What does she do?

via Daily Prompt: Faceless

I kind of covered this briefly in a different post but let’s go a little deeper.

The job of a mom is one that is often underestimated and always never ending. Some of the roles I play in a day include:

Personal Chef {typically to super picky clientele}
Taxi Driver/Cheueffer {but don’t expect to get tipped}
Housecleaner {cleaning bathrooms for all boys is GROSS by the way}
Laundry folder
Nurse {sometimes just kissing boo-boos is enough}
Play date coordinator
Homework helper
Appointment scheduler
and so on and so forth…

The list of jobs a mom does in a day is not only extensive… it’s EXHAUSTING. Most of the time your being pulled in a million directions by a lot of different people. Typically you’re seen for the things you do rather than the person you are.

Making sure that something your kids actually want to eat hits the table for dinner and everyone has clean skivvies for the day is taken for granted. Making sure that everyone washes their butts and brushes their teeth is met with groans and eye rolls. *insert my own eyeroll here*

If you try to get something done for yourself it takes extra coordination and you end up treating it like a mini vacation. Doctor appointment? Better take that drive home extra slow and stop for a coffee. Grocery shopping? Walk super slow and make sure you go down every single aisle.

The constant barage of questions revolving around what they want or need. The selfishly needy jerks. Do they notice that when they get up in the morning the house is clean again? Or that their too small clothes have magically been replaced? Do they take notice when the paperwork they need turned in is filled out?

Don’t get me wrong. Being a mom is the most fulfilling job I’ve ever had. The snuggles and kisses and hugs and I love yous. All of it is amazingly fulfilling.

… BUT …

It would be nice to feel seen by the people you love the most. Maybe they see me more than I realize. It doesn’t really feel that way often though. I am reminded by my friends and my husband that I am more than a three letter noun though. Thank God for that.

confessions of a hot mess mom

I confess.

I am a hot mess mom.

My house is always a mess. Unless company is coming over of course. In which case you’ll see my social media home.

Sometimes my kids eat organic foods. Most of the time though they eat store brand foods. I do make amazing dinners but I also feed them chicken nuggets and canned vegetables. Candy is often used as a bribe.

I don’t remember the last time that I was caught up on our laundry.

I cuss like a drunken sailor.

I only wash my hair once a week… you can go ahead and guess how often I shower.

I don’t remember the last time I bought an article of clothing for myself.

I use tablets AND television as a babysitter.

I’m pretty sure that I am judged by other moms constantly and I don’t care.

Sometimes I sneak candy in the bathroom so I don’t have to share.

Want to know what else? The REAL confession I have as a hot mess mom?

I suffer from anxiety and depression. And those intense, shitty feelings make it hard to be a good mom sometimes. Sometimes those feelings leave me short tempered and quick to be set off by what is normal toddler behaviors. I yell too much. I’m impatient. I want to be a good mom more than anything in the world. It’s hard for me. Is it hard for other people? I want to have the patience that other moms seem to find so easily. I want to be the type of mom who can do the fun art projects and field trips without feeling like the world is closing in on me or my heart is going to beat right out of my chest.

I know that I’m not the only one who suffers from mental health problems.

And you know what? I keep doing the art projects and the field trips with my kids. And make sure to snuggle them extra tight and tell them I love them. Cause even a hot mess mom can be a good mom.

Boy Mom


Every so often I get that question that you’ve probably wondered or asked yourself. “Don’t you want a little girl?” I know this topic has been covered by almost all of the moms with only one gender of kids BUT here are my feelings on this topic.

Would I have liked to have a little girl? Sure.
Am I going to keep trying until I get a little girl? Hell no.

God has blessed me with the miracle of carrying three very healthy boys through full term pregnancies. I thank him every day for their health and their uniqueness. I was blessed with a bonus kiddo when I met my husband. Another healthy boy who brings his individuality and unique personality to our family. The four of them together brings chaos and disorder to my life constantly. They also bring me a love I never knew was possible to feel.

These boys give me a run for my money. Adding a little girl? Man. She would be one of the most loved, cherished and overly protected little girls in the world, for sure. And with my luck she would be the biggest DIVA in the world. I can guarantee that she would be the worst infant, terrible toddler and absolute nightmare of a teenager to exist. I would love her with everything I have and would finally be reciprocated those feelings when she had her first child.

Seriously though. I love my boys. They teach me new things about myself every day. I wouldn’t change having all boys for anything else in the world. I find myself truly blessed to be considered a #boymom.


Yes. They’re loud.
Yes. They’re messy.
No. I don’t believe that they’re easier than girls.
No. I won’t be trying for a girl.


Burnt Pancakes

via Daily Prompt: Invisible

I set about my morning like any other, walking around half asleep, stumbling like a zombie through the house. Grab baby. Nurse baby. Shush toddler. Make coffee.


We had somewhere to be. Don’t we always have somewhere to be? I used to never be late – I absolutely despise being late. Now I’m lucky if I’m on time. I decided this morning though I was making pancakes. Weight Watchers friendly, kid approved pancakes. Start with making some for the baby. While I cut his up, I start making some for G. While I’m cutting his up, start mine. Except something he does distracts me and I forgot to flip mine. Burnt. Now he’s trying to pour more syrup. Run to grab the syrup. Burn the other side too.

BURNT PANCAKES. ugh. Just mine though. Because despite the fact that I told him I was trying to cook and “please, just eat your breakfast, we need to leave,” he did everything but just eat his pancakes.

I feel like that’s kind of a great description for what my life is during this stage. Burnt pancakes. I’m always so busy being mom and wife, that I forget about myself. And while the pancakes I made were still edible, they definitely weren’t the way they should have been. That’s how I feel. I feel like I’m cruising through this part of life doing all the things everyone else needs me to but forgetting to help myself along the way. And what’s left is a burnt out mama and wife with the individual lost somewhere. Just a burnt pancake of my former self.

I know my family loves me. And my pancakes. But sometimes being loved for more than the things you do for a person is what you really crave in life. That and chocolate. And coffee. I’ve started to try to do more for myself but what I’ve realized is that the only way that my family is going to see me for more than just wife and mom is to do things with them that I LOVE. Go to the theater or the art museum. So that’s my plan going forward. The only way that I won’t be invisible to them as an individual is to make them experience things I LOVE as an individual. No coffee for the kids though. They’re hyper enough as it is.



Trying to get a moment of solitude is pretty much impossible. Maybe if I didn’t own pets… but here I sit on baited breath, hoping O doesn’t wake before I finish pumping or my morning coffee. The dog and cat both constantly seeking attention.

I used to consider myself a morning person. Recently though, I’ve realized I’m just able to wake to an alarm when I really need to. Mornings are hard when there other people depending on you. Especially when none of those tiny humans are morning people either.

I have to nearly drag D out of bed for school every morning. He’s a night owl and absolutely hates getting up. When B is here, he literally will sleep until 10 if I let him. Too bad for him, I won’t. G will scream for me until I come open his door and then he glares at me as though I physically made the sun rise myself. He’ll cover his face back up and tell me “Go way.” Hmmm. Pretty sure you told me to come in here ya jerk. O is hit or miss. Some mornings he wakes up and just babbles and plays in his crib. Other mornings he cries and won’t crack a smile until he’s had time to adjust.

All of these things typically will take place before my morning coffee. So I set an alarm for this morning that I DID NOT want to get up to because O was up twice in the middle of the night. So here I sit, pumping, writing a boring blog, drinking my coffee before all the kids wake up and we have to scurry to get ready for the day…. because today I have to get the two little ones to babysitters so I can chaperone a field trip.

Toddler Potty Training

via Daily Prompt: Patience

I feel like patience is one of those things that just doesn’t come as easily to a person as one would like to believe. If it did, it probably wouldn’t be one of the seven virtues, right? I mean, sure, we all pretend like we’re patient … patiently waiting for the new season of our favorite show to start, patiently waiting for the newest version of our phone to be released …. patiently waiting to get through a difficult project at work, or a particularly trying season in our life. We save face and we exute patience to everyone around us, but really we’re anxious about it… even the silly things. We want immediate gratification in all aspects of our lives.

And it never changes.

Want a perfect example? Kids. They are the epitome of having no virtues. Patience? I could create a YouTube video of a new superhero and name him Captain Patience and they STILL would not be able to emulate it.

As a parent, I feel like my ability to have patience is put to the ultimate test on a daily basis. Prime example – potty training.


This adorable photo was taken 8 months ago. G decided two weeks after bringing O home from the hospital that he was ready to be a big boy. Eight months later and we are just finally wearing underwear with our pants when we leave the house. 90% of the last eight months he has spent entirely butt naked or naked from the waist down. I have seen him naked more than any of the other kids or my husband combined. I have dealt with him peeing on my carpet, on my couch, on his bed (intentionally) and in my hall closet which also led to pee in my shoes. Fan-fricken-tastic. I have dealt with him pooping in his underwear, pooping and not telling me so that I can wipe his butt which led to skid marks on my shins, poop on my lap and poop on my furniture. His carseat pads have been washed more times than I can count and I have absolutely, one hundred and ten percent, thrown away a crap ton of underwear.

Through all of this I have done everything in my power to remain patient. He grasped the concept of potty training immediately. He knew exactly what he was supposed to do and where to do it. And he did great. For about a month. Let me tell you, my patience with potty training at this point is receding to be as thin as the once popular, high school jocks hair line. But it’s almost as if he can see that I’m at that breaking point of just letting him wear diapers until he’s in middle school and he’s suddenly deciding it’s time to give mama a little break.

Today he had his first accident, other than while sleeping, in a week. We’ve only had underwear on, every single day, including for sleep and in the car. It’s been a fantastic feeling to see the toddler I had assumed was potty trained eight months ago, finally almost REALLY there.

I will openly admit that patience is not one of my strong points. Having kids has made that abundantly clear and although it has increased my patience threshhold, I still lose it multiple times a day.

Leprechaun Spotting Binoculars

Happy St Patrick’s Day! I try to find a way to celebrate every year and this year we found out that we actually ARE Irish. Like I needed a reason anyway, amirite? Having kids though makes the crazy shenanigans of March 17 a lot different than they use to be. This year Mr. B and I are planning on bringing the little ones to the parade tomorrow so I made leprechaun spotting binoculars to get G in the spirit!

Things You Need:

  • 2 toilet paper rolls or 1 paper towel roll cut in half
  • Green construction paper
  • Glue
  • Rubber bands
  • Paper Clips
  • Decorations

I glued the construction paper onto the toilet paper roll and then used a rubber band to get it to set in place.

I then took another rubberband and figured eighted it around the two…

I stuck to a simple decoration of gold paper tape and then paperclipped the top and bottom for extra support.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. How’s that for my first “craft” blog post? I had a hard time making these cause I’m a bit of a perfectionist and these are far from perfect.

Laundry “Day”

via Daily Prompt: Wrinkle

Yesterday during nap I attempted to make a product review video. I was terrible of course and spent hours trying to edit it so I could post it here only to find I need to pay for my blog to post it. Jokes on me, right? In the video you can see 3 overflowing baskets of laundry sitting on my floor by the bedroom door. The nice thing is that those baskets are full of clean clothes – does anyone else know that? Of course not. Would everyone be judging me? Meh. Maybe. But let’s be honest here, I don’t really care.

When you’re young and single, possibly living alone or with a roommate, there’s laundry day. Maybe it’s Wednesday. You wash a load of laundry, dry a load of laundry, hang and fold. Hell, maybe you’re ambitious and you even IRON. hahahahahahahahahahahaha If you’re lazy or just hate doing laundry – like myself – maybe you do A LOT of laundry every couple weeks but chances are it still just takes that one day.

Wanna know what happens when you mix someone who HATES laundry with 5 boys? Hell. Seriously. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Laundry day is every day when there are six people living in a house together. They should just call it laundry LIFE. If I’m able to stay on top of things, I do a load of laundry EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. If I don’t stay on top of things? It’s what I can only imagine a laundry apocalypse would look like. Rolling hills of wrinkled clothes. Some of them are clean, some of them are dirty but they’re taking over the world! Ok. Just my bedroom – clothes on the dresser, on the bed, on the floor, in laundry baskets.

And an iron? Do I own one. Yes. I even own one of those fancy clothes steamers. Do you know how often those things get used? ummmmmm My dryer has become the standard for wrinkle removal in this house. The older boys need it more often than anyone because they can’t keep their clothes folded IN THEIR DRAWERS despite the fact that I put it away that way.

Then there’s the days when I forget about the load of laundry I’ve started. every single day. The clothes in the dryer are now wrinkled, the clothes in the washer are starting to smell musty already. So I restart both. And then forget. And restart both again the next day. So now one load has somehow multiplied and become a three day dance. And the clothes are still piling up! I feel as though they must be breeding secretly … little humping socks and kinky t-shirts everywhere.

My kids are always in clean clothes though – welllllll, they start the day in clean clothes. Sometimes those clothes are wrinkled. Or stained. Hell, half of mine are the same way. thanks kiddos. But man are those dirty, wrinkly kids loved.

Where there’s noise…

via Daily Prompt: Noise

It is not very often that my home is quiet. Typically the only times there’s an iota of silence is when everyone is finally in bed for the night and even then my mom radar picks up on every sigh, cough and reposition.

I struggle with anxiety and sometimes the noise of my home can be so overwhelming that I can actually feel the pressure of it. During those times you would think that silence would be a welcome change. But alas, silence with a toddler can be worse than all the noise in the world. At least when there’s noise, you have an idea of the trouble they’re causing.

When your toddler gets quiet, you have no idea what to expect – unless the smell reaches you before you have the chance to realize they’ve been too quiet.

The scent of what I can only assume is what a Jersey Shore frat house would smell like wafted into the nursery where I was changing O. Why did I believe I could change the baby on the changing table without consequences? The overwhelming smell of Axe body spray infiltrated my nostrils. My eyes began to water. INSTANT migraine. How much did he spray that I could smell it that strongly from two rooms away?! Answer. The entire sample size bottle.

I walked out into the living room, baby on my hip, and became so overpowered by the scent that I immediately opened the front door to air out the house despite the balmy weather outside.

He found the sample that his brother had gotten at the hockey expo this past weekend. And because he seems to be some type of mischievious evil genius, he was able to figure out how to twist it open and spray it. Everywhere. He stood behind our couch with his hands behind his back trying to hide the evidence.

“G? Whatcha got there?”

Worst thing to ask a spirited toddler EVER. Did G think it would be a fantastic idea to hand over the evidence of his smelly actions? Of course not. He thought it would be a fantastic idea to RUN. And what I thought HAD to be an empty spray bottle at this point, definitely was NOT. As I’m trying to stop him, he’s spraying more of this guido in a bottle and at this point the tiny molecules of douche spray are making their way into my mouth as I yell for him to STOP!

I finally caught up to him and grab the bottle and find it is now empty. Between what he sprayed before getting caught and what he sprayed after getting caught I’m pretty sure that there’s more on him than in the house. And let’s not forget that in my hot pursuit, I’ve managed to get enough on me to accidentally attract some quaffed haired guidette.

Shower time.

Moral of the story here ladies and gents… silence is not always golden. Especially if you have a toddler and ESPECIALLY if you’re sensitive to smells.


well hi there… how you doin’?

Man, beginning a blog is a tricky thing. Where do you start? I feel like I’m setting up a dating profile or something.

Mom of 3, Stepmom of 1, wife seeking readers to peruse her quirky blog about daily battles with a snuggly infant who hates sleep, a spirited toddler and two adolescents who truly believe they’re already teenagers. YAY!


Being a boy mom and a wife is not the for the faint of heart. I can tell you that much. I’ve been with my husband for nearly 7 years, married for 3. He has an almost 11 year old, I have an almost 9 year old and together we have an almost 3 year old and almost 1 year old. Don’t forget about the boxer mix and cat. My home is nearly always like an episode of Looney Tunes…. the Tasmanian Devil just spun his way through an antique store that’s attached to a china shop and ends his path going through a hospital nursery waking all of the sleeping newborns. In all seriousness, the toddler is currently running around with no clothes on and the infant has been following me and whining because he’s teething.

Honestly, I sat down with my cup of coffee this morning thinking “I could do an intro post this morning.” Why would I think that? hahahahahahaha I must be crazy. At this moment I can hear G screaming for me from across the house because he needs me to see that he’s going potty just so the second I enter the doorway he can tell me “GO AWAY MAMA!” Oh, and here comes O… he’s crawling with the speed of a cheetah on a hunt, whining for me to pick him up. And Mr. B just wants to ask me a hundred and two questions about absolute nothing.

Let’s get this morning rolling, huh?