Bizarre habits of single mothers while their babies are away.

Beckett is on vacation. No, literally...he's probably lounging by a pool in Arizona somewhere with a Buddha full of milk or something.

But what am I doing while Beckett is with his daddy you ask? Well, you probably don't want to know...but I'm going to tell you anyway.

1) I do my nails. Like a million times. I have had 5 different colors in the past 4 days. With a lot of time to kill, I might as we get it perfect.

2) I eat pumpkin pie for dinner. And breakfast.

3) I spend a frightening amount of time on Pinterest. Most of what I pin? You guessed it, nail polish.

4) I actually read books with adult words in them. On the list right now is "Spook" by Mary Roach.

5) I watch TV that also involves adult words...yes, I know that rules out any Real HW. I'm obsessed with Ghost Adventures. Are you picking up on a seasonal theme?

6) I tell myself I'm going work out then don't.

7) At this point I probably paint my nails again.

8) I blog about the crazy things I do without my son to keep me entertained.

Yes, it's a boring existence without a toddler around to keep his mama in check.

Love,

mama and a vacationing b

Whoever writes those smart phone etiquette articles are super wrong.

I have some beef with all those smart phone etiquette journalists out there. First, while yes, it's gross to take your phone to the bathroom with you, or be on it during a romantic dinner, clearly these etiquette gurus are not divorced single mothers. Frankly, the only time I have peace and quiet to pinterest in peace is in the effing bathroom. Also, when you say annoying things like "don't be on your phone so much when you have free time" I kind of want to scream. You know what I do when I have free time aka standing in line at Starbucks or waiting for my tires to be rotated? I think. And that's bad, because if I don't have my smartphone to distract me, I usually think about shit like the last fight I got into with my ex and then start crying in public. But with my amazing smartphone, instead of coming up with 40 different ways of telling my ex what to shove where, I pin the crap out of everything on craftgawker.

So on behalf of every divorced mom out there with an over active imagination, I'd like to actually thank Apple and Android and Blackberry for creating these genius devices that turn my brain to mush.

Love,

mama & b...who thinks smartphones are great too, if only mom would let him get his hands on one.

Do as I say and not as I do. Because if you do as I do, you’ll probably end up making a lot of bad decisions with Scorpios.

Here are some names I would like you to mull over for a minute:

John Gotti
Charles Manson
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
Danny Green
Nathan Leopold
Marc Lepine
Scott Peterson
Rafael Trujillo

Then again, there is also this list to mull over:

Ryan Reynolds
Matthew McConaughey
Leonardo DiCaprio
Gerard Butler
Owen Wilson
RYAN GOSLING (!!!!!)

Which just proves my point that all Scorpios are either insane war criminals/serial killers or the most beautiful men on the planet. The fun part is guessing what category they fit into.

I would like to state right here and now that I have had my fair share of Scorpios. Clearly, I attract them. Or I’m attracted to them. Either way. Scorpios have a way of being in my life. I have dated 3, married/divorced 1, “dated” another 3 and had fantasy relationships with each and every one of above mentioned hot celebrity Scorpios. So basically, I am kind of an expert on the subject.

So ladies—any ladies, you don’t have to be a single mom for this one—hear me out. Scorpios are the most dangerous sign of the zodiac. This is a proven fact. We need to band together in order to protect ourselves.

What follows are my recommendations for surviving the Scorpio Apocalypse (because it’s coming, I promise.) Screw zombies…I’d really rather take on the waking dead than a Scorpio.

Things you must know about a Scorpio in order to protect yourself:

• This is the only sign of the zodiac that will require you have a safe word for just simply the act of being in their presence. And if you decide to get into a relationship with a Scorpio? Well, a safe word won’t help you at all. I recommend mace and a direct line to your therapist.

• Scorpios are the nosiest human beings on the planet. They love to ask deep, personal questions about things you don’t even want to talk to your shrink about. Then pout if you decide not to tell them. I recommend lying…about everything. Especially your name, phone number and email address.

• Never, ever mistake that twinkle in their eye for youthful mischief. I promise you. It is purely demonic. While you are thinking they are fantasizing about taking you to dinner and making out on the beach, they are fantasizing about something that would probably make Christian Grey blush.

• Speaking of mistakes: never let your guard down around a Scorpio. One minute you are having a delightful conversation about music or movies or bread or something mundane. Then the next minute, you are tied to a bed post. And that’s just how they say hello.

• Scorpios are hot. Freakishly hot, some of them (see list #2). They know it too. The only way you can really protect yourself against this one is by drawing a unibrow on them in their sleep with a sharpie. Then again, would Ryan Gosling be any less hot with a sharpie unibrow? Probably not.

• Scorpios are also generally pretty smart and try to dazzle/break you down with their wit and wisdom. This is super easy to overcome…just pick a topic they have zero knowledge or interest in and talk about it incessantly in an attempt to bore them into submission. For example, “So that bitch Alexis from the OC is totally claiming her nose job was purely for medical reasons. Can you believe it?! And Vicki is crazy. I mean, obviously Brooks is just using her for her fame…” I figure you can buy yourself at least 15 extra minutes before the duct tape comes out.

Think you ready for the Scorpio
Apocalypse?

Yeah, me neither.

Love, mama…b’s a Gemini. Therefore he has no opinion on Scorpios…which is shocking, because most Gemini’s have an opinion on EVERYTHING.

Watch out Cancers, Leos and Geminis, you're next.

Mama’s totally hypocritical guide to playing man-basketball. Yes, I’m in to guides right now. And men. And hypocrisy.

Here is what I learned about dating and being single and being a mom: DATING IS NOT WORTH THE TIME OR EFFORT. I’m completely over it at this point. And I only “dated” one single (apparently not SINGLE) guy. Call me jaded, call me naive. Just don’t call me late for the RHOC marathon I’m surely missing attempting dating these morons.

This is my take on the whole thing. When you are a single mama, especially one fresh off of a divorce or break up, every guy who looks at you even for a second is the next future ex-husband. Masculine affection is like an effing drug. You’ll do some pretty crazy things to get it. But listen. It’s ok. We have all been there, right ladies?

You just have to wise up a little. And be a total bitch about the men you date…and then you also have to understand that the first guy you date after you go through a divorce is NOT your boyfriend…he is your REBOUND. This is a fact.

The following are must have/have not’s that you should look for in your rebound:

1)      Independent. No mommy issues. Men who are incapable of being on their own are simply looking for someone to take care of them. DO NOT TAKE CARE OF REBOUNDS.

2)      No children. Yes, ok shady shit. I know. I told you this is hypocritical. Dads are fine when you are starting to look for Mr. Right... but Mr. Rebound needs to have a pretty unending supply of free time to dote on you.

3)      Look, divorced…fine. Fresh off a divorce, HELL NO. There is only room for one hot mess in your reboundingship. I’m thinking the ink on the papers need to be dry for, like, a year plus. Ex-wives, or even worse, not-quite-ex-wives, really eff up a great rebound.

4)      He should be just a little less attractive than you. Sorry Ryan, it’s the rules. If your rebound is just so smoking hot it hurts…kind of like watching Magic Mike while ovulating…then he is not a good rebound. It is easy to fall for hot rebounds. DO NOT FALL FOR REBOUNDS.

5)      Try to find a rebound with similar interests as you. But nothing so “OMG YOU LOVE THAT TOO??” that you want to marry him. But listen, you don’t want to be bored, so find shared interests. Baseball? Cars? Drinking? I mean, connect with him, just not on a super high level.

6)      Good text. Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean simply that. Good text. Find a rebound who texts well. The likelihood of finding a time to actually date or “date” is so pitifully low that the only thing you will be able to do is text after the baby is asleep. And don’t discount how great it is to just simply have someone to talk to. Because facebooking and listening to Mariah Carey Radio on Pandora every effing night gets pretty sad. Texting a guy, facebooking and Pandora is SO much better. Obvio.

Hope this helps all my single mamas who are seeking rebounds.

Love,

Mama & b, who thinks I should really just stop obsessing over men.  

mama and b's summer guide to fitness...no really, I'm serious as a heart attack...which is probably what I will give myself if I don't start doing more than lifting a wine glass as my workout...

Mamas...lets face it. At some point we just have to start calling it "fat" and ditch the claim of it being "the extra baby weight." I mean, B is over a year now, and I have managed to lose the baby weight, then gain it all back...and I still insist on calling it "baby weight." I am honestly that person who will call it baby weight well after B has graduated from grad school. But it's time to get real up in here and actually start working out.

I have truly attempted to start running...or as I like to call it...texting in the outdoors. This is a little taste of how a "run" of mine goes: walk slowly for like 10 minutes--warm up, don't want to pull any muscles. Stop and text for like 5 minutes. Jog-ish for like 5 minutes. Get distracted by bug/plant/flower/cool mailbox for like 15 minutes. Sprint for like 2 minutes--to make up for the distraction. Realize my boobs, no matter how strapped down they are, don't sprint. Jog for like 10 minutes, just in case some hot guy is scoping me out. Slow down and fast walk/text for like 10 more minutes. Walk slowly home, so that everyone thinks I was just out kickin ass and taking names for like, a really long time.

And for some ~odd~ reason, this workout method hasn't really done much for the flab all over my thighs and mid section. Weird. I am like, working out for, like, an hour every day.

But you know what, it really is hard to get all the workout time in when you have a baby. I'm in this crazy "needy single working mother" phase where I hate myself for every second I'm away from B, and then going and working out without him just makes me feel even more like worst mom of the year. So I decided to come up with a workout plan that utilizes spending quality time my boy.

I now present to you THE MAMA AND B SUMMER GET FIT PLAN EXTRAORDINAIRE!

ARMS: Swinging is an excellent way to get in an arm work out. My son just loves to swing, he will honestly go all day. A half hour of constant pushing, once a day, and I'm totes gonna get buff.

ARMS PART 2: I would like to take this moment to tell every mama out there BUY A POOL. Honestly, one of those nice above ground pools will cost way less than any gym membership. Plus, you can pull the ladder out and be all Queen of Safety and shit. So yeah, Step 1: Buy a pool. Step 2: Get in the pool with your toddler. Step 3: Do the SIX MILLION jump and splash moves your baby will want you to do...over and over...tell me your arms won't get buff lifting a 30 pound toddler up and down for an hour straight...because YOU try and get a toddler out of a pool in less than an hour.

HYDRATION: Hydration is very important while working out on hot summer days. White wine or vodka lemonades are great thirst quenchers. And I'm pretty sure lemonade had something like electrolytes in it. See, health!

LEGS: Congrats, now that you are a parent of a toddler, you will be doing a lot of running. After them. Because they are a lot effing faster than they look. Parenting a toddler is a lot like doing lot of little teeny tiny sprints during the day. So I figure they all add up to one good sized one.

LEGS PART 2: Back to the pool. Also, toddlers love to sit in little floatie thingies and be pushed around. Fast. Like sprinting, just in a pool. So that's like, a workout times a million, right?

LEGS PART 3: Stairs. Some morons spend ridiculous money to get those silly stair steppers put in their house. When in reality, just find a 1 year old who has recently started to walk, and show them to a flight of stairs. You will go up and down those things a million and a half times. Hourly.  

ABS: Lifting. Yeah, so even though my toddler is very independent now and likes to be a big boy and walk everywhere, he still wants to be held. There is a lot of up and down. Kind of like a dog, who wants to be let in, just so he can go back out...yeah, that's my son. He likes to be picked up for the singular purpose of being put back down again. Remember, lift with your legs, not your back. Safety first.

Watch out "baby weight," this bitch is on the war path....

Love,

mama & b

Mama's guide to not going bat shit...which is funny, cuz so far it hasn't worked for me...maybe it will work for you.

Sad, sad day. Katie has joined my super special and highly popular club of divorce. Welcome Katie. Honestly, sister, you should have dumped that bitch a long time ago.

So guess what? I get my baby back today! Happy day (well, happy and sad--for Kate)! B just spent nearly two weeks away from mama, spending a week in LA with his papa and sibs, then a few days with his Neeny. Little bugger has a better social life than me.

But here's what: being away from your baby for nearly two weeks takes some serious distraction methods. I have compiled a list for all the mamas out there who have some visitation drama in their future.

1) Make friends with some form of intoxicant...or medication, if you want to be all legal and shit. I made friends with 3 Olives wild cherry vodka. We are besties now. She helped me through the tough stuff in those first few days.

2) Work your tail off. Like, hard core. I taught summer camp. I honestly didn't have a second to worry about my baby and be a helicopter mom, because I had 40 other little nuggets whose minds I was busy corrupting.

4) Flirt with boys. This is VERY important. Single mamas out there: HEAR ME...find a man. Like now. He can be any man who is willing to text you a million times a day. This man will need to be cool being the person you text every time you feel like texting the ex and saying something like "IS MY BABY OK???? IS HE EATING??? DID HE SLEEP OK??? PLEASE TXT BACK (frowny face)." If he starts to feel a little used and underappreciated, throw him a bone with something like "Hey, so I'm at a party with a bunch of hot lesbians...."

5) Clean. You are a single mother. You never clean. Take this opportunity to clean. I'm pretty sure there were things under B's crib that were growing beards.

6) Eat. I ate so freaking much while B was away. In the recent months, I have found it extremely difficult to eat all the real bad and completely unhealthy food stuffs I love so much, because of B. He is on to me. Everything that goes into my mouth is watched with eagle eye radar. Then he opens his mouth like a baby bird and grunts. If I don't let him taste whatever I'm eating, he proceeds to throw his own food at me. Therefore, I have really had to stay away from the mozzarella sticks and pizza rolls. But when baby’s away.....

7) Sleep. (Ha! Yeah effing right! You think sleeping WITH a baby is hard? Try sleeping without a baby...I have been a freaking insomniac.) Moving on....

Right, so this is a bit on an inconclusive list. I will take any suggestions.

love mama...b is a jetsetter now.

Sorry mom, but this Bravo stuff has got to stop....

Hi! Beckett here. So mom has been pretty selfish with the blog lately. Lots of jabbering about things that are really not that important. So I'm here to tell you about the really meaningful things...most importantly, what yours truly has been up to as of late. So, just spent a few days with Dad and Sissy and Bro. They were so excited to see me, obvio, and I was so happy to see them.

Also, Neeny bought me a new fun Beckett Carrier. Basically it goes like this: she walks, I ride. I get to see the outdoors and touch trees and watch birds and she gets to walk and work up a sweat. I think I like this thing she calls "hiking."

(Yup, just chillin...the coolest baby there ever was...)

Oh yeah, and Grandpa also has a Beckett Carrier too...only his has wheels. I'm pretty sure he got this thing to match my outfit...good thinking Grandpa!



So since mom likes to hog the blog, I really don't have that much time. So I will go ahead and catch you up on all my likes and dislikes in as few words as possible.

Likes:

Bubbles





 Reading to Great-Grandpa

Pretty girls and throwing balls

 Dislikes:

Gates

 Being told no.



Much love and slobber kisses.....b.





Hi, I'm Mel and I will be your cautionary tale today.

So we have talked in the past about dating and the single mother. Well, today, I would like to share with you some “who-not-to-date” stories. I’m a visual learner. And though I do not have any actual pictures of the men that I believe the single mother divorcee should avoid, I will do my best to describe to you these rather special individuals--so that you have a clear picture in your mind.


Now obviously I understand that finding a potential mate is absolutely impossible when you are a single mom, so sometimes you can’t be all that picky. But just because you have roughly 45 second (between attempting to bring home a pay check, raising a child, signing divorce papers and finding new cocktail recipes) to find a man, convince him you are not bat shit, convince him it’s totally cool you are a mom, go on a date with him and then finally figure out where things go next, does not mean you can just let any old moron in your pants. You may be single, but you aren’t desperate…and if you are desperate...you aren’t THAT desperate.


The following are true stories, shared in an attempt to help all the single mamas out there who don’t want to be alone forever figure out WHO NOT TO DATE.


Bachelor #1: A young, handsome fellow with a few well-placed arm tattoos and an eye brow piercing. He was probably not all that much younger than me, but when you are a mom anyone under the age of 40 is a child. He was probably 24. He was in Barnes and Noble, reading some cliché book like Fight Club or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  I was there as well, with my son mind you, browsing the magazines. He smiles, I smile back. What? He's cute...no judgement...


Him: Cute baby.


Me: Thanks, he’s great. A handful, but great.


Him: He’s got really pretty eyes.


Me: Yeah, he got those from his daddy.


Him: Oh, well your husband must have nice eyes.


Me: Yeah, my ex-husband…he does have great eyes.


Him: Oh, you’re single?


Me: Yeah…just me and him (motioning to the baby).


Him: I love single moms! I have dated tons…


It was about this point the poor kid realized what a moron he was making himself out to be, turned bright red started to ask me something about what I was doing later…and to be fair, I’m sure he was just trying to be sweet, but this here is the lesson: no younger guys, no Fight Club readers and no, son, you have not dated tons of single moms…you probably can’t even drive yet. Sorry…no numbers exchanged.


Bachelor #2:  The opportunist. This guy is very easy to describe and very easy to avoid. This is the guy you met through a friend’s friend’s bartender’s hair stylist. He is THAT guy who friends you on facebook, knowing perfectly well that you are married, and makes slightly off color comments on all your posts. Then, the second he realizes that you are now single he sends you a message that reads like the following:


Hey, hang in there girl. That dbag didn’t treat u right. So hey, if you eva want to hang, let me know. I mean, I get it, you know. Not lookin for a relationship. But hey, there are other things out there…lolz, jk. But yeah, hit me up.


To clarify, this guy is white, lives in Marin, grew up perfectly wealthy, went to an effing private school and still manages to spell “ever” “eva.” Here is my response:


Lolz, thx. Totes, I’ll hit you up…for like whatevs and all. Peace…


NOT! Moving on…


Bachelor #3:


This guy is my absolute favorite. And to be frank…as much of a mess as this guy is, I can’t hate all that bad because he cracks me up…but the point of the matter…the following gentleman is a big fat huge NO.


Bachelor #3 was confused. About everything…but mostly about what he went home and dreamt about at night…boy parts or girl parts. Like, at first look, he was clearly gay…then at second look, well maybe he was straight…then at third look your head started to hurt...I mean, in one breath he was telling me about the new Carrie Underwood album, and in the next he was quoting stats for every basketball player in the NBA. And to make matters worse, he had that “SF” look…maybe gay, maybe European. This look is the bane of every single SF woman’s existence…and man too, I guess.


So why did I even dabble in this mess you ask? Well because he was the antithesis of my ex-husband. My ex was a total dude. He tried to be all metro with his Gucci loafers and 7 jeans, but ultimately there was no question…the beard, the bleach stained tee shirts, the wild obsession with muscle cars…this was a dude.


But Bachelor #3 had that “I have never done this type before” appeal…he was tall, blonde, tan, had on a pair of slacks that probably cost more than I will make in a year and a hideous (remember that word) watch that made all of my dinner plates have size envy. The hair=perfectly gelled. The shirt=perfectly pressed. Nails=manicured. You get the picture.


Now, I don’t need to go into much detail about why exactly this flirtationship did not work out so well, it is quite self-explanatory. And listen, I’m not a complete wingnut…this guy really WAS trying to get in my pants. I have proof for anyone who thinks I’m crazy.


The following are actual quotes…from his mouth…no effing joke…remember, this guy is attempting to have me believe he actually likes girl parts:


At dinner, while he is sipping a Lemon Drop:


“I will watch anything on Bravo…except Bethenny, I hate that bitch. I’m team Zarin all the way.”


First—nobody is team Zarin. You are a moron. Second, the only straight guys who watch Bravo are just the ones that are praying they finally hit the jackpot and stumble upon the lost footage of RHOC where they all get naked and throw shit at each other.  


Speaking of RHOC:


“Alexis sucks. I hate her…she’s like Kim…I won’t watch Tardy for the Wedding either.”


Fine, I will give you both of those. Alexis does suck. And Tardy for the Wedding really hasn’t lived up to my expectations…still doesn’t prove you bang chicks.


While in my car, going through my CD’s:


“Ugh, this song is so 2010. Do you have an iPod jack? I want to hear Trespassing by Adam Lambert.”


First, Justin Timberlake will always be cool. Second, there will be no Adam Lambert in my car…ever. Get out, immediately.


About getting ready for a formal brunch:


“I don’t want to wear slacks. I wear slacks every day. I’m wearing jeans…I mean, they were like $300, it’s not like I’m going to wear Levi’s.”

Oh right, I forgot that rule that says just because you spend stupid money on jeans means they aren't actually jeans anymore.

And finally, how he quantifies everything:

“Ugh, that’s hideous.”

That watch is hideous, so is Adam Lambert. Find a new word.


Alas, I dedicate this song to all the hot mess dudes that are out there…honestly, the world gets so hung up on hot mess chicks…but you guys need love too.


love mama…b is out hiking with his grandma…so mom “can get work done.”

Pity parties have the best booze...fact.

I'm PMSing. So this is going to be a depressing as hell post. Everyone just start drinking now. I will give you a moment to fill your fish bowl with wine. Who really cares about gold fish anyway? They just die. Like love.
 
Ok, have your drink? Good. Because I think we should all get drunk and cry together.
 
Sooooo maybe I'm being a little dramatic. But for some effing reason my PMS is hitting me hard this month. And Desperate Housewives is gone forever.
 
AND the fact that I am a single mom...like for real...just hit me. I mean, obviously I KNOW I'm a single mom, but today I actually felt like a single mom. For some weird reason, I always equated divorced parents with that awkward child exchange in some public location. The parents wouldn't make eye contact, the kid laughed nervously, and they all had tattoos on their foreheads that said "DIVORCED."
 
Well, I was that mom today. I had to meet the Baby Daddy halfway between homes today...and remember, my home is in Oregon and his is in California. And we had that awkward exchange, where we didn't really know what to say. And Bug acted like he didn't really know what was going on...which he didn't. He is 11 months. But it was still sad. And then I cried all the way home.
 
But listen, this is ok. I am sharing my PMSy, single mama drama with you for this reason: sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you start moving up again. This was my rock bottom...driving for 8 hours (4 hours each way) only to say goodbye to my son for 4 days, while PMSing, switching back and forth between sad chick music and sad audio books and ruminating about what the hell is going to happen on Grey's Anatomy. I. Am. A. Fucking. Mess.
 
But you know what? Who isn't? That is what I realized. We are all hot messes. For one reason or another. And this is my advice. Cry about it. Drink about it. And watch Grey's Anatomy about it. And you know what? You wake up in the morning. And you go about your day. And eventually you feel better. Really.
 
If Tamra and Vicki and Brandi and Camille can make it, so can we.

love mama...b is on vacation.

Well fine, I don't need you either...actually I do, don't leave...

So now that I am a full blown working gal again, I have two things to report:

1)      I have considerably less time for Real Housewives marathons, so you peeps are going to have to help keep me up to date here. These are my predictions for the OC—Tamra and Gretchen are going to have some girl-on-girl action, and Vicki is going to find out and go totally bat shit at some cocktail party and drunkenly try to hit on Eddy, causing Brooks to tell her to “fill her own damn tank” and say peace out. Meanwhile, Alexis is going to leave that asshat of hers and try her hand at the sex toy business a la Kandi on ATL.  Oh and for those Jersey bitches, I’m pretty sure Teresa is planning total world domination, and I love her for that.

2)      I am officially needier than my 10 month old son. Now that I am working, Bug is getting to spend a lot of time being babysat by his family. That’s not to say that they haven’t babysat him before. But now I’m gone gone, not just taking a shower. But here’s what sucks about realizing you have a perfectly independent and well-adjusted toddler. He could have cared less about the fact that I was gone. I, of course, freaked out all day and almost cried once because all I could imagine was Bug sitting alone in his highchair whimpering for his mom. In reality, he spent half the time playing in the hot tub and the other half snuggling…with his grandpa…totally fine…completely entertained.  Granted, when I got home, he is happy to see me and gives me a good cuddle, but he is completely un-traumatized. I should have breastfed him longer….

Love,

mama & b

(Disclaimer: I want to make it perfectly clear that I am THRILLED that my son is so comfortable around his friends and family and does not freak out when I’m gone. But it’s nice to be needed some times...Hey Ryan: I dedicate this song to you…)

Mystery Date, single mom edition....

It has been roughly 6 months since my divorce drama began. A lot has transpired. I have a new job and am starting graduate school. I have moved back to my home town to be with my family and now I endeavor into the world a new person. Well, the same old person, just a new outlook on life.

And it is here, at this 6 month mark that I begin to start thinking about men. Right, so I always think about men, specifically Ryan. But I begin to think about men in a more tangible way…like about dating them. I’m not shy, this may be obvious. And before I was married, dating and asking men out never seemed too difficult for me. But now as a mother and a divorcee, the world of dating seems like a trek to Antarctica with a blind pack mule and a GPS that speaks only in Esperanto.

This is not a hot pick up line: “Hi, I’m Melissa. I have a baby and an angry ex-husband that I may or may not get into a million text fights with a day. I have zero free time, and when I do have free time I’m usually peeing in silence. Oh yeah, and I’m a needy Cancer who likes Real Housewives and vodka.”

The way I see it, one of two things can happen after any variation of this information is given. 1) The guy looks at you horrified. He makes some excuse to look at his phone, then immediately exclaims that his friend’s dog walker’s son’s dentist fell and he needs to go help. 2) He is undeterred...in fact more interested than he was to begin with and you realize all he wants is something unwholesome. And that’s fine…maybe all you want is something unwholesome…you slut. But let’s face it, you are a total mess and not really capable of having a relationship yet…

But what happens when you do what something wholesome? And when is it right to want something wholesome again? When does one pass that threshold where it’s no longer whorish to consort with men? I have no answers to these questions. I’m convinced I will never date again…my one and only recent attempt at garnering flirtations from the opposite sex left me feeling like the worst mom ever…that somehow, the act of giving some dude my number would actually directly destroy my son’s life.

Now I know why Facebook has the option of “It’s Complicated.” Because “Single mom with baggage, yet a desperate desire for attention from the opposite sex” is too long.

Someone save me from myself…or better yet, save that poor guy I gave my number to. I think he thinks I’m normal.

Love, mama ...b isn’t allowed to participate in this conversation.

I’m not cheap, I’m thrifty. Ok, I’m cheap too, but don’t tell Ryan Gosling.

There are certain things that are usually always on the minds of single mothers:

  1) Getting enough coffee in the morning to make it through the day without a) a breakdown that involves calling your mother screaming “I just can’t take it anymore, I mean I just friggin bought him these socks and now they are fifty sizes to small, I hate my life” b) the midafternoon crash that causes you to weepily text your ex about shit like “our good times”or “why babies need a happy family…” or so I’m guessing, I have never done this, and c) making a cocktail at noon.

2)How long Ryan and Eva will make it, and how you will be there for him when she breaks his heart by running off with a French baker on one of their obnoxious trips to Paris.

3) Finding that magic financial number that will put your living situation somewhere between hobo and Real Housewife of Beverly Hills.

I have yet to find this magical financial number...but that is probably what I get for taking financial advice from ANY Real Housewife.

BUT these are my two no-fail, money saving gold mines for single moms:

1)Hand me downs. If you don’t have any friends or family who take pity on you and give you all their old crap, I honestly suggest scoping out a mom at the park with a baby roughly 6 months to a year older than your own nugget, then following her home and begging for her clothes. I have purchased clothes for stupid money that Bug has worn ONCE! ONCE! That is why hand me downs are amazing. I promise that 90% of the clothing has been used less than 5 times. Hell, I have bought consignment True Religions for $100 that were in worse condition than the box of baby clothes I got for FREE from my cousin! Find someone, anyone, who will give you hand me down baby clothes. DO NOT BUY BABY CLOTHES NEW. EVER. Those assholes at Carters probably have enough money to bail out Wall Street with the scam they’re running.

2) While you are at it, don’t buy toys either. I believe in buying books…kids can never have enough books, and I make it my one promise to Bug that I will never tell him no when it comes to books…unless he’s like 5 and asking for 50 Years of Playboy. But toys? Just don’t. Save the extravagant, noise making toys for the grandparents…grandparents love that shit. But if you see a toy a Target that sings and farts and blows bubbles, seriously avoid it. This is what Bug has in or around his toy box right now:

a. A bag of blocks.

b. Rattles, shakers and various other noise makers.

c. A riding dragon that sings.

d. Fifty balls.

e. A baby cell phone.

f. A baby ipod.

g. A toy hammer.

h. A toy bat.

i. About 400 stuffed animals.

Want to know what kept Bug occupied for close to an hour yesterday? An empty oatmeal container filled with random crap from one of the kitchen drawers…a lid, a spoon, some silicone thing, oh…and an empty water bottle. Yup. Hundreds of dollars spent on toys and my baby was more interested in an empty water bottle.

DO NOT SPEND MONEY ON TOYS.

You’re welcome.

Love,

mama & b

I call this segment "Shit You Put up with When You are a Mom." Part 1.

In the weeks following Bug’s arrival home from the hospital, he did a lot of what babies regularly do—eat, sleep, poop and pee. And I will admit, in that first week, he managed to pee on his own face, in my face and actually poop down the leg of his 10 year old brother.

It went a little like this:

I announced Bug needed a diaper change. Big Brother offered to try his hand at his FIRST poop diaper. He takes Bug into the nursery. A few moments of silence, followed by “Uh, Melissa, everything is ok, but I think I need your help.” I causally meander in, not wanting to embarrass Big Brother if he was having troubles figuring out, say, how to fasten the diaper correctly. This is what I walk in on: Bug’s feet up in the air, butt aimed straight at Big Brother, who had hot baby mustard poop running down his bare leg. Big Brother was a total trooper, though. He handled it probably better than I would have, honestly. He laughed it off, and even went on to help clean up the mess.

Flash forward. In the 9 months since then, I have become a diaper changing professional. I have the system down and am happy to report I have had little to no baby urine on my person since his first weeks.

Until yesterday. I got cocky. I thought that I could risk it and actually leave his boy parts uncovered while reaching for the diaper cream. As I turned back around, my face was met with a steady stream of baby pee, hitting me directly in my eyeballs at a pretty alarming strength. And you know what the worst part about the whole thing was? He laughed. Once he was done, he looked straight up at me and laughed. Not a “oh crap, mommy is mad” nervous kind of laugh. But a look-straight-into-my-face, “your problem, lady” kind of laugh.

That’s the shit you put up with when you are a mother—being tagged in the eye by fresh baby urine, then getting laughed at.

Love,

mama & b