Archive for the ‘funny life situations’ Category

Top 5 Things I Survived in 2013

January 19, 2014

We’re three weeks into 2014 and resolutions have already hit the fan here at Camp Baumer. It’s freed up some time for me to ponder all of the things I survived last year. Presenting…my top 5 list:

#5 – The Splash Bash … in Hell

For their 5th and 3rd birthdays, we threw the girls a swim party in June. I solo-hosted 50 adults and kids because hubby was out filming a national commercial that day. That meant I had to grill the hot dogs by myself. All 75 of them. Guess who has never grilled in her life? And the best part…it was 108 degrees. Not hot, but ass hot! But, I rallied (a few burnt weenies and all). No high-maintenance guests because no one ever left the pool for fear of bursting into flames. My kind of party.


The girls, Maw Maw and I staying cool!

#4 – Potty Training

When I potty trained my oldest daughter in 2011, I cried more than she did. THE worst six days of my life. In February 2013, it was time to revisit this pillar of parenthood with our youngest. But, this time, I potty trained with a friend … alcohol. We started at 9 a.m. on a Friday, and I sipped a tangy Bloody Mary as the first puddle hit the floor. Surprisingly, only my daughter was crying this time. Accidents occurred all throughout Day 1, but my bottomless cocktail kept me saner than Prozac. By Sunday night, as I sipped my Grey Goose martini, my daughter had the hang of it. Potty training complete … for the REST of my life. Totally worth the three-day hangover!

#3 – First Day of Kindergarten

To be blunt…I redefined the Oprah “ugly cry.” Some might say, “Well, we’ve all done THAT.” But for me, it was different because I doubted this day would come. Because of Emory’s autism, I thought a special needs class was the best we could ever do. And there we were … mainstream. And she rocked it!!! Never has this mama bear been so proud … despite looking like “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane” both at morning drop-off and afternoon pick-up.


At pick-up … a bit more composed.

#2 – Elf on the Shelf

I hate this little fucker. But, my girls adore him. They call him, “Peter.” And on Nov. 30th, the night before he flew in from the North Pole, my oldest says, “I hope Peter does all NEW tricks this year.” GA-REAT, as I ripped my 2012 list of elf antics to shreds. But, that’s why God invented Pinterest. Despite there being a lot of over-achieving parents out there who go bat-shit crazy with their Elf tricks, there were just enough “20-second-or-less” ideas I was able to steal. And the divas were thrilled all through Dec. 24th, when Mommy kicked Peter’s elf ass back to the North Pole.

And the #1 thing I survived last year … the Halloween Bird Costumes

In May 2013, the girls proclaimed they wanted to be the birds from the movie “Rio.” Cool. I’ll just go online, find the costumes and whip out my credit card. Except, NO ONE ON THE PLANET sells pre-made “Rio” bird costumes. What I did fine online was a bunch of desperate parents all in the same boat. Then, came the lady in the U.K. who took matters into her own hands, made her “Rio” costumes from scratch and then wrote a blog chronicling every step. Armed with thread and needle, this blog became my Bible for six weeks and I produced the most KICK-ASS Halloween costumes ever. My girls are not allowed to be anything else for the next five years!


“Jewel” and “Blue,” along with their handlers.

Here’s to 2014 being just as eventful!


Wanna make God laugh? Make a plan!

August 30, 2011

I used to love planning. Outlining all of the tedious details to the very second was my equivalent of crack. And I was damn good at it.

Then, I became a mother. Suddenly, planning lost its pizzazz. Nothing ever seemed to go as I had desired. Was it me? Was it my kid? Was it Nickelodeon?

While this point became apparent to me with the birth of my eldest daughter, Emory, it became crystal clear with my youngest, Lauren.

Last year at this time, I was pregnant with little Miss L. I held a vision that it would be a picture-perfect gestational period just like her older sister. The universe had alternate arrangements.

Plan: Healthy, vibrant pregnancy. Reality: Two hospital stays, a car accident and kidney stones.

Plan: Conceive in January in order to deliver in October, my all-time favorite month. Reality: January conception … check! Delivery? September, six weeks early via emergency C-section.

Plan: Have my fabulous OB/GYN deliver my child. Reality: She was at a wedding … in India!

The day my water broke, it was Rosh Hashanah. Perfect. Only a Roman Catholic would go into labor on a High Holy Day at a Jewish hospital.

Since Lauren’s arrival, so many other things haven’t gone according to my illustrious wishes.

Plan: Leave the hospital with my child. Reality: She landed a two-week reservation in a NICU incubator.

Plan: Nurse for 6 months once she came home. Reality: Lauren wasn’t a boob gal. So dairy cow here pumped out 8 bottles a day for 24 weeks.

Plan: Bunk Lauren in our room and listen to her nightly cooing. Reality: Kicked her out after the first week because of her abhorrent grunting.

And so it went. Her first photo shoot? She scowled. Christmas morning toys? She ate wrapping paper. One simple morning at church for a little Mommy & Me bonding with Jesus? She farted so bad, I had to jump pews because of the smell, only to get into our new spot and have her throw up in my face.


Admittedly, I am recovering control freak. And I agree that planning does have its place. But, I see now how much more productive it is to be in the moment. I’ve learned to have “a rough idea” versus a “set-in-stone/this-is-how-it-will-be-dammit” plan of attack.

Because when you get that invested in an outcome, you’re dangling a big ole carrot in front of the universe. And sometimes, the Universe can be one hungry bunny!

Flippin’ out

August 31, 2010

Excuse my delay in being absent from MommyActs for several months.  I have good reason.  I am knee-deep into my second pregnancy.  Number 2 is due on 10/16/10.  We’re very excited, and to squelch the question before it comes, no, we don’t know the baby’s sex.  We want to be surprised. 

Actually, this pregnancy has been full of surprises from Day 1 – 24/7 nausea during first trimester, a 4-day hospital stay due to a kidney stone, and gestational diabetes (which I got during my first pregnancy, but is a bit harder to manage this go round).

Now, my latest surprise – this baby is feet first breech!  While my OB is confident my little guy/gal will turn in the next two weeks or so, I want to do everything I can to help push things along. 

I’m on a mission to flip.

So, I went online to look up at-home remedies for turning a breech baby.  Found a bazillion ideas.  Reviewed them all and selected a few to try.  Here’s a review of the last few days of my life:

  • Attempted my first headstand in nearly 30 years.  Suffice it to say that this was a bit easier to do when I weighed 85 pounds in fifth grade.  Trying to get into position, I knocked three picture frames off the wall.  Finally landed it, but the blood came barreling into my head so fast, I nearly threw up.  Then, my two-year-old looked at me and said, “Mommy…’mato (short for tomato).”  Lovely.


  • Water immersion is supposedly one of the best things for turning a baby.  It’s been 112 degrees the past few days, so swimming outdoors has not been an option.  So, how about a relaxing bath, right?  My question…why must bathtub manufacturers make the width of standard tubs so damn narrow?  I was practically in the fetal position as I slid into the water.  I leaned back, only to find out that even with a full tub of water, my belly was not even close to being submerged.  So, I turned onto one side.  Picture an obese mermaid with her necked cricked to one side!


  • Decided to make things easier on myself.  Apparently, babies shy away from cold and gravitate toward light and sound.  So, I laid down on the couch with a bag of frozen peas underneath my ta-tas (where the baby’s head is now) and shined a flashlight on my hoo-ha to encourage a natural migration “down below.”  If that image isn’t enough to scare you, couple it with the fact that I was simultaneously salivating while watching “Mr. Shuester” on Glee

Who knows what I’ll try next.  Perhaps a simpler approach – like lying in the yoga “cat position” or simply doing clockwise belly massage.  That would be a smarter thing to do.  But, then again…smarter is overrated.  Much more fun to attempt the crazy!

I’ll keep you posted how it goes. In the mean time, do me a favor and whisper four words as you go to sleep tonight – “Flip, Baby C, flip.”

All hail the pooper scooper

January 12, 2010

Something happened when I became a mother.  All those things that I could never imagine myself doing, I did.  I have tended to awful bouts of diaper rash.  I’ve suctioned out snot.  And, on the play front, I have sung the same song – no lie – 24 times straight to get my daughter to settle down for a nap.  But, last night, I earned new wings.

7:45 p.m. is Emory’s favorite time of day – bath time.  What’s not to love?  Splashing?  Good!  Toys?  Good.  Bubble bath?  Good!  So, with Em happy as a clam, I stepped into the other room to pick up toys, turn down her bed and pull out clean pajamas.

But, after about 3 minutes, it got really quiet.  Then, a whimper.  Puzzled, I walked back into the bathroom only to see my little nudie cutie standing straight up in the bathtub, which she knows is a “no no.”

“Emory, you sit right back down in that tub,” I commanded.  Normally, that’s all it takes.  But, not this time.  Plus, she had such a weird look on her face.  “Sit down, missy.”  Nothing.  Finally, I walked over to literally bend her little legs and make her sit.  Her beautiful hazel eyes beckoned me to save her from something awful.  But, what?  What could be so bad?

And, then I saw them … four little biscuit turds floating in the water.

Yep, she pooped in the tub.  I remember when my niece did this to my mother a few years back and I just rolled on the floor laughing. Well, yeah … it’s easy to laugh when it’s not happening to you.

Now, my challenge … Emory was clutching me for dear life.  No way on Earth was she going to sit back down in that tub until it was poop-free.  Can you blame her?  Second, with her grabbing on to me, I couldn’t leave to get the kitty litter scooper.  And then it hit me … I am going to have to retrieve these things BY HAND.

I felt my gag reflex coming on … something I picked up from my sister-in-law, Annie.  “C’mon, Brooke.  Cowboy up, babe!”

So, I took a deep breath and plunged my hand into the water.  I grabbed the first poop pebble and tossed it into the toilet.  Ick!  Did the same for #2 and #3.  Ick, ick!  Then, I went back for #4 and it was gone.  It was literally lost in a sea of bubbles.  So, with daughter clutching my left arm, I leaned into the tub and dunked my entire right arm into the tub.  With suds now reaching my armpits, I found the sucker, grabbed it and aimed for the commode.  Finally, with all turds now in the toilet, I flushed and sent them off to meet the Tidy Bowl Man.

Needless to say, bathtime ended promptly.  As I am drying Emory off, Tom traipses upstairs and says, “Need any help?”  Really, Tom?  Really?

But, I didn’t go there.  Instead, I simply said, “Yes, honey … could you take over?”  He took Emory and whisked her away to clean PJs, a delightful story and soothing lullaby.

I, on the other hand, opted for a LOOOOOOOOOOOOONG hand washing, followed by a date with a can of Comet!

Give me my damn wings!

Felt Up in Walmart

December 31, 2009

I’ve been a working actress in LA for 10 years.  And, I have yet to do a love scene on camera.  I’m not opposed to it; the opportunity has just never presented itself.  I used to think that it would be very awkward … doing the scene with so many crew people looking on.  But, thanks to my daughter, that fear has been conquered … Emory felt me up in Walmart.

Yesterday, we ventured out to the mother of all discount stores to do final New Year’s Eve meal shopping (‘cuz the days of going out on NYE are SO over).  All throughout the trip, Emory was being very needy, reaching up for me and whining. I kept pushing her little arms down, giving her kisses and continuing on with my shopping.

Then, I reached the produce department.

It was packed for some odd reason.  Everyone on the hunt for the perfect potato, including me.  All that was left was a huge 10 pound bag of Russets.  So, I squeezed myself in between three people and reached up to grab this massive bag of taters off the shelf.

As I am trying to maneuver this bag above people’s heads, I feel two little hands hit both my breasts.  I look down and Emory is palming my ta-tas.  Better yet, she then started squeezing them … as if she had scored two rolls of Charmin!  I guess she had a flashback to that lovely six-month period from June-December 2008 when I was her dairy cow.  Em, I hate to tell you, sweetheart, but those udders dried up a LONG time ago.

After I recovered from my shock, I burst into hysterical laughter.  Seriously, who gets felt up by their own kid?  In public?  At a Walmart?

I gently released her grip from my mammary glands, gave her a kiss and headed for the check-out lane.  Don’t know if anyone saw it happen, probably so, which makes it that more hilarious.

So, I guess in 2010, I have nothing to fear with a love scene that takes me to second base!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Blue balls, anyone?

November 25, 2009

I’m years away from the sex talk, but here’s a funny precursor.  My daughter loves balls.  Blue balls.  No, she hasn’t been traumatized by seeing my husband in his birthday suit.  I’m talking about a set of good old-fashioned plastic balls.

Two weeks ago, Emory’s Maw Maw bought her an inflatable castle filled with multi-colored plastic balls.  She spends hours in her fortress, tossing balls in and out.  But recently, we picked up on a trend. She only throws the blue balls.  No purple. No yellow.  No pink. Just big fat blue balls.

Blue balls have become her favorite playmate.  When it’s time for lunch, she parades into the kitchen, blue balls in hand.  They sit on her food tray next to her juice and a bowl of mac & cheese.  Time to go to the park?  The blue balls are in tow and join her in the sandbox.  The best – the balls travel to the doctor.  Try explaining that to a pediatrician with a straight face – “Yeah, Doc…she’s obsessed with blue balls.”

Not quite sure what all of this means.  Probably nothing. Then again, one month ago at a restaurant, Emory grabbed our waiter’s crotch.

Hmm…perhaps the sex talk is coming sooner than later!

The Disneyland Debacle

November 5, 2009

Public parking…$14.  Disneyland ticket…$72.  Watching your toddler have an enormous, kicking and screaming meltdown in front of the Magic Kingdom…priceless!

What is it with first-time parents and the need to try all sorts of activities/outings WAY before your little one is ready? I don’t know what I was smoking last week, but I really thought a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth would be so much fun for my 16-month-old daughter, Emory.

Really, Brooke? Really?

And so begins the Disneyland Debacle:

• The 70-minute car ride, where darling daughter was supposed to nap the entire way.  She opted for 18 minutes. She obviously missed the memo.

• The 35-minute wait to get into the parking lot with a very hungry little girl wailing in the backseat.

• Tossing chicken nuggets and broccoli spears into her snack tray while trying to purchase admission tickets.

• Dashing to Fantasyland to find a restaurant and order some milk…only to have it come out frozen.

• Inhaling lunch and scurrying to the nearest bathroom only to be greeted by the oh-so-joyous aroma of an explosive diaper and running out of wipes.

• Finally making it to King Arthur’s Carousel, only to have Emory pitch a fit because the operator wouldn’t let her ride side-saddle.

• Doing laps throughout Fantasyland desperately in search of a ride with a 5-minute or less wait (found two).

• Ditching Fantasyland and wheeling over to ToonTown to meet Minnie Mouse, only to be denied by Nazi Disney employee.

• Purchasing custom mouse ears, only to have Emory rip them off her head and dislodge one ear from the cap.

I could go on, but you catch my drift.  Complete disaster.   So, what DID Emory want to do?  Walk, walk and walk some more!  I turned to my mother, who just shook her head and uttered, “Let it go.”  Defeated, I conceded.  No Dumbo’s Flying Circus.  No Peter Pan.  No Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.   Just 52 laps around a circular fountain at the rear end of the park.  At lap 53, I raised the white flag.  This Disneyland trip was officially over.

So, we screamed because we got put back into a stroller.  We wailed as we power-walked to the main entrance.  We whimpered on the tram ride to the parking garage.  Then, by the magical powers of neck pillow and the soothing sounds of a humming automobile, my little princess drifted off to Neverland during the entire 60-mile trip back home.

Ahhhhh….good times. I can’t WAIT to do Disneyland again with Emory.  I’m thinking a college graduation trip would be perfect!

Mommy’s New “F” word

October 22, 2009

No, it doesn’t rhyme with “duck.”  It’s not even close to “diggin.”  It’s actually an uppity-sounding, three-syllable utterance.  Ready?  FLATULENCE.

Yeah, you heard right.  The fancy way of saying “farting.”  Now, I’m not one for potty humor. But, this is something that truly perplexes me.  Before I begin, a bit of back story.

I was the girl growing up who NEVER tooted in public.  If I had to do that God-forsaken act, I would run far away into a field, amidst the trees and then let a tiny one eek out.  Even into my first year of marriage, my husband had never heard me pass gas.  I’m Southern.  It just wasn’t done.  It’s the law.

And then…I got pregnant.

Suddenly, perpetual flatulence descended upon me.  The books all said it was normal.  Hubby and I laughed it off, and then chuckled ‘til we cried when it became an hourly occurrence in the last few weeks before the baby arrived.

But, then I gave birth.  So, the flatulence should have left, right?  WRONG.  My daughter is now 16 months old and I can’t remember a “flatulence-free” day.  Let me paint a picture of some of the more memorable occurrences:

  • Going downstairs carrying a load of laundry.  I tooted the entire flight of 20 stairs…a good 10 seconds straight.
  • Reaching for a package of curtains from the top shelf at a linens store…right as the sales assistant walks by.  I left…sans curtains.
  • Accepting communion at Sunday Mass.  Yep, right at the throne of our Lord Jesus Christ.
  • And the most mortifying, consoling my husband after he returned from putting our cat, Lucy, to sleep.  (But, that one DID lighten a very difficult moment).

I have NO idea when they are coming.  It’s not something I can sense.  They just appear…like a pimple on prom night.  I will say that they are odorless bursts of air.  But, that doesn’t comfort me.  There’s still THE SOUND.  It’s like slowly letting the air out of the bladder of a basketball.

I’m certain this is related to giving birth.  Things have shifted, stretched, you name it.  But, if memory serves, my daughter did not come out that particular hole.  I’m hoping it will cease in time.  Meanwhile, it’s just another wild and wacky part of my life.

So, you must be thinking, “Why on Earth is she posting this blog?”  A couple of reasons.

#1 — I am a comedic actress who is dedicated to finding the humor in my life (and this takes the cake right now).

#2 – I hope to make YOU laugh and brighten your day (you deserve it).

#3 – I want to find other moms who can relate.  We must bond (and giggle) about this affliction.

Are you plagued with the “F” word?  Let’s hear it!

Trapped INSIDE my car wearing Santa earrings

September 28, 2009

As an actress in L.A. for 10 years, I have gone on hundreds of auditions.  While the auditions themselves have been interesting, TRAVELING TO the audition has always been non-eventful…until today.

Left home and zipped down the freeway to West L.A. headed to a Sprint audition. Beautiful day. No traffic.  Even knocked out a conference call on the way into town.  Arrived at the audition early.  Sat in my car to finish the conference call.  Then, it was time to go in…or so I would have hoped.

I pushed the button to unlock the car.  Nothing.  Tried two more times. Nada.  Fine, I’ll unlock the door manually.  As I open the door, my car alarm starts blaring at levels destined to break the sound barrier.  Scared the crud out of me.  Quickly shut the door — still inside the car (mind you) — and the alarm won’t turn off.  I reached for my remote entry key and frantically pushed the alarm button to silence the obnoxious sound.  Broken.  The alarm blared for 3 minutes straight, then stopped.  Okay, that was weird. But, everything should be okay.

Oh, no!

Tried to get out of the car again, same thing.  Three minutes later, I tried tried turning on the car.  Won’t turn over, but the alarm does…that horrific sound resonating through the air.  The day laborers waiting across the street glare at me  very suspiciously.  A group of HOT guys come out of a nearby office building, chuckle at me and shake their heads.   What’s so funny?  Haven’t they ever seen a woman literally trapped INSIDE her car outside of a Kung Fu school wearing Christmas attire.

Yeah, you heard right!  It was a commercial audition for a Sprint holiday spot.  Had to come in my best green/red sweater.  Not only did I don one heavy mother of a sweater, Santa Claus earrings dangled from my ears.  Yes, I truly looked like your Aunt Gertrude from some po-dunk town in Anywhere, U.S.A.

On top of that…it’s about 100 degrees in my car.

So, a) I am trapped inside a honking vehicle outside of a Kung Fu school; b) the people around me see a wacky broad decked out like Mrs. Claus sitting inside the car, dripping with sweat and screaming into a cell phone; c) my husband is trying to get me to tinker with a fuse box (as if I even know what I am doing); and d) I for sure am going to miss this audition (a national commercial, mind you).

Did I fail to mention that shortly afterward, the Parking Meter Nazi showed up and I had to scream at this cop through my window that I couldn’t get out of my car because of the alarm?  Why I wasn’t arrested for possible grand auto theft, I haven’t a clue.  I think my Santa earrings saved me.

Praise God for AAA, which showed up 45 minutes later.  Ali — my fabulous tow truck guy — was able to fix the problem on the spot.  Sure enough…a loose thing-a-ma-jig.  Alarm stopped.  I exited the car and blinked frantically as mascara melted into my eyes.  I looke like Tammy Faye Baker, circa 1985.

Happy ending…I was able to grab a quick lunch and make the final window of auditions for the spot.  Thanks to my agents, Kim and Joan, for helping me to laugh through this.  Big kudos to my husband for driving across town to try and save the day, with our 15-month-old daughter in tow.  And HAIL TO ALI at AAA for silencing the damn alarm.

I have one word that needs to happen after all of this…CALLBACK!