I am a Mommy Blogger…I guess. I mean, if we have to pigeon hole my blog, you could stick me in that little cube with all the other Mommys who have blogs. If you REALLY HAD to define me. Although I like to think I’m more than just a Mommy who blogs. But that’s a tangent I’m not going to go down at this moment.
Just to be VERY clear…
When you come to my blog.
You will not read about what was found inside a child’s diaper. Not EVER.
What you MAY read about, however, is all the gross underwear that I find under my kids beds that I have to actually touch in order to degross the nasty. Or the fact that my kids have been potty trained for 10 years, yet CONSTANTLY forget to flush the toilet. Which always makes a tasty feast for the dog. *dry heave*
You will NOT read about my napping with my angelic baby whilst breathing in it’s sweet milky breath.
Nope. Because there isn’t a single angel OR baby, living in my house, napping or otherwise. And the breath. NOT sweet OR milky. Try rotten cheese breath emanating from monsters who think brushing their teeth is an idea spawned from Satan.
You will definitely NOT read about getting my babies on schedules.
Because my babies were NEVER on schedules. Then OR now. Which leaves me with nothing to discuss or contribute to discussions. Because schedules…suck. Well, for me they do. Besides. I am a firm believer that my kids should be on my schedule anyways. So there Supernanny.
I will never talk about fussy babies here. Nope. No fussy babies in my home.
What we have. What I will talk about. Demonically possessed soldiers of the Underworld that masquerade as the fruit of my hard labor. With voices so high pitched that causes all dogs and cats to run in the opposite direction, away from the noise. With voices so screechy that squirrels and birds drop from trees as though they have been electrocuted.
Yes. That is the fussy that we have in my little corner of the street.
And burping. Something that many a mother have problems getting their children to do. Oh man. Not here. We have all sorts of burping. And all sorts of farting. Loud. Bubbly. Wet. Glurpy. Nasty. Yes. Home Sweet Home.
Then we have a little thing called time outs. Which…you won’t ever find a discussion going on here regarding that matter. Because time outs. Those don’t work. Not. At. All. Spanking. Fuh-git about it. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again.
I don’t control my children. My children control me. And they run amok. Like lice infestation in the schools. THAT describes my children.
I could go on. And on. But I fear that you’d be so jealous of my life. And I wouldn’t want to rub your nose in the perfections of my imperfections.
So. Pigeon-hole away. I AM a Mommy. I blog. So therefore, I am a Mommy Blogger. I guess.