Prada Bag or Diaper Bag? Which Goes Better With a Spit-up Stained Armani Gown?

18 11 2011

I’m a stand-up comic who learned about parenting the hard way; I became one. After 36 years of childless living spoiled me into believing happy hour was just a normal part of one’s daily commute, I moved to Utah (to ski everyday, of course) and within a year got pregnant. (Isn’t that what happens to any woman who moves to Utah?)

Before I knew it I had two young sons and suddenly sleep won out over midnight comedy shows. Juicy Juice replaced Grey Goose vodka (although they are good mixed), Prada bags gave way to diaper bags, and showers couldn’t last longer than a “Bob the Builder” video. When my boys got older vacations took a backseat to music lessons, and eventually school band instruments littered the house like empty beer bottles in a Notre Dame dorm over St. Paddy’s weekend. And for at least the first 10 years of my sons’ lives I felt compelled to clean up my language (sort of).

In between carpools and doing crazy stuff like lobbying for sex education in public schools (so our kids don’t grow up thinking the missionary position involves a bicycle and a doorbell) I documented my parenting journey in my laugh-out-loud book Confessions of a Band Geek Mom (which you all need to buy on Amazon.com since my kids expect to go to college someday, and after researching schools I’m thinking bake sales and craft fairs just aren’t going to cut it as a source for tuition–even in Utah).

But now I’ve decided to use this blog to continue the authentication of my crazy, conflicting journey, which these days pretty much consists of  shuttling my saxophone-playing sons all over the state for concerts, band competitions, and music lessons with instructors who cost more per session than a French manicure done by little Korean ladies on Rodeo Drive.

So come back when I send out a smoke signal on the Internet indicating I’ve got something funny to say. Then sit back, relax, and enjoy  this delightful personal account that my children are sure to one day contest once they’re old enough to understand that ironic exaggeration truly is an art form of the highest caliber…and that their mother was a master at it.


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8 responses

18 11 2011
becomingcliche

Holy cow. I have been married for 16 years and had no idea about the missionary position. So no bell is required?

18 11 2011
Stacy Dymalski

Well, there can be a lot of bell-ringing involved if you like, but regardless I suggest you move any “missionary position” activities off the front porch and into the interior of the house (where you can get really loud without upsetting the neighbors).

18 11 2011
julieglusker

Definitely go with the Prada bag – Prada is already full of S#&*!

18 11 2011
Stacy Dymalski

Yes, I think one of Prada’s most popular dress colors is “baby poop” brown. It’s a convenient shade to be wearing when junior blows out his diaper all over you right before you’re about to walk out the door to the fanciest soiree you’ve ever been invited to in your entire life–something along the lines of the Presidential Inaugural Ball or the Academy Awards. Even in HD you can’t see the stains. Or so I’ve been told.

22 11 2011
playful pixie

“Exaggeration truly is an art form”- well said! Its definitely my favourite art form.

28 11 2011
Stacy Dymalski

Now if they could just make it an Olympic event, I might be able to make a decent living at it! 😉

23 11 2011
Samantha Bangayan

I’m SO glad you decided to blog, Stacy! This distinctive voice and personality of yours just can’t shine through the same way in blog posts that you’re forced to write about. I love the lightheartedness you take to life and motherhood. =)

28 11 2011
Stacy Dymalski

Thanks, Sam. Your comments mean a lot to me. And I must say, YOU are an inspiration when it comes to blogging and writing in general. I’m a huge fan of yours, so I appreciate the feedback. Thanks!

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