I rock Abbey to sleep for every nap and at bed time every single day. I know it’s a bad habit, trust me i know.

Maybe it’s because she was born a tiny peanut four weeks too early and all we did was hold her. Me especially. She was in my arms almost 24/7, breaking every rule I had previously made in my mind, including “I will never co-sleep”. But I wasn’t about to put her down as somewhere deep down in the midst of the hormones and lack of sleep I was slightly convinced that if I did something would happen. Of course it never did.

Maybe it’s because Audrey is five now and has better things to do than let her mom rock her like a baby. Duh mom.

Maybe it’s because I know this is my last baby and this moment, right now, is the youngest she will ever be and every day she is just getting bigger and bigger.

There are only 940 Saturday’s from when your baby is born until they turn 18. That’s 17 down and 923 to go.

So until further notice, I will snuggle, I will sing (terribly) our favorite lullaby, I will study every little eyelash and feature, I will let the dishes wait…

and I will rock.



Preschool: Why didn’t you people warn me?

Preschool: Why didn’t you people warn me?


I’ve been through a lot of crap in my life. Hard crap. Death, divorce, taxes. All of the things that could break a lesser woman, however, I had no idea what hard could be until Audrey started pre-K. See, I know my daughter. I know her sweet little heart, but I also know that one of the main reasons she is still alive is because she’s cute and she’s probably only cute to me because she’s mine. I know these things, I’m not trying to kid myself. So sending her off to someone who might not find her as cute as I do worries me, except for the fact that I know that legally they can’t kill her so that’s good, right?

I knew we would have some issues. I thought to call her teacher and give her a friendly warning but surprises are just so much fun. Audrey is “strong willed”(bossy) to put it nicely. She’s a leader, not a follower (again, bossy). She is vocal with a wide vocabulary and smart (bossy and a smart ass). Too smart sometimes while not being afraid to call you out. In fact, the other day I told my husband that I SWORE she gives me the “get your shit together, mom” look. Seriously, she does. In her defense, I often do need to get it together.

On the first day we had a long talk on the way to school about behavior and making good choices. I thought we were clear. That day upon pickup, a very sweet looking (and young, very very young) Miss Johnson pulled me aside and said “We had a tough day today.” Seems Audrey decided sharing was for amateurs, so was listening, cleaning, and pretty much anything else. Also, sand in the shoes. CRISIS! Crying melt down. Hysterics. And… Scene.

Day two: Wash/rinse/repeat

Day three we had a breakthrough. I decided to have a long talk with Miss Johnson about ways we could mutually team up to defeat the thumb-sucking dictator and reign supreme. I shared with her some ways that we work through issues and crying at home and implemented a sticker system to be done at home. You call it bribery, I call it winning. To-may-to, to-mah-to.


The deal was that if Miss Johnson said Audrey had a good day at school she would get a sticker for her chart at home. After 8 stickers she could pick a prize. Not surprisingly she choose a stuffed Parasaurolophus. I know right? Who wouldn’t?

Several great days followed. She was like a new kid! Then we had a bad day. Audrey again decided cleaning up the toys was for the staff and refused by staging a sit-in under her desk and crying. Later that day she didn’t get picked to do some job (oh NOW you want to help?) and this time chose to crawl under Miss Johnson’s desk. When they politely tried to pry her from her den she hit the teacher’s aide in the arm.

A few more good days….

And then…the day from hell.

Oh this particular day I walked in for pickup to see a haggard looking Miss Johnson who clearly looked in need of a stiff cocktail. She started off by saying, “Now I want to just say that everyone’s child has had a day today. All of them. ALL. OF. THEM. However…”

And this is where it gets interesting. So apparently Audrey got a little tired during Circle Time and decided a nap on the classroom kiddie sofa was in order. At this point, judging from the new grey hairs on Miss Johnson’s very young head (she’s got to be 25, tops), I could only imagine that she could have cared less about the impromptu nap time. Except, of course, Audrey took it a step further when every time she spoke (you know since she was TEACHING and all), Audrey would loudly yell, and yes, this is a direct honest-to-God quote, “WOULD YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!” 

I definitely didn’t plan this whole pregnancy thing out so well, timing wise, with the whole preschool thing because I don’t think I’ve ever needed a cocktail so bad in my life.

Cheers to you, Miss Johnson. Somebody get this girl a shot of vodka and a cookie…after hours, of course.

PS, can we talk, just briefly, about drop off. What the hell is the deal with school drop off? The first day of school I drove the wrong way down the drop off lines. Yes, I was that mom with my husband following behind me, completely mortified and cursing in way I’m sure would make a sailor blush. You would have thought I was clubbing a baby seal or letting Audrey mainline crack in her car seat! I’m new here people! Pre-k mom coming through! Drop off is like a well choreographed minivan ballet where nobody invited me to practice.  Drop off scares me. Whatever Minivan Mafia, I’ll park and walk. I like the exercise, it’s only 106 out.




This morning when I awoke and was having my morning coffee fix, I checked my email and was blown away by how many new “likes” and hits I had on my blog.

Now, I have a great following…I often joke that it’s 6 people that include my mom and my mother-in-law but I kid…(mostly).

But today, whoa, I woke up popular this morning! The word is getting out about my awesomeness? Well, no…I’M ON THE FRONT PAGE OF FREAKING AOL PEOPLE!


Yup, that’s my kid right there. Now I wish I would have used a better camera to take that picture and not just the one on my phone. But who cares!

Upon seeing the sudden influx of attention I emailed my editor at WhatToExpect and she very calmly says, “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, AOL liked your post and put it on their front page today…”

Wait, what, huh? YOU FORGOT TO TELL ME?

This is very exciting to say the least. To all the new fan and followers, Hello!




Learning to Love ALL of Me

Learning to Love ALL of Me

I had an epiphany today as I got in to the shower and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I tilted my head and looked at the jiggly and the wiggly and the wasn’t-there-three-years-ago. I counted the stretch marks and frowned at the dimples. My chin has a companion.

I am 16 pounds over weight and it has been my cage.

I call it the Khloe Kardashian Effect. 

Have you ever seen Khloe without her sisters? She looks normal. Fit and curvy. But then put her next to her abnormally tiny siblings and she’s an ogre.

I married into a family of darling, sweetly itty bitty, cutie-pie petite blond people. If you have ever seen a photo of me and the family, take notice that I will always be strategically sitting or in the back.

I am the Khloe.

I’ll have you know, I am the farthest thing from lazy and I don’t over eat. I simply enjoy my life.

I know exactly how I gained every pound. Some came from having dinner with some of my favorite moms. Some from celebrating birthdays and family with cake. Others came from learning how to cook and exploring the awesomeness of butter. I can also guarantee some has come from wine and conversation on the patio with my favorite man.

A good portion has come from creating the most precious thing God has ever given me. And some has come from losing another.

I am 16 pounds over weight and every pound has come from a place of joy.

Would I trade skinny for any of these events? Never.

I am not giving up, throwing the towel on losing it or surrendering the fight, I am just done loathing myself for having it to begin with.

I will never be a size two again. I will never fit into those jeans I have hanging in my closet for “inspiration”.

I have decided to love myself (and the belly button I no longer recognize) because I want to be a role model for my daughter. I want her own inner dialogue to be filled with words of praise and beauty. How could I teach her to love what she sees in the mirror if I don’t.

I’ll be damned if I ever hear her say she thinks she’s fat.

So from today on I will be healthy, I will continue to make good food choices, I will keep taking that class at the gym that kicks my ass and makes me walk funny for a week.

I will embrace the more of me there is to love. I will wrap my pudgy arms around my husband who thinks I am sexy.

I will stop looking at every extra pound as a failure and start looking at them as physical manifestations of some of the best times of my life.

And I will have a glass of wine and a piece of chocolate with a big fat smile on my face.

Now I want to hear from you…What happy wonderful ways did you get your pounds?


Happy. Life.























Finding the funny in sadness.

Finding the funny in sadness.

Wow, that’s a really depressing title. Like really depressing. It’s depressing me and I wrote it. What does that tell you?

However, I think it has a better ring to it than “Crappy Miscarriages” or “Let’s all get a D&C!”

Yeah, we’ve had a little bit of a rough go here in the Better Half House. I know I haven’t been what you would call a “daily blogger”. Hell, let’s be honest here and say I wouldn’t even be known as a monthly blogger. But lately, I have been pretty absentee.

As many of you may know, we decided to start to try to add to the chaos here in the house back in March. In late June we found out that we were successful in our endeavors and would be expecting the new arrival in late February. Our happiness, however, was short-lived as I was sick. VERY SICK. Like “maybe we should have thought this through” sick.

Just a few of the tests I took that day. Just to be sure.

I was not expecting it to be that hard and in the middle of the Arizona summer it was harder than hard. It was brutal.

But through it all, I just kept hearing “Then it’s a boy!” and I hung on to that for dear life. When I would be sicker than sick I would think “this is for my little boy”, and then I would barf and take a nap for about 5 seconds before Audrey decided it was time to play toys…again.

I had my first ultrasound scheduled for 9 weeks because I am what doctors lovingly call “advanced maternal age”. Isn’t that sweet? And so comforting too. Like if I didn’t already have a catchy name for my blog, that would have been it.

That morning I took my Zofran, got a shower, put on MAKE-UP and even blew out my hair. If any of you all know me in real life, you know this was a BIG deal. I don’t get pretty for just anyone but I wanted to be pretty to day I met the newest member of our family.

As I was ushered into the dark room with thousands of dollars worth of fancy a/v equipment, I made excited small talk with the ultrasounds tech about how I was leaving for BlogHer in New York in a few days, how exhausting that would be with how sick I have been and how we are going to Napa Valley in a few weeks and, darn, I won’t be able to wine taste. Aww shucks, I’ll just have to go to the spa that day instead. Life is so hard, wah wah, white girl problems.

But as she started snooping around my womb she got quiet and even my untrained eye could see it. Or rather, see nothing.

No heart beat.

I immediately began to cry and she advised me that I should call my husband. My sweet husband who had offered to be there in the first place but I told him it was just a routine ultrasound just to see the heart beat, no biggie. And now it was a biggie and he needed to get there quick.

After the ultrasound they put me in a room to wait for the doctor whom I refused to talk to until Rutherford got there. I couldn’t do it alone and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to absorb anything she was going to tell me.

This is one of the many reasons I love my husband. This is his forte. He’s good at the big things, I am good with the small. I knew I was safe to mentally check out because he was completely tuned in, even through his own sadness.

I got my instructions to take it easy, a couple prescriptions for the “good stuff” and sent home to make a decision: D&C or let nature take it’s course. Fortunately/unfortunately I was all set to leave for BlogHer ’12 in New York City in just 2 short days. And while my doctor leaned more towards me staying home, I was all about going. I wasn’t about to leave my sponsor, Britely.com, high and dry. And, more importantly, it was a distraction.

BlogHer itself was a blur. So fun and so exhausting. I have decided that they need to have that event in a really boring place next time. Someplace where you want to go to bed after the long day as opposed to staying up till midnight wandering around Canal Street looking for knock-off purses. (I’ll be doing a whole BlogHer wrap-up post soon.)

But I made it though relatively unscathed and no more worse for wear (at least nothing a good night sleep and a foot rub couldn’t cure).

Monday morning, I was back at the doctor’s office. The final decision, after discussing with my husband and people who have been there would be that I would have a D&C.

On Wednesday, August 8th, I was checked into the hospital and ready to go.

I cried, of course, because I’m a crier and I barfed, of course, because well, I’m a barfer too. But all-in-all it was much worse in my head than in reality. I had my husband there the whole time (looking terribly nervous event though he says he wasn’t) and I had a wonderful team of doctors and nurses.

Today I am better. Right now as I write, my house is being cleaning by 3 little angels with mops, for the first time since before the positive PG test. (Yes, it has been THAT long and yes, it was THAT disgusting.) I am a little tired, a little crampy and a little sad but I’m good.

Friends have come out of the woodwork telling me their stories. Heartbreaking stories. And if there was a contest for who has the worst dead fetus story, I would not win by a long shot. But this isn’t a contest, there are no winners.

I have always found that telling my own story makes me feel better. Hearing “yeah, I’ve been there too” works wonders for me. So here I am, telling my story and telling you “yeah, I’ve been there too”.

Sorry if this post wasn’t as funny as advertised, I’m still working on finding it. Baby steps. Get it? I said baby steps. Ugh, yeah, I’ll keep working on it.

I took this picture of Audrey the day I found out I was pregnant. This was going to be how I was going to tell everyone I was pregnant, I was going to post this picture on Facebook but I was waiting till my ultrasound, till I saw the little flicker. I’m glad I waited but this picture is too cute not to share.


I’m raising a criminal

I’m raising a criminal

(Name of specific grocery store withheld in order to protect the un-innocent. Is un-innocent even a word? If it isn’t, it should be.)

It’s happened, every parents worse fear. My child has embarked on a life of crime.

And aside from aiding and abedding this criminal, I was also an unwitting accomplace.

Lock us up.

Yesterday was grocery day in the Yontz house and often times I let Audrey help me “hold” various things in order to keep her quiet, or at the very least, keep the noise leve to a low roar. (You’re welcome fellow shoppers.)

But yesterday she took her assistance to a whole new level. I got all checked out, bags loaded up in the cart, off to the car I go.  I get everything in the trunk of my car and as I pick up Audrey to put her in her carseat…I find them.

Exhibit A, B & C.

STOLEN OBJECTS! Audrey STOLE stuff. She hid them under her woobie in the cart and they were not paid for upon check out. Where did I go wrong with this child? What’s next, car stereos and nose rings?

In her defense, she’s 2 so i’m sure the crime was purely unintentional. I’m also sure she wasn’t really hiding them under the woobie but merely placed them next to her and happened to just throw her woobie over them, but still…

(Side note, good thing her father is an attorney. Save us on legal fees in the future.)

It gets worse though. Upon finding her stash I was torn. Do I go back inside and pay OR get in to the car and go home. Keep in mind that going back into the store isn’t as easy as it sounds since we live in Arizona and it’s already hot here. Leaving the grocery bags in the car isn’t an option so I’d have to put everything back into the cart to return to the crowded store.

It’s probably not going to be a huge surprise to any of you that I just put her in the car and went home. It was hot and I had to get home to start googling boarding schools. I did however say a prayer to Jesus on the way home appologizing for my child breaking one of the 10 commandments and promised him that I will, from now on, be frisking her upon checkout. Amen.

Can you IMAGINE if I had gotten caught? Picture me walking out of the store, alarms go off, security throws me on the floor, pulling out the good screaming, “A-HA! Just as I suspected! Sargento! She’s likes the good stuff boys, CUFF HER!” I mean seriously, I’m one of those people who hears the door alarms go off in stores and I immediately frisk myself to make sure it’s not me. I already have a guilty conscience so this isn’t going to help.

This whole mom gig get’s more and more interesting by the day. Last week she told me “That cool Mommy”. She’s 2! Does anyone else have a criminal in the family? What would you have done if you were me?