A Snyder In The Sun

A Snyder In The Sun

Dear Lazy Parents At The Park

I've been parkin' it up a lot lately with my toddler and I've noticed something that irritates the ever-living fuck out of me: lazy ass parents glued to their cell phones.

Lady, your child is completely out of control at the park and you have absolutely no idea because you are starting at your screen THE ENTIRE TIME, probably playing some mind-numbing game or looking at Pinterest planning your Halloween party or coming up with delicious Thanksgiving side dishes.  And I can understand that a certain degree.  It isn't the most exciting thing in the world to cheer on your son as he makes his way down the big slide for the umpteenth time.  We get it, kid, you've mastered that shit.  But to stay hypnotized by your phone for 30 minutes or more while your crazed child runs around swinging a giant stick that he found is just too much.  Put your technology down and yell at that little shit!  Or, even better, go over to him and tell him it's totally unacceptable to be wielding a weapon when there are littles present.  Grab the stick!  And if he decides to not listen to you and pick it up again, go over to him, and tell him that if he doesn't put that shit down right away you are going to challenge him to a stick fight and he's going to lose, horribly.  And in front of his squad, no less. De-masculate him.  It's just fucking dangerous!  If one of my children received his pointy stick to the face?  Well, let's just say that your face would probably suffer the same fate.  Except the beating wouldn't come from my children, it would come from their enraged mother.  And trust me when I say this, I may look weak but when you hurt my children I basically have the strength of a crazed, human flesh eating bath salts abuser. 

And to you woman that wanted to take selfies instead of watching her daughter?  You're welcome.  For what you ask?  For making sure she didn't crawl under the caution tape and fall into the hole filled with freshly poured cement.  How important was that selfie anyway?  More important than your sweet little lady drowning in crushed up and watered down chunks of rocks?  I think not.

I see this shit happening all the time.  If you have children on the playground, WATCH THEM! Stop trying to check your Facebook every few seconds.  I swear to you that nothing important has happened since the last time you checked it a minute ago.  Someone probably posted a generic life quote with a picture of a fucking mountain behind it.  Or someone made fun of Trump again.  Yes, both things are hilarious, but they are NOT worth the safety or your child or mine.

Put the fucking phone down and live in the moment with your kid.  They love the attention.


Helicopter Mom


PS- If you want to take a picture of your wee one, that's great.  Just put the phone down when you're through. I would hate to accidentally hip check you until the phone goes flying out of your hand and lands in that wet cement.

Dear Man Eating The Donuts At The Gym

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or be extremely pissed off at you.  I mean...come on dude.  Who the hell eats a half dozen powdered donuts at the gym while watching people work out?  Were you even there to work out?!  I highly doubt it since you were dressed in denim jeans and dress shoes.  

Here's the thing, I love donuts too.  If I could eat them every single day without gaining a pound, I would buy stock in Krispy Kreme.  But alas, if I even THINK about LOOKING at a donut, my stomach develops an extra roll just as a fuck you reminder that I am not 22 anymore.  And then here you are just a munchin' away on some powered deliciousness while people are grunting and sweating all around you.  Is it, like, a fetish thing?  Did you work out prior to eating those donuts? Or did you just decide that your local YMCA was the ideal place to indulge?  I don't get it.

The fact that not a single roided-up muscle man thought it a good idea to pummel you in the face with a 5 pound weight is beyond me.  Maybe they found it comical.  I do know that from here on out I'm going to be watching for you.  I'm interested to see what you'll bring in next. Will you be eating a giant hoagie dripping with mayo?  Maybe sipping on a dirty martini? Perhaps you will be eating an entire chocolate cake.  We shall see.  The suspense is killing me.


The Girl Who Came To WORK OUT!

Dear Crazy Couple Sitting Behind Us On Valentine's Day

My husband and I don't get out much without our chitlins.  Most parents can a test to this I'm sure.  So imagine our surprise when we had the opportunity to have a lovely Valentine's lunch, sans children.  We specifically asked the host of our favorite Indian restaurant if we could have one of the two tables near the window so we could bathe in the sunlight and, more importantly, the privacy.

We were having a divine time until the two of you walked in.  Ma'am, I don't know what the hell is wrong with your hearing, but damn, you need to turn up your hearing aid or invest in one altogether.  The deciple level at which you spoke was nothing short of ridiculous.  And you, sir? Why would you be out with your wife at a lovely restaurant ON VALENTINE'S DAY with the sole intention of reading the paper?  Sorry you forgot your glasses.  It's like your wife loudly declared, yes she SHOULD have grabbed those pair of specks she saw on the table right before you two walked out your front door.  Alas, you read anyway.

It was quiet when you two went up to the BOO-FAY, as your husband so eloquently kept referring to it.  It was nice.  But then you came back.  And you, lady, decided to use your phone to blare political news for the next 5 minutes.  You will have to excuse me for rolling my eyes at my husband, and trying SO hard not to laugh out loud.  The level of obnoxious that came out of you would be hard to rival.  Ahhhh, but then you REALLY let it out.  Do you know what my husband and I don't want to hear about while we are eating the most yummy food around? Abortions!  Does that make us weird?  No.  It makes you a complete and total asshole.  If you want to talk about dead babies during mealtimes, perhaps wait until you are in the comfort of your own home, not at 1:00 in the afternoon in a lovely restaurant on Valentine's Day.  You are a dick.  

Luckily for the two of you I was able to chill my husband out.  Even luckier, I was 3 glasses of wine deep with no kids climbing all over me.  I was calm.  But seriously, one of us should have told you how obnoxious you behaved.  Next time you are around the rest of humanity, maybe you could just shut the fuck up and enjoy the silence.  Or at least find better things to discuss than Trump and aborted fetuses.  Just a little food for thought.

Shaking Our Heads,

Jon & Justine

Dear McDonald's Breakfast

You had ONE job and you fucked it up.  One job.  I wanted a SAUSAGE AND CHEESE MCMUFFIN.  I didn't want a sausage, EGG, and cheese McMuffin.  And I most certainly didn't want a goddamn EGG and cheese McMuffin, but sure as shit, that's what I got.

Dude, your eggs are gross.  They smell funny and take on a creepy gelatinous texture in my mouth that instantly makes me want to vomit.  It's not normal.  I know, I know, most of your food isn't "normal."  I'm okay with that.  I even embrace that.  It typically tastes good even when it is slowly killing me and America.  But I like SAUSAGE.  I paid for SAUSAGE.  I wanted to eat ALL THE SAUSAGE AND YOU GAVE ME A FUCKING EGG ON A BURNT MCMUFFIN WITH ONLY A TINY BIT OF CHEESE BECAUSE THE REST OF THE FUCKING CHEESE ENDED UP SLIDING ONTO THE WRAPPER! Oh, and speaking of the wrapper.  It said SAUSAGE MCMUFFIN right on it! So not only did you ruin my breakfast, you also ruined my life...for like 10 minutes.  Still, I can never get those 10 minutes back.  

And yes, I ate the stupid sandwich anyway.  But was I happy about it?  No.  Was it tasty?  No. Did I instantly regret eating it?  Yep.  Lucky for you I also ordered a Sausage Burrito.  It was lovely.  The burrito is the only way you're going to get me to eat your eggs.  And those little balls of sausage all wrapped up so warm like a little swaddled baby? Perfection.  In that instance, MAYBE you redeemed yourself.  And that's a pretty strong maybe.  

Obviously I take my breakfast sausage seriously.  I always have.  If this happens again I will have to contact Mr. McDonald himself and make hostile threats.  There is a Mr. McDonald, right? 


Not So Sincerely,


Dear Inconvenient Cold

Really?!  I was just telling my hairdresser last Thursday how surprised I was that no one in the house had been bothered by you yet.  Well, I suppose I should've knocked on wood or prayed to the cold gods because as soon as I picked my chitlin up from her aunt's house, BOOM, 101.2 fever.  What the fuck man?

I pushed some Tylenol and Mortrin down her throat until the next morning when the pediatrician would see her.  Sidenote, I called the pediatrician and asked for an antibiotic because I KNEW she had an ear infection.  Of course I was told my daughter had to physically be seen by the doctor.  Look, I get it, but come on!  You just wanted my $25 copay, you assholes.  So we go to the doctor the next day and what do you know?  A DOUBLE ear infections.  Antibiotics for 10 days.  Easy peasy.

Or so I thought.  Now you have invaded MY body, and I am fucking pissed!  In two days I will be on a plane headed to Colorado to meet a baby.  Yes, a BABY.  So I can't very well be all sickly and germy and nasty.  It's also my vacation as I will not have any of my own children with me.  So help me Jeezus if you ruin this for me...

In conclusion, this is your official eviction notice.  Should you choose to remain inside my body, I will have no choice but to kill you with Airborne, a plethora of OTC drugs, and (should it come down to this) a shit ton of liquor.


Burn in hell,

Your Master 

Dear 2015

As far as years go, you were a rough one.  Truly.  But, some wonderful things happened too, and that's what I'm choosing to go with...such as:

  1. We finally paid off the huge bill for the popcorn kernel that got stuck in our toddler's nose (even though she lodged it in there in 2015...)
  2. We had a wonderful vacation in PA and attended the best wedding we've been to. Including our own.
  3. I watched several seasons of quality reality TV. Did Brooks from the RHOOC REALLY have cancer?  We may never know.
  4. We welcomed a new niece into our family, Avery.  I will finally get to meet her on January 15th.  I am pooping myself with excitement.
  5. Evie started 1st grade and is reading so well it makes my heart sing.  I hope she enjoys reading as much as her mama does.
  6. Everly is talking like a champ, which is incredible and also a little sad because it means she is officially growing up, despite my attempts at stunting her growth.  
  7. I had TWO of my blog posts published on Scary Mommy. This was a huge deal and something I have been waiting for for YEARS. 
  8. I  attended Camp Throwback again and became EXTREMELY close with a little group of people that now feel like family to me.
  9. My 30th birthday was AMAZING, much better than I expected. I had the pleasure of spending it with my family in Florida AND 100+ adult campers in Ohio.  Oh, and one of those campers was Brittany Gibbons.  Perhaps you've heard of her?  Yep, she's a NYT best selling author.  No big deal ;)
  10. Jon and I are still together, still in love, and still annoying the shit out of each other.

There are plenty more things in 2015 that were awesome, and plenty of things that sucked, like Donald Trump officially running for President of the United States.  That shit is truly terrifying. Anyway...I am ready for you, to be over, 2015, and for a new chapter to begin.  I have high expectations for 2016.  Hopefully I'm not setting my standards too high.  Only time will tell.

So peace out 2015.  It's been real.

Yours Truly, 



Dear Diary...As Told By My Toddler

**Dear Diary,

Mama doesn't like it when I watch her going to the bathroom.  So, instead of watching I try to rummage through the cabinets to find stuff to play with.  There are these things call tampons that are just great.  They trick me everytime.  Turns out they are NOT candy, they just have a cool wrapper.  Mama gets mad at me when I ruin them.  She said something like they cost money, whatever that means.  But she can't get to me while she's on the potty, so I keep taking them out of their wrappers and throwing them all over her room, rendering them useless.

**Dear Diary,

Instead of drinking my sippy cup during meals, I have decided to pour its contents all over my high chair tray.  This seems to upset Mama, as she yells gibberish I don't understand and immediately comes running over with a cloth thing to clean up the water.  For some reason she gives me the cup back.  Maybe she thinks I will drink it?  Silly Mama.  I mix the water in with my dinner, leaving it ruined and utterly disgusting to look at.  Mama gets mad and throws everything in that receptacle full of old food.  She sits down and mumbles something, defeated.

**Dear Diary,

Have you ever tasted a coin?  If you haven't, you must!.  They are absolutely delicious.  Don't let any adults see you though. They will just chase you around the house and try to get it out of your mouth.  My advice is to stash it somewhere or swallow it immediately.

**Dear Diary,

I like to push people and pinch them.  It's even better when my nails are slightly longer than usual.  Mama doesn't think it's funny. I think I made her cry the other day.  Doesn't she understand I am just being silly when I throw something full bore at her face?  Side note: biting is also fun. 

**Dear Diary,

It is official, I do NOT like bedtime.  Why should I have to sleep alone in my comfy bed surrounded by 700 blankets and stuffed animals when I could be running around the house screaming and throwing shit?  So now instead of going to bed peacefully, I shall kick the hell out of my door and try to rip the door knob off.  It only makes sense.  Also, when I finally DO tire out, I will sleep near my door instead of in my bed.  That will show everyone.

**Dear Diary,

You know what's so cool?  My cat.  He makes me giggle, especially when I grab his foot while he's laying down and he tries to bite me.  He's so silly.  I love to sit on him until he meows really loudly.  I know he loves it.  He can pretend he's my horsey!  That Mama lady always says "gentle."  What does that mean?  I assume she means pet him harder and slap his head. 

**Dear Diary,

I WILL NOT share my toys.  If anyone tries to take something I am playing with, I will try to bite that person's head or whatever extremity is closest to my mouth.  I will also shake violently and scream as loud as I can.  You've all been warned. 

**Dear Diary,

There is a song I love that must be played on repeat or I will flip out.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  It's called Let It Go.  I try to sing along, which Mama thinks is cute, for about 20 seconds, then she gets all huffy and looks like she's going insane.  How could you not LOVE that song?! 

**Dear Diary,

Screaming in the car has quickly become one of my favorite pastimes.  It never gets old.  Sometimes Mama puts on classical music, which I find very soothing, but mostly I just like to yell. It's really fun!  I even like to get my older sister involved.  Mama tries to crank the radio up loud when me and sissy are yelling.  It only makes us yell louder.  Will that lady ever learn?  Probably not.  Well Diary, I am EXHAUSTED from all the running around and throwing toys.  I must go down for a nap now, which entails me yelling in my room for over an hour before I actually fall asleep.  I love you, Diary.  Until we talk again...


Dear Grocery Store Bagger Lady

I used to bag groceries too.  I know that it isn't the most exciting job on the planet.  The most satisfying part was when I was able to Tetris the groceries just right so they would fit perfectly in the bag.  It was oddly satisfying.  I liked seeing what people were buying because it gave me inspiration for meals.  I also liked to people watch.  And babies?  Forget it.  It was the highlight of my day when a tiny little baby came through the line.  Ahhh, those cheeks!  So presh.  But if a baby came through the line in a car seat with that visor thingy pulled down, I knew that baby was sleeping or the parents didn't want the little angel disturbed.  It was common sense.

My baby doesn't fall asleep in the car.  It RARELY happens.  So when Little E skipped her nap and fell asleep on the ride to the grocery store, I just assumed she would wake up while I was moving her car seat onto the shopping cart.  Instead, she surprised me and slept the entire time I was shopping.  Score.  It wasn't until the very end, when I was paying, that there were any issues.  And that issue was YOU.

If the cover is pulled down over my baby, please don't yell "AWWWW IS SHE SLEEPING?!" mere inches from where her face is hidden.  Because she will wake up.  And I will be pissed. Because OF COURSE she was sleeping, and OF COURSE that woke her up.  And wipe that shit eating grin off your face when you see she is awake.  And instead of trying to talk to her once you know she's awake, how about you apologize to the overwhelmed mother (ME!!!!) for waking her baby up?!  Don't get all in her face and tell her how cute she is.  Duh!  She is adorable, we all know that!  Look at ME and say "I'm so sorry, I seem to have lost the ability to control the volume of my voice.  Please, have a chocolate bar on me, and may God have mercy on my soul"

Too dramatic?  Well, there's a saying out there, lady.  NEVER wake a sleeping baby.  And do you know why?  Because their mother's get murderous thoughts about the people that wake them up.  Truly, dark and evil thoughts.  It's my quiet time.  And NOBODY fucks with my quiet time.  Not even my sweet little angel baby.  And especially NOT YOU!  Now, go bag the groceries and shhhhhhh.  Maybe she'll fall back to sleep...



The Woman Giving You Major Stink Eye


***Note: I wrote this post back in February and totally forgot about it. However, I decided to post it anyway because I believe EVERYONE needs to know that waking a sleeping baby is a crime.  Wait, it isn't?  Well it fucking should be.  The more you know.***

Dear Body

Giiirrrlll, I am SO sorry I've been abusing the shit out of you lately.  It's just...well, it's summer and you know what that means.  Cocktails.  Beer.  BBQ.  Late nights.  Sun-filled days.  It means good times.  But it also means I need to reel it in a bit and stop treating you like a dumpster with the sunburns, hangovers, carbo-loading, and drunken slam dancing.  I must pace myself.  It's only June after all.

So, like, I'm going to try to treat you nice, okay?  I promise to start eating more fruits and veggies (does Corona with lime count?  No seriously, a lime is a fruit after all) and drinking more water.  I'll try to exercise more (ahem, sex), run around outside (sunbathe), and do my squats.  No shade there, I DO need to squat it up again 'cause it felt good and my tush looked much firmer and I didn't shudder every time my husband grabbed at it.  Grab away, that shit was like stone.  Lies.  But it was definitely not as much of a giggly mess.

In return YOU need to stop giving me the plague every other week.  It's lame and really inconvenient.  Antibiotics blow ass and I'd rather not put anymore shit into my body than is necessary, such as alcohol and the occasional White Castle cheeseburger.  Or McDouble, because fuck healthy.


Much Love and Respect,

Good Intentions. 

Dear Swimsuit Season, Fuck You

Fuck you.  Hard.  I'm trying my very best not to give a shit that you are here.  You basically crept up on me when I was binge eating Ritz Bacon flavored crackers, and for that, you can go ahead and die.  Like, why?  Why does it feel like you are coming to get me earlier and earlier each year? And why are you even a "thing?"  It's called SUMMER.  Summer is a season.  Asshole.   More importantly though, why do I care so much about you?  I should be thrilled to put on a bathing suit and frolic in the sun.  Lies, I never frolic.  But instead I am cringing.  I am scared of you.  You are a judgey bitch and you make my under boobs sweat.  I hate you.  And I hate myself for giving a flying fuck.  I'm not trying to pick up boys.  I'm certainly not trying to impress anyone.  Nope, this is all about me.  It's how I feel when I look in the mirror.  And how I feel right now is 15 pounds heavier than where I would like to be with goddamn red bumps on my bikini line (because apparently I have "course" hair, or so a waxer lady once told me) and a muffin top for days.  Do you know the muffin man?  Cause I do.  That fucker lives on my sides and he's a real prick who over stays his welcome.

Now, I am trying to get myself in check.  I am trying to stay calm and realize that this is who I am.  Two babies shot out of me (not really, I'm not loosey goosey over here) and so I'm never going to look like I did when I was 22.  I get that.  It's all about self love, and not the rabbit vibrator kind.  So that's what I'm going to try to do, love myself.  Love the rolls, love the red bumps, love the stretch marks.  But I refuse to love how my ass jiggles when I run.  Because that shit hurts.  Real talk.


***Stay tuned folks.  One of these days I will be ballsy enough to post some bathing suit pics.  I know, you are probably TOO excited, what with all the stretch mark and red bumps talk.  Stay calm.  Soon my lovelies, soon ;)

Dear Walmart Bunghole

Dude, you just made me hate Walmart a little more.  The fact that I was even going into that store shows how much I am trying to save money these days.  It's dirty, the lighting makes me want to claw my eyes out, and most of the people are scary and severely underdressed.  I mean, there's an entire website dedicated to those people.  If you like Walmart, good on you, but I DO NOT and never will.  I go into a slight rage every time I am within 100 feet of that place.  Anyway, back you you.

What the fuck were you thinking parking like that?  Seriously?  The only acceptable excuse I would take was that you had explosive anal leakage and NEEDED to get out of your truck as soon as humanly possible, or you would have shit yourself.  Something tells me that probably wasn't the case.  More likely, you are just an inconsiderate ass hat.  It takes about .2 seconds to straighten your vehicle out.  I get it, you've probably abandon all hope in your life, you are at Walmart after all, but we can't all say "fuck it" and park all crooked and crazy whenever we feel like it.  Your monster truck does not need two spaces, you are not that special.  And your truck isn't either.  It's a monstrosity, sure, but one space is plenty, buddy.  If I were you (and thank god I'm not) I would probably try to be a little more considerate.  Florida is full of old people, like bursting at the seams full.  Your lazy parking ways may have just made a sweet  old lady have to walk an extra few feet with a bad hip. Shame on you, you little bitch.


The Silver Ford Flex With The Sweet Eagles Plate


PS- Don't think I won't key your shit next time.  I can draw a lovely penis :)


Dear Crazy Old Man In The Parking Lot

You probably don't remember me because you are old as dirt.  We had a conversation (more of a yell fest) a few weeks back?  Does that jar your memory?  Probably not.  Anyway, you are an asshole.  I'm sure you think you own the grocery store parking lot because you are old as shit and closer to death than I am, but I can assure you, you, in fact, do not own the parking lot. Therefore, if I am backing my car out of a parking space with my baby in the car and you are several hundred feet back, you DO NOT have the right to come flying up on my ass like you some sort of forgotten NASCAR champion, waving your arms at me like I am the bad driver.  And then you came flying around me AS I WAS STILL DRIVING to get that super coveted parking space closest to the store.  So I beeped at you.  You're goddamn right I did.  

Now normally that would have been the end of it.  But you just HAD to give me a dirty look as I was driving by.  So I stopped and rolled the window down.  You yelled at me for beeping at you.  Remember that?  Yeah?  And when I said I had a baby in the car and you said, and I quote, "I don't give a shit," you're lucky I didn't get out of the car and beat you to death with the gallon of milk I just bought.  

And no, I DO NOT apologize for calling you a "crazy old fuck," because that's just what you are.  You should have your license revoked and your hip broken for putting my baby in danger. Oh, and another thing, if I see you in the parking lot again, you can GUARANTEE I am going to fuck with you.  Just a little bit.  Nothing serious.  But it will probably involve me driving super slow and swurvy all over the place so you can't fly by.  And if you happen to stop me and want to exchange words?  Bring it on.  I'll beat you with a sack full of Ensure and Epson salt, because NOBODY, not even an old geriatric fuck like yourself, puts my baby in danger.  Did you get all that?  I hope so.  If not, put your bifocals on or lean into the screen real close like.  


One Pissed Off Mom.

Dear Diary...As Told By My Baby

Dear Diary,

It has been roughly 5 minutes since that mama lady put her boob in my mouth.  I have screamed endlessly, but she doesn't seem to understand that I am literally starving to death and probably won't make it much longer.  Perhaps I will shit myself in protest so she is forced to pick me up.  She will be upset to learn I have crapped up my back.  But she deserves it.

Dear Diary,

Mama looked surprised when I peed on the bath mat.  Isn't that what I am supposed to do when she takes my diaper off before a bath?

Dear Diary,

There is a strange creature that lurks through the house.  It has an appendage coming from the top of it's butt that it DOES NOT like me to chew on.  It smacked me across the face with it's furry hand.  It also doesn't like me to pull the wires on it's face.  I will try again tomorrow.

Dear Diary,

I threw scrambled eggs all over the kitchen today.  In my defense I was very tired and it just made sense.  Mama grabbed those paper things and tried to clean it up.  Then I threw my sippy cup of water on the floor.  Doesn't she know I need to sleep?  What else can I throw?

Dear Diary,

Maybe if I arch my back just so, she won't put my in that chair thing that goes in the car. She keeps trying to bend me at the stomach.  Yeah, like that's going to work.  Give up, lady.

Dear Diary,

I heard that what I'm eating is "carpet?"  Well, whatever it is, it's delicious, and I will eat more of it later.  On a related note, "dirt" and "leaves" are yummy too.

Dear Diary,

Today is the third consecutive day in a row mama has left me to cry myself to sleep.  She is a sadistic bitch.  I will wake her up a few times tonight as payback.

Dear Diary,

We went out to eat tonight at a restaurant.  I decided to yell my way through the whole meal. The people around us thought I was the best thing ever, obviously.  Mama kept trying to make me eat those puffy star things.  I think she was trying to shut me up.  I threw them all over the floor and grabbed at all the shiny silver metal things.  Then I ate a napkin.

Dear Diary,

I did not like waking up this morning.  I tried to tell that mama lady but she didn't listen...so I threw myself on the floor and screamed.  She looked at me like I was the crazy one.  I will keep yelling.

Dear Diary,

I have decided that this whole "bedtime" thing is for the birds.  Instead of going to sleep, I am going to throw everything out of my crib and slam around for a while.  When mama comes in I will giggle maniacally while she looks at me confused.

Dear Diary,

Anytime mama is eating something I make sure to yell at her until she gives me some.  Then I spit it out on the floor or rub some of it on my face and clean clothes.  Sharing is caring.


More entries to come.  I am tired and need to throw fits until I am put down for a nap.


Dear Workout Moms

Ladies, you are crazy.  Straight up nuts.  Every morning I walk Evie into school I see you guys in your skin tight black yoga pants and sweet Nike running shoes.  The hair is up in a tight pony and you're just pushing that stroller with such determination.  I see you in your cliques, talking about god knows what, and I am amazed how well you can form sentences that early in the morning.

I can barely muster the strength to put a bra on in the morning, and would forego it altogether if I was sure I wouldn't get dirty looks from all the moms.  I can handle the haters, but not that early in the morning.  Nah mean?  But you ladies?  You are dressed to the nines to go sweat it out on the elliptical.  Cheers to you.

Excuse me while I drive home, put Little E down for a nap, and crawl into bed myself for a little snoozy pie.  Staying up until midnight watching reruns of Parks and Recreation on Netflix is exhausting after all.  So for now I will just watch all you lovely ladies from afar and hope one day I will wake up with enough ambition to change out of my pajamas for morning drop off.


Secretly jealous,

Tired Mama

Dear Over Aggressive Man Driving at E's School

Here's some real talk for you, sir.  YOU were trying to cut ME off.  Let's not pull any punches. I did NOT pull out in front of you.  There is a way to drive in the parking lot, and you failed.  Hard.  It was my turn to go, so that's what I did.  I find it disturbing that you drove up on my ass at 8:15 in the morning and started honking like a psychopath.  Here's the thing dude, I had a sweet little lady in the car and your obsessive honking bothered her.  Ok, maybe that's not entirely true.  It bothered me.  To an almost irrational degree.  You don't know me, but if you did you would know that I have been suppressing a pretty severe case of road rage since my children were born.  

I know it annoyed you when I pulled up next to you and honked back.  You flipped me off, I flipped you off, it was a great time.  Then you honked again for like a full minute.  Hilarious.  But also a tad sad.  Why were you so fired up so early in the morning?  Perhaps you didn't get any lovin' the night before?  Probably because you are such an asshole face.  Was the insane beeping a way to compensate for the fact that you are actually a spineless turd that won't confront people face to face?  Well, you should work on that.  Take it down a notch buddy.  It was an ELEMENTARY school parking lot.  Rage has no place there.  A line is a line.  When it's your turn, go.  Until then, sit quietly and stew about how shitty the car line is like the rest of the parents. 

Take a Xanax and breathe,

The Lady In The Killer Silver Flex


Dear You. Yes You. As In You, The Person Reading This Right Now

Do you come here often?  If so, I'm sorry for being such a distant little shit lately.  Big E started Kindergarten and so obviously my schedule has changed.  Finding the time to write, (besides when I'm in bed at night, and let's face it, that time has been spent nursing my tooth and binge watching Parks and Recreation), has been challenging.  Actually, you know what?  That's a cop out.  I think I started getting into the groove of not writing after my devil dog chewed through our internet cord and just went with it.  It was nice, I'll admit, but I don't want to be lazy.  I've been lazy about writing for the past uhhhh, 6 years?  Right around 6 years.  Wow, I've been out of college for 6 years.  That's mind blowing.  

So I apologize for being lazy and wanted to personally call myself out.  Get your shit together, Justine, and just type!  Maybe I'll play some Eye Of The Tiger and really get this party started. Care to join me?  I'll make the Hot Wing Hoagies, you bring the Guinness.  We can discuss Salinger or how much of a back-stabbing bitch Tamara from the Real Housewives of Orange County is.  You decide.  I could go either way :)  But no matter what, I will start writing more. Pinkie swear.


Love you guys!



Dear Thing That Makes Women Cringe

You sit there all high and mighty, silently praying I will come to you.  How can I mess up her day today?  You feel so powerful, so right.  But are you right?  And what constitutes right?  When you fire off your number, is it supposed to define me?  Fuck no.  And fuck you.

You are a piece of metal and you are shit.  Scales mean nothing.  I spent way too much time fixating on the number you gave me in the past, and I just don't have time for it anymore.  I caught myself stepping on you yesterday and actually getting upset with the number you spewed out.  But why?  I feel healthy (aside from the nighttime binge eating of chocolate chips) and I fit in my clothes...mostly, so why care that you called me 153 pounds?  I am 153 pounds of fun, sass, love, and light.  I will never fit into a size 3 jeans again like I did in middle school, and that's okay with me.  You know why?  Because if I actually could fit into a size 3, I would most likely be rocking those bad boys on the way to the hospital because I would be malnourished and probably borderline psychotic thinking about hot wings and Domino's Bread Bowls.  

I made the choice to let you into my life a long time ago, and it was probably one of the worst decisions I have ever made.  I was miserable and very mean to myself.  Remember that day I was pulling at my tummy fat a little too roughly with tears running down my blubbering face?  I stepped on you and cried harder.  Well, I was also post postpartum with baby number one and I never should have made eye contact with you.  You are a turd and a bully and pretty much worthless.

So guess what you little bitch?  I'm going to sit over here eating microwaved White Castle cheeseburgers and drinking Cokes in front of Sex in the City reruns on E! and you know what you can do?  You can lick the ketchup off my chin and get a life.  **Drops mic** 


Dear Baby Blocks

I will be the first to admit that you were a mistake to buy.  The package CLEARLY said for 18+ months.  Nostalgia got the best of me though and I bought you for Everly, who was 10 months old at the time.  She couldn't care less about you wooden pains in the ass.

Evie on the other hand?  She loves you guys.  That's why I'm finding you all over my effing house.  I find you in the kitchen, in my bedroom (including my bed), and this morning a bunch of you little assholes were in Everly's crib, just a chillin' away with her.  I step on some of you in the dark and it hurts.  It REALLY hurts.  The pain makes me want to punch you guys in the face.  I have to suppress pain screams in the middle of the night so I don't wake up your baby owner.   I find you next to the toilet?  Like, why?  Why are you in the bathroom?!  Yesterday Evie literally covered Everly in a bunch of you as she was strapped into her carseat.  She seemed to enjoy it.  But you know what she doesn't enjoy?  Rolling over on you.  Yeah, it makes her cry.  Which makes me sad.  Which puts your lives in jeopardy. 

Listen, here's the thing...I hate cleaning all of you up.   I do it CONSTANTLY.  You haunt my dreams.  And worse?  There is no way I'm going to find all of you.  No freakin' way.  We are already missing some of you at other people's houses.  It's super annoying and I don't know how it happens.  You are basically worthless, as Everly has no idea how to read numbers and letters.  Let it be known today that I don't like you guys.  Not one single little bit.  And if I step on another one of you little effers in the middle of the night?  Yeah, I'm going to have a little bonfire. S'mores are delightful this time of year.  


You've Been Warned,

Boss Lady

Dear Olive and Archer: AKA-Numbers 1 & 2 On My Shit LIst

I think I still faintly smell like a sewer and I am NOT happy about it.  I understand that dogs like to roam.  I even understand how our 1.3 acre property could probably get pretty boring after a while.  But you know what I don't understand?  What the hell could compel you guys to want to smell like a cross between one of Everly's shitty diapers and a musty basement?

We got the electric pet fence to keep you guys in, not so you could roam the neighborhood all nimbly bimbly, forcing me to hop in the car to track your asses down.  Oh, and Archer?  I should not have to lure you to the car using gum, okay?  It makes me feel all creepy man with a mustache and a white windowless van.  No thanks.  Olive, you listened and got in the car, so that's good.  But for all I know, you initiated the jail break.  Not cool. 

Bottom line dogs?  I literally had to take TWO showers and then exfoliate the crap out of my arms just to not smell like month old Indian food rotting in the Florida sun.  Please don't escape the yard again.  If you do, I'm tempted to let you live in the sewers forever, C.H.U.D style.

Until Next Time,

Female Master

Dear Seventh Generation Baby Products

To be fair, I have only used two of your products on Everly and she doesn't seem to mind them.  But...she's a baby and is usually pretty unaware of her surroundings, unless you are eating something.  If that's the case the sweet little lady will be all up in your grill yelling until you share.  Sharing is caring.  

So I bought your diapers on a whim.  There was a sale and I was all yessssss, I get to save money and help the environment!  Winning!  I'm usually a Pampers kind of mom, but I'm trying to be a little more aware of how I spend money.  Translation: I will try just about any product if it's on sale and not total crap.  But your diapers are total crap! They barely absorb one of Everly's pees, so I can totally expect to have a wet and soggy baby in the morning.  Annnnddd, the added bonus of having to change her sheet in the morning.  Awesome.  I totally have all the time in the world to do that every morning.  Oh, and what's up with all the diaper padding on the inside of the diaper sliding down and bunching in one effing spot?  Wouldn't it be great if babies could channel all their pee and poop to one spot in the diaper?  Of course it would, but they can't.  Your diapers are terrible.  I would rather use the reusable ones I have for emergencies and when I'm feeling like a hippy.

I bought your foaming shampoo and body wash too.  Because I guess I like to use countless pumps of the stuff for barely any suds at all.  Oh, and apparently I like my baby to smell musty with the slightest hint of dirt.  I don't understand this product.  This is another example of how I get suckered in by a good sale.  Yeah, this stuff was probably on sale for a reason.  I'm not even sure Everly gets clean from it.  And now I have the ultimate decision to make...do I pour it down the sink like a really want to and go get something that doesn't remind me of old wet wood, or do I grin and bear it for another month with this crap?  Ugh, thanks a lot Seventh Generation.  I don't like making the hard choices.  




Feel free to pass me around to your friends.  I like to be shared ;)