It starts. Mother’s Day is around the corner and suddenly everyone feels the need to quantify what a mom is worth and to worship at her altar. I used to think that Mother’s Day is bunk and that we should be worshiped on a daily basis, but let’s be honest here. At least we get one day a year. So we are tortured because invariably the kids will get sick or be cranky or fight and no one will properly perform and no one will get the memo that if Mother’s Day is about mothers, then why the hell are we spending it with our children, like we do the other 364 days of the year.

And then there are my child-free friends. I don’t even like to bring Mother’s Day up because I know how annoying it can be for the people without kids. Either by choice or by circumstance, it’s still annoying. I remember when I was single and people would wish me “Happy Mother’s Day.” Personally, I thought it was odd. It didn’t really offend me. I thought it was just weird.

What do you think?

So, in honor of all my girls who will be tortured by Mother’s Day, I planned to give you the latest in hilarious tees from Baby Brewing…

Auntie Needs a Cocktail

I have them. I just can’t get them up on Baby Brewing due to technical problems whereby I am tortured. So if you want one and you just can’t wait, go over and order a MNAC shirt in the size you want (they are the same font in the same size) and put it in the comments that you want an AUNTIE shirt instead. Available in black or brown, s,m,l,xl,2xl and in women’s sizes in black (16-18, 20-22, 24-26, 28-30) and also in black and brown tanks in s,m,l,xl, 2xl. We are calling it the ghetto rollout. But you girls deserve a little something for the crappy weekend too. WOOHOO!!

Dude.  The Bizarre Bazaar this past weekend.  What can I say?  Not even one remotely bizarre thing in the whole place.  270 booths of sweetness and goodness.  Make that 269 booths of sweetness and goodness. 

There was a little feistiness.  Besides the fact that 75% of my sales were maternity shirts.  No, I did not drink the water when I was in Richmond.  You southern girls are fun.  You girls, you know who you are….  Nothing like bonding over a little half-assed parenting and a small dose of inappropriate conversation.  And Beergirl?  Came on Friday and wore the brand new MNAC robe for a large portion of the afternoon.  Once she got it on, she didn’t want to take it off.  You wanna see it?  Here it is. 

It is by far the most comfortable robe you have ever, ever put on your body.  Not available on the website yet. And I only made 14 of them, so they may never make it to the website.   A bargain at $50.  And did you notice?  No MNAC.  It’s officially a robe for EVERYONE.  WooHOO!!   You’ll have to email me to find out how to get one.  From size small to women’s size XL.  I KNOW.  QUE LINDA!

The fair thing?  It’s a little odd.  I mean, some guy making soap will clear 5 figures in a weekend.  Don’t get that excited for me.  That didn’t even remotely happen over here.  But it’s cool.  But this is what people do for a living.  As I was packing up, I realized that I reeked of “rookie.”  There I was in the rain, piling up my crates in the back of the truck, cursing my father-in-law under my breath as I watched my fellow exhibitors load up their crap in retro-fitted vans and trailers and trucks.  Cursing my FIL because, when I had the money to buy an SUV, he gave me a come-to-Jesus speech about the greatness of my Volvo. 

Yeah, you get more than 4 crates into a Volvo.  Thus, The Husband’s truck.  No, I really like to climb up into the back of the truck to push the crates all the way to the back.  And then move everything around 500 times until I figure out how exactly to fit everything in.  That mechanical gene?  That one that, when you see all those different shaped blocks, you fit them together to make a 6 bedroom house with a sauna, spa and indoor pool?  Not so much.  Meanwhile, at 11 minutes after the close of the show, the ladies with the 900 million hair bows on 37 display pieces have done inventory, shrink-wrapped everything, loaded their van and are now smoking a Marlboro before heading out to do a show in West Virginia.  Me?  It took me 1 hour and 47 minutes to decide whether to put the 22 size large shirts into a crate with a blue top or a crate with a black top.  I had 12 crates, people.  This is not rocket science.  I went to law school.  Seriously?

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to put 7 shirts into a gift basket/box so they are all visible?  The result?  You can’t read any of them.  The shirt under the tag?  Drinking for Two, of course.   

In the drama of getting the baskets together for the Hollywood stars, I thought I was alone when I walked into the CFFG’s office. I heard the sound of Rush on the radio in the back room and walked around the corner to see a white-haired gentleman washing chocolate fountains in the industrial-sized sinks.

K: Hello. You must be Sam, Melissa’s dad.
S: Well, HELLO there.
K: So nice to meet you.

We chit-chatted for a while. And then, it came, as I can only describe it, out of the blue.

S: Aren’t you a pretty thing?
K: Why…..thank you?

I felt the sudden urge to lean up and touch my hair. My hair that had been washed every other day for years, but probably hadn’t seen a brush since the late ’80s. I refrained.

S: You married?

Maybe I should have mentioned that Sam turned 80 this year. Maybe that information doesn’t matter. Who knows? I’ll just throw it out there for good measure.

K: As a matter of fact, I am. And I have two small boys.
S: Hm. Are you happily married?
K: (laughing) As a matter of fact, I am VERY happily married.
S: I was just wondering if you were interested in upgrading. But if you are happily married, then I guess that’s good for you.
K: It is.
S: How old are you?
K: Well, I’m (mumbling).
S: You are too old for me. But only by a year. I can give you…what is that thing the pope gives…compensation?
K: (thinking, “If only the pope was giving compensation”) Dispensation?
S: Dispensation. That’s right.
K: But I heard you only like redheads.
S: Eh. I can give you a dispensation for that too.

Well, alrighty then.

I need you to just not ask my why I am doing buttons related to brides.  All I can say is that Kimberle and The Babysitter will be happy.  My husband?  Not so much.  And while I was making this one, The Boy stole my glue stick and dug all the glue out.  But isn’t it the cutest thing ever? 

While I made this one, The Baby decided to wash his hands in the toilet.  There was extensive discussion regarding what was actually in the bowl when he started his little bathing, but his brother swears he FLUSHED the poop before his brother went on in.  Then these came in the mail.  Can you even imagine placing your martini glass on this cute little napkin?  When I went outside to pick up these boxes, The Baby decided to walk down the stairs.  Except he can’t walk.  And certainly not down stairs.  When he hit the landing, he was pissed.  Thank God for carpet.  The Boy?  Downloading Go, Diego, Go videos from YouTube on my phone and sending them to all the people on my contact list.  That and he rearranged all the icons on the front page.  I would change them back but I have no idea how to do it.  He tried to explain it to me but it was too complicated. 

When these arrived, Michael from my new wireless merchant service place was trying to give me excellent customer service by visiting at my place of employment.  Which is my living room.  It used to just be the basement, but I am now trickling up the stairs.  As Michael discussed discount rates and fees, The Baby began to unload Michael’s briefcase.  He called him “Dad” and stole his pen.  The Boy began jumping from the crates of shirts onto the top of the back of my chair.  every once in a while he missed.  And landed on my head.  The Boy then began to push The Baby around in the Little Tikes car at about 40 miles per hour.  It was only a matter of time before the big wipeout occurred and everyone was crying.  Michael?  Still trying to explain the process.  Me?  Offering Michael hard alcohol.  He graciously refused.    I decided not to hold it against him.

And aren’t these the cutest little hostess gift?  I’m hoping I can keep them away from The Boy.  And his father.  Those boys are FA-reaks when it comes to post it notes.

Oh, every single one of you that said, “I would have a party if I lived closer”–your ass is getting an email about hosting a party.  I just stick the party in a box and send it to your house.  Even to Alabama.  Which has surprisingly enough, made MANY queries about throwing parties.  You southern girls.  You know what’s going on.  Have a party now before I end up on Oprah and then you have to get on my list.  Now wouldn’t THAT suck?  Don’t you want to be the person who had the Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party BEFORE the rest of the cool kids catch on.

OK, I don’t actually put the party in a box.  I put the shirts in the box and YOU have to make the party.  You can do it.  I have faith in you.  

And now all those short sleeve shirts and tank tops available at Baby Brewing?  Mommy Needs a Cocktail?  Mommy Needs a Beer?  Mommy Needs a Glass of Wine?  And all those shirts only available at the Mommy Needs a Cocktail Party?  Available in 2XL.  Still that clingy style, but now with more room.  Roomier styles coming soon.

This guy is annoyed because the XL Pink Mommy Needs a Cocktail shirt seems too small.  I am in the middle of my elaborate explanation of how I have designed a new tee because I want to have shirts for EVERYONE.  This guy is listening intently.  He’s holding up an XL.  He’s putting it down.  He’s holding it back up.  He puts it down. 

“I’ll take it.”

K:  Look, we have a very liberal return policy.  If it doesn’t fit her, just email me.

“Oh, it’s not for a “she.”

Well…..alrightly then.

Props to my friend Wendy who helped me sell everything not tied down today.  We’ll be living through day 2 tomorrow (me and The Cake Lady) at the DC International Wine and Food Festival.   Trish found us today.