"Raised in a brothel in the New Orleans red light district, one could hardly blame Beaverhausen for falling victim to the trappings of a derelict lifestyle. After finding faith at a Pentecostal snake handling revival, Beaverhausen turned her life around and she shares her tales with us. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll hug your kids a little tighter." - Heywood Jablome - The Tijuana Times

"Beaverhausen has transformed my life with her inspirational accounts of child-rearing. I previously bathed my six kids every night, felt extreme guilt when they cried over having none of their five daddies around, and berated my self worth for not keeping an Architectural Digest home.
But now: I relax in my toy strewn home, knocking back my 4th glass of merlot while my 12 yr old rubs my aching corns. I threaten to leash my kids to the radiator and feel great! Oh, I raise my unshaven yeti-leg to you."
- Kallera Hoor

Wednesday, August 20, 2014


A long time ago, a little boy died and his parents couldn’t bear to part with him, so they buried him in their basement. His ghost lingered for hundreds of years until children moved into the house. The little ghost boy wanted to play with the living boy, but didn’t want to play with the little sister. The ghost knew that if he blew really hard in the little sister’s direction, it would kill her. 

And so one night, while the little girl was getting ready for bed, the ghost boy blew a great wind and the girl died. She woke as a furious ghost and immediately went to her brother to tell him what the boy did. The living boy was so upset and angry that the ghost boy immediately felt ashamed at what he had done and told the living boy how to bring his sister back to the living. *Insert some weird shit here*

The two ghost children and the living boy went down to the basement, where they dug a grave for the sister’s body. The living boy climbed into the grave with her, and the ghost boy started to cover their feet with dirt.  Suddenly, the ghost girl sat bolt upright and started screaming. Her eyes were pitch black and she was not the same little girl as before. 

Her feet caught fire where the dirt had covered them and her screaming turned to loud, rumbling thunder that shook the entire house. The ghost boy tried to put the fire out, but all that was down in the basement was an old bottle of gin. Sadly, this just made the flames spread and the angry ghost girl thunder louder.

And then I woke up to a thunderstorm unleashed from Hell, D trying to touch my ass, Sophie running around the house in Day-Glo orange gloves and looking for bubbles, and Ben having snuck, (or sneaked, depending on your internal grammar Nazi), into my room to retrieve his iPod that he was supposed to relinquish promptly at 10:00 PM.  Hello, 2:45 AM.

Friday, December 6, 2013

The End of an Era

This post is dedicated to my lovely firstborn, who made single motherhood enjoyable. 

This is what I like to refer to as "Our Floating Heads" picture
Dear Ben, 

Tomorrow officially marks the end of an era for us.  I've been going through some old photos of when it was just me and my little Benji Toes McGee.  We were the center of each other's lives for so long, until Sophia came along when you were six years old, followed by Donnie, Sterling, Wyatt, and Gracie a year later.  You're an incredibly social critter, and bore these changes like a champ.  I imagine the saying, "the more, the merrier," will forever be your motto.  

I want to thank you for the honor of being your mom.  You are such a little comedian and will act the fool to make someone laugh.  Your sense of humor and the way you see the world amazes me everyday.  

Ever since preschool, you would rather spend time drawing your current obsession on the back of your school papers instead of doing the actual schoolwork.  Sure, I've given you a ton of shit about this because I want you to succeed in life. But deep down, I am so very proud of your drawing skills and imagination.  I want to pat you on the back and teach you how to shadow the TARDIS to make it appear threedimentional while you tell me about the latest episode of Dr. Who.  Instead, I push my 9 year old self aside and make you do your multiplication.  Since you won't be reading this for a very long time, I feel safe putting this on "paper."  

My sweet boy, you were the first person who taught me how to love someone so much that it hurts.  You have given me so much joy in your nine years that the thought of you can bring me to tears.  Good tears.  I don't want you to ever grow up, but your body doesn't seem to give a damn for my wishes and you outgrow your jeans as soon as we buy them.  I miss cuddling you, and even when I try these days, your bony arms & legs stick out at awkward angles while you raise an eyebrow at me, but let me do it just the same.  

I'm a bit weepy now, so I'll wrap up before this gets embarrassingly mushy for you.  But I'll leave you with a few pictures of your little self to help us both remember the beginning of love.

You always insisted on helping, even in carrying objects
 that were bigger than you.
You would eat spaghetti sauce (Prego only) with a
spoon.  Noodles didn't impress you.
Unfit parenting at its finest, you loved
peppermint mocha lattes. (and still do) 
This is your first day of preschool. You had your blue blanky
and a sippy cup of socks packed in your bag, and your
trusty Snoopy under your arm.  You were ready for the world.
This was your friend, Mr. Bones, who replaced Snoopy.  Mimi
got him for you and you took him with us everywhere.  In this
pic, we were at Frisch's for breakfast, where you fed him
pancakes. It took ages to get syrup off of his teeth and ribs.
Eating Cracker Jacks at a Reds game while
charming the ladies next to us with your brilliant
baby blues and your charming personality.
I love this photo because it's the epitome of Ben.
You  were always so chill with a smile on your face
and you never knew a stranger. 
You're a tad weird in that you prefer Italian
subs from subway over cake, cookies, or candy.
But that's all part of your charm.  ;)
Hats off you you, my sweet baby boy.
 I am so, so proud to be your mama.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Hello Lucy!

This post is dedicated to Nancy Mollie Sinkking. We always called her Grandma Nan. She's the one who got me addicted to books with the Little House on the Prairie set. Her favorite part was when Laura Ingalls described a mountain of mashed potatoes with butter running down the side. Every time I open a new book, I think about that. I remember after the family split, she and Gramps were at my scholarship ceremony, as I was walking off the stage, I looked back and saw her wink at me. That's the Grandma Nan I remember.  I can't wait to introduce Little House to Sophia.

Zoe sent a video of her daughter, Lucy reading a story about The Little Mermaid.  You NEED to watch this video.  I could listen to her all day long.  D suggested we adopt an English kid just to hear it talk.

And in response, here is Sophie's very, very long reading session to Lucy.  She was incredibly thorough, so I totally don't blame you for not making it all the way through.

This post is a follow up to the Video Pals post.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Go Home, Moscato. You're Drunk.

I am not in the least drawn to sweet wine, although I do enjoy a few good whites during the summer. In my humble opinion, there is never a good time for Moscato.  Unless maybe you're 18 years old and attempting to move up from Bartles & James wine coolers. If this is the case, bless you and your big girl shoes... You're gon-na make it after all!

The day I received my Bzzkit, I literally skipped and giggled all the way inside the house.  I was excited to start my review on the best Bzz campaign EVER!  I ripped open the envelope to find 5 coupons for Frontera wine.  Except… These weren’t instant coupons.  They were mail in rebates for $5.00 on TWO bottles of wine.  Uhh...  Where’s my free wine?  Adding insult to injury, the fine print stated only one may be used per household.  That won’t even cover my toddler’s drinking habit, let alone my own! 

After a few minutes of crying and ranting, I pulled on my big girl panties and drove my sober, sullen ass to the store.  Seeing as it was as hot as the devil’s ass crack in July, I opted for a giant chilled bottle of Frontera Chardonnay.  I invited my bestie and fellow wino, Karen, over to sip and review with me.

Dun da-da-DUN… And now for the actual wine review.  Frontera Chardonnay is exceedingly crisp and tart.  Almost like biting into an apple that hasn’t fully ripened yet.  It felt very “soda poppy,” (I just coined that term myself.  If you use it, I would appreciate royalties.*)  There was a slight effervescence as though it were really a Moscato trying to put on her older sister’s (Chardonnay), high heeled shoes to go clubbing with a fake ID.  And everyone knows big brother Merlot, will be the one bailing her out of juvie at 3am for public intoxication and nudity.  Silly girl.  One day you'll learn to stay home and answer the door to Dennis the pizza guy with powdered sugar sprinkled over your cleavage and spinach in your teeth.  HAWT.

So, did Moscato learn her lesson, or are Chardonnay’s heels just a tad too high?  Pttthhhh!  A LOT too high, I reckon.

I’ll be digging in the couch cushions for my own, hard earned change this weekend in order to review their trendy cousin, Pinot Noir.  Mail-in rebate, my hiney.  I'll be sure to give them out as stocking stuffers to PEOPLE I HATE.

*Note: $5 Frontera mail-in rebate coupons will not be accepted.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Wine Safety and You

Do you have a small child who interferes with your "me time"?  If you have a child who does not yet appreciate the fact that Mommy needs time to drink her wine alone, follow me as I wind my way through the tricky, tricky maze of parenting and drinking.

1. Appropriate Carrying Equipment:
After selecting several bottles of sub-par wine, purchased under $12.99 per bottle, be sure to choose the appropriate cloth carrier for your precious loot. Please note that a plastic bag is an improper device in which to carry your Precious and could possibly result in a murder scene in your driveway.

2. Transporting Precious Cargo
Each wine bottle should have its own car seat. NO SHARING! Rear facing, five-point harness is recommended for those who truly love their wine.  Any other method of transportation deserves a slap on the ass and the confiscation and donation of the wine to someone more deserving and well scripted in wine safety.

3. Swaddling and Comfort
It is important to remember that wine is only ready to breathe 15-20 minutes before drinking.  Until you are ready to open the bottle, be sure to swaddle the wine tightly.  This also prevents grubby little hands from marring your beautiful bottles.  Remember, wine drinking should be an experience of all of the senses.  An ugly, sticky, toddler-hand-printed-bottle will most definitely take away from the aesthetics of the experience.

4. Teaching Children Independence
Gently usher small child out the back door, (remember, there are far too many cars driving willy-nilly down the street to allow the children to camp out on the front lawn.  Your child's safety comes first).  Be sure to set up a small sleeping area  on the deck with a bowl of water.  Years later, when they're in therapy, they can at least acknowledge that their basic needs were met.

5. Enjoy your me time  
You deserve it! You popped a taint on both of those big ol' noggins. Bottoms up!

Monday, June 17, 2013

The Fairies Did It

Paci Pit post can be found here!
They say that a baby should be weaned from a pacifier before they turn one year old.  This was totally my plan, I swear.  But then she got so attached to her damned “sassies,” and to tell you the truth, I was more terrified of taking the sassy from her than I would be taking one from a rabid beaver.  While my limbs are a tad chubby and rippled with the odd cellulite dimple, I’d like to keep them as they help me drink wine.

And then she turned two years old, I was determined to ditch those germ riddled mute buttons, but then, you know… the rabid beaver.  Nevermind.  Let’s just say sassies are only for bedtime and we’d try again when she turned three.

Happy third birthday, Sophia Maria Banana Fo Fanna!  Woot woot!  Let’s give your sassies to the tiny babies who are so, so sad and need them!  She’s mastered the art of raising an eyebrow while her eyes say, “Bitch, you be trippin.”  Beavers. Are. Scary.

But then!  But then, what if I had no control over the disappearance of the sassies?  What if I could pass this parenting shit off on the “fairies” who scour freezers for sassies? (Yes, I kept the pacifiers in the freezer in the hopes that the freezing temps might kill the millions of germs after she’d swipe it off the floor of a public restroom.)

It’s now been a full week without a sassy at bedtime.  I must say, she’s taking it better than I am.  I had a small crying fit as “the fairies” tossed them all “to the babies.”  I honestly felt like I was throwing away her babyhood.  Sigh. 

Anyway, here’s a video I took of her last night.  The sassy subject came up because she was telling me the story of how the fairies took her sassies.  And then when I went to record her, I had to prompt her.  You can obviously tell that she’s thinking, “I JUST told you this, woman.”

Monday, June 3, 2013

Video Pals

In one of the last posts, I might have mentioned that I lived in England in the beginning of my adult life.  I still keep in touch with several friends from across the pond, especially twin sisters, Zoe and Kim.  (I used to work with Zoe).  Zoe's girls, Holly and Lucy, always ask to see new pictures of Soph on Facebook.  This photo is apparently their favorite...
Zoe said, "My kids are obsessed with Sophie. They insist on seeing as many photos of her as you've posted every morning. This is their favourite. I'm now having to find a map showing where Ohio is for Holly. The fact that they've never met her seems irrelevant. She's like a movie star in their eyes."

And so, I decided to take a video of the girls on their way to school last Friday to send to "kids in engel."

Holly and Lucy replied with this video, that Soph watches over, and over, and over, each time asking, "Can I see my kids?"  And I'm totally ok with that because I'm in love with their sweet little English accents.