NEW Yo! Momma: Navigating the Co-Sleeping Trap

Who’s ready for another collabo with my boys over at Daddy Mind Tricks!?!?

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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.

In our last edition, we took on the topic of contributing more around the house and how to avoid looking like a bumbling, stumbling, moronic father figure that a TV sitcom would proudly feature.

In the latest edition collaboration of the best parenting bloggers on the Internet, we’re discussing the idea of co-sleeping and how it can wreak havoc on a couple’s opportunities to enjoy a little sexy time.

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.

My wife is all about the co-sleeping with our 13-month old and I’m ready to resume irregularly sexy time stuff. How the hell do I get the kid out of our bed so I can finally have some fun with wifey?


Pete: Welp, this sounds like the perfect chance to get a little creative outside of the bedroom, if you ask me. We don’t have to hit the time machine on sex life and travel back to the days of missionary position only pleasure under the lights before retreating back to our separate beds after an evening of the Donna Reed Show.

Not having enough sex in your own bed at night because your kid is in the way? Turn up the heat on some daytime fun whenever you can get the chance. Hire a babysitter and get it on in a Burger King bathroom like Humpty (Shock-G) from Digital Underground. Ship the kid off to family member for a night. Get a hotel and fuck like rabbits all over some freshened towels.

My point: don’t be afraid to find some creativity in the game of romance.

Now, that being said, why the hell is your toddler still sleeping in your bed and not in his or her own? Handle that. Perhaps a romp or two in your kitchen while the kid is watching Sesame Street in the other room will help unload some stress and provide clarity into how to get this little one doing 10-12 hours nightly in another bed.

Putting first things first, though – have a conference with wifey, get on the same page about the sleep training situation and get out of the hell that is co-sleeping with a toddler … before your little general can no longer stand tall and proud.

Rachel: First of all – back the fuck up. Chances are she’s not co-sleeping because she enjoys that hot furnace of a baby body all up on her, with sporadic kicks to the gut, arms across her face and a general disrespect for personal space. She’s basically at her “personal touch” limit.

Navigating the ever-changing sleeping patterns of an infant/toddler (among all of the other shit) is no joke and can make you feel like you’re taking crazy pills and hallucinating from sleep deprivation. She’s also probably bombarded by those passive-aggressive “sanctimommies” on the regular, about how their little angel was sleeping alone, through the night at 6 days old. That’s always super fun.

Bottom line? She’s fucking exhausted and tending to a child in those first few years leaves little time for rest, and yes even regular sexcapades. She wants to have sex with you, I promise (unless you’re a raging asshole). She’s just trying to figure it all out. Maybe instead of making her feel like all you want is to boot the kid from the bed so you can knock some boots, show some compassion.

Ask her what you can do to help with the transition. Offer to take another feeding. Do things proactively … sink filled with bottles? Clean it. Running low on diapers? Grab them at the store. Show her you are all about the co-parenting thing and that she has a partner, not just a sex-deprived spouse.

Nothing is more of a panty dropper than a partner who’s understanding AND all-in and hands-on with the kid stuff. It will happen. I promise.

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] and maybe we’ll feature your question in the next edition of Yo! Momma.

The Keep It Real Moms are the Illest!

Episode two is here and it’s FULL of realness. We’re talking about everything, because we just can’t stay on one topic. We’re like PTA moms with ADHD, but cool.

This installment has unfiltered discussions about everything including “shitty” baby shower games, dating ladies, being a boss ass bitch, using the Mensch on the Bench as an enforcer, tooth fairy goals and the worst jobs we’ve ever had.

We jump around like House of Pain, because that’s just what we do.

So take a listen after you put the kiddies to bed, or even while you are laying with them as they watch another painful episode of Dora or, god forbid, Calliou. Just make sure you wear headphones 😉

You can access it here on Soundcloud –


My Daughter Said the F Word…and I Laughed – NEW on Suburban Misfit Mom


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I will be the first to admit that I curse like a sailor. Sometimes because I’m pissed off, sometimes for emphasis and sometimes just because. And my husband thinks it’s hot, FYI. Fucking sue me.

Actually, most of my family has major potty mouth. We are a mishmash of loud mouth South Floridians/New Yorkers and it’s just the way it is. But somehow, we have all managed to pull it together, turn into nuns around my child, and keep that explicit language away from her, and she has the mouth of a saint. It’s really a miracle that she wasn’t born sounding like a mini Andrew Dice Clay.

So you can imagine my surprise as we headed to Disney World, the happiest place on earth, and as I was getting visibly frustrated with the stupid navigation, I hear a little voice from the backseat say, with pigtails and perfect annunciation – “Fuck!”


At first I pretended not to hear it and calmly said “What did you just say?”

She looked like I just told her Mickey Mouse died and I could tell she was scared to engage in this line of questioning. She turned mute and deflected all of my questions with sheepish looks and welled-up eyes, only giving me a thumbs-up when I asked if she said a bad word. I told her she cannot say bad words and I didn’t want to hear it ever again.

Meanwhile, in the front seat, with my mother sitting next to me, it was taking everything in me/us not to laugh out loud. Because you know what? It was funny and caught me off guard. I’m human and while I’m sure there are some mothers who are getting riled up just reading this, I’m not sorry. It’s the same kind of inappropriate laughter you may have when someone takes a really bad spill.

I was doing the silent laugh thing where you turn purple and tears pour out of your eyes and you snort, while you try and get your shit together. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was also stunned that she used it in the perfect setting and context. Had she NOT been in the car, it would have been exactly what I said to the annoying bitch who constantly screws up my voice-activated navigation efforts.


Seven years of a pure-as-the-driven-snow vernacular destroyed in 2 seconds, and she didn’t hear it from us, so what happened?

After a few hours, when we were alone and my mom was in the hotel room, my little angel asked me what “it” meant. How the fuck do you really explain “fuck” to a 7-year-old? I took a breath, looked at her and told her that it’s what lots of people use instead of saying something like, “oh no!” or “oh shoot!” when they get super frustrated or angry. No need to delve into the “other” meanings right now. I asked her where she learned it and she said, a friend at school. (I’d also like to say that I’d much rather be the one whose kid is on the learning end than the one getting the phone calls for being on the teaching end.)

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The way I saw it, I had two choices here. I could shame her for saying it. Make her feel really sorry and scared and never say it again. Or, I could engage in open dialogue to put an end to it. While I do not condone my child cursing, I’m not the “wash your mouth with soap” kind of mom. I’ve never used words like “hoo ha” and “pee pee” to describe body parts. I’m a straight shooter so I decided to stay true to that. I told her that she was probably going to hear A LOT of other words and weird things at school and that I always wanted her to feel comfortable asking me what they mean or if they are okay to say. That’s when she said, “You mean, like the word ‘Fuck’”.


Yes, just like that word I said, and you will never get in trouble if you are asking me about a word like that. I realized I needed to be more clear though because she “mouthed” it once more, as if the lack of audible noise made it okay. And I could tell she wasn’t trying to necessarily push boundaries. The kid was curious.

Curiosity is fine, I told her, but you will be in big trouble if I hear you using it after I’ve explained that it’s wrong. Capiche?

It wasn’t uttered again and we went on to enjoy our weekend. But I kept replaying it in my head. Did I answer correctly? Did I get the point across? And for the love of god, if she already knows the F word, where do we go from here? It’s like she skipped the remedial cursing. What happened to “shit”?

I know this isn’t the last of the cursing convos but I’m pretty proud of how I handled it. As a parent – strict or laid back – I don’t know if you can ever prepare yourself for that first dirty word leaving their innocent little lips. I feel like it’s a weird rite of passage and can only imagine the words currently swirling around 1st grade recess. I supposed I should feel thankful it took this long!










I’m Not Above Bribery

I have a confession.

I bribe my daughter.



I bribe her to eat, to go to bed, to wear certain things, to basically get her to do anything I need when she’s not cooperative. I’m not kidding. I literally do it all the time. All. The. Time.

But I’m not ashamed and I KNOW I’m not alone. As parents we need to do what works, and bribery works for me.

89% of the time it works, but now, because she’s wicked smart (she really is, I’m not just one of “those” parents) and getting older, she’s turned the tables on me. It’s like she sees my bribes as the opening offer in a string of aggressive negotiations. This chick plays hardball and she is good. It’s like the student has become the teacher.

While her skills far surpass mine, I think it might be genetic. You see, I too was bribed as a child. But I’m not talking “get an A on your math test and we’ll give you 20 bucks” bribery. Nope, that’s for novices. The bribes I received were MUCH more complicated and attached to higher stakes.

While I’m sure I can rattle off a million occurrences, there are two that stick out. One from very early in my life, and one from much much later.

The Distraction Bribe: In the first scenario, I was probably 3 or 4. I was still an only child and we were only living in Florida for a year or so. We lived in a townhouse in Eastern Shores and to complete the whole family planting roots dynamic, my parents bought me a puppy. It was a teeny apricot-colored poodle named Strawberry (an homage to my dad’s garment business at the time, called Strawberry SHIRTcake – see I’m not the only person in my fam into plays-on-words to name things). Anyway, we had a housekeeper at the time, who apparently wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box. She left the front door open one day, Strawberry got out and instinctively, because puppies have no fear or knowledge of boundaries, she ran into the street and it did not end well.

She was fired on the spot and in the same breath, my mom said, “Rachel, Strawberry had a little accident, I’m so sorry, get in the car we’re going to Lionel Playworld  and you can get whatever you want!” I was too little to really understand so this seemed like a logical course of action. That’s when I picked out a talking dog stuffed animal (I’m sure a shrink would have a field day with that one), named Napper, which I schlepped everywhere.

That little ball of fuzz under my right arm is Napper.

That little ball of fuzz under my right arm is Napper. And yes, I’m wearing a crop top.

There was another variation of the “distraction bribe” that revolved around pets later in life as well. I had a parakeet in my room. Her name was princess and I don’t think I even liked her. Anyway, I had gone to NY to visit my family, as I did many winters, while my parents and brother stayed back. Well, Florida had a crazy cold front and my mom walked into my room to find Princess literally frozen to death. My brother thought it was awesome and all he wanted to do was call me in NY and tell me, but my mom had to beg him not to. I’m sure his silence was not free. My mom, being my mom, obviously didn’t want me to be upset so she hatched a little plan. When I got home, she told me to go see Princess in my room and when I did, the phone next to her cage rang, immediately distracting me. I picked it up and it was her calling me from the kitchen. She had gotten me my own phone line which was a BFD (points to any of my friends who remember the number). Then I looked up at the cage and did a double-take, literally. Because there were TWO birds in there and when I left a couple of weeks prior, I was pretty certain there was just the one. I asked my mom, and she said “Ok, fine, Princess died and I went to replace her so you hopefully wouldn’t notice but I couldn’t decide between the two decoys so I got both…and your own phone line.”

The Desperation Bribe: In my early 20s, I was fresh out of college and working a job for no money while living at home. I had a cyst on my wrist I needed to get taken care of so my mother and I went to my pediatrician we had gone to since I was like 2. (Yup, even though I was at the age where I was already seeing a GYN, we still went to the ped for regular stuff and I think I did until I was like 25). He recommended a specialist and off we went. Well, what was supposed to be a simple and quick in-office procedure, ended up with me passing out and not being able to fully sit up without puking for about 3 hours. I had some weird reaction to the local anesthesia coupled with anxiety (I’m sure) and went down with my mom standing right there as the doctor yelled, “Call 911!!!!”

She FREAKED!!! “Call 911?!?!? Aren’t you a doctor?!?!?”. The next thing I really remember was her leaning over the gurney in the office as they were checking my vitals and she was saying, “Just get up Rach and I will get you a Gucci wallet. PLEAAASSSEEE!” That one sentence was better than any amount of smelling salts. I recovered and she delivered.

Come to think of it, I don’t think my brother or I EVER left a doctor’s appointment without going straight to a store to be rewarded. And if the appointment included shots?? Forget it!

So clearly, it must be in my blood, which means it’s also in my daughter’s.

Thanks mom and God help me.




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