I Wish It Was Friday; Also, I Wish I Had An Elephant

This was the morning breakfast conversation I had with offspring 2 today.

He announced he wished it was Friday. I said ugh, hold up. It has to be at least Wednesday to wish for Friday. Let’s wish for an elephant in the backyard instead.

Conversations with kids are fun.

Anywho, let’s recap the weekend. I took a brief reprieve from blogging; it was starting to consume me. Every thought that flits through my head I want to blog about. Apparently it has affected my husband, too, as he said more than once this past weekend, “you should blog about that.” Which had me wondering, is there an echo in here??

Saturday gave us beautiful weather so the husband took the offspring fishing at a creek. They brought home a friend which I promptly informed them we wouldn’t be keeping. Meet Muddy Buddy:

Muddy Buddy

Thanks to one of my brilliant, genius friends that knows all things turtle, we found out this little dude is a common Musk or Mud Turtle. Years ago, we had a tiny baby red eared slider. Turtles are really cool but they also are really stinky. So on that note, I didn’t want to add to my zoo. As you can see, I made him a little mud box and after a few hours of observation, we released him back into the creek. Good times!

In our house we are HUGE Walking Dead fans. If you’re not, leave. now.

Just kidding.

The season finale was last night. I won’t give any spoilers but I will say it wasn’t as exciting as we were hoping. Bottom line: Daryl is still with us and that’s all that matters.

9b00989d25daa1e3ca1ee147ba92d9b4

You’re welcome ladies.

So I guess that about sums it up.

It’s Monday, my alarm went off at WTF o’clock, and here I am.

I’ll be seeing all of you tomorrow!

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. What did all of you do with your weekend? Let me know in the comments!

Advertisements

P.S.A for the Parents, And Also You Over There Eavesdropping

Night before last I did something obscene.

After cooking and eating dinner with the family, I proceeded with my normal nightly routine of put away leftovers, load dishwasher, wash dishes, pack sack lunches and prep coffee maker for the a.m.

And then at 7:45 in the evening, I left.

I left and went over to a girlfriend’s house and spent three hours drinking coffee while catching up with a good friend.

coffee-smil

It was up to my husband to make sure the offspring took their showers, brushed their teeth and went to bed on time. And *GASP*, everything went off without a hitch.

Can you believe it??

The Earth did not stop spinning because mom took some time for herself.

The house did not burn down.

A party wasn’t thrown.

And pigs did not start to fly.

So here’s a question for you:

When was the last time you took a time-out?

When was the last time you had coffee with a friend without the interruptions of life storming in?

When was the last time you had a nap or a pedicure or simply read a book in peace?

Hey dads! When was the last time you hung out with a buddy?

Went fishing? Played Golf? Or just zoned out in front of the t.v. all by yourself?

If you can’t remember the last time, then now is the time.

Stop. Making. Excuses.

We are better people when when we take some time for ourselves.

We are better parents, spouses, partners and friends when we give ourselves a break.

I came home from coffee time relaxed and ready for bed. I came home with a smile on my face because we did a LOT of laughing.

I came home and everything was fine.

So here’s the deal: try in the next week to find time for a break. Even if it’s just an hour, try.

And then come back here and tell me about it.

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

Britches &Twitches – Things That Make Mom’s Drink Wine in the Closet

It’s spring picture day at the elementary school and I’m typing this one-handed because I have a death grip on my wine bottle with the other. It’s not quite 9 a.m.

Not really but, I’m on the verge.

You would think that offspring number 2 at the ripe old age of ten would no longer argue about what he will and will not wear on any given day.

Think again.

I swear my youngest was born in the wrong era. He would have been much happier fashion-wise as a child of the 70’s; obscenely short shorts and t-shirts everyday. Peace & Love dude.

263760

It’s my fault really. Apparently I passed on the OCD gene and he was the lucky recipient. You know what they say, if it’s not one thing it’s the mother.

Let’s take it back to his toddler years so you can gain a clearer understanding here:

Cowboy boots, diaper and t-shirt. Done. Dressed for the day so obviously we stayed home a lot.

A bit older and it became shorts and flip-flops. Everyday.

When he started kindergarten and found out he would need to wear actual pants quite a bit, the meltdowns came. Eventually (now don’t laugh), we had to confiscate and hide all of his shorts. No joke. No matter the weather or reasoning, he always wanted to wear shorts.

Imagine our surprise when one day we said to the offspring, “get dressed, we’re going out to dinner”, and out he comes wearing a knit polo with swim trunks and tennis shoes.

It never occurred to us that we needed to take the swimming apparel, too.

In more recent years it has become somewhat better. We incorporated his help with clothing purchases and found out that he’ll only wear thin cotton plaid shorts (they feel the best), he prefers v-neck t’s to crew, he has one pair of jeans that “don’t make him sweat”, ankle socks ONLY but they MUST be a specific style in the toe so as not to bunch up when wearing tennis shoes, and don’t get me started on the whole underwear thing. I’ll save that for another day.

To top it all off, we also had to reach an agreement about when he can and cannot wear shorts. So, three seasons out of four he checks the weather religiously. If the temps are supposed to reach at least 60 degrees, he can wear shorts.

The only clothing he never complains about are his school uniforms. Why, we’ll never know.

Okay, so back to this morning. Spring pictures = the kids can wear whatever they want. I had visions of him wearing a plaid button-up looking spring-like and shit. That’s not what happened.

After a lot of huffing, eye rolling and a foot stomp or two (all of these were my actions), he left the house in a v-neck and plaid cotton shorts.

Go. Figure.

wine-parents-drink-mother-kids-family-ecards-someecards

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. Do your kids have any funny quirks? Share them with me! And then we’ll have wine!

Drowning In My SoapBox Bubbles

Everyone has a soapbox. Some of us have more than one.

I fall in the second category with having more than one. Or maybe I’m just really bitchy.

Anyway…..

I woke up this morning (yes, I’m still in my robe as we speak), and thought I would share with all of you a few of the things that depending on the day, will get my butt on the box.

Here we go:

  1. Turn signals. Don’t you just hate slamming on your brakes because the jerk in front of you decided to turn at the last minute? For the love of all that is holy, use your damn blinker.
  2. Grocery store parking lots. These are the absolute worst. If I’m cruising through there trying to find a parking spot and come upon a pedestrian in the pedestrian lane, quit tip toeing thru the tulips and light a fire under your ass. You might have all day, but typically I don’t.
  3. School functions during flu season. This one gets me. My OCD kicks in and I can feel  the germ particles floating through the cafeteria. I try to breathe shallowly and lessen my chances of illness. I touch nothing. I use the strategically placed hand sanitizing stations like I’m preparing to perform surgery. And then that mom in front of you with the curious toddler (you know, the kid that walks all over the place and touches everything during the performance) coughs in your face. And not just any cough. A wet, chunky, green snot running into their mouth cough. FML I’m gonna throw up talking about it. (on a side note, the last cafeteria performance I attended, a kid puked 20ft. from where I was sitting. Good times.)

4. Screaming kids in public places. Okay check it, I’ve been there. I’ve been the mom with the screaming kid that pissed everybody off. And you know what? I removed him from the situation. Did I miss part of the performance? Yes. Did I go home hungry because I didn’t get to finish my meal? Absolutely. Did I have to go back  to the grocery store later because of the earlier tantrum? Of course. So here’s the deal: don’t be the parent that thinks you’re the exception okay?? Because the world doesn’t revolve around us individually. Even though some days we might wish it did.

5. The expert. You know what I’m talking about. Everyone has someone in their life that knows everything. No matter the subject, this person is an expert  on the topic. Unruly children? Call the expert, even though they aren’t parents yet. Dog won’t quit shitting on the floor? Call the expert, even though they have never owned a dog. Thinking of taking the leap and becoming a homeowner? Call the expert, even though they still live with their parents. I know, I know. You think I’m an asshole. Wait a minute….are you an expert??

Okay dear readers, that’s all I have for today. But don’t worry, I’ll pick up where we left off in the near future.

Have anything to add? What gets you on your  soapbox? Let me know so we can all be bitchy together.

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

This Can’t Be Right – The Mysteries of Mom Boobs

I know I’m not the only mom that has ever questioned: what happened to my boobs?

These are not the fun bags I remember from years past.

First of all let’s face it, they’re not “fun” anymore. These two fatty areas on our chests used to be perky. They resided where they were supposed to; up HIGH. Personally I like to refer to my breasts as rocks in socks. Tube socks if we’re being specific.

Yes, once upon a time, they were the wells of life that nourished my children. And it was a beautiful thing.

But now, now they more closely resemble a deflated balloon animal. A snake maybe.i-feel-deflated

I hate putting on a bra. It’s a cardio workout all of its own. And it’s not like I have been gifted with anything above average. It’s the simple fact that to make those puppies look halfway decent one must perform the tasks of lifting, tucking, squishing and popping to try and make those ‘ol things fit somewhat comfortably in the cups.

And what’s up with laying down? Please tell me dear reader that you know what I’m getting ready to say. You know that I’m going to talk about the way these pesky lumps of tissue fall to the sides upon laying down without a brassiere on. Somehow they magically find their way to our armpits. It’s almost like boobs are the female version of testicles and they’re withdrawing inward.

Funny story.

One night my husband and I had just gotten into bed. Another long day down, now it was time to sleep then repeat in the a.m. We are not cuddlers; in fact, both of us prefer to sleep without being touched at all. But on this particular night my husband was in a bit of a spooning mood so I humored him.

Picture this: I’m laying on my side, my back to his front. He snakes his right arm around me and wants to hold on to something if you catch my drift.

But there was nothing there.

Why?

Because they had receded to the recesses of the armpits. The left one at least. His hand was resting on the bones and skin of my chest. So I did what any woman who wants to humor her husband would do.

I guided his hand up, up, up and over to my underarm. Then I patted his hand and said, “there she is.”

It was a laugh out loud moment, and you know what I say: Always end your day with laughter.

Olive Oyl Momma

P.S. Do you have a funny boob moment you’d like to share? Please do and we can all laugh together!

What Mom Never Told You About Your Thirties

My mom is my best friend.

Growing up we talked about everything, and still do for the most part. But we didn’t just talk; she taught me life skills. She taught me how to do laundry, cook, bake, clean house, implement a house hold budget and balance a check book. She encouraged me to babysit as a teen and earn my own money until I was old enough to get a “real” job, and she made sure that everything I learned through her was something I could use as an adult.

Me and Mom

And now I am an adult. And have been for awhile. A grown woman in her thirties. Not thirty; IN my thirties. I’m a wife and mother. And on a daily basis I’m also a chauffeur, chef, nanny, nurse and teacher. Some days I’m also a mechanic and a plumber.

But the one thing my mom never told me, the one life skill she never prepared me for, was about reaching my thirties and how fucking tired I would be. I’m exhausted. Some mornings when my alarm goes off at six all I can do is yell incoherently. Another. Damn. Day.

It’s the same thing day in and day out.

That first pee of the morning with your eyes closed.

Waking kid number one that has to be at the bus stop by 6:25 a.m.

Making his breakfast.

Sucking down my first cup of coffee.

Mumbling goodbye and have a good day to him and my husband as they leave. One for work, the other for school.

And then I have thirty whole minutes to myself before it’s time to wake up kid number two.

1902984_10201650742409743_763334210_n

Thirty minutes to drink coffee and surf the internet. Thirty minutes to scroll through Facebook. Thirty minutes to poop and play Candy Crush in peace. Yeah, you heard me.

That thirty minutes literally lasts like five. At least it seems to anyway. And then it’s a repeat of wake up kid, breakfast, etc. accompanied by let the dog out and feed him, too.

But then, then, I have the day to myself.

One more cup of coffee and I’m ready to go. Some mornings I feel like I could actually tackle the world. And I do. Others my energy level is zero.

Why? Why did mom never tell me how tired I would be?

Why are we so tired?

Is it because moms do the work of ten people but we are only one?

Is it because maybe the repetition of the same daily mundane tasks is driving us up the fucking wall?

Is it because we ask ourselves didn’t I just feed you this morning? Why are you hungry again? Why must you eat so damn often?

Is it because we wash the same damn towels and socks and underwear over and over and over?

Is it because the daily commute to the elementary school has never changed? And the only excitement is when someone tail gates you in the pickup line and you think: this is it. This is the day I get to beat that bitches ass.

Maybe it’s because we hear ourselves repeating the same phrases again and again. Wash your hands. Blow your nose. Wipe your mouth; on your napkin not your shirt! Pick up your shoes. CLOSE THE DOOR. Turn off the light. Chew with your mouth closed. Stop farting on your brother. Do your homework. Quit whining. Quit crying! Brush your teeth. If you’re going to punch each other no face shots, I don’t have money for dental work. (maybe that’s just my house)

Is it because stay at home moms are severely lacking in daily adult conversation and stimulation?

And when you leave the work force to raise children and then return years later, you are not the same person.

You will excuse yourself from a meeting to go “potty”.

You will tell your coworkers to “use their words”.

You will inform your boss you need a “time out”.

And you will take one.

I called my mom last week and told her I was mad at her. I told her I was pissed that she never told me just how tired I would be later in life. I told her I was bitchy and bitter and her grandchildren sometimes call me the wicked witch behind my back according to my husband. I said, “when are these children going to grow up and move out??”, and then I wailed that I would be lonely when they do.

And through it all she listened. And then she laughed and said, ” here’s the secret to surviving your thirties. Go take a nap.”

And so I did.