How are all children not afraid of being orphaned?

Now that my daughter is getting old enough to sit through a whole movie, I am worried she is going to develop an irrational fear of becoming an orphan. I mean, come on. How could she not? Just this weekend we watched Mirror Mirror (orphan), Hugo (orphan), James and the Giant Peach (orphan), and Dumbo (orphan-ish). FTW!

But the list goes on: Aladdin, Snow white, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket's, The Wizard of Oz, Annie, etc. Do I need to pre-screen everything my kids watch so they aren't quivering over my bed watching me sleep at night to make sure I am not swallowed up by an angry rhinoceros?

I wouldn't investigate that noise if I were you...

First off, did none if these parents have backups plans in case of their ultimate demise? A will? A note scribbled on a beer coaster? Anything? Because in most of the movies, the orphaned children are from wealthy, intelligent families that were spouting puppy dogs and rainbows out of their asses before they met the Grim Reaper. They couldn't have at least tossed around the idea of who would take their children if they had a house dropped on them?

Second, why do all of these perfect parents always have evil brothers and sisters who end up with their children? I mean, every family has a black sheep and all, but this is ridiculous. Did they want to teach their kids a lesson in humility after living a life of privilege so they left them with the most conniving brother or sister they had? Seriously? They didn't have a sweet aunt Betty or something?

Thirdly, if all of these parent were so wealthy and powerful, why didn't they have a trust set up to provide for their children with iron-clad clauses keeping others from stealing their heir's money? How do all of their kids end up penniless wards of the state living off stolen pieces of bread and sewer water?

Never trust a ginger...

Fourth, why do all kids have to be orphaned? What is wrong with just having adventures away from mom and dad? That's a good story. Or just use the most cliché movie tool of all time: The dream sequence. Then I won't have to pry my kid off the ceiling after watching Bambi for Christ's sakes! Give a Mama a break!

Ways toddler parties are like college parties

My parties weren't always filled with screaming toddlers and balloon animals. They used to feature drunken co-eds and cold kegs. But the more and more parties I have, the more I see how similar college parties are to toddler parties.

Before: You drank Jungle Juice
After: They drink juice boxes

There may no longer be a bathtub full of Jungle Juice for you to pillage with your plastic cup, but there now is a cooler filled with juice boxes. We hydrate like gangsters in our crib, yo.

Before: You partied 'til you puked
After: Somebody is puking, that's for sure

Though the piles are now smaller and less smelly, they are still just as plentiful. There may not be an underage girl hurling in our closet anymore, but there are still tons of shorties tossing their cookies (and milk) at our parities.


Before: You had to listen to music that made your ears bleed
After: You have to listen to music that makes your ears bleed

Where once the sounds of pulsating techno music made you want to punch a kitten, now the harmonies of Yo Gabba Gabba and Sesame Street do the same. Though the two genres are vastly different, they are still similarly irritating.

Before: You stayed up until the sun came up
After: They stay up way past their bedtime

College doesn't come with a bedtime, but if it did, every. single. party. would have ended well after it. I saw the sun rise while walking home from a party more times than I can count. Our toddler parties may not rage that late, but everyone surely misses their regular bedtime and surely does get crabby as hell as a result.

Before: Someone passed out and peed on your couch
After: They don't have to be asleep to pee on your couch

There may actually be more pee at my parties than there ever was in college. I have had pee on my living room rug, bathroom walls, couch, you name it. Toddlers have no manners.


Before: There was always some drunk girl crying
After: Everybody cries at some point (even Mommy)

There was always that one girl, that drank too much and cried over nothing at every party. Now, my parties pretty much consist of every participant being that girl. God, babies are such babies sometimes.


Before: Somebody got lucky
After: Everyone gets lucky. Didn't you hear there was free juice?

No one is having sex in my bathroom anymore, but everyone who comes to my parties nowadays gets lucky. They usually score some sweet swag, like juice, and the holy grail of toddlers: STICKERS!

Before: Somebody showed their boobs
After: At least one mama has to whip one out

It may not be like Mardi Gras up in our parties anymore, but there is a pretty good chance you will get a peek at a nipple at some point. Hey, a baby's gotta eat!

Before: You woke up the next day to the house completely trashed
After: You wake up the next day to the house completely trashed

The aftermath of my parties might just be worse now than before, when 50 wasted college kids trashed it. At least the college kids didn't wipe their boogers all over my new chair, smear pudding all over my walls and smash cookies into every orifice of my house. Bastards.


Before: You would get a raging hangover the next day from all the booze
After: Your kids are crabby as hell the next day from all the sugar

Good god. The sugar hangover. It could take down any booze hangover in a fistfight any day. Because you can mend the hooch hangover with cheese sticks and aspirin, but the toddler sugar hangover WILL NOT BE SILENCED!

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?
This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

Courage

Beauty

This is Jessica. She is the mom of a 4-month-old little girl.

Thanks, Jessica. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

I think I need to start blood doping

You want to know what my problem is with Lance Armstrong blood doping? That that asshole didn't share. I have to get myself and the kids ready in the morning, drop them off at school, work a full day, come home and cook dinner, coax my kids to eat said dinner, clean up after dinner, entertain the kids until bath time, give the kids a bath, get them ready for bed, read The Pout Pout Fish 15 times, tuck the kids into bed, start the laundry, get the kids back into bed, clean the house, get the kids back into bed again, and then stagger into bed, myself. And I don't get shit.

I mean, all Lance has to do is slip one testicle into some biker shorts and ride a 10-speed all day. He can pay people to do the rest. And HE is the one that gets performance enhancing drugs? That is some bullshit. I need me some blood doping. I think it would greatly enhance my mommy performance. This is me on drugs:

The Laundry
Instead of it taking me at least a week to get the laundry done because I have to haul that shit down to the basement and back for every load (plus, the TV is near the machine, and the TV is shiny) I now hand-wash, dry, fold and put all of the laundry away in under 5 minutes (I am working on shaving some time off of that).

Carpool
Wow, are we saving on gas now that I am doping. Instead of strapping the kids into car seats and putting the pedal to the medal, now I just strap those puppies to my back and mush their asses to school. Your welcome, environment.  

Dinner Time
Now that all I consume is other people's red blood cells, providing for my family is so much easier. I just launch Goldfish crackers at them and they catch them in their mouths like trained seals. 

Cleaning
Please. The second a Cheerio even thinks about hitting the floor I am on that shit like the Matrix. No need to clean when nothing gets dirty. 

Diapering
Since I started doping, I don't even need to put The Cool Cucumber in diapers anymore. The minute I sense he is about to drop a deuce, I just Flash Gordon him through the house and onto the pot. No fuss, no muss.

Bed Time
Who needs bedtime? I am now so hopped up on red blood cells I don't even care if my children sleep. Because I never do. I just wait for them to drop to the floor out of sheer exhaustion and throw a blanket over them where they lay. It has completely eliminated the stress of bedtime.

Goodbye, dignity. Hello, minivan.

If you follow me on Facebook* (seriously, you should. I am funnier there.), you probably already know my recent shame: I bought a fucking minivan.

Previously referred to as the Shame Wagon, I have decided to name the family truckster Rambone. Partly because Dave Ramsey made me do it and partly because it was painful at first, but after I got used to it, I really liked it.

Meet Rambone.

Though you already know that I covet minivans, it still may come as a shock to some of you that I actually bought one. And for that, I am sorry. Many of you look up to me, and I have let you down. I have fallen into the pit of douchebagery, never to return. I know I may never be able to earn back your trust, but I promise I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying. I understand if you don't want to hear from me.

Riding the Rambone.

What started off as just a little bump here and there to help me pick my kids has spiraled into a full-blown addiction. I promise, just one more hit off those remote-open doors and I will be done for good. Ok, maybe just one more, but only because my arms are full and I can't reach the door. Oh, fuck it. I am a junkie. I am a Honda Odyssey junkie. There, I said it. Wow, it feels good to finally say it out loud. I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. Hi, my name is The Beer Bitch, and I am a minivan addict. (Hi, The Beer Bitch.)

Sorry, but that shit is roomy, yo.

*Mark Zuckerberg is a dick, BTW. He wants me to pay him so my fans can see my posts in their Facebook feeds (the ones they SIGNED UP to receive). To give him the finger, go to my page, click "Liked" and drag down to "Show in News Feed". Take that, you wormy bastard.

Because everybody is somebody's baby

This weekend I was lured into that evil redheaded bitch's lair again. While waiting to check out with my daughter and all of the crap I didn't need couldn't live without, I was behind a man who was being rude to his cashier. His cashier was Colin. And Colin is my buddy.

You see, Colin is a person with different abilities. But what he may lack in critical thinking or math skills, he more than makes up for in personality. Colin is a charismatic fellow with a quick wit and awesome sense of humor. But he does like to talk. A lot. And sometimes that annoys customers when they just want to load their kitty litter and diapers into their trunk and haul ass because they are late for their kid's soccer game. I get it. But for those who take the time to listen to what Colin is saying, he will always make their day.

So, as I heard the guy getting gruff with my main man, I spoke up. SHOCKINGLY I wasn't a total bitch to the rude customer. I just said, "Hey, Colin! What's the joke of the day?" He replied, "Manti Te'o." I, of course, had no idea who he was talking about. Yeah. Colin is both cooler and smarter than me. The rude customer, on the other hand, knew who Manti was and started laughing. Colin had finally gotten through to him. The customer thanked Colin and left with a smile. And maybe a changed point of view. Colin is the bomb like that.

Once we were done checking out, I gave Colin a high five and my daughter and I went about our day. A day that was a little brighter because Colin and his endless jokes were a part of it.

The best part of this interaction? My daughter was a part of it. She saw me treat a person with kindness that others might treat like they were below them. I hope she learns that we treat all people with respect, regardless of their religion, sexual preference, age, race, abilities or economic status. Because everybody is somebody's baby. And they deserve to be treated like a person. Just like everyone else.


Want to help one special person help thousand of others? Donate to N3lla's Triple Crown.

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

Beautiful.

The "Road Map"

This is Lindsey from Achievos. She is a mom of three. Her kids are 5, 2 1/2 and 10 months.

Thanks, Lindsey. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail .  com (remove spaces).

Initial Art Project

I am always looking for cheap and easy art projects for the kids. Here is a SUPER easy and cheap project I thought I would share with you.

I wanted to let the kids design their own sign for their rooms. I wanted to do their first initial, so when I was at Hobby Lobby the other day, I picked up some 13" wooden letters. I think they were around $2 per letter once I used my 40% off code (NEVER pay full price for anything at Hobby Lobby).

Since I wished I had put a basecoat on the letters I used in this project, I had ADD Daddy slap on a coat of white paint that we had leftover from painting our baseboards earlier this year.

Before basecoat

After basecoat

Then I set the kids up with some washable paint (I think I got a set of 10 colors from RoseArt at Hobby Lobby for $2.50 with the 40% code) and let them make their masterpieces however they wanted. The Cool Cucumber mainly used his fingers and Q-tips.  He LOVED it!

The Master at work

Stopping for a snack...

All done!

Time for a bath!

The Quiet Contemplator was big enough for a real paintbrush so she set to work on her masterpiece. She really loved this project.

Making her creation.

Adding a container dash of glitter...

And then the masterpieces were complete and ready for hanging. My plan for this project was always to use them as signs to hang outside of their doors. Here they are all hung up and ready to burn the retinas of all of our visitors shine.

The Cool Cucumber's

The Quiet Contemplator's

Anywho, thought I would share since it is a project kids of all age love and feel pride in once displayed. AND it costs less than $5! Enjoy and send pics if your family makes any of their own masterpieces!