"So, you're gonna suffer, but you'll be happy about it."

So, this August, Layla will be starting preschool through the Head Start program. I enrolled her today. Her starting school will mean that I'll have to get up EVERY DAY around 5:30am. But, of course, I am willing to do this, because Layla needs to go to school, and I can come back home and sleep my ass off.

But this also means, that this is the first phase of Letting Go. Every parent faces this dreaded time when little Jr. starts school. Part of you wants to rejoice and praise Jesus. You make ridiculous promises, and almost get high on your new-found freedom.



But the other part of you wants to break down and sob and wonder why God hates you so much as to let your child grow up.



But then you come to your senses again, and realize you'll have 5 and a half hours of completely child-free time. You could...sleep, or shave your legs, or clean the house (yeah fucking right) or run around the house naked. Or shave your legs while cleaning naked. The possibilities are endless!

I'll probably just sleep and fuck around on the intranets. Because my fat ass needs a break.

**ETA: If Blogger is being a douchebag and not letting you comment, email me your comment at the email address on the very bottom of the page, or head on over to the SASMA Facebook page and comment there.

Real Mom Dress Up!

Look!  Now you can dress up the Real Mom! OMG!

Now, I want to see your creations. So get her dressed by dragging and dropping the different clothing onto the Real Mom. Once you've gotten her all dressed, hold down alt and prt scr at the same time.  Then open up a photo editing program (Paint, Photoshop, etc.), make a new file, and paste your Real Mom into that file.

THEN upload your creations to the Sugar and Spice, My Ass facebook page!



Enjoy!

Thanks to: Stacie for hosting the file, and Jodee for all the patient assistance.

If mom and kid commercials told the truth 2

Continuing on the TV commercial moms vs Real moms thread, today I bring you:  What TV commercial moms look like vs What REAL mothers look like.  Moms on commercials all look so put together.  Their hair is brushed and styled.  They have on a cute, conservative sweater outfit. Their makeup is flawless.  They're actually wearing socks and/or shoes.  What a load of shit.  Unless you're the type of mother that lives in Suburban heaven, and thinks her children are angels of joy and rainbows, you're probably not going to look like you just stepped out of a JC Penney's catalog.  Sort of like this:



Real mothers, the kind that actually realize their children aren't little cherubs of butterflies and sunshine, who think June Cleaver was a simple-minded, subservient idiot, usually look like they've just stepped out of a Hobos R US catalog. At least I do. As we speak, this is my ensemble: A stained purple tank top, and maroon panties. That's it. And my hair is 7 degrees of fucked up, and my legs are so hairy, I could shave them and use the hair to knit a blanket . For example:



Real mothers usually don't give two fucks about what they look like as they change shitty diapers, and clean vomit off the walls.  My first priority is not my hairstyle when I'm elbow-deep in a sink full of two week old dishes, and Layla is in the next room screaming or trying to use our dog as transporation.  But can you imagine what commercials would be like if they featured the above image of a real mother?  Either people would think it was genius and buy the shit out of the product, or they'd start boycotting the product for scarring their target audience for life.

Now, I have to go wash the dishes, in my underwear.  Have a good day, my lovely readers.

Like it. You know you want to.

Hello. Just thought I'd let everyone know that Sugar and Spice, My Ass is now on Facebook!


Go there and Like the shit out of it! :D

**ETA:  The comments on the post below are now fixed, and anyone can comment again.  I got a little over zealous when changing settings and accidentally made it so no one could comment and tell me how awesome I am.  And that's just not right. :D So, feel free to comment to your heart's content.

If mom and kid commercials told the truth

We've all seen them. Those hideous, deceptive, sugary-sweet commercials where mothers are portrayed. Little Timmy makes a godawful mess? Smile and hand him a roll of ultra-obsorbent paper towels. The paper towels's absorbency should totally make up for the ant infestation that will result from Timmy doing a shitty job of cleaning up the mess. Sweet little Susie coughs and hacks all over her sister? Hand her a tissue and some disinfectant. Who knows? Maybe having the ebola virus is fun!

The reactions of these "mothers" is complete fucking bullshit. Unless those bitches are high, there is no way they would react the way they do. Any sane mother would throw a roll of paper towels at motor skill deficient Timmy and tell him to clean up the mess until he can see his face in the linoleum. Or until he starts college. Whichever. And if Layla hacked all over some other kid, first I'd make sure the kid wasn't a little asshole, and then if he wasn't, I'd tell her to stop being a disgusting pig, and pour cough syrup down her throat. Because that's what loving mothers do.

So, here is my version of how a REAL mother would react in these situations:

Made a godawful mess



Mom's reaction



Being a disgusting pig and coughing all over your sister



Mom's reaction



Now I have to go spill something all over the kitchen floor and make Layla clean it up, and then cough in her face. Have a good afternoon, folks.

And no, I wouldn't actually hit my kid in the face with a hammer. Unless she really deserved it, and then I might consider it. :p


**ETA:  If you have a commercial that just irritates the holy fuck out of you, and you'd like an illustration of the REAL version of that commercial, send me an email at sugarandspicemyass @ gmail . com (without the spaces, of course), with a link to a video of that commercial, and a description of what you'd like portrayed in the illustration. Or you can just leave it up to my creative genius.  Whichever you prefer.

Oooh! Shiny! AGAIN (damn it)

So, blogger did maintenance last night. And now the last post I made about the new, sparkly banner was deleted. Thanks Blogger! (fucking assholes) So here's a brand new version of that post.

As you may have noticed, the blog has a new, sparkly banner! Yay! You should totally comment and tell me how awesome it is. Or how you're astounded by my creative abilities. Or how you want to have, like, 10,000,000 of my babies. Whatever. I'd like to customize other things on the blog, but my patience has run out for the day. To customize anything on blogger you have to give a pint of blood, sacrifice a virgin, chant for 20 minutes, and stand naked in a field covered in peanut butter under a full moon. Jesus.

Hopefully I'll have a new post to go under the new banner in a few days. My brain is currently not cooperating with me, and my artistic abilities have gone retarded. So, please be patient and don't start leaving me in droves. I promise there shall be a new post very soon.

And tell your motherfucking friends about my blog. I need more followers to feed my ego. :D

Beheaded Filler

I have stuff to do today, like cook dinner, vacuum, solve world hunger, cure cancer, play with my kid. Ya know, all that domestic shit. So, here's a pic to keep you occupied:



I'm not sure what her deal is with ripping the head off her dolls. Maybe they did her a very grave personal wrong. Or maybe she's just evil and sadistic. Naaah.

Have a good afternoon, folks.

Happy Mother's Day!

Today, as most of you should know (unless you're awful and don't love your mother, or your mother is a raging hosebeast) is Mother's Day.  Today we buy cheap flowers for our mom, or a sappy card, or a steak dinner at Logans. But, for those of us with small demon spawn children, we receive homemade cards.  So, without further ado, I bring you...

Sugar and Spice, My Ass MOTHER'S DAY CARDS! *applause ensues*









And for those of you who just HAVE to be different, here's a normal one:



So, to all my fellow mothers out there:

Dance, monkey, dance!

So, Layla has this little "dance" she does whenever she's not getting her way. I have no idea why she does this, but it's fucking hilarious. And I decided to share it with you. You're welcome. And yes, that's me snorting in the background. The deep, manly voice belongs to my Big Burly Man-Beast (TM). Enjoy. :D



And yes, we were totally baiting her. And she fell for it. Mwhahahahaha!

Ah, memories

Did I ever tell you about that one time, at band camp...

Wait, start over.

As Layla's fourth birthday approaches, I'm starting to catch myself being a little nostalgic. Remember the days when she couldn't walk? Everything stayed where I put it, more or less. Remember when she couldn't talk? When she didn't tell me to shut up, or that she didn't care? Ahhh, bliss. Remember the days when the only things you had to deal with were dirty diapers, mixing formula, and waking up in the middle of the night? It was like a vacation!

One thing I definitely remember, maybe not so fondly, was the first time Layla and I were home alone together. My hetero-lifemate was off doing something. Wrestling trolls, ripping trees up by their roots, slaying dragons, whatever. I was sitting on the couch, rocking Layla, when I felt a distinctly warm sensation somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. "Hmmmm" says I, "something seems amiss." Damn fucking right something was amiss. She had shit all over me. I don't know how a baby that only weighed a little over 7 pounds could hold that much shit. Or how the force of that much shit didn't manage to blow her diaper completely off. Sort of like this:



This was my face when I discovered that I had been shat upon:



I leaped off the couch, in a single bound noless, and rushed my almost newborn infant to the nearest bathroom. All the while screaming, and flailing (in a completely safe way, of course), and uttering profanities. I turned the water on at the sink, testing the temperature on my wrist of course (what do you take me for, a bad mother?...Don't answer that.), ripped the shitty diaper off my baby's ass (in a completely gentle...you get the idea) and began bathing her in the sink. She did not like this. Not even a little. She screamed her tiny head off. We both stood there (ok, so SHE didn't stand) crying and wailing and wondering why God hated us so much. Ok, so maybe only I was wondering that. After this fun adventure, I took her back to the couch, dried her and diapered her again.

When hetero-lifemate came home, he had had a perfectly wonderful, magical day. And I hated him with every fiber of my stumpy (I'm 5'2") being for it.

Hetero-lifemate: "How was your day, baby?"

Me: "Fuck off and die."

Him: "Alright then. What's for dinner?"

This is when I jumped off the couch, laid Layla down, and beat him to death. Ok, not really.

And that, my faithful readers, is the Tale of the First Time I was Home Alone with Layla. (TM)

some parts of this story may have been embellished a tiny bit, or a complete lie.

Evil Filler

This is the face of evil, folks.

I've got a post in the works, but my brain is currently not functioning at normal speed, so here's a little distraction. You're welcome.

Now I'm going to go duct tape my child and throw her in the closet. She has spent this ENTIRE day irritating the holy fuck out of me. On purpose. She has screamed, scratched my arm repeatedly, hit me repeatedly with the shitty computer chair that is right next to me at this very moment. She has squealed, called my name repeatedly, only to ask me the SAME FUCKING QUESTION 209832094820398 TIMES. From the BATHROOM. (Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! MOMMY! *now screaming* MOMMY!!!!!! Me: WHAT?!?! Her: What you doin? AND repeat. *bangs head repeatedly into wall*) And of course, she's played the game of the previous entry. Getting completely shit-faced is looking pretty inviting right about now.