Tag Archives: parenting humor

Family Fight Night IV: Dog Days of Summer Smackdown

Posted on August 13, 2025 | 1 comment

Hello, hello and welcome everyone to what is shaping up to be our biggest battle of the year so far here at Family Fight Night! We’re your announcers for the evening, Stan Boomvoice and Tucker McThundercords. 

Big is right, Stan. It’s the dog days of summer and this family of four has spent entirely too much time together. The seasonal strain is showing and it’s clear that the Dogged Dame of Daytime Daycare is done. 

And don’t forget, Tucker, school is still a few weeks away. August may be hot but the temperature outside is not nearly as scorching as the flaring tempers inside. 

And it looks like things are about to take a turn for the worse. It’s getting close to bedtime and we all know what that means, Stan. Pure. Utter. Pandemonium. The Savage Siblings have had free reign for months but now this Miffed Mama is desperately trying to get them back on some sort of schedule. 

They’re not liking that, Tucker. 

No, they are not, Stan. Oh! And we’re off! Meanie Mumsy is making the first move, starting out strong and throwing down the hammer with her dreaded Clean Your Rooms Reminder. 

But here comes the Pre-Pubescent Prince, aka The Elevenator, coming in hot with his classic countermove, the Proclamation Indignation Dispensation. You know she had to be expecting this, Tucker. It’s been his go-to move ever since he cleaned his room back in early June. 

Oh! But would you look at that! Bet the Missus of Mayhem didn’t see this coming, Stan! In a rare show of alliance, Little Sister Seether, fresh off a Talking To after lunch time’s Tit for Tater Tot Tiff, is joining Belligerent Big Brother with some Defiance Drama of her own.

But it looks like the Maligned Matriarch is not backing down, busting out The Cutthroat Countdown! It’s surprisingly early in the fight for this move, Tucker. Which just goes to show, she’s as over summer as the overdue library books she can never find.  

What happens when she gets to three, Stan?

No one knows, Tucker. No one knows. And it looks like the mystery will remain, with the Chaos Kiddos tromping in retreat to their rooms. Which begs the question, she won the battle, but can she win the war?

I think we’re about to find out, Stan. It appears her victory is short-lived and a Sibling Squirmish has surfaced over a shared spirograph kit, which is swifting spiraling out of control. 

A completely unexpected turn of events, considering neither of these Juvie Jackals has played with it in years. Do you think Mom can count on an assist from Dad here, Tucker?

It’s not looking good, Stan. Daddy Dearest is already deep in a Dissociation Doomscroll Dodge after another day of drudgery at work. 

And it looks like the Primary Caretaker is stepping in before she becomes the Primary Undertaker. It’s all fun and games until these Feral Fledglings gain the upper body strength to actually kill each other, Tucker, and after yet another growth spurt, it looks like they just might this time. Lil Miss Nine, who is anything but benign, is ready to end the bloodline, while the Minor Macho Man with the Overworked Glands is throwing hands!

Oh! But would you look at that! This Wine Mom is unleashing some candid Cabernet Savagery, her patience dissipating faster than the morning dew on a sun scorched lawn, Stan.

She may have started imbibing at 4 pm, but this Put Upon Parent has definitely earned those glasses of wine. The Tedious Teenybopper Trash Talking began early this morning and hasn’t abated since, Tucker.

Oh! Oh! But would you look at that? Her Bitchin’ & Twitchin’ Eye combo is met with a perfectly executed one-two Whatever/Eye Roll from the Bruh of Duh, followed by the Femme Fatale Fourth Grader’s Flared Nostrils of Annihilation. Oh, the humanity! These Wilding Whelps are pulling out all the stops! 

They’ve got her on the ropes, Tucker. It’s clear she’s already depleted after dealing with the back-to-back Leggo My Lego and Spilled Kinetic Sand Scream Storm earlier today. 

My ears are still ringing from the Twin Kin Keening, Stan. Oh-ho! But what’s this? It looks like the Slouchy Grouch is off the couch and ready to cause some major ouch. Father Fatigued is finally stepping in and stepping up as the Harbinger of Hygiene, heralding that it’s time for the habitual ritual of teethbrushing. 

Wow! Truly a Hail Mary Hall Pass! You can visibly see a sigh of relief from the Sapped Senora but Sister Sloth is still deadset, coming out swinging with the Sun Is Still Out Excuse. 

The Elementary Eldest is chiming in as well, with his Maturity Manifesto, Stan. Looks like we have us a Dynamic Duo Dual Dramatic Dialogue Drop! 

But the proof is in the pudding, which no one got tonight after the classic parental maneuver of Just Desserts Means No Desserts, doled out after dinner’s French Fry Fracas. The Pissed Off Patriarch is having none of it and executes the Slightly Raised Voice power move! 

And would you look at those scamps scramble! He hasn’t even hit wonky refrigerator decibel levels yet and they’re already tucking themselves in. Looks like we can chalk up another win for the Tired Tyrants tag team!

But wait, Tucker, isn’t it bath night tonight?

Sshhhh, I think Mama Maim just heard you. She’s staring right at us with her patented Glare-N-Growl. I’m scared, Stan.

Well, that’s all for us here at Family Fight Night, folks! Until next time, everybody! …Go, Tucker, go, go, go, go…

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That time I got bit by a German sheep

Posted on June 26, 2025 | 1 comment

You guys wanna hear a story? It’s a doozy. 

Last Tuesday was the last day of school. I had organized an after school party at a nearby park for all our friends. Water guns, popsicles, pickle flavored Doritos (which are somehow both disgusting and amazing). As I’m walking to pick up my kids from school, a gigantic dog, more moose than canine, suddenly comes barreling toward me. Followed by two very frantic women screaming in panic. 

The small part of my brain that permanently houses the meme of Ralphie from The Simpsons chuckling “I’m in danger” was immediately activated. 

I freeze. The moose dog takes this as a sign that he should attack and sink his gigantic shark teeth as deeply into my calf as he can. 

I feel it. I know it’s happening. I think I yelled. But mostly my brain just short circuited. We’re talking crucial parts just WHOOSH, in flames and melting. 

The dog is still running around me, I’m pacing up and down in a weird crouch like position with my fists awkwardly up, my brain unable to decide between fight, flight, or freeze so what the hell, let’s do all three. 

Eventually the dog runs off. The anemic logical part of my brain rustles up the energy to yell to one of the owners “is he vaccinated?” But she was too busy chasing down her beloved Cujo as he chased some nearby teenagers. 

So I do the most common sense thing I can think of. I text all the parents on the after school party thread “I just got bit by a German sheep.” 

And then nothing else. No context. No details. No correcting “sheep” to “Shepherd.” Everyone is suitably confused. 

I end up getting some first aid supplies from the nearby learning center. The workers are encouraging me to call animal control as I’m mopping up my blood. Which reminds my beleaguered brain I should text the parents again. 

So in response to all their frantic questions and confusion, I write “it’s pretty bad.”

And that’s it. 

Because now my brain is too busy contemplating how to call animal control, which seems exceedingly complicated at the moment. And do I have rabies? And why is medical tape so hard to figure out? 

And omg I have to pickup my kids. So I text the parents again “can someone grab my kids?” as I’m walking up to the school to grab my kids. All I can tell you is that it made sense at the time. 

On the way, I run into the second owner. She’s very apologetic and I am very much a people pleaser so I’m comforting her as I actively bleed all over our shoes. Suddenly I blurt out “SHOTS,” because my brain remembers we do not want to die of rabies. 

She pulls up his vaccine record on her phone, so I take a photo of her phone because putting a new contact into MY phone seems like a very complex math problem at this point. 

My brain, proud of itself for not letting us die, decides to work for a hot minute more and casually throws out “500 kids are about to be released from school, so, I don’t know, maybe warn someone?”

Son of a…so I immediately text “dog still loose, warn everyone.” 

Shortly after I show up to school in all my bloody glory, telling kids I pass to “beware of the loose dog.” My daughter screams when she sees my leg and my son bursts into tears. “Was this a bad idea?” I ask my brain. But it doesn’t answer because it’s gone full blue screen of death. 

I tell my kids to stay with the other parents and hand my car keys to my friend. “I’m parked by the park, the party supplies are in the trunk,” I tell her. (Or possibly yell at her, my volume control completely out of hand). Because without my brain, keeping the party on while a murderous dog attacks citizens is clearly the priority. 

And then I head back to the scene of the crime. To talk to animal control. Which I never called. And with the dog still ON THE GODDAMN LOOSE. 

On my way, I pass by some third graders from my daughter’s class. There are no adults around. The mom part of my brain activates and I escort them to their nearby houses. 

Then I turn back around to…Wait, what was I doing? Right, I should go to the hospital. Where are my car keys? 

It’s then I see police lights in the distance. Because someone whose brain didn’t pack it up and head for the wilds DID call the cops. I talk to them, pretending with all my might I was a functioning human being. 

It was going fairly well until I was asked if I wanted an ambulance. Which is when the ‘ol brain just started giggling because HOO BOY this just became real. Suddenly I can feel the pain the adrenaline kept at bay. So in a panic, I say sure but then follow that up with “is it ok if I refuse it?” Because the financial part of my brain kicked in 3 seconds too late with “we cannot afford that.” 

Luckily I was saved by another mom friend, who was also attacked by the dog but thankfully not bitten. She told the officers she would take me to urgent care. 

Three hours later, after an X-ray and an aggressive cleansing that felt like someone poured lava into the giant holes in my legs, I was patched up and we finally made it back to the party, which was winding down. 

It was then I managed to look through all the messages and realized that while I was sending unhelpful, cryptic texts, my friends had managed to piece together what was happening in the neighborhood, keep everyone informed of this wildly unfolding story, kept most of the students at school until the dog was caught, took care of and comforted my kids, picked up the pizza I was supposed to pick up, and set up the party. Which was a huge hit. 

And so, the moral of this story is, may you all find a community as badass as mine. I cannot thank them enough. ❤️ 

And do not have a dog if you can’t control it.

And seriously, try pickle flavored Doritos. The taste will haunt you.

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Honestly, 18 summers together sounds like A LOT

Posted on August 9, 2024 | 3 comments

As the golden light of an August afternoon sun filters in through my window, I can’t help but feel it’s all slipping away. Another summer with my children is almost over. We only get eighteen with them, I’m repeatedly and aggressively told by my social media algorithms. 

Eighteen summers. 

It’s a stark reminder. And so I pause as I unload the dishwasher yet again, swallowing my rage and staring wistfully off into the middle distance. Reminding myself that I’ll miss this eventually. That someday there won’t be 167 half full cups littering every room in the house. That years from now, I’ll look back through the hazy, nostalgic-filled, choking mist of sunscreen and bug spray and realize what a blessing it was to constantly clean the pee off the toilet seat and army crawl my way under beds looking for yet another missing library book. 

But it’s not over yet. So, for now, I will hold on tightly to that unique summer feeling of warm, sun-kissed skin against a cool, wet bathing suit. Of pools and lakes and long stretches of ocean. Of giggles and splashes and squeals that turn into screams because one of my kids is attempting what looks like incompetent manslaughter. Of the beautiful, neverending chorus of “Mom, I’m cold!” and “Mom, I have to pee again!” and  “Hey mom, watch this!” over and over and over again, even though all they’re doing is holding their nose and dipping their faces chin deep into the water. 

There will come a day when I yell for the last time “Where the hell did all this sand come from? We got back from vacation a week ago!” I just hope I’m present enough to remember it. 

Because one day there will be no one to feed 11 times a day. No light switches covered in Doritos dust. No house full of blanket forts and entire Lego cities and a baker’s dozen of abandoned board games and what looks like a Barbie and Monster High Doll civil war in which no one was the winner. A messy house full of beautiful memories that I am ready to burn down because it will be easier than trying to clean all this crap up. 

Someday I will miss meticulously planning a picnic that is abandoned early because there are apparently bugs outside. And the barbecue we tried to have but my kids don’t eat hotdogs or hamburgers or potato salad or corn or watermelon and why can’t we make chicken nuggets on the grill and can we eat inside because there are bugs outside? And the beautiful hike that ended in tears (mine) because I cannot explain again why there are bugs outside. 

How many more days are left where both my children accuse me of not listening because they are talking to me at the same time? How many more eyerolls and puking noises will I get to enjoy as their response to the dinner I just spent over an hour making? How many more times will they beg me to watch them play Minecraft? 

Five thousand? A million? That’s it. 

What I would give to have them call me ‘bruh” forever. To freeze this remarkable age where they wake me up at 6 am by jumping on my most sensitive bits asking if they can play Nintendo, and yet also wake me up at midnight to tell me all about their nightmare that somehow divulges into an hour long monologue about why Roblox is, like, really awesome. 

So these last few weeks, I am going to revel in the long lazy mornings watching cartoons, and the long lazy afternoons watching movies, and the long lazy evenings of them watching whatever it is they watch on their tablets that I really hope is child appropriate, because it’s been an unrelenting heat wave since mid-July. At this moment, right now, I am wholeheartedly embracing the simple joy of Googling the symptoms of rickets because I honestly can’t remember the last time I took them outside. 

I know it’s coming. As sure as the seasons change, that moment will come when I’m sitting in my clean, quiet home, with a full bank account and a well-stocked fridge with a gallon of milk that isn’t missing its lid, and I will long for the days when I walked around the house in a blind rage because every surface was covered with those little plastic thingies from juice box straws. That moment when I can leave my house without hollering at someone to get their damned shoes on, we’re already running late. 

And when that moment comes, I suppose I’ll have to take solace in the fact that during our 35th summer together, I will get to watch, giant margarita in hand, as my beautiful children scream at their own children. And I will laugh and laugh as I skip from room to room, throwing the plastic straw thingies I’ve hoarded in my pockets like so much confetti. 

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Posted in Family, Food, funny, Humor, Parenting, Pop Culture, Travel, Vacation, Women

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Family Fight Night 3: Sibling Summer Slam

Posted on July 16, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hello, hello! And welcome everyone to what is sure to be the most legendary Family Fight Night yet. We’re your announcers for the evening, Stan Boomvoice and Tucker McThundercords. 

Legendary is right, Stan. It may be hot outside but it doesn’t come close to the temperature inside. Summer break is in full swing and tempers are flaring higher than the flames on Dad’s gas-soaked grill. 

Speaking of Daddy Doomed, he’s still at work and the Married Matron is looking pretty harried, Tucker. 

This muggy air has nothing on Mama’s mean mugging, Stan. I don’t know about you but I’d steer clear of this Miffed Missus. She’s already behind on dinner prep and potatoes aren’t all she’s ready to whip. 

Looks like she’s regretting the Tablet Time-Out she instituted after the Blanket Fort Fracas, Tucker. These Wilding Whelps haven’t given her a break since breakfast. 

And they are showing no signs of slowing down. Big Brother Bash is currently baiting Sister Seether with his infamous Toy Pile Driver, refusing to leggo those Legos even though he knows some of them are hers. 

Oh! And it looks like the Rising 3rd Grader is rising to the occasion. She’s going in hard with her patented Honeybadger Hurricanrana, Tucker. Just a feral flying mass of tangled hair and untrimmed nails. 

It’s not looking good for the Prepubescent Prince, Stan. I believe the Spare is ready to dethrone the Heir. 

Not looking good at all, Tucker. That growth spurt she had last month is really paying off here. He might be older but this youngest is ready to yeet him out into the yard. 

And it looks like the disturbance is dragging the Depleted Damsel into the drama, and she is clearly in distress. What do you think her play here should be, Stan?

Grounding is hardly groundbreaking, Tucker, but it might be Mama’s best move. Sometimes the classics are classic for a reason. 

Oh! I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! A Hail Mary hailing from Hell’s Kitchen! In a surprise move, she’s busting out A Moment’s Peace, letting them play video games! I did NOT see that coming, Stan.

It’s a risky move, Tucker. Risky move. The Tween Titan has been on a hot streak during this heatwave, dominating the action on the Nintendo Switch. He’s already gotten several reprimands for trash talking. 

But it looks like the Sus Sweetie has something up her sleeve, Stan. She’s been secretly practicing while The Bruv of Shove was at camp last week and has managed to eke out a win! 

Oof! That’s gotta hurt. Unsurprisingly, the action is now spilling over from the screen into real life. The Super Smash Brothers have nothing on these Super Shriek Siblings! Oh, the humanity! 

And here comes all 15 pounds of the Round Mound of Pure Hellhound, always happy to add to the bedlam. This little doggy has a bone to pick and as you well know, Stan, the Chaos Canine rarely gives up easily. 

Talk about a tongue lashing, Tucker. His bark might be worse than his bite but his lick is far from lovable. 

Do you hear that, Stan? With her signature primal scream, it’s clear The Frazzled Femme Fatale has had it and is stomping out of the kitchen again, flinging F Bombs like a F5 tornado! Daughter Dearest at least has the decency to look demeaned but the Savage Son remains defiant. 

Oh and would you look at that timing! Father Fatigued is finally home, unwittingly headed right into the eye of the storm. There’s a lot to take in here, Tucker, but he immediately executes his go-to move, The Raised Eyebrow. 

The Pint-Sized People Producer is beyond peeved at this point and not afraid to project! She ain’t having none of it, gesturing wildly at everything! It’s clear she’s ready to tag him in, Stan.

But Daddio is coming in hot with the Decompression Defense! Looks like Bro-Dad just wants a brewski, Tucker. 

We might have a Sweaty Stare Down on our hands. Do you think his Killer Commute can compete with her Caretaker Collapse, Stan?

Not likely, Tucker. Not likely at all. But wait! What’s this? He’s busting out the Meatlovers and Movie Maneuver! 

And on a Tuesday! Unbelievable! Papa Peacemaker saving the day with Papa Johns! And will you look at that turnaround? They went from throwing hands to clapping hands.

What a bout, Tucker! What a bout. 

Indeed, Stan. Always nice to see a Happy (For Now) Ending here at Family Fight Night. Until next time, everybody! 

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The best-ish birthday party very little money can buy

Posted on July 3, 2024 | 1 comment

Hey! Hi! Guess what? Did you know it’s only four days until my daughter’s 8th birthday!? I sure did! And yesterday it was only five days until her birthday! And on Christmas Day it was only 194 days until her birthday! 

Naturally we are having a party, which she started planning at 7:30 pm the night of her 7th birthday. 

Which was 364 days until her birthday! 

It’s going to be the best party ever, despite the intense yearlong negotiations we’ve had to endure. Because while I live firmly entrenched in reality, my daughter exists in a sparkly imaginary world that is apparently in an entirely different tax bracket. 

For example, I wanted the theme to be A Child’s Birthday Party. She wanted it to be Space Unicorn Mermaid Glitter Cannon Extravaganza. Despite her fierce protests, I had to nix the glitter cannon (since I would like to still be on speaking terms with the other parents after the party) but we did manage to compromise on Space Unicorn Mermaid. And while a discerning eye might notice that most of the decorations are only Space-themed, my fingers are crossed that I hear back from the farm about the herd of rideable ponies wearing fake horns in time for Saturday. (Sadly, however, we weren’t able to secure the 100,000 gallon see-through swimming pool she wanted to rent and transport to the party),

The location discussions ended up getting quite heated. Especially when she wouldn’t budge on the quite sizable guest list. But after some intense research, I discovered that every water park, amusement park, and entertainment center are all closed on her birthday, if you can believe it. She then suggested having it at her Memaw’s house but it turns out none of the guests are going to be able to make the 840 mile trip to suburban Ohio. So we eventually agreed on using our local neighborhood park. 

Speaking of the guest list, almost everyone she invited RSVP’d yes, which is great. The only ones we haven’t heard back from yet are that girl she played with one time when we were on vacation in Cape Cod and that kid from her parkour class but she doesn’t know his name and Taylor Swift. Although this is partly my fault since I was unable to track down their respective phone numbers and send them my very fancy mass text invitation:

“Someday I hope to have my shit together enough to send out actual invitations, but today is not that day. So, hey! Mae’s birthday party is Saturday from 2-4 pm at the park.” 

The good news is that after many, many significant changes, I now have my daughter’s final menu choices for her big day. 

Except there will be more menu changes. 

THERE ARE ALWAYS MORE MENU CHANGES. 

(Although I can now confirm that the six-tiered mint-chocolate chip ice cream M&M rainbow cake with real working miniature solar system cake topper that she originally wanted has been canceled. Turns out the bakery is closed that day as well, if you can believe it). 

As for the itinerary…

Oh, what’s that? You didn’t know a non-wealthy child’s birthday party typically had an itinerary? Don’t feel bad. I didn’t either until very recently. 

I took a photo of it as proof that I am only slightly exaggerating about this whole thing. 

At least her gift list was reasonable. Although I am getting slightly concerned that she waits outside on the porch every day for the Amazon delivery driver. And then hugs the boxes. And the driver. 

And that she made me this:

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

And at least next year her birthday should be slightly easier to plan. She’s thinking of having a destination birthday party when she turns 9. Right now she’s leaning towards Paris, France. 

But despite all the stress and the constant negotiations and the stress, I cannot wait to celebrate my little girl in a few days. It makes me so happy to see that my husband and I are raising a strong young female who knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. 

I can’t wait to meet the person she’s going to grow up to be. 

I just have to survive her childhood first. 

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My Annual Spring Cleaning Motivational Speech to my Family

Posted on May 24, 2024 | Leave a comment

Hello, beloved family. You know how every year I deny having Seasonal Affective Disorder even though we all know I go into full on Goblin Mode for five months straight? Well, guess what…

*dramatically throws back window curtain*

Spring has finally arrived in New England! And not False Spring, where we get a couple of nice days and then it snows. And not False Spring Part Two: Hail to the Sleet. 

Oh no. Real spring. The sun is shining, the trees are green, and everywhere is the beautiful grunting sounds of people struggling to set up their air conditioning window units. 

And, of course, the official sign that summer is on its way…

*dramatically thrusts out one leg*

I’ve switched out of my sweatpants and into my leggings. 

Do you know, dearest family, what this means? I’ll take it from your groans that you do. Yes! It means that I will begin manically spring cleaning the house, dragging you all into chaos against your will! Because I finally have Vitamin D coursing through my veins and my brain has started producing dopamine and serotonin again. 

I can tell from your whimpers that you’re just as excited about this as I am. Excited to cast aside the resigned acceptance we have for our filth and clutter and cramped tenement-style conditions and eager to embrace no longer being garbage people. 

Yes, my loves! We don’t have to live like this! Just this morning, I finally cleaned out and organized that one cabinet in the kitchen that was driving me insane and suddenly it was like a whole new kitchen. So I cleaned out another cabinet. And then the fridge. And threw away all those frozen leftovers in the freezer that we were never, ever going to eat but thrust in there haphazardly because it’s wrong to waste food. 

As it turns out, 90 percent of my desire to burn everything down and start over is the fact we just have too much stupid crap. 

Just imagine the possibilities! All that stands between us and the house of our dreams is a little bit of deep cleaning! And by little bit I mean A LOT. We are super gross. 

Like, what if you kids actually had room in your rooms to play? Beautiful, clean, organized rooms! With a place for everything and everything in its place. And absolutely no place for the 300 or so dried out markers scattered around because we will finally throw them away. I’m so pumped by the idea of this I even wrote a song about it…

“We need room in our rooms

[Room in our rooms]

Room to roam, room to grow

[Room in our rooms]

So we stop being so embarrassed on Zoom”

OK, fine, I’ll stop singing. But you have to admit it was pretty catchy. And the point remains, we could take pride in where we live. I know we’ll never have nice things but we CAN make our crappy things slightly less crappy. We could be the kind of people who, instead of cramming more things into already overstuffed drawers, get rid of all the things in the drawers we don’t need. 

We could have drawers that close! Oh, dare I dream? 

And all those stains we’ve had so long that we just consider them part of the family now? We could DO something about them instead. We could finally get rid of that giant bag of old batteries we have because we know we’re not supposed to throw them in the trash but we’ve always been too lazy to actually google what to do with them. We could even, and honey, get ready to catch me in case I faint, put the NEW FILTER we bought eight months ago into the BRITA. 

A whole new better life awaits us!

So what do you say, gang! Who’s with me? Let’s do this!

…

I can tell from your resounding silence that you might not be as enthusiastic as I am about all this…

Anybody want to hear my Trash Can Song? It’s pretty inspiring…

*starts banging on lid like a drum*

“This is the trash can song 

[the trash can song]

Because who can? He can! The trash can can!

[the trash can song]

Ooooh, he can take your cans and take your old pans…”

No? I have also prepared a lovely candy wrapper rap. WITH explicit lyrics. 

OK, fine. Fine. For every bag of trash you gather I’ll give you $5 and I’ll give $10 for every box filled with clothes and toys we can donate. Yes, you too, Daddy. 

Now there’s the energy I was looking for! 

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A Review of my 7-year-old’s Nail Salon

Posted on March 7, 2024 | 4 comments

Located in an up-and-coming section of uptown Dining Room, My Daughter’s Nail Salon is a small, locally-owned business that opened seven minutes ago. It’s a new venture for owner Esmerelda Sparkles, who recently decided to expand her burgeoning beauty empire. Working with an untied shoestring budget, the salon prefers to drum up business the old fashioned way: By word of mouth. 

“Would you like me to paint your nails?” she asked as I walked by. 

“You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked in return.

“I was your hairstylist a while back. Remember? Back when I was a hairstylist?”

“Oh right. It’s all coming screaming back to me now.”

I had previously met Esmerelda one bright and extremely painful afternoon when she opened My Daughter’s Hair Salon in downtown Living Room and gave me what she referred to as a “blow-up.” 

“So, can I do your nails?” she asked again, pulling me out of my trauma-induced haze. 

It was with no small amount of trepidation that I agreed. But seeing as how I’m always willing to help out an ambitious female entrepreneur, I reluctantly sat down and settled onto the proffered upturned five gallon bucket. 

“I can also do your hair after I’m done with your nails,” she added, a hint of hope in her voice.

“NO!” I exclaimed, subconsciously reaching for my bald spot. “I mean, you did such a good job the last time, I don’t think I need my hair styled…ever again.” 

As she arranged the bottles on the badly scarred IKEA end table she had laboriously dragged over for the occasion, she mentioned to me that she was also a mother. 

“How did you know I’m a mother?” I asked. 

“You’re not wearing any makeup,” she replied. “I’ve got 10 kids myself. How many do you have?”

“Two.”

“Two? Wow. That must be easy.”

“It often feels like a lot more.”

Esmerelda gave me a sympathetic smile and took a hard look at my nails. 

“These are in really bad shape,” she told me. 

If there is one thing you can say about My Daughter’s Nail Salon, it’s that the business lives and dies by the motto “honesty is the best policy.”

“I do a lot of housework,” I replied sheepishly. 

“No, you don’t,” she said. 

Some might say brutal honesty. 

Esmerelda gestured to the wide range of nail polish she had set up on the table. 

“What color would you like?”

“Is that my good Chanel polish?” 

“No. So, which color?”

I pointed to a dark red that looked suspiciously like one I had owned very recently. 

“How about this one?” I said.  

“Hmm. Nevermind. I’m just going to do every nail a different color.”

As I watched a line of sparkly pink flirt dangerously with the second knuckle of my pointer finger, I asked Esmerelda what made her decide to get into nail art. 

“Well, I can’t get anyone to let me do their hair anymore so I thought I’d try this. I’m so good at it too!” she said as a swath of pale blue appeared on three-quarters of my middle finger. 

“Should we lay down some newspaper?” I asked with gritted teeth, unable to look away from the precariously tipped bottle of polish in her hand.

“Oh no. I hardly ever spill.”

While Esmerelda’s bold, unconventional style might not be for everyone, I did admire how she didn’t let little things such as the natural lines of the nail interfere with her artistic vision. As she bathed my ring finger in metallic green, which juxtaposed nicely with the vibrant orange that took up most of the real estate of my pinkie and a shade simply called Sequins! on the top half of my thumb, I mentioned to Esmerelda that I felt this might be a better fit for her than her previous occupation. 

She sighed dramatically before staring off into the middle distance. 

“Yes, but doing hair is my real passion.” 

She then asked me for eighty hundred dollars. Luckily for me, she was having a sale apparently. 

“Wait, what about my other hand?” I asked with a mix of confusion and pre-emptive relief.

“Eh. I’m bored now. Are you sure I can’t do your hair?” she asked as I got up to leave. 

“Oh, I’m sure! All the sure. But you know who I bet would love to get their hair styled?” I replied as I caught the panicked eye of my husband walking by. “That gentleman. And if you start running now, I bet you can catch him.”

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A birthing story worthy of Hollywood

Posted on February 17, 2024 | 1 comment

My son, my baby boy, is turning 10 tomorrow. Hitting the double digits. It’s a big milestone and not just because this means puberty is lurking dangerously on the horizon, ready to attack and destroy our lives as we know it. Time, that mean ‘ol fickle thing, is moving much too fast. 

It’s enough to make one nostalgic. To think back on how this all started, on how he came into this world. 

It was just like you see in the movies…

****flashback wavy lines flashback wavy lines flashback wavy lines****

It was the middle of the night. I burst through the bedroom door suddenly, breathing hard. 

“Honey! It’s time!” I yelled. 

My husband woke up in a panic before glancing at the time, groaning, and rolling back over. 

“Calm down,” came his muffled reply from underneath the blankets. “You aren’t set to be induced for another five hours.”

“This baby is a week late. Get up so we can get this little bastard out of me.”

“Technically he’s not a bastard.”

“I will eat you,” I growled. “Now, get the hell up and let’s go.”

He drove like a madman. All the way out of the driveway and around the corner before we immediately hit Greater Boston traffic. As we sped along at 5mph, I winced and let out a little groan. He grabbed my hand.

“Are you ok?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, I just really have to fart.”

“Again?” he asked, now extremely concerned. 

“Yup.”

He frantically rolled down the window. 

An aromatic 30 minutes later, we finally arrived at the hospital. While my husband fell out of the car, gasping for air, I promptly walked up to the front desk, asking for my wheelchair. 

“Do you need a wheelchair, ma’am?” asked the very confused receptionist. 

“I mean, I thought it was included with the whole deal,” I said, gesturing to the planet I had under my shirt. “Gratis-like.”

“We don’t really do that anymore.”

Soon after WALKING to my hospital room and settling in, my doctor arrived and examined me. After soaking her hands in dry ice, of course, as is custom. 

“Still not dilated, I see. We’ll get you started on the pitocin,” she told me before rushing off to give some other poor woman freezer burn in her nethers. 

A few hours later, I felt my first tiny pang of a contraction. 

“GIMME THE DRUGS!” I roared, grabbing my husband by his lapels. 

“Is the pain bad already?” he asked, staring deeply into my eyes and brushing an errant hair gently off my forehead. 

“Oh no. But I’m doing this for all the women who had to give birth before epidurals were invented. I want to feel zero pain. For them. They would want it this way.”

A brusque man came in, followed by a pixie I was informed was a nurse. She was so slight I had a fairly legitimate concern she would get pulled into my rotund stomach’s gravitational pull, unable to escape. As he prepared the world’s largest needle, she told me to “lean your head into my chest and squeeze my hands when the pain hits.” I laughed and laughed and replied “I will break you,” in my best Dolph Lundgren voice.  

But then the pain hit. I gasped and squeezed as a needle penetrated where no needle had ever dared penetrate before. And suddenly Nurse Itty McLittle turned into pure steel. A tiny mountain made of diamond and graphene. She was like if Henry Cavill’s abs were a person.  

What followed next was a blur. Watching movies on my laptop. Complaining about being bored. Complaining about being hungry. Complaining about the movies I personally had picked out to watch.

Thirty-three hours later, I was still barely dilated. After wrestling away a plastic knife from me, the doctor, in her infinite wisdom, decided a cesarean might be in order. I emphatically agreed. As did my husband. As did the orderly I stabbed. 

I couldn’t see what happened during the actual procedure, courtesy of a lovely blue tarp placed directly against my chin. Which was for the best. Because while I did not feel any pain thanks to drugs I’m assuming were made out of unicorns and the souls of teacup piglets, I did feel a bunch of tugging and pulling and generally horrific rootin’ around. 

And then suddenly there he was. A raging red-haired angry ball of perfection. 

A few days later, I walked out of the hospital (casting a long, lingering glance at all the unused wheelchairs) and the three of us drove away. Slowly. And not just because of traffic this time (although also because of traffic this time).

We got him home. Set him down. I looked lovingly down into his face and he immediately started crying. I turned to the newly minted daddy beside me with panicked eyes and asked “now what?”

Now what indeed. A decade later I can confidently say I still ask that same question every day. In various tones and with a fun assortment of punctuation. 

And the answer has always been an adventure I can’t wait to continue (looming puberty notwithstanding). 

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Twas the Night Before Christmas: Parent Edition

Posted on December 24, 2023 | Leave a comment

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring…

…except for the children they had put to bed AN HOUR AGO

“I said go to sleep before I throw your presents OUT THE WINDOW!”

The stockings were hung by standing on a wobbly chair 

In the hopes that vertigo would not appear

The children were defiant, still not snug in their beds

“Yes, I see you, so help me I’ll throw a damned sugarplum at your head!”

And Mama in her sweatpants, fully done with everyone’s crap

Had just settled in with her very full nightcap 

When from out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter

Her dreams of a relaxing moment now utterly shattered

And what to her bleary eyes should appear 

But Daddy with the toolkit and an equally full beer

As he pulled out a screwdriver, her eye began to tic

She knew in a moment the rest would be no picnic

Oh dammit, oh bullshit, oh bloody stupid hell

“Oh come on, are you kidding me, I’mma need more zinfandel!”

So many toys that had to be assembled 

Their only comfort dark fantasies of elves being dismembered

So up until midnight the parents they toiled

Muttering to themselves about their offspring being too spoiled 

At one point poor dad had to pull ‘ol mom off the roof

Before handing her an eggnog that was 50 percent proof. 

Her bosom it shook like a bowlful of jelly

Filled as it was with rage and pork belly 

His face went all red, like an over-ripe cherry

That vein in his forehead throbbing until it was scary

They spoke not another word but went straight back to work

The nerves in their back and knees going completely berserk  

As the night wore on, the existential growing in their dread 

Their sanity began hanging on by a very thin thread 

By 3 a.m. they had finally reached their limit 

Not to mention they were out of the much needed liquid spirit

But the children they heard them, ‘ere they stumbled out of sight

“Happy Christmas to all and to all screw this shite!” 

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Family Fight Night II: Hardcore Holiday Havoc

Posted on November 22, 2023 | Leave a comment

Hello and welcome to another epic battle here on Family Fight Night! And what a historical evening it’s shaping up to be. We’re your announcers for the evening, Stan Boomvoice and Tucker McThundercords. 

Historical is right, Stan. If you remember our last brawl, Mom and Dad came out on top with their expertly executed tag-team move, Just Desserts Means No Desserts, but tonight we’ve got the perfect storm brewing. It’s the holiday season and you know what that means.

Big Feelings, Tucker. Big Feelings all around. 

Right you are, Stan. It’s anyone’s fight tonight. I mean, just look at this lineup! You’ve got the Fourth Grader Dictator, the eldest with the edicts, who’s been dealing with fractions AND infractions all year long. Then there’s Little Sister Savage, that baby beast in baby pink, who is going through a fierce independent streak right now. And to top it off, here comes Daddy, the Big Bad Bacon Bringer himself, just coming off an excruciating three weeks of overtime. 

He can bring home the bacon but can he bring the pain? And let’s not forget the Matriarch of the Madhouse, Tucker. She’s taken on the full brunt of the domestic duties these past three weeks while also elbow deep in holiday prep and you can tell she’s starting to feel the effects. 

Elbow deep is right, Stan. Just ask the Thanksgiving turkey. Stress levels are at an all-time high on the whole, but particularly for Mumsy Mayhem today.

Just don’t let her hear you call her that, Tucker. Or she’ll be elbow deep in you.

Ha ha! She truly is terrifying, Stan. And speaking of Mommy Dearest, here she comes, straight outta the kitchen, wielding a ladle and lecture!

And we’re off! She’s coming out strong with the Why Is No One Helping Guilt Trip. What a power move! And it looks like it’s working. The kids are already looking to Daddy for help. What do you think is the right defense here, Tucker?

He could always try the Sincere Apology or the ever popular Play Dumb Gambit. But no! He’s going with The Gentle Reminder, telling her that not even 20 minutes ago she kicked them all out of the kitchen because they were getting in her way. Talk about risky, Stan!

Risky indeed. If it doesn’t diffuse the situation it’s bound to act as a powderkeg. And I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! He got away with it! Receiving only a Glare-and-Growl from the Matriarch. They don’t call him The Stable Stallion for nothing, Tucker.

If you can’t stand the heat, get back into the kitchen! But this Proactive Progenitor isn’t off the hook yet, Stan. It appears a Sibling Skirmish has broken out, resulting in a full-on Remote Control Rough And Tumble. Oh, the humanity! 

I’m not surprised, Tucker. The rivalry between them has been simmering harder than mom’s gravy ever since this morning. The dynamics of The Dynamite Duo have changed over the past few months and it looks like The Sassy Lassie is ready to light a match! She is straight up dropping taunts like they’re baby teeth. 

Brother Bash isn’t liking that. Stan. 

No he is not, Tucker. Oh! They are really going at it! There’s a lot of moves Dad can pull here but remember, it’s a holiday, so it’s highly likely both Grounding and Go To Your Rooms are off the table. 

Do you think he can expect an assist from Mom here, Stan? 

Unlikely. She’s too busy whipping potatoes to whip some ass right now, Tucker. 

And would you look at that! It appears Papa Penalty has had enough after several failed Compromise Attempts and is coming in hot with the You Know What!? followed by the Power Off Flex. There’ll be retribution for this, for sure, Stan.

Oh, I can almost guarantee it, Tucker. And there it is! The Shrieks of Self-Righteousness. In stereo, no less! Oof! That’s gotta hurt. He’s getting it from all sides. 

But wait! What’s this? Saved by the dinner bell! Unbelievable!  

And just in time too! I don’t know how much longer Dad would have been able to hold out. But the kids aren’t done with him yet, Tucker. Looks like they’re teaming up to pull a Sulk & Pout at the table.

It’s a clever maneuver, Stan. Mom isn’t going to want to deal with that now that she’s finally got a chance to sit down. They’re likely hoping she’ll take their side and put the blame fully on Dad. 

Any other night it might have worked but the Sibling Squad forgot to factor in Mama’s Holiday Pour. 

Yes, they did. She’s three glasses of wine in already and using the Big Glass, Stan. She’s ignoring the whole dramatic display! Which can’t be easy, considering she cooked for 16 hours only to watch her kids eat rolls and mac-and-cheese while scowling. 

But these Chaos Kiddos refuse to give up. The Fun-Sized Femme Fatale is going straight into Fake Tears while The Son of Slam immediately goes on the defensive with his favorite go-to move, She Started It. Mom easily deflects it with I Don’t Care, I’m Ending It.

Sensing an opportunity and looking to gain favor, The Mischievous Maven switches effortlessly from Fake Tears to Full-On Fawning, giving Mom a gentle chokehold.

I believe that’s called a hug, Tucker. Oh-ho, but it appears there’s an ulterior motive! A Very Pointed Smirk thrown directly her brother’s way and behind Mom’s back! This Disney princess must have a death wish.

But what’s this! From out of nowhere! An Illegal Roll Throw from across the table! Hitting his sister right in the kisser! It’s well known that he doesn’t like to lose and he’s willing to risk it all to prove it. And here comes Mom, flying off the ropes with the expletives! It looks like The Mental Load Carrier has finally gone mental! Oh, I tell you, Stan, I’ve never seen the vein in Mom’s forehead throbbing this hard before.

Looks like in an act of desperation, her current opponent has decided to double down with The No One Understands Me Storm Off! We haven’t seen this move since Tuesday’s spaghetti night, Tucker. 

Mama certainly does not look happy. And if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy and she is willing to throw hands to make it happen. But what’s this now? Hold up! The unthinkable has happened! It looks like Mom is waving the white flag, using the only weapon left in her arsenal, The Tears Of The Unappreciated. 

And just look at that! Talk about an emotional gusher! Actual Crocodile Tears! And at her age, still able to do it! One has to wonder, Tucker, where is Daddy in all of this? 

Regardless, it looks like it’s working, Stan. Both kids are executing a perfect Head Hung In Shame followed by a Mumbled But Still Fairly Sincere Apology. We haven’t seen this kind of turnaround since her Disastrous Birthday Dinner of 2020. 

It’s not over yet, Tucker. Because here comes Dad, from his mysterious doings in the kitchen, walking in with the rarely used I’ve Got Something Hidden Behind My Back Gimmick. Whatever it is, it better be good. Things are looking pretty bleak. 

He’s starting with a powerful left swing and it’s…a cheesecake! With cherries AND a chocolate crust! Good start, good start, but Mom is still giving her Fake But I Appreciate The Effort Smile. Yet to be deterred, he’s now swinging in hard with the right, revealing …Another Bottle Of Wine! 

OH! I think I might go blind from that pearly-white-from-ear-to-ear grin Mom just whipped out of nowhere! And can you believe it, the children are actually applauding!

It is quite the anti-climatic ending, Stan, but a heartwarming one nonetheless. 

Looks like everyone’s a winner here tonight, Tucker. That is until the Who Has To Help Clean Up Fracas that is looming, but unfortunately that’s all the time we have. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! 

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