The Mama Gut-Rod Chronicles

“Do you promise to have and to hold, in good times and in bad?” There is not a single dry eye in the audience. Including my brother, the groom. We’re outside on what couldn’t have been a more perfect day on the cliff where a luxury hotel sits. The wedding is small and simple but nonetheless a beautiful one. Like the bride. It doesn’t take much to make her stunning and stunning she is. As she walks down the grassy aisle, my brother lays eyes on her and does something I’ve never seen him do. He’s crying. Not hard, but enough that I relish in the moment of probably the only time I’ll ever see my big bro’s ugly cry face. I’m crying too, like a baby. I saw her earlier in her hotel room to get the rings for my son, the ring bearer. I’m instantly turning my head. Laying eyes on her meant ruining my makeup too early. She gestures with her hand to stop like it’s seriously no big deal she’s radiant. Then gets right to business. “Okay did your brother tell you the concession order?” I sh

The other day I got fed up with chasing my kid about his homework. Every day it was like pulling teeth. When I would bring up his homework it was always accompanied with him whining about how hard it is, how he doesn’t want to do it, wants to do something else, will do it later and would even start crying because its too much. It’s enough to make you lose your goddamn mind. I blamed the school, I blamed myself and I blamed him. Then I made a decision one weekend. I sat my kid down and gave it to him straight. “Baby, I’m not responsible for you doing your homework. Ok?” “Huh?” “Everyday I chase you to make sure you do your homework and I get so frustrated as though it’s my responsibility. I feel like I’ve failed and done something wrong when you don’t do it and I get mad at you when you don’t really seem to care. But I’ve realized it can’t be my responsibility. Doing your homework is your responsibility. Okay?” He’s confused, “ok…” “So when we get home, I wil

His loud moaning keeps me checking in my rear view mirror to make sure he’s still properly fastened in his seat. “I have a stomach ache!” He groans loudly We’re on our way to school in the carpool lane and its rush hour on the 405. Just to be clear, we are literally going to make it to school right on time. There’s no room to deviate. If he’s going to puke he’s gonna have to do it on the way. We start going through what he ate. “I don’t knooow!!!” I think his discomfort is making him cranky. “Well you had oatmeal, two quesadillas” He sounds like a sad and angry alien monkey, “I KNOW!” I stay silent. Waiting to see how close to dying he actually is, I’m also multitasking and managing LA traffic. I’ve got a dude in front of me that keeps breaking sporadically and an SUV behind me with someone, I hope is paying attention. Aside from that, I’m checking when to move over for motorcyclists and of course obsessively checking the time at least once every minute.

Last night I was extremely hormonal (I’ll admit it). I had some crazy previous days and had been extremely happy and productive. At this point my highs were about to meet my lows. As soon as I pick up my kid from the YMCA, I’m not cheery and fun lovey mama. My son picked up on my crankiness and reaches over to start rubbing my back as I walk him to the car. “Want me to rub your back?” I look down and he’s got these adorable big eyes that wonder if his little hands are doing the trick. I let him know that I was feeling a little down. “Thank you baby that’s very sweet” It’s about as much endearment as I can muster. In the car, we are chock full of gear (lights, weed whacker, shoes) that all need to be returned to different stores. I’m ready to clean out my car quickly because it’s been like this for the last 3 days. “When we’re done can we buy me new shoes?” “No, I wanna go home” – bad mama “But my shoes are falling apart” – bad mama Deep sigh “okay b