Vom stuff

I get about an hour a day. It’s my free hour. I call it powah i’mnotwastingitonashowah hour. So I’m dirty. But I have an hour. So with that hour, I obviously can only tell you the most important stories in my life right now. And this is IMPO’TANT.

Here it is. I should warn you. It’s a horror story. Your face will contort in horror. Remove children and adorable small animals from the blog.


Here it is. ———>

It’s a bright sunny Tuesday morning. The kids and I are playing in the living room with Elmo Play Drums and Shit and a sword that G is using as a paddle to “row his boat far away from this place”. Dude, I’m with you.


We take a little pause from our important toy business to pop out onto the deck in our PJ’s, just to check the weather and hang out. Kids are playing. We breathe in the fresh air. It’s a glorious day to be in PJ’s, barefoot outside.

Ruby tries to crawl under a table that she will one thousand percent hit her head on, so I walk over to fetch my little button face and I step. step. SOFTstep? Wait.


Why was that step that I just took a little softer feeling?

(the following happens in a matter of 4 seconds)

Oh. Its a toy. It sounds like one of G’s cars that you pull back and it goes on it’s own.
but wait.
it’s making another sound

Cars don’t make a super high pitched screaming sound. WHAT THE TRUCK IS UNDER MY FOOT?

And you guys.


to call it a *bug* is a disservice to this story, bugs, and truth.
It was put on this deck and on this earth to bring pure unending torture to all that have eyes.

I will draw it for you. In full accuracy.




Ok we’re still in that 4 second slot.

Once it all comes together for me,

I screamed.

It was literally like I had lost control over my entire body as I jumped over my children, onto a table and shook with terror. Screaming at the top of my lungs. At 730am. Outside.

My children start screaming at the site of their mother losing her damn mind.

The neighbors come out.
The neighbors children come out. All to save me from what is clearly a man with a non paddle sword that is about to be plunged into my throat.

But I can’t pay attention to them. Because I can still see it. It’s still there. What do I do? My children are on the deck! This beast will consume them whole. But that means I have to get off of this table.

Neighbors: “Are you ok?”
Me: “Yeah um I’m fine. It’s a bug”
Neighbors kids: “A BUG?! HAHAHAH”
Kids: haaaaaaaahahaha
Me: “I will throw it into your beds and then we will see who is laughing.
Kids: “mom!”
Me: “yeah that’s right. WHAT.”

Ok Amanda. Gather yourself.

I close my eyes, scoop up my crying children and run into my house where I close the door.

I can’t breathe.
I’m shaking.
I’m itching.
I’ve wiped my foot off 200 times. Surely I would have smushed it with my foot?
No it SURVIVED my accidental barefoot step. WTF IS THAT??????

I could still see it staring at me from behind the glass. It knows where I live. It knows my ill will towards it. It will be back for me.

I call B.

Me: (panting) B. B. B!
B: What?!
Me: Something AWFUL happened.
B: oh my god. What?
Me: We were all on the deck. And. And. I can’t even say it.
B: WHAT? The kids? What happened?!?!
B: Amanda. I’m going to hang  up now.
Me: NO NO NO. You don’t even KNOW. It was the size of Long Island. Andandand I was barefoot. Andnadnadnandnad it SCREAMED AT ME.
B: Ok. I have to go back to my JOB now. goodbye.
Me: FINE I’ll put it in YOUR bed too.
B: too? I don’t even want to know.

So I took a picture. From behind the glass. a good 7-10 feet away. I feel like my camera makes objects look 400 times smaller than in real life. Because you guys. the bug.

Here it is.

bug jpgSatan Sam.

But I recovered. And G says to me: Mom. Bugs can’t hurt you, you know. And I say…I know but I don’t LIKE them very much. Mom is a wimp though and you need to be brave and get bugs out of our house forever and always for mommy. G: That’s silly mom. Bugs live outside.

Right, their territory.
And for that reason, we have playdates at the mall now.




and that my friends is some pure indoor happiness. It’s what childhoods are made of. At least mine was.


And that my friends is the end of the important message.

I’ll be back with other important news soon. Like the hidden messages behind Curious George. It’s a problem.




Also if anyone can identify what the beast was, please let me know. Unless I really don’t want to know. I probably don’t.


POSTED IN: Not Pleased,Vom stuff

I’VE MISSED YOU. SO MUCH. no really.

I have spent the last 2 weeks or however long time passes these days, covered in vomit, diarrhea and sweat. And for once, it’s not out of the body of a child. It’s my own.

I wake up in the middle of the night.

Me: B, I’m sick.

B: What’s wrong.

Me: I just told you.

B: Ok. (goes back to sleep)

And I silently die. Ok not silently. I groan extra loud. Whenever I am sick I feel like I need to sleep with my head on the opposite side of the bed. It’s like a proclamation to the world that THINGS ARE ALL WRONG. And oh yeah, I need to wake up to feed Ruby, like all the time.

My first thought is that I totally F’d myself with my diet. I took it too far and my body is shutting down. It will say on my grave “WE TOLD YOU TO EAT, YOU ASSHOLE”. But really, I’m thinking I’m having a hypoglycemic episode since cutting back sugars. So I don’t panic.

Morning comes. Every muscle in my body is on fire. Like that Alicia Keys song. I’m pretty sure that’s what she is singing about.


I know that if I stand up I will black out. B has to go to work. I have to take care of 2 kids ?! When you are a mom and you need to “call out”, you are bombdiggerbomb screwed. Because there is no sub. And your husband looks at you like, I HAVE TO GO NOW. OK BYE?? And then you cry.

So B took one for the team and I stayed in my soft bed (grave) and rested (decomposed). Then I puked. I puked every hour on the hour. I puked water, ice, air with extra dust in it. Then I pooped. I pooped fire poop. At this point I realized that this was no sugar detox. This was something bigger.


Do you noro about norovirus? It’s noro joke. Except for those jokes. I’ve been working on them for a week. You catch it from poop food or crowded places. Listen, let’s be honest, I eat poop no less than 2 times a day and so does every other mom in this world. Not on purpose. But it happens. So there.

It took me 48 hours of Full House reruns to feel like I could even move my legs. I did learn though that Uncle Jesse’s twins won’t socialize with others and that’s a problem (this was the description of the episode).


It took 3 days of energy to scream that at the tv. 70% worth it.

Now I am “better”. However my milk supply is way down low low low. I’ve always had glorious fountains of milk and now I’m a desert. I’m doing all the tricks I know to get it back up, but Ruby is not so happy with this development.

And when I was better, do you know what the first thing I did was? Try on the 349 pairs of jeans that arrived while I was sick (that arrived when B was home OF COURSE). I have so much jean knowledge to impart to you guys soon.

I wish I could write more and more often. I have lots to tell you all, all the time. Like all about G’s every20minutesIneedtothrowatantrum syndrome. But it’s looking like I get maybe an hour a week to do this for now.

Love and lust,



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