tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78398771671943424972024-03-05T01:52:06.441-05:00Boy MommyJust trying to keep my head out of the oven. . .boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-10962142026819482262017-05-08T14:39:00.000-04:002017-05-08T14:39:40.956-04:00Fine Dining and Teenagers
Last night my family and I were
dining at one of our town’s finest establishments: IHOP. That’s the International
House of Pancakes. I had the
crepes. Crepes are French. Small had the grilled cheese. Grilled cheese is from . . . where is grilled
cheese from? Medium ordered the chicken
tenders, which I believe is Spanish for “long chicken nuggets.”
Weboymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-63130141289230480212016-10-17T08:59:00.000-04:002016-10-17T08:59:19.971-04:00My Kid's a Medical Marvel
I read somewhere on the world wide internets that certain
people are cut out to parent certain types of kids. I’ve always said I think I was meant to be a
boy mommy. I just don’t think I was cut
out to have girls. I love girls; I have
nieces whom I adore. But for the
day-to-day, I don’t see myself guiding a young girl into womanhood. Granted, I’ve never actually boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-55943003842493647982016-04-19T09:07:00.001-04:002016-04-19T09:07:58.971-04:00Thinking about Keith Morrison.
The intellectual bank of BoyMommy is overdrawn.
Like many of you, I look at other women and think, “I don’t
know how she gets it all done.” I have
friends and neighbors who always seem to have their sh*t together, and I feel
like I’m one microwave meal away from a room with padded walls.
I’m busy. I’m the
president of the elementary school PTA, I’m on the board of the boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-26007566289052766862016-01-30T10:15:00.001-05:002016-01-30T10:15:59.387-05:00Snowzilla & the Self-Righteous Mom
We had a little weather event here in Virginia this past
week. It snowed. A lot.
I dutifully made three trips to Target last week and stocked
up on bread and milk. I considered
buying new $50 Lego sets for each of my boys, but then I realized that that would
only buy me a few hours of quiet time and then I’d have even MORE Legos in my
house.
Lots of people are boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-82960758603263421782016-01-15T10:57:00.000-05:002016-01-15T10:57:07.480-05:00Teaching Integrity
The quality I most admire about my father is his
integrity. He’s just a good guy, and he always seems to do
the right thing. I try to live a life of
integrity, but sometimes it’s hard. I
lose my patience. I clench my
teeth. I think hateful thoughts about
inadequate drivers. How do I teach my
boys to be young men of integrity when the very definition is doingboymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-46596685611381875772015-11-10T08:25:00.000-05:002015-11-10T08:37:20.068-05:00I'm Winning Tuesday
It’s 7:45 am and I’ve already had a better day than you.
I woke up at 6:30 (even though I am NOT a morning person) so
that I could get everyone ready for school.
Apparently my children think I enjoy this process . . . that I like
waking up before the sun to try to convince other little versions of myself
that they should also get up before the sun.
Before I could do that, however,boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-79303805937332108372015-06-10T17:00:00.000-04:002015-06-10T17:00:09.792-04:00Meet Our Cow . . .
I am so excited I can barely contain myself!
We were dining at our local Chick-Fil-A the other night when
the concierge asked if we would like to take a cow on vacation.
Some thoughts going through my mind:
A. Um, yes!
B. I can’t believe
you haven’t asked me sooner.
C. Having a cow would
make my neighbors love me even MORE than they do now!
Introducing . . . Moo boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-68608328321880270552015-05-29T09:43:00.001-04:002015-05-29T09:43:05.851-04:00Bleacher Police (with diagrams!)
I don’t consider myself to be a confrontational person. I’m no shrinking violet, but I need everyone
to like me and part of having people like me is . . . well . . . not making them mad at me.
Sometimes I just can’t keep my yapper shut though.
Our son, Large, plays on a travel baseball team that has
many different age levels. Last weekend,
Large’s team (11U) and boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-42417196979438469592015-04-26T12:28:00.002-04:002015-04-26T12:28:47.125-04:00Wrong Number
Yesterday morning, the phone rang. Normally I don't answer if it’s not a number
I recognize. I figure the phone is here
for my convenience, not theirs, so yes, I’m totes
a screener. It was not a number I
recognized, but it looked like it might be a cell phone in our area code, so I
answered.
“Hello?” I answered, all delightful and cheery, as usual.
“Yes, I’m looking forboymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-26672993343667208512015-04-24T15:18:00.001-04:002015-04-24T15:18:22.032-04:00They're all Innocent. Until They're Not.
The other night at Medium’s Little League game, another mom
commented that Small was playing nicely with the other kids. Several of Medium’s teammates have younger
siblings, so they often play together during the game. They play tag, hide-and-seek, cars, etc., and
occasionally they check in to see if they can buy a treat at the concession
stand. Supervising them ends up being aboymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-47226702279148374892015-04-17T09:27:00.000-04:002015-04-17T09:27:11.707-04:00What's Been on My Mind . . . A Seinfeldian rant:
1. The stripes on my
bedspread should be horizontal instead of vertical. I need them to go up and down. When they are horizontal, I lie in bed and
think about the fact that they’re not vertical. Think, think, think. I need them to be up and
down so the tag is on the bottom right.
2. I can’t stand it
when people use their cell phones boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-47367017800166329672015-02-22T17:36:00.002-05:002015-02-22T17:36:35.883-05:00Scenes From a Happy MarriageSetting: master bath on a cold, snowy, winter Saturday morn
Hubby (from shower, holding shower drain filled with long, luxurious brown[ish] hair and soap scum residue):
Yech! Do you ever clean this out?
Me (standing in front of mirror, brushing my long, luxurious, brown[ish] hair)
Ew. No. That's gross.
Hubby (incredulously)
boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-57557640602307422232015-02-03T11:55:00.002-05:002015-02-03T13:49:07.678-05:00Our Nightly Ritual: The Fight
I keep watching Downton Abbey and thinking how nice it must
be to sit in a window and read a book, or take a leisurely walk out in the
field, or make time for tea with my family every day. But that’s not the world we live in.
Yesterday was one of those days when I felt like I didn’t
stop moving all day. After I got all
three kids out the door - which includes a bus pick-up,boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-85447409748192998662014-09-10T15:51:00.001-04:002014-09-10T15:51:47.637-04:0010 Ways I'm Failing at Motherhood. This Week.
Here are 10 ways I'm failing at this whole motherhood thing this week. This list is not to be confused with how I failed at it last week, or with how I will undoubtedly fail at it next week.
1. One of the
neighbor kids walked in on me watching Naked and Afraid with my
11-year-old. If you’ve never seen it,
it’s a pretty innocuous, Survivor-type show on the boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-90052042889452255932014-09-05T10:35:00.000-04:002014-09-05T10:35:01.099-04:00My 21st Birthday vs. my 41st Birthday: a Detailed Analysis. With Photos
So yesterday was my birthday. I’m 41-derful. Kind of a letdown after all the festivities
of my 40th birthday.
For instance, I have 527 “friends” on Facebook, and yet I
received ONLY 113 birthday wishes yesterday.
The other 414 of you are dead to me.
I’ve always loved my birthday, as anyone who knows me will
attest. I do my friends the courtesy of
boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-77524785481710081962014-07-31T13:00:00.000-04:002014-07-31T13:00:36.319-04:00If Facebook Posts were REAL. Hubby and I were chatting last night about the plethora of happy family summer photos that are making their way onto Facebook. Sure, I could post photos of my smiling children, frolicking at the pool with their dad (on that one random evening he got home before dark and was able to join us.) Or a photo of them playing ball in the backyard (before Medium had a full-on temper tantrum, boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-62148481648236174562014-07-21T22:52:00.000-04:002014-07-21T22:52:03.410-04:00Our Romantic Getaway! (During a Hurricane.)
A few weeks ago, Hubby and I had
escaped for a few days by ourselves to celebrate our 15th wedding
anniversary. We know plenty of people
who are able to “sneak away” every now and then in order to recharge their
marriages, and even some who are able to have regular date nights. We do not have that luxury, however, so
planning a getaway in which we would leave our children for a few boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-84403348894770509842014-07-12T11:36:00.003-04:002014-07-12T11:36:58.281-04:00J. Crew, You Disappoint Me
C’mon. You knew I’d
have something to say about J. Crew, right?
The other day I was flipping through facebook when I noticed
someone had posted that J. Crew is introducing a size 000 to
their line of clothing. This “news” is
bad enough, but what really bugged me were the follow-up posts. I expected some backlash about how making
clothes smaller and smaller just boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-28029019917548723432014-05-29T11:15:00.000-04:002014-05-29T11:15:14.817-04:00Things I'd Rather Do Than Take All 3 Kids Grocery Shopping
Small finished up preschool last week, which means the
summer is fast approaching and the boys will be with me all the time.
All. The. Time.
I will no longer have that brief block of time in which to
run tedious errands by myself. You know
what makes them even tediouser? Taking
everyone with me. Even yesterday, I had
to purchase TWOboymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-22453114571959038062014-04-24T08:38:00.000-04:002014-04-24T08:38:08.329-04:00"Vacation." The Quotation Marks Indicate Sarcasm.
The summer months will soon be upon us, (if Mother Nature ever decides to make up her friggin' mind) and
that means the kids will be home for summer “vacation.” I use the term “vacation” lightly, because,
as most parents know, a vacation for the kids does NOT constitute a vacation
for the grown-ups. In fact, I think the last time I had a true vacation was on
our honeymoon in 1999.&boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-37309482044338164362014-03-26T10:53:00.000-04:002014-03-26T10:53:41.524-04:00Workin' for the Weekend
Hubby just returned from a seven day business trip to
India. Since I am the primary caretaker here at home (the CEO of the BoyMommy Household, if you will . . . ) things aren't THAT different when he's gone, but knowing he's on the other side of the world and that I will not have reinforcements is a bit disconcerting. Again, I give a humble shout-out to single moms and boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-12026799041908825712014-03-08T09:40:00.001-05:002014-03-08T09:40:26.935-05:00Ugh. I'm going back to bed.The Needy McNeedersons are at it again. Within the first half hour of being awake this morning:
I'm hungry.
Help me put these in the bag.
Have you seen my wallet?
Where's my cell project?
Who drank all these beers?
Can you put the straw in my juice box?
I can't get the tv to work!
I need you to update this baseball roster.
Remember? From the Lego Movie?
Can you read me a boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-20076339397922759202014-02-05T11:42:00.000-05:002014-02-05T11:42:09.004-05:00The Value of the DollarMedium broke my computer. Lucky for him, I've done some research, and I think it's going to be a quick fix. (For the sake of his survival, I certainly hope so since his daddy is reading about it here for the first time.) It still works, just not to its full capacity.
I don't think Medium understands the value of a dollar. He certainly doesn't understand the value boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-7446189662922684092014-02-04T07:53:00.000-05:002014-02-04T07:53:53.138-05:00Diary of a Wimpy Mom
Large is headed to his tour of the middle school today. I’m not ready. It makes my stomach hurt to think of my baby
going to middle school . . . partly because I want him to remain my little boy,
and partly because I remember what a freak show middle school was.
I was so awkward. My
jeans were always too short because I was growing faster than my mom wanted to
go jeans boymommynychttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04860892542245137976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7839877167194342497.post-8602079153963954322014-01-20T11:00:00.003-05:002014-01-20T11:00:55.777-05:00It's Not Crazy if You're a Mommy
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