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

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.


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.”


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