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Tattoos And Guilty Pleasures


I got the little hummingbird’s cold that she had last week. So, of course I’ve been so sick this week and really NyQuiled up. Yes, that’s a word. Okay, it is in my mommyhood vocabulary.

My week has pretty much been like this. Cough, cough, cough. Tell my husband “Fuck this shit! Kill me now!” Cough, cough. Nap. Do a shot of NyQuil. Cough some more. Tell my husband I think I’m dying. Cough. More NyQuil. Etc. Yes, I’m such a pussy when I’m sick.

Since I ramble all of the time, I wanted to hear from you.

Who, me? Yes, you. Couldn’t be! Then who?

That’s a little something my 5 year-old came home singing one day so it’s been in my head.


First off… tattoos.

I’ve been seriously thinking about getting another tattoo. Ssshh, don’t tell my husband. He’s still having a heart attack over the tiny dolphin tattoo I got 12 years ago. Yes, I’m a dolphin/ocean freak.

Poor guy. You should have seen him in my pierce everything phase in my early 20’s.

I just can’t decide what to get.

Something to do with music, a hummingbird, my daughter’s name?

Secondly, when you have a bit of free time, what are your guilty pleasures?

No judgements!

For me, it’s watching Teen Mom 2 and loving to absolutely despise Kim Kardashian and her WTF moments, which seem plentiful and endless.

Your turn. Spill it!

Happy weekend, ladies and gents!

*Updated. Oh, yeah! Another guilty pleasure is reading dlisted. I came across this gossip site 6 years ago when I was pregnant with the hummingbird, dealing with hyperemesis gravidarum, and desperately needed laughs. Michael K. and his writing is brilliant.

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My kid has learned to lay on the guilt. F***ck.

Not to offend or be politically incorrect (Actually I hate being politically correct, it’s called humor people!!! Get a fucking grip.), blah, blah blah… but I feel like I’m living with a tiny Jewish mother when it comes to my 5 year-old daughter.

Not that I have a Jewish mother and I don’t mean to stereotype, but as long as I’ve been on this earth, there have been countless times that I’ve heard that Jewish mothers have taken guilt to an art form.


What really stood out for me was when we had our camping trip a few weeks ago and the little hummingbird really layed the guilt on us. I felt like shit but at the same time, it was fucking hilarious to me. I don’t know, maybe you had to be there.

My husband was making a fire so we could roast some marshmallows for s’mores and to start the fire, he dug around in the backseat of the car for some paper. It was paper with drawings and such that the bird made at preschool.

Drawings that she forgot about that had been in the back of my car for months. Yes, I really need to clean my car. Desperately.

My daughter normally didn’t give a shit about these pictures and drawings but immediately grew an attachment to them when my husband picked them out to use for the fire. I get it, really I do, since I do the same but what followed almost made me pee myself.

As her sudden attachment to her pictures were burning in the fire, she layed on the guilt big time.

I’ll never forget it.

As she watched them burn, she stood by the fire with the most pitiful look on her face and said “Bye pictures, I’ll miss you.”

Really kid, REALLY?!

But it worked and the husband and I looked at each other and I knew we were thinking ” Holy hell, we are shitty parents.”

Of course, once we sat around the campfire together and made the delicious, gooey s’mores, the hummingbird quickly forgot her beloved artwork.

Since then, she has found that laying on the guilt works in her favor.

Damn it!

What have your kids done to really lay on the guilt?

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Hands off the boobs!


It’s a bird.

It’s a plane.


It’s already that time in my pregnancy where my boobs have become off limits. Holy shit, they hurt. I’ve already said sayonara my awful underwire bra and hello to a kind of comfy sports bra.

I thought I’d have to worry more about my husband keeping his hands off the boobage but it’s more like I have to worry about my 4 year-old.

She’s always found them entertaining. Well, they ARE in fact pretty fun.

But the other morning, as we were cuddling together in my bed, she grabbed my nipple and started twisting it.


Kids are weird.

That’s when I told her that my boobs are very sore because of the baby. She replied with “The baby isn’t in your belly anymore? It’s in your nip-ple now?”


“No sweetie. But the baby is making my boobs hurt.”

“Oh”… grabs boob again and twists my nipple.

Yeah, I’m going to have to work on the little nipple twister so she understands better.

*Song To The Siren

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Fine. Then I’ll just use your manly man electric razor instead. Just don’t come complaining to me when your face smells like an armpit.

After we moved from California to Maine at the end of June and were stuck in a hotel for a month while waiting to move into our house, I was always misplacing shit.

We were in such close quarters and things were always being moved around. If I couldn’t find something I needed, my husband would always say “It’ll show up soon”. More times than not, the stuff just seemed to vanish into thin air, never to be seen again.

On July 29th, we finally moved into our new house and that morning we made a mad dash packing up everything in the hotel room. We needed to check out by 7:30 am so we’d be at our house in time for when the movers showed up.

Our things were thrown into whatever bag it would fit in. Fast forward 10 days.

I had been without my razor during that time and my husband would always say his usual “It’ll turn up.” Around day 5 of my MIA razor, we were at the store and I was thinking fuck this, I need a damn razor because the hair on my legs is starting to blow in the occasional breeze.

The hubby said I should wait because he was sure I’d find it. Yeah, uh huh.

I was tired of feeling like a Sasquatch so when he went downstairs, I went into his bathroom and got out his electric razor. I started shaving my legs with it. If I didn’t have my razor, I was going to use his.

Then came the time for my armpits. I hesitated for a minute because ewww, he was going to be rubbing his face all over the head of the razor that will probably smell like my armpits.

I could just picture him walking out of the bathroom in the morning with razor in hand, asking me why in the hell does it smell like a smelly armpit. I, of course, would play dumb and blame it on the dog because everybody seems to blame their dogs for everything.

But since we don’t have a dog, I would have to fess up. I said fuck it, my pits need to be shaved, and I took his electric razor to them.

Motherfucking ouch! The razor shredded my armpits and since my skin is super sensitive, it looked like I rubbed them against the bark of trees.

I heard the hubby coming up the stairs and ran outta there, into my bathroom to take a shower. By the time I got out, it looked like my underarms were mauled by a bear and damn, it really hurt.

When I walked out of the bathroom to look in a bag for lotion, there sat my fucking razor. It was in a bag we both looked in a few times. What the hell, razor?

It took a day or two before my armpits stopped throbbing in pain and fortunately, my husband’s face didn’t smell like an armpit after he used his razor.

The End.

*I fucking LOVE this song.

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My husband’s big wood broke our windshield.

What? I couldn’t resist.

A few nights ago, my hubby went to Home Depot to get some big wood. I guess the wood he already has wasn’t enough. This is too easy.

He loaded the big pieces of wood into our car but found that it was a tight fit. So, he pulled it out and then reloaded it into the car. Yep, way too easy.

The hubby thought it was all good but then he shut the trunk and the big wood pounded into the windshield, cracking it.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that he told me. Actually he didn’t tell me but said he needed a hug. Awww. That’s when I thought “oh shit, what did he do?”

The hubs said he fucked up and broke the windshield with his big wood.



Honestly, since our Subaru Forester is like one of my babies and this is just one more thing to deal with, I wanted to cry and rant at him. But he already felt like shit so I held back.

We still don’t have a second car yet so it’s been a pain scheduling the windshield fixer people to replace the glass. They do it in a 12-5 pm window and I need to pick up the hubby and the bird.

My husband has some big wood for a certain car but we just haven’t had time to go look at it in New Hampshire. There are other cars but he really wants this particular one.

Hopefully, we’ll get that second car soon. I’m really over driving 2 hours a day, back and forth. It’s a time suck.


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I thought I was already living some kind of hell on earth. Then I got a Creed song stuck in my head. That’s true hell.

Omg, please take this Creed song out of my brain. They are the band spawned from Satan. Ick! Lol!

No, I would never tell you the song that’s stuck in my head. I love you way too much! But the song has been in my head since last Tuesday. THE HORROR!!

I’m still in a whole bunch of hurt but my sense of humor is slowly coming back. We signed the papers to our new house on Sunday which we won’t be able to move into for another 2-3 weeks. Aggghhh!

Sure, people have been telling me they LOVE hotels, but it’s taken 5 days to go through the whole miscarriage and YES, being in a hotel sucks when you’re dealing with something like this.

I’ve been in a bad way but I’m finally starting to come around… slowly.

This whole thing has also made me feel like taking down my blog, quitting my Twitter addiction, and just disappearing.

But something inside me says …. NOOOOO!

So, here I am still.

Just so you know, for the next few weeks, there will be sporadic posting from me and guest posting from others. Once we actually move into our house, I know everything will be back on track.

Needless to say, I’m going through A LOT of changes and need to get my focus back from this crazy ass move.

Also, I love you! And I’ve been reading all the comments and the emails I’ve been getting… so thank you, thank you thank you!

*NOT Creed.

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A miscarriage is horrible and even though you feel like you want to die, you surprisingly won’t. That’s really hard for me to believe right now, but that’s what I have to keep telling myself.

I’m angry, pissed off, hurt, devastated, heartbroken, furious, in emotional hell, and want to get the fuck out of this hotel room.

We were only in Maine for 3 days when it happened.

It’s fucked up that I have to deal with this while stuck in a hotel, without any comforts of a home, and I feel like I want to die.

Pity party, table for one.

I honestly don’t know how this kind of emotional and physical pain doesn’t kill you.

Even though we thought one was enough, we found that we do want a baby #2 and will try again… once we heal and after plenty of time to do so.

We continued looking at houses the next day because we have to do what we have to do. I had to put on a happy face while we walked through homes, while my huge pads were soaked in blood and my body was in such pain.

Absolute hell.

One house we looked at had a 1 month old baby boy. I wanted to crawl up in a ball and die as soon as I saw him.

After we left, my husband and I went straight to lunch to have a drink.

We finally found a home that’s beyond what I dreamed. But we don’t move in until mid July so our things have to be put in storage.

So, here we will be, at the hotel until then.

The bleeding, cramping, and pain are still in full force. When the hummingbird catches me crying, she asks if the baby is making me sick.

She doesn’t quite understand what happened.

I cry even more because she still thinks she’s getting a brother or sister.

Thank you all for your support through this hell.

My therapy.





My 4 year-old tissue monster.



What made me actually crack a smile that was so desperately needed.





*Goo Goo Dolls


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