Some Mommies Need a Punch in Their Uterus

I signed up with Ask and Ye Shall Receive to guest-review mommy blogs. I am a mother, a mommy blogger and I know what I like in a good mommy blog. Easy, huh?

I got cocky on my first gig last month, that one was a real peach. Not so with The Bean, the Brat and Bedlam. Heck, it was hard just to keep from slamming my browser shut after the first five minutes, out of sheer frustration. I wanted to find something great in this blog, but I didn’t find anything that flipped my switches. I sat at my computer for three hours picking this babe apart and came up nearly empty.

See, I am a mom a half dozen times over and even I, The Queen Mutha, got sick to death reading about the Bean and the Brat. I love kids, and yours are cute, but MAN, isn’t there something – anything else in your life but the running dialogue of the cute stuff your children have done/said?

Let the ranting begin:

Did you really say that you left your sleeping children alone to go out to a pot party? Or did I misread, please tell me you had a sitter, please? I bet the kids just loved Mom coming home smelling like pot.

[Note: I read later in the comments that you didn’t leave them alone, you have live-in help. Now, I am so completely envious of any help at all, let alone live-in help that I have to hate you all the more just on behalf of those of us who have to do it all alone.]

About those passive aggressive fights with the father of your kiddos, here’s a hint: the kids know. It’s fucking them up. Stop it now. Yell, scream, cry, but don’t use sarcasm and the silent treatment thinking that the kids are oblivious. They know.

Generally, it’s not great to label our kids – even in cyberspace – with titles like "Brat," unless you want them to be a brat. Wasn’t there anything a tad less negative that you could call him – maybe, "Little Shit or "Complete Waste of Sperm"? Do you call him Brat at home, even under your breath? He knows. Brat’s reading at three, Brat knows.

Still, there must be something going on here, she has 300,000 hits on her site and she’s not even showing her sweater puppies or saying naughty words. She’s a self-proclaimed journalist from India. The English is ok, not bad, but I knew from the start that English wasn’t her first language, maybe it was the long strings of Indian words with no translation listed that clued me in on that one. It adds a bit of flavor, but in the end, it wasn’t a flavor that particularly appealed to me. Funny, because I just love Kofta Curry.

Specific Ass Ripping, better known as, "let’s get into her template":

1. The banner was a photo of her kid, and then while I was reviewing it, she changed it to a plate, a red blob of yarn and a bright yellow circle (maybe a beer in a highball glass?). Bring back the kid. This one is meaningless and it sucks.

2. Oh, bloody hell! The posts are so goddamned long! I scrolled down to see what else there was on the front page. Tons of little kid photos, I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled. Then, just so that I could be a smart-ass, I went back up and started scrolling again, this time I counted how many turns of my mouse wheel it took to actually get to the bottom – you know, as in "how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop" – It took 96 friggin' scrolls!

Come on! This represented 10 posts. My God....diarrhea of the mouth. You may think you’re a journalist, but in the real world of print/blogging, no one has the space or time for what you're writing. Cutting your verbosity would certainly improve this blog. Cut back your front page to about four posts and let the people who don't die of boredom delve into your archives.

3. Roll up your archives - and pick one – the calendar or the archives, we don’t need both. No one's going there anyway, they all died of boredom on the front page. Seriously, you have 300,000 hits and 34 subscribers who want you to punch this thing up.

I give it:
&



Note from Love Bites: If the incredibly nice Mutha ripped this blog a new one, just imagine what the rest of us would have done.