Tag Archives: marriage

Awkward V-day Moments With The Kids

I Want to Puke of Love and Other V-Day Inappropriateness After Having KidsThis is still one of my favorite V-Day moments (awkwardness, inappropriateness, and fear for my safety aside).

On February 14th a few years back, Ry, my daughter, then 5 years old, trotted into my room to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day, to hand me a stunning hand-made card, and to neck. 

Sure, they tell you not to make-out with your kids, but sometimes there’s a fine line between so cute and so scary. 

What parent doesn’t secretly love it when their child says they want to marry them (assuming they’re too young for marriage at the time)? I mean, for how many more years are they going to want to hug, snuggle, or hold hands?

“This card is sooo beautiful. Come give Mommy a kiss,”  I said in a very innocent non-romantic way. 

Ry, maybe wanting to show me the magnitude of the holiday, grabbed my face with both hands and planted the biggest soap opera smooch on me. I started to giggle mid-peck… 

“Ummm, okay cutie,”  I said feeling partly amused and partly violated. Continue reading

What Those V-Day Candy Sweethearts Should REALLY Say – After Marriage Edition

What Sweetheart Candies SHOULD Say After a Few Years of MarriageI’ve had some awkward V-Day Moments, from my 5yo trying to soap opera kiss me to my hubby trying to stuff himself and champagne into an undersized NYC bathtub in our undersized NYC apartment to my dauther telling me, I make her want to “puke of love”. That said, I’ve decided this year will not be awkward. No, we will all be realistic in our planning and our phrasing.

As I picked up a pack of those V-Day conversation hearts (the candies that are supposed to represent the sweet nothings you would whisper in your lover’s ear before bed, like: I LOVE U, B MINE, KISS ME…), I thought, this is anything but realistic phrasing.   Those sayings are more saccharine sweet than the candy, so I made a list that resembles real pillow talk. These are the phrases that should be etched on those cute little hearts, after a few years of marriage.

Be warned: this list is not for newlyweds, so you can refrain from reading and telling me how blissful your marriage is. Give it a few years. Ahem- I mean, I’m happy for you.






R THOSE UR TOENAILS? Continue reading

Women Can Be Such Bitches|But Sometimes People Deserve It

woman-frustratedFun fact: This is an old post that I took down because I got so much flack for being such a horrible wife. Now, 3 years later, I’m over 40 and frankly don’t care if you people think I’m a horrible wife. Also, if I’m being honest, we all have our meltdowns and our horrible wife moments, if you don’t than you probably shouldn’t be at this particular site. PS you know who really thought this post was funny, my husband.

Hubby: “Jenny are you busy?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m writing.” Continue reading

Come One Come All

Like the great city of New York, I’m giving away vibrators, seriously. What am I talking about? How did this happen? How could you win?

If you’ve cracked open a paper or macbook recently, including the NY Post, whose headline read: Buzz Kill – city stops sex-toy giveaway, you would know that the lines to get a free Trojan sex toy in NYC yesterday stretched for blocks, clogging streets and blocking store fronts — Continue reading

What Those Candy Hearts Should REALLY Say – After Marriage – A little post V-Day fun

While searching for a pic I found this. I guess I

On Valentine’s Day I was reading through the V-day Sweethearts, you know, the conversation hearts, the ones that are supposed to represent the sweet nothings you would whisper in your lover’s ear before bed. Like: I love you, be mine, kiss me… blah blah blah. So in that vein, I’ve made a list of what should be etched in red on those cute little hearts.

BTW this article is not for newlyweds, so you can refrain from reading and telling me how head over heels you are. Give it a few years. Ahem- I mean, I’m happy for you. Frankly, you can avoid this article unless you’re past the 7 year itch. Sorry, but resentment and boredom takes time to cure, like a salami.




NO, I WON’T PUT THAT IN MY MOUTH Continue reading

Let me disband the rumors of my spousal abuse.

Yesterday’s post was short and sweet, well that may not be the right word, let’s call it upsetting. Apparently, some people were concerned about the spousal abuse I am inflicting on my husband. Let me clarify, I do not throw objects at Mark very often, ever really, except apparently the occasional salty miniature cracker; which by the way, he is perfectly capable of defending himself against. (He’s trained for such instances.)

The actual argument was over a little thing I like to call, my new rug. Don’t take that the wrong way, this is not about a Brazilian wax job. Anyone who knows me is aware of my mentally unstable cutting phase. Yes, I used to cut. I cut my beautiful shag carpet from its original 16×24 down to a 2×3 welcome mat. My last dog and one of my true loves, Buddy, got very old and equally incontinent. Look, as someone who pees a little each time I laugh, thanks to childbirth, a fallen cervix, and episiotomies, I have sympathy for the “incontinent,” but not so much when they pee on my rug. Buddy peed many too many times on that rug and so I got me a razor knife and went to town cutting out each pee. The odd angles made it look like a jigsaw puzzle and my family and friends, fearing for my sanity, and held an intervention. So, I threw away the welcome mat sized rug and retired my razor.

We then had this cold hard ceramic tile floor in our family room. My kids played on it, bumped their heads on it, rode their bikes on it, skinned their knees on it, and at night we all cuddled on it to watch American Idol. Then we peeled our sweaty legs off it to get in bed.

I finally gave in and bought a beautiful, currently discontinued, area rug with a link pattern from William Sonoma. The rug I describe is the very one that was being eaten by my new puppy on my husband’s first day alone with him. A day in which I reminded him repetitively, to his dismay, “to be with the puppy at all times or have him in the crate.” A day in which I forgot my pocketbook and returned a mere 20 minutes later to find my husband asleep in the bedroom and my puppy having a pricey wool link pattern sandwich. A day in which even after the incident he swore it was, “no big deal” and that I would’ve “probably done the same thing.” I can’t get mad at the dog, he’s just a puppy and puppies chew. Does the same rule apply to Mark because he’s just a husband and husbands are frustrating asses? Nah, I still have faith in men.

So, please don’t worry about Mark. I say he got off easy under the circumstances… next time I find something harder than puffed crackers, like Swedish fish or something sharper like pita chips!

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Why are Men Such Wusses? Things husbands do when they’re sick

For four days I have been sick.  Nothing crazy; just the usual sore throat in the morning, coughing, fatigue kind of thing.  Yet, in those four days, the world miraculously kept spinning. My children’s schedules did not disappear, nor did mine.  They made it to camp, and to baseball, and the Doctor.  They did not suffer from starvation because I decided to forgo grocery shopping, or making them breakfast, or packing their lunches; so that I could lie around and do something trivial, like recuperate.

Last night, I happily turned out the lights at 11PM, hoping to make up for that 4 hour “nap” I had the night before.  At midnight my dog Buddy, pacing and panting like a sex caller, sent me out like a shot for his first pee break of the evening.  At 1AM my son ran in soaking wet, exclaiming, “I think I sweated too much.”  Unable to peel myself up, I let his little naked tush into my bed where he continued to whine for about an hour straight.  “Mommy, I neeeeeeeeeed pants.”  “I’ll get you pants,” and let our heavy breather out for the 2nd time.  “Mommy, I neeeed my favorite pillow.” “I’ll get your favorite pillow” and give our letchy dog a bowl of water.  By 3AM Jack had tried 12 different positions.  Including the one where you go all the way under the covers to the end of the bed and push until you fall to the floor taking the comforter with you.  He complained about 20 different things, from being upset that I had to remake the bed after he fell out of it, to having an actual dislike for color of my sheets.  “They’re white.”

In the midst of this chaos, my husband was completely oblivious during those last few hours.  Some could argue that this has been the case for the last decade. He was sleeping with his body pillow, the one he stole from me in the 3rd trimester of my 1st pregnancy.  It has been our small person sized bedmate ever since.  A bedmate that he shoves in his crotch and smothers between his knees. Well, better the pillow than me.  He had 2 more pillows over his head and was taking up 73% of the bed.  He had built and Iron clad barricade which my son could not penetrate or budge.  Jack and I were so snug I’d have to rebirth him to get him to camp.  Finally , I gave up and wooed him back into his room by promising to make him a fort, “just like Daddy’s.”  Of course I had to remake his bed first, as the sweat had an uncanny resemblance to pee.  I got back into bed around 4 AM, after reading my dog a story and letting my son out.  Wait, scratch that and reverse it.

By 4:45 my son was back in the womb.  “Mom, can I be your snuggle bunny?”  For how many years will I get to hear that?  At 5AM my daughter was squeezing in on the other side of me.  We laid there like a hermetically sealed package of sausages, my arm coyoteed under Ryleigh’s head.  Then she started complaining.  “Its too hot with this blanket.  Mom my PJ’s hurt.  Mom I hate the color of your sheets.”  Somehow, 6:30 managed to roll around.

I banged on  my husbands fort with the door knocker he installed.  Bang…Bang…Bang.  “Please get the kids ready for camp.  I was up all night.”  Mark is a morning person so I imagined it would be no big deal.  “Grumble grumble… no.”  “What do you mean you won’t help me?”  “Grunt, I’m sick, my throat is killing me.  Besides, I was up too.”  “What kept you up?  Was it the sound of your snoring?  Or maybe the pillow over your head wasn’t soft enough.”  “I just can’t I’m too sick.”  My husband’s cold might as well be the plague, as the Earth has halted on it’s axis.

It would take a hemorrhaging artery to get him to the Doctor, excuse me the clinic, as he has never officially acquired a Doctor.  But, why go?  It’s easier to lay around and tease my children with his untouchable presence.  He’ll spend his day creating an impressive mound of snotty tissues, large enough to pitch off of.  Tissues which he is too sick to bend down and pick up, however he is not too sick to work or to make sure to keep up with his fantasy team.

He’ll refuse to use sanitizer, and sluggishly mosey around the house, putting his grubby, germy hands in every bag of chips, touching every door knob and remote, and talking on every phone.  He may even lick the straws on the juice boxes for good measure.  All in a effort to ensure that as soon as he gets better, both my children will surely contract his illness and I will have no shot at personal recovery.

Now, I should Mommy him, which in my bitter and sick state, I cannot even feign an attempt.  Listen, if I wanted another child I would adopt one from Indonesia.  If you need to be babied, call your Mom.  Better yet, go stay with her.  I don’t ask that my sickness or lack of sleep take precedence over yours.  I just ask that you go to a hotel until yours passes.”