Harvest of the Peeps

Tis the season when we welcome back the Peeps. The real Peeps. Not the pumpkin Peeps or the Christmas tree Peeps. And god no, not the Peeps Nog that made me vomit a little behind the day old bread display at Safeway. Even my pallet is more refined than that.

How is this twice anything? Math is hard.
I don’t get it. How is this twice anything? Math is hard.

We keep it real in my family. I won’t name names, but there are two of us (my dad and I) with really good taste (and exceptional wit and freakishly strong legs) who love Peeps. What’s that you say? Peeps are gross? WRONG! You probably hate candy corn too, don’t you? (WRONG AGAIN!) But Peeps are divisive. I get it. They’re like the Gweneth Paltrow of delicious marshmallow seasonL confections. If you hate Peeps I am sad for you because clearly there was a noticeable void in your upbringing: You never learned the proper way to consume one.

But fear not. It’s never too late to learn. I’m re-posting an excerpt from The Harvest of the Peeps entry. Consider this a Public Service Announcement.

The Harvest of the Peeps

In my family we have many traditions but very few rival the tradition I share with the only other person who appreciates peeps as much as I do—my father. I grew up hearing my mother saying, “You are your father’s child.” I’m not sure if that was ever in question or if it’s meant to be some sort of endearment or maybe even an insult. There’s no denying my dad and I look alike. We have the same sense of humor, same “riiiiiiiiight, that’s what you think smirk,” same legs (is that weirder for him or for me?) and same philosophy of practically knighting the people in our lives we adore and putting the others through some sort of Jack Bauer-esqe mental decapitation trial before declaring them trite and unworthy like a discarded kitten toy shoved under the sofa. Fortunately those people are few and far between.

Our other similarity is we are both Peep aficionados and will agree there is only one kind of Peep: The Yellow Chick. Stop with the pink bunnies and green trees and orange pumpkins. Who’s running the product development department over there? Lucky the Leprechaun? My dad and I are old school. It’s all about the yellow chick and more importantly, the little chick’s head. As in, it’s always the first to go. It’s just so darn…bitable.

I remember a freezing spring day in college (it was upstate NY hence the freezing Spring) when a package arrived from my parents. Inside was the usual random array of lipstick castoffs from Estee Lauders latest free gift with purchase, cocktail napkins with funny expressions printed on them like “Put your big girl panties on and deal with it,” a spatula, pair of earrings, Reese’s peanut butter eggs, Cadbury Cream Eggs, black jelly beans—all from Mom and a 10-pack of yellow Peeps from Dad.

“Ew!” My roommate squealed. “Why are your parents sending you damaged candy? Couldn’t they wait until the day after Easter if they wanted a discount?”

She didn’t get what so many others don’t. What she was referring to was the knife slit across the top of the Peeps packaging. That was no accident, I explained. My dad was harvesting the Peeps. It was damn near the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.

It takes one connoisseur to another to understand this delicate process. You can’t just bust open a package of Peeps and go at them. No! Peeps need to mature. They need to acquire just the right amount of staleness in order to achieve greatness. It’s a delicate balance and one that weighs heavily on instinct. When you’ve had a properly harvested Peep, you know it. And it will change your life. My dad was saving me the time and effort of harvesting my own Peeps. They were primed and ready. Prêt-à-Porte Peeps.

This year my Peeps arrived from Florida where my parents spend the winter. The harvest had begun early but alas, when the Peeps arrived there were two problems. Not to be an ingrate, but my much-anticipated package of 10 only had 9 Peeps in it. When I brought it up to my dad he had an interesting theory.

“The Peep flew the coop,” he said matter of fact. “Perhaps he flew South somewhere over Missouri?”

“Well his friends sure do miss him. I just can’t believe he’d up and leave like that.”

“It happens,” he said. “There’s a bad egg in every bunch.”

The second problem was the Peeps were nowhere near ready for consumption. My dad was shocked, as he had started the harvesting days before the Peeps went in the mail. We blame the humidity of Florida for a slow harvest. I wonder if anyone in Florida has had a properly harvested Peep. Probably not and that makes me sad.

The Peeps are currently residing on my desk at work where I check their progress every morning like a kindergartener checking on her mummified apple project. My co-workers claim to hate Peeps but yet they seem very interested in the status report.

“Soon, Grasshoppers,” I say. “Soon we shall harvest.”

So I implore you, fine people of the internet, to give the Peeps a second look when you see them surrounding you in the aisles this season. Reserve your judgment and your snide remarks. Why not give the harvest the chance? And remember to keep it real. The best Peep is a yellow Peep. Unless you’re decorating a cake in which case anything goes.

Happy Easter!

I shall call this: Peeps in the Garden
I shall call this: Peeps in the Garden

Listen to ME!

Mom's always right. You know that!
Mom’s always right. You know that!

This may be the most exciting thing to happen to me since I discovered pretzel M&Ms were only 4 Weight Watchers points.

Listen to your Mother is a national show featuring live readings from fabulous women about motherhood. This is the second year it’s in Seattle (thank you, Jennifer and Jill!) and this year I GET TO BE IN THE CAST.

You guys, if you know me at all you know this is right up my ally. I live for this stuff. Stage. Audience. Reading. Surrounded by fabulous women writers and mothers? Umm, yes, please. I’m in. All in. I could not be more excited to be part of this event and incredibly grateful to Jennifer and Jill for inviting me to participate. It is going to be a great show. You need to come and bring your favorite moms.

Check out the announcement here.


Back to Reality

Well actually that’s a lie. I haven’t gone back to reality. I’ve gone away from it. The Bachelor is over and has left me rudderless in reality TV land. I have withdrawal. It’s Monday and I should be about 1,100 words deep in a Bachelor recap and wondering how I’m going to cull all that stuff and nonsense down to 500 words. I should be all bitter and angry listening to my husband brush his teeth because I know that means he’s about 4 minutes away from falling asleep with an iPad on his chest. I should be pondering why attractive women in their 20’s think acid wash mom jean cut offs are an attractive look. No f’ing way. Ladies, camel toe is not a gynecological miracle. It’s a perfectly preventable eye sore, not to mention really freakin’ uncomfortable. Pull that shit out of there and put on a  pair of skorts for goodness sake!

But alas, The Bachelor is over so Mother Rose Best is on hiatus. While focused on the love lives of delusion strangers, I feel like I missed out on a whole crop of important news and therefore missed sharing it with you. You were out there in the real world without important bits of knowledge clouding your frontal lobes. Rob Kardashian lost like 50 pounds. The Spiralizer is tearing up the Amazon sales charts. The deadline to enter the Peeps diorama contest is THURSDAY! DO YOU HAVE ENOUGH TIME?! I am sorry I let you down. Allow me to catch you up on some very worthy bits and product updates you might have missed:

Washi Tape: So this article would imply that washi tape has been around since 2012. Hooey, I say. No way would this crafting-for-non-crafters tool have existed for 4 years without me knowing about it. Where has it been all my life? Not sure, but I know it’s available in that amazing mini-dollar store found at the entrance of Target. Get some. I can’t stop taping things.


Go from drap to fab with 11 inches of tape!
Go from drap to fab with 11 inches of tape!

Gweneth Paltrow: Oh Gwennie. Why do you want people to hate you? She rocked a really terrible body suit that made her look like a ingenue with a “no nudity” claus in her contract en route to her first sex scene. Not a compliment, in case you’re wondering.

She looks like Barbie. For real. Barbie without clothes.
She looks like Barbie. For real. Barbie without clothes.

Gwennie also made news because of her alleged $200 breakfast smoothie. Come on, people. She only wants the best for you.

My Birthday: It was February 1st. It was a Monday so I got to scarf down dinner, read to my kid, watch The Bachelor and stay up until 2AM cutting 1,428 words out of my recap. Also, I got this card from my mommy:

Shelly, why are you the way you are? Oh. Never mind.
Shelly, why are you the way you are? Oh. Okay. Got it. 

Right? Fabulous. Love you, Mommy!

Good News: I got some really great news that I’m super excited about but I can’t say anything yet. So, umm, there’s that.

Can’t Dance: I also can’t dance anymore. No, I didn’t break anything. No, not doctor’s orders. No, not method acting for a Footloose audition. My son, a.k.a Boss Baby has decreed that Mommy is not allowed to dance.

Thomas and Friends theme song begins to play. Mommy gets up and dances. As usual.

“No, Mommy. Just me.”

Child puts hand up like a crossing guard halting a Volvo at a crosswalk before resuming dancing like the whitest boy at a wedding.

“Those are my moves!” says Mommy. “And I love this song!”


Mommy vacillates between acting like Joan Crawford discovering a wire hanger and every teenaged girl who ever watched Julia Roberts die in Steel Magnolias.

“Fine,” Mommy concedes. “But I got news for you, kid. I AM funny. You’ll see. Or rather your friends will when I burp the entire Thomas and Friends theme song at your 6th birthday party. BAM! 

Spaghetti Squash: It’s amazing. Try this recipe. Also, get a Spiralizer.

All Good Things

…must come to an end.


I’m going to miss writing these Bachelor recaps.

But, but, I love them both! Can't I have two rings, Mr. Lane?
But, but, I love them both! Can’t I have two rings, Mr. Lane?

You’ve got to check out the final installment of Mother Rose Best, Fools of Engagement, if for no other reason than to see the awesome Chris Harrison GIF the editors unearthed. It’s pretty fabulous.

Many thanks to the ladies of In the Powder Room for allowing me to crash the stalls once a week. What pure joy they are to work with.

Cheers to another match made in Reality TV heaven, where the booze flows and annulments are doled out like shots of penicillin. I’m sure it took me longer to write this post than for Bachelor Ben to realize he should have picked Bachelorette #2. Oh well. There’s always next season.

How many seasons is too many season? Asking for a friend.
How many seasons is too many season? Asking for a friend.


Mother Rose Best, Week 9

Remember this girl?

Sit and spin, bitches!
Sit and spin, bitches!

Spoiler alert! She’s still in the running to be America’s Next– oops! Wrong show. But yeah, she’s still in the running to be Bachelor Ben Higgins’ ex-fiance. Which is great because she’s helping today’s children become better citizens of tomorrow. How, you ask? Clearly you have not been reading Mother Rose Best. You best giddy-on-up over to In the Powder Room and check out the latest, Jamaican of a Marriage, right now. Why? Because I’m the mother, that’s why! And clean your room while you’re at it.


Be Offended

Facebook offers some really fun insights on pages you manage. For instance, after I posted the link for the latest Mother Rose Best, “Putting the Ho in Hometown“, 4 people either hid that post, hid ALL posts, reported me as Spam or unlike my page. Damn! Four?

What? Don’t hide me, my friends. Why do I offend? You’ll have to read it and and report back.



New Mother Rose Best

Burning questions, people!

  • Did Ben the Bachelor moved beyond tight-lip, closed-mouth kissing?
  • Did the token virgin give it up in Ben’s childhood bedroom?
  • Did a future NFL cheerleader’s understudy’s intern make Ben’s mother cry?

And more importantly, why is this blonde woman choking out another blonde woman?

He's my fake husband, Blondie! MINE!
He’s my fake husband, Blondie! MINE!

Find out the answers to these questions and more in the latest Mother Rose Best!

Mother Rose Best- Save the Drama for Bahamas

Oh man, The Bachelor sure doesn’t lack for writing fodder. It’s like a two-year old that way. Also in other ways like the fearful, petchulant, moody behavior of the contestants. Also the gullibility and belief in fairy tales. Also… wow. Maybe that’s a whole separate column.

As if I didn’t love In the Powder Room already, I love them even more every Monday when I write the latest Mother Rose Best and every middle of the night Tuesday when I turn it in (because I’m slow. And a bad editor. And easily distracted by shiny things on the internet.) Please read the latest installment, Save the Drama for Bahamas now. Take your time. I’ll just be shopping for plant stands on the internet.

Are you back? Okay. So much more to discuss about this season and I’ve been remiss on posting my larger recaps. I KNOW you’re dying to find out what happened. So here’s some of the highlight from where we left off.

  • Olivia was mean to the girls
“Talking crazy shit is my jam, bitches. I mean, bros.”
  • She called Amanda “Teen Mom” and greatly offended EVERYONE
  • Olivia still thought she had a psychic connection with Ben and that he sent her positive affirmations through his body language and secret hand signals
  • Ben’s virginal tongue still hasn’t kissed anyone
  • Twin Emily can NOT get over Olivia calling Amanda Teen Mom and claimed it was the most offensive thing she ever heard.
    • Twin Emily is grossly sheltered. Clearly.
    • As a 40-something mom with a toddler, I welcome any and all comparisons to Teen Mom. Bring on the offensive comments, Olivia!
  • Caila is still super annoying and acts like a ten year-old girl who still plays with Barbie. And she’s scared to death of a relationship. Ben apparently likes that in a girl-woman.
  • Jubliee melted down and got the inevitable boot. “Inevitable” because she is African-American, not because of her meltdown. I liked her. This made me sad.
  • Leah went bat shit cray cray. She lost it big time and tried to take Ben’s favorite, Lauren B. down with her.
  • Emily told Ben that Olivia was a meanie. Ben pretended to be surprised and saddened to hear this.
  • Ben pulled Olivia aside to ask her why she was such a bully
    • Because the girls are jealous of her
    • Because she has a target on her back after getting the first impression rose
    • Because she has ugly toes
    • Because she’s a victim
    • Because the girls are dumb and she is smart and wants to “talk smart things.” Like, right?
Like, fat toes and cankles, you dig?
  • Ben thought Las Vegas was a great place to fall in love
  • Ben thought Mexico was a great place to fall in love
  • Ben thought the Bahamas were a great place to fall in love
  • After the girls on the Bahamas group date bitched out and ignored him, Ben started questioning the reality of finding his wife on reality TV
  • Ben pondered throwing himself off a cliff in the middle of a hurricane
“Maybe face-planting on these rocks would be less painful than listening to women I have no desire to tongue kiss sob all day. Hmm…”
  • Pigs swim in the Bahamas (real pigs, not a metaphor) and nearly drowned the girls over some chicken hotdogs. It was fabulous.
“It’s chicken, I swear!”
  • Olivia was dumped on the worst private island ever and apparently left there to die.
“I wore my best Mom jeans for this?”
  • Some other girls went home crying in black SUVs. Later!

And that’s basically what you missed. Are you asking yourself why you’re not watching this gold? Put down that book and get cultured for goodness sake!


¿Dónde Está My Weave?

Have I told you lately how much I love writing this Mother Rose Best column for In the Powder Room? Even more so, I love having a “reason” to watch The Bachelor. It’s not because I want to and would totally be watching it anyway. It’s because I have to. I’m writing a column about it. Ahem…

The latest installment  ¿Dónde Está My Weave?, is just itching like a bad rash for you read and share.

Enjoy! And umm, maybe get some ointment for that itch?

Meow, Sex Panther!

Come on. How can you not read something called, Sex Panther? You know you want to.

Head on over to In the Powder Room for my latest Mother Rose Best column. Have I told you how much fun I’m having with this? I am! To think I used to watch this purely for the drama, cat fights, and ego-inflating meltdowns. There’s pure parenting gold in them hills!

Mother Rose Best graphic