to discipline. We look at her and start to say the word "disappointed" and that's all it takes. She is smart, determined, therefore a little bossy, and a big time rule follower. When the bigs were three and one, we would preface an incoming tattle with "you better make sure it's worth it...", which most of the time it was not. I am blessed to have that little goody two-shoes in my life and wouldn't change her for the world! Her three year old version of the pledge of allegiance still makes my heart melt... "and to the Publix, for which it stands..." 🤣 She will be a good teacher one day. Or an FBI informant. Either way, gainfully employed.

My middle is the dramatic one. When he was a toddler he would follow me around the house banging his head on the floor when he didn't get his way, yelling "You're a choice!!" when I told him that he didn't have a choice as to whether or not to behave. A little rain man-esque? Sure, but it all worked out. He didn't kill too many brain cells and is as sharp as a tack these days. He potty trained, ditched the bottle, and took naps like a champ! Now he makes great grades, is a dancing fool, loves spending time with his family, and always knows when I'm telling him a lie. (You know you lie to your kids. We all do it. It's part of the privilege of raising these little friends.) He is my first baby and will always have that piece of my heart. He will probably be the Tom Cruise of his generation, minus the weird Scientology shit.

The littlest Miss is our firecracker. She is "Bird". I love this child. I prayed for this child (and subsequently myself). I don't know a cuter, funnier two year old in the world, and she has my heart forever... but never in my life did I think I would be bartering fruit snacks for scissors, or praying before getting out of the car that she doesn't burn down the restaurant at dinner. She is sassy and super smart assy, and I have no idea where she gets it from 🙄. She is constantly hiding things (like important shit) and saying "I don't know?" when catching a charge. Timeout lasts 4.5 seconds, and it seems that in my older age I have forgotten how to count to three. "One..... Two...... Two and a half, like that's how old you are and you better get in here before I get to three and ship all of your toys to an orphanage...... Three..... Teagan!!!!.... okay I'm going back to two, but this is the last time!" <---- Grow a pair, lady!! Who have you become?!?

My kid will not be on Dr. Phil talking mess about "catch me outside" when she is twelve. We need to reel this attitude in a bit. It's cute until she gets shipped off to Turnabout Ranch and becomes someone else's headache. I vow to relearn how to count to three, watch more shows about criminals to better understand her behavior, and raise a good little person, like the two before her. Here's to the grand finale!!

#winethoughts #thingstoworkon #babyfactoryisclosed #justonemore

I am all for progression and innovation. You wanna know what I'm not all for? Trying to build a house with spaghetti noodles. Or using a toothpick to flip a grilled cheese. (You can tell I've been low carb for a few weeks 😐) Or using a ridiculous number line instead of learning real math. Honestly! What would one of my clients say if I were trying to adjust a deduction or something and I were like "hold on, pal, I'm drawing out my tens".

Regular math has worked for a looooooooong time, friends. Who are we to reinvent the wheel?! I am concerned for generation "number line". "But it makes it easier", they say. Shit ain't always supposed to be easy, folks!! What happens when they grow up to be even whinier than many of those in the generation before hand? I won't call them out because then their feelings may get hurt (uh em... millenials... uh em... My goodness, I've got a frog in my throat!). You know, the ones who invented participation trophies and 32 hour work weeks.

I,myself, have recently been informed that technically I am one of "them". I'm a senior millennial, but one nonetheless. I prefer what one of my favorite morning shows, The Bert Show, calls people my age, "the Oregon Trail Generation". It was hard out there for a traveler. If it weren't starvation, it was dysentery that got ya. We had to problem solve and handle our own business. If we forgot our homework, we got in trouble. Our mommies didn't bring it to us. And call me Miss Hannigan (again), but I don't bring mine theirs either.

The drama is getting strong at school these days! Everything is offensive and there is no accountability anymore. Time to cut the cord a little, in my opinion. I made my child do his homework five times tonight because it wasn't right. We have to either train them up, or commit to working for the rest of our lives, and I would prefer to retire one day. #commoncoreisridiculous #oregontrailgeneration #thebertshow

Let us take a moment to reflect on the differences between men and women. Not to bitch about the other gender, because I am sure my female ways drive my better half equally as crazy as his do me, but a little observation can be healthy sometimes.

***Disclaimer: My husband is not guilty of all of the behaviors I am about to question. Some of them I hear from friends and thought they would be worth mentioning.***

Questions for the fellas...

Why is it that when the diaper is full of crap, your sense of smell becomes disabled until the mom is around? Y'all have got to tell us how to turn that feature off!! 💩 It's like a smell-off until one of us caves or says "not it!".

What on God's green Earth are you doing in the bathroom for an hour every day? Even if you are on the phone, isn't that uncomfortable after a while? The seat is far from made of memory foam, so it seems a little desperate to hide out in there for so long each day. Come on out, dads, your kids won't bite. Oh wait, they might. Never mind. Better stay in there. I'm going in next!

How do you not freak out when you are running late for something? I literally feel like my heart is a ticking time bomb when I am late for something, important or not (any of friends will tell you that punctuality is a real problem for me), and you are just gonna finish your show and then hop in the shower 5 damn minutes before we leave the house?!? No! Go dirty! No one will notice because you take 2-3 showers per day. Spray on a little Aqua (ladies you know that stuff is dreamy!) and get on the bus!!! I will not be the last one to our family Christmas party so that everyone can give the ridiculous pre-planned applause when we walk in because you forgot you needed to shave your face.

Dudes with babies/toddlers... diaper bags are life!! They are essential to surviving outside of the hub. Please stop forgetting them. We have an endless supply of wipes and dipes at home, and nothing pisses a mama off more than to have to stop on the way and buy unnecessary shit. Don't leave the house without the "pack pack"!!

When you deep clean one thing, like your truck for instance, why you give me the stank eye when I leave one gum wrapper in there? I pick up after you all day, ayyyyydayyyyy, and rarely say shit about it. My car looks like an atomic bomb went off inside (because of your children), but your ride looks like Xhibit just hooked your ass up. Just sayin'.

Why is man flu worse than woman flu? You get the sniffles and practically plan your funeral, while we get strep throat from one of the kids and have to press on. I have literally seen you almost cut your finger off and be less dramatic than the last sinus infection you had. Pull it together, man, the world is still spinning.

Last but not least, let's talk about sex. If you ignore us all day, please don't try to reenact The Notebook when the makeup comes off and our head hits the pillow. A little attention goes a long way during the day if you're trying to do the grown up at lights out.

Men, we love you! We appreciate you! If I wanted a partner exactly like me, I'd be Lebanese, but damn if I wouldn't like to understand you a little better! I'd love to hear a man's perspective on the scenarios mentioned above.

Respecfully,

Inquiring Lady Minds