I’m inspired by a fabulous book being released soon called Mommies Who Drink recommended to me by junebee. It’s a deep dark secret, apparently, that mothers drink and have a life and occasionally are released from mommy & me signing classes to meet girlfriends at bars and gab about things other than Billy’s issues with pee pee.
Even though momjeans can still be seen at one’s local grocery store, have you checked out the hottie breeders around town of late? Let me tell you, they aren’t the scarf wearing puffies from the past. They’re Donna Reed 
meets Barbarella. These chics (yes, chics) are kicking ass and taking names. They are 20, 30, and 40 something, they know how to have multiple orgasms and they love their children passionately.
Not to be mistaken for the pre-bra burning mah johng playing cocktail slinging mothers who raised them, these babes are too hot to handle and too cold to hold.
Move over Gloria, there’s a new sherriff in town. And she loves men, only sells out if it pays for her expensive taste in shoes, and believes in loving kids and mate without forsaking herself.
All hail the sex loving hottie mama!
I have an absolutely wonderful college friend named Donnella. When she visits, she smiles, she hums about and cooks magnificent healthy food, she wonders about deep and meaningful things and practices pilates on my living room floor. She listens in that I see inside your soul intense way that makes you feel like saying generous hopeful things like "I’m sure we’ll eventually find peace in the Middle East."
But at times like this when I haven’t seen her in awhile and the darkside appears to so obviously be winning, I’m hard pressed to find my inner Donnella. Since I neither practice pilates nor make magnificent nonfat veggie burritos, I’m left with the consolation of my imaginary friend.
Funny Girl isn’t deep or meaningful or particularly sensitive, but what she offers ain’t bad:
- An ability to focus on pretty pink shoes,
- A willingness to sit and talk over wine about haircuts, boyfriends, husbands, and listen intently to how hard it is to find a dress for a 20 year high school reunion,
- An overweaning fascination with which earrings likely accentuate the length of one’s neck,
- A buddy with whom to watch exercise videos and guess the ages & weights of participants,
- A clever conversationalist with whom one can discuss books that are well written and *not* currently on the Oprah Book List.
Most of all, she’s someone with whom one can be onesself, spiritually unevolved, spitting mad, or laughing uproariously at the absurdity of the world.
You can borrow her if you like.
A Wifely Apology:
I’d like to officially apologize. While the acid comments over breakfast are most likely quite funny (especially the bitter ones about materialism, capitalist pigs, and Republicans) I know sometimes it’s better to wait until the dinner hour to throw around swear words and make references to the Mindless Masses.
Though 40 hours of cheerfully granted alone time might have been sufficient, in some circles, to jumpstart cheerfulness or recapture some youthful effervescence, alas they were unequal to the task. And while a seething undercurrent of resentment is indeed quite sexy to some men (as are sweatpants and oily hair I’m told), it may not after all be your particular cup of tea.
Hormones, wine for dinner, and no exercise since 1975 are excellent cornerstones of a certain kind of mental health, I’m sure, but don’t seem to work as well for me.
For these reasons and above all because you haven’t yet put me on the cover of Bad Wife Magazine, please accept my nomination as the officially adored mascot of all of us here at CrankMama. You surely deserve more than you’ve been receiving…
I remain, ever your faulty but hopefully never boring wife.
One of the many elements firing my girlcrush on Susie Bright (writer, sexpert, mother)
is that she gives us air holes in our little jars of conventionality — that
fabulous concept that keeps our bad little dogs chained but often ruins spontaneity.
Since I delayed childbearing and marriage until well into my 30s, I had much
time to sow my wild oats and dance until 3 and spend too much money on travel and
shoes and graduate school. I had time to date and sleep with the wrong
men, drink too much and too often, and spend afternoons on my sunny porch
discussing gender politics with my galpals. Even though I still have ways
to rebel that are within the realm of reasonable and responsible, I still feel
like a bee in a jar and miss that other life.
Now I’m going to share a poem I call Soul Cage... (read to the music
of somewhere over the rainbow)
HA! Wouldn?t that be just awful?? Isn’t there a Sting album by that
name? Poor Sting. Ah… how fragile we are. So true so true.
Other than watching porn and occasionally imbibing *before* I begin to
prepare dinner (the horror), I’m not creatively gifted at finding other means
to express this need to rebel. As a mother of 3 and former nonprofit exec
living in a small town, I’m hesitant to parade downtown in my S&M dress and
pink boa…
But you never know.
1. SexPot = a humansized vat of sex
2. Mama = a hip sassy mom, not to ever be mistaken for mommy or mother
3. Ma’am = what they call you when they’re cute and in their 20s and you’re so obviously freakin’ NOT
4. GalPal = the one who always says you’re phat…not fat
5. Get Your Freak On = see #1
6. Cute = what they call you when you don’t get called gorgeous hardly *ever* I mean what’s WRONG with these people??
7. AloneTime = when mommy runs away upstairs with a bottle of wine and a video and a celeb mag and if anyone comes in the door they are ignored and sent back to Daddy immediately.
8. Toys = Lovely things that are always more fun than flowers
9. Hubcap = husbandly one
10. Moobs = Man Boobs. Also funny clever site by a MAN.
As Queen Interpreter of the World to 3 girls, I’m faced daily with the prospect of coming up with clever, seemingly accurate answers to the most stirring questions facing great minds under 5 today. These include:
Why do mommas need so much sleep?
Because that’s how we recharge our superpowers
Do you really actually have eyes in the back of your head, or are you just kidding?
No I’m not kidding. I actually can see everything you do at all times so clean up your toys and stop hitting your sister.
Are people only alive when they’re in heaven?
Hmmmm?
Are people alive in heaven?
Sorry? What?
ARE PEOPLE ALIVE IN HEAVEN, I SAID!!
Ask your Father.
Why do we have so many grandmas?
Because mommy & daddy are in the post-divorce generation and we’re all paying the price now for the self-discovery and self-expression of the Me-Generation (aka: Boomers) who all chose to end 1 or 2 marriages in the 70s and 80s and remarry and create a huge mess for Gen X to clean up.
*Silence*
This cuddly sweet little "babydoll" was discovered in the bottom of my niece’s toybox over the weekend.
My $13 haircut and $20 pedicure from yesterday’s solo day out have Mommy more or less back in form… cheerful (for a cranky bugger) and content on a Monday morning. Or at least approaching cheerful when from the next room, I hear:
"Mr. Duck is heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!!" followed by "THIS time, DON’T call me Dude!"
Then I laugh out loud and the girls, startled, look at me like I’ve sprung 3 heads (or laughed). And their big grins remind me of one of my most important Mommy Rules –teach the girls that they’re delightful and funny and likeable. I can accomplish this by uttering a big honest guffaw at their weirdness once in awhile.
I remember how much fun I had as a kid when I made my parents laugh… Even now when my folks tell me long stories about their hangnails and sciatica and wasp problems, if I can make them laugh I feel successful and warm inside.
So tip over the seratonin bucket, Mommy’s got her laugh on!
Dear Sassy Girlfriends,
It’s been too long since we shared an evening together with cocktails and giggles. There are many reasons that a night out is becoming an absolute necessity, including but not limited to the fact that:
1. Today is Family Day -- which means Daddy works in the yard for 40 hours while Mommy stays inside and referees fights over stuffed cats, shooshing yellers so that wee babe won’t wake up.
2. Once wee babe wakes up, we’re heading to a Mormon Family get together where they’ll be no nice sassy friends like you, no cocktails, and no swearing
3. Daddy has just given Mommy an assignment. It goes like this "Honey - would you please help the kids make a sign that says "FREE" so that we can get rid of this aluminum ladder? Wouldn’t that be fun, ladies?" Yes, dear. That would be TONS of fun… especially when I put the sign on a few things I’ve been meaning to clean out of the garage…items in or around your tool bench.
4. Mommy doesn’t like making signs with children.
5. I haven’t talked to a woman about non-kid/ non-husband things in about 1 million years.
So, dear girlfriend, save me from my plight. Let’s dress-up, wear lipstick and heels, and put our funk on!!
Love,
CrankMama
Here is a great fun game when you’re having a rotten day (or if you need a fantasy break from the diapers, dishes, and hummydrummy). Let’s imagine we have endless hours, money, support and childcare to employ this fantasy. What would we do?
1. I would travel to a beautiful oceanside spa and spend an afternoon getting a pedicure by an unchatty peaceful sort, a massage by a beautiful young swedish buck, culminating in a quiet steam.
2. Then, I would spend the night in a beautiful clean oceanside hotel *alone* and enjoy the solitude, clean sheets, and uninterrupted sleep.
3. In the morning, refreshed, I’d join a group of sassy girlfriends for a lush breakfast served by a hunky flattering waiter who insists on asking what us "girls" would like (& who’d never even consider calling us "ma’am").
4. Finally, we’d shop for shoes.
The day would end with a new shiny pretty mommy rejoining the familial group. All kids will have been bathed and fed, the house will be clean, and the husband will say "Tonight it’s all about you, honey. After I put the kids to bed, I’d like to worship you for 3 hours."
A girl can dream, can’t she?
meets Barbarella. These chics (yes, chics) are kicking ass and taking names. They are 20, 30, and 40 something, they know how to have multiple orgasms and they love their children passionately. 
