<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504</id><updated>2011-09-05T18:28:56.106-07:00</updated><category term='natural birth interrogator mom'/><category term='What is The Mommy Mafia?'/><category term='confused and bewildered mom'/><category term='can&apos;t stop breeding mom'/><category term='molly coddle mom'/><category term='agoraphobic mom'/><category term='pacifier police'/><category term='buns of steel mom'/><category term='introduction to The Mommy Mafia'/><category term='neat freak mom'/><category term='devils spawn'/><category term='thrift shop mom'/><category term='sling mom'/><category term='the park'/><category term='extra curricular mom'/><category term='chardonnay mom'/><category term='mini me mom'/><category term='scream from the sidelines mom'/><category term='over being a mom'/><category term='outdoor mom'/><category term='cool mom'/><category term='guilt ridden mom'/><title type='text'>The Mommy Mafia</title><subtitle type='html'>A look at the fascinating and sometimes infuriating sub-culture of Mothers.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-245484581714318413</id><published>2011-09-05T18:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-05T18:28:56.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>cotton wool mom</title><content type='html'>The Cotton Wool Mom is worse than the Helicopter. Not only does she hover around her children she would wrap them in cotton wool - if she could.  They are not allowed to cross the road without her - not even when the lollypop man is standing there as the quintessential road warrior/guardian. The kids cannot walk just two houses down the street to retrieve a missing football for fear of them falling, being abducted or swooped by a rogue magpie from surrounding gumtrees. No! They cannot watch any television beyond 6.30pm for fear of advertisements targetting adults. What if a tampon ad appears and the kids ask 'What the hell is that thing?"  One Cotton Wool Mom friend of mine was horrified when I told her my children walk unsupervised for five minutes up the street to buy themselves a soft drink from the local store. Not only was she shocked about the unassisted stroll in the 'burbs, she lectured me about letting them have a soft drink (okay I know it's not health food but everything in moderation, right?)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-245484581714318413?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/245484581714318413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=245484581714318413' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/245484581714318413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/245484581714318413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/09/cotton-wool-mom.html' title='cotton wool mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-4124751077615143245</id><published>2011-08-03T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-03T20:44:17.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>abduction mom</title><content type='html'>The Abduction Mom is paranoid to the point of lunacy that her little darling will be kidnapped.  She forces her child to wear a harness; not to safeguard against him running into the traffic, but in the event a stranger might suddenly snatch him from under her gaze.  She also checks her child several times a night to make sure he has not been stolen in the night.  Her paranoia is fed via her obsession with newspapers...she scans the papers for stories about kidnapping and while other mothers might cover their refrigerator door with photos of their children, Abduction mum sticks up clippings of kid snatchings as a reminder that her  fears are some other mothers’ reality. But there is hope; some Abduction moms lighten up to the extent that they use harnesses disguised as teddy bears so that other kids don’t ask ‘Why is that kid on a dog lead?’&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-4124751077615143245?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/4124751077615143245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=4124751077615143245' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/4124751077615143245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/4124751077615143245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/08/abduction-mom.html' title='abduction mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-2325052910920419128</id><published>2011-06-29T16:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T16:57:32.591-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nanny Mom</title><content type='html'>The Nanny Mom she is accompanied by a younger, usually more attractive, woman who is carrying the baby bag and pushing the stroller so her employer can walk hands-free.  Nanny Mom leaves all the work to her nanny, yet still complains and then fires them like they’re a dime a dozen.  When it’s ‘Special Friends Day’ at school, these women send the nanny. They have to ask the nanny what the kids are ‘into’ these days; from food to games, toys and books.  Many of these mums do not work. They need a nanny to help with the housework, take kids to and from school, make their lunches, baby-sit the toddler so mum can go to the gym. It’s almost like a status symbol. Yet, it isn’t. Most Nanny mums go out of their way to employ an unattractive nanny. One Nanny Mom claims she  put locks on the bathroom door when her husband kept ‘accidentally’ walking in on the nanny when she was in the shower. If Jude Law could cheat on Sienna Miller with his kids’ nanny then how can a non-movie star Mother compete?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-2325052910920419128?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/2325052910920419128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=2325052910920419128' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2325052910920419128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2325052910920419128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/06/nanny-mom.html' title='Nanny Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-1643656065173908892</id><published>2011-06-06T21:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-06T21:01:56.858-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='agoraphobic mom'/><title type='text'>Agoraphobic Mom</title><content type='html'>Agoraphobic Mom lives in a cocoon of motherhood. She will not come to see you; you have to visit her. They are the Mommy Princess, in self-imposed exile from their former world. Their life revolves around the home.  Most Agoraphobic Moms have fancy play equipment installed in their back yards, thus deeming a simple trip to the playground unnecessary. One Agoraphobic Mom put her three week old baby into her car for an outing to the supermarket. The baby screamed for the duration of the five minute drive and so she vowed never to put her in the car again. And two years later, she still hasn’t.  Agoraphobic Mom is usually very successful in making other Moms feel that they must be doing something wrong by subjecting their kids to the dangers of the outside world.  They object to public playgrounds because their child can catch germs from the play equipment.  Other children might cough or sneeze and pass on a cold or flu.  They don’t mind their children playing in the dirt in their own backyards, but they would never let their kids play in the dirt in public; they are true believers of the urban myth about neighbourhood cats peeing in the playground sand in the still of the night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-1643656065173908892?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/1643656065173908892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=1643656065173908892' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1643656065173908892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1643656065173908892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/06/agoraphobic-mom.html' title='Agoraphobic Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6329054711876604774</id><published>2011-06-01T20:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-01T20:34:57.997-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Afraid of the Sun Mom</title><content type='html'>It was a slightly overcast day and I met my lovely friend Afraid of the Sun Mom somewhere between the park bench and the dangerous spider web climbing frame the My Child's Body Is A Temple Moms always avoid...the sun was barely peeping between the clouds when Afraid of the Sun Mom pounced on her four year old. "Baxter come HERE!" yelled with the same intensity of a woman trying to get her child away from a kiddie-fiddler (pedophile) Baxter reluctantly edged closer to his mom..this kid knew exactly what was coming. and within moments he was lathered with layer upon layer of the thickest gooiest suncream on the market - courtesy of the Cancer Council. "But, there's hardly any sun," I offered. "Does he really need that much protection? Especially as the kids are playing under cover?"  Then came the lecture. Afraid of the Sun Mum (whose kids are NEVER outside without a hat...not even in the pouring rain. I mean, you never know when those clouds are going to clear and the evil sun will make a brief yet deadly appearance.  So I had an ear full. She lectured me about skin cancer. Ok I know it's deadly. But surely there are benefits in your kids getting SOME sunshine. Every ten minutes this woman is wiping cream on her kids face.  When I try to tell her that the cream is still there, its just soaked into the skin, she looks at me like I'm an idiot. "I want to be able to SEE the cream so I have peace of mind it is still protecting him."  Then one of my kids accidentally splashed her Baxter with water. Omg, Afraid of the Sun Mom ran towards him with a towel, wiped his face, then reapplied all that sun cream. Why dont you buy the water proof stuff? I offered. When the clouds disappeared and the sun shone in full, that's when Afraid of the Sun Mom decided to go to the mall. "I'm outta here," she said, dragging her kid to the safety/shade of her 4-wheel drive. This woman is only ever happy when it's winter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6329054711876604774?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6329054711876604774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6329054711876604774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6329054711876604774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6329054711876604774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/06/afraid-of-sun-mom.html' title='Afraid of the Sun Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-933290650805235063</id><published>2011-05-29T23:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-29T23:35:43.994-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='extra curricular mom'/><title type='text'>Extra-Curricular Mom</title><content type='html'>It's Monday and I had a lovely catchup with my friend Extra-Curricular Mom. Dead Giveaway? Her kids have dark circles under their eyes due to exhaustion from multiple activities. Extra-Curricular Mom signs her kids up for everything; from baby gym, to swimming, to ballet, to paint classes. She feels the pressure of having to do everything for her children – often she is an only child, so Extra-Curricular Mom wants to give him/her the best of the best.  Flamenco dancing, gymbaroo, swimming lessons, jitterbugs music classes, toddler fitness, karate; anything to fill up the time. “Sometimes kids just like to be at home!” cries Agoraphobic Mum. The offspring of Extra-Curricular Mom are always so exhausted by the time they get home they are near comatose, begging for bed. This woman keeps her kids so busy she can't remember the last time she actually sat down and had a conversation with them that wasn't about what time they had to be at which activity. Another thing: she has a rocky marriage and so she develops a crush on any man that happens to be in charge of her kids activities. In December she fell in love with Max the soccer coach. In January she fell in love with Gary the kids art teacher (they even kissed a couple of times following a clandestine meeting in the carpark where she lined up a get together to exchange some fancy arty farty brushes) by February she developed a MAJOR crush on Antony her son's violin teacher but, truth be known, she only fancied him because he looked a lot like Max the soccer coach who showed her Zero interest.  Extra Curricular MOm is always looking for new activities to sign her kids up for..the only thing they havent done is sky diving but, never fear, when they are of an appropriate age, this mom will have them top of the queue! this mom delights in being the Mom taxi..anything to keep those kids occupied and out of her hair!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-933290650805235063?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/933290650805235063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=933290650805235063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/933290650805235063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/933290650805235063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2011/05/extra-curricular-mom.html' title='Extra-Curricular Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-2425529247142038412</id><published>2009-07-13T05:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-15T04:04:18.437-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the park'/><title type='text'>The Park</title><content type='html'>It was raining today but that didn't stop me taking the kids to the park and my 4 year old jumps on a swing - he's only swinging for three minutes when Playground Police mom appears with her stop watch.  "You have two more minutes then it's my little girl's turn,"  she said.  I tell her, " Who the hell put you in charge?"  and she explains that she's been frequenting this park for seven years and it's an unspoken rule that no kid should take more than five minutes on a swing, unless the park is empty and the kid has no competition.  It's such a useless conversation I grab my kid and move to the slide where a woman is spraying something on the ladder. She catches my puzzled stare and explains, "I'm disinfecting this because you never know who has had swine flu and put their grubby paws all over it. There's no way I'm letting my kids on here!"  She's spraying it like she's possessed. It's Germ Phobic mom and she grabs my kid's hand and sprays him as he attempts to climb up the ladder and he thinks he's being squirted by a water gun so he screams and I say, "How'd you like me to spray your kid with some unknown liquid?"  but all that achieves is Germ Phobic Mom standing in my personal space and holding the container within inches of my face and reading the label for contents but I can't hear a thing she's saying because a ginger-haired boy has poked a stick in the face of a platinum blond toddler and ER Mom yells at nobody in particular to 'Call a fucking ambulance NOW!" even though the victim does not appear to be in pain and, indeed, is searching for a stick to poke the other kid back. Moments later..sirens... and I take it as my cue to grab my kid and run for the hills. And to think I went to the park for some peace and quiet?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-2425529247142038412?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/2425529247142038412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=2425529247142038412' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2425529247142038412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2425529247142038412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2009/07/park.html' title='The Park'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-1858980073894363654</id><published>2009-06-30T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T19:47:15.360-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chardonnay mom'/><title type='text'>Chardonnay Mom</title><content type='html'>Chardonnay Moms love to pour their first glass of wine at five o’clock…many call it ‘wine o’clock’ claiming it’s the only way to get through the witching hour consisting of cooking, feeding, bathing, bedtime (usually for multiple offspring) will constantly invite mums over for a ‘party’ any excuse to crack open the champers. They are big fans of the champagne breakfast and will go to great lengths to organize mommy get togethers after school drop-off on the off chance somebody brings a bottle of wine so that she can get that buzz early in the day. These moms never got out of the habit of ‘Thank God it’s Friday’ drinks that they enjoyed to excess during their pre-mom days. Instead of departing the workplace with a handful of colleagues and traipsing to the nearest bar, these days Chardonnay moms organize ‘after school drinkies’ at various moms’ homes where she leads the ladies in the fine art of getting sozzled while the kids run amok in the backyard. These drink parties usually wind up by 6 o’clock so the moms can get kids home to be fed, bathed and into bed. Preceding this hour is a chorus of ‘Are you okay to drive?” and a stampede of women stagger to the kitchen where they guzzle large glasses of water, as if that is enough to lower their DIU score. The only time it isn’t good to be friends with Chardonnay mom is when she insists on being the designated driver. It’s never going to happen. Chardonnay mom is also the first mom at school fund raising functions to get up on stage with the band, flash her underwear and sing the first verse of the national anthem, over and over, until she collapses in a heap of emotion, usually crying about the beauty of the night and bemoaning the fact that the bar staff have left for the night. Tip: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-1858980073894363654?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/1858980073894363654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=1858980073894363654' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1858980073894363654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1858980073894363654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2009/06/chardonnay-mom.html' title='Chardonnay Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-7700760219798865816</id><published>2009-06-04T06:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T06:33:24.550-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='neat freak mom'/><title type='text'>neat freak mom</title><content type='html'>Neat Freak Mom...these women live as though there are no children in the house.  If a child drops even a crumb of a cookie, these Moms will whip out the vacuum cleaner in an instant.  She pretty much neglects her kids because she is so busy dusting and cleaning up after them. She always takes spare clothes with her in case a kid gets even the smallest amount of dirt or food or, God forbid, a blue berry stain.&lt;br /&gt;She does not like to take kids to the park because the park is a horrible, dirty place and kids get dirty. Kids are never allowed to do things like jump in a puddle or roll through the autumn leaves.  Kids are forced to wash hands at least six times a day and sometimes twice depending on the grime. We feel sorry for the offspring of the Neat Freak Mom!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-7700760219798865816?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/7700760219798865816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=7700760219798865816' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7700760219798865816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7700760219798865816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2009/06/neat-freak-mom.html' title='neat freak mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-7044721932703302094</id><published>2009-05-25T05:49:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T05:51:19.353-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='over being a mom'/><title type='text'>I'm Over Being a Mom</title><content type='html'>The I'm-Over-Being-A-Mom women act as though motherhood is a gigantic burden and constantly whine and moan about how hard it is being a mother. They live for the day the kids are old enough to go to school. Always speaking nostalgically about pre-mom days. Remember when you could go shopping alone? Only had yourself to look after. Travelling at drop of a hat. Sex whenever you felt like it, I've gotten so used to kissing my kids' faces that it feels foreign kissing my husband's face and it's stubble, yuck and foreign.  I want to be seen as a woman again not a mom!  Starts wearing sexy clothes, back to her early 20s so people look at her and say, "Wow she couldn't possibly be a mother!" She even takes up weightlifting and gets a body builders bod. She seeks out work that takes her away from family then realizes that the job hasn’t changed but she has.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-7044721932703302094?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/7044721932703302094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=7044721932703302094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7044721932703302094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7044721932703302094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-over-being-mom.html' title='I&apos;m Over Being a Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-2582402240650570683</id><published>2009-05-23T17:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-23T17:43:23.782-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outdoor mom'/><title type='text'>Outdoor Mom</title><content type='html'>The Outdoor Mom cannot stand being at home; she is always on the go. Baby has to snatch whatever sleep he is able to get in the car in between social outings. &lt;br /&gt;Her diary is filled with morning teas, lunches, shopping trips to far away suburbs.  Reading about a vintage clothing shop two hours away is not a problem, just bundle kid in car and off we go.  No time to potty train, no time to read to kids,  no time to cook a choc cake standing at the kitchen bench and licking the bowl, there are too many things to do, places to go!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-2582402240650570683?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/2582402240650570683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=2582402240650570683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2582402240650570683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/2582402240650570683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2009/05/outdoor-mom.html' title='Outdoor Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-720285486293413339</id><published>2008-10-21T12:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T12:34:27.240-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='extra curricular mom'/><title type='text'>extra curricular mom</title><content type='html'>Extra Curricular Mom – the Moms who sign their kids up for everything; from baby gym, to swimming, to ballet, to paint classes.&lt;br /&gt;For some bizarre reason, these women feel the pressure of having to do everything for their child. Usually they are only children, so mom wants to give them the best of the best, all the experiences they can get their chubby hands on. Flamenco dancing, gymbaroo, swimming lessons, jitterbugs music classes, toddler fitness, karate ..anything to fill up their time. Also so the kids are so exhausted by the time they get home they are near comatose, begging for bed, so the mom gets a 'break' at last&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-720285486293413339?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/720285486293413339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=720285486293413339' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/720285486293413339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/720285486293413339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/10/extra-curricular-mom.html' title='extra curricular mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-491621725957217329</id><published>2008-10-08T13:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T13:04:25.358-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='confused and bewildered mom'/><title type='text'>Confused and Bewildered Mom</title><content type='html'>These are the Moms who are constantly asking other Moms for advice…suffering from a strange sense of feeling incompetent and needing reassurance. &lt;br /&gt;If they have trouble breastfeeding, they are constantly on the breast feeding help line. Confused and Bewildered mom is often seen up at the baby clinic asking for advice. She will ask perfect strangers in shopping centres about any strange rash on the baby, worried that she has been eating too many mangoes and its gone through her breast milk and infected the baby&lt;br /&gt;"So do you think she has an allergy?" she asks.&lt;br /&gt;"Nah. It looks like heat rash. You've got her in a cardigan on a hot day!" says baby clinic nurse.&lt;br /&gt;But this leads to a new paranoia about over or underdressing her baby. Of course her favorite question is "How do you get them to go to sleep?" Chill, lady.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-491621725957217329?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/491621725957217329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=491621725957217329' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/491621725957217329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/491621725957217329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/10/confused-and-bewildered-mom.html' title='Confused and Bewildered Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-5985463004516937105</id><published>2008-09-23T04:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T04:09:57.230-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='molly coddle mom'/><title type='text'>Molly Coddle mom</title><content type='html'>Molly Coddle Mom – this lady is killing her kids with kindness. The most pampered (annoying) kids on the street. She usually insists on her kids calling her by her Christian name, she doesn’t really want to be a mum she wants to be a best friend.  Anything the kids want, she will get it for them. They will never want for anything. Too bad if they’ve just had their second candy bar, if they desire a third, they’ll get it. &lt;br /&gt;If her son hits another kid, this mum will barely stop short of congratulating him for his excellent fighting skills. A boxer in the making? She has the ability to turn every single situation into a positive one. Bad grades at school? Don't worry honey, that That just means you're going to be a sporting superstar.  You're crap at all sports, never mind honey, you'll be a scientist. Her son has bad grades and is crap at sports, no problem, you're going to be a famous artist. There is no room for reality for this mum.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-5985463004516937105?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/5985463004516937105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=5985463004516937105' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5985463004516937105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5985463004516937105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/09/molly-coddle-mom.html' title='Molly Coddle mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-1009552281724766586</id><published>2008-09-15T04:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T20:56:09.162-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sling mom'/><title type='text'>Sling mom</title><content type='html'>The Sling Mom loves to keep her kid in a baby sling long after they are able to walk around. They also love to lecture moms who use a pouch that the sling is better for the child. 'Don't you realize a Baby Bjorn forces your child to sleep in an upright position? It isn’t natural!" they say. According to Sling mom, who usually hang out with Extreme Alternative mom and My Child's Body is a Temple mom, the sling makes the baby feel like it's back inside the womb.  Why would they want to go back? It's no fun in a sling, no matter what kind of fashionable material the darn thing is made out of, especially as the poor kid gets banged into whatever his mom walks into. Ok I'm speaking from experience here. I had a sling when my singleton Dash was a baby and yes I had several - my favorite? It was denim. As far as slings go, this was sort of cool. But because I am uncoordinated at the best of times, the poor kid sustained several minor bruises because everytime I entered the front door, I would - without fail - manage to whack him against the hallway shelf. Slings are great for the first few weeks but to all those moms who think putting a 3 year old in them is a good thing - let him walk or put him in his stroller. It's time to put the sling in the box in the back shed until the day you can stand to be parted from it.  Out of sight, out of mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-1009552281724766586?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/1009552281724766586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=1009552281724766586' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1009552281724766586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/1009552281724766586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/09/sling-mom.html' title='Sling mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6632834555963912357</id><published>2008-09-11T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T16:39:27.249-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guilt ridden mom'/><title type='text'>Guilt-Ridden mom</title><content type='html'>These women have sleepless nights if they put their child in front of television for more than ten minutes so that they can get on the computer and reply to a few emails.  If Guilt Ridden Mom spends more than ten minutes in the shower, she feels guilty for neglecting her kids. If she reads five books to her kids at night she feels guilty that she didn’t read a sixth book.If one of her kids gets a cold, she feels guilty because it must be her fault.  "Oh, no I haven't been giving them enough vitamin C!" she says. If they're not doing well at school, she blames herself.  If they get into an argument and use their fists, she feels guilty for exposing them to violent cartoons.  The guilt-list is endless and this woman is constantly emotionally exhausted.  Her friend, Botox mom, is always telling her, "You gotta do something about those frown lines!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6632834555963912357?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6632834555963912357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6632834555963912357' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6632834555963912357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6632834555963912357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/09/guilt-ridden-mom.html' title='Guilt-Ridden mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6760178723296253221</id><published>2008-09-08T03:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T03:53:23.723-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mini me mom'/><title type='text'>Mini-Me Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt; Mini Me moms are usually moms of girls...nothing makes her happier than seeing her little darlings wearing the same clothes as hers (if their child is a son, they often do the androgynous thing. Why the hell not? Life is all about finding a new challenge, isn't it?)   &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;When MM Mom goes shopping for clothes she will buy something that she likes, such as a lilac jacket with a matching skirt and then will not stop until she finds an identical one for her daughter. She laps up the comments, 'Oh, you've got a little clone,'  the people say.  Even when people are sarcastic, she still laps it all up as affirmation of her accomplishment.  One MM mom even dyed her child s hair blond so that they would look more alike, as she was sick of people telling her she looks like her brunette father.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ditto with the son. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6760178723296253221?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6760178723296253221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6760178723296253221' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6760178723296253221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6760178723296253221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/09/mini-me-mom.html' title='Mini-Me Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-5499486886156906637</id><published>2008-08-31T12:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-31T12:59:18.371-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='scream from the sidelines mom'/><title type='text'>Scream from the Sidelines Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;This mom is more than an enthusiastic sports parent, she is obsessed with the idea her child is the next David Beckham. She screams at her child for every goal, every missed goal, every kick and every missed kick. “&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Harrison&lt;/st1:place&gt;! You’re looking the wrong way! The ball is behind you, you idiot!” Yet, at the same time, she likes the idea of her child being wrapped in cotton wool and gets mildly hysterical if another child’s boot ever so slightly grazes his precious shin. This is when Scream from the Sidelines mom turns her attention to other parents. “Your child is a violent menace to society!” Beware of this mom, she is very scary. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-5499486886156906637?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/5499486886156906637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=5499486886156906637' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5499486886156906637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5499486886156906637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/scream-from-sidelines-mom.html' title='Scream from the Sidelines Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-5156993569509118355</id><published>2008-08-27T13:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-27T13:22:39.973-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thrift shop mom'/><title type='text'>Thrift Shop Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;These ladies takes pride in saying, ‘This outfit only cost me two bucks!’ She's the worst dressed mum in town and her kids are the same..their entire wardrobe is a throwback to the 70s and 80s or whatever era is going on the $5 and under rack. She likes to &lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;mock women who spend hundreds of dollars on clothing, "Oh, look at them! Everything has to be new! There's a great op shop in every suburb, you can even get a designer (ie Target) handbag for cheap!" I knew a totally eccentric Thrift Shop mom who once found a Halston skirt going for the top rate of $12 and she wore it to death. No matter that the skirt had holes in it, no matter it stunk of mold and she never washed it, who cares? It's a bargain.  Don't get me started on her shoes.  She wears the same pair every day, month after month. "I don't buy a new pair until the old pair is smiling,' she said.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-5156993569509118355?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/5156993569509118355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=5156993569509118355' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5156993569509118355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5156993569509118355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/thrift-shop-mom.html' title='Thrift Shop Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-8353636304843313184</id><published>2008-08-22T14:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T14:14:00.649-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='buns of steel mom'/><title type='text'>Buns of Steel mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;These moms will let nothing get in the way of her workout, even if it means leaving kids in the car while she’s on the treadmill.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Everything revolves around her exercise routine. The child's only social activity is in the gym crèche where he is forced to go twice a day, morning and afternoon.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Midday he goes home for lunch and a nap. Sure he doesn't get to have fun with his mum but so long as she has buns of steel who cares? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Her biggest fantasy is when all kids are at school and she can spend the greater part of the day at the gym; a pump class here, water aerobics there, pilates and then weights. Wow, it's tough being a gym mum. She gets so many compliments about her hot body that she no longer thanks people for telling her she looks hot, it's water off a ducks back. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-8353636304843313184?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/8353636304843313184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=8353636304843313184' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8353636304843313184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8353636304843313184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/buns-of-steel-mom.html' title='Buns of Steel mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-8962286046653116612</id><published>2008-08-14T16:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T16:41:29.557-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chardonnay mom'/><title type='text'>Chardonnay Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;; color: black;"&gt;Chardonnay Moms love to pour their first glass of wine at five o’clock…many call it ‘wine o’clock’ claiming it’s the only way to get through the witching hour consisting of cooking, feeding, bathing, bedtime (usually for multiple offspring) will constantly invite mums over for a ‘party’ any excuse to crack open the champers.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They are big fans of the champagne breakfast and will go to great lengths to organize mommy get togethers after school drop-off on the off chance somebody brings a bottle of wine so that she can get that buzz early in the day. These moms never got out of the habit of ‘Thank God it’s Friday’ drinks that they enjoyed to excess during their pre-mom days. Instead of departing the workplace with a handful of colleagues and traipsing to the nearest bar, these days Chardonnay moms organize ‘after school drinkies’ at various moms’ homes where she leads the ladies in the fine art of getting sozzled while the kids run amok in the backyard. These drink parties usually wind up by 6 o’clock so the moms can get kids home to be fed, bathed and into bed. Preceding this hour is a chorus of ‘Are you okay to drive?” and a stampede of women stagger to the kitchen where they guzzle large glasses of water, as if that is enough to lower their &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;DIU&lt;/st1:place&gt; score. The only time it isn’t good to be friends with Chardonnay mom is when she insists on being the designated driver. It’s never going to happen.  Chardonnay mom is also the first mom at school fund raising functions to get up on stage with the band, flash her underwear and sing the first verse of the national anthem, over and over, until she collapses in a heap of emotion, usually crying about the beauty of the night and bemoaning the fact that the bar staff have left for the night. Tip: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-8962286046653116612?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/8962286046653116612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=8962286046653116612' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8962286046653116612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8962286046653116612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/chardonnay-mom.html' title='Chardonnay Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6336200217207313275</id><published>2008-08-14T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T16:37:57.916-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='can&apos;t stop breeding mom'/><title type='text'>Can't Stop Breeding mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;Can't Stop Breeding Moms are that strange breed of mom that does not believe in contraception and for whom taking a year off in between pregnancies is something of a sabbatical. Seven kids? No problem. They are usually condescending towards 'normal' moms who, on average, pop out two-three children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"Only three kids? What's wrong? Couldn't you get pregnant again?" asks CSB mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"Well, we only ever wanted three kids.  Isn't that enough?" shrugs Victim mom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"No.  Three is not enough. You are not doing your bit to help populate the country. I'm not stopping until I have at least five more.  Three kids? You should be ashamed of yourself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;Can't Stop Breeding moms usually fall into the extreme categories of being either filthy rich or quite poverty stricken.  One CSB mom is pregnant with child number eight and  her family is already so poor that both sets of grandparents have had to chip in and buy them a van so they can actually leave the house. On the other end of the monetary scale, I've met a CSB mom who hires a new nanny everytime she has a new addition to the family.  Their house is so damn huge there is a separate wing for the hired help. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;These moms are harking back to last century where having eleven kids didn’t really raise an eyebrow. Of course, back then, they had a pretty good excuse – there was no contraception, save for the odd old wives suggestions that rarely work (such as having sex standing up) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6336200217207313275?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6336200217207313275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6336200217207313275' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6336200217207313275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6336200217207313275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/cant-stop-breeding-mom.html' title='Can&apos;t Stop Breeding mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-5827449379671211600</id><published>2008-08-14T13:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T13:50:43.492-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='devils spawn'/><title type='text'>Devils Spawn mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Devils Spawn moms are the moms of kids who are absolute terrors, the devils you never want to invite to your house…they kick, they scream, they pour orange juice over the carpet, they wipe yogurt on the sofa, they rub vegemite/marmite/promite or whatever dark coloured condiment they get get their grubby hands on over walls, picture frames and will even find their way into the master bedroom and rub it on your pillow (by the way, none of this is an accident!) yet the Mom, for reasons quite unknown, believes their child is an angel and cannot understand why her child has so few invitations for play dates. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-5827449379671211600?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/5827449379671211600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=5827449379671211600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5827449379671211600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5827449379671211600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/devils-spawn-mom.html' title='Devils Spawn mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6037912821952585609</id><published>2008-08-13T13:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T13:38:45.866-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cool mom'/><title type='text'>Too Cool for School</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;The Cool mom is so laid back her kids would have to be on their death bed before she drags them to a doctor.  Her two year old just fell off a two metre  monkey bar, no problem. If she's crying, she's not dead. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Her son fell off his skateboard, he's sitting on the sidewalk nursing his badly grazed knee. Does Cool mom rush to comfort him? 'Nah, I'm not getting a band aid.  It's not bleeding that much. I mean, the blood hasn’t reached his ankle yet." &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;The baby is crying. Perhaps she is hungry?  "Oh, she'll be okay. I mean, it's not lunchtime yet, they only need three meals a day, right?  Kids want to play out on the street in the rain? No problem, let them do what they want to do. So long as they're not bugging me, that's cool.  If they want to walk four blocks to the nearest park while I stay at home and catch up on my crossword puzzles, that's fine too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Cook dinner?  Me?  Well, not all the time, I mean, the kids can open the fridge.  It's good to be laid back, it teaches kids to do everything themselves.  Look at me, I could make an omelette by the age of three." &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Her six year old fell downstairs and spent a week with a broken arm before she took him to doctor. But her pets?  If her cat is limping she gets a trip to the vet, go figure.  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6037912821952585609?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6037912821952585609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6037912821952585609' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6037912821952585609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6037912821952585609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/too-cool-for-school.html' title='Too Cool for School'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6926394218867661488</id><published>2008-08-12T13:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-12T13:33:08.511-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pacifier police'/><title type='text'>The Pacifier/Dummy police</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Those of us who have committed the 'sin' of using a pacifier/dummy, mostly out of desperation to drastically reduce the volume of a screaming child, would have met the Pacifier Police mom. She likes to harass other Moms whose little darlings use a pacifier, lecturing them about how bad it is for the shape of their mouth and also giving ‘helpful advice’ about how to stop your child using a pacifier, including giving the pacifier to the ‘pacifier fairies.’&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Other advice - usually for mothers with toddlers ie kids deemed 'too old' for a pacifier (in my opinion it's the two year olds that need pacifiers the most and - let's face it - we've all met the occasional adult that could benefit from a pacifier too) :&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;1. Tell your child you are giving the pacifier to Santa.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;2.  You're giving the pacifier to the babies that really need them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;3. When you're driving, casually wind down the window and toss pacifier out the window, saying 'Oops, look what mommy has done!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;Pacifier police preface most conversations with, "He is too old to have a pacifier,"  and "Why does he have a pacifier?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"He is a bad sleeper so I've gotten into the habit," said Victim mom.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"Well get out of the habit. Just throw it away. Simple," said PP Mom.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"It's no big deal. He won't have a pacifier when he's 21," said Victim Mom.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"Really? How can you be so sure?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;"Well its better than thumb sucking.  At least he won't get buck teeth.  Plus, you can throw a dummy away but you can't throw away his thumb!" yells  Victim Mom.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;You will never win a debate with the Pacifier Police.  She will give you a list of bizarre psychological reasons why a pacifier will have a negative impact on his life until death. For example, think about what he is sucking on; a plastic nipple! He will always have a nipple fixation and end up being a hopeless sex addict. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6926394218867661488?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6926394218867661488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6926394218867661488' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6926394218867661488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6926394218867661488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/pacifierdummy-police.html' title='The Pacifier/Dummy police'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-8541359769846379267</id><published>2008-08-07T12:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T18:40:59.165-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='natural birth interrogator mom'/><title type='text'>Beware of Natural Birth Interrogator Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;There seems to be a new breed of mom that gave birth naturally and delight in criticizing mothers who didn't; even when a caesarian is performed in a life-saving situation!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;She tells pregnant women, "&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Oh I hope you don’t have to have a Caesar. It will take away the importance of womanhood."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Following the birth of my twins - born by caesarian (twin 1 had his head downwards, twin 2 had his feet downwards, known as a 'footling breech') an old school friend said snidely, "You didn't give birth, you had an operation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;No matter how your babies are born, you still 'gave birth' to them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;One mother sent an SMS to let a friend know her baby had arrived and the friend responded with ‘natural or ceasar? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Some natural birth interrogators see ceasar mums as copping out, taking the easy road. Do you really think its easy having a major operation that you are wide awake for, as a surgeon cuts through nine layers of skin/stomach muscle - that also means you're left with nine layers of stitches - and then you have to get up right away and look after a baby. A hysterectomy is a less severe operation and women are told to have bed rest for weeks.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Having twins, one is always confronted with that question; "Did you give birth naturally?" When I explain that twin 2 was a footling breech and would have died without medical intervention, one Natural Birth Interrogator Mom shook her head and said, "But surely the doctor could have turned him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The moral of the story is this:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Nobody gets to wear a medal around their neck saying, "I gave birth through my vagina."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-8541359769846379267?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/8541359769846379267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=8541359769846379267' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8541359769846379267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/8541359769846379267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/beware-of-natural-birth-interrogator.html' title='Beware of Natural Birth Interrogator Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-3122946083715248223</id><published>2008-08-03T13:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T13:40:01.367-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Afternoon tea with Neat Freak Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Neat Freak mom lives as though there are no children in the house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If a child drops even a crumb of a cookie, these Moms will whip out the vacuum cleaner in an instant.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She virtually much neglects her kids because she is so busy dusting and cleaning up after them. Of course, she always takes spare set of clothes with her in case a kid gets even the smallest amount of dirt or food or , God forbid,  a blueberry stain.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;She doesn't like to take her kids to the park because the park is full of dirt and kids get dirty. Kids never allowed to do things like jump in a puddle or roll through the autumn leaves.&lt;span style=""&gt;  In fact her kids are&lt;/span&gt; forced to wash their hands at least six times a day; sometimes twice depending on the grime, depending on whether they have petted a dog, cat or guinea pig.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Neat Freak Mom cannot handle seeing any food around her toddler's mouth so she's constantly wiping him until the lower part of his face is red. She stands closeby, a face cloth in her hand on   standby just an inch from her child's chin at all times. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;In fact the face cloth is usually in her pocket for any ‘emergencies.’  She also keeps a dust buster in the car...food is banned in the car but on the rare occasion a child is brave enough to smuggle a cookie in the back seat,  she will pull over, even on major highway, and bust that dust.  She will never lighten up. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-3122946083715248223?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/3122946083715248223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=3122946083715248223' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/3122946083715248223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/3122946083715248223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/08/afternoon-tea-with-neat-freak-mom.html' title='Afternoon tea with Neat Freak Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-6566496220281745311</id><published>2008-07-30T04:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T13:38:35.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wikipedia Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;My friend Katie is a Wikipedia mom.  She is a walking encyclopedia on everything to do with fertility, pregnancy, childbirth, raising kids etc. You name it, she will tell you all about it. Over and over again! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn’t matter if you have experienced something that they haven’t; they still know more about it than you do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You don’t need a baby book.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You just need to befriend a Wikipedia mom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Twins, triplets? Well, she hasn’t had them &lt;i style=""&gt;herself&lt;/i&gt;, but she might as well have! What &lt;i style=""&gt;she &lt;/i&gt;doesn’t know about twins and triplets isn’t worth knowing. In fact, she knows everything about them; from giving birth, to raising them. She can even give share her valuable insight into the advantages and disadvantages of separating twins/triplets at school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“You must separate twins at school because otherwise the teacher and students will keep mixing them up,” said Wikipedia mom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“But my twins are fraternal. One is blonde, the other is brunette,” said Twin mom.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“It doesn’t matter! You also have to split up non identical twins so they can form their own identity and discourage competitive behavior in the classroom.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;There’s no point arguing with a woman who truly believes she knows more than anybody else.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Do you need some tips about recovering from a caesarian? Wikipedia mom gave birth naturally but, rest assured, she will give you a blow by blow description of what it felt like to be awake for major abdominal surgery. Breastfeeding tips? Wikipedia mom has an answer for everybody; ask her about mastitis, breast pumps, inverted nipples and whether, in the world of breast milk, size matters.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Maybe Wikepedia mom hasn’t had a natural birth but she has all the advice you’ll ever need. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“You need to chew ice cubes in between contractions. Oh, and don’t bother putting vitamin E oil on your belly. Stretch marks are hormonal. It’s a bit like death; if your number’s up, you are going to die.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Wikipedia mom will tell you everything you need to know, as well as all the stuff you &lt;i style=""&gt;don’t &lt;/i&gt;give a toss about.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“Kids who watch television before the age of two will have stunted physical interaction crucial to early brain development. Did you know, &lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;78% of disposable-diapered babies have diaper rash, compared to 7% of cloth-diapered babies?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 200%;font-family:Arial;font-size:10;color:black;"   &gt;”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;The world if filled with moms who want to give you advice and most of it is given in good faith. But if you come across a woman who repeatedly gives you unwanted advice, just say, “Thank you” and leave it at that.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Or you could tell her that you are committed into only absorbing the wisdom of one mommy friend – perhaps your own mother. You have no room for two&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;. It’s a little like religion. Why pray at two altars when it’s easier to pray at one?&lt;i style=""&gt; &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-6566496220281745311?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/6566496220281745311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=6566496220281745311' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6566496220281745311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/6566496220281745311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/07/wikepedia-mom.html' title='Wikipedia Mom'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-5410230370273323217</id><published>2008-07-30T04:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T04:35:06.772-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='introduction to The Mommy Mafia'/><title type='text'>My first encounter</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;My first inkling the Mommy Mafia existed was when I found myself in a crowded doctors’ waiting room with my two-week old twins asleep at my feet. The room was filled with mothers talking a mile a minute, looking proud, frazzled, drowsy, worried, lonely, bored, happy, and totally kaput. It sounded like a nightclub without the music. Without the sexual tension.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Without the fun.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Yet, still quite entertaining. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;I was seeing my doctor about a pinched nerve in my upper thigh which was terribly painful and made me look like I was walking with a watermelon between my legs. Within moments of my arrival a woman holding a red-haired toddler screeched at me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;“You must &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; put babies in capsules.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Don’t you know that the angle means they’re at risk of having their respiratory tracts cut off?” she said.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“No, I didn’t!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Should I be worried?” I asked. But, before I had a chance to reply, she found something else that I was doing ‘wrong.’&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My babies were dressed in matching white jumpsuits.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She told me I should &lt;i style=""&gt;never&lt;/i&gt; dress twins in the same clothes.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;“They will have identity problems. You’re encouraging other people to treat them as one person.” &lt;i style=""&gt;Hello, Nazi Mom.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Then I noticed the lady to my left who was literally shaking.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I asked her if she was okay and she grabbed her little darling and told me she was terrified.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Why?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“He’s had a runny nose for five days. I’m sure he has caught something incurable.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is my third trip to the doctor this week. Maybe I should take him to casualty?” she said. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“I’m sure he’s fine. I mean, he looks okay to me.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not that I’m a doctor,” I said, speaking softly.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But she ignored me, running out the door, presumably straight to casualty.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I imagined, with every step she took, she was already planning his funeral.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;Hello, ER Mom. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Behind me a woman was holding a potty in one hand, a little girl in the other.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What was going on?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Before I had a chance to ask her, she read my mind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;“There is no way I will let her sit on anybody else’s toilet seat.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She might catch something.” &lt;i style=""&gt;Hello, Germ Phobic Mom.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;I slid back in my chair, extremely thankful that both twins were fast asleep. I’d only caught a couple of hours shut-eye the night before as the moment I got one baby to sleep, the other baby would wake up crying. There’s nothing amusing about having to deal with two screaming babies at 2am.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I couldn’t imagine how easy it must be with one baby.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Just being pregnant with one would be a cinch after this, not to mention breastfeeding one baby. Starting motherhood as a mother of two is motherhood by baptism of fire.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Still, after losing my first to miscarriage, having twins felt like the clichéd double blessing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Plus, I’d convinced myself that all the exercise from dashing between the cots, patting one bottom here, the other bottom there, in a desperate bid to settle two at once, will eventually help me shed my pregnancy weight. As I was smiling at my babies, a woman approached me and without saying hello, she asked, “Did you give birth &lt;i style=""&gt;naturally&lt;/i&gt;?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“No, I had a caesarian.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;That was all the ammunition she needed. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“&lt;i style=""&gt;Why&lt;/i&gt; did you have a caesarian?” she asked.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“Well, if I didn’t, one of the twins would have died.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was a footling breech,” I said, almost apologizing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But that wasn’t good enough for her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She launched into a long incoherent speech about how caesarian rates in the western world have sky rocketed. “All these women are too posh to push. I think that’s disgusting,” she said, slapping her leg with her two-years out of date Vanity Fair.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;Hello Natural Birth Interrogator Mom&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Thankfully my name was called and I was able to escape a further grilling as I carried the boys into the doctor’s room. During my examination the twins were blissfully quiet; hypnotized by a ceiling fan waving a piece of purple streamer from its blades. A remnant from a recent celebration? I grimaced as the doctor prodded my upper thigh. The prognosis was not good.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;“There’s absolutely nothing you can do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It will just fix itself,” he said.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Great, I thought. Then, the moment I stepped off the table and bent down to kiss my little boys, they started crying – a whiff of breast milk was all it took to set off a feeding frenzy. I quickly debated the idea of doing the double breast feed in the waiting room or whether I should brave the ten minute drive home with two crying/hungry babies and reasoned the latter would be best for all.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Feeding twins in public is very tricky; partly because you need a large feeding pillow and partly because you need to take your entire top off for easy access to both breasts. And while I don’t mind exposing &lt;i style=""&gt;some &lt;/i&gt;of my post baby body, I wasn’t about to expose my entire torso.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;So I hobbled to the car park in the pouring rain.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Just as I was about to get myself in the car, I was accosted by yet another mother who stood alongside me, putting her two darlings into the neighboring car. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;She gazed at my sleeping babies and asked, “Twins?” I said yes indeed they are twins and was expecting her to repeat the comment most people say to me, “How do you&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;do it with twins?” when she pointed to her own little darlings and said, “Mine are eighteen months apart.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;That is &lt;i style=""&gt;much &lt;/i&gt;tougher than having twins.”&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;How strange.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Did she really think that having just &lt;i style=""&gt;one&lt;/i&gt; baby and then a year and a half later having a second baby is anything like having two babies at once?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Big deal, I wanted to say.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Mine were born &lt;i style=""&gt;two minutes&lt;/i&gt; apart! Was she serious?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Deadly. Then, as an afterthought, she stuck her head out of the window and yelled, “My son was walking at &lt;i style=""&gt;ten&lt;/i&gt; months!” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;Hello Olympic Mom. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"&gt;Suddenly, I understood the politics of motherhood. A world where women exist in a different world, where mothers belong to distinct ‘groups.’ It was like realizing the Mafioso is alive and kicking in your neighborhood.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;How on earth was I going to survive the Mommy Mafia? And would I be drawn into their spell and become a member too?&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-5410230370273323217?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/5410230370273323217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=5410230370273323217' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5410230370273323217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/5410230370273323217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-first-inkling-mommy-mafia-existed.html' title='My first encounter'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-353761111472975504.post-7028195784184347470</id><published>2008-07-30T04:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T04:37:01.895-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='What is The Mommy Mafia?'/><title type='text'>In motherhood women are more dangerous than shotguns</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="line-height: 200%;font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Sometimes the hardest thing about being a mother is other mothers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"  &gt;Just when you think you’re doing a good job (kids happy, food nutritious, house spotless, bodies bathed, faces kissed) somebody lets you know that you are not.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Their way is the best way.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Your way is not.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Beware of the Mommy Mafia.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;You never see them coming&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/353761111472975504-7028195784184347470?l=themommymafiabook.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/feeds/7028195784184347470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=353761111472975504&amp;postID=7028195784184347470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7028195784184347470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/353761111472975504/posts/default/7028195784184347470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themommymafiabook.blogspot.com/2008/07/sometimes-hardest-thing-about-being.html' title='In motherhood women are more dangerous than shotguns'/><author><name>LJ Charleston</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08591370180642103902</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_wZtfTxzysbs/SJBC9WKZbNI/AAAAAAAAABw/nQG9kOXZ92s/S220/me+and+dash.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
