Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writer Guest Post By: est.1975

    Not only is my special WWW guest a talented comedy writer, she's also a fabulous editor! How do I know this?  She edited my book, "Who Stole My Spandex?" Please welcome Sarah del Rio of est.1975 ! What I love about Sarah's blog is her honesty ----no subject is too squeamish---and her fresh perspective on modern-day parenting. The stories she shares on her site are HILARIOUS….ear wigs, poop jars and scrambled porn….what's not to love?

     After I hired Sarah to edit my book, we spent hours chatting on the phone, texting and IMing one another. Sure, we accomplished plenty of work together, but we also spent plenty of time laughing about our shared experiences in parenting. I felt a connection to her right away because we both have the same quirky humor. I loved having her on board with my book and even better---made an awesome blogger friend at the same time.

     The story that Sarah is sharing today is a good example of why morning sickness and fried fish do NOT mix during pregnancy. This one had my laughing out loud, folks. Please welcome this super funny lady to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love!


A FINE KETTLE OF FISH



Not long after I became pregnant with my only son, I began to suffer from an obscure medical condition called "morning sickness."

If you're like most people, you've probably never heard of this highly unusual complication of pregnancy. But guess what? You're in luck. As someone who has personally experienced the rare phenomenon of "morning sickness," I am more than qualified to explain it to you.

For those of you not in the know, "morning sickness" happens like this:

1. You get knocked up.
2. You barf forever.

I should also mention that in some cases of "morning sickness," the symptoms can last well beyond a few uncomfortable weeks and into the ENTIRE NINE MONTHS OF YOUR PREGNANCY. I'm sure it won't surprise you to know that I was one of those cases. The only real bright side was that I walked away with a bunch of awesome stories to tell. Stories like:
Yet, one story in particular will always stand out as the pinnacle of my "morning sickness" experience, and I hope you will find it as disgusting delightful as I do. Enjoy.

************

It was six weeks before my son was due to arrive, and three weeks before he actually did arrive. By this time I had my morning sickness mostly under control with a life-saving cocktail of Zofran and Unisom -- though when I say "mostly under control" I mean I was only barfing several times a week as opposed to several times a day. 

For some reason my husband had suggested fish and chips for dinner and for some reason I had agreed. But almost immediately after we'd finished eating, my stomach started to grumble and bitch, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my fish and chips dinner was not going to *stay* dinner. And I also knew that when it came up, it was going to be BAD.

You know how you can just tell? I could just tell.

And I was right. It was BAD.

First I got the sweats. Then I became nauseous. At first I tried doing "morning sickness mitigation tricks" like laying on my left side and taking deep breaths. Those didn't work, so I had my husband bring me the trusty Big Blue Bowl, a large mixing bowl from Williams-Sonoma that I took almost everywhere. You know -- just in case. Sometimes it helped just having it around, even if I didn't end up actually using it.

Sadly, the comforting properties of the Big Blue Bowl did not alleviate my nausea this time around, and soon I was lunging towards the bathroom, just barely making it to the sink in time to evacuate all of my fish and chips into its porcelain embrace. But when I turned on the faucet to try and rinse everything down the drain, the sink informed me in no uncertain terms that IT WAS NOT GOING TO COOPERATE. It was completely clogged with partially digested fish chunks and was bound and determined to stay that way.

So I spent the next ten minutes bailing out the sink with the trusty Big Blue Bowl (a call-to-arms not exactly in its job description) and relocating all of the nasty chunky grossness into the toilet, where it could be flushed away with ease. The sink's drain remained clogged, but at least there was no longer any standing fish puke water in the basin.

It was at this point that I realized I was once again starting to sweat. And within moments it became crystal clear that something unpleasant was about to start happening in the *other* direction, and it was about to start happening in very short order.

And sure enough, it did.

For the first time since I'd been in the family way, I became struck with raging diarrhea.

In all honesty? After months and months of pregnancy constipation, I thought I might actually enjoy a little bit of diarrhea. BUT I WAS WRONG. This was no "cut it loose and heave a cleansing sigh of relief" diarrhea. This was painful, cramping, "take all your clothes off and hang onto the sides of the toilet seat for dear life while rivers of sweat run down your back and into your ass cleavage" diarrhea. And it was no bueno.

(A brief aside: For those of you who are wondering whether this whole thing might just have been food poisoning, I can assure you that it most definitely wasn't. My husband ate some of my fish AND some of my chips, and didn't get sick.)

Eventually everything worked its way out, and when I was feeling able, I cleaned up as much as I possibly could (the fish puke water, the diarrhea residue, and did I mention I also pissed on the floor while barfing? Because I did.) Unfortunately the sink was still clogged, and needed to be dealt with. I tried to plunge it, but that didn't work; then I tried Drano, with equally unfortunate results. So despite my best efforts, my poor husband was finally called in to disassemble the sink, which was now clogged with regurgitated fish parts *and* puke *and* Drano.

Guys? I have the best husband. Because even though he said he wasn't grossed out by the fish barf, I know he kind of was. Wouldn't you be? I mean, *I* was grossed out by it and it was *my* barf. BARF THAT SMELLED LIKE YACKED-UP FISH. SMOTHERED IN DRANO.

And while I'm bestowing glowing words upon my husband, I think I should also mention that we didn't have any rubber gloves in the house at the time. I'll let that sink for a moment.

*a moment*

Yeah. Exactly. EWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwww.





BIO:

Sarah del Rio is a comedy writer whose award-winning humor blog est. 1975 brings snark, levity, and perspective to the ladies of Generation X.

Despite being a corporate refugee with absolutely no formal training in English, journalism, or writing of any kind, Sarah somehow manages to find work as a freelance writer and editor.

She contributes regularly to blog site BLUNTMoms, has made several appearances on the Huffington Post Best Parenting Tweets of the Week List, and her blog est. 1975 won Funniest Blog in The Indie Chicks 2014 Badass Blog Awards. She has also been featured on blog sites Scary Mommy, In the Powder Room, and the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop.

You can find Sarah’s blog at http://established1975.com. You can also like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/est1975blog, and follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/est1975blog.



Social Media Handles:

Twitter: @est1975blog
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/est1975blog
Facebook: www.facebook.com/est1975blog
Posted by at 16 comments:

Friday, December 5, 2014

Good Intentions Gone Wrong

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you know how much I like to highlight the absent-minded situations that my husband gets into. His intentions are good, but somehow his plans always go awry. Case in point: One afternoon when we were hosting a backyard barbecue, my husband offered to do all the cooking. He'd forgotten to replace the old gas line to the grill, and was happily flipping burgers when he noticed a small spark by the gas tank. Grease from the meat was splattering everywhere and hitting the leaks in the gas line.

We narrowly missed a gas explosion that day when the grill burst into flames. The black plumes of smoke sent the partygoers scrambling out into the street. Fortunately, most of our friends discovered a sudden fondness for Cajun-style burgers.

Another example of good intentions gone wrong occurred years ago when a hurricane approached our coastline. My husband thought it would be "fun" to pack our family of six into the minivan for a quick trip to the nearby beach to watch the storm whipping up the waves. Little did he know that the hurricane was a fast moving storm, and that it was closer to our area than he suspected. When the wind began rocking the sides of the van, he broke the land speed record to get us home before the hurricane hit.

Rather than leave the minivan in the driveway, my husband decided to park it on the side of the house for better protection from the oncoming storm. It was a new vehicle, and he was determined to keep it from being crushed by a fallen tree. In his rush to maneuver the car to safety, he put it in reverse and backed into the tight space of our side yard. His foot slipped  off the brake onto the accelerator and the van lunged backwards, slamming into a tree. The glass in the rear window shattered into a million shards just as the rain started lashing the streets. The kids had a hard time containing their giggles while they watched their wind-blown father struggle with a roll of duct tape and a plastic tarp in the middle of a hurricane.

My husband easily falls into these situations because he is a kind man who is always happy to help others. He'll carry heavy bags out to the car for elderly shoppers at the grocery store, assist a stranger changing a tire on a busy highway, or rescue a stranded friend in the middle of the night.  But sometimes these little acts of kindness backfire.

One morning he was in a crowded elevator on his way up to a job interview when the woman next to him spilled a stack of business cards onto the floor. Being the chivalrous man that he is, he bent down to retrieve the cards for her when he heard something rip. Everyone in the elevator stood silent, and at that moment, my husband realized his brand new slacks had split wide open from stem to stern.

Needless to say, he spent the entire interview with his backside to the wall.

It was the most recent incident, however, that will go down in history as the EPIC PHONE FAIL.

Last week when my "Spandex" book was published, my excited husband sent out a large group text on his cell phone to share the good news with everyone on his contact list. A few days later, one of his buddies responded to the text and asked what he could do to help out. My husband JOKINGLY texted back, "Buy the book, F@#*ER!"

After he hit "send" on his cell, it dawned on him that he'd accidentally sent the message to EVERYONE on his contact list. This included not just our close friends, but the plumber, the minister, our vet, the jeweler, the dentist, all of our doctors, the electrician, the A/C guy, our contractor, my mother, the friggin' MAYOR, our hairdresser, and all of our neighbors. It even went to the physician who performed our colonoscopies.

Now I'm worried that the next time I'm due for a colonoscopy, the doctor might "conveniently" forget to give me anesthesia.

I think it's time for my husband to go back to using a rotary phone.





If you love my blog, you'll love my book, WHO STOLE MY SPANDEX? MIDLIFE MUSINGS FROM A MIDDLE-AGED MILF on sale now in paperback and Kindle at Amazon.com http://amzn.to/11uY6fD or on Nook at Barnes and Noble!


 

Posted by at 55 comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writer Guest Post By: On The Border

     As you know, every Wednesday I like to feature a new writer on my blog site as part of my Wacky Wednesday Writer series. I absolutely adore today's guest blogger.  Please welcome the hilariously funny Diane Tolley of On The Border! I discovered Diane's blog about a year ago and grinned ear to ear as I read the recollections from her childhood on a ranch. I didn't grow up on a ranch, but Diane and I are close in age, so a lot of her memories are similar to my own. She is a master storyteller and saves the greatest punch lines for the end of each post. Her blog always leaves me smiling and adds a nice lift to my day.

     The other thing I love about Diane is that she is BIG on sharing. She goes above and beyond to support her fellow bloggers, and I am very grateful for the countless shout-outs this sweet woman has given me. Please welcome this awesome, funny lady to Meno Mama's site today with lots of love!




DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE. OF MITTENS




We were shopping.

 I will admit, here, that shopping is not my favourite activity.

 I need a really good excuse.

It was Christmas.

Okay, Christmas is a really good excuse . . .

 My youngest two children and I were out to find a gift for Husby.

 Their Dad, my Sweetheart.

 After much wrinkle-browed thought, we had decided that whatever 

 we were seeking would best be 

found at Lee Valley Tools. Husby's favourite place on earth.

 Really.

It is a long-standing family joke that he must go once a month to 

 LVT to pay homage to Thor, the Tool 

God.

 But I digress . . .

 We set out. It was December.

Winter.

 In Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, winter equals snow.

 Ask anyone.

 But avoid those with chattering teeth. Th-th-they c-c-c-can n-n-n-

 never be t-t-t-trusted.

 Or understood.

 Where was I?

 Oh, yes. Winter. Shopping. Setting out.

 At first, things went well.

 A heavy, wet snow was falling thickly, but the wipers were 

 managing to keep the windshield clear – 

sort of.

 We made it into the city.

 And immediately slowed to a snail's pace.

Let me describe the scene for those of you not familiar with  travel 

 accompanied by snow: All roads are 

now white. And slippery. All surfaces have become heavily coated 

 in ice. Nothing is recognizable. 

Little is even visible.

 The windshield wipers are your best, and only, friends.

 But even they, too, get clogged with snow and need the occasional 

 boost.

 This is accomplished by stopping. Getting out of the vehicle. And 

 slapping said wiper against the 

window hard enough to remove any accumulated snow.

 Or, if you are my husby, by opening the driver's window and 

 catching the wiper when it is in its 

furthest upright position and giving it a quick snap while it is still 

 in motion. It's all about timing. And 

coordination.

 Neither of which I have . . .

 Several times, I pulled out of the crawling traffic and performed 

 the necessary operation to clear the 

windshield.

Total time wasted? Hours.

 Okay, well, it seemed like hours.

 There must be a better way.

 I would try Husby's method!

 Genius!

 When the traffic had stopped for yet another light, or stalled 

 vehicle, I quickly rolled down the window. 

Then I reached out.

 I waited for just the right moment, when the wipers were at their 

 apex (neat word, right?)

 Closer. Closer.

 There!

 I reached out and caught the top of the wiper.

 Snap!

 Okay, that didn't sound good.

 As the wipers began their downward stroke, I realized what I had 

 done.

 The blade was still in my hand.

 I had snapped the entire thing right off its arm.

 Umm . . . oops?

 The window quickly became covered in a blanket of white.

 Well, half of it at any rate.

 Unfortunately, it was the driver's half. Rather necessary if you 

 want to see where you are going.

 And usually, the driver does.

 Something needed to be done. And there was no one but me to do 

 it.

 Rats!

 Quickly, I climbed out and switched my only remaining wiper 

 blade to the driver's side.

 Okay. I could see.

 That's important.

 But now, the other side of the windshield was suffering from the 

 lack of wiper-age.

 Hmm.

 I looked around. Our options were . . . limited.

 “What about this?” My daughter's voice from the back seat. She 

 was holding up her red mitten.

 I stared at it.

 Huh. Might work.

 I took it and, climbing out into the storm once more, proceeded to 

 tie it to the other wiper arm.

 There. Perfect.


 We switched on the wipers.

 Wipe.

 Wipe.

 It worked!

 Now we had a wiper and a . . . mitten.

 I don't have to tell you how it looked.

 In point of fact, we giggled every time that mitten came into sight.

 We finished our trip. Shopping done. Purchases made.

 Van safely parked back on the driveway.

 Husby replaced the wiper that had so inconveniently decided to 

 come off.

 Stupid thing.

 The wiper, not Husby.

 And I learned several things from the whole experience:

 1. Don't shop.

 2. Don't drive.

 3. Don't live in Canada.

 4. Don't go anywhere without your mittens.
Okay, you're right. I didn't learn anything because:

 1. I still shop.

 2. I still drive.

 3. I still live in Canada.

 Pack your mittens!



BIO:


Diane Stringam Tolley was born and raised on the great Alberta prairies. Daughter of a ranching family of writers, she inherited her love of writing at a very early age. Trained in Journalism, she has penned countless articles and short stories. She is the published author of five e-books and the recent Christmas novels, Carving Angels and (Kris Kringle’s) Magic by Cedar Fort Publishing. She and her husband, Grant, live in Beaumont, Alberta, and are the parents of six children and grandparents of thirteen-plus.
“Diane lives in the past. It’s peaceful there.”




Posted by at 7 comments:

Friday, November 28, 2014

Dream A Little Dream

 Sometimes our dreams seem too far out of reach, so we let them go. Life's unexpected obstacles have a way of preventing us from reaching our goals, and the roadblocks we encounter along the way are what separate the dreamers from the doers. It takes confidence, faith, and determination to rise above the rubble of past failures and to take those first steps on the path to success.

I am a dreamer, but I'm also a doer. I've wanted to be a writer since I was young girl, tapping away at a Smith Corona typewriter with my head full of plot outlines, settings, and characters. I was ambitious and driven, despite the letters of rejection that flooded my mailbox. There were many times in my life when my writing goals had to be put on hold--- marriage, work, children….they were my priority. But it was always there, the nagging voice that haunted me while I changed dirty diapers, cooked dinners, answered client calls, folded laundry and ran errands.

"When are you going to write?"

 I stifled that voice for years, ignoring the hollow feeling in my heart that reminded me something was missing from my life. I was waiting for the right moment….waiting through my children's high school graduations, college send-offs, job changes, financial issues, family illnesses, and the loss of loved ones. Eventually, I ran out of excuses to avoid doing what I loved most. Fear of failure was the obstacle that prevented me from moving forward, yet I knew that if I gave up and let the dream die, I would be left with nothing but regrets. 

Three years ago I took the first step by starting a blog. It was the beginning of an incredible journey that I've embraced since I published my very first post.

Today, my dreams have become a reality with the publication of "Who Stole My Spandex?" Working on the book these past ten months has been one of the most difficult things I've ever done, yet one of my most rewarding experiences.  I'll admit, there were many sleepless nights riddled with self-doubt. "What if no one reads the book?" "What if the reviews are terrible?" And the most frightening of all, "If I fail this time, how will I ever pick myself up again to write?"

Yes, I'll pick myself back up, because that's what writers do.

 "Who Stole My Spandex?" would not exist without the help of the dream team I was fortunate enough to work with---my publisher, Crystal Ponti of Blue Lobster Book Co. and my editor, Sarah Halsall del Rio of Established 1975. They were the voice of reason for me whenever fear and panic set in during the editing process. To say that I was a basket case during the last few months would be an understatement. Thankfully, Crystal and Sarah helped me keep my sanity during my emotional  meltdowns.

There is another group of writers who supported my book by offering their endorsements. They're some of the most successful women in the blogoshere---- writers I've followed and admired for many years: Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess), Jen Mann (People I Want to Punch in the Throat), Jill Smokler (Scary Mommy) Leslie Marinelli (In The Powder Room) Jenny Isenman (The Suburban Jungle, Jenny From the Blog and On-Air Host for NBC). I cannot thank them enough for their help and words of encouragement.

Most of all, I'd like to thank my dear readers who have been faithfully following Menopausal Mother and supporting my writing endeavors. You take the time each week to read about my crazy life and leave funny comments that always bring a big smile to my face. I cannot thank you enough for all that you do.

Curious what the book is about? Here's a little teaser from the back cover:

"Take a ride on the wild side in the nuthouse that Marcia Kester Doyle calls home. From couples' colonoscopies to nightmare holidays to disappearing spandex, no topic---no matter how crazy or unimaginable---is off limits. Who Stole My Spandex? Midlife Musings from a Middle-Aged MILF is a witty selection of stories from the author's madcap world of menopausal pitfalls, wardrobe malfunctions, and a family full of pranksters. With a heavy dose of self-deprecating humor, and just a dash of sentiment, this marvelous collection of anecdotes will resonate with anyone who's ever felt the call of nature at exactly the wrong time. This is rogue humor at its finest." 


I hope you'll enjoy "Who Stole MySpandex?" And after reading it,  I hope you'll want to grab a few extra copies for your friends. What better time than the holidays to share the laughter? Thank you for your support!

*If you could please do me a favor and leave a fair and honest review of the book here on Amazon at :http://amzn.to/11uY6fD
 or Goodreads.com (or both!), I would be very grateful. Thank you for your help!* 

 *NEWS FLASH: IF YOU LIVE IN SOUTH FLORIDA, YOU ARE INVITED TO MY FIRST BOOK SIGNING AT: BRU'S ROOM, 235 S. FEDERAL HIGHWAY IN POMPANO BEACH FRIDAY DEC. 5th AT 5:00 P.M. (upper level outside patio) HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE!*



Want more Meno Mama? I was featured this week on Boomeon: "10 Reasons Why I Love the Midlife Years." You can read it here: http://www.boomeon.com/posts/10-reasons-why-i-love-the-midlife-years





Posted by at 42 comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writer Guest Post By: Stacey Gustafson, Author of Are You Kidding Me?


    I'm sure you're already familiar with today's fabulous WWW guest since she's been on my site before. I featured her book when it was first released a few months ago and later on participated in her book tour.  Once again, please welcome humorist Stacey Gustafson of Stacey Gustafson.com and  author of "Are You Kidding Me?" to Meno Mama's blog!

    I'm always excited to have this funny lady as a guest, not only because we are friends but because her writing is 100% relatable to me. When I met Stacey last April at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, we clicked immediately since we both share the same sense of wacky humor.

     Today Stacey is sharing a story from her book, and it just so happens to be one of my favorites. Why? Because this story could have been written about my own family. At one point, there were six of us living in a 1,600 sq. foot home, and it was loud. VERY LOUD. I've read this story numerous times and it still makes me chuckle. I think you'll love it, too.

     Please welcome this talented, funny friend of mine to Meno Mama's site today with lots of love!




MY FAMILY IS LOUD
Like fans at a Brazilian soccer match, my family is loud. I crave moments of silence, seeking times I can avoid the thunder, everyone talking at once, doors slamming, television blaring, kids fighting, general noise pollution.
Saturday morning, I peek at the clock; it’s 8:30 a.m. My daughter and son are sound asleep. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I start my morning ritual, I prepare coffee, grab a novel and plop on the sofa. All mine. A few blissful moments of silence. I crack open my book and begin to read the first page.
But wait. I tilt my head towards the staircase. You’ve got to be kidding. My husband should be sound asleep, he just returned from a week in Japan. And I am certain the kids will stay in bed until 11 a.m. since there are no activities scheduled for this weekend.
But there it is: Clomp, clomp, clomp. My husband decends quiet as a Clydesdale. He mumbles a weary, “Good morning,” and reaches for the object of his affection, the Cuisinart Brew Central 1200 Coffee Maker.
He shoves aside other appliances. Rattle, rattle, thunder, clatter, boom. Then he removes the coffee grinder from the cabinet, dumps in a cup of beans, pushes the top and whirls away. Like a buzz saw, the racket shatters the silence. After 15 seconds, he pushes the top down again for good measure. I cringe as he turns coffee beans into powder.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Want some?”
“No thanks. I’m fine.” Why are you so noisy!
He grabs the weekend paper, snapping the pages each time he finishes a section. Snap, crinkle, crinkle, hmmmmm. On it goes, page by torturous page, snap, crinkle, crinkle. He sighs to himself and attempts to engage me in conversation about one sports story after another. Trying to relax here, mister.
Still on page one of my novel, Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog.
Thirty minutes later, like a herd of rhinos, my son and daughter stomp down the staircase in search of food. A fight erupts over cereal.
“Where’s the good cereal? What happened to the O’s?” my son asks.
Oh, please, not the Honey Graham O’s. On a noise-o-meter, it registers at 100 decibels, not recommended without earplugs.
He pours a big bowl, fakes to the left, kicks the empty box into the trashcan and starts to munch. And crunch and crunch and slurp and smack.
My daughter whines, “You ate all the good cereal. The rest is gross.”
She rummages around the pantry, poo-pooing one box after another. Metal pots and pans bounce off the shelf and drop onto the tile floor. Crash, whiz, bang. I cannot stop my hands from shaking.
After 45 minutes, I am only on page ten. Can’t remember a thing. Must reread. Again.
Briiiiiing.
“Mom, phone,” screams my son as he hands me the phone.
Sally from All Star Sports says, “The stuff you ordered is in. Stop by anytime to get it.”
“Thanks. And do you have any blue athletic socks in stock?” I ask.
“What?”
“Socks. Do you carry blue socks?”
“Can’t hear you. How many kids do you have? Sounds like you’re running a daycare center.”
Tell me about it.
Within moments, they rush upstairs, yelling and laughing. With quivering hands, I turn back to page one. In the living room, my husband listens to the Wall Street on the iPad, high volume. Reruns of the Warrior’s game run wildly on the television in the background. Thousands of screaming, chanting fans. I imagine the house vibrating.
My eyelid starts to spasm and head jerks to the right. He notices the tics and asks, “Are you okay? Your eye’s bugging out.”
“Trying to read a book. I’ll go in the other room.”
I’ve heard that too much noise can cause increase levels of anxiety, tinnitus and hearing loss. I head for shelter at the nearest safe place.
If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the upstairs closet reading.


BIO:
Stacey Gustafson is an author, humor columnist, and blogger who has experienced the horrors of being trapped inside a pair of SPANX. Her blog, Are You Kidding Me? is based on her suburban family and everyday life. Her short stories have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and seven books in the Not Your Mother’s Book series. Her work appears in Midlife Boulevard, Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, ZestNow, More.com, Pleasanton Patch, Lost in Suburbia, Better After 50 and on her daughter’s bulletin board.
She lives in California with her husband and two teenagers that provide an endless supply of inspiration. She writes about parenting and daily frustrations like her dislike of the laundry, self-checkout lanes, public restrooms, Brussels sprouts, roundabouts, and being middle-aged. Her book, Are You Kidding Me? My Life With an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives was released September 2014, available on Amazon. Visit Stacey at staceygustafson.com or follow her on Twitter @RUKiddingStacey.
twitter: @RUKiddingStacey





Posted by at 10 comments:

Monday, November 24, 2014

Book Review: The Big Book of Parenting Tweets

      I am so excited to share with you the publication of a new book that has had me giggling for days.  Congratulations to my friends Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and Jessica Ziegler of Science of Parenthood   for putting together a clever collection of some of the funniest parenting tweets I've ever read! From Tooth Fairies leaving Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons to toddlers asking for beer for breakfast, this hilarious book has it all. The illustrations that accompany each section capture the humorous moments in parenting that resonate with anyone who has raised toddlers to teens.

      I've pulled some of my favorite tweets from the book to share with you:


"Took the boys to the beach and heard 6yo yell to a little girl, "You have crabs? Cool!" Please let that be the only time he says that to a girl." ----Domestic  Goddess

"How to get a kiddie pop-up tent back into the box:
1) Place foot on tent.
2) Twist.
3) Fold.
4) Light in fire.
5) Pour ashes into box."
----Lurk at Home Mom

"I go full-on hostage negotiator when I see my 3 yo. holding a permanent marker without the lid. "
----Simon Holland

"Parenting is all fun and games until your 3yo pees in the garbage pail instead of the toilet. Then it's just a fraternity party with no beer. "---- Jennifer Lizza

"My son just referred to the 1980's as 'turn of the century'."----Sarah del Rio

"This margarita tastes like I don't even have kids."----Kate Hall

"Kids are like sponges. They smell bad."----Bunmi Laditan

"How to ensure a sleepless Christmas Eve:
Child: Do you know how Santa fattens up?
Me: By eating all the bad children?"  ----Science of Parenthood

"My 7yo has been practicing arm farts--punctuated by cartwheels--for the past 10 minutes. Harvard, save a space!"----Kathy Cooperman

"My son tripped over a box of Legos and landed on about 185 pieces. I feel like this is 6 years of Karma finally catching up to him."----Bethany Thies

"3yo: *singing in the bathroom* I have to go poopoo. The poopoo is coming out. And it's okay to touch the poo--
Me: *sprints into bathroom*"----Father With Twins

"My son can now reach the light switches, so don't come over my house unless you're really into raves or want to have a seizure."----Dad and Buried

"Every night I tuck in an adorable 6yo. yet every morning I drag Keith Richards out of bed."----Brenna Jennings

"There are days that start with a beautiful sunrise, and then there are days that start with mistaking a dead fly for a raisin."----Stephanie Jankowski


      For parents on the go, this book is a great, quick read with quotable tweets that tickle the funny bone. You'll want to read the book more than once, and it'll make the perfect gift for every parent on your holiday list.  What are you waiting for? ORDER THE BOOK HERE: http://bit.ly/BBoPt

Posted by at 19 comments:
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

Shareaholic