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.


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:

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.


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!