Ketchup Is a Vegetable: And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves - Softcover

O'Bryant, Robin

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1250054141 ISBN 13: 9781250054142

Verlag: Griffin, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

If you don't have anything nice to say about motherhood, then… read this book. Robin O'Bryant offers a no holds barred look at the day to day life of being a mother to three, running a household and the everyday monotony of parenting. It's not always pretty but it's real. Whether she's stuffing cabbage in her bra… dealing with defiant yet determined daughters… yelling at the F.B.I... or explaining the birds and the bees to her preschooler… you're sure to find dozens of humorous and relatable situations. From the creator of Robin's Chicks, one of the South's most popular blogs on motherhood, misunderstandings and musings, comes a collection of essays that will not only make you laugh and cry, but realize that you're not alone in your journey.
Sit back and relax, pour yourself some "mommy juice," throw a fresh diaper on your baby and deadbolt the bedroom door to keep your kids out… because once you start reading you'll be too busy wiping away tears of laughter to wipe anybody's butt.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robin O'Bryant is a writer and stay-at-home-mom to three daughters born within four years. She finally figured out where babies come from and got herself under control. Robin survives the hilarity of motherhood by making fun of herself in her books Ketchup is a Vegetable and forth-coming Are You There God? It's Me, Mommy, in self-syndicated humor column, "Robin's Chicks," and on her blog by the same name. Visit her site and learn to: breastfeed behind your back*, talk to your daughters about man parts, and write a gold fish obituary. She tweets compulsively and over shares daily on Facebook as Robin Wiley O'Bryant. Come point and laugh.

 

*Only applies to lactating women with a DD cup or larger.

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Ketchup is a Vegetable

And Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves

By Robin O'Bryant

St. Martins Press

Copyright © 2014 Robin O'Bryant
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-250-05414-2

Contents

Title Page, 
Copyright Notice, 
Dedication, 
Introduction, 
1. Birth Control? Yes, Please, 
2. It Ain't as Easy as It Looks, 
3. Awkward Naked Moments, 
4. Baby Blues, 
5. Boob Sweat, 
6. Gettin' Your Fitness On, 
7. Biscuit-Dough Boobies, 
8. Your Husband: Your Helpmate and Your Mortal Enemy, 
9. The Shirt Off My Back, 
10. Ketchup Is a Vegetable, 
11. Road Trips, 
12. Fire the Ho, 
13. "Holy Chit" and Other Faux Cuss Words You Don't Want Your Children to Say, 
14. Mothers of Boys: Get Off Your High Horses, 
15. Wal-Mart, Porn, and the FBI, 
16. Dinnertime Drama, 
17. Pamper Yourself, 
18. In Sickness and in Health, 
19. Grandmothers, MeeMaws, and Mimis, 
20. Good Game, 
21. Froggy Faith, 
22. School Daze, 
23. Eff the PTA and Their Effin' Carpool Line, 
24. She Works Hard for the Money, 
25. Sweet Dreams, 
26. Boys Have a Penis, 
27. Here Comes the Bride's Worst Nightmare, 
28. I Swear to Tell The Truth, 
29. Love and Marriage, 
30. The Birds and the Bees, 
31. Mall Madness, 
32. Why It's All Worth It, 
Acknowledgments, 
Excerpt from Are You There, God? It's Me, Mommy, 
Praise for the Author, 
About the Author, 
Copyright, 

CHAPTER 1

Birth Control? Yes, Please

I should have been on the beach with my kids, building sand castles and frolicking in the ocean. (Okay, yelling at them to stop eating sand and getting sunburned.) I should have been packing a picnic to enjoy in one of hundreds of parks in the Charleston area, a picnic my children would have totally ignored while they cried for another child's Happy Meal, but still. I should have been at our neighborhood pool, providing first aid the teenage lifeguards were incapable of rendering themselves while praying one of my children didn't poop in the pool. I should have been anywhere but where I was — sitting on the toilet doubled over with stomach cramps.

I was eleven weeks pregnant and, ahem, a little backed up.

I was stuck on the toilet as my four-year-old and two-year-old had free rein of the house. The amount of destruction Aubrey and Emma are capable of under adult supervision is astounding, but I was going to be here for a while, and they were running rampant through my house. I was so consumed with my stomach cramps that I didn't even have time to be properly terrified at what was probably going on in the next room.

My legs were just starting to go numb from loss of circulation from sitting on the toilet seat for so long when Aubrey, my oldest, came running into the bathroom.

"Momma, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to go potty, Aubrey."

"Ohhhhh, it's taking a long time, huh, Momma?"

"Yes, it is."

"Do you need help, Momma?"

"No, honey ..." I trailed off as another wave of stomach cramps and nausea swept over me. Aubrey saw my pain as an open door and yelled, "Mommy, can I have some candy?"

"If you can reach it in the pantry you can have whatever you want."

She ran out of the room as fast as her little feet would carry her, before I could change my mind, and I heard her yell to her sister, "Momma said we could have candy! Come on, Emma!"

What the hell had I been thinking when I decided to have another baby? It always seemed like a good idea until the nausea hit, which for me usually starts the day I pee on a stick and continues twenty-four hours a day until I hit the thirteen-week mark. My morning sickness had gotten progressively worse with each of my pregnancies. And now, I was pregnant, in charge of two toddlers, and even the slightest movement made me want to barf up my toenails. My husband was at work, all of my family was a good ten-hour drive away, and since we had recently moved again, I didn't have a single friend I could call. Not one I could discuss my bowel habits with, anyway.

I had never dealt with this particular pregnancy symptom before, and I was at a loss. I had tried everything I knew to do as a nurse ... drinking fluids, eating prunes, taking stool softeners. I knew what the next step was, and I was horrified. My husband and I have been through a lot together, but we are definitely a "poop with the door closed" kind of couple.

This pregnancy had brought me to a new low. I yelled from my throne for one of the girls to bring me the phone and dialed my husband's number.

"Hey! 'Sup?" he asked cheerfully.

I started sobbing as I uttered words I never thought I would say to the man I love. "I need you to bring me an enema."

I couldn't believe I had actually said the words out loud. But there was no way I could load two kids into car seats and wrangle them through a pharmacy to purchase what I needed. I waited in the bathroom while Aubrey and Emma sat on the edge of the bathtub eating Pop-Tarts and staring at me doubled over on the toilet.

I heard Zeb's car pull in the driveway and almost cried again when he opened the bathroom door with a bag from our drugstore in his hand.

"Do you need some help?" he asked.

"Yes, take your kids and let me be sick by myself. And please, please don't ever get me pregnant again," I said. I snatched the bag out of his hand, pushed all three of my family members out of the bathroom, and locked the door behind them.

There are a lot of things I said I would never do when I had kids. I swore I would never say, "Because I said so," "Don't you make me pull this car over!" or "You just wait until your daddy gets home!" I would never "let myself go," have petrified French fries on the floor of my car, or wear pajama pants to the grocery store, and I would never, ever drive a minivan. The only one of those things I've stuck to is not driving the minivan, but it's not by choice. I fantasize about my own minivan on a daily basis, complete with automatic sliding doors, enough cargo space to haul a dead body (you never know, right?), and stale fries on the floor.

I used to think I wanted four kids. This was, of course, before I had one and realized how much work was involved. I was convinced at eighteen years old that I would have four perfect little stair-steps, all exactly two years apart; two boys and two girls. (And, yes, I was a little type A.)

I heard people talk about how hard it was to be a parent, but I babysat all the time. Being a babysitter and being a mom are practically the same thing, right?

I thought I knew. I had no idea. The thing you can't explain to someone who doesn't have children is how constant being a parent actually is. It is more than twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week ... if that's even possible.

Children, toddlers especially, have boundless energy with which they can torture their parents. Hell, if all I had to do all day was color, watch Blue's Clues, eat a snack, and nap, I'd have boundless energy, too. But, no, I am the one getting out the crayons, trying to keep my children from consuming crayons, picking up broken crayons, and putting away the crayons. (And while I'm on the subject, why don't those folks at Crayola either add some vitamins and minerals to their product or make them taste bad? My kids love eating them, and I'm tired of telling them no and having to buy more. Put up or shut up, Crayola. Fortify them or make them taste bad. This isn't rocket...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Griffin
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2014
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1250054141
• ISBN 13: 9781250054142
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 240
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: KreGa Onlinehandel GmbH; 4950000000000; info@krega-onlinehandel.de; ; Birkenweg 31; Brakel; 33034; Deutschland