Inappropriate Couple Halloween Costume

The underage group had no idea who we even were. I guess if your birth year has two 9’s in it then you wouldn’t have any clue why we had a bloody bag of a human sex organ. The sex organ was fake and so was the blood. The kids in that group awkwardly laughed it off when we tried to clue ’em in with
1) the names of our costume inspiration (Nope)
2) the infamous headline story (Nope)
3) the actual story of who we were and why we looked like murderous homebodies. (Still NOPE)

The rest of the well-aged party knew and understood the genius behind the costume. Maybe next time I need to make myself more clear-cut in our next couple halloween costume ideas.

Do you know who we are?

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Texts With #EthnicGrandma: She Sure Goat Jokes

*Update: I have since changed it to #EthnicGrandma on twitter and Instagram since so many of you have the same experiences with your kids’ grandparents.

My mom, the -Noys’ Mae Tao, has learned to text just within the last five years. That’s pretty behind for a part of the 21st technological century but she quickly caught on to typing skills through her Lao-lish. I can see gains in my mom’s texting journey because she’s always had some Lao shade to throw at me. Maybe she is getting payback for me photo-dumping (taking selfies on somebody else’s phone) during my last visit. Her latest text milestone has got to be when she her reactionary pic response in her daily message to the kids:

texts with grandma goat jokes

texts with grandma
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That Damn Children’s Book That Made Us Cry But Not From Reading It

For three years since we were gifted a children’s book by a dear friend, GH and I had never been able to end the reading with dry eyes. For me, I blamed it on hormones— pregnancy, breastfeeding, or my cycle. As for GH, I don’t know what’s up with him but he cries every single time he reads the book “Love You Forever“. Each time we are near the book, we unofficially challenge each other to get through the book without crying. I have won each time because I am a cold-hearted woman; GH is very sensitive.

The most recent “Love You Forever Challenge” (LYFC) happened when it was Lanoy’s turn to choose a book. She randomly chose Robert Munsch’s “Love You Forever,” written by a Canadian whose wife experienced two stillbirths. The premise of the book is about a boy and his evolving relationship with his mother from birth to her old age. If you haven’t read it, it’s a cute and creepy book. Not even gonna lie to ya. I also won’t lie that even I, Cold Woman, have had warm, moist things well up my eyeball sockets by line two.

Tonight though, tonight was a different type of cry: I wanted to document my LYFC opponent’s impending defeat so I snapped a bunch of photos to document that grown men let go of their thug at this book. So, per usual, GH was bawling by the second-to-last page and I’m crying because he’s crying but he cried first so I technically win and that was that. Later that night, I sent GH the endearing photos of him reading with his kids and this is the photo that made us cry even harder:

{TheLaotianCommotion.com} #parentingmeme that we need to spread near n' far.

#mememonday

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What’s a favorite children’s book that you cannot get through?

Perks Of Being An Annoying Sick Person

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I knew I caught the kids’ cold virus when a stream of ninja mucus would show up on my lip with no warning. My nose was running so much that I could not blow my nose fast enough so it would just keep coming out. So, enter Phase: Tissue Plugger-Uppers just to go ’bout my domestic duties. My day including two young kids under the age of three and a husband, who loves my “sick” attire of days-stretched yoga pants with little else due to my high body temp. Parenting while sick can buzz all the way off.

Both GH and I got sick right when Humnoy was feeling better. Seriously though, the kid was sick like 1.25 days and I swear his energy level got a massive reboot since then. How in the f— anyway, Lanoy is the saddest little sickie: marbled snot bubbles, red, hound dog eyes, and little to no solids appetite. Week-long illness does not mean there isn’t a positive spin on things. I had to make the best of one of the shittiest situations experienced in parenting so here are a few benefits of being sick while caring for sick others:

In Sickness and In Health “No, babe, I really have a headache this time” just is more believable when your congestion has moved to your head and apparently to my crotch. “Til death so us part” isn’t the same as “through dry, red nostrils from abrasive wiping”.

Maybe She’s Born With It I don’t know about you but I could never quite cover up my look of death with makeup so I don’t even bother. I mean, if I’m going to do this illness act justice, go big or ho home, right? I let it all hang out so to make it a bit easier for others to deduce I’m sick and why I look like shit.

Sick Person of Walmart Before you judge my Christmas fleece, please see up at my Look of Death. I’m sick so you can fuck all the way off, Judgey McJudgerson. I’m gonna wear these same pair of pajamas for the rest of the week too.

Ill Introvert Since parenting, I have not been much of a people person like my dress-over-the-head party girl days. Sickness is yet another introverted way out of social engagements. The sick hermit inside you smiles when your contagious presence part crowds upon crowds. Sickness gives introverts everywhere a huge congested sigh of relief.

The Television Cure I would feel a little guilty that the tv has been on a lot more than usual but if it means I get to rest a bit then Disney Junior show marathon is just what the doctor ordered. Illness and near-death brings down the parent shame down to penance levels though.

Up The Fluids Any excuse to hop in a hot shower multiple times a day is just the biggest perk around, amirite? Steam helps relieve congestion by breaking up the mucus so this was the only time we will justify a high water bill.

Comfort Food Measures OMG, GH brought home Panda Express for dinner one night and made me almost reconsider my sinus headache. There is a lot of comfort in eating artery-clogging food. When you’re mouth-breathing to save your life, the last thing you want to inhale is a house salad.

Vitamin V for Vodka Did I already mention food? Wash it down with a beverage. Illness and stress along with it can be the perfect excuse to have a screwdriver in the AM for the vitamin C and the slew of vita-mins and minerals Smirnoff has, which is like a ton. Cheers. You deserve it.

How do you survive being sick?

How Lao Parents Avoid Buying Children’s Clothing

TheLaotianCommotion.com // School shopping with cheap parents was the worst, right?

Growing up Lao, our clothes were either hand-me-downs, thrift, or too big. Too big because my mom would buy us the next size(s) up so “we’d grow into them.” I would be wearing size 9 women’s shoes in 5th grade sounding like a scuba diver walking in the hall. Embarrassed as little Theek was, my mom was right in sticking us in oversized jackets and clown shoes. Not only because we were poor but because kids grow like fucking weeds and you can’t catch up with them. If I’m gonna buy these snotty-nosed womb-squatters brand clothing, they better wear it for longer than that size range on that tag. Knowing that they can’t, forget me spending money on it.

There are a rare exceptions when I pay for new children’s clothing but mostly the stars have to align above that Target, where I find that nice clearance sticker on something that I already wanted. Well, that happened when Humnoy screamed “Spider-Man!” at a pair of footed pajamas swinging about in the shitty tangle of a clearance rack. I don’t even care that it’s a shitty tangle of a clearance rack because I’ll sift through it all day long to not have to pay full price. I need to thank my mother for passing on the frugal gene because overpaying for kids’ (and anybody’s) general clothing is just not smart. How to shop like a Laotian mama:

1) Avoid eye contact with shiny, organized racks up front Just keep looking ahead. Never left, never right, just ahead toward the back to the clearance section.

2) Check each and every item I just go for anything not white because KIDS.

3) Check the size The clusterfuck of clearance is that it’s an OCD nightmare so make sure you look through it all: the tag, eye-ball it on your kid, etc.

4) Check the price If at least half off, get it. If not, I make a face then put it back. Unless it’s really cool then we can get away with maybe 30% off.

5) Repeat for off-season, next size, and staple clothing items. ‘This’ll be the shirt that they won’t eat in!’ – said no one ever.

Lo and behold, the Spider-Man footies were more than half off and came in Lanoy and Humnoy next-year size, respectively. They rang up for ~73% off original price so <$10 total for two awesome pairs of footie pajamas. I say they were a great deal because this wouldn’t have happened:
spider man pajamas.jpg

How do you justify your and kids’ clothes shopping?

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I Was The Worst Kind Of Instagram Mom

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Don’t worry, I’m not drunk-blogging this one although it was a nice buzz of confidence to deactivate my Instagram, which I started in 2010 (yep, right when it launched). I do feel a little guilty for just up and leaving so many amazing parent-friends I have come to know and laugh at with without as much a goodbye photo. Ironically, if you remember, my last photo was a very, very rare photo of the kids’ faces that I captioned “For old times sake.” By the sheer nature of that photo alone, I really had no idea that in less than a day after, I would delete the entire account. Yet I got up, logged into my Instagram.com on my laptop, deactivated 1000+ posts and said goodbye without saying “goodbye” to the specially chosen few on my feed view. I left the Instagram attachment parenting community because of Instagram parenting.

I would read things like, “Oh, I found you through the #cosleeping hash tag!” or “I saw your gymnurstics pic on FB!” The most common was “I found you through [insert Instagram mommy]!” As a mom, Instagram was great for a quick peek into others but you can move on with your day (or the rest of your Instagram feed). With a great and interesting community, I still managed to hate it. I quit Instagram for a clusterfuck of reasons but the main reasons were a little more deep than me not ever being selfie-ready:

Addictive It is truly addicting and the only way for me to kick that disgusting habit was to delete and be done with it.

Obligation It was nice to know people liked my pictures, humor and all that but I felt I always had to entertainment the masses. Once people see one meme, makes sense to make more, right? I’ve got issues.

Vain Instagram parents everywhere post about what they’re doing so you know they’re doing it. As mundane as it was, I felt I was cornered into this tiny corner of niches and I couldn’t break out of it. It was mommy-everything or nothing at all.

Playa-Haters I managed to piss off a few other Instagram mommies and I laughed and laughed because they weren’t that cool anyways. You don’t have to like me but you hating on me won’t make you less uncool.

“Frenemies” So, when I pissed those IG mamas off, our mutual followers seemed to not want to tell me about it and that hurt me. A couple of legit friends came through to let me know Offended Mom thinks I’m speshul enough to get my own screenshots. Like I said, “Not. Cool.”

Perverts Instagram role-play is just a horrible and wrong thing. I know how it was too easy to slap a photo up on Instagram so I had to shut down any and all excessive mentions of the kids’ physical identities. IG needs a mass-delete option though, pho real.

Babies I think I was just kind of over babies. Babies all over my damn feed. All the time. There were just so many back-to-back photos of your kid’s foraged lunch that I could stomach so I’m just over it.

My babies Oh, my poor neglected babies. How fucked up is it that I’m “spending” more time with other people’s babies than my own real-life ones? I’d be thwarting baby limbs just to find the perfect filter and caption. This was my wake-up moment and it’s not my proudest.

I’m here to change all that because I now have a new daily feed– real-life parenting! I’m vowing to be more present with my family, especially the kids. Here are some suggestions to kick the Instagram Mom habit:

1) Leave the phone in another room
2) Designate non-family time only for Instagram
3) Log out/in each time so it’s not so easy to open the app
4) Carve out an entire day without Instagram once a week
5) Ask, “Do I need to share this right at this moment?”

I was buried in this existential world and false lenses with strangers scattered across the planet while my kids saw my face buried in my phone screen. To be honest, I am already back on Instagram but have not found a healthy balance to dive into it quite yet. Also this account will not be any ol’ mommy account. Trust. Instead of showcasing my “parenting” through glossy film and filters, I will make sure I’m actually parenting .

What’s your social media usage rule?

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Cycle of Cultural Sleep: 5 Real Reasons for Co-Sleeping

Huh, who woulda thunk it? Co-sleeping isn’t just a thing for new-age parents to hop on the crunch wagon but actually cyclical practice of my Laotian blood because you know my grandmothers did not register for a 4-in-1 cherry mahogany crib. My lovely Asian friends Noony, Ping, and Mommasnugz really brought it back to the days of growing up poor in a Southeast Asian family: you share room space because you kinda have to. Between four kids all born within a decade of each other (one with special needs), I had either slept in a room with my parents or at least another sibling. Funny how I went from necessity to pseudo-choice but still necessity.

Co-sleeping was not an automatic choice from the start. We were gifted a crib with full intention on sticking the kid in there. Newborn Humnoy was in a bassinet next to our bed because you can kill your baby, don’t cha know? One night, I was so frustrated with a constantly starving infant and just put him between my boob and Gym Hottie. When I did this with both of the kids, I was doing what was normal in my culture while living in a society demonizing it. I co-sleep because:

  1. I get more sleep Enough said
  2. It helped with breastfeeding success  What better way to calm a roused baby other than adjacent boob?
  3. I can immediately monitor my children’s safety Co-sleeping doesn’t scare me as much as if this would.
  4. The emotional and psychological benefits are nice too, I guess I’m just all ’bout this sleep I’m getting
  5. It works for us and working well See 1-4

co sleepers be like

Why do you co-sleep?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+. Check out our family Youtube channel.

Co-Sleeping With The Enemy: 6 Reasons Why I Don’t Sleep With My Husband

No one ever tells you the saddest memory about an apartment home birth. Just nine months after Lanoy was born in our first apartment home as a family of four, we left lots of memories behind when we moved out of our first home into another apartment with more space and cool perks. This new place is ground floor beneath what seems to be a family of elephants but we get a little back yard that Humnoy loves to explore after breakfast and more space that we thought we desperately needed but have not filled yet.

The most impressive perk was the extra bedroom, where Gym Hottie inhabits. Co-sleeping has been a constant struggle for our family. It affected my marriage but (calm down) not in the sex department. We have enough sex to where I’m constantly paranoid about a baby #3 but that’s not why sharing a bed has been a problem. I am finally glad to not have to share a room with my husband anymore.

Gas Hottie I tell everyone the story about how I was this close to breaking up with GH because I couldn’t stomach his farts. A kinda escape-while-I-could rationale. As you can then imagine, my divorce-happy fires up during pregnancy as my Spidey senses amplifies it and rage.

Play Bed Maybe their sense of smell hasn’t kicked in but they get very hyper when he’s in the room. They adore their daddy so you can imagine the horrific ordeal it is when I’m trying to nurse a mobile Lanoy and trick a ready-to-wrestle Humnoy bedtime is fun. Mama’s no fun because when it comes to her, er, everyone’s sleep.

The Dorm We have dubbed GH’s room the “Dorm Room” because it’s got enough boy stink to be eligible for financial aid. Unlike his farts, this space and time apart makes my shitty wife heart grow fonder. I must say it has been exciting to accept an invitation to “watch movies” and then sneak back across the hall.

Sleepover Humnoy has some history with scary co-sleeping issues like when he wakes up screaming and runs to GH’s room. It is nice to have the option to give him a choice of Mom or Dad. Per good taste, Hum chooses me out of habit, out of favoritism. Whichever.

Deep Sleep Once the last pair of little eyeballs are shut, I get to have my (uninterrupted) “me” time. I’m obsessed with twitter and Instagram so I get to dim my phone to stalk browse those apps for the next 19 hours without GH whining about my snort-laughing in bed. He can get ready for work in the morning without interrupting my children’s gift of sleeping in when they choose to.

Space-Saver Even with the side car crib, space on our bed was limited. Humnoy wants to sleep here, there, between, on top of somebody usually so we were constantly dodging drop kicks and round-house sweeps. Now that the largest person out of the bunch has since been removed, I mean we appreciate all this room.

Dass me.

How is your partner involved in co-sleeping arrangements?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+. Check out our family Youtube channel.

Now This Is My Kinda Parent Foreplay, I Mean, Date Night

After one date night gone wrong, I put far too much thought into arranging a night for myself just for the sake of a night to myself. Just me and my ballroom dance shoes. Too much thought usually means overhype and letdown. The time wasn’t right and we (I mean, Stage Five Clinger) all weren’t ready to be in 100% GH’s care so I blew my plans for the dance studio. A little butthurt pissed that I can’t do much of anything on a whim like GH, I sulk a bit but go on the rest of our night like I hadn’t planned otherwise to even be there for it.

My other high point of this night was that my favorite Wednesday drama, Nashville, was on. You don’t know me. 10 – 11 pm is do-whatever-the-fuck-you-want-to-the-house time for the kids as long as they let me watch it in peace. GH then had this genius idea to go on a store run and asked for requests. It felt like Christmas when your cranky old relative asks what you want and just hands it to you. I said chips and dip (duh) and off he went. I finished my show and it was the kids’ bedtime. If I hadn’t gotten giddy enough about the chips soon to be en route to my mouf, I wouldn’t have cared that the kids fell asleep. DID YOU HEAR ME? The kids had no trouble falling asleep. Seriously, is it really Christmas?

GH was racking up all the cool points for making a food run but really spiced things up with this:
A tired mom's idea of foreplay | TheLaotianCommotion.com

I got my date night. In my house pants, with my boo, and no babysitter fee, I got the best date night I (haven’t) had in a very long time.

P.S. Yeah, we had da #parentsex.

What is your favorite date night idea?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+. Check out my YouTube channel.

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Date Night Mama Trauma

Unlike toiling away in the rice fields in Laos, I was away from my infant for fun. Lao mothers are a part of the manual labor force in the family. Me? I left my baby and went to go drink and grind on my husband at a kid-free wedding. My original RSVP was “No” for exclusively breastfeeding and a “Hell No” as I’d have to find actual hygienic clothes to wear. Alas, GH convinced me of this golden opportunity for a date night and I still hesitantly checked “Yes.” Peaceful Parenting Prep went into action: I pumped breastmilk for three different types of bottles, a sippy cup, and an Ergo baby carrier lesson plan geared to my modern-struck parents. Nothing still prepared for a date night gone to shit.

date night from hell

Planning on being on the road for only four hours, four turned into six. Lanoy only stopped crying when the car was stopped and she was out of the car seat. No boob, no pacifier, just out of the car seat and in my lap. A million hours later, we arrived at my parents’ as the kids would be staying with my family, including my siblings. I couldn’t pee, eat, walk, get up, or get ready without Lanoy wailing like I’m walking to the snack cupboard and forever out of her little life.

Finally, with a fighting nap baby strapped on my back, I prepare my face with makeup and quickly heat damage my hair before she decides to rip it out. I hold her all day as much as I capably can and nurse her right before we are about to drive off. She wails as I remove her death grip on my dress and just turn and walk away. GH and I “enjoyed” our time out but I wanted to go. I wanted to be with my baby because she needed me. We arrived home and finally her crying bout ended after four hours. She cried the entire time we were at the wedding. She also cried the entire car trip, there and back. Let’s also add in the in-between crying when I needed to go to the bathroom so I estimate it was 14 hours of crying the entire weekend. 14 hours of traumatic absence. 14 hours of an angry soft spot. 14 hours mommy guilt. “Never. Again,” I vow.

How did your first baby-free outing go?

You can find me tweeting my hatred for pants on twitter, filtering the shit outta mom lyfe on Instagram, pinning food I’ll never make on Pinterest, and being a SEO creep on Google+

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