Butterflies & Flowers-It’s Not What You Think

Last week I was on the rag.

For those of you unfamiliar with that analogy, let me break it down for you: I was on my period, mother nature dropped her bombshell, my menses came to pass. Got it? Okay.

So I was on the rag and I walked into my bathroom and lo and behold, my eye balls landed on the little basket full of tampons and pads and shit that sits unobtrusively in the corner once a month.

And I got really pissed off.

Here’s why.

Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to put butterflies and flowers on feminine hygiene product packaging?

Let me be clear: pieces of my body are flowing out at a high rate of speed. I’m cramping so hard, at any given moment my ovaries are going to rip their way out of my body like a scene out of Alien.  I don’t wanna see no stinking flowers. (said like Al Pacino in Scarface)

I want to see a skull and crossbones with a bio hazard symbol.

I want to see a little note reminding me that I really do love my husband and not to smother him in his sleep.

I want to find a coupon good at any grocery store for a free bottle of wine AND a gallon of ice cream.

I want to unwrap a tampon and immediately hear the voices of a thousand tiny angels singing in perfect harmony that it’s almost over and then make it rain glitter in celebration of the fact.

I mean really, is all of that too much to ask??

Because I just. can’t. even. with the damn butterflies and flowers.

I’ve Got 99 Problems And My Kids Math Homework Is One

Last night after dinner I was in the kitchen washing dishes like I do every f-ing night, and my 5th grader was sitting at the kitchen table doing his math home work.

A gusty sigh reached my ears and I asked him if he needed help.

“Yes, but you won’t get it.”

Ummmm, excuse me?? Been there done that with 5th grade math buddy. I think I can handle it. (yeah right)

So I tell him give me a sec and I’ll give it a look-see.

A minute later I walk over to give it a little look and a little see and what do you know? Fuck My Life I couldn’t help him.

Math was never my strong point in school and still isn’t. I’m a house wife. I know functioning math. I can budget and balance like a boss. When I go to baking, my measurement skills are on point. Throw an algebraic equation at me and combine it with dividing decimals and I’ll tell you to go to hell.

Fast forward to this morning: “Mom, can you get my math sheet for me?” Apparently he slept on it and knew where he  had been going wrong, because in 60 seconds, he had it figured out then proceeded to explain it to me.

Which led to today’s epiphany: I would have grown up to be a mother f-ing math genius if my teachers had been super smart 5th graders.

So I guess there’s kind of a moral to my story.

Maybe if more of us slept on our problems as opposed to throwing in the towel, we’d approach everything life gives us with a clear head, open mind and a calm manner.

I think I need to thank my ten year old for that reminder.

Short & Sweet

Twenty years ago I didn’t picture myself where I currently am in life.

Where exactly am I did you say??

I’ll tell you.

A thirty something mother of two who spends more time in pajamas than real clothes with no career to speak of that wraps up in a giant pink robe every night and drinks wine straight from the bottle while binge watching shit on her DVR when the kids go to bed.

The. End.

Consistently Pissy and Other Stories

It’s been way too long since I have blogged on here and now that I’m logged in, today isn’t looking up for blog writing either.

I’ve been stuck in some kind of rut. If you were to ask my husband, apparently I’m always angry. Well fuck that, no I’m not.

I really did want to write something witty and humorous for all of you, but then it was like, not today Satan.

So…….

Do any other stay at home moms or stay at home dads feel me when I say I sometimes  feel like my whole life has turned to mush? Like the only reason I exist is to be at the beck and call of other people? Do you ever have moments where maybe you’re washing dishes and you think, “fuck this plate. Fuck it and all of it’s plate friends.” Or is it just me?

Do your days run together? Like Saturdays and Mondays could actually pass for the same day?

Do you ever wonder if other people wonder about the things that you wonder about?

That’s a lot of wondering.

Do “I Don’t Know”, “It Wasn’t Me”, and “I Forgot” live in your house, too?  What about, “I’ll Do It Later”?

I sometimes think that when I die my headstone won’t have my date of birth/death engraved on it, or even my name. It will simply say the phrase I utter 742 times a day, “Wash your hands.”

Nobody listens to me.

Ever.

“Nobody” also lives in my house.

Do you ever think about having wine for breakfast? I haven’t done it, but I think about it. Who would tell on me, the dog?? I did have champagne for lunch once.

Best. Day. Ever.

Do you ever look at your piles of dirty laundry and think how it would only take one match to end it all? And then remember that running around in your birthday suit would get you arrested so you put the fucking clothes in the washer AGAIN.

Am I alone in these thoughts? Surely I’m not the only parent out there whose crazy boils that close to the surface on occasion.

Share your crazy with me today. Wear it loud and proud! I’ve missed all of you.

And would you look at that, I actually did just write a blog.Oops 🙂

Life Got In The Way

The last few weeks of my life have been R.I.D.I.C.U.L.O.U.S. I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger and apologize for not blogging my friends!!

Never fear, I have a funny story for you today. I mean, a lot of funny shit has went down these last few weeks, I just haven’t had time to write about it. But I am  a woman, and we don’t forget shit, so here we go.

Took the offspring to a BBQ at a friends a few weekends ago. The weather was perfect. Perfect sun, perfect breeze and good company. The younger kids played basketball and tag, the older kids showed off their skills and tricks with their scooters.

As the night progressed, things slowed down and the music turned up. Offspring 2 loves to sing and dance. I’ve told ya’ll before I’m not exactly sure what he’ll be when he grows up, but I know he’ll be great at it and  do it with pizazz. I’m also sure that when he hits high school I’ll spend way too much money on theater.

Anyway, the music turned up and suddenly my child was more interested in dancing than playing basketball. You know that Lil’ Jon song “Turn down for what”? That  came on and  shit. got. real.

It started out as a bit of a twerk. Then his hips started to gyrate and his body became a spasm to the beat of the music. I knew then that it was  about to go down.

I tried to stop it from happening. I really did. But you just can’t stop the beat apparently.

And that’s when my kid  ran and hit the basketball pole, wrapping his legs around it like a  professional.  As my jaw hit my chest, he swung around like money was about to be stuffed into the waist band of his shorts. If he had long hair, it would have caught the wind like he was  making it rain.  In my mind I was hearing Def Leopard sing “love is like a bomb….” and for once in my life I was speechless. Where the hell did he learn to do that?? And why was I impressed?? I mean, let’s be honest: it takes superior  upper body strength to work a pole.

When I finally found my voice, I convinced him to take it down 77 levels and just groove and jive to the beat like normal ten year old boys do. Obviously, normal is boring.

So in conclusion, that’s the day Champagne Sparkles was born.

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

Excuse Me, Your Underpants Are Showing

Night before last, offspring 2 came home crying because he had ripped his pants. When I say he had ripped his pants, oh he ripped them real good. One entire side of his britches was exposing his underpants.

Keeping in mind the story of my life is laundry, my first question to him was, “Did you scratch up your butt cheeks?”, whilst thinking: Hell yes! One less thing to wash!!!!

How exactly did the ripping of the pants occur? Jumping fences of course. And that is something that does not  make me happy. I have told my kids a hundred times not to jump a fence.

Forget the fact that I myself was a professional fence jumper back in the day. Forget that my long ass frog legs could leap a fence like a Copperhead snake was about to eat me for lunch. Forget all of that but remember this: the first time you snag a thigh on chain link fencing, you won’t forget it.

And that is precisely why I strongly discourage jumping fences.

Am I surprised that offspring 2 came home with a pants blowout the size of Rhode Island? Not really. Because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. He is definitely the one that has had the most mishaps. This is the kid that while playing hide-n-seek decided a trash can was a good place to lay low. It was also a good place to seriously F something up. Six staples later:

So, back to the beginning. Offspring 2 came home crying over his ripped pants. Why was he crying? Because he thought he would be in trouble. Did he get in trouble for it? No. Pants are replaceable;  butt cheeks, not so much.

And the bonus?? One less article of clothing to wash.

Keep your kids from climbing fences and then  end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

Cut. It. Out.

I love sitting and talking with people about anything and everything. I especially love hearing the childhood stories of others. I’m always amazed at how similar we all are in one way or another.

Last week I had a long conversation with a good friend about different things we remembered from our youth; we laughed until we cried. The following is a short list of objects from my childhood that always invoke the giggles. Or possibly an eye roll.

• Orange Handled Scissors. Growing up my mom always had a pair of these scissors hanging in the kitchen. When I tell you she used them for everything, I mean she used them for everything. She would cut paper, plastic, cardboard, and wire with those things. Once I saw her use them as an ice pick. Need a haircut?? Grab the scissors. But wait: didn’t you just use those to clip that turd stuck in the dogs ass hair? “Have no fear”, she would say. “I washed them.” Famous last words.

• Cookie Tins. Last week I was grocery shopping and there to the right  I see those delicious, buttery, danish cookies for sale. What stopped me from buying them? The fear that I would get home and upon opening them discover a sewing kit.

• Cool Whip Bowls. This is actually a really broad category. Let’s throw in margarine tubs and sherbet bowls, too. Is what’s supposed to be in there really  in there? Or is it leftovers? One would only know upon opening.

• Ridiculously Large Off-Brand Ice Cream Tubs. Anybody remember those? Did anybody else grow up with 5 gallon buckets full of ice cream in the freezer? Once they were empty, my parents would wash them out and use them to make ice. Yes, that’s right. The iceberg that destroyed the Titanic resided in my parent’s freezer and cooled your iced tea in the summer.

After talking with so many people about their own quirky childhoods, I now know these items weren’t just found in my house.

But one thing is for sure; those orange handled scissors really stuck with me and you won’t find one single pair in my house. Ever.

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. Did you have any of these things in your house growing up? Or something even better? Share it with me!

Drowning In My Soap Box Bubbles Part 2

I don’t have a whole lot of tolerance for door to door solicitors. I probably should have made this #1 on my previous soap box list.

After being the victim of magazine subscriptions for starving college students that just need to raise money for a trip to Italy, or that $40 bottle of miracle cleaner that miraculously didn’t  perform miracles once added to my household cleanser collection, or the two hour vacuum demo that no amount of vacuuming you do to my carpet or lamp shades or curtains is going to convince me to spend $2,000 on a fucking vacuum ( I could buy a cash car for that and hell no I didn’t buy the vacuum), the one thing that annoys me the most, is people that try to sell me on their religion.

Holy mothers nipples.

Those arguments are the reason I stuck a NO SOLICITING sign on my storm door.

Here’s the deal: Don’t tell me what you have to offer is not in total disregard of my no soliciting sign. Don’t tell me you’re not selling anything. Because you are.

You’re trying to sell me on a belief I don’t want to hear. And I have  heard it before and don’t agree with it, so leave.

Don’t argue with me on my own fucking property and try to recruit me for your mission. Now get back on your bicycle, fasten up your helmet, and peddle away.

Why? Why is it okay to harass people in the name of religion?

Would they be okay with me knocking on their front door at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning for the sole purpose of shoving my agenda down their throat? Probably not.

So don’t do it to me.

Don’t be the asshole that thinks my no soliciting sign doesn’t apply to you.

Because it does.

I clean my own house.

We mow our own damn yard.

I married a mechanic; I don’t need your lube job.

My roof is good. My gutters are fine. I was raised in church, and I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.

Don’t get me wrong; I genuinely love people from all walks of life.

But it’s all about the approach.

If you approach me in a friendly, non-confrontational manner, I will  listen to what you have to say. I might even take your business card or flyer or religious tract.

But,  if I’m not interested, and I tell you “I’m not interested”, then go bother someone else, okay??

And don’t argue with me on my own damn porch. You won’t like my response.

Are you mad?

Yes

No

Bitch I might be

I’m thinking of changing up my no soliciting sign. I’m thinking of customizing it to say:

NO SOLICITING. Unless you have girl scout cookies or are offering free puppy cuddles. All others knock at your own risk.

Do solicitors bother you, or am I just an asshole??

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

My Dog Just Gave Me The Stink Eye

And if my dog is giving me the stink eye, that means he did something naughty. Most likely he got into the bathroom trash and dug out q-tips. He really digs ear wax.

Anyway……

Do you ever sit around chit chatting with friends and ponder what exactly your children might do when they’re grown up? I do. I often tell people when it comes to offspring 2 that I’m not exactly sure what he’ll do later in life, but I do know he’ll be great at it.

Here’s why.

When he was seven or eight years old he announced he wanted a job so that he could earn his own money.

I told him I admired his ambition, however, he was a bit young to become gainfully employed. And that’s when he informed me that if he was too young to work for someone else, then he would just have to be the boss.

Okay, let’s clear something up really quick. Offspring 2 may be a kid, but he acts like a forty year old man trapped in a child’s body.

So me being that mom who actually likes  for her kiddos to have an opinion wanted to know, what exactly do you propose?

He says a lemonade stand.

So we talked it through. I told him, “Here’s the deal kid. Your clientele would most likely be the other neighborhood kids and you know most of them. So the expectation that friends should get free lemonade would be high. In the long run, you would have more money invested in product than you would actually be making in profit. So in summary, you need to do something that appeals to adults because that’s where the money is at.”

He was hanging on every word and practically taking notes and then proceeds to ask, “so what do you suggest?”

And as God is my witness, I forgot that I was brainstorming with a child and blurted out, “You’re gonna have to spike your lemonade with Vodka.”

CHA-CHING

Then he, also without missing a beat yells, ” YOU GO BUY IT AND I’LL CALL IT LIQUORNADE!”

And that’s the story of how I went into the spiked lemonade business with my kid.

Just kidding! But seriously though, where do they come up with these ideas?

Have your kids ever surprised you with a business venture? Let me know!

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

Let Me Play For You The Sounds Of My People – Yes It’s My Washer

Some days I swear laundry is the story of my life.

Just when you think you’re caught up the kids get home from school and start to strip. Game. Over.

I imagine that when I die, laundry will be a part of my eulogy.

“She could wash and fold towels like a boss.”

Someone reading this is smirking because they think they’re caught up on laundry. Take a look at your dusty ass curtains. You’re welcome.

There is always something to wash; For example, I could wash sheets today. But I won’t. I bought a one way ticket to Laundry-Ain’t-Us Ville and my train just left the station.

Show of hands: I know I’m not the only mom that’s ever been woken up in the middle of the night by a puking kid. It’ s a sound that will make your hair stand on end. Even worse is when you wake up because you feel someone staring at you while you sleep and it’s your kid announcing they think they’re gonna hurl. For the love of all that is holy get the hell out of here then!

Another show of hands: Who else has ever tossed the puke sheets in the trash and said not today Satan. There are some things that I’ll just replace. Fuck it.

Knock on wood and pass me the salt shaker, I haven’t had a puker in a while. I think my kids are getting to that age where things like that don’t happen as often anymore. Thank. God.

When offspring 1 was a wee baby, he had a nasty little stomach bug. So I had him laying next to me in my bed because he looked and felt so pitiful.

And that’s when he vomits in my ear.

IN. MY. EAR.

Have you ever had puke in your ear?? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Pretty sure there’s still a bit of something blocking my tubes.

For those of you that have yet to have kids and are now second guessing the possibility, hear me; I have also had puke in my bra, and hair and once offspring 1 puked in my hands because it was the only receptacle I had available at the time.

Parenting is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. But it is a wild ride, so if you fancy yourself a thrill seeker, bust you out a baby then.

In a nutshell, you wash a lot of shit after you have kids. Literally. Not sure how a cat turd made its way to the washer, but it happened.

If any of you have a good puke story, or even turd story about your kids that you want to share with me, please do. I’m feeling a bit shittastic today so let’s keep this party going!

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma