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.

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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:

Cody's Staples

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Surprised-CatOkay, 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!”

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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