Tag Archives: kids

MP, Verminator.

Today, standing in the kitchen, I hear coming from the front porch, “Hey you DIRTY DOG, get outta here! Get outta here or I’ll SHOOT you!”

“HEY!” I call in my best, gruff WTF Voice — a bit shocked (Dude, that’s no way to talk to your grandparents.) and unable to see who her threats are directed toward.

She pokes her head in the door. “I’m just talking to the gophers.”

“Oh. Okay.” Relieved, I turn back to the dishes. Yeah, and picture this — MP not only screaming death threats from the front porch, MP screaming death threats in her UNDERWEAR.

Giddy up. Gopher Huntin’ Season has officially arrived.

But lest ye think we’re a pair of uncultured rednecks, I HAVE show you a tiny glimpse into our very first Mother/Daughter Photo Shoot last night. (Which sounds very shee-shee poo-poo, yes?) The photographer, Alicia Caine, is simply amazing — if there ever were a Child Whisperer, she’s it. Plus she’s way cool AND she actually made me look somewhat photogenic, which I definitely am NOT.


See? Simple country folk and family photos. Just like The Pioneer Woman.

Without all that … money and stuff.




Filed under Piece of Paradise

My sordid past as a p*rn peddler.

So, a few months ago, the fantastic Deb at San Diego Momma got me (and a few other bloggas – Deb of course, Brian at PapaTV, Melissa at Green Girl in Wisconsin, and Jennifer at Thursday Drive — all really, really good) a freelance writing gig at T. Rowe Price.

Because I’m feeling L-A-Z-Y tonight, I thought I’d share it with you. Should you choose to click on this link, I promise shoe licking. I promise sweaty people in bathing suits. And P*RN, people. (Yes, P*RN, just for your benefit, Dirty Google Search Pervs.)


Oh yeah. And a HEINOUS school photo of Mommy Pie at age 8. Personal idol? Jan Brady. The picture speaks for itself.


Filed under Life Lessons

Even better than wax lips. Better tasting too.

This is Dental Hygiene Week at the Pie Town Preschool.

MP’s learning the importance of regular brushing and flossing. And what happens when you DON’T take care of your teeth, and eat too much sugar.


They turn into marshmallows.

Your gums into cream cheese.

And your lips into rosy red apples.

(It’s all very Mr. Potato Head-y.)

Then your teeth fall out and the Tooth Fairy leaves candy under your pillow while you sleep.


Filed under Life Lessons

Mother and Child Reunion

It dawns on me that I haven’t posted about last week’s trip to Connecticut to see The Boy. Despite the fact we were both sick at one point or another during our seven short days together, I can still truthfully say it was wonderful. Nothing like projectile puke at 4 a.m. and a day long bout of diarrhea to test the staying power of romance. 

Happily, we passed. (Get it? Heh.)

So, I come home and MP is 25. Suddenly she’s all Sheldon-y. All Big Bang Theory. All “Mother, did you know that an isotope is a nucleus whose chemical properties are almost identical to the original one having the same number of protons but different number of neutrons?”


Grammy’s the same. Perhaps a little tired is all.

The dog’s the same. Happier than ever to rub her filthy self all over the carpet. Happy to lick my feet with her poo mouth. Perhaps shaggier and with more knots. But still, the same.

I, on the other hand, am clearly dumber. Evidently, a few brain cells went missing when I contracted the Dengue Fever because I swear my daughter has aged dramatically overnight. Suddenly she’s READING. Complete BOOKS. Go, Dog Go!


The Preschool equivalent to War and Peace.


I leave for a week and my Baby, she’s all grown up. Next time, we’re packin’ up those footie PJs and she’s coming with me.


Filed under Disturbing Piece

Bob the Egg.

Early last night, as is custom, MP and I dyed Easter eggs at Grammy’s.

Grammy got creative with her eggs, using paper towels and Pam Cooking Spray to achieve a sophisticated mottled effect. She’s so Martha.

I gave the tie dye technique a try. Apparently I’m more Woody Harrelson.

And MP, she named her eggs. Sam, Kamber, Taylor, Wyatt.

I kinda liked Vann. He was hot. For an egg.

MP preferred Bob.



Filed under Holiday Piece

My personal savior, ShamWow.

Tonight, as is the routine, when MP and I arrived home she bolted from the car and ran to Grammy and Poppy’s house. And just as I always do, I packed up backpack, lunchbox, sippy cup, artwork, boots, the mail, my bag, etc., and hauled the lot to our house next door.

I dropped everything at the door. I started MP’s bath. I went to the bathroom. I let the dog out. I walked out the door to go get MP.

And when Grammy asked if we wanted to stay for spaghetti dinner I said yes without hesitation.

An hour later, our bellies full, MP and I made our way home, across the driveway and up the snow-packed walk. Once in the door, out of habit, I walked directly to the bathroom to start MP’s bath. And a sick panic welled in the pit of my stomach.

Suffice it to say, the bathroom was effectively submerged. Water, water, everywhere, and not a mop in sight. I may or may not have used a few choice words. MP’s first reaction, on the other hand was to pull up her pant legs and puddle-stomp. Okay, I did a little stomping too.

But then I remembered my little Christmas gift to myself this year, sitting new and unused in the laundry room.

And now, I am officially a devout member of the Cult of the ShamWow. (And, all right, I DO love Vince’s nuts.)


Filed under Piece of Pop Culture

Some day, her prince will come. Let’s hope he’s a mind reader.

MP has started getting up at 5 a.m. This is a relatively new development, beginning without rhyme or reason, about two weeks ago. This, in and of itself, is an incredible drag. Add to it the fact that Mommypie’s not getting to bed until 3 a.m. most mornings (late, late, long distance phone calls with The Boy) and you have one crabby mama. Not to mention an exhausted, overly-emotional nearly-5-year-old.

Case in point — this morning, after fighting the good fight as best I could on two hours sleep, and losing pathetically, I gave up, raised a white flag, and let MP watch cartoons. I went back to bed. I overslept. I managed to pry my eyes open at 8:30, at which point I shot out of bed and emerged from my room in a panic, making a beeline for the shower.

Five minutes later, I’m lathering, I’m rinsing, and I hear a tiny, high pitched series of whimpers most definitely meant to get my attention. I peek from around the curtain and see MP sitting on the bathroom floor, in tears.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Brace yourself.

“You just walked right past me, and I didn’t even get a HUG.”

(Pouty, arms folded)

“I shouldn’t have to TELL you to give me a hug.”

(Higher pitch. Definitely louder.)

“You should just KNOW I need one!”


She’s such a chick.


Filed under Piecing it Together