Welcome To The Cradle Chronicles!

These are the crazy confessions of a novice mommy and her adventures in world "mom-ination." If you've followed my blog on PEOPLE.com/Babies, or read my new book Situation Momedy: A First-Time Mom's Guide to Laughing Your Way Through Pregancy & Year One, you're likely already familiar with my writing style and “Mommy-centric” blog fodder. If not, I'll introduce myself with this brief summary: Suffice it to say, I have kids. Two, in fact. Now, I’m not suggesting this defines me entirely, but it certainly goes a long way toward explaining my daily trials and tribulations with spit-up and dirty diapers. I also have five dogs, which throws some wacky canine parenting in the mix too. I hope you’ll continue coming back again and again for more of my motherhood anecdotes, and I look forward to hearing from you. If you haven't yet read "Situation Momedy," I hope you'll check it out! You can find a link for purchase under the "links" tab above. It makes a fun baby shower gift, even if you aren't a new mom yourself! The sequel, Situation Momedy: A Very Special Episode in Toddlerdom, is due to be released by Medallion Press in February 2017. Please feel free to follow me on Twitter and Instagram too!

--Photos in Welcome section courtesy of Mimosa Arts Photography--

May 3, 2016

Capitalizing on cuddles…


Thank you for all the beautiful birthday messages yesterday! You sure know how to make a girl feel loved and missed. Many of you asked how I spent my day, so I thought I’d share…
As a matter of fact, we had quite the celebratory weekend planned– this ambitiously included two date nights with my hubby (oh, miracle of miracles!), followed by a relaxing “Me-time Monday,” during which I intended to get a much-needed massage whilst my children painted and played to their heart’s content at daycare. Sounds dreamy, right?
In a move that seemed slightly less like the Universe trying to shower me with birthday wishes, and more like the Universe conspiring to make sure I didn’t have too many celebratory festivities crammed into one week, I spent every one of those occasions throwing a home-bound parenting party, otherwise known as: nursing my children back to health from a bout of the ever-fun-and-highly-contagious Hand, Foot, and Mouth. Lovely. (For those of you without children, that’s not the same as Hoof-and-Mouth Disease, which only affects livestock. But I totally understand the confusion.)
The upside? My sweet husband worked from home yesterday so he could help with the kids, and I got to spend my special day with the three people that top my list of “Humans On This Planet I Love Most.” Not to mention, the contagion has nary a foot in the door now. So you know what? Screw you, Universe! Your plan to eclipse my fun day was foiled! That said, for argument’s sake, can I have a Mother’s Day that’s less snot and fever filled? Pretty please with a birthday candle on top?
And on that note… I haven’t been doing much extracurricular blogging lately, but here’s an ode to Mother’s Day I wrote, that went up on Sunday!

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy


PS. You can buy my book, Situation Momedy HERE!! (It makes a perfect baby shower gift!)

PPS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!


March 21, 2016
X marks the spot.

X marks the St. Patrick’s Day spot.


You’re not seeing things. Believe it or not, I’ve posted a blog. Which, I realize, is almost as magical as the leprechaun stories I’m about to tell you…

With my impending deadline to turn in the Situation Momedy sequel to my publisher, I made a promise to my agent, my editor, and myself, to refrain from writing anything outside of my book until it’s done. This blog post is in clear violation of said promise, but I just couldn’t help myself. St. Patrick’s Day brought a streak of hilarious anecdotes to our house, and I couldn’t resist sharing them with you– book deadline or no book deadline.

It all began on St.Patrick’s Day eve, when Gray requested a bedtime story. Typical bedtime story fare at our house generally entails a handful of wacky items or topics my daughter pulls out of her mental hat with the expectation I’ll string them together in some sort of fantastically woven tale that culminates in a happy ending. Consequently, I was expecting something akin to, “Mommy, can you tell me a story about a porcupine wearing rain boots who met a pumpkin that ate too much candy and grew wings?” Instead, I was asked, “Mommy, can you tell me a bedtime story about a St. Patrick’s Day leper?” Insert a pregnant pause as I attempted to fight off the visual of a not-so-magically delicious little green guy in a top hat and elf shoes, ravaged by infection. I also resisted the urge to answer “Is that the one where the rainbow leads to the quarantined colony instead of the pot of gold?” or “Is that the one where his shamrock falls off?” (Not PC, I know, and WAY over a three-year-old’s head, but… that’s just where my wonderfully warped little brain went.) Instead, I stifled my fit of giggles, looked at Gray and said, “I don’t think that story will have quite the happy ending you were hoping for. How about I tell one about leprechauns instead?” Thankfully, she agreed.

The following day generated even more fun. I’d barely made it through a cup of much-needed coffee before my daughter woke up, came running into the room and squealed, “Mommy, Mommy, I can’t wait to see the mess all of the little leprechauns made last night!” In my under-caffeinated fog, my mind fished around for whatever stupid idea I must have implanted in my kid’s head during that bedtime story the night before. I came up short.

“What kind of mess, Gray?” I asked, even though I was somewhat afraid of the answer.

“Leprechauns are mischief-makers,” she told me. “They come to your house on the night before St. Patrick’s Day and make a big mess in every room. I’m so excited to see what kind of crazy stuff our leprechaun did!” Oh crap. My peaceful morning suddenly took a sinister turn and the weight of my motherly duties began to sink in. Apparently my new and improved name was “Leprechaun,” and there was some seriously impish trouble-making in my near future.

I searched for someone to blame. Who told my kid to look forward to leprechauns? More importantly, how come they didn’t give me fair warning? The Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy get advanced notice. Hell, Santa gets at least a three-month heads up before Christmas, when every department store encourages the yuletide to prematurely puke all over its aisles like a raging flu. I tried to thwart Gray’s enthusiasm for leprechaun scouting with breakfast.

“You’ll need to eat something first,” I informed my overzealous tiny human, all the while blocking her view from the other rooms in the house so she couldn’t see the surprisingly immaculate state of tidiness. I threw a waffle at her and raced downstairs to do the very last thing my OCD, micromanaging soul wanted to do… wreak havoc on a clean house.

Really? Leprechauns coming to turn my house upside down? Don’t my kids do enough of that on their own? I thought as I expertly tossed her bedroom like a cat burglar. I pitched puzzle pieces into the air, sent dress-up clothes flying, and hurled pillows and stuffed animals like they were volleyballs. Dolls lost their shoes in a frenzy of masterful, St.Patrick’s Day madness. I admired my devoted mommy handiwork and raced back upstairs, silently cursing those damned leprechauns for not hiring a housekeeper to clean up after them.

My daughter was taking the last bite of her waffle as I arrived, and she ran past me to scope out the destruction. I’d narrowly escaped getting caught, and quickly went to work on the upstairs while she was inspecting her bedroom. I recently signed up for a circuit-training style boot camp, and the trainer told us to squeeze in some cardio during the off days. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t he’d had in mind.

I grinned broadly when Gray returned and spotted the ransacked living room. “They came!” she gasped in delight. “They actually came! You should see how much trouble they got in downstairs, Mommy. Isn’t it great?” Yeah, kid, it’s awesome. So awesome, in fact, I’m hyperventilating and dreaming about a glass of wine at 8am. But my mommy pride breathed a sigh of relief; crisis averted. I’d somehow managed to pull off this whole charade without ruining the magic! Hallelujah!

And that’s when Gray turned to me and said, “Now I need to go outside and check the rocks for X’s.”

Say what? My jaw dropped like the Times Square New Year’s Eve ball. “What X’s?” I asked casually, while I threw up a little in my mouth.

“You know,” she said, “the leprechauns mark the rocks outside so I know where to dig for the buried treasure.”


Gray digs up her pot o' gold. Because guess what I was doing the day after St. Patrick's Day while she was in school? Yup, you guessed it.

Gray digs up her pot o’ gold. Because guess what I was doing the day after St. Patrick’s Day while she was in school? Yup, you guessed it.


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy


PS. You can buy my book, Situation Momedy HERE!! (It makes a perfect baby shower gift!)

PPS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

December 24, 2015

Photography by: Mike Yamin Photography



             It’s absurd how many blog posts I’ve crafted in my head over the last few months, determined that I would find an opportunity to write them down at some point, but… bah humbug! There were trees to decorate, presents to wrap, cookies to bake, dogs to chase after, and kids to wrangle. Not to mention, one mysterious little Elf on a Shelf who enjoyed dishing out antics of her own. My writing efforts were thwarted by life– as so often happens when one is a parent. (One who’s so insane that she’s also simultaneously attempting to write her second book while touring for the first one.) As a matter of fact, I’m starting to think my lack of blog posts probably says more about my parenting than any of the posts I could have written– namely, that I’m a hands-on, full-time, very busy mommy to two girls who never stop running, exploring, asking questions, looking for the next challenge, or looking for the next thing to challenge me on. Just as it should be! I’m sure you know that story all too well, since you’re a parent too!

Quite a few of those blogs I’ve mentally constructed have since been relinquished to that great big baby brain-ravaged abyss in my head. I imagine they’ve been lost in the shuffle of the very things they pertained to: Marlowe’s first birthday celebration, my Situation Momedy book tour, our Thanksgiving holiday, and the chaos of the stomach virus that ran rampant and so rudely attacked my ENTIRE family at the same time. Ugh. Don’t germs have any sympathy for how difficult it is for a mom to take care of her puking children when she, herself, is puking? Let’s just say that made for a pretty nasty 48-hour display. And more loads of laundry than I care to count.

Since it’s impossible for me to retroactively recap each and every one of those posts I’d planned to share, I thought I’d stick with a simple message this week… thank you for your continued readership, and warm wishes to you for the holiday season! (Warm wishes aren’t tough right now, given that it’s a balmy 70 degrees here in Nashville. Mother Nature must be having menopausal hot flashes.) Whether you celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, or something I’ve managed to leave out, a very merry to you and yours from me and mine. We pray you have an endless supply of health, happiness, and fun parenting adventures in the New Year!


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy


PS. You can buy my new book, Situation Momedy HERE!! (It makes a perfect baby shower gift!)

PPS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

November 6, 2015
SituationMomedy-book cover

My Situation Momedy Book Cover (Photo by Mimosa Arts)


Situation Momedy: A Labor of Love


Back in my single-girl, my-time-was-my-own, it-still-made-sense-to-wear-dry-clean-only-clothing days, before I was officially the mom of tiny humans, I was mommy to my very own canine brood. We aren’t talking one small step into a lifetime commitment with man’s best friend here; we’re talking one giant leap: I managed to amass five dogs. I repeat: five. Let’s just say I’m a big believer in the saying Go big or go home.

The fact is, I’d desperately wanted children for so long that I started baby-stepping my way toward them with kids of the hairy, salivating, kibble-eating kind. In the interest of full disclosure, I first attempted fish and a pet lizard, but those didn’t go so swimmingly. Fortunately, I’ve had better luck with mammals. Sort of. I took a few tumbles along the path to becoming a decent doggy parent too.

Case in point: Not long after I turned 30, I brought my third puppy home—a basset hound named Mia. She was a spur-of-the-moment adoption I’d made with a lot of heart and very little consideration for what our future together might entail. In my optimistic, carefree world, what was one additional dog in the house when I already had two? I’d convinced myself she would add more character to my life.

For the record, wrinkles add character; basset hounds add chaos.

Nonetheless, Mia’s still camping out on my loveseat as I write this (read: drooling all over it and leaving behind her very special brand of basset hound funk), so I guess my decision couldn’t have been too misguided. But it took a while to come to that conclusion.

First, Mia and I had to undergo the Pottery Barn Bench Construction Debacle of 2007. That’s when I learned putting together any sort of factory-made furniture that involves more than ten parts and over one page of instruction is not a puppy-friendly home project, no matter how careful you think you can be.

I congratulated myself on remembering to let three-month-old Mia outside before she christened my new rug. Then, while lost in the oblivion of bench assembly, I missed her stealthy entrance into my work zone (impressive, considering that bassets are anything but stealthy). That little rascal managed to snag a few nuts and bolts without me noticing!

That evening saw Mia trembling and vomiting. Clearly my baby was ill—at least I was astute enough to recognize that fact—so I rushed her to the emergency vet. Turns out she’d ingested two interlocking metal pieces that wound up lodged in her intestine. Their removal required immediate stomach surgery—and most of what I had in my checking account.

Numerous vet bills and countless hours of worrying later, I was in possession of frayed nerves, a doped-up dog, and the most expensive bench in the history of Pottery Barn benches. It was a financially and emotionally costly parenting lesson.

The moral of my story? Sometimes labor and love don’t mix when it comes to parenting. Oh, and installing baby gates is a must, whether your kids have paws or feet.

Photo by Micah Schweinsberg

Photo by Micah Schweinsberg


People sometimes use the term labor of love rather loosely.

“I just finished filming an exciting thirteen-hour documentary on the mating rituals of wombats; it was a labor of love.”

“I climbed K2 wearing only a Superman cape and a pair of Mukluks; it was a labor of love.”

“I simultaneously wrangled two kids, five dogs, and my husband for a photo shoot, just so we could have a kitschy Christmas card; it was a labor of love.” (For the record, I’ve tried this one, and it’s no easy feat.)

But as often as I hear the phrase labor of love, there’s one experience I’ve had in my own life that truly exemplifies it: trying to give birth to a book while being full-time mommy to the two girls to whom I also recently gave birth.

Years ago, in my dreamy little head, being a published author resembled Ernest Hemingway brooding over martinis at Harry’s Bar in Venice, Dorothy Parker wisecracking at the Algonquin Round Table, or William Faulkner puffing on pipes and slugging bourbon at his writing desk in Oxford, Mississippi. What it definitely did not look like was sneaking in twenty minutes on chapter 17 while simultaneously breastfeeding, making a meatloaf, stepping on wayward crayons and squeaky toys, and desperately wishing that third pot of high-octane coffee hadn’t just run out. As it happens, motherhood and manuscripts aren’t always an ideal (or productive) combination.

Nevertheless, just as the legendary phoenix rises from a pile of ashes, inspiration sprang from my new mommy chaos and took flight. It’s how my book— Situation Momedy: A First-Time Mom’s Guide to Laughing Your Way through Pregnancy & Year One—was conceived, and writing it brought my notion of a labor of love to a whole new, sometimes sanity-defying level. But it was more than worth it! I mean, how could I ignore an opportunity to merge my lifelong love for comedy with my passion for raising my daughters? Better yet, how could I pass up the chance to let my mommy peers laugh at my hectic and hilarious motherhood misadventures, snafus, and hard-learned lessons, such as the one I mention above involving my four-legged, fur baby?

I believe we are all better parents when we can take a step back and find the funny, and this is especially true when one is experiencing pregnancy and the new-mommy learning curve. My prevailing motherhood motto? A sense of humor—never leave home without it.

That said, every now and then a new mommy’s sense of humor gets lost in the shuffle. Mine did. I used to catch it skulking behind my morning sickness and the uneasiness of an unfinished nursery, hiding under dirty diapers and never-ending laundry loads, attempting to escape the threat and absurdity of the Mommy Wars, and getting overshadowed by that monster called The Fear of Screwing up My Kids. (Welcome to the wonderful world of anxiety!)

After I’d done enough fretting and over-Googling for all of us, I finally decided to shake it off, trust my own instincts, and laugh a little. While I was at it, I figured why not embrace the honesty and vulnerability and write a book that reminds other moms to locate their own intuition and inner comedienne in the midst of the anarchy? Sometimes it’s nice to know we aren’t alone in the madness.

With Situation Momedy, I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel; I’m just trying to encourage us all to laugh as the notion of motherhood perfection rolls on by. As I mention in its preface, Situation Momedy “isn’t meant to be a how-to book. There are already tons of those out there, and they cover everything I can’t, won’t, couldn’t, and shouldn’t. Instead, this is meant to be a best friend’s guide to laughing about the realities of motherhood. Because sometimes laughter is a contagious cure-all. . . . Think of me as your self-deprecating Jiminy Cricket with a baby on her hip.”

After all, parenting may be a lifelong commitment that involves intense love and dedication, infinite patience, and more energy than you thought yourself capable of without a lifetime supply of caffeine (or maybe wine), but it also offers an abundance of seriously comical moments worth pausing to appreciate.

Because what’s the fun of the labor without the love and laughter to go along with it?


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy


*** For those of you who know WAY more about parenting than I do—and that’s probably most of you—you may not need my book to remind you to laugh in the face of your daily parenting challenges. Not to worry, Situation Momedy has something for everyone, so I hope you’ll read it anyway. It happens to be chock full of ridiculous stories from my past, both personal and career-related, in which I repeatedly throw myself under the bus. And who doesn’t love laughing at my expense? You won’t want to miss it. And it comes out THIS WEEK! You can order it HERE.

Also, a huge congrats to Christy of Marietta, Georgia, who won the SnuggBugg contest last month! Thank you to everyone who entered, and please check back soon for more fun giveaways!

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen.

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!




October 23, 2015
At my first post-op appointment. Because no one needs to see me during the heavily medicated days. Oh yeah, and I blurred the incision site for you too. I'm not trying to make anyone lose their lunch.

At my first post-op appointment. Because no one needs to see me during the heavily medicated days. Oh yeah, and I blurred the incision site for you too. I’m not trying to make anyone lose their lunch.


As I mentioned in my last blog post, I recently had knee surgery. I’ll spare you the medical jargon-laden details (and the rather ghoulish post-operation photos), but suffice it to say I had a complex tear in my knee and the only real fix was to go under the knife. Don’t bother asking me when and how I damaged it in the first place, as I’m clueless. I suspect I busted it at some point during my second pregnancy while that lying, deceitful hormone Relaxin was coursing through my body and making me think I was capable of stretching in ways I really wasn’t. As my post-pregnant body began to transition back, I suddenly started experiencing intense pain that hadn’t been there before. Good times. I would’ve loved to have skipped surgery altogether, but there are two little girls who wouldn’t stop running long enough for me to catch up, which posed some logistics issues. Nonetheless, I made it through the surgery and I’m present. Limping and cursing my crutches, but present.

Let me first say that dealing with crutches (which my three-year-old refers to as “crunches”) whilst parenting two energetic kids has been nothing short of challenging. Or, for that matter, exhausting. And no amount of caffeine can really make a dent in that. It’s always fun when your ten-month-old can walk faster than you, especially when she has already mastered the art of being a living, breathing wrecking ball. Thankfully, my husband took two days off from work, and my mom flew in from the East Coast to help out… and by help out, I mean she wrangled kids 24/7 on my behalf. She conducted make-believe tea parties, bathed squirmy, wiggly arms and legs, packed preschool lunches, cleaned never ending Lego messes and catastrophic food spills, thwarted tantrums (but only sometimes) and wiped cherubic little bottoms. God bless her. During the aforementioned activities, I was laid out on our couch in a deliciously foggy state of delirium I like to call “vacation,” watching back episodes of Boston Legal — the story lines of which I wouldn’t recall even if getting cast in the next David E. Kelley drama depended on it.


When your ten-month-old walks faster than you...

When your ten-month-old walks faster than you…

Given my anticipation of said state of delirium and my propensity for sarcasm, I left an itinerary for my husband– which, as you can probably imagine, was something special. And I do mean special. I decided to take a new approach to list-making… micromanaging by comedy. And since my husband got such a kick out of it (or at least he was polite enough to tell me he did), I thought you might enjoy it too…

My Awesomely OCD Itinerary


Brad- Thank you, in advance, for taking care of me during my doped-up delirium. If you’ve ever wanted to tell me something wacky from your past, but didn’t because you were afraid my memory was so good I’d never forget it and I’d dredge it up again when we’re 80, now’s the time to tell me. I won’t remember jack while I’m on Percocet. I will, however, remember I love you. And that’s the important part. Thank you for taking the day off from work to be with me, and for calming my nerves while I’m an uptight, freaked out worrywart.


Thursday– Surgery

  1. My Advance Directive is in the brown pouch with my phone and Kindle. You’d better not need it, or I vow to come back and haunt my surgeon for all of eternity. I can be SERIOUSLY annoying when I want to be (and sometimes when I don’t), so he doesn’t want that. As a side note– If you do wind up needing my Advance Directive, I also hereby bequeath you my iPhone and brand new Kindle. It’s the least I can do.


  1. Please text my sister, your mom, and my four closest girlfriends to let them know I made it out of surgery without croaking. (Provided I did, of course.) You can find all of their numbers in my phone. Please also call my mom so she doesn’t go any crazier than she already is. If anyone offers to bring a meal over, please take them up on it. You and my mom in the kitchen together is a disaster waiting to happen and I have enough to worry about right now. If they offer to make dessert, and I find out you turned that down, I’ll need some additional time to come up with an appropriate punishment. It may or may not involve my crutches being used as weapons. I want that damn dessert. I’m medicated, not mental.


  1. Please remind me to pump and dump after I wake up from my surgery. We don’t need a comatose baby, and I’m worried I’ll forget to do it. You may have to help me set the contraption up properly if I’m too out of it. Just think: it’s a good excuse to touch my boobs. Not that you need one.


  1. We need to pick up Gray after my surgery– it should be done in plenty of time for that. I’ll have knee scars, but they’ll be nothing relative to the scars our kid will have if we forget her at school. On a good note, they’re expecting her at aftercare until we can get there, so if we’re running late, we have a back up plan in place.


At Home:

  1. Dinner: Please make the pre-prepared stuffed peppers for dinner. I may not eat them. Or it’s possible I may eat them and not remember I ate them. Either is fine. Please make them anyway so they don’t go bad sitting in the fridge for too long.


  1. Baths: Please give the girls a bath tonight, because I won’t be able to do it. (PS- When I try to convince you it’s because I’m not allowed to get my bandages wet, know it’s really an excuse to get out of it just this one time.)


  1. Other: Don’t let me convince you not to drink wine just because I can’t. I’m sure my mom will join you. She should consider it a preemptive gift before she spends the next two weeks watching our kids while I’m an invalid.



  1. School Preparations: I’ve already picked out the girls’ clothes for school (Yes, this is partially because I’m worried about what you’ll choose, but more because I’m afraid Gray will choose an outfit herself, then hypnotize you with whining until you numbly agree to a giant tutu and light up sandals). Please put sunscreen on them. The girls, not the clothes. With any luck, I had enough forethought to pack them lunch too, but if not, tell me to get off my lazy ass and make it for them. It’s not like I just had surgery or anything.


  1. Pick Up and Drop Off: Before you can go to work, you’re stuck chaperoning/chauffeuring my sorry butt to daycare with the girls so we can stick to our normal routine… and so I can leave Marlowe and Gray with people who are clearly in better shape (physically and mentally) to care for them than I am. This way my mom gets a much-needed rest, and I can sleep on (read: drool all over) our couch. You will then have to drag my zoned-out, zombie self home again before you head to the office. But you should definitely plan on some super exciting car conversations if I don’t fall asleep. If you’re lucky, I might remember your name by the time we pull into our driveway.


  1. Managing Me: Don’t let me convince you I can drink. Or drive. Or drink and drive. Who knows what kind of spell those magic meds will put me under!


  1. Managing Our Girls: Please give our girls extra love. (Though not in the form of sugar.) I know this will be a challenging time for them. Seeing Mommy in pain is tough, and needing Mommy when there are physical limitations will be frustrating for them. Please try to be as patient as possible and don’t be afraid to ask my mom for help!! I love you all stars and moon.


Love, your list-happy, micro-managing wife. xoxo


As you’ve likely gathered, I combat stress with humor. I promise I’m not really that glib about dying— I’m just terrible at letting other people take care of me, so comedy becomes my crutch. (Not that I don’t have enough crutches to deal with at this particular juncture!) Nevertheless, I realize there are circumstances in which I have no choice but to hand over the reigns… After I write a ten-minute dissertation on how things should be handled while I’m out of commission, of course. Isn’t that what being a mom is all about?


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop when I release my new book next month, “Situation Momedy!” If you you want to pre-order it now (I wouldn’t dream of stopping you), it’s already available on Amazon, through this link…

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

  • Tracy B says:

    Omg, I am laughing hysterically! Not at your pain or surgery, of course, but for your comedy because I am the same way! Thank you for your honesty. 🙂

  • Larry Rodriquez says:

    Now I’m feeling sympathy in a I can’t stop laughing kinda way.
    You forget anything I doubt that.
    Remember God uses pain and will not waste it.

  • Rainey Daye says:

    I didn’t undergo knee surgery with littles, but I DID break my foot when I had a 3 1/2 year old and an 8 month old. That was fun…NOT!! But someone was nice enough to gift me a knee scooter and I got quite adept at getting around on it for the four months I wasn’t walking…even did baking and washed dishes with that thing…but no laundry!! I was also exclusively pumping for my daughter and was the main milk donor for two other babies during that time…and my daughter got the flu as well at one point…fun, fun. It was interesting to see who would be walking first…me or the girlie…but thankfully it was me. Looking back now I wonder how I ever coped. But you do what ya gotta do!!

October 2, 2015


Snugg Buggin'

Snugg Buggin’


          You may or may not have been privy to the Tweet I sent out a few weeks ago, announcing that my sweet baby Marlowe has officially taken her first steps. (Yay! And God help me!) I’m sure my excitement came through loud and clear, since I think most parents look forward to the walking milestone with bated breath and video cameras at the ready. But the behind-the-scenes view of that moment was somewhat more anxiety-ridden, as the notion of two children running around my house subtly sunk in. And by subtly sunk in, I mean it hit me with all the force of the Titanic plunging into the iceberg that caused its demise.

I’ve discovered reaching milestones with my second daughter is happening more quickly and abruptly than I’m prepared for. Everything with Gray was so new and novel, it felt like I waited an eternity to witness her crawling and walking and saying her first words. I was sure she’d never give up her pacifier, sleep in her own bed, or learn to use the potty. And you know what? It turns out I liked experiencing motherhood in slow motion. In comparison, Marlowe’s infancy is flying past like a freight train with no brakes, and I’m left running down the tracks behind it, breathlessly trying to catch up. (Well, not really running so much as hobbling since I had knee surgery last week. But that’s a story for another post. On the other hand, the “breathless” part is definitely on par.)

Lately, my biggest gripe has been that I’m having trouble slowing Marlowe down long enough for a cuddle or a kiss. Rather than resting peacefully in my lap after a feeding, and letting me affectionately run my fingers through her hair, she immediately wriggles out of my arms, slides to the floor, and heads for the nearest toy bin. Apparently, I’m not nearly as compelling as a dinosaur flashlight or the castles her sister builds out of Duplos. And as much as I’m thrilled to watch her independence growing and soaring to new heights, I’m also a sucker for the baby formerly known as immobile. Because that baby was a mama’s girl and a supersized snuggler… just my kind of gal.

A few weeks ago, I was contacted via email by the designer of a fabric baby-wearing wrap called the SnuggBugg. The woman who created the wrap is a mom of six. I repeat—SIX!!! And that’s not a reference to my old Blossom character. I can barely keep up with two children, so I’d like to go on record as saying I’m highly impressed… that she both managed to start a company while caring for half a dozen children (the only thing I can handle half a dozen of is glazed donuts) and managed to remain sane while doing it. Anyway, she asked if I’d be willing to try out her wrap and give some feedback in exchange for a SnuggBugg to give away here on my Cradle Chronicles site. As you’ve likely gleaned from past blogs, I’m a huge supporter of small businesses– especially when they’ve been developed by moms with a dream. With that in mind, I jumped at the opportunity to give the SnuggBugg a chance. I also figured—why wouldn’t my readers want an opportunity to win some free product? You can thank me later and reference the end of this post for the giveaway details on that.

But first– the SnuggBugg.

If I’m being completely candid, I didn’t have high hopes for the SnuggBugg— this had absolutely zero to do with the product itself, and everything to do with my newly mobile kid. I mean, if I can’t even get Marlowe to sit still long enough to let me put a pair of socks on her feet, how the heck was I going to convince her to let me tuck her into a mini kangaroo pouch? Not to mention, Marlowe despises covers and blankets of any kind. You know how some babies adore being swaddled? How they love being rolled up good and tight like a burrito? My daughter doesn’t even want to be rolled up like a quesadilla much less a burrito, so I knew we were in for a struggle. Gray used to love being carried around in a wrap… Marlowe, not so much. If I even toss a light sheet over her feet, she flops around more than a beached whale. Nevertheless, I’d promised to give an honest critique of the SnuggBugg, so I crossed my fingers and hoped for an outcome that didn’t involve me having to test the thing out on my three-year-old instead. (Though, for the record, that might have been just fine– the SnuggBugg supposedly works on children up to 35 pounds!)

As it turns out, I had a bona fide, walk-on-water sort of miracle on my hands with the SnuggBugg. Lo and behold, Marlowe LOVED it! She didn’t even cry when I put her in it (though a blubberfest definitely ensued when I tried to take her back out). The material was comfortable, appropriately stretchy, and didn’t make me feel like I was stuffing my kid into a medieval torture device. Best of all, Marlowe curled up, breastfed, and then passed out. I think I hear the angels singing. For proof, please see the picture I posted above. I even had a hand free to take that selfie!

Getting the wrap on properly took a little getting used to–  though to be fair, I’ve found most baby wearing wraps tough to put on at first. It’s sort of the nature of the beast. It takes a little practice to figure out how each one drapes, where the sweet spot is that best supports your baby and your back, and exactly how the baby nestles within the fabric pockets. I found the instructional video on their website (www.mysnuggbugg.com) was a better help than the directions included with the wrap but I am, admittedly, a very visual person. I also had the luxury of about three consecutive seconds to read said brochure before one kid asked for bathroom assistance and the other was clamoring for the booby buffet, so it might have been helpful if I’d figured the thing out before crunch time. Nonetheless, I got it on. If I messed it up royally, Marlowe didn’t seem to care. She simply pushed my shirt aside and latched on like we’d been doing it forever, which I got a kick out of. Evidently Gray got a kick out of it too, because she happily declared, “Mommy, it’s like Marlowe’s in your belly again!” She also informed me, “Look! Marlowe is as snug as a bug in a rug!” In part, I’m sure that phrase was courtesy of her newfound rhyming obsession, but it also proves the wrap was appropriately named.

Now that I’m on crutches, it looks like we’ll be waiting a while before employing our SnuggBugg again. I can barely carry around my own body weight, never mind toting around a baby. As luck would have it, the only wrapping happening in my house right now is being done by the massive bandage around my knee. Good times. Now go check out those giveaway details!


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop when I release my new book later this year, “Situation Momedy!” If you you want to pre-order it now (I wouldn’t dream of stopping you), it’s already available on Amazon, through this link…

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!


Giveaway Details:

Send me an email titled “SnuggBugg” at: Jenna@cradlechronicles.com, and you’ll be entered to win a SnuggBugg wrap. Just let me know your favorite part about baby wearing or why you’d like to give it a try! It can be as brief or as lengthy as you wish. I will draw one lucky winner before the end of October, who will receive their wrap directly from the SnuggBugg company. A huge thank you to Lisa for so generously donating one of her wonderful wraps!



August 7, 2015
Flying By The Seat of Your Panzanella...

Flying By The Seat of Your Panzanella…


                  I know, I know. You’ve probably been asking yourself, “What the heck happened to that girl; is she ever going to write another blog?” If it’s any consolation, I’ve actually asked myself that question a time or two!

I’ve been in the throes of editing my book for the last few months, so I’ve had to put all other writing on the back burner. And since I’m the only one running this ship, you’ve been stuck playing the waiting game. The good news is my edits for Situation Momedy: A First-Time Mom’s Guide To Laughing Your Way Through Pregnancy & Year One are now complete!

Before you go throwing confetti and popping open that champagne bottle, it doesn’t mean I’m back in the saddle again. I’ll still be MIA for a while because… drumroll, please… I’ve moved on to book 2!!

Yes, it’s true– the follow up, titled Situation Momedy: A Very Special Episode in Toddlerdom is scheduled to be released in February 2017. Suffice it to say I’ll be tied up for a while writing the new manuscript and taking care of my sweet babies. At the rate I’m going, you may not have weekly blogs again until I’ve sent my girls off to college!

Nevertheless, I don’t like to leave you hanging for too long, so my chaotic schedule didn’t stop me from sneaking in a little time to create a quick summer-friendly recipe for you this week. It may not be a juicy post for you to laugh your way through, but I promise my book will more than make up for that when it comes out on November 10th! (PS. If you feel like pre-ordering it, you can do so HERE!)

Now, on to our recipe…

I always wind up buying gorgeous baguettes, only to have half the loaf go stale before I can use it. Because after a weekend fiesta full of hilarious conversation, yummy cheese platters, and copious amounts of wine, who remembers to wrap the remaining bread in plastic or foil before bed? Not this girl. I generally wake up the following morning cursing my lack of foresight and bemoaning the fact that the bread formerly known as moist and delicious has now hardened into a crusty little thing only birds might consider edible. Until now.

We recently hosted a summer wine tasting and I got creative with the post-party stale bread supply. I thought perhaps this might inspire you to do the same! The next time you’re contemplating tossing your leftover bread in the trash, try this out:


My “Flying By The Seat of Your Panzanella”

(Recipe by Jenna von Oy)



1/2  Loaf of day-old rustic baguette, cut into 1 inch cubes

1 ½ Cloves of garlic- minced

2-3 Tbs Spanish Olive Oil

2 Diced tomatoes

1 ½ Tbs capers

3-4 Large leaves of basil- julienned

3 Tbs Fresh Italian parsley-chopped

¼ Shallot- minced

7-8 Buffala mozzarella boccinis (the small balls) – sliced

2-3 Tbs Balsamic vinegar (exact amount depends on your taste)

Salt & Pepper


~Heat the olive oil on medium. Once pan is hot, add the bread pieces and drizzle a little more olive oil on top. Sautée the bread pieces for approximately 10 minutes, or until they start to brown, then add the garlic and mix well.

~ In a separate mixing bowl, combine the tomatoes, capers, basil, Italian parsley, and shallots

~ When bread and garlic mixture is ready, add it to your mixing bowl. Be sure to scrape all of that wonderful garlic into your mixture too!

~ Add the sliced mozzarella and balsamic vinegar.

~ Mix well and let stand for five minutes to absorb the flavors.

~ Serve and enjoy!!


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop!

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

June 26, 2015
Three's not a crowd, it's a cupcake!

Three’s not a crowd, it’s a cupcake!


I curse the saying Time flies.

No really, I’m a twitching, shouting at the moon, wishing-for-days-gone-by kind of mess over that phrase right now. Because time doesn’t just fly, it launches like Secretariat out of the gate and rushes past with no consideration for all of the moments we don’t have a chance to capture on photo, or video, or in our memory banks. It doesn’t let us press a pause or a rewind button, and the next thing you know, your itty bitty newborn (who was just teething and learning to crawl yesterday, I swear) is three-years-old. Three!

My baby turned three!!! And those three years flew faster than a Peregrine Falcon diving for it’s prey.

It is with great excitement and anticipation for the little girl she is becoming, mixed with great sadness for the baby she left behind, that we celebrated Gray’s third birthday. Mind you, she turned three almost a month ago, on May 21st, but the aforementioned time flies so damn fast that I woke up one day and realized I hadn’t put a blog out in over a month either. (Oops! And sorry!) Which brings another popular saying to mind too: Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. Touché, John Lennon, touché.

But back to the birthday… It happens that Gray was off from preschool that week, so I’d planned a small gathering with some of her friends. I reserved the little pavilion at a local park so the kids could swing and slide to their hearts’ content. We’d had a week of eighty-degree weather, so how crazy would I be to keep a bunch of toddlers locked up indoors? Cabin fever is no joke, people. Any opportunity to let my kid run off her energy (and perhaps that birthday cupcake) so nap time becomes an irrefutable afternoon staple, is an opportunity that I’d be a fool to turn down. Do ya feel me, fellow (exhausted) moms?

Well, go figure, Murphy and his law came in and tried to muck up my plans a bit.

It rained the whole night before the party, bringing the temperature down to a dank fifty-four-degrees and thoroughly drenching the playground. Sadly, it never warmed up before the party started. It also happens that a construction crew had shut down the road near the park we chose, and the pavilion was next to a jackhammer for the entire celebration. Super peaceful. But you know what? The kids didn’t care about any of that. We dried the wet equipment with towels I’d brought, and those kids ran around until they warmed up. It didn’t matter that a bulldozer was tearing up the ground nearby; the kids just shouted right over it. And so what if a few of her friends didn’t show up because of crappy weather? Gray didn’t notice. She was too busy shoving that chocolate cupcake down her throat, singing, playing games, dancing in circles, laughing, and sporting her fancy little party hat. My kid was beyond satisfied. Consequently, I might have been a chilly mama that day but I was also a very content one.


Happy 3rd birthday, Gray!

Happy 3rd birthday, Gray!


So… HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my sweet Gray! Thank you for gracing me with your beautiful spirit, your contagious laughter, your uncanny sarcasm (see my archived blog, Five Things That Make Me Think a 90-year-old is Trapped Inside of My 2-year-old’s Body, for more on that!), your wonderfully strong will and stubborn streak, and your unparalleled affection. Thank you for making the last three years pass by so quickly, despite my lamenting, because do you know what that means? It means we were having so much fun that it never slowed down long enough for us to notice. I’m so proud to be your mommy, and I love you stars and moon!


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop when I release my new book later this year, “Situation Momedy!” If you you want to pre-order it now (I wouldn’t dream of stopping you), it’s already available on Amazon, through this link…

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

May 22, 2015


Mother's Day 2015, with Marlowe & Gray

Mother’s Day 2015, with Marlowe & Gray


I’ll begin by saying this Mother’s Day post is a VERY belated one because… well… I am a mother. I’d like to think that’s the only explanation or excuse needed here!

Truth be told, I sat down countless times over the last few weeks to attempt to write something sentimental and profound in honor of all of you awesome moms out there. Instead, I wound up with some disjointed thoughts, a wastebasket full of wadded papers (actually, a bunch of deleted Word docs), and a couple of pathetic haiku (which I might post at some point just for the hell of it). Oh yeah, and I also wound up with an infinite number of instances during which I was distracted by fixing lunch, rushing to daycare drop off, coordinating naptimes, saying yet another prayer that I can finally convince Gray to give up her pacifier, kissing boo-boos, cleaning spit up, or wiping a baby bottom. But that’s the life of a mommy, right? And… drumroll, please… isn’t every day technically “Mother’s Day” when you look at it from that perspective?

I’m not going to pretend Mother’s Day is a totally useless holiday. It’s nice to have one day a year when people (namely your husband and kids) are socially encouraged to extend their heartfelt appreciation for all you do. A little validation never hurt anyone, am I right? And let’s be honest– some spouses and children need a little guidance in that department. Or a lot of it. To be fair, we mommies often go without a ton of recognition for the selfless service we give on a daily basis, so a day of spirited acknowledgment tends to feed the soul. But selfless service is the high standard that we mommies are called to, isn’t it? It comes with the territory and it is, by definition, what it means to be a mom.

With that said, I came to realize something new this year– Mother’s Day isn’t just a not-so-subtle reminder for our loved ones; it’s a not-so-subtle reminder for us moms too. It isn’t simply about being honored by those who call you “Mommy,” it’s about remembering to honor being a mommy. Because sometimes that gets lost in the shuffle of being a full-time chef, nurse, housekeeper, schedule-maker, activity-director, homework-checker, perpetual chauffeur, breastfeeding station, hug-dispenser, and problem-solver extraordinaire.

My Mother’s Day was especially touching this year—not because of any wrapped packages, but because it stirred my sentimentality in a way I’ve not experienced before. (Mind you, I’ve only celebrated two Mother’s Days prior to this, so… bear with me. I’m still a newbie.) That isn’t to imply that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth; I’m thoroughly grateful for the beautiful morning my husband helped my daughters to orchestrate. (For a three-year-old, Gray has some seriously good taste in present picking!) But beyond the roses, the hand drawn heart card, and the thoughtfully chosen keepsakes, were two little girls that looked up at me with immeasurable love and devotion in their eyes. And that was my favorite gift of all. Talk about the sincerest form of flattery! It made me feel like Superwoman, and I’m blessed that I get to see that look every day in one form or another. I know, I know… wait until they’re teenagers, right? Nonetheless, I spent my Mother’s Day cuddling on the couch with my family, and it was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. None of us got out of our pajamas and none of us wanted to. I whiled away the hours reveling in my mommyhood and thinking about how lucky I am that God chose me to parent these stunning, wonderful, strong-willed, inspiring little girls. Every day with them is a blessing.

Now, I’m not going to pretend there aren’t moments of sheer insanity and chaos that make me momentarily forget to appreciate my motherhood. Sometimes I feel like I might have inadvertently joined Barnum & Bailey Circus somewhere along the way. There are times when I fail to see past my delirium from an untold number of sleepless nights, and sometimes Gray’s look of admiration is hard to recognize through the temper tantrums that erupt over important things like: my failure to remove the crust from a piece of breakfast toast and my inability to immediately beam us to Disneyland (I’m so technologically incompetent!). But all of a sudden I’ll catch a glimpse of it… hiding in a smirk, an unexpected “I love you,” or a kiss goodnight. It subtly creeps in, and it melts my heart each and every time.


My stunning roses... next to some not-so-stunning smelly sneakers

My stunning roses… next to some not-so-stunning smelly sneakers


I hope, in the course of your hectic routine, you are able to enjoy every day for what it is–Mother’s Day. Because sometimes we all need a reminder that being a mom is, in and of itself, the reward.


Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

PS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop when I release my new book later this year, “Situation Momedy!”

PPS. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!

April 17, 2015
Yes, I'm wearing Mom Jeans

Yes, I’m wearing Mom Jeans


There are a lot of fashion trends that have been resurrected over the years, regardless of whether or not they should have been. Flannel shirts have returned in all of their 90’s Seattle grunge glory, wedge heels are back from the 70’s, and I’ll even admit to owning some pants that come dangerously close to resembling the Hammer pants of the 80’s. Though I probably shouldn’t admit that out loud.

I’m sure you’re wondering how all of this relates to motherhood. In my humble opinion, the award for the biggest fashion failure that should never make its way back to the mainstream goes to…

Mom jeans.

Synonymous with minivan driving, suburban soccer moms of the 80’s and 90’s, Mom Jeans couldn’t be tackier if they tried. Well, I suppose that’s not true. They could be made of polyester and come with their very own disco ball. Nonetheless, when pants are so shapeless and unflattering that they can make a bubble butt look as flat as my Pug’s nose, there’s a seriously epic style faux pas happening. Entire Saturday Night Live skits have been devoted to the subject. Need I say more?

So with all of that in mind, I was super excited to be wearing a pair of Mom Jeans in the movie I’m filming. No really. I’m just weird enough to be perversely thrilled to have an excuse to look ridiculous… And actually get paid for it!

I’ve, of course, included a photo for your viewing pleasure, but keep an eye out for the film at some point too. It’s a sweet little family film called Cecil, and I’m enjoying the heck out of working on it. It’s exciting to be at a point in my career where I get to play the mom!

Even (especially?) when it involves Mom Jeans.

Until next time… Peace, Love, and Dirty Diapers,

Jenna von Oy

Ps. To keep up with the progress of the movie, you can check out the film’s twitter page: @Cecilthemovie

PPS. To join my blog, please subscribe to the RSS feed at the top of your screen. This will help you stay in the loop when I release “Situation Momedy!” later this year. Don’t forget to join my Twitter  and check out my website too!