Tara-YKIHAYHT

Hello? It’s My Boobs I’m Looking For

June 11, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 11 Comments

Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro?

Can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow?

Can you throw them over your shoulder like a Continental soldier?

Do your boobs. Hang. Low.

~Credit: The middle school playground

Let’s cut to the chase. Boobs are what I’m talking about today. Just typing the word is funny. Boobs. Breasts. Titties. Funbags. Mammaries. Bewbies. Jugs. Hooters. Tatas. They have many names, but there is something about the word boobs that makes me giggle. Yes, at times I have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy, but you have to admit that it’s funny. BOOBS. You know what isn’t funny? The shape of my boobs post helping-my-children-survive-their-first-year-of-life and serving as the Dairy Queen. It is not a pretty picture. NOT. PRETTY.

Let’s reminisce for a second. I know you girls are with me on this. Remember when you could leave the house without a bra on and your perky little mammaries were right up where they belonged? Remember the days when you didn’t have to pick those bad boys up just to wipe the pool of sweat out from underneath in order to prevent chafing? Remember the days of looking in the mirror and thinking to yourself, damn I have a spectacular rack?

Five kids later I’m left looking in the mirror and wondering what in the HELL has happened here. Now instead of a couple of fabulous melons, I’m left with a couple of shriveled up deflated balloons left over from a birthday party that occurred in 2002. I used to think that the old vagina really took a beating from pushing out five watermelon-sized nuggets. Not true my friends. Not even close. The boobies are the ones that have suffered the most dramatic long-term effects from years of misuse/overuse. These poor girls have taken on an entirely new identity and their own spot on the couch. Sorry vagina, you no longer get all my sympathies.

Do you sit around and say things like damn, I think I dunked my floppy butterfly in my coffee this morning. No, you wonder how in the hell could you possibly be lactating? You aren’t lactating you dumbass, your tits ended up in your coffee as you sat on the couch reading an article on your laptop. We don’t brag to our girlfriends that we actually went out without pants and no one even noticed our vagina whipping in the wind. No, we know we are living on the edge if we have to run a forgotten lunch up to the school and we don’t even put on a bra first. Will they see those nippies peaking out if they look to see what kind of shoes I’m wearing?

When we lay down in bed at night do we have to scooch our vagina out of our butt crack because it flopped right on over and set up camp? No, we have to dig our bewbies out of our armpits just to avoid any major night-time nippie tweaks. When you can’t find your pillow at night, do you bend over and rest your head on the pink taco? No, you pull one of those milk duds right on up and lay your head on it. It may be the old flat hard kinda smelly kind you keep tucked away in the linen closet in case of emergency, but with some well placed deodorant and a little fluffing it would get you by for a night.

Do your kids walk up to you and use your chooch-a-roni for punching bags? No, they walk up and try to go three rounds with the twins. At this point they are down on a three-year-old level and bear a similar shape to a punching bag, so you might as well let the little bugger get in a workout. The tube socks are flexible and if you do it right it could entertain them while you get some laundry folded or the dishes put away. Not to mention it really teaches them some dexterity and helps with speech development as they stand there and repeatedly say PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH as they are working out. Gives an entire new meaning to the word “funbags”.

When was the last time you looked at your va-jay-jay in the mirror and thought where in the hell did that hair come from? Unless you are twelve, it’s probably been a while. Now what about your boobs? Be honest here ladies, you know you have been giving the girls their monthly fondle (you DO perform a monthly fondle don’t you?) and you suddenly scream out, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? Then you realize that where there is one, there is two. HOLY SHIT, there is THREE! What do I do now? Pluck the bastards? Braid them? Leave them alone? Are they like grey hairs and if you pull them out three more appear? AM I TURNING INTO A SASQUATCH?

So to my dear boobs. cans. jugs. hooters. ~~punching~~ funbags. chesticles.: I am sorry for the years of neglect. I’m sorry for taking you for granted and not always offering you the support you need. You have accomplished so much and I have been unfair in giving all the credit to your southern neighbor. You have worked hard and the years have not been good to you, so from here on out I promise to lift you up when you are feeling down. I promise not to diminish the impressiveness of your work resume and I will quit comparing you to the cavernous being that was once my vag. I will try to erase the memories of your youth and perkiness and embrace your now floppy and elongated appearance. Together we have done amazing things, so please quit hanging your head. Chin up butter cups, we have some good years left in us.

Oh, one last thing. Could you do me just one more favor and go ahead and cancel the rest of your trip to the southern hemisphere? If you could make that happen, that would be simply fab. mmmmmmkay?

I would be remiss if I didn’t thank some of my best girls for the inspiration for this piece. Once again you are a reminder that we are never, EVER alone in our thoughts and feelings. I would be curled up in the fetal position ashamed of my saggy titties if it wasn’t for you. I LOVE YOU.

Filed Under: Humor, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Women

Do You Have Any Concerns?

June 10, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 1 Comment

Every time I take my kids to the pediatrician I endure the same barrage of questions. Are your kids drinking milk? Do they eat a mix of foods? Do they poop regularly? With five kids I’m sure you can imagine the frequency in which we ~~torment~~ grace that office with our presence, so the need to answer these questions every. single. time. gets more irritating than a heat rash on a hot Kansas summer day. I know that she is only doing her job, but one would think that at this point in our doctor/crazy parent relationship, it would be well documented that we drink an obscene amount of milk and thanks to the well-balanced diet that we eat, we go through more toilet paper than a fraternity house the morning after a kegger.

There is always one question though that causes me to pause and really think about my answer. Once she lets out the “Do you have any concerns?” I swear I break out in a sweat and have to remind myself that it’s a doctor’s office not a therapist’s couch. I’m a mom. I have five kids. I have more concerns than Johnny Depp has adoring fans. Maybe for the next visit I should write out a list and see if she can answer them. Questions like:

Are my kids being bullied or are they the bully? Can I really protect them from or prevent either?

Will they tell me if something is wrong?

Can we really ground them until they are 30?

Will they out live me?

It’s expensive enough just feeding them, how will I be able to afford college/weddings/leaving a legacy for five kids?

How do I know I’m doing this right?

Helpful hints for surviving the teen years?

Wine really is good for you, right?

I could go on and on and on but I think you all get the point. We’ve talked many times about how HARD this parenting gig is. We have absolutely no guarantee that we are on the right path, but all we can do is jump in with both feet and just hope that we will get some of it right. Sure we can put helmets on them when they ride their bikes and cut their hot dogs up into a hundred little pieces. We can regulate what they do online and we can decide if they get to go to a party or not. We can ground them for as long as we please and we can tell them to change their clothes before they can leave the house.

What we can NOT do is be looking over their shoulders 24/7. Kids are sneaky little buggers and are capable of so much trickery and chicanery. It only takes them a second to make a horrible decision like divulging their name and address in a chat room or giving out a credit card number without even thinking about the consequences. While they must be left to learn some things for themselves, when it comes to online safety we must be proactive in teaching them that there must be limits to what you share. As their parents it is up to us to show them that in this virtual world we live in you MUST be vigilant in protecting what is yours, especially your identity.

Our kids look to us for examples, and by showing our little people how to make good decisions online, and by utilizing amazing products like LifeLock to protect ourselves, we can have more time to worry about the little things like what’s for dinner, or whose turn it is to take out the trash.

FTC DISCLOSURE REQUIREMENT You Know it Happens at Your House Too aims to provide unbiased editorials. However, I wish to disclose that from time to time I may receive free products or other compensation from companies for blogger reviews.

Filed Under: Ad, Children, Sponsored

Don’t Be An Asshole

June 4, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 8 Comments

At some point in our lives, we are all an asshole. Don’t try to deny it and act like you aren’t because even the nicest of you have at one time or another had one of those fits of raging assholeyness. Some suffer from momentary slips into the world of assholes while some have their own mailing address at 1 Asshole Way. I can admit that I have had many a time in which my inner asshole has reared it’s very ugly head (hell, this post may even be one of them), but fortunately I can acknowledge it, be one with my inner asshole, and reign it in when the need arises. Unfortunately many suffer from such severe cases of asshole-itis that they are unable to even recognize the fact that they are in a perpetual state of being a raging asshole. This is a very serious condition. One that if left untreated can affect the lives of all that come in contact with those infected.

In an effort raise asshole awareness, I present to you this list of some of the most common offenders. The more you know, the more you too can prevent the spread of assholey behavior.

The I’mabetterparentthanyou-hole: Usually found at places like the park, the pool, any place with a germ-infested play place. This asshole will most likely be found with an arsenal of anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer. It may be difficult to control your mouth around this one due to their ridiculous requests for you to stop your children from using the slide until their child is outside the three feet safety circle at the bottom or to please not splash little Sally as they jump in the pool because she is still getting adjusted to the water temperature. By all means be prepared for the apocalypse if you don’t follow little Johnny into the play place to supervise his every move. There is a very good chance that you are constantly being judged by this one and you will witness an extreme amount of eye-rolls and unintelligible mumbling under their breath, especially if you take a more laid back approach to your parenting. No matter what you do, you are wrong in the eyes of this asshole.

The Doc-hole: We parents know this one way too well. You show up early for your kids’ appointment out of fear of being late because you know that if you are tardy even by a few minutes you will have to reschedule and pay a cancellation fee. This guy though, works on HIS schedule. Yours is insignificant. They call you back into that six by six cell, I mean examination room, and you wait. Two hours later you leave with a migraine and the dreaded “it’s a virus” diagnosis knowing damn well that you will return in a weeks time to repeat the entire process again because it was actually NOT a virus. Warm up your credit card, here comes another co-pay.

The Jock-hole: This kind of asshole thinks that they know all there is to know about sports. Can often be found on the bleachers yelling instructions to the players or screaming at the refs. These instructions are usually the complete opposite of what the players should actually be doing and nine times out of ten they don’t even know what the rules are. Jock-holes usually believe that their offspring will be the next big thing in sports. Be sure to test your kids’ coaches for this terrible affliction as it has been known to run rampant amongst them as well. There are many wonderful coaches out there, find them and never leave them or be one of them yourself.

The Lazy-hole: Can be found anywhere. Is popular in the office, in volunteer groups, on the interwebs, and in your house. These assholes are willing to take all the credit when awesome things happen but are not willing to get off their lazy ass to do any of the work needed to actually make it happen. This person could be disguised as your boss, your co-worker, a fellow board member, or even your children. They have no problem stealing your work and claiming it as their own. These types are hard to combat, but they don’t like the word NO. Use it. Frequently.

The Sancti-hole: This asshole doesn’t even realize how big of an asshole he really is. They spend most of their time pretending to be perfect and angelic while in reality they secretly do all the things they preach against. They are great at giving the appearance that they live that picture-perfect life, but behind closed doors they are miserable. They spend a shit-ton of time on Facebook clogging up your news feed with posts full of useless information that they don’t even understand themselves. This asshole is like a bad rash, they will go away for a while but when they return they will be even more irritating than before.

The Sarcasa-hole: This one is dangerous. Their sarcasm is so far advanced that they were able to be a major asshole and it took you a couple of hours to figure it out. You have to watch out for these, they are very tricky.

The Ihopeyourotinhell-hole: This one is the one I have no tolerance for. They can often be found on the internet because they are too chicken-shit to show their faces in public. They spend their days in their mother’s basement trolling the interwebs for ways to lash out at unsuspecting posters. They usually make hurtful comments in an attempt to spread the herpes. They use phrases like “I hope all you fuckers burn in hell” and “why don’t you just go kill yourself”. Whatever you do, DO NOT ENGAGE this type of asshole. You just can’t argue with this kind of stupid.

Mega-hole: This is the beast of all assholes. A culmination of all breeds. The asshole of all assholes. You must take extreme caution when dealing with one of these creatures as they are the Dark Side of the asshole world. Before tackling one of these head on, be sure to brush up on your Jedi mind tricks because these assholes can turn you into one of their own faster than my kids can destroy my living room.

Please my friends, use this guide and be prepared when you encounter an asshole. They usually travel in packs so never let your guard down. Together we can raise awareness and conquer this terrible disease.

Filed Under: Humor, opinions, trolls

The Power of Girlfriends

May 28, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 3 Comments

This weekend I received a lovely surprise visit from my Bestie. We have been best friends since 1987 so I am quite certain that she knows more about me than anyone else on this planet. She was there when I met Farmer Bob, she was there when I married Farmer Bob, she’s always there when I need her to be. Always. As we were talking above the screams of our children it dawned on me how much we all need that one friend, or group of friends, that simply understand. That listen without judging or criticizing. That give advice without being condescending and that laugh when we need them to laugh. That aren’t afraid to tell us to shut the hell up when we aren’t making any sense. That may not always agree with what we are saying, but are willing to listen anyway. That give us that little reminder that we aren’t alone.

Before you get all worried about Farmer Bob and his feelings, I’m not talking about significant others here. I’m talking girl. friends. Farmer Bob does many of those things (especially telling me to shut my pie-hole), but you know as well as I do that there is just nothing like venting to a girlfriend about “things”. He doesn’t want to talk about my saggy boobs and my menstrual cycle. He doesn’t give two shits about what kind of laundry detergent I use or what I put in that salad. Unless it has to do with tractors, grains, cows, or sex he just doesn’t really care. I probably shouldn’t say he doesn’t care because he does, but you girls know what I mean. <speaking of shutting my pie-hole…NOW, do it NOW>

There is something relaxing about sitting on the couch or around a table with your girlfriends. Something that releases those tight muscles and loosens the tongue, and I’m not just talking about the effects of the wine. You lose some of your inhibitions and the words start to spill out of you like the milk out of the jug when your toddler drops that full gallon on the kitchen floor. When it’s just you and your amigas, nothing is off-limits. Only with the girls do you feel comfortable talking about the post-childbirth floppy butterfly, or the fact that you have to pick up your boobs in order to fit them securely in your bra. No one else but the girls can relate to the fact that while you may be losing hair from the top of your head, you are finding it on your lip, or your chin, or your <insert random body part here> .

No one but other mommas ‘get it’ when you mention something about your desire to tell your kids to quit being inconsiderate assholes or wanting to scream at them to just PICK UP THEIR SHIT. The dads, they get it, honestly they do, but it’s different. They have a gift that we just don’t. The magical ability to ignore. Ignore all the asshole behavior until the magnitude of assholeyness has reached a level that even the hubs himself could not surpass. Asshole level: Defcon 5. This is not going to be pretty. One massive explosion of orders and dad has his offspring cleaning faster than a crew of Merry Maids. If I were to attempt to use this method, PITA would probably flash me a quick view of his wiener and run off and dump out a bucket of Legos while laughing his cute little meniacal laugh.

When we are having one of those shittastic mothering days or feeling like a less than stellar wife, it is hearing those equally horrifying stories from your friends that make you feel less like a failure and more like a normal person. It is knowing that you aren’t the only one cleaning boogers off your television or walking away from lunch because your toddler is throwing a tantrum over the way you cut up his hot dog. Realizing that your friend also shoves Cookie Crisp in her mouth as she’s walking out the door because there wasn’t time to eat a better breakfast. Having that ‘A HA’ moment when an amiga tells you that she just doesn’t feel like being touched in a sexy way after being groped by an octopus all day long. There is a feeling of normalcy that overtakes you knowing that your kid isn’t the only one to take a dump on the sidewalk or that you aren’t the only one that gets tired playing cruise director and party planner.

So I guess where I was going with this is that if you don’t have you some girlfriends that you can dish with, you have GOT to get you some. As my bestie said so eloquently after our visit, “ just a few hours with my bestie is like a massage, therapy session and a Xanax all rolled into one”. You don’t get better than that.

Have you missed some posts? If you put your email address up there in that little white box on the top left, you won’t miss again. BOOM, they show up right in your in-box. Isn’t that AWESOME?

Filed Under: Friendship, girls, Gratitude, Humor, Love, Motherhood, parenting, Thankful, Women

A Day in the Life of a Working Dad

May 23, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 4 Comments

Today I offer you a guest post from my friend James Hudyma, creative genius behind Dads Round Table and all around nice guy. His Twitter bio is as follows: Dad. Husband. Teacher. Minivan. Some hair. Some gut. Strong coffee. Guitars. Songwriter. EduDad. Dads Round Table. I think he may have left off a few things. Words like: Talented. Supportive. Funny.

We see posts all the time about working moms and stay at home moms, so I thought why not try to get the point of view from a working dad. I knew James was (is) a teacher so I asked him to write something for me as a dad that not only works hard to provide for his family, but works even harder to be involved with his kids. I was fortunate enough to receive a quick, affirmative response from James and I danced a little jig when this arrived in my email. I want to thank him profusely for taking the time to write this for me, and I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into the life of a Modern Working Dad.

A Typical Day in the Life of a Modern Working Dad

One of my favorite books is Life of Pi by Yann Martel. Featured in the book are two very different renditions of the same experience. One has a tiger. One is more realistic. In the spirit of this book I am going to tell two tales about A Typical Day in the Life of a Modern Working Dad. One is blog life. One is more realistic.

Ebbs and Flows of Joy and Pain: A Modern Working Dad

Saying good-bye to my children each morning is a dagger in my heart. As I give them one last hug and kiss I bask in their love and look lovingly into their eyes and I tell them with all my heart they are my reason for living.

As I drive to work my mind lingers on the beautiful faces of my children and I shake my fist at a world where both parents must work. When I arrive in the parking lot I meditate quietly to clear my mind and focus on how these hours away from my family are financially necessary.

My eyes often wander to my desk where portraits of my family greet me; I smile externally but inside my heart is alight with a bittersweet glow. Bitter because I pine to be with them at that moment but sweet because they bring me so much joy.

I could go on but I’m starting to make myself sick. I love my kids. I would die for my kids but the art and poetry these bloggers paint their feelings with only makes me feel like a horrible failure as a parent. Whenever I think of my kids it makes me feel happy but I don’t think about them all the time. That would be weird. Right?

Next is more realistic story.

Wednesday

Morning

It takes forever to get out the door because my wife has to give the kids one more last-hug-and-kiss and then one more last-hug-and-kiss. We tell them we love them and to have a great day. When we finally leave for work I feel no guilt about leaving the kids in the care of our nanny. Why would I? My wife, also a teacher, is guilt ridden even though she was raised by a working mom. Why is that?

The Commute to Work

On days my wife and I take separate vehicles I just crank the music and rock out until I get to school. On days we drive together we’ll talk until I drop her off at her school and then the rockin’ begins. We always talk about the kids. Mostly we worry.

The Work Day

I teach. When I see my family pictures on my desk it makes me smile.

The Commute Home

Loud music until I get home or until I pick my wife up from her school. We talk about the kids. Mostly we worry.

Afterschool Activities

I take the kids to their activities. We sing songs and talk on the way there. When the activity begins I watch a bit and play on my phone a bit. The parent not on a phone judges us. I feel guilty and play on my phone a little less. On the way home there is more
singing and talking.

Whoever isn’t with me is with mom. We really believe one on one time is important so even though it would be more efficient, we book our children’s activities on different days.

Family Dinner

My wife cooks with the assistance of whichever kid is home with her. We always eat dinner together. It’s a time to connect, practice manners, and talk about our day. I do the dishes with whichever kid was out with me. After all is said and done we go outside to play. If the weather is bad we head downstairs to play.

Bedtime Routine

Bath. Read books and do homework. Snack. Brush teeth. Tuck in. We alternate kids so if I tuck in my son tonight, I’ll tuck in my daughter tomorrow night. I tell stories. My wife sings songs.

The Kids are Asleep

This is the only time I get to myself. If I’m going to go out with friends, this is when I go. If my wife and I take time for each other, whether that time is at home or on a date, this is when we take it. Most nights:

My wife reads. I write articles for Dads Round Table. We go to bed. We talk about the kids. Mostly we worry.

Most of my struggles as a working dad are the same as any other parent. As far as balancing work and home, I will leave you with this:

I’m a dad. I do my very best to be the best dad I can be. I’m a teacher. I do my very best to be the best teacher I can be. Finding a balance between the two can be difficult but I’ve found I’m happiest when I prioritize family first. My kids get more of me than my career and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I want thank James from the bottom of my sweet little heart for writing this for me. It is so nice to not only get the view from a dad, but to have a little help here on the old blog. Be sure to follow James on his website, on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Johnny Depp, Party of Two, Your Table is Ready

May 16, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 17 Comments

I’ve been doing some deep thinking about resurrecting this mission of meeting up with you for months. Seriously, this post has been in my drafts since February. I add things, I delete things. I’ve started over multiple times and I’ve stayed up many a night wondering how to make it work. I’ve made lists and I’ve written some real crap. I don’t know why in the hell I worry so much about it. I am certain that ~~some~~ many would say to me to just move the fuck on, but for some reason I just can’t let it go. I have this nagging voice in my head that won’t let me give up. I swear it feels like I’m trying to do something not just for myself, but for so many of my friends who support me and what I’m doing here on a daily basis. My thought processes have been so random lately it has been hard to come up with the perfect approach.

First it was making one of those pics asking for one million Facebook likes and then you would agree to set something up. Surely that shit works for all those people whose faces show up in my news feed. If hundreds/thousands/a million people think it should happen, then it will. Right? I then had a glass of wine and remembered how redonkulous those are so I made this one, just to add that special touch to this post. Totally not the least bit embarrassing.

Um…no.

Hey! How about a working with an amazing company to create something inspired by you? Hell yeah I did that. I worked with my amigas over at A Girl and Her Band to create this AMAZING headband, appropriately named Captain Jack, that is now available on their website. For now I had to use a miniature version of you to show it off, but I will bring one with me when we meet so that we can do something incredible for these inspiring ladies.

Since I can’t rely on getting one million Facebook likes to make something happen, I am going to have to rely on my writing skills for this. Sonofa…. Trying to decide which path to take here has been difficult. I did the letter, I’ve done the movie review, I’ve even gotten my ass up at four in the morning on a whim holding on to that slim chance that I would have a chance to meet you. I could sit here and blabber on about how much I adore you and how much I think you are all that and a bag of chips and how all your movies are spectacular, but even my five-year-old could read through that bullshit. What could I possibly write that would be different from the millions of other letters that you receive?

It was when I was talking with the Enabler and she asked me: If you had the chance to actually sit and talk to him, what would you talk about? Holy. Shit. Why did I not think of this sooner? I need to brainstorm over wine more often.

Let’s just imagine for a minute can we, you and I at a table in a quaint little restaurant. I have a salad because I probably can’t really eat out of fear of having something in my teeth, or having gas; you have a full plate of delightful food and I am extremely jealous because I’m starving. Both of us would have wine of course, except I would most likely down the first glass to calm my nerves. Don’t be alarmed, this will make the conversation much more interesting for both of us. We would get the bullshit out-of-the-way immediately. Yes, I have five kids. Yes, they are all mine. Yes, they were all planned. Yes, they all have the same daddy. Yes, I’m happily married. Yes, we really farm. Oh wait, you thought that YOU would be answering all the questions. I just assumed that you would be so intrigued by me that your list of questions would be never-ending. My bad.

Once you were finished with all your questions, I am confident that I could come up with some suitable conversation starters. I usually suffer from a serious case of verbal diarrhea, especially when I’m nervous, so there is no doubt that it would lead to many foot in mouth moments so please be sure to bring your sense of humor. Rest assured I would at least make the effort to appear like I have half a clue. I am fairly educated and I read quality <ahem> literature (like my own book, I Just Want to Pee Alone) when I have time (which isn’t very often) so surely I will be able to keep up with the conversation. I joke, but really these days I am just trying my best just to form logical thoughts and form coherent sentences. Thanks to my kids I don’t know how much I have left upstairs so I need to seize the moment and utilize what I’ve got while I still have it. The amount of quality adult interaction that I get to enjoy really is limited, so don’t be scared to just tell me to shut the hell up if I happen to get a little wordy.

In all seriousness though, I don’t want to interview you. I am sure you sit through so many of those snore-fests you don’t need another session of the same boring-ass questions. I’m not a journalist trying to land that big movie star interview in order to further my career. I’m a mom who writes for a little bit of mental therapy. I put my thoughts out there for total strangers to read with the hopes that maybe I will give someone a smile or encourage someone to make a change. If it’s a good day I will help someone get just the laugh that they needed to push them up from the depths of grumpiness or help that stressed out momma realize that she isn’t alone. That the very same shit that she has dealt with today, happened in my house yesterday. Luckily for me, very few people (translation my family and a handful of friends) would even know who I was if they saw me walking down the street. Anonymity definitely has it’s perks.

I have absolutely no agenda and I have no wonderful story to tell you as to why I deserve to meet you. I lead what many would consider an “ordinary” life on a farm in the middle of Kansas. I have nothing spectacular to tell you about myself besides I have five amazing kids and one very supportive husband. I can tell you that I’m a devoted fan, a devoted wife and mother to my family, and a devoted writer and entertainer for all my friends. I drink, I swear, I say what I think and do what I say I will. I make people laugh, I make my kids cry, and I have terrible indigestion right now because I know it’s time to hit the publish button on this post and the people, they will read it and they will roll their eyes, and for fucks sake I hope they share it and blow up the internet. I suppose I will leave the rest up to the power of the interwebs, fate….and you.

Peace. Out. xoxo

Filed Under: Family, Friendship, Gratitude, Johnny Depp, Uncategorized, wine

Mom, Are We Poor?

May 8, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 22 Comments

What. In. The. Hell. Not quite the question I expected to get from my eleven year old as I conducted my normal post school day interrogation Upon further questioning it came to light that a classmate had asked her if we were poor because she didn’t have any school pictures to bring home like some of the others. If there ever was a time in which I ever wanted to suggest to my child to tell someone to fuck off and mind their own business, this was it. Um…have you seen school pictures lately? Horrendous. Besides, the condition of my checkbook is no business of a fifth grader. Not even my own.

After drying her tears and reassuring her that we are in fact not poor, I felt it the opportune time to inform her that we are not what many would consider rich either. While we are not financially strapped and are able to provide our kids with the things that they need, it takes some planning on our part to be able to give them the things that they want. More importantly I wanted to stress to her that while we may not be monetarily rolling in the dough, we are rich in so many other ways. Ways that she may not understand at this exact moment. Ways that don’t agree with her “cater to me right now” mentality. Ways that maybe some of her friends don’t get to enjoy.

We live in a ninety-year-old house. Not just any old house mind you, Farmer Bob grew up in this house. While it doesn’t have sparkly new fixtures, cable TV and brand new carpet, it has things that are so much better. It has character and memories and an outhouse. We have a fort in the trees and hay in the barn to play hide and seek in. We have open space to play baseball in the yard and plenty of room to get away from each other if we need to. We have food on the table and clothes on our backs. We have fun together, we fight, we argue, we love. We are a family.

Being rich in the monetary sense would be fantastic don’t get me wrong. To not have to worry about how to cover this bill or that bill, to be able to give our kids a few of the things that are wanted whenever desired would be an amazing feeling. The question I have to keep asking myself is would I be willing to sacrifice so many wonderful moments in order to have the financial stability to satisfy what would undoubtedly become insatiable appetites for shit that serves no other purpose than to allow our family to slowly disintegrate into seven separate entities instead of one strong familial unit? The answer to that…HELL NO.

It is never easy to tell our kids no, you don’t need that. As parents we have this primordial desire to provide for them, to satisfy their every desire. We feel as if we are failing them if we can’t serve them everything that they want and need on a silver platter. Maybe we are actually failing them if we do throw all their earthly desires at their feet with no request for repayment. Are we raising a generation of entitled assholes? I hear how kids talk to their parents, my own included. I see the look of fear in a mother’s eyes of what might happen if she says no to that toy, my own included. It scares the shit out of me. Scares me that as parents we allow it. That it seems that we really are raising the kind of adults that we ourselves can’t stand to be around.

What scares me even more is the thought that these kids won’t grow up to appreciate the things that don’t cost a fortune. That they won’t understand that you don’t have to be rich in the financial sense to be rich in so many other ways. That family comes first and the rest of it is just “stuff”. That we have riches that far exceed anything that money can buy. That in fact, some of the best things in life truly are free and can’t be captured in some stupid school picture.

Filed Under: Children, Chores, Family, Gratitude, kids, Love, Motherhood, parenting, Uncategorized

I Swear if You Win This Crappy Prize You’ll Get to Just Pee Alone

May 3, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 66 Comments

Once upon a time there was a mother who appeared to have her life together. Her clothes were always clean, she had no need for , and her hair and makeup were perfection every time she left the house. She just knew that if she left the house not looking like then all the other moms in her circle would think she was a mess. She HAD to look like she had a damn clue. She HAD to appear to have it all together. What these “friends” didn’t know about this mother was that while she seemed to have it all together on the outside, on the inside she had so many secrets. Secrets that she felt she could never tell anyone because they would then think she was a craptastic wife/mother/woman.

She wanted to let her secrets out. She NEEDED to tell someone with the hopes she would discover she wasn’t alone. She wanted to announce to the world that she occasionally has sweet dreams about and that it is possible that she has a small fondness for . (Who does that? I mean Johnny Depp, really? Can’t she be original? Sheesh.) She wanted to get her friends drunk and swap stories about well endowed men and sex and vaginas and boobs. She wanted to help them to realize that talking about these things doesn’t make them shitty wives, they make them normal women with healthy libidos which in turn makes them BETTER wives.

She didn’t want to be judged for drinking too much in the morning, or too much at night, because damn it, those are the things that help her get through the day. Throw in an obscene amount of and at times it was the only way she could stop the one-way train to crazy town. She wanted to help her friends realize that it’s normal for their kids to drive them bat shit crazy from time to time and that it is more than acceptable to drink a glass a wine or eat half a package of chocolate if that is what helps bring the blood pressure down to a manageable level. She needed to know that she wasn’t alone in this and that the time for pretending that motherhood is full of rainbows and glitter has passed. It was time to cut the shit.

She was going to tell her friends that she didn’t have it all together. She wanted them to know that in reality all she really wanted to do was lock herself in the bathroom and scream !!!! She wanted to scream it from the fucking mountaintops that she was proud to be a curse word aficionado, and card-carrying member of the club. She wanted to admit that her life with her kids is nowhere near as perfect as she pretends it to be. She knew deep down that if people wanted to know about her life as a mother, she should probably just hand out copies of to all. She knew that these three books were her life in a mashed up nutshell and she hadn’t even had the time or the money to add them to her collection. She needed to get her hands on them. STAT.

So when this woman saw the opportunity from and to win an amazing Mother’s Day survival basket, she knew she had to enter for her chance to win copies of , , and . Throw in a $25 spa gift card, a DVD copy of , not to mention (chocolate) and (coffee and a mug) and she knew she had to enter. She just knew in her heart that she would win and once she did, she would no longer give a shit what her so-called “perfect” friends thought of her. She pictured herself telling all those Judgy McJudgerson bitches to take a long walk off a short pier, and then she would take her prize and retreat to her bedroom on Mother’s Day where she would lock the door and lay around drinking coffee while reading these amazing and hilarious books and shoving all the chocolate into her mouth.

It couldn’t be any easier to win. All a girl has to do is to leave a comment on this blog telling a secret that she keeps from her circle of friends. What does she secretly snack on while her kids are sleeping? Who did she dream about last night? What curse words does she use when she is home alone but would never say in front of another person? Does she dream of leaving the house with her hair in a messy bun and no make-up? Does she have a certain friend that she secretly can’t stand? It really doesn’t matter what it is, let it out here!

Recap: 1. Up for grabs, a kick ass prize pack containing a signed copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone, a signed copy of Moms Who Drink and Swear, a copy of Parenting, Illustrated With Crappy Pictures, plus a $25 spa gift card, chocolate, coffee and a mug, and a DVD.

2. Enter by a) leaving a comment on the blog telling us a racy secret and b) drop your info in the Rafflecopter. You can’t win if you don’t do both.

3. Check your email on 5/7 to see if you have won. Good luck to you all!

Entries will be accepted until Midnight CST on 5/6/2013. The winner will be contacted via email and if no response is given within 24 hours a new winner will be drawn! Good luck!!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Don’t want to wait? Click on the books below and order your copies RIGHT NOW. While you are at it be sure to order copies for your mother/mother-in-law/grandmother/aunts/neighbors/cousins/OB-GYN/worst enemy. They all MUST read all three of these books. You never know, it may just lighten them up just a little. Help them remove the stick. Laughter, it really is the best medicine.

Filed Under: Book, Friendship, Gifts, Giveaway, Humor, I Just Want to Pee Alone, Johnny Depp, Motherhood, The Underachievers Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess, YKIHAYHT

Have You Found All Your Pieces?

April 30, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 8 Comments

Lately life has felt like a puzzle. A puzzle right out of the box with pieces scattered, turned every which way, some upside down, some right side up. Some gathered in a pile, some flung across the table. It’s pure chaos. I’ve been trying to gather my pieces and reassemble myself into a beautiful picture but have been unsure about my ability to achieve such a lofty goal. It’s so hard to find the time to take a break, to leave everything behind and take some time to organize all the pieces. Taking time to find the misplaced pieces and to throw out the few pieces that don’t belong anymore. There comes a time when you must stop, look at the picture on the box, and take a good look at all the pieces to decide what needs to be done in order to put the puzzle back together.

I teach my kids to always do the edges first because they are the most vital part to the puzzle. They are the starting point. They give you the boundaries, and idea of how the rest of the puzzle will go together. If the edges are all screwed up, the rest of the puzzle is fucked. It’s unorganized and you are not even able to complete it. Farmer Bob, he’s my edges. I honestly can not do a damn thing without him. He’s not afraid to tell me when I’m being a total jackhole and he always gives me support and help when I need it. He keeps me grounded and helps me keep my pieces together.

It had been eleven years since we had gone anywhere alone. Eleven years. Think about that for a minute. It is redonkulous and embarrassing to even say out loud. Even though we see each other every day, it had been ELEVEN YEARS (have you picked up that it has been too damn long?) since we had taken the time to do something for just us. While we are confident that we have all of our edge pieces properly assembled, we realized that it had been entirely too long since we had taken the time to make damn sure that all the pieces are in the right place. This weekend we straightened our edges. Meals alone without stopping to take someone pee or to cut up someone’s steak, great times with some great friends, naps, a few drinks, and The Black Keys. Edge pieces….check.

Now it’s time to put together the rest of the puzzle. There are so many different pieces that all have to fit together just right in order to complete the picture. Some pieces have gotten lost along the way and the search is on in order to find them. Some pieces have been bent in half or become mangled and will have to be straightened out, or even glued together, in order to fit again. Some pieces are in the box but don’t fit in the puzzle and will need to be removed. Some pieces have been right there all this time, and even thought it was believed that they did not even fit into this puzzle, they may actually end up being the that one piece that has been missing the entire time. It is even possible to find some new pieces that you thought would never fit in your puzzle, but to your delight they fit just like they have been there from the beginning.

Take the time to look at your puzzle. Really look at all of the pieces. Spread them out, turn them over, sort them out, and really look at them. It isn’t an easy task that is for sure. There is nothing easy about searching for the lost pieces and it is hard as hell to throw out the pieces that don’t fit any longer, but taking the time to really look at them before putting them together is so enlightening and refreshing and at times frightening.

This weekend I finally took some time to examine my pieces. I turned them all right side up, found some pieces that were lost, decided that some pieces just don’t fit so they needed to be removed, and remembered exactly what the final picture is supposed to look like. While I still have some work to do before I have a puzzle worthy of some permanent glue, at least now I have the right pieces in my possession and judging by the picture on the box, I think the final product is going to be pretty fucking spectacular.

Filed Under: Famer Bob, Family, Friendship, Gratitude, Love, Marriage, Motherhood, Thankful, Vacation

Parenting Skills I Picked Up Playing Those Pesky Board Games

April 24, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 4 Comments

We play a ton of board games around here. “Mom, can you play a board game with me?” is one of the most popular questions around here. Sometimes it is the same game for a few days in a row and at times, with a little prodding, we can switch it up to something a little more exciting. As I was returning lost pieces to the game closet, I perused our selection of games and started thinking (which is always dangerous) about how playing these games as a kid myself unknowingly prepared me for parenthood. You with me so far? Here we go:

Guess Who: You know the crime, but who did it? Do they have blonde hair? Do they still poop their pants? Do they have a vagina or a penis? Can they read? Wipe their own butts? Speak in full sentences? Are they clothed? Do they have food in their hair?

Clue: Very similar to Guess Who with the added stress of discovering the crime and the weapon of choice. I suspect it was the five-year-old, in the living room, with the permanent marker. No? How about the eight-year-old, in the closet, with the scissors?

Chutes and Ladders: You bust your ass to get all the way up to the top only to slip-up and have to slide all the way back to the beginning. Relevant for things like potty training, eating with utensils, turning laundry right-side out, and of course proper table manners. Didn’t we just have the discussion last night about not farting at the table?

Memory: Who has practice tonight? Where is that concert? What cookies? How many kids do I have again? Where is my grocery list? Why did I walk into this room?

Operation: The one game you see as pointless until you need to remove that splinter or that bean from someone’s nose. How in the hell did you get rocks in your butt? Is that a Lego in your ear? If you don’t poop soon I’m going to have to help you out. I promise, this will only hurt for a second.

Monopoly: You bust your ass to save money and in the blink of an eye some asshole has taken it all. This game also taught us the fine art of patience because it. never. ends.

Perfection: Working under pressure seems to work pretty well until you run out of time and all hell breaks loose. You scream, you yell, you pee just a little.

Risk: Logistics. Trying to decide if you really want to head into the tween’s bedroom for a surprise cleaning? Do you have big enough balls to attempt to overtake the enemy that is the shithole they live in? Once you conquer one enemy you have to re-evaluate your troops (AKA, your caffeine intake) to see if you have the supplies to attempt an attack on the next. If you go in unprepared, make sure to have an ample supply of reinforcements for afterwards (AKA, wine).

Hungry Hungry Hippos: Quick, shove all the food in your mouth. Meal time really is a race to see who can get done first.

Mousetrap: Chase them around all day long, but you aren’t going to catch them unless you construct some high-falootin contraption…that works. All else fails, offer cheese.

Don’t Break the Ice: You can tiptoe around all day in an effort to keep everyone safe and happy, but one wrong move and you are screwed.

Battleship: You have to ask around in order to find that permission slip for the field trip or that one missing shoe. Where is the TV remote? I know I had that secret stash of chocolate somewhere. You never know where it is, but with the right questions and the use of the fine art of elimination, hopefully you can find what you were looking for.

Trivial Pursuit: You think you know everything that your kids are doing but in reality, you know JACK. SQUAT.

Who wants to play with me?

Are you in the Kansas City area? Clear your schedule for Saturday, April 27 and come join myself, Jen from People I Want to Punch in the Throat, and Stacey from Nurse Mommy Laughs for an I Just Want to Pee Alone book signing event from 10:00-12:00 at The Mommy Shop, 14870 Metcalf Ave, Overland Park, KS. There will be snacks and more importantly mimosas. We would love to see you there!

Mother’s Day is quickly approaching. You know what would make great gifts? These books right here. You need them. Your mom needs them. Your mother-in-law/aunt/grandmother/teacher/neighbor/best friend need them. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.