Goat Yoga. WTF?!

I am about the farthest thing from a fitness fanatic as you can get. If freaking out on my kids were an olympic sport, I’d be in serious contention for the gold. Hell, I’d be the Michael Phelps of freaking out most likely. Frankly, it should be an olympic sport — if done properly, it takes endurance, anaerobic skill, fast thinking and focus. But I digress…

I do try my best to be open minded and remind myself that what might not be my cup of tea, just may be the panacea that another person needs. To each his/her own, right? But can someone please explain to me why Goat Yoga needs to be a thing? And in case you didn’t know, oh yes, it IS a thing.


You too can do a downward dog with a goat standing on your back, get a little cloven-hooved shiatsu while planking or have a snuggle buddy during child’s pose. I mean I do see how pet therapy can really help people mentally and physically feel better — what’s not to love about a good snuggle, unconditional love and something kind and gentle to take your mind off of a world full of problems. But goats? Hmm. I just don’t see how it ends well.

In addition to eating everything in sight, goats are not the best potty-trained animals. As if yoga doesn’t put you in some of the most vulnerable poses with your butt in the air or twisted like a crazed noodle, then introduce a famished, shitting little beast with sharp feet to it…Really? I can just imagine my humiliation when all the goats fight over who gets to curl up on my extra cushy butt, head butt my boobs or knead my squishy abs like a crazed baker. And if one chews a hole in my favorite yoga pants, that beast’s getting turned into goat curry with a side of samosa faster than I can string 20 curse words together. I will not even go into my thoughts on their toileting habits. No. Just no.

To make things even more whacko, the Denver International Airport now offers Goat Yoga classes between flights.


Yes, to rid yourself of the stress you have endured barely making it to the airport on time, schlepping your baggage 20 miles from the long-term parking lot, standing in an endless line of surly travelers waiting to check their baggage for fee equivalent to the GDP of Zimbabwe, then getting felt up by an over-enthusiastic TSA agent so you could arrive at your gate only to find your flight’s been delayed by a decade. Instead of stressing out (or going to the airport bar like a normal person) — you say, “Hmm… What is that tantalizing barnyard smell? Goat Yoga!! YES! SIGN ME UP PLEASE!”

I mean can’t you just imagine the horror of your fellow passengers after you’ve just been rolling around with goats? They see you lurch down the airplane aisle looking for your seat, a cloud of goat stench and sweat fumes emanating from you, a welt in the shape of a hoof print appearing on your forehead and a big god-knows-what stain on your shirt. I don’t know about you, but I’d be praying that mom with the crazed look in her eye towing her three tantrum-throwing children behind her sits next to me. Even though she gave up her last fuck to give back in Cleveland, I’m guessing she has booze stashed in her diaper bag and she might just share.

Now that I think about it, next time my husband pisses me off, I’m going to secretly hope he gets seated next to a man-spreading, barefoot goat yogi on his next flight to China.

Holiday Gift Giving Guide for My Children

Christmas is bearing down on me like a massive herd of pissed off wildebeests. I haven’t had the courage or time away from my children to bake yet, my house looks like Christmas threw up all over it and I have a bare minimum of presents purchased. Am I shocked or surprised? Obviously not. Stress and hostility fuels my productivity. I hate this trait in me, and I make others suffer right along with my insanity. But after 45 years, I really don’t know if it’s possible to change.

Our family is extremely blessed with generous friends and family, and every year I get asked, “what would your kids like for Christmas?” I’m sure many of you get the same question and probably meet it with the same huge overwhelmed mental sigh that I do. My oldest would adore anything that is Star Wars or Harry Potter related. My 6 year old loves anything with a superhero on it.  And my youngest? Frankly you could wrap up her big brothers in a big box with a bow and she’d lose her mind in pure happiness. (Please don’t wrap them in the same box because they will kill each other and it will be messy…and guess who has to clean up that shit — Yeah. Yours truly.) Actually now that I think about it, just get them socks. Star Wars, Harry Potter, Superhero and sparkly socks. They won’t last long in my house, but it will get me through one more load of laundry with less profanity.

I’m guessing socks is not going to be a satisfactory answer for our blessed gift givers. So this year I’m approaching it from a different angle, and perhaps this may help you too when people ask you the same question. Here’s what NOT to get my kids if you love me at all:


Anything that pees, poops or cries — basically any bodily fluid: There are an alarming number of games on the market that involve farting, peeing, pooping, crying and other nonsense. I deal with this on a daily, if not hourly basis. By the time my youngest will be potty trained, I will have had a kid in diapers for the past ten years. TEN YEARS! Why do I need a pretend version of that, which you KNOW I’ll have to clean up after. No thank you.


baby aliveHave you seen this gem? This little shit cries tears, whines that it’s not feeling good, requires feeding and temperature taking and more. If this thing comes into my house, it’s getting punched.

And then Goliath games. WTF. This company seriously must have an R&D department run by a team of 8 year old boys. Everything they create involves pooping, farting, boogers and more. Okay. So I get that these topics are a real laugh riot to kids (and their dads) — but don’t I put up with enough of that every single fucking day? Come on!

doggie doogooey louiewho tooted

honestly think the powers that be at Goliath must really hate their respective moms and are taking their hostility out on mothers everywhere.


Science kits: I know these seem like a thoughtful, educational gift. “But it says, ‘STEAM’ on it. Isn’t that the big thing these days?” Well yes, to educators it stands for “Science, Technology, Engineering, Art and Mathematics.” To the assholes marketing these “science” kits, it really stands for “Shitty Torture Experiments Against Mothers.” Basically these kits include crude beakers that leak and other sketchy measuring devices, popsicle sticks, mysterious packets of powdered toxic waste and a vague instruction book full of “experiments” that require a trip to Costco to buy baking soda, vinegar and Q-Tips in bulk.


wks_stemvolcano4Then when you finally have everything you supposedly need to jump start your youngster’s love of science, the hell really begins. Before you’ve had a chance to even read the first line of the instruction book, your adorable Neutron Nelly has already torn open all the packets of toxic waste and is madly mixing random things together while his sibling is sprinkling baking soda all over the kitchen like fairy dust. A hole is being eaten through the table by said disaster and radioactive goo is getting all over the kitchen rug.

Once all of the raw materials have been squandered before one experiment has been completed, your budding scientist has completely lost interest and you’re left in a puddle of tears as you take in the mass destruction that has swept through your kitchen like a tornado hit a mad scientist’s dungeon.

So please. NO. This is why my children go to school so they can do this shit there. This is a good case of, “What happens at school ought to stay at school.”


Anything involving glitter or food coloring:  Absolutely not! Glitter is Satan’s sawdust and will make everything in my house look as if a gaggle of lap dancers came over for a rave. Glitter projects should be done at school and not brought home. Instead they should be sent directly to grandparents. I will provide pre-addressed stamped envelopes.



Anything that involves me using food coloring for any reason makes the vein in my forehead throb. This includes homemade play dough (the bane of any preschool parent’s existence,) science experiment kits (yet another reason they are a big NO in my book) and baking projects — need I remind you about my aversion to cut-out cookies?? Getting out the food colors at my house puts my children in mad scientist mode and colors get mixed in alarming quantities, things get spilled, profanity is spewed and the resulting food coloring stains have the half life of bismuth.

Mind you, these are just some general guidelines. Basically I kindly request that when shopping, please keep my mental health in mind. If your gift does not pass the Mommy Sanity Test (I’m working on a patent) — I will file this away in my memory of hateful behavior and use it against you when you are least expecting it. Moms may not be able to remember what the hell they came into the room for, but our memory of bad behavior is razor sharp. So… Grandparents: remember that we get to pick your nursing home. Aunts and uncles: your children will become fair game. Friends who don’t have kids: we will send ours over to your house armed with any non-compliant gifts for you to “enjoy” with our little angels.

You’ve been warned…with gratitude.


Badvent Calendar

I know I’m not alone when I say this: socks are the bane of my existence. Okay, maybe not my entire existence, but certainly when it comes to laundry. Why is it that I can put in 10 complete pairs of socks and only get 9 individual socks out…none of which match?! Where the hell do the others go?! I demand answers.

Is there some sort of sock eating parasite that eats them during each load? More likely I think washing machine manufacturers are colluding with sock companies and are installing some sort of secret sock disposal system so that we are forced to buy more socks. And then they try to sell us that Afresh stuff to get rid of the nasty mildew smell every month. No. That shit’s just to cover the stench of dead, undigested socks.

Another theory is that they are all going down the sewer, joining in the massive party of undissolved wipes, diapers, condoms, cooking grease, gangster corpses and piranhas. They’re a real thing — they’re called “fatbergs.” I bet if they dissected this putrid mass, they’d find enough socks to clothe half of China.


And next time you’re having a crappy day at work or with your kids, be grateful this isn’t your day job to deal with…although some days it really may seem like it.

So I’ve been collecting a huge basket of stray socks in the ridiculous hope that I will one day find matches.

IMG_20171203_193532634Matching socks makes me hostile on a regular basis. Every once in awhile I dump out my basket of hosiery hell and bribe my kids to try to find mates. They poke at the pile halfheartedly for a minute or two and then scurry away like cockroaches to avoid the drudgery. Not that I can blame them.

So after this weekend of holiday decorating (and we all know how that went) I decided to create my very own sanity saver …and better yet,  I don’t have to share with my kids. Voila! My one-of-a-kind “Mommy’s Bad-vent Calendar.”

IMG_20171203_180538367It’s environmentally friendly, as I used a piece of wood one of my kids tried to go Karate Kid on. (It did not end well for neither kid nor board.) To make it a bit more festive, I up-cycled some of the crappy Christmas decorations that my kids have ruined just for a bit of flair and festivity.

IMG_20171203_180730534And then the socks. Finally!! I have a use for these fuckers! The baby socks are the perfect size for mini liquors, kids socks can hold a beer perfectly and adult socks are just right for a bottle of wine (or full-on liquor if you’re having a particularly rough time.) You too can make a custom masterpiece like mine for yourself or your bestie.

IMG_20171203_175910082.jpgI used a variety of booze on mine just to give you some ideas, but the sky’s the limit! If alcohol isn’t your thing, I bet you could up-cycle some holey undies to hold bags of chips, boxes of chocolates…really anything. Go wild!

IMG_20171203_220125479.jpgSo even though it looks like Christmas became violently ill in my house after my kids “decorated” this weekend, this sweet Badvent Calendar fits right in. Tacky? Sure. Ridiculous? Of course! Did I waste a stupid amount of time building this thing? Hell yes! But who the fuck cares?! Not this mama!! And since my dear husband left for a week in China today, I may or may not play a bit of “catch-up” tonight after the inmates are asleep!