Introducing…The Parental Advisory Podcast (Insert Applause)

It’s finally here!! The news we have been sitting on, literally for months. We would have launched this endeavor sooner but with three parents living in three different states having kids with incessant fevers, snotty episodes and other parenting shit…we had some full plates over here.

 

You have probably witnessed the little social media lovefests between Daddy Mind Tricks and Whine & Cheez(its), but you need to know that our love is strong and real. Even more real than JoJo and Jordan.

 

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So we decided to take our relationship to the next level….PODCASTING!!

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That’s right! We are effing thrilled to announce the official podcast that is the brainchild of our two brands – The Parental Advisory Podcast.

 

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(TO GOT STRAIGHT TO THE ITUNES LINK CLICK HERE)

Shit. Just. Got. Real.

Here’s what you can expect:

Sarcasm

Raw parenting anecdotes

Busting each other’s balls

Cursing

Crossing boundaries

Honesty

Cursing

Hilarity

Entertainment

Cursing

 

Each episode will have the three of us discussing timely parenting topics – but REALLY discussing them. Not providing canned, politically correct soundbites. This isn’t The Effing View. Sometimes we will agree, sometimes we will not. But one thing you can always count on – we will ALWAYS be real as shit.

 

Please check out our first few episodes, share the hell out of them, review them wherever you listen and stay tuned for more. You can even put some money in our swear jar if you really want to help some bloggers out and be part of our efforts for world (or at least blogosphere) domination.

 

Thank you to all of our supporters and we hope you like what you hear!

 

Rachel, Pete & Mark

Go That Extra(Curricular) Mile – NEW from Lifestyle Magazine

As if back-to-school is not stress-inducing enough, you also have the added pressure of signing your kid(s) up for extracurricular activities – you know, to keep them well-rounded…and out of your hair for an hour so you can do laundry, or cook a meal, or pee alone.

Read all about it in my latest article for Lifestyle Magazine!

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xx

Rachel

 

 

Yo! Momma: Don’t Touch My Boobs!

This edition of Yo!Momma, with my blog besties, Daddy Mind Tricks, is all about boobs.

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Welcome to our monthly joint venture we like to call, Yo! Momma. We open up the mailbag to answer the questions from our most faithful readers and bring definitive resolution in the age-old battle of the sexes.

 

We do so in the only way we know how: with zero filter and 100-percent brutal honesty.  

 

Last month, we took on the little game of communication duality that pops up in our exchanges with members of the opposite sex – basically, it was all about what to do when she says “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

In the latest edition collaboration of the best parenting bloggers on the Internet, we’re talking about boobs. Yes. Boobs.

 

You ask. We attempt to answer … and then Rachel from Whine & Cheez(Its) drops some knowledge on your ass to provide the feminine point of view that we all truly need in our lives.

 

Welcome to another edition of … Yo! Momma.

 

Why does my wife say her boobs are too sensitive for me to touch? Did the kid break them?

– Mike, Omaha

 

Pete: Breastfeeding is no joke. Next to the whole pushing of a human being out of a small orifice thing, being solely responsible for the regular sustenance of your baby is likely the toughest thing your wife is ever gonna do, Mike. I get it, though. You are ready to get back down to full business underneath the sheets. Sexy time with wifey is missing some of its most valuable players. Give it time. Well, unless you are a freaky dude and get into some weird shit with breastmilk. That’s on you, bro. But most of us aren’t and would rather wait it out for a few weeks.  Shortly after the milk truck is closed up for good, the orbs will return to normal. Until the mounds of awesome make their triumphant return, find some other ways to have to some fun with the lesser-known erogenous zones. Don’t know what those are? Well, that’s another Yo! Momma topic on its own.

 

Rachel: If by broken you mean 9 months of hard time served by a baby in her uterus, followed by the agony of said baby latching on to her nipples several times a day with an irrationally strong sense of suction for such a little thing, followed by hooking herself up to a machine that sucks her boobs into giant funnels to keep her milk supply game strong…then yes, they are most certainly broken. While I do not have balls of my own, I would imagine the sensitivity issues you have with those is somewhat comparable. And we have so many hormones running through our bodies, post baby that there’s no telling when those things will be back in play. So just be conscious and if she says hands off….it’s hands off. They’ll be back (maybe different after breastfeeding…you’ve been warned), so just be patient.

 

Now it’s YOUR turn. Do you have some more questions for our crackpot team of experts? Drop us a line in the comments section, or hit us up on email at DaddyMindTricks [at] gmail.com and maybe we’ll feature your question in the next edition of Yo! Momma.

 

My Husband is NOT My Best Friend – New for The Huffington Post

So I have a confession…my husband is not my best friend. And we are both totally cool with it.

Read all about it in today’s article for The Huffington Post!

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8 Relatable Things About “Bad Moms”

One of the most talked about/anticipated movies in the carpool line recently is Bad Moms. And for good reason.

We’re used to seeing blockbusters detailing the raucous humor behind a bromance, but let’s be honest, most movies with female leads end up gravitating toward the cheesy side (except Bridesmaids…that was a winner).

Well…all I have to say is that I was lucky enough to see the advanced screening of Bad Moms and it did NOT disappoint. (Also, Dear Mila Kunis, I’m more in love with you now than I was before and that’s A LOT!)

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While it’s hilarious and maybe at times a little exaggerated (but seriously, not by much), it’s such a good representation of motherhood on so many levels. The characters range from single mom to working mom to SAHM and there’s literally something everyone can latch on to in all of these women.

After practically peeing my pants  from laughing so hard too many times to count throughout the movie (thanks a lot childbirth), I came up of a list of the most relatable things Bad Moms brings to the table.

1. It’s hard to find real mom friends and you have to weed through some real bullshit personalities (and even get burned) to find them in the end. But it’s worth it when you find your true momsquad.

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2. If you’re in a marriage where your husband expects you to do everything for the kids (especially just because you are a SAHM), you better nip that in the bud and level the scales sister.

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3. Everyone needs that one inappropriate mom friend with no filter who just does not give a shit.

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4. Alpha PTA moms are the worst and can suck the happiness out of any situation.

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5. Raising kids is effing hard.

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6. All moms need some time away from the kids to let loose once in a while.

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7. You never know what is going on behind closed doors – with someone’s kids, in someone’s marriage, with someone’s psyche – so don’t rush to judgement and be kind to one another.

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8. As moms, all we can do is the best we can; and your best may not be mine and vice versa.

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So do yourself a favor mamas, see this movie as soon as it’s out.

And when you get to the hoodie/sweatshirt scene, if you do not suffocate from laughing uncontrollably, know that something is very wrong with you. Very wrong.

xx

Rachel

 

 

Birthdays, Buses, Bathroom Hoses and Black & White Cookies

My friend Dale has a party every year to commemorate his birth. They are not normal parties like you or I would have where a group of friends gather for dinner and drinks. His are just a little different. There’s always a dress code. The room is bustling with skinny girls 20 years my junior with asses for days. There are usually some surprises – like half-naked dancers, robots with smoke guns, women wearing dresses made from bottles of alcohol and other things that probably require city permits.

I’ve talked about him several times on the blog and have actually covered his last couple of birthday parties….because they are that epic and warrant press coverage. I basically get the exclusive every year. You can kind of say that I am his official blogger.

I actually know that he considers me a true friend (which is fair since I have known him for 20+ years and we have had our share of adventures) because I’m still invited even though I am old compared to the overwhelming majority of the guest list. There’s actually a small group of us V.O.P.s (Very Old People) who stick together and adult in the corner somewhere probably talking about shit like our mortgages, kids and gas prices.

So last night was the annual birthday celebration and it actually had an official name – The Black and White Cookie Party. The dress code was for women to be in white and men in black. Which is so unfair to begin with to an almost 40-yr old-woman. I mean, we all know black is the slimming color. White is basically for women who have no cellulite and have not birthed a child. But I listened because I am a rule follower (most of the time) and I want to remain on the invite list without rocking the boat.

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The party was set to be a 23-square-foot mansion with a pool bigger than my home, owned by someone with a name eerily similar to King Jaffe Joffer from Coming to America.

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I’ll admit, I was a little more excited about the house than the party for a hot minute. Seriously…when would you ever walk into a 23,000-square-foot house in your life?

But let’s talk about the invite for a second so I can point out some of the inherent differences in a party a normal person would have. You guys…there’s a hashtag, a sponsor and the option to bring swimwear. That’s like Yeezy-level shit. Can you effing imagine the looks I would have gotten if I busted out my swimwear – a momkini with a big, billowy cover-up and monogrammed baseball hat?

But my dreams were quickly shattered as this house was on the naughty list for throwing too many raucous parties, so there was a last-minute venue change. If this happened to me, I would literally panic and take all the xanax, but Dale is different. He’s not a white, Jewish girl predisposed to anxiety (even though he has soft spot in his heart for them), so he rolled with it and had his people (let it be noted he has people) send out information with the new deets.

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With all the uber talk, I got nervous and even checked with him about parking when I realized there would be walking, because that greatly affects shoe choice. You can’t rock car to curb Louboutins if you have to hoof it even 500 yards, am I right?

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So it was on to a different mansion and the good news was that this one was on the water, so now we have the option to take a boat…as our host so conveniently points out in the update below (sidenote: there were more updates for this party than a CNN ticker and as someone who is Type A, that’s totes my jam). My boat, unfortunately, was in the shop so it was a no-go but the good news was that there was a shuttle from where we were told to park. Also, mad props for the reminder not to get into random cars – my neurotic mother would give you a gold star.

 

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And this was the exact moment I realized that Dale incorporated a scavenger hunt into his party this year! Super fun!!

That informative map with the pin above that says “park here” may seem super cut and dry, but it’s a giant mall. Soooooo, we pulled into one of the multiple parking lots and started the scavenger hunt. We looked for other people in black and white. We searched for clues. Polled mall security. And looked high and low for the elusive shuttle…then we we found it!

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Just kidding, that wasn’t it, but after we parked, we picked up a stray dressed in white, added her to our wolfpack and walked into a neighborhood where google maps on our phone told us to go.

Yay! We found it and the birthday boy (oh, and the “shuttle” BTdubs which was parked in the driveway of the house which did us no good.)

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We soaked in the balmy 95 degree breezes from the intracoastal and sucked on ice chips like women in labor to stay cool. Dale is after all, a Miami Heat personality so for all we know the “heat” was a chic and purposeful part of the theme? I quickly mobilized for pictures before the facade broke down and I still looked cute and the jew fro emerged. It’s like being effing Cinderella and getting the good shots in before the clock strikes midnight and you turn into a pumpkin.

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We even took an updated picture because these two wanted to prevent me from using the old one of the three of us from a Dale party back in the day, but how can I possibly retire that?

My friend Karen and I took a little stroll to check out the house. You know to look at the finishes, crown molding, flooring and piece de resistance…

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Guys, the toilet came fully equipped with contraption to hose yourself down. This house had EVERYTHING. From going above and beyond in the bathroom…

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To a refreshment table that was ON FLEEK!

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No but seriously, there was amazing music, a bar, black and white cookies and Dale…which is ALL you really need to pull of a great party.

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Happy birthday buddy! I love you lots and you will forever be my side chocolate. I can’t wait to see what next year has in store!

It Was All a Dream…

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It was all a dream
I used to read Word Up magazine
Salt’n’Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine..

No, but seriously. When I quit my job I was ready to make shit happen. I set my sights high and hustled like a boss (and still do every. damn. day). I was so fortunate and humbled to get a regular monthly column in a local magazine pretty early on, but never once did I stop trying to add to that.

While still maintaining a client roster of my own filled with business-related freelance writing gigs (you know, to pay my mortgage), I would just write and write and write my own stuff as well and submit all of it everywhere I possibly could to increase exposure. I scored two more regular contributor gigs and then, one day I got an email that literally rocked my world. One of my articles was accepted on Scary Mommy. Many of you may not understand the gravity of that, but for someone who writes what I write, it’s effing mind-blowing (and just to put things in perspective, I must have submitted more than a dozen different articles before I got that email.)

Holy. Shit. My hard work is starting to pay off.

And then, this weekend, I had another one of those moments. All because of a conversation with a friend who also writes, but TOTALLY different stuff. So I took another big chance, put myself out there…and this happened and I practically peed my pants.

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You guys, all I can say is that THIS is the kind of stuff I live for. It’s proof that nothing comes easy and you have to bust your ass. But with focus, persistence and a whole lotta moxie…it’s possible.

So, please do check out my first contribution to the Huffington Post, and those to follow, and I will be forever grateful as you are reading along.

xx,

Rachel, The Notorious Y.I.D (new nickname courtesy of my boy DJ Holiday)

I’m blowin’ up like you thought I would
Call the crib, same number same hood
It’s all good
And if you don’t know, now you know

 

Too Cool for Pool – NEW from Lifestyle Magazine

Raise your hand if the pool (or any body of water for that matter) scares the shit out of you…

My hand is WAYYYYY up.

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Water is scary when you have children. Basically I’d rather have an elective root canal than attend a pool party. Ok, a little dramatic maybe, but I am not one of those moms who kicks back and has a glass of champs while my kid takes a dip in the pool.

I may as well be in a red baywatch one piece with a whistle and a lifesaver. You know, like the brunette, non-implanty version of Pamela Anderson.

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Check out my latest article for Lifestyle Magazine all about my perspective (aka neuroses).

Hey Mamas, Let’s Keep it Real, OK?

If you can’t tell, I love when other moms keep it real. Show the good and bad that comes along with motherhood. Like, don’t just tell me about the perfect day you had taking your baby for a stroll in the mall while she slept soundly and didn’t make a peep while you perused aisles of gorgeous shoes in Nordstrom…because we all know you’re leaving out the diaper blowout that cut your shopping splurge short. Tell us that too, because it’s hilarious and relatable.

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Check out my fresh new post for The Morning Kvetch and let’s cut the Facebook Fanstasyland bullshit, ok?

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Thanks!

xo

Rachel

The Good, Bad and Ugly of Childbirth

Before I delivered my daughter, my mom would tell me having her wisdom teeth out was more painful than childbirth.

Liar.

She admitted AFTER I had my daughter, that she lied because she didn’t want me to be scared. Well, you know what’s worse than being scared? Being completely mentally unprepared about what happens when you have a child.

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Is it amazing to bring a child into this world? 100% ! But there are so many things that happen to your body before, during and after labor, that are just effing gross and weird. I mean c’mon – the National Geographic nipples, the black line down the middle of your stomach, should I keep going?

However, for some reason, many women like to pretend it’s ALL like a magical scene out of a Disney movie where birds are chirping on the windowsill and some perfect blonde lass is baking perfect cherry pies while she sings and folds laundry (sidenote: if you sing while folding laundry you might need your head checked.)

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When friends became pregnant after me and asked questions…I did NOT lie. But, first I would ask if they really wanted the truth or if they wanted to play the bullshit game a lot of other women like to play. If they opted for the truth, I gave it to them. Hard. It’s that same motivation that had me jump on possible little inclusion in a recent story for The Berry about real childbirth experiences (definitely click that link to see the full story – there are some GREAT quotes from other moms just like me giving honest and hilarious accounts of their experiences). My quote sums up a portion of my childbirth story…but not nearly all of it.

My child was 6 days late and while overall I had a great pregnancy, in those final weeks, I literally wanted to punch everyone who said things like, “Hmmmm. No baby, yet?”. I would go to my OBGYN appts begging and pleading and crying for him to put me out of my misery and induce me (that’s what I get for delivering in Boston. In South Florida they don’t give a shit and actually schedule C-sections based on hair appointments. I suppose I should be thankful, even though I was completely over it). And on the night before I was to be induced, she finally decided to make her own entrance.

I knew I wanted an epidural the second I peed on a pregnancy test and it was positive. There was no question in my mind.

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Kudos to you ladies who do it sans drugs but that is not my thing. And while the drugs curtailed the excruciating contractions that literally took my breath away and made me feel like I was about to involuntarily reenact “that” scene from Alien, the same cannot be said for the delivery part. It effing hurts, you guys. Yes it’s worth it. But it hurts.

Plus, since I was in a teaching hospital, the medical students and residents have to learn using someone’s vagina, and mine was apparently one of them. Every so often the door would open and an attending physician would say, “Is it ok for (insert one of who knows how many med student’s names) to check you?”

Sure! Welcome to the party. I was like the pregnant Oprah but instead of giving out cars, it was more like, “YOU get to see how dilated I am!” “”YOU get to see how dilated I am!”Annnnnnnd “YOU get to see how dilated I am!” “Someone’s having a baaaaaaaaabyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

After 12ish hours of labor (which actually is not a lot, for you novices), while I was pushing and nothing was really happening, they started whispering about a C-section. I was like…no effing way. I didn’t just go through 12 hours of labor to get gutted like a fish. Something inside of me took over and I literally became superhuman. That kid was out in 20/30 mins.

All I remember, other than looking into her amazing eyes, is that I was FREEZING and shivering like I was standing in a blizzard, naked. I also remember that all I wanted was an ice-cold fountain diet coke, since I did not have one for 9 months. That was my first post-baby drink and it was glorious.

All of the pain, anxiety and weirdness was worth it a gazillion times over. All I’m asking is why don’t we talk openly about it? I love a good surprise, but when it involves X-files level shit and my body, a little heads-up would have been nice.