Fart, toot, break wind or pass gas

My mother thinks "fart" is a very vulgar word, and refers to them as "winders" (as in "break wind").

Whatever you call it, it's still pretty funny to hear my kid say "I fighted, Mommy." (He can't say his "r"s). He finds farts amusing, but not rip-roaringly so (pun intended). Just enough for a snicker or a smile, most times.

I always tell him I hear a duck, as I think farts and ducks can sound a bit alike (work with me, here). He says, sternly, "That was not a duck, Mommy, that was a fight."

Guess he told me.

And yes, I am eight, because I still find farts funny, as long as I don't have to smell them.

Don't get me started on Dutch ovens.

Trashy Eats

Ah, a weekend of trashy eats. I am trying to eat more healthy foods, and so of course I had to order a freaking PILE of hashbrown casserole at Cracker Barrel on Sunday. Cause that's how I roll.

That stuff is pure evil on a plate with approximately elevently jillion calories and four trillion grams of fat, but who cares? YUM.

And I admit it was delish...I'm not too classy for the Barrel, yo.

We also ate barbecue for dinner Saturday (I know, between Cracker Barrel and barbecue, you'd never know I live in the Northeast.). I had a vat of barbecued pulled chicken and grilled sausage....so good, but argh, not healthy eating.

I'm on an all-vegetable diet today as penance.

Kiddie Mullets...the ultimate in training-wheel trashiness!

Ok, I admit that I find the kiddie Mohawk sort of cute, in a "boy, that's cute, bet that the parents are hipper-than-thou" way. But kiddie mullets? Cruel. Just wrongity wrong wrong.

It's dooming a boy to a future full of plaid shirts with the sleeves cut off, domestic beer, Southern rock and an extensive baseball cap collection (unless, of course, he is a professional hockey player, in which case, all bets are off). Though, I suppose someone for whom a mullet is desirable haircut would aspire to these things. It's like giving your little girl a stripper name - how can they possibly move beyond it? It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. You might as well ditch the 529 plan and start a fund for the breast implants she'll need when she turns 18. And the mullet somehow never really goes away - it just grows larger, and more menacing. When the poor kid grows up, he's already marked as a Mulleteer. And how many mullets do you see on college campuses (except for hockey players, who again get a pass).

So Aunt Trashy begs you, please, don't sacrifice your child's future. No kiddie mullets, please.

Unless he's good at hockey. In that case, the mullet is practically required.

Proud sponsors?

Ok, as I've admitted before, we watch TV at my house. Most is toddler-friendly TV like Noggin (commercial-free). Sometimes, Sprout (has commercials) or Nick (has commercials). I am always a little surprised by who advertises on these stations and who they think is watching. When we used to watch a lot of Sprout, I used to see the same commercials over and over and over.

I mean, Sprout is for little kids. Little littles. And there used to be the same four commercials over and over again, clearly aimed at the parents. One was Resolve Carpet Cleaner (the irony!), during which my son Oscar would mock the terrified guest who is forced to stand in the rain so her hostess doesn't have to suffer the humiliation of DIRTY CARPETS.

Seriously, that bitch had ISSUES.

I guess they figured people like the TrashyMama (HA!) could benefit from their fine product. Or, we can just shrug while our toddlers spill more sauce on the carpet.

Another commercial was the fantastic Pancake Puff Pan, a paean to which was posted earlier. A strangely manicured woman created and filled a variety of puffs with various substances, some of which actually looked edible. One of my favorites and eerily effective.

And Huggies Diapers, featuring an insane woman whose hysterical pregnancy clearly was carried forward to its logical next step - she carries a brick around in a Snugli, giving it rides on a seesaw and sliding board. Way to go, Huggies! Mock the mentally unstable!

Last was Mott's applesauce/Motts for Tots. M for T is readymade watered-down juice, because moms are too busy to turn on a spigot and water the juice themselves. The Busy Mom in the commerical laments the fact that watering down the juice cuts the Vitamin C. Lady, if that's your biggest problem, YOU ARE NOT THAT FUCKING BUSY.

(Disclaimer - I buy Mott's for Tots drink boxes, but that's for traveling. SO STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT).

And the applesauce commercial wasn't too bad, but they kept referring to the (flavored, creepily discolored) applesauce as Scooby sauce, which instantly puts it into stoner territory.

Don't even get me started on Muzzy.

Legionnaires have left the building

Remember when I said my mom thinks my carpet has SARS, swine flu and Legionnaire's Disease?

The Garbage Man got our carpets cleaned today. And had an antibacterial/antifungal treatment done (to the carpet, not to himself!). So, I will go home to a clean palette for future messes fresh and clean living room.

I won't know how to act around clean carpet. Do you think I should give Oscar spaghetti and red sauce for dinner, and let him eat in in the living room? Just for old times' sake?

Killer Boogers

No, not THAT booger.

My son's boogers. Trashy Mamas, have you ever felt judged when your kid is boogery and you are not on Super-Vigilant Booger Patrol? My son is in the throes of a summer cold and his poor nose is just streaming. Stemming that tide would require me to stand next to him, kleenex in hand, wiping continuously, for about a week.

Being a toddler, he has recently discovered the joys of wiping his nose on his sleeve. I don't encourage that (I'm not that trashy), but when he is not with me, he does what he wants. At the end of a day-care day, he might have some booger tracks on his sleeve. He gets a talking-to, but he doesn't really care. And hey, it's washable.

So, I am feeling a little judged when we go out and his nose is running, and I don't get to it right away - say we are in the grocery store and I'm getting something off the shelf. Someone invariably will comment - his grandmother, strangers in the store, whoever - "Oh, his nose is running! Don't you have any tissues?" and LEAP into action as if a split second of booger on his philtrum will have the same affect as, say, ACID. I feel like saying, you know what? It's only booger. Fending off strangers with tissues was not part of the Parenting Handbook.

My mother is particularly clucky about this. "Tsk!" she'll say, shaking her head as she wipes his nose (which takes care of the problem for exactly .68787765 seconds). The implication is that I don't wipe it, ever. I do wipe it! Over and over again! But I am not a sharpshooter! Sometimes one gets away.

I don't let him go around snotty all day, but come on, people! Boogers are not going to KILL you. I promise.

Trash nightmares

After posting that scary-ass, trashy food-pusher, Ronald McDonald, I had to see if I could find me a trashcan clown or two. And I did.

























































































Are these cans supposed to encourage children to approach, happily, and discard their refuse?


Or are they a statement about the bleakness of circus life, as the jaded junkie clowns open their sad lipsticked maws for another fix of soggy cotton candy cone cores, chewed gum, and old fries?

Shudder.

I'm lovin' it

Yeah, my sister and her kids and Oscar and I had Mickey D's for dinner last night. Wanna make something of it?

I am ashamed to say that I enjoyed my Southwestern Salad very much.

Oscar could live on McDonalds' chicken nuggets - they are evidently far superior to their pale, limp, and lower-fat supermarket cousins. And a bonus Ty Beanie Baby was in the Happy Meal! Total bliss.

Plus, the fries kick ass.

Who'd-a Thunk It?

Who would have believed that Laura Bennett, the faaabulous upper crusty Mama from Project Runway - the one who never wears sweat pants and always wears 4" heels, even when 9 months pregnant - would stick up for trashy mamas everywhere, or at least, parents who dare to give white-bread sandwiches and Cheetos in lunch bags to Snotleigh and Jayston and McBraylynn?

She's okay in my book, despite the Louis Vuitton luggage, Birkin bag and four nannies.

She probably has a Louis Vuitton trash can, for God's sake.

She wrote an article in the Daily Beast about overprotective food mothers, who blame hot dogs and Cheetos for all their kids' problems...hey, wait a minute.....

My War Against Food Nazi Moms - The Daily Beast

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Dear Aunt Trashy

Since people clearly need help freeing their trashy sides, I am here to help. I know many of you Gentle Readers were brought up nicely, and that's not your fault. I can help you find your inner Britney, y'all.

Send your questions to dearaunttrashy (at) yahoo dot com. I am ready to offer wisdom with a side of Cheez Whiz.

I am so proud!

My little sister just admitted that she put her makeup on in the car while driving to work today.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: This is dangerous. Do not attempt.

But, oh, so, trashy! I'm welling up a little.

Or that could be last night's beer.

Trash from Friends

A couple of friends are willing to take out the trash.

JenMc says:

We've lived in our house for 6 years and still don't have a dining room table. Instead, we have a folding table that we basically use as a giant shelf and we stash hockey bags and our kids' ride-on toys underneath. It's too much trouble to get to the store and find a table we agree on and the folding table is so easy to scoot out of the way to make room for the kids to play.

Jen, that's impressive. But the fact that you actually scoot it out of the way for the kids, rather than making them play under and around the table, keeps it from being 100% trashy.

The question is, when you use the table to dine, do you clear it, or eat around the mess by pushing it all to one side of the table, as we do in my house?


And Andrea, of the funny and not-trashy blog Go Get Your Jacket , says

Except for very early on when they were still considered preemies, I have disinfected all binkies, sippies, etc dropped outside by the mom's saliva method. Better than Purell.

Nicely done, Andrea. Don't you know that even DOGS have cleaner mouths than we do? Well, okay, technically, that's bullshit. But it sounds really scary, doesn't it?

I have also employed the saliva method and it skeeves me the hell out. It reminds me of my mom or my great-aunt cleaning my face with saliva as a child.

Ewwwwww.

Pancake Puffery

Is it so wrong of me to want a Pancake Puff pan, so I can make a healthy pancake breakfast for my son, and then FILL THEM WITH CHOCOLATE PUDDING?

I think not.

Though it does look like a home colonoscopy or something, doesn't it?

One of my friends used to give enemas in a hippie massage school, and I suspect it didn't look too dissimilar.

Some of my favorite, or at least most notorious, Trashy Mamas. Long may they wave...or whatever it is they do.

Welcome to Trashytown!

Hello from the Trashy Mama.

Or, Hey, Y'all! if that's how you roll.

I am not trying to out-Britney Britney, nor am I embarking on a rampage with Bon Ami cleanser and a hanger or two.

But, I am willing to admit the following:

1. I don't shop at Mini Boden and don't think I can even make myself do it.

2. My toddler son does not own dressy pants or shoes.

3. Yeah, we watch TV in my house. Sometimes, not even commercial-free TV.

4. We haven't had our carpet steam cleaned in so long that my mother claims it's harboring SARS, swine flu and Legionnaire's disease. Frankly, it's pretty stainy. But hey, why bother? My kid will just fuck it up again right after we clean it! And why not, he's 2, for God's sake!

5. We eat hot dogs. Often.

6. My son thinks that "YOU GODDAMN FUCKING IDIOT! STUPID PEOPLE!" is how you greet other drivers on the road.

7. We utilize the 10-second rule. Sometimes, the 30-second rule.

8. We keep a tricycle in our living room.

9. My son owns 2 guitars already. And one's electric.

And finally,

10. I still manage to masquerade as a Nice Mommy to strangers, despite 1-9.


Well, NO MORE. I will not be ashamed of my trashy tendencies, but embrace them, as I lick the orange powdered cheese off of my fingers.

I encourage other undercover trashy mamas (or dads) to add their secret shame to my blog.