the big book of parenting tweets: top 12

Hey, loyal so-and-sos! What’s up? How you be? How’s it hanging? And other dumb expressions!

So listen. I’m not sure how often you guys check out my sidebar, but the observant among you may have noticed that a new badge has recently appeared. A badge that looks a little something like this:


That’s right! I’ve had the amazing good fortune to be included in The Big Book of Parenting Tweetsan illustrated collection of 300-plus tweet jokes, real-kid conversations and snarky one-liners from more than thirty of the most hilarious Twitter comedians to ever change a diaper. Curated and edited by Kate Hall of Hall of Tweets and Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and Jessica Ziegler of Science of Parenthood, this book was illustrated by Ms. Ziegler herself.

So what should you expect from this book? Simple – the best and funniest Twitter material ever written about parenting, all compiled in one place for your convenience. You’ll find 300+ super funny jokes, acerbic one-liners, and wry observations about the highs, lows, really lows, and just-hit-bottoms of parenthood. As well as a handful of HILARIOUS tweets from yours truly:


But listen. I’d be lying if I said I even held a candle to the other contributors in this book, who are some of the most popular Twitter comedians out there. So I wanted to give you a sample of just what they can do. I picked twelve of my absolute favorite tweets from the book to give you just a hint of what this compilation is all about.



Mommy: *gets off the phone* Ugh. I sounded like a douche.
4yo: Whats a douche?
Mommy: Nothing.
Me: I gotta go to work.
4yo: Good-bye, douche!

There are days that start with a beautiful sunrise, and then there are days that start with mistaking a dead fly for a raisin.

Me: Found one of your sippy cups, bud.
2yo: I put away.
Me: Thank you, that’s a big help!
2yo: Ok. *throws in linen closet and walks away*

“One day, son, this will all be yours.”
*points to two pennies and a nickel found in dryer lint trap*

4yo: Mom!
Me: What?
4yo: I can’t get my head to come off!
Me: Pull harder, honey.
4yo: Ok!
4yo: Ow!
Me: *looks up from phone* Wait, what?

We have cute nicknames for each of our 2 kids. We call the 1st “The one who gets up at 5 a.m. EVERY day” and the other “The one we don’t hate.”

Things my kids gave me on Father’s Day:
1) Grief
2) Attitude
3) Malaise
4) A card Mom bought and forced them to sign.

Anytime I cannot find my kids, I just go to the bathroom and wait for them to barge in.

With my wife away, my children keep asking me for things like meals and Band-Aids and sympathy, but I don’t know where we keep any of that.

Let’s get married and have kids so instead of doing fun stuff on the weekend we can go to a kid’s birthday party where everyone coughs.

Kid 1: What are sex slaves?
Kid 2: Yeah, what ARE sex slaves??
And that will conclude today’s play date.

I overheard this man say, “Whenever we make salad for the kids, they just love it.”
I hate him.


My son, to the stewardess: Thank you for the flight. I really enjoyed it.
My son, to me: Your breath smells.


If you didn’t laugh at any of these tweets, I diagnose you with I DON’T EVEN-itis. But if you *did* laugh at some, there are hundreds more like them in The Big Book of Parenting Tweets! This is the perfect stocking stuffer and I highly recommend stuffing a stocking with a copy of this book this holiday season. Learn more at the web site and then jump on over to Amazon and buy!


If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.

hilarious anecdote crudité

Hello loyal so-and-sos! Today I’m going to share some funny stories with you that are just a little bit too short to warrant their own blog posts. Think of it as “hilarious anecdote crudité.” One story probably won’t fill you up, but if you cram a whole bunch of them in your face, you’ll be all good.

So! Carrot sticks and broccoli florets await! And I didn’t even stretch the ranch.hard-returngif

story #1: the earwig

I almost ate an earwig this summer.

I’m assuming you’ve seen these plastic Starbucks tumblers before. They’re dishwasher safe, they come with sturdy green straws that you can wash out and reuse, and let’s face it, they’re absolutely adorable.

The plastic Starbucks tumbler of which I speak.

My plastic Starbucks tumbler lives in my kitchen cabinet, which is where it was on that fateful day in late June. The weather was boiling hot, my mouth was a dry as a bone, and I had THE THIRST. Nothing but a 20-oz. glass of iced tea would do.

So I brought out the tumbler, filled it up, inserted the reusable straw, and screwed on the lid. Then I took my first sip.

Which is when IT happened.

I’ve given this a lot of thought, and the best explanation I can come up with is that at some point, an earwig out on its morning constitutional thought to itself: “I’m tired. Why not crawl into this sturdy green straw and die?” Because crawl into the straw and die it had. And when I took that first sip of what should have been a cool, refreshing glass of iced tea, a decaying earwig corpse slid right up the straw and into my mouth.

At which point I thought it was a piece of crushed ice and BIT DOWN ON IT.

When the alleged piece of crushed ice was not hard and crunchy like ice, but soft and “whatever the fuck this is, it shouldn’t be in my drink” like an earwig, I spit it out into the sink, saw what it was, and gagged forever.

Eventually I managed to collect myself, rinse my mouth out with cold water, and join the land of the people who had not just almost eaten earwigs. I then proceeded to march around the house for two hours impressing upon my family just how traumatized I was. BECAUSE EARWIG. IN MY MOUTH.


A text exchange I had with my friend Lori shortly after “The Incident.”


story #2: the shopping cart

The holidays had arrived.

My sister Cheeks and I were visiting the old homestead in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Winters there are never really a picnic, but on this particular day, it was chillier than a dead earwig in a glass of iced tea.

If I recall correctly, there was no actual snow, but there was cold and rain and wind. All told, it was definitely a day for staying inside, and most of the people in our town were doing exactly that. Of course, whenever other people are being smart, Cheeks and I end up doing things that are incredibly dumb. So, in keeping with that tradition, we decided to go to Target.

I honestly don’t remember what we actually went there to get. All that really sticks in my memory was that a) it was FRIGID and b) the entire town was DESERTED. We literally didn’t see a single soul on our way to the store. The residents of our hometown had chosen to remain indoors rather than brave the elements to get . . . Pringles, or whatever the fuck it was we thought we needed.

Cheeks and I finished our shopping and emerged into the Cold ‘N Shitty parking lot. Two spots down from my car was a man sitting in *his* car. He hadn’t been there before, but we paid him little mind. It was freezing, after all, and we were hyper-focused on getting our cheap bras and nacho cheese Combos into the trunk of my car tout suite.

After we unloaded what I’ll generously call our “groceries,” the skies opened up, and Cheeks and I felt ourselves being pelted by an icy drizzle. We looked around for a place to put our empty cart, but the corral was maybe eight to ten feet away literally a million miles across the parking lot. In a windy, icy Chicago rain? Forget it. We weren’t going to walk that shit over there.

So Cheeks did what we have all longed to do at one point or another—she simply gave our cart one good hard shove in the general direction of the corral and yelled: “FLY FREE!” At which point, the cart went maybe two feet, turned sharply, and fell over in the middle of the street.

And we decided to leave it there.

Laughing like idiots, we scrambled to my car in order to flee the scene of The Stupidest “Crime” Ever Committed. And that’s when we noticed that the guy in the parking spot two cars down from us had witnessed the whole thing and was laughing so hard he was crying. Like “wiping tears from his eyes” crying. Like “I can hardly breathe” crying. Like “these two people are the biggest morons I’ve ever seen” crying.

Enjoy this holiday picture of me and Cheeks. My husband took it. He thought he was being funny.


story #3: one million poop jars

My son wants to get in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Him: “Will you help me set a world record?”
Me: “Uh, sure. For what?”
Him: “Most consecutive hours watching television.”
Me: “Um…”
Him: “You could make me a bed on the couch with lots of pillows and blankets.”
Me: “…”
Him: “And get me like… twenty Capri-Suns.”
Me: “Twenty?”
Him: “Hmm…not twenty. Fifty. No, a hundred.”
Me: “Okay…”
Him: “And a LOT of snacks.”
Me: “How would you go to the bathroom?”
Him: “One million pee jars.”
Him: “Yeah.”
Me: “And what if you have to poop?”
Him (with “duh” expression): “One million poop jars.”


If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.


Photo credits:
“Starbucks Tumbler”:

how I really learned about sex


My sex education began on an ominous afternoon in the fifth grade when, without warning, the girls and boys were split up and maneuvered into two different rooms to watch a “health film.”

Looking back, it was all very shady. I should have had some misgivings about this so-called “health film,” or been at least a little suspicious about the fact that everyone with a wiener was being marched down to the gymnasium to watch it while we girls stayed behind. But I was too busy having my usual response to the audio-visual cart, which was:


So, completely oblivious to the fact that something unusual was going on, I plopped down on the threadbare carpet, sat criss-cross applesauce, and waited eagerly for the “health film” to start. Which it did.

And innocence, as they say, was lost.

Sex education in the mid-1980’s meant a lot of things, but “a wealth of accurate information about sexual development and self-discovery” was not one of them. There was a lot of hemming and hawing involved, and an abundance of “facts” that had been customized to avoid certain awkward truths. For example:

Fact: Boys start puberty when they experience their first ejaculation.

Awkward Truth: Teaching this requires the schools to address the topic of…





1980s Solution: Since talking to kids about masturbation is uncomfortable and yucky, the schools decided to just HEAVILY imply that boys only ejaculate during wet dreams. Because wet dreams are involuntary. They can’t be helped! A pair of boobs just floats by in a dream and whoopsie! Ejaculation. WITH NO PENIS TOUCHING INVOLVED.

Long-term Consequence of the 1980s Solution: No, it’s cool. I mean, some of us girls didn’t realize male masturbation was even a thing until we were like 13, but whatever. We just spent FOUR YEARS under the mistaken and hilarious impression that boys were having wet dreams all over the place, every single night of the year. But no big.

I guess what I’m saying here is that back in those days, with no Internet and more than a buttload of societal hangups, most of us kids didn’t get the straight dope on sex for a really long time. The “health films” were outdated, full of half-truths, and overloaded with complicated medical jargon that meant nothing to us. (Fallopian tubes? Vas deferens? Nocturnal emissions? Please. I zoned out after “vagina.”)

The “birds and the bees” talks we got from our parents were no better—IF we got them at all—and most of them were totally squicky and embarrassing. Here’s an excerpt from mine:

Mom: “So uh… when a man and a woman love each other very much… the man puts his penis into the woman’s vagina.”


Mom (stuttering): “Uh… it feels good?”


So what were we children of the 70’s and 80’s supposed to do between fifth grade and whenever our school district finally deemed it appropriate to teach us the real deal? How did we actually learn about sex?

We learned from porn.

OH, I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE KIND OF PORN ON THE INTERNET TODAY. I’m talking softcore stuff. Scrambled porn. Skin mags. Dirty books. I know it all sounds super duper lame, but it’s what was available back then, and its availability was very limited. You think kids go to crazy lengths now to find porn on the Internet? Here’s what my friends and I would do to catch a glimpse of a boob or a mention of a wang:

1. Watch scrambled porn. For the kids in the audience who don’t know what this is, let me explain. Back before digital cable, all premium channels and channels with adult content would be “scrambled” by the cable company. They’d only get “unscrambled” if your Mom or Dad started subscribing to those particular channels, which of course mine never did.

As methods of television encryption go, analog scrambling wasn’t very effective. You could still listen to the audio, and you could still *kind* of see what was going on. Enough to get an idea. Enough to learn some things you didn’t know before. Enough to harvest plenty of wack-off material. And in the end, isn’t that what mattered?


2. Go through our neighbors’ garbage. I can hear you saying: “OH NO YOU DI’INT.” But oh yes. We did. One particular neighbor of mine had a subscription to both Playboy AND Penthouse, and he’d even class it up occasionally with an erotic novel or two. Seriously? His trash was a treasure trove of porn. My friends and I would root through his garbage, score some skin mag gold, and then spend the rest of the afternoon reading Penthouse letters and giggling over the liberal use of the word “pussy.”

SIDE NOTE: When we were done looking at the busty, big-haired Playmates of the 80’s, we would do our neighborhood a humongous favor and hang all of the centerfolds from tree branches. Right near the street, so you couldn’t miss ‘em. Because we were GIVERS like that. GIVERS.


3. Read and reread and reread Forever . . . by Judy Blume. If you are a girl who was born in the 70’s, or probably even the 80’s, you’ve read this book. When I was a kid, Forever . . . was one of the most censored books in America, and it was famous for its extremely graphic (and very informative) sexual content. Most parents knew it was completely inappropriate for middle schoolers, but there was always one clueless mom who would say “OH IT’S BY JUDY BLUME IT’S FINE” and buy a copy for her daughter without taking a closer look.

And for that one clueless mom, we were thankful.

There was one—and I mean ONE—incredibly dog-eared copy of Forever . . . that circulated around my junior high school, and the pages with the sex scenes were worn so thin they felt like used Kleenex. The binding was cracked too, and when you opened the book it would flop right open to the part where the two teenage protagonists are just straight up doin’ it on the living room carpet.

Eventually the book got confiscated and girls throughout my school sighed a collective “Awwww” of disappointment, but we never forgot what we read. In particular, we never forgot that one of the main characters nicknamed his penis “Ralph.”

The actual cover of the edition that made its way around my middle school. I’m not sure what a locket has to do with two teenagers fucking their way through their senior year of high school, but whatevs.

Sex education is a whole different ball game these days, and as an uptight Catholic American, I’ll admit I’m not looking forward to having to answer certain questions from my son. Still, I will answer them. Honestly, thoughtfully, and with love. Because anything is better than growing up thinking it was totally normal to hang spooge-stained centerfolds off of tree branches, or that it was common practice to name one’s genitals “Ralph.”


If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.


Photo credits:
“Scrambled cable”: A scrambled version of the 1993 Paramount Pictures logo; Fair use; File: Scrambled cable channel.jpg; Uploaded by Saltine; Uploaded: 29 October 2009 — Modified
“Boy and girl”: Русский: Юноша ухаживает за девушкой; English: A young man courting a girl; Date 18 January 2014; Source; Author Iulia Pironea; Licensing: This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. — Modified
“Judy Blume – Forever . . .“: Vintage 1975 cover of Judy Blume’s novel Forever . . .