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Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Children's Books That Blow

I love me a good children's book. I could read Giraffe's Can't Dance and The Pout Pout Fish a million times. But not all children's books are created equally. No, some children's book make me want to punch the author in the neck just for writing such an asshole-y book. Such as: 

Goodnight Gorilla.
Dude, if I wanted to make up a story, I wouldn't have bought a book. There are like 25 words total in the whole book. The rest you have to explain. Often times to a child who knows the word, "Why?" Ain’t nobody got time for that. Even worse than Goodnight Gorilla? This one: Tuesday by David Wiesner. Seriously, I need words after a long day of work and momming. Help a mutha out, will ya!?!

I'll love you forever.
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be."

Adorable, right? Not so much. Why?

"Because that little boy grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was a grown-up man. He left home and got a house across town. But sometimes on dark nights the mother got into her car and drove across town. If all the lights in her son's house were out, she opened his bedroom window, crawled across the floor, and looked up over the side of his bed. If that great big man was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth."

Yes, the overall "chorus" of this book is cute, but the lady fucking breaks into her grown son's house, sneaks into his bedroom, takes him out of his bed and rocks his ass to sleep. Hell-to-the-no you crazy old bat. I am calling the cops. Then I am calling ADT to install a new security system and then I am welding bars on my bedroom window. Stay the flock out, you old coot, I mean mom. Shivers.

Guess how much I love you.
"I love you right up to the MOON," Little Nutbrown Hare said, and closed his eyes.

"Oh, that's far," said Big Nutbrown Hare. "That is very, very far."

Big Nutbrown Hare settled Little Nutbrown Hare into his bed of leaves. He leaned over and kissed him good night.

Then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, "I love you right up to the moon - AND BACK."

Man, that dad is a one-upping mother fucker. Every time his kid tries to tell him how much he loves him, the dad has to say it the exact same way but just a little better. He even waits until his son is asleep so he can one-up him and Little Butbrown Hare can’t fight back. Asshole.

 Fox in Sox.
“When beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles
and the bottle's on a poodle and the poodle's eating noodles...
...they call this a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle
bottle paddle battle.”

Dude, seriously? Fuck you. I can't even get this nonsense to make sense in my head, let alone have it make sense when it comes out of my mouth.

Anything by Walt Disney.
Dude, stop putting it into my kids that their parents might die and that we will leave them alone with the worst relative we can possible find. Seriously. Just stop.

These are just a few of the children's books that make my eye twitch. What are some of yours?

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

How do you love me? Let me count the ways…

I have never been a girl who wants her man to show affection by buying her shiny things. Every time one of my ghosts of boyfriends past bought me some piece of fancy, shiny jewelry I would just think, “Wow, this guy doesn't know me at all."

Ain’t no shame in love that is bought by the carat, but I’m with the kind of girl who falls head over heels when her husband gets on Etsy and buys her a necklace that reminds her of her brother who she lost.

Instead of, “My man loves me this many carats,” I prefer, “My loves me love me this many shitty diapers.” My husband loves me so much he emptied the dishwasher and trashcan without me nagging. He loves me so much he spent an extended stay at my parents house and didn't complain once. He loves me so much he watch the kids so I could go on a girls weekend.

Roses die, chocolate just makes my chubby ass even chubbier and where the hell am I going to where a fancy pair of diamond studs? I prefer more humble displays of affection, like giving me a second opinion on whether this mole looks funny to you, or rubbing my crusty, non-manicured feet while I watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

If I came home to a house lit with candles, chilled champagne and Barry White, I would ask my husband who the hell he was expecting and immediately set out to seek vengeance on the tramp. But if I came home to a house where a frozen pizza was already in the oven, a load of laundry was spinning in the washer and the kids were happily entertained watching an episode of that terrible little bastard, Caillou, I would jump my husband’s bones the minute those kids hit the sack. Or not. It’s been a really long day and mama's tired…

But I guess Marilyn Monroe wouldn't have been as famous had she sang, “Cleaning up my cat's puke is a girl's best friend."

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

So long, five second rule

Let me start this whole post off by saying that I am about as far from a germaphobe as you can get. I have eaten “found” Skittles off a dorm community room floor, tinkled in many a porta-potty and raised two kids past the age of two. I have seen, smelled and touched things no man should ever have to see, smell or touch. But when my babies were babies, I was a tad more sensitive.

Now, did I hose every person that dared entered the breathing space of my precious babies down with hand sanitizer and offer them a respiratory mask? No. But I was more cautious than I am now, where I often see my kids chewing on mystery items they have “won” from the couch cushions.

Back in the good ol’ days, when I was wrangling screaming infants, a dropped paci could result in both me and my baby losing our ever-loving’ schmidt. But nowadays, there is a new sheriff in sanitation town: Bert & Bratt, a portable sterilizer developed by two moms that instantly de-icks your baby’s goods.

DUDE! Where were you ladies back in 2009 when I was scalding myself with hot water to clean my daughter’s pacifier while she made all of Target think I was torturing her in the bathroom?!?!

Anyway. The Bert & Bratt sterilizer is ridiculously easy to use, super cute and small enough to fit in your diaper bag (all things that these moms totally get are important). Just take your baby’s paci, sippy cup top or small teether, toss it in the opening, close it, hit the start button and BOOM: four minutes later your have a germ-free way to talk your tot out of embarrassing you in public.

Paci placement
Let the light show begin
Dude, it is so tiny and cute and weighs NOTHING!

And the best part? The ladies at Bert & Bratt are so awesome they even want to offer one of you a free sterilizer! Just enter below and I will draw one of you lucky duckies to have one of these beauties for your very own!

a Rafflecopter giveaway
This post was sponsored by Bert & Bratt but you Boozehounds know I would NEVAH EVAH subject you to anything I didn't think was amazeballs on my own. For realzies. 

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
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