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)

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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?

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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.

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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

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