A Pig and an Owl Walk into a Bar…

“Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair. Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate and to humble.” – Yehuda Berg

Use Your Words

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. 

My words are:

velvet ~ ham ~ spanked ~ batman ~ owl

They were submitted by: http://dinoheromommy.com/

I’ve carried these words around with me all week hoping inspiration would strike.  Well, strike it did.  In the form of one man-child.  

Yep, man-child strikes again.  In the car.  

man-child: “Mom?”

me: “Hmmm?”

man-child: “I know what I want to be for Halloween.”

me: “Halloween?  You know it’s not for like…8 months right?”

man-child: “Yeah.”

me: “Well it seems a bit early to be planning Halloween, just sayin’.”

man-child: “Yeah well…do you want to know what I decided to be for Halloween?”

me: “Sure.”

man-child: “Ask me?”

me: “Ask you what?”

man-child:  sighs

man-child: ” Ask me what I want to be for Halloween!”

me:  sighs

me: “What do you want to be for Halloween?”

man-child: “I’m not telling you, you have to guess!

me: “I don’t feel like playing the guessing game.”

me (thinking): wait!  I think I have a way to work my words into a blog post about this conversation!  I’m brilliant!  Yay me!  Whew, such a relief!

me: “okay okay, I’ll guess.”

man-child: “yay!”

me (thinking) you have no idea kid!

me: “A pig?  Cause you know, you’re such a ham?”

man-child: “A ham? Mom (shaking his head), if I was a pig, I’d totally be bacon. But NO!  Wrong guess. Guess again!”

me: “hmmmm. Let me think.”

me: “A red velvet cupcake?”

man-child: “What?!  Mom! These are terrible guesses. Are you even trying?!”

me (thinking): if you only knew…

me: “What do you mean? That was an excellent guess!”

man-child: “A cupcake mom?!?! Why are you being weird, guess for serious! A cupcake… I mean, come on!” 

me: “Desperate measures kid! Desperate measures!”

man-child shaking his head.

me: “Ok.  Ummm.  Let me think.  Okay! I got one!”

man-child: waiting patiently

me: “a sad Carolina Panther fan after getting spanked by the Denver Broncos?”

man-child: “Mom!” (face palm) “Do you even know me!? Just forget it.  BATMAN!  I’m going to be BATMAN!”

Confession: now I was pretty sure he was going to say Batman.  The movie is coming out very soon and the whole Batman vs Superman debate is a regular feature in our house.  If he hadn’t said batman, that would have sucked, but I’m sure I could have worked it in a conversation somehow. I’m pretty impressed with myself, working these words into our conversation.  I’d pat myself on the back, but I’d probably throw my back out.  Of course now I just have one word left…

man-child: “Oh, I have jokes. Wanna hear them?”

me: “Sure.”

man-child: “What do you get when a dinosaur fights with a pig?”

me: “I have no idea.”

man-child: “Jurassic Pork!”

man-child laughs hysterically at his own joke, which is actually funnier than the joke itself.  

man-child:  “What do you get when you play tug-o-war with a pig?”

me: “No clue?”

man-child: “A pulled pork!”

man-child: bhahahahahhahahaahhahahahahahahahahaha

man-child: wipes tears from his eyes

man-child: “ok, one more. Ready?”

me: “Go for it!”

man-child: “What do you call a magic owl?”

I almost wrecked the car when he said my final word! We need to take this show on the road! I’m laughing before I even know the punchline which makes him laugh harder so he can barely tell me.  I love this kid so much!

man-child: “A Hoo-dini!”


May you be as excited for your weekend as this precious pup!

“Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.” Plautus

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:













One Big Happy…


Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 12 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house.


Man-child and I enjoying lunch together at the restaurant where my oldest daughter works.  Man-child’s food basket is lined with a newspaper from Honolulu.

Me:  “That newspaper in your basket is from Honolulu, do you know what state that’s in?”

Man-child ponders.

Me:  “I’ll give you a hint.  The state starts with an H.”

Man-child: “Hollywood?”

Me:  “Hollywood?!  No, Hollywood is not a state, it’s in California. Hollywood?  Really?”

Man-child sighs.  Man-child giggles.

Man-child: “I know.  HAWAII!”

I sigh.


Car Ride:

Man-child:  “So, mom?”

Me:  “Yes?”

Man-child:  “Who would win between Pelé and David Beckham?”

Me:  “Pretty sure you said Pelé’s name wrong.”

Man-child:  “No, I didn’t. Who would win?”

Man-child:  “Mom!”

Me:  “I don’t know, win what?”

Man-child face palms.


I’m trying to get ready for a night out with the hubs.  Our daughter Emily has agreed to babysit.  My phone buzzes…incessantly

Emily:  On my way

Man-child:  Why do I have a thing called group

Emily: It’s a group chat

Man-child: Ok but why do I have it and how did I get it

Emily: Because I started a group chat with you, me and mom

Man-child:  But how

Emily: OMG

Man-child:  What

Emily:  I’ll explain when I pick you up or ask mom

Me:  lol I’m trying to get ready

Man-child:  I know

Emily:  I think she was telling me not you

Man-child:  Ok can you stop texting me plz

Emily: No

Man-child:  Why

Emily: Why don’t you want to text me, don’t you love me

Man-child:  I am watching YouTube

Emily:  You always watch YouTube

Man-child:  I know

Emily:  You never text me

Man-child:  I know by I like YouTube

Emily:  You don’t like texting me?

Man-child:  Talk later? Bey bye

(meanwhile I am trying to ignore the constant buzzing of my phone)

Emily:  Did you just send me an auto response

Man-child:  No

Emily:  Guess I might rethink this whole taking you to dinner thing


Emily:  Since you like YouTube more than your own blood

Man-child:  I like you more than YouTube and mom and dad

Emily:  That’s what I thought (kissing emoji)

Emily:  Who’s your favorite sis?

Man-child:  I am not telling you plz stop texting me

Emily:  Not until you tell me

Me:  Wait! You like Emily more than me?!?!?!?!?!?!!??! (angry face emoji)

Man-child:  NO



Emily:  *LIE

Man-child:  it is equal to all

Me:  Omg I have to get ready, go to dinner!



Man-child:  Ok

Man-child:  Hi Emily

They are texting each other now in the same house.  I am about to lose my mind.


Man-child:  DO NOT TOUCH

Man-child: CHILLYS (his restaurant choice, misspelled)

And that’s what a group text looks like with a ten year old, a 19 year old and a tired mother


Same Car Ride:  Minutes Later

Man-child:  “So, mom?”

Man-child:  “Mom?”

Man-child:  “MOM?!”

Me:  “What?”

Man-child:  “So, who would win between Dirk Nowitzki and Kobe Bryant?”

Me:  “I don’t know.”

Man-child:  “You have to pick one.”

Me:  “Fine.  Dirk.”

Man-child:  “You’re right.”

Me:  “I usually am.”

Man-child:  “Sure you are, mom.”


Emily:  “Mom were you aware my brother has an Eminem song on his iPod?”

Me:  “Yeah, I gave him permission.”

Emily:  “Mom, it’s got explicit lyrics.”

Me:  “No, it said “E” for everyone.”

Silence in the car.

Emily:  “Mom, just no.  E is not for everyone.  It’s for Explicit.”

Me:  “What?  No?  Really?”

Emily:  “OMG mom, I’m putting this on FaceBook.”

For the record, all these ratings should be the same!  Video games, movies and music!


Still In The Car…

Man-child:  “So, mom?”

Me:  “Yes?”

Man-child:  “Who would win between Tony Romo and Tom Brady?”

Me:  “I’m not answering that.”

Man-child:  “Why?”

Me:  “Romo just sucks but Brady is the anti-Christ, so lose-lose.”

Man-child:  “Wait, what?  What’s anti-Christ?”

Me:  “No one wins, they both lose.”

Man-child:  “They both can’t lose mom.”

Me:  Sighs

Man-child:  Sighs

Man-child:  “I’m a Seattle Seahawks fan now.”

Me: “What? No, you have to root for the home team.  You can’t be a fair weather fan.  It’s the Cowboys or Bust.”

Man-child:  “I don’t know what that means.  But I’m a Seahawks fan. I’ve decided.”

Me:  “You never even visited Seattle!  You like the Cowboys!”

Man-child:  “Ok, I like the Patriots.”

Me:  “Ok, you can like the Seahawks.”

Man-child:  “Thank you.”

Me:  Sigh


Man-child:  “Mom, why are those signs everywhere?”

Me:  “What signs?”

Man-child:  “The signs for Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton and lots of other people.”

Me:  “Oh, it’s an election year.  They are all people running for an office.  We get a new President this year.”

Man-child:  “Mom, if Donald Trump wins, we should move to Canada.”

Me:  “Has your dad been ranting again?”

Man-child:  “One problem.”

Me:  “What’s that?”

Man-child:  “I don’t speak Canadian.”

Me:  Sigh

Man-child:  “Mom is England in the United States?”

Me:  “What? No. Are you serious?”

Man-child:  “I want to be in the Geography Bee next year.”

Me:  “Yeah, you get right on that.”

Man-child:  “Wow, that doesn’t sound very supportive.”

Me:  Sigh

Man-child:  Sigh

Longest Car Ride EVER:

Man-child:  “So, mom?”

Me:  “What.”

Man-child:  “Who would win between Batman and Superman?”

Me:  “Superman.”

Man-child:  “No way mom.  Come on now.  I gave you an easy one this time.”

Me:  Sigh

Man-child:  shakes head


Man-child:  “What’s for dinner?”

Me:  “Chicken with pasta and a white sauce.  You’ll like it.”

(Chicken Tetrazzini, but if I say that, he’ll never eat it.  I am forced to break it down into things I know he likes)

Man-child:  “Of course I will.  I love your cooking.”

Me:  looks over sharply detecting sarcasm

Man-child:  looks innocent

Me:  “Mmmhmm.”

Man-child:  “What?  I do!”

Me:  “Sure you do.” oozing sarcasm

Man-child:  “Mom, are you bringing up the BBQ sauce incident again? You need to let that go.”

Me:  “Never.”

A week or so earlier, I fixed BBQ chicken thinking it was an easy victory.  He loves BBQ chicken!  He’s not eating his BBQ chicken.  Why isn’t he eating his BBQ chicken?!

Man-child:  “I don’t like BBQ.”

Me:  “SINCE WHEN?!?!”

Man-child:  “Well, I only like McDonald’s BBQ sauce.”


He’s killing me, this kid.


Our two oldest daughters moved out last summer and currently live together in an apartment.  They surprised us on Monday with news.  Apparently, I am now a grandma.  Of a furbaby. Which they adopted.

My response:  “You did what?!?  WHY!??!  WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!”

My husbands response to me:  “Did you hear what they did!??! WHY!!?!?  WHAT WERE THEY THINKING!??!”

Kids response:  “Why can’t you be supportive?”

unsupportive: the word your kids use when as parents you don’t agree with their choices

So this is me being “supportive,” taking my new grandchild to PetSmart to shop for treats and a collar.  She’s terrified of everything, but too big to carry around, she rides in a cart quite nicely though.  People took photos.  We’re probably internet famous.

Muttering under my breath:  “tell me I’m not supportive…”

She is very sweet.  But still…A DOG?!




Man-child:  “So, mom?”

Man-child:  “Mom?”

Man-child:  “Mom!?”

Me:  “WHAT?!?!?!”

Man-child:  “I love you.”

Me:  Sigh

Man-child:  giggles


Family Birthday Dinner photo: Something is a little off…



Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:














WWE Smackdown

Use Your Words

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.  

I’m using:  karma ~ sort out ~ direction ~ packed ~ shooting star ~ magnificent

They were submitted by:  http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/  (Confessions of a part time working mom)

My son and I have some of our best conversations in the car.  He knows I can’t walk away or leave the room, I’m at his mercy.  I’m forced dragged invited to participate in conversations about comic book characters, video games, Star Wars, basketball, soccer and most recently, wrestling.  In fairness, he never wants to discuss the latest book I read or the new workout clothes I bought or listen to my most recent workout rant.

“Mom?” man-child

“Mom!?” man-child

“hmm?”  me

“Okay, so I have a question?” man-child

With a sigh, I turn down the radio.

“Mom?” man-child

“Yes, honey?  What’s your question?” me

“Okay, so who do you think would win in a battle between John Cena and Mark Henry?” man-child

“Who is John Cena and Mark Henry?” me

“Mom!  John Cena?!  He has bigger muscles than dad!  He can pick up 400 pound men and throw them down!” man-child

John Cena…John Cena…oh oh oh, a thought and a certain image has occurred to me!

“Oh, the guy from Trainwreck” me

Now I’m reliving that awkward sex scene from the movie.

“No, he wasn’t in a train wreck.  Tell me John Cena wasn’t in a train wreck!”  man-child painfully grips my arm in alarm.

“No no no, it’s a movie called Trainwreck, he was in that movie I think” me

“Oh, I need to see this movie.” man-child

“No, you can’t watch that movie.” me

“Why not?” man-child

“It’s not appropriate for you.” me

“You let me watch inappropriate movies all the time.” man-child

“No we don’t.” me

I quickly look to the sky.  Whew, not a cloud in sight.

“Yes you do!  I’m just not allowed to talk about it, remember.” man-child

“What? No, we don’t let you watch rated R movies! Do you tell people we let you watch Rated R movies?!” me

“Pretty sure you have mom.” man-child

“Umm no.  We haven’t. Name one?” me

“Mom, that movie Dad was watching that he thought was PG-13 but really it was R.  Mmm-hmm, now what mom? And I’m not even sure I should be watching PG-13, I’m only 9, but I’m not complaining” man-child

“You’re giving me a headache.  I don’t remember any such movie. And you’re almost 10. PG-13 means “parental discretion”, Star Wars was PG-13, are you saying we shouldn’t have taken you?” me

“Relax mom, I’m not saying that and yes you do remember. But anyway, you didn’t answer my question?” man-child

“Are you telling people you watch inappropriate movies?” me (totally casual-like, not panicked at all)

“Don’t worry mom, your secret is safe. Now answer my question.” man-child

“There is no secret.  We don’t let you watch inappropriate movies.” me, exasperated

“Ok, mom, whatever you say…now John Cena and Mark Henry…?” man-child, exasperated

We spent 20 minutes discussing the merits of John Cena and his magnificent muscles.  We don’t let him watch Rated R movies, he says this stuff to wind me up.  Our girls complain that we aren’t nearly as strict with him as we were with them and it’s true.  I can’t deny this.  I explain that we’re old and tired now, that they have ruined us.  At which point, they roll their eyes and sigh and man-child giggles.

So man-child is obsessed with all things wrestling…this week.  The other night he came home from Tae Kwon Do very upset.  I asked him what was wrong, and he mumbled something under his breath and proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom.  Husband now enters the room looking chagrined.

“What did you do?” me

“What makes you think I did anything?” husband

*eyebrow lift*

“Ok well…I might have done something.” husband

Apparently, man-child asked my husband if “wrestling was real?”  I imagine man-child got into a heated debate with someone at school about the validity of wrestling.  His hero, John Cena, was being maligned and he needed answers!  Enter Dad.  Daddy would sort out this mess and make it right!  He would restore John Cena’s good name and defend his honor. Or not.  The conversation did not take the direction man-child thought it would, clearly.  

“He asked me if wrestling was real.” husband

“And you said…?” me

“I said no, it isn’t real.  I explained it’s a performance of sorts. Then I looked up in the rearview mirror and saw that my response had confused and upset him.  Don’t look at me like that, I tried to fix it!  I told him that they were real athletes, and that parts of wrestling were real but that it was a theatrical performance, like fight scenes in movies.  What?!? Stop looking at me like that” husband

“I think you’re just jealous of his man-crush on John Cena.” me

“Don’t be ridiculous.” husband

“You’ve never told him Santa isn’t real.  Is it because Santa is fat?” me

“Really?” husband (shaking his head)

“I’m just sayin’…  Your wrestling name could be Dreamcrusher” me (lol’ing my own jokes)


Maybe it’s too soon for jokes.

“You should go talk to him.” me

“What do I say?” husband

“I don’t know, I’ve never crushed a child’s dreams before.  What?  Too soon? Sorry.  Look, you didn’t know.  He’ll be fine.  Eventually.  Hopefully.  After therapy, most likely.  You have to say something, your karma points are sliding fast.” me

Husband sighs.  Poor guy.

Husband did try to go talk to him again, telling him about the Von Erich brothers and how much he admired them when he was growing up, praising the athleticism of wrestlers, John Cena in particular.  Man-child listened quietly.  He didn’t say much.  It broke both our hearts to be honest.

Man-child still believes in the magic of Santa, the power of wishing on a shooting star, the whimsy of the tooth fairy, the wide-eyed wonder of the Easter Bunny.  He will be 10 next week, and he’s our baby.  His 3 sisters are much older, so I cling to these last vestiges of childhood.  I cherish his innocence and imagination, the spontaneous hugs and exclamations of love.  He always surprises us with the depth of his sentimentality.  I remember when his oldest sister moved out, and she left behind her dresser, which was bigger than the one in man-child’s bedroom.  He still had the same dresser from his nursery.  We thought he’d be excited to be getting a bigger more grown-up dresser, but on the day we packed up his old one, he cried.  He said, “But I’ve never known another dresser!”  

For us, it was a practical decision.  We assumed he wouldn’t care, that he’d be on board, but we had to sell him on it.  He eventually accepted the decision, and he likes his new dresser now, but the force of his emotions about his baby dresser still shocks and surprises me.  I just wanted to hold him in my arms forever and protect him from all life’s disappointments, both big and small.  The feelings invoked when your children are sad or upset and feeling the pains of growing up can be so visceral, so tangible you can almost taste it.  It’s one of the hardest things about being a parent.

Letting go.  

Watching them grow up, and knowing that you can’t protect them from everything.  I love what each new day with him brings to my life.  I feel this way about each of my children and couldn’t imagine my life without them.  I’m very blessed, humbled and thankful for all of them.  They changed my life forever and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Man-child isn’t talking about wrestling much these days.  This isn’t unusual, it’s his 4th obsession this year alone and it’s only January 15th.  In fact, he came home from school yesterday and announced that he wants to be a software engineer.  It was my husband’s turn in the hot seat of parental mistakes or failures, it could very easily have been me, and probably will be next time.  As parents, my husband and I don’t always have the right answer or handle things the way we should, but we would do anything for our children.  I mean look at this face! ❤


Volunteering at S.O.U.L Church on a very cold morning

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:


http://bakinginatornado.com                                     Baking In A Tornado

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/              The Bergham Chronicles

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                  Spatulas on Parade

http://www.renasworld.com/                               Rena’s World

http://dinoheromommy.com/                     Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com                Not That Sarah Michelle

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch           Confessions of a part time working mom

http://www.southernbellecharm.com                        Southern Belle Charm

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                     Someone Else’s Genius

http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/              The Angrivated Mom

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                               Climaxed

http://mybrainonkids.net                                     My Brain on Kids


A Rose By Any Other Name…


Welcome!  Can you believe it’s already time for another round of Swapapalooza?!?!  If you are new to this fabulous posting tradition, it all began as the brain child of the one and only Baking In A Tornado.  She bakes and blogs, but she only bakes for her family, which I personally find kind of selfish.  I mean, would it kill her to throw some baked goods my way once in a while?  Yeah, I didn’t think so, but I love her anyway and accept this character flaw.  I mean we can’t all be perfect.  Anyway, back to the swap.  It’s a two-part extravaganza!  This week, 15 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style.  Today, we unveil our little masterpieces of awesomeness for you, the readers.  I’ll post the links to the other bloggers at the bottom, but first you must suffer through my special brand of drivel.  Don’t scroll to the bottom!  I can see you!

So, my fabulous topic du jour is “There are truckloads of reasons to LOVE you BUT if you had to live with you what would be the quirks that would HAVE to go?”  My “secret subject” was submitted by the very funny and talented Just A Little Nutty.  She compares her family to fudge, and who doesn’t love fudge!  Although, I probably am more nuts than sweet…but go check her out!

I have to tell you a secret, just between us.  I struggled with this topic.  I mean if I had to live with someone, obviously I would pick me!  I racked my brain for days trying to think of any quirks I don’t find completely fabulous.  As the deadline approached, I began to get a little frantic, so I decided to conduct a little reconnaissance mission to help me in my quest for answers.  I asked the kids and hubs.  Strangely, I had to promise there would be no retribution or loss of the “favorite child” crown.  It’s a testament to me as a mother that all my children believe they are the most favored, and would worry about their standing in the hierarchy of my love.  Anyway, after much wheedling and pestering, I was able to extract a few ideas.  It’s weird though…everyone is kind of hedging around me carefully giving me weird looks, like I could blow at any minute.  I promised no retribution and I meant it.  Of course, I was a little surprised at how quickly one child was able to answer.  I keep assuring her that it’s just allergies causing THAT look, not the stink eye.  Of course, then I checked her grades online, which I haven’t done in a while, so it seemed a good time, and OMG…she is SO grounded.  There was a little screaming and temper tantrum throwing about words like “fairness” and something about “but you told me I could be honest”, but I have no idea what she is talking about.  NONE of us want her living at home forever, so those grades need to come up.

Without further ado, here is what I uncovered:


Me:  “So, if there was ONE thing that YOU had to change about me, because you were forced into it, not because you wanted to, what would it be?”

Husband:  “ummm….” Silence.  More silence.  Still more silence.

Me:  “Oh good grief, just answer!  Surely you can think of something!”

Husband:  “ooookkkkk.  Uh, I guess I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Me:  “So, you want more sex?”

Husband:  “Yeah, pretty much.”

Me:  “Duly noted.”


Me:  “So, if there was ONE thing that YOU had to change about me, because you were forced into it, not because you wanted to, what would it be?”

D2:  “Well, you don’t stay mad for long which is a good thing…(you know there is a but coming) but, I wish you wouldn’t blow your top so quickly.  It would be less intimidating if it was more of a slow burn so we might have time to formulate a response to your rapid fire indignation and fury.”

Me:  “Wow.  Are you sure you don’t need time think?  You rattled that off rather quickly.”

D2:  “You asked!”

Me:  “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d have the answer right there at your fingertips…jeez.”

D2:  “OMG, mom.”

Me:  “No no…it’s all good.  Thank you for your honesty.  Is that what you’re wearing?”

D2:  sigh.

Me:  “Just asking…”


Me: “So, if there was ONE thing that YOU had to change about me, because you were forced into it, not because you wanted to, what would it be?” 

D1:  blank look

Me:  “You can’t get into trouble, this is research for a blog, so there’s no wrong answer.  In fact, the more truthful the better.”

D1:  “Umm…it’s kinda early for this.”

Me:  “I’m sure you can think of something.”

D1:  “Ummm…ok, can I have a minute?”

Me:  “Sure.”

D1:  “Can you not stare at me?  It’s making me nervous.”

Me:  “Ok, but hurry.  I’ve got deadlines.  I’ll go ask your sister.  I’m sure she has a speedy answer.”


D3:  blank look

D3:  still nothing

Me:  “Why don’t I give you a minute, but hurry because I’ve got this blog to write.”


D1:  “I’ve got something!”

Me:  “You don’t have to act so excited.”

D1:  “You know how we tell you we need something for school or whatever and you procrastinate until the last-minute or forget about it altogether, but then get mad if we procrastinate on something or forget to tell you?”

Me:  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

D1:  “Mom!”

Me:  “Is that your final answer?”

D1:  sigh

Me:  sigh


D3:  “I’ve got it!  I wish you had more confidence!”

Me:  “Taken.  You’re dad already used that one.”

D3:  “Dang it!”

Me:  “‘Cause he wants more sex.”

D3:  “Ewww.”

Me:  “What? You asked!”

D3:  “No, I didn’t!”

Me:  “Oh, my bad.”


Me: “So, if there was ONE thing that YOU had to change about me, because you were forced into it, not because you wanted to, what would it be?” 

Man-child:  “Same.”

Me:  “Same what?”

Man-child:  “I’d keep you the same.”



D3:  “You’re temper!”

Me:  “Your sister took that one.”

D1:  “Oh, like YOU ever get in trouble.”

D2:  “Yeah, exactly.  When was the last time YOU got yelled at?”

D3:  “OMG!  This is too much pressure!”

Me:  “Well…they have a point.  You never get in trouble.”

D3:  “Ugh!  I don’t know.  I give up.”

Me:  sigh

D3:  “THAT!  That right there!”

Me:  (alarmed) “WHAT?”

D3:  “THE SIGH.  I HATE the SIGH.”

Me:  sigh

Ok, so I think we can all agree, they were NO help.  Upon further reflection, I managed to come up with TWO things.

1)  I’m competitive.  In the extreme.

Let me explain…

My daughter spends a TON of time at her boyfriend’s house, especially around meal time.  She will come home (eventually) to rave about whatever she had for dinner. I might be a tad sensitive about my lack of cooking prowess, so I’m all like “oh, do tell?”  She fails to detect any of the early warning signals of my displeasure and barrels onward.  Apparently, she fixes things like steak and scallops or lamb.  LAMB?  LAMB!!?!?!??!?  If I fixed any of these things, my daughter would turn up her nose and fix a PB&J sandwich, chewing each bite in open defiance.  If I had dared to serve lamb, I’d get tears and recriminations!  She is very attached to her childhood stuffed lamb, creatively named “Lamby”, to the point that NO ONE and I mean NO ONE is allowed to even touch Lamby.  But apparently, it’s ok to eat Lamby’s cousins.

This is her room, in a surprisingly clean state:


This is her chalkboard wall, where you will find all manner of lewd, disgusting words or phrases and crude visuals.  Don’t look too closely, you might burn your retinas.  Man-child is not allowed in the “Rated R” room.  On the ceiling, you can catch a glimpse of her best friend’s body outline, that she colored and taped above her bed.  ‘Cause that’s not weird at all.


And then you have…Lamby.

IMG_1107Perched upon a chair, out of harms way.

So, imagine my shock when I heard about her “Adventures in Eating”.  Now, you’ll catch me saying things like this:

“Oh, it’s only spaghetti for dinner.  I wish I had the money to serve steak.”

“Oh, it’s just fried shrimp.  From a box.  Nothing fancy like scallops served here.”

“We only eat cows and pigs.  I could never eat a poor defenseless lamb.”

One day, I asked her boyfriend if his mother knew about this one-sided competitive war I was waging between our two kitchens?  He laughed and said no, but then quickly assured me that he’s loved everything I’ve fixed.

He’s a keeper, this boy.

I have another example, if you aren’t yet convinced.

Man-child wrote a letter in school the other day to the person in his life he most admires.  Here is a window into our conversation:

Me:  “So, I heard you wrote a letter today to someone you admire?”

Man-child:  “Hmm.  Yeah.”

Me:  “Well!  Tell me, who did you write about?”  wink wink…we all know it was about me, I mean who else could it possibly…

Man-child:  “Dad.”

Wait, what?  HAHAHAHAHA  I thought he just said dad!

Me:  “You wrote a letter to me?”

Man-child:  “Huh? No, didn’t you hear me. DAD.”

Me:  “why?”  If you read that in your head in a super whiny tone, then you did it right.

Man-child:  “Because he takes me to drum lessons and…”

Me:  “Wait a minute.  Who do you think scoured the metroplex to find those drum lessons?”

Man-child:  “I don’t know what soured means.”

Me:  “Scoured.  It means I worked hard to find you the perfect drum lessons with the perfect teacher.” 

Man-child:  “ok but still he drives me and he bought me Skylander’s Giants for  my birthday…”

Me:  “WHOA! Wait a hot minute!  The only person more surprised to find what’s underneath that wrapping paper than you is your dad!  I DO all the shopping.  I’m the one that calls and writes Santa so he brings you the perfect gift.  I plead with the tooth fairy to leave you BIG money.  I’m the one the Easter Bunny talks to before putting together your basket!  MOMMY PICKS OUT YOUR PRESENTS!  And I’m your room mom, I go on all your field trips!  Those jeans you are wearing, you like those jeans right?”

Man-child:  “Yeah…”

Me:  “Well I BOUGHT THEM!”


Me:  “So, if you had to write a letter tomorrow to the person you most admire, who would it be?”

Man-child:  “We don’t have to write the letter, we already did.”

Me:  “I know, but if you had to write another one?”

Man-child:  “But we don’t.”


Man-child: giggles

Me:  “Can I ask you something?”

Man-child:  hesitates.  “Yeah”

Me:  “Who do you most admire?”

Man-child:  “Daddy.”  giggles

Me:  “Well, DADDY can fix your dinner then.” sulks off to nurse wounds and mend broken heart

So you see…EVERYTHING is a competition, and I’m shameless in the pursuit of victory.

I suppose the second quirk I would change would be this:

2) I’m a hoarder-slob.


What?  No one actually uses this bathtub, so I don’t see why it can’t be my substitute closet!  I really LOATHE hanging up my clothes.  I don’t even have the “no lightbulb in the closet” excuse, because hubs replaced the bulb after I threw down the challenge a few blogs ago.  I still haven’t cleaned the closet, but I’ll spare you another photo.

I’ve been known to keep as many as six of my never finished “Diet Pepsi Soldiers” lined across my dresser.


Sometimes I hide my shame between the jewelry box and the wall so hubs can’t see it…


I don’t remember the last time I drank water…unless it coincided with the last time I was at the gym…so, it’s been a while.

The corner of my bedroom between my bed, dresser and a window, I kept all manner of important items/documents that I might need at a moment’s notice.  I’ll admit it started to kinda take over the room, but then my sweet husband bought me a container to put it all in until I found the time to sort through it.  Isn’t he just the sweetest!


I should probably dust that fan…in case you wondering how long it’s been there…

Want to peek inside?


I’m not sure why I’m saving that skittles bag.  It’s empty.  I checked.  Now I’m craving skittles.

So there you have it people!  Some of my adorable little quirks that might not be so quirky.

I know you were thinking I’d probably say something about Adam Levine, but even my judgy self approves of that particular quirk, so he stays!  Yay!

Now, if you haven’t fallen asleep…read on!  It just keeps getting better 🙂















Queen Of The Flies


Have you ever thought about what people might think if they saw what goes on behind-the-scenes at your house?  Do you ever wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of someone else’s daily life?  Well, Baking In A Tornado wondered what it would be like and it inspired her to create a collaborative blog posting idea!   

Today, 14 bloggers are inviting you into their homes to be a fly on the wall (links at the bottom).

Enter at your own risk… 


Man-child’s teacher pulled my husband aside after school and brought up an “incident” that happened earlier in the day.  Apparently, when asking the children what they wanted to be when they grow up, the only thing my son could think of was “a villain.”  He followed that comment up with drawing a picture of a battle scene.  I hear this and think 7-year-old little boy.  Teacher’s hear this and think “future gunman.”  I could depart here on a major rant, but I will refrain and just tell you that we did talk to man-child in our attempt to glean a deeper understanding of his meaning and purpose, because EVERYONE knows that ALL kids grow up to be astronauts, fireman or pro-athletes; therefore, it is only logical that we dissuade man-child of any future villainess prospects. 

Me:  “I heard you talked about what you want to be when you grow up in school today?”

Man-child:  “Yeah.”  If you detect any enthusiasm in this response at all then I wrote it wrong.

Me:  “So, tell me!  What do you want to be?”

Man-child:  *sigh* “Dad already talked to me.”

Me:  “I know, but I want to talk about it.”

Man-child:  “I said I wanted to be a villain or a bad guy.”

Me:  “Why?”

Man-child:  “Because they wear cool clothes and fight and stuff.”

Me:  “Yeah, you are right, bad guys do have nice outfits.”

Man-child:  “Bad guys don’t wear “outfits” mom.  Only girls wear outfits.”

Me:  “Oh sorry, my bad.  You do understand though that Darth Vader, Batman, Spiderman are just fictional and fantasy characters.  They aren’t real.”

Man-child gives me a “duh” look and proceeds to give me the definitions for fiction versus non-fiction and fantasy versus reality.  I marvel silently at how smart I think he is, but then quickly refocus to the task at hand…averting future villainess deeds of mayhem.

Me:  “Do you understand that in real life bad guys hurt people, so when you tell someone you want to be a bad guy, even if you are just pretending, it sounds like maybe you think it’s fun to hurt people.  In real life, bad guys go to jail and a prison uniform isn’t such a cool costume.”

Man-child:  “Well…what I really meant to say was that I wanted to be a dentist, but I couldn’t think of it.”

(which I still think sounds like he wants to hurt people, but I hate the dentist, so I’m probably not being objective here)

Me:  “Oh, I see.  Well, a dentist.  That’s interesting.”

Man-child:  “I guess.  I know that you should treat others how  you want to be treated.  Be kind is another rule.  And don’t be a bully!  Be nice to everyone even if they are different from you.  I know lots of rules mommy.”

Me:  “I know you do sweetie.”

Man-child:  “Can I have a snack now?”

We talked a bit more later about the subject, but the bottom line is that my son has a very vivid imagination and he loves to be dramatic and playact.  He is also affectionate, loving and giving.  He cares about others, and he never displays his anger in violent outbursts.  He sulks and pouts, he puts himself in timeout, he might even cry and yell about how mean we are, but he’s quick with hugs, sorries and forgiveness.  We talked about the appropriate times to pretend and play, and how what we say and do reflect who people think we are and how they see us.  I don’t want him to grow up too soon, can’t he just be a little boy for a little while longer… 


I walked into the bathroom while man-child was taking a shower.  I wasn’t trying to sneak up on him or be quiet.  I put my face up against the glass, and said “hi!”.  Man-child screamed and inadvertently pissed himself (at least he was in the shower).  He continued to kind of holler and scream, his brain clearly not connecting that it was only me standing there.  I kept trying to calm him down, but in his defense I probably looked a little maniacal standing at the glass with tears of laughter streaming down my face causing my mascara to run.  I felt so bad.  Poor baby. 

Man-child:  “You scared me!”

Me:  “I know, I’m so sorry!” (I’m still laughing hysterically, bending over trying to catch my breath, so this probably came out like more a wheeze than an actual sentence)

Man-child:  “I went pee.”

Me:  (laughing even harder) “I know!”

Man-child:  “How embarrassing!!!”

Me:  “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave.  But hurry up,  you’ve been in there awhile.”

Man-child:  “OK!”


Man-child:  “Mom?”

Me:  “Yes?”

Man-child:  “I miss Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.”

Me:  “Oh?  Tell me more about this?”

Man-child:  “I mean, he was just trying to do good things and bring peace and then he was assassinated!”

Me:  (did he just say assassinated?)  “I know.  Assassinated?  That’s a big word, do you know what it means?”

Man-child:  (looks at me like I’m a few bricks shy of a load) “He was shot by James Earl Ray!”

Me:  “That’s right!  James Earl Ray was a bad guy.”  (I look at man-child pointedly)

Man-child:  *sigh*  “I know, I know!  I learned my lesson mom.” 

Me:  “ok, good!”

Man-child:  “Anyway, his birthday and my birthday are the same day!  And we don’t have school, so I’ll have to bring my cupcakes the next day, but isn’t that cool?!?!”

Me:  “Very cool sweetheart.”


Man-child:  “Mom, who do you like better Obama or Romney?”

Me:  “Well…I’d have to say _____ .” (as if I’m going to answer that here!)

Man-child:  “In Texas, everyone likes Romney but in the United States people like Obama because he won so now he lives in the White House.  Is the White House in the United States?”

Me:  “Yes, the White House is in Washington D.C. which is part of the United States.”

Man-child:  “10-2 = 8.”

Me:  “Is today random fact day?”

Man-child:  “huh?”

Me:  “Nevermind.”


As I stepped out of the shower the other day, I looked down and noticed several slices of cheese sitting on the counter.

  1. I am home alone
  2. I did not slice myself some cheese

I immediately succumb to panic and crisis mode as I stand dripping on the cold tile floor scanning the bathroom, thinking of my options.  I race to the bathroom junk drawer, yank it open, and begin frantically searching for anything I can use as a weapon while my ears strain to pick up the sounds of my murderer.  EVERYONE knows that if you are going to be murdered it will be while you are home alone and in the shower.  Plus, I did hear the dogs barking earlier.  OMG they are probably dead!  I briefly entertain the idea of opening the 2nd floor bathroom window and jumping out, because what are a few broken bones, scrapes and public nudity when death is on the line.  My heart is racing.  I can literally hear the blood pumping through my veins.  As I’m scouring the drawer looking for anything, ANYTHING, I can use, there are several things that become immediately clear to me.

I am not wearing my glasses.  I won’t be able to find a weapon because I am blind without glasses or contacts.  Even if I do somehow manage to locate a weapon, I won’t be able to see my attacker until he is upon me with his murderous rage.

*puts on glasses*

The “slices of cheese” are actually cheez-its that I placed on the counter before I got into the shower.

In case you have any doubts, let me set the record straight.  I will be the crazy old lady in the retirement home, suffering from dementia and paranoia, that tries to kill people with splenda packets and hoards crackers.

I would be the first person to die in a horror movie.

I am the last person anyone should count on in a crisis.

Murderers probably don’t “rat trap” their victims.

I have issues.  Serious issues.


My husband and I are in a standoff.

NO this isn’t about Adam Levine.  For once.

It’s about my side of the closet.

Weeks and weeks ago the lightbulb on my side of the closet went out.  I asked him to change it for me.  Several times I have asked.  He continues to ignore my demand request.  Could I change the light myself?  Of course.  That’s hardly the point.  I asked him to do it, he said he would and then he didn’t.  I feel like to change it now would be admitting defeat.  I’m not blinking first! 

Me:  “Remember when I asked you to change the bulb in my closet?  I say remember because it was a VERY LOOOOOONG time ago.  You might have forgotten it was soooooo LONG ago.”

Hubs:  “No, I remember.  I’m afraid to open the door, it’s scary in there.  Perhaps if you cleaned it out…”

Me:  “I’d clean it out, but I can’t see….because no light.  I’d probably hurt myself.  Wrench an ankle, throw my back out trying to navigate the dark and murky terrain without assistance because apparently my husband doesn’t care if I die in the closet and no one ever finds me.”

Hubs:  “You’re so ridiculous.”

The lightbulb still hasn’t been changed.


The closet still hasn’t been cleaned.

I can live with no light longer than hubs can live with the mess.  I will WIN.

Honey, if you are reading this, I have a message for you from “The Mess in My Closet”:

“I will breed and multiply.  I will take continue to grow until eventually I take over the OCD orderliness of your side of the closet.  Only light could stop me now!  Mwhahahahahahaha!”

(I think we all know who wins this round)















Bzzzzzzz…..SPLAT! Oops….

*No actual flies were hurt in the making of this blog post*


Have you ever thought about what people might think if they saw what goes on behind-the-scenes at your home?  Do you ever wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of someone else’s daily life?  Here is your chance!  Today, 12 bloggers are inviting you into their homes (or their subconscious) to be a fly on the wall.  Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:

Baking in a Tornado

The Insomniac’s Dream

Stacy Sews and Schools

Raising Reagan

The Sadder But Wiser Girl

Moore Organized Mayhem

follow me home…

Just A Little Nutty

Esther Norine Designs

I’m Just Sayin’…(Damn!)


Whew…it takes forever to put in those links, so the least you can do is click on each one!  AFTER…you buzz around my house for a while…



Man-Child:  “I had so much fun hanging with daddy the other day.”

Me:  “That’s awesome!  It sounded like you had a BIG time.”

Man-Child:  “Yeah…you know what we should do?”

Me:  “What?”

Man-Child:  “We should have a day.  We can play the Wii and Candyland and go on hikes and make cookies and watch movies!”

Me:  “Yeah…”

Man-Child:  “So when do you want to do it?  Now?”

Me:  “Umm…how about Saturday?  It would be hard to schedule THAT much fun after work/school and on a weeknight.  We should save our “date” for when we have more time, like Saturday.”

Man-Child:  “Date?  Wha…?  Mom, I’m only 6.  I can’t date.”

Me:  “No, not THAT kind of date.  Just a mom/son date.  A special day.”

Man-Child:  “No.  I don’t think I should be dating.”

Me:  “I’m your mother, I think its okay.”

Man-Child:  (shakes head) “No, THAT just makes it weirder.  Just forget it.  I’m going to go play Star Wars on the Xbox.”

Me:  (stands there dumbstruck and bewildered) “Did you just shoot down your own mother?”

Man-Child:  “Yep.”

You can see that evil gleam right?  And he needs a haircut...

You can see that evil gleam right? And he needs a haircut…



Just a door right?  Nothing scary about a door.  I mean it looks harmless enough.  Yet, this seemingly innocuous door unleashes feelings of angst and terror to anyone who dares to open it.  What is behind this door you might ask?  Look for yourself….  You’ve been warned.



Yes, I am aware it’s just linens.  A linen closet.  You are actually lucky, because I think there are some comforters missing.  My kids are all “waaa waaa, it’s freezing in this house”, so they may have braved the beast linen closet seeking additional warmth.  I think our sheets and pillowcases are breeding.  Every time I open this damn closet, it appears more overwhelming.  It’s on my list of things to organize…right up there with my spice rack, scrapbooking “area” and various other nooks and crannies that might be taking over my house one square foot at a time.  The hoarder network will be calling me any day now.  On a good day, it only takes 4 kids, grunting, a pulled groin muscle, and lumbar pain to shut this door once it’s been opened.  Instead of just buzzing around being all judgmental about my lack of organization, why don’t you pitch in and help!  I’m not ashamed to admit defeat.  I know when I’ve been beat.  If we ever move, I might just leave that for the next family.  It’s almost a rite of passage really.  It makes women out of girls and men out of boys.  I’d be doing a public service…when you think about it.  Think really hard.  See?  Am I right or am I right?  That’s what I thought.  Moving on…


Man-child got some puzzles recently.  These puzzles were redonk.  Have you ever tried to piece together a 100 piece Lenticular 3-D image of Darth Maul?  If you want to go cross-eyed while nursing a migraine, you can find them at Target.  I work with the elderly, and one of the things you hear is that working puzzles, crosswords, brain teasers, etc…helps stave off the influences of dementia, keeps  your mind sharp…er.  The kids actually love working puzzles, even though we all wanted to mercy kill each other after working the Darth Maul puzzle of pain and anguish.  Seriously…laugh all you want, e-mail me and I’ll mail you one.  Then we shall see who is laughing! 

Darth Maul The warning label is actually for adults.  You might be tempted to choke yourself by eating the puzzle.  Don’t do it.  However, working the puzzle sort of became this family event, so the other day when I was out running errands, I bought another one.  Not 3-D.  A mere 750 piece puzzle of a cute little baby tiger playing near a stream.  Join me, while I eavesdrop on my two youngest daughters:

Linds:  “Hey, Em…wanna come help me work the puzzle?”

Em:  “Sure.”

Linds:  “What are you doing?”

Em:  “Uh…working the puzzle?”

Linds:  “No, not that like that.  See how I did the outline of the puzzle first, then I started in the upper right hand corner, picking all the similarly colored pieces and systematically began fitting them together.  You start down here on the other side, with the darker pieces.”

Em:  “Huh?”

Linds:  (sigh) “It’s a puzzle, you have to use logic.  Just start sorting out the darker pieces.”

Em:  “But I want to work on the baby tiger.  It’s cute.”

Linds:  “The baby tiger is in the middle.  You can’t start it yet.  That makes no sense.”

Em:  “Can I play Christmas music?”

Linds:  (sigh)

Now we hear only the dulcet sounds of Christmas cheer while they work together. 

Linds:  “That piece has fur.  Clearly doesn’t go there.  Quit trying to work the tiger.”

Em:  (sigh)

Em:  “Is dinner almost ready?”

Linds:  “Shhh.”

Em:  (sigh)

Linds:  (sigh)

30 minutes later…the girls are called to dinner.  I go in to see how much progress they’ve made.  Linds has almost the entire right hand side of the puzzle pieced together.  But Em…

Me:  (to Linds)  “Did you both end up working on that side?”

Linds:  “Pfft.  No.  I did all that.  Em did that piece.”

Me:  “That one piece?”

Linds:  “Yeah…”

Me:  “Em?  30  minutes and only one piece?”

Em:  “It’s haaaard.  And Linds has too many rules.”


My husband and I were out together running Christmas errands, if you were a fly in the car, you’d hear the following conversations:

Husband:  “The should invent “Popo Powder”.  I mean if they have “Monkey Butt Powder”, then it stands to reason that “Popo Powder” should also exist.”

Me:  “No one calls it a Popo except you.  Call it a bald man in a boat, a bearded clam, beaver, cha cha, cooch, hoo-hoo, va ja ja,  vag, etc…but no one calls it a popo.”

Husband:  (in a singsong voice)  “Popo popo popo Powderrrrr!”

Me:  “You’re so stupid.”

Husband:  (laughs)

Me:  “Seriously, do you know how confused our girls were when they heard other kids use this phrase “the popo are behind us”?  They thought they were being chased by a va ja ja, instead of the police.”

Husband:  (laughs harder)

Me:  “There will not be enough therapy in the world…”

A few minutes later, this truck pulls out in front of us.  It’s one of those obnoxious hummer trucks with the personalized tags.

Husband:  “Who is John Galt?”

Me:  “Huh?”

Husband:  (points to obnoxious truck)

Me:  (reads the license plate frame) “Who is John Galt?”

Husband:  “I like this guy already.”

Me:  “This guy is a tool.”

Husband (in a condescending tone) “You do know who John Galt is don’t you?”

Me:  (rolls eyes while trying to convey an air of knowledge and superiority, plus I know he won’t be able to help himself and he will answer his own question before I have to admit that I don’t have a clue nor do I care.)

Husband:  “Ayn Rand. Atlas Shrugged.”

Me:  (sighs) “Yeah…I KNOW…and?”

Husband:  “Blah blah blah objectivism blah blah blah…”

Me:  “Oh, so you’re an objectivist now?” (thinking is that a thing?  Objectivist?  God, I hope so…or he will never stop tormenting me with his superior intellect)

Husband:  “See, we don’t talk anymore.”

Me:  (grunts)

Husband:  “I just want someone who I can converse with about the mysteries and origins of the universe and human existence.”

Me:  “You have Raven.”  (the dog)

Husband:  (sighs)

We decide we are going to drop off man-child’s Santa gift at his parents house because we have nowhere to store a bicycle without him finding it and ruining Christmas.  Hubs keeps trying to call and his dad doesn’t answer the phone.

Husband:  “I hope they aren’t out running errands.”

Me:  “If they were, he’d probably answer his cell phone.  I’m sure they are home, putzing around, getting ready for dinner.”

We turn down their street.

Husband:  “The Christmas lights are on, that’s a good sign.”

Me:  (sigh)

Husband:  “The front door is open (they have a screen door and every light in the house appears to be on, and oh look…there’s the dog), so that’s probably a good sign right?  I mean they probably are home?”

Me:  “Are you kidding me?  Yeah.  I’m pretty sure this all means they are home.  Oh look there they are?  Do you reckon John Galt is there too?”

Husband:  “Why can’t you be nice to me?”

Me:  (sigh)


Speaking of Popo…

I found what I thought was a little travel sized bottle of my favorite perfume in my cabinet, so I get all excited and spritzed a little in those special places.  I noticed it felt kinda sticky…and my panties (I hate this word) seemed to be sticking to me a little…uncomfortably.  I look at the bottle.  Apparently, it’s perfumed “hairspray”.  Awesome.  I don’t have pics, but I did rock the faux-hawk on the va ja ja if I might brag for just a few…


Husband:  “So I got an e-mail from a co-worker suggesting I buy you an Adam Levine “fathead” for Christmas.”

Me:  “Yessssss!”

Husband:  “Haha…yeah, I would, we just have no place to put it.”

Me:  “The ceiling of our bedroom…?”

Husband:  “I’m starting to get a complex…”

Me:  “Does this mean I’m not getting it?”

Husband:  (sighs)


Me:  “Why did you take your shirt off?”

Man-child:  “I’ve decided to be shirtless for now on.  I’m shirtless boy.”

Me:  (sigh)

Man-child:  “I used to be pantsless boy.  Now I’m just shirtless…with pants.”

Me:  (bigger sigh)

Man-child:  “Do I have to wear a shirt to school?”

Me:  “Yes, you do.”

Man-child:  (sigh)  “How about pants?  Do I have to wear pants?”

Me:  “Seriously?  You know you have to wear pants.”

Man-child:  “You’re no fun.”

Me:  “I know.”

Man-child:  (bigger sigh)


Me:  “Did you wear those pants to school?”

Em:  “Yeah?”

Me:  “Em….ummm, they give you camel toe?”

Em:  “I know, I didn’t take my jacket off.”

Me:  “YOU KNOW?  And you wore them anyway?”

Em:  (shrugs)

Me:  “OMG.  Em?!?!?!”

Em:  “what?”

Me:  (SIGHS)


If you were a fly on the wall of my subconscious, you would have seen the following interaction at Target yesterday:

I pull my cart in behind this lady checking out and her baby boy.  She’s almost done, which is good because I have to pee like a racehorse.  She’s asking the checker questions, but I’m not really paying attention.  Yet.  She pulls out this ginormous wallet crammed with everything but the kitchen sink…and I thought I was disorganized.  It’s like my linen closet and spice cabinet are fighting for space inside her wallet.  Jeez.  Stuff is flying out, she keeps talking.  He mumbles something back. 

He has now finished scanning all of her items, she’s still digging around in her wallet-purse, and she keeps looking at me.  I’m only starting to get irritated, and I have to pee, but I keep smiling because it’s Christmas.  She continues to dig around in the Bermuda Triangle of a wallet, and continues to look over at me.  I’m still smiling.  The baby is cute.  I’ll focus on the baby.  Why does she keep looking at me?  Why isn’t she paying?  She hasn’t loaded any of the bags in her cart yet either.  She looks at me again!  WTF?


OMG what is SHE DOING!

Focus on the baby.  Cute baby.  Baby is smiling.  Peek-a-boo baby your mommy is insane!  Yes, such a cute boy…can’t you cry or crap or something so she has to leave…what is she doing!


She then says loudly “Well, I guess I’ll just have to use a credit card.” OMFG.  “I could have sworn my debit card was right here?”  She then proceeds to pull out a wad of paper, “Oh right, I have some coupons, can you scan these?”


Yay!  She’s finally paying! 



Why does she keep looking at me? 


She’s not moving.  Why isn’t she moving.  He’s scanning my items and she’s still standing there.  OMG QUIT LOOKING AT ME!


She finally loads up her cart. 

She is still standing there.  I can’t move forward.  I swear to God lady, I will PEE RIGHT HERE!


She finally moves.  I sigh in relief.  Finally, an end is in sight.  I can do this.  I can make it home.

She keeps looking around.  She is walking so slowly.  He’s done scanning my items.  I pay.  I don’t want to have to pass her or walk with her, what is she doing?


Sure enough, she is waiting for me.

“Can you believe this place?  Worst customer service ever!”

I didn’t even make eye contact, why is she talking to me!  I give her my most bland smile, mutter consolingly and keep walking.  She walks with me!


“I’m just so angry.  I’m going to call and complain as soon as I get home.  I mean he didn’t even bag my groceries, and you don’t leave a woman with a baby and a cart full of groceries, you help! Can you believe this place?  Look, there is no one around to help me to my car.  What am I supposed to do?”

I can’t help it.  I’m pretty sure I looked at her like she had lost her friggin’ mind.  Had she NEVER been to Target? 

“I usually only shop at Market Street, and now I will never cheat on my store again.  This place is horrid.  Imagine not helping women with babies! I’m shaking I’m so mad.”




I mutter something about my daughter working at Market Street.

She keeps whining.


Finally, freedom!

“Have a nice day, I hope it gets better!”  I cheerily wave as I race to  my car. 

What is wrong with people?


This question is rhetorical.  In case you were worried, that  you’d have to explain.

Now scroll all the way back up, and click on the other links.  Sneak a peek into their homes and lives.  Go ahead.  Do it.  You know you want too. 


Where Is My Fly Swatter?

Have you ever thought about what people might think if they saw what goes on behind-the-scenes at your house? Do you ever wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of someone else’s daily life? Here’s your chance. Today 13 bloggers are inviting you into their homes to be a fly on the wall.

This post is yet another brilliant idea from my friend Baking in a Tornado.  If I can just get her to come up with 2-3 ideas per week, I’d never have to think again and wouldn’t that be just lovely.  So, I’ve amassed brief snippets into my life over the last few weeks, and somehow managed to condense these voyeuristic glimpses into a manageable post.  Pull up a chair, get a beverage and some popcorn or your snack of choice and enjoy the show.  You don’t even need binoculars or a telescope.  I promise, you won’t be able to look away.  Could be horror.  Could be laughter.  Could be shock.  Could be boredom.  Whatever it may be for you, happy reading (hopefully).  Oh, and watch out for that fly swatter…

If you were a fly on the wall, you would have witnessed this conversation between my husband and I:

Husband:  “So, man-child’s teacher pulled me aside after school today.”

Me:  “Ruh-roh, why?”

Husband:  “Apparently, there is no money in his lunch account, but she wanted to reassure me that he would get fed at lunchtime.  Apparently, they have special lunches for kids who for various reason can’t buy or bring a lunch every day.”

Me:  “Oh…ummm yeah, I may have forgotten to do reload his account.  Ooops…”

Husband:  “Ya think?”

Man-child:  “Yeah, thanks a lot mom.  It was weird jelly on the sandwich.”

I promised to load his account before Monday.  Monday afternoon, I get a text from husband:

Husband:  *Did you remember to put money into man-child’s account?*

Me:  *Umm…yeah…*  I race furiously back to my office and do it real quick.  Damn, it takes 2 days to post.  Craptastic.

Me: (texting husband) *Yes, I did it…just now.*

Husband:  *sigh*

Husband:  *He’s gonna be so mad at you.*

So naturally like any good mother, I race up to target to buy appeasement/guilt surprises for man-child.  Because we can totally afford a new Xbox game, just not a school lunch. Priorities.

I remember when he informed me he wanted to start buying his lunch at school:

Man-child:  “Mom, I want to be a buyer.”

Me:  “what?”  I’m thinking a buyer?  Like, for department stores?  This is his life goal in the 1st grade?  Why not astronaut or firefighter?  No, I get the kid who wants to shop so other people can shop.  This is weird right?  It’s not just me?

Man-child:  “I wanna be a buyer.  You get cool stuff.  Like spaghetti and nuggets and tacos!  Oh and chocolate milk.  I love my chocolate milk mom.”

Me (the light dawns):  “Oh, you mean you want to buy your lunch at school?”

Man-child:  “yeah..duh, what else?”

Me:  “Sure.  Ok.”  I feel like I dodged a bullet there.


The other day, I walk into man-child’s room and he’s packing a bag.  He’s filling it with his favorite toys and books.  Curious.  Hmmm.  Very curious.  I can’t wait to hear this.

Me:  “Are you going somewhere?”

Man-child:  “Yeah.”

Me:  “Oh?  Where are you going?”

Man-child: “To visit my stepdad.” 

Me:  “Oh.  Ok…well, let’s not tell your dad ok?”

Man-child:  “Ok.  It’s not like he was invited.”

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  Man-child loves Adam Levine as much as I do!  Best. Day. Ever.  But, I probably should tone down the Adam Levine talk for a while…at least in front of man-child.  I can just see what my husband would do with this nugget of awesomeness.


Man-child:  “Mom, is Willy Wonka real?”

18-year-old daughter (with extreme sarcasm):  “Just like ‘Santa’ is real.”

Me (death stare to daughter):  “Why do you ask?”

Man-child:  “Cause on my box of nerds it says Willy Wonka.  So that means he’s real and he made my candy?”

Me:  “Sure.  Oh and guess what!  Your sister wrote a letter to Santa and she has agreed to let all the presents she would have gotten from him come to you!  Isn’t this awesome!”  

I then turn to daughter and cock an eyebrow as if to say “what now, biatch?”

Daughter: “Whatever.  You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Me:  “Yeah…speaking of that, how are those college essay’s going?”

Daughter suddenly remembers something she has to do upstairs.

Mom wins this round!


I see a tweet from middle daughter, *HAHAHA no.  #byenow*.  She rarely tweets, so I asked her about it.  Man-child was sitting next to me watching Spongebob.

Daughter:  “Oh yeah, I tweeted that after my teacher threw a fit AND a chair!”

Me (alarmed):  “Your teacher THREW A CHAIR?”

Daughter:  “yeah, crazy bitch…I mean…”  She then looks wild-eyed at her little brother and then back at me.  I give her the death stare.

Daughter:  “Sorry….”

Man-child:  “I know, I know…it’s one of those words I can hear but not say.  Don’t worry mom. I know.  Ironman and Spiderman use bad words all the time.  It’s not a big deal.”  He then pats me on the leg.

Awesome.  Parent of the year.  Right here.  I don’t even remember if she finished telling me about the chair story.  I need to follow up…probably.  Later.  Tomorrow.


I think I’ve mentioned before that I refuse to use the bathroom in public places, this includes work.  I work with Seniors.  I’ve seen bathrooms smeared with feces and/or vomit or pee puddles or used depends left next to the toilet.  Yeah…I can hold it thank you very much.  The first thing I do when I get home is head for the poopcan.  I’m peacefully trying to drop some buddies off at the lake, when I hear my oldest daughter yell my name.  My husband is in the bedroom folding laundry.  That little bastard rats me out, and tells her I’m taking a dump, so he totally deserves what happens next:

Daughter:  “Mom!”

Me (with a sigh of resignation):  “Yes?”

Daughter:  “I’m pretty sure I have a yeast infection!  Itchy.  Discharge.  Yeah.”

Husband:  “Really?!?!!?!?  You had to announce that right here.  Now!”

Daughter:  “What?  It’s not my fault you’re in here.”

Husband:  “It’s MY BEDROOM!”

Daughter:  “It’s mom’s bedroom too!”

OMG why can’t I ever just crap in peace!  They know I get performance anxiety.  Now, I’ll be constipated for the next day or two.


My middle daughter joined the land of the gainfully employed recently.  She’s quickly adapted to the thrill of having her own money to spend.  Every year on her Christmas list, she puts down a Juicy Couture Jacket (or as I call it Juicy Cout”whore”).  I feel it’s redonkulous to pay over $150 bucks for a velour track jacket or sweatpants with the word “Juicy” bejeweled across the butt.  To each their own.  I find Juicy to be the female equivalent of Ed Hardy, and don’t even get me started on Ed.  I get it’s a thing and lots of people like it.  It’s just not my thing.  I told her to save her money and buy it herself.  So she did.  Ugh.  UPS delivered it the other day while she was working.  I sent her this pic and text:

“Your brother lost his jacket at school today.  He said thanks for ordering him a new one!!  It fits perfectly!!  You’re the best sister ever!”

We get this response.


Wow.  Someone takes their Juicy seriously…  That’s ok, I have this pic of her which will be paraded out at a time of my choosing…

Yes, those are drinking straw glasses….


Yeah, I love my job.  It’s a mantra I repeat to myself several times a day…or minute.  I’ll preface this work moment by saying that if there is a hell, I’ve probably got a penthouse suite reserved.  Bless the hearts of my senior citizens, they mean well…most of the time.  I used to help a sweet lady with her taxes, and she we would thank me by bringing me cookies from our deli that she frosted with icing circa 1948.  Needless to say, I’m a little weary of seniors bearing gifts, especially of the food variety.  One such gift arrived in my office the other day.  A resident, we shall call her “Jill”, knocked on my office door.  She came in and asked me if I knew where to find the woman who had eye surgery.  I tell her I’m not aware of anyone who had eye surgery, but she might ask the nurse station.  She comes back a minute later, and announces that it was me she was looking for after all!  I don’t remember having an eye surgery, but maybe I should go home….rest.  In her hands, she is holding a cake.  Apparently, it’s her birthday today!  I wish her a happy birthday, and she informs me she wants me to have a piece of her birthday cake as a thank you for all the hard work I do.  This is a very sweet gesture, and I’m touched really and truly.  But I’m not eating that cake.  She proceeds to cut it using a wooden spoon and then scoops it up with her bare hands and plops it on a napkin.  Yeah.  So not eating this cake. 

Of course, I thank her profusely for her generosity.  It was a very sweet gesture.  I am truly thankful she didn’t wait around to watch me eat it, because that would have been horrifying.  Unfortunately, I had to throw it away, and I never waste cake.  Or dessert.  Ever.  It broke my heart.  I promise.


Man-child finally got a hair cut!  He no longer looks like a Bieber wannabe. 

The hand signal is a high school football thing.  It’s often accompanied with the shout “Can I get a Wolfpack!”  It represents a wolf.  It’s our local version of “Hook Em Horns”, I guess you could say.  His sisters (Middle and Youngest Girls) attend rival high schools (don’t ask…a district cluster f@*$).  Like it wasn’t bad enough when we had the Woodwind versus Brass intrument rivalry.  Man-child likes to pester one sister or another by cheering for the opposite high school.  He really doesn’t have a dog in this fight right now, but eventually, he will be attending the same high school as my youngest daughter, unless we move, so I’m down with the Wolfpack.


Last but not least, if you were a fly on the wall in my house, you’d see me wearing this all day, every day…

You’d also see me caressing his face all the time, which is placed strategically over my boobs (if I’m wearing a bra).  You might want to fly away now little fly…things could get awkward.

Check out the other participants, I know I can’t wait to see what they did!  It’s like going through someone’s medicine cabinet without the fear of getting caught.  Not that I’ve done that.  Ever. 

Baking In A Tornado

The Mommy Chronicles

The Insomniac’s Dream

Stacy Sews and Schools

DeBie Hive

Raising Reagan

follow me home…

Sorry kid, your mom doesn’t play well with others

Simply Chic For You

Just A Little Nutty

Life on the SONny Side

Frikken Duckie