I have been enlisted in the “Mama Army” for over six years as the mother of two children – a boy, B-Dogg, age 6 and a girl, Queen Hadlifah, age 3. One child is spirited (to put it nicely) and the other is a cherub. Unfortunately, my children make that Freaky Friday character switch on a daily basis, so I’m never sure which personality is going to reside in which tiny body each morning. It’s kinda like playing one of those “find the ball under the coconut shell” games except you’re presented with a ticked-off bear during the reveal. With this motherhood thing, I’m still trying to figure out how I progressed from “walking miracle with a child in my belly” to “freaked-out mother screeching in the aisles of Target for her child to sit down in the cart!"

I am a full-time working wife married for fifteen years to my full-time working husband, Sparky. Like most Americans, we don’t have a maid, nanny or chef. We rely on minimal standards for cleanliness, daycare and Totino’s pizza rolls. Unlike what is depicted on sitcoms (anyone up for a class action suit?), we do not live with children who make convenient appearances to utter adorable things. Our ankle-biters are around ALL the time and they are usually pretty saucy to boot. We survive on our wits, which is terrifying because that pool has been closed due to shallow water for awhile now. Yet, somehow, we make it to the end of the day with both children and us still alive.

My favorites include Target, Starbucks, Tylenol PM, watching my kids sleep (does it qualify as stalking if you stay longer than five minutes?) and reading children’s books in public (no matter how disturbing my husband finds it).

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